#emotional hurt comfort

[dapandapod]

Bruises

I realized I forgot to post this on Tumbl! It's about 8,5k and written in one day in a fit of inspiration (helppppp) because I needed that sweet sweet Jaskier whump. Please enjoy this emotional hurt/comfort ish-fix-it of season 2. On Ao3 here

Jaskier never expected to see Kaer Morhen, especially not in the way he ended up seeing it.

The dwarves lead him and Ciri as far as they can, banter and cutting remarks following Jaskier at every step.

Sure, he gives as good as he gets; whatever he is dealt he makes sure to give back, if he can get away with it.

But you can only be hit so many times before it becomes a bruise, no matter how lightly.

And Jaskier is already sore, from years of barbs, from years of being told to “fuck off, bard” or “shut up, bard” or “you are so fucking loud,” and well. It hits harder when it is someone you consider a friend.

Especially when it turns out that friendship was one sided.

The little princess is full of resentment and anger, but trading banter puts a small smile on her face, so he lets her.

If the way to get friendly is to let her tease him, so be it. He knows she needs an outlet for her inner turmoil so it doesn’t fester, so he turns up the dramatics and plays along.

The second to last eve they spend with the dwarves, it suddenly becomes too much. He knows Yarpen isn’t a fan, he knows there is some truth behind his name calling and swearing. 

Ciri is sitting across the fire, sharpening a stick with the knife from her boot, looking for all the world like she isn’t paying attention to the conversation around her.

But then one of the dwarves calls Jaskier an ignorant, lazy, useless human, wondering what the fuck he is doing here anyway.

Maybe it is the ale, maybe it is the smoke stinging his eyes, or the years of putting up with it.

Jaskier doesn’t remember which one of them it was afterwards, and it doesn’t matter. His anger flares. He stands up, and the group goes very quiet.

“Have any of you asked me anything of my life? Have any of you bothered to ask what I was doing in a fucking prison cell, why I don’t have a lute, or where I went after you left that fucking dragon hunt with Geralt?”

There is complete silence, only the crackling of the fire and the night sounds of the forest.

“You might think I’m useless, and that I am lazy, and that I’m ignorant. But I don’t have to be here. I have people depending on me, yet here I am. Giving up responsibilities and comforts alike, all for someone who can’t even call me a friend, surrounded by people who clearly don’t want me here.”

He flexes his hands, feeling the blistered and burned skin strain, the pain clearing his head some.

“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.” He finishes, picks up his bedroll and his pack, and settles on the outskirts of the camp, by the wagon.

Close enough to be safe, far away enough to get some peace.

It takes a few minutes for the muttering to begin, a few more until Ciri stands up too, and gathers her bedroll.

Until now, she has been distant, and he can’t blame her in the least. Now she settles down just a few feet from him, alongside the carriage.

It is colder here in the north, and neither of them had any kind of proper gear packed for their journey, unplanned as it was. He still drapes his leather jacket over her when he hears her chattering teeth, and settles on his bedroll with just a thin blanket.

~

Kaer Morhen is all big halls, high ceilings and hairy men. Hairy witchers. Lots of them too, and Ciri runs to greet them with a big smile.

They had found Eskel along the path, guiding them the rest of the way up. Ciri knew some of the way already, but only the paths closest to the keep, so it was a great relief having someone who knew what to avoid and what trails led them past ancient traps and monster dens.

The road was long, and Jaskier can’t believe Geralt thought he would make it here unscathed. Eskel seemed a little concerned as well when Jaskier explained his task, but said nothing.

Still says nothing, now that Ciri is surrounded by witchers, and Jaskier is left just standing there at the edge of the room. He is usually not one to hesitate to introduce himself, but he is tired, hungry, and frankly feeling rather neglected.

Eventually Ciri introduces him to the group, and it takes about three seconds after that to figure out who Lambert is.

Ah, ‘Lambert, Lambert, what a prick,’ indeed.

He is given dinner, a place to sleep, and is shown to the room where they keep a myriad of bathtubs. Lucky for him, there is already a fire going, making the room warm and toasty, and making it considerably easier to warm the water without any signs.

Jaskier can’t lie, he had been picturing hot springs, or anything pre-heated really, especially the shallow pool that had been built in the floor.

A quick toe dip later, and he is never stepping foot in that pool, ever.

His fingers ache when they come in contact with the heat of the fireplace, and he flexes them in an attempt to dispel the discomfort.

Sinking down into a tub at long last is heaven.

Dirt from far more than the road to the keep has had his skin itching, his hair stuck in a permanent curl around his ears, and he longs for his artistic dishevelment once more.

Sharing breakfast with the witchers of Kaer Morhen enlightens him about the many odd manners of Geralt of Rivia.

Watching the other witchers mess with each other explains so much. Unguarded food is immediately stolen, and if given the chance, someone will increase the temperature of their tea all the way to boiling, and then challenge each other to drink it, and so on, and so forth. Brotherly pranks, clearly, but the kind you need a certain set of mutations to deal with.

Jaskier only has his mixed heritage to keep him out of the worst of troubles that technically would be bad news for full humans, but nothing to keep him safe from this, so he steers clear.

Yennefer and Geralt join them that same afternoon.

Ciri runs into Geralt’s arms, and Jaskier remains at the table where he is challenging Coën with loaded dice.

Not until most of the others have gone to bed does Geralt finally approach him.

“Thank you for bringing her safely here.”

Jaskier looks at him for a long while, before replying.

“You’re welcome.” He says finally, and Geralt pats his shoulder. Weird.

~

After that first day, Jaskier approaches Vesemir while the others are busy.

The way he left things in Oxenfurt doesn’t sit right with him, and he is pretty sure Pricilla is going to assume he is dead if he doesn’t get a message to her soon.

He still has no idea how long he is supposed to stay in the keep, but he writes a carefully worded letter, assuring his safety and asking her to keep singing the Song of the Shore.

She will know what the coded song title means, and he has enough funds squirreled away to keep the entire Sandpiper operation going for a while longer, before he needs to find a way to beg his benefactor for assistance.

Vesemir gives him a long look, and Jaskier offers the letter he is holding, stifling a frustrated sigh.

“You are free to read it. I’m not trying to give away your location, just assure my safety of me and those I left behind.” He says, because he knows.

He spent years in the library of Oxenfurt, and he has read the old tomes that contain what little witcher history there is to find, as poorly depicted as it is. He knows about the sacking of the keep, understands the fear of it happening again.

It still stings.

Vesemir accepts his offer, and opens the letter, reading it over. His eyebrow climbs up his forehead, and he looks at Jaskier before putting it back into its envelope.

“I’ll have it sent.” He says, his mustache twitching when he makes a considering face. “Do any of the others know?”

“About the Sandpiper?” Jaskier asks, and Vesemir nods. “Yennefer knows. She was a part of the last group I sent off, before…” Jaskier stops and takes a breath. “Before. I know how and when to keep things to myself.”

Vesemir nods again approvingly, and takes the letter with him.

No one seems to have noticed the exchange, and Jaskier is left wondering if that is a good or a bad thing.

~

Things are a bit tense in the keep. Geralt still hasn’t seemed to forgive Yennefer for her betrayal, and Ciri seems to be more withdrawn lately.

Between witcher practice and chores, Jaskier tries to make himself as useful as he can be.

Which is not very, as it turns out, since he is not trusted to be in the lab anymore because of a tiny little tasting incident. Nor is he allowed to help with the patching up the keep. The library is Vesemir’s baby, and Jaskier is sure he is safeguarding secrets of the past there.

So Jaskier just… hangs around. Without a lute, he can’t play, and he probably wouldn’t be able to just yet anyway with his fingers still in their sorry state. The blistered skin has started peeling now, and new soft pink skin has started to show underneath.

He and Yennefer are getting closer, both of them evidently outcasts of a sort.

Especially since none of the other witchers make an effort to get to know them, nor is Geralt paying any kind of attention to either of them. She is the only one who really knows about the firefucker, and nobody has bothered to ask about the bandages.

If she had her chaos, she could have healed him, but she doesn’t, so instead she makes what ointments she can and watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t eat it instead of applying it.

~

Late summer is slowly becoming early fall, and Jaskier realizes that his window for leaving is ever shrinking.

He doesn’t want to leave, not really, but he has no idea what he's doing here. Geralt hasn't asked him to leave, but neither has he asked him to stay.

Their interactions are short and rarely between them alone.

A lot of it consists of Geralt being nearby when Jaskier is retelling funny stories of their travels, making Ciri smile and the other witchers roar with laughter and the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitch in an aborted smile.

They don’t treat him like the dwarves did, but they clearly don't know why Jaskier is here either, and it is frustrating to say the least.

They seem to appreciate his singing more than Geralt ever did, sure, but sometimes it feels like they use him to annoy Geralt, and sometimes Jaskier thinks it’s working…

Lambert is probably the worst. He is an asshole and excuses it by calling it honesty.

He picks up where Geralt left off after the mountain, poking at every visible sore spot until Jaskier is stinging. Jabs and jibes, poking fun at Jaskier to make the others laugh. Nothing he isn’t used to, but something that makes Jaskier feel uncomfortable when nobody steps in to stop him.

Ciri sticks close to his side after those nights.

She doesn’t say much, doesn’t try to defend him, and he would never ask her to, but she glares at Lambert and asks Jaskier to tell her another story, which he gladly does.

~

It’s been two weeks since their arrival, and he, Lambert, Coën and Geralt are gathered around the dining table. Most of the others have filtered out to their own tasks or downtime activities, but they linger, chatting and playing dice. Coën stays out of it, still not trusting Jaskier since the loaded dice incident, which Jaskier is immensely proud of.

For the first time in a long time, Jaskier is actually enjoying himself, and enjoying being next to his friend. Maybe, after all this time, Geralt has started to think of him as a friend too.

Until Lambert opens his mouth and ruins it all.

“You are not half as bad as Geralt made you out to be. Or maybe it’s because he made you leave your lute behind at the bottom of the mountain?”

Next to him Geralt stiffens, and Jaskier feels his jaw working.

“Thanks,” is all he says, shaking the dice in the cup one more time before slamming it down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary. Then he stands up and climbs over the bench, very fucking done with the entire conversation.

Behind him he can hear Coën berating Lambert, who pretends he has no idea what he said wrong.

Fucking asshole.

He doesn’t hear Geralt say anything, nor ask about the missing lute.

It’s not that cold out yet, but the air is fresh and crisp on his face when he steps out through one of the side entrances to the courtyard. Here and there witchers are milling about, but Jaskier wants to be alone.

He hurries to the main gate and across the bridge, seeking his solitude amongst the trees on the other side. Technically, it is a bit dangerous to go out alone, but Jaskier is pretty sure no little beasties would dare come close to a monster hunter’s keep in broad daylight.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls after him, and Jaskier stifles a long line of swears. Still he lets Geralt catch up to him, even if he is decidedly not looking at the witcher.

“Lambert can be such a prick.” Geralt says when he has caught up. “He only wants to rile you up.”

Jaskier notices the clear lack of an apology in there.

“So I’ve noticed. And he succeeded,” Jaskier says shortly, flexing his fingers again.

A bad habit now, but it is better than picking at the sharp, hardened edges of skin that still cling to his fingertips as they heal.

Clearly, Geralt hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say, or he had expected this to be enough. It isn’t. He lingers, still standing there, waiting for… something.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” He asks when Geralt isn’t saying anything, and turns to look at him. His… friend. The man he has spent far too many years believing he meant something to.

“... I wanted to see if you are alright.” Geralt says haltingly, and Jaskier finally snaps.

“Oh yes, I am clearly alright after being told time and time again that I am annoying, unwanted, useless, loud, and being told by your family that you had made me out to be all those things too, before they even met me.”

Geralt looks taken aback, but Jaskier is not done.

“I’m tired of this, Geralt. I am so fucking tired of this. Not once have you come to my defence, not once have you told them to fuck off.”

“You can hold your own.” Geralt says, frowning, and Jaskier spreads his arm in frustration.

“I can, of course I fucking can! I have to, since not even the man I thought of as my best friend considers me a friend enough to have my back!”

Again, the witcher doesn’t have a reply to that. Fucking figures.

“Leave me alone, Geralt. Before I say something I’ll regret.”

“...Don’t wander.” The witcher cautions him hesitantly, and thankfully returns towards the bridge.

Jaskier stays longer than what is probably advisable. He is just fuming, and he kicks a young tree, making yellow leaves fall down around him.

He could technically blow off steam by sitting down to write, but there would be an audience no matter where he goes in the keep, and he is also not very much in the mood for another Burn Butcher Burn.

That one has done enough damage already.

In the end, it is Ciri who ends up fetching him. She doesn’t say anything about his red eyes and tousled hair, nor the bruises on his knuckles.

“Dinner is ready,” is all she says, and waits for him to join her back across the bridge with the others.

Jaskier takes his dinner and chooses another table far from the big group. Predictably, Ciri joins him, but he didn’t expect Eskel to sit down with them, too. Nor Yennefer. Nor Geralt.

They talk amongst themselves, even if Ciri and Jaskier are the only one replying to Yennefer when she says something.

It makes him feel weird, considering their rivalry all these years.

He knocks their shoulders together and teases her, calls her the worst wife ever. It is worth it for the smile he teases out of her, but he notices Geralt pull in a sharp breath of air.

“What?” he asks, but Geralt says nothing, just stares down at his food.

That evening, Geralt walks Jaskier back to his room.

“I’m sorry,” the witcher finally says after a long stretch of silence that Jaskier refuses to fill. “For what Lambert said. And for what I made Lambert believe.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise. When there is nothing else, he turns towards his door.

“Sure. See you around, Geralt.”

But Geralt stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Are you and Yennefer… really married?”

Of course. Of course that is what would be on Geralt’s mind. Another sore spot amongst the others on his bruised heart.

“Fret not, witcher, the sorceress is still unwed and free for the taking. She did get me out of a rather sticky situation, though, so if it’s all the same to you, I do consider her my friend and platonic wife.”

With that, Jaskier turns and closes the door behind him.

Fuck, that was not how he wanted this day to go. His eyes sting and he swallows many times and he clenches his fists to keep his emotions in line.

Maybe it is time to leave.

Maybe it is time to go back to where people need and want him. Where he can make a difference. Where he can matter. Where he is enough.

His eyes sting once more, and with a great sigh he heaves himself from where he was leaning against the door and pours himself a cup of water.

He’ll talk with Eskel in the morning. Or Vesemir. Find a way to leave that won’t inconvenience anyone any further.

~

Leaving is harder than he thought, mainly because now, all of a sudden, people seem to seek his company.

Yennefer keeps appearing, asking him for help with stupid things. Some of them, he realizes, might be a way to regain the trust she broke between her and Geralt, but he appreciates her company it all the same.

Especially since most of it includes making Ciri smile, some other parts of it to make Lambert’s life a little more shitty. Something he is all for, to be honest.

Jaskier is petty when he wants to be, and right now he is the Prince of Petty.

Geralt too, seems to have come to some conclusion. He bites back faster when Lambert becomes too much, or Eskel, or Coën for that matter. In Jaskier’s defence, even.

It’s… weird. Nice, but weird.

And it is tearing at the walls that he spent all summer building.

~

Jaskier writes another letter to Pricilla.

Vesemir had told him that he will accept no return letter, but there are some strings he could pull if it were really necessary. Since they are hiding from Nilfgaard in a keep deeply hidden away by time and nature, Jaskier respects the need for it, and continues writing his one sided letters.

He is rather used to one sided communication, after all.

~

When he finally thinks he is about to get Eskel alone, it is not by his own doing.

“I’m sorry, I found a journal without a name, and I looked through it to see who it belonged to.”

Well, fuck.

“Jaskier. You are putting yourself at great risk.”

“And others even more so, if I don’t.” Jaskier replies, knowing exactly what he is referring to. Eskel blinks, then nods.

“I need to go back, Eskel. Before winter comes.”

“It’s too dangerous. The pass will be open for a few weeks more, but you are a wanted man.”

This is news.

“What do you know?” He asks quietly, accepting his journal back.

“I have no idea how you got into the prison cell, but word’s spread that the White Wolf busted you out.”

Fuck.

“That’s not good.”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel says, and Jaskier pats his shoulder, but he immediately pulls his hand back with a grimace. How can one see the spikes on his shoulders, and forget that they are, indeed, spikey?

“Shouldn’t have done that. Why do you keep wearing spikes?” Jaskier says. “ Also, no fault but my own, I suppose, with the jailbreaking and all that. Actually, scratch that, are all witchers allergic to just bailing someone out? Or is it just a Geralt thing?”

Jaskier tries to lighten the mood, but his stomach is sinking and his hands feel clammy. Time to write another letter or three.

“Witcher’s are all cheapskates, I’m afraid,” Eskel grins, but then sobers. “Do the others know?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“They didn’t ask. Nobody asked.”

At the same time, Geralt comes around the corner and spots them, a frown forming on his forehead. Of course.

“Right. Well, if you would keep this to yourself, I’d be immensely grateful.” Jaskier says quietly, and this time Eskel pats Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I got your back, bard,” the scarred witcher says, ironically, and now there is a lump forming in Jaskier’s throat.

Great. Fantastic. Splendid. Amazing.

Without waiting, Jaskier takes off towards his room to hide his journal again. Not to avoid Geralt. Not at all.

~

The letters he puts together are swiftly given to Vesemir. His eyebrows shoot up again when he spots one of the names addressed.

“Not a friend I would have expected of you, Pankratz.” Vesemir says quietly. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

Jaskier knows. It is a high risk game for everybody involved, with him in the direct line of fire.

“They will have to make do without me for a while.” Jaskier says quietly. “Or so Eskel tells me.”

“Ah, yes. Might be good to lay low for a while. You are welcome to stay the season with us, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, but we expect you to pull your weight.”

Does he have anywhere? Is he really welcome here?

The way Geralt looks at him sometimes, he is not so sure.

“Thank you. Though I might need to make a trip down to civilization soon. Some more clothes, paper and a lute. What kind of bard am I without a lute?” He asks, half joking.

“It’d be better if we sent down one of our usuals.” Vesemir says, scratching at his beard. “A man like yourself is sure to stand out anywhere in these small settlements.”

Was that a complement?

“Was that a complement?” Jaskier says, smirking, and Vesemir huffs goodnaturedly.

“I can see them looking, bard. I have eyes. And ears.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, frowning, but Vesemir turns to go.

“Write me a list of what you need, and I’ll see what we can do.”

~

Aubry and Coën leave only a few days after Jaskier had written his list. He doesn’t really expect them to find him a lute, but something stringed to play would be nice. It’s rather likely they would find a 4 stringed lute at most, nothing like the one he smashed over that guard’s head, nor like the one he got from the Elven kind that he keeps safely in Oxenfurt.

Frankly, he’s glad that he couldn’t bring one of his nicer instruments.

The temperature changes could crack the wood, if not treated carefully, and it would be hell to keep that many strings tuned. He is pleasantly surprised when there is a knock on his door, and Geralt steps in with a leather case.

“The boys found you something,” he says by way of greeting, and Jaskier stands from his desk to accept the offered case.

He can feel the corner of his mouth tick up, and he wipes his hands on his trousers first to rid himself of stray ink before he dares touch it.

He grips it by the neck, feeling the smooth wood even through the leather of the case, and the gentle sounds of the strings as they are pinched in his grip.

“Oh, hello there,” he whispers to it, and opens it reverently.

She has six strings and a little care package, and she is terribly out of tune. The wood is old, loved, worn out, and he can see clearly where her previous player liked to put their fingers, the lacquer worn or marked to help the unpracticed one.

“What a beauty you are,” he tells her, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Geralt leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. It almost looks like he is smiling, but Jaskier won’t turn his head to look.

There is a nervousness in him, like when you get to know a new lover. Excitement, fondness, curiosity.

He sits down on the bed, lute perched in his lap, and attempts to tune it. He fishes out the little tuning fork around his neck, raps it on his knuckles, plucks the matching string, and starts adjusting it.

Geralt makes a face; it’s probably not a nice sound to sensitive ears, but he remains.

“Did you know, it's common lutes have as many as 12 courses?” Jaskier says, turning the peg until it feels right.

“Courses?” Geralt asks.

“Strings. Oh, I might need to get this little darling some new pegs eventually, and that string looks a little worn out. We will fix you up, love.” He coos at the lute, and he hears Geralt huff.

“Doesn’t yours have 13?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks up, surprised.

“They do, yes.” Jaskier looks down, and his hands suddenly feel a little clammy, his cheeks warm. “The most I have ever heard of is 35, which is ridiculous. One of my old masters in Oxenfurt has one with 19, but I find those are best suited for academic music, rather than music for the masses.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything else, and when Jaskier looks up, Geralt is smiling.

“What?” He asks, but Geralt just shakes his head.

“Just haven’t talked like this in a while. It’s nice.”

That… is not what he expected him to say. Truth be told, he is still a little hurt. He still hasn't received a proper apology from that outburst from Geralt on the dragon hunt, nor any kind of thanks for just dropping everything to come with him again.

“This is going to take a while,” Jaskier says hesitantly, when Geralt doesn’t say anything else, nor move. “Technically, I should look her over first, then tune, but ah, can’t blame a man for being excited, can you?”

Jaskier looks down, puts his tuning fork back inside his shirt, where it clinks against the ring, and puts both hands on his lute.

“I don’t mind. If you don’t mind me staying.”

This is so weird.

Geralt stays, and listens to Jaskier tuning his new treasure. It takes him almost twenty minutes to see that Geralt is holding another bag, most likely one with the requested clothing.

They will have to wait a little more, as Jaskier is getting into position and putting the lute strap over his shoulder.

His right hand already stings a little, the new skin not used to the sharpness of the strings. Jaskier plays a few scales to get to know her, and to get back into it. He plays a little ditty from his past, humming the familiar nonsense words of the warm up song of his early days in the academy.

They don’t know each other yet, but it feels good to play again.

Just because he can, and because he wants to show off a little, Jaskier decides to test her limits. An old lullaby, embellished by the academics and time, harmonies and contrast ringing out in the room.

He smiles, until his index finger stings, and he hisses and puts it in his mouth.

“You alright?” Geralt asks, sitting up straighter from where he finally was sitting on the chair by Jaskier’s desk.

“‘m good,” Jaskier says around the finger in his mouth. “Just a cut. New skin’s not tough yet.”

He takes the finger out, and inspects it. His fingers are red, and the small cut is bleeding a little more than it should. Even his cuts are dramatic, he hears his teacher say, an echo from a distant past in the back of his mind.

“...New skin?” Geralt asks, face blank, and Jaskier looks up at him. The good atmosphere in the room is changing, and for some reason Jaskier feels like it is his fault. It makes him feel a bit defensive.

“Yes, you know, after the old skin blisters after a bad burn? Haven’t played in some time either, so that probably makes it worse, I suppose.” Jaskier can’t help but prod, to see if Geralt will take notice.

“You didn’t tell me about the burn,” Geralt says, his mouth a thin line.

“You didn’t ask.” Jaskier says, laying both hands flat over the strings, looking at Geralt challengingly. Good mood is all but gone now, and he feels that old bruise makes itself known again. This time he is the one poking it.

“Usually don’t have to.”

