#i think that’s what shun is doing in the clearing. he’s holding the gun. but we don’t see him shoot. we see him turn

[wronglennon]

i think the tree scene in the last episode of flowers is one of my main points for believing in the possibility that shun doesn’t shoot himself (aside from the turn). i think it shows how flowers talks him out of jumping (the most drastic action so as not to bother anyone) and goes to get the ladder but shun, still set on not bothering anyone, makes his own way down, even though it is difficult. and then he sees maurice coming with the ladder, and even though it’s late, its a sign that help was coming, and he would have been okay if he had waited too. i think that moment is mirrored when maurice tells him he’s family, and you can see how much that hurts shun to hear because he’s never stopped grieving and has never told any of them about it, properly. he’s set on getting down from the tree on his own, even if it kills him. but i think the hesitation in the final scene of episode five where he turns signals that knowledge that help is coming, as it has come before, and maybe if he just waits, he won’t need to get down from the tree alone

[qvrcll]

Hii. I just saw your works and I really love the writing<3. Anyways i saw ur taking requests and i really have one in mind.

So like vendetta leon was some sort of a mission (like something similar to the movie) and he Heard the virus had broken out to the city and the only thing he can think is the reader (I'd really love for the reader (which is a retired agent, to be preggy😭). Then he like straightly went to their house (or apartment) and the zombies have already broken inside.

(no angst pls my heart is too poor to handle angst 😭)

cherry waves

summary: with your retirement from the source of his burden’s and the arrival of your pregnancy, leon almost swears that things will be alright. but worrying intel from hunnigan and the affliction of his worst fears make things worse. make things bloody and gashed with the ultimatum of death — and the one thing on his mind? you.

warning: written with vendetta ! leon in mind, violence, afab reader, use of gun, mention of vomit, intense imagery of death / zombie bites, mention of pregnancy, angst (but happy ending), implication of smut (nothing happens :P)

a/n: firstly, ty so much for ur interest for my works! it always makes me so happy ppl like what i write 🥹 secondly, WOW, i loved this plotline and couldn’t wait to get writing it! thank you so much for requesting this because i had a great time writing it (anything exploring leon’s worst fears is an immediate yes from me!) i hope i did your prompt justice and hope you enjoy :-)

It would start with a mission, something so insanely emblematic in its own course that it made Leon scoff sourly.

Of course they would do this — do this to him, to you, try to rope him back into a hell he had once wished to depart for entirely. You’d done it, excavating all wounds and ties to that little milky tinctured office corner and a chock-full of folders, of late night runs to diners and the semblance of sentience. Leon had admired you, held you in high regard and shunned any and all faces that had locked horns with your decision, dragging them through filth and dirt and nothing but the crud of his hate and the spew of his regrets.

And after you’d promised the two of you this peace, this little hole of your own created in the cataclysmic remnants of what once was, in a tiny apartment stocked away into the city curtained with the foolish promises of a forgotten past, Leon had sworn that it had worked. Had been cut from an entirely different cloth, and woven into something… away from this hell.

But it’s always something other than peace in the end.

And when he’s on his own, cornered against a wall with little to no care for anything lavish, just the bile wedged in his throat from the coalescing pools of worry in his stomach, he tries to think of you.

“Leon, your slippers…” you’d called out from the living room, in his memory, voice soaked with little to no empathy. He’d mumbled something incoherent back, something unintelligible, that had sufficed for a few minutes before you’d thrown a shirt over his head. An injunction, he was sure it was, to his constant habit of doing away with his clothes in the wrong places. Next thing he knows, he was being smothered by your weight as your voice rung clear, a ring of indolence grating your voice, “Leave your shirt on the floor and I swear to god, Leon S. Kennedy—“

“Okay, okay, I promise—“ he’d chuckled, collecting you and your squeals in his broad arms, entrapping you into the planate sheets of the bed he’d laid in since the morning began, “I’ll be mindful of where I keep my shirts. Kiss me?”

And your resistance, your throes of faux fury, the crooning semblance of your squeals and laughter had dissolved into a stimulant, a drug for him to swallow wearily whilst his back was met against some other unfamiliar surface.

He holds his breath. Strengthens his feet against the bounding hard-wood floors as an outburst of flitting groans, cold and doggone with the smell, a reminder of 1998, sound out from beyond the foyer of the abandoned building. And he’s accustomed to the feel of blood between his teeth — god, he’s done this in repeated intervals before, so why did it begin to feel too pervasive in this moment?

His heart clamours in his chest.

His skin bursts with a sheen of cold sweat.

His teeth clatter with a fear he’d known all too well, for a time too long.

So why?

So he rephrases, rewrites this fear in him into something of a catalyst — he thinks of you again.

He thinks of your smell and your smile, your tears and the strength you’d accumulated when you had grinned goodbye to this shit hole. He thinks of your nails digging lines of red against his back, the rows that escaped you when he’d had you pressed against the mattress. He thinks of the day you’d staggered up to him, eyes rimmed with a similar shade as the vermillion he’d worn to some masquerade themed drivel (in the name of work), calling for him like you’d been bitten by the dark, searched for his face in the light — “Leon… Leon, I think I’m pregnant,” and he’d kissed you raw, kissed you like he fought, kissed you through the burn and edge of his tears cracking into the press of your mouths as he had felt grounded for once in his pathetic, penurious life.

He uses that, the glint of that vision, that new beginning, the shade of hope that came as you, to shape an opening — he aims his revolver at a blindsided corpse. Fires a crisp blow at a groaning zombie. Kicks, buckles and flanks against two more and advances with the burn of your memory in his mind.

It’s nearly ten minutes since he’s been stationed into the rubble of the desiccated building and Leon’s throat itches with a certain worry.

How were you? Did you need anything whilst at home? Did you think of him? Did you crave something demonically new? Did your feet hurt, like it often did following your pregnancy? Did you rest enough? Were you up, staring at the crescents and spoons of white dotting the sky, like he was?

And Leon nearly trips, nearly kisses the ground from thinking of you — but he needs to. Needs to allow himself this grace to make sure he’d not shoot himself, surely. Needs the image of your face to bless every corner of his mind so he’d remember what it felt to love you thoroughly, fully, to the point of death and damnation. Needs to feel you, if even in his mind, if even for a second too faltering, if it meant he could mow down another zombie.

“Leon? Leon!”

He cringes, retreats to a gap in the wall as he presses his headset into his ear — Hunnigan.

“Hunnigan?” he whispers, throws his voice to a lower sonority than before, so that he can hear her better. So that the clatter, the dash of undead a few feet up ahead, cannot pick up on his bearings.

He hears a cut from the other end, before the agent’s familiar voice cracks through, “Leon, there’s been new intel.”

He frowns. This can’t be good, if she’s already using his first name instead of a roster of aliases. Still, he needed to figure it out. Keep a locale on his bearings.

“New intel? Go on…” he breathes softly. He picks up the press of footsteps up ahead and smothers further into the tight bite of the space, wincing when his muscles flout back at him with an ounce of pain.

“There’s been reports of a zombie intrusion in the city,” Hunnigan starts, and Leon stops, “and there have been increasing hoards against buildings and apartments.”

And he drops.

His feet move, on pure muscle. On pure fear. On the cut-throat and persistent emotion that is love, of you, of the memory of you, of the promise he’d made and of the shattering grip of his life, as he books it out of there. Hunnigan continues, gathers something about altitude and choppers. Of gunfire and backup. Of something more, but Leon can’t tell.

To Leon, his mouth is already bleeding and his body is already teeming with wounds, with the futility of scars and the loom of death, when he pictures those sick, dead bastards at your door.

Why did he accept this stupid job?

Why didn’t he follow in your footsteps?

Why didn’t he stay?

And as he beats the ground with louder noises, attracts a few undead with the heave of his groans as he breaks for home, for your apartment, he can lay a hand over his chest and feel his heart attempting to splinter into knots as he runs.

He thinks of you, again. He thinks of your smile and the smell of rot. He thinks of your smell and the curl of lips and the gash against your hip. He thinks of your odd habits, your huff, your laughter. He thinks of your body stapled to the floor, marked with messily biten flesh and an aspersion of blood on the counter. On the floor. On your face.

And you and you dead and you dying and you growling and you—

“Fuck!”

Leon chokes, his throat jammed with pathetic cries. His eyes glisten and shed, but he quickly finds himself recanted in front of that familiar apartment, front so idyllic, it was burnt straight from his memory. His skin melts with sweat, with pin pricks and with the threat of throwing up right there, but he soldiers through.

At first, it’s hard. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see past his tears. It’s hard to get a clear grip on his weapon and it’s hard to blur out the mess of their groans, their staggering enumeration. But he finds some messy middle ground, grounds his feet and staples his teeth and shoots against brassy flesh, against bone and blood, barely cares for the splatter of blood against his lip, his chin, his hair.

All he cares is for you to be standing there, as you as you could ever be. As safe, as teeming with hope and the glimmer of tomorrow as you ever were, welcoming him home.

But he’s half delirious, half fucked for thought, as he makes it up the staircase with difficulty. He wants to delude himself and wants to believe the lies he’s almost weaving in his head. But the truth is vibrant, unpleasant as the verdant decay of flesh that hordes your apartment floor.

And he nearly throws up.

Your door is open, three zombies freshly approaching the crack of it. Their heads jitter and steer in the limelight, and Leon nearly breaks, but holds the pieces of himself as he shoots through their corroding skulls.

He shouts your name first, then chokes with grief at the sight of blood — and the image of you dead and dying and —

And he’s trying, yes, he’s trying, as he stumbles through the threshold with his gun quivering in his hold. And yes he’s breathing, but only so little, as he eyes the count of flesh against the tile of your living room. And yes he’s standing, but nearly crumbles with the thought of a repeat. Of a sequence to his worst fears.

“Leon!”

The scream gushes from the bedroom and his heart teems with that familiar feeling, slow but sure, of hope. Of love. He silently cries as he makes a run for your shared bedroom — his calloused palm harshly swings apart the door and sees you cornered atop the bed, bashing the head of a zombie in. It’s managed to corner you far up the bed, but you’re sour with spit and curses as you try to throw it off — but the undead prove to be a challenge.

And yet, Leon is a worse piece of work.

With his shot gun aimed at its head, the zombie flattens to the floor with an animated thud.

And then there’s silence. There’s a heave from you, as you gather your surroundings and make use of something solid to determine Leon actually there — actually standing in the stretch of your bedroom as he looks back at you, face bristling with blood and carnage. With tears.

And with time, comes semblance.

You dart towards him, worry in your hands when you gather him in your palms like life itself — “Fuck—Fuck, I was so worried. Fuck, Leon, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, sweetheart, I’m okay—are you?” he inquires, rushes for thought as he presses a hand into your side, your face and your back. Tries and thrives with the effort of remembering your warmth through his fingers — collected here, in the bloody mess of your apartment.

And you’re breathing and you’re alive and you’re smiling and you’re holding love in your hands when you cry into his arms.

And as he holds you like there’s so much of losing you, crumbles to the floor in the vacancy of your arms, he catches sight of your already swelling belly beneath his nimble fingers as you sigh out a laugh. Beckon his hand atop your stomach closer, say something about ‘knowing how to work a gun, even after all the bullshit I’d left behind.’

And Leon sighs with the thought of tomorrow.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[good-chimes]

Okay Phasmophobia stream recap for those who don’t watch horror:

Grian, Scar, Impulse and Skizzleman have for some reason decided to play Phasmophobia, a game where you and your friends go into a spooky house with ghost hunting equipment and do a variety of unwise things while a ghost tries to kill you

They begin in the starting area:

Grian: So, I’ve played Phasmophobia once, Skizz and Impulse have played it every week for a couple of years, and Scar—

Scar: I’M NOT MUTED ANY MORE AND I’M SO EXCITED FOR PLASMATOPIA

Grian: Scar has never played—I’m sorry? PLASMATOPIA?

Grian and Impulse follow this up with trying to trick Scar into looking at a jump scare, eventually they realise Scar didn’t alter his brightness settings so literally can’t see it

Five more minutes of trying to get Scar to work the radio properly

Grian: Scar are you holding down B or just pressing it?

Scar: I don’t have a B on my controls

Grian, audibly unravelling: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DONT HAVE A B, YOU ARE SITTING IN FRONT OF A KEYBOARD

Impulse and Skizz quietly loading equipment as they’re actually good at this. Scar learns how to throw a basketball.

Grian into his own radio: this is a shambles, come in come in, this is a shambles.

Grian insists they pick a hard level because ‘it’s Scar’s first game and he needs to learn’

They move to Spooky House #1:

Increasingly clear that Scar does not know how to use the controls and none of the others are explaining

Grian (definitely very expert and tough and not at ALL a thin layer of bravado over a ball of terror) attempts the Spirit Box, a piece of equipment which requires you to shut yourself in a dark room by yourself and speak to a ghost who might try and kill you.

Skizz: come here, come here, listen to Grian trying to talk to the ghost

Grian, muffled: what’s your naaaame

Skizz: this is like Grian on a date and he’s getting shunned

Skizz: you gotta ask her about her interests buddy

Scar has found a glowstick. The glowstick does nothing helpful for him.

Scar cheerfully disregards Skizz’s worry about their sanity ticking down in the darkness

because we have glowsticks so we can have a rave

mm tss mm tss mm tss!!!

Grian’s ethereal voice over the radio: Scar I’m going to kill you

They set up a camera. A door opens by itself. Scar: “d-d-d-door!” Grian dissolves into goat screeches and Scooby Doo accusations.

Scar: “the door! The door opened!” Grian: “okay Scar go in there.” Scar: “NO!”

Grian eventually talks Scar into locking himself in a dark room with the ghost and the spirit box. Impulse and Skizz suspiciously quiet.

Scar attempts to make the ghost laugh, succeeds instead in making Grian laugh.

Scar didn’t even pick up the ghost radio, turns out he’s been talking to a notebook this entire time

okay second attempt

Grian, goading: Say the ghost’s name, Scar, go on, say it, say it

Impulse: okay when the attack comes you gotta hide and turn off all your equipment buddy

Scar, who very clearly does not know the controls: what does that mean???

notable silence

Scar: okay Betty Betty BETTY

LOUD CRACKLING

WIND SHRIEKING

Grian: scar run!!! get in the closet!!!

BREAKING GLASS

CACKLING THAT SOUNDS LIKE A HORROR EFFECT BUT IS IN FACT GRIAN

ghost murders scar

scar wanders the hallways as a ghost. He finds his friends, who seem unconcerned.

Scar: They didn’t tell me ghosts could kill you!

Scar: [on top of them] I hope you ALL die

Scar: Can I pick up things. Is there a gun. Can I hurt them.

The ghost murders Grian, who screams like he’s dying in real life

Scar perks up

Scar SO disappointed that Grian doesn’t seem to be appearing where ghost scar appeared

The group get in the van with Grian’s ghost and leave Scar behind

Debriefing back at mission end is slightly Contentious

Okay let’s let bygones be bygones and do another mission

Grian: Scar you didn’t hear me scream, right, you still think I’m manly

Scar: Oh, I heard you scream

They move to Spooky House #2

Scar has been given the temperature checker this time around

but he has also found the tools contain a lighter

Scar: I gotta be myself

Scar delighted to find the new spooky house is made of wood, we’re gonna burn this place to the GROUND, interrupted by Grian whispering terrifyingly on radio I’m behind you

Scar: don’t do that!!

Scar: wait was that Grian or the ghost

Scar: wait

More shenanigans while Skizz and Impulse try to figure out what kind of ghost it is

Grian: scar where are you

Scar: I thought I could just burn this place to the ground but it’s not working

Grian: these clients are expecting us to SOLVE the ghost mystery. You are the worst scooby-doo I’ve ever worked with.

Scar: [in the tone of patiently explaining something obvious] They could collect on the insurance

Grian has no luck talking to the ghost with the spirit box. Meanwhile Scar has spent five minutes trying to open a door (Impulse, Skizz, and Grian still being very withholding about the controls). Grian, after another feeble attempt thrusts the spirit box at Scar and says “You try, Scar”. Scar immediately like “oh okay! what do I do?” despite the fact that being shut in a dark room with a ghost by himself and instructed by the others into provoking it was exactly how he died last time

Scar is murdered by the ghost

Scar haunts Grian and the others, vindictively grumbling about them trapping him in with the ghost. throws empty cans at them. after five minutes of this discovers that Impulse is also dead and could hear him this whole time.

Skizz: okay radioing the dead people! [long one-way explanation about game mechanics so Scar and Impulse can pick up game points while they’re dead]—

Scar: Can we sabotage them? (Impulse just laughs.)

They’ve left in the van without Scar again

They move to Spooky House #3

Scar ignores all the tools and builds a beautiful pile of salt and candles. Grian laughs at it for thirty seconds straight.

Scar is murdered by the ghost.

Scar: play this game with us they said! It’ll be fun they said!

Scar: I assume the van’s gone again

Scar: oh no it’s still here. Hopefully they’re all DEAD.

Debriefing is contentious once more

Grian: okay scar when the haunt starts you have to not talk and hide. You stood in the middle of the room and yelled.

Scar: I had some salt!

Impulse: That doesn’t do anything…

Scar: [indignant] the salt should protect you!

Skizz: if the ghost is a snail?

They move to Spooky House #4 with extra scary mirror ghost:

Impulse declares their goal in the next house is to keep Scar alive. Gains reluctant agreement from the group.

This will definitely go well

This ghost is really out to get them. Skizz nearly dies despite being very good at the game.

Grian: let’s send scar in!

Impulse: What happened to Operation Keep Scar Alive????

They find the ghost from the haunted mirror but can’t get it to write in a book. They wander back and forth between the van full of tools and the spooky house.

Scar goes back into the house

Impulse: Operation Keep Scar Alive is very difficult :/

Grian: [over the radio] hey scar take a quick look in the mirror

Scar: where’s the mirror

Impulse: [despairingly] he’s trying to get you killed

Scar looks in the mirror and gets murdered by the ghost

Skizz dies. Shrieking.

Impulse dies. More shrieking.

Grian [tiny voice]: I’m in a cupboard…

Grian is by himself and he’s so scared

who could have foretold getting Scar murdered might lead to Grian being alone and terrified

Grian has shut the van door in scars face a third time and driven off

Grian has just realised he got all his friends murdered, not just Scar, because he forgot to take the sanity pills

Impulse: so we failed again

Grian: scar how’s your heart rate?

Scar: [throws a basketball at his face]

They move to hard level: Spooky Abandoned Asylum

Skizzle: Did you just turn that light off?

Grian: Sorry

Impulse: [resigned] if it's got buttons he's got to press it

grian and scar slowly being driven mad by an invisible child making a 'weh' sound

five minutes later proven it was Skizz

Scar has not fully cottoned on to the fact it is Skizz

Scar: Schism if that is you, i will throw you into the ghost

‘Schism’ honestly not the worst mispronunciation of the night only because Grian is absolutely convinced ‘tarot’ rhymes with ‘carrot’

Scar: ah i can't wait to hotguy you skizz >:( ... almost spoiled something

Scar: Oh I found someone’s tongue [it is clearly a red bookmark]

Skizz: Don’t touch that tongue that’s mine!

Asylum is glitched and the ghost doesn’t get to them

They make no money

Scar: does that mean… TECHNICALLY I LIVED

He is so pleased. Scar mission accomplished.

They move to Spooky Campsite:

Skizz has found this map with a camp fire so there is something to burn

Skizz: Scar you’re gonna light the campfire buddy!!

Skizz is instantly forgiven for every sin he’s committed against Scar ever

Campsite is supposed to be an easy mission. They wander around for twenty minutes. Scar is pretending to vlog

The ghost shows up out of nowhere… and murders scar.

Grian shrieks with laughter like a dying chicken.

Scar: all I hear is grian’s cackles

Grian: we were supposed to keep him alive, why did his body do a little hop

Disembodied Scar makes a game attempt at “I will get you back! All of you!” then gives up revenge and carries on pretending to vlog

Chat tells Scar to enter the clues

Disembodied!Scar: what clues did we learn? That I died and the ghost cackled at me? Oh, that was Grian actually.

The group try and figure out the ghost. Is it a demon… they’re pretty sure it’s a raijiu…?

Disembodied!Scar: I think it's a banshee.

Disembodied!Scar: The banshee is Grian >:(

Skizzle: ghost, give us a sign

Disembodied!Scar: [hurls a can at him]

Grian, with a frankly hypocritical level of outrage: Scar stop throwing stuff

They've shut the van door in Scar's face again

guess what.

they other three were all wrong.

it was a banshee.

Back in the starting area:

Impulse sounds almost impressed. He has never seen someone die so much in this game.

They mess around with the basketballs and blocks. Grian, in a tone that is almost an apology is like, scar no genuinely scar what is your heartrate.

Skizz pushes them all into a group Scar hug.

Scar: ...I can see the back of all your eyeballs

Grian: i'm never playing this game again

[lost-technology]

Why I'm not into callouts...

So, I encountered more than one thing tonight (one thing on a random Trigun search, and one thing with me searching specifically "trigun callout post" out of curiosity) and I just... am reminded of why I just don't heed this stuff too much. Listen, guys. Anyone can start any kind of rumor about anybody on tumblr or anywhere on the Internet. There can also be actual misunderstandings of and between people and there can be infighting in friend-groups that lead to chaos and shun-calls. I've been a victim of it, myself (different fandom, I have a big, stupid story and I think the Covid-crazies were very much to blame. Hospitalization was involved, but I digress). I have seen it all. Didn't even start with modern social media. I remember back in the days of internet board-forums a once-friend of mine (no longer friend, in fact we ended up as enemies before losing touch) - well, they suspected someone on a Christian Otaku Board we both went to of plotting murder because they were talking about wanting to buy a gun. (They didn't say anything about wanting to kill anyone, they were into collecting and hunting), but somehow, Tweedle Dumb interpreted it as "He's gonna kill a gay man!" and doxxed him to his local cops, which had to be cleared up. At least with tumblr, you can actually go to people's blogs and look over their posts and acertain whether or not something is true. (One of my other fandom blogs, when I had Asks on, had someone demanding why I was reblogging something from a "racist" - I checked out the blog... didn't see anything racist and in fact the person had a pinned rant about being accused of racism when they were a person of color. Turns out it was ALL about shipping-drama, from what I saw. This was a fandom where if you didn't ship a particular ship, people accused you of being everything from racist to abuse apologist and whatever else, and sometimes the same if you did ship it. Fuck She-Ra fandom, it was awful. I think I deserve some kind of fandom-equivalent of a Purple Heart for having been in it). Unfortunately, there are some people in Trigun fandom who have - when they have things other than just fandom stuff on their blogs, have some pretty yikes things. Encountered a callout of a TERF tonight (checked the blog, indeed they are). Got reminded of a right-winger active in the fandom (although they hardly hold a candle to Millions Livio from days of yore). I'm kind of like "I'm not following, but I'm not blocking, either, because, hey, if they see my blog, they can see it." I'm not into DNIs. I feel like maybe I will say something that will shine a light in through the cracks. Or maybe I'll eventually get into a rip-roaring argument with them in which I get to flash my fangs. (I actually enjoy fighting on the Internet sometimes. When I am on some politics-related forums, the trolls are my chew-toys). But I really do like to say "I've been here, too, and this is why I don't share that mindset anymore. Care to listen? Sit down, have some tea. I've got a blank ticket in my hand for you. Take a look." I am a terrible fool. Also someone without any fucks to give, which makes me think I might be well-suited to my policy of "I rarely block anyone, it's only if I get direct harassment or if I've had a personal beef with someone."

[binxyu]

Desire. The word of many meanings. Lust? Money? People desire what they can not have. You? You desired power. The power to hurt those who had wronged you. San? He desired to have you and if offering you your desire would get him that then he was going to give it.

>>Pairing: Choi San (dom) x fem!reader (sub) | demon!san x power hungry!reader

>>Word Count: 3.6k

>>Genre: Oneshot / Smut

>>Warnings/Kinks: Demonic themes, yandere themes, bondage, branding, biting, blood play, choking, cockwarming, corruption, creampie, degrading, fingering, marking, murder (graphic), oral (receiving), overstimulation, size kink, slapping, and spitting/saliva

“Do it”.

The voice rang in your head as it always did. It was similar to a little devil on your shoulder. Someone telling you to do the worst you could do.

“Come on, sweetheart. You know you want to”.

You closed your eyes, the gun shaking in your grip. You had nothing against this person but the voice in your head knew how much you enjoyed the thrill.

The thrill of pulling the trigger.

The thrill of having the power to do so and end someone else’s life.

“We had a deal, baby. Each kill I help you with in your favor will result in one kill for me. Kill him”.

Your finger felt controlled, a silent pull to just come forward a little. Just enough to send a bullet into the man’s chest.

He looked at you with such pleading eyes, coated in the finest ocean blue that could have any other woman in his hands.

Not you.

You were in love with the voice in your head.

A voice you couldn’t explain. A voice that offered you power in exchange for completing their dirty work.

Finally, you let yourself fall to the desire and pulled the trigger, a bullet flying into the man’s heart.

“Good girl”.

It was a raspy voice, one full of authority and mischief. You knew the voice better than you knew your own family’s.

A wave of relief overcame you when the voice went quiet. You looked at the man in front of you and wondered what he could have done to have been so worthy of death.

The gun was placed back into your pocket once the safety was on and you simply walked out of the place. You couldn’t dwell on what you had done. It was all worth it in the end.

Miraculously, the deal between yourself and the voice was true and, as you killed upon their request, you gained more power. More reputation and strength.

There was odd downsides to this deal, however. Like the dreams that occurred every night.

Dreams about the same man that left you wanting so much more when you woke up.

“Oh, it’s you again”, your voice seemed to echo in your own bedroom as you looked at the familiar... creature.

“Who else would be here?”, there it was. The same voice that appeared in your head throughout the day.

You felt witless. He was right. No other thing or person visited the realm of your dreams as often as he did.

“You did well today”, was all he muttered when you remained silent. All you could do was stare at him as he walked closer.

His wings were a masterpiece on their own, a marvelous display of black. It was a beautiful way of showing he was rather symbolic of darkness.

His eyes glowed a blood red as they looked into your’s, his pupils blown out due to his hunger. You winced as his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to examine you as if he was deciding if you were worthy of another night with him.

“You still won’t tell me what or who you are”, the creature chuckled, a sound so unfitting for him.

“You’ll find out soon”, and he was gone.

Another unspoken rule of the deal between you and the creature was isolation. You were not permitted to speak to others.

That much was clear when one of your co-workers was found drained of blood, a horrific sight to anyone but you. You had seen it before and that’s when you realized you were literally in a deal with a devil.

So, you avoided others in hopes that the little devil on your shoulder would keep quiet. No one would get hurt that way.

You were wrong. Horribly wrong.

You hadn’t realized but people slowly disappeared when they were around you. Just because the little devil wanted you all to himself.

“Y/n, come here. I need your help”, your boss ordered you and you felt an itch within you. An itch and desire for that control you were used to.

Reluctantly, you walked over and picked up the heavy box.

What is this guy moving? Rocks?

“Where to?”, your soft voice asked politely, sucking up to the man that could potentially give you more wealth than you could imagine.

“My office obviously”, his tone was cold as it always was and you nibbled your bottom lip in annoyance. You turned around, about to make your way out of the meeting room and to his office when you heard his screams.

Your head whirled around to see him on the floor, his finger pointing in sheer horror at something across the room. The door slammed behind you and your eyes finally found what he was screaming about.

“Hello baby”, there he was in all his unholy glory. The same man inside your head and your dreams.

“I figured I’d take care of your little problem here”, you shook your head, either from shock, fear, or denial. You couldn’t tell which.

“N-no you don’t have to”, the creature laughed at that and with a wave of his hand, the boss’s throat was slit. He quickly bled out and his body fell in a heap on the floor.

“I didn’t ask”, his smile was insincere, a warning to watch your mouth. You noticed it and shut up, noticing how his wings were not as perfect as they had been previously in your dreams.

The bone seeming to hold them together to his back was unnaturally bent, looking horrendous and painful. The feathers surrounding those areas were anything but perfect. Yet, he seemed effortlessly attractive.

“What do you want?”, your voice came out small and weak, a contrast to the usual powerful voice that came from your body. It was obvious the creature could take away your power just as he had given it to you.

“Surely you remember why I’m even here to begin with, little one”, the nickname shocked you as the memory resurfaced once again.

The shovel was cold in your grip, causing a bone chilling spark to run down your spine as you covered up the box. It was the standard recipe.

The bones of a dead black cat, a photograph of yourself, and graveyard dirt. All compacted in the small box now buried deep in the center of the crossroads.

You were younger at the time by a few years, a little more gullible. A little more desperate.

As the blood moon rose, you could feel the presence of someone else in the area. Well, more like something else.

The red light shun on him gracefully as he sat on the hood of your car, not caring how dinted it could become. Your eyes trailed down his body, engulfing any feature you could take in to remember him by.

At the time, his hair was a light brown and his eyes were not that blood red you had grown used to. They were a warm brown. They were so welcoming.

“Are you the devil?”, you wanted to keep your distance from him, but it felt like an invisible string was pulling you right to him. Your body soon stood in front of his own, barely away from being considered between his legs.

“No, little one. Just something awfully close. Now, what are you selling your soul for?”, the demon expected many things. Things he had heard so many times before. Money, love, saving, etc.

What he didn’t expect you to say was that you needed a way to get revenge on the murderer of your mother.

“What? You don’t strike me as the revenge type”, his infamous chuckle came after the words and you huffed. You hated being considered too weak or kind. People already played around with you for that reason.

“Are you going to help me or not?”, your hand found solace on your hip as you waited for his response. He hummed as if in deep thought before tilting his head in a teasing manner.

“Depends. What do I get in return?”, you noticed how his gaze had lingered on your hand, watching how it softly kneaded the flesh there.

