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bitchin-beskar · 3 years

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all he could do was watch

Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of death, panic attacks, childhood trauma. Angst. I’m so sorry.

Pairing: Pre-Din Djarin x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 2k

A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 EPISODE 14: THE TRAGEDY. IF Y’ALL HAVEN’T SEEN IT DON’T READ THIS FIC. That being said, I will be writing part 2 after tonight’s season finale, so be prepared. I cried writing this. I’m sorry. (No I’m not.)

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment!! I love hearing what y’all think!!!

“Well, I guess this is it.”

You looked around at the strange stone formations, only partially paying attention as Mando rambled to Grogu.

“Does this look Jedi to you?”

You look at the way the stones are arranged, the carvings in the rock familiar to you even after all this time. Yet, you keep your mouth shut. Mando isn’t asking you, and even if he was, you’d lie to him. Just like you’ve lied to him every other time he’s asked about the Jedi.

“I guess,” he grunts, setting Grogu down, “You sit right here. Okay. Here we go.”

Grogu babbles at the two of you, and Mando cocks his head. “This is the seeing stone. Are you seeing anything?”

A snort bursts free from your mouth before you can stop it, and you see Mando’s head swivel around to you, and you can feel the look of exasperation he’s giving you.

Grogu babbles some more, and Mando turns back to him. “Or are they supposed to see you? Maybe there’s some kind of... control, or something.”

Grogu sees a little insect, and coos, reaching for it. Mando sighs, low and heavy. “Oh, come on, kid. Ahsoka told me all I had to do was get you here and you’d do the rest.”

The sound of thrusters suddenly reach your ears, and you jerk your head up in surprise and not a small amount of fear. You’re not that close to the ship, and you’re out in the open right now, and there’s not a lot of cover.

“Time’s up, kid. We gotta get out of here.” You and Mando turn towards Grogu, and your eyes widen upon seeing him surrounded by a Force shield. “We don’t have time for this. We got to get–”

“Mando, no!”

Your warning comes too late, and Mando is thrown back from Grogu, the shield blasting him back. You run to his side, helping him up from the dirt.

“What the hell–” he grunts, movements jerky from being thrown sideways so violently.

“It’s a Force shield,” you mutter, without thinking. “Nothing’s getting through that.”

Luckily, Mando doesn’t hear you, too focused on Grogu. He looks back and forth between the baby and where the ship had landed, clearly debating.

“Stay here!” He barks at you. “I’ll see if I can buy him some time.” His helmet turns to Grogu. “Can you please hurry up?”

You’re left standing amongst the stone pillars, watching as Mando begins to make his way down the side of the mountain. Anxiously, you turn to Grogu. “Come on, kiddo. We can’t stay here right now.” You wish you could train the kid, but it’s been years since you used the Force, the warning your mentor and friend had given you at the beginning of the Purges still at the forefront of your mind.

“Run, ad’ika. Run as far and as fast as you can. Order 66 commands us to kill all the Jedi. Don’t use the Force, and don’t get caught. Now go!”

A few tears rolled down your cheeks as you remember the frantic hug, the desperate way Rex had gripped your shoulders as he shoved a small pack into your arms, eyes bright with terror as the sounds of his brethren slaughtering yours filled your ears. It had been the last time you’d seen the clone Captain.

You’d listened to him, and you hadn’t used the Force, not for anything. Your lightsaber had been left in the Temple when you’d fled, so you’d trained with a staff instead, although Rex had made sure you knew your way around a blaster too. And for years, you’d lived, completely cut off from the Force, and it had been fine. You’d been fine.

Until you met Mando and Grogu.

You’d recognized Grogu immediately. He’d been at the Temple, same as you. You rarely trained with him, since he was so much younger than you, but you’d known who he was. He didn't’ seem to recognize you, and you figured that was a good thing. The fewer people who knew of your past, the better.

Mando had been cautious to take you on as a passenger, but he’d grown more comfortable around you in the ensuing months. You’d tried keeping your distance, knowing that the secret you were keeping could ruin everything, but somehow, Mando had wormed his way under your skin.

A sudden noise startled you, and you looked up, eyes widening when you saw the slight shadow of what looked to be a Star Destroyer in the atmosphere. Frantically glancing around, you realized Mando was nowhere in sight.

You looked over to see Grogu still enclosed in the Force shield, and you made a split second decision.

“Sorry buddy, I’ve gotta warn Mando. Stay here.”

Worriedly glancing at his still form once more, you began to follow the trail Mando had taken down the mountain, hurrying as fast as you could over the rocky terrain.

It took you a couple minutes, but you finally heard voices. They were arguing, but no blasters were being shot, so you hoped they weren’t enemies, or at least, they wouldn’t shoot you on sight.

The ground leveled out, and you broke into a run. Rounding the corner, you saw the back of Mando, and two people in front of him, although you couldn’t see who they were.

“MANDO!” You yelled, trying to get his attention. “MANDO!”

He whirled around, and you stumbled to a stop in front of him, gasping. “Mando, there’s a Star Destroyer here, we have to–” your frantic plea suddenly cut off as you noticed the man standing behind Mando, your throat closing up and you felt the blood drain out of your face.

“Hey, hey, what is it?” Mando was shaking you, trying to get you to talk to him, but your eyes were glued to the man in the black cloak, unable to look away from the familiar face. “Cyar’ika, what’s wrong?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, desperately trying to stop the tears in your eyes falling down your cheeks. “I–I, I don’t–”

It was too much, the memories were too much, and suddenly you were back at the Temple, blaster-fire and smoke surrounding you as Rex begged you to leave so that you wouldn’t be killed. You were a scared little kid again, surrounded by death and destruction, and you couldn’t breathe–”

“Look at me!”

There were hands on your cheeks, and you blinked, the sounds of blasters and death cries fading into nothing as you stared into the dark visor of the Mandalorian. His gloved hands were cupping your cheeks keeping your face trained at him as he tried to get you to speak.

“Where’s the kid?”

That snapped you out of your downwards spiral, and suddenly a whole new panic took over your mind.

“He’s still at the seeing stone, but there’s a Star Destroyer, he won’t be safe as soon as the shield comes down, we have to go–”

Mando begins to move, tugging you along as he runs back up the side of the mountain, jumping over rocks and bushes as he fights to get back to Grogu as quick as possible. You stumble along, telling yourself to ignore the man that shares Rex’s face, just focus on getting to the kid and then you can have your breakdown, later in the privacy of the Crest.

When the two of you get back to the stone, you see Grogu still surrounded by the Force shield. Before you can stop him, Mando tries a second time to get to Grogu, but he gets thrown back again, this time knocking him out.

“Shit,” you groan, rolling him onto his back as you shake his shoulders. “Dammit Mando, now is not the time for this, wake up!”

He sits up with a groan, grabbing your arms as he regains consciousness. You’re kneeling in front of him, one hand on his arm, the other cupping the side of his neck. He shifts, and you slowly help him stand.

“Okay,” he murmurs, looking at Grogu before turning his head to stare at you. “I’m gonna protect you. Both of you. Just stay here.” He unsheathes his vibroblade, handing it to you. He doesn’t have many weapons on him, and you try to shove it back at him, but he forces your grasp around the hilt, fingers curling over yours as he presses it towards you. “I’ll be back soon.”

You stare into the visor, nodding slowly. He still doesn’t move, and for a moment you wonder what he’s doing when he slowly tilts his head forward, the cool beskar of his helmet resting against your forehead. He holds you there, one hand on your waist, the other wrapped around your fist as you clutch his vibroblade, his helmet pressing against yours in a gesture that feels way too intimate, but you don’t want it to stop.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

Though you don’t understand his words, they still send a shiver down your spine, the weight of them pressing heavy against your chest.

“What does that mean?”

He sighs, finally pulling his head away from yours and standing back. “If we survive this, I’ll tell you.”

With that, he turns, and you watch with a sinking heart as he begins the careful climb back down the mountain. You’ve got a bad feeling about all this, and you only hope that you both will come out the other side unscathed.

A tiny whimper comes from behind you, and you whirl around, seeing the Force shield fade, and little Grogu slump over in exhaustion. Rushing over, you pick him up, cradling him in your arms.

“Brilliant timing, little one,” you mutter sarcastically, looking around nervously. “Just fantastic.”

The sound of blasters being fired and the cries of stormtroopers dying rang in your ears as you tried to get Grogu to wake up. But, apparently whatever he’d done on the seeing stone had completely sapped his energy.

As the sounds of the firefight die down, you see something rapidly approaching. As it gets closer, you realize what they are. Dark Troopers. Fuck. Your vibroblade isn’t going to do shit against them.

There’s nowhere for you to run, nowhere for you to hide, they’re approaching too fast. They land in a circle around you, and you clutch Grogu tighter to your chest. They advance, and Grogu wakes up, immediately whimpering as he sees the Troopers marching steadily closer. You’re hyperventilating, head whipping back and forth, trying to find an escape. As one of them reaches for Grogu, you throw your hand out, as though to push them away.

It’s sudden, the rush, the energy, and it takes you a moment, watching the Trooper fly backwards, for you to realize that you’ve just used the Force. Something brushes across your back and you whirl around, pushing out with the Force again, shoving the second Trooper away from you.

Unfortunately, you’re not fast enough, and the other two are too quick, one of them yanking Grogu out of your arms, the other one wrapping it’s ‘arms’ around you, restricting you, and then you’re in the air.

You struggle, but the grip is solid, and you can’t escape. You see Mando and the woman from earlier reach the stones as you’re rising away, and you can’t help the desperate cry that leaves your lips.

“MANDO!”

***

He reaches the seeing stone just in time to see two Dark Troopers taking off, one of them holding the Child, the other one restraining your struggling form. Without his jetpack, he’s stuck as a spectator to your abduction. He can see the tears on your cheeks, and he knows the exact moment you see him, because your mouth opens and a heartwrenching scream escapes your lips, calling desperately to him.

He falls to his knees as your voice pierces his ears, screaming his name, screaming for him. And all he can do is watch.

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13uswntimagines · 4 years

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Uh Oh Spaghettios (Uswnt x Swift!Reader)

Request- Y/n Get's hurt in a game, Taylor Comes to the hospital to take care of her and the fans find out about Y/n.

Hey dudes, this is part 2 of a one shot series I have labeled A Swift Life that will follow the characters in this universe. I’ll list the other parts down below. I still haven’t decided if it’s going to be a purely Emily/reader endgame or a Soran/Reader endgame. If you have any requests or suggestions, please feel free to hit me up. I hope that you enjoy!

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The smile that etched its way across your face when the ball found the back of the net for the 4th time was blinding. You sent the Australian bench a wink as you copied their own star forward’s signature backflip, being engulfed by your teammate the moment your feet were back on the pitch. The ref blew the whistle signaling that the first half was over, and you laughed as your team ruffled your hair during your walk back to the locker room. You were proving to be a problem like no other for the Australian team, and the dangerous looks crossing the defender's faces showed that they may not have the answer for how to shut you down.

Emily’s arm wrapped around you as you neared the tunnel, your cheeks flushed as she leaned in and placed a light kiss on your cheek.

“4 goals in 20 minutes, you would think the defenders went on break.” She joked, pulling you tighter to you. Your smile got impossibly wider.

“Well, not everyone can be as good as stopping me as you are.” You laughed, ducking your head as she kissed your cheek. You had really opened up to the team since you had finally told them about your family. You had become touchier with everyone, especially a blond-haired defender. You weren’t always good at voicing your thoughts, but the team was finding that you were much better at expressing yourself through body language and touch. Plus it helped that you were a secrete cuddle bug.

“Yeah kid, what’s gotten into you today? You’re like on fire,” Lindsey asked as she wrapped her arm around you from the other side.

“Taylor said that she was going to watch the game.” You shrugged, causing both women to laugh.

“She’s here?” Emily asked trying to untangle herself from you., her eyes frantically searching the stands for your older sister.

“She’s in New York, but she cleared her schedule enough to catch the game.” You said quietly, grabbing Emily’s arm and pulling it back around you. You understood that Taylor was busy, and it made you feel warm inside that she always did her best to watch your games. She had almost flown out to watch this game live, but you had insisted that she didn’t need to. It wasn’t like the game mattered in the long run, and you didn’t feel right pulling her from her own responsibilities when the stakes weren’t that high.

“She’s still worried about the fans?” Lindsey asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Hm, something like that. I think she just wants them to know me for my footie skills and for her name.” You mumbled. It wasn’t that you guys were hiding from the fans. You just hadn’t explicitly admitted that you were related. You were barely on social media as it was, so your public interactions were limited. Taylor was also trying to protect you. She knew that you were shy, and when the fans finally put two and two together, they would be more all over you than they already were.

“I’m surprised that they haven’t connected all the dots yet.” Lindsey snorted. If any fandom on the planet was going to figure it out, it was them.

“Yeah, they’re like the world's greatest detectives” Emily smirked, and you rolled your eyes. Sure they were good, but considering that half of the fandom was still ignoring the fact that the subject of her songs wasn’t brit boy, you weren’t really worried about them realizing that you were a major part of her narrative too.

“They’re not Batman,” You grumbled, mumbling a thank you to Alex when she held the locker room door open for the three of you. She nodded your way, a smirk set on her lips.

“No, you’re superman, flying around and scoring goals,” She said as you passed her, and you frowned.

“Does that make Emily her Lois Lane?” Alex asked, causing the entire room to burst into laughter, and your cheeks flushed.

“In her dream” Emily snorted, untangling herself from you and pushing you away lightly. You averted your eyes from Lindsey’s I’m sorry eyes and stared pointily at the floor. You missed the glares your teammates were sending towards the blond defender. It wasn’t a secret to them that you had a thing for Saucy Sonny. They had bets going for who was going to make the first move and how long it was going to take for the two you to stop being oblivious.

“That’s enough ladies, we need to go over some things before the next half,” Jill interjected, before beginning to talk strategy. You knew that she was way out of your league, but hearing and seeing her disgust with the very idea of giving you a chance still hurt. You spent your halftime half-way listening to Jill drone on and on about positions and getting behind the defenders, while the other half of you was trying not to stare at Emily who was pointedly not looking your way.

Your thoughts were spiraling by the time you made it back onto the field, the playful atmosphere that you had stepped off the pitch with completely gone. You were distracted by the swirling idea that Emily would never want you in the way you so clearly wanted her. That you had been so stupid to even hope that she would give you the chance to prove that you could be a worthy partner.

From the time you were little, you had been told that it only takes a second of distraction for everything to go wrong. But here you were, waiting for Christen to take a corner kick, watching the way Emily was bouncing on her toes, rather than paying attention to the defender who was marking you. You didn’t see the ball flying in your direction, or the opposing defender that was leaping into the air to meet it. One moment you were looking at Emily and the next all you saw was black.

----------------------------------

Alex had had a perfect view of the collision from the bench. She saw your eyes following a certain blond defender and not the ball. She had seen the opposing defender leap into the air, her leg catching you in the side of the head. She had watched you fall to the floor, and Kelley rushing to your side. Emily had flipped her lid the moment she saw your unmoving form on the turf, screaming at the defender who had hurt you and earning herself a yellow card.

Alex was at your side the second the trainers had carried your unconscious body off the field and loaded you into the ambulance. She had held your hand all the way into the hospital, only letting go when the doctors wouldn’t let her into the back with you because while she was your team mom, you didn’t share any blood relations. She had been regulated to the waiting room, where the team had joined her after their victory over Australia.

“Does anyone know why there are about a million camera’s out in front of the hospital?”

“I think that would be our fault,” Taylor said, rushing into the waiting room, her blond girlfriend skidding to a halt not far behind her. Alex felt her shoulders relax at Taylor’s voice.

“Thank fuck you’re here. They won’t tell us anything because we’re not “family”” She

“Not family my ass, you guys spend more time with her than anyone else” Taylor spat, finally taking in the exhausted faces of your teammates, her eyes lingering on Lindsey and Emily’s red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. She wasn’t thrilled that you were going for someone (or multiple someones?), so much older than you, her protective instincts wanting her to make sure that you didn’t get taken advantage of. But on the other hand, they clearly cared for you deeply.

“That’s what I said, but it’s the policy or whatever” Kelley grumbled, pulling Taylor’s attention away from where Emily and Lindsey were curled together in the corner of the waiting room, both being comforted by Sam, Tobin, and Christen.

“Let’s go find the doctor babe,” Karlie said quietly, running a hand up Taylor’s back. Taylor sighed. There would be time to grill the two women who you may or may not be crushing on later. For now, your health was her first priority.

----------------------------------

The first thing you noticed was the incredibly annoying beeping coming from somewhere in the room. It was probably your roommate's alarm again. You couldn’t remember what time you had gone to bed last night, but all you wanted to do was sleep a little more and the annoying beep was preventing you from doing that. Why you had been paired to room with Becky for this camp, you didn’t understand. She was a total morning person while you loved to stay in bed all day.

“Turn it off.” You groaned, your eyelids fluttering. God the sun was bright this morning.

“No can-do kiddo,” The voice beside you chuckled, startling you. That wasn’t Becky’s voice or anyone from the team.

“Tay?” You asked groggily, attempting to turn your head to survey the room, but realizing that that was a terrible idea as a wave of nausea hit you. “Whoa”.

“Stay still babe,” Another voice said from beside Taylor, a hand resting on your chin to prevent you from wiggling around.

“Yeah, I’m here, so is Karlie,” Taylor whispered quietly, hovering over your face so you could see her. You winced, moving Karlie’s hand and trying to sit up on your own again. Alex (who was on your other side) and Taylor immediately jumped in to help you.

“What happened?” You asked, wincing as the pounding in your head increased for a moment as you settled back against the pillows.

“You scared the shit out of us” Kelley grumbled from beside Alex. A small smile etched its way across your face at the sight of the 4 women who were more like parents than siblings sitting by your side. The 4 women who always supported you, and only wanted you to be yourself.

“You got hit in the head really hard. Try not to move around too much. ok?” Taylor said, running a soothing hand through your hair. You pouted. If there was one thing that you hated more than anything else it was being forced to remain still.

“You probably have a concussion kiddo,” Alex added, grabbing your hand and running her thumb over the back of your knuckles.

“No not that. Did we win?” You asked anxiously. The last thing that you remembered was being ahead, and if the team had lost because you got hurt, you didn’t know what you would do. It would probably mean that your USWNT career was over.

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about,” Kelley sighed exasperatedly. You were going to have to learn that there were more important things in life than winning and losing. It was a little scary how much of your identity you based on your abilities on the pitch.

“Well did we?” You insisted, causing the women to chuckle again, Alex nodded and began to rub soothing circles on your shoulder again.

“I’ll find the game for you, just give me a second,” Karlie added, grabbing the remote control and beginning to flick through the channels to find the replay of the game.

“I’m going to go tell Em and Linds that you’re awake,” Kelley said after a few moments, rubbing your leg as she stood up and moved towards the door.

“They’re still here?” You asked, your eyes widening and your cheeks turning red.

“Trust me, kid, they’re not leaving until you do,” Kelley threw over her shoulder as she exited the room. The room was quiet for a few moments, the only sound being the soft murmur of the television. Karlie had changed the channel to the Sportscenter. You relaxed back into the bed, content to watch the commentators break down the game. Your breath caught in your throat as they played the collision again. It wasn’t watching the accident that made you freeze, but instead the photos of a very upset looking Taylor rushing into the hospital. You never wanted to scare or her them, and knowing that you did was really hard. You weren’t upset that the fans had figured it out, frankly, you were surprised that it hadn’t happened earlier.

“So I guess we should tell the fans that I’m not dead,” You mumbled after a few minutes, slowly turning to look at Taylor.

“You’re ok with them knowing?” She asked hesitantly, running the hand that was carding through your hair down your cheek in a soothing motion. You sighed into her touch. She wasn’t your mother, but she had always been nurturing towards you. She was the one who held you after a nightmare or a game that didn’t go the way you wanted it to. Your mom was a firm believer in tough love, sometimes too tough. She wanted the best for you, Austin and Taylor. That meant pushing you to your limits and expecting you to live up to the things your siblings had done. You knew your mother loved you, but Taylor was the one who filled the nurturing role for you.

“I’m not ashamed to be your sister Tay.” You whispered back, and she nodded. She never assumed you were. She knew her fans could be a little… much, and she had just wanted to protect you. Now you would be under an even brighter spotlight than you had been before.

“I never thought you were. I just wanted to make sure you were ready first.” She said back, placing a kiss on your temple. You hummed back, your eyelids fluttering. The fans were like a wave. You could watch from a distance and pretend you knew what you were getting into, but in all honesty, there was no way to prepare for them. You would have had to jump in sooner or later, at least now your teammates could post the videos of them annoying you with her songs online now.

“You know that this means that I get to talk about how awesome you are now right?” Taylor said with a chuckle, and you groaned. Taylor never wanted you to feel like you were in her shadow, and now that the fans knew she was related to you, she was going to take every opportunity to show them just how amazing you were. The fans were about to find out how big of a Y/n Swift stan she was.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift imagine #taylor swift fanfiction

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joel-millerr · 3 years

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The Change

Chaper Two of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.9 K

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence. there is a scene towards the end that isn't exactly torture, but it is pretty graphic so please read with caution!, a bit of angst, and grief (talking about loss).... if there’s anything I missed please let me know so I can update it

Summary: You and Mando on your way to Nevarro so he can collect the bounty on your head but something happens, forcing you to land on another planet, and you begin seeing him in another light

Hope you guys like it!!

Tagged: @1800-fight-me🧡 // @tillytheslytherin🧡

As the Mandalorian’s ship—Razor Crest, climbs higher and higher into the sky, the sun’s beginning to rise over the city. Taking one last look at the capital, you mentally add “getting snatched by a bounty hunter” to the list of things you hate about Kijimi.

Maker, the silence in the cockpit is deafening. The Mandalorian doesn’t acknowledge you at all, his helmet glued to the windshield of the ship. You think about saying something, anything to break the awkward tension that seems to be multiplying in the small area of the cockpit, but from the very short time you’ve been with him, you don’t get the impression that he likes to talk. So awkward silence it is.

Once in the atmosphere, the Mandalorian prepares to make the jump to hyperspace. The stars’ light twinkles off his chrome helmet, and you’re too busy staring at him to notice another ship zip across the windshield, and then within seconds, the radar’s alarm is blaring through the cockpit. The shrill sound is piercing your ears and your eyes wrench shut, as if to try to block the noise out.

Two green beams of light appear out of nowhere, skimming the ship’s hull, and as the enemy spacecraft comes back into your peripheral for just a few seconds, your jaw nearly drops to the floor when you recognize whose ship it is.

It’s your ship. Someone is inside your ship, shooting at you. “That’s my ship!” You shriek, jumping to your feet and quickly making your way to the window. The Mandalorian says nothing in response, just letting out a couple of grunts and huffs. Your ship continues to bombard you with green beams, but the hunter is sharp enough to evade each shot. The jolts cause you to lose balance, and because your hands are still bound, it becomes more difficult for you to keep yourself upright without falling over onto the control panel.

“Get back in your seat,” The Mandalorian says through his visor. His voice is calm but stern. If he was panicking at all, his voice doesn’t give you the slightest suspicion.

You open your mouth to protest, to beg him not to shoot your ship down, to plead with him, but you know it would be a battle you couldn’t possibly win. Fumbling back into the seat to his right, a shot narrowly misses one of the thrusters and hits just above the belly of the ship. It sends you flying out of the seat, and you land on the ground hard, your shoulder taking the brute of the hit.

You hear two more blasts explode against the ship. The Crest is taking a lot of damage right now, but the Mandalorian manages to stay quiet during the entire ordeal.

“Let her go, Mandalorian.” A distorted voice comes through the radio.

Time seems to stop. The sirens still blaring through the cockpit penetrate your ears less and less until they are just a bunch of muffled clamors. That voice can only be from one person. The only other person in this galaxy that knows how to hijack your ship, and actually be able to fly it.

Tye.

Without any warning, the Crest begins a steep incline, and just as you’re finally able to seat yourself back in the chair, pulling the seatbelt across your torso and clicking it into place, the Crest flips upside down. If it weren’t for you being strapped in, you’d be flailing around the cockpit. The ship does a full circle before straightening out right behind your ship. The Mandalorian begins firing, three shots immediately pierce the hull’s integrity. The dark nothingness of space is suddenly luminated by a giant inferno; your ship begins plummeting back down towards Kijimi. You want to scream, to rush over to the pilot’s seat and scream into the radio hoping Tye would respond, but your body feels weighed down, like your limbs refuse to work.

As you watch your ship plummet towards the city, life drains from your body. For a moment, everything is still and fast at the same time. You had come to terms with your fate, you aren’t an optimist—not anymore anyway, but when you saw your ship, a flame—no, a glint of hope started to build in your bones. Maybe the Maker was giving you another chance. You were dead wrong.

Once the blaring alarm quiets, the Mandalorian initiates the jump sequence. The whole thing is over within minutes.

The Crest doesn’t spend much time in hyperspace though, because now the hyperdrive alarm is blaring again and you’re both launched right out, the ship spiraling in open atmosphere. The Mandalorian swears under his breath and begins frantically pressing buttons in an attempt to get you back into hyperspace. Despite his efforts, he’s unable to make the jump.

“Dank farrik,” The vocoder comes out strained.

“One of the shots must have damaged the hyperdrive.” You find yourself saying.

“Yes.” Is all you get.

He changes course and begins descending towards a planet you’ve never seen before. From space, the planet looks mostly swamp green, nothing particularly breathtaking or enticing.

“What is that?” You’re not really expecting an answer, just asking out loud, and you’re surprised because he actually answers you this time.

“Sorgan.”

You’ve heard of Sorgan. Some of your crew had resided on the planet since there was a spice smuggling base located there. Given the fact that Sorgan was a relatively unobtrusive planet, it was smart idea to put a camp. It was mostly covered in thick, dense forest which enabled the camp to be hidden fairly easily. Landing on Sorgan was a blessing in disguise. You could possibly send a message to the base there and maybe, just maybe, get rescued. Almost immediately you could feel excitement tingle your nerves. Okay, maybe you hadn’t lost.

Entering Sorgan airspace, the Mandalorian searches for a forest glade. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a small clearing just at the edge of a foliage of massive pine. He descends slowly, making sure not to hit any trees on the way down. You can’t help but be impressed by his flying abilities. He pilots like it is second nature to him. Always maintaining his cool demeanor, even if he is being shot at. Despite the fact that you resent him for possibly murdering the only person left you considered family and stealing your freedom, that aviator part of you is enthralled by the Mandalorian.

Once firmly landed, he cuts the engine and steps out of his seat.

“Stay here,” His voice is as deep as ever, not bothering to meet your eyes as he walks through the door to the cockpit and begins to descend down the ladder.

You linger in your chair for a few minutes, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. You’re not sure how much time you might have to send a message to your fellow smugglers, but you also don’t want to waste any more time waiting on him to come back. Fumbling slightly with your seatbelt, you all but leap towards the pilot’s chair to get to the radio. You finger toggles over the button to record your message. Why are you hesitating?

Chewing on your lip, and letting a deep breath exhale through your nose, you fight the urge to retreat back in your seat. Just as you’re about to record, you hear footsteps on the ladder behind you.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck,” you curse under your breath and you scramble to get back to your seat without the Mandalorian seeing you. You hear his boots hit the metal floor just as your butt hits the chair. The beskar helmet peaks through the doorway of the cockpit as if he’s just checking to see if you followed his orders.

“No, I haven’t moved,” you say to him, annoyingly.

“Come down.” He instructs, turning on his heel and already making his way down the rungs of the ladder.

“Why?”

The Mandalorian stops in his tracks, “Because I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re in the cockpit.”

You really don’t want to go down there. Not because you’re scared he’ll throw your ass in carbonite, but because if he gets you down there, you’ll have no reason to get back up here and send out a message to any smuggler who might want to help you.

“You can trust me.” It’s a desperate attempt. Usually you can use your charm to bend others to your will, but the Mandalorian is unlike anyone you’ve ever met. You already know it won’t work.

“No.”

Pressing your hands down on your knees, you push yourself to your feet. You eye the control panel one last time and actually consider locking yourself in the bridge just long enough to get a message out. While the idea becomes more and more tempting by the second, you need to be smart about this. If you plan on escaping or getting a message out, it has to be perfectly timed and planned. It didn’t take him long to catch you, and you need to be a lot smarter the next time around.

So you head down the ladder like he told you to. The ramp is down, and your feet irk to run down the ridge and escape into the lush forest in front of you. Every instinct inside of you is screaming to run, to take your chances and hope to lose him in the fog of the greenery, but you have no idea where you are on this planet. You have no idea if the camp is relatively close to you or not. If you ran now, you’d have no supplies, no sense of direction, never mind the fact that your hands are still bound.

First things first then; get him to release the shackles.

He’s currently inspecting the damage Tye inflicted on the Crest. The hull of the ship is smoking, and there’s a few new dents on the sides of the ship, but there isn’t any damage that a couple days’ worth of work wouldn’t be able to fix. Luckily for you, that gives you a couple days to think of the best way to take off.

Not entirely sure where to go, you stay by the ladder, standing like an awkward kid waiting to be told what to do.

The Crest is much bigger than you thought it was. Most of the space inside the ship is housing the carbonite chamber with the three other companions you’re convinced you’ll end up joining. Next to the chamber is what you assume is a locker full of armory. You make a mental note to raid that locker before your escape. To your left, there’s a narrow, small cubicle that could only be used for sleep. Even though the door is closed, you can tell that it’s already too cramped for the Mandalorian, and you wonder how he can fit in such a tiny space.

Honestly, you’re more concerned about whether or not he’s ever had anyone in there with him. Surely if the space is too small for him, then he couldn’t possibly have had any lovers in there with him, right? Heat begins to coil in your stomach and the thought of that makes you shift in your stance. You really shouldn’t be thinking of whether or not the Mandalorian’s fucked anybody in his poor excuse of a bed, but you can’t help yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the pleasure of being with a man or even taken care of yourself and it doesn’t help that the Mandalorian exudes this ferocious confidence and control. Does that make you wonder if he’d still as controlling when he’s balls deep inside you? Would be still be quiet like he is now, or would he be a babbling mess?

“Hey.” The voice pulls you out of your thoughts and causes you to jump.

The Mandalorian is standing just arms distance away from you, and stars, he is an absolute sight. Built like a monument—tall, firm and fucking intimidating. In your everyday life, you always walked with your head held high, refusing to show any weakness, but right now? Your head is down, only peering up at him through hooded lids. Something about the Mandalorian scratches a primal instinct in you that you’ve only observed in animals. Predator, prey—you’re giving up control, and what’s worse is that you actually like it. When it came to lovers, you had always been the dominant one. Every run you’ve made since you can remember, you were the one calling the shots, ordering your comrades around, but in the very short time you’ve known the Mandalorian, you can tell he likes control, and order.

You should hate him. You shouldn’t feel this kind of attraction for him, but despite your efforts, it’s there. You areattracted to him—he basically owns you now; it definitely shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.

“Sorry?” You manage to choke out. Your throat is bone dry and Maker, you swear if he was any closer, he’d be able to hear your heart fucking hammering in your chest. His gloved hand reaches out and grabs the binds on your wrists. It’s not even his fucking bare hand but it has you holding back a moan. You wrench your eyes shut hoping it will alleviate some of the tension building between your legs.

