#how am I supposed to drag myself back to Star Wars at a time like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strang3lov3 · 5 months

Text

Pharmacy

Summary: (mall rats 6) Surrounded by medical supplies is a convenient time to slice your hand open. Joel wrestles your stubborn ass to treat your wound, then fucks you how you like.

Tags: Jar Jar Binks, Star Wars opinions, manhandling, descriptions of injuries (I tried to keep it as short and sweet as I could, bc I myself am a squeamish girl!! I was squirming the whole time writing this!!!) blowjobs, f masturbation, kinda rough unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, reader and Joel have googly eyes for each other

A/N: as always thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. Thank you all for your continued patience with my writing, I am a busy busy lady and you may not get another fic from me for two weeks or more with the whole finals thing, but I do have lots of shit planned! One thing at a time bug one thing at a time. I wish I could write smut for my history of Indiana final essay but I don’t think that would fly with my nun-obsessed professor. Also, thank you @noxturnalpascal and @speckledemerald for hyping me up ❤️❤️

Joel is standing in front of a map of the mall, studying it intently. It’s been a while since you’ve been at the mall with Joel, actually. With the weather getting worse with more and more snow, Tommy is trying to keep travel limited to patrol. Supply runs for necessities only, and Jackson is in need of medical supplies. Rubbing alcohol, gauze, bandages, first aid supplies. There’s actually a medical building not far from Jackson, but it’s pretty well picked over at this point.

“Mall has a pharmacy. A CVS or Walgreens, somethin’ like that. I’ll go,” Joel had volunteered in Tommy’s office.

“I’ll come too,” you added as you were helping Tommy fill out patrol logs.

Joel sighed, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Supposed to be a quick trip. In and out. Don’t need you gettin’ distracted by lotions and perfumes again.”

“Those are necessities,” you argue, “Besides, buddy system. It’s important for us to stick together.”

“We are not buddies,” Joel scoffed. Tommy raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“No? What are we, then?”

Joel opened his mouth as if to answer with something sharp and argumentative, but no words came out. His cheeks turned rosy as you both shared an odd look, with Joel’s hands frozen on the buttons of his coat. The pencil you wrote with felt heavy in your hand, held awkwardly on the paper as you stared at Joel. You didn’t mean for that question to come out the way it did. What was the answer to the question, anyway?

Tommy filled the silence with his own answer. “I know what y’all are,” he smirked.

Joel shot Tommy a warning look, then took your jacket from behind your chair and held it open for you. “Let’s go, then,” he said. You put your arms through the sleeves, zipped yourself up and left. You could hear Tommy chuckling to himself as you walked out with Joel.

You rode horseback to the mall. Still feeling awkward from the interaction at Tommy’s, you both stayed silent, but the ride wasn’t uncomfortable. You hugged Joel tightly, and Joel savored the warmth of your cheek on his back.

“Found it,” Joel taps the map, “I remember now. It’s downstairs.”

“Ha!” you brag, “I told you. I knew it was downstairs. I was right.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll throw a party when we get home,” Joel replied, taking off towards the dilapidated staircase. You follow close behind, dragging your fingers against the railing, letting your hand tap each of the thin rods that support it. One breaks off and falls with a clatter. Joel doesn’t bother turning around to see what it was. “You break these stairs, you find us a new way out of here,” he warns. Dramatic. You pick up the thin rail and twirl it as you walk behind Joel, then poke his ass with the piece of metal. Already exhausted by you, he sighs, “What’d you find now, trouble?”

“Lightsaber,” you answer.

“What?” Joel tilts his head and turns around to finally see what all the noise and clattering was. You’re holding one of the thin rods from the railing, still twirling it. “No, put that down,” he tells you, “You’re gonna give yourself tetanus. Put it down, sweetheart.”

“Ellie lent me this DVD. Did you ever see this old movie, Star Wars?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” Joel grumbles, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “Ain’t that old, smartass. And of course I’ve watched Star Wars, who do you think introduced it to her?”

“Oh,” you reply, “Well, there was this character, Jar Jar–”

“Nope,” Joel cuts you off, “You’re done. Lost your talkin’ privileges. Drop your lightsaber and zip it.”

Still twirling the rod you ask, “You don’t like Star Wars?”

“I like Star Wars. What you watched is not Star Wars.”

“Yes it is, Joel. It was on the DVD.”

Joel turns back around and keeps walking, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah I do. Mesa–”

Joel interrupts, “Do not finish that sentence,” he warns, “God, that movie was so stupid. Took Sarah to see it when it came out, we ended up leavin’ halfway through and gettin’ ice cream instead.” You watch Joel smile at the memory as you approach the pharmacy and he holds the door open for you. You smile with him. Joel doesn’t talk about Sarah much with you, but he mentions her now and then, at least more than he used to.

You and Joel find the first aid aisle of the pharmacy. He knows what to look for, so he peruses the aisles and stuffs his bag full of supplies. Watching him bend over, you can’t help but poke his ass again. “Knock it off, space cadet,” he says, annoyed.

You giggle to yourself and toss the rod aside. You hadn’t realized the end that you were holding was damaged when you broke it off the railing. Fuck. It’s sharp, jagged, and slices your palm all the way across. The rod clangs on the ground and startles Joel.

Joel turns around to see the rod on the ground, and you clutching your fist tightly. “What’s in your hand?”

“Nothing,” you answer, feeling your hand become warm and wet.

Joel connects the dots. He bends over and checks the rod for rust and there’s none, thank god. But the end is very jagged, almost serrated like a knife. “Open your hand.”

“No,” pressing your lips together, you lower your gaze and open your fist slightly to check your hand, then quickly shut it. Joel watches your eyes go wide and the color draining from your face. “It’s n–mmm,” you hum, your voice shaky, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Joel reaches for your hand, “You’re hurt. Need to see how deep that cut is, clean it and–”

You shove Joel backward with your free hand, and he looks momentarily taken aback. There was a lot more strength behind that shove than he would have anticipated. You’re not playing, not teasing like usual. “Do you wanna try that again?” he asks, his voice firm.

“Don’t touch me.”

Joel takes in your expression. You’re not trying to start a fight with him, you look worried, anxious, and defensive with pale lips and trembling hands. You had mentioned not handling blood or pain well before, but he didn’t know you were this squeamish, you poor thing. “I have to, hon.”

“Joel…”

Joel raises a hand in your direction, “Don’t argue with me on this. You need to sit down, I can tell you’re gettin’ freaked.”

“Joel,” you say his name again in a warning tone, much sharper than before.

“I know,” he says softly, as he steps closer to you, and you step back, your feet hitting the wall behind you. You’re feeling more amped up now. “Just let me look,” as he reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, his grip tightening when you struggle against him and try to pull your arm away. “Quit squrimin’,” he grits his teeth as he fights against your strength. Minding his own strength, and with one hand gripping your wrist, he moves the other to your shoulder and forces you to the ground as gently as he can. A sliced hand is bad enough, he doesn’t need you fainting and cracking your skull open. You kick your legs and punch against him, but he pins his body on top of yours, your free hand between your body and his leg.

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you spit, “Get off, get off, get–”

“Hey. Hey,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle, “Breathe, sweetheart. I know you’re nervous.”

You stare at Joel with fiery eyes, breathing heavily through your nose. Shallow breaths, probably not getting enough oxygen to your brain, but at least you’re breathing. Joel gives you a moment to settle down.

“I need you to listen to me,” he tells you, “I don’t know how deep your cut is. I need you to let me look.”

“Please,” you beg, “Please don’t.”

“I’m gonna be gentle,” Joel promises as he flips your wrist up, gently beginning to pry your fingers open, “You look at me. Don’t look at your hand. Just look at me. Will you trust me?”

Nodding apprehensively, you keep your focus on Joel. He nods in response, then examines your palm. He bites his cheek and frowns.

“Is it bad?” you ask shakily.

“Uhh,” he hums, “It’s not good,” he answers you honestly. You’re cut in multiple areas and by the looks of it, the gashes go pretty deep. “You might need stitches.”

Fuck that. You squirm under Joel with all of your might to force him off of you.

“Stop thrashin’. Stop it,” he says, holding your jaw firmly and looking into your eyes, “I’m not gonna stitch ya. We can cross that bridge when we get to Jackson. But you are risking infection. So I’m going to stop the bleeding, wash it, disinfect, then wrap your hand. That’s all.”

He has a tendency to get frustrated with you, and you’re sure he’s beyond frustrated with you right now, but he’s not showing it. He looks sincere, but you’re still on edge and lacking assurance. “Promise?” you whisper.

“I swear,” he assures softly, rubbing your jaw gently with his thumb. When you nod in response, Joel takes his coat off and folds it, then slides it under your head. He needs you as comfortable as you can be.

“We are gonna have to amputate, though,” he jokes as he pulls out a rag from his bag and presses it into your hand. You give him a dirty look. “Kidding,” he says.

Joel removes the rag to see if your hand is still bleeding. You catch a glimpse of the cut and the blood in your palm, running down your wrist, “Oh god, my hand, Joel–”

“Don’t look,” he repeats, “Just keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

But you don’t. You can’t seem to peel your eyes away, and you feel lightheaded. Joel notices.

“Tell me somethin’ new,” he says, distracting you from the pain.

“Joel, please,” you whine.

“Somethin’ new,” he reminds you.

“I saw a cat yesterday.”

Joel nods in response. “What color?” he asks.

“Uh, calico,” you reply. He’s reaching into his bag, pulling out his canteen and rinsing your hand out with his water. The cool water feels soothing on your palm.

“What’s calico?”

“It’s when a cat has three colors, Joel,” you answer impatiently, as if the answer should be glaringly obvious to him. “Fuck,” you hiss, as he pats the wound dry. The fabric feels irritating and painful against you.

“Tell me more. Tell me good things.”

Following his instructions, you begin rambling. It’s not hard once you start. “I saw a cat and I kicked Tommy’s ass in a board game and his baby is so cute, by the way. Almost as cute as the cat.”

“You think cats are cuter than babies?”

“Obviously. Babies are gross and they’re noisy and I finished the sweater I was crocheting for Maria and the snow looks pretty and I love you and I…”

Joel pauses his work on your hand momentarily. He doesn't hear anything else you say after those three words. I love you. It’s a fuzzy sort of quiet, he’s in disbelief. I love you. When your hand twitches, he pulls his focus back to you.

“...And I watched Star Wars.”

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, “You said that already, you said–”

“I did? Oh yeah. I guess I did.”

You’re clearly delirious, in panic mode, and not thinking straight. You don’t remember talking about Star Wars an hour ago, you don’t even realize what just slipped your lips a second ago. Joel smiles to himself. He’s suspected it for a while. He loves you too. But that’s a conversation for later. There’s a more pressing issue at hand, quite literally.

Joel clears his throat and blinks a couple of times. “Uhm,” he hums, thinking of something to say, “And you said you got that movie from Ellie? The Phantom Menace?”

“Star Wars.”

“Yeah, Star Wars Episode I, The Phantom Menace,” he corrects you. You shrug. “Unbelievable,” Joel says, “Thought I taught that girl better.” He reaches for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and keeps your hand open in his. “Alright, deep breath in and out. This is the worst part, then we’re done.”

Before you have time to breathe in and out as instructed, before you have time to argue, Joel dumps the alcohol in your palm. You yelp and tug your hand away, but he holds it still.

“I know, I know, I know, baby,” he coos, “Almost done.”

“Joel,” you cry.

“Look, all done,” he whispers as tears off a piece of gauze and lays it over your gash. “See? All done. Just need to wrap it,” Joel prepares more gauze, “Makes sense you’ve identified with Jar Jar, of all characters.”

“What do you mean?”

Joel begins to wrap the bandage tightly around your hand. “Clumsy,” he murmurs, “Troublemakin’... accident prone.”

“I don’t think you like Star Wars,” you tell him.

“Not the prequels,” Joel replies, “Only good thing about the outbreak is that they couldn’t finish that godforsaken mess of a trilogy.”

“What do you mean, ‘prequels’?”

“There was an original trilogy that came out before that movie you watched. Ellie didn’t show you them?”, and you shake your head no, “So you don’t know Han Solo or Princess Leia. That means nothin’ to ya?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus Christ. What about C-3PO? R2-D2?”

“Oh, yeah. I know them. They were in that movie.”

“No,” Joel disagrees, then looking baffled for a second before nodding his head as he remembers the hour he spent watching that movie with Sarah years and years ago. “Mm, yeah, you’re right. Guess they were,” Joel concedes, “We’ll have to rectify this, you know. Have a movie night sometime.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “You can make me popcorn.”

“I’ll make you popcorn,” Joel says, watching a smile form on your lips. “There it is,” he praises, “Missed that smile. Don’t like seein’ you upset like that,” he murmurs, finishing your bandage wrap and securing it in place. “What am I gonna do with you?” he asks as he presses a kiss to your palm before he lets your hand go. You can still feel the warmth of his touch on your skin as he watches you and your cheeks begin to warm.

“I know what you’re gonna do with me,” you whisper.

I’m gonna kiss you, and I’ll tell you that I love you too. That’s what I’m gonna do with you, Joel thinks, his heart beginning to race.

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

“You’re gonna listen to my Jar Jar impression.”

Joel sighs. He watches you with adoration, and he wants nothing more than to express that adoration for you. It’ll happen when it happens. He decides to let it go for now and play along with you instead, however you want to. You deserve it, after all. He’ll put up a facade like you drive him crazy and he’ll let you believe you’re really getting under his skin, just to watch you smile and hear you laugh like you really got him this time. And he’ll tease you back, at least once more.

“Please spare me until I lose my hearing in my other ear.”

You oblige, smiling and rolling your eyes. Still holding eye contact with Joel, you become acutely aware of the position you’re in, that all too familiar position. Faces close, bodies closer and staring into his sparkly, warm brown eyes with his weight pressing into you. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the way he took care of you, who knows. Out of the blue, you’re turned on and Joel knows. Joel cocks an eyebrow when your breath hitches, when you bite your lip and begin to squirm underneath him, seemingly now uncomfortable, aroused no doubt. “Time and place, hon,” he smirks smugly.

Heat rises up your neck and your cheeks at his accusation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do. I know how you operate,” he asserts. “What’s got ya all worked up all of a sudden?” Joel asks, his hand caressing your cheek, your jaw.

“Nothing,” you lie. Your skin burns where his fingers trace.

“I think you’re lyin’. I know you like when I get rough with ya, just wasn’t expectin’ ya to like it now of all times, when I had to wrestle you down to fix that gash in your hand,” Joel taunts, “You’re very stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

“Challenging,” you counter his claim, “And I wasn’t being stubborn. I could have taken care of my hand myself. I didn’t really need your help.”

Joel knows that’s a lie. You did, in fact, need his help. Badly.

“That right there is stubborn.”

“No,” you argue, “And I’m not worked up right now, either.” Joel makes an amused face at you, and you wince internally.

Shit. You fucked that up. Overcompensated.

“Right. Course not.”

Against your better judgment, you open your mouth to argue further but Joel hushes you. “What do I get if you’re wet right now, sweetheart?” he whispers, unbuttoning your jeans. Your tummy flutters with desire as his fingertips skate across your skin. “You’re more than welcome to stop me right now,” he purrs. He’s giving you an out, a moment to make a choice, but you don’t dare stop him. And Joel grins. He snakes his hand down your pants, underneath your thin cotton panties. The anticipation builds with the tickle of his fingers lightly dragging over your mound, his middle and ring fingers tracing over your lips. You gasp quietly when he dips his fingers at your core, his fingertips collecting your arousal. You stifle a whine as he pulls his hand away from your body, showing you his two fingers glistening with your slick. Joel clicks his tongue, “Can’t be comfortable,” he murmurs, his tone sarcastic and sympathetic all at the same time. “This all for me?”

“No,” you breathe shakily. Yes.

“You’re lyin’ to me,” he mumbles, bringing his two fingers to his lips. His mouth makes obscene noises as he sucks them clean of your arousal, humming at the sweet taste. Before you can think, he’s pulling your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, his fingers finding their place back at your pussy. “You could tell me the truth and I’d go easy on ya,” he offers, his thumb pressing against your clit.

You love the thrill, that feeling in your stomach. Joel gives you a moment to answer, but you don’t. “No?” he asks before situating himself on the ground with you, backing himself against a wall and pulling you into his lap. “Gonna make it worse for yourself,” he says, spreading your legs apart and hiking up your shirt, one hand playing with your pussy and the other kneading your breasts, teasing your nipples, “Why don’t you tell me how much ya needed this, hm? How you want me to make it all better.”

You sigh, a soft Joel falling from your lips as you become wetter, more sensitive as Joel’s fingers dance through your slick folds. He pushes two fingers inside you, fingers curling into that spot that he so loves. His thumb rubs tight, steady circles around your clit and he flicks the thumb of his other hand across your sensitive nipples, the combination of actions filling you with a deep, hot pleasure. You rest your head on his shoulder, the scratchy hairs on his cheek pressing against your forehead. You reach behind yourself to touch him, tangling your fingers in his curls.

“We’ll do this the hard way, then,” Joel shoves you forward, careful not to use too much of his strength but enough to let you know that he’s in charge. He’s always in charge. He takes his folded coat from the ground and positions it in front of himself. He stands up tall, knees popping as he rises. “Since you have nothin’ better to do with your mouth than tellin’ lies…” Joel snaps and points to his coat, “Might as well keep you quiet instead. Down,” he instructs, “On your knees. Do it now.”

“Yes, Joel,” as you assume the position.

“Ah, now she speaks,” he taunts, the quiet metallic clang of him undoing his belt buckle sending excitement shooting through you. “Open,” is his next command, “Nice n’ wide, hon, you know how,” he instructs as he pulls out his cock, hard and with a pearly bead of precum glistening on his head. You open your mouth for Joel, eyes wide and Joel taps his member on your tongue. “Keep ya from doin’ that stupid fuckin’ impression, too.”

Your eyes light up as you think of something quippy to say, but Joel slides his cock into your mouth to keep you from doing so. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, “Quiet.” He’s delicious, masculine, heady, and intense. He fills your mouth entirely and you swirl your tongue around him, tracing thick veins and salty skin. “Attagirl,” Joel praises you, gripping the back of your head and pushing himself further into your mouth. You nearly gag, pulling back slightly but he holds you right where he wants you, “Right there.”

He pushes you further than you’re used to, but not to the point of discomfort. His tummy nudges your forehead as your nose presses against dark curls at the base of his dick and you use your hand to cup his balls. As you hum against him, you wonder if Joel intends for this to be a punishment. His tone and the way he conducts himself is commanding, but the way he fucks your mouth is gentle.

“Still not worked up, right? Don’t need me?”, he asks, staring down at you with raised eyebrows. You shake your head no, lying again. “Okay,” he says, “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on your fingers. But don’t come. Not until you tell me what I wanna hear.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you bring your fingers to your core, feeling your arousal. You push two fingers into your dripping pussy, pumping them in and out and trying to mimic the way it feels when Joel does it.

As you fuck yourself, you hollow your cheeks around his thick cock, letting him feel every inch of your soft and wet mouth. He’s domineering above you, but his hand on your cheek is gentle, caressing your skin softly. He looks down at you through hooded lids and as your eyes flutter shut, you wonder what he’s thinking.

The way you’re touching your pussy hardly counts as fucking yourself, it’s teasing at best, and excruciating at that. You rub circles around your clit steadily, subtly, needing more than what he’s told you to give yourself. With your fingers working your clit and your mouth working Joel, the familiar pleasure of your climax is just within reach. Feeling yourself reaching your peak, you look up at Joel, “What are you doin’?”, he asks, like he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t be.

You pull your mouth off of his cock to whisper, “Please, Joel,” which garners an irritated look from him. Joel bends lower to grab you by your bicep and force you to your feet, spinning you around and bending you over an empty shelf of an end cap. He parts your legs and drags his cock through your folds with one hand, the other gripping your hip.

