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joels6string · 2 years ago

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More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 5 - Search and Rescue

Summary: A chance encounter on patrol leads to intel too troublesome to leave uninvestigated.

Rating: E

Word Count: 5.5k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix-it fic

Chapter 4 || Series Masterlist

The green that normally surrounded you had exploded into flames, the orange, yellows, and reds bursting from the trees and raining to the ground was a sight you’d never tire of. As the leaves had begun to change, the knot always present in your chest loosened. Joel and Tommy had repaired your roof, and cooking lessons with Indy were still ongoing but had proved somewhat useful as the jeans you’d been given upon arrival were passed back to the swap shop in favor of the next size up.

“Are you coming over tonight?” your favorite chef called from ahead of you, the next outpost on your assigned route coming into view, “Ellie was asking, guess she prefers my cooking.”

The smug look on your partner-turned-friend’s face said it all, Ellie’s budding relationship with her half Indy’s skill at cooking and half the fact that she let her sip at a whiskey that still went down rough during dinner.

“Only if you’re making that soup again,” you replied, your eyes following a leaf as it twirled through the sky.

“You want me to make that soup because Joel likes it,” her tone was teasing and all-knowing, “And I know you send your leftovers with Ellie to give to him.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“He brings me the containers back.”

It was true, Joel did like it, and no matter how hard you tried to remember just how she did it, the steps never stuck. You didn’t expect him to be the one giving you away. Although, Ellie was in on the ruse of telling him bringing him home a bowl was always entirely her idea.

Things had been tepid but pleasant after the summer incident. You’d spent two weeks letting the cut on your hand heal and Maria had taken too much time in forcing you out of your house and into society. You had a shelf of books now, your focus having improved enough over the last four weeks you could sit in the new armchair Tommy had found with you in mind for at least an hour at a time. Ellie supplied you with more than enough movies, opting to spend Fridays at your house now filling you in on her weekly favorites. Maria always made sure you had the day off.

You sat for drinks at the Tipsy Bison every Thursday, keeping quiet but sitting with the group as they conversed candidly. Indy had come to realize Joel was only someone to fear if you’d earned it, teasing him constantly about seeing another glimmer of that fire from the field again while Tommy teased her bravery for poking the bear. It all felt right and wrong at the same time, the walk back to your house Joel always insisted on accompanying you for the most natural twenty minutes of the evening.

“We’ll go to the market when we get back,” Indy said as she pulled the heavy steel door shut behind you, “You’re buying.”

“Deal,” you agreed, “I’ll even write the recipe down this time.”

In an abrupt motion that had your heart skipping, she bolted quickly to the open window, her rifle pointing up at the sky as you followed after her, ready to fire at whatever threat she’d spotted but finding nothing out of place or amiss.

“Oh,” she sighed in relief, lowering her weapon as your eyes darted around, “Sorry. Thought pigs were flying.”

“Fuck you,” you groaned, laughing as you shoved at her shoulder, finding the logbook on the table and pausing at the neat ‘Clear -J’ on the most recently filled-in line, “We all clear?”

“Just check the back.”

The floorboards creaked beneath your boots as you wove through the remnants of office furniture, your hand gliding over rotting wood just lightly enough to keep it from splintering into your skin. The fall air was crisp as you breathed it in, the cold of wintering hinting in the sweet aroma. It would frost soon, the mountains welcoming winter sooner than you would have liked for its extended stay well into the months you’d recognize as spring.

“Is anyone there?!” you heard a voice calling, the hair on the back of your neck prickling as you pulled your pistol from the tattered holster on your thigh, “Please!”

“Shit…” you hissed under your breath, your back colliding with the wall beside the door, your head peering around just enough to see a man in the clearing ahead.

“Please! I…I need help! Just…I saw horses!”

“Mother fucker,” Indy sneered as she took cover at the other edge of the frame, “I’m not falling for this. Tell me you’re not falling for this?”

Almost every single one of your razor-sharp instincts told you to hop on the back of your horse and bolt, save a single tickle at the back of your head. There was a tug on a thread that had been loose for months now, the reminder that at one point in the not-so-distant past you’d been a straggler collected by a man willing to take a chance.

“Jesus Christ,” Indy scolded at your silence, “Let’s go.”

“Who’s with you?!” you yelled through the missing glass, Indy groaning as she clicked the safety off on her weapon.

“Just my son!” the man replied, hope seeping into his voice, “Please! I’m unarmed!”

“Well that’s fucking stupid,” Indy muttered, earning her a dirty look, “He’s lying. Millie, he’s lying. Eugene barely made it home alive two weeks ago—“

“Show me the kid!” you demanded, ignoring Indy entirely, your fate now dependent on this momentary lapse in judgment.

When a boy no older than eight emerged from behind a tree that should have been too narrow to hide him, your spine straightened. You could hear Indy muttering under her breath as the frail child slid behind his father, peering out from around his hip with wide, terrified eyes. With your gun raised, you kicked the door open, Indy following closely behind and demanding for hands to be in sight at all times, the man obliging as he watched with fear and hope swirling in his gaze.

“Talk,” you instructed, the muzzle of your gun inches from his forehead as he dropped to his knees in surrender.

“We’re…looking for a place called Jackson,” his voice was shaking, eyes averted, “It’s a myth…but we couldn’t stay…had to chance it.”

“Are you bit?”

“No!”

“Spores?”

“Traveled in open air, I swear.”

“Anyone follow you?”

“We snuck past a camp three days ago, but they never saw us.”

“A camp?” Indy cut in, “Where?”

“By the river.”

Another problem added to the growing list. Maria and Tommy would want as much information about the visitors encroaching on the protected territory, risking Jackson’s people and resources wasn't something either of them took lightly. The possibility this man was a scout passed through your mind, flashing like a warning beacon as you felt Indy’s eyes staring. She’d left this decision up to you and was impatiently awaiting your verdict.

“Is this your dad?” you asked the boy, putting your gun back in its holster and hoping for the best as you kneeled to get on his level, “Tell me the truth.”

“How did you get that scar?” he asked after a nod, timid as a mouse, his big brown eyes so terrified it made your stomach clench.

“Bad people.”

“Like the people at the river?”

“You tell me.”

“They took mommy.”

Caught in a lie, the man began to stammer in defense as Indy doubled down, her gun still raised as she took a menacing step toward him. He detailed their journey, the narrow escape from the hunters camping on the water banks, and the loss of his wife who had been taken as the child's eyes remained transfixed on the long scar slashed across your nose and cheeks. He promised none had followed, swore on his life, begged for at least the boy, James, to be taken to safety or spared, your own intentions becoming murkier to the survivor who had begun to weep.

“Let’s go,” you snapped, “Give me your pack, the kid can ride with me.”

“So I get to ride with the weirdo?!” Indy chastised as you began to search through the man’s bag, finding food that had been stretched too thin and clothes worn down enough to be sheer.

“Where are you taking us?” you were asked as Indy helped the small boy up to sit in front of you in the saddle, her grip on the father's coat collar rough as she tugged him towards her own waiting mare.

“It’s your lucky day, Simon,” she taunted, “We’re headed to the mythical land of Jackson.”

The first face you saw as the wooden gates of Jackson closed behind you was unexpected, Joel bursting out of the stables and running with Tommy hot on his heels.

“Who the hell is this?” he growled, placing himself between you and Simon as if you hadn’t just ridden miles beside him on a horse.

“Simon,” you answered, the way the new gray and black flannel Joel was wearing hugged his shoulders slowing your speech, “and James. They come bearing bad news.”

After scans to the backs of their necks, the Tipsy Bison welcomed them just as it had you almost three months ago. They devoured the food put in front of them unlike you had, Tommy and Joel immediately planning the scout of this supposed encampment for the following morning at dawn.

“They’re armed,” Simon warned, his face falling at the decision to take on the hunters head-on.

“So are we,” Joel replied, his tone hard and menacing, “You two comin’?”

“Of course!” Indy answered with an air of sarcasm, “Who could refuse?”

With the help of Simon, an ambush was planned, Tommy thanking you for having the judgment to trust the stranger enough to bring him back. It had gone against every one of your most basic instincts, trusting a man in the wild like that, and your eyes drifted over to Joel as you contemplated exactly why that was. You hadn’t trusted him either, and he hadn’t trusted you, but here you sat beside him in a bar enclosed in the safest stronghold the United States had to offer.

“Is your wife alive?” Joel asked Simon as Tommy began to lead him and his son to the inn for the night.

“Last I knew,” he answered sadly, the reality of why that was settling onto Joel’s face in a furious scowl.

“Can you handle a gun?”

“Joel…” you scolded, this man clearly in no state to be storming into the trenches, “He’s not up for it. If there are women there, we’re getting them all out regardless.”

Your tone left no room for argument, and Joel’s surrender was swift as you turned to follow Indy to finally begin your evening plans, “Yes ma’am.”

“She’s terrifying,” Simon muttered when you were just out of earshot, a smirk ticking up one corner of Joel’s lips.

“She is, ain’t she?” he chuckled, smiling fondly as you disappeared further and further into the gray autumn dusk.

An impatient Ellie was seated on the stoop of Indy’s single-story home, her face lighting up when you rounded the corner before bounding down the street to meet you. Her “you’re fucking late” had you smiling, your arm slinging around her shoulders as you explained yourself honestly, promising to make it up to her Friday when she came by.

“I already picked the movie,” she bragged as you dropped the bag of groceries onto Indy’s counter, “Something with planes.”

“Talk to me, Goose!” you recited, a toothy grin breaking onto Ellie’s face.

“Goodness gracious great balls of fire!” Indy chimed in with a bushel of carrots as a microphone, Ellie promptly inviting her to join the Friday festivities and beaming once again when it was accepted.

The lessons in the kitchen were just as much for you as they were for Ellie, her dinner postponed dinner party having ended before it began when Joel walked into his kitchen so filled with smoke it had left his eyes red for two days after. You’d teased him about it passing him at the stables after patrols, for a man that had tossed smoke bombs he scrounged up from expired explosives and sugar, he certainly had gone soft.

“This is what you’re missing,” Indy informed as she tossed a bushel of green herbs in front of you, “Thyme.”

“Guess it’s time to start learning how to grow herbs in my backyard,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face through the terrible joke that had Ellie practically on the floor and Indy giving you a dead stare that reminded you of someone else.

Gardening was something that had piqued your interest, it always had. You’d tried to maintain a small Pothos in your dorm room, the lack of light killing even the most hearty of plants, and then the world had gone to shit. Ellie had griped about her hatred of farming rotation, but every time you passed Maria in the streets or saw her at the Bison, you were tempted to request a week here or there in the greenhouses. Winter was approaching, but a book on the subject sat waiting by the armchair in the living room, Joel having accompanied you to the swap shop with the last of your venison from his freezer to exchange for the pile of to-be-reads.

“Don’t chop food with that!” Indy screeched as the familiar click of Ellie’s switchblade broke through the comfortable silence, “You kill things with it!”

“I washed it!” Ellie defended, grumbling to herself as she pocketed it, picking up the provided knife laying beside her on the counter.

All you could do was laugh at the exchange, your fingers staining green as you plucked at the thyme you’d been thrown. The prep went quickly with three hands, the pot bubbling on the stove as the deck of cards was quickly brought out, a lively round of blackjack ongoing between Ellie and Indy as you dealt.

Clean-ups and laundry services were wagered, with Ellie bringing home the big win of Indy’s hand in clothes washing for the next week, a full basket waiting to be scrubbed back at her little converted garage. After dinner was shared, Ellie was sent home with two containers, one for her and one for Joel, with Indy sliding you a third with a knowing smirk.

“Before you go,” she blurted out as you followed Ellie out the front door, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t listen to me today.”

Quickly you spun, running out onto the porch and almost knocking Ellie straight onto the ground, “Oh,” you sighed in relief, “Thought pigs were flying for a second.”

“After I fed you dinner.”

“See you bright and early.”

“Can’t wait! Nothing like the smell of gunpowder in the morning.”

When Ellie asked where you were going as you walked her home, you skirted around the subject. There was no need to worry her, she’d already been particularly on edge since the incident six weeks ago. You knew she could tell you were lying, and as much as it ate away at you, it was for the best. Her life had become exponentially easier and less burdened once the walls of Jackson had welcomed you, but you knew the years of freedom from worry would be short for her already being 15, she could savor the time she had to be carefree.

As you rounded the corner from the greenhouses to the back gate closest to her little house, soft notes of music greeted you, the sight of Joel on the porch gently plucking the strings of an acoustic guitar lit by the dull orange glow of his backlight held your gaze as Ellie bid you goodbye. She laughed while your brain caught up to her words, a quick, nervous goodbye mumbled as you quickly glanced at her teasing expression before returning to what would be seared into your memory. Your feet carried you subconsciously toward him, his eyes finding yours in the dark.

“Hey,” he greeted, gruff but soft, tuning the instrument in his hands with subtle turns of the pegs, “Thanks for walkin’ her home.”

“Sure,” you choked out, your mouth dry, “I didn’t know you could play guitar.”

“Yeah. Been playin’ since I was a kid. Haven’t touched one in some twenty years now though.”

“Sounded fine to me.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

With nothing but a gesture, he welcomed you to take the empty chair on the porch, a round table with a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler set between the two seats. He picked up where he’d left off, unbothered by your intrusion, his shoulders relaxed and his features serene as his fingers ran off of muscle memory untainted by decades of disuse.

“Help yourself,” he offered, his chin ticking towards the amber liquid to his left, and you filled the empty glass halfway at his invitation.

The whiskey was warm as it settled in your stomach, the cool night air nipping at your nose and cheeks as you settled back in the chair, your eyes fluttering closed as the notes of his song traveled with the breeze. This was contentment you hadn’t felt in a very long time, not one you could vibrantly remember anyway. Your thoughts calmed for a moment, each twang of the guitar recentering you in this serenity, your fingers tapping absentmindedly on the glass now sitting ignored in your lap.

“I ain’t carrying you home,” he teased, one of your eyes opening into a slit to peek at him.

“Can I have a blanket at least?” you jested in return, enjoying the toothy grin stretching up on his face.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Another gulp of liquor preceded your meditative state returning, his song continuing longer after finding the perfect harmony. You weren’t sure how much time had passed when silence roused you from tranquility, his fingers pulling the glass from your lazy grip.

“No, keep going,” you mumbled, it was almost a whine, but a breathy laugh followed the request.

“Yes, ma’am.”

It seemed darker, a little cooler, Ellie’s lights were still on but some of the surrounding windows that had been illuminated before were now black. Joel seemed indifferent to the late hour, decades of long, days-long stretches without sleep still wearing on him, the dark circles beneath his eyes improved but not indiscernible. His hair had grown longer, the length now closer to what you recognized from your time on the road, the curls behind his ears beginning to reappear.

“You should get home,” he announced, pouring a glass of whiskey and downing it in one shot, “We got an early mornin’.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, already missing the state the night had put you in and hoping it lasted long enough to get you to sleep, “Okay.”

“Want me to walk you?’

“No. I’m okay. Thank you though.”

A restless night followed, the faint hint of a song replaying in the back of your mind enough to at least stop you from screeching into the gray morning light as it filtered into your windows, the cold sweat coating your skin enough to remind you of the horrors that had filled your nightly rest. You dressed quickly, eating breakfast slowly as you watched the clock tick closer to 7 AM. The sun greeted you a little later each morning as autumn approached, the air still with its overnight frost stinging your lungs as you took off towards the stables. Joel’s house was on your way, the hope of crossing paths with him inflating in your chest like a balloon all to be popped as he was nowhere to be found despite your slowed steps.

The stables were bustling with the team of six heading out, the Miller brothers, Indy, Paulie, and Eugene all prepping their horses during your apparently late arrival. Indy teased you while you scrambled to fill your quiver and grab a few magazines of ammo for your handgun, your breathless thank you to her as she passed the reins to your saddled horse to you putting you in her debt. “Ellie’s laundry is now yours.”

“That is not a fair trade-off! For putting a saddle on!? Are you out of your mind?” you argued to your laughter, “I’ll help you. Best you’ll get.”

Despite the stakes and danger that lay ahead, the ride was surprisingly lighthearted. When the river came into view, however, business took over. Tommy and Joel had established that the hunters had likely moved closer, opting to camp for a few days between shifts. Jackson might have been a myth to some men, like Simon, but to others, its lands were a hunting ground for unexpecting survivors eager to regain some normalcy. Hunters, slavers, and cannibals alike stalked the woods preying on the innocent. Fear that this group was a faction of slavers was high, few groups took women and kept them alive.

“Okay, listen up,” Tommy announced, a plume of smoke visible from the shoreline of the river less than half a mile away, “Indy, Arrow, find the women. That is your job. Take out who you can, but the four of us will clear you a path. They ain’t gonna want to see any of us, it’s gotta be you. Understood?”

Not that you were a soft place to land, but you understood the sentiment.

“Joel and Paulie, take right, Eugene and I will take left,” Tommy finished, Joel’s grumbles of protest were heard throughout the group as you suppressed a smile, “We’re all making it out. No questions asked. Be safe. Be smart. Home for dinner.”

“I am not cooking,” Indy butt in, “Not this time.”

“Well, the Bison it is then,” Eugene conceded, “I could use one of Seth’s sandwiches. Haven’t had one in a bit.”

“Okay, focus,” Joel snapped, “We can worry about dinner when we’re all out. Alive.”

“You’re insufferable when she’s around…” Paulie mumbled what he though was only to himself, Tommy’s arm immediately shooting out to stop his brother from lunging, “Eugene and I can take the right! He’d get me killed keeping his eyes locked on his prize.”

“I swear to God!”

“Shut the hell up! Both of you!” Tommy snapped, “Joel, with me. Jesus Christ.”

“You should look a little less excited,” Indy whispered in your ear, your jaw snapping shut at her warning.

Gravel cracked beneath your boots as you crept towards the muddy bank, not a soul spotted mingling about yet, red flags waving in all of your heads as you continued the approach. Indy was muttering under her breath about how fucked this was, there was no way this wasn’t a trap, and you were inclined to agree.

“It’s too quiet,” you hissed at Joel as the two of you took cover behind a large boulder, the camp completely visible and notably deserted, “Something is wrong here.”

“Yeah,” he growled, “Shit.”

“Look, camp’s empty,” Paulie spoke too loudly, everyone’s wide eyes shooting to him filled with confusion and rage, “maybe they left something behind.”

“Push forward,” Tommy commanded, you and Joel both sighing in disagreement, “We gotta at least look around.”

With weapons drawn, you crept forward, noting that even though this camp was haphazardly put together, it was expansive. Someone had no intention of leaving here anytime soon, the question was where that someone might be. The silence was deafening, your leg throbbing as memories clawed at your fragile psyche that had just begun to shoddily repair. It had been silent that day too, until gunfire echoed through the neighborhood and the pain became too much to resist.

“Hey,” a deep southern voice rumbled from beside you, “I got you.”

“He asked me to bring her back,” you choked, recalling the ride back to Jackson with Simon and James in tow, “either way.”

“And we will.”

If only the confidence in his voice was reassuring.

Muffled voices were heard, halting all of you in your tracks, cover being taken as Joel went ahead alone, your heart hammering as your eyes stayed locked on him, your finger twitching against the trigger of your gun as every muscle tensed waiting for the need to strike. When Joel halted and crouched behind a pile of firewood, his arm shot up, four fingers pointing up towards the sky. Six on four was no concern, in fact, it was probably almost too easy.

“Okay,” Tommy began, the plan now being set into full motion, “Ladies, you know your job, we’ll do the rest. Search every tent, they gotta be in one of ‘em.”

“There has to be more than four,” Indy warned, pulling you back down to the ground as you rose, still staring at the man ten yards ahead of you.

“Maybe. Maybe not. They’re probably out huntin’ and this our time for an easy strike. We pick those four off and take the rest out at the wall when they come lookin’. Easy.”

The logic made sense. It was now or never, with or without Indy at your side. As she went to press her argument with Tommy, you took advantage of her distraction, taking off uncaring of who followed. You and Joel had taken out more than four hunters in your day, you could do it again. The sound of your boots had him rising to his feet, his finger pointing to a larger tent off in the distance, the one the men were closest to. There was no doubt in your mind he was right.

With a nod, you were off, Indy hot on your heels as the men engaged the four sitting around a fire, somehow managing to finish the job without a shot going off in an attempt to not alert anyone who may still be lurking nearby. The tent you and Joel had assumed housed who you were looking for turned out to be filled with supplies, ones you hoped you had the time to search through later, leaving you and Indy to search the remaining half a dozen tents.

“Nothin’?” Tommy asked as your head emerged from the third with a downtrodden expression, “Shit.”

“Maybe they’re deeper in the woods,” you suggested as Indy came back from searching the final three with nothing, “It would make sense. Isolate them, make them feel stranded, helpless.”

“Okay. Fan out, whistle if you need. No more than ten minutes and we regroup. I’m serious. I don’t like this.”

Stress and tensions were high as you and Indy walked deeper into the woods, her warnings it was time to turn back went unheeded; they had to be here, they had to be somewhere. A whistle from your right set your feet into a sprint, Paulie and Eugene standing outside a dilapidated shed sealed with too shiny a padlock. A hand stopped your gun as you raised it, Joel coming to stand beside you with a look of warning in his eyes.

“Be smart,” he cautioned in a low voice, knowing how you got in high stake situations, “I’ll get it.”

The butt of his shotgun took out the lock in three blows, the edge of the door shattering at the impact. You went in first, your blood running ice cold in your veins at the sight before you.

“Oh my God…” you muttered, Indy’s equally shocked breath echoing beside you, “Joel…”

“Christ,” he exhaled, his hand pulling you slightly behind him as he surveyed the group of eight all staring at you with wide, terrified eyes, “We’re here to help…and we don’t have much time.”

Indy took over, the group sighing in relief when everyone was on their feet. At least they could walk. The walk back to the horses was quick and guarded, the six of you forming a perimeter around the women all huddled together, one visibly pregnant but you doubt she was alone in that. They were understandably skeptical, but somewhat hopeful it seemed, all of them looking to you like a beacon of hope, of reason.

“Get them on the horses. Indy, Arrow, can you share one?” Tommy strategized, with fourteen people and six horses, this had turned into a predicament, “Paulie, Eugene, get on the last one. Joel and I will walk.”

“I want to check that tent,” you reminded them, Indy staying back to help get everyone loaded up to go while you, Joel, and Tommy advanced, Paulie and Eugene staying planted in the middle ground.

There was some food that would come in handy, various boxes of ammo you stuffed into packs uncaring of what it was, you’d find a use for it, and one little canvas sack of what felt like dry beans that had your lips lifting into a smile when you brought it to your nose.

“Hey Tex!” you called out, tossing Joel the bag as soon as his attention was on you, his brow furrowing as he peaked inside, the contents setting his face aglow.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he sighed, grinning so wide it sparkled into his hazel eyes.

“Hey,” Paulie snapped, “Why’s he get that?”

“Cause Deacon has a favorite,” Eugene answered with a wink in your direction.

“Deacon has a debt actually,” you corrected, movement catching in your peripheral.

The whistle of your arrow through the air caught everyone’s attention, the cry of a man taking a bolt to the chest cavity setting off a row of dominoes on a trail to disaster. As more men emerged from the trees, panic set in. Five turned to seven and then seven to twelve… Tommy was screaming at Indy to take off, don’t even slow down until the walls of Jackson were well in sight while Joel bellowed at you from behind a stack of firewood to get to the god damn horse, but as a chain of automatic gunfire cracked through the woods the world fell away.

Standing like a target in the middle of a field, the rattling of the assault rifle had you frozen in place. The echoes of FEDRA soldiers, the rumbling of a tank, the smell of smoke, gunpowder, and decay, the screams of the QZ citizens caught in a war zone…

“Tommy!” You didn’t know a Tommy. Who was Tommy? “Cover me!”

Cover him. You could cover. You knew how to cover. Your pistol was heavy on your thigh and cold in your fingers as you pulled it from its holster, firing off in front of you despite having no target in sight.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Maybe there was a target.

Whipping around wildly in search of him, your ears began to ring as a flash bang went off, shrouding your surroundings in a smoky haze. It all came flooding back as the piercing shrill grew louder, the smoke growing thicker as you began to choke, and you weren’t sure if the tears streaming down your face were a product of the burn or the memories that now went hurtling to the forefront of your mind and trapped you in your nightmares here in the light of day.

An arm wrapping around your middle pushed what little air you’d been able to bring into your lungs, your feet forced to shuffle as it pulled you backward, your back hitting something jagged and splintering as you were tossed to the ground and caged in. You couldn’t hear a thing, your eyes locked on the dirt as your body focused on its need for air. Someone was in front of you, you could feel the heat radiating off of them, something was grazing against your cheek, a jacket maybe, or the edge of a knife. You couldn’t be sure. Bullet shells rained down from above you, one brass cylinder falling into your lap, smoke still billowing from the searing metal, at least whoever it was wasn’t shooting at you.

“Joel, get her out of here!”

That name... You knew that name.

“Joel?” It was a plea, an anchor, a place to ground yourself.

His canvas coat was rough in your fingers as you realized it was gripped between your knuckles, the comforting sight of a red and black flannel coming into view as you breathed in the familiar scent of leather and wood. Joel.

“Move,” it was a command, his voice hard with what could be anger or focus, you couldn’t be sure.

A large palm swallowed your upper arm whole as you were lifted to your feet and forced to take off into a sprint you weren’t prepared for. His grip kept you upright every time you tripped, the whinny of a horse startling you as you were lifted and tossed into a saddle.

“You ride and you don’t look back, you understand?” he instructed, shooting his eyes over his shoulder, “Do you understand?”

With a snarl at your lack of response, he slapped the horse’s back end, your hands forced to grip the horn of the saddle for dear life as the horse took off in a gallop.

“Joel!” you yelled as you steadied yourself enough to look back and see him disappear into the trees and gunshots, “JOEL!”

Chapter 6

Pretty art of them from this chapter that makes me swoon (why is tumblr eating the quality of images worse than usual today. annoying.)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

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mneiai · 2 years ago

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Fic I Am Currently Working On/Plan to Continue Working On Soonish

The following is a list of the fic that I remembered to list that I am currently working on, planning on working on, or hoping to work on. A fic that does not appear here is not necessarily abandoned, but I cycle in and out of fandoms and back again with a few years between sometimes. I've also been somewhat distracted recently, so there's been a slow down in my fanfic posting.

Any new fic is posted on Tumblr, sometimes only posted on Tumblr. For older fics, I'm still working on adding them/their chapters to Tumblr.

ASOIAF and related fandoms:

A Coin Has Three Sides AO3

No-Rebellion AU. Rhaenys finds an unexpected ally in Jon when she sets herself against her step-mother Lyanna and plans to put Jon on the throne. Jon & Rhaenys & Aegon. Various background romantic/sexual ships.

Is it so far from madness to wisdom? Tumblr | AO3

ASOIAF/F&B/HOTD time travel crossover. After the War for the Dawn, Jon ends up being reborn as the newly created son of Rhea Royce and Daemon Targaryen and desperately attempts to mend bridges between the factions at play to avoid the Dance. Jon & Laenor, Jon & lots of others (but not Daemon). Various other romantic/sexual ships.

Potentiality Series Tumblr | AO3

GOT time travel AU. Jon and Daenerys wake up in the past after their deaths in a world with only two noticeable changes: Jon's alternate was Joanna and Dany's was Daeron. Trans Jon. Danaerys/Jon.

Fire in the Rain AO3

Dark Modern Westeros AU. Westeros is no longer a monarchy, but the Targaryens have never stopped coveting it. When Jon brings his girlfriend to visit his family, he's reminded of just how much they cling to the past. Jon/Sansa, Aegon/Rhaenys, various other ships.

Play the Part of Savior AO3

Time Travel AU. To stop the Long Night, Jon goes back in time to the very beginning and falls (quite literally) into the court of the mysterious Bloodstone Emperor. Sarella/Jon (past/flashbacks). Bloodstone Emperor/Jon.

