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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 months

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dear john

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairing: Gale "Buck" Cleven/John "Bucky" Egan Rating: E Word Count: 2354

Summary: The Regensburg-Schweinfurt mission changes John. What Gale can't say aloud, he puts in the letters he writes to John in his head.

John had grown further from himself since the last plane, Gale’s plane, had touched down in Algeria. Gale had watched it: the relief that became a just-perceptible, sleepless despair. Eleven planes left, and John’s emotions shifted like the hot sand on which they’d landed. Some of the guys watched the sky for a long while. Not John. He sat and stared at the horizon, a hard look on his face as he squinted tightly against the sun.

They had all been changed by the mission, of course. The survivor count was sobering. The destination, painted as a paradise when they were in England, was no victory party. Their quiet celebration was a cup of warm water in the shade of a battered bomber. And this was enough. It seemed more than enough to be alive.

Gale sweat like the rest, was exhausted like the rest, had stripped his upper body free of clothes but had not yet resorted to shucking his pants, as many had. He wasn’t sure if it was being a major that stopped him or the anticipated horror of having to get dressed again after making himself just a smidge cooler. There was also John, who was always near. Gale wanted to seem, for John, as though he were keeping himself together.

John had taken to sitting not beside Gale but slightly ahead of him, making of them a pair of birds in migratory V-formation.

Even though it put him partly in the punishing sun, Gale laid down. The sound of the boys speaking aloud the letters they were writing home came to him as a murmur over the ground. He shut his eyes and listened as they strove to explain Africa, the sky, and even bigger things than those. The sacred place inside themselves where they kept safe the gentleness that having someone to write to made worth preserving when it was so damn hot and their bodies were weary and the promised lobster had failed to materialize.

Gale opened his eyes and peered at John. What he saw: the limp undershirt, the silver chains cutting across the sunburnt nape of his neck, the bowed bulk of his body as he slouched his elbows over his bent-up knees. He exhaled heavily through his nose.

Dear Susan,

Dear Ma,

Dear Jackie,

Dear Cassandra,

Dear John, Gale thought, pillowing his head on his arm. I do not know what it was to wait and hope that you would land, but I believe that you waited and hoped for me. Now you guard me like an animal—I am your last, your best, when too many others have gone.

You know I do not have much faith in the traditional sense. Instead, you have been the totem of my convictions. I know that you are good, and that you exist, and that is sufficient. I do not need much, unless you are offering. Thank you again for my bicycle.

Please be there when I land, always, always. I need to feel that I am pointing the plane towards some sort of home.

John shifted and his dog tags clinked together as he looked back at Gale over his shoulder.

—

The party made Gale aware how different he was from the rest of the men, with respect to John. And, man, there was so much he did assess that way: with respect to John. He’d assumed that John was universally irresistible. Gale himself couldn’t claim a personality prone to hero-worship or puppy-dog devotion, and yet the choice to be with John or not to be wasn’t a choice he thought he’d ever take seriously. Surely everyone felt the same. John was loyal, lovably wayward, endlessly entertaining.

After he’d taken things, admittedly, a few steps beyond what was either appropriate or sane by calling Colonel Harding “flak-happy,” Gale’d expected the boys to rally ’round. There would be those who didn’t understand, Gale had thought, believing they’d witnessed some sort of nervy prank, but most would see, as Gale did, that John needed something. Needing something—there, then—meant needing each other. There was little else.

But the boys had scattered, leaving Gale to make the suggestion of a weekend leave from the base. When John invited him along to London, Gale had another terrible realization: it was the first time he wanted to get away from, not with, his best friend. He wanted to help him, yes, but the on-edge, provocative John who stood beside him at the bar was not a John who would lift the latch on the gate of his emotions to permit Gale entry. He saw John’s weekend unfolding, and it was destructive if he accompanied him. An audience would only hurt John, Gale thought.

He felt cowardly as he escaped as Meatball’s dance partner, but he was afraid that John might insist about London, that he might hear him plead. He was afraid that John hadn’t meant it, merely extending the invitation so Gale’s initial suggestion seemed to have always been intended as a plan for two, not Gale telling him he needed a break because his attitude was growing dangerous. Perhaps for himself most of all.

Dear John, Gale thought, when he’d crossed the dance floor, released Meatball, and watched John skulk from the hall. Let me tell you here that I miss you, where you cannot interrupt. A stranger has been coming and going from your body. I do not know if he is trespassing through a window, swinging in the wind of what you probably think is a private storm, or you are greeting him at the front door and he is only a stranger to me.

Do not be hurt by my refusal to go to London. Remember that you are also making the choice to go when you know I will stay here, watching our men, guiding them. It will be strange to greet them without hearing “Major” twice in short succession.

I will think of you often while you are absent. This is true already, when you have only just left the room. Come back and dance with me. At least ask me, and smile when I say no.

Gale stepped out into the quiet dark, leaving all sound behind him. He remembered the last night of revelry cut short by the bombing of Norwich. He thought of Curt and felt a tension in his chest. He walked on.

John hadn’t gone far; he was barely away from the mess hall, kicking his feet through the dampening grass. Gale could tell John knew he was there, but there was nothing more for them to say to one another that night. That was sometimes how it was.

—

Gale guessed the woman had meant something to John because he wouldn’t share her name. The boys got out of him that she’d been beautiful (though Gale doubted John would have said any different, picked anybody different), and had kept John company in his hotel rather than seeking shelter when bombs had begun to fall on London. They teased John about protecting her. He got a sly smile on his face then, and when he told them this woman coulda taken care of herself, they all ooooohed with gusto. She sounded like quite a woman. Blonde, John’d said. Real good-lookin’. There was a mirror in their quarters that Gale avoided that day. He knew what he’d see in his reflection.

There had been another mission, called off at the last minute. The boys had been in the planes and everything, waiting to taxi, when the order came down. Bad timing. Somebody was a little gun-shy after everything’d gone to hell the last time. Gale knew they weren’t special; there just weren’t that many of them left.

John had missed the whole thing. He’d come back feeling superior, having not been left out of an opportunity for valour and having intimately enjoyed the heated touch of another human being within the previous 36 hours. The latter was enough to make him a man of singular admiration on the base. When he would only surrender so much after the boys begged for details, things went back to how they’d been. Gale felt the memory of the woman hanging between John and himself, but not as an obstacle, only as a card drawn and then shuffled back into the deck of John’s experience. Gale watched John tuck her away, and he reached out—with conversation, with brief anecdotes of the base over the weekend—feeling the same softened edges of the deck that were always there. John threw an arm around Gale’s shoulders during breakfast, made some little joke, leaned forward to catch the grin Gale tried to hide in his cup of coffee.

Dear John, Gale thought, as they strolled over to the sleeping quarters. There was a book John wanted to show him, something he’d bought in London. You are not a new man after your leave. I did not want you to be.

When we were alone, you told me more about the bombing. What had gone on as the bombs fell you kept in your hints for the boys. To me, you spoke of what happened after. I see it as you described it: cars on the wrong side of the road, red telephone booths, and drifting conversations in the British accents that are still a novelty to us, surrounded mostly by our own countrymen and -women. I see the body of the child lifted from the rubble of what had been a home, and I hear the woman—the mother, you presumed, and so do I—screaming in the street.

So, John. A leave bracketed by the arms of one woman and the screams of another. We cannot shed the war. Not when it is under our skin, not when the enemy makes an uninvited appearance on our weekend holidays. I held you in my mind every minute that you were not here. Take that any way you will.

Gale couldn’t tell if the book had been only an excuse to get away from the others, but he turned it over intently, watched by John, who had his hands perched on his hips. He started talking about the bookstore, stuff in heaps, impossible to find anything. Gale passed the book back and ran a finger along his top lip.

“How was it really?” he asked, because John spoke in moments and vignettes, failing to give an impression of the leave as a whole.

“I was wishin’ you were there,” John said, shrugging and heading for the door. Gale followed.

“And when you were with your Polish widow?” he asked John’s back.

“Like I said.” John paused before the threshold. “I was wishin’ you were there.”

He turned. His eyes burned into Gale’s, but they were also wet.

Although Gale cleared his throat, his voice came out gruff: “I’m here now.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, nodding. “Yeah, you are.”

Gale saw his jaw clench and reached out, yanking the length of John’s tie from between the buttons of his shirt.

When they kissed, hard and standing just to the right of the doorway, Gale thought how much there was that couldn’t be put in a letter. He felt John’s tongue thick in his mouth, almost gagging him, and gripped the back of John’s head to pull him in deeper. They wouldn’t let each other breathe, and then John’s hand was closed in a fist around Gale’s belt. Be reckless here, with me, Gale urged him in his mind. He dug his blunt nails into John’s scalp.

He allowed John to push his back against the wall. There was little room between them, but enough—after Gale unbuckled the belt and John unbuttoned the pants, their hands working over and under one another’s—for John to sink his hand down the front of Gale’s shorts. With John’s intense stare on him, Gale turned his head to watch the door. In the corner of his eye, he could see John’s lips parting, silently mirroring Gale’s low groans.

John pumped him roughly, then unexpectedly slowed, adjusting his fingers. Gale panted and shuddered. He took hold of John’s tie again and drew him in. Turning to face him meant leaving the door unguarded, but he did it, he did it so they could be so close that he felt the feather of John’s eyelashes on his cheek after they kissed and John hung his head, watching the shifting bulge that was his hand wringing pleasure from Gale.

Gale slid his own hand down John’s body. He caressed the buttons John had fastened when he’d dressed that morning, the neat tuck of his shirt into his pants. He settled his hand lower, on John’s inner thigh, and John grunted. He was as hard as Gale was and Gale wasn’t touching him. Gale felt John’s hot, impatient breath against his temple. He tipped his mouth to John’s throat, let his lips skim.

“Dear John,” he sighed across thin skin.

His hand dragged up and clutched John’s cock through his pants. He’d never heard John like this before. He wanted those sounds inside him, so he kissed John’s mouth again, urging him to spill it all into him. The sounds, the broken, two-part thing his name became in John’s mouth when he wrapped an arm around John’s waist and forced their hips together. It was sloppy and crude, John’s hand trapped in the middle. They ground into one another, John’s body pinning Gale’s to the wall from thighs to shoulders. The friction was harsh. Panting, John bit Gale’s cheekbone, and Gale came. Shorts damp, cock too sensitive, still Gale held John tighter as he kept thrusting against him, rubbing at him, finally finishing with a choked gasp Gale figured would make it difficult for him to get to sleep tonight. Most nights, for a long while.

It hadn’t been more than five minutes. It might not’ve been two.

“I sent you a postcard from London, by the way,” John muttered.

Gale grabbed John’s tie, threaded it back into his shirt.

“Oh yeah? How’s it start?”

#my writing #Masters of the Air #MotA #MotA fic #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #John 'Bucky' Egan #Gale x John #Buck x Bucky

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angry-geese · 2 years

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Blood Ties - Chapter Thirty-eight: Some Things Cosmic

Soulmate au Choso x Reader

Warnings: heavy cw for murder and overall violence in this chapter. There are several on-screen deaths for non major characters, and also a brief mention of torture. If you do choose to skip this chapter then it shouldn't effect too many things plot wise as the major plot important things will be brought up again in future chapters

Synopsis: while investigating rumors of an exit meant for civilians, the remaining players in the culling game find themselves in conflict with one another once again

Word count: 3.7k

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Masterlist

It doesn't take long for the air to grow muggy, and uncomfortably warm. Mallory joins him on the roof, resting her sword on the ground beside her. She has shoved her eye patch into her hairline like a headband, pulling her bangs away from her face. Her injured eye is closed.

"Who do you think has a stronger cursed technique?" She asks. "You? Or me?"

White smoke hangs on the horizon, mingling with the incoming fog. The smell of melted plastic hangs faintly in the air.

"Well to figure that out, you'd have to tell me," James says.

Figuring it out by using his Matchmaker wouldn't be impossible. But trying to use it without her knowing would be hard.

“Hm, I don't think I'm going to do that,” she says, laughing softly.

There's a knock at the door. A head of black hair pokes out. Maria. She's dressed differently today, in black slacks, and a white blouse. In her hands, she cradles a bowl of fruit; slices of apple, peeled oranges, cut strawberries.

“I know it's not much,” she says, “but I figured you’d want breakfast.”

James grabs the first thing off the top: a slice of apple. As he bites into it, the juice runs down his fingers. He must be getting sick, he thinks, all he can taste anymore are cigarettes. Food seemingly turns into ash in his mouth anymore.

"Did you sleep out here on the roof?" Maria asks.

"Only for a bit." James answers.

Although his response wasn't meant as a joke, Maria laughs. “Are you leaving soon?” She asks.

James nods, swallowing hard. From his pocket, he produces a crumpled pack of cigarettes, only to toss it aside when he finds it empty.

“We’ll head out there early,” he says. “The plan is to investigate that exit, and see if it's guarded. Hopefully we’ll be back sometime before dark.”

“We’ll leave out the back,” Mallory says. “Too much activity in one building could draw suspicion.”

“That's assuming someone is watching us,” James says.

“We can never be too careful.” She says.

He would sense someone if they were nearby. The only souls he can pick up in this area are that of the survivors, and his fellow sorcerer.

James follows closely behind Mal. Her pace is quick. A walk that should take about twenty minutes is completed in fifteen. No cursed spirits appear to roam the streets today, but their residuals linger. For winter, the day is turning out to be uncharacteristically warm. It doesn't take long for the moisture in the air to soak through James’ shirt, making it stick uncomfortably to his skin. The insides of his boots grate uncomfortably against his heels, leaving them raw, and blistered.

The sky opens up, spitting out a new player, who soon disappears behind some buildings. James pauses, taking a swig from his water bottle, grimacing when he finds its contents to be warm. The presence of a new soul makes him pause. A sorcerer. Movement in the window of an apartment building catches James’ eye. A man has his back to it, reaching down to grab something. Aside from a knife on his belt, he has no other weapons that James can see. That doesn't mean much. There's a whole lot of places he could be hiding one.

His cursed energy isn't noticeably strong, but as he's startled by a noise, he's able to extinguish it completely. The man stuffs something into his pack, before hopping put a window onto the fire escape. He descends the stairs, before knocking the ladder down, and using that to exit onto the street.

Upon seeing the two sorcerers blocking off the alley, the man’s mouth opens in terror. He stumbles, scrambling against the side of a building to catch himself.

“Hand over your points, and we’ll let you live.” James says.

"And if I do?" Talen spits. "You'll just kill me anyway!"

“It doesn't have to end that way,” James says. “You’ve been given an option to resolve this.”

To his credit, Talen does appear to consider it. He hikes his pack a bit higher up on his shoulders, before turning, and breaking out into a sprint.

James grabs ahold of the string of fate, and tugs hard. Talen is tripped by this unseen force, landing flat on his stomach. James takes this as an opportunity to pin him, sitting square on his back. Blood beads where the tip of his blade presses against his throat.

“When I was younger, a man stole my mom’s purse,” James says. “Now my step dad and uncle weren't all that happy with this. So they found the guy, started chatting him up, and eventually went out for drinks,

“They got this guy real plastered. So drunk that the bartender cut them off. Then they went back to my uncle’s house, under the guise they would keep drinking,

“Now my uncle slipped some of my aunt’s sleeping meds into the guy's drink, and waited for him to pass out. It took a while—but that didn't seem to matter to them. They could wait. When he did, they tied him up in the garage, and waited for him to wake up,

“He was there for a few days. They didn't give him anything to eat, or drink. He had to piss in the same spot he slept. Eventually, my step dad melted the guy’s fingers off with a welding torch,

“I say this now,” James says, “because I have a few creative ideas of what to do with you if you don't comply.”

He drags the tip of his knife down his neck, tracing his collarbone. James can get creative with this.

“Fine!” He wails. “You can have my points! Kogane! Kogane!! I wish to transfer my points to this player!”

Silently, a kogane appears. This one is slightly different in color than the others that James has seen, but its overall shape is the same. Instead of being orange in tone, this one is a sickly blue-green.

“Confirm your point transfer!” It says, unraveling a scroll. Talen taps his finger against the scroll, which lights up blue in response.

Fifty-three points have been added to: Whitford, James

James Whitford current points: sixty-eight.

“Now I have a few questions for you,” James says. “Whether or not you walk away from this depends on the answer you give,

“What do you know about the subway station? And the group in the center of this colony?”

“The… what?” Talen sputters as James shoves his head back into the ground. “I don't know any more than you! Just that they’re powerful, and surviving an encounter with them is rare!”

Mallory crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, he knows nothing, shocking,” she says flatly. “Are you going to kill him now?”

“Wait!” Talen shouts. “Wait! There's something weird about this colony!

“Each of the eleven colonies has something special about them,” he continues. “A relic buried deep in the center—and that relic has something to do with the strength of this barrier!”

“So we can escape if we find some way to destroy it?” James asks.

“Not exactly. These relics likely can't be destroyed. That's why they were buried.” As he swallows, the tip of the knife digs a little deeper into his throat. “I've come to the conclusion that each of the barriers is on top of a piece of land that once held religious significance—either a sacrificial ground, or a place of mass tragedy,

“And I don't know why these places are linked. But they are. And what's buried beneath them is powerful.”

“How do we know you’re not lying?” Mallory asks.

“You’ve got a knife to my neck, what do you expect me to say?!”

Strands of Talen’s soul pour through James’ fingers like smoke. It's a weak soul. An old one. And although he senses fear, Talen isn't lying.

James stands, brushing the dust off the front of his pants. Thirty two more to go. When he turns to Mallory, she has his revolver level with his head.

So this is it. This is how this ends. Not in a grand battle, but a betrayal. A fitting end to a violent, short life.

James takes a step back before his joints lock up entirely. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he says. He senses movement behind him, but in his frenzied state, thinks nothing of it.

Bang!

James covers his ears, and rolls to the side. He hits the ground hard. The skin on his elbows splits and bleeds upon making contact with the concrete. When he cracks open an eye, he expects to be dead. Or, at the very least, to be met with the sight of blood.

His ears ring. The sky has gotten so bright that he has to squint. Talen coughs a warm spray of blood into James’ face. The wound on his chest is about the size of a nickel, while the one on the back is the size of a grapefruit. A clean hit. Blood loss will soon render him unconscious. Without quick medical intervention, such a wound will prove fatal.

James isn't sure who is yelling: him, or Mallory.

“Holy shit! Are you alright?!” Mallory asks.

“Yes,” he says, dejectedly, “thank you.”

Ashes fall slowly from the air. White, like snow. A thin blanket layers the ground. More fires. They glow faintly along the horizon. Occasionally, the burned out shell of a building is visible.

Mallory turns the revolver over in her hands, offering it to James. “It fell out of your pocket when you tackled him.”

He accepts it, stuffing it back under his belt. The hot metal burns his skin.

James notices her pause, and asks "What's the matter?"

"I haven't got any points," she says. Their gazes turn to Talen, although not much has changed. He lays face down on the pavement in a pool of ever growing blood.

"He must not be dead yet." James says. "You’ll have to finish him off with a blow of cursed energy."

Her hands tremble slightly. Blood drips down her wrist, onto the hilt of her sword. Her cursed energy flickers wildly.

“Do you want me to do it?” He asks.

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “it's been a while since my last kill. I don't want to be subjected to cursed technique removal—better to be safe than sorry, you know?”

Without another word, she drives the tip of her blade into his back. As his heart stops, a kogane appears, announcing the points awarded.

Five points have been added to: Park, Mallory

It has finally occurred to James that this is the first time he’s seen her kogane. It's not all that different from his, however, he’s come to notice that the appearances of the game interfaces appear to vary from player to player.

“That shot definitely alerted other players in this area,” she says. “We need to get moving.”

From Talen's pocket, James retrieves a pack of cigarettes. Newports.

He rolls the body onto its (his?) side. Blood soaks through the front of his shirt, and coats James’ palms. Unable to maneuver his pack around his already stiffening limbs, he cuts the straps to it. Once the bag is free, he lays its contents out on the ground.

The man has nothing else of use on him. His bag contains a small cooking kit, consisting of a few collapsible pots, and some utensils. There's a firestarter, some twine, and a palm-sized sharpening stone. His other camping supplies consist of a small sleeping bag, and a white tarp. As far as rations go, he has a small bag of dried fruit, and a canteen. Empty. It still smells faintly of a factory, as if it hasn't been used yet.

“If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you that day we first met.” Mallory says.

"What?"

She motions to him vaguely. "You looked like you really thought I was about to kill you."

"I guess I did," he says, biting onto the end of an unlit cigarette.

"He pulled out a knife," she says. "And I guess I panicked. I figured I'd shoot first and ask questions later."

“I never told you this, but I was with another group before I found you.” She says. “I knew one of them from before—she and I used to be neighbors. The other I didn't know very well. They weren't from this era—or at least that's what they told me. They were looking for someone named Ryoumen Sukuna. Whoever that is,

“Is that name familiar to you?” Mal asks. “I didn't see it on the player list, but that doesn't mean anything. Plenty of people have nicknames.”

“Ryoumen Sukuna is in one of the Tokyo colonies,” James says.

Mallory, strangely enough, seems content with his answer.

Wind makes his lit match flicker as he brings it to his mouth. He cups his hand around it, but it still takes him a few tries to light his cigarette. He curses himself silently for leaving that pack back at the hotel.

“Your cursed technique makes it so you can sense other players, doesn't it?” She asks. “Talen’s cursed energy was completely extinguished, yet you noticed him a few seconds before I did. Not to mention you were able to track down Aikawa from over a block away,

"So tell me," she says, "what does your cursed technique really do?"

"Aside from my Matchmaker, there's other things I can do." He says. "If not a direct cause of being born a sorcerer, then a side effect."

Mallory holds her hands up in defense. "I'm just trying to figure you out." She says. "I know you're here for a reason, but I don't get it. It seems out of character for you."

"A lot of things have changed since we were kids." He says.

It's not until he pauses that he senses another soul.

Camouflaging one's cursed energy is one thing. Completely camouflaging a soul is another. With enough practice, many sorcerers are able to momentarily extinguish their cursed energy. For something that is invisible to the average human—and most sorcerers—the ability to do such a thing is nearly useless. Unless faced with an enemy such as the soulmate sorcerer, there is no need for it.

A single crow sits on the power lines above them.

James hasn't seen many animals around since he got here. No pigeons, rats, or even bugs. Were they teleported out alongside the other non players? Or have they been killed off already, hunted for food or sport?

"There's something weird about that bird." James says.

"Did you hit your head?" Mallory asks. Whether or not she is joking, James can't tell.

"A while ago, I met a sorcerer who could control crows." He says. "Through entering a biding vow, she'd essentially project her mind into the bird's."

She was another freelancer, like him. And you don't want to piss her off, he thinks.

“So you’re trying to tell me that someone—possibly another player—is controlling that crow specifically?” She says, sitting down on the curb. "Why don't we rest for a minute?"

Mallory’s words fall on deaf ears. "When was the last time you saw any pigeons?" He asks. "Or rats? Or—hell, even cockroaches?"

Mallory shrugs. "I dunno. I haven't been paying attention to that since I'm so busy with—you know—not dying!"

Despite Tokyo—and, in turn, much of Japan—being quite clean, it's still a city. Plenty of rodents and bugs call the place home. As far as supplies go, food isn't scarce, so that rules out hunting. Killing the local wildlife for sport is a possibility, but unlikely, as they grant no points, and therefore aren't worth the effort.

"I haven't seen any wildlife since I got here," James says. "Until now."

He points at the crow, which simply caws, before flying to the top of a nearby building. Mallory claps her hands together, muttering something about her fellow sorcerer losing his mind.

From the sidewalk, James scoops up a piece of brick. His throw misses miserably, bouncing off the side of a nearby building. The crow takes flight, before disappearing over a nearby building.

James heads after it.

As he cuts through an alley, he’s able to catch up with it. A sign above them reads "subway station" in bold white lettering. The corvid makes a sudden break for the open set of doors, heading straight down into the station. Several souls come into view all at once, and James is only able to say one word: “ambush.”

He is able to brace for the first hit, but not the second. When the blast of cursed energy strikes him in the back, he's thrown forwards. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth.

The lights in this part of the station seem to switch off all at once. Enough light pours in from the stairs to make out the figure standing in the door, but not much more than that. Blindly he feels around for the hilt of his sword, before picking it up, and making a break for it.

Judging by the sound of loud banging, and items skittering across the floor, he’s knocked over a trash can. Someone behind him is shouting—a man. But James can't discern what he’s saying.

With his left hand, he feels along the wall, before the bricks are replaced with something smooth: a door. Much to his surprise, it is unlocked, and James slips into the empty broom closet, closing the door as quietly as he can manage. He's met with the faint smell of mildew, and cleaning chemicals.

James isn't familiar with this place even the slightest. The dark, and adrenaline isn't helping much. He can only continue to conceal his cursed energy for so long before he's too weak to do anything about it. His heavy breaths leave the air in this closet stuffy.

He holds his breath, and with it, quiets down his cursed energy. Of the two souls he senses outside the door, neither are familiar. One is old. Certainly a reincarnated sorcerer. The other is much harder to tell, but appears younger.

“It's like he knew,” one says to the other.

“It’s not the first time you’ve been followed.” This voice sounds a bit older. Both are male, and muffled by the barrier between them.

James senses their souls as they grow closer, before stopping in front of the door.

“There was another.” The younger man says. “He had a woman with him. They didn't seem to have any supplies on them so they must have a base nearby.”

“You think they’re with that other group?”

“No way to tell,” he says. “Maybe if we can catch a live one…”

He doesn't have time to think. He just needs to get it over with.

With his heel, he kicks the door open. The edge of the door hits one player square in the forehead. It’s enough to stun him, leaving him bleeding from a wound on his forehead.

Every twenty yards or so a red light is placed. Hardly enough to help light the path, but at least James can now see a few feet in front of him. His blade meets something soft. Fresh blood splatters back at him.

Ten points have been added to: Whitford, James

He's running again. By the time he spots daylight, the remaining three souls in this area have blinked out. Mallory stands at the bottom of the stairs, sweat and blood plastering her bangs to her forehead. She’s bleeding from a wound on her shoulder. She holds her sword in two hands. The blade appears dull, and coated with a dark substance. Her cursed energy pools around her heart, into her hands.

Another fifteen points have been added to James. Ten to Mallory.

There are no bright lights, or flashy sounds to indicate anything special about this part of the barrier. The tunnel simply extends out into a space so dark that the flashlight on James’ phone won't even disturb it. A lone kogane guards the tracks, sitting at its post like a soldier.

The kogane, upon noticing the two players, shoots to attention. “This exit is reserved for civilians only!” It says in its robotic, cheery voice. “Players may not leave through this exit!”

Mallory has marked off this part of her map with a circle. He sits beside her on a bench. When he offers her a cigarette, she accepts it. The flame from his match casts his face in an orange glow. Smoke hangs low in the air in front of him.

“I have plans to put a rule into place where people joined by the string of fate will be able to leave.” He says.

Mallory leans back in her seat, crossing her arms behind her head. “And your cursed technique can join people by the string of fate…” she says. “Shame. If my husband were here, I could leave.”

That explains why he couldn't find the surname Turner on the player list. She changed it.

“You don't sound particularly upset,”

“I've come to terms with it,” she says. “We’ve only been dealt so many cards, you know? I'm just playing the hand I’ve been dealt.” She coughs as she takes a drag from her cigarette.

“I heard them talking about that group,” James says. “if we don't deal with them soon, they’re going to be a problem.”

Mallory sighs, pressing her knuckles into her temples. “There's only two of us,” she says. “Attacking them would be a suicide mission. I'm not particularly eager to poke the hornet's nest.”

“I never said attack them outright—if we can cause some sort of infighting within their group, then hopefully it’ll start to cannibalize itself,” James says. “We kill off one player, pin it on another, and let them do the work from there.”

“That's a terrible idea.”

With seventy-eight points now, putting that rule into place seems more and more plausible. Only six more players to go. Unless he can convince someone else to hand over their points.

James groans as he stands. His hand moves to knead at his aching shoulder. Work isn't treating him kindly. Not now. Not ever. “If I'm to put this rule into place, I need the points from those players,” he says. “Talen’s points helped quite a bit, but it's not enough.”

“I'd hand over mine,” she says, “but I’m saving up to put a rule into place myself.”

James holds his cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, flicking the ash that gathers at the head. “Oh really? How many points do you have?”

“About eighty.” Mallory answers. “Give or take.”

Despite wanting to press further, he decides against it.

When they return to their camp, one of the civilians is dead.

