#i get the fight or flight response when seeing a color or clothing or hearing phrases

[daydream-cement]

The Depths of Hell

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Chased through the mazes of hell.

Author's Note: This is the second week of Spooky Season with @alexusonfire!!!! The prompt is monsters!! I really wanted this to be scary, but I've never really written anything scary before so I hope this is a good first attempt :D

You must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Over the course of an afternoon, you had been enjoying the local botanic gardens. As you rounded a corner of the hedge, you had expected to see a water feature according to the map in your hand. There was no water feature, rather there was a large dark sculpture that seemed to resemble a twisted up snake. 

You continue between the hedgerows towards the sculpture, glancing down at your map to see where you had lost your way.  

An eerie feeling overwhelmed you. 

The overwhelming urge to check your surroundings took over, causing your head to swivel about as you searched for the source of your unease. There was a shutter of leaves and the path you had been walking on was gone - shrubs now created a wall preventing you from turning back. 

The faint buzzing of fear tinged at the base of your skull, but you kept walking towards the statue in hopes of finding a way out. You were caught off guard by how dark your surroundings had gotten. Was it really that late into the evening already?

The snake was deep black in color with sharp scales that glittered in a way that made it seem as if it was shifting back and forth ever so slightly. 

A rustle of leaves. The snapping of a twig. You jerked your head around, searching for the source of the sounds, but you found nothing. You turned back to the sculpture, and soon you were unable to look away. You studied it for a long while, walking around its base, but far too fearful to reach out and touch it.

A snarl drew you from your trance-like state.

You spun around to see a creature cocking its head at you. It spoke in a language you couldn’t understand, but its presence was threatening to say the least.

When it took a step towards you, you took a step back. Then it took another with you backing up in response. Your back hit ran up against something before a growl resounded. Spinning around you saw another creature, perhaps uglier than the first. 

Your heart began to beat faster as you quickly realized you were surrounded. The creature closest to you made a move to grab you, but thankfully you were quick enough to dodge its attempt. You fell into fight or flight mode and picked flight without hesitation. 

You dodged the beast's second attempt to grab you, falling to the ground when you did. You scrambled off towards an opening in the hedge, finding your footing as both of the creatures started after you.

With each turn you seemed to run into more beasts, diving past them only for them to join the pack of most trailing after you.

You ran and ran, glancing back over your shoulder periodically at the monstrous creatures following you. They were easily six feet tall with horns and claws. Their faces filled you with horror as they looked to be an odd amalgamation of a boar, human, and a toad. 

You couldn’t understand why you were being chased. You didn’t know what they wanted. You watched them gain on you, their longer strides making it incredibly easy for them to get closer and closer. Not looking where you were going, made you stumble. You recovered quickly, hands brushing against the grass as you pulled yourself into an upright position. 

You sprinted until your legs ached. Your heart beating in your ears. Your body was screaming for you to find safety. 

You made so many turns that everything began to look the same. Escape felt utterly hopeless.

You rounded a corner quickly, your shirt brushing against the leaves and the branches scratching against your shoulder. You hear the monsters shrieking and braying as they krept closer. Their claws snagged at your clothes as they tried to pull you back to them. You wanted to turn to look back and see how close they had gotten, but you needed to round another corner first. 

When you did, you made it two strides before colliding with something. You fell to the ground and scrambled around the object that sent you to the ground. The snarling and growling of the creatures immediately went silent. You draw your knees to your chest and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping if you held your breath and made no sounds, the monsters would forget you entirely. 

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice called from

above you. You chose not to respond, hoping whoever it was had directed their words at the creatures.

“My lord… That… human was wandering your gardens.” A gravelly voice responded, causing chills to prick up across your arms. 

“You think I hadn’t known? Off with you! You terrified this child half to death.” The being hissed. There was a stillness as you waited for the monsters to slink away, then came a hand on your shoulder. “They won’t hurt you, lamb.”

The voice sounded nice and gentle, but after everything you had experienced, you were still unsure of trusting whoever this was. You had to force yourself to lift your chin and glance up to the being speaking. Your eyes were met with a beautiful face framed by perfect curls.

“Did they hurt you?”

You shake your head, taking the moment of perceived safety to register the beings full height. They were taller than anyone you’d ever seen, and they had wings. Great big wings that looked most magnificent, but you inherently longed to see them all stretched out. 

“Stand for me, lamb. Let me look at you.” The being took you by the forearm, and displayed their great strength by pulling you to your feet with one arm. Their hand remained on your arm as they surveyed you. “I am known by many names, but you may call me, Lucifer.”

“Like the-”

“Devil? Yes, pet. Now, how did you get into my maze?”

“I-I took the wrong turn…” You sputtered, eyes glued to their divine face.

“Happens to the best of us, I suppose. Would you care to accompany me on my walk?”

“You want to walk… with me?”

“Yes.” Lucifer answered plainly, taking your hand in theirs as a wing slowly expanded around you. Curiously you turned your head and watched the wing shield you. Through all of the terror you had experienced today, the protective wing around you made you smile.

“How am I supposed to get home?”

“Why don’t we discuss that after our walk, darling?”

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @opheliauniverse, @enchantressb, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @scream-queenlover, @shyladyfan, @rubberduckiesbathing, @peanutbutterprincess, @larissaoftarthweems, @lvinhs, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @emilynissangtr, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @dumbasslesbi, @oculusalien, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @h-doodles, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic, @lilfartbox1, @mountain-bikingwitch, @willowshadenox, @aemilia19, @mommyslittlebaby, @agathaandgwenslesbian, @gay-frogs08        

#lucifer morningstar (sandman) x reader #gwendoline christie #fanfic #lucifer morningstar (sandman) #the sandman #gwen christie #its supposed to be scary #but its me we are talking about so it probably isnt

[websterss]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 𝟐/𝟒 — 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘  

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your plan to get the group's attention becomes too difficult of a task especially with Ethan leaving your bracelet in his dorms, forcing you to be stuck in his dorm until he returns. You start to wonder whether he'll keep you locked up forever until he presents you with the idea of going to a party for the night.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): A bit graphic, mentions of blood and dying, angst, implications again but no smut, sad flashback

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,005

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ethan Landry x fem!Ghost!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: I hope you enjoy it! I based this off the song by Lizzy McAlpine - Doomsday

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Perhaps you had overestimated Ethan’s true intentions that night. Being pinned down both alive and dead brought on stress, pain, and ptsd, that wretched night scarred you. Flashes from the night he killed you remain true and gory. The color red turned into your most hated color of the rainbow. The second worst color; was brown. It was the color of his eyes. You used to adore having his attention, wanted nothing more than for him to swing that gaze on you with that charming grin he bore. Now you just wanted to erase every touch, conversation, and his whole existence. You knew the repercussions of attempting to bring justice for yourself, the whole obstacle of being invisible to the human eye; to your friends mostly. They couldn’t see you, and try as you wanted, they would not be able to hear you plead and beg for their attention, which you craved and yearned for the most. Anything but Ethan’s, anything but the heavy reminder of him stabbing you over and over with his knife. 

You were oblivious to his attack. You saw him coming, and you let him into your home, but you never saw his intentions. You would have guessed what the night would have potentially led to had it gone the way you hoped. A kiss, maybe even more, but not this. Not him, and the war he was battling behind his eyes, as he stared at you with a lost expression. 

-

“Hey Eth, do you want anything to drink? There’s water, and juice, a few sodas that I haven’t drunk yet. I’m not much of a beer person, but we can go to that bodega on the corner to get some if you want. I’m kind of craving some chips honestly.” You called out to him. Ethan had excused himself to use your bathroom. He needed to go after a few hours of trying to absorb every painstaking word from his econ textbook. You teased him for his class requirement. Why would anyone put themselves through such a class? Cause it was required for his degree of course. You shook your head as you opened your fridge up. The bright light from inside illuminates your face. Your brows pinch together when you get no response from him. Do guys usually take long to pee? 

“Ethan?” You glance at your fridge one more time before closing it. The second the door was closed you turned, and you wished you never did. “Ethan you okay in ther–” You cut yourself off seeing him stand there at the door of the bathroom. A black robe was now thrown over his clothes, and his hands dawned gloves; also black, but what made your heart sink was the knife he twiddled in his hands. His gaze was solely on the weapon. All you could see was his dark brown curls. “Ethan?” You take a small cautious step back. You kept trailing your eyes up and down his entire. Trying to find the butt of this really fucked up joke. There didn’t seem to be one though, just cautionary fear tingling up and down your spine. You had never really been in a flight or fight situation and you really didn’t want to be. You cringe when he tosses the mask onto the island between you both. The mask revealed all you needed and everything you were afraid of. Your breathing picked up as you stared down the all too familiar ghost face mask your friends warned you about. Your watery gaze rose to meet his detrimental stare. One look at his stance, the way his eyes burned with hate. The tight grip he had on the hilt. It screamed a man with the intent to do harm. And he would because your sweet dorky Ethan was gone. You didn’t recognize the intensity of the man before you. “W-What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna give you two options okay?” His voice was shaky. His jaw clenched. You sucked in a breath as he continued. You were on the verge of sobbing. “You can run, and you might get away with some injuries, or I can get it over with so you won’t suffer as much.” How generous…You look away, walking over to the farthest counter and placing your hands on it. You eye the pan you had left on top of the stove, before looking over your shoulder in distraught.

“W-What’s the third option?” You cry softly. 

“There isn’t one baby…My dad…” His eyes glistened. “He wouldn’t change his mind. He couldn’t be swayed, Y/n. I tried…” He looked down at the knife. “Believe me when I say that I tried. He wouldn’t let up though, he wants you dead.” 

“What?” You shook your head confused. “You tried? What the fuck does that mean? Why would he want me dead? W-We were just studying a few minutes ago Ethan. For your Econ exam. If you wanted to take a break you could have just said so, you didn’t have to go to such extensive measures!” You gesture to the robe hysterically. “Why are you doing this? I-I haven’t done anything to you. I haven’t done anything!” You breath hitches and cracks with every exhale and inhale of your cries. “I-I don’t wanna die Ethan…” You cower back against the door of your refrigerator. “Please, y-you’re my friend. You’re supposed to be my friend...”

“I know baby…” He closes his eyes shut. Then looks back up at you. “But I don’t have a choice. It was either you, or me.” He tilts his head. You go still, terror overtaking your face. You straighten, balling your left hand into a fist. The small pan was hidden behind your back, out of his sight. If he did notice you grab it, he didn’t mention it, maybe to allow you some peace of mind before everything went to shit.

You walk over to him slowly, cautiously, hoping not to trigger his fight response. “Will you give me something then, before you start?” You let out shakenly. 

“What?” His brows furrow.

You slowly reach up with your left and cup one side of his face before bringing his lips onto your own slowly. Your hand slid behind his head and curled your fingers into his locks, tugging him closer. Ethan nearly dropped the knife then and there. You caught him off guard. Might as well right, you thought. If you were going out then you’d go out believing and dreaming of what could have been. Maybe someday, somewhere right? Yeah right. Your breath hitches as you pull away, a tear slipping down your face as you pat his cheek gently. Then you swing the frying pan you grabbed into the side of his head before bolting down the hall to your room. Ethan's stance faltered. He stumbled back into the bathroom door, before falling onto his side. You had barely rushed past him when he tried to reach for your leg, but he missed. Not so safe to say he didn’t appreciate the sudden whack across the head since he thudded heavily towards your locked door. It took him about three powerful kicks before he got it open. You flinched by the window having it halfway lifted by the time he got in. He stood at the entrance, his eyes narrowed. He sighed heavily, as he shook his head. 

“Option one then…” He cracked his neck before he stormed towards you. You cried and fought him off, but the knife still got lodged into your stomach. You cried out in pain as you felt a sudden pinch snip at your wrist before he threw you across the room, you fell to the carpet, doing a horrible job at staying upright. He had gutted you well and efficiently enough to cause you to bleed tremendously. One thought and one thought only ran through your mind then and there. The door. The front door was the goal. The dream really. It was wishing thinking at this point honestly. But you began your crawl in agony. You grunt and whimper as your limbs and organs hurt with every movement and push you force your body to move forward. You couldn’t stay here, you had to get out, You just had to. 

Ethan begrudgingly sat at the edge of your bed. He rubbed against the side of his temple, his fingers drawn back with blood now smeared across his tips. Fuck, he thought. He looked over at you pushing yourself out the door with a struggle. How long he would let you do this for, was the real kicker. He thought it best to let you hope for a little longer. To let you continue ‘escaping’ as he assumed that is what he was looking at. He knew he said he wouldn’t let you suffer, but for some fucked up reason, he couldn’t let you die just yet. He wanted to enjoy a bit of your drive, your determination, and the sound of your voice regardless of the fact you were crying out in pain. He wanted to save it to memory for a few more minutes. You, just being alive. Just a little bit longer, he thought. He couldn’t get your kiss out of his head. Had you wanted to kiss him before? He hadn’t known, nor would he after this. He looked up again to find you out of his sight, had you moved that quickly? He strained his ears to be able to hear your faint grunts. You were slowly dying and he was only dragging it on further than he needed to. He placed his hands on his knees and stood up. He glanced around your room, letting his eyes roam over everything that screamed ‘you’. To the lights, to the fun colors on your bed, to the wall of pictures, to the now bloody carpet. He looked away, feeling a tinge of sadness for turning your most sacred place of comfort into a horror scene in the span of only a few minutes. He’d been in your home for over an hour, and it only took him minutes to ruin everything good in this little home you created for yourself. He walked over to the door, shifting his eyes to a picture you hung on the wall. It was of him and you. Bemused and silly is what he would describe the vibe he felt when he looked at it. Maybe someday, somewhere. That’s what he’d hope for. With one last glance at the pictures, he tapped it with his glove and moved into the hall. You had made some distance, but it was never going to be enough. He couldn’t keep watching you attempt to crawl your way to what you hoped would be your best chance of survival. He had to put you out of your misery. It would probably be the one good thing he could grant you. 

-

Any future attempt at trying to gain the attention of anyone other than Ethan was a no-go. The first few times he hadn’t suspected much when he brought along your bracelet. Your one and only means of transportation to and from places. He threatened to leave it in his room when he caught onto your intentions. You hated how much you begged and pleaded to be let out, be ‘taken out for some sunlight’ if you will. You had become reliant and dependable on Ethan as much as you despised it. He really had been your only source of sanity, without him as he smugly liked to remind you, you’d be stuck in his room. He even went ahead and left the bracelet under his pillow just to prove a point to you. You beat on his chest when he saw you storm up to him as he entered his room. You wanted nothing more than to slap that stupid smirk off his face, so you had, and he kissed you roughly, pinning you to his door.

It was routine, and he seemed to enjoy every minute of it, and you, you just had to go through with it or you’d end up cooped up in his room again waiting for him to return, just like today, on all the days. Halloween has been your absolute favorite and the asshole left your bracelet on his night stand. It mocked you as you sat on his bed staring off into space. You thought back to your Princess Diaries costume that was gonna be awesome, but now it sat in your closet, in your apartment that was covered in blood, your blood, which was now also a crime scene, so now you had nothing to wear but the clothes on your back. You lift your head as the door to his room opens. The devil himself walks in. Ethan approaches you, leaning down to give you a rough slow kiss. His hands cupping the back of your head to bring you closer. You sigh as the kiss goes on longer than needed. A scowl paints your face as he pulls back and bites back a smile. He straightens up and looks down at you with adoration.

“Get off your cute butt, we're going out.” That made you perk up. 

“Out? Where are we going?”

“A party. It’s Halloween remember, let’s go have fun.” He smirks seeing your face contort with confusion. You should have been thrilled, ecstatic even, but his sudden mood shift put you on edge. You noticed that after days turned into weeks. How he’d be nice and touchy feelings with you, then be an absolute sociopath the next. His sudden emotional outbursts scared you. Even dead he could still hurt you. “Come on, get up!” 

“I-I don’t get you.” You shook your head. You knew better than to fuel the flame he had tucked away at the moment, but you didn’t know how to deal with his change of emotions anymore, it was exhausting when he out of nowhere felt the need to play ‘Mr. Nice Guy’. You were over it.

“What do you mean?” He stopped looking for a long sleeve to look back at you. 

“You’ve kept me trapped in your room for five days, and now, all of a sudden you’re kissing me again, and being sweet? I don’t get you, Ethan.” You look away from him. Shrinking in place when he draws near. 

“I wanna take you out, what’s wrong with that?” His shoulders slumped. “You wanted out of here, you’re getting that.” He walked over to his nightstand and picked up the small gold chain. Mocking you with it as he dangled it out to you. Then proceeded to tuck it into his jeans. “Now get up, I’m supposed to meet Chad there. Unless you want me to leave you here.” You immediately got up from his bed.

“I don’t even have anything to wear.” You gesture to your shirt and jeans that you’ve been wearing since you showed up. The red sneakers are your signature trademark. The group used to find it endearing. You wondered if they were missing you right about now. 

“Why should it matter, no one can see you anyway?” Ethan immediately tensed seeing your face fall. “I didn’t mean it like that…look how about we- we could ya know…” He trailed off then met eyes with his white bedsheets then stilled. You watched wearily and then curiously as he stripped his bed of his flat sheet. Who the hell owned a flat sheet? 

“What's with the sheet?” You raise a brow in question.

“Would this even work? I mean you couldn’t even touch your bracelet. It just went right through you.” He eyed the sheet and then walked over to you. “Can I?” He gestured to you then the bed linen in his hands. He took quick notice of your hesitance. “Just trust me.” He waved your doubts away. His words made you laugh out loud causing him to grow still. 

“Says my murderer…” You roll your eyes.

“Humor me then.” He grunts then before you can protest he throws the linen over your head and watches it drape over your frame. When it remained over you, his heart began picking up. “Holy…shit!” He backed up, his hands frozen in mid-air as he surveilled you from head to toe. “No fucking way that worked. Holy shit!” You heard him breathe out aloud. What was he so shocked about?

“I can’t see anything.” He couldn’t see it but he imagined you were pouting. 

“Oh right, sorry. Here take it off!” He pulled on the sheet until you came back into his view. Your hair was in disarray. Wild and full of static. A cute pout on your lips as you stared at him. Observing as he dug out a pocket knife and cut into the fabric. Two eyes holes from what you could tell, and then he was turning back to you, reaching forward to fix some crazy strands. The kiss placed on your lips caught you by surprise. He smiled at you and then went to throw the flat sheet over your head again. He adjusted it until your eyes were directly over the two holes he made. You could see out of it now. “Oh my god, you look fucking cool!” He ushered you to his thin mirror. What you didn’t come to realize soon enough was that the linen over your body did not go through you. Your eyes slowly widened as you began to grasp what this would mean for you. People would be able to see you. 

“Holy shit…” You gasped as you stared back at your reflection. You had a reflection. You couldn’t see your eyes, but you could see the very visible bed sheet that was placed over your frame. “Holy fucking shit!” You exclaim, excitingly. You knew what this entailed, but you realized that Ethan had yet to understand why you were so excited about the sheet being placed over you and why it didn’t phase through you like the bracelet had. You figured that he figured you were only freaking out because he thought you thought this was cool. It was, that was no lie, but you were hopeful again. 

“No one will think twice about it.” Ethan laughed at your reaction.

“It worked!” You extend your arms out and do a little spin. 

“It’s fitting honestly going as a ghost, I mean who’s gonna question the girl with a sheet draped over her head?” He chuckled. He nodded in agreement. You were though, a ghost and all. Dead or costume didn’t change that. Not one bit. You hadn’t known why you let your intrusive thoughts win in the moment. Perhaps you rushed towards him because you wanted to express how you were feeling and needed an outlet. Needing to show Ethan just how happy you felt, though you knew you had acted in such a way because your plan to try and find a way to communicate with your friends was back on track, and Ethan was none the wiser about it. You had shed the sheet and brought his lips onto yours. This had been the second time now that your initiated kiss had caught him off guard, but he welcomed the affection nonetheless. He walked the both of you backward until he fell back onto the bed, taking you down with him as the kiss grew heated and rougher. You stayed on top until he had flipped you both. The hungry gaze behind his eyes knew you were gonna be a little late for the party, but you hadn’t really been too worried about it. 

-

The walk to the frat house had been interesting. You kept turning your head towards every wandering eye that landed on you and Ethan. You bet you both looked like quite the pair. A sheeted ghost and a cardboard knight. You had judged Ethan’s look with love and some honesty. You still didn’t get it when it had to explain to you who he was. He went into detail about his inspiration from the movie Murder Party. A movie you had no idea existed until he showed you a scene in which the character Ethan was being tonight wore said costume. It felt like trivia. 

When you both walked through the door. You were both immersed in the chaos and music blasting through a speaker somewhere in the house. Bodies, bodies, and bodies all around, grinding, talking, drinking, and of course the occasional hookup. You were feeling a bit better than you and Ethan had your own pre-hookup before arriving. You knew better than to let your heart lead, but you couldn’t help the swarm of butterflies in your stomach when he reached behind him, extending his hand out for you to grab, and you did, allowing him to lead the way around the various of party goers fully and barely intoxicated. It wasn’t long until Ethan had found Chad. And boy were you not prepared for him to finally see you. See your ghost costume. 

“And who is this unlively thing?” Chad joked but teasingly nudged Ethan over and over. You had barely registered Chad’s faint words of ‘That’s my boy’ and ‘I told you, full snack baby!’ before he turned his attention back onto you. “What’s your name sweetheart?” Oh his smile, his beautiful grin that you had missed having be directed at you. 

“This is Wyen!” Ethan introduced you. You were glad they couldn’t see the questionable expression you gave under the sheet for the very questionable name he gave you. What the fuck Ethan?

“Wyen?” Chad's brows pinched together in question as well. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with such a unique name.” He shook his head.

“Yeah…she gets that a lot, just think of her name as the letters Y and N and you’ll be fine.” Ethan waved it off. 

“Why would I–” Chad sputtered in confusion. Then turned to you. “What? Is he messing with me? Please tell me he’s fucking with me?” Chad laughed your way. You shook your head and said. 

“No, if only you knew though.” You said. Ethan eyed you, but Chad hadn’t heard you one bit. 

“Is she good?” Chad leaned over to Ethan, as he took note of your lack of responses. “She's not…you know.” He gestured to his ears.

“Deaf? Oh no, yeah she’s fine, she’s just staying in character tonight. Halloween is kind of her favorite holiday.” You wanted to slap him right then and there, so you did. You reached forward and smacked him. Chad found your interactions amusing.

“Ahh okay. Well apologies, ole friendly ghost. I was in the dark of such information, but I respect your wishes to continue to haunt our youth in silence!” Chad placed a hand over his naked chest. You breathe a laugh aloud, but you realize your laugh didn’t reach his ears. It made you tear up a bit, but you concluded that the shake of your shoulders was enough for him to register you did in fact find his teasing funny because his head was thrown back as he laughed. God you had missed him. You tipped your chin down and curtsied, adding to the bit he was doing. “She’s funny too. I like you already.” He pointed at you. “Well, Ghostette and Mr. Landry, enjoy yourselves, not too much of course, but get drunk, and make out. I’m gonna go see where the girls are alright, find me if anything goes wrong okay? Anything. That goes for you too Wyen. Find me for anything!” With that, he tapped Ethan’s cardboard chest in what you assumed was approval and walked in the opposite direction. You scoff knowing that Chad considered you to be Ethan’s conquest for tonight. It looked like trying to gain their attention was going to be harder than you expected...especially since Ethan was hesitant to let you out of his sights now.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry series #writings by juls #my gif

[ohheyitsokay]

Hello!!! I have come with a soulmate au request: could you write one with Benny Miller, where the voice inside your head is yoursoulmates voice. And he's just like "omg! You're the one with the beautiful voice!"

Everyone, say thank you to @fangirl-316 for being the very first person on my taglist, and thus one of the main reasons I'm still writing.

My dear, please consider this fic a very small portion of my thank you, for how far that encouragement went.

warnings: so much fluff it's not even funny

>>

soulmate requests

<<

You and your soulmate lead quite different lives - you only heard his voice saying your thoughts every couple of days at first. It was supposed to happen when you had a thought that could've been one of theirs, normally something simple about needing to get groceries or hoping for rain.

But, the majority of thoughts the two of you shared were "Ouch." A deep, warm voice would boom through your mind, filling it like broth in a bowl on a cold day - comforting, but confusing. It made you wonder if your soulmate was clumsy, like you, or if he got himself into trouble.

He didn't share your complaints, though, and that simple realization bloomed into a full, indulgent daydream. If he got hurt, but didn't complain... maybe you're soulmate was strong, in all the good, selfless ways that heroes were. The daydream fit, and stuck, and it became your mission mission learn more about him whenever you could

It didn't take you long to learn how kind he was, after all. "No worries," he'd say, and you could almost hear his smile, or "I've got you."

And when you were being your most kind, your most thoughtful, you heard him more than ever. It was sweet, inspiring, his unintentional little encouragement to help your neighbors or lighten the mood.

So one day, deep in your longing to meet the one who's voice was rich as a hot meal from a diner, you took a risk.

He made you feel adventurous, grand, his voice in your mind, as he encouraged the world to do it's worst. The ferocity in which his tone reinforced your moments of confidance were like shots of caffeine in your bloodstream. You were certain he was a protector, a - a fighter.

For him.

Your cousin had become interested in a professional fighting ring by a girl at her gym, and had been begging you to come with. So you took the risk, and allowed yourself to be dragged into a chaotic room full of sweaty boddies and goading cheers.