“I’m going to unbind you,” The voice behind the helmet begins to say. “But if you run, I will catch you again and I won’t hesitate to throw your ass in carbonite. Do you understand?” It comes our breathy, almost like being this close to you is affecting him the same way it’s affecting you.

You can’t find any words, now. All you can do is nod slowly because your mind is on fucking fire being this close to him and you want to rip off that helmet and crush your lips together but also you want to drop to your fucking knees and show him how much he’s affecting you.

The grip on your wrists relaxes and he’s taking the binds and tossing them to the floor of the ship. You continue to stand just a few feet from each other. The visor is too dark to make out his eyes, and you curse the Maker for it. You’ve heard stories about Mandalorians. How they never take off their helmets in front of others, how they swear to the Creed to live a life of anonymity. You couldn’t possibly imagine living that way. It sounds incredibly restricting, but you do respect it. Everyone has their own beliefs in this world, and you aren’t one to judge another for the path they’ve chosen. Look at yourself, you were a nobody mechanic and then you became a spice smuggler. The path you’ve chosen isn’t exactly noble, so who are you to judge how the Mandalorians choose to live their lives?

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize he’s no inches away from your face. He’s halfway down the ramp when he calls you.

“Let’s go.”

You stumble for a couple steps and then pick up a small jog to catch up with him. The walk is a little uncomfortable now due to the slickness between your thighs, but you push through it.

“Where are we going?” You ask once you’re by his side. You look up at him but when he answers you, he keeps his attention peeled to the landscape in front of him.

“The hyperdrive was damaged.” His strides are much larger than yours, and you need to trot to keep up the pace. “I saw a town not too far from here. Hopefully there’ll be someone there that can help.”

You spot the town—barely a town, it’s just a couple of huts and then a bigger one at the centre. You wonder how anyone would choose to live here. It’s too quiet, too uneventful. There are a couple merchants selling krill—you know Sorgan exports a lot of krill and is basically the only way farmers make a living here.

You enter the common house—maybe it’s an inn, you’re not entirely sure. It’s nothing like the cantinas on Kijimi or Tatooine or any of the other planets you’ve visited. It’s ridiculously quiet and charming. There aren’t any patrons playing sabacc and screaming at one another when one of them loses, or others getting incredibly intoxicated on spotchka and brawling on the floor of the bar. Just a couple of humble farmers, some making a pit spot, and other locals keeping to themselves. It’s refreshing and also unnerving. You’re used to the commotion of more lively planet cantinas, staying in the shadows and observing, making sure you’d be ready in case someone tried to pick a fight with you. There’s no need for that here. Not only does everyone in this place look completely harmless, but you’ve also got a fucking Mandalorian on your left, and you doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try to fight him.

Unlike your choice to sit in the back of the common house, the Mandalorian chooses a table smack in the middle of the room. That’s the difference between a Mandalorian and a smuggler. You would rather choose a quiet place to sit, not drawing any attention to yourself. He—on the other hand, doesn’t put that much thought into where they should sit. Smugglers are always being hunted. Mandalorians? No one wants to fight them.

Once seated, you tense immediately. There are voices behind you, and not being able to keep track of what they’re saying, or if they move really distresses you. Granted, you doubt anyone here has a mean bone in their body, but you stay on edge regardless.

One of the women behind the counter takes notice of your arrival. Patting her hands clean on her apron, she walks over to you.

“Can I interest you in anything, travelers?” She asks, all smiles.

Her immediate kindness puts you at ease—slightly.

Before you can ask for some spotchka, the Mandalorian’s vocoder cuts through the helmet.

“Is there anyone here that can repair a ship?”

Her brows pull together tightly, pressing a finger to her chin. “Hmm… I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Sorgan is a farming planet, and we don’t get many visitors around here.”

He sighs, and you peek down from the woman standing over you to see his fist ball up on the table. “Fine.” It comes out strained, like it’s taking all his strength not to blow up and scream.

“Would you like anything else?” She asks again. “Maybe something for you, ma’am?” Shifting her body to face you, you open your mouth to answer, but the Mandalorian speaks first. “No, thank you.”

You whip your head to face him. You may be a quarry, but you still have some rights.

“Actually,” You point out, still looking at the helmet that burns right into you. “I’d like a bottle of your finest spotchka, please.”

He tilts his head just enough for you to notice, fist still balled up on the table. The lady seems to take notice of the tension, but she says nothing further. She simply nods and retreats to the bar. Returning swiftly with a bottle in one hand—two cups in the other, she places them between you two. You reach into the side thigh pocket of your pants and pull out a handful of credits and place them in her hand. She nods in gratitude. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“Thank you.” The hunter grits through his teeth.

Immediately you pour yourself a glass and throw it back, a couple droplets leaking from the corners of your mouth. Using the back of your hand, you wipe your mouth clean. You know you’ll probably regret the little stunt you just pulled, but it’s been a long fucking day and you just want to relax for a bit.

Okay, so maybe you’re not entirely relaxed because there’s a Mandalorian just a few feet away from that seems to be getting more and more cross the longer you stay in the common house, but you also want to see how far you can press him before he snaps. Besides, he shot down your ship. You deserve this.

Three more glasses of spotchka later, and you’re feeling warm inside. The kind of warm that lowers your defenses and makes you giggle at everything. The kind of warmth that releases the tension that’s nestled in the deepest corners of your body, and makes your vision a little fuzzy. It’s probably early evening now, because the common house is getting livelier. They must be coming in for a meal.

“Get up,” The Mandalorian orders, rising to his feet.

“So soon?” You pout. You’re definitely feeling the effects of the spotchka.

“We’ve wasted enough time here. Now get up, we’re leaving.”

Normally, you’d fight till your last breath, but with the alcohol swimming in your blood, your inhibitions are lowered, and you’re way too relaxed to actually get your brain to fight back. Besides, there’s barely any spotchka left and you don’t have any more credits to spend.

Getting to your feet is a little bit of a struggle. Once standing up, the room starts spinning. Not enough to completely knock you off balance, but enough to make it difficult to stand without swaying. Turning on his heel, the Mandalorian heads for the door, cape mimicking his movements. Your legs aren’t moving as fast as you’d like them too, and the spotchka is really getting to your head, now. You drank a lot more than you should have.

Luckily you’re able to catch up to him, somewhat out of breath though. He doesn’t say anything to you—no surprise there. As you stumble through the forest, there’s a gentle breeze in the air. Tree branches creak as the wind passes through, and stray hairs from your ponytail brush across your flushed cheeks. You’re too preoccupied with enjoying the clean, fresh air to notice he’s now a couple feet ahead of you. The cape attached to his armour flows in the gentle breeze. Stars, you’re completely captivated by him. By the way he carries himself, like there’s not a shred of self-doubt behind that armor, and you want to know everything about him. Now that you’re pretty drunk, the thoughts you pushed away can roam freely in your mind. When was the last time he took off that helmet? Why did he—a Mandalorian, decide to be a bounty hunter? How many quarries has he captured in his life? How old is he? Are Mandalorians allowed to have sex with non-Mandalorians? Your mind is coming up with an endless number of questions, but you never find the strength to ask.

“You know, you could have asked me to help with the ship,” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. The Mandalorian stops in his tracks and waits for you to catch up to him. Once you’re at his side, he turns his head to look in your direction.

“What?” Deep, rough, and somewhat irritable.

Your shoulders shoot up and down twice, body swaying with the breeze. “I’m a mechanic.”

“Yeah.” He says, brushing off yours words and resuming his tread.

“No, seriously.” Chasing after him, you want to reach out and grab hold of his arm, but you catch yourself before you do.

“Just how much spotchka did you drink?” He taunts, voice condensing like he’s scolding a child.

“I… don’t know.” Holy maker, did you drink an entire bottle to yourself?

The Mandalorian actually scoffs at you. If you could see his face, you’re certain he’d be rolling his eyes at you.

“Okay, well I used to be.” You clarify, still struggling to keep up with his gigantic strides. Kriff how fast does he walk? “Can you just stop walking for a second, please?”

“No.”

You let out a loud, childish groan. At this point you basically have to run to keep up with the hunk of metal heading back to his ship.

“I used to repair ships with my father on Tatooine.” Your tone is breathy, your lungs trying to get as much fresh air as possible.

This makes him pause. Turning around, the ‘T’ of his visor looking directly at you. Stopping at arm’s-length away from him, you bend forward, hands resting on your knees. He gives you time to regulate your breathing.

“I can fix the hyperdrive. I’ve been doing it since I can remember.” You try to assure him. You don’t even know why you’re offering your help. The longer it takes to fix, the longer your freedom lasts, but the alcohol has made you soft, more accommodating. Seeming to come out of nowhere, your vision becomes extremely blurry. You swear there’s now two Mandalorians in front of you. Blinking profusely, your eyesight doesn’t clear. You feel like you’re floating while simultaneously being pulled to the ground. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you feel your limbs cave in, and everything gets dark.

The sound of crackling fire wakes you up. It must be late, because the fire is the only source of light. How did you get here? The last thing you remember was walking through thick forest with the Mandalorian and now you’re laying by a fire, back near the Crest. You can’t remember the last time you actually passed out from drinking so much. The spotchka here has to be stronger than any other time you’ve had it. You can handle your drink, and this is downright embarrassing.

Wait, did he actually carry you back to the ship? Despite the little stunt you pulled back at the common house? He could have easily thrown you into carbonite once you both got back to the ship and you wouldn’t have even known it, but for some reason, he chose not to. You want to ask him—to show your appreciation, but you hesitate. Maybe just letting it slide is the right course of action.

Propping yourself on your elbows, you see the Mandalorian sitting on an old, mossy stump. There’s something between his legs, but you can’t make out its features through the fire. Pushing yourself to your feet, you notice another stump just to your right. He must have put it there for you to sit once you woke up. You have a pounding headache, but the fire’s warmth helps a little.

You can now make out a few more details about the creature sat between the Mandalorian’s feet. It looks like a child, but you can’t be sure. Your eyes must be deceiving you because it appears to be green, the type of green you’ve only ever seen on the plains of Naboo.

Stars, its ears. They’re massive, just like its eyes. Your mouth curls into a smile. It’s adorable. You’ve never been partial to kids. There was never something inside of you that longed for a child, or to take care of one, but this little thing at the Mandalorian’s feet is making you rethink anything negative you’ve ever said about babies.

“What…is that?” You ask as you sit down on the stump he placed for you.

From the embers of the fire, you see the little thing’s eyes find you and it coos. Kriff, he’s so fucking cute.

“He’s a foundling.” Oh, so it’s a ‘he’.

You wait for him to explain, but the Mandalorian isn’t one to talk or elaborate unless directly addressed or absolutely necessary. Continuing to examine the child from a distance, it—no, he, is also looking at you, almost like he’s studying you as well.

“How did he come into your care?”

“He was a quarry,” His voice is quiet, the modulator distorting his tone to make it raspier than usual.

“You haven’t delivered him yet?”

Your eyes shift between the man in armor across the fire from you, and the small green alien-looking child between his legs. The Child’s head tilts from side to side as he watches you, the reflection of the flames glistening in his big black eyes.

“I did.” He deadpans and leaves you to fill in the rest of the blanks.

You want to bore him to death with questions. Why did he go back for him? Does this mean he’s its father? How does he plan to raise a child being a bounty hunter? Does that mean this kid will also become a Mandalorian?

None of these questions actually come out of your mouth, though. Given the circumstances, you don’t think the Mandalorian even has a clue what he’ll do, and it’s not really your place to bombard him with your curiosity.

So, maybe this Mandalorian was different from the stories you’ve heard—not that you’ve heard much honestly other than them being amazing killers, but if he went back for the Child, then maybe there was a soft, kind heart under all that beskar.

“I can do it.” Your voice is just loud enough for him to hear you. You continue to stare into the flames, waiting to see if he’ll respond. He doesn’t, but that’s fine with you.

You’re not entirely sure when you even fell asleep but when your eyes flutter open, you’re lying on the ground, back against the uneven terrain. Using the ground to push you up to your feet, you shake the dirt off your pants and begin stretching your back by twisting your torso until you hear a satisfying crack. Your mother used to scold you for cracking your back. “You’re going to hurt yourself one day,” she used to say. When you were a kid, you’d roll your eyes at her and then she’d give you a gentle but still stern slap across the arm, the kind of slap only a mother could get away with doing. You were never really one to listen to authority, so it’s a habit you never grew out of.

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beaming down on your skin, not a single cloud in sight. Sorgan is quite breathtaking, really. On most planets, no matter where you are, you can hear the commotion of city centres or see ships coming in and out of the atmosphere. Not on Sorgan, though. The only sounds you’re able to make out are tress swaying in the breeze, and the occasional bellow of the beasts in the forest.

The sound of the Child startles you. He’s at your feet, little arms extending out to grasp the material of your trousers. When did he get here? You crouch down and wave your index finger at him, little coos emitting from the green baby. His three-fingered hand wraps around your finger. This warm calmness comes over you, putting you at ease. Untensing all your muscles, your aches disappear, and the only thing that exists is you and the Child. You close your eyes, completely giving into the stillness. Maker, you swear you can hear the Child say something. Your eyes are still closed, and you don’t actually hear him say anything, but he is. You hear it in your mind—It’s faint and muffled, and you have to focus all your energy into narrowing down what he’s saying, and then it becomes as clear as day.

Grogu.

“Good. You’re up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s headed straight for you, just as stoic as ever; the sun’s light ricocheting off the beskar. The Child’s grip slackens, and you straighten out to meet the Mandalorian’s gaze. Your breath hitches as he continues to make his way towards you. Something as simple as a walk shouldn’t make you feel the way it does, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. Shifting in your stance, you can’t help but notice the heat building in your lower abdomen. Stars, get a grip. He’s the enemy, you shouldn’t allow yourself to feel this.

Leaning over, he picks up the Child and holds him with one arm. Almost immediately, you observe the way the Child wraps his tiny hand around one of the Mandalorian’s gloved fingers. There’s no stopping the stupid, shit-eating grin that appears on your face.

“The hyperdrive.”

“Right.” You respond, the smile falls from your face and you stand there awkwardly for a few seconds. The Mandalorian turns his back to you and makes way for the Crest. You follow him like a lost puppy, keeping a couple feet distance between you and him.

Once inside, he sets the Child down on one of the cargo crates near the ladder leading up the cockpit. You head up the ladder first, and he quickly follows suit. To your left is a small cubby hole in the wall that accesses all the wiring to the hyperdrive. It’ll be a nightmare to crawl in and out of, but you offered your services to him, so you can’t turn back now.

“I’ll get straight to work, then.” Turning away from him, you crouch down to your knees to examine the damage. There are various wires that are disconnected and thrown around, smoke emitting from one of the panels hidden inside the wall, and looks just about as worse as it can get. You’ve never seen anything this bad, before. How the Kriff was he able to fly this ship in such a horrible state? You start by grabbing a blue and red wire that hang loosely off the wall. A bit of copper and aluminum cords are splitting at the end of the cable which makes you think they might have touched each other causing some kind short circuit. Shrugging off the idea, you start to work.

After working on the hyperdrive for a couple hours, you decide to take a break. Climbing down the ladder near the cockpit, there’s no sign of the Mandalorian or the Child. All of a sudden, you’re aware of how sticky your body feels. Dirty, grimy, and uncomfortable. Now would be the perfect time for a shower. You turn your head to the fresher behind you and consider taking one, but you don’t want to intrude. You’re still a quarry and you assume the Mandalorian wouldn’t appreciate you taking a shower in his refresher. On your walk to the common house yesterday, you had spotted a lake not too far away. Maybe you could take one there. Then again, if you were to venture off, he might think you’ve run off. Your eyes shift between the fresher and the outside.

“You can clean up in the fresher.” Despite his tone always been low and rough, it still startles you. You whip your neck to see the Mandalorian leaning against the wall of the ship. You swear he wasn’t there a second ago so to see him just a few metres away from you not only puzzles you, but sends immediate shockwaves to your cunt. You feel like you’re being stalked, and it shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. The Mandalorian is built like a goddamn Star Destroyer; one look at him and you’re instantly intimidated, almost scared. You’ve never met anyone who can be so big yet so quiet, so frightening yet also so caring. It’s actually quite impressive. From his demeanor, no one would be able to guess he’s got a fucking kid back in his ship.

At first you want to protest, not wanting to push any boundaries or make either of you feel uncomfortable, but you know he’ll end up winning any argument you try to make for yourself, so instead you give him a quick nod before turning on your heel to the refresher. You don’t turn back to see if the Mandalorian is still looking at you, but your cheeks feel red hot anyway.

The fresher is pretty small considering the size of the ship, but if he somehow manages to fit in here, you have no problem. The water is warm, and cascades over your skin, instantly relaxing you. It feels amazing until it suddenly doesn’t. Your arm is burning, it’s on fucking fire and then it hits you. Looking down at your arm, you see scorched skin and are reminded of your injury from… well you’re not quite sure how long it’s been since he captured you back on Kijimi. It’s maybe been two or three days since. In the same moment, you realize you never got to put any bacta spray on it to stop any kind of infection. The skin surrounding the wound is turning a deep green-purple shade. Not a good sign.

“Kriff…” You whisper. You were supposed to put some bacta on it once you got back to your ship but obviously, things went differently than you expected. You take the bar of soap sitting on one of the ledges inside the fresher and begin washing away the dirt and sweat from the last couple of days, being extra careful when cleaning the area around your injury. Realistically, you could stay here for hours, letting the warm water drip down your figure, completely soothing your sore muscles and calming your mind, but you don’t want to take up more water than necessary.

When you come out of the fresher, there’s a pile of clean clothes resting on the rungs of the ladder. Tilting your head at the garments in front of you, you take them in your hands and smile to yourself. He must have gone out while you were working on the ship and somehow was able to find you some clean clothes. You change quickly, out in the open, hoping he won’t walk in and see you—okay maybe you do kind of hope he’ll see you. Once you’re fully clothes, you’re pleasantly surprised to notice they fit you perfectly. The cargo pants hug your frame like a glove, and you can’t help but notice they make your ass look great. Your tunic snatches your waist and is low cut enough for just the smallest amount of cleavage to pop through.

Taking the ladder two steps at a time, you reach the top in record time. You can see the smooth convex of beskar in the pilot’s chair, so instead of immediately resuming your work, you poke your head into the doorway of the cockpit. The Child’s pram rests on the seat to your left. It’s closed which means he’s probably asleep in there.

“Thank you for the clothes…” You’re not sure what to call him, since neither of us have actually properly introduced yourselves. However, you’re sure he knows your name given there’s a bounty on your head.

He doesn’t turn to face you, just continues whatever he’s doing. “Mando,” He clarifies, somehow answering the question you were thinking. “And you’re welcome.”

You linger for a couple seconds, not entirely sure why. He’s not much of a talker, but you still want to hear his voice. Before you can conjure up with something to say, he breaks the silence.

“When will you be done?” There isn’t any annoyance in his tone, which is usually accompanied by that question. You heard it all the time when you worked back at the hangar. “Hey lady, when are you going to be done?”, “What the Kriff is taking so long?”. You’ve grown to let those condescending questions roll off your back, but the Mandalorian’s tone is surprisingly gentle. Maker, are you falling for the Mandalorian?

“Well,” You begin, taking a few steps into the cockpit. Your hand comes up and latches onto your forearm, squeezing it. “I noticed that the hyperdrive was only functioning at 50% capacity before it broke down completely, and I was going to ask if you wanted it back at 100% before we takeoff because that’ll take—”

“Just fix it enough for us to get back to Nevarro.” He interjects, the baritone coming out dry.

It catches you off-guard, but you’re quickly reminded once again that you aren’t just somebody fixing the ship. You are a prisoner, and he doesn’t actually owe you any more kindness. He was kind enough to let you live, let you clean yourself in his refresher, and give you clean clothes. You’re chewing on the flesh inside your cheek, wondering if there’s something else you should say, but nothing worth saying comes to mind. He must notice your presence still there, because he swivels the pilot’s chair to face you. You swallow the giant lump in your throat and shift in your stance.

“You’re hurt.”

You glance over to your arm and then back to the visor. “It’s nothing.”

Pressing down on his knees to stand, the Mandalorian stalks towards you. Nerves and arousal are pooling in your stomach, now. Your chest is heaving as he gets closer. Stopping just at arm’s length, a gloved hand reaches out and clasps just underneath your injured bicep. The touch makes you pull back, not because it hurts but because it feels too fucking amazing. You’re seeing stars and he’s barely even touched you. Mouth agape, your breathing is so fucking uneven.

“That’ll need more than just cauterizing in order for it to properly heal,” His hand now moves down, ever so gently caressing your elbow. Your head dips down, unable to look at him directly. It’s pathetic really. You’re usually a fairly strong-willed person, who doesn’t bend at the will of anybody. You stand tall, even despite your size. Others in the smuggling game have a huge respect for you and see you as a leader, but now you’re cowering under the Mandalorian. You’d obey every one of his commands if he ordered it. All the power you hold, your bad habit of resisting authority would vanish in an instant if he pushed you.

“There’s bacta spray in the medical kit near the armory. You should take care of that before it infects.”

Your brain is racing, and the ability to form words had completed disappeared. All you can offer is a barely noticeable nod. You want to stay in this moment for as long as you can. Just the two of you standing inches apart, the tension growing thicker and thicker in the small area of the cockpit. You wonder if he feels it, too. If he wishes for this intimate moment to last forever. Swallowing your nerves, your eyes shit from the floor up to the visor. Trying to gauge for some kind of reaction but even if he is affected by this, his body gives no sign of it. Must be all in your head, then.

The Mandalorian’s finally the one to break up your little moment. He lets go of your elbow and you fight back the moan that threatens to escape your lips. You want him to touch you again, anywhere and fucking everywhere. He sits back in the chair and rotates it towards the control panel, so his back is facing you again. You probably linger a little longer than you should before finally retreating back down the ladder to get the bacta spray.

Once the spray mists over the gash, you instantly feel relief. The strain you didn’t realize was still in your body dissipates and you let out a deep breath through your lips. Thank the Maker for bacta spray.

The next few days go by relatively fast. Despite the awkward/sexual tension that clearly exists between you and Mando, you’re able to endure it. The encounters don’t last that long anyway. Usually, he’ll ask you about the progress on the hyperdrive. The conversations don’t last particularly long, but it’s enough to work you up into a sweaty mess.

And if you’re being honest, you probably could have fixed the hyperdrive in two days. You’re a damn natural when it comes to repairs, and you’ve fixed hundreds of hyperdrives in worse shape believe it or not. But you’re were taking your sweet ass time, giving yourself more time to be with Mando. It’s silly and childish, but you truly enjoyed his company, even though the conversations are mostly one sided.

Unfortunately though, the job had to get done. Once Mando noticed the hyperdrive had been fixed to 65% capacity, he was satisfied enough with your work. He decided you’d spend one last night on Sorgan and then leave at first light.

You’re all sitting by the fire. The Child propped up on a stump between the two of you. The night is calm, not a single breeze passing through the trees. A clear sky showered in stars. Forgetting the fact that this is essentially your last night of “freedom”, you’re really loving this.

“Twenty thousand.”

You’re in the middle of sipping bone broth you bought off a merchant in town—with Mando’s credits, when his voice catches your attention. “Hmm?” You mumble, using the back of your hand to wipe the little dripples of soup that trinkle down your chin.

“You asked me how much your bounty was,” His helmet stares into the fire a few feet away from him. The orange hues reflecting off the beskar.

Your lips form a thin line. You didn’t know the New Republic had that kind of money to spend. Twenty thousand is a pretty generous bounty.

“Wow, that’s pretty high.” That’s actually really high. It’s hard to make an honest living, and the New Republic throwing around thousands of credits like that makes you uneasy. Instead of using that as an incentive for other to hunt criminals, it should be distributed to those less fortunate. The thought makes you chuckle to yourself. A smuggler explaining how a government should be run. How noble of you.

“I wasn’t born into this, you know…” Your voice trails off, unsure if Mando wants to hear you or not. The helmet turns in your direction, giving you permission to continue. The Child looks up at you and coos. Your eyes avert their gaze to stare into the flames.

Clearing your throat, you begin. “I was raised on Tatooine. My parents were lucky enough to own a hangar, so my dad worked there, and my mom was a seamstress. Just a couple of ordinary people.” You weren’t particularly less fortunate than anyone else in your town. Your belly was always full, and you always had clean clothes on your back. Most of the residents in your village weren’t as privileged but your parents were generous, offering what little excess they had was given those who couldn’t afford food or clean garments.

Early on, they taught you never to flaunt what you had, always be humble when speaking to others, and to always be respectful. You loved your parents more than you could say, and ever since they died, you shut off a part of yourself. Heartbroken and alone, losing yourself in work seemed like the only way to cope with the loss. The more sorrow you felt, the more work you forced on yourself. If it weren’t for Tye, you’re not sure if you would have been able to get through it.

And ever since then, you vowed never to let yourself experience any kind of love again. The risk was just too high. Not knowing if one day your loved one would come home or not, investing so much of your soul into someone, relying on them only to have it snatched away from you without warning; it just seemed foolish. When they died, you cried every morning and every night for months, until one night you vowed never to cry again.

And you haven’t since.

People called you heartless, scum, cruel, but their words never managed to pierce the iron exterior you mentally built for yourself when your parents died. No one would be allowed to access that sensitive, caring part of you. Not even Tye. You loved him like a brother, but once that loss had punched through you, you could never look at him the same. There was a distance, now. Whether he knew it or not, he never confronted you about it. He gave you space, and when you were ready to let him back into your life, albeit not really back in, he never pressured you or expected your relationship to go back to how it was.

“So when they passed, I just felt like I was lost. I needed to escape.”

“And smuggling was your only option?” There’s a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m a smuggler and you’re a bounty hunter. We all make choices in life. I’ve made my peace with that.” Your tone comes out a little more defensive than it should, and you think about apologizing, but fuck it. You have nothing to lose anymore. Even if you thought he might not turn you in, the possibility of getting twenty thousand credits is too much of an opportunity to pass up on.

Neither of you speak for the rest of the night.

You’re awakened by Mando nudging your feet with his. You snap out of deep sleep, rubbing your palms against your eyes. Sitting up, you moan softly and begin trying to adjust your vision to the Sorgan darkness. The only light that the night offers is the moonlight reflecting off Mando’s armor. The helmet’s looking directly at you, and a finger comes up to where his mouth would be, signaling to be quiet. Still half-asleep, you nod.

Ever so slowly, you rise to your feet and quickly brush the dirt off your pants.

“Get to the ship,” He orders, voice low and gruff.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, still standing in place.

“Hunters.” He says. “Get to the ship.” Mando orders again, his tone becoming much more assertive. You want to fight. You’ve never run from a fight before, and you’re not about to start now.

“I can help.”

Before having the chance to respond, red blasts come flying through the trees in the distance. Mando grabs you by the waist and shoves you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Get to the fucking ship!” He yells.

You want to argue with him, really you do. Realistically, you know he could probably take care of this himself, but that doesn’t mean you want to cower away and hide in the ship while he takes care of business. Then panic swarms you.

The Child.

Your head whips back and forth, and the relief that comes over you when you catch sight of his pram just your left, the gloomy night shielding him from sight, instantly calms your nerves.

The shooting stops all at once, becoming eerily quiet. Mando pivots, trying to keep eyes all around him. Your body mimics his movements, even though you’re completely defenseless. Twigs snapping, bushes rustling—not from the breeze, but from intruders trampling over them, coming closer. One, two, three, four hunters come into view, flanking you from all angles.

Okay, so this worse than you thought.

“Ah, Mando!” One of them calls out, blaster pointed directly at Mando’s chest.

“We don’t want any trouble, Mando,” Another pursuer taunts. “We just want the girl.”

Fuck.

They begin drawing in closer. You don’t want to underestimate Mando’s ability to fight, but with four hunters closing in, and having only one blaster, you’re not seeing how he can win this. You’re conjuring a plan inside your head and praying that he’ll catch on. If someone’s going to get credit for your capture, it sure as hell isn’t going to be this gang of thugs.

“Fine.” You throw up your hands in defeat, stepping aside from the shield that is Mando. You face the man directly in front of you, assuming he’s the one who’s leading the charge.

“What are you doing?” Mando’s voice is fucking low, somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

“Trust me.” Your tone gentle, eyes pleading with him.

You begin taking slow footsteps towards the blaster pointed now at you. “I can assure you, I’m more valuable alive, so why don’t we put our blasters down before someone gets hurts?” Arms still up, hesitating to take any more steps forward.

“You think we’re stupid enough to listen to you?” One of them shouts behind you. You flinch on impulse. Your chest is heaving, but you need to a grip if you plan to walk away from this alive.

You can slightly make out the hunter’s features. He looks somewhat familiar, like when you see a stranger in a dream, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve seen him before. You’ve encountered plenty of hunters before, maybe they’re just all starting to look the same to you. Only Mando stands out, now.

The moon’s mellow and radiant reflection is starting to make out the hunter’s features. He doesn’t look entirely human, but you don’t manage to get close enough to actually see what he is.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The hunter sneers, his mouth curling into a malicious grin.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you remember who this is—but how? You shot him in the chest. You saw him fall. Sure, you didn’t actually check to see if he was dead but how could anyone survive being blasted directly in the chest? You must be remembering wrong. No, he shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.

“Surprised to see me?”

You refuse to show your disbelief, keeping your jaw tense. “No, it’s just more target practice.” You spit.

Eerie laughter erupts from deep inside the man opposite you. Never slacking on the grip on his blaster, he shifts the barrel from your chest to directly between your eyes. Okay…what the fuck do you do now?

Mando and the kid are still a few feet behind you. You’re running out of ideas, fast. If you went to attack your pursuer, he’d definitely shoot you before you got close enough to him, and the three behind you would shoot Mando down before he even had time to react. You need to play this out smart, maybe you could—

Before being able to finish your thought, you hear whistling, and bodies hit the ground. Instinctively, you want to look over your shoulder to see what happened, but there’s still a blaster pointed at your face, and you’d be dead if you wasted even a second to turn around. Charging at him, you narrowly miss three blasts as they come flying by your cheek, shoulder, and neck. Once you feel close enough, you lunge at him, knocking you both to the ground. Your body lands on top of his, the blaster rolling a few feet away from your conjoined bodies. Grabbing hold of the lapel on his jacket, you wind up your fist and connect it with his jaw. He cries at the pain, retaliating by slamming his knee into your abdomen. The air is completely knocked out of your lungs, but you stifle the wail that threatens to spill you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You reach out aimlessly for the gun, and the joy you get when you feel the gun in your hand is unmatched. Scrambling to your feet, and clutching the gun in your hand, you point it at him. Mando wastes no time rushing to your side, blaster also on him.

“Don’t.” You tell him. No, you want this kill to be yours.

For a moment, you think he’ll ignore you and shoot him anyway. The man on the ground, now resting on his elbows spits, droplets of blood landing on the ground, a small trail dribbling down his chin. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction, to see him bleed and completely at your mercy, but reason has escaped you. You want to hurt him; you want him to feel as much pain as any person can take. He threatened you, Mando, and the kid. He’ll pay for it, you promise.

“Go ahead, kill me.” The man swears. “But know that we’re only the beginning. You think you’re the only one who got a tracking fob, Mando?” A smile curls up on the corners of his lips. Your body is hot—it’s actually scorching. This surpasses any emotion you’ve ever felt before. The scalding need for blood and pain engulfs you. You’re not even sure why you feel so angry, but you are.

