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schlattslonghairytoes · 4 months ago

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paint me like one of your french models 🎨

A.P calc teacher schlatt x A.P studio art teacher reader

Mr. Schlatts halloween party takes quite the turn.

Once all the girls at the table calmed down, their only request was that they were filled in about your weekend plans on monday, to which you actually agreed

now the hard part was picking a cute costume for you and schlatt, i mean he didn't really seem like a costume kinda guy

there was 20 minutes left in the period and you needed to find something fast

it was the last class of the day and schlatts party was tomorrow, and you knew you wanted to hand make yours and schlatts costume

so you turned to the six bright eyed girls you had grown to love

your class was very relaxed, if they did their work and you would play music games and movies, your students loved you

but these girls ADORED you.

it was alanna, deyvn, natalia, lucy, renn, and kezia.

they were all so genuinely themselves, and they made you feel like you were one of them, they told you EVERYTHING, and i mean everything.

each one had such a different personality, yet they all were so close. You were gonna miss them next year

you slid your wheely chair over to their table and called for their attention

“Girls, im calling a meeting, i need your help” you sighed and looked around at them

"thats funny considering youre the teacher." alanna giggeled to herself

"shut up al, i wanna hear about her and mr schlatt" kezia said, suddenly paying very close attention, she never cared about classes, but gossip, oh she would have an A+ if it was a class

"dont be rude, anyways, as you heard before, me and ja- Mr. schlatt. are gonna have a matching costume for his party tomorrow and you guys are much cooler than me, what should we be?" you begged

each girl began searching pintrest and finding ideas until renn found something she deemed great

"ok, lightbulb! you guys should be adam and eve" everyone began to protest her idea but she continued on "everyone shut it, hear me out. number one hes religious, right? number two your bodies tea. you would look hot as fuck. cmon its a great idea."

"renn let me get this straight, you want me to wear a leaf over my cooch? and boobs? to a school function? with other teachers from this school??? yknow what your on a ban, no more ideas from you"

they all started hysterically laughing as renn raised her hands in surrender "any ideas that i can wear without being slut shamed by the schools faculty?" you asked

natalia was up next " what if you did flynn and rapunzel, wait no, actually tell Mr. Nivison to be Flynn, ugh hes so hot, why not match with him." that began a four minute argument about weither Mr. Schlatt was hotter, or Mr. Nivison

"can someone please lock in and find me a costume?" you begged over their debate

"okay i might have an idea." deyvn said, "ok so what if you were the starry night and Mr. schlatt was van gogh." she suggested, before i could even comment lucy butted in

"wait that would be so cute, ugh you never shut about about van gogh either! you could wear a little dress and like paint the starry on your face, or on the dress, and schlatt could do like an ear patch thingy, and the hat he wears, wait i love this!"

they all began throwing ideas at you about how you could execute the costume, and while some of their ideas were rancid, it could actually be a very cute costume.

when the period ended they all said their goodbyes, and while you were packing up schlatt made his way to your classroom and opened it with his key

"BOO" he tried to scare you

"i literally saw you jay" you laughed and you slid your laptop into your bag.

"ugh, ill get you eventually, dont even worry about it, did ya pick somthin' for us to wear tomorrow?" he made his way infront of your desk and leaned his weight on the table

"i did actually, you have to hear me out though, it might sound dumb." he quickly cuts you off

"nothing you say is dumb" he was looking up at you and his eyes were very warm, much more than usual, it threw you off your game for a moment

"um, well thank you, but seriously, let me explain it before you say anything, i think it would be cute if we were the starry night and van gogh bu-"

"i love that." he cuts you off, still staring at you with the same look in his eyes as before

it was overwhelming you the way he was looking at you, but at the same time it pulled you in.

"no questions? i mean what if i wanted to dye your hair red." i laugh quietly

"id let you." he says without missing a beat

"m' not gonna do that, when should i bring you your costume, or like help you get ready or something." you felt very judged by his gaze, but not in a negative way, if that makes any sense, he was really confusing you.

"well party starts at 8, so come over early, we can get ready together, maybe even pregame a bit, and only if you want you can help setup. sound good?" he said softly

"yeah, sounds good." you said back, copying his tone of voice

"see ya' tomorrow toots." he stood up and walked out the room without looking back, the door clicked shut and he left you with nothing but your thoughts.

what the fuck was that.

you were so confused about what had just went down

why on earth was he looking at you like that

since when was he calling you toots, he always just called you by your name, no pet names

all those thoughts continued to plauge your mind for the duration of the night

and the next morning

and the afternoon

all the way until it was time to head over to schlatts house

it was in a nice area, he lived right outside the city, near astoria, queens

he had told you before that he commuted every day to work, but it was only a 20-40 minute drive depending on traffic

when you arrived at his house the first thing you noticed was how it was a very old building, yet his very new car (very expensive) was sat outside, it was a very symbolic scene, but it felt like him in a way

you got to the door, bag and a bottle of benedictine in hand, and rung the door bell, and it was taking quite a long time, you were starting to worry

but you were suprised when the door flung open revealing a very disheveled looking schlatt

"holy shit thank everything your here, im such an idiot i fully fell asleep and i just woke up and now im gonna crash out." as he rambled you set down your stuff at a nearby table

you walked back over to him and placed both your hands on his face, attempting to calm him down "johnny look at me please"

you noticed his eyes darting around and lip trembling. he had mentioned his severe anxiety to you before but you never knew it got this bad

`"hey im right here its ok, were going to get everything done, i know youre stressed but we are gonna do this together, we have time, and we can even make it fun, ok?" his eyes slowly begin to focus on yours and his lip began to calm

you moved one of your hands to his and let him ground himself and calm down, eventually he was able to let go of your hand and give you a hug

hugging him was the best thing youve ever experienced, he engulfed your whole body and rested his head atop yours and for a moment you felt true peace

your breathing syncronized and you stood there holding eachother

until you felt something fuzzy brush against your leg, and you pulled away to find two cats rubbing at your legs, and orange and black cat to be specific

you looked back at schlatt and he was smiling at you "they like you, makes sense, i do too." your eyes widened and you fully turned yourself in his direction

"what did you just say?" you squint your eyes and point at him "can you repeat that" you said through your smile

"i said i like you, and we both know you heard me the first time" he moved closer to you with a grin you were growing to love plastered across your face

"maybe i just wanted to hear you say it again" you smirk, before turning around and picking up his orange cat, "whats this one called?" you smile

"oh were just gonna smooth past that huh?" he asked accusatorially, one eyebrow raised, as he walked closer to you

being around schlatt made you feel bold, you were so comfortable around him that it boosted your confidence tenfold, you got super close to him, lips mear inches away

"i like you too, but we have alot to do, so we'll talk about it later." it wasnt a question, you looked up at him and then, walked away

you made your way to his kitchen and started pouring food into plasic bowls you found on the kitchen table

"you think your funny huh?" he made his way into the kitchen around 20 seconds after you, what you didnt know is he needed a moment to ajust himself in his pants

"hilarious, we an two hours until people arrive, and i need atleast and hour to get ready, make your self busy." you said as you continued setting up the food.

"your very bossy, yknow' that?" he laughed as he began unraveling cob webs he bought days prior.

"oh you have no idea handsome." you walked out the kitchen and started setting up lights cobwebs and fake bats on the celing of the living room

for the next hour you two would shamelessly flirt and joke around, like before, but there was now this tension, that in all honesty, you really liked

then came time to get ready, you had bought everything for schlatt, all he had to do was put it on, and leave you alone to do your makeup

but omfg he would not.

you were sat on his bathroom counter, trying to recreate the starry night on your face, but this man would not stop talking and asking you questions

you looked over at him sat on the closed toilet, just yapping, he was wearing a dark blue button up, and nice fitting jeans, along with a white patch on his ear, with fake blood on it.

fuck he looked good, but you could contain yourself. schlatt on the other hand was basically foaming at the mouth

you were wearing a relatively short dress, that was low-cut and had puffy sleeves, your hair was down, and your face was painted like the starry night.

and he genuinly thought he was gonna splooge his pants.

you on the other hand were just trying to finish your makeup, and he needed to be in another room because he kept distracting you, so the only logical task you could give him was to go make you a drink, and he listened

you were done with you makeup and you went to go meet him in the kitchen, you stood at the doorway of his kitchen waiting for him to notice you were there

when he eventually turned around, you could see in his eyes the moment he realised you were there, his entire face softened and his eyes beamed at you. he walked closer to you inspecting the makeup on your face

he was very close, you could feel his breath on you, and you didnt mind, you even considered kissing him, but of course, as if fate was not on your side, the door bell rung

and you both began to laugh as he went to go welcome the guests, you on the other hand went and chugged the drink he made you, cause without it, you might not of been able to survive the night

-everyone started arriving, and it was the most fun youve had in a while, music blasting, drinks chugged, storys told, dancing and party games

-and schlatt could not keep his eyes off you

-you laughed, flirted and smiled the night away until everyone began leaving, but you offered to help him clean up, and of course he accepted

-he had changed the music from his party playlist, to his calm playlist and the first song that came on was "something stupid" by frank sinatra

"i love frank sinatra" you laughed as you wiped his counter down with a paper towel.

without missing a beat he began to sing along to the song "i know i stand in line, until you think you have the time, to spend an evening with me" in the most beautiful singing voice youve ever heard

naturally you sang along with him, and eventually you to ended up dancing together in his kitchen, to frank sinatra, dressed as a painter and his work of art

and somehow, after only having this man in your life for just over a month, you were never going to let him leave it.

you both finished cleaning, and it was time for you to head home, as he walked you to your car you felt an overwhelming feeling, something that you couldnt put your finger on, like your heart felt like it was going to explode

you placed your stuff in the passenger seat of your car, and you went around to find schlatt holding open your door for you

and thats what did it

you grabbed the collar of this shirt and pulled him down to your level and kissed him

for a split second you had thought you made a mistake, but that fear subsided when he kissed you back and aggressively wrapped his arms around your waist

he pushed your back against your car with his body and continued kissing you as you threaded your fingers through his hair

you pulled away to breathe and he stared at you with a dopey grin on his face

"see you monday?" you asked with a love sick smile

he pecked both of your cheeks, then both sides of your smile before planting a kiss on your lips, as you giggled. when he finally pulled away he kissed your forehead and said,

"see you monday." he kissed your hand one last time and began walking inside, once again leaving you with your thoughts

you silently got in your car, and you realised you could finally identify that feeling before

it was love.