“Maybe I got tired of our one sided friendship,” Jaskier says before he can stop himself. Fuck, that is not how he meant to say that.

By the looks of it, Geralt doesn’t take it too well either.

He stands up, staring at Jaskier as if he grew a second head.

“Tired?” He says, hands clenching and unclenching against his sides.

“When was the last time you called me your friend, Geralt?” Jaskier says, starting to get agitated. “When was the last time you asked me something, anything that didn’t directly relate to Yennefer, Ciri, or you needing me to do something? When was the last time you apologized, for anything you have said to me?”

Jaskier stands up and puts the lute down on the bed, lest he does something he regrets too. All the words are pouring out of him now, why risk breaking anything but his own heart?

“Maybe I grew tired of being the only one trying.” He grabs his handkerchief to stop the blood from his finger, clenching his hand hard around it.

“Why are you here then?” Geralt spits, and it’s like a slap.

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Jaskier shoots back, finding himself taking a step forward. “Why am I here, when clearly nobody wants me to be?”

Geralt stares at him, and Jaskier can’t really tell what that expression is.

“Are you leaving?” Geralt asks through clenched jaws.

“Can’t. Apparently there are consequences for being broken out of jail. Especially when it happens to have been by someone like the White Wolf.”

This time, Geralt visibly flinches.

“Didn’t think about that, did you?” Jaskier says. “I was so glad you found me again, I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I pretended we could start again, maybe you would want me by your side, walking next to you for once, not just trailing behind like some forlorn fucking puppy.”

Jaskier looks at his bed, looks at the oh so loved lute, that had seen so many sets of hands, every scratch and tear a part of a journey.

“Vesemir has allowed me to stay through the winter. Unless you’ve all got something against that. Let me know, and I’ll be on my way.”

Jaskier wishes he wasn’t in his room. Wishes he could just leave. Instead, he has to stand there like an idiot and wait until either Geralt does, or opens his mouth, for once.

“I didn’t realize…” Geralt begins but trails off.

“That actions have consequences, Geralt? That words do damage too? Did you learn nothing from your entire Butcher experience?”

That is a low blow, and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel like being nice right now.

It’s remarkable that Geralt hasn’t blown up at him yet, which in itself is probably not a very high standard to hold anyone against.

“You are still bleeding,” Geralt says eventually, and Jaskier looks down to see that he’s dropped his handkerchief. The witcher bends down and picks it up, grabbing Jaskier’s hand along the way.

Jaskier is too stunned to protest, and Geralt lifts his hand enough to inspect the cut. It’s not bleeding much anymore, but from where it’s placed, it is likely open easily.

Geralt pinches the tip of Jaskier’s finger with the handkerchief, and Jaskier suddenly flashes back to another room, another time when someone held his hand.

It takes effort not to just yank his hand back, his pulse rising and his palms getting clammy again. Geralt looks at him from under his brow, concerned, but Jaskier pinches his lips shut.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?” Jaskier manages when Geralt breaks the stare to reach for some linen Jaskier has been using as bandages every now and then.

“What I missed this past year. How to be your friend. Where we go from here.”

Geralt makes a tight wrap around his finger, to the best of his ability. Not the best place for a bandage, but at least Geralt has experience.

“I can’t tell you where we go from here, Geralt. If you ask, I can tell you about the months since the dragon hunt, but the rest, you will have to figure out along with me.”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s hand in his for a moment longer, neither of them looking at the other. The witcher’s hand is not much larger than his. With a gentle thumb, Geralt moves Jaskier’s fingers, allowing him to see what the firefucker did to him.

“You and Eskel seem to get along,” Geralt says carefully. “Does he know?”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tugs upwards in half a smile. Geralt is fishing, but Jaskier won’t say unless there is an actual question.

“Some. He found a journal of mine that I thought I had hidden.”

Geralt frowns and releases Jaskier’s hand. It drops to his side, and they both just stand there in the middle of the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

“You don’t usually hide your songs.”

“It wasn’t a song book.”

“... Can I see?”

Fuck it, why not. Whatever is happening in this room tonight will change things either way.

The new hiding place isn’t really a hiding place, just the drawer in his desk. He hands Geralt the leather bound pages, and Geralt opens and looks through it.

At first glance, it looks like his economic books. Taking stock of things bought and sold, to who and where.

Geralt glances up at Jaskier, who just nods at the book again.

Flipping a few pages, Geralt starts to make connections. When he looks up at Jaskier again, his face is carefully blank.

“You are the Sandpiper.”

“I am.” Jaskier agrees.

“You smuggled elves out of the big cities.”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, I have taken precautions for if I’m not around.”

If he should be discovered. If he were not to come back.

“Jaskier, you are putting yourself at risk.”

“And so are you, every time you take a contract. Don’t you dare tell me it’s not the same.”

“So it’s for the money?”

Jaskier sniffs, glaring at the witcher.

“No. It’s for the people who don't have anyone else to turn to. Because when they run out of elves, they will find new targets. You can’t tell me you took every contract for the coin, I have seen you accept contracts for half of your rate if they can’t afford it.”

“Is that why your fingers were blistered?” Geralt asks.

“No. That’s… something else. Something I’d rather not talk about tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier knows that if he does, he will spend the rest of the evening wondering if he gave anything away, wondering where Rience is, who else he is burning because Jaskier got away.

Geralt gives the book back, and Jaskier places it back in the drawer.

“Rest your hand, Jaskier. Heal before you play again.”

The room is strangely empty when Geralt has left.

Jaskier sits on the bed, staring at his hands for a long while, until he finally decides to look at what was in the bag of clothes that Geralt brought, and Jaskier promptly forgot about in favor of the lute.

Looking through it,it seems like Geralt might have added a shirt of his own to Jaskier’s new wardrobe.

He shoves it to the bottom of the pile.

Jaskier doesn’t make it down to dinner that night.

~

After that day, things slowly progress in small steps.

Everything goes to shit, however, when Voleth Meir makes herself known.

Ciri’s body moves at the possessing demon’s will, and she manages to stab three witchers badly before the alarm is raised.

Yennefer wakes him up, pulling him from a dream into a nightmare. She needs him.

Somehow they always need him.

The powers channeled through Ciri’s small body are strong, destructive.

Jaskier is hiding under a table when a large creature steps through a portal, a creature he has never seen before. It sweeps at the witchers, and Voleth Meir laughs with Ciri’s mouth.

It takes Yennefer tearing open her veins for Voleth Meir to finally let go, for Ciri to free herself from the snares her mind had been tangled in.

With a scream, Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt disappear from view through a portal.

Jaskier sees Lambert land on his back, leg bleeding badly after a swipe from one of the creatures still roaming. He pulls him to the relative safety of his table, and tears his tunic enough to wrap Lambert’s leg.

“Thank you,” Lambert grumbles as he gets his bearings, the commotion in the room making it hard to hear. Jaskier just nods, tying the makeshift bandage off.

Finally, it’s over.

And somehow, Yennefer got her powers back.

~

The days after are a mess. One of the stabbed witchers doesn’t make it, and Ciri has been hiding in her room, guilt ridden, making herself as small as physically possible.

Geralt tries to coax her out, but he still has too little time, too many things to sort out. With her newly regained magic, Yennefer heals who she can, focusing on major injuries until she almost exhausts herself completely.

All the while, Jaskier is left to his own devices. Again.

Not that there is anything he can actually do for them. He isn’t medically trained, nor does have magical abilities.

It leaves him wondering how he survived the whole ordeal at all, and while he feels lucky about it, there is also a morsel of guilt.

So Jaskier finds himself knocking on Ciri’s door. She is reluctant to let him in, but with some honey cake bribes, she finally relents.

This, he knows. This, he can help with.

A young girl, plagued with guilt and fear, struggling to get a hold of herself and what she did, he knows how to help her.

“Not what you did. What your body did, under someone else's control.” Jaskier reminds her between bites. “I might not have gone through what you have, but I know what it is like to feel helpless. Fear and expectations don’t mix well, especially not when a murderous witch is involved.”

They talk a lot, mostly Ciri actually, and maybe they cry a little. After they finish their stolen cakes, and Jaskier has sworn not to tell Lambert, Jaskier brings out his lute to let Ciri play.

It seems she has a basic knowledge, plucking out the chords of a famous love song.

Sadly, not one that Jaskier had written, but at least it wasn’t one of Valdo Marx’s. Which he tells her.

And then she proceeds to play one of Marx’s love songs.

When Geralt finally joins them, Jaskier is chasing a giggling Ciri, who is hugging the lute close, calling her a traitor and a terrible little child, cursing Valdo for tainting her poor, innocent ears.

~

The first day Ciri dares to join them for breakfast, she hides behind Geralt. Both Yennefer and Jaskier hover, ready to step in between if anyone has anything to say.

They don’t.

Lambert is the first one to approach, bandage and limp both gone, Jaskier notes. He sits opposite of Geralt and Ciri, slamming his plate down, his fork rattling down across the table.

“Hey, it happens. What is a little mind control between friends?” is all he says, then digs into his food with the worst table manners Jaskier has seen in a while.

The tension breaks when Jaskier starts berating him for it, and is met with a mouthful of food telling him exactly where he can stuff his manners.

Ciri smiles when Eskel settles next to her, bumping their arms together.

The others make a toast to the lion cub among the wolves, the one who finally found a way to shut Lambert up. Even if it was by challenging him to stuff his mouth full enough to almost choke.

~

The first snow falls not long after.

The last letter has been sent, the last visit to the village by the foot of the mountains has been made, and those witchers unwilling to be stuck for the season have left.

It is colder than a grave hag’s asshole, as Eskel declares one day, with Coën immediately wanting to know why he knows that piece of information.

“I am a man of science,” Eskel grins and winks, and Lambert almost spits out his mead.

Ciri and Yennefer are slowly bonding, their first lessons taking place by the giant lake below the keep.

Jaskier takes care of his lute, works on new material, and with Vesemir and Eskel’s help, looks for new routes for the Sandpiper to take.

Geralt finds him more often now, seeking out his company rather than just tolerating it.

For a moment, Jaskier had expected him and Yennefer to fall back into bed as soon as the air was cleared, but if they have, they never said.

Instead, Yennefer spends more and more time with Ciri, trying to work out ways to control her power when they realize just how strong the young girl already is.

Sometimes they all do things all together.

They go ice skating.

They lose a snowball fight, pelted until they yell for mercy.

Jaskier finally learns of the hot springs, much to his outrage.

“You mean I could have dipped into preheated water all along?!” he yells, waving his arms around dramatically, and is rewarded when Ciri snickers, and Geralt bites down a smile.

It makes something in his chest soar.

The walls from the past year are slowly being torn down.

Deliberately so, in fact.

Piece by piece, Jaskier decides to let Geralt in.

It’s not perfect. It’s painful and it’s terrifying to let himself be open to hope again, to trust that there is friendship this time.

~

When Geralt learns about the firefucker, he is gone for an entire day.

Jaskier has no idea where he went, and he is feeling terribly vulnerable after talking about it, hands shaking and heart racing. Yennefer finds him outside her workroom, and she pulls him inside, cursing Geralt all the way.

“Let him sulk,” she says. “If he can make a hardship his fault, he will. When he gets his head out of his ass, he’ll come back.”

Later that night, Jaskier hears Yennefer rip Geralt a new one for leaving like that, when Jaskier clearly was shaken up and shouldn’t have been left alone.

Ciri learns about the firefucker days after, and angry tears roll down her cheeks when she realizes what Jaskier went through for her, even before they met.

They sit on the bridge outside the gates, feet dangling over the edge. The air is cold enough for their breath to fog, and Ciri’s slightly damp hair to freeze.

Jaskier thumbs her tears away and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“The whole world could be at my heels, and I would do it all again to keep you safe.”

“Sometimes, I just want the world to burn.” Ciri whispers, and Jaskier tucks her into his side.

~

Geralt calls him his friend now.

It’s good.

Jaskier gets to borrow a horse, and they go out riding in the snow around the keep. They argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and who is the worse cook. 

When the window to Jaskier’s room breaks for reasons Lambert and Ciri swear up and down they know nothing about, Geralt simply moves him into his own.

The bed is wide enough for the both of them, which makes Jaskier think of who else might have shared it before him, but he pushes that thought down.

It has no place here, nothing to stand on.

They actually interact less after sharing a room, both of them needing their own space during the day.

They learned that after a vicious fight, where Geralt found all Jaskier’s sore spots once again and pounced.

“Do you ever tire of your own voice?!” he asked nastily, and that shut Jaskier right up.

He slept in the main hall for three days, until Geralt actually apologized.

After that first apology, the rest came a little easier.

They talked about what happened on the mountain. They talked about Jaskier’s past, and Geralt confessed that sometimes, since way before the dragon hunt, he thought Jaskier was only following him for the stories, for the fame it brought him.

It was Jaskier’s turn to apologize, for not seeing that, for not respecting privacy and boundaries set. He realizes he might have been blind to Geralt’s reactions to his songs, distracted with the fame their association granted them.

“But,” Jaskier says,”Not once would I have left you, even if you never lifted your sword ever again.”

To this, Geralt admits to how he always expects to be abandoned, or to be left behind.

“The thought of you leaving, or dying, it’s terrifying. I don’t think I could piece myself together again. So I left first.”

It’s like a kick in the chest, when Jaskier realizes.

That is the first night they actually sleep close on purpose. Geralt is a nasty little blanket thief, but Jaskier makes due by simply curling in close.

~

Midwinter comes, and a new year grows on the horizon. Darkness grants them a perfect view of the stars above, and the snow a blanket to let the world sleep.

Jaskier still is not allowed to join them on hunting trips, but he is getting good with a bow, under Vesemir’s sharp eyes.

~

Another sleepless night, another early morning, at the first light of dawn, when the first rays find their way through the dirty windows of Geralt’s room, that is when Jaskier dares to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead.

Convinced that the witcher is asleep, he leans on his elbow, tracing a wild strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a quick kiss, dry lips against warm skin, making Jaskier’s entire body ache.

This is why he feared bringing down those walls. This is why he withstood the bruises, an armor to keep his heart at bay.

He doesn’t expect Geralt to open his eyes and gaze up at him. Doesn’t expect Geralt to wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down, pressing a kiss of his own to Jaskier’s forehead.

Resting against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier draws in a shaking breath.

“Ask me, Geralt.” He whispers into the dawning day.

“Do you love me?” Geralt whispers back, arms tightening around Jaskier’s back, pulling him closer.

“I do.” His voice wavers, eyes stinging. “Where do we go from here?”

“Wherever we want to. We’ll figure it out.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare ask. Too scared of the question, even more scared of the answer.

Instead of replying, Geralt rolls them over.

Now he is the one leaning on his elbows, hovering inches from Jaskier. They are so close, he can feel every breath Geralt takes, see the pulse jump in his throat.

Instead of replying, Geralt kisses him.

A surprisingly chaste kiss, lingering and soothing and earth shattering and heart wrenching.

“I do.” Geralt whispers finally, lips brushing together. “Whatever that will do to us, I do.”

~

Come spring and the first visit to the village below the mountain, Vesemir finds him with ten envelopes and a small box.

The box is a set of strings and pegs and lute varnish they couldn’t get before the pass closed this winter. Most of the letters are from Pricilla, updating him on what is going on in Oxenfurt and the Sandpiper network, all well coded.

Jaskier realizes he can’t stay anymore.

The world around them is growing ever more restless and chaotic, and the only way to be prepared is to be out there.

Parting with Geralt is harder than it ever was before.

Being alone is dangerous, but being with them is even more so.

He has an organization to run. Stories to tell. Lies to spread.

During the winter, Jaskier came to realize how he can make a difference. On the road, with a lute on his back, in inns and taverns, the way he always did.

As they part, on a crossroad that finally will lead them to part, they stand next to new Roach and Pegasus, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together.

“Ask me,” Jaskier whispers.

“Won’t you tell me?” Geralt whispers back, making Jaskier huff and smile.

“I won’t make it that easy for you, witcher.” He teases, and Geralt steals a kiss, humming softly into it.

“So I’ll have to come find you then, and ask you to tell me again.” Geralt mumbles against his lips.

Jaskier will hold him to that.

Words held back until they meet again.

The road is long, and full of dangers.

Jaskier hopes it will lead him to Kaer Morhen once more.

#the witcher #geraskier #emotional hurt comfort #dapanda writes #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #slow build #geralt is learning how to be a friend #jaskier is very much unseen by all his important people #winter at kaer morhen #the witcher season 2 fix it #ish #i have a lot of feelings about being unseen in a group #being told you talk too much #jaskier deserves so much more than shitty friends #yennefer #lambert is a prick #eskel #yarpen #ciri

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt

Jason kidnaps Tim from Titans Tower and tells him that he killed all the young titans in order to get to him.

#prompts #it goes about as well as expected #Tim wails in such a heartbreaking way that even Jason is horrified #and then he dissociates to high heaven #Jason is quickly regretting all his recent life choices #jason todd #batfamily #batfam #robin #Tim drake #tim and jason #Tim drake and Jason Todd #batbros #enemy to caretaker #hurt comfort #emotional hurt comfort #Batman #titans tower au

[larryfichouse]

love of my life by likelarry @likelarryfics

Explicit

80k

Emotional hurt/comfort, Older Harry, Sexuality exploration

Harry is 36 and recently divorced after he's finally come to terms with his sexuality.

Louis is the 28 year old who helps him find his way and is everything Harry has ever dreamt of.

The one where Harry struggles to really accept who he is and Louis is there every step of the way.

#1dsource #hlcreators #hlsource #likelarry #emotional hurt comfort #flashing tw

[star-wars-writing]

Beyond The Script

A/N: Caught between the glitz of Hollywood and the truths of the heart 💫✨. Dive into the story of Obi-Wan and Cody, where fame meets a love that refuses to stay hidden. I've been writing this between everything else, I hope you'll like it. @codywanbingo prompt flirting.

In the luminescent heart of Los Angeles, beneath a sky awash with the glow of a thousand city lights, the premiere of "Galactic Odyssey" unfurled like a modern-day epic. The streets, alive with the buzz of anticipation, were a tapestry of Hollywood dreams woven into reality. At the center of this grand spectacle stood Obi-Wan Kenobi, a beacon of cinematic brilliance whose journey to stardom was as compelling as the characters he portrayed.

Obi-Wan's ascent to fame was a narrative marked by raw talent and serendipitous discovery. Plucked from the vibrant world of London's theater scene, his transition to the silver screen was meteoric. His performances, characterized by an intoxicating blend of intensity and nuance, rapidly earned him a place among Hollywood's elite. Yet, with this ascension came a vulnerability that those in the public eye know all too well.

The necessity for a bodyguard arose not from the usual trappings of fame, but from a singularly harrowing incident that shattered the illusion of untouchability. It was a routine evening, much like any other, when an encounter with an overenthusiastic fan escalated alarmingly. The fan, whose admiration had morphed into a dangerous obsession, managed to bypass security at a private event, confronting Obi-Wan in a manner that was both invasive and deeply unsettling.

This incident, a stark reminder of the fragility of privacy in the life of a public figure, compelled Obi-Wan's management to take decisive action. Enter Cody Fett, a man whose reputation in personal security was spoken of in tones of quiet respect. Cody, a former law enforcement officer with a career decorated in commendations, had transitioned into private security, where his skills were sought after by those in the highest echelons of society.

Cody's introduction into Obi-Wan's life was a study in contrasts. Where Obi-Wan was the embodiment of charisma and openness, Cody was a paragon of discretion and watchfulness. His demeanor spoke of a life dedicated to the protection of others, a commitment etched into every line of his focused countenance.

As the star of the evening, Obi-Wan moved with a grace that belied the complexity of his inner world. Clad in a suit that mirrored the night sky, he was the picture of effortless elegance. Yet, those who looked beyond the surface would see the traces of a man who had learned the delicate art of balancing public adoration with private vulnerability.

Cody, ever present yet unobtrusive, maintained a vigilant watch over the festivities. His sharp gaze, hidden behind a pair of subtly tinted glasses, swept over the crowd with methodical precision. He was the unseen barrier, the guardian against the unpredictable tide of fame that threatened to breach the shores of Obi-Wan's well-crafted tranquility.

As the night progressed, Obi-Wan's interactions with the press and his fans were punctuated by fleeting glances towards Cody — silent acknowledgments of gratitude and a shared understanding of the world they navigated. To the casual observer, these exchanges were mere formalities, the routine interplay between celebrity and protector. Yet, beneath this veneer of professionalism, there existed a burgeoning mutual respect, a bond forged in the crucible of public scrutiny and the shared moments away from the camera's unrelenting gaze.

In this glittering arena of stars and stories, Obi-Wan Kenobi was more than a figure of acclaim; he was a man walking a tightrope strung between the allure of fame and the need for personal sanctuary. And in Cody Fett, he had found not just a shield against the unpredictability of his world but an ally in navigating the intricate dance of a life lived in the spotlight. 

Cody's presence was not merely a professional requirement; it had evolved into a vital component of Obi-Wan's existence in this high-stakes realm.

Their dynamic was nuanced, a relationship that transcended the typical boundaries of celebrity and staff. In the quiet moments away from public eyes, in the confines of a car ride or the brief respite in a dressing room, their conversations strayed from the mundane to the meaningful. Cody, a man of few words, found in Obi-Wan an unexpected confidant, someone who could understand the weight of responsibility that came with his role.

Obi-Wan, for his part, saw in Cody more than the stoic protector. He recognized a depth, a sense of honor and integrity that resonated with his own values. Their interactions, though outwardly formal, were underpinned by a mutual respect and a burgeoning camaraderie that defied the usual conventions of their respective roles.

As the premiere drew to a close, and the crowd dispersed into the night, leaving behind a trail of memories and discarded glamour, Obi-Wan and Cody retreated from the public gaze. In the solitude of the car, the barriers of celebrity and bodyguard momentarily lifted, they shared a look that acknowledged the surreal nature of their world. It was a look that spoke of trust, of a journey shared, and of a story that was still unfolding, its chapters written in the quiet moments away from the dazzling lights of fame.

In this world of shadows and spotlights, Obi-Wan Kenobi had found more than a bodyguard in Cody Fett. He had found a steadfast presence, a grounding force in the ever-shifting sands of celebrity life. And as they drove through the night, the city lights fading into the distance, there was a sense of peace, a feeling that, in this unpredictable journey, they were not alone.

*** 

On a balmy afternoon in Los Angeles, the set of Obi-Wan Kenobi's latest film, "The Lost Empire," buzzed with activity. Crew members scurried about, setting up for the next crucial scene. Amid this orchestrated frenzy, Obi-Wan, clad in his character's ornate costume, exuded a serene confidence. His presence was like a calm tide amidst the stormy seas of production.

Lingering at the edge of this tumult was Cody Fett, his posture an embodiment of vigilance. Dressed in a crisp suit that did little to conceal his readiness for any eventuality, Cody's eyes, sharp and discerning, surveyed the surroundings with unwavering attention. The air around him seemed cooler, his demeanor a stark contrast to the warm vibrancy of Obi-Wan.

As the director called for a break, Obi-Wan sauntered over to where Cody stood. His approach was light, almost catlike, with a grace that belied the weight of his elaborate costume.

