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phantompearlsalt · 3 years

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Sour Cherry, Chapter 11

Aaaaand we’re back at it again folks with top!Kuvira ft. some fun ~bedroom accessories~ and other naughty acts 🤭 So of course, this is a very NSFW / Explicit chapter (a lovely combination of smut and fluff)! I’m glad I was able to post it before the week officially ended for me, as I will be going back to work tomorrow and that will affect my writing schedule. So be on the lookout for a post I’ll make later tonight with some updates! As always, feel free to check out the chapter on AO3 <3 Thank you for the continued love and support — y’all are the best!

Republic City is coated in a fresh layer of evening mist. With your arm looped around Kuvira’s, you gleefully watch as the shop lights reflect off the pools of rain and cast a magical glow across the roaming paths of concrete and stone.

Though it has stopped raining since you finished dinner, you feel the occasional drop land on your cheek or nose and every so often Kuvira will flick them away with her thumb. She smiles in a way that’s almost not a smile at all but to you it’s the most radiant expression in the entire city. The air is crisp, making your hands shiver, but it’s easily overlooked when a simple glance from Kuvira rouses a delightful warmth that starts in your toes and rises to your cheeks.

Today Kuvira insisted on giving you the best possible day she could in celebration of six months together. Between the lovely laziness of a morning spent in bed, an afternoon reading with pauses for naps, and a fantastic dinner at Republic City’s most popular spot for southern Earth Kingdom cuisine, you couldn’t conceive of a more perfect itinerary.

As you walk back to your apartment, you can’t stifle the intermittent giggles that bubble out of your mouth. Each time Kuvira will glimpse in your direction and pull you tighter against her body, eventually lifting her arm so it wraps around your shoulders instead. You lean your head against her and breath in her fresh, earthy scent. The pedestrians that come your way become nothing more than ephemeral flashes of movement because all you see and feel are Kuvira’s fond expression and her fingers folded over your shoulder.

When you finally make it to the door, Kuvira graciously opens it for you as you slip your shoes off. After securing each of the locks, she stands behind you so she can slide your coat down your arms and hang it on the rack. Before you can take another step, she brings her mouth to the back of your neck and presses a tender kiss at the tip of your spine.

The sensation of her lips made cool by the wintry air outside is a startling contrast against your skin and you twitch before melting into her touch. “Why don’t I make us some tea and you get ready for bed?” she murmurs. You turn around to cradle her face in your hands, pushing away some stray hands of hair that hang over her eyes, and bring your face close so you can press your lips together.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply, kissing her briefly and relishing the residual flavor of puff pastry that glazes her mouth. She struggles to pull away from you completely, wrapping her arms around your waist to draw out the kiss for a few extra moments, before reluctantly breaking it and making her way to the kitchen.

You step into your slippers and pad over to your room, stretching your arms high above your head and sighing when your joints pop in response. Down the hall, you can hear the clutter of a pot hitting a stovetop and mugs clinking together as Kuvira sets about brewing your drinks.

By the time you are cloaked in your evening robe, tucked beneath Kuvira’s favorite olive comforter, she walks in and carefully places the mug between your palms. You notice she changed in the bathroom, now donning a loose black shirt with matching pants. An inviting aroma of ginseng wafts from the steaming cup and you are quick to take a tentative sip. “You would’ve made a great tea shop owner,” you tease over the rim. Kuvira shoots you an unimpressed glance before sliding into the bed beside you, pressing her toes against your shins.

“I don’t have that natural predisposition for customer service,” she sniffs. “Six months later and you still don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

Rolling your eyes, you place your mug on your bedside stand so you can turn around and bring your face close to Kuvira’s. “And you still can’t warm up to my dazzling sense of humor,” you huff. Her mouth cracks into a doting half-smile. “I wouldn’t say that,” she insists. “You have your moments. Maybe you just need to brush up on your comedic skills.”

You gasp theatrically and bring your hand to your forehead, falling backwards in a flourish. “My heart! I ought to punish you for such a flagrant stab to my ego,” you bemoan teasingly. Kuvira's arm lurches forward until it wraps over your waist and she’s pulling you against her side.

“That sounds awfully severe for something so inoffensive, don’t you think?” she hums, angling her face down so she can caress her mouth along your jaw. You sigh and twist a hand into her hair, undoing the already loose braid that hangs against her shoulder. “Maybe I can let it slide just this once,” you respond. You flick the metal clip to the ground where it lands with a gentle clang. Kuvira responds with a promising drag of her mouth up to your earlobe where she nips at it, making you jump against her body.

“Now what shall I do to express my gratitude for such benevolence?” she murmurs into your ear. You hum thoughtfully, rubbing your fingers against her scalp until her eyelids start to grow heavy, before responding, “I might have a few ideas…”

Not willing to tease anymore than you can stand, you bring your hand to her chin, pulling her forward until your lips meet in a fierce and intoxicating kiss. Without any conscious motive, your mind has stored away each infinitesimal detail of Kuvira’s mouth. Even with your eyes closed, before your lips even touch, when her kiss is a shadow hovering in the air where your breaths mingle, you know the artful swell of her plump lower lip that fits perfectly between your teeth. You know its delicate flavor as your tongue roams over the skin and the way it feels when you dare to bite.

Kuvira wiggles against you, her body arching ever so slightly, as you explore her mouth and hook a leg over her hip until you can feel the growing heat between her legs. She leverages the movement to slide her hand beneath the loose fabric of your robe until she cups your ass, squeezing hard enough for her blunt nails to dig into the muscle and make you gasp in pained pleasure.

She’s the one to disrupt the kiss and you look at her with a grimace. “I’m sure you have plenty of ideas,” she purrs, shifting her hand until it brushes between your thighs, sweeping her finger over the skin until it is coated and sticky. “But I’ve got a few of my own.”

Before you can respond, she removes herself from your body and leans back on her legs. You let your back sink into the mound of pillows, briefly wondering about your tea, as Kuvira’s eyes study your body with ravenous concentration. She moves forward an inch so she’s positioned just below you and she carefully spreads your legs apart with her hands. Her fingers linger over your thighs, barely covered by your robe, which she eyes with scarcely concealed impatience. She looks up at you and asks, “Can I take this off?”

“Yes,” you sigh, jutting your arm out so you can wrap your hand over Kuvira’s and bring it to the loose knot that holds everything together. She does not display an inkling of hesitancy as she tugs on the silk band and yanks it free. Her hand releases the fabric quickly so she can part the robe open, exposing your naked body that lies beneath it.

Her eyes continue to skate over you cravingly before she speaks. “Someone had some expectations tonight,” she chuckles. You lift your body up, tearing the robe out from under you and tossing it to the floor, and grab Kuvira by her shirt collar. “I don’t think I was the only one,” you whisper. “Come on then — you too.” You emphasize the statement by tugging on her shirt once more, floating your fingers down until you reach the hem. “Is this okay?” you ask.

“Of course,” she responds breathily, cocking her chin as indication for you to continue. Despite the plainness of her nightwear, you have always fancied the enticing contrast of dark cloth against her skin. It seems to accentuate her already striking features. Nevertheless you grip the shirt firmly and slide it upwards, revealing each glorious inch of Kuvira’s body. Your hands skim over her sides, feeling the occasional twitch of sinewy muscle beneath her feverish skin.

Kuvira is quick to remove the rest of her clothes thereafter, tossing her trousers and panties to the ground where they join the mounting heap of clothes. When she reclines back down, every point of contact where Kuvira’s naked skin touches yours grows ablaze with lust. The deliciously supple flesh of her breasts push against your chest, her hair cascading downwards and tickling your forehead and cheeks, her naked legs caged around yours. You position your hands along her waist, admiring that subtle dip where her upper body fades into her hips.

She brings her mouth to the base of your neck, pressing a single kiss before moving towards your ear. She breathes heavily and the resultant heat makes your body clench with anticipation and you tug her head closer. She pinches your earlobe again with her teeth and starts carrying the sensation down the rest of your throat. She pauses, laving her tongue over the side before carefully biting hard enough to produce an agitated gasp from your lips.

Your sounds appear to embolden her further and she starts to draw your skin between the sharp edges of her teeth. Your hands thrust up into her hair, pulling at the strands just hard enough for it to hurt exactly the way she likes it. As she worries the flesh in her mouth, you are certain you will have a vivid mark painted on your skin by dawn.

The thought doesn’t put you off and you know exactly why. The pain itself is certainly a gratifying payoff but there is something exhilarating about that erotic claim Kuvira likes to brandish to the world, that shows them who gets to see you in this most vulnerable and voluptuous state. Even after she’s fucked you into what feels like another plane of existence, you know she likes to flaunt the marks of her desire to the world. She would never ask you to (of course) but you make it a point to wear clothes that display each stain and scratch she’s imprinted onto your skin.

Kuvira removes her mouth with a wet popping sound, dragging her tongue along the tender patch. Her left hand moves to your chest where she gingerly takes your nipple in between her fingers, rolling it with just enough pressure to make you keen in pleasure. With this hand now preoccupied with other matters, she uses the right to steady herself as she continues her downward journey.

She peppers the skin all along your neck and collarbones with fevered kisses and the sporadic touch of her tongue over the hypersensitive skin. When she finally reaches your chest, she removes her fingers in lieu of closing her mouth over your nipple instead. She carefully grazes her teeth over the hardened bump and bites down, waiting for a reaction. You exhale sharply and lift your legs until they’re wrapped around her back, digging your heels into the muscles flexing around her spine.

She spends her precious time on this part of your body, affording painstaking attention to every sound and movement you create to ensure she continues drawing them out. You manage to poke through the libidinous fog encasing your mind, looking down and making eye contact with her. Her gaze is bold and tenacious, in characteristic Kuvira fashion. She cocks an eyebrow as if to provoke you but you don't have the temper to fight back tonight.

So instead, you use your grip in her hair to apply downward pressure and hope she’ll take the hint. Her expression smooths over and she moves away from your chest, pressing one final kiss to your sternum before licking a long, wet line towards your hips.

At this point, your legs are stretched wantonly across the bed and Kuvira’s hands now hold your hips in place. She lifts one of those exquisitely sculpted hands, extending a finger to draw swirling patterns over your pelvis which she then follows with her tongue. She stops at the juncture between your hip and your thigh, brushing her nose along the line of muscle and whispering something against it that makes your skin flare up in goosebumps.

Your entire body is frenzied with want and it’s especially present in the insufferable quivering of your legs. Kuvira notices this and tucks her hands under your knees, lifting them up until they rest over her shoulders and her face is positioned neatly between your thighs. “Maybe that’ll help,” she croons, turning her face to the right so she can kiss the bare skin.

Your head falls deeper into the cushions, unable to carry the weight of your back any longer when Kuvira’s face looks like that and she’s clearly intent on pushing your self-control to its breaking point.

She turns her face away from your leg and looks to your soaking folds of flesh. “Tell me...what do you want?” she breaths. Your eyes clench shut and you grip the bedsheets with desperate force. “I-I want you to touch me,” you gasp out.

Kuvira purses her lips and tightens her arms around your legs. “I’m sorry, I think you’ll need to be more specific,” she responds. “Do you want me to touch you right here?” A flick of her tongue against your hip bone. “Or perhaps right here?” A gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “Maybe you were referring to this?” A suggestive brush of her lips right above the swollen bud that displays the scale of your lust.

You inhale sharply and attempt to push up but Kuvira’s hands rigidly hold you in place. “Tell me: where do you want me to touch you?” she murmurs. “Right there,” you say shakingly. You are unable to elaborate further, partially because your mind seems outright incapable of coherent thought but you are suddenly overcome by an uncharacteristic wave of bashfulness.

“Mmm, I see,” Kuvira whispers. “Do you want me to touch you right here?” The question ends with her finger brushing over your vulva, where she coats her finger in the stream of come that has started spreading against your leg. When you nod, she pauses and you muster up every remaining ounce of control you have to hold back your shout of desperation. “You don’t want me to just touch here though. Oh no, you want me to fuck you with my fingers don’t you?”

“You sure talk a lot of shit without backing it up,” you hiss. To this, Kuvira grins and says, “Don’t underestimate me,” before she finally starts sinking a finger deep inside.

You feel every single knuckle and joint as it drives into your body. As always, Kuvira starts off deliberately slow to ensure you grow accustomed to the feeling. The moment you begin twisting on the bed and snapping your hips against her touch, she adds one more finger, and another, before pumping them in and out with a steady but relentless speed.

Your bedroom is soon filled with a cacophony of salacious outbursts: a series of groans and choked gasps, the occasional wet sound of Kuvira’s mouth on your cunt when it joins her fingers, and finally Kuvira’s moan when you press up against her face.

Eventually she pulls her fingers out, a strand of come hanging in the air between her hand and your body. She looks directly into your eyes as she brings it to her mouth and licks the remnants away, coiling her tongue around the digits. “I told you I had other plans,” she says huskily, pushing herself towards your face so she can briefly touch your mouths together. “Give me a sec.”

You can’t help but feel hopelessly awkward lying on the bed like this, totally naked and gasping for air while Kuvira leans over to her bedside stand. She spends a few seconds shuffling through her belongings before she apparently finds what she’s looking for.

When she faces you again, your eyes land on a splendidly familiar sight. Your thoughts immediately begin conjuring obscene images of what Kuvira has planned for you until they are interrupted by her voice. “Is it okay to use this?” she asks. You nod eagerly and the “yes” is uttered without a second thought.

She then flicks open the small pink bottle, pouring a sizable clump of the thick liquid into her palm. She rolls the fluid against her fingers before coating it along the toy, warming it with her hand, and bringing it close to your body.

“You tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop,” she reminds you. You cup her face in your palm, offering her a loving grin, before urging her to go on. She uses one arm to hold herself up above you while the other starts pushing it inside your body. The tip starts pressing in and you close your eyes as you refamiliarize yourself with the sensation. Kuvira’s touch warmed it up enough that it does not catch you off guard per se but it still takes a few moments to grow accustomed to it. You nod when you’re ready for more and Kuvira pushes it in deeper, causing your breath to snag in your throat.

By the time most of it is inside, she starts pumping it back and forth in an excruciatingly slow manner. You know it will be worth it once she starts fucking you with it herself but in the moment it only seems to tease you further. Very little time passes until you start huffing loudly and pushing against the toy, at which point Kuvira easily detects your impatience and drags it back out.

“Get on your knees,” she demands. Though your limbs seem unable to move in any way whatsoever, you summon what little strength you have left to follow through immediately, pushing your hands against the pillows and lifting your ass towards Kuvira. There’s a brief moment of pause where you hear the soft sounds of buckles clicking into place before her hands gently hook onto your hips.

“I’m going to go slow, alright? Let me know if you need me to stop,” she says softly. You nod and impatiently push back which naturally makes her chuckle.

Just as she did moments ago, Kuvira presses forward tentatively. Her hands are a grounding force in the midst of your hazy arousal and you focus on them as the toy slowly slips back into your body. There’s little resistance this time — your body recognizes the sensation immediately and invites it in, pulling the ribbed object deeper and deeper.

Kuvira pauses when it’s almost completely inside, waiting to see how you might react. “Oh just fuck me already, would you?” you sigh, not bothering to suppress the tremor in your voice. It’s all the encouragement she needs to start plunging into your body with long and heavy strokes. When Kuvira starts hitting that small bundle of nerves that further rouses your lust, your jaw slackens and heady moans accompany each thrust of Kuvira’s hips against your ass. Within moments, Kuvira joins with a similar pattern of unsteady breathing and soft groans that mix with your own.

Every stimuli in and around can only be described as sublime: the unrelenting strokes that push in and out of your body, the grip of Kuvira’s hands wrapped tightly around your hips, the growing pool of moisture that cascades down your thighs and quite possibly ruining the bedsheets rubbing against your knees.

“Harder,” you gasp and Kuvira doesn’t hesitate. She maintains her pace but pauses when she’s fully inside, grinding forward until the tip pokes at that spot again and nearly has you collapsing onto the pillows. When your arms start shaking, Kuvira mutters, “I got you.”

She starts pulling on your hips in a back-and-forth motion, fucking you on the dildo herself. Your cheek finally drops onto the bed and your entire body shifts as Kuvira roughly starts pounding into you. You smirk at the crude sound of your ass slapping against her body, rarely able to discern the difference between pain and pleasure because the latter has overpowered everything else. The feeling intensifies when Kuvira’s hand lands sharply against your backside mid-thrust. The sudden gesture makes you gasp, followed by a pleasured moan that has her smacking you yet again.

You can already see the smug look on Kuvira’s face two days from now when you’re limping around the apartment.

As Kuvira fucks you ruthlessly, you feel yourself starting to reach that precipice that will throw you over the edge. Your thighs shake even harder, your toes start to curl, and your breathing loses any semblance of a pattern whatsoever.

But just as you near that threshold, Kuvira stops yet again and starts to pull out. Your hands scramble helplessly on the bed and you’re about to whine in protest when Kuvira starts placing the harness atop your clothes on the floor. She leans down so she can bring her mouth to your spine, sprinkling kisses along each ridge and cupping your ass where she then drags her tongue along one cheek.

“You’re not getting off like that tonight,” she murmurs, maneuvering until she’s on her back beside you and pulling you on top of her. “Sit up,” she commands and you shakily lean back on your legs until you're sitting just above her pubic bone. Though you aren’t quite sure what she’s leading up to, you find yourself mesmerized by her disheveled appearance.

There has always been something particularly satisfying about seeing this raunchier side of Kuvira. Everyone she meets knows her to be nothing but smooth, clean lines, pristine clothes, and a closed-off personality. But you? You get to see her at her most defiled: eyes glazed over with longing, her soft brown nipples hardened, lips reddened with heated kisses and scraping teeth, her hair tangled into knots and falling over her face.

She lifts her hands from her sides so they can grab your hips again, pulling you upwards until you have no choice but to lift your body up and rest on your knees. “Kuvira? I…” You start when she cuts you off.

“I’m gonna fuck you with my mouth,” she purrs, shifting downwards until her face is right below your cunt. You look down at her incredulously, nearly huffing out laughter but you’re so overwhelmed with shock nothing comes out. “Is that okay?” she asks.

She looks up at you with a sickeningly playful expression, waiting for you to nod before taking that final dive that connects her mouth to your clit. You moan heavily and instantly grab the headboard in front of you, afraid your control might give out and you’ll topple over her.

Kuvira, on the other hand, seems completely unconcerned by the prospect and merely wraps her arms around your thighs to press you tighter against her mouth. Her tongue, which has so scrupulously memorized every movement that drives you closer to the point of orgasm, moves across the wet folds of your flesh with unequaled dexterity. She starts in circular motions, slowly moving upwards until she reaches your clit where she adds the perfect amount of pressure that nearly has you climaxing right then and there.

When you start thrusting forward and downward, she simply changes her approach and synchronizes her movements with yours. Her tongue slides up and down, occasionally dipping inside past your vulva where the toy had previously been, fucking you with her mouth instead.

She must sense the tension in your legs from holding yourself up since she pulls away in panting breaths. “Don’t hold back,” she reassures you. “You can’t break me.”

It’s all you need to finally release yourself to the overwhelming passion consuming every rational thought you have. You harden your grip on the headboard and start riding your mounting orgasm on Kuvira’s face, sighing when her hands start clawing into your ass.

She moans against the pressure and the vibrations quake through your muscles, spurring you move faster until you’re all but writhing over her mouth. Her tongue never wavers and it’s precisely that masterful consistency that has you tipping over the edge. It starts in your toes — a prickling sensation that starts spreading across every other limb. A searing heat radiates from your core into your chest, filling you with a feeling that very nearly stops your breath altogether.

Oftentimes, your orgasm catches you off guard, hitting you like the unexpected shock of a torrential downpour. But this time, it’s a sensuous culmination of stimuli building up over many minutes. When you finally reach your climax, it washes over you in heavy waves until you reach a pinnacle that is pure and absolute euphoria.

You cry out in bliss, riding it out against Kuvira’s mouth until you eventually feel yourself coming back into your mind and body and Kuvira’s tongue has stopped moving. She’s opted to brush her mouth along your inner thigh, dropping a kiss onto every piece of skin she can reach. You carefully raise yourself up from your sitting position and collapse beside her, watching Kuvira’s expression gleam with silent enjoyment as you catch your breath.

When you’re finally able to speak again, you ask her, “Are you alright?” She chuckles briefly and brings her fingers to your face, lovingly stroking them across your cheekbone. “I’m fine. I think you should be asking yourself that,” she says, bringing your bodies flush against each other. You fling a leg over hers and burrow your face into her chest, feeling her pounding heartbeat as you rest your cheek against the silky flesh of her breast.

“Aside from having to walk with a limp for about a week, I’d say I’m holding up okay,” you laugh. You can already feel the pleasurable ache in your lower back but the thought of this twinge following you in the days to come is thrilling to say the least.

“I’ll get us some towels. Do you need anything else?” she asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You hum contentedly and wrap your arms tight across her back. “Just don’t take too long,” you mumble into her neck. She kisses you once more before untangling herself from your body and strolling over to the bathroom.

As she walks back, you don’t think you’ll ever tire of this sight. Kuvira is absolutely resplendent in every form but she will always leave you speechless when she appears before you like this: her black hair hanging heavy and tousled over her shoulders and across her back, her green eyes glimmering with excitement yet hooded over with exhaustion, the curves and bends of her breasts, her waist, her hips. You marvel at the lovely expanse of tanned skin stretched over gracefully chiseled muscle.

She is a total vision.

Kuvira, being the thoughtful lover she is, wipes you down first before using the second towel to clean herself up. She does so delicately, keeping her movements tender and prudent so as not to overstimulate your already sensitive nerves.

Once she has folded and tossed the towels into your hamper, she flicks off the lights and curls herself around your body so her face is a mere finger’s width away from yours. “How was today?” she asks earnestly. You smile and rub the tip of your nose against hers. “It was absolutely perfect,” you respond.

“Dinner was okay?” she insists. You grin and cup her face in your hands. “I loved it. There wasn’t a single thing out of place. The best part though? Seeing you for a whole day and knowing I have you for the rest of my life.”

For a moment you swear you see the sparkle of galaxies swirling within those emerald irises.

#sour cherry #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira legend of korra #avatar lok #x reader #reader insert #smut #shameless smut #canon divergent au #it's been a cooooool minute since I've written outright smut like this so uh be nice pls 😭

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spc4eva · 3 years

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Star-Burned: Chapter Two

Ngl, reader is well endowed in the breast department. hate me. trust me, reader is gonna complain about it later about her back hurting.

Paz fluff is probably my favorite thing to write. This fic is undoing me. Goddammit.

Word Count: 8,626

Rating: M (+18) oral sex m!receiving

Masterlist

Cross Posted on AO3

Paz barely understood what was happening when he'd crash landed, falling out of hyperspace and being thrown around the hull of his ship like a tin can before crash landing. It was miraculous he'd survived with just broken ribs. An even bigger miracle that he'd been found.

You were a pretty young lady with more hair than should be humanly possible, a ray of sunshine, and so hilariously goofy that Paz was smiling beneath his helmet half the time as you trotted in with meals for him, eying him beneath your mop of hair --- which you often tried to manage in a ponytail, though ringlets would fall free and cascade into your face smattered with a constellation of freckles. That's why he named you Tranyc -- Mando'a for sunny or quite literally translating to 'star-burned', because you were the ray of sunshine on his day while he was stuck in bed healing. You were good company, easy to talk to, never berated him despite how much of a burden he was. Took him less than a day to realize you were on your own, running the entire moisture farm on nothing but cultivated crops and several cups of caf a day. And despite how often you fumble over words, you were smart.

There wasn't much to do and the highlights of Paz's day consisted of you spending time with him. You had piled all your holobooks near him, given him the remote for the television, and anything else you thought he might like while you wandered off to go make repairs and tend to your livelihood. You must've been tired. The farm was a fulltime job on its own and now you had to look after him. Paz felt guilty, because you'd not complained once, not asked him for credits or when he might be leaving. You were cautiously curious, but not impolite with your questions. Not many people would have chanced bringing a Mandalorian into their home, let alone a young woman on her own. That was what was different about you and maybe it had to do with Paz's sheer luck of landing on a relatively backwater planet where people weren't in fear of their lives constantly.

Paz had lucked out.

He hated feeling weak, being unable to walk on his own, but you were blissfully patient and kind, cracking jokes and making silly faces, telling him how he'd be good as new to start back up on hunting -- or whatever it was that Mandalorians did. And while he was eager to not have his ribs feel as if they'd been kicked in by a bantha, he was also ruing the countdown for when he'd have to return to his ship and leave you behind. Despite it being a few scant weeks, Paz liked you. Not just because you were pretty, but he found your demeanor relaxing. So when he managed to get to his feet to go to the kitchen and he saw your hair sticking out on the couch, he trotted over without an afterthought to check on you.

He hadn't been expecting to see your coveralls crumpled on the floor and your beet red facing eying him in horror. Originally, he'd believed you were hurt from when he'd fallen on you. After all, you were a small thing. Despite being lean from working the farm you were dwarfed by him. And when the blanket had fallen over... Paz's mind began turning, the gears clicking into place, the disbelief that the pretty ray of sunshine had been caught in the midst of masturbating. To the thought of him.

Until that point you'd been hospitable and courteous, it was the last thing he expected and dangling deliciously in front of him like a forbidden fruit. He more than owed you at this point. He owed you his life and getting you off wasn't really repayment. In fact, Paz had enjoyed it, thinking the situation was more self indulgent than selfless. You became putty in his hands, passing out from a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. That brought a smile to his face -- well, there had already been a smile -- but it was bigger now.

He didn't mind cleaning you up and putting you into some more comfortable clothing, tucking you into the large bed that had obviously been yours. He had found discarded hair elastics under the pillows and a few socks that had been lost to the depths of the sheets. You had taken care of him, he could manage picking up your tiny form and putting you to bed. You didn't come around until morning when Paz was up in the fresher, still testing his weight on his aching chest.

"You can walk now," you popped your head through the open door, stating the obvious, but it made him smile that you weren't half as doleful as he'd thought you'd be after yesterday. "Um... I can make breakfast real quick and then there's something I wanna show you if you're up to it."

"If I'm up to it?" Paz rumbled, he still couldn't wear his armor, the weight would be too much of a burden. "How are you feeling?"

Your face brightened with blush immediately, matching the hue of your flaming locks at the sheer mention. "G-good, th-thank you."

The moment he'd put you to bed, he'd staggered off to the fresher to relieve himself and the throbbing erection he had from going through his ministrations. Not that you needed to know that he had been wanting more. Yesterday hadn't been about him. The last few weeks you had doted your attention on him.

"Good."

You darted away, back in your usual attire which consisted of mechanic coveralls, boots, and a tightfitting short sleeve shirt in russet. Your arms were bared from the bicep down and you wore a pair of beat up leather gloves, hair cinched at the base of your neck with a straining scrunchie that fought desperately to contain all the curls which rebelled at being held against the back of your slightly too large overalls.

Truthfully, you were very nervous over what had happened yesterday and even more distressed that you had slept away the entire freaking day. The hardworking farmer in you was berating you with every step, unbelievable, you slept the entire day until breakfast. Now, when drifters had stayed and you had slept with them, you had woken up and prepared breakfast without an afterthought. There was no guilt, no twisting of nerves in your tummy, because you knew that what had happened was a simple arrangement of two lonely people breaking up the cobwebs. What happened with the Mandalorian should have felt the same, but it didn't. Only one man had stayed a few days and engaged in multiple trysts and by the end, he'd been asking you to leave behind the moisture farm to go adventuring with him. While that was a very... juicy prospect, you couldn't think about leaving behind the canyons you'd known your entire life. You loved it here, even if it was solitude and silence.