“Keep our options open? You can have my soul or whatever you want whenever you want. I just want that man in the ground by the end of the week”, he didn’t expect the hint of sass in your tone but he loved it.

“I’ll need to put that in writing darling, but you have a deal”.

“Why did I not remember you before?”, you were sure you had never had that memory before now. The demon only smirked before walking towards you, his hands holding your waist. He rubbed them up and down as if he was memorizing every curve.

“I couldn’t have you running off. Besides, it was so precious to watch you think you had killed that man. You seemed so... proud”, he bit his lip, admiring you.

“It’s been you, hasn’t it? The voice?”, the demon nodded and took your jaw in his hold, tilting it every which way as if he was deciding to auction you or not.

“Yes. Your power comes from me and I think I’ve finally decided what I’ll be requesting for your end of the deal”, a thick lump formed in your throat, hoping that this wasn’t going to be your last day on Earth.

“You have been doing my dirty work for years now. No one is more fit to be my prophet than you. I want you to be mine. My little prophet”, your eyebrows furrowed as his words processed in your head.

“Prophet? For what?”, you had to sit down, walking over the body on the floor still and sitting on the desk.

“To be the next crossroad demon. Imagine it, baby. All the power you have now will be tripled, you’ll be immortal, and we’ll be together forever. I can tell you desire nothing more than power”, you found yourself nodding before you could even register any consequences. He had you at the power being tripled.

“How insatiable”, the demon tapped his fingers against the desk as he hovered over you, “if I didn’t know better than I’d consider you a deadly sin. I think you’re more greedy than actual greed is” before you could argue his lips were pressed against your own in a feverous manner. It filled your body with warmth from the tips of your toes to the very top of your head.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed him back, feeling how his body got impossibly closer. You moaned into his mouth when you felt his crotch rub against your own.

“Unless you’re even crazier than I thought, let’s do this somewhere there isn’t a dead body”, he laughed once he pulled away, your eyes going to the forgotten body on the floor. Your cheeks went red as the demon picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His wings wrapped around your body, encasing you in a makeshift shield as black smoke surrounded you both. His wings opened up to reveal your bedroom and you realized something as your back landed on the soft mattress.

“Wait- what’s your name?”, contrary to popular myths, demons had no trouble sharing their names. He had just simply forgotten.

“San”, his lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting the skin there as if you already belonged to him.

“San”, you repeated, testing the name and a rumble came from the demon’s chest. It was so similar to a growl that you had to look around the room to make sure no animals were there.

“Fuck, say it again”, his hands gripped the thin fabric of your shirt but he waited.

“San. Please”, there was a hint of desperation in your voice and it was something San had never heard from you. It made his eyes go blood red for a moment.

“Are you sure you want this? It will change everything”, you stared into his eyes and, for once, there wasn’t any fear in you. They were warm as they stared back at you, a sure fire way of San telling you he would never betray you.

“I’m sure. Let’s be powerful together”, you nodded and the demon smiled, ripping the fabric of your shirt apart like it was just some dusty old rag. Your hands held onto his suit and then you remembered something.

“Can I see them?”, San stopped to ponder what you meant. That’s when you lowered your hands to the small of his back, your hands gliding over the cuts on his back. That’s when he knew what you wanted.

“I didn’t think humans liked them”, he chuckled as he took off his own shirt, his wings springing out soon after. He kept them tucked towards him to avoid hitting anything on your end tables and all you could do was admire them as you laid there.

“I love them. So beautiful”, your fingers gently stroked them, trailing along the curve of the bone as if to memorize the feeling of them under your touch.

San nodded with a sincere smile, one you had yet to see. It took you off guard but you loved it. San pulled up your skirt and groaned when he saw how wet your panties had become. They were stuck to your folds, showing everything to him.

“You’re so wet, baby”, you whimpered when he trailed his finger up your folds and back down again. He simply pulled the panties to the side and you gasped when you felt his spit coat your opening. He then plunged it into you with his tongue, thrusting it inside of you and swirling his tongue to cut your walls with his saliva.

That’s when he realized you were already clenching around him in absolute sensitivity and pleasure. He looked up at you as he slowly pulled his tongue out, watching how your eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”, you flushed red from the question no matter how simple it sounded. San already knew the answer but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Yeah, I am”, you sit up a little on your elbows, expecting the demon to stop. However, all he did was smirk and thrust his tongue back inside of you, causing your head to fall back. He swirled his tongue, searching for that certain spot inside of you that even you had never found before.

His fingers pinched and rubbed at your clit as he prepped you, causing your sweet moans to fill the room. The only thing San could think about was how badly he wanted to ruin you.

Eventually, he felt you were ready and he replaced his tongue with his fingers, scissoring you open. Then, he hit it. That special spot deep inside of you with his middle finger.

“Right there! Please”, you had never felt so good and your back arched as San kept hitting that spot with his fingers over and over like clock work.

You clenched around his fingers and he kept his pace steady as you came all over his fingers, coating them with your juices. He had you ride out your high and watched as you shook from the stimulation, barely holding onto his humanity.

He took his fingers out and you whined, feeling so hopelessly empty without them there. San licked one of his fingers, humming from how sweet you tasted. Then, he had another finger in front of your mouth.

You opened your mouth and he put the digit inside, your lips closing around it as you sucked on it to taste yourself. You did taste perfectly sweet.

“Sorry sweetheart, I can’t wait any longer”, you gulped when you saw something inside the demon snap. His hands quickly pulled his belt off and he tied your wrists together with them, attached to the bedpost.

You were too in awe from the sight of his cock to even care about the rough leather rubbing against your skin, his tip red and angry, coated in pre-cum. You wondered how it would even fit.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be just fine”, before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his lips were on your’s as he lined himself up with your pussy. He slowly pushed in and you began to fill the pain until... you didn’t anymore.

It was as if the kiss was enough to blur your nerves and, before you knew it, San was all the way inside of you. The sight of his bulge was prominent in your stomach and, when he pulled away from the kiss, you could feel the tip brush against your cervix.

Your feelings rushed back in and you felt the stretch but it was no longer painful, your cunt used to being stuffed now. As he realized you were fine, San slowly started moving, groaning as your walls hugged his dick. You were so small in comparison to him and it felt perfect. You felt perfect.

Restraint inside of the demon slowly disappeared as he pounded into you, his hips snapping against your’s. His hand wrapped tightly around your throat when you got louder, squeezing it to cut off the air going to your lungs a little. Your eyes rolled back from all the pleasure and stimulation.

“Such a pretty whore. You feel so good”, San chuckled darkly, licking his lips as he looked down at you. Your breasts bounced from the force and he watched them, almost mesmerized by the movement as his tip continuously rammed into your g-spot.

You winced when San slapped you, a red hand imprinted on your skin. The sting only seemed to add to the pleasure and he noticed, deciding to slap your clit just as hard.

“Fuck! San!”, your breathing got caught in your throat as he continued to slap it, hitting the nerve over and over to watch your reaction. You clenched around him again as you began to feel overstimulated, the knot in your stomach releasing all over his cock.

San followed soon after, filling you up so much that you could see the bulge stay in your stomach even when he had pulled out. Your heavy breathing was all you were able to let out as San undid the belt.

You expected for it to be over but the demon simply gripped your hips and spread your legs to straddle his lap. You could feel his hard cock rubbing against your pussy lips and a rush of arousal went to your core again, his cum covering your thighs as it leaked out of you.

“It’s not over baby. I wanted to really look at you when I mark you”, your eyes went a little wide when San moved your hips to grind against his erection.

“Mark? What does that mean?”, San just shushed you and gave you his mischievous smile.

“You’ll see”, you were too needy to even care as you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, feeling for the first time how it truly stretched you out. San gripped the back of your head and pressed his forehead against your’s in an attempt to distract you from any pain.

“Ride me and you’ll be all mine”, his words made you roll your hips faster even if you already knew you were putty in his hands. You were already his and have been. He made sure of that.

Soon, you began to get tired and San smiled, gripping your hips to keep you moving. He didn’t seem angry but you could tell his impatience was coming through.

“Useless whore. You can’t even ride a dick properly”, you looked down in embarrassment from his words. It was the only time you enjoyed not having control, when San had it.

The demon took control and thrusted up into you, controlling your movements to meet his own. The new position made your mouth hang open in a silent scream, your body too overwhelmed with pleasure to even let out sounds.

Even without words, San knew you were close with how your nails dug into his shoulders and your little cunt clenched around him. As you both approached your orgasms he nuzzled his face between your neck and shoulder.

You came together and he bit you, causing a scream to erupt from your body. Your body thrashed against him but he held you still as he slowly pulled his teeth out.

The bite slowly healed to reveal a distinct ‘S’ marked into your skin. San smiled and watched as the blood from the wound went down your body and stopped at the curve of your breast.

“Good girl. Finally being put to use”, the demon leaned his face down and licked up the blood from your breast to the mark on your shoulder, sending pleasant shivers up your body.

He was still buried inside of you as he maneuvered you both to lay down, spooning you to keep you warm.

“Now you’re all mine. Remember that. Or this deal may not last”, you could tell the end was meant as a threat. You belonged to San and that was that.

“I’m all your’s”, you nodded and closed your eyes, trying to calm your body.

“That’s right. Forever”.

“Even in-“, you were cut off when he pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

“Even in hell. Then it will be...”, he hummed as he thought.

“Infernal desire”.

[joel-millerr]

What’s Your Favorite Color?

Chapter Seven of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.2k

Summary: reader is stuck on the Crest with Mando and the kid. what should be an uneventful trip turns into something that changes everyone on board.

Warnings: SMUT! rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, praise kink(?), aftercare, depictions of death, mentions of mental illness (even though the reader doesn’t explicitly say it--it’s more implied), slight spit play?

A/N: ok so this might be the dirtiest thing I've written but I'm just so proud of where this story is going and I hope you guys enjoy. also, the entire chapter takes place on the crest, and it’s one day :)

also big shoutout to @eznova​ who helped me with this chapter. LOVE U

--

I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.

That eerie reminder echoes over and over in your mind as you wake up from one of the best nights of your life. It’s hard to control the stupid, shit-eating grin plastered on your face as you lie in Mando’s cot. You’re alone, but his scent—a delicious mix of soap and musk, fill your nostrils and if you close your eyes and focus hard enough, you can imagine him laying right next to you, wrapping strong, tree trunk sizes arms around you and placing chaste kisses all over your skin.

You couldn’t have planned falling for Mando so deeply and so quickly as you have, mainly considering that you haven’t known each other for very long, but you know damn well that if given the opportunity, you’d do everything over again.

Stars, you don’t even know what his name is.

What is his first name?

Should you ask him? You don’t want to come off imposing, and there’s a part of you that wants to wait until he chooses to share that information with you, rather than try to wrestle it out of him, but he’s shrouded in mystery, and that just reels you in even more. You really want to pick his brain, figure out what makes him him, but you don’t know if you’ll ever get that chance. There’s the possibility though, that after last night, he’ll be more vulnerable around you. Maybe you’ll both be more vulnerable and inclined to share each other’s pasts. After all, you’ve been pretty intimate with each other.

When you finally decide it’s probably time for you to get out of bed and face the potential awkwardness that could happen between you and Mando, the door to the cubby hole hisses open, with neither the kid nor Mando in sight. Your feet touch down on the cold ship’s floor, and you slip into your boots. Once on your feet, you feel an ache at the apex of your thighs. It stings and you have to basically have to walk with your thighs spread apart in order to ease some of the uncomfortableness between your legs. Every move you make is a reminder of the night before. You can even feel him inside you, stretching your walls to hug him perfectly. Kriff, you’re already wet and you only just woke up.

Hoping a sanisteam will wipe away the crude thoughts from your barely conscious mind, you take to the fresher and wake yourself up with a brisk rinse. Once you’re out and throw on yesterday clothes—you make a mental note to wash your only other garments, you’re about to head up to the cockpit when you hear Mando’s voice. Stopping at the ladder, you listen in on what he’s saying.

“…but you have to agree to go with them if they want you to. Understand?” His’s voice goes quiet for a moment. “Plus, I can’t train you. You’re too…powerful. Don’t you want to learn more of that Jedi stuff?”

It’s a damn shame how last night you had heard his true voice for the first time, unmodulated but still as deep and rough as it sounds with the distortion of his helmet, and probably won’t be privy to it for a while. You wish you could hear him, like really hear him, naked and untapped again but even if you don’t, it’ll just make last night even more significant.

You hear the Child coo in response before hearing Mando’s cadence again. “I agreed to take you back to your own kind, so that’s what I need to do.” There’s a brief pause. “You understand that, right?”

For the first time, you detect some sadness in Mando’s tone. Like he’s trying to reassure not only the kid but also himself that he needs to go through with this, that even though there might be a part of him that doesn’t want to let the Child go, in the end he has no choice in the matter. It tugs at your heartstrings. The Mandalorian, a seasoned warrior, a survivor, a bounty hunter—at war with himself and his own feelings.

You can’t help but feel guilty as well. Ahsoka had warned you that one day, you too would have to make a choice but after last night… It’s no longer as clear-cut as you initially thought it would be. Had this come to you even just six months ago, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. You’d make the choice of being a Jedi, and forgo all attachments and dedicate your life to the Order. It wouldn’t be hard for you to set all your feelings aside—you’ve had many years of practice on that subject, but now things are completely upside down. It’s territory you’ve never been in before and Maker, that terrifies you. The longer you journey with the Mandalorian, the more you become weaved together like vines wrapping themselves around a duracrete structure. Similar to the ancient temples on Naboo, tightening and gripping in every nook and cranny until it’s impossible to separate one without destroying the other.

When you reach the floor of the cockpit, you watch Mando sit ever still in the pilot’s chair, with Grogu seated to his right. Your boots hitting the ground as you walk alerts the Child, his ears twitching in your direction and he giggles excitedly, holding that little durasteel ball in his hands.

“Morning,” you announce as you plop down in the seat to Mando’s left. Grogu peers at you with big eyes and makes grabby hands at you, so lean over and bring him into your lap.

“How long until we reach Coruscant?”

“A day or two,” he answers curtly, keeping his visor glued to the blues of hyperspace through the transparisteel.

“Oh, okay. Looks like we’ll have time to kill then.”

Mando rises from his seat, turns his body to you for just a moment before announcing his leave. “Does your blaster need cleaning?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He offers you a quick dip of the helmet before leaving the cockpit in one swift movement and heading down the ladder. Your eyebrows pull together as you stare at the empty doorway to the little room you and the Child are still seated in. Looking down at him, you whisper, “Why do I get the feeling he’s avoiding me?”

Grogu bats his eyes at you before gently sucking on the ball still firmly gripped in his claws. It’ll always amaze you how attached he is to that sphere. You might never know why it’s so important to him but then again, you suppose that it’s a secret between him and his caregiver.

“I wish I knew what was going on in that mind of his,” you confess—not necessarily to Grogu, but since he’s the only one around, you feel almost compelled to spew your concerns and confusions about everything that’s happened.

“What do we do, little guy? I suppose since you’ve had training, you’ll probably want to be found by a Jedi, right?”

Grogu mumbles something at you and for just a second, you think he might understand you.

“And you’re okay with leaving him?”

He coos almost sadly, and you can hear your heart shattering. This little creature has grown such an attachment to Mando. It’s exactly what Ahsoka said—Mando’s basically his father and truthfully, if your parents were still alive, you couldn’t imagine leaving them to join a group that shuns on attachments. It would take a strength that you couldn’t muster to pull yourself away from them, not after knowing the kind of pain of having to live without them.

“I’m scared, Grogu. Truthfully, I have no idea what to think about all this.”

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. He’s not even really paying attention, too busy staring at the little ball in his hands. It’s okay, though. It’s enough just for you to express your concerns aloud. Your mind can get cluttered if you think about everything all at once. The moments you convey your thoughts verbally, it forces you to focus on what you’re actually saying, rather than all the hypotheticals that bounce around in your head.

“Should I go down there?”

Again, Grogu says nothing, he doesn’t even look up at you. Eyeing where Mando sat just minutes ago, you feel like a teenager. You’re both adults, you can’t just tiptoe around each other, it’s not like there are many places to hide on the Crest, anyway. If he won’t come to you, you’ll just have to go to him.

Holding Grogu close to your chest, you take to the ladder and head down, being mindful not to accidentally hit his head on the rungs. Just as you reach the hull, you notice Mando facing one of the crates, his blaster completely taken apart, wiping the coil with a dirty rag. Placing Grogu in the bunk to your left, you lean on another crate and watch Mando dissect his weapon and clean every little bit of residue off his gun.

“How’s your shoulder?” Mando asks, back still turned to you.

“It’s fine, kinda aches a bit but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you answer, transfixed at the way Mando meticulously cleans his weapons. He’s nothing if not thorough.

“Mmm,” he hums low in his throat. The sound reminds you of the mind-altering grunts he made the night before when he was balls deep inside you, causing you to rub your thighs together at the memory. That sanisteam was supposed to get of these filthy thoughts.

It becomes suddenly very awkward in the hull and you get the feeling that you might be lingering. He clears his throat a few times but says nothing. There may not come another time where you could try to learn more about Mando, so now seems like right time. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you muster up the strength to finally ask him, “You were born on Mandalore?” Keeping your eyes down, staring at your feet because you just don’t have the nerve to look at him.

“No, Aq Vetina.”

“Oh… I thought—”

“I was a foundling.”

“Like Grogu.”

“Yes,” he answers deep in his throat.

It suddenly makes sense why Mando saved him from the Empire, and why Grogu’s still in his care. He sees himself in the Child. He sees the vulnerability, the childlike innocence and he understands that he is responsible for this little baby, at least until you find a Jedi that is.

“Do all Mandalorians hide their faces?” You ask curiously.

There’s not much that you know about Mandalorians. The few things you do know about them is that they’re almost impossible to find due to the Empire nearly wiping them all out, and that they’re some of the best—if not the best warriors in the galaxy. Given the fact that Mando hasn’t removed his helmet once since you’ve been around (until last night), you can assume he take his Creed very seriously, and can’t help but wonder if the Child has been fortunate to catching a glimpse of his face.

“No,” he answers methodically.

Already feeling like you’re pushing the limits of how many questions you can ask before he finally decides to shut you down and stops being so forthcoming, the genuine curiosity is sadly too strong for you to pull back. It’s not like you’ve ever had this much time around someone so secretive and mysterious as Mando, and there’s just too many pieces to this puzzle that you want to so desperately put together.

“So, why do you do it?”

“This is the—” he begins, but a chuff of air slips through your lips before he can finish speaking. “What?” He asks annoyingly, turning his body around to face you.

“I don’t know…” Your hands motion around you in an effort to find the right words. “I mean you did take off your helmet in front of me last night.”

“I did.” The words come out through gritted teeth.

“So, is the rule that you can’t take off the helmet or that you can’t show your face? Because there is a difference between the two.”

This must catch him off guard because Mando stays silent for a ridiculously long time. The two possibilities are that he’s considering what you’re saying—which you’re beginning to doubt, or he thinks you’re totally out of line and is choosing to ignore you. You have this bad habit of being pretty blunt and somewhat insensitive with the way you express yourself and that’s caused you some issues with others in the past, but it’s always gotten the results you wanted. Honestly, someone like Mando will probably have tough skin, so you’re pretty sure he can handle whatever you throw at him.

“When did this become an interrogation about what I choose and choose not to do?” He grumbles, resting his hands on his utility belt.

“Doesn’t really seem like you’re choosing…” you mumble under your breath, kicking the ground and keeping your eyes to the floor.

“What did you say?” He asks defensively, squaring his shoulders and then taking a step forward. Out of habit, you lean back further against the crate.

“I’m not trying to offend you,” you clarify, using the bottom of your foot to kick off the crate, and straightening your back. “I’m just trying to understand—”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re kinda stuck with each other for who knows how long, so we should take this time to get to know each other, don’t you think?” Raising an eyebrow at him, you rest your hands on your hips, waiting for him to either deflect or finally let his guard down and talk like two normal adults.

“I don’t see how that matters.”

Your jaw literally drops, completely dumbfounded. It during moments like this that you so desperately wish you could see what his facial expression is. Why does he continuously try to keep a distance between himself and every living thing in the galaxy? Is he scared of being vulnerable around someone else? That his reputation as a hardened Mandalorian warrior would be compromised if he so much as shared a tiny bit of information with you? Does he think a Mandalorian would come and strike him down for having his own opinion about his Creed? That questioning the only thing he knew since he was a child would be considered sacrilegious?

It’s pretty silly how worked up you’re getting right now, but the way Mando dismisses you, it stirs up that anger inside you that is so hard to control. He’s always pushing your buttons, just as you push his—only this time, you simply wanted to know a little more about him. Is that too much to ask for?

Do you continue to press him?

Do you let it go?

Announcing your defeat by drawling out a sigh, your hands drop to your sides, looking down at the ground because you can’t be bothered to look at him in the visor anymore. “All right, well I’m going to head up to the cockpit and um…” You try to come up with a quick excuse to leave the room as it’s becoming more and more awkward with each passing second, but unfortunately, nothing comes to mind. You result to turning on your heel and climbing up the ladder without another word, not bothering to wait and see if Mando comes up with something to say before you disappear.

Once you reach the doorway, the blues of hyperspace nearly blind you, and your hand comes up to give shade to your eyes as they adjust to the sudden change in brightness. You’ll need to find something to keep your mind occupied until you enter Coruscant airspace, because you’ll quite frankly drive yourself insane not doing anything, so you walk over to the control panel in front of Mando’s chair and begin running some diagnostics to see at what capacity the hyperdrive is operating at, see if there’s any leakage that you could fix inside the ship and any little thing that might need some maintenance. After running a few tests, you realize that unfortunately, Peli had fixed pretty much every little issue with the ship, so there really is nothing to fix in order to keep yourself busy.

Fuck.

Feeling defeated, you fall back onto your bum and sit on the cold floor, back leaning against one of the walls, resting your right arm on one of the passenger seats. You’ve always hated silence. With nothing to distract yourself with, your mind always ends up wandering, overanalyzing every little minute detail of your life, meticulously going over each moment in time and thinking of all the ways you could have done something different, how the choices you made were wrong, how things would be better off if you did x instead of y. It gnaws at you, until the only thing you feel like you can do to stop the voices inside your mind is to scream and lash out, causing pain to yourself and everyone around you.

Is this the work of the Dark Side or is it just your unstable mind?

Is it both—working together and tearing you apart from the inside out? Slowly picking your brain apart, section by section, nerve ending by nerve ending until all that’s left of you is the worthlessness of your existence, a make-up of atoms and tissue that can’t be controlled or understood?

Stars, you’re doing it again.

You can feel your mind retreating deeper and deeper into itself, wanting to disappear from all of this. Making yourself as small as you can, you pull your knees close to your chest, head dropping down between them while your palms rub the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair and clenching so hard you think you might end up ripping some right out of your head.

The harder you pull, the more anxious you become. Heartrate picking up steadily and the lump in your throat growing in size, it’s as if the space around you is screaming, that everything is spinning, which could explain all this anxiety you suddenly feel when in reality, it’s all just in your head. The cockpit is dead silent, there isn’t even the slightest sound coming from down in the hull. Everything is deafeningly still and yet you feel it’s all too loud, and you just want to scream. Scream until you feel your vocal cords explode or until there’s no air left in your lungs. Your body no longer feels like it’s yours, and instead it’s as if you’re just living inside of it, watching everything happen around you but not having any actual control over it.

Fuck fuck fuc kfuck fuck fuck

Being so wrapped up in your own mind, you don’t even hear Mando coming up the ladder. You don’t hear his heavy boots clanking against durasteel. You don’t even hear him speaking to you. All you feel is a presence and when you finally lull your head back and peek through heavy lids, you see Mando—on his fucking knees, trying to comfort you. One of his hands hovering over your figure like he’s not sure whether to touch you or not.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks as softly as he possibly can. It comes out smooth like honey but still sitting at a low register through his helmet.

“I’m fine,” you answer curtly, no longer feeling particularly chatty.

He sighs deep in his throat, and you can tell he wants to ask you again, maybe hoping he’ll get the truth this time, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a step back and sits down on the chair opposite the one you’re closest to and stays as silent as a statue. While normally you appreciate the company, right now you want to be left alone, but you don’t have the heart to tell him to leave. So, you stay where you are, both acting like the other isn’t there.

As time ebbs on, your breathing has slows down. Mando being there—despite not saying anything, has you distracted. Your mind’s starting to settle on what’s going on at the present time, rather than all the thoughts that clawed at you just minutes ago. Without even realizing it, he’s helped you significantly.

“How old are you?”

Taken aback by his sudden engagement in conversation, you lean into the wall behind you and feel your shoulders touch the cold durasteel.

“Sorry?” you ask, pulling your eyebrows closely together. This might be the first time he’s ever asked you something personal. When Mando asks a question, it’s usually because he’s searching for clarification, not because he’s genuinely curious.

“How old are you?” He repeats.

You tell him your age and he hums in his throat.

“What about you?”

Something like a chuckle emits from his helmet before answering. “Older than you.”

That’s as close to an actual answer as you’ll get from him.

Okay, since you’re back to asking trivial questions about each other, “Is there anything you like to do for fun?”

“Fun?” He echoes.

“Yeah. Like, what do you do for enjoyment?”

He stays silent for much longer than you expected. Maker, does he not know how to have fun? Maybe it’s the way you worded the question?

“What brings you pleasure?”

His head turns to you and cocks ever so slowly to the side. It’s impossible to hide the annoyance on your face. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest, a chuff of air releases from your nostrils.

“Forget it.”

“I…don’t know,” he answers somewhat defeatedly. The idea that Mando doesn’t know what having fun is comes as quite a shock to you. Even though you didn’t have much knowledge on Mandalorians, you didn’t expect that they were unable to have fun.

“Okay, forget that question. What’s your favorite color?”

“Who has a favorite color?”

“People, Mando. People have favorite colors.”

“I don’t.” Letting out a gentle laugh, you use the palms of your hands to push against the floor and rise off the ground, slipping into the chair you were leaning on previously. Turning your body in the direction of the Mandalorian sitting across from you, you sit cross legged.

“There isn’t a color that you gravitate towards? One you look at and think, ‘I like that’?”

“I suppose I never thought of it.”

He’s been missing out on so much. How he’s been going through life without having these mundane preferences or opinions on things is…almost unfathomable. Every person you’ve ever met has had these frivolous details that made them different, giving you an insight into their personalities but Mando has no preference on anything. He just…exists.

“I’m assuming you have one?” he asks through the modulator.

“Yellow,” you begin to say. “But not a flashy kind of yellow, more like a dusty, pale yellow.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is that your favorite color?”

“I don’t know, Mando,” you answer with a smile on your face. “I just like how it looks. It’s warm and inviting.”

“Hmmm.”

“I guess… It reminds me of the sun. Back home, the sun would shine so bright, and it was so big. I used to stare at it even though my mother warned me not do that.”

He doesn’t say anything more but given that this might be the longest casual conversation you two have ever had, it’s quite the improvement from just saying a couple words to each other.

“Why do you always wear your armor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We’re in hyperspace right now and you’re geared up for battle. Doesn’t it get uncomfortable always wearing your armor? Isn’t it heavy?”

“It is heavy.”

Eyebrows knitting tightly together, your lips press into a thin line, unamused by Mando dancing around your question.

“Are… Are you not even allowed to at least take off your armor in front of another person?”

“I never thought about it. I’m usually alone so it makes sense to keep it on; in case.”

“In case what? We’re not going to get attacked in hyperspace.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Seriously, Mando. You need to loosen up a bit.”

“I do not need to ‘loosen up’. I’m fine,” he says, a hint of derision in his voice.

“Says the guy in full body armor all the time.”

“It’s practical.”

“Oh, it’s practical,” you mock, a grin creeping up on your lips.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re fucking someone?” You remark, eyebrow raised.

The visor burns into you. He’s definitely caught off guard by your brass question. Your lips curl into a sly smile, your tongue darting across your bottom lip.

“No one’s complained about it.”

Oh.

It’s kind of silly how angry that statement makes you. Okay, not necessarily angry but it definitely stirs something deep inside you. It’s clear by the way he fucked you last night that you weren’t his first—he’s obviously experienced in that area. However, you can’t help the way your jaw clenches at the thought of someone else crying out his name while he fucks them senseless.

You’re mine.

Thighs rubbing together as you remember Mando’s confession from last night, it’s quickly replaced by the thought of him saying that to someone else. Has he said that to anyone else? Are you reading into this too much? What if the only reason he said it was because it was in the heat of the moment? People say things during intimacy that they don’t necessarily mean… You’re definitely overthinking things, right?

“What are you thinking?” He beckons, voice hitting that part inside of you that nearly has you fucking moaning on the spot. How can a voice be so intoxicating? It’s not even his true voice, it’s distorted and cuts up like static but it has you nearly soaked in your seat.

“Nothing,” you lie, hoping he’ll drop the subject and move on.

He doesn’t.

“You’re quiet and from what I can tell, your heat signature’s gone up.”

Your what? “My heat sig��? No, your helmet must be malfunctioning.”

“Oh,” he rises from his seat slowly, squaring his shoulders as he does but doesn’t take a step towards you. He stays painstaking still, visor never once breaking away from you. “Is that right?”

Stars. Your heartbeat is picking up, palms starting to sweat, and your throat is beginning to close up. Your eyes maintain their gaze, trying to regain some kind of control over the situation. It’s childish, really—always attempting to have even the slightest amount of authority over whatever situation you’re put in with Mando because you never actually have any control. He may fool you into thinking you do, but at the end of the day, Mando is always the one in control.

“Your heat signature is burning up, pretty girl,” he taunts.

Kriff, this is not going the way you want it to go. You can’t be the only one looking foolish right now. If he wants to play the game, you can play it too, and you’ll make damn sure you play it better.

