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p-artsypants · 5 months

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The Last Flying Grayson

While out on duty, Robin sees a billboard that chills his soul. ‘Haly’s Circus 3000 Phoenix Tour, coming to Jump City at the end of June!’ Not long after, Mr. Haly reaches out to the Titans for a favor.

Ao3 | FF.net

“I’m beat!” Cyborg lamented, slouching forward. “I hate chasing Mumbo. He’s annoying and he turned my car into a wind up toy.”

“I’m right here,” said Mumbo, returned to his old man form. “Not much of a crime spree if I stay in one place, is it?”

“Man, shut up!”

“It’s alright Cyborg,” Robin patted his back. “Let’s drop Mumbo off with the police and then we can pick up some pizza for din—” as he spoke, he turned to look at their favorite pizza place, only to see a large Billboard next to it.

Haly’s Circus 3000!

Phoenix Tour!

Coming end of June!

He stood frozen. Suddenly confronting his past like this was not something he was prepared for.

“Hey, you okay?” Asked Cyborg. “You look paler than usual.”

“Yeah dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

He tore his gaze away from the billboard and looked back at his team. This was his present, and that was his past. There was no reason he couldn’t stop in and say hello, but there was no use lingering on it. “I’m fine. I just…suddenly realized how much paperwork I had to do.”

“Oh Robin, you must not lock yourself up in that office!” Starfire cried.

“Yeah dude! It’s movie night!”

“I’ll do the paperwork on the kitchen table, how about that?”

Beast Boy and Starfire cheered.

As they carried Mumbo off to the car, Raven caught Robin taking one last look at the billboard.

She knew more than the others.

She had been inside his head and saw his memories. It was brief, but she saw it. Whether or not this ‘Haly’s Circus 3000’ was the same one from his memories, she didn’t know. But it wasn’t her place to ask.

—-

Robin’s past came back to haunt him a few days later.

They were all gathered in the ops room, playing a card game together and hanging out, just being teens.

“Ha!” Beast Boy put down a card with a tornado on it. “I bet none of you nerds can beat that!”

Cyborg groaned. “Man, I had a lightning storm! I was certain I had it!”

“I got nothing,” said Raven.

“I, as well, have nothing to beat the tornado.”

“Well well well, looks like Beast Boy is cleaning up!”

“Not so fast, Grass Stain,” Robin taunted. “I still have one card.”

Beast Boy gasped. “You would not.”

Robin slammed the card down onto the pile. “Meteor shower! Read it and weep!”

“Noooo! That’s three games in a row! How do you keep winning!?”

“Let’s just say lady luck is a personal friend of mine.”

“You have a lady friend named ‘Luck’?” Starfire asked, a pout on her face.

“Relax Star, it’s just an expression.”

“Then…perhaps we can play once more and I can befriend this Lady of Luck?”

“Nah, I’m done,” said Beast Boy. “I got my butt kicked on the field enough times this week, I don’t need it kicked in my own home.”

The big screen came to life with an unknown caller number on it.

“Ohhh unknown caller? How much do you want to bet it’s a salesman?”

Robin’s jovial mood plummeted as butterflies erupted in his stomach. He had a feeling. “I don’t think it’s a salesman,” he said, subdued. He rose, and answered it.

A portly man with a curly mustache wearing a striped shirt appeared on the screen. A big smile came over his face. “Robin! Good to see you, lad!”

Of course he knew. ‘Robin’ and ‘Boy Wonder’ had been nicknames from the circus. His uniform was nearly the same too. Not to mention the death defying stunts he performed while crime fighting. It wouldn’t be that hard for anyone from Haly’s to piece it together. But, since Haly’s left Gotham and promised to never return, he hadn’t been concerned. Now, he was.

“Mr. Haly,” he greeted with a nod.

“I don’t want to take up much of your time. I’m sure you and your team are very busy.”

“Busy losing at cards,” Beast Boy grumbled.

“What do you need?” Robin asked.

“I’m not sure if you heard, but we’re having a comeback tour, and next month, we’re coming to Jump City!”

“I saw the billboard.”

“Oh good! I had hoped that advertising was working. I had an idea. We used to do these charity nights where we had special benefactors sponsor us, and all ticket sales would go to the benefactor’s chosen charity.”

Of course he remembered. It was why Bruce Wayne had been there the night that—

Robin assumed, “and you were hoping the Titans could sponsor a show?”

“That’s right! Of course, you would all be considered guests of honor and get VIP seats. But, if it’s not in the budget, I’d understand.”

“I’m sure we can make that happen,” Robin smiled. This conversation was going smoother than he expected. It seemed like Haly was being considerate enough to not assume everyone else knew who he was.

“And…I have a personal favor to ask.”

There it was. “What’s that?”

“I was wondering if you could find someone for me. You see, our circus has many new acts, and some old faces too, but…the Flying Graysons were still the greatest. I was hoping you could find Richard, the Last Flying Grayson, and see if he has it in his heart to perform as a special act. Just one night, as an homage to his parents. Is that something you could do for me?”

Robin was quiet for far too long before he agreed, “yeah, I’ll find him and ask.”

“Excellent. I know this is rather short notice. We’re planning on coming in two weeks, with the first show at the end of June. We were hoping you’d sponsor the show on June 27.”

“June 27th, huh?” There was no hiding the grief in his voice.

“Unless you’d prefer another day.”

“I’ll make it happen, Mr. Haly.”

“Wonderful! Wonderful! Let him know he can reach me at this number once he knows what he’ll need for his act. I can’t wait for you to see how the show looks now!”

Robin’s throat felt tight. “Is Zitka still there?”

“Of course! Fat on peanuts, but she’s still beautiful.”

Robin couldn’t help but smile. “Great to hear. We’ll see you in a few weeks then.”

“See you!” And the call ended.

“Soooo…” Beast Boy grinned. “Who was that?”

“An old friend,” Robin said vaguely. He really didn’t want to talk about it, but knew if he made a big deal about not wanting to talk about it then they’d pry and pry and pry until he talked about it!

“That’s obvious,” said Cyborg. “But what’s the story!? You know circus people?”

Robin swallowed. “They performed in Gotham City for a time. I knew them from my time there.” Half a lie. “I owe Haly a favor.” That was the truth.

“Man, you have the coolest experiences from working with Batman and you never talk about them!”

He scoffed, “like the 22 times Two-Face robbed the Second National Bank of Gotham of all its 2 dollar bills? Yeah, real exciting stuff.”

“Please,” began Starfire, “this sir-cuss is a performance, like theater?”

“Sort of,” Robin smiled. “Circuses travel from city to city, and perform in big tents. There’s big animals, strong men, clowns, all sorts of performers.”

“And who is this Zitka and why is she full of peanuts?”

“She’s an elephant.”

“Cool! Robin’s friends with an elephant!” Cyborg smiled.

“UM HELLO? You all are!” Beast Boy morphed into an elephant.

Cyborg grabbed his trunk. “I meant a real elephant, dummy!”

Beast boy shifted back, rubbing his nose. “So what is he having you do? Something about finding a performer? A Flying Grayson?”

He was afraid of this. It was too close. He had to play it cool, pretend it was nothing. He was removed from the situation, and none of it mattered.

Or he could tell them the whole truth.

Nononononono no. No. Not happening.

“The Flying Graysons…were the headliner. A family of trapeze artists,” he began. “Gotham is full of crazies like the Joker and Two-Face, yes, but it also has a lot of mafia activity. An extortionist threatened Haly, and when Haly didn’t pay up, the thug messed with the rigging to The Flying Graysons’ act.” Robin swallowed harshly. “John and Mary Grayson…f-fell. Their son, Richard, survived.” He sighed. “I saw it happen. It was…pretty traumatic.”

“What of the foul man that committed the crime?” Starfire asked.

“Batman and I beat him up and threw him in jail.”

“So, I guess this Richard guy owes you a favor, huh?” Beast Boy smirked.

“I suppose.”

“Need any help tracking him down?” Offered Cyborg.

“Nah, I know where to find him.”

“I don’t know dude,” Beast Boy wondered. “If my parents died in an accident like that, I’d never touch the trapeze again. Is he still practicing?”

“Not exactly, but he can do it.” Robin headed for the door. “I’m going to go ahead and reach out to him. Have fun with your cards.”

As he departed and was alone, his shoulders sagged heavily and the tears started to well up. “Not yet,” he whispered.

He walked swiftly towards his room, only to be halted by Raven appearing from the floor.

“Wanna talk about it?” She asked.

“About what?” Sooth.

“Robin, I’ve been in your head. I saw your memories. I don’t know the details, but that fall that you witnessed was a prominent memory.”

He had almost forgotten that she had read his mind. Raven was considerate enough to not do it very often to people.

“I’m fine, and I don’t need to talk about anything,” he said sternly, walking past her. Then he felt a wave of guilt, because Raven, the one friend who was the least likely to reach out, was concerned. “But thanks for the offer.”

