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calif0rnia-lovers · 3 years

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Lover of Mine #5 | Angel Reyes

part I | part II | part II | part IV | series taglist

Title: A Heavy Heart to Carry

Thought that I would change, but I'm the same guy Blamed it on my youth, but I know I've had time

a/n: split this original part into 2. the second half of the couple's retreat will be in 5.5

warning: a character experiences a panic attack

rating: 💔

Sum: Angel Reyes doesn't fear much, but he's scared to face you once it's set in that he's broken your cardinal rule. He must decide what's more important: maintaining a lie or sharing a secret that will change the way you look at him forever.

Words: 9.4k

“Take him home, Ezekiel. Now. I’m serious. I am going to fucking kill him if he tries to stay here tonight. And then, I’m going to kill you for letting him.”

These are the words that stopped Angel Reyes in his tracks. Left him standing on the front steps, afraid to move past the threshold of the front door to his own house.

When he pulled into the driveway, exhausted covered in a mixture of dirt, sweat and blood, Angel was met with a sight that somehow managed to wring the knots in his stomach tighter.

The light from the living room cast a golden hue across the dark lawn.

He knew the odds of you being asleep upon his arrival were slim to none. You haven’t waited up for him in years. There’s no need to wait up when you know his whereabouts.

At some point in the evening, the attempts of communication stopped. Angel isn’t sure why, but he knows it isn’t a good sign.

He’d pushed against Ez’s shoulder prompting him to step up to ring the doorbell.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” Ez had shocked his older brother, stepping into the war zone to calmly produce some sort of explanation. “We had to go down south, and shit got--we lost track of time. By the time we got finished, we--”

“Now that I know that neither of you is lying dead in a ditch somewhere, you can leave.” Despite your words, Ez didn’t move. He glanced over his shoulder towards Angel. “Or stay outside, I don't care, but he's not stepping foot in my house. Tell him I said test me.”

Needless to say, he didn’t.

Angel heeded the warning allowing his brother to drive him home. He didn’t bother calling you.

What’s the point of calling to apologize when you’ve just spent half the night ignoring the calls from the same person?

Hours have passed, and Angel hasn’t slept.

Although he’s now freshly showered, the cut on his hand poorly wrapped, Angel Reyes finds himself in the same predicament. Outside of your house.

Scared shitless.

Only this time around, Ez isn’t willing to risk his life for the sake of being collateral damage.

Both men remain in the driveway, eyes on the sunflower yellow-painted door of 1101 Rock Creek Avenue. Each is resting against the hood of Angel’s car. Waiting, silently willing the other to bravely ring the doorbell.

Angel releases the smoke in his lungs before reaching up to remove his sunglasses.

“You gotta go in at some point,” Ez glances over at his brother.

Angel doesn’t respond. He drops his cigarette bud to the ground, stepping on it with the heel of his shoe.

“Especially since we’ve been out here nearly an hour,” Ez continues, a tiny smile finding his lips as the sight of Angel’s rolling eyes. “Neighbors are probably gonna put in a call--”

“I’m checking the windows,” Angel responds. The humor in his voice falls flat as his eyes search the front of the house. “Gotta make sure she doesn’t shoot me the moment I touch the driveway.”

“Shouldn’t have taught her how to shoot.”

The daggered stare sent his way causes the youngest Reyes to chuckle. Shaking his head, Ez takes a step forward.

“Angel. It doesn’t matter if you go in now or later.” He sighs. “If Y/N's gonna shoot you, she's gonna shoot you-- regardless of the time.”

“Yeah.”

Getting up, Angel crosses the lawn to the front door. Although he now has a key, he reaches forward to ring the doorbell. For a brief second, he considers turning around and heading back to his car.

His stomach tightens as the door swings open. He lets out a sigh of relief when he’s met with the sight of a smiling Isabela.

Her smile slips, her eyes narrowing as she stepped outside. She waits until the door is shut securely behind her to speak.

“What the fuck, Reyes!” She shoves hard against Angel’s shoulder, not blinking as he stumbles a step back. Angel massages his shoulder as she lowers her voice. “I orchestrated the perfect week for you two. All you had to do was show up with a packed bag, and you somehow managed to fuck everything up. Where the hell were you last night?”

Although he’s had all night to come up with an excuse, no coherent words come out when Angel opens his mouth. Isabela’s eyes roll, her attention shifting to a quiet Ezekiel standing just beyond his brother’s shoulder.

“And you. I thought you were the smart one.”

Ez looks away from a flushed Angel to find Isabela’s glare on him. He opens his mouth to respond, but suddenly Angel’s inability to speak has washed over the youngest Reyes.

“You didn’t think it was smart to drag him home in time for his son's recital?”

Angel’s voice has returned. It comes out lower than he’s intended. His eyes briefly shift to the front door.

“She’s--”

“Pissed.” Isabela sighs as she turns to the door. “I’d thank Bishop next time you see him. He talked her down last night.”

Isabela pauses just as Angel steps forward to follow her inside.

“Angel, she lied to Jeyson for you,” she says. “You need to talk to him.”

“I know.”

“Hey, lego master,” Isabela smiles as she steps back inside. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Jeyson is on his stomach, lying in the center of the living room floor. Chin resting in his hands, he is studying the progress he’s made on his lego set.

A grin brightens his face as Angel steps inside. He scrambles to his feet, pulling a chuckle from his father as he nearly crashes into his legs.

“Hey, lil man. You good?”

Allowing him a quick hug, Jeyson takes Angel’s hand in his. He tugs him towards the living room. He motions towards the legos on the floor.

“I finished all the escape pods! Now, you can help me with the left-wing--”

“Hold up,” Angel diverts Jeyson’s attention, lifting him off the ground, forcing him to silence. “I wanna talk to you about something--”

“Last night?” His question silence his father. Jeyson reaches forward, his fingers tracing the patch on Angel’s chest. “Mom talked to me already.”

“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to apologize. To say I’m sorry for not being there to see you play.”

“It’s okay.” The smile he offers tightens Angel’s throat. It is a smile that matches his words perfectly. A smile of forgiveness often comes when a child is willing to look past moments of a letdown if that means they can still spend time with that person.

“It’s not okay,” Angel admits. He watches as Jeyson’s gaze lifts to meet his before dropping to patch. “I broke a promise, and I’m not supposed to do that. I’m sorry.”

Jeyson studies his father’s expression. A smile slowly spreads across his face as an idea sets in.

“I can play it for you now.” He suggests, his attention moving to the piano across the room.

That’s where you find the two when you step into the living room.

Jeyson has finished playing and is giggling as he watches Angel try to match the series of keys he just showed him.

“What’s so funny?” Angel’s brow arches as Jeyson attempts to stifle his laughter. “I think it sounded pretty good.”

Jeyson shakes his head.

“You weren’t paying attention.” Reaching over, he moves Angel’s hand into the correct placement. “Your fingers aren’t in the right place.”

Angel’s gaze falls to his hands. To him, they seem to be in nearly the exact same spot. But he knows better than to argue with your son. He watches Jeyson’s fingers, trying to match the same tune. Only he can’t, the smile on his face growing once he realizes the tempo has changed. Jeyson plays at a cadence that seems hyper speed to his father but is nothing out of the normal for him.

“It’s not nice to show off,” Angel chuckles as he tickles Jeyson’s side.

Angel glances over his shoulder, his smile dampening as he finds you waiting patiently by the door. Jeyson’s smile does the same, his eyes widening once your conversation from last night sets in.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” you nod, watching as he gets up, his head hanging forward as he crosses the room. “Remember we talked about this last night?”

Jeyson waits until he’s standing before you to speak. With his arms wrapped around your middle, face pressing against your shirt, his words come out muffled.

“But, I want to come with you.”

“I know, but you have to stay and keep Isabela company. You guys are going to the carnival tomorrow. You're going to have so much fun.” Your fingers brush through his hair, a smile finding your lips as Jeyson tips his head back to look at you. “Besides, I won’t be gone long.”

“Five days is a long time,” Jeyson pouts. “You’re never gone that long.”

He’s right. The longest you and Jeyson have been apart being two days. For the weekends when he would spend the majority of his time at his father’s house.

“You can call me whenever you want,” you remind him as you squat down in front of him. “And then, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tommy Flores currently stands at the front of the line. The weight of the metal door causes it to slam shut with a loud bang.

The echo vibrates through his chest, the force doubling him over. The dialed-up pitch brings Tommy’s hands to his ears.

He’s stopped in his tracks. His silent plea, to stop the ringing in his ears, sparks a slew of grunted protests from the inmates behind him.

Officer Rogers stands near Tommy, his shoulder resting against the wall. Each time an inmate is escorted through the secured door, the guard slams it shut with as much force as he can. He watched as Tommy flinched each time, the sound louder with each step he got closer. Now that Tommy stands directly in front of it, the sound is too loud.

Rogers steps forward, his lips turning up into a sneer.

"You alright there, Flores?" The lack of concern in his voice is amplified by the soft chuckle he releases. "You look like shit. Rough night?"

It's a question, Rogers knows the answer to. Better than anyone--well almost anyone.

He was the one who woke Tommy, in the middle of the night, the glare of his flashlight blinding the inmate. He yanked Tommy from bed, hand-delivering him to the showers. He stood guard, watching as Tommy took each blow and kick sent his way. He hand-delivered Tommy back to his cell, denying his trip to the infirmary.

Rogers would never admit it, but he was initially shocked when saw Tommy shuffle into the visitation line. He knew Tommy had a scheduled visit but didn't expect him to have the strength to bother trying to attend it.

"Your girlfriend coming today?" Rogers continues as he watches Tommy's fist clench. "Must be. That's the only reason I could think you'd get up this morning. Maybe I should let your friends give you another round tonight. How's that sound?"

Tommy's body is bumped forward—a silent warning from his cellmate to move. The shove to his shoulder clenches his jaw shut. But Tommy knows better than to hold up the line any longer than he already has.

Each step he takes is slow, sending a jolt of searing, white-hot pain down his spine.

The swelling of his right eye limits his vision, but he’s able to recognize a familiar face in the crowded room.

Each grey table is occupied by anxiously waiting loved ones. Tired from the extensive process of being cleared for visitation day. Hopeful their time won’t get cut short due to the delay of the inmate's arrival.

As he’s shuffled forward, Tommy’s gaze is fixated on his feet. It’s easier to ignore the look of pure rage directed his way.

“Stop staring.” The smile on Tommy’s lips is a good attempt. No matter how much he wills it, it can’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Leonardo Flores's gaze slowly studies the man before him. He knows his younger brother better than anyone. The blue Stockton uniform covers most of the damage but judging by Tommy’s walk and shallow breathing, he’s nursing a broken rib.

Leo doesn’t speak until Tommy’s gaze lifts. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but it seems you’re still getting settled.”

His observation prompts his brother to shrug. Tommy winces as he shifts to bring his hands to rest on the table.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Tommy smiles.

“I thought this lawyer you got was supposed to be good—"

“She is.” Tommy’s sigh goes unnoticed. “She's good.”

“If she’s so good, why the fuck are you in gen pop?” His brother’s eyes roll, Leo’s head shaking once he gets no response. “Huh? She doesn’t seem too concerned about doing her job. If she was you wouldn’t have been nearly beaten to a pulp—"

Leo’s rant slowly fades out, blending into the surrounding conversations. It takes all of his concentration for Tommy to drown out the sound. Tommy’s eyes are shut, his left hand massaging his brow. The throbbing in his head seems to be getting worse. He flinches as Leo’s boot scrapes his shin.

“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say, Leo.” Tommy laughs dryly, the throbbing in his head pumping irritation into his voice. “She could pay off the entire fucking city of Santo Padre, it’s not gonna mean shit.”

His eyes open to see Leo’s jaw clenched. He presses on as Leo opens his mouth to speak.

“They put me here because they’re hoping I don’t make it to trial.”

“Judging by how you look, you won’t.”

Tommy shakes his head, dismissing the observation.

“I’m fine. I need you to do something for me.”

An uneasy wave washes over him at the sight of Leo’s rolling eyes.

“What?” Leo chuckles, his arms crossing over his chest. “Your brothers can’t help you?”

“I don’t trust the club with this,” Tommy admits.

No matter the amount of truth behind his statement, Leo’s expression doesn’t change.

Probably because Leo knows the truth. With the number of years he’s facing, Tommy will soon be forgotten by his fellow Horsemen. You’re only worth remembering if you’re valuable to the M.C. Tommy’s not valuable rotting in Stockton. It doesn’t matter if the charges he’s acquired were at the expense of the club.

“Leo—"

Leo’s sigh drowns out the plea in Tommy’s voice.

“What is it this time, Tommy?”

Tommy doesn’t miss a beat. His voice drops, his eyes briefly passing to the guard nearby.

Angel forgot what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your silent treatment. It’s brutal. Probably because you stick to it, religiously. The silence isn’t the worst part. He knows you’ll have to talk to him—eventually. He also knows that once you do, the words you’ve prepared will cut him to the bone.

When it comes to arguments, Angel operates on pure emotion—always ready to fight a war. He says the first thing that comes to mind, often trying to hurt whoever he’s arguing with before they can hurt him. He wishes you were the same.

You have an incredible ability to walk away from an argument on a whim. He can count on his left hand the number of times you’ve raised your voice at him. In all the time he’s known you.

You don’t see the purpose in having a screaming match. It never gets you anywhere. One of you has to operate on the side of logic. Angel has learned that once you’ve had the chance to get your thoughts together he’s in for a world of trouble.

He’d foolishly tried to get the conversation going the moment you both got in the car, but you beat him to the punch.

“I’m not talking to you right now.”

The declaration had come out just as Angel opened his mouth to speak. It also made him close his mouth, his brow furrowing.

“We’re about to drive for four and a half hours, Y/N,” he sighed, his eyes rolling as he sticks the key in the ignition. “You’re really not gonna say anything to me the entire ride there?”

He waits for you to respond, his eyes dropping to the bouncing of your knee.

“And then what? You’re not going to go speak to me at the hotel? What sense does that ma--”

“Trust me, Angel. You do not want me to say what’s on my mind right now.”

Angel’s not certain if it’s the admission itself, or the look in your eyes, but he silently redirects his attention to starting the car.

The four-and-a-half-hour car ride ironically turns into a six-hour trip of stop-and-go traffic. Six hours of Angel left to fiddle through the various radio stations while you silently scroll through your iPad.

At the three-hour mark, your voice breaks the silence, peaking Angel’s hopes. At this point, he’s willing to take you yelling at him if that means you’ll eventually talk again.

He glances away from the bumper-to-bumper traffic to find you holding up your iPad. The screen facing him, you ask. “Have you seen this before?”

He leans over the console for a better look at the image on the screen. His stomach drops as he takes in the jet-black stallion, his mouth going dry as his gaze passes over the red eyes.

“Thinking about getting some new ink?” He jokes his throat clearing as your eyes roll.

“Nevermind.”

Redirecting your attention back to your iPad, you don’t catch the nervous glance Angel sends your way. A few minutes of silence pass before he glances back in your direction.

“What’s it for? The uh--tattoo.”

“Work.”

That’s all he’s able to get out of you. Even after you arrived at the hotel, where you discover that Isabela has booked the two of you for the hotel’s honeymoon suite. Which comes with a complimentary package that Angel is almost certain you won’t partake in. He gets nothing out of you when you are both informed that your introductory session with the couple therapist on sight is in less than an hour after your late arrival.

The counselor, Dr. Mallory, currently sits across from the two of you. The smile on her face remains in place, even as she watches you put as much distance as possible between you and Angel. The task is nearly impossible with the small sofa she’s sat you both on.

Angel's eyes roll to the ceiling before he lets out a deep breath.

Dr. Mallory’s question breaks the silence.

“How long have you two been married?”

Angel’s eyes shift to you. He answers as your gaze remains focused on the pillow in your lap. “We’re not.”

“Divorced?”

“Seven years.” A dry laugh escapes his lips as he softly shakes his head. “To do the date...actually.”

“Oh, I see.” Dr. Mallory’s smile widens as her gaze passes between the two of you. “You’ve decided to join our retreat, as a means of reconnecting. Hoping to bring back, and foster, that love that brought your two beautiful souls together all those years ago.”

“Uh...yeah.” Angel nods slowly as Dr. Mallory’s hand shifts to rest over her heart.

Her eyes close, her smile softening as she lets out a sigh.

“Love is such a beautiful thing,” her eyes open as she continues. “And I am so happy to see the two of you are willing to give it another try. But, more so, I am honored that you have elected me to help guide you through this journey.”

“What exactly does this ‘journey’ entail? We’re not about to go sit in the desert and sing kumbaya or some sh--”

The elbow that digs into Angel’s side swallows the rest of his sentence. He glances over at you.

“It’s a serious question,” he coughs. “I didn’t realize we signed up for some journey that has to do with...souls traveling together…”

Dr. Mallory’s eyes had brightened at Angel’s question. Angel’s words trail off as he realizes Dr. Mallory is no longer seated. She is not standing directly in front of both of you. Holding two orange sheets of paper.

“I have accumulated a list of activities that will allow the two of you to get in touch with your inner selves this week.” She beams, not noticing the uneasy look that washes over Angel’s face as she continues. “One cannot love their partner wholeheartedly until they truly love themselves.”

Angel’s eyes quickly scan the list, realizing that it's more than a list of suggestions. It's a checklist.

“This week, the two of you will work on opening the airs of communication,” Dr. Mallory continues, motioning between the two of you. “Which I can sense are bogged down at the moment, by anger and mistrust. We want to take the time to open them back up--”

“No offense, Doc, but this isn’t going to work.”

“Mr. Reyes, I ask that you don’t speak that way this week. Everything that you put into your relationship can work.”

“It’ll be hard to work on our…” It takes all Angel has not to roll his eyes. “...airs of communication when she’s not even speaking to me.”

Dr. Mallory returns to her seat, her attention focusing on you.

“Angel is right. Ms. Reyes, care to share what’s on your mind with him? He seems eager to listen.”

Angel watches silently as you keep your gaze on the sheet of paper before you.

“Last night was the first night that I have wanted to kill you. And I mean it in the most literal sense, Angel.”

Angel’s throat tightens, his gaze dropping to his hands.

“You’ve done a lot of shit, Angel. But last night you didn’t see your son’s face when he realized that you were not showing up. You promised that you would never do that again.”

Angel attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. He shifts in his seat, his gaze briefly looking towards you.

“I know.”

“I had to get a call from the school telling me that you decided not to pick our son up. You could have picked up the phone, and called me.” The calmness in your voice does nothing to ease the knots in Angel’s stomach. “Since you’ve forgotten, Angel. You don’t get the courtesy of falling off the face of the earth. Club business, or not. You have a son.”

Angel doesn’t offer up a response. Primarily because he knows what’s coming next.

“What could possibly have happened that you disappeared off the face of the earth last night--and don’t say club business. Bishop is not that great of a liar.”

Angel swallows, his eyes briefly drifting across the room to where Dr. Mallory sits.

He can feel your expectant gaze on him, but he can’t bring himself to look at you.

He can also feel it rising in his throat. Words he hadn’t planned on telling you. His eyes drift shut as he sighs.

“I uh...I followed Samuel to this bar downtown.” A silence falls over the room. Angel looks up from his hands, watching as your eyes widen. “Aiden, he told me what he did to you--and I just wanted to talk to him.”

“And that’s all you did?” The look of skepticism sent his way causes Angel’s jaw to tighten.

“Yeah. I told him to leave you alone.”

Dr. Mallory interrupts the silence, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Samuel? Who is he?”

“Nobody.”

Angel’s eyes roll. “He’s her boss.”

“I went on a few dates with him,” you sigh. Your fingers massage your temple.

You already know where this conversation is going.

A smile finds Dr. Mallory’s face as she watches Angel shake his head.

“No, this is great.” An encouraging smile finds her face. “You see, you two are already past the most difficult part. Starting the conversation. Angel, tell Y/N how you feel about this situation involving Samuel.”

“You shouldn't have dated other people.”

Your brow furrows as his statement sinks in. “Did you miss the part where we got divorced?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying? Do you know how many women I had to hear that you slept with? Half of the time from you!” The sight of Angel’s rolling eyes is enough to make you shift in your seat. Turning to face him, you watch his jaw clench. “So you can fuck anyone you want, but it’s a problem when I go out on a date with someone?”

“Yeah.”

You blink, a humorless laugh escaping your lips. Clearly, you’ve heard him wrong.

“Do you know how hard it is watching you fall in love with someone else?”

“Oh my goodness!” Your voice comes out muffled against the palms of your hands. “What is it with you and Samuel putting more stock in this situation than it deserves? I wasn’t falling in love with him, Angel--”

“But that’s what you were looking for?” He cuts you off, the raising of his voice causing your hands to drop. “Why else do people date? Yeah, I slept around, but you never had to worry about me trying to replace you with someone else. For years, I’ve had to watch you go through relationships, bringing other men around my son like you were auditioning them for the role of his father--”

“You know I wouldn’t do that--”

“Yeah, well, we all do things we don’t think we’re capable of.”

“Well, Dr. Mallory. Congratulations. You have just witnessed the one thing Angel Reyes is always capable of doing.” You shove the pillow in your lap towards Angel. “Trying to make me feel guilty for something that he’s done. This time, I’m not apologizing to you for anything. And I’m not saying 'thank you' if that’s what this whole woe is me act is about. I didn’t ask you to go see Samuel. Just like I didn’t ask you to sit here and lie to my face.”

“I’m not lying to you--”

“You may have gone to see Samuel, but that’s not where you were last night. I know you, Angel. You didn’t skip out on our son for Samuel.” It’s an observation that gets the response you’re looking for. It’s a look that lasts for only a brief second. A look in Angel's eyes that tells you that you’re right. It disappears as quickly as it had come. “And until you’re willing to stop lying to me, I’m not staying here.”

Angel’s jaw sets. “Since we’re talking about capabilities, her specialty is walking out. She walked out on me seven years ago, and she’s doing it now.”

“Maybe this time, you'll actually stop and ask yourself why,” you mumble as you step over his feet.

Ez is sitting on the living room sofa. He’s not in the most comfortable position but hasn’t been able to move for the last hour. He’s drinking a beer, his eyes on the television playing quietly across the room.

He’s not even sure what show he’s watching. A series Isabela had roped him into. The room is pitch dark--apart from the glow of the screen--the house quiet. Jeyson has been asleep since his 9 pm bedtime.

Despite her need to catch up on her favorite tv show, Isabela is also asleep. With her head resting against Ez’s shoulder, her body curled up against his, Isabela has been asleep for the last hour. If asked, she’ll blame it on Ez. The second he allowed her to share the blanket with him, his body heat acted as a furnace. One that pulled her right to sleep.

Ez is currently debating on the best way to transfer her from the living to the bed when his phone lights up.

He knows who is calling before he checks the caller I.D.

Angel has been texting Ez non-stop.

Angel’s voice comes out low through the receiver. “If I don’t call you back tomorrow it’s because she’s stabbed me in my sleep.”

“You better take the couch tonight then.” Ez brow furrows, wincing as he double-checks the time on his brightly lit screen. “Why are you whispering?”

“I’m in the bathroom.” Angel quickly dismisses his brother’s question. “Listen, it wouldn’t make a difference. Trust me. She hasn’t been talking to me--except for when she ripped me a new one in therapy today--”

“Therapy...hope you tipped the doc.” Ez chuckles. “Having a witness might have saved your life.”

“...she knows about Samuel.”

Ez releases a sigh, his hand running down his face. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

“I had to tell her,” Angel mumbles. “It's not like I could tell her about last night. I figured…”

“Give her something else to be mad about?” Ez shakes his head, sparing his brother the laugh. “Angel--”

“I’m working on it.” Angel’s side goes quiet for a moment. His admission is an admission of truth. He has been thinking about it for the last twenty-four hours. “I'm gonna tell her, I just need the right moment...besides, don’t rush me. She’s gonna be mad at you too when she finds out you helped.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how I always end up in your shit.”

“That’s what brothers are for,” Angel chuckles. “Remember what I said. If I don’t answer tomorrow--”

“Bye, Angel.”

Hanging up, Ez pushes his phone aside.

He carefully lifts the blanket covering him and Isabela. He successfully carries her down the hallway to the bedroom and has finished tucking her in when she stirs.

She watches as he removes one of the extra pillows from the bed before taking a step towards the door.

“I know it might be extremely difficult for you to stay on your side of the bed,” she yawns, rubbing at her eyes. “But I’m willing to share it with you, as long as you let me take the left.”

A smile spreads across Ez’s face as he watches her pat space next to her. He lifts the pillow in his hand. “Bed’s all yours tonight. I’m gonna take the couch.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he chuckles. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Okay,” Isabela’s eyes are already drifting shut as she yawns. “Well, just know the offer still stands if you change your mind.”

“Besides, I gotta at least take you out on a date before we start fighting over sides of the bed.”

“Give me the time and place, and I'll be there,” she giggles, her face nuzzling against her pillow. “Just know I’m a tough negotiator.”

Since when has knocking become so difficult?

It is the question you ask yourself as you stand outside the bathroom door. You quickly knock before you can change your mind.

“Yeah?”

“Um--are you decent?”

Your eyes grip shut as you let your own words sink in.

Are you decent?

The bathroom door opens to reveal a freshly showered Angel. He stands on one side of the double sink. His phone is in one hand, a towel in the other. He wears just a pair of briefs, his hair still dripping from the shower.

“What are you doing? You’ve been in here forever.”

“I've been done for a minute,” he responds, his eyes glued to his iPhone. “Didn’t know you were waiting on me.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t go to sleep until I brush my teeth.”

“You could’ve just come in.”

“You were taking a shower.” Your response is automatic.

It is also the same thing that has kept you waiting patiently on the bed for the past thirty minutes.

“You’ve seen me naked before, querida.”

He glances away from his phone to find you still hovering in the doorway. Toothbrush in hand. Your weight shifts as his eyes linger on the black satin sleepshirt you wear. His gaze returns to his phone once he realizes he’s still staring.

“You can enter since apparently, you need the invitation,” he responds, a smile finding his lips. He doesn’t need to see your face to know your eyes are rolling.

Angel may be silent as you start your nighttime skin routine, but he’s panicking inside. Panicking might not be the right word. Paranoia has begun to set in.

From the moment he and Ez made it stateside Friday night, the realization of his actions began to set in. The realization that he has somehow managed to tie himself to Tommy Flores for the second time. The note he'd shoved into his pocket was now in the trash back in Santo Padre. The message, however, was seared in his mind.

Always get insurance.

You were right to ask what Angel has been doing for the last thirty minutes. He’s been searching for information on Tommy. From the moment he started the search, Angel realized this was a terrible mistake.

Now that you’re standing next to him, the cut on his hand seems to throb. He glances down at the bandage. It’s bled through and needs to be removed.

You’re brushing your teeth when you glance up to the mirror before you. You pause, watching Angel's reflection as he studies his right hand. Strangely, it’s the first time you’ve noticed the bandage.

You wait until you’ve rinsed your mouth to face him.

“What happened to your hand?”

Instinctively, Angel moves his hand out of sight. He drops it to his side.

“Nothing,” he responds, suddenly focused on toweling his damp hair.

“It was bleeding?” You reach around him, ignoring his silent protest.

Angel knows there’s no point in fighting you on it. He turns to face you, allowing you to get a better look at his hand. Unwrapping it, you feel him flinch as the cool air hits the open cut. He drops the towel to the floor, resting back against the sink as your brow furrows.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Before he can respond, you’re already out of sight.

Angel stays where he is, waiting patiently for over five minutes. His brow rises when you return, a black bag in your hand. It is one he’s known you to carry for as long as he can remember. He always teases you for carrying the first aid kit, but always seems to need you to use it on him.

A tiny smile finds his lips as he watches you sit the bag on the sink. “You packed this in your suitcase.”

“No,” your eyes roll as you reach forward to cut on the water. “I keep it in the trunk. Let me see your hand.”

Offering it, Angel watches your expressions as you take the time to study the cut. Whatever questions are on your mind, you don’t share them with him. You don’t say anything else. You silently clean and wrap the cut.

“Thanks.”

The kiss he presses against your cheek halts the washing of your hands. He doesn’t linger to leave a second. He picks up his phone before leaving you alone.

When Angel wakes, he finds you quietly moving around the suite. Cell Phone in hand, one shoe in the other.

“You’re leaving me?”

His question causes you to jump.

“Yeah,” You release a sigh as you turn to find him watching you from his makeshift bed. “I was hoping you’d sleep through my getaway.”

Sitting up, Angel glances over as you take a seat alongside him. He silently watches as you slip on your shoe, his eyes passing over your leggings and sports bra.

“Where are you going?”

“Yoga. Figured you wouldn’t want to come. It’s not really your thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s a couples class…”

He doesn’t add anything to his previous statement. Instead, he stands.

“So, you’re coming?” You ask, watching as he pauses to stretch.

“Yeah, it’s just yoga.” He yawns. "Besides, Dr. Mallory said we gotta do things to nurture our souls."

You’re not sure if Angel tagged along to make a point or because he honestly thought it would be easy.

At the moment, you’re concentrating on keeping your breathing controlled and steady. Your eyes are closed, the only blinders you have for the man on the mat alongside yours.

Although you can no longer see him, you know Angel is in the same state as before.

Struggling.

The hushed “shit” he releases, as he wobbles, brings a tiny smile to your lips.

Angel’s eyes shift from the instructor, who is slowly making her way around the room, towards you. He readjusts his posture, trying his best to mirror your stance. But it seems no matter what he does, it doesn’t look like yours.

He wipes at the sweat on his brow. “I thought we were starting with the easy stuff.”

“This is a beginner’s pose,” you note. Your eyes open, a giggle escaping your lips once you take in the look of skepticism on his face.

“You sure?” Angel watches as you effortlessly move into the next pose. He releases a huff, his neck rolling before he tries to follow your lead. “Seems like you signed us up for the advanced class. Just so you could torture me.”

“I didn’t even know you were coming.”

Angel knows your statement is one of pure truth, but that doesn’t stop him from chuckling, “feels like a setup.”