"Keeping the world at bay, Cody?" Obi-Wan quipped, his voice laced with playful warmth as he stopped a respectable distance away.

Cody's gaze flicked to him, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just making sure the world doesn't interrupt your art," he replied, his tone even but not unkind.

Obi-Wan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "My art thanks you, though I fear you might be its only admirer today." He gestured toward the bustling crew. "They only love me when I'm on mark and in character."

"I find that hard to believe," Cody said, his voice betraying a hint of amusement.

Obi-Wan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Ah, but you see, you're not just anyone. You have the arduous task of watching over me. I'm sure that gives you a unique... perspective."

Cody's expression remained carefully neutral, but a faint blush crept up his neck, a subtle betrayal of the effect Obi-Wan's words had on him. He shifted his stance slightly, a physical reminder to himself to maintain professionalism.

"Part of the job," he said simply, though his eyes lingered on Obi-Wan for a moment longer than necessary.

Obi-Wan's smile broadened, sensing the slight crack in Cody's armor. "I'm grateful for it, truly. It's not every day one finds a guardian who can withstand the chaos of Hollywood with such stoic grace."

Cody cleared his throat, looking away for a moment as if checking the perimeter. "It's not as challenging as it seems," he said, returning his gaze to Obi-Wan. "You're not as high maintenance as some might think."

"Ah, so I'm low maintenance, then? I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you," Obi-Wan teased, his tone light and airy.

Cody's mouth twitched, a smile threatening to break through. "I didn't say that," he countered, but the softness in his eyes contradicted the words.

Their banter was interrupted by the director's call to resume filming. Obi-Wan gave Cody a final, lingering look, a silent thank you wrapped in a shared joke, before turning back to his world of make-believe.

As Obi-Wan walked away, Cody watched him go, the faintest of smiles still playing on his lips. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of being affected by Obi-Wan's charm, a brief lapse in his otherwise impenetrable facade. Then, like a mask being put back in place, his expression shifted back to one of unwavering professionalism, ready to resume his role as the silent guardian in the captivating narrative of Obi-Wan Kenobi's life.

*** 

As the Californian sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, the set of "The Lost Empire" transitioned into a nocturnal realm of artificial lights and heightened emotions. In this twilight world, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett found themselves in a moment of rare solitude, away from the prying eyes of the crew.

Leaning against a prop column, Obi-Wan watched Cody with a contemplative gaze. The bodyguard stood a few feet away, his eyes scanning the perimeter with habitual diligence. The fading light cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharpness of his features.

"You know, Cody," Obi-Wan began, his voice breaking the silence between them, "I've always admired how you see everything and yet reveal so little."

Cody turned, his expression unreadable. "It's part of the job," he replied, his tone steady.

Obi-Wan pushed off from the column, taking a step closer. "But what about what you feel? Does the job cover that too?"

Cody's gaze faltered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "Feelings aren't a luxury I can afford in my line of work," he said, though his voice carried a hint of resignation.

Obi-Wan's expression softened. "That must be lonely," he murmured, moving closer still.

For a moment, Cody looked as if he might step back, maintain the physical distance that mirrored their professional boundaries. But he didn’t. Instead, he held Obi-Wan's gaze, a silent admission of the truth in those words.

"It can be," Cody conceded, his guard dropping ever so slightly. "But it's the life I chose."

Obi-Wan’s smile was gentle, empathetic. "And yet, here we are," he said, closing the distance between them. "Two people, chosen lives apart, finding common ground in the unlikeliest of places."

Cody looked at him, really looked at him, seeing not just the actor or the public figure, but the man beneath. "It's not just about seeing, Obi-Wan," he said quietly. "It's about understanding. And maybe that's where the lines start to blur."

The air between them was charged with an unspoken tension, a recognition of something deeper than mere professional rapport. Obi-Wan’s usual playful demeanor had given way to something more sincere, more vulnerable.

"You understand more than you let on," Obi-Wan said, his voice a mere whisper. "And that's what makes this so..."

"Complicated," Cody finished for him, the word hanging in the air like a confession.

Obi-Wan nodded, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "Complicated," he echoed.

They stood there for a moment, the world around them fading into a blur. In the eyes of the other, each saw a reflection of their own complexity, their own hidden depths. It was a connection that transcended their roles, a meeting of minds and souls on a level that neither had anticipated.

Finally, Cody stepped back, the spell breaking as he reasserted his professional demeanor. "We should get back," he said, his voice once again the bodyguard's, not the man's.

Obi-Wan's smile didn't fade, but there was a newfound respect in his eyes. "Yes, we should," he agreed, stepping back as well.

As they returned to the set, the electric buzz of production resuming around them, the moment they shared lingered like a secret, a promise of something more, something deeper than the roles they played in the public eye. It was a glimpse into a potential future, where the lines between protector and protected, between professional and personal, might one day blur into something beautiful and profound.

**** 

The vibrant heart of the city pulsed with life as Obi-Wan Kenobi, accompanied by Cody Fett, navigated through the bustling streets of downtown Los Angeles. They were a study in contrasts: Obi-Wan, ever the charismatic figure, moved with a casual ease that attracted glances and whispers, while Cody, the epitome of vigilance, scanned their surroundings with a practiced eye.

Their destination was a quaint bookstore nestled in a less frequented part of town, a haven for Obi-Wan away from the glitz of Hollywood. As they entered, the soft tinkle of a bell announced their arrival, contrasting starkly with the cacophony of the city outside.

Obi-Wan's demeanor shifted as he crossed the threshold, a sense of tranquility seeming to wash over him. His eyes lit up with the joy of a child as he perused the shelves, his fingers trailing over the spines of the books with reverence.

the noise of the city was replaced by the hushed reverence of a sanctuary dedicated to the written word. The air was heavy with the scent of paper and ink, an aroma that spoke of untold stories and forgotten worlds.

Obi-Wan, usually so composed and graceful under the scrutiny of the public eye, transformed as he entered this realm of books. His steps became more leisurely, his expression more reflective. It was as if each book he touched brought him a sense of peace, a connection to something beyond his life as a celebrated actor.

Cody, following at a discreet distance, observed this change with a quiet curiosity. Here, in this unassuming bookstore, he saw a side of Obi-Wan rarely revealed to the world. Away from the cameras and the lights, Obi-Wan was not the star; he was a seeker of stories, a man who found joy in the quietude of reading.

"Were you always this passionate about books?" Cody asked, breaking their comfortable silence. His voice was gentle, almost hesitant, as if afraid to intrude upon this private side of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan looked up, his eyes bright with a passion that went beyond his on-screen personas. "Always," he replied with a soft smile. "Books were my first escape, my first love. They opened worlds to me when my own world seemed too small, too confining."

Cody nodded, taking in the earnestness in Obi-Wan's voice. "I can't say I've had the same relationship with books," he admitted. "Most of my reading has been more... functional."

"There's a book for everyone, Cody," Obi-Wan said, his tone encouraging. He reached for a novel from a nearby shelf, its cover worn from frequent handling. "Take this one, for example. It's not just a story; it's a study of the human condition, of the choices we make and the paths they lead us down."

Cody accepted the book, examining it with a newfound interest. "I suppose there's more to books than just words on a page," he mused.

"Much more," Obi-Wan agreed. "They're conversations with the past, dialogues with minds we'll never meet. They're the closest thing to magic in our world."

As they continued through the aisles, their conversation meandered from favorite genres to beloved authors. Obi-Wan spoke of the books that had shaped him, of the characters that had stayed with him long after the final page. Cody listened, offering his own insights where he could, but mostly he absorbed the world through Obi-Wan's eyes.

It was easy, in this place, to forget the roles they played in the outside world. Obi-Wan was not the celebrity, and Cody was not the bodyguard. They were just two men, sharing a moment of connection in a world built on stories.

As they left the bookstore, the spell of the quiet sanctuary was broken by the return to the bustling streets. But the conversation, the shared experience, lingered between them. For Cody, it was a glimpse into the depth of Obi-Wan's character, a reminder that beneath the façade of fame lay a man of substance and intellect.

And for Obi-Wan, it was a rare opportunity to share a piece of his true self, to connect with someone who saw him not as a star to be admired from afar, but as a person, complex and real.

*** 

As the afternoon sun cast its golden light over the city, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett found themselves walking towards a sprawling park, a verdant oasis amidst the urban landscape. The park was alive with the sounds of laughter and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, a stark contrast to the quietude of the bookstore they had just left.

Obi-Wan's stride was relaxed, a contented smile playing on his lips as they approached a group of people gathered under a large oak tree. These were Obi-Wan's friends, a diverse group of individuals from various walks of life, each connected by their shared affection for the man who now joined them with a warm, inclusive energy.

Cody hung back slightly, his role as a bodyguard ever-present in his mind, but his attention was drawn to the scene before him. He watched as Obi-Wan seamlessly melded into the group, his laughter mingling with theirs, his hands animated as he shared a story that had everyone leaning in, captivated.

It was a side of Obi-Wan that Cody had glimpsed only in fragments - Obi-Wan, the friend; Obi-Wan, the storyteller; Obi-Wan, the man unburdened by the weight of his public persona. Here, amidst friends, he was unguarded and genuine, his charismatic presence a natural extension of his character rather than a façade for the public.

Cody felt an unexpected twinge in his chest, a longing that was hard to define. It was a desire to know this Obi-Wan, to understand the man behind the celebrity. He realized that despite the time they had spent together, there was so much of Obi-Wan he had yet to discover, so many layers yet to be uncovered.

As the afternoon waned, Cody observed the interactions, the easy camaraderie, and the shared laughter. He noticed how Obi-Wan's eyes lit up when he spoke of his passions, how his gestures became more animated, how he listened with genuine interest to his friends’ stories. There was a warmth there, a sense of belonging, that Cody found himself inexplicably drawn to.

At one point, Obi-Wan glanced over at Cody, a silent invitation to join them. Cody hesitated, his professional instincts warring with the growing desire to step beyond the boundaries of his role. He remained where he was, a silent observer, yet that glance from Obi-Wan stayed with him, a reminder of the bridge that was slowly forming between their worlds.

As the group dispersed with the setting sun, and they made their way back through the park, Cody found himself walking beside Obi-Wan, a comfortable silence between them. It was a silence filled with unspoken words, a mutual recognition of the day's shared experiences.

Cody realized then that his role as Obi-Wan's bodyguard had evolved into something more complex. He was not just protecting a celebrity; he was safeguarding a person who had unknowingly begun to occupy a space in his thoughts, a person whose depth and authenticity had captivated him in ways he hadn't anticipated.

And as they left the tranquility of the park, returning to the reality of their lives, Cody knew that his longing was not just to know Obi-Wan better but to understand the connection that was undeniably growing between them, a connection that blurred the lines of duty and personal interest, hinting at the possibility of something deeper.

*** 

The world outside the airplane window was a canvas of cloud and sky, a vast expanse of blue that stretched endlessly as Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett embarked on a whirlwind promotional tour for "The Lost Empire." Seated side by side in the first-class cabin, the hum of the aircraft's engines provided a constant backdrop to their conversation, an intimate bubble amidst the anonymity of flight.

Obi-Wan, who had initially occupied himself with a book, soon found the quiet companionship of Cody more compelling than the printed words. He turned to his bodyguard, his eyes reflecting a genuine curiosity.

"Cody, we've spent so much time together, yet I realize I know very little about you," Obi-Wan said, setting his book aside. "Tell me about your family. You mentioned a brother, Rex, was it?"

Cody, who had been gazing pensively out the window, turned towards Obi-Wan. A slight smile touched his lips at the mention of his brother. "Yeah, Rex," he replied, his voice tinged with fondness. "He's the second oldest of us. I come from a pretty big family. Wolffe, Fox, Fives, Echo, Ponds... We're a lively bunch when we get together."

Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat, intrigued. "That sounds like a household full of stories. What was it like, growing up with so many siblings?"

"It was... chaotic, to say the least," Cody said, a hint of laughter in his voice. "But it taught me a lot about responsibility and looking out for each other. Rex and I, we were always particularly close. He's got this sense of humor that can lighten up even the toughest situations."

Obi-Wan's smile widened. "Sounds like he'd be your favorite, though I suspect you'd never admit it."

Cody raised an eyebrow, a playful defiance in his gaze. "A bodyguard never reveals his favorites," he joked, then sighed softly. "But yeah, Rex and I have been through a lot together. He's more than just a brother; he's a confidant."

As the conversation flowed, the barriers of their professional roles seemed to dissolve. Obi-Wan spoke of his own life, of the early days of his career, the challenges and triumphs that had shaped him. Cody listened, his usual vigilance giving way to a deeper understanding of the man he was sworn to protect.

**** 

As the conversation between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett continued to unfold in the comfortable confines of the airplane, Obi-Wan felt a reciprocal curiosity about sharing his own background. The aircraft, cruising steadily above the clouds, seemed to create a detached world, a space where stories could be shared with an openness rarely afforded in their usual interactions.

"You know, Cody," Obi-Wan began, his gaze turning contemplative as he looked out the window, "hearing about your family, it makes me reflect on my own."

Cody turned his attention fully towards Obi-Wan, his expression an invitation to continue. It was a subtle shift, but one that did not go unnoticed by Obi-Wan, who appreciated the genuine interest.

"My family," Obi-Wan mused, "is a bit of a mixed tapestry. My father, Jinn, was quite renowned in his time, a name in the entertainment industry. He was part of the reason I found myself drawn to this world." He paused, a soft smile touching his lips as memories surfaced. "He had this larger-than-life persona, both on and off the screen. I grew up amidst the glamour and the storytelling, and it captivated me."

Cody nodded, understanding the gravity of such an upbringing. "Must have been quite the experience, growing up in the spotlight."

"It was," Obi-Wan agreed. "But it also had its challenges. There's a certain expectation when you're the son of someone famous. I had to carve out my own path, find my own voice in a narrative already partly written for me."

"And your siblings?" Cody inquired, intrigued by the familial dynamics.

Obi-Wan's expression softened. "Ah, my siblings. Anakin and Ahsoka. They chose a different path. Anakin, my younger brother, he has always been incredibly talented, but the limelight never appealed to him. He's more content with a quieter life, away from the cameras and the fame. Ahsoka, she's much the same. They both sought normalcy, a life unencumbered by the expectations that come with being in a public family."

Cody could sense a hint of wistfulness in Obi-Wan's tone, a subtle longing for the simplicity his siblings had found. "Do you ever envy that? Their quiet life?"

Obi-Wan considered the question for a moment, his gaze distant. "Sometimes," he admitted. "There's a certain allure to anonymity, to living a life where your choices are your own, unobserved. But then I think about the stories I've been able to tell, the characters I've brought to life, and I realize this is my path. It's complicated, intertwined with my father's legacy and my own aspirations, but it's mine."

The conversation drifted then to other topics, but the shared stories of family lingered between them, a bridge that connected their worlds. Cody, who had always viewed Obi-Wan through the lens of his profession, began to see him as a man shaped by his experiences, his family, and his choices. And Obi-Wan, in revealing these personal facets of his life, found in Cody an understanding presence, a listener who saw beyond the facade of fame.

As the flight continued, weaving its way across the sky towards their next destination, the bond between them deepened, rooted in a newfound mutual understanding and respect. They were no longer just actor and bodyguard; they were two individuals, each with their own stories and struggles, finding common ground in the shared narrative of their lives.

As the aircraft continued its journey, stitching the sky with its invisible thread, the conversation between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett delved deeper, transitioning from the past to the future. The dim cabin lights, casting a soft glow over their seats, created an ambiance that felt removed from the rest of the world, a private cocoon where thoughts and dreams could be shared without reservation.

Obi-Wan, his gaze fixed on the blanket of stars visible through the window, broke the silence that had settled between them. "Cody, have you ever thought about the future? I mean, beyond the scope of our professions?"

Cody, who had been lost in his own contemplations, turned towards Obi-Wan. "Occasionally," he replied, his voice thoughtful. "I suppose, like anyone, I dream of finding someone to share life with. Someone to love, to cherish. But in our line of work, it's not always easy to make those connections."

Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. "It's a challenge I know all too well. In my world, it's hard to find someone who sees you for who you are, not what you represent."

There was a pause as Obi-Wan seemed to gather his thoughts. "I once had a relationship with someone I deeply cared for," he continued, his voice carrying a tinge of melancholy. "Satine. She was wonderful, vibrant, but in the end, the relationship crumbled under the weight of my public persona. She was more enamored with the fame, with the idea of being with Obi-Wan Kenobi the actor, rather than Obi-Wan the person."

Cody listened, his expression one of empathy. "That must have been hard," he said softly.

"It was," Obi-Wan admitted. "It made me realize how much I yearn for genuine connection. To be accepted and loved for who I am, not the roles I play or the accolades I receive. It's a simple desire, but in this industry, it feels like a distant dream."

Cody considered Obi-Wan's words, feeling a resonance with his own longing for authenticity in relationships. "I think, at the core, we're all searching for that," he said. "Someone who understands us, who looks beyond the surface."

The conversation then drifted to their hopes for the future. Obi-Wan spoke of his desire to find balance, to continue telling stories that moved people while also nurturing a personal life that was grounded and real. Cody talked about his aspirations for a quieter life someday, a life where the responsibilities of protection and vigilance gave way to peace and companionship.

As the hours passed, their dialogue wove a tapestry of shared aspirations and mutual understanding. The barriers of actor and bodyguard, which had once defined their interactions, now seemed inconsequential. They were simply two individuals, with their own hopes and dreams, finding solace in each other's company.

The plane began its descent, the journey nearing its end, but the journey of their friendship was just beginning. They had started this flight as acquaintances bound by circumstance, but they landed as confidants, bonded by the revelations of their shared conversation. In the quiet of the airplane cabin, high above the world, they had discovered a kinship that promised to extend beyond the parameters of their professional lives.

**** 

As the whirlwind promotional tour for "The Lost Empire" continued, Cody Fett found himself in a maelstrom of introspection and burgeoning emotions. The memories of their conversation aboard the ten-hour flight lingered in his mind, casting a new light on his relationship with Obi-Wan Kenobi. They had delved into the depths of their lives, sharing stories of family, dreams, and aspirations. In those hours, Cody had come to know Obi-Wan not just as a client, but as a person — complex, genuine, and unexpectedly relatable.

Now, as he escorted Obi-Wan from one interview to another, navigating through throngs of fans and media, Cody felt an unfamiliar stirring within him. It was a feeling that edged dangerously close to the boundaries of romantic affection, a territory he had never intended to explore with Obi-Wan.

The more he observed Obi-Wan — the way he addressed interviewers with eloquence, the way his eyes sparkled with passion when he spoke of his craft, the genuine warmth he showed to his fans — the more Cody found himself drawn to the man behind the celebrity façade.

During a brief interlude in their hectic schedule, as they sat in a quiet corner of a bustling café waiting for the next interview, Cody's thoughts were a tumultuous sea, struggling to reconcile his professional responsibilities with the emotions that threatened to breach the surface.

Obi-Wan, sipping his coffee, seemed to sense Cody's internal struggle. "You've been quiet today, Cody," he observed, his voice tinged with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Cody met Obi-Wan's gaze, the depth of his own conflict reflected in his eyes. "It's nothing to worry about," he replied, his voice a practiced modulation of neutrality. "Just making sure everything is in order for today."

Obi-Wan studied him for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You know, Cody, you're more than just my bodyguard," he said softly. "You're a friend. If there's something on your mind, you can talk to me."

Cody felt a surge of appreciation for Obi-Wan's words, yet it only deepened the complexity of his emotions. "Thank you, Obi-Wan. That means a lot," he said, offering a small, genuine smile. "I'm just... adjusting to the pace of this tour."

As they moved on to the next engagement, Cody wrestled with his feelings. He knew that allowing romantic feelings to develop for Obi-Wan was a line he couldn't afford to cross. His job was to protect, to remain vigilant, and any emotional entanglement could compromise not only his professionalism but also Obi-Wan's safety.

Yet, despite his efforts to maintain an emotional distance, Cody couldn't help but notice the small things — the way Obi-Wan's laughter seemed to light up the room, the compassionate way he interacted with everyone he met, the subtle glances he shared with Cody that spoke of a connection beyond their professional roles.

Each interview, each appearance, was a reminder of the growing complexity of his feelings. Cody found himself caught in a delicate balancing act, striving to fulfill his duties while navigating the uncharted waters of his emotions.

In the quiet moments, when the lights of the interviews dimmed and the clamor of fans faded into the background, Cody reflected on the situation. He knew he had to tread carefully, to protect not only Obi-Wan but also the integrity of his own heart. The realization that he was falling for Obi-Wan was both exhilarating and terrifying, a paradox that left him uncertain of the path ahead.

As the tour continued, Cody remained the ever-present guardian, his outward demeanor unchanged. But beneath the surface, a storm of emotions raged, a silent battle between duty and desire that would shape the course of his relationship with Obi-Wan in ways he had yet to fully comprehend.

*** 

In the midst of the bustling promotional tour, amidst the relentless flash of cameras and the constant barrage of questions, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself in a state of introspective reflection. The conversations he had shared with Cody Fett during their long flight had unveiled a depth and complexity to the man he had known only as his bodyguard. Now, as he engaged in interviews, his mind often wandered back to those moments, to the revelations of dreams, hopes, and the essence of their true selves that had been laid bare in the quiet of the airplane cabin.

Obi-Wan, always the consummate professional in the public eye, answered questions with his characteristic charm and wit. Yet, his attention frequently drifted to where Cody stood — vigilant, composed, a constant presence in the periphery of the limelight. Watching Cody, he noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the occasional distant look in his eyes that hinted at a contemplation mirroring his own.

As he spoke of his latest role, of the intricacies of his character, Obi-Wan's thoughts meandered to the complexity of his own life, to the yearnings he had confessed during their airborne conversation. He had spoken of his desire for a connection that transcended the superficial, for a relationship grounded in genuine understanding and acceptance. And now, as he observed Cody, he began to wonder if what he sought might be closer than he had ever imagined.

Between interviews, in the brief moments they had to themselves, Obi-Wan found himself engaging Cody in more personal conversation, seeking to delve deeper into the bond that had begun to form. "Cody, that book you mentioned on the flight — have you started it yet?" he would ask, or, "How do you manage to stay so composed in all this chaos?" His questions were casual, yet laden with a desire to understand more, to peel back the layers of the man who had become not just a protector but a confidant.

Cody's responses were thoughtful, often tinged with a hint of the guardedness that was a requisite of his profession. But Obi-Wan could sense the undercurrents of something more, a connection that went beyond their professional relationship. The more they spoke, the more Obi-Wan found himself drawn to Cody's quiet strength, his unwavering integrity, and the glimpses of vulnerability that he occasionally allowed to surface.

One evening, after a particularly long day of press events, as they retreated to the privacy of their hotel, Obi-Wan found himself hesitating outside Cody's room. "Thank you, Cody," he said, his voice softer than usual. "For everything. Not just for keeping me safe, but for... for the conversations, for the understanding."

Cody met his gaze, and for a moment, there was a palpable tension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that were beginning to stir between them. "It's more than just a job, Obi-Wan," Cody replied, his voice low. "You've made it more than that."