“Hunter scum,” You spit, kicking him hard in the stomach. More red fluid punches out of his mouth, causing him to cough aggressively.

“Hey,” Mando’s free arm grasps on to your bicep. “Stop.”

Your head’s shaking violently. No, he needs to suffer. “No, I’m gonna savour this.” You swing your leg back to kick him again, but Mando’s voice rips through the vocoder. “Stop!” It comes out aggressive, like he’s giving you an order.

Your jaw is tight, every fiber in your body is telling you to shove Mando out of the way so you can wreck this hunter scum that lies at your feet.

“You g-gonna let him order you around like that, sweetheart?” His last word cuts through you like a vibroblade to the chest. Your free hand balls up into a fist, white knuckling so hard, you’re sure you’re breaking skin with your nails. The man on the ground laughs, he’s fucking laughing at you and that’s the final straw, the thing you needed to push you over the edge. Unclenching your fist, your hand shoots up and flexes around what you imagine is his neck. He coughs, and starts gasping for air. Shaky hands shoot up to his own throat, as if he thinks that’ll somehow relieve the pressure you’re creating. It feels good, seeing him fucking struggle for breath, watching the light behind his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. It’s happening all too fast, and you want to take your time.

“Fuck this,” Mando shouts, his blaster coming up and shooting the man in the heart. Your grip slackens, and you drop to your knees. Struggling for breath, one hand on your chest and the other on your knee, you feel like you’re going to pass out. Mando’s drops to your side, a big, gloved hand resting on your back. Your body shudders at the touch and you pull away from him. Determined to put some space between you two, you straighten out, and take a couple steps back.

“What the hell happened there?” He tries not to startle you; his voice comes out a rough whisper.

Feeling your breathing evening out, your palms come out, trembling. You stare down at them, then to the corpse lying near Mando’s feet, desperately trying to understand why you couldn’t stop, why you couldn’t control your anger. The words aren’t forming, you can’t bring yourself to understand how it happened.

“I-I don’t know.” How could this happen? How could you let this happen?

A distorted sigh comes through the helmet. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“I didn’t,” Your voice comes out as gentle as you can, given the circumstances. “I’ve just always had it.”

Mando takes a step closer to you and halts; he’s asking for permission to get closer. You give him a barely noticeable nod and within seconds he’s towering over you. His hands twitch at his sides, and you wonder if he’s going to touch you, but he doesn’t, and you start to believe that maybe a jail cell is exactly where you should be.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #Din Djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #the mandalorian x you #Din Djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #angst #tw: graphic depictions of violence #tw: grief #reader insert #the mandalorian fanfiction #we are one when together #fics

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lovelessdagger · 3 years

Text

Starlight - Prologue: Before

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Explicit Language, Trauma

Words: 2000

Summary: What's past is prologue.

There's a new trend since the fall of the Empire, everyone is rising from the dead.

She's haunted by memories of the Empire that abandoned her, he's plagued with thoughts of what if and doubts of the future. The stars align in a string of constellations which guide them to their fates, decided long before them.

Tortured with echos of before, they're alone in an endless galaxy. But orphans have a funny way of finding each other, and the gods have a sick sense of humor.

Read on AO3 Here

Tatooine was the galaxy’s own personal hell, Mustafar at least had the pleasure of fauna. Demonic nightmarish fauna that was more than likely poisonous, but fauna nonetheless. Tatooine? Tatooine was a barren wasteland that had gone to the dogs, and even the dogs had decided they wanted no part in its misfortune. At least on Mustafar she could go inside and be relieved of the heat, at least Mustafar could be considered home.

Or at least it used to be, before.

“Maker,” An assassin mutters, crossing over a sand dune. The red tracking fob in her gloved hand sounds, it’s light flashing a similar color. To her relief, she was close. The sooner to the target, the sooner she could leave and never set foot on sand again.

She could count the total number of visits to Tatooine in her lifetime on one hand. The first she couldn’t have been more than fourteen, then again at an older age to meet with the Hutts. Nine years ago, her father had sent her on a reconnaissance mission to some abandoned moisture farm. It had been terribly boring, full of memories of family dinners and old beaten up droids.

The irony that that very mission essentially caused her to lose everything wasn’t lost on her.

Five years ago she sat in the very cantina she walks to, warned to run away. A mere twenty-one years old—give or take, her birthday after all was a random day chosen by her and the waking sun. There was no telling her true age, so with her knowledge of human anatomy and development, nine years ago she decided on being seventeen.

“Why seventeen?” He asks her. Entering hyperspace she sits behind him, tracing passing stars on the window.

“Because,” she begins matter-of-factly, “Seventeen is a completely insignificant year to be alive. Sixteen is old enough that I won’t be questioned for traveling alone, but still too young to be taken seriously. I’m not quite ready to be an adult yet, but next cycle I will be. So I am seventeen now, so that I may be prepared to be eighteen later.”

Eighteen hours later, the first Death Star exploded.

The events which follow guide her on a fragile string of stars throughout the galaxy, the culmination of which lead her back to hell. Or Tatooine, as the New Republic liked to call it.

Maybe if she had listened things would have been different.

Or maybe they would be worse.

Either way she would be here. The designer of her cruel fate and dictator of her misery have decided this long ago. Forever would she be trapped in hell with her memories.

And everyone else’s.

Condemned to relive the worst of what humanity had to offer, over, and over, and over again. It wasn’t so bad anymore, it’s easy to get numb to that sort of thing when your entire life was filled with it. Still, out of all the places in the galaxy, why did it have to be Tatooine?

She could understand the appeal for those on the run. Away from the New Republic’s oversight, moisture farms as the only viable landmark, and everyone being too overworked to give a damn. Theoretically it should have been easy to hide, the only issue was every criminal in the Outer Rim had the same idea. Originality be damned.

A detached hood and mask shield her identity, not that she believed anything with a penchant of life would be anywhere near. All that surrounded her was sand, rocks, and sand. Still, she could never be overly cautious. Walking up to the cantina, her eyes roll. It was like they wanted to make her job difficult. She could only assume the bar would be crawling with other criminals. Defected imperials, thieves, murderers.

It could have been a family reunion.

Eyes fall on her entrance, the suns backlight her into a silhouette. She becomes the one cascade of darkness in the light of the desert.

“Boys,” she greets, walking in. Her eyes scan the room, there couldn’t be more than ten men. She counts the passing of ten seconds before one approaches her. Within those seconds her mind remarks on the state of the bar, essentially unchanged. Same busted chairs, same creaking floors, same hideous decorations.

“What’s someone like you doing here?” a man grunts, stalking up to her. The most she does to acknowledge him is an eye roll. He grabs her arm, holding her in place. “Does your daddy know you’re out here?” he asks, leaning down to her ear.

She mocks a laugh. “Does yours?”

The man spits at her boots. “Bitch,” he says, walking away from her. His spit slowly rolls off her toe, leaving a glimmering streak along the leather in its wake. She pulls her blaster out, pointing the gun behind her, she shoots the man in the back of the head. He drops, his body heavy with a thud.

The cantina falls to silence. Nine bodies are now watching her. No one makes a move, even the bartender stops his clinking glasses. She’s almost inviting them to try her next.

“No?” She asks, holstering her gun. “Pity,” she mutters.

She walks up to body number seven, he sits in the same spot she had all those years ago. She places her soiled boot on his seat, grabbing his attention. Motioning for him to stand, she barely makes eye contact.

Her fingers run across the tables’ wood, rubbing over permanent stains and rotting cracks.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says. He always worried too much about her, “Whatever he’s planning, you won’t come out of it.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she says. “I can take care of myself now.”

“I know. That’s what scares me. You’re not safe anymore,” he replies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been safe.”

Seven stares at her incredulously, slurping his liquor.

“Come with me,” his voice echos around her. If she closes her eyes it’s like he’s still sitting in front of her. Pleading.

“I don’t like making messes inside, it’s bad manners,” she says, reaching for her blaster. “Get up.”

“Am I supposed to be scared, girl?” Seven asks. He scans her appearance and truth be told she was no Rancor, certainly no Hutt. While her build was athletic, her height physically left her the smallest in the room.

“You owe a lot of credits—” Seven stands, “—That’s better.” She drops her foot. “Now—“

“Step aside,” a modulated voice speaks behind her. She catches a reflection of the intruder in the glass of the framed artwork above Seven’s head. A Mandalorian, covered in pure Beskar, stands a whole head above her. Of course a fucking Mandalorian would show up right now, this had to be his doing. Even in the grave he had to fuck with her.

“Mando,” Seven laughs, he wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers. “I was uh, I was just talking to the missus here,” he grabs the girls shoulder. “Say, now’s not really a good time so how about we—“

“I don’t have time for this,” the Mandalorian says. He drops a bounty puck on the table, in blue holograms Seven’s profile appears.

WANTED: EDI MOURI

“Let’s go,” Mando says.

The girl shakes herself from Seven. “Listen Shiny, I was here first so move along.” The Mandalorian’s head tilts.

“Are you with the guild?” He asks.

She picks up the bounty puck, examining the emblem. “Not yours.”

Mando’s head turns to One’s fallen body on the ground, a growing pool of blood by his head.

“Your work?”

“You could say that.”

Seven clears his throat. Whispers of bets trail within the crowd. “In fairness. She did find me first.”

The pair are incredulous in their stare. “You want to go with the assassin?” Mando asks, a slight twinge of amusement escapes past his modulator.

Seven’s face turns to ice, his deep emerald skin becoming a pastel like hue. “On second thought. I always loved the Mandalorian stories I heard as a kid, I’m a big fan. Let’s go big guy.” He takes a step towards Mando, the assassin pulls out her blaster, pointing it to his head. At the same moment Mando pulls out his own, pointing it to her.

“Drop it,” he says. “I need him alive.”

She cocks her head to the side, pressing her forehead against the barrel of the gun. “Do it,” she purrs.

He’s motionless.

She grabs the Mandalorian’s wrist with one hand, striking the bend in his arm with the other. A blaster shot fires, Three falls to the ground with a hole in his head.

Mando lifts her by her neck and slams her into the table where Seven sits. Her vision flashes white and she groans on impact. Her hands fumble across the wood in frantic search of anything to defend herself with.

“Wait for me, I’ll come for you in two days.”

She smashes Seven’s plate against the table, shattering it. With a jagged edge of porcelain she slashes the Mandalorian’s arm, staining the edge with his red blood. In his stumble back she rolls off the table.

Harsh stabs are swung to the openings between the pieces of armor, he easily blocks but her movements are quick in succession. He ignites the flamethrower on his arm and she flips out of range.

Six isn’t so lucky.

She lands on his table, he’s charred and slumped over. She grabs a baton resting against his chair, cringing at its touch. Jumping of the table she strikes his helmet. The tune of impact horrifically melodic.

Brought to his knees, Mando grabs her leg sweeping her onto her back. The baton falls out of her grasp. They tumble on the ground, scathing for any advantage they could find on the other. She slaps a taser disk on his armor, the shocks malfunction the electronics.

The Mandalorian lays on the ground, emitting heavy gasps for air. Sounds of passing credits come from a back table. She straddles him, pulling out the knife kept in the welt of her sleeve. It’s metal presses against his capes fabric gathered around his neck.

A smile twinges under her mask. “Not bad,” she pants, leaning down over him.

The cantina doors automate open, in perfect eye-line, a green little creature. It waddles in, cooing with bright eyes at the patrons, greeting them all. It locks eyes with her, head tilted. The veil of her mask conceals her dropped jaw.

The Mandalorian takes the chance of her distraction; flipping their bodies over, he straddles her waist, pinning her hands above her head. The assassin’s chest rises and falls heavy from under him. “I told you to wait outside,” he grunts. The green thing coos, waddling to the pair. It reaches out for her. “No,” he says next, raising a scolding finger to it. It whines, plopping on its rear.

Past the visor, his eyes lock onto hers, he clears his throat. Suggestive positioning aside, he had claim to victory. Though, had it not been for the child he would have been a dead man, throat slit under her knife.

He could still kill her, his blaster was in reach, so was her knife.

He should kill her.

But he doesn’t.

“Hey Mandalorian,” she breathes. “Where’s your bounty?” Seven’s seat empty, table broken, shattered porcelain fallen on the floor.

“Fuck,” he swears. He stands, pocketing the knife she held. He picks up the creature, sparing her one last glance. “Stay out of my way,” he warns. Exiting the building she’s left on the floor.

The surviving witnesses avoid her glare. There are holes in the flooring, broken furniture, blood stains splattered on every surface.

So much for not making a mess indoors.

She scoffs, picking herself up. Her muscles ache, bruises are forming under her clothing, her head pounds.

Carelessly, she shoots Five on her way out.

It’s a redemption of sorts.

Officially, Tatooine was worse than hell.

Chapter One: The Meeting

#Mandalorian #the mandalorian #Din Djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x oc #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #Starlight #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x oc #mando x ofc #mando x original character #mando x original female character #din djarin x female oc

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

Text

I Want Us Part 3

Fandom: SVU / One Chicago

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing: Carisi x Reader

Warning/s: kidnapping, guns/shooting

Word Count: 2,602

Summary: When a child abduction case crosses state lines in New York, Intelligence flies out to meet the Special Victims Unit and track down the missing boy. With the clock ticking, both units decide to mix up partners in order to combine their knowledge of the case with knowledge of New York City, pairing Intelligence’s newest member Y/N with Detective Carisi. After a successful stakeout the pair finds themselves on the tail of the suspect, determined to bring him to justice and bring the boy back home.

Tags: @the-baby-bookworm // @inlovewith3 //

Action came sooner than you were expecting, both you and Carisi silently agreeing that the gun shots that sounded from inside the building constituted absolutely necessary as burst from the car, gun out your holster in seconds as you peered around the fence.

A man was running out of the building, Ronny you assumed by the child he was forcefully dragging along under his left arm. Even in the available light, it was clear both were unharmed, the metalic glint of an object in Ronny’s right hand causing you to make the fair assumption that he’d fired the shots you heard.

There was no way to sneak up on him, but soon you lost all need to as he paused by the car he’d arrived in, hesitating before frantically looking around and taking off down the road and into the night.

“We can’t lose him,” you said forcefully, both of you making your way quickly to the entrance of the bar just as another car rolled up. Halstead and Rollins jumping out.

“We’ve got Ronny and Logan, there are at least two men inside, potentially injured,” Carisi told the others, you and Halstead sharing a nod as you followed Carisi down the street, hearing the others disappear into the building followed shortly by a request for two ambulances to their location over the radio.

You followed just behind Carisi, hands gripping your gun as you made your way down the street, footsteps echoing in the silent night. Ronny had heard, glancing back at you before picking up his pace, but if your footsteps could be heard down the road, Logan’s cries and shouts were unmissable. He disappeared around a corner and you lowered your gun slightly in one hand, sprinting with Carisi, the sound of Logan’s despair all the motivation you needed to not slow down for a second.

Not only had this man abducted his own child, he’d just shot two men in front of him. You didn’t understand how anyone could do that, and you never wanted to.

As you reached the corner Carisi signaled for you to hold back, checking the coast was clear before you took off running again, Ronny still on the move. He was getting slower though, you realised, and you weren’t surprised given the uncooperative child under his arm.

He peeled off down and ally as you continued to give chase, seemingly trying to lose you both with his various twists and turns. It wouldn’t work though, you had him now and he wasn’t getting away.

Stopping again to check the coast it was your turn to peer around the edge of a wall, your head barely going an inch before you jumped back, brick breaking off where your head had just been.

“Dead end,” Carisi whispered to you, apparently knowing where you were. Ronny was trapped, which may have been worse you realised with a sinking feeling. He was already a desperate man, and desperate men often thought they had nothing left to lose.

“Ronny!” You called down the ally, your voice bouncing off the stones as Logan’s sobs quietened. “Ronny there’s nowhere else to go, just put the gun down and let us take you in, it’s over, no one else has to get hurt.” You tried to sound demanding but it came out as more of a plea.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said back, though it sounded like he was talking more to himself than you, “he’s my son, mine! He should be with me, it’s what I deserve-”

Your blood was boiling, knowing full well that all that man deserved was a jail cell. Still, you could tell he was unravelling, and that wasn’t good for anyone, least of all Logan. With a ‘trust me’ look to Carisi you holstered your gun, taking a breath as you stepped out into the opening of the ally, in full view of Ronny and his gun.

Carisi’s eyes went wide in protest and he reached out to pull you back but you shook your head at him. Looking down to Ronny and Logan, you were staring down the barrel of a gun, hands raised as Ronny stood frozen, not expecting you to be so stupid probably. You got that a lot.

“Hey Ronny, hey Logan, my name’s Y/N, I’m a detective with the Chicago police department,” you told them, keeping your hands where he could see them at all times. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Carisi with his finger on the trigger, ready to jump in if this got out of hand.

“Don’t come any closer!” Ronny waved the gun in his hand at you.

“I won’t,” you told him, “okay, I just want to talk okay? See if we can figure this out huh, so how about you tell me what happened?” Make him think you understand him, sympathise with him, make him think your on his side and let his guard down, de-escalate the situation.

“He’s my son, but she wouldn’t let me have him, wouldn’t even let me see him when I was inside, and when I got out... a restraining order?! What gave her the right? No... no no no, so I took him, I took what was mine and I came here, O’Connell promised- he promised!” Ronny ranted as you tried to keep your features neutral as images of the beat down he’d done to his ex wife flashed through your head.

“He lied to you, broke that promise,” you prodded, trying to sound indignant on his behalf so he’d open up more.

“Yes! Said there was too much publicity, he wouldn’t risk getting us out the country, I mean the selfishness- I did what I had to do,” He told you, gun lowering slightly as he poured out some of his frustration.

You inched yourself forward a step, then another, noticing Carisi practically stop breathing from where he stood, completely alert and ready to step in.

“And he shouldn’t have done that, okay, I get it, you’re the victim here alright, so why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk about that huh,” you tried, “it’s clear you love your son okay? Look at him Ronny, look at how scared he is.”

Ronny glanced down at his boy as you took the chance to take another couple of small steps. He was shaking and pale, snot and tears covering his face as his bottom lip shook uncontrollably.

“No!” Ronny snapped, gun back up at you as Logan shrunk back in fear, “you’re scaring him, this is all you!”

You level your breathing and straightened up, “I’m not the one holding a gun Ronny,” you said with a scary calm, watching the realisation dawn on Ronny as he looked from the gun in hand, to his son, who was staring at the weapon with trepidation.

“I...” he floundered. Was he a monster? Yes, but every monster had a weakness.

“Give me the gun Ronny,” you told him as he glanced from it to you, not really registering how much closer to him you had been in the beginning.

“You’ll take me back to jail, I can’t go back to jail,” he muttered, but the gun looked suddenly very heavy in his outstretched hand as he weighed the decision in his mind.

You were very close to him now, so close that what happened next was too quick for Carisi to react to. Logan took that moment to bolt, his father’s grip on him slacking enough for him to break free as he ran past you to try and get away. You didn’t blame him for a second, if you were his age you would have done the same thing, you’d even been anticipating it.

So when Ronny’s focus snapped back, rage filling his eyes again as he now viewed you as someone else trying to keep him from his son, grip tightening back on his gun again with a new found purpose as he began to take aim, you were ready.

Carisi barely had time to step out from around the corner, gun raised but unable to take a clear shot as a small boy collided with him, hiding behind his legs as his father let out a cry of anger.

Ronny was fast, but you were faster, catching his wrist and twisting it around so you ended up behind him, his arm behind his back as you aimed a kick to the back of one of his knees, knocking him to the ground. Ronny tried to twist but you was it coming, shoving him forward so he lost balance and sprawled onto his front on the floor. You kicked the gun across the floor and out of his reach, planting your knee on his back as he struggled, grappling with his wrists as you cuffed him.

“Ronny Parker, you’re under arrest for kidnapping and attempted murder,” you told him, looking up and grinning at a relieved Carisi just as the glorious sound of sirens could be heard approaching from down the street.

Carisi put a comforting hand on Logan’s head as he continued to hug the man’s knees, shaking his head at your actions as you hauled the protesting Ronny to his feet.

Logan looked away as his father was brought past him, struggling to get away from you as you held him fast.

“That was... reckless,” Carisi commented, earning a smug wink from you as you passed Ronny off to a couple of uniforms that had arrived on the scene, the rest of Intelligence and SVU in tow.

“It’s her middle name,” you heard Antonio say, turning to see him approaching with Voight and Benson, who carefully coaxed Logan away from Carisi’s legs.

“Well Logan’s safe and Ronny’s going back to jail for a long time, good job guys,” Benson congratulated you both.

“Honestly Cap? All her,” Carisi told her, gesturing with his head in your direction as Antonio clapped you on the back. You put your hands in your pockets, accepting the praise as you tried to cover up the fact that your hands were shaking.

“Good job detective, you ever consider a change of scenery you let me know,” Benson told you.

“You trying to poach my detectives?” Voight asked and Benson chuckled, saying something to a uniform before Logan was escorted back to a vehicle. He seemed a little reluctant, but at the mention of his mom he couldn’t have moved quicker if he’d tried.

You smiled as you watched Logan wander off, back to his family and his home. You wanted to go with him, but you knew you’d have a lot of paperwork to do before the night was actually over, and it was already past 3 am.

“Hey,” Carisi appeared beside you as he removed his vest, “want a ride back to the station?”

You took a breath of the not so cool night air, sweaty from the heat and the chase, in desperate need of some food and a shower, then sleep. But you weren’t finished just yet, so you gave an appreciative nod to Carisi and let Voight know that you were going to make your statement and write up your report.

He let you go and soon you were making your way down the street with Carisi, back to your car near the bar, which was currently swarming with police and forensics. Carisi greeted a few of them in passing and before you knew it you were driving back to the district.

“Your gut was right afterall,” Carisi noted. You’d found Logan, he was safe, and Ronny wasn’t going to ever be able to hurt him again. It had been a long night, but you’d done good, so you allowed yourself a moment of satisfaction.

“Hell of a night, but yeah I guess so,” you replied, staring off out of the window as the buildings and lights passed by. New York was something else, and you wished you’d gotten a chance to see more of it under better circumstances, and during the day, but it had certainly been memorable.

Your hands weren’t shaking quite so much anymore, but jumping in front of a man with a loaded gun had certainly rattled you more than you’d let on. It had been reckless, more so than usual, but your need to protect Logan and get Ronny behind bars had overridden that bit of sense. It had paid off this time, but you really did have to be more careful, or so Antonio kept telling you.

You turned back from the window when you noticed Carisi throw you a couple of glances as he drove. “You know, there’s a pizza place not too far from here, they’re not gourmet, but they are open this time of night.”

Before you could answer, your stomach growled, earning a laugh from Carisi as he changed course, discussing the best toppings as he did.

Soon, you were both back at his desk at the district, a couple of others had came and went, offering pats on the back for a job well done, but you and Carisi found yourself talking even further into the night until both the paperwork and pizza were done, feeling very satisfied.

“I’ll be the first to admit this isn’t the truest representation of the best New York pizza,” Carisi laughed, throwing on his jacket as you both got up to leave.

It was going on half 4 in the morning, and any food and drink you had after dark hit differently, especially after a long case on a nearly empty stomach. “You won’t hear me complaining,” you replied.

God, you needed a shower, you thought as you put your jacket over your arm, knowing that it would just feel way too uncomfortable and hot to put it on. Voight had booked you all into some cheap motels for the night, but the picture Vanessa had sent you earlier on was making you dread the experience. Carisi had visibly cringed when he’d seen it.

“I know I should probably head to sleep when I get home, but I’m still a little too wired,” Carisi said as you made your way towards the exit.

“I know what you mean,” you told him, eyes and mind still wide awake after the events of the night.

“What, not looking forward to getting back to your five star accommodation?” He teased and you rolled your eyes.

“God don’t remind me,” you complained, earning a laugh at your expense, “but it’s either that or sleep on the street... though the street might actually be more appealing.”

A odd kind of silence filled the elevator then, neither of you seeming to know what to say next before the doors dinged open and you wandered out back into the night, or well, more like very early morning.

“You could... stay somewhere else?” Carisi offered, half awkwardly half suggestively. Was he, suggesting what you thought he was?

Your heart skipped a beat, taking in Carisi as he stood before you, a look on his face that definitely told you he was unsure of whether he should have said that or not. You were still wired, and you’d had half a mind to do a quick workout back at the motel to let off some more steam to try and take a grimey shower and sleep, but that was before you now had another option...

“Lead the way,” you answered, smiling as he did too, your night in New York continuing to surprise you in the best possible ways...

#sonny carisi #svu #law and order svu #chicago pd #one chicago #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagine #svu imagine #law and order svu imagine #chicago pd imagine #one chicago imagine #sonny carisi imagines #law and order svu imagines #chicago pd imagines #one chicago imagines #i want us

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killthe-illusionarydreams · 4 years

Text

Ashes To Ashes

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: ‘Please could you write a Fred Weasley imagine where you’re inside the burrow when Bellatrix sets it on fire and Fred runs in to get you out?? Thank you, I’m really loving you writing!’ For anonymous

Ps- i havent read the books or seen the movies in a while so I kinda went w the time it was fleur & bills wedding & intergrated it w that, sorry if its not what u wanted but I did write Bellatrix’s attack in x

————

Today was the big day. For today was the the day where Fleur & Bill were finally to be wed. For their celebration to erase war from anyones thoughts, today they were just two kids in love, not undercover Order Workers. Today they were simply girl & boy.

“Oi Y/N hurry up, Fleur’s asking for you” Ginny shouts practically breathless as she runs past your room, trying to find Hermione for the bride.

You pick up the gorgeous bouqet that earlier today you picked up from the florist for the woman and made your way downstairs into the living room. As you take a closer look, you notice something is off. Fleur was standing rigidly still, looking in the mirror unblinking.

“Fleur, darling, are you alright?”

The woman remained silent, Y/N had no idea what to do, she’d never seen her friend so paniced, so immobile. Ever since Y/N’s sixth year (after the Triwizard Tournament) the two kept in contact, maintaining a solid friendship with the other, who wouldve known that years later Fleur would join the family that you had already been apart of.

“Its okay to be nervous.” You sit beside the Frenchwoman “Just talk through it” grabbing her hand you pull her down to sit beside you.

“It’z all so scary Y/N. I love Bill, I really do, but what if he realises he doesnt feel the same about me and leaves me there?” She faces you, eyes glossed over

That caused you to frowm slightly “Bill loves you more than he loves life itself Fleaur, everybody knows that he’d do anything for you just to see you happy- not many can say that they have a person like that.” You smile lightly, thinking about your person. “You constantly say how much you love him, so if you stil feel that for him, theres no need to be scared of getting married-These are the normal pre wedding doubts, none of them are true. Besides, I’m sure if Bill tried to run away from such a gorgeous and talented person as you, Molly would raise havoc and go to the ends of the earth to get him back.”

Fleur looks up at you, smiling, but with stray tears going down her face “Thank you Y/N” she throws herself forward and hugs you “It’s just a big step & I’ve been so emotional lately because of-“ she hesitates

A look of realisation dawns on you and you beam, hugging her once more but tighter “You’re joking? Congratulations!” You give her a peck on the cheek “Does Bill know?” You queried as she shook her head

“Non, I only confirmed it a week ago. Please dont tell anyone Y/N.” She looks at you with pleading eyes and you vigorously nod

“Of course. I wont say a thing, this is your secret. But how about we start getting ready for your wedding hmm.”

As Y/N started to do Fleurs makeup, Hermione rushed in with the wedding dress that her and Molly had been making final adjustments to, Ginny was running around frantically trying to get all the guests in the right places and seats. Once commisioning your help to shout at a group of loiterers to leave the premises because they wouldnt listen to the red head girl. All in all, after many hours, Fleaur was ready.

“You look gorgeous.” Gabrielle beamed at her sister

“Stunning.”

“Ethereal.”

“I might just steal you from Bill” you wink and cause her to laugh and blow you a kiss “I’ll go get everyone ready, you still have plenty of time to relax.” Handing Gabrielle the bouqet, you rush out of the room, which proved to be quite difficult in heels. But bearing through the pain, you get outside and see rows and rows of the fragile golden chairs set on either side of the long purple carpet. The supporting poles to the gazeebo top were entwined with gorgeous white and gold flowers. As you look to where there was supposed to be an enormous bunch of balloons, you frown to see it bare.

“George!” You shout getting his attention “Wheres Fred? You were supposed to the balloons up ages-“ you feel strong arms pick you up and spin you around, making you let out a shriek of surprise, thankfully not loud enough to get the attention of the others

“I’m here my love, disposable at your command.” He purrs into your ear, sending chills down your spine

“Put me down asshole” you laugh and turn to face him, before you could manage to say anything you were taken aback at how he looked. “You got a haircut.” You stated plainly and ran a hand through his hair as he put his arms around your waist.

“Correction, George cut my hair when I wasnt paying attention so ‘people would be able to tell the difference between us’” he wrinkled his nose

You stare at him, dumbstruck “As if the hole on the side of his head wasnt enough.” Fred laughs and says thats what he said “I like it, it suits you.”

Fred grins and kisses you, “Lets face it Y/N you like anything when its to do with me.”

You roll your eyes and hum in agreement “Thats because I love you Fred. But I will seriously consider breaking up with you if you dont get the balloons up as you promised.”

Fred gives you a small peck & jumps back from you “I’m on it!” and runs over towards his brother to finally do what he had to. You smile at him, reminiscing at how you managed to fall in love with such an idiotic man, yet you could never wish for more. Fred Weasley was truly perfect.

Shaking your head you turn back to the guests that were not where they were supposed to be before shouting “Get to your seats and away from the food please! Thats for after the ceremony!” You swat their hands before adding “If you dont know where youre supposed to be, go to Hermione and Molly, they will tell you.” You motion to the pair before walking around to make last minute adjustments.

The wedding ceremony went beautifully, Fleur was walked down with her bridesmaids: Gabrielle & Ginny. When in sight, she rendered everyone breathless, she was ethereal, the most gorgeous a person could possibly look. Molly teared up from the get go at the sight of her eldest marrying, many more joined in when they said their vows. You could not believe that the day of your friends wedding had finally arrived. Throughout the entire sitting down portion of the ceremony, Fred was holding your hand and rubbing circles on it, an assurance that through everything you went through- you were still together- still alive.

The loud music was ringing through the field, dancing bodies surrounded you, but you paid them no mind, your main focus on Fred.

“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look Y/N?”

You laugh lightly as you sway to the beat “No, I must’ve missed it the other ten times you said it”

“Well you do, absolutely bewitching, are you sure you didnt use a love poition on me? I never knew feeling this was possible.” He jokes as he spins you

“Must be my natural charm and charisma that got you so captured Fred.”

“Must be.” He mutters softly looking into your eyes. Fred was completely besotted by you, more than anyone had ever seen him be, he just knew that Y/N was perfect. The way that she’d light up any room she walked in, the way that she’d never back down from a challenge, and just simply how she made him feel. Dear Merlin he loved the girl. “After this do you fancy going away for a bit?”

You look at him sceptically “Planning out your murderous fantasies are we?”

He laughs and shakes his head “You’re impossible. No, since the shops closed I thought we could go away somewhere before everything with the war kicks off, I want as much time with you as I can get.”

“Oh” you forgot that the wizarding world was on the brink of war “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. But if you sneak George along i swear to Merlin I will live through my murderous fantasy & kill the pair of you.”