“You know you can always do the modifications,” you nod towards the front of the room. “It’s easier.”

Angel follows your gaze to where an elderly couple is demonstrating the modified version of the pose.

“Easier?” Angel scoffs. “I don’t need easier, I’m doing pretty good--”

He speaks too soon. His weight tips forward, the sight causing your concentration to break. Before he can fall, you catch his left hand pulling him upright.

Angel blinks. His widened eyes move to meet your gaze. A sheepish grin finds his lips as your grip remains tight around his hand.

You eye his less than steady stance. “Are you okay?”

Angel nods. The grin on his face begins to morph. The sight of his smirk causes you to drop his hand.

“Shit, for a second, I thought you were mad enough to let me faceplant.”

“Shut up,” your eyes roll as you redirect your attention back to the instructor. “I just have good reflexes.”

Halfway through the class, Angel gives up trying to follow along. He spends the remainder of class distracting you. When he’s successful in making you smile, he complies with your request “Angel, please focus. You’re going to get us kicked out.”

He settles back into participating. He sticks solely to the modifications. When the class ends, he manages a few steps before collapsing on your mat.

He rests his head on your lap, preventing you from standing. His eyes drift shut as he lets out a deep breath.

“Angel, get up.”

“I can’t,” he sighs. His right-hand rests over his heart, the dramatic change in his breathing causing you to shake your head. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Your eyes roll as he remains where he is. Head resting against your lap, eyes closed, a tiny smile on his lips. It grows into a familiar grin as the warmth of your fingers brushes against his skin.

Your touch lightly brushes through his hair. You watch his eyes open to meet yours.

“I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing,” he chuckles.

“I’m relaxed,” you smile, your touch drifting to his jaw. “You’re not relaxed.”

“Now I am. It’s what you owe me, after that hour of torture.”

“You get an A for trying.”

He smiles falters as he watches you let out a deep breath. The smile on your face is gone, the sight letting him know his plan hasn't worked.

"Can you get up now?" You ask as your eyes follow the couples filing out.

A red 1964 Chevy Impala turns onto Rock Creek Avenue for the second time this Sunday morning. Windows rolled down, music playing low, it comes to a stop alongside the light blue fire hydrant marking the end of the street. Although its idling engine has been cut, the gear shift in park, its driver remains inside.

Dressed in a worn leather jacket, too hot for the already humid morning air, Leo releases the smoke in his lungs. He had committed the address to memory when Tommy had whispered it to him the morning before.

He stops to double-check the home’s number as he returns his cigarette to his lips.

1101 Rock Creek Avenue.

The house itself is nothing special. Apart from the sunflower yellow-painted door, it is nearly identical to the other single-story homes which line the street. A street that is strangely quiet for the hour.

The impala’s dash clock reads 11:35.

Leo leans across the console tugging the latch from the glovebox. Shifting the Ruger, which lays inside, he retrieves the folded newspaper. He pauses long enough to close the glovebox before settling back against his seat.

He stays that way, finishing off his slowly dwindling cigarette, scribbling on the paper in his hand.

The Saturday edition of the Daily Imperial Gazette has a newly noted license plate number written in its top-left corner. The crossword puzzle for the day, ninety percent complete.

Focused on the black and white squares before him, Leo lets out a breath.

An eleven-letter word for satisfaction?

“...vindication…” he mumbles, scribbling the answer into the boxes. His gaze shifts to the watch on his wrist.

12:01.

A shift in his peripheral causes Leo to direct his attention elsewhere.

The sunflower yellow door opens, a woman stepping out. She has a black BB-8 backpack slung over her left shoulder, the eye of the orange and white droid catching a glint of sunlight. Her long dark curls are pulled into a high ponytail. She wears a purple tie-dye sundress and white platform sneakers. She turns back to the door, smiling at the man who steps out after her.

Although Leo has never met Angel, he knows this is not him. The prospect patch stitched across the back of Ez’s kutte, the indicator he needs.

“I can’t wait to see you have some actual fun,” Isabela giggles as Ez stops before her.

Ez’s brow furrows, the corner of his lips turning up slightly, as he meets her playful gaze.

“You make it sound like I’m boring.”

“Uh-uh, don’t put that on me. I did not say boring, you did.” Isabela’s nose scrunches in concentration. Her smile widens as she settles on a more fitting word to describe the man before her. “You’re always so...serious.”

“Serious…” Ez echoes. He watches as Isabela bites her lip, suddenly wondering if her word choice was taken on the offense. As she opens her mouth to add an explanation, Ez shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m just saying, I think I’ve seen you crack a smile maybe once since you’ve been here,” Isabela adds. “You don’t laugh at any of my jokes--”

“Maybe they’re not funny.” Ez glances up from the sunglasses in his hands. He watches Isabela’s hand find her chest, her mouth falling open in disbelief. “Besides, I didn't realize you were trying to impress me.”

For once, in their time together, Ez is able to render Isabela speechless. The smile that brightens his features, causes Isabela’s eyes to roll as she steps around him.

“Wait, can we go back a second? Did Ezekiel Reyes actually crack a joke?”

“I do it from time to time.”

“Well, you should do it more often because you have a cute smile, Zeke,” she teases. “Can’t blame a girl from wanting to see it more often.”

Ez fails at stopping the smile on his lips from morphing into a grin as he slips his sunglasses over his eyes.

Isabela takes a step back inside. “Jeyson Iván Reyes! Let’s go!”

With Isabela no longer before him, Ez’s gaze passes over the street coming to a stop on the red Chevy Impala. Aside from being illegally parked, the car would catch the attention of any passerby. It’s not every day that one sees a vintage car, in pristine condition, riding through the streets of Santo Padre.

He steps forward, giving the car a closer look. But he looks away once he gets the look at the driver’s seat. A man focused solely on flipping through a copy of the Daily Imperial Gazette.

Leo lowers the newspaper slightly. His focus moves past an unsuspecting Ez to the little boy who bolts out the front door.

In his Lakers jersey, Jeyson Reyes is nearly a blur of purple and gold. His laughter drifts down the street as his uncle catches and lifts him into the air.

“Someone’s excited,” Isabela giggles as Ez lowers Jeyson back to his feet.

“I wanna try the bumper cars!” The grin on Jeyson’s face is wide. His entire body radiates with anticipation as he impatiently watches his uncle lock the door. “And the ride that spins you around really really fast so that you’re dizzy—and the mini golf!”

“Yeah?” Isabela’s fingers brush through Jeyson’s curls. Her playful eyes drift to Ez, the smile on her face grows as Jeyson follows her gaze. “I think you and I can beat Ez over here. What do you say, J?”

Ez’s brow arches, his eyes briefly meeting hers before moving to Jeyson’s.

“We can beat him. Easy.” The confidence in Jeyson’s voice is almost enough to break his uncle’s facade.

Ez’s eyes study both pairs of brown eyes focused on him, his head shaking softly.

“I don’t know,” he winces as he steps towards the car. “What are you willing to bet on it, J?”

For a moment, Jeyson is silent. An endless amount of possibilities rush through the eight-year-old’s mind. His round eyes widen as he settles on an answer.

“Funnel cake.”

“Good choice.” Ez squats down before Jeyson. He offers him his hand, pulling it back slightly once Jeyson reaches for it. His gaze lifts to Isabela, his resolve finally cracking, a smile slipping through. “You two can’t back out when I win.”

Folding the newspaper, Leo tosses it into the passenger seat as he watches the truck back out of the driveway. As the truck rolls to a halt, before the stop sign at the end of the street, the engine of the 1964 Chevy Impala rumbles to life.

“When can we go on the Ferris Wheel?” Jeyson groans, the impatient whine in his voice causes his uncle to smile.

“In a minute.” Ez ruffles Jeyson’s hair before reaching into his kutte for his vibrating phone. “We gotta wait for Isabela.”

“Where is she?” Jeyson pouts. Standing on his toes, he releases a huff once he doesn’t see her. “She’s been gone forever!”

In reality, it’s only been five minutes. But five minutes can seem like a lifetime to a kid waiting anxiously to continue his exploration of the carnival.

Two hours in, and Ez has learned that Jeyson doesn’t tire easily.

“I thought you wanted ice cream?” Ez chuckles, glancing over to watch Jeyson shake his head.

“Not anymore,” Jeyson sighs. “I want to go on the Ferris Wheel.”

“We will the second Isabela gets back. Okay?”

Despite the pout on his lips, Jeyson nods as he meets his uncle's gaze.

The text that holds Ez attention is from you. It is a question that has been on your mind for the past few days.

Zeke, need that brain of yours. PLEASE tell me you know of a club with a stallion patch?

Ez’s brow furrows as he reads over the message. He types the first thought that pops into his mind. Followed quickly by the second.

Horsemen.

Don’t know much about them. Prospect...limited information. Gotta ask Angel about that stuff. He was at the table Friday.

He glances up from his phone at the burst of laughter coming from a passing group of teenage girls. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he takes it forward once he realizes that the insistent voice of Jeyson is no longer there.

“Jeyson?” Ez’s brow furrows as his gaze passes over those closest to him.

He has no sight of Jeyson, his stomach dropping as he takes another step forward.

The second time he calls Jeyson’s name his voice is louder, a slight tremble slipping in.

Despite it being a Sunday afternoon, the carnival is packed. The Ferris Wheel is on the last round of its current cycle. This has ushered in a shift in the crowd. People are rushing to make it to the line, excited for a seat on the upcoming cycle.

“Jeyson?”

The cheers and music drown out Ez’s voice. Between the bodies pressing against him and the breath that seems harder to pass than the previous, Ez can't quite remember the way he’s just turned from.

The tightness in his chest causes him to stumble forward. The thought of finding Jeyson slips away with each painful squeeze of his heart. It becomes painfully loud, drowning out the same cheers and music that had blanketed his voice mere seconds before. He can’t focus. His mind is useless, unable to bridge the disconnect to the rest of his body.

No matter how hard he tries to get air, Ez chokes on each breath he takes. No amount of air that he swallows can be caught by his lungs. He is left breathless, his feet blindly searching for a break in the crowd. His vision is blurred, the images blurring as his focus scrambles.

Through the crowd, he catches sight of a disfigured BB-8 backpack.

“Thank you! Have a great day.” Isabela’s smile widens as she accepts the two ice cream cones from the vendor. She drops the change into the tip jar, carefully sidestepping the couple running past her.

She stops to take a lick of her ice cream, her eyes scanning the crowd. She starts to move forward, in the direction of the designated meet-up point. A tall green pole, that houses a baby blue flag at its top.

Through the break in the crowd, she catches sight of Ez’s kutte. Her steps slow once she realizes he’s bent over, the cones she holds slipping through her fingers.

Ez can’t hear his name on her lips, but he can feel the heat of her shaking hands as they cup his face. Her body shifts with his, as Ez’s back presses against the pole. His lightheadedness dragging his body to the ground.

Despite the trembling of her hands, Isabela’s voice is calm as she lowers herself to her knees before him.

“Ez--hey, look at me. I need you to breathe. Okay?” The softness of her voice lifts Ez’s gaze from his trembling hands. A smile finds her lips, the sight forcing him to take a breath. “Good. Here.”

Taking his left hand in his, Isabela gives it a gentle squeeze before moving to place it over her heart.

“It’s okay, you and I can do it together.” Isabela takes a deep steady breath, Ez’s hand rising and falling with the motion.

It takes a second breath for him to follow suit. The harsh intake of breath comes in slightly smoother than before. His right-hand finds her waist, his eyes drifting shut as he tries to push out another breath.

The grip on her hip is painfully tight, but Isabela remains in place. Resting her forehead against his, she continues to breathe, her fingers gently brush against his cheek. With each passing second, her heart slowly anchors his forcing it to match the steady rhythm beating against his palm.

“Shit--” Ez’s voice comes out hoarse, shaky as he opens his eyes. “I’m sorry--”

His body tips back. Isabela’s weight pressed against him as her arms wrap around his neck. The hug she gives is tight, causing Ez to blink.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I uh--I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Ez.” Isabela shakes her head, pulling back to get a look at Ez’s face.

The look of concern on her face drops Ez’s gaze to his hands. The slight tremble that remains causes him to clench his fist together.

He attempts to swallow the lump in his throat, but it remains. His voice comes out thick, as he shakes his head slightly.

“I haven’t had one of those in years,” he speaks quietly. “The first year in Stockton…”

Isabela nods, not needing him to finish the thought. Instead, she wraps her arms back around him. This time, Ez returns the hug, his face resting against the warmth of her neck briefly.

It’s not until she has him steady and on his feet that Isabela lets out a deep breath.

She looks around when a realization sets in.

“Where’s Jeyson?” The look on Ez’s face causes her to take a step sideways.

As she turns around, she stumbles forward nearly tripping over a grinning Jeyson.

“Oh my god--” Isabela lets out a deep breath, her hand finding her forehead as her eyes drift shut. “Jeyson, where did you go?”

Jeyson’s words come out muffled as he attempts to speak through a mouthful of hot dough.

“We went to get a funnel cake.”

“What?” Isabela’s eyes open.

Jeyson stands with a large plated funnel cake in hand. He wears a grin.

“You can have some,” he offers as Isabela brushes at the powered sugar dusting his cheek.

She blinks. “You don’t ever walk off without me or Ez. You don’t go with strangers, you know that--”

“He wasn’t a stranger.” Jeyson glances up from the piece of funnel cake in his hand. “He was daddy’s friend. He knew my name. He said it was a gift for doing good at my recital.”

His brown eyes widen as he takes in the look of confusion on Isabela’s face.

“Am I in trouble?” He asks. The possibility causes Jeyson’s smile to falter.

“No,” Isabela shakes her head, wrapping him in a hug. “You scared me, that’s all.”

You can learn a lot about a person from their home. Leo discovers all he needs about you the moment he enters yours.

Your son is the center of your universe.

Leo stands in your living room, his eyes passing over the incomplete Millennium Falcon set in the middle of the floor. Overstepping the abandoned legos, he moves closer for a better look at the photos hanging on the wall.

Jeyson is in nearly every photo. Spanning from baby photos, holiday shots, candid moments of fun, to yearbook photos, they allow Jeyson to grow up before Leo’s eyes.

He pauses at the latest hung photo.

Taken in September, it shows Jeyson standing between you and his father. The smile he wears matches Angel’s to the tee. It was taken on the first day of third grade. Jeyson is wearing his Gilman Prep uniform.

Leo lifts his phone, delaying long enough to snap a photo before moving on.

He starts his trek through the house. Sifting through recently delivered mail, abandoned on the kitchen counter. The piano holding the sheet music for Jeyson's recently passed recital. Studying the neatly printed schedule written across the whiteboard on the refrigerator door. The fully stocked bookshelf in Jeyson’s bedroom. The password-protected laptop on the desk of your office. The gun safe in your bedroom closet.

As he returns the closet door to its original position, his eyes pass over the room. They land on the dresser. The wooden, hand-carved jewelry box is smaller than he would anticipate from a woman. The first item to catch his attention is the oval cut diamond of your engagement ring, paired with the matching wedding band. He lifts both, pausing to study them in the sunlight peeking through the bedroom window. Returning them to their original resting place, he lifts the tiny velvet red box nearby. Inside, he finds a pearl necklace.

The necklace itself is simple. A single pearl embellished with a small, round white stone. It is a necklace you rarely take off. It was gifted to you years ago at a high school graduation dinner by Marisol.

Closing the box, Leo pockets it before leaving. The only sign he was ever there is the unlocked front door. It gives Ez a brief moment of a pause upon his return. He’s almost certain he locked it when they left. But with the high-speed rate Jeyson is talking at the moment, he chalks it up to his mind spacing.

series taglist: @angelreyesgirl89 @holl2712 @relaxing-najee @thedeviltohisangel @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @amorestevens @witching-hour @seize-the-droid @rosieposie0624 @sesamepancakes @est1887 @queenbeered @ticosas @blessedboo @helli4nthus @katjusja @melanicia @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @moneteguiza

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#let me know what you think?#angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #lover of mine #mayans mc fic

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foodieforthoughts · 3 years

Text

Sand and Stars - Chapter Nine

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, angst, foul language, mentions of war, military technicalities

A/N: I had been struggling to write this chapter for so long, being at a loss of words, even if I have the entire plot figured out. But a quick chat with @agniavateira finally gave me a boost. So thank you honey. And obviously a huge thank you to my favorite, my girl, @thelastsock for patiently beta-reading it. I am forever grateful to you, sweety.

Also, it is kind of like a filler chapter really, but everyone is at Camp Warhorse and the temperatures are soaring high!

<Chapter Eight

Title: Chapter Nine

Liv could feel her heart race and her pulse echo in her ears. Her hands were beginning to sweat inside the gloves, and she knew for a fact it wasn’t because of the summer heat that had descended upon the arid desert of Iraq. She glanced at Sloan who puffed her cheeks before taking quick steps backwards and running back to where she came from.

Taking a deep ragged breath, Liv slung her gun over her shoulder and removed her helmet, holding it in the crook of her arm as she walked towards the two men. Alex looked completely different than the last time she had spent time with him. He had his sunglasses on, camouflage cap perched on his head and his jaw covered with a clean cut beard. Even with the uncharacteristic facial hair Alex had going on, he walked with the arrogance of the decorated military officer that he was. Next to him, Sy looked rugged and even though he was in his military sanctioned t-shirt and camo pants, there was a distinguishing difference between the two Captains.

“Sergeant Ross.” Alex called out, taking off his sunglasses. He smiled at her staying put in his spot but scrutinized her with a glance from head to toe. Putting his hands behind his back, Alex stood straight, exuding the kind of dominance he always did in public. “Captain Syverson was telling me about how great a help your unit has been around here.”

Liv felt her mouth go dry as she looked at a grinning Sy with his hands placed low on his hips. He was looking at her proudly, puffing out his chest just a little bit. But Liv couldn’t bask in his admiration because the thought of the two men discussing about her made her stomach twist with nervousness.

“Sy is too kind.”

She did not miss the surprise in Alex’s eyes when the words left her mouth. She felt the anxious sweat return, beads of sweat trickling down her back now. Awkwardly adjusting her gun strap over her shoulder, she waited until either of them spoke.

“Sy?” Alex asked, crossing his arms over his chest. His stance showed how he was not in approval of a junior rank calling a senior officer informally. Liv was beginning to remember why she felt smothered around Alex, it was his overly decorous and overbearing nature that had made her realize she could never be with a person like him.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the three of them. Liv noted how her unit members working on carrying the ammunition from the Humvees were throwing glances their way. It was humiliating for her to be meeting both of her partners out in the open, in front of everyone where she couldn’t hide the uneasiness.

“They call me that.” Sy intervened and Liv couldn’t have been more thankful. His grin had disappeared though, replaced with a tight-lipped gritting of his teeth. She could see the muscle in his jaw clenching and his eyes boring into hers. Without glancing at the man standing next to him, Sy took a step forward. Liv’s heart thumped against her chest as she expected Sy to do something to assert his claim on her but let out a sigh of relief as he only reached inside his pocket and pulled out her chain.

She was immensely relieved when Sy only whispered, “You forgot this.” Before handing her the chain in her palm. She nodded at him while smiling weakly. He seemed to be observing her too, looking at her with slightly narrowed eyes. Clearing his throat, Alex pulled their attention towards him. Liv quickly pocketed the chain, careful to not let Alex see it and looked at the newly arrived captain.

“Can I speak to you in private, Sergeant?” He asked, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands inside his pockets. He waited until she replied, glancing at her and Sy before turning around and walking towards the housing building.

Liv almost did not want to follow him. She wanted to stay there with Sy, maybe take him to the roof and go back to the time when they sat there drinking chai. Balling her hands into fists at the unfavorable circumstances she had been thrown into, Liv only touched Sy on his arm before walking towards the man who was the worst mistake of her life.

Placing her gun on the floor to rest against the wall, Liv started to search for Alex when she felt her body being turned around and slammed against the wall. Air left her lungs at the force and her senses went on high alert, her hands ready to get a hold of the person’s neck when she noticed who it was. Alex had pressed his entire body against hers, every contour of her frame touching his.

“Alex,” his name barely left her lips before she was rendered speechless as his lips came down on hers. Grabbing at her hair and winding his arm around her waist, Alex deepened the kiss with his lips parting and his tongue darting inside her mouth. She was aware of the empty corridor with footsteps sounding only a few feet away, but the familiarity of his body against her, the taste of his lips and the tight grasp of his hand in her hair made her close her eyes. She relaxed in his arms, letting him ravage her mouth. Her eyes snapped open, her hand had slid into his hair but instead of the buzzcut she'd come to love, she felt soft length between her fingers.

Disgusted with herself and her wrongdoing, Liv turned her face to the side. Bringing her hands to his chest, she pushed Alex away, panting to catch her breath. Alex staggered backwards and hurt instantly flashed in his green orbs, making its way to her own heart. She couldn’t meet his eyes for the last time she had tried to break things off, her guilt had caught up to her and she couldn’t do it.

“Liv,” Alex whispered, beginning to take a step forward when two heavy footsteps came running their way. Looking towards the open doorway, Liv spotted two of her men running towards them.

“A team was attacked, they just arrived. Captain Syverson told me to get you both to his office.”

Quickly nodding at her men, Liv picked up her gun from the floor. She adjusted her fatigues, her cheeks heating under Alex’s gaze. She needed to address their situation, but it had to wait. She looked over her shoulder at him and felt remorse creeping its way into her gut again as he stared at her appalled.

***

Sy stood at the entrance of the building with the cup of coffee in his hand. He sipped the steaming liquid as he scanned the compound as several units prepared to leave for their patrols around the village. They had increased the security around the camp since last week’s attack on their men. Luckily, no one was severely injured, but it had been a huge blow for Liv’s confidence.

Sy had watched as she had entered his office fuming with anger. He had anticipated she would be upset since the person at the head of the attacking group of militants was the insider, she'd believed was on their side. He had tried to assure her no one held her accountable for the attack, but he knew her plenty by now. He knew she would berate herself about it and go back into her shell of self-loathing.

And she had done exactly that.

Sy licked his lips, gulping down the bitter shot of caffeine as he spotted Liv with her unit. She was helping her corporal load up the box of ammunition and instructing them. He admired her dedication to her work immensely, but on the other hand he also wanted her to just let herself go once in a while.

His eyes narrowed as he observed Alex making his way towards her. He had decided from the very moment he met the captain, that he did not like him. Sy had read about him; born and brought up in a family of army officers, gone to private school and having arrogant pricks as his relatives, Alex was the kind of army man Sy despised. He had noticed the way Alex tried to ascertain control over Liv or his subordinates, very subtly hinting at things that he wanted to happen his way.

But those weren’t the only things that he disliked about the new Captain. Sy hated the fact that while Liv was maintaining her distance from him, she was spending an awful lot of time with Alex.

It wasn’t happening in an obvious kind of way, but since Sy could hardly ever keep his eyes off of the woman he loved, he would spot the two of them together up and around the compound. When they spoke, he noted how Liv’s body was stiff, but she spoke effortlessly. He would feel the muscles in his arms twitch when Alex would place his hand on her arm, and she would lean into his touch. He had gathered from a few of Alex’s men that Liv and Alex had been friends for a really long time.

Sy felt the bubbling of an emotion, which had no other word than being called jealousy, as he watched the two interact. He gripped his cup tightly as he watched Alex place his hand over her shoulder, a minute too long for Sy’s liking. He detested how Liv did not shrug away from Alex’s touch and every time Sy spotted them together like that, all he wanted to do was throw his arm around Liv and blatantly claim in front of everyone that she was his.

He took in a deep breath when Alex started walking towards him. Widening his stance and crossing his arms over his chest, Sy stood with confidence as the other captain made his way to him. He saw Liv looking at them from her place near the Humvees. They had a long eye contact with straight faces until Liv turned around to get inside the vehicle.

“Good day there Sy?” Alex stood next to him with his hands inside his pockets. Sy regarded him with a half-hearted smile before his eyes fell to the silver chain tangled up with the man's dog tags.

“That chain?” Sy pointed at the glinting medal laying on Alex’s chest. “That’s-”

“Saint Christopher. A gift from my mother to keep me safe.” He answered, his voice gruff from the early morning.

Sy narrowed his eyes, trying to study the make of the medal without being too obvious. He felt a pit in his belly as a realization dawned on him. “Liv has one too.” He meant to say it to himself, but unknowingly murmured the words out loud.

Alex chuckled, swiping his hand through his neatly combed hair. Squaring his shoulders and turning slightly to face Sy, Alex spoke. “I gave it to her. Don’t want anything to be happening to her.”

Sy felt his mouth go dry. He smiled at Alex but his mind was racing with all this new information. He couldn’t understand why when he already knew they were friends, Sy felt himself becoming irate. He couldn’t differentiate if he was angry about them being close or the sinking gut feeling he had that something was going on behind his back.

Sy couldn’t shrug the feeling off. All he could do the whole day was look at his watch and wait for anyone to come announce at his door that Liv was back to the camp.He had to talk to Liv about it, he needed the peace of mind. His thoughts were swirling about Liv and Alex, bordering on overthinking about every little detail about her life she had told him. He couldn’t concentrate on his work and he had stared at the piece of paper in his hand for far too long. Irritated at himself, Sy threw his cap on the table and rubbed his hand over his face.

He looked up when he felt a presence at the door and as if he conjured her, delight filled his chest as spotted Liv. Sy didn't waste any time in covering the short distance between them, pulling at her arm and closing the door in one swift move. Sy held her neck, tilting her face to capture her lips with his. He felt her melt in his arms, bringing her hands to rest on his shoulders while he nudged her lips open with the tip of his tongue. Their tongues danced, interrupted only as she moaned into the kiss, grasping at his t-shirt until the fabric was taut across his shoulders. Gasping for air, Sy parted from the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’ve missed you.” He shakily professed, pecking the tip of her nose.

“I’ve missed you too, Sy.” She breathed out, smiling at him and rubbing the nape of his neck. “Listen, can you come to the roof tonight? I really need to talk to you.”

Sy felt an unknown dread envelop him. He knew those words never meant anything good. He looked her in the eye, trying to understand what she meant, but seeing nothing but silent pleas. Taking her lips in his one more time and he savoured every moment, before he let go of her.

And then she was gone, leaving his office feeling weirdly empty.

***

Liv chewed on her bottom lip as she looked out towards the vast expanse of the desert. There was a lot more chatter in the compound with the new people arriving. She waited for the lights to turn out, for midnight to roll in and finally meet Sy in their safe haven.

She had taken a week to realize what she felt for the man. Scared to address it, maybe she would have taken even longer if it weren’t for Alex. For when he had kissed her that day, she had finally realised the difference in her feelings. But she had remained quiet, distanced herself a little from Sy, to understand what she really wanted.

Liv felt a pleasant warmth in her chest about how much she loved the stupid captain she had stumbled upon in the desert.

Lost in her thoughts, smiling to herself as she thought about Sy, Liv did not notice the person standing behind her. The warmth of their breath caressed her neck as they leaned in and wound their arms around her body. Letting out a sigh, Liv felt herself leaning against the hardness of his chest, wrapping her arms over his and closing her eyes.

“Sy,” She whispered expecting to be turned around but instead she felt him go stiff. Her eyes flew open as their arms dropped from her waist and she noticed the faint smell of the cologne that she recognized belonged to someone who wasn’t Sy.

Turning around swiftly, Liv felt the blood drain from her face when she came face to face with an astounded Alex. He stared at her with knitted eyebrows, his mouth slightly open and his figure looming over her. She took a step back from him, feeling her heart race and her cheeks heat under his accusing glare.

“Did you just call me, Sy?” He said through gritted teeth. The veins in his neck strained as he took a step forward. “What is going on between you and Syverson?”

“Alex, what are you doing here?” Liv asked meekly, feeling miniscule in front of him.

“Answer me.” He demanded, his eyes blazing even under the faint glow of the moonlight. “Are you fucking him? Is that what you’ve been doing here?”

Liv’s feet touched the low wall as Alex made her cower away from him. Coming to stand extremely close to her, Alex towered over his Sergeant. She could see how his eyes bore into hers, anger flaming in his orbs. She felt herself jump when he caught a hold of her arms, gripping them tightly.

“Alex,” she pleaded, feeling the spasming pain as his infuriated grasp increased in pressure.

“You said you loved me.”

Tears were beginning to brim in her eyes under the pain. She had seen Alex angry before, but this was different. It felt like he was overtaken by a mad man as he clenched her tightly.

“You’re hurting me, Alex.” She couldn’t help but let out a whimper, pursing her lips to stop from crying out.

“You said you loved me.” He repeated again with fervor.

“I never said I loved you.” She spat out, trying to free herself from him. “I never loved you, Alex. I am not fucking Sy, I love him.” She wrapped her arms around herself as Alex let go of her. She rubbed the sore spots on her arms as she tried to breathe through her pain. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she sat down on the ledge, looking at Alex who stood stunned.

“I should have told you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She tried to apologize but Alex looked at her like they meant nothing but mere words.

Balling his hands into fists and gritting his teeth, Alex huffed angrily before turning on his heels and walking away. Liv grimaced when he pulled the worn-out door open, it rattled against the hinges and rebounded with a bang when he threw it open against the wall. This is what she had feared. Liv had not only intentionally hurt someone, but she had also lost a friend.

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stubbychaos · 4 years

Text

Ori Kebiin and Saviin’ika

Chapter 8 of Saviin’ika

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Paz takes you to the covert after your long day, despite you not being accepted by everyone in the tribe yet. Though you are content to finally be away from a toxic environment, Paz wants his vengeance towards those who have hurt you.

Rating: M

Word Count: 13,000 (I kinda got carried away)

Warnings: Brief mentions of psychological abuse and manipulation, as well as the aftermath of the attempted sexual assault from last chapter. Again, there’s mentions of blood, but not nearly as graphic as the last chapter!

Translations will all be at the end since there’s so many this chapter. I separated the actual dialogue from the typical nicknames and such. The title, however, translates to “Big Blue and Little Violet” :)

You have no idea how you manage the strength to walk on your feet after the day you’ve had, but you think Paz’s hand firmly pressed to the small of your back gives you the motivation to be stronger.