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hyukascampfire · 2 months ago

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𝓣HE FROST REMEMBERS ࣪˖ ִִ h.k

artblock has one weakness: creation. it just so happens that you decide to make your final hurrah, the greatest work of your life, out of winter’s most gentle gift. and, the frost remembers. . ۫︎ ︎ ︎︎

⺡ ࣪˒ ( ☃️ ) ･ 2k

𝓹airings ˒ snowman!kai x art student!reader

𝒢 ; fluff ˒ angst

𝔀arnings ˒ fluff, angst, mentions of past deaths, chubby!reader, kai is in fact a man made of snow, more of a drabble, not proofread yet (i’ll get to it when i wake up from this big ol nap hehe)

✎୭ ashlynn's note i want to thank @aduh0308 and her lovely brain for this one! this was such a beautiful idea that i honestly was so nervous about executing. i hope i pulled it off well enough!! it was supposed to have a way, way heavier end, but honestly as much as i love the poeticism of that ending, it just wasn’t right for this fic. hehe now i press post and knock out!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

The snow winks at you differently, today.

Jaw tight, you kick and tread through heavy snow piles. The air is like glass on your cheeks and snowflakes wet your head where they come falling down over you, but faulty paint strokes and the heavy weight of a paintbrush in your hands smear over it.

No matter how you plan before sitting down to create, it just falls flat. The colors are flat and wrong, the shapes don’t bloom into story, and…

None of it looks good. It’s as simple as that. You are shit at it, and it’s what you’ve chosen to do for the rest of your life. When you’re not able to make something worthwhile, even for a grade?

You don’t create much for school, and you create nothing at home. All that will come from you putting brush to canvas is wasting the hours of your day away. All that will come is creating something that further solidifies your failings. Maybe you aren’t the worst, but you are a lifetime away from the best. That doesn’t get you anywhere; so what is the point of it? It’s pointless. You are doing something pointless with your life, and you are only going to hate it more each time you drag your feet into the classroom you once loved to slather paint on canvas. And then, when you take that long walk back home that leaves you an awful amount of time to think, you come to one conclusion.

You can’t create. Not if you want to preserve that talent that you once had. Or, at least your ability to believe that you have it. If you pick up your tools and from it create something awful, then your fear becomes real. So, you can’t.

Today, you’ll create your last piece. Something impermanent, that you can kick down and move on from. Then, you’ll drop out, and find something else. Maybe someday, you’ll find what you used to feel for your first love again. You hope so; you’ve watched it leave you with each frustrated swipe of the brush and felt it go when your throat would tighten at the sight of your finished projects. Losing that love is something featured in stories since the dawn of humanity. But, losing this love is different. You can’t go and speak with it, nor can you plead with it, and you certainly cannot touch it to drag it back. It’s something wholly inside of yourself, and you find it impossible to reach. You’ve tried forcing yourself to paint, you’ve tried breaks, and you’ve tried waiting for inspiration. Still, it’s so far from your touch.

You blink a stray snowflake out of your lashes and stop. The little patch of snow is flat and twinkles with morning—it’s perfect. For a moment, you admire it. Then you get to work.

Handfuls of snow melt through your cotton gloves. At some point, your fingers go tingly and then unfeeling. The snow is powdery and loose, but that’s no matter to you. You compact it down into something solid and pack it into smooth-edged shapes. Around you, just beyond the thick focus that you let fall over you when you work, people bustle by. Some stop to watch you, the ice crystals like glitter captured in the form of the sculpture catching their eyes as they pass. They move on when you don’t entertain them, though.

All you know is the sweet song of a mourning dove cooing, and the working of your hands. You don’t think much further than that; what comes from your carving and shaping is a misty, shimmering wisp of consciousness. Whatever had been brimming in your blood, you let it go—let it take shape.

You give a little here, adding chunks where it’s missing, and take a little there, carving when your heart suggests it. It grows and claims space for itself. It seems that it’s never enough; every time you intend to take a step back, you find just one more thing that needs your fixing.

When you do finally dust off your gloves, snow clinging to the fluff, you’re stricken to the spot—hit right in the gut with a roll of something you haven’t felt in so long. In the angles of the shoulders, you see flashes of resting your head there like they were built just to hold you. In the column of the neck, you feel the pressing of your lips against the warm skin down the side of it. In the pretty splay of the hands, you feel the appreciative, devoted pressure of hands roaming and kneading the plusness of your belly and thighs, holding them with reverence even when you didn’t see them as something to revere.

And, in the face, you see him held everlasting in the wintery serenity of the snow: your dead boyfriend.

Tracing the lines of him, you swallow hard. He’s exactly as he was in life, but he is unmoving. His eyes are all twinkling with ice particles, and not with the alive, benevolent light that you remember. When you tug off a glove, itching to feel the shape of his cheek once more, he’s sickeningly cold to the touch.

You run your finger over his cheek, as soft as you remember it, and down the length of his nose, heart aching at the little bump on the bridge of his nose as you find that just as you remember it, too. Looking up into his eyes, you can almost feel the weight of his gaze the way it feels in your memory.

His lips are crisp against your mouth. Maybe you look mad to a passerby, but you want to remember the shape of his lips, too. You linger there for a few moments. Just long enough for you to pretend, and then you let your lashes flutter back open and bring your mouth away from the snow.

Sitting still, lifeless, he does not smile that easy smile he should. The one he used to, when you’d steal his lips in a chaste kiss. Your heart, having soared up into the snow-heavy clouds as light as air, sinks. Of course, he doesn’t. The only place that his smile still lives and breathes in is your memories. You just ache to see it somewhere else at least once more. That’s all.

Tugging your glove back on to save your pale fingers, you try to dull the twinging in your chest and the bitterness that closes around your throat. You’ll go home, and you’ll begin trying to forget your art. You don’t kick it down like you’d come here intending to, though. Not this one. What a beautiful last work it was. Huffing a curling breath of frosty, silver air, you take one last look at him.

From his lashes, clumps of dusty snow fall like fairy dust. You furrow your brows, and more comes tumbling down. It crumbles and crumbles, falling from his eyes to reveal deep chocolate, and then from his face to reveal warm flesh, and then he shakes it off the rest of him.

He shakes it off the rest of him.

Your mouth goes dry, looking up at his eyes, and he looks at you back.

“Love?”

The sound comes from his chest like both a potent balm and the sharpest blade. It melts into your skin and nurses the hurt there, and it cuts them right back open. Hearing the name you’ve not heard for so long in his voice—you reel.

“Kai?” you say. Your voice wobbles like your legs do. Aside from the both of you, the rest of the world goes hushed and still.

He furrows his brows, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek. Your skin prickles at the warmth. He’d been so, so cold just a moment ago. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he asks.

You want to sit here all shaken, but you can’t. Not when he’s standing before you in the flesh. Standing before you real. Opening up your arms, you crush him between them and press your face into his chest. Puffing your breaths, your nose and cheeks sigh relief at the warmth that seeps out from him, and in that you know he is solid.

“Woah,” he says, trailed off by a soft laugh. Kai wraps his arms around your waist and rests his cheek on the top of your head. “Hugs, baby.”

For a few moments, something between just a split second and an eternity, you hold him and he holds you. It snows and snows down on you. When you finally pull back enough to speak to him, you say, “You’re real. Oh my god, you’re fucking real.”

With a raise of his brows, he says, “I’m real. Right here. I’m right here.” He runs a quick hand through his hair and drags his hand down his face to show it.

Opening your mouth, you close it right back up to decide which of the infinite things you want to ask him. “I…” you start. “Kai, you were dead. You were dead, and now you’re standing… right here in front of me. I don’t…”

In the sweet, dorky way that tugs at memories, one corner of his lips turn up into a slight smile. “I guess I was. But I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes your cheek in his hand. “I never left you, darling. Maybe you couldn’t see me like this, but I never did. I promised you that, didn’t I?” When your face crumples, an awful twisting of your features that you fight to contain, he curls his fingers over your hand and brings it up to his cheek. “Feel. Feel, I’m real, aren’t I? Don’t cry. You don’t have to cry, because I’m here.”

Your heart thunders and storms, and your cheeks sting with tears. Swallowing it all down, you say, “I missed you so much, Kai.”

He reaches up to brush snowflakes off your hair. “I know. I missed you too.” When his eyes fall on you and your shivering self, he says, “I was there with you the whole time.”

It hadn’t felt like that. If he was alive inside you, you didn’t feel it. All you felt was hollow. And if he was in the world around you, that felt empty, too. But, he’s here now, and it doesn’t feel so much the same. “How?” you say, shaking your head. You wish you could have felt him. “Where?”

“Everywhere, love. You didn’t go one day where I was not there. In the frost, I was there.”

You don’t know what that means. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how that might be possible, or if it’s even the truth, or if this is some kind of miracle spun with the silver threads of the fates. Whatever it is, he stands in front of you now. Nothing else really matters much but that.

“Do you want to go home?” you ask. Out here, this moment feels fleeting. All you want is to be there, in the same place where you’d made your lives together, so that you can solidify it and keep it safe from the world.

Peppering kisses all about your face, he snorts. “Look at your nose. You should’ve been home hours ago.”

You let your eyes flutter shut in the onslaught of his lips against your skin. “I know,” you mumble. Then, you would’ve snarked about his worrying. Kai was always worrying over you, and you’d crinkle your nose and demand that you’re doing fine.

Like this, though, you don’t mind his doting so much. Not now, and not ever again, you think. Not when he, hewn from snow and brought to life by your kiss, is utterly real and utterly alive in front of you. Not when he is the art in your life.

You think you might go home and pull out your paints.