From the views up on the plateau where your farm was located, a bird's eye view of the spanning clay walls, billowing in waves of amber, brown, and orange. Your favorite days were the overcast ones where the clouds would sweep low and fringe the mountaintops with mist. That was during the wet season when the lowest parts of the canyons would fill with turquoise water from the rain. The only freestanding water you'd ever gotten the luxury of seeing and it was still a trip on your speeder bike since you lived pretty high up on the plateaus. Wasn't that time of year though, it was still the dry season and so you had to keep regular maintenance on the farm to suck every bit of moisture up.

You kept mostly grains on the farm, but had a few animals to include tip-yips which produced eggs. Otherwise, any greenery you had was produced in your greenhouse, utilizing misty puffs of water to keep it nice and humid inside. Without it, you certainly wouldn't have been getting enough nutrients to live out this remote. You would stock up on seed every six months and grow leafy greens, root vegetables, had a few berry bushes, and rhubarbs. They were genetically modified to have additional benefits, keeping you going and healthy. You loved checking in on them, standing in your little bubble of green, imagining other planets that looked just like it but instead of being in a little capsule -- the entire planet was green. That was hard to fathom, giving the landscape you'd grown up on, but so were oceans and you knew they existed.

Jumbles followed you out to the coop, drooling all over the dirt as you scolded him for getting too close. His head drooped and he stayed behind while you picked out some fresh eggs and threw fodder out for the tip-yips. You knew if you didn't keep the birds carefully locked up, Jumbles would gobble them all up. "Calm down. I'll give you some eggs you beast," you chided as you stopped in the green house to pick a few vegetables and fruit before going back inside. You'd never wanted more aside from companionship and to not be alone. You loved your farm so much and all the work you had put into it. You loved this dry, arid planet and the raw beauty you got to witness. But you weren't perfectly content.

You were lonely.

Paz was waiting in the kitchen at the table, which was funny, considering he couldn't actually eat with you. Humming to yourself, you put a pot of caf on and then frowned at 6PO, who wandered around aimlessly. "6PO please make yourself useful. Go sweep out the greenhouse if you can't decide on what to do," you sigh, the droid looking as confused as ever, before creaking out the front door.

"Where did you get that droid?" Paz asked curiously as you set a skillet on the stove and began heating it up.

"Found it," you shrug. "Wasn't in one piece, so I scavenged parts and put it all back together again. Some of the neural harnessing was missing, so the droid will never be complete unless I replace it entirely."

"You mean you reprogrammed it?" he actually sounded sort of impressed.

You rolled your shoulders again. "Yeah, suppose so. Wasn't too hard. Lots of trial and error... and caf." And time. During the wet season you had more time on your hands and so typically that's when you'd spend it on projects.

"How'd you learn how to do that? Droids are complicated pieces of tech."

"My dad taught me. He was an engineer, could run this whole place without even trying. Always knew how to fix everything," you gave a sad chuckle at the thought of your parents. You missed them so much. Maybe if they hadn't passed you wouldn't be half as lonely and feeling as if there was something missing in your life. "Studied on... Coruscant, I think? Before the war broke out. Round 20BBY he came out here with my mom and I because they wanted to avoid the fighting."

"And he taught you everything he knew," Paz assumed.

"Oh, well, I mean, probably not everything. He probably would have found a way to fix 6PO completely."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

The corner of your mouth quirked involuntarily and you stared down at the pan as you began sautéing the cut up tubulars. "We get a wet season here every standard year. The canyons are vast, mostly stone, and not porous. My mother was sick, so they had to make a visit to the city which is a 2 day trip on bike. Usually, we don't leave during the wet season. Too dangerous. But mom's condition wasn't improving and so my father decided the risk was worth it.

"In order to get to the city, you have to go through the canyons. This time of year, no big deal, but during the wet season? Can start raining without warning and when it does, the crevasses act as funnels, diverting water to the lowest point, which... you're catching my drift, right?" You glance up, not particularly fond of explaining how nature worked around here, especially when it had taken your parents from you.

"Flash floods?"

"Mm," you began cracking the eggs. "Can't outrun a flash flood. Not on a speeder bike. They drowned. So-" you drew in a sharp breath. You had rationalized this several times over. Never really talked about it, but it didn't make you cry anymore. This planet had been good to you. Better than most people could hope for when they settled on a farm. You knew that you were lucky because of that and you couldn't resent the planet even if it took your parents from you. "The Jawas found them a little while after that. They know us, we trade with them -- I still do -- and they brought my parents back for me. Despite what people say about them, they didn't ask me for payment."

"I'm sorry... was that six years ago?"

"Mhm," you confirmed, wiping your hands off and picking up a few eggs, cracking them over your massiff's eagerly waiting mouth. "Not your fault. Might be safe from raiders and looters, but it's a harsh unforgiving landscape. Sometimes you get too comfortable and forget about that. My dad knew the risks when he took my mother. They lived a good life, just wish they didn't have to go that way." You wish you hadn't been left alone.

"Where's the closest neighbor aside from the Jawas?"

"Hundreds of miles," now you were plating the food and grabbing mugs for the caf. "The canyons are the best place to set up moisture farms. The deserts soak up all the water from the wet seasons, but due to the stone around here, it's a lot easier for moisture to be trapped in the vaporators. However, they're remote and a lot of the plateaus are too dangerous to set up on because the foundation of stone is likely to crumble. Only about three farms in all of the canyons and this is one of them. We're the highest producers of water on the planet, especially during the wet season. 'Bout the only time I see starships since the city will come and pick it up."

You slapped Jumbles on the nose as he leaned over the counter toward one of the freshly assembled breakfasts, causing him to whine. "Oh shut it you baby," you hadn't even hit him that hard, just a little boop on the nose and he was pretending you'd wailed into him. "Drama queen."

You brought Paz's food over for him and went to grab your own. "I can go outside. A few things I can start on before we head out."

"Sit down and eat first," he invited, which confused you, because how were the both of you going to eat with the whole helmet situation. "If you sit at the counter with your back to me, it'll be fine."

Oh, well that went against what he said about only removing his helmet when he was alone. But... that also meant he trusted you. How many opportunities did you have to remove his helmet? The first day you probably could have if you weren't terrified of being shot. Until you'd gotten to know Paz better, he had been the big scary Mandalorian and not the patient and easygoing one you knew now. "Are you certain? I mean, it's not a big deal. I eat on the go all the time," you object kindly, not wishing for him to feel obligated to have you in your own kitchen.

"Sit," he insisted.

"Well, I mean-" you grabbed a chair, mostly talking to yourself when you muttered those words and pulled it up to the counter. Jumbles was drooling on your leg, looking at you as if you hung the stars, which admittedly -- was quite cute except for the fact that you knew he just wanted your leftovers.

"Where'd you get a massiff?" There was a click and a hiss, the helmet disengaging and being set on the table. You tried not to think about how easy it would be to turn around and finally get a look at him, focusing on your cup of caf instead.

"Kind of just... found him," you reveal, thinking about the day you'd stood toe to toe with the beast, your arms full of scrap metal, wondering if you were going to have to use the bacta shot after getting munched on by the creature. "Thought he was gonna try and eat me."

"It's wild?" Paz's voice was different, unmodulated. There was still the same warmth you were used to, but the lack of the radio static and translation from human to droid made your skin hot, little lances of static playing down your spine as the deep bass in its full glory.

"Uuuuh," you almost forget that you're eating, your egg falling off the fork and onto your lap. Jumbles gobbles it up before you even think about grabbing it. "Jee-uh-yeah. Started feeding him scraps, probably shouldn't have done that, and then he kinda just started listening to me. I read that on Tatooine Tusken Raiders keep them as hounds, so I thought that maybe they're just partial to bonding with sentient beings."

Honestly, you'd always been good with animals. An uncanny, unnatural, totally unexplainable ability you'd possessed since you were a kid and ran into a wild dewback and nearly pissed yourself. Instead of swallowing you whole, the dewback had palmed your hand and then trotted off. The canyons were host to a plethora of fauna, many of which were quite dangerous. Having Jumbles had actually saved your skin more often than not, as the canine was keen on keeping his source of food around.

"When they're raised from pups they are," Paz informed you.

"Oooh. Well, I found Jumbles when he was an adult," you gave the dope a fond pat on the head. He leaned into your gloved grasp and harrumphed contentedly. "Maybe he was already trained and got lost." Yeah, that sounded more logical than your weird animal whispering abilities. "He's been good. If not for him, I don't think I would have found you. He's the one who led me over to your starship." And that's when you realized something. "H-hey, Jumbles is living and your helmet-"

"I'm not worried about a massiff seeing me," Paz chuckled. "I'm not going to shoot your dog."

"I-I didn't say you were," you stammer, heart fluttering a little bit as you gripped one of the massiff's spines to comfort yourself. He could very easily shoot your dog. Did he want to shoot your dog? You didn’t think so, but you weren’t keen on losing him. "Just you said no living thing and then you'd only take your helmet off alone..."

"No living sentient thing," he corrected, his silverware clattering before the helmet clicked back into place. A tiny wave of disappointment washed off you, almost as if you were expecting to get a little more time with his raw unfiltered voice. "Thank you for breakfast. Good as always."

You blushed slightly at the compliment. It was just simple food, hearty enough to keep you going throughout the day. Standing up, you nearly whirled into the Mandalorian's chest as you went to retrieve his things for him. Catching yourself before you did, you offered an apologetic smile before frisking the plate from him and placing it in the sink for later. It was a sonic sink, you were very careful about how water was used. Only for food and growing plants.

Out by the front door you grabbed your outing belt, which had your blaster and a set of tools that you'd been using. Picking up the sack beside it, laden with a few canteens, ration bars, and holobooks you glanced back at Paz. He still didn't have his armor on, but he did adorn his belt with a vibro-blade and pistol. "C'mon," you told him, offering a small wave before striding out the front door and into the crisp, sunny morning.

Drinking in a deep breath of dry air, you gave a dizzying and pleased smile before beginning to talk. "Now, I told you that I borrowed your speeder bike to get us back up here. There was a bit of damage to it since it took a beating during the crash. Most superficial, which I managed to get the dings out of the metal and replace the exhausts which were nearly crushed. Probably needs a new paint job, but I didn't have any paint laying around," you explained, bringing him over to the bike. You'd doted a bit of time on it, because you knew bikes and it was easy for you to fix. Plus it was nicer than the one you had on the farm, so you'd been using it to go back and forth between the ranch and his starship.

Paz's helmet was craned down as he gave the bike a one over and your original pride began to fizzle out with each beat of silence. Finally, "You did a really good job. It... didn't take up too much of your time, did it?"

"Hm? Oh no, not at all. Bikes are easy, fixed plenty of bikes in much worse condition than this," you gave it a fond pat, relief flooding you that he wasn't upset that you'd fiddled with it. "But this isn't what I wanted to show you," you climbed on. "Hop on!"

Paz chuckled at your overexuberance, the way the bike looked much too big for someone of your stature. Afterall, it was his bike and so he'd gotten one that would fit his physique. Your arms were stretched upward to meet the accelerators and it was quite comical from the dopey, excited smile on your face to the way your legs barely reached the stirrups. He sat on behind you, edging up comfortably so that his thighs framed you.

"Might wanna hang on," you warned mischievously.

"What, this isn't going to be a leisurely ride?"

"The canyons look much the same when boxed in. Trust me, just hang on," you told him, feeling your cheeks roll was heated pleasure as strong arms encircled you and his pelvis pressed tighter to your backside. Oh, that felt really good, almost enough that you could lean back into his strong embrace and relax as you started this ride. But... No. You chased away the devious thoughts and tried not to fixate on the sturdy Mandalorian behind you as you revved the engine. It purred like a loth-cat, humming deliciously before you kicked off and started whistling down the hill and into the chasm that led into the canyons.

He wasn't expecting how quickly the two of you rocketed off. Arms tensing around you to prevent himself from sliding right off as gravity snared him, he let out a breathy laugh. "You weren't kidding."

"Tried to warn you," you laughed at him, shouting over the din of the motors that echoed against the canyon walls. Bowing your head ever so much, you went up another gear and stuck the wide turn. He grabbed on again, his chest now flush to your back as you dared to accelerate again.

"Where-" his voice was breathless in your ear. "Where did you learn how to drive like this?"

"Mom," you grin. "Dad was the engineer. Mom was the podracer."

"Kriff!" he cursed as you hooked the bike, reversed the thrusters, and then sputtered a sharp turn that should not have been possible except for the trick maneuver. During down time and on your long journeys to the city, you'd picked up a thing or two from your mother. Speeder bikes were easy compared to podracers, she'd tell you. Small, streamline, and capable of quite a few tricks if you understood the inertia, gravity, and capabilities of the machine you were on. Passing the signs out for the Jawas, you curved the halt, brakes slamming as the sideways turn kicked up clay sand and dust. He was still clinging to you even after you'd stopped.

"Did I frighten the big Mandalorian?" you teased, his vice grip finally relenting after taking a moment to realize that you stopped.

Paz's muscles were vibrating from the adrenaline filling him from helmet to boot from the ride. The last thing he'd been expecting from you, the little farmhand mechanic, were daring turns and hiking the bike up to full speed without as much of an ounce of panic as you tried to take a 90 degree turn. Even Paz wasn't as gutsy with a bike to attempt what you had done, but you'd stuck the turn gloriously and were laughing at him now. He hadn't realized that he could like you more, but you were filled with pleasant little surprises.

"Can you podrace too?" he countered as he let you go and you hopped down, springy, unaffected and brimming with joy. Your hair was scattered a bit, a few curls puffing loose from your scrunchie.

"Never tried, but can't be too difficult," you reply. Not arrogance or mock confidence, just... the comprehension of someone who knew a lot about machines and how they worked. "Now, come take a look. Gotta talk to you about somethings-" you padded away, leaving Paz to dismount and trail after you.

The ship still had a hole in the hull, landing gear squashed, but the supply crates had been moved back inside. For something that had crash landed, Paz was astonished how intact it appeared. The reason for his confusion was soon explained as you brought him inside and he saw that wires had been soldered off and repairs had been made.

"So, I've been heading out here when I can to make sure the thing didn't leak its fuel lines everywhere," you started, gesturing to the neatly arranged containers. "Now, I'm not a starship mechanic, but I have a few old holobooks and the manual that was laying around in here. I read up on them and was able to figure out that the fuel line was cut -- managed to fix that -- and the engines were running at 10% capacity after debris got sucked in. That's how the thing didn't explode on impact, the thrusters were still working enough that it padded your landing.

"Landing gear is shot. I don't have any lifts strong enough to hoist the ship up or the proper caliber of steel to fix the hull. I got the engines to bout 50%, so theoretically that should get you to the spaceport on the other side of the planet. Gonna be crunchy, don't know what's hiding underneath here. So you've got a few options -- try your best to get to the spaceport and the pay for repairs there, you can try to get off planet, though next planet over is Tatooine and you'd pay an arm and a leg for shoddy repairs, or we can try trading with the Jawas. They've got their sandcrawler which might have the capability of picking your ship up, but won't be cheap. Even with my connections they're gonna want something good."

Paz was flabbergasted and at a loss for words as he looked at the work you'd done on top of the farm, on top of taking care of him, and how candid you were about what solutions he had going forward. "How did you have the time to do all this?" he asked.

"Hm?" you were looking over at a few wires that needed to be routed properly. "Uh, lots and lots of caf."

No wonder you had passed out for over 16 hours yesterday. Additionally, you'd read dry holobooks on starships and for what? To help him? At this point he knew that you weren't expecting anything out of it. He'd not been to a lot of backwater planets, but he was beginning to realize that people like you were more common in these quiet remote locations, just happy to be helping. Why that nearly broke him right there, he couldn't say, but he was absolutely moved by your selfless compassion that you didn't even really acknowledge, because it was all so natural to you. A little gem in the canyons, hiding up on your plateau farming water.

"What do I owe you? Repairs like this cost a lot... you've saved me a lot of credits, Tranyc."

You were a little distracted, admittedly, your eyes finding the problems you hadn't remedied yet. "Owe me?" you repeated before finally looking back toward the visor. "You're my guest. Don't worry about it. Consider it a little bit of desert hospitality. There's still some work I need to do, haven't gotten round to it, but I figured you'd want to see your ship."

He didn't owe anything. How didn't he owe anything? Paz was shell shocked as you turned away, removing a set of pliers from your tool belt as you started working on the frayed wires that were getting on your nerves. People always wanted something, no matter how minute or simple it was and yet... You were fiddling along, pleased as a womp rat in sand you continued to chug along as if he weren't even there. And you'd learned how to do this in weeks? Taught yourself how to do it? Your parents had to have been smart and if your father studied at university on Coruscant -- you might've been modest about it, but that meant he'd imparted the same years of study into you while you grew up.

He knew how to make baseline repairs, how to weld, and keep the ship from falling apart. What you were doing -- he had no idea how to do. Truthfully, the gunship needed a lot of work before it was going to be good enough to leave the planet and you were correct -- parts were needed. Sitting on a storage crate, he placed his helmet in his palm and rubbed his aching ribs, trying to think of which path would be the best option. Going to the spaceport meant that he'd leave you behind. He also didn't know how much repairs were going to cost on this planet. Flying to Tatooine was just a bad decision all around, who knew if the ship could handle it. Then trading with Jawas... It would keep him around you for a bit longer and you knew the Jawas. He was bound to have something that they wanted aboard the Kote. He could also use a talented mechanic, but somehow doubted that you'd be willing to part with your farm.

The way you'd talked about your home, you were very proud of it and you loved the landscape. But still... all alone... he didn't like the thought of that. Even if this planet was relatively safe, what if the Jawas found your body in the canyon ravines?

He had been lost to his thoughts as you worked, the ship heating up in the midday sun. You'd flipped down the straps of your coveralls to work and that's when he noticed. A thin sheen of sweat decorated your arms, a few curls sticking to your face as you hunched over the controls for his cryo chamber. But that wasn't what attracted his attention. No, it was the swell of your breasts beneath the fitted shirt you wore, the perky mounds that were well sized for your slender form. The fabric left little to the imagination, mostly because you weren't wearing a bra. Why would you? You lived on your own and bras were awful, constricting things that made you even clammier on hot days. Plus they were stupidly expensive.

The coveralls usually kept them hidden, but with the thick panel of fabric cast down, Paz was staring. He'd been distracted by your lower half yesterday, but not his fixation was on the top. How could you look so good in just a tight fitting shirt that didn't betray any cleavage? He estimated that each would be more than a handful for him, the nipples pressing through the fabric and you didn't notice, completely unaware of the lack of decorum because you were a farmer and those sort of things probably didn't pop into your mind. Which was why he felt a tiny bit ashamed watching you, eying you from the protective mask of his helmet. Would you want him to touch you again? You had told him that you'd been getting off to him, but perhaps that was in the moment when he'd caught you.

Neither of you had broached the subject this morning, but nor were you being incredibly demure or shy. You were just being normal.

"Wanna toss me a canteen from in there?" you asked, pointing to the bag you'd dumped by the hole in the hull.

Paz tore his eyes away, glancing down, retrieving the requested item. Tossing it to you, you caught it and upcapped it, taking a few generous gulps and spilling some on yourself. He gritted his teeth as you wiped your mouth, the soft plush lips having been locked around the rim, the water seeping into your shirt. Your shirt. Dank farrik. Now he was staring again, hopelessly pressing his palms together as he tried to keep it together. Stars, he wanted more of you than just the bit of pleasure he'd brought yesterday, but it wasn't his place to take it. You'd already gone above and beyond in assisting him and so he couldn't just ask you to sleep with him, no matter how much he wanted it. That felt... wrong. Like a dirty, awful thing to request after he'd come to like you -- only utilizing you for your body in the end and not the company he'd grown fond of.

"Did you think about what you're gonna do?" you ask him, drawing his visor back up to you.

"The Jawas--" his voice was kinda hoarse, which made you tilt your head. "Might have something on here that they'd like."

A smile unfurled on your face, because secretly you'd been praying that he'd choose that option. Just stealing more time with the Mandalorian, despite the fact that he was stranded. You didn't want him to leave, but it was going to happen eventually, just like it did with everyone else who came here. Everyone left. Everyone but you and the animals. You were pretty sure you were gonna cry like a baby when the Mandalorian finally departed. "I can send 'em a transmission tonight. Probably will take them the better part of a day to get here, but they'll come."

"Thank you again," Paz insisted, but you brushed it off with a silly and overly dramatic hand wave.

"There's gotta be some kindness in this galaxy. 'Else it'd be a sad, miserable, hopeless place," you counter, springing back to your feet, dusting your gloves off animatedly. "Let's finish up in here and then head back. Got some work I have to do on the farm too."

Sonic showers weren't the best, but they were all that you knew. Aside from when the rain would billet down during the wet seasons, you didn't know what an actual water shower felt like. Either way, you needed to get the sweat and grime off of you by the end of each day, so you trotted out with your pajamas on and into the Mandalorian. You'd already contacted the Jawas and were getting ready to tuck in for the night when he caught you. "Oof, sorry... I-I didn't hurt your ribs did I?" Your eyes flitted to where his injury was immediately.

"I'm fine," he assured you, large hands butterflied against your sides where he'd caught you from doing too much damage by trolloping right into his chest. Big. His hands were big. So large that they covered your ribs entirely when gripping your sides. They lingered, the skin beneath growing hot and beginning to tingle. Then he removed them, as if he were worried about overstaying his welcome.

Your skin sighed where he released and you glanced up chewing your lip. "Um..." uncertain -- you didn't know where this was going, but why the hell not. What did you have to lose? He was stuck here until his ship was going to be fixed. "Yesterday--"

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have done that," Paz interrupted, launching your heart up into your throat.

"Wha-no, I liked it," you assured him, feeling courageous enough to take his hands in yours. Maker, you looked like a child, holding those large calloused palms in yours. "I... wouldn't mind more. I-i-if that's what you want, of course," you sputtered, cheeks sweltering and ears about to rocket off from the intense embarrassment you felt in suggesting such a thing. It'd been easier before. You could see the faces of your guests, gauge what they were thinking, see the lust in their eyes that you could give right back. They'd never stayed this long, never gotten to know you this well, and... you didn't want to make him uncomfortable because you felt a little horny with him around. But Maker, how was that not possible? He was an absolute unit, pure muscle, easy conversation, and had a voice that shattered your resolve like an earthquake.

"Would I want more?" he repeated slowly and your stomach sunk into the abyss, blood draining from your face. The leap of faith had been in vain and instead of swan diving into water, you'd hit stone. And then suddenly his hands were on your chest, driving the air from your in uncontrolled gasps as he squeezed. "Maker--" he cursed, vocoder breaking up as you almost melted on the spot. "So... you're so mesh'la. Had my eyes on you all day while you were working. You're such... a distraction."

He wasn't rough, despite holding onto your breasts, moving carefully over the fabric as he caressed you. In the past, your chest had been a fixation of other lovers because you were well endowed and you were accustomed to rough squeezing to the point where it was painful. It was almost as if most men just wanted to push them until they popped or just liked the pillowy sensation of squeezing and didn't care much for how it felt for you. They were bloody sensitive and you didn't appreciate them being manhandled -- except for right now, right now was good. Better than good in fact.

"Distraction? I'm the one doing all the work," you mumbled, leaning into his touch as he palmed you and rubbed circles over your breasts, the nipples stiffening beneath the fabric and dimpling it. "While you just... just sit there."

"I'm still hurt," he didn't sound very convincing, maybe that wasn't the point.

"Too hurt to be doing anything too... arduous," you pointed out, humming as he gave another gentle squeeze. "Last night did you-- I sort of just--" passed out. Say it. You passed out and left him there with an erection. That couldn't have been too pleasant. To top it off with a cherry, he'd put you to bed with clothes on.

"I took care of things, mesh'la. You left me with some... good visuals," his thumb was circling your nipple, still separated by your shirt, the careful flicking making you shudder. Your entire body was reacting, legs weak and the same radiating heat vibrating between your thighs.

"Bu-ut it couldn't have been that great. N-not like..." you fell off, head lolling slightly as his hands flipped the hem of your shirt and began cruising the plane of your tummy, scratching its way to your breast. A hot palm met skin, a low moan echoing as he grasped you firmly, but not too hard.

"Stars, you're so soft," he murmured, pushing the shirt up -- higher and higher until your breasts were revealed to the air. "Maker, look at you."

The praise made your thighs clench together. They didn't usually talk. Not as much as Paz was, which was somewhat ironic considering he had a helmet on and was a mysterious Mandalorian and yet he filled your ears up as he roamed you. No, it was all typically rushed, frenzied, and to sate both parties. Honestly, the sate part was just the rutting, having to take your own hands to your clit while your past lovers plowed into you. There was no copious foreplay aside from a little making out and breast squeezing and while they'd called you pretty, it never really felt the same as the way as Paz's voice. The way in which he was breathy, as if he couldn't believe his eyes, and that you'd been put on the planet delicately by the Maker himself. It made your heart rush, galloping forward, and it made you want him more.

"Le-let me," you found your hands, having been savoring his exploring before brushing the hem of his trousers. You had felt him, sort of, yesterday but you didn't actually know what was beneath the belt. From how tall and broad he was, you had an assumption of what was there. "Y-you're still hurt, s-so..." pitifully tinny, your voice was sliding away as you offered to give him something in exchange for what he'd done for you.

"Mesh'la... I-you have already done so much-" he protested.

"But yesterday--" you were whining now, hand coasting down more until you cupped his groin, feeling his length twitch. He was already hard. You weren't even undressed and he was already rock solid. "It'll feel better this way."

"Is... is that what you want?"

You nod, waiting for permission.

He couldn't say no. Not while your palm was between his legs and you were staring up at him with big, round, imploring eyes. In fact, he didn't think he could possibly deny you anything, removing his hands, the shirt falling back down over your spectacular chest. "I-Yes," he confirmed, drawing a shaking breath which made his ribs ache.

You undid the belt buckle, hands scrambling slightly from nerves before undoing the buttons. Coming down on your knees didn't really work, there was still too much of a height difference, forcing you to half-crouch as your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his boxes and untucked his manhood. Now it was your turn to be wordless. You had expected it, but expecting and witnessing were two very different things. He was massive, just the sight of him making your core twitch painfully, imagining trying to accommodate him, doubting that he'd even be able to fully sheath himself in you without pushing into your tummy. If he could even get in.

Ok, so when you had offered to do this you thought he would fit in your mouth. Doubt welled in your stomach and he must have noticed as you stared down his cock, brushing a hand over your loose hair. "You don't have to-" he soothed. But the challenge spurned you on, undaunted and a little over zealous to be honest.

"You'll tell me... what you like?" you had just flattened your tongue against the weeping head of his cock, licking like a kitten, lathing him before you'd attempt to take more.

His thighs shook and he gave a terse nod.

You weren't extremely experienced in this field. Just enough that you knew now not to bite someone. But this wasn't just 'someone'. You liked Paz a lot and wanted it to feel good for him. To chase away the pain in his chest and to show how much you appreciated what he'd done for you. Guys liked blowjobs, didn't they? That's why they were requested so much, you just assumed that he'd like it all the same, and honestly you wanted to become more intimate with his cock after feeling it pressed beneath your leg.

You ran your tongue along his shaft, trailing back around before leaving saliva. Your hand smoothed the wetness over him, pumping a few times over his length to help lubricate him. Then you made your first attempt, tongue over your lips as you pushed his girth into the damp chasm of your mouth. He groaned, fingers tightening in your hair, which gave you the courage to take him deeper. The head of his cock met the resistance of the back of your throat and you gagged, eyes watering and jaw aching. "Relax, mesh'la. Relax your throat-" he managed gently through tight breaths.

Easier said than done, forgetting to breathe, your throat clenching, you were forced to pull away for a moment.