#blood ties #choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #cw blood and injury #cw murder #murder cw #originally there was a flashback to shibuya at the beginning of this chapter but i decided to cut it :/

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thebreadtree · 3 years

Text

In Kotet Chapter VIII: End Times there is an NPC called "Imperator Sunfell"

And everytime I see him I think "Since when does Vaylin have a significant other?" Because Imperator literally means emperor in german

#he's also dressed differently then the rest of the horizon guard #his armor is white with gold #as if he's arcann #IS THERE A MEANING BIOWARE?!?!#bread notices stuff #swtor

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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jeontaeil-archived · 3 years

Text

a night full of surprises //

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

pairing: hyunjae x fem!reader

genre: smut, fem receiving, handjob, unprotected sex

words: 2.06k

warnings: 18+ content, read at your own discretion

summary: you reluctantly allow hyunjae to take you on a date. but what you don't expect is to end up having a very good time.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

you were going on a date with hyunjae and it was making you extremely nervous. the only reason you had even agreed to it in the first place was because he'd been pestering you nonstop, asking you out at the most inappropriate occasions. you thought that giving him what he wanted would mean that he'd lay off you for a while. at least then your friends and parents wouldn't cast looks of disapproval on you.

it wasn't like you'd attracted hyunjae on purpose. you had no idea why he was going after a girl like you in the first place. you were quiet and studious, completely different from the type of girls he seemed interested in. but for some reason, hyunjae just couldn't set his sights away from you. maybe if he got a taste of how boring you were, he'd realise you weren't worth it.

hyunjae pulled up at your door, honking loudly so as to alert the entire neighbourhood that he was taking you out tonight. leaving the house, you put on the most genuine smile you could muster and got into his car. his eyes raked over your outfit, a simple skirt and blouse, smirking to himself slyly. though you may disagree, you had certainly dressed to impress.

he drove off, taking you to god knows where. you didn't bother asking, knowing that you'd most likely have no idea where the destination was even located. hyunjae didn't seem like the type who'd take you to a restaurant for a fancy dinner or something cute and cliche like that. honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he landed you at some rave.

things were quiet between you two. no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't find the courage to speak first. you also had no idea what to say to him other than the obvious. luckily for you, he caught you glancing at him and smiled, deciding to spark up a conversation.

"so, what did you do today?" his question was normal. this caught you off guard. he was always so chaotic and excited. it was a surprise seeing him be so casual. you sighed and shrugged. "nothing much. i did some homework and then i spent most of the day wondering what i should wear," you answered. the last part wasn't true but he wouldn't know that so it didn't matter.

"well i think your outfit looks nice," he complimented, sounding sweet. you couldn't help but smile. "thank you."

hyunjae smiled back, keeping his eyes on the road. "aren't you curious to know where we're headed to?"

you shook your head. "no, not really. i can tell i've probably never been there anyway so what's the point?"

he seemed surprised by your words. it felt like your roles had reversed. hyunjae never recalled a time when you were so confident and outspoken. he liked seeing this side of you.

the only reason you were acting the way you were was because you felt comfortable. which was a bit odd considering the fact that you'd been dreading having to converse with him. hyunjae was really leading you to believe that your time with him would actually be worthwhile. you hoped the night would continue like this.

eventually, hyunjae made a turn onto a narrow off-road. it was a bumpy ride. he apologized and shared that the destination was just around the corner. soon enough, he pulled up into a small grove. hyunjae turned off the car and clapped his hands together.

"this is it," he revealed. you took in your surroundings, raising a brow in confusion. "you brought me to the middle of nowhere?"

he nodded, smiling expectantly. "i figured we could just talk and get to know each other better." you glanced at him, completely baffled. "really? i thought you lured me out here to fuck me." hyunjae snickered to himself and shrugged. "i mean if you're down then we could do that too." rolling your eyes, you shook your head and leaned back in the seat. "this isn't too bad. i like it."

just like that, hours passed. the sun had finally lowered beyond the horizon and the air had gotten a bit cooler. you had no clue how, but you were leaned over your seat, lips locked in a calm but heated kiss with hyunjae.

after you'd run out of topics of conversation, all you did was stare at each other with small smiles on your lips. it seemed there was nothing else to do except follow your instincts. his lips were soft, and his touch was gentle. every now and then he'd rub his thumb over your knee, making your skin tingle. hyunjae soon pulled away from you, a giddy smile on his face as he stared at your lips.

"do you wanna keep going?" he asked you, looking fairly expectant. you bit your lip and nodded. hyunjae gestured to the back seat with a smirk. you clambered into it while he simply entered through the door.

his lips were back on yours in a matter of seconds. this time he pushed you down on the seat, hovering over you. placing your hands on his chest, you let him lead the kiss. hyunjae's curious hands trailed over your thighs, coming dangerously close to your panties until his fingers eventually hooked into the thin material. he tugged them slightly, pulling away from you to ask if he could take them off. nodding quickly, you watched him peel them down your legs and toss them into the front seat. hyunjae spread your legs, eyes sparkling at the sight of your glistening core.

"fuck, your pussy's so pretty," he mumbled, licking his lips eagerly. smiling shyly, you tried to shut your legs again. "don't stare," you whined, not having the courage to look at his face. hyunjae giggled and toyed with your clit, just amazed at how cute and innocent you were.

"tell me y/n. have you ever been fucked in the back of a car?" he continued playing with your clit. you squirmed about, trying to process his questions. after a while you covered your face and whimpered. "only once, but it was really uncomfortable."

hyunjae hummed and caressed your thigh with his other hand. "that's a shame. i promise i'll make it worth it."

while he rubbed your clit with his thumb, he pushed your blouse up to your neck, tugging your bra down so that your breasts popped free. his fingers tweaked at your nipples, making you yelp softly.

"does this feel good," he asked, continuing to touch you? you nodded, still avoiding eye contact with him. "well do you want more?"

you did want more. but you were too embarrassed to admit it. somewhere hyunjae realised this and he chuckled to himself. "there's no need to be so shy. i promise i won't bite baby."

your heart skipped a beat that the nickname. you peeked at him from between your fingers, feeling bashful under his intense stare. he just couldn't get enough of you. he pried your hands away from your face and made you look at him. you could tell he was really enjoying the view.

your throat felt dry all of a sudden. it was like you couldn't speak, even if you wanted to. hyunjae seemed patient. he was still fully clothed and that made you feel singled out. so you presented your first request.

"i feel weird being the only naked one," you spoke, still feeling a bit awkward. hyunjae raised his brows, understanding what you meant. he smirked and tugged his shirt off. this was the only time you actually stared at him without shying away. you always knew he worked out but you never realised how effective it was until this moment.

hyunjae laughed at your reaction. "what else do you want?"

you hesitated, looking at him unsurely. "i don't wanna lay here doing nothing." you were too bashful to actually admit what you wanted to do.

hyunjae unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. he took your hand and brought it to his member. "you could help me out with this," he said, guiding your hand over himself. eventually, he let you do it yourself. once again, his eyes raked over your body as you very timidly stroked his cock. you felt so flustered that the only place you could look was at your hands. hyunjae didn't mind at all. he was too enticed by the sight of having you splayed out underneath him, touching him so lightly.

he squeezed the inside of your thigh and continued playing with your tits as you made him harden up completely within your grasp. he soon pulled out a condom from his back pocket and was about to rip it open before you stopped him.

"don't use that. i'm sure you've got a nice pull out game."

hyunjae swore he was gonna marry you. he couldn't believe you were actually asking him to just fuck you raw, that too when it was your first time hooking up with him. he tossed the condom aside gladly and pushed his tip into you.

your eyes squeezed shut immediately. he was definitely bigger than anyone you'd ever slept with before. it wasn't an easy fit but after a few tries, he finally managed to stretch you out just enough. still, hyunjae pulled out of you and made you watch him enter you once again.

"look how good you take it," he praised, pushing his cock back into you oh so slowly. you wouldn't lie, the sight was a lot to take in, quite literally as well. he bottomed out, holding onto the headrests above you.

he started bucking his hips into you, groaning at how awfully tight you were. everything he did had you squeezing your eyes shut so it came as no surprise to him that you weren't watching yourself getting fucked.

though loud, your moans were soft to the ears. your hands rested aimlessly at your side. hyunjae took your hand in his and simply held it as he fucked you. his thumb came to your clit, unable to resist touching you somewhere.

"oh hyunjae," you cried out, throwing your head back in ecstasy. he held your thigh with his other hand, still continuing to caress your velvety skin.

hyunjae soon pulled out of you and flipped you around, making you get on your hands and knees. he rubbed his cock at your slick folds before pushing back into you. it was hard to remain steady in the cramped space. you put your hands on the window and let one of your legs touch the floor of the car. hyunjae pulled your hips back on his cock, groaning in satisfaction. fucking you felt so numbing. he wouldn't say you were easy to please, but you were. the longer he fucked you the more it felt like he was wrapped up in this blanket of unyielding pleasure and he loved it.

"god, can you go faster please?" you were starting to feel your orgasm approaching. hyunjae silently accepted your request and began pounding into you quickly. your hands gave way, chest falling to the seat. hyunjae grunted, now able to fuck you harder and deeper. his fingers clawed at your ass, needing to dig into something. you moaned hazily, feeling a little dizzy now that you could tell your orgasm was about to hit.

hyunjae snapped his hips up into you before sending you straight to your climax. he continued fucking you, this time faster as he too was nearing his own high. crying in delight, you let out a string of curses. hyunjae snapped his hips into you yet again, sharp thrusts pushing him to his high. he was quick to pull out of you and empty his seed onto your ass. you wished you could have witnessed the scene.

he pulled your skirt back down and paused to tidy himself up. you did the same, returning to your original state.

"i never thought you'd be down to fuck on the first date. you seem like the type who likes to take things slow," he admitted. you smiled and shook your head. "i mean, usually that's how things would be. but with you, i just couldn't resist."

hyunjae smirked. "you must like me more than you let on."

your eyes widened slightly. "yeah, maybe i do."

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

#hyunjae smut #the boyz smut #hyunjae imagines #hyunjae scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #kpop smut #ficscafe #kpop-script #kpopscape

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: ahhhhh holy holy heck this chapter is SO DAMN EXCITING hehehe I had sosososo much writing and doing all the research!! please let me know if there is anything factual/cultural that I need to fix! I tried the best I could although I most def am not an expert in Egyptian culture so I appreciate it a lot :) hehe i hope ya have fun reading this chapter teehee oh! also I love hearing what you thought of it too! :D

Four

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, royal!minho, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, several mentions of food and alcohol as well as getting tipsy/drunk that good, good making out, suggestive themes

CWs: mentions of guns, mentions of knives, themes of jealousy (expressed by the reader)

Word count: 7.5k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

“Well, we’re in Cairo alright.”

Two tugged the amazed young stow-away-student, Seungmin, by the hand of his backpack to keep him from running into one of the palm tree planters decorating the terminal. The young man had nearly slept the whole flight due to the length as well as the exasperation that he had just been through. While his eyes were still darkened from his nap, his glossy pupils still wondered all around him.

“I take it back. I’m so glad that I almost died so I could end up here with you guys.”

Jeongin slapped him from the backside of his head. “Never be thankful for almost dying. Life is a lot more fucking fragile than you think. This isn’t just some joyride--”

“--Ease up F.” You interrupted your partner as you shouldered your bag. The kid had already been through enough already: he didn’t need accosting on top of it all.

The dashing prince sighed out and stretched his arms. “Ahhhh Cairo. It’s been a while; too long actually.”

The airport was humid: the kind of sticky warmth that dripped down your neck in a matter of seconds to then get caught above your lip. It wasn’t much help to the anxiety that already had seeped into your veins. The closer you got to a gun the more comfortable you would be. You and the other two guards created a formation around the prince with two in the front and the other in the flank. While each of you were dressed in regular street clothes, your responsibility of his detail still hung over your head with a severe air.

Chan threw his arm over the young student with an obscene grin. His hair had become a little disheveled from the plane seat and his hoodie, but he didn’t appear to mind. Seeing him so normal was somewhat of an odd change to your previous unbreakable impression of him.

“Seungmin my friend, you’ve never lived until you’ve been to Cairo. I’ve never seen another place so enriched in history in my whole life...it puts my kingdom to shame. It’s almost like...you can just feel the time here: hundreds of thousands of years...beauty, art, food, industry...I’ve got a thing or two to learn.”

Seungmin nodded at the prince’s grandiose gestures in the terminal with an enamored smile. “I can’t wait to see it!”

Your partner put a firm hand on the prince’s back to guide him to the baggage claim. “We won’t be here for long, so, don’t get too excited. We’ve come here for one reason and we shouldn’t dally otherwise.”

The young boy appeared to frown, and Two bit his lip with a little chuckle. “Way to crush the kids dreams F.”

“You know the mission, J.” Jeongin gritted his teeth with the words. “Everything is set, there will be a car waiting for us in the garage, and at the hotel we’ll have anything we need.”

Prince Chan lulled his head back with heels clicking on the flooring. Rogue strands of his hair hung over his sunglasses where he threw a look back at you while pulling them down.

“Don’t forget our little deal Bee? We’ll have time for a little pleasure.”

The white haired agent rolled his eyes with gusto then adjusted the royal’s glasses over his face. “We’ve still got to be careful, you Highness. We never know where they could have eyes.”

“I know where I’ve got mine...” He turned back once more to throw his cockiness in your general direction.

“Listen to F, your Highness...if you want to live.”

“Oooo. Feisty as ever, Bee. I love it when you bite back.” Chan turned to his new pet, Seungmin, “She’s really something isn’t she?”

The young man nodded, but not necessarily because he agreed, but it just seemed like it better to agree with a prince than to disagree with him.

The air appeared to turn even thicker in the summery and arid city and your group approached the parking lot half shaded. Outside of the cement lot, iridescent waves of heat wiggled on the horizon, and further, the astonishing urban sprawl of Cairo, and just over it, the stretch of the Nile and Giza. Palms and other varieties of plants spotted the landscape and above it all, a perfectly crystal blue sky streaked with thin clouds. Had the circumstances been different, you really would have wished to have been there for pleasure.

“This one. Right here.” Jeongin announced upon spotting the black armored sedan. It wasn’t the most inconspicuous vehicle, but you were prioritizing safety over aesthetics. Your partner touched his index fingerprint to the car door’s invisible panel, and it flashed blue just as the lock had at the safehouse with the ticking clock insignia.

Two whipped his head around to make one last check of the surroundings before taking off his sunglasses and reddened eye. “Get in. Both of you.” He urged the prince and the student. He popped the drivers side open to find a different pair of glasses in the storage compartment: gold framed aviators.

“Huh,” He said happily while putting them on. “This is more my style.” He rummaged around a bit more to find a new pair of black framed glasses there too. “Fox! Think fast!” He threw them over to your partner who sighed out with relief.

“Thank god.”

The trunk opened with a mechanical sounding creek, and you lifted up the trunk bed to find your whole arsenal: Heckler & Koch MP5′s submachines, Remington 870 shotguns, and Glocks complete with thigh holsters. Among the pile of metal, various knives and other weapons were held in foam holders.

“They’ve got knives back there?” Two asked while pulling the rearview mirror to see.

“Oh yeah. What? You more of a knife guy?” You teased while looping your thigh holster over your cargo pants. It fit just right.

The illusive man popped his gum with a shiny smile. “‘Don’t ever have to reload them...that’s what I’m saying.”

“Thank you Carroll.” Jeongin sighed upon seeing the thick laptop among the weapons. “Finally I can do some real work. That kid’s damn Chromebook was killing me. I nearly short circuited it trying to connect to our network.”

“You what?!” Seungmin was suddenly much more interested.

“Dont worry yourself too much, its still fine.”

“Are there cameras in here?” You quickly asked your partner.

“Agency should’ve fried them a long time ago. Why?”

From the trunk bed you sized up the Glock to feel its weight and how cool it settled into your sweating hand. You unloaded the magazine to see that it had already been filled.

“Carroll. She really is too kind to us.” You slid the magazine back in then, pulled back the slider to lock it once more, catching Chan’s adoring glance.

“Something interesting pretty boy?”

The prince appeared to shiver a little, but brushed it off sighing, “Oh, nothing.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Either it was Carroll or the King, but someone had spared no expense on the young prince. The sun set upon the sparking Nile where you had arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel Cairo at Nile Plaza.

Anything for His Royal Highness The Prince.

The towering and gleaming building was a sight to behold in and of itself. It was nestled right into the riverside anchored with several leisurely sailboats bopping in the evening breeze. As day crept into night, the city grew with a swell of lights washing as far as you could see. Extensive bridges and roadways glowed with headlights and every building appeared to be illuminated along with more boats strolling down the river in a rainbow of colors and music.

The prince craned his head as close to the window as he could and rubbed together his hands excitedly. He looked from you to your partners, finally making a disapproving scoff.

“Come on. You’re not just a little excited to be here?”

“We’re here on business, how many times do we have to explain?” Jeongin typed away at his computer from the front seat.

“Bee?” He looked back to you with a hopeful little glint to his eye.

“Like Fox said...tomorrow is our appointment with White Rabbit, then we’re on the first flight back home for you.”

The young prince frowned, but this quickly faded once he had seen the golden brass doors to the magnificent hotel. Seeing the state that the four of you were in, it was a bit comical that you had rolled up to a place such as this. Immediately a valet and bellhop jogged up to the car wearing perfectly pressed uniforms and spotless shined shoes. Little did they know you had no belongings to your name...the rest was waiting in your suite: the royal kind.

Seungmin cranked his neck to take in the scale of the building in all of it’s regal glory and let out an airy laugh his with his backpack straps snapped tight.

“Holy shit.” He exclaimed with a giant smile

Two rose a “no thank you” hand to the valet, and asked him where the garage was in perfect Arabic. The gesture surprised you...as many things did with that man. Jeongin gave a little nod in appreciation to the bellhop and expressed with his own broken version of Arabic that you group had no luggage. The young man was confused, but still gladly took the bills that Jeongin had slipped into his hand for the inconvenience.

“We’re staying here?” Seungmin wondered while he followed you in.

“When you travel with The Prince, it comes with some perks.” Chan tore off his glasses with a particularly prideful grin.

“I feel like I need to pay for just...breathing in here.”

Indeed, it was a luxurious and grand place. The atrium was patterned with various plush lounge chairs and benches and the path was made of emerald green marble tiles with swirling designs of beige loops. Thick, round columns also supported the ceilings in the lobby, and crystal glass chandeliers sparkled. On several tables, massive floral arrangements had been freshly placed, and you wondered how much the hotel must've paid for them to look that good just to have them replaced the next day.

A couple formalities were exchanged with the worker at the front desk, and soon the keycards to the royal suite were placed into your hands. Seungmin held his piece of plastic as if it were a gold bar in his hands whereas Chan shoved it right into his front pocket.

“Everything that we should need should be up in the room.” You told the group who were too distracted to hear what you had just said.

Just before you had entered the elevator, a tug at your sleeve stopped you in your tracks. Jeongin pulled you back, nodding at Two to go with the others up first.

“Remember what we talked about before?” He muttered in the hollow and stone corridor. “About the prince?”

“I need to stay beside him?”

Your partner nodded with a furrowing brow. “We’re out in the open here, it’s a big city...anyone could be watching us. No distractions, no messing around, no anything. We see White Rabbit and we leave. Hell, I’m even inclined to make sure he doesn’t leave the room...”

“Jeongin...” You squeezed your partner’s shoulder which felt stringy and tense under your fingertips. “I got it. Trust me. He won’t leave my sight. I promise.”

“..Okay.” He said with a nervous brush to his hair, then he pressed the elevator button with his knuckle.

“You...okay?”

The young man appeared to snap out of a trance. “What? ...Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m keeping it together fine. It’s just...there’s a lot riding on this mission. I don’t...”

The gold and reflective elevator dinged to the ground floor.

“We can’t disappoint Carroll with this one. There’s too much riding on it...I can’t disappoint Carroll.”

You invited your partner into the marbled and mirrored interior of the small space.

“Don’t worry, we won’t.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Even without the help of his royal helpers, Chan managed to clean himself up nice...provided, only the finest clothes had been sent for him to wear. While they weren’t the usual designer labels that he was used to, it was clear that they had been picked out from the finest markets and boutiques in the area. Chan, as he always was, was a prince to the full extent of the word. After a shower and some perfume to his chest, he was the same man that you had been introduced to.

A loose linen shirt swayed from his frame with little regard for the usage of buttons. He wore slacks that had been pressed made of a kind of fabric that you had never seen before, but looked airy and comfortable. As always, there was a small assortment of shoes for him to choose from as well. He picked brown leather loafers, then tucked up his sleeves to reveal his arms; scratched as they were, but still strong and spiderwebbed with thick veins.

Arrangements had been made for you to share one of the bedrooms with him--as much as you had fought it at first. Chan was thrilled with the idea, and gladly let you settle into his room with your small assortment of sidepieces and modest set of clothes by regulation of The Agency. While it had mostly been denim button downs and several kinds of functional trousers, they had sent an evening gown.

The silky white fabric was not unlike the dress that had worn for the gala, but it appeared to be even more sultry once you held it to your frame. The thin spaghetti straps barely held to your shoulders and the back dipped nearly halfway down your back.

Knowing the man that you had an appointment with, you figured the dress would make it just a little bit easier to talk to him. Along with it, there was a matching set of diamond earrings and a necklace that glinted with the same sheen of the sea.

“You’ll look gorgeous in that.” Chan said while slipping on a wristwatch. “I’m sure that it will suit you perfectly.”

The wooden bedside nightstand creaked when you put your holster and Glock in with a matching matte black knife. You had to be careful with that one, as it had nearly cut your finger upon inspection earlier.

“Hm. I think the both of us know that you’d prefer it on these lovely marble floors rather than on me. Correct?”

The confident prince strode across the room in the dim lighting of a couple lamps with stained glass shades. Outside of the balcony attached to your room, the sheer curtains blew in the night air and distorted the city lights across the river. Further, Cairo Tower surged with a pink light wrapping around the length were the cylinder pierced the sky.

“Maybe.” He tutted, then crinkled the king-sized bed where he sat. The prince’s disposition was alluring, there was no denying. He tiled his head to inspect you further, jaw clenching with a sharp angle and a testing glare to his brown pupils. The man smiled slightly while rubbing his index and ring finger down the sleeve of your considerably less scratchy blouse.

“I hope that during our time here Bee, I’ll get to know you a little better. I’m...really looking forward to our drink later. I made reservations for us.”

“Reservations? When did you do that?”

“Oh. When you were showering.” He smirked at his sneaky plans unbeknownst to you.

“If you think that I’m letting you go anywhere else besides this hotel--”

“--Bee?” The young royal grew quieter, softer, careful even. His hand cascaded from your arm down to your waist where he tentatively went to grab at your hip and squeeze lightly there.

While your first reaction was to swat him away, your second crept up on you unexpectedly, and swelled with a kind of confused euphoria feeling the pressure of him on your body. You let his hand linger there, thumb pressed into your hipbone.

“You don’t need that dress to be beautiful.”

His words snapped you back; sickly sweet, and sticky in your chest. You cast his hand off of you.

“You’re crossing the line, your Highness. Don’t...don’t touch me again.”

The royal sighed as he rose, then inspected his face in the sizeable mirror. Each of his cuts and scars had been skillfully covered with makeup the best he could manage.

“Bee, I’d cross multiple lines for you. I thought you knew?”

“THIS BED IS FUCKIN’ AMAZING!!” Seungmin called from the opposite of the suite.

The prince smiled, then followed you to the door.

“I’ve already got enough on my hands, your Highness. I ask that you not distract me.”

“Distract you?”

As soon as you had said it, regret bit at the tips of your ears. You couldn’t meet his teasing glances, but rather slid one of your more discrete sidepieces into your crossbody bag--as if guns as such could be such a thing.

“I-I...I’ll sleep on the couch.” You then resolved out loud, however the prince chuckled at your sudden break.

“As you wish Bee.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“I think that this is the best meal that I’ve ever eaten in my entire life!!”

Seungmin kicked his legs under the table to the embarrassed glances of both Jeongin and Chan. Before you, the prince had ordered a variety of both cold and hot mezzah dishes with a couple main entrees for you to share. While he was the only one to drink, he indulged in the most expensive wine that the hotel had to offer. Granted, everything would be paid for in cash from The Agency, however the Prince swore up and down that anyone could order anything that they wanted and that The Agency would be paid back in full. You and your partners ate modestly, however the young student didn’t hold back. As the boy shoved his face, it appeared to make the prince happy to see him eating so well.

You were still an odd group, and garnered curious glances from other restaurant guests. While they were only glances in passing, they still didn’t make you feel any better. You had already drawn enough attention to yourself with you being an odd mix of foreigners who each held themselves differently. You could sense that you partner felt it too while he sipped at his seasonal soup with eyes up to scan the room as he did so.

Chan threw his arm behind your chair to take in the rest of the room: perfectly decorated with jade green chandeliers and perfectly symmetrical wallpaper and furnishings. It was as if he felt somehow content with your strange little group; like he was the ringleader of it all or some king of the round table. For a moment, he paused to watch the way that the boats passed by on the river from the window nearest to him and sighed. Knowing him, he was probably enjoying running for his life in this way.

Two cleared his throat and unbuttoned his fashionable suit jacket as the waiters came to clear the table for dessert.

“So. What are the specs for tomorrow?”

Jeongin fiddled with his glasses, then dabbed away at the corners of his mouth. “He’s invited us to come around 11pm. He wants us to dress up too--as I’m sure you’ve all seen the clothes that have been provided for us. He apparently loves his formalities, but, anything to make him feel more comfortable I suppose. His men will meet us in the front and take us to him, then we try our best not to fuck it up.”

“--Which we won’t.” You soothed your partner.

Seungmin perked up, “I’m coming too?”

“How else are we going to look after ya, kid?” Two ruffled up the young man’s hair.

“W-wait. Didn’t you say that it’s a club? Will they even let me in? I’m not like, 21 yet? I mean, I will be in a couple months--”

“--Ahhh you’re so cute.” Chan beamed. “If you’re rolling with us that doesn’t matter.”

Seungmin blushed and played with the condensation of his water glass. “Oh.”

Your partner shifted in his seat. “Speaking of. Considering that you’re “one of us” now. We need to discuss something important with you. Your identity.” He looked over to you to finish the rest of the speech that had been pushed off for just a bit too long.

“Your name...is your most valuable asset. It’s the only thing about yourself that you can keep for yourself. No one else should know it besides you...and, well, us. If they know your name, they know your family, they know where you live, where you go to school, even that girl that you had a crush on in the fourth grade. Got it?”

Seungmin gulped dry with blown out eyes. “I-I think that I understand.”

“What do you want us to call you from now on?”

He paused, considering towards the ceiling. ”Well...if you’re B, and he’s F...and he’s J...I could be S? Simple enough right?”

“S it is then.”

The waiters arrived with every dessert possible: chocolate cake, Crème Brule, fruit cheesecake garnished with mint, as well as traditional desserts like Om Ali and Mehalabiya--a type of milk pudding dressed with delicate, pink, edible flowers.

Seungmin--now dubbed S--made happy little eating sounds while he tried a little bit of everything.

“Thank you.” You finally spoke to the prince, who now smelled strongly of Lotus and Jasmine.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind treating my friends.”

The word hung in the air, and you didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Friends.

“Where is this reservation that you mentioned?”

He took a swing from his crystal glass with finesse. “Hm. That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Jeongin told me that I need to keep an eye on you, you know that? It would be best if we didn’t leave the hotel at all--”

“--But what would be the fun in that?” The prince nearly pouted.

From the others side of the table, Two in his aviators brushed off his lap before standing. “I’m going to get some sleep, if that’s alright with you? I’m feeling pretty jetlagged and I want to be prepared for tomorrow. Excuse me.”

The slender man bowed to you at the table, then even deeper to the prince.

“What was that about?” Jeongin muttered while he poked at the thin caramel layer of his French dessert.

“Actually, I think I want to head to bed too, I’m stuffed.” Seungmin rubbed his belly in his contentment. “Also...I think I might have homework due...heh. I don’t know...I’ve got to figure out all these all these time differences and stuff.” He pushed in his chair then gave the prince a deep bow. “Thank you, your Highness.”

“My pleasure.” Chan said with a tiny bow back. “Rest up, kid.”

With the empty holes at the table, the silence was deafening.

“And then there were three.” Jeongin yawned. “Bee? Wanna do some laps in the morning? I saw that they had a pool? Wanna see if you can beat my record...again?”

“Psh. I was coming off that biochemical cocktail the last time we tired. You had an advantage.”

“Then you’ll beat me? Hm! I look forward to that.” Your adorable partner flashed the first smile that you’d seen in a couple days. You missed it, you realized.

“Sleep tight Bee. Goodnight your Highness.”

“Thank you Fox.” The prince mirrored his warm smile.

Knives and forks clinked on china in the dining room, and music softly payed the soundtrack of the evening. A low hum filled the space where the tourists and patrons chatted among themselves. It was peaceful and normal amidst everything that had been pricking your skin and plaguing worry over your mind. The prince merely sighed, sparking eyes reflecting the candles dying out on the table.

“And now it’s just the two of us.”

“Seems like it.”

“Can I whisk you away now?”

“Whisk? Who said that I would allow any whisking?”

“Come on...Bee. Just this one time? I promise to be on my best behavior.”