Though the dread still lingers like a dark rain cloud over your frantic heart as Paz leads you to your home to grab a change of clothes, you’re certain that the Mandalorian would not let anything happen to you should your father be awake. His thumb moves in firm little circles against the thick material of his cape that’s shielding your body from any wandering eyes and even though you can’t get the memory of slaying the Trandoshan out of your mind, you feel slightly better now that your warrior had cleaned as much of the blood away from your skin as he possibly could.

Out of sight, but never out of mind, you resentfully realize as you slowly approach the worn down hut you’ve lived in for your entire life and find the thought of living anywhere else strange, but certainly not disheartening in the slightest. Paz gently urges you behind him as he leads you inside the building, his leather-clad fingers firmly wrapped around your wrist and you can’t help but to smile weakly at his diligence and insistence on keeping you safe from anymore danger.

Much to your relief, you hear your father’s snores from the other room, most likely blacked out on alcohol or his drug of choice and you hastily lead Paz into your tiny room, only letting go of his hand so you can sift through the wooden crate where you keep what little clothes and garments you own.

“Cyare,” Paz whispers the nickname, perhaps remembering that your abuser sleeps in the room down the hall; he makes sure to keep his voice down as he gathers some of your toiletries and carefully situates them in a small canvas bag, “Where we are going, it is deep underground--it is much colder--do you have anything warmer to wear?”

You blink and manage to find a large cable knit sweater that you haven’t worn in such a long time, along with a thicker pair of leggings and some clean undergarments; you freeze when the Mandalorian speaks again.

“And something to sleep in?”

Heat floods your cheeks and earlobes and you nervously move to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, growing even more embarrassed when you realize the strands are matted to your neck with blood, “Am I staying the night there?”

You find a thin-sleeved, satin night gown that falls a few inches above your knees and you slowly rise to turn and face Paz, noticing the tension in his shoulders as he stares at you through the safety of his visor. You’ve never once questioned his loyalty to the creed by asking what he looks like underneath the helmet, but you suddenly find yourself jealous that he is able to conceal his features upon feeling nervous or shy. He reaches out to gently stroke your jaw, helmet tilting to the side as you hold your clean clothes tightly to your chest; he is silent as he collects the fabric from your tight hold and places it in the canvas bag.

“You would not be turned away after the day you’ve had,” He reassures you, cupping his hand to the side of your neck, “I am hoping they will let you stay permanently once they meet you.”

Your heart swells and you nod a little, your heart pumping furiously in your chest at the thought of spending the night with him again, let alone the rest of your days.

“Thank you,” You fiddle nervously with your large sweater as he continues to stare at you, “I… I will change now.”

“Then I won’t look,” He hums, sounding slightly amused as he turns his back to you, “Unless you wish for me to see you, little nurse?”

An intense heat spreads throughout your face as you let his cape fall from your shoulders and you begin to remove your boots. You remember the way the Trandoshan’s grimy hands had found the hem of your dress and you drop your head in shame as you peel away your undergarments and replace them with fresh ones. You feel sick and ashamed that it had nearly gotten to the point where he had taken advantage of you and you want to tell Paz exactly what had happened, but the feeling of your attacker’s hands on your torso leaves you feeling raw and vulnerable.

You’re embarrassed.

“I fear you would not like what you would see.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet moves in a jolting gesture, though he makes sure not to completely turn his head towards you and your heart thrums frantically when you realize it must be out of respect for your own wishes. You’re hasty to cover your chest with a clean bralette and you feel as though your cheeks are on fire when you replace your shorts with fresh undergarments and thick leggings, all while keeping your eyes on the back of his helmet.

“You are beautiful, cyare,” Paz softly reminds you, his baritone as low and quiet as his modulator will allow him, “I don’t like seeing you bruised and hurt, but it does not take away from your beauty. I do not think I could go through all of your pain without any armor; it must be difficult to bare your scars for all to see.”

You think it to be the most heartfelt compliment he could give you--informing you that he believes your strength and endurance to be up to his standards--and you smile warmly at the back of his helmet.

“Okay,” You eventually murmur as you tug the large sweater over your head, the cozy fabric fitting you similarly to a short, loose dress, “I’m ready.”

The Mandalorian turns to face you just as you’re grabbing his cape that you had neatly placed on the foot of your bed; his helmet tilts to the side as he watches you hug the material close to your chest. Thinking he doesn’t need the warm fabric yet, you hold onto it tightly as you follow him out your room, tensing a little when you’re met with utter silence, rather than your father’s typical loud snores. Paz must notice it too, because you watch as his hand immediately moves to the blaster sheathed against his hip; your heart pounds wildly in your chest as the two of you make it up the two stairs leading out of the hut.

Before you even realize what’s going on, Paz immediately whips around and draws a blaster within a fraction of a second, carefully pushing you behind him; you’re confused, until you hear a familiar voice that you’re certain will forever haunt you, even if you never see him again.

“Where do you think you’re going, little one?” You tilt your head to the side so you can see your father staggering towards you and Paz, “You decide to fucking not show up to one of your shifts and thought I would be okay with it? Then you bring him here? After everything I told you? Are you really that fucking stupid or do I need to--?”

You snap before the Mandalorian does.

For the third time in the last twenty-four hours--you absolutely snap.

“I have had one of the longest, roughest days of my life, so don’t you dare make me feel bad for not showing up to work or bringing him here!” You step to the side and put yourself in front of Paz, though he still keeps his blaster pointed on the drunk man who poses no real threat to the warrior, “I have been working every day for you for the last decade and never once have you ever thanked me for the time I put in--for all that I have done for you and working for free! You never once thanked me for all the tears and blood I have shed for you at the expense of your own hands and I am exhausted.”

Your father--Maker, does he look stunned by your outburst--and you’re certain that if Paz wasn’t there, he would have struck you the moment you raised your voice, but his eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he regards you. You think of the Trandoshan and the bounty hunter and how both of them had caused you such rage, fear, and desperation and you suddenly find it easier to argue with your only living blood.

You don’t even notice the way Paz tenses behind you when your father staggers forward, nearly tripping over his own feet and you suddenly feel embarrassed for the kind of torment you have let this pathetic man inflict upon you. You’re shaking with the trauma from such a horrific day as you step a little closer to him, speaking through clenched teeth at the man who’s made your life a living hell for as long as you can remember.

After killing the Trandoshan, you think you’re not fazed by anything, let alone your father’s clumsy anger.

“You have put me through so much pain and so much agony--so much torture--Maker, do you have a heart at all? Do you even realize what you’ve done to me? How much you’ve scarred my body and my mind?!” You force yourself not to cry, thinking he doesn’t deserve a single tear from you when he’s stolen so many in your life, “I am supposed to be your daughter, not your slave, and I won’t let you treat me as such anymore!”

Your chest is heaving wildly as he simply stares at you in shock, probably not even aware you were capable of storing such hatred and fury in your tender heart.

"I have never hated anyone as much as I hate you," You seethe, speaking through clenched teeth as you watch the way your words sober him, his back straightening a little "I hope you feel a fraction of the same loneliness and pain you have made me feel after I leave this awful place; I hope it haunts you everyday until you finally die."

Your father’s eyes widen and you’re certain he is shocked at the courage you have somehow obtained within a single day, though it still does not stop him from continuing to berate you

“And what would you do when he grows tired of you?” He sneers, though you simply shake your head, remembering how your warrior had declared his love for you and you force yourself to remember the devotion in his deep baritone, “You think those monsters would actually take you in as one of their own? You think this savage could genuinely love someone like you? Someone so weak and useless? They’ll use you and simply throw you away, just like anyone else would.”

You hear Paz snarl behind you, no doubt shaking with rage and a desire for wrath against your father, but you offer your last living relative a weak smile and nod a little, thinking of everything your warrior has done for you in the last few months and the happiness he’s given you. Perhaps you’re not as naive as you once thought--now so used to the horrors of such a cruel planet--and you’re certain that if this huge warrior insists his love for you, he must not be lying.

“I am not weak nor useless and I now know that,” You insist fiercely, and even though your voice trembles, you feel the words deep down in your bones--in your soul--and you step closer to the man whose unfocused gaze is currently switching between you and Paz frantically, “I am far stronger than you have ever led me to believe and I will not let you tear down me, nor the only man who has ever built me up. Even if I am not accepted, I will find a way to make a life for myself because anywhere is better than this hell.”

His angry expression cracks as soon as he realizes he no longer has any control over your inhibitions or choices and you know what’s about to happen--the manipulative words he’s about to spew.

“Y-You can’t leave me!” He doesn’t sound angry, but more so frantic at the thought of no longer having control over you, and he pleadingly holds out his careless hands, “You are my only family I have left.”

Though you feel a twinge of pain in your heart at how distraught he suddenly sounds, you turn your head to peer at Paz over your shoulder, who now has his blaster lowered. His helmet tilts to the side a little when he sees the conflict etched on your features and you think he must be incredulous that you even have to think about this--choosing between him or your father--but he simply gives you a curt nod and you turn back to your father.

“You said it yourself--” You whisper, backing away from his stumbling form before he can reach you, “You have no daughter, nor do I have a father.”

As soon as you see the look of despair melt into something more intense, something you’re so acclimated with--that anger, that intense fury--you immediately know you’ve made the right choice. Feeling flustered and slightly overwhelmed, you hastily turn around and storm past the usually talkative Mandalorian that has grown deathly silent and still as his Beskar gaze follows your small form that’s still clutching his cape close to your chest.

“Don’t forget that promise, you useless bitch! I’ll make you both fucking suffer,” He spits, instantly making you freeze and though dread crawls up your spine, you slowly turn to find Paz charging towards the much smaller, more feeble man with great furiosity that you’ve never seen from him, “Fucking Manda--”

You watch with wide eyes as your warrior immediately wraps his fingers around your newly estranged father’s neck and you are quick to make your way towards the two men when Paz effortlessly shoves him up against the outside of the hut with enough force to crack the outside of the little building. Your father claws desperately at the hand that has him pinned to the building, his feet an inch or two off the ground and you freeze when you hear the anger and pain in Paz’s modulated voice.

“You are lucky the little nurse has a tender heart and doesn’t wish for me to end your sorry existence, because I would have gladly had your lifeless body at her feet the moment I first saw you mistreat her,” Paz easily inches him higher off the ground, not seeming all too worried about his comfort as he squeezes his hand tighter around the struggling man’s esophagus, “You have caused her enough pain to last a lifetime and I will not watch you hurt her anymore with your words or hands.”

Your father’s mouth is wide open as he gasps and flops wildly like a fish on land when Paz finally drops him and you can tell it’s taking everything out of him to not cause the older man further damage as he wheezes violently at the warrior’s feet. You think you should feel sorry for your father, but instead you feel embarrassed that you have let someone so pathetic and greedy push you around for such a long time.

“He’s going to get tired of you and leave, you ungrateful bitch!” The older man speaks through loud gasps for air, choking and heaving on his own spit, “Everyone always does, you know you’re nothing--”

You should stop Paz--you know you should stop him as he lifts his boot, only to send a mighty kick to your father’s ribs and you hear a loud crack that you are all too familiar with, though you don’t cringe or turn away from it.

You’re far too acquainted with the sound to be disgusted by it and you think it to be painfully ironic that he is now in a position that you’ve been in so many times because of him.

“Useless, huh? Have fun tending your own wounds without her help,” Paz scoffs, listening to the injured man wheeze frantically, biting back whimpers as he clutches his side, “You ever try anything with her or even think about coming for me, I’ll cut your hands off and let someone else in tribe deal with you, hu’tuun. They would not show you the same mercy that I have and I would not mind seeing what kind of pain they would show you.”

You watch with wide eyes as he slowly turns around, tight fists instantly unfurling as he sees your shocked expression, though he is quick to carefully grab your elbow and lead you away from the man who is still gasping for deep breaths of air. The bright glimmer of moonlight kissing his visor as he turns to peer down at you every now and then has you growing curious and slightly worried at the sharp, jittery motions.

“Paz, are you--?”

“I am sorry you had to see me like that,” He makes haste to apologize and you shake your head a little as he leads you further away from your broken home, “I do not want you to think of me as cruel, but the way he speaks to you and treats you… I wanted to kill him, cyare.”

“After today, I don’t think I could ever believe you to be cruel,” You whisper with a light shudder, feeling the way his fingertips immediately slide down the inside of your forearm before they’re weaving through the valleys of your fingers in a firm hold; you think of the Trandoshan and bounty hunter and shake your head again, “I… I have seen what cruel men are capable of and I would never think you to be like them.”

“When we get to the covert, will you tell me what happened to you today--what he did to you?” Paz sounds so restrained and full of anger and sadness as he thinks of someone he’s considered to be a brother hunting you down and hurting you so horrifically, “If it is too hard to speak of it, I won’t push you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and exhale deeply as he takes you further outside the village, “I do not know if I have the strength to talk about it yet.”

“Okay,” Paz nods sharply, even though you can tell that this is all killing him slowly and he so desperately wants to know what the hell happened, “Okay, cyare.”

You smile softly at him being so understanding of the delicate situation and tiredly press your cheek against his bicep as he leads you to the people that are supposedly excited for your arrival. You think Paz must be exaggerating about his tribe’s eagerness to meet you and there’s a sick feeling growing in your stomach as you think of their bounty hunter and how he was most likely one of the Mandalorians who didn’t want you at the covert.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a few minutes of silence as you both slowly trudge through the village, though you think he only walks slow for you and your injuries, “That couldn’t have been an easy thing for you to stand up to him like that.”

“I… I don’t really know how to feel,” You whisper, your fingers curling tightly around his as you try to gather your thoughts into one cohesive statement to sum up your feelings, “I am sad, but my chest feels lighter. I have never talked back to him like that, but I do not regret what I said.”

“That takes a lot of courage,” Paz consoles with a deep hum, giving your hand a gentle squeeze and as he tilts his helmet a little lower and to the side, you like to picture him smiling down at you--whatever his smile may look like, though you’re certain it must be a kind, warm one, “It takes strength to stand up to someone that has hurt and manipulated you that badly, cyare, and you should feel only pride for acting so bravely.”

You smile and nod a little, knowing that someday you will truly believe his words, but for now you simply remain silent and focus on the firm hold he has on your hand. You hesitate and tense up when he moves to lead you down a dark alleyway that seems to go on for a mile; it’s so dark that you can’t even see where it ends and you move to take a step backwards as you think of the Trandoshan.

“It’s okay,” Paz reassures you, seeming to notice and understand your tension, “It’s… It’s been a long day, I get it, but I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’ve got me, cyare--always.”

You tug your hand out of his and squeeze the crook of his elbow as he leads you into the darkness of the alleyway. Despite not being able to make out anything, you feel how unwavering and sure the warrior is as he easily strides down the alleyway and it’s not until he scoops a thick curtain to the side that he turns on the little flashlight attached to the side of his helmet. You’re surprised to find a small set of stairs that leads down into a dark tunnel and you let him guide the way, trusting him enough to know he’s taking you somewhere safe.

“Careful,” Paz says softly as you slowly make your way down the winding staircase that takes the two of you further underground, “I know how clumsy you can be--or what was it you said when I took you to the hot springs the first time? The only thing graceful about you are your hands?”

You huff and try to shrug off the flirty remark, shaking your head as you carefully trail behind him, "You are not as smooth as you think, Paz."

He turns his helmet to gaze at you, nearly blinding you with the flashlight, all while continuing to descend the staircase and you hear him chuckle, "You’re lucky I am wearing my gloves, I know how hot your ears and cheeks get when you get all shy around me, little nurse.”

“I am sunburned,” You inform him with a scoff as he turns to face forward upon meeting the bottom of the staircase; you unfurl his cape to wrap it around your shoulders as it begins to grow colder, “I think most of my skin is pretty warm right now.”

He hums and you think he’s tense as you wrap both hands around his bicep as you two venture further into the underground tunnels; you remember the heavy weight of the Trandoshan’s body draped over your weak one as the heat from harsh sun rays beat down on you for hours on end. He doesn’t know anything that’s happened to you in the last day and you’re not sure if you should tell him, somewhat fearing for the bounty hunter’s life at the thought of Paz’s anger upon finding out you had been forced to take a life.

That the Trandoshan had touched you--that he’d nearly taken off your dress.

You don’t even realize how hard you’re clinging onto Paz’s bicep, forcing yourself to remember that you hadn’t been violated in such an intense way and that you were currently safe with your Mandalorian.

“We are almost there,” Paz reassures you, though you think it only brings you more anxiety and fear as he calmly leads you to his tribe, not seeming fazed or nervous in the slightest, “You will be loved by them as a little sister, please do not worry. I will take care of the bounty hunter.”

You simply nod as you let him guide you through what feels like endless tunnels and turns and you wonder how he could possibly know his way through such an intense maze of dark stone. You think of all the times he’s made his way through the tunnels just to see you and your heart swells as you glance up at his scuffed up helmet with admiration, thinking that he must see something in you to make such a winding journey so many times.

“Stay behind me, please,” Paz gently orders, responding quietly to your wide-eyed expression after he nudges you behind his big frame, “Just for a minute.”

He turns a corner just as an unfamiliar voice speaks up and you instantly perk up at the sound of a small, innocent voice; they sound younger than you and you’re not sure why, but that brings you great comfort immediately.

“Norac bid nusujii, ori kebiin?” A high-pitched, feminine voice has you feeling curious and despite Paz’s words, you poke your head to gaze past his bicep. Instantly, a forest green helmet with that notorious t-shaped visor whips to the side to stare at you and the smaller Mandalorian is quick to stand up from where she had been perched on a stone ledge next to the large, round entrance leading into the covert. You blink at the scuffed up teal armor that the female Mandalorian dons and you think the sapphire color of her gauntlets to be beautiful and less intimidating compared to the bounty hunter’s armor.

“Cuyir ibic gar orikih baar'ur, ba’vodu Paz?”

You think she must be asking Paz a question by the incline of her tone and he immediately turns to find you gazing intensely at the guard; letting out with a crackly sigh, Paz gives her a single sharp nod, “‘Lek.”

She lets an amused hum slip past her modulator and steps a little closer, “Ni copad at haa'taylir kaysh.”

Paz turns a little to place a big hand on the small of your back, kindly urging you forward and you hear the colorful Mandalorian let out with a small chuckle when you speak quietly in a shy voice, “The colors of your armor are pretty--blue is one of my favorite colors.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.”

You immediately understand the meaning of her playful words when Paz offers her some sort of admonishment in his deep voice, speaking in his native tongue, “Gar liser't chayaikir kaysh guuror ibic.”

“Sorry, sorry,” The woman chuckles a little, helmet cocking to the side as she places a leather hand on her hip, “Thank you for the compliment, though I do not think I have ever heard someone refer to a Mandalorian as being pretty; most people would spit on us the first chance they got,”

She still sounds amused as she props her sharp Beskar staff up against the stone wall, holding out a hand for you to shake; you smile weakly at the greeting and grasp her hand lightly, noticing her firm grip right away. She stands a few inches taller than you and even though she is probably the least intimidating Mandalorian you’ve met so far, you don’t doubt her strength.

“I do not think that those who would choose to spit on you would last very long.”

“Ni guuror kaysh,” The colorful Mandalorian giggles, her head tilting to the side as she peers down at you, “Cuyir gar orikih baar’ur ratiin ibic pel?”

“Elek,” Paz huffs a little and nods, sounding proud as he quickly answers her question, “Yes, ever since the day I first saw her.”

Your cheeks burn at what they could possibly be saying about you, though you don’t wish to cause any disrespect and politely continue to firmly shake the colorful Mandalorian’s hand as she giggles a little louder at his answer.

“I am Imalia,” She finally introduces herself and you’re surprised to actually hear excitement in her smooth, modulated voice as she continues to shake your hand; you’re even more surprised that she would so willingly give you her name, “Everyone calls me Ima though; I am one of the guards that protects the entrance this late at night since we’ve been having more and more close calls with outsiders lately.”

You blink as her leather-clad palm slips from yours and you nervously wring your fingers together, not knowing what to do with your own hands, “My name is--”

“Oh, we all know who you are, vod’ika,” She interrupts with another giggle and confusion fills you when you hear Paz let out with an exasperated sigh; your heart warms when you remember that he had told you ‘vod’ika’ meant little sister, “Our heavy-infantry warrior hasn’t shut up about you since he first saw you--always rambling on about his ‘mesh’la saviin’ika’ and how pretty your flowers are and how kind you are and how he wants riduurok with you someday. We all thought he was making you up until he brought home your flowers one day.”

“Ori Kebiin bal Saviin’ika,” She tilts her head to the side, amused by her own words and you hear Paz groan from behind you, “How cute.”

You grow even shyer at her teasing voice, “What does... that mean? R-Riduurok?”

“Oh, y’know,” Ima says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, flippantly waving a gloved hand around, “When two people agree to--”

“It means Imalia is a teenager who likes to gossip too much and is far too nosy for her own good,” Paz quickly deflects, resting a large hand over the slope of your shoulder and you think he almost sounds stressed out and worried as the colorful Mandalorian shrugs halfheartedly, “Is the armorer at the forge, Mal?”

The way he seems so comfortable speaking with the younger warrior immediately makes you smile softly and you wonder if he’s this way with all the younger Mandalorians.

“I need to speak with her--it’s urgent.”

Imalia tilts her head to the side and you feel small underneath her intimidating gaze, despite the fact that she’s apparently younger than you; she must be inspecting you closely and you suddenly wish you had the opportunity to take a shower before leaving your house. You can still feel all the dried blood matted to your scalp and crusted into your hairline and you’re certain Ima must see it as well.

“Tion'jor an te tal?” Ima questions in a much quieter tone and you flinch severely when her hand moves to touch one of your braids, though she is quick to pull her hand away, turning sharply to gaze up at Paz instead; her voice sounds much graver and sadder when she speaks again, “Vaii cuyir te sarad gar rucuyir cyau'kuyc at dinuir kaysh? Cuyir te baar'ur shupur'yc?”

“It’s a long story,” He says in Basic, something you’re grateful for as the colorful Mandalorian, slowly takes her seat back on the stone ledge, grabbing her long spear once more as Paz continues, “It’s all Djarin’s fault. He came after her because of the vulptex.”

“That damn bounty hunter--no wonder why he was so tense when he came back earlier,” Ima sighs, shaking her head as though this is a common occurrence within the tribe and your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach, “I’m surprised he’s even alive still; I’m starting to think he has only one brain cell left.”

“Not for much longer,” Paz huffs, fingers twitching against the thick fabric of your long sweater and you let him guide you through the large entrance into another tunnel, “The runt is dead the moment I see his sorry ass.”

The teenager doesn’t seem all the fazed by Paz’s foreboding words, watching as you two venture further into the enclave, “I don’t doubt it.”

You turn your head over your shoulder to catch one last glimpse at Ima’s beautiful green helmet, “It was nice meeting you, Ima.”

“You as well, saviin’ika,” You can hear the smile in her modulated voice, warm and syrupy sweet, and your heart melts at her next words, “I look forward to seeing more of you, rather than hearing it from ori kebiin’s annoying mouth.”

Despite the long day you’ve experienced and everything that’s happened with your father, you smile tiredly at her and face forward as Paz lets out with another annoyed sigh, grumbling something so low that you can’t make it out from underneath his helmet.

He continues straight down the dim tunnel that is barely lit and your eyes widen as he leads you through another rounded entrance that has some sort of huge insignia welded to the top; you think it almost resembles a Mandalorian helmet with horns coming out the side and you make a mental note to ask Paz about it later.

Paz hums thoughtfully as he inspects his surroundings, looking for something--or someone--in particular; you take in your surroundings curiously, detaching yourself from the distracted Mandalorian to make your way over to a little workbench that seems to have discarded scraps of metal. Not wanting to be rude by touching someone else’s belongings, you simply observe all the scuffed and rusted Beskar, though something in particular catches your attention.

You force yourself not to reach out to touch the little pendant that resembles the one welded above the entrance of the forge, though something about the faded purple horns intrigue you more than you’d like to admit

“I thought we agreed not to take in your nurse until we got our bounty hunter’s vote,” A smooth, demure voice instantly startles you and you quickly turn around to come face to face with a Mandalorian who is slowly and surely entering the armory, her gaze fixated on you in an intense manner, “It is not like you to go against my word, Paz. Do you understand that you have put the tribe at risk?”

You eye the thick furs draped along her shoulders, along with the beautiful glimmer of her golden helmet; you think the richness of the gold contrasting against the deep maroon of the rest of her armor is stunning and immediately, you think she must be the leader of the covert. Though she lacks in height, just like you, she makes up for it with a powerful aura of quiet strength and leadership and you immediately admire her.

Though you’re terribly nervous, you’ve never wanted to make such a good first impression with someone and you shakily speak up before Paz can, his helmet jolting to the side to gaze at you with what you’re certain is surprise.

It seems as though you’ve been doing that a lot lately--surprising everyone, including yourself.

“He wanted to wait as well,” You inform her, awkwardly skittering forward when she pulls out a chair for you to sit on, seeming to understand your exhaustion after a long day, “I… I was brought here because of the circumstances of today.”

“And what were the circumstances, little one?” She questions smoothly, her voice like rich velvet through her vocoder as she grabs a small metal mug from a shelf and a teapot that must already be filled with hot water; immediately, Paz starts to speak in an angered tone, but she is quick and calm to interrupt his hasty words as she pours hot water over a bundle of herbs, “I believe I asked your nurse, warrior, not you.”

“Thank you,” You whisper your gratitude when she makes her way back to you and kindly places a steaming mug filled with something that smells simultaneously sweet and spicy, “I haven’t had a warm drink in a while.”

“I know,” She informs you and your eyes widen in fear at the thought of Paz telling everyone in the covert about your father; anger fills you just for the tiniest moment before the armorer is squashing your worries like a bug beneath her boot, “I know only of what our heavy-infantry warrior has informed us about you, though he has spoken nothing of your personal life or family. It is unfortunate that you do not wear our helmet, little nurse, for it is quite easy to read the pain and suffering in your eyes. You may be younger than I, but you have lived a lifetime already, have you not?”

Your nostrils flare as you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat when you realize the wisdom this woman possesses, “I have felt enough pity for one lifetime as well, I do not wish to feel it anymore from myself or anyone else.”

She glances up at Paz, who has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you closely, before her gaze is once again fixated on you taking a tentative sip of the flavorful tea; she cocks her head to the side, as if intrigued, and you hope that you are making a decent impression, “Very well. Tell me of the circumstances that have led you here today, little one.”

So, you do.

Paz pulls up a tiny chair that creaks underneath his weight and sits off to the side as you reluctantly relay the story of you and the bounty hunter--how you had willingly taken that blaster shot to save your vulptex, how you had been forced to cauterize your wound, how many times you tried to mention Paz’s name, though the hunter refused to listen. You think it’s taking everything out of Paz to not immediately go searching for his fellow Mandalorian, but he remains seated, his visor fixed on you and his fingers curled into tight fists atop his armored thighs.

As soon as you mention the speeder and the barren lands, you see Paz straightening up, his breath hitching in his throat as you speak of the deal with the Trandoshan and how the bounty hunter hadn’t hesitated to trade you in for a pouch of credits.

How you had begged the hunter not to hand you over because the Trandoshan only held cruel intentions towards you.

Somehow, you manage not to cry the entire time, but as soon as you speak of the vibroblade Paz had given you--how you were barely able to keep a good grip on the handle because of how bloody your hand was--tears spring to your eyes. You squeeze the hot mug between your hands firmly, trying your hardest to take comfort in the warmth it brings your cold body.

Against your better judgment, you decide to leave the Trandoshan’s intentions as far away from the story as you possibly can, not wanting to inform Paz of how close he’d been to slipping his hands underneath your dress.

You know that would be the one detail of your story that would leave him completely unhinged.

You squeeze your eyes shut just as you maneuver around the painful topic, “Throat wounds are usually the most deadly and I… I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off of me and I had to take his life. I cannot stop thinking of the noises he made when I--and he was choking on his own blood and it got all over me and I never had to--”

“Ner cyare,” Paz’s voice sounds thick with emotion as you stare down at your lap in shame, not noticing the way the armorer is still gazing intensely at you, “I didn’t know you had to... Maker, that’s where all the blood came from?”

“You did what you must to survive in such a cruel place,” The armorer seems to have better words to say than Paz and you think he must be caught in an intense war of anger towards his brother or sadness because you had lost a piece of yourself, “Though I can only imagine the turmoil one so innocent would be going through after experiencing something so traumatic. Please, continue if you can.”

You’re not sure how you manage to speak with how shaky you’ve become, but surrounded by two powerful warriors, you want to be stronger, “I-I immediately went into shock because there was so much blood--Maker, there was so much blood--and I just froze and he fell forward on top of me. I was too weak at the moment to push him off and I passed out in the sun. When I woke up hours later, my skin was burning but I was able to get the Trandoshan off of me finally.”

You find it difficult to look at either one of them, so your gaze flickers up to the little horns on the armorer’s helmet as you take another sip of tea before continuing, “I… I passed out again; I don’t know why I was so tired, but when I woke up again, it was night time and the bounty hunter had come back for me and was taking Paz’s blade from my hand. He asked me who I got the weapon from and as soon as I said Paz, I could tell he regretted everything.”

The armorer speaks after Paz lets out an infuriated growl, standing up to his most intimidating size, though the female Mandalorian feels no sort of fear as she speaks only to you, “And do you truly feel as though our bounty hunter felt sorry for what he did to you?”

You sit up a little straighter and stare right into her visor, thinking hard about your response before answering out loud, though you can tell Paz is seething and vibrating with rage.

“I think he felt sorry for hurting someone who was precious to Paz, but not that I was protecting something I considered dear to me,” You inform her in an earnest, hushed tone, making her cock her helmet to the side a little, “I think he was just a man doing his job as a bounty hunter, but he was also cruel to me. When I tried to tell him that I knew Paz, he would make me be quiet and told me that whatever I had to say did not matter.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly brush away the tears at your lashes as you continue, “He almost made me believe the stories that my parents used to tell me of Mandalorians, but I know Paz enough to know the stories aren’t true. I’ve only known Imalia--Ima--for a few minutes, but she treated me kindly and I do not wish to believe that everyone in your tribe could be so cruel, especially when you and her have shown me respect.”

