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hellotherekenobi · 2 years

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─── GUILT pt.ii

Summary: confronted by conflicting emotions, you left Obi-Wan’s training for a new master. Years later, a newly assigned mission brings you back to him.

CW: fem!reader for continuity reasons. You and Obi-Wan are older in this fic, as opposed to the previous part.

PART ONE. 4,118 Words.

Days felt longer than what they used to for Obi-Wan. He’s more aware of the ache in his back when he finally has a moment to rest, or the strain in his legs when he eventually stops chasing after someone on a mission. His eyes feel heavy as soon as he wakes up. Times were changing and so was he, but he’ll never get over the change of no longer seeing your face to brighten his mornings.

It has been a few years now since you left—hell, what was it, five? Obi-Wan eventually stopped counting. It hurt too much when it became apparent to him that you weren’t ever coming back. After all, it was your decision to leave in the first place, and wouldn’t it be the right thing for him to accept that and move on? Sometimes, he worries, the right thing isn’t always the best. At least, not for him, not like this.

There were a few reports of you here and there around the Jedi temple—nothing specific enough for Obi-Wan to find out where you were, or really much about your new life at all, just mentions of your name or even the occasional ‘she looked so familiar’ comment from those come back from faraway missions. He had been on the brink of sending holos more than once, just to talk to you. After all, conversation wasn’t forbidden, was it? Yet, he always stopped himself before he could. If you hadn’t reached out to him then maybe you didn’t want to talk. He respects that much.

Taking on an extended mission is just what he needs right now, which is why he was so eager to accept it from the Council. Spending time away from the Jedi temple will do him some good, he regrets to acknowledge. It’s been too long since he’s slept out in the open, or spent more than one day on another planet. Though he knows the sleep will probably do wonders to his back, he’s not going to let that ruin his chance of having a semi-break.

Obi-Wan feels delight when he breathes in the planet’s air, relishing in a new smell that differs from what he’s used to. The sun is shining, the sky is a rich blue, and he’s seen some of the most exotic animals he’s ever laid his eyes on. Not to mention the children who were playing tag out in the courtyard, who stopped to wave at him and give him a serotonin boost. Yes, this was lovely. This is just what he needs. Spending time surrounded by foreign walls, eating fantastical foods, and, most importantly, distracting his mind from—

You.

“Kriff,” the word slips past Obi-Wan’s lips before he can even register any sense to it, unfortunately loud enough that the person standing across from him hears and goes a little wide-eyed.

“That’s not what I was expecting,” it’s a short laugh, any offense seemingly evaporating in the air from the sound of your voice.

Five years since he’s seen your face, or heard you speak, or, Maker above, heard your laugh. Then here you are, right in front of him, and he’s already made such a fool of himself.

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, dropping his carry bag on the floor without much elegance at all, extending a hand to you.

You smile brightly at him, shaking his hand. “You never said such words around me when I was your padawan.”

Did you have to bring that up? Obi-Wan’s going to dissolve straight through the floor, leaving an embarrassing pile of his Jedi robe and boots. If, of course, that were at all possible. He has a feeling he’ll be an old man when that time comes.

“You look so—” different is what he wants to say, but even just that carries too much weight on his tongue. “Well, you’re very... er, you’re blossoming.”

“Blossoming?” your voice turns the description back at him like a lightsaber straight to the chest.

Big mistake, his mind yells at him. “No, uh, that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Think of a word! “Smart.”

Your brows furrow just a fraction, with an awkward smile on your face. He wants to disappear. “I suppose I need to look the part, being a Jedi master and all.”

No amount of awkward stumbling through words could amount to that kind of startling news. “You’re a Jedi master?”

“Yes, almost two years now.”

Why hadn’t he known? Of course, the Council doesn’t always announce when a Jedi is promoted to the rank of master, but in some kind of fragile, respectful way he thought he would have been told about this. After all, he was your master once upon a time.

“That’s... great news.”

You smile more comfortably this time, taking in a deep breath and shrugging your shoulders. “It’s an honor.”

There you are, he thinks. There’s the young spirit he remembers so well. Determined in a fight, but still so blasé about the long-term effects of the Code.

“So,” he clears his throat, feeling like the neck of his robes are far too tight to breathe in. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, didn’t they tell you?” the question has him shaking his head, unsure of what you mean. “I’m working alongside you on the mission.”

No. Maker, no. He took this mission to get away from you, or at least whatever remained of you in his mind. His heart, too. Now you’re going to be spending every day together? What kind of sick joke has the galaxy thrown at him this time? Yes, he’s missed you terribly, but he was just starting his course to recovery. This isn’t helping at all, especially since you haven’t really seemed that excited to see him again after all these years. You’re just, well, professional about it all.

In all honestly, he should be the same. Take away the years the two of you have spent together, all of the training, the tenderness, the somewhat confession before you left, and there would only be a master and his padawan, nothing more. You’re acting like that’s all there’s ever been, but he can’t blame you for that. You’re both Jedi, after all.

Still, you’re polite and offer to carry his bag for him inside, but he’s polite in return, more so for the sake of his embarrassment, and carries it himself. There’s no bag by your side so he assumes you’ve been here for a while, especially since you lead him throughout the building like it was your own. You show him the room he’ll be staying in, and if spending every day together wasn’t horrible enough then it’s definitely the cherry on top when he realizes that your room connects with his, only separated by a retractable barrier.

“The washroom is behind this door,” you say, opening said door to show him the inside, and it kills him even more since that’s another area the two of you are sharing.

After that, conversation is merely statistical and informative to get Obi-Wan up to speed on what you already know and what will come of the mission in the long run. Pleasantries are faraway now, locked behind the door. This isn’t conversation with an old friend, this is simply one Jedi master talking to another for the sake of the mission. It burns Obi-Wan a bit at knowing that whatever the two of you had was long gone, back at the hangar bay the day you left him. You’re still lost to him, he reminds himself. He might never get you back.

The day does happen to go by quickly, filled mostly with you showing him around and introducing him to the people here. Dinner is to be served like clockwork every evening, no later. Apparently, too, the owners of the building aren’t too lenient toward late night strolls or pleasure walks. It brings a whole new meaning to the term ‘lights out.’ So, in summary, follow the rules and everything will go swimmingly. Take you out of the equation and Obi-Wan has always been a stickler to the rules, so he believes this mission will progress rather well—just as long as he keeps his focus on it.

When he settles himself into bed that night, he finds that focus is all but out the window when you’re only on the other side of that flimsy barrier, and, Maker above, did your light really have to cast a shadow of you while you get undressed? His eyes are planted on the wall in front of him, knuckles white as he clutches the bedsheets to stop himself from glancing off to the side, more so out of respect for you. There was only about four feet separating the space between Obi-Wan’s bed and yours, of course with the barrier in the middle. To sleep so close to you, especially like this... it was going to be a long night.

“The light isn’t bothering you, is it?” comes your voice from the other side, tugging Obi-Wan back into his body.

“No, the light is fine.” he says, though he wants to add but your shadow was playing tricks with my mind just now.

“Good,” he hears you shuffle against the sheets. “Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

He swallows the lump in his throat by the mention of his name, something he hasn’t heard you speak since the day that tore him apart. “And you,” he manages, but just barely.

He’s delighted to know that when he closes his eyes, he doesn’t picture your face. It’s the last thing he needs; to dream of you and have the ache of it hovering over him in the morning. What does pain him just a bit, though, is when he wakes up from the sound of birds chirping and notices the barrier has been pulled open and your bed is empty. Five years ago, you’d happily wait for him in anything. Now, you’re gone before he’s even properly awake.

Obi-Wan finds you in the courtyard after he’s washed and dressed, where you’re talking to the children he had seen yesterday upon arrival. They all seem entranced by whatever you’re telling them, and he feels that rock-like weight in his chest at the sight of it—something he has to shake from him to avoid stirring up any forbidden emotions.

“Master Kenobi, is it true?” a tiny voice asks, and Obi-Wan spins on his heel to see all the children beaming at him.

Clearly, he has no idea what the child is asking him and you’re aware of that by the way you’re suppressing the chuckle in your throat with a hand pressed to your mouth. You regain your composure moments later, smiling at him.

“I fear I told the children about our missions together,” Caraya’s soul, did your voice have to sound so sunkissed this early in the morning? “They’re curious about our encounter with the Sith Lord.”

“Ah,” he nods, showing a brief smile to the children, on the precipice of asking which one? but one of the children talk over him, anyhow.

“Yes!” his little voice chirps. “And she saved you, didn’t she? From the falling roof!”

Obi-Wan can’t help the smile twitching at the edge of his lips. The child means the mission where you had saved him from the structure the Sith Lord had manipulated to crumble on top of him, swooping in just in time to get to him. That was also the last mission he ever shared with you. That is, until now. Not to mention that mission was the very thing that made you choose to be trained under a different master and leave him for what seemed like forever. Turns out, forever has an expiration date.

With the children’s eyes still on him, Obi-Wan approaches them and then lowers himself on one knee to meet their height. “Yes,” he emphasizes, and they call coo in delight. “She’s one of the best Jedi I’ve had the privilege of fighting beside, and an excellent master, too.”

He needn’t turn to notice the way your Force signature bundles around you for a moment, as if you were bringing a blanket up to hide yourself from his compliment. He means every word of it and still holds true to the conviction that saving his life that day was far greater an act than following the rules. He knows you can see it in his smile that he flashes your way, finally turning to see how you’re already smiling at him; the corners of your mouth upturning an inch more from the eye-contact.

Even if it’s just in this moment, Obi-Wan feels content in seeing you smile at him now as if there weren’t tension separating you two, as if nothing bad had ever happened. The years were nonexistent for now, even though he knows it’ll hit him again come nightfall.

Unfortunately, it does. The day had gone as fast as the previous one, and Obi-Wan had delayed in entering the shared bedroom until he knew you were already in bed. Though Obi-Wan tries to fall asleep, he can’t seem to turn his thoughts off. His mind is racing with a million questions, some of which he already knows the answer to, so instead they become agitated on what ifs and motives. Instead of a dream to tease him, he’s plagued by the memory of the kiss you pressed against his cheek when you had said goodbye.

It stirs him enough to rustle out of the sheets, remembering to quieten his footsteps as he swings his cloak over his shoulders and escapes into the hallway. Fortunately there was no one around, so he lets out a breath from the comfort of not being seen, since walking around during the night was something he was told not to do here. He needs any moment of fresh air he can get, though, so in this instance, coincidentally enough in reference to you once again, he’s allowing himself to break the rules.

Then he feels the presence of someone behind him before he hears their footsteps, and he’s caught between the decision of turning around in apology or running around the corner to escape them before it’s too late to even choose, as their hand takes hold of his shoulder and he’s spinning around to see you standing there.

“Obi-Wan,” your voice is whispered and tired, but careful not to startle him too much. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be walking around this late.”

“I...” he tries to come up with an excuse, but he’s too exhausted to even try. “I just needed some air.”

You nod at him, looking around when the two of you hear murmured voices on the other side of the hallway.

“Follow me,” you take his hand, quickly turning the corner to hurry up the stairs.

You lead him onto a balcony of sorts, somewhere only fit for about four people, so he needn’t worry about anyone hiding in the shadows. Really, his only worry is if you’re both spotted up here. That, of course, and what he might say in his tired state, especially in a moonlit setting such as this.

“Couldn’t you sleep?” asks your voice, where you stand by the railing, leaning one elbow on it.

He stands there in silence for a moment, not sure on how to answer your question. There’s a fear in his chest that even after years apart, you can still tell when he’s lying about something. He’s always been able to read you in the same way, after all. Yet, the nod of your head to usher him nearer to you is welcome enough, and he lets out a sigh when his hands find the railing to give him some support.

“I hardly sleep anymore,” he admits, shaking his head. “I’m getting old.”

“No, you’re not.” you smile at him.

“Yes, I really am.”

“Don’t say that,” you nudge his shoulder with yours, turning to look out at the scenery. “Because that means I’m getting old too.”

Obi-Wan decides to take the opportunity before it can wander into the night. “Well, five years does that to a person. You’re definitely taller.”

You chuckle at that, but Obi-Wan feels the mood shift. He knew it would. In a selfish way, he wanted it to. Five years. Maker, he can say it over and over again and it still seems far too long. He would be lying to himself if he said he doesn’t feel bitter over it.

“People change all the time, Obi-Wan. That’s how it works.” still, your gaze is pointed forward. “Even you.”

He wishes it weren’t the case. “But not too much, though?”

You shake your head, finally turning toward him. Your hand reaches out for his cheek, and he swears the flutter in his chest is painful. “Your beard is fuller,” your fingers trace his jaw, then gently travel upward. “I can see the creases near your eyes when you’re not smiling.”

“And let me guess,” he whispers, his own hand finding yours on his cheek, fingers tracing the skin. “My hair is turning grey.”

The smile on your lips is contagious, and he hears it in your voice. “I don’t mind the grey.”

Silence overhangs you both again, instead it’s more welcomed this time. He could stay in this moment forever if that meant that you would be by his side, holding onto him. He’s never let you go, not really. Yes, he took this mission to try and move on, but deep down he knew he’d never do that, not completely. You’re seared onto his heart. Always will be.

Your hand slips away from him, like the intention of leaving it there would be inappropriate enough. Leaning back on the railing, this time with your forearms, you keep your gaze on the moon. “You know, I never really took a liking to my other master.”

It should pain him to hear you talk about it, but instead all it does is have him grinning like a Cheshire cat. “No?”

“I didn’t like his method of teaching very much,” you say, shaking your head. “He would roll his eyes whenever I put my foot down; but Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that. Maker, I swear he hated me.”

“No,” he chuckles, leaning on the railing beside you. “No one could hate you, especially not a Jedi master.”

“So you don’t?”

The question startles him a bit, almost about toppling him over the balcony. “Why would I ever?”

Your shoulders shrug, and you continue to keep your gaze away from him. “After what I did, it’d make any person hateful.”

“Well, I’m not any person,” he says with a voice stern and solid. “I felt a lot of things, but hatred has never been one of them.”

“What other things?” you turn to him now, watching him carefully.

He’s caught off-guard again, completely speechless at your prodding that he wasn’t ready for. Would it really be wise to tell you the truth, especially after how things were left between you two? This isn’t exactly what he pictured when he thought about telling you how he feels. No, he had pictured you both free from the Order, living much different lives, not sharing sentiments on a mission.

You’re nowhere near finished, it seems, as you put another question to him. “Felt?”

He swallows thickly, adverting his gaze to anything else—the bushes on the ground below, the trees out in the distance, but not the moon, please, it’s like a spotlight on him now. “Perhaps it’s time we go to sleep.”

He’s frantic on getting away from this, so he spins on his heel and begins to make his way to the staircase, but he forgets how much of a fighter you are, and how much more you’ve become after everything.

“You’re running away,” you call out to him.

He stops a few steps from the staircase, yet he doesn’t turn around. “I’m tired,”

“You’re running,” you tell him again. “I know because I ran when you met me at the hangar bay, remember?”

Of course he does. All his mind ever shows him is that moment, mockingly kept on repeat.

“What will happen this time?” you continue. “Will I kiss your cheek when this mission is over and see you in another five years? I don’t want that, Obi-Wan.”

He turns to face you. “Then what do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

No, he doesn’t. He can’t. What was there for him to decipher—mixed signals, mistakes, deliberate touches? He never honestly opened up to you that day, neither did you. The two of you danced around the reason and then that ship took you away from him. Where was the calls to make up for it? The holos he wanted to send you, and the ones he never received?

“I can’t do this again,” he admits, feeling himself loosening at the seams.

“Talk to me,” you reach him within a couple of steps, placing your hand back on his cheek. “Obi-Wan, please.”

His bones are shaking inside of him, threatening to show on the surface through goosebumps on his skin. He’s falling apart inside and he swears he’s seconds away from showing it.

“A part of me died that day,” he murmurs, wanting to look away from you and yet at the same time cannot bear to do so. “Please, don’t kill another part of me.”

He’s shaking on the surface now, just enough that he can feel the way you notice it with your fingers against his skin. It’s as if a cold breeze has swept over him alone, leaving you undisturbed. Though, you’re anywhere near that, aren’t you? There’s unspoken words on the edge of your lips, and something powerful trying to restrain itself behind your eyes.

Guilt. That’s what it is.

It’s somber now, the silence. Obi-Wan is not sure what breaks it; the way your expression furrows when you notice the tears welling in his eyes, or the sob that flutters past his lips when he speaks. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Obi-Wan,” you say softly, carefully.

“I’ve missed— I’ve missed you,” he breaks, crumbling into your hand, shattering on the balcony floor. “So much,”

The pieces of him are swept up in your arms that wrap around him, holding him to you in an instant. His fists clutch ahold of the fabric of your clothes, worried of leaving creases in the back but knowing he’s already done far worse with the tears on your shoulder. He’s embarrassed and sad and over it. He can’t hold himself upright around you anymore.

At least, for now, you’re holding him. Your arms are strong around him, grounding him with soothing whispers to build him back up again, even if all the pieces don’t fit, even if there’s cracks showing on his skin. He’s never been the same man, anyway, after you left. He’ll always be one piece missing of a whole because that piece is and will always be you.

“I’m sorry,” your voice finds him through the pain. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You did,” Obi-Wan replies, muffled slightly and still tear-soaked, pulling back a fraction to look at you. “Which is what makes it so hard.”

You nod at him, holding his face with both hands, fingers dancing cautiously through his hair as you cup his cheeks. “You know, Obi-Wan. Surely, you must know why I left for so long.”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I would have done the same thing.”

Put himself in your boots and he knows he would make the same decision, especially back then. Being a Jedi is the most important thing in his life, so when it comes to you it would only make things more difficult. It already has.

“If things were different,” you start, but Obi-Wan holds your face to stop you from uttering the words.

“I know,” he whispers, taking one selfish action by pulling you toward him to kiss your forehead and leave his lips lingering. “I wish they were.”

“Then wait for me,” you tell him, looking up at him with a hopeful expression. “Will you?”

If the war ends soon, or at all. If the Order falls, or if it becomes no longer needed. If the rules change, or he leaves it behind. Then, if all those things, he will wait. He makes a promise now in his heart that one day will come true.

“I’ve waited for you for five years,” he presses one more kiss to your forehead, then holds you in his arms. “I’ll wait five hundred more.”

A/N: did I get that one conversation from the iconic 2004 movie Thunderbirds? Perhaps. Who’s to say?

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peachpety · 3 years

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Like You a Latte, by peachpety

Instagram collaboration with @hogwartsfirebolt

A gift for @curlyy-hair-dont-care A Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange

* * * Rating: M

“How are you today, mate?” Ron asks.

Harry’s snort cuts through the conversational buzz of the café. “It’s Valentine's Day,” he says. “I’m a single pringle serving up lattes decorated with heart-shaped foam to disgustingly happy couples. I’m bloody brilliant.”

He angles a small, stainless pitcher to cut a milk stream through the foam floating atop an espresso shot. “Look at that. A perfect heart.” He holds the cup up to Ron’s face. “That’s fucking talent. I could do this in my sleep.”

Charlie pauses en route to the pastry case and peeks over Ron’s shoulder. “It’s cute, Picasso.” He lifts a ginger brow. “Now serve it to the bloody customer, yeah? There’s a queue.”

Harry hands off his masterpiece to a delighted couple, and Ron says, “I think today will be your lucky day.” He presses coffee grinds into a portafilter and attaches it to the machine. “You feeling good? You look good.”

“Oi, George,” Harry calls over his shoulder. “I think Ron’s been at the dodgy beans again.” He grimaces. “What are you on about?”

Ron jerks his chin toward the front of the café, eyes sparkling with entirely too much glee for eight o’clock on a bloody Monday morning.

Harry looks out at the crowded room. A platinum blond bloke slouching mid-queue snags Harry’s gaze.

And it’s A Moment… One of those stupidly cliché tunnel-vision moments—where the Earth slows its rotation, and flowers bloom, and kittens frolic, and the sun shines through parting clouds to spotlight, as if touched by angelic grace, the most beautiful individual Harry’s ever seen.

“It’s him,” Harry breathes.

The bloke thumbs lazily at his mobile, an insouciant curve to his perfect pout as he listens to a petite black-haired girl chatter away beside him. He exists—incongruously, unfathomably, undeniably—amongst the mismatched colorful chairs and Luna’s dryer-lint fairies strung from the antler chandeliers, as if he hasn’t populated every fantasy Harry’s had since Ginny introduced him to the bloke’s Instagram account months ago.

“It’s him, fuck me, it’s him.”

“Him who?” Bill asks, setting a tray of clean cups on the counter.

“We’ve an Instagram influencer in our midst,” Charlie says. He hands a cup of coffee and a plated pastry to a waiting customer. The queue advances.

“Wait a tick,” George says. He drapes his arm over Harry’s shoulder. “Isn’t that the bloke Harry’s been Insta-stalking?”

“Delish Malfoy,” Ron announces, drawing the attention of the patrons closest to the counter.

Harry ducks from under George’s arm and scoots behind the coffee machine’s stainless bulk. “Fucking hell,” he hisses.

“And Insta-wanking, more like,” Ron grumbles.

Harry sputters. “Wha—I have not!” he lies.

One wank does not a pervert make—Harry’s convinced himself of this.

Fred sucks air through his teeth and says, “Can’t fault you that, mate. He is delish.”

Harry peeks over Ron’s shoulder. Malfoy is laughing, a snigger that shakes the fringe from his eyes, and Harry dies a tiny death. “Yeah, his posts occasionally cross my feed—”

"Subscribed," Ron coughs into his fist.

Harry rolls his eyes. “And I mean, sure, he’s fit or whatever.”

Ron’s eyebrows disappear up under his shaggy fringe. “Harry. You made three-dimensional coffee art of his cat. Out of milk foam.”

“His cat is cute!”

Bill hums. “Don’t forget the snowflake.”

“Oh, the snowflake was my personal favorite,” Charlie says. He takes payment from a customer, and the queue advances again, Malfoy shuffling ever closer. There’s now only two patrons between Harry and lashes long enough to deliver what Harry expects would be the best butterfly kisses on the planet.

“I don’t know.” Fred taps his chin and leans against his twin. “I liked the Christmas one, myself.”

George wiggles his fingers. “The wee tannenbaum with the ornament sprinkles.”

Ron shoves him aside. “Piss off, you lot,” he says. “As if you didn’t doodle Angelina’s initials in your journal.” He widens his eyes at George’s gaping mouth and points a finger at each of his brothers in turn. “Oh, don’t think I haven’t pilfered all your drawers. I know your secrets. And you’re wrong. The dragon was bloody brilliant.” He takes Harry by the shoulders and gives him a shake. “This is your chance, mate. Your foam art has drawn him here.”

“But how did he even know?”

The Weasley brothers all become intensely occupied with cups, and wiping the counter, and grinding coffee beans. BIll disappears into the back office muttering about tidying the stockroom.

“Ron,” Harry warns, voice low.

“Well... ” Ron chews his lip. “We kinda sorta posted your art on Strange Brew’s account—”

“It was too brilliant not to share with the world!” Charlie interjects, unhelpfully.

“And… we tagged Malfoy in the posts,” Ron finishes.

“Bollocks.” Harry tugs his phone from his back pocket and opens his Instagram account. “Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.” He scrolls with a trembling finger past each photo of his latte art inspired by Malfoy, the captions dousing him with wave upon wave of hot shame.

Fred points at the caption on the dragon art image. “The green heart was my idea.” He slaps Harry on the back. “You’re welcome.”

“Well that’s it then,” Harry mutters. “He’s going to think I’m a massive loser.”

“And yet here he stands,” Ron says. “No, seriously. He’s waiting at the counter.”