Spittle trailed down your plush lips, cheeks flushed wildly as you considered your next approach. You were a sight for sore eyes, Paz's own glued to you as you gasped for air. You'd bitten off more than you could chew, but he admired your undaunted commitment as you sank back onto him and closed your eyes, clutching onto his leg for balance. This time, you were able to take his guidance better, breathing through your nose before easing your throat. Your mouth was small, tight, and damp. With the accommodation of the back of your throat, Paz's hips bucked and a strangled moan crackled through the modulator.

"G-good. Fuck -- so good, mesh'la," he praised, beginning to move in tandem with you, fucking deeply into your throat. Your face was hot and wet, tears leaking out from your eyes at the sensation of your throat being stretched. The noises were wet and sloppy, punctuated by sharp hums as you tried to do well, to do what he wanted, to keep going -- but Maker, it hurt. Your attention was fixated completely on pleasing him, forgetting entirely about your own climbing heat, just trying not to clench your throat or forget to breathe through your nose. Then you dared it, reaching up and grabbing his balls, massaging them in your palm gently as he pushed into you. "Ahh- oh, fuck-- I'm going to cum. Do you want me to--"

You managed the smallest nod, squeezing him tighter as his thrusts rocked you, shattering almost all your resolve as you gagged. Ropes of cum splattered in the back of your throat, your lips suctioning to him as he stuttered to a halt, palm on the back of your head. His skin was like velvet on your tongue, slightly salty, but smooth and soft. Lavishing the last drops from his cock like precious water from the desert. In fact, it was more precious than water, more rare.

"Mesh'la... ohh," he keened softly, his hand spreading over your hair, petting you, brushing the curls from your face - which was wet with spilled tears, saliva, and a little cum. Releasing him from your sweet mouth, he brushed the white droplets from the corner of your lips, which you sucked off after it being offered. "W-what did I do?"

You tilted your head in confusion.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

You tried to talk, but your voice crackled in the back of your throat, so hoarse and quiet that you simply shut your mouth and blinked. Oh fuck. Had he broken your vocal chords? Panic began to seize you and you clutched his leg and offered a very broken, "UhhhmmMm."

He bent down, cupping your face, holding it between his palms as he took a good look at you. "I was a little too rough, wasn't I?"

"S'okay," fuck that hurt. Hurt to talk. Least you still had a voice.

"What do you want? Do you want me to--" His helmet was so close, almost brushing your nose as he looked at you. For a brief moment, you felt as if you were gazing into his eyes. What color were they? Brown? Green? Hazel? Maybe blue?

You shook your head and gave him a weary smile. That had literally taken everything out of you and you just wanted a cold glass of water and to curl up in bed. "Water. Sleep?..." you had to swallow again, struggling to get the words out. "W-with you?"

"Just... that?"

Oh no, had you chosen wrong? Did he really want to play with you? Honestly, you were good. Just making him finish had been enough for you. Your legs and throat ached, it had been a long day. You offered a dejected nod. No one ever really cuddled with you and you assumed that he'd be warm, comfortable, and feel like a blanket of protection. You wanted to feel that, even if only just once. Having sex wasn't as important as this to you. Sure, sex with him would probably be amazing, but you didn't want to overexert him because you were being greedy. Despite getting it infrequently, you'd never gotten a good cuddle. Not since you were a little girl and curled up in your parents' arms.

"Ok, ok, mesh'la," he agreed, smoothing your hair again before pushing his helmet to your brow. The gesture lit your cheeks up and felt... strangely intimate. Cool beskar kissing your sweating skin, chasing away the sweltering blush and just a thin layer between you and the Mandalorian. It felt like a kiss, but it wasn't. So gentle and tender that you let it linger and closed your eyes. "C'mon, it's been a long day," he muttered, gripping you beneath your elbow and guiding you to your feet. Your bed was just a few paces away and you were already dressed for it.

Who would have thought that a Mandalorian could be this... kind? From all the stories you'd heard, you had half-expected him to be a broody tin can that barely offered you the time of day. But there was a man underneath, a man who had desires, who had feelings, and who could be delicate. He wasn't all blasterfire, beskar, and war -- he was still a man.

He put you into bed, leaving the room for a moment to get a glass of water. You smiled at his return, accepting the offered water, and gulping it down. Your throat ailed and your jaw was already beginning to groan in protest. But the water helped. Putting it down on the nightstand, the Mandalorian removed his boots and climbed into bed with you, just trousers and an undershirt. Offering an open arm, his impressive bicep being revealed from beneath the short sleeve of his shirt.

You snuggled forward, heart pounding solidly in your ears as you tucked into his side. Maker, you loved this, the way his arm coiled around you, planting against the small of your back before tugging you in tightly. It wasn't as if you didn't feel safe in your home, you always did, but this was different. You trembled slightly because you'd yearned for this proximity, not just a rush of passion, but what came after and the security of him. From the strength of his muscles, to heat of his skin to yours, and the smell of him so close. This is what had been missing. The last piece to the puzzle that was home, the rut in your belly and soul curling pleasantly as you melted into him. Please never end. But you knew morning would come and one day he'd have to leave like everyone else. And you knew that day would be soul shattering. Because once again, you'd be alone.

#paz vizla x you #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #paz vizsla smut #smut with plot #smut with feelings #star-burned

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runningwithhellhounds · 4 years

Text

Lance doesn't lower the rifle.

Maybe it's because he joined the army late that he tries to think it a yet – doesn't lower it yet.

The soldier is crouched by the sandbag mount, on their side of the mount, the exposed side. Lance was alarmed at first sight; thought a scatter of things at once: theft attempt, attack? Desperation, dying? Lance has become micro-attuned to helmet colours. He saw the alarm of bronze. The soldier removes his face clothing. Breathes through the mouth. His arm slips from his knee to the ground. His other arm is missing.

''I don't feel so good,'' the soldier says. He sounds somewhat apologetic. Is this war conduct, Lance thinks. The soldier seems impossible, like stygian blue. The red around his missing arm seems self-luminous.

Lance has his hands adjusting his grip. It's so quiet around them. Snowflakes drift lightly onto the barrel of his rifle. The sky is white and slow and soft. It's so quiet.

''I don't know,'' the soldier says. He's blinking rapidly at the ground. Shifts his weight like he wants to sit down. Lance likes how his German sounds.

''Aren't you—'' scared, Lance despairs. Of me? Of war? ''Scared,'' he finishes.

''Yeah,'' the soldier says. Like it's an allowed simplicity, to say it like that. ''I don't feel so hot.''

''Is this wordplay,'' Lance asks, horrified, ''do you think you're funny? You look like shit. Soldier.''

''Yeah,'' he says, to something. ''Shiro.''

It takes Lance time to realise this is a name. But now he can't unname the soldier. Now all the circumstantial parts are named; hair clumped to his forehead under the helmet frozen white: Shiro; the knot of the tied sleeve where an arm is missing, hitting Lance's stomach wrongly: Shiro.

The air inside Lance is whirling. The air in his tiny air sacs has been whirling lately, and it is now, but differently, Lance knows. More breezily. It has been somewhat abstract, but now he is winded. Now it is personal. Lately, he has been dreaming he hates himself, and he has been waking up, thinking: but I don't.

Sometimes his chest blooms, or turns into something with a low boiling point, or turns into octopus ink; and he thinks he is grieving himself.

Which must be self-absorbed. He is on the side of alive, and has both arms. Maybe it's because he joined the army late, but he doesn't know how he could offset the death of something with a name.

''Don't just give me your name,'' he says. The soldier moves his legs from under himself, instead folding into something seated, leaning back on the sandbags. He has seated his momentum. He moves his jaw. Like something relaxing, or something in pain, or something defunct.

''I don’t think it matters now,'' the soldier says.

''It matters,'' Lance says. Says immediately; he feels very immediately.

''Want to see my picture, too?'' The soldier fumbles through his jacket. All right, Lance realises, then re-realises: wait. This might be too much to know. Lance shakes his head. Lance shakes his head but goes despite himself, thinking, you don't feel like a target? You feel like a human shield.

The soldier pulls a photo from an inside pocket. On the photo, the soldier isn't dressed like a soldier, and looks very clean, standing by someone shorter, wilder, messier, their arms thrown over each other's shoulders. The image is blurry, but the soldier's eyes seem strangely defined. They seem strangely defined now, too.

''Love the blur of you,'' Lance says.

''Thanks.''

Lance feels himself nodding at the picture, like a body on a spring. Maybe he is nodding to stall, to drag out his indecision. He needs to think. If Lance doesn't shoot, that's Shiro winning rightfully, isn't it? It's survival by selection, successful.

''Did you treat it?'' he asks, and the soldier looks confused, so Lance nods in the direction of his arm. He realises his rifle is waist-high and lowers it to treat the dissonance.

The soldier falls into a coughing fit, which turns into a thing with no sound, just spasming. Snowflakes are drifting. It's so quiet. The soldier lifts his hand towards the missing arm, then halts the motion with the back of his hand to his mouth. Lance imagines they swallow simultaneously.

''Like this. But I think it would extend my shelf life. If it were better.''

Lance is afraid he won't say anything. Lance has been not knowing what to say, leaving him with the spice of depersonalisation. Sometimes he still hates the human silences in which he is forced to live. Them make him feel spindly. Now they are less miserable, less of a crisis. He handcrafts a lack of a self, and now he's handcrafting a silence.

''My hand. Fingers. I can't f—'' the soldier starts coughing again. Leans his head back. It's quiet again. It's been quiet for days. It's even quieter tonight. This is the first time in the month Lance has been in the barren Isonzo highlands without a snowstorm's loudness. He has gotten used to them. To all the noise. He has been falling asleep over cannon shots. He recognises missiles by sound: calibre 152 whistles; calibre 75 creaks; calibre 305 howls.

''Where's your base? Unit?'' Lance wonders if the soldier could be a spy. He is so undefensive, though. His face shapes into something knowing and tender and seeing Lance. Lance sees it: the soldier won't tell. Lance imagines a hostage situation, then unscrews it from himself like something rusty and illness-causing.

''What's with—'' the soldier starts, but trails off, and Lance interrupts with the same wording, on some strange but fierce and untamed instinct.

''What's with your shelf life? Freezing won't increase it.''

''No. Maybe I'm recyclable?'' the soldier says. Now it's evident that moving his face is difficult, some orchestration undercooled. Lance doesn't really see the relevance. The soldier says this with no grief. Some grief? What does grief look like? Lance imagines himself on a timeline. He imagines that in a hundred years someone will be swimming in the lowland river under an arch of rocks and see his helmet, washed with rain and time from the highlands, then caught in between two rocks, in between something unmovable under the force of things that move slowly but ferally.

But he is in the now. He rests his rifle against the sandbag wall, feeling the soldier's eyes track him. He pulls the glove off his left hand, and throws it, aiming for lightly, at the soldier. The soldier's face furrows, a little, but Lance is delicately attuned. The soldier is trying to pull his wet glove off with his teeth. It's slow and looks uncomfortable. Suddenly, Lance is angry at discomfort. He sinks to his knees and crawls to the soldier. He holds the soldier's arm, while the soldier is out of breath. It feels like giving in, like a decision making itself; he's pulling the soldier's glove of, finger by finger, the way it goes; he's pulling the soldier's glove of worrying: am I doing this too slowly?

Peripherally, he sees the soldier watching his face. One time, Lance's sister said to him: you are in my emotional space. Now Lance thinks: you are up my aorta!

I know you don't know what to do, the soldier's eyes say. I know you know that, Lance's say back.

This silence doesn't feel miserable. It feels a little unreal, like windless snow, like the faraway quiet. It feels a little awkward. Lance backs away, maybe out of the soldier's emotional space, and crouches, hands on the ground. His left hand is painfully cold. Good. This isn't awkward, the soldier is ferociously unwell.

The soldier has looked away. Into nothing, squinting strangely. Time passes, and Lance lets it. Lance watches it. He starts squinting at the soldier, until he notices, blinking like head-clearing.

''Do you ever look at afterimages?'' the soldier asks, hazedly, obscured with a veil of dreaminess. Or maybe this is terminal tranquillity.

Lance's bughotel mind is lagging. ''What?''

''Spots,'' the soldier says. ''After.''

''After what,'' Lance asks.

''Images. Colours. Something dark in the snow.''

Images; Lance recalls the pocket photo. The blur of Shiro. Images, colours, something dark in the snow. Lance likes this. He likes triads, he thinks. Stone, mist, hair undoing. Salt, ferocity. Something.

''Shiro. Shiro?'' Lance calls. Shiro pulls his legs closer to himself. Snowflakes are drifting, the dusk is white and light with snow. A film of snow is covering Shiro's shoulders.

Freezing unthinking; unworded observations; undoings. Lance decides, then, with determination he doesn't have, or maybe, after all, the determination he has: he knows the next step, and it's undoing the freezing unthinking. His cavern is his, too, after all. He can go inside. He will bring Shiro inside.

This is how they go: Lance is holding his rifle in one hand, relaxed at his side, a just-in-case, a warning, the other arm in the air and open. Shiro is breathing behind him. Lance opens the door, slowly, tactically. Like an ambush?

''Alright, now,'' Lance starts.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092113

#shance #voltron lance #voltron shiro #voltron #vld fic #i asked a thomas what he thinks he thinks more about than most people #and he asked me back #now im thinking about this

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f-117-nighthawk · 3 years

Text

Playlist Update Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

Part 2! Here lies Endless War, Dystopian Fiction, and Filaments. EW hasn’t changed much, DF has a bit and it's all INFECTED's fault, and Filaments has more than three songs finally. My explanations for these aren't quite as fleshed out (partially bc there's less in my head to flesh out with and partially because these aren't nearly as set in playdough as the main playlist. more like set in syrup)

Part One

In chronological order:

Endless War

Dark Matter is here because it always is, twining through everything else.

(Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/You’re a bolt of lightning in the sky now/Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/I’ve pulled you in, nowhere to hide now)

I Am the One links into Eater of Worlds as sort of the aftermath, sort of during Apocalypse 1992. Our Fifth General has her realization about [REDACTED] far, far before Team Voltron does because she’s there in the thick of it during Through Apocalypse Skies.

(I am the one/I hold the dreams from fallen heroes)

(We are gods, we are monsters/We create to devour/Not for love but for power/What’s a life worth in the end?)

(From the caves beneath Dundee/Ancient hermit arrives/A messenger to the war in the stars/Korviliath is nigh!)

The Truth Beneath the Rose is from the perspective of our last (and first) Blade in the aftermath of Through Apocalypse Skies, as she realizes just what she helped create. Also… kinda connects to a song in the main playlist, but not very obviously.

(Blinded to see the cruelty of the beast/It is the darker side of me/The veil of my dreams deceived that I have seen/Forgive me for what I have been, forgive me my sins!)

Raise Your Banner is The Fifth General’s newfound resolve as she starts collecting allies against Zarkon’s empire.

(Wake up/I’m defying you, seeing right through you, once I believed in you/Wake up/Feel what’s coming deep within we all know)

Obey is a bit of a weird one. It’s in the same vein as You Keep What You Kill in the main playlist, but it’s more specifically about the creation of the first Druids and how Haggar uses them against the Fifth General and her team.

(Obey, we're gonna show you how to behave/Obey, it's nicer when you can't see the chains)

Silver Moonlight is cracks forming in The Fifth General’s new set of alliances and her desperate and occasionally rash attempts to get them to believe in her goal. Not just the main one to take down the empire, but the one that will allow them to do that.

(I’m impatient, but it’s colors that I need/Too many shades of grey, I cannot breathe/The dreams I have ain’t tainted, I need you to believe/The only way to make them real, oh)

Endless War is the title track, connected to Holy Ground and I’d Rather Burn as a specific event but also sort of encompassing the Fifth General’s motivations throughout the series. She’s “hunting a miracle” that is also those colors from Silver Moonlight, and then the end of Endless War kicks in with Holy Ground, and the Fifth General’s final stand in I’d Rather Burn.

('Cause you’re fighting an endless war/Hunting a miracle/And when you reach out for the stars/They just cut you down/…/Is it worth dying for?/Or are you blinded by, blinded by it all?)

(You got inside my head, I want you out/'Cause I’ve been betrayed on holy ground)

(Won’t let you take my soul away/I’d rather go to the stake/I’d rather burn)

Empty Eyes is [long spoiler beep]. (and yes! I found it on Spotify finally!)

(I don’t know where I’m going/In search for answers/I don’t know who I’m fighting/I stand with empty eyes/You’re like a ghost within me/Who’s draining my life/It’s like my soul is see-through/Right through my empty eyes)

Dystopian Fiction

Dark Matter is on here because title track, but also it does end up with effects. Especially by the end… and of course, the Thing that is Wrong With Earth.

(Don’t stop, don’t think/Move up, don’t blink now/On your knees pray for rain/Don’t breathe when you take your aim)

The Human Condition is the Éskhayklos manifesto. A warning of the end times. The condemnation of the parasites. The reveal of the only cure. The final extinction cycle. Also their new image song, as Cross the Line got moved.

(We have the cure for the disease/Locked down inside us/When all is dead, then we will see/We are the virus)

INFECTED is the Éskhayklos’s slow, well, infection of the Sol Federation, and their descent into full-blown terrorism. (And yes, I know the actual lyrics have ‘he’. Shhhhhh. It’s a STARSET song, it’s about a Shirogane, even if it’s sort of from Cascade’s POV)

(Here's a challenge for all mankind/The preacher man is warning of the end times/The weatherman agrees but she don't know/So she's got to go now)

Who Will Save You Now here is about Sam, and the aftermath of Here to Save You, in addition to its referenced role in the main playlist.

(Alone with this vision/Alone and blind/Go tell the world I’m still alive)

Codebreaker is Adam’s song! But here it’s also in conjunction with Cross the Line as the final Éskhayklos mission before...

(Codebreaker can’t you find/Can you read between the lines of code?/Tell me all that you know/How far down the hole does it all go)

(Cross the line, redefine, break away unbent, unafraid/Together we stand in the dark/Seeking the light and what is right, together we cross the line/Our journey will come to an end and then our human cause will be/Justified)

The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Dystopian Fiction is the title track for this part. With the events of The Day the Earth Collapsed, the Garrison and our heroes on Earth are at their lowest point. It really is a piece of dystopian fiction, between [spoiler] and [spoiler]. They’re fighting for something that, at that point, must seem like ‘superstition.’ And also: “Nobody can shoot me down, not just yet” is about Adam bc Fuck Canon. Even if he does, technically, get shot down.

(I’m a dead man/In the wasteland/I’m a soldier fighting for superstition/Under searchlights/In the long nights/We’ve been written like dystopian fiction)

World on Fire and The Reckoning are the two of their subset that make it over here because they’re the two that happen before the result of This is a Call can come to fruition, and are more focused on our Earth heroes anyway.

(Sent by forces beyond salvation/There can be not one sensation)

(We’re all alone, walking in twilight/The night has been long and so many have fallen/Feel no remorse, light will be breaking/Our freedom is worth it all)

Filaments

Filaments is still in flux but does have way more solid than it did. Like, you know, most of an ending. I just don’t really know how they get from A to B yet.

Dark Matter is here because, well. A) Title track, B) yes, it still has effects. It’s the overarching theme, after all. Filaments sort of has a subtitle itself, which is ‘The Undoing,’ after the other part of the lyric that the subtitle of the main playlist comes from. It’s about undoing a past mistake (that wasn’t obviously a mistake until much later) and reconciling the events of Your World Will Fail.

(I am the keeper/I am the secret/I am the answer/I am the end)

Filaments is the title track of this part. It’s… a little hard to explain without giving away the entire plot but it’s about the connections between different parts of the universe, and some fall-out of Cosmic Vertigo and Louder Than Words.

(These glowing filaments/Conducting this enchanting/Sarcophagus that’s holding us)

Starlight is, again, Adashi song, and this time the happy part

(Don’t leave me lost here forever/I need your starlight and pull me through/Bring me back to you)

Carry Me Home is its eponymous fic.

(Carry me home to the morning light/carry me home before you wave me goodbye/Oh, carry me home…)

And then we get to the new part. Know that stuff in Carry Me Home about “The record skip that only [Keith and Krolia] can remember”? Yeah, Prognosis is a huge step to figuring that out.

(How long is the body beholden?/How long 'til we run out of road?/Deep down in the black of the ocean/Fading from the glow)

The timey-wimey ball gets tossed around more in Blackstar. Partially due to [REDACTED] and a certain terrorist’s reemergence, but also due to Prognosis-related stuff

(They'll let you try/To reverse everything/Don't waste your time/Sing Hallelujah 'cause you can't change anything)

Eon straight-up plays Calvinball with the timey-wimey ball and gets the Paladins stuck in a groundhog-day situation, and the only way out? Isn’t good.

(If time's a song, I won't wait for its reprise/I am done wishing farewells and goodbyes)

The Art of War and Centigrade are the beginning of the end. The Art of War is Cascade finally showing his true colors, and the Sol Federation not having a good time. Centigrade is the other side of it, Team Voltron having a realization of just what they’re going to need to do.

(I can remember all the days of violence/I can remember all the days they fought for rights/When men united all by fear and interest/I mustered them with hopeful promises I've broken)

(What did you hope to find adrift and lost in time?/Is this the end ready to begin?/It's time to escape the fate of destruction, excavating within until salvation/No longer pretend the future's a lie from a past you cannot hide)

The Future is Now and A Theater of Dimensions are. Well. You’ll see. It’s a little hard to pick a lyric from AToD, I'll say that much.

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

And then there’s Afterlife. Fitting to end on a UtA song, after everything, especially since The Immortal has repeatedly throughout DM been a metaphor for Voltron. Also fitting that it’s this one, considering the parallels between the end of The Immortal’s story and Filaments

(But with such power, think how you could rule/Hold to your promise to watch over those in despair/Why would you choose to serve when you could be master of all?/Be true to your honour and fight for a world that is fair!/Out of shadow, out of darkness, welcome to the light/As the day shines boldly over night/Follow me to finally be who you are inside/Open wide, embrace the afterlife)

#i am dark matter; your road to ruin #long post #at least this time was only an hour and a half?#dm playlists

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Note

Hiya! Still taking any requests? If so, can you write something about Cal and JediReader finally settle down and have a kid or something. I literally binged your materialist in one night until I realized the sun was coming out. I love your writing so much btw! It’s BEAUTIFUL!!!! 💕 (I’m saving your inquisitorCal fic until I finish my classes for this semester. I can’t wait for the pure heartbreak😖)

Hi Anon! Sorry you’ve waited so long ;;A;; I had to finish the prompts that came before yours. Anyway, your prompt has helped me fix up the fic idea I had in the middle of writing another fic so thank you for that! And also thanks for liking what I post! ^w^ Hope you enjoy this fic! 💕

“A Legacy Begun” | Chapter 1: What Comes Next | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Additional prompt: My fic idea

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Also posted in AO3

Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

1 of ?

“Where to now?” the young man asked to everyone.

The crew exchanged glances. Cere stepped in.

“It’s up to you to decide, Cal,”

“I think we should just take a breather,”

Cal charted a course back to Bogano. All this action has taken a great toll on everyone. During the jump to hyperspace, the crew dispersed—back to their own activities—while you plopped down on the couch, Cal sat next to you, barely allowing an inch of space between you, and your little adopted Bogling peeks under the lounge’s center table. It chittered but you quickly put a finger against your lips, hoping that the animal would understand your gesture. You and Cal shared a secretive chuckle, glancing at the cockpit to see if Greez had heard.

“I don’t think he heard,” Cal whispered.

“Good,”

You link arms with Cal and rested your head against his shoulder, he planted a kiss on your forehead as he nestled himself by your side. Your free hand extended to the Holocron—now reduced to shards—and a single crystalline nugget gravitated to your fingers; raising it up so it aligns with the overhead light, the prism glowed yellow as you turned it in different angles, the specks of impurity within the crystal appeared like glitters.

While you gaze at the remains of the relic, mesmerized, Cal started to shift in his seat. He rested his head on your lap and buried his face against your abdomen. You chuckle at his gesture, but you were totally endeared, your eyes wandered to the cauterized part of his jumpsuit’s armor while running his fingers through his hair.

“How’s your rib?” you purred.

“The sting’s still there, but bearable,”

“I think I have something for that back in the abode,”

“I leave it to you, doc,” he cooed.

His hand reached for your cheek, ever so lovingly he caressed the curve of your skin while his eyes trace every inch of your face; you spot the involuntary upward curls of his lips as you nuzzled your nose against his palm, your tired Jedi drifted off to sleep in the middle of the journey.

An hour later, Cal awakes by the rumble of the Mantis landing on Bogano’s soil.

“We’re here,” you announce softly.

“Five more minutes,” he groaned, tossing to his right so he can wrap his arms around you and buried his face into your abdomen again.

“Honey, we’re home,” you tussled his hair, trying to get him up. “You can take a nap when we get to the abode.”

Cal was childishly uncooperative, continuously coaxing him to get up because your legs are starting to go numb from his weight.

“Alright, alright, I’m up!” he exerted, sitting up from his comfortable headrest that is your lap and finding the strength to plant the balls of his feet back on the floor.

It was midday when you arrived in Bogano, the shorter way back to the abode was hopping from one mesa to the other where the roofs of the huts dotted the land. Upon entering, you’ve already reached the second floor of the abode and turned to the archway tunnel that connects the abode itself to the second level of the bedroom.

The living quarters was dim but BD-1 scampered off of Cal’s shoulder to switch on the power. White lights glowed to life and illuminated the entire bedroom, the redhead staggered to the bed, plopped himself and proceeded to lie flat on his back against the mattress. His hands lazily searched for the straps of his armor, unfastening the buckles, undoing the buttons of the shirt underneath the leather chestplate, and finally unzipping the top of his jacket.

When all of his upper clothing was shed, Cal felt liberated. A sight of relief escaped his lungs while you gathered a Bacta gauze and tape. You brushed aside the left flap of his jacket, revealing the stab wound—blood had dried and curdled into a maroon crust around the flesh and the body water had pooled on top of the damaged skin.

“Just a few more inches up and he’d pierced your heart,”

He takes your hand and places it above his heart.

“Still here, but I could’ve sworn you’ve taken it already,”

You rolled your eyes, scoffed laughingly, “Smooth.”

A crisp, pastel green square covered the circular wound, secured with medical tape. You briskly caressed Cal’s jaw and kissed his forehead.

“Go get some rest,” you cooed. “You’ve earned it, my love.”

He nodded obediently, continuing his nap from the Mantis as his eyelids drooped and his features softened. You watched him drift off again.

Evening fell upon Bogano. Cal had the longest yet nicest slumber he’s ever had in years. He wakes up and finds you absent in the bedchamber, he stepped out of the abode, climbing back up to the mesa’s surface. He spotted you lying down on the grass, wobbling your leg leisurely as you stared at the deep blue blanket of sky.

Cal joined you on the cool bed of grass, putting a flower he had plucked before lying flat on his back next to you.

“Something on your mind?” Cal began.

“Not really. I just missed the night sky here, it’s all so peaceful,” you sighed. “Just a few weeks ago, we were hopping between planets—so much has happened in every one we’ve been to—and all of that to save the next generation of Jedi. It’s kinda poetic.”

Cal had no response to that, although he almost had the exact same thing in mind. Another thing entered his head, though he wasn’t ready to say it yet. He decided it was a talk for another time, allowing himself to enjoy the present with you.

“What do you think happens now, Cal?” you curiously inquired.

“I don’t know, honestly,”

The pair of young Jedi exchanged glances, trading short, awkward smiles, both speaking an expression that painted an uncertainty of what the future holds for them. Fingers interlocked with one another as their eyes glanced at the sky, as if hoping the stars had the answer for them.

—–

A year and a half has passed since Cal Kestis destroyed Eno Cordova’s holocron.