People were yelling to talk to each other, a triumphant man was soaking in adoration, and your feet stuck to the floor.

The next fight had already started, and as you squeezed into a place you could see, your heart stopped. Above you, solid legs, a bare chest heaving with deep breaths, broad shoulders. From your angle, you could see half a grin, and one of the most beautiful blue eyes you'd ever seen.

Benjamin - Benny - Miller, someone said.

Then he was moving, fuid and fast, like he was animated, and you watched, enraptured. You barely processed his opponent, just a man in contrasting colors, as you stared. The noise became an afterthought, and the back of your mind registered your cousin moving away to search for her friend.

Still you couldn't move, you were planted, still as a statue as your heart began to beat again, pouting unevenly as you watched.

Was it normal? To be filled with liquid fire and to hope desperately for a fighter's safety and triumph at the same time?

It was just.... adrenaline. It was because you were new to this. Everyone around you probably felt as intensely as you did about every thud of gloves against skin, at one point in their lives, anyway.

The noise came back in full, as you were reminded how out of place you were.

"You want anything, honey?" The waitress had pity in her eyes.

A gloved fist came in contact with a perfect jaw.

Ouch.

His voice, as always.

"No, thank you." You didn't even look at her, wondering and watching as your injured hero smiled to himself a little bit.

-

"I don't believe you," you stared suspiciously.

"No, she's telling the truth." Looking between your cousin and her friend, you felt your fight or flight response kick in.

"I just feel silly." Involuntarily, you backed away. They were insisting you push through the sweaty crowd, accross the sticky floor, to talk to him. They promised it was normal. "I wouldn't wouldn't know what to say."

They both looked at each other, and your cousin shrugged. It was true - as desperately as you wanted to encourage him, you'd barely made a peep during the fight. Instead you stared, almost forgetting to breathe, and eyes almost drying out as you ignored the insitict to blink, least you miss a single second. Even after your embarrassment reared it's head, you'd felt strange - both invisible and like you were alone in the crowd, your willpower alone his encouragement. Cheering felt impossible, your tongue was dry in your mouth as you thought wishes into the universe. Prayers, for him or to him, you weren't quite sure.

Relenting, your cousin gave you a more gentle look, before saying changing the topic. It emboldened you, her kindness, as your soulmate said, "Thank you," to her for you, and you slipped away. The fighter deserved a lite of your praise, after all. Looking in the blue of his eyes seemed impossible, but you found the waitress from before.

So what could you say, now that he was surrounded by friends and fans, clapping the smooth of his shoulder and ruffling his seemingly silken hair?

Meekly you shook your head, trying not to look at him from across the room.

"Hey, hun, how can I help you?" She paused, curious and fair, a testament to the establishment.

"Would you..." you fidgeted. The request felt silly, like kids in a school yard, whispering telephone crushes.

"Just do it, talk to her."

"I just wanted to ask if - "

"Oh my God," a deep voice, from directly behind you. It cut through the chatter and shouts of the crowd, surprised and insistent. The waitress cocked an eyebrow and you turned, following her gaze.

"You're the one with the beautiful voice!"

Benjamin Miller was standing, close, the crowd behind him still marked from his rapid path to you. His eyes were wide, staring into yours like he wasn't sure if you were real.

Staring back, you panicked, wondering when he had even heard you before you registered.

His voice -

He was hugging you. Muscles and fat squishing alike, bones near creaking, you never wanted him to let go. He had changed, wearing soft clothes that smelled like sunshine, and his hands were pressing you against his bruises and God, you didn't want him to let go.

It could've been four seconds, it could've been four thousand before your feet felt like they were on solid ground.

"I knew when I saw you," his voice was loud, excited, before he seemed to realize he was still close, gripping you tightly. Jumping back, his hands ran over his face, and through his hair.

"Sorry I just -" suddenly, he looked almost shy, doubt flooding his eyes, the fear that he wasn't yours at the forefront of his mind.

"Hi," you said, grabbing one of his hands before it could stray out of reach. The nervousness from before seemed offensive, suddenly, because you knew him. This was the man who lived and breathed and thought encouragement and honesty and laughter.

You said your name, and when you half-laughed, giddy with bravery, he couldn't help but relax. "You're my soulmate," you said, more certain than you had ever been.

His own doubts abandoned, a warm hand wrapped around your neck, tiliting your face closer to his.

It was perfect, how he was laughing now, too, just as earnest and brave as you always knew he would be.

"Nice to meet you."

<<

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk

#benny miller x reader #benny miller #triple frontier #soulmate requests #maybe i dont know people #elle only posts soulmate rqs at weird hours thats the rule

[worth-more-than-two-thousand]

Returning from the Dead is Easier Said than Done...

Request: Welcome, Shiny! May I request an x Reader (can be fem or gender neutral) where Echo (post-citadel) comes up to their s/o's doorstep to give them flowers and ask them on a date? A plus if the Bad Batch teases him for dressing up nicely and buying flowers. Thank you! (@handmaidenthesimp)

Author’s Note: Enjoy! If anybody wants me to repost with a gender-neutral reader, just let me know. 

Story Notes: Some swearing, not much else to warn you about. Take place in-between Season 7 of CW and The Bad Batch. No Omega this time, sorry! 

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Being declared dead was uncomplicated. Your Republic file was branded with a "KIA" stamp, everyone stoically mourned, and someone just a bit shinier would step in to fill your shoes. 

Being declared undead, however, was decidedly more complicated. Oh, Echo was reassigned to Clone Force 99 easily enough. But it was the little things that seemed to get mired in red tape. Getting his few personal effects back. Re-opening his modest credit account.

Approving a rental application.

Admittedly, it wasn't that Echo really needed his own place; clones were conditioned to be accustomed to share minimalist, often-cramped quarters. And they were always on the move, so it hardly made any financial or practical sense, in the long run. 

But right now, oh, did Echo dearly wish that he was dressing up in the privacy of his own space...and not the shared cabin area of the Havoc Marauder. 

He kept his face stoic, as though readying for battle, refusing to acknowledge his teammates goggling in the background. They had returned early from their supply run. Echo had meant to be out of here an hour ago, but (somehow) hadn’t counted on just how difficult it would be to get dressed into multiple clothing pieces with a scomp link for a hand. 

So that’s how his comrades found him: trying to wrangle a neck accessory into submission by sheer will. 

Oh, if Fives could see him now. 

“You look funny,” Wrecker had declared decisively after an unbearably long silence. “What’s that thing you’ve got on?” 

“It’s a suit,” he grumbled, refusing to look any of them in the eye. “I’m going to see Y/N.”

Wrecker gasped like a fishwife. He leaned forward, and pitched his voice low. As though the others couldn’t still hear him in the tinny space.  “Your girlfriend? You mean you’re going to see her for the first time....since…” Wrecker made a muted cartoonish sound with his mouth, clenching then expanding his fingers in a gesture for ‘explosion’.

Echo stared at him for a moment disbelievingly, before nodding slowly, forcing the sarcastic response he really wanted to say back down. He couldn’t fault Wrecker for being...well, Wrecker. He had all the tact of a rampaging bantha. 

“An’ what’s that? Around your neck?” 

Echo opened his mouth, but someone cut across his response. “A bowtie,” Crosshair drolled, though his eyes glittered with amusement. Echo tensed, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. 

“Fifty credits says he chokes, and he ends up strangling himself with it in shame." 

“No way!” Wrecker exclaimed, always the optimist. He clapped Echo on the back, who was unprepared so his knees buckled. He felt his metal joints strain. “Don’t worry, Echo,” his brother rasped in the loudest whisper known to man. “I bet she’s gonna love it!” 

“You know,” Tech piped up unhelpfully, “Your strategy may backfire. The current deviation from your usual appearance may be so jarring for your beloved that she refuses your offer out of simple self-preservation instincts.” 

Echo gritted his teeth. “Right. You have stats to back that up, I suppose?” 

Tech blinked at him owlishly. “Of course I don’t. This is an obvious possible outcome.”

“I’m trying to look nice,” he snapped, scowling. 

There was a loaded pause. “...’trying’ being the objective word here,” Crosshair smirked.  

Before Echo could wipe the look off his comrade’s face with a well-placed ARC trooper punch that would’ve made Hardcase proud, Hunter wedged his way in between them, hands up in a conciliatory gesture. 

“All right, laugh it up, fellas. Personally, I think you’re all jealous because you don’t have a girl waiting for you like Echo does.” Hunter turned to face their newest member, took the bowtie that was clenched in Echo’s fist, and smoothed it out before proceeding to tie it around his neck with surprisingly deft hands. 

Crosshair ‘hmphed’ while Wrecker verbally agreed, looking slightly put out by the undeniable truth. Tech simply nodded in neutral confirmation. The group lapsed into a somewhat awkward (but not unwelcome) silence as Hunter finished tugging at the folded ends of the bow, then double-checking to ensure it was straight. He stepped back to assess his work.

“You look good,” he said sincerely.

Echo thought he was in the clear. 

Hunter frowned. “But...it looks like you’re missing something.” 

Or not. 

“Like dignity?” Crosshair drawled from a dark corner of the ship that Echo frustratingly couldn’t glare at. 

“A sense of self-confidence,” Tech suggested. He wasn’t joking. 

“FLOWERS!” Wrecker boomed confidently. “All girls like flowers. You gotta get her some before you see her!”   

“I...fine.” Echo relented, anything to get his teammates to shut up. He shoved his way through them towards the bridge. “I’ll get her some flowers. You all stay here until I get back. I mean it, Fives!” he warned.

An uneasy silence followed him, which he didn’t register until he reached the landing ramp. 

He shot an exasperated look back at them. “What?’ 

“...Your former comrade is not here, Echo.” Tech finally spoke. His words were clinical, as always, but there was a touch of understanding underlying his tone. 

Echo froze, just for a moment, then shook off the shock of his faux pas as best as he could. 

It wasn’t the first time that had happened, after all. 

Echo descended the landing ramp, squared his shoulders, and marched into town. 

Y/N lived in a run-down but culturally distinct district of Coruscant, characterized by food stalls from species and ethnicities all over the galaxy. Children often ran through the streets, sellers in colorful robes and attire shouting their wares and art for all to peruse. It was one of the nicer markets, he thought, having come here once. He had been accompanying Y/N on her usual run for specialized ingredients that made the diner she worked at the talk of the galaxy. 

Echo elbowed his way through the crowded street, content to simply blend in with the crowd, to forget about being a soldier for a moment. 

He paused at a flower stand and was mindful not to draw too much attention to his scomp-link hand as he ordered a dozen sunflowers, which he remembered were Y/N’s favorite. When his credit chip was declined, however, he sighed and reached into his pocket to see what spare change he could muster up. Being that he was wearing a never-worn suit, however, meant that there was no change to be found, and the unimpressed florist snatched the bouquet away. 

That’s okay, Echo. Y/N doesn't need flowers. She just wants to see you.

At least, he hoped that was the case. He hadn’t exactly written to her yet, unsure that he could sufficiently explain his sudden non-death in typed words...

Surprise! I’m not dead! Hey, you know that explosion on the citadel? Well, I survived! And out of it, I got an all-expenses paid trip to  the Techno Union research facility! Why didn’t I write? Well, I was in stasis most of the time and that part’s a bit fuzzy. I also was responsible for killing my brothers by using their own battle plans against them. Oh, and you might notice that I’m missing most of my fleshy bits these days… 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, which were more rapid these days thanks to his enhancements. He was good at compartmentalizing, though. He had to be. He was still a soldier, through and through, and no one wanted a soldier who was about two seconds away from a mental breakdown.

Yeah, a letter to Y/N wouldn’t have cut it. But he still felt like maybe he could have sent ahead some sort of...heads up? A warning? A ‘Please don’t scream when you see me because I don’t think my heart could take it?’ 

His feet finally guided him to the front entrance of the building where he knew she lived on the 14th floor. Glancing around, he spotted some blue flowers sprouting in a planter near the entrance. He yanked a fairly healthy-looking handful from the soil, shaking the roots to get most of the dirt off. He tucked the strangled roots into his fist so that they would be less obvious. 

It was time. He nodded to himself, squared his shoulders, and entered the building. 

A short elevator ride later, Echo could feed the sweat beading at his forehead and neck. At least his fight or flight response seemed to be healthy and alive, and Echo tuned out everything but the door in front of him, adorned with a purple wreath of lavender flowers. 

He stood in front of the door, and raised his hand to knock. 

He stood…

In front of the door…

...and raised his hand…

...to knock, you coward. Just fucking knock. 

His raised knuckles, however, refused to move. Echo caught a glimpse of himself in the curtained window panes on the sides of the door, and at the sight of his bloodless face, suddenly felt a whole lot less sure of himself. 

He looked ridiculous. 

He and Y/N had barely gotten to know each other before his untimely death. 

What if she was with someone new? 

This was a terrible idea. Echo should leave now, before he caused himself any more embarrassment. Crosshair might get his fifty credits, after all. 

Echo had just convinced himself to turn around and admit defeat, when the door suddenly swung open. 

Two Y/C/E eyes met his. 

There were points during Echo’s battle career where time slowed to a crawl. When an explosive grenade was thrown just a bit too close, or the comrade you had just exchanged banter with received blaster fire to the face. 

Echo was experiencing the same sensation now, but he would voluntarily stay in this moment forever, if he could. He fervently hoped his nightmares would be replaced with the sight that was etched before him. 

She was wearing her yellow work uniform, white apron pressed crisply with starch...and was as beautiful as ever. Her hair was up in a messy ‘late-for-work’ up-do, a smudge of blushed color not quite within the lines of her lips smearing her cupids’ bow where she had applied it in a rush.

He couldn’t determine whether her reaction to his sudden appearance was positive or not, and so didn’t dare speak first, breathlessly afraid that if he did, the moment would shatter. 

He saw her swallow hard, glancing at him from head to toe, gaze landing on his right hand. 

He guarded his heart. 

“Ech? Echo, is that you?” she whispered. Her eyes tore away from the scomp link hand, and began searching his face as though just as afraid he would disappear. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The silence stretched out, and the fight or flight response was creeping back. 

“I know I look a bit different.” He tried for a light-hearted joke, but couldn’t quite get his tone to match. “Had some work done. What do you think?” He winced slightly.

She stepped forward and he froze as Y/N lifted her fingers, hesitating briefly before gently touching one of the metal bolts by his left temple. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“...do they hurt?” 

He gasped a little as he remembered to breathe again.

“No,” he reassured her, raising his undamaged hand to steady hers. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” 

“...good.” 

The wind was knocked out of him as Y/N flung her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, tardiness to her job completely forgotten. 

She began sobbing. It wasn’t neat little sobs, like in the scripted holovids, but heaving sobs that wracked her whole body, and he worried slightly that she was going to faint on him. He forgot about his scomp link for the first time as he rubbed it in circles against her back, murmuring nonsense words of comfort in her ear. 

After several minutes, she sniffled, stepping back. She rubbed her nose ungracefully where snot was leaking out, but Echo could have cared less about any of that. He only kept his arms out to steady her, in case she needed support again.

Y/N glanced down suddenly, and flushed.

“Oh. I’ve crushed them.”

Echo followed her gaze and saw that he was still holding the blue flowers from the planter in his good hand, the bouquet having been caught in between their bodies when she had thrown herself at him. They did look a little worse for wear. 

He shrugged unconcernedly. “They were free,” he said, not wanting her to feel guilty. 

She stared at him for a moment before a bubble of laughter burst from her lips. She still looked like she was about to sob at any moment, but she smiled tremulously at him through shining eyes. 

Desperate to make her feel better, he began rambling. 

“I can get you better ones! N-not right now, though,” he stuttered. “Actually, it turns out that I don’t have any credits on me at the moment. Everything’s still kind of backed up at the bank regarding my accounts. Also, this suit is new. Well. Not new. It used to belong to this woman’s father who we rescued during a mission on Bith. Long story.” His brain, which worked faster than usual these days anyways, still couldn’t seem to catch up to his mouth.

He forced himself to get back to the task at hand. “I was actually here to ask you for a date. I mean, assuming there’s no one else at the moment…oh, but you have your job to go do…bantha spit, I forgot about that...” He would have to ask Tech if it was possible for his brain to actually short-circuit.

Echo finally trailed off. Now he was the one blushing. 

The whole of Domino Squad was probably having a good laugh at his expense right about now, wherever they were. 

But Y/N was still smiling at him. And her chin had stopped wobbling. She gently took the flowers from Echo’s hand and placed them on one of the side tables in the hallway before intertwining her fingers with his and grasping his right hand without hesitation. 

“Forget about my job. Let’s go on that date. My treat. Though, if I know Dexter, he’ll give us a free meal, on the house. And the rest of the day off."

For the first time since he had joined Clone Force 99, since he had been rescued on Skako Minor, and even before the Citadel...Echo allowed a true grin of happiness to spread on his face. 

“A free meal,” he echoed. “Sounds like a plan.” 

#fic request #echo #arc trooper echo #tbb echo #the bad batch #star wars tbb #star wars the bad batch #tbb #echo x reader #echo x you #echo x fem reader #sw tbb #sw the bad batch

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter eleven - “there’s a reason behind everything”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n endure an event of stressful affliction, followed by something... entrancing.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

It had been a few days. There hadn't been any more headaches or vomiting. He was glad that Y/N faced no more impediments after that. However, he can't say the same for himself.

The thrashing was violent, his limbs wrenching, muscles tensing. The sheet beneath him was damp from cold sweat. He hadn't had a nightmare this bad in a while.

Ghastly memories assaulted him, ripping him from reality and forcing him back into agony, torture, and trauma. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, but he wasn't sure if that was in the nightmare or real life. The lines of reality and dreamscape faded. He couldn't tell if he was awake, and panic metastasized throughout his body.

His arms were strapped down - yes, two of them. He couldn't tell if the other was metal or not; the only thing he could register was that he had zero control. He was exposed and helpless and right back where he was before. He had never gotten out. Hydra still had their chains around his neck, choking the humanity out of him, and violating his autonomy to make a monster out of a man.

He felt like a caged animal. All there existed was terror; he needed to get out and he didn't care if he had to cut off a body part to do it. He jerked his body and pulled his arms as hard as he could. He thrashed and thrashed, desperately trying to somehow find a way out of this hell. He tried to scream but his lungs were frozen, cracked and collapsed from the ice that they defiled him with.

Every nerve in his body was ignited, screeching to try to escape. The only coherent thought in his head was "get out." Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get—

The top of his head suddenly burned, pain radiating out in beats, like a heart rate. It was then when he realized he was awake. It was then when he realized he had flung himself up, causing his head to collide with the wooden slats of the top bunk. It was also at this point when he heard her voice.

"Bucky!" her voice shook intensely, worry bubbling from the back of her throat. "Oh my god."

Faintly, the fear in her voice registered somewhere in the back of Bucky's brain, but this had no effect on his entirely overstimulated nervous system. His reaction was visceral; he flinched hard, jolting away from Y/N and falling off the side of the bed. The floor was cold; he could feel it in his hand and knees as he knelt on all fours (all threes?) trying to catch his breath.

Y/N hurried around the bed and immediately dropped to the floor in front of him. Her hands were quivering in front of her, completely unsure of how he would react to being touched.

His eyes were glued to the floor beneath him, but in his peripheral he could see Y/N's legs. Suddenly, she knelt on her hands, trying to be as non-threatening as she could.

"Buck," she whispered. "It was a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. You're here, and you're just fine."

"Fuck," he whispered. His body was on fire; he wished it'd just calm down.

"Your hand's on the floor. What does the floor feel like?" she asked, in an attempt to detour his attention.

"Cold," he strained.

"Cold, yeah," she said. "Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"It's because it's made of stone. Stone has a high thermal conductivity, which means it allows heat to flow through it quickly. The heat from your skin goes right into it and flows through really fast."

He pivoted his wrist slightly, smoothing the skin on his hand over the stone, feeling the cold, and thinking about what Y/N said.

She smiled slightly. "There's a reason behind everything, you know. An explanation."

"Even for this?" he asked, referencing the panic.

"Especially for this. What are you feeling right now?"

"Can't breathe."

"Yep. Okay, that's normal, too. That's your nervous system. It's really riled up right now because you're stressed. See, your body has a natural response to stress called the fight or flight response. It's supposed to be used in the wild to run from a predator or something, and you can imagine how engaging and intense that would be on your body," her voice was calm and steady. "The only thing is, your body is going through those same functions and feelings when you're not out running from a lion or something, trying to fight for your life. Instead, you're here. You're sitting on the floor and you're here with me. You're not in any immediate danger. We're fine."

He nodded, still looking down, still trying to compose himself. He couldn't look her in the eyes once he realized his face was wet from tears. He was acutely embarrassed. Be that as it may, she was helping. What she said made sense. It helped to understand just what his body was doing rather than simply trying to survive through it.

Suddenly, directly where his eyes were cast, a drop of crimson appeared on the floor; it dripped down from him. It was then when he registered the sharp ache in his nose and the warm, wet feeling around it. Blood.

"Bucky, there's- blood, are you okay?" The calm in her voice was muffled by worry.

"Y-Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. It's just my nose..."

"What can I do?"

"Can you just... keep talking?"

"Yes," she breathed, the calm returning with infinite softness. "So, there are a few divisions of the nervous system. First, you have the central nervous system and the peripheral nervous system. Then, from the peripheral, you have the somatic and autonomic systems. And then from autonomic, you have the sympathetic and parasympathetic systems. Those are what you're feelin' right now. Your sympathetic is what gets you ramped up - you know, increases in heart rate, breathing, sweating. And then your parasympathetic is what calms you down, so slowing your heart rate and breathing and so on. Your sympathetic activated the fight or flight response, and your parasympathetic is trying to rein you back in... I hope that makes sense."

"It does."

"You know the hormone that gets released during all this?"

"Adrenaline's the only one I can think of."

"There you go!" she smiled. "It comes from the adrenal glands."

"Can I get those removed, then?"

"Unfortunately not. Do you still have your tonsils?"

"Nah, got those taken out forever ago."

"Appendix?"

"I think I still have that one?"

She laughed. "Well that's good. The appendix is sorta kinda part of the lymphatic system."

"The what?"

"Er- immune system I mean."

"Never knew that," he commented.

"There's a reason behind everything, you know," she quoted herself endearingly.

"An explanation," he said, completing the sentiment and finally looking up.

Upon seeing his face, Y/N  tried to hide her shock and concern, but he noticed. The apprehension was clear. He didn't want to be pitied; he wished he would've just suffered through this alone in a hole or something.

"There you are," she whispered.

Her voice was so gentle that his chest almost cramped, and then his entire body softened. Never mind. He'd much rather stay.

"Here I am."

She reached forward, ever so delicately, and smoothed the pads of her thumbs along his cheeks, effectively wiping away the tears. Effectively removing the physical aftermath of his pain.

She gave a strained smile. Why did he feel bad?

"Stay here," she instructed before getting up.

He'd do nothing but comply.

She came back with a damp white cloth, returning to her kneeling position in front of him.

"Here," she breathed, putting the cloth up to his nose.

He reached up to grab it, but her hand pulled away.

"I got it," she reassured.

He wasn't about to allow her to clean up his mess. This was pathetic enough as it was; he was pathetic enough as he was. She didn't need to tend to him out of obligation.

He insisted. "No, it's okay. I can do it."

"Bucky, let me help. Please."

"You don't have to. Seriously, it's fine."

"I know I don't have to - I want to. I want to help. Please just let me help."

He found he wasn't very good at saying no to her. He nodded silently, closed his eyes, and leaned his head forward. She got to work, gently dabbing the cloth to his blood stained skin, blotting the red, erasing the damage.

"You know," she said, a slight inflection in her voice as a result of her concentration. "I think you accidentally hit yourself in your sleep. I think that's why you're bleeding. 'Cause your head hit the top bunk, not your face."

"I'm really that talented, huh?"

She snickered. "Very. I don't know if I could manage such a feat."

"No, if you had nightmares, you'd probably just know exactly what each one meant and adjust your subconscious so you weren't afraid anymore."

She leaned back, an amused but shocked expression on her face, eyebrows raised, head tilted. Then she laughed.

"Look at you. Came for my neck with that one."

"I was just joking-"

"I know," she chuckled, leaning back in to continue her diligent work, "don't worry. I thought it was funny... even though it was wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Bucky, I wish I had that much control. I know the brain, but I can't work with mine that well. I'm only good at working with other people's."

He smirked. "Nah, I still think you could."

"Well, you have too much faith in me."

He couldn't think of a response to that. He had become decently distracted by the warmth radiating from her. She was so close. He thought back to what she said about heat conductivity, and briefly wondered how fast her warmth might transfer to him. What would happen if he just... opened his eyes-

Big mistake. He nearly drowned in the color, the depth all consuming. He hadn't noticed her movements stopped. She held the cloth at her chest, waiting. There were mere inches between them.

"Hi," she whispered, the ends of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.

He didn't think his body had ever been so still. He returned the smile all the same.

"Hi."

"What are you thinkin'?"

He could see every detail on her face. It made him equal amounts nervous and giddy. He never really thought about the number of eyelashes an average person had, but he became suddenly interested in counting each one of hers.

"I don't... I don't know..."

"You don't know? Well, it looks like there's at least a couple of hefty thoughts swirlin' around in there."

He did have a thought. Well, more of a question. What would happen if he glanced at her lips? What would happen if he just leaned in?

"Yeah... yeah, there may be a few."

