#im yearning in ways previously thought impossible

[lights-on-the-ridge]

Arthur Morgan is the type of man who would put your boots by the fire on cold mornings so you have something warm to put on.

[angelicmichael]

living after midnight

Brooke Thompson x Montana Duke

Summary: Brooke and Montana get a bit intoxicated and get a bit carried away while going night swimming. Based off this post I made a week ago hehe

Words: 3.1k+

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and also vague mentions of weed, stripping (no nudity tho LOL), lotssss of sexual tension, lots of fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, weird yearning angst for like .02 seconds lmao

A/N: Hey guys, sorry if this is random but I got random inspo for brotana so.. here this is lmao. Believe it or not I did try to make this under 1k words but.. I got carried away so I’m sorry that’s it’s long 😭. But the fic happens sometime after Brooke and Montana meet but before any camp redwood fuckery happens lmao. Anyway I hope y’all like this!! This is also probably the fastest I’ve ever written a fic so I hope it’s atleast decent haha. Anyway enjoy <3

A gentle breeze danced against Brookes exposed skin. The midnight air cold on its own regard but it seemed to blend perfectly with the extensive heat that radiated from the bonfire she sat in front of.

The night was entirely pitch black. The moon was vacant from the sky, leaving the only source of light to come from the giant fire that sat at Brookes shoes.

It was admittedly a bit unsettling being in almost the total darkness, especially with how many girls had recently gone missing in L.A as of late but the beer in her system had mostly put those thoughts to rest. Plus, being with three men and Montana was also reassuring. Even if she didn’t exactly know Xavier, Chet or Ray that well but.. she knew Montana.

It was nearly impossible to forget about how they met.. in the girls locker room in the showers and well; it’s not as if things were any less weird now. Showers or not.

It’s not as if Brooke and Montana were best friends or super close, because that definitely wasnt the case; but they weren’t acquaintances either by any means. The weird tension and ‘playfulness’ that lied between them ruled out being friends.. or that’s Brooke liked to think anyway when she had one too many things to drink. Like now.

Her legs twitched a bit restlessly; content at the ambience that surrounded her but not content with her current state of being. Like how she knew she should be enjoying herself, drunk, not caring about particularly anything at all but instead all she could do was fucking care. Her thoughts were purely infiltrated with Montana and it was embarrassing, to say the least but now that she was intoxicated there was really no harm in fighting it. No matter how annoying and taunting those thoughts truly were.

After all, Why should she not think about how nice it would be to feel Montana’s hands (which she knew had to be soft and delicate) on her waist and down her back? Why should she not think about Montana’s soft lips moving against her own, a few strands of her bleached hair (which definitely had lost it softness due to excessive over bleaching) brushing up against her face accidentally?

That was a rhetorical question; because she knew exactly why she avoided those type of thoughts on a normal day to day basis. Not because it would make things awkward between them but because it was beyond fucking painful to imagine scenarios that would never happen.. Never.

The smell of the fire and the sounds of the wood crackling, which was far too dry and poorly stacked (neither Xavier, Chet or Ray could build a proper fire to save their life), helped bring Brooke out of her thoughts and bit more into reality. So did the gentle sway of the tree branches which she could see in her peripheral vision, since they were right on the cusp of a forest that cut off to a beach. Ocean waves which slowly dragged across the sand were also soothing to listen too, albeit distant over the sound of Brookes friends screaming and laughing and being heavily intoxicated over what was more than just alcohol and weed.

Brooke reached down and swiftly grabbed the beer can which was previously lodged upright in the sand. Lifting the can up to her lips and cringing and unconsciously tensing up as she swallowed until the can was nearly weightless - wiping her mouth with the back of her hand just to see-

“Montana?!” Brooke nearly yelled. Both alcohol and temporary shock making her speak way louder than what was realistically needed.

Montana, who was previously standing several feet away with the boys was suddenly seated right next to Brooke on the log with no warning. Probably having moved over while Brooke was poorly chugging the alcohol she hated.. but she couldn’t help but to notice that their thighs (as well as basically their entire sides) were touching as she tried to wipe the alcohol that had embarrassingly dripped down her front in a frenzy.

Chet and Xavier looked back at them from a few feet away as they smoked what Brooke knew had to be a joint. Briefly laughing and giving the pair of women an amused glance before turning around and immersing themselves in whatever conversation they were previously having.

Brooke sheepishly met Montana’s gaze, feeling her cheeks grow nearly unbearably hot at the awareness that she was now being watched.. studied almost.

“Sorry,” Brooke added with a giggle.

Montana responded with a slight upturn of her lips; amused with Brookes actions not because she found it necessarily funny or pitiful, but for the sole reason that.. it was cute and endearing that Brooke couldn’t really hold her alcohol for shit.

It made her unique and different from everyone else Montana acquainted herself with. People that Montana had to basically learn to keep up with.. but Brooke on the other hand was different.. She was a breath of fresh air, and that’s why Montana assumed she was so attracted to her (besides her looks, of course).

Montana tried her best to ignore and not be bothered by the fact that Brooke was wasting perfectly good alcohol by wiping it off herself (alcohol that Montana wouldn’t necessarily mind licking off Brookes lips.. or her neck, or really anywhere else off of her). Instead focusing on how suffocated she felt here.