As Obi-Wan retreated to his own room, he felt a tumult of emotions swirling within him. The realization that his feelings for Cody were evolving into something deeper, something potentially romantic, was both exhilarating and daunting. He lay awake that night, contemplating the possibility of a connection that mirrored the authenticity and depth they had both yearned for.

The days that followed were a dance of subtle glances, of conversations laden with unspoken meaning, of a growing intimacy that defied the boundaries of actor and bodyguard. Obi-Wan found himself caught in a delicate balance, yearning to explore the burgeoning feelings he harbored for Cody, yet mindful of the complications such a relationship would entail.

As the tour progressed, Obi-Wan's perception of Cody shifted, transforming from the man who guarded him to someone who had unwittingly become the guardian of his heart. It was a revelation that promised both risk and reward, a journey into uncharted emotional territory that Obi-Wan knew he was willing to embark upon, should the opportunity arise.

**** 

As the world tour for "The Lost Empire" progressed, each new country providing a backdrop of diverse cultures and bustling activity, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself increasingly drawn into the gravity of his own emotions towards Cody Fett. The awareness of something deeper, something potentially profound between them, had taken root in his mind, and he found himself contemplating the possibility of exploring these feelings further.

Obi-Wan, skilled in the art of subtlety and innuendo, began to weave a tapestry of flirtation and charm, each thread delicately directed towards Cody. It was a gradual shift, a dance of words and glances that tested the waters of their evolving relationship.

In Paris, under the romantic guise of the City of Lights, Obi-Wan's flirtation became more pronounced. As they strolled along the Seine after a day of interviews, Obi-Wan leaned in closer to Cody, his voice taking on a softer, more intimate timbre. "You know, Cody, I've always found Paris to be a city that encourages one to speak from the heart," he mused, his gaze lingering on Cody's face.

Cody, caught slightly off guard by the comment, offered a small smile. "It's a beautiful city," he replied, maintaining his composure but clearly aware of the underlying sentiment in Obi-Wan's words.

In Tokyo, amidst the neon-lit streets and the constant hum of the city, Obi-Wan's attempts at flirtation continued. During a quiet dinner, he raised his glass in a toast. "To new experiences and... unexpected friendships," he said, his eyes locked with Cody's, conveying a depth of meaning that went beyond the words.

Cody's response was a nod, his expression betraying a flicker of uncertainty, a sign that he was aware of the shifting dynamics of their relationship but perhaps unsure of how to navigate them.

As they traveled to Rome, the eternal city with its stories of passion and history, Obi-Wan found moments to subtly touch Cody's arm during conversations, to stand just a bit too close, to share looks that lingered longer than necessary. Each gesture was a delicate exploration, a question posed in the language of unspoken desire.

Cody, ever the professional, maintained his role as Obi-Wan's protector, but the increasing flirtation did not go unnoticed. He found himself in a tumult of conflicting emotions, caught between his duty and the growing attraction he felt towards Obi-Wan.

One evening, as they stood on a balcony overlooking the Roman skyline, Obi-Wan took a deep breath, the air filled with the scent of ancient stone and distant sea. "Cody, I want to be honest with you," he began, his voice low and earnest. "These past weeks, getting to know you, it's been... it's been more than I anticipated. I find myself looking forward to our conversations, to our moments together."

Cody turned to face him, his expression a mix of apprehension and something that resembled hope. "Obi-Wan, I... I'm not sure what to say," he admitted, his voice a whisper. "This isn't a line I've ever crossed, or thought to cross."

Obi-Wan reached out, placing a gentle hand on Cody's shoulder. "I understand the complexities, believe me, I do," he said softly. "I'm not asking for decisions or declarations. Just... just know that what I feel, it's real. It's not the actor, not the celebrity. It's me, Obi-Wan, and it's you, Cody, that I find myself drawn to."

The moment hung between them, a fragile bridge built on words of honesty and vulnerability. In the heart of Rome, with the city's ancient stories echoing around them, Obi-Wan and Cody stood at a crossroads, the potential of something more than just protector and protected, something deeply human and real, waiting just beyond the horizon of their professional boundaries.

*** 

In the midst of the bustling world tour, amidst the whirlwind of interviews and appearances, a quiet evening in Berlin offered a rare opportunity for reprieve. It was here, in the understated elegance of their hotel's private dining room, that Obi-Wan Kenobi had persuaded Cody Fett to join him for what could tentatively be called a date. The term had not been explicitly used, but the unspoken understanding hung in the air between them, charged with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

The dining room was a haven of tranquility, its decor a blend of modern chic and classic comfort. Soft lighting cast a warm glow over the room, creating an ambiance that was both intimate and inviting. A small table by the window, adorned with a simple yet elegant floral arrangement, awaited them, offering a view of the city's nighttime skyline.

Cody, usually so assured in his role as a protector, found himself navigating unfamiliar terrain. The decision to accept this invitation had not come easily. His profession had always demanded a strict adherence to boundaries, yet here he was, on the brink of exploring something profoundly personal with the very person he was assigned to guard. It was a step that could blur lines he had never dared to approach before, yet a part of him yearned to see where this path might lead.

As they sat down, there was a tentative quality to their interactions, a careful testing of waters that had until now remained uncharted. Obi-Wan, sensing Cody's unease, took the lead in conversation, his tone light and easy, yet tinged with an undercurrent of earnestness.

"The food here is supposed to be exceptional," he remarked, perusing the menu. "Though I must admit, my focus tonight is less on the cuisine and more on the company."

Cody offered a small smile, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "I appreciate the invitation, Obi-Wan. It's... not often I find myself on this side of a dinner table."

Their conversation flowed naturally from there, meandering through topics both trivial and profound. They spoke of their favorite cities on the tour, of the books they were currently reading, of the small, everyday things that brought them joy. With each shared laugh, each exchanged glance, the initial awkwardness gradually dissipated, giving way to a deeper connection.

As the evening wore on, the barriers of actor and bodyguard continued to soften, revealing the individuals beneath. Obi-Wan, usually so composed in the public eye, allowed glimpses of vulnerability to show through, speaking of the loneliness that often accompanied his fame, of his longing for authentic connections.

Cody, in turn, opened up about the challenges of his profession, of the sacrifices it entailed. "I've always believed my duty was to protect others, often at the expense of my own happiness," he confessed, his voice low. "But perhaps it's time to consider that I might deserve a bit of happiness too."

Obi-Wan reached across the table, his hand hovering just shy of Cody's. "You deserve that and more, Cody," he said earnestly. "We both do. We spend so much of our lives giving to others, maybe it's time we allowed ourselves to receive something in return."

The night deepened around them, the city outside the window a tapestry of light and shadow. Inside the quiet dining room, Obi-Wan and Cody found themselves at a crossroads, teetering on the edge of a new beginning. It was a beginning fraught with uncertainty, yet brimming with the potential of something real and meaningful.

As they concluded their meal and lingered over their final glasses of wine, the conversation turned to the future, to the possibilities that lay ahead. They spoke not as actor and bodyguard, but as two individuals who had found an unexpected connection in the most unlikely of circumstances.

The evening ended with a promise, unspoken but palpably present — a promise to explore this burgeoning relationship, to see where this path might lead, regardless of the complexities it entailed. In the quiet intimacy of that dinner, Obi-Wan and Cody had taken the first tentative steps towards a future that could hold both the fulfillment of their professional roles and the joy of personal happiness.

**** 

As the promotional tour for "The Lost Empire" wove its way through the tapestry of cities and countries, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett found themselves navigating the delicate intricacies of a burgeoning relationship, cloaked in the secrecy necessitated by their circumstances. The relentless scrutiny of the press and media, ever-present in the whirlwind of the tour, meant that each stolen moment, each covert glance, was a treasure, a silent acknowledgment of the growing connection between them.

In the labyrinth of hotel corridors, in the quiet corners of bustling event venues, Obi-Wan and Cody discovered opportunities to be together, however fleeting. These moments were brief and often wordless, yet each one was imbued with a significance that transcended the need for speech. A gentle touch of hands as they passed each other in a hallway, a shared look that lingered just a second too long, a soft whisper exchanged in the brief respite of an elevator ride – each was a thread in the fabric of their secret relationship.

Their conversations, once limited to professional interactions and casual banter, evolved into something deeper, more personal. They spoke in hushed tones in the backseats of cars en route to events, discussing their days, sharing thoughts and laughter, their words a private dialogue unheard by the world outside.

In the seclusion of hotel rooms, away from the prying eyes of the public, Obi-Wan and Cody allowed themselves to explore the depth of their feelings. Here, they could be themselves, unfettered by the roles they played in the public eye. Obi-Wan, the celebrated actor, shed the weight of his fame, revealing the man beneath – thoughtful, introspective, yearning for genuine connection. Cody, the steadfast protector, unveiled a warmth and vulnerability rarely seen by others, a man with dreams and desires beyond the scope of his duty.

The nights they spent together were a juxtaposition of conversation and silence, of shared laughter and contemplative stillness. In these moments, the world outside ceased to exist, reduced to a distant murmur against the immediacy of their connection.

As the tour progressed, the challenge of maintaining their secret relationship amidst the constant scrutiny became a dance of discretion and subtlety. They became adept at masking their emotions in public, presenting the façade of a purely professional relationship while concealing the truth of their deeper bond.

Yet, despite the need for secrecy, there was a joy in their clandestine meetings, a thrill in the knowledge that they had found something rare and precious in each other. The stolen glances during press conferences, the brief brushes of hands as they navigated through crowds, the quiet conversations in the shadows of the spotlight – all were testaments to the resilience of their growing love.

In the privacy of their shared experiences, Obi-Wan and Cody cultivated a relationship that was as profound as it was hidden. It was a bond forged in the unlikeliest of circumstances, a testament to the enduring power of connection in a world that often prioritized appearance over authenticity.

As the tour neared its end, the reality of returning to their regular lives loomed on the horizon. Yet, the foundation they had built in the secrecy of stolen moments had created a bond that would not be easily severed. They had embarked on a journey that had started with cautious curiosity and had blossomed into a love that defied the constraints of their public roles. In each other, they had found not

only a partner but a refuge, a haven where they could be their true selves, unmasked and unguarded.

The final leg of the tour brought them to London, a city steeped in history and elegance. It was here, amidst the blend of ancient architecture and modern vitality, that they found a moment of peace. In a secluded corner of a centuries-old park, away from the hustle of the city, they walked side by side, basking in the anonymity provided by the sprawling greenery.

"This feels like a different world," Obi-Wan remarked, his voice a low murmur as they strolled beneath the canopy of old trees. "Away from the cameras, the lights, the expectations... just us."

Cody, his hand brushing against Obi-Wan's, felt a sense of contentment that he had rarely experienced. "It's moments like these that make everything worth it," he said, his gaze meeting Obi-Wan's. "Being with you, away from it all, it's... it's something I never knew I needed."

Obi-Wan's response was a soft smile, one that spoke volumes. "Nor did I, Cody. Nor did I," he said. "I used to think my life was complete with my career, my roles. But this," he gestured between them, "what we have, it's shown me there's more to life than what's on the surface."

Their conversation meandered as they walked, touching on hopes for the future, on the possibilities that lay ahead once the tour concluded. There was an underlying current of uncertainty, a recognition of the challenges they would face in integrating their relationship into their everyday lives. Yet, there was also a sense of determination, a mutual commitment to explore the potential of their bond beyond the secrecy it currently required.

As they eventually made their way back to the hustle and bustle of the city, stepping once again into their public roles, there was a silent promise shared between them. It was a promise to navigate the complexities of their situation, to find a way to be together in a world that demanded so much of them.

*** 

In the heart of London, under the enigmatic cloak of a starlit sky, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett found themselves walking the cobbled streets, the city's historic charm providing a perfect backdrop for their clandestine rendezvous. The night air was crisp, carrying the echoes of a city that had witnessed countless stories of love and longing.

As they meandered through the winding alleys, away from the prying eyes of the world they were so accustomed to, a sense of liberation enveloped them. Here, in the shadows of the age-old buildings, they allowed themselves the simple yet profound joys of a blossoming romance.

Their hands found each other's, fingers intertwining with a natural ease. The contact was electrifying, a current that ran through them, speaking of a connection that had grown deeper with each stolen moment. Obi-Wan's thumb gently caressed the back of Cody's hand, a small gesture laden with affection and promise.

"Can you believe this?" Obi-Wan whispered, his voice a blend of wonder and contentment. "In the midst of our chaotic lives, we've found this... oasis of peace with each other."

Cody, his gaze fixed on their joined hands, felt a warmth spreading through him, a sensation that was both exhilarating and comforting. "I never thought I'd find something like this," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of amazement. "Especially not with someone who was once just a charge under my protection."

They found a secluded bench nestled in a quiet park, the city's hustle fading into a distant hum. Sitting close, their shoulders touching, they shared their thoughts, their hopes, their dreams. Each word added another layer to their understanding of each other, each sentence a building block in the foundation of their relationship.

As they talked, Obi-Wan leaned in, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the nearby streetlamp. "I've spent so much of my life playing roles, wearing masks," he said softly. "But with you, Cody, I can just be Obi-Wan. Just me, no pretenses."

Cody turned to face him, his expression earnest. "And I've always been the one in the background, watching over others. But with you, I'm seen. I'm not just the bodyguard; I'm Cody, and that's enough."

The air around them seemed to still, the moment hanging suspended in time. Slowly, almost tentatively, Obi-Wan closed the distance between them, his lips meeting Cody's in a kiss that was a gentle exploration, a question asked and answered in the same breath. It was a kiss that spoke of missed opportunities and past heartbreaks, of the hope and the promise of a shared future.

As they parted, there was a shared smile, a mutual recognition of the significance of what had just transpired. It was the first flush of love, the exhilarating and terrifying leap into the unknown, tempered by the understanding that they had found in each other something rare and precious.

The night deepened around them, but in their little corner of London, time seemed irrelevant. They were two souls who had traversed their own paths of challenges and triumphs, only to find in each other a kindred spirit, a chance at happiness that neither had dared to imagine.

Their conversation continued, interspersed with laughter and comfortable silences, each moment a cherished memory in the making. They talked of the future, not with trepidation, but with a quiet confidence, a belief that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

As they eventually rose from the bench, their hands still clasped, they stepped back into the world with a new sense of purpose. They were no longer just Obi-Wan Kenobi, the actor, and Cody Fett, the bodyguard; they were two individuals united by a love that had blossomed in the most unexpected of places, a love that promised to weather the storms of their public lives and flourish in the secrecy of their private moments.

*** 

Back in Los Angeles, the sprawling cityscape welcomed Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett with its familiar cacophony and vibrant colors. The end of the world tour marked a return to their everyday lives, yet it also heralded the beginning of a new chapter in their relationship, one that they were both eager to explore.

In the privacy of Obi-Wan's spacious home, nestled in the hills with a breathtaking view of the city, they found their sanctuary. Here, away from the constant scrutiny of the public eye, their relationship flourished in the quiet moments of domesticity. The world outside continued its relentless pace, but within these walls, time seemed to slow, allowing them to savor the simplicity of being together.

One evening, as they sat on the terrace, watching the sun dip below the horizon in a spectacular display of oranges and purples, Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "I can't remember the last time I felt this at peace," he confessed, his gaze lingering on the skyline.

Cody, sitting beside him with a glass of wine in hand, smiled softly. "It's strange, isn't it? How amidst all the chaos, we've managed to find this... this tranquility with each other."

Obi-Wan turned to look at Cody, his eyes reflecting the hues of the setting sun. "It's more than I ever hoped for," he admitted. "To have someone to come home to, someone who understands the demands of my life, yet sees beyond the actor, the celebrity... it means everything to me."

Cody reached out, his hand finding Obi-Wan's, their fingers intertwining naturally. "And for me," he said, his voice imbued with sincerity, "to be seen for who I am, not just what I do... you've given me that, Obi-Wan. You've given me a sense of belonging I didn't know I was missing."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a mixture of shared laughter, thoughtful discussions, and comfortable silences. They talked about their plans for the future, about the small, everyday joys they wanted to experience together. Whether it was planning a weekend getaway, deciding on a new piece of art for the living room, or simply choosing a movie to watch, every decision felt significant, every moment a step further into the life they were building together.

As night fell and the city lights began to twinkle like stars brought down to earth, they moved inside, the warmth of the house enveloping them. In the living room, with soft music playing in the background, they danced. It was a slow, gentle dance, bodies swaying in harmony, hands clasped, eyes locked. It was a dance of love, of promise, of a bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.

Later, as they lay together in the quiet of the bedroom, Obi-Wan whispered words of love and gratitude, his voice a soothing melody in the stillness. Cody, holding him close, felt a sense of completeness, a feeling that he had found his home not in a place, but in a person.

In these moments, they were just Obi-Wan and Cody, two individuals who had found in each other a love that transcended the roles they played in the outside world. It was a love that was still new, still fragile in its infancy, yet it held the promise of enduring through whatever challenges lay ahead.

Unbeknownst to them, the tranquility of these moments was a precious interlude, a calm before the storm that would soon test the strength of their relationship. But for now, they reveled in the happiness they had found, cherishing each second as a gift, a reminder of the beauty that life could offer when two hearts found their match in each other.

**** 

The day had begun like any other in Los Angeles, with the sun casting its golden hue over the city, promising the usual blend of hustle and tranquility. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett, reveling in the normalcy of their shared life, decided to step out into the city, a rare opportunity to enjoy a day just like any other couple.

They walked side by side along the bustling streets, their conversation light and filled with laughter. To any onlooker, they appeared to be just two people enjoying each other's company, basking in the anonymity that the crowded city afforded them. But beneath the surface, Cody's vigilance remained ever-present, an ingrained part of him that never fully relaxed, even in his moments of happiness.

As they navigated through a particularly crowded part of the city, a sudden commotion broke out. A figure, a fan driven by obsession and blinded by a dangerous fervor, emerged from the throng. Before Cody could react, the fan lunged towards Obi-Wan, a flash of metal glinting in the sunlight.

The world seemed to slow down as Cody sprang into action, but it was too late. The fan's weapon found its mark, and Obi-Wan crumpled to the ground, a cry of pain escaping his lips. Cody, his heart pounding in his chest, tackled the assailant to the ground, neutralizing the threat with swift precision. But his focus was entirely on Obi-Wan, lying injured on the pavement.

"Obi-Wan!" Cody exclaimed, rushing to his side, his professional demeanor shattered by a wave of fear and concern. He cradled Obi-Wan's head in his lap, his hands trembling as he assessed the injury. "Stay with me, please," he pleaded, his voice laced with panic.

Obi-Wan, his face contorted in pain, managed a weak smile. "Cody," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm here... I'm here."

Cody's training kicked in, and he applied pressure to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood while his other hand fumbled for his phone to call an ambulance. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions — fear for Obi-Wan's life, guilt for not preventing the attack, and a fierce determination to keep him safe.

As they waited for the ambulance, Cody held Obi-Wan close, whispering words of reassurance, of love, of promises for the future. "You're going to be okay," he said, over and over, as if by sheer will, he could make it true.

Obi-Wan, despite the pain, reached up to touch Cody's face, a gesture of comfort, of connection. "Cody, you've always protected me," he murmured, his eyes locked with Cody's. "This... this isn't your fault."

But Cody's guilt was palpable, a heavy weight on his chest. He had sworn to protect Obi-Wan, and in his mind, he had failed not just his charge but the man he loved. The sound of approaching sirens offered a small relief, but the fear of what lay ahead, of the uncertainty of Obi-Wan's condition, clung to him like a shadow.

As the paramedics arrived and began to attend to Obi-Wan, Cody reluctantly released him, his hands stained with blood, a stark reminder of the incident. He stood back, watching as they loaded Obi-Wan into the ambulance, his heart aching with a mixture of fear and love.

**** 

In the sterile quietude of the hospital room, Obi-Wan Kenobi slowly drifted back to consciousness, the haze of anesthesia giving way to the stark reality of his surroundings. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light, casting long shadows across the white walls. A sense of solitude enveloped him, an emptiness that was palpable in its intensity.

His eyes, heavy and clouded with pain, scanned the room, searching for a familiar presence. The expectation of finding Cody there, a steadfast guardian even in the bleakest of moments, was ingrained in him. But the chair beside his bed, usually occupied by Cody, was empty, an unspoken testament to his absence.

A flutter of confusion and worry passed through Obi-Wan's mind. His gaze fell upon the nightstand, where a single envelope lay, its presence both intriguing and ominous. With a trembling hand, he reached for it, the motion sending a ripple of pain through his body.

The envelope bore his name in Cody's handwriting, a script he had come to know well. Obi-Wan's heart throbbed with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he carefully opened it, unfolding the letter inside. The words, penned with Cody's characteristic precision, blurred before his eyes, a combination of his weakened state and the emotion that began to swell within him.

"Obi-Wan," the letter began, the words resonating with a weight that filled the room.

"I sit here writing this, struggling to find the words that can express the turmoil inside me. I have always prided myself on my duty, on my ability to protect those in my charge. But today, I failed. Not just as your bodyguard, but as the man who has come to love you more than I ever thought possible.

You once asked me if I ever thought about my own happiness. Until I met you, I didn't know what that could mean. With you, I discovered a part of myself I never knew existed. Your laughter, your kindness, your sheer brilliance in everything you do, it opened a world I was honored to be a part of.

But in that same world, I was tasked with your safety, and I failed. Seeing you hurt, knowing it was on my watch, it's a burden I cannot bear. The guilt is overwhelming, and it eclipses the love I feel, turning it into something painful, something unbearable.

I am leaving for Colorado, not because my feelings for you have changed, but because I can't face you after what happened. I can't look into your eyes and not see the hurt I failed to prevent. You deserve someone who can protect you, who can be the partner you need. I wanted to be that person, more than anything, but I fell short.

Please know that leaving you is the hardest decision I've ever had to make. You have my heart, Obi-Wan, and you always will. I only wish I could have been the man you deserved.

With all the love I have,

Cody"

Tears welled up in Obi-Wan's eyes as he read and reread the letter, each word a piercing echo of the love and pain that Cody felt. The room felt colder now, emptier than before. He clutched the letter to his chest, a physical connection to the man who had become so much more than a bodyguard to him.

In the solitude of the hospital room, with the soft beeping of the monitors as the only sound, Obi-Wan Kenobi grappled with a myriad of emotions. There was the pain from his injury, a dull, persistent reminder of the attack. There was the heartache from Cody's departure, a void that seemed to consume the space around him. But most of all, there was the overwhelming sense of loss, of a future they had dreamed of together, now shattered by the harsh realities of their lives.

The letter, with its heartfelt confession and palpable sorrow, was a testament to the depth of Cody's love, a love so profound that it chose to step away in the face of guilt and perceived failure. For Obi-Wan, it was both a balm and a wound, a reminder of what they

had shared and what they had lost. He lay there, the shadows of the room growing longer as night approached, enveloped in a grief that was as much for Cody's pain as it was for his own.

In the silence, Obi-Wan's mind replayed their moments together, the laughter, the conversations, the stolen kisses. Each memory was a sharp contrast to the present, a poignant reminder of the happiness they had found in each other's arms. He thought of Cody's smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the sound of his laughter, and the feel of his touch. Each thought was a dagger to his heart, a reminder of what could have been.