—-

The next few weeks were quiet. Robin shared no more information about the Circus. He never said if he found Richard Grayson. In fact, he didn’t say much at all. He spent most of his days in his room. He admitted that he had been working in his office a lot of late nights, so he was taking naps during the downtime of the day.

One night at dinner, Beast Boy asked a question that Robin dreaded. “So…I was walking past your room, and I heard a sewing machine?”

Robin nearly dropped his fork.

“What’s all that about?”

Robin gnawed the inside of his cheek. “I’m working on a new costume.”

Starfire nearly floated out of her chair. “Are you becoming Nightwing?!”

“No, not quite,” he smiled at her enthusiasm. “I’m just…making a prototype.” Another lie.

“Can we see it?” Cyborg asked.

“When I’m done, I’ll show you.” Not a lie!

—-

Soon, the date arrived.

Robin banked on the fact that Beast Boy was too preoccupied by games to notice what he was wearing. Just in case, we wore a trench coat over his new costume.

“Beast Boy, I have to leave early for the show, but I’m leaving your guys’ tickets on the counter with instructions.”

“Okay Robby, see you later!” Beast Boy didn’t even turn around.

Robin, the Boy Wonder, exited the tower, and Richard Grayson, the Last Flying Grayson, entered Jump City.

—-

Hours later, the Titans assembled in the ops room, preparing to leave.

“Hey, where’s Robin?”

“Oh, he left hours ago,” Beast Boy said easily. “But I think he left a note around here somewhere…”

“You mean this?” Raven picked up the paper that was very clearly right in front of them.

“Haha…yeah…”

“Dear Titans, I went early to pick up Mr. Grayson. I have left your tickets for you. Your seat numbers are on them. Don’t wait for me, I will meet up with you during the show. Love, Robin.”

“He can be so sweet,” Starfire smiled.

“Yeah yeah, bunnies and flowers, can we go? I’m starving!”

“Oh yeah baby! Carnival food!”

“This isn’t a carnival, it’s a circus,” Raven corrected.

“I hope they have popcorn! No! Pretzels!”

“Whatever they have, I hope it’s deep fried and delicious!”

They piled in the T-Car and made their way out to the edge of town. From even a few miles away, they could see the massive red and white tent, alight with search lights.

“Whoa…” Beast Boy gawked.

“Oh this is most exciting! Such an event on Tamaran would include the beheading of a shnerkel! Will any animals have their heads placed on pikes?”

“Uh…no.” Beat Boy looked ill. “The circus is a fun place with no maiming.”

“Actually,” said Cyborg. “I think their whole thing is death-defying stunts. So doing dangerous things to inspire awe.”

“Fascinating! I believe Robin called that ‘thrill seeking’?”

“Similar,” Said Raven. “Maybe you should just wait and see. It's hard to explain.”

They drove up to the gate, where a man in a purple clown costume waited. “Good evening! You must be the Teen Titans! Robin saved you a parking spot up front. Go ahead.”

“Awww Robin saved us a place so I don’t have to worry about my baby getting scratched!” Cyborg sniffed. “You’re right Star, he really can be sweet sometimes.”

Starfire giggled while Beast Boy made a gagging sound.

Cyborg parked up front, next to Robin’s motorcycle, and then they made their way to the entrance of the tent. They passed the ticket stand that had a sign up that stated ‘Sold out’. Next to the door was a huge poster of a silhouette of an acrobat swinging on a trapeze. The font read ‘One night only, The Last Flying Grayson!’ The song of a calliope rang through the air.

“Sounds like we picked the right show to sponsor,” Cyborg noted.

The tent was massive, with seating all the way around. Four giant poles held up the tent, which was blue with stars on the inside.

“Tickets please,” said a woman in a glittery leotard.

Starfire handed them over.

“Of course! You’re the Titans. You’ll be sitting in the VIP box, in section A.” She pointed to a spot in the bleachers that was raised up and out a little, presumably for the best view.

“We should sponsor more events,” Beast Boy grinned.

“Enjoy the show!” The woman smiled, handing back the tickets.

As they crossed the tent, Cyborg got a whiff of the concession stand. “I’m gettin’ in the food line before it gets too long. Whatchu guys want?”

“Oh! I would like a hot dog with a gratuitous amount of mustard!” Starfire licked her lips at the very idea.

“I’ll wait in line with you Cy,” said Beast Boy.

“Raavveeennnn,” Cyborg sang. “They have pretzels!”

“My day is made,” she droned.

Starfire and Raven went to their seats to wait for the boys.

“Where do you think Robin is?” Starfire asked, standing to peer through the crowd. People were still arriving and the stands were filling.

“Couldn’t say,” Raven shrugged. “Maybe he gets to help the Ringmaster or something.”

Like she summoned him, her communicator buzzed. “Robin to Starfire, come in, Starfire.”

“This is Starfire. Where are you?”

“You’ll see me soon. I need a favor.”

“Anything!”

“When I give the signal, I need you to prepare a Tamaranean discus maneuver.”

“What? Why?”

“Just trust me.”

“Alright, you know best. Where do you wish me to aim you?”

“At the center ring, the stage right in front of you, at the very center.”

“What signal?”

“Eyes on deck.”

“When?”

“You’ll see me. Don’t worry. And relax! Enjoy the show!” And he ended the call.

“Uh, that’s weird.” Raven quirked a brow.

“I hope there is no trouble.”

“He said not to worry. Maybe he’s helping Mr. Grayson out in his act?”

“Oh that would be wonderful! Robin is very good at the flipping!”

“Acrobatics,” Raven corrected.

Soon enough, the boys returned with arms full of all manner of popcorn, pretzels, hot dogs, soda, and cotton candy. “A hot dog and pretzel, for the ladies,” Beast Boy juggled over the two items, as well as two sodas.

“Where’s my cheese?” Raven asked.

“You didn’t say you wanted any.”

“My day is ruined,” she droned.

Then, the lights dimmed, and a drumroll silenced all chatter.

A spotlight illuminated a singular man in the center. The same portly, mustachioed man, wearing a red and gold suit with a top hat. “Ladies and gentlemen!” His voice carried throughout the tent. “Welcome to Haly’s Circus 3000! We would like to thank our generous benefactors for this special event, the Teen Titans!”

Another spotlight ignited on the group, unexpectedly, and they all smiled and waved awkwardly as the crowd applauded.

“Tonight, you will witness performances the likes you’ve never seen! Prepare for awe, laughter, shock, and drama! Please, enjoy the show!”

Sparklers ignited around the ring and the big band struck up a jaunty tune. From all the aisles came the performers. Clowns on stilts, women standing on horses, strong men carrying barrels, and even a bear on a unicycle.

Beast Boy shook Cyborg as he exploded with excitement.

A man in a burgundy suit came to the center ring, holding a whip in one hand, and a giant hoop in the other.

“Please direct your attention to the center ring, where you will see God’s mightiest creature come to heel. I present Marko, the Tiger Whisperer!”

The audience cheered as the Ringmaster left. The man called Marko raised the hoop, and snapped his whip.

From outside the tent came running a streak of black and orange. The tiger leapt into the ring, through the hoop, and skittered to a stop, like an overgrown puppy.

The tamer pet his nose and fed him a treat.

The audience and Titans watched with fascination as the tiger performed tricks that only extremely disciplined dogs could do. The act concluded with the tamer sticking his head in the tiger’s mouth.

Starfire stood up with the crowd to applaud.

Each act that followed was just as spectacular.

There was a juggler that juggled flaming batons and chainsaws. A set of clowns bonked each other on the head with progressively larger and larger cartoonish hammers, and of course, the bear on the unicycle returned.

“Does that give you fond memories, Cyborg?” Beast Boy joked.

“It gives me memories alright. Fond? Not so much.”

“That bear is very talented!” Starfire cooed.

“I’m surprised the unicycle hasn’t broken.”

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” called the Ringmaster once more, as the lights swirled over the audience. “The moment you’ve been looking forward to all night. A once in a lifetime opportunity. The living legacy himself! Performing high-flying death-defying stunts, 60 feet in the air, without the safety of a net, The Last Flying Grayson!”

The spotlights turned and illuminated a young man, standing in the center ring. The haunting sound of an accordian playing a waltz filled the air.

“Wait, is that–?” Beast Boy squinted.

“It can’t be…” Cyborg gaped.

“But it must!” Starfire gleefully beamed.

“No. Way.”

The young man had black hair, styled into slicked back spikes. He wore a tight, sleeveless red tunic with yellow ties across the front. He had dark green tights, and a yellow sash instead of a utility belt.

He had a sad smile on his mask-less face, along with face paint to make it look like he had a single tear on his cheek.

He bowed low, his arms back behind him. Then he flung back and flipped, once, twice, three times and landed on his feet. A swing, made of silk rope, descended down to him. He wrapped one side around his arm, and took measured steps in time with the music, until he broke into a run, and then twisted. He spun rapidly, gliding over the ground, and gradually raised into the air. The higher he raised, the more his body contorted, until he looked like he was twisted into a pretzel. It was all effortless, as his facial expression never changed. Just kept that look of bittersweet happiness.