Broken Pieces Floating By AO3

Reincarnation horror AU. When Ana and her friends go into a haunted house, everything starts going horribly wrong, and Ana finds herself drawn into dreams, and a potential past, involving a mysterious lover named Elia. Elia/Lyanna.

What It's Like To Burn AO3

Great Bastards AU. Aerys was what Aegon IV was not and all the Great Bastards are his. When he dies, legitimizing all of his children, Rhaegar I faces potential rebellion from his brother Daemon Blackfyre. Daemon & Jon.

A Dragon in Wolf's Clothing AO3

Soulmate AU. Jon's soulmark comes in leaving him with more questions and the Martells with answers they never asked the questions for. Eventual Oberyn/Ellaria/Jon.

Final Fantasy VII/VIIR

How Not To Drown AO3

Remake AU where Sephiroth dies during the Nibelheim incident. After Zack's sacrifice, Cloud goes first to Sector Five and finds a home with the Gainsboroughs. Aerith & Cloud & Elmyra. Background other ships.

Tearing Through the Seams AO3

Nibelheim AU. Shotgun rescues Cloud and Zack from the reactor before Hojo can get ahold of them and they both stay with Shinra, more aware than ever of the darkness and threats within. Cloud & Zack, Cloud & Turks.

Final Fantasy XIV

Halone's Favor AO3

Soulmate AU. Aymeric had been ordered to hide his soulmark and would have continued to do so, but once it was revealed, Emperor Varis offered terms too good to ignore for the recovering Ishgard. Varis/Aymeric.

Final Fantasy XV

The Spare AO3

Time travel AU. After sacrificing himself to defeat Ardyn, Noctis is reborn in the past as the previously non-existent younger brother of his once-father, Regis. With all the power and knowledge he had at the end of the game, he sets about remaking Lucis and his family into something better. Noctis & Basically Everyone. Nyx/Noctis, Ardyn/Noctis.

King's Hero AO3

Kingsglaive AU. Nyx and Somnus make a deal to save Noctis and save the world. Traveling together, they put together the pieces and powers needed to take down the real enemy. Nyx/Somnus.

Dig My Grave AO3

Vampire AU (inspired by Kindred: The Embraced). Noctis is the last living (mortal) descendant of the powerful vampire Somnus Lucis Caelum, who rules over Insomnia along with his brother and rival Ardyn. Ardyn/Noctis.

Lives Stretched From Sleep AO3

FFXV mixed with what we knew of Versus XIII. Not everything is as it seems in Insomnia, Regis is a darker, colder king and Noctis retreats to his dream to be educated by a dead Oracle. When a peace treaty ends in occupation by Niflheim's forces, Noctis has to unravel the past for answers.

Throne of Glass

Biding Time Tumblr | AO3

Dark time travel AU. The wars end, the kingdoms rebuild, but the prejudice against those born of Valg blood only deepens as Aelin's court comes to power. Dorian comes back in time bitter and cautious...and accidentally on purpose comes to the attentions of his father and Erawan in new ways. Valg!Dorian. Dorian/so many people.

World of Warcraft

Cut Strings AO3

Being Rewritten. BFA AU (really post-Legion AU). While certain members of the Alliance call for continued aggression against the Horde, Anduin only wants peace. Realizing there's no place for that in the current factions, he decides to rewrite everything by declaring Stormwind and all of its territories neutral. Wrathion/Anduin, Baine/Anduin, Valeera & Anduin.

No Peace, No Rest AO3

Being Rewritten. BFA AU. Sylvanas attacks Stormwind and Anduin flees to one place she can't easily follow: the Acherus. He stays to protect his people while falling more under the influence of the Death Knights and the darker, more obsessive version of his other father, Bolvar, that he's now faced with. Darion/Anduin. Bolvar & Anduin.

#mneiai fanfic updates

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poguelandia · 3 months ago

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I recently just re-watched the movie a walk to remember a childhood favourite but it has me over analysing everything with Landon and his dad once again and need to get some questions out there even though it's completely random and probably weird but bare with me x'D

What do you think happened to make Landon's dad just walk away from the family? After Landon's dad shows up at his play there's a scene when Landon and his mum is talking and his mum says something like "He had his reasons for leaving us" or something to that extent? At first I thought it was because he and Cynthia fought so much cause he was always working and never there and even Landon by this point had, had enough but I don't know it just seems it's something else the way she states he had his reasons for leaving? And how old do you think Landon was? Did he just leave and not say anything, did he tell them he needed to leave? Did he stay in contact after leaving or at least try in Landon's case or did he need space so he didn't for some time?

it’s my all time favourite movie so it’s not weird at all!! i’d love to talk about it. seeing as i haven’t read the book, i’m not sure there would be any context there. what i’ve always felt is that landon’s dad left cynthia on his own doing. her saying “he had his reasons to leave” can be nuanced in a couple ways. one, is his reason for leaving was simply his own merit and he either cheated, wrecked, or sabotaged the marriage one way or another. and cynthia is saying that to keep landon’s dad in a somewhat redeemable light in regard to landon’s opinion of him. or, the other could be that cynthia was at fault and ended the marriage herself. another is that they weren’t a good match as they grew older and found themselves on different paths. and cynthia could’ve been saying that as in the both of them had reasons to leave and it ended mutually. for years i’ve believed that landon’s dad left them and landon is not over it because he believes his mom deserved better.

landon’s age when all this happened could be totally up in the air but i believe it was rather close to when the movie took place. maybe even a year or two before. he was definitely a teenager when it all transpired to me. it felt too fresh to me especially with cynthia not even interacting with him after the play. i don’t even think daryl hannah and david lee smith interacted once in the movie, so to me that signaled that the separation was still in it’s healing stages.

it seemed to me that cynthia threatens to call landon’s dad in an effort to wake him up to his actions, ie: the diving incident. and she says he “needs a father” meaning to me that they don’t have much interaction if any at all since the divorce. it could be that his dad has tried to contact him since the divorce and landon has yet to answer him because he probably blames him for everything. i would assume landon’s dad left without saying much to landon and left that decision of telling him about him leaving up to her to discuss it with him.

#( answered. )#( anonymous. )#i apologize this is so long #but tysm for asking 🥹#i love to discuss awtr

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legendreign-archived · 1 year ago

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tsukuharuko:

Haruko blushed at Kagami’s correct guess. She lowered her look with an awkward smile, fidgeting with the edges of her scarf as they headed to the till.

“I... Was kinda busy working, yes,” she admitted, shoulders stiffening. “I would like to see more of our basketball team playing, but it’s tough since matches are often during my shifts. My family recently moved into town, and since everything is more expensive here and I also have a younger brother, I felt I had to find a couple of part-time jobs to earn something without weighting on my parents’ income. So I can go to fun places and pay for good food on my own, you know?” She grinned. “I don’t mind it though, they’re nice jobs and I work with nice people. It’s just a matter of unfortunate schedules. Maybe someday...”

She really hoped she will have a chance to see a match at some point. According to her classmates’ stories, they really were spectacular.

“Sounds like a plan,” she smiled as she echoed Kagami. “I guess Otonashi-sama was a lucky presence for us both as newbies in this city, then -- she gave me a job and you a nice place to have good foor and meet nice people. Maybe she’s a good witch or something,” she mused, intrigued by her sudden new theory.

She paid for the food for her mom, quick to put everything in a shopping bag as she waited for Kagami to do the same with his groceries.