It wasn’t necessarily anyone’s fault. After all; she loved Chet, Xavier and Ray dearly but.. they were also undoubtedly preventing anything from happening between her and Brooke.. and that needed to change.

Montana huffed. Her deep brown eyes quickly flickering at the flame and then Brooke before speaking.

“Im bored,” she announced. Suddenly standing up and not letting her eyes break the gaze she suddenly held with Brooke.

Brooke responded with a simple hum. Her jaw quickly dropping once she noticed that Montana’s bright red nails quickly darted down under her own shirt. Hooking the material under her fingertips before quickly raising the shirt up and over her head. Throwing it back somewhere behind the log Brooke still sat on.. somewhere where Brooke was almost certain Montana wouldn’t be able to locate later.. which was probably done on purpose.

Brookes jaw still stayed ajar when she saw Montana’s hands automatically fly down to the small jean shorts she was wearing. She could do nothing but watch as she saw the button unhook- wait.. what exactly was happening?

“Montana, what are you doing?” Brooke asked with a laugh.

Brooke tried her best to fight the urge to look at her friend who was now well.. in her bra and underwear, out of what she was trying to convince herself was respect, but it wasn’t working. She knew for a fact her cheeks had to burnt bright fucking red; she tried to laugh off the feeling but Montana still stared.. her smile slowly growing wider until sudden laughter momentarily broke the tension again.

Brooke and Montana both looked behind them just to find the boys laughing and whooping as well at Montana’s sudden lack of clothes.

Brooke smiled back at them but it only lasted a second before she found herself overtaken with a emotion she never really felt around Montana before.. was it jealousy?

Just the sight of them staring at Montana (who obviously didn’t give a fuck, or was thriving off the attention more than anything) was enough to make Brooke stand up.

“Go swimming with me?” Brooke suddenly proposed. More than certain that her sudden impulsivity was coming from the alcohol more than anything.. it had to be, right?

Brooke looked Montana in the eyes again as she watched the other woman’s expression suddenly change at her words; looking utterly shocked and.. maybe a bit thrilled.

“You want to go swimming?” Montana nearly sneered, her tone reeked off utter disbelief, “and what are you gonna wear?”

Brooke laughed at what the other woman was implying. Her dark brown eyes slipped down to admire the rest of Montana’s body that she dared not to look at previously. Only looking for a second at the matching cherry red set that Montana wore. A bra which was most definitely too tight and cut a bit small, along with a thong with sat a bit high on her hips which only accentuated her figure even further.

She didn’t have time to think; her eyes darting back up to meet Montana’s which she knew were watching her.

“I’m not going naked-“

“You don’t have too. It’s not like their gonna see us anyway once we get away from the fire. Here.”

They both spoke in hushed whispers. Weirdly paranoid that maybe the boys would overhear and wanna join which- was something they both clearly didn’t want, although unspoken.

The distance between them was minimal enough due to alcohol (and other substances in Montana’s case) running high in their systems. Making personal space something that was now nonexistent.

Montana extended her hand out to Brooke to take. She quickly grabbed her hand, hoping desperately it wasn’t sweaty from how close they were to the fire and also.. just from the situation she was bound to find herself in. But due to Montana’s reaction (or lack thereof) she knew she had nothing to worry about.. sweaty palms or not, she knew Montana wouldn’t judge her. No matter how insane the circumstance; Brooke always felt safe around Montana. That’s why she supposed she was currently following her into the pitch black - her vision getting more and more sparse as they walked away from the fire and into some nearby trees that framed the beach..

“Are you sure they can’t see me?” Brooke asked, trying her best to look through the trees and see if any of her friends happened to be looking but - she couldn’t really make out anything besides the subtle outline of her surroundings which included Montana.

“They can’t see you. Relax,” Montana said with a giggle. “Now do I need to help you undress? Your taking forever and I’m hot- and it’s not like I haven’t seen you wearing less-“

Brooke tried her best to look offended and shocked by her reference to how they met. She knew that normally with nothing in her system she would’ve easily sidestepped Montana’s ruthless flirting but.. something felt different about tonight. After all; why should she keep trying so hard to resist something they both felt? And it wasn’t like anyone could see them anyway..

Brooke quickly turned her head to where she knew Montana was and stepped closer until they were barely a foot apart. Her feet nearly stumbled on Montana’s from the proximity; biting her lip to prevent herself from stupidly giggling once she felt hot breath on her cheek.

She grabbed Montana’s hands which first held hers back limply but briefly held hers tighter before Brooke directed her hands on her shirt.

“Take it off,” Brooke uttered. Her voice barely audible but not quite loud enough to be discerned as a whisper.

Montana didn’t hesitate as she quickly took Brookes shirt off, barely feeling the soft fabric against her fingertips before she quickly threw it behind them into the forest. Montana didn’t wait for Brooke to say anything before her fingers were quickly undoing the button and the zipper of her jean shorts which were only thrown somewhere in the forest as well (hopefully near her shirt.. Brooke could only hope).

Brooke tried her best to not look bothered by her sudden lack of clothes but she also knew that was purely idiotic since they were in the pitch black.

Nevertheless she looked down at herself, trying to discern whether her figure was actually visible or not but Montana grabbed her hand again. Making her gaze snap upward as she led her out. She knew they were going out to the water now; the sand under her feet and the fire now visible from a distance as they continued to go out. The sand becoming more grainy and nearly painful to step on as they got closer to the water.