“How is he doing that?” Beast Boy asked as Robin held onto the loop with just one hand that reached between his legs while he did the splits.

“I knew he was flexible, but…whoa.”

A woman began to sing while he performed. A sad tune, haunting melody, and unknown words to everyone in the audience.

Everyone, except Starfire.

“Go, go child, go, you'll see, go.”

She knew these words were in a tongue that was not English, but she wasn’t sure how she knew them. Robin had been the only language assimilation she’d had since she’d been on Earth. But perhaps…

She learned it from him.

“Go and you'll see that a smile often hides a great sorrow. Go and you'll see the madness of mankind.”

As he contorted, Robin twisted the rope around himself, forming a cocoon, until he reached the very top. Then, he pulled a pin on one side and he fell, unraveling like a ball of yard.

He stopped about a foot from the bottom, posed with one leg up by his head.

The audience cheered and whistled, but the only one who stayed totally silent was Starfire. Not because she wasn’t enjoying the show, but because she was mesmerized by him.

“Madness of mankind without righteousness, go. Madness of warriors without fear, go.”

Robin wrapped back up in the silk rope and soared through the tent, waving at the crowd as he passed by.

The swing raised up further, and reached the height of a platform that was built into the main beams of the tent. Up here, there were several bars, some stationary, and some hanging on wires.

“Madness of a child full of life who, playing at paradise as a soldier, was killed.”

He simply turned and stepped onto the platform, and offered a little bow.

He raised his arms, took two steps, and leapt, gliding out to a bar on wires. He swung out, flying over the crowd effortlessly, before he flipped and grabbed the next bar with his legs. At the peak of his swing, he flipped off the bar, spun in a tight ball, and landed on a platform on the opposite side of the tent.

The crowd clapped.

Oh, but he wasn’t done. Of course not! He ran and leapt again, catching the bar as it swung back. He used the momentum to swing all the way around the bar several times, getting faster and faster before he let go and flung himself up high. There, he tucked into a ball and rotated twice and caught another bar. He swung on that quickly and shot up again. At the crest of his arc, he hugged his arms to his chest and twisted, turning sideways and upside down.

The audience watched as he came down, and reached for the next bar…

And missed.

“No!” Starfire was on her feet, ready to fly out and catch him, only to watch him fall about ten feet before he twisted again and caught a different bar with his legs.

The audience went wild.

Starfire nearly collapsed with relief.

“Where fortune walks, you can't reach there with the heart anymore.”

He swung backwards, before hooking his feet around the wires and contorting backwards to climb up to stand on the bar. Once it reached the peak swing, he dropped down to his hands and swung, using momentum to swing out far and fast. From here, he leapt onto a hanging hoop. He hooked one leg around the hoop and braced the other inside, then relaxed his torso and threw his hands out. He glided over the audience, nearly touching them. Then he passed the Titans and gave them all high fives with a big smile.

He winked at Starfire.

The hoop rapidly rose up high into the tent, as someone pulled it on the other end.

At the top of the tent, there was a thin wire from post to post, about a hundred feet long, and 70 feet up. The accordion and woman ended their song.

“And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, The Flying Grayson will become the Balancing Grayson, as he performs the tightrope walk!”

The crowd ‘oo’ed.

Robin withdrew his bow staff from his belt, extended it, and very carefully started walking across the tightrope.

The drums below rolled as he shuffled forward, a little more, a little more…

Suddenly, it looked like he lost his balance as he started swaying and trying to over correct. Then he jerked to one side and fell—

Only to once again catch himself, with one hand on the rope. He flipped back up easily, before stowing the staff again, then he gave an exaggerated shrug and flipped forward, walking the tightrope on his hands.

The crowd went ballistic.

After a few feet, he flipped again, placing one foot down, then the other, then turning and doing a backbend. Up on his hands, then his feet, then he did a front flip, a cartwheel; a full balance beam routine before reaching the other side.

He raised his hands to quiet the roaring crowds.

He took out his staff again, and ran out onto the tightrope. A little before the halfway point, he extended the staff and vaulted up to balance on top of it! He had one hand out, the rest of his body completely straight with his arm. Then, slowly, he transferred the connection point to his forehead.

“Dude…” Beast boy gaped.

Robin balanced on a tightrope, on his staff, on his forehead. The drums rolled.

He gave a little shake of his hands and the band played a cheerful ‘ta-da!’

His friends clapped and cheered, only to be drowned out by the uproar of the crowd.

Robin flipped backwards onto the rope, tucking his baton back into his sash. He watched the swinging bars below and timed it perfectly as he leapt, fell thirty feet, and grabbed the bar expertly.

He whirled through the air, catching bar after bar in more and more precarious ways, like while he was spinning in a somersault, or by just one hand. He even dangled by just one foot.

Starfire watched with awe as he performed, laughter and joy bubbling out of him each time he landed a trick.

It was a side of Robin she’d never seen before.

He was…beautiful.

Of course, she and many other ladies (and probably several men) thought that Robin was cute, handsome, and ‘oh em gee a total hottie’ but seeing him right now, in this environment…he was just beautiful.

Like a galaxy made of an ocean of stars and colors, he was beautiful like a force of nature. His thin frame was deceitful to the strength he held. His ropey muscles had mostly been hidden under loose sleeves and gloves. But Starfire could see them plainly now, and hard at work, twisting under his skin with each aerial feat. The contours of his body were distinct with the skin tight costume. The peak of the human form, a rib cage, surrounded by bands of muscle, a chest with a rapidly beating heart. Even his fingers held incredible strength, as he dangled carelessly from just the tips.

A force of nature. A human in the most definite form.

Utterly mesmerizing.

Robin arched his back, hanging from his ankles with his arms far behind him. He swung his arms, pumping his body to climb higher and higher. He let go, somersaulting in the air, once, twice–five times, before landing on the tips of his toes on a platform. His silk rope dangled off to the side, and he used it to climb all the way back to the top, where the tightrope was.

Once up there, he looked down, right to her. He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then to her.

Eyes on deck.

The signal.

Starfire floated out of her seat, up about ten feet, to provide plenty of clearance for what he had in mind.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke into a mic way up there. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight for my special performance. And to the Teen Titans, thank you for making this event even more special. I knew I had to design my costume after Robin when I heard you guys were going to be here.”

He was such a liar.

“For my final trick, I will need the assistance of a beautiful young woman from the audience.” He pretended to glance around for only a second before exclaiming, “oh Starfire of the Teen Titans! Thank you for volunteering! Give her a hand folks!”

There was an applause, along with laughter, as this had obviously been planned. Starfire giggled as Cyborg shouted, “yeah that’s our girl!”

Robin crawled out on the tightrope, pinwheeling one leg around his body, and then the other. When he reached the middle of the rope, he held his arms out to the side.

A drum roll went up.

He dropped, catching himself with his fingers, and began to swing faster and faster until he was rocketing around the wire, gaining speed.

Then he let go and soared.

Arms out wide like wings, he whooped as he flew.

Then he started to fall, but he had no fear. He was falling right towards her, and she’d catch him.

Starfire floated a couple extra feet, eager to make contact with her friend. She caught him with her hands coming to rest on his ribcage, while he took hold of her shoulders.

“Hi Star,” he beamed, piercing her soul with those vibrant blue eyes.

“Hello,” she smiled back, her heart in her throat. Then she twisted, never letting gravity have a turn with him in this dance. She spun, her grip dragging down to his arms.

Once, twice, three times she spun him, before she let him go. Letting go this time was so different from everytime they performed this maneuver on the field. She wasn’t flinging him into an attack. There was no enemy waiting.

She was throwing him into the end of his act. The end of this beautiful, sacred moment.

Robin twisted in the air and grabbed his staff from his sash. He extended it and dug it into the center of the ring, slowing his descent. He spun around it, his limbs just gliding across the surface as he slowed more and more.

He ended with one leg wrapped around the staff, while the other kicked out. He leaned back and threw his arms out and laughed.

It was like he was mocking the crowd. I flew, his laughter said, I got to fly and you didn’t.

“Ladies and gentlemen! The Last Flying Grayson!”

Robin got to his feet as the crowd stood, screaming and cheering. He bowed once again, and then departed out of the ring, choosing to cartwheel and backflip out.

Starfire was stuck floating in the air, tears streaming down her face, as a bittersweet smile came over her face.

“You coming down?” Cyborg asked.

She nodded awkwardly and sank back into her seat.

“You okay?” Raven asked, offering the edge of her cape to wipe her tears.

“I am only sad it is over,” she lamented.

“No worries!” Cyborg chirped. “I recorded the whole thing!” He tapped his head. “You can watch it over again whenever you want!”

“Oh glorious!” She clapped her hands together, feeling slightly better.

Of course, watching a video would never be the same as watching it in person, but it would have to be enough.