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note AHHH i don’t know how to feel about this one.

﹙📋﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , @304files , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

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mcr-themed-brain · 2 months ago

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Tutorial on how to make patches, because DIY should be accessible and inexpensive, and u shouldn't have to turn to fast fashion websites

Materials Required:

An idea

Fabric

Paint

Needle and thread

How do I procure these items?

Idea

You're in luck, ideas are very easy to have, at no monetary expense. If you don't know exactly what you want to put on a patch, you can type "punk patches" into tumblr/pinterest/google/etc and note down anything you like

Fabric

This is where most people start to worry - most of us don't sew and don't have an arsenal of fabric at our fingertips. But fear not! There are 2 options here

If you have money, you can buy squares of fabric from a craft store. Joanns Fabrics has bundles of quarter-yards for $10. Just one quarter yard can yield you dozens of patches

If you don't have money, don't be discouraged! You don't need to spend anything if you don't want to. Do you have an old shirt you don't wear? Pants? Bandana? Underwear? Bedsheets? That's usable fabric right there!!

Paint

The real bust of the list. Unfortunately, getting paint isn't as easy as fabric can be. You don't need anything fancy, mind you, any type of fabric or acrylic paint will work.

Small tubes of paint and paint pens can fit in your pockets. I bring this up for no reason at all...

Alternatively, if you go to school, consider asking an art teacher if you can borrow some. You could also ask friends and family who may paint.

Needle and thread

Once you make a patch, you need something to attach it with. Really, you can use anything -- glue, safety pins, etc -- but if you're attaching it to clothing, sewing is your best bet. Consider these methods of getting the needed items

Go to a craft store. Small starter sewing kits, packs of needles, or spools of thread are typically pretty cheap. If you can't spend money, though, consider that these items are also small, and can fit easily in pockets

Ask a grandma or other family member who may sew to borrow some supplies. Grandmas love it when younger people sew

Again, if you go to school, ask an art or theater teacher if you can borrow supplies

You can also use dental floss instead of thread, and it's actually recommended by some punks due to it being more durable than thread.

If you don't know how to sew, there are lots of online tutorials on how to do simple stitches!

But what if I'm not good at DIY?

Ever heard the phrase "practice makes perfect"? No one is good at anything the first time they try it. Don't let amateur-looking attempts stop you from trying.

Additionally, DIY isn't a contest. If you go to shows or alternative spaces irl, no one will care if you're obviously new to it.

Now go make patches and have fun!!!

#punk #diy #baby punk #punk patches #punk tips #diy or die #made this on a whim cuz ive been thinking about it

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roach-works · 6 months ago

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Hey, hope this isnt too random, but i absolutely love your "lesbian picnic quilt" and ive been wanting to make a quilt for my partner and i out of old ties, but couldnt find the right design until i found your quilt. Would you maybe be okay with me making a quilt off of yours? I totally get it if you dont want to!!!

hi there! im not sure where you got the idea that you're not allowed to use quilting patterns you see other people use without their express permission, but quilting is a traditional craft, and a huge part of passing along traditional crafts is in repeating the projects of those who have done the craft before you. not only do you not have to ask my permission, i have no right whatsoever to tell you not to do it, and if i was angry at you for doing it, i would be the asshole in that situation, not you.

if you see a quilt you like, you can make one of your own. you can copy it down to the color choices. you can lift patterns from books and shops by screencap and photocopy. you can go to a quilt museum and take pictures and go home and do it yourself. imitation has, for most of human history, been the best way of doing things.

quilting is a magnificent artform with some of the most brilliant and skilled artists working in the field that i've ever seen, but it's also the practice of making cool blankets out of scrap fabric, and a lot of the core material and techniques have been done and redone by decades, if not centuries, of women. you are not a thief or an intruder in this art, you are the next set of hands in line. do what you want forever.

anyway the pattern i used i took off this blog:

the fabric i used was 2 charm packs of "Homemade Homespuns" by Kansas Troubles Quilters for Moda Fabrics, which was a 2021 run that is unfortunately hard to source now because the pattern was woven right into the cotton and im gay for that.

but for a tie quilt, you should be alright sewing the fabric edge to edge then squaring it up into 5" or 6" blocks for the nine patches.

good luck!

#art #craft #quilting #you can't steal what should be free #whatever space you're in that taught you to be this scared of doing traditional art in a traditional way can suck it

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unholyhelbig · 11 months ago

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I just want to say I'm already hooked on the beast you made me. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 5151

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, fatal injuries, animal bones, mentions of death, containment, and horrible grammar because I don't proofread

[a/n: Thank you all for the overwelming support on the first chapter! I truly didn't expect that much reception. I'm going to be traveling for the next week so the next chapter might be delayed a bit]

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1917, Rural Pennsylvania

A sweeping river cut through the patch of sweetgrass on the south side of the farm. It emitted a gurgling sound that often soothed your nerves. There was a rocky clearing sandwiched between the tree line and the plain of grass that had become a perfect spot for you to settle in and read the hard-covered books you’d gotten from the corner store.

Your father would bring back any book you requested from the city during his travels. You devoured them faster than he could provide them and had read ‘Eight Cousins’ ,Lousia May Alcott’s foray into the adventures thirteen-year-old Rose, enough to nearly tear the pages from the binding.

The book itself held the clean honeyed scent of the earth, of the secluded spot that you called your own. Your muscles would thrum from loading the bales of hay into your fathers ford. Your fingers were calloused, and dirt caked around your ankle in a dark ring. All of that vanished when you cracked open the book about a girl that was so much like yourself.

It was easy to lose yourself in the paragraphs, the hum of the river sometimes lulling you to sleep. Your mother would pack you a sandwich on warm, hand-kneaded bread, usually some salted meat and mayonnaise. She’d pack sweet tea and send you on your way, knowing that you wouldn’t return to the house until you saw a flicker of a firefly.

Today, you’d fallen asleep under the sun. The book was discarded, and your forearm draped across your eyes. It was easy to drift, and easier still to dream about leaving the small dairy farm for something bigger- the very city that your father would return from with new literature and arts, and spices that made your mouth buzz with flavor.

You were in a haze when the ear-piercing scream cut through the air as if it were a natural solid. Your ears pinched at the sound, heels digging into the coarse sandy shore. Maybe it was a dream. It could have been an animal that had sunk its pointed teeth into the artery of another.

So, you waited, panting with your heart in your chest and the corner of the book barely lapped by the muddied water. And there was this sound. It was no fox caught in a trap or bovine tangled up in the barbed wire fence around the property- no, this was familiar. This was your sister.

Helena was quiet, often described as demure and borderline submissive. Despite being younger than yourself she carried a certain poise about her. Mother would often boast about how she would have no trouble finding a husband, how the boys already fawned over the child of hers that was not feral and unkempt.

Her cry was the loudest you had ever heard her and it had you on your feet, scrambling up the bank. Once past your small world of wonder, you were greeted with an endless sea of sweetgrass that was waist high in some areas.

A warm breeze created waves against the landscape, the farmhouse a small speck among the expanse of land. Your head was spinning, it was hard to track exactly where it had come from. It took another cracking screech to set you North.

Your legs pumped until you were consumed in a blind speed. You’d been renowned for your quickness, for your dedication to get from point A to point B. The kids in your town often joked that you were steadier than a steed. Not only were you the fastest in the class, but the fastest in the county according to some. Still- only a child of fifteen, and no man would want to wed someone with speed. It wasn’t a practical skill.

There was a pit deep in your stomach whirled, instinct knowing precisely where Helena was yowling from.

Jorge had gotten there at the same time you did; his brow was leaking with sweat and he panted against the hot air that surrounded you both. Your older brother was tall and lanky, serpent-like with beady black eyes and pitch hair to match your father’s. His shirt hung low against his midsection, his skin pale despite his hours in the sun working the fields.

“Stay back, y/n.” He demanded sharply.

The old well was a mere foot in front of you both but neither made the effort to move forward. The aged wooden plank that covered the stone shaft had been splintered through the middle, worn from age and weather.

Helena’s soft cries echoed up. When your father had first acquired the property, the previous owners explained that it had been boarded up after of the bulls had fallen down and snapped it’s neck. It was too large to pull out and they left it to starve and then rot.

Your father never let any of his children peer down into the well. You wondered if something had pulled Helena here, or if she had simply forgotten of it’s existence. Jorge dropped down to his knees and did a cautious crawl as if his own two feet couldn’t’ hold him anymore.

You saw the exact moment his skin became waxier, almost a gray porcelain paleness that had a green tint. He was swallowing too much, his white shirt coated in the red clay dirt.

“What?” You asked, voice breaking “What is it?”

“Go get Mama.”

It would have been easy to listen to your brother. He was the man of the house when your father wasn’t there but with him pleading for your mother, for an adult, you got a rancid taste in your mouth.

Against your better judgement you edged close enough to the abandoned well. The sun was setting in a fire-filled orange haze with enough color and angle to get a good view of the bottom; a slosh of fallen grass and rainwater, and muck, and yes; the bones of a beast once left to decay and rot in its own silence.

Your sister was wedged within the ribcage of the befallen bull, almost as if she replaced the beating heart that stopped pulsing long ago. Her hands gripped at the sun-bleached bone, knuckles nearly the same color.

It took you a moment to make out the slick, and the red that stemmed from the center of her stomach. The head of the bull had shattered under her weight, all expect the stretching length of it’s curved horn. That was wedged through her abdomen, surrounded in a vibrant rose red that puddled and had already coated her hands.

Prints from her struggle were against the limestone edges of the well. Her eyes pleaded up at you; your kind and caring, and animal-loving sister was trapped inside the remains of one. You fought back the urge to vomit, the rash thought that if the bone ripping through her flesh didn’t kill her, then infection would.

“Y/n get mama!” Jorge hissed again, and this time you didn’t hesitate. You nearly tripped over your own boots with the fever it took to back away from the scene, the metallic scent of blood mixing deliciously with the turn of rotted soil.

You had never run so fast in your life.