The Mantis crew eventually found another refuge: the remote planet of Cerinda, located in the Mid Rim where the hand of the Empire almost stretches thin. The rich countryside of the planet attracted everyone—including Greez to some extent, given that he was after the seeds and sources of food that can help step up his culinary game.

You and Cal have made a hobby of strolling across the spaciousness of the land every now and then to get some fresh air. Like today, the two of you sat in the sea of grass—the meadows filled your eyes with the brightest green, sweet and cool water sourced from the waterfalls and rivers irrigated the soil, and the weather was simply divine.

“Your stubble’s growing out” you pointed.

Cal massaged his jaw, the hairs pricked his fingertips as he ran them across his face.

“Should I get rid of it?”

You shake your head, you couldn’t repress the grin forming in your lips, “No, I’d rather you keep it.”

In the corner of your eye, the waterfall’s mist became a prism against the sunlight, spreading the rays of light to where you and Cal sat. The two of you approached the basin, your fingers glided across the water, forming ripples that expanded and then panned towards the waterfall itself. You and Cal waded on its shore, stepping closer until the water has reached the middle of your boots.

You started a water war when you playfully splashed Cal, nearly wetting his hair, he retaliated when he used both hands to scoop water and throw it to you.

“You’ll never get me!” you laughed, running away from the pond before Cal could have a chance to pour a handful of water on your head.

“Not if I can help it!” he cheered back, chasing you with the water running out drop by drop.

When he got close enough, water rained over you—wetting your clothes especially on your back and shoulders—and he gleefully snatched you up; wrapping his arms around your waist, lifting you inches above the ground, and you spinning you around as both of you filled the air with laughter.

He lost balance when he has spun enough times to stumble back on the ground. You’re still laughing out whatever’s left of you as the grass tickled your skin. Cal crawled and stood on fours over you, he cupped your jaw and closed in to kiss you—it was tender and luscious, when he pulled away, you found his sweet smile greeting you back.

The fresh breeze has picked up, the two of you continued to lounge in the fragrant grass whose length reached your breasts when sitting up; every once in a while, Cal would find himself staring at you and thinking about the question that popped into his mind a year ago in Bogano. Back then, he didn’t think that that exact moment was the best time to say it; now at the present, he still wasn’t so sure, but he figured that it’d be best to test the waters—now that things seemed to have toned down.

You turned to see Cal looking at you, but his eyes appeared to be in deep thought.

“What is it, Cal?”

Your soft-toned question somehow jolted him back into reality, realizing too late that he has zoned out too much just thinking about the entire topic. He began stammering, trying to string together the right words that he has been mentally practicing a few times now.

“Listen, I’ve meaning to ask you something—ever since Bogano, actually, but I just didn’t think it was the right time for it, and I really didn’t think that I would find myself asking it,”

The tinge of seriousness in his tone suddenly made your stomach sink, but you waited for him to finish. He knelt on one knee, level to your sitting height, and you could’ve sworn you felt your heart skip a beat and a shiver run down your spine under a sunny afternoon.

“[y/n] [l/n], will you give me the biggest honor to marry me?”

At the very moment, your heart gave out what ought to be the biggest beat in your entire lifetime. Little did you know that at the top of the hill, Cere was standing there, surveying the land in search of the pair of you—she had secretly witnessed Cal proposing to you and you giving him the best answer you could have ever given him. The woman smiled to herself, somewhat getting secondhand joy from what she had witnessed.

“Yes,” you gasped. Overjoyed, you repeated your answer in a medley of crying and laughing. “YES, CAL KESTIS, YES!!”

Cal huffed out the tension that he has been choking himself with, he was unable to control the upward curls that were growing along his lips. He threw himself towards you, pulling you in abruptly, thanking you in the form of kisses and bursting in laughter.

“Really?”

“Yes, to the ends of the galaxy, yes!”

The joy in his heart was so great that he’s simply acting out of impulse. He snatched you up once more, his hold tighter than the last, and buried his face on the crook of your neck as he slightly spun you again. You latched onto him so tight that for a moment, time seemed to have stopped ticking, and the next moment felt like cloud nine.

The two of you returned to the ship, hand in hand, the first one to greet you was Cere. A smirk on her face suggested that she may or may not know what had just transpired.

“Well, you two seem awfully happy,”

“Come inside with us, we want everyone to know,” Cal beckoned.

Cere chuckled but only within her earshot, she followed the two of you into the ship.

Out of excitement, BD-1 scampered off of Cal’s shoulder to the center of the table in the lounge and started chirping a string of notes at everyone.

“Don’t spoil the surprise, BD!” Cal cooed.

“What did BD say?” Merrin asked, on behalf of everybody in the ship.

There was brief pause, Cal turned to you, wordlessly giving you the honors to bear the news. You took a deep breath.

“I’m engaged!” you declared.

The ship was filled with gasps and hushed exclamations. Merrin’s jaw dropped, she put away the extra plants that she had harvested from the terrarium, rushing to both of you in a hug. Cere laughed in a celebratory joy and Greez swooned, witnessing him being genuinely affectionate and supportive—which he rarely does.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Greez beamed.

“In three days, we’d like to keep it simple,” Cal replied.

The Nightsister braced you on the shoulders, “We definitely have to find you a dress!”

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fangirlingincamouflage · 4 years

Text

365 Days of Drabbles: Day 12

Title: Dream Wolf Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 2,642 Pairing: Solas x Reader Chapter Rating: R (Rates high on the steamy factor) Themes: Angst, Plot, sex, oral sex, Disclaimer I do not own Solas, nor do I make any money off of this fanfic. Solas is the property of BioWare/EA. Personal Note: I hate how much I love this character. I am fully aware that he has...uhhh...flaws. My personal preferences can usually be summed up to: I like men who seem like they would bake for the homeless and women who would kill anyone who got in their way. Solas is one of the rare few who fall outside of that and I don’t even know why I like him but I do.

It’s a dream. You know it’s a dream, but that doesn’t keep you from sinking further into it. The heady scent of water and ferns beckons, impossible to resist. You slip away from the familiar feel of your sheets, from the sounds of your room settling; and fall into the depths of the Fade.

The ethereal realm embraces you like an old friend, and why not? It is here where memories are made and they are all you have. Memories of hope, of war, of survival, but most of all there are memories of love. For a moment you let yourself be distracted by some of the better ones, the ones that make you laugh. Unable to help yourself, you walk through a field of what once was, lingering in the places you cared for most. You know that a spirit of kindness dances at the edge of your consciousness, but you don’t mind. After all, he taught you to see the aspects of the Fade rather than the fear of it.

As if summoned, the field of memories solidifies beneath you. The murky land becomes a green grotto, filled with the scent that called to you in the first place. Ferns and grasses form a delicate hill. A waterfall feeds a pool of crystalline water. Mist forms on the surface. It is all too easy to kneel at its edge, touch the cool surface. Your hand disrupts the mist, and it curls around your wrist. For all it is a dream, it feels gloriously real.

A different spirit, ephemeral as a wisp, follows you here. The weight of its presence tugs at you, demands your attention. At the very edge of your vision a shape forms in the mist. A dog, you think at first, but honestly you know better. It is a Wolf, dark and proud and beautiful. It’s paws, twice the size of your hand with fingers splayed, make divots in the soft earth.

For a moment, your eyes linger on the bestial shape. Not out of fear, but hope. Your heart gives a painful lurch in your chest. You cannot count the days since you saw him last. Anger and hope war within you. Some days you wish you could forget him entirely. Some days you cling to his memory.

The mist coalesces. It grows thick and impenetrable. The wolf disappears behind its curtain. For a miserable moment you think he might, yet again, be gone.

“Wait!” you cry. “No!”

You surge to your feet, throwing yourself into the mist. Blindly, you run through it. Your feet cross water and grass and bark and rock. Curtains of mist give way to curtains of velvet. Natural rock becomes worked stone. When the mist clears you are back in your room at Skyhold, and you are alone.

Hope gives way to anger. Anger gives way to grief. You collapse on your bed and tears, unwanted and hot, stain your pillow. The soft light of day fades into deepest night.

“Vhenan?”

The single word, softly spoken, rouses you from your turmoil. With a gasp, you roll over and stare into the night.

A long, lanky male figure stands there; silhouetted by the stars. He wears a simple, nearly translucent jerkin and green breeches, sewn to the very shape of his legs.

“Solas?” you ask, wondering if this too is a dream.

He steps forward, some trick of light reveals his face in inches. The dip in his chin. The perfect bow of his lips, ever curved in a knowing smile. The light of his eyes. On and on it goes, from ear tip to the hairless crown.

“Tell me your here, that this isn’t a dream.”

He tilts his head to one side, the wolf-jaw necklace slithers over his chest.

“Of course it is a dream,” he says. “But that does not make it worth any less.”

You kneel on the edge of your bed, much like you did the pool. You want to run to him, yell at him, kiss him. You want answers and promises. You want so many things all at once that it leaves you frozen in place.

“What do you want?” you finally ask. The words come out harsh.

His head dips. The light in his eyes fade, and the smile along with it.

“Forgiveness.”

You are so startled by the admission you lunge out of bed. Anger spurns your steps. You close the distance between the two of you in two long strides.

“Oh? Is that all?”

“Your anger is warranted, Vhenan. But I would like to remind you that I warned you. I told you that this would be easier if we didn’t.”

He had, but the ring of truth doesn’t make it easier to swallow.

“Easier for who?” you spit.

“For us both.”

You aren’t sure if it’s his words or the single tear that comes with it that has your temper cooling. He had told you, he had resisted. You had pushed and what wolf can resist the love you offered.

“You left,” you say, shoulders sagging.

“I am here now.” His hand reaches up, the warmth of his fingers glides over your cheek.

“For how long?”

“As long as you can stay asleep.”

Your eyes close as his fingers curl beneath your chin. He tilts your head back and his lips glide against your own.

In your anger at being left you have kissed others, tried to tell yourself that it was just as good, but you know that you were lying to yourself. The press of Solas’ mouth to yours makes you melt against him. The flick of his tongue drives the strength from your knees. He wraps a slim, strong arm around your back, holding you to him as he deepens the kiss even further.

By all the gods, Forgotten and Old, his mouth tastes of rain and honey. His tongue dives against yours, retreats and dives again. The arm around your back tightens, pulling you closer. Your body flatbed against his as you feel the sweep of his teeth skim against your lower lip.

“Vhenan,” he growls against your mouth. “I crave you.”

It’s hard to open your eyes. You feel drunk, intoxicated by the feel of him so close.

“Then taste me,” you whisper.

You feel him tense and hesitate. Your eyes snap open and you see the glitter of his eyes at war. He wants to stay, you realize, but even now he is telling himself it’s the wrong thing to do.

Not this time, you tell yourself. Not tonight. If this is to be your dream, it will be one worth remembering.

With a motion you slide your hands down his chest, exploring the thinness of his tunic, and the hard body that lies beneath. For a moment your hands settle on his hips, your thumbs curling inwards to frame the shape of him beneath his breeches. You push the fabric down, tightening it as you go to your toes and muzzle against his neck like a beast.

“Do not leave me tonight,” you murmur. You close your eyes again, letting the tip of your tongue trace the line of his neck. “Give me what we both crave.”

With another sound he sweeps you up in his arms, carrying you the short distance back to your bed. You open your eyes in time to see his hands grip the edge of his tunic. In one fluid motion he peels it off and banished it to the other side of the room. Half naked, he prowls over you, his necklace skimming against your chest as he leans down to kiss you again.

“You are to be my undoing then?”

You smile, and wrap your legs around his hips. “Since you’ve been mine, it seems only fair.”

He holds back for one more moment, his hands rooted to the pillows behind you. You see that struggle in his eyes light, and then, as his gaze sweeps across you, he relinquishes himself to his own need.

He falls upon you like a wolf. His mouth goes from your neck to your collar and down. With a snarl he yanks your bedclothes up and off, sending them to join his own. He allows himself one look at you laid out before him before his mouth dips to your chest. He tastes you like a beast, licking and nipping like a man gone mad.

“Solas,” you cry as the heat rises in your body. He seems to feel it, sense it, following it down the length of your body until he settles between your thighs.

“Do you still wish for me to taste you?” he asks, his breath spilling against you. An answer springs to your tongue but there is something about the way he looks up at you, eyes filled with animalistic hunger. It sends a thrill through you that has no name.

Your response is a moan, and lifting your hips towards him.

His fingers, which seem sharper than normal, yank the last of your clothing away, leaving you naked before him. Before your body can settle back against the bed his hands wrap around your thighs, shoving them apart. You have one mindless moment of being bare and exposed before his tongue descends on you.

The dread wolf can be a gentle lover, you are sure of it. But there is nothing gentle about the way his mouth savages at you. His tongue seems to make way for lips and teeth. A part of you knows that it ought to hurt, but nothing but pleasure rolls through you as he eats you like a beast.

You want to wrap your legs around him, but his hands keep you pinned to the mattress. The sheets catch and ripple beneath you as your back arches, as your hands fist in them. Your moans of pleasure mingle with his as he focuses on the apex of your need. He is relentless, and you can’t help but give in.

A wet, heavy weight builds in the place where his tongue and teeth play. His lips form a kiss and he sucks the tender parts of you between them as he releases one of your thighs. His fingers plunge into you, and he makes a satisfied sound at finding the depths of your wetness. He crooks his fingers, pressing against the wild heat that is building within you. He makes another sound, and you know that he is demanding you to give in.

You hold back. You want to give in, but he made you wait this long, it seems only fair that you make him wait too.

His eyes roll upwards, watching you from his place between your thighs. You see a question in them, and then realization. They narrow and he scoops his free hand beneath you, curling your body up as he tucks himself beneath you. With your legs over his shoulders he redoubles his efforts, and feasts.

It is a strange dichotomy, this precise man with his cunning intellect and careful speech. To see him worry at your most tender parts like a beast awakes something primal inside you. His font gets curve against your pleasure, and every move of your hips grinds against his mouth.

“Yes,” he growls against you. “Let me taste your need.”

You don’t know if it is the crook of his fingers, the lewdness of his words, or the way his mouth moves against you but that ball of pleasure within you shivers, cracks, and spills. Your high rips through you, primal and wild, drawing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you could make.

With a snarl of satisfaction he glares up at you.

“Withholding from me?” He asks.

You are to breathless to speak, your mind still dealing from the dwindling energy of your orgasm. You manage a halfhearted shrug.

“We shall see.”

His long fingers wrap over your hips. With one deft movement he scoots back and sends you tumbling to your knees. He seizes your legs and pulls, lifting your backside into the air. He licks across one cheek, ending with a deft bite. You make another sound and his hands slither over the lines of your body, sculpting as he lifts himself over you, licking a line up your spine.

“Need,” he said the single word like a growl, a prayer.

“Take,” you invite.

You feel him shiver, his breath in your ear as his body lowers over the back of yours. His lips run along the line of your neck as his hand darts between your bodies to yank at his breeches. You feel the hard length of him press against you. He rolls his hips, grinding against you. He curses in a form of elven so old that you can’t follow it.

“What?”

He pants and then sinks his teeth into your shoulder. “Wet,” he snarls, half desperate, half possessive.

The mattress shifts beneath your body as his hands slide over your hips. He slides back, lining the tip of him with the entrance of you, and then thrusts forward, sheathing him inside of you in one swift movement. There is no hesitation. His thrusts are deep, desperate, needful. He curls one arm beneath your body, hand over your shoulder, holding you in place as he shoves himself into you over and over again. But you know, even now, that he is holding back.

“Yes,” you croon. “Solas, yes!” You arch, pushing your hips back in ardent invitation.

“Vhenan,” he growls at you, holding you still. “Do that again and I will not be held accountable for how I react.”

With a smile on your lips, you shove against him.

“I said ‘take‘.”

He sits back, still rooted inside of you. His hands skimming their way down your sides. He grips your hips, fingers curling right enough to make you hiss. He moves back, pulling until only the tip of him is still rooted inside of you.

“As you say.”

Take he does. His hands hold you still as he starts to pound. He moved hard, taking his pleasure of you with a wild, primal joy. He mutters under his breath phrases to old and crude for you to understand. It’s hard to hold yourself against the desperate pillaging of his need. As you start to dip forward he grabs your hair, fisting it in one hand and pushing you against your mattress.

“Harder,” you moan into the sheets.

He lets out a sound, a growl and then a howl. The tips of his finger dig into one hip, leaving bruises behind. You croon your pleasure as he bottoms out inside of you. The very end of him reaching your wet depth.

“Vhenan!” He cries, letting you know that he is close.

You reach back, wrapping your hand around his wrist. You feel the tendons beneath your fingers flex as his wild rhythm reaches a new depth.

“Yes, Solas, yes!”

With a last wild thrust he empties himself inside of you. He throws his head back and howls like the wolf he is as his hips twitch with his own pleasure. He cries your name at the last of it, just before he sags over you.

Your legs, already pushed to their limits, collapse. The two of you tumble to the bed, getting lost amid the mess of sheets. You expect him to pull away, to leave now that he’s had his full and you’ve had yours. But instead, surprising you both, his arm slides tenderly around you middle, he curls behind you, placing a kiss on the shoulder that he bit.

“Forgive me,” he whispers.

“Whatever for?”

He hesitates. “There will be marks.”

You smile and curl closer. “Stay with me until the dream ends, and all will be forgiven.”

He pulls you closer, tucking himself in the curve of you. “Ar lath ma, Vhenan.”

“I love you too.”

#readerfic #solas/reader #bioware fanfiction #solas romance #solas x lavellan #solas fanfic #smut #sexy solas #Dread wolf #the dread wolf #Dragonage

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c-atm · 3 years

Text

--Fighting flirty short--

He opened the door, and within is a room that shouldn't be possible. Created via gem magic similar to the gem temple, was a Dojo, a football field long with a bamboo-like floor, walls adorned with melee weaponry of all types, and it's own artificial atmosphere to match the actual weather; and In the center, she stood.

She was wearing her usual outfit of A royal blue halter top leotard, a pair of mid-thigh yoga shorts of the same color with red trim. Steven raised an eyebrow and grinned as he watched his berry slip into her ready stance… Red orbs by her feet.

Connie's body lowered, her left foot pointed forward in front of her with her right following. While she held her hands in the same position, they were open-palmed, straight up as if acting as blades themselves

"Activate assault spheres Avatar mode." The researcher commanded.

Similar to a gem, a light in the form of a human-like being envelopes the sphere. Its shape is built like a quartz with a large torso, thick limbs, broad shoulders; the light fades as the body solidifies, revealing a masculine square-shaped head with no features, towering overall with its nine feet of crimson height. Standing in a low ready stance, with the orb safely within the depth of it's being. There were four in all.

"Attack."

The first swung its arm towards her head, only to have her jump back to another, which attempted to grab her. She ducked and flanked to the left before getting behind it and slamming a palm into its back, disengaging it.

She started to charge forward only to leap up to catch the first one in a lock between her legs; using the momentum, she flipped her body backward, throwing off its feet and putting its chest under her ass before she punched its stomach, Dissipate it.

" Stars, wish that was me under her butt." He said in a low, teasing voice

The third and fourth hardlight opponent attacked simultaneously. Putting her on guard and leaving no opening. For every punch she back, there was a kick to Dodge., but she held her own and was able to lay to hits on the drones knocking them back but still operational "tsch!" She grinned before hopping back and getting low again. Unaware that she was a foot away from Mister. Her form was sweaty and damped.

Heartberry brow arched, and she bit her lips as she felt a spank on her butt.

"Encouragement?" She asked in a teasing voice, swaying her hips about.

"Yeah, kick their ass." Mister teased, kissing towards her.

She returned the air kiss before charging forward at her opponents. As they both tied to grab her, she ducked into a full split.

"Oh, now you're just showing off your body control," Mister yelled.

"And it turns you on," Connie called back as she rolled on her left arm with her legs out, tripping them both before stomping on each of them, dissipating their forms, leaving her alone in the dojo center.

"Oooh, that was so good," Heartberry said with a stretch before feeling the giant palms of Steven Universe, squeezing thighs and pulling her close to his front. "Well, someone enjoyed watching." She jest impishly, giving him her neck as he laid sensual nips on the left of her collar, " is that for me?" She inquired with carnal intent swaying her 'Heart' upon his thighs, sighing slightly as he began to use his teeth.

"Good job," Mister mumbled through muffles as he continued his oral play on her collar.

"Bisky, I'm so sweaty." She swooned.

"Flavoring."

"Really?"

"Umm-hmm."

She giggled before turning around with a grin, the sun in the room giving her a glow. "Was I cool?"

Mister grinned. "You're too hot to be cool." He answered as he draped a towel over her shoulders, kissing her and evoking a moan as she returned.

"Well, -chu- lucky, we -chu- have a -chu- excellent cleansing section.-chu- at R&D." Connie finished by slipping her tongue into his mouth, resulting in a chorus of clipping and popping between their mouths.

Connie pulled away suddenly, laughing at his love-stricken face, booking his snoot. "One that you will be using to cleaned my sweaty, 'basted' body." She half-joke, as she pulled on a loop of his jeans pants, "A dip in the essence spring, sounds nice right about now."

"Really now?" Steven teased as he ran his fingers up and down her spine, getting a purr and nod.

"Yes, you missed training, so penance is to be provided." Heartberry said impishly, that legendary teasing flame of hers blazing in those raven eyes as she led him through the Western door. "and since my sweaty body did such a good job. I deserve a prize, and after a sweltering session like that, there's nothing better than..." She paused l, taking his left hand and putting it on her shoulder.

"Having you soap.." She guided his hand down to her breast.

"Soak..." To her stomach.

"Roam.." To waist

And pat me dry.." She gave off a sensual moan as his hand graced her hips and ass. "Seems like an appropriate reward from a liege to their lioness." She ended with a bit lip glance towards him, being coquettish and trying to hold in her laughter.

Her Mister's hair was standing straight up, and his skin was bright pink except for his cheeks with were almost glowing red.

'OH, that's adorable!' The minx thought as she pressed against him fully, almost shivering at warmth, dear God how it melts her. "Sounds like a fun time, right?"

'Stars and diamonds!' Steven mind was on fire at the feel of her body, 'This teasing little...' He thought as a snarl escaped his nose. He was not going to lose in this game.

"You know," Steven started as he held her close, lips to her ear, "if you want, I could always give you a nice tongue bath, like a true lion to their lioness."

"Now, why would I want you to..." Connie stopped as his heated tongue graced the back of her ear, her first balled as her toes curled, " w-w-hmm! No! You gonna listen," She huffed through flared nostrils, despite holding his head in place, "why would I-I-I- Hiiii-YAhahaha..You're in..ohh...You're in my ear now. Ok. Um," She gulped with a tremble, broken breath. Her hands running through his hair as her hips sway against him.

"Yyyuuuppah!"

"Shiva!" Connie eye twitched as he popped his lips in her now sensitive ear canal, standing on her toes as she calmed down. "C-compromise?" She breathed out.

"If you can...thoroughly clean... me without, breaking...focus..." She gulped but managed a teasing smirk. "You can give me that 'tongue bath.' Not only that. We can have a 'pamper' night tonight."

The look of pure enthusiasm on her Mister's face at the thought of a 'pamper night' knocked the lust down a peg for a more intimate fondness feeling that swelled her chest.

"Seriously," His grin big and stunning as he looked at his partner, who nodded before nuzzling in tandem with him against the bridge of his nose.

"Like I can say no to that smile, but you have to win first." She grinned at the cheeky, challenging smirk on his face.

"Let me guess; you get to be all hot and teasing as I do." He muttered, nipping at her neck, getting a swooning sigh from Connie.

"Um-Hmm." She nodded as they entered a room with an indoor spring, diamond essence infused water spilling into it, giving off a fragrant scent and rainbow-like mist. "Will you make me your clean girl..." she broke from his grasp to undo her shorts, back towards him. Leaving Connie in only her leotard.

"Or will I make you my dirty, dirty boy?"

'I'm your dirty, DIRTY MAN!' Steven announced proudly in his mind as he drunk in her visage. He had never seen her with just the leotard, so his mind was shooting off like fireworks. The tightness of the leotard against her skin played like a second skin and accentuated her bust, muscles, and curves in a way no other attire had before. The seat was more a small bikini, allowing a little of the supple flesh to be seen, and it was a bit high-cut, letting her whole legs on display. It was thrilling in a way, and he very much appreciated the cloth's hard work, especially around the hips and the shine the fabric had.

"Three minutes and counting."

Steven turned his head up towards Connie, who, despite blushing, was smiling like a fox. "What?"

"Three and a half minutes, that's how long you been eyeing me." She declared with an imps persona. "Does it really look that good on me?"

"Truthfully, yes." Steven instincts took over his words. " You're always enticing, but this..."he let out a breath "Whhhhoooo, you're completely titillating." He praised.

Connie felt her face glow and her smile widened, "thank you. I..I made it myself..for you to see...Cospheres and all." She rubbed the back of her head at his surprised look.

"This is hard-light!?" Steven reached and rubbed on her back, getting a pleasant hum from her. "Hmm...Now that I really pay attention, it does feel like Garnet outfit.."

"The shorts are hard-light too." She mentioned, enjoying his pride and surprise. "Can't even tell if you're not used to it."

"How many times we sparred, and I never knew." He grinned, standing up and cupping her cheeks before raining peck's along her face, making her squeal. "You're amazing, Heartberry."

"You're amazing, Mister." She grinned, kissing his palm before taking her face back and turning away, pointing to the clasp at the leotards' nape. "Mind helping me and then joining me?"

Steven chuckled as he undid the clasp, revealing zipper. "and what of our game?" He asked as he slowly unzipped her kissing her bare back as he did, evoking shivers throughout her body,

"Bisky..." She shook her head, getting focus, "well, how can we play if we don't both don't get in."

"But, I'm not dirt-" His words was left dead as he watched Connie slipped off the clothing, revealing that she actually had nothing under but a high cut, cheeky 'Connie' colored panty.

He has seen her in many forms of undress before; hell, recently, she began sleeping in nothing but one of his shirts...That's' it.

So he's seen her body, but the visage of her climbing out and peeling away the leotard was art in motion.

The detailed movements of her legs, arms, and torso muscles; when she bent over, pulled off, and climbed out of the fabric. The slight bounce of her bust and 'heart' when it bloomed from the cloth before she shimmers the rest off and kicked it away, making her assets romp a bit more. She was a song of love and sensuality, personified—a sweaty and sweet one.

"You ok, back there?" His temptress of a partner inquired with that tell-tale tease on her tongue. "See something you like?" She swayed to the left.

"Something you want?" She swayed to the right before pressing her back to his stomach, "Or maybe you want to give me something," She kissed under his chin, "my dirty, dirty Mister."

"You.." He growled deeply as he took her lips with hers, leaning her head towards him.

"Not even -chu- trying to -chu- hide it, huh? Hehe."

"We're not -Chu- playing yet -chu-, right?"

She nodded, "good point -chu- after we -chu- stop. Game -chu- start."

Steven nodded as they deepened their oral exploration, popping and rejoining every few seconds. After a few minutes, the two nuzzled against each other, basking in affection.

"Go, Mister." Connie slowly and reluctantly pushed him toward the door on the right side of the entrance. "Towels, soap, and such are in there." She told him as she nipped the top of his ear. "Don't keep me waiting, Bisky." She teased lusciously before backing up and jumping into the body of water, completely submerging herself.

Steven grinned as he watched her, disappeared under before turning into the room.

A few moments passed before Steven returned with soap, shampoo, and towels, and paused when he saw her at the end leaning on the edge, her boy submerged up to her mid cleavage, smirking with her wet hair framing her

Face and hanging over her left eye.

"What's that smile for?" He grinned.

"I won."

"Confident, aren't we? What makes you so sure?"

She nodded to his feet, causing him to look down. She bit her lip when he grinned and breathed deeply. "Umm-hmm," she breathed vivaciously, trailing her finger across her cleavage.