“You guys enjoying the show?” A voice asked from behind them.

They turned in shock as Robin, back in his normal costume and mask appeared behind them. He crouched and stole a handful of Beast Boy’s popcorn.

“That Richard Grayson is something else! Did you see that tightrope act? I wonder how long it took him to perfect that!”

Starfire grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him into a hug. “It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!”

Robin blushed, as she had basically pulled him into her lap, but he hugged her back, nonetheless.

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” said Beast Boy, “but it was certainly the craziest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“I knew you had some skill, but I get so focused on the martial arts part, I don’t even think about your acrobatics!” Said Cyborg.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Raven asked, not accusatory, just curious.

“Uh…” he pulled at his collar. “It’s like…really hard for me to talk about. I figured just showing you would be easier.” He adjusted his grip on Starfire, resigned to the fact he was sitting in her lap. He couldn’t get out of the hug if he tried. “It’s…it’s been 10 years. 10 years ago today that they…my parents…” He swallowed harshly. “Haly knew. He knew I would spend the day crying and in self loathing. It still hurts, and it might never stop, but by being able to do this…it was kinda like…being with them again.”

Starfire hugged him tighter, burying her face in his shoulder.

“You seemed to have fun. Are you gonna do it again someday?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

Eventually, Starfire let him go so that he could sit next to her instead. She still held his arm, too emotional to let him go completely, and honestly, he didn’t mind so much.

They all watched the end of the show together, a rancorous applause as almost all the performers came out and took their bows.

Then, the lights came up, and everyone was free to go.

Robin released a little sigh. It was hard, but it had been worth it. He felt happier and more content than he expected he’d feel today.

“So,” Raven began. “Are you going to introduce us to your friends, or what?”

“Oh yes! I should very much like to meet your elephant!”

Robin smiled. “Whatever you guys want.”

—

They waited for the crowds to thin before Robin led them to another tent. Here, all manner of performers lounged about, some still in costumes and makeup. When the Titans entered, attention swiveled to them.

“Dickie Bird!”

Then there was an onslaught of ‘way to go’s and ‘atta boy’s, accompanied with affectionate head rubs and back pats. Robin took it all in stride, vainly fixing his hair afterwards. “Uh…thanks guys. It means a lot. Um, these are my friends, The Teen Titans. Cyborg, Beast Boy, Raven, and Starfire.”

“It is good to meet you all in person,” Mr. Haly himself said, shaking their hands. “Tonight was a smashing success. Thank you for all your help.”

“Uh, gotta be honest man, we just showed up tonight. Robin took care of everything. If anything, we should be thanking you guys for the amazing show!”

“Nevertheless, attaching your name to the show really brought the crowds in! We’re back, baby!”

Robin smiled, thrilled to see Haly’s Circus thriving.

“So,” Beast Boy began, talking quietly to Robin, but everyone heard him. “Everyone here knows who you are, huh?”

Robin blushed, embarrassed. “Yep.”

“You think a little piece of fabric would keep us from recognizing ol’ Dickie Bird?” A man with smudged paint on his face asked. “Even if you did grow a bit.” He nudged Robin.

A strong man spoke up, with a heavy Russian accent. “Your friends, they do not know how you got the name Robin?”

“Hey yeah!” Cyborg said, vexed. “How come we don’t know? Does anyone know?”

Robin rubbed the back of his head. “It’s…kind of embarrassing.”

“Please share!” Starfire asked, linking her fingers around his arm.

Robin sighed. “So…I was born on the first day of spring, so my mom always called me her little Robin.”

“Aww,” said Beast Boy. “That’s sweet!”

Robin continued. “She said it so often, it became kind of like a stage name, though never officially since I only performed with my parents. But we did talk about me having a solo act as I got older, under the name ‘Robin, the Boy Wonder’. When I joined Batman, I was 8 and didn’t know any better and used the same name.” He gave a little shrug. “I don’t even think Batman knows.”

“Oh, he knows,” said Haly with a laugh. “Shortly after your debut, he sent me a strongly worded email telling me not to tell anyone or there would be consequences.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Did you respond to that nonsense?”

“You know, I did? I told him you were our boy and that we wouldn’t do anything to put you into harm’s way…which is why we let that playboy billionaire adopt you, despite the fact he clearly didn’t know how to raise a kid. Anyways, I asked Batman if he was in the habit of sending kids to fight on the street. And you know what he told me? He said that you went after Anthony Zucco yourself, at 8 years old. He found you out there and you told him you weren’t going to stop looking for Zucco until he was dead or behind bars.”

“Toughest eight year old I ever heard of,” Raven said, actually sounding impressed.

“So, I let it go. But, we've been keeping an ear out for you.”

Robin wasn’t all that surprised that Batman had basically threatened his extended family, but he was proud that Haly didn’t put up with his bullshit.

It also sounded like they didn’t know that Bruce Wayne was Batman. So that was a relief.

“It was Donna’s idea to reach out to you,” Haly continued. “I didn’t know if it was a good idea, but you don’t know until you take a chance, right?”

The woman that had taken the tickets came up to him and put an arm around his shoulder. “We still love you, Dickie Bird, and I knew we had to take that chance to see you.”

“Dickie Bird?” Beast Boy asked Cyborg, in a hush.

Another man started whistling a happy tune, before a few others joined in singing, “a Dickie Bird whispered ‘haven’t you heard? Spring is here, spring is here, spring is here’.”

Then Robin finished, “And you and I fell in love in reply on hearing the Dickie bird’s news.” His smile was tight. “I…had forgotten they sang that. But I guess I never forgot the song.”

Donna gave him a loving pinch to his cheek. “Now Dick, there’s something we wanted to give you. We found this in the archives, and we thought you would want it.” She retrieved a tube from a table, and two of the strong men opened it up and unraveled the large poster inside.

The Flying Graysons

New Addition

Dick, Our Boy Wonder

It was the poster from his debut show, three years before the accident.

“Is that you?” Starfire asked, nearly cooing. “You were so small.”

“Still is,” Cyborg grinned.

“Yeah,” Robin breathed. “Thanks Donna. It means a lot.”

“Of course, baby. Now, we’re gonna put the poster from tonight in there too, so you can have both, okay?”

Robin just nodded.

Starfire could see this was hard for him, and just laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you go say hello to Zitka?” Donna urged. “I’m sure she missed you.”

“Will she remember you?” Cyborg asked.

Robin chuckled, “well, they say an elephant never forgets.”

—-

When they returned to the tower, Robin shut Richard Grayson away in the closet, where he belonged, along with both posters. Just a skeleton of his past life. He was Robin now, all the time. 24/7.

Whenever Starfire tried to talk about it, he deflected the topic. Not harshly or cruelly, he just decided not to answer her directly.

It broke her heart.

About a week later, she sat on the rooftop, looking at the moon, that haunting accordion tune playing in her mind, the silhouette of her friend against the curtain was just a shadow on the surface.

“Hey…you okay?” Robin’s voice asked from the door. “You were pretty quiet today.”

She wasn’t sure if she could handle a conversation with him right now. All she wanted was to talk about his performance. She had questions and observations, and she just wanted to share it all with him. She couldn’t bear hearing him shut it all down again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Can I?” She asked just as softly.

“Of course.”

“It is…about the circus.”

He frowned.

She prepared herself for the wall that was about to drop.

Instead, he took a seat beside her, legs crossed in front of him. “I’m sorry. You’ve been trying to talk about it all week and…like I said, it’s really hard for me to talk about.”

“I understand. I have things in my life that are equally difficult to share.” She reached out and touched the side of his face, where the painted tear had been. “I just…admired your performance so much. You were most joyous. I have seen you happy, but never like that. I would like to share that experience with you again. Perhaps then maybe one day, it will not be so hard to talk about?”

Robin was quiet for a long time, considering it. Then he offered a small smile. “I’ll think about it.”

She returned the smile. “That’s all I ask.”

—

Another week passed. Robin seemed to clam right back up.

Starfire was resigned to the fact that that one night at the circus was all anyone was ever going to see. And she had to be fine with it. So what if he was her best friend? It was his tragedy, and only he could decide who he’d share it with.

But then, late one night, there was a knock at her bedroom door.

“Hello?” She asked, as she answered.

There was no one there, but there was a package at her feet. A brown paper wrapped parcel, with a note on it.

‘Starfire,

Please put this on and meet me in the training room.

-Love, Robin’

Curious, she ripped the paper off, only to find a purple piece of cloth, nearly the same color as her uniform. She unraveled it, surprised to find a suit made of stretchy material. It was purple but had silvery accents and glittery beads all over the front.

It was so pretty! She held it up and did a little twirl, then rushed to put it on.

It wasn’t a completely perfect fit, but it was comfortable and not too tight. She zipped through the tower in haste to get to the training room.

Richard Grayson was there, dangling from his ankle from a bar hanging from the ceiling. He looked at her as she entered.