Wanda Maximoff had never felt the cold that wormed its way to her bones before. It was the type of cold that almost wasn’t, a stinging, horrible feeling that had her startled from the folded metal chair. It collapsed within itself as the blinked the wine-dark color from her eyes.

She stumbled backward, only to be brought back to the starkness of the room by a soft grip on her elbow. Wanda allowed herself to be held, if not for stability but for comfort. Steve Rodgers had a welcoming hand on the small of her back, the other steadying her.

He was a solid force, and her reaction stirred him.

“Fuck,” the expletive fell from her lips, “Jesus Christ.”

There was quietness to the room in the aftershock of the fallen chair. It was nicer than a standard holding cell. The walls were cream colored, triple enforced to keep people like you inside. There was a bed bolted to the wall, a bunk that was almost like a summer camp endeavor.

A charged glass wall was blocking you from the rest of the world. It was seemingly unbreakable, and in this moment, so were you. Wanda didn’t want to test the glass, nor did she know how to make sense of the memories- your memories- that had flooded every inch of her body.

You were asleep, chest rising and falling at a normal pace, as if none of what Wanda had just seen was flitting around your mind. Soft snores pushed past your lips, one arm hanging over the side of the bed while the other followed the flow of your breathing as it rested on your chest.

Wanda didn’t understand the secrecy and the precaution that surrounded you. The Avengers compound was a constant ebb and flow of different heroes, Inhumans and mutants. What made you so different? What made you an 0-8-4?

It was a term that Natasha had used only once that was usually attached to objects, not a person. It was an object of unknown origin and in that case, it was a power-filled object from space. Space. She’d been through different dimensions, but that, for some reason, struck her as terrifying.

0-8-4’s were never brought here, but then again, they’d never been alive either. Steve had told her that your energy signal was off the charts, and that they wanted her to dig around your head. Something that she denied doing at first. It was an invasion of privacy.

But, there was a certain pleading within Captain America’s eyes that scared Wanda more than the personal rules she set for herself when it came to her power. What she had seen, what she had felt was barely scraping the surface of what your mind contained. She wasn’t keen on pushing past that barrier for the conclusion of that story. Was it even yours?

“What? Wanda, what is it?”

“I… I don’t” She shook her head, eyes hardening as she stared into Steve’s “Where did you find her?”

He hesitated to answer, his eyebrows furrowing before he looked away from the witches’ prying eyes. She’d been part of this team for years now and they were still reluctant with what they were willing to share. Wanda clenched her jaw, then unclenched it before her stare flashed back to your resting form.

There was a small frown that creased your features. You looked so… harmless. You had shifted, folded into yourself as if you were scratching the surface of what flashed before her. Your arm was folded under your head, knees flush to your chest. A small, beautiful whimper escaped you.

“She’s in distress, Steve.”

“Discomfort, more like. It’s better for all of us that she stays in there for right now. The last thing we want to do is harm anyone but if that requires some temporary-“

“Imprisonment?”

“Containment.” He said firmly, eyes hard. Wanda crossed her arms over her chest but stayed silent, letting him continue. She was sure she wouldn’t have been asked if not for her ability to worm her way into minds, to rearrange things. “What did you see?”

“A memory, one that can’t possibly be hers. The timeline doesn’t fit, this is a woman in her mid-twenties and who I saw was barely a teenager on a farmstead. To experience that much tragedy, that much fear and heartache.”

She started to pace, trying to not only work through her own thoughts, but yours as well. It could have been a story, and she was convinced of the fact save for the vividness. There was the feeling of grass tickling her arms and the sharp, undeniable stench of blood.

“Her younger sister died, fell through some rotted wood and fell to her death.” Wanda’s fingers pressed against the edge of her hairline. “She could have lived, but I have my doubts.”

He lifted a perfectly sculpted brow at her. His expression betrayed his compassion towards you, his stance uncomfortable with the topic. While the revelation was heartbreaking it hardly made you extraordinary. They’d all lost people, none had stirred Wanda as you did.

Wanda’s stare found his after darting to you once more, “Steve, I have the sinking feeling that what I saw was only scratching the surface. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of memories that were pressing in on all sides.”

The sensation of being observed is what pulled you from your fitful sleep. Exhaustion had washed over you like a tidal wave, all at once and leaving your mouth dry like a spoonful of salt. There was a stiffness that rivaled that of the grave you’d crawled out of, and you hoped that it was all a dream.

You were in your bed, in your apartment, after having one too many drinks. It was a horrible stretching nightmare that had plunged you into one sea of darkness from another. But even you weren’t that naïve.

Just as you felt a stranger’s eyes on you now, you had felt the dirt under your nails, the cold sodium-filled takeout as you attempted to chew it. More than anything, you remembered the burning feeling of the Black Widow pressed fully against your back, bending you over Jenn’s kitchen counter.

“I would prefer if you kept the feeling of my wife’s body against yours out of your mind.”

You shot up with a dizzying amount of quickness, heart suddenly in your chest. There was an imbalance to the bed that you were laying on. It was smaller than your own and unfamiliar. The room was stark white. It hurt your eyes and you had to blink the color away. You pressed the heels of your palms close to your eyes.

It felt as if you were locked in a glass shower with an audience and stage lights. The more you looked, the more you realized it was a room, something with no personal effects but a bed and a dimmer switch that you itched to utilize.

A pitcher of water was on an end table. It wasn’t color exactly, but it was more than the rest of your surroundings. Possibly with the worst manners you’d ever exhibited, you drank straight from the pitcher, not remembering the last time you had a drink. Suddenly, you were parched enough to soak your collar.

Despite your audience, you continued until you felt your stomach protest. You used the back of your hand to wipe away the moisture, black dirt was smeared across your skin. It was then, and only then, that you forced yourself to look past the walls of your prison, your enclosure.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” The woman said, walking close to the glass. You could see her clearly now, there was an heir of recognition about her, in the same way that there had been with the Black Widow.

“You were in my head.”

“For a while. It’s my job. But your thoughts are also deafening.”

“Sorry,”

This woman was intoxicating. Alluring and beautiful in her presence. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt hugging her form. You weren’t positive what time it was- what day it was- but it could be late into the night. She looked like she was roused from sleep, and a part of you felt guilty for the fact.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie.” Her voice was much more tender than it had been a few moments ago. “You can’t control being brought back from the dead. A lot of trauma comes with that.”

You stood shakily and walked closer to the glass. They’d taken your shoes and the tile under your feet was frigid. You crossed your arms over your chest and shivered into yourself. You didn’t want to think about the fact that they had undressed you, probably taken your clothes for testing. Instead they left you in a blue set of scrubs.

You averted your stare from your own reflection, not willing or ready to look too hard. You’d much rather look at this stranger, your heart not slowing, your head pounding. Nothing but a simple pane of glass separated you.

“And I was brought back from the dead, wasn’t I? That wasn’t a fucked-up dream where I got hit by a car and then poof God, if there is one, decided that me of all people was worth bringing back.”

She lilted her head, quirked an amusing brow at you. A chill flushed down your spine and seemed to fizzle out at your toes. This woman was gorgeous and terrifying and made you want to squirm. But if this was prison, you had to assert dominance. Right? That’s what Wentworth taught you.

This cell didn’t look or feel like Wentworth, and this Warden had an amused smile tacked to her lips like she had heard your every thought. And she had. At least you assumed that she did. She’d mentioned her wife earlier, and the woman’s body against your own was plaguing you like a runaway freight train.

When she didn’t say anything, you clawed to fill the silence “I want to talk to Bruce.”

“Bruce? Honey, he’s off world.”

“Off… world.” You laughed, softly at first but then almost manically, tears forming in your eyes that you wiped away with your cold fingers. “No, no, that’s really cool. I worked a 9-5 and now I can’t talk to Bruce because he’s in Outer Space.”

“Maybe not outer space, maybe another dimension.”

You leveled her with a humorless glare. She had both of her hands up as if she wanted to comfort you, or the caged animal you had become. You had to give her credit, she seemed just as horrified as you were. She offered up a dim, faltering smile.

There wasn’t a way for you to process this in a gentle manner, there was no one to guide you through it other than Jenn. She’d done this before, lived a whole life that was flipped upside-down and she’d come out on the other side. It was the uncertainty that scared the hell out of you.

“You were in my head earlier,” You stopped suddenly, pressing your fingers against the glass. The woman didn’t flinch. Your frantic breath fogged with each exhalation. “Do you know why I came back?”

She shook her head, “No. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

“No.” A weak chuckle, you let your hands drop. “At least we’re on the same page.”

The nurse they allowed to enter through the side of the containment unit took cautious steps towards you that made your chest ache. All your life, people had said how welcoming and kind you were; how they were never afraid to come to you with their worries. It had bothered you before the incident, before your death, but now you missed seeing the stare of those who didn’t harbor any fear.

She was small, a mouse of a thing that had pale blonde hair and startling blue eyes. Her name tag read Julia. Your mind rushed with the paths she’d taken to this place. She must be interning here, much too young to hold a classification herself.

Your finger twitched on your knee, palm sweaty. It’s heat radiated through the thin blue fabric of the pants they’d provided you with. You hated needles, always had. But, you struggled to stay still and the effect that had on poor nurse Julia was making you fidget more.

There was a scent about her. It was under the layers of hairspray, nail polish, and shea butter. It was a sweet metal that made your stomach swirl. Was it her sweat? You’d never smelt anything past walking by the bomb that was the boys locker room, and it certainly had never been this tantalizing before.

Your eyes met hers, crystal blue and uncertain. “You’ll just feel a little pinch”

This is when you pulled your gaze back and instead focused on the cream colored walls. There was no problem with needles, you’d dutifully sit for your flu shots, but something about the sharp edge pushing through a layer of skin and fat before hitting your vein made you nauseous.

“We just need enough to run a few tests.” Julia soothed.

She was a normal nurse in that one, small way. Your mind was itching, blood seeming to congeal. It refused to cooperate and her burning touch was all but dominant against your skin. You both waited for the small tube to fill with black liquid.