The letter, now creased from his grip, lay beside him, a physical manifestation of Cody's inner turmoil and love. Obi-Wan understood the weight of duty that Cody carried, the responsibility he felt as his protector. But he also knew the depth of their connection, the bond that had grown between them, strong and true.

As the night deepened, Obi-Wan's resolve began to form. He knew the road ahead would be difficult, filled with challenges and uncertainties. But he also knew that what he and Cody shared was rare and worth fighting for. The pain of the present, though overwhelming, could not extinguish the flame of hope for a future where they could be together, free from the shadows of guilt and duty.

In the quiet of the hospital room, Obi-Wan made a silent vow. He would heal, not just in body, but in spirit. He would reach out to Cody, bridge the distance that guilt and fear had created. For in his heart, he knew that their story was not one to end in sorrow and separation, but one that deserved a chance to continue, to flourish in the light of understanding and unconditional love.

With that thought, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, clutching the letter close, a beacon of hope in the darkness, a promise of a love that could overcome even the deepest of wounds.

*** 

In the weeks following the harrowing incident, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself navigating a challenging path to recovery. The physical healing, though painful, was straightforward, a journey marked by the measured progress of regaining strength and mobility. However, the emotional recovery was a labyrinthine journey, more complex and daunting.

Each day, Obi-Wan was surrounded by the unwavering support of friends and family. His home became a revolving door of well-wishers, colleagues from the film industry, and close relatives. His younger brother, Anakin, often sat by his side, offering silent company or engaging in light-hearted banter to lift his spirits. Ahsoka, ever empathetic, brought books and music, understanding Obi-Wan's need for distractions that also soothed the soul.

Yet, in the midst of this outpouring of care and affection, there was an absence that loomed large in Obi-Wan's heart. Cody's presence, or the lack thereof, was a constant ache, a void that no amount of well-meaning attention could fill. Obi-Wan found himself glancing at the empty chair beside his bed, half-expecting to see Cody there, with his reassuring gaze and steady demeanor.

As the days turned into weeks, Obi-Wan's physical wounds began to heal, the scars a testament to his resilience. But his thoughts were incessantly drawn to Cody, to the last words they had shared, to the letter that he kept in the drawer of his nightstand, read and reread so many times that he knew it by heart.

Determined to bridge the gap that circumstance and guilt had created, Obi-Wan made a decision. As soon as he was cleared by his doctors, he would go to Colorado, to Cody's family ranch. The thought of seeing Cody again, of confronting the pain and the love that lingered between them, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The day of the journey arrived, a crisp morning with the sky painted in hues of soft blues and gentle golds. Obi-Wan, carrying only a small bag and a heart full of hope, made his way to the airport. The drive was a blur, his mind consumed with thoughts of Cody, of what he would say, of how he would bridge the chasm that had opened between them.

Arriving in Colorado, Obi-Wan was greeted by the vast expanse of open skies and rolling hills. The Fett family ranch was nestled in the heart of this serene landscape, a place that seemed untouched by the clamor of the outside world.

As he drove up the gravel path leading to the ranch, his heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. The ranch house came into view, a picturesque structure that spoke of warmth and home.

Stepping out of the car, Obi-Wan took a deep breath, steeling himself for the moment he had both longed for and feared. He walked up to the front door, each step a mixture of determination and trepidation.

The door opened before he could knock, and there stood Cody, his expression one of shock and confusion that quickly morphed into something more complex — a mix of pain, relief, and a love that had never waned.

"Cody," Obi-Wan began, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I had to come. We need to talk, to face this together."

Cody stepped aside, allowing Obi-Wan to enter. The house was warm, the air filled with the subtle scent of pine and earth. They moved to the living room, a space that was cozy and lived-in, with comfortable furniture and family pictures adorning the walls.

As Obi-Wan Kenobi entered the living room of the Fett family ranch, the air was thick with unspoken words and emotions. Cody Fett, standing across from him, was the embodiment of internal conflict. His posture was tense, a visual representation of the turmoil that had been brewing inside him since the day of the incident.

Cody's eyes, usually so steady and assured, now flickered with a storm of emotions as he looked at Obi-Wan. The sight of Obi-Wan, still bearing the physical marks of his ordeal, was a stark reminder of the event that had haunted Cody's every waking moment.

"Obi-Wan, what are you doing here?" Cody's voice was strained, a mix of surprise and an underlying current of distress. "You shouldn't have come."

Obi-Wan, undeterred by Cody's evident turmoil, took a step closer. "I had to come, Cody. We need to face this, not run from it. We need to talk."

Cody shook his head, a gesture of denial, as he backed away slightly. "Talk? Obi-Wan, look at you. You're hurt because of me. Because I couldn't do the one thing I was supposed to do — protect you."

Obi-Wan's expression softened. "Cody, you can't blame yourself for what happened. It was an unpredictable situation. No one could have seen it coming."

But Cody's guilt was a deep-seated shadow that clouded his thoughts. "I should have seen it. I should have been faster, better. I've been going over it every day and night. The truth is, Obi-Wan, I'm not the right person for you. How can I be in a relationship with you when I can't even protect you?"

Obi-Wan reached out, trying to bridge the gap not just in space but in understanding. "Cody, being with someone isn't about being perfect. It's about being there for each other, in good times and bad. What I feel for you, it's not dependent on your ability to protect me. It's about the person you are, the heart and soul of you."

Cody's face was a canvas of pain and love, a heartbreaking picture of a man torn between his feelings and his perceived failure. "I love you, Obi-Wan. That's what makes this so hard. I love you, but every time I look at you, I'm reminded of that day, and I feel like I'm suffocating under the weight of what I could have lost."

Obi-Wan stepped closer, his voice a gentle plea. "Then let's work through that together. Don't shut me out. What we have is rare, Cody. It's worth fighting for."

The room was silent for a long moment, the tension palpable. Cody looked at Obi-Wan, his eyes searching, seeking answers in the depths of Obi-Wan's gaze. The love he felt for Obi-Wan was a force that had sustained him through the darkest of times, but it was also the source of his greatest pain.

Finally, Cody spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know if I can be what you need. The thought of failing you again..."

Obi-Wan stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "You haven't failed me, Cody. And I don't need protection; I need you. All of you, with all your doubts and fears. We'll face them together."

In that room, with the evening light fading outside, Obi-Wan and Cody stood at a crossroads of their relationship. It was a moment fraught with pain and possibility, a test of whether the love they shared could overcome the barriers of guilt and fear.

For Cody, it was a decision that meant confronting his deepest insecurities, of accepting that love was not a battlefield where one had to be invincible. And for Obi-Wan, it was

about showing Cody that his love was unconditional, that it wasn't predicated on a notion of perfection or an absence of vulnerability.

They stood there, two souls intertwined by an emotion so profound and complex, it defied the simple narratives of protector and protected. In Obi-Wan's steady gaze, Cody saw not just forgiveness, but an unwavering commitment to their future, to a life where they could share not only the joys but also the burdens.

"Cody, we're stronger together than we are apart," Obi-Wan said, his hand reaching out to gently cup Cody's cheek. "Let me be there for you, just as you've been there for me. Let's build something together, not as bodyguard and charge, but as partners, as equals."

Cody's eyes closed at the touch, a shudder running through him as he battled with his inner demons. The road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but in Obi-Wan's touch, in his words, he found a glimmer of hope, a possibility of healing and moving forward.

Slowly, tentatively, Cody leaned into the touch, a silent acceptance of Obi-Wan's offer. "I want that," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to try, for us."

In the waning light of the day, in the quiet of the room, Obi-Wan and Cody embraced, a physical manifestation of their rekindled connection. It was a moment of surrender, of acknowledging their fears and vulnerabilities, but also of recognizing the strength and resilience of their love.

As they stood there, holding each other, the challenges that lay ahead seemed less daunting, overshadowed by the certainty of their feelings for each other. It was a reaffirmation of their commitment, a promise to face the future together, with all its complexities and uncertainties.

In each other's arms, they found not just solace, but a renewed sense of purpose, a determination to forge a path where love and understanding reigned supreme, where the scars of the past were not reminders of pain, but symbols of their capacity to overcome and grow stronger in each other's embrace.

**************

"Thanks for reading! If this tale of unexpected love in the limelight touched you, reblog to share with others. Your likes, reblogs, and comments are not just appreciated, they're cherished. Here's to finding love where we least expect it 🌟💖."

#ObiWan Kenobi #Cody Fett #Modern AU #Fanfic #Romance #Angst #Healing #Secret Relationship #Protective Cody #Emotional Obi-Wan #Bodyguard Love #Hollywood AU #Slow Burn #Emotional Hurt Comfort #Fanfiction #commander cody #codywanbingo #commander cody fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x commander cody #obi wan fanfiction #codywan #swfandom #star wars fandom #star wars au #star wars fanfiction

[uwingdispatch]

Devotion

Devotion

Notes: Brasso/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: depression/mental health struggles, active shooter

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

“What’s going on?”

You’re in your pajamas, standing at the end of the hallway that leads to your bedroom. It’s 3:00 in the morning and you’ve woken to find Brasso sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with something in his hands.

Startled, he looks up. “How long have you been standing there?” He asks, running a hand through his dark hair, his grays hidden in the shadows of the dimly-lit room. In this moment there’s a sadness in his eyes that he doesn’t often allow you to see.

“Not long,” you say.. “I woke up and you weren’t there. I had a feeling…”

“I made you anxious,” Brasso says, pushing away from the table. “I’m so sorry, love.”

You insist that you’re fine, but he’s already wrapping his big arms around you and you can’t help but sleepily lean into his embrace.

“I got a message from Wilmon today. Did you know it was the anniversary of Rix Road?”

“I should have remembered.”

“No, darling,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “No, I’d rather not remember that day. Most of it, anyway.”

“Are you all right?” You ask.

“I will be,” he says. “Last time I was on Ferrix, Xanwan’s niece was cleaning up his old store front, getting it ready to sell. She gave me this keyfob of his that she found in a drawer. It’s just a festival trinket from an old holiday but…there are pictures from that day. The old gang, you know? Before I met you, even.”

“You’re thinking about Xan?”

“And everyone who didn’t make it out that day. How things could have gone differently if I’d just—”

“If you’d just what? Let fascists steamroll your entire community? Brasso, people did get out because of you. And I’m sure I’m not the only one you warned away from town that day.”

“You’re not.”

“And you got Wilmon out.”

“I did.”

“Bee. Bix. Jezzi.”

He answers with a sigh.

You step back so you can see your partner’s face, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear so you can look into his eyes. “You’re one man, Brasso. A very good man, but still just one. How were you going to stop anything that Maarva Andor started?

He laughs a little, remembering the woman who had been so much to so many people. You’d never been a Daughter of Ferrix, but it was Maarva who invited you to join in on some of the community projects anyway. It was people you met through Maarva who had encouraged you to start selling your handmade goods, who had told you how much they’d enjoyed the things you’d made for fundraisers over the years. And it was the Daughters, so many now spread throughout the galaxy, who’d helped you leave Ferrix and find a place on Gatalenta. Who’d told you that Brasso would find you when the war was over, because surely someone knew where he was, even if it wasn’t safe for you to know yet.

In the hallway, Brasso hands you the keyfob. There’s a year etched on the back and it is indeed before you’d met Brasso, but you’d been in town then. Back after finishing your degree, trying to feel out what was next. You’d made jogun fruit jam that year for the festival these pictures were taken at. And you’d only been at the stall for a few hours each day, but in the background of one of the pictures, there you were.

“Brasso,” you say. “That’s me.”

“No kidding,” he says, zooming in. “Beautiful as ever.”

“You can barely see me.”

“I can see enough.” Brasso kisses your forehead, his lips soft and warm on your skin. “Let me get you back to bed, darling. Enough of my troubles for the night. I never should have woken you in the first place.”

“You didn’t wake me,” you remind him.

But he has your hand in his and is leading you back down the hallway to the bedroom, the keyfob left behind.

*

There were a lot of things you loved about Ferrix, but the time grappler had never been one of them. He was a nice enough man, and you didn’t have any quarrel with him personally. But you’d never been a morning person. And nothing about Ferrix was going to change that. You’d occasionally pick up a morning shift at the café where you worked if someone called out and they needed help. But other than that? You needed the rest. So you jammed a pillow over your head while the time grappler struck the beskar steel in the tower at the start of each day until you could go back to sleep.

You’d known Brasso for a few years when he showed up with a basket of fruit a few hours after dawn, banging on your door like the galaxy was collapsing. You crawled out of bed and put on a robe, sure that there was some kind of maintenance emergency in the building.. But when you opened the door, it was Brasso, all two meters of him with a desperate look on his face. And…the fruit.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, the annoyed tone in your voice unmistakable.

“Thank the stars,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “You’re all right.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“Someone opened fire at the market this morning. Not even from here…at least nobody I can think of matches his description. Someone called Morlana-1. Corpos showed up and all they managed to do is chase him to the café.”

You knew without asking that he meant your café, and at the word of corpos, you stepped back to let Brasso in. His cheeks were rosy from the early morning cold, his eyes bright, and his work clothes were crisp and tidy before a long day at the salvage yard.

“Is anyone hurt?” you asked.

“There were some injuries at the market,” Brasso said, running a hand through his hair. “But the café…we don’t know yet. They won’t let anyone near the building. I came to see you as soon as I heard.”

You didn’t live far from your work—just a few blocks. And as all of the information you were receiving began to solidify in your brain you felt your nervous system kick into high gear. You tried to steady your breathing as you asked, “What’s with the fruit?”

“The Daughters dropped this off for my mum the other night. But you know how she’s allergic to meilooruns—won’t eat anything that’s touched them out of precaution. I thought I’d leave it for you on my way to work…and then someone commed me about all this…I’m just so glad you’re safe, love.”

This was the first time he’d ever used that term of endearment with you, and you weren’t sure what to make of it, but it warmed something inside of you that you knew you’d never shake, even as you felt yourself giving way to panic.

Brasso pulled you close again. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve got you.”.

It’s all you needed to hear.

“I know you don’t do mornings. I’m so sorry to wake you…I just…they don’t have the guy in custody yet. Do you mind if I stick around for a bit? You don’t carry a blaster and…”

“I’ll make us some caf,” you say, turning toward your little kitchen.

“No,” he said, his hands steady on your shoulders. “You sit down. I’ve thrown off your day, the least I can do is make you breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Unless you want to go back to sleep. I can leave if—”

“No,” you said, your breath shaky. And, when he took your hand in his, it felt so right that for a moment you forgot that everything about this morning was unusual. “Stay,” you said. “Please.”

“All right,” he said, his eyes searching yours for something neither of you seemed to quite grasp.

You snapped out of your haze and went to get yourself cleaned up and dressed, allowing yourself in your sleepiness to think thoughts about this man, your closest friend, that normally you pushed away. He was right there, after all. In your kitchen. If you let yourself feel what you felt, if it came burbling out of you in a groggy delirium…you couldn’t bear the thought of anything changing between you. Of losing this closeness. Because somehow it hadn’t occurred to you that he felt those feelings about you, too.

*

You wake to the sound of clattering in the kitchen, a string of curses on Brasso’s tongue. There’s not a lot that can get you out of bed quickly but, after last night, you’re a little worried that he’s not just upset about a broken dish.

You slip into a robe and hurry into the kitchen where you find your husband sweeping up broken glass.

“It’s early, love,” he says when he sees you. “You can go back to sleep.”

“No, I can’t,” you say. “Some anniversaries you just feel in your bones. This is one of those for you.”

Brasso is washing his hands. You can’t tell if he’s ignoring you or if he just doesn’t know what to say.

“Brass?”

“I don’t know why it’s hitting me like this,” he says. “It’s been so long.”

“You told me last night you heard from Wilmon. Is he all right?”

“He is.”

Brasso drops a towel on the counter and you take his hand. You’ve both had more than your fair share of grief. Grief for loved ones lost. For futures that could never be. For safe places that would never feel safe again. And with the Imperial occupation of Ferrix you lost your home as you knew it. But you’d moved there as a teenager. You didn’t have generations of history there like Brasso did. His roots there were different. And when he chose to stay on Gatalenta, it was partly because could never go back to the place he left—not for more than a visit. Because too much had changed for it to feel like home for him.

“Let me make us some caf,” you say.

“Nonsense,” he says. “I’ve spoiled your sleep again, I’ll just—

“Brasso.”

“Okay,” he says, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “I hear you.”

He’s always been the kind of man who takes care of everyone else and struggles to let others take care of him. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to ask for help, it’s that he doesn’t want to burden anyone. Even after all this time, he hesitates to tell you when something is wrong that he thinks he can handle on his own. You usually figure it out anyway, and he usually gives in to your care. But it hasn’t always been easy.

As you grind the caf beans—a blend he’d picked up at the market last week—you think of all those afternoons after you’d first met, when he’d turn up at the cafe on his break. It had been the best part of your day. You’d later learn that he’d been pretty loyal to a caf bar closer to his place until the day he stopped in on his lunch one afternoon and recognized you, the person he’d helped with the spilled groceries just a week or so before. Soon, he was a staple, falling into an easy routine with you. The two of you started taking your breaks together, soon becoming so close that it seemed like you’d always known each other. The first time he walked you home, on a night when the end of your shifts coincided, you had a feeling that maybe—just maybe—when you got to your apartment he was going to kiss you. But the moment passed. And you let yourself push the thought of a romance with Brasso to the back of your mind for the first time.

When you put a cup of caf in front of Brasso today, he takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“Tell me what you need,” you say.

“Just sit with me, love,” he says. “All I need is you.”

*

Brasso was the kind of man who didn’t know how not to be busy. He’d been in your apartment for all of ten minutes before he’d sliced up some of the fruit to go with eggs and toast for breakfast. You’d known him long enough to know that this was just what he did. When he was upset, he took care of other people. So you should have known that when you’d sleepily mentioned that your refresher sink had been leaking that he was going to have to try and fix it. Now, a few hours later, he was in there with the tools he’d meant to take to work before the trajectory of his day had changed, leading him to you instead.

“You don’t have to do this,” you told him. “I can call the building manager and have him come take care of it.”

“It’s a simple fix,” he said. “I’m almost done.”

It was noon. Word was out that the scene had been cleared at the cafe, luckily with only some minor injuries. But nobody wanted to go out while the corpos were still around. And Brasso hadn’t said anything but you could tell he didn’t want to leave you by yourself either. Ferrix had always watched out for their own, and there was no telling what these off-planet police might do while they were here. Who they might bother. They didn’t know Ferrix and they didn’t like it any more than it liked them. So the streets had emptied. Places of business were closed. And Brasso was still with you.

“Finished,” Brasso called out from the refresher. “Good as…well as good as it was when you moved in here at least,” he said.

Not a lot on Ferrix was brand new. You liked this about your home. When you first came to Ferrix, you hadn’t known what to make of it. But now—now you felt there was something cozy about it. It was comforting to think about all the lives that had touched everything here.

You smiled as you heard Brasso taking off his tool belt and putting it with his boots by the door. When he came to sit with you, he’d unzipped the top of his coveralls and tied the arms around his waist, the black tanktop underneath accentuating the muscle of his chest, his broad, freckled shoulders. His hair was a bit mussed, and you fought the urge to reach out and touch it, to smooth it back in place.

He noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said. “I zoned out for a moment. Probably just tired.”

“Things are changing around here,” he said. “It’s setting people on edge. I can’t remember the last time I had a day where I just felt at peace. Where things felt normal.”

“I wish there was something more I could do.”

“You’re here. That’s peace enough for me today.”

You yawned then, and he put his arm around you.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing the knit blanket you kept thrown over the back of your couch. “Close your eyes. Just rest.”

So you did. You let yourself relish in that closeness, in his clean, familiar scent, the secure warmth of his strong arms, the steady rhythm of his heart. It wasn’t the first time you’d fallen asleep in his arms. And you did still wonder, sometimes, if there was something there that neither of you dared to speak about. But you had seen Brasso’s affection with other friends as well. And, at the end of the day, you were grateful for what you had with him, even if it wasn’t quite what you wanted. He made you feel safe, even on days like this, and given the state of the galaxy, that was a considerable feat.

*

“Would you want to go out today?” Brasso asks.

He’s just woken up from a nap, and he’s wandered out of the bedroom looking delightfully mussed in his favorite pair of sweatpants. You’ll never get used to the fact, even after all this time, that this beautiful man has chosen to spend the rest of his life with you. You’d been answering holomail, but you put down your datapad, ready to do what you can to ease your partner’s stress.

“Are you up for it?” you ask. “There’s that food festival downtown, you know. In the park by the spires. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go.”

“That sounds nice.” He sits on the sofa next to you, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I think I need some fresh air.”

“I think you do, too.”

You smooth his hair away from his face. Even as you say this, a part of you wants to just sit here like this all afternoon, resting your head on his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos he collected in his travels, before he came home to you. A part of you wants to just stay here, like this, for the rest of the day. Still, you tell him to go get dressed, that you’ll be ready to go when he is.

Soon you’re in the park, a soft blanket laid out over the grass beneath you, paper containers of hot treats waiting to be opened—things from a few different food carts, because neither of you could choose.

“Now this,” Brasso says to you, “this is something I want to remember.”

“Hm?” You’re trying to open a bottle of a fizzy drink you hadn’t seen here before.

“Love,” Brasso says, one finger under your chin as he eases your face toward his. “Today is the day I first met you. Did you know that?”

You have to admit you didn’t remember the date. But he isn’t the kind of person to be upset over that. He knows his memory is better than most, and that you have a tendency to forget anything you don’t write down.

Still, you say, “I’m sorry,”

He smiles, leans in to touch his nose to yours. “No need,” he says.

There was a time when you never could have imagined Brasso would be the type to kiss you this way, out in the open for everyone to see. But whatever part of him that maybe had been too bashful for that kind of intimacy was gone with the war. With all the years he couldn’t hold you or kiss you at all. And under the bright sun he pulls you toward him, bringing your legs over his lap as he leans in to kiss your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips, a kiss rich with devotion as he cradles your cheek in one of his big, rough hands.

You reach for his face, caressing the scruff of his short beard before threading your fingers through his hair, now collar-length, the silver strands catching the light. He still doesn’t believe you when you tell him you’ve never seen anyone more beautiful than him. But you’ll never get tired of telling him this, of telling him that from that day you met him there was nobody else in the galaxy who stood a chance to win your affections.

Today, you tell him: “I love you, you know. So much.”

“I know,” he says, a sparkle in his hazel eyes. “I can remember these things for the both of us.”

He kisses you again, a bit deeper, lingering, and you whisper, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, “People are staring.”

He laughs, running his fingers softly over your jaw before his hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck. “Let them,” he says.

And so you do, letting yourself enjoy this closeness as a warm breeze comes through the park, the sky in this moment seemingly full of possibilities, his kiss an infinite canvas for you to complete. You make a note of the date, and think to yourself that you won’t forget this time. You couldn’t possibly forget an afternoon like this.

★★★★★★★★

Hopefully it won't be so long between fics next time, but I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading! I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

I have a taglist now! Sign up here if you want to be tagged in future fics. (And choose if you only want to be tagged for certain characters.) In the meantime, I’m tagging my taglist as well as some folks who have been reblogging my fics. Love y’all!