You laughed out incredulously at the comment. “You out of all people can’t promise something like that.”

“I guess you’re right about that. But...still, I won’t try to make a scene or anything.”

The royal placed his napkin on the table with his knife and fork respectfully tilted off the edge of his plate.

“Follow me?”

Chan held out his hand. It was pink with heat and scraped a little from the glass that had pierced the fragile flesh. In some way, you had felt a twinge of guilt seeing the small injury knowing that you couldn’t have protected him well enough then. You allowed him to lace your fingers with yours, and felt the rough cuts of his scars in your palm.

You had promised to yourself that he would never know such pain again.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“Annnd...this is it!”

You had taken all of twenty paces outside of the hotel when Chan gestured with open arms to the riverfront. Just at the riverbank, a steamboat was anchored with open doors for hotel guests to enter. The massive, multideck, white steamboat shone like the moon peaking at the ocean’s horizon. Each of the semi-circle windows were lined with white lights and from the inside, the delightful sound of laugher and live music spilled out to the glossy water of the Nile.

“W-what is this?”

“Well…it’s a dinner cruise but I just signed us up for the bar part. Are you...surprised? I thought that it must be pretty safe considering that we’re on the water and no one can drive up and shoot at us.”

“I mean...it’s a bit closed off, but nothing that I can’t handle.”

The prince held out his arm for you to lead the way, then took your hand to help you watch your step down the stairs. Chan provided his name to the conductor in elegant sounding Arabic, leaving you shocked.

“Y-you speak Arabic too?”

Chan chuckled once more, taking your hand in his to bring you down the creaking wood deck with swinging with lanterns above your heads.

“As a royal and diplomat, it’s best for me to know how to communicate if I might need to.”

“I must say your Highness, I am definitely impressed.”

“What? You thought I was just another pretty face?” The charming prince escorted you to a room within the steamboat that was lined with red velvet carpets and small bar tables with tea candles and water lilies floating in a shallow dish. He pulled out your chair before his own, then settled with hands folded in his lap. “I’m trained in hand-to-hand too, although I could use a refresher; that was so long ago, back when I went to school.”

“Hand-to-hand? Well! You really are full of surprises.”

The prince appeared smug and faintly amused by the compliment as he crossed his legs under the table and leaned in with his dizzying floral scent.

The waitress appeared and Chan flexed his language skills once more while he ordered a Hemmingway Daiquiri for himself and a French 75 for you. Somewhere off in the distance or perhaps a different part of the boat, louder and more excitable music played along with the echoing claps of those who listened along. Here, it was much quieter, and the loud sound was replaced with a jazz song that you had heard before--likely from your more formative years.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Chan began, “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me. I know that I’ve been a bit forward, but, I appreciate you entertaining me.”

“If I had said no, what would’ve happened then?”

“Well, maybe I would’ve dropped it, but...knowing you...I don’t think that I would’ve given up easily.”

The waitress returned with the drinks on a silver platter: his grapefruit pink and yours the color of a lemon drop.

The royal rose his glass for you to clink with yours, “To...adventures.”

“To adventures.”

With a resounding sound, the glasses met, and you watched the way that the shimmering liquid ripped across the prince’s nose.

The two of you sat for several moments more, saying nothing, but sipping and soaking in the night breeze and the humidity that made your whole body feel blanketed with a sense of calm. You had felt this way before back at the safe house, and it snuck up on you once more. Simply exisiting with the prince provided you with a sense of solace that had long since faded from your life. The sense of responsibility that you felt for the man was noticeable, but you couldn’t help but notice how he provided for you the same sense of safety that you did for him.

Perhaps it was the loneliness of the job and the solitude that came along with it. Was that you craved to be touched? Listened to? Admired? You had distanced yourself from irrational things such as love and other feelings of attachment. In your line of work, people died often, and you had to move on just as fast as their lives had been taken from them. You supposed that you had become unfeeling at this point...but this prince, so full of himself and focused on the material...there was something about him that reminded you how to feel.

“Bee? What are you thinking about?” He asked carefully.

“Oh...nothing.”

“You looked kind of lost here.”

“Was I?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah...yeah. I’m fine. Maybe the drink is just...getting to me.”

“Just one drink?” Chan giggled a bit, “I didn’t take you for being a lightweight Bee. I thought that they gave you like, drinking lessons or something back at that agency of yours.”

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have more than one drink anyway.”

The prince nodded, understanding. “So, what will you tell me about yourself? Is there anything that you’re allowed to tell me? Or...will you always be this mysterious, beautiful, enigma?”

“Me? Enigmatic? Ha! Hardly.”

“Well? What then?” The prince sucked at the lime garnishing his glass. “Since I don’t have the pleasure of knowing your real name, I’d love it if you could tell me something.”

Over the stereo, the muted trumpet played along with the twang of thick upright bass strings,

“I suppose I could tell you how...” Chan leaned in, “I didn’t want to join The Agency. At first.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“It felt like a bit of a last resort and anything that is a last resort is something that can’t come easy.”

Chan titled his head as if to say, I’m listening.

“Life...fucking sucks sometimes. Sometimes...you’re left...living with your sleazy uncle with a letter addressed to you post mortem telling you to carry on the family name if you want to feel some connection to the parents that you never knew.”

The royal cast his eyes down, “I-I’m so sorry.”

“The Agency has been everything I’ve known since I was a teenager. This life...it’s everything. I think in a way I feel obligated to it...since it was what took my parents from me...I owe it to them to do a job that they spent so much energy on so that it wasn’t in vain.”

You stopped, realizing the weight of your words in the air and how they cut like the blade of the knife that you kept tucked in your waistband sheathed in a leather cover. Once the sharp metal was taken from it’s confines, there was nothing to protect those from the damage it could do.

“Bee...I don’t know what to say besides I’m sorry. That’s terrible. I can’t imagine what it must be like to loose your parents and have been thrown into this life...no one deserves that.”

“Its okay.” You sighed. “I did it to myself. Now, it’s of no concern. I can take care of my own, and I have a new family. I try not to look back.”

As he had done numerous times before that night, Chan’s hand reached out for yours under the table, brushing up against the white cloth.

“I can’t say how much I appreciate you enough for what you do; risking your life for me...I owe you everything Bee.” The prince softened, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand.

The chug of the steamboat hissed softly behind you in that back bar room, and just through the windows, you could see the stars dotting the sky just as they did in any corner of the world. They were a reminder that while some things changed, others didn’t.

The echo of footsteps on the deck clicked, causing you to turn a careful glance back to the direction of the sound. The man who entered was dressed in a casual cotton button up and navy slacks. On the white of his breast, he wore a pin holding the symbol of a crest.

“Lee Minho?” Chan gasped.

“Your Highness!” The handsome man bowed immediately with a startled little smile.

The friendly prince stood immediately upon seeing the other royal to shake his hand. “What a coincidence that we meet again!”

Lee Minho shied with a polite smile while fiddling with his hair that looked to be masterfully styled. “Must be...fated. Or something like that.”

“Are you alright? Last I saw you was at the shooting at the gala. I’m so glad to see that you’re safe. You didn’t get injured I hope?”

This close, Lee Minho had oddly cat-like eyes that were as intense as they were alluring. He was just as you had remembered him to be--put together and polished like a true royal, dastardly handsome with all the right curves to his body, and just enough mystery to him to pique the interest of anyone who had sensed his air--just as the prince had.

“What are you doing in Cairo?” Chan asked, gesturing for the stranger to pull up a chair.

Lee Minho swatted away the question with an annoyed cringe. “Royal stuff, you know how it goes. Everyone is always trying to poke their noses in places where they shouldn’t be...unless they’re looking to get themselves killed. That's why they send me. I’m dispensable.”

“Oh, I’d hardly say that.”

In seconds the prince’s entire body had shifted towards the direction of the other man, and hung onto each of his words as if they were a siren song.

“When you’re not as high up in the ranks as you are your Highness, royalty starts to feel more like servitude than a legitimate position.”

“So, where are you poking your nose?”

Lee Minho’s eyes nervously flicked to you, and Chan realized that he had skipped right over introductions.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce the two of you. Minho, this is Bee, my--”

“--I’m a member of his detail.” You spoke for him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you formally Lee Minho. I recall seeing you at the gala.”

Minho bowed slightly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

It was obvious that you had made the man uncomfortable, just as you had liked it to be. While you could see what the prince had seen in him, you had the disposition to be much less trusting than his Highness.

“Which royals are employing you? I’d love to know! It’s always exciting for me to learn about who is plotting what. The royal drama keeps me really entertained.”

Minho sat up straighter, then waved a hand for the waitress to come scuttling over.

“Some of my family members. You wouldn’t know them, we’re all dreadfully insignificant to be honest. They heard all this business about those men with the red crests and they’re starting to get scared. After they targeted...you, they’re wondering which royal family might be next...if any. I’m here to find out who they are, their whereabouts, anything else.”

“Wow! That’s actually what we--”

“--And where are you planning on getting this information if I may ask?” You hushed the prince’s loose lips as quickly as you could.

Minho leaned in over the flickering candle to lower his tone, “I heard that there’s an informant here in the city who might now something about this group. They’ve been popping up on national news too as of late. I’m looking to talk to him tomorrow evening. Luckily, I was able to make an appointment but it was no small feat. I had to bribe him to high hell to get him to speak with me.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” You mumbled.

Chan’s eyes widened, then he looked back to you to ask for permission. You gave him a nod.

“It seems like we’re here for a common purpose my friend.” The prince leaned in to bridge the gap between them, his hand notably reaching to rest on the other man’s thigh below the table’s surface. “We’re seeking similar information and I think we might be speaking of the same informant.”

“But your Highness, isn’t it dangerous it you to do something like this?”

“Not when I’ve got her around.” Chan threw a sly grin to you across the table. “I’m well protected. And you? Where’s your detail?”

“I’m afraid that I’m out here alone. Like I said, when you’re as low in the ranks as I am...”

“What? That’s terrible!! They aren’t even protecting their own? Bee!!”

“Yes, your Highness?” You already knew where this was going.

“Let’s bring Minho along with us tomorrow! We know that there’s safety in numbers--”

“Your Highness, in case you haven’t noticed, our hands are already a bit full...”

“I can fend for myself.” Lee Minho suddenly piped. “Travelling alone, I’ve picked up a few things about protecting myself. You don’t have to protect me, but, I appreciate the offer.”

“Nonsense! You should come with us! I would feel more comfortable if you did rather than went by yourself.”

Lee Minho gave the royal a smile in his thanks, it was pure and a little adorable you had considered...but that was likely the champagne going to your head.

“Really? I appreciate it, your Highness.”

While you were distanced, you nearly could’ve sworn that the prince had squeezed the other’s leg reassuringly, and you were willing to bet he had rubbed it with his thumb too just as he had done to you.

After long, the waitress returned with Lee Minho’s drink, and the two men chatted like old college buddies while you slipped away at your drink in an attempt to make it last as long as you could. While Chan did try to engage you in conversation, it would never last for long until he would become puppy-eyed over the stranger again. In the end, you wondered if the tipsy prince would’ve also confessed to this man if he had one too many drinks.

The table bumped with their jovial and restless legs, and you could only imagine what wandering hands sought to discover.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The hotel was quiet save for the click of heels on the marble floors from ladies who had just gotten off the steamboat and clung to their husbands in their drunken stupor. They cackled in the empty and golden lobby, then pressed hasty kisses into the stuttering mouths of their husbands who’s mouths then smeared with hot pick lipstick. Chan giggled at the sight while he tripped over his own feet too.

“Ahhhh. Being in love is so cute.” He adored them once you had entered the elevator.

“You’re not going to throw up on me, are you?”

The prince hiccupped, then shook his head. “Unlike you I know how to hold my liquor. I’m fine. Just a bit sleepy I think. Must be the jet lag.”

The tones for each floor beeped in the compartment, and Chan lulled his head back and forth.

“So. Lee Minho huh?” You said, not even able to help yourself. The alcohol had brought you a bit of an edge...so you thought.

“Lee. Minho.” He sighed out dreamily. “What do you think of him?”

“I think I can’t trust anyone as long as I haven’t ran at least three background checks on them.”

“Awww, Bee, you’re so thoughtful of me.”

In the empty hallway, the prince with squinting eyes leaned against the doorframe to the royal suite, reaching out to brush up against your blouse once more. You let him, excusing his drunken state. After he did so, his eyes hazed over with something much different, while he looked exhausted, it was laced with something else: something much more longing.

“Bee...fuck, I really want to kiss you again.”

“Hm. That’s ripe coming from you who was just viciously flirting with Lee Minho.”

You could see his head spinning in his dilated pupils. “What?”

The door clicked open and you less than gracefully lead the prince through the dark to your shared bedroom.

“B-Bee, what are you talking about?”

You scoffed, “I’m not blind, you know.”

“A-are you...jealous?”

“W-what? Fuck no. I’m just...you can’t just...toss people around thinking that they’ll all bend to you.”

Chan sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his temples when you turned one of the lamps on.

“I-I was doing that?”

You tore a pillow from the bed as well as the throw blanket at the end. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Good evening, your Highness.”

“Wait! Bee!” The young prince stumbled after you, stubbing his toe against the bedpost in the process. “Ah-FUCK!” He grunted.

“What?” You growled back to him, half shrouded in the darkness of the suite living room.

The royal stumbled out, eyes blank and backlit from the bedroom. While you couldn’t see him fully, you later could assume that there was something in him terribly torn and ripped in that moment that made little sense to him, as it did to you to.

Arms reached out, bodies softly illuminated by the lights of the city, and the prince leaned himself fully into you, pressing bitter tasting lips to yours with a heat and desire that only seemed amplified the breather he had gotten. While he tasted of lime and grapefruits, with a twinge of alcohol. He was just as addictive as any vice. You wanted to feel him. As infuriating as he was, and oblivious, your abhorrence to him was just as strong as your attraction.

“Mm, Bee--” He moaned directly into your mouth while shuffling both of you back to the bedroom.

The prince’s trembling breath floated from his mouth to yours where he used both of his large hands to pull your face closer to his. You knew that in some way, there must have been something ingenuine about the whole scenario, but you didn’t care too much, not when kissing him felt like something. Maybe he had kissed you out of pity, or because he really had wanted to kiss you. You broke for seconds before both of your tangled limbs hit the bed.

“Before...you said that you wouldn’t kiss me.”

“I didn’t make any promises...but, how come...you said that you wouldn’t hesitate...? But you kissed ba--”

You silenced the prince’s words with your own heated kisses that made little sense, only that kissing him as such felt good. You straddled the man while his hungry fingers traced all the way down your back. The prince’s hips sunk into the cushiony mattress, and you screwed him down even harder into it with your own heated hips grinding into him with as much pressure as you could muster.

“This is what you want, right?” You pulled at his lip with your teeth to hear him groan from it.

“Is it...what you want?” Chan got out between more kisses.

You could blame it on loneliness or lack of touch all that you wanted, but it wasn’t even close.

“Wait. Wait.” Chan suddenly interjected.

“What? What is it?”

The prince looked up at you, that haze in his eyes now fading to something much different that wasn’t covered in the lust that he held before.

“Bee...I-I don’t know if I want it to happen this way. It feels...it’s not...”

“Not what?”

He brushed his hand upward now to caress your face, lingering on the side of the peach fuzz on your cheek. “You deserve better than whatever the hell this is.”

“Oh, so when I finally want to fuck you, you’re saying it isn’t right?”

“I’m saying, I’m drunk, it’s late, clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you, and I want to know what it is before we do anything else. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

It might’ve been Lee fucking Minho, or it might’ve been something else much stickier for you to admit, but seeing the prince like this, it was too much. He was gorgeous under you, practically angelic looking.

“I-I’m...complicating things.” You whispered out, and the prince softened even further.

“That’s what it is? Bee, I told that you don’t have to worry about--”

“--Yes. Yes I do...your Highness. I-I can’t feel...”

“Bee--let’s just talk about--”

The prince might’ve said more, but his words faded into murmurs once you closed his door behind you, then crawled onto the couch in Jeongin and Seungmin’s room, locking their door too.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Six ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 4044

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Happy Thursday! Thanks for all your responses so far -- I’m so grateful! Alright, time to see what Haldir thinks of all this!

We are sixteen days into our journey when we reach the mountains.

We made good time, considering all the stops and adjusting for our human guests. Now that I know they are more capable than I anticipated, I will be pushing us to clear the ranges in five days. I do not want to travel these mountains any longer than necessary.

Everyone feels the tension. My right hand never leaves the hilt of my sword and I know my brothers travel in a similar fashion. While I am always careful when traveling through the orc-infested mountains, this time more so than usual. The stakes are higher. Lavandil is trusting me to deliver her betrothed to her in one piece. My brothers and Baranor are trusting me to guide them safely on this treacherous journey. And the humans…

Well. They can’t possibly know what they’ve gotten into, so that’s on me, too. They have no experience in battle, nor do they seem ready for a fight. I worry they’ve never even seen an orc, at least not that they can remember. I am as responsible for them as I am for the kin that accompany me.

I turn on Faervel to face my companions, trusting Orophin to watch my back as I take in those that follow me. My brothers are watchful like I am, one hand on a weapon, one hand holding the reins. Their eyes constantly observe our surroundings, never lingering on one spot for too long. Baranor looks mildly nervous — this is only his fifth pass through the mountains and I know his mind is running through his previous journey, remembering the warden we once nearly lost to a poisoned arrow. A dull ache throbs in my left shoulder. The wound is long ago healed — the memories, however, are not.

Cosima holds tight to Rumil, looking around worriedly. I never told her what we might face in the mountains, and maybe that wasn’t the right decision. Every sound makes her jump — she’s obviously expecting to be attacked at any second.

My eyes shift to Alexander, the most recent addition to our group, and I fight the urge to narrow my eyes. I don’t trust him. Not that I automatically trusted Cosima, but she hasn’t given me any reason to be suspicious. She helps with the chores and talks with us freely, even if she has been pulling back a little lately. Alexander can’t boast the same. He’s been nothing but standoffish and keeps himself isolated from the group — dragging Cosima with him.

He glowers at me, and I return his glare. Of course, mine has the force of nearly three thousand years as Marchwarden behind it, and the human quickly looks away.

I return to my inspection of the group. Cosima’s cloak is a beautiful, vibrant red—obviously made for style rather than the stealth and durability needed for travel. I haven’t the faintest idea why she would choose to dress that way if she knew she’d be traveling, nor what kind of leader wouldn’t catch it and make her change. This only serves to irritate the thought that’s been budding in the back of my mind since her arrival. Maybe she really isn’t from our world. Stranger things have happened. Alexander, too, has an unusual cloak, though not as bad as Cosima’s. His is a deep forest green — expensive, the kind that would take months of precise dyeing. Still a suitable color for travel, but not at all practical — already, it’s darkening with mud kicked up on our journey, ruining the maker’s handiwork. I don’t understand it and the mystery of their origins are too much to ponder on the road. So I resolve to deal with what I can now and handle the rest later. At present, Cosima can’t travel through the mountains in that bright red cloak.

I get her attention. “Put your cloak away in your bag, it’s too noticeable. If you get cold, someone will lend you theirs.” She visibly blanches at my words but balances herself atop Roch to do as I say. She is so clearly frightened and part of me wants to reassure her, to tell her not to worry, it’s just a precaution. But I can’t. Lying might make her feel better, but it would also set her at a disadvantage. It is better for her to be on edge. It will keep her sharp, and staying sharp can be the difference between life and death. I wouldn’t sugarcoat it for one of my wardens, so I won’t sugarcoat it for her.

Still, I can’t help myself from offering her some measure of security. I instruct Rumil to take position behind me and send Orophin to guard the back of our line. Perhaps Cosima will feel better being towards the middle of the group rather than at the very back — it is safer.

I put on my most well-practiced fortifying look and address the group. “Remember to ration your water — we won’t come across another stream for some time. With luck and perseverance, we will reach Imladris in five days. Cosima and Alexander — if we are attacked, stay on your horses. Rumil and Baranor will protect you.”

Rumil chuckles lowly and leans back in his seat to whisper to Cosima. “I can’t keep you safe if you strangle me first. Relax.”

Cosima laughs sheepishly and seems to make a concentrated effort at loosening her arms around Rumil.

I pull my eyes away, turning to look the right way down the path.

And off we go.

{***}

Weather in the mountains is unpredictable. There’s a faint breeze hinting at the possibility of rain, and I pray against it. Humans are so fragile compared to elves and I worry the two newcomers won’t do well in another day of downpour. I don’t mind the harsher conditions, my brothers, either — Valar knows how many drills we’ve run, battles we’ve fought in the extremes. But the humans, even Baranor, aren’t so conditioned.

I stop our company a little later than usual and send Rumil and Orophin to take first watch. Baranor pulls Alexander aside to redress the wound on his leg. Cosima and I stay to tend to the horses.

She glances at me from where she brushes Roch’s coat. I raise an eyebrow, cleaning my own horse. She purses her lips and I can tell that she’s scrutinizing me.

“You don’t like the mountains.”

There’s no point in lying. “No. Too many places for the enemy to hide.”

She’s silent for a moment, likely thinking through my words. Unexpectedly, I feel the bite of regret — I probably just scared her again. I should have kept my mouth shut.

Thankfully though, she doesn’t seem frightened. She smiles, a sort of serenity settling on her. “It’s kind of pretty though, if you can find a moment to enjoy it. Did you see the sun sinking over that peak way in front of us? It turned the sky purple and gold.”

I did notice the sky, but only briefly. I hadn’t even stopped to ponder its beauty, only checked to ensure no one hid on the horizon.

She sees the answer in my face and grins, shaking her head. “Maybe you’ll be able to relax once we reach Imladris. What’s it like, there?”

Now it’s my turn to smile, recalling my second favorite place in the world. “Beautiful — much more so than these mountains. There are waterfalls taller than any I’ve ever seen and they cast rainbows at sunrise and sunset. The main city rests on those falls and you can see the water sweeping under you, falling over the cliffs.”

She stares at Roch’s coat, a distant look in her eye. “How long are you planning to stay?”

You. Her question hangs between us as I analyze her use of the word. She didn’t say ‘we’ or make any reference to herself and Alexander. She’s making no promise to stay. That realization shouldn’t bother me, but, nevertheless, I feel discomfort settle in my stomach. I try to distract myself by answering her question. “A month or two, three at most. The journey home will take about three weeks and I want us in Lothlórien well before winter sets in.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

I blink, trying to follow her line of reasoning. I’ve got nothing. “How does that relate to what I just said?”

She closes her eyes, the peace leaving her and morphing into a pleading, distressed look. “Please just answer the question.”

The feeling in my stomach worsens and I hurry to say something to try and put her more at ease. “Honeyed breadrolls,” I blurt, not even sure if that’s my favorite.

She laughs weakly, looking at me from the side of her eyes. “That’s not a balanced meal.”

I grin, relieved to see the stress beginning to fade from her face. “You said favorite food, not healthiest.”

“Oh right, my bad.” She rolls her eyes, a playful light there that wasn’t present before.

Evidently annoyed with the lack of attention, Roch bumps his head against Cosima’s shoulder, snorting noisily. She giggles and pets the horse affectionately.

“He likes you,” I observe, the sight of them bringing a smile to my face.

Cosima shrugs. “He just wants snacks.”

There’s a pause and I feel a sense of urgency, needing to fill the silence before the conversation can come to an end. “What’s yours?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Hm?”

“Your favorite food.”

“Oh.” She pauses, looking at the ground in thought. When her eyes return to mine, she looks a little lost. “I don’t know. I don’t mind the lembas bread and fruits, though I couldn’t say for sure if it’s my favorite because I can’t remember much from my homeworld. I guess—well, I do remember some food here and there, but nothing stands out as my all-time favorite.”

Her admission seems to make her sad. I can understand that — it must be terrible to not know who you were or what your life was like. Once again, I feel the need to make her feel better. “Elrond won’t let us go hungry. There will be many new things for you to try.”

She opens her mouth, a spark lighting in her eyes, ready to respond.

The loud, heavy footsteps give away Alexander’s approach. Cosima hears it too and turns to see her incoming friend.

I let my face fall into a neutral expression, not entirely pleased with Alexander’s arrival. He is a lost human in need of help, just like Cosima, so I will offer him my protection and aid, just as I did to the woman at my side.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like him.

From what I’ve observed, he has a manipulative streak that I do not trust. I can understand not being ready to accept his new reality, but Cosima is trying to move on. He shouldn’t try to interfere with her progress.

He addresses Cosima only. “I’ve got dinner for us both. Meet me on the rock when you’re done?”

She shifts her feet, looking uncertain.

“No, you will stay with the main camp.” I hear my voice before I make the actual decision to speak. Cosima nods automatically—and, is it my imagination, or does she look a little relieved?Alexander only grimaces.

“Why?”

A muscle twitches in my cheek. I’m used to leading wardens that follow my every order. In this environment, one that is fraught with danger and requires constant attention and strict regimentation, I don’t like my orders being questioned. It’s not only a waste of time, but a danger to us all. I know well from the battlefield that hesitation—that single moment of questioning—can be the difference between life and death.

I raise an eyebrow, meeting the human’s challenging gaze. “The danger is heightened in these mountains. While you travel with my company, I am responsible for your safety. I will not have you all spread out — it makes it more difficult to protect you should the need arise.”

“I don’t want to sleep on a rock, anyway.” Cosima surprises us both by speaking up.

Alexander squints, looking quite caught off guard that she’s sided against him. “What—“

“Haldir’s right. It’s too dangerous and besides, the grass is softer.”

Alexander opens and closes his mouth a few times, then exhales, shaking his head and stomping back to camp. Cosima turns to Roch and resumes brushing his coat, a new tension in her jaw.

I try to broach the subject delicately. I’m not entirely sure it’s my business, but I suppose any information into the pasts of these mysterious humans is useful. “Do you remember much of your relationship with Alexander from before? Do you know what he was like?”

She closes her eyes—something she does when she’s stressed, I note—and sighs before opening them again. “I’ve been asking myself that a lot recently. I get that this whole…whatever it is, is impossible. I know that. And he does, too, which is why he’s having such a hard time adjusting.”

I bristle at the insinuation that I and my world aren’t real, but then make myself relax, putting myself in Cosima’s shoes. How would I feel if I woke up in a world completely different from the little I could remember?

She continues. “But I like it here. It’s beautiful and exciting and there’s so much to explore…I’m making friends.” She smiles up at me shyly, and I immediately return it. We are friends. I don’t know when or how it happened but we are. I like having her around.

“But with Alex…” She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m having a hard time not accepting my life here because it’s all I really know. I don’t have anything else to hold on to. Alex can’t seem to do that…I wonder if he remembers more than he lets on.”

I keep my expression carefully blank. I’ve been pondering the same thing. Something she said does bother me, though. She didn’t say she’s having a hard time accepting our world, but not accepting it. What’s holding her back? I try to dig around. “Cosima, this is your world now. Why wouldn’t you want to accept it?”

She shakes her head slowly, the sadness creeping back. “I can’t accept my life here because there’s no way it’s possible. I trust you and your brothers and Baranor, but something about this place is off. It’s completely unnatural—from what I remember of my world, we don’t have elves. We have cars instead of horses and ways to communicate that stretch across the globe.” Her voice rises in pitch, the first misty hints of tears entering her eyes. “And there’s only one world. There’s no way to go back or forward in time or hop to another planet or—”

“That you know,” I correct, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. Seeing her struggle is not only upsetting, it’s frustrating. She is here, and this world is as real as she is, as real as I am. All this back and forth is pointless. “You said it yourself—you don’t remember much about your home world. And even if you remembered everything, who’s to say that you could know everything? For all you know, you fell asleep in your world and woke up in mine. And, at present, I don’t know of any way to send you back. Elrond or the Lady might, but that’s not a question we can answer until later. So for now, you need to accept this world. Because you are here. This world is real and your life here is real.”

She takes in a shaky breath.

I freeze. Oh Valar. I’ve made her cry.

I hurry to try to undo it. “Cosima—”

“No.” She cuts me off, wiping the corner of her eyes with her sleeve. “I needed to hear that. You’re right. I’m only wasting time and stressing myself out with all this. Because regardless of what I think is logical or possible, the fact remains that I am here in Arda and I feel real and alive. And so does this world. And so do you.” Her eyes, still shiny with tears, meet mine and she offers me a watery smile.

I accept it with a breath of relief and work consciously to soften my tone. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to make you cry.”

“Oh,” she chuckles softly, still wiping away her tears. “I don’t think it’s your fault. I’m just tired and stressed and—what was it you said again?” She throws me a teasing look and I know she’s about to bring up my earlier comment. “You said I was sensitive. That’s right.”

I hold back a groan. Probably not the most well-advised thing I’ve ever said. “I only meant that you are more expressive with your emotions than I or others that—”

“Nope. I’m gonna stop you right there.” She holds up a hand, thankfully still in a joking mood. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

She’s probably right. So I halt my attempts, shaking my head and laughing at myself. “I suppose I should apologize for that too?”