Finally, you felt her press the gauze against the crook of your arm and withdraw the needle. Another small pinch and then a massive relief. Her smell hung around you and filled the room. There was an undeniable urge to sink your teeth into her. To taste her.

You’d stopped the elevator just hours before to assess your penchant for brain consumption, but this wasn’t that. This was an intoxicating pull. This was animalistic, the same rush of emotion that had flooded you without prompting during your earlier conversation.

Julia squeezed your shoulder calmly, not entirely over her own reservations, but on the penance that she was a nurse and this was her job. You kept yourself rooted to the bed, fingers digging into the wood. She left the room and you could hear the compressed lock reseal you inside, breathing a sigh of relief.

That sweet odor lingered, and your reaction to it scared you more than anything. The wood beneath your fingertips splintered, and suddenly that anger, that fear, rolled away to shock. That wasn’t… normal. None of this was normal, but you weren’t exactly picked first in sports either.

You were a middle kid, a I guess I wouldn’t mind having you on my team kid. Suddenly your fingers were cutting through wood like it was butter. You let out an indignant squeak and shifted the blanket until the slashes were covered.

“Is everything alright?”

Wanda, you had learned that her name was Wanda, occupied her usual spot in front of the window. A slick sweat covered your forehead. She was holding a small tray that had a steaming bowl of soup and a delicious hunk of French bread.

“I figured you were hungry,” She lifted her chin towards the panel next to your door. “May I?”

“I’m at your mercy.”

And you were, truly. You hadn’t seen anyone but her since you’d woken up. There were shadows of others, people that made the pit in the center of your stomach grow three sizes. You knew exactly what they were doing, you watched enough true crime with Jennifer to know.

Here was this beautiful and powerful woman offering you food and words of comfort, and you allowed yourself to fall for all of it. Listlessly. Because what did you have to lose? You’d already died, and the thought of putting your family through the heartache of resurrection and then possibly enough committal to the ground was too much.

So, let her Stockholm syndrome you. The food smelled divine.

Wanda didn’t hold the same fear that Julia had. In fact, once the compression of air signified that it was okay for her to enter, she did so without hesitation. She set the food down on the equally dull side table and lowered herself onto the corner of the bed, making herself at home.

She’d changed into a pair of jeans, a simple t-shirt that had the outline of SHIELD on its sleeve. You frowned, for a company that does everything in its power to keep itself hidden, they sure loved that stupid bird so much.

“Go on, sweetie. You can eat.”

Wanda had a command about her that made you fold and listen despite any reservations. You took up a spot on the far end of the bed and shoveled the first spoonful into your mouth. An explosion of heady flavors coated your tongue, coaxing a low moan from your lips.

Blush rushed to your cheeks at the spark in the set of stormy eyes that watched you like a hawk. You rushed to break the tension. “So, what’s the plan here? Run a bunch of tests and keep me locked up?”

“Somewhat.” She paused, carefully thinking of her next words. “Y/n, I have the ability to get inside the psyche. Not only can I read every thought, every action, but I can control them too. It’s not something I like to do, nor something I want to. Not without permission.”

You frowned again. You certainly hadn’t given her permission to enter your mind before, and she tensed at the realization. But, you took another bite of soup and swallowed down the spiced broth. What’s done was done. You didn’t expect her to ask, much less admit to her wrongdoing.

“I prefer to ask. Can you tell me what you do for work?”

“Paralegal, the bar seemed like too much stress. But I’m good at my job. I was good at my job before a car turned me into sidewalk art.”

“Right, and your family, what about them?”

There was no desire to think of them and their perfect lives that you’d shattered with your death. Your mother used to sit in the tepid air on the porch swing, downing a glass of wine before she turned to you with tears in her eyes. She’d urge you to be careful working in the city. She’d plead for you to come home. More than anything, she’d utter the phrase a mother should never outlive her daughter.

“My mother is a seventh grade biology teacher and my father runs a painting business that’s been operating my whole life. They’re not very exciting people. They must be worried sick about me.”

Wanda nodded, “Any siblings?”

“Not anymore.”

She stilled at your words and didn’t pry. You were well aware of the fact that she could push through your deflections and learn the information that she wanted to know. But, you respected that she didn’t. Instead, she stared at you, and you stared right back, suddenly not hungry.

Wanda was someone that you felt the need to open-up to. Unlike the brief encounter you had had with her wife. Not that you let that word stick with you, not in the same way that her touch did. Again, you had to push the thoughts to the back of your mind, even if Wanda wasn’t prying.

Instead, she placed a warm hand on your thigh, sending a wave of shivers through your body. You suppressed a whimper at the sudden contact.

“I had a brother named Pietro. He was fast, unnaturally so. Neither of us ever wanted to be heroes, we didn’t think about the future like that. So, when the Avengers, these so-called saviors of the world, recruited us, we knew about the dangers. But it still shocked me when he died. He was my brother. He wasn’t supposed to be fragile like that.”

You stared at her with an amount of tenderness in your eyes that she wasn’t used to from the others. They cared, sure, but in the way that a co-worker would care enough to purchase cut flowers and a ‘sorry for your loss’ card. You were different.

“They’re our protectors.” You swallowed hard, mouth dry “when something drastic happens, it doesn’t seem real.”

“It still doesn’t.”

There was a lapse of silence that pushed memories in your direction. The burning cold weather on the day your own brother had died. You remember the scream that died in your throat and the way you’d knelt in the cracked snow until you couldn’t’ feel your legs or your fingers. It took an EMT with a heated blanket and a horror story about hypothermia to pull you to your feet.

“Jonathan.” You whispered.

She let out a questioning hum, pulling her feet from the floor and making herself more comfortable on the less-than-comfortable bed. “Your brother?”

“My older brother. I followed him around like a lost puppy, but he never complained. He was a hockey player and a damn good one too. He’d use the lake behind our house in Jersey to practice and one winter the ice broke underneath him. He drowned, and I was too weak to save him.”

Wanda let out a shuddered breath. You couldn’t read her facial expression. It was a mix of confusion, or sadness, but not pity and that was something you appreciated. You’d had enough pity, just as your family had enough grief without you adding to it.

She opened her mouth to reply, but both of you were startled when three quick knocks shattered the silence. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, stood on the other side. She showed no interest in breeching the containment unit. Instead, she leveled her wife with a dark stare and held up a folded piece of paper.

“Excuse me,” Wanda whispered, giving your leg a settling squeeze.

She left the plate and exited the holding cell. Her words were muffled, but those unripe green eyes that Natasha possessed kept flicking to you nervously. She too, didn’t’ show pity. It was interest and if you were being honest, you thought you saw the smallest spark of fear.

Wanda took the paper from her wife, squinted at something you couldn’t’ see. You felt like you were at a parent teacher conference, just out of bounds of hearing but you could see their body language; the way that Natasha itched to move closer to Wanda, the fingers that the taller woman pressed to her lips, thumb creasing the paper.

Finally, Wanda turned back towards the glass. Natasha met your stare without issue, hitting the intercom on the other side of the cell. It was her who spoke, her raspy voice falling from the speaker.

“In the spirit of transparency, we want to be honest with you about your blood results.”

You stood from the bed, moving to one side of the barrier. They were intimidating like that, standing shoulder to shoulder with a natural beauty. It made you want to shrink. If not for the paper in their hands you would have curled into yourself at the sight.

“Don’t tell me I’m dying.”

“No, honey.” Wanda shook her head, “Quite the opposite, you’re getting stronger.”

“I don’t understand.”

Natasha lifted an eyebrow and pressed the paper against the glass so you could read it. None of it made sense, it was lines of DNA that looked like musical notes. You shook your head, giving her a confused look.

Natasha scoffed, peeling the paper from the surface of glass. Wanda bit her thumbnail nervously. “According to these…You’re Asgardian, Kitten.”

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jinx-xxed · 6 months ago

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Mission Gone Wrong

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Coming back to retry this one after I abandoned the idea months ago :’) got some random motivation!! Also gonna preface this by saying I did in fact make up the first planet <3

Art credit to @/KasiopeaArt

Summary; Your mission for the resistance goes south, so you and Ben have to find a way to escape the First Order.

Content; Jedi/resistance AU, Ben Solo never turned AU, Jedi reader, Jedi Ben, running from the space cops, you get injured, Ben patches you up, saving two kids, Ben has the Solo Sass™️, piloting the Falcon :), Jedi rules be damned I’m gonna make them kiss, Ben’s family dynamic, Ben’s a mama’s boy, his parents love you, fun shenanigans, fluff

Wc; 7k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“Stop! In the name of the First Order!”

The sun blazes above you, the sky a perfect blue with no clouds in sight—a contrast to the chaos happening below. The pound of your boots against cobblestone and the rapid beating of your heart fills your ears. Your breath comes in short, quick pants, your lungs burning as you try to suck in air while you run. The crowded streets of the Sandura trader outpost don’t make it easy. You dodge and weave between civilians, shouting excuse me’s and sorry’s every other second; you know that more than a few of them cuss you out in native tongues you don’t quite understand.

You spare a glance to your right, making sure that Ben is still keeping up. You’ve always been faster than him, more agile and lithe, so you have to be mindful that you don’t leave him behind. But you have no reason to worry because he’s right there with you, running just as quick from your pursuers. You can hear the heavy, plastic clanks of the Stormtrooper armor that slows them down as they chase after you. They’re too close for it to be comfortable but luckily the streets have too many civilians packed in them that they aren’t stupid enough to open fire.

Or so you’d think. With all of the commotion, people naturally move out of the way. They tuck into corners, squeeze under shop awnings, innocently clearing the path so they don’t get trampled. In doing so, they make you an easy target. You yelp as the first blaster shot is fired, wizzing right past your head and finding purchase in the corner of a building you run past.

“This is not how this was supposed to go!” Ben shouts, sweat trailing down the side of his face. His Jedi robes flutter behind him with his movements, both of your cloaks that were meant to conceal you long lost and forgotten.