Brooke quickly looked over her shoulder before she took the first step in - still holding onto Montana’s hand. She quickly glanced to see if any of the men they had came with were watching but surely enough they were still talking and laughing as if they didn’t even notice they had gone missing.. and they probably hadn’t given how fucked up they were.

Perfect.

She continued to hold onto Montana’s hand as she went further and further into the water; not phased by the sudden coolness she felt as the water wrapped around her legs.. submerging her further and further until they both finally stopped. The water lapping around Brookes waist, and well, nearly Montana’s chest since she was a few inches shorter than Brooke.

The water seemed to be a perfect temperature despite them being at the ocean; and the rocks had since disappeared under their feet and changed back into soft sand which also made the current situation a bit more enjoyable.

Brooke tilted her head back a bit, worried momentarily that her hair might get wet but it was worth it. It was absolutely breathtaking.

The night sky which previously looked completely black and void of any light whatsoever was now painted with what looked to be a million stars.

“Do you see this?” Brooke asked.

“What, the stars?” Montana answered, her voice holding a bit of amusement to it and almost as if she was trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah,” Brooke affirmed with a nod. Still keeping her gaze fixated to the night sky.

“What about them?” Montana asked.

The water rippled a bit as Montana started to a take a few steps closer towards Brooke, dissatisfied at the distance between them.

“Nothing. I just- it’s beautiful. I never do things like this,” Brooke responded, tilting her head down to make eye contact with Montana as she finished her sentence.

Montana smirked.

“Never?” She asked with a laugh. “C'mon. I’m not wet enough, let’s go deeper.”

Before Brooke could protest, Montana grabbed both of her hands and pulled her deeper in the water.

“But I didn’t bring a towel!”

“Your not gonna need one. We can warm up by the fire, remember?”

They continued to keep wading until the water almost spilled over Montana’s shoulders. The water barely touching Brookes collarbones but getting some of her hair wet regardless.

She hesitantly let go of the other woman’s hand in the water, intent on using her hand to help her gain balance since a few rocks were still on the ocean ground but - the exact opposite happened.

Brooke didn’t even have time to gasp or scream before her left foot quickly slid on a random rock that just.. of course.. had to fucking be there. Her hands quickly landed on Montana’s shoulders; the rest of her body accidentally falling into the other woman’s but she only felt Montana’s hands suddenly grab gently at her back. Holding her in place against her body.

Brookes eyes instinctively closed shut but when she slowly opened them and reluctantly lifted her head higher up (silently cursing herself for accidentally getting her hair almost entirely wet now) she noticed.. how close they were to each other.

Her nose was only centimeters away from Montana's shoulder.. which meant-

“Are you okay?” Montana asked softly, speaking unintentionally right next to her ear which made a shiver run up Brookes spine.

“Mhm,” Brooke responded.

She rose her head up further - her vision fully black now due to closing her eyes so tightly and being disoriented from slipping, but she knew from hearing Montana’s voice that she had to be close. Very close.

Moving her head a bit to the left.. almost microscopically, not wanting whatever ‘this’ was to necessarily be clumsy but she knew she didn’t necessarily have a choice in the dark.

“What are you doing?” Montana continued to whisper.

Brooke couldn’t help but to smile and let out a giggle that made her sound far more drunk than she actually was. She knew exactly where Montana’s lips were now due to her speaking. Thank god.

“You’ll see.”

Brooke leaned in slowly. Briefly bumping noses before catching Montana’s lips with her own. The feeling so heavenly and overdue - not enough but simultaneously far too much to take in all at once.

The taste of dull, gut wrenching beer started to flood her mouth. It was all that Montana basically tasted like.. that and a bit like smoke but Brooke didn’t mind. If anything it made the feelings of infatuation temporarily stronger. Brookes nails started to pierce the other woman’s back; wanting nothing more than to just have.. more. More of Montana; her taste, her hands, her touch.. the feeling was both pathetic but impossible to fight any longer.

The mere thought that this was something she was previously holding herself back from having was almost laughable but- that would be something to think about for another time.

Montana’s lips softly broke from hers.

“Eager.. aren’t you?” She teased.

Brookes eyes still refused to adjust but she knew Montana had to be grinning.

“Sorry.. I just-“

“Don’t be sorry. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Montana said lowly.

Montana suddenly leaned in with no warning. Her hands softly grabbed Brookes shoulders; leaning in to pull her bottom lip with her teeth.

After she let go, the feeling to kiss her again was strong but.. she thought of something better. The thrill of the chase was something Brooke always enjoyed, after all.

Brooke took a few steps back suddenly before quickly heading for the shore. Not really going that fast at all due to the resistance of the water pushing up against her legs but she laughed regardless.

She could hear Montana laughing and calling her a jerk in the distance but it was all just noise at this point. Her voice, the water rushing, the fire and their friends (which grew gradually louder as she approached) all started to sound the same.

Maybe the alcohol was finally kicking in.

Even though Brooke definitely felt tipsy, she still felt nervous the closer she got from being fully submerged out of the water. Maybe it was due to the fact she wasn’t certain what was going to happen at the fire, or if their friends had even heard anything but she knew atleast now she would have Montana. Exactly how she had Montana was something to be determined later, but as she finally stepped out and away from the nearly black ocean waves and ran up to the fire to go wait for Montana - she was comforted by the thought that things would now never be the same and forever would be different between the two of them.