Looking him up and down trying to pinpoint any indication that he may not be as calm and collected as he’s playing off, your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants. As your vision pierces into him, you notice him shift his weight slightly, his hands balled tightly into fists by his sides.

“Why so tense, Mando?”

“I’m not—”

“Oh,” you echo his words from just minutes ago. Slowly slipping out of the chair, you stand to face him, squaring your shoulders. Pleasure heats up deep in your stomach, travelling down to the apex of your thighs, reminding you of how sore you actually are. “Is that right?”

“Stop that,” he warns. You got him.

“Not doing anything,” your voice sounding as innocent as you can while your eyes convey the opposite. You want him to know that you won’t give in so easily.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Do—” he starts but quickly composes himself. Craning his neck, his next words drip out of him slowly. “Drive me crazy.”

“Any of your other friends ever drive you crazy?”

Okay, that was a low blow, but you can’t shake the thought from your mind. For Maker’s sake, you’re an adult. Obviously he’s had lovers before, why is this so hard for you to accept? It’s not like you guys are together, you’re simply stuck with each other for the time being. Not only that, but you’ve had your fair share of men. He doesn’t seem to be jealous about that.

I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you.

“Mmm, are you… jealous?”

“Maker, no.” Lie.

“Then why are your cheeks red?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkfuck

Why does your face always have to give you away? You can play sabacc with the best deadpan expression in the galaxy, but right now you can’t even hide your resentment. How is Mando able to get under your skin and expose your every emotion, every thought? He pulls it out of you and basically presents it to you on a fucking platter.

“Because you annoy the shit out of me.”

“Your body is telling me otherwise.”

“Stop cheating! I can’t read your body heat, that’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to play fair.”

All right, if this is how he wants to play, you’ll just have to be bolder. Taking a deep breath and exhaling through parted lips, your left foot moves forward, taking one big stride towards Mando, stopping just inches from his breastplate. You can practically feel his own heat vibrating off of him. His fists tighten even more, and you swear you can hear his breathing quicken, cutting up in the helmet.

“You’re not the only one who can play games, Mando.”

He makes a noise in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a groan. Stars, the air is getting thick, you’re all but drunk on this feeling. Your undergarments are stuck to your pussy, drenched with slick, waiting for someone to make the first move. The blood is pounding in your ears, but you try to maintain the best stony stare you can muster. This is a fight you’re not willing to lose. You bite down on your bottom lip, staring into the ‘T’ of his helmet through hooded lids. His chest pushes out slightly and his head angles to the side, just enough for you to see the underneath of his jaw. There’s some stubble poking out from the bottom of his helmet, and you lick your lips at the sight. Wanting to put your lips to his jawline and trail wet kisses along it, gently sucking at his skin. Maker, you might end up losing this if you don’t compose yourself.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice hoarse and low.

“For you to lose,” your answer is honest. You want him to break down and give in, just to give you the slightest bit of power.

Mando lets out this sound, a joyful sound you’ve only heard once or twice before but it nearly throws you for a loop. Hearing him laugh, even if it’s quick and low, fills you up with the greatest amount of delight. To see someone who’s always stoic and serious let out a sound of pure pleasure, it makes up for all the times he purposely chooses to get under your skin. All the moments he infuriates you, it all goes away with the sound of his laugh.

At this moment, you’re grateful that his face is covered because you definitely would have crushed your lips together by now. His helmet actually works to your advantage, holding you back from doing the one thing you would have otherwise done by now.

“I’m not touching you,” he whispers. It sounds less like a statement to you and more like a reminder to himself. He’s fighting his urges just as much as you are, but you will continue to fight this until he breaks, he has to break.

“Then don’t.”

All of sudden, you both hear a disturbance coming from the hull. The kid must be getting into trouble down there.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell him, choosing not to wait for Mando to say anything in return before making your way to the ladder of the cockpit. Fighting the urge to take one last look at him before disappearing down the rungs, you head down to the hull and see Grogu rummaging through the various crates placed around the Crest. Once he sees you, he shows you a big toothy grin and runs straight for you, arms stretched out. You bend down and pick him up, holding him close to your chest.

“Hey, kiddo. What trouble are you getting yourself into down here?”

Grogu babbles something at you and you smile in return. A small grumble, something like an animal growling, comes from the baby’s stomach and his ears droop down.

“Hungry, little guy? Let’s see what we got for you.”

Walking down the hull with the kid in your arms, you stop at the small closest Mando keeps his ration packs. There aren’t many packs left, just enough to hold all three of you down until you land on Coruscant. After that, you’ll need to buy some more packs. Grabbing one of the packages and a bowl from one of the shelves, you prop the kid on one of the smaller crates and begin emptying the contents of the pack in the durasteel dish.

It’s a dark green looking blob. Quite frankly, you hate ration packs. They always look like food that’s been mashed together into a jelly bar and even despite the fact that once you add water to it so that it actually looks like food, just the sight of it in its raw form is enough to ruin your appetite. The kid doesn’t care about all that though; he’d eat anything you give him. Back on Sorgan, you had seen him eat a frog whole—just swallowed it without even a second thought. It was impressive and yet totally gross at the same time.

Leaving him on the box momentarily, you walk over to the sink in the privy and let a few droplets of water touch the blob in the bowl. Within seconds, the bar transforms into a small bread roll. It’ll hopefully be enough to tie him down for a few hours.

Passing by the ladder, you call out to Mando. “Hey, I’m about to feed the kid. Do you want to come down for a meal?”

“Not hungry. Thank you,” you hear him answer. He never eats with you two. Given that he needs to take off his helmet in order to feed himself, he chooses to wait until you’re both asleep or nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t stop you from asking each time. Part of it is so that he feels included but mostly you hope that one day he’ll choose to sit with you both. One day, you think to yourself.

When you hand the bowl over to Grogu gently, he takes it with both hands and begins eating the bread like it’s the first meal he’s ever had. Your brows pull tightly together as you watch him devour his food. For such a small creature, he sure eats like a bantha. He could probably eat for a whole day without stopping to catch his breath.

It’ll never seize to amaze you just how strong this little guy is. He’s so tiny and somehow, he possesses a power stronger than you could ever really understand. This is the same kid that saved Mando’s life from a mudhorn. This is the kid that swallowed a whole frog that was half his size. A child this small is somehow a Jedi.

Once he’s done eating, he peers up at you with big, black eyes and coos at you.

“Nah, I’m not hungry right now, kid,” you answer as if you understand what he’s saying to you. Then again…maybe you can understand him.

Ahsoka said she and Grogu could feel each other’s thoughts. You should be able to do the same, right? Granted you have no training in the matter, but you were able to communicate with him once, surely you could do it again.

Your hand reaches out to him and you hook a finger around his hand. He grips around your index and squeezes you tenderly. Closing your eyes, you try to imagine what he could be thinking, what he might be trying to tell you. At first, you don’t hear or see anything—just darkness. A part of you wants to give up, nothing that it was worth a shot anyway, but you choose to press on. Focusing hard on Grogu, you relax the tension in your shoulders and take a deep breath, exhaling through your lips.

By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind…

A woman’s voice fills your mind, but you can’t make out any of her features. Focus, you tell yourself.

You are as its father.

A Mandalorian. She looks different than Mando. Her helmet looks to be made of gold, with horns erecting from the very top. Her armor appeared to be different as well. Unlike Mando’s shiny, chrome beskar, her cuirass is a reddish brown and instead of a cape, she wears a fur coat on her back. Immediately, you got the impression she’s a warrior of her own nature, just as cunning as Mando, but in a swifter, more agile way, unlike Mando’s brash style of battle.

Just as the moment appeared, it vanished, filling your mind with images of sand dunes. Suddenly, you’re back in Mos Eisley. Only this time, you’re much younger, playing on the outskirts of the city with Tye.

--

“Tye, I’m tired,” you whine out to him. He’s running around the sand, punting a ball at you and then taking it away when you opt not to kick it back to him.

“Oh come on, we have to head back soon anyway. Just a little bit longer.”

It’s hard to hide your disappointment. Really, you just want to be inside. Today is such a blazingly hot day, and water is at its peak in scarcity. Most folks will be inside all day, avoiding the scorching heat. Less time outdoors means less water consumed, but Tye never listens to what he’s told. He does whatever he wants and drags you along with him and unfortunately, you have a hard time saying no to him, so you’re almost always roped into his shenanigans.

“Tyyyyyyye,” you drawl out. “I want to go inside! It’s too hot!”

Just as you say that a giant spacecraft enters the atmosphere, covering the entire surrounding area in shadows. You look up at the giant structure in awe. You’ve never seen a spacecraft so grand before, jaw dropping as you watch two smaller vessels appear from the hovering fortress above your heads. They drop down a little less than a click away. By now, Tye is at your side, both of you watching men in white uniforms exit the ships, charging towards your direction. An immediate fear washes over you, grabbing Tye’s wrist and running to hide behind a nearby moisture vaporator. Your heart is racing, and you feel Tye’s own panic coursing through your veins.

“Wh-what’s going on?” He whispers, voice shaking as he speaks.

“I don’t know…”

The men pass you by, not even taking a second to look around them. Their heads stay glued to what’s in front of them, hands gripping onto giant guns you’ve never seen before. Just as fast as they came, they disappear into the city. Screams and shrieks suddenly break out. People scatter, running out of the city walls in mass hysteria. Your legs itch to run, to find your parents, but Tye senses your urgency and grabs your forearm.

“We have to stay.”

“But—”

He whispers your name. “We don’t know who those people are. We’re safer here.”

Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Tears form in the corners of your eyes as the screams of the villagers echo through the city walls, causing you to wince. Tye wraps his arms around you, and you embrace each other, weeping silently in each other’s arms, praying to the Maker that these soldiers leave. The sound of Tye repeating, “It’s okay. We’re okay,” echoing in your mind.

It’s only when the sun begins to set that the town becomes quiet. The spacecrafts are gone, leaving no trace that they were even here. Your eyes are swollen from the tears, and you feel overwhelmingly exhausted. Body still shaking, burning off adrenaline and fear. Standing up is difficult, your knees are buckling but the need to see your parents is stronger than the quaking of your legs. You wake Tye up by shaking his shoulder gently.

“They’re gone. We have to head back.”

He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms. At first it doesn’t seem like he fully understands you, but when he looks up and doesn’t see the ship from before, he all but jumps up, dusting the sand off his clothes and charging right into the city.

“Tye! Wait up!” You shout after him, but he doesn’t relent. Taking large strides, you attempt to catch up with him, running past weeping elders, hysterical children, and what appears to be dead bodies all around you. Your mind doesn’t allow you to process what you’re seeing, you’re just too focused on catching up with Tye and then finding your parents.

His name being called in the distance stops him dead in his tracks.

“Mama! Papa!” He cries out, pivoting around in hopes to see someone he knows. When you finally manage to catch up to him, his mother appears from the shadows, tears streaming down her face. From the faint streetlights, her cheeks are dark red, and her eyes are just as swollen as you assume yours are.

“Sweetheart!” She shouts as she races to you both, wrapping you up in her arms and squeezing you until the air is all but knocked out of your lungs. It hurts, but you hold on to her anyway, feeling her warm, motherly touch.

“Where’s Papa?” He asks in the crook of his mother’s neck. Tye’s voice is hoarse from crying and yelling, and she attempts to soothe him by gently shushing him.

“It’s okay, son. We’re okay.”

“I have to get home,” you say, pulling away from her grip.

“Honey…”

The look on her face… you’ll never forget it. Tears welling up in her eyes, her jaw slacking because she wants to say something but not knowing how to say it. The pain you see in her green eyes, it’s like she’s just watched a loved one die right in front of her. Fear and anguish hit you in waves, crashing down on you more aggressively with every second that goes by.

“No…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Taking a step away from her, her arm reaches out to you.

“Sweetie…” she tries again.

Shaking your head in panic, you turn on your heel in one swift movement and disappear down one of the quieter streets and make for your home. As you race in the direction of your dwelling, your heart bangs against your ribcage, tears flying down your cheeks. You can’t even see where you’re going due to the water in your eyes, but you keep trekking on. Nothing’s going to stop you. Throat unbearably tight, you can barely let in little breaths as you turn the corner to where you live.

When you reach the street, you stop so suddenly that you almost tumble down on the ground, somehow managing to catch yourself at the last moment, your breathing ridiculously erratic. There’s a horde of adults crowding the front door to where you live. Your feet carry you to them at a painstakingly slow pace. Blood pounding in your ears, you can barely make out what anyone is saying. When someone finally catches sight of you, they rush towards you, dropping down to their knees to meet your eye level.

“Sweetie, we can’t let you go in there.”

“But t-t-that’s my h-ho-me,” you manage to say through shaky breaths.

“I know, but we ca—”

You push passed them before they can finish speaking and dart passed several other people trying to stop you until you squeeze through the half-open door into your house, pressing a button on the control panel by the doorway. The door hisses shut.

There’s only a bit of light offered inside. To your left, you see the table you’d sit at with your parents for supper. The chairs are tucked neatly under the table. You’re not sure if the banging you hear is from someone outside trying to get in, or if it’s your heart thumping against your chest but it doesn’t deter you from searching for your parents.

As you continue to scan the area, there’s a couple of cups lying around on the counter, but other than that, nothing is out of place. Relief begins to settle in but is rapidly replaced by sheer terror when you finally shift your head to the right. Then, you see them.

Your parents lying face down on the floor.

“No!” You cry out, running to them and dropping to your knees to hover over their bodies.

There’s a blaster sized hole in your father’s back, heat still steaming off his wound. Your screams could be heard from the other end of the city, clutching onto their lifeless bodies as you beg for them to wake up.

“Please, wake up. Mama, Papa. P-please!”

Someone pulls you off of them, wrapping their arms around your torso. Your arms flail around, clawing and scratching at whoever’s holding onto you. “Let me go! My parents! Let me go!” Your voice is shrill and hoarse, becoming more hysterical, but they never let go. Your parents become smaller and smaller as you’re carried away from them. The last thing you remember is seeing the door to your home whoosh shut…

Your body jolts, and you’re not on Tatooine, anymore. You’re on the Razor Crest. Grogu sits just a foot away from you, peering up at your shivering body. Somehow, you exposed a memory you had sworn to never remember. After that day, you locked that memory up in a part of your brain and shut it off, choosing never to think about it again. The pain was too much for you to handle. Instead of facing your pain, you always chose to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t exist. Once again, compartmentalizing your trauma and locking it away for good.

Grogu fusses and when you look down to him, his eyes begin to flutter. Poor thing gets so sleepy whenever he messes with the Force. You pick him up and hold him close to your chest, making your way to Mando’s bunk. As you pass the ladder, the kid fusses and makes grabby hands for the ladder.

“You want Mando?” You ask him, and Grogu babbles in response.

Climbing the ladder with him in your arms is a bit difficult, but you’re able to get to the top without too much of a struggle.

“He wants to be with you,” you tell him.

Mando swivels his chair around to face you. Extending his arms out to you, you hand Grogu over to him and your hands briefly touch. The brushing of your hands suddenly reminds you of the game you were in the middle of playing just before the kid decided to explore the cargo hold.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Turning on your heel, you head down the ladder quickly. How is it that over the course of just a few hours, you could go through so much emotional turmoil? Honestly, you haven’t even been awake for that long, but you’re already wanting to take a nap.

Fuck it, there’s nothing else to go in this hunk of metal, and Mando’s probably busy with the kid, so you decide to let your body rest. Crawling into the little cubby hole and shutting the door closed, you close your eyes and hope your body will allow you some peace of mind.

--

You’re reminded of why you hate naps so much when you wake up. Instead of feeling refreshed, you always end up feeling much worse. First off, you always wake up in a cold sweat and feeling super groggy. Quite frankly, it does the exact opposite of what you hoped a nap would do. Secondly? Mando’s cot is unbearably hard. It shouldn’t be considered a bed; it resembles more like duracrete than anything else. As much as you like finally being able to sleep not sitting up in that kriffing passenger chair, this is another struggle of its own.

Pushing the button on the control panel by the door, it opens with a swift motion. The first thing you clock is that the Crest’s lights are almost all out, making it damn near impossible for you to even see your hand in front of your face. How in the hell is Mando able to walk around here not being able to see a single thing? The second thing you notice is the sound of running water. He must be taking a sanisteam.

To think that just on the other side of that wall, he’s naked and wet? If it were anybody else, you’d strip out of your clothes and join them, but things aren’t that simple with Mando. There are boundaries you wouldn’t dare cross unless he gives you his consent. Rather than frustrate you, it entices you even more. It keeps you wanting more and more, especially because he can’t just give you everything you want, whenever you want. No, you have to work for it.

Realizing that now you’re basically just standing outside the fresher like a creep, you head up to the cockpit in search of the kid. Just like you suspected, he’s sound asleep in one of the passengers’ chairs, wrapped up in what looks to be Mando’s cape. The thought of Mando taking off his cape to wrap Grogu up makes you stupidly giddy.

Treading carefully as to not make any noise to wake him up, you tiptoe back to the ladder and shut the cockpit door, your feet barely touching the rungs as you descend back down to the hull.

Something in your stomach growls, and you’re suddenly reminded that you haven’t eaten since… yesterday? Kriff, has it really been that long since your last meal? You head over to the pantry where the packs are kept, extending your arms out in front of you so you don’t bang into anything on your way there, and grab the first pack your hand touches, not having a preference as to what you’ll be eating today—tonight? You don’t even know what time of the day it is. Time in hyperspace can be difficult to keep track of. The only way you’d know what time it is is if you checked the control panel back up in the cockpit and right now, it’s just not worth the trip.

The pack itself feels sloshy in your hands; it’s probably some kind soup. Reaching into the closet again, your hand searches for a bowl to put your meal in.

Mando will be out of the fresher at any moment now, given that the water’s been turned off for a minute or two. The door to the fresher wooshes open and out of reflex, you shut your eyes but are quickly reminded that the hull is so faintly lit that even with your eyes open you wouldn’t be able to see him, but just to be safe, you announce your presence.

“I heard you,” is all you hear back.

“Can you turn the lights on a little bit more? I can barely see a thing and I really don’t feel like dropping my soup all over your ship.”

He doesn’t answer but within seconds the Crest transforms from a dark abyss to a twinkling, starry night. Not unlike the ones you’d spend hours staring at with Tye in the sand dunes during your teenage years.

Your head spins to your left, selfishly hoping to catch a sight of Mando, and Maker do your eyes latch onto him.

He’s not wearing a shirt, first of all. This is the most of his skin that you’ve ever seen before. The warm lights flickering off his back accentuates the curves of his muscles, concaving in certain areas and then protruding in others, outlining every bit of toned tissue. You can vaguely make out a few water droplets trailing down his golden skin, and it’s seriously taking all the self-control you have not to close the gap between you both and lick them off his back. An ache begins to build in the apex of your thighs, and you start to rub your legs together in an effort to alleviate some of the heat stirring inside you. Still wearing the kriffing helmet, though.

The second thing you notice is the vast amount of scarring on his skin. Each scar representing a different battle. You could probably lay him flat on his stomach, and his back would appear like a visual biography of his life, each mark giving you an understanding into his past, and the tests and trials he’s had to overcome over the years.

What were you trying to do, again?

Food.

You need food.

“Do you—” you squeak. Pull yourself together. Clearing your throat in hopes your tone will go back down to its normal octave, you repeat yourself. “Do you want any soup?”

“No t—” he begins to say but you cut him off before he can finish. You knew he’d say he wasn’t hungry.

“Have you eaten today?” Your eyes stay glued to the bowl in front of you. You’re certain that if you so much as looked at him again, you’d forget about the damned soup and pounce on him like loth cat.

“No.”

“Then you’re eating.”

Taking a second bowl from the shelf, you divide the soup evenly between both cups and begin making your way over to Mando, keeping your head down in the off chance he’s still not wearing a shirt, you don’t want to seem like you’re gawking at him.

“You can look,” he clarifies, noting the way you refuse to look up from ground.

When your eyes finally shift from the ground to look at him, he’s now wearing a black long-sleeved tunic that hugs his figure in ways that should be illegal. Your jaw is practically hanging and swallowing the lump in your throat causes a sound somewhere close to a moan to expel from your mouth, but you’re quick enough to stifle it with a cough.

As you hand him the bowl of soup, you’re feeling incredibly shy for some reason, your hand extending out and trembling as he takes it from you.

“I’ll eat in the cockpit to give you some privacy,” you tell him as you put your hand on the railing.

“No,” he says immediately, grabbing your forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay.”

Lips curling upwards into a smile, you end up biting down on your bottom lip to keep the smile from growing and growing as you replay that in your mind.

Stay.

Moving away from the ladder, Mando pulls out one of the smaller crates and seats himself down on it. As you begin to look around for another box you could sit on yourself, he watches you closely.

“You can sit here, if you want.”

“Oh, okay.”

Once you’re seated, you begin to take small sips of your soup. Mando reaches over to where his vambrace is—scattered somewhere on another crate and presses a button on it. The Crest’s lights fade even more, leaving you both in almost complete darkness.

A muffled hiss fills the air, and you hear beskar touch the durasteel ground. You eat in silence for a few minutes, hearing only each other’s sips as you continue to fill your bellies with food. It’s incredibly domestic. A Mandalorian and a…well you’re not really sure what you should label yourself as, but you’ll stick with smuggler for now; the two of you eating together like an actual couple—even if that’s far from what your relationship actually is.

“No amour?” You decide to ask, trying to make a bit of small talk in the pitch-black abyss.

“Someone told me I had to ‘loosen up’,” he jests, knocking his elbow against your arm. Maker, you’ll never get tired of hearing that unmodulated voice of his. Something as simple of a voice shouldn’t make you feel the way it does. For a man who kills for a living, he speaks with such a gentle intonation.

It’s such a juxtaposition, really. In full body armor, Mando is definitely one of the most feared hunters in the galaxy. He’ll kill if something threatens his life or the kid’s life. Impossible to read, impossible to predict. But right now? He’s the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him. No helmet, no amour. His guard is as down as you’ve ever seen and is willing himself to be naked with you, even if he’s still fully clothed. How you were able to find yourself in this situation is something you might never be able to fully understand, but it is truly the greatest gift you could have ever been given.

“I’m sorry about before,” you whispers, feeling guilty about how you approached the question about his helmet. “I didn’t mean to pressure you about your Creed.”

It’s not fair for you to come down so hard on him. You might not understand why he chooses to live his life with such restrictions, but it really isn’t any of your business.

“It’s fine.”

You still feel angry with yourself for acting the way you did, but if Mando says it’s fine, the last thing you’ll do is continue your self-loathing and make him feel uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Taking the last sip of soup and feeling satisfied with your meal, you push yourself to your feet. “Are you finished?” you ask him.

“Yes, thank you.”

You search aimlessly in the dark for a moment in search of his dish and accidentally knock the bowl right out of his hand, hearing it tumble on the ground.

“Shit, sorry,” you curse, dropping to your knees in search for it. While frantically searching for the dish, you feel his hand caress the small of your back, sending shivers through your spine.

You’re starting to feel pretty flustered, the fact that you’re both in the darkness doesn’t help. There’s no way of anticipating what could happen and that’s exhilarating and unnerving. Of course, you eventually find the bowl and Mando’s hand disappears from your back once you get back on your feet.

Walking over to the pantry where the ration packs are, you place the bowls on the shelf, making a mental reminder to wash them later. Just as you’re about to turn around and head back to where you think Mando is, you suddenly feel a presence behind you. Two hands grip onto either side of your hips and he presses his body against yours, pushing you right up against the little closet. A moan escapes your lips without even realizing it, and you can feel his hot breath tickle the crook of your neck.

“I’ve wanted to touch you all fucking day,” he growls in your ear.

Holy Maker, the heat in your stomach is somehow already becoming too much. You’re basically panting, the blood in your ears is almost deafening.

“I’ve been watching the way you’re walking. Did I hurt you? Do you still feel me?”

“Stars,” you breathe out.

Mando presses his lips to your skin, sending shockwaves through your entire core. You can feel his stubble prick your neck and it’s everything you didn’t know you craved. It feels deliciously rough.

Your hands brace themselves against the door, it’s the only way you can keep yourself upright. Knees already buckling, feeling the heat pooling from your cunt and drenching your underwear with slick. One of his hands begin to trail away from your hip and trace the waistband to your trousers. Instead of teasing you though, his hand wastes no time pushing passed your pants and panties, finding his way down to your cunt and cupping it with such force you jerk forwards, groaning as his hand finds your clit.

“Already so wet for me.”

Fingers leaving your bud, he slides them between your folds, gathering your slick on his calloused fingertips and then he’s shoving a thick finger deep inside you. His free hand flies to your throat, applying slight pressure with his thumb and index on that sweet spot underneath your jawline.

“Fuck,” you cry out brokenly. It doesn’t fill you up nearly as much as his cock does, but the way he moves inside of you, hitting that spot inside you no one has ever touched, marking it as his, causes you to see fucking stars.

Mando nips at your neck, alternating between sloppy kisses and bites hard enough to cause bruises, you can already feel an orgasm stirring inside you. You clench around his digit, feeling yourself climb higher and higher.

“Are you already close?” He mutters in between kisses and nibbles.

“Shit, fuck I-I think so.”

Your hand finds its way to the back of his head, grabbing fistfuls of his soft, damp locks and pulling hard, causing Mando to groan in your ear and buck his hips into yours. You can feel the outline of his rock-hard rock against your ass, and you grind into him, feeling his length burrow between your cheeks. You’re so close to your climax already.

Without missing a beat, he pulls out of you and his hand disappears from between your thighs.

“W-why?”

Grabbing your hips, he flips you around to face him.

“Up,” he instructs.

You linger there for a moment, unsure of what he’s asking you to do. When you don’t move, his hands grab onto your waist and lift you off the ground without so much of a groan. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms cross around the back of his neck, your head leaning on his shoulder. He walks over to the little bunk in the corner of the hull and lowers you onto the mattress gently, being mindful not to hit your head on the small doorway.

Feeling your heart pound against your ribcage, the thrill of not being able to see him at all and not having a clue as to what he’ll do next, it’s incredibly sensual. Your legs unwrap themselves from his waist and dangle off the edge of the cot. His hands trail up to the waistband of your pants and tugs them down off your ass. Lifting your hips up to help him, he takes them—along with your underwear, off and you hear them thump to the floor.

Hands returning to your skin, he hooks thems under your calves and lifts them up so your bent at the knees, feet resting on the edge of the bunk.

The anticipation is getting to you. He continues to take his agonizingly sweet time running the tips of fingers on your naked skin, causing you to shiver and goosebumps to form on your skin. Lifting one of your legs and placing it over his shoulders, he peppers kisses from your ankle all the way to your inner thigh and repeats the same taunt with the other leg. Both of them now resting on his shoulders, he drops to his knees in front of you. Suddenly feeling nervous, you try to close your legs and end up squeezing his head by accident.

“Shit, sorry,” you whisper, propping yourself on your elbows.

“Shhh,” he hushes, placing a large hand on your sternum and pushing you back down on the cot gingerly, and then his lips are on your skin again, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites all over your inner thighs, slowly getting closer to your throbbing pussy but never getting close enough to relieve the pressure building.

“Mando, please,” you whimper.

“Do I have to gag you?”

Shit… How is he able to make that sound so fucking hot?

“I’m going to take care of you, but you have to be quiet. Can you do that?” His voice is gentle but commanding.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Good girl.”

His tongue glides over your clit and there’s no controlling the moan that rips through you. Pulling away immediately, Mando stands up and presses his body into yours, his mouth merely inches away from yours, his large hand cupping just underneath your jaw.

“What did I say, pretty girl?”

You can feel his hot breath on your lips. If you just moved even the littlest bit forward, your lips would meet his. Licking your lips, you wrench your eyes shut to keep you from closing the gap.

“To be quiet,” you manage to say through ragged breaths.

“So be quiet,” he hisses, feeling his teeth sink into your bottom lip for just a second and then his weight is off you, returning to your thighs. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping them pinned over his shoulders. Now, he wastes no time lapping you up, flicking your clit with his tongue with such a mind-blowing rhythm you have to throw your arm over your mouth and bite down on your skin to keep from making any noise. Mando never relents, developing the perfect torture. He plays with your bud then practically shoves his entire fucking face in your cunt, pushing his tongue inside you as far as it can go. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to bubble up to the surface, threatening to burst. It’s all too much, your body starts to shake from the sensations.

You’re close, you’re so fucking close. Dropping your arm to your side, your voice hoarse from stifling all your cries, you’re somehow able to find the strength to say, “I’m gonna come.”

“No,” is all he answers.

No?

“W-w-what?”

“Hold it,” he says hastily, then continues his assault on your pussy.

How in kriffing hell are you supposed to hold it? You’re basically already there and he’s denying you it. You can’t hold on; you can’t stop it.

“I c-can’t,” you confess.

And then he stops. His tongue leaves you, his hands leave your skin, and you’re left there on the bed, legs hanging off the cot, chest heaving from being so fucking close and then being denied at the very last second.

“What the fuck?” You ask breathlessly, a hint of anger but mostly disappointment in your tone.

You hear him make a noise and then something wet trickles down your clit down to your entrance. It’s…sticky and warm. Did he just spit on you?

Lifting your legs back up and letting your feet balance on the very edge of the bunk, his cock rubs against you, angling the tip of himself to slide between your folds, mixing your slick, his spit and precome all over his length and you. Mando continues to tease you, lining himself up with your entrance but never sheathing himself inside you. It’s driving you fucking insane, even angling your hips whenever he does, hoping he’ll lose his self-control and plunge into you, but it only spurs him on. He knows how much it’s annoying you and he’s fucking thriving on it.

“If you don’t start fucking me soon…” you warn.