“You think?!” You yell back, teeth gritting together from your annoyance. This mission was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be easy. You were just going to set up a fuel trade with one of the bosses stationed in the outpost, pick up some extra ship parts on the way since stocks are running low. You have those at least, they slam into your side with every step you take as the bag you carry jostles about. The fuel tanks on the other hand…

The boss you had been meeting with, Kaijat, turned out to be a slimy two-facer who sold you out to the ones who offered him more credits. That naturally happened to be the First Order, their desire to eradicate the Jedi and the Resistance knowing no bounds. You and Ben had barely escaped from Kaijat’s facility before Stormtroopers circled the whole place, trying to trap you inside and imprison you. Your lightsabers had come in handy. You cursed yourself over and over for not being able to tell Kaijat’s true intentions, for not being able to see how he was going to betray you. You’d made deals with him before, you thought it would be fine. You should’ve known better—nobody can be trusted for very long anymore, if at all.

You’re ripped from your thoughts by searing pain in your left arm, a choked and startled yell coming from your throat as your running falters. A blaster shot went clean through, cutting about an inch into your shoulder. The outer layers are automatically cauterized but the deeper layers begin to bleed generously, crimson running down your skin and staining the whites of your robes. There’s a feeling of worry that blossoms at the forefront of your mind, and you know that it’s Ben with the way he shouts your name. Your bond connects you in a way that allows you to feel what the other feels, see what the other sees. You reassure him through that bond that you’re fine. You’ve had worse.

You channel your pain to your fingertips, calling the Force to you as you abruptly stop and turn. You use the Force like a second set of hands, digging its fingers into the cobblestone and cement below you, ripping it up and curving it into a sort of wall to create an obstacle that’ll buy you more time. You’ve always been more attuned to the physical aspects of the Force, using the objects and earth around you to your advantage. Ben is much better with the psychological aspects, easily being able to see into the thoughts and feelings of anyone he desires. That’s why you make such a great pair.

You both keep running, not wasting a second of the time that distraction has given you. Though you don’t look back, you know the Stormtroopers are already squeezing around the wall you made. You can tell by the way their blasters keep firing.

“This way!” You say, grabbing Ben and making a sharp left. You skid against the ground from your speed, accidentally banging your injured shoulder into the wall and leaving a smear of blood. You try to ignore the wave of nausea.

The new path seems promising, perhaps even having a way out of the outpost. Until you see the wall ahead begin to close in and you curse more than a few times. “No, no, no! Shit!” You snap. You and Ben slow your pace, coming upon a dead end. A death sentence. You beat a fist against the brick like that’ll do anything while Ben runs his hands along it like there’s a secret button you’re missing that’ll magically open it up. There’s nobody else around, nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. You look up, trying to calculate how difficult it’d be to just scale the damn thing. There’s barely any footholds so you’d most likely just slip and bust your ass. Your hand begins to reach towards your lightsaber as the sounds of the Stormtroopers get nearer.

“Hey! Jedi! Over here!” A voice whisper shouts to you. You whirl around, searching for it. Ben does the same. “Look down!”

You do what it says and see a manhole cover lifted up by tiny hands, an equally tiny face poking out from between the gap. It’s a child, a young girl. “Follow me! They won’t find you down here!” She urges. The shouts and footsteps are getting closer. “Come on!”

You don’t give yourself a second to hesitate, forcing Ben along with you. You’re already in deep shit, you don’t think this’ll make it any worse. You both jump down into the manhole, the kid then dragging the cover back to its original resting spot so that anyone above ground is none the wiser. Just in time too, because you hear the Stormtroopers just above you, entering into that alley you were trapped in seconds before.

Looking around, you’re surprised by what you see. Somebody’s made a comfy living space of underground tunnels, outfitted with mismatching furniture like couches and chairs and tables, scraps of rugs and carpet covering the stone floors, pieces of drapes and paper clippings glued to the walls. There’s cozy lights strung along the seams of the curved ceiling, bathing the tunnels in a warm glow.

“What is this?” Ben mutters, eyes going every which way just like yours.

“Welcome to the tunnels of Sandura! Or home, as we like to call it.” The little girl from before is in front of you now, a big smile on her face. She looks to be eight. Her brown hair is messy and sticks up in all different directions, her face has smears of soot on it that hides her freckles, and her abnormally green eyes shimmer with childlike mischief. Her clothes are torn at their edges, like they’ve been worn generously or found in a trash heap.

You lift a brow. “We?”

The girl turns to shout down the tunnels. “Shamar!” There’s a pause and then the sound of little footsteps before a boy appears, looking to be only a year or two younger than the girl. You can see in their faces how they’re related, same round cheeks and pointed ears and sloped eyes. Their differences lie in the boy’s black hair, though it’s just as messy as his sister’s, and in his blue eyes.

“This is Shamar, my younger brother. I’m Almae. We’ve been living in these tunnels for years.” She says it proudly. You can tell the boy is the more nervous one of the pair as he looks you and Ben over with scrutiny. He hangs farther back, letting his sister lead the charge.

“Where’s your parents?” You can’t help but ask. You don’t sense any other life forms within the tunnels save for some rats maybe, but no people.

“They’ve been gone for a while. It’s just us now.” Shamar says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Ben’s eyes narrow. He’s always so skeptical, you can feel his suspicion through your bond like it’s your own. “Why’d you save us?”

“We don’t like the First Order none, either. We know you Jedi folk, you go around the galaxy helping people and such.” Almae says, nodding to herself. “So we wanted to ask you to help us. We’ll take you through the tunnels and get you out of the city as long as you promise to take us back with ya.”

You’ll admit that’s not exactly what you expected. What you did expect was for them to ask for credits or ship parts they could resell, it’s what everybody’s after these days. That’s why you don’t like going on missions very much, you have a bad habit of coming back with empty pockets. At least when Ben joins you, he keeps that from happening.

“How do we know you’re not going to sell us out?” Ben demands, immediately going on the defensive from already being double-crossed once today.

You tug on his sleeve, pulling him to the side. “Ben, relax. They’re children.” You whisper.

“Children can still be convinced with the right amount of credits.” He retorts. “I’m trying to not get us captured.”

You roll your eyes. “I appreciate it, but read the two of them. Do they seem malicious to you?”

He hesitates, looking back at the siblings. You feel how his Force reaches out, roaming over their minds in a way that’ll leave them none the wiser. Through your bond, you’re able to get what he’s sensing. There’s no secret motive, no evil desire. It’s just hope, anticipation, and a desire for freedom, for something more than this. They just want out, they want to get away from the back-breaking jobs they had to take to scrape by, from the adults who yell at them for doing something wrong. They want to get away from always having to steal their next meal and living in the dark of the tunnels where they can’t see the sky. You feel a strong pang of sympathy in your chest, and you know Ben experiences the same.

You turn towards the kids, you crouch down to their level. Shamar shies away behind his sister, still eyeing you suspiciously. Good instincts on him. You hold out your pinky. “You pinky promise you’ll get us out of here?”

Almae grins, interlocking her little pinky with yours. “Pinky promise!”

“Alright,” you smile, “lead the way.”

Almae squeals. “Shamar! Go get your bag!” She tells her brother, shoving him towards one of the offshoot tunnels. Their bedroom, if you had to guess.

“I hope we don’t regret this.” Ben mutters once they’re gone, arms crossed over his chest.

“C’mon, they’re so cute.” You tease, nudging him. “How could we say no?” There’s a quirk of a smile from him and you know you’ve won. You always do.

Shamar and Almae come hurrying back a minute later, each with a heavy satchel slung over their shoulders. They’re full of any belongings they feel they can’t leave behind, like mementos from their parents, books, little trinkets and toys, and a few pairs of clothes. Everything else will stay behind in the tunnels, waiting for the next person to discover.

“Let’s go!” Almae says excitedly. You give her a nod, telling her to go ahead. She grabs her brothers hand and begins to walk, you and Ben following dutifully behind.

The further you get from the main living space, the darker it becomes. There’s the occasional overhead light or cracks in the foundation above luckily making your path more visible. The kids seem to know exactly where they’re going, probably traveling these tunnels hundreds of times over and using them to escape from the authorities trying to capture them for stealing. You admire their resourcefulness, even though kids shouldn’t have to live this way.

“How’s your arm?” Ben mutters to you after a while of walking in silence.

The pain had dulled, instead becoming a constant throbbing you could ignore. You’d basically forgotten about it. “I’m fine. I’ll patch it up when we get back to the Falcon.”

“Are you sure?” He presses. “I don’t want you passing out on me again.”

You groan. “That was only one time!” You laugh at the memory, even though it definitely wasn’t funny for Ben. You can tell by the way he scowls. It’d been an exploratory mission, scoping out a new planet and seeing what the resistance could make of it. You’d gotten yourself injured by one of the creatures inhabiting it and you’d brushed off your wounds until you’d passed out from blood loss. Ben had nearly had a heart attack, then having to drag your body over rough terrain and back to the ship. You’d done his chores back at Luke’s academy for a month to apologize. Besides that, he’s always been so concerned about you, acting like a mother hen with the way he frets. You certainly don’t do him any favors by constantly diving headfirst into danger. “I’m fine, I promise. You’ll be the first to know if I start feeling lightheaded.”

The siblings take a final left before Almae is shouting back at you because you’d fallen a bit behind. “We’re here! Come on, slow pokes!”

You hurry along, coming to a ladder that leads all the way up to another manhole cover. Almae climbs first with Ben right behind in case there’s danger above ground. Shamar follows, and you bring up the rear. The cover is shoved aside by Almae, the thing screeching in protest, and you have to squint your eyes as unfiltered sunlight pours in to the dark tunnels. The others climb out and you don’t hear any shouts of Stormtroopers or blasters going off so you assume it’s safe. Ben gives you a hand to help you and you gladly take it to relieve your bad arm of the strain.

Coming out of the tunnels, you immediately look around to get your bearings. It seems the path you followed brought you right to the outer border of the outpost, the wall of it standing tall directly behind you. In front of you stretches the lush jungle forest that makes Sandura what it is. The trees stretch to the skies, covered in moss and lichen, animals of all kinds roaming freely amongst the leaves above and underbrush below. Within that forest is where the Millennium Falcon waits for you, and that’s where you now head.