Which had to be a good thing; right?

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[remsmoonlight]

— title : broken facade ( part one ? )

— word count : 2.6 k words

— pairing : john wick x reader

— summary : john thought he could keep his old world dead and buried, he was wrong

— warnings : mentions of death, blood, extremely minor swearing, kidnapping, mentions of drugging.. idk maybe a bit of hurt and angst? idk where i was going with this i spent so long on it lmao im very sorry

Nothing can be heard over the continuous shattering of the fractured pieces of a silent promise he repeated to himself every morning he woke and the last thing that ran through his mind before he would cease to resist the urge to sleep. It’s the only promise kept hidden from you and there was no going back from its state of shards, what kind of man is he if the one thing he kept close to his heart is no more.

Never let that life lay a finger on them.

Now, here he is. Knowing that the life he had previously led has wormed itself back to him, it has sullied your spirit and for that, he can find no forgiveness in his soul for himself. It’s him that is why you have been torn away from him so mercilessly, why you are in the situation you are in. He would give his life a thousand times and a thousand times over if it means you are safe, away from the harsh and cold blooded world he knows so well.

Although, the remnants of his old life is not a friend greeting him after an age has passed, but rather.. a  foe that wishes to lead him down the trail to its murky depths.

He assumes that the steering wheel that is gripped so stiffly by his hands only wish to buckle and crumble under the weight he is setting down upon it, though there is no other way to channel the highly agitated energy that swirls within him. Until you are back in his arms can he find the strength to completely calm the brutal waters that wish to overwhelm him, the only thing saving him is the objective that is removing you from the grasps of the Tarasovs’.

The same is unable to be said for you, the fear that you feel coursing throughout your entire being is the only thing that you can concentrate on. This is the clearest you have been for days, since you had been taken from your refuge from the world. You are sure that you’ve been drugged, though you can’t decide truly if that fact is a blessing or a curse. Being an unwilling participant in whatever you had found yourself in would prove difficult for those who held your life in their hands, and as much as you want to put up a fight, it’s impossible. You can see just how tense everyone in this cold, desolate room is. It’s not ideal to prod and provoke the Devil, especially as it has the power to rip you from the reality you know.

Your heart swells from the haunting image that plays continuously like an olden film, with the grit and burns. It’s a desire that you yearn so intensely for to rid your brain of the bloodied and battered John, you had never seen him so defenseless. You wonder if he is still breathing, if he is suffering from being so broken.

“ hey! why don’t you just let me go? “ you call out to anyone in the room, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with the threads of the scarf wrapped protectively around your neck.

“ shut the fuck up! “

You switch your gaze from the man who yelled, knowing that there is no point in arguing, to the one playing on the game console. Fear and self preservation that rules your body into silence battling with the confusion you find yourself experiencing at how one of the other men could feel so relaxed to the point he can play games.

Though he’s not the one who’s been kidnapped you think with a stern frown deeply painting your features, you simply wished you could be wrapped up in your duvet with a straight to dvd cheap movie playing.

The next moment a colossal bang erupted, spilling through the entirety of the room -- you have no idea where to look, your entire feeling as if it had been frozen in a moment of time. It’s not until a thud pulls you out of your cloud, and it’s one of the men who have fallen to the ground. Your eyes widen at the sight, you’ve seen such brutality in movies and television shows but never could they capture the true horror that lays in front of you.

The crimson liquid is never ending as it exits from the wound, you want to rip your eyes away from the repulsive scene yet you find yourself in a trance, with a magnetic pull that refuses to bend its will to yours. Only when your skin feels fingers digging deep into clothed flesh is your head able to turn, your feet already on the move. Your eyes refuse to acknowledge the further death that lay motionlessly on the floor, the bodies as cold as the temperature.

Rumbles fill your hearing, it’s hardly a chore to know that they’re under attack, by who you have little idea. Though a tiny spark of hope, so small it’s hardly noticeable, hums in your core. Perhaps it may be the authorities, here to put a permanent end to your newfound nightmare. Whatever it is, it has these men scared -- though, when you think back.. they have been on edge since you have had the unfortunate experience of knowing them. No matter how hard you previously tried to decipher some sort of idea, even a faded picture of what you have been caught up in, they were quick to respond with venom and hostility.

“ let go of me! “ words tumble from your lips as you try to dig your feet in further to the metal steps, hands clawing at the railings as if they could protect you.

Nothing is said to you, had it not been for the male’s grip on your arm, you could assume that they have no idea of your presence. Countless nights you had found yourself wishing for such, that they would forget your existence and you would be then able to escape. Never has that wish been granted.

Burns from the metal grasped so firmly scorch your palms, you can feel the need to survive driving yourself to fight and struggle.. opportunities to escape had been bare, the one presented now is one that you refuse to elude you so swiftly. Again, a body drops from a gunshot -- your shock proving more of a force than anything, because the hold that had been so secure on your arm severs without you comprehending it for a passing moment in time.

The leap your heart completes knows no bounds, the disturbance at seeing the violence occur at the man you have only known to be gentle and warm overwhelmed by your exhilaration that he is there and safe. John hardly acknowledges you as he passes your trembling form, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. It’s no surprise when you decide to turn away, not wishing to have your image of him shattered any more than it has already. Though, you wonder how detrimental protecting your dream like depiction of him is.