“Oh wow!” He chirped, flipping off to land on his feet. “That turned out great! I wasn’t sure if it would fit, because I measured a spare uniform that obviously doesn’t have all the measurements—”

“You made this?”

“...yeah? I made all my uniforms. Always have.”

“There is so much I do not know about you, Richard Grayson,” she smirked, coming closer.

He blushed, but smiled at her. “It’s so weird hearing you say that name.”

“Why do you look at me in such a way?” She asked, tilting her head.

“What way? I’m just…looking at you. I mean, you’re pleasant to look at, but if I’m staring I’m not meaning to!” Shutupshutupshutupshutup!

“You mean to say this is how you look at me when your mask is on as well?”

“Yes?” Was that a good thing? Or was he in trouble now? Did he hurt her feelings? Was he leering? Glaring?

A pretty blush dusted her cheeks as her smile deepened, though it looked like she was trying not to show it.

He cleared his throat. “Um…would you like to…learn some moves?”

Her eyes glistened. When she asked if he would share with her, she had expected him to just talk, not this! “Yes please!”

“Alright.” He ran and leapt, grabbing hold of the bar, then he contorted so he could hang upside down, his feet hooked around the wires. “Okay, come here and hold my arms, facing the same direction as me.”

She gleefully did, having to hover a little to reach.

“Okay, you’re going to push off that box to get us swinging.”

She did, and thrust her legs to pick up momentum.

“Good! Now just do it in time with me so we pick up maximum height.”

“Can I not just fly us up?”

“You could, but where’s the fun in that?”

She giggled. “You always have a certain way to do things.”

“That I do!”

They swung together, making the bar go farther and farther out.

“Okay, now I want you to kick up and try to hook your feet with my calves. Don’t worry if it takes a couple of times.”

Using her super strength, she easily flipped up and hooked her legs with his. She was going to tease him about how good she already was, until she realized the extremely intimate position this put them in. They were completely pressed together, and she saw straight into his blue eyes. “Oh,” she whispered.

“What?” He smirked.

“We are close.”

“Yep. That’s part of the experience. Now, put your arms around my neck.”

She did so, amazed that they could get any closer.

He had kept the swing moving despite being nervous about having Starfire so close, and effortlessly, he flipped them right side up so he was sitting on the bar and she was in his lap. “Ta-da!”

She couldn’t help but giggle again.

“Hey Star?”

“Yes Robin?”

“Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you. This is very sweet. What made you finally share?”

He kicked his legs so they stayed gliding through the air. “For the longest time, Trapeze represented falling instead of flying like it should. I figured…if anyone would understand flying, it would be you. So…” He avoided eye contact, feeling awkward. That was the dumb answer.

“That I do,” she grinned softly, tenderly. Her heart was full, she thought she might just burst. “What next?”

“Grab hold of the wires, then put your feet on the bar, right here.” He patted the space next to his hips.

She stood, sort of, and made a ‘v’ with her body.

“I’ll lean back, and you stand up straight. 1…2…3!”

Starfire readjusted her grip on the wires and stood, looking down. She watched as Robin fell backwards, and then disappeared. “What…?”

The weight on the bar shifted, and suddenly he was behind her, arms around her waist, and chin on her shoulder.

“How did you do that?”

“Trade secret,” he chuckled. “Now, when I tell you to, I want you to let go and bring your knees up.”

“But I am holding the wire, and you are holding me. If I let go…”

“Trust me Star,” he said earnestly. “You’ll love this.”

“Alright. I am ready when you are.”

He tightened his hold on her waist. “And…go!”

Starfire let go of the wire, tucked her knees, and instinctually clenched her eyes shut. She let out a loud ‘EEP!’ as she felt them fall backwards together. Then she flipped all the way around, before they came to a swinging stop. She peeled her eyes open to find herself parallel with the ground, being held by the hips.

She craned her neck to look at Robin, who was hanging by his knees. “Ta-da!” He chuckled. “It’s probably not all that exciting since you can fly on your own.”

She laughed and placed her arms out in front of her, like she did when she flew. “Contrariwise, it is very exciting! I am not prepared for what you are going to do. I am not in control.”

“So this is a good trust exercise then!”

“You have my trust, Robin,” she said so sincerely, so confidently, it brought a pang to his heart. He trusted her too. With his life, with his past, with his heart—

Starfire noticed he was using her like a pendulum to gain height again. So, she flew, just a little, just to get the bar moving.

“Ready Star?” He called down.

“What is happening?!”

“Here we go!”

Starfire let out a shriek this time as he yanked her upwards and let go, only to grab her a second later and hug her to himself. She fell to sit sideways in his lap as he sat on the bar.

“Did I scare you?”

“Only for a moment!” She giggled, the joy in her soul bubbling over. She wrapped her arms around his neck for a better hold.

Robin lazily kicked his foot to keep them moving, but otherwise just enjoyed having her close. What a thought. They weren’t even talking.

He shook his head, a little embarrassed by himself.

“What is it?” She asked sweetly.

“Nothing, just thought of something ironic.”

“Would you please share your ironic thought?”

He held his breath.

Well.

He was Richard Grayson right now. No mask, no polymerized titanium cape, and Starfire was sitting on his lap.

Couldn’t really get more vulnerable than that, right?

He exhaled. “I was just thinking…I lost the two people I loved the most to a fall. But I don’t have to worry about losing the girl I love, because she can fly.” He offered a small smile.

“Me?” Her eyes brightened.

He just nodded.

“Robin, you truly love me?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

She touched his face, gently drifting her thumb over his cheek. “The feeling is mutual.”

His shoulders sagged in relief, and his smile grew.

“Shall we initiate lip contact?”

He barked a laugh, not because it was funny, but because it was so Starfire that it brought him immense joy. Instead of answering, he just leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

Starfire smiled into the kiss and hugged him tighter. Thankfully not too tight, as she had a tendency to get carried away with these things.

As they pulled away, they stayed close, just savoring the moment.

As Robin was in what was probably the happiest moment of his young life, it all shattered in front of his face. Like a bucket of ice water, the sound of three people clapping slapped against his face.

Well, a cyborg, changeling, and an empath.

Robin whipped his head around to stare at the intruders.

“Bravo! Encore!”

“Bravissimo!”

“Yay.”

“How…long…have you guys been there?”

“Dude, like, the whole time. When I saw Starfire dressed like a purple disco ball, I knew something like this was going down.”

“The pageantry! The drama! The action! The romance! Best show I’ve seen all week,” Cyborg smirked.

“Congrats on the kissing,” said Raven, who seemed genuinely happy for them in her own way.

Robin sighed. He should have known better.

“So are you going to teach us how to acrobat?” Asked Beast Boy.

“Do we have to sit on your lap too?” Asked Cyborg, wiggling his eyebrows.

“As long as I get a sparkly leotard, I’ll be happy,” Raven made a rare joke.

Robin was far too embarrassed to retort to any of that, so he just hid his face in Starfire’s shoulder.

“Dudes! We can start our own circus! We have a full set! And we could all learn Trapeze from Robin and do a whole show! We can call it, ‘The Teen Swingers Club’.”

Cyborg and Robin burst out laughing while Raven desperately tried not to.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Yes, I do not understand the joke either.”

Robin whispered the meaning to her quietly before she also burst out laughing.

“Aw man. I hate it when my best jokes are accidents.”

“The best things that happen to you are accidents,” Raven quipped. “You probably were an accident.”

“Hey!” He barked, offended.

Starfire giggled and rested her head on Robin’s chest. “Do not be embarrassed, Robin. For I could not hide what happened from our friends, and this way we do not have to tell them.”

He sighed. He supposed that was a bonus.

Besides, he had started this trend of showing vulnerability instead of talking about his feelings. Why stop now?

“Hang on,” Robin told Starfire.

She gleefully squeezed tighter as he fell backwards, and the rest of the Titans cheered.

—

The next day, both posters were hanging proudly in the training room, right by the acrobatics equipment.

#fanfiction #robin #starfire #robstar #teen titans #tt animated #dick grayson #koriand'r

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skiyoosmi · 6 months

Text

if fate permits

⤷ chapter thirty two: that's my girl

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marga's notes. haji, my guy, i have no words for you but i am so sorry

There’s an endless abyss of questions that sit just by the ends of your tongue and threaten to spill from your mouth as the blonde haired lad continues to lace your fingers together, as if all of these were normal, as if not even a single thing about it was supposed to be unnatural. Your heart unusually thumps louder and faster when he gently smiles and everything zones out. Albeit the crowd that starts to form as you stand in the middle of the streets, there’s serenity that’s settling within you as he holds you near him.

You want to ask why he’s compliant with your actions, why feeling his warmth on the tips of your fingers seems innate for you, why your heart screams to have his. You hold back though, scared that it may ruin this.

“Uhm…” you trail off, unsure on what to talk about after your mini-breakdown and your current circumstances. There’s a light blush dusting your cheeks, feeling giddy like you were both teenagers. How shameful, you chastise yourself.