Fred chuckles again, before nodding “Promise, no George. I think he got an eyefull when he barged into our room without knocking.”

“Serves him right.” You mumble “I told him on multiple occasions to knock.”

The rest of the song died down and you stayed in Freds arms for a moment, before he was being wisked away to dance with Aunt Muriel, he held an awfully sour look as you giggled when she hounded on him to straighten his back, then saying that he was too tall.

“I’m a bit cold, I’ll go get a jacket then I’ll be right back” Y/N kissed his cheek & left to get back inside the burrow. Thinking nothing of it, she poured herself another drink, smiling to herself at how Fred would have to have another dance with Muriel. What an awful woman.

Unbeknown to the girl, a silver patronus intruded on the celebration to announce grave news. “The Ministary has fallen. The Minister of magic is dead. They are coming. They are coming.” Everyone scrabled to find their loved ones, to make sure that they were safe, but before Fred even had the chance to look for Y/N, everything burst into havoc. The gazeebo was now engulfed in flames, Death Eaters showing up everywhere to curse them.

“Y/N!” Fred shouted, frantically looking around for the girl “Y/N!”

He turned around and was greeted by a paniced Mr Weasley “Theres not much time Fred, I dont know where she is, you need to get to safety and leave. Now!”

Fred ignored his fathers protests and ran, dodging various spells being shot from either side. He had to find you, he had to know you were safe.

An abrupt crash jolts you back into reality, you get up to run and go outside but with a sudden ‘whoosh’ and black smoke- two Death Eaters appear infront of you.

“Shit.” You mumble & grab your wand, quickly dodging their spells you manage to knock one out & try to deal with the other. “You’re quite persistant-“ blue sparks shoot from your wand, the figure ran upstairs & you follow.

“And you’re associated with mud-blood scum!” A flash of green emerged from their wand that narrowly missed you, you grin

“You missed.” You kick a chair at the figure, momentarily distracting them to cast a spell “Stupefy! Petrificus totalus!” As the figure was knocked out & bound together, you walk over and spit out “Get a life, prick” snapping their wand in two.

In the middle of your fight, you had not noticed that the commotion outside had turned to an arsonists playground. looking through the window you call for Fred, hearing no response your heart stops, you leave the room & try to get down the stairs but now they were already engulfed by flames.

“Oh shit” you panic and shoot spells at it to stop the fire from spreading, but to no avail, it only got worse. Smoke was now clouding your vision, realising that if you were not to jump down you’d perish in this fire. Letting out a short breath, you hype yourself up for the leap of your life “You can do it Y/N. Come on” violetly coughing, you jump. Unfortunately landing a fair few stairs too high. Unbearable pain shoots up through your leg & you cry out in pain.

Sinking to the floor you couldnt even move, the pain in your arm and leg restricting you. This was it, this would be how you die. All alone, with no one to help you, no one to save you. In a burning house. Yet the only thought racing through your mind was ‘Is Fred safe’. Thankfully most of the fire was behind you, the staircase had completely gone up in flames however, the roof was begining to crumble down. A plank toppled down, narrowly missing you, but making the room next to you catch on fire.

As you were losing conciousness you hear a strained yell “Y/N!” You try to respond, but all that came out was a series of violent coughs “Y/N im coming, hang on!” You couldn’t see what was happening, i dont know if it was the thick cloud of smoke or the fact that you were breathing most of it in, but your vision blurred.

A faint figure emerged, breathless, trying to get through the flames & to you fast enough “Hey Y/N ive got you, im here.” You felt yourself being picked up & your body fell like a ragdoll. “Oh merlin dont die on me Y/N.” Was the last thing you heard before passing out.

The abrupt light and noise woke you up, yet you were unable to open your eyes, they were far too heavy for the little energy you had. Were you dead? Is this what death felt like?

“Stop pacing Fred, she’ll be fine.” You heard a voice say, however, unable to distinguish who it belonged to “shes a strong girl, the nurses said so.”

“Yeah they also said she’d wake up yesterday, so my apologies if I dont believe what they have to say.” He snapped

Fred. Oh yes, Fred. He came into the building to save you didnt he? So that answered your question of being dead. You were very much alive, but dear Merlin you were in unbearable pain.

“She’ll be up and about soon though? Her body was exhausted thats why shes sleeping so long right?” He continued, sounding unsure. Well if this is how they reacted to you passing out you wouldn’t want to know how theyd react if you died.

“And id appreciate it if I could sleep some more.” You croak out as you let your eyes open. Coming to face the whole clan of distressed red heads, Harry, Hermione & Fleur.

Fred snaps to face you and a look of relief washes over his features “Y/N” he whispers and rushes to your side hugging you “You’re okay. You’re alive. Thank Merlin.”

You try to chuckle, which abruptly turns into a wheze “I’m okay yeah, in a lot of pain but I’m fine.” Fred retreats from you, an apologetic look on his face.

“Come on kids lets give them some space.” Molly ushers everyone out of the room “I’m glad you’re okay Y/N” she sends you a smile and leaves the room for you and Fred to be alone.

Moments pass with Fred just looking at you with glassy eyes before he abruptly let out “You bloody scared me half to death!”

You motion for him to help you sit up “Oh I do apologise that me nearly burning in a fire scared you. I wasnt very happy about it either.”

Fred looks at you speachless, confused at how you can joke about it so soon. He remains quiet before letting out a big sigh and hanging his head into his lap “I thought I lost you.” He mumbles, barely loud enough for you to hear

“Hey, look at me.” You say and put his face into your left hand with the little energy you have “I’m okay, I’m alive. And so are you” he smiles faintly before you continue “Obviously as gorgeous as ever, so nothing irreversible happened.”

He laughs “Obviously.”

While in the room Fred filled you in on what happened, that after the Death Eaters showed up & they fought them off- Bellatrix Lestrange set fire to the burrow & he ran in to get you out. He told you that you passed out & that you had to be taken to St Mungos to treat your broken leg and the burn on your arm.

“The nurses said you were lucky to get out alive Y/N” he said lowly, not being able to bear the thought of your death.

“Im alive because of you Fred. Thank you.” You offer a weak smile “There were two Death Eaters in the house when it burned up-“

“Thats not on your concious to bear, Its on Bellatrix Lestrange.”

You nod, in all honesty you didnt feel bad that they perished in the fire- their downfall was their own undoing. But what was on your mind was the fire burn “When I’m better do you recon I’ll l have a cool badass scar?”

Fred shakes his head as he holds your hand, of course thats what Y/N is thinking about “‘course you will, It’ll become part of badass backstory.”

“Good” you mumble and close your eyes. After a long silence you relax back into your pillow, the sleeping draft & skelly-grow hitting you like a brick. You begin to mumble incoherent sentences

“Hey Freddie?”

He looks at your peaceful face, all calm against the pillow and responds “Yes my love?”

After a little pause of small mumbles, you ask “When I’m better, can we leave for our trip?”

“Whatever you want Y/N.” He smiles lightly & watches you drift off to sleep, hoping that ‘better’ would come along faster.

—————

Ahh okay hi! Omg this took so long to write, again sorry its not the actual bellatrix fire story, i jus forgot how it happened & when I remembered I wrote too much of it. <33

#slytherin #harry potter #hogwarts #hufflepuff #gryffindor #ravenclaw #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #draco malfoy #fred weasley x slytherin #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred and george #fred weasley x slytherin!reader #hermione granger #ron weasley

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guqin-and-flute · 4 years

Text

Are You Here to Stop Me? (Peony to Lotus!verse)

[First post/Setting of Peony to Lotus]

[Ao3 Series]

The sky was dark with night and the storm by the time they reached QiongQi Way, rain pelting down like arrows into their faces until they were left nearly gasping from the stinging cold. As Lan Wangji landed Bichen, Jin Guangyao splashed off into the ankle-height slurry of mud and water, sheet white and knees nearly buckling--probably from flying through a sky filled with lightning and ear shattering thunder as much as the height. Lan Wangji should have inquired as to his well being, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t focus on anything but getting to the camp, finding Wei Ying, stopping him before he could do anything that would further ostracize him from the rest of the Cultivation World.

From him.

In any case, the smaller man gathered himself upright and simply followed him as they climbed up the path, squinting through the rain and stunning flash-bangs of brilliant light, then utter darkness. There were people already fleeing down the rocky embankment, covered in blood and mud, eyes white rimmed, faces terrified and that icy clench around Lan Wangji’s heart tightened. Deftly, he caught a gold-robed man in his middle with Bichen’s sheath, demanded, “What happened?”

“Someone came to their rescue!” He babbled, pointing back the way he had come. “He resurrected the dead to kill people!”

The storm crashed in a sick parallel to the horror that flashed its way through Lan Wangji, and Bichen’s ornamentation cut into his palm. Jin Guangyao muttered something beneath the deafening hiss of rain--a curse, an exclamation, something in disbelief--Lan Wangji didn’t know, for he was already moving, taking the path to Wei Ying in long, ground eating strides, blood pulsing in his ears for every step, for every thought that was just one word repeated--no, no, no, no. He didn’t know exactly where the camp was, but he didn’t need to. He just followed the trail of escaping people, frantic from animal panic. Running from a predator.

No. He musn’t think that. It couldn’t be too late to call him back. It couldn’t.

He stopped when he saw it, reached out to catch Jin Guangyao’s elbow when he nearly lost his footing to the thick mud--hulking, undulating shadows, moving down the path toward them, backlit in silver relief with every lightning flash through the sheets of pounding rain. The shadowy forms resolved themselves into horses, then people huddled on horses. A familiar, slim figure at their head, clad in black, burning in the night with a fierce purpose. It felt like fire just to look at him in such a state, eyes alight, face pale as death. Wei Ying. The Wens.

Surely if he had broken such a core rule, he should look it. He should look stained, should feel tainted to Lan Wangji’s trained senses--but for all that he was bright with rage and intent, he looked cold and bedraggled, sopping. And scared. Familiar as he ever was to him.

The horses stopped, dancing from foot to foot with anxiety and Wei Ying looked down at them, mouth tight, eyebrows pinched. “Lan Zhan. Jin-xiong. Are you here to stop me?”

“Wei Ying….” Lan Wangji’s breath caught, searching, aching for the words that were right, that could fix this, that could convince him to stay. And if there were no words, his limbs hummed with the tension to simply pull Wei Ying off his horse, to pin him to the ground, keep him until he saw sense--but he couldn’t make himself move. “Where are you going?” Away. You’re going away, aren’t you?

Jin Guangyao looked over at him sharply, then up at Wei Ying, face pinched and unreadable. Wei Ying’s hands tightened on the reins as he shook his head. “I have no idea. But the world is wide. There must be a place for us.”

Lan Wangji’s hands were numb, his stomach a void of cold. “You need to think again. If you go, it will be considered a rebellion against orthodoxy with no way back.”

Wei Ying’s face darkened and he demanded with the hint of an trapped, disbelieving smile, “Rebellion against orthodoxy? What kind of orthodoxy is that?”

Jin Guangyao took a step forward, his hands coming up in placation as he grimaced against the onslaught of the rain. “You may be right, but this isn’t the time for ideology--”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t this about right and wrong? Who has done what and why? The Jin Clan has done this, Jin Guangyao, Lan Zhan. They killed Wen Ning--they skewered him with a lure flag and left him to die in a field, alone and in pain and--” Wei Ying broke off as his horse gave a harried half trot to the side, spurred by his wild energy and the broken sob of a bedraggled older woman from the crowd. “They tortured them. Toyed with their lives, murdered so, so many. I don’t regret killing them.” He looked straight at Lan Wangji as he said it, face tight. “They deserved what they got. Payment in kind. It was justice, carried out by his own hand.”

“Wei Ying...they’ll hunt you.” Lan Wangji’s voice was low, the air squeezed from him, but Wei Ying heard it, because his chin raised, jaw growing hard.

Beside him, Jin Guangyao shot Lan Wangji a look that he didn’t parse beyond extreme displeasure before he lunged forward to latch 2 hands onto either side of the bridle of Wei Ying’s mount, holding the thing’s head as it tried to step around him, his face all at once earnest and pleading. “Wuxian, think about A-Li. What will she do if you leave? Jiang Wanyin? What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Ying snapped back, seeming locked between shaking him off and listening. “I don’t--”

“It doesn’t have to be this way. Take a moment. Take a breath. We can fix this.”

Wei Ying shook his head, jaw tightening as he sucked in a breath. “No. No, I….”

The horse tossed its head again, trying to shy away, and Jin Guangyao braced his feet in the mud, hauling it back down, insisting, “We can talk about this, Wuxian; what’s happened? What did you do?”

“Nothing I wouldn't do again. What should have been done long before this. I’m not going to leave them,” Wei Ying landed fiercely on this last. “I won’t.��

His expression smoothed into wide-eyed, placating understanding, Jin Guangyao shook his head. “No one says you must. What happened?”

Lan Wangji felt frozen in place as rain pounded down on his head, rushing down his back, his neck, spray invading each inhale. He didn’t want to hear because he knew. They knew already what he had done. He could see in the smattering of pale faces behind Wei Ying, one paler even than bone, laced with blood and black as only a fierce corpse puppet could be, dormant and propped on a horse. Wen Ning. Who he said had been killed.

Wei Ying has done it again, but not for war, not for defense. The night felt as if it was slipping away beneath his grasping fingertips, water over metal, no handholds. Uncle will find it unforgivable. He will be ostracized. He will be imprisoned.

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong.

But it was Wei Ying.

“I made Wen Ning a puppet. I killed them all. The overseers. I can’t...they are not going to forgive this and I don’t want them to. If this is their world, if this is what they’ve made of this peace, I don’t want any of it--”

Jin Guangyao hissed something under his breath, face hard, before he released one hand to reach up and grip Wei Ying’s knee, staring up at him. “Let us help. Let me help. Trust me.”

Something passed over Wei Ying’s face, then, a strange tangle of relief and panic and he looked at Lan Wangji with wide, scared eyes. Then at the huddled Wens, watching him with terrified awe. “I don’t….” he said again, quieter, with less bite to his tone.

“Wei Ying….” bled from Lan Wangji and the man looked back over to him again, this time, his face full of frozen grief.

Then, his gaze went down to Jin Guangyao, grief slowly inching into the fear of a child in the presence of an adult. Relinquishing control. “Jin-xiong, I don’t know what to do.” His voice was a choked whisper barely audible over the rain chatter.

“Then wait,” he insisted. “Just wait a moment and let me….” He trailed off, his mouth set, brow furrowed, eyes tracking back and forth in the nothingness of the mud.

Everyone flinched at the splitting crash of thunder and lighting right overhead and, for a moment, Jin Guangyao’s face curled into a snarl of frustration as the horse tried to half rear in its panic. Wei Ying waited, frozen and staring down at him as if he was an anchor in the sea. Lan Wangji stepped closer in a daze, staring at him, the urge to simply latch onto his ankle with an iron grip, ensure that he could not run, he could not leave--

Jin Guangyao sucked in a breath. “You need to come to Lotus Pier,” he said, finally and Wei Ying bristled.

“I told you, I’m not--!”

He was shaking his head, “We’re bringing them.”

“I...what?”

Lan Wangji tore his eyes away from Wei Ying to stare at Jin Guangyao, squinting through the rain running into his eyes, threatening to sink his waterlogged headband down his forehead. What?

“We have to go quickly; news will reach Koi Tower soon and my father will send people after you all, but if we reach Yunmeng, they have to address Jiang-zongzhu first before they take any action on his territory, if we send someone ahead to ensure Jiang disciples are waiting at the border to receive them.”

Lan Wangji forced himself to speak. “To what end?” Talking to Jin Guangyao was easier than trying to talk to Wei Ying, where the words were compressed, bottlenecked by their own foreign pressure to be released. Don’t leave me, don’t do this, don’t go.

“Hanguang-jun, these are not abnormal conditions for their prisoners to be kept in and if they reach them before we get out of Lanling, they will be slaughtered as escapees, not recaptured.”

“To what end are you bringing them back?”

The smile that Jin Guangyao flashed him through the rain was edged and slightly manic. “Distance. I don’t have a better idea, at present, than to get far enough away to think of one.” He raked his gaze back over the refugees, then stopped and stared. “Is that Wen Qing?” he raised his voice over the din as the sky released itself fully, pounding down with a deafening fury that blurred the scene to silver-gray darkness, smudging the outlines of everyone and everything.

Wei Ying looked where he pointed, what Lan Wangji could see of his face rigid with confusion and fearful hope as he shouted back. “It is. Why?”

Jin Guangyao stared into space, before he nodded slowly. “Alright. Alright. You have to go; now. Hanguang-jun!” He wheeled on Lan Wangji. “I need you to take me back to Koi Tower.”

[Part 2]

#And that's how it happened #CODE: Wen Rescue #JGY's got a plaaan #I had to write this before I put up other stuff because I am annoyingly chronological #There's gonna be a second part from JGY's perspective but I wanted to chuck this out here first #AU #Peony to Lotus #my fic #my stuff #yaoli #<--there is no overt yaoli besides JGY being WWX's brother in law in this one the cute stuff is for later #wangxian

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just-a-happening · 4 years

Text

Hide & Seek | P.P

Summary: In which a babysitting job goes awry for Peter and he needs your help tracking down a very special Avenger’s daughter.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2,705

Author’s Note: okay so this one is super long but I really, really love how it turned out. I’ve had this idea brewing in my head for a while and I didn’t think I’d ever get around to writing it because I didn’t think I’d be as into writing Peter stories but this might make me reconsider. I like to think this takes place in the months between Endgame and FFH. enjoy! xx

There was a boy on your fire escape.

You recognized him almost immediately. He worked at the station behind you in Intro to Mechatronics with Ned Leeds, he sat two rows ahead of you in Chemistry and he was on the National Decathlon team with your friend MJ.

He also happened to live two floors above you.

Peter had his back to you, his body bent over the railing as if looking for something he’d dropped. You could hear him—“Shit! Shit! Shit!”— through the slightly ajar window, which you’d left cracked the night before.

You raised a fist to knock on the glass (softly, so you wouldn’t scare him) but before you got the chance, he perked up and whipped around to face you so fast you were the one who ended up startled.

His eyes met yours and his face flooded with disappointment.

You tried not to take it personally.

“Oh! H-Hey,” he said, struggling to keep his tone casual. His hands hovered at his side awkwardly while he decided where to put them. In the end he just crossed them over his chest, still fidgeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, um, scare you. I just thought you might be someone else.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting someone else?” You made a point to gesture to your things. “Inside my bedroom?”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “In my defence, I didn’t, uh, necessarily know this was your room, um, specifically.”

Over the last few months you and Peter had formed an odd kind of friendship.

Entire apartment complexes were built around the city in the last year to accommodate the blipped. Families started reappearing in their old homes only to find that they were now someone else’s new one. In the chaos you and your family just so happened to have ended up in the same building as Peter Parker and his aunt.

Peter was always around, of course, which made it easy to fall into each other in a very casual, easy way. Many nights when you were too nervous to sleep you’d climb out onto the fire escape only to find Pete doing the same. You never talked about why you were both up, a kind of mutual understanding, so instead, you talked about everything else.

But sometimes you would run into him in class or you would both awkwardly reach for the front door and he would right through you—like you weren’t really there.

Everyone was recovering from the blip, but something told you Peter Parker lost more than just five years.

He was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, his eyes scanning the levels below you. Curious, you pushed what was left of the pane up and copied him, your gaze landing on nothing other than Mrs. Sardowski’s rapidly wilting house plants. You frowned, sitting on the window’s ledge.

“So,” you said, pulling his attention back to you. “What are you looking for?”

He let out a humourless chuckle. “It’s less of a what and more like a … who?”

You squinted up at him, the mid-morning sun peaking between the fire escape’s bars. “I hope you weren’t babysitting Parker because, y’know, parents don’t usually appreciate that kind of thing.”

You meant it as a joke but then Peter grimaced and you made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a horrified gasp.

“Oh.”

He groaned, throwing his hands up to cover his face. “I know, okay! We were playing hide and seek and I told her—I told her, I swear—that outside was off limits but she doesn’t listen! She never listens!”

You let out a low whistle.

“I’ve never babysat before!” he justified frantically, his eyes wide and scared. He started pacing the fire escape, the metal rattling with every step. “Pepper had this–this thing and Happy’s in Coney Island with May and I thought ‘how hard could it be!’ and it was actually really, really hard and now she’s gone and—”

You frowned, your brain making the connections painfully slow. “Pepper? As in Potts?”

If he’d heard you he gave no sign of it. He’d finally come to a stop at the far end by your brother’s window, his hands curing around the railing so tight his knuckles were turning white. You climbed all the way out, careful not to trip on the rusting metal bars.

He was rambling. “I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find her anywhere, she’s gone! What if she’s not even here? What if she’s just wandering the streets or worse what if–”

“Pepper Potts,” you repeated slowly. “The Pepper Potts? The one married to–?”

Peter didn’t stop. “God, if I lose Morgan I don’t–I don’t know what I’m going to do. How am I supposed to tell them? Who am I kidding, I can’t tell them! They would never forgive me. Hell, if anything happens to her I’ll never forgive m–”

Morgan. You’d heard that name before. After everyone came back and we found out who’d finally defeated Thanos you remember watching a telecast in one of the shelters that said he was survived by his wife and his daughter—Morgan.

You held up a hand and he shut up, your panicked gaze meeting his. “Wait … are you–are you actually saying you lost Iron Man’s daughter?”

He didn’t say anything, but by the way his shoulders fell in defeat he didn’t have to.

“Oh my God, Peter–”

He winced, his eyes pleading. “Help me. Please, help me.”

Your mouth fell open, trying to find the right words and failing spectacularly. Instead you just sputtered pathetically before finally settling on: “I can’t!”

He let out an exasperated sigh that sounded more like a whine. “Why not?!”

A good question. Part of you knew you wanted to help him, but another part, a much smaller part, begged you to stay out of it—you didn’t want to be one half of the duo that lost Morgan Stark.

But you knew that wasn’t actually it. Things with Peter had taken a turn for the weird, your heart practically beating out of it’s chest anytime you so much as caught sight of him. And your late night talks were getting longer with every passing evening, most of the time well into morning.

You were afraid of how an entire afternoon spent with Peter would make you feel.

You swallowed hard, motioning to vaguely back at your room. “I have homework! So much homework that I really need to finish because I really can’t fail the exam.”

He ignored you, peering into your room as if to corroborate your excuse—which wasn’t an excuse—but you knew it was pointless. You’d left your notes on your desk across the room, most of them half-hidden under textbooks.

“You’re taking Molecular Cell Biology?” he asked and your eyebrows shot up into your hairline. You glanced back to make sure your notes were where you left them and sure enough there they were, barely even legible.

For the second time today you were left speechless. “Yeah, I am but how did–”

He didn’t let you finish. “And you’re failing Molecular Cell Biology.”

“Hey!” you shoved him lightly, momentarily forgetting what you were asking.

He looked back at you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry–I’m sorry. But you are,” you glared and he held his hands up defensively. “You are! But you don’t have to be. I can help you–tutor you! I can tutor you.”

You considered it. You knew that Mrs. Palomino had maxed out her extra credit assignment threshold for you and you were down to your last chance to pass her class with a respectable grade.

You sighed. “Okay fine Parker,” you conceded and he all but cheered. “I’ll help you. But I swear to God if I don’t get an A …”

He was already climbing the fire escape, taking the stairs two by two. “I’ll get you better than an A! I’ll get you an A plus! An A plus, plus!”

You followed him, scowling at the back of his head. “That doesn’t exist!”

You ended up in his bedroom, cross-legged on his navy plaid comforter listening as he numbered off the things Morgan liked form the floor while also evaluating his choice on wall decor. He had maps and posters and random scribbled notes in red, messy handwriting.

You let your mind wander to a future where being in his room was normal and being in his bed was normal and asking him to join you on it was normal and you didn’t have to guess what was happening behind those kind eyes because he would want to tell you.

He was in the middle of contemplating whether we should chance the subway or get the cops involved when his voice broke suddenly broke through your distracted thoughts. “Are you listening?”

You blinked a few times, trying to bite down the blush creeping into your cheeks. “Morgan likes spare parts, hamburgers and sour gummy worms,” you repeated dutifully, hoping to God he wouldn’t ask you why you were suddenly flustered.

He didn’t.

“Right. She also really likes cats, don’t forget cats. Which is funny because Tony wasn’t really a pet guy,” he mumbled, his gaze suddenly a million miles away. “He did like to take in strays, though.”

You knew that once upon a time Peter was Tony Stark’s intern, but the affection in his voice was so visceral you felt it in your own chest.

“You know what I still can’t figure out?” you asked abruptly.

He glanced at you. “What’s up?”

“How did you end up babysitting Tony Stark’s daughter?” you asked and you watched as his lips turned up in a ghost of a smile. “You were snapped too, so you barely knew Morgan, right?”

“Right,” he said, in a voice right above a whisper. Then he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, I guess it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

He looked like he was struggling with what to say next. “Well, when Tony uh, you know, I wanted to help with whatever I could even though I wasn’t, uh, his intern anymore. So,I told Pepper to call me whenever and it turns out she needed a lot of help with Morg.”

You wanted to ask him more about it, but it felt too personal. So instead, you focused on Morgan and where a six year old girl could possibly want to go. And suddenly, it came to you. You knew where Morgan was and you didn’t have to take a subway or call the NYPD to find her.

You leaped off the bed, eyes wide. “Get up,” you said, but he just stared up at you quizzically from his spot on the floor. You nudged him with your foot excitedly, “ Get up!”

And he did. Reluctantly.

“Think about it,” you explained impatiently. “What has burgers, sour gummy worms and a cute kitty cat?”

You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he thought about it and hear the ‘click’ in his brain when he finally got it.

He jumped up. “Delmar!”

The next few minutes were a blur. You both scrambled to Peter’s front door and ducked into the elevator before the doors could close and took it four floors down to the lobby, where you were off again out the door and onto the street.

A fire destroyed Delmar’s Deli years ago and after the blip things got even more messy. But he stayed in Queens and ended up relocating to a new deli just a few blocks from your apartment, a deli you’d come to know and love.

You were sprinting a few paces behind Peter but when you finally made it to the familiar store front, you both reached for the handle at the same time, which you immediately realized was silly because you didn’t even know Morgan so you stood back and let him walk in first.

Delmar’s was as comforting as it was cluttered. You skirted past discarded magazine racks and an impressive candy selection on your way to the back, which is where Delmar made his world-famous (according to him) sandwiches and burgers. He was there now, laughing at something someone you couldn’t see said.

“Hey Mister Delmar,” Peter greeted cheerfully, not even out of breath.

You, on the other hand, were practically gasping for breath, supporting yourself with the topping display, your side pressed to the cool glass. You searched the place for the bodega’s unofficial cat, Murph, who always came up and curled himself around your ankles when you came in but he was nowhere in sight.

“Peter!” Delmar replied happily. He glanced over at you and his smile widened, “Chiquita!”

You giggled at the nickname and waved.

“Mister Delamar, have you seen a little girl?” Peter asked and you could tell he was trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “Her name’s Morgan and I’m really hoping she’s here.”

Delmar glanced down at his feet. “Morgancita, I think he found you.”

As he said it you watched in total amazement as Morgan Stark crawled out from behind the sandwich station, Murph sitting happily in her arms. Until this moment you’d only seen Morgan on the TV, and the screen didn’t do her justice. She was a carbon copy of her dad, all dark eyes full of mischief. She cooed at Murph one last time before putting him down gently.

She put her hands behind her back and frowned up at Peter, who looked so relieved you worried he might pass out.

“You win Pete,” she said sadly.

Peter crouched down in front of her, looking torn between wanting to hug her and throttle her. In the end he settled on ruffling her hair.

“Morgan, never ever do that again, okay?”

She furrowed her brows adorably. “But Pete, I’m going to have to find better hiding places if I’m going to win.”

Peter’s eyes softened. “Just promise you’ll play by the rules next time.”

Morgan didn’t look happy, “But that’s boring.”

“Promise?” Peter said, holding out his pinky.

Morgan watched the pinky with one of the most calculating looks you’d ever seen. But after a few seconds, she shrugged and wrapped her tiny pinky around Peter’s. “Promise.”

Then they both turned to face you and you were suddenly incredibly nervous but you didn’t have enough time to contemplate what to say because before you knew it Morgan’s dark gaze landed on you.

She tilted her head, “Who are you?”

Peter placed a hand on her back and smiled softly at you, and you felt heat flare up in the pit if your stomach. “She’s a friend of mine. We go to school together and she helped me find you.”

“Isn’t that cheating?” Morgan asked, narrowing her eyes at you.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Not when you break the rules, Cymorg.”

She fixed her attention back to you. “Hi,” she said, holding out her hand like a miniature professional. “I’m Morgan.”

You smiled down at her, taking her fingers in yours. “It is very nice to meet you, Morgan.”

You bent down so you were level with her and beckoned her closed, as if to tell her a secret. She leaned in, Peter watching you both curiously.

“For the record, if it wasn’t for me, you would have won,” you whispered. “He had no idea.”

She smiled up at Peter and said, “I like her.”

He was looking at you in a way that made you dizzy. “Me, too.”

“And she’s really pretty.”

You don’t know who flushed brighter: you or Peter.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland x reader #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #tom holland imagine #peter parker x fem!reader #morgan stark #iron man #tony stark #avengers #avengers fanfiction

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 21

Title: Juxtaposition

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip

It goes better than expected.

The older kids handle the reunion remarkably well; fake yet believable smiles plastered upon their faces, accepting kisses on the cheek and praises and compliments regarding how big and beautiful they’ve gotten, and returning enthusiastic embraces with tense and awkward one arm hugs. They’re polite and mildly pleasant; sticking together in a small, tight group as they thank their grandparents for the gifts and answers questions about school and their favourite extra curricular activities and life in Australia as opposed to the U.S. And Esme notices the look of disappointment that comes across her mother’s face when it's obvious just how much the kids prefer ‘the land down under’; gushing about the house and the acres of property it sits on and the close proximity of the ocean. She knows her mother had long held out hope that the kids actually hate being where they are; thousands of miles away from any extended family and never getting to experience the true wonder of four different seasons. But they hold firm even when Michelle tries pushing them to commit to visiting Colorado; adamant that they're perfectly content where they are and have no desire to ever go back to THAT part of their lives. Australia is home; the sand and the surf and the kangaroos and koalas and the smell of the salt of the ocean and the feel of blazing hot pavement under bare feet.

Esme both understands and feels the same way. It’s where they belong and where they feel they can be exactly who they’re meant to be; not held towards ridiculous standards and allowed to freely explore and express themselves in every way they possibly can. There’s no judgement there; mom and dad encouraging them to be themselves and not bend to limits and labels put on them by others. Even twelve and half years ago Australia had been where she’d discovered herself; finding levels of freedom, comfort, and peace that she never even knew existed. The old Esme had been left behind; either perishing on that bridge in Dhaka or left in Bangladesh to wander aimlessly. She had ceased to exist the moment she chose to try and save Tyler’s life over her own well being; mere minutes away from safety yet refusing to leave him there to meet a likely extremely painful and gruesome end. That had been her choice; a chance at a new life with him as opposed to returning to an empty and meaningless existence.