"yeah..yeah. you win, You dirty, dirty lioness." He nodded with a smirk as he breath deeply.

"Come here, my dirty-dirty Mister." Connie laughed as she watched him shred his clothes and dived in.

#Fighting flirty #Steven and Connie #Connie maheswaran #Steven Universe #Mister #Heartberry #Humor #Fluff #Connverse #sensuality #innuendo #spicy #sweet

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

Dragon Dancer IV: Cries of the Mourners

There was nothing I could do, the tempest blocked my vision. The blood rain didn’t stop. There was nothing but the roar of the wind, a swirling apocalypse, my own gasping, my pulse racing, my chest heaving in and out.

I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t!

I never felt the pain of the bone wings. Only the surge of power and the shrinking ground beneath me. Desperation and the panic of losing the person bound to my very life eliminated all thought from my mind. I would kill him. I would kill Mingze.

Like a heat seeking missile, I had no trouble finding them. I burned with fury. Mingze stood riding Mingfei’s back. He had grown claws like iron scythes and they peeled the scales, the skin stretching beneath them, one by one, leaving bleeding red gouges. It was torture.

I heard him laughing. “Give it up, brother!”

"No." Mingfei spoke with difficulty, dizzy with pain and bloodloss. "I swore to Erii…"

"Is Erii more important than me? She's a stupid woman who mistook your affection for Nono as affection for her. Yet you fight me for her."

Mingze's lip curled in disgust. "You really are irritating."

"You don't have to understand it… and I don't have to explain."

Mingze grasped him by the wings and opened his own. The sudden air resistance brought Mingfei to a terrible sudden halt. "I don't have to understand something so idiotic. Just give me your soul and you will have everything you desire! Everything!" Mingze opened his arms wide. A mad grin stretched his face but there was no happiness there. The whites of his eyes encircled his golden pupils and his jaw was clenched in a furious rictus. "But that's not good enough for you… is it?"

He raised one arm and brought it down hard cutting into the joint where the gigantic wing met his back. Mingfei howled with pain and the wing sailed off like another piece of debris in the wind.

I aimed at Mingze as they both fell making a beeline for him. I would tear him off his back and I would tear him to shreds!

But it was not to be.

Mingze turned and looked at me over his shoulder as I came at him like a speeding bird of prey, his eyes glittering and a sympathetic smile on his face. That smile gave me a moments pause.

Mingfei let out an anguished shout and forced himself to turn around to face me with the last bit of strength. A blast of air hit me like a battering ram. I heard and felt the bullet pass me, nicking back a length of my hair.

Through the bond of our souls, I felt the bullet hit Mingfei instead.

It was like a flower of pain opening into my chest that rose into my head. I thought the pain of Zihang’s disappearance was raw and unbearable. This took my breath away. My body stretched as though to pull itself apart and my cry split the heavens.

I could no longer maintain my anger under the assault of this grief. Every moment, every smile, laugh, and tear. Our promise we made each other in the hall. The secrets we shared, it passed through my mind as though being sucked into a black hole of death. Mingfei’s presence in my mind and heart was fading down the hourglass and I couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t Die!”

Mingze’s voice cut through my grief and we shouted in unison. “Don’t Die!”

“....cancel.”

My eyes flew open and I finally looked down. Mingze gripped his temples in a panic. This was not happening, this could not happen! He reached out and seized him by his shoulders. His mouth was open but he made no sound. He stared into Mingfei's face.

“Don’t Die!” He commanded again.

Mingfei coughed a thin mist of blood and rasped. “Can...Cancel.”

Mingze let out a frustrated growl and slammed his fists into the ground. “Stop it!”

Mingfei turned a pale, greyish color, and gasped for air. “I can’t... Let you... win.”

“Why couldn’t you just give it to me... why did you...”

“Why don’t you eat me now?” Mingfei’s smile was knowing. “Little brother...”

“Don’t call me that now!” He shouted, his voice raw with fury and pain.

Mingze let out a moan as Mingfei’s breath came short, and his eyes slid shut. “Jormangandr... when you had shed tears, I'd mocked you... I said that you were conflicted. But really... I had felt afraid.”

“So each time I offered and Mingfei refused me, I was happy.”

He turned to Mingfei, still whimpering and talking to himself. “I never thought he would give in, so I pushed him, tempted him, deceived him. And each time Mingfei resisted, I felt reassured....”

“Brother, your friends became more numerous, became more trustworthy and reliable. You called on me less and less. ...that’s why ... I had to get rid of him. Chu Zihang. I wanted you to call on me again...”

This limp body before him had no choice in the matter now. Every second that passed, Mingfei's life was fading. "Brother…" Mingze reached out, caressing his pale cheek. "Brother… this wasn't supposed to happen."

"I said… when you felt lonely… a desperate loneliness… you would give up your soul to me. I wasn't supposed to… I wasn't supposed to feel this way. It wasn't supposed to be me!"

Mingze gripped his hair and pulled, bowing low to the ground in agony of his own grief. In a few seconds, Mingfei would be gone. He would be alone.

He suddenly looked up at me. That grief suddenly turned to dark and dangerous fury. “You... this is your fault! I told you to stay away!”

I didn’t try to flee as he rushed up towards me. I just braced myself. My ribs cracked under the force of his shoulder and I was breathless.

Mingze screamed. “Make it stop!”

He grabbed me by my throat and squeezed hard. The claws pieced my neck.

“You can! You have the power to change fate. You have the power of Chaos. You can manipulate the world, Ouroboros! Undo what you’ve done!”

Did I have that power? My hearing grew dim and my sight darkened at the edges. I could only hear my own thoughts. I was sorry. I didn’t want Mingfei to go... please don’t go.

I was abruptly released. As my mind cleared, I was in the arms of someone else. Or at least it felt like it. I could no longer feel pain or fear or sorrow. Peace enveloped me like a comforting blanket.

I heard my voice but I wasn’t speaking. The world felt distant.

“I have not granted her that power. She is human. Humans love and feel great loss for their own reality... they cannot be trusted with such power as, eventually, the world will begin to revolve around them...”

“Spare me your lectures!” Mingze spat. “Save him!”

"Why should I submit to your demands? You don't know what you're even asking for."

It was my father. He was speaking through me.

“Your predecessor, Nidhogg, was the Arbiter of Life. He could create life, like no other dragon could possibly create. But he grew lonely and created his own partner. The White King was his companion and he loved her. But she betrayed him. In order to put her down, he killed her and in the throes of loss, ate her. After she was finished, he rose as high as could and then plunged into the sea. In his own grief.”

“His grief was so profound that he was unable to escape it, even as he created the four lords. He wielded it as a weapon. He controlled the four lords with the power of the cycle of love and loss."

Ouroboros’ voice filled with mocking and scorn. “And now that you are suffering this pain, you look to me to relieve it? How do you think I got this power? Yes... I devoured everyone I love." He laughed a low pitying chuckle. "You have the power to change what Nidhogg has done. But in doing so... you will lose your power. The choice between power and loneliness, and love and powerlessness. This is yours to make. And will not make it for you."

My father’s hold on me abruptly left me.

Mingze lifted me and cast me down in frustration.

I rolled to land on my feet but my body could barely withstand the shock. I collapsed a few seconds later. Mingze landed next to Mingfei, his eyes downcast, swaying slightly on his feet for a few seconds before falling to his knees.

He sat there, hunched as though in prayer until his body began to glow and that glow began to transfer itself into Mingfei. His material body faded away.

A shrill voice shouted. “Zero!” I turned to look. It was Zero.

I had forgotten she was here. She was running towards us reaching out to him.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t leave me! Don’t leave...” She staggered to a halt, one hand outstretched. Her face contorted and turned red. Her whining cries joined the chorus of grief.

I could only stare dumbly at her, confused. She hugged herself, rocking back and forth, eyes blank, fixated on the spot where her beloved had been moments before.

The roaring tempest, the aurora, they all died down. The only sound left was the crackling and snapping of burning houses and the occasional crash of a falling rafter.

My devastating feeling of loss had dissipated. I turned to Mingfei and watched the remaining wing was turning black and falling like ash from his back. The scales were starting to retract back into his skin. His contorted claws began to regain their pink color and delicately boned shape.

I stood up and fell. Stood and fell again. I didn’t try to get up again. I was must have been too badly hurt. Instead, I watched my breath shift the flakes of snow on the ground.

I didn’t know how long we lay there. But eventually, I watched the helicopters come from the sunrise over the deep golden water with tired eyes.

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Lu Mingze #Lu Mingfei #Zero

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trvelyans-archive · 4 years

Text

baby steps

for the lovely @dauntless-necromancer ft. detective eddy and his daughter maxine and Queen Ava du Mortain !!!!!!! this was super fun to write and i hope you enjoyyyyy !!!!!!! <3

Eddy forgot how much space Maxine’s things take up in the apartment.

It’s only been a few months since she last stayed over – before Christmas, before everything with Murphy happened and he was too busy to see her more than once every couple of weeks – and still, she seems so different. She seems smarter, funnier; she has a brighter smile, bigger glasses, looser sweaters and he swears that she’s a little taller than she was before. At this rate, she’ll be just as tall as he is by the time she turns 14.

She’s still awake when he returns from the carnival. He knows this because, when he pushes the door to his apartment open, the chain stops it with a loud metallic thud and Maxine nearly shrieks. (She doesn’t, thankfully. He’s sure the neighbors would have something to say about it.)

And then she sighs when he sticks his hand through the crack in the doorway and wiggles his fingers in greeting. She can’t see the smile on his face, but she probably knows it’s there, anyway. “You scared me, Dad,” she complains, and he can hear her socked feet padding across the dark hardwood floors on the other side a few seconds before the door opens to reveal Maxine, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face while heavy-lidded eyes glare at him from underneath her messy black hair.

(Shit, he’s much later than he thought he’d be.)

Still, Eddy laughs as she closes the door enough to undo the chain. “Was I supposed to knock?” he asks.

“Well, yeah,” she answers somewhat haughtily. She’s only like this when she’s tired. “I thought you were going to text me.”

“My phone died,” he says as he slips into the apartment. “Sorry.” He hopes that she knows he means it.

Either way, she just shrugs. “It’s okay,” she responds, heading back to the couch where candy bar wrappers and a couple of cans of soda clutter the surface of the coffee table around her iPad. “I was just worried.”

“You don’t have to be worried about me.” Eddy chains the door again and shrugs his leather jacket off, turning to face her as tosses it onto a nearby leather armchair and runs his hands through his hair. The rest of the room is relatively clean, save for a couple pairs of his shoes lying around and some loose papers he should really bring back to the station when he goes in tomorrow. “How was your night?”

She smiles. “Good,” she answers. Whatever dread is weighing heavy on his heart right now, her smile is enough to lift his spirits. “I just got to the fourteenth level of this cool app I’ve been playing.”

Eddy raises an eyebrow. “Do any homework?” he says. “Any studying?”

Maxine rolls her eyes as she shifts on the couch to make room for him. “Dad, it’s a weekend,” she replies. “Besides, I don’t need to study.”

“As true as that may be, Max, it’s good to keep on top of your studies,” he tells her.

“You didn’t,” she points out, raising an eyebrow.

He laughs. “You’re right. That’s why I’m telling you to,” he says, tapping the end of her nose with his finger.

“I’ll study tomorrow,” she promises. “Can I come into the station with you? It’s been so long since I’ve seen Verda and Tina!”

Her question gives Eddy pause. With the maa-alused sorted out, it’ll probably be a few days until he sees Unit Bravo again. Which is a relief, because if there’s any time he needed space from them, it’s now.

Maybe he shouldn’t have held Ava’s hand at the carnival, but what was he supposed to do? She’s all he thinks about nowadays, despite how frustrating and confusing their relationship can be. No, it’s not confusing – he knows very well she has feelings for him the same way he has feelings for her. She’s not very good at hiding it. It’s just… disheartening, because all she does is try to push him away when all he wants is to be closer to her. But there was an opportunity to be close to her tonight – really, really close to her – and he would have been a fool not to take it.

But he shouldn’t have held her hand, because Ava doesn’t know. And Unit Bravo doesn’t know.

And Rebecca doesn’t know, either.

It’s not exactly a secret around Wayhaven that the detective has a daughter, especially considering that she’s the top of her class and the president of about four school clubs, but for some reason, Rebecca still hasn’t figured it out. And yeah, sure, part of that is because Eddy actively tried to keep Maxine away from her for a long time, but he doesn’t regret that. He just regrets keeping it a secret now, because the longer the secret goes on, the harder it’s going to be to tell them all.

Still, there’s no chance they’ll need him again so soon, right? Maybe he can get away with it for a while longer…

“Sure, Max,” Eddy replies finally. “You can come in with me tomorrow.”

“Great!” she exclaims with a grin, shutting her iPad off and shoving it onto the coffee table while she leans her head on his shoulder and bats her eyelashes at him. “Can we watch a movie now? Please?”

“It’s late,” he answers as if he isn’t tempted. He’s not sure he’s going to be able to sleep tonight, all things considered, but Maxine is a growing girl who still needs sleep.

“I don’t think I could fall asleep if I wanted to,” Maxine says. “And I don’t! Because I’d rather watch a movie with you!”

She grins at him and Eddy sighs, running a hand over his scalp. “Alright,” he replies, and she claps excitedly while he leans over to the coffee table to grab the remote.

Unsurprisingly, Maxine’s dead on her feet when he drags her out of the house the next morning.

It’s a relatively bleary morning for this time of year. Despite the fact that head to the station around 9 a.m., he can barely even see the sun through the heavy mist that hangs over the town. Still, it’s not worth it to drive to work, so they set off down the street towards the Police Department instead, with Eddy holding an umbrella just in case.

“Can we get coffee?” Maxine asks at one point.

He turns to her with a frown. “You’re too young for coffee,” he says, leading her by the shoulder into Haley’s bakery where she nearly runs into the wall before entering. “But I’ll buy you a cinnamon bun, alright?”

“And a hot chocolate?” she says, turning to him and sticking her bottom lip out in a pout.

“Fine, and a hot chocolate,” he answers with a laugh. Her mom would probably protest, but Eddy isn’t about to tell Maxine what foods she can or can’t eat. “Go find a seat, I’ll be there in a minute.”

After grabbing their food, they head back outside where it’s started to rain. Light enough that he doesn’t want to open the umbrella – especially considering how many things he’s carrying, since Haley sweet-talked him into buying muffins for Tina and Verda – but enough that he grits his teeth as a shiver runs through him. “Come on, Max,” he says, his walk turning into a jog as the station comes into view. “Let’s get inside before we get drenched.”

“Okay!” she responds, hurrying after him down the sidewalk until they’re safely inside the building.

Tina glances up from where she’s standing at the front desk and smiles at them. “Hey!” she says. Maxine hurries over to her and gives her a warm hug. (To Eddy’s amusement, Max is about Tina’s height.) “Haven’t seen you for a while, kiddo. How’re you doing?”

“Good!” Maxine says as she pulls away, grinning and wringing her hands. “Tired, but glad to be here. I have a lot of studying to do, though…”

“Eh, you’ll be fine like always! Verda and I always talk about how much of a smartypants you are.” She reaches over to ruffle Maxine’s hair, then turns to Eddy. “I’m surprised you’re coming in today,” Tina continues, a knowing smirk on her lips. He already knows where this is going. “You were at the carnival pretty late last night…”

He sighs. “Tina…”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not any of my business, I know.” She doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic about bothering him about it, thought.

“You’re right,” Eddy replies, pulling her muffin out of the bag and handing it to her. “So don’t make me regret buying this for you.”

She mimes zipping her lips shut. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she says. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to take Max along last night. Don’t you want her to spend time with the team?”

“I don’t want to spend time with them,” Maxine says.

Tina frowns. “What?” she asks. “Why wouldn’t you want to –“

“Maxine,” Eddy says, clearing his throat, “can you go wait in my office for me? Please?”

Maxine rolls her eyes and sighs, hitching her backpack higher on her shoulders and heading for Eddy’s office.

“Why wouldn’t she want to spend time with them?” Tina says, turning to him and lowering her voice so Max can’t overhear. “With a team of smart women like that, you’d think –“

“I think she’s a little… jealous,” Eddy answers. He’s good at lying, and yet still he’s concerned that Tina’s going to call him out. Maxine is the farthest thing from insecure, after all – he made sure of that. He only hopes that it’s a believable enough excuse in this situation. “I’ve been so busy spending time with them these past few months…”

“Ah, I get it.” Tina smiles brightly at him, evidently trying to soothe whatever worries she thinks he must have (although it does make him feel a little better). “Well, that’s fair, I guess. Not like there’s anyone who could really get in between you two, but I get it.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I’m hoping she’ll… uh… come around soon, you know?”

“Well, even if she doesn’t, at least she still loves me.”

Eddy laughs and nods at Tina as she tightens her ponytail and heads for the break room with a wink while he heads to his office, where, when he enters and shuts the door tightly behind him, he sees that Maxine’s set herself up at the circular wooden desk that Nat and Ava used a long time ago.

No, not a long time ago. A couple months ago. Time really flies when you realize you’re living in a world alongside supernaturals, and some of them are trying to kill you.

“Are you sure you can’t back out of working at the Agency?” Maxine asks. “I don’t trust Unit Bravo. Not after what happened with –“

He holds a hand up to cut her off. She falls begrudgingly quiet.

Eddy sighs. He can’t blame her grudge on the team – from her perspective, they were assigned to protect him and failed. He wished he could explain it to her another way, but he can’t. He wanders over to the table and pulls out the chair across from her, slouching into it with a resigned sigh. “I’m sure,” he answers.

It was risky, telling her about the Agency and the supernatural and everything that happened with Murphy, but he wasn’t going to put her in danger the way his mother – the way Rebecca did and have her not know about it. Besides, Maxine has a good head on her shoulders – she’s smart, quick on her feet, and once she’s a little older he can start combat training with her. Just to be sure. Just to be safe.

He wants her to trust him. God knows he could’ve used that when he was her age.

“It’s dangerous,” she continues, frowning. “Like you said yourself, you don’t know everything that’s out there –“

“But they’ll teach me,” Eddy interrupts. He places his hand on top of hers, which is so small and cold from the rain, and gives her as reassuring of a smile as they can. “They have a library, a research lab. I can learn all of it. Everything I can to protect you and me.”

“Dad.” Maxine stands up and hurries around to his side of the table, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him. “We both know you’re bad at doing your homework.”

He laughs, reaching up to squeeze her arm. “Not when I have proper motivation,” he says. “And keeping you safe is more than enough motivation for me.”

Maxine hugs him a little tighter before backing away towards the door. She has a mischievous smile on her face, one he doesn’t entirely trust, and reaches for the door handle slowly – it’s then that he notices that she’s grabbed the bag of muffins from where he placed them on his desk and is dangling them by her side. “Can I go eat with Tina?” she asks. “Just for a couple of minutes? I have some gossip to catch her up on.”

Eddy nods. “Sure, Max,” he responds. “Just for a couple of minutes, and then…”

She pouts. “Then what?”

“Homework time,” he reminds her.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Right. Homework time.”

With one last eyeroll, she pulls the door open and closes it behind her, leaving Eddy alone in his office wondering how she grew up so damn quickly. It feels like just yesterday he was 17 and found out that Katie was pregnant, and now Maxine’s almost 13. And he’s almost thirty.

Shit. He’s getting old, too.

He stands up and grabs his coffee, taking a sip as he ambles over to his chair and sits down. There are a couple sticky notes on his computer screen – two from Tina and one from Verda – and his answering machine blinks with a message that he tells himself he’ll listen to later. It’s probably the mayor or the captain, and he doesn’t have the energy to think about either of them right now. Sighing, he wiggles his mouse around until his computer blinks to life and, once he’s logged in, opens up his e-mail.

He doesn’t even get a chance to click on one when he hears Douglas’s voice from the front desk.

“Hi, Mrs. Langford,” he says. Eddy shoots out of his seat. “The detective’s in his –“

“Thank you, Douglas,” Rebecca responds. Eddy’s nose wrinkles as he hurries for the door – he doesn’t want to listen to Douglas talk any more than she does, but she could be a little more polite about it.

Just before Eddy’s fingers touch the doorknob, however, it opens from the other side. He stumbles back as Rebecca enters.

He’s surprised to see her again so soon. He knew there was a chance he would see the Unit around town – not that he wanted that after what happened last night – but he thought it’d be a long time before he had to see Rebecca. He can’t say he’s not thrown off by it, especially with Maxine just in the other room, but if he plays his cards right, they won’t have to see each other…

“Eduardo,” Rebecca says in greeting. She looks tired. That makes two of them. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he answers shortly. Maybe it’s a little harsh, but he doesn’t have much patience for anything else at the moment. “Uh, is there something you wanted from me?”

She scans his face with a raised eyebrow for a moment before sighing. “Yes, there is,” she responds. “I wanted to talk to you about something. A rather… delicate matter.”

“I don’t really have time right now,” Eddy says. “There’s a lot of work to do, and –“

“I wanted to talk to you about Agent du Mortain.”

That shuts him up quickly.

He’s tried to keep his feelings for Ava private. And he does well most of the time, all things considered, even if he does slip up on occasion when his feelings are too overwhelming. Though the Unit teases him about it – because of course the Unit teases him about it – he didn’t know that his mother noticed.

(He shouldn’t have held Ava’s hand…)

Before Rebecca can get a word out, however, the door to Eddy’s office opens again.

“Hey, Dad,” Maxine says as she pushes her way inside, looking down at her muffin, “did I leave my -?”

She glances up and meets Rebecca’s eyes.

Shit.

He’s pictured this scene a million times – he’s had a few nightmares about it, actually. Rebecca is not a monster by any means, but Eddy doesn’t want her to be in his life any more than she is right now, which is already too much, too soon. After all, her absence during his childhood caused him more problems than one, and though he knows she could’ve been a good grandmother when Maxine was a little younger if Rebecca wanted to be – and if he let her – he didn’t.

He knows how much more it’s going to hurt her because of that, and he hates it.

“Maxine,” he says, his voice unsteady, “can you go wait outside, please?”

Maxine glances up at Rebecca and frowns. Though she doesn’t seem to suspect too much, she certainly suspects something. Considering the tension in the room, it would be hard not to. She’s too smart to miss something like that, which means it’s not going to be very long until she figures it out.

“Who’s this?” Maxine asks, her eyes flickering between Eddy and Rebecca.

“Max,” he repeats, then gentler, “please?”

Her frown grows deeper but after a second she responds with nothing more than a nod, sensing his desperation, and she heads out the door and closes it very softly behind her.

Rebecca is turned away from him, and his stomach fills with dread. The office is dead quiet. At this point, he would be more than welcome to a distraction from Douglas.

But one doesn’t come. After a long moment, Rebecca clears her throat. “… ‘Dad’?” she asks.

Eddy sighs, smoothing a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he answers. She tilts her face towards him.

“You have a daughter?” she says.

“Yes.”

A pause. “How old is she?”

“Twelve. I had her at the end of school.”

Rebecca sighs. There’s another long pause before she crosses her arms over her chest. “I had no idea,” she says, and it sounds like more of a fact than anything. She’s trying very hard not to let her emotions show. “How on Earth could you have hidden this from me?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, “but I’m not sorry I did.”

This seems to take her by surprise. “You’re not?” she asks.

“No,” he responds.

“And why is that?”

Eddy sighs. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation –“

“Eduardo.”

“Don’t say my name like that, Rebecca,” he says.

“How else am I supposed to say it? I just found out that I’m a grandmother, and it wasn’t from you.”

“I didn’t want to tell you.” As if that’ll help his case. “I wasn’t ready for you to be in her life yet.”

“In her life or your’s?” she challenges. “I know we have our problems, Eddy, but I –“

“Maybe it’s both,” he answers. “Her life and mine. I just… I didn’t want her to feel the same disappointment I used to.”

She lets out a long, measured breath. “That’s not fair –“

“What’s not fair? How many birthdays of mine did you miss? How many times did you come home only to give me the cold shoulder because I got in trouble? Why would I want Maxine to feel the same thing?”

“I’m your mother –“

“It didn’t feel like it!” he exclaims. “For a long, long time. And you can’t make up for all that so easily, Rebecca -”

“I’m trying to.”

“It’s not enough.” Eddy clenches his fists by his sides, trying to even out his breathing. “It’s not enough yet, and until you prove yourself to be different, I don’t want you having a relationship with Max. She is my daughter, and it’s my job to take care of her.”

Rebecca looks like she’s going to respond when her face hardens. “… Did you tell her about the Agency?”

He swallows, but stands firm. He’s always been scared about his mother’s reaction when she found out, but he’s far more worried about how the Agency will react. Even though he told Maxine about the supernatural, he doesn’t want her to be a part of this world – she deserves a better, normal life, one he never had.

“Of course I told her,” he says. Rebecca sighs. “She deserves to know what’s out there –“

“That is not your information to give,” she responds. “The Agency –“

“The Agency said that the DMB wasn’t something you could give to the team, but you did anyway. It saved me from Murphy. How is it not the same thing for me to tell Max about the supernatural?”

“She’s too young –“

“She isn’t,” Eddy says defensively. “She is incredibly smart and level-headed, and is everything I could never be when I was her age. I’m not going to raise her…”

The insult dies on his lips. He’s already said too much and been too cruel – he knows that – but it’s hard not to defend himself and Max against Rebecca. Still, she can guess what he was going to say – anyone who knows their relationship could.

“The way I raised you?” Rebecca asks.

Eddy nods. “Yeah,” he answers. “Yes.”

She falls silent. Eddy’s certain she’s going to turn on her heel and stride out of the room when she opens her mouth to speak once more, her voice much softer and somehow firmer at the same time. “The Agency will need to be informed,” she says. “There will be protections put in place for Max, as well as her mother. Just in case.”

Eddy’s throat closes up a little. She is trying to be better, and he knows that, and he feels so lucky – too lucky – that she’s doing it even after he lost his temper. Even after her lied to her. Not that he didn’t have his reasons, but…

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” she replies. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to take care of you the same way it’s your job to take care of… Maxine.”

He nods. She nods in return, then moves for the door.

“Our conversation… it can wait for a later date.” She grabs the handle. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

“Okay,” he says. “Thanks again.”

She shuts the door behind her, and Eddy sighs as he sinks down into his chair, burying his face in his hands.

It’s two weeks before the Rebecca gets in contact with Eddy again. Two weeks of radio silence.

Maxine is back at her mom’s house for the foreseeable future, so he heads for the Warehouse by himself (only after flicking the head of his dashboard bobblehead as he climbs into his car). Every time they were in the car together when she was staying with him, Maxine would turn on the radio and sing along with whatever song was playing or talk back to the newscaster as they reported the news, but now the car is silent save for the sound of the tires grinding against the gravel road and the wind roaring through the gaps in the rolled-down window. As he turns into the lot, he runs his hand through his hair and tries his best to steel himself.

He doesn’t do very well, of course, because there are a million scenarios running through his head and most of them don’t end very well, but he can’t put it off any longer. He’s done running away.

The walk to the living room feels longer than it usually does. Maybe he gets lost once or twice – the place still feels like a maze a lot of the time, and it’s only worse when his brain is so pre-occupied with other, much more pressing issues. When he finally reaches the heavy wooden doors, it’s like he finished running a marathon. He reaches up to knock and then decides that’s stupid before grabbing the doorknob and pushing the door open.

Unit Bravo is inside, as is Rebecca.

Ava doesn’t look at him.

Everyone else does.

Shit. This is awkward.

“Eddy,” Rebecca says. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem,” he replies, heading for the couch and sitting down beside Farah. She nudges his side and smiles at him when he looks over. He smiles back in relief.