When she didn't respond, her eyes bore into him, and dear lord, he felt bare. Eye contact is a dangerous, dangerous thing. But lovely. Oh, so lovely. And then that thing started to happen again: when time got lazy and the world felt slow. The room was without a sound. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and maybe some of hers, too. It's as if they were in a trance.

Then, that thought returned. What would happen if he just leaned in?  Rationally, he knew he shouldn't try to find the answer to that question. Nonetheless, curiosity beckoned him. Had the space between them become smaller? He couldn't tell. Not even an inch of their skin was touching the other, but every sensation and perception was so overwhelming, he thought his brain might fizzle out.

She was just so, so close. He was frozen, and never wanted to move again. She was so close, until suddenly she wasn't. Until suddenly, the trance stopped, time caught up, and the world began to move once more. Until suddenly, Y/N's serene smile disappeared, and she leaned back, awkwardly clearing her throat.

"Does your nose hurt? I can see if I can come up with a makeshift icepack or something."

"Uh, no. No, it's fine. I don't even feel it..."

He wondered which feeling he was denying.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky headcanon #marvel #steve rogers #bucky reader insert #bucky blurb #bucky drabble #bucky fic #marvel fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes delicate #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #winter solider edit #astro-rain

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 5.3

"Oh? I didn't realize I would have visitors today," a mysterious blonde entered the cave, and you tensed despite the pain shooting through your shoulder.

"Oh, hey Albedo!" Paimon greeted in a cheerful voice.

"Aether, may I inquire to the reasons you've stopped by?  I don't recall sending for you recently."  Albedo set his bag on the table and unloaded it's contents haphazardly. He handled his drawings with care, unlike the rest of the vials and glasses of unknown substances.

"We were running from the Fatui," he scratched his head and avoided the alchemist's knowing smirk.

"I'm not even surprised at this point.  Why, you seem to have a honing instinct when it comes to--" His eyes landed on your bloody shoulder.  "--them.  Are you alright, Miss?"

"Me?"  It was a stupid response considering you were the only girl in the room, but his sudden shift in attention threw you off.  "U-uh, yeah.  Bennett patched me up."

"Hi, Albedo!"  Bennett waved excitedly at the familiar Mondstatian.

Albedo returned with a nod, and walked towards you.  "If you don't mind, I would like to take a look at your injury."

"Oka--Ow!"  You bit your tongue when he quickly placed a hand against your injured arm without exercising much caution.  Xiao took a step toward him in response.  

"Apologies." Albedo removed his hand and caught the sudden amber glow that enveloped your eyes, and leaned forward to inspect them.  His supposed guilt for agitating your wound was instantly transformed into curiosity.

H-he's really close, you found yourself leaning backwards to ensure a safe distance from his face.

"That's peculiar," he commented, seemingly more interested in your glowing eyes than your injury now.  "I haven't seen anything like this before.  May I run some tests?"

"What kind of tests?"  Xiao's protectiveness took over and he hid you behind him.  First the Fatui, and now this stranger?  Just how many people were after the two of you?

"Don't worry, he's safe," Paimon teased the concerned yaksha and immediately earned a glare from him.

"For the most part," Bennett and Aether finished under their breaths and made nervous eye contact.

"A simple experiment for the sake of science," Albedo stood and gathered a few cotton swabs from one of the cabinets, then a small needle.  He carefully sanitized it before returning to you.  "Are you also like Aether?"  He only referred to the otherworldliness of the traveler.

"No, I'm from Teyvat."  You watched him as he placed swiped a cotton swab against the drying blood on your shoulder.  He in turn watched for a reaction in your eyes, but found nothing.  He repeated the same procedure, this time closer to your pulsating stitches.  Your muscles tensed at the faint dull pain.  A faint glow emanated in your irises and even though it was barely noticeable he still managed to catch it.

"I see," he nodded to your answer and placed the swabs in separate vials.  Then, while you were still focused on his face, grabbed the small needle.  He turned to face you again.  "How long have your eyes been doing that?"

"Not that long," you caught Xiao's silent warning of 'do not speak of this' out of the corner of your eye.  "Er, I don't know."

Albedo also glanced in the direction of the man that was so obviously overprotective of you and realized the two of you had the exact same eye color.  He didn't say anything about that, though.  "I see."  He quickly pricked your shoulder with the needle when you had your guard down, and you almost backhanded him out of pure instinct.

"Ow!"  You glared at him, and annoyance bubbled inside you when he smiled back in both satisfaction and awe.  

"Experiment one is complete."  He stood and made his way to the table with the three vials of cotton swabs.  Then he proceeded to pour separate liquids into each, shake them gently, and place them back down on the table.  He watched the mixtures settle.

"What do you mean, 'complete?'" You growled and dabbed the miniscule blood off of your skin.

"Your eyes glow in response to pain," he stated simply as he eyed the vials.  "A strange reaction that is tied to a human's fight-or-flight response.  I wonder what else they react to."  Once the mixtures settled, he inspected them with the utmost attention.  He wrote his notes down on a sheet of paper.

"Well?"  Aether joined him at the table.

"May I take a sample from you as well?"  Albedo immediately turned to Xiao, who stood to your left.

"No."  I don't like this at all.  His eyes downcast to you, conflicted.

"Alright, then.  Do your eyes also glow?"

"No."

Albedo looked to you for confirmation, and you shook your head.  Hm, perhaps it is just a coincidence that they have the same eyes, then.  He returned his gaze to the samples.  "What strange results," he murmured to himself.  "You say you are human, yet your blood..."  It isn't like mine or Aether's DNA, either.  What biological component resides within you, I wonder?  "I cannot say for certain what is within you without conducting more experiments, but seeing as though you are running from Fatui, I suppose I'll have to wait for a more opportune time.  Please, return while you have a spare moment."

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

"Your cover was blown?"  Signora raised a brow at her fellow harbinger.  "How did you manage that, Childe?"

"The target managed to convince the others that I'm being dishonest with my intentions.  I can't continue with them further," he lied through his teeth.  While it didn't play out as he had intended, it most definitely resulted in the rest of the adventure team's knowledge of the Fatui's plans if they hadn't known already.

"The Tsaritsa approved my plans," the woman peered down over the balcony.  "Your failure to keep our operation a secret will not impact them, but be aware they'll come back to bite you later."

"There's one other thing.  She received a vision."

"A vision?"  This brought her gaze back to Childe.  "From who?"

"The Tsaritsa.  Was that part of the plan?"

"Not at all," her eyes narrowed in the direction of Snezhnaya.  "What was she--No, no matter.  The plan shall proceed.  A little birdie told me the target and her little posse will be staying here for the time being.  We'll strike tonight," Signora surveyed the City of Mondstat beneath her.

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

The adventure team entered Angel's share as the sun set behind the hills.  Bennett had gone to check on all his dads at the adventure guild.  The tavern was teeming with the chatter of loud drunkards, melodies of a lone bard near the entrance, and the clinking of glasses.  Oh, and the hiccups of an incredibly drunk young boy that sat at the bar.

"Ah, the delicious--hic-- wine of Mondstat never ceases to amaze me!"  The boy raised his glass in the air, nearly spilling it over the rim.  His red cheeks provided a striking contrast to his green clothing choice.

Diluc stood on the other end of the barrier with an unamused yet slightly impressed expression.  He noticed your team's entering, and let out an exasperated sigh.  "This is glass fifty-two.  It's been less than half an hour since he started."

"H-How is that possible?!"  You stammered in concern.  "And why is he allowed to drink? He's practically Bennett's age!"

"U-Uh, well you see,"  Paimon fidgeted.  "He has a very high alcohol tolerance!"

Noticing your still-confused expression, Aether leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I'll explain later."  The noise that floated around the room concealed his words from Venti.

"Need anything to drink? Non-alcoholic of course," Diluc's eyes scanned the group until they landed on Xiao.

"I don't drink."  The yaksha left the group to sit at a table in a secluded corner.

"Not very sociable today," Paimon mused.  

"You received a vision," Diluc caught the glint of the pendant hanging from your belt loop.  "Congratulations."

"Thank you!"  You watched as he excused himself to pour a customer another drink.

"Ah, Trav--hic--eler!  It's so good to see you again!"  The boy noticed Aether's presence and waved you all over.  

"Hey Venti," Aether greeted with a slightly nervous grin.  "Long time no see."

"Yes!  Are you old enough to try the--hic-- wine yet? Oh?" His eyes looked to you.  "Hello! Are you a friend of Aether's?  Why don't we all share a drink together?"

"Oh, I'm not twenty-one just yet," you declined, eyes flitting to Xiao.  "Excuse me."

You sat across from Xiao and struggled to come up with small talk. He had been quieter than usual ever since you showed your vision to the group.  "What's on your mind?"

It took several minutes of prodding for him to finally respond to you.  "What were you doing in the moments that led to you receiving the vision?"

"What was I doing?" You were taken aback, but not surprised that he was still cynical of the circumstances.  "Well..." I was trying to protect you.  You wanted to convey those words but were still embarrassed of your actions.  Maybe you didn't deserve a god's recognition for barging into danger like it was normal.  A glum expression took over your face as you slumped in your seat.  You glanced up at him, only to find his cheeks slightly tinged red and that he was avoiding your eyes.  "What?"

"You really are one of the incompetent ones," he grumbled loud enough for you to hear.  

That's when you remembered he could hear every single prayer and wish about him.  It was your turn to blush now.  "U-Uh...um.  I didn't mean any of that!"  

Xiao's eyes flicked to yours, completely unconvinced of your lie.  "Of course."  You hung your head in embarrassment.

"I--Uh," you stood from your seat.  "I'm going to get some air!"  You climbed the stairs to the balcony on the second floor and shut the door behind you.

The cool air of the early night seemed to wipe away the stench of alcohol that had already begun to cling to your clothes.  It was a peaceful evening, what with the bright stars that shone in the sky and the occasional drunk laughter that leaked from the balcony door into the open air.  You admired the constellations for awhile until you felt the air get colder and heard the creaking of a floorboard to your right.  

"Sh--You scared me!"  You let out a nervous laughter when you saw the woman rise from her balcony seat.  "Sorry, I thought I was the only one up here."

"It's easy to be caught off-guard when you're distracted," the woman's lips curled upward slightly.  She made her way toward you, and you could finally make out the details of her figure.

She's dressed a little too formal for a tavern, you noted, yet you still admired how pretty she was.  White hair tied into an updo, a flowing gown that showed off her bust, she was downright gorgeous.  Still, you couldn't help but shiver.  Why was the air so chilly all of a sudden?

"You're not from around here," the woman observed.  "What brings you to Mondstat?"

"I," you started feeling uncomfortable in this dark setting, but didn't want to be rude. "I'm just passing through.  And you?  You don't look like you're from Mondstat."  You crossed your arms to trap the remaining warmth from the tavern around your body.  This woman showed more skin than you, but she didn't appear bothered in the slightest.

"An excellent observation on your part."  She stopped once she was maybe two feet from you.  "We were also passing through.  Isn't that right, Childe?"

Your blood ran cold in an instant, and Signora watched your face pale with satisfaction.

"I think I like it better in Liyue if I'm being honest," the voice you didn't want to hear greeted from behind your ear.  When did he get so close?  "Ambition over freedom.  But nothing compares to the beauty of our homeland."

You spun on your heel and simultaneously began to manifest a polearm in your nondominant hand.  You weren't quick enough, and Childe caught your arm.  Your heartbeat rushed in your ears as time appeared to slow down.

"You're still injured," Childe flashed a proud smile at the sight of the wound he had given you.  "You can't fight."

"Xia--!"  You opened your mouth to scream, but a feminine hand covered your mouth and restrained you.  It all happened too quick for your mind to comprehend, and the next thing you knew, she opened a portal in midair and was dragging you towards it.  Xiao!  Help!

"Prepare yourself, Childe," Signora warned.

"It'd be my pleasure," he conjured his blades and faced the door right as it was kicked down with a powerful force.  Xiao and Aether burst through.

"Let her go!"  Aether charged at Childe, giving Xiao the chance to aim for Signora's head.

"Xiao!" You managed to pull Signora's hand off your mouth and stretched your arm out to him.

He pushed off the balcony towards you, and was instead greeted by the hollow night air.  He crashed into the ground and sprung to his feet again.  The portal had closed.  Childe was gone.

You were gone.

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

Up Next:  Darkness, a meeting with an archon, and a quartet of harbingers.

#genshin impact #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #genshin one shots #genshin fanfiction #xiao #xiao fanfiction

[rogue-durin-16]

FIREWORKS AND STREAMERS

Request: I have been insecure about my curly hair lately and was wondering if you can you write something with one of the weasley twins where the reader is insecure about her curly hair and one of the twins makes her feel better.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Hufflepuff!Reader

Genre: fluff

Tags:

Requested by: @wildcat1434

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: none

A/N: So like, incoming fluff bc this idea was cute and sometimes I do be needing fluff, that's about it, enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The relationship between me and my hair had always been... Bumpy, you could say.

There were periods in which I would find it quite lovely; during those times I would let my curls free, showing them off with a proud demeanor, knowing my hair was unique. Those times began to turn less and less usual since the middle of third year, though they were still there.

However, after the summer prior to my sixth year, those moments had banished; I only wished to hide my hair, and my friends ended up noticing. They told me surely there would be a spell or potion able to change my hair.

As if they had summoned it, the next day in Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall introduced us to what seemed like my salvation; Crinus Muto, an advanced spell that modified the caster's hair with no restrictions.

My best friend advised me against using it, claiming it wouldn't help my insecurity— if only, it would worsen it.

I really wanted to do as she had told me and completely dismiss the spell's existence, but two nights after I had a big mental breakdown about it, caused by the most stupid thing ever.

"Is Weasley staring at you or am I blind?" One of my friends whispered, her eyes trained on the Gryffindor table.

I didn't even bother to look up, not wanting to know whether it was true or not, before responding with a quiet "You're blind."

"I mean, it's hard to tell with two rows of students between us but," She nudged me, urging me to avert my gaze from my dinner and redirect it to Fred. "it kinda looks like he's... staring."

Curiosity killed the cat, I guess. My eyes finally left my plate and were, in fact, met with Fred's brown ones. As soon as they met, though, he looked away, pretending to be focused on his food, just like I had been doing seconds ago.

"Of course he's staring." Hannah Abbot, who sat right in front of my friend, commented with her mouth full. "Have you seen your hair?" She swallowed her food, looking me up and down before adding, "No offense, but it's an absolute mess." My eyes opened widely in shock at her bluntness. "You should take care of it, really."

"Has someone ever told you you're an ill-mannered bitch, Hannah?" I heard my friend talking back at the younger girl while I got up and started to make my way out of the Great Hall.

Of course, I didn't see Fred shooting up and attempting to go after me; ultimately he decided to stay in his place, since he saw my friend walking out too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was very aware of all the pair of eyes that had been laid on me the very moment I entered the greenhouse where we would be doing the Herbology tasks.

When I had met my friends at the Hufflepuff common room that morning, I had received divided opinions about my straight hair. At first I had been very convinced that it looked way better than my curly hair, but seeing my friends' reaction, I wasn't that confident about it anymore.

I didn't have time to undo the spell before class, so I decided to go along with it and see how the day unfolded.

I took a deep breath, my eyes trained on the ground as I made my way to an empty seat; maybe there weren't that many people staring, maybe it was just my anxiety.

I finally gathered the courage and looked up, nervously scanning the glasshouse so I could shake off my fears.

There was only a couple of my peers staring, which would have put me at ease, if one of them wasn't Fred Weasley.

On top of it, of course, he wasn't even trying to be subtle, it was almost as if he wanted me to notice his judging eyes; I could feel his gaze on me for the entire class.

The instant Professor Sprout dismissed us, I shoved everything in my bag and left the greenhouse, thanking a couple of Gryffindors who complimented my hair on my way out.

Again, I didn't notice Fred leaving the class as soon as he could to run after me.

I threw my bag against a tree near the lake shore and, as I fell against it, I heard someone jogging in my direction.

"In a hurry to sit by the lake, Y/l/n?" I followed the tall ginger with my eyes while he circled me and sat down by me. "You alright?"

"I just needed a break from... People." I vaguely explained, focusing on the water instead of on the boy besides me.

"Understandable." He hesitated for a second before adding, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, it's fine." I surprised myself at how calmed and collected I sounded, as if I wasn't chatting with my crush.

"What happened to your hair?" His genuinely curious inquiry took me aback, and I struggled to find something to answer.

"Why?" My heartbeat picked up, anxiety inundating me once more. "You don't like it?"

"It looks weird." Fred looked at me up and down with a grimace. "You don't... Look like yourself." I was about to enter fight or flight mode, but he seemed to notice, and panic made its way to his face. "But it doesn't matter what I think," he was quick to add, his eyes wide open as if he knew he had said something he should have not. "I mean— I think it shouldn't matter, if you like it, that's great— I mean, you don't need my opinion about that either!"

"Calm down, I understand." I tried to reassure him, before his rambling drove the both of us crazy. "Can I tell you a secret?" He nodded with pursed lips, surely afraid he would fuck up if he spoke again. "I've been very insecure about my hair lately— like, very." I sighed. "My best friend told me not to straighten it, but last night I got a not so nice comment and—"

"So that's why you left?" I nodded, tugging my sleeves. Fred went silent for a moment, and then cleared his throat and scooted closer to me. "I know this won't do much, but I really love your hair. Kinda reminds me of fireworks and streamers." He gestured around his own head, mimicking the fireworks' movement. "Dunno I think is fun and pretty awesome." I raised my brows at him in surprise. "Like you."

"Aw, that's very sweet." He offered me a sheepish smile as I felt my cheeks blushing. "It does a lot, actually." I confessed, fidgeting with my rings. "I guess I kinda needed to hear something positive about my hair."

"Well, whenever you need to hear something positive about your hair," he pointed at himself. "I'm your man." He winked at me and I let out a chuckle. "I can also tell you positive things about you in general, but that has a price."

"And what is it?"

"You'll have to let me buy you a drink at The Three Broomsticks this Saturday." I tried not to let panic slip through my recently eased demeanor; was he asking me on a date? "And give me a kiss after." He wiggled his brows at me and my face turned red. "the kiss is negotiable."

I casted my gaze down, fixing it on my shoes, not sure of what I was supposed to say at that. His foot tapping mine snapped me out of my thoughts.

"So?" My eyes traveled to him once more, only to find his studying me already. "What do you say, Y/l/n?"

"Well," I shrugged, trying in vain to play nonchalant. "Seems like an affordable price, so it's fine by me."

"I'll pick you up after lunch, yeah?" Before I could agree, he gasped, his eyes going wide. "I'm a genius."

"Come again?" I frowned, confused as his sudden frantic behavior.

"Don't mind me, love." He jumped up and jogged towards the castle, leaving me puzzled in there. I was about to grab a book from my bag when Fred rushed back, crouched down and pecked my cheek. "Your hair's amazing." He assured me. "See you!" My fingertips graced my now flushed cheek as he headed off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was finishing my lunch when two towering redheads entered the Hall running; while George, slowed down, Fred made a beeline to the Hufflepuff table, his casual clothes already on.

"Ready?" He asked breathless.

"Yeah— you didn't have lunch, did you?" I pointed out, getting up to stand in front of him.

"No, but I'll eat something later—" his eyes roamed over my carefully picked outfit before stating, "You look... very pretty."

"Why, thank you." I offered him a smile and looked over my shoulder at the Gryffindor table, where his friends were very attentive to all we did. "You sure you don't wanna eat something?"

"Hundred percent." He tilted his head towards the gates. "shall we?" He prompted to walk before him, and it was then that I realized he had his hands behind his back. Once we were out in the yard, he tugged my hand and made me turn to him. "I made something for you."

"You didn't have to." Was the first thing that came to my mind when I heard his words. Then the wording dawned on me; he didn't get me something, he made me something. "What is it?"

"So, you know that I told you your hair reminded me of fireworks and streamers?" I nodded, not quite knowing where he was going with that. "Well—" he then showed me what his back was hiding; a delicate, tiny firecracker with my name written on the side. "George helped me so I could finish it on time."

"I'm—" at my loss of words, I could only let out a happy laugh. "This is so cute— am I supposed to ignite it?"

"Duh!" I gently pushed his shoulder in response to his teasing. "Do you know how to do it?"

"I've seen you do it plenty of times." I admitted, grabbing the firecracker with one hand and my wand with the other; it looked so pretty, it was a pity I'd have to ruin it.

With a brief firemaking spell, the firecracker set off. Fred pulled me back slightly before it happened, though.

I was in awe at the beautiful fireworks before us, which looked like a color-changing, expanding version of my hair.

When the colors died out, I turned to Fred, whose attention was already on me, awaiting for a reaction. Surely, he was not expecting the kiss he got, but he didn't complain either; while my hands rested on his chest, his traveled to cup my cheeks before I could pull away.

"So you liked it?" He questioned quietly against my lips.

"I loved it." I whispered back with a wide smile. "You're a sweetheart." I pecked his lips before retreating. Holding his hand in mines, I made my way back into the castle. "We're not leaving until you have lunch."

"You are a sweetheart." He responded, following my lead without offering resistance. "By the way, your hair looks gorgeous." The corners of my lips twisted into a bigger smile at the sweet words he spoke only for me to hear as we went back into the Great Hall.

Maybe my hair wasn't that bad after all.

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley #fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x gender neutral reader #fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfiction #fred lives au #fred x y/n #fred x you #fred x reader #fred x hufflepuff reader #gryffindor x hufflepuff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #fred weasley masterlist #fred weasley aesthetic

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Dusk Till Dawn

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield,

Brother!Parker Holland x Sister!Rosie Holland

-Warnings: Blood, language, angst, fluff, sadness, possible death

-Words: 2.5K

A/n: I’m sorry its short but, I ended it where I feel like I needed to end it to make people wait.

Chapter 10: Dusk Till Dawn

Words: 2.5K

All that could be felt was immense pain. A feeling of death. Tom’s head was throbbing as warm thick liquid streaked across his forehead. His head collided with the door as the copter tossed and turned.

He awoke to the thick, pungent smell of gasoline and to you, paralyzed next to him. It took a minute for him to gather his bearings. The pilot was missing, either he flew out when you crashed or went for help, who knows. Everything started to come back to him, the moments before you both crashed replaying in his head.

The pilot shouting, “MAYDAY! MAYDAY! DOES ANYONE COPY! This is flight number 514 and we are going down.”

“Tom!” “Y/N!”

And you screaming “TOM? WHAT'S HAPPENING?” “I don’t know.” He said pulling you into his arms.

It all happened so fast. First, alarms started going off within the cabin. Then, the pilot started to loose control. Twisting and turning the wheel. The helicopter did somersaults through the air. Tom could see the look on your face, a look of pure terror as the engine started to give out. You all quickly lost altitude and braced for the impact.

You and Tom’s last words were exchange of “I love you”s.

There was no soul in sight for miles, except you. Only the bright blue sky and the mountains of Montserrat. Tom didn’t know why the copter’s engine gave out 17,000 feet in the air. All he knows as you were stranded, with no sense of getting home.

The windows to helicopter were smashed, glass shards littered the floor of the cabin and the blades were deep into the ground. He was lucky the pilot didn’t fly straight into a mountain. There was no sign of the pilot, maybe he parachuted before you crash landed leaving you and Tom to your deaths. Tom didn’t know what to think. His only focus was making sure you were okay.

If it weren’t for the current predicament and the blood dripping down your face, he would have thought you were only sleeping, you looked so peaceful.

He tried to pry himself out of his seatbelt, eventually ripping it so he could get to you. Urgently checking for your pulse. Pressing two fingers below your jaw and against your neck. He was able to breathe again, once he found the faint beat of your heart.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Wake up, darling.” Tom yelled, shaking you violently.

“Tom? What happened?” Your eyes opened abruptly, confused by your surroundings. “Our helicopter crashed—.”

“Tom, you’re bleeding.” “Not as bad as you. We have to get you out of here. Here, I’ll carry you.” You only nodded in response as Tom tucked his arms under your knees and pulled you close to his chest.

Laying you down near some rocks as far away from the ticking time bomb, the helicopter. It could blow any second, but it never did. The smoke would create the perfect signal but to no avail.

“Tom, your leg!”

“Like I said, it’s not that bad. Oh my god… your stomach” “My what… oh.” You said as you stared at the gapping puncture wound in your right side.

“Is there a first aid kit?” Tom asked. “I think it probably got lost while we were flying.”

“What happened to the pilot?” You questioned. “I don’t know. I can’t find him.” Just nodding in response. Trying not to cry at the situation. You were stranded with no sign of help any time soon.

“Y/N, I need to stop your bleeding… I have an idea. Where is your carry on bag?”

“I put it under my seat” you called out, as Tom searched for it. Opening its contents in search of fairly useful items.

Tom found a hoodie, make up remover that was 70% alcohol, antibacterial wipes, a handheld mirror, and a bunch of makeshift medical items. Your phones had been thrashed, barely working even though there was no signal. He tore the hoodie up and wrapped the pieces around your torso, almost like a tourniquet and bandage to keep pressure and stop the bleeding.

“Ahh,” you screamed, the pain unbearable as he tied the cloth tightly. “I’m sorry,” Tom apologized profusely.

“It’s okay, I’m okay.”

“Now, I have to take care of you,” you said, wiping the blood off of Tom’s.

“No, you need to rest. The kids need you alive more than they need me.” “Don’t say that. They love you and they need both of us alive and well, so let me take care of your leg.”