“You lead the way then,” she said, holding the bag with both hands. “I’m curious to see how your apartment looks like!”

~~~~

"You even work during the evenings too? ...That must be tough. I see."

Although Taiga was somewhat lonely growing up, at least he had a sworn brother and that put things into perspective. He was aware of how hard his dad worked to make sure they had a good life no matter where they would be living and sent money back to him from the States but if he had an actual blood sibling, maybe his old man would have to work harder than he did now and that made him feel somewhat sad.

Of course, as a kid growing up, he couldn't really understand why his dad was often away and why work seemed to be more important than him but after he ran away, he saw how angry and upset his old man was at his action and he ranted that he was working hard to make sure they could have everything they needed and after that incident, he didn't try to run away again. If his dad wasn't working as hard as he did, Taiga would probably be working hard to pay for his expenses, and he couldn't really manage all that with basketball practice.

Although a part of him did wish his father was around more, after hearing what Tsukishima was going through just to have spare cash for things she wanted, he appreciated his dad more and he would have to thank him during one of their FaceTime calls.

He smiled. "I hope you get a chance to one day though, playing a member of the Generation of Miracles is definitely worth it, seeing it is probably just as good!"

"Never heard of a good witch before but villains only exist in fiction. I guess she also counts as a fairy godmother type?"

After he paid for his groceries, he put the straps of his two heavy duty tote-bags and lifted the rice bag over his head as he started walking to his apartment. "To be honest, this is the first time I invited anyone over to my home."

#tsukuharuko #ch: Taiga #Canon #long post tw #( Yass! Also Haruko witnessing his grocery shopping work out if no store worker is helping cart the rice bag to his home. >:3c )

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chthonic-cassandra · 3 years ago

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Recent books, fiction -

Laura Lippman, What the Dead Know - crime/mystery novel. Following a car accident, the woman responsible discloses that she is one of two sisters who went missing the area thirty years prior; the local police department attempts to discover whether her claims are true. This is really not my genre, and this novel, though tightly written and probably a good exemplar of its type, showed me why. I guessed most of the main twists pretty early on, and was made uncomfortable by the novel's relationship to survivorship, and what I felt was a pitting of types of violence seen as more 'sensational' against those seen as more quotidian; I found this alienating. (One of the male pov characters also spends a lot of time thinking about female characters' weights, which was not great.) Nonetheless, not bad, had some interesting things to say about loss.

Nina Varela, Crier's War - YA fantasy, set in a world where automata have taken over and humans are an underclass, centering around a romance between an automaton princess and a human servant. This had some nice imagery, and the central romance was appealing, but overall the characters didn't have enough depth for me and it was a little too generically paint-by-numbers (it would be nice if we could do a little more holistic cultural processing of colonialism and white supremacy so that we can move past the million 'two different groups that are different in fundamental ways and one is an underclass!' type of YA fantasy).

Lila Bowen, Wake of Vultures - YA western with monsters. This at least had an original setting, and some cool use of Native American mythology, but it was made almost unreadable by its attempts at poetic imitations of western movies in dialogue and prose. It also had a lot of darker narrative elements (including multiple incidents of attempted sexual violence) that didn't get the emotional weight they needed. Didn't work for me.

Leah Franqui, Mother Land - an American woman moves to Mumbai with her Indian husband, and doesn't know what to do when her mother-in-law abruptly leaves her father-in-law and moves in with them. This was fluffy and somewhat orientalist (definitely what Naben Ruthnum calls a "curry book" - seriously, everyone, read Ruthnum's Curry: Eating, Reading, and Race), but there was a lot of warmth and nuance in the central relationship between the protagonist and her mother-in-law, which ultimately carried the book and made it peculiarly compelling, despite its shortcomings.

Lilliam Rivera, Never Look Back - YA retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice with teenagers in the Bronx. This was extremely sweet, with believable, lovable characters (particularly liked Pheus' underestimated father, Apolo), and a notably thoughtful and compassionate handling of experiences labeled as mental illness. I wish it had been a little bolder in its ending, which I don't want to spoil here - it went a gentler route than it could have, and I think it weakened the book as a whole.

Jo Walton, Or What You Will - Okay. So. This is a metafictional novel whose frame is an aging SFF Canadian writer whose muse is trying to give her immorality; within that we have the novel she is writing about a magical Florence inhabited by Miranda and Orsino (Shakespeare's, sort of), who have been granted immortality in a perpetual Renaissance by the heroic sacrifice of Pico della Mirandola. It was essentially Walton going off the deep end into her own preoccupations. I admire her lack of self-consciousness her, and have a certain fondness for the book for this reason, but it was nearly incomprehensible (certainly would have been without reading her other work), and didn't hold together as a novel.

Riku Onda, The Aosawa Murders (trans. Alison Watts) - Japanese crime novel about the mysterious poisoning of a family, told in multiple voices. I really should not read crime novels; I didn't much like this one either. Also guessed the twist early; the multiple voices were an interesting conceit but took me out of it too much.

Dalia Sofer, Man of My Time - an Iranian man visits NYC and his estranged family for the first time after breaking with them due to his participation in the 1979 revolution and subsequent work as an interrogator. I appreciated this book's slow, thoughtful pace and its willingness to let its protagonist be unsympathetic, but he was so very unsympathetic that sometimes I felt at sea in the text, without anything to hold onto. I'm glad I read it, but I wouldn't want to reread it.

Jo Spurrier, Winter Be My Shield - quite dark fantasy, largely about torture. A young woman with forbidden, powerful magic, escapes from the torturer-sorcerer who has been trying to train her as his apprentice and bands together with the nation's exiled, torture-survivor princes. I frankly appreciated how much this book is about bluntly about torture, and torture and magic, and torture and telepathy, but its plotting was frequently a mess; its circuitous and not totally thought-through plot twists reminded me of some of the more memorable and involved forum-based RPGs I have done in my life. Also, for a book about torture, it doesn't quite get how it works psychologically, which threw me in several places. It triggered the hell out of me. I will read the sequels.

#the post editor deleted all of this and I had to rewrite it from scratch #so I hope you all appreciate it #books

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acrossthewavesoftime · 2 years ago

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Don't Mess with the Princess: "In the little box I put a turd of the Queen’s dogs"

Recently, I discovered the memoirs of Sophie von Hannover in the original French; and while I was aware and had read an, in hindsight rather inaccurate, German translation, I wanted to wait until I could get my hands on the real deal to share this amusing episode with you.

Written in 1680–81, at 50 and having grown somewhat wistful after the loss of two of her siblings in one year, Sophie decided to sit down and compose a text recounting her life. Her memoir consist of often, but not always amusing episodes (such as helping Monsieur, Louis XIV's brother, arrange his jewellery collection while the latter was only dressed in his night attire) and insightful gazes into the strange world of life at different European courts from the point of view of a woman aware and insistent on her status, yet also equipped with a refreshingly no-nonsense attitude, a dash of healthy scepticism and a wry sense of humour even in the face of personal tragedy and turmoil.

Sophie of the Palatinate aged 11 by Gerard van Honthorst, 1641, in the collection of the Detroit Institute of Art. The portrait and the two incidents recounted below seem to date to the same year.

The daughter of the Bohemian "Winter King" Frederick V of the Palatinate and Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of James I, Sophie was born and raised in exile; her father had lost his briefly-held crown during the Thirty Years' War. With her brothers and sisters, of which she, the 12th of 13 children was the youngest to survive, she was raised at Leiden, away from her widowed mother's court at The Hague because, she suspected, "the sight of her guenons and dogs was more agreeable to her than that of us." After the death of her little brother at around 10 to 11 years and being the only remaining child in the nursery, the household at Leiden was dissolved, and Sophie sent to live with her mother and sisters at The Hague, where her quick wit made her a centre of court life:

[…] The Prince of Taranto [Henri Charles de La Trémoille, 1620–1672] was among them, who avoided me like the plague, having not enough wit to defend himself. Among the others there were Monsieur de Zulestem and Marigné. One of them was Flemish, the natural son of Prince [Frederick] Henry of Orange, and his taunts were not very polite. One day, I found them too familiar, and in order to avenge myself in the field and to thoroughly wash his head [literal translation of the German phrase jemandem den Kopf waschen, meaning to tell someone off], I wanted to put my handkerchief in a basin from which is was customary for the Queen’s dogs to go to drink. But since there was such a great number of these animals, the basin was to be found empty, and I wetted my handkerchief in a place where the water was not so clear, which I threw in his face. My brother Moritz [1621–c. 1652], who had seen that the Queen’s chamber pot had served for my vengeance, did not hesitate to tell everyone about it in order to increase the mockery, from which the good Fleming found himself much disconcerted. […] One also wanted to play me another trick on the subject of the son of the Venetian ambassador by the name of Contarini, who was very handsome and who had frequently played with me. There was an Englishman called Vain, who was always teased on account of his great chin. He made a letter in the name of the little Venetian after he had departed and brought it to me to tease a reply from me on grounds of which one might taunt me. I detected his design and to give battle, I gave him a little box in secret wherein I told him was a ring and an accompanying letter from me for the little Venetian. In the little box I put a turd of the Queen’s dogs and in the letter, there was:

To Monsieur the confidant I give him this present It is long and it is formed Like his chin, which is deformed

Sadly, Sophie recalls having been responsible for a number of other shenanigans as well, but overtly states that they were not worthy of being recounted in a memoir. I beg to differ; alas, we can only imagine what else she got up to as a child...

I put the original French, plus the link to the full text below the cut!

The original French:

[…] Le prince de Tarente entre autres estoit de ceux-cy, qui me fuyoit comme la peste, n’ayant assez de vivacité pour se défendre. Parmy les autres il y avoit M. de Zulestem et Marigné. Comme l’un estoit Flamand, fils naturel du prince Henry d’Orange, ses railleries n’estoient pas fort polies. Je les trouvois un jour trop familières, et pour m’en vanger sur le champs et de luy bien mouiller la teste, je voulois mettre pour cela mon mouchoir dans un bassin d’eau oú les chiens de la reine avoient accoustumé d’aller boire. Mais comme le nombre estoit fort grand et ces animaux-là, le bain se trouva vide, et je mouillois mon mouchoir dans un endroit oú l’eau n’estoit pas si claire, que je luy jettois au visage. Mon frère Maurice, qui avoit vu que la chaise percée de la reine avoit servi à ma vengeance, ne manqua pas de le dire à tout le monde, pour rendre la raillerie plus forte, dont le bon Flamand se trouva fort déconcerté. […] On volut encor me faire pièce au sujet du fils de l’ambassadeur de Venise qui s’appelloit Contarini, qui estoit fort joli et qui avoit souvent joué avec moy. Il avoit un Anglois, nommé Vain, qu’on avoit toujours raillé sur son grand menton. Il fit une lettre au nom du petit Vénitien, après qu’il estoit parti, et me l’apporta, pour tirer de moy une réponse dont il auroit pu me railler. Je m’apperceus de son dessein et pour faire la contrebatterie je luy donnois en secret une petite boette oú je luy disois qu’il y avoit une bague que j’accompagnois d’une lettre pour le petit Vénitien. Dans la petite boette j’avois mis une crotte des chiens de la reine, et dans la lettre il y avoit:

Pour Monsieur le confident Je luy donne ce présent, Il est long et de la forme De son menton si déforme

Source:

Köcher, Adolf [Ed.]: Memoiren der Herzogin Sophie nachmals Kurfürstin von Hannover (Publicationen aus den Königlich Preussischen Staatsarchiven vol. 4), Leipzig 1879, p. 36 f.

#sophie von hannover #elizabeth stuart #17th century #memoirs #writing and letters #frederick henry of orange #moritz von der pfalz #philippe ii d'orleans #louis xiv

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queenshelby · 3 years ago

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The Nanny – Part Two

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Virgin!Reader

Words: 5798

Warning: Smut, Age Gap

Tag List:

@atomicsoulcollecto @datewithgianni @mariapaiva13 @avonlady1985 @lauren-raines-x @hanster1998 @elenavampire21 @nerdy4itall @peakyboyslover @atomicsoulcollecto @lilymurphy03 @deefigs @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy

NOTE re Tag List: If you haven't been tagged but have requested to be tagged, please check your settings to ensure that I can actually tag you. I have reviewed all tag list requests and if you do not appear above, I cannot physically tag you because of your settings. Please PM me once you would like me to try again.

A Small Surprise

Another week had passed since your encounter with Cillian at the theatre and you missed interacting with him, especially now that you broke up with Darcy once again.

Once again, Darcy had become verbally abusive towards you and you were devastated and upset about his behaviour. You became to realise that, most probably, he won’t ever change. You often thought about Cillian’s words. You were too young to be wasting your time on someone like this.

But, despite your breakup, Darcy called you at least ten times a day, trying to apologise. You ignored his calls, but, unfortunately for you, you still had to interact with him at theatre practice and art school.

At least, Anita was there for you and tried her best to prevent you and Darcy from having arguments while dealing with each other in a professional capacity. But it wasn’t easy.

Since your latest and hopefully final break up, Anita had also tried to hook you up with her brother, but you really weren’t interested in dating anyone after what you have encountered with Darcy.

Despite your disinterest in dating, you struggled to get one man out of your head and this was Cillian.

Since you became to know what he was doing for a living, you could evermore so understand his reluctance to get involved with someone your age. It would almost be cliché for an actor to date someone half his age. The backlash would almost be ridiculous.

In the same vein, you were really not keen on dating an actor. The ridiculous filming schedules, the gossip and the fact that people would look at you differently would certainly upset you and make you uncomfortable.

Yet, you couldn’t forget about him and the kiss you shared. The kiss he initially returned and which felt so amazingly good.

There was something about him that you hadn’t found in any man before. It was almost like you had known him for years and yet, you barely knew him at all. You felt comfortable in his presence and it felt natural to be around him.

With these thoughts on your mind, it was easy for you to let go of Darcy this time around eve though you knew that you could never have Cillian. Or could you?

It was a Sunday afternoon that Craig came home after spending some time at the pub celebrating a friend’s birthday.

He looked somewhat tipsy when he walked inside and Ella became rather frustrated with him. It was almost too funny to watch.

You noticed him carrying a paper back.

‘Y/N, this is for you’ Craig said as he handed the bag to you.

‘Uhm, thank you’ you said, surprised by his gesture.

‘Oh, don’t thank me. Cillian asked me to give this to you so thank him’ Craig said, unsure about what was in the bag. He believed Cillian’s gesture to be odd but didn’t dare to question it.

You walked into your room, curious about what was in the bag.

Unsurprisingly, it was a book entitled ‘The History of Irish Theatre’.

You and Cillian had talked about this book following your little incident at his house.

He thought that it was very educational for anyone who is interested in Irish literature and play writes and he said that, when he goes back to his house, he would get it for you so that you could read it.

You opened the book, very keen to read it.

To your surprise, Cillian had left you a note inside which, amongst other things, contained his mobile phone number and an offer to help you with rehearsing the play if you needed it and wanted an outsider’s opinion.

He also was kind to tag the pages relevant to your play in the 350 page book.

You took out your phone and saved his number before texting him to say thank you.

He responded almost immediately. His response was short but that is what you would have expected from a man in his 40s.

About an hour later, you received another text message from him.

‘I have four tickets to a play at the Abbey which I think you might like. You could go with some friends from your theatre group and your boyfriend. Unfortunately, it’s for a Sunday night though’ he texted.

You responded by thanking Cillian for the offer and telling Cillian that you had broken up with Darcy before taking the courage to ask him whether he would be interested to come with you to see the play.

An hour after your text, you still hadn’t received a response and you regretted asking him. After what happened between you, you thought that you must have taken it too far.

Another twenty minutes later, as you were in the shower, the phone rang.

You quickly jumped out of the shower and answered your phone while the water was still running in the background.

‘Hi, Cillian’ you said shyly as you shivered, still being wet from the shower.

‘Am I calling you at a bad time?’ Cillian asked, observing the background noise through the phone.

‘No no, not at all’ you said.

‘What’s that noise?’ he asked.

‘Uhm, I was just having a shower’ you said and, just after you said this, you realised how inappropriate your comment was once again. There was an awkward silence on Cillian’s end following your comment.

‘Right’ he said before taking a pause.

‘About Sunday, I have seen the play already with some friends but I am happy to take you if you want’ he said before taking another pause. ‘As a friend that is’ he added, qualifying his offer.

‘Of course, yes’ you said shyly.

‘I think that, if we go together, I should probably invite Craig and Ella and suggest that you come with them’ Cillian suggested, being mindful that, otherwise, this might awkward.

‘Yes, sounds good’ you said.

‘Great, I will let you get back to your shower then’ Cillian said with a laugh.

‘Alright…and thanks’ you said.

‘You are welcome’ Cillian responded before hanging up.

To your surprise, a day later, Cillian told you that Craig and Ella weren’t interested in the play but had no problem with you going to see it with Cillian and some other friends.

You felt somewhat awkward about Craig and Ella knowing that you were going to see a play with their mutual friend. But Cillian assured you that they didn’t think anything of it. In Ireland, everyone was friendly and welcoming and interactions like this weren’t suspicious. In fact, Cillian had even told Craig that he had offered to help you with your theatre project and that he believed that the play you were going to see would really help you with your perspective on contemporary Irish theatre. With Cillian being double your age, Craig simply thought that it was a nice gesture and Craig also knew that Cillian could do with some friendly company after yet another fight with his fiancée.

Instead of Craig and Ella, Cillian ended up inviting his youngest sister Janet and her husband John. They both enjoyed theatre and had recently returned to live in Dublin after spending five years together in London.

You met Cillian and his sister and her husband at the theatre and they were very welcoming. You thought it was going to be strange, meeting Cillian’s family, but it wasn’t at all. His sister was in her late twenties and you could relate to her.

You talked about many things before the play started and she was surprised when she learned that you were only 20 years old. According to her, you appeared very mature for your age.

Change of Mind

‘You know she’s nice, smart and very pretty’ Janet said to Cillian about you after you excused yourself to go to the bathroom right before the play started.

‘And she is 20 years old and I am still in a relationship’ Cillian chuckled in response to her comment.

‘And here you are, choosing to attend this play with her instead of your fiancée’ Janet giggled.

‘Because my fiancée and I are taking a break and Y/N is just a friend’ Cillian chuckled.

‘I think you already made up your mind about your fiancée. I know you brother. I am not blind either. I can see the way you look at Y/N. You like her a lot’ Janet said.

‘Janet, she is 20. Now can we change the topic please’ Cillian said firmly.

‘So what if she is 20?...I like her. She seems nice’ Janet said before her husband John had to comment just like a man would.

‘Just count yourself lucky Cillian. Not every man your age has a shot with a young woman like her. Also, you wouldn’t be the first actor who goes there trust me’ John said, causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘Enough now, please’ Cillian said just as you returned from the bathroom.

When you returned to the table where Cillian, Janet and John were standing, you finally heard the theatre bell. Cillian seemed somewhat relieved that the play was about to start and you made your way inside, taking your seats.

Just as you sat down, you saw Darcy with his parents and brother. Your heart sunk and you hoped that he would not see you. But he did, almost immediately.

The situation had officially become awkward and, just as Darcy saw you, his father spotted you and Cillian as well.

He came over to greet you and Cillian which, instantly, raised a lot of questions.

Cillian explained to Darcy’s father that you were a friend and, just as he did, the bell rang again, telling everyone to take their seat.

This was lucky, preventing Darcy’s father from asking more questions.

Darcy’s father excused himself and, luckily for you, Darcy was at his best behaviour with his parents being around.

During the interval, Darcy greeted you politely and that was it. He didn’t acknowledge Cillian, Janet and John and there weren’t any further interactions from his side.

After the play had finished, Janet suggested that you all go to Cillian’s house for a drink and some pizza. After all, you hadn’t had dinner yet.

You agreed and picked up some Pizza and a couple of bottles of wine on the way.

To your surprise however, Janet excused herself pretty much straight after dinner and a glass of wine.

‘Well, John and I have to get up very early tomorrow’ Janet said.

‘We do?’ John asked.

‘Yes darling, don’t you remember the thing at your work?’ Janet asked, giving John a nudge.

‘The thing at my work?....Oh right, the thing at my work. I forgot’ John said.

‘Well, we will be going, but you two should really finish this bottle of wine’ Janet said and you observed her winking at Cillian.

Cillian sighed before giving his sister a kiss on the cheek and saying goodbye.

‘Uhm that was strange’ you giggled just as Janet and John left. ‘I just finish this and will call a taxi’ you said, pointing to your full glass of wine.

‘Yes, my sister is strange indeed’ Cillian chuckled, knowing exactly what his sister had in mind.

‘So how did you like the book?’ Cillian went on to ask to change the topic.

‘It’s fantastic. In particular the actor’s notes on the scenes. Although, there is one thing no one really talks about and I have been trying hard to find material on it’ you said.

‘And what is that?’ Cillian asked curiously.

‘How do you act a scene where you have to kiss someone. I mean, do you actually kiss them on stage? How about on screen? I mean, you would have the answer to this wouldn’t you?’ you said.

‘I do’ Cillian laughed.

‘Well then please enlighten me. I am curious’ you said.

‘On screen, depending on the angle of the camara, you most often don’t get around kissing. Your lips touch. It’s as simple as that’ Cillian said.

‘But is it different from a normal kiss?’ you asked.

‘Not really’ Cillian said. ‘But, in saying this, for theatre, no one from the audience will be close enough to see what you are doing so just give the guy a peck if you feel too uncomfortable to kiss him’ Cillian laughed, knowing that the play you were doing included a scene just like this.

‘I am glad you can laugh about it’ you said sheepishly.

‘Well, I know for a fact that you’ve kissed a man before so I think you will be fine. Just don’t think about it as a kiss. Think about it as an act. I guarantee you that, when you are in character with a complex script like yours, it will just come naturally’ Cillian said.

‘I suppose you are right. I mean, at least it’s not Darcy who I have to kiss on stage’ you laughed.

‘Well, there you go’ Cillian said just as an awkward silence erupted between you again.

‘Speaking of which, I have actually been thinking about our kiss more often than I should have’ you said shyly.

‘Y/N, we agreed that we would forget about what happened that morning’ Cillian said.

‘We did. But I can’t’ you said before taking a pause. ‘Can you?’ you asked.

‘I’ve been trying’ he chuckled, causing you to smile.

‘Perhaps you should stop trying and kiss me again. Just once more and I will never mention it again’ you said as you walked over towards him.

‘I am twice your age Y/N. You do realise that, right?’ Cillian said as you took his hands suggestively, indicating that you wanted him to stand up.

‘Yes, I do and I like it’ you giggled before biting your lip. Your comment made Cillian raise his eye brows and laugh.

‘You could be with someone your own age Y/N. I am sure you get plenty of offers. So why me?’ he asked as he stood up in front of you, running his hand over your cheek and moving part of your hair away from your face and behind your ear.

‘Because you are intelligent, kind and not afraid to be yourself. I like that. Despite, I also think that you are incredibly attractive’ you whispered shyly.

‘But, if you don’t like me then just tell me and I accept that’ you added after Cillian didn’t respond to your comment.

‘I like you alright. But I know that it would be a very bad idea if were to get involved with each other’ Cillian said quietly.

‘Maybe. Maybe not’ you said and, just like this, Cillian leaned forward and pressed his lips on to yours.

The kiss was gentle and Cillian caressed your face with his warm hands while his soft lips explored yours. Your lips moved in sync with his for a moment until he pulled away slightly.

‘We should not be doing this’ Cillian said and, just after he did, you decided that, this time, he wouldn’t get away that easily and you crashed your lips back onto his.

He accepted the kiss, giving into you for what felt like an eternity until he pulled away again.

‘Are you sure this is what you want? Because there will be implications if…’ he said and, before he could finish his sentence, you interrupted.

‘I know and I am prepared to deal with these implications as they arise’ you said before pressing your lips back onto his. You knew that, most likely, you would have to keep your interactions with Cillian a secret at least for a little while and you knew that, later down the track, this might cause issues with Craig and Ella.

Despite these intrusive thoughts, you managed to switch off and get lost in the moment and kiss between you soon became heated as Cillian gently slipped his tongue in between the opening of your lips.

You gave in and let his tongue dance with yours as if it was the most natural thing to do. He was such a good kisser. Gentle and passionate.

‘Now do you want me to stay for the night or call a taxi?’ you asked as, after at least ten minutes, your lips drifted apart.

‘If you were to stay, what would you be telling Craig and Ella?’ Cillian asked.

‘That I had some drinks after the theatre and ended up staying at a friend’s house’ you said, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘I guess you are staying then’ he said as he ran his hand over your cheek again before giving you another kiss.

‘Alright’ you said shyly. ‘I will go and have a shower then’ you said nervously.

It felt different this time around and you didn’t know how far he wanted to go. You had never had sex before and intimacy didn’t come naturally to you.

After you both had showers, separately, you met in bed just like the last time when you stayed at Cillian’s house.

Just this time, neither of you bothered getting dressed for the occasion.

Bed Time

Cillian was lying there, under the doona, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein briefs as you walked into the bedroom.

You, on the other hand, wore even less. A black thong. That was it and you could see the appreciation on Cillian’s face as you walked into the bedroom.

But, in addition to your naked body, your tattoos and piercings, he could also see the nervousness on your face as you climbed into bed next to him.

‘You are beautiful’ he said as you got under the doona.

‘If you say so’ you smiled shyly before giving him a kiss.

It wasn’t long until he gently pulled you closer towards him and began running his masculine hands over your body, including your breasts and all the way down to your naked ass.

His lips never left yours and you enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against yours. The little amount of his chest hair brushed against your breasts and, as he held you close, you could feel his erection grow beneath his breaths.

You knew he wanted you, all of you and, whilst you wanted to be with him, you weren’t quite ready to take this step yet.

‘Cillian, I am…I never had…’ you said and, before you could finish your sentence Cillian withdraw his hand from you.

‘You are a virgin?’ he asked somewhat surprised, causing you to nod. Whilst you hinted on this previously when you talked with him about Darcy being pushy when it came to your relationship, you never actually told him that you never had sex. It all made more sense to him now and made him dislike how Darcy had treated you even more.

‘I am sorry. I didn’t realise’ Cillian said.

‘Are you disappointed?’ you asked, noticing Cillian’s reluctance to touch you again the same way he was before you told him.

‘Why would I be disappointed?’ he asked, running his hand over your cheek.

‘Not sure. Perhaps you expected something else tonight?’ you said shyly.

‘Well, the truth is that I didn’t expect anything tonight. Not kissing you, not lying next to you or getting to touch your beautiful body. So, I am getting way more than I had bargained for’ Cillian said.

‘You are so kind Cillian. What I meant was that, once you got a woman into bed, you probably didn’t expect this’ you said somewhat embarrassed.

‘At my age, probably not’ Cillian laughed. ‘But, I am not disappointed Y/N. We will just take things slow, move at your pace, alright? Despite, there are so many things other than sex in the conventional way that are enjoyable and I am just happy to lie here with you and kiss you all night’ Cillian said before pressing his lips back on to yours.

‘Things other than sex in the conventional way?’ you asked curiously after your lips drifted apart.

‘Yeah, you know, like other things’ Cillian chuckled. He clearly was out of your comfort zone having to give you a sex ed lesson.

‘Hmm, like what?’ you said cheekily. ‘Can you show me?’ you asked nervously. Whilst you weren’t quite ready to take things all the way, you felt an overwhelming desire for this man and you trusted him and you certainly wanted him to continue to touch you.

Cillian chuckled at your comment but reluctantly agreed. After all, he just promised you to take things slow and what he was about to do didn’t exactly fall into the category of taking things slow.

‘Alright, but you are in charge. Promise me that you will tell me if you want me to stop, ok?’ Cillian said reassuringly.

‘I promise’ you said before he leaned in and gave you another kiss before guiding your back down on to the mattress.

After you lied down comfortably, Cillian kissed you once again before his lips began trailing down your neck, kissing all over it, while his hands wandered over your naked breasts.

In this moment, you felt somewhat vulnerable. You weren’t exactly blessed with a large bust but Cillian seemed to like what he saw as he kissed down your beautiful body, his lips and tongue exploring and enjoying the sweetness of your flesh.

Eventually, his lips found their way to your perky breasts and lingered at a taut, pierced nipple, the tip of his tongue rolling around it, over the tiny bumps on your areola. He drew it into his mouth, eliciting a soft sigh from you as he sucked.

It felt amazing, much unlike what anyone else had ever done to you before and you could feel an unexpected tension build up in between your legs. The moisture within you was building and you trusted Cillian even once his lips began to trail further down your body.

His lips soon found the swell of your belly, and he showered it with soft kisses. His tongue played a moment in your pierced belly button before he continued his downward journey.

Then, suddenly, his lips touched the top of your lace panties causing you to let out a surprisingly loud moan.

No man had ever been this close to your mound before with anything else but their fingers.

With his fingers, he hooked into the ream of your lace panties before sliding them down all the way past your knees and then down over your feet before letting them drop over the bed.

There you were, completely naked, in front of the man you were so desperate for.

With his head moving back in between your legs, you felt vulnerable and excited at the same time.

The scent of your hot sex was now filling his nostrils, making him crave the taste of you.

His lips first touched the inside of your thighs, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. Again, you couldn’t help it but moan unexpectantly loud at the sensation.

Your reaction made Cillian smile against your thighs and he moved his head slightly inwards.

You could feel his warm breath on your vulva just before his lips touched your naked mound for the first time.

‘Oh god’ you inhaled sharply, making him smile again. He clearly was doing all the right things and took it slow, much slower than he would usually take it.

After kissing your most intimate body part a couple of time, he finally let his tongue lightly trace down the folds of your flesh.

It felt insane and you moaned loudly before you started to squirm when his tongue ran through your folds for the second time.

Cillian soon felt your fingertips caress his hair as he teased you.

He ran his tongue up and down those lips, enjoying the wetness between them.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you moaned just as you gripped his hair tighter as he pushed his tongue inward in between your lips, savouring the sweet taste of you.

By this point you were dripping wet as his tongue went as deep as it could, his face awash with your warm juices.

Then, Cillian pulled back slightly, moving his tongue up and down, side to side, not wanting to leave any part of your sex untouched.

At the top, he found that sensitive nub of flesh, now fully extended. As his tongue flicked against it, he felt you give a little shiver of pleasure. His tongue swirled around and around, and then his lips engulfed it, sucking it gently as you began to moan even louder.

‘Cillian, fuck’ you moaned as you let your body take in the fullest extend of this sensation and closed your eyes.

Just as you closed your eyes, you could feel one of Cillian’s fingers run over your wet slit while his tongue continued to swirl around your clit.

You took in a deep breath but tried to relax as much as possible, thinking about what he might be doing next.

And, just like this, he carefully slipped a finger into you, watching your cues closely for any pain.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned again at the sensation. To your surprise, it felt nice, very nice.

After your body relaxed again Cillian began moving his finger in and out in a slow, steady rhythm as his tongue played a staccato on your pulsing clit.

He loved your taste, your scent, your sounds, he was in his happy place, and your pleasure was his goal.

He kept going, making love to you with his lips and tongue and fingers. Your sounds intensified in volume; the grip on his hair tightened; your hips rose as you squirmed beneath his ministrations.

After several minutes of pure extasy, Cillian carefully inserted a second finger while he gentle sucked on your clit.

You tensed up once again at the intrusion but, following some mild discomfort, were able to relax again. The slight amount of pain quickly turned into pleasure and your breathing was becoming heavier.

You felt full, just by his fingers and they moved in and out of you in the perfect rhythm.

With your moans becoming louder and louder and your walls becoming tighter around his fingers, he could tell that you were close. He pushed his fingers into you deeper, hooking them slightly upward and touching that other magical spot you never knew existed.

Your moans turned into screams of pleasure and your hips bucked as he pushed you over the edge.