She shrugs off-handedly. “Nah. Because for the record, about the time you decided I was sensitive, I decided you’re way too serious.”

And, with that, she sets Roch free to graze and jaunts back to camp.

{***}

Aside from the brief interlude with Cosima, I don’t allow myself to relax as we continue through the mountains. There are too many peaks and rocks and caves and crevices where the enemy can hide. All it would take is one well-aimed arrow to fell one of my companions, or myself. I have to be vigilant. They’re trusting me, and I must not let them down.

{***}

On the third night in the mountains, Rumil and Orophin stage a sort of intervention, trying to force me into a full night’s rest.

“Brother, you have stood watch every night for the past five nights and most of the nights before that.”

“I am fine,” I retort, straightening my back. “I am perfectly capable of sacrificing rest to keep watch of our surroundings.”

“But without rest you will grow weary and slow,” Orophin adds, planting himself to stop me from walking past him. “You will not be at your best and cannot keep us safe as you could if you had proper rest.” He raises his voice to drown out my protests. “Rumil and I will stand watch all night—we will be vigilant.”

“Now, go lay down and get a full night’s rest willingly, or Baranor is prepared to drug you.” At this, Rumil smiles broadly. He is only joking. And, capable though Baranor is, I have no doubt in my ability to stop him from forcing herbs into my mouth.

But my brothers have a point. Though I am used to many restless nights from battle and my patrol of the borders, I have not slept for more than a few hours in many nights. I feel the heaviness in my eyes, the weariness in my bones, and, though I know I could push through, it is of no benefit to my company. So, reluctantly, I sheathe my sword, nodding to my brothers. “Wake me if there is any trouble.”

Orophin agrees readily. “Of course. You’ve trained us well.”

At this, I must grin, remembering the countless hours I put into developing and perfecting their skills. “I know.”

I leave the outcropping of rocks that has become our watch station and jog the short distance back to camp.

“Wow, look who’s decided to join us for a change,” Cosima jokes. There’s a note in her voice that tells me she had knowledge of, if not a hand in, my brothers’ plan.

I roll my eyes, matching her teasing tone. “I couldn’t leave the three of you unattended for long—who knows the trouble you could have gotten in?”

“Oh, yeah. Baranor was about to redress Alex’s wound — troublesome, indeed.”

I sit on the empty mat in between her and Baranor, greeting my elven friend with a nod. Alexander doesn’t acknowledge me, so I don’t acknowledge him.

Cosima passes me a bundle of leaves containing a ration of lembas bread and a handful of blackberries. I smile my thanks and take the food eagerly—I haven’t eaten since morning.

“Glad to see you resting, mellon nîn,” Baranor nods in my direction then returns his attention to Alexander’s leg. The herbs and healing power in Baranor’s spirit have done wonders, but the traveling aggravates the wound. Really, he should take a few days to rest, but we do not have that luxury.

Cosima breaks a piece off her own bread. “How long until we reach Imladris?”

“Within three days, I imagine.” It’s an estimate, but a fairly accurate one, I’d wager. After many journeys, I know these mountains quite well.

She smiles. “That’s not too bad.”

“Agreed.” Baranor sighs and nods, indicating that he’s done dressing Alexander’s wound. He returns to his mat on the other side of our bags, completing the circle we lounge in.

A particularly strong gust of wind blows my hair around. Cosima shudders, pulling her blanket tighter over her shoulders — her cloak is still in her bag. Temperature doesn’t bother elves in the same way it does humans, I remember. I shed my cloak of deep grey, holding it out for her to take. “Here.”

Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head vehemently. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to be—”

“Take the cloak, Cosima.”

She bites back a smile, and I know why. Even as I was trying to be nice, I still ended up making it an order. Oops. But it did the trick. She takes the cloak, wrapping herself tightly in it and then adding the blanket for an extra layer of warmth. “Thank you.”

I only nod in response. After all, it’s my job to see that each member of my company is cared for. That includes fragile humans who could possibly die from exposure to the elements. And, thankfully, she does look much warmer now — her shivers have subsided and the wind only has the chance to bother her face, as the rest of her body is encapsulated in a cocoon of cloth.

“So Haldir, what do you do?” Alexander’s direct question catches me off guard, as well as the suspicion behind it.

I bristle. “Pardon?”

Alexander raises his chin, eyes narrowed at me. “What is your job? Because you seem awfully comfortable ordering people around.”

I forget how immature humans can be. I push against the annoyance that rises within me. “I am charged with the protection of my realm.”

“So you left it unguarded?”

I speak through clenched teeth. “I took leave.”

“So if you’re on leave then why are you still in charge? We’re nowhere near your realm.”

I feel my pulse quicken. “The others have accepted my authority. I am the most experienced—”

“Have I accepted your authority? Has Cosima?” He raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Uh, don’t bring me into this,” Cosima practically yelps, pulling the fabric tighter around her.

“Yes, this is a good time to stop,” Baranor interjects, looking completely serene — the exact opposite of how Alexander and I must look.

“It’s getting late,” Cosima agrees, darting nervous looks between me and her human friend. “We should all get some sleep.”

Alexander and I stare each other down. I feel no small amount of pride when he breaks his gaze first, then admonish myself for my immaturity. I should have handled that better — I know better than he does. Unbidden, my eyes dart to Cosima. Has my arguing with her closest friend upset her?

But thankfully, she smiles at me when my eyes meet hers, then reclines on her mat. Her voice rings over the small clearing, effectively ending any discussion between us all for the evening. Probably for the best. “Goodnight.”

And, though I am still angry, my body and mind cannot ignore how exhausted I am after days of insufficient sleep. It doesn’t take long for me to find rest.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day :) Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged, try subscribing on Ao3! That will notify you automatically when I post there.

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Callisto (Arrival - Bit 2)

Prologue Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Well, these posts seem to be getting longer. I’m pondering if I should make them shorter and more often.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 @janetm74 and @onereyofstarlight for their amazing support and who without putting up with my crazy this fic would likely not exist.

We are finally there and things can start happening. Wow, planning makes for longer fics apparently.

I hope you enjoy it ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

As the rest of the family exited the cockpit, Michael watched John deploy the last of the long chain of communication buoys into orbit around Callisto and held his breath.

The space monitor was frowning at his console as they both waited for that final connection to click into place.

A moment and John’s face relaxed.

And Michael with it.

His own board flashed up with a connection confirmed through the chained micro-tunnel drives.

John hit his comms. “Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Excel. Do you copy?”

They waited.

A heartbeat.

“Thunderbird Excel this is Tracy Island. Great to hear your voice, John.” Even Michael could hear the smile in Kayo’s voice. “I have a lot of green and pretty lights here. Send me the tests and I will bounce them back.”

“Sending now.” John’s fingers darted across his board and Michael watched the system take on the workload and churn data all the way back to Earth. “And I must say, Kayo, it is lovely to hear your voice, too.”

“Looking forward to hearing yours often. Data incoming. Will apprise results.”

“Looking forward to it, Thunderbird Excel out.” John’s fingers flicked again and the comms signal closed.

“Thunderbird Excel?” Michael arched an eyebrow at the astronaut.

John shrugged. “Well, I think she’s earned it now, don’t you?”

“Mmmm.” He looked back down at his board. The thought of having contributed to creating an actual Thunderbird...

He was startled when a shadow passed over his hands. “You’ve done well, Michael. Thank you.”

He looked up at the red-headed Tracy floating beside him. John was an enigma. He was a brother like any Tracy, but unlike the eldest who hated him with a passion that saw no border, John was quiet, even kind. Michael had been working alongside Brains and John and occasionally the youngest, for over a year now, and while he doubted he and John would ever be close friends, there was a mutual respect.

Plus, the distinct feeling that if Michael ever laid a finger on any of John’s brothers ever again, he would not survive the attempt.

It was definitely the quiet ones who should be worried about.

Not to mention Eos.

Michael really wished he could get his hands on that piece of code.

But again, he felt that it would be his last action in this universe.

Not that John had ever threatened him.

He didn’t need to.

“Are you feeling okay?” Turquoise eyes were peering down at him.

“I am well. No need to worry.”

The astronaut smiled. “Good. Monitor the comm network and liaise with Brains regarding the T-Drive’s performance. Let’s see if we can cut down on the jumps on the way back. I’d prefer to go through as little of the nausea as possible.”

“Agreed.”

John arched an eyebrow and his lips curled up. “I’ll be in Thunderbird Five assessing the danger zone and coordinating with Thunderbird Three.”

“FAB.”

The astronaut stared at him for just an extra moment longer before pushing off Michael’s console and throwing himself towards the cockpit exit.

“Thank you, John.”

A flicker of a smile and the last Tracy disappeared through the door, leaving Michael alone.

-o-o-o-

Virgil hated the IR spacesuits. They were far too tight and left nothing to the imagination.

Also, the red baldrics clashed horribly with his green stripe enough to rip his eyeballs out.

But although his standard uniform was satisfactory for short forays into space, it was not enough for a space mission of this magnitude as it did not have the survival and safety mechanisms needed in an emergency. So, here he was dressed like some kind of spandex wearing superhero, his heavy lifting muscles providing a great anatomy lesson to any within eyesight.

“Looking good, Virg.” Gordon’s eyes were laughing.

“Shut up, Fish.” The aquanaut was used appearing all but naked in front of thousands. Hell, Virgil had nothing to be ashamed of, it was just difficult to keep a straight face in a professional capacity.

How the hell John lived in one of these things was a mystery Virgil had no interest in exploring.

The alternative was wearing something like Alan’s spacesuit, but that had its own issues regarding his exosuit and despite the...exposure, this was the best option.

At least he had a little security with the addition of his exosuit support padding and his harness – never leave home without it. That and his baldric covered a little of his modesty.

Didn’t stop his brothers’ comments though.

Alan actually snorted in laughter.

Scott raised an eyebrow, but then their commander was dressed the same and, much like John, was giving the Greek gods a run for their money in the process.

Virgil felt like a dwarf from The Lord of the Rings. What was his name? Gam? Gim? Gimli? Standing next to that bleached elf.

Virgil grunted. “Let’s do this, already.”

Okay, the grin on Scott’s face was both worth it and damned annoying.

Dad had chosen a version similar to Alan’s suit. Due to his health concerns, Virgil had recommended extra support with arm guards and greaves built into his boots. He had glared at Virgil, but Virgil was a Tracy and just as stubborn as his father and if he wanted to go on this mission he could damn well meet him halfway.

Dad wore the protection.

They had Uncle Lee’s ‘space skivvies’ measurements on file and the IR fabricators had churned out an IR uniform echoing their father’s. Considering the astronaut’s skillset, Virgil had coloured his baldric stripe as green as his own and thrown in some of his own kit.

The colour combination still ripped out eyeballs.

Thunderbird Three was nestled into the Excel much like she had been into the XL, but higher up, leaving the massive thrusters behind her and nestling instead of providing the main superstructure of the craft.

To compensate for the loss of One and Two, the Excel now had a third engine on her dorsal plane to offset the two massive pectoral lightspeed engines. Together the three engines provided the huge ion thrust needed to propel them vast distances. And when the T-Drive was required, the third would go dark, the original two engines would flare up and give him his next case of nausea.

Three still connected with Five for extra stability, but she was no longer mandatory for the Excel. Where the XL had basically been an exosuit for Three to break the lightspeed barrier, the Excel was now more Five’s exosuit as she was the one Thunderbird the Excel needed to operate at her best.

Johnny’s ‘bird now had wings.

Very, very big ones.

The cockpit was crowded but quiet as Alan smoothly disengaged Three from the bigger craft, spinning her in space and pointing her towards the moon.

Virgil shifted in his suit, uncomfortable as hell. Not enough to be world ending, but annoying. Beside him, his father glanced in his direction with a concerned frown.

“Are you okay, son?”

That, of course, prompted an equally concerned frown from Scott in front of him.

“I’m fine.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he could live with the suit. His arm was still aching and his stomach had yet to forgive him despite the food he had shoved into it, but he could probably get away with that.

The worst of it was the lack of sleep.

Scott’s eyes were far too knowing.

The medic in him knew that they were going into a potentially dangerous situation. Hell, they were in space right now, not exactly Tracy Island’s pool patio for relaxation. They needed to be alert and ready.

He had tried to sleep. He had sent all of his brothers to nap during the voyage out here. But he doubted any of them managed much.

He certainly hadn’t.

Scott knew because Virgil could see it reflected in those blue eyes of his. He still looked worn, though he tried to hide it, ever the professional.

Dad.

Dad was still looking at him with questioning eyes.

Virgil sighed. “I’m just tired. I can manage.”

Those lips pressed together, obviously displeased.

Typical.

His father was so like Scott in so many ways that having both of them to contend with on this mission was going to send Virgil grey.

It was okay for them to go out on a limb, risk their lives for the greater good, but if someone they cared about did the same, they were all worry and you can’t do that.

As if to emphasize that thought, his father’s frown fixated on Scott. Virgil followed his gaze, but from his angle could only see the back of his brother’s head.

Another glance at his father and the concern was clearly there.

Perhaps something was starting to sink into Dad’s head. Maybe he was realising what he was risking.

Who he was risking.

Three shook a little as she breached the minimal atmosphere of the moon. Alan was muttering orbital calculations. Each large planetary body was different and required a catered approach.

The Base had sent vectors and the conditions that constituted ‘weather’ on the barren moon, but there were many firsts in this mission and this was one of them.

For the benefit of the rest of them, Alan threw up a hologram of their approach.

The massive crater known as Asgard swelled on the screen. It was very bright, even in the weak sunlight. Probably ice. To the north of it lay an even brighter splash of white, rays extending out across the heavily cratered surface for miles.

As they sank, the horizon formed in a sharper curve than Virgil was used to. Sharper than Mars which was the only other planetary body beyond Earth’s Moon Virgil had ever set foot on.

“There it is.” Alan, ever enthusiastic in his element, pointed out a spot quickly growing on the display. “Callisto Base.”

It was a white cross with a massive airlock at its centre. Surrounding the arms of the cross was machinery, storage tanks and energy production facilities. It shone ever so bright, like a blunted star plastered on the side of the moon.

As they drew closer, the Tracy Industries logo could be seen branded across the airlock doors.

The base was a massive endeavour. Almost entirely underground taking advantage of a small crater in the Doh crater wall, it had capped the landform and sealed off the space creating a series of caverns to house the transport ships moving between the Base and the Jefferson or any other destination they chose.

Entirely self-sufficient, TI’s hydrogen technology gave it power, TI’s heavy duty excavation equipment gave them the power to dig the base out of the rock and ice. It had helped to find unexpected caves under the surface. All and all the Base was a robust structure, protecting its fifty-odd inhabitants from the hazards of living on an exposed and radiated moon.

“Callisto Base, Thunderbird Three requesting permission to dock.” Virgil was suddenly irrationally proud of his little brother.

Commander Walters answered immediately. “Permission granted Thunderbird Three. Hold in the airlock for repressurisation and permission to proceed.”

“FAB, Callisto Base.”

“One of these days, Jeff, you are going to tell me what that means.”

Both Alan and their father snorted.

As they approached, the big airlock doors slowly began to open, splitting the TI logo in half. The hologram stayed fixed on their destination, but Three pivoted her nose to the darkness of the sky bringing the ever-hovering presence of Jupiter back into view through Three’s windows. Alan flicked a wrist and the Thunderbird started lowering into what was now a gaping maw below.

Three slipped into the airlock and the doors closed behind them.

-o-o-o-

Alan was a professional, but he had to admit that he was internally bouncing around in joy. The air was still thick with tension, his family caught up in this thing with Dad, but Alan was doing his best to ignore it and focus on his job.

And oh my god, he was landing on his second moon of Jupiter! This had to be a first. He could go down in history as the first person to land on several moons, another planet and multiple random comets and asteroids.

Okay, so Virg and Scott had been with him, even Gordon on Europa – that had been one hell of a mission that still gave him both dreams and nightmares – but he had been the only one to land on all of them.

Alan Tracy, astronaut extraordinaire. He couldn’t help but grin as the airlock repressurised and the Callisto Commander finally gave him permission to land.

He slowed his ‘bird to a perfect touchdown as the secondary airlock doors closed above him.

He killed her engines and let her begin her cool down sequence.

The whole cockpit sighed a little in relief. A pause as if to reset and then everyone was moving.

-o-o-o-

Gray Walters rubbed the back of his neck as Thunderbird Three coasted smoothly from the decontaminating airlock into the main hangar. The pilot of that ‘bird had to be a Tracy. The huge red rocket barely fit nose to tail with only inches to spare between the two massive sets of doors. After all, they had never expected such a large craft needing to dock.

He had Kate to thank for arguing the hangar’s size...with Ju backing her up as usual.

The thought of his wife froze him for a split second. Ju was going to be okay. Jeff was here now. He had always been their good luck charm. Hell, the guy had survived eight years in space alone. Ju could manage a few days.

Couldn’t she?

“She’s docked.” Mary, his second, looked up from her station. “Shall I shunt her into a bay?”

“Leave her in central for now. We’re not going anywhere and they may need to leave in a hurry.”

“That will piss Benji off.”

“Benji can stew. His team still has a week left of their Jefferson rotation.”

“He will cite regs.”

Gray turned away. Let him cite regs. “This is an emergency and takes priority.” He sighed. “Run decon in the central core. Anyone not crucial to this operation is to steer clear of International Rescue. Lock off environmental systems. Keep the two crews contained to keep the risk of contamination as low as possible. We can’t afford an accidental bug in the system.”

“Will do.” She paused before bringing up the topic he knew she would. “What about Jeremiah?”

“What about him?”

“You need to tell them.”

“One thing at a time, Mary.”

“But-“

“First we find Kate and Ju.” He swallowed. They had to find Ju.

They had to.

-o-o-o-

Stepping onto a new world was never as grand as it appeared. Hell, landing on Mars for the first time had been a trip over his own toes’ moment.

Stepping onto Callisto was no different.

It was Scott who grabbed him before he could flip head over heels across the gantry. Changes in gravity always took time to get used to and less than twenty-four hours ago, it had been Earth oppressive.

Callisto gravity was a relief…if a little disorientating.

His eldest’s strong grip wrapped around his arm and held tight. Jeff looked over at Scott and was pinned with such worried bright blue eyes that his heart clenched.

All the tension, the argument, the resistance to his presence on this mission boiled down to the emotion in those eyes.

Love.

And fear.

Scott was terrified.

Jeff did it without thought or care for what anyone would think. He grabbed his son and yanked him into a hug, holding him close. The squawk across comms and the scrape of their helmets against each other did nothing to stop him.

“I’m sorry, son.”

“Uh...”

Scott’s arms wrapped around him, ever so hesitantly.

That hesitation hurt almost as much.

He clung that much tighter.

“Dad?” It was breathless.

He clung a second longer, but… Yes...right.

It was a moment stolen.

Because they were on a mission.

Jeff let Scott go.

His son pulled away slowly, not quite fully releasing him, and again those blue eyes were fixated on him in worry.

So much worry.

“You okay, Dad?”

Jeff straightened with more ease than he had managed in a long time and became aware of all the other eyes on him.

The ever-present echoes of Lucille’s beautiful brown eyes were assessing him. That was a given. But another two pairs of blue and a frowning fishy amber had him targeted as well.

He looked at each of them before turning back to the massive cavern around them. A mix of rock wall, structural support and storage, the docking cavern was lit with strong lighting, the red of Three reflecting on patches of frozen water embedded in the walls.

They were standing on a walkway that had been extended out to Three’s hatch. It was obviously of variable height and length and Jeff couldn’t help but admire the design.

He wondered who was responsible.

He wondered if it was Kate.

Her green eyes smiled at him at the back of his mind.

His lips pressed together as his sons and brother-in-law continued to shoot concerned expressions in his direction.

A breath.

“Let’s do this.” And he led them out and into Callisto Base.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Alan Tracy #Jeff Tracy #John Tracy #the mechanic #callisto #Gordon Tracy

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising

Chapters: 77/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary: Buridag begins!

Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.

Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.

So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.

Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.

You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.

They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.

Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.

There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.

You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.

He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.

“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.

“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”

Warmth rushed to your face.

“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”

“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”

You took a deep breath.

“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”

The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.

“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”

“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”

“ Like with the Huldra.”

“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”

“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.

“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.

“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”

“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”

“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”

“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”

Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”

“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”

“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.

“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”

******

Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.

There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.

Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.

Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.

The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.

After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.

That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.

You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.

You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.

As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.

Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.

While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.

Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'

You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.

As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.

There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.

You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.

That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.

Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.

The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.

It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.

Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.

The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.

Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.

“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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matchasparrow · 3 years

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Exploration of a Maglor AU - part 3 - On Doriath and the fate of the Silmarils

Part 1 Part 2

Now the important question - the first kinslaying - what happens?

Dior has a Silmaril, her brothers need the Silmaril.

Maedhros sends letters after letters, asking, explaining, apologising.

There is no reply, no other answer than Dorinthian pride.

Maglor goes. She travels through the dense forests and spell woven woods, through wildlands and settlements of Nandors alone. Her sole company being the memory of Aredhel speaking to her.

She stands before the proud lords and ladies or Doriath, before beautiful Dior, and sings as Luthien sang before Mandos. She pours her grief and guilt and the darkness that is the doom. Sings of a future, free of blood oaths and darkness and hateful fueds. There were few dry eyes in the audience. But Dior still sits, eyes sombre but unglistening on Thingol’s throne. Even her voice does not have the power to erase the sins of the Noldor in the eyes of Luthien’s son.

She kneels. Both knees on the ground. Scarlet dress stained with mud spread out on pristine white marble floor. Voice still carrying the lingering notes of the song.

“Please. Give me a chance to make this right. “ she pleaded, tears flowing unabashed.

A heavy pause. They look into each other’s eyes, hooked and searching.

Dior waveringly stood, and treaded towards her. He bent down and delicately took the starlit gem from around his neck and dropped it into her palms.

“Then make it right.”

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

Or at least, that’s one version of the events.

In this version, Maglor collects the Silmarils. So how did Eonwe and the host of the Valar come to middle earth without Earendil and Elwing and the Silmaril? How did Earendil even meet Elwing?

The Silmaril leaves Doriath, Morgoth attacks. Doriath’s been vulnerable for years, and he wants revenge. The slaughter was merciless. Reinforcements poured in from Himring and the Pass of Aglon on Maedhros’ orders, but they were too late. Dior and Nimloth were dead, along with a fifth of the people in Doriath. Elwing survives, carried by her nursemaid and a horde of guards, they fled to Sirion along with the rest of their people. Elurin and Elured were missing. Taken by the enemy, perhaps. They hoped that they were dead. Weeks passed, and there were no taunts, no mock ransom from the enemy. And thereafter nothing were heard from the sons of Dior ever again.

(Perhaps, in the chaos of the invasion, the boys ran and ran, directionless and fearful, till they reached the dark lands of Nan Elmoch. There the boys clung unto each other, cold and famished in the abandoned, drowsy woods. They curled up under tall, unfamiliar trees as they breathed in air laced with heavy magic. - except - it was not wholly unfamiliar. They were the scions of Luthien, of Melian. And the life of the forest responded to these part Maian creatures. They unfolded their secrets to them - the sweet honey and rich purple fruits offered themselves up for their tastes, the low humming plants sang them to sleep at night, moss and vine stitched themselves up to be their blankets and cloaks. Leaves sheltered their way and white luminescent flowers bloomed for them, lighting their way to each other whenever they became separated. They were enchanted, and the enchanter. They loved these woods and the woods loved them. And together, they sunk to the bottom of the ocean as tall waves rolled over Beleriand.

Perhaps the trees again wove themselves into a net, warding the forest from the water, sealing themselves off from the world, and forever hence Elured and Elurin wandered the woods as princes of an Atlantis. )

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

Back to Maglor.

So there is a greater force this time since they were on heavy guard against an attack and reinforcements, though late, did arrive.

And the survivors were stronger, Sirion was a refugee camp, but it was also powerful - and now all the forces of middle earth were united, martyred by evil.

Maglor was a Feanorian. Her brothers felt no urge to snatch the Silmaril from her hands, so in turn, Maglor used the light of the Silmaril to help Sirion grow whenever she visited Sirion, which was often. The Feanorian forces defeated much of Morgoth’s forces when they attacked at Doriath, so Maglor could worry less about retribution and attack on their own forces, at least for the next few years - so Maglor, guilty about the sacrifice of Doriath, spent a lot of time with Elwing in Sirion, and almost helped raised her along with the courtiers and Celeborn and Galadriel.

Being at Sirion was an advantage in other ways too. It was at the crossroads of many lands and peoples, and a perfect place to perfect strategies and alliances.

Elros and Elrond are born. They adored Maglor with her stories and songs. And always they want more, more, more. Their hands always tugging on her dress and getting her to play catch with them on the beach.

---

They are stronger, but it is not enough.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful. The calm before the storm, the silence of a predator before he pounces.

Sirion and Himring and Nargothrond are attacked. They win. They lose more than a quarter of their people. Celegorm and Caranthir die. They cannot hold on much longer.

Idril and Tuor left, and they have not returned. Earendil sits at the docks every day, sometimes with his family. Elwing lace her fingers through his, but there is a disquiet and restlessness in his heart that she cannot understand.

Earendil sails. He comes back more tired and defeated every time. He cannot reach Valinor.

“He thinks he needs the Silmaril.” Elwing said to Maglor.

Maglor stands with her on the edge of the cliff, looking at the far horizon for lands that she has not seen in centuries. She sees nothing. She closes her eyes and searches within her bond with Nerdanel, and she feels nothing. This is the long defeat, and she will lose her brothers one by one, with or without the one Silmaril she has by her side. “I think so too.” she replied.

She gives the Silmaril to Earendil, and says nothing of it to her brothers. For all they know, the Silmaril is still with her. She could tell them, she suppose, what could they do to Earendil, far out at sea. But she is caught between lying to them, and betraying their trust in the worst way. She feels sick to the bones, as she answers them with cheerful letters from afar, casual to ease suspicion. “I’ll come to visit soon” She lied.

Could she tell Maedhros? Who’s now aloof and half-mad with grief? Curufin was the one brother she has never quite been able to control. They loved each other, despite everything - every fight, every hair pulled, every disappointed look - but Curufin would be the last person she would confess to. She could not bear looking into the ghost of her father’s face to tell him that she has given away his most prized creation (prized above his children, she’s sure) to the Sindar, all for a chance of bribing the Valar to their aid. A bitterness grows in her heart, and she cannot swallow it down. The Ambarrusa are good secret keepers, but she will not burden them ...with what? She asks herself. With the task of forgiving you? So you can feel absolved of your guilt? And feed your fantasy? The days without a reply or sign grew longer, and she began to despair.

---

Her brothers grow uneasy, something burns in their chest. They think it’s the other 2 Silmarils calling to them. “We must attack.” Curufin seethed at every opportunity, eager for revenge.

The time is indeed coming, Galadriel has sensed as much.

---

A new star appears in the night sky. And that’s when they knew. Hope and despair and fear jugged for space in her heart. But in the end she will not be conquered, she gathered her troops, checked the defenses, and prepared for attacks.

No letter of accusation and rage came from any of her brothers. No letters came at all. She writes to them, letters of confession and apologies and firm reasons. Still, there is no reply.

Finally, Maedhros writes a letter telling her to return to the gap, for they sensed an attack was imminent. It was signed “Regards, Maedhros Feanorian”

She goes.

The Ambarrussa dies. She never got to apologise to them face to face, nor hear their forgiveness. She would hold their hands again, hear them laugh, and run through the woods, free and unburdened, she resolved. She would not let them fade in the void. Curufin's empty eyes stare into her, and it burns her promise into her fea the way the oath burns into theirs.

---

The host from Valinor arrives.

They finally got the other 2 gems together, this time, she did not have to steal them.

Earendil descended from the night sky. He could not touch the ground, but there was no rule about her going up. The last 2 Feanorians stood on Vilgront and held the 3 Silmarils together for the first time in an Age. She feels no different, but Maedhros slump in relief. “We’re free’ he said, and he gave the Silmaril back to Earendil. “May your hope shine on middle earth and bring aid to all those who need it” He gave his blessings and turned to Maglor.

“Thank you, for eveything” and clasped her so tight she couldn’t breathe. She held him, wrapped her arms round his tall, slender frame and tried to picture that she’s embracing Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Amras and...father.

She cries, tears flow unabashedly and she’s just so happy that they’re free - free from darkness, free to start anew, free to go home.

---

They readied the ships back to Aman. One Silmaril they gifted to Earendil, one they gifted to Gil-galad and Elrond, to give aid and light to whoever is in need in middle earth, one they brought with them back to middle earth, as a symbol of victory and remembrance.

When they go back, their brothers and mother are waiting for them on the shore. This time, the Valar were merciful.