Well, that’s one friend he still has…

The team directs their attention back to Rebecca, and she nods. “As I was saying…”

They all listen carefully to Rebecca’s orders – which Eddy’s sure have changed so that another one of their duties is putting special care into keeping Maxine and her mother safe – but Ava looks very obviously distracted. Maybe she’s forcing herself to be. Maybe that was the only way Rebecca could get her to agree to be in the same room as Eddy. She leans up against the wall beside the fireplace with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows furrowed – she’s as still as a statue, and Eddy wants nothing more than to grab her hand and squeeze it. Again. Even though he knows it would probably cause even more problems. Even though it would probably make her more upset.

When the meeting is finished, Rebecca leaves, but not without giving Eddy an uneasy smile first which he manages to return. She deserves it. He knows she’s probably been working hard for him and Maxine behind the scenes with the Agency, and he definitely appreciates it. He wishes he could tell her that himself, but… well, baby steps.

It’s not until the door shuts behind Rebecca that Eddy realizes that Ava followed her.

Farah asks him a question, but he’s already up and out the door. His mother is nowhere to be found – she must’ve disappeared into the room across the hallway – but Ava is heading away from the living room as fast as she can without breaking into a full-on sprint. She’d probably like to. With a sigh, he hurries to catch up.

“Can we talk?” Eddy says behind her, his voice soft and yet somehow still echoing through the long, empty halls enough to make him wince. Ava stops in front of him. He lowers his voice. “Please?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Detective,” she answers, and her tone is so impersonal that he can feel it in his chest like a knife to the heart. “You’re…” She clears her throat. “You’re no longer needed here today, so you’re free to return to the station.”

“Ava –“

He reaches out and grabs her arm, and she stops again, though tenses under his touch. He hasn’t seen her since the carnival. He hasn’t even heard her voice since the carnival. He has a feeling that if he doesn’t say something now then she’ll never speak to him again.

He wouldn’t blame her. He’s always tried to be honest with her, as honest as he can be, but it’s difficult. Everything with her is difficult.

But like other difficult things – working for the Agency, trying to repair his relationship with Rebecca, and taking care of Maxine – it should pay off in the end. It has to. He can’t lose Ava, and certainly not because of his own stupid choices. He’s done making stupid choices.

“Can we go somewhere and talk privately, please?” he tries again. He’s more emotional about this than he thought he’d be, but seeing her, seeing how much she wants to distance herself from him…

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Ava insists. She still won’t look at him. Fuck, he really messed this one up.

“Ava.” He clears his throat, searching for the right words. “Please. I-I just want to explain myself.”

“What is there to explain?” she nearly seethes. “You – you have a daughter, Detective. And you didn’t tell me.”

Her. Not the team, or the Agency – he didn’t tell her. She’s not mad. She’s hurt.

And he hates that he hurt her.

“I thought it would change things,” he says. It’s a pitiful excuse, but it’s what he’s got. “Between… us.”

“It did,” she responds plainly. “How can I trust you?”

“You can,” he replies.

“You don’t understand. Detective, you’re the first person I have…” And then Ava bites back whatever she was going to say, shaking her head before heaving a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t do the same for me, and –”

“I was going to tell you,” he says.

“When?” she asks, finally turning around and daring to look at him. “When were you going to tell me?”

“When I figured out the right time,” he answers.

“And when would that have been?”

“When…” He sighs. “When I thought that you wouldn’t change your mind about this because of it.” Eddy gestures at the space between them. An empty space. Too empty. He takes a step closer, reaching out for her hand and then pulling away when he decides against it. “I don’t know what else I can say, Ava. I know I messed up, and I know I hurt you. Can you… can you just try to believe me when I tell you that that’s the last thing I wanted to do?”

“I don’t know if I can,” she says.

“I know,” he tells her. “I just want you to try.”

She glances down at the floor, her eyebrows drawing together, the unforgiving tension in her shoulders beginning to disappear.

“Don’t do something like this again,” she whispers, her voice pained. “Please, don’t.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Ava.”

“I know you are,” she responds. Her green eyes flicker towards him again. “You wanted to protect your family. I understand that. I… understand that more than you may know.”

“Thank you.” Eddy gives her a crooked smile. “And I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

The corner of her mouth lifts in a smile.

Baby steps, right?

He clears his throat, running a hand over his hair. “I have to run, but… I’ll see you around?”

Ava nods in response and says nothing else. That’s as much as he’s going to get, he suspects. When she turns to leave – slowly, reluctantly – she manages to get a few paces away before Eddy calls out to her again.

“Next time she’s staying with me, you can meet her.” Then he clears his throat. “If you’d like.”

Ava tilts her head towards him. “Perhaps I would,” she answers. “... Would you like that?”

“I definitely would,” he answers.

She nods. “Okay.”

His smile grows into a grin. “Okay,” he repeats. “I’ll… yeah, I’ll see you around.”

When he turns on his heel, she’s the one to watch him go this time. He can feel her eyes on his back, and no matter how much he wishes he could turn back around and talk to her more, ask her how she’s been - those two weeks felt like a century - he knows that she needs space. And he can give that to her. He’d do anything for her, if she asked.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Maxine’s mother’s number.

“Hey,” he says, smiling as he turns a corner and heads for the front door. “When do you want me to take Max next?”

#THANK U BUDDIE................ i hope u like this one #i will literally write for ava and eddy anytime. literally anytime. just hmu. i love them so much #KING EDDY.... love of my life #ANYWAY SLDKJFKDLSJFKLS #my writing #my commissions #this one was so fun goddamn. i'm back to having wayhaven brain rot !!!

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shinsoukokuvalentine · 5 years

Note

20?

(Well I watched the Steven Universe movie again today, so this Ruby/Sapphire sort of thing happened. In this AU, the Gems are differentiated by the color of their eyes, not their skin, for the ease of my visualization process. I’d encourage you to look up the gems referenced ^^)

20. “I’ll protect you no matter what... even if it kills me.”

250/365: Universe

He hadn’t wanted to come. He saw what waited for him down there, down on that filthy planet ridden with rebels and lower life forms, and he wanted no part of it.

But Mori made it very clear what would happen if he refused.

“Are you defying orders, Hematite?” He had snapped from his throne. Ryuunosuke’s lip twitched.

“I have a name,” he grumbled under his breath, but he straightened his back, crossing his hands and wrists in salute over his chest. “I understand,” he said, louder.

It was either get shattered by Mori or at the hands of the rebels. One of those options was more honorable.

Higuchi, a glittering Peridot soldier, tried to encourage him.

“You’re being sent with a guard,” she murmured. “I’m sure you’ll be perfectly fine.”

Ryuunosuke’s brow furrowed as they traveled in the ship towards the rebel planet.

“You can’t see the future, Higuchi. I can.”

The Peridot frowned but said nothing else, silent as the doors behind them slid open.

“My Hematite?” A small voice called. “We’ll be landing shortly.”

With a sigh, Ryuu rose from his seat. His guard stands in the doorway, eyes shining with the colors of the gem embedded in his palm, too much hope in his face; the perfect picture of a Gem that had never seen a battlefield.

And something about him drew Ryuu in like a magnet.

Ryuu walked to him, keeping himself from stiffening when the guard customarily took his hand to escort him.

“You seem tense, my Hematite,” said the Ametrine guard. “Would you like a fan? Or somewhere to lie down?”

Ryuunosuke shook his head. “I’m fine,” he muttered. The Ametrine only gave a small nod, silver hair catching the ship’s lights and glittering like his gem. Ryuu had to purposefully keep his eyes forward as he was escorted outside.

The planet’s sky stretched in a hazy gray above them. The occasional drop of something wet fell from the clouds, causing Ryuu to shiver whenever they landed on him.

“It’s okay,” the Ametrine said, a soft smile on his lips. “It’s called rain; it won’t hurt you.”

When Ryuu fixed him in a stern look, he frowned immediately and turned his head away.

“I-i was briefed on this planet before coming here,” he murmured an explanation. Ryuu gave a small sigh.

“I can see that it’s harmless,” he grumbled, “that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Ah! My Hematite!” Kouyou beamed the second they enter the war tent. “The only one who can come up with a good strategy around here,” she added with scorn, tossing a glare at the other soldiers in the tent. Ryuu saluted her.

“My Carmine.”

“So?” Kouyou said, sitting down as Ryuu stepped closer, his hand still bound to the Ametrine. “What have you seen in your visions of the future?”

Ryuu nodded, standing over the map at the table. “The rebels will attack here and here,” he pointed at the map with one hand. “They’re disorganized, as their leader keeps mysteriously disappearing. Morale is low. Simple guerilla strategies will undo them.”

Kouyou laughed in her throne-like chair. “We’ll have this little rebellion crushed in the blink of an eye,” she purred. Ryuu frowned.

“Don’t be too sure.”

Kouyou paused. Eyes narrowing, she stared at him.

“What?”

Ryuu closed his eyes, knowing how untimely their arrival had been, knowing he could do nothing but grip the Ametrine’s hand tighter.

“They’re warping in to attack this camp,” he said.

Kouyou leaped from her seat.

“What?!” She shouted, but immediately, a scream rang from outside. Kouyou rushed out, along with her other soldiers, but Ryuu stood still. He wouldn’t run.

Ametrine suddenly yanked him forward, beginning to run, racing with him out the back of the tent.

“We have to get you to safety!” He shouted. But the clouds had descended, as Ryuu knew they would. Sounds of battle rang around them; the clashing of blades, the clanging of shields, the cries of war. Friend and foe blended together in the mist, forming only shadows.

The Ametrine froze, eyes darting around, chest heaving.

“W-where should we go?” He stammered. He whipped around to Ryuu, staring at him with panic in his innocent, wide eyes. “Look into the future and tell us where we should go!”

Ryuu didn’t point out that his guard shouldn’t be giving him orders. Instead, he shook his head.

“It’s pointless,” he muttered. The Ametrine paled.

“What do you mean?!” he shouted, grabbing Ryuu’s shoulders. “You can see everything, right? All the routes the future could take? In which one do we survive?!”

Ryuu closed his eyes again. The rain continued to fall, and he held his palm out to the sky to feel it drip onto his gem.

“In every path, you survive,” he murmured, “And in every path… I die.”

He felt the Ametrine freeze.

“... No,” the young Gem whispered. “No, no you can’t die! I’m protecting you!”

“It’s inevitable,” Ryuu said with a sigh. “You can’t prevent it.”

“Yes I CAN!” Screamed the Ametrine. Ryuu snapped his eyes open to see him, face twisted with grief, body shaking, hands gripping the lapels of Ryuu’s coat.

“I have to protect you! I’ll protect you no matter what, even if it kills me!” He cried. Ryuu couldn’t tell if the water dripping down his face was from the rain or tears. The Ametrine tries to catch his breath, hiccuping.

“Because, I-!”

He didn’t finish his own words. A sword sliced through the fog, down to Ryuu, sharp enough to shatter him. He closed his eyes to accept it, and everything up until that point flashed in the forefront of his memory. Time seemed to slow.

“Despite everything,” he thought to himself as his memories caught up with the present, “I’m glad I could meet you… Atsushi the Ametrine.”

But something happened that Ryuu never saw, in any of his visions. The Ametrine leaped forward, shoving Ryuu out of the sword’s way, sending them down to the ground.

And suddenly, the present and the future were - are - one.

Everything seems to spin. Ryuu isn’t sure what he feels, who he is, and Atsushi isn’t sure either. They know their names, but they aren’t their names anymore. They’re new.

He shakes. He stares up at the sky, blinking slowly. The gems on his palms seem to tingle. Atsushi speeds his breath up while Ryuu slows it down. He feels panicked and peaceful at the same time, somehow.

It takes a moment for him to realize that the sounds of the battle have stopped. He sits up, looking around, and every eye that he can see is on him.

“What?” He says in a voice he doesn’t recognize. He looks down at his hands, hands he knows are his, but they’re also his, but they’re also theirs.

“I’ve felt this before,” Atsushi says in the same voice as Ryuu. “But only with other Ametrine. Is this… Okay?”

Ryuu can immediately tell, from the looks the other Gems are giving them, that this is absolutely not okay.

“They’ve fused!” A repulsed voice shouts from the clearing fog.

His breath catches in their throat.

“I what?” He pants.

And they split apart, as quickly as they had formed. Atsushi coughs. Ryuu shakes. The crowd stares.

“Hematite,” Kouyou’s voice murmurs in horror, drawing near to them, a scowl on her face. “What have you done?”

Ryuu stares at her. He doesn’t know what’s going on; he’s never seen any of this in his visions. He doesn’t know what to do or where to go.

But a hand grabs his wrist. He whips his head up to see Atsushi stare down at him with wide eyes.

“Run,” he says.

Ryuu scrambles to his feet. They begin to run, shoving past flabbergasted Gems on their way to the warp pad.

“GET THEM!” Screams Kouyou, but in a heartbeat, they land on the pad’s crystal surface, and suddenly Kouyou’s voice is miles away.

When they arrive in the quiet of a faroff woods, they run again. They run until night falls, until stars stretch across the sky, until they rest on a hill and watch the planet’s single moon together.

They say nothing. When they do speak, they talk over each other, thoughts and words muddled together into apologizes and forgiveness and questions and reassurance.

And as if drawn in by the thrill of practicing something forbidden - or perhaps simply drawn in by the thrill of each other - they fuse again. They dance, and they fuse again, if just to feel being together again, to try and understand their own heart, each other’s heart, their one heart.

The rebel leader, Dazai, finds them days later. He promises that on Earth, you can be whoever you want to be.

“What’s your name?” he asks the fusion. They - he - gives a tiny smile. He knows his name, somehow, without question.

“I’m Moonstone,” he murmurs.

Ryuunosuke’s prediction had been right, but in a way he never could have seen. He had died.

And he had been born anew.

#shin soukoku #sskk #atsuaku #akuatsu #gem au #Anonymous

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cozycryptidcorner · 5 years

Photo

Nayda the Selkie

Notes: Hey, everyone! This is a piece commissioned by a user who wishes to remain anonymous. A fair warning to everyone out there that this is a bit dark, with a reader who suffers from chronic pain, depression, and anxiety. Mentions of suicide are made, but there is no active attempt to die.

The rain comes down harder, the drops thick and cold, hands almost numb already. Your knees clench around the surfboard tighter as you rise with an undeveloped wave, trying desperately to spot something worth riding. There, up ahead, you can see the water about to reach a peak. Instantly, you paddle over and around, facing towards the shore, keeping pace with the water until the wave overtakes the board. Not quickly, but not too slowly, you stand, one foot in front of the other, twisting your body to the side.

Then you glide with the ocean, adrenaline bringing forth a kind of serenity that you have never been able to achieve anywhere else. As the water curves, you make sure to compensate with the movement of your body against the board. For just a moment, the sea tunnels around you, blocking out the rain from hitting against your bare face and arms, and then you're out, sharply turning to keep moving along with the wave. As it dies away, you might be crying, but you don't think you'd be able to discern the tears from raindrops.

Throwing your legs back over the sides of your board, you close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. The high of riding the first wave slowly wears away as you bob up and down in the choppy waters, searching desperately for your next hit. The rain hits you as hard as hail, almost blinding your sight and obscuring anything more than a couple of yards away. You know that surfing in bad weather is beyond stupid, but you are too far gone to actually care. This is the first good day without a bit of pain you've had in weeks, and you aren't going to miss your window of opportunity. After all, everyone says that exercising helps, right? Well, you're fucking exercising.

Another wave comes and goes, too small to be of any sort of thrill, so you paddle under and over the water, eyes blinking away the saltiness of the ocean against the freshness of the rain. Then, just barely through the thick mist over yonder, you see it. A mammoth. Something that would still be considered a risk, even in normal conditions. Mouth dry despite all the water surrounding you, you know that you need to ride it. With a calm you haven't felt in years, you start paddling with deliberate efficiency, reaching for it with every bit of the strength you have left in your body.

You manage to catch it, though your board wobbles as you fight the sea for balance, and for a moment, everything is perfect. The wind hits your body, bringing every cell to attention, your lungs breath in the watery, cold air, your stomach hitting the back of your throat as you dip forward.

Then you slip.

The board shoots out from your feet, flying backward, and you are spiraling down into the unforgiving sea. The water folds over you like a truck, pulling you down beneath the surface, tumbling head over heels until you can't even tell what's up or down anymore. Your lungs are screaming by the time you manage to get a hold on your surroundings, but the moment you try swimming in the direction the bubbles are rising up to, your ankle jerks back. Fuck, it's your leash, the surfboard must be caught on something on the ground, and you're still attached to it.

You try to contort your body downwards, but the telltale tightening of an oncoming cramp hits. The muscles in your hands and sides seize, and you can't bend over to undo the velcro around your ankle to save your life. Again, you try twisting your waist, but something sharp and hot pinches your leg, making you straighten up in pain. Your eyes are smarting in the salty water, yet you make another attempt to free yourself, trying desperately to somehow will the pain away in your body.

Like always, it doesn't work.

Numb, exhausted, the air leaving your mouth in gentle puffs, you stop. A pinprick of light flickers overhead, the soft rumble of thunder flowing through the water. Floating, body feeling weightless, this feels almost… peaceful. More peace than what you have felt in a long, long time, and you know what? You can accept this. There might have been a time where you would have fought a little more, but that is a you that is long, long gone by now, swallowed up by suffering and agony.

There might have been many ways you'd thought you'd die, but this would be the most peaceful out of all. In the sea, where humanity first began, where you have spent the majority of your life, it seems like a fitting place for you to go. And to be free of everything that you have been experiencing? You close your eyes, letting the last of the air escape your mouth, waiting for the inevitable, last bit of smothering pain that will drown you before you are free.

It comes, your body doing it's best to stay alive despite your mental preparation for the opposite, your lungs sucking in a large, gasping breath, sucking in nothing but salt water. Your vision fizzes, black spots dancing around the edges of your eyes, quickly overtaking your whole line of sight. Darkness embraces you, singing a song of home, and everything fades as you return your soul to the sea.

Something pressed into your stomach, and you vomit. Water comes out from your lungs, spilling onto the already damp sand, the burning becoming worse as your body expels any last trace of the ocean. Though your eyes burn, you manage to pry them open, sitting up and choking for air. What- how- you can't even try to think, just breathe, breathe, your chest trembling as you wheeze through the oxygen. Only once your body manages to recover, your eyes focus on a figure kneeling to your side, her hand resting on your stomach where she must have punched just a moment ago.

"Breathe." She says, reaching over to place her knuckles on your forehead and cheek. "That's it, breathe."

"Why," you cough, anger ripping through you like a tidal wave, "didn't you let me die?"

There's a pause, whoever it is taking in what you had said. "What?"

"Why didn't you just let me die?" You repeat, louder this time, sitting up and letting out one last cough. "You should have just left me there. You should have let me drown!" Anger broils the inside of your stomach, hard, enraged breathes shaking your body to the core.

"I don't- I don't understand-" she tries reaching out again, but you slap her hand away.

Shakily, you scramble to your feet, trying desperately to avoid the touch of another person, the rain hitting your skin only in a misty haze. Only once you are on your feet, toes digging into the cool sand, do you notice that she is naked, freckles covering every inch of her skin. Her coppery hair is dark and stringy, still dripping from being in the water, most of it sticking along the path of her spine on her back.

"I just-" You try massaging your temples, trying to find some relief of the burning in your sinuses, focus coming in and out as a wave of dizziness threatens to take your legs. “I was fine with it, alright? This would have been better for everyone if I had just died."

"Well, I don't accept that!" She stands, folding a dark bit of cloth in her arm. "Letting people die isn't within my moral code-"

"I don't care what you accept or don't!" Your fingers begin to ache as the numbness wears away. "Dying is the better option, trust me."

Her speckled cheeks pop out as she lets out a frustrated breath, finally standing. Only a few strands of her hair have dried, coiling softly as a breeze wisps by. "Fine." She says, taking a step back, towards the waves. "Get dragged out by a riptide. I won't save you this time."

You feel like crying, but you won't. Thunder echoes in the far distance, barely even audible from where you are. Actually killing yourself isn't something you would do, no, you wouldn't do that to other people, but drowning after your board got stuck in the reefs? An accident, at least, would make it seem to everyone else that you hadn't intended to let go of your life so easily. Holding your arms around your chest, you watch your rescuer take a step into an oncoming wave, completely unbothered by the push of the water.

There is some strangeness to the way she carries herself, with the confidence of someone wearing the clothes of a king. There is no sense of vulnerability in her movements, no awareness that her naked form would be something to be ashamed of. Well, you reason with a bit of heat rising in your cheeks from staring, if you had a body like that, you wouldn't be abashed to show it off, either. Once she is waist-high, the frothing grey obscuring anything below the water, she turns around, looking you over once as if to invite you to join her. When you don't move, the corners of her mouth twist up, just for a moment, before she twists back around and dives into the ocean.

You don't see any reddish bob peeking out from the waves, so you can't tell if she is drowning herself or if she just has a ridiculous ability to hold her breath for more extended periods. Pink begins to bleed from the horizon, a portion of the thick and angry clouds dissipating after releasing their fury. As you turn around, looking for a pile of things you had left that would surely be soaking wet by now, you see nothing. Teeth gritting in your mouth, you try to limp up and down the stretch of sand, just in case you forgot where you set your stuff, still not finding anything.

Besides the fact that your shoes and towel are missing, there is no sign of your surfboard, and you don't want to dare try the ocean's patience for you again. Mouth in a thin line, you stand just at the water's edge, chest still aching like the aftershocks of a fire. The touch of a cold wave against your toes sends little waves of shivers up your spine, the agony of almost freezing in the water slowly creeping up on you. Your fingers are stiff, the normal skin tone almost disturbingly paler, with a touch of blue. There's no way you can swim back to the bordering reef in order to find your surfboard. It's good as dead to you now.

Taking in a thick, gulping breath, you turn around to head back home, bare feet against the dark, wet asphalt. Anger slowly evaporated away, out through your chest and into the ground, and you are left with a sadness unimaginable to anyone else. Now you're going to have to replace that board, and goddamnit that thing was your absolute favorite. The way it glided effortlessly against the water was like a dream come to reality, the way it worked with your movements, even when you weren't doing so hot, was like a miracle. Now it's gone, and you don't even think you can replace it.

The air is still thick with mist, and as the sun makes a final guest appearance in the clouds before it sets, the heat feels almost stiffening, like you are being strangled. Not nearly as bad as breathing in the ocean, but still, you think you can say that you prefer your air without the water. You wrap your arms around your chest, more of a comforting gesture than to keep out the cold, teeth gritting as you try to fully recover from almost drowning in the five minutes it takes to walk back home.

The house you live in has been in your family for generations. If not, then you probably wouldn't be able to be as near to the beach as you are, since most of the little cabins spread through the coast are rich people's second or third homes. Yours is a home big enough for an average sized family, though you've used one of the bedrooms as an in-home office, so you don't have to go anywhere to make money. Instead, you get to sit on a rolly chair for hours at a time, sometimes having to wear your wrist braces to make sure you don't bend anything if it's one of those days.

The screen door is unlocked, just as you left it, the house taking in the fresh air. Better than stifling yourself in staleness, you figured, and besides, the crime rate is relatively low. Except for the tourists who swing through every spring and summer, this is a kind of an 'everyone knows everyone' situation, which brings your thoughts back around to her. Your rescuer. Natural copper hair is rare in your area, most people have monotone brown to honey-blonde, but there is one family that you are aware of that sport it as a trophy of their Irish heritage.

Not that you plan on seeking her out or anything. You don't believethat would be wise… especially after this incident. God, you think, unintentionally slamming the screen door as you enter, you're such a dumbass. A stupid, insensitive dumbass. You could have absolutely thanked her, and you should have, but you didn't and now she thinks you're awful and is probably going to her own family now and will tell everyone she knows that your a stupid, hateful person and everyone on the entire fucking coast is going to all know that you are the worst person to ever, ever live here and-

You take a deep, shaking breath. Time to make… tea, something herbal with a natural relaxant to help lull you into a deep sleep. Still, even while you try to distract yourself by making every movement well thought out, something terrible buzzes in the back of your mind, itching to be heard and understood. The knots in your stomach take time to unravel, reminding you every moment possible that you are ungrateful, worthless, and should have died just barely an hour ago.

The water whistles from the pot, so you robotically walk over to the gas stove, killing the flow of fuel by twisting the chipped knob. Careful to wrap the stainless steel handle with a potholder, you lift the kettle, pouring the water into a ready mug, trying not to spill even with your hands trembling as they are. Soon enough, you are sitting on a couch, staring out the window as the moon begins to rise, hands warming up against the heated ceramic of your teacup. With your lights off, the brightest stars start to make an appearance, blinking brighter than the dim street lamps.

God, you're so stupid.

Before you go to bed, you open up a few bottles of meds, most of them the kind that doctors give out if they don't exactly know what's going on, swallowing the correct dosage of each with a swig of hot tea. It takes a minute for everything to settle, your medications churning against your stomach wall, some of them threatening to make everything come back up. Sometimes you aren't sure if you even want to take half of them, anyway, since you're always coming so close to puking.

It takes quite a long while for everything to calm down, your mind included, for you to sleep. You wish that sleep was any better, you really do, but as your eyes close, the dreams creep into your bed with you. Things like crippling monotony turn to terror, doing something over and over and over again only for nothing to matter, for a beast coming to take you away, for death to settle inside your chest and for everything to stagnate and fail. When you wake, anxiety lies brittle in your stomach, whispering of something you should very much be afraid of but not specifying what.

Your mouth tastes like decay, and you realize numbly that you've forgotten to brush your teeth the night before idiot so you roll out of bed, making sure to do an extra good job this time to compensate for built up plaque. After that, you go through your fridge, trying to scrounge something up that's worth eating. Ugh, you've needed to go grocery shopping for almost a week now, but you just haven't felt like… um, actually doing it. But you need food, you try telling yourself, looking around for your wallet, might as well go now before you lose all energy.

As you step onto your porch, something leaning against the house catches the corner of your eye. Too shocked to even think, you stop abruptly, slowly turning around, and holy… fuck.

It's your surfboard. The surfboard. The one you lost. Almost in a trance, you reach out, fingers brushing up against the polished, perfectly shaped wood. Sure, it's missing its ankle strap, and the very front is covered in scuffs and scratches, but oh my god oh my god oh my god it's your surfboard!

You start crying.

It's dumb of you to act like a child, you think, while tears burn your cheeks like hot coals, but you can't really help it. Even though you had tried to act like it wasn't that big of a deal, the relief of having your most precious possession returned is almost like reunited with a long-lost pet. Body now trembling with a reprieve, you lift the surfboard and bring it around to the back, where an old tool shed has been repurposed to keep most of your outdoor gear safe but out of the house.

The only reason you manage to part with your baby is by using one of those self-rewarding methods one of your childhood therapists have talked about; chore now, gratification later. If you can manage to shop for groceries to restock your fridge, you will let yourself go out in the shallows to ride the baby waves, though you've decided not to stray too far from shore for the foreseeable future.

There are only two groceries within the sleepy little town, each on an opposite side, and not too terribly different from one another, so you end up going to the closest one just for the convenience of a shorter distance. The air is hot today, thick with humidity, not a single cloud in the sky to give any kind of relief from the seething heat. The asphalt just beyond your steps shimmers, the waves of air looking exactly like puddles of water, almost fooling you the first time you see it.

Like most places, the grocery store blows on a refreshing blast of air the moment you step through the manual glass door. You pick up a beat-up, old, red plastic basket from the side, trying to mentally tally up a list of the things you need the most. Something fatty to take your morning meds with, a juice for a boost of sugar when you're feeling tired, some vegetables to give your body a good dose of actual nutrients… Nothing too fancy, just the essentials to survive on.

You turn one of the aisle corners, finding a bright head of coppery-red hair, and come to a full stop. Oh, god, oh no, it’s her. Before you can even begin to strategize how to make a graceful and expedient exit, she's looking at you with a pair of cool, grey eyes. Calmly trying to ignore her in the guise of not remembering who she is, you look over the refrigerated deli section for as long as you would deem realistic, then pretend to just not find what you are looking for.