“Alright, even after a helicopter crash you are still bossy” Tom said chucking.

“Not trying to pick a fight here… I’m sorry but this is gonna sting,” You explained, about to clean his gash.

“It’s ok… aahhh” Tom hissed at the stinging sensation from during makeup remover on the cut on his leg.

“Bet you loved that. A way to get back at me for whatever I did that made you so mad at me,” Tom jabbed.

“You know what you did.” “Y/N this is not the time or the place for this discussion and no I don’t.”

“Let’s just get home alive and then we can resume our fight.”

“You said I love you,” Tom mumbled.

“What?”

“When we were going down… you said I love you. Did you mean it?” “Of course I meant it, Tom. We’ve been together for almost 17 years. How could I not love you?” You cried as Tom pulled you into his warm embrace. Even with the harsh breeze he was still warm to the touch.

“I love you too, darling. We will get out of this, I promise.” Tom asserted and you nodded, trying not let the tears fall.

What killed Tom was the uncertainty of it all. He had to have hope, something you were lacking. He had to have faith that you both would be rescued. That you would get to hold Parker and Rosie in your arms again.

Tom knew you would be okay and rise out of this like a Phoenix from the ashes. Overtime, Tom grew to believe you were indestructible. Everything that you had survived was a marvel. Surviving being tortured by a rival mob, almost dying in childbirth, and now a helicopter crash. There was no, if. You had to survive this. It was hard to have hope when he saw how fast you were deteriorating.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tom asked. Concerned as he noticed your breaths becoming more and more labored.

“I think so, my chest hurts though. It’s getting harder to breathe.” You said, before breaking into a fit of coughs, coughing into your hand. Panic started to arise as small increments of bloods stained your hand.

“Baby, you have to stay with me. Think about Parker and Rosie,” Tom whispered.

“Y/N, we both need to stay awake,” Tom pleaded. “I know, it’s just getting harder to,” you said, your eyes begging to close.

“I know baby. But, Parker and Rosie are waiting for us to come home. They need you Y/N, just like do,” Tom said, cupping you cheek and moving towards you, so you were side by side. Allowing you to rest you head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. For the past weeks, I’ve been so lonely in our bed without you. I’m so sorry that I accused you of cheating.”

“I am too, love. Never in a million years would I cheat on you. You have to know that. I’m so lucky to have you. I never slept with or even kissed Jazz, there’s been someone killing my men at the mob —.” He said, kissing your temple. This kiss was one of longing, he just wanted you to be his again.

“Shh, it’s ok. I don’t want the last words I ever hear to be an explanation of your supposed infidelity.” You said, using the last of energy to let out a strained laugh.

“Y/N, baby you’re not dying ok? You can’t die. Just promise me, you’ll stay awake until help comes,” Tom begged. He couldn’t lose you, not after everything that has happened. He needed you and he always will. “You know I don’t like making promises I can’t keep” you whispered, trying like hell to stay awake as a few tears fell.

It felt like hours, the waiting. The sun had set. Tom had a plan to get you both rescued, when a plane or helicopter flew overhead he would use your compact mirror to reflect the sun. Granted it was a brilliant idea when the sun was still out. If you wouldn’t succumb to your wounds by morning the temperature would certainly kill you both. You had lost all color in your face, looking like a ghost.

You weren’t unconscious but you weren’t very talkative either, which scared the life out of Tom.

Each hour Tom’s hope would fade. He never wanted it to end like this. He demanded he be the one who went first. Tom couldn’t imagine what a world without you would look like.

If it had to be this way, killed, both your prime at least he was holding you in his arms. He was close enough to the point where, if it happened, he could hear your breathing stop along with the beating of your heart. Feeling you tiny labored breaths against his neck.

5 hours, Tom had been holding you, praying you survive, praying he survives along with you.

5 hours and he was ready to give up as he saw you drift off slowly towards a deep sleep. “I’ll see you on the other side, darling” he whispered before letting his eyes flutter to a close.

Back home, everyone was secretly panicking inside. Nikki couldn’t imagine losing her eldest son, neither could Harry and Sam losing their brother. Harry had left to be a part of the search and rescue team. As soon as Paddy got word, he was on the first flight out of Monte Carlo. Dom and all the boys were really trying to keep it together for Rosie and Parker’s sake.

They all had left the news on, praying that it would be announced that you and Tom were found, alive and well. Most of the news updates were irrelevant to the Hollands. They had already known, there was a pilot, even though Tom had been taking flying lessons for years and was skillful at it. They also already knew you were on a business trip. Nothing was really news to them anymore.

“I’m going to make some tea. Anybody want a cup?” Nikki asked, needing a distraction from the chaos. “Yes,” replied Rosie. “Please,” responded Parker. “That’d be wonderful darling,” said Dom. “Just what the doctor ordered. Let me help you with that,” said Sam. They were all big fans of a cup of tea. What couldn’t tea fix?

DING DONG

Rang the door bell. Nobody was really up for visitors but, I would be rude to not answer. Hoping it not some nosy reporters trying to get a story from broken family members of you and Tom.

“Rosie could get that, please?” Nikki called from the kitchen.

“Sure Grandma,” Rosie replied somberly. Opening the door to the last person she expected to see but the first person she wanted to see. After her parents, of course.

“I just came to see if you were okay. My dad is doing everything he can through the business side… I know you need your space. This was a mistake, I’ll go.” Henry said, staring at the ground. “Please, stay,” Rosie muttered, teary-eyed from all the crying.

“You mean it?”

“I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Hey, come here. They’ll be okay.” Henry said, wrapping his arms around her. Oh god, how missed comforting her.

“Henry, I’m so scared. What if we can’t find them?”

“Roo, we will find them. You have to have hope.” “I keep thinking we find them, but they’re dead.” “You can’t think like that,” he said, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“I missed you. Thanks for being here, you’re a nice distraction” “I’ll always be here,” he whispered, cut off by Rosie’s lips against his. It didn’t take long for him to kiss back. This was his second chance and he wasn’t going to miss it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Rosie said, pulling away.

“No, I’m sorry. I really screwed up. I never should’ve broken up with you. I love you too much, Rosie Louise Holland. Take me back?”

“I’ve always loved you, Henry Maxwell Osterfield. Of course,” reassured Rosie. Capturing his lips once more in a more passionate yet gentle kiss. “Wait, I have something for you,” Henry stopped, pulling out something from his back pocket.

“That is, if you still want it,” he explained, holding you the silver charm necklace adorned with a H and a R. “Duh, div. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rosie quipped as he clasped the necklace together. “There. Now it’s back in its rightful place,” she said, the biggest smile adorning her face. “Rosie, get in here! There’s an update,” called Parker from the living room.

Rosie pulled Henry through foyer and to the family room for the news. She tensed at the thought of the words “2 DEAD” displaying across the silver screen.

“We’ve just got word that both Tom and Y/N have been found. We are unaware of their condition. They are being airlifted to a hospital in Barcelona. Hopefully we can update you on that once families members have been informed. The pilot is still missing. Please stay with us as we continue to update you on this story,” announced the newscaster. Everyone rejoiced, there were no longer sad tears only happy ones. They were all on the first flight out including Harrison and Henry.

It was miracle, they found you when they did. Harry was part of team in rescuing you and Tom. He refused to sleep until he brought you both back home.

“We found them!” A loud speaker sounded from the chopper flying above. The rescue was eminent, you and Tom were found.

“Get two stretchers over here,” called one of the rescuers.

“Tom? Can you hear me? It’s Harry,” Harry said, trying to wake Tom.

“Harry?” Tom whispered, slightly stirring awake.

“Yes, you’re saved. We got you and we are on our way to the hospital.”

“What about Y/N? She’s lost a lot of blood. Please tell me she’s ok,” Tom pleaded, eyes barely even open.

“They got her in the other chopper. She’s gonna be ok, I promise,” Harry stammered.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Tom whispered before being consumed by darkness.

A/n: I just want to apologize here, I'm sorry. I'm so in love with this chapter and couldn't wait to share it with all of you.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist:@thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom #mob!tom #mob tom #mob!tom x reader #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland x reader #mob!tom x mob!reader

[obae-me]

Comforting Nights

Oneshot Fic

Words: 2034

Description: The demon of pride finds you in quite an unprideful state after you’ve had a nightmare.

Author’s Note: I’ve had a rough few days, so for me and anyone else who’s going through a tough time, here’s some unapologetic fluff.

You were unaware of what time it was at this point. The endless starry sky and eternal soft moonlight was making it difficult for you to determine how many hours were left until the brothers would be waking up. Everyone was going to have another long day at RAD and Lucifer was adamant on making sure everyone got adequate rest. You had tried to get some sleep like he wanted, and yet here you were, restless and riddled with anxiety on the roof of the House of Lamentation.

The bedroom you had grown accustomed to was much too stuffy and, at the moment, being inside left a weird feeling on your skin. Signs pointed to the nightmare you had experienced, bordering on the line of a night terror. The sweat on your skin and the heat of your breath after you gasped back into consciousness persuaded you to get some fresh air. The roof was as good a place as any. The venue provided an unobscured view of the Devildom sky and city outline.

With your knees tucked to your chest, you went back to picking out constellations, names and shapes much different than the ones you knew in the human realm. The stars were little multi-colorful orbs that proved time and time again to take your breath away. Even with all the light coming from the city, they refused to let themselves be blocked out. They didn’t twinkle though, not like the stars you knew. You could hear Satan’s voice in your mind’s eye as he explained about the reason why. Something about how the stars twinkle in the human realm because of the atmosphere.

However, not even the stars nor the sights of the city from your perch could stop the burning in your body, the fight or flight response still tremendously strong. A little noise escaped from your mouth as you hugged your own body, curling up against your legs as you tried to erase the dream from your mind. Blood, screams, flashes of teeth and bone against a shape so inhuman you didn’t even know how to describe it other than with one word. Demonic. Whatever it was had torn you apart and done it with no mercy, no hesitation. Your flesh and bone was rendered into scraps, and the only thing louder than the creatures growls was the shrieking of your own voice. When you woke up you could still feel lingering pain pulsate throughout your entire body, your throat dry and sore. This wasn’t the first time you experienced this turmoil either, for some reason it had been plaguing you every night for the past week. You were exhausted, you didn’t remember the last time you had gotten a good night’s rest, and you were starting to wonder if you’d ever sleep peacefully again. Your nerves were fried, your chest tight. You felt like such a child letting something as simple as a shadow in a dream to have you so frazzled.

Your mind was so abuzz with worries you didn’t notice the sound of someone taking soft steps towards you in the darkness. The figure didn’t speak your name or give away any announcement, they only placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. You quickly snapped your head back, much too quickly, the reaction of someone who was on edge.

The eldest brother, the demon of pride, the forceful Lucifer was in his full form behind you, wings folded against his back, his horns sticking out from a head of messy hair. His usual resplendent clothes were replaced with silken pajamas. Just a quick glance down let you see red fluffy house slippers, ones you had bought him just a few weeks before, the same ones he always wears at night now.

His outfit mixed with his bed-head and sleepy circles under his lids put you surprisingly at ease. Lucifer squeezed your shoulder, blinking away remnants of drowsiness from his eyes.

“MC, what’re you doing up here at a time like this? Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?” He moved his hand, standing up straight and crossing his arms. He frowned and shook his head, black tendrils of his hair falling in front of his red irises. “Why aren’t you in your room? I was worried something had happened.” His unusually soft expression and the comforting sight of having someone there let some tension ebb from your lungs. It flowed out of you through your eyes, silent tears drifting down your cheeks. Your handle on your emotions weakened by your fervent fatigue. Lucifer was taken aback, hesitating by your sudden state for only a second before getting to his knees to check you over, worried you were hurt somehow. “What’s wrong, what’s happened?”

You chuckled a bit, your lip slightly quivering. “Just a bad dream...it’s…” You wanted to tell him how haunting it was, but you stopped yourself. “It’s stupid, nothing to be worried about, nothing to be crying about.” You lifted your arm to brush your own tears away, turning your head away from his gaze in embarrassment. Surely the prideful firstborn would ridicule the idea of being so distraught over subconscious hallucinations. With a soft hand large enough to cover your whole cheek, he brought your face to look back into his.

“I noticed something has been going on with you for a while. Why didn’t you come tell me? Coming straight to me would’ve been a much easier solution than searching the house for you in the dead of night.” With a hand under your arm, he brought you to your feet, holding you by the shoulders to keep you steady. Rubbing the sides of your arms gently to try to cease the convulsions in your chest. His grip was just addicting enough to encourage you to stay in his touch further.

“I’m not a child, Lucifer,” you mumbled under your breath. “I don’t need to run to someone over a bad dream. I can handle this alone.” You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep you focused. You wanted to handle it alone, you wanted to prove to yourself and the other brothers that you were stronger than they gave you credit for. At the same time you also yearned for them to take care of you, that finally you could be vulnerable and they wouldn’t judge you for it because, after all, you were only a human.

“Alright, you’re not a child. So I take it you don’t want me to put you to bed? I can ensure you have no more nightmares.” One of his eyebrows raised, his hand cupping your chin as he finished drying your eyes.

You had to focus to keep from squirming, your jaw clenched, your heart fluttering. The last thing you wanted to admit is when you awoke, the first thing you wanted to do was tell someone, to have them wrap you in their arms and tell you it was okay. You had paced back and forth in front of Lucifer’s bedroom door for a good five minutes before heading up to the roof. “I…”

“Hm?”

He really was going to make you say it. Of course he knew what you were thinking, what you really wanted. He possessed an inhuman sense of observation, as well as a desire to see you flustered. He acts like he’s the bigger man compared to his brothers, but there was no hiding his mischief. “I want to go to bed.”

“Alone?” The sleep was fully gone from his vision, you could fully see a glint in there, something behind his eyes that wasn’t the rays from the moon. Something taunting, leering, but hopeful, expectant. If you didn’t know any better, he wanted you as much as you wanted him. But god, how he just loved to push you.

His glare almost made you want to cry more, but you could no longer find the strength to tear up or fight your own longing any longer. “Can I...sleep with you?”

That was all he needed to hear, the confirming words to the fact he already knew. Hearing it come out of your mouth was music to his ears. He’ll take you by the hand, his skin warm in comparison with the chilly nip of the air outside. With long calm strides in his slippers, he’ll lead you to his room. It’s so warm and cozy in here, vastly different compared to the cold and hard demon that had first invited you to the Devildom. It was almost poetic in its metaphor. With a little time and patience, and admittedly some close scrapes with death, you got to know a whole new side of Lucifer. He had music playing from a record player above his fireplace, the sound of a somber piano already lulling you into peace. Lucifer folded back his sheets, letting you crawl in first before he got in beside you, eyes bright, resembling the expression some kids had whenever their parents told them they would be taking them to an amusement park. He was excited, but he didn’t need to tell you, you could feel the rush of blood pulsing through his body.

He wasted no time with his embrace. He brushed the hair away from your face before pulling you close to his body. Each of his grand wings extended to fold around you both, trapping the two of you in between a sea of ebony feathers. They were impossibly soft, brushing against your skin like gentle whispers. Instinctively you let out a surprised squeak. In return you felt a supportive hand protect the back of your neck. His other pressed against the small of your back, the fingertips gently kneading your body in comforting patterns. He’d make sure you felt like both of you were the only living beings in the world, that anything that dared threaten you would have to go through him first. You’d feel his face come in close near the top of your head, his breathing slowly syncing up with your heartbeat. A soft, silent melody would emanate deep in his throat only just loud enough for you to hear inside the cocoon he had created. A consoling concert just for your ears, the echoes of the peaceful sounds drowning out whatever worries you had held deep within your heart.

You buried your face in his chest, making a mental apology for wrinkling his pajamas as you gripped them in your hands. You shut your eyes, feeling the back of your mind tug at your consciousness as it threatened to let you slip under. Before you let it take you, you let out a relieved sigh, the air on your breath coming out in shudders, the prickles the nightmare had left on you were far gone. Even now you couldn’t even recall the shadow creature that had scared you so. A blur of a figment already forgotten. The only thing occupying your thoughts was the rumble of Lucifer’s voice, the texture of his wings against your skin, and the solace in his every touch.

The notes in the tune led you to where you needed to go, Lucifer looking at your tranquil state as you slumbered in his arms. He pressed his lips gently to your forehead, a silly gesture he had once been told would ward away torment in the night. With his eyes shining like the stars outside, he melted into you before going back to sleep, searching for you in his dreams.

It was the best sleep you had ever gotten, and now your only worry was having to get used to sleeping alone in your quiet bedroom. However, you were unaware that Lucifer was already making plans to ensure that for the rest of your stay you would be sleeping in his room, under his blankets, right next to him. You had no idea that just your presence gave him the most comforting and fulfilling rest he had ever had in his long life, and he wasn’t about to let it go now. He wasn’t about to let you go.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader

[gmariam19]

Hello! I hit one of those follower milestones that we all like to grin about - thank you! I decided to share something to go with the last moodboard I posted, a story I started ages ago but that stalled out at chapter five. The opening is below, and I'm hoping I can get it going again and post it sometime this fall. I'm sure a few details will change, and I do hope to finish some shorter stories before then. But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy it - thanks for reading! :)

One

Poe already misses the ranch.

It’s been months since he's been home, seen his dad, even had a day off. Spending five days on Yavin 4 is exactly what he needed. He feels relaxed and recharged, ready to resume the job of co-General. He's fairly sure he's gained weight from all the eating and drinking they did, but that was what home was for him: koyo fruit and dark caf, roasted runyip steaks with kibla greens and sweetsand cookies for dessert. He hasn't eaten so well for months, maybe years.

Finn looks fairly content as well. Poe had been nervous about the trip, but it was past time to introduce Finn to Kes Dameron. Poe couldn't remember the last time he'd brought someone home, and he'd been a wreck until the moment his father had stepped forward, raised an eyebrow at Finn's outstretched hand, and pulled him into a tight embrace. Kes's eyes had been bright, and Poe had almost choked up; Finn had been stunned at the warm welcome.

Everything had been perfect after that. In fact, maybe a little too good as Poe had been ganged up on more than once by Finn and his father. But to watch them together, talking, laughing, even cooking (though Finn was a disaster of a cook, so he usually ended up doing the washing) was a joy. It made Poe want a life like that more than anything—a quiet life with someone he loved, near friends and family. It was what peace looked like.

Of course, he would probably be bored after a month, but he could still think about it, couldn't he?

For now, there is still work to do, and part of Poe's plan in flying out to see his dad had been to make a few stops on the way back. The first is Torque, a quick jump from Yavin 4. It isn't the nicest spaceport in the sector, but it's the capital and it’s busy, which means they can blend in and listen, get a feel for what’s going on outside their immediate circle. Finn is meeting with one of Vi Moradi's people to exchange news, someone he'd met on Batuu who happened to be passing through the sector, while Poe is meeting with one of Grakkus the Hutt's pilots for a brief, off-the-record meeting on conditions in Hutt space.

Poe walks to a cantina not far from the landing pads on his own, his senses on high alert. He's in a dingy spaceport in the Outer Rim, a general of the Resistance who still has a large bounty on his head. Armed and aware, he notices immediately when he turns that the street he's on—more of an alley, really—is unusually quiet and empty. Perfect setup for an ambush.

He comms Finn. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he says as quietly as he can. "Good chance someone knows we’re here. Stay alert." Finn confirms the message. Poe unhooks his blaster, speeding up his pace. As he reaches the end of the alley, he senses a presence behind him, and feels a blaster in his back.

"Don't move," says a low voice, a familiar voice.

"Finn?" asks Poe. "What're you—"

The blaster pokes him hard in the ribs, so definitely not Finn (and they don't really play like that in public, anyway.) Poe glances over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of a tall, dark-skinned man, a bounty hunter by the looks of him, though he is close in size to Finn and certainly sounds similar.

"Hands up, blaster to me, then turn around slowly."

Poe raises both hands, discreetly tapping his comm twice as he does, and the hunter takes his blaster. Poe turns and finds himself facing his captor. He's dressed in a black flight suit, with a leather vest and boots lined in red, and he’s armed to the teeth. He's only an inch or two taller than Poe but almost two decades older, short hair and beard shot with grey and a prominent scar running from his temple to his jaw on his right side. He seems familiar, though Poe is almost certain they’ve never met before. Strangely enough, what stands out most are the man’s eyes: tired brown eyes that do not look like the cold, hard eyes of most bounty hunters Poe has met.

The man looks at him with a frown.

"What, not what you expected?" Poe asks. "I get that a lot. It's the hair."

The bounty hunter shakes his head as he pats Poe down, taking his second blaster and a knife. "It's the hair that makes you so recognizable, General," the man says. His voice really does sound like Finn, and his eyes…Poe shakes off the idea. "Maybe if you cut it, half a dozen hunters would stop looking for you."

"Only half a dozen?" Poe asks. "How disappointing. I remember when I was on top of everyone's list."

"Sorry, General," the man says, and there is a wry smile with the strangely apologetic words. "Peace is not as good for business."

"Maybe you need a new business," Poe suggests. He has a funny feeling about this grizzled bounty hunter, as if the man before him is nothing like the image he projects. He doesn't want to hurt this man but talk him out of whatever he’s got planned. Or at least talk long enough for Finn to get there.

"You're actually my last job," the man says, almost conversationally. "There's still people willing to pay good money for your head." He takes out a pair of binders and motions at Poe to lower his wrists. Poe leaves his hands up.

"What if I paid you more?" he asks, lowering his voice and moving closer. "And then we forget this ever happened?" He smiles, turning on the charm, but the man snorts at him, so much like Finn that it’s eerie.

"Lower your arms, General. You can't afford me."

Poe shrugs. "It was worth a try." He slowly lowers his wrists, taking another step closer. Just as the hunter is about to clamp them, he headbutts the older man, sliding a pocket blaster into his palm as he steps back and hits the man with a glancing blow in the arm. The hunter recovers quickly, though, and blasts him in the chest, sending Poe flying backward and into the side of the nearest building. He rolls over and groans, thankful it wasn't set to full stun—or kill. This hunter is even more unusual than Poe thought. The man stands over him and is about to speak when Poe hears the click of a blaster behind them.

"Drop it," says Finn. The hunter turns and shoots so fast Poe barely has a chance to shout a warning. But Finn has good instincts too: he ducks and pulls the blaster from the hunter's hands with his newest Force skill. The hunter looks at his gloved hand in surprise before he tries again with a second weapon, and Finn again slams it aside with the Force.

"I could do this all day," Finn says.

The hunter raises an eyebrow. "Then let’s forget the weapons." He charges Finn with raises fists and they start fighting hand to hand.

Poe drags himself to his hands and knees and slowly stands against the wall, hugging his right side with one hand and wiping blood from a cut on his temple with the other. He hit the building hard and will probably have some colorful bruises soon. He watches the fight for a moment as he recovers from the stun bolt: two highly skilled men, one much older than the other, yet still strong. Poe has the odd thought that it's a bit like watching Finn fight himself in thirty years.

It does not take long, however, for Finn to gain the upper hand and pin the man down, call a blaster to his hand, and press it to the man's neck.

"Yield!" he demands. The hunter got in a good hit and Finn's lip is bleeding, and he's clearly pissed off about it.

"Get off me!" the hunter snarls. "I yield."

"Finn," Poe calls, and tosses him the fallen binders. Finn clamps them behind the man's back and hauls the hunter to his feet.

"Who are you?" Finn demands, but the man looks away. Poe finally figures it out—the clothing, the scar, the stories, and he walks over, moving slowly and still holding his side.

"You're Tenga Idoma, aren't you?" he asks. "I've heard of you, didn't think you worked this side of the galaxy."

"A hunter goes where the bounty goes." The bounty hunter is standing tall and proud, a bruise forming on his left jaw, the wound on his arm small but red and raw.

"I'm the bounty," Poe stage-whispers to Finn, who rolls his eyes.

"Oh, you are both wanted men," Idoma says, laughing bitterly. "I figured I couldn't take you together, so I flipped a chip on who to follow first. I didn't think I'd get my ass handed to me by a former trooper if I followed the pilot."

Poe takes a step forward—always his instinctive response when someone refers to Finn as a Stormtrooper—but Finn stops him with a hand on Poe's arm. He's looking at the man curiously.

"Are you a former trooper, too?" Finn asks.

"I neverserved the First Order." The man spits in the street, so vehemently angry it earns a look of surprise from Finn. "They took everything from me."

"Then why are you tracking us down?" Poe asks. "We're fighting to make sure they don't ever do it again, you know."

The man shakes his head. "I told you, this is my last job. Then I'm done."

Finn looks to Poe with a shrug. "What should we do with him?" he asks.

Poe looks at the man, then back at Finn. The resemblance is almost uncanny. Something—his own instincts, or maybe the Force—prompts him to say, "Bring him with us." He turns to the bounty hunter. "You're under arrest."

"You can't arrest me!" Idoma exclaims, and struggles in his binders, grimacing with pain, but Finn holds tight.

"I'm a general, sure I can," says Poe. Which is not strictly true, but he needs more time with this man.

"What are we going to do with him?" Finn asks. "Why don't we turn him in to the authorities here?"

Poe thinks about what to say, how to say it. "I have some more questions for him," he says. "Come on, let's head back to the Falcon."