“Need those magic words, sweetheart. Say it, ‘I need you, Joel’. Go on, now. You got it.”

With the leftover feeling of your ruined orgasm and Joel’s cock teasing your pussy, you fold immediately. “I need you, Joel,” you breathe, “I need you.”

“Tell me more. How do you need me?” as he continues to tease.

“Need you to fuck me,” you gasp, “Please.”

“Need me to fuck ya,” he repeats, amused. Joel notches the tip of his cock at your entrance, “How ‘bout that. Tell me somethin’ I didn’t know.”

It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t give you time to answer before he buries himself inside of you. You groan at the sudden intrusion, how deeply he enters you and how full you feel.

He doesn’t need to experiment with you, doesn’t need to vary how he fucks you. You grip the edge of the end cap with both hands as he finds his pace immediately. His cock hits you right where you need him.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, reaching for your bandaged hand, “Don’t hold that. S’gonna hurt your hand. Hold mine instead,” as he wraps his palm around yours. “Better?”

“Better.”

You’re lost in it all, his hand holding yours tightly and his thighs hitting your ass, his balls slapping against your clit. His face is right next to yours, his nose buried in your hair as he nips at your ear.

“Fuck,” he grunts as he fucks you. He moans softly, his breath feels warm. Each thrust feels deep and intentional. “Good girl. Takin’ my cock so good.”

“Yes, Joel,” you moan.

He makes stuttering, strangled sort of noises. His breathing is sharp and unsteady through his gritted teeth, and you wish you could see him like this. You can just about picture him perfectly, his messy salt and pepper curls and that deep set line between his brows.

He fucks you hard and rough, both of you panting and moaning. Soon enough, his rhythm becomes frenetic and stuttering. “Squ– fuck, squeezin’ me too good, I’m not gonna last, sweetheart.”

“Let me come, Joel,” you plead, “Please.”

“I know, I know. Don’t need to beg me, darlin’,” Joel coos. He snakes his hand between your thighs and quickly finds your clit, his thrusts still steady and deep. He expertly paints circles around your clit as he becomes sloppier and frenzied.

“Oh god, oh fuck, Joel,” you’re gasping, feeling your walls begin to clench and squeeze him, “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Yeah, s’it, let go for me,” he pants.

With a few more circles tracing your clit, you fall apart on him. You come with a loud gasp, gripping his hand hard. Even after he helps you ride out your orgasm, he doesn’t yet stop fucking you, and the sensation is becoming all too much. You bite your lip to stifle yourself as he chases his own orgasm, and he spills into you with shuddering breaths and grunts, painting your insides with his seed.

You catch your breath with Joel as he begins to go soft inside you. You feel empty when he pulls out of you, craving the weight of his hand on yours after he lets go. As your breathing slows, turn around to face Joel. His dominant, taunting demeanor is gone and he helps you back into your clothes, then examines the bandage on your hand. He frowns when he sees he’s crumpled it and dampened it with his sweat. “Hang on,” he murmurs, quickly reaching for more gauze to rewrap it.

You touch his shoulder, “Just– let’s wrap it again at home. It’s just gonna get ruined again.”

“No, I promise I’m not gonna clean it again, I just wanna–” Joel stops talking when you reach for his hand. He looks at where his hand connects with yours, then looks at you. “Okay,” he says. He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say more. You look like you want to.

Hand in Joel’s, you walk together out of the mall. The horseback ride home is quiet. You hug Joel tightly, and Joel savors the warmth of your cheek on his back again.

“Joel?” you ask.

“Yeah, hon.”

“You’re sure you don’t wanna hear my impression?”

“I’m sure,” Joel says, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

as always, i appreciate all of my readers. please please please leave a comment/reblog/send an ask if you enjoyed, your comments really do mean the world and keep me going <3

follow @strang3stories and turn on notifs for fics only!

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #mall rats #mall rats!joel #mall rats joel #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

2K notes · View notes

cassiopeiasdaughter · 1 year

Text

Cardigan

Sirius Black x reader

warnings: implications of past self destructive thoughts and behaviors BUT nothing specific described, mentions of past mental issues, swearing, consumption of alcohol, underage smoking/drinking. summary: you’ve dealt with everything on your own, but Sirius changes that. Tags: light Angst, fluff, idiots to lovers, hurt/comfort Disclaimer: I am in no way shape or form romanticizing self destructive behaviors or tendencies. It’s something I’ve dealt with for years and am healing from. If you need to talk to someone my messages are always open. Also, English isn’t my first language and this story isn’t proofread, so if you find any mistakes let me know :) Word count: 2k

Lastly, this is a gift to myself for staying clean for almost a year

also on ao3

You drew stars around my scars

You have always been quiet, kept your emotions and thoughts to yourself. Never feeling interesting or important enough to share them, free them. Not even when times were dark and life felt impossible.

You felt hopeless, alone, unloved, that is why you sought out help in the form of something equally dark as the thoughts in your head. That kept going for years, shaping your identity, convincing you that YOU were the problem, the darkness that lived inside your chest was who you were supposed-destined to be, and that is why you never asked for help, never told anyone about your secret.

After sometime, the storm passed, and the sun came out. Realizing that you aren't unworthy of happiness, that you deserve love is a war that you still haven't won. You lose somedays, but you keep fighting. You know now that you owe it to yourself to at least try, try and fight the dark thoughts that sometimes find shelter in your mind.

So the dark days might have passed, but they have left their mark on you. Most days you try to ignore the marks, scars on you, not put much thought into them. Until now. And why is that? Now you have people that care about you, you had them before, but now you feel their love- you let yourself feel their love.

Sirius Black was your exact opposite and almost the same person as you. What you didn't have he did, and what he lacked he found in you. You were his shelter when the storm inside him tore everything apart, he was a blanket poured over you when the days were cold and the fireplace inside you couldn't be lit.

You were each others north star, lighting up the darkest of nights. You don't exactly remember when or how he became important to you.

Maybe it was during a Gryffindor party, he found you outside staring into the nothingness of the night sky seeking refuge in the stars. You were surrounded by your friends, by people you cared about, but you felt so so alone, as if there were glass walls separating you from them, not letting you hear the jokes that made them laugh or the music they danced to.

He offered you a drink and a smoke, you accepted, you still don't know why. He made a joke about something professor Binns had said to you in history class and you responded with a genuine laugh you'd grown to miss. "I didn't think you paid attention to Binns, your eyes are always half closed during history, come to think of it, last week I could've sworn I heard a snore." , you respond and earn a laugh from him.

He shrugs before he answers "I pay attention to you, not Binns." and at that you scoff. He giggles and if the sun was out you'd notice a faint blush over his cheeks, "No, really, you are always drawing something during his classes but somehow are able to pay attention to him. Talent- that", you stare at him now, unable to find the right words to respond.

You shake your head and look forward, taking a long drag of smoke. Turning back to him you say smirking "Careful Black, if I didn't know better I'd be scared you're stalking me.", instead of laughing it off like you'd expected he smiled and said "Darling, maybe I am.", he stood up to get back inside and added "You, sketching me one day, is the only thing keeping me up in class", before leaving you, startled, with a stupid grin that wouldn't leave your face for the rest of the night.

Come to think of it, it might have been an entirely different day. It was late at night, and you were returning to your dorm, after a not so productive study session at the library. As you were walking down the cold corridors, you spotted Sirius Black walking slowly to his dorm, hand in his stomach, quietly cursing to himself.

"Black?", you whispered loudly and after catching his attention, asked "What are you doing up this late? Are you hurt?", "I'm fine", he answered but as he turned to leave you saw him wincing in pain letting out a groan. You rushed to his side and checked his face, black eye and split lip, you removed his hand from his stomach and stared into his grey eyes, silently asking for permission to lift his shirt.

He nodded and as you saw his wound you muttered a curse. "How the hell did this happen?", you asked. "Bloody Malfoy and his friends had it out for me, next time I see him I'll argh...", "Sorry." , you whispered quietly, "Want help getting to Madam Pomfrey?", "Can't, Poppy will have my head, along with Dumbledore and Mcgonagall. Don't worry love, got it covered, I've had my fair share of healing charm practice. I'll figure something out. " , you try not to react to his words and say, "I can help you, let me."

And somehow he did. You dragged him to an empty classroom and he performed a lighting spell for you as you healed him. He paid close attention to you, as you worked. Noticing your moves, calculated- not sloppy like his were when performing these spells, as if you'd had years of practice, which you did, but he didn't know that.

Your face was calm, focused, you didn't look scared or anxious, he liked that about you. How you always kept composed, as if you'd grown shields around you, not letting the darkness of the world harm you. He wished he could also do that. Protect himself from his parents, the purebloods who threatened him and his friends, even his family who constantly expressed their disappointment to him. Disappointed by his friends, beliefs, choices, disappointed by him and who he was.

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "Sirius, I'm done, how are you feeling?" "Great, you should consider healing, you'll make a proper fortune..", he joked trying to change the subject, lighten the mood. But you asked again, sincere interest written on your face, "Apart from the wound, how are you?"

He grabbed your hand, squeezed lightly and responded with a small smile "Better now, truly." you smiled back and something fluttered inside you, a different feeling arising, but you couldn't understand what is was back then. You walked back to your dorms together and said goodnight to each other, like it was something you'd done millions of times before.

Many memories with Sirius flood your mind, weekends at Hogsmeade, drinking hot chocolate and butterbeer with your friends- spending more and more time together ever since Lily (your best friend) and James started seeing each other-,him making fun of James' obvious infatuation with Lily and you smiling at your best friends constant blushing at the seekers compliments.

Going shopping together, Sirius making an effort in helping you pick out clothes and you making fun at him for that. Ruining your and Remus' study sessions at the library. Jamming out to ABBA, Queen and Bowie. Seeing his face light up after introducing him to Fleetwood Mac. Being partners in Potions, brewing Amortentia together and you trying not to make it obvious that his cologne and leather jacket are the only things that you smell.

It is safe to say that you two had grown very close, he had a special place in your heart, not a friend or crush, something entirely different and unique. And utterly beautiful, just like him.

Going from friends to something more was like a slow reaction sped up by your friends, who'd grown tired of watching you two dance around each other, both scared to act on your feelings- not wanting to lose one another.

It happened as a dare, James dared Remus to kiss you over a game of spin the bottle. You laughed awkwardly and said no, but everyone insisted you'd go on with it, Remus remained quiet giving you and Sirius quick glances.

After taking a sip of Firewhiskey to calm your nerves and closing your eyes you exclaimed "Okay, just get it over with.", Remus slowly got close to you until Sirius stood up and left. James shouted "Oi where are you going?" and Sirius responded with an angry "Out.". The rest of you looked at each other worried and you stood up to check up on him.

You found him taking long strides down the corridors leading to the field and you ran behind after him to catch up, whilst also shouting his name. After getting outside, he stopped abruptly and you having finally caught up to him exhaled deeply.

"Why'd you leave so suddenly?" , you asked, secretly hoping, wishing for the answer you craved. That he was jealous, that he loved you, that he couldn't look at anyone kissing you, couldn't bare the thought of you being touched by anyone but him.

You scoffed at yourself for thinking like that. Imagination getting the better of you, once again. You braced yourself for the answer that'd hurt you "I got bored", or "Needed a smoke", prepared yourself for disappointment. But he said, "You know why."

And you gulped, you needed him to say it, not trusting yourself. You opened your mouth, but what came out was the repetition of "don't know" and "Sirius" and "I". You couldn't stop, nerves controlling you now, so Sirius did the one thing he thought would help, while also wishing he hadn't read you wrong all those months, he kissed you.

At first you were shocked and didn't respond, not until he pulled back, Now he was nervous and blabbering "I'm sorrys". You just grabbed him by his shirt and crashed your mouth on his, eyes finally closed, hands sliding around his neck and hair, you were kissing Sirius Black. And he was kissing you back!

Time stopped and everything felt unreal. After a few moments, not really wanting to separate from each other, you both took a step back, and there you stood, with Sirius' hands not letting go of your waist and both of you smiling at each other before you heard shouts and laughs from a few feet behind and Marlene’s voice screaming "I told you it would work!".

And all that takes us to the present. After kissing Sirius, you two have grown more and more close. Currently you are in the Gryffindor common room, alone and sprawled out on a couch near the fireplace. Sirius on top of you humming, as you run your hands through his hair with one hand and hold your book with the other.

You aren't able to focus on the story you're reading, your mind constantly reminding you of the past Sirius will find out sooner or later, the awkward conversation you'll eventually need to have and the vulnerability you have no experience with. Sirius calls your name and snaps you out of your thoughts,"What is going on up there?"

You look at him nervously, not knowing how to open up, how to talk to him about this. "I..." you say and sigh again, closing your eyes, he sits up and you follow him, now playing with your hands. "I don't know how to talk to you about this, I don't really know how to talk to anyone about it really".

He grabs your hand and caresses your cheek "Talk to me whenever you're ready, I'll always listen. I'm here and I don't ever plan on leaving." You smile awkwardly, tears gathered in your eyes but not able to flow down your cheeks. "Nothing you say to me can change the way I think of you."

You look into his eyes and know he is telling the truth; you've never been more thankful for him, you trust him and he knows that too. That is why when you open your mouth you tell him everything.

Everything you've kept inside all those years, the things you've had to deal with, the things you did to survive. He stays true to his word, he doesn't see you as weak or pathetic, his hand stays in yours as you talk, his grip stronger now, afraid you'll somehow disappear.

He holds you close when you start crying, muffled apologies whispered in your hair, along with "im with you"s, "im proud of you"s. You stay like that for a while, curled up in each other, kisses placed on your hair and forehead, your hands locked around his back , eyes closed. Letting it all out being the most exhausting thing you've ever had to do, but you’re relieved.

You watch as the sun comes out and know that everything will be okay.

#Sirius black x reader #sirius black angst #Sirius black fluff #sirius black x you #Sirius black hurt comfort #Sirius black #Sirius black imagine

88 notes · View notes

askbensolo · 2 months

Text

Journal Entry #40: Trying to figure out my purpose.

I’ve been thinking about the Force lately. I wouldn’t say I’m super in touch with it, but I’ve come to understand that it’s always there. If I quiet my mind and sit in silence, I can sense it, like a humming in my chest. But…I don’t often make the time to meditate.

I elected not to become a Jedi, but I think I have a higher Force sensitivity than most. Especially since my uncle has taught me how to recognize the Force—not to wield its power, but to observe its energy passing through me.

I wonder what it means to be a Force-sensitive non-Jedi. To be a Force-sensitive working a 9-to-5 desk job in the most banal sector of corporate news media. Am I serving some higher purpose in the galaxy, with my restaurant reviews and community event coverage? Is it the Force’s will to assist me in meeting a Friday deadline, or not losing my mind when that one coworker is getting on my nerves?

I think of Luke, rescuing orphans and training them in the way of the Jedi, empowering them and sending them out to bring light into the darkness. I think of my old pal Fannie, one of Luke’s students, who went back to Ryloth to help free women from slavery. It’s no question that their lives’ work hold immense purpose.

My life runs on a never-ending loop. My alarm goes off in the morning, I get up and make caf, drag myself out of the apartment, go to the gym, go to work, come home, scrape some kind of dinner together, look at memes, go to bed, and then do it all over again. And it’s like…what am I even doing? Did my parents fight a war just so I could do…this?

Sometimes I think that, if I took some time to attune myself to the Force, everything would become clear, and even the most mundane of things would come alive with a new sense of meaning and purpose. But somehow, I’m afraid to reach out to the Force. I feel like the Force knows me…knows that I am a son of Skywalker and yet denied the path of the Jedi. And for what? To sit at a desk, churning out low-stakes articles for people to glance at for two seconds before they scroll to “breaking news.” Is there now a hole in the galaxy where I should have been?

Maybe I was supposed to become a Jedi after all, as much as that scares me. Maybe I’ve missed my destiny…

Or maybe there was no destiny written for me in the stars, and the pen lies squarely in my own hand…and I seem to have the worst case of writer’s block, ever.

My mom didn’t want me to move out and go to college. She was worried about Snoke preying on me again if I was separated from the family. If I was going anywhere else, she wanted me to be with Uncle Luke so he could watch over me. But Dad and Luke stood up for me, which surprised me, and reluctantly, Mom let me go. I think part of her was hoping I’d come back home after I finished my degree.

I wish I could prove to my mom that I’ve done it. That I’ve made my way, and that I’m happy with my life. But my life doesn’t feel quite right, somehow, and I’m not really sure what’s missing. I mean, things are okay. But I don’t think life, this grand adventure only experienced once, is supposed to be just okay.

I guess I need to spend some time thinking about this. But, like I said, my life is on a loop and now it’s time to make dinner. One plum-tomato and sardine sandwich and a blue milk protein shake, coming right up.

#askbensolo #written #ben's diary #the chommsec daily #the force #fannie #raisin man

11 notes · View notes

lorei-writes · 9 months

Text

Winter Flower

Chapter I: That Lost; That Found

Masamune x OC [Hana] Summary: Hana wakes up in the gardens of Azuchi castle without any recollection of her past. Who is she? What was she doing there? And most importantly – what is she supposed to do now? Placed under supervision of Lord Date, Hana has to find her footing in the unfamiliar reality of the warring states. Series Masterlist

And so, the story begins.

Content Warnings: memory loss

“It is the first time a woman fell with snow into the gardens of my castle.”

Once upon a time, there was a bird clad in night, its wings housing thousands of stars. Wherever it flew, it stole from the sky. It laughed at the impunity of its own crimes until its voice grew rasp… And just as it thought it’d never be caught, winds tore its feathers out. The bird fell silently, too proud to flap its useless wings or to call for help.

Sometimes I wonder, whether the bird couldn’t have been caged, and thus spared… And whether I wasn’t meant to live out its fate.

I do not remember who I was before I fell. Truth be told, I do not recall falling either, nor anything that followed soon after. The furthest my memory can stretch is… probably this morning, when a maid arrived to apply salve to my feet and hands, only to see that I’ve woken up. It burned as she massaged it in, but not more than once she asked for my name and I could not answer her. I do not know it. I haven’t known even my very own face, and when she brought me the mirror I asked for, I was no more familiar with myself than with her.

It’s been half a day since then. I’ve been told to wait, so I do, even though my body still hurts and, if I could, I’d rather not move. The corridor before me is neither narrow nor wide. Were I to describe it, I’d call it bland, as there is nothing in this space that catches my eyes… Except the sliding doors, although I’d rather not look their way. Whatever is waiting for me on the other side of them, it fills me with dread, the cold air seeping through them doing little to ease my anxieties. The skin on my hands is red and cracked. Cool only makes it itch worse, to the point where it’s hard to hold back from scratching them.

The door opens. My shoulders tense. A man taller than me by nearly a head stands in the way, hazelnut eyes staring at me with… worry? The fur over his collar shivers, ruffled by a chilly draught, but it is me who he seems more concerned about.

“How are your hands?” he asks, reaching for them. I cannot help but notice the bandages running up his forearms – and he stops in his tracks, perhaps made aware of my own distrust.

“They’re… itchy.”

It seems to be the most accurate way to describe them. His arms cross in front of his chest, his forehead creasing thoroughly.

“You’re lucky we found you early, otherwise –”

“Hideyoshi.”

The man looks over his shoulder, as if branded by the voice that came from inside the room. He glances towards me, and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Come in.”

I don’t object.

I don’t think I can.

The room appears spacious, although I don’t dare let my eyes wander. Four heads turn towards me, none of which I can recognise. I drag my feet over the mats covering the floor and up to the long table, to then be pointed to my seat. Hideyoshi leaves me by myself. He takes his place at the right of the carnelian-eyed man, then lounged past what could be considered polite. White haori barely manages not to fall down his back, and yet, somehow he does nothing to remedy the fact. His smile has the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up.