Cillian lifted his eyes so he could look up at you and see your head thrown back, eyes closed, and mouth open with your moans and screams of pleasure filling the room.

You were totally lost in the ecstasy of the moment. His tongue was still dancing against your pulsing extended clit.

Your hips bucked one more time, and then you grasped his hair and pulled him away. It was too much, too intense.

He would have kept going for as long as you would let him, but your body had reached the point of pleasure saturation, and you needed to catch your breath.

While you were breathing heavily, coming down from your high slowly, Cillian kissed his way up your body until your lips met, and you shared one long deep kiss.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked as he could see small tears building up in your eyes. You looked completely exhausted and somewhat confused.

‘Yes, it’s just… I think I just had an orgasm’ you laughed.

‘Well, that was the idea’ Cillian chuckled. But you didn’t laugh at his joke. You were entirely overwhelmed.

‘Have you not had one before?’ Cillian asked somewhat surprised by your reaction.

‘What, an orgasm? No…But I read it’s normal for women not to have orgasms’ you said shyly.

‘If that was true then that would be pretty disappointing’ Cillian chuckled as he took you into his arms.

‘How about you get some rest alright?’ Cillian said with a smile as you seemed somewhat besides yourself which he thought was cute.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep in his arms. You felt so safe and secure next to him.

But for Cillian, it took a little longer. Whilst he promised you to take it slow and was prepared to stick to his promises, deep down inside, he wanted you, all of you.

Good Morning Mr Murphy

The next morning, your alarm went off at 7am. You had to attend art school which was due to start at 9am.

You would have rather stayed in bed with Cillian, but this wasn’t an option.

When the sound of your alarm ripped you out of your dreams and your eyes shot open, you noticed that Cillian wasn’t lying next to you.

As you got up to look for him, you heard the shower running in the bathroom. He was up early and it surprised you.

‘Can I come in?’ you asked as you knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Uhm, yes sure’ Cillian yelled out. He clearly was still in the shower.

‘Good Morning’ you said as you walked inside, not being able to see Cillian through the steam covering the door of the shower.

‘Good Morning… I will be out in a minute’ Cillian said, his voice sounding somewhat hasty.

‘No need, I just come in’ you said.

Without asking permission, you opened the shower door and stepped inside.

Your lips instantly met Cillian’s lips as you stepped closer towards him. But he seemed somewhat uncomfortable with your quick approach.

As you went to press your body against his soapy chest, you could feel something in between you and, just as you did, you looked downwards.

This was the first time you saw Cillian’s most intimate part and it was quite a sight.

‘Sorry’ Cillian said with some embarrassment as his erection pressed against you. He had struggled with it on and off since the previous night.

‘Now I am no expert, but I think that your reaction down there tells me that you like me, a lot’ you giggled as your hand reached for his hard cock.

Cillian moaned at your touch and you slowly began stroking him.

‘Now, I have never done this before so just tell me if I do something wrong alright?’ you said as your hands moved to either side of his hips.

‘Done what?’ Cillian asked and, just as he did, you dropped down to your knees right there in front of him.

‘This’ you said as you took hold of his cock again and guided it towards your mouth.

You could hear a soft moan come out of Cillian as your tongue touched his shaft for the first time.

You first licked the side of his shaft tentatively. Your heart was pounding as you did and you continued licking the sides and worked your way to the top of his cock.

Swirling your tongue around the head of Cillian’s cock and then working your way back down the shaft, you felt like you found yourself in another world, one you had never been in before.

Cillian groaned again and you felt his hands on your head as you continued licking his cock and then finally taking him into your mouth as far as you could go.

You didn't have a clue what you were doing, never having done this before, but you started bobbing up and down his shaft.

As Cillian’s moans became louder and steadier, you started bobbing up and down his cock even faster. You could taste his per cum on your tongue and then felt his hands hold on to the hair on your head even tighter.

You were in control but it was almost like he needed to hold on to something, grab something with his hands.

‘Fuck Y/N’ he moaned and you could tell he was getting close.

Before he could say anything else, you looked up at him.

‘I want you to come in my mouth’ you said before taking him back inside your mouth.

He looked surprised but didn’t dare to argue and, after a few more head bobs, he let go.

You could feel his cock begin to throb in your mouth and, just as you did, his hot sweet cum began to flow steadily from his shaft into your mouth.

You stopped bobbing your head as he came down from his high and let go of his cock before looking up at him and opening your mouth.

He could see his cum in your mouth and the disbelieve on his face made you laugh for a second, causing you to spill some but swallowing the rest.

‘Are you sure you never done this before because I never had a woman do this last bit’ Cillian chuckled as he helped you up.

‘No…never’ you said. ‘But, I’ve watched porn before’ you laughed as you wiped your mouth before giving Cillian a kiss.

After your intimate encounter, you both cleaned yourself off and got dressed before Cillian gave you a lift to art school.

Unpleasant Surprise

Your day at art school was good but you couldn’t get Cillian out of your head that day.

You went as far as to cancel your date with Anita that same afternoon so that you could surprise Cillian at his house later.

It was probably for the better you thought as Anita had many questions for you that day after Darcy had told her that he saw you at the theatre with Cillian.

At 4.30pm, after picking up some food and clothes from at home, you made your way to Cillian’s place.

You knocked on the door and, eventually, Cillian opened.

‘What are you doing here Y/N?’ Cillian asked surprised. You came by unannounced and thought that, maybe, it wasn’t a good idea after all. Perhaps he didn’t like surprises.

‘I am sorry, I should have called. I just wanted to surprise you’ you said before asking Cillian whether you could come inside.

‘It’s not a good time Y/N’ Cillian said and, in this moment, you could hear a female voice from inside his apartment.

Through the crack of the door, you could see a blonde woman. She was pretty, probably in her late thirties, wearing a black dress and heels. It was obvious to you that Cillian and her were close.

‘Can I call you later?’ Cillian asked.

‘Right, sure’ you sighed as you handed him the bag with the food and walked off.

As you walked towards the elevator, tears were building up in your eyes and you felt overwhelmingly anxious and upset. Perhaps he wasn’t different than other actors and you were just another quick fling.

You didn’t pick up his calls that day. You’ve been hurt enough by men in the past.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 19 - ao3 -

Time passed, as it had a tendency to do.

After Cangse Sanren left, Lan Qiren remained in seclusion for the next two months, reviewing texts on the Lan sect rules regarding reciprocation, filial respect, and loyalty, and occasionally playing some new pieces – he’d started composing music as well as simply learning it, and that was a finicky business. Not only did he need to worry about the musical composition itself, like any normal musician, but there was also interweaving the spiritual energies and figuring out the way the song could be used as a spell, which was a completely different and often completely contradictory set of rules.

Moreover, the most powerful song-spells, he knew, were the ones that incorporated and drew on emotion, and he’d always had difficulty with those. Like most of his clan, Lan Qiren cleaved towards the more intellectual melodies, difficult but cold and distant, yet if he wanted to be truly innovative, he would need to find melodies in his heart.

Not long before he went to the Nightless City he had been inspired in a dream with a half-snippet of sound, which he had been painstakingly building up into a song in fits and starts, but recently he had found that whenever he played it the only image that came to mind was that of pearls scattered amidst blood-red mud.

The song was good, though, although it felt unfinished and incomplete. After he emerged from seclusion, he played it for his music teacher, first without qi and then with, demonstrating the suffocating and asphyxiating feeling of it – a heavy stone sitting in the midst of his chest, all his misery and anxieties wrapped up into musical notes – and his music teacher had been thrilled.

“You were born to write tragedies, child,” he said, examining the score proudly. “This is not only good but innovative, a new style with unexpected effects. I look forward to seeing you refine this further, and to your future works.”

Lan Qiren saluted deeply.

Music was just about the only thing that was going right for him at the moment.

The other disciples had been lured back into gossip by his presence, consumed by curiosity, and the teachers had come down on it hard, breeding resentment; even his few friends had been made tired by the whole fuss and only wanted it to die down. The rumors went by swiftly and quickly, anything to do with the Wen sect or the Nightless City almost immediately spread around everywhere, reaching his ears almost immediately upon his exit from seclusion.

One in particular caused him alarm, suggesting that Madame Wen had been discarded or even killed immediately after successfully bearing a son to her husband, but Lan Yueheng had convinced Lan Ganhui, always good at making friends, to write to the Wen sect disciples he’d become friendly with in the Nightless City to find out the truth. In the end, it turned out that Wen Ruohan had merely grown more distant from her, instructing her to go into seclusion for the birth a little early, and had perhaps sarcastically sent her a few treatises on the subject of a wife’s duty to support her husband. In the end, Wen Ruohan was an ambitious and ruthless man who encouraged his sect to take him as his model - as he himself had remarked, Madame Wen’s viciousness in fact demonstrated how she was an excellent match for him.

Lan Qiren hated that he was relieved that Wen Ruohan had not taken out his rage at what had happened on his wife, who had instigated the incident. He hated even more his suspicions that Wen Ruohan might have refrained from doing so not out of morality but out of the thought that Lan Qiren himself might disapprove - he wasn’t sure if that thought made him happy or sad.

At any rate, he soon didn’t have time to worry about things like that.

Lan Qiren’s refusal to explain in any detail what had happened at the Nightless City that had sent him fleeing and retreating into seclusion was largely not accepted by his curious peers, especially when someone had jeeringly pointed out that he’d probably told Cangse Sanren the whole thing already, and he refused to go to his teachers to complain, as he had in his youth.

His brother hadn’t accepted it, either.

He’d given Lan Qiren ten days after exiting seclusion, clearly expecting him to come and report on what had happened. When Lan Qiren had not done so, he had finally grown impatient and found him, demanding to know what it was that he had done that had caused such a fuss.

Lan Qiren had knelt and declared that he was unfilial and disobedient, that he had broken the rules, and requested that his brother punish him for his wrongdoing.

His brother had stared at him for a long time before realizing that Lan Qiren was serious – that he would rather be punished for intentionally breaking the rules against honoring and obeying his elders than tell what he had done or what had happened. Even when he was dragged to the hanshI, his collar pulled tight in his brother’s fist until he was thrown down to kneel in front of their father the sect leader, Lan Qiren did not object; he knelt without complaint, and even pressed his forehead to the ground in deference, but he did not speak.

The punishment his father decided upon for him was harsh, but Lan Qiren accepted it willingly. By the rules of his sect, an accepted punishment expiated a breach of the rules; once punished, he could no longer be persecuted for what he had done to earn the punishment. It would be over and done with.

Of course, there were always ways around that.

Technically, Lan Qiren’s breach was not in refusing to tell what had happened, but in disrespecting his elders by so refusing. A few days after he recovered from his initial punishment, his brother, still furious at having been denied, asked him the same question, with the same result. Their father looked disapprovingly at his eldest son – deliberately exploiting loopholes was not good etiquette – but again imposed a punishment.

Lan Qiren gritted his teeth and endured.

Lan Qiren’s brother did not bother him a third time, but by then it was too late; their relationship continued to deteriorate. Lan Qiren sought to avoid his brother whenever possible, and his brother’s disappointment in him grew; although he did not explicitly complain or impose punishments directly, he made his views clear. Those disciples and teachers that most admired him were, as always, more than willing to follow his lead and fill in the gaps, and for one reason or another Lan Qiren spent more time in the discipline hall than ever before.

Eventually, noticing the division, others in the sect sought to reconcile them – their teachers, in the most part – but Lan Qiren rebuffed them, having noticed that their requests to be more considerate and free-minded were always aimed at him and never to his brother.

After poor Lan Yueheng, who never cared about anything but his alchemy and his mathematics and, possibly, the particularly indulgent outer-sect female disciple that guarded the stockroom of the ingredients he used to make things explode and regularly looked the other way when he came to get an extra helping, got roped into trying to tell Lan Qiren to be more forgiving, citing rules about fighting within families leading to nothing with a miserable and bemused expression on his face, Lan Qiren went to the teacher in question and rather acidly pointed out the discrepancy.

“He’s your elder,” the teacher said.

“Do not disrespect the younger,” Lan Qiren retorted.

“He’s your family –”

“Am I not his?”

The teacher sighed. “It’s not the same, with him. You know how he is – how he’s always been.”

Lan Qiren knew. Still, he said, “If you can identify where my conduct does not live up to the rules, please do so, and I will consider if my conduct requires modification. At the moment, I do not.”

“Qiren…”

“Why must I always be the one to yield?” Lan Qiren demanded. “I didn’t answer one question, and I took the punishment for it, as was my right. He is the one who is insisting on making a fuss, not me – why come to me? I don’t want anything from him.”

“That’s the problem. You shouldn’t fight so – why this, why now? You’ve always yielded to him before.”

Lan Qiren said nothing.

“He’s still your elder brother, Qiren. Soon, he’ll be your sect leader.”

“Do not fear the strong; do not bully the weak,” Lan Qiren said. “Being sect leader makes him more responsible, not less.”

“Qiren –”

“I have been a good brother to him for nearly twenty years, honored teacher. Perhaps not the most promising, perhaps somewhat embarrassing, but devoted in my own way. I have not changed so much. I am still loyal, still filial; I still do all that I am asked…the only thing that changed is that I expect nothing from him.”

Not even his love.

Lan Qiren knew better, now. He’d seen what a brother could be, what it should be - he’d experienced, however fleetingly, having someone genuinely care for him, listen to him and indulge him and take joy in his company; no longer would he accept his brother’s barely concealed disdain as an adequate substitute.

“Qiren –”

“Has my father said anything?”

His teacher fell silent.

Lan Qiren bowed his head, having expected nothing better. His father was growing more and more distant from the world, less and less interested in the minutiae of everyday life; he could still stir himself to care for his precious eldest son, the child of his heart, but his oft-forgotten and overlooked second?

Unless Lan Qiren’s brother had complained about him, his father was unlikely to remember that such a person as Lan Qiren even existed.

“Does father hate me?” he asked, emboldened by his misery. It was the question he had always wanted to ask and had never dared to, and his teacher flinched as if struck. “Is that why he never saw me?”

“No,” his teacher said. “No – it wasn’t…”

“Does he blame me for my mother’s death?”

“He blames himself,” his teacher said, and sounded tired unto death. “From the very first. He thought that if he had not been sect leader, they might not have lost their children; if he was not sect leader, it wouldn’t have mattered if they’d had only one child left. But he couldn’t blame the sect, so he blamed himself – you don’t know how bad it was, Qiren; you don’t know what we all went through back then. When your mother died, he even lost his mind for a time.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Lan Qiren demanded. His hands had clenched into fists at some point, his knuckles pale and white. “If he blames himself and not me, then why did he – he never –”

He barely even saw me, he wanted to say. I am his son, just like my brother, yet it’s as if I don’t exist.

Why couldn’t he love me, too?

“You were very young,” his teacher said, his voice suddenly very distant as if he were remembering something. Lan Qiren looked at him in surprise. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but...she had just died, and he had lost his mind; none of us had realized the extent to it, thinking it merely grief. You were young, you didn’t understand. You ran to him, seeking comfort, and he nearly – he couldn’t risk having such a sin on his conscience, Qiren. You should not blame him.”

“What are you saying? That he neglected me and held me at arms’ length to console himself for nearly murdering me?” Lan Qiren asked, and thought back to all the times he had found himself afraid of his father’s glacial voice, terrified for no reason. If his father had tried to kill him in a rage, as his teacher suggested, shouldn’t he have been more scared of the heat than of cold?

Unless - his brilliant and accomplished father, who always acted as the rules said he should but who had lost his heart along with his wife - unless he had knowingly -

Perhaps it had been the sect that had ordered their separation, not his father. Perhaps his father, who had spent years going through the motions of leadership and caring only about the son that reminded him of his wife’s joy and not the one who reminded him only of her death - his father, who led their sect and raised his eldest son and in so doing taught them all to be like him, overly partial to favorites and overly harsh to those that did not meet expectations - perhaps he had not objected to that arrangements. Perhaps it had been the elders that had set the rule of meeting only once a month, rather than not at all.

Perhaps they had thought that it had been for Lan Qiren’s own good that they had done so.

Perhaps they thought it was for his own good that they encouraged him to yield now to his brother’s temper, to humble himself despite having done nothing wrong, and all for the sake of familial peace.

That was not the conduct mandated by his family’s rules. Not the ones he followed, anyway.

It’s his fault, Lan Qiren thought suddenly. He saw the path we were walking down, my brother and I, and he did nothing to stop it; he loved my brother too much and me too little, and ruined us both through his negligence and indifference. He made my brother think he deserved the world that he then had to hold up on his own, while he made me think I deserved nothing...he could have done better by us. He should have done better by us.

Finding that his teacher had run out of things to say, Lan Qiren saluted him once again.

“I will be filial and loyal, as the rules require,” he said simply. “I will respect and honor my father and brother. Do not doubt that.”

He said no more. Instead, he returned to his quarters, wondering if they thought he was happy about how things stood between him and his brother, who he still loved.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

He thought miserably to himself that he had been happier living in denial, pretending to himself that there was brotherly affection between them, that his brother’s coldness was only because Lan Qiren had spoiled things somehow by being inferior than his brother would have preferred. When he could love his brother whole-heartedly and think to himself that his brother secretly loved him back, when he suspected but did not know that that had only ever been a lie he had concocted for himself. He had been far happier back then than the way it was now, when even the paper-thin one-sided façade of love was gone.

The saddest part of it all was that Lan Qiren still loved his brother, his stupid Lan heart as inexorable as a mountain avalanche already set in motion. He just didn’t much like him.

He did like Wen Ruohan, the brother that liked him back and might even have loved him if a man such as him could recognize such a tender emotion, but that wasn’t really relevant.

Lan Qiren knew his duty, whether to his sect, to his brothers, or to morality. He knew what he had to do.

For his part, Wen Ruohan waited over a month and a half after Lan Qiren’s exit from seclusion before trying to reach out again by mail. No doubt conscious of his dignity and ego, the powerful sect leader that no one ever really denied, his letter talked around the subject in Wen Ruohan’s usual high-handed manner and evaded either apologies or explanations; from his tone, it was likely that he expected Lan Qiren to respond in anger and denial, or even not to respond at all. Instead, Lan Qiren wrote back obediently, reporting dully on his daily life. When pressed, he even wrote a short summary of his ongoing projects, copying the words precisely from the submissions he made for his teachers to avoid excessive enthusiasm.

Wen Ruohan’s letters developed a certain level of concern after that, which Lan Qiren ignored in favor of continuing to respond politely but unenthusiastically; a filial younger brother, just as he was to his own blood brother, and nothing more. At the next discussion conference, he saluted Wen Ruohan to the exact degree required by their relationship and called him xiongzhang as a respectful younger brother ought; Wen Ruohan had an expression on his face that suggested he had bitten into a sour lemon and stepped in dog shit at the same time, and his eyes followed Lan Qiren around for the remainder of the afternoon.

Lan Qiren was concerned for a while that Wen Ruohan would try to summon him once night fell, forcing the issue, but he was saved through an unexpected twist of fate – namely, that Jiang Fengmian had, like all the others, completely misinterpreted Lan Qiren’s relationship with Cangse Sanren. The Jiang sect heir marched up to him not long after the opening ceremonies had been completed and asked him, stiffly, to swear that he had no interest in the lady and would not communicate with her in the future. Lan Qiren, thinking primarily of their friendship, refused, and then Jiang Fengmian punched him right in the face.

Lan Qiren might be cold and standoffish as a rule, but he did have a temper, and that temper did not hold with being assaulted over things that weren’t even his fault – neither of them were even involved with Cangse Sanren! – and having been so thoroughly goaded he had no choice but to hit back.

In the end, Cangse Sanren had slapped Jiang Fengmian silly and Lan Qiren’s brother had sent him to kneel in disgrace all night, reminding him no fighting without permission and with his eyes silently promised additional punishment when they returned home.

Wen Ruohan didn’t disturb him that night, and Lan Qiren was able to persevere. Indeed, Wen Ruohan troubled him much less than he’d feared, opting in his hurt pride to instead turn to Lao Nie and stay remarkably close by his side – Lao Nie was the one who looked apologetically at Lan Qiren and tried to find time for him, whether to invite him on outings or to scold his brother for the apparent breakdown in domestic tranquility. For his part, Lan Qiren ignored Lao Nie and didn’t hold it against him even when he started showing up to the discussion meetings with distinctive red marks on his throat.

All right, he held it against him a little.

How Lao Nie had such bad taste, Lan Qiren had no idea. Surely he, unlike Lan Qiren, had known enough to realize that Wen Ruohan was an evil man…?

Probably he had; it was only that he didn’t much care. Lan Qiren had promised to try to stop lying to himself about people he liked, and that meant he couldn’t pretend that Lao Nie wasn’t a remarkably callous man at times, ruthless and careless with anything that was outside his sect – even his friends. There could be no doubt that he loved them, sincerely and honestly, and yet…

Lan Qiren was a little disappointed, but not much, knowing that he, too, was irrevocably bound to such a man as Wen Ruohan. He couldn’t blame Lao Nie for the same thing he himself had done.

Mostly he was just pleased that his suspicion regarding their relationship had been confirmed, even if somehow – unbelievably – no one else seemed to notice it.

In fact, he thought it might mark the very first time in his life that he’d figured out something interpersonal before other people had. Normally he would report it to someone at his sect as soon as he noticed that they’d overlooked it, wanting to do his best for them, but the sensation was too novel and his relations with his sect a little too cold at the moment; he hugged the knowledge to his chest instead, enjoying the brief warm feeling of knowing something other people didn’t.

He intended to tell them, of course, once they returned back to the Cloud Recesses, only they had barely brushed the dust of their journey off their shoulders when they were summoned to the gathering hall for what everyone had now expected for years: Lan Qiren’s father, eyes blank, made the announcement that he was officially setting the date for which he would be retiring as sect leader and retreating from the world, going into seclusion to try to break through the boundaries of cultivation and reach the heavens in a single bound or else die in the attempt.

Lan Qiren’s brother, naturally, would inherit.

He was as fresh from the road as the rest of them, but with his hands behind his back, standing beside their father, he looked as fresh and untouched as a new-bloomed orchid, as beautiful as a polished piece of jade. His eyes reflected the dichotomy that Lan Qiren had learned governed his brother’s life: pride, for the power that he was going to inherit and the accomplishments that everyone agreed made him worthy of that inheritance, and envy, looking at his own father with jealousy, longing also to withdraw from the weight the world had placed on him and do what he could on his own, unburdened by others.

Lan Qiren’s brother, Lan Qiren had learned, saw everything in his life through the prism of himself – did others have something he wanted, did he have something that they didn’t, how did he compare, was he being compared…when he got something into his mind, he cared for nothing else but how to achieve it, no matter the cost, and most of the time he was successful, too. He was fundamentally self-sufficient, requiring nothing and no one but himself, and so was capable of performing miracles – if he was motivated to do so.

Lan Qiren was much less capable. He was lacking in cultivation, lacking in social skills, lacking even in a similar degree of independence, longing as he did for the company and acceptance of his peers even as his introversion demanded sufficient time to himself. There was no way in which he was superior to his brother; in every respect, he was inferior.

And yet, sometimes, he thought that his brother was jealous of him, too.

(Their father retreating into seclusion meant that they would both be losing him – but it was really only Lan Qiren’s brother that lost something. For Lan Qiren, what he mourned was only the absence of what had never been there, and he had finished mourning for that already.)

In the end, the main change occasioned by the impending change in leadership was that Lan Qiren’s brother grew too busy to pay much attention to Lan Qiren, much to his relief. Relations between them grew…not warmer, no, but less fraught, and although Lan Qiren knew he ought to celebrate, he mostly mourned that the cause of it was not a real mending of fences but rather his brother simply forgetting that he existed, just as their father always had.

Lan Qiren took the first opportunity he had to get out of the Cloud Recesses, even attending a party to celebrate sworn brother’s new son with relatively little issue. During the visit, Wen Ruohan ignored him in favor of sticking ever closer to a strangely distracted Lao Nie, almost as if he were deliberately slighting Lan Qiren for having been cold in their last interaction and for not answering his letters the way he wanted. Lan Qiren briefly felt hurt at having been put aside and forgotten so quickly - assuming that he had been forgotten, which he wasn’t sure of, as Wen Ruohan ignoring him sometimes seemed almost performative - but then reminded himself that this, like his poor relationship with his blood brother, was only the results of his own actions, and those of others.

He didn’t – regret it, not really. He’d lived his life by the Lan sect rules, and he didn’t regret doing so now, no matter how lonely the results might make him feel.

Instead, he returned to the Cloud Recesses and began to plan out in earnest his plans for departing the Cloud Recesses to travel the world as a musician, the goal he had set since he was young and was finally, impossibly, on the verge of satisfying. He would need to stay for his brother’s ascension to sect leader the next year, he thought, and perhaps for a year after that – just because their relationship wasn’t good didn’t mean he was entitled to do things that would let other people talk about it – but after that…

After that, he would go.

He would make new friends, or not. He would learn new things. He would see what the world was like.

Sooner than he thought, Lan Qiren turned twenty, thereby finally becoming an adult. The event took place with little fanfare, and Lan Qiren sent back the gifts he received from both Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie unopened with a polite note indicating that he was unworthy of such attention, and Cangse Sanren’s with a much more emphatic note reminding her that he was largely uninterested in sexual matters and therefore had no need for these sorts of implements.

His brother got him new guqin strings, the same gift he always gave – Lan Qiren had once been very happy to receive it before he realized that it was the storeroom distributing the gift in his brother’s name – and Lan Qiren returned that as well. Lan Yueheng was the only one who successfully managed to give him a gift by virtue of sneaking the fancy brush he’d bought for him into his table in such a way that Lan Qiren utilized it before realizing it was new, and then refused to take it back on the basis that it had already been used. He looked so pleased with himself over his little trick that Lan Qiren didn’t have the heart to scold him.

Time continued to pass: day by day, night by night, season by season.

And then she arrived.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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shoichee · 4 years ago

Note

okok hc or fic: reader was teiko’s “head” manager(?) and her talent was being a medic (if someone gets injured they’re back on the court in under a minute type thing) and training plans. suddenly momoi’s talent blooms, she starts working w/ everyone in the team (+ reader’s crush akashi) and people think she’s a better manager than reader. because of this, she overworks + collapses in front of her best friends kuroko + kise (don’t let akashi know yet i have plans for that 👀)

HELLO? YES OFFICER? I JUST FOUND A BANGER REQUEST RIGHT HERE? YOUR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND SEXY IVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS🏃🏻‍♀️💨 part 2 here and part 3 here AND update: part 4 here

Akashi x Reader

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

you had a knack of being a natural chiropractor in loosening up tense muscles instantly (for more fluid play) or easily putting in back dislocated joints

basically you have crackhands

in your free time as a hobby and a job as the “head manager” (that Akashi announced to the team himself), you’d often bury yourself in anatomy studies and gym plans on the internet and databases to review over Akashi’s team training routines to see if they were effective and safe; oftentimes, you’d return back with improved plans, and as time went on, Akashi entrusted you with creating the plans yourself completely

you took on the job so eagerly to impress the Teiko captain, if you were being honest to yourself

your enthusiasm even inspires Momoi, Teiko’s other manager, to work harder

no one in Teiko knows physiology better than you, and as expected, it was also your best subject along with health

Kise often looks at you in horror and respect at how you don’t cringe/flinch at the loud cracks resonating across the room or court when players come to you for instant relief (the origin story of how he came to call you (y/n)-cchi was the very fact that you manage to put back his dislocated shoulder in 3 seconds flat one game)

when Kuroko first joined the 1st-string, he was a walking magnet for injuries, and you ended up being there for him every single time… nosebleeds? check. sprained ankle? check. nausea from over exhaustion? check.

both you and Kuroko relish in the fact that everyone in the team can never understand how the both of you do some incredible things with your hands

both of you being quite dexterous, you both often teach each other your specialties for fun; it’s almost shocking to see Kuroko effortlessly loosening up a stress knot and you pulling off a well-done palm pass

you admit, you do juggle a lot of responsibilities… from being a makeshift nurse, to a chiropractor, to a budget gym coach, and even to being moral support

Momoi often reminds you to take breaks being the caring person that she is

you often showed her the ropes and tricks of being a manager, on top of your duties, and you find it really endearing that she’s so earnest in learning from you

even if you enjoyed doing what you do, part of the massive workload is to try to get into Akashi’s good graces

talking to him about basketball duties is easier to achieve than talking to him outside of the extracurricular

you might be a tad bit insecure about it; after all, what middle schooler is already so accomplished in academics, sports, and everything you could think of? wasn’t he also studying to take over his father’s company??

to you, who only starred as Teiko’s humble manager, it felt hard trying to establish common ground for conversation outside of basketball

so you stuck to working hard at your position, hoping that your work ethic would get his attention one day; you were a firm believer of actions over words, so you hoped your actions would come off as genuine

picture you and Momoi running across campus with stacks of papers for the team… it makes most of the teammates’ hearts melt at the sight

your work certainly got you praises from other teammates, but out of all players, Kise was the one who figured out your motive

you felt absolutely morbid; to think that Kise, of all people, would figure you out like the back of his hand

Kise being sweet as he is, offers to help you get with the captain but you merely prompted to threaten to break his arm if he spilled your crush to anyone else

“(y/n)-cchi… I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, Kise?”

“It’s really cool that you’re working so tirelessly for the team, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why you work so hard.”

“O-Of course I do! I want to see you guys all succeed!”

“Then I’m curious as to why you always look at Akashicchi—o-ow, ow, ow!! (y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! So can you please let go of my—ow!”

“H-How did you know?!”

“I-It was as obvious as day, (y/n)-cchi! I’m pretty sure even Kurokocchi found out about this before I did!”

“N-No way!!”

“Tell you what, I’m super duper knowledgeable in this stuff! You can count on me for this sort of advice—OW!”

spoiler alert: Kise was right in that Kuroko definitely noticed your attraction to Akashi before anyone else… he just never brought it up to you

one day, Kuroko comes up to you to whisper:

“(y/n)-san, have you realized that Akashi-kun has been observing you recently during practice?”

“W-Wait! Is he looking over here right now?”

“Not that I think. He’s occupied with the coach right now.”

“D-Do you think this is a good sign?”

Kuroko gives you a small smile before he replies, “I would like to think so. Keep working hard, (y/n)-san.”

and you do, you’re constantly on top of your game for the next season until Momoi suddenly gets more recognition for her “precognitive defense” skills

her newfound talent was extraordinary and never-before-seen, and her ability became more critical to Teiko’s victories than your own skills

you were happy and proud for her, because after all, her achievements were extremely deserving to be praised

it’s only when some 1st-string players started making offhand comments about how you weren’t really needed in the 1st-string and was more suited to the lower strings that placed seeds of doubt into you

these people would often compare you to Momoi in how she improved much more despite you being in the team for longer

there’s also talk about how your skills are more useful for 2nd-string and 3rd-string players because Momoi’s ability is already sufficient enough for Teiko’s starters

after all, how would a player even be injured if they can predict their opponents’ moves to avoid such incidents?

there’s also the fact that Akashi has been calling Momoi more frequently to research on upcoming teams for analytical data because her talent has become very useful to ensuring victory