“And how have I shown you respect when all I’ve done is given you the opportunity to tell me your story, little one?”

“I think that is one of the kindest ways you can treat another--to allow them to speak up for themselves without judging them,” Warmth spreads through your cheeks and ears as you take another sip of your sweet, spicy tea and you gaze shyly at the armorer, “I know my voice shakes when I am scared or angry and that I cry more than I probably should, but you and Paz and even Ima have shown me more respect than anyone else I’ve met in the last decade. Even if I was not accepted, I am grateful to see that love and kindness has lived underneath this cruel village for so long.”

The armorer stares at you in an unwavering manner and you fear the worst when she slowly turns her helmet to gaze up at Paz, who’s still staring intently at you, and she almost sounds amused as she turns to you once again, “It seems as though our heavy-infantry warrior was correct when he informed us all that it is impossible to dislike you.”

“I only wish to treat others the same way I would like to be treated,” You smile at the thought of your grouchy Mandalorian giving you such high praise about you to his family and you curl your fingers against your knees, “I apologize that this is the way I was introduced to you--all bloody and still shaken up.”

Her head tilts to the side in a curious manner, “Our tribe’s bounty hunter was careless and hurt you, yet you are the one apologizing?”

“It was my fault for--”

“Do not feel sorry or at fault for this, cyare,” Paz insists and you finally look up at him as he speaks through clenched teeth, “Where is Djarin, ner alor? I will have him begging for forgiveness at her feet the second I see him--I want him to suffer for what he did to her!”

The armorer lets out with a tired sigh and she shakes her helmet a little as you timidly finish off your tea, watching the altercation take place over the rim of your mug, “Our bounty hunter is currently asleep in his quarters, just as you two should be.”

Paz refuses to back down and you fear that he’s actually going to kill his fellow Mandalorian as his deep baritone grows louder and more infuriated, “I want to kill him, I don’t care that he is currently resting. He is a coward and--”

“Your little healer is exhausted and afraid,” The armorer reminds him firmly, standing up to her full height and you realize her true power when Paz recoils a little, “She is in a new place, surrounded by people she has never met and it has been a long day for her. Would you be so cruel and selfish to deny her relaxation after witnessing such trauma? The nurse is about to fall out of her chair, and yet you only wish to seek violence when she has already seen too much of it in her lifetime.”

“I didn’t--” Paz’s helmet jolts a little as he gazes intensely at you, though you offer him a weak, tired smile, “I am sorry, ner cyare, I was not thinking properly.”

“It’s okay,” You shake your head a little as you slowly stand, your hand traveling to the cauterized wound at your hip; and Paz is instantly at your side when you keel over a little bit in pain, “Although it would be nice to um, to maybe get all of this blood out of my hair?”

“Negotiations for the nurse’s future with the tribe will continue tomorrow,” The armorer stands tall, somehow exuding more power and grace than your blue warrior, “In the meantime, she will recover and rest for as long as she requires.”

“Th-Thank you,” Paz gently presses his hand to the small of your back as you offer your gratitude to the tribe’s matriarch, “For everything.”

She simply offers you a curt nod and watches as Paz dutifully takes you to his private quarters.

The enclave is a lot quieter than you would have expected and you think they must have some sort of system when it comes to training and sleeping; you have so many questions, but you don’t want to sound too nosy, so you remain silent during the small journey. Your eyelids feel incredibly heavy as he quietly guides you and you pray the Mandalorian doesn’t think too differently after hearing your story--that he doesn’t see you to be any less of yourself for being forced to steal someone’s life.

He’s still tense as he wraps an arm around your waist to help you descend another staircase leading even deeper into the enclave and you hate that you are a part of the reason why he’s so angry and upset. You hate his moody silence, knowing that he’s normally so talkative with you and could probably carry a conversation with himself if it meant you had his full interest.

Tiredly, you make it your own little mission to distract him from his inner turmoil and gently grab his yellow gauntlet once the two of you make it to the bottom of the staircase. His helmet jolts to the side to gaze down at you as you hold his forearm to your stomach, your fingers barely grazing the slim barrel attached to the top of his gauntlet.

You smile up at his visor, whispering out a meek little, ‘I love you.’

Instantly, he stops walking to lean down to press his forehead against yours and warmth settles over your heart similarly to the way his cape around your cold frame brings you comfort and security.

Immediately, he relaxes his tense muscles and lets out a deep sigh, “I love you too, cyare.”

You observe your dark surroundings closely as he leads you past what seems to be several different alcoves that you assume must be the living quarters for other Mandalorians, the entrances to them covered by thick black fabric. You’re surprised when he guides you past them and around a corner where there’s a stone door straight at the end of the corridor; you wonder if he has a bigger room than everyone else because of his status or ranking within the tribe, though you think it rude to ask and simply follow him into his dimly lit quarters.

You’re surprised to find that it’s far bigger than your little hut and you take in all the new surroundings with curiosity.

You keep your hands clasped tightly together, feeling awkward as you watch the warrior calmly make his way to a huge chest on the floor at the foot of his massive bed, seeming utterly relaxed as he begins to remove his big gauntlets and black gloves. placing them inside the large chest. You almost think he’s forgotten about you until he stands up again and purposely wanders back to you, immediately intertwining his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle tug.

“You must be dying for a shower,” He sighs softly, leading you further into his private quarters and through a small alcove protected by black drapes; your cheeks burn hotter than coals when you think of how easy it would be for him to easily invade your privacy, though you know him to be a respectful man, “The water doesn’t always get the warmest, but I’m sure it will be nicer than whatever you had at your home.”

You perk up when you see the big shower and dozens of little holes in the ceiling where the water must fall from, “We had a sonic shower at the infirmary. I’ve never used a real one with actual water.”

The blue warrior stares at you for a few moments before shaking his head a little; he digs through your small canvas bag, pulling out the jars that contain your hair products, as well as your bar of soap. You watch with curiosity as he opens the glass door the shower and places your stuff on a small shelf next to his own belongings and it finally hits you that you are actually at his covert with him and not your measly little hut with a man who hates you.

Paz twists a metal knob a few times around, causing a soft whirring noise, followed by fat droplets of water to fall from the holes in the ceiling and your eyes widen a little at the sight.

“Take as long as you want,” He gently orders in a cool rasp, stroking your bruised cheek with the utmost care and immediately, you turn your head to kiss his palm, earning you a little sigh from him, “I’ll go get some food for you while you shower.”

He turns to leave you alone, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you awkwardly speak up in his native tongue, “Ori kebiin--”

Immediately, the Mandalorian freezes, his back facing you as you speak the strange words that the guard had spoken earlier, “That’s what Ima said, right? I know you told me that saviin’ika means violet and I heard her say that, but what does ori kebiin mean? Is it your title in the tribe?”

“I--It’s just--” Paz seems to hesitate for a few moments before you hear him let out with a frustrated groan, “It is what many of the younger ones in the tribe refer to me as; it means big blue. When I told you that saviin’ika only meant violet, I lied to you, cyare. Saviin means violet, but ‘ika means little.”

“Big blue and little violet?” You murmur, cheeks burning more intensely than any severe sunburn could possibly inflict on you as the warmth spreads to the tip of your ears, “That’s what she was so--”

“It’s nothing,” He huffs a little and rolls his head a little, the joints in his neck cracking from the tension that comes with a long day, "The younger ones in the tribe keep teasing me about you because they know they can get away with it."

You nod and quietly ask him one last question before he can leave, "Where is my vulptex? You said she was here, right?"

Paz chuckles a little as you frantically voice your concerns aloud, now that the two of you are safe and alone, "She is most likely in the nursery with the little ones. She has been fed and taken care of all day, cyare, please do not worry about anyone other than yourself right now. I’ll be out there if you need anything, just call if you need help."

You smile and give him one last 'thank you’ as he leaves you to wash yourself. Slowly and tiredly, you peel your clothes from your bruised and bloodied body and excitedly make your way into the shower.

A gasp nearly leaves you upon feeling the warm water gently pelt against your skin and you smile a little as you tilt your head backwards and let the water loosen the dried blood from your hair. A content sigh escapes you as you remove your metal cuffs from the tails of your braids and you place them on a little stone shelf next to yours’ and Paz's toiletries before getting to work on gently washing your mane, taking your time to make sure all the blood is removed.

You do everything in your power to not pay attention to the pink swirl of water that runs around the big drain in daunting circles.

Instead, you focus on the scent of your comforting floral shampoo or the spicy, woodsy scent of your warrior’s toiletries as you curiously bring the bar of soap to your nose to smell it.

You're not sure how long you're under the warm spray of water, your eyelids threatening to slip shut, but eventually, you're finally clean and ridden of any proof that you've stolen a life. Reluctantly, you shut the water off and step out onto a furry mat, grabbing a towel that's neatly folded next to your canvas bag. As you dry yourself, making sure not to jostle your injured hip too much, you realize just how much better you already feel now that you're clean.

It’s only once you’ve put on your nightgown that you risk a glance at the little mirror that hangs above the sink and immediately freeze. You look exhausted, you realize as you stare at your wide-eyed expression with sadness and defeat, your eyes filled with the same kind of intense emotion that would be in a young warrior’s eyes upon coming back from war. Hastily, you turn your attention to your hair, carefully combing out all the knots with the comb that Paz had dutifully tucked into the canvas bag for you.

When you brush through your hair for what must be the hundredth time, you realize you’re only delaying the inevitable--him seeing your arms and the rest of your body so exposed in your nightgown, along with all the scars and welts displayed across parts of your arms and shoulders that he’s never seen before.

‘He is a warrior,’ You remind yourself fiercely, nervously tucking a wet lock of hair behind the curve of your ear as you muster up the courage to sweep the thick curtain to the side, ‘He is used to scars and he’s told you countless times that he doesn’t mind them.’

Your nerves are at an all time high as you spot your Mandalorian in the tiny kitchenette in his private quarters, setting a wooden bowl down onto the table and you tiredly smile as he places a small spoon next to it.

“Thank you for letting me use your shower.”

Paz turns around and freezes upon meeting your gaze with his black visor; you can feel water dripping onto the thin satin material of your dress, as well as down your neck and you blink with curiosity as he remains glued to his spot in front of the little table that you realize is next to a stone furnace. He’s holding a bowl with steam dancing along the surface and your mouth instinctively waters when you catch a whiff of all the spices and unfamiliar scents of the savory meal. Behind him, you see a small piece of bread and another bowl filled with vibrant fresh fruit and you feel your heart clench at the mere thought of eating something sweet.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me for everything,” He kindly informs you, pulling out a chair as an invitation to sit down as he sets the bowl on the table, “It is... nice to see you looking more like your normal self already.”

You smile warmly at him and take a seat as the Mandalorian begins to disarm his heavy weapons and equipment, placing them in a safe spot near his massive bed where they are readily accessible, should danger dare threaten him. You nervously fiddle with the wet ends of your clean hair as your knee bounces frantically, watching him as he begins to slowly remove his armor, starting with his pauldrons as he carefully places them in that large chest at the foot of his bed.

His helmet turns and he immediately notices your hesitation to eat the food he’s laid out for you, “You... You can help yourself, cyare. I have already eaten and I can tell you’re hungry.”

You politely murmur a quiet ‘thank you’, not noticing the way his shoulders drop a little as you finally pick up the spoon to eat, your stomach growling more intensely than a rabid beast. Tucking a leg underneath yourself, you tentatively blow on the steaming spoonful of delicious looking stew before bringing it to your mouth and before you can fully register all the different spices, your taste buds explode.

Paz nearly chuckles upon watching your eyes slowly close as you experience all the different flavors for the first time, “I’m going to shower while you eat.”

“Mhm,” You simply hum, barely aware of him shaking his head in an amused manner as you practically ignore him, focusing only on the well-seasoned stew as he makes his way to the refresher.

You’re slightly sad when your spoon inevitably scrapes the bottom of the wooden dish, but excitement fills you when you remember the bowl of fruit that had been left for you. The berry you pick up is a deep shade of purple and covered in white streaks and you slowly let it slip between your lips, your shoulders falling when you bite into the berry, causing tart juice to explode in your mouth.

You’re not sure how long you must be savoring the fruit for, but eventually, your Mandalorian exits the refresher, completely ridden of all the padding and armor and his visor instantly seeks you out; you’re in the process of licking juice off your finger when your eyes dart upwards to find him standing only a few feet away from you.

Immediately you freeze, eyes wide as he walks around with his scarred torso completely bared to you, his black sleep pants slung low on his hips and you find it nearly impossible to look away from the rich brown skin that he’s choosing to expose to you for the first time. The muscles of his shoulders and arms are more defined than his soft chest and stomach and you think he must carry most of his strength in those powerful arms, what with being his tribe’s heavy-infantry warrior.

You’re grateful that he’s not touching your cheeks or ears, that way he can’t truly tell how flustered you are. Instead, he dutifully retrieves an extra fur that’s folded in one of the drawers off to the side, only turning to meet your gaze once he’s done covering his mattress in the warm material.

He must take your wide-eyed expression the wrong way, because he almost sounds afraid when he quietly speaks up, “What? You do not wish to see me like this? Are you uncomfortable?”

Immediately, you abandon your fruit and stand up to approach him, “I think you are beautiful, Paz.”

He scoffs a little, but accepts a warm embrace from you as you rest your cheek against his sternum and hook your arms underneath his armpits so you can lay your hands atop his defined shoulder blades. Instantly, his arms are wrapped tightly around your own shoulders and he holds you close to his warm chest where you can feel his heart thumping against your ear like a beacon of power and strength.

“That is my line,” He murmurs, and your lips stretch into a tired smile against his soft skin, the dark curls loosely splayed along his chest are coarse as they tickle your cheek, though you don’t mind at all, “Besides, I thought you once said you would not dare to feed my ego anymore than you already have.”

You close your eyes, taking comfort in the deep rumbling of his chest and voice as you feel his heart thrum powerfully and frantically against your eardrum, “Something makes me think your ego is not as massive as I once thought it to be.”

He scoffs, but simply holds you close to him and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt such comforting skin on skin contact like this; his huge arms simultaneously acting as a heater and a shield. He hums when you let out a relieved sigh, your warm breath fanning across his sternum as he shivers a little and brings a hand up to gently rub the back of your head, not caring that your hair is still dripping wet and getting onto his own chest.

“Sweetheart,” His chest rumbles as he speaks and your eyes flicker up to meet his visor, “We are both exhausted, it is time for us to rest, I think. Besides, I would much rather hold you like this in my bed.”

You smile and nod a little, watching as he stands tall and moves to turn off all the lights in the dim room. Hesitantly, you make your way underneath the thick furs that are draped on top of the mattress and as you let your head rest on top of a soft pillow, you fear that you will simply sink right through it, as you’ve never rested on something so pliable. Once it’s pitch black in the room and you feel the weight of his warm body dipping in the mattress next to you, you turn over onto your side to face him, despite not being able to see him in the slightest.

Immediately, your mind goes into overdrive as you think of what you’re supposed to do--what he expects from you--and you nearly jump when you feel the gentle weight of his palm carefully resting on top of your sunburnt cheek, his thumb tenderly stroking the tail of your brow. You’re not sure if you should move closer to him or what you should do with your hands as he moves the tiniest bit closer to you. Thinking of the Trandoshan and how you'd been pinned underneath his lifeless body for so long, you suddenly crave to feel his heartbeat and you scoot closer to the man that feels more like a furnace.

He doesn't say a word as he moves so he's on his back and lifts a big arm above his head, patiently waiting as you find a comfortable position to rest your head. Finally, after a few awkward seconds of the two of you fumbling around in the dark, your head finds its home on his chest, your cheek pressed against a thick, raised scar and you close your eyes with a soft smile. His arm comes down from above his head to hold you closer to him, his other hand moving to continue its previous ministrations on your cheeks and lips as you rest your palm above his heart.

You’re half asleep when you feel a crooked finger press up against the underside of your jaw, guiding your head upwards slightly and you gasp when you feel something warm and plush kiss the top of your hair.

You’re utterly unfamiliar with the sensation of being kissed, but when you feel the same pressure against your forehead, followed by an unmodulated sigh and warm breath fanning across your face, you realize the warrior has broken part of his sacred code.

He took his helmet off for you.

“P-Paz, you--” Your voice trembles and you feel his lips quirk into a smile against the brow he’s currently kissing before he moves to the bridge of your nose, “Your helmet!”

“What about it, sweetheart?”

You feel at a loss for words at the sound of his unfiltered voice and he lets out with a small chuckle at your intense reaction, humming softly against your skin as he squeezes you a little tighter.

“Can you see my face?” He questions softly against the apple of your cheek, and you shiver at the sound of his smooth baritone in the raw; when you answer him with a weak little ‘no’, he continues with amusement evident in his unfiltered voice, “Then I have not brought dishonor to my tribe or you.”

“Are you sure?”

He huffs out a small chuckle against the tip of your nose and you smile at how different his laughter sounds without his helmet--much lighter and less crackly--and you cling onto his warm voice as he firmly rubs the stress away from your shoulders and cradles your jaw with his other hand. After being handled so roughly and grossly by the Trandoshan, his tender hands fill your aching heart with love and relief; your eyelids slowly slip shut when you feel him move his torso a little off the bed so he can kiss your chin.

“I am positive, sweet nurse.”

Shyly, you lift your hand from his chest and rest it on the side of his neck as he lightly nuzzles his nose into the damp hair that’s just a little above the tip of your ear, seeming to feel no shame as he inhales the scent of your shampoo and conditioner.

You shiver when he presses another kiss into your hair and you speak up as your hand slowly inches up his neck, feeling all the little scars and veins that are prominent, along with the way his Adam’s apple shifts up and down when you graze past it, “Am I allowed to touch your face?”

He hums and moves his head to kiss all the areas on your face that he previously missed--the corners of your eyes, the spot between your brows, as well as the sides of your nose--but he ultimately decides to venture to the corner of your lips, “You may do whatever you wish to me.”

Your face grows hot as he captures your earlobe between his thumb and index finger, a large grin spreading across his lips when he feels the intense warmth on the pad of his fingers, and you shyly continue your ascent up to his face. The first thing you feel is a coarse beard and you nearly jump away from him when the wiry hair tickles and scratches against your sensitive palms; it feels neatly trimmed, cropped just a few inches underneath his smooth cheekbones and you think he must take great care to not slack with his daily hygiene or grooming.

Before you can make it to his nose, the massive warrior sighs against the corner of your lips and speaks in the most wistful tone you think you’ve ever heard--

“May I kiss you properly now, cyare?”

You freeze, completely caught off guard by his words as you hesitantly lift your head from his chest, aiming your gaze in the direction where you think his eyes must be as he reluctantly drops his head back against the pillow. His fingers tense along your sore shoulder blade and you fear that he must feel that he’s done something wrong because of your hesitation, but as you manage to turn and move until your chest is pressed against his, you shyly explore his plump lips with your fingertips.

Curiosity gets the better of you at the thought of exploring his lips with yours and you lower your head and use your hands to guide your lips to his in the darkness of his room.

Immediately, you soften against him, your palms cradling his scratchy cheeks as you shyly kiss him and you're surprised at how warm and soft his lips are against yours.

You can’t help but to grin a little at the deep groan he lets out when he seems to realize that you’re actually kissing him.

Tilting your head a little to the side, you find it easier to kiss him the way you wish and you feel Paz completely relax underneath the tiny weight of your body as you fully press your lips against his, the side of your nose lightly bumping against his. You can smell the minty scent of his own shampoo mixed with the woodsiness of his body wash and you think it intoxicates you as he reaches up to cup the back of your head to keep you from straying too far from his tender lips.

A small whimper escapes you when his teeth graze your bottom lip and you feel lighter and bereft of all thought when you reluctantly pull away from each other, feeling like a night sky without her moon and you can’t stop yourself from stealing another kiss, earning another soft noise from the surprised man.

Your heart pounds a little faster when you feel his hand dip down to your waist to carefully hike you further up his body so he doesn’t have to lift his head as much and you smile as you bring your hands up to cup his scruffy cheeks; as your thumbs graze his cheekbones, you’re delighted to find that they are just as warm as your own. You’re practically laying on top of him, though he doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your body in the slightest as he holds you close to him.

Paz makes a small humming noise as he gently rubs a large hand up and down your back, continuing to kiss the corners of your lips and cheeks with fervor even when you pull away for air; you close your eyes in bliss, unfamiliar with the affection, but also basking in his warmth--his love.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

He whispers the unfamiliar words several times against your warm skin and you think he must be telling you the sweetest words, what with how quiet and soft he’s grown underneath you and your curiosity immediately gets the better of you.

“What does that mean?”

“In Mando’a, it means ‘I hold you in my heart forever’,” He explains, teeth grazing your sensitive jawline before moving upwards to steal another kiss from your grinning lips, “It is our way of telling another that we love them.”

You think it sounds far more beautiful than those other simple three words but you let the warrior kiss your lips as many times as he wishes, thinking that perhaps he’s never been this intimate with another. Also because you’ve never been showered with such affection and you think receiving it from Paz is one of the most beautiful phenomenons you’ve ever experienced.

"Your lips still taste like fruit," He informs you as his lips graze your jawline before moving to your ear, "I wonder if the rest of you tastes so sweet."

The gruffness of his tone combined with the way his teeth gently nip at your lobe has you feeling as though you're going to pass out or spontaneously combust. Shyly, you tuck your head firmly underneath his chin, your sunburned cheeks feeling even hotter as the warrior's chest rumbles with a deep laugh.

“I think you only wished to have me here so you can torment me,” You whisper against his bare neck, earning another chuckle from your Mandalorian as he continues to rub your spine in a comforting manner, “I don’t think I mind this kind of torment though. I would not mind having this every night, if you and your people were so kind to allow it.”

“They will,” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to him, “Please, cyare, rest your eyes. You have had a long day, but you are safe with me now.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and contentment as your eyelids slowly slip shut, exhaustion overtaking your body as he continues to gently press tender kisses to your cheeks and brows until you fall into a strange sleep where you can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. You have nightmares of the Trandoshan’s body pinned against yours, as well as sweet dreams of spending the rest of your days underneath such tender care of your Mandalorian.

You’re in a strange limbo of intense nightmares and delightful dreams, but Paz seems to wake up whenever you whimper or let out with a small cry, reminding you in a hushed whisper that you are somewhere safe with him, rather than the infirmary or your hut. It’s not until you feel him stroking the tail of your brow that you fully fall into a peaceful sleep with visions of blue Beskar and strong arms.

You barely wake up with a quiet whimper hours later when you feel him lightly shuffling your body off of his before speaking in a soft, raspy whisper, “I must leave now for negotiations, cyare. You stay here and rest, okay? I shouldn’t be too long.”

“M’kay,” You blearily hum, nuzzling your face into the pillow that smells like Paz and you’re only slightly aware of the way he gives you one last kiss against your brow before he leaves you to put his armor and helmet on and begin his duties for the day.

You don’t sleep for too much longer, finding that Paz has taken all the warmth with him, even with the plush, thick fur that covers your body. You stare up at the ceiling for a few until you hear the covert slowly come alive, metal scraping against metal and loud shouts in an alien language followed by ringing laughter. Feeling slightly lazy and useless, you decisively get out of the comfortable, massive bed and make your way into the refresher, preparing yourself for what you think might be a long, strange day.

It feels bizarre seeing your hair without its flowers and a part of you wonders if Paz still has the flowers you gave him; perhaps you would still be able to plant them and grow some more, you ponder hopefully.

After you finish your typical morning routine, choosing to leave your hair without your usual braids, you throw on your leggings and sweater before cautiously poking your head out the door. You’re surprised to find the corridor empty and slowly leave Paz’s quarters, despite his insistence on you resting.

Curiosity has you nervously wringing your hands together as you make it to the staircase that Paz had led you down the previous night, and you jump a little upon hearing loud cheering and the shrill sound of metal clanging and scraping against each other. After finally making it up the stairs, you tentatively head in the direction that the ruckus is coming from.

It’s not until you hear Paz’s infuriated baritone of a voice that you make haste to the armory, barely remembering how to get there. Eventually, you round a corner and nearly freeze upon seeing several armored Mandalorians surrounding what appears to be some sort of altercation in front of the forge and you immediately sigh when you see a blue helmet right in the center of it.

You spot Ima, who seems to stand out from the others with her bright armor and you perk up a little as you approach her.

“Ima,” You say her name just loud enough for her to hear over the a loud shriek of metal being scraped, successfully gaining her attention as she turns to face you, “What’s going on?”

“See for yourself,” She sounds slightly amused and you allow her to place a hand on your shoulder, urging you between her and another huge Mandalorian that barely cocks his helmet to look down at you, “Your ori kebiin verd is fighting for your honor, though I don’t think Djarin is putting up much of a fight.”

You gasp upon seeing the bounty hunter from the previous day crumbled to the ground on his knees, Paz’s hand curled into the thick material of his cowl to hold him up properly.

“How many credits did you deem her life worthy of?!” Paz roars and you instantly freeze, thinking you’ve never heard him this infuriated, even towards your father, “Tell me you fucking hu’tuun! Tell me how many credits you were given in exchange for an innocent, precious life!”

“Five hundred,” The bounty hunter rasps, sounding weak and terribly injured underneath all the Beskar and your instincts have you stepping forward, though Ima is quick to ground you in place with a hand on your shoulder; she simply shakes her head when you peer up at her.

“Five--you gave her away for five hundred credits?!” You feel frozen as Paz forces him to his feet and drags him over to the forge that is now activated, “You only did it because you thought she would be an easy target, didn’t you, Djarin?”

The bounty hunter grunts when Paz forcefully pushes him backwards, slamming his head against the outer rim of the forge before wrapping his fingers around the injured man’s neck and holding his shiny helmet close to the intense flames.

You immediately voice your fears to Ima, who seems unfazed, as though this is a common occurrence, “Is Paz going to actually kill him?”

“Nah, this happens all the--” She stops mid sentence upon hearing the bounty hunter’s grunts and groans from the intense, suffocating heat that’s trapped underneath his helmet, though Paz makes no move to let him go, “Actually, he might go through with it this time. If not, Djarin’s definitely going to wish he was dead.”

“What?” Paz scoffs when the bounty hunter begins to thrash a little harder against the warrior’s unwavering grip, the heat most likely becoming more unbearable, “Can’t handle a little heat, vod? I’m sure you’re crying under that damn helmet more than she cried when you forced her to cauterize her own fucking wound.”

“I didn’t--” The bounty hunter sounds like he’s trying to disguise his excruciating pain and you feel your shoulders tense up to your earlobes, hating that you feel sympathy for the man who attempted to trade your life away for such a small price.

“Do you know how many times she tried to tell you?” Paz’s voice drops to a terrifying growl, the noise crackly and you wonder what’s currently going through his mind, “Do you know what she already had to deal with every damn day and you--” Tears fill your eyes at the pain in his next words, “You know what she means to me and you made her too scared to even look at me, hu’tuun. I almost lost her because of my own brother!”

You fear that the bounty hunter has passed out when he doesn’t respond, his body growing limp underneath Paz’s grip, but the warrior continues, “Why don’t I help you with that heat problem, Djarin? Bet you could use a little fresh air.”

You gasp when a large hand moves to the chin of the bounty hunter’s shiny helmet, his fingers curling underneath the lip and you immediately understand what he wants to do.

“You’re going to look her in eyes when you beg for forgiveness at her feet, Din Djarin.”

Translations *this is for all the dialogue between Imalia and Paz*

norac bid Nusujii, ori kebiin=back so soon, big blue?

cuyir ibic gar orikih baar'ur, ba’vodu?=is this your tiny medic, uncle?

Elek=yes (Lek is more casual, like ‘yeah’)

Ni copad at haa'taylir kaysh=I want to see her

Gar liser't chayaikir kaysh guuror ibic=You can't tease her like this

Ni guuror kaysh=i like her

cuyir gar orikih baar’ur ratiin ibic pel=Is your tiny medic always this soft?

tion'jor an te tal?=why all the blood?

vaii cuyir te sarad gar rucuyir cyau'kuyc at dinuir kaysh?=where is the flower you were excited to give her?

cuyir te baar'ur shupur'yc?= is the medic injured?

ner alor=my leader

Then there’s the usual words for nicknames and such:

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Cyare=Beloved, loved, popular

Hu’tuun=Coward

Verd=Warrior

Author’s note: Thank you all so much for the kind, supportive words on the last chapter!! Like, literally everyone has been so sweet and so supportive despite me being more inactive than usual and it seriously means the world to me?? Like I said before, I’m so excited to have more time to be active on here and interact with you all much more!! I love you all so much, hope you’re having a wonderful day, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it <33

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero @haloangel391 @honestlystop @cryptkeepersoul @haloangel391 @awhiskeywithawinchester *As always, if I missed anyone, please let me know ASAP!!

#paz vizsla x reader #Paz vizsla x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #paz vizsla #ngl #Paz is just an angry boi #saviin is like #bitch u left our warm bed to kick Din's butt??

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toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account · 4 years

Text

your hair looks just like starlight

Words: 3287

Summary: Jaskier finds out about what gave Geralt his unique hair and eyes, and he takes it upon himself to point out the beauty he finds in those things in hopes that, despite the excruciating processes they came from, his White Wolf may find beauty in them too.

A/N: The title is inspired by a line from “Howl’s Moving Castle”. I imagined Jaskier telling Geralt his hair looks like starlight and... this happened.

[TW for mentions of child abuse (i.e. Witcher Trials/Mutations)]

After Jaskier became Geralt’s travel companion, it wasn’t long before he learned about his Witcher’s mutations, and what he went through to become... well, a Witcher; the absolutely agonizing process he underwent as a child to become what he was.

No, who he was.

Not a what.

A who.