Harry chews on the fleshy inside of his mouth and chances a glance at Malfoy. Ice blue eyes watch him expectantly. Harry’s feet move of their own volition—a conundrum since they feel as if they're made of solid concrete—and suddenly he’s at the counter.

“Hi,” Malfoy says, an almost-smile bunching his cheeks.

And sure, Harry has imagined this exact scenario on many a lonely night, lying on top of his blanket, staring at his phone, Malfoy’s silhouette branded on the inside of his eyelids when his eyes finally close. And, sure, in each scenario he’s suave, smooth, and completely charming.

So, naturally, here and now, his tongue glues itself to the roof of his dry mouth.

The moment expands, the silent seconds tapped out by the crimson fingernails of the dark-haired girl at Malfoy’s side striking the counter.

Ron bumps his shoulder against Harry’s, jostling Harry back to his mind. “Welcome to Strange Brew,” Ron says, beaming at the pair.

Harry clears his throat. “What can we get started for you?”

The girl cracks her gum. “We would like a latte,” she says, eyes lingering on Ron’s neck tattoo. It’s a large crown with flowers and butterflies, and it’s cool as fuck—a guaranteed hook for potential suitors. Harry silently berates his past self for being such a melt at the tattoo parlor and walking out with his skin unpainted.

“I am the king of latte’s,” Ron says smoothly. “You won’t be disappointed.”

The girl’s pink-stained lips curl at the corners, and Ron makes an effort to place his arse in her direct line of sight as he sets about preparing the coffee to brew. Harry pours milk for the steamer, appealing to every god in the heavens that he won’t spill.

“And what art will you make for me today”—Malfoy leans his elbows on the counter—”GoldenBoy80.”

Harry’s hand slips and steam scalds his fingers. His mind frantically skims through his private Instagram account, recalling cringe photo after cringe photo. So, this is how he perishes and ascends the mortal plane. Death by Instagram. Next to him, Ron sniggers.

“You’re the one that makes the foam art, right?” Malfoy asks, leaning further forward. Fuck, he smells good.

“You know it’s him,” the girl sighs. “You excavated the coffee shop’s account to find his handle and stalked him on Instagram. That one photo of him with his dog is your screensaver.”

“Fucking hell, Pansy.”

The blush that tints Malfoy’s cheeks returns Harry’s soul to his body, reviving his heart to beat furiously against his rib cage. He pours the foam into the cup Ron prepared. Courage blooms in his chest like the cream floating to the top of the espresso. “What can I make for you today, Delish?”

“It’s Draco.” He appraises Harry with a sweeping glance, pausing to admire the small heart-shaped birthmark on Harry’s inner wrist. Mrs. Weasley calls it an angel kiss, and it’s not nearly as wicked as Ron’s tattoo, but Harry’s hating it less and less by the second.

“A heart, I think,” Draco says. “It is Valentine’s Day.”

Harry stares at him and Draco stares back, and it’s another ridiculous Moment in which Harry is lightheaded and barely breathing.

“Good grief,” Pansy says. “Oi, Golden Boy,” she barks. “Your milk overfloweth.”

Harry glances down at the cup. Milk drips over the lip, down his fingers and pools onto the counter.

And floating on the surface of the coffee sits a perfectly formed erect cock, complete with bollocks. Waves of foam cascade from the tip like a fan of orgasmic come.

“I’m bloody brilliant and can do this in my sleep,” Ron mocks whilst Fred and George guffaw gleefully.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathes.

Charlie swoops in with a rag. “I apologize,” he says over the twins’ howling laughter. “We're usually a respectable establishment,” he grits with a frown for Harry. “I’ll just make another—” but before he can whisk away the cock abomination, Draco scoops the cup toward himself.

“That,” he says, taking a photo of the silly thing. “Is a latte dick.”

“That’s what he said,” Harry blurts.

Draco throws back his head and laughs, and Harry feels it in his toes. Gorgeous grey eyes alight on him, shining with amusement and hopeful promise. “What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

“I like you a latte, Harry,” Draco says. “Dinner tonight?”

Harry nods, biting back what he knows will be a stupid grin. “But coffee’s on me.”

* * *

for the supremely sweet @curlyy-hair-dont-care! you are a doll and i was so very happy to create this for you! mwah!! xoxo

a big thanks to @hogwartsfirebolt - you are a an inspiration and a joy to work with...i had so much fun! i appreciate you more than you know. the instagram posts would not have come to existence without you and your creative genius. big love! xoxo

special thanks to toluene for the beta & to the dream team @vukovich and @wheezykat for their encouragement! love y'all to bits.

READ ON AO3

#drarry #drarry ficlet #wheel of drarry mini exchange #instagram collab with hogwartsfirebolt #drarrymicrofic #harry potter #draco malfoy #meet cute #curlyyhairdontcare #harry x draco #weasley brothers #coffee shop au #modern au #non magical au #peach writes #microfic i love you

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foli-vora · 3 years

Note

omg the 1K celebration is so cute! Can i request frankie or ezra (you pick) with #30 (i think, it was the grabbing on to the others arm) female reader and ALL THE FLUFF. thanks 💕 congrats again on the 1k!! you really do deserve it 😭

Sweetpea! I’m gonna try my Ezra boots on and hope it works out lmao. I’m still nervous with him. Thank you for your request, angel, I hope you enjoy! ❤️

#30 grabbing onto the others arm

Pairing: Ezra x f!reader

Warnings: none

Never one for being taciturn, your previous partners in prospecting always described you as the most talkative person they’d ever met. Some enjoyed it, but for the most part you were often described as too much. Long winded. Garrulous. Often you were being told to either quieten down or shut the fuck up entirely.

But how could you? You had seen so many things! Enjoyed so many adventures! How could one not entertain the thought of conversation when rewarded with company? Prospecting could be a lonely, solitary life after all.

Until you met Ezra, of course. Ezra was... Ezra was starlight. How could he not see?

Fully convinced he had been touched by starlight itself when the shocking blonde streak in his hair practically glowed in the sunlight, he had shook with mirth when you had told him such, a wide grin splitting his face and causing that one little dimple to crease his cheek.

He had leant forward, encouraging you to touch the surprisingly soft hair before he grinned again, wide and earnest.

“Now it’s been touched by starlight.”

It was then you started seeing your new partner in a different light, the air around him suddenly shining with soft hues of pink whenever the planet’s incredible sister suns would shine through the canopy and bathe him in their warm rays.

Perhaps you should have been paying more attention to your incredibly lush surroundings, and not gawking at the oblivious man washing tools in the small fresh water stream a little ways away. Perhaps if you had focused on the set task at hand, dusting off and polishing the gems you had both pried from the thick earth, you would have been able to pick up on the snapping of branches behind you and better prepared yourself.

The fierce blow of hot air across the bare skin of your cheek has you freezing in slight fear, your wide eyes rolling to gaze at whatever creature had so brazenly walked upon your worksite. Usually the wildlife steered clear of you and the noise of conversation, most of the planets predators being nocturnal and leaving you to work peacefully throughout the day.

It... it was magnificent. A beast standing much taller than your small, crouched frame. A wild twist of chalky white antlers with greenery falling from them like a crown. A snout pokes curiously at your shoulder with a grunt, and you pray to whatever Gods are listening that it isn’t a carnivore.

“E-Ezra—”

“Be at ease, birdie. Stand slowly. He means you no harm—show him the same courtesy.”

You see the beasts eyes move, four round orbs of startling purple flicking over your shoulder curiously and to where Ezra treads slowly closer, hands raised in a show of open surrender.

It grunts suddenly, it’s breath blowing across and your face and making you both pause in your movements. When it makes no move to attack, Ezra continues, ensuring to keep his frame small and defenceless.

“Come, birdie,” he murmurs, a gloved hand winding around your wrist and aiding you to stand on unsteady legs. “Stay low.”

You both dare not turn your back on it in fear of insulting the creature, and so you back away slowly, letting Ezra lead you on a path from the clearing and to the safe cover of trees. You melt into the darkness, keeping low and silent as you wait for it to move on.

“What’s he doing?” You ask quietly, watching the beast sniff through your tools and belongings before standing proudly and making a deep noise that echoes through the space.

“I’d say our magnificent companion requires hydration.” Ezra replies quietly, the low rasp of his voice settling deliciously into your chest as he speaks in your ear. “That streamlet is the only fresh water supply to this sector.”

Exhaling sharply in awe, you enthusiastically grab onto Ezra as a smaller version of the beast cautiously appears from the bushes, walking on unsure legs and to the stream, bowing with a lot less grace than its counterpart to lap from the cool water.

The small creature sniffs along your belongings, nipping curiously at the heavy canvas jacket you had shed in the heat earlier that morning before being called to the tree line. Another creature steps from the leaves, lacking the majestic twist of antlers on the other two but no less impressive in its size or beauty.

The larger beast nudges it softly, their snouts nuzzling tenderly against the other as the baby prances about in the sunlight, stretching it’s limbs and bucking playfully in the air.

“It’s magical.” You coo quietly, unaware of your hands still clutching your partner or the way he eyes you fondly from his peripheral. A gloved hand rests lightly above your own, tightening ever so slightly as you lean further into his frame.

“Indeed it is.”

#foli’s 1k #Ezra x f!reader #Ezra x reader #Ezra (prospect) x f!reader #Ezra (prospect) x reader #Ezra (prospect)#Pedro pascal x reader

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guqin-and-flute · 3 years

Text

[I am once again giving you an unrelated fanfic. Have some Modern married Xiyao.

Potential CW: poor anger coping skills?, very brief mention of suicidal ideation in internal dialogue. It's an errant thought and he doesn't actually mean it]

Jin Guangyao is upset. What's more upsetting is that he doesn't know why he's upset--this lack of information rankles him more than the feeling. He's used to feeling badly. That's how life is. But without a name, there is nowhere to file it away neatly. It is easier to ignore the sharp sting of a newly noticed cut than this fucking awful malaise that has apparently decided to settle over him with no rhyme or reason like he's some stupid idiot in an artsy French film, slowly choking down filtered cigarettes on some rusty balcony against a sunset or something.

That's not what he does. He is efficient. He is useful. And when he is like this, he is not.

And he still doesn't know why. And the fact that he cannot categorize and escape this has the ennui sliding slowly into a slow boil of tooth grinding fury.

Had it been the morning traffic? The fact that the library had emailed to inform him of a delay on his inter-library loan? The fact that his overpriced coffee was just a tiny bit burnt? The fact that Zixuan had taken a sick day today and so had not brought the soup his wife had promised Jin Guangyao for lunch? It shouldn't be, because these are all so horrifyingly trivial.

He has a tension headache beginning to string itself along his temples. He hates that the receptionist has a perky goodbye ready. He hates that the sun is shining so brightly. Then, he hates that the shadows of the clouds when they pass make things look grungy and dull. He hates that there is a flap of leather from his steering wheel that has peeled up in the back from his picking and he can feel it rubbing against his index finger as he stares, white knuckled and unblinking into the brake lights ahead of him as this bubbling pique crescendos as slowly as one of Xichen's beloved classical music pieces.

In fact, one is playing on the radio, softly, just within hearing range. The quiet, shrill edge of violins makes him want to kill something. Maybe himself. There's a bridge coming up in half a mile. He, very sanely, presses the button on the dash that turns it off instead of doing any of those things. The thought of Xichen has a voice of reason suggesting that he might meditate, while trapped here, 10 minutes from home.

Instead, he jabs a button on his fancy, stupid steering wheel with this thumb. An attentive computer noise beeps. The sudden noise in the relative silence of the car makes him dig his nails into the leather. "Text A-Huan," he snaps.

"Okay! What would you like the message to be?"

Jin Guangyao is going to find whoever programmed this faux-friendly robot voice and make them watch him drown their entire family in a toilet. "I. Hate. Everything."

Beep. "Okay! Your message reads; 'I hate everything'. Send?"

"Yes, send," he seethes before it can fully finish.

There is no plan to this. None at all. He just needs something real to sink his metaphorical teeth into. A reasonable anchor to reality to tell him whether or not he's being stupid and terrible for no reason at all.

Even though he already knows that he is.

The response returns in 43 seconds. Jin Guangyao had been counting. The cheery beep sounds just as the very stale green light turns yellow ahead. He presses the gas. "One message from A-Huan."

The light blinks red while he is only 1/4th of the way through the intersection. The lead car of the adjacent left turners beeps and he bares his teeth at her because he isn't fucking invisible, he's in a high profile gold Lexus and she had definitely seen him fucking coming. He stabs the button that makes the car read him the message.

"'Oh no. Bad day? Want to call? Blue heart emoji'," the female robot voice chirps in a butchery of his husbands words and no, no, he does not, because, at this point, it would simply be a minute long sustained scream of rage over literally nothing at all. He should have kept it to himself and found a quiet place to throw rocks at a wall or something until he wasn't such a repellant time bomb.

He does not reply because if he hears that robot voice again, he's going to commit vehicular homicide. And being arrested would not calm him down.

Finally, traffic parts and he pulls into his driveway--he notices how the bush on the side of the house's branches are creeping up to scrape the window of the kitchen and makes a mental note to send a curt text to the landscaper about his pruning habits. Why are they paying him several hundred dollars a month to let a stupid bush get unruly enough to damage the paint on his window trim?

When he slams his door shut, he hears a loud CLACK that announces that he has just closed his seatbelt in the door and lost the last tenuous thread of his temper. Heaving the door back, he plants his other hand up on the black plastic next to the window and smashes it shut again with all of his strength. Repeatedly. CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK--Chunk.

Breath hissing between his teeth, he jerks his suit jacket straight, loosens his tie and stalks to the house. The garage door groans to life behind him. Xichen had been watching.

Perfect.

He's nowhere to be seen when Jin Guangyao slams through the backdoor like a vicious thundercloud, which is good and probably intentional, because it allows him to wrestle off his shoes, jacket, and tie in privacy. This does nothing to release any pressure, because it must be intentional wrestling--controlled and confined so he doesn't pop off a button or rip a seam or scuff the shining black leather. Now he's seething in their immaculate, state of the art kitchen, hating how the cold tile feels against his black dress socks and the fact that it smells like tea. Which is stupid. Because he likes tea. But not right now.

Stop being a piece of shit, he snarls at himself. You've already probably fucked up the car and Xichen doesn't deserve this. He balls up his fists so tightly that the bright pain from his nails sinking into his palms leaks up his arms. Be better.

He has no idea how to do that because he has no idea what is wrong.

Reason says to steer clear of Xichen until he can get a hold of himself and behave like a fucking adult. And in the early days of their relationship, he would have. He had. Whenever he got like this, he would shut down or not have inflicted himself on Xichen at all with a smooth lie, and no amount of prying would get anything useful out of him because he would not be a bother. There had been Talks. Long, extensive Talks about trust and love and wanting to take care of him. He had even believed some of them. That's how they can be married, now, years later--Xichen knowing just how close he is to this at all times. How thin his veneer of manners and pleasantries actually is. (He can't truly know, though, can he. If he knew how much none of it makes sense, there is no possible way someone as kind and intelligent as him would choose to stay.)

Xichen would purse his lips if he said this out loud; somewhere between exasperation and sad fondness. Jin Guangyao doesn't tell him, anymore. Most of the time because he doesn't actually think this.

This is not most of the time.

Yes, reason says that he should suck it up and become a human being before burdening Xichen.

But his husband has long, cool hands and soft eyes and a brilliant mind that can solve any problem just by holding it and maybe he just wants to be small and angry and ugly and pathetic and selfish in the comfort of his own home while someone reminds him that there have been, in fact, good things that have happened in his life and he had been, at one time, happy--believe it or not.

And if nothing else, it compounds his streak of bad decisions.

The smell of tea intensifies when he reaches their room. The curtains are drawn. It renders the deep, dusty blues of the bed spread and the armchair black and the aged gold accent pieces muted, except for where the warm light pouring from their open bathroom door paints them bright again. Xichen sits on the edge of their bed in the soft, expensive loungewear Jin Guangyao got him for his birthday last year, one ankle on his knee, watching him with eyes just as soft as he had been expecting. A mug of tea is tucked into his hand and a plate with round, lumpy shapes sits by his hip. Beside that lays spread out the absurdly oversized and absurdly soft heather gray shirt that Nie Huaisang had gifted to him as a joke but was, in fact, one of Jin Guangyao's guilty pleasure sleep shirts.

With his perfect voice and his perfect logic and his perfect way of being the only good thing on this entire, worthless planet, his husband says, "I think you need to scream into this pillow."

'This pillow' is, in fact, one of theirs, dark blue with a thread count that was higher than any savings he ever had in college, perched on a bundle of blankets that is the perfect size to throw himself upon like a sulking romance heroine. He hates it. Hates that this is known, that this might help.

So he fucking does it. He deliberately stalks around the bed, climbs up, smashes his face into the pillow and screams as loudly as he can. With every single ounce of rage in his body, curling him up like the shriveling of a raisin in fast forward, like the curling of a scorpion tail, like throwing up, wringing every last scant molecule of oxygen out of his lungs.

When the sound peters out and he has to drag in another breath, he curls tighter, the claws of his hands reaching over the top of the pillow to fist in his hair. It presses the plush of it firmer over his face and bites it until his teeth ring with dull pain, and his jaw aches and his head throbs and his eyes sting. His scalp burns from the pull on his hair and his throat is raw and tight.

Tearing himself away, finally, he gasps in a gulp of cooler air. Xichen has turned so he is now cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching him with a mix of calm and understanding sympathy. "Lay down?"

There is a ragged, hollow hole in him that still has scraps of rage clinging to it like disgusting lichen--but the visceral, all consuming hate seems to have been absorbed by his pillow. So he lets himself roll sideways, eyes closing. Xichen gets off the bed--Jin Guangyao assumes, wearily, that he's putting down the tea mug and hopes that he uses a coaster--and then returns by knee walking up the bed to his side. Then, those cool hands he had been hoping for pick open the tiny hard buttons of his shirt. Each pop releases a a tension across his skin and he feels that he can breathe easier with every one.

Jin Guangyao can hear him breathing, slow and measured, through his nose and thinks that it's probably the most comforting sound that he's ever heard in his entire life--now that he's willing to be comforted. Able to be. The reminder of Xichen's continued existence is the only sound he will ever need to be calm again.

The button up is abandoned in favor of undoing his belt--breath, more of it, infiltrating him deeper and deeper--popping the button on his slacks, tugging them down his legs in a warm slide. The quiet clink of it being tossed somewhere. A closing quiet as Xichen leans in and presses his smooth lips to his forehead. Then the corner of his eyebrow. Then the bridge of his nose. Different points and planes of his face like he is unlocking a combination that will open him up and allow him to purge the rest of the awfulness that lingers.

What it mostly is is exhaustion, now. "A-Huan," he groans--whines. Ugh.

Before disgust at himself can settle in, his husband takes this as the invitation for what it is and kisses his mouth, gentle and slow. Jin Guangyao moves his mouth back, halfheartedly, mostly parting his lips to allow him access to do whatever. But all he does is kiss him chastely. Lovingly. He tastes like green tea. Then, Xichen murmurs against his lips, "Would you like a bath?"

He vents a negating grunt, lolling his head back and forth. Baths are so much work. Even when Xichen offered to wash his hair or read to him or even join him, you still had to keep it hot, you had to endure cold when you left, get yourself dry. Too much change, too much sensation and movement.

He should be shaking himself awake. He should be apologizing for his terrible, pointless mood. He should be trying to kiss him back, love him back, pay him back. Thank him.

Xichen merely lifts his hands and presses the heels of his palms into the hinges at Jin Guangyao's jaw, inexorably grinding the tension out of them. Jin Guangyao allows himself to melt. When those cool fingertips slide into his hair, he lets them tug him upright, so Xichen can slide off his button up and slip him out of his undershirt. He shivers against the chill of the bedroom air, but he doesn't feel a surge of utter hatred for the sensations so, well, that's something. In no time, Xichen has coaxed him into the oversized shirt, removed his socks and bundled him up against the padded headboard, tucked into Xichen's side.

Jin Guangyao allows this. He allows himself to allow the blanket to be tugged up over his bare legs, Xichen to tuck the warm mug of steaming mint tea into his hands, and wind his fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep, shuddering breath before sighing it all out. Xichen's fingers rub soothing circles across his sore scalp.

"Open?"

He cracks one eye to see a cookie hovering at mouth level. It's too dim in the room to properly tell what kind it is, but because Xichen has been perfect in literally every other way, he simply obeys and bites down. Browned butter and sea salt and semi-sweet chocolate ooze across his tongue and the instant spike of sugar satisfaction warms his chest. Jin Guangyao chews with utter contentment, swallows, and opens his mouth again.

"Good?" Xichen's amused voice vibrates warmly through his chest as he indulgently feeds him another bite.

"Mm. Very. Did you make them?"

"I did, earlier today. I just got lucky with the timing." His nails scrape oh so gently across his scalp. "How are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Jin Guangyao blinks up at him and his sweet, kind, ridiculously gorgeous face that is graced by a light smile and a gold edge light from the bathroom.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Being terrible."

"You're never terrible."

"I was today. I think I fucked up the car."

Xichen chuckles, smile crimping to a knowing press. "I saw. It won't be a big deal. We'll deal with it later."

"...Thank you."

"Of course, A-Yao. Do you still hate everything?"

"Mm-nn." He snuggles down deeper against his ribs, looping an arm around Xichen's warm waist. He has the best husband in his arms, his dark-sweet scent is in his nose, chocolate on his tongue, and 1000 count sheets against his skin.

What is there to hate?

#I was in an exceptionally bad mood #so therefore I projected it onto JGY and made Xichen make it better #because that's what writers DO #There is no plot at all except my own journey of being in a better mood. I am now. But it is also 4:20 am. Oh well. You do what you can.#my stuff #my fic #xiyao #lxc #jgy #text #xiyao fanfic #completely unedited because that's how it goes #it's an errant thought and he doesn't mean it #brief suicide mention

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khloros · 3 years

Text

A resident from another planet who seems to have willfully isolated themself from society finds a strange creature that shines in the sun, doesn’t eat, and seems to have the main focus of collecting rocks. Fortunately, save for the not eating part, the two seem fairly similar and form an unlikely family.

(Aka, I wrote a found-family thing for an alien and a rover. I usually don’t write much since it’s kinda a challenge for me, and this is my first time actually finishing something! It was fun and I wanna write more in the future, and I look forward to establishing my own style!)

_____

Scientists have recovered what seems to be a garden journal from the unknown planet that our rover, Trailblazer, crash landed on over twenty years ago. Photos of this journal have only just now reached Earth, and are being rapidly translated. The first entry is seen below.

_____

The crops are failing. The cold is settling in.

I’ve watched their leaves turn color, shift from rich greens to the frail purples and oranges of our moons in mid-summer. Some are so thin that they’ve become translucent and the sun sparkles through them like it does atop a pond. The scene is beautiful and terrible. I fear for this upcoming harvest. I don’t want to ask for help, not from anyone who knows me.

The only crop that has been doing well are the kaultchish. Their leaves are hearty and will be good roasted or eaten raw. The less successful leaves may be tossed in soups and stews, and preserved for the cold seasons. Like their foliage, the kaultchish berries hang heavy in their bunches. They are sweeter than they have been in any earlier years; it almost makes up for the lack of crops produced from the rest of the garden.

Now, despite the worries of the season, this is all somewhat normal news. I am reluctant to record the rest of this day, as it has been a strange one and I’m half-convinced that it was all a dream.

This morning, you see, I was checking on the berries. They were sagging close to the ground under their weight and I had been growing worried that pests would steal them. When checking for prints, however, I found the strangest ones I have ever seen. Two parallel lines indented wide into the ground, with jagged scores creating segments inside them. At the time, I could not have imagined what might create something so strange. I initially feared of something slithering, perhaps a verestial which may consume my crops with its jaws that part like clouds preparing to storm. I don’t like visitors, you see, even the small ones.