A faze, it’s all your mind can think of describing the journey from the harsh confines of the barren property to where you reside currently. The journey from one place to the other mesh together, your memories betraying you in your inability to process everything that happened.

A hand grazes your skin comfortingly, though the suddenness pulls you out from beneath your thoughts.

“ i’m sorry. “ John speaks, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road.

A frown sketches itself onto your brows as you turn to face him, you are unable to understand what he means by his words. The scenery passes by in a blur, stuck in a timeless state of thinking, you realise that you’ve not responded to him. How do you respond to something like? You wonder to yourself, loathing the fact that you cannot reply, a misunderstanding of rejection isn’t something needed for the moment. Against your better judgement, you need the opposite.

“ John - I - what? “

The feather like weight on your hand is still there, though now there is a contrast of tenderness and peace that had only known violence and blood exploring the expanse of his fingertips, only now a ghostly image not yet faded.

“ it got worse for you, because of me. “ he replies with a pitch as solid as stone, still refusing to make eye contact.

Though it’s not known to you that the reason he refuses to look at you is because he cannot yet come to terms with the fact that the two significant fractions of his life, the past and the present, have collided so effortlessly. He doesn’t yet want to acknowledge his part to play in the scars of his old word being the reason your surface now bears the brunt of being blemished by its cold, callous hands. He doesn’t want to have to bear witness to the tears that have stained your usually bright features, knowing the darkness that had once consumed his life wished to stretch its skeletal grip to you, threatening to eclipse the light of hope you unknowingly provide every chance he gets to set his sights on your form.

“ you’re not making any sense. “ you turn to face him now, trying to read his expression. Though, it’s at a loss. When he needs to be, he can be extremely hard to read.

“ that guy? the one I shot.. I used to work for his father. “

You blink, still failing to see the picture. You’re able to make a mental sketch, but you still need final pieces. Yes, he was connected.. but how is he at fault? Was it some sort of vengeance? Blackmail? The list is an endless trail your mind explores at the new piece of information, however it’s only John who can provide the key.

“ what does that have to do with everything that happened? “

“ there’s a reason why I’ve never told you much about my past. “ he replies softly, his mind wandering to find the most rational way to word the difficult tale, whose twists and turns trailed over it as if they were no more than a line of vines full of poison.

Though, the inner voice belonging to him knows there is no outcome that bodes well for him, the inevitable can’t be written off nor can it be denied.

“ so tell me, please? “ you plead with him, your nervous energy building and building in the tips of your fingers. They tap on the end of the car seat as you wait for his response.

“ before we met, I did things. I killed. “

It has to be quick John thinks to himself. There’s not a way that what he has to say, his past can be primped and perfumed into a pretty little picture, not when that picture is haunted by all the life that had been ripped from the world by his hand.

“ this is a joke, right? “ you laugh, incredulously. Gazing at his form it was as if the energy around him had inverted, there is no way that John, your John could do such things. The gentle smile of his, the thoughtfulness he demonstrates each day would battle his words, but the solidity and lack of humour being shown from him..? You’re tempted to believe.

“ I wish it was. “

“ there’s.. I don’t even know what to say. “ your brows furrow low, a bleakness setting itself into your expression as you try to come to terms with his answer.

“ you don’t have to. “ he speaks with difficulty, while he had expected more hatred from your eyes, he dares not to hope you will stay. Not after everything he has brought down upon you.

Fresh tears build up, until they are no more than a glassy barrier preventing clear vision. You will them to recede, to fade away until they’re nothing more than shadows. You have seen many horrors, more in the past week than your whole life and the man you love has had a direct part in that? You can’t erase the images of him gunning your captor, but you can’t erase all the sweet whispers after nights of lust and love, all the hours spent talking about life and what you would do. A stark contrast to the man you first got to know.

“ this isn’t something I can pretend to understand, but why hold something like this from me? Why wouldn’t you tell me eventually? “ you question, many emotions are clawing over each other to rise to your surface, preventing you from thinking straight.. yet it’s frustration that is victorious.

“ I never thought I'd be back. “

“ you need to understand, things like that? They don’t go away, they have a way of coming back and biting you in the ass. “

“ yeah, I see that now. “

A groan erupts from your parted lips, dropping your head in your hands. Your fingers drag their way across your scalp, this is something you argue would be seen in a movie.. not your life. The feelings you have are conflicted and inconsistent, any normal person would jump out of the moving care.. but a part of you can’t cast him aside so easily. What you have, that’s what you know is real.

“ John, I - I need time. At the minute.. I just don’t know what to think. With everything that’s happened. “

“ I get that. You’ll be seen to, for your injuries. “

A smile, small in size lifts the darkness from your eyes ever so slightly. Your injuries are bare, save for a few scrapes on your face. It’s the mental ones that begin to frighten you. They’re not so easily treatable. A smile that wishes with all its might that it is so easy.

“ to be honest.. I just want to go home. “ you lift your head up from its concealment as you share to him your one simple desire, your eyes imploring him to follow through with your request.

“ soon. “ he finally turns his head to look at you, to finally see you properly. All he wants is for you to be safely protected in his arms, as he mutters countless apologies that he longs you forgive him for. By no means is he a perfect man, but he can strive for such for you.