That’s who he was to Jaskier. Not a monster, or a beast, or an animal, or anything one would refer to using the word what, but a person. His person.

And Jaskier was horrified to know how much pain his person went through.

He had no idea some of the things he loved so much about Geralt - his white hair, so astoundingly beautiful when it wasn’t covered in the blood and/or guts of monsters, and his yellow eyes, kept in a steely gaze most of the time, but soft when he let them be - were products of what Jaskier couldn’t think of as any less than torture. Of course, he still loved those things about his Witcher - if gazing at his hair and eyes became punishable by death, he’d finalize his last will and testament posthaste - but knowing what he’d gone through to have them, the horrors he was subjected to… it still didn’t sit right with the bard.

So, he did what any other lovestruck bard would do; he resolved to find the most lovely ways to describe those characteristics, and express them to his Witcher as best he could. He may not have been able to reverse all the horrible things Geralt went through, but he could point out the beauty in the features that came from them.

(Keep reading below or on AO3)

The first time he did this was during a night under the stars. Geralt slayed a monster, as Geralts do, and now, he and Jaskier were on their way back to some unimportant town to collect their coin (and hope that Geralt’s contractor wouldn’t underpay him). Roach was too tired, poor girl, to get to the nearest inn, so the White Wolf and the relentless lark resolved to make camp in a small clearing in the woods.

It was a peaceful night, and thankfully, it wasn’t one that Geralt was going to spend covered in monster guts. The only gruesome… evidence that his target was destroyed lay splattered across his Witcher armor, and such was a problem that was easily resolved by removing it and cleaning off the substance.

“You know,” Jaskier proposed, “I could always make quick work of removing your armor, if you just say the word.”

“No.”

“Well, that’s not exactly the word I was looking for.” Jaskier resigned with a shivering sigh. As peaceful as this night was, the drizzling rain made it a little chilly.

“If you want to make quick work of something, you could make quick work of getting some firewood.” Geralt retorted in that gruff, just-above-a-growl voice of his as his gaze - and his focus - never strayed from his armor.

"Well, I could ." Jaskier took his lute off his back and held it in a playing position as he leaned against a tree. “Buuut I’d hate to get sap on my hands, not to mention that your valiant act of Witchery heroism back there left me with quite a bit of inspiration for my next ballad,” he swept his hand out in front of his face as if to visualize the song itself, “yes, “The White Wolf Versus the… the… the Whatever That Monster Was”, so I should probably just get to work on that.”

“It can wait, Jaskier.” Geralt rolled his eyes. Despite the darkness of the night, this was still noticeable thanks to the moonlight. “Unless you want me to make quick work of your lute instead. Should make good enough firewood.”

Jaskier gasped at his incredulous threat (that the Witcher would never actually carry out) and went to gather firewood.

Geralt had a fire going in minutes. Warmth spread around the little camp, and the flame set a soft glow onto everything around it, like Roach lazily chewing on some grass, Jaskier strumming on his not-used-as-firewood lute as he mumbled lyrics-to-be under his breath, and the Witcher himself cleaning and sharpening his swords.

Sitting with his back up against a tree, Jaskier was in the middle of trying to compose the refrain of his ballad-in-progress when he stopped and looked across the camp, laying his eyes on Geralt. He didn’t return the lark’s gaze, apparently unaware of it as he struck one of his swords with a whetstone, but that didn’t stop the ever-so-enamored bard from from staring; Jaskier could barely take his eyes off his hair, especially how the firelight cast an impossibly golden glow on the impossibly white locks. A few of those locks hung loose from the Witcher’s hair tie that held the sides of his hair back, and they instead fell around his face.

“Your hair looks just like starlight.”

Geralt lifted his head and looked in Jaskier’s direction, and the buttercup could tell by his slightly widened eyes and raised eyebrows that he was surprised by the statement. With a painful tug in his chest, Jaskier began to wonder if that was the first time that anyone ever directly complimented Geralt on his hair.

The sentence fell from Jaskier’s lips without Jaskier himself putting much thought into it. The little thought that went into what he said was only this; My Witcher may have gone through hell, and his white hair may be but one of the many things he has to show for it, but damn it if I’m not going to tell him it’s beautiful.

“...Very forward tonight, hm?”

“It’s true!” Jaskier blurted again, “I… I…” He glanced at the cloudless, starry sky for a moment. “I look up at the stars, and as lovely as they are, their light is nothing compared to what I see in your hair. It’s like someone just-”

He reached into the air, grasped at something intangible...

“-took light straight from the stars-”

… pulled his closed hand back down…

“-made it a thousand times lovelier than it already was-”

… and opened it in Geralt’s direction, as if to sprinkle something at him.

“-and put it on your scalp!”

As he said this, watching Geralt’s eyebrow go from a surprised raise to a confused furrow, Jaskier realized this was far less charismatic than the stuff of his songs. That was alright. He’d gladly trade charisma for authenticity; he’d gladly sound like an idiot and be completely, unfabricatingly honest than try to work his feelings into a lyric for the sake of charisma. He was sure that he probably sounded idiotic to Geralt either way, so he might as well sound like an idiot because of something completely from the heart, unhindered by the need for meter or rhyme.

After a moment of stunned silence, Geralt looked back to his sword with a classic hum.

“It’s getting late, Jaskier. You should get to sleep before you start rambling about anything weirder than you already are.”

Yep. Just as Jaskier thought; he sounded like an idiot.

The second time Jaskier pointed out the beauty in what came of Geralt’s mutations was a few days later, and, in very similar fashion to the first one, after he fulfilled a contract. This time, Jaskier stayed at their camp with Roach while his Witcher took care of a… well, he couldn’t quite remember. Bruxa? Kikimora? Wyvern? Whatever it was, he was more than happy to stay behind with Roach when Geralt told him to. The bard saw him swallow down one of his… well, witchery potions before he went out of sight, so he figured that one of two things would happen.

One, Geralt would come back to camp all pale, veiny, and with those pitch black eyes. Sexy.

Two, Geralt would wait until the potion ran its course before coming back to camp, eyes as yellow as usual. Exquisite.

Jaskier, sitting against a sleeping Roach’s belly, didn’t quite have a preference. Black as night, yellow as daylight; as long as Geralt came back in one relatively-uninjured piece, the bard would be content.

As expected, the Witcher came back unharmed. Exhausted in every sense of the word, but unharmed. He huffed as his head hung low, a fitting accompaniment to his sagging shoulders. His hair tie must’ve come loose during his fight with whatever monster he fought, forever lost to the abyss of Geralt’s Fallen Hair Accessories as the mane it was meant to hold back fell all around his face.

“Geralt! You’re back!” Jaskier made no effort whatsoever to keep his joy out of his voice; he wanted his Witcher to know that he was happy to see him return from a hunt. “That beast was no match for a mighty Witcher, eh?”

“Too easy. A waste of a damn potion.” Geralt sighed, lifted his head a bit, and eyed Jaskier with perfectly yellow, non-potioned eyes. Internally, the bard sighed in relief; he had no objections to seeing Geralt while he underwent the effects of his potions, but he also knew how they weren’t the most… comfortable for his Witcher, so he was glad to know that whatever potion Geralt chugged had probably worn off.

“‘S worn off, hasn’t it?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sat on his bedroll. Jaskier was fluent enough in Geralt’s hums to know that was a yes.

“Ah, right. Good. I figured.” he noted with a few nods. “Your eyes are back to normal. All… sunshiney-like.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier again, this time with exasperation. Jaskier didn’t blame him; that wasn’t exactly one of his best-worded compliments.

“Well, they are. They’re like…” The poet looked up at the sky as if to find something better to compare Geralt’s eyes to - as if it were hiding among the stars.

His own eyes lit up when he finally thought of one.

“...Tea! Yes. Lemon tea… with honey!” he smiled to himself. “Ah, that was-”

A loud snore cut him off. Jaskier took his gaze off the night sky and put it on Geralt, who now lay sideways on his bedroll, sound asleep. He must have laid down and passed out for the night, the bard realized with a resigned sigh.

“-That was my favorite drink, back… back in Lettenhove.”

He was going to say “back home”, but he stopped himself. It may have been where he grew up, but his home wasn’t Lettenhove. No, his home lay a few feet away from him, white hair in tangles over his face, yellow eyes shielded by lids that wouldn’t open until morning, and far too exhausted by his fight to take off his armor before he fell asleep.

Jaskier sighed again before he went to his own bedroll and fell asleep for the night.

The topic of Jaskier’s bizarre compliments didn’t make it’s return until the next night, after he and Geralt returned to the town whose monster he slayed. Thankfully, the mayor was rather appreciative of the Witcher’s work - in no small part due to Jaskier’s help in changing his reputation through a certain coin-tossing ballad - and paid him in full. Both Geralt and Jaskier had grown tired of unceasing nights spent in clearings (and Roach was more than content to spend a night in a nice stable) so Geralt spent some of his newly-acquired earnings almost immediately on a room in the town’s inn.

Of course, there was only one bed, but such was rarely a problem for the Witcher and his songbird. The latter snuggled into it almost immediately - promptly after taking off his shoes and doublet, of course - while the former sat in a nearby chair about six feet away and cleaned off his swords. This would’ve been all fine and well, had it not been for the fact that Geralt had already cleaned off his swords first thing that morning; they were squeaky clean!

Jaskier sighed.

“Those look pretty clean to me, you know.” he remarked, using one arm to support himself as he lay on his stomach. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look like you’re trying to distract yourself from something.”

“You don’t know better.” the Witcher grumbled as he kept cleaning his already clean swords.

“So you are?”

Geralt finally looked up from his swords to meet Jaskier’s gaze. It was a mystery to the Witcher as to how he did it, but somehow, Jaskier saw through Geralt’s horseshit like it was a perfectly clean window.

“Not to say your mysterious, edgy brooding isn’t part of your charm, but…” The bard repositioned himself so his head was resting on his hand, the rest of his body lying along its side. “Talk to me, Geralt.”

The Witcher sighed.

“What’s with all the strange shit you’ve been saying the past few days?” Before Jaskier had the chance to play dumb, he elaborated. “The stuff about my hair, and my eyes. All that about starlight, and sunshine, and…” He looked down as if one particular part of his memory was foggy. “...Tea?”

“Come on, Jaskier. You didn’t start saying this shit until…"

Jaskier sighed. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to explain his reasoning to Geralt; in an ideal situation, he would have believed in all the lovely things Jaskier tried to say to him, rather than be confused. Indeed, in a perfect world, Geralt would’ve seen himself the way Jaskier saw him; beautiful.

His eyes widened a fraction as his jaw slackened almost unnoticeably. Before he even said the rest of his sentence, he knew why Jaskier started doing this.

But that didn’t stop the bard from finishing his sentence.

“...Until after I found out about the Trial.” He sat up and swallowed, despite his dry throat. “And your other mutations… and… and the hell you were put through.”

As Geralt’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head, Jaskier started to feel like the idiot he obviously must’ve sounded like. As the Witcher approached him, he shrunk in on himself.

“I - Geralt, you went through something no child should ever have to endure. I know there’s not much I can do to reverse that, or… or make that pain go away, but - but those things that came from them - your eyes, your hair… I still think they’re beautiful, even if they came from something terrible, so I… I thought…”

Jaskier hung his head. This was stupid. All of it. He never should’ve just started blurting idiotic things out of nowhere.

“...What about my voice?”

Jaskier lifted his head back up and looked at Geralt, brows furrowed in confusion. The aforementioned Witcher had his arms crossed as he looked down at the bard, and it wasn’t exactly clear whether or not he wanted a real answer.

“Oh, I… I thought your voice was just like that on it’s own.”

Geralt shooks his head.

“Potion.”

Jaskier looked back down for a moment. Geralt was almost sure he'd have nothing good to say about his voice, until…

"It's soothing."

He was stunned.

“...What?”

“It’s soothing.” Jaskier repeated, “I know you probably expect something more poetic at this point, but… it’s soothing. Whenever you start talking to Roach, or try to warn me about certain monsters so I don’t get my ass handed to me, it… I don’t know, it’s relaxing. Sometimes…” he huffed through his nose at the absurdity of what he was about to say, “...it even helps me fall asleep.”

Jaskier started to fidget - drumming the fingers of one hand against the other, rubbing his fingers together, wrapping them around one another, all normal fidgety things - as he let his awkward but nonetheless heartfelt words hang in the air, staring down at Geralt’s feet until he saw them move as he bent down. The bard was confused about the Witcher’s reason for this, and that confusion grew when Geralt took his hands, held them in his own and stood back up.

“I like your hands.”

Now, as he looked up at his Witcher, arms relaxed as he let him hold his hands, it was Jaskier’s turn to be stunned. He knew how difficult it was for Geralt to express himself at all, let alone about something he liked. The sentence was blunt and simple, and from anyone else, it probably would’ve been nonchalant. But from Geralt, it was like he just recited the most tender, heartfelt poem Jaskier ever heard.

“They’re soft. Gentle. These callouses…” He ran his thumb across Jaskier’s fingertips. “They show how much love you put into your music. Why you waste your talent and passion on me is something I’ll never know.”

“I don’t waste anything, love.” Jaskier retorted with a soft smile. “I know there will always be people who see you as a monster, and that no amount of ballads will make the whole world see you the way I do, as much as I want it to.”

Geralt cast his gaze elsewhere. Jaskier gripped his Witcher’s hands just a little tighter in reassurance, as if it were an attempt to physically send his love into the Witcher through his fingertips.

“...Still, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try, does it? It got us here, didn’t it?” He tilted his head a few times as he glanced around the room. “A steady amount of contracts, more people treating you decently than not, and… a half-lovely room at an inn.”

Geralt nodded a barely noticeable nod, but Jaskier could tell there was more that needed to be said; more he needed his Witcher to know.

“You’re good, Geralt. You’ve spent so long saving the lives of ungrateful, desperate humans, even though so many of them turn right back around and spit at your feet. They may say you’re a monster, but you have more humanity in one finger than most of them have in their entire bodies."

“So,” he continued, “I don’t expect to easily change how you see yourself with a few bizarre compliments, but trust me when I say there’s no way I’d rather spend my life than with you…”

He pulled one of his hands away, only to reach up to Geralt’s face.

“Running my fingers through your hair…”

He brushed a few loose locks of lightning white hair behind Geralt’s ear.

“Gazing into those eyes of yours…”

He slowly dragged his knuckle down the side of Geralt’s face, from his temple down to his jaw, until he dragged it down his neck.

“...and listening to your voice.”

Jaskier could tell by the look in Geralt’s eye that he would be blushing right now if he could. The ever-so-romantic lark put his hand back in his.

“If you ever came to see in yourself what I see in you, you’d never doubt your beauty, my wolf.” The lark tilted his head, staring dreamily into those yellow eyes. “I know that day may not come for a very long time, so I can only hope you’ll trust me when I say that there’s nothing else I’d rather do with my hands…”

Jaskier repositioned his hands so his fingers were interlocked with Geralt’s, fitting perfectly in the gaps between his love's fingers.

“...Than this.”

They stayed like that for a moment, eyes as yellow as sunshine staring into eyes as blue as the ocean. It wasn’t long until Jaskier noticed how heavy those yellow eyes were.

“You’re exhausted, Dear Heart. I can tell.” Jaskier interrupted himself with a yawn, pulling one of his hands away to cover his mouth as he began to feel his own eyelids droop. “I think it’s high time you stop pretending to clean your swords and help me get our coin’s worth out of this…” He gestured to the mattress underneath him. “... luxurious bed for the night, hm?”

That’s exactly what Geralt did.

#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #fanfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt #geralt/jaskier #my writing #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fic #mine

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years

Text

A Bride for the Prince - 2

A03 ~ < Previous ~ Next >

“And that’s everything I have for today, Your Highness,” Nino said, finishing his daily report.

“Thank you, Nino.” Adrien nodded. “By the way, you may remove your mask if we are in my private quarters. No one’s going to see us here.”

Groaning with relief, Nino removed the mask and massaged the skin under it. "Thank goodness. This thing is an atrocity, so uncomfortable to wear for long periods.”

“Sorry.” Adrien half-smiled apologetically. “After this whole mess is over, I’ll make sure you all are rewarded for your troubles.”

“You’d better,” Nino puffed. “Because I don’t remember ‘wearing an extremely uncomfortable mask all day long just so my prince can spy on his brides’ in the description of my job.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to trick my ‘brides’ into behaving as themselves around me if they know who I am?” Adrien retorted. “Some of them have seen my face, Nino. I had to cover it. And since I’m wearing a mask, it only made sense to have all of you wear one so I won't stand out.”

“You could’ve, you know, spied on them from a window instead of pretending to be a guard,” Nino offered. “‘Cause let me tell you, you are making it super easy to spread those stupid rumours about you. Some people are actually starting to believe them.”

“Is that so?” Adrien chuckled and leaned back on a window wall, looking outside where his potential brides were taking their evening walks. "I don't really care about that now. I have only a month to choose, so I need to be down there, hidden in plain sight as a guard observing them up close. There is only so much I can see from a window, but none of them would care to look their best in front of a mere guard, won’t you agree?”

“While I do understand that,” Nino added, walking closer and taking a look outside himself. “I still think that rumours are a bit extra.”

“Oh. You think so?”

“You know, letting them think that after a freak accident that had never happened you suddenly had become a weirdo with crazy ideas and an ugly face—”

“And unpredictable behaviour,” Adrien pointed out.

“Of course,” Nino lamented. “How could I forget the unpredictable behaviour, Your Highness? I beg for your forgiveness. This will never happen again.”

Adrien laughed, looking at his loyal guard and best friend. “That was your girlfriend’s idea. How could you forget? Or better yet, what will she say when she finds out?”

“So not the point,” Nino grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell her,” Adrien chuckled, returning his eyes to the garden. “I need you alive.”

“I’m forever indebted to you, Your Highness,” Nino mockingly bowed. “But seriously,” he added, placing his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Are you sure this is going to work, Adrien? Do you think it’s worth all the trouble? You might be doing more damage than good.”

“What else could I do?” Adrien responded quietly, his jaw tightening as he gritted out through his teeth after a momentary pause. “I hate that stupid tradition. Absolutely abhor it. But, since I wasn’t able to get out of it, is it so bad that I’m trying to at least find a bride whom I might actually like?”

“That’s not bad at all,” Nino replied with a sigh. “But don’t you think that not all of the ladies will drop their ‘nice’ acts once they hear that the prince has become eccentric with crazy ideas, ugly face and unpredictable behaviour? Have you’ve forgotten that some of them care for nothing but your money and a title?”

“Okay, true. But most of them are bound to lose interest,” Adrien argued back. “And I’ll have a better chance to see who they truly are if they aren’t super invested in wooing me.”

“Have you forgot to consider that the nice ones might also lose interest in you with such a reputation? Suppose you will like someone. How can they like you back if all they know about you are the rumours the servants spreading? I know you are playing the whole oddity role, but at least reconsider staying away completely and go out there as yourself once in a while.”

They remained silent for a few moments, the prince looking out of the window, his guard standing by.

“I’ll think about that,” Adrien said quietly. “There will be a few balls I’m required to attend as a Prince. I convinced Father to make those masquerades, so I can still wear a mask. I guess I can talk to the ones I like there, and then we’ll see what happens.”

Nino shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't envy you, Adrien. I hope you know that.”

“Then tell me, Nino," Adrien asked after a while. "Tell me honestly: knowing my situation, do you think there was something better I could've done?"

Nino didn’t answer. He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall.

“Not everyone’s lucky enough to marry the person they love,” Adrien added. “Not everyone’s lucky enough to even meet someone they can fall in love with. I’m trying to do my best here, and I know it’s not a foolproof plan and has a ton of holes, but for now, catching the general gist undercover as Chat Noir is the best option I could think of."

“Speaking of Chat Noir," Nino stirred. “I noticed him being rather flirty with a certainty lady that splattered all over the floor yesterday. Even giving her a private tour of the castle. So attentive. Don’t you want to tell me anything?”

Adrien’s face brightened. “You mean Marinette?”

“Marinette?” Nino wiggled his eyebrows. “I see we’re on a first-name basis already? Rather fast, don’t you think? Should we tell the other ladies to go home already?”

Adrien laughed. “If you couldn’t tell it for yourself, Marinette isn’t a lady, Nino.”

Nino frowned. “I thought your father sent out invitations only to the noble families?”

“Yeah, he did,” Adrien mocked. “Just as the tradition commands. But I know for certain that Marinette doesn’t come from a noble family.”

“I don’t understand. Then why is she here? And as a lady?”

“I have no idea either.” An amused smile claimed Adrien’s lips as he glanced out of the window, “But since I’m rather intrigued, I’ll make sure to find out.”

“I suppose you know her then? To know she isn’t nobility?”

“Even if I didn’t know her, her behaviour would’ve given her away instantly. Not only did she talk on equal terms with a humble servant such as myself, but she allowed me to argue and flirt with her and accompany her on a tour of the castle—on my arm, no less. Rather scandalous for a true lady, wouldn’t you say so?” Pausing for a moment, Adrien frowned. “Though, I suppose we should probably warn her to work on her etiquette; wouldn’t want an old friend to get in trouble. But, Nino, this stays between us until further notice.”

“Of course.” Nino nodded and settled on an opposite corner of the window Adrien was sitting on before shooting him a smirk, “But, now this is interesting. I know all of your commoner friends and non-lady Marinette isn’t on my list. Do tell.”

Adrien shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell. You know how Mother and I would always spend our summers in DuPont before she passed away?"

“Your summer castle?”

“Yes. Well, since Father wasn't around, Mother allowed me to socialize with all the children at the castle despite their social status as long as they weren’t aware of who I was.”

“She did hold more liberal values than your father,” Nino sighed. “Her passing was a great loss not only for your family but to the country in general.”

“She was amazing.” Adrien half-smiled. “It was thanks to her and the liberties she that allowed me in DuPont that I first started to realize that maybe the way of life as I knew it wasn't exactly how everyone else did. Marinette was actually a huge part in that. Her father was our baker, and out of all the kids there, she was the most fun to play with. So, we kind of ditched everyone else and just ran wild by ourselves. She taught me a lot of things I'd never known before.”

“A childhood friend,” Nino smiled. “I see. But you haven’t been to that castle since you were... what? Fourteen? How did you recognize her?” Nino scratched his forehead. “I mean it’s been ages; she probably looks nothing like she did before.”

"Sky-blue eyes," Adrien said quietly, looking into the garden. "That's a rare shade in our country, but if you pair those with freckles and slightly bluish-black hair, it’s even harder to find. Cute smile and adorable button for a nose. Clumsy but charming. How could I forget? She hasn’t changed that much. She just matured and blossomed.”

“That’s a lot of details to remember.” Nino raised an eyebrow. “Do I smell first love kind of deal?”

“Noooo,” Adrien nervously chuckled. “She was just a friend. The first real friend I’ve had.”

“If you say so,” Nino chuckled. “But it sounds to me—”

“Sounds like you need to check your hearing,” Adrien interceded, standing up. “Also, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get started on my beauty sleep; I have a busy day tomorrow, and it's supposed to do wonders for my facial ugliness.”

Nino chuckled, following the prince’s example and standing up from the window sill. “No escapades into the city today?”

“I think we should hold off on that,” Adrien said with a frown. “With all of those ‘brides’ in the castle, security is upped, and I don’t want to risk Father finding out I regularly sneak out into the city."

“Don’t you think his cold heart won’t melt once you explain that you do it to get to know your subjects and their issues better? You know, something any good ruler would approve of?”

Adrien scoffed. “I doubt my father would listen past ‘sneak out’ part. Add in ‘speaking with the commoners’ part, and I’ll be stripped of whatever privileges I still have. You know for yourself how hard it was to convince him to let me do the whole ‘masked guards and Chat Noir’ thing. I don’t want to risk it.”

“Convince?” Nino scoffed. “If you mean threatening to never marry or not to consummate any marriage he would force on you and therefore leave the country without an heir to his precious Agreste line is convincing, then yeah, you’ve convinced him alright.”

Adrien didn’t answer, his eyes locked on the ground, fists clenched by his sides.

“Sorry,” Nino apologized. bowing his head down. “I’ve crossed the line. It just... the way he treats you as an asset rather than a human being just makes me so mad—”

“Nino—”

“It isn’t fair, Adrien? Alright? Nothing about your life is fair, and how in the world you are still trying to see the good in him and be the best you can, I cannot comprehend. Now, I must apologize again and leave you to rest. Have a good night, Your Highness.”

Bowing down, Nino turned around and marched out of the room.

“Good night, Nino,” Adrien whispered after him. “Thank you."

Chat Noir rounded the corner, trying to get as far away from the sparring court as he could. Damned be his curiosity! He should’ve listened to Nino and stayed as far away from the area as he could.

“I’ve been told that Lady Riposte has been awaiting you at the sparring court since the sunrise," Nino added after his morning report. "The guards said she was rather… intense."

The corner of Adrien’s lips curled in a little smile. “That’s a rather strange meeting place for a Lady who is looking to interest me in herself romantically. But then, she is from a famous fencer line, isn’t she? Maybe that’s her idea of courting.”

“The guards said she has beat each of them easily and is eager to spare with the Prince to prove her superiority,” Nino said monotonously. “If you are interested in a wife to kick your ass literally, be my guest.”

Adrien wasn’t interested in that precisely, but he was curious to see the famous Lady Riposte. At first glance, he wasn’t disappointed; the girl was pretty. Slim figure, dark hair, rosy lips, golden eyes, and a blush on her cheeks.

Then she looked at him.

The intensity in her eyes, the slightest raise of her eyebrow, the tension in her lips, and Adrien felt like he was not nor would he ever be worthy of Lady Riposte. Not because she was great, though. More because she seemed to consider a mere guard Chat Noir unworthy of even speaking to her, making sure he understood that from her glance alone. Not even under his Father’s glare had Adrien ever felt so small and uncomfortable.

Quickly, he crossed a centre courtyard and stood on guard at the corner; it was the perfect spot to observe a few of the other ladies roaming around. Lady Volpina sat nearby surrounded by a few others, their mouths agape as she was weaving them a tale. He had to admit she was pretty and her voice sounded honey-sweet, but Nino had warned him about her in particular.

“Lady Volpina seems to be quite famous,” his friend had said. “But may I request permission to check her out? Her story seems to be unusually—hm, how do I say it?—incredible? I’ve heard her claim to be skilled in all possible arts there are, speak six languages, travel around the world trice, have more gold than you, and to be a personal friend of all four of the neighbouring princesses. We all know that two of those haven’t been on the best terms in ages. ‘Would murder at first sight’ bad terms, to be precise. It would be highly unlikely for them to share a close friend."

Adrien had nodded. “Check her story, but discreetly.”

“Of course. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

Seeing Lady Volpina revelling in the awe she held the other ladies in, he wondered if Nino should even bother with that now.

His sight shifted to where Lady Bourgeois was strolling along the path, loudly complaining about the sun, her poor maid barely able to keep up with an umbrella. Chat made a face and turned to look another way. He didn’t need Nino to tell him about her since Lady Bourgeois was the only one of the young ladies repeatedly visiting his castle with her father. Over the years, he had gotten to know her character very well. The thought of marrying her made his stomach twist.

His sight fell on the corner of the garden, particularly on a couple of ladies standing there. They were partly hidden behind a group of trees, and since there was no one else at the court Chat Noir deemed worthy of observing, he slowly headed their way.

He was only a few meters away when a little servant girl jumped from around a corner and ran towards the ladies with tears in her eyes. Chat stilled and hid behind a tree, close enough to see what was going on but far enough to remain undetected by the group.

“Ella, I’m sorry, but I cannot do this right now,” one of the ladies said.

The voice belonged to Alya: one of the maids at the castle, Nino’s girlfriend of the past six months, and someone who Adrien considered to be his friend as well, someone with whom he could talk without titles and similar nonsense.

“But Alya,” the little girl, Alya’s sister, cried. “Nora will murder me if she sees I ripped her favourite shirt.”

“She won’t, Ella. She is your sister.”

“She’s big and scary, and a royal knight!” Ella cried out. “She will slay me with her huge sword because she’ll still have Etta and you for sisters. She doesn't need me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alya scoffed. “First of all, you should’ve never taken her shirt to play with in the first place, and second, you can’t bother me right now. Can’t you see I'm working?”

“Excuse me, but can I look at it?”

Chat’s breath hitched as he watched Marinette squat down to Ella’s height, asking to see the ruined garment. A moment later, Marinette produced a needle and thread from who knows where and started to stitch.

“You carry around a needle and thread?” Alya deadpanned.

Marinette nervously chuckled. “This kind of dress isn’t exactly what I’m used to wearing on a daily basis. I might have ripped it a few times already, and I’d like to be prepared for when it happens again because, let’s be honest, I’m not exactly the most graceful of the ladies.”

Chat Noir chuckled under his breath and left his hiding spot, hoping to interfere in the situation before anyone would notice.

“Good morning, my Lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a grin. Alya’s eyes snapped to him before darting back to Marinette, who instantly straightened up, hiding the shirt behind her back. A light blush covered her cheeks just as Ella yelped and dashed away. “You look lovely and well-rested this morning. I hope you’re enjoying your stay so far.”

“I... yes, thank you, Chat Noir,” Marinette replied with a smile that was a little too wide, her blush spreading to her ears. “I did rest well, and I am enjoying everything. Immensely. Thank you for asking. I hope you also slept well?”

“I certainly did,” he purred before taking Marinette’s hand and pressing a kiss on her knuckles. Marinette blushed but didn’t pull her hand away.

Adrien inwardly groaned. Clearly, whoever sent Marinette here failed to teach her proper etiquette between servants and nobility; otherwise, she most certainly would not have allowed him to kiss her hand. She was lucky they were hidden away behind the trees with Alya as their only witness.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he reached around her waist to grab the shirt Marinette still held in her hand. Pulling it to the front, Chat held it between them so he could look at the stitches. “Were you patching this up? Because I thought ladies aren’t supposed to hold a needle in their hands unless it’s one of those intricate embroidery pieces. Or was I misinformed?”