Naturally, I set a trap. The worst case scenario was that I’d string up one of my neighbors by accident, and even then, well, I wouldn’t mind never seeing them again. Loud creatures, they are. Sound carries across this flat land, the wind bringing it to my ears along with spatterings of sand. I am nearly convinced that this place hates me, neighbors and dust and all.

The trap consisted of a simple device that would sense the potential thief and spring a net over it. We used to craft them as children out of twigs and hardy grass often, this was the easy part.

The hard part came when I emerged from my home this morning to see a light flaring in the bushes. I’ve never lit any lanterns in that area and the sun had not yet raised her brows above the horizon, so naturally I was apprehensive.

And curious.

I approached the thing to find that it was a trembling creature with a seemingly bioluminescent spot on its chest. In fact, as I kneeled down to view it closer, this creature seemed almost identical to a child.

Its head and body are the correct shapes and colors, its skin is tough and reflective like ours. Its eyes seem to be the correct shape and color, though a bit bigger and protruding from the face in a strange way. Perhaps the biggest difference are its feet, which are quadrupedal rather than bipedal. They look quite similar to the wheels upon wagons, which had made me wonder whether or not this supposed creature might be a children’s toy.

It is not. It is most definitely not, unless children are more terrifying than I remember. I peeled the net away from its head and, sensing no distress from it, tugged at its foot. It immediately erupted into a series of short screams, staggered one after the other for several minutes even after I had let go. This seems to be quite the good defensive technique as the garden fell completely silent after that, not even the smallest of creatures daring to chirp.

I told it such, and added, “I should try that someday, if anyone attempts to tug on my leg.” It didn’t respond, but I feel that it was more at ease with me after I spoke.

I carried on with my garden duties, watering and trimming and weeding and hoping. A few times, I caught sight of the creature staring at the sunrise as if completely enamored. I can’t blame it, the sun has always looked beautiful to me as well. It reminds me of —

As I moved from one side of the garden to the other, I noticed the creature following me. At a distance and hesitantly at first, but my suspicions grew as I observed its behavior. After tearing a foreign grass out of the garden, I noticed the creature reaching out with its own arm to do the same. It placed the clump of grass within a fold in its skin, which I saw to be filled with shimmering rocks and half-planted flowers. This concerned me. I didn’t dare hope that this creature is sentient, this warped version of our own figures. This poor, abandoned child.

Without thinking, I dropped my gardening tools and rushed over to it, scooping the creature into my arms. It was heavier than expected, and its feet dug into my shoulder, but it didn’t send off any more shouts of alarm. Perhaps it is bold of me to assume its trust, but I have forever been outcast for my boldness.

I have taken this creature — and for now, until I know for certain that it is non-sentient, I will refer to it as a child — into my home. I have a meal being rewarmed on the hearth as I document this, and I will attempt to feed the feeble thing as soon as I can.

Addition: It doesn’t seem to like soup. I will attempt to feed it bread scorched over the fire, next.

Also, I have named it Keptie.

_____

Translator’s Notes.

Untranslatable words have been italicized. The definitions and potential pronunciations are listed below.

Kaultchish is just one interpretation of a plant that seems to be one of the more popular foods on the observed planet. German researcher and botanist Elias Zimmerman held a great role in learning more about this plant, and thusly it follows some Germanic grammar rules in all Earthly languages. For English, this means that the plural is not kaultchishes, but kaultchishen. Another common way of spelling that has arisen is kowltchish, which some people prefer to use under the belief that it represents the IPA better. The IPA pronunciation, to our current knowledge, is kaʊltʃɪʃ.

The verestial [vɛrɛstjiəl] seems to be a type of animal similar to our snakes, though possibly herbivorous. There is debate over whether it is a whole genus or a subset of one.

Most seem to be in agreement that Keptie is a “cuter name”, so the official name of our rover has been changed to it. However, its former name, Trailblazer, is still common in both everyday and scientific use.

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angelrider13 · 3 years

Text

A Barren Sea of Sun-Bleached Bones

Sooooooo this is something that I’ve been thinking about off and on for a while now and given that I’ve had literally nothing better to do at work because everything has gone cuckoo bananapuffs, have some rambles! (*pokes @hamelin-born because it sounds like you’re also having a rough time lately and could use a pick me up*)

When Thalassa wakes up in a desert with twin suns beating down on her, her first thought is ‘this might as well happen’. Her second thought is ‘why the fuck is this happening?”

(Titan, brother, why would you do this to me? When did I wrong you???)

She has no idea where she is and eventually she succumbs to the heat. When she wates, she finds herself in the care of a woman who introduces herself as Shmi Skywalker and explains that her husband, Cliegg Lars, found her unconscious in the desert.

She’s in Star Wars. On Tatooine of all places. Because of course she is. In her first life, Thalassa wasn’t overly familiar with story - she’d seen the first 6 movies, a few episodes of the various cartoons here and there, but she knows that there is a wider knowledge base that she never looked twice at and is therefore missing.

What she does know is this: Tatooine is run by slavers.

Tatooine is a slave planet and everyone knows but no one cares enough to stop it.

Well then.

Thalassa settles in and recovers and gets to know her rescuers. With Shmi married to Cliegg (happily so and by her own choice, Thalassa checked), it’s clear that the timeline is somewhere between Episodes 1 and 2. Something she doesn’t particularly care about much aside from the fact that it means war has not broken out. Yet. Meaning that larger entities will not yet be putting much effort into winning the Hutt’s favor - which in turn means that no one will be looking to closely at the Outer Rim desert planet. Or that, if they do, they will look the other way. As always.

So Thalassa stays and watches and explores and learns. She helps around the homestead, walks through the cities. She makes note of who owns slaves and who doesn’t. She observes any slave quarters she comes across. She grows close with Shmi and Cliegg ad teases young Owen about his budding romance with Beru.

And sometimes, she just walks out into the desert and disappears for days, weeks.

There are echoes, you see, all round the desert. A song on the wind, screams in the shifting sands. Tatooine wasn’t always a Desert. Many, many, many, moons ago, it was a Sea. And that is not something easily forgotten. Deserts aren’t so different after all - their shifting sands hide treasures as easily as waves and their memories stretch just as long.

It is for this reason that Thalassa has lasted as long as she had. In another life, perhaps this planet could have been Hers. In this life, it is the echoes of that past that sustain her when she is so far from her own Sea.

Shmi frets over her whenever se returns from these wanderings for Thalassa’s skin is perpetually dry and cracked, splitting open whenever she so much as twitches. Her hair is bleached and brittle and the sands have carved deep lines into her face. (She hasn’t dared changing shapes since she arrived - she suspects she would simply fall apart if she tried.) Shmi continues to rub salves into her skin and Cliegg tries to caution her against further trips, to at least make them shorter, to take more water, something.

And Thalassa smiles because they care, but their little moisture farm would never produce enough water to sustain her. Besides, she can’t stop yet.

“I’m searching for something,” she says.

“What?” Cliegg asks as Shmi bandages her arms, worry shinning in their eyes.

Thalassa smiles wistfully. “A memory.”

She finds it eventually. It takes her two years of looking and waiting and listening, but Thalassa finds the heart of the memory, of the Sea. The entrance could have been great once. A temple, perhaps. Or a palace. Or probably none of those things and something else entirely. But is was something once. Something grand. Now it is little more than weathered stone - nothing other than a natural formation if one doesn’t know how to look. It’s a maze of caverns deep underground and Thalassa can see were once great arches and painted tiles and etched columns. The echoes that were only faint whispers on the wind are stronger here - louder, firmer, solid. Real. She can see what once was and what now is. What was once a vast Sea is not little more than a well. A small pool no longer deep or large enough to flow through underground riverbeds.

There is still enough water for Thalassa to submerge herself completely. The water is soothing against her dry, cracked skin - an ancient, dying Sea welcoming one of its own. Thalassa opens herself to this strange-familiar Sea, lets it see all of her and in turn it grants Thalassa the same.

Tatooine was once a water planet - vast and deep and blue. But time marches on and things change as they always do. The slightest of shifts in the chemical makeup of the atmosphere, the gravitational axis tilting a single degree to the left. Small hings. Little things. But a single change is always enough and Tatooine began to dry up until it became as it is today. Thalassa can feel the boundless rage of this dying Sea at the state of its domain today. Not so much the state of its waters - change is what it is and there is no escaping it - but the state its people. Because Seas, regardless of time and place and origin, are the same. Seas are free. And Tatooine has been chained and branded and bound for so long that its people have forgotten any other way to be.

But the Sea remembers.

The Desert remembers.

And it rages at this slight, at this betrayal, at this abomination that has been allowed to fester at among its people so long unchecked.

Very well, Thalassa promises, The infection will be cut out.

Tatooine’s Sea is grateful and offers what is left of its dying depths to the liberation of its children.

Thalassa’s skin knits together, the ever present rash in her throat fades, the dryness in her lungs vanishes. She takes stock, considers, and changes. Scales, claws, a tail. It feels good. The water is not deep enough, vast enough for Leviathan, but she changes anyway, filling the cavern with her massive form. She stretches and twists and basks in her ability to be once more. She changes. Again and again and again. An old woman bent with age, a young boy with scraped knees, a Zabrak male, an elderly Rodian, a Twi’liek woman, a Jawa just because she can. It has been so long. Tatooine’s Sea is laughing at her, she can tell, but she doesn’t mind.

The Desert greets her when she finally emerges, its voice a twin of the Sea’s, different that what she is used to but no less welcome. It reminds her of her stone brother.

Thalassa returns to the Lars-Skywalker homestead and Shmi is already pulling out medical supplies before she registers the shine of Thalassa’s hair, the unblemished skin of her face.

“It was a gift,” she explains when Shmi strips her down anyway and runs her hands over smooth skin she swears was falling apart only a week ago.

Thalassa lets them fuss for two days before she wanders off again. She made a promise after all and she’s had time to observe. She knows who is rotten and who is not. The Hutts for one. The most obvious blight. But to cut them out so soon, so quickly, without any plan or safety net would do Tatooine children no favors. One day. But not yet. She must start small. She knows where to go first.

There is a man who live in Mos Entha with a dozen slaves to his name. Thalassa does not claim knowledge of all the races this universe has to offer, but she knows children when she sees them. All of them are young. All of them are pleasing to the eye. All of them are dressed in little more than scraps of sheer cloth.

The man dies that night.

In the morning, Thalassa returns to Shmi and Cliegg with a dozen children of various races peeking out from behind her legs.

“She was like you,” Thalassa tells the children of Shmi before she ushers Cliegg out of the room when Shmi pulls out a scanner and Beru starts setting up medical supplies.

(Thalassa has seen the scar on Shmi’s hip. She knows what used to live under Shmi’s skin.)

Cliegg sets up rooms for the kids without protest and the farm gains a dozen helpers. Owen is a gruff, but protective, older brother. Shmi and Beru are both gentle and patient even when the children finally feel secure enough to start testing boundaries and act out.

This is how it starts.

Thalassa cannot bring everyone back to the homestead, of course. But she’s watched. She knows. Slaves are never content to be slaves. And here they are survivors born of both the Desert and the Sea. They will find a way. Secret languages. hidden paths, safe houses. Thalassa does not have to be a member of their community to know.

Slavers start disappearing. The smugglers, the mercenaries, the masters. No one dealing in the trade of sentient beings is safe.

Shmi finally confronts her about it he third time she brings home a group to be de-chipped. Shmi would never turn them away - that’s not in her nature - and Thalassa has provided them with enough funds for the extra mouths (The Desert and the Sea both have their secrets and guard treasures well from outsiders. But not from on of their own.), but she does wonder what, exactly, her friend thinks she’s doing.

“Tatooine used to be a Sea,” Thalassa says when she asks as she looks out in the desert. “Do you know what a Sea is?”

Shmi may have lived in a desert all her life, but she is not stupid and she is a little indignant that Thalassa thinks she might be. “A large body of water,” she answers, keeping the frown out of her voice and off her face.

Thalassa smiles. “You’re not wrong. Most people would agree with you. But I asked what a Sea was, not how to describe it.”

Shmi blinks, thrown by the direction this entire conversation has taken.

“A Sea,” Thalassa continues without looking away from the vast stretch of sand, “is freedom.”

Oh, Shmi thinks.

“Tatooine used to be a Sea,” Thalassa says again, “And such a thing leaves echoes. A Desert is not so different, after all. They are no place for chains and brands and chips.” Thalassa spits the last word as if it is the most vile poison and Shmi wonders if she truly understands what such a life is like to hate it so.

“There is a Sea inside of me,” Thalassa says, turning to look at Shmi with glowing gold eyes, “And it is raging at the way your Sea and Desert have been bound. The have been screaming for so long, Shmi, so long. I will free them even if I have to cut down every slaver myself.”

Shmi believes her. Not only that, but she believe Thalassa ca do it. Her friend has always been an odd one. Human in appearance, but never quite right. Something easy to pass off in a universe such as theirs. But the way she seems to whither in the desert is like nothing Shmi has ever seen. The cracks that once carved themselves into Thalassa’s flesh - and still do whenever she ventures out too far for too long - had never seemed as simple as a reaction to the body’s lack of water or exposure to heat. And then one day Thalassa healed. She healed and she stated wearing different skins. Shmi has heard people start calling her Quyllur of the Many Faces. They have stories about beings like her - whispers passed down in he dark of night while huddled together for warmth. Thalassa does not know these stories. She does not know their language or culture or history. She is something different. But she is something similar enough.

Thalassa cleans Tatooine of filth one slaver at a time. None of them can quite figure out why they are being hunted, only that they are. Some try to flee or buy protection. Some even petition the Hutts fir help. But Thalassa is an ancient, death-touched Sea with a pair of twins - a Desert full of screaming winds and barren Sea full of sun-bleached bones - at her back. She can be patient. Water goes where it will and Death come for all in the end. Thalassa will get her way.

It happens slowly, quietly, but it happens.

Most people don’t notice at first because they aren’t looking. Who pays attention to slaves after all? That is their first mistake. A slaver should always pay attention and never be comforatable - a slave is never content to be a slave. All it takes is a single moment, a single detail, a single second. But people who assume they have all the power never think like that. And it is always, always, their downfall.

The slaves are freed.

The masters are killed.

No one notices.

And then the first Hutt dies.

#sweat tears or the sea au #ffxv x sw #a barren sea of sun bleached bones verse #ffxv #star wars #elri writes #I HAD AN IDEA #and to the surprise of no one it got long #mentions of slavery and associated themes #shmi doesn't die because i fucking said so #thalassa rescues her asap #and she doesn't slaughter everyone to do it #but she does kill everyone who hurt shmi #because shmi is HERS #idk when anyone figures out what's happening on tatooine #probs not until anakin comes looking for his mom #but then war happens to no one has time to pay attention to that!#and then the republic comes to get jabba's support #with their slaver army #but WHOOPS jabba's dead and no one is happy about the slave army #thalassa: WHY IS THERE SO MUCH SLAVERY IN THIS DAMN UNIVERSE #thalassa rolling up her sleeve: I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF AROUND HERE #on another note how would the jedi react to thalassa's glowy gold eyes #fairly certain there would be a lot of stab first ask questions later

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bugsy-maria · 3 years

Text

Tenth Doctor x Reader

(Y/N)'s POV

I sat on my bed waiting for my bad connection to just magically get better. The google meeting popped up and popped up with the, "Contact your system administrator for more information" screen again. I swear the hardest thing so far has been not getting a good enough internet connection. I groaned in frustration for the hundredth time this morning. The sounds of London's busy street sounded in the distance, the sound of cabbies being hauled coming from outside my window was less than distant though. My neighbor shot bullets at the wall earlier this morning causing me to wake up, but I think he went out on a case a while ago as it's too quiet in his flat. Ahh, the sounds of Baker Street never get old.

I live in a flat with my mother and brother, who are some of the hardest people to talk to I swear. I slammed my computer shut. I gripped locks of my hair and pulled, not too hard but just enough to let my stress out. My breath caught in my throat as I heard a noise. A noise that only a few words can describe. The first one to pop into my head is, 'whooping' but maybe 'mysterious' could work too. I looked to where the noise was coming from. My hands still tangled in my hair.

In the corner of my room, through my fingers, I saw a blue box that said 'police public call box'. It was one that I only saw in a television show I watched as a kid. TARDIS I think it was called. A time machine that could also take you anywhere in the universe. And, if im correct, this box comes with a man inside. Upon remembering my fascinations with this man and box, I leaped into the air and off my bed, causing me to hit the floor with a thud.

My feet captured within my covers. I Quickly untangle myself and stumbled across the floorboards. I stood up straight and dusted myself off as I stood in front of the tardis blue doors. I pushed on them, I was half expecting them to be locked. Once opened, I looked inside with amazement, It looked different than what I remember. I saw a man in the center, at the control panel. I stepped in, and as soon as I did the TARDIS started to shake. I fell to the ground, and I fell hard.

"Finally!" a shout from the man came. I shakingly pushed myself up. I stood up leaning against the railing.

"Huh, so it is real." the astonishment got more and more prominent toward the end of the sentence. The man quickly turned around. I let go of the railing and continued looking at the scenery.

"What are you doing in here?!"

"What were you doing in my room?" I questioned and started walking to the middle, where the man of my fantasies stood.

"It was an accident."

"Then me being here is also an accident," I stated. My hand guiding on the rail around the console.

"Don't touch anything!" he shouted as he ran up to me and moved me to sit on the companion seat.

"I'm tacking you back home."

"No!" I shouted, "There's still so many things I need to see, doctor!" I pleaded while I landed on the holey ground. This has been my dream from when I was a kid, and there was no way an 800-year-old alien was gonna take that away from me.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, getting his screwdriver out from the inside pocket in his suit coat.

"Oh please, it's not your name it's your title. And I know that because you're on the telly sometimes. Though I don't know which generation you are." I spoke knowingly yet curious.

"Tenth, im taking you home." "But-"

"Now." his stern voice roared (RAWR X3 nuzzles pounces on you UwU you're so warm) and his stern face glared in my direction. I slumped back into the companion's seat with a torn look sketched onto my face. I hear him click and bang a couple of things before resting one hand on the panel and the other lost within his locks.

"So does that mean I can stay?" I asked hopefully.

"Absolutely not. once I get her fixed, you're going back where you came from," he said while grabbing a red toolbox from the ground and walking to the other side of the shining teal pillar, and hopping through the rails. I bounced up off the chair and to the doors. "Don't you open those doors!" he shouted.

of course, I didn't listen, I mean why would I? this is a once in a lifetime experience. I swung the doors open and saw a scene that I couldn't put into words. but I'll try. the ground was a reddish-orange colour and the sky a bright green with a red sun-like object resting over the horizon. the terrain was mountainous. in the distance, I saw something that looked like a village. I closed the doors behind me and ran. it was a good minute or two before I reached where the village was.

the streets were decorated in star-designed banners and were crowded with aliens of different species buying things that went along with the star/space theme. I continued to squeeze my way through the people. I saw a line leading to a stadium. wanting to know what was in there I quickly joined. the wait wasn't nearly as long as the line so I got in pretty quick.

I took a seat and saw the sky had changed into a dark purple. I saw billions of stars, hundreds of galaxies, and so many nebulas I couldn't count them. my jaw dropped at the most beautiful sight.

"There you are, I told you-" I looked at the voice and saw the doctor. I knew that he was going to be mad at me but I was too happy to care. "Why are you crying?" he asked, taking a seat next to me. my head tilted as I moved my hand up to my face, and sure enough, I felt tears.

"I'm just so happy I guess," I said with a closed-eyed smile. I looked back up to the stars, ever since I was a kid all I wanted to do was travel the stars before my dad died whenever there was a meteor shower or the milky way could be seen or even when you could see the planets in the night sky, we would always go to the middle of nowhere and camp to see the stars in all of there glory.

"They're just stars." I heard the doctor say, in the corner of my eye I could see him staring up at them too.

"They may be stars to you but to me, this is my childhood dream come true." I said with a large smile. " you know how I said you would be on a show in the telly? I would stay awake all night dreaming of the day that you would pop up in my room and id run away from my life and see the stars with you. that's why I didn't want to go back home." I looked at him through teary eyes, "I just wanted to see the stars and galaxies and all of the nebulas up close. to travel the stars just like my dad wanted." I smiled so wide while tears streamed down my face fast and into my mouth. he looked at me and gave me a one-armed hug, pulling me close to him.

we stayed like that for hours, watching the stars. he pointed at them and told me the name and stories of each one, along with the planets beyond them. I fell asleep on his shoulder and woke up in one of the rooms in the TARDIS. I was surprised that I was even there still. I was sure that he would have brought me home by now.

I got up from the bed and quickly put on my shoes, and walked out to the console room.

"Oh! Good you're up!" he jumped up and down, "So where to now! I heard that the planet Hat-P-7b is in rain season this time of year, oh or we could even go to J1407b, they have amazing crapes, though they don't call it crapes..." he went on and on about the planets we could go to. to say the least, I was happy. too happy that I was scared it was a dream. "So, where to?" he asked, leaning forward waiting for my answer.

"Somewhere amazing," I said with a smile, excited for the adventures that I was going to have with this man.

#doctor who #10th doctor #tenth doctor #stars #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #david tennant #x reader #xreader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #doctor who fanfic #tenth doctor fanfiction

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awesomerextyphoon · 4 years

Text

Slit Reflection

This is my entry for @jtargaryen18’s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. Mine was Sam Wilson. Credit for dividers goes to @firefly-graphics. Check them out!

Summary: You’ve always loved Halloween, especially the haunted house at the edge of the woods. So happens when the ‘Star Spangled Trio’ enters the mix?

Pairing: Demon King!Sam Wilson x Black!Reader (Fem)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3,054

Warning: Kidnapping, Forced Marriage, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Stalking, Breeding Kink, Mentions of Torture, and Non-Con/Dub-Con Smut. You have been warned.

Back to Masterlist

You’ve always loved Halloween. It was your birthday and the haunted house at the edge of the woods gave the best spooks and thrills. It was your first Halloween after undergrad and this year was different.

The Star Spangled Trio were celebrity guests and they were bringing two of the old rooms back!

It took you six days to get a ticket. You tried getting one online, every shop in town, but got nothing.

Finally, a new face at the library took pity on you and gave you the last ticket along with a book on demon folklore. You thanked the new librarian and rushed out of the building. Had you looked back you would’ve noticed a smirk on their face and their sclera and pupils turning black and gold respectively.

Halloween—the day of your birth—was here, and it was shit. Your toothbrush broke, your car refused to start, the job that you desperately wanted was dashed by yet another rejection email, and both your student loan and rent checks bounced. You just need to get through today.

You missed the cutoff, but got in because the person working the line was a family friend. Anxiously, you wait in line wondering how the haunted house in your small ass town managed to nab the Star Spangled Trio when you noticed the excited expressions of the people leaving. Now you’re super anxious.

By the time you entered the haunted house, you’re doing the breathing exercises to calm yourself. This was it! You were finally going to meet your all time heroes (and possible spank bank entries)!

The first few rooms were your typical haunted house fare which you loved, but were secondary to your excitement in seeing your heroes. Maybe you could get an autograph and hug from them!

You were about to follow the person in front of you into the haunted house’s hospital room when you noticed a light flickering to your left. It revealed a door done in the Neo-classical design with some Latin text engraved in the middle (had you studied Latin , you would’ve known that the text read “Reveal yourself, my beloved”).

Opening the door, you saw that it lead to the Hall of Mirrors. This part of the haunted house was always a favorite of yours, but both the itinerary and the ticket worker said that it was closed this year. The hall itself was chillingly quite and pristine as if no one else had stepped foot inside this season.