The smaller children have a harder time accepting the sudden appearance of their grandparents; Brooklyn harshly firing off invasive questions while refusing all offers of affection, Takota tucking himself behind his mother’s legs and occasionally peeking out from behind and offering small, tense smiles, and Addie nervously and frightfully clinging to her father. Refusing to allow him to put her down; whining and pouting at the mere suggestion and then tightening her hold around his neck and digging her heels into his ribs. It takes nearly half an hour of Sarge attempting quiet and calm small talk before she relaxes; loosening her hold on Tyler’s neck and allowing him to finally sit down, but adamantly refusing to let him dispose of her entirely. She eventually begins to settle entirely; put at ease by Sarge’s deep and soothing voice and gentle disposition. The way he sits beside them, yet doesn’t infringe on her personal space, the soft smiles and the compliments on her ‘pretty clothes’ and being ‘beautiful just like her mommy’ and having the cutest little nose and freckles. It begins with her hold around Tyler’s neck going from two arms to one, followed by none; simply leaning back against his chest with her head tucked under his chin. It then proceeds to her slipping in between the two men and then finally ending up on Sarge’s lap. No fanfare or big deal made out of her brave move; just smiles exchanged as she settles in and begins chatting endlessly and amicably about her bedroom back home and the goats, chickens, and pigs, and Charlie the Joey that comes for peanut butter sandwiches.

While Brooklyn and the older kids eventually grow tired of socializing and head up to their rooms, Addie and Takota linger; the former now in her grandfather’s loving and protective embrace as they stand in front of the Christmas tree as she points out ‘special’ ornaments and the stories behind them. And after spending the majority of the ‘meet and greet’ hiding behind his mother’s legs and venturing a peek between her thighs every so often, he takes the opportunity left behind by his sister’s departure. Scurrying from one parent to the other and hurriedly climbing into Tyler’s lap; throwing both arms around his neck and curling his legs around his waist.

He grimaces when a heel comes in contact with the scar at the small of his back. It’s been five years and direct pressure still hurts; a burning sensation that originates at the site of the bullet wound and then travels straight down the back of his leg. “Really ‘Kota? Really?”

“Really, daddy. Really.”

“Here…” he slides a forearm behind Takota’s knees and shifts his position. Sideways with tiny legs draped across his lap; both arms wrapped around his son’s petite frame and hands locked together and resting on the four year old’s hip. “...sit there. Other way’s hurting my back.”

Takota pops a thumb into his mouth. “Where the bad guy shot you.”

“Yup.”

“Daddy kills bad people,” the four year old informs his grandmother, as she sits in the nearby recliner.

“Takota…” Tyler’s voice bears a scolding tone. “...what did I tell you? About talking about that?”

“We don’t. Talk about it.”

“Then why are you?”

He shrugs. “Making conversation.”

“Well make conversation about something else. And this…” he wraps his fingers around his son’s wrist and pulls; effectively plucking the thumb from his mouth. “...does not belong in there. You’re not a baby.”

“Says who?”

“Me. And mommy. You want me to get you a bottle? A soother? Put you in a diaper?”

Takota pouts. “No.”

“Then the thumb stays out of the mouth.”

Giving a whimper in protest, he curls an arm around his dad’s neck and rests the side of his head against his chest.

Tyler drops a kiss on Takota’s head. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. But there will be in a few minutes if you don’t smarten up. What’s going on? Why you being like this?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs.

“Tired? Wanna have a nap?”

“Nope.”

“What if I do? What if I want a nap?”

“You have one. I don’t wanna nap.”

“You’re just being shy?”

Takota nods. “Don’t want to get my brain eaten.”

“I already told you, no one is getting their brain eaten. There’s no such thing as zombies.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I DO know that. All the bad people I’ve come across? Not one of them has been a zombie. Out of all the millions and millions.”

“That many? That many bad people?”

“That many,” he confirms. “And not one of those bad people were zombies.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me, I’d know. Zombies aren’t real. They don’t exist. That’s just stuff TJ and Millie talk about to scare you guys. There’s no zombies and no one is going to eat your brain.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I won’t let anyone steal you and eat your brain. Or any part of you for that matter. So why don’t you get down and socialize and…”

“No!” Takota cries, and frantically scrambles up onto his knees, throwing both arms around Tyler’s neck and tightly pressing his much smaller, lighter body against his broad, solid chest. “No, daddy! I wanna stay with you!”

“I can’t hold you forever. I eventually have to put you down. What if I have to take a leak?”

“Take me with you. I don’t wanna get down. I wanna stay with you.”

“Why don’t you go and see mummy?” Tyler suggests, as Esme returns with fresh pots of tea and coffee; filling everyone’s respective drinks before setting the carafes on the cluttered coffee table and dropping heavily down onto the cushion beside him. “Mummy LOVES cuddles.”

“No,” Takota remains steadfast. “Mummy’s not comfy.”

“Excuse you,” Esme frowns. “I carry you inside of me for nine months, get all fat and gross and that’s how you thank me? By saying I’m not comfy? That’s some nerve, kid.”

“You’re beautiful, mummy. But daddy’s more comfy. He’s got bigger arms. So he gives better hugs. Your hugs are good, but they’re not daddy good.”

“I know who to NOT put my will now,” she teases, and tucks her feet under her and sips leisurely at her tea.

She watches them together; father and son. The trust and the adoration in Takota’s brilliant blue eyes as enormous hands -with their multitude of scars and calluses and misshapen knuckles- tenderly cradling the back of his head as he’s laid along his father’s thighs; palms slipping down to the little one’s back as he dangles upside down between slightly parted legs. His t-shirt sliding up and revealing slightly tanned skin and the adorable pudginess that often comes with four year old tummies. A high pitch screech followed by his musical little giggles filling the living room when the tip of a nose and the roughness of a beard tickle tender flesh. Lips coming to rest over that slightly outward positioned belly button; blowing a loud ‘raspberry’; accompanied by Tyler’s rich, deep chuckle as he carefully pulls Takota back up and once more settles him on his lap.

The smile on her husband’s face is real; reaching his eyes and making them sparkle and crinkling the corners. So genuine and beautiful; a man who has seen so much horror and inflicted so much brutality on others -and had it inflicted on him in return- still able to smile like that. Reserved for the people that are closest and most dear to him; his wife and children often the only ones who get to witness it. And it’s a juxtaposition; how gentle and attentive and caring he can be considering all of things he’s had to witness and do to stay alive. It still haunts him; mistakes of the past and having to kill people as a means of survival. He has a lot of blood on his hands; toes he’s stepped on and bridges that he’s burned. And if anyone should be cold and callous considering everything he’s done and has been done to him, it SHOULD be Tyler. But he’s become the opposite. He’s patient and loving and caring; hands that are capable of such damage remarkably soft and tender. Strong and burly; intimidating when need be. But possessing a heart that’s even bigger than his body.

“I really think you should get down,” Tyler says, and drops a kiss on the top of his son’s head. “So I can actually drink my coffee this time.”

“No,” Takota buries his face in the warm, safe place between his father’s neck and shoulder. “I want to stay with you. My tummy hurts.”

“Something tells me it doesn’t. Something tells me you’re making that up.”

“My teeth hurt,” Takota tries again.

“Your teeth hurt? Why? Got cavities?”

“No. They just hurt.”

“You got some loose ones in there? Let me take a peek. Let daddy look.” Tyler places one hand on the middle of the little one’s back, slightly tipping him backwards as the other rests on the top of Takota’s head. “Open up. Let me see.”

Takota obliges; bridge of his nose crinkling and the corners of his eyes scrunching as large yet surprisingly gentle fingers search his mouth for anything amiss.

“There’s nothing loose. Want me to yank them all out just in case?”

“No!” He speaks around the thumb and forefinger tightly grasping one of his top front teeth. “Daddy no! No yanking!”

“Why not? They’re baby teeth. You’ll get your adult ones. You won’t be toothless forever.”

“No!” Takota frantically wriggles in an attempt to get away. “No daddy! Don’t pull my teeth out! Mummy! Don’t let him yank ‘em!”

“Daddy is not going to yank your teeth out,” Esme assures him, and scowls at her husband and slaps him on the thigh. “Daddy, don’t. You’re tormenting him. He’s going to have nightmares.”

“I don’t know, mummy. It would save us dentist bills. Yank them all out now, worry about it when the big ones come in.”

“No!” Takota yells, and then shrieks when the fingers that were in his mouth find the sensitive spot just below his chin; savagely tickling until he’s giggling hysterically. “Daddy stop! You’re going to make me pee my pants!”

“Don’t get him so riled up,” Esme scolds. “It’s almost n-a-p time and you’re going to get him all worked up and it will never happen.”

“Mummy’s a party pooper,” Tyler says, and gathers Takota in his arms and settles him against his chest; lips finding his temple, palm coming to rest on the side of his head. The four year old gives a content sigh; arms once more curling around his dad’s neck, cheek pressed against the cotton of his henley shirt. “Tired?”

“No.”

“I think you’re lying. I think you ARE tired. Wanna go for a nap? I think you should go for a nap. Naps are good. You’ll love naps when you’re older.”

“Not tired. No nap.”

“How about if I lie down with you? Have my own little sleep? Would you nap then?”

“Maybe,” Takota singsongs.

“Let’s go and find out. Let’s at least try, yeah? Daddy could use a nap.”

“Daddy’s escaping,” Esme grumbles. “Daddy thinks he’s clever.”

“Daddy knows he’s clever,” he retorts, sliding a forearm under Takota’s bum and then standing up; wincing and muttering a barely ‘audible’ fuck as he’s assailed by pain in both the small of his back and his right knee. It’s a bitch of a thing; forty seven years old, getting yourself into what SHOULD be the best shape of your life, and having days where you feel like you’re ninety. It isn’t as bad as before; no longer chronic and debilitating. But there are moments of weakness where he longs for the relief brought on by the mixture of oxy and booze.

“You alright?” Esme’s face is lined with worry; hand resting on his hip as he leans down to kiss her. It’s hard for her to turn off; the worry -and even the fear- that comes with the vivid recollection of the damage that had been inflicted upon him. She’d seen it with her own two eyes; TWICE. And she’d been the one accompanying him to painful and gruelling physiotherapy sessions; the person entrusted to manage his pain meds, the only one he let himself be vulnerable with and would cry to when it all got to be too much to bear. “You can take more meds. The day’s still young and you’re nowhere near your limit.”

“If it gets worse I’ll take some,” he assures her, then presses a kiss to her forehead. “I promise.”

“Don’t let yourself suffer,” she whispers. “ There’s no need for that. Just take the meds. Don’t do that to yourself, okay? I don’t want you suffering.”

“I’m fine right now. If it gets worse, I’ll grab some. Takota, give mummy a kiss. She needs a kiss.”

“Love you mumma,” the four year old says, as he dangles over her and he lands a peck on her lips.

“I love you. Both of you. Sleep well. Just a little nap, okay? You don’t sleep tonight, Santa won’t come.”

“Just a little sleep,” Takota promises. “Daddy’s tired.”

“That’s because daddy's old and his body is falling apart,” Tyler says, and then slings his son over his shoulder; fingers hooked around one of the belt loops on Takota’s jeans, effectively and safely keeping him in place.

Esme watches as they go; Takota’s giggles and his pleads of ‘don’t drop me, daddy!’ and her husband’s constant reassurances and promise. His long and purposeful gait familiar; the slight hitch of the hip and the limp that becomes more pronounced when he’s tired or the nerve issues are bothering him or the arthritis is acting up. But none of that matters; the dents and the blemishes and the damages done. He’s beautiful no matter what; surviving the worst possible circumstances and surpassing all the odds that had been stacked against him. Fighting battles with his own mind every day; forcing himself to open his eyes and pull himself out of bed for the sake of his wife and children. And THAT’S what makes him truly brave; the ongoing war against his own brain and somehow managing to keep going and put one foot in front of the other.

*****

She checks on them an hour later; father and son fast asleep on a twin bed riddled with wrinkled sheets and stuffed animals. A long and muscular body looking even more so in such a small confined space; impossibly long legs stretching the length of the mattress, feet dangling over the edge. Tyler rests on his back with Takota on top of him; a flushed cheek pressed against a broad chest, strong, tattooed arms wrapped tightly around a tiny body, and a large hand protectively placed in the middle of a slowly rising and falling back. Both snoring lightly; lips slightly parted and their eyelids flickering as they dream, hair already mussed and slightly damp from sweat. She pauses at the side of the bed; running fingers through thick tresses and pressing kisses to foreheads; eyes closed as she breathes in the familiar scents that cling to both of their bodies. The biggest and the smallest men in her life; both so beautiful and perfect. Takota with his meek and mild disposition; shy to a fault and profoundly sensitive. Tyler with his enormous body and the scars and blemishes serving as reminders of a hard life; his heart so big and proud and loving with so much power and fierceness. It’s a side not many get to see; knowing him solely as a ‘tough guy’ with a checkered past and blood on his hands. But to know him...TRULY know him...is an honour bestowed on a select view; privy to what makes him laugh and what brings out that smile that reaches his eyes and what touches his heart and brings out that softer, more vulnerable side.

She had been one of the lucky ones; giving him an understanding and non judgmental ear and a safe place to land even from day one. He’d opened up easily and effortlessly. The first night in Dhaka -as they lay in a mess of tangled sheets and naked, sweaty limbs- confiding in her about the loss of his son and how the terrible choice he’d made at led him to the job; his drinking problem getting him kicked out of SASR, war injuries sustained leading to an addiction pain medication, the extent of his guilt, regret, and grief driving him to choose a dangerous yet fairly lucrative career. He DID have a death wish; he didn’t deny it and had confessed that he’d been too scared to do the deed himself and that with every job he took, he hoped and prayed a sniper’s bullet would finally hit its mark. He couldn’t understand WHY it hadn’t happened yet; why was he allowed to keep living when he abandoned his own child while he was suffering so badly? Was it punishment? Was he destined to live a life on the edge yet never meet his demise? Was that the plan? Make him suffer as much as possible -mentally and physically- but not actually kill him? It was the first time a man had ever been that open and honest with her; Mark was extremely closed off and strayed far away from sharing feelings and showing emotion. And her ex-boyfriends had been high school classmates; young and immature and with relatively clean slates.

Tyler had been different. She’d recognized it the moment she met him; his hands surprisingly soft and gentle despite the calluses on his palms and the damaged, misshapen knuckles. He had beautiful eyes; brilliant blue yet possessing a staggering amount of sadness, his smile never reaching them. He was a man with deep, profound secrets and a lot of pain; both physical AND emotional. It had been less than half an hour; from the time she’d stepped onto his front porch and their gaze had met through the open door to when she’d left to join Nik and Yaz on the flight to Fitzroy Crossing. Yet she’d found him intriguing. His simple way of life in that ramshackle house; built by hand and poorly maintained yet obviously giving him a sense of home and security. The tattoos and the scars and the strong, powerful build and a shockingly handsome face. A man that came with quite the reputation; skilled and savage and seemingly fearless. Someone with a dark, dangerous and mysterious past yet the kindest hands and one of the softest -if not entirely genuine- smiles she’d ever come across. And she’d liked that smile; the way he would tuck his chin into his chest and give a small chuckle and the corners of his mouth would just ever so slightly lift. And despite those humble surroundings and his simple attire, he’d smelled so good; a mixture of fresh air and salt water and the slightest tinges of coconut and whiskey.

The attraction had been there; right from that first handshake. She can remember thinking how it wouldn’t be so bad to just give in to primal urges; indulge in nothing more than mindless, no strings attached sex. To just surrender to physical and sexual attraction; allowing herself nothing more than being pleasured and pleasuring someone in return. After all, there was no chance anything COULD come of it; the job was no place to find a romantic partner and with thousands of miles between their homes, there was no possibility of ever really getting the chance to connect and get to know one another. A second marriage and children had never been in her wheelhouse; Mark destroying her and breaking her and stripping her down to a weakened and more vulnerable version of herself. She wouldn’t go through that again; give her heart and all her trust and faithfulness to one man, only to have them betray and hurt her. And that’s all she’d really wanted it to be; sex with an incredibly attractive man with a dark and dangerous reputation. She didn’t have the time or tolerance for anything BUT that; enjoying being single and independent and not feeling as if she had to answer to anyone.

In the blink of an eye, it all changed. That first night in Dhaka turning out to be much more than she ever expected or bargained for. Seeing him in a way he didn’t let anyone else see him; trusting her and confiding in her and being as raw and honest and vulnerable as he could possibly be. And she’d turned around and done the same; talking about the loss of her father and her abusive marriage and the loss of her identity and her journey to find it again. Mindless, no strings attached sex quickly became something so much more; the deep and intense conversations, the way he’d smile -genuinely smile- when she’d tease him about his accent or about how tall he was or how big his feet were. The way those big, strong arms felt when they wrapped around her and drew her tightly into him. And it was the exchange of long and soft kisses even though she’d told herself she wouldn’t do THAT; kissing way too personal and leading to the development of feelings. Which were way too dangerous.

She’d gone into it expecting something purely physical and came out with so much more. A best friend. A confidant. A protector. A lover that turned into a husband and who had helped her make seven beautiful, incredible little human beings. Someone so wounded and damaged that loves so profoundly; a man that worships her and loves her with everything he is and everything he has. Who will protect her at all costs. Who has proven time and time again that he has her back no matter what; willing to suffer and die for her if need be.

It’s overwhelming. To be loved THAT much. It brings tears to her eyes even now as she stands at the side of the bed and watches him sleep; his face and body relaxed and peaceful. She pushes her fingers through his hair and brushes it away from his forehead; lips meeting smooth, warm skin. And when she goes to step away, he reaches for her; fingers capturing her hand and bringing it to his face; his eyes never opening as soft, warm lips press against her palm.

*****

“Nugget?” Esme raps her knuckles against the wooden barn door that closes the bottom bunk off to the rest of the room. “Are you awake in there?”

TJ and Declan have long departed; holed up in the family room with Millie and Alannah as the four quietly and civilly play a board game. Tanner had a hard time; seeing grandma again after so many years had been a difficult and nerve wracking moment for him. But he’d done his best despite the lingering trauma her treatment of him and the things she’d said have left behind; politely answering questions and thanking her for the Christmas gift, but refusing to show or accept any form of affection. Sometimes it’s all he can do to hold it together long enough for the simplest of greetings, and he’d done exceptionally given the troubled past with his grandmother. But he’d fled when she’d tried to get too close; screaming ‘no!’ in her face and pushing her away and then dissolving into tears as he fled the room and rushed upstairs to his safe place.

“I’m awake.” The little voice is shaky and higher pitched than usual; the remnants of tears and his meltdown noticeable.

“I thought I’d come and check on you. Are you okay? How are you doing in there?”

“I’m okay.” He sniffles noisily. “I’m fine.”

“I brought you a snack. One of those wraps that daddy makes; peanut butter with banana and chocolate syrup and coconut shavings. That’s your favourite, right?”

“Right.”

“Daddy didn’t make it, but I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I’ve been taking lessons from him; on how to make it EXACTLY how you like it. It comes with a glass of chocolate milk. If that makes my meal preparations any easier to stomach.”

Tanner manages a small laugh. “You’re not THAT bad at cooking, mummy. You’ve gotten a lot better. Daddy and I are teaching you pretty good.”

Esme chuckles. “You really are. Do you want it? Your snack?”

“Not right this second, but thank you. Can you put it close by? Where I can reach it easy?”

“I’ll put it right beside your bed,” she says, and then sets the items on the ground and fetches the chair from his desk; setting it beside the bottom bunk and then carefully placing the treats on the seat. “Daddy’s taking a nap, but when he gets up, we’re going to do gingerbread houses. I know how much you always enjoy that. Will you join us?”

“Will grandma be there?”

“She’s not into that kind of thing. I’m sure she’ll just hang out in the living room with grandpa. You don’t have to worry about her, okay? You just stick real close to daddy. He’ll keep you safe and sound. He always does, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to do your thing. Your snack is waiting for you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll be downstairs, alright?”

“Mumma?” A faint of rustling of sheets and then the click of the lock; a little face appearing as the door slides open. “Do you really have to go?”

“I don’t have to go anywhere. I just wanted to give you your space. But no. I don’t have to go.”

“Will you snuggle with me for a bit? We haven’t snuggled in a while. I miss it; mummy snuggles.”

Smiling, she toes off her slippers and climbs into the bottom bunk; Tanner sliding his smaller body over towards the wall and giving her ample space.

“You can be the big spoon,” he offers, and rolls onto his side and presses his back into her front. “You never get to the big spoon, I bet.”

“Not once in the last twelve and a half years,” she says, and drapes a leg over his and curls an arm around his waist. “Daddy is NOT fond of being the little spoon. He’s much more comfortable being the big spoon.”

“That’s because of toxic masculinity.”

“Something tells me you’re right.” She settles the side of her face against his pillow and stretches her arm out along the mattress; fingers repeatedly brushing through his hair. Pressing a kiss to the back of his head when she feels him lace his fingers through hers and then tightly squeezes her hand.

“Mumma?”

“Nugget?”

“I don’t like grandma.”

‘I know you don’t. And you don’t have to. I understand why you feel the way you do. And you have every right to feel it. She’s done a lot of bad things. And SAID a lot of bad things.”

“About daddy.” His voice quivers once again.

“About daddy,” Esme confirms, and tightens her hold on him. “But you know what? Nothing she says matters. Because we know it’s not true. We know that he’s a really good man. A really good daddy.”

“The best daddy ever. If I could pick daddies, I’d pick him. A million times over. Why does she hate him? Why does she say mean things about him?”

“I don’t know, baby boy. I wish I did. I wish I had the answers. I know it hurts; to hear people say horrible things about him. It hurts me too.”

“She said daddy was going to hell. Because you and him made Millie before you were married. Is that true?”

“No, baby. It’s not true. Daddy is NOT going to hell.”

“And she said she wished daddy would just die already,” Tanner bursts into tears; body shaking with the ferocity of his sobs. “That we’d be better off without him. That it would be better if he died. It wouldn’t be. It wouldn’t be better AT ALL.”

“Nugget...come here…” She waits until he rolls onto his side to gather her into her arms. Pressing a series of kisses to the side of his head and his temple and his cheek; fingers buried in his hair as she holds him close. “...I am so sorry. That you had to hear those things. I am so, so, SO sorry.”

“Why would she say that? Why would she want daddy to die? Doesn’t she know we’d miss him? How sad we’d be? Does she hate him THAT much? Does she hate US? Is that why she doesn’t care if we’d be sad?”

“Tanner, I don’t know. I don’t know why she says the things she does. But she doesn’t hate you. She just wasn’t thinking; when she said the things she did. And I really am sorry. That she said those things about daddy. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something? When did this happen?”

“When you and daddy were in Ireland. And grandma came to help Ovi with us. Right before Ovi took us away. Grandma got mad because we were being bad. We were fighting and causing lots of noise and she got upset and that’s when she said it. She said that she wished you never met daddy. And that he was nothing but trouble and that we’d all be better off if he died already. If someone did us a favour and killed him.”

“Oh my God, Tanner. You’ve been holding onto that all this time?”

He nods.

“Baby boy…” She fights back against her own tears; a mixture of heartache and rage; hands shaking as her fingertips clear away the tears on her son’s cheeks. “...you should have told mommy. You should have called me and told me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you. And I didn’t want you telling daddy. I was worried if you told him, he’d get mad and you’d get into a fight and then he’d leave again. He’d move out like he did last time, only he wouldn’t come back. Ever.”

“Tanner, that never would have happened. Daddy and I never would have fought over that. And he never would have left us. What happened way back then? When he did leave and was gone for a while? Things were bad between us. Really bad. Remember?”

He nods.

“But daddy never would have gotten mad at you if you told him what grandma said. He would have been angry at her, but not at you. Or me. He would've done whatever he could to protect you from her. Daddy loves you so much. More than he loves himself. He would never, EVER, get mad at you for something like that.”

“I don’t want him to know. Don’t tell him, mummy. Please don't tell him. I don’t want it to hurt his brain. I don’t want it to make his brain sad.”

“Tanner, you have to…”

“No,” he insists. “I won’t tell him. And you won’t either. Please promise, mummy. Promise me you won’t tell him.”

Esme relents. “I won’t tell him. That’s your secret to tell. And you will one day. When you’re ready. When you think daddy is ready to hear it.”

“I don’t want him to die,” Tanner sobs. “I don’t want daddy to die.”

“He’s not going to die, Nugget. He’s here and he’s safe and sound. With us. He’s in the next room; napping with Takota.”

He sniffles. “Yeah?”

“Yup. I was just in there. They’re fast asleep, snoring away. Daddy is safe. He’s with us. He’s not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want him to go away ever again. It’s scary when he leaves. I’m always afraid he’s not going to come back.”

“So am I,” she admits. “I worry about the exact same thing.”

“Tell him he can’t leave anymore. Tell him that he has to stay. With us. That he’s not allowed to go. Tell him, mumma. Please tell him.”

“I will,” she promises, and cradles his face in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I am so sorry, Nugget. That you ever had to hear that. I know how much you love daddy. And believe me, he loves you just as much. Remember what I told you? About how he stayed with you in the hospital when you were born? When you were sick? And he didn’t want you to be alone?”

He nods. “And he picked my name.”

“He did. He loved the name Tanner. We wanted two T names, and that’s the one he picked right away and that’s the one he stuck with. That’s pretty cool, huh? That you’re the one daddy named?”

“It’s really cool. I like that; that he picked my name. It’s really special. Knowing he did.”

“Well you’re very special. You always have been. Right from the very beginning. You were so tiny when you were born; you fit right in the palm of daddy’s hand and your toes didn’t reach his wrist.”

“That IS tiny!”

“It is. You were super tiny. And daddy wouldn’t leave your side. He stayed in the special nursery with you and he slept in a chair beside your bed and he made sure you got the best care and the best nurses. He wasn’t leaving you alone. He knew that you needed him. And you know what? He needed YOU too.”

“He did?”

“He did. He needed that time with you. You and your brother were the first boys after Austin. That’s a pretty big deal. Daddy never thought he’d have any kids again, never mind a boy He got two! At the same time. That was pretty special for him. Getting not just one son, but two.”

“Did he cry?”

“He did. He cried when he got to hold TJ and he cried when he got to hold you. He was the only one who got to hold you right away. Because you needed help and they sent you to the special nursery to be looked after. And he went with you and never left. Not until I was able to come and see you.”

“That’s proof, you know. That daddy loves me.”

“He loves you so much, Tanner. More than he could ever tell you. You have no idea how much he loves you. How proud he is of you. And he’s pretty good, right? As a daddy?”

“He’s an awesome daddy. All the kids at school are jealous. ‘Cause he’s big and has muscles and cool tattoos. None of their dads have those things. Just mine. Their dads are lame. My dad’s cool.” He rubs his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “If you met daddy a different way, would you have still fallen in love with him?”

“I imagine I would have. I can’t see why not. He’d still be daddy; he’d still look the same. And it’s kind of hard NOT to love him.”

“How would you have met him? If you guys didn't do the same job?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I would have gone to Australia on a trip and met him that way. Or maybe he would have come to Colorado and we would have bumped into each other somewhere. What do you think?”

“A singles cruise.”

“A singles cruise?” Esme laughs. “Why a singles cruise? And how do you even know about those?”

“I saw a commercial on tv. And then I googled it. I bet you and daddy would have met on a singles cruise.”

“I don’t know about that, Nugget. Daddy isn’t really the cruise kind of guy.”

“Maybe you would have met at the supermarket. On your trip to Australia. Maybe he would have been in line in front of you when you were waiting to pay for your groceries. Or maybe he would have been behind you and when you didn’t have enough money, he’d give you some. Or pay for your stuff. Daddy would do that; pay for a pretty girl’s stuff.”

“I kind of like that idea. Meeting my knight in shining armour at the grocery store. Him coming to my rescue right when I needed it.”

“You still would have liked him? If you met him that way?”

“I definitely would have. A handsome guy doing something like THAT? How could I not?”

“And he’d still look like daddy. He’d have the blue eyes and the cool hair and the big muscles. And the nice butt.”

Esme laughs. “Yeah, he would. I would have for sure noticed all of that.”

“You would have went out with him if he asked you on a date?”

“I definitely would have. I probably would have even let him kiss me.”

Tanner’s eyes widen. “On the first date? Mummy, that’s scandalous!”

“Hey, when you know, you know. And I knew. Pretty quick. That your daddy was the one for me.”

“Did he know too? That you were the one for him?”

“I don’t know. I THINK he did. He won’t admit it, though.”

“I’m going to ask him. If he knew right away you were the one for him. He’ll tell me. I know he will.”

“Well good luck with that. Are we good here? Are you calm now? Are you glad you told me what you did?”

Tanner nods. “I feel a hundred pounds lighter. That was a lot to carry around. Especially for so long. You’re not going to tell daddy, right?”

“I promised I wouldn't. But I really think YOU should.”

“I will when I’m ready. I swear I will.”

“Okay,” she agrees, then smooths his hair away from his face and presses a kiss to his brow. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too. Thank you for being my mum.”

“Thank you FOR picking me to be your mom.”

“And thanks for having sex with daddy. If you didn’t, none of us would be here.”

She laughs at that. “You know what, it was a difficult thing to do, but I managed. And I’ll lethim know that you appreciate his participation. And his cooperation.”

“You know…” Tanner flops onto his back, hands behind his head. “...you and daddy make a weird couple. Not weird in a bad way. Just a different way.”

Esme props herself up on her elbow, cheek resting in her upturned palm. “How so?”

“You’re so tiny and he’s so big. It’s funny when you stand side by side or when you walk down the street together. Because it’s SO noticeable; how tall he is and how short you are. And it’s really sweet; when he goes to kiss you and you stand on the top of his feet AND on your tiptoes and he STILL has to bend down.”

“Well what can I say? Your dad is freakishly tall.”

“And you’re freakishly tiny.”

“Hey!” She reaches out to tickle his tummy; smiling at the way his eyes scrunch shut and he giggles. “Don’t you start taking after him when it comes to trash talking my height!”

“Daddy’s right, mum. You ARE small enough for him to pick you up and put in his pocket. And that’s cute. REALLY cute.”

“YOU’RE cute,” she says, and places a kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to go and get daddy up and get him started on setting up all the stuff for gingerbread houses. You going to join us?”

“In a while. I want to have my snack first.”

She tousles his hair and pecks his lips before sliding off the bunk. “I’ve got it ready and waiting, good sir. I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Do you want things closed back up?”

“No. I’m okay now. Thanks, mum.”

“See you soon,” she says, and presses a kiss to two of her fingertips and then reaches out and places them against the tip of his nose. “Bring the dirty dishes downstairs, okay?”

“Okay,” Tanner agrees. “Mumma?”

Esme pauses in the doorway.

“Thank you. For loving me like you do.”

Smiling through the threatening flood of tears, she swallows noisily around the lump of emotion sitting square in her throat. “You make it very easy, Nugget.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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vaire-gwir · 4 years

Text

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.5

oh look, another chapter no one asked for! For some reason this story looks like a collection of one shot poorly glued together, but technically (”if you have to use the word technically you’re already in trouble” Cit.) I know where I’m going.

I kept hinting at a very specific scar I think Aiden has, so here’s the story of that scar. Awkward love confession ensues.

All my love to everyone that reads this mess, please let me know what you think! <3

***

They were hunting a wyvern, somewhere outside Sodden. 700 crowns had been promised for the head of the beast. Well, just the poison, to be honest, but the point was that the creature had to die. It was their last job before heading north and eventually parting for winter.

They'll never get that far.