@writingbylee @waterpancakeao3 @zinzinina @princessxkenobi @aerynwrites @belfry-bat @phoenixhalliwell @r1-sw-lover @laserbrains @darthanakn @lovedbyth3sun @usernamesarebitches @maul-ologue @operation-spot @writeforfandoms @akgracemk @littlemousedroid @strwrs @saveatruckrideoptimusprime @galaxtic-writings @mintpurplemnm @againstacecilia @elasticreality @zombiedixon89 @forresway @sith-as-heck @alistocats @favficss @themandadolorian @ginger-swag-rapunzel @iamsuchanasshat@vvpoisonous @saradika @islandfrogeery @boba-brasso-bee @groguspawbeans @fluffyprettykitty @mischiefqueer @wretchedmo @wyn-n-tonic @dystopicjumpsuit

#star wars #rogue one #andor #star wars brasso #brasso #andor brasso #brasso the ferrixian #ferrix #brasso x reader #brasso x gn!reader #brasso x gn reader #gender neutral reader #dometic fluff #mutual pining #fluff and angst #mild hurt/comfort #emotional hurt comfort #depression #tw: active shooter #disabled reader #disability #soft!brasso #brasso being handy #uwingwriting

[icypantherwrites]

New Fanfiction: Snowdrop

Summary: Hanahaki (with a twist) AU — Keith retreats to his room following a complete disaster of a mission where under his leadership not only have members of his team been seriously hurt but people have died and all he can think of is how disappointed Shiro would be in him. And to make an already awful situation worse, the thoughts trigger his violent form of Hanahaki and as a result he’s slowly suffocating to death on flowers and blood all alone and knowing no one is going to find him until it’s too late. Except that isn’t the case. Because Lance is knocking outside his door.

#voltron #vld #keith #keith angst #keith whump #hurt keith #fanfiction #fanfic #icypanther #lance #protective lance #hanahaki #with a twist #not unrequited love #emotion #emotional hurt comfort #hurt comfort #comfort #lots of comfort #flowers #flower symbolism #Snowdrop

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Breaking Point

Word Count: 3080 CW: Alcohol mention, food mention, crowds, anxiety, sensory overload, brief mention of killing, cursing, Summary: Whilst on a job, the walls feel like they're closing in. Reader gets a bout of sensory overload in a large crowd. Luckily, Kaz is right there to pick them up and help them keep their head.

Y/N lifted the tray of champagne carefully, balancing it on one hand with ease. After being taught how to spin daggers and kill a man in fifteen different ways, holding a tray on their palm was almost child’s play. They stepped away from the table and smoothly started a route around the outside of the room, pausing to offer drinks to guests.

After that tray was emptied, an actual member of the waitstaff swiftly replaced it with one that held small food instead of drinks and sent them back out. Another round of the room and Y/N had to push into the fray, weaving around people and offering things to them. Someone tried to send them to fetch a coat and they ignored them, offering another guest something from the tray. Jesper was the one to refill their tray when it ran out, giving them another one of drinks and telling them to keep their eyes sharp for anything to snatch. Y/N laughed and told him to do his own job.

While scanning the room, their eye was caught on Kaz. He was dressed similarly to the party guests, his hair slicked back with a piece of it falling over his forehead. His cane was ostentatious but not his normal crow-headed one, a large gem on top glittering in the lights of the party. He was circling the edges of the room, casually conversing with others and peering into doorways. Someone came up to him and Y/N watched the brief conversation, the way his face changed from the person they knew as their boss to someone else entirely. It wasn’t who they saw behind closed doors, the gentle lover that cared for their every need. Nor was it the hardened gang boss that crushed bones for wrong looks. Instead, it was a rich merch who fit in entirely too well with the crowd. Still, Y/N saw the little fidgets he didn’t hide that said he wanted the small talk to end.

When Y/N stopped to pick up a new tray, rolling their shoulders to shift the sleeves around, was when things turned bad for them. They finally noticed their heartbeat racing as if they were in a chase across rooftops. Their palms were starting to sweat and wiping them on their pants only made them start tingling. Still, the job had to get done. Despite feeling like they had been poisoned--they knew they hadn’t been and had to just push through it--they picked the tray up and turned back to the crowd.

That was when they realized just how tightly people had packed themselves in. It was a party in the richer district of the city but the press of the crowd looked closer to a Barrel bash than anything else. Y/N took a deep breath and skirted around the edges for a few moments.

The band felt like it was playing louder, their ears ringing with the noise of the music and the low hum of chatter. Even the sound of their shoes on the floor felt like a lot. Instead of their attention being on the job and the two people they were working it with, Y/N couldn’t help but focus on every little thing that touched them. The sleeves of their waitstaff outfit were long and made of silk, puffy enough to brush against them at every turn. One arm was permanently behind their back and the other held the tray safely above their head as they carefully navigated the press of people. Even the brush of their own touch on themself was enough for their back to be tense and muscles rigid, nothing like the soft and loose stance they had been trained to take during jobs.

Jesper caught their eye and pointed to where Kaz was lingering around a specific door. Y/N nodded and started toward Jesper. They both picked up more trays and started circling the room again. When they met back up on the other side of the room, Jesper took Y/N’s tray from them, smoothly holding both half-filled trays. “I’ve got this side, go grab another tray. Try to distract the pigeons.”

Y/N nodded again, some inane part of their mind likening their movements to that of a bobble-headed doll they’d seen being sold by a market stall, and moved to skirt the room, breathing steadily growing faster and thinner. They hadn’t realized how bad the crowd’s influence on them was until they were given the chance to walk away and get a moment alone, even if it was just walking along a less populated area. To calm their racing heart, Y/N ran a hand along the wall.

They tried to direct their attention to the cool marble sliding beneath their fingertips instead of everything else that was overwhelming their senses. Taking deep breaths, they focused on their breathing and the feeling of the stone beneath them as an anchor. Instead of calming them and slowing their breathing as they’d hoped, it instead made their breathing speed up even more than before. 

The press of bodies was thinner at the edges and not as bad as the swirling and dancing that was the center of the crowd. Still, the large number of people around Y/N made them want to run away or find some place to hide. Without meaning to, Y/N started running their fingertips over the ends of their nails in a self-soothing gesture as they kept their direction.

Once they reached the table the drinks and snacks were stored at, Y/N ducked beneath it instead of running or picking up another tray. They curled their legs to their chest, keeping one hand on the cool floor to ground themself. The other hand started running the edges of fingernails over their leg in an attempt to calm themself down faster. They stayed like that for a few minutes, quietly trying to pull themself back together in the enclosed space that felt away from the people and safe.

The distinctive thump of footsteps was lost under the feeling of Y/N’s heartbeat and their focus on the palm of their hand on the floor. Instead of being on their surroundings, their entire attention was focused on willing their skin to stop tingling, to stop feeling like fire was lining wherever something touched them.

When someone silently dropped to the ground and joined them beneath the table, Y/N almost jumped out of their skin. A gloved hand covered their mouth, preventing their short shriek from having any true volume. With eyes that were wide and unfocused, Y/N had a hard time trying to see who was in the dark space with them but the presence was one they would know anywhere.

“Are you alright? Do a full body inventory, now.” Kaz carefully removed his hand, making sure they wouldn’t yell again.

Y/N nodded, once again feeling like their head was on a spring and it was the only thing they could do. “I’m unharmed.” Their voice was rough and it was all they could do to hold back the whimper that rose in the back of their throat.

With Kaz, there was a sense of safety that let them relax. He could protect them and keep them away from people. There would be no awkward explanations of anything. He knew what they were going through and understood their struggles. There would be no comforting touches, not even the accidental brushing of hands or limbs. His eyes roved over their body, confirming for himself what they had just told him.

“What are you doing under the table, then?” He shifted, stretching his leg out while still crouching on the other one, always ready to move at a moment’s notice.

“There’s too many people, Kaz, I-” They didn’t want to let him down on the job but they also didn’t want him to see them cry and they could feel the tears welling up behind their burning eyes, skin still protesting existence.

Kaz’s eyes followed something and only then did Y/N realize they were rocking on their heels and hand. They tensed their muscles, trying to get them to stop. Kaz’s eyes returned to Y/N’s face and he nodded. “Alright, come with me.”

“What? Why?” As stupid as it felt, Y/N didn’t want to leave the floor beneath the table. With the cloth draping over the sides, it felt like they were sheltered and out of the way. The position was safe and there was nothing that called for them to move just yet. They didn’t want to give it up.

Nevertheless, when Kaz extended his cane for them to grab, they let a hand wrap around it and let him pull them to a standing position. Kaz would always be a better safe space than anything else they could ever ask for, a better protector than the most fortified building. When he claimed someone as his own, he fought for them until his very last breath if need be. They would follow him wherever he needed them to be.

Kaz pulled them close to his side, both keeping a hold on his cane, but didn’t touch them. “I’m taking you out of here,” he said, tone leaving no room for arguments. “I could use a lookout as I look through the office and you could use less people around.”

Y/N nodded and stumbled after his uneven gait. Only then did they notice the sheen of sweat covering their skin, hands glistening in the light of the grand chandelier. Kaz opened a door and slipped through, beckoning for Y/N to follow him. They did so blindly, eyes unfocused now that they were in his hands.

Kaz swept his coat off of himself, wrapping it around their shoulders and pressing his gloved hands on them. Y/N’s eyes slipped shut at the weight, mind struggling to stay grounded in the moment. All of their attention went to that weight on their shoulders, a weight they knew came at a cost.

When they thought they’d be alright, Y/N slipped out from beneath Kaz’s hands. “So,” they filled their voice with a cheer they didn’t feel, “which door?”

Kaz’s eyes held no pity for them, only an understanding that comes with growing up on the streets, never able to show his true emotions. “This way,” he nodded toward a door on the left side of the hall.

In a few seconds, the lock was sprung under his deft lockpicks and Kaz ushered Y/N into the room. Even though he claimed the need of a lookout, Kaz had them sit in a chair close by the window. His coat was spread over their lap and Y/N’s hands burrowed beneath it. His scent was calming and being alone with him was a much better experience than the onslaught to their senses that the dancing hall was.

Kaz’s cane clicked as he limped across the floor to the desk. “What are you planning to do?” His voice was soft, barely over a whisper and holding a tender note he never let slip in public.

Y/N looked up from their lap, brow furrowing. “Do? About what?”

“That damned stray cat you brought inside a few days ago.” He closed a drawer and opened another one, flashing them a cheeky grin. “Don’t think I didn’t notice it, sweetheart.”

They laughed softly. “I was actually planning on talking to you about her tomorrow.”

He huffed as he reached around in a bookcase, looking for anything hidden there. “We’ve got time now.”

Y/N talked, keeping their eyes on the door. They had been given the job of lookout, even if it had been an excuse to bring them with him, and they were determined to do their job. When they finished talking about the kitten--where she would stay, what kinds of things Y/N would need to get for her, how far she could roam and who could be put in charge of her--Kaz prompted them to keep talking.

He sat down in the desk chair, swinging his feet up on the desk, and riffled through a sheaf of paper. Y/N briefly allowed their gaze to wander to his figure, the way he fit in so nicely in almost every environment they’d seen him in. They wondered what life would be like if he had been raised the son of a mercher, if this kind of room was what he had been destined for.

Kaz’s lips tilted into a smirk. “If you’re going to watch the door, it does no good to watch me, darling.”

Butterflies swirled in Y/N’s stomach as their eyes snapped back to the door. “Just checking on the progress.”

Kaz hummed and flipped a page. “It’s slow. I'm starting to think the information isn’t in here.”

Y/N pulled their mouth to the side, eyes sliding back to the door. “You’ll find it somewhere. I believe in you.”

Kaz didn’t respond to that and the next few minutes were filled with the sounds of papers rustling and wood creaking. Eventually, Kaz went back to the bookcase, his steps echoing on the wood and the books thudding softly against the bookcases.

After what felt like hours but was only closer to half of one, Kaz gave a soft cry of triumph and Y/N’s eyes left the door, head tilted in silent question. He turned to them, a smile teasing the corners of his lips, and held up a nondescript book made of brown leather and only loosely bound. “Found it.”

Y/N nodded and stood, handing Kaz his jacket back. He raised a brow and didn’t take it, causing them to shake it in his direction. “I’ll be fine. Take it back.”

He kept looking at them as he let them hold his cane and the book so he could put the coat on. When they were ready, the pair left the silence of the study and stepped into the hallway.

Instantly, the noise levels rose drastically. Y/N stepped closer to Kaz on instinct, still not ready to go back to the dancing hall. Kaz glanced at them. “Wait for me by the doors.”

He slipped through the doors and Y/N waited, running their fingernails over their arms. Within a few minutes, Kaz was back with Jesper trailing behind him. Jesper smiled at Y/N. “There you are, I wondered where you went. You do realize I was left all alone to deal with these pigeons while you ran off?”

They scoffed and rolled their eyes. “I don’t have the energy to argue right now, Jes.”

Kaz snapped his fingers, bringing their attention back to him. “I pulled them aside for a lookout, stop complaining, Jes.” With a swish of his coat, he set off down the hall.

Jesper and Y/N followed silently behind him. Y/N’s arms wrapped around themself, nails still running over their skin to keep them in the moment. They focused only on the sounds of the group’s footsteps, eyes tracking Kaz’s cane as it tapped against the cool stone flooring. Finally, the sound of a door opening brought their eyes up, gazing at the smog filled sky that held stars if one looked close enough.

The Slat was reached soon enough. Nodding to Kaz and Jesper, Y/N broke off from the group and ran up to their room. Someone had refilled the bucket of water they kept in their room, a clean rag sat beside it. They sighed in gratitude, shucking off their shirt to wash their arms down. Their next breath was slower, calmer. The water soothed them in a way nothing else could. It calmed their mind and almost reset their senses in a way.

When they were finished, they changed into an old shirt of Kaz’s and some raggy pants and slipped into bed, the lamp on the dresser already dimmed. Sleep was soon coming, allowing them to drift off and momentarily forget the events of the night.

Later, when even the birds had settled down for the night and the only movement was on the roofs instead of the streets, the floor by their door creaked and a cane tapped on the door. Y/N stirred, rolling over to look at the entrance. “Yes? Come on in, Kaz.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m afraid I’m going to need you to open the door, my hands are a bit full at the moment.”

Y/N groaned and pulled themself out of bed, blankets still wrapped around them. “Fine, fine, come in.” They opened the door before sitting back down on the bed, room barely big enough for there to be a step between. Kaz entered, a tray in his hands. Piled atop the tray were two steaming cups, a quill and inkwell, and pages were stuck between his fingers and the bottom of the tray. Y/N sighed, eyes slipping shut. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

There was a clatter as the tray was set down and soft thumps as it was unloaded. “I wanted to check on you. Thought I’d keep you company as I do some work.”

“Would it be easier for me to sit with you in the office, then?” Y/N asked, shuffling along the bed to grab a pair of slippers.

Kaz shook his head, grabbing the three legged stool that resided in the corner of the room. “No, no, you need to rest and it’s easier in here. Besides,” he reached out, laying a gloved hand on theirs through the blankets, “I don’t mind sitting in here.”

Y/N smiled at him and let the slippers clatter to the floor. Kaz pulled the raggedy curtain aside and let it rest on the nail that stuck out of the wall for that purpose, letting in the light from the streetlamps and the moon. Y/N shifted so he could rest his back against the bed, curling around him without touching him. Their kitten meowed and crawled from under the bed, jumping up to curl herself in Y/N's palm.

In that silent moment between the two, the events of the day did not matter. As Y/N’s breathing evened out into sleep, cup long since drained, Kaz’s pen scratching along the paper was the last thing they heard.

Taglist: (Check out my masterlist before sending an ask to be added!): @lou-hadrian-gardna26 , @brekkers-desigirl , @nyx2021

#ace writes #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #established relationship #angst #hurt comfort #emotional hurt comfort #sensory overload #reader is neurodivergent

[inazumass]

No Turning Back

Working for the Kamisato Clan was no easy task, nor was living so far away from home. Thankfully, you're surrounded by people who care about and support you much to your dismay at times. Still, they'll always remind you that no matter what you're going through you will never have to face it alone.

These first couple chapters are mostly just setting up for everything I have planned moving forward, there will be some slight spoilers for anyone who isn't caught up but they will be tagged accordingly. This fic is very self indulgent and somewhat of a vent piece but nothing extreme will be touched on here. Gender Neutral pronouns used for reader so that anyone can enjoy.

Tags: SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Platonic Ayaka/Reader, Platonic Thoma/Reader, Ayato/Reader, Thoma/Reader, Implied Ayato/Reader Crush, Self Indulgent, Slight Angst, Eventual Romance/Smut/Fluff, Forbidden Love, Unrequited Love, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining

Chapter 1: The Gardener

Kamisato Ayato, head of the Kamisato clan and current leader of the Yashiro commission, was Inazuma's most handsome smooth talker. A distant man with a multitude of servants who would happily oblige his every command. He was a strong leader, merciful and kind. Sly as a fox and quick witted, the perfect commander. Though he would never dream of ordering his people to do anything he didn't seem absolutely necessary, they would happily follow him to the ends of the Earth and back. You, of course, were no different from the rest in that regard. You followed his every order without hesitation, assisting in your duties no matter what they entailed. Really though, that rarely ever involved much more than tending to the garden at the estate.

It was a simple job, good pay and a place that provided a roof over your head. This was more than enough to keep your family happy knowing that their eldest child was safe and sound. Even if it meant you were separated by a vast ocean. As travelling merchants they could do little to support you, and knowing you were in good hands was the best they could ever hope for. What you hadn't expected upon taking the job, however, was the liking that the commissioner had taken to you almost immediately. 

Perhaps it was your gentle smile, or maybe it was something about the way your delicate hands moved against the flowers with such grace and ease that had drawn him in. But your charm, your wit, and your sarcastic nature always kept him coming back for more. Even if his visits with you were limited to short chats in the garden it was easy for any outsider to tell that he didn't treat you the way he treated the other servants, much to their dismay.

This was something Thoma and Ayaka would tease you endlessly about. You'd known the pair for some time now, Thoma being the one who had initially assisted you in securing the job here. Though Lady Akaya was much more subtle with her words when teasing, well aware of her duties to uphold her reputation. It was as you pondered this thought that you felt a cool chill run up your spine. Without looking up you knew immediately who it was.

"Good afternoon [Name]" her timid voice greeted you.

"Lady Ayaka," you smiled, "out for a stroll?" 

She smiled, the corners of her lips twitching up in delight as she stood a polite distance away. "I wanted to come say hello to you. You've been working all morning, I thought perhaps you could use a break." It was not often that she had time available to come and see you, so she cherished every moment that she could spare to spend with you in the garden. Usually it was during the later hours when most of the staff had turned in for the night but today she had finished her training early.

"Oh, I'm not sure if I should, my lady. I have quite a bit more work to do before the sun sets..." You replied, though your hands slowed their careful work. Perhaps it was rude to decline such an offer, you wondered as your hands stilled. Still, you could feel the eyes of passers by digging into your back as she stopped to speak to you. This, you recalled, was the reason you kept your distance these days… or at least that’s what you told yourself. The others would often accuse you of getting special treatment from your bosses. No one likes a teacher’s pet.

"Please, I insist." She replied with a wave of her hand. "I'm sure the flowers can wait. After all, we have time before the sun sets tonight. Why don't you come join me for tea?"

You nodded then, understanding that there was no use in attempting to shake her off today. Either you would remain stubborn enough for her to back down with a deflated look that made your stomach churn, or you would give in and suffer through the sideways glances and hushed whispers from the other servants and guests at the estate. There was no winning this battle, and there was no point either. "With pleasure, my lady." Though the two of you were close, it was in your best interest to keep your friendship on the down low lest the other servants resent you for it.

After gathering up your equipment and setting it aside you followed her inside to a room away from all the prying eyes. "How have you been today, my lady?" You inquired as she motioned for you to have a seat with her.

Ayaka sighed softly, knowing that no matter how many times she told you that it was fine to call her by name you would keep up this polite façade. Especially when you weren't completely in private. The memory of speaking to you through a screen in the early days of your friendship was fresh in her mind and these days it was almost as though it had never left. The thought made her chest ache in a way she wasn't fond of. She refused to dwell on it for long. "Good," the pale girl replied with a half-hearted smile. Had you met in any other manner, perhaps it wouldn't be this difficult for you.

"I was hoping you might join us for dinner tonight." Her words were chosen carefully, well aware that you would hesitate to accept her offer. The walls that you were slowly building around yourself not only made her uneasy, but concerned as well. When you opened your mouth to speak she cut you off before you could decline, speaking in that same hopeful tone only with a hint of more urgency this time. "Thoma will be joining as well, and I'm sure my brother would be happy to see you." 

She watched your expression as you pondered the idea. Of course it was fine, but your status worried you as well... you didn't want to inadvertently taint the Kamisato reputation with your presence. But you could see the sparkle in her eyes when she invited you, and with another bow of your head you responded. "I'd be honoured."

 After all, it would be rude to decline such an offer from your boss, would it not? You wondered if the others would care at all, or if they would simply see it as yet another way you were trying to weasel yourself into a position of unearned power over them. This, of course, was not your intention. It was not often that you would indulge in such things as you'd spent much of your life barely scraping by. It was not an easy task by any means, but it was what you were used to. In a way it was much more comfortable than your cosy little room here at the estate with sheets fresh and pillows fluffed 

"It will be nice to be able to catch up. After all, I have missed your company these days." Ayaka replied tentatively. She had picked up early on on how you'd withdrawn recently, and she feared that your friendship was slipping away like sand through her fingers. "It's been a while."

You sighed then, feeling your heart flip in your chest. You bowed your head a moment as you understood the motive behind her invitation. "I'm sorry... I'm just...." You couldn't find the words. When the silence had stretched on long enough that it was clear you had no intention of ending that sentence she finished the thought for you, as if it were clear to everyone but you. 

"Homesick?"

A nod from you was the only confirmation you could muster.  "You know... You can take time off to go see your family, I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem with Ayato-" 

"I can't." You admitted, expanding on that before she could protest. "I wouldn't know what to say." Perhaps you weren't ready, or maybe you couldn't bear the thought of your parents' reaction to the person you had become in your absence. Your cheeks burned when you realised you had cut her off, quickly stuttering out a soft apology. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you with my own petty drama."

"But we're friends, [Name]. I can tell you anything and I would hope that you might trust me enough to do the same for me." Her eyebrows knit together subtly as her concern grew. This couldn't have been easy for you. Though your situation was quite different, she'd seen the way that Thoma would get when he was feeling a similar sort of longing for your shared hometown. "They would understand." She assured you as she reached forward, her dainty hands cupping yours gently. "Mondstat is the land of freedom after all... Why shouldn't they be proud of you for expressing the will of your Archon?"

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as she spoke. "Could we maybe talk about something else... for now?" 

With a sad smile, she nodded. "Of course."

The two of you continued on shortly after that, changing the subject with ease and slipping into something much more comfortable. The two of you spoke more about what you'd been up to lately, and caught up briefly while you wrapped up your break. She had been busy with her seemingly never ending training, you with your detailed work in the gardens. 