All of the mirrors looked standard for the haunted house; some of them made you laugh or briefly catch your breath. The one at the end of the hall caught you off-guard. It was at least 12ft (about 3.66m) high with intricate carvings of characters out of dark folklore and a single diagonal slit.

You were about to turn away when you saw nothing thinking it was a small haunted house joke at your expense when the mirror flashed.

In your place was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, but it still looked like you..sort of. Your hair was long, luxurious and gently flowing. Your eyebrows, eyelashes, and nails were immaculate. Your nose was adorably broad and your lips were sensually full (the type of full women would shell hundred’s if not thousands of dollars for). You wore a diadem with thick gold chains ladened with diamonds, onyx, and rubies and around your neck was a ruby and onyx amulet. You were dressed in a loose, yet sleeveless form-fitting Vivaldi red gown with hints of fiery red and a thin rosewood colored shoulder veil connected to the dress by a ruby broach in the middle of your cleavage.

You looked about four or five inches taller and the mirror version of you made you feel nervous about your curves being out on display.

Curious, you reached out to touch the mirror. Your hand was less than a centimeter away when your mirrored self opened it eyes. Suddenly, it grew curved horns and its eyes glowed pale gold.

The mirrored version of you grabbed your outstretched arm and dragged you through the mirror all while you screamed hoping someone would come to your rescue, but to no avail.

Samael, or ‘Sam’ was notified of your departure and the trio had to excuse themselves from the festivities to congratulate Sam on finding his bride.

You woke up with a start and shout clawing the air but stopped once you realized that you weren’t falling anymore. Instead, you were in a huge, opulent room filled with treasures that not even Windsor Castle had. Curiosity seemed to have taken hold of you because you walked out onto the connecting balcony to find that you were on a different planet/dimension/realm, whatever!

There were floating landmasses (the smallest of which was the size of your small town) and five planets ranging from Moonbow Gold to Venetian Red in color.

You thought about where the fuck you were and how you could get back home when a voice interrupted your thoughts.

The source of the voice was a demon with Antique Ruby skin with reddish gray undertones and Cinnabar and Rosewood colored hair. She had two short outward curved horns with a gold chain and aquamarine teardrop connecting them. Her eyes were an inviting aqua blue eyes with a dark red sclera.

“Hello! My name is Scheherazade, but you can call me Sherry. I’m your Lady in Waiting. I’ve brought some food.” Sherry offered as she set the tray of food on a small table next to a dresser.

You smiled cautiously at your new elevated handmaiden,”Do you know why I’m-”

“Oh, I almost forgot! We need to get you ready for your presentation!”

The Fuck?!

“What do you mean ‘presentation’?,” you asked as nicely as possible, but reality came out more like a demand.

Sherry stopped her ministrations and faced you,”Well, when the monarch, crown prince, or princess declares their mate, they are presented to the royal court,” she then returned to her task of finding a suitable dress for you not catching the mortified expression on your face.

This day can’t get any worse. Wait?

“What time is it?”

“Oh, yes, It’s pretty much always night here. The sun only comes out for three hours. Would you look at the time! Everyone’s waiting!”

“One last question,” you started as Sherry began dressing you,”Who am I marrying?”

“Why my second cousin, King Samael, one of the Three Demon Kings, of course!”

You fought the impulse to faint.

It took thirty minutes for Sherry to make you look unrecognizable. Thankful for her assistance, you followed the floating torches to the throne room. The throne room was an enormous room with high wide vaulted arches, delicately carved pillars and columns, and a small bridge connecting the ground at the door to the center. The court comprised of beautiful yet fearsome demons of all shapes and sizes.

The king himself was seated on a grand, ornate throne atop a huge dais with at least 25 steps. He seemed familiar.

As soon as you were passed the threshold, the king raised his head and everyone stopped talking and cleared a path for you. Several courtiers whispered as you striddled towards the dais. When you finally reached the dais, the king got off his throne and walked down the steps to greet you.

You almost face-palmed. The king was Sam Wilson! Or at least, looked like him.

Sam for his part was devastatingly handsome. He had a tall, powerful build, broad shoulders, bulging biceps, muscular thighs, short well-kept hair and beard with surprisingly kind eyes.

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” Sam uttered as he pulled you in for a hug. You could’ve sworn he sniffed your hair, but you didn’t want to go into that right now.

“Everyone!” The court turned to the throne,” Thank you for coming. I have finally found my bride. We will be married tomorrow night!” Sam exclaimed to thunderous cheers and applause. He slipped on a magnificent ruby and diamond engagement ring with a black gold band.

You could not believe this, “I can’t-,” you started, but Sam discreetly grabbed your wrist, “Pre-wedding jitters,” and led you to a side room.

You expected him to hit or yell at you like so many other royals in a similar setting, but instead he gave a sad smile and asked if you were truly happy in your old life. You thought about your crushing debt, little to no job prospects, both parents dead, no friends and you had to admit your life did suck, but he didn’t get to decide.

Disappointed, Sam casted a small compliance spell and pulled you in for a kiss. Your pupils blew out in lust and you lost yourself. When he finally decided to break for air, Sam stated that you will be his bride and he will not be denied any longer. You smiled and gave him a short but passionate kiss. He moaned but had to end it before he went too far.

Tomorrow night he promised himself.

He quickly called for Sherry to return you to your quarters.

Sherry woke you up the next ‘morning’ with a small army of beauty experts and maids.

“Rise and shine, Your Grace! We’ve got a bride to present!” Sherry proclaimed.

Damn it! It wasn’t a nightmare.

They managed to stuff you into a marvel of a wedding dress. It was a Torch Red long-sleeved mermaid wedding dress with soft yet detailed lace work made to look like an enchanted forest, diamond, dark ruby and pearl beads, and a floor length train. On your head was a black gold spiked sunburst goddess with deep ruby roses and a simple ruby teardrop chain that rested on your forehead, the ends of which were wrapped around your horns.

“Not even Lilith could compare, Your Grace!” Sherry gushed at her handiwork.

The wedding procession and ceremony was done in a swift fashion as Sam didn’t want to wait much longer. The vows were short as well. You wanted to object, call for help, anything but a voice in the back of your mind beat you to it.

A couple hours into the wedding festivities, Sam announced that it was time for he and his new queen to retire and led you to his quarters. It’s the fanciest suite you’ve ever seen dripping with luxurious reds, violets, and obsidian.

In all your awing of Sam’s quarters, you failed to notice him approaching you in only a simple loose shirt and trousers. He gently put his hands on your exposed shoulders,”Alone at last, my love.”

You recoiled, “Can’t we wait for a few days? It’s just…” you trailed off as soon as his jovial expression vanished replaced with something darker and hungrier.

“I’ve waited for so long to have you here with me, love,” Sam confessed while you moved towards the exit,”and I will not be denied any longer!”

In an instant, Sam pulled you in for a demanding kiss. He pushed his tongue past your lips moaning when your tongue tepidly danced with his own and from the sweet taste of your mouth. He pushed you onto a bed that had to three times the size of a California King and his lips moved jaw and neck, egged on by needy whimpers and moans.

He took his time ripping off your gown, enjoying the view like a child on Christmas, ”Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Utter perfection,” Sam murmured as he watched your breasts bounced free. He alternated between sucking and pinching your nipples with his hands and mouth,”I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he whispered in your left ear and he continued to play with your breasts like a concert-level musician. All the while moaned and cried out feeling pleasure you never thought possible.

Once satisfied with his handiwork with your chest, Sam’s hands roamed over your stomach and hips followed by strategically placed butterfly kisses that made you squirm. He tore off the last of your wedding gown causing you to hiss at the sudden sensation of cold air touching your pussy.

You used your last bit of willpower to plead, “Please stop! I’ve never-,” Sam stopped and raised his head to look at you.

“I know, love. I’ll be your first and only,” and with that, he gives your folds one long, slow lick and growled at your sweet and tangy taste, “I’ve wondered how you’d taste. You’re even better than the best Kharian wine. I could get used to this.”

He dove back in and played your pussy for all it was worth. His tongue worked its magic stroking and circling your clit sending you higher and higher into euphoria. Sam kept you right on the edge of an orgasm, just enough to beg for release.

“Say you’re mine!,” you mewled in response, to blissed out to use words. “Say it or I’ll leave!”

“Please let me cum, My King!” you cried out when he thrusted two fingers into your pussy.

“That’s a good girl. Now,”Sam started as he vigorously rubbed your pussy,”cum for me, love.”

Your orgasm came like a tsunami and Sam made sure finish his feast.

You got out of your post-oral haze to see Sam looming over in all his naked glory. His body must’ve been made by the gods because it was divine. His frame was an ode to sexiness wrapped in sinful warm sepia skin.

Sam caught you biting your lower lip and cocked his head, “Like what you see?”

Damn that cocky bastard, but damn if he wasn’t right. Part of you wanted to fuck his brains out…and that was before you saw his cock. Standing proud and erect with angry veins, his cock had to be the biggest you’ve ever seen (not like you had much exposure, just a few pornos).

Sam crawled up to you, lifted your chin and gave a soft kiss on the lips sensing your unease, “Relax, love,” He then lined his cock to your entrance and slid in as gently as he could.

You hissed from the pain, he was just so damn big. Sam praised you on how well you fit around him like ‘you were made for him’. Once the pain subsided, you bucked your hips into his causing him to moan at the sensation. He smiled at your eagerness and picked up the pace, making his thrusts come out to just the tip was in you and slamming back into you. You cried out his name each time he filled you to the hilt, pleading with him to go faster. Soon he reached your G-Spot causing to orgasm again, this time with you crossing your eyes and coming with a squirt.

Not too long after your second orgasm, Sam came with an otherworldly roar and glowing bright gold eyes shooting rope after rope of thick cum into your womb. He then flipped you onto your stomach and forced you onto your hands and knees so that he could take you from behind.

He got ten orgasms from you, each one more mind-blowing than the last. Once he was satisfied, he let you sleep.

“Soon you will be round with my seed, and we will have many children. I can’t wait.”

Ah hour after you closed your eyes, Sam left his, now yours, quarters. “Make sure she doesn’t leave,” he orders the guards although, he’s confident that she’s not going anywhere with the way he hammered her.

He strode down the corridors until he reached the dungeon. There, he found a rather nice looking apartment-style cell with only one prisoner, your mother.

“I’ve taken your daughter. Do you want to see her before you go?”

You see, Samael, Mikael (Bucky), and Stelios (Steve) were demon warlords who began conquering kingdoms left and right 1200yrs ago. They fought their way to the last free kingdom, Kharan. By the time your grandparents were brought before them, they had killed your uncle, the heir to the throne. The king and queen begged for their lives and the kingdom to be spared.

The trio agreed on one condition: if the next child the queen bears is a girl, then she would be Sam’s mate (Mikael and Stelios already had mates).

The king reluctantly agreed. The queen gave birth four months later to a girl, but she was in demon form. The queen had two of her most trusted attendants spirit the child away to another realm and raised her as their own.

Sam had your grandparents slaughtered and razed Kharan to the ground for their trickery. No matter, he was immortal. He would bide his time.

Eventually, your mother was told about her true parentage and form. She learned to control her powers, found love and she too was with child.

Sam found her a week before she went into labor and said that it was time to collect. She promised you in her stead immediately in hopes that it would buy her some time.

It did. She was able to pass you, a cambion, off to a friend of hers who wanted a child but couldn’t conceive and gave Sam a fake baby. He had your mother thrown into the dungeons.

Sam searched for you, but discovered that your mother put a cloaking spell on you. So, he approached your mother with a deal: her freedom for you becoming his mate.

It took your mother three years of torture for her to say yes.

Once the spell was lifted, Sam went to work. He made sure your adopted parents had a little ‘accident’ when you were old enough to take care of yourself, made sure that no one would want to hire you, and saddled you with debt. He even got Mikael and Stelios to pose as ‘The Star Spangled Trio’ with him to finally get you to the Hall of Mirrors.

Your mother bowed her head in shame, “No. It’s best for her to believe that I don’t exist.”

Sam unlocked the cell door with a simple spell, “You’re free to go. Have a nice life,” and returned to his quarters to be with his mate and queen.

Your mother took one last look at the palace,”I’m sorry, my little moon and stars,” and disappeared into the night.

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cluelessgurl · 3 years

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Hey guys, this is like my first fic ever so I hope you like it. I’d love any feedback as it always helps. Enjoy :)

This was requested by the lovely @jedicatt

You and Him

Pairing- Anakin Skywalker X Female Reader

Summary- You are the outspoken representative of Alderaan and the sister of Bail Organa. When you are under threat, you are put under Jedi protection by no other than Anakin.

Warnings- None :)

Words- 2.7K

The luscious green, peaceful world of Alderaan had been your home since birth. Growing up under the success of your brother Bail meant you always wanted to follow his footsteps, and as you grew older your passion for politics was apparent. You were well-spoken but people would always describe you as fiery, you knew you had to stand up for what you believed in and sometimes that got you in trouble. Like the time, when you as a representative of Alderaan beside your brother Bail spoke out against malicious ways of the Trade federation quite blatantly, so much so, your brother swore he heard hundreds of gasps echoing through the senate. This was definitely one of the times you caused yourself trouble, but this time you swore you'd never take it back because this time, you met him.

‘I don't understand why there's any need for this!’ you gasped out you as scurried to catch up to Bail who was currently huffing down the corridors of the senate, ‘Of course you don't, you never understand when I tell you anything, like when I told you to not associate politics and your rather explicit personal view of the Trade federation together yet here we are’ he exclaimed. Smiling up at him ‘Uh yes, however, they deserved everything I suggested about them and you know it Bail and so do hundreds of other delegates. But Jedi protection? That's highly unnecessary and hyperbolic’, he looked down at you sternly but you could see the amusement in his eyes ‘ Well your suggestions have now got us on the tracks of bounty hunters and assassins,we are in danger, and by ‘we’ I mean you specifically. So I suggest this be the time you do listen’ you sighed in defeat, your brother had always been protective of you, he claimed it was due to your ‘outlandish’ ways but you knew it was because he cared for you. As you made it to the docking bay stepping into your yellow speeder, Bail spoke out ‘We’re heading back to the quarters and there we’ll meet our Jedi representative, please try and be polite or say nothing at all, both are fine’ he chucked, you looked up at him with an unamused expression as he turned the speeder around mid-air , why must he always treat you as if you were a child you thought frustratedly,but then proceeded to smirk the way you always did ‘Of course brother, when have I ever disappointed you’ he managed to give you smile before you sped off.

This is my mission, why must Obi-Wan escort me there as if I am a mere youngling, my master is a wise man, but his misunderstandings about my abilities are frustrating to say the least, Anakin’s mind rushed with thoughts as the elevator bolted up towards the quarters when his thread was broken by Obi- Wan ‘You seem a little on edge, nervous for your first mission?’ Anakin turned swifty ‘Not at all’ he replied a little unconvincingly ‘Are you sure? I haven’t felt you this tense since we fell into that nest of Gundarks’ Obi -Wan chipped amused, “Of course” thought Anakin, rolling his eyes, ‘You fell into that nightmare Master, and I rescued you remember?’ Obi-Wan pondered ‘Oh, yes’ followed by a hearty chuckle, this made Anakin smile. He did appreciate all that he and his master had been through, and after all he did care for him, as this thought passed the padawan’s mind,the elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened. Obi-Wan strode into the quarters, Anakin at his heel, if he was being completely honest, this was not the most thrilling first assignment , Aayla told him that she went ventured into the the notorious streets of Corellia as her first mission without Master Tholme, that all changed though, it all changed when he set his eyes on you. You stood there tall, confident with the most mesmerising smile he had ever seen on any species, it made his heart soar even though he’d never met you, though your eyes said different, they shone bright like the suns on Tatooine, like they’d known him for a thousand cycles with a sense of mischief clear, your hair framed your face perfectly like everything about you, perfect that’s what you were to him, perfect. Anakin was lost in you, so much so that he didn’t hear any of the conversation that was taking place, he only came to his senses when Obi-Wan gave him a rather harsh nudge ‘Anakin!’ he muttered. You chuckled softly looking up Bail.Anakin blinked ‘My apologise Senator Organa, and -uh..’ ‘Y/N, Y/N Organa representative of Alderaan’ you replied gleefully ‘Pleasure to meet you Master Kenobi and Anakin’, you must admit to yourself, when you thought you were going to be under Jedi protection, your imagination took you to the likes of Master Yoda,you did not expect men like Obi-Wan and Anakin who were quite frankly, far too dashing. Maybe this would be fun after all.

After brief discussion, it was decided that you were to be escorted back to Alderaan to the family country house under Anakin’ protection. Following a small , private bicker with Bail about sending you away from the Senate, you gave in and said your goodbyes to him and Master Kenobi and waited for Anakin to do the same. ‘I have faith in you Anakin, keep Y/N safe and don’t do anything without discussing with me or the council first’ Obi-Wan spoke somewhat tense himself ‘I assure you, I will master’ Anakin replied with a strange determination in his eyes, ‘Well then,you best hurry’.

As you two settled down in the surroundings of your passenger starship, covered by unknown faces, Anakin took it upon himself to get to know you. ‘So, what is a lady like you doing as a representative in the senate?’ he quipped, the smile you gave him yet again brought warmth to his heart, ‘Well, I have a tendency to speak my mind, so I thought why not put it to good use?’ you noticed how Anakin’s face sweetly scrunched up as he let out a most sincere chuckle ‘How about you? What is a flyboy like you doing at the Jedi temple’ you asked out of genuine curiosity ‘I was found in Tatooine at a very young age, the temple is all I’ve known since then.’he replied plainly ‘Must be difficult, having sworn your life to the Jedi, not being able to visit the places you like or do things you like’ ‘Or be with the people that I like’ he interrupted with a expression you couldn’t quite decipher, he was proving to be more and more alluring, you decided to let it pass. Changing the topic, you spoke mischievously ‘What do you like to do , apart from being the mighty defenders of the Republic?’ Anakin grinned he found you rather humorous, it lifted his spirits ‘We don’t have much time for hobbies but I'm good at fixing things I always have been , I used to pod race back in Tatooine’ he observed that you seemed to perk up that ‘What?’ Anakin inquired smiling with curiosity, you replied with a proud smirk ‘I pod race too actually, I have since I was little’ Anakin was pleasantly surprised, his earlier interpretation of you being perfect was only proving itself to be true ‘Really? I’m impressed, your talents only add to your ravishing beauty’ Anakin replied with the same mischievous grin that adorned your face earlier. You replied with a quaint smile, trying to disregard the heat rushing to your cheeks, nobody had ever spoken to like that, not in the way he spoke to you.

As the starship was just about to land, you stared out of the window you couldn't lie, you did miss home. Anakin stared at you whilst you peered out the window with a smile reaching high up to your cheeks. He must admit, Alderaan was an exquisite planet but to him, nothing compared to your bewitching beauty. Anakin knew he shouldn’t let his mind wander to thoughts such as these, he was a Jedi, he was supposed to be void of attachments. Y/N turned around, her hair gliding across her back ‘Come Anakin, I’ve got lots to show you’ stripping Anakin of his thoughts ‘ Of course Milady’ he smirked through his reply.

Y/N and Anakin spent most of the morning discussing, and jesting around about their strict lives back in Coruscant. Y/N showed Anakin her pod racer that she had previously built, Anakin seemed more and more invested in her life, slowing getting lost in the way she talked, smooth and resilient, like she believed in everything she said, even if she did say some questionable things which only made him laugh like he hadn’t in years. Currently, they were sat down at the table, feasting on some Starblossom fruit, an Alderaan speciality. Just as Anakin made the fruit float your mind also floated to a thought ‘Are you allowed to love?’ I sputtered out, Blast! What was that Y/N?, this was the first time you regretted being so vocal, this was sure to make things awkward ‘I mean, isn’t it forbidden for a jedi?’. You were surprised when he simply just smiled at you, his eyes looking straight into your own, they were blue and deep like the oceans of Mon Calamari, completely mesmerised ,you sighed softly, ‘Attachment is forbidden. Possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life’ he smirked ‘So you might say that we are encouraged to love’ if you weren’t already completely lost in him, you were now, nobody had ever left you speechless like he had now, silent at his fingertips. Just by using a number of words, there was something so special about him.

The next morning Anakin was woken with the bright sun rays shining upon his eyes and by the roar of your pod racer, pod racer? Anakin quickly changed and jogged out towards the sound, it seemed to be taking him in the direction of the Alderaanian flame-rose fields you had shown him yesterday. There he saw you, standing under the warm sun, you looked ethereal. Your skin glowing, your lips appeared so soft, so comforting, he swore he had never seen anything more beautiful. He noticed it wasn’t just one pod racer that was stagnant by your side, but a second one, now he matched the smirk jeweled on your face. ‘You said you used to pod race so I thought, why not test your skills?’ he smiled so fully, his face felt tight as a tied rope ‘Oh really? I wouldn’t want to undermine your abilities, Milady' ‘Don’t you worry about that Anakin, you don’t want to underestimate me’ ‘Of course, I wouldn’t dare’ he laughed content. Ah that laugh, it made your heart want to jump out and fly away, it made your day already. You both buckled up into your pods, making sure all the dials are at the correct calibration, gave each other one last glance and a signature smirk and sped off, you both doing unnatural speeds to the passing eye, dipping under trees and spinning to reach higher altitudes. Anakin was staying right beside you, almost harmlessly mocking you, you recalibrated the ignition switch and sped off, Anakin raised his eyebrows in surprise, he was genuinely impressed but his competitive side got the best of him, soon he met your speed. The finishing line by the trees was dangerously close you both looked at each other, eyes locked with determination and lips spilling with playful laughter, however, as you and Anakin were lost in each other,you failed to notice the flock of Nerfs herding around grass, you spotted them at the last second and tilted your racer up towards the sky. The finishing line was right ahead, Anakin was mere inches away and you were adamant on winning so, you jumped out of your pod. You steered towards the line and crossed it seconds before Anakin, landing on a patch of flame roses. Anakin’s eyes widened, he abandoned the pod and dashed towards you figure, laying face front ‘Y/N!, Y/N’ he rolled you over, only to hear you burst out laughing, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in ‘You should have seen your face! Your soul left your body, I swear’ you let out holding your stomach ‘Of course I was! Obi-Wan would have killed me if I let anything happen to you’ Anakin spoke out between chuckles, trying to hide his anxiety ‘Hmm I think not,I think you're terrified at the thought of anything happening to me’ you smirked. Anakin started into your eyes, shook his head and said nothing, but he started tickling your sides which only made you giggle further, you both rolled down the field, roaring with laughter. Anakin had never felt this happy and untroubled before in his life, as you both laid on the grass, the scent of roses brimming in the air, basking under the sun, you and him both letting out sighs of contentment, hands intertwined.

It was late at night, you were restlessly tossing and turning in your bed, your mind was whirling with thoughts of him, his smile, the way he spoke to you and only you, his golden hair glowing in the heat of the sun, his Padawan braid that you’d twirl between your fingers, you giggled yourself; you never had feelings like these sitting in the center of your heart, but it didn’t feel wrong. Your heart took you to the place it always took you when your mind was wandering like this.