the same peers and adults who gave you praise were the same people who began to ignore you or dismiss you; that being said, the collective change in attitude is definitely subtle enough that it would fly under most people’s radars

Kuroko was the first to notice and defend you against a small group of players who were bold enough to badmouth you in the gym

Kise would find out a little later about the somewhat unpleasant gossip about you and would pull the “no you” reverse card, returning back with MEANER underhanded comments that would send these shit talkers CRYING HOME (manga Kise strikes here unexpectedly eh?)

Murasakibara is someone who would be slightly uncomfortable with the gossip about you, especially since you’ve always been so helpful and kind to the team and himself; he’d either leave the room himself or easily scare them away with his looming height and presence without saying a single word when he enters the room “minding his own business”

Midorima is a bystander judging from how he’s reacted to the Teiko dynamic changes in the actual show // he, of course, wouldn’t like the nasty talk about you but would actually mind his own business, choosing to focus on himself and what he has to do to contribute to his team; he assumes that you would work hard the same way he is and let your contributions do the talking

now Akashi surprisingly wouldn’t hear much of the gossip, since his presence alone SHUTS them up and commit to their practices like normal; after all, it’s very clear that Akashi doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior in the team (example: Haizaki), and it’s more apparent that he wouldn’t hesitate to drop kick them out especially since he has a soft spot for you (which Kise never fails to bring this up to you, but you think he’s reaching too much into it) // TLDR; the teammates mostly have the common sense to not utter anything bad about you… maybe one kid would slip out and get punished for “bad sportsmanship,” but Akashi merely assumes that it’s just one bad apple and not necessarily… the many others as well

Aomine???? bro he ain’t even at practice wdym (HELPPP LMAOO) // jokes aside, if he catches wind of players shit-talking outside of the gym… say at the convenience store or when he’s walking home or something, well… they wouldn’t have a good time…

Momoi simply chastises the gossipers when they try to talk shit on you to make Momoi herself look good, and it leaves? such? a? horrible? taste? like, she wants to believe that they’re just really poor jokes and not what they really believe in, and the teammates merely reassure her that they’re just bad jokes and that they “wouldn’t do it again;” poor Momoi wholeheartedly believes them

the weird talks about Momoi being “the better manager” just signalled to you that you haven’t contributed enough to the team yet, and it motivated you to work even harder

oddly, you weren’t jealous of the fact that Momoi was receiving more positive attention than you

you were more afraid of the fact that you were going to get left behind, and this fear only tightened its hold on you when more teammates (who used to talk to you a lot) have changed their tunes when they speak with you now, compared to them talking to Momoi

and you felt that the Generation of Miracles would do the same too… including Akashi

it wasn’t an irrational fear for you because he’s already been calling Momoi a lot more frequently for help than you recently

so you even offered to mop the gym floors after practice, offered to stay later than usual to be the one to lock up the gym for anyone (cough, Kuroko) who wanted to practice whenever they wanted

at one point, you even tried to do what Momoi does: researching on upcoming teams and making your own predictions (that didn’t really work, and that cost you a few nights’ worth of sleep every single time)

not to mention that you still had regular school like any other student? you were the epitome of a mess

Kuroko was with you in the empty gym, you putting away the extra basketballs in the storage closet while he practiced his dribbling, until he heard a crash in there and a few basketballs rolled out the door

you collapsed right when you rolled in the basketball cart

POOR KUROKO HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO // he just tries to give you a piggyback ride as he abandons his plans of practice and tries to jog to the nearest local clinic

that’s where he bumped into Kise, who was heading home after an evening shoot when he saw the two of you

chaos ensue as Kise freaks out and Kuroko had to calm him down himself after answering the never-ending questions

at least the doctor there gave relieving news that you only collapsed from over-exhaustion and that the bruises from the fall were very faint

Kise makes a joke to Kuroko about, “What’s with you and (y/n)-cchi falling to the floor and fainting? You guys can’t be that alike.”

when you shortly regain consciousness, you were met with a… very stern Kuroko and Kise, who were both ready to hear your explanation and to scold you to oblivion

to your surprise, they were understanding; Kuroko understands the feeling of not being enough and working hard to meet other people’s expectations, and Kise understands the struggle of juggling multiple things in his schedule (come on, student, athlete, and model?)

they still scolded your ears off:

“(y/n)-san, you idiot. Why didn’t you ask anyone to help out?”

“That’s…”

“(y/n)-cchi, do you think we’re undependable?!”

“Er, no, that’s…”

you were still dizzy from the fall and the lack of proper sleep (and maybe nutrition if we’re being honest), and you were just a ball of stress

you kind of begged your best friends not to tell a SOUL to anyone about this incident, especially to Akashi… you didn’t want to look even more incapable in his eyes than you already were

they do agree on one condition: for you to take AT LEAST a day or two off school to completely recover and rest up (you reluctantly agree; besides how were you going to explain the bruises that can’t be covered to your peers?)

HELP WHY ARE KISE AND KUROKO THE BEST LIARS TOGETHER ON CAMPUS LITERALLY NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING… except Akashi, the ever sharp captain, felt something was amiss

especially since some Teiko players emanated a feeling of relief at the news of you not being here that day, or the next

Akashi would play detective sleuth and find out what’s really going on sooner or later

End Note: gonna cut this off here b/c I KNOW this anon got a juicy part two i FEEL IT

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wolffnichols · 3 years ago

Note

Eddie falling asleep with his head in Buck's lap or on his thigh as maybe Buck's looking down at him-? I don't know take it from pls. there

A/N: I know you completely forgotten about this prompt but I'm still sorry it's taken me so long lol.

That being said, thank you so much for the prompt anyways :)

ao3 version here

----

"Are you okay?" Buck asked as Eddie wiggled ever so slightly in his seat for what felt like the millionth time.

"I'm fine." Eddie answered also for the millionth time.

The blond rolled his eyes. This was getting out of hand.

"Eddie." He gave his best friend, who was stubbornly staring ahead and pretending to watch the cartoon that Christopher had enthusiastically picked, a pointed look before sofly kicking his ankle.

The other man jerked and swivelled his head to meet Buck's gaze. "Hey, what was that for?"

"Eds, you're hurting."

Eddie huffed a quick, "I'm fine."

Before he could protest Christopher chimed in from his current spot on the floor against the couch that he moved to earlier after being tired of bumping into his dad whenever they moved at the same time. "Daaaaad." He started to say before letting out an exasperated sigh that made him seem like an actual teenager and not just a pre-teen. "You're hurt."

Eddie opened his mouth to protest but then closed it before letting out a sigh of defeat. "My shoulder is just aching a little from sitting on the couch for too long. It's not that big of a deal."

Both Buck and Chris shared a long-suffering look, used to the older Diaz's stubbornness but still a little exasperated from having to deal with it more frequently the past few weeks. Although, they'd didn't complained because as long as Eddie was still alive that was all that mattered.

"Eds," Buck began to tell him in a soft voice, "do you need to lay down?"

It was Eddie's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm fine." He repeated with emphasis. "I've been in that damn bed enough these past few weeks to last a lifetime."

"Eddie." Buck told him sternly, knowing that if Eddie was showing discomfort and talking about his shoulder bothering him then it must've really been hurting him and he didn't want his best friend to exasperate the wound and hurt even more.

"Buck." Eddie mocked.

"Donkey!" Christopher exclaimed, breaking the tension.

The two men blinked at each other, looked at the ten year old who started to giggle, then looked back at each other before starting to laugh as well.

After a few moments of laughter, Buck let out a soft sigh. "Eddie, I'm serious. If you need to, I can help you to bed."

His best friend gave him a fond smile which wasn't until recently that Buck had realized the full effect it had on him. "I know. And thank you for caring, like you always do. But it's almost Chris' bedtime anyways and I want to spend as much time with you guys out here as possible."

Buck sighed, always ending up giving in to Eddie. It had taken his best friend getting shot for him to realize exactly why he had that effect on Buck. "I know you do." He said ever so softly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so overbearing. It's just..." He paused.

"We worry about you." Christopher finished for him, patting his father's leg as he gave him a serious look.

Eddie smiled down at his son. "I don't want you to worry, Mijo. That's my job."

"But dad, we do worry. It's what family does."

Eddie's smile brightened. "Well when you put it that way..." He then began to tickle his son, who's giggles echoed happily throughout the living room.

However, the older Diaz could only tickle for a second or so before wincing in pain, although he did a pretty good job of hiding it. But Buck could tell how much his best friend was hurting. He always could.

"Okay, that's it." Buck announced, moving closer to the end of the couch until his left side hit the arm. He then patted his thigh. "Come on."

Eddie's eyes widened ever so slightly, making Buck realize the innuendos that motion caused.

He then cleared his throat. "Lay your head on my lap."

Yeah that didn't sound quite better either.

Buck then quickly added. "So you can finish the movie with me and Chris and be at least somewhat more comfortable."

Eddie gave him that small yet fond smile once more, eyes slightly widened as he looked at him in what seemed to be in awe.

The blond shifted in his seat. "What?"

His best friend cleared his throat. "Nothing." His eyes then fell toward Buck's lap before travelling back to meet his gaze. "Are you sure?"

Buck rolled his eyes before patting his thigh again. "Of course. Come on, we're missing all the good parts."

Eddie's smile widened as he proceeded to lay down on the couch, his back against the cushions as his head tilted slightly to see the movie.

Trying to help him be as comfortable as possible, Buck went to delicately rest his arm around Eddie's side so his bad shoulder could have more support.

They surprisingly got settled in comfortable positions rather quickly as Christopher gave them a bright smile before turning his attention back on the tv and proceeding to rewind the little bit that they missed.

They watched the cartoon in a peaceful silence besides the laughter coming from all three of them at different points. It didn't take long for Buck to subconsciously begin to to rub small, soothing circles on Eddie's arm with one hand and softly run his fingers through Eddie's hair in the other.

His best friend hitched a breath at first at the touch, which made Buck about to stop his small movements. But before he could, Eddie sunk further in the blond's hold, and let out a moan of contentment.

"Hmmm. That's nice." He muttered, shifting his head ever so slightly so he could softly rub his nose against Buck's thigh, like a cat who was enjoying a head rub.

And wow, okay. This was new.

Though Buck could add it up to the list of small yet new and slightly alarming - but in a good way - things that Eddie had done since coming home from the hospital.

For a man who had gotten shot in broad daylight and almost… died, Eddie had surprisingly been... lighter in a way.

Even while he was struggling with dealing with having to only use one arm and needing other's help since Eddie always had a hard time asking for help. But at least with Buck he had been more open about it, more willing to tell the blond what he needed. Even though there were still plenty of times where Buck had to guess and not be told Eddie's needs, like just a few minutes prior.

But, whenever Eddie would ask Buck for help and the blond immediately said "Of course" or when Buck gave him exactly what he needed at the moment without being asked, no matter what Eddie would always give him that fond smile.

Buck had noticed it before that fateful day, but there was something about those fond looks that sorta...grew afterwards. A certain openness that always took his breath away.

And then of course there were those lingering touches that Eddie had given him countless of times as well.

Sure, Buck had been helping him with his PT exercises so of course they'd be touching a lot. But it wasn't just then. Like whenever Buck would hand Eddie something and their fingers would graze each other. Or whenever Eddie needed to walk pass Buck and his hand would press on his back for a moment. It was used to be where the touch would only last a milisecond but now it'd just linger there for a few secondw too long. In fact, whenever they'd accidentally touch - and that had been happening a lot in these past few weeks - Eddie would always just… linger there. And whenever he'd finally move away, he didn't look bashful or embarrassed or anything like that. No. He'd just give Buck this lingering, secretive smile that always made his stomach flutter, before going back to what he was doing and acting like he didn't just almost give Buck a heart attack with all of the palpitations that he caused.

However, Buck would just try to tell himself that he was just overreacting and that it was just because his feelings for his best friend had been present more than ever and hard to keep in since the incident. That Eddie had always acted like that because they were best friends and close and that was what they did. Nothing changed except Buck temporarily moving in to help out which made everything seem more intimate than it really was.

That was it. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Well...besides the fact that Eddie had apparently put Buck in his will as Christopher's guardian if something were to happen to him. A fact that Eddie had kept to himself for a year. Something that Buck may or may not still be reeling from during these past few weeks. Especially as he and the Diaz boys had fallen into this somewhat domestic bubble that Buck kept trying to convince himself that it was just temporary as Eddie recovered.

And it worked. For the most part.

However, it had been more and more difficult for Buck to convince himself of it when it came to moments like his current one.

With the way Eddie didn't second guess to lay on Buck's lap after getting the okay and proceeding to sink further into the touch. Eddie's little moans and noises of contentment as Buck continued his gentle movements.

And...did Eddie's lips just gently graze the skin on Buck's thigh where his shorts rode up?

That...that had to be a mistake right?

Because, sure, there had been moments here and there where it really felt like they were gonna kiss before one or both of them pulled away. But, again, this was all mostly likely in Buck's head.

Right?

Daring to look down at Eddie, he noticed how his eyes were now closed as his breathing had gotten more even. It seemed like Eddie had fallen asleep, looking more peaceful than Buck had seen him in a long time.

His heart was beating loudly in his chest, as his stomach tightened while every fiber in his being lightened up like they were on fire. Buck hitched a breath. He couldn't take it. His love for his best friend encompassed him.

Every night he had nightmares of that day. Of the absolutely devastating fear of losing Eddie. Buck had never been more terrified in his life. But it were moments like this current one where Buck thanked the universe with everything he had that Eddie was here. That he was alive and breathing. That even after getting shot and dealing with the traumatizing struggle of his recovery, Eddie still seemed lighter. More open and sure of himself in a certain vulnerability that Buck had never seen on him before. Like a certain puzzle piece had clicked. And even when there were days where Eddie had been frustrated and angry and just flat out stubborn with his recovery, that lightness had still somehow been there, keeping him grounded.

Eddie was alive. Eddie was getting better. And as he did, Buck was going to continue to be with him as much as possible.

And even though his recovery was going to take a long time between the physical therapy and his therapy for his PTSD, and it was still gonna be a long and hard road, there were still moments where Eddie was happy. Happier than Buck had seen him in a long time even.

Moments like these where it was just Eddie, Buck, and Christopher, being together.

And Buck? Buck could live in these moments forever. As long as he had Eddie and Christopher then he'd be okay.

At that thought he looked away from the sleeping man in his lap to check on Chris. The kid was now laying on the soft carpet, head on one of the couch pillows, now fast asleep just like his dad.

His two Diaz boys. Who had both gone through so much more than anyone should in a lifetime and now were both sleeping happily, with small smiles both on their faces.

Buck's heart clenched in his chest.

Now this? This was what pure happiness felt like.

He then looked back down at the soft expression on Eddie's face as his best friend slept soundly.

Buck couldn't take it anymore.

Sure this was a very bad idea, but his heart felt like it was going to rip out of his chest. His love for the best friend he'll ever have was just too much.

And so, in a moment of weakness, Buck leaned his head down and kissed Eddie's forehead, lingering there for a few seconds or so before whispering in a hushed tone, "I love you."

Eddie's head shifted ever so slightly which made Buck immediately rip his hand away.

His best friend's eyes slowly fluttered open before meeting his gaze.

And there it was. That fond look yet again. But this time it was brighter than Buck had ever seen it before.

Eddie smiled up at him, "I love you too."

And just like that Buck finally knew what that missing puzzle piece Eddie had seemed to find. Because he was now feeling it too as everything fell into place.

Not being able to contain himself anymore, Buck leaned down and placed a small yet emotional-filled kiss on Eddie's lips. His best friend returned the kiss with as much vigor.

After Buck lifted his head up ever so slightly, he placed his forehead against Eddie's as they smiled softly at each other.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

#buddie #buddie fanfiction #buckley diaz family #evan buckley #eddie diaz #kj's writing #my writing #kj's writing prompts #long post

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calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

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Dean, Don’t

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 1,906

Summary: You’re heavily pregnant and highly irritable. Luckily, Sam Winchester is the sweetest moose to ever moose.

Warnings: pregnancy (and all its related symptoms), ill-fated attempt at humor, disgustingly sweet fluff (seriously, you’re gonna need a tooth brush)

A/N: this might be my first ever attempt at this genre, so please don’t judge me too harshly :)

MASTERLIST

“Wow… geez, you look ready to-“

“Dean,” Sam shot his brother a warning glance as he guided you into the kitchen, a giant palm held gently against your aching lower back, “Don’t.”

Dean quickly raised his hands and the gesture, together with his wide eyes, seemed to say ‘I wasn’t gonna say anything!’, although you knew that was far from the truth. In fact, you knew exactly what he was thinking because you’d been thinking it too – every hour of every day. It was safe to say you really didn’t need any reminders of your current condition.

“Y/N’s already having a rough time with the twins keeping her up all night, and she’s been extra sore lately,” your moose came to your rescue as always. Sam had been doing that a lot recently, not only by shielding you from Dean’s crude comments (and consequently protecting Dean from your wrath as well), but also by comforting and distracting you from the woes of your third trimester.

“Well at least it’ll be over soon, right?” Dean tried again.

“Not soon enough,” you grumbled in reply, before attempting to stretch out your spine with an unfiltered groan of discomfort.

“Aaand, that’s my cue to leave!” Dean announced, grabbing his plate of bacon to go and sauntering off, though not before sending his little brother an exaggerated ‘good-luck-with-that’ expression.

Sam rolled his eyes despite feeling somewhat relieved by his brother’s departure, then turned back to you. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you off your feet.” He wore a sweet sympathetic smile; it was one he had been donning often as of late, but it only worsened your mood.

“Sam, I’m fine. I can’t be constantly sitting or lying down!” You barked irritably, but when you noticed the sad puppy dog look on your boyfriend’s face, your attitude instantly withered.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just hate this so much.” Your fingers began to massage your temples as your mouth continued to utter the words that took you beyond the point of no return, “I’m a hunter, you know? I’m supposed to be able to take down monsters with the swing of my machete! I used to be able to roundhouse kick those inhuman bastards when I wanted to, and now I can’t even put my own socks on!” That much was true. Sam had helped you with your socks earlier that morning.

“And sometimes you being so overprotective only makes me feel more useless,” you added with a defeated huff.

Sam waited patiently until he was certain your little tirade was over. “I know exactly what you’re capable of, Y/N; you never have to remind me. And I can guarantee that you will still be able to do all those things… after you’ve given birth to our beautiful babies, and your body recovers from this drastic change it’s endured.”

He moved closer to you and extended one hand to caress the side of your face, while the other splayed across your immensely swollen stomach. “But baby, right now, at 39 weeks pregnant with twins, you’re not supposed to be able to do all that. I wouldn’t want you to be doing all that,” he chuckled lightly with the afterthought as he pictured your heavily expectant form attempting one of your famous round house kicks.

You raised a brow at him, knowing how his mind worked, and he immediately sobered, “Y/N, my point is you don’t realize how incredibly strong you are already, even without all the pregnant kung fu fighting you seem to be so keen on.”

Although you were tempted to roll your eyes at his teasing, the boyish grin he cast you couldn’t be resisted, and the corners of your lips begrudgingly lifted. But a sudden lurch in your belly wiped the smile promptly from your features.

“Oh,” you breathed in a gasp, placing your hands upon the area of assault.

“What? What is it?” Sam questioned worriedly, as he too moved both his hands to your baby bump. His eyes flickered frantically between your face and stomach, trying to read the situation for himself.

“Nothing, just a really strong kick, I think,” was your reply after a pause. You looked up at him with what you hoped was a reassuring smile. He returned it with a certain tinge of apprehension, so you grabbed his hand and placed it where one of your wayward twins was moving erratically within you.

No matter how many times Sam felt it, he couldn’t help but beam with pride and elation at the thought of his children growing stronger each day, and the fact that you were the one fostering their development made him truly believe he was the luckiest man alive in that moment.

“Wow, I guess they’re really ready to come out, huh?”

“Maybe,” you mused, “Or maybe they’ll choose to torture me for another week. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Still fondling your belly with one hand, Sam used his other to turn your face towards his. “I am really sorry that you’re hurting. I wish I could make it stop.” He said it with such sincerity, you were almost inclined to forgive him. Almost.

“I would say ‘it’s not your fault’, but it kinda is,” came your playful response, which happily earned you a loving kiss.

When his lips left yours, you continued, “Also, as if the fact that two of your swimmers managed to make it to my eggs wasn’t enough, did you really have to make both of them Winchester-sized too?” You motioned vaguely to the wide expanse of your front side.

Sam said nothing, but rewarded you with a hearty laugh and a second kiss.

Later that day, as you sat snuggled between Sam’s lengthy and outstretched limbs on the bed, the two of you absent-mindedly watched an old classic movie play out on the television. His lips grazed your hairline every few minutes and his hands rubbed incessant circles on your extended stomach.

“How do you know our babies will be beautiful?” You questioned Sam abruptly, your eyes never leaving the screen.

His chest rumbled with a deep chortle that resonated through your back and caused you to smile in turn. “Well, they’ve got you for a mother, don’t they?”

“Psh! You forgot to mention that they’ve also got a father who looks like he was sculpted by the Greek gods! But that’s not the point; genetics is based on chance.” You craned your neck to look him in the eyes.

“Fine. I just have a feeling then, OK?” Sam shut you up with a quick kiss to the lips and you of course assented.

“Do you still think they’re going to be girls?”

“I hope so,” he replied with a pensive smile.

You studied his elegant features for a minute before feeling a smirk form on your own face. “Well too bad, they’re both boys.”

“What? How do you know?” Sam’s brow furrowed in that way you always thought made him look unbelievably adorable, especially for a man of his stature.

“I just have a feeling, OK?” You quoted back at him. “They call it mother’s intuition.”

Sam’s grin returned and you couldn’t remember feeling better in the past month. Dean hadn’t disturbed you all day since the incident in the kitchen, and the support of Sam’s solid torso pressed against your back seemed to be alleviating some of the strain from your body.

But alas, nothing is ever what it seems when you’re living with the Winchesters. A sudden splash of fluid upon the sheets interrupted your scarce and apparently fleeting moment of peace.

It took you a moment to register the wetness between your legs, although Sam was already one step ahead of you. “DEAN!” he hollered towards the hall.

“Sam, I think my water just broke,” you told him in a slight trance.

“Yeah, I know, baby. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and changed.” Sam’s voice was soothing and you began to follow his lead, slowly rising to your feet as he supported you from behind.

Just then, Dean came barreling in, brandishing his gun as his eyes searched frantically for any potential sources of peril. His green gaze turned befuddled upon finding no clear cause for distress.

“Dean, go get the Impala ready. Y/N’s in labor.” Sam’s voice held that composed and assertive edge which it often did when he took the lead on hunts. You would have found it awfully attractive under different circumstances.

As it were, a fresh contraction tore through you when you reached the dresser, and you were forced to bend over to weather the impact, your breathing becoming a little uneven. Sam’s arms were instantly around you, while the sight of your hunched and gravid form awoke Dean from his stupor.

He cleared his throat and his voice seemed a little gruffer than usual, “Uh, OK. Right. So… the bags? What do I need?”

“I’ll get the bags. Just get the damn car ready, Dean.”

Still the older Winchester stood transfixed in his spot, his eyes were somewhat unfocused. “Wow. So this is really happening…”

“Dean!”

“Yeah! On it! Got it! Uh… fight the fairies, Y/N! We got this.” And with that, he finally took off for the garage.

You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself, “He’s right, you know? This is really happening.”

Sam turned around and held your gaze with such reverence and fondness, you nearly melted right then. “I know,” he stated simply, before he crashed his lips to yours in a rushed yet zealous smooch.

“Ow! Yeah, OK, I think the twins are sick of our antics already,” you gushed through gritted teeth as another tightening of your middle took over.

Sam cupped your stomach gingerly on either side, as if he could somehow abate the pain with his touch. “Right, let’s hurry it up then. I think all that soreness you felt before and the twins’ heightened movement might’ve been a sign of early labor.”

“You’re such a nerd, you know that?”

He only responded with knowing smirk, then continued to help you get changed so he could usher you out the door.

Dean met you outside, where he stood by the shiny black car, looking a little more prepared for action than earlier. “You guys good?”

“Yeah, are you?” Sam asked, a bit dubiously.

“Hey, I’m ready to get this show on the road!”

“Am I gonna fit?” You eyed the Impala with slight apprehension. You had always been a fan of the classic car before, but now that Sam had fertilized you so thoroughly, the backseat seemed a lot more daunting.

“Of course, my girl can handle anything. She’ll get you to the hospital in no time so that you can have my nieces.”

“Nephews,” you corrected, but nodded anyway and allowed Sam to help you inside the vehicle.

The boys stood outside for a moment longer. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam was glowing and Dean couldn’t have repressed the surge of love and pride that rose within him if he tried, despite his ‘no chick flick moments’ rule.

“Yeah, I’ve never been better, Dean.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole!” You would later blame the contraction for your foul language, but it was your shouting through the window that ultimately got you on the road.

“Yeah alright, we’re going! Just don’t be having any babies in my Baby!”

“Dean,” Sam’s bitch face revealed itself once more, “Don’t.”

→ CARRY ON

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! btw, if any of you sam girls wanna show off your love for the giant adorkable moose man, there’s a ‘sammy the moose’ print now available at lexicolor.redbubble.com!

also available in various styles, as well as on mugs, notebooks, phone cases, and a bunch of other stuff! and if you’re more of a dean girl, i got you covered too 😉❤️

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester x pregnant!reader #sam winchester fluff #they chose family #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #fanart #redbubble #imagine #one shot #series #my writing #text #lexicolor

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years ago

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excerpt from acogs: agathon

been a while since yall have seen acogs content, hm? this has to be one of my favorite pieces of it, certainly one of my favorite backstory pieces. i'm so endlessly proud of this part and i just. ahhhh. please enjoy nikolai's innocent childhood bisexual love <3

wc 2100

When Nikolai was ten, he met a boy.

He had brown skin and golden eyes, and the wonder in them could’ve only been matched by Nikolai’s own. His hair never seemed to lie smooth, no matter how much he pushed it down, contrary to Nikolai’s, which always stuck flat to his head and forced his tickly bangs into his eyes. It still does.

He carried the sun around with him, captured pieces of it in his eyes, infused its warmth into everything he touched. Nikolai heard the sun in his laugh, saw it reflected in his smile. In his confused, cagey, ten year old heart, he understood he was around something special.

Agathon, that was his name. Agathon. So smoothly it rolled off the tongue.

He and his family, all seven of them, arrived in Nikolai’s town with their canvas covered wagon, their camels—this was when Windcarpets were less trusted than they are now—and right into Nikolai’s heart. They came from a remote village on the Urkon-Cairic border, a family who made their living from weaving rugs and clothes.

Nikolai was interested in them the day he saw them, but he always thought they paled in comparison to Agathon. His parents were kind to Nikolai, always offered him honey cakes and tea when he visited, and Agathon’s siblings shared their toys. Agathon’s eldest sister taught him to play the lute.

But Agathon…oh, Agathon.

Agathon took to Nikolai immediately. His first words to him were, “You have spots on your face!” which Nikolai later understood to be the light smattering of freckles that appear across his nose in the summertime, put there by the sun.

He and Agathon spent their days talking about everything and nothing, as ten year olds did, racing each other through the long grass to the west of their desert town. Where the Pelia ended on the north side, at the edge of the village, they would drink and dip their feet and shriek when the water was too cold.

In the winter, on the rare days when the cold rains came and they all had to go inside, Nikolai would beg his mother to let him stay at Agathon’s house until she gave in. The two of them slept side by side under layers of fur that only got used once a year, for occasions like this.

Agathon’s father would read them stories by the fire. Nikolai’s house didn’t have a fireplace, and he was always fascinated by this one. Those were the soundest nights of sleep he ever had, his head nearly buried under fur with Agathon’s hair in his face, his father’s soft voice lulling him to sleep. Nikolai took to calling him Father for a while.

Nikolai rapidly felt himself falling into something he was too young to know. All he understood was that his chest seemed to be expanding every day, a little more, filled with a little more sunlight and warmth every time Agathon laughed at one of his jokes.

Nikolai didn’t ever want to say goodbye to him at the end of the day, he wanted to stay for dinner and stay in Agathon’s room, sleeping on the floor by the fireplace if it was too hot for the furs. They would stay up all night talking and waiting restlessly for morning to come, where they could wander farther than their parents knew and would’ve never let them go had they known.

His mother never invited Agathon to their house, but that was okay. Nikolai didn’t want her sourness, her constant scolding bringing darkness to the light in his chest. One touch of Agathon’s hand and he swore he could fly into the very sun that beat down on them every day.

Nikolai once pressed his lips to Agathon’s cheek on impulse, no self-restraint so young, and he remembers the swoop in his stomach before Agathon turned his head and smiled at him with all the warmth in the world. Nikolai didn’t know what it meant, but he knew enough to sigh in relief and accept it when Agathon grabbed his hand. They ran through the grass field together that day, instead of a race.

And then, like most things in his life, his mother ruined everything.

That’s not something he realized until he was much older and she was dead. Hell, even recently, thanks to Katya, he’s been examining her ghost differently. Agathon was the first in many, many incidents she stripped away his privacy, his privileges, down to the way he thought about himself and his desires. Everything became about pleasing her just enough to keep her off his back.

Nikolai had been working up the nerve to tell Agathon how he felt for a few months, because even then he knew that sort of thing wasn’t always met kindly, when his mother broke the news. They were moving, going north to the capital city Thiria, leaving the town he’d lived in his whole life. Agathon wasn’t coming with them.

It would take a year, his mother said, but she would establish herself and her ideas enough to get her son elected by the community as queen. Nikolai had never had a day of sword training in his life, he couldn’t be a king, a fighter, but he had a silver tongue. He would be a queen.

The clever system of choosing queens and kings in every Actium country puts a pressure on the person to be worthy of the throne. If they are both a good diplomat and a good fighter, they choose whichever label they like best. If they are neither, they should not be on the throne. How simple.

After he’d be elected, his mother would buy herself all the fine clothes and indulge in all the food and get all the attention she’d lacked in her lonely life. Nikolai was merely an instrument. Which is exactly what happened.

It’s an accident that as he grew up in the throne, he started to care about Urkon and the people who brought their problems to him every day. When he learned about the ticking time bomb in his front yard, the one that wouldn’t ever explode but always had a small chance, he breathed through it and went on.

He grinned and bore the knowledge, at eleven, twelve, thirteen, that Urkon was so much more than his little western village and Agathon’s old home. He dealt with farmers who needed a land dispute settled, ambassadors from the west and east and north, he had servants waiting on him, silk and velvet, stuffy city air.

He goggled at just how much his mother didn’t care, but how much effort she put into pretending.

He has risen from nothing, as they all do, to luxury and power, bringing with him an unconscious air of the inexplicable magic that stems from the Staarenclock. From the cerulean diadem that drips from his hair while he sprawls on his throne, to the shining black paint on his fingernails, to the jewelry that rests on his neck, he attracts, he seduces, disappoints.

He’s never tried, and until he was queen, he never noticed. When he did, it became a tool to sate his momentary desires, a temporary fix for his long term ache, a way of fooling people. No one believes a pretty queen is capable of anything.

Good.

Nikolai doesn’t remember much from after his mother’s bombshell announcement, which is partly good. It’s a lot of gaps in numbness and anger he can never get back, and she’s not around to fill in the details. He remembers holding back tears so many times with Agathon, not wanting to ruin their last precious weeks together.