#i realise that this probably should have just been an no oath Maglor!Au #but happy ending #there are other endings of course #maybe i'll post the other stuff later #maglor #Maglor AU #fem!Maglor #Silmarillion #Feanorians #Elurin #Elured #Elwing #Elrond #Valar #The Oath #Earendil #Doriath

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sophiamargaux · 3 years

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖕𝖎𝖈𝖊

Hellooo! This is my very first fanfic post and I am incredibly nervous about it lol. I have always shipped Hinawa and Maki so here’s an ode to the HinaMaki ship :) I hope everyone will be respectful and know that you are allowed to ship whoever you want (as long as it doesn’t involve minors, incest, you know the rest).

BTW the story happened when they were both still in the military.

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The military is not for the soft – hearted. Its hard knuckle fights, intense violence of bombs, guns, and devastating destruction stemmed from a shallow and pointless war, is not for those with kind and gentle souls. Takehisa Hinawa only realized this truth a little too late before he joined the army. His motives? It was not worthy of an award – winning speech about being faithful to the country. It was not even an illustration of something as heroic as world peace, or to discover the cure for cancer or aids. Motives that most aspiring politicians or doctors would have. But for him, his motives are as blurry as his eyesight. Maybe the military was the only pillar he could rely on for stability or maybe it was merely because he is a second generation pyrokinetic user. Although he only found out about it when he first held a gun during a range practice in his first days in the military. Whatever his motive was, you can say it was tenacious since it made him stay in the army long enough to become a sergeant.

Hinawa was packing an overnight bag for a mission. The night was silent, and it was the customary time where most of the soldiers are already asleep. The mission was mildly dangerous since it required an assistance from two second generation pyrokinetic users, Hinawa being one-half of the assistance. The higher – ups could call someone from the Special Fire Force Department, but they are afraid that it might be all for naught and it would waste their precious time where they could have been protecting the people from infernals. They also reasoned that if an infernal did happen, the second-generation users will hopefully be able to handle the situation just in time for the Fire Force to arrive. But then again, Hinawa is starting to get used to these situations. Especially since he was recently paired with his partner for these kinds of missions. Hinawa and his partner did not have a great start when they were first paired for these types of missions. It certainly did not help that his partner was under his command as a sergeant. But with the aid of time, they started to work in sync with each other. Things would not have worked out if his friend Tojo did not convince him to offer some help to his partner.

“I’m all packed Sergeant!” A familiar voice rang through the open door.

Hinawa looked back and saw a young lady dressed in the same military gear and uniform as him standing straight by his door in a salute stance. Private Maki Oze, daughter of the commander of the Tokyo Army and the other half of the second-generation user assigned for the mission. His partner. To be honest, he was not exactly fond of her when she first joined in the army. During their first drills, she always came last and had no strength whatsoever. He often found her doing extra practice in training rooms, but he still thought all that effort was for nothing. She got in because she was a soon to be heir of the Tokyo Army, so it is safe to say that their partnership did not start off in the right foot. Maki did talk back to him once in a tone that he particularly did not like, and it ended with the whole section running fifty laps because of her. It did not end there. Maki had to run extra five laps and do fifty push – ups. He was not dubbed ‘Sergeant Hell’ by his comrades for nothing. Hinawa was always tough around them, but it was all for their sake. You needed to be hard and unbreakable for a job like this.

Maki specifically was a different story. Hinawa saw the determination and drive. Anyone can grow muscles and be physically strong but not everyone has the mental capacity of a fighter. But he saw that in her. It was not the same fire that he usually saw in other soldiers. It was brighter. It was like her flames were a loud voice in the dark. So, he decided to heed his friend’s advice and helped her. It took a lot of back – breaking drills and exhausting laps to dash the soldier out of her. No matter how much she improved, Hinawa still thought that he is right. She was not meant to be a soldier. Not with a kind heart like that.

Hinawa zipped his bag and walked over towards Maki, closing the door behind him. He sported his head cap.

“Let’s go,” he said, as they both started to make their way outside where a military truck awaits them.

“What’s the mission this time, Sergeant?” Maki asked.

“We were asked to assist Captain Daichi’s troops in their retrieval for military armor and gear from a burnt down building in the south.”

“So why are we needed?”

“They said there might be some bombs in the building that are still active. Just to be safe than sorry, I guess.”

The cold air greeted them when they made it outside. All they could hear was the deafening noise of the crickets and the soft slow rumble of the chilly air that occasionally passed by. If they both listened closely, some mild snoring could be heard from the military truck situated three feet away from them. The military looked peaceful during nighttime. The gloomy atmosphere of the moonlight shone an agenda of rest for the beaten down soldiers. The green light signaled a temporary respite to put down their armors and shields, offering sleep before a new day starts once again. Hinawa would have loved to wave the white flag of defeat and retire to his bed but for now, he needed to be a soldier.

Upon closer investigation of the military truck, Hinawa’s urge to rest grew further. The truck was an old, rundown shackle with a tarp that not only barely covered the last row but had terrible patch work which meant all the good and comfortable spots were already taken. Maybe it was some sort of universal punishment or maybe it just so happened that the other good military trucks were taken but whatever the reason was, Hinawa was too tired to even make a face of disagreement.

“I know, she’s not much to look at but get on.” The vice-captain who was in the driver’s seat bellowed brusquely.

Maki was first to climb on the truck then Hinawa followed. He looked at his other comrades and saw some of them sleeping while the others gingerly engaged in some late-night idle chatter. Hinawa was on the verge of making a bitter face towards the soldiers who first claimed the spots he deemed were nice and favorable but stopped himself before Maki noticed his sour disposition.

“I guess we should have packed and arrived earlier, huh,” Maki said as she sat down, disappointment lacing her tone, as if she just spoke out loud the exact thing that Hinawa was thinking about.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it.” Hinawa sat down, facing Maki on the opposite side. They were hardly being covered by the old, craggy, and uneven tarp in a somewhat crowdy vehicle, sitting at the very last row. The last row was not the most unfavorable of all places, Hinawa thought. The view could be amazing plus the breeze that you could feel while travelling felt refreshing but considering that it is the middle of the night and he had barely any rest, he was not looking forward to the cold air.

He felt a sudden jolt from the vehicle and after a few minutes the truck started moving towards their destination. Tokyo still looked busy and bright even at ungodly hours, Hinawa observed as he looked at the scenery behind the vehicle they were on. All he knew about the south is that the building was in the middle of a field, a couple miles away from civilization. He guessed that maybe it was to guard territory of the country, but he was not exactly sure. But he was positive that the fields of the south nurtured cows, goats, and other animals alike. If the mission went well, the captain might agree to stop by a nearby farm to gather raw ingredients for the army kitchen. He would not mind having the chance to enjoy rest time with farm animals. Besides, he did grow up in a small town.

Hinawa swarmed in his own thoughts when he felt the forces of fatigue and exhaustion pull him closer and closer to sleep. He crossed his arms close to his chest to combat the cold air. It was not long before Hinawa completely fell asleep.

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Hinawa felt the jostling of the vehicle and the gust of the cold morning air. He slowly opened his eyes to see the sight of his lap. It appeared that he had fallen asleep with his neck facing downwards, and slowly he started to feel the ache gathering at the base of his neck as he tried to look up. Still groggy and dazed from recently waking up from his slumber, he gazed up at the free sky and the rough edge of the tarp that seemed to be falling apart at the seams. The sky was a lovely pool of lilac, pink, and blue. It was dawn at its most beautiful, banned from the shadows and despair that came with nightfall. The horizon painted a muddy picture of black and white, ambiguity brewing anticipation of a stupendous day. But at last, the world was brand new once again.

He looked behind him and noticed that the scenery had changed. Instead of buildings, towers, and a mob of civilians, what beheld him was a beautiful landscape of the countryside. Rice fields, trees, and far-off sights of the forest. It would not be long until he started seeing the fields of the south. He eyed his comrades and noticed that they were still sleeping soundly. Must be nice to not be affected by the cold air, Hinawa judged bitterly. He peeked at Maki in front of him and observed that she too, was still sleeping soundly.

He felt a small tug of his lips at the sight of her small snoring, sleeping form. She had her head rested at her left shoulder and the top of her head was facing the hide of the truck. He could already predict the look of her pained face once the sore on her neck started to settle. It pained him to see her this way, because she looked so lovely, despite the military camouflage clothing and the armor geared with it. She had grown up to be daddy’s princess, and here, a decade and thousands of miles away from that life, here amid the threats of violence from Infernals’ dissolute and unlovely tasks of the army, here was Maki Oze, asleep, raven hair softly dancing with the wind, radiating a gentle glow.

Her eyes slightly wrinkled as the sun started catching up with the moving vehicle. Immediately, Hinawa removed his field cap and gently placed it on her head, careful not to wake her up. It changed everything somehow to see this new facet of her and to be aware of how eagerly she had sought to be a better fighter. It made going through the mission with her a dangerous endeavor. A strange shiver of devotion passed through him and then a corresponding swell of protectiveness. Not that Maki needed much protection.

Hinawa realized that he had been slightly smiling for quite some time, unaware of his blatant stare towards his sleeping comrade. Instantly he dropped his smile and shook his head to be rid of the intricate thoughts he had of his partner. Such fragile, tender thoughts could cause the beating heart to act on its own that might travel beyond logic. Hinawa had to remind himself of who he was and what he needed to be, a commanding officer.

The vehicle came to a halt to signal their arrival. Hinawa stood up and gently shook Maki’s shoulder. Maki still a tiny bit bewildered, woke up from her slumber and looked at the person who woke her.

“It’s time to get off.” Hinawa said, not making eye contact as he immediately went down first. Slowly getting to her senses, Maki realized that there was something on top of her head and upon instant inspection, she noticed that it was Hinawa’s field cap. Or at least it was what she assumed since the sergeant earlier appeared to not be wearing his field cap. She removed the cap from her head and looked inside to find the tag in it beholding the name Takehisa Hinawa. She felt smitten and grateful as she gazed at her walking partner, smiling at his kind gesture.

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The sun had a blinding glow. Its fiery rays cascaded down the fields of the south border. Soldiers from left to right were moving armors. Half – way through the mission, another military truck arrived to compensate for the number of objects they have retrieved. Maki looked at the ash and soot that covered the building with disdain and annoyance. It had been three hours of back – tiring, back and forth slavery, climbing up and down the burnt building, carrying the surviving heavy equipment, while staying alert for stray bombs, and Maki has had enough. She had been sweating profusely and her arms were starting to ache. She had experienced worse, and it mostly involved Sergeant Hell’s drills and punishments.

Three hours had also passed since Maki felt nothing but scorn and spite towards her partner. She knew all too well the merry feelings she experienced earlier were too good to be true for Hinawa was stricter than usual and Maki was getting a little irritated. To think that he bestowed her his field cap only to be treated this way. Maki was certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Hinawa had her whole respect, but he was treading the line between army disciplinary and blunt rudeness.

Maki grunted and carried the large metal bin, making her way back into the building before Hinawa reprimanded her again about her tardiness – even if it was only a minute, no worse, thirty seconds late. Ever since she woke up, Hinawa was… a touch different. It was not a complete three sixty-degree transformation to the point where he was unrecognizable. It was more like a switch was turned on and out came a side of him that she had never met. She should not interest herself in such mundane and small observations, but she could not help but wonder at the baroque changes that Hinawa was making. Hinawa appeared as his perfectly normal self to a random comrade at first sight, but Maki would digress. From the first hour of the mission, he had been barking orders at her with excessive intensity than the usual firm but authoritative tone. Lately, it was always Maki, walk faster! Or Maki, pay attention to where you are going! Not once did he even try to make eye contact with her. No matter how hard she tried to keep up to his orders it she was either a minute late or it was not done in the way he would want it to.

Maki quickly jogged upstairs to where Hinawa was waiting. When she arrived, he already had a pile of different machine guns waiting beside him. She stood up straight and demonstrated her best salute stance while hiding her desperate panting.

“You’re late.” Hinawa said bluntly as he grabbed the bin that she was holding. He promptly dropped the bin and started placing the machine guns inside one by one. Maki swiftly struck her tongue at him when he was not looking, like a little juvenile child.

“Are you helping or not?” Hinawa ordered in firm and harsh tone.

Maki jumped to her feet and started placing the machine guns into the bin as well, scared at the possible return of Sergeant Hell. The mission was already tough on its own, she did not wish to worsen the weight of her burdens. The work was not entirely silent since they could hear other troops outside handling their own retrieved armor. Maki found the background noise pleasant since she could not handle Hinawa’s aggressive aura.

“Why am I always deployed with you?” Hinawa sounded like he was thinking his thoughts out loud after a long time of silence between them. Maki would had given him the benefit of the doubt and assumed the start of his day did not go as great as hers, or he had received bad news, but Maki was not feeling kind after three hours of nothing but boorishness and acrimony from him.

“It’s because we make a good team, you dipshit.” She muttered in her lowest, tiniest voice, silently praying that Hinawa did not catch what she said. She looked up at him just in case, but Hinawa was already staring. Maki’s blood ran cold, and her fingers started to get clammy. It was the stare. It was the look that Hinawa would use that rendered the rest of her comrades meek, frozen, praying for their lives. His face did not contort in any way nor did his eyebrows crease downwards. His face was rather relaxed and devoid of any emotion, but everyone could feel his unwavering motive for severe discipline strongly.

“I-I’m very sorry Sergeant! That will never happen again!” Maki hurriedly stood up and saluted. Without pausing, she picked up the bin and hastily made her way down. The bin was heavy, but she was willing to make that sacrifice if it meant she did not have to witness the wrath of Sergeant Hell. Although, she was fully well- aware that she would face the consequences of her actions when they returned to Tokyo.

Hinawa was left a little bewildered at the sight of Maki scurrying away. He wondered why she would suddenly bolt with the bin knowing very well that it was heavy. He sighed in frustration. He withdrew his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose to release some tension that he had been feeling lately. Hinawa was not known to be someone who was led by their emotions, in fact it was the opposite. He couldn’t even make decent eye contact without getting flustered for remembering her sleeping face. Hinawa felt pathetic at his disposition. It did not help that she was wearing his field cap. He probably scared Maki away when all she ever did was try her best while he was being a pain in the ass. He put his glasses on and went down to catch up with Maki, in hopes of trying to patch the things that he did.

It was not long before Hinawa witnessed Maki dragging the bin with whatever strength she got left. When Maki noticed his presence, she immediately had her back straight and was about to apologize again when Hinawa stopped her.

“You shouldn’t have recklessly carried this all by yourself.” Hinawa said in a calmer tone. An inconspicuous apology. He held the underside of the bin on one side and ordered Maki to do the same on the other, their fingertips briskly making soft contact. In the count of three, they lifted the bin and carefully tread their way down, conscientious of each step they took.

Hinawa cleared his throat and thought of the perfect words to say.

“I apologize for the way I um… acted earlier.” Still struggling to make eye contact he kept his gaze onwards. He felt stupid for struggling over something so regular and casual. Something he was able to do almost every single day. He could even meet eyes with strangers. But Maki was no stranger. She moved past that title long before Hinawa realized it himself. Finally mustering enough grit, he looked at her direction and there she was, looking at him with her bright purple eyes, smiling.

“You’re a weird one, Sergeant,” she said, simply. In her usual sweet, cool tone. Her eyes returned forward and continued to walk in silence with him, her smile not dropping.

Hinawa did not want to overthink. He did not want to interrupt the soft mumbling of his heart. He had been too hard – like granite, that something as soft as Maki made him feel ominous towards all things that are delicate and gentle. He did not want to think of what will become of him in the future when the comfort that she gives, became too serene that he would no longer look for peace in anything or anyone else, but her. But that was for future worries. Hinawa knew that the slope he treaded on was precarious, but for once he wanted to bask in the small joy that he found in this old, burnt, and retired building. When they finally made it outside, it was then that he realized the warm smile he wore the whole way down.

Maki stretched her back and groaned at the pain that came with it. She adjusted her cap and looked at the building. Is that all? She thought hopefully.

A sudden loud boom answered her question. The bellowing noise echoed from the top of the building. Large debris sputtered out with ashes and soot, as the soldiers ducked and took cover. Hinawa looked around, checking for every soldier, hoping that all the troops were present outside, and none were harmed from the explosion.

Hinawa stood up and decided to go inside to check when he felt someone pull his uniform, crumbling to the ground, just in time when a large rock dropped in front of him.

“And to think that could’ve been you.” He heard a familiar voice by his side. Maki had a firm grip on the collar of his uniform and the other on the ground to support her upper body and his weight. Hinawa’s back was pressed against her chest as he lay in between her legs. They took cover when another wave of cinders approached.

Once everything settled, Hinawa stood up and helped Maki along with him. He took notice of the sight that was around him. Everyone seemed fine and no one looked harmed from the abrupt blast. The captain in charge quickly grabbed the megaphone and assured the troops. Orders were made. Everyone gathered around the center and checked. Hinawa could already tell the mission was going to be delayed for another day.

________________________________________________________________

The night was silent. Tents covered the area where soldiers rested after a long tiring labor. Thankfully, no one got hurt from the explosion, thanks to the great Sol’s mercy. Daylight resigned and made room for nightfall. The crescent moon that hung above the clouds were glistening with pride, silently saying good job for a well – spent day. The campfire placed in the center crackled softly as its tiny embers danced in the wind, its serene cacophony bringing peace to the sleeping soldiers.

Hinawa was sitting by the fire, polishing his guns. It was one of those days where sleep did not befall on him, causing him to gun at the blazing fire with thoughts at disarray. This happened once or twice in every two weeks ever since he joined the army. It was the one possibility he was aware of when he signed up. It did not dawn on him that another soldier also shared the same troubles.

Maki had always known that Hinawa had sleeping problems from time to time. It was a speculation she made on their first mission together and confirmed it when she once saw him strolling around the military campus late at night. She did not know why the information stuck with her. Maybe it was because she too, had difficulties with sleeping. Whenever restless nights occurred, the Sergeant would come to mind. The cynosure of her thoughts often sloped to Hinawa on whether he was awake as well. She did not know how this circuitous way of thinking started, but it was a guessing game that she very much enjoyed playing.

Maki got up and went out of her tent. She looked around and noticed Hinawa all alone by the campfire. Maki was right again.

She approached Hinawa with careful posture, hoping not to disturb his deep contemplation. Hinawa already seemed aware of the approaching footsteps, then glanced expectedly at Maki.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Hinawa questioned in a solemn voice while continuing to polish his guns.

“Why aren’t you?” Maki asked with the same solemnity.

“I can’t sleep.”

“It’s the same for me too.” She sat down beside him. Happily warming herself in silence.

Maki would not say it out loud, but she had always loved the silence between them. There was no tension, no awkward air, no rigidity. It was just him. His good old eccentric self. The gap amidst them, in vague estimation, was but a hand’s distance yet for Maki, it was more than enough.

“Thank you for earlier.” Hinawa stopped and turned to her.

Maki was a little surprised with his words of gratitude. It was not every day for her to receive a thank you from him, though still, she replied with a soft small nod. They spent more of their time together in gentle stillness, appreciating the campfire and its warmth. Maki observed his face in her own discreet manner. The mischievous shadows of the fire grazed his features. She suddenly got an idea.

“Sergeant, do you want to play a game?”

“Honestly, you and your games –.”

“This will be fun, I promise.” Maki looked at him with hopeful eyes, prying for a yes. It was late into midnight. Hinawa was tired, and it looked like Maki was in the mood to drop any form of formalities. He had been in this predicament more than once ever since he asked her to play a game of chess with him. From that day forth, she had gradually adapted into the habit of asking. Often a game of poker or go fish. It did not help that his fierce competitiveness would get the best of him. So whenever the chances arose, he’d give in.

Hinawa sighed in defeat.

“What is it this time? Poker?” He set aside his guns. Maki’s excitement increased after his agreement.

“I forgot to bring my deck of cards though. But I have an idea.” Maki’s arm reached out to touch the temple of his glasses. “May I?” She asked politely.

Hinawa tried to ignore the sensation of her fingertips on his face but instead eyed her in suspicion.

“What are you planning?” He asked defensively. When it came to his eyesight, he did not easily trust anybody.

“Don’t worry, I won’t run away with it. It’s a game called How far can Sergeant Hinawa see.” Maki looked skeptically happy for Hinawa’s liking. He raised his eyebrows at the absolute ridiculous made-up game she curated.

“And how is this exactly, fun for me?” He asked, reaching with careful ease to her out-stretched arm.

“You’ll get a chance to teach your subordinate about having bad eyesight? It is all for educational purposes!” Conviction laced her tone. “Well… at least it is for me.” She mumbled her words after, trying her best to convince him, but she knew she was not demonstrating conceivable reasons.

Hinawa stared at her pleading face and considered every possible outcome that could occur if he ever gave in. A bad feeling brewed from the very bottom of his guts, creeping up to his esophagus and felt himself enter an unknown territory.

Maki cowered under his gloomy stare. Her shyness slowly resurfaced like a bad itch, until Hinawa eventually agreed.

“Try to run away and I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” He threatened.

“Yes, sir.” Maki swallowed back her fear.

When Maki detached his glasses from his face, the once bright and brilliant sight of the campfire suddenly shifted to an orange blur. He squinted his eyes on impulse but to no avail. He still could not see. He heard a giggle from where Maki was seated and tried to look at her pointedly, but his eyesight was too cloudy that he could not decipher her face.

“What are you laughing at?” He tried to scold.

“I’m sorry Sergeant, but I can’t take you seriously when you squint like that.” Maki sought an apologetic tone, but she could not control those small fits of giggles that came out.

“If you’re going to laugh at me, I’m no longer playing this ga-”

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m starting.” Maki waved her hands around in compliance.

Maki scooted a few places away from him, not far but far enough that she became a filmy mess of colors in Hinawa’s eyes.

“Can you see me?” She asked earnestly, quietly, a small call amid the cackling of the campfire’s flames. Maki knew what she meant when she said those words, she promised no other message but the literal. And yet the chatoyance of her eyes and the comely warmth of her face begged to differ.

“No, you’re a blurry mess.” He said calmly, with a cool and collected composure that Maki was a little jealous.

So, he is nearsighted, Maki thought to herself. She scampered a little closer as the sound of her rustling clothes melded with the fire. She sat three steps away from him.

“How about now?” She asked once again. The tender beating of her heart elevated. Step by fragile step. A dangerous distance separated them.

“No.”

She moved closer. Two steps away. The sight of his face grew nearer. Her fast pulse teetered amidst a minefield, taking precise steps, yet fully anticipating the eventual fall, his succeeding notice. Nothing went past Hinawa’s strict observation, and yet, and yet! How his keen-eyed nature toppled in the face of sweet blatancy. Tension seized her deliberate advance. She mustered enough courage to ask once more, despite how her heart opposed.

“Can you see me now?”

“Maki, you have to move closer than that.”

It sounded like a small dare. A miniscule challenge to scoot closer, or so it seemed at first. Maki closed the chasm. Their bodies touched. And there it was, the fatal flaw. And suddenly his face was one breath away. She felt her heart tightened at the gnawing clarity in front of her. This was not the game she expected to play. The once dulcet juvenile idea was short – lived and it turned into a diaphanous duel of the heart. Regret dawned when her chest constricted, a great effervescent demise waited at the sight of his face only inches away.

If Maki had been brave enough, she would’ve taken another ghastly risk closer.

“How about now?” She inquired in a supple whisper, wordlessly urging him to say yes.

To her surprise, Hinawa drew his face closer to hers. Their noses nearly caressed. Her pulse drummed. Her heartbeat soared. The campfire’s amber glow resembled his orange eyes, brilliant like the shiny coppers and pennies in a treasure box, kindling a special flame of their own. She marveled in awe, staring deep into his copper pools.

Hinawa’s stare penetrated. Really looking at her. With enough fervor, passion, and blithe to ignite a golden unadulterated cinder.

“Now I see you.”

Maki knew with most certainty what Hinawa meant when he said those words. There was no code or hidden message. But across this labyrinth of newly planted confessions, burning novelties, and undecipherable sentiments, a fine piece of thread guided a way for Maki. And for a moment, her what-ifs exulcerated, paving fresh roads for more, knowing that she may be falling because just for a short second, she felt the whole world disappear. All she could see was the soft glimmer of his tangerine eyes.

Upon sudden realization of their proximity, Maki hastily moved her head and awkwardly laughed.

“Wow, Sergeant you have really bad eyesight.” Maki lightened the mood and placed his glasses back into his face. She shifted and moved herself away to create a tiny distance between them.

“You should have them checked.” She weakly added, her hands covering the reddening of her cheeks, completely avoiding his eyes.

“I already did but there’s nothing they can do about it.” Hinawa adjusted his glasses as he said so.

Maki cleared her throat and stood, feigning a yawn as she stretched her body.

“I’ll be going now Sergeant Hinawa, it was nice talking to you.” Maki respectfully bowed and quickly made her way to her tent. As she walked, she peeked him, hoping to find answers about the earlier endeavor. Maybe it was the night’s illusion or her sleep-deprived mind, but she could have sworn that his ears were a tinge pinker than ever before.

________________________________________________________________

Maki was lying in her tent, unable to fall asleep. She tossed and turned but nothing worked. For the past hour, her mind continually travelled to the glasses game that happened earlier. She wondered if she could ever face him again without being flustered. Hinawa must have been dense enough, right? There was no way he could’ve noticed, not when she had his glasses in hand.

But after her attempted conviction failed, she began to panic at the idea of Hinawa seeing through her façade. That her rose blush had been blatant enough for his blurry eyesight.

Maki groaned in frustration and turned to her side once more. Hinawa’s field cap occupied her vision. I must return this to him, she reminded herself. She took the cap and stared at the tag that held his name. Out of nowhere, Maki felt a smile budding. She had never been more confused in this predicament, and yet she had never been happier as well. Her feelings were still an unresolved puzzle towards Hinawa. She could not even begin to untangle her thoughts about him.

Maybe it was homesickness or a glitch in the mind. She could not care less either way, only a mellow delight seeped through the fabric of her confusion. Surely, one could never be in the wrong disposition when such odd joy triumphed.

And just like that, Maki fell asleep with a smile on her face that night. Whatever it was, whatever her heart whispered that evening, she’d had enough time to worry later. It can wait till then.

#my fic #my ships #fire force #hinawa x maki #maki oze #takehisa hinawa #hinamaki #they're so precious #slow burn #i hope more people will like them lol #i had to write this

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

The Bounty Hunter - 3

The abandoned mine was Barkov's consistent trading area for water and Alex decided to give it a visit. What would they discover inside?

Series Masterlist

Part 3

The blistering heat of the sun was already permeating through Alex's clothes. The flannel was admittedly suitable for warm weather, but this kind of intense heat was already too much that he already took off his vest.

Soap was already a few meters ahead of him when he decided to stop and grab his flask of water, gulping it down thirstily as excess drops trickled all over his chin down to his neck until it dried out just by his chest.

"Haaaah. This heat is killing me!" He sighed as the refreshing liquid cooled his system.

"Hey! We're almost there!" Soap waved from afar, his deep tone was barely audible in the vast plains, but Alex kind of got the idea.

"Wait up!" He yelled as he let his horse gallop through the gap between them as Soap stopped for a drink. No wonder Barkov liked the abandoned mine as a pick up point, it was so far from civilization that no one would ever waste their time going there.

"Of all the days we decide to go there, It's gotta be the one with zero clouds." Soap complained as they slowly galloped through the empty field, the only thing present was a few cactuses, tumbleweeds and a small bit of the mine they're supposed to go to.

"Is it that one?" Alex asked, squinting as he was pointing at the little dot over the horizon. Soap nodded and turned to him.

"Aye. Looks a wee bit far, eh? That's the top of the mountain. The entrance is quite near." He assured as his horse neighed and they trotted faster.

"Okay, lead the way then." Alex muttered.

"So, you and Kate?" John asked. Alex found a hint of hesitation in his voice, like he wanted to know what's up but he also doesn't want to hear the news.

"We uh… " Alex pondered. He was treading on thin ice here, considering John was her childhood and only friend, and him getting in the way between them was getting awkward. However, John's easy denial earlier hinted to the bounty hunter that there was still doubt, hope and lingering feelings. Not that this mattered at the moment, but to piss John off meant losing his guide home.

"... we're figuring things out. Everything happened in a flash. It's not that things could escalate-" Alex muttered only to be met by John's palm.

"Shh.." He whispered as they trotted across the mine entrance. John stepped down from his horse and stared at the horses near the cave.

"We've got company. And it's not good." John immediately stepped back and rode his horse, urging the mammal to move away from the mines as fast as possible.

"Hey hey hey! What's wrong?!" Alex quickly followed as John found himself a hiding spot by the rocks.

"Karim and her partner's in there. Probably mapping out the whole place. I can't afford to be seen helping you out." he whispered as he peeked once more, pulling the horse down within visible range.

"It's a dead end anyway. You can't explore with her around. She'll never let you in." John added. Alex quickly got down his horse and gave John a quick pep talk.

"Look, if Karim claims to be a bounty hunter she'll accept help. Especially that she's after the most notorious of them all. Trust me. Now tie down that horse and guide me within the mines. I'll take care of you when she asks." John looked up and stared at Alex's eyes. He'd been good at detecting liars as some of the bar customers exhibit such tactics to get free drinks, but what Alex was exhibiting was pure genuinity.