Killing any wyvern-like monster is complicated business, those fuckers are huge and sharp just about everywhere, not to mention poisonous. When they manage to dispose of the creature without any severe accident it doesn't feel right for some reason, call it Witcher senses or however you want, but things don't add up. Lambert can still hear Aiden's voice telling him that it's too many corpses for just one beast.

He grits his teeth when he hears a growl immediately followed by the sound of rustling trees and claws scraping on stone. He looks to his left at the Cat exploring the northern side of the cave and Aiden is staring right back at him, he gracefully waves a hand in the general direction of the sound and put on his best I Told You So attitude: there will be snarky remarks about this later but he kindly spares him the comments, for now.

Suddenly, there's nothing graceful about the way he tumbles to the ground, red seeping through the blue and black of his armor like sand in a child's hand. He's running to Aiden's side in a heartbeat, that's all it takes for panic to fill his system like the stench of blood fills his senses. He sees the armor pierced where the tail of the beast tore through the plates and they both know that whatever can dig through metal like that can also do an awful lot of damage to the flesh and bones underneath. Lambert already knows that something is very wrong.

He falls to the ground next to his Cat and he desperately clutches his body, catching the sweetly sick trace of poison still lingering in the air: one look at the wound is enough for his fear to spike and eat him up whole. It's too much blood even for a Witcher.

"Aiden?" Lambert's voice is shaking like his hands as he brushes a few locks of damp curls out of his lover's forehead, feeling the familiar beating sound of his heart growing even slower than usual.

Aiden blinks a couple of times, pain coursing through his entire body and stealing his breath away as he tries to speak. "That...ugly, uh?" Lambert can barely hear his whisper above the noise of the beast outside, the growling so loud it almost rivals the thumping of his own frightened heart echoing in his ears. He reaches for a vial of White Honey while he keeps an eye on the pale form in his arms.

"Just...drink this, alright? I'll...I'll fix this, I can fix this, just...hang on for me, okay?" He supports Aiden up while he helps him drink the potion, helplessness and desperation washing over him in dark waves as all he can do is stare at the blood staining his clothes and dripping to the floor. Lambert tightens his grip on the Cat's shoulders as if holding him was his only way to keep him whole, to not let him slip away from him.

He can see it on Aiden's face that it hurts to breathe, his eyes are clouded and unfocused and he feels as if a cold hand was squeezing his own heart in an iron grip.

"Lambert, you don't have to..." His whole body tenses up, green eyes go wide for a second before fluttering close against the rising pain and shock of the poison.

"Aiden?" He tentatively calls him again but there's no answer this time. Witchers may be strong and powerful, but so is the wyvern's poison, and not many live to tell the tale. An unfamiliar ache climbs inside him and he tries to blink burning tears away from his eyes as he carefully lays Aiden back down.

Lambert can hear the monster above them digging his sharp talons in the stone on the side of the mountain, and his senses are telling him to focus, to move, to prepare for the fight, but all he can do is stare at Aiden's pale complexion, too grey and ashy even for a witcher. There's a part of his mind spiraling into fear and shutting down cause Aiden could die, Aiden is wounded and he doesn't know how to fix it, he doesn't know how to help him, and why I never know how to fix anything?

He tentatively takes another look at the wound, moving the damaged pieces of the armor aside, exposing the torn blue fabric and skin underneath. The potion is reducing the blood flow but it's a slow process with a gash that deep. The broken sound of pain Aiden makes is like a punch in his guts and the only thing he has to offer in consolation is a pathetic string of whispered "I'm sorry"s.

Lambert digs through his own pack in search of clean bandages to wrap around Aiden's chest while the noise around them grows with every passing second. If the growling and screeching of the beast is any indication, it must be massive. And they unintentionally made it furious because they killed its mate.

Lambert is frantically looking around searching for shelter but he knows there's nowhere to hide in the cavern. The cave is bare except for the opening on the north, where the sharp tail came lashing out before. Going outside is out of the question, Aiden already lost too much blood and he doesn't dare to move him, but they're too exposed here.

The dark tail of the wyvern whipping out again distracts him from his panic and it's enough for him to focus on the task ahead. His only chance of saving Aiden is keeping this thing out of the cave. He is willing to make peace with the fact that this is where he dies, in a godsforsaken corner of the world where his life is worth exactly 700 crowns, but he's not ready to resign Aiden to the same fate.

Lambert cuts the rest of the blue shirt open and securely ties the bandages over the wound. Their packs are well within Aiden's reach, pouch with their potions already open for when he wakes up, if he wakes up, there should be enough White Honey for him to at least drag himself back to their horses and into town. It's a plan, it's a shitty plan, but it's his best chance at keeping the man he loves alive. It will have to be enough.

***

There's a deep ache in his bones and his left side is scraped and bruised but he wastes no time thinking about it. It was a sloppy job, not his best witcher work but it's done, and for reasons beyond his comprehension, he's still alive.

When he stumbles back into the cave and to Aiden, the Cat is barely breathing and he looks a fraction closer to death with every exhale. He can't smell any lingering traces of poison, though he's not really in the position to call it progress, considering that there's still a hole the size of his hand just beneath Aiden's ribs and he saw the white of the bone with every breath while he was bandaging him earlier. Earlier seems a lifetime ago now.

Lambert starts to slowly take off the rest of the armor, trying to jostle the unconscious Witcher as little as possible. He makes quick work of the familiar buckles and clasps he learned to know, for he has undressed him so many times before, desperate to feel the warm skin under his hands or taking his sweet time and taking him apart. Never like this though, never with the dark cloud of death looming dangerously over his head.

The only sound out of Aiden's lips is a muffled groan when he cuts the bandages open to swipe a wet cloth around the gash, and the rational side of him knows it's better if Aiden doesn't wake up in the next minutes cause cleaning and stitching a wound that size is not something anyone would want to go through awake. His rational side though is not enough to stop him from thinking the worst, and he wants nothing more than to glance into the piercing green eyes he loves once again.

He cleans the edges of the cut again before picking up the needle and thread, willing his hands to stop shaking as he starts to slowly close the wound, focusing on the repetitive moves to calm his mind. His entire self is focused on one single thought: Aiden is dying. And in rapid succession, he's everything I have.

It's not the first time he patches Aiden up. Part of the reason why they know each other's scars so well, physical and not, is because they stitched them up themselves, bruised skin and broken spirits alike. The physical ones were less complicated though, it's easier to check the progress of healing when you can see new skin blooming under an injury. Being a Witcher sped up the process by a lot, so in two days a deep claw mark across a forearm would be like new, but mutations or not, no one knows how long it takes for a damaged mind to bloom anew over the past suffering.

The night is endless, and the darkness trickles away at such a slow pace that it seems the sun forgot to rise. The Wolf doesn't even try to sleep, he sits by the fire with his back against the wall, cleaning and sharpening his swords with his eyes lost in the dancing flames.

It physically hurts him to keep staring at Aiden. He looks like he's sleeping but Lambert knows it's all wrong: it's not natural how still he is, how he doesn't even flinch once, his eyelids are not fluttering like when he's dreaming, his breathing is not regular like it should be when he's resting after a hunt or they're curling up in a patch of sunlight-warm grass, and the beating of his heart, the sound that lulled him to sleep so many times, falters in a disturbing rhythm.

Lambert doesn't remember being this scared in his entire life. Sure, there was fear during the trials, it was a different kind though, he was just a kid back then. A couple of times he came back from a job badly wounded and almost out of potions and he knew he was tiptoeing dangerously close to the end of the Path, but losing his life didn't scare him. There was not much to lose, to begin with. Sometimes it even sounded like a relief, no more Witcher bullshit, about fucking time.

But he was not the one bleeding in a cave, it was not his miserable life on the line here. This was different, he was losing something important now, something that mattered, something he needed. He couldn't lose Aiden.

There is a word for this mess inside of him, for the sharp twist in his heart he has been feeling every time he sees Aiden's crooked smile but it's out of reach for someone like him. He tried to ignore it and shove it away, pretending it was not there and acting as if they were no more than friends with the benefit of sex and watching each other's back during hunts. And it was already more than he should hope for, surely more than he deserved.

If he allows himself to believe that he can have something nice, that he can feel something more than rage just for once, there will be a price to pay. Not with gold, but with the suffering and the loneliness left behind after your friends or loved ones are gone. Life on the Path was solitary for a reason, it was nothing short of presumptuous of him to let himself get close to someone. It was a delusion he already entertained, and one he promised he wouldn't do again. He is not made for love, and he is surely not made to be loved.

Lambert can easily imagine his brothers' reaction if they were ever to meet Aiden and find out they've been together. He can feel the disapproval and rejection radiating off of them as if they were right here in front of him. And worst of all, he can see the disappointment in Vesemir's eyes crystal clear. You will bump into other Witchers on the Path occasionally, the old man said, most of them will even welcome the company, Griffins and Bear especially. But you stay the hell away from Cats and Vipers, they'd kill their own brothers for the right price, don't think they wouldn't kill another Witcher just for fun. Aiden didn’t kill people though, but that makes for a very poor argument.

Will they kick him out of Kaer Morhen before or after he explains? Will they avoid him every time they meet on the Path, pretend they don't know him, act as if he's already dead? He's always been the resident School of the Wolf failure after all, the thought of his family's refusal scares him, but it won't be a surprise.

What scares him even more than his family's reaction though is Aiden leaving. It's some kind of miracle that he hasn't left already, and to be fair, Lambert expects him to go every single time they reach a city big enough to offer employment to the both of them.

If he stayed until now it was just because it was a suitable agreement, more hunts, more coins, fewer expenses, and awesome sex. Love was not part of the deal. Aiden could always go back to the Caravan, ditch him, and pick a different lover in every new town. It's a mystery why he hasn't done that yet. Why would he ever stay? He's hardly worth the trouble.

Aiden's pained groan shakes him out of his thoughts. As he lets go of the last of his knives, he turns to look at the stirring form a few paces away. He's met with the reassuring green of his eyes, a little bloodshot and tired, but very much alive. It's more than what he dared to hope a few hours ago.

Aiden looks down his chest at the red-stained bandages, his mind filling the blanks of what must have happened after the wyvern got him, before whispering: "You patched me up pretty good, uh?"

Lambert doesn't answer, the surge of relief flooding him overwhelms him for a second. He shouldn't care this much, but he does. Dammit, he does. "Well, I have another scar for my collection. Did you kill it?" Lambert makes a vaguely affirmative sound and points to a set of vials with a sleek blueish liquid inside. Their 700 crowns of poison, that's how valuable their life is.

Aiden slowly sits up, taking in their surroundings. "Seems I was pretty useless for the main action." He stares at Lambert, yellow eyes trained to the fire, and lets go of an exasperated sigh. He can feel that something is off because the Wolf seems determined to avoid looking at him.

"Lambert, talk to me, will you? Did you stitch me just to ignore me?" Aiden's voice is quiet in the cave, just a whisper over the fire, and Lambert almost wants to pretend he didn't hear it. He has nothing to say, nothing he can say. Because he has too much to say, and he's worried that if he starts talking he'll spill something stupid.

"You died," he finally breaths out. "I saw you...passing out...and...and you were...." Lambert signs at his chest as if that explains it all, unable to find the words to justify the urgency in his voice. "...Dead, and I...I didn't know what to do."

"I'm fine!" Aiden moves closer to where the other is sitting by the fire. He didn't miss the shiver in his tone. He lays a hand on his knee, squeezing it in a way that was meant to be reassuring, but it only makes Lambert think about how much he'd miss his touches, how much he'd miss his eyes, and his voice, and his smile, and all the little things he forces himself not to think about.

"I'm fine Wolf. You killed the wyvern and harvested the poison, you did everything right." He pats the dressing wrapped around his torso like it's no big deal and Lambert wants to scream at him or throw something at him, maybe both, cause he shouldn't be this easygoing and calm, not after he almost died and Lambert feels like his whole world has turned upside-down.

He moves his hand to cover the one on his leg, a sudden need to reach out, to touch, to feel that Aiden is really alive and he's not just dreaming, but he lets it drop back in his lap after a second, he doesn't dare to touch him back, not yet. "I didn't know what to do without you," he whispers lowering his eyes.

"It doesn't look like you needed my help at all, I was pretty passed out." Aiden starts picking at the bandages, slowly untying them, and Lambert looks at him out of the corner of his eyes, the ghost of his touch still lingering on his leg and he realizes that he's screwed.

"That's...you know what, nevermind." Totally screwed. Not only he was stupid enough to fall for someone, but it also had to be this Cat, someone he can't have. It had to be someone he so obviously doesn't deserve.

"Are you trying to say you'd miss me? I'm flattered Wolf," Aiden says as he raises his eyes to meet the yellow ones with a little smirk on his lips.

"Unbearable, that's what you are. And to think I even stitched you up." This, Lambert knows how to do this. It's easy to pretend nothing changed if he doesn't let himself think about it. Crushes disappear with time, with a little bit of luck he'll manage to avoid saying something utterly ridiculous like I love you.

"Oh come on, you love me! And, I'm a great fuck." "I do....Fuck, I meant you are." Dammit. He wants to run as far as his legs will carry him, cause he fucked up, he fucked up so bad now, and he's not sure he'll ever be able to look Aiden in the eyes again. He shouldn't have said that, why in the world would any sane person ever say something stupid like that?

Aiden drops the bandages he's holding and looks up at Lambert, pupils wide and swallowing the sea of sparkling green around them. Aiden's eyes always seem to be able to pierce a hole in his soul and see past whatever mask or cover he wears, sometimes he's just nice enough to not call Lambert out on his bullshit.

"Shit, I didn't mean..." This is not how it's supposed to go, they don't say things like that, they're supposed to bicker until one of them grows tired of the game and either stop answering or push the other against the first flat surface available.

"Don't you dare take it back now." Aiden's voice sounds deeper, and there's no trace of the rejection or disgust Lambert was expecting. He moves too quickly and he sits right in front of him, so close to his stretched legs that he can feel the heat of his skin underneath his trousers. Stupid Cat habit of always being in his personal space. He can't think when he's so close.

"I won't hear it if you take it back now," Aiden says, there is a trace of something in his tone that Lamber heard before, but he's suddenly very conscious of how beautiful Aiden looks, and he can't place it. Nobody should look so fine after almost dying. How someone so gorgeous could ever feel something for him?

"I thought you were never going to say it." Lambert surprisingly finds himself with an armful of Cat, arms wrapped around his shoulders and chest pressed against his, he's whispering something Lambert doesn't catch, and all he can do is stare in front of him in disbelief. He's desperately trying to make sense of Aiden's words, why he's holding him instead of pushing him away and leaving, but his mind is a blank slate.

It's hard to think about running away when Aiden's scent is all around him, and the rhythm of his heartbeat is back to the normal comforting sound Lambert is used to. Instead, he brings his shaking hands around Aiden's waist, gingerly touching him like he was afraid to break him. "I...You died and...I...Can't lose you." It just feels right to have Aiden in his arms and it's so easy to get lost in him and pretend the real world is not waiting for them just outside this cave.

"I know, Lambert, I know. I love you too." Aiden's breath tickles the side of his neck, and he knows it must be obvious to the Cat how his heart rate is spiking, rushing to keep up with the confusion in his head.

"You...You what?" Lambert asks, and his voice is shaking. "It's a mystery how you never noticed, honestly." He feels Aiden's smile against his skin while one of his hands trails to the back of his neck, fingers curling at the nape.

"Why?" Aiden doesn't answer, he moves back enough to bring their lips together, a soft purr rumbling in his chest. This can't be real. He'll wake up in a second or two in their bed at the inn and none of this will be real. None of this can ever be real.

Aiden breaks the kiss just to whisper "Why not?" against his mouth, sharing the same breath for a second before tangling his hand in the dark hair, licking Lambert's lips and demanding entrance. The only thing better than holding Aiden is kissing him, and Lambert can feel the naked skin under his palms so blessedly warm and alive, and he's reminded in an instant of what brought them here. Did Aiden say he loved him too? A low moan involuntarily escapes his throat, and all he can focus on is the feeling of his lover's tongue moving against his own.

When they break apart to catch their breath he can't help but splutter out the burning question he can't swallow: "You should be miles away from here." Aiden looks at him, one hand gently brushing his cheek, the touch of his fingers a real presence anchoring him to reality. "But I'm still here."

"I'll hurt you, you know me...I'm not good at this." Lambert gestures vaguely at the space between them as if it held the confused shape of his feelings and he was trying to give it some definition. If he could be ashamed, he'd probably be blushing to the roots of his hair. "I know. So will I. And I'll forgive you. As I hope you'll forgive me." Aiden presses another kiss to his lips, just a small touch of warmth. And just this once, Lambert believes him. Cause why not, right?

***

Lambert is leaving Toussaint tomorrow and he can't help but think back to the main events that brought him here years ago. Everything is different now. He swore he'd do his best and more to never feel the same dread he felt after that nasty business with the wyverns, but it was not enough.

His room at the inn is unbearably hot in the mid-summer afternoon and he's almost glad to head back north. He heard of a griffin contract south of Temeria, he can make it in a week or so if he travels fast. He glances out of the window and down to the street, the white cat he saw before is still sleeping on the chair just outside the bakery. If the small animal were to wake up, Lambert could see again how green its eyes were. The baker doesn't have a cat, of course, he doesn't, never had, Lambert already asked.

Seven. That's how many times his miserable brain decided that it would be so much fun to play tricks on his eyes and convince him there was a cat. Seven animals. Different colours, different types, different places, but always the same pair of green eyes. He should consider seeing a healer at some point. Maybe he's been cursed. Or maybe he's been haunted. The hunter being hunted by a monster he can’t slay, how fitting.

Time seems to pass in such a weird way lately, the days all have the same colours and the same scent of melancholy and sadness. Summer was Aiden's favourite time of the year, it made him all soft and relaxed in a way that made even Lambert feeling warmer for more reasons than just the weather.

He never liked summers. Nothing fun about wearing and armor when you're sweating all the time. That's what he always thought, or at least until he saw Aiden comfortably napping under the sunlight, all sprawled out in the grass and purring contently, his skin was hot to the touch and as much as Lambert didn't want to disturb him, he was irresistible.

He has so many memories of sunny days spent fucking on river banks, napping in the shade of a great tree, or cuddling in a cheap room rented for a few coins until sunset, when they could start traveling again unbothered. Yeah, summer was not so bad after all. Or maybe it was just being with Aiden that made things better.

Someone once told him that sweet memories could help a person through dark times. Lambert wants to find that someone and punch him in the face several times cause no, it doesn’t work like that. His memories were not helping or making him feel better, they were making him go crazy and he’d rather tear them right out of his mind one by one than spend another night thinking about Aiden or other cats with green eyes.

That's a lie. He could never live without those memories now, they are part of the baggage that makes up his life, and sometimes it's a heavy burden to shoulder, but forgetting sounds even worse than carrying that weight around. It happened, he loved someone and it was real, he was more than a monster in someone else's eyes and that was worth the pain.

#lambden #laiden #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #aiden x lambert #lambert x aiden #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #the witcher fic #idiots in love #quarantine writing #I lost a friend I lost my mind #I lost a friend #awkward love confession #fluf #And the usual angst

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the-pontiac-bandit · 4 years

Note

miri + sympathy

Miri had never quite gotten the hang of pranks, but she’d certainly improved in her years with the Riders. Her ideas tended to be less subtle and more absurd, aiming for shock that could elicit an entertaining reaction rather than finesse in the prank itself. While she could appreciate finesse in the pranks of others--Evin did have a particular talent for it, after all--she found that successful execution of such complicated plans required far more work than she had any desire to put in. Commanding Spiderdeath--and avoiding being pranked herself--took plenty of her time.

It was only the look on Evin’s face when she saw him last week in the mess hall that had persuaded her to try. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, which was hardly unusual in and of itself, but he’d snapped at three trainees in line for supper and had failed to clean up the ink stains he left splattered all over the table he sat at alone with his reports. His workload had steadily increased in the months since Buri had officially turned traitor on the Riders to ride with the Own, and she knew he must be losing his mind with all but three of the Rider groups stationed at the northern border in the middle of the largest war in more than a decade, but even she couldn’t deny after that that he deserved to be taken down a peg or two. As the leader of the only group currently in residence at the palace, she’d known it was her place to take the initiative.

She’d brainstormed frantically for days. For all her creativity in cursing her ponies when they didn’t comply--even more than a decade after her first day, she still had what her trainees called an “adversarial and tenuous” working relationship with horses--she’d struggled to think of the right prank to take down a new commander by approximately three notches without ruining any critical paperwork, destroying Crown property, or getting herself fired. She’d started to suspect that this was all an elaborate prank on her from her group members. After all, she found herself the victim of an elaborate joke that threatened to ruin her sanity once and for all at least six times a year, but when she asked for their help with Evin, they’d simply informed her that they’d, of course, do as their group commander told them and left her to her own devices on the planning. Although, she supposed, that might have something to do with how intimidating they found Evin--for all that she thought he was a silly player at heart, with hair that flopped in his eyes and a propensity for wild and poorly-thought out gestures of affection for his friends, she had to wonder if he seemed quite so non-threatening to the brand new Riders who had spent a summer watching him wage a unique brand of psychological warfare that might have scared even Sarge, although he’d never admit it.

As she sat on his desk, kicking her feet against one drawer while she lazed back on her hands against some reports, she wondered if she’d gone too far. Certainly, Kitten had thought the ice slide was a grand idea, but Kitten was a dragon, and a toddler, and Miri would never have trusted her opinion if she hadn’t been quite so desperate.

It took ages for Evin to return from his meeting with the queen. She’d checked his schedule carefully with one of the Rider clerks, and he was expected back by the fourth bell after lunch, but the fifth was rapidly approaching by the time she heard footsteps in the corridor leading to his office. She used one of the last moments she had as he turned a key in the latch to check that the door to the courtyard behind her was still fully shut, apparently locked, and snapped around to face front as he entered the room.

“You’re on my desk because...?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Because last time I sat in one of the chairs, and you failed to notice my presence for a full twenty minutes.”

He’d been nose-deep in a sheaf of papers when he’d come in, a brisk fall breeze blowing leaves in behind him from the courtyard, and he’d walked straight past her. She’d been entertained at first, but it took a kick to the shins under the desk, after she’d cleared her throat several times, to make him realize he was not alone.

“It wasn’t twenty minutes! It couldn’t have been more than five before you left a bruise so bad my leg throbbed for weeks!”

“Weeks? My sources tell me you were fully healed not three days later when you met Sera Gladstone behind the merchants’ day-stables.”

“How’d you hear about that one?” Evin demanded, a hint of awe in his voice.

“I have my sources,” she replied with a pert shrug and a grin.

“I’d commit murder for your sources, Miri. You still won’t turn spy for me?”

“Wherever would I find the time? My commander gets fussy if I don’t have my Riders fully trained and ready to move at his slightest whim,” she shot back. “I thought your side job was a secret from the Riders, anyway.”

“If I can keep it that way.” Evin rubbed his eyes hard, smudging a bit of ink on one temple and leaving his cheeks ruddy. “Sometimes I think I’m one more late night away from cracking and telling the whole palace, just so George will kill me quick.”

“That bad?”

“That bad. I’ve got nearly ten daily reports to read and condense for George now, plus, you know, the actual war going on that Buri dumped me straight in the middle of, plus finding recruits for next spring when not a parent in the kingdom wants their child in military service, plus--”

Miri cut him off before he could get going. “Let’s take a walk then,” she said, perhaps a bit too quickly, with a prayer to the Trickster that he hadn’t noticed.

“With what time?”

“With the time before dinner. You look like you need it.”

“It’s below freezing.”

“You love the cold.”

“And you hate it.”

Miri almost sighed before she caught herself. She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten herself in this mess, but there were three gallons of purple paint strung up above his door and Riders waiting with very precise instructions on the roof, so she figured she’d best get moving before something came crashing down.

“I’d brave the cold for you, sir,” she said, with her best, most casual eye roll. “My Commander requires a break, and I’m proud to be of service.” She took on some of his own airs in her reply. She’d discovered in their years of friendship that nothing amused him so much as her attempts to put on his Player airs, and she had a vested interest in getting him outside before the sparrows who had agreed to participate left for the page’s wing and their evening meal.

He sighed as he pushed his chair back from his desk. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

“What?” Miri asked, doing her best to feign innocence. “Is a walk with your oldest friend that intolerable?”

“Miri, you have the worst poker face of anyone I’ve ever met. I’d actually like to rescind my earlier job offer, based solely on this performance. But if I’m going to get pranked, I’d at least like to make it quick so I can get at the reports you’re currently sitting on.”

His eyes darkened as he looked at the stack of papers beneath her, and he rubbed his eyes again. Close to him for the first time in more than two weeks, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the new wrinkles at their corners.

“You really are exhausted,” she commented, a twinge of sympathy turning into guilt in the pit of her stomach at the thought of the large quantities of bread dough waiting to cushion his fall at the foot of Kitten’s ice slide.

“I really am.” Evin was moving towards the door to the courtyard, steeling himself with a deep breath while he removed his tunic and folded it carefully on the chair behind his desk that Miri had avoided.

The twinge of sympathy she’d felt was now a wave, engulfing her and threatening to make her do something she’d never have considered even a half-hour before: back down.

“Wait! Maybe don’t...open that yet.” She hopped off his desk, wincing as several of the top papers follow her down. Evin paused, one hand on the door’s latch.

She looked around the room frantically for something long enough and found a poker, propped against the small fireplace in one wall. She grabbed it and leaped over the arm onto the chair where Evin’s tunic sat. She spared a quick giggle at his dramatic wince and then tapped the ceiling above her firmly, twice fast and three times slow. She counted to five and repeated the code for good measure--any good Rider plan, they’d been taught, has an out.

When she looked back down, Evin was smiling. There was a familiar glimmer of amusement in his eyes, one that had been missing for weeks. “What was going to happen?”

“Kitten had made an ice slide, and Johanssen and Norris are on the roof with some purple paint, and I had the bakers set dough at the bottom to cushion you, and, well, things escalate from there. The sparrows are probably gone by now, anyway, and I’m not sure that Onua ever set up the wooden horses, she looked so annoyed when I asked...”

Miri trailed off, as Evin started to laugh. She let out a chuckle or two herself as she watched him lose control in fits of giggles, relieved to find that her friend was still there, under the stress and paperwork.

“You’re going to be great at this, you know,” she commented casually, hoping he knew how much she meant the rare compliment.

“I hope you’re right,” he replied, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes as he caught his breath. “Anyway, could we actually go on a walk, now? I’d gotten rather excited to have an excuse to avoid my paperwork. I’ll even bathe in some of the purple paint, if it’ll make Spiderdeath respect your pranks, which are still absolutely terrible, by the way.”

“No purple paint necessary, but I do know the best spot in the night market for a good pasty, if you’re interested.”

Evin was nodding vigorously as he opened the door before he was promptly doused by several gallons of bright lavender paint. Miri groaned, realizing that her Riders must have rigged the buckets to the door and left for their own evening in the city.

Evin, though, was still smiling. “I’d still love a pasty, if you don’t mind the color,” he commented, holding a dripping arm out to her while he used the other hand to wipe his face.

Miri spared a moment’s thought for her clothes--she did like this shirt--but swallowed it as she took the offered arm and linked her elbow in his. After all, he seemed like he needed the night out.

#carrie answers #tortall #tamora pierce #the immortals #evin larse #miri fisher #my writing #anonymous #y'all i'm so sorry this is the longest one yet #and we have not proofread we die on our continuity and tense errors like men #(or women #as the case may be)#anyway hope this was vaguely in character guess who hasn't read the immortals quartet in years #also #in case you could not tell #this was TEN THOUSAND percent inspired by ben wyatt human disaster

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slytherinknowitall · 3 years

Text

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 17: Falling For The Underdog

(Click here for chapter 16!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

The following weekend, Severus found himself in a situation that he would have never thought possible – he spent the entire day with a woman.

Despite it being a Saturday, Granger had arrived at his private quarters quite early. While he usually woke up long before the rest of the castle, Severus had never really considered himself a morning person. He normally worked late and slept little, often waking up in a cold sweat after just a few hours of sleep due to horrible nightmares. So needless to say, he had been rather surprised when his apprentice had shown up at his door long before the house elves had even started to prepare breakfast. As he’d let her in, he had asked himself if perhaps she was suffering from the same problem as him.

The two of them had spent a lot of time together over the past week. Ever since he had given her unimpeded access to his rooms, Granger had come by even more often than before, and so they had often spent their evenings together. Everything inside him was still screaming that this was wrong, that they were becoming way too comfortable with each other. But yet, he could not help but feel a rush of ecstasy surge through his entire body every single time she walked into his sitting room.

He had given her the password in what had been almost a moment of mental aberration, and he had soon started to regret it. He had tried telling himself that the reason for that regret was that such an action was simply inappropriate for a teacher, but deep down, he knew that he was really just scared of rejection; scared that she would not take him up on the offer and that she would find it creepy and weird. But the next day, when he had come back from teaching the fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors, he had found Granger in his sitting room, fussing over a small sandwich platter from the kitchens which was placed on the table in front of her. Severus still could not have described the emotions he had experienced upon seeing this. On one hand, he had felt massive relief. On the other, it had felt weirdly domestic for some reason; almost as though he had come home after a long day of work to a loving home – something which had been completely new to him.

Sometimes, the pair would be working on potions together, and other times, Severus would be sitting at his desk marking essays while Granger would curl up on his sofa as she studied. Today, however, they were doing what both of them loved the most: reading.

The Potions Master was seated in one of his big wing chairs, a copy of his favourite journal, The Practical Potioneer, in his hands, whereas Granger was spread out across the sofa as usual, deeply engrossed in his volume of Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds by medieval French wizard Malecrit. Over the last couple of days, Severus had slowly begun to notice how eager she seemed to get her hands on classics from the wizarding world, and he did not exactly know how to feel about that – to him, it somehow appeared as though she was almost desperately trying to make up for the time she had spent growing up around Muggles.

They had both been reading in silence for a while when Severus stumbled across an especially interesting paragraph on the uses of Alihotsy in magical antidepressants. Opening his mouth to share this new piece of information with the knowledge-hungry witch, he looked up and instantly had to draw a sharp breath. Unbeknownst to him, Granger had shifted in her position a few minutes ago, and now her grey skirt had ridden up just far enough to reveal her toned thighs as well as barely the slightest hint of the subtle crease running horizontally underneath her behind.

Severus gulped. It was hard to ignore the way that the shadows of the fire burning a mere few feet away were dancing across her tender, milky flesh. Why was she wearing her uniform – a uniform with what now suddenly seemed like a ridiculously short skirt – on a day with no classes?! For a split second, the thought that she was trying to seduce him crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed that. Never in a million years would Granger be the type of person to try to recreate a scene from a low-budget adult movie, especially not with one of her professors. And if he was being honest with himself, he would have found her appearance bewitching even if she had been wearing a potato sack.

Having long forgotten about what he had originally wanted to say, he blurted out the first thing he could think of. “I do have to say, I find it rather bizarre that Miss Weasley of all people would behave in such a manner towards you. I would be terrified of making someone even remotely angry if they knew of my deepest secret.”

Granger did not even look up. “But that’s not how friendships work.”

“What?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“A real friend would never betray you just because you’ve had a fight with them,” she said as she pushed herself up into a seated position. Severus did not know if he was glad or disappointed that her legs were now covered again. “A promise is a promise. That fact doesn’t change just because you’re having a disagreement or because you don’t like each other anymore.”