Anakin felt your restlessness, his concern grew and grew until he had to come find you, you were right, he was terrified at the thought of anything happening to you. He gave in and, walked timidly towards your room, when you didn't answer to his knock, his anxiety took control. He composed himself and searched his feelings like his master had taught him, he let the force be his guide in search for your signature he’d progressed to love. Anakin's legs finally led him to the roof, where he saw you lying there on the ground under the lights of the stars ‘Y/N, are you okay? I couldn’t find you’, you replied with a simple ‘Join me’, Anakin didn’t hesitate and laid down beside you, he looked up at the glittering stars scattered in the sky of Alderaan, there was a gentle breeze, the scent of roses still following the both of you, then he turned to face you, he watched your chest rise and fall, his anxiety disappearing slowly just at the sight of you, you radiated beauty, charm and confidence, everything he had grown to love about you ‘I come here when my mind runs wild with thoughts’ you spoke out gently, you turned to look at him only to find him already looking at you. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Anakin inquired softly, you stared into his eyes, still bright and blue even in the shadow of dusk, you uttered timidly ‘You' he gave you a wide smile, ‘You’re all I think about Y/N, I love you’ he spoke barely above a whisper, so much so, that you wouldn’t have heard him if your faces weren’t so close and they only got closer when you replied with ‘I love you, with all of my heart’, the small gap between you and him started to close ever so slowly, shaky breaths falling from the both of your lips until they met with a chaste kiss.

You’d never regret the trouble you’d caused yourself that day at the senate, because you‘d always remember his deep eyes staring back at your own all those times, you’d never regret it because you met him. Anakin knew he’d never let you go, his other half he’d met on his first assignment, he’d never forget your face illuminated by the stars, the pure beauty of your face and mind. And for you both, it’d always be you and him.

#anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #hayden christensen #female reader #reader insert

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valhahazred · 3 years

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Cryptid Mythos bonus! Everything that appears on this sheet is an entity reported by real people. Why no Mythos this time? Because these encounters are so strange in appearance or behavior that they could slip right into the Sothic multiverse with little to no alteration or alternative explanation. Good luck Investigators!

All Colours Sam In 1973, in the town of Sandown, 7 year old “Fay” and an unnamed friend encountered a very strange individual as they explored the fringes of a golf course. They first became aware of something weird going on when they heard a sound like an ambulance siren in the distance. Following the sound to a footbridge over a creek, the two children were confronted by a three fingered hand wearing a blue glove that beckoned them from beneath the bridge. Awaiting them was a seven foot humanoid figure wearing strange clownish clothing, seemingly reinforced with wooden slats that protruded from his sleeves and pant-legs. The figure had a book in his hands, which he immediately fumbled and dropped in the water. He splashed around cartoonishly before recovering his book, leaping out of the creek and away from the children. He moved to a small metal shed with a high-kneed hopping gait and disappeared inside. The children went to leave, only for the mysterious entity to exit again with a microphone that appeared to be the source of the wailing that drew the children in the first place. It spoke into the microphone in a friendly, non-threatening tone. “Are you still here?” The children were curious and unafraid, so they moved towards him. He held up his book and pointed at the words in order to introduce himself. “Hello and I am all colours, Sam”. They asked if he was human and he said no and when asked if he was a ghost he replied, “well, not really but I am in an odd sort of way.” The children asked what he was then and he simply said, “You know.” During their conversation with the entity they learned that although he went by Sam, he didn’t really have a name, he claimed that there were others like him and that he was afraid of humans and that he was a pacifist, refusing to harm others even if they should attack him. He invited them into his hut, where he shared some wildberries and showed them a magic trick, where he placed a berry into his ear and seemingly teleported it to his mask’s eyehole and then to his mouth with quick jerks of his head. They continued to converse for almost an hour before the children decided to leave. Was he an alien in a make-do disguise? An animated scarecrow? A figment of childish imaginations? Or just a strange homeless man dressed like a clown? Whatever the truth, All Colours Sam, also known as the Sandown Ghost Clown, was never seen again. The Crazy Critter of Bald Mountain This weird looking creature was sighted by three people in the week following a fiery object that passed over the Bald Mountain near Newaukum Lake in Washington. When the local Sheriff began an investigation into the sighting he was visited by heavily armed and uniformed men who claimed to be from the Air Force and forced him to give up the case. Old Saybrook Blockheads Mary Starr was awoken in the early morning on December 16, 1957 by a bright light shining into her bedroom. She looked out the window to witness a 30 foot cigar shaped craft hovering over her yard, less than 10 feet from her house! Inside the apparent spaceship she witnessed a pair of small creatures with fleshy skirts and clear cubic “heads” containing a floating red bulb. They raised their right arms and as a third entity appeared in the portholes the ship brightened before shooting off into the sky. Space Brains of Palos Verdes As John Hodges and Pete Rodriguez were leaving a party at two in the morning they were not expecting to meet anything from out of this world but as the car turned on its headlights illuminated two bizarre entities! The men panicked and drove away, ending the story for Rodriguez as he made it home with no complications. However, in Hodges case he next became aware of himself two and a half hours later in the driveway of his home, sitting in the car as if in a trance. Troubled by the missing time, he eventually went for hypnosis in an attempt to recover his memories of the night. While under regression he claimed that while he got his friend home safely, when he returned to his own residence the disembodied brains were waiting for him! He asked them what they wanted and suddenly he was elsewhere, in a dark room with entities that looked like the classic Greys but very tall and with webbed six fingered hands and yellow eyes. They explained that the brains were “merely translators” used in order for these beings to interface telepathically with humans. He claimed they warned him that Earth had “too much power” and showed him a map of the planet covered in lights that indicated places where humans might destroy themselves. They showed him images of dead planets and made several inaccurate prophecies before he suddenly found himself back in his car. Unlike many other abductees with similar experiences Hodges did not try to make excuses for their bunk predictions or feel like it made him important in any way. He simply assumed the aliens were untrustworthy and were playing with him. The Casa Blanca Entities This is one of the strangest and most confusing accounts of a Close Encounter of the Fifth kind, as eight children ranging from the ages of four to fifteen were terrorized by a parade of extraterrestrial monsters one summer day in 1955. It started with an array of UFOs, sun-like, disk-shaped and semi-transparent, appearing and disappearing with musical pings. Then came the entities. First was a ghostly being bearing a shiny belt buckle that was so brilliant it could blind someone looking straight at it. It was followed by disembodied arms in riveted armor that seemed to beckon to the children, small strange men that used dual ray guns to paralyze and finally a many limbed creature. All through this strange arrival something spoke to the children telepathically, offering to take them away. The kids they spoke to often seemed to be entranced, moving to the dancing UFOs mindlessly and required physical force or even being hosed down to snap them out. One child even fell off a roof in an attempt to reach a UFO, only to be protected by a red force field. The weirdest part of all is that not only did adults not see anything, they couldn’t. Despite being present for the event a mother of one of the children was unaware of the paranormal happenings. Does this mean it was all in the children’s heads, as they were overtaken by some kind of playground hysteria? Or is there some alien force that not only wants our children but can make themselves invisible to undesirable observers. The Garson Invaders In 1954 three of these insectoid entities appeared to Canadian miner Ennio La Sarza. Their appearance was already exceptional by the usual standards of reported alien contact but in a particularly striking detail their faces appeared to glow in colours La Sarza had never seen before! The beings asked La Sarza to do something for them but he refused, not only to do it but to even speak of it. It was so awful and “outright apocalyptic” that he even considered asking the RCMP to lock him up in case the creatures he’d met had some way to enforce his cooperation. The Poole Pyramid This multi-hued metallic pyramid appeared in 1965 to seven year old Terrence Druce of Poole in Dorset when he awoke to it hovering over the foot of his bed. He shrieked in terror, waking his younger brother in time for him to also witness it as it faded into thin air. That encounter might have never been recorded if the brothers hadn’t seen it again the very next day, lurking in a parking lot. They said it seemed aware of their presence and turned to watch them but it did not follow them when they decided to flee the scene. Delta Dogs An anonymous woman was driving through a snowstorm on route 07 through Syracuse in January 1958. She came across what at first seemed to be a downed plane but as she approached her engine slowly ran itself down and the car stopped itself. As she desperately tried to restart the car the snowstorm calmed and more details became apparent. Projecting out of the large object she’d thought was a plane crash was a 50 foot illuminated pole. Two strange beings rose up along the pole, floating by it as it started to retract. When the pole finished sinking into the object the creatures disappeared and the craft took off so fast she couldn’t make out where it went. The Electric Serpent of Tacoma This is easily the most unusual sighting of a sea creature that I’ve ever heard of. Seven men camping on the shore of Black Fish Bay in 1893 encountered a sea monster that appeared to be cybernetic, if not entirely biomechanical! Disturbed by a horrible noise and blinding lights the men left their camp to find a huge, hairy walrus-like animal with steaming horns, bands of coppery metal and a revolving propeller-like tail! One of the men approached it to get a better look, only to be struck by an electric blast from its copper bands and fell to the ground as if dead. When one of his friends tried to pull him to safety, he was likewise shocked by the impossible animal. The other men fled into the woods after seeing two of their number seemingly killed and the Electric Serpent seemed to lose interest and swam out into Puget Sound. Once they were sure it was gone the remaining men returned to the beach and were elated to find their friends burned and stunned but still very much alive! So what happened? Was it just one of the sadly common newspaper hoaxes of the time? Or did a bunch of 19th century fishermen find a literal fucking pokemon? You decide! Stickmen The Stickmen are an extremely recent phenomenon, with reports starting within the last 10 years or so. They are described as being stick thin and roughly humanoid, sometimes with bubble heads, glowing eyespots or even top hats. They range in size from human-like to towering in excess of 20 feet. What is most interesting about them is their apparent two dimensionality, sometimes appearing the same no matter what angle they are viewed at and sometimes being able to turn to the side and vanish as though they were never there. They are also frequently reported as being accompanied by a feeling like static electricity and of aggression or hostility. Despite those impressions the Stickmen do not appear to be hostile, instead seeming surprised and immediately retreating from a witness.

#call of cthulhu #cthulhu mythos #cryptids #eldritch #aliens #monsters #sandown ghost clown #all colours sam #The crazy critter of bald mountain #Old Saybrook Blockheads #Space Brains of Palos Verdes #The Casa Blanca Entities #The Garson Invaders #The Poole Pyramid #Delta Dogs #The Electric Serpent of Tacoma #Stickmen #my art #cryptid mythos

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

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Invisible | Clark Kent

✦ (platonic) pairing — Clark Kent x Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 900-ish

✦ request — Can you write a Clark Kent x reader based on the song ‘Invisible’ from the Beetlejuice musical where the reader is working in the filing room down in the basement of the Daily Planet and doesn’t think anyone pays them any mind until Clark starts to notice them and tries to build a platonic relationship with them?

✦ warnings — angst, mentions of grief, mentions of food, talks about depression, a little bit of platonic fluff

✦ a/n — I hope I did justice to the request. It was definitely hard to write without breaking down.

✦ a/n II — this is a reminder that my private messages and inbox are always there for anyone who needs someone to listen.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

People often say, “Life goes on.” They never lie, birds don’t cease chirping, the sun rises and sets. When had the moon stopped shining without a big shift in the weather?

When had you stopped wishing the moon would come down to take her longing child with her?

Something inside you broke, how long ago you weren’t sure anymore. Had it been a week? Two months? Five years? Since the moment you were born?

Time as a concept escaped you. The ticking clock stopped making sense when the sadness took over and created a void.

To your knowledge, no one had answers. Solutions were nonexistent.

And if they had the answers, no one was interested in giving them; not to you.

The person who once had them, the one who loved you the most, was gone. And no amount of tears and begs would bring them back — life was that cruel.

The filing room, cramped and eerily silent, welcomed you like no human being ever had in the building. It never expected anything from you, it probably could’ve had tenderly said your name back if it could talk.

Your relationship with that room was the constant in your day to day, the proof that somehow you were still alive.

A friend, the only one you had, four walls, a few shelves, and the file cabinets that you knew like the back of your hand.

People came and went, from your life and from the room. Never addressing you by name when they asked for a file.

You didn’t exist to them. Less than a phantom you were, a vessel to hand them files and point at drawers. If robots were capable of your job, they would mistake you for a hyper-realistic one in a heartbeat.

“Impressive,” someone said from behind you.

Closing the drawer, you turned around to acknowledge the reporter.

He was too busy reading the labels from the system you had spent what you assumed had been three days working on.

“Your handwriting is nice, mine needs practice.” He chuckled, dragging his eyes to your face. Extending his hand, he introduced himself, “Clark Kent.”

You looked down at his hand, tilting your hesd. He didn’t withdraw it, not after you shook it and told him your name.

He smiled warmly, wishing you a nice day on his way out, leaving you confused.

More confused you were when he came back the next day to say good morning. It became a habit of his, every morning he would greet you. In the second week, he started saying goodbye too, telling you he hoped you would have a good night of sleep.

A particular day, though, instead of confusing you, he surprised you.

“Hey.”

You turned to look at the doorway. “Do you need anything?”

“Well, not really.” He smiled. Clark always smiled. It must’ve been nice. “But I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch with me? I’m never free at this hour, but today I am!”

“Lunch?” You repeated, narrowing your eyes. He had to be joking.

Clark nodded. “Yes! The diner down the street has an amazing veggie sandwich.”

“Uh... yeah, it sounds good.”

The walk down the street was nice. Clark seemed to be familiar with every shop clerk and street vendor. He was friendly, kindly wishing them a good day as he passed them.

You had met many reporters, well, seen — you hadn’t known much about them other than their names. The point was, none of them had been as attentive as Clark was. You wondered if he was naturally like that or if something had happened that made him such a nice person.

He smiled brightly at the waiter, introducing you to him as his newest friend.

Your heartbeat quickened. Had you heard him right? Could someone really be willing to be your friend?

The most friendly gestures you had gotten from anyone at Daily Planet had been pitiful looks throughout your mourning process and a few thank yous here and there.

“Tell me,” Clark prompted you, “What do you like?” Seeing the confusion in your face, he added, “For example, my favorite color is blue.”

“Blue is nice.”

“I’m trying to get to know my newest friend,” he said kindly, in a tone that assured you he wasn’t trying to pressure you into talking.

That was nice too.

You couldn’t help but ask, “Do you really want to be my friend?”

“Of course, (Name). I don’t like seeing you so sad all the time.”

“The last few months have been tough,” you admitted, tracing your glass up and down with your fingers. “I don’t want to be sad, but—“

Clark cooed an interruption, “There’s nothing wrong with being sad.” He extended his hand to place it on top of yours. “I would feel better if you weren’t sad on your own. I can make you company when you’re sad, and while you heal.”

“What if I never heal? Some people never do,” you explained your fears to him, “some people are sad and depressed their entire lives. Lonely...”

“Healing looks different for everyone.”

You always heard things like that. Everybody is different, yes, but different doesn’t always mean good. Not in this case.

He tilted his head. “You won’t be lonely, I’m here for you. If you want to be my friend that is.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” He smiled again, reassuringly. “That’s what friends are for.”

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x plus size reader #clark kent #superman #superman x reader #superman x plus size reader

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Doctor

When your best friend, Katherine Pulitzer, forces you to come talk to the newsboys of Manhattan with her, you’re sure nothing good will come of it, especially since you’re busy with work from medical school. However, one particular blue-eyed newsie just might change your mind.

masterlist

You stare at your best friend suspiciously. “You want me to do what?”

You had known Katherine for a long time. You can barely remember how the two of you met, probably some boring luncheon or other that both of your fathers happened to attend. Your father was a wealthy banker, hers the publisher of the New York World. The two of you bonded over tiresome social assemblies and harshly biased fathers, and had quickly become good friends.

The two of you also helped each other by supporting your careers. With a strong bank behind you, you had been able to sway the editors of the New York Sun into allowing Katherine to work as a writer. In turn, she had used her father’s influence to help you into your dream job: becoming a doctor. You and Katherine were equal halves of a strong friendship, and so you suppose it doesn’t surprise you that she would be turning to you now.

“Look, it’s just the one time, okay? All I need you to do is walk with me to wherever the newsies are so I can ask them for some quotes. It’ll barely be ten minutes!” You squint at her. “If it’ll take such a short amount of time, why don’t you just go yourself? You know I have a lot of work to do- medical school isn’t exactly easy.”

Katherine sighs. “I want you there for emotional support. I already spoke with one or two of the newsies today and they’re impossible boys. I can do anything if I know I’ve got at least one other person who wants me there.” You raise an eyebrow. “They’re that bad?” Katherine looks at you pleadingly. “Please, Y/N?” You groan and look away from her. “Fine, but you owe me.” Katherine squeals happily and pulls you into a quick hug before dashing away to grab her notebook and pen. “You’re the best friend ever.”

It takes a little while to find the newsboys- they’re not in the refuge, and by now it’s late in the afternoon and so most of them have stopped selling their newspapers and retreated indoors. Finally, you spot them crowded inside a deli and so the two of you take a moment to prepare yourselves before heading inside.

The second the two of you walk in the deli, all eyes turn to you. The newsboys of Manhattan are a motley bunch, most of them scruffy or scrawny or both. They all stare as you walk in, although that may have more to do with the fact that Katherine just called them out for being afraid to go to Brooklyn instead of the two of you by yourselves.

One of the newsboys, who appears to be the leader of the group, calls out a response to Katherine. It’s amazing- you can already sense the cocky attitude oozing from his every word. Now you can see why Katherine wanted you here for moral support. If there’s one thing you know about Katherine Pulitzer, though, it’s that she will never, ever, back down from an argument. You can’t help but grin as you watch the two of them banter, exchanging witty retorts back and forth just as quickly as a pair of trained debaters.

You’re distracted from your friend when a voice comes from behind you. “I get why she’s here, but what about you? You don’t seem to be much of a reporter.” You turn around to see a blond boy facing you, arms folded questioningly across his chest. The other thing that you see is that he is very good-looking, almost too good-looking for a cocky newsboy.

“I, uh, am Katherine’s friend. She wanted me here and so I came.” The boy grins. “You got a name, sweetheart?” You force yourself to answer normally, praying that no one can hear the slight skip of your heart. “Y/N. What about you?” “Race.”

Race fixes you with a teasing smirk. “You know, I think it’s nice that you came out all this way to see us. We must have a pretty good reputation if you wanted to come with your friend.” You glare at him. “I’m not here for you, I’m here for her. Trust me, if Katherine hadn’t asked I wouldn’t be here at all. I’d rather be at home, finishing my work, rather than having to spend time with a bunch of newsboys who think they’re the coolest things on the planet.”

Race raises his eyebrows, still retaining that cocky (yet somehow still attractive) smirk. “Oh, you’se got a job? I thought you just sat around all day, wishing you could talk to a bunch of newsboys who know they’re the coolest things on the planet.” You roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m in medical school. I’m almost done, and then I’ll have a job.”

Race grins, interested. “Oh, a smart goil! You want to be a nurse?” You look at him coolly. “A doctor.” Race just laughs, shaking his head slightly. It’s funny- whenever he laughs, his sky blue eyes gain this shine that make them look like stained glass. You shake your head slightly, forcing yourself to focus once more on Race, who’s still talking to you.

“-sounds alright. You coming to our strike?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see that Katherine has finished gathering quotes from the newsboys and is ready to go. You turn back to Race. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it. I’m not a newsie or a reporter.” Race takes a step closer to you, and you feel heat forming in your cheeks. “I think it would be nice to see you there.” You grin at him. “Then maybe I’ll be there. See you later, Race.” You wave goodbye and quickly head out of the deli.

Once you’re down a street or two, Katherine turns to you with a grin. “Looks like you found a friend.” You laugh. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Katherine has this look on her face like a cat that ate a very pleasant canary. “I’m sure it wasn’t. You know, you should be careful around him. I’ve heard that boy flirts with everyone. And, it sounds like you’re coming to the strike. So much for this being a one time thing?” You roll your eyes, but can’t help but grin. “Maybe it’s a little more than that.”

As you walk, though, you keep turning over what Katherine had said in your head. I’ve heard that boy flirts with everybody. As much as you hate to admit it, she isn’t wrong. You yourself have seen Race exchange a wink for a paper on the streets of many Manhattan mornings. You groan inwardly. What were you thinking? Of course Race doesn’t like you- he does that with every girl he meets. It means nothing.

Tomorrow is the strike, though. You’ve already told Katherine as well as the other newsies that you’ll be there, so you can’t back out now. As you walk back to your home, you form a plan in your head: show up to the strike, but don’t seek him out. He was just doing what he always does, and it doesn’t mean anything. No matter how much you wish it did.

Once the two girls have left the deli, the rest of the newsies turn to Race. “What was that all about, Racer? I haven’t seen you falling over a girl that much in months. You weren’t even trying to sell her any papes!” Albert laughs. Race fixes him with a glare, shoving his friend but only making his grin grow. “It’s nothing. How ‘bout you mind your own business, huh?” Jojo joins the fray. “You were practically drooling.” Race swats him too, and the rest of the newsies dissolve into gleeful chatter. The strike is tomorrow, and they’re all too excited to sleep.

By the time the next morning arrives, you’re feeling hopeful. You and Katherine make it to the square by the time the newsies’ strike has begun, and you watch as she rushes off to take a photo of the assembled newsboys with a friend of hers from the newspaper. After the photo is taken and the rest of the boys disperse throughout the square, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You smile despite yourself once you realize it’s Race.

“So, you made it.” You smile. “Of course I made it. I hear it’s a very big deal.” Race spread his hands. “Well, maybe. I guess it’s a big enough deal that our very own resident doctor showed up.” The two of you laugh, and break into conversation. So much for not spending time with him.

However, the happy morning is interrupted when the goons start to arrive. Once the strike turns violent, Race rushes you out of danger. He makes sure you’re safe, and then runs back into the scuffle. You and Katherine are forced to leave so you’re not caught, but you can’t help a glance backward to make sure Race is alright. You’re not entirely sure that he will be.

The strike ends quickly, in a clash of blood and fists. Once the cops showed up, it was basically over. Even worse, Crutchie was taken away to the refuge and Jack disappeared. When you hear about how badly the newsboys were hurt, you immediately grab your first aid kit and dash over to the deli to help the boys.

Your feet pound on the cobblestone streets on the way to the deli. You’re moving far too quickly for a lady of your position, which attracts more than a few stares, but you’re too worried to care. Finally, you make it to the deli, and stand in the open doorway for a moment, shocked.

The boys look awful. Every single one of them has been injured, from what looks like a broken arm on Les to black eyes and gashes covering the others. You break out of your trance and walk briskly over to the boy closest to you- Les.

He looks up at you through eyes clouded in pain. You speak to him slowly, trying to assuage his worries. “Hello, Les. I’m Y/N, Katherine’s friend. I’m going to fix your arm, alright?” Les nods, and you quickly apply ice and a sling, fixing the break and also bandaging up a few other cuts decorating the boy’s arm. Luckily, the break wasn’t that bad- just a minor fracture.

When you’ve finished with Les, you turn to the next newsboy, and then the next. You slowly make your way around the deli, helping fix up every boy who needs it. Some weren’t injured as badly, and others help bandage cuts after watching you. There’s one boy you haven’t seen a whole lot of, though, and that’s Race.

You can see the blue-eyed boy out of the corner of your eyes. It’s strange- every time you start to turn his way he quickly heads the other direction. It finally dawns on you- he’s avoiding you. Of course. He doesn’t like you, and probably never did. This is for the best. You force yourself to concentrate on your work, hoping that pouring your soul into bandaging up gashes can will away the breaking of your heart. It doesn’t.

Finally, you think you’re done. You stand up, stretching, and look around the room, checking for anyone who still needs you. You don’t see anyone, and so you start to leave the room, until you feel a hand wrap around your wrist.

You stare at the fingers encircling yours, and then back at the boy in front of you. It’s Race, finally willing to let you notice him. He opens his mouth, and the voice that comes out is cracked and quiet. “You got one last patient, Doc.”

You smile slightly and reach for your bag, pulling out your last bandage. There’s a cut on his arm (not too deep but not exactly a paper cut either), and so you gently clean it before beginning to wrap the bandage around it. You don’t dare to look up at Race, too afraid you’ll make eye contact with him and see the indifference you’re sure is there.

Once you’re done, you take a step back, still not looking him in the eyes. “Well, that’s it. I should probably be going.” “Wait.” Race’s hand gently lifts your chin, forcing you to finally look at him. “You want to tell me why you’se been avoiding me?”