"Fine. I've only been here once. Let's hope nothing has changed since I last got here." He got up and tightened his pants, pulling his horse by the reins and tied it to the fence.

"Got a light?" Alex asked as he pulled a lantern off of his horse's bag, allowing John to spark up his lighter to ignite the flame.

"I'll stay near." He handed the lantern to the bartender as they navigated the dark mines.

Hot dry air encircled the duo as they pressed deeper into the cave. The only sound was their footprints along with the occasional drops of water from the ceiling. So far, the route only offered a straight path, slowly descending into the deeper part of the cave network.

"This is the most absurd place to trade water." Alex muttered, his voice echoed across the tunnel.

"Who's there?!" A distinct female voice with an accent roared, followed by the echoes of what sounded like guns clicking.

"It's me John from the bar!" He yelled, his hands easily raised to surrender despite not seeing Farah or any light source ahead of him.

"What are you doing here?" A male voice followed. Alex raised an eyebrow, questioning the presence of Karim's partner.

"He's taking me on a tour." Alex declared, defending John from the threatening male voice.

"I half expected I'd see you here, Alex." Farah said as she invited them into their location. John led the way to a small opening leading to an open area where light peeked through a huge crack by the mountain, revealing a huge functioning train track with trolleys already ready for the next drop.

"Whoever's dealing with Barkov is ready. These trolleys weren't here yesterday." The male partner informed them as they approached the area to investigate.

"Gaz, this is Alex. He's also after Barkov." Farah introduced as the men had a staring contest which ended with a nod. Gaz and Alex acknowledged the competition and decided that being selfish isn't going to be of any help.

"Nice to meet you." Alex greeted him.

"You too." Gaz replied with his arms crossed.

"Where does it lead?" Alex asked as he kicked the wheels, testing its capability to move.

"Tracks split into two different cave networks. The other one led deeper into the mine while the other one led to the worker's quarters." Gaz informed, pointing to the two entrances not far from the beginning of the tracks.

"We already explored the quarters yesterday and it turned out empty. If you want to see it for yourself, go ahead. We'll be investigating the other route." Gaz and Farah paced to the other entrance leaving Alex and John behind.

"What's your call?" John looked at Alex with an expression of relief, wondering how Farah let this man work with her.

"Let's check out the quarters." Alex muttered as they made their way to the other side of the fork on the road.

Not too far from the entrance, the track ends on a wall in the middle of a huge room that once housed tired miners. Rusty lockers, broken tables and ripped hammocks surrounded the area as John illuminated it with their lantern.

"I'm no investigator but I see no sense creating train tracks here so close to the start." He muttered, checking out some items sprawled around the room. Alex just stared at the huge wall pondering about John's initial thoughts. Something the two of them noticed upon entry.

"Well, I guess my trail ends here. Let's head home." He muttered, exiting the scene as John quickly followed him back.

"What about the other route?" John asked, catching up to him.

"Not worth checking." He dismissed, silencing the curious man.

"Well, if that's the case then… is it safe to assume you wasted your time here?" John asked.

"Not really. What's important is that they're still using this route this month." Alex mounted on his horse as they both went back to town.

"This meal tastes delicious, Kate!" John exclaimed as he chewed happily on his meal. Once they got back, Kate invited them over for lunch, something that the two needed.

Alex eyed Kate and nodded as Kate smiled at the thought of it.

"I haven't prepared a meal for others in quite a while. I'm glad I still had it in me." She shyly commented as the two clearly appreciated her meal.

"So, what did you find out there? Guessing from the pace of your eating, you had a tough time?" She asked.

"Well the weather was particularly hot today, so that basically burned us out." Alex replied, downing a glass of water.

"Did Isabelle treat you well?" She asked with a smile. Alex could clearly see something forming once again between them and he was truly convinced that this was more than just basic attraction.

"Yeah. She's a good horse. Never made a problem for me." Alex chuckled as Kate hovered her hand against his.

"Good." she smiled as their eyes met. He was slightly worried that John would feel odd about this, but he trusted his words were genuine. His words saying that he could never go to her as more than a friend.

"Thanks for lunch, Kate. Delicious as always. I've got to get some sleep now. I've been awake for almost a whole day." he chuckled as he grabbed his hat and left the kitchen, leaving the two alone.

"So… what's next for the cowboy?" She purred, as her hands tightened against his. Alex quickly reciprocated as their hands intertwined with one another.

"A bath and a nap… and maybe something along the way?" he raised an eyebrow as a wide suggestive grin flashed on his face.

"I like how you think." She smiled as she slowly straddled on his lap and reached out for a kiss.

The rest of the day went by and by the time Alex woke up, it was already midnight. Kate was sound asleep beside him and a quick peek at the window revealed to him a person guarding the tower. He thought about the abandoned mine, the night raids and Barkov. Something didn't make any sense. A town raid where nothing gets stolen. And these townspeople just let this thing happen? It just didn't make sense.

So, he dressed up and went to the most sensible place to ponder.

"Welcome to the Saloon 141. Can I get you anything?" Soap greeted as Alex pushed the double doors and sat on the bar.

"The usual." He muttered as Soap expertly brewed his drink and set it in front of him.

"Barkov's resupply is almost near. Any final preparations?" Soap whispered as Alex gulped a shot and asked for another.

"I have a feeling he won't do it this time. The mine looked like a trap." He muttered as Soap frowned.

"You think Barkov knew?" His voice was shaky. No doubt he was afraid that somehow Barkov would track him down.

"One way or another, yeah."

"What about Farah and Gaz? Why didn't you warn them?"

"They knew it. That's why they let us in. The only thing they can do there is look for evidence." he muttered as he downed another shot.

"So the elusive one escaped again…" he sighed.

"I've had enough of these raids man, I just wanted to sleep peacefully." John added, groaning in frustration.

"Speaking of raids… when was the last?" Alex asked.

"A few months ago… The sheriff actually captured one of the members. They're from another town. The captured man was promised protection if he joined the cause."

"And I assume that cause is unknown."

"Aye. Sheriff Price tried everything to let the guy talk but this one was a blind follower. He had nowhere to go, that's why he joined. It's some sort of cult thing."

"A raid without anything stolen…" Alex scratched his chin.

"Maybe they're stealing people? Because we hide when they arrive, so they have no one to steal?" Soap suggested. It made sense, maybe the raids are just ways to recruit people to join a cause. That's one way to recruit, by force. Especially when you have no resources like money to make them commit.

"That's a good idea." Alex said as he placed his payment and bid his bartender friend goodbye.

As soon as the sun rose up, the whole town was greeted by a corpse sprawled in the middle of the road. As soon as Alex got there, the Sheriff had already investigated the scene and held John for an interview.

Rumors quickly spread that this was John's friend from another town, the one that works for someone that deals water to Barkov. The murmurs also revealed a note drawn in blood saying "Not today, Bounty Hunter." Which the whole town assumed to be Farah and Gaz.

They left them alone back on the mines yesterday and he hadn't heard from them since. He quickly dashed back to his inn and asked Kate for permission to borrow her horse.

"Kate, can I borrow Isabelle for a while?" He quickly got up to Kate, who was already dressed and carrying a bag.

"Are you going to the mines? I'll come with you." She said. Alex had a lot of questions going on in his mind but the urgency of the matter made him dismiss it.

"Okay. But-" He asked.

"Sheriff Price radioed me. Farah and Gaz might be in danger."

Part 3 - The Mines, Gaz and Barkov's message

#alex echo 3 1 #john soap mactavish #john price #farah karim #kyle gaz garrick #thebountyhunter #horrayfic

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petra-realsnk · 3 years

Text

Rivetra fanfic (divergence au)

Hi guys! Here’s the third chapter of Digging up a grave. As I’ve said before, this and the next one were meant to be the same, but the end result was quite long, so I’ve decided to split it. I’ll post the fourth today as well. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: sadness, mourning.

You can also read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29610360/chapters/73198356

Digging up a grave (Chapter 3)

Two weeks after being resurrected, Petra tries to cope with the loss of her teammates, while also adjusting to her new life. Just as he promised, Levi will accompany her to visit her father, who now thinks her daughter pretended to be dead for a secret mission. During lunch, he brings up the subject of that letter…

Between lines

Two weeks have passed since Petra returned. Thenceforth, she had come under the protection of the army, having to put aside her former duties as a soldier until they could find some answers. Nevertheless, she had insisted on making herself useful, and had been helping with the maintenance of the barracks. After all, she was one of the few people capable of meeting the captain's standards of cleanliness…

Petra had had time to mourn her companions, and to let the missed events sink on her. Many mornings she woke up with red eyes and a puffy face, ignoring the sour looks of the recruits who suspected her. Some of them had learned her story, and couldn't help but wonder, after losing many friends, why she had been allowed to return. Something she has been wondering as well…

Most soldiers were incredibly busy at that time, having to give many explanations after the truth of their world had been unveiled, so she found herself alone in most of the rooms, except for a couple guards that followed her around. As she worked, her mind wandered to other dark corners. Every little task made her think of her squad, who were no longer there to help nor bother. All those things they had done in company, she did now alone.

Levi had also found himself doing things on his own since that day. He stopped drinking tea for a while after the blow, to eventually go back to making it for himself. Accustomed to his solitude, he felt surprised to find Petra in the kitchen reaching for the kettle at dawn. He'd been acting on automatic that morning, and had to remind himself again that she was there, the same way he'd spent months waking up to tell himself otherwise. He was glad to see that she was better. They hadn’t seen each other since their talk in the dungeons, which now seemed so ethereal in his memory.

“Good morning there.” His words made Petra wince, for her mind had been somewhere else.

She was kneeling in front of the low cabinets, and returned his salute without hardly looking at him. It was obvious that she had been sleeping little and crying a lot. She had always been very receptive to her surroundings, but now her figure gave off an air of decay.

“I can do it myself”, he told her. Levi didn’t want to stick his nose in her business, plus surprising someone in their emotions always made him feel awkward.

"Don't worry it's fine. I'll bring it to you in a minute." She recollected herself quickly.

Levi watched her silently, as he approached to help her pick things up.

“Would you have a cup with me?” He asked, appreciating the moment he believed he could never live again.

“Sure.” She replied sweetly, slowly coming back from her saddened mind.

They drank their tea in an awkward silence, but Petra knew it was better that way, for he hated small talk even more.

“I'm sorry you had to be doing this alone.” She suddenly told him. “I’ve been doing everything alone myself lately… It sucks.”

She hadn’t realized how much she needed to talk with someone until that moment, and she really wanted it to be him on the other side.

“I still carry them on everything I do. That’s one way to deal with it.” He told her, knowing perfectly well what she was going through. His words brought some warmth to her, as she decided to follow his example once more.

“Captain. I’ve been locked in here for days, and I can barely take it like this. I need to do something else.”

“I’ve already told you what’s your position right now. Stop asking.” He needed to cut her off. Fighting or not, she was still a soldier under his command, and he couldn’t have her breaking down.

“Can I see my father then?” She asked, slightly defiant.

In normal circumstances, he would’ve grabbed her by the collar for that, but he had a soft spot for her, plus she couldn’t be blamed for whatever mindfuckery she was going through after everything.

“If you’re ready by mid day, I’ll ask Hange.”

After hearing his reply, she felt wrong for reacting like that. She didn't know what was going on with her, but there was something different... She was having a hard time keeping herself together.

“I’m sorry for… I’ll be ready by then.” She replied. Then, without losing a second, she got up and went to her dorm. Levi watched her leave, without knowing how to help her. She even had problems vocabulazing herself...

Petra tried to sleep for a couple more hours before showering and getting ready to go home. She felt joyful for for the first time in days, thinking that she might be able to take a piece of her previous life back for at least a few hours, plus Levi would be accompanying her, wasn’t this everything she had wished for before?

Once she came out of the shower, someone knocked her door. She covered herself quickly and went to open. Petra was surprised to find it was Levi, who seemed to be already dressed up for the occasion. He wore a formal but simple black suit, with his characteristic white shirt and neckerchief.

“Oh! Hello, captain, isn’t it a little bit early?”

“I’ve brought you this. We gave all your stuff back to your father, and it will be suspicious for you to not have any street clothes of your own. “

He handed her a paper bag that contained a dress quite similar to those she always used to wear when off duty. Petra had picked his clothes back then a couple times, but she was surprised to see him nail her style that nicely. “He really has an eye for detail”, she thought.

“There’s also a letter with some scheme Hange and I came with, you should memorize it.” He felt bad for having to ask her to lie to his poor father, but she seemed too entertained with that dress to care.

“Oh! I’ll take a look at this”, she said, taking the envelope, “though I must advise you, it’s better to keep quiet in front of him. He’s too good at reading between the lines…” She always sounded more cheerful whenever she talked about him.

Levi’s mind couldn't help but to remember the first time he approached him. “I wanted to discuss something with you before she sees me”, he had told him, “she said she wanted to devote herself to you, even though that’s her pride talking… as her father-”

“Thank you, Captain Levi. I’ll be ready as soon as possible.” Her words brought him back from that flashback as she closed the door in front of him. This time she seemed more excited, and her mood had improved quite a lot from that talk they had in the morning. Levi went back to work, still thinking about what her father could have read between the lines of that letter.

xxxxxxxx

About an hour later, Levi was standing on the same spot. Petra’s door opened before he could even knock, and she stepped outside to meet him. She looked much more fresh after gaining some sleep, and the femenine cut of her dress did wonders to her figure. For some, it would’ve been hard to envision such a “girly girl” as one of the fiercest soldiers the legion has ever had. For some others, that contrast was exactly what made her seem so versatile and fascinating, Levi within them. It’s important to remark that it wasn’t just a matter of appearance, as her personality could easily meet both extremes as well.

They started walking together, and left the building using a discrete back entrance, to get as little attention as possible. Underneath, a carriage was waiting for them.

“We have communicated your return beforehand to him, we don’t want your dad to have a heart attack before you’re even able to talk. Have you memorized our version of events?” Levi asked about halfway through their journey.

Petra nodded. “It’s quite hard to believe, but I guess the truth it’s even less believable.”

They didn’t want the enemy to find out that easily that they had found the lost titan, so they wouldn’t leak the true information outside some trusted circles of the army. They have told the rest that Petra had gone undercover in a mission they could not disclassify yet, and that they had used the death of Levi’s squad to erase her as well. In order to protect her and her father, they had had to lie to him as well. They also included some minor details in order to make it more believable, although it was advised to not give much away. It wasn’t difficult to let it slip, considering that most of the soldiers who had seen her body back then were trusted individuals or already dead…

They both stared at their scripts as they made their way through the fields. Soon enough, Petra got distracted by the familiar view of her land. Her father had a small farm he used for his own supply and some sales. Levi watched as her face brightened, finally kissed by the outside sun. She suddenly turned to look at him with a big smile and said:

“I’m glad to be coming back, and I’m really happy that you’re joining me, captain.”

Levi couldn’t have imagined how much she had dreamed of introducing him to her father, or inviting him to dinner back then, but he thought it was kind of sweet for her to say that.

She kept looking outside the window with a tender smile. Although the sky was gray, the field looked incredibly green, and a couple of houses could be seen in the distance. She had walked that road so many times… At one side of it, Petra’s house started to appear on the horizon, and she saw the figure of a man running towards them. Levi quickly catched the change in her expression, but it was too late. Petra opened the door of the carriage and jumped out while it was still moving.

“OI, PETRA!” He screamed as he jumped behind her.

When he hit the ground, he saw her running towards his father, who was already starting to lose his breath. He stayed still next to the carriage that had already stopped by then, and told the driver to leave. From afar, Levi saw Petra hug her father who seemed just as nervous as the first time he saw him. He started walking slowly towards them, noticing that they were both crying. He decided to remain just as far enough to listen without interrupting.

“My girl! my girl I can’t believe it… You don’t know it, everyday… everyday I’ve missed you so much!” He batherly could keep himself standing between his daughter’s arms as he cried inconsolably.

“I’m so so sorry papa, but you couldn’t know… I couldn’t let anything happen to you. I am so sorry. I am fine…”

Levi felt displaced as he watched them. It was obvious that the two had a bond he had never been able to experience.

“Look papa, I’ve come with captain Levi, he’s in charge of my safety for the day… He offered himself to bring me home.”

“Ah… Hello, captain… I remember him from that time yeah…” He had just realized Levi was there, and tried his best to welcome him despite being a mess of emotions.

“Hi.” Levi answered, visibly uncomfortable. He had always been awkward, but this time he really didn’t know how to react. When Petra died, he couldn’t mutter a single word while he tried to speak with him, it was someone else who had told him… All of these things he didn’t talk with Petra, who looked at him rather surprised to learn that they’ve met before.

“Ah… I- I didn’t know that!” She was unable to lie, but tried to seem chill about it, because she knew that her father was… well… prone to embarrass her, even when he bore the best of wills.

“I’ve been waiting for you since morning! I didn’t have much at home but I told the people of the village you were coming and they brought a lot of stuff! Oh Petra, they’re all crazy to see you…”

Petra's nerves shot up. “Dad! You weren’t supposed to tell anyone.” She looked at Levi fearing for his reaction.

“I- ugh… Yeah, but when they asked what happened, when they saw me… I couldn’t- ”

“Unbelievable. We’ll let this pass for now, but you need to understand you’re endangering her by revealing her location.” Levi cut him.

Petra’s father was visibly affected by his words.

“Don’t worry captain, I’m sure that If he talks with the people around here, they won’t say a word. These are all trustworthy people, and there aren’t much of us.” Petra tried to reassure him.

“You’re right! I will ask them as soon as possible, if your captain is okay…”

“Fine.” Levi said in defeat. There wasn’t much he could do given the situation.

“Please, come inside home!” He said without letting go of his daughter. “You too, captain Levi, I’ve been told about your mannerisms, and I can assure you that the house is spotless!”

Levi was surprised to find out how much information Petra had been delivering to her father, while her face started to burn bright red.

“Papa! Please, don’t say those things. I am sorry captain!” They turned around and started walking towards their place, as Petra keeped to reprimand her father in a lowerer tone for his comment.

The little farm was surely adorable, a place someone would imagine Petra coming from. The interior received a good amount of natural light, and as soon as they entered, a table full of food awaited for them. Levi kept following them a couple steps behind.

“Oh, kids, you better not do this to me never again… I’m already old, and you’ve managed to take more years of my life.” He said as he started to serve the table. “Please sit.”

“There’s no need papa, let me help you.” Petra said as she rushed into the kitchen.

Levi, once again, sat there feeling awkward. These kinds of reunions weren’t his thing at all, although it was nice to see them together once more. After bringing everything that was missing, they started to eat. Petra and his father talked effusively about whom in the village had brought each thing. As they conversated, Levi started to see how Petra slowly shifted into her more natural version. She sounded more youthful and sassy… The same version of her he always saw from afar whenever she was with her teammates. He thought it was nice to experience her like this, from up close, when she’s unbothered by his presence.

“Ah… excuse my manners, Levi.” Started Petra’s father after realizing they were alienating him. “I don’t think I’ve told you before, but my name is Elias.”

Levi still didn’t know how to include himself in the conversation, even after being addressed directly.

“Nice to meet you… I’m Levi Ackerman, although you seem to know a great deal about me already....”

Petra blushed at his remark, but she also was shocked to learn about that surname. It was the first time he gave away something like that.

“Oh! I thought you had another surname… Where are you from, Levi?”

“Papa, he doesn’t really like to talk about him. How about you better update me on that bet you made with uncle Ben?” Petra tried to help Levi there, but he didn’t care.

“I used to live underground. I didn’t have much left there when I joined the Survey Corps by petition of the previous commander.”

Petra’s eyes widened, she had never seen him talk about his past, and was moved to finally learn something about him. It was obvious that he felt he had some kind of debt with them, why else would he feel the need to answer?

“I see… It must have been hard for you. Although I am glad you found your way out and became Petra’s leader. From what she says… well… I think everyone at this point, your abilities are truly amazing, and you must be an exceptional leader if you’ve been able to inspire my girl like that.”

Petra felt her face burning again. “Dad, could you please don’t bring me up like that?…”

“Oh! But com’on, after that last letter you sent me, you left me truly worried. I even felt the need to discuss it with him…”

Petra’s blood fell into her feet, he had done what?

“Dad, have you actually...?” She asked him, terrified of his answer.

“Ah, yes… I’m sorry, Petra. I just wanted him to know, so you wouldn’t get hurt. You see... captain, that time I was concerned about her “devotion” to you.”

Levi began to feel uncomfortable once more, as he started to become the total center of the conversation.

“DAD.” Petra looked at him horrified, her face completely red. “I‘ve already told you one hundred times, I wanted to devote myself to humankind. That was my dream.” She continued, trying to downplay it.

“And you did! You even were chosen for his squad and that... mission… But you have to admit there was very little “humanity” and a lot of “Levi” in there… Well, there always was” Elias said, progressively lowering his tone.

Petra thought she was going to literally die, as Levi remained quiet on the other side of the table. She needed to find a way out of that conversation as soon as possible, but her father was, once again, faster.

“I didn’t want to lose you. That 's all… Ever since you joined the Survey Corps... You know how high the mortality is there. I always knew you were strong Petra, but I also wanted you to get a chance in life. Something, more… I prayed for you to come back every time. But suddenly, you started to talk about him. At the beginning it was a character more in the stories of your letters, but suddenly, he dragged you. All you wanted to do was to serve by his side, you were willing to die for him, and for a long time, Petra, I thought you did.”

Levi’s stoic expression began to crack.

“You’re my only child. The absolute light of my life, and I had to live with the thought of you being eaten alive every day. I wanted for you to get through that to then come home, and to finally be able to put it to rest. I never wanted to pressure you to lead a life you didn't want... But one day, you found out there your reason to live, and to die, and I couldn’t do anything... The way you talked about him… I knew you weren’t coming back.”

Petra’s eyes softened, visibly moved by her father’s words. She knew it must have been hard for him to endure, and, after all, he had guessed her feelings perfectly… At the same time, Levi was thinking back again about that day, when Elias approached him for the first time.

He had always known Petra to be kind, so he didn’t feel that he was an exception. He thought that she probably was able to read people’s feelings, and wanted to show them her understanding, just as she had done for so many comrades. It wasn't until that talk that he dared to think, for the first time, that she had loved him. With the passage of time, he started to think that pain had played a trick on him back then, and that it had only been the words of a concerned father, but now his suspicions resurrected.

“Back then…” Levi started. “Were you going to ask me to marry her?”

Petra turned his head violently towards her captain, who was now directly looking at her father. Elias lowered his gaze, not wanting to embarrass his daughter any further. Petra then got up, visibly frustrated at the two of them.

“I’m going to say this only once, so you both listen to me carefully.” She said with a fiery look on her eyes. “My personal feelings are not of your concern, you listen? I’m not letting an intimate confession come in the way of all my work, and my sacrifice.”

That last remark tingled Levi’s senses, he knew that was for him.

“Everything I did, I did as a soldier, as a companion, and as a friend. Nothing more. I don’t need for you to take responsibility for how I feel. If I want to believe in someone, then I will, and If I want to marry them, I can ask them myself.”

Both men sat in silence, as Petra took complete control over that conversation. Her words sounded strong and disciplined, once again demonstrating the incredible determination that she possessed, even when she was in such a vulnerable moment. Levi knew perfectly well that she was capable of taking charge of her feelings, after all, that had been one of the reasons he chose her in the first place.

“Good for me then, Petra.” He told her, respecting her decision to end the matter there.

“You’re right… Please forgive me.” Said Elias, shortly after.

“You guys should try this apple pie! Ilse’s sweets are always good.” Petra spoke once again, putting the best face she could to lighten the mood.

In a short time, the intensity of the atmosphere began to dissipate, leading to something more festive. The three of them struck up simpler conversations as the hours passed. Levi watched them surprisingly relaxed, thinking about how such a gloomy memory could have led to such a funny scene.

Once finished, Petra insisted on helping her father with some farm work. Levi knew the carriage would be picking them up shortly, but he decided to let it pass. When the driver arrived, he gestured for him to turn around, leaving Petra and Elias to enjoy a few more hours together. Later, he himself would accompany her on foot to the barracks.

The hours went by as Petra and her father happily shared their tasks. Elias had been the third person who had found himself doing things alone since that day... But right now, they had each other again. Levi decided to help them too, looking from afar the family that would’ve welcomed him.

#digging up a grave #petra ral #levi ackerman #rivetra #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levitra #rivapeto #rivetra fanfic #rivetra fanfiction

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leiainhoth · 3 years

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Work summary: For so long, Din fought the reality of giving the child up, giving him to the jetii and moving on. He had prepared for it, packed a bag and left it all behind, so his son could have the life he deserved. All until he didn't have to. Or the one where Luke rescues Grogu on Tython, and Din rescues Luke in return.

Chapter summary: Din, Luke and the others reach the outskirts of Mos Espa. Luke and Din have an important conversation about the future.

...

Several days passed.

The caravan continued its journey, making good time across the dunes and sand. The child has grown comfortable with this strange arrangement, often asking Luke through his powers to sit with him on his bantha, and something soft in Din's heart lurched at the sight. The baby looked so right in Luke's arms, babbling happily as they journeyed on. He couldn't help but watch, couldn't help but sink into the warmth Luke and the child exuded. And more than once, Vanth looked back, and Din hastily shifted his gaze, struggling to focus on the desert and possible exterior threats with Luke so near.

By sunset the next day, they were five kilometres from Mos Espa, the dim lights of the town stark against the long shadows of the desert. Their journey was nearing its end; Mos Eisley was two days away. Din hoped to broker a deal with the mechanic in Mos Eisley, find some guild work, perhaps. Make enough credits to secure a ship like the Crest and leave Tatooine for…what?

What was his destination?

Din shifted his feet in the sand, feeling distinctly unmoored. He hadn't given himself leave, intentionally or otherwise, to think beyond what was waiting for them at the end of their journey. It had seemed so far off, so irrelevant. Why focus on the future when the present was so much better? He knew Luke was going to leave; he knew it. Even if he didn't like it, he forced himself to move past it. Luke would leave, he had to leave, to Tython for his droid and his ship, and then…and then…

Din turned his head, dismissing the thought. Luke was still here, still warm and smiling behind him, asking after the child. Din let the baby spill into Luke's arms and shut his eyes tightly as Luke's hand squeezed his own. It was becoming more and more painful to bear, this closeness, this familiarity. Surely it had been years, decades since Din had let another in the way he did Luke. The warmth of Luke's hand, the broadness of his smile, the flop of golden hair in the desert air shocked the breath from Din's lungs, watching his jetii walk away with his son in his arms. He was growing attached— perhaps dangerously attached. Luke was leaving, he thought with a pain; best get used to it.

Din forced himself to look away and spoke to Vanth with intention about their plans in Mos Espa. It had already been agreed that the others would wait on the outskirts for Vanth, Luke, and Din to consult with Mos Espa's marshal before moving on. It shouldn't take longer than an hour, maybe two. The marshal was amiable, Vanth assured him, she would understand and make preparations. Din shared a nod with his companion, satisfied.

Din thought back to the night before when Luke had shared his hopes of contacting his sister, Leia, on Chandrila. It was a simple request, finding a commlink in town, and Din was eager to help; if only to spend more time with his jetii before he had to leave.

There was a scuffle behind him, and Din turned to see the smiling face of Grogu in Luke's arms; and Din watched with a pain as Luke smiled warmly, and then looked past him, over the ridge, towards the first semblance of civilization they'd seen in over a week. Knowing without a shadow of a doubt that when Luke left, he might never see him again.

Dinner was the same as it always was, stew with vegetables and bantha milk, and Din tried to bury himself in tasks, nonsensical things, to keep his hands busy and his mind blank. He couldn't bear thinking about it, about the rush of heat when Luke brushed past him, the way his ears listened carefully for Luke's voice. It was too much, too much. He couldn't bear it. So he led the bantha's to water, refilled the water skins. Waited until Luke settled before doing the same.

Din couldn't sleep.

The night was relatively young; the fire cracked in the distance, but his mind was full and his body unsettled. Din rolled over, his body weary, but his mind was wide awake. It must be late, it felt like he had lain there for hours, but he was curiously, annoyingly, unable to find rest. The baby slept on beside him, his little body soft against Din's belly.

He was calm, now, sleeping peacefully. Din turned his head, listening carefully for the quiet snores of Luke in the tent beside him, eager to rest with the familiar sounds of even breath, and was both startled and confused when silence met him there.

He was still dressed, leggings and trousers and tunic, and pulled his helmet on as an afterthought. The rest of his beskar'gam lined the edges of the tent, carefully polished and tended to from his anxious hands. He hadn't the space to give his armour the honour it deserved, and besides, the tent was for sleeping and nothing more. He pulled the child to his chest and left his bedroll with anxious thoughts cycling through his mind.