Closing her eyes, Alya hid her face behind her hand. Marinette bit into her lip and blushed crimson.

“Er... I… uh...” she stuttered, snatching her hand away and hiding both of them behind her back. “I do... that... embroider. I... I was- I was just... showing off my stitches? Since… there are many- many different stitches. In embroidery."

While he successfully suppressed his laughter, Adrien failed to contain a chuckle. This right here was why he loved to play with Marinette as a kid: amongst many other excellent qualities, she was always adorably awkward, something Adrien found extremely amusing.

“May I suggest,” he said, handling the shirt over Alya, “that you abstain from showing any more of your stitches for now, because while your maid and I fully understand your passion for this art form, I’m afraid most of the other people in the castle won't."

“Alright.” Marinette nodded, her smile overly bright, cheeks ladybug red with embarrassment. "I'll remember that. Thank you for the warning, I'll keep my passion under wraps, but now I, uh... I have to go," she nervously chuckled. "I have stuff to do... in my room... so I must depart. Excuse me.”

Not waiting for his reply, Marinette dashed away, Chat’s chuckle following her steps.

“Excuse me, but what the hell was that?” Alya immediately stepped up and glared at the masked prince.

“Nothing.” He grinned like a cat.

Alya raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? I’m not blind, you know.”

Adrien’s grin faded as he turned to Alya. “Well then, tell me what you think of your lady?”

“What about her?” Alya frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know?” Adrien wondered with a teasing smile. “Does she seem a bit strange to you, maybe? Or perhaps behaves a little unladylike sometimes?”

Alya looked questioningly at Chat.

His grin widened.

“Okay.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s going on? Who is she?”

“Lady Bug? I thought you were informed—”

“Don’t even try that with me, Your Highness.” Alya shook her finger at him. “I’m not going away until you tell me who’s this ‘lady’ of yours.”

“Alya...” Adrien started to regret he’d ever said anything to her in the first place. Alya was great, but when she wanted something, one had no choice but to give it to her. Or suffer the consequences and then still give it to her after.

“Well, if you aren't going to tell me, I can always ask around,” she threatened, putting her hands on her hips and shooting him a challenging smile.

Adrien pouted, refusing to speak.

“You started it, Noir,” Alya shrugged. “Now I’m curious and you know when I’m curious, I have ways—”

“Okay, fine,” Adrien relented. “But this stays between us… and Nino.”

“So Nino knows and he didn't tell me?” Alya quirked an eyebrow.

“Geez, Alya. He just found out. Let the man live.”

A few moments and an intense staring match later, Alya gave in. “Fine. I will. I do love him after all. But only if you tell me who this ‘Lady Bug’ is and what’s your deal with her?”

"She’s an old friend from way back at DuPont,” Adrien gave in. “A commoner old friend, and before you ask, no, I don’t know how or why she’s here.”

“A commoner pretending to be a lady?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “She’s bold.”

“More like reckless since she’s failing at it miserably.”

“Oh, that is painfully evident,” Alya scoffed. “You aren't much better, though, Chat Noir. Keep your paws off; you aren't helping.”

“Hey, don’t act so innocent. You allowed me to do that. As her maid, you should’ve been watching out for her better.”

“Exactly.” Alya pointed out. “I’m a maid, not an etiquette protocol watchdog. My job is to help her, not educate, but if you insist, Your Highness, I can always slap your paws off next time.”

“Then why don’t we agree on that?” Adrien proposed. “Do me a favour: help her to blend in and behave like a lady. For now, at least, until I’ll figure out what’s going on here.”

Alya remained silent for a few moments, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Why should I?”

“Because she is an old friend of mine and I’m begging you on my knees… Metaphorically,” he added when Alya glared his way. “Please? For our friendship’s sake? Or do I need to get on my knees literally?”

Alya quirked an eyebrow. “You’ll go that far?”

“I might since I’m just as curious as you are,” Adrien admitted. “I want to know what’s going on, and I can't do that if someone will discover our ‘lady’ isn't a lady at all. You like a good story, don't you? And I bet there is an amazing story behind this whole thing, so, please, Alya, help us both?”

“You’re insufferable, Adrien,” Alya sighed eventually. “You going to owe me for this. Got it?”

“I figured. From experience.” Chat nodded.

“All right.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll see what I can do. Does she know who Chat Noir is and that you know who she really is?”

He half-cringed. “No to both, and I’d like for that to stay that way.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “All right, but I want to be kept in the loop. All the details, as soon as you know. Deal?”

“It almost sounds like you are giving me a choice,” Adrien deadpanned.

“In your dreams, Noir,” Alya snickered. “Now, if you excuse me, I’ll be off to supervise our lady so she doesn’t land herself in a dungeon while I’m away. See you around, Chat Noir.”

Alya dashed away, and Adrien heaved a sigh. He swore dealing with Alya was a task and a half and could take years off one’s life. However, there was no one else whom he trusted more to watch over Marinette to ensure she wouldn't be discovered. For now, that was all he could do, apart from hoping that Marinette’s tale would be worth all the risk she was putting herself under.

His father wasn’t the most merciful of men around.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #A Bride for the Prince #Collab with TheNovelArtist #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #nino lahiffe #alya cesaire #poor Marinette got herself in more troubles than she bargained for #Adrien isnt helping #multi

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i-am-gusu · 4 years

Text

The Picnic Date

(I still think titles on a blog no one reads is ridiculous)

Okay, first of all, can I say how proud of myself I am? I held his hand! I told myself I would do it and I did! I’m getting better at this. I still haven’t told him anything about me being here but that is for later (also I talked with Huaisang this morning, he came to the café, and when Mianmian was away, I asked him if it was okay to be stalking someone online and anonymously send them messages. He asked me with an incredulous laugh if I was trolling someone or something, and I just looked at him. He stopped laughing and then just said “If you’re talking about stalking Wei Ying’s blog, let me remind you that HE is the one who gave you the URL, that it is public for everyone to see, and that honestly he seems pretty happy with whatever you’re throwing at him. Except maybe money. Dude, stop giving him so much money like it’s lollipops to a kid. Give it to me instead.” I squinted my eyes at him at that and almost picked up his muffin to throw it at his face. But I didn’t. I’m not 7 anymore. But it’s true. Wei Ying is the one who gave me his blog when he tried to get me to join too. And his blog is public. I’m still unsure if it makes it okay that he doesn’t know, but... it makes it better. For now. But I definitely will tell him before I confess to him. If I ever stop being a coward and actually confess... That is for another day.)

The Picnic! (I swear, reading Wei Ying’s sidetrack monologues here is influencing me and I’m not interested in doing better for that because nobody is reading this damn thing why do I even care?)

... The picnic...

It was... so much better than anything I could have imagined. Besides that idiot Jin ZiXun coming to pick on Wei Ying. He dropped it really fast when I stopped him. The guy once decided it would be a good idea to try and punch me on one of those boring family events we had to attend to when we were sixteen. I broke his nose and two of his fingers. Okay, Uncle had to pay for all of his health expenses, and I then had three years worth of punishment at home (I can’t remember how many times I copied Uncle’s rules. I was also on cleaning and cooking duties from now on (Xichen helped when he could, and ironically, it made me enjoy making food more)) but it was all worth it. Besides, that asshole picked on Huaisang that time. He’s lucky it was me, and not Nie Mingjue who decided to stand up and stop him... That might be why Mingjue let me call him Da-ge afterwards. And why he still gives me my favourite sweets whenever we meet each other. Why did I never realize this before now? Is this what they mean when they say writing helps with hindsights and insights?

Before and after the idiot showed up though, everything was. Just so perfect.

Wei Ying arrived a little bit later, but he texted me to let me know, so I was standing at our rendez-vous point, patiently (and a little nervously) waiting for him with the basket (it wasn’t that heavy Wei Ying). And that’s when I hear my name, and I look up, and I barely had the time to put the basket down before I could catch Wei Ying, rolling full speed towards me. I held him against me then, and it felt so nice to hug him, even if it wasn’t an actual proper hug. When he looked up, that’s when I noticed the eyeliner around his eyes and. Damn.

Okay. Every looks are a good look on Wei Ying. But that look. Was a particularly good look on him. I would have stared forever, but then he was gone, running after his skateboard.

Lan Zhan… I don’t know if it’s just how he looks but sometimes when he looks at me… it’s just.. this tender look in his eyes. I can’t look away.

Yes. It’s all for you Wei Ying. I just love you so much.

... Then, he took the basket from me and decided to put it on his skateboard to roll it to where we then sat, and while we walked there, all I could think of was how close his hand was to mine and how I wanted to hold it and listen to him laughing all the time. But then, we reached the grass and I took the basket again, despite Wei Ying arguing he could carry it. I just wanted for him to enjoy himself. He took the blanket from the basket (speaking of, it’s not Tetris Wei Ying, just a lot of willpower. My desire to leave with only one basket was stronger than the headache I got trying to put it all in the damn thing) and spread it and then I just. Dropped on it. And my back hurt from the sitting too long on the floor while I waited for everything to cook and panicked over sending Wei Ying too much money and thinking he found out it was me. And I was tired. And Wei Ying noticed... And it’s less the fact that he noticed that got my heart beating so loud, but his hand on my face.

(He’s still beautiful though. Take your breath away beautiful. Stop and stare beautiful. How is he not a world famous model? I bet he could pull it off if he wanted to. Be on the cover of every magazine in the world. Make all the girls swoon.)

First, !!! (also no girls, ever. Just you)

(Omg his skin is so DAMN SMOOTH? WHAT PRODUCT DO YOU USE LAN ZHAN??? I MUST KNOW!!)

Second, it’s not my face but your hands, Wei Ying! Please pet my face all day, everyday, for the rest of my life.

It took everything in me to keep myself from jumping him right there.

Third, yes. Yes please. I am willing. Do it.

His hand was so soft and so... tender on my face, I just... I didn’t think. I just leaned into it. I barely heard what he asked to be honest, the feeling of his skin on mine was the only thing that filled my brain then. I even rubbed my face on his hand! A little. Still! I even closed my eyes, and I would have probably kissed his palm if my brain didn’t catch up what he said earlier. I opened my eyes then and got lost in his, and have I said how good his eyes looked then? Because I’m saying it again. I would have gotten lost in those grey eyes of his, but I had to say something other than “Mn” so I just said “you’re one to talk” quickly followed by “you have to take care of yourself too” when really I wanted to say “how about we take care of each other from now on?”

What I said made him laugh, and that sound always fills me with so much love and happiness. And we started eating again. And everytime he would get something from the plates, he would sit closer to me. And closer. And closer. And I wanted to reach out and sit him on my thighs so I could have him as close as could be.

Because I just want to be close to him forever. I want to touch him and hug him and be held.

Yes, just like that! And it was so perfect. And it kept being perfect after Jin ZiXun was gone (I am NOT talking about him more than necessary anymore, I said what I had to say before. He does NOT deserve the attention. Speaking of. I will talk with Xichen about buying that park. Perhaps Huaisang has connections to own it too? I’m sure Mingjue would see no problems if Huaisang takes it away from the Jins). I must have kept quiet for too long, pondering my options to take the park and surroundings from the asshole’s family, when Wei Ying pointed a wild bunny that had made his way close enough to be observed. I relaxed at the sight, and Wei Ying’s comment made me almost retort back that it’s not the bunnies I want to attract, but I kept quiet. I did look at his lips for a moment too long, but he didn’t seem to notice, as he started eating again. It took me more time to get back to eating myself, but we finished what was left quite fast.

Then, we lay back down to cloud gaze and... I’ve never did that before. Ever. So when Wei Ying started pointed out at the clouds and naming things, I didn’t know what he was doing. And then, I looked at the shapes, and I saw the fish. I didn’t see the dinosaur eating an arm though, it looked more like a... well, a normal blob of cloud. And that’s pretty much all I could see honestly (I didn’t pick up that heart either, but I wish I had). And then, I saw it. So I pointed it out, the bunny cloud. And it felt... It felt good. Really good. To be playing this game that has no goals nor rewards, just for the fun of doing something and imagining things in clouds, knowing they’ll disappear after a few minutes. And I felt so happy, I wanted to thank Wei Ying for that. So I took his hand. And the moment I realized I was doing it, my heart skipped a beat and I was waiting for him to remove it from my hand. But he didn’t. Instead, he intertwined our fingers together. And kept talking as if nothing happened. So I squeezed tighter and put my head closer to his shoulder, trying to see the occasional shape he still saw while listening and answering to whatever things he wished to talk about. Sometimes it was about the café. He asked me about how long I’ve known Mianmian (since we were seventeen), I asked him what painting he was working on (”oh, this and that.” Had I know I was part of the projects, I would... I don’t know actually. I... More thoughts for later). Sometimes, he would brush his thumb against my skin and I would do the same. I don’t think he noticed those but I, too, never wanted to let go.

Then it got late. We agreed to walk a bit around. I wanted to spend more time with Wei Ying, even if I was tired already. Then we walked in front of the skatepark and he said. These words.

“Fell for you right from the first, didn’t I?”

Wei Ying. Me too. So bad. I can’t even tell what got me then, or why it was you. I just know I saw your eyes, saw your smile, and you invited me for an ice-cream and I was already hooked. It was something in the way you talked, in how open you were, how easily you would show excitement for the smallest things. And I got attracted to all of that. It didn’t even matter to me that you forgot your wallet and I ended up paying (not that it’s a problem anyway). I gave you my phone number hoping it would lead to more than just an ice-cream and parted ways. And now, here we are.

I took the vanilla ice-cream because I almost never eat those (you wouldn’t believe the amount of... excentric flavours they offer in those families get-together, and they would always be either way too sweet or weirdly bland. And having a simple vanilla one that actually tastes good and having the chance to share it with you, just you, that made it taste even better. And no, I never buy ice-cream for myself. Yes, I know I could.)

We ate, and we walked, and we talked more. I wanted to hold Wei Ying’s hand again, but I didn’t want to make it weird. It was one thing to hold his hand on the blanket, neither of us moving. This would have been something else.

We may never be more than this.. but.. this is already more than I ever dared to hope for.

I hope Lan Zhan is in my life forever. I never want him to leave.

I want us to be more than this. When I’ll be truly worthy of you. This is more than I ever dared hope for too.

And as long as you let me in, I’ll be in your life forever. I never want to leave.

When I got home, fell asleep, worked, and my brother called me... But that’s for another post I think. I want to keep this one about the picnic. It was important for me too.

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smalltowndetective · 3 years

Note

Oh I love me some prompts! Okay, can I ask for "I've missed this." for the 50 Dialogue Prompts?

Hey! Thank you so much for asking! ❤

I did this one for Nate, I hope you like it! Sorry this took me so long!

Ao3 Link

Title: Dinner Date

Pairing: Nate and Pearl

Words: 1k

Summary: After Pearl has to spend a few weeks out of Wayhaven for training, Nate gives her the best welcome he can.

It had been a long few weeks.

Way too long for Nate’s liking.

Pearl had to do her mandatory training in the big city, since she was supposed to do it back when Murphy had come to town, but never actually did due to the chaos that resulted from the murders.

But it finally got rescheduled, and everything felt a little emptier without her around.

He had originally wanted to go with her, but the Agency wanted the team to stay in Wayhaven to continue patrols, so he was unable to do so.

It pained him to be so far away from her, and he knew that him moping around was starting to get on the rest of the Unit’s nerves, but he could not help it.

It’s like having a part of me missing.

That realization kind of shook him a little, but he tried to focus on the day that she would return, wanting everything to be perfect.

Luckily, they had some semblance of contact with her during the past few weeks. He had trying to call her each night, even with his own aversion to technology, and the two of them would end up talking for hours until he knew he had to finally let her go and let her get some rest.

He had even started sending her letters to her hotel, which she had found quite amusing at first, but she did write back, and it was another way to help to deal with her absence.

But she’s coming back tonight!

Nate felt himself smile at the thought of it, and he looked over all that he had set up.

He had remembered her making an off-handed comment to Tina about dating, and it had stuck with him.

“You can’t go wrong with a dinner date. It’s simple and uncomplicated”

And as soon he had heard that, it had never left his mind, and he had been trying to figure out exactly when he should do so.

Tonight, seemed like a good as time as ever.

He had decorated the table in the library, since that was where everyone else was least likely to mess with it, and it did not make bad scenery either. Nate had covered the table with a white tablecloth, and he put a bouquet of tulips at the center of the table, spreading petals around it. For dinner, he had made chicken alfredo, one of Pearl’s favorites, and even though he had not cooked himself for a while, he was pleased with how it turned out. As the time drew closer and closer, he lit the candles, their light the only light in the library as it slowly faded to night.

After what felt like forever, he could hear the soft padding of footsteps, and he tried to calm his racing heartbeat as she drew closer, running a hand through his hair.

She’s nearly here.

“Hey Nate”, Pearl said as she walked in, and he took the moment to take in the sight of her, having been so long since she had seen her last, but her blue-green eyes were just as bright as ever, her long honey blonde hair out of its usual braid and falling free down her back, and he felt an uncontained smile on his face, “I was told to meet you here?”

She then looked down at the table, and then back at Nate, and a light laugh escaped from her lips, “Oh, I knew something was up when you did not meet me at the door”

He moved closer to her, moving to run his one of his hands through her hair, the feel of it soothing more than anything he could think of right now.

“It’s good to see you”, he whispered, even though the words did not feel like enough for this moment.

“Yeah, same to you”, she grinned, “Thank you for all of this. It means a lot”

“Of course,”, he said, his eyes going to her lips as she moved closer to him, “You deserve that and much more”

The two of them met in the middle in a kiss, pulling each other closer almost desperately as the long time apart made them even more desperate to be take in the moment as it was.

And while it did not make up for the long time apart, it certainly was a start.

Pearl gently broke it off, but she did not move away, the two of them still close to each other, and she gently whispered, her eyes going to behind her, “I’ve missed this”

“I have as well”, he responded, “More then you could know”

He felt her smile against him, and he saw her eyes go to the table behind them, “So, you want to tell me where all of this came from?”

“Wanted to give you the best welcome back I could”, Nate said, moving back, but hesitantly, “I hope you like it”

“Are you kidding”, she playfully scoffed, “I love it”

Nate took her hand, entwining their fingers together, and he led her to the table, taking each and every second to soak up her presence.

I’m just so glad that she’s back.

He pulled out the chair on one side of the table, and she gave him a bright smile as she accepted.

“Thanks”, she said, and she gently removed her hand from his grasp to go and sit across from her.

“How was your last day at training?”, he asked.

Pearl rolled her eyes, “Same as always. I though something would be different after becoming a detective, but no.

She sighed, “It’s been some very monotonous past few weeks”. Her expression then brightened, “I’m just happy to be back. We’re not here to talk about work”

“Then what is it that you want to talk about?”, he asked, finding unable to look away from her eyes.

“Whatever comes to your mind first”, she grinned, “I’m here to listen to it all”

Nate gave a chuckle, and he started to tell her what had happened around the warehouse the past few weeks, and the conversation went on, the two of the them finally getting some much-needed time together, and both him and Pearl took the evening to catch up on everything had they had missed over the time apart.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven chronicles #twc #detective pearl reid #nathaniel sewell #nate sewell #nate sewell x detective #request

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pickalilywrites · 5 years

Note

Can you write a Rivetra Arranged Marriage AU if you want please? I would really love to see how they will warm up to each other. Thank you in advance! Your work for the Snk fandom is truly amazing.

thank you for your kind words! sorry it took me so long to write. i’m kind of in a funk ^^” i wanted to do a modern arranged marriage since i think most arranged marriage aus are in a historical setting and a modern au would be a nice change of pace~ so kind of a political/arranged marriage type of deal? it’s partially inspired by the kdrama search: www which features one of the cutest ones :O but other than the arranged marriage deal, it’s very different ^^” i hope you like it!

ps if you’re looking for a kdrama w/ a rivetra dynamic, i highly recommend watching because this is my first life! you can watch it for free on viki :)

A Love That is Sown

Rivetra. K-Drama AU.

A Love That Blooms series: Part i

3673 words.

Buy me a ko-fi!

Petra sits at the back of the limousine, playing with the wedding band around her ring finger as she gazes out the window. It’s a beautiful band, two golden ribbons looped around each other infinitely as a symbol of eternity. At first glance, the ring is simplistic in style, but a closer look would allow one to see the intricately cut diamonds - fashioned in a way that the precious stones sparkled at every angle - studded in one of the single golden bands that made up the ring and the ornate design cast onto the other band. The rose gold of the band, too, was something Petra had been unsure about at first. The metal had never appealed to her before, but she soon grew to like the look of it on her finger. Its subtle pink hue has a warmth to it that its white and yellow gold counterparts lack, and it contrasts well against the glittering diamonds. Truly, it’s a wedding ring that’s fit for a modern-day princess, and yet Petra still cannot help but feel the need to remove it from her finger.

She slides the ring from her finger and marvels at how easily it leaves. Not even a mark remains to show where it had been. She wonders if the ring will be as easy to take off in a year or five years after that. She wonders if she’ll be able to leave this all behind unscathed.

There is no doubt that there are many who would gladly take her place. Despite her deep unhappiness, her circumstances are not unpleasant. However, they are not ideal either. Upon graduating university with a business degree, Petra had been determined to help her father with his business, a floundering publishing house that had once been popular back in the day, but no amount of grit and determination could save the company from going under. In a last attempt to save her father’s business, she had sought a meeting with Levi Ackerman, head of Ackerman Enterprises, with an absolutely insane proposal - the wealthy businessman would be able to acquire the small but prestigious publishing house as long as he kept her as the publisher. As an added bonus, she would connect him with any and all business partners that the publishing house was associated with and strengthen the already strong hold that Ackerman Enterprises had over the city. She had thought that he would refuse her outright, but to her surprise, the man had signed her contract without much coaxing. The next day, Petra became the wife of one of the richest men in the world. Had Petra been a simpler woman, one that could easily be satiated with fame and fortune, perhaps she would not be brooding at the back of the limousine with a pensive expression on her face. Were she that type of woman, she would no doubt be happily on her way to her husband’s charity dinner, eager to greet him in a white gown that was worth a small fortune. However, Petra Ral is no such woman and so she sits in the back of the vehicle wondering if her husband would even be happy to see her.

Petra’s not sure whether or not she dislikes her husband, but she supposes that’s fairly normal in a contract marriage. Perhaps she should like him a little bit for his willingness to get married to her so quickly - all it took was for him to glance down at the contract she had written down the night before complete with the businesses and connections he would acquire through the marriage for him to agree. When she had watched him sign the contract, she thought for half a second that this man was her savior, but she quickly realized that this was purely a business decision of his - not one that was made from altruism or the goodness in his heart - and she quietly accepted the fact that she would be spending the rest of her life married to a man who cared more about his money than his own happiness. In a way, though, she was the same for marrying a man just to save her father’s failing business, so she couldn’t hate this man either.

To be fair, it’s possible that her husband dislikes her. Although they’ve been married for a good month, he had never made any attempts to sleep with her. The first night of their marriage, she had crawled into bed wondering if he would soon follow her only to have her husband open the door and inform her that he would be sleeping in another room for the time being. He hasn’t visited her sleeping quarters since. A part of her wonders if it’s because he doesn’t like women or if it’s because he dislikes her in particular. Then again, it’s not as if she’s made any attempt to sleep with him either. Perhaps he’s wondering the same thing about her.

She still wonders why he accepted that deal. It’s not as if she’s particularly pretty, and her father’s hadn’t been worth much by the time she had come to Levi with her proposal. Then again, perhaps he had seen value in it where she could not because the business began to flourish as soon as it was in his hands. Petra can’t even say what changed after the publishing house became a part of Ackerman Enterprises. As promised, she still holds the title of publisher and is responsible for many of the key operations necessary for the business to function. However, she had never managed to find success in her business before it had become associated with Ackerman Enterprises. Suddenly, the publishing house was flooded with calls from other businesses that wanted to collaborate or request the services of the company. That must be the power of connections.

When City Hall comes into view, Petra slips her wedding ring back onto her finger. Although she’s unhappy in her marriage, it’s not entirely unbearable. She can at least pretend to be happy in the eye of the public. Besides, it’s not as if she’s trapped in this marriage forever. Although she’s bound to him by a contract, contracts can be broken. Time will pass and Levi may come across someone more beautiful or more advantageous to wed. Or maybe her business will flounder once more and he’ll see no need to tie himself to her any longer. She’s sure that he’s unlikely to object. It’s just a contract. Love can’t bloom from pen and paper. She expects it’ll be at least five years before she finds the perfect opportunity to strike, although she might be a bit optimistic with her time frame.

The limousine slows down at the front entrance, stopping at the red carpet. Petra takes out her pocket mirror to check her reflection one last time. It’s her third time attending a high-society event, but she’s still unaccustomed to the glitz and the glamor necessary to attend such events. Her hair is tied elegantly into a bun at the base of her neck, a few tendrils falling from her temple to give off a romantic look, but all she can think about are the many pins holding up her hair that are sure to hurt when she lets her hair down. She turns her head, inspecting her makeup. It’s not a lot - just a bit of blush and mascara, a faint pink stain of lipstick on her lips - and yet it still feels as if it’s caked on, although it certainly doesn’t look that way. She’s sure that she’s never looked more beautiful, but she doesn’t feel that way at all. She just feels stiff, uncomfortable, and completely out of place.

The door opens, and Petra snaps her hand mirror shut, dropping it into her purse. She climbs out of the limousine, careful not to stop on the tulle skirt of her floor-length gown. As soon as she steps out onto the crimson carpet, she’s blinded by the camera flashes from paparazzi and news media outlets. Although she wishes nothing more than to raise her hand to cover the bright lights, Petra smiles graciously at all the spectators as she makes her way down the carpet. Really, she despises events such as these. It surprises her that someone like Levi, who she has never seen as particularly sociable, attends and even plans these types of charities, but she supposes he has an image to uphold. Then again, she does too. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have bothered coming.

The carpet seems to stretch infinitely, and Petra grits her teeth to keep from frowning at the celebrities and politicians ahead of her that she no doubt must greet before entering the building. Even further, she sees her husband standing at the doors to City Hall, greeting everyone wealthy enough to come to the event. Even though she can’t see him, Petra knows he’s wearing that smile he reserves for these types of occasions - the corners of his lips slightly upturned but his eyes unsmiling. She’s never seen him smiling at any other time, and she’s almost confident that isn’t his real smile. Maybe he doesn’t know how to smile, she quietly muses.

The people behind the velvet ropes call to Petra, screaming out her name and asking about her marriage to one of the world’s richest men. She turns to them and flashes a gracious smile, trying to appear humble even though she’s dressed in a gown that’s worth more than her entire wardrobe. She always finds these charity dinners to be incredibly hypocritical - rich people dressing up to show off their wealth and giving only a small portion of their money to charities they can’t even remember the names of. It’s clear that this hypocrisy doesn’t bother the press, though. They flock to the carpet, leaning over the red ropes and trying to get as close to the elite guests as possible. Although there’s quite a distance between them, Petra still finds herself feeling stifled and claustrophobic.

“What are you doing here?”

When Petra turns, she sees Levi walking towards her, the tails of his white tuxedo flying behind him. His hair is slicked back the way it usually is for these overly extravagant parties, and his smile is gone, replaced with that perpetual frown he usually wears when he’s out of the view of cameras. When he reaches her, she slips her arm around his, flashing a smile at him but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“It’s good to see you too,” Petra says, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. A faint pink lipstick stain is left on his cheek, but Levi makes no effort to wipe it away. She allows him to lead her across the red carpet. She wonders if it’s because of embarrassment that he walks so quickly, unintentionally ruining the view of photographers and other excited bystanders watching from the sidelines. “I almost didn’t come. You should have told me about it. I had to find it this morning after running into your secretary.”

Levi gives her a sideways glance. “I was under the impression that you didn’t enjoy these types of events.”

“It’s important to uphold our image,” she replies. She slows down to give a photographer a wave and a smile. “After all, I am your wife.”

He doesn’t reply. At a glance, it’s difficult to tell whether or not he’s angry that she arrived without any announcement. His mouth is set in that same thin line that it always is as he leads her towards the doors to City Hall. “If you had told me earlier, I would have arranged a more comfortable arrival for you so that you needn’t be under the scrutiny of all these reporters.”

“It’s fine. I can handle it,” Petra assures him. Although she’s attended these events before, this is only the second time she’s walked the red carpet. The first time, she attended an awards ceremony with Levi, but the constant hounding of reporters at the sidelines had worn her out and she ended up taking a taxi home early. The second time was the premiere of a movie with an actor Levi was acquainted with; Levi had her avoid the carpet entirely and the two had slipped in late after most of the other guests arrived. She has a feeling that he would have had her slip in through the back this time too, but she dislikes being coddled. “Don’t worry about whether or not these things make me uncomfortable. Appearing as your wife … isn’t it part of the contract?”

He looks over at her for a moment before returning his gaze ahead. “If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to do it. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the contract,” he tells her. As they walk up the steps, he carefully lifts her train so that it doesn’t drag across the stairs.

She thinks that’s a strange thing for him to say. For a moment, Petra thinks he’s being kind, which she finds uncharacteristic of him. She’s about to open her mouth and tell him that he should worry about other things, but a sudden commotion behind them distracts her.

Someone screams behind the velvet rope, and Petra and Levi turn to look. It’s difficult to make out what’s happening because of the crowd, but the shrieks grow louder and people begin to fall. Confused, Petra purses her lips as she tries to see what the uproar is about. Levi, too, stands beside her, his eyes narrowed as he watches people shoving each other as if running away from something. Only when Petra sees a man emerge from the crowd, a crazed look in his eye and a knife gleaming in his hand, that she finally realizes the cause for alarm.

“Levi,” she says, her eyes wide with fear. Her hands flail about as she reaches for her husband. “That man-!”

The man stumbles across the velvet rope, knocking it down and looking around madly. His eyes glaze over the guests that line the carpet while the knife still gleams threateningly in his hand. Nobody dares to stop him, or perhaps they’re too shocked at his appearance - the tangled mass of hair atop his head that hasn’t been washed or brushed in days, the disheveled clothing hanging from his thin frame, and the sunken face. He looks around hungrily, searching, and his gaze finally stops on Levi.