Nikolai went kicking and screaming. He doesn’t want to know how he looked to the villagers, to Agathon’s family. He remembers the tears running down Agathon’s face, the gold fading at long last from his sunshine eyes. Nikolai’s mother was dragging him away, he was no longer close enough to touch him and shudder through the warmth seeping into his skin. Just the knowledge that he no longer could made him ache for it all the more.

Agathon was screaming for him, too. The pair of them must’ve been the most dramatic thing the townsfolk had ever seen, acting like they were dying. Nikolai remembers the agony on Agathon’s mother’s face, the effort it was taking her to hold her son back from running to Nikolai again. He broke free anyway, sprinting toward Nikolai and tripping over himself.

They were locked in each other’s arms for one last time, ugly crying into each other’s shoulders. “I love you,” Nikolai said, as he had seen Agathon’s parents tell each other while they cooked side by side, laughed, shoved each other playfully when bickering. He knew it meant something. He knew it meant everything.

His mother picked him up and carried him on her shoulder the rest of the way, but he watched Agathon mouth it back.

He only had a year with Agathon, but being ripped away from him was like reaching into his chest and pulling out an artery. He had never known pain like that. He told his mother over and over that first year when she was working her way up in Thiria that his heart wouldn’t stop hurting, he missed home, he wanted to go back.

Of course, he didn’t miss the town that much. Thiria was intimidating, but there was so much to do, always something to occupy him. The one thing he missed more than anything in the world was Agathon and his sunshine smile.

As a child, his feelings were so much rawer. He didn’t bother repressing them because he didn’t know how yet, and his mother wasn’t deep enough yet in her madness to teach him to.

Two years later, when he was queen with his mother the real queen behind him, while he tried and failed every day to buck off her hold, he met Saige.

He had forgotten and moved on from Agathon somewhat, of course. He learned from both his mother and practicality that he couldn’t spend all day crying in bed and begging to go back, threatening to steal a camel or a Windcarpet when he got truly desperate. Agathon wasn’t in his head every moment of every day, but he took one look at Saige and it all came back.

The day he met her, he had heard nothing about her but the king who had been put through hell and needed no one but her war of vengeance, and she heard nothing about him but the queen whose mother always seemed to be there.

The day he met Saige, he got his mother to leave them alone for a while. Looking into her brown eyes, her little smirk, her friendly smile, a little piece of his chest ached, but in a different way than it did for Agathon. Hers was the ache after a dislocated joint snapped back into place. Hers was the stretch in the morning, an ebbing headache, the ache of waiting for a healing wound to finally close over. Something that punched the breath out of you, but in a way that was right. Like it was supposed to happen.

The day he met her, he heard Agathon’s parents in her voice, bickering, shoving each other, watched her move and saw them bumping hips as they did the dishes together. He saw Agathon mouthing his final words to him when she spoke.

He’s never told her this, but Saige healed him. It only got better after that day. After stumbling, falling, she guided his feet and helped him find his footing. She did not replace Agathon, because that would be a disservice to both of them. Nikolai found space easily in his heart for her. It was as though she had just been waiting to move in to the space he had prepared for years.

He loves her. He would burn down the world for her, as he hopes she would do for him.

He doesn’t tell Kayani that, however. He skims over the depth of his feelings for Saige—he’s at peace with them, he has nothing to be ashamed of, and he’s pretty sure she knows, but it’s for them. Not Kayani, not anyone else. Not that.

When Nikolai’s done, Kayani is still watching with rapt attention, a bit of shock. He looks up at the moon and inhales. He didn’t realize he’d been rambling so long. Saige is still asleep, thankfully.

“Did you ever try to find him again?” Kayani asks.

“No. It was never the right time, even after her death.” He thinks of it, now. Trying. But the thought makes his chest ache, so he puts it away.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring @sleepy-night-child @florraisons @faithfire @croctears @inkovert @kait-writes

#writing #Lila’s wips: acogs #writeblr #fantasy #fantasy wip #my fantasy wip #my wip #bean's excerpts

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exquisitley-obsessed · 4 years ago

Text

The Dinosaur and the Vampire Part Three (Carlisle Cullen x Reader)

Author: exquisitely-obsessed

Request: hi can you do a one shot for Twilight where the reader is best friends with Bella and is there at the car crash in the first movie, they go to hospital and that’s where the reader meets Carlisle, really fluffy, thanks

Word Count: 5000+

Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: nothing

A/N: This is and this isn’t the final part of the story. I’ve already got a draft for a part four but it’s also going to be able to work as a one shot in itself. Here’s a hint - it’s got something to do with the plot of New Moon. Kinda obvious but I LOVE angst. My requests are open <3 But if you’re interested you should check out my masterlist here!!

previous part

Y/n felt crazy. It was the middle of the afternoon also the middle of a storm and she was standing on Bella’s doorstep, half-crying.

Her day trip to the Cullen’s house was only a few days ago and yet so much had changed since then. Bella was basically no where to be seen, now constantly spending time with Edward to the point where she even ditched school with him after Biology leaving y/n to drive herself home.

Moreover, the Carlisle incident had also wedged a gap between her and Bella. After the silent drive home back, y/n waited until Bella was busy with Charlie before heading to the nearest store and treating herself to an assortment of bathing items. New shampoo and conditioner, body wash, body scrub, shaving cream, razors, body lotion, leave in conditioner, facial oils; the list went on. Y/n knew she could never speak to Bella about it, too mortified over what Carlisle had said never mind the fact she was crushing on the 20-something year old doctor and (adoptive) father of Bella’s boyfriend.

All this combined with Jess talking her ear off about the dance, her parents pressuring her about college and her grades slipping; it had all become a bit too much. Her last straw was an argument with her mum about the dishes which left her storming out of the house, hopping the fence and knocking on Bella’s door. She couldn’t take it anymore, she needed her friend.

“Hey Charlie, is Bella in?” Y/n watched as Charlie took in her groggy appearance, wrapped in one of her dad’s old jumpers which had holes spotted along the sleeves.

“I’m sorry she’s not,” Charlie answered, his eyes tentative. Y/n tried not to act surprised, after all what did she expect. “She’s at the Cullen’s house, playing baseball or something.” Y/n could feel the angry tears prickling behind her eyes, she had never felt so alone and abandoned and she hated herself for it. She wanted with every inch of her heart to brush it off and just be happy for Bella’s newfound romance, but this seemed to come at the price of her own happiness. “Hey y/n are you okay-”

“Yeah.” Y/n answered a little too quickly, wrapping her arms around herself and nodding furiously. “It can wait. I think I’m going to go for a drive or something.” A somewhat forced smile slipped onto her cheeks as she tried to shake off her disappointment. “Could you tell Bella that I was asking after her?”

“Course.” Charlie said calmly, his gaze still soft and worried.

“Thanks, uh, bye Charlie. Have a nice evening.” Y/n splurted turning away from the door and hopping the fence. Without looking back y/n unlocked her car and quickly got inside, aware of Charlie’s lingering fatherly gaze. After sitting still for a moment, not quite sure what to do with herself she decided to drive down to La Push. The rocks, the ferocious waves, the abandoned feeling of the place. It was exactly what she needed. Trying not to let the tears brim over she turned on the radio and spluttered the engine to life.

Turning out of her driveway she felt better already. Some distance would be nice, plus she never knew who she might bump into along the way, it would be nice to see Jacob again. However, as she was driving down her street she noticed Bella’s red truck speeding toward her. From what she could see Edward was driving, a terrifying expression cut into his face as he glared at the road; Bella peering at him with an estranged fear, tears in her eyes. Y/n only saw them for a second before they passed, headed for home.

Had they been fighting? Y/n’s heart lurched for Bella. Despite Bella’s lack of communication recently, y/n still understood how much Edward meant to her, and of course she would still be there for her.

For a moment she wondered if she should turn back, wait till Edward left and then call on the house again, but her mind was already carrying her to the beach. She needed this time to herself; a break from everyone and everything.

***

Y/n hadn’t been driving long when she was pulled from her mind once more. She was driving down one of the lesser known roads, green and blue blurring around her when she caught sight of someone standing on the side of the road.

The first thing y/n noticed was her hair, ferocious red. It exploded around the woman’s head in fiery ringlets. Her clothes were raggedy and didn’t fit her very well: a tartan button up and loose fitting beige trousers. Over her shoulder hung a backpack with a bottle of water and thick rope looped off the side. She was waving her hands desperately in the air, clearly trying to catch y/n’s attention. Without thinking y/n slowed the car and rolled down her window.

“Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank God!” The woman cried in a strange accent. “I was hitchhiking when I thought I saw a bear. Ran like I never had before but now I’m lost. If you could just drive me to the nearest main road I’ll be able to find my way back to my car.”

Y/n couldn’t help but drink in the appearance of the woman now that she was closer. Her hair appeared even more explosive, a stark contrast with her ivory skin which appeared dewy and soft. Perfect freckles were sprinkled across her nose underneath a pair of dark eyes. She was unimaginably beautiful.

“Sure!” Y/n found herself saying without really taking it into consideration. She was pretty sure the woman looked like that girl Martha in her history class, maybe this was her older sister. “Hop in!”

It would be a minor detour, wouldn’t take long at all. The woman moved fluidly to the side of the car, opening the door with a flash before seating herself comfortably next to her. Y/n paused a moment, waiting for the woman to pull on her seat belt, when realising she wouldn’t she started the engine and drove on.

“The plan will work.” Edward comforted Bella, the two now back at the Cullens house following their performance for Charlie. The Cullens themselves rushed around them, preparing.

“Rosalie and Esme are heading down to your house as we speak. They won’t take their eyes off of Charlie. He’s perfectly safe.” Carlisle added, Bella shot him an appreciative smile. A pause of silence.

“Carlisle what about y/n?” Edward pondered aloud.

“Already thought about it.” Carlisle answered without looking up, Bella glanced between the two. First Edward’s invitation (for which he brushed off all her questions and instead supplied the phoney answer of wanting to know Bella’s friends better) and now this?

“What about y/n?” Bella asked. Edward took a deep breath, not meeting her gaze and ignoring her question.

“James and Victoria have no reason to suspect y/n is of any importance to Bella, Charlie or any of us. They’ve never seen y/n with us, they haven’t heard us talk about her. Y/n is no more than a neighbour. Besides, with Rosalie and Esme having eyes on Charlie they automatically have eyes on y/n.”

“Y/n’s not at home though,” Bella interjected worriedly, “We saw her pass us, she was leaving in her car.”

“What.” Carlisle stated rather than asked, his voice dropping as well as his easy smile. In fact, his entire body language changed, he stood taller, stretching his shoulders forward slightly as he eyes flickered a darker shade of bronze.

“It’s fine.” Edward said, not phased by Carlisle’s reaction, “I read her mind, she’s headed to La Push. If Victoria or James goes onto their territory...” Bella shot him a confused look.

“You’re right.” Carlisle murmured, relaxing slightly as he chewed on the new piece of information, “As long as she’s there she should be safe. I’ll send word to Rosalie, she can keep an eye out for y/n’s return.”

“Let’s go.” Edward muttered without another word.

***

“Just a few more turns then we’ll be on Bogachiel Way, you should be able to find your way from there.” Y/n said automatically, wearing a cheery grin as she hoped not to spook the woman any further - it sounded like she had had a rough day.

“Actually I was hoping we could take a left," The woman spoke, it was the first thing she had said since being in the car. Her voice was smooth like honey but not overtly-sweet, there was definitely some bite in there.

“Are you sure?” Y/n’s brows furrowed, “I haven’t been down there before and we could risk both of us getting lost,” She chuckled to herself, “And-” She turned to face the woman and stopped abruptly, her jaw clamping shut.

“What is it?” The woman asked, not breaking eye-contact. Y/n felt as though she was being compelled, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Your eyes,” She stuttered, “They’re...blood-red.” She tried to laugh, speaking as though the woman would be surprised herself.

“Oh.” Was all the woman said in a voice completely devoid of all emotion. “Well that just gives it away.”

“What-” But the woman had already snapped her fingers through y/n’s hair, and all she remembered was the sight of the driver’s wheel as her skull crashed into it.

***

Bella sighed heavily from where she was sat in the hotel room. The TV presenting her with some daytime talk show with a painfully loud and obnoxious host. Alice and Jasper were completely still next to her as they watched, no emotion, they looked as though they weren’t even thinking.

The phone exploded with a shrill ring that made Bella jump, before she could get up Alice was already answering it, nodding along to whatever the other person was ranting about. Bella waited patiently with watchful eyes, if it was Carlisle that was calling Edward couldn’t be too far away.

“Bella,” Alice turned to her with a vacant expression, holding out the phone. Bella went to reach it when all of sudden it was falling out of Alice’s grasp with a resounding ‘k-dunk’. Bella went to protest when she realised Alice couldn’t see her, she was seeing something else, something from the future - Jasper was behind her in a second.

“What is it?” He asked soothingly, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“It’s...Victoria.” Alice spluttered distantly, her golden irises flitting back and forth.

“Charlie is he-” Bella began.

“She’s driving. She’s happy.” Alice continued.

“Alice, is Charlie-” Bella tried again.

“Oh.” Alice once more continued as if she hadn’t heard. Then it was over and she turned to Jasper with wide, fearful eyes. “It’s y/n. She has y/n tied up in the back of the car.”

“What?” Bella distantly muttered behind her, meanwhile Edward’s frightful voice could be heard yelling through the phone from the floor. Jasper swept down and twirled the phone into his fingers.

“Edward.” He said clearly, “We have a problem.”

“Is y/n okay?” Bella asked shakily, her fingers half covering her mouth. Alice simply collapsed back down on the couch, her brows furrowed, eyes frightful and she chewed on what she had just seen.

***

“What’s going on Edward?” Carlisle asked as he shifted the car up a gear, racing down the motorway. Edward’s eyes were wide, fluttering left and right as he took in new information.

“What’s wrong?” Emmett asked from the backseat, picking up on the awful tension.

“We have a serious problem.” Edward began.

“How serious?” Carlisle asked, not removing his eyes from the road and yet his voice was still calm, supportive.

“Alice just had another vision but it was of Victoria, apparently she’s driving somewhere with y/n tied up on the backseat.”

What Edward had said didn’t seem to settle with his audience for a while. Carlisle’s face enigmatic, Emmett just simply confused.

“Who’s y/n?” Emmett pondered aloud. Y/n’s presence and affect on the family had pretty much been kept secret between Edward and Carlisle, and Edward was only in on it because of his ability.

“A friend of Bella’s.” Edward answered so Carlisle didn’t have to. “Her best friend, in fact. She could be used for leverage.” Carlisle still hadn’t spoken although his knuckles where blushing blue from his grip on the wheel. “Carlisle?” Edward asked after a moment, still on the phone to Jasper. No response.

“We’re going to need to split up.” Carlisle’s voice was calm, the same as it always was. It was only his eyes that were different, flickering to a darker shade of bronze. “Emmett, Edward, I’m going to need you two to keep driving. Head for the airport and buy yourselves plane tickets to Seattle. Regroup with Jasper and Alice and keep Bella safe.”

“And you?” Emmett asked, now curious.

“I’m going to turn around and head back to Forks. See if I can track down Victoria and stop this from getting anymore messy than it has to.”

“How are you going to...ah.” Edward’s question was answered when Carlisle swung a hard right and sped into the car dealership. Before they knew it Carlisle was up and out of the car throwing the keys to Edward.

“Don’t scratch the Porsche,” Was all he said. “It was a gift.”

“Are you sure?” Emmett called out leaning out of the back window, “You don’t need help?” Carlisle smiled at his son.

“It’s more than I don’t want you to see what I’m about to do.” And with that he turned and disappeared into the building. Edward in a flash was sitting in the driver’s seat, starting up the engine - desperate to see Bella again.

“So,” Emmett smiled broadly as he leaned back and stretched out his arms across the seats, “This girl...y/n...she’s important right.” Edward sighed deeply, before glancing over his shoulder with a soft grin.

“You have no idea.”

***

Y/n stirred, her head feeling as though it was going to pound out of her skill. Distantly she was aware of something holding her wrists and ankles close together and the hum of the engine beneath her.

At first her vision was blurry, and it didn’t help that the trees were rushing past her window and an incomprehensible rate. It was also dark outside, too dark, how long had she been out?

“Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice fluttered down at her. Y/n groaned in response, her hands, bound, automatically rushed to her forehead and when she pulled them back they were slick with blood. This couldn’t be happening.

“What’s going on?” Y/n was surprised how calm her voice sounded as her eyes focused on the sight of the red-head, her wild appearance now feeling threatening. This woman must be insane.

“You have no idea what you owe me.” She spoke in riddles. “Lying there bleeding across these seats. I almost messed up the whole plan.” Yes, she was definitely insane.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “Have we met before?”

“No.” The woman rolled her eyes, “I promise you would remember if we had.”

“Where are we going?” Y/n didn’t feel like playing into her games, she was petrified as it was.

“Seattle. A girls trip.” She grinned menacingly at her over her shoulder. “James just called, apparently some of your friends just booked a flight there. We can’t risk flying though so I’m afraid we’re driving.”

“To Seattle?”

“We’ll be there before you know it. I’m a quick driver.” She was, the trees were rushing by so quickly no distinctive feature could be made of them. Whenever they came across another car on the lonesome road it whipped by within the millisecond.

“What did you mean by my friends?”

“The Cullens, silly. I saw you hanging around Bella’s house, asking after her even. That’s why your here.” Y/n couldn’t make sense of it, the jumbled words and the fizzing in her head meant everything she tried to process felt scrambled.

“I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” Y/n muttered, her eyes scrunching up as she tried to endure her throbbing skull..

“I’m not sure about that.” Victoria glanced in her rear view mirror, y/n noticed and, twisting in her seat, she watched as a white blur stayed hot on their trails, following the cars movements perfectly. She tried to focus on the identity of the driver but another wave of nausea rolled through her guts.

When this had passed she glanced around panicking. Looking down she noticed the rope, about an inch thick and bound several times around her wrists and ankles in expert fashion. It didn’t take long for y/n to conclude there was no way she could get out of them herself. Glancing around, her head feeling a littler clearer she looked for any way to slow the car down or at least call for help.

Trying to look inconspicuous, y/n leaned forward and looked through the window resting her fingers near the trigger to pull it down. With a quick glance at the woman she slammed down the trigger; but the window rolled down all to slowly and all to loudly. The woman’s head snapped around.

“Bitch.” Was all she spat before rolling the window back up with the panel by her arm. “What were you going to do, make a jump for it? We’re going 150 on the motorway.” The number made y/n feel queasy but she had already committed now, she wasn’t just going to sit here and we carted off to her ‘girls trip’ in Seattle.

Quickly, y/n flipped the window down again and using the bony knot of the rope between her arms she began to attack the top of the glass the same moment the red-head began moving it back up. She wasn’t quite sure where the strength had come from but after a small fit of thwacking her arms against the window she became aware of the tiniest crack at the top. This fuelled her flame.

She started again, aiming directly at the crack beating her bound arms against it relentlessly. In the moment the pain ignited her fury although she was sure she would regret it later. All of a sudden the window gave, one piece fell and then suddenly the whole thing shattered. Before the woman could stop her she leaned out the window, her hair exploding in the wind as she was caught in the white cars headlights.

“Help!” She shrieked, the volume of her voice astounding even her. “Help! Get me out of here! Call the police!” Re-filling her lungs for another spout of shouts the woman leaned over the front seats grabbing a handful of y/n’s hair and slamming her back into the car.

“Insolent bitch!” The woman cried, taking her hands off the steering wheel to yank y/n over the divide between the front two seats. “If you make this anymore difficult for me I’ll find away to get Bella without your help!” This caught y/n’s attentions and she went limp across the seats, her head hanging back so she saw out the front of the car, the world upside down.

“Bella?” Y/n choked.

“If you keep struggling you’ll never see her again.” The woman twisted so that one hand gripped the steering wheel, the other holding y/n’s hair so she was firmly bent back against the armrest, straining her neck; y/n couldn’t help but notice the impossible strength at which she was being pinned down.

The short scrape had pulled and split y/n’s previous head wound: a deep cut curling above her left eyebrow. And when she had broken through the glass and leaned out the raw glass had cut her waist and cheeks. This meant that as y/n’s head was pulled back blood dribbled up her face, trickling into her eyes and leaving a mixture of blood, tears and sweat.

She wasn’t held in the position for long. At some point the woman gasped and let go, now holding two hands on the wheel. Y/n couldn’t quite see what was happening around her but she saw a flash of white and felt the cars wheels roll unstably. She snapped back into the backseat, now no longer interested in the window but rather trying desperately with her bound hands to buckle her seat belt.

As she focused on her bound hands she could faintly hear distant, familiar voices and the red-headed woman shouting back something incomprehensibly fast. Her instincts proved correct, within the minute the car leapt out of control underneath her, swerving off the road and rolling down the small hill. Clutching onto the overhead hanger for dear-life y/n felt her entire world upside down, the sickening scent of burning flesh before darkness finally coddled her once more.

***

Y/n stirred from unconsciousness for the second time in 24 hours and the first thing she noticed was the release on her wrists and ankles. Before she tried to open her eyes she fluttered her fingers over her wrists where there lay course indentations. The skin was tender to touch and she was sure the skin would be black and blue.

Trying to open her eyes she noticed the warm light above her, somehow this made her feel safe. Her head still throbbing furiously she tried to open them further provoking tears to prick behind her eyes and dribble down the sides of her face. A wave of nausea overtook her then and abruptly her body snapped up underneath her, once she was vertical it seemed to die down.

“Woah, woah, woah.” She heard a familiar voice call, she knew that voice. It appeared he had leapt from the shadows, guiding y/n back down but she protested, groaning audibly. “Slow down.” He said calmly, his fingers firm on her sides. A harsh intake of air whipped from her lips and his arms snapped back.

“Your fine it’s just...my sides.” Y/n muttered, wincing from the lingering stinging from her sides, the cuts from the glass of course.

“You’ve had a rough couple of hours.” Carlisle spoke into the silence. Y/n groaned pushing up again, this time Carlisle didn’t move to stop her. “You really shouldn’t sit up, you’ve got some serious head trauma.”

“Just for a sec.” Y/n’s voice was breathy as she pleaded with him, “I just feel too nauseous if I lie down.” He didn’t say anything, but he let her sit. Y/n had just assumed she was in the hospital what with the presence of Carlisle, but when she looked around she wasn’t startled to realise she was propped up on his kitchen counter top. A series of cashmere and fluffy looking blankets covering the surface to make it soft, she tried to ignore that a few were covered in blood.

“I assume you have a lot of questions.”

“You think?” Y/n didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know where to begin. It was a debate on whether to tell Carlisle her crazy story, to describe to him the red-headed woman with blood-red eyes, how she had talked about the Cullens and Bella. On the other hand, instead of explaining she wanted to ask questions; how had she ended up at the Cullens house, where was her car, what happened to the woman. She settled on her question. “Is Bella okay?”

Carlisle stared at her with a pondering expression, as if he were chewing on the information she had released by that question alone.

“Bella is fine.” He said slowly, his voice soft. He had stepped away from y/n and stood at the opposite counter top, running a white cloth (by the smell it was doused in alcohol) over an assortment of medical instruments. Y/n tried not to look at them. He turned to her suddenly, as if he were waiting for another question.

“Do you know what happened to me?” Y/n asked, her fingers rushing to her forehead. He was there in a second, his hand empty, holding her fingers back with his own gentle touch. He had moved with supernatural speed but y/n couldn’t process that right now, that wasn’t the craziest thing to happen tonight.

“Yes and no. Don’t touch your wound I’m not done.” He answered clearly, going back to his work. Y/n just stared at him, waiting for him to go on. He sighed. “I got a call saying that you were in danger. That you had been taken hostage by Victoria.” Y/n automatically linked the name with the face. “I came to help you. I was in the white ford bronco behind you.” Like deja-vu the images shot through her mind, leaning out the window calling for a help, unable to make out the figure in the white car.

“How come...” He was back assessing her wounds, dabbing it here and there, engrossed in his work. Her eyes were large, slightly dazed and glossy as she watched him through his arms, her eyes fixed on his own.

“How come...” His warm voice was only a whisper, guiding her along her words.

“You. How come it was you that came for me? You...” She trailed off again, aware even through her murky mind of her heartbeat picking up at his closeness.

“Because, and I know this is confusing,” He began, taking a break and looking directly into her eyes, capturing her attention, “I will always be there when you need me. Perhaps not necessarily when you want me...but always when you need me.” Y/n surprised herself by completely understanding what he was trying to convey. It all felt like a dream anyhow.

“When your car went off the side of the road.” He began, unable to return to his tools as he was caught in a memory, “I-” He trailed off, a flash of anger dancing in his eye. “I pried open your door and you were unconscious. And the blood-” He stifled something in his throat.

“You’re a doctor and you don’t like blood.” Y/n murmured, a smile slipping on her lips. Carlisle smirked.

“I’m not afraid of all blood, only yours.” He went back to work.

“You’re afraid of me?” She asked, her voice quiet and small. He paused, catching her off guard as he moved forward, his nose an inch from hers.

“I haven’t felt fear like I did tonight for three hundred years.” Y/n still felt like she was dreaming.

“It hurts.” She mumbled after a few moments of tense silence.

“I know, love.” He hummed, saddened at her pain. “Where?” Y/n went to brush her forehead but stopped herself, she then moved to her stomach, tentatively, afraid of showing Carlisle her exposed flesh she lifted her shirt slightly. Peering down herself she noticed a series of cuts dancing around her waist, in particular her front from where she had leaned on cut glass. If she were not mistaken, Carlisle’s breath hitched in his throat. She let her shirt drop.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Carlisle winced as if he disagreed.

“You shouldn’t even be this hurt in the first place.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone. “I thought that by leaving you alone I was protecting you. In reality, I was only pushing you away because I was afraid.”

“There’s that word again. Why do I scare you?”

“It’s not you per-say, more what you’ve made me realise about myself.”

“Carlisle...my heads spinning.” He met her eye before turning away grabbing something off the counter top.

“Here,” He murmured, a smirk lighting up his face. Looking down y/n caught sight of a roll of band-aid held between two of his slender fingers; the familiar dinosaur pattern somewhat sun-bleached.

“God, I can’t seem to escape those.” Y/n murmured softly smiling despite everything.

“Well I might’ve taken a box home since the accident.” Y/n eyed him, he had taken these from the hospital? “I guess I couldn’t help myself.” He said as if reading her mind, his brows now furrowed as he turned back to his work. He unwrapped a decent amount of plaster before tearing it with his fingers, finally he positioned it above her right eye and, soft as feather, pressed it against her head. As he had done this he had inched closer and closer, y/n’s legs automatically opening so that he may position himself comfortably.

“I have to say I think you’re going to get your wish.” Carlisle muttered softly.

“What?” Y/n whispered back, astonished at how close he was standing, his hip bones touching the inner of her knees.

“I think this cut may just scar. You can finally walk around town with something interesting to talk about.” Y/n rolled her eyes but grinned broadly, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“By the way, what am I going to say, about this?” Her fingers reached up to her face resting against her dinosaur spotted plaster. Carlisle thought for a moment.

“You,” He began, reaching his own fingers up to join hers, “Were tired...and upset,” His voice was so soft, and yet the silence blanketed around them meant it filled the room. “And you went for a drive,” Chills sparked down her spine as he slowly lowered himself to her level, careful not to make any sudden movements. “And you...lost sight of things...for a moment.” She could feel cool breath brushing against her cheeks. “It was dark and you crashed...I saw it happen by chance, and helped.”

“Okay.” Y/n murmured. “But...that’s not the truth.”

“No,” He breathed into the tension, “Unfortunately the world cannot know the truth.”

“Can I?”

“I think it is what you’re owed.” Y/n pondered this.

“The woman?”

“She had disappeared before I got to you. Afraid probably.”

“Of you?” Y/n asked somewhat incredulously, but she could see it, the power in his voice, his control over a room.

“I have a...reputation.” Y/n just grinned, overwhelmed.

All of a sudden his cool fingers were brushing her hair off her face before resting either side of her head, his thumb back to brushing under her right eye. Y/n froze at the contact and yet he clearly found the movement completely natural as he tilted her chin to meet his gaze.

“There is so much about this world you have yet to discover. Right now, you are on the cusp of a discovery that may change your life forever and most certainly it will mine. We’ve been keeping something from you, me, Bella, Edward. But not out of contempt, or anger, or hate...but because it’s difficult to know how to best protect those whom you love. And if today is any indication, I’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Love?” Y/n whispered. Carlisle paused heavily.

“It’s...not my fault, I promise.” Carlisle murmured, his nose brushing with hers ever so slightly, “There is a degree of destiny involved.” Y/n grinned as she pulled back slightly, but Carlisle’s hands never left her face.

“You speak in riddles.” This caused Carlisle to laugh, deep and heartily.

“A product of my age unfortunately. But, I promise. Things aren’t as complicated as they seem...or maybe they are. Either way, you no longer will be left in the dark.”

“Is this the part where you spill all of your dirty secrets?”

“How did you know?” He mocked with a grin. “Now listen carefully.” He pulled back leaving only cold air where he once was, but he remained in contact, holding onto y/n’s hand, brushing circles over the feathery veins as he seated himself next to her.

“There’s a lot you need to learn.”

next part

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stubbychaos · 4 years ago

Text

A Guilty Conscience

Chapter 10 of Saviin’ika

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: While you get used to your new role in the tribe, you make it your mission to meet the ones who are to be your family. While befriending some unlikely members of the tribe, Paz later surprises you with something that he thinks will make you happy, though it ends up having the opposite effect.

Rating: T

Word Count: 14,000 *Y’all idk how this happened, I’m so sorry lol*

Warnings: Some unresolved sexual tension, minor injuries and reader still dealing with a bunch of past trauma. Other than that, this chapter is pretty harmless!

Just a quick mention: Thank you as always to @datmando for inspiring me and giving me so many amazing ideas for this story!! You’ve helped me so much with this story and getting through writer’s block and I freaking love you <3 Thank you as well to @aerynwrites @hdlynnslibrary and @maybege for all being wonderful and I love you all for motivating me to write more Paz!!

Also thank you to @coredrive for the beautiful gifs you made!! If anyone wants quality gifs for their stories, masterlists, etc... please go to Kat because she was so freaking lovely and sweet!!

“Would you like one of my shirts, ner cyare?”

You turn around, coming face to face with an unarmored Paz who is sitting on the foot of the bed, his forearms lazily resting on top of his thighs as he observes the way you hopelessly shift the torn, silky fabric in your hands. You turn to face the culprit who is currently curled up in a white rocky ball close to the furnace in the main area of Paz’s private quarters, seeming completely unbothered and not regretful that she had used your only sleep attire as a chewing toy while you were in the shower and Paz was talking to the armorer.

“That would be nice, thank you,” You murmur softly, watching with a smile as he promptly stands and makes his way over to the dresser near his bed while you discard the torn, silky fabric.

Though a few days have passed since the fight without incident--much to your appreciation--you notice Paz acting differently around you and while it’s not in a bad way by any means, it still has your curiosity growing. You notice how he almost seems worried about letting you stray too far from him, though you’re certain it’s not because he’s concerned one of his own will hurt you again, but perhaps he has the same fears you hold in your very own heart. While you’ve only been with the tribe for three days, you find yourself getting less sleep with every passing day, afraid that when you wake up, you’ll be right back at the village infirmary with your estranged father.

Perhaps he’s anxious that if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll randomly decide to leave without a word or trace.

The thought amuses you and also fills your heart with grief, wondering how the Mandalorian could possibly conjure the thought of you even thinking about leaving the place that had quickly become your safe haven.

“I’m going to shower, if you want to change,” Paz gruffly voices as he approaches you with a thick, black garment and you perk up a little upon feeling how warm it is--how warm it will keep you.

Once the Mandalorian is in the refresher, you’re quick to strip your clothes, smiling softly as you neatly fold the emerald, long-sleeved dress that Ima had found for you in a designated stack of clothes that wasn’t being worn by anyone in the tribe. Once you are only in your shorts, you grab Paz’s black shirt that he must wear over all his padding and sheepishly tug it over your head, instantly relishing in how it smells just like him--all woodsy and spicy and just like the soap he uses. The material is incredibly thick, though it’s not stiff and doesn’t make it feel like you’re suffocating; it feels soft and comforting against your bare skin, engulfing you so warmly just like one of his embraces, though you still long for the intense pressure of his arms around you. The sleeves that usually come to an end just above his elbows now fall just a few inches above your wrists and the hem skims the middle of your thighs.