“It is the first time a woman fell with snow into the gardens of my castle.” He stares at me, but I cannot hold his gaze for long. His chin now points even higher as he rests it on the back of his hand. I nearly beg for the question to spill from his lips, fearing the time it will.

“I – I am sorry for intruding,” I stutter, a thin smile splitting the face of the snake-like person to his left. Hideyoshi glares at him, but he joins the conversation just regardless, his voice a low rumble.

“How was your rest, little one?”

“I’ve rested well. Thank you for your hospitality.” I bow my head.

“And pray tell, why were you there in the first place?” I could swear I’ve heard him hiss rather than say. When I straighten my back, they all stare at me, all more similar to shadows rather than humans.

“You did have some guts to sneak in,” Eyepatch lisps. Oh, thank you, I was not aware of how terrible my position is.

“Dumb. You meant it was dumb,” the Fuzzball next to me grumbles.

“It isn’t easy to trespass into Azuchi, though, lord Ieyasu. Most assassins do not make it this far.” Glasses smiles from next to the Eyepatch, opposite of both me and Fuzzball. I see nothing to be cheerful about, Glasses.

“Mitsunari, nobody in their right mind would even consider threatening lord Nobunaga in such a crude manner.” Now Hideyoshi is involved in this too. Great.

“Falling asleep in the snow is not the domain of the sane either,” Snake is gracious enough to notice. I think I may be a mouse about to get eaten.

“I’ve heard experiencing cold can strengthen one’s –”

“Silence,” Mr Confident cuts off Glasses. Our eyes meet, my throat growing tight. “Who are you?” he asks, seemingly amused by the chaos around. They all wait for my answer, but — But I —

“I don’t know.”

Eyepatch laughs a hearty laugh while Fuzzball rolls his eyes. Not even Hideyoshi seems convinced, although he glares at Snake when that grins.

“What is it that you go by?” Snake has seemingly made it his goal to embarrass me.

“I don’t know,” I repeat. Eyepatch leans on the table. I do not appreciate the look in his remaining eye, and for a moment, it does cross my mind that I could hurt him if he laughed again.

“What about Hokuro then?” he suggests.

“Hokuro?” I echo, more dumbfounded than displeased… Although just barely. He reaches over to poke the mole on my cheek.

“Hokuro,” he affirms, but I shift back in my place, before he can touch me again to further push his point.

“Masamune, behave yourself.” Hideyoshi scowls. Tell him, Hideyoshi. I don’t know who I am, but I am definitely not a Hokuro.

“Come on, the lass needs some name.”

Masamune, I wouldn’t trust you with naming a rock now. I do not like the look Snake gives me either – if I could, I’d gladly hide my head between my shoulders.

“Perhaps Hana would be to your liking, little one?” he hums, having me wonder whether there is anything wrong with my nose. I point towards it, thinking that he indeed could have it in mind… But he shakes his head, this thin smile appearing over his face again, fox-like eyes crinkling with amusement.

“You could be a nose-Hana if you insist, although I thought of flowers.”

Surprisingly nice. I nod shyly.

The lord of the castle shifts in his seat. If there is one thing my body knows at its very core, it is not to ever cross that man. His attention turns towards me, and although I do listen, I do not wish to provoke him. In any way.

“Stand up.”

I do.

“Come closer.”

Unfortunately, I do. Because I have to. My legs tremble slightly as I step towards him, awaiting further instructions.

“Sit,” he demands, and I comply. I clench my fist, I clench my jaw – I am not a dog. Do not talk to me like that. My head hangs low, but he grabs me by the chin and forces me to look at him. This time, I do not relent under his gaze. I am furious. Who does he think himself to be, to treat me like a pet?

“That’s a curious expression you have there, little one.” Snake reaches into the folds of his kimono. His fingers are long and slender, each donning a neatly trimmed nail. He sets two brown bottles in front of Nobunaga, both closed with a metal lid. “Care to explain those now?”

“I do not know what those are,” I struggle to speak, the hand holding my chin pushing it up too high.

“They were found among your belongings,” Nobunaga more so accuses than explains. “Prove your intent.”

He lets me go. My fingers tremble as they unscrew the lids on both bottles, and when I bring them closer to myself, I realise both of them contain some smaller than bite-sized tablets. As per habit I formed who knows when, I shake out exactly one out of each bottle and throw them into my mouth.

“Swallow.”

You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you, Nobunaga? My poignancy aside, I do as the lord of the castle demands. I cannot refuse him, or so I fear…

And I wait.

And we wait.

And wait… Wait… Wait…

Nothing happens. I’d breathe a sigh of relief if my body hasn’t already known this would happen. At most, I am a little drowsy, and somehow, in less pain.

“Should you take another one?” the Snake suggests.

“Dosage can be the difference between a medicine and a poison,” Fuzzball grumbles from the end of the table.

“Perceptive as always, Ieyasu.” Snake smiles towards me. Very well. I swallow another set of tablets, to no greater effect.

“Were you even listening to what I’ve just said?”

Snake still smiles, so I —

Hideyoshi stops my hand with his own. “That’s enough.” His brows furrow, the concerned gaze he’s had for me morphing into a glare as soon as it reaches the Snake. “If she takes too many and dies, it still won’t prove anything.”

“My, yet she has taken them of her own volition.”

I just glance between the men, my mind being too slow for any coherent thoughts to form. Nobunaga urges me to look at him again, but this time, I nearly melt into his hand. He laughs, but my eyes can’t sharpen anymore.

“Docile creature,” he calls me before returning his attention to the other men. “Masamune, you’re in charge of watching over her.”

“Sure thing.”

“You’re dismissed,” he says and pushes me away. Mildly drowsy, I only observe, all of the present lords raising to their feet. Hideyoshi hoists me by my shoulder, but I am too confused to oppose him.

A one-eyed shadow stands in front of me. I think I may lose my balance and fall, but the hand he puts on the small of my back steadies me enough to prevent that. There is something feral to his smile, and for a moment I am certain I can see him wearing fangs.

“Come on, lass. Easy does it,” Masamune murmurs as he leads me forward, down through the blank corridor, past the room I’ve woken up in earlier today… Further, outside the castle gates. Into the city. Thick capes of snow lay on the ground, and although I do not know where this premonition comes from, I am sure it is plenty more than what one should expect in this region. The chilly wind has my nose sting; my eyes water as I turn my head towards the sky. Now I am the traveller in a foreign land, even if just by the ruling of my currently empty mind.

I shiver when he pulls me closer to himself. Masamune smells of spice, of chilly wind and of something I can’t quite put my finger on. He is warm, the fact alone offering me some relief… But he is also a stranger, one who attempted to name me Hokuro to add to his offences.

My shoulders relax only once we reach his residence, and I am led away by a group of maids. The moment my futon is set out, I topple over, the land of dreams outstretching its arms to catch me. It is a pleasant embrace, one that erases my worries… Alongside with any recollection of what happened soon after I took the medicine. At least I think it was medicine.

Tag list: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @the12thnightproject @oda-princess @tele86 @rinaririr

Series tag list: @cheese-ception @nuttytani

Last tag for the general tag list -- if you'd like to be added to the series tag list (or for that matter, any tag list of mine), please, do let me know :)

#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series

31 notes · View notes

beating-a-dead-plot · 2 years

Note

I saw you were taking asks :)

Can you do a Star Wars one where Rex and Anakin crash land on a creepy planet where there's this, like, Count Dracula knock-off who wants Rex to stay with him and Rex is just obvious but Anakin gets increasingly more mad. Doesn't need to be romantic because Anakin would totally get jealous even about a platonic relationship.

You have no idea how much I LOVE this concept!

"General, have you seen the medical supplies?" Anakin looked up from his rations to see his Captain ransacking a crate across the room. "They have to be here somewhere, we only just touched down." Anakin pointed out casually. When Rex looked unconvinced, Anakin sighed, setting aside his meal and heading over to his companion.

After nearly 10 minutes of digging through every crate on the small ship, Anakin and Rex were thoroughly stumped. They had every single crate onboard, except the one with medical supplies. The mission ahead was supposed to be covert and low-key, so, on paper, it was unlikely they would need medical supplies. Unfortunately, when General Skywalker was involved, plans tended to be tossed into the void of space, so medical supplies were likely needed for their mission.

Rex and Anakin were going through every nook and cranny on the ship when a strange chuckle reached their ears.

Both men's heads snapped up, scanning the small space. Anakin went to open one bay door on the side of the ship while Rex placed his hands on his hip blasters, ready to pull and shoot any potential threat.

As the door glided open, the two men were greeted with a foul odor, one they were all-too-familiar with. Blood.

Before either man had reacted, a being came into sight from the shadows outside. Anakin relaxed, Rex did not.

"Hello gentlemen." The creature's voice was deep and heavily accented, though it was difficult to pinpoint the origin of said accent.

"Who are you? And what do you want?" Rex asked sharply, hands still on his blasters.

"Rex, he's a local, this planet has only one native species, and this is one of them, he's not going to hurt us." Anakin told his friend. "Then why does everything smell like blood?" Rex challenged.

The strange laughed heartily, revealing two sets of sharp incisors alongside his teeth. "My species lives off of animal blood, the scent tends to stick to our clothes. We are of no threat to sentient species, simply an unfortunate association, blood and my people." The creature chuckled.

"Only animal blood?" Rex raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Only animal blood," The being confirmed. "You are quite fierce, I imagine you are a valuable asset to the Republic."

Rex felt his cheeks flush at the being's remark. "I-I'm a good soldier." Rex stammered.

Anakin was immediately irritated by this interaction, but Rex, as always, was entirely oblivious to this.

"Do you have our medical supplies?" Anakin asked the stranger gruffly. "Yes, I will take you to them, if I may have your names." The stranger bargained and Rex offered a polite smile. "I'm Captain Rex, this is my General, General Skywalker." Rex introduced himself and his companion.

"I am Vlid, come, perhaps we could talk more about your duties, as a Captain." The being offered Rex a flirtatious smile, which went clear over his head.

"I would love to! I'm very proud of myself and my men!" Rex agreed cheerily.

"What the kriff do I have to do to get this guy to stop drooling on Rex?" Anakin grumbled to himself.

He wasn't jealous, just concerned, of course.

It wasn't a short walk to the Vlid's tiny hovel, and it was agonizing for Anakin. Vlid showered an innocent Rex with praise and affection as he told stories of his brothers and their strength as a group. By the time they reached the tiny, stone dwelling, Anakin's temper was about to boil over.

As soon as Vlid had handed over the medical supplies, Anakin grabbed Rex by his arm and began dragging him back towards the ship. "General, we should at least say goodbye!" Rex pointed out worriedly. "Goodbye, Vlid, stop hitting on strangers!" Anakin called over his shoulder.

Rex's eyes went wide in horror at his General's words. "H-He wasn't hitting on me, General, he was just asking questions!" Rex defended. "No, Rex, he was hitting on you. He was barely listening to your stories and only replied to call you strong and handsome." Anakin grumbled, only further flustering his Captain.

"That didn't occur to me." Rex muttered wearily.

"Clearly."

#star wars #anakin skywalker #captain rex #clone wars #fanfiction #first request and god was it good #I did steer in a platonic direction #but I think it could be taken in a different way if you wanted it to

17 notes · View notes

v171 · 1 year

Text

My year in books, 2022

It's that exciting time of year where I get to go into too much detail about all of the books I read this year, so strap in for a lot of stats observations, ranting, and not enough gushing.

This wasn't a great reading year for me. Not only did I not read as much as I would have liked (40 books compared to last years 50, and 2020's 60), but I also just didn't like as many books as I usually do.

I do a combination of pulling Goodreads books stats, The Story Graph book stats, and my own book tracking that I'll get into. Let's start high level.

Recitatif was only 19 pages?? I don't think that's right. But Oathbringer is definitely right. I think it took me over a month to finish.

I'll probably repeat myself here, but in an effort to achieve my goal of 40 books while I dragged my feet all year, I kind of loaded up on very short books. So my average book length of 334 makes sense, but would probably be a bit bigger had I had actually just picked up books I wanted to read rather than books just to pad my numbers.

Station Eleven being most shelved?? That was a bit of a surprise considering I read Oathbringer and some other literary heavy hitters like Recitatif, and the Earthsea trilogy. Least shelved being Infinite Ground perhaps makes sense. It's a niche book in a niche genre, but I really loved it. I think I would have expected some others to be a bit less popular, like The Silence or Enter The Aardvark.

Average rating of 3.5.. hmm yeah I guess. My ratings tend to be a bit weighted towards the higher stars because I simply stop reading a book when I don't like it, and I don't rate books I don't finish so I have few 1 and 2 star ratings.

Always impressed by the insanely high ratings Sanderson books get on Goodreads.

HOBOY The Poppy War, I completely forgot I read this first this year. Looking back at my review of this book, I was way too gentle and forgiving for the complete shit that it is.

I still find it interesting how my audiobook/physical divide has shifted over the years, largely due to COVID since I don't listen to them in the car anymore. But I'd have expected, working from home, I would have listened to more audiobooks while I worked. But with the shift in my kind of work, it has become harder to listen to anything while I work these days.

5 Books by Becky Chambers! Yeah that makes sense considering I pushed through her Wayfarer books and picked up the Tea Monk and Robot sequel. Damn I love her books, what a fuckin GOAT. I'm actually surprised there were so many authors on this list, I don't know that I typically read books by the same author in rapid succession, but it was my "Year of Series," so it's now wholly unexpected to have many repeat authors this year.

I would like to try to read more nonfiction next year, but we'll see. This year was supposed to be the Year of Series, and I think I did a good enough job with that, but I could have done better and I really shouldn't make promises that I don't plan on keeping to myself.

This tracks. First and foremost, I'm a SFF girly. Contemporary Fiction being 3rd I GUESS makes sense, but I tend to dump books under that genre when I'm just not quite sure how to classify them.

As expected, ratings are skewed high, but I'm still surprised about how clean of a skew it is. I do think I might have been a bit generous with some of those 4 star ratings though, I have a bad habit of feeling guilty about rating books kinda low. My 4 star rating is supposed to mean "I really liked this book," and thinking back holistically, I don't think there were a lot of books this year that I "really liked." So I'm probably just a liar.

I love these rating breakdown graphs because they really illustrate my preference for genres. I am such a slut for science fiction, I read more 5 star SF that I read books in most other genres. Also interesting to see here that I didn't seem to have a great Fantasy reading year. Mostly 1s, 2s, and 3s.

This breakdown looks like it confirms what I want to be true: that by ratings aren't really biased by book length. I like to think I allow the story to influence my attitudes alone rather than get bogged down with how long it is, unlike some people who live in the same house as me who instantly drops a star rating for every page over 100.

I like this breakdown chart too because I like to look for pattern in my attitude during the year. Doesn't look like there's a lot to observe here other than the fact that I didn't read at all in September and most of October (was traveling out of the country for half of Sept. and catching up on work in October). But again, I also didn't read as much as I usually do this year, so maybe a pattern would emerge with more data. August looks like a funny hot-and-cold month with the books being almost evenly split between 2 and 4/5 stars.

This shows a bit more about the book/page breakdown and how you can see how much I overemphasized shorter books toward the end of the year. You can basically track where I decided to pick up some epic fantasy books (January-Jade City and Poppy War, May-Oathbringer), where the pages exceed the expected number of books, and the opposite months where the number of books exceed the expected number of pages per book (April, November, December). You can basically see me panic to finish the 40 books in November/December where I was averaging 100-150 page books so I could hit my goal. I hate feeling rushed, I need to be more disciplined about it.

And that's basically it! To wrap up, here's all the books I read this year. I'll have a few more posts to make about some of the specific books I read, loved, hated, or otherwise had some strong emotions about.

#my year in books #2022 #my year in books 2022

13 notes · View notes

lediz-watches · 1 year

Text

Legend of a mind

Okay, I'm five episodes in and certainly enjoying myself, but I am also incredibly frustrated, and distracted, and want this show to be so much better than it is and arghhh...!

I’m liveblogging The Winchesters as a Supernatural!virgin. Please keep my lack of knowledge in mind if you continue...

In episode thoughts:

Hey, X-Files. So X-Files. What is it with episodes calling back to other shows? Is it intentional?

ADA YOU ARE SO SUS.

Ah, at least this time she has a reason to be suspicious. Somehow I’m not buying that she’s only sus to protect her son. I think she got the son by being sus. In another show, I think Ada would be the example of darkness that John and Mary would need to turn back from, but here I feel like she’s just… par for the course.

This makes me kind of sad.

I suddenly realise I don’t remember how Ada relates to the others. Carlos and Lata are at least clearly friends with Mary and trying to be her partners, but Ada was just… Henry’s partner I think? Except she already knew Mary and Co? I don’t remember. It doesn’t bother me overmuch, but… yeah. I’m distracted, suddenly.

Betty should be a bigger character. She feels bigger than she is.

…Tony’s actor deserves a different script. What is it about dream-jumping characters having such bad scripting? And this actor’s too real, too heavy for the lines. He’s saying words that fit someone floaty and sweet, and he’s just… solid. It doesn’t fit.

LATA SHOULD BE IN A LABCOAT IN A MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR LAB. This scene is so distracting in how it doesn’t fit the context…! My supernatural cop show would be terrible but still fit these characters more.

Oh, Carlos… you are a terrible actor. Please stop. Please. Honey. Please.

Wow, Mary’s being like… good this episode? Like… heroic good? I’m… confused by this sudden lack of pragmatism.

Okay, see, Tony’s much better in this scene where he’s being practical and brisk. A doctor who uses magic. It works. It was just that one scene that didn’t fit his style, and it fell apart because of exposition. That’s so frustrating.

Side note – X-Files actually had the same problem quite often! So it’s on-brand for this episode, at least.

Okay, I don’t LIKE John, but at least he’s consistent when they’re not trying to make him seem naïve and charming. He’s a hardline jerk who belongs in the 70s with its toxic masculinity. The fact he’s not being kind when forcing Mary to deal with her stuff is very true to that line.

That punch was uh… that was a thing that happened.

MARY HE IS GOING TO DRAG YOU DOWN SO HARD.

YES LATA WRITE TO THAT BOY. Exchange flirty pictures. I approve of this practical magic pairing.

…This episode is so X-Files, I love it.

Okay.

So, five episodes in, let’s reflect.

I am… enjoying myself. But I don’t think I could handle a LOT of this. Like, there are a few things that are turning me off, and they’re things I suspected about Supernatural too. Things that stopped me from even trying, because I knew I’d end up frustrated.

The characters are… both shallow and complicated in a way that is frustrating. As in like… they are shallow representations of complex issues. Please don’t roast me fandom, I am five episodes into a prequel series that is clearly talking to something that had like 20 years of exploration. I appreciate that I don’t know what I’m talking about.

Like, take John for example. He’s not a good guy. There are too many things about him that are dark, with no self-awareness, no desire to be good. He just assumes himself to be Right, and Therefore Good. And… because he’s the main character, in theory, I don’t know how we’re supposed to feel about him. Are we watching his downfall or are we rooting for him to succeed regardless of the cost?

…I am having sudden Star Wars prequels flashbacks… Is John Annakin? I feel like John is Annakin.

Meanwhile Mary… wants to be redeemed. She wants to be saved from this life. But John is not a saviour.

Carlos is a saviour. But he can’t save John, and Mary wants to be saved by John. She doesn’t respect Carlos enough to be saved by him, which is… both appropriate to her character and the time and yet really freaking annoying. Because he’d be so good as a saviour character.

In fact, you know what? Carlos is in the wrong show. He’s in the wrong show! He should be in some anime inspired nonsense where he can truly be the dark magical girl he doesn’t know he so desperately wants to be.