You laugh bitterly. “I’m not the one who’s been avoiding me since I first stepped foot in here. It’s alright, though, I know I’m not exactly your first priority right now.” Race looks confused. “What are you talking about, Y/N?”

You can’t stay here, can’t keep looking at him, so you force the words out of your throat. “I know you flirt with everyone, and I’m some girl you just met, and you have no reason to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine, and-”

You’re cut off when Race kisses you. “I do like you, Y/N.” You can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “What?” Race grins. “I like you.” He kisses you again, and this time the newsboys around you take notice, whooping and hollering like they’ve never seen anything like it before. Race laughs against your lips, turning away to swat at the boys nearest him. You just stand there, a smile starting to spread across your face. He likes you. He honestly likes you.

#newsies #race newsies #race imagine #race x reader #race imagines #newsies race imagine #newsies race x reader #newsies race imagines #newsies live #newsies live race #newsies imagine #newsies x reader #newsies imagines #newsies broadway #newsies broadway imagines

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uponrightful · 3 years

Text

Second Chance Ch. 6

Read Chapter Five Here

Warnings: Injury, Angry/Sad/Confused/Depressed? Din, Cursing, Bad Guys Die in canonical ways & as always my terrible editing.)

Authors Note: I have no idea what possessed me have such a fucking sad chapter. (Insert Fair Warning Here) But not only did I personally need this, the plot needed this.

Word Count: 11.5K

Mando woke up to the low ambient noise of his quarters funneling through the amplified speakers in his helmet pressing up against his ears. His body felt stiff, and his mind felt fuzzy from the unusual amount of sleep he’d somehow allowed himself to have. The windowless hull afforded him the luxury of not being able to discern daylight from dark and the deflector mods for some reason had darkened his HUD. With a low grunt he reached for his vambrace with his opposite hand and adjusted the brightness on his display before hauling himself back to his feet with another defeated sigh. His swim with the girl still weighed heavily on his mind despite his long sleep and as he walked into the empty hull the silence surrounding him only made his conscience weigh heavier. The door to the girl’s room was swung wide open with no sign of her boots, or her anywhere to be seen. Only an empty can of soup sitting next to her bed gave Mando any sign that she’d been on the ship any time in the last couple hours.

He knew better than to think she wasn’t confused with him, but that didn’t help his own confusion when it came to how easily she affected him. With an empty ship he took the opportunity to find some food for himself and quickly get it down his throat ignoring the opportunity to fully remove his helmet in the chance that she did come back soon. Glancing over the ration stock he took note of its reorganization, the corners of his mouth twitching up in appreciativeness of the unnecessary job she’d completed. After a couple checks of the Slave, he made his way to the cockpit in a habitual routine of checking fuel and water levels before noticing the bright light flashing on the comm link. He felt the hair on his neck raise as he stood looking at the anomalous sight of a missed comm.

As unusual as it was he pressed the strobing light, bracing himself for what was to come. His stiff muscles stayed bunched in anticipation until he saw a familiar green and red Mando helmet staring back at him through the blue tint of the HUD. Boba Fett and a his gruff tone urged him to respond at his soonest -convenient or otherwise- opportunity, letting Mando know just how irritated he was in the strict posture he held.

Begrudgingly, he turned to look towards the ladder to the hull and listened for any sign of the girl’s approach before connecting to Fett’s last link. Glancing back towards the ladder again, hoping that she wouldn’t walk in right in the middle of this unexpected conversation and get caught in the middle of Fett’s -admittedly- unavoidable charm.

“Find someone better to talk to last night?” Mando could sense Fett’s irriation and mocking in the strict sound of his tone. “Maybe you’ve found someone to warm up that bed you’re not doubt not sleeping in.”

“Why complain if you’re the one wasting time?” he barked back with impatience.

“A group of Hothian’s came looking for you, asking questions about a beskar Mando and a little slip of a girl he was keeping hostage.” Fett almost chuckled after mentioning the girl, finding humor in the terrible reasoning for the girl being with him. “Of course there was no one with any helpful information or a sighing… but that didn’t keep them from upsetting a few of my contacts.” He tone settled back down, lulling back into a more business-like tone that unsettled Mando more than his typical grumbling.

“Did they talk to you?” Another bad feeling crept up Mando’s back and settled at the nape of his neck, biting hard into his conscious.

“I hardly blend in.” he remarked, tilting his head down to motion towards the helmet. “I said there was no Mandalorian for parsecs. They were more than ready to leave with a unfriendly warning.”

“Combative?” he questioned, watching as Fett’s shoulders sagged as he blew out a breath.

“Approaching anyone with blasters on a foreign planet is kriffing unusual… but that didn’t keep them from shoving them in anyone’s face that looked suspicious enough.”

“You didn’t lie. We’re perfectly safe here.” Telling Fett their exact location wasn’t necessary, even if the other Mando was simply trying to warn them.

“That’s bantha shit. And from the way you keep looking over your shoulder I expect you know it to.” He pointed into the holocall transponder, straightening his posture with a satisfied smirk perceivable on his shielded face. “You’ll receive encoded coordinates in the next minutes. I expect you can read Mando’a.”

“I’m not leaving without kriffing good reason for it.” Mando was aware of how his pride was getting the best of him. Fett wasn’t overacting, but it wasn’t sitting right with him that Boba was keeping such close tabs on him and the girl for no good reason other than personal intrest.

“My offer stands. I expect you’re in an uncharted sector, but that only deters the Imperials. Anyone after you certainly knows their way around all of the little hiding places you’ve found rat hunting.”

Mando and Fett stood silent in a battle of wills, completely content to wait one another out until the other conceded. However Fett was the first to break this time, growling impatiently when the familiar sound of Cleeah’s voice echoed from in the distance. Mando couldn’t make out the entire sentence, but she sounded like she was in a hurry. No doubt Fett was leaving Coruscant before the Hothian’s came knocking for a follow-up interrogation. Even in the best of circumstances Fett wasn’t willing to risk his posh hideaway under any conditions. He surmised that Fett was inviting them to a secondary location; One where Mando was unhappily admitting to being safer than anywhere he’d taken the girl up to this point.

“Mando’a.” It was all Fett said before the holo disappeared and Mando was left to decide on whether or not to leave.

***

FOUR HOURS EARLIER

A walk would clear her mind. After all, it was too pretty of a morning to waste it sitting on the ship.

Mando weighed heavily on the her mind, more so than she’d ever anticipated. He was the embodiment of emotional whiplash, steeled over from any real infiltration by the thick glittering beskar jacketing him. She tried her best to gauge his moods and respond accordingly but the more she thought she understood, the Mandalorian seemed more than happy to prove otherwise. Mando had a knack for using her lack of control against her in the worst moments, leaving her with more than a knotted up stomach and tangible mortification. The waterfall hadn’t been an accident, he was the one who said he would teach her… but after he’d shown interest it immediately dissolved like sugar in a hot cup of tea. It wasn’t like she could see through that kriffing visor of his; something kept her from acting on the obvious -yet confusing- ways he acted around her.

He must believe that she wasn’t good enough.

The girl’s stomach dropped at the thought of him preferring someone else to her even though it was a ridiculous idea in the first place. She didn’t belong to him, or vice versa so it shouldn’t really matter anyways. Mando was a man with undeniable magnetism no matter if you hated him -or had began to develop a certain liking- for the bounty hunter. She wasn’t jealous, but after hours of imagining the woman she believed to match Mando, it was like shooting herself in the foot with a blaster… nothing but pain and no benefit to herself. All of the imaginary women were like Cleeah, exotically unattainable with beautiful clothes and lifestyles that exposed them to all of the things she lacked. The longer she compared herself to these illusory women it became apparent that as long as they weren’t her nothing else really mattered. She was too small, and couldn’t defend herself like Cleeah. The names of changing seasons were still new to her, along with the idea of swimming in water that wasn’t cold enough to freeze a person in minutes. She could shoot a blaster, but that didn’t mean anything to a trained bounty hunter… nothing she did made a difference

Maybe learning a few things would impress him? Then he might not think so lowly of her.

Despite her perpetually adverse sentiments towards herself, there was one thing she knew she was lucky to experience… Mando. Living on the ship gave her more than enough time to soak in his small idiosyncrasies - when he wasn’t paying enough attention to mask them – and without anyone to discourage her, she paid painstakingly close attention to them. It wasn’t smart, and she knew that doing so wasn’t helping her growing infatuation towards the Mandalorian; pouring fuel onto the fire that licked at her core when he was around. Every day she found more and more parallels between him and the many suns they’d passed travelling through the galaxy.

Domestic things that Mando did made the biggest impressions. Seeing him rinse out a cloak in a stream and hang it to dry, or mindlessly rubbing his gloved fingers rubbing at the dirty spots on his thigh plates to clean them was radically opposite to his typically statuesque personality. He liked to cook, or at least when it was available for him to, and for a man who lived on the edge of certain death laying low on this moon suited him right down to the ground.

Every living thing gravitated towards him, from the tall waving grass to the low hanging tree branches that skimmed his pauldrons and helmet. Inherently he looked more machine than biological, but every movement was fluid and effortless like there wasn’t anything unnatural about him. Mando blended into his environment, letting the mirror-polished shine on his beskar envelop him until he was almost a shadow against his surroundings; Like he was the perfect hunter with the entire moon assisting in his hunts. The girl couldn’t be sure if Mando knew how well he blended in or if it just naturally happened; Either way it was always something she had begun to love about him.

Quietly she slipped out of the ship, hoping not to disturb Mando as he slept through the morning. Hopefully until after she got back… There was nothing worse than the feeling of his hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her back again him after she’d wandered too far from his eyesight. It had nothing to do with the thought of him tracking her down, but more so with the way he did it. Feeling the icy surprise of his steel curiass against her back and the slow rise and fall of his chest made more than her chest clench. It was hard to think straight with Mando so close, and the idea of him chasing her down was more than enough to have her trembling.

She neglected her boots, opting for the soft padding of the grass under her feet. Saying this moon was anything less than divine was a discredit to just how beautiful it was. She couldn’t imagine a prettier color than the deep browns of the soil sticking to her toes and the hundreds of shades of green covering every inch of the valley. Of course, Ashas Ree had been beautiful but not a single drop of rain had fallen since they landed and it was nice to explore without getting wet. After deciding on a heading, she made out towards the waterfall hoping one last visit would get it off her mind before Mando woke up. A clear head would make talking to him much more approachable when she returned back to the ship.

It wasn’t long before the familiar sound of the water reached her ears, and an even more familiar feeling of dread filled her stomach when the sizeable resonances of voices layered over the spray of the water. The girl stopped in her tracks and dropped down to the ground behind a tree placing a hand over her chest; Trying desperately to calm the thumping feeling in her heart that racked against her sternum. There were at least six different voices she could differentiate, but from instinct she estimated there to have been more than ten people rummaging about at the base of the cliff and waterfall.

Get yourself together, and find out what’s going on before you lose your kriffing mind.

Her next exhale was shaky, but not as bad as her knees when she peeked around the thick tree trunk to look between the thick trunks towards the sounds. One ship sat at the top of the cliff, it’s durasteel paneling just barely peeking through the canopy of densely needle-covered branches. Less than a hundred feet or so, stood a group of men preoccupied with setting up tents and another group sitting around a stump with playing cards in their hands. Immediately she recognized them playing Sabacc and slowly came up to her feet, taking two careful steps backwards. All of them were covered in grease, and filthy beyond any real recognition of who they might’ve been. That didn’t keep the girl from identifying that they were smugglers, just getting ready to settle in for the day.

She needed to get back to Mando before they noticed the Slave sitting in the middle of the valley… or her spying on them.

The girl didn’t have enough time to realize anything but the dull throb of a fist swiping across her cheek. Her whimper covered the sound of her body slamming back down to the ground from the heavy assault. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the tall figure towering above her who presently stood resting his hands on his hips, laughing darkly at her.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing way out here?” his scratchy voice rumbled as he roughly yanked her to her feet, sneering with blackened teeth. The girl winced away from him, still feeling the awful pain in her face and fearing another blow. His awful breath blew in her face leaving her feeling doubly sick in her current situation.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” She cried out unable to resist the need to let her tears flow. The man laughed aloud this time, shoving her in the direction of the camp she’d desperately been trying to hide from.

“Oh I expect we’ll have some fun first.” He laughed again, calling out to the men nearest to them. “Look what I found boys!” Her gut churned as she struggled against the man dragging her, violently kicking and jerking her arms in attempt to get away before someone else could come to help her attacker.

“Please let me go!” she screamed, praying that somehow Mando might hear her before anything happened to her. It was all in vain for the quick reflexes of her captor who clamped a hand over her mouth, pressing down hard against her already aching face. Her ability to breathe slowly worsened as they got closer to the camp, multiple voices coming closer and almost echoing in her pulsing ears.

A black rim started closing in on her vision, collecting at the corners of her sight and slowly dotting closer to the center of her field of view. The girl couldn’t fight much longer, and the outlook of her situation ending positively made resisting feel that much more unreasonable. Maybe it was the overwhelming helplessness that enveloped her right as she was passed through the flaps of one of the many tents that she’d been observing Or it might’ve been her body’s lack of oxygen mixed with her quick hyperventilation that caused her to pass out. Either way she wasn’t awake to feel the second blow to her face, or hear the way her body hit the ground after being tossed carelessly to the floor by her attacker.

PRESENT TIME

Mando was growing more impatient by the second as he waited for the girl to return. The girl had never been away from the ship this long, especially without giving him some type of idea as to what she was doing before she left. He tapped his heels impatiently on the floor, watching the valley in front of him, as if his thoughts alone were going to be enough to make her appear from thin air. It wasn’t the first time he’d went out searching for her, and he was sure this time wouldn’t be the last either. His mind raced with instinctual thoughts, running through scenario after scenario until he’d worked himself just short of full-blown fury before he collected his blasters and set out to find her.

There was a certain coldness in the air around him as the sound of distant voices were picked up by his helmet, chilling past his weighted armor and icing over any of the emotional turmoil that the girl had created in her absence. The sun still shown bright but Mando couldn’t feel anything other than that prickling sense of death creeping up on him. A slight breeze rustled the trees but for Mando it sounded like millions of whispers all crowding out any thought that didn’t have to do with his girl. Even death seemed quite willing to agree with Mando in the moment and he was certain that even if death wasn’t willing it wouldn’t have mattered anyways.

Laughter and the unawareness of the smugglers were telling. All of their tents were set up, and sabacc decks were huddled around by a few groups of men, all of them either yelling or doing their best to keep their tell from showing. Baudy jokes and drunken howling set the background of a hellish encampment of men who most likely wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to steal away a stranded pretty girl. Mando bristled at the sight before him, instinctually targeting the tents in search of any movement that might mark if she’d been taken by them. He could see multiple heat signatures, but at this distance there was no definition to the blurry red blobs in his HUD. She was here… he knew it.

If the smugglers hadn’t been engrossed in their petty gambling they would’ve been shocked to see the imposing figure lurking right out of eyesight. It would’ve looked like the gods had created the image of hell right in front of them. The shadows of the trees clung to Mando, radiating outwards like an ominous haze of black unfurling like heavy wings around his statuesque frame. A reaper had taken form in the shape of a bounty hunter, more destructive than any known to walk the galaxy. Mando knew that death clung to him but he didn’t know that this was what set him apart from all others. Others didn’t see him as a purveyor of death’s wishes, what others saw was the incarnate of revenge and prowess. Power and menace fearfully evident on the slate black visor of The Mandalorian. This was what the girl hadn’t seen of him. Nothing she’d heard or ever would hear about Mando would compare to the malevolence displayed before these smugglers. The sunlight that she saw, swallowed whole by the all-encompassing rage that flowed through Mando as he paced imposingly towards the center of the camp. His calmness only proved the efficiency of his body and the instinctual way he was able to concentrate his intensity for the most lethal means.

Only after a dried branch that had been carelessly tossed to the edge of one of the groups snapped under the weight of his boot did one of the men look to meet Mando’s emotionless stare. The man’s eyes widened in panic just long enough for him to remember that he wasn’t the only man there. He collected his fear long enough to nudge the man sitting next to him who still sat focused on his hand of cards, unaware of the mental battle Mando was waging on the now standing smuggler. The Mandalorian couldn’t help but smile, wickedly content with the silent terror he was providing.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man finally spat out, masking his voice well enough that his partners wouldn’t notice what Mando was privy to. All eyes in the camp looked up from their cards to stare at the beskar-clad reaper. Mando’s silence unsettled the entire clan and the unanswered question rang true in the minds of all the grease-stained men. After a long moment, one of the larger men singled himself out and approached Mando with an obvious false-confidence that screamed out for attention. His long blonde hair was coated in filth and ratted into knots that collected mud; freshly dried blood coating the knuckles on his right hand.

“We were under the impression this moon was deserted.” The man smiled, unable to help himself from smiling at the inside joke Mando was also privy to. “My men and I just settled in for the evening… I expect you’re coming to say hello?” The man reached out his blood-stained hand to Mando, who momentarily thought about shooting it clean off.

“I came to get what’s mine.” He growled lowly, lowering his visor to meet the eyes of the man speaking.

“I have nothing of yours.” The man responded casually, settling his tightly clenched fists on his hips. He even took a glance down at the blaster strapped to Mando’s hip. “We just dropped our shipment, so there’s nothing for you to take anyways.” It wasn’t a convincing bluff, but the other members of the crew were obviously certain that it would deter the man in front of them into leaving. Their visible relief diminished once Mando rested his palm over the handle of his blaster, slowly resting his fingers over the well-worn finish of the weapon.

“You’ll die in five seconds.” He pointed to the tents gathered behind all of the men with his free hand. “If you don’t return what you’ve taken.” Mando’s mind wasn’t allowing him to speak of her, despite his honest attempt in saying that she was his. His anger blocked any real thought of sentiment, protecting himself in the chance that they would try and use it against him, or worse realize that she meant something important to him.

“We don’t have what you’re after.” The man sneered quickly drawing out his own blaster. The action end trained itself right at the center of Mando’s chest, gently wavering in the anxious hands of its owner. Mando sneered under his helmet at the pitiful challenge in front of him, feeling just how threatened the man felt under his unhuman stare.

Everything happened quickly. The first shot between the two men were almost in sync, Mando’s dropping the man to the ground in a fit of screams. The first blast Mando took was to the chest, knocking him off balance long enough for others in the encampment to pick up arms against him. Only a couple others picked up blasters, issuing three more inaccurate shots to his beskar; These men were the next to fall. The rest preferred hand to hand combat, assuming that Mando couldn’t fight off more than a couple men at once. His Whistling Birds allowed him the space to fight off the remaining stragglers that didn’t catch the attention of his heat seeking projectiles. In his haste, he checked the tents and found that one tent still carried the signature of three bodies huddled in a corner. Before he could move close enough to see inside a booming voice echoed over the rocks of the cliff surrounding them.

“Get any closer and she dies!”

Mando moved to stand in the opening, allowing himself to wince at the sight before him. Two men -bigger than any he’d seen- crouched over the still form of the girl, one pointing a blaster at Mando while the other held a knife to her throat. He was in terrible position and any wrong move would result in a stray blast hitting her, or a knife wound that couldn’t be healed on the ship. There had to be some way to get them away from her.

“What do you want with her?” he asked coolly, letting his modulator mask the infinite levels of fear and rage mixing with his tone.

“A fuck.” The knife wielding one spat, touching the edge of the blade to the girls throat with a an evil snarl.

“She’s a criminal.” -he lied- “Wanted for murder on Hoth. I hunted her to this moon, so she could stand trial.” It was his only chance. Even horny smugglers didn’t like the idea of fraternizing with well-known criminals.

“You’re a bounty hunter.” The second man surmised, “Then you’ll pay to get her back.” He smiled, glancing down at the multiple satchels attached to Mando’s belt, his eyes widening at the thought of making even a few extra credits.

“I wasn’t given an advance. Instead you’ll split the bounty head.” He quickly thought on his feet, watching as the gravity of the situation began to lift, if only by a minuscule amount.

“How much?” The first man asked, glancing down at the girl who was still breathing evenly despite how weak she looked.

“I take half. You split the other.” They would be insane to not take an offer like that from any bounty hunter… especially from a man like Mando.

The two men shared a glance, and nodded before removing themselves from overtop of the girl, and tucking away their weapons. It was foolish of the two smugglers, but Mando already knew how much power money held over every sentient being in the galaxy. The two men followed a silent Mando as he brought them back towards the center of the camp, and turned around to face them, mimicking the actions of finding something in his belt. He listened as the two men talked, mentioning how simple of a fight the girl had been.

“She’d gone down in two punches. Kriff, I can’t imagine how she’d killed anyone bigger than a child.” It was the man who held the knife who laughed as he imagined the false scenario of the girl.

“You think that’s the best part? I’m guessing you didn’t get the chance to smell her did you?” The second man emphasized his addition to the conversation with an exaggerated inhale. “Sweeter than any candy I’ve ever tasted.” He chuckled, turning to Mando who’d finally had enough of the charade he was orchestrating.

“Did you get more than a smell?” Mando prodded with a low growl, watching as a grin crept across the man’s face.

“I may have sampled the goods.” He chuckled before leaning in just far enough that he could reach Mando’s implied ear. “That little curve at the top of her tits… well, let’s just say it couldn’t resi-.” The register of Mando’s blaster echoed in the trees, barely muffled by the point blank contact with the man’s chest. It was followed by confused shouts and a loud groan, but it all fell on Mando’s deaf ears. There was nothing stopping him from finishing this, these men had been dangerous; Now that they were away from the girl Mando could fully punish the bastards for what they’d done to her.

Those horrific thoughts kept replaying in his mind long after he’d dispatched of the other man who’d been to startled to even make a reach for his knife. Mando’s entire body was trembling with emotion as he lifted the opening of the tent to face his failure to protect her. She was still out-cold, and a deep blue bruise was already forming on her face as Mando gently collected her in his arms to abandon the now silent camp. She didn’t move a muscle the entire walk to the ship, and Mando did his best to keep her close to his chest in case she was more injured than was visual. He could feel that shadow of darkness trailing behind him, it’s draw to seek out any of the men left alive dissipating with every step closer to the ship. He looked back down at her and set his jaw, doing his best not to scream out in frustration at the pain he’d allowed to fall on her. The outline of knuckles were already imprinting themselves onto her face, with a gut wrenching trail of blood running from her nose.

“I’m so sorry little one.” Mando’s broken gasp spoke louder than any apology he could ever verbalize. “I need to clean you up.” He murmured as he shut the hatch door behind him, feeling the need to separate her from the world outside the ship.

He laid her in his bed, cradling her head down into the pillow as he checked for any other outward signs of injury. His shaking body jerked even harder the longer he stood over her, waiting for her to open her eyes. He smoothed her hair back out of her face, and let his fingers lace through the strands for a few minutes, in his own mind thinking it might soothe her knitted brows and tightly shut eyes.

“Please wake up little one.” He begged quietly, “I need to know you’re okay.” If he’d not been paying attention Mando might’ve missed the slight twitch of her fingers followed by a quick reaction of pulling her knees to her chest, and wrapping her arms over her face. His heart clenched with helplessness as she opened her eyes and peeked through the space in her arms to face him kneeling down at her side.

“You found me.” She whimpered still protecting her face. He nodded silently, losing all of the words he’d been speaking before she’d had the ability to look back at him. Her shaky inhale was followed by another whimper as she touched for fingertips to her bruising cheek; Wincing, she lowered her arms back down and slowly scooted herself closer to the edge of the bed, judging Mando’s reactions closely.