“ John, I’m not dead. I’m just tired. “

“ please, don’t. “

It’s curious, the tone in his voice as he replies to you. You can’t place it, though it’s very unlike him. Your left hand removes itself from the warmth of his palm to place yours atop of his, lending your warmth and comfort to him. The fact that both of you have fresh mental scars from the ordeal is becoming promptly evident.

“ I just want to make sure you’re okay. “

“ John, I don’t know what to think, what to feel. This is just.. the craziest thing. “

“ yeah, and it’s my fault. “ he exclaims lowly, as if he’s speaking more to himself than you. Berating himself for something that was never in his control.

You shake your head, hating the way he’s talking of himself. It’s enough to rouse some anger within you, though you know better than to make the situation between the two of you worse.

“ look, I know I can’t make you think otherwise.. but you never took me away. You never hid me from building to building, you were the one who saved me. “ you argue, ferocity cautiously coating your words. Your grip settled on top of his hand growing. “ I can’t stop seeing what you did, but you were the one who got me out. I need some quiet from it all. “

Your words, you hope, are strong. Trying to separate what you have seen that day is not something that will come as light as the clouds above your head do when they shower upon you, the thought that you fear you may never do is something you keep close to your chest for now.

To protect the both of you.

[unstoppableforcce]

waves crash, ships don’t ( 4 )

the Mandalorian x reader

previous part | next part

I promise things will pick up in the next part, for now, enjoy some yearning and shirtless mando tho not as sexy as it could be, maybe soon

The heat on his chest was oddly warm.

No beskar to keep it away, to keep his natural warmth within, nothing. Just his bare skin open to the fire blazing beside him.

His hands snapped up despite the pain to feel for his helmet, still on around his head, not having even been shifted. Not that he really feared you would try anything, but he couldn’t help the concern which overtook him in the brief moment when he realized he had passed out.

Unconscious, he was in control of nothing. And that was a pretty big fear of his.

You stirred awake as soon as you felt him move, and by the time he lifted his head enough to see you, you could tell that even through the helmet, you both wore the same look of surprise in realizing you had fallen asleep beside him.

He dragged his gloved hands over his bare chest, finally able to feel his heart beating again with a steady beat, all the way to the small stitches tied in his side. It hurt, but it was better now than it had been before. It was a pain he could manage.

How could he not, he was used to it by now.

The pain shifted to sharp and scalding the second he tried to sit up.

You reached a somewhat deft hand to his chest and gently urged him back down, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your voice was a raspy mix of having just woken up and complete and utter exhaustion even despite it. Hair slightly astray, bags under your eyes, hardly the constant version of you that you strived so hard to keep. A rock sank in his stomach knowing it was him who disrupted it all.

So much for being out by sunrise.

“Do you remember collapsing?” You shifted around, onto your knees next to him, keeping your hand pressed to his chest to gauge the steady beat, careful around the wound, checking to see the rise and fall.

Your touch was soft. Methodical in its placement and even in his current condition, he couldn’t miss the callouses that lined your palm and fingers. But it was soft to him. And he wanted more, though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

“Yes.” His voice was something to rival your own, but he realized it immediately as it shot from his lips in a curt graveling tone. He recoiled, he cleared what he could, the modulator spitting it back out in a much more average tone for him, “Yes,” as he repeated.

“Was the pain in your lungs?”

“I thought I had broken a rib…” He mused, trying to steal a look down at his own chest, a pretty gnarly bruise stretching across the entirety of it, emanating from his right side with a line of stitches straight through it. “After the fight… I just ignored it.”

“You punctured your lung, must have been the rib.” You nodded as you spoke, eventually tugging your hand away and bringing back the cloth, which was previously covering him up, replacing your warm touch with it. He wished you lingered for just a second longer, his body yearning for the warmth of your touch over that the fire was providing.

A burst of lightning struck down just outside the house, reverberating back into the room with an echoing rumble of thunder. You didn’t even flinch in acknowledgment of it, you simply waited for the sound to die down and continued. “I stitched it back as best I could, but, you could use some real medical attention.”

He nodded curtly, as much as he could without any pain manifesting, it seemed his whole body ached.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You froze where you knelt, holding your own hands together in front of you, mindlessly pulling over them, but as soon as the words left his mouth, your pull against your own skin got tighter and tighter.

He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know how to read that.

He knew you, or at least he thought he did, but this was new, a new tick he was going to have to learn. Or not. If he didn’t stick around much longer, what difference would it make?

“Listen-“

“I’m not going to throw you out…” You finally mustered, but you refused to meet the stare of his helmet. You knew he was looking; you always knew. “Your two people have gone out for wood and supplies, mentioned your ship was broken, you can stay until it’s fixed.”

He didn’t nod. He just stared; you weren’t looking his way anyways.

“And they left your baby.” You scoffed, gesturing toward the sleeping bundle on the couch. “Which was, as far as surprises go…”

But the words trailed off on your tongue, something else catching in your throat, words you just couldn’t manage.

“I-”

“I think it would be better if we kept our interactions to a minimum.” You coughed out, getting to your feet and defensively snuggling your arms around your torso. “You should be fine for now, so…”

“Right.” His voice came out strained, he didn’t mean for it to but he couldn’t help it.