And this show… argh, it is so very set in the 70s. John is such a 70s male character, but the show is not a 70s show! The show is a 2000s SyFy channel series with 2020 sensibilities. I love the diversity, I love the way the characters exist so comfortably in themselves, but every time we are reminded that it’s the 70s I get absolute whiplash because none of these characters would be treated this well by the people they’re interacting with. I mean, I don’t want to watch another treatise on why the past sucks, but these characters are outsiders already. Show me their struggles to exist even on the periphery of society so I can believe their situation!

But then… Jay’s posts imply this may actually be an alternate reality. Maybe that’s why. This is an alternate reality, where 70s America was much more enlightened, and 50 years into the future we will all be happy and Get Along. Maybe that’s it. Next episode, I’m going in with that mentality.

So, TL;DR: I’m enjoying it, but I’m also very frustrated by it. ARGH. Anyway. I’m moving onto chapter six.

(or back to chapter one if you care.)

#the winchesters #I mean I love the magic psychologist #he can be a supporting cast member on my cop show #but can we learn more about ada's weirdness please?#John is a picture of toxic masculinity #and yet we're supposed to like him #because that was where his parent show started i think #hides from the fandom

1 note · View note

the-scandalorian · 3 years

Text

Tempered Glass: Chapter 6

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 4k Warnings: slow burn, sad feels/angst, canon-typical violence, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: When Fennec Shand reveals your true identity to the Mandalorian, you do your best to pick up the pieces. Notes: I’m sorry this took me so long!! I rewrote it like six times because I couldn’t get it to feel right. Next chapter should be much faster. Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @dincrypt @dunderr @honey-hi @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @mbpokemonrulez @oloreaa @red-leaders @speakerforthedead0 @spideysimpossiblegirl @theflightytemptressadventure @ubri812 @zoemariefit

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Fuck. Panic coursed through your veins and paralyzed you. Your brain moved infuriatingly slowly as you tried to think of a way to stop the disaster that was unfolding before your eyes.

And yet...despite your fear and despite the fact that this terrifying, high-level bounty hunter had once tracked you, hearing Fennec call you sweetheart made your stomach drop—in a pleasant way, not at all like when Toro had done the same. She was beautiful, strong, mysterious, intimidating. What little you saw of her fighting style confirmed that she was lithe and exacting—catlike in her grace and prowess. A sexy armored bounty hunter.

I have a type.

You shunted that wildly unhelpful train of thought out of your head to refocus on the crisis at hand.

You looked at Mando. “I—”

“What’s she talking about?” he prompted. You couldn’t tell if you were projecting because you felt guilty or if he really did sound a little hurt.

You opened your mouth again to respond, but Fennec beat you to it.

“Oh, you don’t know?” Even in the dark, you could see Fennec’s eyes sparkle in delight as she addressed Mando. “I don’t know how this one stayed off your radar,” she explained. “She was wanted by the Empire for years. Huge bounty... She looks a little different now—check her chest for a scar to make sure, but I’d bet her bounty it’s there.”

Mando had already seen the scar. He knew Fennec was right.

You caught the hungry look on Toro’s face as he drank in everything Fennec was saying. His eyes trailed down your face and landed shamelessly on your chest. You could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he tried to think up a way to confirm your identity and claim the reward for both you and Fennec. This little fucker.

Fennec looked at you, and you took a step back involuntarily. “You’ve gotten sloppy, baby. There’s been chatter for weeks that you resurfaced on Nevarro. If I hadn’t been pinned down here, I’d have come for you myself.”

Her words felt like ice sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You’d figured that news of your sighting would probably get out, but you had hoped against hope that the blue-haired bounty hunter had been taken out before she’d been able to spread the word.

Mando was silent, fists clenched tightly at his sides, visor glued on Fennec. Pulling yourself together, you grabbed his arm and dragged him a safe distance away.

“I was going to tell you. I’m sorry,” you blurted, once you were out of earshot.

“It’s fine,” he replied stiffly, his gaze trained decidedly to your right.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered that even though it was just the two of you, his voice retained its icy, detached quality, all the tender familiarity gone.

“No, it’s not. I should have told you sooner. I-I wanted to—believe me—but I didn’t know if I could trust you. You were—you’ve been worried that I might turn you or the kid in, haven’t you? I was worried that you’d do the same to me if you found out. The longer I spent with you, the more I felt like you wouldn’t, but I had to be completely, totally sure. I couldn’t take the risk. You can understand that, right?”

He said nothing.

“Look—I really want to be able to trust you. I want you to be able to trust me. I just didn’t know where to start. It’s not easy for people like us to trust blindly, you know?” You hated that your voice sounded almost pleading.

Still, he said nothing, a blank beskar wall. The comfortable warmth that had developed—slowly, painstakingly—between you two over the past weeks had dissolved in an instant.

“Mando. Talk to me, please.” You reached out for his arm, but he stepped back. He still wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Not now. Not here.”

“But—”

Your heart sank when he turned abruptly and walked back to the others.

You watched as he grabbed Fennec’s arm roughly, hauling her to her feet, and you trailed behind as he lead your party back down to the foot of the cliff. When you reached the bottom, Mando threw Fennec to the ground.

“Uh oh, looks like two of us have to walk,” Fennec taunted, eyeing the lone bike.

Mando jerked his head, motioning you and Toro to follow him.

“Alright, so what is the plan?” Toro asked Mando.

Reluctantly, you refrained from asking him if he could contribute for once instead of letting Mando do literally all the work; instead, you turned to Mando and supplied, “That dewback isn’t far.”

Mando didn’t look at you. To Toro, he said, “I need you to go find it.”

“And leave you here with my bounty and my ride?” Toro asked incredulously. “Yeah, I don’t think so, Mando. I’ll only go if she comes with me, so I have a guarantee that you won’t leave.” Toro gestured toward you.

You and Mando spoke at the same time: “No.”

“Either she comes, or I don’t go.” Toro was obviously pleased with himself for thinking of this plan, a smirk painted on his face.

You shot him a scathing look before turning to Mando to offer, “I’ll go get it alone.”

You’d love to put some distance between you and Toro, between you and Fennec, and honestly even between you and Mando at the moment.

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Toro. “Less work for me.”

You ignored Toro. “I remember vaguely where it was.” You pointed.

Mando pressed a button on the side of his helmet and scanned the horizon, stopping vaguely where you’d pointed. Finally, he trained his visor on you. He looked from you to Toro to where Fennec was seated and to you again, deliberating. You could tell he didn’t want you to go alone, but he also didn’t want to leave you here with Toro and Fennec. “We’ll go together.”

You nodded, knowing you were in no position to complain. Now that your secret was out, it was evident that both Toro and Fennec would capitalize on your value at the first chance. And, even now, when your dishonesty had been revealed to him, Mando still felt compelled to protect you, his generous heart winning out over whatever malice he felt toward you.

A small part of you resented him for that; it didn’t rub you the right way that he didn’t think you could take care of yourself. A larger part of you knew it was exactly why you liked him so much.

It would be convenient if he were a selfish ass. You could convince yourself you didn’t owe him anything, that you’d done nothing wrong. But no.

This is why it’s easier to be alone.

You felt both angry and guilty, an awful combination that manifested in the urge to hit something—a deep yearning to break Toro’s nose flashed through your mind when you caught the smug expression on his face as he looked from you to Mando. He was enjoying the palpable tension that had materialized between you a little too much.

“Watch her,” Mando reminded Toro, gesturing to Fennec. “And don’t let her get near the bike. She’s no good to us dead.”

Without a look or a word to you, he turned and started toward the dewback.

***

You walked in awkward silence, knowing you’d have to be the one to break it, but you delayed the inevitable, admiring the array of stars spread out above you. Mando stomped up and down the swells of sand, staying several paces ahead.

You meandered your way through a storm conflicting emotions: anger at yourself for getting into this situation (rightful), anger at Mando for being infuriatingly honorable (misplaced), guilt that you’d hurt Mando (well-founded), fear about your safety (appropriate), fear that Mando was about to break your heart a little bit (honest), irritation that you were trekking through a damn desert and there was an aggressive amount of sand in your boots (fair but trivial)... and a myriad of others that were too nuanced to unpack.

After deliberating for a long time, you decided to take an offensive position and offer to leave preemptively to save Mando the trouble (and to save yourself from having to hear that from him). You steeled yourself with a deep breath and interrupted the oppressive quietude of the night, jogging for a moment to catch up with him.

“We can go our separate ways when we get back to Mos Eisley. I know I’m too much of a liability to keep around, especially with the kid.”

He turned his head to look at you, the night sky reflected in his visor.

“I have enough credits to get off world some other way.”

“If that’s what you want.”

It killed you a little just how much it wasn’t what you wanted. You were supposed to be totally independent—you’d chosen this life when you joined the Rebel Alliance, knowing that if by some miracle you managed to survive, you’d be hunted for years. The call for your blood wouldn’t—and didn’t—end with the Battle of Endor, especially when Imperial remnants remained strong. And years ago, condemning yourself to this life for a just cause had seemed brave and romantic. Now, here you were, desperate to build a connection with someone else, despite the risk. And you were starting to think that truly being brave would mean accepting that risk.

At what point is it worth giving up ease for happiness, for something more?

You gathered up what nerve you could muster and took a leap.

“It’s not what I want, but I know you feel betrayed. I really am sorry I didn’t tell you—I was planning to, but I was scared. Scared that you’d take advantage of that... scared that you’d take back your offer to stick together. And the longer I waited, the harder it got to come clean.”

“I understand.”

The frostiness of his voice had given way to something a shade softer, but it still hadn’t returned to its former warmth.

You nodded.

As it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything else, the disappointment started to settle in, trickling into the hollow of your chest. He understood, but it evidently didn’t change the fact that the fragile trust that had evolved between you was shattered.

Well, fuck.

You suppressed the wave of emotions that threatened to overtake you, focusing instead on making a new plan for yourself. There would be time to work through the feelings later, alone. Your thoughts wandered to where you might go next, running through a mental list of options. Nothing sounded appealing.

None of the places that came to mind would be stocked with a shiny, withholding Mandalorian and an ancient green toddler.

You walked for another twenty minutes before Mando spoke again.

“I want to trust you too.”

You stopped. “What?”

He halted too, turning to face you. The dark sky painted his beskar deep shades of liquid indigo, speckled with pinpricks of starlight, that moved as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I wish you... uh... had felt safe enough to tell me that, but I understand why you didn’t.”

You knitted your eyebrows together. “Wait. You’re not mad?”

“I haven’t given you any reason to be open with me. And I guessed you were running from something.”

“Oh.”

“The Empire part caught me off guard—but I knew there was something.”

Of course he’d figured it out...that seemed so obvious now. He’d be able to spot that from a mile away. Plus, he knew you. You spent the last month or so learning his tells and quirks, but you hadn’t stopped to think that he was doing the same with you.

He continued: “But the kid and I are also wanted by the Empire. We’d have the same problem even if you weren’t here.”

“True...” You were struggling to recover from the whiplash.

“What are you wanted for?”

“I was an Intelligence Officer in the Alliance.” It had been years since you’d shared this information with anyone, but the words fell from your lips as naturally as if you said them every day, like you’d been ready to tell him all along and your mouth had finally caught up with your heart.

“Yeah, that makes more sense,” he said. “Explains a lot of your skills.”

You scoffed. “Fair.”

Mando cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “But... it’s...uh, nice to not always be alone.” He punctuated the end of his sentence with a shrug, a little embarrassed.

Relief washed over you.

You smiled. “For me too.”

“Good,” he agreed, nodding decisively.

“Shit, you really let me think you were furious,” you laughed, feeling infinitely lighter but still trying to wrap your mind around this abrupt turn.

“Sorry,” he apologized, “I was... trying to figure some things out.”

You shook your head in exasperation and started walking again, but you froze when he said your real name. You’d known your name would sound good in his voice—everything did—but the way it rumbled and rasped through the modulator was borderline sinful, agonizingly personal.

File that away for later.

You looked back at him, and he cocked his head: “So you’ll stay?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” you agreed, a broad grin on your face.

You both started walking again, and suddenly, trudging through the sandy desert in the middle of the night didn’t seem so bad. The dewback came back into view as you crested another sand dune.

Mando looked over at you. “Din,” he offered. “My name is Din.”

You glanced up at him, surprised. “Din,” you repeated back to him, feeling it out.

Despite the contradictory definition of the word, it suited him. He was the opposite of a cacophony, a man of few words—though to be fair, he did often cause a commotion. But as a name... Din was short, to the point. It evoked a lot of feeling for just three letters, and that felt right.

“I know your real name now. I thought it was only fair that you know mine too, but only use it when it’s just me and you and the kid,” he explained.

Your throat was unexpectedly tight.

You reached over to squeeze his arm at the elbow, where there was a gap in the beskar. He didn’t pull away.

“Thanks,” you answered, looking up into his visor.

You hoped he understood that you were thanking him for more than just his name—for his understanding, for his trust, for his protection, for his vulnerability. You couldn’t say that all out loud at the moment, but you hoped he knew.

He dipped his helmet in acknowledgement, and you dropped your hand.

When you finally reached the dewback, Din approached slowly, speaking to it in a calm, lilting voice. It warmed to him slowly, and he grabbed the reins.

He hauled himself up onto its back and then extended a hand down to you. You took it, and he pulled you up easily to sit behind him. You wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Is this okay?” You weren’t really sure why you asked this time. Things had shifted between the two of you, so you were compelled to check that the casual contact was still welcome.

He cleared his throat: “Yeah, fine,” he confirmed.

It had been a long time since you’d been physically affectionate with anyone, besides the occasional casual, short-lived tryst. It was nice to wrap your arms around someone familiar and comfortable, someone who knew you.

The dewback started forward. Din directed it back toward the cliffs with the reins in his fist. It wasn’t a huge distance, but the dewback was a slow means of transportation.

You had little idea what all this meant for your daily reality with Din. You had both shared that you wanted companionship, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in anything more than that. However, for you at least, this was undeniably no longer a superficial interest that you harbored; you had real affection for him. And it seemed like he maybe was starting to feel same way about you? Or maybe he was just getting comfortable with having companionship? The man was starved for human interaction, so it was hard to know if he was warming up to you or warming up to companionship in general.

One step at a time.

Time slipped by as the dewback lumbered on. You rested your cheek against the scratchy fabric of his cape and closed your eyes. The rhythmic movement, the darkness, and comfort of the position lulled you into a light sleep.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep when Din woke you, squeezing your now limp arm that was resting on his thigh above his beskar plate.

“Alive back there?” he asked in a low voice.

Leaned against him, still groggy with sleep, you felt the question rumble through his chest.

You sat up straight, pulling your arms back to your sides. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He chuckled. “It’s fine. We’re close.”

The two suns had risen, bathing the landscape in the golden glow of early morning. You looked around and saw that you were a short distance from where you’d left Toro and Fennec. You couldn’t see them yet, but you figured they were hidden behind one of the many large boulders strewn across the landscape.

As you drew nearer, though, you could tell something was wrong. Only one figure came into view—and it was crumpled on the ground. Din registered this as well: his shoulders stiffened, and he pulled the reins tight to halt the dewback’s slow advance.

It was Fennec’s body on the ground. Toro was nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

“You were right about him,” said Din. “Stay here.”

Din dismounted and approached Fennec’s body. She looked dead, but he crouched to check. He tried to find a pulse, and after a moment, he stood back up and shook his head.

As Din walked back toward you, the realization dawned on you both at the same time.

“He didn’t—”

“The kid—”

“She must have—”

“We have to—”

Din hurried back onto the dewback and directed it toward Mos Eisley, doing his best to make the lumbering creature pick up its pace. It didn’t help much.

The ride back was interminable. You definitely didn’t fall asleep this time, adrenaline keeping you on edge as the hours passed. Both you and Din were incredibly tense, speaking very little, thinking only of the child.

***

Night had fallen again by the time you reached Mos Eisley. The speeder bike that Toro had been riding was parked outside Peli’s. Fury and fear spidered through your veins at the thought of him with the kid.

Din jumped off the side of the dewback and looked up at you expectantly, his arms outstretched. You maneuvered your leg over the side and slid down a bit until his hands gripped your hips, and he lowered you until your feet hit the sand. You could have easily jumped down on your own. He knew that. You knew that. You’d let him help you anyways.

You paused outside the bay to draw your blasters.

“Here,” Din offered you the flash charge.

You slipped it into your jacket sleeve, where it stayed tight against your wrist. Together, you crept through the door and down the stairway that opened up to where the Razor Crest was parked. It was eerily quiet.

You scanned the space, jumping slightly when one of Peli’s pit droids scurried past.

“Took you guys long enough.”

Toro walked slowly down the open ramp of the Crest, the barrel of the blaster in his hand pressed to Peli’s back. The child was held in his other arm.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh?” he sneered.

The urge to hit him flared up so acutely that you clenched your fists. You hissed at him: “Don’t you da—”

“Drop your blasters and raise ‘em,” he ordered, cutting you off.

You and Din exchanged a look before throwing your blasters to the ground. In a subtle movement, you shifted the charge from your sleeve to your fist as you placed your hands behind your head.

“Cuff ‘em,” commanded Toro, nudging Peli forward and throwing two sets of cuffs to the ground.

She moved toward Din.

“No, start with her,” Toro drawled, jutting his chin toward you. “To think I almost cut Mando out of this deal,” he laughed. “I would have gotten you and Fennec, but this is so much better. I get to collect the bounty on you and this target here that Mando helped escape,” he pointed his gun at the baby and all your muscles tensed in protective rage, “...and I get to turn in the legendary Mandalorian himself—a Guild traitor.”

Peli walked behind you. You grasped the charge in your fist so that she would be able to see the top of it. You heard her quiet, sharp intake of breath.

“Fennec was right,” Toro continued smugly. “Bringing you three in won’t just make me a member of the Guild—it’ll make me legendary. Three high-value targets on my first try. Wow, I should really thank you guys.”

Peli was fumbling with the cuffs behind you, taking longer than necessary on purpose.

You hoped she was ready to duck because you’d heard enough of Toro’s self-congratulatory monologue. You released the charge.

In the split second of blinding light, you, Din, and Peli sprinted in opposite directions, taking cover. Toro groaned and attempted to cover his eyes, shooting blindly at the empty space where you had been standing.

Din took Toro out in one shot.

You were closest to where he fell, so you charged forward with your blaster trained on his body. The baby wiggled out of Toro’s arms and ran toward you. His big eyes were watery and his arms stretched toward you, his fingers making little grabby motions. He chittered nervously as you scooped him up with your free arm, and he buried his head in your shoulder.

You kicked Toro’s blaster away from his body as Din approached to make sure he was dead. After he checked his pulse, Din tugged the pouch of credits from Toro’s belt and tossed it to Peli. “Here,” he said.

With a gasp, she caught it and emptied the pouch in her hands. Credits tumbled out, a few falling to the ground.

“That cover us?” Din asked.

Peli looked shocked, scrambling to pick them all up. “Yeah... uh, yes. This is gonna cover you.” It was clearly far more than she was expecting.

You passed the child over to Din, and he looked down at the baby, tilting his helmet in...what? Affection? Relief? This was a head tilt you hadn’t defined yet.

Peli approached him and looked down at the child. “You take care of him, you hear?”

Din nodded.

“Thank you for watching him,” you said to Peli, genuinely grateful that she had turned out to be trustworthy.

“Besides getting held at gunpoint... I guess it wasn’t too bad,” she replied, smiling down at the baby. She’d clearly grown fond of him, and you couldn’t blame her. After a moment, Peli mumbled a goodbye and walked away, eagerly counting the credits in her hands, her pit droids skittering after her.

You stood there, finger caught between three tiny green ones, as the kid babbled and cooed up at you. When you looked up, Din’s helmet was trained on your face.

He tipped his head toward the open ramp of the Crest in a wordless invitation.

You smiled at him, a comforting warmth settling in your chest, and he followed you into the hull.