“Let’s wait for Samu to get back,” he only says, lightly squeezing his hold of you, probably as an attempt to assure you that everything’s good. Yeah, everything’s fine– you’ve never felt better before.

You both stand there in comfortable silence, watching the passersby and feeling the wind lightly swoosh the strands of your hair. He quietly hums a tune, heart dancing (it also skips because he’s holding your hand and he’s also never felt better before).

“That’s from Cinderella, right? The live action,” you speak up, recognizing the song. Lavender’s Blue.

He turns his head to look at you, eyes brightening while he nods and replies, “yeah, it’s become my favorite.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ due to the unexpected words. He chuckles at your expression, “guess you never took me to be the type who enjoys sappy songs like that, huh?”

You shrug, “you can’t blame me, it’s literally a nursery song, Tsum.”

Tsum. His heart skips again at the familiar moniker.

“It reminds me of someone,” he explains, looking at you rather wistfully. Your chest starts to contract, the vein of temptation moves closer to the opening of your lips, pulling your heart, your nerves. You have to do it, you have to ask.

“About your thread, who was your soulm–”

“And I’m back! God, the queue was way too long. It’s just waffles, damn. Why do people obsess over it?” Osamu cuts you off, three packs of waffles in his hold while he rambles on, “it can literally be m…ade at home...”

There’s a stunned look plastered on his face when he comes closer to the both of you as his voice quiets down by the end of his rants. His eyes quickly flicker down towards your joined hands, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he hands you your waffles, stands beside you and hums in delight, seemingly pleased with the progress between his brother and you. Hmm, I guess the queue was worth it. My matchmaking skills never fail.

“Sorry, YN. I didn’t quite catch you a while ago, what were you asking again?” Atsumu gives you a slightly apologetic look and leans closer.

The question dies within you as you purse your lips and shake your head, “it was nothing, don’t mind me.”

It’s all foolish anyway, you chastise yourself again.

You spend the rest of the morning loitering around the familiar streets of your previous home. Eventually though, you end up in the old playground where you, Osamu and Kiyoomi used to play volleyball when you were kids, at least that’s what you remember. If only your memory was not malfunctional.

You sit idly at the swing, waiting for your brother to catch up with you three as he had some work to do a while ago.

“By the way, we’re planning to have a Christmas party sometime this month. You should come, it’s like a mini reunion with some of our acquaintances from college too,” Atsumu tells from beside you, excitement evident in his voice. On the other hand, Osamu feels conflicted, would it really be a good idea to bring all the people in this chaotic fate together in one event?

“Oh, I’m not sure. I’m finalizing some stuff for the launch of my book so I might be here and there, going around places, you know? Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“What do you mean intrude? It’ll be fun, you know the people there, anyway. They were our companions when we did the Cinderella play together!”

Osamu chokes on his own saliva at Atsumu’s words. Idiot! Idiot! This stupid idiot!

“Come again?”

The blonde realizes what he just said and frantically tries to think of an excuse. Only, there is none. He can’t take back what he said, he can’t–

“You’ve both been slipping up the whole day, you know? You have to do better than that if you want me to believe that you’re both not keeping something from me,” you casually say, “you’re not good at this.”

You stand up and face them both, eyes narrowing when both of them gulp out of nervousness. You move your gaze towards the blonde, “just who are you, Atsumu?”

The wind picks up its pace and whooshes the fallen leaves at the ground. The sand feels hot beneath Atsumu’s feet. This was not supposed to happen, at least not today. He wasn’t prepared. Because how was he supposed to tell you the truth? How was he supposed to say that he was your soulmate, the one who asked you to cut both your threads, the one who caused all this mess? How can he ever face another disappointment on your face and how will he take the picture of your loath towards him?

“Hey, you three look constipated,” a voice from behind you speaks, breaking the tense air in the playground. There stood your brother with a volleyball in his hand and a small smile formed by his lips. He holds the ball up, “wanna play like the good ol’ times?”

And yet again, fate tries to intervene.

With the tension from minutes ago forgotten, you and Atsumu team up to play against your brother and his. It’s nothing too serious though, just a game where you all try to pick up scattered memories from your childhood, laughter and giggles resonating all over the playground. When your duo scores, Atsumu gives you an enthusiastic cheer and a high five, and your heart does a flip in celebration. He looked pretty, even more so when he’s happy.

“Dude! Stop playing seriously, you can’t keep scoring when YN hasn’t even gotten one,” Osamu whines and pulls on Kiyoomi, “and you, boy, play seriously, will you?! You can’t let this airhead beat us, you’re better than that.”

The curly haired lad only grumbles about how childish Osamu was.

Atsumu cackles, “Samu, just get better!”

Another round begins and Kiyoomi lightly serves the ball. Atsumu, with how experienced he was in the game, catches the ball with ease and brings it to your direction, “YN, it’s yours!”

You jump and spike it towards the other side, laughing when Osamu is unable to receive it.

“Yes!” you shriek and turn to your partner in surprise and joy at the same time, “I scored!”

He nods enthusiastically and cheers with you, “You did! That’s my girl!”

That’s my girl…

There’s a searing ache that suddenly comes to your head, accompanied by bright lights and echoing voices.

YN, I told you to calm down….

Distorted and blurry images of what seems like a silhouette of a younger you and Atsumu quickly flash.

I love you, Atsumu…

…. Hey, why do you look emotional today?

You wince and stagger back, hand going up to clutch your head, as if it would help ease the mental pain you’re feeling. The blonde takes notice of it and comes closer with alarm and worry all over his face, “YN, are you alright? Do you not feel good?”

I love you too, YN, always remember that although I’m so shitty sometimes.

You frantically gasp for air as your chest starts to feel tight, “I… I c-can’t–”

“Uhh, guys,” Atsumu anxiously calls out to your other companion while reaching out his arms to catch you, “YN? Stay with me, hey…. shit, YN!”

The last thing that comes to your view is his panic-filled and watery orbs, Osamu and your brother running in your direction from behind him. You try to read his mouth as he tries to speak to you, but you do not hear his words. You think he was saying ‘I’m sorry for everything’ and perhaps, ‘please don’t leave me again.’

As you give in to the synchronous pain of your head and heart, you close your eyes and lonely tears escape from them. Then everything fades into black.

Maybe you were just being delusional. Or perhaps, it’s fate finally going back to your side.

After what seemed like eternity, you awoke with a gasp and sat up abruptly. What the hell just happened? It seems you were transferred to your room, the familiarity of the wall paint and decors sinking in. There’s a hunched figure by your desk, clicking on your laptop, rather aggressively.

“... Hajime? Is that you?” Hearing your voice, he sits up straight but does not turn around, his focus fixated on your laptop. What could be so intriguing in it that he won’t–

“Shit.. don’t read that!” you exclaim, immediately standing up. You feel a bit of dizziness coursing through your body once again but you ignore it and try to approach him rapidly, “those are my drafts!”

“I’ll make it remember my love for you… because it’s you… because I’m a fool for you,” he finally starts talking, an angry timbre of disbelief lying underneath his voice, “what do you even do when somebody claims to be your fated one but your soul rejects the notion…?”

He turns around and you reel back from the hate that’s swimming in his eyes, “you were never gonna believe me. You’re never gonna love me. Fucking hell, you don’t even want to try this shit with me!”

“Hajime, that’s for my book. It’s fucking fiction, idiot!” you angrily respond. All sorts of betrayal coursing through the both of you as you heave a breath– him from reading your what seems like a diary, you from him going through your things without permission. It was as if he invaded your mind and made a mess once again, leaving you all mad, confused and feeling shitty.

He humorlessly laughs at your words, “you must think I’m a pushover or something, huh?”

He turns to look down at the laptop again. your drafts are still on display. He points at it, “YN, I’m not fucking dumb. Stop lying, you’re not fucking good at it. This..? This is you. All of this is you! I’m not fucking stupid.. god..!”

Stupid gods… can’t even do… right….

The searing lights return once again. Another wave of distorted, blurry images cause you to step back and wince. There’s a continuous echo of voices that fill your ears, all familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Iwaizumi notices your behavior, finally calming down. You can’t hear what he was saying though, the voices were too overwhelming.

Giving it… coward and a selfish… can’t even cut…

… I love you, Ts–... don’t ever regret…

You stumble, tears welling up your eyes as you try to get used to the pain. Your efforts go in vain though, so you cry. The fight gets abandoned as he gathers you in his arms, shushing you, “hey, listen to me. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re fine, we’ll be fine.”

He repeats the words as strokes down your hair. We’ll be fine, YN.

And it’s almost as if he’s trying more to convince himself than you.

You both sat on your bed as you calmed down. He plays with your finger and doesn’t look up at you but he softly speaks, “just give me a chance.”

You stay quiet, head too busy recalling the voices that played in your head just seconds ago. You only look at his figure, guilt filling your guts when he looks back at you with begging eyes, “please, YN.”