Yet again, he was pleasantly surprised by her maturity; it made him feel a tiny bit less like a predator preying on an innocent girl.

“Plus, the real problem is Ron. I love him –“ Severus felt a slight sting at these words. “But he’s just so unpredictable sometimes. And at the end of the day, Ginny will always side with him, because he’s her brother, and Harry will do the same, because he’s his best friend and because Ginny is his girlfriend. All three of them are on the Quidditch team together, and they all share common interests. I am the odd one out, and so if someone has to leave the group, it will always be me first.”

Severus was stunned. He wanted to disagree, wanted to tell her that what she was saying was wrong – but he knew that it was the truth. Just like himself, she was and would always be an outsider.

“Anyway,” Granger continued, taking a look at her wristwatch. “I think I have to go. I still want to stop by the library to pick up some books before it closes. Thank you for having me, as always.”

And with that, she stood up, straightened out her clothes and put the book she had been reading back in its place on one of the countless shelves lining the dark room before making her way to the exit. But just as she was about to disappear through the hole in the wall, she lingered for a second.

“Professor Snape?”

Severus was caught off guard by how nervous she suddenly sounded. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

She took her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but the other teachers normally address me by my first name when I’m alone with them. So perhaps you could do that, too? Only in private, of course.”

Severus gave her a calculated look. It probably sounded nonsensical, especially after he had already allowed her into his chambers, but he was still somewhat afraid of getting too close to her. Wasn’t using her first name taking it a bit too far? But at the same time, her request flooded his soul with a feeling of genuine happiness.

“All right … Hermione.”

*************** *************** ***************

“Come on, Hermione, I know you’re in there! Open the door!”

The brightest witch of her age was surprise to hear what sounded like frantic knocking as she climbed up the stairs leading to her Head Girl suite. It was not long until she arrived at the top and discovered a certain redhead banging on her door.

“I know you’re really mad at me, but can we please just talk about it?”

“Ginny?” she said, making the other witch jump in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed before running towards her friend at the speed of light and hugging her so hard that the two of them almost tumbled over. “I am so, so sorry! I know I treated you like crap, and for a stupid reason, too! I don’t know what got into me, I’m just so stressed right now, and I let Ron get the better of me! Harry is also sorry, but Ron is still mad, and so he feels like he’s sort of caught in the middle, and –“

Hermione took a step back and offered her a smile. “Gin, it’s all right. No hard feelings, okay?”

“Oh, you are truly too good for this world!” Ginny called out before moving in for another suffocating embrace.

Hermione could not suppress a chuckle. She was still upset about how she had been treated, of course; but she had learnt a long time ago that sometimes, being happy was more important than being right. War hero or not, at the end of the day, she was just a girl, and a girl needed her best friend.

Now that their frivolous fight was finally behind them, it did not take long before the two teenagers fell back into their old ways. They soon found themselves on Hermione’s bed, with countless Muggle nail supplies spread out around them, talking about this and that. However, the newest Hogwarts gossip was not really able to awaken Hermione’s enthusiasm like it usually did. Something had been occupying her mind for a few days now, and it took her a long time before she finally mustered up the courage to bring it up.

“Hey, Gin …” she said meekly.

“Yes?” Ginny replied, biting her tongue in concentration as she carefully painted the tiny nail of one of her little toes in a pastel pink colour.

“Um …” Hermione had absolutely no idea how to broach the subject. “I need your advice on something.”

It was only then that the sixth-year looked up.

“What’s going on?” she asked concerned.

“So …” Taking a shaky breath, she decided to just make it quick and painless, like ripping off a band-aid. “I think that I might be starting to like Professor Snape.”

Oh Merlin, she had finally said it aloud! After many sleepless nights of confusion, dismay and solitary pining, she had finally admitted it – to Ginny and to herself.

Too scared of her reaction, Hermione did not dare to look Ginny in the eyes. But to her surprise, the only response was a high-pitched giggle.

“Hermione, you like all teachers. So I’m not at all surprised that you like that tosser, too. Even though I do not know how you could, especially enough to become his apprentice and –“

“No, I –“ She rubbed the back of her neck with a trembling hand. “I think I might fancy him.”

“WHAT?!” yelled Ginny as she jumped to her feet, knocking over a couple of bottles of nail polish and spilling their content all over the comforter in the process.

“Ginny, please!” she tried to calm her down, but it was to no avail – the whirlwind that was Ginevra Weasley had already been unleashed.

“You have a crush on Snape? SNAPE?! The greasy git of the dungeons? The most hated teacher in all of Hogwarts? That Snape?!”

Her look was filled with nothing but disbelief and betrayal.

“Gods, I don’t know!” Hermione’s eyes were starting to burn and fill with tears. She could not help but feel embarrassed. “I have all of these confounding feelings, and I don’t know what to make of them, okay?!”

“Hey, hey, come on! It’s nothing to cry about.” Ginny hurriedly sat back down and rubbed her back reassuringly, though she still had horror written all over her face. “Even if we’re talking about Snape here.”

A salty tear rolled down Hermione’s blushed cheek. “I don’t even know when it started, I just –“ The words got stuck in her throat as she erupted into sobs. “How can I like a teacher in that way?! Like, maybe that could even get me EXPELLED!”

Ginny pulled her into a half hug. “Now, calm down, we’ll figure this out somehow! Why do you like him?”

Hermione sniffled. “I don’t know! It’s just that he’s being so nice to me!”

“Really?” Ginny tilted her head to the left, obviously doubting the statement. “Snape and nice?”

“Yes, extremely nice!” Hermione blurted out as she wiped her flushed face with the back of her hand. “You know, after our stupid argument, I felt so sad and miserable. But then he invited me over, and we had some tea, and he let me vent. He consoled me, Gin!”

In hindsight, the brunette would later realise that she did not know how exactly he had become aware of their fallout in the first place. She certainly had never openly mentioned it in front of him. But at that moment, with her raw emotions causing mayhem inside her mind, the thought did not occur to her even once.

“You’re kidding!” Hermione could only shake her head before she broke into tears again. “Hey, I’m sorry! It’s just hard to imagine that someone like Snape might actually have some real human feelings.”

“Well, he does! I feel like he actually cares about me, you know? Like, it almost feels as though he’s my friend. He even gave me the password to his rooms so that I would have somewhere to retreat to.”

“WHA–“ Clearly forcing herself to remain calm, Ginny took a deep breath. “Are you being for real?”

“Of course! I’ve been spending time there every day!”

Shocked, Ginny put a palm on her chest. “Hold on! Severus Snape, a grown man and teacher at this school, is allowing you, a beautiful 18-year-old student of his, in his private quarters where the two of you are completely alone? Ew, what a creep!”

“It’s not like that!” Hermione protested, her facial features contorting into a grimace. “Never once has he done anything even remotely inappropriate! We just work on something together or read some books, and sometimes we eat meals together. If anything, I’m the one who has taken it too far.”

“What do you mean?” No response. “Hermione?”

“I hugged him once …”

It was merely a whisper, but she heard her nonetheless.

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Hermione hung her head, burying her hands deep in her massive brown locks. “I hugged him in the Entrance Hall during the Hallowe’en Feast. We had talked earlier about how he didn’t want to come because of how much he hates dressing up, but then he surprised me by showing up with his teeth charmed to look like a vampire and … I don’t know, I just became so excited, and before I knew it, I was hugging him!”

Ginny could only look at her, baffled-eyed. “Did he, like, hug you back?”

She thought about it for a second.

“Yeah, I think so.” She scrunched up her face. “I liked it, too.”

No one said anything for a long time. Then, letting out a forced laugh, the redhead ultimately mumbled, “Wow, I … really don’t know what to say.”

“I’m screwed!” Hermione exclaimed as she teared up again.

Ginny let out a huge sigh. “Look, at the end of the day, you cannot help who you fall for. And while I’m certainly not a fan of the Dungeon Bat myself, you definitely could have done worse.”

Ignoring the other girl’s glare, she continued, “He’s smart, just like you, and according to what you told me, he’s also treating you right. And to be honest, he’s not really as ugly as we all make him out to be. So liking him is not as ridiculous as it might sound at first. Plus, maybe this infatuation is just a phase. So many girls get crushes on their teachers at some point. Chances are by tomorrow you’re already over it.”

She grabbed her hand. “The only thing I’m worried about is how friendly you two seem to be getting. This could actually get you into major trouble should anyone notice. And it will also not help you get over this silly crush if you keep seeing him this often. So maybe just try and distance yourself for a little while, ‘kay? I bet that once this whole thing with Ron blows over, your feelings won’t be all over the place like this anymore.”

(Click here for chapter 18!)

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maddestzoomer · 4 years

Text

that photograph.

summary -

a death, a photograph, and endless white walls.

warnings -

mentions of death, also (not really sure if it counts considering he’s already dead lmao, but whatever) technically suicidal thoughts.

authors note -

i haven’t written for a while, but this is a story i recently found scribbled in my notebook from a few years back. i figured i’d edit some and post it here. feel free to give me any feedback you may have :)

The last picture, dark and blurry, sat crammed in between two pages of his favorite book. It was a photo from the cross-country trip Billy had taken with his family last year.

The negatives were long gone, but one grainy picture remained. It had been there for almost a hundred years, long forgotten, but well protected within the lines of verse.

Billy had died on July fourth.

When it happened, it much more of a bigger deal than he thought it would be. He was nineteen, impaled multiple times by a fucking monster only to die in his sobbing sister's arms.

But in the newspapers, it was nothing more than a freak accident. No-one knew how or why what happened happened, and just about everyone agreed it was strange, but there weren't any real answers supplied.

It was one of those awful things that no one expected and shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have. He had done a lot of wrong in his short life, but maybe he didn't deserve to die.

People cried for him, sang for him, wished for things to have been different.

Billy was still dead. His ribs were broken, lungs were punctured, and his esophagus was filled with blood until he could no longer breathe. It wasn't short and it wasn't painless. But it didn't matter how he died.

It wasn’t a loss of life, persay- it was more of a transition. On to the next world, the new beyond.

The next world had started with a line. Hundreds of people waited in front of a single window. Surrounded by endless white walls and equally white floors, Billy had slowly made his way to the back.

Some people hugged their knees and sobbed. Some muttered and stared off into space. Some looked genuinely bored. One woman, a pretty brunette girl, had run up and down the line, frantically asking questions.

“Where am I?” She’d shrieked, hazel eyes wild with fear. “What happened?”

She had been met with shrugs and vacant stares. She was not the first, nor the last.

The line took ages. There was no way of telling time- it could’ve been a year or an hour. But when Billy had finally reached the window, he’d asked the question many screaming and terrified before him people had asked.

“Where am I?” He said to the woman behind the window, who had been busy typing something into an archaic computer system.

“You’re dead, honey.” She murmured, not looking up. “Billy Hargrove?” He’d nodded, not sure what else to do.

“Hand,” she’d instructed, holding out her own. Once he’d placed it in hers, she turned it over, palm facing down, and stamped the back.

It was a triangle, tiny and solid black. Billy’d looked back up to ask where he was, or where to go, or what was next, but the window was gone. So was the line when he turned around.

Instead, he was in a small room. White walls and a white bed stared back at him. A bookshelf sat in the corner. Next to it was a small, black desk with a lamp.

“Hello?” He’d asked to the walls. No one answered.

He’d found out later- hours later- that the door was unlocked. Outside, there was a single potted plant next to his door. He touched the leaves, breathing in the stale air. They were plastic.

Fluorescents reflected off of white walls as he walked down the hallway, searching for another soul.

There was a common room about fifty doors and three turns down from him. When he went out of the hallway on the other side, there was an identical hundred doors and common room. He sat down in a puffy chair, mind overwhelmed.

Emotion had left his body. He wanted to feel anything- scared, excited, nervous, lost, angry- but all he felt was empty. As empty as the rooms around him.

As time passed, he saw other faces. None he’d recognized. Initially, he’d hoped he would reunite with lost family members and friends, but it was quickly apparent that that would never happen. He would never find them.

He could talk, but no one was interested. Once you talked about your life and death, there was nothing really left to speak about but the uncertainty that plagued every soul in the place.

Where were they? What was next? Was this hell?

It wasn’t really hell as much as it was boredom. The bookshelf had every book you could ever want, and endless paper appeared on the desk. He tried to keep himself entertained, but the endless walls and fluorescents shot daggers into any creativity he could have mustered.

It turned out the bed wasn’t for sleeping- it was so he could lay down and stare at the perfectly white ceiling.

He did a lot of that. There was no food to eat, no shit to shit. He probably could have had sex, but finding other people was the last thing he wanted to do. He just wanted to be alone. To think about the life he could have lived. He just sat and stared, not knowing how or when or if time passed.

After re-reading a random book for the third time, Billy decided to try to kill himself. He wasn’t sure if it was possible, because he was already dead, but he could definitely try.

He’d begun to try to fashion a length of paper into a noose when fresh air caught his nose. It was bright, sweet, warm, and it danced into his brain, lighting up parts that hadn’t been touched since he’d died.

It was coming from under the door. Slowly, trying not to scare the hope away, he crept towards the door. The air was intoxicating- better than any vodka he could have bought when alive.

Emotions sprung to his chest for the first time since he’d gotten in line. Dry pine smoke and bird cries flew in on the air, bringing promises of a forest.

Was he hallucinating? Was it a dream? Had he finally killed himself? He touched the handle, fingers shaking. It was electrifying, the feelings that filled him. He felt alive again.

He opened the door to a forest, lit by softly flickering candles. Sobs echoed through the needles, carrying to his ears.

He saw his friends hugging one another. Saw Max silently sobbing into her hands, his Father staring drunkenly at the ground, and his Step-Mother, Susan, gently rubbing Max's back. Sitting on a table was a picture of him, smiling brightly with a surfboard at his side and an endless blue ocean behind him.

Billy had just walked into the anniversary of his death.

Being back in the real world filled him to the brim with long lost emotions.

Life danced within his eyes, as transparent as he was. He found out quickly that he couldn’t communicate or interact with anything- he could only watch.

And when he stared at his hands, he could see the fire-lit carpet of pine needles beneath him. He ached to speak to his mother (even though she wasn't to be found at the funeral...), to Max, to his friends, but even complete silence was better than the room.

Anything was better than the room, the four walls and the plastic plant guarding his door. Anything.

The worst thing in the world, even worse than the room, was having to return to it.

He felt the ground leave his feet as he was thrust back into the four walls, the life leaving his chest as quickly as it had come.

It felt like being socked in the stomach with the force of an entire lifetime. But worse, because he couldn’t cry about it. He couldn’t cry about anything.

Everything- the joy, sadness, nostalgia, content- left his body in a snap. He was left in the room again, with the hallway beyond the door.

He couldn’t even feel upset. He could just sit on the bed and wait.

He waited for another year, only living for the time that the forest would sneak in under his door.

Sometimes, he feared it would never come back, but there was nothing he could do. So he just waited. Re-reading books, walking the endless halls. There was something to look forwards to. He didn’t want to kill himself. He wanted to go back.

He continued going back for a decade, and then another. Slowly, the mourning of his death became smaller and less widespread as his parents died. His picture still existed in old family photos and friends’ diaries, but the memory of him slowly dropped existence.

Eventually, everyone he'd once known was death. Every year he went back it seemed another friend was gone.

Pictures kept getting lost or destroyed- thrown away by accident, or torn in broken picture frames.

Slowly, his descendants died, only to give way Max's great-great-grandson, Arthur, who had the last remaining picture of him.

It had been almost a hundred years since Billy had tried speaking with anyone connected to him. He’d never been able to find any of them within the long halls of the Place- but he seldom left his room, anyways.

The only time he stepped outside the door anymore was when he went back to earth, when he felt the grass beneath his feet and the sun in his hair.

Billy knew, from seeing his hallmates disappear, that when no pictures of him existed he’d never be allowed to go back to the real world. He’d also leave the Place, but no one knew what was in the Beyond.

Billy, when he could feel emotions, was terrified. The last picture of him sat in an ancient book of poetry, on a bookshelf in the attic of Arthur's house.

Max had kept the picture of Billy when he died, cried with it even when Billy had been gone fifty years. She had kept the book with her treasures, a ratty red book cover covered in dust. Almost no one had touched it since she'd died.

Arthur looked like Max. Skin full of freckles, head wild with red hair. The two even shared a similar smile.

Billy found himself following Arthur around when he could almost as much as he followed his own descendants, just to see how he lived his life.

Arthur was, unlike Max, incredibly forgetful. He’d leave his wallet on the counter or forget the dog was outside.

Watching Arthur was almost like watching his step-sister. Even though they were incredibly different, the two shared the same laugh and the same wit.

Then, one day, Arthur forgot to put out a candle when he went to bed.

He’d set them up for a date, but the boy he'd invited had stood him up.

Billy had wanted to comfort him, but he just sat on the couch and watched. After crying and eating almost an entire tub of ice cream, he’d blown out most of them and headed up to bed.

All except one.

One, hanging by the curtain, greedy flame licking at the fabric.

Billy stared at it. Watched as it grew, climbed up to the wall. There. It had to end there.

But it didn’t.

It grabbed the ceiling, expanding up and around the window. Billy glanced at the fire detector. Surely, it would go off?

It was silent. Another unlikely event. Billy was beginning to get nervous.

He tried to touch the fire, to stop it, but of course, his hands went straight through. He tried fanning the smoke to the detector. He grabbed for the phone, tried to shake Arthur awake.

Nothing was working.

Flames greedily ate up the living room and expanded to the upstairs, finally waking up Arthur.

Red hot pain suddenly lanced through his back, ripping a scream out of his mouth. He bucked as the pain forced its way into his mouth. It was similar to the pain he felt when that creature had impaled him.

His entire body felt like it was on fire, lines tracing and crossing over his skin. Billy arched his back, where the pain was concentrated, heat searing his skin. He screeched as if it would never end, because it felt like it never would.

It only got worse. His forehead erupted with slicing agony. Collapsing to the ground, he grabbed onto his blond curls as he screamed, wishing for death. But he was already dead? Dead twice? He was gone. Wishing it was over. Wishing he didn’t exist. Simply wishing.

As quickly as it had come, the pain left. He laid on the ground, softly gasping as his muscles unconstricted. Flinching at every sound, he waited for the agony to come back.

Minutes dripped by. It didn’t come back. He was sore, his body didn’t feel like his own. But he wasn’t being hurt.

Slowly, he stood. When he looked down at his hands, the black triangle had multiplied, spreading over his skin. His veins were black and pronounced over thick, corded muscle.

His tongue prodded his canine teeth, only to find they were long and sharp. Fangs. Billy had fangs. His fingers shook, fear pounding around his mind. He needed answers.

He tried to run his hands through his hair, but something stopped him. Big, bony horns curled out of his forehead. They were solid and sharp at the end, and he cut his finger as he ran it over.

A shard of glass on the floor caught his eye. He glanced at it slowly, scared at what he would see.

Dipping around the side of his back were wings, heavy and black. He reached back to feel them, wincing at the pain that started through his body. They felt leathery, cold.

Blood dripped to the floor from his cut finger.

By the door rested an iron pitchfork, tips covered in dried blood. He shuddered as he felt the very tips of his wings, now hyperaware, brush against the ground.

“Mr. Hargrove?” A voice called as the door creaked open.

Another demon, freakish and unworldly, stepped through the door. He was tall, powerful, with long black horns and a mane of thick, flowing hair.

A pencil rested behind his pointed ear, and he held a staff in his left hand.

Leaning against the stone wall, he looked Billy up and down.

“Where the fuck am I?” Billy asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

“Well, Mr. Hargrove,” the demon laughed, tapping a pencil against his equally pointy teeth.

“You’ve got a triangle on your hand. If you have a circle, you get to go up there,” he pointed to the ceiling, “and live in eternal peace.” He laughed, lip curling into a mocking snarl.

“Here, though, we are not brown nosers. We do not believe in total harmony. We wage war where we see fit, defend ourselves and those we love. We are honest about what we want. We have dignity, courage, and pride. “ The demon smiled, tossing his pitchfork to Billy. It glinted in the low light.

“Welcome to Hell.”

#billy hargrove #max mayfield #stranger things #halloween #demon #devil #angel #hell #heaven

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arthurjdrake · 4 years

Text

Caffeine Doesn’t Fix : Erin + Arthur

When: A week into the realisation of Mercy’s blindness. Where: Coffee Plus Who: Arthur and @corpse--diem Summary: Apparently caffeine doesn’t fix everything. Who knew? Aka these two crank pots need a month long nap and this time Erin’s the one running outta the coffee shop like her pants are on fire. Will they ever have a normal conversation? We just don’t know.

To say the week had gone to hell in a handbasket was perhaps one of the biggest understatements anyone might be able to put into words. Unfortunately, it was the nearest summation Arthur had for his life. The repercussions of the weekend were still resounding through Arthur’s life. Mercy was back at home and settled in as much as he could make her feel there considering she’d died and come back without any trace of her sight. It was the first instance either of them had experienced the occurrence - the only difference in circumstances being Regan’s scream in the morgue. He’d tried his best to make the house more accommodating, but Mercy’s cursing had taken up most of the time inside whenever she walked into a counter or a table. There had been several smashed glasses as well that had led to a panicked moment of ordering her to stay right there, don’t move whilst he cleaned up.

Which only fed into Mercy’s frustration and guilt and made an already vicious cycle even more difficult to deal with. There was a learning curve, and Arthur felt he was falling behind at every hurdle he came to. Sleep was something he was finding hard to come by, and the time morning came around it felt as if he was running on fumes.

Explaining why he chanced his luck at coffee plus, he hadn’t been here since the last time he’d run into Erin and the awkward exit regarding his identity. Arthur knew he looked frazzled; tousled hair hidden by a flat cap, blood-shot eyes and dark circles under his glasses. But he was hoping no one he knew would be in. He could get in, get out and go to the grocery store to get the things they needed to stock up. He was picking up his drink when the bell over the door chimed, and a casual glance over in that direction had him freezing mid-reach for his coffee. Maybe he could get out before she saw him. Maybe… Maybe she wouldn’t see him. “Oh bloody hell,” he cursed as he missed the barista’s hand entirely in the transference, the drink careening onto the floor and spilling everywhere. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry… Fuck I’m so sorry about that,” he apologised quickly going to grab some serviettes and try to clean up some of the mess internally cringing at the situation he’d put himself in.

If there was ever a week that Erin needed the tallest, strongest cup of coffee White Crest had to offer, it was this one. Dale was dead by her hand and she’d barely slept since Roy fucking Chambers had given her the order to do so. She didn’t feel sorry that he was dead. Didn’t even feel sorry that she had been the one to do it. That was what bothered her. Her mind looped in frantic circles while heavy unease made her bones ache, even when every part of her body begged for that release to come. Occasionally it did, when her eyelids felt weighted down with lead and her words came out in slurs as if she’d spent the entire day drinking. And it was never long enough when she finally snapped back into consciousness a few hours later. She’d crack her lip open once more, cringe at the bruise smattering her cheek and eye and remember all over again. God, she missed sleep. But not nearly half as much as she didn’t Dale.

Maybe soon, maybe next week, or the next. Maybe when this was over, a deep rest would welcome her again. Marley’s words tickled her ear. What’s next? Coffee. For now? Lots of fucking coffee.

She closed her eyes and pressed on into Coffee Plus, the bell startling her eyes open a little wider than before. And if it wasn’t for the sudden chaos ahead in line, there was a good chance she would’ve missed the mess of a man altogether. “Arthur?” She asked, but behind his own exhausted face, she could tell. She’d scoured his family history long enough to be sure of it. Almost sure she’d never forget it again, honesty. Had she startled him? Made sense, considering the way she had practically spooked him out of this very cafe once already. “Sorry, sorry,” she shook her head, holding her hands up, mustering a small, tired smile. “I come in peace in search of a caffeinated sustenance,” she nodded, staying still as if she was trying to calm a wild animal.

The days had begun blending into one, taking into account recent occurrences Arthur had opted to cancel his summer classes. He’d cited family emergencies, and he figured the term was applicable enough given the situation. Mercy at home without sight leaving the both of them scared that it might never come back. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but right now it was too much of a shock to truly process on top of everything else that had happened. What would they do if it never came back? They’d have to learn new ways to communicate and navigate the world. But whatever the outcome, Arthur was set in the fact he’d do everything he could to try and help.

But coffee was the order of business, until it wasn’t and coffee was the dripping stain down the front of his white t-shirt. He cringed both at himself and the scene that had come about all because of-

Oh boy she was coming over. A mildly charginned expression overcame the scholar’s features, a look that he schooled into something more apologetic and world-weary, “no it’s fine… I’m all over the place today it seems,” A slightly nervous laugh escaped him, what was she doing here? What was she doing talking to him? What did she want? Deciding that it was perhaps best not to worry about that right now Arthur looked at her properly for a moment, “you look like you’ve been through the wars” he remarked knowing it was a rather rich remark considering his own state of being. “Here let me… What do you want? Consider it an… apology for me running out on you last time we spoke.” Even now, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to blame another person for spooking him enough to make him bolt. Better to make amends and move forward than dwell in the dirges of past actions.

All over the place seemed like an understatement. “So is your coffee,” Erin noted, giving a half-smile, half-cringe as at the mess that had become of the front of his shirt. Whatever it was she had done during their last interaction had stuck with him pretty good, apparently. “And to think I thought I’d finally gained the ability to make grown men cower in my presence.” A dumb joke, she knew it, but hoped even if he agreed, the terrible attempt might coax some of that stress she saw everytime he looked her way.

When he commented on her own appearance, she couldn’t stop her eyes from widening a bit, bristling from his words. Guess she wasn’t holding herself together as well as she thought. “Gee, thanks,” she chuckled but shook her head. “Been a long week.” She could only assume he probably understood that sentiment more than he let on. “Considering I kind of ambushed you the last time we spoke--don’t worry about it. Seriously. This one’s on me,” she assured him with a nod and a smile. Probably wouldn’t hurt to make a better impression on her friend’s… boyfriend? That fact was still a little unclear. But she’d try regardless. Without giving him time to politely turn her down, she skipped ahead and requested two of whatever Arthur had poured all over himself. “Guess you’ve seen some wars yourself lately, huh?” She asked as they waited for the fresh new drinks, drumming her fingers along the wooden counter. After a moment, she glanced back up at him. “I know I don’t know you super well but, uh, Mercy seems pretty fond of you. And I can’t help but notice it looks like someone chewed you up and spit you back out yourself,” she joked, but her smile was soft and sincere. “I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener. I have nowhere to rush off to right now, so if you don’t either--” she shrugged, her words drifting to an end, but the implication was made with a gesture towards an empty table.

“Yes, it would seem so,” Arthur agreed with a slightly lighter laugh pulling at the fabric a little, thankful the heat didn’t bother him at all but it didn’t change the fact it wasn’t ideal to have coffee all down his shirt. “No harm done I guess,” but the smile grew a touch more genuine at Erin’s attempt at a joke, “don’t know about cower, I’d definitely say flee in terror,” considering their last conversation that was for sure but his grin tired as it was gave away his joke.

Arthur hadn’t meant offence and seeing the slight change in her demeanour immediately earned another apologetic look holding his hands up a little as if to try and placate a situation he really wasn’t sure he could handle right now “sorry, I- didn’t mean to upset you- It was a joke… I was… I just meant I can relate. Long week and all that...” He cringed internally at the whole thing, how did he end up here? He wanted to protest as she said about taking care of the coffee, but she was already ordering before he had a choice leaving him to back up a little and just watch from the sidelines.

“You have no idea, I feel like it” he remarked wearily, rubbing his eyes he’d barely slept for the amount of reading and things he’d been doing. What he wasn’t anticipating was the offer she made next. It made him blink in surprise, a mild gnawing suspicion eating away at him but then again she was Mercy’s friend. That counted for something. “I mean… Sure, and likewise… If you want to talk about whatever’s going on with you as well…” Whether he could help he couldn’t say but maybe it would be good for them both. The coffees were presented, and Arthur reached for his cupping it in his hands before gesturing for her to go ahead before following to slide in opposite. He sat sipping at his coffee before he set it down and spoke, “have you uh- heard from her lately? Mercy that is… Probably the best place to start.”

“No need to apologize, honestly. You’re probably right, anyway” Erin shook her head, trying to keep that smile on her face to show she was still very much being friendly. It was funny, she thought, as the coffee cups were set down in front of them. Same place, roughly around the same time as the last time they’d bumped into each other. Not a thing felt the same though. Her curious drive for answers from before was nowhere to be found, and while he was still jumpy as could be, the energy behind it was different. Even in the face of it all, he was still making a great effort to be kind, polite, and she could appreciate that for what it was. This town was brutal and it’s darkness was relentless. If they didn’t take moments like these, it would have torn them all to pieces by now. But as kind as the gesture was, Arthur absofuckinglutely didn’t need to know about her current personal plague. Just a little too illegal and a little too dark to throw on a guy she barely knew. Seemed like a safe assumption.

“I appreciate that,” she grabbed her cup, smiled warmly once more, then took a seat across from him. God, sweet caffeine. She was already sipping it before they’d properly settled in. At Arthur’s question regarding Mercy, her mind flashed back to their last visit. Beer, drunken sparring, inhuman healing. With all that had gone on, she hadn’t had a chance to connect with her since. “No,” Erin shook her head, a trickle of concern worming its way into her chest. “Not since, uh--” she paused, unsure as she tried to read Arthur’s expression. “She didn’t tell you about what happened the last time I saw her, did she? I know you guys are pretty close.” Close was the most polite way she could think of to touch on that whole story she’d also learned that day.

There always had to be some form of light in the darkness, Arthur did his best to look for it. Didn’t mean he was always successful in finding it, or that it held answers he particularly wanted but it was better than living day to day under the oppressive grind of horror and harm that seemed to pervade the very essence of this town. But like most people living here he managed to the best of his ability, though the journey wasn’t easy, the work it required made the outcome worthwhile. At least, usually it did.

Right now finding the light was easier said than done, but it wasn’t something he was quite certain how to put into words. So he focussed on his coffee mulling over the things he knew, the things he didn’t and the questions that pervaded the darkness around those things he didn’t know.

But the tiredness was replaced with a touch of a wry smile that came at the somewhat hesitant phrasing of her question, “no need to be delicate about it. You’re right, but she tells me pretty much everything so… I’m aware you’re privy to a fraction of our uh… convoluted history.” Which was putting it mildly. He took a sip of his coffee, but the small smile remained proof that he wasn’t mad. “Which and correct me if I’m wrong… She also told you about the… uh year in which that particular incident happened?” Which rather neatly segwayed into addressing their last unfortunate conversation in this very shop. But better to get a grasp of what Erin did and didn’t know first.

Erin had learned more than a few things about both Mercy and Arthur in one go. He knew it but his vagueness was an all too obvious fishing ploy. A friendly one, but fishing nonetheless. “Convoluted is a good word,” she nodded, hiding the small smirk forming behind a long, drawn out sip. But he clearly wanted to know exactly what she knew. Felt a little weird to be talking so personally to someone she barely knew--but at least it wasn’t her life they were digging into. It could stay that way. Finally, she set the cup down, shrugging. “I was a little--okay, a lot drunk. But you guys were… engaged, if I remember correctly?” She questioned, tapping her thumb against the coffee lid. “I understand now how different Mercy is--actually, ‘understand’ is probably a word I shouldn’t be throwing around. I don’t mean that negatively, trust me. But I hope you can understand why I’m still wrapping my head all around of… that,” she gestured vaguely towards him. Her eyes narrowed slightly, hints of concern bubbling to the surface, and her tone growing a tad sharper. “What’s going on with Mercy, Arthur? She’s okay, right? Can you at least tell me that?”