***

Chapter 7

#tempered glass #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #my writing #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #reader insert #mandalorian reader insert #din djarin reader insert

206 notes · View notes

nevertheless-moving · 3 years

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIX

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XVI - - - - Part XVII - - - - XVIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Author’s Note: This chapter may contain triggering material. Depicts canon-typical violence and deals heavily with themes concerning the aftermath of attempted suicide.

“Commander- Cody- CODY! Would you wait up.”

Someone was calling his name, but now that the briefing was over Cody was having trouble focusing past the faint ringing in his ears. He worked furiously to move past the white noise and marshal his sluggish thoughts towards overseeing the shuttling of the remaining on-planet 212th back to the Negotiator, and finishing crew complement reports for General Krell and-

He had barely gotten his train of thought back on track when it was derailed by someone grabbing his shoulder. He barely managed to restrain himself from punching the irritant in the visor.

“What is it, Waxer?” he asked impatiently.

“Can we talk? Alone?”

“Fine.” Cody grunted.

Waxer dragged him into the closest small armament room. At a sharp gesture from Waxer, the few milling clones inside quickly shuffled out.

Waxer pulled off his helmet, eyes wide and sad.

“Cody-” he said hesitantly. “I’m not going to pretend that I completely understand what’s going on, but I’m here for you, whatever you need, if you ever want to talk. I never even told Boil about the- the trip to the temple, or any of it, ok? But I’m really worried about you and I want you to know that you can trust me- even if you just need a shoulder to lean on.”

The ringing in Cody’s head got louder. A beat passed.

“Is that all?” Cody finally asked. “I have work to do.”

“...yeah, that was all.”

Cody made for the door but was stopped by a frantic cry.

“I’m Sorry!” Waxer half-shouted. “I’m sorry- you told us something was wrong and we just laughed and I’m so sorry Commander. And then when you started getting weird and the General wasn’t answering comms I just assumed things were good, but then we found he was sick and I was making jokes about bedrest while he was in sickbay- and then I was remembering the surveillance you put on the Cantina and I made jokes about that at the time but I was right next to him at the bar while you over at the table and now I can stop thinking that he got poisoned while I was right next to him at the bar. And then General Skywalker stepped down from Command this morning and I don’t even want to imagine what would make him do that. And I don’t know what the kark all that was with Krell but I’m so sorry Commander- I feel like everything I say is making things worse but I- I’m sorry.”

It took a while for Cody’s sluggish mind to process all that. He stared blankly at Waxer as he quivered at attention.

“Waxer...” The ringing had stopped, and was now replaced with a growing headache. “None of the General’s injuries or anything are your fault, ok? I- its classified and I don’t- I don’t know what happened this morning but...nothing actually happened in the Cantina. You have to keep this secret- but...” Cody hesitated over how much to say.

His voice dropped to a low whisper. “Practically the only thing I do know for sure is that he wasn’t poisoned. It was just regular alcohol and at most it made him slightly vulnerable... Anyway nothing was your fault so just- focus on the mission. Ok?”

Waxer stared at Cody. He cleared his throat. “You said Injuries.”

“What?” No I- what are you talking about?” Cody asked weakly.

“Commander. You said injuries. Not illness. Are you telling me that the General was attacked?” Waxer asked, voice growing quiet and angry. “Are you telling me that the General was attacked and High Command lied to us about it?”

Cody responded with similar hushed irritation, “No! Waxer- look. I can’t talk about this, it’s-”

“I swear to the force if you say classified I don’t care if you are my commanding officer I will slug you.” Waxer took in a shaky breath, clenching his fists. “Is this why you’ve been wearing your bucket? Because you can’t look your troopers in the face while you lie to us about a threat to the 212th?”

“That’s enough lieutenant- there are things you don’t know-”

“Yeah, because I’m being lied to- I’m supposed to be your lieutenant and even if you couldn’t tell me everything I at least trusted that you wouldn’t lie-”

“We didn’t lie- illness is the best description because even if we don’t understand what caused it, that’s what caused the injuries, and the troops needed to know this isn’t going to be fixed even once he’s technically out of the Bacta tank.”

“What the kriff kind of illness causes injuries you treat with a Bacta tank-”

“Fuck. Waxer, please. I can’t do this-”

Waxer stepped forward as Cody shifted back.

“Cody. Seriously. What kind of illness causes injuries you treat with a Bacta tank? That- that doesn’t even make sense.”

"It’s class-”

“What do you mean the alcohol made him ‘vulnerable’?”

“Lieutenant, I’ve got to back to work-”

Waxer grabbed his arm before he could pull away.

“Commander, was this an attack or not?”

“We- we don’t know. There’s Jedi bantha fodder involved...and, Waxer you can’t discuss this with anyone, I can’t-”

“What the kriff do you mean you don’t know- how could it not be clear if his injuries were caused by an attack or an illness?”

Cody yanked his arm away and shoved Waxer back with his shoulder. The lieutenant quickly regained his balance and charged forward, tackling the commander to the ground, helmet make a hard thud as it made contact with the duracrete floor. They rolled around, each trying to gain leverage over the other.

Cody managed to get on top, knee driving harshly into Waxer’s back, pinning him down. After that, it only took a few more seconds to twist one of Waxer’s arm behind his back.

“Fine!” Cody sneered, pressing hard on his Lieutenant’s neck with one hand while yanking the trapped arm painfully. “You really want to know?!”

“Obviously, asshole” Waxer grit out.

“The general tried to karking kill himself and we have no idea why.”

“no-”

“Or rather we have too many ideas why. Did you know Jedi can take psychic damage from being around too many violent thoughts? Or that the General got abandoned in a fucking planetary civil war when he was a cadet?”

“that-”

Of course, he could have just had a vision that melted his brain and actually he wanted to wake up by killing himself. And if that’s true than it means he vividly remembers the nightmare shit from the hovercar ride. Remember that stuff? Temple burning? Us firing at him while mind controlled? Yeah, could be he just thinks that’s more real than reality, and he’s never going to be able to move on from stuff we didn’t even do. And he might never believe anything we say or do is real ever again.”

“I-”

“Of course, it could be some sort of crazy dark forbidden Jedi attack from Dooku or Ventress because they’re still running around despite all the times we’ve almost captured them, and if it is that then there’s not a karking thing we can do to defend him!”

“Cody, please-”

Cody breathed heavily for a second, staring uncomprehendingly at the trooper pinned beneath him. After a moment, everything clicked into place and he scrambled back, stopping when his back hit a sealed munitions rack. Waxer gasped for breath.

“Fuck- Waxer, I am so sorry, that was, kriff, you shouldn’t have found out that way- I shouldn’t have told you like that, I’m so sorry. I- are you ok?

"Oh yes, I’m doing great,” Waxer wheezed. “How about you?”

“I’m fine.” Cody replied automatically, wincing immediately at the absurdity of the sentence.

“Wizard, so glad we had this conversation.” Waxer coughed, voice starting to get back to normal.

The door clicked open and a trooper Cody didn’t recognize stepped in, looked between Cody, who was braced defensively with his knees up, and Waxer who was panting face down, a small distance away. He immediately stepped back into the hall, not saying a word, door clicking swiftly closed again, lock audibly activating.

Waxer flopped over to lay on his back, head turned to the side to pin his Commander in place.

“...Thanks for telling me, Cody.” Waxer said quietly.

Cody thunked his head back. “You wish you never asked, fuck off.”

Waxer sat up with a groan, “No...Cody you shouldn’t have to go through this by yourself.”

“...Rex knows. Not- not everything I just said. But the basics.”

“Good.” Waxer crawled over to sit next to his Commander, sitting back heavily.

“...I’m sorry, Cody. If Boil ever- I’m just...really sorry.”

Cody dropped his head to his knees. “I can’t let myself feel like that, Waxer,” he rasped. “I was already hanging by a thread and then- I thought he was there at the meeting for a second, and I- the men need me, I can’t focus on stuff that’s going to make me go nuts.”

“Um... you mean you thought he was there, when the Jedi were ‘sensing’ him?” the lieutenant asked tentatively.

“...yeah,” Cody sighed.

“That sounds like force stuff.”

Cody hummed in response.

Waxer took a deep breath. “Did- did it seem like he died?”

“I don’t...know,” Cody answered softly. “He- was there. And then he wasn’t.”

There was a long pause before the Lieutenant spoke, deliberately cheerful.

“Well then, I bet he’s alive. He’s obviously not very good at dying.”

Cody choked on a harsh breath, coughing heavily enough that he finally yanked off his helmet to suck in air.

“For- for force sake, Waxer-”

“You said you couldn’t go nuts,” Waxer said, shoving him with his shoulder. “We’re soldiers, right? This is how we deal with horrific shit that no one should ever have to think about, let alone have to keep to himself for fear of demoralizing an entire army, eh?”

“Waxer...”

The trooper climbed to his feet with a groan, ignoring his commanding officer.

“Come on, let’s get those kriffing manifests completed for Master Krell. I’ll make sure you keep going. For our Vode.” He offered a hand down to Cody, who tentatively accepted it. Waxer yanked him to his feet, drawing his Commander in for a quick, crushing hug, before ducking down to pick up the discarded buckets.

They both pulled on their helmets, puffy eyes and swollen lips hidden neatly.

“For our Vode,” Cody repeated.

They unlocked the door, joining the throng, all company marching to the familiar rhythm of a quickly ticking deployment countdown.

Next (Part XX)

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #potentially triggering #violence #suicide references #star wars fanfiction #star wars au

209 notes · View notes

thunder-at-dawn · 3 years

Text

Rose Colored Cheeks

word count: 3,657

summary: days before the l’manburg vs. dream team war, wilbur and eret decide to have a toast to how far they’ve come. in the process, eret points out how easy it is to make wilbur blush, and the commander decides to have some fun of his own.

woooo! this fic is done, and it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written for this account so far! enjoy one of my favorite duos :D

warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable :]

cw: alcohol

“Eret, I have a question.”

“Wilbur, I likely have an answer.”

“When was the last time you drank alcohol?”

Eret huffed, leaning against the outside of the camarvan as she thought of an answer for her leader. She pondered in her head, not quite being able to come up with a clear answer.

“...I can’t come up with an exact date. It was more than quite a few months ago, but...it was definitely within the past year.” She nodded. “I don’t exactly remember what happened or where I was, my memory is a little hazy. Although... I believe I was likely drinking because of a celebration of some sort, perhaps?”

“A celebration?” Wilbur repeated.

“Yeah. I usually only drink when it comes to special occasions.” She shrugged, glancing at the sunset that was slowly spreading over the sky. “What about you? When was the last time you drank?”

“Not fairly long ago.” Wilbur shook his head. “Probably only a month or two ago.”

“Why do you ask?” Eret questioned curiously, before she suddenly felt Wilbur take her hand in his own.

“Come inside with me, Eret.” He said with a smile. She smiled as well, letting Wilbur guide her inside of the camarvan. Once they were inside of the van, Wilbur let go of her hand to walk into the back room. The eyeless entity leaned against the wall, being able to hear her friend rummaging through various things to find what he was looking for.

“Ah, there we go.” She could hear Wilbur mutter quietly. The young man returned from the back of the room, holding two empty champagne glasses, one in each hand, and setting them down in front of him.

“Are those for what I think they’re for?” Eret asked with an eyebrow raised.

“They might be.” Wilbur chuckled, heading back into the back room momentarily. She could hear more rustling, and he reentered, holding a bottle of champagne in his hands.

“In a few days time, we go off to war with the Dream Team. I wanted to have a proper gathering of some sort, where we celebrate our triumphs one last time before the war, before we have even more to celebrate.” Wilbur exclaimed, placing the bottle on the table. “However, not only are we the only ones awake right now, we’re also the only ones on our side who can legally drink. So... I think that we should have a toast.”

“A toast?” Eret repeated curiously, stepping forward towards her comrade.

“A toast, to how far we’ve come. You’ve been a good person to me, Eret. You’ve been a friend, a comrade, a brother. While I didn’t want to have to come to the terms of war with the other side, I know this battle will bring us closer than ever before.” Wilbur continued to speak as he attempted to twist the cork off of the bottle. “So, because of that, I believe... that we should... should have a toast- ugh. A toast to our-“

“Do you need any help with that, Wilbur?” She interrupted, watching her leader struggle to get the cork off.

“Nonono, I’ve got it.” Wilbur insisted, still struggling to twist off the cork on the bottle, shaking it to see if that would get it loose.

“Are you sure?” Asked Eret, entertained by her commander’s struggle.

“I promise you Eret, I’m fine, I-“

POP!

“Oh no!” Eret laughed as she felt a stream of cold champagne spray onto her jacket. She rushed over to help control the spray as Wilbur panicked, quickly dipping the bottle down and spraying the insides of the glasses with the cold, sparkly liquid. Afterwards, he grabbed an empty potion bottle nearby, attempting to spray the rest of the champagne into it. It filled up quickly, and Eret laughed more when Wilbur started to repeatedly curse out loud when it started to overflow. Eventually, the champagne stopped spraying out of the bottle.

“Wilbur, are you drunk already? The champagne is supposed to go in the bottle.” Eret joked.

The commander’s face suddenly turned a bright pink. “Sh-Shut up.” He stammered with a chuckle, shoving Eret’s arm before rushing off to find something to clean up the mess with. She giggled, following him to the back room.

“Has anyone ever pointed out how easy you are to fluster?” She asked with a shit-eating grin.

“Eret, stop talking.” Wilbur demanded as he rummaged through the chest.

“Your face is like, bright pink. Like a peony. That’s how much you’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing!” He insisted. Eret simply laughed at him, doubling over and clutching her stomach as Wilbur rolled his eyes.

“Relax, I’m just teasing you.” She giggled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “How about we clean this up later, and just go ahead and celebrate, like you said?”

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile when he saw Eret taking enjoyment in the situation, chuckling quietly. “Alright… I suppose this mess can wait.” He said, handing her one of the glasses. He picked up his own, holding it up.

“A toast to the future.” Eret said with a smile, holding her glass up as well.

“And to how far we’ve come, my friend.”

“Hehey. Hey. Wilbur. Wilburwilburwilbur.”

“Oh my god, what?”

“This was a great idea.”

“Hmm… judging by how you’re acting, I’m not quite sure.”

“I’m not acting! I’m saving my acting skills for the stage and the spotlight.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight back a grin. They had a few…refills, he wouldn’t lie.

And while he was still in a somewhat of a decently regular headspace, Eret was another story.

She’s on a whole different astral plane, he thought. His friend beside him had been cracking jokes and snarky remarks, her speech was slurred, and hiccupy giggles were seemingly always pouring out of her mouth. They had moved out of the camarvan, and were now sitting next to each other outside in the grass, under the stars.

“Wilbur… y’know, I think the last time I was like this, I was at a party, and…” Eret paused, staring at Wilbur as she giggled, the continued. “And- and there was this guy there, and he told me about this thing called updog. It was really cool, and I think someone like you might wanna hear about it~!” Dragging out the last word, she rested her arm on her friend’s shoulder. Wilbur watched the other explain her story with amusement, even giggling a bit himself before he rolled his eyes.

“Hmm, really Eret? Well, now that you’ve told me, I must know…what…” He sighed, wondering if it was really a good idea to go along with this. “…What’s updog?”

While it wouldn’t be able to be seen from behind her sunglasses, Eret’s blank eyes widened in amusement, and she snorted before cracking up with laughter. “Y-Yohou- Yohou fehehell fohor ihihit!” She hiccuped, laughing as she leaned back into the grass.

“Oh my gohod.” Wilbur snickered, laying down next to Eret in the grass. Her reaction was only making him beam more. “Eret, if you keep laughing this loud, you’re going to wake up Tommy, Fundy, and everyone else here in L’Manburg.” He chuckled.

“Sihince whehen dihid yohou cahare *hic* abohout Tohommy’s sleheheep schehedule?” Eret asked through hiccupy, hysterical giggling.

“Oh, shut it.” Wilbur grumbled as he could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Yohou’re bluhushing! Agahain!” She observed, pointing at Wilbur’s pink face. She sat up and gently held his face, eyes widening in surprise. “Wohow, you’re a bit warm, actually!”

“Am not.” He scoffed, leaning into the touch of Eret’s hand.

“Are too.” She snapped back.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am noHOHOT-!” Wilbur jumped in place when he felt a hand squeeze at his side. The pink blush on his face only grew deeper. “Eret!”

“I win!” Eret threw her hands in the air, once again going back to a giggly state afterwards. Wilbur crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath as his friend laughed with victory.

She lowered her hands and her giggles slowed down as she looked back at Wilbur. “You really are easy to fluster. What is that, the third time I’ve made you blush tonight?” She asked, grinning softly at her commander.

“Oh, shut it.” Wilbur groaned, before coming up with a question to ask. “Actually, Eret, how easily would you say you blush?”

“Hmm… not that much. I take pride in not being a big flustered person like you.” Eret responded, her speech slurred as she giggled once more and poked Wilbur’s cheek. He hated that he could feel his cheeks heating up, and could see Eret’s smile grown more in amusement.

However, he did come up with an idea.

“I bet I can make you blush.” Wilbur challenged.

Eret’s eyebrows raised up, curious about this idea of Wilbur’s. “Oh, really?” She asked, leaning towards Wilbur. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I have my ways.” Wilbur shrugged, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“And your ways are not going to work. However, I would be very, very entertained to see you try!”

“Alright…” Wilbur shrugged, glaring at his friend. “You better prepare yourself though. I’m not going to be nice.”

“…Huh? What do you mean by thAT-?!”

Before Eret could continue, she was knocked into the grass, landing with a thud. Opening her eyes, she saw Wilbur’s grinning face, and took notice of the fact that he was straddling her legs, and she couldn’t move them.

“Now, Eret, I’ll have you know, I like to pride myself in being an observant person. And just about a week ago, I observed something very interesting.”

“And what would that be?” Eret asked before a hiccup stopped her from saying anything else.

“…Do you remember that one day, where Tommy was just… I dunno, being more of a pest than usual? He was being super loud, and he kept poking me. And at one point, I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine…and it escalated to one big, childish tickle fight between everyone in the camarvan that day.”

Oh no.

Any but of confidence Eret had before this had dropped. Wilbur could easily tell.

“You remember that, right? Surely, you do, because, out of the corner of my eye, I caught you getting tag-team wrecked by Fundy and Tubbo.” Wilbur smirked, chuckling as he saw Eret’s confident smile suddenly drop.

“I-Is that your plan? Tickling me until I blush?” Eret asked, trying to regain her confidence back. “That’s not going to work.”

“Stuttering already, are we? Are you a bit embarrassed, Eret?” Wilbur asked.

“Of course not.” She responded a bit too quickly, shaking her head.

Wilbur simply laughed at her predicament, already planning things in his head. “Anyway, no. I’m not going to tickle you…yet. Seeing as you’re already a bit nervous…I think that I should make you a bit more anticipated for what’s to come.”

Oh no. Oh fuck.

“You see, I had to do a bit of…convincing, to get Fundy to tell me about your spots. As your commander, I think that there are certain, important things that a leader should know about his comrades.” Wilbur’s smirk grew, and he adjusted his hands so that the were resting in the crevice to Eret’s armpits.

“You know the keep your arms up game? Classic game to play? Yeah, Fundy told me that you were playing this game, and you were horrible at it. Like, you moved your arms down instantly, he said.”

Eret scoffed. “Okay, says you. I literally helped wreck you the other day, and your arms instantly went down when we played that game.” Wilbur recalled the memory, and knew that his face was going red from the way Eret was now laughing at him.

“Yohou’re bluhuhshihing agahain.” She pointed out with a grin.

“D-Don’t get confident with me.” He stammered. He was stuttering! He was the one supposed to be doing the flustering right now! This wasn’t fair!

Whatever. He shook off the feeling of flusteredness, sliding his hands down Eret’s body, his confidence coming back when he heard her inhale sharply as his fingers glided across her hips.