Finn looks both skeptical and curious as he comms Vi Moradi's man and explains the situation. Poe calls the pilot he was supposed to meet. The hunter moves reluctantly but does not put up a fight. It feels strange to be taking him in so easily, and Poe can’t help but wonder why—or if something is about to go massively wrong. He tries not to think about who Tenga Idoma might really be, but he can’t help but wonder about that as well.

#Finnpoe #Stormpilot #Finn (Star Wars) #Poe Dameron #fanfiction #WIP #Tenga Idoma

[svnflowervol666]

Paper Peonies (70′s crime boss!Harry x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: violence, death, other than that she’s squeaky clean! (nervous laughter)

Author’s Note: Yes, this is inspired by that one part in Tiger King and no, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had this scenario stuck in my head for a while (and by a while I mean March aka I am slow as hell to get shit done but I digress), and that combined with my obsession with the show Good Girls is where this fic blossomed. This is obviously set up to have multiple parts, so I hope this is enough to draw you in for what happens between Harry and Y/N after this! Take care and TPWK.

April 22, 1977 ~ New York City

She had always been suspicious of what Harry did for a living. His clothes were nice, the lapels of whatever color suit he’d decided to wear that day were always pressed with the upmost attention to detail and she’d never once seen even the tiniest scuff on his loafers. The chocolate brown curls on top of his head, no matter how dishevelled they appeared to be, always looked intentionally messy as if each wild strand had its own position to uphold. He never missed a nail appointment, and Y/N knew this because she always smelled the faintest hint of acetone trail behind him after his cologne with notes of sweet tobacco and ginger each time he entered the flower shop where he worked. Everything about his presence led her to believe that Harry was important man, but she hadn’t realized just how influential he was until tonight.

Harry visited her once a week. Every Wednesday for the past six months at precisely one o’clock in the afternoon, the wind chime attached to the door at the store entrance would announce his arrival. He always ordered a custom bouquet, the most expensive option in their catalogue, and always insisted that Y/N be the one to make it. She had creative authority over which flowers went where, which colors to use - “Whatever your pretty little heart desires,” as he would tell her as he smirks behind his amber tinted sunglasses. He always tipped, no matter how many times she told him this was a flower shop and that she didn’t work for tips, and he always plucked the prettiest, freshest flower out of the bouquet and handed it back to Y/N. He'd drop the flower into the display vase at the register if she refused the gesture, and other times he’d tuck the stem right behind her ear, caressing her cheek in the softest manner to intentionally fluster her. Harry knew she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, as he’d come to know her just as well through the small talk they made during each one of his visits, which is why it amused him so much to see this girl, kind and short-tempered, freeze up at the slightest touch of his fingers on her skin.

Y/N knew he was a man with a routine, which is why she grew inherently worried when one o’clock rolled around and Harry had yet to show his face in the flower shop. She wasn’t sure why she even cared so much; he was only a customer. Sure, he was easy on the eyes and always flirted with her and it was just about the only form of male interraction she’d come across throughout the entire time that she’d known him, but that was all he was - a customer. So, to busy herself and her thoughts, she’d scrubbed the countertops a few more times than necessary and paid far too much attention to the arrangement of pots and vases for the rest of her shift.

It had all happened so suddenly.

At first, she had been giving the shop its final sweep before closing. The gentle singing of the wind chime made Y/N curse under her breath. We close in ten minutes, why the fuck are you here? But her irritation soon turned to relief when her eyes met his - Harry’s. He graciously apologized for being late, though he had no reason to. She didn’t even ask him what she wanted, only going immediately to work on the bouquet she’d been planning out all day in her head for the next time she saw him.  

One minute, she was chatting him up and playfully giving him a hard time as she always does, and the next, she heard the unmistakable sound of gun shots and she was being shoved underneath the cash register by Harry and told to “Stay there, and don’t fucking move until I come get you.”

She isn’t sure, but she thinks she’s went into shock because she can barely see and although she can hear glass breaking and the strangled voices of two men going head to head, but it all rings faint and distant in her ears. Her knees tuck impossibly close to her shoulders as she hunches underneath the counter in imminent fear that whatever or whoever is out there creating an ungodly amount of damage is coming for her next and out of all places, her unproductive, measly life would come to abrupt halt in a fucking flower shop of all places.

It could have been five minutes, it could have been hours, but there’s a lingering gun shot proceeded by a harsh thud that she somehow hears through the ringing in her ears and she can sense that the quarell had ended. She scurries backward into the tan wood when she hears footsteps approaching her, too scared to even look up because she’s convinced that she’s next.

“Y/N...Y/N? Y/N!” she comes to when she realizes that it’s Harry shaking her wearily by the shoulders.

“Where’s the phone?”

There’s caked blood around his ringed knuckles, a thin trail of crimson liquid running down his temple and his cheekbone rears an ugly cut that’ll certainly take weeks to heal, but he’s seemingly unharmed aside from the few casualties on his face.

“What?” she asks, still in a daze and utterly confused as to why he’s asking a question like that at a time like this.

“Tell me where the phone is.”

His voice is stern and if she’s being honest, it scares the shit out of her because if Harry is still alive and well, she’s not so sure that the other guy is.

“O-over by the broom closet.”

“I’ll be back in a second. Whatever you do, stay here and do not look over the counter,” is all he says before disappearing from her view.

She tries her hardest, she really does, not to eavesdrop on the conversation Harry is having with whoever is on the other line of the phone. He’s speaking in whispers and so low that it’s almost undetectable, but she hears bits and pieces.

“The flower shop on Main Street...It’s fine, I just need yeh t’ bring the boys here now...Yeh, there was someone else here but I’m taking care of it.”

That last bit is enough to send bone-chilling shiver down her spine. It kicked her fight or flight response into full gear, which has her scrambling to her feet ready to book it out of the shop to the nearest payphone so she could call the police. After all, shouldn’t she regardless? Given that a shootout just happened in the lobby of her fucking workplace. She moves to stand up, but a jarring sight over the counter she’d been hiding under stopped her.

A pool of blood, the most she’s ever seen, surrounded a limp body whose face was battered to the point of being unrecognizable laid on the ground in front of her. Her breath catches in her throat and she actually feels like she’s suffocating.

Harry did this. And all she could do was collapse right back on the ground where she had been hiding.

“Are yeh alright?”

His eyes are full of sympathy and a bit of regret when he returns, and hers are filled with frightful tears that Harry will hate himself for for the rest of his life knowing that he was the reason for. 

“I, uh... I think so,” she’s able to squeeze out in between waves of panic.

“Good,” Harry says sternly, “Now, come on. I’ll take yeh home.”

If Harry was “taking care of it,” it being her, there was no way in hell she was spending more than another second alone with Harry.

“Who is that?” her voice is quiet but firm, and it’s what makes Harry realize that she hadn’t listened to him and had definitely peeked over the counter when he wasn’t looking.

He sighs in displeasure, eyes flicking towards the dead body in the lobby of the store and then back to Y/N.

“No one yeh need t’ worry about. It’s taken care of. Now please, just let me drive yeh home so I know you’re safe.”

“No offense, Harry,” she began, “But there is no fucking way I am getting into a car with you.”

“Y/N, just-” is all he can get out before she makes a beeline for the front door and is running as far away from Harry as she possibly can.

She makes it about two blocks down the now empty streets before her lungs give up on her. In times like these, she wishes she exercised more. Just as she’s catching her breath against the door of a closed bodega, begging and praying that Harry had lost track of her, she feels headlights coming up on her backside in the distance.

“Y/N!” It’s Harry, yelling at her from the driver’s side of a maroon Mustang.

“Just get in the car and I’ll explain everything.”

Not a fucking chance, buddy she thinks to herself. She gives him her sassiest side glare before resuming her fast-paced walk down the street.

It doesn’t deter Harry from creeping along the street to match her speed.

“Y/N,” he pleads.

“Fuck off, psycho” she mutters under her breath, but it’s still loud enough for Harry to hear.

“It’s 1977, Y/N! Do yeh know how many serial killers are on the loose right now? Get in the fucking car!” 

He’s getting ansty now. Not only by her persistance to get away from him, but because of the fact that he knows whenever he looses sight of her, she’s going straight to the police and everything he’s built for himself will come crashing down on him. He never thought that his sweet, hot-headed Y/N would be his downfall.

“Why?” Y/N stopped abruptly and spun around on her heels to face him.

“So you can get rid of your witness? I’m good. Blow my brains right here out on the sidewalk, please. I’d prefer a junkie to keep my corpse company over the maggots in whatever hole in the Bronx you planned on throwing me in.”

“Christ, you’re impossible.”

Harry didn’t even bother saying that under his breath.

“Here,” he starts, reaching for the button on the glove compartment.

Using the dull, yellow street lights and infinitely glowing neon signs in the store-fronts of the buildings around her, she can see that he’s pulled out a pistol. It causes her to jump back a few steps, as if she hadn’t just politely asked him to kill her on the sidewalk in the first place.

“Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean t’ scare yeh.”

Well it’s a little too fucking late for that.

He quickly unloads the cylinder and the clanking of bullets hitting his seat fills her ears. With a flick of his wrist, he presents the handle to her.

“Yeh can point it at me the whole drive. Please, just let me take yeh home so I know you’re alright.”

He seemed earnest and sincere, but based on everything that had happened to her in this short amount of time, she had come to realize that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to Harry.

However, in her brief stint on Earth, she’s decided that everything that’s happened to her thus far had been for a reason (as cliche as that seemed), and her gut was telling her trust him. After all, he had shielded her from the rainfall of bullets that more or less decimated the flower shop just minutes before.

She say anything, only yanking the gun from Harry’s grip and slamming his door shut.

“The brownstones in Bed-Stuy,” is all she tells him.

“Jesus, Y/N. We’re all the way in Chelsea. Couldn’t find a closer place to work? That’s a scary train ride home at night. Surprised yeh haven’t been kidnapped yet.”

 “You know, you really shouldn’t say shit like that considering this is the first time I’ve spent longer than ten minutes with you and I’m sitting in your car.”

Harry sighs under his breath, cursing himself for freaking her out for the umpteenth time tonight. 

He notices her struggling to load the bullets into the cylinder.

“Do yeh need hel-”

“I live alone in Brooklyn. I know how to fucking use a gun,” she snarls as the firing pin finally clicks into place.

“Alright,” Harry mumbles.

She shifts in the plush, leather seat, one elbow leaning out the open window as the other is tucked into her side so she can point the barrel of the gun right at Harry’s side.

“Okay, start talking.”

Rolling his eyes, he bangs the back of his head against the head-rest. He winces as soon as his scalp makes contact with the seat, momentarilly forgetting he’d gotten it slammed against the linoleum during the brawl in the flower shop.

“What do yeh’ want t’ know?”

“For starters, what the fuck happened at the flower shop?”

Harry feels like he’s sighed precisely nine hundred and thirty-one times tonight, but he’s somehow able to squeeze out another one before answering Y/N’s question.

“Did yeh ever meet the guy that lived above the shop?”

“Mr. Perry? He’s harmless. Why? Is that who was on the floor?”

Her sould hurt momentarily for the middle-aged man that she ocassionally crossed paths with when she’d open up the store in the mornings. He was never quite sociable, but he always tipped his hat to her when he saw her. Her boss had told her once that he always kept to himself, so she was never surprised that he never struck up a conversation with her.

““S not exactly harmless, Y/N,” Harry corrected her.

“We did...business together a few times. Found out he tried t’ cross me. Word must’ve got around tha’ I was looking for him, so I’m assuming when he saw my car outside the shop, he figured he’d take his chance t’ get rid of me.”

“What kind of business?” she deadpanned.

Harry hesitated.

“...Business,” he repeated.

The hammer of the gun locks into place, making Harry flinch and realize that he really fucked up by giving Y/N that gun.

“What kind of business?” she asks again, this time with a loaded weapon at her disposal.

“There’s...money involved. Lots of it.”

“So it’s illegal?” 

“Most definitely.”

“Fine,” she decides that she probably doesn’t want to know anyway and moves on to her next question.

“You’ve been checking up on him this whole time? That’s why you come into the flower shop?”

Harry nods hesitantly, fingers gripping impossibly harder into the steering wheel.

She scoffs, laughing almost.

“So you don’t actually bring all of those flowers to your mother then? It was all just a ruse to keep your ducks in a row?”

Y/N isn’t sure why, but her heart broke over the notion that Harry didn’t come to the flower shop every week just to see her. Even though she acted like he annoyed her most of the time, she really was quite fond of him. I mean, anyone that’s seem the man would say the same. She never expected their relationship to flourish past light conversations about what flowers are blooming, but knowing he never actually cared was a different kind of disappointment.

“No,” Harry is quick to discount her assumption and he’s looking as serious as she’s seen him all night.

“I do give them t’ my mum.”

There’s a pregnant pause before he starts talking again.

“She died when I was ten. The cemetery’s only a few blocks away from the shop.”

Y/N feels like shit for pushing him, so she flips the safety clip on the side of the gun and allows it to fall limp in her crossed legs. 

“Sorry.”

Harry’s sucks his lips into his mouth and shrugs his shoulders, letting her know that at least he knew she meant well. 

“Okay,” Y/N draws out, her anxieties that Harry is going to take a detour to the nearest boat dock and throw her into the disgustingly unsanitary water in the dead of night rapidly dwindling away.

“Let’s say you do drop me off at my apartment. What’s stopping me from running to the police the second I get out of this car and telling them everything that I saw?”

Harry laughs sarcastically, readjusting the rearview mirror. 

“Well, for starters, your fingerprints are on the murder weapon.”

“Fuck!” Y/N yells, kicking the gun out of her lap and letting it clank to the floorboard. 

It was almost soothing. He knew it was only her reaction to realizing she could be held accountable for his crimes if anyone ever did find out about what happened, but the fact that she didn’t reach for the gun after that moment made him think that she trusted him in come capacity.

“And if that wasn’t enough t’ convince yeh, he was trying to start a human trafficking ring. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t really think someone like that deserves to roam the streets. Think the world is far better off without him, don’t you?”

Okay, maybe Harry had a point.

When she hadn’t said anything in a while, letting only the sound of the wind fill the space of the car, Harry turned to look at her. Though she had unhesitantly cocked a loaded gun at aimed it directly at his face just moments ago, he couldn’t help but take his eyes off of the road and let them wander around her features.

She really was beautiful. The way her hair was blowing with the speed of his car and how the each street post they passed glowed around her sillhouette like a halo was stirring something inside of him. 

He had went into the flower shop for the first time, he was genuinely in search for flowers to place on his mother’s grave. He’d expected to be greeted by a frail, elderly woman with shaky hands behind the counter, not Y/N. She was stubborn and he could see the fire behind her eyes and with everything in him, he couldn’t place his feelings for her. Was it akin to a grade-school crush on the cute girl he sat beside on the bus? Was it sexual tension that was begging to be unleashed so he could really show her what he was capable of beyond the flirtatious touches and salacious smirks? Or was it something else?

“Think we’re here,” Harry broke the long stream of silence as the car rolled to a halt outside of her apartment building.

“Oh,” was all Y/N said, almost saddened by the fact that their interraction was reaching its end.

“I’d really appreciate it if yeh didn’t go t’ the police. I won’t stop yeh, but if yeh do this f’ me, I promise I won’t let anything bad happen t’ yeh anymore.”

His eyes looked sorrowful, like he had an inkling that she would snitch and help take him down. But there was another part of him that believed she wouldn’t.

“I won’t,” she whispered quietly.

Her fingers lingered on the wooden-coated handle as she turned to him.

“Why are you doing this?”

“This as in...?” he quirked his brow at her.

“Helping me. You could’ve easily just killed me in the shop to spare you the trouble, but you didn’t.”

A small smile broke out on Harry’s face, the corners of his perfectly-pink mouth turning up just slightly.

“Didn’t think I could make it more obvious, but...I like yeh. I care about yeh. Care about what happens t’ yeh. You’re a sweet girl. Yeh didn’t deserve t’ see all that.”

Y/N nodded, eyes zeroed in on the discarded gun and loose bullets that had been rattling on the floorboard the entire drive to her apartment. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost undetectable but Harry heard her. 

With this information on hand, she no longer believed Harry meant ill with anything he had done. Even murdering the man that lived in the studio above where she worked. 

He cared about her. He cared about what happened to her. And that’s why she was still here.

As she reluctantly removed herself from the passenger seat and closed the door to the mustang that must have cost a year’s worth of her rent, she pivoted and leaned on the still-open car window.

“You know,” she started, her iconic, I’m-not-even-joking-in-the-slightest expression that Harry had come to know (and love) reared its head.

“You’re paying for all of the shit you broke. Those pots are expensive and the owner’s gonna blow a fucking gasket when she comes in to do payroll tomorrow.”

This earned a genuine laugh from Harry, loaded with more than she understood at the moment, but would eventually learn more about.

“It’ll look brand new in there come morning. Swear it,” he placed his hand over his heart for good measure.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she spoke softly, her lips mimicking the smile that was plastered on his.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

//

As someone that had witnessed and was now an accomplice in a brutal murder that took place where she worked, Y/N called in sick the next day. Her undeniable PTSD had made her violently ill with even the thought of going near the entirety of Manhattan. But alas, she had bills to pay and forced herself into the flower shop on Friday. 

The second her coworkers heard the windchimes and realized it was her that had entered, they were quick to bombard her with what she had missed while she was out.

She was too busy being completely stunned by the sight in front of her.

The store was spotless. It looked exactly as it had the before “the incident.” No broken glass, no missing pots, no blood stains on the floor, and no body. It was as if Harry had never even stepped foot in the shop to begin with.

“Your guy came by looking for you. Left you a card.”

“Harry?” she asked, “Can’t be. He only comes on Wednesday’s.”

She momentarily mourned the brunette. Would he ever come back at all now that his “friend” was most likely chopped up into dozens of pieces and burried in a dump somewhere that no one would ever find?

“Real tall? Curly hair? Always wears those yellow sunglasses? Huge flirt with the mustang?”

Yep, that was him.

“It’s in the office,” her coworker added before going back to her task of sweeping up wilted petals from the ground.

“He’s a charmer, ya know?” she added.

“Seemed worried when I told him you were sick. It was kinda cute, actually.”

She was too shaken up to give her the embarrassed reaction that she knew she was waiting for, walking with purpose towards the back of the store where the office was.

Sure enough, in a beige envelope sealed with melted wax and her name written on the front in perfect cursive, was a letter. With shaking hands, she freed the expensive-feeling paper from the confines of the envelope and lifted it closer to her face so she could read it.

Thank you for not saying anything. 

Thank you for trusting me. 

I meant what I said about protecting you.

If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

x, H.

p.s. Those pink pots were a bitch to replace. Tell your boss to stop buying product in fucking New Jersey.

And finally, written in jet black ink at the bottom of the stationary in Harry’s handwriting, was an address.

She knew she’d been there before, as the street name was notorious for being home to New York’s most bustling night clubs and dive bars, but she couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t until she’d asked her friend about it later that night over their Friday night pizza-and-beer tradition that she realized where the address would take her.

A strip club?

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #crime boss!Harry

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Ten ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4422

Warnings: Canon-level violence

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

A/n Just so you know, I start playing a little fast and loose with ‘elf-lore’ right about here. Thanks so much for all your responses to the previous chapters! Happy reading <3

We retire early, each of us exhausted from our long journey. Elrond arranged rooms for us in his expansive home, which I found out is the heart of the city. I guess when you found a town, it makes sense that you get the largest estate. At Elrond’s instruction, a female attendant leads me up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway. She opens a door to my left to revel a large room with a four-poster bed, table, chaise lounge, couch, fireplace, and, through an archway to the side, a full bathroom. Pillows and blankets decorate every available surface and I notice a large selection of books and candles. After two weeks on the road, I want nothing more than to bury myself in this room’s amenities.

“Wow,” I breathe, unable to do much more in my state of awe and fatigue.

“Lord Elrond knows about your fear of heights and has placed you in one of the most innermost rooms of the estate. Your windows will offer you views of our waterfalls but you are nowhere near to the edge. I hope it is to your liking.”

I smile, my already present fondness for Elrond growing. Though, I do wonder which of my friends told him about my fear of heights. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

The attendant nods, leading me to a chest of drawers. “You will find clothing here and bathing provisions in the bathroom. Meals are three times a day and you may join the others in the common hall or request to dine in your chambers. If you require my assistance, I am in the room at the very end of the hall and to the right. I hope you sleep well.” She curtsies deeply and I wonder if I should do the same. Just to be on the safe side, I place one leg behind the other and squat, awkwardly attempting to mirror her movement. She puts great effort into suppressing a smile, but inclines her head in acknowledgment of my efforts before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

What am I going to do?

This place is dangerous. It’s terrifying. And yes, I feel relatively safe within Elrond’s walls, but he said it himself—just last month, orcs attempted to infiltrate the city. What if they try again, only this time, they succeed? And with some evil being on the rise? Nope, no way. I don’t think I can deal with that.

I throw myself facedown on the large bed, groaning in frustration. This world that I’ve only just accepted to be real is showing me just how real it is. The honeymoon phase is over. The rose-colored glasses have been lifted from my eyes, and what I see paints a dark, fearful scene.

Yet, even still…I cannot ignore the part of me that so badly wants to stay.

The people I’ve met here—humans, elves—does it really matter? Whatever they are, whatever I am at this point, honestly, does it actually, in the grand scheme of things, matter? Because I like them. I care about them. More than anything, I don’t want to leave them, to go back to a world of people I don’t know.

But danger and my friends are a package deal.

And I don’t know if I’m equipped to handle that.

I flip around into a seated position, letting my head flop into my hands.

I’m tired. I’m overwhelmed. I’m stressed. And I’m exhausted. Now, I need to sleep. Everything else can wait until morning.

I haul myself off the feathered mattress and drag my heavy feet to the chest of drawers. As far as sleep items go, I find only nightgowns, but they’ll have to do. It’s much better than sleeping in the muddied clothing I’ve traveled in for two weeks.

I change quickly and blow out the candles I rely on to light my room. I crawl into bed, pulling the thick duvet up to my ears. Before I know it, sleep calms my racing mind.

{***}

I wake in the mountains.

A roar, guttural and angry, comes from behind me and I throw myself into a sprint. I stumble over the uneven terrain, catching my foot on rocks and scraping my shins, but I keep going. Whatever I suffer running away is surely better than being at the mercy of the beast that pursues me.

Brown, gnashing teeth cut me off and I shriek, falling onto my back. An orc with its stinking, rotting breath descends on me, dagger cutting into my arm. I cry out not only in pain but in panic, for the blood that falls to the ground is not red — no, it is thick, dark sludge.

I’m underwater.

The sludge suffocates me. It fills my lungs and burns as it slides over my skin. I kick, desperate to get away.

Below me, a honeyed voice sings. It beckons to me, begs me to come deeper, to let myself sink. It promises safety, security.

It promises peace.

“Cosima.”

Haldir’s voice far above me sounds muffled as it travels through the murky waters. I snap my head up. I can’t see anything, only the darkness, but I know that if I can somehow get to him, if I can follow his voice, then I will reach the surface.

“Cosima!” Rumil shouts for me now.

My name, called in turn by each of my new friends, overlaps, drowning out the sweet sounds from below.

My vision darkens. I have gone too long without breath — I have to make a decision.

I kick my legs, propelling myself upwards.

{***}

I break through the surface, sputtering and gasping for air.

Light—harsh and bright orange—momentarily blinds me. As my eyes adjust, I recognize the puffy white duvet, the cool grey of the stone walls, the soft pink flowers cascading from the ceiling. I’m in my guest bed in Elrond’s house. I never left my room. I never lost to an attacker in the mountains. I never fell into the water.

It was just a dream.

Water—the roaring sound of the waterfalls—while muted, is still subtly audible in the background. And my dream—it was nearly exactly what I imagined before waking in Arda. The sound from the waterfalls must have triggered it.

Just a dream, I remind myself, trying to calm my racing heart.

A sharp knock disrupts the silence of the room and sends stabs of pain through my head — bad dreams and a headache, too, I guess. The knock sounds again and I groan, forcing myself to leave the coziness of my covers and pad on bare feet to the door.

It’s Haldir. He stands, hand still raised, in fresh clothes and even more armor than yesterday. His bow is slung over his back, a quiver and sword rest at his hips. I try not to let my thoughts get away from me with overreaction — surely this isn’t necessary for inside Elrond’s halls.

He lowers his hand, dipping his head briefly in greeting. “I—” he seems to notice my nightgown. “Did I wake you?”

I shrug and attempt to lean against the doorframe casually, still mildly disturbed from my nightmare. “I don’t think so.” Then, panic causes me to stiffen. “Have you been here long?” Did he hear anything? Oh, I hope not.

He shakes his head and I relax. “No, I only just arrived.” Whew. “I came to get you — Elrond wants to take a look at your arm. I also wanted to let you know, Glorfindel and I are going to visit a couple of the border stations and see if there are improvements to be made. I will be back late tonight.”

“Oh.” I blink. So he’s leaving. “But you only just got here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Well, don’t you want a few days to relax?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I have been relaxing — I’ve been on leave from my duties for three weeks now.”

I roll my eyes, recalling his constant state of watchfulness on our journey. “Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t call the trip we just had ‘on leave from your duties.’”

He huffs, but the beginnings of a smile tugs at the edges of his lips. “Would you please get dressed so I can escort you to Elrond? Glorfindel and I wish to leave within the hour.”

I fight the urge to make some snarky comment about his impatience and instead shut the door in his face, hurrying to get ready. My arm does sting — perhaps Elrond can do something about that.