Mando actually laughs at you, like this is all a big joke to him. Anger begins to mix with your arousal, this is maddening. Why won’t he just fuck you already?

All of a sudden, he slams into you with so much power, you actually slide up the cot, and you wail feeling so fucking full and tight, your cry filling the small space you’re in. You’re still sore from the night before and feeling him stretch your walls again is almost unbearable, but it feels too fucking good. You’ll take every fucking inch of him without a single complaint. Then, just as your pussy begins to acclimate to him, he pulls out, hiking your shirt up just enough for him to grab onto your naked waist and pulling you back down closer to him.

“Mando!”

He leans over you once again, a hand cradles the back of your head while his thumb rubs your cheek tenderly. “If this gets to be too much, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Letting out a deep breath through your lips, you nod.

“Words.”

“I’ll tell you to stop.”

“Good.”

Thrusting his hips against you, his cock continues to grind along your slit, making you dizzy from both the lack of touch and the taunting of his cock against you.

“Maker, you’re so fucking wet. You sure you didn’t come?”

Words aren’t something you’re capable of forming so you’re stuck resorting to answering him with broken sobs. Practically writhing from all the overstimulation and lack of, from him toying with you, the pressure in your cunt actually fucking hurts, you’re nearly begging for some release. Adding onto the fact that you can’t see a fucking thing, it heightens all your other senses. They compensate for your lack of vision; everything feels so much more intense than you ever could have imagined.

No one could ever drive you to the brink of madness and pull you back in at the last second. No one could possibly make you feel so satisfied yet deprived. You’re convinced you’ve traveled the galaxy in search of him, that your soul was missing a piece so small, you didn’t even know it was missing until Mando filled that void. He’s etched into your skin, your bones, your veins. Every nerve ending tissue has been electrified by this enigma of a man. A man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill those who’d try to come between him and his clan.

Kriff, you’re drained already. He hasn’t even begun to fuck you, but waves of exhaustion are coming over you. Mando’s still fucking teasing you, only ever prodding the tip of himself inside you and then pulling away before he can truly fill you up.

He said if this became too much for you to handle, all you had to do was say the word and he’d stop. You’re starting to consider it; you don’t think you can handle much more of the slow torture he’s inflicting.

Just as your jaw slackens, he slams into you in a sift motion, fully immersing himself inside your swollen walls.

“Fuck!” You pant out, wrenching your eyes shut and feeling tears trinkle down your cheeks. Mando doesn’t move one bit, just sits inside you like he’s waiting for you to adjust yourself to the size of him.

“Shit, you’re tight. Gonna train that pretty cunt of yours to mold to my cock,” he grits out. Big hands hold you down by the waist, and he ever so slooooowly eases out of you only to ram into you again, all the way to the hilt. You’re seeing stars, every move, every thrust bringing you closer to euphoria. The only thing your mind can process is how fucking amazing it feels to be clenched around his cock. It’s mind bending, it’s intoxicating, you’ll never get used to the way he fucking tortures you.

He develops a downright brutal pace, pulling out just enough for his tip to pierce your walls and then pounding into you, growling every time he touches your cervix. Once he’s fully immersed inside you, he bucks his hips and practically jackhammers his cock inside you. A sheen of sweat covering both your bodies causes the sound of skin slapping against skin to sound so wet and fucking obscene. Still pounding into you, Mando’s hands leave your waist to grab under your thighs, lifting them up to hang off his shoulders. Pushing down on the backs of your thighs, he practically bends you in half at the knees, an arm on either side of your head, and then begins a pace so fast and brutal, you’re sure you’ll be sore for weeks. The spot he’s hitting right now is one you didn’t think was even possible. It knocks all the air out of your lungs, you can’t even make a goddamn sound. Your throat is bone dry, and whatever pathetic sounds that escape you are barely audible and breathless.

“Stars, you feel fucking amazing,” he mutters in your ear, and then he’s sucking at your neck, bruising the skin.

Mouth agape, you’re so fucking close to coming, a part of you doesn’t even want to tell him how close you are in case he stops. You don’t think you could physically handle it if he denied you again.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how much fucking noise your little cunt is making?”

On a normal day, Mando says as little as possible, giving you a quick sentence in response or even a one-word answer, but when he’s balls deep inside you, he can’t seem to shut up. He turns into a blabbering mess, offering you praise after praise like it’s a fucking prayer. Mando makes a note of everything. He comments on your gushing pussy, how your walls clench around him as you get closer and closer to your orgasm, how no one will ever touch you again.

How you’re his.

And you? You can barely throw two words together. You’re on the brink of losing your goddamn mind. Is this what being on spice is like? Feeling a sense of euphoria that hits you wave after wave, each one stronger and more intense than the last, teetering the line between sanity and insanity.

“…mine,” you hear him snarl. Reality doesn’t even feel real anymore, you can barely make out what he’s saying to you.

Something like a whimper slips through your parted lips.

“Now, come for me.”

He barely finishes speaking before your orgasm tears right through you. It begins deep inside you and is quickly shattering the earth around you. Crying out so loud Mando has to slap his hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds expelling from your lips. He continues to pound into your pussy, riding out the ripples of your climax, not relenting even for one moment. There isn’t any fucking air in your lungs—Mando’s weight is still pressing you into the cot and your climax is so strong, your chest is way passed heaving now.

You’ll be chasing this high for the rest of your life, the feeling of Mando unleashing his feral instincts on you, and you just helplessly letting him take control of you—it’s unlike anything you ever could have imagined.

“Good girl,” he praises. When you don’t immediately answer, still in a haze from the mind-shattering orgasm that just expelled out of you, Mando stills, cupping your face with his hand and murmurs, “Are you okay?”

Your lips part, and your brain desperately tries to find any word that might help him understand that you’re okay and also anything but okay. Only being able to breathe in quick, sharp breaths, Mando places a kiss on your jaw and repeats in the gentlest tone you’ve ever heard him speak, “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

Shaking your head frantically, you attempt to moisten your throat by swallowing, and it gives you enough to answer, “I’m okay.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He reiterates.

“No,” you croak.

“Are you sure?” Stars, how can he be so relentless in the way he fucks you and switch into a nurturer so quickly?

“Mmm. Please f-fuck me,” you mewl against him.

His cock twitches at your plea, and he obliges. In an effort to help you climb down from the overstimulation, he eases in and out of you at a deliciously hard, but slow pace, and then he does something you couldn’t have been prepared for. Your lips are slightly parted, letting in little bursts of air to help calm your breathing, and suddenly, you feel wet, soft lips clash onto yours. Instinctively, you yelp into his mouth from the unexpected touch, but you quickly acclimate to it, feeling your lips move on his. It’s a little awkward at first, you get the impression Mando hasn’t kissed many people in his life, because your teeth end up clashing together a few times. He fucking giggles into your mouth and you all but melt into the cot. His tongue slips passed your lips and meets yours and you can taste yourself and broth on his tongue. Your hands find their way to his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it, pressing your lips even deeper on his. Mando moans low in his throat and you can feel the vibrations ripple in your own mouth.

He makes to pull away, but you keep his lips locked on yours, using your hands to keep him where you want him. He gives in without hesitation, letting you take control of the kiss as he continues to ram into you. The dreams you’ve had of this moment, the moment you’d feel his mouth on yours doesn’t even come close to the feeling of it happening to you right now. It all makes sense now. Every kiss you’ve had previously was just practice for this. It was all just preparing you for this defining moment, the moment you’d finally be able to break through Mando’s heavily guarded walls. Every smack of your lips, every flick your tongues, every broken moan in each other’s throats, they’re all just feats breaking down the duracrete barrier that he’s forced himself to build over the years.

Bodies intertwined, every part of yourselves wrapped up in the other, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, and you suppose that’s how this is was always supposed to be. Each of you were missing the same piece— the inability to be perceived as anything but a person of strong will. Believing that vulnerability was a weakness, instead of something that should be treasured, and without knowing it, your paths crossed and challenged every part of your identity.

Foundling, Mandalorian, bounty hunter, father.

Orphan, mechanic, smuggler, Jedi.

Those shouldn’t mix together as perfectly as they do, but stars, does it feel like everything finally makes sense.

A second orgasm begins to brew in your stomach, but you don’t dare pull away from Mando’s lips. You’ll never pull away until he forces himself off of you.

He leaves your lips for just a moment, panting and his own chest heaving against yours. “Maker, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Shhh,” Tugging desperately at his hair, you close the small gap between you and slosh your mouths together. You both whimper brokenly on each other’s lips, and Mando slams into you three more times before his hips still, feeling his cock pump his seed into your soaking pussy. Just as he begins to come, your second climax reaches its peak and crashes into you. His hands are back on your waist, digging his fingernails into your skin. Whatever moans you both cry out are muffled by each other’s’ mouths, catching the sound and swallowing it, burying it deep inside one another.

When you come start to come down from your climaxes, Mando drops his head to the crook of your neck, burying his face into your skin and pressing sloppy, chaste kisses right where your jaw meets your neck.

“I—” You attempt to speak, but your vocal cords are so raw, it hurts even just making a sound. You’re still practically bent in half, and your legs are burning up. Resorting to stir around hoping he’ll get the message, Mando pulls off of you, using both his hands to very gently bring them down his shoulders, one by one, once again giving each of your inner thighs some tender pecks. Pulling out of you, his come seeps out of your completely worn out slit. He peppers a few kisses along your waist, and then you hear his footsteps retreat.

“Where—” You begin to say, making to slowly prop yourself on your elbows.

“I’m still here,” he assures you.

You can hear him moving things around, and you seriously wish there was some kind of light allowing you to see what he’s doing but given that your eyes have gotten used to being in complete darkness, you’re sure you’d be blinded by even the smallest amount of light right now.

A few minutes go by and then you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you down the cot. Once he feels like your head won’t hit the top of the bunk, he lifts you off your feet, wrapping his arms around your back, and in turn you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you for a couple steps and then brings you down onto what you expect will be the cold ground. Instead, you feel cotton on your back as he lowers you down.

“Where did you—?”

“I have a couple of extra capes in case one gets too battered,” he says, answering your question before you can finish asking it.

As soon as your head touches the ground, you feel your eyelids shut, exhaustion overpowering you. Turning over on your side and hiking up one of your legs up so that your knee lines up with your chest, you don’t even care that your own slick and his seed is practically dripping down your legs. You don’t care that you’re still naked from the waist down. The only thing you care about is falling asleep, preferably in Mando’s arms.

“Don’t sleep yet. Need to clean you up,”

“Mmm,” you protest. “Later.”

Mando chuckles lightly and then he’s wiping the slick off your legs and entrance with what feels like… a pair of trousers.

“Are you using my pants to clean that up?”

“It’s the first thing I grabbed. I’ll wash it.”

“Mmm, you better,” you mumble into your arm.

Now, you’re starting to slip in and out of consciousness, fatigue taking you over. Mando rummages around the hull for a bit longer, and then joins you on the floor, throwing what you assume is another cape, over your half naked body. You don’t even have the energy to move your body over towards his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’re both still close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other’s skin.

“Hey, Mando?”

“Yes?”

“I won.”

Things are quiet for a few minutes after that, and you’re on the verge of falling asleep when his velvety smooth voice breaks through the silence of the Crest.

“Blue,” his voice is low and barely audible.

“Mmm?” You mumble, desperately trying to stay awake.

“I…like the color blue.”

Okay, now that puts a stupid, hazy smile on your face. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Any particular shade of blue? Bright… dark?” You may be barely conscious, but you hang onto every word he says.

“I guess… dark.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “Why do you like that color?”

He lets out a deep breath, like he’s about to confess something to you that he hasn’t told anyone else. As if in this very moment, he’s about to give himself to you completely. “The Mandalorians that saved me from that battle droid in my village. Their armor was blue.”

Mando doesn’t elaborate any further, but he doesn’t have to. Feeling your heart tighten in your chest, you imagine what a young Mando must have been feeling when that droid pointed its guns at him. How he must have been utterly terrified and convinced that he was about to die. And then to be saved at the last moment. Seeing these warriors in blue armor coming to rescue him, to save his village from an even worse massacre. They were his saviors, it only makes sense that after all these years, that color would bring him solace and comfort.

It’s quite ironic, actually. Blues have the reputation of representing sadness or pain and you too have been accustomed to associating blue with your own trauma, and then here comes Mando.

The color symbolizes the exact opposite of what its known for. To him, it brings relief and reminds him of being saved; representing the beginning of a new life that he’s exemplified through and through. It’s a beautiful confession, and you’ll forever be searching for him in all the shades of blue that the galaxy has to offer.

Two opposites.

Yellow and blue.

One representing happiness and light. The other representing sadness and melancholy. Blend those two together and you create the fiercest of combinations. A beautiful balance of both extremes.

And when you think about it, what color does blue and yellow make?

[dulcechocochips]

𝒜𝓉𝓎𝓅𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁

Chapter 1 : ↫↫↫ Group Plans ↬↬↬

There were a complete 10 seconds of silence before all hell broke loose.

"WHAT---??" The class said in complete unison. Y/n gave them a slightly annoyed smile. From what Saiki could tell, she was telling the truth. But he couldn't help but be doubtful, he had impeccable memory, so him not remembering someone at all was a little suspicious.

"You're not a new student here?" Teruhashi asks, completely dumbfounded. There was no way in hell she didn't know someone who went to PK academy! She knew everyone! How did she slip past her?

"No?" Y/n says putting her hands up to the nape of her neck. She was getting a tad bit irritated with all this foolishness. She was about to go sit down at her desk.

"Hey! There's no way that you're not a new kid! None of us remember a thing about you!" Hairo says pointing at her. Y/n raises an eyebrow at him with an irritated smile. Way to be blunt, Hairo. Both Y/n and Saiki thought.

Y/n facepalmed and dragged her hand down her face in an exhausted manner. It is way too early for this. She thought. "I don't know why I have to prove to you that I'm not a new student but since the teacher isn't here yet, I suppose I'll humour you guys." She said crossing her arms over her chest.

"Kaidou Shun? He's got a hero complex." She said pointing at the light blue-haired boy. He started stuttering and blushing. Is he crying? Oh my god, he's baby!

"You can tell that just by looking at him," Takahashi says. But I knew his name? Whatever.

"Right ok, Hairo Kineshi, you're the class rep. You hype people up a lot, maybe a bit too much..." Y/n whispered the last bit to herself.  "You're Kokomi Teruhashi, the school's pretty girl, really pretty..." Y/n clears her throat. "He's Riki Nendou, meathead delinquent, kinda braindead." She gives the tallboy a strange look. "What else can I say to prove it to you people?" Y/n said with an edge to her tone. She was walking around her classroom and gestured at every one of the students mentioned. I am seriously done with these people. No one said anything still. Are you serious?

"I went to middle school with some of you guys! I've been at PK since our first year! I was here for all the class pictures!" Y/n yelled at them. Gah! the day I don't wear my glasses is the day these people decide to notice me and I can barely see their faces! Y/n thought to herself.

"Alright class, sorry I'm late. Let's settle down and start the lesson." The teacher said before her eyes landed on Y/n. "Oh! Miosotisu, what are you doing up here? And you're here today!" The teacher says looking at her surprised.

"Sensei, I was here yesterday too. Just check the roll call. You marked me present," Y/n said.

"Did I?" She asked opening her roll call folder. She slid her finger down to her name. A confused look came up in her eyes. "I guess I did, well sorry about that. Everyone take your seats, we're already falling behind compared to the rest of the classes." The teacher said. Everyone finally settled down and started taking out their note. Before they did Y/n gave everyone a smug yet irritated look. They all looked at her with a slightly embarrassed look.

Well, that was an ordeal. I wonder why no one remembers her. I don't remember her either. Although I do feel a little jealous of her. She probably rarely ever gets any unwanted attention. I wonder how she avoids people without even trying. Saiki thought to himself. They all started taking notes. The teacher writes down a whole bunch of things on the chalkboard and Y/n was barely able to keep up with all the things that were being written down. The teacher noticed this.

"Oh, Saiki, after the class is over, can you lend your notes to Y/n? I know you keep up with your notes and you have fairly neat writing." The teacher said while she stopped writing for a second. Saiki only nodded at her.

It was now lunch and Y/n had copied near to nothing from the chalkboard. Why did we have to be learning something new the day I'm almost completely blind? She let out a sigh and was about to put her head down. She felt a presence beside her desk. She lifted her head up and squinted her eyes a bit to see Saiki's expressionless face. She saw that he was holding a notebook out to her.

"Ah, thanks Saiki, I'll copy it down now and get it back to you before the end of the lunch period." She smiled at him and took the notebook from him.

"Ok." He said with a nod. He started walking back to his desk, sat down, and took out his lunch.

"Hey, buddy!! Did you understand anything of what that lady was talking about?" Nendou asks his beloved friend.

"Heh Saiki! We should go to this abandoned building after school!" Kaidou says covering up half his face.

"Ah, Saiki~! We should go to a nearby cafe after school! A-as friends of course!" Terushashi said. He sure is popular... Y/n thinks. Saiki heard this and he rolls his eyes.

"Hey! We should all go out as a group with Y/n too!" Hairo said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Y/n was just finishing writing up her own notes when her desk was crowded. "Uh, what the hell?" She mutters under the voices of around 4 people. She tried to ask them what they were trying to ask her but to no avail. They were too busy arguing with each other to hear her. What they were arguing about? She couldn't decipher it. She quickly scribbled down the last of the notes and got up from her desk.

She made her way over to Saiki's desk and placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched as if he had just been punched. Y/n hesitated before speaking after seeing his reaction.

"Uh, thanks for letting me borrow your notes, Saiki. Sorry for startling you so much." She said with an awkward close eyed smile. Saiki stared at her for a couple of seconds too long. She cleared her throat to catch his attention once again. He reaches out and takes his notebook normally as if he hadn't been staring at the e/c-eyed girl for 30 seconds. Before she could get another word in she and Saiki were crowded again.

"Hey Y/n! You should go out with Saiki and the rest of us to the arcade later today!" Kaidou said. Good grief. You say 'we' as if I already don't have a choice. Saiki thought to himself. Y/n looked at him with a confused look. Saiki caught her gaze. Had she heard that?

Y/n turned back to the group of teens. "W-well, I wouldn't want to intrude on your group." She said, putting her hand up to the back of her head. Saiki also seems to not want me around. She said, making a face to herself. You're kinda right, nothing personal. He thought to himself.

"Don't be silly! We wouldn't invite you if we didn't wanna hang out!" Kaidou explains.

"He's right! Come on! Let's hang out! It'll be fun, we promise!" Hairo begs. If I say no they'll be sad, I don't wanna make them sad.

"I mean if you guys insist..." She says, silently hoping they'll change their minds.

"YEAH!!!!" They all yell happily. The teacher tells them to bring down the noise. They all nod and apologize. They all exchange numbers and finish their lunch. Now for another 2 and a half hours of not seeing anything.

---

Its the end of the day and the bell just rang, signaling all the students to leave. Y/n hangs back waiting for the halls to clear up a bit before heading out to meet the others. She sees Saiki packing up his things almost painfully slowly. He seems to be feeling quite upset about something. She approaches him slowly as to not have a repeat of what happened earlier. "Hey, Saiki? I just wanted to apologize for intruding on your friend group. But you'll just have to deal with it, at least for today." She said to the pink-haired teen. Saiki looked at the girl who had her arms crossed over her chest.

"They're not my friends." He says standing up and heading to the door. She gives him a confused look before following him out of the classroom.

"You hang out with them often though," she said, "they also seem to really enjoy your company too." She said nonchalantly.

"Doesn't mean I enjoy hanging out with them." She doesn't even receive a glance with that response.

"Then why do you hang out with them so much?" She throws him a skeptical look. Saiki moves his gaze to hers for a couple of seconds.

"How would you know I hang out with them so often?" He says looking off to the side. Y/n laughs to herself.

"Hah, you're avoiding the question, Saiki." She said as they reached the lockers. They put their bags down beside them and change their shoes. "Well, are you gonna answer my question?" She says expectantly. What a pain. He thinks before turning to her.

"They won't let me say no to hanging out with them, they wouldn't leave me alone." Partly true, although, Y/n wouldn't know tha-

"Hm, I don't believe you, Saiki. You probably just don't want to hurt their feelings." Y/n says with a shrug before hearing her name being called from outside the school. She squints and sees the bright coloured hair of her classmates. She turns to Saiki with a smile. "Better hurry up, Saiki, you wouldn't wanna be left behind would you?" She throws up a finger gun before running to her classmates, leaving Saiki in her dust.

Oh, good grief, she's gonna be a real pain in the neck, isn't she?

---

Chapter 0     Chapter 1    Chapter 2

Masterlist

WORD COUNT : 1714

[fandomficsnstuff]

A love left behind - Chapter 6

Summary: Your dad owns a ranch in between Thieves Landing and Armadillo, doing business with both Blackwater, Armadillo and Tumbleweed. One day three strange men show up on your land, a man with a scar across his face, an old bearded man whose horse has a literal mustache, and a tall and handsome man, both black and indian you think. What are they doing here and how will you deal with them?

(Credit goes to elenafishersps1 again, I really liked it for this story and I hope it’s alright that I use it, if it’s not then please let me know)

(Warnings: talk of violence, mentioning torture, a tiny bit of blood, the Skinner Brothers is a warning in itself, also this fic is pretty long, I apolegize)

You stretched as you woke up, the sun shining through the window and straight into your eye, making you groan. You sat up in your bed, looking around as you tried to remember yesterday, you didn’t remember coming home, or taking off your shoes, but you remember riding out with Charles, you remember the bracelet he gave you, and you remember kissing him, and telling him about Albert. Your cheeks turned bright red as you thought of the kiss you and Charles had shared, your fingers gently grazing your lips, as if you could still feel his lips on yours. You changed and put on your boots, going outside to do your chores for the day, your cheeks still burning up as you replayed how his lips fit perfectly with yours, how soft they were, how gentle his hands were and how gentle he was with you, you almost didn’t notice your dad, almost bumping into him, but he caught you just in time “woah, watch where you’re goin’ sweetheart” he chuckled low, but noticing your bright red cheeks he instantly grew concerned “darlin’ are you alright? Your cheeks are bright red” you blushed even more at this, holding your cheeks as if it’d rub the color off “y-yeah I’m fine pa, just uh-... I’m fine” you cleared your throat, shuffling awkwardly “honey maybe you should take the day off, you look a bit off” you frowned at him “but-”

“No, no, take the day off honey, I got some men comin’ to help me anyway” you frowned confused at his words “what? How?” your dad shrugged, a proud smile on his lips “well, since them Del Lobos ain’t bothering us no more, he finally have enough money for ranch hands, it’ll be fine darlin’, take the day off”, you nodded slowly at his words “alright I’ll… I’ll be at Beecher’s Hope, see if they need any help” you shrugged, going to saddle up (Y/H/N), your Father following with a frown “so I give you the day off so you can go work somewhere else?” he scoffed, making you turn to him “fine, maybe not work, unless they need help” your father thought for a second “are you goin’ to see that black fella?” he asked suspiciously, making your cheeks burn up “n-no! Pa I’m just going to see if they need help, that’s all” you quickly put on the saddle and led (Y/H/N) out of the stables “besides” you made sure everything was in place before saddling up “it ain’t like there’s something going on between Mr. Smith and I” you shrugged, biting your lip as you thought about last night, earning a look from your father that said that he didn’t exactly believe you “well, he did bring you home last night… but just be safe, ya hear me?” you nodded, giving him a brief smile before riding off.

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You got off your horse, taking the reins and leading it to the front of the house, seeing another horse there, it was large, very large, and had a mean look in it’s eye, but you couldn’t deny how beautiful it was, and you took a second to admire it. 

“Who’re you?” you jumped at the voice, looking up to see a woman with a gun in her hand, a long coat, red vest and pants, her long hair was pulled into a braid that went down her back, her hair was a dirty blonde and she had a wild look in her eyes “I-I… my name’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m uh… I’m here to see Mr. Smith?” you hitched your horse next to the other, turning to look at her fully “why?” you were taken aback by her boldness “uhm-... to… see him?” you narrowed your eyes at this woman, she looked like she thought it over for a second “Adler” he greeted, and you smiled softly at her “it’s a pleasure to meet you miss-”

“Mrs.” she corrected, making you nod “oh, sorry” she shrugged “ain’t no harm done. Why’re you here to see Charles?” this time it was your turn to shrug “I uh-... work on a ranch and uhm, Mr. Marston has done a lot of business with that ranch and so has Mr. Smith” you looked you up and down “yeah, but why are you here to see Charles?” Why was she acting like you were an enemy? You reconsidered coming here, backing up slightly “I’m sorry I-... I’ll go” you turned around and went to your horse, unhitching the reins and getting ready to saddle up “(Y/N)?” you turned to see John, sending a soft smile his way “well, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Sadie looked to John before back to you “you know her?” she questioned, John shrugging “yeah she’s been real helpful” John admitted, making Sadie nod “ah, sorry for bein’ so rude earlier miss” she nodded your way and you smiled at her “ain’t no harm done” you repeat her words, making her scoff as she looked away, slightly amused.

“You’re here to see Charles?” John asked, and your cheeks turned bright red “I uh-... yea-... I mean yes” John laughed low “I’ll go get him” John walked off towards the barn, and you nodded, standing by your horse as the woman, Mrs. Adler walked down the steps to the house, reaching her hand out for you to greet “name’s Sadie” she smiled at you, and you shook her hand “a pleasure to meet you, Sadie Adler”. You turned when Sadie looked behind you, seeing John and Charles talk as they approached you, and your cheeks, once again, turned red at the sight of Charles, Sadie smirking at you “well, I best be off” she said as John and Charles reached you two, and you watched her saddle up on her horse and ride off without another word.

“Hello” you smiled up at Charles as he greeted you “hi…” you mumbled, John standing there awkwardly before almost just gliding away. You just held each other’s gaze for a few moments, before you cleared your throat, breaking eye contact as you looked down “I uh… I wanted to say thank you, for bringing me home yesterday” you looked back up at him, seeing him already looking at you with a soft smile, having noticed the bracelet still around your wrist, a warm feeling spreading through his chest at the sight “well, I couldn’t just leave you out in the desert” his comment made you chuckle a bit “right, but still… thank you” he nodded, scratching his neck as he looked down at the dirt “so uhm- do you- do you maybe want to go somewhere?” you asked, mostly surprising yourself. Charles was a gentleman, and knowing what you’d been through with Albert, he wasn’t about to ask you into town or anything, wanting to give you your space, but your question took him by surprise “I-... yes, if you’d have me” you shrugged at his words “wouldn’t have asked otherwise” you smirked at him, earning a smile on his lips, one that you adored, just like all of the rest.

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You arrived at a river, just near the edge of Tall Trees, the trees barely a few feet away from you, giving you a bit of shade while not blocking the sun entirely. Saddling off and sitting down on a small grass hill, Charles right behind you as he did the same as you, saddling off and sitting down next to you. You both just watched the sky in silence, Charles occasionally sneaking a glance or two at you, admiring your features. “I-... I appreciate what you told me yesterday, you didn’t have to but you did anyway” he broke the silence, making you nod as you looked down at the grass “yes well… it’s not something I normally speak of'”, you mumbled, a bit embarrassed that you told him in the first place, Charles hummed low at you response “I-... I was once in a gang” you frowned as you looked at him, though he wasn’t looking at you, just watching the water flow in the river “I-... it was like a family… they treated me well enough, for a man with a colored father and an indian mother” he admitted, looking down at the grass, “I rode with them for a few months, maybe five or six, and it was good, we didn’t just hurt people for the sake of it. We killed when he had to, not when we wanted to. I met this fella in the gang, Arthur, he-... wasn’t necessarily a good man, but he did a lot of good, he helped some, even when he got nothing out of it. He helped John, saved his life multiple times, helped me as well” you put a gentle hand on his shoulder, making him finally look at you, and seeing your soft look made him more relieved than you could ever imagine, you didn’t shun him for his past, you didn’t mind his past. “What happened?” you asked as you moved closer to him “well… we-... turns out someone was telling on us, someone had betrayed us, within the gang… and Arthur was just about the only person who knew, he tried in the end, he did. We broke apart, I wasn’t there when it happened and I regret that a lot. But Arthur saved John, when all went to hell, he didn’t seem like the type but he was good in the end” you hummed low as you thought it over, Charles had been an outlaw, a member of a gang “which gang was it?” Charles tensed up at this, wondering if he should tell you, he didn’t want to scare you away and he had taken a big leap of faith telling you this much already.

After a little while of thought he responded “the Van Der Linde gang” you hummed low again “the one who was responsible for the Blackwater Massacre?” you frowned, Charles giving a gentle nod, making you think for a second before sighing “I knew something was up”, you admitted, making Charles look at you “no one can take on an entire gang and leave with barely a scratch” you shrugged and Charles couldn’t help but smile at your words “yeah… well I left it behind, and… I won’t be here for long” he admitted, making the small smile that had formed on your lips vanish, a part of you wanting to ask why and another wanting him to stay, no matter what. 

“Why?” you finally managed to get the words out, ignoring the urge to cry as it suffocated you “why are you leaving?” you looked away as Charles looked at you again “I-... I’ve seen the life John has, a family… and I’d like to try it” he admitted, a part of you warmed by his words, another growing even colder “well. I hope you find a wife you like then” you got up, your words seeming colder than you had intended. You walked to your horse, about to saddle up when you felt a hand on your wrist, turning you as you saw Charles “I didn’t mean it like that I-” he sighed, about to give up when he decided to take a leap of faith “I-... maybe-... maybe you… could come with me?” you avoided your gaze, his cheeks a much darker shade than before, due to the fact that he was blushing “you… you want me with you when you leave?” you turned to fully face him, moving your wrist out of his grasp and gently held his hand as he nodded. You couldn’t help the smile form on your lips “I-... where would we go?” he shrugged, looking back to your face “anywhere, we could go north, to Canada, settle down somewhere” he smiled as she stared into you (E/C) eyes, making you almost melt, your lips forming on their way to say one word, one word that you so badly wanted to say, but then he popped up in your head, all the pretty things Albert promised you, and your smile vanished.