“I didn’t protect you.” His sadness was pitifully evident as he lowered his eyes down to the floor in front of him. Nothing he could do would make up for the hurt that she’d displayed after touching her cheek. He felt her hand rest on the crown of his helmet, pushing gently as to ask him to raise his head back up. At first, he protested unwilling to face her after such a breach of trust.

“Look at me Mando.” Her voice was raspy, no doubt from screams that he hadn’t heard. It was another blow to his gut as he relented and met her soft gaze. “You found me. Saved me.” It was her acceptance of his apology, however he was almost sick to accept it. Nothing he’d done deserved such an honor as her acceptance of his failure, and it was enough to drop him to both knees under the weight of her hand on his helm.

“I don’t understand you.” He murmured, the weight of her hand traveling over the back of his helmet towards the sides and back up to the top where she seemed content to hold it. “I almost lost you.” He admitted, finally able to allow some of the weight of his emotions to strip away.

“You didn’t, and you won’t.” she assured. Mando was astonished at her bravery after what she’d endured, and he found it hard to believe that she was the one reassuring him as he shook with adrenaline release on the floor next to her. She let out another whimper, this time letting her arm fall back down across her eyes, biting her quivering bottom lip. Even in his wrecked state, he could tell she was trying to be much stronger than she needed to be.

“Where does it hurt?” he questioned her gently, making sure not to touch her as he repositioned himself to stand up.

“My head.” she whispered. “They hit me… and other things.” Her whisper broke into small sobs as she began to remember the encounter much quicker than he’d hoped she would. Mando didn’t know what to do this time as he watched her rub small circles at her temples.

“What can I do little one?” His voice broke again.

“I want it all off me.” She whined. “ ’Fresher…” she mumbled, pulling at the hem of her dirt and blood stained shirt in attempt to pull it off. “Help me… please?” Her tears welled in the corners of her eyes, as she looked up at him.

“Can you stand up?” He asked, keeping himself from touching her. Nothing would be worse than another man touching her without making it clear first. She tried, but didn’t get further than sitting at the edge of the bed before she looked back up at him, pleading eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.

“Please.”

Mando broke, and nodded gently before setting to his armor slowly removing it piece by piece until only the much preferable fabric of his shirt flight suit remained. Nothing could be worse than having her feel the cold beskar, he’d always noticed her gasps when the cold steel made contact with her skin. She reached up to grip ahold of his shoulders, defiantly wanting to do as much as she could independently while Mando supported her at her hips, keeping an arm secured around her as they slowly made progress towards the ‘Fresher. The girl did her best to hide the pain but Mando knew it was making this easy walk virtually impossible.

“Sit down here.” He whispered, sensing how easily it affected her to hear loud noises. Tired and frustrated at her lack of independence, she let Mando ease her down without even trying to do it herself anymore. He opened the water valve and let the heat rise until it was comfortable enough on the back of his bare hand before turning back to see her staring in the mirror in front of her.

“I look hideous.” She furrowed her brows and frowned, upsetting the sore muscles in her face again. She moaned at the frustration situation and looked back up to Mando who was already crouching down next to her again, tilting his head as he searched her face for any signs of sever injury.

“Can I check something?” he lifted a bare hand up towards her face, watching as her eyes widened at the sight of his scarred skin in the light for the first time. “I won’t hurt you.” It was a weighted statement; One that the both of them understood to mean more than the current circumstance at hand. She hummed a quiet okay as he touched the edge of her cheekbone, just underneath of her eye feeling along the edge until an abnormal angle caught his attention.

“What is it?” her brows pulled together for a moment before forcibly relaxing again.

“Let me look at the other side.” He removed his other glove and mirrored the same path he’d followed on the bruised side hoping that the edge he’d felt was just unique to her bone structure. Mando let out a deep sigh when he didn’t palpate that landmark on her other side. “You’ll need bacta… more than a patch.” His hands dropped away from her face. “You’ve got a fracture… that’s part of why the bruising is so bad.” There was a certain softness in his voice, only attributable to his need to soften the edge of hearing that her wounds looked awful.

“I just want to get clean.”

Mando helped by pulling the narrow legs of her pants from around her ankles, not allowing her to reach any further than necessary; Also by cutting the side out of her shirt so she didn’t have to reach above her head to remove it.

“You’re always cutting my clothes off.” She remarked with the slightest intonation of humor, and Mando couldn’t help but stifle a chuffed laugh. It wasn’t the most endearing thing to be known for, but it did seem to interest him that she didn’t seem the least bit upset by his newfound propensity for ruining her clothes.

“You can have something of mine when you get out.” He offered turning his eyes towards the floor as she reached around to unwrap her breast band. Mando worked at his own boots, sitting them out of the way as he waited for her to make the next move. Her hand rested gently on his shoulder and gripped tightly onto the fabric as she tried to push up onto her feet.

“Give me a second...” She sighed before once again attempting to get to her feet.

“Take your time. I’m right here little one.” His endearment plus the small support of his words seemed to give her enough stamina to get onto her feet, and remain there long enough that she felt confident to let Mando get her the rest of the way into the ‘Fresher.

It wasn’t comfortable in the small stall, and the sopping wet feeling of Mando’s flight suit didn’t bode well under the hard water pressure either. The girl rested against Mando as she slowly worked soap over her face, cleansing off the dirt and blood while Mando took the liberty of washing out her hair. It didn’t take long for her to get so tired that she couldn’t continue, and simply let Mando finish what she couldn’t. All of the necessary places she’d done herself, and he couldn’t have been more grateful that she’d spared him from the experience. Even if the situation was ideal, he wouldn’t have had any way of knowing just how she did things, and he didn’t want to get it wrong.

“I’m cold.” She murmured against his chest, nuzzling her unscathed cheek into him a little more as he ran his hands down her soapy back to remove the excess lather.

“You’ve been in the water too long.” She only nodded in response, and relaxed further into him as he turned off the water and reached outside of the door for a towel to wrap around her. “Here. Take this.” He wrapped it around her back, handing both ends to her with his head turned to the side.

She was about to lean away, but Mando had already decided that she wasn’t walking back. Without much effort he pulled her off the floor and kept her tight against him as he brought her back into his quarters. The room was already darkening due to night approaching, and it made transferring her onto the bed a much simpler process without the impropriety of seeing her without the towel. Mando himself reached under the bed and blindly pulled out a dry set of underclothes for himself and retreated into the girl’s room for the old shirt of his that she’d taken to wearing to bed. He changed before returning, running a towel over the wet strands of hair that strayed from underneath his helmet and donning a pair of socks and his gloves. After he'd hung his flight suit over an active draft grate and returned to his dark bedroom with the shirt and the highest strength bacta patch he could find in his supply stores.

“This should keep you warm.” He held the shirt out blindly, hoping that he was close enough that she could take it.

“Thank you.” The sound of the fabric rustling gave Mando a sense of calm and he was prepare to leave her in peace when she hesitantly mumbled something. It wasn’t loud enough to hear, but he knew it was directed at him off instinct. Patiently, he waited for her to repeat herself, either her courage or energy needed the chance to catch up.

“Say it again.” He prodded gently, taking a step towards the bed.

“Would you stay?” Her voice sounded much like normal with that sweet intonation that reminded Mando just how innocent she really was. He went cold then hot in a matter of seconds, feeling the pull of fear and desire pulling at his conscience. He stood in silence, weighing his thoughts until he just couldn’t stand the idea of needing to rationalize every decision he made when it came to her.

In two strides his knees his the edge of the bed, and he felt his way up towards the head where he nervously sat down, and brought his legs up beside hers. He crossed his arms over his chest, and took a deep breath to calm himself down. The girl made her own small adjustment and settled down closer to his side, intent on seeking out the warmth that she apparently wasn’t getting from the shirt or sheets. Quietly, he placed a hand on her face turning it so that he could apply the patch. She hissed under the cold contact, but stilled after a few minutes of letting the analgesic treatment work into her damaged muscles and bone. The girl rested an appreciative hand on top of his arm and gave a gentle, sleepy squeeze.

“Are you still cold?” He asked through a tight jaw, still feeling the radical effects of her gentle touch vibrating though his arm. She gave another light squeeze, and nodded a little before tilting her chin upwards to look at him though the dark room.

“A little.”

Responding quickly, he turned onto his side and laid still as she turned onto her side to fit herself right against his chest. Even her legs fell flush against his thighs as Mando lifted the blankets over her. The girl let out a warm sigh of approval and Mando released his own withheld breath, only his held the strain of her bare legs entangling with his own. For someone that felt like they were running a fever, Mando couldn’t understand why she’d become so cold all of a sudden. Her light snores lifted into the bedroom within minutes; Already sleeping by the time he’d found the mental capacity to think about something other than the way her skin scorched though his compression pants and shirt. Under his unnecessary justification that she might still be cold he draped an arm over her waist, and gently pulled her closer watching to make sure he didn’t move her head more than necessary.

The steady rhythm of her breathing gave him time to think for the first time since he’d went searching for her. It pained him to think that he’d been so close to losing her… a group of smugglers who hadn’t had any idea of who she was or that there were men after her. Even worse, she was seriously hurting and the only thing that was keeping her from feeling it was the adrenaline still slowly passing through her system, drip feeding protection from the fracture in her cheek. He looked down at the bacta patch, studying the dimly lit lights glowing on the surface, lighting up her face just enough that Mando could trace her features. Mando couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a pretty face, and he was even more certain that he wouldn’t find someone that beautiful for the rest of his life. Freckles had begun to appear on her skin after being in the sunlight, darkening the smattering of color that collected on her nose and on the apples of her high cheekbones.

All of the darkness that he’d felt when walking into the camp had faded into grey, mimicking the steel tone of the beskar that lay abandoned in the floor of the ‘Fresher. It felt like he was finally able to escape the draw of battle for once in his life. Simply laying with her was enough to keep that biting instinct to hunt and fight away, even if just while he held her. He tightened his grip on her waist further, dreading the moment that he’d need to leave, and pilot them away from the maker-forsaken place forever. There was one person he needed to tell before they left.

Inside the safety and sound-proofing of his helmet he comm’ed Fett, letting his hand trace along the curve of the girl’s hip as he waited for an answer. He toyed with the frayed hem of his old shirt, feeling how low it rode on the girl’s thigh and silently admiring the drastic incongruity in their sizes.

“Mando.” Fett sounded quite tired, and for a moment he wondered just why he hadn’t comm’ed early in the morning instead of in the dead of night. He didn’t dwell on it for much longer than it took to register the thought.

“She was attacked.” He admitted, watching the miniscule reaction in Fett’s shoulders as he took in the information. Mando recounted details of the smugglers and their assault, leaving out nothing as he made certain to reassure Fett that none of the men had gone unpunished for the attack and that the girl was still unlocated by anyone other than the two of them.

“She’ll need healed.” He growled back to Mando, emphasizing the glaring issue at hand.

He had failed…

“They shouldn’t have died so easily.” He added with a sinister tone that Mando wasn’t very accustomed to hearing.

“I didn’t think… It was all I could do to get her out of there.” His voice broke under the pressure of his admission. “You’re offer still stands?” Mando asked quietly, glancing down to look at the girl who’d nestled herself tight against him, resting peacefully under the physiological sedative she’d been fighting against in the shower, mixed with bacta.

“Bring her here, she’ll be safe.” Fett’s typical tone of flattery and undercurrent of sexual tension was absent as he resent the coordinates to Mando even after he’d denied needing them a second time. Fett asked more questions about the girl, more so about her condition than anything. Repeating himself when Mando couldn’t keep his train of thought in one coherent strand as he delved deeper into the missing minutes of her rescue that had gone blurry in the midst of the blaster fire.

“She’s sleeping. It was kriffing impossible to help her do anything… Her way only.” He murmured, more to himself than Fett with a slightly frustrated sigh. Fett grunted in appreciation of her determination, although the mood wasn’t light enough for any real laughter. Boba took the lull in conversation to discuss the security procedures that he preferred -more so demanded- Mando take when approaching his landing on arrival.

“Drop straight in on the location. Don’t waste time. There aren’t inhabitants close, but if you come in at cruising altitude I’ll shoot you out of the sky myself.” Fett threatened, altogether serious in his attempt to covey the strict measures he necessitated.

“Fine.” Mando nodded, though Fett couldn’t see the physical acknowledgement.

“Make sure she doesn’t wake up to an empty bed… She’ll be feeling the full force of this tomorrow… bacta patch or not.” Fett added, dropping his visor with an lowly with a disheartened sigh. Of course he couldn’t fault Fett’s reaction, if anything he wasn’t surprised at how seriously he took the care of the women in his life when it came to safety and being overly protected when the situation called for it. Boba Fett might’ve been the most irritating man Mando had ever met, but he was still respectable in Mando’s visor. More than ever he was beginning to think that getting the girl her own comm link was one of the best decisions he’d made since bringing her aboard.

The comm ended, and Mando returned his full attention to the girl, didn’t move an inch the entire night and neither did Mando; He didn’t sleep, but that wasn’t anything new. She had lulled him into a state of complete resignation when it came to thinking about getting up. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb her obviously comfortable position. It would be the best sleep she’d get for at least a couple days, and Mando was set in the idea that he wasn’t going to be the one to ruin her opportunity. He spent the hours rubbing her back, and smoothing her hair back out of her face until he was certain she’d need a shower to clean the smell of his blaster residue- covered gloves.

She wouldn’t wake up until late morning, with a low groan and a deep stretch that made her muscles quiver. Mando watched as her grogginess wore off and the gravity of the situation fell onto her face. He was fully prepared to answer any questions she had, practicing his responses throughout the night in the idea that he would be more than competent to provide any information she wanted.

His work went completely untested.

The girl took a moment to reach up for the patch covering her cheek, letting out a whimper when the light pressure she applied intensified her pain. When she recovered, her sleepy eyes fell on Mando who still had his arm possessively tucked around her middle. No amount of preparation prepared him for what she finally asked him;

“Did you sleep well?”

Awestruck by her comically causal statement he gave a swift nod, feeling the edge of his helmet gently bump against the crown of her head. He touched the spot with his free hand, hoping that it hadn’t hit her hard enough to cause any discomfort. When she happily sighed, and relaxed back into his palm heat spread through his chest, warming the cold anxiety he’d been harboring throughout the night. They laid in comfortable silence for what felt like an eternity to Mando, as she let him continue running his fingers through her hair without any complaint to the way it gleamed with oil from his gloves or the tell-tale smell of a freshly fired amban rifle. It was enough to have Mando feeling like he was back in the water, toeing the edge of an endless cavern, dangerously warm and inviting.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe. Where I can be sure that you’ll be safe even if I leave.” His voice rumbled with the lazy intonation that could be felt in every inch of the rest of his body.

“I shouldn’t have gone so far from the ship.” The girl shifted onto her back, looking up at him with an apologetic look that fired his fury towards her attackers all over again. He didn’t know how else to tell her otherwise, feeling contrary to her point of view and blaming himself for the attack.

With a deep breath he lowered his helmet to rest his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and hoping that she understood what he was incapable of telling her. It was an unfamiliar intimacy that Mando was already impatient to get more of. Nothing compared to the subtle way her presence cleared away his anger, and effortless ability to blind the dark shadows he could feel lurking patiently just outside the door to the bedroom. The girl was the first to break away, only to press another kiss to his visor and settle her forehead back against his. She was the one hurting but found the necessity to calm his unspoken distress.

“When are we leaving?” Her hot breath fogging up his display.

“It’s up to you little one.”

***

With a fresh bacta patch and some soup Mando was thankful that she slept through the entire flight. It wasn’t a long journey -no more than five standard hours- but by the time Mando’s landing gear hit the ground it was night on Aeos Prime. Nothing but the sound of water could be heard over the Slave Two’s engines as Mando piloted the ship above what looked to be a bombed out shelter of some kind as he took note of the jagged edges of durasteel, melted and bent from the long-past impact. Endless ocean surround him and for a moment he was unable to register just how much reach Fett had across the galaxy.

“Kriffing impossible.” He breathed out, watching as a shield rose up from beneath the thrashing waves to push away the water that covered a ship-sized lock gate nestled into the sand at the sea floor. Hesitant to push through the blue forcefield, he slowly pushed though watching as the penetrable shield bent around the ship until he was fully within it’s protection. The angry water raged against the power shield, trying it’s best to thrash at the charged wall separating Mando from the risk of losing another ship.

The lock gate below him opened with a metallic thud, allowing access so the slave could descend into the cavern below. Once his revelation faded, Mando was left to observe a single ship sitting in the underground loading bay… the sister to his own ship, the Slave One. Old cargo crates sat at the wayside, along with old land speeders retrofitted to haul the same crates that sat strewn about the ground. The grey duracrete walls and steel support beams looked almost untouched compared to the reinforcements above ground. Although everything was well preserved, abandonment was obvious. Dust covered the once striped floors, and deactivated droids sat at the edges of the bay, rusting from the lack of maintenance. All of it screamed military property or something of the like, what exactly he wasn’t sure of… but it reminded him of the Imperial Base on Nevarro that they’d blown sky high. That didn’t keep him from opening the hatch and stepping out into the recycled air of the underground world he’d been so hesitant to enter.

“I told you to haul ass, di’kut.” Fett’s booming voice echoed through the empty loading bay as he appeared from one of the long tunnels that connected to the giant room.

“Don’t act like that’s normal…” Mando challenged, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed that he hadn’t ever experienced something quite as unreal as disappearing underneath the ocean. Fett approached with a somewhat friendly smile, and clapped a hard smack over Mando’s pauldron before turning his attention towards the ships.

“What a pair.” His voice beamed with pride as he looked at the sister ships. “I haven’t seen them together like this in longer than I’d care to admit.” His slight chuckle eased Mando’s taught nerves.

“What is this?” Mando took his own glance around the bay, trying to find some marker of property or ownership.

“It was a city… at one point. But now it’s almost a dead planet.” Fett explained, wandering towards the Slave Two’s open hatch. “Only beings are on the opposite side of the planet, and they keep to themselves… all twenty of them. But I don’t like giving them the opportunity to do so anyways.”

Mando could only silently agree. Not just for the consistency in Fett’s operational standards, but for the safety of the girl who still lay asleep in his bed.

“How is she?” he asked, lowering his voice when he came into the hull of the ship.

“Sleeping for now. But I’m afraid she’s got a fracture, or maybe more than one.” Mando hated saying it, but there was nothing he could do but help her heal at this point. If that meant telling Boba, then so be it; It wouldn’t’ve been the first time he’d swallowed his pride in the presence of the green Mando.

“I’ve got everything she’ll need.” Fett nodded back in the direction of the way he’d come, before turning his attention back to the ship’s ration supply crates. “Bring these along… and anything else you can think of needing. If we are caught, there’s nothing worse than being without everything.” It was directed at The Crest, and no matter how badly Mando wanted to defend himself he could tell that Fett was simply being rational. Within the hour, Mando and Fett had loaded one of the speeders with rations, a third of Mando’s weapons closet and the two small boxes that the girl kept her belongings in.

Lastly, Mando made one last trip to get the girl. She was still dead asleep when he lifted her off the bed, bringing along the blankets she’d wrapped herself in to keep her bare legs from being exposed to the cold air and Fett’s possible wandering eyes. In her dream-filled slumber she nuzzled her face under the edge of his helmet, breathing steadily against his neck. Boba gave Mando a nod of approval, ignoring the opportunity to make a comment about her unconscious desire to seek him out; Instead he opted to settle behind the controls of the speeder, and pilot them down the long tunnel. Mando shielded her from the wind, keeping his back towards Fett as they traveled the long distance deeper into the darkness until the arcing floor grew tall enough to block the view of any light from the loading bay.

Further underground… He thought, instinctually wrapping the girl tighter in the blankets to keep the cold from getting through. Even the duracrete walls seemed to get darker the further they traveled below the surface of the planet. Fett slowed the speeder outside of a sealed door at the end of the hall, taking a look at his own vambrace before unlocking the thick security doors. He pulled though, and resealed them before turning to face Mando.

“Take this hallway,” -he pointed down the one to his left- “And you’ll see the common area. From there, pick a door and that’s where the two of you will stay. Full accommodations.” He gave a curt nod, and began unloading the supply crates without giving Mando any further instruction.

The room he found himself in was similar to the loading bay, but not available for any ship to enter. Most likely a docking station for speeders. He examined the room another time before following the general direction that Fett had given. Once down the hall he came into the ‘common room’ as Fett had called it, seeing the generic markers of a kitchen and dining table with a large portion of the room being occupied by a wall of instrument panels, communication equipment and radar monitors encompassing a remarkable distance around the central location of this base. Mando found the furthest door from the entry hall, shouldering through the door to find what he could only describe as the most domestic place he’d ever seen.

A bed was centered at the back of the room, with a full ‘Fresher off to the side through another side door, accompanied by three geometrically designed shelfs molded from duracrete in the walls of the room. Left untouched, the room looked empty despite its somewhat lavish accommodations. Even simulated moonlight peered from behind a thick curtain that hung over the false window in the wall.

Kriffing impossible. He repeated to himself, feeling the girl stirring in his arms. She let out a tiny whimper, sleepily brushing her hand against her face. The girl opened her eyes and looked around for a moment before resting her head back against Mando fully contented to stay right where she was as long as he would let her.

“Are we safe?” Her voice coming much clearer than her physical reaction to waking up.

“Yes. How do you feel?” He strode over to the bed and regrettably sat her down so she could gather herself without the struggle of being bunched up against him. He saw how difficult it was for her to move her mouth without the pressure being too overwhelming and quickly changed his tactics. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded quite quickly, her eyes widening at the thought of getting something to eat. Mando was more than pleased, feeling much better knowing that it wasn’t deterring her from wanting something to eat. He studied the way she looked about the room, bringing her palm up to her cheek and a small wince forming on her brow.

“Do you feel like walking?” It was a test question. Of course he wasn’t surprised when she shook her head ‘no’. Quietly he thanked whoever was listening that she didn’t say yes.

He wanted to prolong her interaction with Boba as long as he could without drawing attention to how miserably obvious it affected him. He bowed out of the room, leaving her to fully wake up and take some time alone while he went to check with Fett who’d made himself busy settling the final two crates in the common room. His own stock was nothing compared to Fett’s towering collection of non-perishables and water supply that looked just re-stocked. In silence the two men worked to collect everything into designated shelves before either of them felt the need to speak to each other.

“You don’t trust me around her.” Fett stated with a somewhat smug tone, sharply snapping his gaze toward Mando who was still sitting the final few cans of soup on the shelf. The tone in the air was charged at the quick bite Fett hadn’t been able to hold back any longer.

Mando swiftly turned to meet the hard stare in the man’s eyes, scanning the almost black rims of his eyes. Their silent battle seemed endless as both fought under the pretense that they were the clear dominant. Both had a damn good reason to stand their ground no matter who’s floor it belonged to, or what physical prowess the other possessed. Mando didn’t understand what he’d done to Fett, or why it mattered if Mando trusted the girl’s life in his hands. He hardly trusted himself with her…

“I don’t.” He finally growled out straightening his posture so Fett would have to look up at him.

“You’re foolish to think you deserve any part of her when you can see past your fucking helmet boy.” The venom of the truth dripping from the Mandalorian’s words poisoned any calmness that Mando had been carrying. The space between the two stayed out of arms reach, but that didn’t keep them from slowly walking a dangerous dance around the common room.

“I’m nothing to her. Therefore what I think has no importance.” Mando couldn’t argue against Fett, but he wasn’t willing to abdicate the challenge from a man who had no reason for desiring the fight in the first place. “I am not your son.” Mando’s words gritted under the his tight throat and the urge to show Fett just how much he was willing to prove his blood superseded Boba’s. His chest swelled with the pressure of a tightly wound coil, slowly twisting tighter with every second that Fett didn’t leave the subject alone.

“You’ll do well to keep her alive.”

It was the last straw.