The chest of drawers doesn’t offer much in variety, mostly just a combination of long dresses and a few tunic and legging sets here and there. I’ve been traveling in the same clothes for two weeks though, and a change in habit doesn’t sound too bad, so I opt for a sleeveless pale blue gown with a gossamer cape at the shoulders. I don’t look as ethereal as Lavandil would, but I suppose it will do. Using my fingers, I brush down the frizz in my hair as much as I can—a lost cause, really—and throw on a pair of cream slippers that no one will see anyway because of the gown. After splashing some water over my eyes and brushing my teeth, I throw open the door to find Haldir standing to the side, back to the wall, watching the coming and going of everyone who passes down the hallway. Always on duty. He acknowledges me with a stiff nod and gestures down the hall, falling into step beside me. When we reach the bottom of the staircase, he leads me to the right and through another open-air hallway.

He breaks the silence. “Is your room to your liking?”

I think back to my plush bed, trying to separate it from the dread and fear of my nightmare. “Oh, yes. As much as I liked sleeping under the stars, it’s nice to have a proper bed and all the blankets I could want. And a door.”

He huffs out a laugh, nodding in agreement. “That is the true indication of luxury.”

“And yours?”

His mouth twists into a grimace. “It is the height of visitor season here in Imladris, so I am sharing with Rumil. Aside from constantly putting up with my younger brother, it’s perfect.”

I freeze, turning to him. “Wait, you have to share? But you’re the one who’s supposed to be visiting, that’s not right. You or Rumil can have my room, I’ll stay with Alex—”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he interjects quickly, jerking his head to indicate that I should continue walking. “I only meant to joke. I do not mind sharing a space with my brother.” Before I can respond, he changes the subject. “How is your arm?”

I raise it, feeling the skin stretch over the cut. “Stings, but it’s healing.”

“Elrond will be able to speed along the process.” He indicates that we should turn left down a new hallway. He leads me through a nondescript archway on our right and we enter a moderately sized semicircular room.

Elrond sits at a mahogany desk near one of the walls, writing furiously on a piece of graying parchment.  Upon our entry, he looks up, and the lines of stress on his brow melt into an expression of warm welcome. “Good to see you again, Cosima, Haldir.” He nods to each of us in turn and motions for us to join him at his desk. When we approach, Haldir bows his head respectfully, so I do the same. It’s strange to be in Elrond’s presence. He carries such authority that I feel small in comparison, yet he also leads with such kindness that it is impossible to not want to be around him. Based on all the visitors Haldir mentioned, I surmise that I am not alone in this assessment.

Elrond vacates his chair and gestures for me to sit. He comes to stand at my left and gently takes my arm in his hands. “I am sorry for the injury you suffered during the attack. That must have been quite jarring.”

Haldir rests a hand absently on the hilt of his sword, watching us from the other side of the desk. Likely, he too is remembering the ferocity of the attack — the lives he had to take. It must be hard, even if they were the lives of those trying to kill us.

“It was,” I agree, wincing slightly when Elrond unwraps the bandage encasing my upper arm. “As far as I know, my home doesn’t have anything like that.”

He smiles almost indulgently, crouching to more closely examine the gash. “But you would not remember if it did, no?”

I swallow. I hadn’t considered that. “I guess you’re right.”

He looks into my eyes then, and I feel so very young. “Every world has its perils. And every world has its joys. You cannot have one without the other—such is the way of life.”

I exhale shakily, turning my eyes to the ceiling. That’s sobering.

Elrond lays his fingers over my torn skin and mutters something in that language I so often hear.

I try to concentrate on the sounds, but can’t make out any specific words. “What is that?”

Since Elrond is still chanting, Haldir answers for him. “An Elvish healing incantation. Combined with the power in Elrond’s spirit, it should close up the wound.”

Tingles race through my upper arm and converge on my cut. I crane my neck, trying to see around Elrond’s hands. A second later, he pulls away. I gasp. All that is left of the cut is a thin, raised scar.

“What,” I murmur, prodding at the skin. Not painful, not even tender. What was just a two-day old wound now seems as if it happened and healed ages ago. “That’s impossible.”

Elrond nearly smirks, straightening to full height. “Open your mind, young one, and you will see that what is impossible to you is commonplace here.”

“I—” but I have nothing to say to that. Though I cannot possibly wrap my head around what just happened, the fact remains that it did. I’m not sure if I’m ready to confront what that means. So I push it away for later. “Thank you.”

Elrond inclines his head. Everyone around here is so dang respectful. “You are welcome.” With a twinkle in his eye, he turns his focus to Haldir. “Do not give my guards too hard a time. I imagine they are wary of your arrival.”

Haldir gestures for me to follow him to the exit. “I only plan on pointing out strategies for improvement. Suggestions, really.”

With a noise that clearly communicates his disbelief in Haldir’s statement, Elrond returns to his desk, smiling softly and shaking his head. “Be safe, Marchwarden. And Cosima?” I stop and turn, one hand on the pillar leading into his study. He gives me a level look and I have the distinct impression that he is acutely aware of the conflict raging within my head. “My door is always open.”

Mutely, I nod, a little stunned by the gravity in his gaze. I must have been staring, because it takes Haldir gently tapping my elbow to remind me to follow him from the room. Once in the hallway, I feel a little more clear-headed. “So was that magic?”

Haldir shrugs, striding down the long corridor. “Humans would think of it that way I suppose. Magic implies something special and ‘more than,’ though, and it’s not like that for elves. It is to be respected, yes, but it is simply the power in our spirits doing the work that calls to them. For Elrond, his spirit urges him to heal, so when he acts on it, he is more powerful than others who aren’t called to healing. I should mention that we say ‘spirit’ for your benefit. Elves use the term ‘fæ’. Simplified, it serves the same purpose as a spirit, but for elves, it plays more of an active role in our lives.”

I mull that over. It sounds reasonable enough. “So then what’s yours? What does your spirit—fæ want you to do?”

“Keep people safe. And if that means fighting, so be it.”

That seems consistent with what I know about him. Every action he takes seems driven by the desire to protect those around him. “What would happen if you ignored it? Say you wanted to be a healer like Baranor or Elrond.”

Haldir chuckles, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword as he walks. “I have tried before and I was not near as successful. I can perform the basics of healing—anyone can—but there’s no power within me to speed up the process or heal especially severe injuries like Elrond can. If I tried to attend to your arm in the same way he did, maybe it would have healed slightly faster? But as you saw with Elrond, he is capable of doing it in minutes.”

I begin to catch on. “Okay, so you can all learn whatever skills you want but the power to perform above and beyond at those skills lies in your fæ.”

He nods once. “Exactly.”

We turn a corner. “But what if you wanted to be a healer but you were born with the fæ of a fighter? Could you change it?”

Haldir takes a deep breath, his steps slowing slightly. I realize we are nearing the staircase that will take me to my room. “Short answer—no. An elf’s fæ is incredibly personal and incredibly fragile. Really, only two things can change an elf’s fæ: marriage and death. Long answer—you can ignore the desires of your fæ and nothing bad will happen to you so, technically, if I wanted, I could shun the need to keep my people safe and heal them instead. But I wouldn’t be any better at it than anyone else and I would feel unfulfilled because I wouldn’t be giving my fæ what it needs. Does that make sense?”

I nod, but something he glossed over jumps out at me. He said marriage can change an elf’s fæ, but from what I know, marriage isn’t always forever. People can separate, people can die, people can cheat. What then? “Marriage and death change a fæ how?”

A faraway look comes into his eye. “The two are basically interconnected. When elves get married, their fæs bond together in a way that cannot be undone. When it is—through death—the half of the fæ belonging to the dead elf essentially wilts and leaves the remaining fæ damaged.”

That sounds awful. “But what about divorce? Is that kinder to a fæ?”

Haldir smiles ruefully. “Divorce is something unique to humans. Elves live forever and we love only once. When we do decide to love another, the two fæs are literally entwined forever. So divorce is a physical possibility — the two can be separated, yes. But it would cause their fæs so much grief that it almost never happens. Spiritually though, the two are entwined until death, some argue even beyond then.”

I’m almost afraid to ask. “So, if one dies and the fæ is damaged…”

“The other fades. It is not just a physical death, but a spiritual one. They lose the will to live and eventually pass into nothing.”

I look at the ground. Haldir carries a pain in his voice that makes me wonder if he’s seen this happen before. With over three thousand years behind him, it’s likely that he has.

I attempt to veer to a safer subject. He said elves only love once and, as far as I know, Haldir isn’t married. I try to tease him a little to lighten the mood. “So you’ve never been in love?”

He raises an eyebrow, jerking his chin in my direction. “Have you?”

I shrug, climbing the staircase. “I wouldn’t remember.”

“I think you would.” We’re at the top now and I turn to see him looking not at me, but out one of the gaping archways showcasing the falls.

I let out a slow breath, thinking on his words. Would I, though? I mean, what if I’m here gallivanting with my new friends and I have someone at home mourning my loss, missing me? Do I owe it to him to make it back?

Feeling a weight settle on my shoulders, I take small, hesitant steps towards the archway, bringing me closer and closer to the fortified stone railing. I don’t look down—that would be too much—but I do rest my hands lightly against the wood, staring straight ahead at the curtain of frothy white and blue. Guilt as well as fear from being so close to the edge churn in my stomach. Am I a bad person for not remembering my love? Do I even have one?

I let out a shuddering breath, knowing I need something — reassurance or condemnation, I don’t know. I choose to give voice to my fears and trust Haldir to decide.

When I speak, my voice is not as solid as I would like, sounding instead shaky and fragile. “But what if I didn’t?” I swallow against the lump rising in my throat. “What if there’s someone in my world waiting for me and I can’t remember him?”

The sounds of boots clicking against stone echoes. A few seconds later, Haldir appears next to me, resting his hands on the railing, mirroring my viewing of the waterfall.

“An elf’s fæ gives them a measure of awareness. If you are really attuned to someone—love them, have a strong bond with them—your fæs will have a consciousness of each other, almost like they’re in communication. For example, I can see Rumil’s light and I know that he is content. I can feel Orophin’s joy practically bursting and I know how happy it makes him to be here with his love. And, while a human’s fæ isn’t as strong as an elf’s, you do have one. If I concentrate, I can see it. It’s faint, but it is there. All this to say,” he shakes his head slowly, turning his gaze to me. “If you had a love back home, your fæ would know.”

I slump in relief, leaning against the railing and closing my eyes so I cannot further frighten myself. If I had someone that I was bonded to, I would remember him — more than that, I would feel it in my soul. So, staying here…if it weren’t so dangerous…maybe it wouldn’t be bad.

“Haldir, Lady Cosima.” A confident voice at the end of the hall catches our attention.

Glorfindel, golden and gorgeous as ever, strides up to us, bowing deeply. He reaches for my hand and presses a kiss to its back, then straightens and winks—at me or Haldir, I can’t tell. “A human custom I thought I’d try. Not my cup of tea, but I do say I’ll try anything once.”

I bark out a shocked laugh, having not expected Glorfindel’s bold entrance. “Am I one of your experiments, then?”

“If you’d like to be.” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively, though, if what Haldir just explained to me is true for all elves, Glorfindel is only playing around.

Haldir rolls his eyes. “Are you ready to go?”

With a flair, Glorfindel gestures to his armored form. “So it seems. Is the Lady going to accompany us?”

I huff, not liking being cut out of the conversation. “No, ‘the Lady’ hopes to stay here and find breakfast.”

“Ah, it is on the path to the stables! Allow us to show you the way.” With that, Glorfindel strides down the hallway as quickly as he arrived.

Haldir shakes his head—whether in amusement or annoyance, I don’t know—but follows.

The three of us wind up in a large outdoor pavilion sheltered only by a wooden lattice rooftop woven with blue and white flowers. This must be the common dining hall Elrond mentioned last night. It’s relatively late in the morning but too early for the midday meal, so the pavilion is empty. I’m grateful—I’m not sure I could handle meeting a whole city’s worth of elves before I’ve gotten some food in me.

The use of the word causes a brief spark of shock to jolt through my chest. I just referred to them as ‘elves’.

But I cannot deny it any longer—somehow, it clicked. I am in a different world, and the people of this world are not all human. My friends are elves.

This decision to believe—though it is only one of many I must make—releases a weight from my chest. I suddenly feel much lighter, nearly giddy with freedom. I push forward and turn around to face the two ellyn who led me here, nodding with a measure of finality.

“You are elves.”

Glorfindel looks perplexed, but Haldir, for the first time since I’ve met him, looks surprised. His eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, his lips part from each other. I grin, very much enjoying the feeling of catching him off guard. He narrows his eyes slightly, seeming to inspect me for signs of teasing or a joke. I smile up at him, confident in my decision.

Glorfindel looks back and forth between what probably looks like an impromptu staring contest. “Yes…it must be time for you to eat. How often do humans need to eat, anyways?” He chatters on, leading us through the pavilion and into an auxiliary room — the kitchens. “I’ve heard horror stories of new humans needing to eat upwards of six times per day. How do its caretakers get anything done?”

As Glorfindel darts through the kitchen collecting what I assume to be leftovers and provisions for the trip, Haldir comes up beside me, looking almost unsure.

“You have accepted it, then?”

I nod, exhaling quickly. “I have. This isn’t a dream, this is real. Somehow I lived in my world and now I live in yours. And, though there’s no way for me to wrap my head around it, my new friends are elves.”

He smiles softly, hesitantly, and dips his head in acknowledgment of my statement. “I am glad.”

But, despite my momentary feeling of freedom, unease settles in my gut. Many more decisions lie ahead.

A/n Ooo so what do you think??? Likes, comments, and reblogs make me happy! Let me know if you would like a tag :) Also, if you’re bored, pop into my ask box and tell me something that makes you happy -- I’d love to know!

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Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #haldir #haldir of lorien #haldir x oc #haldir x own character #haldir x own female character #tolkien elves #lothlorien elves #haldir fic #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction #lotr fic #orophin #rumil #elrond #ofc x haldir #haldir of lorien x ofc #haldir of lothlorien #lorien elves #rivendell #imladris #marchwarden #marchwarden haldir #haldir the marchwarden

[voidcat]

– a case of bad luck

2. a deal (with the devil)

m.list ; prev ; next ; wc: 2.1k

a/n: society if i could w r i t e,,, anwyays i feel im making mafia dazai ooc? i hope not, ive just began the light novels dsfdg uh yea i'll probs update once a week (depends on how often i can write)

Insisting he leaves you off at the station, you let out a breath of relief for the first time in hours. Unsure he may still be following, you change directions few times, walk fast and use shortcuts only locals of the neighbourhoods know to get him off your track. Just in case.

The next day he doesn’t show up, neither does he the day after. Not knowing how to feel or what to think about this, because there is no way he will let you slide off this easily, you do your best to resist the relief.

And soon later, it blurs back in your head, like smoke dissolving, like a bad dream.

But the unease never leaves. Neither does the feeling of being watched.

Then one lunch break, your eyes get fixed on a spot by the sidewalk and you can swear it’s the same clothes, the bandages, the posture and the look and everything crashes down back on you again. You do your best to linger and change directions as many times as you can on the way home that evening. Nothing goes wrong that night, or the day after or the day after that. If the false of sense peace were to go for few more days, you think you’ll forget all that happened again, too focused on school or whatever your friends recently bringing up.

A bell to mark the school hours ending, walking outside, caught up in whatever you’re discussing and he just stands there, like it’s nothing, like he belongs to his peer group, missing some of the bandages you saw on his face before, clothes not sticking out like you thought they would.

He stands there and smiles your way.

You think, you’ve never wanted to punch someone in your life as you do in this very moment. Just to erase that smile off his face.

In your view, he only gets bigger with each step, the flock of students you’re stuck in only walking towards where he waits and you look around for a way to sneak out but nada! Nothing! And your friends have grown suspiciously quieter than the usual. Stealing glances from one another and from you, the snicker like they’re sharing this little surprise for you.

Shorter than calculated, you find yourself standing right in front of him.

No words on his end and the expecting looks on you make the air tense.

“Hi… Dazai!” You say at one point, fake enthusiasm clear, not that they seem to mind nor realize. “What brings you here?”

“I was just in the city as you see. And decided, what better time to surprise an old friend than now?” The smile vanishes for a moment, the forced school play act making you want to roll your eyes but he puts a hand on your shoulder suddenly, you wince and shake his hand off, and he continues. “So, have you got the time to show me around and catch up?”

“Do I have a choice?” Followed by a dry laugh, you look back to your friends who only seem satisfied, makes you wonder what kind of lie he sold before he got here. His smile grows wider in reply.

You sigh and start to walk by his side, taking a step a second later than him to keep a distance and to see where you’re headed.

“What did you tell them exactly?” your curiosity takes the best of you as you reach a traffic light.

A little ‘huh?’ coming from him, he turns back to glance at you, the sun behind his head makes his height apparent. The short lived look of asking he gives you dies as he tilts his head “I only told them a cliché story, assumed they’d fall for cheesy scenarios such as that.”

Red turns green.

You take a step by his side, no more following behind. “Which is?..”

“That we were old friends with a shared history of potential intimacy and I wanted to take you out now that we are back together again!” He says it like it’s so usual.

The two of you reach the pavement and continue to walk, never faltering.

Letting your eyes linger on him for a while, you turn your gaze back on the streets as the sense of familiarity begins to vanish. “I didn’t take you for the romcom type.” You say at last as you stop.

“I’m not.” He doesn’t spare a glance this time. “I just know someone who likes them.”

The number of people around decrease with each step, the air gets colder –maybe it’s your nerves. The light starts to fade and not a word has been spoken for quite some time. Not that either of you were dying for some get-to-one-another.

When he speaks again, you don’t hear it at first. “Your ability-”

You halt with a stomp of your foot. “I don’t have one.”

He narrows his eyes in annoyance, “Your ability must be based on some form of speech, as Akutagawa served a good example that night.”

The name barely rings a bell in your memory.

“Question is, what kind of speech it requires? Does it rhyme, should commands work, shall it be sang, like a siren?”

“These are all excellent questions, except for one big missing piece…” you answer. The mention of something missing seems to get his attention. “…That I do not have an ability.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he huffs, the ever growing annoyance levels can tell alone you’re pushing the little bit of luck you have.

“Then how did Akutagawa pass out exactly?” hands back under his coat.

“There was blood on him? Maybe he’s sick? He definitely looked the part.” You say as more of a suggestion than an answer.

“The men inside the building. The one with his internal organs out.” Words get colder with each breathe.

Yours fade as his grow colder, “Maybe the other captured guy did it?”

“You don’t sound sure, weren’t you right next to him?” suspicion of a knowing parent hinted in his voice almost, he already must’ve figured it all out that night.

“I…” the pavement looks gray, stones crooked, countless fights must’ve gone through here before.

“I don’t know.” From the edge that connects the floor to the walls, you try inspecting each dull color behind the lifeless filter, not acknowledging him standing there doesn’t feel any safer but it’s preferable to those eyes.

His lips don’t move but the ‘You don’t know?’ is heavy in the air.

“I don’t know! I don’t remember!” someone’s yelling reaches your ears. “I just!-“

The yelling was yours, your arms fall back, go back up and you hold yourself, “I was… singing? To calm down… And the rest is just a blur.”

When you look up, he looks as disinterested. You consider yelling, asking for an explanation, what he’s thinking; it’s not that hard to piece it all, you think, but this demeanor rubs you the wrong way. The longer the silence goes, the eerier it becomes, the emptiness of the alley you’re standing in stands out. The lack of people, noise, light, it’d almost crash down on you if it wasn’t soin the open ever since he showed up.

“The words you spoke to Akutagawa. Are they from a song?”

“The ‘go to sleep’ you mean?” you finger quote the lyric, “it’s from Beach Life In-“ you stop with a shake of your head, “it’s from a song, yes.”

When you look again, it feels like an adult waiting for a child to connect the dots in front of them, like you’re the only one in the world who hasn’t figured it out already.

“But it makes no sense.” Hands on hips, eyes focused on a pebble near your foot, “I mean- it’s not like I haven’t sung before?” You turn then, start to pace, a hand on your forehead to push back the few strands brushing against your forehead.

It starts to warm up, or feels like it, each strand of hair just there, existing, leaving its weight on you, tickling, annoying, bothering; suffocating-

He cannot be right, can he?

Sure, self-awareness can change for each person but something so important as an ability shouldn’t be missed that easily… being a stranger to yourself when a stranger figured it out in mere seconds- it’s ridiculous, it simply doesn’t make sense, he must be wrong or confuse you with someone else, how can it be that bad, how can my perception be that bad, what else did I miss if all this is true and happening-

“Despite how the Port Mafia appears,” his voice pulls you out of your head, “ability users is not such a common occurrence. And surely the ability to affect your surroundings, or make people act certain ways is one we cannot let go of.”

I should drink some water, a part of you says when you gulp at his implications, ‘we cannot let go’ just gets out of his mouth and stays right in front of you, in bold jet black letters.

“What you should ask yourself is if you felt anything during all these times of singing…” silence feels enough of an answer, hyped up or not there isn’t much to feel, much to wish for. “Or if the words you snag back then were for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” “What did you feel that night?”

“Typical fight or flight response? Adrenaline, instinct to survive?”

“Stop assuming and start being more confident.” (like that night) a part of you yells, in his voice, though his is devoid of any emotion. You don’t want to learn how he sounds when he yells.

“I wanted to get out.” You try again. “Not to survive but to avoid death or whatever was awaiting me until that.” Sounds more like you, you straighten your back. “I didn’t want to stay any longer to see what they’d do to me so I found a way out.” He almost seems pleasant to hear the change in you, maybe it’s time to surprise him a little more.

“So let’s say,” you start pacing again, less like rambling and more like an animal circling, not a prey but a threat, because that’s what he is, what he has been and will be, “that I have an ability that I can use only when my emotional capacity is at a certain level… why would a mafia executive want me to have a better understanding of it?”

The radius decreasing with each step, you end your steps right in front of his face “what makes you think I won’t use it, right now, on you?” each pause between the words to make it clear this is a threat, no more of the power balance he held over you for too long. Your back to the beginning of the alley, you’re ready, in case he is one of them –if not, he might still have a gun.

He doesn’t falter, not a hair on him moves. Until he chuckles, at you and your words.

The vibration in his voice, nor the laughter reach his eyes.

“There are quite a few reasons why this won’t do, like how you cannot use it.”

The confidence in his voice makes the truth more unbearable.

“And besides, even if you managed to use it, it wouldn’t take me long to stop you.”

“Are you that fast?”

“Are you?”

This marks the end of it, as much as it pains to admit he is right, a part of you doesn’t want it, doesn’t feel the same sense of danger and survival to run away.

And regardless of all the threat he possesses, he doesn’t seem all too willing to get rid of you.

Rolling your eyes, you turn and walk away to the blinking store lights from the street. A second set of footsteps catch up to you in few long strides.

“So what is this then? You’re going to help me use my ability and leave me in debt?” reaching the traffic lights, you step onto the road without batting an eye.

“Why would I agree to something like that?” the car drives by, almost brushing your back. The sun has begun to set already, the colors mixing together.

The wind carries away his words but you catch them just in time: “You have a family and a cat, don’t you?”

You stop and look up. “Not a cloud in sight. Was it a sign of a rainy day to follow?” ignore the implications, don’t think about the faces. “A cloudy day perhaps, I always mix up the tells of the sky.”

“I’ll be around.” And he leaves with that.

#bad luck.voidcat #i hope that was the tag oops</3 #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #gender neutral reader #reader insert #x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd fanfic #dazai osamu fanfic #dazai osamu fanfiction #dazai fanfiction #dazai x reader #dazai x you #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x you #im too lazy to think of tags... again

[noirlevity]

Scent Chapter 4.5

Pairing: TadaAi

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Synopsis: Ainosuke once loved Tadashi, but ever since he broke his heart, he decided to never have anything to do with him. But what happens if he meets him again after so many years and finds out a secret that will change both of their lives forever?

Chapter summary: Mutual pining is never at the same intensity.

Tags: Omegaverse, forced bonding, forced marriage, sorta angst, slow burn

A/N:  Just a little treat. I reached a milestone while working on this fanfic. I think I'm truly back. This isn't part of the original chapters I wrote so it's more like an extra but I really wanted this. The fanfic is serious so I just wanted to write more fluff. The next two chapters are extras as well. 

Read: AO3 || 1 2 3 4

Footfalls fall heavy on the carpeted floor. Ainosuke slumps on the couch and crosses his legs. Tadashi feels his stare on his back as he ties the curtains. 

"How do you find the room Ainosuke-sama? We didn't change anything but maybe you'd like to change some things?"

"It's fine."

Tadashi walks back to him.

"Then I'll leave you to rest. Natsuno will wake you when dinner is ready. For your luggage, which do you prefer, for the maids to unpack them for you or you'd rather do it yourself?"

"I'll unpack them myself."

"If there isn’t anything else then I’ll excuse myself."

"Wait."

Ainosuke walks towards Tadashi. He stands and stares at the older man. Too conscious of himself, Tadashi looks away and tightens his lip in a grave line. 

"Let me see your room," Ainosuke says after a long silence. Tadashi looks up, a bit surprised. 

"It's on the other wing. It's better if you rest now. You’re tired aren’t you?"

"The one you used when we were young?"

Tadashi shifts his eyes conscious of Ainosuke's heavy stares. 

"Yes."

"Heh~ then I'll rest. But the clothes will wrinkle at this rate." Ainosuke dips his head to look at his clothes and then raises his eyes to leer at Tadashi. 