“Levi,” Petra whispers. Her fingers reach for him, but she can’t hold onto him.

The man has a wicked snarl on his face. “You bastard!” he yells, his voice loud enough to be heard by the panicked screaming of everyone around them. He waves the knife around, slashing it through the air. “This is all your fault!” The man stumbles towards Levi, his knife pointed straight at him. He breaks into a run and all Petra can hear is the sound of herself shrieking as the man comes towards them.

What happens next is a blur to her. She remembers trying to pull Levi back, only to be shoved aside so that she was out of the man’s line of sight. With one hand, Levi had protected her. With the other, he had reached out, perhaps in an attempt to grab the knife from the man’s grasp. She remembers another scream, but she can’t recall if it was her own. All she remembers is stumbling backward and staring at a stain of bright red that was so much more vibrant than the crimson carpet. There was more screaming and shouting and the sound of others rushing forward to help pull the man away from Levi. Petra recalls her vision blurring and her head spinning. As her knees began to buckle, she reached out to hold onto something, although she doesn’t know what. When she finally fell, she remembers thinking that it didn’t hurt when she hit the floor.

The next time Petra opens her eyes, she’s sitting in the hospital bed. Her uncomfortable evening gown had been exchanged for an equally uncomfortable hospital gown, and her hair had been let out of its bun. When she looks beside her, she sees Levi dozing off as he sits in a stiff chair meant for hospital guests. The view from her bedroom window tells her that it’s late now - the sun had probably set hours ago. It makes her wonder how long Levi had been sitting beside her and why.

She tries to sit up, only to stop when she realizes that someone’s holding her hand. When she looks down, she sees Levi’s bandaged hand wrapped around hers. The sight of the bandages fills her with guilt. She stares at his wounded hand for a moment before trying to slip her hand out from under his, but the small movement has already awakened him.

“Are you okay?” he mumbles sleepily before Petra even has the chance to sit up. He’s still half asleep, his eyes barely open.

“I … What happened?” she asks, trying to remember what had transpired earlier that night. There was the charity dinner tonight, and she had just arrived. And there was that man, his knife swinging madly around him. She remembers blood on the floor. She looks again at Levi’s bandaged hand and grabs at it suddenly before looking back up at him, examining the rest of him to see if there were any other wounds. “Your hand! He cut you! Is there anywhere else…?”

Levi pulls his hand away from hers. “I’m fine. You’re the one in the hospital. You fainted.” He pauses before asking again, “Are you okay?”

“What about the man?” Petra asks, deliberately ignoring his question.

“He’s in police custody. A disgruntled man who was recently released from his job at Ackerman Electrics. His attack was aimed at me,” Levi replies. He doesn’t seem very shaken by the experience, but it may be because his attention is focused elsewhere. Once more, he asks Petra, “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t answer, instead fiddling with the wedding band on her ring finger as her bottom lip trembles and her eyes are fixed on the bandage wrapped around Levi’s hand. After a moment, she says, “You pushed me out of the way, didn’t you?” When he doesn’t reply, she says bitterly, “You didn’t have to do that. Any of it. Pushing me out of the way, taking me to the hospital, staying here overnight with me - none of this is in the contract.”

There’s a flash of what looks like anger across his face for just one second. Just as quickly, it vanishes. “Isn’t this what I should do?” he asks. “What else should I have done?”

“It’s reckless to risk your life for someone over a piece of paper,” Petra tells him. She should feel grateful to him, but his recklessness only makes her feel even more indebted to him and she has nothing with which to pay him back. “Is it because you have an image to uphold?”

“Because I’m your husband,” he replies. The words are similar to the ones she had uttered earlier that night, but somehow they sound so different leaving his lips.

Looking at him is too difficult, so Petra turns her gaze towards the window. If she looks closely, she can see their reflections on the window pane. The way that Levi is sitting is strange to her, the way he’s leaning forward with his face turned toward her. The expression on his face is even stranger - a mixture of hurt, sadness, and concern. Why would he wear such an expression on his face? He doesn’t need to be so concerned about her. He could just make up a story to the press about how she’s recovering and then check up on her in the morning. There’s no reason for him to go this far. It’s as if he really cares about her, but she knows that’s impossible.

She turns back to him, her eyes settling back on his bandaged hand. “Is it going to leave a scar?”

“It might. It was only a few stitches,” he says. “Are you worried it will scar?”

Stitches. It will leave a scar. And just earlier she had been thinking that none of them would have to leave this marriage unscathed. Would it have been better if she had gotten the scar instead?

“It’s just that it was bleeding a lot,” she tells him.

“It’s fine.” He tucks his hand into his pocket so that it’s no longer in her sight. “You should go to sleep. You need a lot of rest.”

“I’m not tired,” she says, fighting off the drowsiness that is slowly overtaking her. Petra tries to sit up in her hospital bed, but her pillows are so satisfyingly soft. “What about you? Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“I don’t need a lot of sleep.” He reaches out to her with his left hand this time, holding hers and rubbing soft circles against her skin. “Don’t worry about me. It’s not in the contract. Just go to sleep.”

She wants to argue with him, but she’s too tired. She yawns instead, not bothering to stifle it with her hand. For a moment, she wonders if Levi does truly care for her, but she waves the thought away. She’s mistaking the concern in his eyes for something else, and her drowsiness is making her imagine the tenderness of his touch. He’s only concerned about his business and how he’ll manage the publishing house if she’s ill. He shouldn’t worry about that anymore, though, Petra thinks as she lowers herself back into bed, feeling the plush pillows behind her head. She’ll get a good night’s rest and get discharged in the morning, returning to work just as he wishes. Everything will be back to normal.

Petra drifts off to sleep, oblivious to the seed of love that had been planted between them that night.

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #snk #a love that blooms series #kdrama au #requests #asks #answered #anon #anonymous #any future installments for this series is gonna include #hella fluff hella angst and hella feels

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imagineteamfreewill · 5 years

Text

Prince Charming

Title: Prince Charming

Pairing: Reader x Sam

Word Count: 1,484

Warnings: None

Squares Filled: Workplace Romance (AU Bingo) and Early Mornings (Fluff Bingo)

Summary: Sam and the reader are college students working as characters at an amusement park, which leads to an extra-sweet cotton-candy romance.

A/N: This is a submission for @spnaubingo and @spnfluffbingo2019. Please leave feedback, and enjoy!

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______________

You yawned as you waved your ID badge at the security guard. He smiled sympathetically and pressed the button that unlocked the door, allowing you to step inside the giant concrete building. It was hidden well as part of a large, decorative mountain for one of the park’s many roller coasters. The building usually went unnoticed by the park’s oblivious patrons, and even though the mountain seemed to be made of solid, lifeless stone, the building was anything but.

As soon as you entered the main hallway, you were greeted by a dozen other workers, each of them in different stages of alertness. Some of them were holding onto her coffee like it was their only lifeline, while Charlie looped her arm with hers and immediately began to tell you about the latest gossip as the two of you walked to the women’s dressing rooms. She was made for early mornings, you decided.

Smiling to yourself, you shifted your own cup of coffee to your free hand and took a sip, letting Charlie chatter as one of the summer workers tugged open the door and led the two of you into the bustling dressing area.

Your normal spot was free, thankfully, and you settled down in silence. As soon as Charlie finished her story, you gave her a tired smile and watched her walk off, then plugged your earbuds into your ears. You pressed play on your phone, letting your morning playlist pick up where you’d paused it in the car, and started getting yourself ready for the day. Perfect makeup and hair was a requirement for your uniform. It was a routine now, and you normally finished with time to spare, but you always tried to start as early as possible. After being late one morning last year, you’d learned your lesson. Tardiness wouldn’t fly.

Sighing, you glanced at the clock on your phone and cursed the higher-ups who’d decided that moving the park opening up an hour during the summer was a good idea. Four in the morning was too early to be getting ready for any job, let alone a job that required you to look pretty, be happy, and interact with children. Then again, acting was what you loved. If this is what you had to do to become a “serious actor,” then so be it.

“You ready?”

Charlie stood behind you, her own red hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and her left eye decked out with dark shadow. She played a pirate in the more adventure-themed section of the park, so she only had to do makeup on one eye; the eye patch covered the other one, and you spend every day wishing that you’d been hired as a pirate instead of a princess. You might as well take up stock in the makeup removal industry, but Charlie was always out of the dressing room five minutes after her shift ended.

“Almost,” you replied, turning back to the mirror and finishing up your lipstick. After pressing your lips together, you grabbed your bag and coffee, then stood and followed Charlie out of the dressing room. The two of you still had time before you needed to get dressed, which meant that you had time to get a refill your coffee and hang out in the staff courtyard. There were usually at least a few people there would would sympathize with your sleepiness. Plus, it had a great view of the the sunrise, and even though you weren’t a morning person, you’d never get tired of watching the day begin.

Your stomach flip-flopped when you saw Sam standing on the far side of the courtyard, a styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. He’d been your Prince Charming for the past few months, and you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you hadn’t fallen for him hard—and fast. He was tall, handsome, and great with people. During your breaks, Sam kept you entertained with his quick wit and and extensive knowledge of every subject under the sun. You’d yet to find a topic he didn’t know at least something about.

Charlie nudged you with her elbow and grinned. “Go!” she whispered, and you quickly shook your head in response.

“I can’t!” you hissed.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed your arm and dragged you across the space. Sam turned when the two of you got closer, then smiled shyly when you met his eyes.

“Y/N, didn’t you want to ask Sam about his shifts this week?” Charlie asked, her voice loud and the words clunky and rehearsed.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed and wrinkles appeared on his forehead. “My shifts are exactly the same as yours, Y/N,” he said as he looked between you and Charlie, clearly confused.

“Oh, well then I guess I’ll see you later!”

Charlie was gone before you could protest, and you slowly looked back at Sam when you realized that even attempting to get her to come back was a fruitless endeavour.

“Hey,” you finally said. “Sorry about that. She… thinks we’d be cute together.” Inwardly, you cursed yourself for not going to bed earlier the night before. Maybe if you’d gotten more sleep, you wouldn’t mess up and say stupid things to your crush.

He seemed amused at your slip of the tongue, judging by the way he ducked his head and let out a quiet laugh, but Sam nodded a moment later. “That’s what my brother said.”

“Your brother?” you asked, looking around and trying to ignore the way your cheeks suddenly felt warm. “I didn’t know you had a brother that worked here.”

“He, uh, doesn’t work here, actually.”

“Oh.”

Sam took a sip of his coffee and you shifted your empty cup around in your hand before nervously asking, “Do you… Can I ask why your brother said that? I mean, have we met before?”

“Kind of,” Sam answered. “Remember the tall guy that got ushered out by security because he was harassing us?”

Gaping at him, you shook your head. “That wasn’t your brother,” you said, not quite believing him.

The grin on Sam’s face told you everything you need to know, and you rubbed your forehead with one hand, laughing as you remembered the crazy things that the man had been yelling at Sam as he’d been ushered out. At the time it had seemed completely absurd, but now that you knew that the man was Sam’s brother…

“Wow,” you chuckled, shaking your head in amazement. “He is…”

“We’re not quite sure what he is,” Sam interjected before you could even think of how to finish your sentence. You laughed and he grinned wide, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “He’s a typical older brother, and he told me later that night that he thinks I should ask you out.”

“Oh.” It was like every witty remark you had about his brother suddenly flew straight out of your head and was replaced with cotton.

Sam’s smile faltered a little bit when you didn't say anything more. “So?”

You swallowed thickly. “So what?”

“Will you go out with me? I’ve been wanting to ask you ever since I started here.”

“I— Really? Yes! Yes, when?” you asked, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “I mean, when do you want to go out?”

“Does Saturday night work? You don’t work on Sunday, right?”

Shaking your head, you smiled and answered, “We work the same shifts, remember? Saturday works. I’m free at seven.”

Sam relaxed and smiled a little wider, rubbing the back of his neck for a brief moment. “Seven o’clock. You’ve got my number, right?”

Your mouth felt dry again as you nodded back. “I can— Charlie’s got it. She can send it to me.” You didn’t mention that she’d actually given it to you a month after Sam had started working at the park, or that you’d been trying to get up the nerve to text him ever since.

The alarm on your phone went off, letting you know that you had a half hour before you had to be at your post, and you jumped. “I— I have to go!”

Sam chuckled, nodding. “I should be getting dressed myself. I guess I’ll see you at seven on Saturday?”

“You’ll see me before then, Prince Charming,” you grinned, relaxing as you fell into your normal morning routine with him. The sun was just starting to rise and you glanced over at it. “It’s gonna be a beautiful day, I think.”

“I think so too,” Sam replied, sounding surprised. “I’ll see you out there, then.”

Turning around, you tossed your empty cup into the trash can and linked arms with Charlie, glancing over your shoulder at Sam on your way out. He smiled when you met his eyes, and you suddenly had the feeling that maybe your early mornings at work wouldn’t be that bad after all.

_______________

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quillreflections · 4 years

Text

Title: Strawberry Avalanche

Chapter: 7

Series: Yugioh Zexal

Pairing: Trey Arclight/reader

Disclaimer: I started this when I was younger so the early chapters are kinda shitty lmao

If you were a beautiful sound in the echoes all around, then I’d be your harmony.

You took a deep breath as you bounded up the front stairs, coming to a slow halt in front of the giant doors. Hopefully the Arclights were in a better mood today. A gruff voice echoed over your shoulder as you hesitated. "What are you waiting for? I've got much better stuff to be doing." You tensed up at the chilly tone of Kite's voice, quickly knocking loudly on the door. You didn't really wanna stand with these guys for much longer. . . As if on cue, the door swung open and Trey grinned brightly at you and the ragtag group you'd gathered. Standing behind you on the stairs were almost all your friends; Yuma, Bronk and Caswell had been ecstatic to join in, and with a few extra promises you'd looped Shark and Kite into the deal too. Tori'd come along and had been eyeing you the entire time, not too keen on the idea behind your entire project. Somehow Ray had caught wind of the ordeal, and he'd brought along Alito, with Dumon following out of curiosity and Mizar coming along to keep everyone out of trouble. (He was actually interested, though. You could see it in his eyes.) They hadn't agreed to help quite yet, but they were clearly interested in watching for awhile- hopefully they agreed, once they saw what was going on, because the more people you had, the better. Trey nodded, smiling brightly as he greeted you all. "Come on in! You can leave your stuff in the coatroom- right over there!" He waved in some general direction before grabbing you by the sleeve and pulling you away, down the hall and into the room he'd set up. He'd clearly gone all-out in getting everything ready, since the two of you wanted to finish most of the project today; it was one of the spare rooms, and all the furniture had been shoved to the side, the floor was covered in white sheets to protect the hardwood. Off in one corner, by the floor-length windows, another sheet had been set up as a backdrop, with several spotlights and a few cameras and tripods. On the floor in the center of the room was a multitude of colored paints and different brushes. Michael turned to you, still smiling. "Do you think we'll need anything else?" You shook your head as the rest of the group wandered in, accompanied by the other Arclight brothers. "I think we've got most everything we need, so. . ." you clapped your hands together, unable to stop the probably extremely thirsty smirk crossing your face as you turned to the others. ". . . boys, I'm gonna need you to remove your shirts." ☆☆☆ You. . . you were leaning awfully close to Thomas. And he was leaning awfully close to you. Michael's breath caught in his throat as his older brother smirked, leaning forward to whisper something in your ear as you dragged the paintbrush across his collarbone. Thomas' red eyes darted over to the youngest brother, absolutely relishing in the visible chill frosting over his face. "Trey, what's wrong? Are you done?" Trey blinked, bringing his attention back to what he'd been doing. Yuma was staring at him in confusion, wondering why he'd stopped working. Trey chuckled and shook his head quickly, dipping his brush back in the red paint and getting back to work. "S-sorry! I was just thinking about something." Yuma shifted a bit in order to keep his eyes on his friend as he worked. "Are you sure you don't wanna talk about it? You looked kinda mad." Trey shook his head again, quickly changing the subject. You picked up the finest-pointed brush, coating it in the purple paint and bringing your hand up to Quattro's face. It was incredibly difficult not to blush as he stared intently at you. You slowly traced the end of his duel gazer's design, carefully drawing it out into a jagged pattern that went down his jaw and crossed his neck to meet the lines you'd painted over his collar. Every few moments he'd let out a sigh, occasionally shifting forward and leaning into you even more. Eventually you couldn't take his advances, dropping the paintbrush with a heavy sigh. "Quattro. . . why don't you go take a seat under the lights, and let this dry a bit?" "Aww, I was enjoying that. I'd hate to have to share you." You just shrugged awkwardly, not really sure what kind of reaction he wanted. Clearly that wasn't it, and he frowned as he wandered to the edge of the room. You stretched your hand a bit, massaging it and rolling your wrist before motioning Shark over. You didn't notice, but Trey visibly relaxed as his older brother walked away from you- Yuma noticed, though. His eyes wandered between you and his friend, and he slowly realized what had been bothering the other boy. Usually he's not that good at keeping quiet, but thankfully his voice was low as he spoke.

"Hey. . . you do like her, don't you?"

Trey's brushstrokes faltered a bit, but he recovered quickly. Yuma's his friend, so he can be told the truth- there's a lot of resolve in his voice as he responds with a solid "Yes, I very much do." Yuma's satisfied with that answer, going back to humming as Michael reaches for a different paint color.

☆☆☆

You sighed heavily, slumping against the kitchen counter.

Today you'd finished painting the older Arclights- Quattro's design was sharp and took a lot of space on his skin, whereas Quinton's was a very methodical pattern- as well as Yuma and Shark; unfortunately you'd run out of paint, so you only planned the designs for the others. The Barians had also been roped into agreeing to help you, so you needed to work on designs for them too-

"So, {Name}, what do you want for dinner? I think we have some leftovers, but if you can wait for a bit, I can make something pretty quickly-" Michael glanced at the clock before peering into the fridge. You looked at your own watch, amazed that it had gotten so late. You'd been having a lot of fun working, but it had been exhausting, and then you'd taken more time to photograph the already-finished designs-

"Hey Michael, you remember when we were kids? We'd have breakfast for dinner?"

"Yeah, that was pretty fun, wasn't it? Do you wanna do that again?"

You nodded, and he got to work on scrambling some eggs. He knows exactly how you like them, so there's nothing to worry about. You'd always enjoyed watching him work in the kitchen; he seemed like some kind of wizard, or maybe an angel. His movements were smooth and very soothing, his eyes always focused but sparkling with enthusiasm- he was always so careful not to get anything dangerous near you, and he'd memorized your favorites and least favorites, so he always knew exactly what to whip up whenever you were over. As he worked, he glanced at you over his shoulder. "Hey, do you want to sleep over again tonight?"

You were exhausted, and although you knew the Arclights would drive you home so you didn't have to make that walk in the dark, you didn't really feel like getting up right now- you nodded and Michael grinned. "You can borrow some of my clothes to sleep in, and we've got plenty of spare rooms- but we can always set you up in my room too, if you want- ah, I'll find some old movies to watch before bed-"

You closed your eyes as he spoke, just enjoying the sound of his voice. This feeling- you'd missed him so much while he'd been gone, and were beyond overjoyed to finally have him back. Spending all this time with him was great, and made you happier than you'd been in awhile.

Before you opened your eyes and started helping with the cooking, you let yourself think for just a moment about how great it would be to come home to him one day, when the two of you were fully grown. It'd be really nice to stay with him forever, wouldn't it?

#strawberry avalanche #trey arclight #yugioh #Zexal

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cxramel-cat · 5 years

Text

(SUPERBAT WEEK 2019) day 04

Chapter Title: Last Memories Day Four: Bed Sharing Rating: General Warning(s): Angst, Major Character’s Death Word Count: 1438 Summary: He knew someday, it will be their last night together. Side-note: Written for @superbatweek Other link(s): AO3 | Wattpad | Fanfiction

He wasn’t supposed to feel exhausted. He shouldn’t be. However, when he glanced over at the clock and back to the man on the bed, Clark felt how heavy his heart was.

Bruce was bundled up beneath the covers. Once in a while, he would grunt out in discomfort and Clark would immediately lean forward to check on his state.

Two days ago, Bruce had a minor heart attack in the middle of the night. Clark, who panicked upon seeing the other collapsing down, had immediately rushed his husband to the hospital. A quick check from Bruce’s personal doctor had explained how the man’s heart was slowly corrupting. Ever since then, Bruce had been restricted on bedrest in the hospital until his heartbeat could stabilise.

Clark despised this. He could see Bruce’s face in the darkness, and he could tell that Bruce was suffering. He didn’t need the doctor’s comforting words about how Bruce might survive— he could hear his lover’s heartbeats clearer than the medical gadgets.

Bruce wasn’t going to survive.

This was his third minor heart attack in a month.

His heart wasn’t able to withstand the pressure.

Clark knew this day would come.

Bruce’s body had never recovered completely from the injuries he withstood in his glory years as Batman. They’d just became an illness, which had been tamed when he was young and strong. Now, as he became older and frail, those old injuries came striking as aftereffects.

“Bruce…”

Bruce’s fingers twitched under Clark’s call. The man slowly opened his eyes and looked up at his husband.

The Kryptonian looked distressed, and Bruce detested it. He knew the condition of his own health, and despite the encouragements from the doctors and the nurses, he knew that there was only a minor possibility for him to survive. Even if he did survive, he would probably have to live the rest of his life in a wheelchair and consuming large amounts of medication every day, while anticipating when the next heart attack would come.

That didn’t fit his style of life.

“Clark, please stop acting like I’m already dead.” Bruce sighed. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The remark struck Clark. As always, Bruce spoke like he had everything under control. He might have a point, but nothing could be changed.

“You’re here, for now. But tomorrow… who knows?” Clark laughed bitterly. “I’ll still be in this world the second you die, Bruce. I’ll have to watch you leave this world. And the last thing I would remember about you would be this moment – in which you’re bedridden in the hospital instead of our home.”

The smart comment took Bruce aback. He fell silent. Clark was right. This could be his last night, and he would probably die in this poor excuse of a bed. How depressing.

“Then… why don’t we sneak out?”

Clark jerked up at the suggestion. His eyes wide with shock. “Are you crazy, Bruce? We shouldn’t do that! The doctor said ̶ ”

“Oh, come on, Clark,” Bruce huffed. “You and I knew about my heart better than the doctor.”

Bruce looked tired, Clark realized. Not physically tired, but tired of being stuck in the hospital which reeked of medicines and depression, the entire atmosphere. Something about his state brought an ache to Clark’s heart, a pain he had never prepared for.

“I miss our home, Clark,” Bruce confessed. “If this is the last day of my life, I would rather spend it like any ordinary day. I want my last moment to be a wonderful memory for you, Clark. I want it to be a memory where you can look back and smile. As you said, you hate to see me bedridden in the hospital as well. Right?”

It sounded tempting. However, at the same time, it would add up the yearning of keeping Bruce by his side forever – which Clark knew was impossible. Good last memories would be everlasting, but it would cause more heartache.

Was he ready for this?

“All right...” Clark took a deep breath. “I’ll get you out of the bed. But you have to promise me, Bruce. Don’t be stubborn.”

He flew Bruce back to their home. For the whole night, both of them acted as though Bruce had never been to the hospital. Clark cooked whatever he could find in the fridge, while Bruce brewed their coffees as early breakfast. Then, after the hearty meals, Bruce led Clark back to the living room and put out a hand.

Knowing it was a cue to one final dance, Clark accepted it. There was no song, but a simple tune which both of the men hummed under their breaths. It wasn’t perfect in retrospect, but for both Clark and Bruce, it was enough. As they danced slowly in their cozy house, swaying along with the song they were making out of their mouths themselves— the same piece played during their wedding, it summarized every memorable moment they had spent with each other in this house.

Bruce was humming the tune rather delightfully, even if his face didn’t express much. The dance was elegant, despite some clumsy mistakes here and there, since Clark haven’t danced for a long time after their marriage.

Clark pulled Bruce into his embrace deeper, latching his hand around the other’s man waist so that he didn’t have to let go. Bruce rested his head against Clark’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, memorizing Clark’s scent in his mind.

Clark stared at Bruce with half-lidded eyes and a wistful look. He didn’t want his husband to die. The words were itching to come out of his mouth. He didn’t want Bruce to leave him. But Clark couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. So, all he could do was smile and kiss Bruce.

“Clark,” Bruce hesitantly peeled himself from the other’s embrace. “Let’s… go to our bedroom.”

They lay on the bed together, their fingers interlocked. They didn’t sleep for the next few hours before sunrise, as they looked through the photographs of the past and talked about all of the exciting things that happened in the past.

It was around six in the morning, when Bruce felt his heart giving out. At that moment, the stubborn old Bat started to reminiscence on his long life. Looking back, he wondered what Clark saw in him, this decrepit shell who was no longer young and charming. Yet he’d never left Bruce’s side.

Bruce leaned closer against Clark’s chest. He was very warm, Bruce thought. Yes, this was home. This was where he would rather die — the comfort of his lover and the bed he remembers.

Bruce squeezed back at Clark’s hold, tilting his head as he stared into the Kryptonian’s gaze. “Clark.”

“Yeah, Bruce?”

“I love you.”

They were married for thirty years. They said the same words to each other every night before they went to sleep. However, for tonight, those words were not something which Bruce said casually. Those words conveyed Bruce’s feelings deeply.

“I love you too, Bruce.”

Clark smiled through his hidden sadness. He leaned forwards, letting his lips press against Bruce’s. It wasn’t a touch, as his tongue began to latch on Bruce’s.

Bruce closed his eyes. With his remaining consciousness, he indulged into the kiss as Clark was. Minutes had gone by, but Clark didn’t remove his lips from his husband’s.

Right now, time was the cruellest enemy to them. At this moment, Clark could still feel the warmth of Bruce’s lips and he appreciated every moment of it. It was just Bruce and him, in their comfy warm bed, and nothing else mattered. He felt the last of Bruce’s seconds. He tasted his blood. He felt his last breath brushing against his skin.

Until he could no longer feel the breath.

He sensed that Bruce’s soul had left his body. Clark pulled away, paused at the sight of his husband’s closed eyes. There was nothing more painful than feeling the soul of your loved one slipping out of your arms. However, Clark knew that he should feel happy for Bruce.

He had left this world without regrets. The agony was finally lifted from Bruce. There was nothing that Clark felt greater than the fact that Bruce had left this world in peace.

He caressed Bruce’s fingers in his. His gaze settled on the gold ring on Bruce’s finger, before he lifted the hand up, pressing one final kiss on his husband’s hand.

“Thank you, Bruce Wayne, for spending the last thirty-five years of your life loving me.”