Perhaps he'd been up late talking; maybe he'd needed to go for a walk to clear his head. He wouldn't have been taken; surely Din would have heard. Had Luke even come to bed? Was he still out there, somewhere? Alone?

Din tried to steady his heart; there was an explanation, there had to be. Luke wouldn't escape into the night before telling someone, Din, surely. He'd've told Din if he was planning on leaving, wouldn't he?

Din turned around, his boots catching on the loose rocks as he searched desperately. Luke wasn't in the cave; he wasn't sitting beside A'Vor tending the fire. The flap of his tent was loose, the strings untied but not torn. The sand before his tent was undisturbed, footsteps leading downhill and away. Wherever Luke was, he had left willingly. He hadn't been captured. Din activated the heat-sensing software in his HUD, cycling through the settings until he saw the warm red footsteps of his companion intermixed with others. The boot print was unique, easy enough to follow. Din turned, the baby still in his arms, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to put on his vambraces before he left the tent in the middle of the night.

"Hey,"

If not for the baby, he'd've jumped a metre. Luke was below him, sitting cross-legged in the grasses. He looked calm and relaxed, wrapped in the blanket from his bedroll. Din let out a shaky breath, pulling the child close to him as he slipped down the embankment to sit beside him.

"I was looking for you," Din said after a minute, letting the baby readjust himself in Din's arms, his lips smacking contentedly before burrowing his little head on Din's neck.

"I know," Luke said softly, opening his eyes with a smile. "Your thoughts are loud,"

"So you've said," Din said, the ease of his posture belaying the harshness of his tone. He hadn't meant to be sarcastic, but the fear had been so real. He couldn't bear the thought…the very idea… Luke's absence had sparked something unkind and almost possessive in him. He didn't want his jetii to go, not where Din himself couldn't follow. Not where Din couldn't come, also.

For days, Din had watched, watched as Luke looked longingly off into the horizon as if everything he had ever wanted or desired was waiting for him there. Din had expected Luke to leave; what business had he to stay? Din had nothing to offer, no ship, no transport, no credits, surely. Everything he had to his name had been destroyed by the empire. And Luke wanted to leave; Din could see it in his eyes; blue, open, expectant of good things waiting for him.

Din had nothing; the child, undoubtedly, his pulse rifle, a blaster. Bolts and solar chargers in excess, the baby's clothes in a cloth bag. His possessions in and of themselves were little in comparison to his beskar'gam. But that wasn't the point, was it? Luke wanted to leave, and something in Din's heart would snap to see his jetii go.

"I came to watch the stars," Luke said by way of an explanation, laying back against a blanket. He looked so soft, Din thought with a brush of happiness, laying there with his head cradled in his palms. Din watched with a shudder in his breath as Luke let his legs fall, the turn of his ankle escaping the warmth of the blanket. Din knew that his jetii was lethal. The way he had wielded his jetii'kad, the strength behind his blows, it was clear to him and to anyone he met in the field of battle that he had mastered his craft. But it was different seeing him like this; he was wearing the clothes Vanth had given him, looking soft and comfortable bundled in blankets. He looked so young, so carefree, the crease Din wanted so dearly to brush away smoothed on between his eyebrows. The long line of him, the gentle rise of his collarbones, the sharp crease of his jaw, the soft light in his eyes…

Luke shifted, his body so soft in the moonlight. Din didn't mind when his little jetii spoke; it was one of the things that so endeared him to Din when they first met. There weren't many in his life who let their guard down like he did. It was one thing to speak of things long gone, of a home, a family that had been lost. It was another to speak fondly of the present, of things that were close to his heart. Din had smiled until his jaw ached as Luke spoke of his friends, his twin sister with her young son, her husband, the former smuggler. Chewbacca the Wookie, his droids, a pilot named Wedge Antilles. Luke had friends, lots of them. Surely more than Din had. But it wasn't just the companions that Luke spoke of, but the connection . He had friends who cared about him, waiting for him back home. Something in his tone made Din feel homesick for a home he had never known.

And after dinner, sitting in the fading light of day, Din let himself sink into Luke's stories, the tales of friendship and camaraderie and survival, knowing, all the while, that the warm feeling he felt when Luke was around was swelling with time. Growing, expanding, settling in as a comfortable sort of feeling. Not desperate or rushed, but soft; intentional. Quiet, like the feeling of Luke's hand in his and the baby in his arms, watching the suns set with peace settling like water in his heart.

Din tries to reciprocate, to share his life with his jetii , mindful that his stories didn't often have happy endings, and he found himself often prefacing his tales with notes on how his past is riddled with pain and injustice. He wished that he had more joy to offer. His jetii was life and light, the shining sun of day, and never before had Din felt more reflective, more morose, bouncing back the brightness Luke offers without restraint, without providing any in return. But all Luke ever did was nod, smile, thank him for his thoughts. And over time, it becomes easier to speak as Luke does, about his joys and sorrows and happy memories. About his mother, his father. His lost covert, all those he had loved and lost.

They often speak of the child, of the present. Din never thought he'd look forward to speaking to Luke this way, but once the day's work was finished and they sat together under the stars, thoughts spilled, and laughter was shared. They spoke of the endless combinations they tried with the same ingredients, the stew virtually unchanging and bland. They laughed over Laele's cluelessness to Cobb's affections, the softness in A'Vod's posture when he held his baby. Din teased Luke for the way he made caff, watery and bitter and full of grounds, and Din's heart leapt when Luke snorted, leaning his head against Din's shoulder. The child came up often, Grogu constantly flittering through Din and Luke's conversations. Worries if he was eating enough, happiness over his success, anxiety over a sunspot Din had found on the child's shoulder the night before. It felt nice, soothing. Almost as if it were a holiday and not a necessary journey. Din found himself relaxing more in Luke's presence than he had with another in years and smiled to himself with joy in his heart when his little jetii spoke, and they took the time to laugh together.

"Chandrila is too bright, so is Coruscant, and I spend most of my time there," Luke said quietly, leaning back against the sand. Din looked up, the stars pixilated and dim through his visor but tried to see what Luke saw, anyway. "I haven't seen this many stars in years ,"

"I like the view of them through the viewport," Din began, his voice soft in the cool light. "The way they rush past in hyperspace."

"Yes," Luke said, a smile on his lips. "I like that too."

They sat in the stillness, the sound of insects and soft wind hanging about them like stardust. It had been…years, probably longer, since Din had let himself relax this way. With Luke, Din didn't have to pretend to be still. He could relax, knowing that should the worst happen, he didn't have to fight alone. He didn't have to be the lone protector, the singular offence. Luke was there; he was capable and powerful and able. Willing, as strange as it was, to fight by his side with no qualms or fears.

"My parents told me about the stars," Din said softly, wrapping his arms around the baby. "When I was young, they spoke about the stories of our planet, there were many of them, and I was young when they died. I can't remember what was said…but I liked hearing my mother speak. She was soft-spoken; her skin smelt like cinnamon and star berries. She had—she had a headdress she wore on feast days, and her slippers were embroidered with flowers and birds."

"She sounds beautiful," Luke said, his voice gentle.

"Yes," Din said, his heart torn with the memory. "She was. Very beautiful,"

"Thank you for telling me," Luke said, letting his hand catch Din's, and he marvelled at the sensation, so much different without gloves between them. Luke's hand was warm, soft, his fingers delicate and long. Din looked over, and his heart softened, swelled, the feeling akin to light on his bare face, the joy when the child laughed, the contentment he felt after a good meal. It felt like…like…

Din wanted so desperately to say that he wasn't scrambling, but he was. Something deep inside him both wanted to bolt and to sink deeper, to let himself be uncomfortable and vulnerable; something that wanted to take Luke's hand and ask him to stay. It was inconsequential; where would Luke go? He was just as trapped as Din was on this journey of theirs, just as unable to leave or move forward alone. But that wasn't what Din meant, wasn't what he was thinking. He didn't want this journey to end. He didn't want to arrive in Mos Espa, didn't want to part ways in Mos Eisley. He wanted his jetii to stay. He wanted him to stay .

The lone Mandalorian, the man without a covert, without a ship, without a home, wherever he went, wherever he settled, he wanted Luke to come too. There was a part of him that was tied to this man, something warm and steady and not entirely his own. Something that would burn like the fire of a thousand suns if his jetii agreed to stand by his side. And perhaps for the first time in his life, Din wanted nothing more than to put his creed aside, to leave it be, to love this man fully and without reservation, to prove to him that this wasn't just feeling, it was purposeful. Chosen, circling closer and closer until they were one together.

The baby mewled in Din's arms. Luke turned to watch, and Din's breath caught; his jetii's eyes were filled to bursting with love and affection. He looked so comfortable, so settled. Almost as if Luke liked Din's presence almost as much as Din enjoyed his. The beskar of his cuirass was rigid, the plating and kute even more so; the baby must be cold. Din reached for the bantha-fur blanket, the soft thing that had slipped while Luke spoke and tucked it about the baby. It was brushed out and carefully made, gifted to him by Varre when their journey began. Din brushed a hand over the baby's belly, but Grogu was warm, the blue blanket and his many layers keeping him comfortable.

"I'm surprised he's still awake," Luke said softly, looking over at the baby with a gentle smile.

"He slept for a bit this afternoon," Din said, thinking back to the blanket he had secured over the child's saddlebag so he could sleep safely within it without baking in the suns heat. Grogu had slept for four hours and would be active for some time yet.

Luke sat up, reaching beneath him for the blanket he had wrapped around himself and pulled the corner past him, over Din's hips, his legs, his feet. The child snuggled closer in the warmth, and Din couldn't breathe. Luke was there; Luke was warm and soft, shifting against him. His legs tangled with Din's, his bare feet pressing into the loose fabric of Din's leggings. His breath was hot in Din's shoulder, his body tucked close, his hand resting on the child's back; it was so close .

"Is he speaking to you?" Din asked, taking a shuddering breath as Luke shifted closer.

"Yes," Luke said, laughing softly after a pause. "He thinks the bantha fur is itchy; it scratches his nose."

Din grinned, not that Luke or the baby could see, and wrapped the blue blanket closer about him in recompense. "It'll keep you warm, morut'yc. I know it's uncomfortable."

"I've never heard you say that word before," Luke said with a yawn, smiling into Din's shoulder.

"It—it means safe," Din said, not sure why he was hesitating. Mando'a was a dying language; Din himself knew very little, mostly nouns and adjectives. Words like gedet'ye, vor entye, yaim. Din remembered with a pain the day his elders had taught the ade of his covert the words they knew. Please, they said, repeating the word in Mando'a. Thank you, home, safe. Words referring a child to a parent, different names for food and drink. Honour, justice, mercy— the words that meant something to his covert were those that had survived. To Din, too. The words of a home he had never known seeped deep into his bones, impressing on him the importnce of remembering what had come before. Din wondered if he'd have anyone but the baby to teach them to. Wondered if there were any mando'ade left in the Outer Rim. His covert was lost, now. The way was maintained. The words he kept deep in his heart, the vow he made to his child, to his covert, to his buire the day he passed the trials on his thirteenth name day. He shared the language freely with Luke, in the knowledge that he'd hold them just as tightly as Din did.

"Safe," Luke said, rolling the Mando'a translation in his mouth. Din waited anxiously, a ball of something tight he didn't have a name for spinning in his belly. " Mo…mo roo…morut'yc,"

"Yes, that's it," Din said, letting his head tip to the side so he could see Luke full on. His mouth was soft, Din decided. Soft and pink and warm; Luke's face had relaxed, and the tightness Din had struggled to see all those nights ago in their house at Mos Pelgo faded from his memory. This Luke was wide with wonder, his eyes fixed on the stars, rolling the hard consonants of the word about in his mouth, grinning to himself when he said them correctly.

"Do you feel safe?"

Din almost regretting asking, regretting the upturn of Luke's eyebrows as he strayed from his quiet relaxation and thought deeply at Din's question. It was a foolish one; how safe could one feel camped out in the desert? How safe could Luke feel, stranded on a planet he wanted so desperately to leave, bound together with strangers and torn apart from his life? How safe could one feel laying so near to a man such as he?

Din hesitated, his body tensing and full of uncertainty, and the baby mewled softly, upset and confused at his father's balk.

Luke noticed, his eyebrows creasing together, reaching a hand between them to rest on the soft skin of Din's wrist. The touch was gentle, two delicate fingers resting on his pulse point, both polite and gently entreating. But it was almost too much. His bare skin hadn't been touched by another in decades . His body, his vessel was not his own; he was anonymous, one of many. To be a Mandalorian is to be inconsequential, and Din took a shuddering breath at the realization that if he wanted to, he could be safe here. If he let himself, Luke could make him feel safe.

"Yes," Luke said softly, his knee drawing in the sand as he sat up on an elbow. Luke looked between them at his fingers, turning his expression to meet Din's eyes through his visor. Never before had he wished to be visible, for others to see his face. What would Luke say if he was to see? Would Luke balk, feel uncomfortable? Would he like it? What he was, what he looked like beneath his armour? Din knew that it didn't matter; looks didn't matter. To be seen was to look deeply into another soul. Their runi, the very essence of who they were.

Would Luke want to? Would he mind? If he was partial, if he wanted to, kriff, the things Din would do. The things he wanted to do.

Din moved slowly, cupping the child gently in one hand as he leant forward, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath shaky and short; he closed his eyes and blinked them open, sure that he would see Luke hesitate. But he didn't; his eyes were the colour of the sky, bright and excited, and so close to his own. Din swallowed, not thinking straight as he gently rested his helmed forehead against Luke's.

Din could hear Luke's breath, his heartbeat; he could see the dilation of his pupils, the unsteadiness of his grip. Din buried his hands into Luke's hair and wished he could kiss his jetii in the way of his culture, wished for a moment that the Mandalorians didn't exist, the jetii didn't exist. That the universe had faded and fallen and all that remained was the three of them, bound together in this moment. Luke grinned, and Din shuddered as Luke's hand snaked behind him, resting on the nape of Din's neck, his fingers long and dancing as they tangled in his cowl.

Din felt his eyes flutter close, and then…just at the back of his mind, something warm, something different, something soft and bright pressing gently at the door of his consciousness. Din searched the feeling, surprised and overjoyed to discover it to be something new, something not coming from the baby. It felt older, more sure of itself; it felt like blue eyes and a dimpled smile, golden hair blowing in the breeze.

Luke

Din let out a breath, letting the presence in, letting Luke in, not anticipating the feeling of oneness his presence invited. With the child, it was communication, warmth, protection, a bond between a buir and their ad'ika. This was something different, something new. Luke was warmth and light, but the connection, Din could feel Luke's thoughts. He could feel the bubbling joy at this closeness, the contentment, the overwhelming feelings of safety, of comfort, of happiness. They were like seeds in the wind, flowing and dipping and fluttering here and there, and Din grinned, the feeling unrestrained and joyful. Happy, he made Luke happy.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this way before.

He had never… would never… this was unique . This was him and Luke; this was a feeling he wanted to rest in forever.

A gentle question danced at the edge of Luke's consciousness, and Din choked, his heart overflowing with happiness.

Yes, Din said again, tears flooding his eyes. Yes, yes.

Din wasn't sure how long he pressed against his jetii, against Luke with the child held between them. Wasn't sure how long he kissed him, the warmth of Luke's embrace so comfortable against him. It might've been minutes, hours. A thought danced on the edge of his consciousness, and Din swallowed with trepidation. He wanted to ask, wanted to know. When this journey drew to an end, what his future was going to be. He couldn't lose Luke, not now. Not after this.

If I asked, Din thought, blinking his eyes open, his eyes searching into Luke's. If I asked, would… would you stay?

Din could feel a bubbling spark of joy, a hum at the back of his mind, like Luke was amused, like he was endeared, and Din's heart was calmed even before he responded. Where else would I go but with you?

#found family #family bonding #dinluke #din djarin/luke skywalker #din djarin x luke skywalker #force sensitive din djarin #IJADIHIM-xXxVioletSkyxXx

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justimagineitblog · 4 years

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“You Used To Love Me” Michael Gray Fan Fiction - Chapter 8

A/N: OKAY YOU GUYS.... NEW CHARACTER ALERT.....

INTRODUCING: Charlie Hunnam - he fit the idea for this character perfectly so I decided to use his face and name for this new character x

Also lotsss of jealous Michael !!!!!!!!! I loved writing this chapter, it was so entertaining to bring in a new character and throw a spanner in the works. I hope you enjoy it xxx

“We’re going to a benefit event this weekend, for networking. They haven’t seen us show our faces for a long time, and I think it’s about time we do”

That’s what Tommy had announced yesterday at the meeting. Gina had clapped excitedly, exclaiming to Michael how she’d never been to an English ball before.

I, however, could not have been less enthusiastic. Up until now I have not had to deal much with Gina and Michael as a pair. Michael alone is already way to much for me to handle emotionally. Moments I’m around him are spent with a racing mind and heart as I try and figure out what he is thinking. And even in moments where we’re not around each other, my every thought is consumed by him. It has been two days since Michael and I shared that moment in the office, and I’m still recovering. I can still physically feel the pit in my stomach, and the way my stomach dropped when I saw the tears on Michael’s face. I replay it on a continuous loop. And the last thing he said to me has had me completely torn up in an internal battle. He had said he wanted this. And I can’t stop obsessing over whether the use of past tense means that this is not what Michael wants anymore. That he wanted Gina. He wanted to marry her. He wanted me to keep away from him. But maybe he isn’t so sure anymore?

But hey, it’s not like I’m ever going to ask him what the hell he is thinking. What he is doing. What happened. Does he regret it? I could never ask him. Because maybe Michael will never wake up to himself. And there is no way in hell I’m letting my heart get broken twice. As for Michael, he has barely even looked at me since. Talk about whose avoiding who now. Michael is pretty much doing my job for me. Dipping out of every room quickly when I walk in. Looking at the floor or practically anywhere but at me when we have to be around each other.

Right now I’m stood here trying on 6 different dresses to wear to the races today, growing even more frustrated at how none of them are just right.

I haven’t dressed up in a long time. I was even slightly excited at the idea. But now I just feel defeated. I used to love putting on my best dress and watching Michael melt. The look on his face when he would see me. The way he would whisper to me, letting me know I wouldn’t have the dress on for much longer once we got home.

But no one is looking now.

Sighing, I settle on a floor length, yellow gown. I haven’t worn it yet. I slip into it, feeling out of place and worthless. Funny how everything looked better when it was under Michael’s gaze.

Now I’m just a girl in a yellow dress.

I rush through the rest of my makeup and hair, hurrying out of my apartment just in time for the car that the Shelby’s organised for me. The whole car ride I clutch my purse nervously. I can only imagine Gina will look stunning. And I will have to watch Michael look at her the way he used to look at me. As I see the event grow closer in the horizon, I want to hijack the vehicle and go home. Desperately. But at least Polly, Tommy and Arthur will be there. I can’t let them down. This is important for my job. I need to make moves and network with people.

That’s all I have to do. Just keep my head down and do my job.

I feel completely out of my body as I slide out of the car, expecting my legs to give way underneath me. I head up the steps to the entrance where they will ask for my name and who I’m with. Normally I would show up with Michael and no questions would be asked. We would get a respectful nod from the doorman and be let in without questions asked. I almost wish that I might just fall down the steps and straight into a black hole where I don’t have to go ahead with this. But now it’s too late. I’m greeted at the door by tall men who could do a lot of damage and a woman with a clipboard.

“Isabelle. I’m on the Shelby Limited table” I say abruptly, completely ignoring her warm welcome. I don’t mean to, but my mind is completely in a foggy haze. As she runs her finger down the paper to check I’m on list, I search the room full of people behind the security guards. No signs of Michael or Gina. Yet.

“Not a problem, go ahead ma’am” she nods as the security guards separate for me to walk through. I stare at the busy room ahead like a deer in headlights, composing myself before I set foot inside. Wearing my best fake smile I begin weaving my way through the crowd. I search desperately for the Shelby’s in every face I see with no luck. Knowing my fortune, I’ll probably run straight into Michael and Gina.

But maybe tonight the lucky stars are on my side. As I reach the top of the stair well that will lead into the heart of the party, I scan the room once more. This time, my eyes land on Tommy, Polly and Arthur. With a sigh of relief, I practically fly down the stairs. Not even caring if I trip and fall. I just need to get to my people. Where I feel safe. Tommy spots me, and soon after Polly and Arthur do too.

As I finally reach them I pull her into my arms for a much needed hug. I’m already on edge and I’ve only just arrived. Tonight is going to be fun… When we let go, she holds me out in front of her, looking me up and down.

“Good god girl” she exclaims, shaking her head.

“Do I look okay?”

“Are you fucking joking, you look stunning”

Her compliment steady’s my nerves a little, and before I know it Tommy is reaching out to me. I take his hand and he pulls me in, placing a gentle kiss on my cheek.

“You look beautiful Izzy” he coos, his eyes are warm and genuine “And don’t forget to breathe, eh” He chuckles as he notices my energy. I’m nervous wreck and just about anyone could tell. Right now I feel like a slight breeze could knock me off my feet.

I exhale slowly, nodding at him. No one calms me like Tommy can. He is always so strong. Calm. Steady. Sure of himself. And that rubs of on me every time.

He gives me a quick reassuring wink like he always does, as Arthur butts into the conversation.

“Fucking hell eh,” his rough voice booms as pulls me in for a hug like Arthur always does “Wait till Michael gets a load of this-“

Polly swats at him immediately, hitting his arm with her hang bag.

“Well we won’t have to wait long for that now will we-“ Tommy retorts in a hushed voice as his eyes lock on someone in the distance.

Simultaneously, we all look over our shoulders to see Michael and Gina headed our way. A giant pit begins to hollow out in my stomach immediately at the sight of them. They haven’t noticed us yet as they walk with their arms linked, laughing and talking with each other.

Almost as if it was perfect timing, a waiter greets us, offering glasses of wine. Without thinking I reaching for one, throwing it back faster than I probably should. I can feel Polly’s look of concern as she watches me skull the drink.

“Hello everyone” I hear Gina’s obnoxious accent greet us as her and Michael finally meet up with us.

Mustering up whatever small amount of liquid courage the wine gave me, I place my empty glass down on the table and turn to face them with tight lipped smile.

The second Gina’s eyes fall over me, she transforms from a smiling trophy wife to a stone cold statue. They lock onto me like lasers before raking up and down my body, the same way they did on the first day we met. When her eyes finally meet mine again, she looks absolutely livid. Fuming. I’ve seen that same look on her before.

Possessively, she tightens her grip on Michael’s arm. Michael. I hadn’t even dared to look at him yet. But just like always it doesn’t take long for our darting eyes to meet. When they do, I find that he looks speechless. Frozen. His lips are parted in what I can only assume is shock. As he stares at me, at my body, he looks… breathless. Which is probably exactly how I look right now. I feel wildly uncomfortable, my heart rate picking up it’s pace as he gazes at me without blinking.

Tommy, Arthur and Polly quickly begin talking to ease the tension. They begin complimenting Gina on how lovely she looks. She’s dressed in a tight, silver gown, with her signature fur shawl drapes over her shoulders.

“It’s vintage” Gina smiles proudly, before turning her attention back to Michael. But the smile from her ego being stroked is quickly slapped of her face when she she’s how Michael is staring at me. Her head snaps towards him, looking completely offended that he’s even looking at me. She stares at her husband in bewilderment, but then her head rotates towards me. She clears her throat, which startles Michael. His eyes quickly dart away from my body, his neck growing red under his collar.

“Yellow…” Gina begins raising her eyebrows at me “How sweet, you look… bright”

She knows exactly what she’s doing. Her voice is so condescending its basically dripping with it. And her sweet smile is anything but sweet. It’s vicious. Forced. Tight lipped.

I want to bite back. I want to tell her how much that fur shawl she thinks makes her look expensive actually just looks like something she killed and skinned herself.

But I don’t. This woman has taken everything from me. I won’t let her take my pride. My dignity.

I take slow, calming deep breath before responding to her attempt at offending me with a cool smile. Underneath my skin she might have me boiling with rage. But I would never show her that.

“You look stunning Gina”

Her brows furrow ever so slightly as she fights to control the shock on her face. I caught her off guard. She expected me to strike back. To make a fool of myself. But I won’t let her have that satisfaction.

Then without quite knowing why, I turn to Michael, who looks like he’s about to have a heart attack when I lock my eyes onto his. I can see his stomach doing back flips as he waits in anticipation for what I’m about to say.

“And you have a beautiful wife, you must be so lucky”

And with one last smile, I excuse myself from the group and walk away. I try to walk with a strong stride, as if I’m sure of where I’m going. But I’m not. I’m just walking in any direction that will take me away from them, weaving through strangers as the adrenaline leaves my body. I’m not trying to leave, but I need to catch my breath for a second.

I need fresh air… and another drink.

Somehow, I manage to find my way to a back court yard, full off people smoking to relieve their stress. I’m not a smoker, but it’s still fresh air. And hell, at least I’m not the only one trying to escape the party. I don’t know why they bother coming out here, people are lighting up cigarettes inside anyway.

I find an empty chair to sit in, and I’m relieved to be able to stop for a second and gather myself. I can’t believe Gina. That woman is vile. Vicious. Poisonous. A snake dressed up in vintage dresses. Michael staring at me like he’s just seen a ghost.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a mans voice, asking if he can take a seat. I look up in the direction of the voice and find myself stunned. He is tall, much taller than me even though I’m sitting I can still see that he towers over me. He greets my shock with a warm smile. He seem’s nice enough.

“Uh, yes, of course” I quickly reply, realising I’m just staring like a someone who doesn’t know how to act in social situations.

“Sorry, for frightening you” he smiles sheepishly as he takes a seat. God, am I that easy to read.

“No, it’s fine, honestly, I was just thinking” I shake my head

“Thinking is good” he smirks, then extends a slender hand towards me “I’m Charlie”

“Isabelle” I introduce myself, feeling oddly comfortable around this man. I take his hand in mine and shake it gently.

“I’ll let you continue thinking?” He asks, suddenly looking guilty for interrupting my solitude.

“No please,” I shake my head, urging him to continue talking “That’s the last thing I want to be doing”

“Noted” he grins back “What brings you here, Isabelle”

“To this court yard or to this ball?” I tease, surprised at my own playfulness.

“Let’s start with the ball first then”

“To the ball… Work”

“And to this luxurious court yard?” He jokes, gesturing to our slightly run down surroundings.

I pause for a moment. What do I say? That I just ran away from my ex partner and his new wife? That I’m hiding from them to avoid the suffocating tension between us? Because I think he still loves me but he won’t just admit it?

“The fresh air” I retort sarcastically.

He watches me closely, the glint of a smile in his eyes as the corners of his mouth curl up. He nods, accepting that he’s not going to get anymore out of me than that. But I feel bad. Normally I’m an open book. I love people. But my situation with Michael is far to complex even me to understand, let alone explain to a stranger. Feeling guilty for not giving him much of a decent conversation, I turn to face him directly.

“What about you, Charlie?”

He hums, looking up as he thinks “To the court yard or the ball?”

I can’t help but grin at his quick wit, as he gives me a dose of my own medicine. But clearly only jokingly teasing me, he continues to answer my question.

“Here to support my brother, he runs one of the charities being honoured tonight”

I smile. This man. Charlie. He is sweet.

“To the court yard, however, I have also come to get fresh air. These kinds of events aren’t really my thing”

“You and me both” I nod “Not that we’re getting much fresh air anyway”

He laughs softly, nodding along with me in agreement.

“Do you drink, Isabelle?” He questions

“Only on days that end with Y” I smirk, answering his question.

He beams back at me, seeming almost like he’s not used to this.

“You know I’m thinking a drink at the bar might do us better than this lovely fresh air”

I cock my head to the side, watching him closely. I don’t know this man. Not well, anyway. This isn’t the type of networking I was planning on doing. But when was the last time I did something for me? Michael does. Michael puts his needs first every day. And the longer I look at this man, the longer I realise how absolutely stunning he is. And yeah, maybe I want to have a goddamn drink with him. I stand up from my chair and he quickly follows my lead with a grin. Without a word, he extends his arm to me and I take it, defying every part of me that feels weird hiding any mans arm that isn’t Michael’s. I’m doing this for me.

What ensues is a half hour of drinking at the bar, where we learn more about each other. Every time he opens his mouth I’m taken aback by how funny, intelligent and sweet this man is. He meets every joke of mine with an even better one. His quick wit keeping up with mine like it’s nothing. He says the right thing. The nice thing. The funny thing. His laugh is divine, and I begin to notice his deeply set smile lines and subtle dimples. Everything about Charlie is new. Exciting. I’ve been so fixated, so used to Michael for so long that I find myself in awe of the man in front of me.

I almost forget we are even at an event until a voice booms into the air over a loud and screeching microphone. The voice asks us all to returns to our seats for dinner, before the event properly begins.

“What table are you at?”