“Oooh, your hips are a good spot, I’ve heard.” Wilbur said in a low tone of voice. He knew Eret always purposely lowered the tone of her voice when wrecking to make people flustered, both from first hand experience and from observation, so maybe it would work on her as well. “Eret, how would it feel if I just…ever so lightly traced my fingers around your hips?” He proceeded to do as he said, watching Eret grin and cross her arms over her chest.

“This is nothing, Wilbur! I’ve *hic* had worse than this.” She smiled at him, her confidence restoring.

“Oh? So there are spots that are worse?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow, then found himself laughing at how quickly Eret’s smile dropped. However, he still didn’t get that sweet, rosy hue across her cheeks that he was looking for. She snickered as well, giggling along with him.

“Yohou’re so sihilly, Wihilbur.” She said lazily, her slurred speech continuing to shine through.

“Silly?” Wilbur questioned, suddenly stopping the light tracing on her hips. “You know what I think is silly, Eret? How ticklish your stomach is.” He smirked, moving his hands and resting them on top of the named area, watching as Eret’s giggles started to die down.

“Your stomach…oh, man. Fundy said that you were such an adorable little mess here. He said that he scribbled all over your stomach and your sides, you just would not stop laughing and giggling! And your sides…they’re just as bad. If not, worse!” Wilbur tapped his fingers on top of Eret’s stomach, watching the other’s nervous grin grow.

“Scribbling, squeezing, poking, clawing. Anything will work here, that’s what Fundy told me. And the button! The giggle button, I like to call it. You’re just so fucking giggly whenever someone presses the button! However, I guess that’s it’s job, isn’t it?” The commander lightly tapped one hand on Eret’s side, the other having a finger trace circular motions around her belly button. “How are you feeling, Eret? Feel like blushing yet?”

“You’ll nehever break me, Wilbur. I’ll never blush! Never!” Eret spoke with firmness and assurance.

“Oh, trust me. I will break you, Eret. And I know exactly how I’ll do it.” Wilbur grinned, slowly moving his hands upwards on her body, and tapping along one final spot: her ribs.

“Now, tell me, Eret. Fundy said that this is your worst spot. You instantly lose control whenever someone scribbles and pokes and prods at your ribcage. Digging in between each rib makes you squeal, and a raspberry? Ohoho, a raspberry, just one singular raspberry, makes you scream. So, is it true? Is this your worst spot?” Wilbur asked, his voice laced with mischief.

Eret simply grinned, shaking her head. Fuck. Wilbur hated to admit it, but he would’ve been a flustered, giggling mess at this point. How had she not broken yet?! It was kind of impressive, in all honesty. There was one final chance, one last idea that Wilbur had.

“…I can tell that you’ve been giggling this whole time, and have been holding back your emotions. You really want to laugh, don’t you, Eret? Well…I’d just love to help with that.” Wilbur smirked, quickly pushing up her shirt, lowering his head down, taking a deep breath of air, and blowing the biggest raspberry he could on Eret’s stomach. She shrieked, clasping both hands over her mouth, muffled giggles spilling out.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” Wilbur lifted up his head, taking advantage of what Fundy had said about the keep your arms up game, quickly shooting his hands into her underarms and scribbling at the hallows. Eret instantly drew her arms down, bubbly laughter flowing out of the young soldier’s mouth.

“AHAHAHAHA!! NOHO, WIHIHILBUHUR, QUHUIHIT IT!!!!” Eret yelled, attempting to grab his wrists and push his hands away.

“Quit? But I just started!” Wilbur said, a wide grin on his face as he moved to Eret’s hips, squeezing and pinching at the flesh. He then quickly moved to her thighs, scribbling and scratching at them, delighted when he felt Eret’s legs attempt to kick out from underneath him.

“YoHOuou- *hic!* yohohou baHAstAHARD!” Eret threw her head back, hugging herself across the chest.

“Oho, namecalling now, are we?” A cheeky grin was on Wilbur’s face as he continued to rapidly move spots, now squeezing up and down her sides. After a few moments, he dug a finger into her belly button with one hand, and spidered the fingers on his other. Eret did her best to squirm away from the touches, but anywhere that Eret leaned, Wilbur would simply skitter his fingers there to push her back into the position he wanted.

“WIHIHILBUR! ThAHaht- AHAHAHA! SHIHIHIT!” Eret tried pushing away her commander’s nimble fingers, but had no success. She then let out a noise that neither of them had expected. Wilbur paused his hands in surprise, giving Eret the time to grip onto his wrists.

“…Was that a snort?” He asked with a shit-eating grin on his face. Eret shook her head, denying the truth. “…Do it again.” Wilbur smirked, blowing another raspberry on her stomach. Eret was quick to break, her laughter the only thing that could be heard throughout the empty fields.

“CuhuHUHUT ihit ohohout!” She said before another snort escaped from her.

“I’m going to get you to blush, Eret!” Wilbur insisted, wiggling fingers across her torso.

“Thahat’s nohohot gohonna hahaHAPPEHEN- NONONONO! WAHAHAIT!!” Eret screamed with laughter, suddenly feeling Wilbur’s fingers dig in between the bones of her ribcage. She thrashed back and forth, trying to escape Wilbur’s wiggling fingers.

“Awww, is Eret a little bit ticklish on her ribs? Can she not handle it? I don’t think she can!” Wilbur smirked.

“WIHIHILBUR, PLEHEHEAHASE!!”

“Please continue? Your wish is my command!”

With that, he ducked down his head once again, a raspberry planted right onto her ribs this time. Eret screamed, throwing her head back as her laughter momentarily became silent, then came back in hysterics. She hugged her stomach, too tired to fight back, laughing with the goofiest grin that Wilbur had ever seen from her.

“Having fun?” Wilbur smirked.

“Thahahat wahahas ahawfuhul!” She refuted, now able to look at her commander directly in the eyes.

“Awful? You never told me to stop, not even once!” He commented, his eyes widening as a realization set in. “You enjoyed every second of that, didn’t you?”

And with that, Wilbur finally got what he oh-so desperately wanted. A rosy pink blush, quickly spreading across Eret’s cheeks. Both of them knew it was there, and no words needed to be exchanged. Eret groaned, placing both hands over her face to hide the new color.

“Yes! I told you I could do it!” Wilbur grinned triumphantly, finally getting off of Eret and laying next to her in the grass. He listened to her catching her breath, and saw the rosy blush still there when she removed her hands.

“And that’s what happens when you make fun of Commander Wilbur Soot! You get punished for iHIT- AAAHAHAHAH!” The commander was suddenly greeted with scribbling fingers in his armpits, shrieking loudly and trying to squirm away. “EHEHEREHET! WHAHAHAT THE FUHUHUCK?!”

“Don’t think I don’t know where your worst spots are, Wilbur!” Eret smirked, taking her revenge. “While you had to use your ways to get Fundy to tell you my spots, Tommy just told me yours, no questions asked!”

“AHAHRE YOHOHOU FUHUHUCKIHING SEHEHERIHIOHOUHUS?!” Wilbur barked out, cackling loudly.

“Very serious!” Eret grinned, moving her hands down to his sides and planting a raspberry on his neck. She lifted her head back up, stopping her fingers when she saw a bright red blush across his grinning face.

“Ohoho my gohod, I lasted so much longer than you!” Eret laughed. “What was that, thirty seconds?!”

“Shut the fuck up.” Wilbur groaned through the leftover giggles that spilled out of his mouth.

Eret laid down next to her commander, the two of them looking at each other before laughing. Neither of them were exactly sure while laughing. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was because they both got wrecked. Maybe it was the sheer stupid silliness of the situation. But what they both knew was that this would be a night to remember. That is, if the champagne would let them remember it at all.

“You look like shit.”

“Tommy!”

“What?! It’s true!”

Eret sighed, rolling her eyes at the young boy’s behavior as she entered the camarvan, closing the door behind her. The liquid mess from last night had been cleaned up, and she was feeling groggy from the events of the previous night.

“Good morning, Eret.” Wilbur greeted with a nod. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Not the best.” Eret chuckled, taking her place at the table in the middle of the van.

“You and me both, big man.” Tubbo groaned.

“Everything okay, Tubbo?” She asked, her eyebrow lifting up curiously.

“Yeah, I’m mostly fine. I just woke up with-“ Before he could finish, Tubbo paused, covering his mouth and coughing. “I just woke up with, like, a really bad cough. Out of nowhere.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Wilbur asked Tubbo, then turned directly to Eret as he spoke, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “Would you say you have a tickle in your throat?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Tubbo agreed. Wilbur didn’t focus on him, only smiling as he noticed that rosy hue on Eret’s cheeks from the night before return.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Eret? Your face is quite red~” He dragged out the last word of the sentence in a teasing tone.

“I’m fine, Wilbur.” Eret groaned, glaring at Wilbur from across the table.

He was never going to let her live this down, wasn’t he?

#dawn writes #lee!eret #ler!wilbur #c!eret #c!wilbur #dsmp tickle #they switch at one point but it’s very brief so i’m not tagging it #if eret and wilbur have a duo name someone pls tell me what it is i wanna know :0 #👑 eret: eyeless monarchy #🧨 wilbur: the bad guy

104 notes · View notes

itssuppertim3 · 3 years

Text

Lean (Miraak x Reader):

Contemplating on writing for Pyramid Head every once in a while since I can't get the thick bastard off my mind but we'll see what the future brings

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

"Do you like winter, Miraak?" I asked the man strolling quietly beside me. "Not necessarily. However, I remember a time when I did. My temple always felt a bit warmer-- more enjoyable during that time." I snorted at him in amusement, to which he wasn't fond of. "I just imagined you stringing up holiday decor." He merely scoffed in denial, though we both knew it was true.

While searching for another conversation topic, my foot slid against the mud beneath me. "Careful," Miraak warned as his hands clasped firmly around my shoulders. My breath was trapped in my throat from the sudden startle, but somehow he only made it worse. Once my voice came back to me, I said, "uh...-- yeah. Thank you." Damn, his hands were so warm. I could feel the heat emitting from them even through my armor. Alas, the soothing feeling dissappeared as soon as he retracted his arms.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you hadn't already cracked your skull before I came along. It seems that you are always tripping and stumbling wherever you go." I scratched my cheek and chuckled sheepishly. "Ah, you know me so well."

"That is only because I stand witness to it," he uttered. We continued onward to Morthal in silence. A week ago, Jarl Idgrod sent me a letter of assistance; "potential murdurer on the loose," it had read. She noted that she wasn't one to fall victim to senseless gossip, but over the last several days she had been growing paranoid of the situation. Thus, she requested us to investigate. "I wonder why the jarl wants two dragonborn to take care of a killer instead of the guards? Gods, I feel like most of the soldiers are just using this pitiful war as an excuse to be lazy," I grumbled with my arms crossing.

"I agree. Though as far as I'm concerned, she wants you to handle it, not I." I perked up at his remark. "What do you mean? Everyone should know by now that you're just as powerful as I am. We've been traveling together for three months." Miraak diverted his gaze from me and pointed it straight ahead. "Perhaps, but you and I are still very different from one another. The people of Skyrim view you as a hero to be remembered for ages, whereas I will forever be remembered as a traitor-- if I was even remembered at all." The atmosphere around us suddenly became very dim. For a moment, the only noise that could be heard was the mire sloshing under our boots.

"That's bullshit," I retorted finally. Miraak was taken aback by my sudden change of attitude. "Excuse my language, but it is. Look at all of the good you've done since we've been together! We took down a vampire lord for crying out loud! And yeah, we weren't thanked for it or anything--"

"Y/n."

"But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that you put in a lot of effort to make the world safer, and I think that deserves respect."

"Y/n." By now, Miraak was no longer walking at my side. "What is it?" Before he was able to respond, the muddy ground had fallen loose beneath me and I plummeted into a brown socket of water. Oh yeah, I forgot that we were trudging through a swamp. The filth shot through my mouth and nose as I was completely sumberged. To make matters worse, the water was also incredibly frigid, making it even more difficult to sort through my panic. A pair of arms dove into the murk and proceeded to yank me up by my collar.

I gurgled, spluttered, and heaved strong breaths once I was dragged out of harm's way. Miraak shook his head at me all the while. I could practically feel the smirk hiding under his mask. "Oh, yeah. Real funny. Please continue... to remind me of how much... of a klutz I am," I rasped, still trying to flow air into my lungs. "I did try to warn you, you know. You were about to walk straight into the pond," the man defended. "Ok. I'll give you that." Miraak helped me to my feet after I finally regained my composure. "Oh, great," I sighed at the muck covering me head-to-toe. "I look so unprofessional." He skimmed over the grime coated over my outfit before scooping a clump of mud and smearing some over his robes. "I suppose we'll both have to look unprofessional, then." My cheeks tainted a dark pink at his actions, but I decided to blame it on the nip in the air.

My arms hugged my body when I started to shiver. Going for a dip in late autumn definitely wasn't the best of choices. Miraak scanned over the map and pinpointed our distance from Morthal. "We won't be able to arrive there before nightfall. We still have an hour left to go," he informed. I groaned to myself in reply. "Guess we'll have to make camp, then." He nodded, gesturing me to follow him.

In a matter of minutes, he had already secured a decent campfire and was now assembling the tent. Meanwhile, I was sitting on a nearby log with my bedroll enveloped around my trembling body. I was enjoying watching him, though. "I'd say you're a natural. When did you get so skilled at camping?" I inquired once he took a seat next to me. "By learning from you," he stated simply. Gods, how could he be such a jerk yet act so charming?! I avoided saying anything more and began scrubbing the dirt from my armor with a wet rag.

It was freezing, tonight. There was no comforting glow from the moon and stars due to the thick layer of clouds overhead, which only made it feel colder. I shuddered when a breeze travelled through the area and tormented my body. I was still wearing my undershirt and trousers, and even those were still damp. The cloth made my fingers sting the more I used it, until I felt Miraak's hand take ahold of my own. "Your fingers are red," were the only words that left his mouth before he grabbed my other hand and squeezed them both gently. I was so shocked by this that I couldn't even so much as blink. "Are you cold?" I had forgotten about the prickles climbing over my skin. "Um--uhh, kind of." How did my voice become so small?

Before I could protest, I was pulled closer to Miraak. And now that I left exposed, he felt even warmer than he did earlier. I wasn't even touching him! Not to mention how nice his hands felt. He was like a portable smelter! I stayed more silent than a moth as he continued to caress my fingers and palms. There was no telling what was going on inside of that brain of his.

"You may lean against me, if you like."

Oh.

Oh!

My heart was thrashing around inside of my chest. He wanted me to just... slide even closer and lean on him?! Just like that?! By now, my mind was spiraling in both confusion and embarrassment. Still, I was very cold. There wasn't any harm in doing it, right? He was the one who offered. I ultimately accepted his proposal.

It started off with our knees touching awkardly, and then with my head attempting to rest against his shoulder, which failed due to the golden scales protruding out from his sleeve and jabbing me in the side of the head. Miraak eventually lifted his arm, inviting me to scooch under it-- to which I did. As soon as I got situated, he let his hand ease onto my shoulder. I was so flustered that I could barely breathe. It was suffocating, practically unbearable, yet I only felt myself nestling further into him. "You're really warm," I mumbled.

Oh, dear.

Why on Nirn did I say that? I sounded like a pervert!!! What if he thought I was creepy?! My heart dropped as he held me still and turned to look at me. "Y/n, how do you feel?" It was made to be a question, but it sounded more of a demand. I sat tense for a long while, lips parted yet unmoving. "About...?" I gulped when he slowly placed my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heart throbbing at a rapid pace, as was mine. "Me."

Miraak's voice was low and sounded on edge. Perhaps he was more nervous than I thought he was? My next movements were reckless. Recklessness seemed to be my only sense of courage, right now. I carefully drew his hand towards me and slipped off his glove. He didn't stop me, however his muscles twitched under my touch. I stared at his pale skin for a long while. It was decorated with veins and had a scar stretched over his knuckles. Thanks to the protection of his gloves, his fingernails were in prestine condition. In short, his hands were utterly glorious.

I tilted my face down and pressed my lips against his scar, leaving him breathless. "Does that answer your question?" I asked Miraak with a flushed grin. Without responding, he brushed his thumb over my cheek and felt the entirety of my features. His hand was so calloused and smoothe! I cupped my own against it, keeping it there for as long as possible. Once again, I was pulled into another embrace, this one being much tighter and affectionate. Neither of us decided to speak, and somehow it felt more befitting that way.

With my head resting against Miraak's chest, I could hear his heartbeat quite clearly. It was much slower compared to earlier, more soothing than anything. He wasn't very sure where to place his hands, so he kept one firm on my waist and the other rubbing my hair. Sure, my face was hotter than a bonfire and there was still panic fresh on my mind. Then again, I also felt so calm in his arms. This may have been the first time in my life where I actually felt normal. Everything around me simply fell into place. It was selfish of me to inwardly beg for this moment to never end. As a dragonborn, I had my responsibilites, but for now I kicked those responsibilities aside. I had the right to be selfish every now and then.

"Maybe I should go diving into swamps more often," I teased, breaking through the comfortbale silence. I felt my heart flutter in the midst of him vibrating a soft chuckle. "That would certainly be an entertaining idea. Though I might not get the same reaction from you each time." I peered up at my new love interest with a quirked brow. "What kind of reaction?" In one swift motion, Miraak nudged up his mask to his nose and blessed me with a kiss. It was quick and simple, hardly lingering over my lips in time for me to process it. It was as if I had just imagined it!

Even so, the blush stained on my cheeks was already spreading to my ears. This man was a complete menace. His mask was already tipped back down, but the coy smile he was holding was evident. "You bastard," I hissed. He only shrugged his shoulders at me. "If you fall into the swamp again, I may even give you another kiss," Miraak jested. I proceeded to whack his bicep.

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

I bet Miraak got those plump ass lips :^3

#miraak #skyrim #elder scrolls #miraak x ldb #fdb #one shot #x reader #dragonborn dlc #tesblr #writeblr #dragon priest

120 notes · View notes

strange-destinations · 3 years

Note

what's the game of rassilon thing???

Oh, thank you for giving me permission to invite all of your into my current hyperfixation hole.

The Game of Rassilon is a fan-made actual-play RPG podcast where a bunch of very funny and very creative people play the official Doctor Who roleplaying game. If you've been following me on Twitter recently you may have noticed I've done a fuckton of art for it. That's because it's extremely good! the adventures are well-thought-out, the roleplaying is choice, the goofs are hilarious and the emotional beats hit hard. it feels quite a lot like listening to a canon series of tv doctor who, except it's all improv and dice rolling and rpg.

the first two seasons are typical monster-of-the-week doctor who adventures with a gradually building plot revolving around the Doctor & co running from... someone (or perhaps something), and a Big Plan that even the Doctor isn't sure of the details of, at least at first. there is the Power of Friendship! there are Pokemon battles! there is freestyle jazz scatting, much to the Doctor's exasperation! it's all excellent. i haven't started season 3 yet because of Time Issues on my end, but I have no doubt it's going to be just as good as the first two seasons.

You can listen to it on their website (go to the start of the archive and start from the beginning) or on most podcast apps. The episodes are about 1/1-1/2 hours long each, and there's currently two and a half seasons out (20ish episodes each season, i believe) so it's not quite as intimidating as like. TAZ is. definitely not as scary as CritRole.

also i wrote fic for it. i would link to it here, but it's spoiler-y for all through to the start of season 2. and i am writing more, because i apparently just can't help myself when it comes to One Certain Character.

so yes. go listen to it and then come back and let me know so i know that i've got more people into it. i'm on a roll here. i will drag everyone i know into this very good podcast!

if you're curious about the content and don't mind mild spoilers, then come with me beneath the cut and I will introduce you to the Party, featuring some Fun Art From Me

The Doctor

played by Riley Silverman. eternally delightful force of chaos. 'the most 90s doctor', according to michael, and honestly he's not wrong. canonically trans! in the sense that her player is also trans and said 'if you think she's trans also i'm 100% behind you' and i choose to think she's trans

got stranded in the 90s for a while, which explains why the interior of her TARDIS currently resembles a 90s coffeeshop. gives very good very doctor-y speeches. stubborn. curious.