You and Ben take the lead this time, keeping the two kids between you to both protect them and keep an eye on them. You follow the invisible string of the Force that connects you to the Falcon, helping you find it within the massive jungle. You’d parked the ship far, far from the outpost, away from any sensors or prying eyes. It was common practice for people like you, to trek practically halfway across a planet because you couldn’t risk your ship being spotted. Especially something like Han Solo’s Falcon, just about everyone in the galaxy knew about that thing. The only reason Ben’s father had allowed you to use it today was the premise of getting in and out fast, something his ship was an expert in. Ben had sat through a multitude of rules and threats from Han, something that happened any time he was allowed to use his father’s ship. Ben swore up and down that Han loved the Falcon more than him, and sometimes you couldn’t help but think he’s right.

Honestly, you can’t blame Han either as you come upon the ship tucked into the forest. It really is a gorgeous piece of work; it looks at home between the vibrant greens of the bushes and trees. It’s huge, and the dappled sunlight reflects beautifully off its shiny silver exterior. Han takes such good care of it nowadays, showing it more attention as both of them have climbed in age. There’s not a scratch or dent on it, not a wire or panel out of place. You can’t recall how many conversations you’ve had with Han about the Millennium Falcon, how many hours you’ve spent talking and talking about all the intricacies of the ship—even when Ben would beg you to stop so he wouldn’t have to listen to his father drone on anymore. You’ve loved flight crafts ever since you were a child, there’s always something new to learn and they feel so powerful under your hands. You take to tinkering with your X-wing whenever you have free time, seeing what you can possibly improve and fix. You and Ben are some of the best pilots to come out of the Jedi academy, even rivaling Poe who’s more than happy to challenge either of you.

It seems Almae and Shamar share in your awe of the Falcon, both of their heads tilting all the way back to try and take in the whole thing. It’s impossible, you know that because you did the same when you were a kid seeing it for the first time. Even now in your late twenties, you’re still finding out new things about the ship.

“I didn’t know they were this big!” Almae exclaims, immediately running beneath the kickstands holding up the ship, twisting her body every which way in an attempt to look at it all with wide eyes.

“You’ll see much bigger ones when we get back to base.” Ben tells them, hitting the button to lower to ramp. “Come on.”

The siblings don’t hesitate to rush past him into the ship and you laugh as pure fear crosses over his face. “Don’t touch anything!” He shouts after them, hurrying the rest of the way inside. You follow behind, doing him a favor and shutting the ramp since he’s busy corralling two kids as they try to run this way and that. More laughter bubbles out of you and tears prick your eyes while you watch him, your poor, dear Ben so frazzled by a pair of children.

He finally gets them to sit down on the main couch that’s curved against the wall, then tightly securing the seatbelts over them so they can’t escape. Almae and Shamar pout. “That’s not going to work on me.” Ben tells them sternly. “I’m not risking my dad tearing me a new one because you two want to go exploring. Now just sit there and… I don’t know, play dejarik or something.” He clicks on the table in front of the couch, the holographic board game coming to life.

“You think they’ll know anything about that game? I can’t even understand it.” You mutter to him as you head towards the cockpit. The kids seem fascinated enough by the moving creatures at least.

“I know, it makes it very easy for me to beat you.” He says with a knowing smirk. You punch his shoulder.

There’s a familiar beeping and the sound of rolling metal as your droid, BB-3, comes from around the corner. You had left him behind in the ship both to avoid obvious suspicion and so that he could keep a robotic eye on it. “Hey buddy, you miss me?” You say affectionately, crouching down to run a hand along the top of his head. You love your droid, he’s been with you for years after you’d found him stuck in a garbage chute on some nowhere planet where he was going to be scrapped for parts. You cleaned him up and he’s never left your side since.

He notices the injury on your arm, one of his compartments opening to reveal the spare medical supplies you keep inside him in case of an emergency. You smile. “Aw, thanks bud but I’ll patch myself up in a bit. We need to get out of here first.” He beeps at you, rolling back and forth once.

He follows you to the cockpit where Ben’s already waiting, flipping switches and pressing buttons that have the Falcon roaring to life. You hear the kids shouts of excitement as everything powers on. “They’re fun.” You say with a laugh as you sink into the copilot’s chair.

“Uh huh.” Ben mutters. He grips the controls in his big hands, steadying the ship as it lifts off the ground. He keeps it low until you’re even farther from the outpost, not wanting to risk anything after you’d already been chased by Stormtroopers. They’ll be looking for you, for the Falcon. Once he thinks it’s safe, he brings the ship up, up, up into the atmosphere while you prepare the hyperdrive without him even having to ask. You’ve flown together enough times to know the sequence. You’ll jump to hyperspace in order to get away from Sandura, and then travel normally the rest of the way back to D’Qar in order to not blow all the fuel reserves.

You grip the chair under you as space around the viewport begins to blur, turning different shades of blue and white. You both get pushed back into your seats when the ship successfully makes the jump, speeding across the galaxy.

“What’s all that?”

You and Ben startle at the sound of the voice, turning to see Shamar peering at the control panel from between your chairs. “How did you- where’s your sister?” Ben demands, struggling to look at the kid and also keep his focus on controlling the Falcon.

Shamar shrugs. “I dunno, looking at some turret type thing.”

You and Ben both look at each other with wide, fearful eyes. The laser cannons. You’re out of your seat immediately, running across the ship and into the sectioned off compartment that houses the guns. Almae is indeed in there, about to touch the controls before you lift her by the armpits and yank her out of the chair. She yells in protest, thrashing her arms about. She manages to wheel back a fist that smacks your open wound, making you hiss and nearly drop her from the wave of nausea and pain you get. You set her roughly on the ground, your free hand coming up to clasp your injury as you wince. You feel fresh blood on your palm.

Almae instantly stops, body language changing as guilt sweeps over her. “I’m.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. You- you just startled me is all. I just wanted to look around.” Her eyes are so big, so scared. “Please don’t take us back! I didn’t mean to hit ya, I swear!”

You can practically taste her fear on your tongue from how much it swells, how obvious it is across the Force. She truly thinks you’d take her and her brother back to Sandura and turn them in, leave them to sit in a jail all over again. You sigh, using your breathing to get past the pain. You guide her back to the main room where Sharma is waiting, sitting her down on the couch. She’s crying, small body shuttering as she sniffles.

“Hey, hey, listen to me.” You say softly, trying to get that strong girl you saw before to come back. She seems to calm a bit when she realizes you’re not angry, finally meeting your gaze. “It’s okay. But we told you not to move from these seats, that was for your own safety and ours. If you messed with something you shouldn’t have, it could’ve gotten us detected by the First Order or messed with the ship. We brought you both here to help you so we expect you to respect us and follow the rules we give you, alright?” You’re honest with her, but not cruel. You know that’s what children need to be able to understand, and Almae seems to get it. She nods, wiping stubbornly at her tears with a fist.

“M’sorry.” She mumbles. “I really didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s okay, Almae. You’re not in trouble. We’re not going to take you back.” You say, putting a comforting hand on her head. Besides, doing that would only get your own selves arrested. “You’ll get a tour of the Falcon sometime later, I promise.” She perks up at the sound of that, nodding. You buckle her and her brother in a second time and they seem like they won’t be making any moves to escape again.

BB-3 beeps at you when you turn around, concerned by the new blood on your arm. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” You mutter, going to plop yourself onto one of the bunks built into the wall, a heavy sigh leaving you. It’s time to finally patch yourself up, you suppose. The Falcon shudders as it comes out of hyperspace and you feel some tension release from your muscles. You’re grateful nothing decided to chase after you from Sandura.

You take one of the med kits and settle it next to you, popping it open and grabbing what you’ll need. Wipes, anti-bacterial, gauze. From BB-3 you take your small canister of bacta, something you keep hidden because of how precious it is. You begin to try and clean yourself of your blood, finding it a little difficult because of the angle. You run through more than a few wipes, leaving them stained red and scattered around you.

You’re about to try and apply the anti-bacterial before a large, warm hand encompasses yours. You look up to see Ben leaning over you, your eyes meeting. “Let me do it.” He says softly. Your faces are so close you can’t help but reach forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, making him smile. You always love his smile, the way his dimples show.

“I can handle it, Ben.” You say with a good-natured huff. “Don’t you have to go pilot?”

“It’s on auto. You’ve always sucked at bandaging injuries, just let me.” He insists. You roll your eyes, slapping the anti-bacterial into his waiting, open palm. Amusement twinkles in his eyes because he knows you always end up giving in. It’s true, you do suck at bandaging injuries because your hands aren’t careful enough for it, nor are you meticulous enough. You only are when it comes to a ship, something you can’t kill. Ben has always been more of the medic between the two of you—he has to be with the way you are—always taking such care when it comes to you.

He sits next to you on the bunk, making you scoot over to accommodate his huge frame. When cleaning your wound, he becomes so concentrated, his brows furrowing in the way you like with a slight crease to the side of his mouth. You wince as the anti-bacterial stings and he mutters out an apology, too focused for anything else. You know he’ll give you plenty of kisses for it later though, he always does. Ben coats the strips of gauze in bacta and then wraps them around your arm, not too tight and not too loose. Perfect, just like his dressings always are.

As you suspected, he takes you into his arms and kisses you plenty once he’s done. Your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He’s generous in his attention and love, the happy and gentle emotions filtering through your bond to match. It has you smiling like an idiot. When he’s satisfied, he lays back in the bunk, sitting against the wall with you between his legs. That’s when it hits you both, how tired you are. All the fighting and running, all the stress and anger, and now bringing along two kids. You look over and find the siblings asleep in their seats, heads lolling to the side. You want to follow them, want to just fall asleep in Ben’s lap. He’s so warm, and his robes are so comfortable. Easy to wrap yourself in and ignore the outside world.

But you know you can’t, you have to stay alert in case something happens, and Ben will have to get back to piloting soon. So you settle for sitting there and enjoying the way he holds you, because that’s always been more than enough.