"Undress me." 

Tadashi blinks. He didn’t want to but what can he do? Hesitantly he walks closer to him; eyes locked on his master’s pink necktie. Swiftly, Tadashi pulls on the cool fabric of Ainosukue’s tie and unbuckles the knot silently. The rustling sound of the fabric filled the quiet room. Heavy stares felt as if his skin is burned by an iron rod. The warmth of Ainosuke’s breath on his hand and the sound of his own heart blasts in his ears. Tadashi feels cold. Almost too cold that he could feel himself about to grind his teeth because of it. 

Truthfully, he didn’t want to be Ainosuke’s secretary. Eleven years have gone by since they last saw each other. They separated badly so he knew for sure that working under him won’t be good for the both of them. He said bad things; hateful things; unforgivable things. But he thought he would grant himself the opportunity to be with him again, for a little while. He thinks it's a little consolation after everything.

A pleasant sweet smell hangs heavy in the air. Tadashi secretly basks in the scent. Memories flash in his mind. Memories of him and Ainosuke. For the first time, Tadashi feels completely safe. He feels satisfied. Yet he is afraid this scent will hold him back from walking away. He hopes with all his heart that it won’t. 

Lost in thought, Tadashi is brought back to reality when he feels the heavy stares again. Ainosuke moves his body forward making Tadashi feel pressed against the younger man’s chest. Being too close to his master is suffocating.  

"Sir," Tadashi steps back in a half step, his voice trembling as he gasps. Words are stuck in his throat. He didn’t have the courage to tell Ainosuke to stop staring.

"What?" Ainosuke perches a hand on Tadashi's waist. 

"You don’t want to take my clothes off? Everyone wants to, you know. It's a privilege I’m giving you as my secretary."

At this Tadashi turns red. 

"Continue."

"It’s not as if you’ve never undressed my father right? You don't need to be shy."

Tadashi is silent. He swallows a lump in his throat at Ainosuke's comment.

The tie comes off. Tadashi walks to the side to take off his jacket but Ainosuke’s hand on his waist doesn't let go. Tadashi was at a loss. He couldn't move. He swallows hard and tried to wrench away Ainosuke's grip by moving fast. Ainosuke only licks his bottom lip when Tadashi manages to break away.

Tadashi figured that the awkwardness that looms between them was because he couldn't think of anything to say. After 11 years of not seeing Ainosuke, he was rendered speechless by how the other has grown. He's no longer the cute kid that used to cling to him innocently. And he's even talking about adult matters now without care. A warm feeling envelops Tadashi’s chest. He doesn’t regret that he became Ainosuke’s secretary. Even if it’s just for a little bit, he wants to be close to him again. For him, it is enough that they’re just inside a room together without speaking as long as he is with him. Smoothly, Tadashi unbuttoned Ainosuke's vest and decided to make conversation. 

"You've become so beautiful now," Tadashi began. Ainosuke's eyes widened at the comment.

"Of course they would want to… to undress you to see for themselves how beautiful you are. Perhaps it's normal. You are at the ripe age to find a partner after all."

It was what Tadashi honestly thought. Ainosuke had always been good-looking. It's no surprise to him that the younger man had many suitors. He had it all. Tadashi was proud of this. He was proud of Ainosuke. The younger man is silent. Tadashi didn’t notice the way he looked at him with eyes colored by a mix of contemplation and expectation. 

"For sure you've played with others yourself."

Tadashi furrows his brow. It takes a while before he answers.

"Not really. I didn't have the time."

The vest is taken off. Now Ainosuke is down to his inside shirt. 

At Ainosuke’s question, Tadashi feels cornered. He didn't want to be asked personal questions. The silence that hung felt like chains chaffing his wrist. He feels his master shift. He feels him pull him in for a whisper and it activates his flight response.

"Then," Ainosuke's tone was dangerous, thick with the juice of the forbidden apple. 

"Why don't you play now?" Tadashi unconsciously looks at him and meets his eyes. The look makes him feel as though he was challenging him to do something. Tadashi is confused. Play with whom?

Ainosuke leans in but Tadashi's fist on his chest tightens, stopping him from leaning forward. Ainosuke smirks. The look of confusion on Tadashi's face pisses him off. So he really hadn't had experience? Impossible. Ainosuke couldn't believe it. 

As Ainosuke leers at Tadashi, he is angry with himself. Why was he trying to seduce this man? What good would that do to him? There is a thrill in having this man a prisoner to pleasure begging him to take him. There is a thrill in seeing his cold impassive face break into orgasmic rapture as Ainosuke toy's with him. That is the reason why.

Tadashi unbuttons the white shirt revealing Ainosuke's taut well defined pectoral muscles. If it was another person, they'd probably be fucking now. Usually, people can't resist seeing his naked self. But Tadashi is unmoved. He didn't even look at him twice. 

The sound of rustling fabric and his heartbeat are like a ticking clock. Ainosuke stares at Tadashi’s  downcast eyes hoping for him to make a mistake. Hoping for him to give him a sign that he wants to be intimate with him. This was always the course of events with others. To his utter disappointment, Tadashi only touches him as what his job requires. It almost feels like rejection. The corner of his mouth twitches. The bed is just meters away, why doesn't Tadashi get a clue?

Warm fingers brushed his chest. Ainosuke feels  Tadashi finally take off his shirt. It folds on the juncture of his arm and then Tadashi finally pulls it off of him. He feels Tadashi's breath on his chest. He heaves. He wonders if this is how it would feel like if Tadashi roams his mouth on his body. He wonders  if this is how it would be if Tadashi ghosts his mouth on the ridges of his collar bone. Ainosuke feels his member stiffen at the thought. Sweat sluices down his jaw as he stares at Tadashi with eyes full of want. The anger that he felt was dispersed by the throes of desire that roped his insides ever since he breathe in his scent. He didn’t even try fighting back. He chooses to be poisoned and doesn’t even realize it. 

"What do you like?" Ainosuke drawls as he played with the hem of Tadashi’s suit. He feels hotter than before. He wants to know Tadashi’s type. He wants to know if he could fit as his ideal type. 

"I haven't thought about it." Comes Tadashi’s bland reply. His reticence about the topic is obvious. 

Ainosuke is silent. He remembers how Tadashi used to say he loves him.

"Liar." Ainosuke’s cool voice came in a whisper. 

Tadashi looks up but immediately looks away. 

"Maybe someone who has a great smile."

Ainosuke smiles at that. Again, what a useless answer. 

"I'll get your clothes." 

Ainosuke grabs his wrist.

"It's fine… I’ll get it. Stay put."

Ainosuke takes a shirt and long cotton pants. He takes off his trousers exposing his hard-on without shame. He slips inside the pants and walks to the bed. 

"Tadashi, don't leave. Wait until I fall asleep."

Tadashi nods. He stays with Ainosuke even after hearing his master pleasure himself under the sheets. He stays with him even after he falls asleep.

#tadaai #sk8 the infinity #tadashi kikuchi #ainosuke shindo #fics

[danjo-ao3]

Betwixt pt. 1

Din Djarin x Paz Viszla x fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Reader-Insert, Threesome - F/M/M, Hurt/Comfort, Dom/sub Undertones, Top!Paz, bottom!Din, Bottom!Reader, Paz is kind of a dick but not really, Din is ever the gentleman, Violence, mentions of an abusive relationship

Summary: AU – Din and Paz are working together to capture their newest quarry: you

Part 1 / 2

__________________________

You are running. Running through back streets and alleys, trying to find a hiding spot–without luck. As if it isn’t dangerous enough on Tatooine, you now have some bounty hunters chasing you down while the suns are setting no less. Soon you won’t see shit. 

Two sets of feet are very close behind and you yelp in fear. They can’t catch you, if they do you’ll be back with… him and you will never let that happen. 

Around a corner you stop for a second, examining a door in front of you. It looks sturdy, but most of all closed and any pulling or pushing doesn’t get you any farther. Quickly, you whirl around and come face to face with one of the bounty hunters who raises his right arm at you, ready to fire his blaster. His shiny metal armor and helmet almost give you a heart attack. 

“Shit,” you exclaim. “A Mandalorian?”

You weren’t able to get a good look at your pursuers yet, you were too busy running away. 

Layn really sent a kriffing Mandalorian after you. You know the man has credits, but that much? He really wants you back, huh?

Heart hammering in your chest, you look around to try and find a way out. To your left is a low wooden fence you just might be able to climb. But as you stare at it, another armor clad hunter appears directly behind it, blaster raised, effectively cutting off your last chance at escape.

So it’s two kriffing Mandalorians. Your day can’t get any worse. 

You plaster yourself against the durasteel door behind you, feeling along it to find some kind of hatch, but no luck. 

“Easy,” the Mandalorian in front of you speaks up, his voice muted and altered through the vocoder in his helmet, his blaster pointing right at you. 

Slowly, you raise your hands in surrender, your eyes darting between the two men. 

“Alright,” you answer. “But lower your weapon. I’m unarmed.”

And to your surprise, he does. With a flick of his wrist the blaster is back in its holster and he steps towards you with slow, measured steps while pulling out a pair of cuffs. 

As your eyes fall to the restraining device your fight or flight response kicks in. Just as he gets close enough to bind you, you drop to the side and dodge him as he tries to grab you. You hear him connecting with the metal door as you dash forward to the exit of the alley, only to fall face first into the dirt, splitting your lip in the process. 

Something snuck around your leg and brought you to the ground. As you turn over you see a thin wire connecting your ankle to the Mandalorian’s vambrace. He grabs fistfuls of the wire and starts to haul you in towards himself. With a yell you try to hold on to your surroundings, reaching for random stuff lying about, but nothing is substantial enough to help you. 

Before you know it, you're lying at the man’s feet, dirt clinging to you everywhere, you spit out the blood and sand in your mouth. You want to lash out at him, but again a blaster in your face halts you. The other Mando is also standing over you now, his shoulders slightly shaking in laughter. 

“She got you good, Din,” he chuckles through his vocoder. This one is built differently, bulkier and he has blue paint chipping away from his armor. 

“Shut up,” the one called Din grumbles at the other, bending down to finally put the cuffs around your wrists. He is doing it with harsh movements, obviously upset at your escape attempt. The sound of them clicking closed and sealing your fate makes you nauseous. 

“Please, don’t.” You say, testing the cuffs. “I can’t go back to him. He will kill me.” 

But there is no pause as he grabs your forearm to hurl you from the ground and then pushes you forward, leading you towards the streets. 

“Try anything funny again and I’ll carbo-freeze you,” Din says and that immediately shuts you up. 

“Now I understand why the guy spends so much to find her,” the other one says to his comrade, trying but unsucceeding in lowering his voice enough to not be overheard, before taking you over and walking in front to lead the way. 

You wonder what he means by that, but then he turns his head, pointedly looking at your face and when he sees you peering back at him, his visor tilts down toward the rest of your body, effectively checking you out. 

What the hell?

“We will deliver her as quickly as possible, Paz.” The Mando currently pushing you along answers in clipped tones. 

“Just saying,” the one called Paz replies and leaves it at that for the rest of the way. 

Now that it is night, the temperature dropped considerably and you shiver in your thin silk tunic. Before you, the ramp to a ship is lowering, the inside illuminated and welcoming. It just isn’t to you. You don’t want to get on that ship, you want to be free. 

“Please, you have to let me go,” you try again to reason with Din who just pushes you away from him to signal you to board the ship. Still standing on the ramp, Paz reaches out and grabs your arm, leading you inside. 

“No can do, princess,” Paz answers and waits for Din to come on board before pushing the button that closes the ramp. It shuts with a dull thump, your heart in your throat now. 

“I’m not a princess,” you can’t help but retort defiantly, angered at the man's attitude towards you. 

“You certainly look like one,” he answers and pulls you along. 

The fine silk clothes you’re wearing probably were the reason everyone immediately identified you as not belonging on Tatooine. You aren’t even wearing them voluntarily… 

Hot tears are gathering in your eyes, but you manage to sniff them away when you’re being led deeper into the ship. Lights flicker around you in many different colors as you’re approaching a metal ladder leading upwards. Din comes up behind you and Paz, gesturing for Paz to climb up first, but the man just pulls you to the side and motions for Din to go first. 

The silver Mando shakes his head briefly, then he is climbing the ladder in swift movements. You watch him disappear from view, when you feel Paz draw closer. 

“After you, princess,” he says, then nudges you forward. Uncertainly, you glance at the cuffs around your wrists and wonder how you’re supposed to get up. But you actually manage to climb, counting on your reflexes when having to let go of a bar and grabbing the next. When you reach the top you have to lean against the wall for a moment, that was straining. Especially with that other Mando watching your every move… 

Just as you finish that thought Paz’ helmet emerges from the hatch. The bulky man barely fits through the small opening, but he manages with a certain amount of grace. 

There is a door in the front that reveals the ship’s cockpit and a view of nighttime Tatooine. A silver helmet gleams in the dull light of the cockpit’s numerous small lamps where Din sits in the pilot’s seat, already pressing buttons and flicking switches as the ship is coming to life around you. 

“Have a seat,” Paz mumbles from behind and pushes you into one of the two spare seats behind the pilot’s. You land in it with an oomph, casting a glare in Paz’ direction for manhandling you like that. He doesn’t react to it at all, though. Instead, he moves towards Din. 

“You think we can make it before sunrise?”

“I am certain of it,” Din answers confidently, almost done with prepping the ship. 

They talk quietly amongst themselves as you stare ahead, unseeing. Thoughts swarm in your head. What will Layn do when you get back? You ran for a reason, you got betrothed to him because of pure greed. The man is one of the most influential businessmen on Coruscant, and your family owns the last independent trading company. Your father was all too eager to make a deal with him and thus you were promised to marry Layn D’urano. Nobody asked you of course. 

The first time you met him he made clear what he expects of a wife. Complete obedience and devotion, of course you instantly hated him. When you told him that you would not be treated like that he actually almost strangled you. So you seized the first opportunity and fled, ending up on Tatooine with the nice clothes your mother had chosen for you to wear. 

And now here you are, not gone for a week and already captured again. You hold your head in your bound hands, uncaring if the Mandalorians see you, as the ship takes off into space. 

When you look up again later and wipe at your face you see that Paz slid into the other seat and is watching you. 

Quickly, you avert your eyes again, unsure what the man’s interest in you is. 

“Come here,” he suddenly says when you least expect it. Why would he want you to go to him? You shift in your seat, wringing your hands in front of you. There is something about the Mando that makes you uneasy. 

“Don’t be shy,” he teases and you can’t help a small blush form on your cheeks. Flirting of any kind always makes you turn to mush inside, you never were able to be suave or cool about it. But these are different circumstances, you need to be on high alert, try to flee at any given moment. 

“Why?” You ask in a small voice, eyes shifting from Paz to Din and back, the silver Mando apparently uncaring about what his friend is doing. 

Paz produces a small bacta vaporizer and shows it to you. “That cut looks nasty, you should treat it.”

Oh. How thoughtful?

“Um, thanks.” You lift from the seat and reach for the vaporizer, but Paz doesn’t let go of it. Instead, he pulls you out of the seat completely so you stumble towards him. 

“Let me,” he murmurs as he lifts an arm and cups your face in his gloved hand, his thumb brushes over your chin and then your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from the sting of your wound. “Hm yes, quite nasty,” he comments as he lets go of you again and instead pats his thigh. 

Does he expect you to sit in his lap?

You want to protest, but he just dangles the vaporizer in front of your face, making it clear that you will not get the bacta without him. For a second you consider just going back to your seat, but now that he reopened the cut it started to bleed and sting again. What a dick. 

In the corner of your eye you see the slightest shift in Din as his helmet swivels toward you, but before you can stall any longer, Paz pulls you down and you land sitting across his lap. It’s not warm and soft as laps should be, but rather hard and cold from the armor the man is wearing. It’s pretty uncomfortable.

“There, now hold still.”

Paz gently holds your chin in his left hand again while bringing the bacta vaporizer up and toward your mouth. You watch warily as he does it, then flinch a little as the bacta spray hits your cut. It stings at first, but then it warms against your skin very quickly, you can already feel its effect. You sigh through your nose at the relief.

Paz is still watching you through the dark T of his visor, laying down the vaporizer in a small nook in the wall. He is also still holding your chin, and as you become aware of it, you stiffen against him. 

“Good girl,” he coos at you then, and the blush you had before returns full force, the stiffness in your body turning into slight tremors instead. Why is he doing this?

His free hand lands on your knee, the leather strangely warm through your leggings. Again you gasp as it travels higher up to rest on your thigh. 

“W–wait,” you breathe, bringing your bound hands up against his chest. 

His thumb is brushing over your lip again, but this time it doesn’t sting; the bacta worked its magic. 

“Such a pretty thing,” Paz murmurs and pulls you closer to him, your arms feel like jelly where they’re still pressed against him. 

“Paz,” Din suddenly speaks up in a warning tone. 

Paz chuckles as he regards you through the visor, his voice crackling. “He’s jealous,” he tells you, and even though you can’t see his face you somehow know that he winks at you. 

“What are you doing?” You half whisper, now eager to get off the man’s lap again.

“Yeah, what are you doing? Need I remind you that she’s our quarry ?” Din sounds pissed as he flips switches behind you. 

“Come on, Din. I haven’t had a pretty girl in my lap in weeks. Cut me some slack, promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Cut it out, Vizsla. I’m not telling you again.”

That makes Paz look up at Din, something calculating about the way his helmet tilts. 

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll carbo-freeze the girl.”

“No!” You exclaim and start to struggle to get off of Paz’ lap. Being frozen would make any attempt at fleeing impossible, plus you really don’t want to find out what it is like to be suspended in carbonite while still being conscious but unable to move. That’s the stuff of nightmares. 

“I’m not going to hurt her.” Paz isn’t letting up, he easily outmaneuvers your feeble attempts at escaping his strong arms. 

You cry out when you’re suddenly grabbed from behind by a very upset Din who drags you down the hatch into the belly of the ship. As you near the many slates of their bounties frozen in carbonite you start begging.

“No, please don’t freeze me!” Tears are burning your eyes, you absolutely don’t want this to happen. 

But Din pushes you into the open chamber and is ready to push the button, when he hesitates. You stare at him wide-eyed and with wet cheeks when he shakes his head and pulls you out again so you land against his beskar clad chest. 

“It’s not your fault,” he sighs, observing you through the black visor. “Paz has a problem with keeping it in his pants. Just stay down here and out of his sight. There is a ‘fresher nearby if you want to get cleaned up.” He releases you then and you can’t actually believe that he didn’t freeze you after all. 

“Thank you,” you sniffle, and seeing Din in such a forgiving mood makes you wonder how far you may be able to push it. “The man who pays you to fetch me, he’s going to–”

“No,” Din cuts you short and pushes you out of the way. “Enough of that. You’ll do as I say or end up frozen. Make up your mind.”

You swallow around a painful lump in your throat but step down. The silver Mando’s cape swishes at his feet as he walks away, then he’s climbing up the ladder into the cockpit once more. 

Feeling small and wrung out you go to the ‘fresher and clean yourself with semi warm water that leaves you freezing. 

After beating the dust out of your clothes and putting them back on you open the door to a small cranny that consists of a small dresser and a cot where you sit on and sniffle back tears, wondering what Layn will do once you’re back in his clutches. 

***

“Finally,” Layn hisses when his eyes fall on you, as you stand small and depressed, shackled between the two Mandalorians. Hurried steps move toward you, the way he comes at you makes you take a step back in fear. 

Paz’ hand on your shoulder stops you though, it’s grounding in its heaviness. Final. 

A dry sob escapes you when Layn comes to a stop, he’s already reaching out towards you, but Din’s outstretched arm stops him short. 

“Payment first,” he says curtly. 

Layn squints at the silver Mando with a look of distaste on his face. “Right,” he sneers and snaps his fingers. A brass colored protocol droid in a far corner comes forward, bearing a tray with five calamari flan. Wow, no wonder they were so keen to collect you. “Here, just as promised.”

Paz steps forward and takes the gel like discs from the droid with one hand before they disappear in one of his pockets. 

“Now, if you would be so kind,” Layn says with a sickly sweet, false smile and points at the cuffs on your wrists. Din presses a button on his vambrace and the cuffs click open for him to remove from your person. You should be relieved about their absence, but all you feel is emptiness.

Then Layn’s hand curls around your upper arm, digging in painfully and drags you away from between the two bounty hunters, pushing you with force toward a side exit while you try not to stumble. 

You give Din and Paz a final pleading look, but it’s impossible to tell what the Mandos might think under their helmets and armor. So you glare at them instead before they disappear from view entirely and you’re being dragged along a hallway towards the sleeping chambers. 

Layn smashes the door closed behind you two after you enter a beautifully decorated room. No two seconds later he backhands you so hard you fall to the floor and the world is spinning. 

“You kriffing whore , I should have you killed for running away. Nobody runs from Layn D’urano.” He yells at you while you turn to him, holding your throbbing cheek. 

“Good, I’d rather die than marry you!”

Eyes bulging at your insubordination, his hand already draws back to strike you again, but then there are blaster shots to be heard from outside the door, halting him mid swing. 

The door comes crashing down, Paz simply kicked it down and is now standing on the ruined piece of wood, blaster smoking as he raises it towards Layn. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Layn froths at the mouth, fumbling for his own hidden blaster behind his back. But before he can so much as draw it, Din whirls around the corner of the door frame and shoots him in the head. 

Layn falls to the ground like a puppet whose strings got cut, right next to you. You crawl away from his body, too shocked for words and look back up at Din as he comes inside the room, hand outstretched towards you in invitation. 

You take it without hesitation, still unbelieving of what is happening. Paz is walking past you as Din nears the exit with you. The bulky Mando reaches into his pockets and takes out the calamari flan to throw them at Layn’s corpse. 

Together, you three make your way out of the estate, a few security droids hot on your heels. Din and Paz are firing at them while you all run towards their ship. One blaster shot grazes your calf and you scream at the burning sensation as you drop to the ground. Paz’ strong arms gather you up and carry you the rest of the way while you desperately cling to him.

The ship’s ramp is lowering just as you reach it, Din in the front giving Paz and you cover as the big Mando carries you into the ship. 

Once inside, Paz brings you further into the ship to where you crashed on their cot and sets you down gently as you can already hear and feel the ship getting ready to take off. 

“You alright?” He asks as he squats in front of you and takes a good look at your injured leg. 

“Hurts,” you hiss through gritted teeth, and Paz is already up and gone for just a quick second before he returns with a bacta injector. 

“This might sting a bit,” he murmurs before injecting the bacta into the muscle of your calf. You manage not to cry out at the pain, not wanting to appear weak in front of Paz. 

“That should do the trick,” he says as he places the empty bacta injector aside. 

“Thank you,” you sigh and fall back against the wall, now pain-free and suddenly very tired. 

“Think you can manage, princess?” His nickname for you makes you smile dazedly, you let yourself fall to the side and rest your head against the thin pillow. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

A rough blanket is being pulled over you, then gloved fingers push some of the hair away from your face before they grab your chin softly. You’re barely able to keep your eyes open as you stare at Paz under your lashes, sleep trying to claim you any second now. 

“Bastard had it coming,” Paz comments as his eyes must fall on the imprint Layn’s hand left on your cheek.

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

Paz chuckles at your sleepy admission. 

“So am I,” he says and pats your head once before turning away and disappearing from your field of vision entirely.

__________________________ 

A/N: Omg lmfao I tried to post this and then it didn’t and then it did and now I’m confused.

Anyway, part two is already finished, thanks for anyone who was kind enough to read, like and reblog haha!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x paz viszla #din djarin x paz viszla x reader #reader insert #the mandalorian #fanfiction

[adamantiumdragonfly]

“...A time when the United States is what we fight for...” 

The occupants of the Grisham Hall boarding house were no strangers to the war effort. Brothers, cousins, old flames, and sweethearts have been wrenched from their grasp, the only contact to their stolen loved ones is military grade pencils and scraps of paper. Estelle prides herself on her mind for numbers but a usurper from her past rears his russet head and threatens to steal her thoughts every chance he gets. Bessie has been searching for a home in every patron in that cafe but she’s left seeing his face everywhere she looks. Constance hears her lover’s voice on the wind, finding quiet in the graveyard shift of the machine shop. Margaret refuses to admit defeat but the distance between her letters and her love grows wider each day. Jeannette has read many stories about tragic heroes. Her childhood friend has told tales of his plans for wealth and ending the war on his own. She just hopes she has a chance to do her part first.  

taglist: @rinadoesstuff @vintagelavenderskies @julianneday1701  @wexhappyxfew @junojelli @jamie506101-deactivated20210209 @trashgoddess600 @pilindieltheelf @sunnyshifty @rogue-sunday @easy-company-tradition  @pxpeyewynn @50svibes​

No Ordinary Time

When the doorbell rang at the Grisham Hall for Ladies, it was a house-wide thrill, shivering down the very spine of the building and sending chills into every resident. A doorbell ring, with its chime calling every girl to their feet in a downward flight, could mean one of two things: a visitor or a postman. Visitors, particularly of the sought after male variety, were scarce since the war had been put on to boil some three years previously. Now, with the residents tending home fires and not the flaming passions of suitors, a postman was more likely. A postman, or rather post-boy, were the only kindling to the fires of romance. 