To say it was uncomfortable sitting in front of a stranger who knew all too much about your own life and private business was a little bit of an understatement. So while Arthur’s front was amicable, a polite if slightly reserved smile there were several guards that lay behind that presentation. He didn’t like people knowing his business, because the more people that knew or got involved the higher the risk of them talking or selling him out was. But she elaborated, and Arthur settled into a role he was just a fraction more comfortable with. The listener. It made it easier to try and process why he even felt compelled to sit down and have this conversation. Endure it. Erin knew too much even with the fragments she did have and that in itself was enough to set him on edge.

“Yeah, we were,” he confirmed, his jaw ticking at the memory of that own revelation a few months prior. His thoughts went to the wedding rings and the note left in the jeep. Left behind just in case Mercy did actually die. The memory soured his next sip of coffee and Arthur ended up placing it on the table and simply wrapping his hands around the cup as a small anchor and focus for himself. Trust me. A phrase he’d heard so many times across the centuries it was almost comical. Trust me. How many times had that ended well? And yet he was in the unfortunate position that he really didn’t have much choice. “Yes, I can appreciate this reality is a lot to process,” Arthur agreed, a deeper meaning to a simple phrase carefully chosen, calculated as most of his actions usually were. He knew because he’d lived that coming to terms over and over and over again, not to mention seeing that reality dawn on people on their own coming to terms with it. “As I’m sure is finding out what Mercy is.”

There was a pause and a subtle flare of a temper that was carefully kept in check, he didn’t appreciate information being demanded of him even if it was out of concern. So he took a moment to stop his temper bleeding over into his tone that remained calm but to the point, “please mind your tone, I’m here because you’re Mercy’s friend and you somewhat have a right to this conversation even if I don’t feel very comfortable with how much you seem to know about me.” Before she could interject or get her heckles up in regards to his statement he held a hand up to give pause before he answered her question “in short, no, she’s not alright. She was murdered at the lake and then came back but there were some complications… Which we’re taking care of… Hence,” he gestured vaguely back to his own mildly bedraggled appearance. “She’s staying with me for the time being until we can get her back to rights.”

A lot to process. That was putting it mildly. Erin lifted her eyes from the table to subtly check around them. People entered and exited with the speed most cafes exhibited. Some stuck around but thankfully not too close to where they sat. “Guess I’m just lucky I got relentlessly pelted with the ‘supernaturals are real’ bombs to help lighten the blow with this particular one.” It was still a surprise. Still centuries of lifetimes and secrets she had no clue were buried within one of her oldest friends.

Erin flinched. She hadn’t expected to be scolded for showing concern for her friend throughout this vague explanation and she sure as hell didn’t appreciate the ignorant hand that went up, presumably to stop her from expressing how the fuck she felt about that. As if she had come searching him out, forcefully sticking her nose into his business when it had all but fallen into her lap very accidentally. That anger returned, swelled, and she did her best to hold back everything but the equally annoyed glare she shot across the table. She could give him the benefit of the doubt here. She had to, she guessed--people grew sensitive when their secrets were exposed or made vulnerable. He was exhausted and she’d apparently touched a nerve. She’d let it slide for now, not that it mattered. As soon as she heard murdered, her anger hissed to a quick, cold death, like a bucket of water had been dumped onto a campfire. “Murdered,” she echoed, unable to stop the way her mouth gaped open. “But she’s--she’s staying with you? So that means she’s actually alive right? She’s okay--or will be? Because of the whole--who--what she is?” She asked, fear and confusion stunting her sentences. How could she be murdered if she was alive? Was that just one of those Valkyrie quirks? She still had so many questions that had gone unanswered from her and Mercy’s evening together. Not as prepared as she thought for this, she realized. “What the fuck? Why? Just--why?”

It was curious to see how different people reacted to the very fundamental pillars of their reality being shifted under their feet. Some leapt in headfirst, others tapped into denial and some became so paranoid about every bump in the night they struggled to function and sometimes you got an eclectic mix between all three. So where Erin glanced around, Arthur sipped his coffee but he couldn’t help the humoured laugh that came upon hearing her remark about her introduction “huh, if I’m honest that’s probably the easiest ways to come to terms with it.”

Perhaps it was fatigue or a combination of all the things that had been happening recently but a typically compliant patience was worn thin, less flexible to accommodation as it might have been otherwise. Arthur in all his years hated one thing. Having his control taken away. Even inadvertently shifting the foundations on which his methodical order and view of life threw him through a loop he didn’t always quite know how to cope with. So having someone demand more information, out of concern or otherwise didn’t set the best of tones. Still the glare was enough that it made Arthur wince, “sorry, I’m- snappy when I’m tired.”

“Yes, murdered” he confirmed giving Erin the time to process that particular reality. The questions that followed were warranted and Arthur sat back, shoulders slumping tiredly but did his best to explain. “Long story short, yes, she’s alive now. Valkyries can’t be killed,” he gauged her expression but her questions provided some clarity might be required “I don’t know how much detail she told you but generally if they do die they’ll uh-- resurrect isn’t quite the right word but it’s the best one I can think of.”

“So the other day she was drowned by some guy-- Nic I think his name was? While fighting some demon squid that was going to end the world or maybe just White Crest… I dunno details were a bit fuzzy there - pronounced dead at the scene, taken to the morgue, spent several hours in Regan’s freezer, came back just before her autopsy was due… Now she’s blind and living at my house for the time being while we try and figure shit out.” It was a lot, but those were the details of it in short.

The moment Erin heard Nic’s name come out of Arthur’s mouth, all the questions she hadn’t asked--hadn’t wanted to ask--about that night fell into place. She heard the rest of the explanation but it took more than a few moments for the words to properly process. Drowned. Woke up in Regan’s autopsy room. Her hands covered her face and she suddenly felt more exhausted than when she’d entered this goddamn coffee shop. “Of course,” she added on a heavy sigh, one that left her deflated right there at that table. They couldn’t just move past this, could they? There had to be just one extra entanglement that snared her right back in when she was trying to help him move on.

“He didn’t mean--” she stopped herself, shaking her head. Fuck, no. She didn’t owe Arthur anything here. It was an accident. Nic wanted to be part of this less than anyone involved. Mercy was fine. Blind, apparently, and probably a little bit traumatized. But fine. Alive. That’s all that they needed to know, but she felt the burn that came with admitting just three words too much. Time for a rapid fire subject change. “She’s blind?” Erin glanced up from her hands suddenly. “How?”

It seemed from where Arthur sat, trying to gauge Erin’s reaction that this was perhaps too much too soon. Typical that in trying to make things better it only seemed to make things worse. Looking away from her he turned his attention to his coffee cup instead as it he might find something helpful to say there. Unfortunately there was nothing but the black earth juice that fuelled most of his days and nights of late. What he hadn’t anticipated was Erin to elaborate regarding this Nic-- and his head lifted sharply “wait, you know him? Mercy wanted to speak to him…” Arthur didn’t really care for the idea, but he respected Mercy enough to afford her some benefit of the doubt.

The change of subject didn’t really go amiss, and Arthur’s brow furrowed a fraction even the memory of that night was horrific and sent a chill down his spine. “Yeah… I got her home from the morgue… Looked like she was crying,” his hands tightened around the mug, his own worry and unabiding fear creeping into his voice. “Then I realised they weren’t tears… It was blood.” He hadn’t slept much, but on the few occasions he’d fallen asleep that image had pervaded his mind, the crimson tracks against her pale skin and a chilling fear gripping his heart of being so helpless that nothing he could do would help. It was a terrifying thought. But Erin already knew too much and he doubted she’d understand that degree of fear.

The panic in Erin’s gut was real, and it only continued to escalate the longer she sat here. God, this whole trip had just been an excuse to get out of the house. Get some fresh air. Revitalize with some coffee. The plan hadn’t been to run smack dab into a wall of problems she didn’t know existed. “I do. He’s a friend.” Someone she’d trust with her life, even after all of this. God, this was exhausting. That fucking squid had ripped apart and ruined more lives than she could keep track of anymore and it was written all over Arthur’s face.

Sinking back into her chair, Erin shook her head again, that flutter-y anxiety that twisted her insides returning with a sharp yank. “I’m sure he’ll reach out to her. When he’s ready. This hasn’t been easy on him either.” But she couldn’t shake the image of Mercy waking up like that. Of that look in Nic’s eyes when he finally came home a week afterwards. Suddenly she couldn’t stomach the thought of another sip of coffee. Just one thing too much. She could practically feel her brain numbing and glossing over. “I’m sorry,” she swallowed, standing up faster than she realized possible. This was too much. “Please--tell Mercy I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do to help her, or you, you’ll let me know, okay?” She insisted as she gathered her things, trucking steadily towards the door. She didn’t know where she was going but she knew she couldn’t handle this a moment more. “I hope you get some sleep!” she hollered as she hurried through the door.

“Oh… I see-” Arthur wasn’t quite certain what he thought about all this, no, that was a lie he knew exactly what he thought about all this. Erin clearly knew this person well enough to seem to have some idea what they would think about all this. To start trying to make an excuse on this Nic’s behalf. But hearing that he’d reach out sat wrong. Why should this man, this stranger get away with this and be left to his own devices? There was a flare of anger that coiled in his chest at the thought but it was tempered into a simmer. If this was how Erin wanted to play it. So be it.

Arthur sat and watched as any further length of this apparent ‘conversation’ Erin wanted to have was cut short as she pulled the same exact stunt he had last time. Cut and run. Did she know more about this than she’d let on? Was this all just an attempt to get more information and see what had been figured out? They were all questions that ran through Arthur’s mind as he watched this unfold before his very eyes. “Right....” the word was said slowly, and Arthur had no such intent. Erin had done nothing to prove he could trust her and running off like this instead of facing up to things that really needed discussing didn’t count in her favour either.

So the empty holler as she vanished out the door was met with a baleful look of resignation in the direction of the door as it swung shut as Arthur committed himself to finishing the coffee (it was free after all) and stew over the repercussions he wished would be enacted on this stranger who’d dared to cross him and his own. You can only run for so long Nic.

#p: erin #caffeine doesn't fix #para #// This was fun ahaha

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ma-gic-gay · 4 years

Note

In Port Charles, New York, there was never a large amount of time without someone having a near death experience, death, or traumatic event.

Michael and Willow had been pretty fortunate, ever since they got married the only bad thing that had happened was Wiley being kidnapped and they had all recovered from that, mainly. Granted, they still checked on him twice a night, but it didn't matter. Everyone was healing and the pair were trying desperately to tell each other what they felt without actually saying the words.

So it seemed it was time for them to deal with a traumatic event, according to whatever controls what happens with people in this town.

Whatever controls these people's lives decides to make them get caught up in a gunfight, where Willow was about to get shot. She had been kidnapped hours before and was being used as a pawn in a scam Cyrus had concocted against Sonny. He knew Sonny cared about Michael's family, but that he couldn't get Michael himself or he'd be killed.

When Jason and Sonny fired their guns at Cyrus and his guys, they'd fired back at a tied up, scared Willow. Michael jumped in front of them, his own gun firing as he was shot in the chest. The bullet just grazed Willow, and though she was in intense pain, the worst she'd ever felt, her first concern was Michael. He needed medical attention immediately, or else he'd die.

That brings us to the present, where Willow got shot in the shoulder and Michael's still in surgery to try and save his life. When they'd had her sign something earlier for it, a medical form she didn't know quite the details of, it had really set in. Michael could be dead because he was trying to save her life. Willow's bullet had been a through and through wound; they were able to get her all taken care of quickly. She's bandaged and traumatized, but fine. Michael, on the other hand, could be bleeding out on an operating table for all she knows. He got shot in the chest and the doctors think it's in an artery.

There are no words to describe how she felt, finding out that her husband had a large chance of death. Cyrus, stupid Cyrus and his mob games he had to play with Sonny. Stupid, stupid Sonny. If he wasn't in the damn mob, Willow never would've been kidnapped and Michael never would've been shot. He wouldn't be fighting for his life on an operating table right now, trying not to die. This was Sonny's fault as much as it was Cyrus's.

Sonny enters her room cautiously. "Willow, I'm so sorry you got caught up in all this. You never should have been involved in this situation in the first place and I have no clue why you were even on Cyrus's radar in the first place."

"I think that you should know damn well why I was shot, Sonny! The same reason Michael was, because you're in some territory fight with him. You're lucky Carly didn't get shot or another innocent bystander in your fight with him. Your mob war is fine, but I don't want anything to do with it. I married Michael, and I knew that it meant I was marrying into a mob family with you being his dad and all, but I didn't expect this! Your son is fighting for his life on an operating table right now because of you! I got shot because of you! My son could be in danger or on the radar of a known mobster right now because of you and your actions!" Willow angrily shouts at him.

The mobster is confused before he responds, "Don't you think I know that, Willow? Don't you think I feel terrible about my son having to fight for his life because of me again? I'm not a monster, despite you apparently seeing me as one. This life- it's not what I ever thought my life would be. In some ways, it's so much better, but in others, it's terrible. I don't know how you got to be involved in this, or if Wiley's on their radar, but my guys will take care of it."

"Take care of it meaning you're going to put us on house arrest like you did your entire family because you can't control the mob wars you start? Or maybe we'll have a guard following us everywhere we go like Joss. I'm sure I could get some pointers from her about how to live your life with a guard following you," she fires back, heart racing and angry.

"My family means everything to me. I-I would never do something that I thought could put my family in danger. I'm having one of my guys check right now and see if Wiley's on their radar. They're gone, the bad guys. No one is hurting any of you because you're all good people. Michael's the former head of ELQ and lives at the Quartermaine mansion, so I don't know if he was on their radar because of his last name, but I also don't know why you're the one they took. If they wanted to kidnap someone, Michael probably would've been easier to than you were," Sonny ponders, clearly apologetic about his actions.

Thinking for a moment, Willow breathes deeply, wincing slightly. "I'm sorry I blew up, but I'm anxious right now. I mean, my husband is on the operating table. Not exactly a great thing for me, or Wiley. I also got shot, which isn't exactly a fun experience. Add in the kidnapping, I'm pretty sure that there's such a high amount of adrenaline in my system right now I could be having a panic attack."

Jason enters the room with Sam and Dante. "How you holding up?"

"Shot, kidnapped, angry, scared, traumatized. I'm wondering, why did they pick to come after me? Sure, Cyrus and all them know I'm married to Michael, that's not old news, but if they wanted to get mad at Sonny, why not take one of his kids?" Willow asks, trying to distract herself from the fact that her husband could be bleeding out right now and that she's in a hospital bed with a gun wound.

"Well, Michael and I are adults. We've dealt with this stuff before, it'd be harder to just kidnap us. Avery is at Ava's, and they don't want to mess with Julian or Nikolas. Donna's got so much security around her, it'd be near impossible to, and Kristina would make an absolutely terrible hostage. Joss has a guard following her, and would also be a bad hostage. All of us wouldn't be good targets to kidnap, and so there could be the argument he could have taken one of Jason's kids, but they're all innocent in everything and Jason would go ballistic. It just wouldn't make sense. You, however, are new to this life, married to a Corinthos, have a child with one, and don't really seem like you've been kidnapped before," Dante explains.

"So I was the easiest target for them to take, pretty much?" Willow asks and they nod.

Sam speaks up now, "It makes sense that if they wanted Michael, they'd take you. Wiley's a bad target, considering that there's so much energy put into making sure he's okay at all times. You're his wife and he loves you, so they want to lure him in, they take you. Tell him exactly where to find you, exactly what to do to get you back. Only thing is, they didn't count on Sonny and Jason being there too. So they saw them and got scared. Shot at you since you were still tied up and Michael, being Michael, saved you. They wanted to hurt Sonny and the best way to do that is by hurting his family. You were the easiest target and collateral damage."

Willow sighs, angry and hurt. "So in an effort to hurt Sonny and Jason, they wanted to hurt Michael. They knew that they couldn't take him, so they take me instead and make him come get me and try to kill us both?"

"These people run off of trying to find a soft spot. This one matched for both of them. Carly was probably their second choice, except she's an absolutely terrible hostage and they know it would've been too obvious. If they could kill you and Michael, Sonny lets down his guard because he's grieving and probably raising Wiley. I'm grieving, everyone involved in the business is grieving. They can take over Port Charles. It's unfair and cruel, but true," Jason summarizes to her.

Portia comes into the room then, looking somber. "Is he okay? What-what's happening with Michael?" Willow asks immediately, frantic for news on her husband.

"Willow, the bullet that hit Michael was in one of his arteries. We were able to remove the bullet, but we don't know if he'll survive. The surgery was intense, and the damage he took to his heart was as well. His body, like yours, has faced a huge trauma, but since his was to his heart, we're not comfortable yet with anything," the doctor tells her and the brunette bursts into tears. It's like her heart is slowly cracking and they're dragging out what's happening.

"Portia, just tell it to us straight: What are the odds?" Jason asks, face emotionless.

"Michael has a 50% chance of survival," Portia admits. "The next 24 to 48 hours are going to be crucial to getting more exact odds. Right now, he's not allowed any visitors, but we will be changing that in a few hours. I'm so sorry I don't have better news."

Those are the words it takes for everyone to be crying. Jason, in a rare showing of emotion, looks like he's going to break down. Sam's face says it all: She's heartbroken. Michael's practically a son to the both of them, especially Jason. But Sonny, his face is the truly heartbreaking one. He breaks down right then and there, sitting on the floor of the room and crying. Dante looks shocked, like he's not processing this. "What the hell?" He asks. "Dad, what the hell is it with you and killing my brothers? First Morgan, now Michael?"

"Dante, your brother is still alive. He is in critical condition, but alive. The odds of survival will likely increase after I go to check on him in a few hours," Portia calmly explains as Carly runs into the room, crying.

Carly runs to the space in between Jason and Sonny and asks, "What's wrong with my baby? Why won't they let me see him? Is he alive?"

"Yes, Michael is alive. He was shot in the chest and it got in an artery. The surgical team was able to save him, though he is in critical condition with what I'm predicting is a 50% chance of survival. He will be allowed visitors in a few hours," Portia spiels, everyone understanding it more now and the room more tearful than before. "Carly, if you want, Joss and Dev are more than welcome to stay with Trina and I for the next few days, since I know you and Sonny will be here, and I presume Jax will be as well."

"Thank you, Portia. That would be great if it's not too much trouble," Carly thanks her, tears still streaming down her face.

"Of course," Portia smiles before leaving the room. "Jason, that offer extends to Danny and Scout too."

"That's nice, but they're gonna be staying with Elizabeth and her boys. Thank you for offering," he says solemnly, tears building up in his eyes.

The room has an aura of sadness as everyone processes the information they've been given. Michael has a 50% chance of dying, and a 50% chance of surviving. All because of Sonny's stupid fight with Cyrus. Despite what she may have said, Willow is still beyond upset with Sonny, as is Dante.

"Sonny, you caused this. Not Cyrus, you. By starting that stupid fight with him, you put all of our lives on the line. Now, Michael's fighting for his life in a hospital bed and Willow's been shot too! The only reason we're in this situation is you and your stupid mob war. You're lucky I'm not PCPD anymore, or I'd arrest you for all of your illegal activities and put you behind bars because none of us deserve to have this be our lives!" Dante shouts at his father, angry and needing someone to blame but truthful.

"I know that, Dante! I know that I'm the reason my son could die. I'm the reason Morgan did too, I know. I'm so sorry, Willow, that you got caught up in this because they wanted Michael," Sonny tearfully tells his oldest son.

Willow takes a deep breath, calming her sobs. "I am angry at you, but I know that it's Cyrus's fault I got kidnapped and that Michael and I got shot. Why I was kidnapped, I still don't fully understand, but I can see how badly you feel about this. So I accept your apology, but I can't forgive you for this yet."

Dante breathes, trying to calm himself, as he says, "They took you because Michael loves you and they wanted him to get to Sonny. It's stupid and rude, but the truth."

Love? That four letter word hadn't been said by either of them yet; they were getting annulled for God's sakes!

That would probably be getting put off indefinitely while Willow and him were recovering from their gun shot wounds. It would be easier on everyone because Monica would be there if something bad happened to either of them and Wiley wouldn't have to move around or anything.

Noticing her silence, Sam asks, "You didn't know that?"

"Is it that obvious?" Willow asks, noting that the pain of the wound is starting to go down.

"Yeah," Dante laughs. "It's really obvious. Stupidly obvious, to be honest. You two, I presume, have been in love with each other for at least a few months by now. It's just that neither one of you wants to say it because you're scared you'll ruin your friendship somehow or whatever."

There's a quiet laughter in the room for a few moments before the air turns somber again and tears come back full force. It's evident that all of them are in pain, emotionally and, for Willow, physically.

Several hours later, Willow's entire hospital room is full of people. Maxie, Spinelli, Anna, Finn, Monica, Bobbie, Brook Lynn, Ned, Jax, Joss, Dev, Cam, Elizabeth, Franco, Nina, Lulu, Lucy, even Sasha and Chase are there. A lot of people know Michael, and a lot of them care a lot about him. It warms Willow's heart to see that, to know that the man she loves has so many people who love him and care about him.

Portia comes in the crowded room with Trina, who envelopes Joss in a hug. "Michael can have guests now," Portia tells them, "but only one at a time. He may still be a bit woozy from the anesthesia, if he's even awake. He will likely be confused somewhat and drifting in and out of sleep. Don't talk about anything serious with him, or he'll get more confused."

As she leaves the room, Joss says, "I think Willow should go first. If there's anyone Michael would want to see first, I think it would be her."

Everyone nods their agreement and Elizabeth goes to get Willow a wheelchair. Sitting in the chair is fine, standing and walking isn't. She already hates how much this is slowing her down, considering that she's always been so quick to go and do things. This is pretty much just a shitty situation.

Elizabeth comes back, wheelchair in tow, and Willow moves to get in it, wincing in pain but ignoring that. She's got a husband to see. "You know," she jokes, "Michael and I never had a honeymoon. I guess this is the closest we'll get before our annulment."

"If I hear one more word about that annulment," Carly threatens and Monica agrees.

"I'm not letting you two make this decision, no annulment!" Dante smiles and everyone laughs for a minute except Chase and Sasha, but it's obvious that they mean it.

"Our fans grow," Willow chuckles as Elizabeth wheels her into Michael's room, which isn't far from her own.

"For what it's worth, and not that my opinion has anything to do with your marriage to Michael because it doesn't, you two do make a very good couple in a way I don't think we've seen around here in a while. Again, not my spot, but still, I think you two have some talking to do before you agree to end your marriage," Elizabeth tells her. "Count me as a fan."

Chuckling, the pair go into Michael's room, where the energy is instantly changed to more of a sad, somber energy. After all, he is in a hospital bed, hooked up to a lot of tubes and machines. Willow was lucky, her IV could go with her. Michael's setup is much more complicated.

Willow's wheeled up to his bed before Elizabeth leaves, telling her to just text someone when she needs to get wheeled away again. It's evident Elizabeth can't stand to be in the room much longer.

When she leaves, tears start streaming down Willow's face. This is more difficult than she thought it would be, though she was trying to joke her way through it. Her heart aches seeing him like this, the man she married fighting for his life in a hospital bed. It's heartbreaking, knowing that she's got a chance of him not making it, that he'll die on her. She knows he'll fight like hell to stop it, but at the end of the day, you can't always get what you want.

It's this thought that makes her want to say what she's been feeling, confess like she's in some movie or something. The words have been on her mind for weeks, but she couldn't bring herself to say them because there was a chance he didn't feel the same.

Opening her mouth to speak, Willow notes that only a sob comes out. It's not a pretty sound by any means, if anything it's an ugly one, but it's okay because Michael's still alive. "This, what I feel for you, it's hard to put into words but I'm going to give it my best shot. I fell for you because you're you. That makes no sense, I know, but that's why I fell for you. I fell for you because you're so unapologetically yourself, even when it's causing an issue. I fell for you because I want the whole thing, the stupid little fights and the joking, the love that's always there. I fell for you because when I look into your eyes, I stop thinking. I fell for you because that look you give me, that keeps me up at night trying to figure out what it means. When we kissed, I can still feel it when I go to sleep at night. You, without my knowledge, walked into my heart and just decided to get comfy. Falling in love with you was beyond my control, but I'm okay with it. This- falling for you has been the scariest thing in my life because I'm giving you the power to destroy me. You're destroying me, not knowing if you'll make it or not. It breaks my heart, knowing you could die because of me. I couldn't deal with it if you die. So hang on long enough for us to watch movies while eating a pizza we just bought in a Walmart. Hang on long enough to have stupid pillow fights with me in bed at three am because Wiley's starting school tomorrow and we can't fall asleep. Do it for me, do it for him. Do that for us. I love you, Michael, and I don't see that ending so please, just wake up."

By the end of her beautiful proclamation, Willow's full on crying. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and her heart is broken. Even though he's not dead, Willow just spilled her heart to him. It could be the last thing she ever says to him when he's alive, that she loves him. That thought terrifies her, that he could die and never fully know if he knows she loves him.

"I don't know what it is, but somehow, you can always make me smile even when I'm feeling the worst I've ever felt in my life. Without me even thinking, I can see a future with you. A future full of a couple more kids and happiness. Don't get me wrong, I know romance isn't always happily ever after. But still, I know loving someone the way I love you is so uncommon, especially so quickly. I love you, and I'm going to tell you that because it's true. You deserve to know the truth, and simply put, that's the truth. Those three words that terrified me have been so common in my brain thinking of you. And telling you, it makes me feel relieved. Because you deserve to know these things. At the end of the day, you deserve to know I love you," Willow tearfully tells him. "So you can't die on me, okay? I love you and we haven't even started our story yet, so you've got to survive so we can have our happy ending."

No response from Michael, nothing. His vitals are the same and he looks the exact same too, still great but wounded. He looks frail, lying in that hospital bed.

Maybe her words can't save him. Maybe he's already gone, already left her. It's sad to think about and makes her breakdown, sobs coming from her mouth with tears so plentiful she can't even see anything. She takes his hand, holding it in hers. This, this is the moment in all those movies where he would squeeze her hand, wake up.

Life isn't a move though, she realizes, as she continues speaking. "I get it if you're already gone and your heart's still beating, but selfishly, I want you to wake up. I want you to wake up and we can stop the annulment, fall even more in love. Selfishly, I want a huge love story where we're together for so long that people ask if we're still together and wonder how we are because we've been together so long."

"And so you have to be okay, you have to wake up from this, you have to. I get it if you don't know entirely, or if you don't fully want to, but Wiley and I need you to. Everyone here, and everyone in the waiting room, everyone crowded in my room needs you to wake up. I love you," Willow tearfully reminds him.

She pulls out her phone and texts Elizabeth she's okay to leave the room, that someone else can come in, and within a minute, Carly's in there, staring at her son, equally as heartbroken, if not more, as Willow is. Carly's been through this before; Michael was in a coma for a year and a half at one point. That doesn't mean it's less heartbreaking or easier; if anything, the opposite is true.

"I'm so sorry this is happening to you," Willow says to Carly. "I can't even imagine what you're going through."

"Thank you. I know exactly what you're going through, Willow. Sonny and Jason have been through this enough, I know just how bad it hurts and how worried you are. But Michael's strong, he'll survive this. I have faith he will survive long enough for you both to have a happy family and me to have more grandbabies. Don't even try to say that I'm wrong, because he loves you as well," Carly smiles sadly at her, tears still streaming down her face.

Willow can't help the smile on her face when she hears that. "It's good to know someone's sure of that, because I'm sure as hell not."

Carly laughs, incredulous. "How do you not see it, Willow? He's told me, flat out, that he loves you. It's so obvious that you two love each other that the fact you're both denying it or not thinking about your love for each other is getting annoying."

"I don't know. I guess I just didn't think he loved me back, but I'm going to wait for Elizabeth."

Elizabeth walks in and wheels a teary eyed Willow back to her room. "I take it that he's not up yet?"

"Nope, he's still not up. I spilled my guts to him and he's still asleep or whatever he's doing," Willow explains to her, showing off her lack of medical knowledge.

"Well, I'm sure he'll be up in a few hours, Willow. This is Michael we're talking about, he'll pull through. He always does."

When she says that, the pair have reached the room, which is still crowded with people. Willow gets herself back in bed, despite the pain that causes. After all, it's not like she's going to die getting in bed.

More time passes, and everyone goes into Michael's room until everyone's visited and he's still unconscious. It's heartbreaking, knowing that the longer he takes to wake up, the lower his chances of survival are. Medical odds are terrible sometimes.

Jason goes back into Michael's room, noting that his phone was left there on accident. Willow nods her head, pretending she heard what he said.

When he comes back, there's a huge smile on his face very unlike what you have happen when you find your phone. "Michael's awake," he says.

Tears of sadness are replaced with tears of joy as the room gets a much happier energy. "Can I go see him?" Willow asks, already getting out of bed and into the wheelchair that has been left at her bedside.

"He's asking for you," Jason says, hugging Sam tight to him.

Willow smiles widely as Dante pushes her down the hall. "Please let this make you two say how you feel about each other," he smirks.

"I already have, but I don't know if he heard it," Willow smiles at him.

"Well, sister in law and cousin in law in a completely unconvoluted way, I think he did and know he feels the same so if you two aren't together by the end of this, I will be very upset," Dante jests as they reach Michael's room.

He steers her up to his bedside, as close as she can get, and then leaves the room.

"Willow," Michael says, voice quiet. It's probably because he's just speaking again after major heart surgery.

"I'm right here," Willow smiles, grabbing his hand gently.

She watches as a smile comes across his face and he looks at her with the look he always gives her. "Good. I don't want you leaving me alone in here. This room is kinda creepy and very boring, but you make it happier. You make everything happier. I heard what you said earlier. Well, parts of it. It was beautiful and if I wasn't coming out of an anesthetic because I got shot, I'd probably be able to say something much more beautiful than I'm about to, but I love you. So please stay married to me."

"I would love nothing more than to stay married to you, Michael," Willow tells her husband truthfully. "You scared me for a while there, I was so worried that you'd die on me before we could have our love story."

"Hey, I'm not that bad. I would never die on you and Wiley. But our love story has already begun, because it's been brewing since we met. Now, it's just turning romantic officially," he smiles at his wife. "If you think of it, us getting shot was kind of a great thing because now we're telling each other what we otherwise wouldn't be."

"Thank you for showing up when you did," she thanks him, "and for saving me. I would've died had it not been for your bravery."

"I wasn't being brave, I was so pissed I wanted to kill those bastards but I needed to keep you safe. So I took a bullet to the chest, but it's worth it," Michael explains. "If you died, I would have never forgiven myself. So thank you for being a good hostage to them so that no one actively wanted to kill you until I got there with my dad and Jason."

They both let out a chuckle, though Michael winces in pain a few times. "That wheelchair can't be comfortable for your back, do you want to come up here? There's plenty of room."

"I don't know if Portia would allow that," Willow smirks at him, "but I doubt she'd object too harshly."

Several minutes later, Willow's in the hospital bed next to Michael and they're both fast asleep.

Words

#tw: kidnap mention #injury #gunshot tw #mafia tw #death tw #hospital tw

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