As you sit on the edge of the bed and get to work on tending to your braids and all the tangles from the hair you had chosen to leave down, you think of how surreal everything still feels and how all the horrors you had ever dreamed about running away from are currently above you in the village. You try your hardest not to think about it, and instead, your mind wanders to the tribe and its intimidating, rambunctious warriors that you’ve been interacting with in the covert for the past few days.

It’s been… an interesting experience, to say the least.

For people who you used to be terrified of until recently, you think it’s somewhat surprising as well as amusing that Paz had been correct when he mentioned them being quite mischievous when it came to you, though you’re certain most of it comes from you being an outsider and not understanding their language. It had already happened a couple times where you would be exploring the enclave, trying to memorize the tunnels and where different ones led, and you would run into a small group of Mandos speaking in their native tongue as you shyly approached them to introduce yourself.

Most of the time they would simply peer down at you while informing you that they already knew who you were--that they had seen you standing your ground against Paz, which apparently nobody in the tribe had ever really done before. It was quite interesting seeing everyone’s perspective towards their heavy-infantry warrior, how they knew him to be one of the strongest in the tribe and how they respected him for it. However, it was also slightly amusing that they seemed to have no problem making jokes at his expense--talking about how they were glad you were at the covert so he would stop being grouchy and angry all the time.

Ima, you found, was the exact same way, although she had no qualms about berating the man she called her uncle to his face.

Seeing the way the teenager and your blue warrior interacted with one another felt like some sort of special phenomenon that you had never really witnessed before--a relationship stronger than that between a sister and a brother, but not quite as profound as one between a daughter and father. You thought uncle and niece was a good way to describe it and though you’re curious as to why Ima doesn’t call anyone else in the tribe ‘brother’ or ‘sister’, you decide it’s better not to ask for the sake of accidentally bringing up a sad memory.

You’re too deep into your thoughts that you don’t notice a hulking figure emerge from the refresher minutes later, a few water droplets dripping down his shoulders and back as he mindlessly observes you combing through your hair with your fingers.

A small cough startles you and you turn your head to gaze at Paz, his helmet slightly tilted to the side as he stares at you through the guise of that unforgiving visor. Your fingers are still threaded in your damp hair, your bare legs dangling off the side of his bed with your sock-clad toes barely skimming the stone floor as you blink owlishly at him, still not used to seeing him expose so much of his skin.

He’s not saying anything and it has you slightly worried--have you done something wrong?

“Paz, are you okay?”

His bare, broad shoulders tense upwards when you shift on the bed, finally working through a stubborn tangle as you tilt your head at him; you find yourself doing that a lot more lately and you think being surrounded by so many Mandalorians has their little mannerisms rubbing off on you.

You move to get up when he doesn't say anything, now worried that you really have done something wrong, but Paz shakes his head and squashes your worries immediately.

"No--I mean, yes," He huffs and shakes his helmet a little harder when you stand up next to the bed to pull the thick fur away from the pillows it's tucked under while he moves to turn off the lights, "I'm fine, just a little tired, cyare."

You nod your understanding, feeling your own exhaustion creeping up on you, though today had been a relatively easy day in regards to treating scrapes and bruises. You’ve come to find that some of the younger, less trained Mandalorians aren’t exactly the most graceful on their feet, some tripping over their own capes while descending staircases, while others who are less skilled with blades or blasters manage to slip up and injure themselves. It’s definitely not the kind of injuries you’re used to tending--minor ones--but you find it much more pleasant and rewarding than your job in the village, especially when everyone here has treated you politely, for the most part.

You know that even while you had been accepted into the tribe, it doesn’t quite make you part of the family to some, especially to those who still felt as though you should swear the creed to be fully accepted. It was a big detail you had worried about quite a bit, whether or not you would have to swear the creed and wear a helmet just as the rest of them, but you think that perhaps it is a topic you should speak to the armorer about.

You slide underneath the heavy fur and exhale a content sigh, reminding yourself that such worries could wait until morning.

A yawn leaves you just as you hear the quiet hiss of Paz’s helmet being removed before he places it on his nightstand and a tired smile stretches your lips when you feel the mattress dip underneath the weight of the warrior’s body.

Before you can even turn to face him, his huge arm is wrapped around your waist and he’s carefully moving you closer to him; an intense warmth spreads throughout your cheeks when he holds you close, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wastes no time in placing a kiss to the top of your damp hair. You can feel the heat from his bare chest already spreading throughout your entire body and you curl your legs back to press your feet against his bare ankles.

He lets out a small huff as he curls his fingers into the soft material of his shirt covering your abdomen and leans down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, “You are lucky I love you, or else I would not let you wear socks in our bed.”

The ‘our bed’ comment definitely doesn’t go over your head and you hold back a giggle when he sighs against your warm skin, his thumb stroking firm circles near your belly button, “I cannot help it that my feet are always cold.”

His chest rumbles with a soft laugh as he settles behind you, his hand moving a little lower to your hip, just underneath where your cauterized wound is still healing, and he gives you a gentle squeeze, “I told you that you’d do nothing to warm our bed up, mesh’la, I knew I was right. You’re always freezing.”

“If I recall correctly, you told me that you would not mind keeping me warm,” You remind him of what he had said the night he had told you his name, your cheeks growing hot when you feel his lips against the outer shell of your ear, “And you are doing no such thing, ori kebiin.”

“You are a funny woman,” Paz is still trying not to laugh as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, long fingers splayed widely against your burning cheeks, “You feel plenty warm to me, sweetheart.”

Realizing that there’s no way of beating the Mandalorian at his own game, you give up and simply shuffle your curled toes between his calves, making him grunt a little when he feels the blocks of ice that are your sock-clad feet through the material of his sleep pants. He cups your jaw and urges your head to the side a little, using his thumb that’s pressed to the corner of your lips to seek them out with his own.

This close intimacy is certainly another thing you’ve noticed since you forgave him after the fight--him wanting to kiss and touch you whenever it’s just the two of you. It’s definitely something you don’t mind, you realize as his tongue firmly swipes across your bottom lip, and you find yourself growing more comfortable and relaxed when it comes to accepting little touches from him. You can tell that it’s something he’s nervous about when you two are just laying in his bed, wide awake when sleep refuses to wrap itself around the two of you--that he’s worried something he does will set you off.

He always tries to keep his touches to your thighs and hips feather-light after politely asking if it’s okay for him to touch you there and a part of you wonders if he’s already concluded that you’re simply not used to people asking you for consent when it comes to certain things.

Even if it’s not the reason why, you’re still grateful he always asks and his consideration fills your heart with warmth whenever he seems so hellbent on making sure you’re comfortable when you two find yourself in these sort of intimate settings. It doesn’t necessarily feel like it’s him testing your boundaries, but more so him seeing what you like and what gets certain noises out of you, though you find your skin quite sensitive to every nip and lick he inflicts on you.

A part of you is grateful that he usually lies on his back when the two of you are holding one another, as the thought of being pinned underneath anyone again, even your blue warrior, lingers like a storm cloud in the back of your mind.

Currently, however, you focus on the way his fingers tentatively curl around your thigh, just below the hem of the shirt he had given you and your lashes flutter as he guides your head back a little so he has more access to your throat. He seems a little more eager tonight, you think, and as his fingers curl into the thick fabric at your thighs while he dutifully presses tender kisses to your sensitive skin, you start to slowly put the pieces together.

“Paz?” His name comes out in the form of a breathy whisper as he settles back to press a kiss into your damp hair.

He still seems slightly dazed as he brings his arm back to curl tightly around your waist, “Hm?”

“Earlier, when you were staring at me when you came out of the shower,” You grin a little when you feel the way his arms tense around your middle, “Was it… is it because I’m wearing your shirt?”

Paz huffs an amused noise and you’re certain you’ve left him flustered for once as he slowly shifts his body until he’s able to rest his chin against the slope of your neck, “I like the way you look in anything, cyare, but something about seeing you wearing my clothes--it does things to me. I can’t say that I am upset that your vulptex tore up your nightgown, not with how beautiful you look right now.”

“You can’t even see me right now, silly man.”

“I don’t need to,” He mumbles, his beard scratching your sensitive skin as he lazily tends to all the little marks he left behind with his lips and teeth the previous night, “I remember everything about you, ner cyare, like how your eyes always get big whenever you see me taking off my armor and my clothes. Perhaps my sweet little nurse isn’t as innocent as I thought.”

You nearly let out with a whimper when you feel his tongue on your skin, your cheeks burning furiously as his hand cautiously grazes up your thigh, “Is this okay?”

His tepid breath fanning along the column of your throat makes you shiver a little and your voice cracks a little when you speak, “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He repeats with a soft sigh, his hand moving past the little shorts you typically wear to bed and up to your bare hip, just underneath where your blaster wound is still tender, though not nearly causing you as much pain, “Stars, your skin is so damn soft and your hair smells good--just like those flowers you’re always wearing.”

You let your eyes close as he continues to explore your stomach with feather-like strokes, seeming content to simply warm you with his large hand and you feel your thighs clench together firmly when he rubs a sensitive spot just underneath your belly button. His hands are leaving a scorching blaze in their wake and you feel a deep shudder wrack your body upon feeling the wet, open-mouthed kisses he’s leaving just underneath your earlobe.

Despite the ache between your thighs, you jump when his fingertips barely graze just above the hem of your shorts and he immediately freezes upon feeling the tension in your body.

“I’m sorry,” Your ears grow hot with shame and you think he must be frustrated with you for not feeling ready to be intimate on this kind of level yet, “I just--”

“Hey, don’t you dare ever apologize for knowing when you’re not ready,” He whispers, moving his lips away from your jaw and removing his hand from underneath the shirt he let you borrow, “I shouldn’t have done that--I should have asked first.”

“It’s okay,” You weakly reassure him, smiling softly when he politely fixes your shirt, dragging the hem back down your thighs, “I... I want to be with you like that and I thought I was ready but I... I don’t know.”

“You do not owe me an explanation. I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” Paz promises in a rushed tone as he moves to unlatch his arm from around you, though you are quick to stop him, “I am sorry if I was too forward, cyare. I want you to only ever feel comfortable around me and if I ever do or say anything that you don’t like, please tell me, okay? I’ll never be mad at you.”

“I love you, Paz.”

He relaxes against you and presses another tender kiss into the hair above the tip of your ear, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner cyare.”

You smile into the darkness at the warmth his words bring you, though you can’t help but to feel doubt towards yourself and you turn your head a little over your shoulder until his warm breath fans across the plane of your cheek. Even though you can’t see him in the slightest, you like to imagine his eyes scanning your face thoughtfully--curiously--and you hear him let out an inquisitive hum when you murmur his name.

“I haven’t been able to sleep the last couple of days,” You admit softly, placing your hand on top of the much larger one that’s resting just under your sternum, “I’m scared that every night here is going to be my last one--that someone isn’t going to want me here because I haven’t sworn to the creed and that I don’t wear a helmet or armor.”

Paz exhales softly and you close your eyes when his minty breath tickles your nostrils, “Our alor already knows that you were to be brought to the tribe to be our nurse, not a fighter. I made it clear to everyone that you would not have to wear our armor and if anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with me or the armorer. You’re not going anywhere… not if you don’t want to.”

You detect the way his voice lowers into a much more sheepish, subdued tone upon whispering the last part and your suspicions from earlier are proved correct.

He’s afraid that you’re going to change your mind about staying with the tribe.

In an attempt to squash his own fears and insecurities, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and urge his arm up past your chest until you are able to lean your head down a little and kiss his calloused knuckles tenderly. He lets out a content sigh as you let him splay his fingers out widely against the swell of your breast, your heart pounding frantically against his palm while his thumb studies your firm pulse at the base of your neck.

“I just want to be wherever you are, Paz,” You murmur, your lips stretching into a smile when he tenderly kisses your cheek again.

“I feel the same way about you,” He sighs, finally relaxing completely as you keep his hand cradled to your chest, “Anything else you’re losing sleep over, cyare?”

For a moment it sounds like he’s teasing you, but something about the rawness and sincerity of his voice makes you think differently and you swallow the lump in your throat as you think of the little boy from the nursery--the one that had clung onto your leg and hugged you. Though a part of you wants to ask Paz more about how he was found and what happened to his parents, you think it best not to ask and shake your head a little bit.

It is none of your business.

“Try to get some rest,” Paz murmurs against your cheek, his beard scratching your sensitive skin, “I’ll make sure to wake you up if you have any nightmares.”

You murmur a tired ‘thank you’ and let your eyes slip shut, feeling reassured by his words and the feathery press of his lips against the tail of your brow, along with the way his thumb continues to rest atop your pulse point at the bottom of your neck.

For once, you sleep restfully--not necessarily dreaming of much, but not really having any nightmares either. You’re stuck in a strange limbo for the rest of the night and at one point, you feel Paz stroking your brow in an effort to calm you down upon feeling your body jolt when you wake from a strange dream that has you crying out.

As you fall back asleep underneath the comforting guidance of his hands and sweet whispers against the shell of your ear, you briefly wonder if the heavy-infantry warrior ever sleeps.

The next morning when you wake up and tiredly crack your eyes open, Paz is already fumbling around the little kitchenette, his helmet and underclothes now on and you prop yourself up on an elbow as you watch him set a wooden bowl down in front of your excited vulptex. The dish is filled with colorful fruit and chunks of meat and you think it must be the best meal she’s had since she was born, what with her dramatic reaction. She lets out long, happy little squeaks between bites and you think you hear something reminiscent of a laugh or a chuckle from Paz’s vocoder when he reaches out to graze a bare hand along her rocky spine.

“And here I thought you hated her,” You murmur with a yawn, stretching your arms above your head before gracelessly rolling out of bed, the room dimly lit as you make your way over to your beloved companions, “You and everyone else are always calling her a runt.”

Paz snorts and shakes his head a little, tilting his head a little as he hands you a bowl of fruit that has some yogurt underneath, “She is a runt, saviin--doesn’t mean I hate her for it. Besides, she tried to bite Djarin in the leg yesterday, so I guess she’s starting to grow on me.”

You huff a little at that as you savor the fresh berries, your taste buds still not used to such sweet food, and you shake your head at your Mandalorian, “You better not be training my sweet vulptex to attack others, Paz.”

“I would do no such thing,” Paz still sounds a little smug as he begins to put on all of his thick padding and heavy armor, “I’d only train her how to attack the bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes and watch as he puts his armor on piece by piece, the same way he’s done it every morning for the last couple of days he’s been here. It must be a routine for him, you think as you watch him clip his pauldrons in place and work his way down his body; you find the whole process to be mesmerizing and you wonder if he’s been doing this every single day for nearly his entire life.

“I can feel you staring at me, cyare.”

You feel your cheeks warm up when you promptly turn your attention to the breakfast that Paz had kindly made for you, though you had insisted the previous mornings that you didn’t expect him to do this for you. Your heart warms when you remember how he had admitted that it made him happy to see you enjoy little basic necessities that you had been robbed of nearly your entire life and you stopped arguing after that.

Though it was only yogurt and fruit, you still felt like the most spoiled woman in the galaxy.

After completing your usual morning routine, along with braiding the top half of your hair around the crown of your head, you pick out your clothes for the day and scoop your needy little vulptex into the crook of your elbow, her favorite resting place, it seems.

“What am I going to do when she gets too big and I can’t carry her like this?”

Paz snorts as you wait for him to snap his gauntlets into place around his black, leather gloves, “If you didn’t spoil her so much and carry her around all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem, cyare.”

You pout a little at that, struggling not to smile when he gives your earlobe a playful tug once he’s finished with his big gauntlets, “Her leg is still sore--would you really be so heartless to make her walk around the covert?”

“She seemed to have no problem limping around until you showed up and started carrying her all over the place.”

Not having a solid rebuttal to the playful words, you simply shake your head and watch as he checks all the big pouches attached to his utility belt. Your eyes immediately land on the vibroblade sheathed at his hip and you let out a shaky sigh when you remember the Trandoshan, though Paz seems to notice the change in your attitude and shields that side of his body from you.

“C’mon cyare, we have a long day.”

Following close behind Paz, the two of you make your way out of his private quarters and down the tunnels where others are starting to trickle out of their rooms as well. You’ve come to find that with the exception of a few Mandos, the tribe tends to stick to a pretty strict routine of going to bed at a certain time and waking up earlier, though you find this to work out quite nicely for you. Whereas once you were getting two or three hours of sleep a night, along with maybe a thirty minute nap on your break, you now have the entire night to rest, even if you don’t always get the best sleep.

Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll get lost, even though you memorized the directions to your little office on the second day of being at the covert, but you allow Paz to guide you there anyways, grateful for his company when you know you won’t see him until tonight. Though you feel slightly sad upon making it to your destination, you’re somewhat anxious and eager to see what today brings you and who you might meet.

With a gentle kiss of his Beskar forehead against yours, you and the heavy-infantry warrior part ways for the day and you contentedly enter the little office that you had managed to clean up pretty well since your arrival. As you enter the little alcove, something feels off and you quickly detect the sounds of soft hums and discontented grunts.

You freeze upon finding out that you are not the only one occupying the room and your brows shoot up at the strange spectacle taking place in front of you.

In front of your desk, where you had placed a small pot of violets that you’d taken from the room Paz and Ima had decorated for you, is an unarmored Mandalorian who’s currently inspecting something you wrote down on a little notepad the previous day. Though the Mando is wearing a light grey helmet with chipped away emeral trimmings around the visor and cheeks, you think they must be one of the elders in the tribe, what with their hunched over form, wavering hands, and the long staff they wield.

You don’t miss the sharp, pointed tip of the walking stick that is made from what you’re certain is Beskar and you make sure to approach slowly, not wanting to frighten the Mandalorian, though the thought of you startling a warrior is slightly amusing to you.

They’re humming something that you can barely make out through their modulator and your lips instantly stretch into a faint grin when you realize they’re reading the little list you had started of all the Mandalorians you had met in the tribe so far, along with the colors of their armor and their names to help you memorize the people who are supposed to be your new family. You watch with curiosity as the unarmored Mandalorian grabs one of your pens from the little cup next to your notepad, leaning down to try to scribble something down, though they seem to grow frustrated with how shaky their hands are.

You decide to step in when you hear a disgruntled voice uttering curse words under their breath that you’ve never even heard Paz say before and your cheeks grow warm.

“Hello, may I help you?”

Immediately, the Mandalorian whips around with a small gasp, making you jump as well and you hastily take a few steps backwards when they turn around to face you, their hand pressed tight to where their heart must be frantically pounding, just like yours currently is. Your eyes are wide, hands nervously clutched together as the Mandalorian tilts their faded, scuffed up helmet to the side while observing you closely. Though you think they must be elderly, they stand about only one or two inches taller than you and you’re finally grateful to meet someone who isn’t terrifyingly large or as tiny as one of the younglings.

“You cannot sneak up on me like that!” He lightly admonishes in a deep, gruff voice, still holding his bare, wrinkled hand over his heart, “I am not nearly as alert as I used to be, but it doesn’t mean I can’t deal out some damage still.”

He lifts the staff to show you the pointed, steel bottom of it and you immediately nod your understanding, bowing your head a little, “Of course, I am so sorry! I wasn’t sure if you were hurt or not and I just thought…”

You bite your bottom lip nervously--what were you even thinking?

“Ah, I see,” He seems to relax then, pulling out the chair in front of your desk and sinking down into it with a pained grunt while you continue to wring your fingers together in an anxious manner, “So you must be my replacement--the nurse Paz insisted on bringing to the tribe.”

Maker, did your Mandalorian actually tell the entire damn tribe about you?

Your leg bounces as soon as you take a seat at the end of the medical cot and you brush a few unruly hairs from your forehead before speaking to the elderly man, “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a replacement, sir. I’m sure I could never be as good of a medic as you are for your people. I’m just here to help out as much as I can.”

He chuckles and shakes his helmet at your humbled statement, propping his steel cane against his thigh and you feel a twinge of sadness deep within your soul as he stares down at his trembling hands. You notice his right hand is trembling more than the left and you think that must be his dominant hand--the one he would typically use for certain medical procedures--and you remember what Paz had mentioned about the tribe’s medic growing too ill and shaky to actually help others.

‘No wonder why the office was so dusty and everything was unused,’ you think to yourself sorrowfully, your eyes taking in all the big dents and scuff marks on his gray and crimson helmet.

“Hey, don’t give me those sad eyes, little one,” He admonishes you again and though you don’t remember having any kind of grandparent in your life, you think being scolded by this man must be what it feels like to have one, “I was told by Paz that you are a tough one--a warrior, just like us.”

You offer him a wry smile, “I suppose he didn’t tell you that I tend to cry quite a bit as well?”

“Oh, he definitely mentioned that,” The Mandalorian chortles and you can’t help but to grin at that, immediately feeling better at how playful he sounds, “I was hoping he was messing around with me--our people aren’t exactly the best with tears and emotions, but I suppose it is not a bad thing. During times like these, the tribe could use a little more happiness and vulnerability.”

You contemplate his words deeply, thinking of the few times Paz had informed you that because of the Empire, his people were nearly extinct and you wonder how this stranger could so easily accept you into the tribe without really knowing you. Seeing how worn out and damaged his dented helmet is, you can’t help but to wonder what he’s been through and though he seems to be more of an eccentric member of the tribe, you’re certain he’s been through hell and back.

“If you do not mind me asking--” You offer him a fond gaze, your smile growing when he tilts his helmet dramatically to the side, his Beskar cheek nearly touching his shoulder, “May I have your name? I am trying to learn who everyone is, but the visors are all the same and sometimes the color of armor is similar and--”

“I get it,” The older man sounds like he’s amused and you briefly wonder if he was once an outsider like you, though you find it rude to ask, “I was about to write it in your little notebook, but I fear my hands are too unsteady for you to understand my writing, little one.”

You perk up and quickly stand up, making your way over to where he’s sitting before you crouch down in front of your desk and grab one of the several pens in the little cup near your notebook. The Mandalorian makes a funny noise as you give him an inquisitive glance, wordlessly asking for his name with a quirk of your brow and though he wears a typical Mandalorian helmet, you think he must be grinning underneath his Beskar guise.

“Ezir Ralas.”

You somehow manage to write down his name as fast as he spells it out for you and you grin at how demanding he sounds upon spelling every single letter out and how he describes the exact colors of his faded helmet. There’s something about his lighthearted tone that makes you think he’s not as intimidating as every other warrior you’ve encountered since being brought to the covert.

“Well, it is lovely to meet you, sir,” You beam at him as you make your way back to the medical cot to sit on while you wait for your first patient of the day, “Have you been the tribe’s nurse for very long?”

He chuckles again, long fingers curling against his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve been with the tribe since we were forced into hiding years ago. Before all of this, however, I was a field medic for my people on Mandalore, back during our civil war.”

“Oh, I um, I had no idea there was a civil war,” You frown at this new information, briefly wondering if Paz knows about this, though you think he must, “That must have been so scary to be out there on a battlefield, trying to save your own people.”

He lets out a small grunt as he leans forward to rest his forearms atop his thighs, “Even though I am a medic, I was also born and raised a fighter, little one. Though the things I have seen haunt me at night when I cannot sleep, I would not so willingly admit that I was ever afraid.”

You slowly nod and gaze down at the steel pendant that hangs between his collarbones and you recognize it as the one you often see around the covert, or in the morning when Paz tucks his own into the collar of his tunic. Seeming to recognize your curiosity towards the skull sigil, he unties the knot at his nape and holds out the necklace for you to inspect up close.

With great eagerness, you reach forward to accept the kind gesture, “Is it rude of me to ask what this is?”

“It is not rude,” Ezir sounds amused by your curiosity and your cheeks grow warm as you trace over the sharp horns protruding from the cheeks of the skull with your thumbs, “It is the skull of a beast that was once native to Mandalore--the mythosaur. They were these enormous monsters with teeth and horns sharper than a sword made of Beskar and when they tried to attack my ancestors, we either slayed them or conquered them and rode them as transportation.”

“How big were they?”

“Massive,” He flippantly waves a hand in the air, appearing far too nonchalant while speaking of terrifying beasts, “Well, I would imagine they’re the size of the village currently above us, little one.”

Your eyes grow wide and a chuckle escapes past his modulator at how incredulous you sound, “And you’re ancestors fought them?”

“Without hesitation,” He informs you and though the image of a monster so fearsome and enormous terrifies you, it also fills you with feelings of reverence and awe, “After the beasts went extinct, the mythosaur skull became a symbol of our people and all that we had overcome; it is a symbol of our history and culture.”

You hum quietly, barely noticing the way his tilted visor is trained on the way you tenderly trace all the curves and divots of the pendant with admiration, a smile tugging at your lips as you think of the symbolism behind the sigil. Suddenly, you understand why people have always murmured terrifying rumors of the Beskar-clad enigmas and you think it must be true that they’re the strongest warriors in the galaxy. You wonder what it must feel like to exude such power to the point where people fear you without even knowing who you are and though you still regret feeling so much terror upon initially meeting Paz, you’re suddenly grateful that you’d eventually let him into your heart.

“Perhaps one day, you will have one of your own,” Ezir concedes and your head snaps up to peer at him with shock; you hand the pendant back out for him to take, feeling undeserving to be holding something so precious to his people, “Oh, don’t give me that look. You may not wear our helmet or armor, but once I teach you some Mando’a and get a weapon in your hand, you’ll be a fearsome warrior.”

You think of what Paz had mentioned about the others in the tribe teaching you Mando’a, and while you’ve only known him for a few minutes, he seems to be a respectful man, albeit a little quirky.

“What does riduur mean?” You blurt out, your skin instantly growing warm when you see Ezir’s shoulders shaking as he laughs at the innocent question; suddenly, you fear that everyone has been saying something demeaning about you, “I just... everyone in the tribe keeps calling me ‘Paz’s riduur’ and I--it’s not an insult, right? They’re always laughing when they say it.”

He shakes his head as his laughter eventually ceases, “No, little one, it is quite the opposite of an insult, but rather a term of endearment. I do not think it is my place to tell you what it means and I am not sure if Paz has the guts to actually tell you, but I can say that I am certain you will find out for yourself one day when he calls you that himself.”

Your leg bounces anxiously as you watch him situate his mythosaur pendant between his collarbones and as you think of all the meanings that the word possibly possesses, one stands out to you the most.

“Is it something I would be allowed to say to him as well in the future?”

“Yes,” He reaches down to pet your vulptex that’s awkwardly making her way towards his boots, sounding utterly entertained by your inquiry, “Though I cannot promise you that his brain wouldn’t combust if he heard you call him that.”

“Then perhaps I would call him that as payback for all the times he’s teased me about certain things.”

Ezir guffaws at that, remaining diligent in petting the lazy vulptex that’s headbutting his calf in a needy manner, “I like you, little one. I almost didn’t believe Ima when she told me you had stopped the fight between Din and Paz, let alone when she informed me that you had stood up for yourself and the bounty hunter.”

You watch as the older man awkwardly scoops the little vulptex into his arms and you’re grateful that not many seem to mind her presence in the covert, as you’re not sure what you would have done had you been forced to get rid of her.

“I have been belittled by men all my life,” You shyly admit, staring at the little creature that’s reaching up in an attempt to bite his pendant, though Ezir doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as you continue, “And for the longest time, I just learned to keep my mouth shut and deal with it because that’s just the way I was raised, I suppose. These last couple of days have taught me that it does not make me a bad person for only wanting to be treated with respect and my only regret is that I did not realize this sooner in life. Perhaps I’d be a stronger woman if I had realized my worth at a younger age.”

No longer is Ezir petting the vulptex, but instead, he now has his visor trained on you and in return, you offer him a small smile. He remains deathly silent for at least a minute before giving you a curt nod, as though he approves of either you or just your declaration in general.

“In our language, we have a word that I think perfectly describes you, little one,” His gruff, filtered voice drops to something softer as he watches you perk up with curiosity, “Ramikadyc--it means that you have the tenacity and determination of a Mandalorian, that you have our mindset.”

Your heart instantly swells with gratitude and you shyly cross your ankles together as you wring your fingers together on top of your lap, “I would hardly compare myself to your people. I do not think I would have the tenacity or determination to fight against one of those mythosaurs that your ancestors slayed.”

“Something tells me you and I are not too different,” Ezir informs you with what you think is mirth laced within his deep voice, “I do not think you would hesitate to put yourself in harm’s way if it meant protecting someone you care for or someone you do not wish to see to get hurt.”

You smile softly and give him a slight nod as you think of the bounty hunter that you had stood up for, despite him not deserving it, or even your little vulptex that you had taken a blaster shot for. If Ezir truly thinks that you have the heart of a warrior, then he must be saying it for a good reason and his words, along with Ima’s and Paz’s confidence in you, fills you with a little more hope in regards to your future with the tribe.

“Will you tell me more about you?”

“I am afraid my stories might bore you to the point of insanity,” Ezir chuckles, shifting in his seat a little so he can hold your vulptex in a more comfortable position, “But since you seem so curious, what is it you wish to know, little one?”

“Can you tell me more about Mandalore and the civil--?”

Before you can finish, a deep baritone from the entrance of your office interrupts your inquiry and both you and Ezir immediately turn around to find your blue Mandalorian standing tall behind another unarmored Mando, though this one is still taller than you and Ezir. The smaller Mando is holding their wrist protectively against their chest and it takes a few seconds for you to recognize the warrior as one of the younger ones that seems to have a knack for constantly getting hurt during training.

“Saviin’ika,” Paz greets politely with a slight nod, cocking his helmet to the side upon noticing who’s been keeping you company in the short amount of time you two have been apart, “Ezir.”

You raise your brows at the way your warrior tenses up a little upon seeing the elderly man, though you manage to get in a word before any of the Mandalorians can say anything, your attention focused on the injured boy.

“Is your wrist hurt?”

The unarmored Mando peers up at Paz with what you think must be a wary expression through his visor--something that your warrior immediately picks up on. With absolutely no hesitation, the heavy-infantry warrior murmurs something to the younger Mando in his native tongue and you raise your head with anticipation and a kind smile. As though that’s all the confirmation of the young teenager--Vhan--needs, he nods a little and you slide off the end of the cot so your first patient of the day can sit down.

You give the boy a small, encouraging smile as he takes his glove off and pushes up his sleeve to reveal a swollen wrist, “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Paz says immediately, making you raise your brows in surprise at the thought of him somehow hurting someone so young, “He was sparring with his brother and I looked away for a minute. He fell and landed right on his wrist.”