“I’m trying,” you whisper sorrily, “I really am.”

The rest of the night remains uncomfortably serene as you eat dinner with your family. You pretend you don’t notice each and every lingering, angry gaze Kiyoomi gives to Iwaizumi. You pretend it doesn’t bother you when he calls on the spiky haired lad and asks him to talk privately. You pretend it doesn’t and yet here you were, following them to where they stood outside, in your backyard.

They’re a little far from where you were hiding though, so you only pick up a portion of their conversation.

“Why are you doing this, Iwaizumi-san?”

“I like her. Actually let me correct that, I love her.”

“Hmm. Are you sure about that?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not really. After all, you do not intentionally make a fool out of someone you love, Iwaizumi.”

#haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu smau #haikyuu smau #haikyuu headcanons #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smau #miya atsumu #iwaizumi hajime

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luna-redamancy · 2 years

Note

Hey could I have a Kili x Reader where the reader is someone Gandalf recruited early on the adventure. She spends all her time in the woods and can even converse with animals as well as being an adept hunter and survivalist? Kili just becomes infatuated then and there

Hello!! I'm so sorry this took so long to complete, but I hope you enjoy:

“I thought you said you had another person attending, Gandalf, your apprentice?” Thorin’s words floated above the murmur of the company members as they feasted on poor Bilbo’s pantry.

“I do, however, unfortunately, they were caught up in other matters. Do not fret, Thorin, they will meet us along the way.”

“What matters were so important to have missed a vital meeting before we set off on this journey?” Thorin’s tone was criticizing as he imagined a young lad trying to drink himself into a stupor-

“Medical ones,” Gandalf’s cheery disposition turned into a frown as he gazed upon the dwarf.

“They are providing medical guidance for a town riddled with disease. I say a sobbing child with a fever needs their attention more than a group of rowdy, but otherwise healthy, dwarves.”

“My apologies,” Thorin tilted his head to Gandalf who responded in kind.

“I know you are anxious to meet the final member of your Company, Thorin, trust me when I say everything will fall together- in due time.”

And that was the last they discussed the missing apprentice, your absence not being brought up again.

The next morning, after a night of feasting and somber singing, the Company set out on their journey.

The trees were lush and soon the rolling hills of the Shire had all but disappeared behind the horizon. Coin was shared upon the arrival of Bilbo, but the final member of the Company had still yet to arrive.

“Gandalf,” Thorin addressed as he fell to the middle of the line where Gandalf was atop of his horse.

“Do you know when your apprentice will be arriving?”

“I would say–”

“Right now,” You called out, popping up next to Gandalf as you stared at the bird in your hand. It was a small old-world sparrow, happily chirping as you nodded.

“You are-” Kili almost interrupted, the Company now halted as they stared at you awaiting introduction.

“One moment,” You held up a finger, keeping your gaze trained on the bird, pausing in your steps.

“Thank you,” You said after a moment, smiling at the small creature. You watched as the bird then took off, flying into the trees.

“You’re Gandalf’s apprentice?” Balin tried this time, your gaze returning to the Company.

“Yes, I am,” You bowed your head, “My name is (Y/n),” You greeted, your grin widening as each dwarf gave their name.

“And you?” You stared at Kili who seemed to be starstruck, eyes wide and round as the wind shifted the leaves of the trees, making the sunlight highlight different areas of your face. Dipped in golden light.

Fili chuckled, turning into a cough as Kili elbowed him harshly in the gut. “Kili, at your service,” he bowed his head.

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” You turned to Gandalf, “There may be trouble along the old road,” You explained, “The sparrows have seen trolls taking livestock from farmers, they recommend to stay away.”

“Sparrows?” Bilbo questioned and before you could explain, Gandalf was quick to boast.

“(Y/n) holds many abilities, but one of them is animal conversing, birds are her favorite.”

“They know so much,” You shrugged, as the company resumed traveling. Walking alongside Gandalf, you failed to notice the eyes trained on your form and drinking in your appearance.

“Also, they say the population of rabbits has increased, especially towards the winding trees further north, we’re likely to be able to catch a few for supper come time to set up camp,” You were already planning your hunt in your head.

Kili felt like he was going to swoon. He was most certainly in deep, and you’ve only said a few sentences.

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#kili x reader #kili x you #kili #the hobbit reader insert #the hobbit x reader #reader-insert #fanfic #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #xreader #fluff #fanfiction #jrr tolkien #female reader insert #female reader

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years

Text

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫. 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝

remus lupin x animagus!reader

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢, 𝚒 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠

summary: you and the marauders become animagi for the first time and you manage to (not-so-subtly) crush on remus even while he’s a werewolf.

w/c: 5k

･ﾟ⋆☾*･ﾟ.・。.*゜✭・･ﾟ✫・⋆。.

life was a willow and it bent right to your wind head on the pillow, i could feel you sneaking in

you hadn’t spoken to remus since last week. it wasn’t like the months before, where you’d slowly but unintentionally distanced yourself from him in favor of the animagus potions; no, this time, it was he who took to avoiding you. the day after your argument, he caved into sparing you a few brief glances. but since then, he’d successfully managed to shut you out in every class, at every meal, and disappear from the library and common room.

it was torture.

“what’s the incantation again?” sirius mumbled to himself as he flipped through the pages of the book that had begun to eat away at you each time you saw it. the guilt had nothing to do with the fact that you’d stolen an official ministry document from the restricted section or that you were using it to do something very dangerous and illegal, but because it reminded you that you’d sacrified your relationship with remus by choosing to become an animagus.

sure, you were becoming an animagus for him. but it still took all your self restraint not to spit out the damn mandrake leaf every time you saw the devastation and betrayal crack through his straight-faced exterior. in the past three years you’d known remus, you’d never once fought like this. you didn’t fight, period. there were squabbles over the best muggle literature and who got the last copy of a library book and whether tea or coffee was the most complimentary for a reading session, but none of those lasted more than a few hours or a day at most.

so yes, you’d rather have a girl’s night with bellatrix lestrange than this—whatever it was.

“ah! amato animo… a tomato? atonement… animagus- huh?” james squinted at the instructional pages; the parchment was limp from the sustained humidity of the dungeons and the ink had slightly bled, so you couldn’t blame james.

oh, you could, actually. “merlin, james. gimme those-” you grabbed his glasses from his face and wiped the grime and condensation off with the sleeve of your robe. “there, better?”

james’ eyes buggled in astonishment. “loads! woah, i feel like i’ve gotten a whole new prescription!”

you grimaced. “y’might as well have… do you not clean your glasses, james?”

james shook his head and his curls bounced along. “no, why would i?”

you looked back at the parchment.

peter elbowed james harshly. “listen up, mate. it’s amato animo animato animagus, ‘right?” peter rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “not any of that… tomato rubbish.”

“i figure we ‘ought to head up; i think the ceiling’s already beginning to leak.” sirius shuffled his belongings together and tucked them under his arm. “up and at ‘em, lads! and… lass.”

you waved him off. “nah, i figure i count as one of the lads now. i’ve seen all of you half naked, ‘cept for james, who was full naked. we’re forever now.”

your group ascended the stairs, footsteps and voices echoing off the stone walls. peter laughed heartily. “i think you’re right. you ‘oughtta be a full marauder, at this point.”

james nodded. “yeah, and you even know about moony’s furry little secret! plus, we’re breaking so many laws right now and become ani-”

sirius slapped the back of james’ head as you slammed your hand over james’ mouth. james cried out, the sound muffled by your palm.

“what was that for?” james sputtered, genuinely in pain.

“you are the worst at keeping secrets, james potter. remind me to never make you my secret keeper,” you groaned.

“hey, i’m not that bad!” peter snorted. “i’d rather have sirius as my secret keeper than james.”

you all looked at the boy thoughtfully. james nodded and shook his finger at peter. “let’s be honest, the only person we should trust with secret-keeping is peter. or moony, but he’s not here at the moment.”

“shush, we’re here!” sirius pointed his head at a large window facing the hogwarts grounds. from there, you could see the lightning storm tearing violently at the branches of the whomping willow.

“well, you all know what t’do.” james sat on the ground matter-of-factly and pressed the tip of his wand over his heart. “amato animo animato animagus… hello? get to it!”

you all followed suit, though peter was chewing his lip nervously. “is this gonna work? i mean, we only had one sunset between finishing the potion and the electricity storm so we never did a sunrise incantation… will that be enough? plus, we started the spell during the storm, so will that-”

“shut it, would’ya?” sirius grumbled. “we’ve got- holy shit!” sirius gasped. “i- i feel the second heartbeat!”

your eyes widened. “godric, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

james nodded numbly. “we’re in deep shit.”

“ready?” you asked, clutching the crystal phial that had once held your mandrake leaf and the moth chrysalis. it was now a thin blood red potion, enough for one mouthful.

“y-yeah,” sirius whispered, knuckles white as he gripped the fabric of his robes.