» ☆ «

You must’ve dozed off despite your efforts because when your eyes are opening again, Ben is gone and you can feel that the Falcon is being lowered to the ground with the way it shakes and the sounds of it powering down. You sit up with a small grumble, wiping sleep from your eyes. Your legs ache in protest when you stand, exhaustion still weighing heavy on your body.

Almae and Shamar are up now too, shaking in their seats from excitement. Ben appears from the cockpit, having successfully parked and turned off the ship. He comes over to you, brushing some of your tussled hair from your forehead. “Did you sleep well?” He teases. You have half the mind to punch him again.

You settle for sticking your tongue out instead, then brushing past him to release the kids. You unbuckle their seatbelts and they immediately jump off the couch, clutching their bags against themselves. “I want you two to stick close to me, okay? There’s going to be a lot of new people and things to see. I don’t want you to get lost.” You say, holding your hands out so the kids take them. You’re glad when they oblige you, their tiny hands fitting snugly into yours.

Ben leads the way, once again pressing that button to release the ramp hatch. As it lowers, bright sunlight filters in and the fresh, damp air of D’Qar fills your nostrils.

There’s a crowd of people waiting when you exit the ship—resistance pilots welcoming you back, engineers already inspecting for repairs, captains and generals waiting for reports. It’s nothing unusual, it’s something that happens just about every time you two make a return. The rebellion hold the Jedi in such high regard that they always have to get some sort of glimpse of you, to see what you’ve been able to accomplish. You were right in taking Almae and Shamar’s hands because you can feel the way they startle and tense, too many sights and sounds coming at them. They shy away from the crowd, instead trying to hide behind you and BB-3 where it’s safe.

People begin to disperse within the minute, most having seen what they needed to see—that the two Jedi made it back alive. The rest of them part when the general comes through, her familiar gold-plated companion right behind her. Ben’s attention immediately shifts, and you smile knowingly.

“Welcome home, son.” Leia says fondly, having to reach up to cup Ben’s cheek in a weathered hand even after he tries to lean down for her. She tucks a strand of his black hair behind his big ears out of habit, even though he hates it. He’s always been self conscious about his ears despite how much you love them.

He huffs. “Thanks, mom.”

She chuckles, looking around him to greet you as well. You dip your head towards her with respect. “So, how did things go?” She asks.

You wince. “Well…”

“Kaijat betrayed us. He sold us out to the First Order, we almost got captured.” Ben’s words are blunt, his expression stony. He always gets that way when giving a mission report; he learned from his mother.

Leia curses under her breath. She seems troubled for only a moment before it disappears, a sigh leaving her. She’s always so put together, something you’ve admired about her ever since you were a kid. “There goes that, then. Did you manage to get anything? Were either of you hurt? Were you followed?”

“I got some of the ship repair parts you were wanting.” You say, motioning to the satchel you have slung over your shoulder. “I got shot in the arm, but it’s nothing too bad. Ben patched me up, of course.” Leia nods along with that, a twinkle in her eye, knowing exactly how her son takes care of you.

“And no, we weren’t followed. It’s all thanks to these two that we were able to escape.” You pull the siblings out from behind you, then holding them against you so they don’t scamper off. “It’s okay, guys. This is Leia, Ben’s mom and the leader of the resistance. She’s a powerful lady.”

Leia smiles, immediately softening. “And who are you?” She asks, trying to meet their eye level as best she can.

The kids are clearly too stunned to speak, making you laugh. It’s a big difference from how they were when you first met them. “C’mon, it’s alright. Introduce yourselves.” You whisper.

“I- I’m Almae and… and this is Shamar, my little brother.” Almae says, swallowing down her fear.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Almae.” Leia says, holding out a hand for her to shake. Almae hesitates for just a second before breaking into a smile and taking the hand. Leia does the same for her brother. “And Shamar. Now tell me, how’d you save these two delinquents of mine?” Ben rolls his eyes.

“We lived in the tunnels at Sandura, ya see, and the First Order had been there for a while. We don’t like them none, they’re all hoity toity and mean. They almost got us a few times when we were trying to get food.” Almae says, more than happy to launch into a story. She becomes much more open and expressive as she talks. “So we hear all this commotion above us one mornin’, all this shoutin’ and stompin’. I go to try and see what it is and it’s a pair of Jedi! They were running from the Order so I figured I’d help ‘em escape when they got stuck. We went through the tunnels and those stupid Troopers had no idea. Then the nice lady let us on the big ship. The big guy was kinda mean though.”

Ben glowers. “Why you-“

You smack a hand against his chest and he grumbles, crossing his arms. Leia laughs. “Well, aren’t you two brave? I have to thank you for saving the both of them. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to them.” She says earnestly. There’s a warm feeling that builds in your chest from her words, and you know Ben experiences the same. “I think you’ll fit right in here.”

“Really? We get to stay?” Sharma says, big eyes hopeful.

“Of course you do. We have a place for children just like you where it’s safe. C-3PO, give them a little tour of the place, will you? I’ll come find you in a bit.” Leia says, turning to the droid who’d been happily engaging in some type of conversation with BB-3.

“Oh, certainly general.” He teeters forward on his stiff legs, waving his arms at the kids. Almae looks overjoyed. You can already tell she has the heart of a mechanic in her, just like you. “Pleasure to meet you, I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. Please, follow me this way.”

The kids seem hesitant, instinctively looking back at you. You smile. “Go on. It’s safe here, everyone’s a friend. Just make sure to stay with the droid so you don’t get lost, okay?” You lean in to whisper, “and ask him stupid questions. He loves those.” The siblings grin impishly at you.

“You’ll come visit us, won’t you?” Shamar asks, tugging on the hem of your robes.

“Yeah, of course we will. Once you get all settled.” You promise, patting him on the back. You watch as they hurry to catch up to C-3PO; it wasn’t too hard, he doesn’t move all that fast.

“They’ll have to be transferred to one of our more remote civilization bases. This one is too dangerous and open to have children on it.” Leia says once they’re gone, both hands resting on her cane.

You sigh. “I figured. I just didn’t have the heart to tell them.” Ben’s hand finds yours, a small comfort.

“There you are!”

All three of you jolt at the sound of Han’s voice as he comes up to you with long strides, Chewie right behind him. “I was wondering when you’d come back with her.” He says to Ben, meaning the Millennium Falcon. “No issues with her, right?”

Ben sighs, automatically knowing what his father would say to him. “No, dad. Nothing happened to your precious ship.”

Han nods. “Good. Chewie and I are gonna head out for a bit. We’ll keep in touch.”

“Sure you will.” Leia mutters.

Han is about to walk up the ramp past you when he stops. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, Han.”

“How ya been?”

You shrug. “I’ve been alright. Doing the usual.”

He nods again. “Good to hear. I’ll see ya later.” He points at Ben. “Keep that boy out of trouble.”

You can’t help the small smile on your face. Ben’s parents accepted the fact that you two were inseparable a long time ago, and they know you don’t really go anywhere without the other. Not if you can help it, at least. “I will, Han.”

When Chewie walks by, he ruffles both you and Ben’s hair with a big, furry paw—his own way of saying hello. You laugh while Ben groans, immediately trying to fix the mess. Then Chewie and Han are gone, disappearing into the Falcon and getting it powered up. That’s typically how your interactions with Ben’s father and his companion go, always short and sweet because Han is always on his way to do something, to go annoy someone in some part of the galaxy.

Leia just shakes her head. When she moves past you, she puts a gentle hand against your bandaged wound. “I want you to go see the medic when you can, dear.”

“I will, Mrs. Organa, don’t worry.” You reassure her. “Ben won’t leave me alone until I do.” She seems satisfied with that.

“Oh, and Luke wants you two to contact him within the next few days. He may ask for your return to Ossus. I believe he has some things to discuss, but it didn’t seem like there was a big rush.” She says. You and Ben share a look, wondering what your Master would have to say. You’re both too exhausted to care about it right now though. “I’ll leave you both to it. But do stop by tomorrow morning to give a full report, hm?”

“Sure, mom. We’ll see you then.” Ben says, generously leaning down again so Leia could give him a little peck on the cheek and hold him close.

She takes a few extra seconds than necessary, Ben beginning to squirm in her grasp. She sighs after finally letting him go. “I’m glad you both made it back safely. I didn’t realize how dangerous things have become. We may have to rethink how we go about negotiations so this doesn’t happen again.”

“We’ll figure it out, we always do.” You try to reassure her, even though you’re feeling doubtful yourself. The First Order is expanding, taking more planets, spreading their control.

Leia hums in agreement, trying to keep up some semblance of optimism. “I’ll have to speak to Luke, he needs to make his move. That means you both will need to be on alert.” She says, tone heavy. She waves a hand suddenly, shaking her head. “We’ll worry about it tomorrow, you two don’t need to listen to me trying to figure out a war right now. Go rest up. I need to make sure C-3PO and those kids didn’t get into any trouble.”

“Good idea.” Ben mutters, knowing those kids are probably trying to get into all kinds of mischief.

With a final goodbye, you two and Leia are going your separate ways. You stretch your arms above your head, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin. “Now let’s go get something to eat, please, my stomach is digesting itself. I hope they still have some of those sandwiches I like.” You say, practically drooling at the thought of those tasty sandwiches they serve in the cafeteria.

Ben scoffs. “This late in the afternoon? You’re dreaming.”

“Don’t ruin it for me.” You groan.

Even without the sandwiches, as long as you get some type of decent food, you’ll be okay. As long as Ben is with you, you’ll be okay. You know that you’ll both grab a meal together, you’ll sit side by side, never seperated. You know that when you’re done, you’ll both find somewhere quiet, preferably bathed in sunlight, you’ll curl up together looking like two puzzle pieces, and you’ll sleep for as long as you want. Because it’s what you always do, and because you earned it.

#I’m sorry there’s too many planets I’ll just make up one respectfully #idk how this ended up being so long lmao???#ben solo come back to me!!!!!#ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo fanfic #ben solo x you #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo x reader #kylo ren #kylo fanfic #kylo x you #kylo

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