Both men lunged at each other, in a clash of armor and wordless communication verbalized in low growls and grunts as they wrestled each other back and forth. Both men pinned the other to the walls of the room, struggling when the other gained the upper hand with a swift punch or a well-placed grapple that caught the other off guard. By the time each man hand found a hand on their blaster each had their sights set on the weakest target on each man. Mando found the center of Fett’s forehead most preferable, while Fett had chosen dead center on Mando’s hips with a more than deadly look filling those dark eyes.

“Mando!” The girl’s scream brought him out of the haze he’d fell into but he couldn’t drop his sights from Fett, who was fully focused on the girl who no doubt had a horrified expression. The full weight of her crashing into his exposed side rocketed him the rest of the way from his stiff posture towards Fett.

“Please don’t hurt him Mando.” She pleaded with a wobbly voice, as she gripped tightly to his cloak and the edge of his chest plate. Her hard tugs at his armor finally unwound the bunched coil around his focus. Finally realizing what the girl had said, his entire body burned to hear her say it again. Mando relished in the knowledge that Fett would have to live with the idea that she thought him superior. It stroked his flaring -and bruised- ego long after the tension in the room faded through the floor both men still stood bonded to. Again she tugged on his chest plate, pulling him to break the hard stare that as still fixed to Fett’s profile. Her whispered pleads, mixing with fear brought him to look down at her shielding his weaker side as she stared up at him with expectant eyes, looking at his outstretched blaster, then back to him.

“You don’t have to prove anything.” She quietly soothed, reaching a hand out to palm the cold metal of his barrel and assist his frozen muscles in lowering it. “I’m not going anywhere.” She seethed, taking a hard glance towards Fett who had replaced his hard stare with a somewhat amused smile in her direction; Obviously finding her irritation with him humorous. With one final pull on him, she broke his feet from their holds finally letting herself grimace from the overuse in her mouth.

Mando could see fresh blood soaking into the backing of her bacta patch, and he was quick to exit the room away from the both of them towards the Slave 2. Fett was right. No matter how much he wanted to ignore the truth, he’d only proved Fett’s accuracy within three minutes of him speaking. The girl called out for him to come back, and she followed for a short while down the tunnel before she realized that he wasn’t interested in listening to what she had to say. He needed distance from her, more than ever before. A burn in his chest only accentuated the pain that floated through his mind as he replayed the times he’d let himself fall into her lull of security, thinking that maybe the old woman had been right. That even a damn soul could find some solace in the arms of a sweet girl who didn’t see his blood-stained hands, or ink-black soul.

He shut the hatch to the Slave and ripped his helmet away from his head, throwing it into the wall with a loud cry of desperation. In a fit of rage he balled his fist and slammed it into the durasteel wall, frantic for some release in the constant war he’d internalized. Mando wanted to go back to her, and ask for the relief that was unique to her. Let go in the heat of her arms and feel that acceptance he was finally able to admit he desired more than anything. Another loud scream scraped though his vocal chords, irritating his throat from the demanding use he’d suddenly used. It rattled the ship, an empty canister suddenly being filled with the bottled up anger of a man who’d suffered more loss than he could bear the weight of.

His rage continued on throughout the night crashing down on Mando like the thrashing waves of Aeos Prime hundreds of feet above him churning like an monster with an endless instinct to devour or demolish anything in it’s path. He wallowed in the loss of control that Fett had placed upon him, and there was only one way he knew he could solve it. It only made the blow worse, when he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Sealed in his quarters with his armor strewn about the hull along with his helmet and flight suit he finally collapsed onto the bed with a singular need to seek out any traces of the girl on his sheets. Even in the solitude he’d chosen over the presence of the girl, Mando found himself burying his bare face in the pillow searching for her comfort in the only way he knew how. Underneath the heavy scent of leather and metal he could finally smell that sweet mix of her sweat and something else foreign to anything he could ever guess to describe.

He found what he needed.

It smelled like her.

After all this time of keeping his distance he’d never allowed himself the purely selfish indulgence of knowing what she smelled like, and now he laid writhing like he was in pain to get just another hint of her. It was unlike him to be so unhinged; Only after Grogu had been kidnapped had anything ever felt so severe to him. Now nothing but his own guilt and fear stood guard over the one and only thing he’d ever realized he wanted. He stayed wrapped in the subtle reminder of the girl in his sheets, battling with the shadows of his training and the creed just hiding in the corners of his room and doing everything he could to fight them away just for a little while longer. Those dark figures and the evil laugh of death in the hull echoed for hours into an undetectable Aeos Prime daylight.

@spacedaddydinn @absurdthirst @crazybirb @hornystarwarsbisexual @roxypeanut

@bookloverkat @kat-r-in @clairobeatmeup @auty-ren @justbecausewecan @roseallisonparker

@peterztinglez @theamuz

@jade-jax

@hoodedbirdie @strawberryperegrine @panndastasia

@bel-ppa

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando #mando x reader #Mandalorian #SecondChance #uponrightfulwrites #din #dindjarin #din x reader #dindjarin x reader

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irishseeeker · 3 years

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rules don’t apply - chapter three

Having a crush on your boss is embarrassing. Inappropriate. Wrong. Especially when your boss is Anthony Bridgerton, the most insufferable man on the planet whom you actively despise.

What does Kate have to say on the matter?

…No comment.

read chapter 1 here or here

read chapter 2 here or here

chapter 3: hold onto your leash

“Kate.”

Kate didn’t know where she was. She was sitting in a chair behind a wooden desk, which was covered with various files, a laptop and multiple picture frames. The frames were blurred and she couldn’t make out the faces. Everything looked familiar, but she felt completely out of place. Something felt..off. Everything looked fuzzy, her vision was slightly blurred and the air slightly darker, as if there was a shadow over her.

She noticed him then, he stood in front of her, glowing like an angel.

She could see him crystal clear.

What was Anthony Bridgerton doing in her office?

He wasn’t wearing his usual work attire. He was wearing the suit he wore at the gala, except his collar was untucked and loose, his tie no longer wrapped around his neck.

His lips were slightly swollen, tints of red smudged across his pink lips.

Her reflection became clear in a small compact mirror open on her desk. More importantly, she could see the bright red lipstick slightly smudged on her lips.

What was going on?

His voice sent shivers down her spine as he said her name, enunciating each letter, his voice low, rough like gravel.

“What do you want, Kate?”

She opened her mouth but she couldn’t speak, nothing would come out. All she could do was gape as he walked towards her, around her desk, slowly coming to a stop as he stood in front of her. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms.

He moved closer, she could count the splatter of freckles across his nose as he closed the inches between their lips. One, two, three, four, five-

Kate woke up with a gasp. Newton let out a whine beside her, scowling at being woken up.

“Sorry bud,” She said, her breath hot and heavy as she scratched her corgi’s ears.

She did not just dream of Anthony Bridgerton. He was her worst nightmare.

Kate grabbed her phone, flicking open her google app and tapping impatiently at the screen as she typed her search.

What does it mean when you have a dream about your boss?

She flung her phone away from her, hearing it land on the duvet. What the bloody hell was she doing?

Kate had spent the previous day in bed with her sister, staying off her phone and eating takeaway while they watched movies all day. She needed any distraction from the article published. She even let Edwina convince her to do some yoga on Youtube. When she did pick up her phone last night, she flicked through some of the comments left under the article.

I thought you had to be pretty to be a gold digger?

Her sister is much prettier than she is

who even is she?

She quickly opened another bottle of wine to distract herself from the sinking feeling in her stomach.

How could she ever show her face in work again? What would everybody think? There was absolutely no truth to that article, but the truth had never been something people were concerned about when reading gossip.

Kate was hardly a scandal, she was a nobody. Anthony Bridgerton, on the other hand, was not.

She eventually got out of bed, washing her hair and exfoliating away the anxiety and dread that clung to her skin. She ate breakfast with Newton after getting dressed, opening her balcony doors and leaning against the railing as she looked out at London on a Sunday morning.

The air was bitter but the sun was shining despite it being winter, and Kate needed to clear her head and walk Newton. She texted Edwina, who suggested they grab a coffee and walk in the park. Edwina was a morning person, she had already been up for hours and had been to a pilates class.

Kate, on the other hand, had to set five alarms to get up on time and considered her walk to work sufficient exercise.

Cameras started flashing everywhere. Her eyes stung as the flashes started to blind her, she could barely make out Newton barking at her feet or the swarms of people waving a camera in her face.

“Kate Sheffield!”

“Kate, when did you and Anthony Bridgerton start dating?”

“Is it serious?”

“Will we be hearing wedding bells soon?”

Kate momentarily froze, gaping at the blinding flashes. What the hell was going on? How did they know where she lived?

“This is private property. You need to leave right now.” Her neighbour, a middle aged woman called Agnes Danbury, had appeared at her side. The woman tended to appear out of nowhere, trapping you in a conversation that wouldn’t finish until she was done. Kate actually liked her a lot, the woman just scared her a little. “Go out the back, darling. Through the car park.”

Kate hastily turned around and ran back into the building, down the steps and to the car park. She exited through the back entrance, which led to an empty road. She sprinted down the end of her road, away from the photographers and down the steps to her tube station. She got lost in the swarm of people in the busy station and by the time she turned around, panting, she did not see a camera in sight. She put her sunglasses on, pulled her beanie down lower on her head and cuddled Newton to her chest.

She wasn’t bothered after that, the ride on the tube and arrival at Hyde Park station was uneventful. Kate was shaken and paranoid as she glanced around her, but no one actually cared about her. It was Bridgerton they cared about. Newton was happily toddling along beside her as they entered the park gates. Edwina was on the other side of the park, near the pond, waiting with their coffees.

“Kate?”

The blood in her veins turned cold. She knew that voice anywhere. It was the unfortunate voice that she had become accustomed to hearing five days a week, a voice she did not get paid enough to listen to, a voice she could not get out of her head and now dreams.

Anthony Bridgerton stood behind her, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead as he stood in front of her. He had clearly been running, his flushed cheeks and damp t-shirt clung to his skin.

He looked good.

Why did he have to look good?

This was not the time to get distracted, Kate.

“Are you following me?” Kate managed to speak, flexing her fingers that weren’t holding Newton’s lead.

“What?” She couldn’t read his face. He didn’t look displeased to see her, which he usually did-but he didn’t look happy, either. He looked pensive. If she had seen him first, she would have run in the opposite direction or hid behind a tree.

He, for some reason, had approached her.

“Are you following me?” She repeated, bending down to scratch Newton’s ears. She needed something to do other than blankly stare at him.

“Why would I be following you?”

“Oh, so this is just a coincidence then?”

“I run in this park everyday,” Anthony said, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. “I have lived near it for years. So, yes. This is purely a coincidence.”

“Alright.” That was slightly embarrassing, but Kate was more preoccupied with getting away from him, getting away from this conversation and getting away from the thoughts spiraling in her head.

“Kate, wait.”

“No.”

“What?” He sounded exasperated, letting out a deep sigh as he appeared at her side.

“I am not doing this,” She said, gesturing between them. “We’re in public. Someone could see. I do not have the mental capacity to deal with you right now.”

“I presume you saw the article,” He said, putting his right foot on a bench to tie his shoelace. He looked completely unbothered, as if the events in the last two days hadn’t had any affect on his life whatsoever.

Two could play that game.

She just wouldn’t play it looking directly at him because he was bent over slightly and his shorts were rather right, which gave Kate the perfect view of his rather nice-

Kate, no.

“What article?” Kate simply shrugged her shoulders, her eyes flickering around the park. She didn’t see any photographers or anything unusual, which made it slightly easier to breathe. She needed to find Edwina and get away from him.

“Don’t play stupid, it doesn’t suit you.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “You really have a way with women, don’t you?”

“My ways have never failed me before,” He replied, smirking smugly at her.

She mimed gagging. “It’s a Sunday. We are not working. I have no obligation whatsoever to talk to you.”

Anthony simply rolled his eyes.

It was incredible how she could be so attracted and annoyed by a man at the same time.

“Could we try to have a civilized, mature conversation? For once?” His voice was almost pleading, he still had his usual stern, arrogant tone but there was a hint of desperation in it.

He might actually feel bad.

“I don’t know, can we?” Kate mimicked him, making a sour face. She may be the problem here. She swiftly changed the subject.

“There were a lot of photographers outside of my flat. How did they figure out where I live?” Kate still hadn’t figured that out and it worried her beyond belief. She might stay at Mary’s for the next few days, Edwina’s flat was too small for anything more than a night.

Anthony’s face fell and he looked as if he felt bad for her. “You would be surprised how quickly the media can work. I’m sorry that happened, I really am.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“The article doesn’t mean anything, Kate.”

“That is quite easy for you to say. Do you have any idea how this looks for me? You’re my boss. It’s inappropriate. I have to go to work tomorrow and face everyone. It’s mortifying. What everyone is probably thinking-” Kate would usually be embarrassed by such a display of emotions, how high pitched her voice was and the anguish in her face-but she wasn’t even thinking about that.

She was slowly coming to terms with the consequences of the events of this weekend.

The realization hit her and she felt quite faint.

It was that or the sprint to the tube station earlier-she was really unfit.

“I’m going to have to quit and move to Australia.”

“What?” Anthony said, his eyes bulging out his eye sockets as he stared in bewilderment at her. “You’re not quitting-what?”

If he hadn’t thought she was mad before, that ship had definitely sailed. Anthony’s voice had increased a pitch as he spoke and he looked scared.

“I don’t do well in hot climates. I grew up in Somerset, where it rains most of the year, for fuck sake. I’m also not a fan of spiders and snakes.” Kate groaned, covering her eyes with her hands. “They’re the size of Newton over there. My sister still has to remove them from my flat.”

“Would you calm down?”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Kate said, shaking her head profusely. “That’s the one thing you don’t say when you want someone to calm down. I have no reason to be calm.”

“You’re not moving to Australia,” Anthony said, trying to give her a reassuring look but it just came across as him looking slightly constipated. “It doesn’t matter what anybody thinks. Our personal relationship has nothing to do with our professional relationship. If anyone in work has anything to say, they can say it directly to me. Then they’ll get fired.”

It was Kate’s turn to roll her eyes and snort. “There’s definitely a human resources issue in there. Oh, well, that makes everything better than. Problem sorted.”

He was rather calm about the whole situation, really. It was infuriating. “Those gossip articles mean nothing, Kate. It will blow over in a few days and everybody will move onto the next story. That’s how it works.”

“That’s just amazing. I’ll just be known as another notch on your bed frame. I’ll have to add that to my CV.”

“I have a lot more experience with this than you,” Anthony said, his mouth forming a flat line. “I have been subjected to this for years-I do know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, well, I haven’t. I never asked to be. It’s my worst nightmare. There were cameras outside of my flat this morning. They knew where I lived. That is terrifying. The comments online were much kinder to you than they were to me.”

“I know.” He actually sounded sincere and she felt a pang of guilt for being so rude to him. A slight pang of guilt. “I wanted to reach out and apologize. I wasn’t sure if it would make it worse to hear from me, given that we have never exactly seen eye to eye. I was going to speak with you tomorrow at work. I’ll send security to your flat tomorrow for when you go to work.”

Kate scoffed, rolling her eyes. Honestly, rich people. “I don’t need security.”

“Yes you do. They’ll harass you for a few days and then eventually stop. It’s not a discussion, Kate. This is a safety issue.”

“Okay. Fine.” Kate conceded, letting out a deep breath. If he really was concerned, that worried her. She wasn’t used to this type of attention. “Thank you. Send me the bill.”

How much was security? She’d had a shop online last night after a few glasses of wine and had bought clothes she definitely didn’t need, and her bank account had been hit hard.

It was his turn to scoff. “You are not going to pay.”

“I am going to pay-” Kate protested, but Anthony didn’t let her finish.

“Do you argue over everything? Or is this special treatment just reserved for me?”

“You do pay me to argue. Maybe work on your personality and I wouldn’t argue with you so much.” “Thank you, though-but only this time.”

Newton barked loudly. They broke eye contact with each other and stared down at Newton, whose tongue was wagging happily out of his mouth. He circled around Anthony, jumping up and down eagerly.

“He’s a bit overweight.”

Kate’s jaw dropped and she gasped. “You are so rude. He’s a corgi, his rolls keep him warm! He probably heard that!”

“He’s a dog.” Anthony glanced down at Newton, quite unimpressed.

Of course Anthony Bridgerton didn’t like dogs. He probably didn’t like anything that caused any joy.

“Newton,” She said, particularly emphasizing that he had a name and was not just ‘dog’, “-is incredibly intelligent.”

They both simultaneously glanced back at Newton, who was sprinting in a small circle, trying and failing to chase his tail.

Anthony hummed, his eyes bulging slightly that infuriated Kate further. “I’m sure.”

“Please do not project your insecurities onto my dog.”

“My insecurities? I’m quite confident in my body.” His cocky smirk infuriated her more. His tight t-shirt was not helping the situation.

Kate swore she could see the outline of his chest, the faint lines of his abdominal muscles were clinging to the west material of his t-shirt.

“Good for you.” Kate managed to conjugate.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with my body, Kate?”

“I don’t think about your body at all.” Liar, liar.

“We both know that’s not true, Miss Sheffield.”

Newton saved Kate from replying by jumping onto Anthony, his paws resting on the thin material of his shorts covering his thighs.

“Down, dog. Sit.” Anthony pointed at the ground, and to Kate’s surprise, he sat. She usually had to bribe him with some ham to do any tricks.

She needed to make a swift exit. “We have to get going. My sister is waiting for-oh!”

Newton sprinted away from them, jumping from his sitting position and charging off so ferociously he yanked the lead right out of Kate’s grip. Kate landed flat on her face.

She felt Anthony’s hands on her waist, easily pulling her off the grand. Kate spat out a mouthful of grass, ignoring the tingling feeling his fingertips left as she stood up, immediately taking off after her dog.

“Newton, no! Come back!”

“Can’t you call him back?” Anthony said, easily catching up with her as they sprinted after the dog. They had gathered a few people’s attention, it was an interesting sight-two people running after a manic dog.

“Thank god you’re here. I never would have thought of that one on my own.” Kate cast a disgruntled glare at him before squinting her eyes to make out Newton’s little figure, a good bit ahead of them.

“Newton!” She roared after him, but the runaway corgi paid them little attention.

Kate felt like she was going to vomit. She had to stop, coming to an abrupt halt to bend over. She was panting heavily, resting her hands on her knees. She may have been dressed in running gear, a jumper and leggings-but she had never actually ran in them.

“I think I’m going to get sick,” Kate said, half-panting, half heaving. Her stomach was not feeling good.

Anthony, who stopped a few meters ahead of her, glanced back at her unimpressed. He wasn’t even sweating. “We’ve ran about fifty meters.”

“I’m failing to see your point,” Kate said, biting her bottom lip hard before mustering the strength to take off again. She needed to find Newton-she wasn’t worried he would run off, he had severe attachment issues, as did Kate-but he would make it difficult for her in the meantime.

“Don’t you exercise?” He asked, easily jogging beside her. He still hadn’t broken a sweat and Kate couldn’t stop, the beads of sweat trailing down her forehead.

“I don’t have the time.” She wasn’t willing to try to find the time. She worked, she spent time with her family and Newton and she slept. An exciting life, truly.

Anthony, rather judgmentally, snorted. “We have a free gym in the building at work. It’s about making time, Kate. I exercise everyday.”

“Would you like a medal?” Kate tried to sound unimpressed, her tone flat and dull. It wasn’t news to her, he had raised a lot of money last year for the marathon and it had been advertised all around the building.

Kate had been treated to Anthony Bridgerton’s face everywhere for a whole month before the marathon. She not only had to see his smug face in person daily but she had been subjected to it on newsletters, in emails, on badges and on bloody biscuits.

“I have plenty, thanks,” He said swiftly, his usual arrogant tone alive and well. It was the voice he used in meetings at work when they were arguing over something and he was trying to irritate her-it usually worked. “I was captain of the rugby team at school and at Oxford. I also ran the London Marathon last year.”

“You’re so modest.” Kate laughed as he scowled at her sarcastic tone. His achievements were quite impressive, she had donated to his fundraiser last year-she just wasn't going to inflate his ego any further. “I pass the gym everyday and I swear I’ll go tomorrow. The thing is, I really couldn’t be arsed.”

Kate fell off a treadmill last year and still hadn’t emotionally recovered. It would be a cold day in hell before she stepped foot in a gym again.

“You should. It’s a good stress reliever. You always look so disgruntled every time I see you.”

Charming.

“That’s because I have to see you everyday.” Kate chimed back, shooting him a short smile before coming to a stop, beginning to walk towards Newton. They were getting closer and closer to Newton, who had been trotting around the same area of grass in the distance.

“Get him,” Anthony loudly whispered, interrupting their back and forth as he pointed towards Newton who was now rolling in a patch of dirt.

“I'm trying!" Kate shouted back, trying to keep her voice low as she reached out her hands. Her plan to pounce and grab Newton carefully before he could sprint away. "Stop distracting me. I need to get my dog. My dog, who now needs a bath and ran away, which are both completely your fault.” She was so close Newton, who still hadn’t noticed them.

Anthony was walking in front of Newton, trying to stay out of his eyeline by approaching from the side. It wasn't too difficult-Newton was quite oblivious.

“How is any of this my fault?” Anthony snapped, glaring at her from across the flowerbed as he creeped around it. “I am spending my Sunday helping you catch your beast-”

“Watch your mouth, Newton is an angel. I didn’t ask you to! I’m here because I came out to clear my head because of what you’ve done-” Kate argued, it seemed they could last a minute until they resumed bickering.

“What I’ve done?” He gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing. It was worrying how good it made her feel to make Anthony Bridgerton speechless.

“What have you done?” She was focusing on steadying her breath and controlling her panting, creeping closer and closer to Newton. She was seriously unfit. “Exist, specifically. I ended up in Lady Whistledown because of you! All because you enticed me into your fancy cars with snacks-”

“Enticed you?” It was more of an accusation than a question. “I was being nice. I can't help what the media write about me I was offering you a lift home. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“That’s fine by me!”

“Excellent”

“Great!”

“Fantastic.”

“Superb.”

Kate was going to run out of adjectives soon.

Anthony ran a hand through his hair, stopping in the middle of the flowerbed, glaring at her. "You...you are an absolute menace, do you know that? I have never in my life encountered such a frustrating-”

“A menace?” Kate snorted at the insult. “Do you always talk as if you’re from the 1800s?”

Newton spotted Kate and Anthony, narrowly avoiding Kate’s leap towards her. “Shit! Newton, come back here right now!”

Kate’s stomach dropped as she saw exactly what Newton had spotted and was now running towards.

The pond.

“Newton, no!”

“Isn’t he trained? Tell him to stop! Stop, dog!” Anthony shouted at her, his jaw clenched so tightly he looked like he was in pain.

“Yes,” Her voice wavered slightly, glaring right back at him. “He’s a dog. He’s having fun!” Truthfully, Newton had been asked to leave the three training courses Kate had signed them up for. Anthony was not going to know that.

“Kate!” Edwina waved her hand in the air. She was standing in front of the pond, a circle of ducks crowded in front of her. She appeared to be feeding them crumbs, a bagel waving in her hand.

She had completely forgotten about meeting her sister.

“Edwina.” Kate was roaring at her sister, waving her arms frantically. Edwina didn’t seem phased by her sister’s frazzled state at all. Kate wasn’t usually this dramatic, was she? “Move! He’s going to go for the bagel!”

Anthony had joined in on her shouting, but it was too late.

Newton launched himself at Edwina, specifically at the baked good in her hand-pushing her straight into the unbarricaded pond.

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #bridgerton fanfiction #ao3 #my fics #modern AU #so sorry for the delay on this one #newton is the main character that is all #kate x anthony

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