She doesn't let you just walk away, though.

"You're the girl from the beach," she says, "last night."

You aren't going to lie, but you think you can try to downplay how close you were to a full-on mental breakdown. "Ri-ight," you draw out the word, trying to come up with something believable. "Thank you for… that. I had been having a rough couple of days."

"Found your board thingie floating out at sea. Brought it in." She reaches over, picking up something covered in three layers of plastic.

You have to pause, taking a moment to fully process those words. This… she… she was the one to retrieve your board from the ocean? That was her? Well, you mean, if it were to be anyone you would suppose it might be her, but still. Swallowing, you try your hand at thanking her again. "I- I mean, you have no idea how much that board means to me, really, so thank you so, so much for going back and getting it even in those conditions.

"It was on the way, no problem at all."

"I really, really mean it," you don't think she understands how much that board means to you. "You have no idea. I thought it was lost.. um... it's like an heirloom, losing it would kill me."

Her eyes have a bit of crystalline blue in them, you realize, quickly looking away, so you don't stare. Instead of calling you out on your facade of mental stability, instead of even mentioning it at all, she instead changes the subject. "I don't know how to surf. Do you enjoy it?"

It's like a switch goes off in your brain. Everyone loves to talk about their passions, and you aren't any kind of exception. "Oh, yes, it's my favorite thing to do in the world. Just… the ocean, the energy you can get from it? It's like something else. I can barely even describe it."

"So you would suggest that someone like me learn how."

"I mean," you try to think, "it's not for everyone, but you should give it a shot to see if you like it."

"Hm." She turns back to the roast beef she holds in her hands, eyeing it as though it will give her the answer to the universe. "I suppose I'll need a teacher."

"Oh, yeah. It's tough to teach yourself."

"Great." She hands you the roast beef. "I'll see you later then, at three, where I first found you. I'm Nayda, by the way."

"Um-" you give her your name, "but wait-"

"See you soon." Nayda takes a step back, twisting around and walking straight out the door, empty handed, her flannel-patterned shirt flapping against the fan. The bell sounds her exit, and you watch through the glass wall, astonished, as she wanders away towards the beach. She doesn’t really expect you to just… she didn't… you couldn’t...

Your brain is a mess of confusing thoughts as you try to process what just happened, walking up to the checkout counter once everything has been collected to your satisfaction. Does she- Nayda, really expect you to show up at the beach, merely at her behest? Is this some sort of prank? Your mouth feels even more dry than usual as you leave the grocer's to go back to your house, an arm full of food pressed up against your chest. Should you do it? You wonder, eyeing the beach as you pass it. Do you want to go?

Kind of, you realize when you get home, setting your things on the counter. And, to be entirely honest, you do owe her for finding and returning your board. Plus, you sort of want to, which is almost reason enough to not step foot outside for the rest of the day, but… This might be good for you to do. Go out and socialize. Show this person that you aren't a suicidal dumbass… maybe mention, a little more forcefully, that you had just been having a rough week before anyone else catches wind of this. The last thing you need is for the three pastors who preach in the area to come knocking at your door.

So you make a late breakfast, trying to back on a respectable amount of carbs before doing something strenuous, hoping that your body functions as smoothly as possible. It takes longer than you're willing to admit to pick out a swimsuit, one that fits around your body in a way that you'd like. With more anxiety than you should be feeling over this, you head back out to the shed, stepping into the sawdust scented area, looking for a board. Should you bring one for her? No… she must have at least rented one on her own; otherwise, you hope, she might have mentioned this beforehand. Besides, you aren't so sure you want someone else's hands all over your babies, especially someone you don't even know that well.

You grab your favorite, the carefully carved wooden one, even though it's still missing its ankle leash, and haul it out. While you had been trying to take it easy, there's a telltale ache of something in your knee, spreading out through the nerves like a fire. Goddamnit, you were hoping the medication did its job today. Still, you think it's going to be small, so maybe you can still enjoy yourself for the rest of the day without having to worry about something that may or may not happen.

On the way down to the beach, you see her hair before you see anything else. It shines in the light of the sun almost like a gemstone, brighter against the paleness of the sands, starkly contrasted in front of the ocean's green. Surfboard tucked between your arm and hip, you walk down until the warm sand digs between your toes, stopping just shy of an arm's length from Nayda, who, to her credit, actually carries a board of her own as well. And, and this is probably a crucial observation, is also wearing a swimsuit.

"Thanks for coming," She says, setting her board on the ground to tie up her hair.

"Um, thanks for saving my baby." You pat the wood, giving it a loving look before returning to reality.

"Oh, it's not like I went looking for it or anything." Nayda waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. "It was just… there, and I knew that there was a particular surfer who was missing her board. My cousin is the one who runs one of the board shops here, he was able to give me an ID of who owns it. Mostly because your name was etched on the side. Also, he wants to know how you're doing."

You offer a weak smile, knowing full well of the cousin she speaks of. There was once a time where you frequented his shop, but not so much anymore. Having people worry about you isn't something that you enjoy too much, so hearing the question how are you doing always winds up your stress levels. "I'm fine."

Nayda gives you a look that clearly says that she doesn't believe you. "Alright."

Well, to her credit, Nayda's a quick study. There's a grace she possesses, a natural kind of balance that you had only noticed once you are out past the natural reef barrier. Her balance on the board is flawless once she figures out her feet placement with the aid of your instructions. As you put her on the smaller waves, you note how well she responds to any push or pull that the ocean dishes out. Almost as if she, like you, was made for the sea.

"Wow," you try giving her some positive feedback. "Are you sure that you've never surfed before?"

"I'm pretty sure." She sits, legs in the water, looking over the horizon with a gigantic grin on her face. "I'm just one with the sea."

You shrug, following her gaze. "Okay, yeah, I can see it."

The sun is setting before you know it, and even though your shoulder has decided to start killing you slowly, you power through it because Nayda's company is legitimately fantastic to be in. She has an essence, you decide, walking back home, a kind of personality that pulls people in and makes others listen.

So you go back, the very next day. Same place. Same person. Same surfboard. Different drills.

Nayda eats seawater for the first time, slipping from her board from an unexpected bounce, and she falls headfirst into the wave. Before you can even think about worrying, she pops back up, laughing like a madman, eyes bright in the glinting sun. While the first couple of falls might be frustrating to anyone else, she takes it in stride, brushing the salty hair from her face, saying, "it just shows what needs to be improved."

You remember her smile vividly, the natural pink of her lips like a dusty rose, and you find yourself returning again, despite the fact your knee and shoulder both decide to flare up during the night. There's a bit of a limp as you walk, but it's still something manageable so long as you take some extra-strength Motrin along with your morning meds. Still, a dull throb continues to pinch at the nerves in your shoulder throughout the day. None of that stops you from returning again. And again. And again. Even when your hip swells slightly, even when your elbow gives you trouble, even when the back of your neck is too stiff to move. Suddenly, you believe that not surfing is alright, so long as you can watch Nayda on her board, balanced, lithe, and, dare you say, beautiful.

Until one morning you wake up and can't move.

Well, correction, you can move, but every time you do, something sharp poking through your nerves like a surge of needles sewing through your muscles. Even with your prescription medications, even with a near overdose of over the counter pain relievers, there's still nothing that can be done in the hour it takes them to kick in, and once they do, it's still a stiff kind of pain that exists, yet doesn't. You can't go to the beach on your own without any kind of assistance, much less ride out on your surfboard to beyond the reef.

So you stay in your house, anger churning in your stomach even more bitter and hot than the ache of your body.

It doesn't get better the next day, no matter how much you had dared to hope. Or the next.

Or the one after that.

You hold your arms over your chest, glaring at your reflection in the mirror. Dark, pronounced crescents lay beneath your eyes, your skin turning sallow from lack of sunlight. The ancient sleeping clothes you wear are wrinkled within an inch of their life, a few scattered holes here and there from where the fabric has been worn through. A mess, you decide, adding toothpaste to your toothbrush to accomplish the bare minimum of self-care you are making yourself do in the evenings and mornings.

There are plenty of things for you to do if you think hard about it, you suppose. But… do you really want to clean your room? Dust corners of the house? Try your spine's patience and load the dishwasher? Nothing sounds remotely appealing, so you don't make any attempts to dredge up the energy to do so. Do you even want to try eating? You glance over to the refrigerator. Nope.

Before you can even head back to your room, there's a knock at the door. Even before you reach for the handle, you see a flash of red just outside your kitchen window, so you know who it is. Guilt swamps your chest and stomach, god, you don't think you ever tried reaching out to tell her that you won't be going to the beach you useless bastard. Suddenly, you very much don't want to answer her knocking, but she's already seen and heard you, so it's probably no use hiding. Taking in a deep, gulping breath, you unlock the deadbolt and open the door.

She's smiling, and that's what catches you off-guard. She's smiling and holding a pan of something covered in foil.

"Hey!" She holds it out for you. "My gran had leftovers from Sunday's Carvery. I'd thought to swing by to drop some off."

"Um… hi." You stare at the red, square pan, unsure of what you should do. Just take it. You don't deserve it, though. Thankfully, you don't have to decide, as Nayda just sort of invites herself inside.

"I'll just set it down here unless you're hungry now. Dinner for breakfast sounds good, huh? Maybe I'll bring you up some pancakes for breakfast for dinner later today."

"I don't understand."

"Oh," she waves her hand, not dismissing you, but more of an it's a long story kind of gesture. "I haven't seen you in a while, figured you got sick. You can eat solids, right? If not, there's plenty of mashed potato."

Nayda was worried about you, you realize like a broken lightbulb finally flickering to life. "You- you really didn't have to-"

"Um, yeah," she begins to mess with your oven's settings, "but I actually want to. Make sure you're okay, that is. No offense, hon, but you look like an absolute wreck."

You let out a dry laugh. "No offense taken. I feel like a wreck.”

"What can I do to help?"

Usually, you would just shrug things off and offer a weak whatever, no big deal, I can handle it on my own, kind of excuse, but this time you actually pause. "I enjoy… your company, like… you know, you could just hang out here if it isn't too much trouble."

Nayda sets the pan down on the counter and takes a step towards you. "Of course! I also love being around you, really."

You aren't sure if you should blush or not, but the moment she takes your hands into her own your face heats up. Her grip isn't hard, but it's gentle and firm, her palms rough with calluses. "I mean it."

You give a soft smile, a real, happy smile that must be the first one that you've made in weeks.

#wlw story #selkie #selkie girlfriend #tw: suicide mention #tw: depression #tw: anxiety #selkie/reader #monster girlfriend/reader #reader insert #female reader

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rohanrider3 · 5 years

Text

Nefarious Fiend (A Good Omens ficlet)

“Thisss entire meeting could have been a bloody email.” Crowley muttered, head tilted downwards on his chest and facing towards somewhere between his shin and the floor. “Pointlessss wasssste of time.”

“Time,” Gabriel said sternly, “is not something beings like us take into account.”

After what happened at Tadfield, Gabriel isn't happy with Aziraphale. Or Crowley. He pulls them into one of Heaven's Conference Rooms to...talk things over with them. That sounds fine. Right? Right. (It's not.)

“I suppose you’re wondering why I called this meeting.” Gabriel said in his usual sanctimonious manner, fingers steepled before him.

Aziraphale swallowed hard and sat up even straighter, determined not to make a misstep. Gabriel had set aside one of the Conference Rooms for this very meeting. Which meant that he—they—that both of them—were treading on very, very, VERY thin ice here.

Gabriel did not like missteps. And Gabriel especially did not like—well. Missteps involving “fraternizing with the enemy”, as he’d said. More than that, Gabriel did not like—

—did not like—

Crowley.

Crowley, who’d helped avert a pointless Apocolypse. Crowley, who despite his prickly behavior and literal devil-may-care attitude was the best being on Earth, in Aziraphale’s six-thousand year opinion. Crowley. Who happened to be a demon.

Gabriel did not like demons.

And he especially did not like Crowley. Apparently averting a pointless battle where thousands of innocents died horrible deaths counted as “bad” and “fraternizing with the enemy” in Gabriel’s books.

Puzzling, really.

Be that as it may, Gabriel did NOT like Crowley. He never had, but his dislike had turned into outright hatred after that…that incident at Tadfield. And what had followed after.

Judging from Crowley’s glare across the conference table (the glare which was all but burning holes into Gabriel’s stylish suit), the feeling was mutual.

Aziraphale’s best friend snorted and purposely slouched even further down in his chair, as far as the icy chains holding him in place would let him. He still managed, despite the thick restraints holding him in place—and also despite his very stylish black suit, shoes, ever-present sunglasses, and ruffled coppery hair—to somehow embody the image of a very sulky snake.

“Time,” Gabriel said sternly, “is not something beings like us take into account.”

“Clearly.” Crowley retorted. “The humanss will have started actually usssing solar power by now, and I wouldn’t be sssurprised if there are self-driving carsss when we get ba—“

“Shut up, snake.” Gabriel said offhandedly, and Aziraphale winced when Crowley outright hissed at the opposite archangel, bared fangs and all. He’d tried shapeshifting into a snake when they were both captured, but the restraints weren’t letting him. Didn’t stop him from hissing again, though.

“It’s really all right, my dear.” Aziraphale broke in, putting on his best (false) smile. “It’s quite all right. Just a little bit of—of, of fraternal correction, from, from my superiors, and I’ll improve my—my performance with helping humans see the, the light, and—and everything will be—er, balanced, as usual, and as right as rain. Again.”

He’d hoped Crowley—that clever, quick-witted, absolutely maddening very best friend of his soul since time had begun—would take the hint and read into the words he dared not say aloud. Truthfully, he meant something more along the lines of For pity’s sake, don’t make things harder on yourself and just let me take the heat this time, it’ll be fine, they won’t do any—permanent—damage—I don’t think—and then I should be able to come up with a reason for them to let you go that they’ll accept, and—NO CROWLEY STOP MAKING THINGS WORSE FOR YOURSE—“

“Fraternal CORRECTION?!” His best friend had shouted, all but lunging out of his chair. The icy chains holding him in place creaked and snapped as they kept reforming, and Aziraphale’s stomach dropped as he saw the cracked and swollen skin on his friend’s wrists and throat. But Crowley wasn’t paying attention. Oh, typical. He was too busy raging at Gabriel—at GABRIEL—who, Aziraphale nervously noticed, seemed to be enjoying this. Oh dear. Oh dear. He forced himself to stop spiraling into an anxiety attack, good heavens, he’d nearly lost track of what Crowley was saying—

“—BULLYING!!” Crowley was shouting. “I SSS—SHOULD KNOW! I’M A DEMON, FOR—FOR EVERYTHING’S SSSAKE!! YOU LOT DON’T HELP HIM, OR NOTICE WHEN HE’S DONE SSSSOMETHING GOOD, YOU RANDOMLY SSSNATCH HIM UP HERE WHEN YOU NEED SSSOMEONE TO KICK AROUND, AND JUST BECAUSE HE’S KIND AND OBLIGING YOU THINK YOU CAN JUSSST—“

Gabriel raised one hand. And Crowley’s voice cut off.

“Oh, really!” Aziraphale cried. “Gabriel, you needn’t—you don’t have to—for, for Heaven’s sake, don’t—don’t—Gabriel, stop that!”

Gabriel turned his head slightly so that he was facing Aziraphale, quirking an eyebrow in feigned confusion. “Stop what, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale spluttered for a moment, his horrified eyes flicking from Gabriel’s hand.

From Gabriel’s hand to the ice muzzle currently smothering Crowley.

It had all happened so fast.

The chains around Crowley’s neck had just—just sharpened, and, and sort of—well, parts of them had melted, and remolded, over and over and over, icy fingers stretching up and coating over his friend’s chin, and mouth, and nose, and then covered the entire lower half of his face, and then—then just frozen solid over it, layers and layers of thick, clouded ice cutting into his best friend’s skin and turning it almost blue in seconds.

Crowley couldn’t breathe. He’d jerked in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and then jerked his head again, side to side to side, as if that might make things right again. Behind the chair back, his hands curled into fists as he fought to break free. Wasn’t going to happen, though. Gabriel had made those chains. Gabriel didn’t leave weak links.

Aziraphale felt his own chest tighten.

Crowley couldn’t breathe.

Crowley—Crowley couldn’t—

And Gabriel was just sitting there, doing nothing—Aziraphale realized, almost numbly, that he himself had been trying to miracle the ice away ever since it had appeared on Crowley’s face, but whatever Gabriel had done, it was too powerful for him to undo—not fast enough, at least—

“Gabriel!” Aziraphale said again, breathless with shock and horror. “You can’t just—he—you can’t do this, he needs to—“

“He doesn’t need to breathe.” Gabriel said, as if explaining basic matters to a very small and stupid child. “He’s not a human. Time on earth doesn’t change celestial—or infernal—beings that much. Breathing’s just something he’s used to. Isn’t that right, demon?”

The muscles around Crowley’s eyes tightened, and Aziraphale knew his expressions well enough to know that even though Crowley was currently banging his own head against the headrest behind him, striving to get free, he was also glaring daggers at Gabriel. Who seemed to be enjoying this. A lot.

Aziraphale licked his lips, thinking quickly. What could he say, what could he do—he could, he could try turning Gabriel’s ire on him. Yes, yes that would work.

“Gabriel,” he began, but the archangel held up a hand and cut him off too. “Shut up.” Gabriel said cooly, and Aziraphale swallowed hard as he felt the icy tendrils spiraling harder around his own wrists and pinning him where he sat. He had to stay calm. He had to get Crowley out of here. He had to get free to get Crowley out of here. He racked his brains for a plan. Think. Think. Crowley can’t breathe. Think. He doesn’t need to breathe. Does he? Oh no, what if he does now? Besides, he’s a snake. He can’t handle cold. It’s bad for him. It’s so bad for him. Remember that time in Tibet? No, no, no, DON’T remember that time in Tibet. That’s not helpful, not now. CROWLEY CAN’T BREATHE. Think. Think. Think think think think—

All this time, Crowley hadn’t stopped trying to tear his chains apart, but his weakening efforts only seemed to make them grow thicker, the thin mist coming off the freezing links intensifying along with his efforts.

Gabriel abruptly stood up and made his way over to the other side of the table, leaning against the edge and looking down on the struggling Crowley, his usual, casual smile on his face. The cold, meaningless one that Aziraphale absolutely hated.

“I asked you a question, demon.” Gabriel said quietly, but his eyes were hard. With a sudden motion, he reached out and struck Crowley hard across the side of the face. The blow sent Crowley’s dark glasses clattering to the floor, skidding and sliding into a corner where they smashed against the wall and cracked into multiple pieces.

Crowley blinked a few times, then glared back up at Gabriel, vertical irises narrowing in their pools of yellow until they were mere dark slits in a blazing sea of anger.

Gabriel grinned at that.

“So the snake-eyed demon can hear, at least.”

He leaned down, closer to Crowley’s glare. No. No. No. Gabriel paying attention to Crowley could not be good. Azirphale realized he’d started speaking now, almost babbling in a desperate attempt to draw Gabriel’s attention away from his friend.

“Gabriel!” He shouted, pulling against his own restraints. “You—you don’t have jurisdiction over him. It’s me. You wanted to speak with me, isn’t it? You were—you are—you are still angry about the averted Apocolypse, aren’t you? I’m the one you’re angry with, so talk to me! Get angry with me, not him!!”

Crowley shot Aziraphale a shocked look and made a half-angry, half-something-else sound behind the ice muzzle.

Gabriel smiled at that, then spared Aziraphale a glance over his shoulder and a small—a very small—smile.

“Oh, I think you’re getting the message just fine.”

He turned back to Crowley, considered. Slapped him again, a full backhand this time, hard enough to leave a red mark across one temple. Then he stepped back, considered his work. Studied the way Crowley’s movements were slowing now, slowing…rather a lot, actually.

“Hm. Maybe I was wrong.” He drawled. “Maybe you do need to breathe.” He leaned down, getting far too close to Crowley’s face again.

“Well, then, demon. You want to breathe so badly? You have something to say for your…friend?” Gabriel’s voice dripped disgust at the word and he nearly physically pulled back, then thought better of it. He smiled into Crowley’s eyes. “Well, then, demon. Fight for it.”

Crowley’s already gray face went nearly white, and Aziraphale heard rather than saw the steam hissing away from the ice coating his friend’s face.

They waited. Nothing happened. The ice continued to reform, despite Crowley’s best efforts.

Gabriel’s eyes were glacier cold.

“Fight. Harder.” He suggested, and Aziraphale felt something in his chest crack as Crowley outright screamed behind the muzzle, jerking and struggling in a last, frantic attempt, steam rising as the ice melted away from his eyes, rolled down the ice ridges like tears until—finally—finally—Crowley managed to breathe again. Just through his nose, but that at least was a start. It was something.

But—

Azpiraphale’s rush of relief quickly faded as he realized Crowley wasn’t breathing right. His breaths were coming in raspy, awful sounding huffs, and the skin underneath his strained eyes and around his face was—

—red. And white. And…and awful.

The marks weren’t from the ice. Not just the ice, at any rate.

Burns.

Crowley’s…face…is…burned. Badly. So badly that Crowley is shuddering as if he’s suddenly come down with a violent fever, and he doesn’t look—right, and he doesn’t look at all well—and his usual tough-as-nails-attitude is gone, cracked and crumbled down right now in front of everyone, and he just looks so—so lost—and so—so hurt—and afraid—the ice had hid all that until now—

How—how had that—

“You…” Aziraphale heard himself saying from a distance, almost as if someone else was using his voice. “You…froze…you froze holy water. To make the chains.”

Gabriel’s smile reached his eyes. “Yes. Yes I did. Rather clever, don’t you think? To use that purifying water on something so…” he shuddered artistically. “Disgusting.” Gabriel leaned forward, an earnest expression finally shining out through his eyes. “Don’t you see, Aziraphale? The error of your ways? Stop fraternizing with the enemy, making excuses, pretending you have anything at all in common with this…with this fallen one. He’s corrupting you. Can’t you see? He’s twisted, dark, malicious—he only wants to hurt you, Aziraphale. You can’t trust him. No one can.”

Aziraphale blinked owlishly, once at Gabriel, then turned back to look at Crowley.

Who’d shrunk into himself at Gabriel’s words and didn’t dare look at Aziraphale.

“Well?” Gabriel said pointedly. He grabbed Crowley’s chin and dragged it upwards, ignoring the cut-off whimper and ragged breathing that worsened as he did so. He forced Crowley to look him in the eyes, sneered at what he saw there, and forced Crowley’s head around to look directly at Aziraphale.

“See? Fallen. Corrupted. Weak.” He released Crowley with a disdainful thrust of his hand, and wiped it off on his pocket handkerchief afterwards. “Not even his own side wants him. So why on earth—or anywhere else—would you want to fraternize with this, this snake?”

Aziraphale stared at his friend.

Crowley’s eyes were glazed and only-half focused on him, but there was something else there too. Pain. And something worse than pain, something the torture and Gabriel’s words had laid bare at long last, shivering, hiding just under the surface.

Fear.

Fear that Aziraphale would believe Gabriel. Would side with…with Gabriel. Would leave him.

Damn Gabriel. Even on their worst days on Earth, Crowley must know—surely he did—that Aziraphale would never be capable of leaving him behind, not in a hundred thousand millennia.

But Gabriel knew how to hurt people. How to play on old fears and insecurities. And he’d dragged Crowley here, taunted him with not being able to help Aziraphale, and then, without any warning whatsoever, tortured him almost beyond the limits of endurance. Then twisted the metaphorical knife in to the hilt of the emotional wound. They’d dealt with threats before, but they’d almost always had time to plan.

But like this—like this—taken off balance, blindsided by agonizing pain and callous reopening of old wounds, Crowley would be scared, afraid, and lost. Who wouldn’t?

All of this rushed through Aziraphale’s thoughts in the time it takes to blink. With the briefest of side glances, Aziraphale noted Gabriel’s smug, holier-than-thou expression and grimly stored it away in his mental files of “Reasons To Smite Gabriel: Later”.

He’d had to add the “Later”. Because right now he needed to get Crowley out of here. And fast. He kept his focus on the cuffs binding him to his chair. Get out. Get Crowley. Get Crowley out.

But he also couldn’t let Crowley dwell on those horrid lies for one more second.

“Crowley, darling.” He said gently. “Please listen to me. What he said is not true.” Crowley’s eyes flicked to him for a second, then unfocused again, drifting back to staring into the middle distance. Aziraphale felt his own teeth begin to grind. DAMN Gabriel and his malicious tricks.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale repeated himself, even more gently than before. “He’s lying to you.” Although Crowley still seemed too lost to hear, Gabriel certainly did.

Gabriel swelled at that statement like an insecure pufferfish. “I do not lie!” He snapped.

Aziraphale spared him a scorching glance. “Oh, I beg to differ.” He said coldly. Snippets of what Crowley had shouted before at Gabriel echoed through his mind, and he finally connected some of the dots that had been bothering him for centuries.

“I think you like to say you fight for the truth, when really, you do the opposite. You like to fight for what’s comfortable. For you. And everyone else can jolly go to…well. Jolly well fend for themselves. Which, if I recall anything correctly, was not the reason we were put here.”

He leaned forward, almost unaware of the way the ice encircling his wrists had begun to steam and melt, sending mist flaring up into the harsh light of the Conference Room.

“And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s bullies and—and liars.” He snapped.

The icy manacles snapped too.

Aziraphale was never quite sure how things happened next. He remembered The Incident in pieces. One was quite a clear snapshot of Gabriel’s horrified face. The next (after a series of blurry, hard-to-distinguish-images) was also Gabriel’s (still horrified) face, but now it (along with the rest of him) was embedded several yards away in the glass and marble wall of the Conference Room.

Time seemed to slow as Aziraphale reached Crowley, and then it crept and crawled in maddening wingbeats until he was able to tear his best friend free from the burning restraints and what remained of the muzzle. Getting across Heaven’s insane floor plan (really, what was the POINT in so many windows and glass walls?!) to the Globe only took a few moments, but it felt like all the ages of the world.

They vanished just before Gabriel’s bloodied fingers closed on Crowley’s blistered forearm. The foiled archangel gnashed his teeth at the duo’s narrow escape and roared out orders to the legions forming behind him. He knew where that traitor’s hidey-hole was anyway. And what kind of bookstore barely sold books, anyway?

He’d burn them out if he had to.

But none of that was on Aziraphale’s mind at the moment. From the moment he snatched Crowley up and away from that dreadful room, all the way back to the bookshop, Crowley—his best friend in the entire created and non-created cosmos—Crowley, his brave, brash, loud, dramatic, always-had-a-quip Crowley could only whimper the whole way home.

“Ah—ah—Azirahphale.” He slurred, somewhere between the stratosphere and London, his first words since Gabriel had—well. Started. “—h—h—hurts, Angel. Hurts, hurts, hurts. Hurtsss.”

Aziriphale gave him a somewhat hasty, but nevertheless earnest kiss on the top of the forehead as they broke the sound barrier over the western half of Europe. “I know, dear. We’ll fix it.”

As they neared the bookshop, Aziraphale barely heard Crowley’s next whispered word over the blaring sound of London evening traffic. “C-c-c-caaan’t.”

“Oh!” Azirphale exclaimed, materializing in the center of his—their bookshop, the backdraft from his wings sending loose papers swirling across the floor. “Why ever not?” He asked, only just managing to sound worried instead of irritated. He was just so—so flustered. He’d never seen Crowley hurt this badly so quickly. And Heaven was on their way. To FIGHT them. He—very gently—set Crowley down on the nearest couch, made sure his head comfortably settled on the nearest pillow, then bustled around the shop, locking the doors, closing windows and drawing shades. THEY weren’t getting in here without a fight. THEY were NOT getting Crowley that easily. Not again.