Ayaka always said the roses always looked better after you worked, as if your loving hands coaxed them out of their buds and into the brilliant bursts of colour they were now. You had a way with them, which made it much easier for the siblings to find excuses to keep you here at the estate. No one else could do the work you do, Ayato would say if anyone dared question your living situation, Thoma was always quick to back him up, you were a valuable staff member after all. For who would look after the grounds if it weren't for you? Certainly not Thoma with his schedule, Ayaka and Ayato certainly couldn't. You are irreplaceable aside from your skill, but the way you worked with the garden made it easier to squash any debates about your standing.

Once your work was finished for the day you retired to your living quarters in order to ready yourself for dinner tonight. Even after taking your time to chat with Ayaka you had managed to finish your work early, earning you just enough time to lay in your bed and contemplate your earlier discussion. Why, you wondered, did you have to be so painfully lucky here. Why did she have to notice? But of course, the Kamisatos were nothing if not kind and compassionate. It was easier here, you thought to yourself with a huff. There was no need to tiptoe around the matter, here you didn't have to put on a show for anyone. Save for the occasional side eye from the guards, you were free to be utterly and completely yourself. 

Perhaps this was why the thought of going back to Mondstat was so troublesome. After all this time, you were still afraid and yet you couldn't completely grasp /why/. Your family was happy for you, supportive of the life that you had made for yourself here and the name you carried on.  Your gaze fluttered over to the stack of unopened letters on your bedside table as you were lost in thought. The envelopes all addressed to a person you no longer recognized as yourself. It made your chest tighten the more you thought about it and you brushed the notion away with a turn of your body once more. You'd write them tomorrow, you convinced yourself despite the fact that you'd said it many times before. 

Thankfully, you didn't have much time to be alone with your thoughts tonight. You wondered for a moment if your friend knew and if that happened to be a part of the reason why she had invited you out tonight. It didn't take much wondering until you realised that that was precisely why Ayaka had chosen today to invite you. It seemed that perhaps her good looks were not the only thing she had in common with her brother, but of course you knew that already. You cursed yourself internally as you stripped off your uniform so that you might be able to rid yourself of the day's troubles.

It was at that moment that you heard the door of your room slide open. 

Your head whipped around in an instant, arms flying up in an effort to cover yourself with a gasp. Before it slammed shut again you caught a glimpse of The Chief Retainer of the Kamisato Clan's face, silently cursing himself for having been so clumsy.

"I-I I'm sorry!" He stammered out from beyond the thin partition. Though you could only just barely see his silhouette but you could tell that he had his head in his hands. 

"Don't you ever knock?!" You practically squeaked back at him, still frozen in your awkward position from earlier. Too stunned to move, too embarrassed to break the silence that grew between the two of you, you stood there like a statue. Silently, you prayed to Celestia that he would just go away and leave you to wallow in self pity.  

The Archons, however, were not so kind. Either your prayers were heard and quickly cast aside or you simply hadn't prayed hard enough because the blonde broke the silence shortly afterwards.

"I'm sorry, I tried calling out to you a few times but you didn't answer and I was worried something might be wrong, I... I can come back later if that's alright with you..." His voice slowly fell away, trailing off into the distance despite him not moving a muscle as he waited for you to respond. 

Damn it. Now it was your turn to curse yourself. Of course, you must have been too lost in thought to notice when he'd called out to you. Of course that was not something uncharacteristic of you in times like these. It was almost scary how well you were able to tune the world out as you fell deeper and deeper into the thoughts that threatened to consume you at times. "I'm sorry, I must have been distracted... Just... Just let me get dressed." Those words must have left your mouth without your permission as you cringed internally at them. Why did you have to say that? You should have lied, told him you were sick and that you couldn't come to dinner tonight. 

Ayaka would understand. You didn't want to face him now, especially not knowing how much of you he had actually seen in the brief moment the door had been open. Unfortunately you couldn't take it back now, lest you risk worrying him further. Hesitating a moment as you considered your options, you reluctantly changed into your best clothes for dinner tonight, taking a moment to fix up your hair in the process.

“You can come in now.” You said as you poked your head out through the opening, putting on a polite little smile as you opened the sliding door to your living quarters.

Thoma greeted you with a bright smile, cheeks still flushed a brilliant pink from earlier. “Sorry about-” You stopped him, gently placing a finger to his lips in order to shut him up. “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A bold faced lie, but he accepted it without complaint. Only a soft sound of agreement and a slight nod before you took your hand away. An awkward silence fell once more between the two of you as you waited for what he had to say to you. After all, it isn’t everyday that Ritou’s fixer comes knocking at your door.

“I didn’t see anything-”

“Thoma.”

“Sorry…” 

He looked away from you again and if you didn’t know any better you could swear he was lying to make you feel better. You didn’t want to think about that either, the thought made you nauseous and stirred up butterflies you’d rather not address. “Did you need something?”

“ Oh! ” It was like he’d snapped out of a trance, suddenly returning to his usual bubbly self. “I have to run into town and pick up some things for Lord Kamisato and I was wondering if you might like to accompany me for the walk.” The blond smiled, that same hopeful look in his eyes that Ayaka had earlier. With a sigh, you wondered if perhaps she had put him up to this. The thought caused you to deflate a bit, that heavy feeling in your chest growing for a reason you couldn’t put your finger on. “It’s okay if you’d rather be alone for now, I just thought it might be fun to have some company for once.” That was true, however it had been some time since you had left the estate and he was beginning to think that some time outside might be good for you.

“Ah- I…” You searched for some sort of excuse but your mind drew a blank. “I’d be happy to.”

I can't wait to write more for this one, I really hope you guys enjoy <3 If it's not super obvious, the reader is implied to be trans but I wanted everyone to be able to read regardless of gender identity so I tried to keep it a little more vague here. Depending on how it's received I may make it more obvious going forward.

#platonic #sfw #sweet #zuma writes #genshin impact #thoma #ayato kamisato #ayaka kamisato #kamisato estate #slow burn #reader insert #ayato x reader #thoma x reader #eventual smut/fluff/romance #hurt/comfort #angst #emotional hurt comfort #gender neutral reader #implied trans reader #x reader #reader is gender neutral #ayaka is a good friend #cross posted from ao3 #self indulgent #implied crushes #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayaka #inazuma #reader is not the traveller #no beta read

[sparrowsworkshop]

“Your Power” by OneWingedSparrow

Fic Summary: After marrying Link, Zelda discovers that her idea of the concept of "weakness" might need to be readjusted. Main Tags: Post-Twilight Princess, Canon Compliant, Married Zelink, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Recovering from Depression, Vulnerability I wrote this as a standalone, but you could read this as a follow-up to my fic "Do Not Falter," if you wanted to! ;)

Read on AO3

Reblogs are appreciated!

SPOILER WARNING: This fic references the final battles of Twilight Princess, as it is set post-canon.

~ Do not show weakness, her father had instructed. Hyrule needs a strong leader to look to, one who does not crumble in the face of adversity. Ever dutiful, Zelda took his words to heart.

She did not even shudder when the castle burst apart stone by stone, dismantled by the demonic beast within. She did not panic, though her Hero bared his teeth, ready to rush at the man on the horse, wisdom nearly thrown aside in his righteous fury over Midna’s defeat.

—In that moment, in fact, Zelda thought herself quite strong for keeping her composure, for steadily meeting those fierce blue eyes that had always set her heart a-flutter.

But when her soul had been set free, and her body returned to her, she found herself lost for words in the place where light touched darkness.

Her throat choked up. Why...why was asking for aid so difficult?

The Hero chosen by the gods awaited her message patiently, his gaze soft as she stumbled over her plea for the last of his power.

Do not show weakness, her father had urged. She always thought that meant never asking for help. Never having any needs to be filled. Never revealing emotions...nor feeling them at all, for that matter.

Yet...wisdom tugged at her mind, challenging her: did not asking for help require more strength than stifling one’s needs? Did not willingly revealing vulnerability drain more effort than plastering up a stoical front?

Though afraid of the outcome, she let go of her pride...allowing herself to be weak. In turn, her Hero did not demean her. He simply offered his hand.

Several months had passed since their battle against Ganondorf. Since they’d confessed their feelings, and married soon after. Since they’d begun the lifetime process of permitting the other to see previously hidden sides of their characters.

This Hero of hers...he wept at beauty. Each morning when they woke, he praised the goddess for the morning light, for the grace that carried Hyrule to each new day. He gasped at rainbows hanging in the mists over the water, and waved at fishes that danced along the riverbank. He snuggled kittens that were too young to open their eyes, pressing his lips to their scrawny coats and whispering how lovely they were, calling them each by name.

All this Link did with tears in his eyes, welling from his gratitude for surviving thus far, that he might be blessed to behold the light today.

If the strongest person she knew was unafraid to display such tenderness...such gentleness...perhaps, Zelda mused, her long-held definitions of “weakness” and “strength” were misguided.

Such were the thoughts in her heart, two years to the day since the Twilight fell.

Daylight danced through the loft’s window, while Ordona sparrows trilled outside. She woke up drowsily, blinking in the brightness. Such a contrast to the dim and dreary atmosphere she awakened to back then. Suffocating darkness, that turned all to spirits. A fate her people never deserved. A surrender she wished she could have avoided. A life that, so long as she remained in the Twilight, was not truly living at all.

She did not notice herself crying until Link’s arms wrapped around her, more snug. Then the tears fell freer, glittering in the morning light. As she lay on her side, with him behind her, Zelda forced herself to breathe. The darkness...the darkness was no more.

“I’m here,” her Hero murmured in her ear. “I know...today is hard.”

Zelda swallowed.

Do not show weakness, her father had said, long ago. She loved her father dearly. She respected his judgment. She truly believed him very wise.

Yet, perhaps...perhaps he did not have the right counsel in every moment.

As she sniffled, Zelda reached for her Hero’s hands, and squeezed them tightly.

Lend me your power, she hoped her grip whispered. Your gentle strength...your courageous meekness...that is not afraid...to be vulnerable.

Link pressed a kiss to her head, letting his lips linger on the spot.

For though some might call it weakness, I have seen the truth.

She closed her eyes, and released a quiet sigh. She could not repel all anxiety...but in his presence, it dared not step close.

You are a strong leader...and I have much to learn from you. ~

#zelda fanfic #twilight princess #tp zelink #fanfic #fanfiction #zelda #fluff and angst #link #tloz #tloz fanfic #loz fanfic #salt and light #zelink #emotional hurt comfort #married zelink #your power #sparrow fics #thanks for reading!

[uniasus]

fic rec! 7K Gen Puzzleshipping.

Summary: Their time together began with a puzzle. So it was only fitting that they solve one more as that time seemed to be coming to an end. But goodbye was perhaps their most frightening adventure of all.

Comments: Damn, talk about bittersweet. This takes place before the ceremonial duel and simultaneously serves as Yugi trying to have one last, happy memory with Atem and assure him that he'll be fine once he's gone. It's cute, and sad, and makes your heartache, but there's a bit of light in it. I've had this saved for weeks on my phone browser so I could remember to share it, so please give it a read.

#fic rec #kaliawai512 #yugioh #puzzleshipping #emotional hurt comfort

[okaybutlikeimagine]

A Father’s Day Triptych; P2

(Wrote a very late part 2 to A Father’s Day Triptych! this time following Jonathan’s past)

(as always, on AO3 here)

TW: past/referenced child abuse, emotional hurt/comfort, child neglect

Father’s day in the Byers household was dreary and exhausting.

It was probably always that way. Jonathan sometimes imagines there could have been a few pleasant years in there when he was a baby- back when he was far too young to remember anything and Will wasn’t even a thought in anyone’s minds. He only wishes he could have fully experienced them, if they ever existed to begin with. The only memories that he’s logged away are ones of stress and struggle. Ones that are loud and grating. Ones that are colored gray and black.

The first one he even remembers was the year Will was born, and how upset he felt at all the yelling still going on, even with the new baby in the house. He spent most of the day in his room, cradling Will while he heard his parents going at each other’s throats through the thin walls. Jonathan decided then to always do his best to make it okay for Will, at the very least. He’s spent every waking day in an attempt to make things okay for Will.

It was always near Father’s Day that Jonathan really understood the poor excuse for a father he had. He remembers the year in elementary school where they spent their last few days before summer break with craft paper and markers, set to draw up fun cards in honor of their fathers. He heard every story about fishing trips and “bring your kid to work” days and major league baseball games. Kids would boast about large barbecues and days in the sun. It became a one-up-manship contest at one point. Jonathan just sat and wore out his blue crayon.

And maybe it was that year that he believed those things could actually be true. That kids weren’t just lying to make themselves look cool- that they actually had fathers who cared… maybe even listened once in a while. It was kind of like the opposite of being told Santa Claus isn’t real, but perhaps a bit more heart-wrenching. It was like being told Santa Claus is real, and he’s every bit as magical as they say he is, but he’ll never come visit you.

Jonathan biked home from school that day and almost convinced himself that it could be real for him, by some sort of miracle. That Lonnie wasn’t really horrible all of the time, maybe Jonathan was just doing something wrong. He filled himself up with fanciful ideas of becoming a better son so he, too, could deserve one of those “good fathers”. He almost had a whole plan set… and he was about halfway home when his head was full of all the times Lonnie had muttered “useless” at him for stupid things- like how he flinched at the sound of guns. Dropped the tool box multiple times. Couldn’t even catch a football.

And Lonnie was always cruel and insufferable, but it got exponentially worse on days where he felt owed something. Father’s day, his birthday, hell sometimes even just random days off. He’d kick up his feet on the coffee table and loudly demand to be served. Joyce would spend all day delivering food, beer, newspapers, magazines… Lonnie would demand it all with an expectant smirk on his face that’d turn sour when he didn’t get what he wanted. He pouted like a child- more often than Will ever did. And when Joyce got too tired, Jonathan quickly took up the task, even if it was at Joyce’s behest. He was only a child, it was all he could do to help her.

He’d face the disgusting smirk himself, as much as it made him queasy to look at. He was always a scrawny kid, so he’d try not to recoil at the way Lonnie clapped him on the shoulder with a bit too much force. It was like the man was trying to assert dominance. Or like he was trying to break Jonathan beneath his hands while crowing about how it was “for his own good”. If Jonathan reacted too much, Lonnie would just grip tighter. Sometimes he’d whip Jonathan into a headlock, deeming it “tough love” as he’d grab at Jonathan’s hair and pull. Always pushed Jonathan in a means to provoke him- wrestle and rough him up a bit and cackle as he did it. He’d try to get him to fight back. “Toughen him up” and teach him “valuable lessons”.

Jonathan just did his best to keep it away from Will. Whenever he could, if he ever saw Lonnie veer in Will’s direction with that gruff chuckle and that glint in his eye, Jonathan would push between them in an instant.

When Lonnie was finally out of the picture things got… stilted around Father’s day. Awkward. Fumbling. Joyce tried her hardest to make the day feel as normal as possible. Jonathan was used to it, but it was still hard for Will. He was still in elementary school. One year they did something in class to help celebrate. Jonathan remembered the way it felt to be so… isolated. He watched Will come home and slink off to his room, tears welling up in his eyes. He held Will tight that night and chastised him for ever blaming himself as the reason for what happened. Jonathan found himself still cursing Lonnie just as much as he did while the bastard was still in their home.

It never got less awkward. Every Father’s Day since then felt odd. It was never like something was missing… more like something was suddenly intruding on them all. And Jonathan only gave himself a few moments to despair the sinking feeling before putting on a brave face to soothe an anxious Will and Joyce.

…

Father’s day in the Byers-Hopper household was awkward…but somehow in a very caring and sweet way.

Jonathan had known Hop for a long time before they started to share a roof. He briefly remembers being a toddler and meeting Hop a couple times on the street. The odd, confusing pride he felt in being called a “handsome young boy” and Joyce smiling tightly and their exchanges being short. Remembers a few years after that when Jim rolled back into town on a wave of rumors about death and tragedy- when whispers followed him like ghosts. There was a fine line everyone seemed to toe back then… between their respect of him as Chief and their disgust of him as a drug addict and a drunkard.

Jonathan always thought of small moments when he thought of Hop… moments like when they crossed paths at the Hawkins 4th of July parade and Hop handed him a lollipop. Or the time they caught sight of Hop at the fair and the Chief had given Will a Sheriff’s badge sticker to wear on his shirt and deemed him the newest deputy and made Will giggle like crazy. Even back when he always seemed sad, he was sweet- so suddenly having him around didn’t feel as gross or stifling as he once thought it might. The only sourness Jonathan ever felt was that anyone outside would ever think, even for a second, that Joyce hadn’t done a good enough job on her own. Just her and her two boys. That she and Jonathan didn’t give it their damnedest- that they needed someone around to help because they couldn’t hold it together. It wasn’t like that. Joyce was a good mother- the best mother.

Still, he did appreciate the extra helping hand. Well… make that a few pairs of helping hands.

The once Lone Wolf Jim Hopper didn’t come on his own anymore- no, now he was a package deal. An exhausted cop, a girl with superpowers, and a boy with burdens. It was a strange accommodation to suddenly make, but hell, even they weren’t unwanted.

Will seemed almost impossibly happy to have someone his age around all the time. Jonathan knew how cool Will thought El was, but Will couldn’t ever seem to believe when El returned the same feelings to him. She listened to every detail about his D&D character, she watched in fascination as he drew, she cheered him on when he played video games. She told stories to Will about the time he went missing- how all the rest of the party ever did was tell her how wonderful he was. She treated him like a hero, too. The two of them became an excitable dynamic duo to be reckoned with.

And Billy made Jonathan… tentative, at first. Though as the days went by, Jonathan was suddenly hard pressed to remember when they ever interacted at all before living together. As soon as they got to talking, Jonathan realized how oddly similar they were, and suddenly a gratefulness began to overcome him. There was someone around to help buy weed, and someone to smoke it with. Billy seemed to know a lot more about different strains than Jonathan, something Billy attributed to being from California, so he showed Jonathan which strains to steer clear of so Jonathan wouldn’t ache to crawl out of his own skin. It was also nice to talk with someone about music who got it… who craved it as much as he did, even if Billy’s taste was atrocious. Billy would say the same about Jonathan.

Billy was gentle and kind with Will. El was cheerful and sweet with Jonathan. And Joyce… Joyce hadn’t looked that calm- that happy in -far too long. So regardless of anything else, it was all worth it. But what surprised Jonathan the most was how he found himself gauging Hop. Constantly.

The Chief Jim Hopper himself, who swung El around like a monkey sometimes. Who was more gentle with Billy than Jonathan could ever make sense of. Who treated Will to ice cream and candy maybe a little more often than he should have. Who gave Joyce soft kisses on the top of her head. Who smiled a hell of a lot more than Jonathan had ever seen him before. Who looked comfortable in his own skin again. Who looked confident in himself again.

Jonathan was happy for him. But that still didn’t make anything feel anywhere close to normal about having a… “father” in the house. There hadn’t been a “dad” around to celebrate in such a long time. Father’s day meant nothing to them anymore in the Byers household. Maybe they’d order some of their favorite take out that night but that was about all. So when June came around and El appeared in Jonathan’s doorway, he assumed it could be anything.

He wasn’t expecting her to yell “Father’s day!” at him in excitement.

Billy had appeared next, behind El, explaining how they usually do something for Hop. Looked at Jonathan with an expectant gaze, asked if he was going to come along. And something pulled within Jonathan at that moment- something deep and sick, like jealousy. Or maybe betrayal. Like a bitterness he didn’t know was locked away inside of him.

He joined anyway and sat in the passenger’s seat of Billy’s Camaro, El and Will in the back, while El and Billy talked about what they were looking to get for Hop from the store. What they had learned about him. What they had gotten him in the past. Jonathan pushed down the images of them celebrating Hop happily.

He hung back in their group of four. He watched Will start to get excited with El. He caught Billy’s attention somehow, on accident, and just couldn’t keep the words in his damn mouth. They stumbled out in a worried mumble: “This is weird.”

Billy was confused. Jonathan stuttered, feeling out of place again and wrong, too, for saying anything at all. Tried to keep his big feet and big mouth from stepping on any already battered toes. He couldn’t take his eyes off of all the Father’s Day decorations and cakes and balloons and cards and the way they were eating him from the inside out.

He wasn’t eloquent in the slightest. He stuttered over how he and Will hadn’t had a father in a very long time. Not one to celebrate. The whole time he spoke he was keenly aware of Billy and the reason he was now living with Hop in the first place.

Jonathan held his breath as the air between him and Billy went dead and wavered in the awkward silence, before Billy spoke up in a tone Jonathan couldn’t make sense of.

“It is weird.”

Jonathan was shocked. “Yeah?”

“It keeps being weird.” Billy nodded. He was solemn. He was staring, unseeingly, in front of him as they walked. “Not bad. Weird though.”

Once again, Jonathan was grateful.

Father’s Day was the very next day. Jonathan was content to let it just be a Billy and El thing, but it wasn’t- Joyce joined in readily. Will didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. They all four presented Hop with burgers and pie and attention all while Jonathan stood in the back and felt like an asshole for it. He turned down the offer of a slice of pie. He ignored the records and the card games and the laughter. He felt like a ghoul slinking away to the dark corners of his room.

He liked Hop… he knew he did. He had talked to Billy about him before Joyce and Hop decided to make things official, when it was clear that they were going to become one big weird family. He had asked what Billy thought of Hop, as if he didn’t know the man at all. As if Jim Hopper was a stranger to him. Billy had stuttered and stumbled and used the words “a good dad” and tore right through Jonathan’s heart.

Jonathan laid on his bed, unsure if the staticky feelings in his joints were bitterness or exhaustion or even just… early onset arthritis? He debated putting a tape into his stereo. His limbs had no strength within them. He sighed and thought of the past and wished it didn’t have a grip on him.

A knock came at the door. Jim Hopper walked in.

And Jonathan stared as Hopper spat a flurry of niceties his way, trying his damnedest to say… something. Jonathan wasn’t too sure what exactly. He blinked as Hop spoke circles around himself. Before-

Hop heaved a big sigh.

“Listen to me.” Hop heaved out as if Jonathan had even said a word since Hop walked in. “You and your brother… you kids are a couple of… the best kids ever. I don’t think kids get better than you two. Really you’re… you’re such good kids and you deserve… you deserve.”

Jonathan waited in the silence and thought about being called a “kid” while Hop began to try again.

“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be saying this to you but… your old man… he was an asshole.”

And Jonathan huffed out a chuckle- couldn’t keep it inside him. Hop barely seemed to notice.

“A real prick. I never liked that guy, and I just don’t know how you two grew up to be- no, I do. It was your mother. Your father just didn’t know what he had. He never noticed anything good even when it was two inches in front of him.”

Jonathan stared at Hop. Watched how Hop messed nervously with his hair and his collar and the buttons on his shirt.

“He always was a screw up but he screwed up big time when he screwed up here with you two. With you three. He lost something real good here. And maybe I’m the asshole for being glad for it because…”

Jonathan didn’t know where this was going… but he was figuring it out quickly. Hop pressed on.

“I’m glad to be here. Thank y-”

Hop faltered. Jonathan watched. Jonathan had no voice left in him anymore. Hop continued.