You slipped your hand out of his “I-...can’t” was all you said as you looked away, Charles frowning as he searched your face for something, anything. Once he found nothing, he nodded, looking away “I understand…” he took a step back, and it actually hurt, it hurt to have him removed from your presence. You bit your lip in thought, thinking it all over. Charles had already proved to be nothing like Albert, he respected your no, he cared for you, he brought you home after you fell asleep, put you to bed, he listened to you, he heard what you said, he took into account what you said. And in a moment of bravery you grabbed his hand, pulling him to you and standing on the tip of your toes, reaching up and kissing him. At first he was shocked, to say the least, but then he eased into it, his hands finding their way to your hips as he kissed you back, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

Once you parted you looked at him, and he looked at you, leaning his forehead against yours. You sighed in almost bliss as you closed your eyes, just feeling his skin against yours, his hands on your hips, the way he held you with such care.

You were however cut off by a few gunshots and screams, making you part and Charles putting you behind him out of instinct. Charles watched the tree line, sawed off shotgun out and in another hand a tomahawk, watching carefully for any sign of movement “Charles?” your voice sounded more shaky than you would have liked, but then again you couldn’t deny being scared right now. Charles made sure nothing was around before turning to you, holstering his weapons and lifting you up in your own saddle like you weighed nothing “go, ride home, take the route through Blackwater and then STAY as far away from this region as possible” you shook your head at him, the second he turned around you hopped down “I’m not leaving you” you snapped, making him look to you, his face held worry but his eyes held adoration, studying your face before another gunshot, this time closer, brought him back to reality “please, (Y/N), go” you scoffed, getting out your own gun from your saddle bag “I have a father, Mr. Smith, I know how to shoot a gun” you watched the tree line as he did, gun ready “I don’t doubt that but please”

“No I’m not leaving you! I’m staying-”

“I can’t lose you too!” your eyes grew wide at his statement as he looked at you, and you swore that just for a tiny split second, you saw tears in the corners of his eyes. You gently cupped his scarred cheek “I ain’t going nowhere” you gave him a peck on the lips, watching him breathe out in a mix of despair and relief. You both looked back to the tree line, watching movement in the distance, Charles looked around, grabbing your hand, sending your horses away and dragging you to hide behind a tree as he did the same with another tree, on your right side. You made sure your gun was loaded, cocking it and waiting patiently as Charles did the same, though his eyes were on you far more than he would have liked, worrying too much about your safety.

You breathed out as you heard laughter, screaming and gunshots coming closer to you, and you instantly knew who it was when you heard men laughing and yelling at some poor fella who they were bringing along to torture. The Skinner Brothers, sick, deluded, violent and angry men on a rampage through the land, their only goal was to torture for their own amusement, with no goal behind it other than the torture and pleasure they got out of doing it and seeing it, and they were especially fond of scalping and flaying.

You glanced at Charles, seeing how he was hesitant to start a fight, and it made you smile, he truly was a peaceful man, he could take care of business if needed, but he didn’t want a fight, he didn’t want bloodshed. You exhaled as you thought they had passed, relaxing behind the tree when suddenly someone grabbed your hair, pulled you out of cover and put a knife to your throat, a gasp and yelp leaving your throat. Charles’ eyes widened at the sight of the knife against your throat, he felt sick by the idea of that knife cutting open your skin, blood spewing out and all color draining from your skin, the life leaving your eyes, he felt sick to his stomach at the thought. “Got a live one here boys! And a pretty one” the man snickered, and you especially didn’t like how he yanked at your hair when he called you pretty. Charles was about to attack the man holding you when the barrel of another gun was pressed against his back “Charles no” you whimpered, you despised how that was the only thing you could do, whimper as you could watch Charles get shot at any minute “oh well well, what do we have here boys, a pretty little thing and a black bear” you grunted as the man holding Charles at gunpoint dared to say something like that “say that again and I’ll-” you yelped as you felt the blade being pressed further into your skin” you’ll what, girl?” the man holding you hissed, and you winced in pain at how hard he gripped your hair. Charles saw red when he saw you wince in pain, but he couldn’t do anything, you could easily get hurt in this situation, either by them or in the crossfire, so he had to do nothing, a fact he wished desperately that you knew beforehand. You winced again as you studied the man holding Charles at gunpoint “where the rest of your girls at? Too scared to fight us? Just showed how dumb you two really are” Charles frowned at your words but quickly caught onto what you were doing, if there were just two of them, besides the poor fella they had dropped soemwhere before ambushing you, then this could work, you could get out of this. “Shut up girlie! We gonna take you back to camp, let the others have some fun with you and skinning the black bear over there” you grunted “don’t call him that!” you snapped, making the two men chuckle. You winced as you felt a tiny cut against your throat, followed by something warm running down from where the knife was shoved further against your throat, and you closed your eyes as you tried not to make another sound, the Skinner Brothers enjoyed toying with people, and that included hearing them scream in pain. However, the cold blade of the knife was quickly removed as a grunt and a gunshot was heard, the man holding you falling to the ground, dead, and the man in front of Charles was on the ground, knocked out. Charles had gotten the other man’s gun, knocked him out and shot the one holding you. You instantly ran to Charles, hugging him tightly as you breathed out in relief, Charles hugging you back as he stared at the dead man and then the unconscious. Pulling away and seeing your throat bleeding, although very lightly, he frowned “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” you shook your head “I was the one who decided to stay, and I’m glad I did” you gave his cheek a peck, watching him almost turn into jelly at your words and touch, but he still studied your wound “let’s get you cleaned up” he gently caressed your cheek before whistling, both of your horses trotting over, letting you saddle up and ride for Beecher’s Hope.

[koreaweeb]

Marionette - Home (2)

@underc0vercryptid-reads @laraplisetski @omegahighendpro @thooo0t

TW: SWEARING, VIOLENCE, SEXUAL VIOLENCE, SEXUAL CONTENT

-

-

After he was shot down, Chishiya found refuge behind a car while Arisu was hiding behind another just across from him. He really should have made sure that Niragi died back at the hotel. Now, karma was coming back to bite him. 

As he checked his own wound, Chishiya was listening to Niragi rant. He talked about how the three of them present were similar to each other: unable to adapt to society, selfish, no touch with reality yet they desired the real world experience. How sad was his life to be boiled down to a few words?

A battle royale was to ensue between the three, and Chishiya was oddly intrigued. 

Not Arisu, however.

“Stop it, Niragi! What good will come of this?” he shouted. “Stop involving others in your own self-abandonment!”

Arisu’s words struck a chord in Chishiya. 

Self-abandonment...was that what he had been doing this whole time?

All the things he did, he thought it was because he did not care enough but all this time, it was because he was abandoning himself? What exactly was he doing here? 

“I’m just doing what I want to do!” Niragi said. “You two are the same! Whenever you open your mouth, it’s just me! Me! Me! For people like us, it has always been all about ourselves. 

“We continually stare death in its face and survive. We’ve experienced countless deaths, and we feel like we know everything. Does that make us smart? No. We’re just pieces of trash who’ll never grow up. No way it’s for someone else’s sake! The only thing that’s certain for people like us is our worthless ego! We can never change, so the only thing to do is embrace it!”

“You’re right…” Arisu said, his voice just about loud enough for them to hear. “For pieces of trash like us, a shootout amongst ourselves might be perfectly apt. That’s why, right here, we have to change.”

Niragi’s words hit close to home. Everything he did, up until this point, had only been for himself. Chishiya had been selfish from the get go, but somewhere along the way, something changed. Niragi was wrong. They were not similar after all. Because Chishiya met Kurenai. 

She showed him that even in a world of desolation, there was light. In her, he saw the change he wanted to make. Self-preservation, yet at the same time saving as many as she could. That was the type of person Kurenai was, the person he should become for her. For himself. 

Arisu was right. They were pieces of trash, but right here, right now, they should change. 

Refusing to participate in this sick battle royale, Arisu stood up from his hiding spot and put his gun down. Chishiya watched him, though distracted when someone else unexpectedly joined. 

“Usagi…”

“What are you guys doing?” Usagi asked, shocked to see Niragi alive while Chishiya was hurt. 

“It’s you…” Niragi slowly raised his rifle, pointing it at Usagi. “Because of you, this kid will never come to our side. If you disappear, the three of us will return to being the same. I don’t want to be alone anymore!”

Bang! Bang!

Two distinct gunshots went off. 

The first was from Arisu, shooting Niragi down. The second gunshot came from Niragi pulling the trigger. But he did not hit Usagi as intended. He did not hit her, because she was pushed out of the way by Chishiya. 

“Chishiya!”

Rushing over to his side, both Arisu and Usagi were shocked that of all people, he would have stood to protect her. As he collapsed on the ground, however, there was only one thing on his mind. He knew he was done for, this time. His body moved before he could think it through, and he did not know why. Maybe he did. Maybe it was because of what Arisu said before…

“The bleeding is not stopping,” Usagi said, trying to tie a tourniquet around his abdomen. 

“There’s likely internal damage. Without the proper facilities in Borderland, I probably have a few hours left, maybe half a day.”

“Why...Why did you protect me?” Usagi asked. “That’s very unlike you.”

“Maybe I just wanted to be unlike myself,” Chishiya smiled.

They went silent for a moment. 

“You said you wanted to talk before, what was it?” Arisu asked.

“I used to view humans as foolish beings. I despised the sincere ones, and I couldn’t help but berate those who put in all their effort. I couldn’t stop the psychological abuse, I couldn’t get by without hurting someone, I couldn’t help shunning people’s good will and intentions. I was probably jealous...they were things I didn’t have. For what purpose do I live? Whose purpose? To what end? It was like I existed to show just how empty a human can be…”

Was that why he chose Arisu to sacrifice? Because he was jealous of the effort Arisu was willing to put in just to survive. What a sad excuse…

“Arisu…” Chishiya called out, his voice weak as his life was draining. “If you see Kurenai, could you please tell her…Never mind, she knows.”

Moving both Chishiya and Niragi somewhere more comfortable, Arisu and Usagi left to participate in the last game. They had no idea what would happen if they were to clear the game, but they had hopes that it would bring them back to the real world. Then Chishiya and Niragi would have a chance at living. 

Closing his eyes, Chishiya let out a soft sigh. 

What was the last thing he said to Kurenai before they parted? Did he tell her he loved her? Surely she knew he did. He had plenty of regrets, though if he were to die here right now, his biggest regret would be not seeing her. 

His light in the darkness. 

He had no idea how much time had passed, though he had been in and out of consciousness. He had been trying to hold on but it was getting harder by the minute. That was when he felt someone holding his hand, and pressing their ear to his chest. Chishiya smiled. 

It was her. 

“Hey…” he whispered.

“Hey,” she replied. “We meet again.” 

She was crying, and he did not even have the strength to wipe her tears for her. “Sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.” 

“Don’t say that,” she cried. “Please don’t say that...you promised you will stay alive. Don’t be another liar.”

“Kurenai, when we get back to the real world...let’s date.”

With a soft laugh and a smile, Kurenai nodded. “Let’s date.”

He felt at ease just having her with him. Using whatever strength he had left, Chishiya squeezed her hand as hard as he could. She squeezed right back. And for God knew how long, she stayed with him, holding his hand while laying her head on his chest. 

“Congratulations, with the last game cleared, players have now cleared all games.” The long awaited announcement. Arisu did it. “All surviving players, please individually answer the following. From now until forever, you have the right to continue these death matches as a citizen of Borderland in the next games with permanent residency. You now have the choice to accede or abdicate the position. Will you accept it or refuse it?”

“I refuse.”

As soon as they refused, a bright light shined in the sky and everything blacked out.

[flowers-of-io]

#10 Blood

Read it on AO3 here

You put the gun into your mouth To bite the bullet and spit out Cause it's running in the family All the rituals of you and me

Eris Morn stares at the pyramid, sharp against the backdrop of Jupiter peeking out from behind the horizon. It is dawning on Io. Asher is standing by her side, silent in horror and fury, and wonder. His human hand is clenched into a fist and the Vex one shudders convulsively.

“I’m going down there,” she says, her voice ringing loudly in the deafening silence.

“You’re in a rush to your grave I see.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the pyramid.

“If I don’t, we all will find ourselves there even sooner.” She pulls out a dagger and begins making her way down the cliff. Asher does not try to talk her out of it; he knows her well enough to acknowledge it is no use.

“Eris.” Instead, he tosses her his shotgun. Their eyes meet and a comfortable silence lingers between them for a while, until she finally nods and turns towards the cliffside.

He watches her disappear in the distance and, knowing she cannot hear it—though it would make no difference if she could—says quietly, “Be safe.”

*

Fiddling with the radio knobs, Asher tries to contain his panic. Because fear is unreasonable, he murmurs to himself, because it obscures his vision, because they are all—every single damn one of them—utter morons; because how irredeemable of an idiot must you be to as much as consider such a fool’s errand worthy of your time and resources? Because they are fools, fools with no brain and blood on their hands, putting lives at stake in the same stupid way and expecting a different result—

A signal pierces through the static. Asher catches his breath.

“—do not let the atrocities of Crota haunt you. Whatever this is, we will not let the tragedies of our past repeat—”

He slams his open palm against the table so hard the radio trembles. Idiots! Have they truly learned nothing, are they truly expecting to miraculously work out by the golden rule of fortune favouring fools? Oh, now they have brought tanks, that will surely turn the tide!

But even through his ire, he cannot help but listen to the distant gunshots and scarce commands. He tries so hard to keep from hoping, because hope is a fool’s errand and only ever makes things harder. Too well does he know the pang of guilt every time a frantic call for support shakes the airwaves he is listening in on; his body stirs, ready to get up and rush to aid, but he cannot, all he would ever do is listen to the cries of anguish and lists of casualties read out monotonously long into the night. Both remorse and self-pity swirl together like sugar crystals in stirred tea as his hand twitches, as he almost reaches out to kill the signal but always holds himself back.

It is hours later when the battle dies down. From the scraps of dispatches and commands it seems the calamity has been avoided, and Asher leans back in his chair with weariness matching that of a field-bound solider. His radio picks up on the chatter of post-fight reports, Ikora talking so fast it is barely comprehensible, someone’s response driven out by the hum of static

Even through the interference, he recognises the voice and fights back a sigh of relief so profound he can almost feel tears in his eyes.

“Good to know you are still alive,” he barks into the comms, as dryly as he can muster; both glad and angry and acknowledging none of these emotions.

“Asher,” Eris breathes, “I’m sorry… I could not—”

“Are you allowing this buffoonery?”

“It was a Vanguard operation,” she says with a hint of bitterness, “but there is something entirely more terrible here—something ancient. What we have forgotten the fear of. The storm rumbling overhead.”

“Remain clear in your purpose, then.” He closes his eyes. “But do not… succumb to it.”

A long moment of silence settles between them, static cracking, before she responds.

“I have seen the Dreaming City, cousin.” There is both sorrow and wonder in her voice, as if she was telling a fairytale. “One day, I will take you there.”

 *

 “Have you seen the Traveler yet?”

Asher cocks his head, looking up from the piece of fossil he is turning in his hands. Eris is staring straight into the distance, at the aurora-painted skies and the colossus of Jupiter, and the majestic Cradle below it. Unmoving, save for the thick black flow down her cheeks.

“No.” He follows her gaze, taking in the unearthly cyan glow of the evening sweeping over Io. Distant geysers are but white streaks against the background of the star-specked blanket of sky. After a short, tentative silence, he adds, “I don’t think I will.”

Eris’ eyes flick to him, the briefest glance before they turn back to gaze at the horizon, “I heard it’s magnificent and heartbreaking. A shattered chalice of Light.”

Asher watches the swirling fumes rising up, up towards the skies. He can almost feel its radiance from the distance, prickling against his skin and warming his core. Is not Io just that, he thinks, a shattered chalice filled to overflow, rivers of brightness spilled and still trailing between its rocks?

“Have you seen it?” He asks despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head. The City is a fickle lover, loud and kaleidoscope-changing. Some things are fit to be adored from the distance.

“It gives me hope,” she says softly after a while, and the glow of her eyes flickers. “How it maimed itself to shatter the cage, broken and radiant.”

Asher thinks bitterly how fitting it is that she has moved to the Moon, to poke and prod and taunt the darkness that marred her out of something more than burning vengeance. He is all too aware of the Pyramidion’s angular shape behind his back.

They sit in the cyan glow, two broken and radiant things on yellow sandstone, and the silence between them is dim and warm like the swelling night.

 *

 On the day Oryx falls, Eris stumbles into his quarters trembling like an aspen leaf. It is late, only a few windows in the Tower still aglow, and the City engulfed in the uneasy slumber of a battle raging overhead. But she has felt him die in the inmost depths of her core, and the shudder which tore through the cosmos in that moment left no room for doubts.

Asher makes her tea she is too nauseous to drink and curls up on the sofa with a book in a nest of blankets and pillows. She just watches the Traveler, bright and absurdly gentle against the horrors of this night.

“I dread the next step,” she says quietly.

“Take comfort in this triumph, if nothing else.” The soft rustle of flipping a page seems deafening in the stillness of the room. “You did kill a god today.”

“And what good did it bring?” The words are out before she can stop them; she knows it is a wrong question to ask. She knows she should keep her eyes fixed on the purpose. Yet she allows herself a second of bitter grief, of Eriana’s face etched silver in her mind and the itch of tears streaming down her scarred cheeks.

“Is the path you’re walking worthy of your fear?”

The question shakes her out from the stupor. She turns to meet his gaze, fixed on her from above the book.

“Yes.”

“Then walk it.”

The next time she sees him is in the hospital.

 *

 It is a lovely autumn, painting the Tower plaza red and yellow in an eternal sunset, leaves dancing in the air as gusts of wind pull them into a waltz. Eris can see the trees from her hospital window but their beauty frightens her, the effortlessness with which their branches sway and shimmer in the sunlight just another punch of realisation how nothing will ever be good and safe and beautiful again. It takes her three weeks to start speaking again, yet everybody is quick to shun her when she begins talking of the Hellmouth. Only Ikora stays, teary-eyed, tending to the burns on her head and limbs and examining the amputated toe, swallowing Eris’ every word like poison that soaks into her bloodstream with toxin of woe.

Asher does not cry, does not look away with disgust-laced pity. He makes her tea and the first proper meal she has eaten since leaving the hospital, sits down across the table and watches her with scientific curiosity. He does not negate the change, but there is no condescending sympathy in how he looks at her eyes and scars and patchy skin. And most of all, he allows her to talk; and when she finally finds the strength to begin, she cannot bear to stop. Words spill out of her like the black tears from her eyes, rotten and terrible, as she claws furiously at her core to scrub them off, to cleanse herself of the putrid stench of death clinging to her bones. He grounds her with practical questions, his matter-of-factness comfortingly familiar. It calms her when she starts shaking and losing her grip, a constant to hold on to against the deafening howl of her own twisted thoughts.

He lets her shuffle through his books and lie on his floor and does not ask whether her eyes hurt. He goes on as normal; even when she startles at every sudden noise and bleeds ink over his sofa throw, when she is whispering to herself and scratching at the scars on her skin. He just leans over the table, passing her a sheet of half translated text. He has been trying to decipher the Cabal language and wants her to take a look.

She is grateful.

 *

 “I do not advise this.”

Eris cocks an eyebrow at him, “I expected stronger words.”

Her glance is bold behind the veil of steam from the cup of tea she is holding, the feignedness almost undetectable. But her fingers are stiff and pale, clutching the porcelite like a lifeline, and her foot bobs nervously under the table; and when Asher meets her gaze, she looks away.

“I thought of Eriana as of someone possessing as much as half a braincell.” He stirs his own tea meticulously. “I understand she is grieving, but this idea is ridiculous. Dragging you to die together down there will not return Wei to her.”

“As long as Crota lives, no one is safe. This is not just about vengeance.”

“And what makes you think you two can achieve what thousands of Guardians failed to?”

She hates the disdain in his voice, the judgemental glare he is flashing her across the table. Like an older brother deriding a bratty sister.

“There isn’t just the two of us.” She leans forward, narrowing her eyes. Challenging him. “Sai and Vell are more than willing to crush Crota. Knowing Omar, I think he’ll join in gladly. Mare Imbrium took its toll on more than just Eriana, you know.”

“Mare Imbrium was a Titan’s tomfoolery,” Asher raises the cup to his mouth in an annoyingly dragged-out gesture. “We knew nothing about the Hive. Nothing about the weapons they used. Now we’re only beginning to scratch the surface, and frankly, I do not like what I’m finding.”

Eris crosses her arms, “Toland says—"

“Toland!” He smacks the cup against the saucer so rapidly the tea spills out. “You... Out of all the people, all the wretched charlatans in this bloody system… You’ve come to him?!”

“He knows more than you think.”

“He will lead you there to die smiling all the way through!”

Eris’ silver-grey eyes turn to steel. She bares her teeth like an angry animal about to strike, “What would you have me do, then? Get over it? Over Aparajita, and Gunnvor, and Jagi, and Lee? Over Wei? They died to reclaim the Moon. We owe them to continue the fight!”

“Don’t mistake idiocy for bravery, Eris.”

“Stop doing that.” Asher raises his eyebrow, and she adds, “Talking to me like to a child.”

“You act like one.”

Eris springs up, her chair swinging backward and nearly falling to the floor. Her hand itches to stab him where it hurts the most, to ask him where he was while she watched the corpses of her friends scattered over Lunar rocks. To tell him to sit on his ass in this damn library and keep lying to himself he is being useful. Her love for him boils and burns, and the bland disapproval on his face feels like a searing brand stamped on her with an iron rod.

She storms off, turning back at the door to give him one final, furious glare. Her eyes well up with angry tears, and it is the last time Asher sees them.

 *

 Fiddling with the radio knobs, Asher tries to contain his panic. Because fear is unreasonable, he murmurs to himself, because it obscures his vision, because they are all—every single damn one of them—utter morons; because how irredeemable of an idiot must you be to as much as consider such a fool’s errand worthy of your time and resources? Because they are fools, fools with no brain and blood on their hands, putting lives at stake in a stupid way and expecting to—

A signal pierces through the static. Asher catches his breath. Even through the interference, he recognises the voice and fights back a sigh of relief so profound he can almost feel tears in his eyes.

“—call for retreat! I repeat, this is Eris Morn of unit eight-three-seven. I have lost a third of my cohort, I call for retreat! We are dying out here!”

She is alive, for now. He picked up on Conar and Pujari earlier, the former badly wounded and packed up on an evac shuttle; Vell is still kicking somewhere out there too—stupid Titan—yelling curses interrupted by bullets into the comms. Dropping dead, getting rezzed, cursing again.

But even through his ire, Asher cannot help but listen to the distant gunshots and scarce commands. He tries so hard to keep from hoping, because hope is a fool’s errand and only ever makes things harder. He knows well that by the time the battle dies down, there will have been hundreds of Ghostless and dead and nonresponding, and he will have swallowed just as many I-told-you-so’s down his throat. He is furious, furious and mournful for the lives lost, and guilty for the warmth of his apartment and the untouched mug of now-cold tea. He should not have gone there, he is right to have stayed, yet every sound of battle is like a prick of conscience—making him wonder ever so briefly if this had been a life only just snuffed out, one he could have, possibly, saved.

 *

 The smell of smouldered flesh is still strong in the air when Eris lowers her hands, the storm of Light around her subsiding. What is left of the ahamkara are wind-scattered ashes, strangely silent after the recent din of hurricane and whispers. Ikora pokes them with the barrel of her rifle; her face intent, wary. They hardly ever go down easily.

But all is quiet. A breeze rustles Eris’ hair gently, a welcome respite from the humidity of Venusian jungles, and after a minute of fraught silence Ikora looks up and her eyes soften.

“Looks like we’re done here,” she slings the weapon over her shoulder and summons a Sparrow, “If we’re quick, we can make it for dinner.”

Eris still watches the ashes, the breeze sweeping them gently across the terrain. When Ikora calls after her, she nods absently and turns away; the hand in her pocket tightening around a shard of bone that seems to fit perfectly into her palm.

Back in her room, she lies on her back and stares up at it, fingers caressing the jags and curves of its surface. It is beautiful and ancient. She thinks briefly about embedding it in silver, creating a jewellery piece or ceremonial weapon, but then rejects the notion. She will wrap it in leather and place in her locker, safe under layers of cloth and paper, her ultimate safeguard.

She falls asleep with her fingers clasped tightly around it, and dreams of sunshine and marketplace chatter, of silvery laughter and stalls full of fruits red and fresh like the sunrise.

 *

 “Praedyth complained about you.”

“Oh did he,” Asher does not look up from the book he is slouched over, the unkept mess of alabaster hair giving in to gravity and falling over his face. “He tires me.”

Eris’ lips quirk slightly upwards as she reaches for their shared bottle of liquor. It is a cheap Moscato, sweet and sickly-aromatic, and in the afternoon sun flooding the rooftop they have perched upon it looks like molten gold. “What do you think of this hunt anyway?”

“By the way they’re approaching it? I’m surprised there have been no casualties yet.”

“Osiris and Tallu were arguing about it yesterday. He said he didn’t approve of genociding an entire species.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Asher hums and dogears a page.

She regards him sternly, sunlight gilding her hair and flickering on the hilts of her sheathed knives. “They are extremely dangerous.”

“Every power is when you abuse it.”

“But not every power can make you abuse it.”

She has a point and Asher hates it, but he deems the matter unworthy of butting heads over it any longer. It would not deter Fairwind and Saint anyway, even if Osiris shared his rightful concerns. He closes the book and sits straighter, running a hand through his hair absently.

“With their Wei Ning mentality, all this ‘hunt’ is gonna be is a brawl.” He shoots her a weighty glance, “And of course you’ll join in on the folly.”

“The knowledge they possess—”

“Oh don’t give me that,” his hand outstretches in a demanding gesture, and as Eris passes him the bottle, his features soften, “It would be a waste if you died.”

 *

 Sunlight flickers between City buildings, slipping through the balcony fences and strings of garlands stretched above streets. The market square is swarming with people; the colours of awnings over the stalls and fruits stacked in crates are vibrant and loud and heavy with summer’s daze. Ripe-sweet scent of blooming flowers lingers in the air.

A little girl ducks under her mother’s arm and starts squeezing through the crowd—as she runs, the yellows and reds and grey cobblestone all flash past and come colliding when a stall or a body suddenly sprouts in front of her. She rams into it laughing, and zaps away before the surprised rebuke has a chance to reach her.

“Wait for me!” A boy calls after her, struggling to keep up. She does not stop until they are blocks away from the marketplace, away from the clamour and swirling crowds, by an old boathouse on the bank of the river. The heat is more bearable here, and the sunshine glimmers on the surface like stardust. The girl looks up the weathered planks, squinting.

“I’m gonna climb the roof.”

“You’re gonna break your legs.”

“I don’t care.” She already has one foot in a knothole. “Stay down here, if you want to miss the view.”

The boy crosses his arms, watching her try to find a handhold. Bravery and idiocy are indistinguishable in their small world, when the most courageous thing you can do is grin through the hurt and claim the height of the fall was worth it.

“Will you come down when I call you?” He asks, with just the tiniest hint of anxiety to his tone.

She glances at him and for a flicker there is some eager honesty in her eyes—or just the bright, reckless innocence of a child.

“I always will.”

[kentuckywrites]

His Body, The Canvas

Pongo has gone missing, and @shunkuroichii ‘s Shun, @pish-posh-mish-mosh ‘s Mira, and @shymindmeta ‘s Sy’Chell grow concerned about his whereabouts. As fate would have it, Pongo went to face a dragon, and the results were unexpected...

A rewrite of Like A Canvas, a fic I wrote a little over three years ago.

Cauldros was an unforgiving terrain, the skies and the land full of ash and flame. Today it was raining fire, brimstone crashing down onto the molten floor. It’d be foolish to come on a day like this, but Pongo flew his Skell into the continent with no second thoughts. It was perfect weather to face the creature that had hurt his friend.

Sy’Chell had almost brushed over the topic. Pongo had been curious as to whether or not Sy could see once, what had caused him to end up in this state. Sy opened up, told him that this was not by choice, that a creature born of the ashes of Cauldros had taken his sight. Pongo knew exactly which indigen he’d been referring to. He knew where to find it, what prior conditions it needed to appear. He knew its name, how it would not be so easily killed.

Vortice, the Deific Blast. A Class 94 Tyrant, one of the most powerful indigens on Mira, and certainly one of the deadliest in Cauldros. Pongo hid his intent to kill it in conversation, though beneath the skin his blood boiled with rage. The planet was aware of his anger, and any attempts it made to calm him ended in silence. He’d packed his things, refueled Eros, stacked as many Piscinoid augments as he could fit into it, and took off without informing anyone. Pongo could use excuses, if anyone questioned him. He’d grown better at lying after all this time. 

Pongo’s target became visible on the horizon as Eros flew ever closer to Mount M’Gando. Pongo clutched the controls of his beloved Skell tightly, his knuckles turning white. Taking down a tyrant solo was nearly unheard of in BLADE, with only the most experienced able to claim that distinction for themselves. Had those BLADEs fought with a similar vengeance? Had it burned in their cores to the point of overflowing? Pongo tried to steady his breaths as his thoughts began to eat away at him from the inside. He wasn’t going to turn back now, not when avenging Sy was on the line.

Vortice roared, circling the top of Mount M’Gando and soaking in its heat. Pongo pushed Eros forward, forward. He waited until he was in range to fire, and when the first diskbombs deployed from his weapon, he finally let his rage consume him. 