You frown a little at the guilt in his voice, though judging by the exasperated sigh that wafts past Vhan’s modulator, you think this must be a common occurrence amongst the younger ones who get hurt on Paz’s watch.

“Well, it’s hard to tell for sure without x-rays,” You manage to rotate Vhan’s wrist in the slightest, a gesture that seems to cause minimal pain to the boy, “But it looks like it’s just a minor sprain, since there seems to be no crooked bones and you can still move it around a little. Nothing too serious and nothing to feel bad about.”

Paz lets out a relieved huff at the news, though you know your blue warrior enough to know he’s not going to let the guilt down so easily, especially not when it pertains to one of the younger members of the tribe. A knowing grin stretches your lips when Vhan groans, and now you’re certain this isn’t the first time Paz has been worried like a mother hen over the clumsy teen. Though the blue warrior has quite the reputation among all the adults in the covert, it seems he also has a completely different persona when he’s with the younger ones.

“See? I told you it’s fine. Can I go back to training now?” Vhan insists, moving to hop off of the cot, though you are quicker to stop him by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Uh uh,” You shake your head, earning another groan from the teen and what you’re sure are surprised expressions from the two other men occupying the room, “Just because it’s a sprain doesn’t mean you can go running off just to damage it even further. You should at least rest it for forty-eight hours and put some ice on it every thirty minutes for two hours until the pain goes away. Also try to keep it elevated as much as possible.”

“That’s so much work for a little sprain though!” Vhan argues and you let out a soft sigh as you begin to compress his wrist with a thick bandage, “Can’t I just--”

“Hey!” Ezir suddenly sounds annoyed, and you’re surprised when the boy tenses up a little, just as Paz had earlier, and something about their reactions has you growing even more curious to what kind of reputation the elder has among his family, “Listen to the nurse, di’kut. She only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yes sir,” Vhan mumbles, though you can tell he’s still not happy about it when he turns his visor to you, “S-Sorry, Saviin’ika.”

You blink your surprise at him calling you the familiar nickname, but eventually you give him a kind smile and stand up to retrieve your roll of ice wraps, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure it must be difficult for you to miss out on training, but it really is for your own good. I don’t have the resources here to fix your wrist if it was seriously broken, so it’s detrimental to make sure that the sprain heals properly before doing any serious training again. Perhaps there is… um, maybe something else you can do in the meantime that’s not too strenuous?”

He perks up a little and hope instantly flares in your chest as he gives you an eager nod before turning to look at Paz, “You told me the other day that you would show me how to take apart an assault rifle and put it back together--would that be okay?”

Paz glances at you and the boy’s eager tone makes it hard for you to say no, so you give your warrior a reluctant nod as you finish tying the ice wrap around his swollen wrist, “Just as long as you make sure to not move your wrist around too much and keep the ice wrap on, okay?”

“Alright!” He’s instantly hopping off the cot and you chuckle at his newfound excitement, “Thanks vod’ika!”

You huff a little, opening your mouth to stubbornly remind him that you’re far older than him, though he cuts you off with a quick headbutt to your forehead; while it’s not too harsh of a harsh gesture, it’s certainly not as gentle as all the times Paz has performed the same action. You rub your tender forehead as Paz turns to the side a little so Vhan can make his way, presumably, to the armory. Paz shakes his helmet in an exasperated manner as he steps toward you, most likely to get a look at your forehead, but Ezir’s small grunts as he slowly stands up has your full attention.

Instinctively, you move to help the elder up from your office chair, noticing his slight struggle to stand and you force yourself not to cringe at the numerous pops and cracks coming from his knees and back. After a lifetime of fighting and being a medic, you’re certain it’s taken a toll on him, though he simply chuckles a little and pats your back as you both make your way over to Paz.

“I suppose I should take this as my sign to leave you to your duties for the day, verd’ika,” You beam at the new nickname as he carefully grabs onto your elbow for better balance while you lead him to the entrance where Paz is still standing with a cocked helmet, “I’ll have to look for my old medical books and datapads for you to read.”

“Oh, thank you!” Happiness and warmth instantly blankets your heart at his consideration, gratitude filling your soul when you realize that he seems to approve of you being the tribe’s new nurse, “I would love that very much, if it’s not too much of a hassle.”

“Of course not,” He gives your hand a little pat before latching onto a grumpy Paz’s elbow instead, “I’ll just make this one help me later since he can reach the higher shelves.”

“I have other things to--”

Jutting a thumb out in your direction over his shoulder, Ezir sends a rough little whack! of his walking stick to Paz’s armored shin, “It is good she is here with the tribe now--perhaps she can teach you and everyone else some manners, you big brute.”

“Yeah, ori kebiin,” You giggle in a teasing manner, earning a small grunt from the blue warrior, “Would it really kill you to learn a few manners?”

Ezir lets out a loud laugh that has Paz shaking his helmet at you, and though you know you’ll soon regret it, you think it’s worth the delightful torment he’ll inflict on you later when the two of you are alone. Without another word, Paz reaches out to give your nape a tender squeeze before leaving you alone to your thoughts in your little office, though you think that seeing Ezir and helping Vhan has already given you a bright start to your day.

With a faint smile stretched along your lips, you add a few comments to your little notepad and take inventory of the supplies you have and what you need for the next time Paz goes on a supply run. For the most part, the day goes by slowly and uneventfully--something you are actually grateful for, what with being so used to the chaos that came as a result of working in a village full of crime and those with cruel hearts.

Needless to say, you don’t mind a calm day in the slightest and when Ima passes your office hours later to politely inform you that training and sparring lessons are done for the day, you’re grateful that no serious injuries were sustained. Packing up your things and making sure your office is in order, you turn off the lights and exit your office, eager to explore the covert a little more and go to the room that Paz and Ima had decorated for you.

After conversing with a few of the Mandalorians you had befriended in the short amount of time you’ve been at the covert, you happily make your way down the stairs that you know leads to everyone’s private quarters, as well as the nursery and your little flower alcove.

You hum a mindless tune to yourself as you stroll down the long tunnel, smiling when the atmosphere gets a little warmer when you pass the shielded alcove that leads into the nursery; your walking slows a little and you’re half tempted to go inside and say hi to the little ones, though you don’t want to cause any chaos again, especially so late in the day. Reluctantly, you continue past the nursery and make your way to the little room Paz and Ima had decorated with your flowers, your vulptex resting comfortably in your arms as you two seek out relaxation.

“I need to think of a name for you, little one,” You murmur, earning a soft gaze from her, crimson eyes slowly blinking up at you, “Maybe I should ask one of the younglings to come up with one. They must be far more creative than me.”

She simply answers you with a dramatic huff as you continue down the path that Paz had already taken you down a few times.

You’re completely oblivious to the little footsteps following you far behind.

Finally, you make it to your beloved sanctuary and let out a relieved sigh upon seeing all your growing flowers and the lights that hang above them. Placing your little vulptex on the center of the desk where you had placed a little pillow for her, you dutifully water the plants and flowers that look like they need it the most. It’s comforting to have a little place of your own, especially after dealing with so many of the boisterous warriors all day and while you feel as though you’re slowly getting used to their antics, you realize you truly had no idea what you were getting yourself into upon agreeing to be the tribe’s nurse.

A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips as you feel the tiniest ache in your temple where the younger Mandalorian had headbutted his gratitude a little too roughly earlier, though warmth fills your heart when you remember how he had referred to you as his sister.

You’re in the middle of checking on your little violets when your vulptex raises her head in a jolting manner; immediately, you turn around, expecting Paz or perhaps Ima needing you to tend to someone’s wound.

It is neither one of them, you realize with surprise.

You let out a little gasp upon seeing a pair of wide, fearful eyes poking from the tiny crack between the curtains and the doorway and you instantly recognize the sad, golden brown orbs from days ago in the nursery.

“Oh, it’s okay, little one!” You give him a warm smile that instantly seems to allay some of the despair in his big eyes, “You may come in, if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, he makes his way into the unfamiliar room, looking like a lost animal that’s experiencing a new environment for the first time and you think you know the feeling all too well; even after spending a few days at the covert, you still feel quite lost and you can’t possibly imagine what this child is going through.

You blink your surprise when he gets halfway across the room before spotting your lazy vulptex who is still curled up on your desk, staring at the boy curiously, though not unkindly in the slightest. Carefully, you make your way closer to the little who simply stares up at you with wide starry eyes, his hands clasped together politely in front of him and your heart melts at how nervous and scared he seems.

“It’s okay, little one,” You reassure him in a calm, hushed tone, reaching your hand out for him to take, “She loves younglings very much and would never hurt you, I promise.”

The curly-haired boy shifts his gaze between you and your rocky companion before ultimate latching onto your hand with his. Cautiously and without any force, you guide him closer to your desk where the vulptex is still observing the little boy with gentle eyes; you think that on top of being intelligent, her species must also be quite empathetic and can differentiate a kind soul from a dark one.

“Is it okay if I pick you up?” You question the boy softly, earning you a shy nod as an answer, and you carefully haul him up to the chair in front of your desk, keeping a hand pressed to the back of his shoulders to keep him steady, should he stumble, “If you want to hold your hand out to sniff it, it’ll be a sign that you want to be her friend.”

His eyes widen a little more and you can’t help but to grin as he holds a shaking hand out for the rocky vulpine to sniff eagerly, his other hand pressed shyly to his cheek in anticipation. A tiny, childish giggle meets your ears and warms your heart as the vulptex licks his palm, though he is quick to pull his damp hand back and wipe it on his beige tunic with a scrunched up expression. When he smiles up at you, you’re certain your heart is going to melt into a big puddle of goo in the pit of your stomach and you offer him one in return, smoothing his dark, unruly curls away from his forehead.

“See? She knows you’re brave and likes you now.”

He gives you a toothy grin and you feel a lovely warmth in your soul knowing that you were able to provide some emotional reprieve for the sweet child.

“Did you sneak away from the nursery, little one?” You ask him gently, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him at all; he simply drops his head in shame and you continue to stroke his curls in an attempt to comfort him, “It’s okay! You’re not in trouble, I promise. I just want to know why.”

For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to answer as he keeps his head lowered, but then he eventually peers up at you and whispers his response in a tiny, meek voice.

“Y-You were singing,” He explains quietly, and you realize he must have heard you humming and followed you all the way here, “‘M sorry.”

“Hey, no, none of that,” You crouch down in front of him so he’s taller than you while he stands on your chair and you give him a kind smile, “It’s okay, but how about next time you just ask the caretaker on duty, alright? They’ll come find me, wherever I may be.”

He gives you a shy nod, seeming thoughtful for a few moments as he presses a chubby index finger to his pouting lips, “Do I have to go back?”

You should say yes and you know it, but his eyes are all but pleading with you to say no and he looks so hopeful that you’ll let him keep you company. You think he must feel just as out of place as you do, not knowing who to talk to or who to trust, though you seem to be the one person he finds solace in.

How could you destroy that tiny amount of trust he already has in you?

You give him a tiny smile and shake your head, “You may stay for a little while, but I fear I do not make for the most exciting company, little one.”

The boy doesn’t say anything to that and you blink your surprise when he reaches out to clumsily touch the thick braid wrapped around your crown, along with the few flowers that you had strategically placed throughout the weaves that morning when Paz had been watching you. He seems curious by the vibrant flora, his eyes blinking and flickering with awe and you bow your head a little so he can get a better look at them.

“Do you like flowers?” You ask him quietly when he eventually ceases his exploration, and you look up to see him giving you a shy little nod, “What’s your favorite kind?”

You expect him to not know many, especially if he’s spent his few years of life on Nevarro, though he surprises you when he speaks in a barely there whisper, “I like roses--like the ones my ‘gramma used to paint.”

You’re desperately inclined to ask more about his grandmother--if he had any parents and what planet he had been saved from, but if he’s the covert’s newest foundling, the wounds on his heart and mind must still be so fresh and you do not wish to infect it further with your invasive questions. Instead, you force yourself to give him a warm, big smile and somehow manage to keep the tears out of your eyes when his chubby fingers find the little blue flower that Paz had tucked behind your ear earlier in the morning.

“Yeah? I bet they were beautiful,” You grin and he gives you a fervent little nod to confirm your thoughts, “What color roses did she paint?”

And what you thought was only going to be a ten or twenty minute interaction with the boy ends up to be more than an hour and a half long meeting where the two of you talk about harmless topics like flowers, favorite animals, different types of stars and constellations. Though for once, you do most of the talking and you are more than satisfied to describe the beautiful hot springs and caves that Paz had taken you to, sparing all the mushy details that you knew would probably gross out a child.

“He’s scary,” The boy murmurs as you tell him of the story, at least the clean version, of how Paz had stood up for you the night you first found your vulptex, “They all are--they don’t smile.”

“Well of course they do,” You inform the little one, curling a finger against his cheek and earning a tiny giggle, “Everyone smiles, you just can’t see it because they wear their helmets to honor their creed. It does not mean they are robots or incapable of feeling the same emotions we do.”

He’s perched on one of your thighs, seeming comfortable as he softly pets the sleeping vulptex and you smile down at him sympathetically upon realizing he’s still apprehensive of the armored warriors, “I was scared of Paz at first too, but he turned out to be one of the kindest, most honorable men I have ever met. These people are not cruel, but I understand why you are afraid, little one. I have only been here for three days and I am still learning how to fit in as well. Perhaps we can figure this out together.”

He gives you another toothy grin and nods, seeming comforted by your words as he leans back into you and your heart aches at the trust he shows in you; a part of you wonders if it’s because he can actually see your face. You’re not entirely sure of what to say as he continues to pet the sleepy animal, smiling whenever he hears the soft squeaks that the vulptex lets out every now and then.

“Do you have a name little one?” You ask kindly--tenderly--hoping that the question won’t overwhelm him as he tilts his head to stare up at you.

You truly don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then after a few moments of silence, he lowers his head a little, not looking you in the eyes.

“Odisian.”

“Odisian... what a lovely name,” You repeat it with a grin, earning a shy smile from him, “Is it okay if I call you Odi? Or do you prefer your full name?”

Suddenly, he beams up at you and kicks his legs a little, as if having a nickname makes him feel more at home, “I like Odi!”

Your cheeks nearly hurt from how big you’re smiling at him and you nod, deciding it’s best not to dwell too much on his own name or what nicknames he might have had before being brought to the covert. You straighten your spine a little and reach out to pet your little vulptex who keens under all the adoration and attention she’s suddenly receiving from you and the little one.

“Would you like to pick out a name for her?” You ask him softly, tilting your head to the side when he gives you an expression filled with awe and wonder, like he can’t believe you are asking him to do such a thing, “She needs one and I do not think I am creative enough to bestow her with such an honor.”

Odi swings his legs nervously and you can’t help but to grin as he seems to seriously contemplate this huge decision, his tiny hand squeezing his cheeks together in great concentration. You remain patient with him as he turns his head a little to stare at all the flowers on your desk and the colorful vines that are draping off the edge of the shelves attached to the wall with admiration.

“Rosie?”

He says it more as a question, like he’s nervous for your response, so you offer him a warm grin when you realize this sweet child wants to name your vulptex after his own favorite flower. You wonder if he somehow knows just how much your flowers mean to you, just as Paz does, or if the flower simply has some sort of deeper meaning to him and you playfully ruffle his curls, earning you a little giggle from him.

“That is far more lovely of a name than I could ever come up for her,” You inform him, your cheeks hurting from how big of a smile you’re wearing on your face and he perks up at your reassurance, no longer seeming quite as nervous, “Her eyes are red like roses too! Is red your favorite color?”

“I like yellow,” He bashfully admits, and you nearly chuckle at the way he pronounces his ‘L’s as ‘W’s, “It is a happy color.”

You agree with him as you begin to collect some flowers for the little boy, though a part of you lamely thinks he probably doesn’t even want them. You’re in the process of pointing out all the different flowers that Paz and Ima had been so kind to plant for you in anticipation of your arrival when the drapes to your alcove shuffle to the side a little.

You’re completely unaware of how long your blue warrior is standing in the entryway, simply observing you and the little one perched contently on top of your leg who seems utterly interested in what you have to tell him about the healing properties of violets and lavender.

“Oh! And then this one right here, if you just grind it up and add it into--”

“Cyare.”

Immediately, you and Odi both turn to face where Paz is standing just feet away in front of the rounded entrance, though the little one in your arms is quick to lower his head in fear of the massive warrior. Wanting the youngling to feel more comfortable, you simply smile up at Paz, who suddenly seems frozen to his spot as he stares at you with a cocked helmet, his shoulders tense as his pauldrons inch closer to the bottom of his helmet.

“Is something wrong, Paz?”

“No, it’s just--” His helmet slightly jolts to the side and he’s acting odd as you gently heave Odi off of your lap, offering him the little bundle of flowers so he won’t feel so lonely without you by his side, “It is time for the younglings to sleep and the caretaker on duty got scared because he was missing. I thought you might know where he is and it seems as though I was right.”

Odi is staring up at you with the saddest expression, as though he’s pleading with you to not return him back to the nursery and you gently cup the back of his curls, giving him a kind smile in return. Nervously, he fiddles with his hands as you stand up, easily scooping your vulptex into the crook of your elbow, all while the little one stares up at Paz with the most frightened expression you’ve ever witnessed, hiding behind your leg.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere and you’re more than welcome to visit me anytime,” You offer him a reassuring smile as he gazes down at the little bouquet of flowers and he is quick to grab your outstretched hand with an eager expression, “C’mon, I’ll walk you back. Besides, he likes flowers too--I bet he would like it if you gave him one.”

You say the last sentence in a low whisper, as though you’re sharing some sort of gossip with him and you instantly notice the way he perks up as Paz holds the drapes to the side for you, his helmet still tilted to the side as he observes you two. Odi is still quiet and thoughtful as he stares down at the little bundle of colorful flowers you had gifted him, all while holding your hand as Paz slowly leads you through the dim tunnels.

Shyly, the child gazes up at Paz and warmth blooms in your heart and soul when he lowers his helmet to regard Odi with what you’re certain is the utmost kindness, most likely wanting nothing more than to earn the boy’s trust. Without saying anything, the little one holds up the colorful bouquet of flowers for Paz to see and you grin at the adorable interaction.

"Those are... pretty,” Paz comments in a softer voice and you can tell he’s trying to appear as placid as possible to the nervous boy, “Which one is your favorite?”

Odi lets go of your hand to press his index finger to his bottom lip in severe contemplation and you nearly chuckle at what must be a cute little habit that he does unknowingly when he’s thinking too hard. After a moment’s consideration, he points a chubby finger at one of the many violets that you had tucked in the center and you instantly grin.

“Those are my favorite too,” Paz says quietly, and you’re too focused on the way Odi is smiling down at the little bouquet to notice the Mandalorian’s visor trained on your face.

Odi seems conflicted as he gently tugs one of the violets from the middle of the colorful bundle and offers it to the huge warrior with a hopeful gaze, not saying a word throughout the entire exchange.

“What an honor,” Paz sounds like he's grinning as he accepts the little flower and Odi immediately seeks out your hand again, “Thank you.”

The youngling peers up at you with a cheerful glimmer in his eye, as though he’s proud of himself for showing such bravery and selflessness in the presence of a powerful warrior. Once you offer him a knowing smile and a gentle squeeze of his hand, Odi turns to gaze down at his colorful bouquet with a tiny grin on his face.

Content upon realizing the little one no longer seems sad or fearful, you tilt your head up to beam happily at Paz, your heart still full of love and admiration towards both him and Odi; immediately the warrior lifts his hand to tenderly stroke your cheek. The cold bite of leather nearly makes you flinch and suddenly you’re remorseful that both of your hands are occupied by your littlest companions as you now long to touch the lighter blue in the hollows of his cheeks.

It’s not until you make it back to the nursery that Odi’s smile drops and his lips form into a little pout. Paz presses his gloved hand to the small of your back to guide you further into the nursery and through a short tunnel leading the four of you to where the younglings must sleep and take their naps.

“Hey,” You whisper after the four of you enter a dimly lit room with several beds lined up; you notice the tiny lumps curled up underneath the fuzzy blankets and smile as you crouch down in front of Odi, “Remember what I said, okay? You ever want to come see me, just ask one of the caretakers. I’ll always be here for you.”

He nods, and before you can even think about standing up, he steps forward to wrap his tiny arms around your neck and you’re quick to return the sweet gesture, your free hand coming up to gently cup the back of his head. You feel his chubby fingers curl into the hair you had left unbraided that morning and smile when he holds onto you a little tighter; you can tell he’s still afraid of you leaving as an idea pops into your head.

“Since Rosie seems to like you so much, why don’t I leave her here with you for the night?” Immediately, he pulls away from you, his starry eyes wide and filled with disbelief as you gently shuffle the lazy vulpine into his awaiting arms, “She may be small, but she’s a fierce little thing that will protect you from any nightmares you may have, I promise.”

He holds the animal closer to his chest, grinning when she lifts her head to lick at his cheek and Odi instantly giggles in response. He gives you one last shy smile before making his way to his little bed and you stand up to your full height as you watch him shuffle underneath his blankets, all while holding Rosie close to his chest. It’s not until you watch his eyes close that you let out a deep exhale and you wonder when you had stopped breathing; tears nearly escape your eyes when you watch Rosie curl herself closer to the child, head tucked underneath his chin as he smiles sleepily.

“Ner cyare,” Paz whispers and you jump a little, nearly forgetting that he had been standing there this whole time; you turn to face him and you give him a questioning look when he threads his fingers through the valleys between yours, “There is something I want to show you.”

You think when he says ‘something’, he most likely means ‘someone’, and your heart thrums wildly in anticipation as he leads you away from the younglings’ sleeping quarters. The alcove he’s leading you to is the one he had popped out of a few days ago after you confronted him after the fight, you realize, and you wonder what could possibly be in the room that he seems so excited to show you.

You blink owlishly at him as he politely holds the drapes to the side for you and you hesitantly enter the warm room; instantly, another Mandalorian with black and yellow armor turns to face you and Paz. Before you can offer the stranger an affable greeting, a soft whimper cuts you off and your heart instantly freezes over when you spot a wooden crib in the corner of the dim room.

An infant…

There is an infant in the covert and the thought simultaneously terrifies you and breaks your heart.

Paz quietly says something in his mother tongue when the caretaker on duty tenses as you step forward to try to get a better look at the distressed infant, your heart now pounding so wildly that you hear it in your ears. Whatever Paz said to the caretaker immediately seems to calm them down and they simply watch as you observe the fussy baby that is kicking its little feet wildly and growing even more distressed. The infant is wearing tiny white socks and a long, dark brown tunic that falls to her ankles; her little head is adorned with a white beanie, but you see dark tufts of hair poking out from underneath.

“I… I cannot get her to stop crying,” The Mandalorian’s deep, filtered voice is coated with exhaustion and despite the tears burning your eyes, you fixate your attention on the defeated Mando, the vibrancy of the yellow stripes painted on his black armor nearly hurting your eyes, “What am I doing wrong?”

You wonder if he’s ever had to take care of an infant before, but judging by the way the black and yellow Mando shuffles around nervously makes you think it is not all too common of an occurrence in the tribe.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, shaking off your fears and insecurities as you remind yourself that you were brought here to take care of others, “O-Okay, how old is she?”

“I only found her a few weeks ago, cyare,” Paz informs you quietly, not wanting to disturb the baby even more, and you turn around to gaze up at him with wide, watery eyes; he must see the confusion etched on your features because he immediately explains himself, “I was walking back from seeing you one night and found her abandoned behind one of the vendors in the marketplace. I can’t… I can’t imagine what kind of monster does such a thing.”

You know all too well of the monsters that are capable of leaving a helpless creature behind to die, most likely feeling no guilt when they close their eyes at night.

You nod again and let out a shaky exhale as the caretaker turns his body to the side and allows you to lean over the crib, your chest aching something fierce as you carefully scoop up the tiny creature into your arms. Instantly, she lets out with a piercing, shrill scream and you heave a small sigh at how fussy of a little thing she is, though you think you already know what her problem is.

“What are you--?”

The strange Mandalorian jolts forward a little as you shuffle the crying baby around in your arms until her chest and stomach is resting against the inside of your forearm, her arms and chubby legs dangling lazily around in the air and her cheek tucked against the crook of your elbow. It takes a few moments of tenderly stroking her back to get her cries to soften into something less ear shattering, and you let out a relieved sigh when her whimpers turn into little coos and grunts.

“I think she might be colic,” You inform the caretaker with a shaky whisper, his helmet tilted to the side with what you think is either curiosity or shock as she dribbles, “I’ve uh, I’ve seen this before and read about it. Are you making sure to burp her after each feeding? Or perhaps she should be using a different formula if she has a sensitive tummy?”

“I--” He drops his helmet a little, staring at the cooing infant that you’re bouncing a little, “She wasn’t spitting anything up and I just thought… I wasn’t sure how to do it, how to burp her.”

You give the black and yellow Mando a sympathetic expression and nod, your eyes still burning with tears, “Babies can be pretty fussy sometimes, but once you find out how they like to be held and handled, it makes things a little bit easier. This tends to be a good trick at calming a lot of babies, but you need to make sure she gets burped after every feeding or else she’ll be really uncomfortable and even fussier than normal.”

“Thank you,” The caretaker nods his gratitude as you continue to stroke her back and you give him a weak smile in response, “Could you maybe get her to go to sleep? I should check on the others and I--”

‘Need a breather.’

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you hear it in the way his deep voice drops and his shoulders fall at the mere thought of having a few moments of peace and relaxation.

He fidgets when you hesitate, though Paz places a gentle hand on your nape and he must realize that something is wrong as he squeezes the warm skin there; it’s something he only does when he’s trying to comfort you. Afraid that your voice will fail you, you offer the caretaker a jittery nod and he wastes no time in leaving the nursery that’s dedicated to this tiny infant.

You find it difficult to even look at Paz as you make your way over to the rocking chair that seems far too small for any Mandalorian and slowly sink down until you’re sitting comfortably with a cooing, sleepy baby tucked in your arms. A soft sigh escapes your lungs when you feel a little bit of drool soak through the material covering your elbow and you risk a glance at Paz when he gets down on a knee next to the rocking chair, his gloved hand moving to gently squeeze your bicep.

“What happened?” He questions as quietly as possible, warranting a tiny grunt from the irascible infant, “Why are you so sad all of a sudden?”

The way he asks such a question so softly instantly leaves you feeling painfully raw and vulnerable and you are quick to shoulder away a tear before he can wipe it away for you; you shake your head viciously, “It’s nothing.”

“Cyare--”

“I will explain later.”

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod and retrieves a piece of cloth for you as you move the calmed baby to burp her against your shoulder. You can tell he wants to say something as you pat her between the shoulders, but he remains silent and tilts his helmet to the side upon hearing the infant gurgle and do her business against the cloth draped over your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep once she’s burped up all the air and spit from her meal and you let out a grateful sigh when you watch her eyelids slowly droop, somewhat eager to get her out of your arms and into her crib.

Once she’s comfortable in her cradle and fast asleep, you are quick to exit the little alcove, Paz hot on your heels as you practically storm past the exhausted-looking caretaker who’s sitting on a stone ledge in the main play area.

“Hey thank you for--”

You’re out of the nursery before he can fully express his gratitude to you and you hear Paz mutter something to the caretaker before rushing after you. Halfway down the tunnel leading to his private quarters, Paz catches up to you and carefully wraps his leather-clad fingers around your bicep, turning you around to face him.

“Cyare! What’s going--?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until you hear your own voice and Paz’s other hand comes to squeeze your shoulder in a comforting manner, “Wh-Why didn’t you tell me there was a baby and why would you make me…? I didn’t know and... Maker, she was so much like--”

Your chest is heaving, tears streaming from your cheeks like raging waterfalls and Paz gently pulls you to the side and covers you when another Mandalorian passes you two, giving you what you’re certain is a curious gaze. He cups a massive hand to the side of your neck and leans down as you continue to sob and babble incoherent pleas at him, wondering why he’d put you through this, though he truly had no idea what he had done to you.

“I-I am sorry, cyare,” He breathes, squeezing your bicep firmly with his other hand, “You seemed to love the little ones so much and I thought… I thought you would love to see the baby, but I didn’t think…” He shakes his helmet in a jolting manner as you viciously rub at your eyes and cheeks, “What happened? What did I do wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” You ignore his frantic questions as you try desperately to stop the tears escaping your eyes, along with the horrific memories from flooding your mind, “I didn’t mean to be so rude! I thought I was over it and I could forget, but seeing her...”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” He hushes you in a kind manner, shielding you from any wandering eyes that might see your tears, “Why don’t… why don’t we go back to our room and you can tell me what’s going on? That’s what you said the other day, right? That we should talk about the things we feel?”

You nod your answer, not trusting your voice in that moment, and you try your hardest to force down the massive lump in your throat.

“Will you tell me why you are so broken up over seeing the baby?”

He’s quick to pull you in close, hunching over to hold you easier and you immediately stuff your face into the crook of his neck as you give him another jittery nod, “I fear you will hate me upon hearing what I’ve done in the past--how I have failed the ones I was supposed to take care of.”

“I… I could never feel such a thing towards you,” He promises with a deep exhale, sounding just as heartbroken as he reluctantly pulls away and leads you closer to his private quarters, keeping a firm hand on the small of your back, “Whatever it is, I could never hate you, I swear.”

Your chest aches more and more the closer you get to his private quarters and once you finally make it, he’s quick to sit you down on the foot of his bed, kneeling down as he collects your hands in his leather-clad ones.

“What is haunting you, ner cyare? What makes you cry so much when you sleep?”

You pray that once you tell him, the horrific memories won’t weigh heavy on your conscience any longer.

Translations:

Ner cyare=My beloved

Mesh’la=Beautiful

Ori Kebiin=Big blue

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum=I love you (lit. I know you forever)

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Verd’ika= Little soldier

Di’kut=Idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aerynwrites @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero @haloangel391 @awhiskeywithawinchester @aliciaxglasgow @bonesaldente @kawaiitimecharm @karaabove @clydesducktape @misssilvertongue @heartxheat @pazvizslasgirl4ever (Please let me know if I missed you or you’d like to be taken off!!)

Author’s note: As always, thank you all so much for being as patient and kind as ever <3 I don’t know why this chapter was such a struggle for me to finish, but I’m so glad eventually managed to get all the words I wanted down lol. I was worried it might seem like there’s a lot going on in this chapter, but I just wanted more interactions with our nurse getting more settled in with the tribe and meeting others, so hopefully this chapter doesn’t seem like it’s all over the place :( Anyways I love you all and thank you so much for all the support y’all continuously give me <33

#paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #Paz vizsla x you #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #my writing #IDK WHY I'M SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS CHAPTER OML #I hope you guys enjoy it tho <3 #also now y'all know why christina and I were fighting over wearing socks to bed lmfao

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