You glanced to him and he held the stare. But both of you looked away when the door opened back and his two drenched companions came back in, carrying soaking wood. It was impossible to keep anything dry in that storm.

“Oh, sorry, if we’re interrupting something-” Cara interjected, so hoping that she was interrupting something, you could hear the eagerness in her voice even as she tried to dampen her smile.

“You’re not.” You shot back before Mando could even find the words to do so. “One of you should keep an eye on him.”

He lifted his head with an attempt to protest one last time, but you were gone before he could manage it, moving to the door to grab the sheathed machete there, strap it to your hip and leave.

Cara and Karga shared a look but when Mando let his head fall back down with a groan, they moved over to him instead of lingering any longer.

Karga settled in on the couch next to him, reaching over to gently pat the head of the sleeping kid. “How are you feeling, Mando?”

“As far as near-death experiences go…” He shrugged as best he could, earning a brief chuckle from Karga. “The ship?”

“I can’t even get the engine on her back on, we’re going to be needing a lot of parts.”

He scoffed, because of course, it wouldn’t be as simple as flipping a switch and getting out of here. Reaching down to his chest, he ran his gloved fingers over again, the scoff having torn through him uncomfortably. Everything felt okay. For now, at least.

“I can take you to town tomorrow-”

“No.” Karga was curt. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine-”

“You said that and then passed out.” He couldn’t argue with him there. “You rest. We’ll figure it all out.”

“I’m not very good at sitting still.” He huffed but Karga only chuckled, reaching forward to gently pat him on the shoulder now.

“Figure it out now or next time, you’ll wind up dead.”

He nodded, Karga had a point.

“And there won’t be any pretty women to patch you up.” Cara added, though she had been actively pretending she wasn’t paying attention.

He sighed. He could have done without the commentary.

tag list:

@im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @bva14 @steve-thotgers @bonkybaaarnes @persephonehemingway @scintilla-morningstar @sarcasm-n-insomnia (I think Thats all the tags, let me know if I miss you or you want to be added :)))

[ujimaarc]

"My king looks so very tired. It makes one wonder why he is not still asleep as he should be? The sun is hours from rising, love. Return to our bed?"

Science is T’Challa’s general weapon to doggedly question truths beyond his mortal coil. Almost akin to being exposed to a child’s metaphysical imagination, one would want to try to have their wonderment quelled with comprehensible justifications. Opulent Okoume trees circled a lake that seems to have millions of crushed diamonds captured across the surface. The sky was infinitely darker than the preceding noon in the frame of a goddess over red-and-green Wakandan cotton.

The very same frame that had taken the Panther chieftain’s corporeal picture and entangled him in her statuesque dimensions. Above, the stars mapped out the physique of those that took the Great Cat mantle before him versus their usual random spread.

The cat of worship never failed at bringing a mythical challenge to her avatar, much to his chagrin. Failing at entertaining herself by making him uneasy with his understanding of her supernatural naturality is a reality she’ll embrace whenever he chooses to allow it to come.

Through the surreal mist, gold eyes belonging to a twelve foot anthropomorphic bats in the interest of the direction where her nude king sat with company. In a circle made up of a litter of sleeping panther cubs, T'Challa’s amber eyes break from their adoration for the revered creatures and to the one he honored with every breath-take and choice he made towards the betterment of his country.

Time—as she can tell—as she already knew—brought about a welcomed change in T’Challa’s demeanor. Bast is accustomed to noticing his powerful muscles tensing in discomfort and the subtle shifts his jaws do when she spontaneously arranges for them to have their little talks. In this meeting, his composition is the warm radiance of a warrior that unearthed the greatest feeling he’ll ever know ( this time, he would have no qualms with his feline pantheon whisking him off without warning—and this she knew. This is why she sought him at his most vulnerable ).

Whilst entwined in a web of worship in the form of a storm held together by a solid sensuous darkness of her champion’s sinews, Bast patiently waited to converse until the flirtatious kisses ended; until desires to tame an insatiable animalistic hunger stilled; until pillow talk with respect to their longing for this intimate reciprocity ended in amber cat-eyes and oceanic eyes consumed with one another came down into a contented slumber.

“ I am happy for you, my son.” Her tone is thick-accented, flowing strong and finer than her people’s wine. “ I have conversed with your predecessor about the affairs of his heir’s heart—Wakanda’s Queen. Your father had been impregnated with the thought that you had foolishly deprived yourself of having and more importantly keeping romantic love in his life. I trust my champion is aware that T’Chaka wasn’t alone in the belief that his son had gone mad. ” The panther’s smile gives a slight peek into a maw full of imposing fangs. A maw that gradually assumes the full pink lips to her human design of an alluring midnight black woman. 

She kneels outside the cub circle and reaches over to caress her avatar’s cheek. Her palm’s warmth is comparable to how Queen Mother touched him. Her earthly musk intoxicated his senses and almost stirred him away from caring about the purpose of this unexpected meeting. Mention of his father concerns and the thought of Ororo snuggled against his form back in the real world necessitated his focus on the conversation.