~

Pongo was supposed to babysit Apollo and Asteria. He should’ve arrived an hour ago. But he never came. No texts, no calls, he’d simply disappeared. 

Mira could feel from the first minute that something was wrong. He wouldn’t blow something like this off, and it was even more unlike him to not respond to her texts. She curled into herself more as Shun paced in front of her, hands in his pockets. The silence in their barracks was deafening, his footsteps on the cold metal floor hardly registering as sound. She was thankful the kids were both asleep now, but hearing them up and about would’ve been a blessing in that hour of waiting.

“Still nothing?”

Mira shook her head. “No. You?”

“Nothing at all.” Shun removed his hands from his pockets to run his fingers through his hair, still maintaining his rhythmic pacing. “I’m worried. Really worried.”

“I am too. This isn’t like him,” She replied, taking a shaky breath, “I think we should go out there and look for him.”

“Where would we look? We don’t have any clues. And we can’t just leave Apollo and Asteria alone to -”

A growl interrupted Shun’s rambling. Mira’s head turned to Sy, who was sitting on the opposite end of the couch with his arms folded across his chest. It was hard to tell what face he was making underneath his helmet, but when he raised his hands and motioned downwards, it became clear that he was telling Shun to calm down. Shun sighed, stopping in front of the coffee table. Somehow his expression remained blank, but hidden in his eyes was the concern of a protective older brother. Mira stood herself up, leaving her comm device on the couch as she circled the table to approach him. She reached for his hands, taking them within her own and squeezing gently.

“Wherever he is, I bet he’s fine,” She said, partially to convince Shun and partially to convince herself, “He’s strong, remember?”

“But what if something happened?” Shun responded frantically, “What if he got launched into Mount M’Gando? What if he was captured by the Ganglion and is being held hostage? What if he lost his legs to an Ictus? What if -”

“Shun.”

Mira cut him short by squeezing his hands again, and his fingers instinctively curled into hers. Shun’s words hadn’t failed to embed themselves into her brain, raise worries that she hadn’t thought possible. Pongo was strong, that she knew for certain, but he had a tendency to exceed his own limitations. 

When Shun didn’t answer immediately, Mira decided to take the reigns, asking some calm yet possibly informative questions. “When was the last time we saw him? What was the last mission he took? Maybe he’s running late on a big expedition.”

“Yesterday,” Shun shook his head, “He was leaving out of the east gate. Didn’t get to talk to him since I was wrapping up a mission with Eleanora.”

“Pongo babysat the kids on Tuesday,” Mira said, “and that was the last time I saw him. Sy?”

Sy stood up, his Casca reflecting the barracks light. Slowly approaching the two, he pulled out his comm device and began to type furiously. Mira waited patiently until he flipped the screen around, showing what he’d written out. 

I saw him on Tuesday as well. We were talking over dinner after we ran into each other in the commercial district. In conversation I told Pongo how I was blinded, and afterwards he wasn’t acting the same.

Shun squinted, reading alongside Mira. His hands became tense after he finished and he quickly looked away. Mira frowned, confused. “Sy, if you don’t mind me asking...do you know why Pongo would’ve reacted the way he did?”

Sy nodded and returned his focus to his comm device, typing out something new. When he directed the screen towards them again, Mira’s blood went cold. 

I could be wrong, but...perhaps he meant to avenge my loss of sight by defeating the very creature that took it: Vortice, the Deific Blast.

“No. No.”

Shun practically ripped his hands out of Mira’s, heading for the weapons rack they kept close to the door. He picked up his dual guns, checking the cartridges as he spoke. It would be hardly noticeable to the average ear, but Mira could pick out how his voice quivered. “I bet he didn’t bring backup. He never brings backup. Did he even tell anyone where he was going? Damn it, what if we get there and it’s too late, what if -”

“Shun!” Mira called his name again, and he went silent, staring at her, waiting. To her left, Sy reached for her upper arm, holding up his comm device with a new message displayed on its screen.

Go with him to Cauldros. I’ll stay here and watch the kids. 

Mira knew better than to argue. Shun would want her to come - the more the merrier, after all - and the kids would both understand why they left. She could see it now, the future memory of her sitting with Asteria as she painted upon a new canvas with her little fingers, asking about what dangerous missions she’d gone on and how many people she’d saved. Mira would tell the story about how she and Shun saved Pongo from a dragon, a prince in distress, and Asteria would begin to absentmindedly paint the scene as best she could, eyes wide with wonder. She’d nail the volcano, the three little figures of her family, the Deific Blast floating overhead casting its fire upon them. Would she be the knight this time, or would Shun? Who would hold the shield that protected Pongo, and who would wield the sword to slay the mighty beast? 

Mira took two steps forward, about to trail Shun and grab her weapons, when the front door clicked.

It swung towards them silently, revealing a figure standing in the doorway, shoulders slumped and knees shaking. One arm was using the doorframe as support, though its lack of purchase did almost nothing to stabilize him. His hair was frizzy, unkempt, sticking up in strange directions in a chaos similar to Shun’s. His clothes were torn, some parts of his vest hanging on by mere threads. Mira grew increasingly concerned as the figure entered, and she realized he wasn’t wearing shoes, though a pair of worn down socks still covered his feet. That and his fingers were what grabbed her attention the most. It was hard to see, almost unnoticeable since he was wearing fingerless gloves, but under the shredded fabric were lines of blues and purples and reds and yellows, cascading frequently and without remorse. When he picked his head up, the lines became more apparent, strokes of paint that were eerily beautiful, the roots of a tree that had seen hell and survived. Somehow he was able to smile, though it was clear the action was painful to hold.

Shun reacted first.

“You fucking idiot.”

He put his dual guns down quickly before running up and taking Pongo in for a tight hug. Mira winced as she heard Pongo audibly cry out in pain, and Shun stepped back quickly, his hands hovering near Pongo’s shoulders as he scanned him over. Mira soon joined him, noticing that the brush strokes extended down his neck and into his torso. It would make sense if the markings on his fingers pushed further beyond as well.

“We’re happy you’re back in one piece,” She started, “But you look really hurt. Do you mind taking your vest off so I can bandage you up?”

“No, wait, we should get him to the MMC,” Shun protested, “It looks worse than meets the eye. I’m not even sure why you came here first -”

Pongo didn’t appear to be listening to him, though he turned to Mira and began to shrug off what little of his combat vest remained. With the longer sleeves disposed of, Mira could see his arms were coated in the markings, and they visibly went into his chest. Pongo, however, made no move to take off the tank top that he wore underneath his vest.

“Please, Pongo,” Mira reached out and put as gentle a hand as she could on his shoulder. But even the tiniest amount of contact made him shudder. As Shun reached down and collected what Pongo had removed, Mira began to usher Pongo further into the room, further into the light. He let her guide him, putting up little resistance. Even without showcasing his body, the canvas decorated in failed duty, it would have been obvious to Mira that he was wounded. There was something beneath the surface, more roots penetrating below the skin, that was sapping his strength.

In the common area, Sy made a small noise, likely one of worry. But Mira focused on keeping Pongo steady, and she moved to his backside and began to unzip the back of his tank top. Her hands were slow and steady, but her breaths shook as every new stroke of paint was revealed. She had been right; these scars extended onto his torso, but they seemed to pass down below his belt, too. There was no part of his skin untouched by the paint.

It was horrifying. It was painful to look at, painful to imagine the circumstances. 

“Holy shit…” Shun placed Pongo’s tattered vest and gloves on the couch, able to see Pongo’s front half, the damage he’d been hiding. Mira helped Pongo slip out of the tank top and tossed it into the pile Shun had made. His chest was just as bad as his back, if not worse. A tear formed in the corner of Mira’s eye, and though she tried to hide the reason she was wiping her eye, Pongo caught on. 

“I am alright, I promise...just a few bruises. I have faced worse.”

“A few bruises? A few?!” Shun was holding back as much as he could, but every ounce of anger and concern and frustration was leaking through his veyes. “You’re really hurt, Pongo. How can’t you see that?!”

Sy growled loudly, throwing his shoulders back as he added on to what Shun had said. Pongo’s eyes went wide, his smile fading. “Did you really expect me to sit back and not do anything about it?! You did not deserve what happened to you - I can and will take more hits than this to see your revenge carried out.”

Another set of growls, and Pongo began to cry, tears staining his purple and red cheeks. “You do not understand!! I fought to avenge you because I care about you!!” His chest heaved and he took a deep breath, hands shaking at his sides. “But in the end, I...it got away, neither of us died, and I failed you Sy’Chell I am so sorry I failed you -”

“Be quiet.” Shun told Pongo sternly, “None of that matters right now. You need rest.”

Mira opened her mouth, ready to agree, but Pongo cried out, “I will not rest until that fucking monster pays for what it did!!”

The force of his own voice, a vigor that did not match his physical state, caused Pongo to yelp in pain. Mira knew that all previous attempts at contact led to pain, and yet she knew Pongo thrived off of physical touch. She took one of his hands in both her own, caressing the skin beneath as softly as possible. She could swear she felt his blood tingling, occasional pulses pushing through, the faintest remnants of static electricity radiating off of his fingertips.

“Honey, do you think you can get the guest bedroom set up?” Mira looked over her shoulder as she began to lead Pongo away, “I’m taking him to the bathroom to get him patched up as best I can.”

Shun nodded, effortlessly walking past Pongo and Mira to get the bedroom organized. Pongo said nothing to retaliate, resigned to his pain, resigned to his weakness. Approaching the hallway towards the bathroom and bedrooms, Mira gave Sy one last sympathetic glance before turning back to Pongo. 

That glance was all it took for Pongo to speak to the kids first.

“Good morning, you two!” Pongo chirped, his voice cracking by the end. 

Apollo and Asteria hadn’t fully left their bedroom yet, their tiny heads peeking out of the doorframe. Wide eyes and innocent curiosity were given the image of a broken prince, one who had faced a dragon with a sword and shield and came home defeated. They were too young to know the truth - she promised herself that should they ask, Pongo defeated the dragon, he saved the day. It was his determination and resilience alone, a lone fighter in an impossible battle.

“You should get back to sleep, you two,” Mira told them, and they almost listened. But the door stayed propped open as Pongo called out, still attempting to carry the painful burden of a smile.

“Right. I can tell you about these when you get your rest, okay? Sleep is important, especially for you.”

“But Uncle Pon, you don’t sleep at all,” Apollo commented, and Pongo giggled at that.

“The villains never sleep and the heroes never rest, as the saying goes.”

Turning to Asteria, the young and kind and creative little girl Mira loved with all her heart, Pongo offered one last smile.

“I am sorry I was late; maybe we can paint tomorrow?”

[whyiask]

more bitter than sweet (Ch. 1)

Masterpost Ao3 Link TWs: there is a gun and non-graphic violence during the flashback (in italics) so mind that part Note: okay so. so. for people who have seen TUA, you might be saying "Joy, why on earth would you have Tommy as Vanya instead of Tommy as Five?" and the answer to that is: I just realllly wanted Tommy as Vanya, so Niki is Five, because badass Niki. also, the plot will have some changes, obviously, as it's driven by the characters and the role of Five's character is filled by a quite different person in this au. SO, on with the show. Other than that, it'll follow the original plot fairly well, probably. (also Schlatt is probably ooc, he got dealt the unfortunate hand of Luther and I don't really like Luther and don't really know how to write him, so F in the chat for schlatt lmao)

---

The sky was overcast and dreary. Fitting for the occasion. The manor house, which had been near silent for just over a year, was dusty and creaking. Normally Philza wouldn’t let the house get to such a state. The vines stretched high up the walls and Tommy craned his neck to view the once majestic mansion he had lived in. It was a far cry from the rigid upkeep of the grounds Reginald Hargreeves had insisted upon.

Tommy wasn’t looking forward to seeing his siblings again. Although he missed them dearly, he was afraid, not that he’d ever tell anyone, of how they would shun him. It had been years since any of them spoke to him. Wilbur had moved away from the house as soon as he could, forgetting about Tommy and never bothering to check in. Techno’s abrupt lack of communication was purposeful. He really did only have himself to blame.

Heaving a great sigh, Tommy mounted the steps. At least he would get to see Wilbur again.

His key fit into the door and as it swung open, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The burning of the fireplace, the musty scent of the old, worn down rugs and furniture. The blood that had stained the floors time and time again. Pushing down his nausea, Tommy stepped forward into the open space.

“Big Man Tommyinnit has arrived,” he announced, but it fell flat, even to his own ears. It didn’t echo, trailing off in the lonely entryway. The whole house was a void, a black hole that had sucked his childhood away. He supposed he had never really gotten to be a child in the first place.

He didn’t hear the footsteps coming. He only looked up the grand staircase at the sound of a wall being punched.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Technoblade ground out. His eyebrows were drawn tight and his fists were curled. Tommy bit back a wince. He deserved this. After all, it was his brilliant idea to write a book exposing all of their family secrets. He had seen it as a way to try and cope with his trauma at the time, but it quickly became clear the rest of the family did not share his views.

A mess of curly brown hair poked out around the doorway that Techno was leaning against. A yellow sweater and a maroon beanie. A guitar strapped to his back. Tommy was hit with another wave of memories and it took all of his willpower not to run into his brother’s arms.

“Is that Tommy I hear?” Wilbur asked, and Techno moved aside reluctantly. Wilbur’s entire face lit up and he rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping in his haste. Tommy moved forward at a slower speed, and they met at the base of the stairs.

“Awww,” Wilbur whispered. “You’ve grown so much.” He raised a hand hesitantly, almost as if to pat Tommy’s head, and Tommy swatted him away.

“Oh bug off, you’d know that if you had actually stuck around.”

Wilbur’s smile faltered. He put his hand back at his side and a brief look of regret passed his face. “I’m sorry, Tommy, but I couldn’t stay here.”

“You could’ve taken me with you.” Tommy took a deep breath. He was getting too sentimental for his own good. Wilbur lifted his arms and wrapped them around Tommy’s lanky body. Tommy hesitated for a second, before returning the hug. It was awkward, nowhere near as smooth as it had been in their childhood.

“I missed you, Tommy. It’s good to see you again, you little gremlin,” Wilbur muttered into Tommy’s hair.

From up on the second floor, Tommy heard Techno scoff. He pulled away from Wilbur to look up at their brother. Techno was sharpening a knife, leaning back against the doorframe. His red cloak was settled comfortably on his shoulders and his face held a large scowl.

Wilbur frowned up at him. “Got a problem, Techno?”

Technoblade scoffed again, straightening up and coming to lean over the railing. He sneered down at Wilbur. “‘You missed him? You missed him?’” Techno’s eyes drifted over to Tommy with a glare. “Do you even know what he’s done?”

Wilbur stepped protectively in front of Tommy, and he had to resist rolling his eyes.

“He’s still our brother.”

“He’s still in the room,” Tommy interjected dryly. Wilbur shushed him and this time he actually did roll his eyes.

“Tommy was never part of our family to begin with. What gives him the right to talk about our family as if he belongs to it now?”

Tommy stiffened. Wilbur tensed beside him as well. “Techno,” he said, voice dark. “You know that’s not true.”

“Congratulations, we all have our own fucking trauma. Thank you Tommy, truly, for sharing it with the world!” He turned and his cape swished behind him dramatically. He spared one last look over his shoulder before walking back into the living room. Tommy barely caught his parting statement. “You’ve never been my brother and never will be. Stop acting like you are."

Tommy reeled back like he’d been hit, but when he noticed Wilbur looking at him worriedly, he plastered on a smile.

“Are you-” he started.

“Don’t worry about me, big man,” Tommy said, louder than necessary. “It’s Techno you should be concerned about, he’s clearly got some major problems.”

Wilbur looked at him doubtfully but nodded along anyways. He patted Tommy’s shoulder once.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back, despite the awful circumstances. I did miss you.”

“I missed you too, Wil,” Tommy muttered, watching Wilbur’s back retreating up the stairs.

---

The living room was tense. You could cut through the thickness of the air with a butter knife. Techno leaned on one of the support pillars behind the couch, as far away from everyone else as possible. Schlatt was sitting in one of the large armchairs, and Ranboo had swung his feet up onto the couch, taking up the whole thing.

Wilbur immediately plopped himself onto the other chair, leaving Tommy to try and fit on the couch. Ranboo curled his legs in and Tommy nodded to him with a smile. Ranboo smiled back, before looking over his shoulder at the air and grinning wider.

Schlatt cleared his throat, calling everyone to attention. He stood up.

“I think you all know why we are here,” he said lazily, moving his gaze across everyone in the room. There were several murmurs of agreement.

“Our father is dead, and we have to pay respects to him,” Schlatt continued.

Techno snorted slightly and Schlatt ignored him.

“However,” he stressed, and Tommy rolled his eyes, recognizing the tone in his oldest brother’s voice. “I believe there was foul play involved.”

“Foul play?” Techno asked, disbelieving. “You think someone murdered dad?”

Schlatt bristled at Techno’s words. “Yes, as a matter of fact. When his body was found, he didn’t have his monocle on him, and it was nowhere in the room.”

Even Wilbur had to raise an eyebrow at that. “And…?” he said.

Schlatt groaned. “C’mon guys, you have to use your brains. When have you ever, ever seen dad without his monocle?” At the silence, Schlatt grinned triumphantly as if he had won. “See? My point is that someone took his monocle, right before or after his death. It must’ve been personal.”

He turned to Techno. “Philza was the one who found him, no?”

Techno’s mouth pressed together into a thin line. “You can’t seriously be accusing Phil,” he said, a threat clear in his voice.

“Well, who knows,” Schlatt threw up his hands. “Maybe he finally got tired of being the perfect little housekeeper. Who else could’ve done it, you?”

Techno’s eyes widened a fraction, before narrowing again. Tommy would’ve missed it if he had not grown up with him.

Schlatt must’ve noticed it too, because his jaw opened so fast that Tommy was worried it would come off.

“I mean,” Techno said, interrupting whatever yelling storm Schlatt had planned. “As much as I would’ve enjoyed the honors, it wasn’t me.”

Schlatt’s eyes narrowed down to slits. “I don’t trust him,” he announced.

Wilbur gave a single bark of laughter. “What else is new?”

“I don’t trust you either, and yet here I am. What’re you accusing me of?” Techno butted in.

Schlatt sputtered. “You know damn well what.”

As Techno reared up to argue back, Tommy tuned out their mindless bickering. Somehow, he thought they could’ve changed. Maybe he thought they could’ve grown up. He clearly expected too much. Techno was still a vigilante, still hot-headed. And Schlatt? Well, four years without any human interaction had really screwed up his subtlety. To be fair, Tommy wasn’t sure if he had had any to begin with.

Tommy sighed and stood up, grabbing Ranboo’s arm and pulling him up as well. The arguing brothers didn’t pay them any heed. Wilbur stood up too, trying to break up the argument that threatened to turn violent. Ranboo got Tommy’s drift and they exited the room.

There was no point in staying.

--

They are ten years old. The robbers are holding hostages, and Schlatt starts to tell the others his plan, when Niki jumps into the building. Schlatt curses and runs into the room after her. Techno, never one to miss out on the action, follows closely behind.

Ranboo, Tubbo, and Wilbur are slightly slower and stick closer to the wall.

They arrive in time to see Niki teleporting around, distracting the robbers, as Techno hurls a knife with deadly accuracy into one of the men’s shoulders. He falls with a cry. Schlatt lifts another and tosses him into a wall like a ragdoll.

A voice cries out over the chaos and all three freeze. One of the others has pulled a gun on the civilians. Without wasting a moment, Niki blinks right in between the gun and the civilians, sitting on the bank check-in desk. The man swings the gun down towards her but she’s already gone.

Niki is behind him now, calling out, “Hey, loser.” As he spins around to face her, she quickly blinks his gun out of his hands in exchange for a stapler. “Nice stapler.”

She grabs his hand and twists it upwards. He hits himself in the head with the stapler in his hand. Niki tosses the gun to Schlatt, who catches it easily.

The three boys in the corner smile. Ranboo hated feeling useless in fights, but his power wasn’t cut out for combat. Tubbo was glad he didn’t have to use his. And Wilbur was just happy for his siblings to do the fighting instead of him.

Outside, Reginald Hargreeves stands, monocle and top hat, leaning on a stylish cane. A young boy stands next to him, fidgeting with his uniform.

“Why can’t I be with them?” Tommy asks his father.

“We’ve gone over this, Tommy,” Reginald says, irritated. “Because you are not special.”

When the police arrive, and the news is scrambling over themselves to take pictures of the young superheroes who saved the bank and the hostages, Schlatt, Techno, Wilbur, Niki, Tubbo, and Ranboo all line up to have their picture taken. They stand with good posture and smiles, having it ingrained into them.

Reginald walks out with a dramatic flair onto the steps of the bank, setting his hand on Schlatt’s shoulder. Schlatt huffs out his chest in pride.

“These,” Reginald announces to the gathered press. “Are your new superheroes. Meet the SBI.” The people clap.

“I adopted 6 children with superpowers, and I have been training them to fight against the evil in this city.”

Reginald’s speech continues. Tommy continues to stand out of sight, as Reginald introduces his siblings to the press. Reginald doesn’t even look in his direction as he states he had only adopted six kids.

They are ten. This is their first mission as a team. The SBI is born. And Tommy isn’t allowed to be a part of it.

--

Tommy’s old room was exactly how he remembered it. The plain bedspread on the plain bed. The posters on the wall, one of the few things he was allowed to customize. A neatly organized bookshelf and a cabinet full of music books. A keyboard by the window, coated in a thick layer of dust.

He had been just as surprised as everyone else when their father had allowed him to take up piano like he wanted to. There was a grand piano downstairs, he knew. It was probably out of tune.

Still better than sitting around. Ranboo had wandered off a while ago, so he didn’t have anyone to talk to, and everyone else was either busy or likely to ignore him. Tommy made his way to the spacious room. He sat down at the piano bench, blowing the dust from the keys and tentatively played a chord. It wasn’t horribly out of tune, though it definitely wasn’t in perfect upkeep.

Letting his doubts free, he let himself fold into the music, allowing his fingers to move across the keys. The song wasn’t particularly hard, though it wasn’t one he had played in a while. It was a song he remembered playing often when he still lived here.

.

Unknown to him, around the house, everyone perked up at the distant echoing of his playing, unconsciously swaying to the once-familiar tune.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Epilogue

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Epilogue: Tommy just wants to go home. 

       It was three in the morning when Tommy woke his wife up. “I want to go home.” He decided once Leah had sat up and opened her eyes.

        “Huh?” She rubbed her eyes with a yawn. “Home, like Birmingham?”

        “No, Arrow House.”

        “Alright.” She nodded. After all, she assumed they would have to go home sooner or later. They couldn’t just move in with Alfie for the rest of their lives, even if the children would’ve preferred it.

        “No, Lee, I want to go home. Really just go home.”

        Perhaps it was the early hour, but Leah didn’t understand. “I don’t get what you mean.”

        “I just want to go home. I can turn over the business to someone else in the family. Michael has a plan for running a more legitimate operation. I can give him the reins. As for Parliament, I can run out my time and not run for re-election.”

        She looked at him in disbelief. It was the words she wanted to hear him say for years, but never assumed he would ever say them. “Why-what changed your mind?” She wondered, hoping the question wouldn’t put him off from the idea.

        “I can’t fucking take it anymore.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I won’t last much longer if I continue. And I can’t leave you or the kids not this soon.”

        Although she wanted to jump at the chance to get him to retire, she was hesitant for various reasons. “Last time you tried to relax…” She reminded him.

        “I know,” Tommy remembered the haze of anguish as his wife cleaned up the wound on his hand and had to help him up off the floor of his study. “I’m not saying it will be easy. But it’s something.”

        Leah bit her lip and reached over to touch his cheek. “I just want you to be happy, Tom.”

        He rested a hand over hers. “You and the children make me happy. I just-I just need to leave all the other shit behind.”

        She began to cry, tears of joy, but tears all the same. “Oh, Tom.” She gasped in relief and sank into his arms.

        He held her close, rubbing her back comfortingly. “Sh, sh, s’alright. It’s going to be alright.”

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

        “You know when I got out of the hospital after you shot me in the fucking face. Remember, that right?”

        “Yes, Alfie, I remember.”

        “Well after I returned here, I sat down in me armchair and wondered what the hell I were going to do the rest of me fucking life.”

        The two men were sitting outside in the chairs out on the lawn. There, the children were playing together, savoring their last day in Margate before going back to Warwickshire. Leah was inside making sure that everything was packed and they’d left the rooms in a clean state. She hoped they would be welcomed back in the future, perhaps to go on holiday or just to visit. The beachfront property, and Alfie, had really grown on her.

        “’Course I don’t know how many years I’ve got left, right, but it’s still something to think ‘bout innit? Nothing to work on, nothing to keep me occupied. Seemed like a fucking nightmare. But there’s something to be said about retiring. Comforting, right, ‘cause you ain’t got nothing relying on you.” Alfie paused to take a drag from his pipe. “I’m sure that would drive you absolutely bat shit crazy, wouldn’t it?”

        Tommy nodded slightly. “I suppose it would. I’ve been moving forward all me life.”

        “You’re still moving forward, mate. We all are. Just ‘cause you ain’t out doing anything, making deals ‘n shit. Got to find the happy medium, right. Halfway ‘tween overworking and being dead in the grave.” Alfie pointed at Tommy. “But, I tell you this. You’ve got the advantage, haven’t you? Three young kids and a wife? Mate, if they don’t keep you busy than I don’t know what the fuck will.”

        The Brummie nodded slowly, watching his children running about still playing the fantasy game of pirates.

        “And by the time they’re older, you’ll’ve gotten used to being idle.”

        It was a promising notion. If Tommy could throw himself into his children’s lives, would that be enough to keep the shovels away? He didn’t know until he tried. And he needed to try for their sake and Leah’s sake. “So that’s why you like having them around, aye? You’re lonely?”

        Alfie rolled his eyes. “It were a favor to you. No, not even you. Favor to your wife. She’s a fucking saint for putting up with you all these years.”

        “That she is.” Tommy couldn’t argue with that.

        “Kids, right, they’re messy, loud, whiney, needy, you’ve gotta do everything for them.” He snorted and shook his head. “I’ll stick to raising dogs.” Then he paused. “But sure, they fill the space, don’t they?”

        “So, you mind us coming back then.” Tommy surmised, stubbing out his cigarette.

        “S’long as you give me a few weeks’ notice, I s’pose that’ll be alright.”

        “Of course.”

~~~~~~~~~

        “Bye, Uncle Alfie.”

        “Hey, now, why the gloomy face, aye?” Alfie knelt down to come eye to eye with Johanna. The Shelbys were all packed up and ready to head back to Warwickshire. But the children were a bit glum.

        “I don’t wanna go home.” The little girl pouted and clutched her stuffed rabbit close to her chest.

        “Why’s that? S’been a while since you’ve been home. You get to see all the horses again, right?”

        Johanna nodded but still stuck out her lower lip.

        “Get to go back to school in September too, yeah? You’ll meet new friends and have a grand ol’ time, won’t you?” Alfie tried to get her to lighten up a little.

        She just shrugged. “I guess.”

        “Buck up, kiddo. You ‘n your family can come back here to visit whenever. Won’t be long ‘till you’re back here on holiday.” He stood and scooped her up so he could help her into the car. Charlie and Cyril were already wedged in the backseat. “Cap’n Charlie.” Alfie tipped his cap. “You look after your crew, aye?”

        “Aye-aye!” Charlie beamed proudly.

        Leah came out holding Molly. Tommy was following with the last of their things. “Alfie, I don’t know how we can thank you for everything.” She said gently.

        “Oh, nonsense.” Alfie shrugged off her concern. “The only thing you two need to do is take care of each other. Tommy and I, right, had a pretty shit upbringing. Perhaps it’s God’s plan that we stop the cycle from repeating, yeah?”

        Leah smiled and touched Tommy’s shoulder. “I think we’ll do okay at that.”

        Although Tommy was worried about the changes they were entering, he smiled too. “Thank you, Alfie.” He shook the man’s hand. For once it was a handshake purely out of good brotherhood. Not a deal in progress. Just a gesture of thanks.

        “Right, set a course for Warwickshire, Miss Joey you keep a close watch on the sails,” Alfie instructed.

        Johanna and Charlie laughed out the open window of the car. “Bye, Uncle Alfie!” They chirped happily.

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

        Tommy knew that when Arrow House was empty, it felt like a shell of a house. Just bare-bones, chilly and barren. When the children filled the space, it suddenly came alive. Noise was a constant from wake-up time to bedtime. There was a warmth to it that kept even the largest rooms toasty and it wasn’t because it was the beginning of summer.

        Photographs filled the space and it was very difficult to walk through the house without stepping or tripping on a toy. Tommy had a particularly nasty tumble when he tripped over a rocking horse in the middle of the night.

        But the house was finally becoming something it had never been before even at their best moments. It was a family home. Where everyone felt like they belonged there and there was no doubt of that.  

        Yet despite the atmosphere changing and the routine settling into stone, things were not all perfect. It was one thing trying to turn over the business to the rest of his family. The process was long and taxing and took a lot of Tommy’s attention. So much so that when it was over, he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

        Of course, he still held his seat in Parliament. But he removed himself from the party with Mosley and for the most part kept his head down. He didn’t listen to the rumors or scathing remarks from others. Powerful, up and coming Tommy Shelby was stepping away from it all. He wasn’t the man he used to be.

        Tommy knew Mosley had retribution coming for him. It was only a matter of time. Instead, he focused on what he initially set out to do before he was drafted into the war. He wanted to help those shunned by the elite of society.

        With Leah’s help, they looked into opening more homes for children under Grace’s foundation. Slowly but surely, he felt himself returning to the man he once was. A romantic who smiled more and wanted justice for those who couldn’t get it themselves.

        Tommy knew that keeping himself busy with things he believed in and his family, he could keep the shovels away. But he wasn’t totally in the clear.