Travis Killian

played by Dan Peck (who is the sort of RPG player who breaks the game at least once every session. and it's great). worked at a library in New Jersey, 1998, and then Things Happened and now he lives in a time machine. you know how it goes. 'gentle ball of confident anxiety'. Star Wars fan, Pokemon nerd. basically half his character sheet is based around how much he loves his friends. Best Boy!! with a really genuinely excellent character arc.

welcome to the travis killian stan club. i love him very much.

Millie Earhart

yeah, that Amelia Earhart. big strong lady with a wrench who is very good at flying things! planes in particular but she's very adaptable. a bit of a walking paradox, considering she's supposed to, you know, die on a plane trip, but it's fiiiine. it's all fine. trust her! she's amelia earhart!!

Roman

technically an NPC (it's a bit complicated). still a member of the party, in my heart if nowhere else. i will not spoil anything to do with roman because his reveal is just too good to spoil. but please rest assured he's a delight and by s2 you will love him just as much as i do.

Carrie Vu

played by châu kate lê. carrie 'i think time lords should unionize' vu is also a delight who i will similarly not spoil, simply because she doesn't show up until about mid-s2. but i couldn't not mention her. also, she has a softball bat, and is keeping the doctor who tradition of 'tiny women going to town on aliens with blunt objects' alive and well. queen

Gunther

is the doctor's cat. she is a sweetheart and she is perfect and she is also currently my profile picture on most of my social media. we all love Gunther.

in conclusion come join me in the game of rassilon. i need someone to cry over roman with and i need to justify the fact that i've written over 50k of fanfiction from travis's point of view somehow

#the game of rassilon

64 notes · View notes

lunnybunny12 · 3 years

Text

Sandor Clegane x reader (Reason 1)

Requests are open

Warnings: Death, Murder, hanging, swearing and prostitution

Word count: 1230

Part 2 (Reason 2)

Part 3 (Reason 3)

Part 4 (Reason 4)

Master list

A daughter of a whore, raised by nuns, became a thief, ran away to Braavos and was trained as an assassin. That just about summed you up.

You had fought your whole life to get to where you were, to prove you were worthy enough to be apart of a world filled with shitty people. Despite all of that, you still found yourself laughing at the situation you found yourself in.

"(Y/n) fucking Hill"

Your head shot up at hearing that name. You hadn't gone my Hill since you went to Braavos.

"Ah, so you know our little sparrow do ya Clegane?" Thoros said nudging your side as he sat beside you. When he saw the look you gave to the former guard he dropped his joking demeanour.

"The Fuck you doing here?"

Sandor stared at you for a moment before turning to the 3 men behind you. The men were stood on 3 small barrels, hands tied behind their backs and a rope around their necks.

"Chasing them. You?"

"Hanging them" Berec retorted.

"They're our men. Or they were. They attacked a nearby septor and murdered the villagers, why do you want them?" Thoros asked.

"Same reason. I was helping build it. They killed a friend of mine."

"You have friends?"

"Not any more" Sandor said, his eyes darted to you for a second before walking up to your group "They're mine."

"It's the brotherhoods good name they've dragged through the dirt-"

"Fuck your name. They're mine," Sandor said through gritted teeth. " I've killed you once before Beric and I'm happy to do it again."

At the corner of your eye, you saw another one of your group stretch his bowstring and aim an arrow at him.

"Drop the arrow," You said clearly so that everyone could hear and stepped closer to him.

"He's not going to hurt US... you can have one of them."

The look you got wasn't one of surprise or shock. He was thinking. The other men around you weren't surprised at your boldness, you'd been with them for years and had quickly earnt the respect you were given.

"... Two" Sandor said looking at you.

After a moment of silent deliberation, you nodded to him in agreement.

Just as Sandor was about to plant his axe in one of the traitors heads, Thoros stopped him.

"We're not butchers..."

"Speak for yourselves" you mumbled under your breath with a smile.

"... We hang them"

With an annoyed look, Sandor replied "Hanging? All over in an instant. Wheres the punishment in that?"

"They die-"

"Thay all bloody die. Except for that one" Sandor said motioning to the one-eyed man behind him. " I'll only gutt one of em"

By this point, you had taken a few steps away to get a better view of the scene. The men that were about to die were part of your group once but their twisted sense of right and wrong had lead them to do awful things. They deserved what they were about to get and thankfully others thought the same.

"No" Beric said.

"Chop off one hand?"

"We gave you 2 of the 3 out of the respect of your loss. That's generous."

With a sigh, Sandor dropped his axe " You're all a bunch of Nancies... There was a time I would've killed all 8 of you just to gutt these 3."

"You're getting old Clegane" you chuffed

Suddenly, Sandor kicked the barrel out from under one of the man's feet, sending him falling a short distance to his slow death.

"He's not" Sandor said doing the same to another of the man.

That's when you moved to stand in front of the last man. His eyes wide with fear. You'd admit that you enjoyed watching the fear grow as you let kicked away his barrel too.

When you got back to camp, Beric told Sandor that he was born a fighter and no matter where he went a fight would always find him. How everything happens for a reason Bla bla bla. It was true that Sandor was a fighter, he had gutted his first man when he was 12 years old and didn't regret it, but that didn't make him a fighter. What made him a fighter was how he continued to live his life and grow stranger with every passing day and by the way he looked he had continued to do so. Beric also said that Sandor would be useful in the brotherhood. How it needed strong men to help is win the upcoming war and how he could help more people he's hurt.

You saw something change in him at that moment. It could have been how he sat or the look in his eye, you weren't sure... but something did change.

That night when everyone was supposed to be asleep, you stayed awake to keep the fire lit. While stoking the flames, thoughts swam around your head like a fish in a shallow pond. The flames shone like a beacon in the pitch-black forest. The occasional snore and animal sounds echoed off of the trees. The stars above were the only thing for the company.

At the corner of your eye, you saw someone lumbering their way towards you. You weren't scared, you knew he wouldn't hurt you.

"Cant sleep Clegane?"

"Not with all these cunts snoring like dying pigs"

"It good to see you haven't changed" You said, eyes gazing into the fire.

"and there's no point in trying to save face, I know you're still angry with me,"

"And for good fucking reason. You kissed me took the gold and pissed off to Braavos the first chance you got." he quietly seethed. when he put it like that it did sound like an awful thing to do.

With a sighed "Sandor, what am I?"

"I'm not playing guessing games (Y/n)"

"What am I? I'm a bastard, born to a whore and gods know who. No money, no parents, hell not even a name. From the moment I was born, I had to fight for myself because no one else would. I pissed off because after your father died and that brother of yours became the lord, you became the princes bitch in the red keep. There was nothing for me in Westeros, so I left,"

"And what of that kiss then ey? You left that out of your little rant" he said cockily.

You looked at him without a speck of fear in your eyes. His whole life he had never met anyone who looked at him like that and it rendered him speechless.

"That kiss was the only thing of worth I could've given you to remember my by. I knew full well that if I died you'd be the only one in Westeros to remember me ... we were friends once Clegane and you couldn't even tell me you were leaving so I did it first." You said taking a deep swig of ale from a pouch on your hip and then passing it to him.

"Was that the only reason?" He asked taking the pouch from you.

"No. but its the only one I'm brave enough to admit to right now" You joked earning a smile from the man.

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you #sandor clegane #sandor the hound clegane #sandor x reader #sandor #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #the hound #sandor clegane deserves the world #sandor clegane fluff #george r.r. martin #sandorcleganefic #GoT #fanfiction #the hound x reader

201 notes · View notes

missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

The Boy Who Lived

Reader X Draco

Summary: A few months after the war, Draco gets attacked and left barely alive in St. Mungo’s. They refuse to treat him or take his money. You have a few things to say about that.

A/n: Look at me writing! And I’ve really been meaning to write something like this for quite some time because it is so soft and fluffy with only mild angst if you squint. Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy and let me know what you think! I miss talking with y’all.

“He... he’s gonna be okay, right?”

My heart feel when I heard the news. No matter how much I loathed the youngest Malfoy, hearing that he was in St. Mungo’s because some ne’er do well thought that the boy deserved to be tortured to almost death for what his family had done. My eyebrows furrowed as I parted from the small group of Alumni Gryffindors and watched the city behind the windowpane. I could hear the soft murmurs of Harry Hermione and Ron discussing it.

“Oh, come on Ron really!?” Hermione shouted.

“Well it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it!” Ron argued back.

“Deserves it?” I snapped turning. “Yes, I’m sure he deserved to be killed. An eighteen-year-old who fought on the wrong side of the war but walked away for his family! What would you give for your family Ron!?”

The golden trio stared at me, Hermione grinning and the other two looking dumbfounded. Not that it ever took much.

“So, your defending him?” Harry asked, his voice barely restrained.

“I don’t know, Harry,” I rubbed my face. “But I won’t stand here listening to how he deserved to be tortured for being loyal to his family,” my voice dropped ice as Ron’s gaze was focused on the floor. “I’m heading out,” I huffed, grabbing a coat.

“Where?” Harry stood. “You’re going to go see him aren’t you!?”

“Yes,” my voice was calm and soft as I paused at the door. “Maybe you’d like to join? Make sure he isn’t up to something?”

Flustered, Harry didn’t respond as I stepped outside and apparated to St. Mungo’s. The receptionist at the desk was genuinely baffled when I asked for Malfoy.

“Well, Miss, no one has gone and seen him. We were barely able to ID him. Do you think you could answer a few questions for us?”

“Uh, I can do my best? I don’t know him that well to be honest,”

She nodded and started to prattle off questions.

“Middle name?”

“Lucius,”

“Mother’s maiden name?”

“Black? I think?”

“Allergies?”

“For Merlin’s sake I don’t know,” I huffed. “I’m just here to visit him,”

“I apologize miss, but we’re not sure what to give him to medicate him. We’d hate to give him something he might react poorly too,”

“I understand,” My temper diminished. “He likes apples,” a smile touched my face. “And I think he’s allergic to feathers?”

“Feathers?”

I shrugged as she scribbled something down on her notepad. “Alright Miss, thank you for the help. He’s on the fourth floor,”

I nodded and swallowed thickly, heading up to the permanent spell damage ward. I had only been here one other time, with Neville one Christmas to see his parents. It was different being here alone and being here for Malfoy of all people.

“Malfoy,” I gave the nurse. He led me to an estranged cot near the window.

It would be a lie if I said I hadn’t gawked at the sight before me. I had seen my fair share of injured and mangled bodies with the war, but this... this seemed unnatural.

His chest was thickly wrapped, red seeping through. His arms and shoulders not faring much better. I was thankful that he was half covered by a sheet. But despite the wounds that no doubt lingered beneath the white cotton, nothing could compare to the deep gash that drove down the left side of his face, distorting his features and pulling his lips down into a permanent grimace. His cheeks were hollowed out with malnourishment and his once creamy pale skin was deathly and translucent.

Tears stung my eyes as I wrapped my arms around myself. No matter how much Malfoy irked me, he didn’t deserve this.

“Are you his girlfriend then?” The nurse asked.

“Stars, no.” I gasped. “Just... an old friend.”

“You’re both a little young to have old friends,” the nurse muttered. “Poor kid. Barely dragged himself here before collapsing in a puddle of his own blood.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I took a step closer to the hospital cot, nearing his upper half and the chair that was my destination. I winced in taking off my coat, the buttons tangled in my hair.

“Is he gonna make it?” My voice was hoarse as the question slipped out.

“If they can figure out who to bill. The Healers don’t want to heal a Death Eater much less a Malfoy.”

“Are you bloody joking?” I demanded standing promptly. “He’s just a kid! And...” I growled menacingly. “He’s going to die if he doesn’t get the medical attention he needs, now.”

“Well, ma’am, I... I can get a Healer in here but—” the nurse stammered. “It won’t be much use without a patron,”

With one final glance to Draco I hissed:

“You’re looking at his patron. Now get him a damn healer.”

Collapsing on the chair again, I sighed, mourning my savings account. I had spent a long time waiting tables and doing odd jobs, determined to move far away after school and the war finished. But it looked like that would have to wait. Besides. He was a Malfoy. If I really wanted to, I could finagle the money back from him when this was all said and done.

A Healer rushed in and ushered me out, despite my protests. I ended up back down at the receptionist desk.

“I thought you didn’t know him that well?” She asked, raising an eyebrow as I gave her my bank info.

“I don’t,” I huffed. “But I couldn’t let him die. Not because the Healers refuse to—”

She just smiled at me.

.................................

“You what!?” Ron and Harry demanded.

“Have you gone mental!?” Ron shouted.

“They were going to let him die!” I roared. “You didn’t see him! It was worse than what Harry did to him!”

That shut both boys up.

Hermione wrapped an arm around me and led me to the sofa. Ron huffed and left the room. Harry however sat on the adjacent armchair.

“He’s really that bad?” The question was barely heard.

“It’s awful, Harry. He’s got a gash down the left side of his face... it’s going to scar no matter what they do,” I confessed to my hands.

“Dark Magic tends to scar,” Harry murmured. “And they... they didn’t treat him because he was a Death Eater?”

I nodded and rubbed my face.

“What else was I supposed to do?” It was the question that had been running through my head. “I couldn’t let him die,”

“And rightfully so,” Hermione encouraged.

....................................

Every day that followed, I visited Draco. Sitting at his bedside. Each day he looked a little healthier. A little more color returned under his skin. A little more weight filled out his sunken cheeks. A little less blood was seeping through his bandages. One day I came in and the left side of his face was bandaged properly. I felt a pang of fury knowing that if it had been done sooner, there was less of a possibility of scarring but whoever decided he was worth killing among the Healers, also decided he was worth scarring. The anger faded and it left unshed tears in my eyes.

“Oh, what did you get yourself into, Draco?” I murmured.

Hesitantly I reached out for his hand. It was cold under my warm fingers. Experimentally, I felt more of his skin that was still like ice no matter where my fingers met the softness of it.

The next day I brought in a quilt and draped it over the bedsheet.

“That should keep you warm,” I murmured though I knew he couldn’t hear me. “You’ll get better soon,” it was a weak promise.

Somehow it became a part of my routine. I’d spend hours with Draco as he laid there unconscious and healing. Sometimes I’d read to him or just lament about my day—anything from Ron’s ridiculousness to what I had for breakfast, or even the flowers I noticed growing on the roadside. I did it because I knew he couldn’t hear me. I did it because he was almost easier to talk to than anyone else.

“You’re not so bad when you’re not talking,” The thought of him glaring at me for daring to say such a thing, made me smile to myself.

.................................

“He’s awake,” the receptionist informed me one day.

I didn’t reply as I ran up the stairs and burst into the long room where Draco remained. A fit of nervousness washed over me. Even though I had spent the last few weeks talking to Draco, he was still the same person he was when he went under.

Yet, I couldn’t deny how elated I was to see a grey eye meet mine, the other still trapped beneath gauze.

“Stars, Draco,” I smiled in spite of myself. The tears the stung my eyes were involuntary as well. “I know you probably don’t want to see me, but you have no idea how good it is to see that you’re awake,” I whispered, then turned and left.

Agony tore through me that night, knowing I had dug myself a grave to lie in. I kept myself away from the hospital for two days before in the middle of the night I arrived, not bothering with reception. There was no point in my lying awake staring at my ceiling when I could be at the place that kept me awake in the first place.

I knew that Draco would be asleep when I pushed the door open. The bandages from around his face had been removed, a faded pink line distorting and carving a path down his face. And I had been correct. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as breaths were drawn through parted lips. My quilt was still draped over him.

“I hate to make this all about me,” I sat beside him and spoke softly. “But who am I supposed to talk to... what am I supposed to do, if there’s no you? You’re the only one who listened...” I scrubbed my face.

“How daft is that? Craving someone to talk to while they’re in a coma? I should be happy that you’re getting better, but... that just means I lose you faster in another sense,” I studied his peaceful face. “Not that you’d ever know... or care.” I sighed and looked out the window at the stars about the sleeping city.

“I’m sorry, I never meant...” I huffed, rubbing my face. “Sleep well Draco, you’ll... you’ll get better soon.” I paused. “But I’m not too sure about me,”

Grey eyes watched me as I left.

It was another day that I avoided the hospital, before succumbing again. The receptionist eyed me warily.

“Did Mr. Malfoy forget something?” She asked.

“Uh...” I drew a blank. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh stars,” The papers in her hands began to reorder themselves. “He checked out this morning, under the pretense that he would be allowed home if he had a caretaker. He listed you,” She handed me a random document and sure enough in Draco’s elegant script was my name.

“That lying Slytherin bastard!” I shouted, then sheepishly handed her the paper back. “Anything I need to know to take care of him?”

“He has potions with him, he needs to take them every morning and evening with or without food. He needs his bandages changed daily. He shouldn’t be walking and shouldn’t stress himself out too much in fear of a relapse,” She handed me another pamphlet of rules. “And absolutely no magic. It’s going to affect his healing process,”

“The little twat,” I muttered. “Thank you,” I smiled kindly before stepping outside and apperating to the Manor, a place I had been only a handful of times.

“Draco!” I shouted, bursting through the grand front doors. “You know it’s one thing to lie the receptionist, but I paid for your sorry ass! You can at least tell me that you left the hospital! Or return my blanket!”

“M-m-miss,” A house elf stammered, appearing at my side. “Please, Master Draco is asleep,”

“Take me to him,” I growled.

“Y-yes ma’am,”

Again, all of my anger seemed to fade at the sight of Draco. He appeared absolutely ghastly. His grey eyes were trained on me, only barely open, as if it were too much effort for him. My blanket was draped over the large bed, looking out of place amongst the expensive silks and linens. I took a sharp breath in and let out an annoyed sigh.

“Hey there, drama queen,” It was barely a whisper as I sat on the edge of his bed. “What were you thinking? Checking yourself out like that? You’re not well enough to take care of yourself,”

There was a sort of fire that returned to his eyes at my words, though he made no attempt to speak.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I rolled my eyes. “You know I’m right,” His gaze dropped, almost as if he were pouting.

“I don’t like this anymore than you do,” I muttered. “But you need to get better, and you can’t do that alone. Not this.”

His eyes closed as if he were ignoring me, but his breathing evened out and I knew he had fallen asleep. A soft smile touched my face. Without the scar that distorted his features, it was almost as if nothing had changed. Almost as if there was no war. There was peace on his face. An innocence. All disrupted by an angry flushed gash.

The house elf informed me that he has taken the vial as he was instructed to earlier, and though night had barely settled in the sky, I was wary to leave him alone in the Manor. My eyes drifted to the chaise lounge that was in the corner of the lush room. Sighing, I stood, wandering to the room next door—thankful that it was another bedroom—and located pillows and a blanket. As comfortable as I could be, I settled onto the chaise and kept an eye on Draco until my eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

I was nudged awake. By the same house elf that attended to me the night before. I panicked when I saw Draco’s bed was empty and made.

“Master Draco wishes me to inform you that he is in the den downstairs, and wondered if you’d like to join him for breakfast,”

I gaped at the house elf.

“Uh, sure?” I scrubbed my face. “I’ll be down in a moment, thank you,”

“Yes, Miss,”

Sure enough, Draco was downstairs, in a silk emerald housecoat, scanning the Daily Prophet like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Is there anything that you own that isn’t green or black?” I drawled softly, taking a seat in the adjacent armchair.

“Good morning,” His voice was as tires on grovel or perhaps the groaning of a whomping willow.