But, on a dim March morning with the sky heavy and ready to bleed, the doorbell had been run and so began the usual stampede of pumps on hardwood floors. There should have been only two possibilities and yet, Jeannette Edwards wasn't a postman or anything that the anxiously awaiting faces expected. She had rung the bell and stepped back in surprise and a tiny bit of fright at the fervor and hunger that met her behind the door wrenched from it’s frame by a seemingly harmless girl. 

She shouldn’t have been so ferocious of a predator as she seemed, this little thing with short brown hair and a dickie color edged in red ribbon but Jeannette stepped back all the same. This hadn’t been what Jeannette had expected either. 

Grisham had come highly recommended, as a good, upstanding place for good, upstanding girls. Jeannette thought she had fit that description rather well and had packed her things in the carpet bag she now clutched tightly in one whitened fist. Could this carpet bag that had first belonged to her mother be used as a weapon to fend off this frightening girl and her hungry eyes? 

“You aren’t Davis,” The girl huffed and moved to shut the door. Jeannette hadn’t come all the way from Hughestown to be turned away by someone looking for a Davis but she didn’t move fast enough. 

A hand, surely one of God’s angels come down from heaven, stopped the door before the girl could shut Jeannette out from her new home. 

“Sorry about that,” The hand’s owner said. She might as well have been an angel as she pushed the door open again, giving full view of her face. Not nearly as intimidating as this little rabid creature before her but there was something in her dark eyes that didn’t set Jeannette completely at ease. 

“Oh,” Jeannette said. “That’s quite alright.” 

“It isn’t really. Bess turns into a monster when she hasn’t heard from her beau in a few days,” The girl said, tossing her long black curls over her shoulder. She wore them loose, a stark contrast to the tight pins in the other girl, Bess’s, locks of chestnut brown. “Sorry you had to be in her path.” 

“Who’s Davis?” Jeannette stammered, gripping her carpet bag tighter and trying not to wobble in her too big pumps. She had bought them before the war, when she had still been hopeful that she’d grow to fit them. But with spending frivolously unpatriotic and her shoe size stubbornly remaining, Jeannette had been left with loose pumps and aching feet. 

“THERE HE IS!” Bess leapt past Jeannette, brushing her roughly in her flight off the wooden porch and flying into the dripping rain. She wore no shoes and her bobby socks were soaked on the puddled pavers as she ran towards the approaching youth in a yellow raincoat. 

“Davis is the mail carrier.” the dark haired girl explained. “He was running late today. We get antsy when we don’t get our letters. I’m sorry I don’t think I-” 

“Jeannette.” She extended her hand. “Jeannette Edwards.” 

Those dark eyes studied her, flicking over her navy blue hat into which her frizzy tomato red hair was tucked, all the way down her too big pumps before shaking Jeannette’s outstretched hand. “Estelle Tran.” 

Behind those dark eyes lay a studious mind that wrote down every variable and equation the world threw at her, bringing up the final unfair sum and accepting it as fact. Estelle was a woman of facts, something that Jeannette rarely dealt in. 

The idea of chasing a mail carrier down flooded steps to retrieve a sought-after letter had never once crossed Jeannette’s mind but it seemed these girls found it a daily occurrence. Jeannette’s gaze was cast to the left of the doorway where the mailbox was hung, the address and the name of the establishment emblazoned on the wood in cut out letters. 

“I’m sorry, I believe I came to the wrong place,” She said, gesturing at the box where the “I” had been replaced by a mystifying “E”. “I’m looking for Grisham Hall,” 

“Oh you are in the right place,” Bess jogged back up the path, her stockings slapping against the stone pavers like webbed feet. “We knocked the ‘I’ off and had to make do. Grisham, Gresham. It’s all the same, really,” 

“Jeannette Edwards,” The redhead pushed her hand forward, offering it to the creature who had been ready to shut her out in this damp cold. Bess seemed in better spirits now, a wad of letters in her hand.

“Elizabeth Ferguson,” Her bobbed brown hair bounced against her cheeks as Elizabeth leaned forward to take Jeannette’s hand. “You can call me Bess, Beth, I really don’t mind. Crops good this week,” Bess turned to Estelle and waved the mail under her companion’s nose. 

“Stop waving and let me look,” Estelle plucked the letters from Bess’s hands, holding them out of reach as the brunette leapt for them. 

“Hang on,” Bess cried, trying in vain to reach the envelopes. “Two of them are for me.” 

When the correspondence had been returned to their rightful recipient, Bess squealed and darted back into the house, sliding across the foyer in her slick stockings. 

“Better wake Connie and Margo,”  Estelle called over her shoulder as she sorted through the last of the letters. She turned to go inside but paused, as if remembering that Jeannette was there, out in the drizzling rain and the damp air. “You are looking for Grisham Hall, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Jeannette said. “I’m-” 

“The new tenant,” Estelle finished for her. “Mrs. G told us. Come on then,” 

Allowing herself to be waved inside, Jeannette cast her gaze around the foyer of cherry-stained wood and bright electric lights, a stark contrast to the gloom and doom of the world outside. The scent of lemon cleaner that hung in the air was the same brand that Jeannette’s mother had used in the houses she cleaned. A strange connection between the hills of Pennsylvania and the riverside of Virginia that was a comfort as much as a weight. This house was far too clean to be anything from Jeannette’s home and it fit the bill for good and upstanding. This house was the picture of American dreams and patriotism with it’s large staircase and adjoining room for a grand piano and little else. 

Jeannette hung back as Estelle pushed her way further into the house as if she wasn’t stunned by the cherry-wood and lemon cleaner. Those too big shoes looked foolish and the wish for a pair that fit was unpatriotic in this bright house with it’s star banner in the window. Shuffling her feet, Jeannette cast her gaze down. 

“Mrs G!” Estelle shouted. Deep from the belly of this house, came a faint response. 

“She’s in the kitchen,” Estelle waited for Jeannette to follow her through the side door into a back hall, past the dining room set for an army and a sunroom that was dark under the storm brewing outside, and into the even brighter kitchen. 

“Mrs. G, Ms. Edwards is here,” Estelle called and the woman at the counter turned away from the scraps of dough, her hands dusted in flour. 

“I was expecting a call from the station,” Mrs. Grisham chided, wiping her hands across a spotless apron, sending a wince through Jeannette’s frame at the destruction of such clean linen.  “We were going to send the car with Constance.” 

“I took a bus and then a cab. It was no trouble,” Jeannette said. “I didn’t want to impose,”

Mrs. Grisham blustered and waved a hand, sending flour cascading into the air, assuring Jeannette that it was no trouble at all. She was a matronly, if not clumsy, woman who’s nice house and nice clothes set the tone for the good and upstanding boarding house she ran. The girls who had been in her care were loved fiercely and looked after tenderly with a maternal, if not iron, fist. She was no stranger to hard work and saw the running of this hall for ladies as her battlefield. While the muddied stairs and the young women were not German soldiers or Pacific islands, they were a worthy opponent all the same. 

 “I saw your banner, Mrs. Grisham,” Jeannette said, gesturing back the way she had come. “Your son?” 

Stars marked windows and hearts, declaring that the ultimate show of patriotism had been brandished in that home. Their home fires were stoked a little more vigorously and their women sat in wait a little more earnestly. Jeannette had seen many on her trip down from Pennsylvania and knew still more in her hometown; there it stung to put names to the stars in windows. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Grisham said, with a thin smile. “Arthur is in the Pacific. And you?” 

“Two brothers in North Africa,” Two stars for Jeannette’s mother. “A cousin in the Navy, and a friend. Last I heard, he was in England.” 

Those names were hard to forget. Brothers. Friends. Family. Everyone knew someone who was fighting, everyone had a letter that they could send. 

Her friend had taken up space in her mind since he had waved goodbye on that train. She carried those dark eyes and that crooked smile in her carpet bag across state lines and into Norfolk, etched into her memory with the letters and the memories. Jeannette hadn’t heard from him in several weeks and she was growing steadily more concerned. They had grown up together and he had always been in her life in some form or fashion, in letters or in days under the trees. 

“Mine too!” Bessie cried. “Postmarked Aldbourne.” 

“Now, you know how Estelle feels about all this talk,” Mrs. Grisham said softly. “Did you have your address changed, dear? Letters are a big to-do around here.” 

Jeannette didn’t cling to every letter, every word at first.  She hadn’t known what a lifeline those pencil-etched papers of military issued paper, in the storm of the current world. She had begun to see how impervious the lead was to the wiles of the storms. 

“My mother will forward any letters from home,” Jeannette said. 

“Now, enough of all this letter talk,” Mrs. Grisham said. “You got a job on base, didn’t you?” 

Jeannette nodded. 

“You are in luck. Most of the girls here work on base and there is always plenty of room in the car. Dinners and breakfasts are as a home but lunches are up to you. I trust you’ll join us tonight? I’ve been saving my coupons.” 

“Mrs. G is making her apple pie,” Bessie said. “It ranks 4th best.” 

“I will win first place, mark my words,” Mrs. G teased. “You’ll find we are very relaxed here, Jeannette. I don’t care much what you get up to, just keep your wits about you. These Navy men-” Mrs. Grisham shuddered as if repelled by the thought of that branch of the US military. “Bess and Estelle will show you your room. You’ll have to share.” 

Once Jeannette had assured Mrs. G that she had shared a room her whole life and it didn’t matter to her, the landlady smiled and waved them up the back staircase. Following the damp footprints of Bess up the third floor, she let her eyes wander to the photos on the walls. Scenic views of the river that Jeannette knew was only a few miles away shared space with the portraits of a young boy and a much younger Mrs. Grisham. Beside her was the assumed Mr. Grisham, who’s dark eyes followed Jeannette up the stairs long after his face had ceased to be represented in the family photographs. It was almost poetic, to see the changes in the family as Jeannette followed Bess and Estelle up the stairs. 

Between the days by the river and the picnic blankets on the beach,  Arthur grew up and Mrs. Grisham grew grayer. Jeannette had been a girl prone to empathy often to her detriment and felt the pang of nostalgia deeper as they ascended till the final frame on the landing showed the now older and grimmer son who Jeannette had seen as a child not seven steps back, dressed up in his uniform. Bess and Estelle had passed these photos daily and knew the stories behind them, having seen Arthur in the flesh before the Navy had stolen him away. They felt the pang as Jeannette did, but sharper. They knew the shy and quiet boy wasn’t in that uniform.  

They ignored the second floor, leaving Mrs. Grisham’s shrine to how things had been before Arhtur untouched and continued to the third floor, where the photos were scarce and replaced with paintings of long forgotten relatives and odd landscapes. Bess paused to point out that the oar on the side of the boat depicted wasn’t actually an oar but a “sneaky duck. I didn’t know until Carrie told me. Looks like an oar, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” Jeannette admitted. “Did a Grisham paint it?” 

Estelle turned from where she stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the lagging Jeannette and Bess. “The previous owner of this house, a great aunt of Mrs. Grisham’s, Beverly Simmons, was an amatuer artist.” 

“Emphasis on the amatuer,” Bess muttered as she jogged up the last few steps. “Mrs. G doesn’t want to see ducks that look like boats on the main floor so we are forced to look at their sorry tails everyday.” 

“I don’t think they look that bad,” Jeannette said, wanting to defend the ducks. She tilted her head, getting a better look. “Well…” 

“They wear on you after a few weeks,” Estelle said, beckoning Jeannette up the stairs. ”You’ll see.” 

The frightening vision of these misshapen ducks waddling up the stairs after her was enough to quicken Jeannette’s pace, securing her safety on the landing where Estelle and Bess had already moved on. 

“You’ll be on the left,” Bess said, poking her head into a doorway and shouting, “Margo! Calm down, it’s just me. You’ve got a letter.” 

The landing had an overstuffed armchair, a bookcase where all the inhabitants leaned to the left, and a single window that sent slanting gray light onto the wooden floor that creaked under Jeannette’s uncertain feet. It looked like a cozy place to sit and read on a rainy day such as this if there hadn’t been a weight in the air. It wound between the branching doorways, under the floorboards, and sank into Jeannette’s bones. It was an anticipation that was as intoxicating as it was melancholy. 

The American homefront had known only one thing in the two years since they had found themselves in a simmering war and had taken it upon themselves to bring it to an unrelenting boil. In the heat of the flames of passion, love, and patriotism, the country was left with an immense shadow. The waiting. Like dolls abandoned in their beautifully crafted house, dust collected on their painted, smiling faces. 

Jeannette had known the numbing of waiting, the thrill of the letter in her hands, the way she held them so tightly. Her mother hadn’t understood, quite so deeply. Ada didn’t understand, quite so sharply. She had never felt it as strongly as she did in this house. Women in a war but not fighting for it. Women who were aching for those who did fight but putting up their own battles. It was almost poetic, the anticipation. 

This anticipation had become the drive behind her movement, the striking match to her move down to Norfolk. This fire needed to be stoked by more than just letters. Ink didn’t catch  quite like working for the war effort. Jeannette had been fond of the meter and beat of poetry, finding solace from the cole-tinged air in the yellowed pages of Maffei, and Shakespeare. Her brothers and their friends never understood her obsession, save one. He would sneak books from the library in Pittston and slide them under her window. Jeannette smiled at the memory. She had spent many summer nights poking her head out that window, looking for what literature had been left in the window box of daisies. 

“On the left, she said?” Jeannette looked at Estelle and pointed to the first door on the left. She made for the handle, palm grazing the cool metal when Estelle’s voice cut through the weight like a sharp knife. 

“Not that room!” She snapped. 

Jeannette would have stepped back if her shoes weren’t prone to wobbling so dangerously. She settled for snatching her hand back from the cold doorknob. Estelle’s fire had subsided but there was no apology, no retraction of her word. Jeannette didn’t offer an apology. She didn’t know what she had done. 

“Oh, Jeannette,” Bess said, coming to her rescue. “Not that left. That’s Carrie and...Oh never mind, I’ll show you.” 

Jeannette was ushered toward the next door and winced as Bess shouted at the inhabitant. “CONNIE! YOU’VE GOT A LETTER!” 

There was a long stretch of silence followed by the snuffling sounds of deep sleep. Jeannette’s prospective roommate seemed to be undisturbed by Bess’s screech while Jeanette’s own ears were still ringing. 

“Constance works nights with my roommate, Margaret,” Bess explained, her voice not at all strained by the scream from a moment before. “They are machinists on the aircraft for the Navy. We don’t see them very often.”

The carpet bag was suddenly quite heavy in Jeannette’s hand and tugged on her already aching shoulders. Bess noticed her wince and took pity on her new housemate. “Constance, I’m sorry but I have to turn on the light.” 

The dark, peaceful oasis was suddenly illuminated by the light overhead and the lamp on the bedside that Bess mercilessly flicked on. Jeannette glanced around the now visible furniture, that no longer looked like looming creatures from nightmares. An empty bed, a dresser opened to reveal barren drawers, and a desk with the stability of a drunken sailor fresh from sea duty.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite alarm clock,” The lump of blankets that Bess insisted was Constance, said, her voice muffled. “Morning, Beth,” 

“Very funny, Constance,”  Bess said. “Do you want your letter or not?” 

A calloused hand, scarred and rough from the late nights among the heavy machinery and scrabbling over metal carcasses of aircraft, withdrew from the quilts. Bess placed the offering in the waiting palm and, like the jaw of a predator, the hand snapped it up eagerly, drawing back to the safety of the quilts. 

“Do you need help unpacking?” Bess asked Jeannette brightly. “I’m an ace at moving. I’ve helped most everyone on the floor. Except Estelle, of course, she’s been here since before the “I” fell.” 

Bess was, indeed, an ace at packing and unpacking. This skill had been cultivated long before she had received her first letter, before she had been the smiling waitress at that destined cafe, when she was just Elizabeth Ferguson. Jeannette liked Bess. It was impossible not to. There was something about her short brown hair framing her face and the big brown eyes that made her so endearing and begged to be helpful. Jeannette couldn’t say no. 

“If you don’t mind,” She started to say. 

“I don’t!” Bess said, snatching up the carpet bag and throwing open the wardrobe on Jeannette’s side of the room.  

Jeannette had never known a great abundance of belongings. Most of her life, she had seen this as an embarrassment, to know few and to have few seemed to be a weakness. That was, until she had accepted the translator position in Norfolk and packed up what little she had into a carpet bag. The carpet bag that had housed her pieces from home, her few books, and the clothes that had been worn through all in the name of the war effort, was thrown open. Bessie Ferguson no longer stood in that room, but a whirlwind of limbs, flying clothes, and knick knacks being placed just so. 

“Where are you from, again?” Bessie asked, not waiting for a response, before plunging on with the next question. “Your brothers are in North Africa? I have a brother. He’s not fit for service, lucky bastard. Don’t tell Mrs. G that I swore-” 

“Beth,” Constance groaned, tossing back the covers. “What time is it?” 

“A quarter past four,” Jeannette supplied, glancing at her watch. 

“I was hoping to get another hour,” Constance sat up, letter still in hand. She smirked at its contents.  

“Another poem?” Bess asked, setting Jeannette’s Shakespeare and Maffei volumes on the teetering desk. “Connie’s beau is something of a poet.” 

Constance’s mussed curls bounced as she shook her head at the younger girl’s words.  “That’s generous of you, Beth,” 

Whether or not the gift of prose was possessed by her pen pal, Constance didn’t seem to mind. Her sea green eyes scanned the page, soaking up every thoughtful word and stumbling line. Her fire was stoked by the glint of steel at night and the scrabble of poems written to the “lady by the sea”. It mattered not that Norfolk was on a river, not the Atlantic, the letters were addressed like that and she would be lying if she said she didn’t like the title. 

Constance peeled back the blankets to set free the cat trapped beneath the coverlet, and chuckled at a particularly horrid, if not well meant, line. Her eyes fixed on Jeannette and extended a calloused hand to the newcomer. 

“Constance Ramos. You must be Jeannette,” 

The redhead nodded, accepting the rough hand in her own and giving it a shake. “I don’t suppose we will be seeing a lot of each other. I’m on the day shift.” 

Constance shrugged. “We’ll be like ships in the night. We keep busy around here.” 

“Passes the time,” Bess agreed. 

“Between letters?” Jeannette guessed. 

“We sound crazy about those damn letters, don’t we?” Constance said, chuckling softly. Her bare feet didn’t make a sound on the wooden floor as she stretched out her aching muscles. “They keep us going, more than a war effort ever could. I can keep bolting sheets of metal when I know my soldier is alive and when I don’t hear from him, it gets heavier. Do you understand?” 

“I do,” Jeannette murmured. 

Those letters had made a ship to steer among the waves of this new world Jeannette found herself in. Uprooted and unfamiliar, she clung to the letters signed with their scribbled J and the indiscernible followers. The thought of buying that ticket from Pennsylvania to Virginia had been encouraged by the letters in her pocket. If he could be thousands of miles from home for her, she could be transplanted to a new state for the aid of the troops.   

Connie glanced over the books on the teetering pile of poetry on the desk as Bess hummed along to some tune.  “You like to read?” 

“Yes,” Jeannette said. “My mother had mostly Italian books but I have some in English now.” 

The English volumes had been collected over the years, from the window box of daisies to the exchanges on the hill overlooking the breaker. The last book, The Grapes of Wrath, had been the final exchange on that hill. He had been given his orders and was only on leave for a few days. He had brought her a book. He had asked if he could write to her. Jeannette had said yes. Jeannette had cried. There had been no romantic declarations or bouts of infatuation. The words had been plain, just how he liked them and how Jeannette despised them. 

Bess shut the wardrobe with a snap and turned, her skirt swishing around her knees and damp socks. “You a translator on base?” 

Jeannette paused, not sure how much was allowed to be discussed. This attic seemed as safe as could be but what did those posters promise? Ships sunk by the careless whispers of loose lips. Glancing at the window, as if a German spy would be listening from the third floor windowsill, Jeannette nodded quickly. 

“Oh you’ll likely see Estelle!” Bess cried. “She’s working as a computer on base.” 

Dumbfounded at the disregard for secrecy, Jeannette sputtered. “Shouldn’t we-” 

“Who’s going to hear us?” Connie shook her head. “We all know how to keep a secret.” 

Bess nodded, setting the now empty carpet bag on the neatly made bed. She hadn’t been kidding about her skills in unpacking. Jeannette had barely had time for a single melancholy notion about the blouse she had worn to the movies with her friends or the books with the coal stained fingerprints. Jeannette hadn’t noticed this room becoming her own but in the space of a few moments, it looked like her childhood bedroom. The quilt was the same, the books were present and accounted for. It looked like home. 

“Speaking of secrets,” Bess said, snatching up the patchy tabby cat set free from Connie’s bed and cuddled it tight to her black sweater, not minding the fur shed across the yarn. “Are you going to hide that poem from us, Connie?” 

Constance blushed. “Maybe Jeannette can give it an educated read. I’m dying to know if my pen pal has a future in the arts,” 

Jeannette flushed. Her hobby of studying beat, meter, and stanza had been an asset to her application for the NIS but she was hardly a professional. Perhaps, more of an avid appreciator. Her love of poetry hadn’t been the final mark in her favor for her application. The real seal to her employment had been the native fluency that having an Italian mother and late father provided. 

“I’d be delighted to provide an opinion,” Jeannette smiled, sitting on the lumpy mattress where she would rest her weary bones for the foreseeable future. 

Constance cleared her throat, making a big show of unfolding the letter and straightening her flannel pajamas. 

“Someday I'll get back to you/ When the war is finally won/Then you know just what we'll do In the sheets-” 

The rest was cut off by Bess’s shriek of surprise and a cackling laugh from Constance. Jeannette’s cheeks flushed red but couldn’t help a bark of laughter escaping her mouth, never mind the good and upstanding standard that Grisham ladies were known to uphold. 

“Do you all get such poems?” Jeannette wheezed. 

Bess’s mouth gaped in shock at such a suggestion, only furthering Constance’s giggles. 

“I have never gotten such a thing from-” Bessie started to say but was cut off by the appearance of Estelle in the doorway. Drawn by the laughter and shrieks, her brow furrowed at the neatly put together room but the girls in various states of disarray found there. 

“What’s all this then?” 

“Another poem,” Bess said. “And no, Jeannette, I don’t get that kind of poetry from Dar-” 

“Don’t say their names, Bessie,” Estelle chided, in the same sharp tone. As if Bess had put her handle onto a door she didn’t understand what lay beyond. “You’ll get attached.” 

“I’d say it’s too late for that,” Constance said, folding up the letter and stowing it under her pillow. It wasn’t a disagreement but the statement of a fact. 

“You say their name and they can break your heart,” Estelle said. It sounded as a warning to Jeannette.

“I don’t think names hold much power over love,” Jeannette whispered, almost to herself but Estelle heard. 

Estelle’s calculations were rarely wrong. In mathematics and personal life, her calculations were quite often correct. Estelle was known to be the guardian of the third floor, taking the wandering women under her wing. While Jeannette had seen an angel, Estelle was a self described tragedy. She sought a way to shield each girl who crossed the wooden floors of Grisham Hall from such flights toward the sun. 

“We don’t tempt fate here,” Estelle said, firmly. 

A silence stretched between them. Estelle’s dark gaze and small stature didn’t lend itself to the imposing figure she truly was. Jeannette didn’t think she was afraid of Estelle. Jeannette didn’t know what she thought. There was a truth behind her words. The war bubbled and boiled around them and one couldn’t make too many plans for the future. Jeannette didn’t like to think more than one letter ahead. 

“Estelle is ever so jaded,” Bess said, chuckling softly, trying to break the tension. 

“I’m wise beyond my years,” Estelle winked at Bess but her steady gaze sent Jeannette’s skin crawling. “We don’t say their names so we don’t have to say goodbye.” 

                                       *        *       *

To the real horatio, 

I don’t suppose you can tell me where you are but know that I am safe in Norfolk. Mother will be forwarding any of your letters down to me. The girls I’m living with are quite the characters. 

Bess is a little younger than me but such a dear thing. She’s the embodiment of springtime. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as happy as she is. Estelle seems to be the ringleader around here, like Adrian was to us in our childhood. I’m still forming an opinion on her. Constance is my roommate and we’ve gotten on like a house on fire. She works night shifts at the shipyard but when we do see each other it’s always good fun. We went to the cinema last week and saw Citizen Kane on her day off. She’s making songs on the piano out of her boyfriend’s poems. It’s very entertaining and has caused our landlady to faint out of shock more than once. There’s also a girl named Margo who lives on our floor. I haven’t met her for more than a few minutes but she seems lovely. 

I’m glad to know that your CO is gone, the dreadful beast. 

I’ve started to read the book you gave me. I’d like to read it to you sometime, like we did in high school on the breaker hill. If I sent you one of my books would you read it and think of me? 

Your letters, as always, brighten my day. I know you fear that you have nothing of any interest to say but I find anything you say of interest. You say your words are not poetic but there is poetry in everything you do. You want to fly through the sky and end the war. While that’s admirable, do you know that I don’t expect this from you? 

I’ve known you without money. I’ve known you without fame or excellence. I don’t care if you have either. 

You are probably bothered by my ‘damn flowery words’. We’ve grown up together. Surely you are fluent in my own language by now. 

It’s late. I have an early shift tomorrow. Be safe. 

Love, Nettie

#band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers OFC fic #Original female characters #No Ordinary Time #this is no ordinary time folks #jeannette edwards #estelle tran #bessie ferguson #constance ramos #margaret griffin #vera elliot #carrie rose #home fire hestias #hestias of the homefront #grisham hall for ladies #new anthology #one shot series