~~~~~~~~

        It came via a phone call from Michael. There was trouble with Italians on the racetrack. Arthur was meant to be handling it but Michael was worried about the repercussions to their funds. They were still relying heavily on cash to get through the financial depression. And the tracks had made them a good sum of money to keep the rest of the business afloat. Now, Sabini’s men were making a try for their pitches.

        It was almost instinct, Tommy wanted to instruct his cousin on what to do. He’d drive over, gun in hand and start dealing out threats to anyone who was challenging his business.

        Then Leah passed by the open door of his study. She was carrying Molly upstairs, the little girl fast asleep in her arms. His wife glanced over and met his eyes. She smiled.

        It felt like every nerve in Tommy’s body was fighting itself. His heart was pounding in his chest as he clutched the phone.

        “Tom? Tommy? Are you still there?”

        Forcefully, he hung up the phone and put his head in his arms. He needed to take care of his children. What if he went out to challenge Sabini and he was shot? What if that was his final action? Leah would be devastated that he hadn’t stayed honest, his children would be heartbroken. Molly wouldn’t even have a memory of him. Just like Charlie didn’t have a memory of Grace.  

        He felt it coming. As if he were standing on a train track and he could feel the vibrations of the incoming train. He could hear the loud whistle in the air. Could see the smoke curling over the horizon. But he couldn’t move an inch off the tracks. He just had to wait for it to hit him.

        Fingers curling into his hair, his chest seized as he tried to take a few deep breaths. But it was futile. The panicked feeling was already upon him. The thing that was too powerful to fight. An old enemy.  

        Leah came back downstairs after putting the children to bed. She checked in on Tommy and found him slumped over his desk, hyperventilating. By that point, she recognized the signs that he wasn’t in medical danger, he was suffering from something completely in his mind.

        “Tom…Tommy,” She hurried over to his desk. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

        He didn’t answer, he hardly even moved aside from his panicked breathing.

        Leah knelt down by his desk chair and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here. I’m here, Tom.” She whispered softly. “You’ll be okay, you’ll get through this, I promise. I promise. I promise you will.”

        It took about two hours until Tommy was worn out. Wordlessly, he reached out to his wife. She helped him upstairs and into bed where he fell asleep rather quickly. Leaving her to watch over him with a worried look. She thought she would be enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~

        The next morning, Tommy woke up very early. Leah was still fast asleep as he got dressed in an old button-down shirt, trousers, and bracers. He grabbed his flat cap and carefully shut the door behind him so he didn’t wake her.

        The maids were preparing breakfast for the children so it would be ready for them when they woke for school.

        “Francis, I’m going on a ride. Will you tell Leah when she wakes up?” Tommy grabbed his riding boots and coat.

        “Of course, Mr. Shelby.”

        He was about to leave out the door when he heard quiet footsteps behind him. Tommy turned and saw Charlie halfway down the stairs. He was dressed for school, carrying his uniform jacket and cap over his arm.

        “Where are you going?” He asked.

        “Why are you up?” Tommy skirted the question.

        Charlie shrugged. “I heard you get up and I thought it was time for school.” He explained.

        “It’s still too early, you can go back upstairs.”

        But Charlie lingered on the steps. “Are you going away, dad?” He asked in a small voice.

        Tommy’s brow furrowed. “Away? What do you mean?”

        “Like…when you’ve left before.”

        Father and son stared at each other in the foyer, neither exactly sure how to tell the other one how they truly felt. But their emotions had been simmering in their stomachs for so long, they were bound to come out eventually.

        “Go and get your riding boots,” Tommy instructed, instead of really answering his son.

        Charlie immediately perked up at the prospect of going riding. “Really?”

        “Quickly.” Tommy nodded.

        The boy dropped his jacket and cap to rush and get his boots.

        “Francis, tell Leah that Charlie will be coming with me as well. He’ll be taking the day off from school as well.”

        “Yes. Mr. Shelby.”

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

        Zeus and Pippin were quite the opposites as far as horses went. Tommy’s large black gelding was steady but powerful. A thoroughbred-draft cross, he was built like a tank and carried himself as such. Pippin was Charlie’s little Haflinger pony. With his long, blond mane and round belly, he looked a bit dopey next to Zeus. Despite his short stature, he was still headstrong and could give Charlie a hard time. However, he never intentionally tried to harm the boy.

        That’s why Tommy felt comfortable heading out on the trails with Charlie off the lunge line. Even if Pippin were to spook, his short legs wouldn’t carry him very far and he would most likely give up before he even tried running off. The only Charlie had to worry about was Pippin eating the entire trip along the trail. Bending his neck down to graze at the long grass or grabbing a bite from one of the bushes along the way. Charlie had to constantly pull him away from anything that looked edible.

        The first leg of the journey, Tommy and Charlie was quiet. They listened to the forest creatures start to stir with the rising sun. Birds chirped good mornings to one another as they flitted from branch to branch. The brush stirred with movements of rabbits or squirrels or even the occasional fox. As the sun climbed higher off the horizon, the rays began to filter through the summer leaves. Dappled sunshine highlighting the shiny buckles and stirrups on the horses’ tack.

        Tommy shed off his jacket as the air became warmer and started to buzz with the sound of insects. “Let’s stop up ahead.”

        They came out of the forest onto a large hill. From the top of the hill, they could see a wide view of the British countryside. Fields and fences rolling over hills and dips in the land. There was a herd of cows a couple of miles away, slowly moving across a pasture.

        Tommy dismounted and helped Charlie down as well. He offered his son water and a snack that he had packed before leaving. He felt that he would be out for a while, he needed some open air and space.

        The two settled onto the grass, Tommy’s legs sprawled out as he propped himself up with his elbows to watch the sun continue to rise in the sky. “I remember taking you out in the vardo after Grace passed away.” He began to tell his son without prompting.

        “I don’t remember that.” Charlie frowned as he opened the package of biscuits.

        “No, you were very little. About Molly’s age. Could hardly talk. But you said Mumma.” Tommy kept his eyes out on the horizon, nodding absent-mindedly. “I told you that I was no good.” He recalled.

        “Why?”

        Tommy sighed and looked over at his son. Sometimes, when he woke up in the morning, he still expected Charlie to come toddling in. Still just an infant, hardly able to say much. When he came downstairs, sometimes it put Tommy in a shock. He’d gotten so big in seemingly such a short amount of time. As had Johanna. As had Molly. They all grew unbelievably quickly and Tommy was almost desperate to put a halt to time. Because what happened when they became teenagers or young adults? When they could truly see the kind of man he was? Or maybe they would hear stories about what he’d done in the past. What if they never wanted to speak with him again? What if they wrote him out of their lives?

        When they were at the ages they were, Tommy could do no wrong. He was a saint because they didn’t know any better. Now he was just afraid of what would happen when they did know better.

        “Because I thought I couldn’t take care of you properly.” Tommy picked a pine needle out of Charlie’s blonde hair. “Not without Grace, at least. I was very fortunate your mum came into me life. But I still worry that I’m not enough for you or your sisters.” He admitted, even if he wasn’t sure that Charlie would understand. It felt good to try and own up to his fears out loud.

        “I was really sad when we were in America and you weren’t with us,” Charlie told him. “Because I thought that you didn’t care about me or Jo. But I think you care ‘bout us now.” Charlie said with a shy shrug. “’Cause you’re home more and you smile more. And you play with us and tell us stories. I like that.”

        Tommy swallowed. “Yeah?”

        “Yeah. I think it’s nice. Because I like when you’re here. And if you weren’t here I think Jo and mum and Molly would be sad. I would be sad too.”

        “I like being here for you all too.” Tommy nodded and took a deep breath. That’s all he could do. Be there for them. Even if he thought he was a shit father, at least he wasn’t away. He was there and they would have memories of him. Memories of the promises he made to them.

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

        Dear Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, Mr. Charles, Miss Johanna, and Miss Molly.

        If you’re reading this, then I’ve died. I’ve asked this to be mailed to you when I do die so that’ll be the only reason, you’re reading it. After the skin cancer returned, I decided to get my affairs in order just in case. Yesterday, the doctor said the cancer had spread to my organs. He used a big word but I’m not going to try and spell it out. You’ll most likely be notified of my funeral, just know it’ll be in Jewish customs. So, dress in something you don’t mind tearing. Ollie will explain everything to you when you arrive at Margate. Speaking of Margate, since I have no children to pass it on to, I decided to put my house in the Shelby name once I pass. I decided this a long time ago, but seeing the children enjoy the house for so many years, I figured it was only right. My lawyer will have everything in place, so no need to worry about that.

        In the event that you’ll visit my grave in the future, I’ll ask this of you. Jews don’t really use flowers to give their condolences. Don’t want a bunch of dead flowers crowding my gravestone. Instead, it is custom to place a small rock on the gravesite. I’ll ask this of you.

        Tommy, after a tumultuous length of time as business partners, I am happy to part as friends. I appreciate you allowing your family to bring me some joy in my years of retirement. Know that I went peacefully and I am now with God.

        Regards,

        Alfred Solomons

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

        “Molly, Molly, careful!” Leah called out. “Oh, Tommy please go help her.”

        Spring was budding in Margate as the Shelby family took the path to a familiar location. Nine-year-old Molly was being half-dragged there by their enormous bullmastiff who was only six months old but almost the size of what Cyril was fully grown.

        Tommy trotted a few steps to grab the leash and rein in the excited pup. “Heel, Leo, heel!”

        “I’ve got him, dad!” Molly complained even though her arm was getting tired from the puppy yanking on the lead.

        “I know, I’m just trying to help.” Tommy got Leo back in place beside Molly.      

        “I’ve got a stone,” Johanna said, turning the smooth rock over in her hand. “I found it on the beach this morning.”

        Molly gasped in a panic. “I forgot my stone!” She exclaimed.

        “It’s okay, poppet,” Leah assured her. “We’ll find one on the way.”

        “But it won’t be a pretty stone from the beach like Joey’s!” She protested.

        “That’s alright.” Tommy placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Alfie would just appreciate the gesture.”

        Finally, they arrived at Alfie’s grave. Already piled with rocks as they often visited and left their stones to commemorate him as he requested. Beside his grave lay Cyril who passed a couple of months after Alfie did. Almost in a fitting way of respect.

        Charlie, who was seventeen, set his stone down first. He carefully dusted off the top of the headstone. They all had taken the loss in different ways. But all of them missed the larger-than-life man.

        “Remember the time when we found a crab in a tidepool and it pinched Alfie’s thumb?” Johanna asked as she placed her stone atop the others.

        Charlie chuckled. “That’s when Molly learned her first swear.”

        Tommy couldn’t help but smile. He remembered Alfie swearing up a storm, trying to shake the critter off his hand. Leah was horrified when Molly started spouting off ‘fuck’ too thinking it was a funny word.

        “Remember the time Cyril got sprayed by a skunk and rolled all over the carpet in the parlor?” Molly recalled.

        Leah sighed. “The whole house stunk for weeks.” She leaned into Tommy’s side.

        He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple.

        “I liked playing pirates,” Johanna said. “That was the most fun.”

        Charlie smiled. “Yeah then he made you captain and we ran aground.”

        “Only because you weren’t looking!” His sister stuck her tongue out at him.

        “I don’t remember it that way.” The teenager looked amused at the childhood memory.

        “Alright, alright. Why don’t we leave Alfie to rest peacefully, and not listen to your bickering.” Tommy said and shooed them off. “Auntie Ada will be here soon with Pol and your cousins.” They were visiting so they could all say goodbye to Karl who had enlisted in the military and was now on his way out to fight in the war that had been looming on the horizon for years.

        The three ran ahead with Leo, the puppy yipping at them.

        Leah took Tommy’s hand in hers as they walked down the hill at a more leisurely pace. “He would be so proud of you, Tom.” She murmured softly.

        Sometimes, Tommy couldn’t believe the time that had passed. His son was growing up to be a man. His daughters were growing up to be intelligent young ladies. They were educated and certainly more refined than he had ever been. But the most important part was they never had to see any of the atrocities he had. They grew into a comfortable life, only having to worry about their studies and friends. They rode horses and played the violin or piano. They smiled and laughed nearly every single day. And after every day, Tommy was there to wish them a good night. To tell him how much he loved them. And how proud he was of them.

        And although he still struggled with his mind, Tommy knew that he was learning to accept things as they were. To cope, he looked at what he had been blessed with. Three lovely children and a beautiful wife.

        Sometimes, Tommy still couldn’t believe that Leah was his. He assumed that she would’ve been gone years ago because of his behavior. But she stuck with him through thick and thin. Saw him at his lowest and helped him out of it. They knew everything about each other and it was so comforting to have someone there for him every night as he fell asleep. She kept the shovels away.

        Neither of them was numb anymore. Not in the way they had been when they met. In fact, they were so full of life and love for their family and each other. Despite what was coming in Europe, they would always have each other and that meant something. It meant that Tommy had kept his promise to her.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @vampgirl1997​ @tarafaithe​ @evelynshelby​

Tag list: @shelbyblinded​

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[datleggy]

Scene that popped into my head: post lawsuit while Buck is shunned. He pushes Eddie out of the way and takes a near fatal hit. As he lays there bruised and bleeding internally with Eddie and everyone treating him his eyes focus on something past Eddie, something only he sees. The Buck says a something that truly terrifies Eddie. He simply says “Shannon?” All hell breaks loose after that. Eddie screaming at Buck not to go with her

It’s been nearly a month now since Buck came back to the team and despite all of his apologies and all of his attempts at trying to show everyone he regrets putting them all through the lawsuit, not a single person has reached out in return.

Buck regrets everything. He was just so desperate; he wanted to stay a family so goddamn bad, but it ended up blowing up in his face.

Bobby continues to treat him with kid gloves, having him do all kinds of probationary work around the station, reprimanding him for any and every little thing and leaving him on crowd control duty the few times he is actually allowed to go on calls with the rest of the team.

It’s upsetting and belittling but Buck takes it all in stride. He deserves everything he gets and more for his thoughtless, selfish impulsivity. Right?

It’s the dreary thought that’s on his mind as Buck watches his team go into the blazing fire in the bank, on their latest call.

There are patrol officers and S.W.A.T surrounding the perimeter. They’d been called in earlier when the situation had consisted of a lone bank robber and his eight hostages. Somehow—not that Buck managed to get many details from Bobby, who’d only told him he would be standing the sidelines in case anything happened—that had turned into what it is now, a fire emergency, with the bank robber plus four of the hostages still inside.

Buck is on standby, which is killing him, of course. His team is wearing bullet proof vests on top of their already heavy gear, in case the bank robber feels like shooting his way out of a burning building. Please be ok, he prays, please be ok.

He wants to run in there and help, make sure he’s got his people’s backs, but he’s been given clear and direct orders to stay back by the Captain, and though it goes against his every instinct, Buck wars with himself to wait, anxiety curling deep in his belly.

Eventually, while Buck is holding his breath, waiting for signs of life, one by one, they come out of the fire, relatively unscathed, as far as he can see. S.W.A.T. is on standby like Buck, but unlike Buck it’s because they’ve actually got a job to do. The last four hostages were all female, and so it’s easy to locate the bank robber, who had earlier been identified as a stocky white male in his thirties.

While the man is being cuffed and read his miranda rights paramedics on scene start to work on the hostages, none of whom seem particularly wounded, thankfully. In fact, the worst of it seems to be a little smoke inhalation all around.

Buck notices Eddie trying to lead the woman he saved over to the ambulance to get checked; he’s having trouble. Curious, and eager to help in any way he can, Buck hedges closer. “Look, I’m fine, just leave me alone.” the woman is saying, backing away.

Eddie, who thinks she might be traumatized and perhaps even hiding an injury, the way she’s holding her side so awkwardly, carefully reaches for her again. “Ma’am, it’s ok, we’re just here to help—”

But Buck can see something’s not quite right, he can see the panic in her eyes and instantly recognizes it for what it is: she’s feeling trapped, surrounded on all sides. This isn’t good. He’s seen that look before, in the face of that woman he rescued what seems like forever ago now. The one up on that billboard, the one who drew that gun on him the moment she felt like there was no other way out…

“Eddie wait!” But it’s too late.

The woman is already rearing back, a wildness to her, and within milliseconds she’s got a weapon aimed at Eddie’s fucking head and Buck can see that finger on the trigger, she’s not hesitating and there’s no time to think or subdue her. Buck just acts, slamming himself into Eddie to push him out of the way as the woman shoots.

S.W.A.T. is on her in an instant, securing the gun and shoving her onto the asphalt to be cuffed and arrested.

Eddie, still reeling, sits up shakily, heart pounding erratically. “B-Buck?”

Buck is lying prone on his side, deathly still, and there’s already a puddle of blood formed beneath his body, and it’s only growing.

“Buck, Buck!” Eddie panics, scrambling for what to do.

Thankfully the 118 is here and within moments they’re gathered around, and Eddie, he finds himself frozen in place, watching as Hen and Chimney turn Buck over in a flurry of activity. There’s so much blood, Eddie can barely tell where it’s coming from. It’s covering the side of his face and his neck, his chest, his shoulders.

Chim has a portable EKG reading his vitals and it’s not looking good. Hen’s managed to find the entrance wound, right at the side of his neck and she’s keeping a steady firm pressure but there’s still so much blood pouring out between her gloved fingers.

Buck groans, his eyelashes fluttering against his too pale face.

“Buck, son, you’re gonna’ be ok.” Bobby is sitting right next to Eddie, he’s got a hand lingering, hovering just above Buck’s shoulder on his other side. Eddie sees the way that hand trembles and knows the Captain is terrified he’s going to be made a liar.

But Buck is awake now, conscious and moving, if only in response to the pain. His eyes are unfocused, looking somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder, not at him. “Buck, Buck, look at me, you got shot, as soon as you’re stable we’re getting you to a hospital.” Eddie tries to assure him, the panic in his voice betraying his words. As soon as we get you stable, he makes sure to say, not if we get you stable…

But Buck doesn’t acknowledge him. He blinks slowly, his brows creasing—not in pain, but in confusion. He opens his mouth and says something but it’s too quiet for anyone to catch it, not when so many things are going on around them, with S.W.A.T in the background, released hostages and other civilians still reeling from the gun going off, and Hen and Chim working their asses off to keep Buck alive.

Eddie leans in as much as he can, without disturbing their work. “Buck what is it?” his voice is trembling. Hell, he’s trembling.

But what Buck says next makes Eddie go deathly still.

“Shannon?”

All hell breaks loose. 

“No no no no no no no, Buck no, please, look at me!” Eddie can’t even hear himself over the roaring in his ears but he’s sure he’s screaming right now, his throat feels so raw.

But Buck still won’t look in his direction, those hazy blue eyes looking somewhere into the distance, seeing something no one else can. And it is terrifying beyond all belief.

“Please!” Eddie cries, “Please stay!” This can’t be happening. Not like this. Not ever. He has so much left he wants—no, needs to say. It can’t end like this. Not again.

“Don’t you fucking go! I need you!” he’s sobbing and screaming as Bobby holds him tight, keeping him from grabbing onto Buck and shaking him, telling him to snap out of it and come back to them, while Hen and Chim work. Captain Nash is saying something, maybe he’s trying to calm Eddie down, but he can’t hear anything over the sound of the erratic beeps coming from the EKG. 

Buck lets out a very faint gasp, his eyes fluttering shut, and the resounding BEEEEEP! feels like it goes on forever.

————————————————————————————————–

Buck wakes up in a hospital room.

A very crowded hospital room.

Chim and Maddie are asleep on top of one another, taking up a small loveseat in the corner on the room. Hen and Karen are passed out on the couch beside the entrance, as are Bobby and Athena, sitting side by side on some not so comfortable looking chairs, on the opposite end, resting one against the other.

“Buck?”

Buck looks to his side, where the last chair in the room is occupied, by none other than Eddie, who looks an absolute wreck, and sounds even worse, if possible.

“Eddie?” Buck winces. Talking hurts, his throat is so sore. In fact, everything hurts.

Eddie quickly has him gently suck at an ice chip by the bedside, “It’ll help.” he says. Buck notices the tremor in his hand.

After he’s a little more hydrated Buck asks, “You ok?” his friend looks like death twice warmed over.

He’s not expecting Eddie to break down in tears, but that’s exactly what happens. “Am I ok?” he’s incredulous, running his hands through his hair. “Am I ok?” he repeats.

Buck is pretty sure the only reason no one’s stirred awake yet is because neither of them can speak above the level of a throaty raw whisper at the moment. “That lady.” he says, by way of explanation. “With the gun.”

“I’m not the one she shot.” Eddie sobs, not bothering to hide his anguish. “Buck you almost fucking died. You coded in the field after calling out Shannon’s name and I fucking lost you. Buck I can’t lose you. I can’t. Ever. You can’t---you cannot do that, please, you can’t leave me. What would I ever do without you?” Eddie can barely catch his breath and he’s literally shaking. “Buck please, I need you to promise me you’ll never do something like that again. Please.”

Buck can’t promise that. And they both know it. “You know I can’t. What the hell would I ever do without you? Hell, what would Christopher do without you?”

Eddie shakes his head adamantly, breath hitching, desperately grabbing onto Buck’s hand, like it’s a lifeline. It just might be. “He’d be in good hands. Buck, you can’t do that again.”

Buck gulps. “Eddie, Christopher needs---”

“He’s got you.” Eddie cuts him off. “I should have told you before. After the tsunami I changed my will, if anything happens to me, you’re it.” he admits. “So yeah, he needs me, but he also needs you. I need you. I love you so much Buck, I couldn’t stand losing you. I’d---” he pauses, realizing he’s just confessed, and this is certainly not the way he had meant to confess. “I---shit, I’m sorry, I meant to confess after apologizing for---fuck, for everything, for this last month, hell, for the last few months, since the lawsuit, for how selfish and stubborn I’ve been, for not trying better to understand your side, for---”

“I love you too.” Buck squeezes the hands holding his, albeit weakly. He looks awed, like it’s his first time really seeing Eddie, in a while---and it probably is. “Did you really? With Christopher?” he’s too exhausted for full sentences but Eddie thankfully knows what he means.

He nods, “I did. I’m sorry, I know I should have asked, and I was gonna’ talk to you about it, but then, everything just---”

“No, no, it’s---I’m just really happy.” Buck smiles, and it’s his first genuine smile, one he hasn’t had to fake or force, in months.

Eddie practically melts against the side of the hospital bed, laying his forehead gently up against Buck’s shoulder. “Me too.” he sniffles, overwrought with emotion.

Buck’s hand comes up to rest over the back of Eddie’s head, where he can softly caress his fingers, in hopes of providing some kind of comfort, however tired he is. “I know it’s not what you wanna’ hear right now...or ever, but I would do it again, no hesitation.” he confesses.

Eddie buries his face further into Buck’s shoulder, his breath catching on a sob. “I know.” He does know. Because given the chance, Eddie would easily take a bullet for Buck too, no questions asked. A thousand times over.

“I love you.”

[witchygalaxys]

Another Isekai story idea

Alright! I love coming up with ideas and sharing them.... So here is another one!

So! Its another isekai story idea where some one is reborn as the villianous. But in this story nothing is as it seems. This is an updated version of one of the other story ideas I've had. Im going to delete that one and keep this one here.

It starts off with a girl who died in our world. A girl who has been beaten and betrayed more times then she can count. She is chased onto the roof of a building by her long time stalker. For context her stalker is a very high profile person. Some one that people believed could do no wrong. When ever she went some where for help no one believed she was in danger and would refuse to help her.

When they are on the roof the girl.... let's name her.... Fiona! Fiona is backed up against the ledge. Her stalker has her at gun point and goes on a rant about how they belong together and blah blah blah. Fiona begins to agree with him and he walks up to her to hug her. When they embrace Fiona grabs onto him tightly and throws them both off the side of the building. Both killed on impact.

When Fiona wakes up she is hovering in darkness watching the world talk about her death. The news calling her the crazed stalker. Her grave being desecrated by his fans and people who knew him.

Rage filled her heart and tears filled her eyes. Saying... "even though I'm the one who killed him.... he still wins...."

A voice came out from the darkness. Whispering in her ear "every story has its hidden secrets." A monster appeared infront of her so terrifying and hideous the only thing that would come to ones mind when seeing it is that its the devil.

The devil circles her saying how its a shame how she died and that even in death that she gets no peace. He offers to give her a 2nd chance in return for a price.

Fiona listens to him and asks for details.

The devil asks her if she has read the book "A diamond in the rough." Fiona says yes and that it was her favorite book. Because the villianous gets what she had coming and the main character gets to be happy and becomes queen, that she felt a connection to the main character. And that Fiona had always hoped that's how her story would end

The devil sighs saying how that book is full of lies. That Fiona has more in common with the villianous then she had thought.

In a flash they are suddenly hovering above a torture room. Below them is the villianous Ophelia Solaris. She is bruised all over and her legs are clearly broken. Her small silk night dress ripped and covered in dirt. Her eye swollen shut. Her wrists are chained to the wall. Fiona and the devil watch as the heroine Dia Cresent walked in with a cloak around her.

You could clearly see the rage in Ophelias one good eye. Dia who was sweet and shy in the story grabbed Ophelia by the hair and lifted her head up. Smiling with such pleasure. The entire time she mumbled. "Mine, mine mine mine. You are finally mine! No one else can have you now! Even if you escaped no one would take you! You can never leave me now!" It became clear that Dia was a hard core sadist and even though she had a harem of men and even married the prince. She only had one love. Ophelia the villianous.

Fiona asks the devil why he is showing her this. And how he is showing her this. These are characters from a book so it can't be real. But it was indeed real. The devil explained that the story in the book is not just a story. Its an entirely different world. A world that he watches over and that he had created centuries ago. God has his world and the devil has his own. (This isn't your basic Christian story or anything.) The devil explains that there are special people that are able to see into other worlds. That the author of the story was one of those people. But the author only saw the surface level. That Dia was able to fools those she didn't even know were watching.

A while later Dia left Ophelias jail cell. Ophelia began to cry and scream. Praying for vengeance and freedom.

The devil looks at Fiona and says "this will be your price." He explains how he listens to the prayers of the people. And he heard Ophelias cries and saw how she was wronged and vowed to help her by taking her soul and letting it be reborn into some one new. But he needs a new soul to give her vengeance and she can not be reborn until she is avenged. He tells Fiona that he will put her into Ophelias body back when she was 12 years old. (She is 26 now.) And that it is up to her to get vengance for Ophelia as Ophelia.

Fiona asks what she would get in return for doing this. The devil says "You will also get the vengance you have been craving for." The devil says that God has been interfering in his world and had helped Dia get to where she is today. And while the devil has pulled Fiona out for a chance to live in his world. God has taken her stalker and had him be reborn in this world as well. To be one of his faithful servants. God has created churches to be against the devil even though it is his world. The church has killed many innocent creatures in the name of the lord and wishes for this to end.

The devil tells Fiona. "You are not simply another deal I plan on making. I am having you become my champion." The devil then shows the secrets about Ophilia that have been hidden. That Ophilia had a natural gift for magic and was very powerful. But due to Dia's influence she was never able to practice her skill and hone it. Dia was not a simple human eaither. She was a mage. (I love this idea of Mages being a different species than humans. If you read any of my other story ideas you might see it a lot in them. Mages are beings of pure magic. Humans can only use a certain amount of magic before they need to recharge. While mages are magic so they never need to recharge. The magic in them also stops them from aging when they reach the age of 23. While humans need to take extra steps in doing magic. Mages just need to wave their hand and its done. Although the strength of there magic is like a Muscle. It needs to be trained to get stronger.)

Ophelia is a mage on her dead mothers side. When her mother died her father a duke took her in. But due to Ophelia being the product of an affair she is shunned by her new family. Her step mother abuses her when ever she gets the chance. Her older half brother despises her. Her father does not seem to care for her. But her younger half brother by 3 years loves and adores her.

The family shunned Ophelia and sent her to live on a very large but broken estate surrounded by monster filled woods. This estate was given to her at the age of 7 for her to manage. Saying how it will show her how to overcome adversity. The mansion was falling apart and her servants were almost all spies and abused her as well. Eventually Ophelia learned to get angry and would beat those who bullied her. Only to have word of it get out. Ophelia was then set to marry the prince of the kingdom. Ophelia was madly in love with the prince but the prince didn't care for her and only cared for Dia.

Ophelia tried to avoid Dia out of fear of doing something foolish. But no matter where she seemed to go Dia was there. Simple accidents made it look like Ophelia was bullying Dia and she would be punished. Dia had a harem of men around her. Including Ophelias older brother and the prince. They constantly were making sure the world knew what kind of person Ophelia was. Even if they were all lies. The only reason the prince wants to marry Ophelia is to have the support and resources that Ophelias family possess. Even thou Ophelia gets disowned the father agrees to give her back her title if she is to marry royalty.

The devil shows Fiona all of the secrets of Ophelias life. That when Ophelia was finally set to be killed only 2 people tried to save her. Her younger brother Leo. And Dias younger twin sister Opal. Those are the only two people who would stand up for poor Ophelia. Even when Ophelia was cruel to them.

Fiona watched Ophelias true life and felt for her. She then looked to the devil and agreed to his price. The devil smiled and said that is not all. He says that Ophelia being a mage will make it so she will not age. But she can be killed. And if Fiona is killed before she can get vengeance on not just her Stalker but on Dia, Fiona will be pulled into hell to suffer for eternity. And even if she doesn't die she will never age and live for as long as she isn't killed which in itself can be a burden. That and if she commits suicide she will be going to hell. But Fiona does gets 3 wishes for her new life as Ophelia. It can be anything from having a legendary wepoun to having a special ability. Fiona thinks it over for a moment and then agrees to the devils terms.