He turned in time to see Crowley hiding his burned face and slitted eyes in the corner of the couch, ginger hair barely showing between the arm and the back of the comfy, worn furniture. “ ‘m…bad.” Crowley rasped, voice barely above a whisper. “F-f-fallen. You heard what he s-s-s-said. I’m…not right. Not good. Not anymore. Good thingsss can’t help me. An’ bad things w-w-w-won’t even try. ‘m….’m bad. And I…can’t get b-b-better.” His voice, if possible, got even quieter. Smaller. “I, I tried. F-for a l-l-long time, angel. I—c-c—can’t.” It broke on the last word.

Aziraphale left off securing the last window latch and was hovering over Crowley in a flash. He resisted the momentary temptation to summon his flaming sword and lay waste to Gabriel and all his ilk, and instead laid a careful, comforting hand on his friend’s head. “Crowley, my dear. Enough of that. We are going to have this conversation right now so both of us can then focus on your much-needed healing. You are not evil. You are not bad. You simply ask questions. You think for yourself. And goodness—well, I mean to say—in any case, everybody who isn’t a moron knows those are not bad things. Besides, do you think a—a—“ Aziraphale searched his mind for Gabriel’s words. He stumbled over them, but repeated them nonetheless. He had to destroy Gabriel’s false argument word for word, or he risked losing Crowley to the lies altogether. And he’d let himself be literally damned before he’d let that happen.

“Do, do you think, my dear, that a—oh what’d that twat say—that a, a “fallen, corrupted, and weak” demon would voluntarily risk the wrath of his superiors to stop a pointless Armageddon?”

The little he could see of Crowley’s face tightened in pain. Then his friend barely turned, just enough so that one yellow, slitted eye could peek open to peer back up at him.

“Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” Crowley said, his voice weak and unsure. “…n-nnnn…no?”

His answer was more of a question, but Aziraphale thanked his lucky stars for what he could get.

“Correct.” He beamed, and carefully reached out for the side of Crowley’s face. Crowley winced, almost instinctively, it seemed, and Aziraphale forced himself to keep looking unworried, collected, and competent. He’d be bawling his eyes out over what Gabriel had done, probably with a bottle or four of wine in the backroom sometime after this was over. Once Crowley was properly asleep and resting, of course. But now was not the time to indulge in personal hysteria.

However justified.

He concentrated on beginning to heal the wounds, on keeping infection and contamination and goodness-knew-what-else out and away from his friend. He’d suffered—and would suffer—enough already without all of that additional…well. Without all of that.

“How’re you feeling now?” He asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice. Crowley made a ragged sound deep in the back of his throat. The burns had started to heal, but painful-looking blisters had developed over most of the skin, and Azpiraphale felt his own throat close up in sympathetic pain.

“S—s—still h-h-hurtsss, angel.” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale swallowed hard and—very, very carefully—kissed the top of his head again.

“I know.” He said sympathetically. “I know. But I promise, it will get better.”

Bursts of harsh light flashed across the windows of the bookshop, and Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face as familiar winged figures, all in crisp, perfect suits, filled the street outside. Crowley winced at the sudden flares of light, and his dulling eye shut tight against the angry pulsing lights.

“Ah.” Aziraphale said, far more calmly than he felt. He stood up. Summoned the flaming sword into his hand.

He wasn’t afraid.

Furious, yes. Probably going to get disintegrated? Absolutely.

But they were NOT taking Crowley AGAIN.

He started making his way towards the door. Felt a pressure on his hand. Looked down to see one of Crowley’s badly burned ones latched onto it, mangled fingers painfully holding on to his own.

“Don’t go.” Crowley croaked, trying to get up. “Don’ be ssstupid, aaangel. I’ll…I’ll go.”

“You certainly shall not!” Aziraphale squeaked, eyes widening in horror as Crowley actually tried to sit up. He tried shaking Crowley’s hand off, but the demon’s grip only tightened. “I, I won’t let you get obliterated!”

“Sss—same goes…goesss for you.”

“Oh, bother!” Aziraphale huffed, feeling—of all things—somewhat peeved. They were both probably going to get painfully incinerated by some means or another in the next thirty seconds, and here they were squabbling about who would die in an agonizing manner first.

Typical.

A shadow at the door, blocking the harsh light. Gabriel’s stern profile. His voice, calling out.

“Aziraphale! Hand over the demon, and your punishment will not be prolonged!”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Aziraphale snarled, right as Crowley’s equally impassioned, if slightly weaker and raspy “SOD OFF!” rang out simultaneously through the shop.

Aziraphale looked back down at his friend. Bleary-eyed, shaking, pale as a—well. Almost pale as a ghost. If you didn’t count the weeping third degree burns. Damn it. He couldn’t leave him like this.

He put the flaming sword away. It wouldn’t have helped. Not against Gabriel, at any rate. And then he sat down on the chair next to the sofa, keeping Crowley’s hand in his.

“Well.” He said, far more briskly than he felt. “They’ll have to just come and get us both, then.”

Crowley looked at him with wide eyes, almost the same way he’d looked at him all those eons ago back in the garden, when they’d first met. Incredulous. Surprised.

Aziraphale smiled brightly at him. He would not let Crowley see how scared he was. Besides, he realized, he wasn’t really scared. Just…resigned.

He hadn’t thought it would end this way. But, he supposed, if it had to end, being with Crowley was not a bad way to go.

Epilogue the First

How hard, Gabriel was later heard to scream at the mustered choirs of angels under his command, was it to “—PUSH A BOOKSTORE DOOR OPEN? HMMM? WAS IT REALLY THAT HARD?!! HAD ANYONE, BESIDES HIMSELF, EVEN THOUGHT OF TRYING TO PULL IT OPEN?!! ANYONE?!!”

It was almost, a minor angel had offered, timidly, in the echoing silence that had thundered through Heaven’s halls after Gabriel’s outburst, as if something—or SomeOne—hadn’t…allowed it to open. No matter what they’d done. They hadn’t been able to do a single thing to the tiny little bookstore. It had been…strange? Unexplainable?

Ineffable. Someone murmured. Gabriel whirled to find the voice, snarling, fists clenched and eyes wild, and only managed to redirect his searing blast of holy fire upwards and sideways through the already damaged glass ceiling at the last possible minute.

The Celestial Choirs had all found Somewhere Else To Be after that, and Gabriel was left alone, scowling, holding his bruising face in the middle of a completely ruined Conference Room.

Ineffable. He glowered to himself. As if the Almighty had taken those two—THOSE TWO—under their protection.

Surely not.

Epilogue the Second

“—so I think, in the end, my dear, if you stop hating yourself, at least a little, you might be able to resist the unpleasant effects of sanctified water! It’s not like you’re all evil, you know.”

“Oh, creation help us.” moaned Crowley from his sanctuary on the sofa, surrounded by gently waving plants and cushioned by far more pillows than the couch could reasonably expect to hold.“You’re babbling on about angels—fallen or otherwise—and self-actualization?” He fought for a moment, managed to get himself up on one still-bandaged elbow, pointed an accusing finger at his friend. “In short, you’re telling me your idea to speed up my recovery is to follow an idea you saw on the telly?”

Aziraphale shrugged, finished arranging the overflowing tea tray, and came round towards the sofa with it, a pile of biscuits wobbling precariously on the edge. “I don’t know, but it is quite a good show. You should try it.”

Crowley’s voice went higher. “AMERICAN!! TELLY!!” He roared, and the houseplants near the couch trembled as if caught in a high wind.

Aziriphale hid a smile. Cantankerous Crowley meant a healing Crowley. Besides, anything to get his spirit back up.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it taking place in Los Angeles.” He said cheerily. “Besides. I thought you liked the American West Coast.”

“DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO CAME UP WITH THE PITCH FOR THAT SHOW?! LISTEN HERE, ANGEL, I’LL TELL YOU EXACTLY HOW I—“

“Oooh, look, new episodes!” Aziraphale burbled happily. “Huzzah! And here I thought it’d been cancelled before its time!!” He readied the remote.

Crowley dramatically tried to smother himself with pillows, but was unsuccessful. “Uuuuuuuggggghhhh.” He moaned. “There’s no way this is going to be quality entertainment.”

Aziraphale smiled as American rock music and a jaunty, cocky television theme began emanating from the television. “You’d be surprised, my dear.”

#I'M WRITING AGAIN #HOORAY #good omens #hurt/comfort #also on ao3 under same title #crowley #aziraphale #hurt crowley #protective crowley #BAMF aziraphale #Gabriel is a dick in this one #torture #emotional hurt/comfort #whump #kind comments are always appreciated!#messages too!

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stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Known Finale: Just One of The Many

A Supernatural DARK Fan-fiction

Featuring: Demon!reader x Moc!Dean, Dean x Chloe “CC” Collins: Hunter/ Nephilim Anomaly OFC, Charlie Bradbury, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Death, and Amara

Summary: CC deals with the consequences of her actions. Dean gets a voicemail and our reader finds that Winchesters rarely heed any advice. Some dialogue is taken from canon. This is it folks, the final chapter. Thank you so much for reading until now. xoxo Stu

Beta’d: @thoughtslikeaminefield and @dontshootmespence Ladies, I owe you more than I can express.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS

Series Masterlist

*^*^*^*^

Dark Dynasty

May 6, 2015

Sam’s Code Breaking Hideout

“Sam and Dean are like my brothers. I love them.” Charlie stood before Rowena, soft and sure.

“I know. And that steadfast loyalty will be your undoing, my girl,” Rowena’s brief kindness faded into a marked taunt. Charlie squinted at the witch’s retreating form before looking to CC for shared annoyance, instead she found a gentle agreement on the hunter’s face.

CC wasn’t one for cat fights and she certainly wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire Sam had started by shoving the hacker and the Queen Mother of Hell together, but Rowena had a point. Charlie was just more forgiving than most and CC had been in the life too long for that kind of optimism.

May 7, 2015

Crowley’s Earthside Operation

“--look, I get it. She’s unpleasant. She’s horrible. She has a messy workstation! What’s the dirt?! There must be something that I don’t know about her. Something I can hold over her as a bargaining chip. A demon lover?” Crowley was incensed with a hamster in a cage, which would have been concerning, if you didn’t understand the hamster as well as your boss. “You don’t need to paint a picture.”

You bit back a smile as the hamster spewed off Rowena’s questionable decisions like a grocery list.. Naturally, his birth came up along the litany. As his patience started to slip to microscopic proportions, you cleared your throat. “She once saved a little boy’s life.”

“You, not funny,” Crowley bellowed over his shoulder before he leaned down to glare at the hamster.

“Oh, come on, it is a little funny, but that’s only ‘cuz it’s true,” you purred, leaning your elbow on the opposite side of the cage’s lid, eyebrows raised in challenge. Crowley’s dark eyes danced over yours as the hamster that was once Olivette grew unnaturally quiet.

“What’s the punchline?” he demanded.

You sighed and mock whispered, “he’s still alive.”

“And?”

“I’ve met him. Tall, cherub curls and innocent as a Rockwell painting.” The hamster slowly crawled to your side of the forgotten wheel. Crowley listened as you explained the story you had pieced together, a tale of a friendly witch who’d been adopted by an impoverished farming family, lifetimes ago. Before you could give him more than the bare outline of Rowena’s startling past, he was bellowing for a minion and the taste of freedom started to ghost over your tongue.

Blackbird Motel

CC picked up the phone on the third ring; it was Cas in a panic. “Chloe, what are you doing?”

“Girls’ night out, grabbing some pay per view and thinking about throwing a motel party,” CC mocked as she checked that the door and the windows were secure.

“You know that the Stynes will stop at nothing to find the book.” CC rolled her eyes at the patronizing tone from the angel.

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have the book. Look, she needed a Rowena free space and I can’t blame her. Let the woman work so we can get this over with, once and for all,” CC closed her eyes as Charlie set up her computer, backpack full of notes left on the table untouched.

“It isn’t just Charlie I’m worried about,” Cas’s voice dropped in warning.

“We’ll be fine,” CC replied tersely. “I’ll call you when we know more,” she added to appease Charlie’s worried glances before hanging up. “Alright, I don’t think I bought us much time; work your magic.”

The rain muddied everything, CC’s alertness as well as any sound or scent outside. She hadn’t sat since they arrived, knowing that even a lumpy mattress would push her exhaustion away in the blink of an eye. Startlingly quick, Charlie found the cypher. Just as CC decided she would always bet on red, a gut dropping pound sounded at the door. She waved Charlie into the bathroom as she released her knife from her hip.

“I know you’re there, Miss Asimov,” a taunting drawl notched CC’s adrenaline to eleven. “You have it, I want it!”

CC’s mind raced, no time for witty replies now. She had been out of practice and somehow the Book of the Damned had juiced up this family into something she didn’t know how to kill. He banged again, voice genteel and grating. She inhaled and finally spoke, “it’s not here, Jethro. You can back off.”

“Well, that wasn’t too hard now was it?” And he kicked in the door. He was striking, refined and enraged, and missing half an arm. CC recoiled briefly before squaring up, knife at the ready, focus locked onto her target. “You’re not who I was expecting, darlin’. But either you’re gonna tell me where that book is, or I’m gonna take it out of your little redheaded friend.”

CC heard Charlie’s voice through the rain and the thin walls, but she doubted whichever Styne stood in front of her could. Help was on the way, all CC had to do was hold the guy off for twenty minutes and the cavalry could clean up. Except fights never lasted that long and the glare he was shooting, told her he thought he’d already won.

“You should leave, trust me.” CC walked toward him, he wasn’t overly large, a hair smaller than Dean. It was the unnatural way he moved, despite massive blood loss that had her questioning her every step.

“Not until I get what’s mine,” he bit the last word out with curling lips. He leaped at her, right hand swatting hers as he stepped into her space. Bloody stump of a forearm pushing into her throat. CC dropped lower, getting a nick to his side, slicing through waistcoat, shirt and flesh in practiced motions. He didn’t flinch; the only indication he felt the wound was how his nose flared as he looked into her eyes, disdain dripping from his every pore.

His hand locked around her wrist, squeezing, the tendons screaming until she felt her bones snap. She kneed his groin, using her center of gravity to push him back. Her knife useless in her misconnected hand, CC dropped it, leaving them to spar on more even terms. The broken in door swung on its hinges in the storm outside and just as CC spotted the shadow watching them a heart-stopping thwack and shattering of plastic sounded from the bathroom. In the second it took CC to realize they knew Charlie was still there, she froze. The blonde kicked her blade to his silent partner and before CC could get out more than a slight force of will against them, they had her caged in.

His mangled arm wrapped around her neck, unable to grant the pressure he wanted, so he tipped her face at the ceiling, broken wrist pulled across her chest like a frayed seatbelt. The other Styne, the one in the long woolen coat kept quiet, inspecting the intricate carvings on each side of her treasured weapon. The one restraining her let out a low whistle.

“Oh, that is nice, a bit too classy for the likes of you, though. Now, you gonna sit politely and let us finish our business here, or are you gonna make my cousin put you down with your own blade, girl?”

CC was, had, and would never be the type to sit politely. She jammed her left elbow into her cage’s ribs. A guttural shriek came from her chest as she tried to bend low enough to get him off his feet in an augmented arm toss. But that only occupied one of her opponents; with little more than a raised eyebrow the cousin jabbed in and down, pulling her collar open like a macabre off the shoulder number. Everything burned, CC fell to her knees, the blonde man walked her down. The gold started to spark in her periphery, and she willed her body to stop. She couldn’t heal, not in front of these kind of men, if any part of them even remained human. Suddenly a hand was on her jaw and her neck popped. She fell, broken and trapped inside her own mind.

CC watched their tailored suit pants and polished shoes retreat to the bathroom. The sound of blood thrummed in her ears masking the rain and the demands, but not Charlie’s cries. Those she heard as tears of guilt burned through until she willed her eyes closed with the last wisp of energy she could muster. She didn’t want to black out, she needed to stay in control, but her body stopped listening.

She sat up in a lurch of panic, neck reattached despite herself. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, there he was, covered in Charlie’s blood.

“Chloe! Thank fuck, what happened?!” Sam crouched over her, eyes misting with grief and shame. She couldn’t answer him, her throat remained partially crushed, and it took nearly all her focus not to repair the damage-- to give herself the pain, a shallow penance for Charlie’s life. Her eyes returned across the room, to Dean holding Charlie’s face in his hands like a parent in comfort, stroking the hair from her face. CC’s sob came out in a shrill wail, gasps as the reality and terror flooded her senses.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Sam’s voice held more than the moment, it was a blanket covering their entire operation. The deceit that was supposed to help, yet it only pushed Dean further away from them all.

The Woods

Dean felt CC’s brows raise as his words cut into Sam at the pyre, but he didn’t care. This was on her almost as much as it was on Sam. He was so sick of people he trusted letting him down. But this, this was wrong. It was Charlie and she was gone. Screw ‘em. Screw all of them because he couldn’t look them in the eye anymore; their betrayal was beyond gut souring.

“Yeah, you had a shot. Well, you’re all terrible shots, ‘cause Charlie’s dead. Nice shot.”

Sam looked up, trying to find his words, to combat the monotoned cruelty of Dean’s voice. “You think I am ever--- going to forgive myself for that?!”

“You want to know what I think? I think it should be you up there, not her.” Dean barely even moved to deliver the last blow. CC cleared her throat, unable to listen any longer.

“Don’t get me started on you! This thing with Cas and the book ends now. Shut it down before someone else gets hurt. You both understand me?”

“What about you?” Sam was the beaten puppy that could.

“Oh, I’m gonna find whoever did this. And I am going to rip apart everything and everyone that they ever loved, and then I am gonna tear out their heart.” He wasn’t even enthused about it, it came off like weekend plans, point by point.

“Is that you talking, or the Mark?” Sam needed to stop asking questions.

“Does it matter?” Dean left the challenge hanging in the air, walking away. Leaving those responsible to watch Charlie burn.

The Prisoner

Dean waited on Rudy to run the plates while he pointedly ignored a call from Cease. Setting his sights on Shreveport, he went back to listen to the voicemail she left him. Which started off with oddly timid ramblings before she got to her point.

“Maybe in another life, we could have had something close enough to normal. But not after everything.” Dean could hear her sniffling; her voice came back with a bite to it.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Charlie, about everything. I should have protected her, but I couldn’t even do that for you. And I fucking hate that, but it’s on me. No matter what you say or do Dean, it is on me. Not Sam.

But apologies are for regret, and I don’t regret trying to help you. If goodbyes are forever, well I aint ready for that sappy shit.”

Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest, it didn’t even hurt anymore. Nothing could touch him; it was the ghost of loss that haunted him. The guilt of unfeeling. Somehow it all came back to rage. He huffed, tongue teasing his back teeth.

“So, I guess, take care of yourself because that’s what I gotta do now.” The line stayed open for a fathomless beat and then the electronic female voice was reading him his saving options. Dean slammed the end call button, leaving Chloe’s voice hanging in the ether between a saved and deleted message.

Curtis’ Motor Court

Brother’s Keeper

You sifted through the mess of Dean’s making, curious to see if he’d return. He’d certainly given the $39 a night room the rock star treatment. Without any current errands for Crowley, you decided to try your luck. Dean had gone radio silent and that only meant one of two things: he had succumbed to the curse on his arm, or he was done with you. Either way, you had to be sure. Sam found you in the end. He came in, gun raised and desperation bursting out with his big heaving chest.

“Hey there, Sammy,” you greeted glibly, perched beside the note and keyring. “He knew you’d show.”

“Who are you?!” Sam barked behind his intricate gun.

“Just looking for your brother, I’ve been hearing things and it sounds bad,” you sighed, letting your eyes fill in.

“What do you want with Dean?” Sam kept his gun in one hand and reached for his flask.

You raised your hands in surrender. “Same thing as you, want to make sure he’s still Dean. That he’s safe. That everyone is safe.”

“You’re?” Realization washed over him, causing you to hum against a giggle. The latest vessel’s voice bubbly despite your best efforts.

“Long time.” You stood holding out your hand, which you awkwardly tucked into the back pocket of her jeggings. “Heard you struck out on Crowley, too bad on that.”

“Yeah, well, he deserves it.” Sam stuck his tongue in the side of his cheek. “Have you seen him? Any idea where he’s going?”

“Not where, but what,” you sighed and looked up at Sam with warning. “He’s done, Sam. He told me so and after Charlie, I can only imagine—”

“Wait, what are you talking about? When did you see him? You know what, forget it. I’ll find him on my own,” Sam turned to go.

“If Crowley can’t crossroad deal something away and Cas can’t heal it off, who would Dean go to?”

“He hates praying,” Sam shook his head. He flinched, but instinctively caught the keys to the Impala you tossed to him.

“Somebody he knows, Sam. That’s he’s seen, face to face.”

He left without a goodbye or any gratitude, but you allowed Sam his head start.

Juanita’s

Outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma

You pulled up to the run-down restaurant just as Sam stormed inside, your demon senses telling you to stick to the perimeter. Death had already answered Dean’s call and the combination of voices left you enough to eavesdrop with. The hallway that lead into the main dining space was caked in dust. Dean’s voice bellowed, and it was as if you felt the hit his words landed on Sam. This wasn’t your place, this was a sacred conversation, of families and honor and things creatures like yourself couldn’t quite grasp anymore. It was also maddening.

When the punches started flying you stalked in, earning nothing more than a single finger shush from Death himself. Dean had the upper hand, but that didn’t make you feel any better about his state. Sam yielded, bloodied on his knees. Dean was dark and determined, flashes of a younger soul clouding your thoughts.

“You’ll never, ever hear me say, that you, the real you, is anything but good,” Sam pleaded from the floor. He spat and pulled himself taller. “But you’re right, before you hurt anyone else, you have to be stopped, at any cost.”

Your vessel’s blood ran cold. Sam’s tears somehow made their way to your eyes and he nodded to the eternal executioner. “Do it.”

Dean looked back to Death and he handed Dean his scythe. “Please, do me the honor.”

Dean took the weapon in awe, gauging the curve of the blade and the balance in the handle. He appeared transfixed and obedient. You tried to scream, but nothing came out. This wasn’t Dean’s destiny, no matter what Cain nor Angels decreed. He couldn’t kill Sam. Dean would not. He inhaled and faced Sam’s shaking form, towering over his brother who had been bigger than him for nearly twenty years. Everyone froze as Dean told him to close his eyes, something he probably said a thousand times before.

Sam prevailed, he pulled scraps from his jacket and set them at Dean’s feet. Begging him to find his way back, to himself and to family. Death knew better than to let a sibling’s pleas go on too long.

“It is for family you must proceed, Dean. To be what you are, to become what you’ve become is a stain on their memory. Do it or I will,” he wasn’t demanding, he was calm in a finite kind of way. His words crawled in your ears and taunted your every memory of Dean; it was as if Death could reimagine him into someone else just by sheer force of will. Truth and your unshaken faith in the man Dean was, at his core, beat back Death’s sway.

Dean paused, genuine anguish in his features as he let Sam make the final call. Even though Sam nodded for him to proceed, Dean asked one last thing from Sam, “forgive me.”

He lifted the weapon and swung a wide arch, clear into Death himself. The puny man disintegrated before your eyes and suddenly you were in control of your vessel once more. You staggered into the room, legs wobbling from strain at fighting Death’s hold.

You missed a moment the brother’s shared before blurting out, “What the fuck was that, Dean?!”

“I think I just killed Death,” Dean sounded on the edge of fear. “Who even are you, lady?”

A dumbstruck Sam chuckled, “Dean, this is, uh, Chloe’s demon? I guess.”

“Y/N? Nice digs.” You smiled gently as Dean’s lip quirked.

“Wait, you know her actual name?” Sam sputtered as thunder rolled in, made from a wall of voices, out of nowhere.

“Does that sound right to you?” Dean worried just as the flash of lightning burst through the ceiling. You screeched as Dean groaned with the impact, the magic peeling the Mark of Cain from his skin like an instant laser treatment. Just as quickly as it arrived, it returned through the roof. You gaped at the haphazard miracle you had all witnessed.

You followed Dean cautiously, his hand reaching back to take yours, pulling the door shut behind you. Sam started talking through the disbelief. “This is good. Dean, this is good. The Mark is off your arm, nothing crazy happened, you get your baby back.”

Dean dropped your hand to take the keys from Sam. “Yeah, I’m sure everything’s perfectly fine.” Nothing came without a price. Dean headed to the car as sizzling jolts of pink lightning webbed across the sky. Pillars of bolts staggered like tendrils in patternless cascades. Then it stopped.

“What did Death call this?” Sam knew his victory speech had been a tad premature.

“The Darkness,” you and Dean said in unison.

Erupting from the points of impact came giant streaks of black smoke, denser and grittier than any demon. They shot through the sky like dancers hitting a mark, synchronized destruction. They merged in a nearby field and exploded into a boiling mound of matter, growing like an ancient horror show entity. Constantly expanding as you stood beside the pathless hunters.

“Get in the car! Let’s go, let’s go.” You didn’t even hesitate, Dean pointed, and you listened, sliding into the backseat as if you had never left CC, never been cast out, never been a demon. The sheer terror of the moment dwarfed the realization and you slammed your foot down to help Dean accelerate, a phantom driver. The Impala’s back tires spun through the mud and you gripped the middle of the front seat, desperate to make the escape. The rear wheel fell into a pothole and Dean threw his door wide, panicked.

“Dean!” Sam looked to the looming shadow as it grew closer, an unstoppable avalanche toppling everything it passed. In two breaths, it had overtaken the Impala. One moment you felt eyes on you and the next Dean had disappeared. Doors and windows all secure, but he was gone. The rolling black cloud jostled the car frame, knocking Sam out before you could ask him if he saw his brother. With every ounce of strength, you had you pushed the backdoor open, the endless tide of fog pushing you back, a tadpole against the current.

Losing your vessel was your only hope to find Dean in the Darkness, you left her outside the Impala and swam up. This wasn’t the soaring you found most freeing, this was a frenzy of sound and force thrashing against the streams of your being. You reached out with your senses, feeling for Dean, his heartbeat, his scent, his voice. Needling through the chaos desperate to find him. Then you heard his name on the wind and someone else’s tongue.

She stood with Dean in a clearing that was still drenched in shadow. She was dark lines and angles, elegant black dress hugging her effortlessly. He called out and you dropped down, trying to hold your molecules together in some discernible form. If he saw you, he didn’t reach out to touch you then. He was transfixed by her, by the Darkness personified. He stood challenging her, demanding why she hasn’t atomized him. Then she played him with the destiny card, endlessly bound by the mark on her clavicle. THE MARK, lock and key.

There was no thought, just white hot, blinding rage. You snaked between them, spreading out to hold her from him. He had come too far to be made into her mindless drone. You had to stop her, you had to save him. As she leaned forward, closing the distance between her and Dean, you screamed without vocal cords. Vibrating with ownership you tried to push her back. You felt her eye your gaseous state and suddenly everything ceased to be.

There was no longer Darkness, nor Dean, nor you. It was just, Empty.

Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Dean pulled away from the pristine farmhouse, leaving Jenna and Amara in the safety of family. He had another long drive ahead of him to catch up with Sam. Now that Baby was passenger free; his mind got too loud. He thought that Y/N had been plucked out of the car with him; he couldn’t see her, but he had felt her until he didn’t. There was a gnawing in his stomach on the whim of her bailing on him and her vessel. Something the Darkness said without saying filled the void of doubt with an unwanted certainty.

“No matter where I am, who I am, or who is in the way. We will always help each other,” she promised him. Dean felt it was more warning than devotion, though he couldn’t help but agree. He may have lost the Mark, but he was far from free of it.

*^*^*^*

Epilogue

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