“ There was a Burundian proverb that haunted my mind ever since I made the contumelious decision to break the greatest woman this world has led me to know. “Where there is love, there is no darkness.” ” Without needing to delve into the darkness that kept him engulfed ( for Bast has always known her champion’s trials and tribulations and will continue to know until his time is up and he is to join his ancestors ), he goes on to gently whisper,  “ The fault lies in no one but myself for influencing that impression. Embarrassingly enough, It took me longer than it should have to make, as they say, heads-and-tails, of my feelings and what was ultimately the right course of action to take. ”

“ —And after you finally followed your heart, you’re here,” Bast perceived. “ Now that you are, a part of you is in disbelief, virtually unable to comprehend that it’s a reality that the Wind Rider has given you the privilege of having her heart once more and that you two share the same bed once again. ” She fills their surroundings with syrupy laughter then. In ways, he is not the mid-thirty-year-old king of an unconquerable land, but a boy still learning about the ways of the world around. A fault not on him, for he is a mortal dealing with extraordinary mortal hardships, but an amusing one to observe nonetheless. “ Unlike the past chieftains of the Panther clan, you’re criminally harder on yourself—more than most your enemies. ”

It’s a truth she hasn’t admitted to him yet, but But bast enjoyed watching her representative put the elephantine puzzle pieces of his life together. Each piece that connected created a powerful layer that formed around the undying legend of the Great T’Challa, for as long as this Earth is never obliterated. It was only recently that he solidified that belief when he sought reconciliation with the herald of mutant-kind and won her over again.

T’Challa paused, became reflective—of his royal status and of Ororo. They came a long way. They were going a long way. He was able to be confident in that. She made that possible. He would like to call it… Kismit.

                                                  Flashing back…

Just yesterday night, the sliver of placid pine that underlines her sultry voice enticed him to join her in a dance that commands the attention of every Wakandan in attendance. Like a curious little boy, he only wished to shy amongst the audience and bare witness to the full sight of her curves in motion. To watch the entranced faces of those in the Royal Palace admire and appreciate she who ruled their king’s heart work her art form in a way they have never seen before. 

Her two identities—Kenyan and African-American—mixed with her own unnamed flavor delivered mysticism by her lonely, but she wanted to be joined—needed to be joined. By him. By the man that yearned for her to be back, by his side, as his love. She set her sights on him and merrily navigated her hypnotic rhythm his way, and pulled him to be united under the spotlight without resistance. How could he resist? Even his ancestor, Hu’Nahn The Defiant could understand his lovestruck successor’s fall. 

Their smiles were pliant to each other’s preciously-powered, cosmo-imbued propinquity. The luxurious world around them was lost, the two stepped in an enchanting rhythm, with each step building up a new universe around them. Having their fingers interlocked like they were put him in a bind of childish need and discipline. She spins like a miniature tornado ( one she free willingly allows him to have control of ) and his arm around her lower-back prevents her fall from his grace. There they found their eyes lost in their respective vibrantly-hued depths like children experiencing the cliche “love at first sight”, and wealthy fits of laughter would soon follow. She complimented his reaction time, then hit him with a threat that no one else could hear: if he had missed his cue and missed catching her, he would be in for a miserable night and none, not even his Dora Milaje would be able to save his hide.

His Highness made her aware that he has indeed been catching every cue tonight and how he intends on properly responding when their space is their own. 

( How can he who possesses the natural instinct of man, the uncanny senses of the panther, and the stubborn bull-like focus miss any of Storm’s venereal transmitted signals? From the blatant flirting to the way she talks to him in codes in front of others, the few chances she stole to whisper when others were out of earshot, and the little signs of impatience she showed, wanting the night to reach its end. )

Twenty minutes later T’Challa delivered a timeline of messy garbs ( some that’ll need to be rethreaded, others pulled off as gentlemanly and womanly possible under carnal influences ) reverential touches and kisses, and the unplanned one-on-one session taking place currently in the spirit plane.

“ I’m merely a king and a man that’s mused by all the blessings his love has given him. ” He finally said, commitment clear in his voice. “ I am the opposite of afraid: with an inquisitive mind, I can’t help but wonder about the channels that I can take to keep things the way they are going—I am purely enthusiastic about our new journey. ”

All of what he says please Bast. It is good to hear him speak confidently again and understanding that’s retreating his brooding phase. This was quality that will keep her fed—for now. “ Very well. You present no reason for me to doubt your words, my Black Panther. It is her first day back and the reception on her return has gone exceedingly well. After all that you two have done for the world, you both deserve to have your own semblance of happiness.” Her visage became faint in an expanding mist, along with her voice as if was quickly retreating into another plane that’s making it impossible for him to be near. “ May you and Wakanda’s future Queen prosper for a long to come. We will have a chat again. Your woman is awake. ”

When T’Challa opens his eyes, he finds himself in a position that he wasn’t in prior ( as previously mentioned, he was in Ororo’s arms. Plane-walking? ): he was standing in front of his window, posture struck militantly, with his hands cuffed just above his tailbone. A sweet, husky voice broke his amber-hues from their attention on the moon and the stars above to the dark-skin beaut regarding him in confusion from behind him in his—their—bed. His conversation with Bast is pushed at the back of his mind, as he saunters over to their bedside. “ Apologies, my love. ” Our king sat down on the edge, reached over to have his thumb stroke her defined cheekbone, and touched her full lips affectionately “ I have been thinking about giving you a personal taste of home for breakfast: for starters, how does Mandazi sound to you? Coconut milk, cardamom, and coconut are the main ingredients for that, correct? ��

@fierceststorm