The devil asks her "what are your wishes."

Fiona says the ability to be the best fighter in the world. To be an unbeatable fighter and be a master in every fighting style.

Her 2nd wish is to be a brilliant strategist. To have the knowledge and class to take down an enemy with out even needing to hold a wepoun.

Her 3rd wish....... she asked to hold off on. That she would make her wish when the time is right.

After that Fiona wakes up in a very sick 12 year old Ophelia. Laying in bed with a high fever. All alone.

So thats my idea that I had in the middle of the night! I really like this idea. Even though Ophelia is now OP. She won't be able to walk up to Dia and simply kill her. Dia would die and be known as the innoccent angel that was killed by the evil Ophelia. Dia's sick nature needs to be shown to the world. So when she does die the world will say "good riddance." And even though Ophelia can fight like a master, her body is still just the body of a 12 year old girl who has no stamina. So she needs to work on not just her body but her magic as well. Ophelia already has so many enemies and she is only 12. The church, the prince, her own family, Dia, and her stalker from her past life. She has no idea who her Stalker was reborn as. For all she knows he is a newborn baby now or an old man.

[cchellacat]

Thank You for Your Service pt5

gif by @spacemansam

Darcy/Bucky

Warning: Possible trigger for assault, although it’s brief.

Darcy doesn't care at first where her feet are taking her, she just walks, head down, through the crowd, she just needs some space. The street is brightly lit, people out, alone or in groups. |She steadfastly ignores the couples holding hands and looking like they were walking off the pages of some romance novel.

She's always loved the city at night.  The rush less hurried, the real people of New York out and about living life, being honest and real.  The sound of the cars driving by, the occasional sound of a horn, the cursing as people walk out in front of traffic, the colorful language of the natives.

This is her home, it's where she feels grounded and safe.  It's part of what she hates about being cooped up all the time.  She misses the freedom to walk out and forget the world and just live in the moment of the city.  Breath in the smog and not think about where her feet take her, find some little hole in the wall that serves good food or wine, or both.

She keeps walking, missing the way her feet lead her off the main thoroughfare and down a street less brightly lit, misses the figure that's been following her since she left the tower.  She's wandering aimlessly, trying to figure out what she should do next, her head going round in circles thinking of him.

Darcy’s honestly just so tired, she’s been on edge for weeks. The constant ache of wanting what she's told she can’t have, intruding on her dreams, filling the spaces in the hours while she works.  Their encounter in the car had been fantastic, earth shattering, mind blowing… fuck, it had felt like more than just sex, it had shaken her to the core.

The feeling of connection that had formed between them, him filling her, making her whole, it had made her think he’d changed his mind.  Had she misread something? Darcy casts the thought aside, what was the point in second guessing? All this wallowing and wondering is what she’s trying to get away from, nothing was going right in her life recently.

Every decision she made seemed to make things worse, not better. It would be easy to blame it on Tony or Jane or even a host of other outside factors but the truth was that she’s been making impulsive decisions, not taking the time to think things through.  She just needed a time out, a moment to think, to re-evaluate what she was doing. When she spots the bar there is a split second of hesitation before she quickly makes her way inside. She’ll think about it tomorrow, tonight she needed to drink and forget, just for a minute.

The man stops and watches as she crosses into the pub, waiting before slowly following her inside.

Jackson Heights

Bucky watches the place from the security feed and sees nothing to indicate there’s anyone currently inside.  He checks his weapons and the team all agree on a plan of action before they leave, closing in on the small apartment.  

It’s in a bad neighbourhood, with a high crime rate .  The apartment block is run down, graffiti covers the walls, a few gang signs and tags take prominence.  The stairwell smells of stale beer and the scent of weed hangs heavy in the damp corridors. The report indicated Keane might have been here for as long as two weeks.  It leaves a deep feeling of apprehension in his gut, knowing the man who had hurt her has been so close for so long. He doesn’t know what to expect, what they might find, but nothing could have prepared him for the revelation waiting inside.

They get in quick and quiet, there’s no resistance as they enter.   All the rooms are cleared quickly and Bucky is left to stare at the wall in the main room.  

There are hundreds of pictures of he and Darcy, taken all over New York, going right back to the time he first came to the tower, covering every wall of the room.  

The first of them he recognised with a growing coldness, shots taken of them in the damn library, Darcy in his lap while he kissed her.  How the fuck had Keane gotten so close, so near, without Bucky knowing?  

Icy dread fills him, there are so many taken right outside the tower, Keane had to be following them every time they left… the angles of the shots, how close they were?  He had to have an excellent camera, something with a telescopic lens, but the type of equipment would be noticed, he’d stick out like a sore thumb, you couldn’t not be noticed carrying a camera like that around, not unless….  

Horrifying realisation sweeps through him.  He’d been so fucking stupid, the one place he didn't look, the only people he ignored.  The only people in New York that people pretended weren’t there, that got shunned and pushed out the way if they came too close.  He was posing as a fucking photographer, one of the many paparazzi who hung out around the Tower, waiting for Stark or one of the Avengers. Fuck... and they had been there tonight.  Tonight when he had taken her to the restaurant and after, when he’d been seconds away from telling her everything before she’d went inside…  

It’s only then, standing in the messy apartment, her face staring at him from the walls that he begins to question what he saw tonight, too distracted by the call to double check….

He’s striding from the apartment with  shouted instructions and jogging down the stairs, phone clamped to his ear, ringing her number, it was going straight to voicemail.  He ignores the shout from behind him and keeps going, tapping the com and being put through to the tower.

“Jarvis?  Tell me Darcy is in the Tower?”

“I’m sorry Sergeant Barnes, Miss Lewis left the Tower with you tonight but did not return.  Would you like me to inform Sir?”

“Not yet Jarvis, can you ping Darcy’s phone for me?”

“I’m sorry sir, but I can't get a location, her phone appears to be turned off.”

“Try her tracer. She’s meant to wear it, I know she had it on tonight, she was wearing the necklace Stark gave her.”

“I have a last known location, three blocks from the tower, a bar called Oakley’s.”

He grabs his bike and mounts, not bothering with the helmet and rides back to the city, breaking every speed limit and trying to coordinate by com with Hill.  He needed a clear path back and couldn’t be delayed by some well meaning cop.

Traffic seems to be against him, even with every light miraculously in his favour he feels the seconds ticking by, knowing each one brings her closer to danger.  He’s blaming himself, he should have checked, made sure she had actually gone inside, fuck. He’d had his eyes off her for a few seconds. Had she been taken? Or had she just walked off?  The tracer said she was at the bar, but that didn't mean anything, not with how much intel Keane might have picked up from watching them so closely.  The bar sounded familiar though, then it strikes him why.  He knew that bar, knew exactly which one, the same one they had met in.

What were the chances she had gone there,that she would still be there when he arrived? He gunned the motor again and overtook a red buick, the driver blaring his horn and shouting curses at him as he sped past.  Almost there, another few blocks and he’d have her.

Oakley's Bar

Darcy takes her usual seat at the bar and orders a scotch and ice.   It seems like the sort of drink she needs right now, something hard and biting.  Something that will hold her up later for whatever speech her erstwhile mancrush has cooked up this time.  She has no doubt he’ll follow her, he always does.

She sips the drink and ignores the other patrons at the bar, she’s not in the mood for some bullshit come on or a good time.  She came here to drink away the pain and the feelings and the angst.  

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just any guy though, was he?  God, if it had been anyone else she would have been long over the whole thing but he was different.  She knocks back the drink and signals for a second.

She’d been sitting right here the night they first met. She’d spotted him nearly a half hour before Ian had turned up but the guy had put off such a keep away vibe that she’d done her best to reel back the flirting she had wanted to do and kept to herself.  It had only been Ian’s presence that had made her throw away caution and good manners, instead, begging for the handsome man’s help. When he’d slipped his arm about her waist and scared Ian off she’d been so surprised, but right from that first touch she’d felt it.  What was it all those sappy writers would say? She felt a spark? His touch was electric? It would be funny if it weren’t so true.  

Darcy sighs into her drink, drains it and signals the barkeep for another.  She’d only vaguely aware of someone slipping into the seat next to her. Ignores the first two attempts to engage her in conversation with an icy glare.  The third time the guy touches her arm and she snaps at him.

Across  the bar a shadowy figure watches her  from the corner, shrouded in darkness, Darcy never notices him.  He keeps his gaze trained on her as she argues with the son of a senator.  

When she gets off the stool and shrugs her jacket back on, he follows her.

She’s out the door and half way down the sidewalk when someone grabs her, pulling her up short.  The grip is tight on her arm and she can smell the alcohol and stale cologne as her assailant jerks her against him.

“Let me go!”

She wrenches her arm from his grip, it’s the  same guy who had been trying to chat her up for  hours. The guy is average in every way to her eyes, although, had she met him before she finished college she might have thought him cute.  It seemed though, that knowing and meeting gods and super soldiers had skewed her idea of attractive. He’s lean, dark hair, almost pretty if it weren’t for the mean glint in his eye and the twist of his lips.  

“Come on baby, don’t you know who I am?”

“No, I don’t, nor do I care, I said no you jack ass now back off!”

She turns again to leave, walking quickly, not looking back and for the first time, reconsidering her ill fated idea to leave the protection she’d been given and ignored.  It’s not like Bucky not to show up, to not know where she is. Even as she had decided to walk away from the tower tonight, she’d still expected him to turn up, instead it seemed by some quirk of fate she'd actually slipped past him, at the worst possible time.

Footsteps echo behind her as she speeds up, cursing the fancy heels which are slowing her escape.  

The footsteps come closer and she digs in her pocket for the small hand held taser Tony had insisted she carry with her at all times.  She can feel it, the fear tightening her belly, her shoulders ridged as she half runs, she knows she’s not getting away but she’d hoped if she could make it another block to where the crowds were busier she’d get help.

When it happens, she freezes for a split second, the harsh grip clamping around the back of her neck, terror swallows her senses.  All she can feel is the vice dragging her back by her neck, she drops, bringing up her shoulders and ducking but he grabs her hair wrenching her head back even as she falls to her knees.  The yelp she lets out is high and clear, but she swings her fist up as she cranes her neck to see him bending over her, feels the sudden release of her hair and the swirl of satisfaction as her knuckles throb from the nose she’s just broken before she fires the taser.  He yells and curses at her, his hand swinging and catching her with a back handed blow even as he stumbles back, falling to the ground unconscious, it throws her to the pavement, her head slamming into concrete and then there is the sound of running and blue lights and she dizzily becomes aware of the commotion of people. 

Bucky arrives at the bar, jumping from the bike and striding through the doors.  The place is small, it’s the work of seconds to ascertain that she’s gone. Before he can cross the room to question the  bartender his phone rings and Stark's face lights up the screen of the smartphone. He barks out his name by way of hello.

“Barnes, do you want to tell me why I just got a call from my lawyer telling me my daughter just got arrested and is being held at the 17th Precinct?”

Stark’s voice becomes louder and higher as he questions him, Bucky can hear the stress and anger in his tone.

“I’m on my way, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”  he’s remounting the bike and gunning the engine even as Stark reams him out.

“Seriously?  When I get there you had better have a damn good explanation as to why she was alone.”

Bucky sighs and pushes the bike out again, turning it south.  If she’s in police custody at least she’s safe. He's not sure what he'll do when he sees her though, the relief of knowing where she is wars with the helpless anger he could still feel burning in his gut when he realised she had slipped off.

  17th Precinct.

Happy draws up outside the precinct, it's telling that Tony doesn’t wait for him to open the door, instead letting himself out and rushing inside, phone clamped to his ear as he shouts at his lawyers to get their asses down there.

Happy’s meant to be retired, but following Tony and watching his back has become ingrained in him. He could head home now, they’d only been out for dinner when Tony got the call. Maybe it’s the habits of a life time but he takes up his familiar place at Tony's side.

Happy does his best to keep the reporters swarming at bay and away from Tony but the story is already spreading.  It’s the wrong story of course but its still damaging.  

His phone is giving off constant notifications from media outlets, all seeming to be ecstatic to trail out the same narrative.

“Stark’s Strumpet Shocks Senator's Son”.

His old friend is fuming, and why wouldn’t he be?  The only question left right now wasn’t if Tony would announce the truth, that Darcy was a Stark, it was what he’d do to the people responsible for the slander.  

Happy slips his hand into his pocket and takes out his com unit, he’d kept it on him for the last month, reluctant to give it up for some reason.  With a grim smile he tucks it into his ear and taps it twice, the comforting voice of Jarvis coming across the line, and he gets to work securing the area.

He places himself in front of the doors just as the familiar roar of Barnes’s Harley drawing up causes the swarm to turn their attention away from him.  

The ex assassin is grim faced as he approaches and Happy tamps down the urge to step back.  This is not how his evening was meant to go, dealing with pissed off superheroes was never meant to be part of his life and his plans for retirement were fast going out the window.  How could he go now, when Tony and his family still needed him? And he’d missed the kid, decision made he squares his shoulders and meets Barnes with a confident nod.

Bucky parks the bike behind Stark's custom Audi.  The car’s a tank in it’s own right, reinforced bullet proof glass and if he’s right the vehicle was more secure than even Fury’s SUV had been.  

He pulls Happy to one side before entering the station.

“Keane’s been in the area, keep sharp.  There’s evidence to suggest he’s been posing as a pap.”

Happy’s eyes widen but he nods, keeping his gaze from wandering to the crowd of reporters and paparazzi as he gives Barnes a short rundown of the situation.

“I’ve got Willis and Shaw posted at the other entrances and Friday has control of all CCTV in a five block area, you better get in there, Tony’s losing his goddamn mind.”

Bucky nods and slips through the doors.

He spots Stark almost immediately, arguing with the chief of police. He crosses the foyer and stands to one side of Stark who gives him a sharp nod.

“I want to see her.”

“As I’ve told you Mr Stark, she’s in an interview room now.  The Senator is pressing charges. She discharged an illegal weapon.  That can't be ignored.”

“And I’ve told you, the weapon she had isn’t a taser, it’s a high voltage anti assault device and she wouldn’t have used it if she wasn't being threatened.  My lawyers will be here shortly, until they are I want her personal security with her.”

Bucky scans the room as Stark continues to argue then discreetly slips away, heading to where Darcy is most likely being held.  Stark covers for him smoothly, turning the chiefs attention away from Bucky by calling out to his freshly appeared attorney.

Darcy sits in the interview room, ignoring the one way mirror and the ugly reflection it holds.  She’s a mess, her make-up is smeared and it can’t hide the purpling bruise rising beneath the skin on her left cheek.  They gave her an ice pack for her head but little else. They’ve had her here for about half an hour although it feels much longer.  The dizziness thankfully passed quickly, she doesn’t think she has a concussion, but her face feels stiff and achy.  

She spent the time since they put her in here worrying over what Tony, Bucky and no doubt Jane would say.  She should have stayed in the bar and called for a car, she should never have left Bucky like that, she should have gone inside.  “If only” and “what if”, seemed to be going in circles in her head. They’d given her one phone call and she’d done the only thing she could think of and called Tony’s lawyer, Harvey Specter.  He’d told her to say nothing till he got there, so she’d done as he said and sat tight.

The door opening startles her more than it should and she raises a hand to her heart in fright then locks eyes with Bucky and the tears she had been holding back since they put her here quickly rushed to the surface along side a stifled sob of anguish she couldn’t keep in.  

She can see he’s angry, for about a second, then he gets a good look at her and the frown dissolves into worry.  She doesn’t register standing but she must have because the next thing she knows she’s in his arms and she feels safe again.  

He crushes her to him, pressing her body to his and holding her tightly.  Darcy curls into his hold, clinging to him even as his hands move over her, she represses the hysterical giggle bubbling up.  Even now, he’s checking for breaks or injuries, his hand moving up into her hair and finding the nasty bump caused by her brief contact with the ground.

“Darcy..  Baby doll, fuck, what happened?  Are you alright?”

She can’t answer, just shakes her head and burrows into his chest.   It’s not like her, she knows that, but the last few hours have drained her of all her defenses.  There’s nothing left for her to hide behind or draw strength from, the only real thing in her world in that instant is him.  Solid and real and providing the anchor she needs.

Bucky holds her up, he can feel she’s barely standing on her own.   The bruise on her face looks bad, probably worse than it is, but he worries anyway, especially when he discovers the goose egg on the back of her head.  He manages to get her to look up at him, checking her eyes to make sure she’s not concussed, they’re full of unshed tears, making the deep blue of her irises sparkle in the dim light.  

She’d crumpled like wet tissue when she saw him, this isn’t the girl he knows, this isn’t the Darcy’s he’s seen tackle things head on. Whatever had happened tonight has spooked her.

He soothes her as best he can, whispering reassurances into her hair and pressing kisses to her brow.  He can feel her shaking, the race of her heartbeat, it’s an almost crippling reminder of her fragility, that as strong as she wants people to think she is, she is still as vulnerable as anyone else.  

“I’m sorry, I just…  I … Bucky I’m sorry…”

“Hey, no… Doll, we’ll talk about it tomorrow.  I don’t know why you went off like you did, but it can wait.  I’m just glad you’re safe. Can you tell me what happened?”

She does so in halted steps, explains about the guy bothering her at the bar, about him following her.  He wants to hunt the little punk down and teach him a lesson, still might if he ever crosses path with the guy. The only relief he has is that it wasn’t Keane.  That’s something else he has to worry about, he’s going to draw a line. He can’t continue like this and neither can she. Tomorrow he’s going to explain everything to her and hope she can understand.

He cups her face gently, thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

“You did good Darce, took that asshole down and protected yourself.  You’re strong, don’t forget that.”

“I panicked…  Bucky I froze…  “ she trailed off.  “I… when I was in college I was with this guy he…”   She broke of, biting her lip suddenly feeling she was about to say too much.

Bucky feels frozen, he knows what she wants to tell him, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t, the words escape him before he can change his mind.

“Hey…  I know, Darcy…" he tells her gently.  "I know what happened, it’s part of your file.”

Her first instinct is to put space between them.  She’s held the memory of her past close, kept it secret.  Him knowing what happened to her, it makes her feel exposed and vulnerable.  She tries to pull away but he doesn’t let go,

“Why is that on my file it…  It was years ago, long before Tony even found out about me.”

“I’m pretty sure Jarvis can find out anything, besides, it’s just SOP for any sort of personal security job Doll, I’m meant to know this stuff, it’s my job.”  He’s cursing his own choice of words even before he sees the way her expression twists and she tries to pull away from him again, this time he lets her take that step, knowing somehow that in this she needs to stand alone, on her own strength.

“I am so fucking sick of hearing you tell me that this or that is your job…”

“I know and I’m sorry.   Listen, I’m gonna make this right Darcy, just give me till tomorrow.  I’m finished wasting time, trying to wait this out. I want to be with you doll, now, right now.  Nothing that happened in the past changes how I feel about you. You went through hell and you came out the other side.  You’re amazing, you take my breath away. I’m here, when you’re ready I’ll listen, if you never are, I’ll still be here, don’t pull away from me now, please Doll.”  He reaches for her, one hand held out, beseeching.

Darcy takes a breath, her eyes straying to that hand, open, offering her everything she’s needed for so long.  She sees the honesty in his eyes and places her hand in his, feels herself calming under his touch and breathes. He knows, fuck he probably knows everything.  Jarvis was nothing if not thorough and the majority of what had happened with Keane was on public record, the trial had been all over the local papers at the time.  

She nods her head and relaxes again into his arms as he draws her back against his strong chest, closing her eyes as his head rests on hers.  She can trust him. He would never hurt like that, she knows it already. For all the violence that lies under the surface, Bucky isn’t that kind of guy.  He’s one of the most deadly and dangerous men alive, but he’s incapable of hurting her the way Keane had. At his core he was good, honourable and gentle. He maintained the balance inside himself, one of constant self regulation, he had demons, but he controlled them and never the other way around.  What had happened to her with Keane had been a crucible, one she had come through stronger than before. Darcy breaths him in, letting his familiar scent calm her.  

"I just want to go home Bucky."

"I know doll, your dad's working on it."

Bucky scoops her up and sits on the chair, Darcy safely ensconced in his lap.  She snuggles in and he tucks her head under his chin.

"Did you mean it?  About us?"

"Every word baby girl."

"Okay."

He presses a kiss to the crown of her head and she feels her eyes begin to shut.  He's warm and safe and the way he strokes her arm over and over lulls her into sleep.  She doesn't fight it, lets it happen, Bucky's here and he won't leave her.

 The first thing that greets Pepper as she hurries through the doors of the station is Tony's voice sharp and cutting. She spots him immediately, waving his hands as he argues with Senator Griffin. The Senator is not one Tony or the Avengers are on good terms with.  Phil Coulson and Steve stand off to one side watching the show as are most of the officers and the chief of police, who has wisely stepped back from the two men.

 "What's going on?"

 Phil smiles warmly.

 "Tony just dropped the daughter bombshell.  Senator Griffin is currently back tracking. He may loath Tony on principal but he's not stupid.  The narrative changing from suspected mistress to innocent daughter means he'll lack all public support if he presses ahead with charges, especially since Tony just threatened to sue his son for the attempted sexual assault of his daughter.  It'll look terrible for his constituents and with the election coming up he'll risk his seat if he tries to fight this."

 "Harvey?"

 "He's dealing with the media fallout, calling a press conference.  Griffin’s lawyer walked in, saw Harvey and walked out again, not that I think that's going to matter at this point."  Phil gestures towards Tony.

 Pepper makes her way over quickly, she knows that expression, Tony knows he's won and is about to press the advantage.

 "Senator Griffin."  she greets the red faced man before turning to Tony and kissing his cheek.

 "Light of my life."

 "Tony.  Have you seen Darcy yet, is she alright?"

 "Barnes is with her.  If she was badly hurt he'd have taken her back to the tower already."

 "Barnes?"  Griffin questions, paling.

 "Our head of security and Darcy's boyfriend."  Pepper relays smoothly.

 "The Winter Soldier?"  he asks, patting at his forehead with a handkerchief.

 "The very same."  Tony's smile is shark like, teeth bared with threat.

 "I'll have the charges dropped Mr Stark-"

 "Dr Stark."  Pepper intones sweetly.  "His proper title is Dr Stark, he has four Phds Senator, after all I know how much stock you put in proper etiquette."

 "Of course Miss Potts-"

 "Mrs Stark."  Tony cuts him off, pulling Pepper closer.

 "Well, I'm sure we all have other things that warrant our attention right now, if you'll excuse us Senator, I'd like to collect my daughter and take her home."

 She feels Tony's grip on her waist tighten as she claims Darcy as hers.  It's only right after all, the girl has no mother of her own, hasn't since she was three years old.  It's no different than the relationship she's been building with Peter, a son she never expected to have, but she finds the role of mother to them keenly lately, perhaps because she's found out that there will soon be a third Stark heir to join the first two.  She hasn't told Tony yet, it's early, only five weeks. They had been trying for years for a baby. She resists the urge to cover her abdomen with her hand and leads Tony away. Perhaps the press conference would be smoothed out with an announcement of that fact.  It was also getting harder to hide Peters true role in Tony's life. A united front, a little bit of spin and this whole mess would be forgotten about, the media too busy with chattering about who would be tipped to lead SI in the future. Better that than them hashing and rehashing this incident and speculating on Darcy's role at the Tower.

 "That was a nice move, telling that ass that Barnes was her boyfriend."

 "He is her boyfriend, or at least there’s something going on with them Tony."  Pepper sighs.

 "What?"

 "Tony...  She's been pinning over him for weeks and he looks at her like she hung the moon...  Have you really not noticed?"

 "They're together?"

 "If they're not, they soon will be.  Don't mess this up for her Tony, she's old enough to decide who she dates."

 "I know that... it's just..."

 "I know.  But he's not that man anymore and he'll look after her.  He's a good man, I think he might make her happy if they get their chance."

 Tony nods, thinking it over.

 "I guess it wouldn't be the worst match.  At least I know she'll be in safe hands, he'll never let her out of his sight after this though."

 "That's for them to work out Tony.  I think you should give him the chance to hire some enhanced to the security division for protection for Darcy and Peter.  They'll need it moire than anyone else."

 "Yeah, Agent will have three fits if I poach from his operatives though."

 "Well, a little bird told me that Skye and Ward are looking to leave Shield. Who better to hire than Quake and Firestorm?  They'd be useful back up for the team too in emergencies."

 "An ex hydra Agent and a hacktivist?"

 "Ward's family is old money and even though his brother was disgraced, his rescue of the Presidents family during the fall of Shield gives him a very high profile.  Same with Skye, she saved Sokovia with her power and helped stop Ultron and capture the Maximov Twins. Having them attached to SI will be positive press for the company and it will give the media something else to chew on after this press conference.  I think we should lead with Darcy's identity then Peters, take a few short questions then announce my pregnancy before leaving the podium, it should shock them enough that a coherent narrative of any of this will fall flat."

 "Yup, that sound....  Wait... You're pregnant?"

 "Yes Tony."

 "So the dream I had..."

 "Yes Tony.  Morgan Stark is on the way."

 He knows who’s approaching the door just from the tread of the footsteps.  Steve might be able to walk silently but he knows better than to creep up on Bucky, his footfalls are heavy as he approaches the interview room.  Bucky shifts Darcy a little on his knee. He’s not exactly told his friend about what had been happening between he and Darcy, not quite ready to explain to Steve what was going on, not when he had still been trying to stubbornly figure it out by himself.  The brief knock before the door opened had his hands tighten on the precious cargo in his arms.  

 Steve’s face peered round the door before he slipped inside, closing it behind him.  He gave nothing away in his expression as he took in the way Darcy was curled possessively in his arms.  

 “We’re ready to go.  They’ve dropped the charges and Specter's argued them into scrubbing her record.  You want me to take your bike back to the Tower?”

 “Yeah, that would be great.  Could you let them know we’ll be out in a minute.”

 Steve nods and retreats to the door, but turns before opening it.

 “I know it’s not any of my business but-”

 “It’s not.”  Bucky cuts him off a little sharply.

 “You can’t keep her in the dark forever.”

 Bucky sighs.

 “I know.  I was planning to tell her in the morning.  Right now she needs to rest.”

 Steve nods and opens the door, slipping out as silently as he entered.

 “Oh, and Buck…  I’m happy for you.”

 Steve grins that shit eating grin that used to get him in trouble nearly a century ago, before closing the door with a click.

 Before he can recover from that, Darcy shifts and he looks down to find her blue eyes staring up at him curiously.

 “What did he mean?”

 Fuck.  This is not where or when he planned to have this conversation.

 “About what?”  Bucky hopes she didn’t hear Steve’s comment but the look in her eye indicated that he’s hanging on for a miracle.  

 “Keeping me in the dark.”

 “Darce..”

 “No.  I’ve had enough of people keeping things from me.  Just tell me.”

 She pushes herself to her feet and he immediately missed the warm weight of her.

 “The threat against you, it’s more than Stark and I told you.”

 “Bad enough you kept it from me for months?”

 “Darce..”

 “Well don’t stop now, just tell me.  You said you were planning to before this happened, so just spill.”

 “Keane was transformed during the terrigenisis outbreak.”

 He stands, noting the confusion that floods to horror filled realisation on her face.

 “Darce..”

 “No!”  She steps back, hugging her arms around her.

 “He’s in prison.  I thought Shield took custody of anyone who transformed in the general population of all prisons.”

 “They did Darcy…  but he escaped before they could pick him up.”

 “Escaped?  When?”

 “Ten weeks ago.”

 “The same week Tony told me I needed a bodyguard.”

 “Yes.”

 “You’ve known, all this time.  You know what he did to me. And you didn't tell me?”

 “Doll, you gotta understand I..,”

 “No, no I don’t have to understand anything.  You knew what he did to me, you told me you saw my file.  You slept with me. How could you keep that from me? How could you let me waltz around New York like that with no idea…  What are his powers? What can he do?”

 She was pacing, hands buried in her hair as she gradually grew paler.

 “We don’t know exactly what his power is.  There’s been some evidence that his escape was orchestrated by an outside agency.”

 “You mean Hydra.”

 “We don’t know that.  We’ve kept back channels open, there’s been no word from any of our agents that Keane’s been sighted with any Hydra cell.”

 “That doesn’t mean he isn’t.”

 “No.”  Bucky concedes.  Then he reaches for her arm, stopping the frenzied pacing.

 “Darce…  We’re going to find him, I promise. I won’t let him hurt you.  FBI and Shield both put kill orders out on him…”

 Darcy’s eyes grow wide.

 “You took the contract.”

 He nods, mouth set.

 Darcy takes a breath, then another, shaking, before pushing away from him and doubling over as she runs to the waste basket.

 Bucky is only a step behind her, gathering her hair back as she vomits, his other hand steadying her.  When nothing else would come up he helped her to a chair and left the room, looking for water.

 Pepper stood outside the door, water bottle in hand and frowned as she spotted Darcy’s shivering form huddled on the chair.

 “Pepper…  I-”

 “I’ll take care of her.  Go sort out our security escort and cars.  Darcy will ride with Tony and I in the Audi.  Happy will drive us. You’re welcome to join us.”

 Bucky looked back at Darcy, his hands curled into fists.

 “I’m not sure she wants me anywhere near her right now.  Did you hear us?”

 “I heard.  I’ll handle Darcy.  Call Jane, let her know what’s happened and that we’re on the way back.”  he nods and gets a few steps away when Peppers voice stops him. “And Barnes?  Just because she’s hurting right now doesn’t mean she won’t want you there protecting her, give it time.  She’s had a big shock to deal with.” Bucky searches her face, looking for some clue to why the older woman was so sure of what she said.  Kind blue eyes meet his, understanding and sympathy shining through.

 “Thank you.”

 She nods and steps inside, letting the door swing closed.  Bucky squares his shoulders and makes his way to the front.  He has a job to do.

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