“This day is weird. I know it. Trust me. And you don’t have to… you don’t have to… anything. You don’t have to anything!”

Jonathan laughed at how weird of a statement that was. Hop forced himself to continue on.

“I just… don’t know what I’m trying to say. But I’m not… taking it for granted… that I’m here.”

Jonathan blinked. Hop fidgeted.

“I just hope you know that.” Hop said and looked like he was 2 seconds from fleeing and Jonathan watched and couldn’t make sense of any of the swirling feelings in his stomach as he felt his voice bubble up.

“Billy was right.” is what he said. It was Hop’s turn to look speechlessly at him. Jonathan felt his heart pull. Felt everything in him confused and fighting… and something small in him felt like a bit of relief. “You’re a good dad.”

And Hop’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, with an unmistakable wetness shining in his eyes as the star on top, and Jonathan felt stupid for thinking about Santa Claus in June.

…

Father’s day in the Byers-”not quite Wheeler yet but soon” household is stilted and virtually non-existent.

Jonathan has been living in his own place for years now and he still feels like he can’t fill it up all on his own. He thought he’d be beyond ready to finally get out, but once the time came he realized how heavy his feet were. He’s got all his belongings, most of his music (the stuff he didn’t leave behind for Will), a table, a couch, a bed… and still the place feels blousy around him as he walks around it. He’ll be glad to have Nancy as permanent company soon. In a few months, when she’s finally set to move in. Now that they’ve finally both convinced each other that being together is far more worth it than being alone.

And living on his own has made Jonathan feel growing pains he thought he’d long since forgotten. Even though he’s alone, those small, random holidays don’t cease. It’d be so much easier to ignore them than to notice how hollow he feels when they pass. But, whether it be unfortunately or quite the opposite, he can’t ignore Father’s days anymore- even as they roll by in a lazy blur. That first one out of the house almost slipped past him completely, but he forced himself to call home. Call Hop, with butterflies winging at his heart. He wished him well and sent his thanks in roundabout ways that still felt cottony in his mouth. Hop fumbled over his own emotions, too, so all was well.

Then he heard that Billy and Steve decided to adopt.

He spent that whole afternoon sitting on his couch, zoning out to the television, thinking about that and what it means. When he made his monthly call to the Harrington/Hargrove residence, he asked them what it’s like. He tried to make it casual, like he was only just vaguely interested. Billy sounded tired. Suddenly there was screaming in the background. Jonathan got handed off to Steve because apparently Billy is the one that has to handle it. Again, he asked what it’s like… and this time, Jonathan could hear it. Steve Harrington and the loverboy that he is had honey in his tone. As the screaming quieted down, Steve surprisingly used the simplest words to explain what it’s like to feel the entire Earth’s joy and love in your heart.

Jonathan still felt dizzy with it after he sent his goodbyes and ended the call.

So June is here and Father’s Day rolls by quickly, as always, except this year he’s getting company. Not Nancy yet, but Billy. He’s got some work trip out near where Jonathan is at and he’s agreed to come visit.

On Father’s Day itself, Jonathan calls Hop. They do the song and dance around feelings and how much everything has meant to them. Hop says “Thank you, son.” and Jonathan has to hold his breath at that before he bursts with everything inside of him.

It’s a few days later when Billy comes by, barging into Jonathan’s apartment as soon as he gets to the door with a case of beers and a bag, asking if he can crash. Jonathan rolls his eyes as he watches Billy stake claim on the entirety of his couch. Jonathan grabs the tin of weed he left laying around for the two of them and then shoves at Billy until he moves over enough for the both of them to sit down. He hisses as Billy lays his arm around the backrest of the couch and tugs harshly at his hair, just like he always used to do around the house back home. Growing up, Jonathan never once thought about what it’d be like having an older brother. It’s crazy to think that he knows now, even if they’re only about half a year apart. It’s warmer and perhaps a bit more painful than he’d have anticipated.

They lay around and chat, the TV humming with whatever movie Billy mindlessly changed it to and the stereo in the corner tuned to a station Billy didn’t spit at. He’s always needed a good few different distractions at a time. Jonathan rolled the joint they’re sharing, not particularly fond of the way it burns his chest but knowing Billy prefers it most times. It’s nice to be with him again. He fills out a space in a way that’s all consuming, and makes Jonathan feel a little less like a pinball.

And maybe the two of them don’t really do “sentimental”, but Jonathan still feels obligated to say something since Father’s Day just passed. He feels it in his chest, clawing away at him. Plus, he’s got a bit more on his mind this time around…

He tries to make it casual. They do their usual arguing over Nirvana and Radiohead and Pantera and Jonathan quickly slips in a “congratulations”.

“Huh?” Billy grunts around the joint in his mouth. His voice has only gotten gruffer as they’ve gotten older.

“Happy Father’s day-” Jonathan tries again before getting cut off.

“You’re late to the game, champ.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes, grabbing the joint quickly when Billy offers it up.

“Alright, then I take it back.”

“Good.” Billy’s still got a grin like a shark, but it’s softened a bit with the years added to his face. Billy stretches out long like a bored cat on his seat on the couch. “I expect two next year, though.”

“You’re an asshole.” Jonathan chuckles and yet groans simultaneously- a sound he’s mastered with Billy’s presence in his life.

“And you’re wrong about Pantera, listen to me-”

Jonathan lets it all slide. They continue to just talk, catch up on life, continue jokes they’ve had running since they were teenagers. Jonathan brings out more weed because he originally thought Billy was going to have to drive back to a hotel tonight. Billy burns through a couple of beers and laughs at the way Jonathan still winces at the taste- can barely finish half a can. Billy says “was gonna ask you if there’s something fun to do around the city but I think I’d rather stay in. Can’t believe the kid has made me boring-” over their Chinese take-out that they’ve ordered because “I’ve been craving this shit for months. The little tyke refuses to touch the stuff and we’re sick of making separate chicken nuggets for him.”

And Jonathan thinks he’s going to snap in half.

He can’t handle himself. He’s falling into too many thoughts that are eating away at everything inside of him and he can’t put words to any of them but he has to try now that Billy is here. Now that Billy keeps bringing him up, can’t seem to get the kid off of his mind either. Can’t help but mumble about how appreciative he is to watch a gory movie again because “we’ve gotta be mindful of the little buster, so we don’t scar him for life or something” and Jonathan is filled to the brim with everything he wants to say.

“So…” He starts, lamely. Billy looks over to him, chow mein hanging from his mouth still, eyes expectant and suddenly Jonathan loses every word he’s ever known. “Uh… babies?”

Billy slurps up the chow mein noodle.

“Uh… yeah?” Billy says, just as lamely, confusion painting his face. “What about them?”

Jonathan somehow didn’t think he’d be able to get this far. “What’s it… like?”

Billy stares. He blinks. Then he barks out a loud, booming laugh- and Jonathan might be dramatic, but he could swear it shakes his apartment.

“What are you talking about, Jonny?” Billy looks at him like he’s got at least three heads on his shoulders and if Jonathan wasn’t so sure he’d lose in a heartbeat, he might try to wrestle Billy off the couch.

“Your kid! Your… and… babies... and-”

“Is it the weed?” Billy asks, about a step away from sounding genuinely concerned. “Am I witnessing the day Jonathan Byers actually can’t handle his weed?”

“You’re never going to stop being a pain, are you?” Jonathan grunts, reaching for his cider that he opted for after giving up on the beer Billy brought.

Billy laughs at him, like he always does, but it’s never as poisonous as it seems. “And you’re never gonna stop being embarrassing! Now, what are you saying to me? Are you getting baby fever or something?”

There’s a pause and… yeah, maybe Jonathan never thought of it like that but… maybe? He looks at Billy with wide eyes, very sure that his face is betraying him by showcasing just how scared he is to be having this conversation.

Billy’s eyes widen too, with realization and understanding. “Oh my god, you totally are.”

Jonathan wants more than anything to be able to deny it, but there’s no way to. He suddenly feels like maybe hiding his face is better.

“It’s not… like that-” He tries and fails, face suddenly burning and Billy is laughing that loud, obnoxious laugh again as he knocks into Jonathan’s shoulder and sends bits of food flying out of his container. “I just…”

“Just what? You been cooing over babies in the street, buddy?” Billy is cooing at him, talking to him like he’s a kid and Jonathan truly is going to find some way to injure him.

“Shut up, I’m just asking… what’s it like?”

“What, having a baby?”

“Yeah.” Jonathan wants to busy himself with food like Billy is, but suddenly he feels he can’t stomach it.

“Wouldn’t know, dude.”

“What’s that mean?” Jonathan asks, about ready to shake Billy senseless. “You’ve got a kid-”

“Yeah, and he was a toddler already when we got him. I don’t know about babies.” Billy emphasizes, giving a little shrug along with it as he shovels more food into his mouth. Jonathan had forgotten about that part… he supposes that’s right. “What are you asking me for, anyway? Aren’t you the one that’s been an older brother like… forever?”

Jonathan huffs at that.

“You’re an older brother too, y’know.”

“Yeah, I got Max when she was like, seven!” Billy clarifies loudly. He sounds incredulous, with a look to match as he turns to Jonathan. “And El when she was, what, 12? Will when he was like 13 then you when you were fucking seventeen, I don’t know what the hell you think I know about babies.”

Jonathan takes a big swig from his cider, head aching from having to have this conversation. He should have just kept this to himself… he just…

“I was just asking. I’m just… and Will isn’t my-” He’s not sure how to say it. How to get the words out to where they make sense. “He’s not… I’m not...”

They live and die inside of him.

Billy is still looking at him, but far too intently now. Jonathan can feel his gaze on the side of his face.

“I mean, he kind of is, right?” Billy starts, voice suddenly too soft for Jonathan to be able to think straight. He says it like he knew what Jonathan was thinking about- knew what Jonathan couldn’t say. Jonathan hates when that happens. “Weren’t you… always kind of like… the dad? In all that?”

And Jonathan thinks he might just break, hearing that. Sometimes he forgets how much Billy knows. He’s not sure what he’s meant to say to that. He can’t say he never thought about it that way when he was 12 and cooking meals for all 3 of them. When he tried one summer to get a job out of town- biked himself all the way out of Hawkins to the first place he could lie to about being old enough to work. Because his mom didn’t want him to yet so he couldn’t stay in town where everyone either knew him or knew his mother. All those years he changed diapers and bottle fed Will and taught him his ABC’s or read to him before bed.

 Is that what fatherhood is?

Jonathan doesn’t like to count those years, because if he does then he just gets sad. He doesn’t like to count those as parenting because then he’s forced to realize how much of his childhood was lost on him. Lost to that. He doesn’t like to think of it that way, he loves Will more than anything in his life and he’d do it again in a heartbeat, but…

“Honestly,” Billy sounds so quiet still. Jonathan is amazed at how quiet Billy can get. “I thought you’d never want kids after all that.”

Jonathan thought so too. He wasn’t ready to feel this way.

They sit in silence for a while. Jonathan tries to speak again but Billy cuts him off by shoving a container of food at him and just grunting out a commanding “Eat.”

Jonathan takes it. Stabs his fork through the container without really eating. Billy groans at him.

“God, quit playing with your food? You’re worse than my kid.”

Jonathan’s heart feels like it wants to tug out of him. He concedes to eat, and they do so with virtual silence between them- only the white noise of the TV and the radio and the street underneath them as their background.

Jonathan gets more than halfway through his takeout container before he tries again.

“Why?” He asks, like it means anything. Billy just raises an eyebrow at him. “Why did you decide to have kids?”

Billy pauses- seems to take the time to really think. “... because we wanted to up the difficulty in our life?” is what he ends up saying and Jonathan can’t hold in his scoff. “I don’t know.” Billy finishes with uncertainty and a bit of a laugh.

“I just… can’t think of any reason for me to be a father that doesn’t feel so fucking selfish.” Jonathan forces it out of himself, already feeling self-important just for mentioning it.

He just hasn’t been able to make sense of it. He’s been wrestling with it for too long now- this sudden want in him to have kids.

He spent most of his life dedicated to a kid. He’s almost grown a hatred for being in charge, which is why he loves how sure Nancy seems to be of everything. She can take the reins, and he feels a sense of calm at not always having to drive the helm. But… maybe baby fever is the right word? He sees lots of kids on the street here with their parents. Kids smiling and laughing. He passes by a school on his walk to work and watches them get dropped off. The joy in their faces. He remembers being a kid. Remembers what it was like, to feel all those pains of growing up. Figuring out the world, for all the good and bad that lies within it. He remembers feeling pain, and seeing it in Will’s face, too.

He remembers how hard it was to be a kid in his situation. When he heard Billy and Steve were adopting, he thought about what those two were doing for that kid. What they meant to that kid. He thought about Hop…

“Not that you two are selfish!” Jonathan remedies quickly, realizing exactly what he just said. “You’re literally the exact opposite of selfish. You’re helping that boy… way more than I think you even realize.”

He almost envies it sometimes. For as exhausting as it was to do all he did, he almost misses helping out around the house. Helping his mother and helping Will. Sometimes, being here and all alone, he realizes how little he’s really doing. He misses being helpful… but then he wonders if perhaps he just misses feeling useful. He wants to do right by somebody, but does he just want to feel good? He doesn’t want to use another human life just to reassure himself. And he’d loathe to bring a child into this world just to test out if it’s some grand calling and then find himself feeling burdened. He doesn’t want to put a kid in the position of feeling like a burden.

He thinks about how they’ve adopted. How many kids there are out there who weren’t fortunate enough to have someone willing or able to care for them.

“I dunno, should I do that too?” He wonders out loud, mind stuck on adoption. “I don’t think I care if they look like me. Should I care if they look like me?”

Billy shrugs, brows a little furrowed. “I don’t think so, but aren’t normal people supposed to get like… revved up for that sort of thing?”

“Weird word choice there, pal.” Jonathan scrunches his nose up.

“You know what I mean.”

Jonathan guesses he does. He thinks of Nancy, because truthfully he’s not alone in this. He thinks of the way Nancy has always vehemently rebelled against what everyone expects of her. She always said she doesn’t want the nuclear family her parents forced upon themselves. He knows the struggles she’s had with all of that. And she would hold Jonathan sometimes too, on days where his anxiety would peak, and tell him that he didn’t have to put so much on his shoulders. He didn’t have to worry about the weight of everyone’s lives like that.

But maybe he wants to worry about something? Maybe he misses it, maybe he wants to help, maybe-

“Do you think it’d be easier to get Nancy to agree to that?” He’s still wondering aloud, still thinking of adoption. “It’d probably piss off her parents, and I bet she’d be happy about that… and should I think about my own mom? Does she want grandkids-”

“Joyce is just happy when she hears you’ve left the house.”

“Ha ha.” Jonathan deadpans as Billy chuckles. “I just… I don’t care if they come from me. I think I just want to help a little kid who was like me. Help someone feel understood-”

“Oh yeah, real selfish.” Billy scoffs, crunching on his fortune cookie, the paper inside discarded on the table along with the wrapper.

Jonathan sputters. “I’m serious! Is it- am I being-?”

“C’mon, Jonny boy.” Billy levels with him, looking about ready to slap Jonathan out of it if given even half the chance to. “You don’t know selfish. You’ve never known selfish a day in your life.”

And maybe that breaks Jonathan’s heart, too. He can’t think about that either.

“Well…” Jonathan tries, one final time, to get anything out of this other than an aching stomach. “What is it like for you?”

Billy blinks harshly at him. Jonathan presses on.

“I know this is hard for you, too.” Jonathan explains, trying to be understanding. “You’re like me, Billy. We both know that.”

And Jonathan hopes that Billy has aged enough to the point that he won’t run from this. That he won’t get too scared that he bolts away, excusing himself for something he doesn’t need just to evade feelings, like Jonathan always wants to do, too. They really are far too much alike-

“It’s… weird, man. It’s weird. It doesn’t stop… being weird.”

Jonathan remembers being teenagers. Remembers confiding in Billy. Remembers the chill of the grocery store. He tries to keep his chuckles quiet and to himself as Billy continues.

“Honestly, I don’t even feel like a dad yet.”

“What are you talking about? You are a dad-”

“Yeah, but people see our kid and he doesn’t look like us and they… people are idiots about it. Plus sometimes it feels like we didn’t even raise him. Or like we’re just playing house.”

Jonathan watches Billy rise and fall inside his own mind. He wonders if he should try to console him.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m messing him up every time I open my mouth.”

Jonathan remembers feeling like that with Will. The first time he ever made Will cry. Back when he was going through his awkward teenage phase and he had to push all his own emotions down to be a good role model. It hurt. It was far too difficult.

“I’m sure you’re not.” Jonathan tries to console, scooching just a millimeter closer to Billy. “I’m sure the worst you’re doing is exposing him to shitty music.”

That makes Billy laugh, but it also earns Jonathan a rough shove and a promise of “I’ll end, you, Jonny.”

“I dunno, all of it is hard.” Billy continues on with a sigh. He’s rubbing his palms together, and then anxiously picking at his jeans like he always did growing up. “He’s like a little puzzle we haven’t figured out yet. But I never question if it was worth it or not. And when he smiles, and I’m the reason… I don’t think there’s anything better than that.”

And Jonathan gets a front row seat to watch the smile that melts onto Billy’s face- like all is right with the world suddenly. Like there’s nothing that could ever taint what he’s feeling right at this moment. Jonathan thinks about how casually Billy mentions his son, even at what seems to be the most random times, and how much it plays with his heart.

Jonathan sees Billy relax in a way he’s not sure he’s ever seen before, and he thinks maybe he’s ready to figure out for himself exactly what a father is.

#jonathan byers #billy hargrove #jim hopper #lonnie byers #found family #stranger things #angst #emotional hurt comfort #fic #father's day #i know people don't necessarily like jonathan... #but this is where i come out not only as a jonathan apologist but a jonathan lover #no i don't support EVERYTHING he's done but we know better than most that the duffers are creepy idiots #who used their characters to relive high school (not so) glory days #i see a sad boy who loves his family more than anything and had to give up a lot of his childhood bc he felt he had to support them #that's it! that's all no more defending myself lmao! #i just also really like Billy and Jonathan being unlikely friends and brothers now <3 #they are BOTH my boys! #i dunno!!! just think about a young Jonathan interacting with Hop <3 #it's cute I love the byers I just!!! wanna squish em!!!!!!

[chaotic---calm]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín & Jīn Líng | Jīn Rúlán, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín/Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén Characters: Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jīn Líng | Jīn Rúlán, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén Additional Tags: Prompt Fill, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Single Parents, Whump, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Family Bonding, Headaches & Migraines, Minor Injuries, Mild Language, Meet-Cute Summary:

Stressed and overworked single-parent Jiang Cheng feels bad for neglecting his young nephew Jin Ling and promises a weekend outing of fun to make up for it. But when the day arrives with a migraine and ill fortune in tow, will there be any fun and enjoyment to be found?

#the untamed fanfic #my fanfic #jiang cheng #jin ling #lan xichen #single parent #whump #fluff #emotional hurt comfort #family feels #meet-cute #jiang cheng out there tryin' his best #and life dealing him a bad hand one day #but then it's white knight lan xichen to the rescue! #his weapons of choice: kindness and cookies

[callaeidae3]

A Month of Whump WInter Whumperland 2023 - Day 7: Comfort: You're not alone

You're not alone in this fight against the world anymore.

@amonthofwhump

#amow winter whumperland 2023 #day7 #comfort: you're not alone #hurt comfort #emotional hurt comfort #whump aftermath #the case of kindall k #kindall k series #kk1 #kyle kindall #yuuki takahashi

[mild-incompetence]

I like how we don’t see Fizz completely until he has his horns covered and how Fizz also doesn’t wake up Ozzie until he has his horns covered.

That whilst he’s lying on Ozzie he is still almost completely under the cover. You can barely see the tip of his face and his arm.

But then the alarm goes off and he has hidden himself entirely under the sheet.

#helluva boss #helluva boss season 2 #youtube #vivziepop #helluva boss fizzarolli #helluva boss ozzie #helluva Boss - OOPS #I need a fic about this immediately #some emotional hurt/comfort #if it gets written u have to send me a link

[starrystevie]

"what are you doing," eddie mumbles in confusion, hair fanned out on steve's pillow, the moonlight streaming in giving him a hazy halo.

there's a hand on the side of his face and it's cupping his cheek, thumb stroking over his skin. it's soft, so soft, too soft. another hand is trapping his against the mattress, fingers trailing over his forearm before tangling into his own and squeezing tight. it's gentle, so gentle, too gentle.

eddie isn't soft, eddie isn't gentle. eddie isn't making love in a full size bed with wallpaper that matches the drapes. he isn't fluttering kisses in time with fluttering heartbeats and the fluttering wings of butterflies trapped in his stomach like the most lovely cage.

eddie is fucking at 2am when there's enough intoxication to make him look like he's worth it. he's rough and wild, quick and easy. a means to a barely wanted end because he's there and willing and with long enough hair to let people imagine he's someone else.

he should be caged instead of the damn butterflies. he bares his teeth and thrashes his limbs just to fight and see what he can get away with. he laughs loud and brash in the face of sweetness just to see anger, just to see hurt.

he has half a mind to think he's a feral animal that's hardly been trained, performing in some fucked up circus that charges two bucks to see him snarl and hurl insults at anyone who passes by. he bites at the hands that try to touch, try to feed, proving to the onlookers that he's only worth the pocket change they pay to see him.

but steve. he's holding his face like he wants to, holding his hand like it's the most important thing in the world. he's pressing kisses along eddie's jaw without any hurry, without any rush, kissing just to kiss. feeling just to feel. he's like a ray of goddamn sunshine even in the darkness that midnight provides, warming eddie from the inside out.

eddie wants to run. he wants to scream. he wants to feel like he's allowed steve's soft and gentle but he's-

"is this not okay?" and now steve's looking at him with all of whatever he's trying to give him lacing into his face, his eyes and spit slick lips sparkling in the moonlight like a shiny new toy. "do you not like it?"

concern and care are different sides of the same steve shaped coin and if eddie looks hard enough, he can see them blurring together in his frustratingly beautiful sparkling eyes and those damn butterflies start to come back.

"no, it's-" he let's out a sigh, relaxing his tight muscles and sinking into the bed, sinking into whatever steve is willing to give him. "just different, is all. good different, i think."

steve smiles and eddie shakily mirrors it back, before he's ducking his head again and slotting their lips together, fingers still holding tight to eddie's, still cupping his face like it's something precious.

eddie's come to terms with the taste of the metal bars of his cage, teeth wearing down as he tries to bite his way to freedom. maybe this time he'll let himself get used to the taste of soft and gentle smiles if it means loving steve.

#under a read more solely for length! #this post is brought to you by me avoiding my work and feeling emotions about steve canonically holding hands when he has sex! #my writing #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie fic #steddie hurt/comfort #for some reason i'm currently obsessed with dog imagry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands

[stealingyourbones]

Quick question, has anyone written a fic about Youngblood getting sad and emotional about Danny turning 18 where he’ll never see him again? If not I truly think that would be a wonderful little storyline to explore

#Danny Phantom #can all ghosts see Youngblood? i haven’t watched the show in a hot second #either way I feel like it could be a fun emotional hurt/comfort friendship fic #bones prompts