“So, he does talk,” I offered a small smile.

He took a careful sip of what I assumed was tea. The house elf set out another mug for me, pouring the hot water over the small bag of dried leaves.

“You said you preferred when I didn’t,” His voice was less strained after the tea.

“Suppose I did,” I hummed, fixing the rest of my tea to my liking. “Doesn’t mean it’s not good to hear your voice though,”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes trained forward, through the window panes overlooking how autumn had conquered the rest of the Manor.

“So, how are we going to do this?” He finally said. “You’re too stubborn to leave me on my own,”

I wanted to argue, but he was right. I was too stubborn.

“I... I can come in the mornings and evenings. I’ll change your wrappings and make sure you take your potions... do you need me here more than that?”

He shook a seldom ‘no.’

“I... should be off then,” I stood. “Thank you for the tea. I’ll be over around seven tonight?”

He didn’t comment as I made my way out. I hated myself but I counted down the hours until seven arrived. At work, at home, at lunch, all of my thoughts meandered back to how long it would be until I could see Draco again.

____________________________

Draco hated being reliant on anyone. He hated that he was weak. He hated that he couldn’t make it up the stairs without help. He hated the scar that pierced the left side of his face. He hated the face in the mirror regardless. He hated that you kept coming back. He hated that he wanted you to keep coming back. He hated that he had heard every word that you spoke to him while he was healing. He hated that you had said them. He hated that even when he was asleep, he could still hear your voice.

He hated that when he heard your voice pipe up in the house again promptly at seven, his heart fluttered.

He hated that you helped him up the stairs and into his room. He hated that you lead him to his lavish bathroom and sat him on the counter and began to undo his wrappings with such concentration that you seemed to tune his stammering heart out.

“Stars, Draco,” You murmured after unwrapping his left arm bandage.

He winced involuntarily. To be fair it looked a lot better than when they had first gouged the Dark Mark off his skin. And perhaps some part of him was grateful. All that was left was a skin graft and a scar in the shape of the Dark Mark, raised and angry like the line on his face.

“Dark magic always leaves a scar,” The words tumbled from your lips as your warm fingers brushed over the raised skin. He hated how he shuddered at the touch.

With all of his bandages gone—despite that his bottom half was still clothed—Draco felt bare, if not completely nude before you. He hated that too. Your eyes trialed over his chest and the marred skin that now belonged to him. Your gaze dragged up his shoulders, his neck, up the slice on his cheek, until your warm eyes settled on his.

There wasn’t pity in your eyes. Nor sadness. But rather understanding, and comfort. He hated that he noticed.

Wordlessly, you turned and began to draw a bath, filling it with what looked like a chance bath salt to you, but was the one his mother had once used for him, when he was young, and she was home. The scent quickly began to overpower the smell of sweat and soiled gauze and the hospital smell that lingered on his skin.

“I... Call if you need me,” You stammered and rushed out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. Maybe he hated that you left.

The warm bath water and the familiar scent calmed him greatly. It soothed the ache in his muscles and bones. As he draped the water over his skin, washing away the past few weeks. He so desperately wanted to wash you away too, but you lingered on him like the scars he couldn’t ever heal.

An excruciating pain shocked his system as he reached up to wash his hair.

“No, no, no, no,” He groaned, trying again and reaping the same results. “Oh, this is so not fair!”

“Draco?” There was a soft knock on the door. “Everything alright?”

He glared at the door; the words trapped behind pursed lips. He loathed this.

“I need help,” He growled.

Your head peered in, a gentle look on your face. You weren’t laughing at him or teasing him. You looked genuinely concerned.

“What do you need?”

“I... I can’t wash my hair,” He muttered.

“Do... do you want me...?” The question was timid. He didn’t remember the last time he had seen you timid.

He nodded.

With a few well-placed bubbles and some shifting, you entered the bathroom and rounded the tub. He directed you to the correct soaps and lathers. Before you began, your eyes darted around the room, trying to locate something. You rose and took one of the empty ornate cups on his sink. It had once held flowers or something, but it had been emptied for months. Flowers didn’t grow in the presence of Dark Magic. You rinsed it in the sink and took your position behind him again. He didn’t have the energy to question you.

Draco never thought how calming having someone else wash his hair would be. The glass you had taken from the sink was filled carefully with bath water and cascaded over his head and shoulders as your free hand kept the water from his face. Your fingers massaged his favorite lather into his hair, and he had to be careful not to let out an involuntary groan. You hummed softly as you worked, to fill the silence. Again, water flowed down his head, clearing the lather from his hair and into the water around him. Draco closed his eyes and relaxed as you reached for the oils, not afraid in your company. This time your fingers carded the oil through his hair.

He hated that he enjoyed it so much. He hated that it was over too soon. He hated that you simply got up and left when you were finished without a word and left him, half asleep, feeling incomplete without your soft lullaby or your hands in his hair.

He hated that you combed his hair for him. He hated that you were silent as you reapplied his bandages. Your eyes focused on the task at hand and not his racing heart.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” He loathed that the most.

In the morning, you undid his bindings and applied the healing balm that the doctor had sent him home with before wrapping him up again. You gently brushed his hair and ran gel through it, coiffing it like he used to. Somehow it looked different when you did it.

You rarely spoke a word as the days passed. Your morning and nightly routine with him becoming a ritual that he craved. To feel safe with you near. To relax even for just a moment for nightmares and terrors plagued his sleep. To feel more like himself, even if things would never be the same. You treated him the same. Despite the foul scars that plagued his skin.

He hated that you kept leaving.

“You’re dressed,” A smile rose on your face as you walked in one crisp winter morning. “I thought I’d never see you rid the house coat,” It was the most you had said to him since he had been unconscious.

“I thought I’d try,” Draco ran his fingers over the soft cotton of the dress shirt. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had with the buttons,”

A soft chuckle left your lips as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Is this where it ends then?”

The words shattered him more than torture ever could. He hated the thought. He hated the somber look on your face.

“Y/n, I...” Draco loathed fumbled his words.

“No, I guess this was... this was always going to end.” Your eyes didn’t meet his. “I should have just paid and left.” There was regret in your voice. Regret that he misread.

“So, you’re here for the money then?” His voice raised against his better judgement. “Is that why you kept coming back?” He couldn’t deny how deeply that wound pierced.

“What? No! It was never about the money!” Your voice raised as well. “If it was about the money don’t you think the first thing I would have done was gone to Paris to demand it from your parents!?”

“Then what was it about!? Some vendetta!? Something to goad over me!? As if you don’t have enough already!” He was gripping onto the stair railing tightly, his body threatening to collapse any moment.

“Merlin’s sake, I couldn’t let you die!” The tears he never say you shed, finally fell in front of him. “They were going to let you die!” Your head shook in denial as you pressed your arms around yourself, as it if would stop the tremors that shook your frame.

“You should have let them kill me!” He roared and you gawked at him—finally a reaction response to how he appeared. “It would make your life so much easier!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?” You paced up the first few steps of the staircase, closer to him.

_________________________

I watched the light fade from his eyes.

“Draco!?” My anger turned to fear as his arm gave out and he fell to the step he was on. My close proximity allowed me to prevent him from tumbling down the stairs further.

“Stars, Draco,” I wept pulling him into my arms. He was out cold. “Don’t, don’t die on me, please,” I couldn’t stop my tears now.

I gathered him into my arms and with great difficulty, trudged upstairs, collapsing beside him on his bed. Righting myself, I gently brushed the hair away from his eyes.

“I don’t want this to end,” I confessed. “I don’t want to leave you, Draco,” I wiped away my tears. “Merlin, you have no idea how much I love you. That’s why I kept coming back,” I pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

I must have fallen asleep beside him because I was woken by a whimper and cry. A desperate plea for someone to stop. A guttural cry of mercy.

“Draco!?” I was wide awake and alert. “Draco! Wake up!” I shook his shoulder as gently as possible.

Petrified grey eyes met mine, filled with tears and terror. Not a beat passed before he pulled me close and clung to me, sobbing into my shoulder. After the moment of initial shock, I wrapped my arms around him, cradling him against me. His cries tore deep wounds in my soul. The desperation and agony that they possessed.

“Don’t. Don’t leave me,” He hiccupped through tears. “Please, I don’t want this to end,”

I ran my fingers softly through his hair, leaving soft promises of new beginnings in their wake. It was enough to lull us both back to sleep.

When sunlight crept through the windows, my eyes fluttered open, to see grey ones studying me.

“Hello,” His voice was soft, his arm draped around me.

“Good morning,” A soft smile touched my lips as I sat up. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Draco sat up—without wincing. “Did you mean it? What you said?”

“Mostly likely yes, but which part are you referring to?” I teased softly, working on the buttons of his shirt to free him of the tight article of clothing.

“You’re gonna stay?”

“Well, not here probably, but as in I’m going to keep coming back, yes,” My fingers traced old and new scars.

“And this isn’t the end?”

“Not particularly,” I watched him shudder as I ran my fingers over his collarbone—something I had noticed months before and used against him now.

“And you love me,”

My fingers left his skin promptly as my eyes flashed to his.

“Yes,”

Part Two

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @memalfoy-spidey @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @darcypotter-blog @atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde @iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread @okaydraco @the-queen-of-hell-things @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @cleopatera @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @peters-legos @quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @sdicapriox @slothgirl22 @peachesandpinks @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy @wannabeskinny-thinspo @naughtygranger @queenofmankind @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff @myforeveryoungblog @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @strawberriesonsummer @jjustsomerandomgirl @mrvlfangirl3190 @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @stoleurmomsvan @echpr @sunkissed-hufflepuff @dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle @lonely-skywalker

1K notes · View notes

echos-newlegs · 3 years

Text

I return with part two of this fic. I dunno how good it will be, started it at 11:37pm because I can’t sleep lmao. I found a prompt list tho and I’ll be posting that shortly 😳. Also I am a Tom boy so please excuse this chapter. I dunno words of things or how most girls dress up for dates. I’ve never been on one, and my purse is deep, blue Jean, pockets and a Star Wars wallet ✌️🥸

Warnings: Implied sexual themes, it doesn’t go into depth though. I may write the hanky panky in a separate chapter if y’all want.

Part one - This is part two

You and Echo hung out anytime he made his return to Corusant. It could be days after, or even months. Echo always had this horrid feeling that one mission would go wrong, and he wouldn’t be able to see you again. Or that you would decided seeing a clone wasn’t worth it, and move on. If you would even consider what the two of you had as, ‘seeing one another.’ You on the other hand were just worried for his safety. He didn’t make you feel self conscious or like he would move on and find someone new. He was so loyal, even if what you had wasn’t official.

After nearly six months of knowing one another. Seeing each other a near twelve times, bringing both you and your daughter back a gift after each mission. Or just a fun story about he and his brothers for the two of you. Though, Echo finally asked the last time if he could officially take you on a date. One with just the two of you. He adored your daughter, but having a five year old running around did tend to kill the mood, and you understood. Nearly jumping into his arms with a grin as you kissed his cheek. Blurting ‘yes!’ almost a little, too excitedly.

You were just getting ready to leave your house. Purse hung over your shoulder as your shoes clicked on the tile of your kitchen. You weren’t wearing anything super fancy, you didn’t wanna overwhelm yourself or Echo. It was still casual, but it was nicer than your normal. Exiting the house and locking the door behind you, after making sure the lights were all off for the thousandth time. When Echo came up behind you with a grin. “You ready?” He asked, you jumped a bit and you turned to see him. He wasn’t in his armor for once, nor his blacks. Which he would occasionally lounge around your home in until— who you learnt was his brother Fives— was ready to leave.

You smiled and swatted at his arm. “Warn a girl before sneaking up on her,” you teased. Echo tittering a bit. “Not my fault you’re always so jumpy,” “am not,” “Y/N, I could argue differently. You nearly punched me last time I saw you because your daughter let me in the house.” You scoffed, the two of you beginning your stroll down the street to who knows where. “You deserved it, not like I expected someone in full armor to be standing in my kitchen eating Star cherry dessert!” Echo laughed at that, causing you to laugh with him.

The two of you continued your stroll. You were thankful to have a night to yourself. Plus C/N got a night with friends. “Where are we going, anyways?” You asked, looking to your side to see Echo grinning. “You’ll see.” Was all he said. You weren’t really one for surprises. You were impatient and somewhat stubborn, and he knew this. Causing a sigh to leave your lips as the two of you strolled the dim lit streets.

Echos hand brushed against yours, fingers reaching to catch yours. You accepting his offer. Taking his hand into your own and leaning against his side a bit. You could of swore you heard him release a breath, too. Making you smile a bit more. In all honesty, even if the two of you just walked around the city, you would be the happiest person alive. Internally squealing when his thumb started rubbing over the back of your hand.

You came up to a diner, tilting your head a bit. “Echo, I could have made us something.” You spoke, looking over to him and he shook his head. “No no, this is supposed to be us relaxing and spending time with each other. Not me making you cook.” You were about to argue with him, but the look he gave you made you close your mouth and nod in agreement. “Alright, but I’m paying for myself.” Echo snickered and pulled you inside. “Alright, fine, deal.”

The two of you sat at a booth by the window. Across from one another as music played in the background, faintly. You both gazed over the menu, deciding what looked best. “You ever been here, Echo?” You asked, looking up to catch his gaze. “No, actually, but I’ve wanted to try it, have you?” You nodded, “I work here,” you added with a grin as you watched his smile fade. “Oh, I uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” You snickered, shoving him from across the table. “Echo, I’m kidding, I work at a repair shop. I used to work here though, back when I was a teen.” You added and he smiled once more. Stars, how you could watch him smile for hours.

He raised a brow and stared at you, interested. “You repair things, like what?” “Speeders, droids, tech, you name it. It was something I learnt from my dad and brothers, and it pays the rent.” You added and he nodded. “Might have to have you look over my communicator for my helmet some time,” and you hummed in thought. “It’ll cost you,” he raised his brows. Grin only widening. “Oh yeah, and what’s the price?” Though before you could even think of a response the waitress was there with a pen in hand. “What will the lovely couple have to drink.” The comment caught you both off guard, blushing and rambling. “Oh,” “we’re not-“ “he’s just-“ “A friend?” The waitress asked, a hip popped out as she smiled mischievously at the two. “Uh huh, and I work here for fun. What’ll it be for drinks?”

The two of you stared at her and then glanced at each other. You speaking up first, since it was obvious Echo had no idea what he wanted. “A Star Cherry malt, please.” The waitress nodded, and wrote it down. “Just one or two?” “Just one,” Echo interrupted you before you could speak. You glanced over to catch him smile. “Alright, one Star cherry malt on its way.” And off she went.

The moment she returned with the drink Echos eyes lit up with curiosity. “Do you two need a moment before you order?” “Yes please, ma’am,” you spoke, and she nodded. Walking off again. You looked back to Echo and raised a brow. “Have you ever had a malt?” He shook his head, ‘no.’ You would have been surprised, if he hadn’t acted like you made gold each time he ate with you at home. “No, on Kamino, we were...” he trailed off a bit. “Programmed to not intake sweets. It messes with our energy.” He added and you snorted. “It messes with everyone’s energy, hun. Now try some. If you like the cookies I bake, then you should like this flavor.” He didn’t think twice before taking one of the straws and taking a drink.

His eyes were focusing. Eyebrows raised. Pulling back to look at you with a childish grin. “So?” “It’s amazing! Why do I even listen to anyone besides you, I’ve been hidden from everything!” He exclaimed and you couldn’t help but giggle. Pointing out some of your favorites on the menu. He stuck to some simple things. The two of you splitting fries and eating burgers. Absolutely enjoying your time together.

Once finished, you paid, like you said you would. He didn’t argue either. The two of you walking home, hand in hand. “When will you be back?” You asked, expecting he would have to leave the moment you got back to yours. “Tomorrow, if you’ll let me? We don’t leave for our next mission until the day after, I technically don’t even have to be back to the bunks tonight. I could crash on your couch if I wanted.” He told you. You looking up to him with a grin. “You know, the heater in my apartment went out, I’m doubtful you’d want to stay on my couch.” You spoke, looking down towards your feet. Him sighing and pulling you closer. Draping an arm over your shoulders. “Well, now I want to more, I thought you fixed things anyways?” He asked and you furrowed your brows with a grin. Pulling your keys out and unlocking your door when the two of you got to your place.

You pushed the door open and pulled him inside. Shutting it behind the two of you. “I do, but no ones asked me to. I don’t just hand out help for free, you know.” You told him. Making it a point to drag your hand up his arm as you walked off down the hall. Flipping on the lights. You knew he was right behind you, too. Following you like a lost dog. “So, did you wanna stay the night?” You asked, looking back to him, and he shrugged. Licking his lips as he looked around and then back to you. “I can, if you’ll let me. I can get out of your hair, if you want me to?” He asked. “Come back tomorrow.” You shook your head with a grin. “No need, we can watch a movie and lay on the couch for a bit, then you can keep me warm tonight.” You added with a wink. Snickering at the taken back expression he gave you. “I’ll return, I’m going to go change, you get comfy, Echo.” You murmured and he nodded. “Sure thing, Cyar’ika.” He added, and pulled his nice clothes off. Blacks resting underneath as they normally were.

When you returned your hair was down, what little makeup you had on was removed, plus you were in your sleep wear. Baggy clothing that made you look smaller in his eyes, but he loved it. He was sitting on the couch already, waiting for you to return. You smiled and grabbed the remote as you sat next to him with a sigh. Looking over at his awkward form. Scrunched together, hands to himself. He didn’t cease to surprise you. How one second he could be touchy, and the next moment too embarrassed to even hold your hand anymore. “You know, you don’t have to keep your hands to yourself.” You added. Looking at the screen. Finding a holovideo for the two of you to watch. Or even just have it as background noise.

Your lips pressed together when he eventually wrapped his arm around you. Pulling you against him as you rested your head against his shoulder. Neither of you were really paying attention to the screen at this point. Too distracted by one another’s presence. Hands eventually finding one another. “What does.. Cyar’ika mean?” You asked. Looking up to him with a curious and innocent gaze. A blush creeping up the back of his neck as he pretended to pay attention to what was happening in the holo. “It uh..” He stammered, you listening intently. “It means, sweetheart. Or Darling.” He admitted. Glancing down to meet your gaze. You were in awe, really. It really did mean the world to you.

Then you got an idea. Eyes darting down to his lips, and then back to his eyes. “I think I know what it’ll cost for me to look at your helmet,” Echo was curious now. Turning a bit to face you with a small smile. “Oh, and what is that?” You sat up a bit more. Leaning a bit closer to his face. “A kiss.” You murmured, lips ghosting against his. His hands moving to hold at your waist and his attention was all yours now. Both of your faces heated red. Hearts pounding in your chest. You squirming a bit under his touch and gaze. “Then what are you waiting for?” He asked, and that was all you need before your lips met his.

The kiss was soft, everything you imagined from the Arc Trooper. Hands reaching up to cup the sides of his face as your lips danced a slow rhythm. Humming a bit into the kiss as he pushed you back and down against the couch. Shifting himself to he was placed in between your legs, hovering above you.

When your lips parted you nearly whined. The two of you panting, eyes half lidded. Eyes roaming each other’s faces. “You ready for bed yet?” You asked with a small smile and a smirk. Echo grinning down at you. Though this grin was a bit wolffish, wild. Full of mischief. “Is that even a question, cyare?” He asked, voice a bit gruff as he leant down and captured your lips again. Before moving off and lifting you from the couch. Carrying you back into your room. Legs and arms wrapping around him as the two of you were a bunch of giggling messes. Kissing here and there as he scurried off with you in your arms. That night you and him both kept warm, almost too warm at some points.

#arc trooper echo x reader #arc trooper echo #star wars #star wars writing #the clone wars #writing #the bad batch #echo x reader #clone trooper x reader #clone wars echo

83 notes · View notes