“I’m not sure, actually” I reply as I quickly realise I’m not sure where the Shelby’s are seated. Suddenly I see Polly’s face appear in the crowd. She hasn’t spotted me yet, but I can tell she is looking for me. Shit. Panic sets in. I know Polly wouldn’t be mad at me for having drinks with another man. In fact I’m sure she’d encourage it. But I’m not ready. I’m not ready to have her see me with another man. Very quickly, I begin to feel horrible about this. Maybe I shouldn’t be getting drinks with another man. God what am I doing?

“You alright?” I hear Charlie ask and I look back at him nervously.

“Uh, yeah I, I just think I need to-“ my sentence is interrupted by panic as Polly is getting closer and closer.

“It’s alright, you should get back” He reassures me. I look up at him with furrowed brows and nods in understanding, but his smile looks sad. God I feel terrible. But I can’t stay.

“I’m sorry” I apologise in a rush as I hurry away from him, desperate to get back to the table without being seen by Polly.

To my relief, I manage to stalk my way around the crowd and avoid Polly. But once I feel like I breathe a sigh of relief, I’m smacked in the face with another wave of panic. Now I have to sit with Gina and Michael at dinner. I hurry up to our table once I spot it, and slide into my seat so quickly only Tommy notices me sit down. Noticing I’m out of breath he furrows his brows at me.

“Did you run here or something?” he laughs nudging me playfully with his shoulder. I scoff. I practically did, yeah.

“Oh, there you are!” Polly’s voice exclaims suddenly, drawing attention to me. Gina and Michael’s heads both shoot over my way, and it doesn’t take long to get served a disgusted look from Gina. But right now Gina and her bitch face is on the bottom of my worry list. I’m just relieved that I made it back to the table without Polly seeing me with Charlie. Oh god. I cringe remembering how I left him in the lurch at the bar. I all but ran away from the guy while he was half way through a sentence.

Suddenly waiters start appearing from the kitchen doors, serving the dinner to all the guests. Desperate to have something to distract me, I busy myself with the food and try to centre myself again. I let the chatter of the party fall into the background as I zone out, my mind travelling back to Charlie. I made a complete fool of myself. He was perfectly nice. More than nice. He was completely charming. Why did I just run away from him like that. At one point, I happen to catch eyes with Michael, who seems to already be looking at me. His eyes dart away from me quickly trying to pretend like I didn’t catch him looking. But I don’t even bother entertaining him for that right now. This awkward staring game he is playing is getting very old, very fast.

Does he expect me to read his goddamn mind?

Before I know it, dinner is over, and the afternoons festivities begin. The host drones on for many long, painful minutes, most of the time bragging about their generosity towards the charities here tonight. I try not to laugh. Doesn’t the boasting kind of defeat the purpose of the philanthropy? As he finally wraps up his self centred speech I assumed that might all just go back to mingling and forcing small talk with all these strangers, but no. As the band begins to play music once more, the host announces that the ball room floor has opened.

Gina exclaims excitedly at Michael as couples all over the room begin to stand and make their way to the dance floor in the middle of the room.

You’ve got to be kidding me. I look up at the ceiling and to the heavens above. Someone up there really has it out for me.

I watch as Michael forces a smile at Gina as she tugs on his coat, begging him to dance.

“Dance with me baby?” She pouts, sounding like a whining child. I bite the inside of my lip, trying not to scoff out loud. Michael hates being called baby. When we were together, he used to love the way I called him ‘my love’. He had insisted that he could never imagine being called by any other name. Joking that he would change his name legally so I couldn’t call him anything but ‘my love’.

Reluctantly, he places his napkin on the table and helps Gina up out of her chair.

“Excuse us, I have to dance with my husband” she says to the table as she hangs of Michael’s arm, but I know she’s directing that comment directly at me. Everyone nods, excusing them from the table. I try to wipe the look of hurt, jealousy and anger of my face as I watch them join the rest of the dancing couples.

“Thought you might need this” Arthur’s voice says in my ear as he sits down next to me, sliding a glass of wine in my direction.

“What would make you think that?” I reply sarcastically, but give him a grateful smile. For the next few songs I watch them pensively over the top of the rim of my glass. Gina is beaming up at Michael. Clutching onto him possessively every time another woman gets to close. Michael doesn’t look totally miserable either. He even looks like he’s enjoying himself for a few fleeting moments. Of course he is. He’s married. His wife is beautiful. She adores him. What more could he want, right?

After the 3rd song finishes they leave the dance floor and begin to return to the table. I force my eyes down to the ground, to make out like I haven’t just been staring at them for the past 15 minutes.

They only just reach the table, taking their seats, when a males voice says my name from beside us.

In shock at hearing my name, I look up in its direction. My eyes meet with a pair of familiar blue eyes and a gentle smile.

Charlie.

“Would you like to dance with me?” He proposes, extending his arm to me. When he see’s my hesitance he gives me a deep, knowing look. Like he’s been watching this all unfold and he has come to whisk me away. To save me. I should feel embarrassed. Awkward. Another man offering to dance with me when Michael is right there should feel weird. But instead I just feel… butterflies. The good kind. I want to let myself do this. Why not. I don’t have anyone to be loyal to. I have been loyal to Michael since day one. He hasn’t returned that. I don’t owe him a goddamn thing.

Without a word I take his hand, rising from my seat. His face lights up, and he gives me a smile that looks… proud. He squeezes my hand once, before linking my arm with his.

“Thank you” he nods at the Shelby’s respectfully with a small bow “I’ll have her back soon”

I glance over at all their faces as we walk away. Tommy and Arthur watch on like protective brothers, and Polly has a proud smile on her face. She loves her son, but I know she’s thinking how much he deserves to have this rubbed in his face. Speaking of Michael, the look on his face is priceless. He looks hot and angry, his face distorted and twisted half between fury and… hurt.

But I don’t have much time to look at Michael, not while Charlie is leading me through the dance floor until we find a clear spot to stand. He smirks as we face each other. He places one large, slender hand on my waist while the other interlocks with mine. I take a deep breath to steady myself. Another mans touch is so unfamiliar to me. He watches me carefully, reading me like a book. Sensing my nerves, he very slowly and gently pulls me closer to him. Not to fast. But not to slow. How the hell does he know how to do the right thing every time?

Feeling how calm and steady he is has the same effect on me, and I feel my rushing mind and racing heart begin to slow.

“Hi again” he coos softly, smiling down at me.

“Hi” I reply, unable to help the grin that is growing wider and wider on my own face. I follow his lead as we begin to sway along to the slow jazz music that is playing in the background. I frown slightly, still feeling guilty about leaving him.

“I’m so sorry about before” I apologise looking up at him sheepishly.

“Don’t be” He shakes his head, dismissing my concern “Just don’t run off from me while we’re in the middle of the dance floor yea, might not recover from that one” he teases. We both chuckle.

“I’m not going anywhere” I assure him

“That’s fine by me” he bites his lip as we find ourselves getting even closer to one another until we’re pressed right up against one another. As we share a moment just gazing at one another, I can’t help but wonder he came just at the right time. Who the hell sent this man?

Suddenly turns us around in a circle, holding me tight as we spin. Catching me off guard, he lowers me down into a dip. His strong hand supports my back, and my head falls back as I laugh gleefully. When he brings me back up, our faces are so close that our noses are touching. I half expect him to kiss me, to take advantage of this moment. But he doesn’t. He remains a perfect gentleman. I’m completely caught up in him, caught up in our own little bubble when it is burst by the sight of Michael over Charlie’s shoulder.

He is standing with the Shelby’s and Gina, as they’re mingling and chatting with another family. But he’s not paying attention to them. He is glaring at Charlie and I over the top of his drink. He throws it back angrily, before all but slamming it down on the table. I can see his chest rising and falling heavily from here. Michael isn’t even trying to hide his jealously. I can’t believe the audacity of Michael. It’s almost laughable.

“You good?” Charlie asks with concern, noticing that I’m distracted. He also notices Michael as he looks between us. I think for a moment, and funnily enough, I am good. I’m good. Right now, with Charlie, I feel untouchable.

“I’m wonderful” I nod and he smiles with relief.

“Yeah,” he breathes “You are”

As the next song picks up in pace, he dances me around the floor. He spins me, twirling me around, but catches me again every time. We laugh with each other, enjoying getting completely wrapped up in the moment. I completely forget about Michael. In fact, I completely forget anyone else is even in the room until the final song comes to an end.

We linger for a moment, still enamoured with each other while most people begin to leave the dance floor. I feel almost high of the chemistry between us. The host announces that the final song also marks the ending of the evening. He is the first to break our bubble as he begins to let go of me slowly, his hand lingering on my waist before he finally lets go.

“Alright, I think I’ve stolen you for long enough” he chuckles, breaking the tension between us “You can run now if you like”

“I might be to out of breath for that” I retort with a laugh “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“I was just saving my best moves for you”

“Thank you, for…” I begin, but I can’t finish my sentence. Thank you for the dance, yes. But how do I thank him for saving my from a night of torture at the table with Michael and Gina.

“Trust me, the pleasure has been all mine”

“I haven’t had that much fun in a long time”

“Well that makes two of us”

Theres a long, long moment between us. I may not have done this in a while but I still know what happens next. That’s when my nerves begin to return slowly but surely. Can I do this? He is wonderful. Everything about him is wonderful. And the chemistry is palpable. But am I ready for this?

Sensing that I’m uncomfortable, he bows slightly. “I’ll let you get back. It’s been lovely meeting you, Isabelle” he smiles down at me.

I watch as he turns, almost about to walk away when something comes over me. I quickly reach for his coat pulling him back to me.

“Wait,” I say desperately as he steps closer to me “Come home with me”

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

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vercopaanir · 4 years

Text

Who You Are

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 5

Masterlist for this series

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: Just when things begin to settle, a dogfight between the Mandalorian and another bounty hunter leaves you injured, stranded on Tatooine, and in need of money.

Rating, Warnings: None. I honestly don’t think I’ve needed to warn for anything so far, but if I miss something, please let me know!

Notes: This chapter contains some Mando’a that I found via the internet. Translations are at the bottom, and inspired by @themandjalorian’s “i imagine how your name would sound.” It was the first story I read from this universe, so I dedicate this part to her! Go read her things! This is also on AO3. Also, I did write in a part directly from the show. I’ll try not to do this too much in the future, but let me know what you think!

Ever since your argument on Quanera, you and the Mandalorian fall into a comfortable, if not an easy rhythm.

It goes something like this.

In the mornings, you take the baby outside and let him run through the grass, which is almost too tall for him to see over. He often chases insects and climbs on top of small rocks. One afternoon, just before it started to rain, he picks every blue flower he can find, and when you both return to the Razor Crest as the heavens open up, he waddles up to the Mandalorian to present the drooping bouquet.

The bounty hunter kneels on the floor of the hull, using a soldering iron to fix the wiring of one of the ship’s consoles, but he sets it carefully aside to take the wilting flowers from the child. “Thank you,” he whispers, resting his gloved hand on the baby’s head with gentle affection. You see, later that evening before you retire to bed, the pale blue flowers resting in a clay cup of water on the control panel of the cockpit.

After a little exercise, you feed the baby mashed fruit, and he tends to try to feed his stuffed bantha toy some, too. You have already washed it more times than you thought possible, sure it will fall apart any day, now.

Then, in the afternoons as the child sleeps, you find things to keep yourself occupied. One day, you walk up behind the Mandalorian while he cleans one of his many weapons. The noises of scrubbing and tinkering draw you over, but you cannot tell what weapon he’s disassembled. The small table is absolutely littered with different parts, gears, and oiled cloths. It would look the same to you whether you were blind or not. But it’s the bit of light shining through the holes of his cloak that cause you to frown.

“This isn’t the one you lent me,” you say, picking up the hem. You feel with your fingers the holes and tatters. One portion of fabric is nearly worn away entirely.

He turns his helmet towards you, pausing his ministrations of scrubbing off the carbon of the barrel of a gun. “No.”

“Why don’t you wear the other?”

There is a heavy pause where he grows very still, and you have the distinct impression he isn’t actually looking at you.

“Because you’re wearing it.”

A blush blooms in both your cheeks, and you flex your fingers over the fabric that you still hold between your hands. You have taken to wearing the cloak whenever you go outside, since Quanera’s air is still cooler than what you were accustomed to. It does not seem to phase the Mandalorian at all, and he hasn’t asked for his cloak back. You use it as a lap blanket when you join him in the cockpit, either perched in the pilot’s chair to practice your landing and take-off, or nodding off in the co-pilot’s seat. You prefer it to the hull, since there’s more light, and the three of you are together.

“That’s ridiculous,” you finally insist, ignoring how weak your voice sounds. With a frown, you step closer behind him, and you rest both hands on his pauldrons. “Here, take it off.”

Immediately, he grows so tense you can taste it in the air. You tilt your head, trying to gauge what the problem is. “I have a needle and thread,” you say after a moment, fingering the fabric where his shoulder and neck meet. “I may be blind, but I can sew a hole or two.”

You see the moment his shoulders drop by inches, and for a moment, he continues to remain still. You don’t think he is actually going to acquiesce from how long he hesitates, but then he turns back to the gun he is cleaning and mutters, “Suit yourself.”

With a short sigh, you begin removing the pauldrons that secure the cloak beneath, your fingers working beneath the beskar to locate the leather straps that keep them secure. The armor itself draws your attention as you lift one shoulder guard between your hands, and you form an idea. He appears distracted enough, so you remove the other before taking the cloak and both pieces of beskar with you.

The Mandalorian finds you that evening sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, one leg crossed over the other as you feel with your fingers every stitch you made, careful not to prick yourself and bleed all over it. In the pilot’s chair, his pauldrons shone like beacons, freshly polished and his thicker cloak you’d been borrowing folded nicely underneath.

“I gave this one to you,” he had said, sounding tired and petulant. His voice was thick with another emotion you can’t put your finger on, and you lift your chin up and set your sewing in your lap, the well-worn cloak resembling a black banner against your legs.

“And now I’m giving it back. It’s terribly heavy,” you insist with a wave of your hand, looking back down at the seams you’ve created on the thinner one you were mending.

“Then-then I’ll get you another one,” the Mandalorian huffs, sounding endearingly irritated. He begins to put the armor back on, thorough and precise with every movement. “That thing isn’t worth the thread you’re using on it.”

“You were wearing it.” It’s an accusation, and you mean it that way. His armor is beautiful, but what should keep him warm is so thin even you can see through it. “Besides, I don’t intend to wear it.”

And you don’t. What you do is reline the child’s cradle, using the older, thinner blankets as padding and attaching the newly mended cloak on top. You notice the little one burrow under the blankets more than once, and one evening when you pick him up, his ears feel near to freezing off. This project takes you several days to complete, your penchant for a well-done job motivating you to perfect the cushion of the cradle and securing the lining in neat, hemmed rows.

When the baby finally crawls in, he practically bounces from the soft stuffing, cooing in wonder. You cannot keep from beaming with pride at your work, your fingers a bit more stiff and sore than before, but it is worth it to see the child fall asleep so quickly. You wonder if he is comforted by the scent of his father.

The Mandalorian says nothing of it. He finds some work collecting a renegade mechanic who had stolen a ship from Cantonica, and when he returns-wearing the cloak you’d forced back onto him-he seems too tired to even hold a conversation. You manage to take off without needing his supervision, and you assure him you would let him know if you needed help.

Returning to your own bunk that night, you find bolts of fabric that have your mouth falling open. The different textures feel as silky as water against your fingers, softer than anything you’ve ever worn before, in shades of the sea. Blues, greens, greys, darker but rich in a quality you could never afford. Your eyes sting at the kind gesture, unsure what to make of such a gift.

You stay up that night until the sun appears on the horizon, sewing and hemming until your fingers are too raw to even pick the child up, but you know the Mandalorian sees the midnight blue dress that replaces the old threadbare clothing you wore before. He even helps secure the cloak you’ve sewn for yourself, his leather gloves whispering over the pewter material when he fastens it at your shoulders before going out with the child.

That was this morning, before you took off. Now, you’ve set course to a planet called Nevarro, where the Mandalorian says he needs to speak with a business associate from the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. You have plenty of curiosity for the venture, but now you are distracted.

There are few sounds in the world that make you as happy as listening to the child laugh. The burbling squeal, thick with joy, makes your face crease with a helpless grin as you lounge in the pilot’s seat in the Razor Crest’s cockpit. The ship is currently cruising on autopilot, and you are facing the co-pilot seats where the child is propped up in his cradle in one, flailing his arms and hiccupping with laughter as the Mandalorian sits across from him, attempting to speak sternly in Mando’a.

“Ori’skraan,” the Mandalorian is saying, holding out a small bite of a herb encrusted bread to the child. When the child simply giggles so hard his ears fluttered up, you can’t keep from laughing either, covering your mouth. The Mandalorian chokes on his own chuckle, dropping his helmet forward and shaking his head side to side. “Epar, verd’ika!” he insists, wagging the bit of food at the small green creature.

The baby falls back into his cradle, giggling and kicking his little feet in joy at the Mandalorian’s fruitless language lesson, and you throw your own head back with laughter.

“He’ll starve at this rate,” the bounty hunter snorts, dropping the small slice of bread onto the plate he’d brought for the child.

“Oh, I doubt that,” you snicker, missing the way the gleaming helmet with it’s sharpened visor tilts towards you. “And I have a feeling that he’s taking in every single thing you’re saying. One day he’ll just simply start speaking full sentences.”

The Mandalorian glances from you to the child, then back again, radiating skepticism. The baby still wobbles from his laughter, toddling back upwards to grin with all his teeth. When the bounty hunter looks down at him, the child tilts his head as if daring the armored warrior to continue.

“Duraani, burc’ya?”

Immediately, the child squeals laughing, and you have the rare pleasure of listening to a true belly laugh modulate from the Mandalorian’s helmet, his armor nearly shaking with laughter. He leans forward in the co-pilot’s seat and lifts the baby out of the makeshift cradle, setting him in his lap. Your eyes slip closed as you savor the sweet sounds of receding laughter echoing off the metal walls of the ship, a small smile on your face.

When the Mandalorian speaks again, his voice is soft, almost too quiet for even the modulator to pick up. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad,” he murmurs to the child, and you open your eyes in time to see him do something you find incredibly strange. He bows his head and taps the smooth beskar crown of his helmet to the child’s little wrinkled forehead. The tiny three fingered hands reach up to pat just beneath the visor, and the baby coos in response.

It is one of the most tender sights you’ve ever witnessed, and you’re compelled to turn your eyes away.

“Mesh’la,” whispers the Mandalorian, and when you turn back, you find that both the bounty hunter and the child are gazing at you. The child coos in his arms, looking up at the armored guardian before blinking back at you. If you didn’t know better, he seemed to understand.

“What are you telling him?” you ask with a soft smile, raising your eyebrows when the beskar helmet looks away from you. Amused suspicion lingers in your voice, not trusting the conspiratorial tone of the hunter or the curious ear perk of the little one he holds.

“I am telling him who you are.”

The quiet, reverent way he says the simple words stirs something in your heart, and your mouth goes dry as bones. You certainly do not speak Mando’a, which he’s certainly exploiting in the moment, but you suddenly desire fluency from the gentle, beautiful language from the way he speaks it alone.

And then, everything falls apart.

A thundering explosion throws everyone and everything in the cockpit forward, the Razor Crest lurching from the hit of enemy fire. You’re thrown to the side right out of the chair and land half sprawled across the control panel. A sudden impact to your side from a gear shift radiates pain all the way from your hip to your shoulder, and you can’t muffle the painful cry that bursts from your mouth.

The Mandalorian hits the wall of the cockpit, turning his body just in time so he absorbs the fall and the child in his arms doesn’t smash into the metal siding. You shove yourself up, scrabbling for the controls, and you pull the ship up, every instruction and piece of advice the Mandalorian had instilled in you falling into place. The whole right side of your body is burning with discomfort, and when the bounty hunter grabs your shoulders and pulls you out of the seat, you can’t help the dry sob that tumbles from your throat.

“Move!”

You change places, stumbling quickly to the co-pilot’s chair and struggle with the buckles. They click in place not a moment too soon, because all of the sudden the ship is crashing into a high speed, and you shut your eyes from dizziness.

A voice breaks the silence over the communications link. “Gotcha, Mando!”

The vocoder is all static when the Mandalorian growls with annoyance, gloved hands conducting a symphony over the controls to push the Razor Crest into flying maneuvers that leave your stomach somewhere down in the hull of the ship. With the thrusters fully engaged, the ship is flying faster than you’ve ever experienced, and it seems the child feels the same terrifying tension you do.

You reach over as best you can, lifting him from his cradle and wrapping your arms around him, focusing on how he nuzzles beneath your neck and coos at the attention rather than the pain radiating in your side.

“Hand over the child, Mando,” a voice hums over the communications link, and you realize belatedly what’s actually happening. He had told you the Empire was after the little one, that there was danger hanging over his head wherever he went. Your heart begins to pound in your breast, and you know the child can feel it, because he whimpers and clutches at your clothing.

Instinctively, you hold the baby closer to your body, feeling the Razor Crest dip before tilting back and up to gain speed. Another hit on the back of the ship causes it to lurch forward, and you and the child would’ve gone careening into the floor had you not been buckled in.

“I might let you live,” comes the voice again, half a threat and half a taunt.

More impact from enemy fire sends the ship shuddering, and alarms begin to go off, blaring in the cockpit. Something off to the left side of the ship implodes, and the crackling of fire on metal resounds in the walls. The baby whimpers and begins to fuss against you, and you’re only dimly aware that the Mandalorian responds to the threat by flipping several switches all the while ignoring the blaring alarms.

“Hold on.”

You slip your arms tighter around the baby, pressing your face between his ears, and you feel the ship turn quickly in a move that dodges excess fire. The red glow of the alarms distorts the cockpit, and all you can see is the gleam of the beskar helmet as he leans forward over the controls. It occurs to you in that moment that there is a certain thrill in something like this, a horrifying adrenaline rush that dangles you between safety and risk.

“Come on,” the Mandalorian mutters, angling the ship back and forth to avoid the shots.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” the pilot says over the radio, and those words sink into your stomach like a stone.

You don’t have time to consider the ramifications of the threat because the Mandalorian suddenly grabs the controls and rips them back, causing the ship to thrust backward in space. The starfighter flies past, directly overhead, and you suck in a breath when the ship clips one of the Razor Crest’s engines.

“That’s my line.”

The starfighter is in view one moment, and the next it’s a brilliant shower of sparkling vermillion clouds. The communications link dies, and the engines are shut off, allowing the Razor Crest to list in space silently.

For a long, horrible moment, the alarms going off feel like they’ll never stop, and you’re afraid you’ve forgotten how to breathe in the midst of the chaos. The Mandalorian tests a few gauges, flicking a switch or two before saying, “Losing fuel.”

With a few more quiet clicks and punches, the alarms are swallowed by the quiet and darkness of the engines powering down. The child giggles in the dark, his ears perking up and down curiously, and you’re glad he’s having fun, at least. When the Mandalorian turns in the pilot’s chair, he seems to remember the both of you and leans forward, putting his gloved hand on the baby’s head. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes are closed, head bowed to try and breathe. The panic from such jeopardy would have been one thing to deal with, but the hot pain spreading up your side from landing on the control panel is becoming harder to ignore. You bite your lip and jerk your head side to side, and there’s a shift of fabric in the darkness, followed by a quiet clink of metal on metal when the Mandalorian kneels in front of you. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I think I hurt myself when...earlier,” you frowned, trying to remember how it even happened. Everything was a blur, both mentally and physically, and it seemed like years ago now when the two of you were laughing at the child’s giggle fit. You shifted and swallowed a painful groan building in your throat. It came out as a muffled noise. “It’s hard to breathe.”

Without missing a beat, the bounty hunter takes the child from your arms and places him in the cradle in the opposite co-pilot’s chair. Turning back to you, he places a hand on your shoulder, and you suppose he must see how you’re favoring one side, holding your right arm across your abdomen.

His hand gently squeezes your shoulder, and he rumbles from behind the helmet before nodding.

He’s got a stubborn urgency about him now, leaning over you and pressing several controls. A switch clicks, and the engines power back up. He retakes his seat in the pilot’s chair, and you let out a shaky breath, the pain growing from your side like a hug-around your back and up to your chest. You listen to the beeps of the console and the radio static that hums back to life.

“This is Mos Eisley Tower. We are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.”

“Copy that. Locked in for three-five.”

You lean your head back against the headrest and try to ignore your heart palpitations when the engines sputter and pop, closing your eyes. When the Razor Crest lands, you are surprised at how gentle of a landing it is considering all the damage it’s taken. When you open your eyes again, it’s just as the Mandalorian is turning in his seat to look at you, and you wonder what he must see. You certainly don’t feel your best, and you think you must look it because he murmurs, “Stay here.”

The child fell asleep once the ship entered the landing program, and the bounty hunter gathers him in a blanket before disappearing down the ladder and into the hull. When he returns, you feel your throat begin to tighten at the worry of being able to breathe. It’s hurting worse now, and the pain is sharper. He says your name, but when you don’t respond, his hands are unbuckling you from the seat. Gloved fingers ghost over your temple, and your eyes lift open.

“Can you walk?”

You consider it, and the very idea of anyone lifting you up makes your entire body viscerally react with dread. You nod but add, “I need help standing-and going down the ladder.”

He nods and gives you his hand, his other resting behind your shoulder. You bite your lip on a noise building from your chest, feeling weak and useless. Surely he’s nearly come close to dying, and here you are, hardly unable to stand all because you fell. Hot tears of shame prick your eyes, and you hold onto his offered hand as he helps you down the ladder. When you start to walk the length of the hull, your head drops to the side until it’s propped up against his shoulder. His arm naturally curves around your back, but you hiss when he touches your side.

You adjust his fingers and shift them up beneath your arm, muttering a quiet thanks as he helps you walk down the ramp.

The sun is hot and the air is dry on Tatooine, and you shut your eyes against the bright light when you both step out from the shadow of the Razor Crest. So when three pit droids begin chittering and ambling toward the ship, you nearly jump out of your skin when the Mandalorian unholsters his blaster pistol and shoots with smooth fluency.

“Hey!” a shriek from within the bay makes you wince. “ Hey! ”

“You won’t make friends with warning shots,” you whisper under your breath, leaning into him as he walks with you off the ramp, still tucked under his arm. He ignores you.

“You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” A woman strides out from the operating booth, and her fiery, direct attitude is a refreshing change from the quiet and stoic atmosphere of the ship. If you had full possession of yourself, you would appreciate it more, you think.

“Just keep them away from my ship,” the Mandalorian warns, adjusting his arm behind you so that you lean more of your weight on him. Though his tone is usually the same reserved, level baritone, you notice his voice takes on a more unflinching edge when he mentions the droids.

“Yeah? You think that’s a good idea, do ya?” the woman asks, her own unflappable and direct voice a match for the bounty hunter’s. She puts one hand on her utility belt before gesturing with the other. “What’s wrong with her?”

You’ve closed your eyes again, sweat beginning to prickle your brow in the heat, or perhaps it’s from the strain of keeping yourself upright. The beskar helmet tilts down towards you before regarding the mechanic again. With no answer, and you are almost thankful for it, the mechanic gives a short sigh. “Needs a doctor? There’s one down the road.”

When both of you hesitate-, it’s easier to hear your pained breathing. The woman shifts uncomfortably, glancing between both of you before huffing. “Well why are you just standing here? Get her to the doctor!”

“But the ship-”

“Oh, it’ll be here when you get back,” she says with another huff. “And don’t think I’m not charging you every minute for it!”

The two of you set off down the sand trekked street, and you feel the Mandalorian take a deep breath. “I could carry you, and we would be there faster.” It might have been a complaint, you think, if his voice wasn’t suddenly so tender and quiet.

“If you even try, I think I’ll pass out,” you whisper, unable to fathom your body bending with the pain in your side. Underneath the armor, you wonder if he’s rolling his eyes. Surely he didn’t prepare for this contingency, and you bite your lip on the feeling of guilt remembering the baby is alone on the ship. “If I can get to the medic, you can go back. The child shouldn’t be alone.”

“I can’t just leave you,” the Mandalorian shoots quickly, his tone full of surprise.

“I’ve survived without you this long,” you murmur with a small smile, and he’s quiet at that until you reach the medical service center. The name itself is a bit too grand for the small dusty building with sand on the floor and aged equipment. You suppose your face must be washed pale from the pain, because there are several on staff who rush forward to help you when the Mandalorian shoulders you through the doors. They all ask questions and begin to escort you to the back, but the bounty hunter speaks up before they get too far.

“Wait.” Everyone freezes, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Standing and breathing are becoming two things you aren’t sure you can handle at the same time, swaying between two physicians who keep you propped up. “Be careful with her. Please.”

You don’t turn your head to look back at him, but you wonder if he remains until you’re out of sight.

Mando’a Translations:

Ori’skraan - a delicacy, a real treat in terms of food

Epar - eat

Verd’ika - “little soldier”

Duraani, burc'ya? - You looking funny at me, pal?

Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad - an adoption vow, literally translated “I know your name as my child.”

Mesh’la - beautiful

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