#superbat #superbatweek2019

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andistic · 5 years

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❝All I see is red. What do you see?❞ Full Name: Annie Renée Stewart Pronunciation: An ∙ nee, Ra ∙ nay, Stu ∙ art Meaning of Name: ❧ Annie is a diminutive of Anna. Anna is most likely a variant of a Hebrew name Hannah, meaning "gracious" or "favored", because in the Bible she was a sincere and merciful woman. Ultimately the name lost its initial 'h'. ❧ Renée (often spelled without the accent in non-French speaking countries) is a French feminine given name. Renée is the French form of the late Roman name Renatus and the meaning is reborn or born again. ❧ Stewart is relating to the royal family ruling Scotland 1371–1714 and Britain 1603–49 and 1660–1714. Nicknames: The Broken Crown Gender: Female Pronouns: She / Her Age: 124 years old Mental Age: 28 years old Birthday: March 28th Zodiac: Aries Race/Species: Nephlim Nationality ❧ Mother’s side: Angel ❧ Father’s side: Alp (A mythological nightmare demon) ❧ Birthplace: Remote barn in upstate New York. Accent: American ❝Queen is nothing but a title. A title that I cannot claim. Nor do I want to.❞ Skin Tone: Pale Hair Color: Raven Hair Style: Straight and long, reaching far down to her hips. When it gets wet it curls up just slightly. Sometimes she will pin it up into a messy bun or ponytail. Eye Color: Naturally crimson and she has cat-like pupils. Other details about her eyes: Her dark magic can change them to a bright blue just to blend in with humanity. Under stress, fear, or change, they'll flicker away back to the natural dark red. Body Shape: Square Clothing: She'll mostly wear anything black and quick to throw on. Easy to blend into the night and flexible for when she's fighting. Height: 6'2" Weight: 135lbs Tattoos: A faint one on her back depicting butterfly wings. The color is a bright cyan. She has another that's a vine decoration from her left hip all the way up to the base of her jaw. Piercings: A simple black ball on her tongue. Birthmarks: It's kind of covered up by the vine tattoo, one on her left hip that looks like a skull. Scars and burns: Long inflamed marks on her back, stomach, and chest. She has multiple burn marks everywhere on her body from closing a wound with Dawn. ❝If you hate my cold nature stop stepping near the freezer.❞ Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Preferred Gender: She doesn't have one. Romantic Status: Single First Kiss? ❧ Swept away by one of her mentors. Their relationship was simply platonic, she tried to use him to escape. He, in returned, tried to use her for power. First Date? ❧ She will always claim she never really had one. Unless slaughtering hordes of brainwashed millennial demons count as romantic in the slightest. ❝And why would I care about your petty feelings?❞ Overall Personality: She's very cold and blunt. Always stating the obvious. She has a bit of a humorous wit to her, able to dance around someone's mental state. How they view themselves? ❧ A monster. A killer of the night, ready to snap her jaws on hunger. How others view them? ❧ She doesn't know many, only family. Rumors leavened with conjecture, she is seen as a disgrace. The words were mostly uttered by her grandfathers, tainting her image. Postive Traits: Intelligent Brave Integrity Responsible Reliable Negative Traits: Cold-Shouldered Hot-Tempered Loner Aggressive Grim Likes: Clear night skies Her flower garden Silence Sitting on her roof Exerting power Dislikes: Someone using her shadows against her Human food Enthusiastic people Changes Demons Temper: She's very quick to set off. Anyone she meets is always on thin ice. Watch where you step. Dreams: Freedom To be human To be accepted Fears: The death of humanity Accidentally killing a human Falling asleep ❝You're merely a pawn in a small game.❞ Weapons: Dawn and Dusk, they're two spectral blades bound by a soul. She can call upon them, but cannot banish them unless they are physically broken. Once broken, Dawn cannot be resummoned until the full moon, and Dusk the new moon. She has to be careful when and where she does this, Dawn can cause fires. Powers: She can control both shadow and light. The shadows are like multiple hands or persons with a deadly grip. Also with the shadows, she can make your greatest fear come to life, long enough for her to flee or attack. With light, she has multiple arrows at her fingertips and a temporary blinding power for fleeing or attacking. However, she doesn't use her light powers too often and relies on darkness. Her darkness isn't well trained and she often causes a nightmare to herself. Intelligence: 10/10 Strength: 6/10 Emotional Strength 1/10 Speed: 9/10 Agility: 10/10 Stamina: 10/10 Defense: 0/10 Wisdom: 8/10 Humor: 9/10 Common Sense: 9/10 Loyalty: 7/10 Teamwork: 0/10 Confidence: 0/10 Patience: 4/10 Anger: 10/10 Control: 3/10 Kindness: 2/10 Trust: 1/10 Physical Health: 4/10 Emotional Health: 0/10 ❝It's not negativity, sweetheart. It's called life.❞ Overall health: Fit as a fox. Nothing fully wrong except her mentality and her blood. Mental Health: She's broken. She views herself as disgusting. A monster to be reckoned with. Something to be killed and slaughtered. She also periodically hears the screams of her victims. Physical Health: Her body is frail and tiny, but due to her small frame it makes her fast and nimble. Illnesses? In all technicality, her blood is corrupted. Being of a split breed, her body doesn't know which to choose. The plasma is loose, almost like water. Yet it is dark like thick black paint. It's easy to spread the tainted drops across the grass to turn the blades black. She has to be very careful if she gets cut. Mental Disorders? PTSD. If she sees a whip or small knives, she'll either break down into a panic or cause a fight. Smokes? Yes, cigarettes. Drugs? No ❝I have seen the ups and downs of this plane. It doesn't deserve to be wiped out.❞ 〈〈 HISTORY 〉〉 Childhood Life: Spending most of it in a cell, Annie can vaguely remember the age before she was swept away. She can remember the day she had met her blades. Well, at least the spirits that attached themselves to the dark and light. Dawn and Dusk fell from her lips, naming the dead. The dead that would be forever lost if she hadn't bound them to two weapons. Before she had reached four years old the demons took her. Locked her up because she was a combination not only feared, but also forbidden. To top this off her parents had royalty in their genes. After her birth their not allowed to claim their crowns. She cannot touch either as well. She was kept in a dark cell for many years. In silence, distant flames of fires beyond to be her friend. Cold bars were her enemy. A shackle to her ankle was a parent. Teenage Life: Still in the cold lifeless cell, she stayed. As she grew older, she got cocky. Arrogant and spiteful. Lashing out anyone who came to mock her. Fed up with the noise, her grandfather issued punishment to the now sixteen-year-old. Day in and day out, she was slashed with whips upon her back. Many times it brought tears to her eyes, cried to her silent voice. The skin on her back painted in the black ooze. Many times she thought she had died, only to realize to demons controlled that as well. Adult Life: Broken and quiet. That's all that remained in the cold cave with bars. A few would come, snicker at her humiliating place. She'd glare, the eyes filled with hunger and anger. They would scurry off whenever she stirred the shadows. She had grown powerful in dark captivity. Many forget that her genes carry ones of an Alp. Able to weave in and out of nightmares, of night. Finally, a March wind rolled over the surface of her imprisonment. Her bones could feel it as she turned twenty-five. It had been many years since someone came to the bars. To snicker, to laugh. To call her disgusting, a waste of a crown. This one did not, however. A man stood, just beyond the bars, a pitiful look upon his face. Empathy? Sadness? A combination of the two? She couldn't tell. "What have they done to you?" He called out as if he knew her, crimson eyes flickering in low light. The bars pried open, shadows she did not weave. The inky hands snapped the metal bars as if they were twigs, nothing more. Stepping into the cave, he gently removed the chain. It was rusted and surprised she hadn't realized she probably could break that off on her own. The realization hit once more. She fled, faster than she ever could. Instincts kicking in, one to feed. One to slaughter. This is when she made her first regretful kill. Standing in a pool of blood, she cried. Demons can forget their morals so easily, yet angels carry that weight with a heavy chain. After the rampage, she broke down. Killing easily over one thousand humans. Swallowing every soul greedily to fulfill her hunger. Warmth touched her shoulder, darkness filled her vision. The same two she had met years before, regaining their helpful master. Dawn and Dusk remained with her this whole time. Yet stuck on the surface, spinning in circles. Unable to save their savior. They fled into the night, searching for a new home. A new calling. They settled with a plot of unclaimed land, Dusk and Annie building a cabin in the middle of the woods. Far away from society and demons. Happy Moments: She can't recall much, the faint moments of her sisters. Either a tea party with Linda, who would then accidentally freeze the plastic cups or a dance with Lina. A prank or two with Lindy, only to get into trouble soon after. She holds these shattered and faded memories as close as she can. Sad Moments: Her heart drags through the mud each time she remembers the faces she killed. At times she will cry at night because of this. The faint faces of her siblings and parents also haunt her; she desperately tries to remember. ❝Just because you're here doesn't mean I needed you.❞ Mother Name: Cassandra Stewart Status: Dead. History: In older days her name was Cassandra - Dawn would be her future name - heir to the thrones of gold. She had four girls, all witches. It is one of the laws within the gates that all angels bare one witch in their life. Finding one human to serve as mother or father and fleeing with said child. Cassandra was special, she gave the gift of the seasons to her children. Even as the years went on, every time there is a hot day or a cold winter, Annie knows who made it. Cassandra was never happy though. Living under the unending course of laws and regulations. She ventured to the mortal land one day, meeting a man with horns. At first, she didn't know what to do, beginning to arm herself with a twig. A demon stood before her, handsome no less. Tall with black hair, piercing red eyes. His horns were curled, their tips barely touching his long, elf-like ears. He gave her a smile, opening his arms to the golden beauty. He had no weapon to brandish or show off. Instead, he just wanted to admire her, gaze at the lake eyes and blonde locks. Talking can lead to common ground. They both felt trapped with their crowns, unable to burn them away. Years would go by, feelings would pump strong. Until one day a child, ebony hair, eyes bouncing between red and blue. Happy, always happy. If that child could've only stayed that way. Cassandra was called in by her own father, ridiculed. He told her she didn't know what love meant. That loving a demon was unnatural. Cries of an unwanted child made her father snap. He broke off her wings, leaving her bones shattered and feathers a bloody mess. Tossing them aside, she was squished under his boot. A king can be cruel, even the ones with a heart of gold. "Don't," her final words began to crawl out of her throat. Her face turned to him, tear-stained and coated in her own blood. "Don't hurt her." He was a fool to even think she'd beg for her own life. No, instead Cassandra groveled for the halfbreed. If she wanted to be lower than scum, so be it. He would happily oblige. The angel plummeted to earth, surrounded by sandy deserts. Crimson mixed in with creamy tans, Cassandra wasn't able to get up. She bled out, buried by the forgotten wastelands. Father Name: Dani Acor Status: Dead. History: Demons are slightly weaker, at least those who don't have strong blood behind them. Millions upon millions of types conversed under the rock. There was a prince named Dani; Dusk would be his name in later years. After the news of his missing wife, only recently marrying her, he fled to the underworld with his newborn. Demons turned heads, staring at their fallen prince. He glared back in fear. He did the thing any father would protect his little girl. Although still children themselves, Dani found the coven of four witches. It wasn't hard, the house still under his fallen wife's name. Dani spoke with the eldest of the four, holding her face in his hands. That was his only option, to trust the half-sisters to raise the nephlim. "Lindy," Dani spoke to the confused fifteen-year-old. She opened her mouth, wanting to ask how he knew her name. "Your mother, she was special," Dani didn't let the girl speak, "far beyond special. Remember that, okay? I need you to take care of your youngest sister." He was holding back his own heartbreaking cries. Lindy looked back at Lindsey in confusion, she was the youngest that they only knew. Her mouth opened again, wishing to speak. Dani squashed her curious flame. "Just trust-" a loud bang came at the door. Time ran out. "Dani boy!" A snake-like creature broke the door into wooden fragments. Its face twisted with a horrific fanged grin. The blood born alp stood protectively in front of the children, they cowered in the corner in return. Dani would go down fighting, willing to spill his blood for his only child. The fight lasted for minutes, shadows and demons arguing about right and wrong. The prince was pinned down by the snake-like creature, unable to move or fight. Dani made his last decision, he sacrificed himself to damnation. The demons dragged their prince in chains, happy with a catch. He was brought beneath the earth for eternity, his throne no longer in view. He didn't care for the cheap seat, his heart ached for his lost love. Loneliness is a silent killer, his few months of confinement and heartbreak left him dead. Dani literally died of a broken heart. Siblings Names: Linda Stewart, Lindsey Stewart, Lina Stewart, and Lindy Stewart. Status: All alive. Friends Names: Dawn and Dusk (Spirits behind her blades.) History: Dani and Cassandra were doom driven lovers, a power beyond the kings brought them back. Angels and demons never die off, simply reborn into a new body with their memories erased. These two prolonged such a thing, they didn't want to forget. However, such a thing is written for them. Forgetting little by little of each other and their child. That is until Cassandra set foot on familiar land, a house with overgrown greenery. A coven beyond doors and a child with a crown of golden horns. She wasn't alone, a presence stood beside her. The golden dead turned, meeting purple in her eyes. Flashes of a man of horror, a sweeter heart in his chest, danced before her very eyes. A sly grin spread across his faded face, arms open for the golden beauty. "Dani?" Cassandra was in tears, practically choking on her own words. It was him, the one she never wanted to forget. Before she could run into her lover's arms, she was stopped by a young girl. The girl's hair was as ebony as the hours before midnight. "Why are you crying?" The child was no more than three, her big red eyes making her look innocent. Cassandra knelt down to her own daughter, wanting desperately to touch her face. "Nothing An-, I mean," Cassandra cleared her throat. Annie would never remember her mother's face, nor know why this strange woman knew her name. "Nothing, child." Cassandra gave the little nephlim a smile. She attempted to place her hand upon the girl's head, but her heart broke. She couldn't touch her own daughter, her fingers slipping through matter. Dani stood there, stiff. He couldn't look at his own daughter, the familiar ache echoed in his soul. Agitation was soon replaced in the sad pit, his hand roaming over his face. He could barely watch this, perhaps hoping he would forget. However, it melted when his daughter popped up with a question. "Want to play?" Annie scurried for a ball in the play yard. She held up the rubber toy with the brightest smile on her face. The two dead shared a few glances, they figured why not? Wanting to share the last few moments with their creation of profound love. "What are your names?" Annie tossed the ball, but it went through Dani. There was a flaw in their plan. The nephlim wasn't going to be discouraged, she tossed the ball away and offered tag. A single rule was made; the hand of the person who was it had to go clear through the other. Her parents agreed, but Annie brought the question up again. What were their names? The dead paused, thinking on how to carefully answer. For some reason, they didn't want to state their names. They figured if Annie ran to her sisters, Lindy would definitely know something was up. No, Cassandra wasn't going to let Lindy waste her days away trying to bring back the dead. She knew the fire witch would try. "How about Dawn and Dusk?" Annie said, hoping that the two liked the names. Her parents shared a smile, that was their loophole to avoid the truth. The three laughed, a family again; at least for the few moments, they had left. That was until Dusk fell, his hand pressed against his transparent forehead. His memories were fading, along with him. Dawn quickly ran to him, her own glow brighter than his. "No, no! Dusk! No! Don't leave now! Please!" Tears filled Dawn's eyes, she knew he would fade from existence. Annie stood quietly behind her parents, a tepid expression across her face. No one will ever know what pulled her to do what she did. "I can save him." Determination was clear in Annie's heart. The child was always strange, sensing something that was never said or there. She ran into the house, dragging a book back out with her. It was bigger than her, but she did it without complaint or question. She flipped the book open acting like she knew what she was doing. Except she knew what she was clearly doing. "Annie, this isn't time for ga-!" Dawn felt a shock throughout her body, something inside of her grabbed ahold of her invisible heart. Dusk was in the same pain, neither of them was able to speak. When the pain wiped itself away, Dawn and Dusk panted to regain their breath. Whatever it was, it hurt. Badly. In the very end though, both of them felt different. They felt connected to the earth, the heavens, and the underworld again. Dawn reached out to Annie, but something appeared after she did. A bright shimmering blade stood before her gaze, lighted by flames of holy. Floating above the ground and leaving a patch of burnt dirt. Dusk grunted behind Dawn, she whipped her head to see if he was okay. He was no longer becoming a faded memory, but he held his chest in pain. Dawn took his head into her hands, she felt him. He existed in the world and so did she. Dusk let out a painful scream, the core of his chest glowing an intense purple. Just like Dawn, Dusk summoned a blade, jagged and corrupted. The weapon had thorns to rip flesh open, twists and turns to pull out guts. It was large and heavy, slamming into the earth. Becoming lodged into its own hole in the ground. Enemy: Name: Her grandfather, Coro (Father's side), the king of mayhem. (Underworld.) ❝Get the hell away from me!❞ Pessimistic or Optimistic? Pessimistic. Introvert or Extrovert? Introvert. Bookworm or Party Animal? Bookworm. Dare Devil or Cautious? Dare Devil. Logical or Emotional? Logical. Working or Relaxing? Working. Think before Speaking or Speak before Thinking? Speak before thinking. ❝And when plants die, what do we grow after?❞

#angel #demon #halfbreed #oc #art #traditional art #original character #angst

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onestowatch · 2 years

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ASTN Wants You to Know ‘You’re Almost There’ [Q&A]

Photo: Bryce Glenn

ASTN has been diligently putting his all into in everything the past few years, which mean he’s been all up in his feelings, an emotive trip ending in an ellipsis, a prognosis of hope while hurting, all to our musical benefit. From regularly going viral with R&B-driven covers to leaving a palpable imprint with his own emotionally expansive work, the enviable artist is making his voice heard. To demystify this LA-based, lyrically-driven crooner, writer, and producer we decided to try to intercept him before the release of his latest EP, You’re Almost There — a conceptual journey about the journey.

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Ones To Watch: Who is ASTN?

ASTN is a combination of all my experiences over the last 23 years and is my main vehicle for expression. My real name is Austin, but remove ‘U’ and ‘I’ from the equation and you have an unbiased storyteller.

What is You’re Almost There all about?

When I first started writing, I thought it was about a destination. A few months into the process, I realized it was always about the journey. It’s easy to get caught up in what’s up ahead, but just know that regardless, you’re almost there. This EP goes through the cycle of love. I believe that’s heartbreak, bitterness, moving on, honeymoon stage, and decision time. No matter how sideways your love life may seem, it’s important to know that there’s someone out there for you. Enjoy the moments and that person will fall into your lap, you’re almost there.

Any collaborators of note? Who produced the EP?

For the first time in my music, I knew what I wanted to say before any lyrics hit the page or any notes were played. I began putting all the pieces together in january of 2021. I remember having my first session with my now good friend Danny Majic. I didn’t quite know what to expect but we just sat for a while and talked through life and over the next several hours that turned into the lead single for the EP, “Gradually.” That’s exactly when I knew I wanted Danny to produce this whole project with me. I brought in a long time friend, Amelia Moore, to help with some things on the writing side and had a chance to meet Josh Bruce Williams who helped on the writing/production of the title track. I like to keep a limited amount of hands on projects like this because I feel like that’s a good way to keep the integrity of the records.

You are several EPs deep from Tell Your Friends. How has your approach changed?

I am much more intentional in my approach. I used to make the music and then just let it fly into the abyss with zero planning. I think there was some magic in that, but being able to sit down with the people I trust most and tell a story through the visuals and the entire rollout of the music has completely changed the way I think about the process.

Can we expect more of this style in the future, potentially on an upcoming album?

This style will stick with me forever. I have no doubt that people will be hearing more of this sound from me… it’ll always have a special place in my heart, and i’m sure it’ll be evolving over time.

Besides this excellent EP what else should we be on the lookout for?

It’s funny you mentioned an album… that’s a challenge i have yet to face in my music, but i truly believe now is the time to face it head on. i also wanna perform as much as possible over this next year. i already have a few shows on the books… and who knows, maybe a tour sometime soon.

What’s inspiring you right now outside of music?

Spending time with friends and the people I care about is something that I took for granted over the last couple years. I’ve found that just living life surrounded by amazing people is a good recipe for great music. Traveling is something that I want to get back into as well. I know there’s a lot to see out in the world.

Love is often said to make us a fool, have you been had before?

not that i can recall, but shit… probably. I was a serial dater in high school and college so i’m sure there was a moment or two in there.

Who are your Ones To Watch?

i’m sure she’s popping up on everyone’s radar right now, but Amelia Moore is without a doubt my one to watch. we’ve known each other since sometime in early 2018 and watch her growth over these last few years has been very inspiring. Seeing how intentional she is with every move she makes has really made me rethink how i approach my art. ASTN’s You’re Almost There is available everywhere you can stream it.

#astn #interview #you're almost there #album reviews #pop #R&B

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fanfic-collection · 7 years

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Loki x Reader: Honeymooners pt 1

Gonna turn this into a multi chapter thing since it’s getting kinda long. The prompt about reader and Loki going undercover as honeymooners at a fancy honeymoon destination that I said I’d write forever ago but didn’t get around to

(So if you’re going under cover for anything, you’d probably want fake names, but I don’t want to make up fake names and I like using Loki’s name so yea...)

A loud ringing from your nightstand roused you from your deep sleep. Your eyes opened instantly, years of training instantly putting you on alert as you recognize a mission briefing call. "I'm here." You answered.

"Agent, good, head up to the debriefing room," Mariah Hill's voice came through the speaker, "we have your next assignment."

You nodded, the last traces of sleep leaving you as you remembered she couldn't see. "Should I grab my partner?"

"Not yet, he's getting a debriefing packet but there's classified information we need to go over with you separately."

You raised an eyebrow. Loki, god of mischief, currently tasked with aiding SHIELD for glorified community service and thus your partner on most missions, would be debriefed separately? If you were working together, wouldn't the logical thing be to brief you simultaneously so any ideas the other had or questions could be addressed together? You knew better than to ask questions though, Mariah would just end up repeating her orders. "Understood, I'll be there in ten."

"Hurry, your transport leaves in two hours, everything you need is packed, so this debriefing has to be fast."

You sighed as she hung up, failure to plan on SHIELD's part always warranted an emergency on your part. Hopefully the travel time would be long so you and Loki could fill each other in on anything that had been missed. Still, something about separate briefings disturbed you. No sense in worrying about it now though, time was ticking and you still needed to shower.

Ten minutes later, you were rushing into the briefing room where Mariah sat at a long high-tech table, a TV screen displaying a mountain lodge behind her. "Recognize it?" Mariah asked, looking up as you entered.

You stared at the screen blankly, searching your memory. The lodge seemed familiar in a dreamlike way, but nothing truly stood out.

"Not sure, your history and all, but some little girls grow up planning their dream weddings and honeymoon vacations."

You frowned glancing between her and the screen. "I'd never really thought about it, I guess. Marriage might come some day, but I've had other things to worry about. Maybe friends planned their's..." You trailed off, not sure what she was getting at.

Mariah smiled, "don't worry, it's not a test, just was wondering if you recognized it. That's the location of your mission. 'Lover's Lodge, Honeymoon Resort', honeymoon destination of only the wealthiest and luckiest clients. It's such a destination resort that any who attend have to prove they've been married in the last 48 hours. Officially they prefer 24, but occasionally travel gets interrupted and they felt like expanding the inclusion list. Newlyweds plan their weddings around when there's space available here, very exclusive."

"I'll bet." You crossed your arms, not wholly impressed. Sure it was an interesting place to visit, presumably anyone lucky enough to be an actual guest would enjoy it, but that type of feather in your cap didn't particularly interest you, not when you'd been told of an impending mission and you were very much single. Sure you pined after a guy, but he was millennia out of your league and definitely didn't return the feelings. Plus with your busy work schedule, dating really had taken a back seat to your plans.

"So what's the mission?" You finally prompted.

Mariah blinked, "there's underground seismic activity. Gamma levels are off the charts. We have reason to believe a magical portal of sorts is open in an underground area. The lodge itself exists in a weird jurisdiction and since the portal is believed to be magic in nature, we need your partner to investigate it."

"Loki."

She nodded, "he's uniquely equipped to handle magical enemies and we don't particularly trust him to do anything solo. The god of lies title and history inspires a great deal of understandable distrust."

You shrugged, "fair enough. I trust him though."

"Which makes you uniquely suited to operate as his partner, as well as the other portion of this undercover operation."

You were starting to get a headache, she seemed to be hinting at something without daring to say the actual nature of what she meant. "So we're undercover as work staff?"

Mariah smiled thinly, "I was hoping you might've guessed... no, the owner needs to be investigated to see if he has any part to play in the operation of this portal and the background checks and period of time it would take to sneak you into the workforce would be far too long."

"So?" You prompted, mind not quite working.

"I need you to go undercover as guests. Far more freedom to move around this way."

You swallowed hard, mind reeling. "But guests have to be newlyweds..."

Mariah held up a sheet of paper. Warily, you took it from her, examining it carefully. There in crisp new letters, signed by the state of New York, lay your full name married to Loki Laufeyson. You looked up at her stunned, "what the hell is this?"

"Less than 48 hour old marriage license between you and Loki, thought that was clear. We have wedding pictures as well as several witnesses that can attest the validity of your wedding."

"You married me to Loki without either of us knowing?" No wonder they didn't want Loki in attendance, he was sure to be pissed.

"It's forged, but will fool the admissions there, we snuck a different couple in several weeks ago to make sure. You're going undercover as a newlywed couple, enjoying all the amenities and making sure to close that portal and if necessary, remove the owner from his position, assuming he is involved. Think of it as a working vacation."

"With an ornery god, you do know Loki isn't going to be pleased."

"It's a six hour car trip, you'll have plenty of time to warn him. And it's by limo, refrigerator and bar fully stock, all expenses paid."

"What if I refuse?"

"You'll be out of a job." Mariah glared at you.

Your eyes flashed, "I'm one of your most loyal and successful agents, one refusal and I'm out on the streets?"

Mariah sighed, "no, you'll be heavily reprimanded and demoted, pay cut and put on leave, but please, you're the only one qualified to do this, we need you."

"You need Loki."

"He won't work with anyone else, there's no punishment we can give him, all of it has to be willing. Even threat of returning to prison on Asgard hardly bothers him. Please, he seems to like you."

You grit your teeth, that was the bitter crux of it. That Loki considered you an acquaintance of sorts but would never share your feelings. To have to openly act as though you were madly in love with him, only to return to hiding your feelings would kill you. Worse, Loki would either pretend to go along with it and not see how badly it tore you apart each moment, or he would refuse because ultimately he couldn't even tolerate you as a friend. Nothing of this mission wouldn't end extremely painfully for you. "Fine, but I'm getting another more expensive vacation after this."

"It's practically a vacation already, other than the portal."

"And an obstinate Loki. That's the only way I'm agreeing." You crossed your arms.

"We'll take it up with Fury, no absolute promises, but I'm sure we can manage something."

"Good."

By the time your conversation ended, you were becoming pressed for time. You practically flew out of the room, rushing down the many stairs and out to the waiting limo that Loki sat in, already looking annoyed. His arms were crossed as he glared sullenly out the tinted windows, fingers tapping in time to some unheard beat. "Sorry," you panted, scrambling in beside him. A soft smile touched the corners of his mouth upon seeing you, "got held up with Mariah."

Loki nodded, "for a moment, I was worried they might send a replacement for you."

"Can't get rid of me that easily." You winked, settling in as the car lurched forward.

Loki nodded curtly, that smile once more returning. "I take it there's a reason we were informed separately."

"Oh yea, and you're just going to love it." Sarcasm dripped heavily from your tone and Loki raised his eyebrow curiously. Over the next hour you and Loki shared the various information regarding the specifics of the mission finally coming to the part you dreaded most.

"But all this could just as easily have been told together, why the separation?" Loki mused.

"It's our cover," you sighed heavily, lifting up the marriage certificate. Loki frowned, "I suppose I didn't think we'd spend long there." You shook your head, "part vacation since it's a resort and SHIELD is cheap, and we need to investigate the owner as guests. It's easier than getting us jobs apparently."

Loki squinted at the paper, "we're married?" He looked up at you and blinked.

You popped the cork off the bottle you'd been struggling to open, "only technically," you said taking a long swill. "It's a forgery but best in the business. Sorry to do that to you, only way they could think of apparently."

Loki shrugged, "I could think of worse covers."

You looked at him, mid drink. Slowly you removed the bottle, "really?"

"They could have placed me with a different agent, which would be insufferable."

You laughed, "yea, I guess." Still your heart ached, not sure how to vocalize your feelings.

Loki could see the sadness in your eyes but didn't seem to realize what caused it. "What if we made it into a competition?"

"A competition?" You repeated.

"Whoever appears the better and more in love spouse, the winner."

You winced internally but you knew you loved a good challenge. Almost unwittingly, you heard yourself answer, "you're on, I'm going to kick your ass at this."

"My love, that you could think to hurt me?" Loki placed his hand over his heart in shock.

You scowled, "you didn't say we started yet!"

"Fair enough agent."

"What's the loser have to do?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something." Loki smirked.

Scoffing, you retorted, "yea right, I'm going to win."

The car ride passed uneventfully, you and Loki having plenty of the finer details of the mission to discuss and plan. "So it's in a sort of mountainous area, built on a number of natural hot springs that make for quite the scenic hot tubs."

Loki pursed his lips, "perhaps we might skip the hot tubs?"

You stared at him blankly, "and sauna? I gather?"

Loki nodded, "I don't care for heat much." He trailed off, looking away. You didn't press him, but he had alluded to not tolerating heat in the past, perhaps this was related.

"It's built over an inactive volcano, I believe, dig deep enough and you'll find lava but no worries of eruption in my life time. At least that's what SHIELD's experts seem to think."

"Is that related to the portal?"

"More like a fun fact." You shrugged, "and a tram that can take guests down to the beach, only an hour's ride. Sunbathing could be fun."

Chuckling, Loki reached for his drink, "I'm sure the number of newlyweds enjoying the sunset will be amusing."

"Probably. The tram doesn't stop, every half hour all night. Midnight swims on a clothing optional beach." You swallowed hard, trying not to picture Loki partaking in that.

"They really are encouraging intimacy everywhere, aren't they?" Loki blinked, studying you.

The look he gave you was so intense, you found yourself turning away, if only to hide your blush. "Guess so. At least no one will check on whether or not guests do, right?" You forced a weak laugh.

Loki nodded thoughtfully, "that would be awfully invasive of them."

Sleeping with Loki, or rather sleeping with Loki had only briefly crossed your mind. It would be hard to get around not sharing a bed but two mature adults could handle that surely, but if anyone noticed? That would be the final nail in your coffin to fake sex with Loki just to maintain your cover, or real but wasn't mutually desired.

"Agent?" Loki prompted, pulling your mind back to the present.

"Meeting the owner might be challenging if he's behind the portal." You forced yourself to change the subject. "Though I believe he greets each couple personally during their stay, guess we'll have to meet as many couples as possible to increase our chances of running into him."

Loki sighed, resting his chin on his fist, "wonderful, socializing with mortals."

“Oh! Loki!” You paused, “I mean, darling look! We’re here I think!”

Loki straightened up, roused from his bored stupor and followed your pointing finger out the window. For the past half hour, the limo had been winding its way slowly upwards through a forested mountainside and it had at long last shown signs of nearing a massive resort. The picture Mariah had shown you really didn’t do the place justice for its size and splendor, anyone fortunate enough to visit would definitely have to pay a small fortune.

Loki chuckled at your pet name for him, “So we have, congratulations on our first day of marriage.”

You reached for your phone and opened it, noticing a barrage of pictures featuring you and Loki photoshopped into a number of wedding poses. It had been a small, private affair apparently, contrasting notably with the amount that would go towards the honeymoon but it was evidently about the two of you and no one else.

Loki leaned against you, staring down at the pictures. You could feel your cheeks heating in a blush at the close proximity, you had been this close before and managed to hide your feelings, why was it suddenly different? You silently admonished yourself.

“That’s a lovely dress,” Loki murmured, tilting his head to the side. His long hair brushed against your cheek and you fought back a shiver. “Somehow, I think the dress would look better on the actual you, not this model they chose.”

You furrowed your brows, surprised by the sincerity of the compliment. Opening your mouth, you looked up to ask him if he was acting or meant it but Loki’s attention was already back to the sprawling grounds of the resort. Your mouth fell shut and you stayed quiet.

The limo finally rolled to a stop, the door opening as the two of you scrambled out. Loki left first, turning around and offering you his hand to help you, placing a gentle kiss on it before allowing you to straighten up completely out of the car.

You closed your eyes, praying silently for patience, strength to make it through this mission, then slowly opened them and beamed at Loki. The flirtatious giggle came easy to you as you leaned forward and pecked his cheek. Loki stiffened for a moment, before sinking into your touch as though it were the most natural thing ever.

“Do you have the marriage license, love?”

“Right here, sweetie.” You giggled again, waving it for him.

Loki pursed his lips, eyes darkening, clearly not amused by the pet name. If you were going to suffer, dying for this to be real, you might as well punish Loki with cute names. A hotelier approached as the two of you stood there, no time to turn back now.

#Loki x reader #multi chapter #I don't know why I'm so anxious but yea any suggestions or ideas to have happen #I have a number of ideas but I'm always eager to see what people suggest #but yea hope it's ok #I have the ending idea and bits in between but not the connection and now I'm just rambling #hitting 'post' is always the hardest part...

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