“i still think it’s a bad idea to do this in our dorm,” peter fretted, always the cautious one. “what if someone walks in?”

“that’s why we’ve locked the door, duh.”

“-or what if one of our animagus forms is a-an elephant, and we break everything?”

“that’s a problem for later-”

“or what if it doesn’t work and we get stuck in a horrible half-transformation forever?”

james grinned. “well, that’d certainly suck, wouldn’t it?” he uncorked his bottle and held it up in the air. “cheers, lads!” with one gulp, he’d swallowed the potion with confidence. nothing happened.

you and sirius looked at each other, eyebrows raised. taking a deep breath, you followed suit, downing the potion all at once. similarly, there was no change.

“oh! we have to do the incantation again…” you flipped through the book, skimming for any missed instructions. you grimaced. “ah, the book reads: you must show no fear. it is too late now, to escape the change you have willed.”

“on that cheery note,” james announced, pointing his wand to his chest once more, “amato animo animato animagus!”

at once, james let out a strained groan. “fuck, that’s killer!” he clutched his side.

you figured it was best to finish this quickly. “amato animo animato animagus,” you mumbled, bracing yourself for the incoming pain.

you now understood why so few people decided to become animagi. the gruelling preparation process aside, this was the worst pain you’d ever felt (and that you’d ever feel, you thought).

“does anyone else feel like they’re being barbequed alive or is that just me?” peter gasped.

“barbequed? you’re too white to have any barbeque seasoning… ah!”

“this is no time for joking!”

“it’s always time for-” james was abruptly cut off.

“what in godric’s name-” sirius sobbed through his pain, marveling at the stag that had taken james’ place.

of course james was the first to transform. he was always a bit of an overacheiver.

“ohh, i’m really feeling that double heartbeat now,” you panted, curled into the fetal position. james looked like he wanted to move over to you, but he knew better. peter was right—what if someone’s animagus was an elephant? james didn’t want to be in the way for that transformation.

“oh my go-”

when had the world become so small? everything had changed color… this was it. you were in so much pain that you were beginning to hallucinate; the next stage would be unconsciousness.

no, that wasn’t right. your nose twitched. why was your nose twitching? you couldn’t control it. god, the dorm smelled horrible. looking at your feet—well, they were no longer feet—you were confronted with the truth: your animagus was a rabbit.

a damn rabbit? you thought. why couldn’t i be something cool, like a bear? or a gryffindor lion? well, i suppose that wouldn’t be very inconspicuous… the marauders are going to tease me relentlessly for this…

you hopped—hopped!—towards your new and alarmingly large friends. sirius was a large black dog with long, coarse hair. he licked you eagerly, covering you in drool, and you wished that you were something larger so that you could bit him in retaliation. you felt humiliated as you leaned onto your haunches and cleaned your face in the way rabbits did—yes, the marauders weren’t ever going to let you live this down.

james the stag waved his head up and down like he was laughing. oh, how you wished you were a human so you could slap him. you’d have to settle for some angry foot stomping.

and peter… poor peter was a rat. a cruel part of you was delighted in peter’s unfortunate animagus form. it would take the ruthless commentary off of you.

but just like that, your fun was cut short. the doorknob was rattling aggressively, the noise only enhanced by your new senses. it seemed that sirius’ senses had also improved, as he seemed to panic as he sniffed the air. he growled lowly, slinking backwards until he was beside a bed and out of view from the doorway.

your ears swivelled and you caught a quiet voice. “alohamora.” it was then that you discovered a benefit to your animagus form: skittishness. your reflexes seemed to take over as you scurried ungracefully beneath the same bed that sirius was taking refuge behind. you couldn’t see much.

there was a bark. sirius’ bark. and then a loud clanging. and then a slam, followed by hesitantly approaching footsteps and a string of expletives.

it was remus.

“what. the. fuck.”

we can explain! you wanted to say, but another thing you discovered was that you couldn’t speak—not just in terms of human words, but you couldn’t bark like sirius or squeak like peter. so you thumped.

“did- did sirius put you in here? james? peter?” remus appeared to be going insane. “what was that? that noise?” he bent down to inspect the thump from beneath the bed and caught sight of a bunny rabbit, its bright eyes glowing back at him. his breath hitched in his throat.

“whaaaa- oh shit. there’s four of you. oh shiiiit.” remus pulled his head from under the bed and you wriggled towards him, following curiously. remus stepped backwards, appalled, pulling at his unruly hair which he’d stopped taking care of at the same time he’d stopped talking to you.

he rubbed his eyes. “no,” he whispered. “no, no, no.” remus turned around, left the room, and slammed the door behind him. you looked at peter, who was even smaller than you were, who squeaked a few times in response. james and sirius had yet to make much nose, which was smart—they didn’t want to draw attention from any other gryffindors.

the door flew open and remus entered once more, pointing a shaky, accusatory finger at the four of you. “i swear to merlin, i’ll kill you if you’re what i think you are. who i think you are,” he hissed.

your nose twitched aggressively as you shut your eyes, trying your best to transform back so you could defend yourself. you fell to your stomach, banging your cheek on the floor, as you returned to your human form. you thanked whoever created the rules of magic for allowing animagus transformers to keep their clothing.

“rem, please don’t-” you huffed, picking yourself up and rubbing your head. remus scrambled towards you, crouching down and pulling you into his arms wordlessly. caught off guard, you let yourself fall into his embrace, finding yourself surrounded by the scent that you’d missed for months. you buried your nose deeper into the crook of his neck. perhaps you were imagining it, but it seemed that you could smell more clearly even in human form.

remus stood, dragging you with him, and you stood in his arms limply, exhausted from the effort and extraneousness of the transformation. you wrapped your arms around his body, as he did yours, and closed your eyes. it was easy to pretend that three teenage boys were not currently in this room as illegally tranformed animagi while you were in the arms of your best friend, a werewolf, who you were madly in love with.

(the last part was a lie. you were very much aware that you were standing in remus’ arms.)

when james, sirius, and peter all became human once more, remus put his hands on your shoulders and walked you backwards so you could join the other marauders in their guilty little huddle.

“what have you done?” remus whispered, horrified.

you raised your hands in the air and shook them. “ta-da!”

it was very silent. to be fair, there wasn’t any precedent for “things to say after you went behind your best friend’s back and committed an extremely dangerous and illegal act in order to help him through a monthly werewolf transformation which is also dangerous and also most likely breaks many, many regulations.”

then sirius said. “in our defense-”

he only spurred on a panicked frenzy from remus. “merlin, how long- how did you- this is dangerous! and illegal! and- why would you- damn it, does this have something to do with me being a w- with my condition?” he hissed furiously.

“no! well… yes,” peter admitted bashfully.

“i’m sorry! we were trying to help. we thought that being around animals could distract the werewolf from hurting itself, and we’d be safe since we’re not human,” james hurriedly explained. “and we were careful and hey, it all turned out okay, right? no weird human-animal horror hybrids!”

remus paced, gnawing anxiously on one of his knuckles.

“rem, we didn’t mean to-”

“and you told her!” he snarled, pushing you aside and going straight for james. there was no logical sense to it—james wasn’t the only one who told you about the plan. “you fucking told her! i asked for one thing-”

“technically it was like, three things-”

“and you- damn it!” remus gasped for breath, dragging his hands down his face.

“‘tell her?’ tell who, me?” you interjected. “the fuck were you thinking; keeping secrets from me? i’m the one who bloody found this out in the first place! why are you talking about me behind my back?” you scoffed. “what, do you think i’m not man enough to handle whatever it was that you talked about?”

remus grabbed your shoulders once more, shaking you slightly. “i don’t want you involved in this! i don’t want you here!” he looked distressed. “that’s not what- no, i don’t want you to put yourself in danger because i knew my idiot friends were going to try something! i care about you too much to- merlin, you shouldn’t have.” then he ripped his hands from you like he’d burned himself.

“you don’t care about us?” sirius pouted, trying to lighten the mood.

“how did you even pull this off?” remus sat on his bed, defeated. “i mean, when did you even have time for this? how’d you even know how to?”

you pursed your lips to hide your smug smile. “i raided the restricted section,”

“you mean we-”

“and the potions closet, and got access to the dungeons…”

peter chimed in excitedly. “and i stole- got the phials, and the moth chrysali—don’t even ask—by the way, and sirius… held the map, and james… was our team leader. isn’t that right, james?”

james nodded.

remus buried his face in his pillow, trying to remain quiet as tears stubbornly forced themselves out of his eyes. he hated his friends. he hated their recklessness and stupidity and outrageousness. but most of all, he hated that he loved them.

“we only did it for you, moony.” james looked over at remus sadly, trying to gague his state.

remus hiccuped. “i’m a monster. i just- i don’t understand why you’d-”

you rushed to remus’ side, perching yourself on the edge of his mattress and laying a hand on his head, stroking his hair. “i’d- we’d do anything. anything for our moony.”

you were back by that window, the one where you and the marauders and uttered the animagus incantation. there was no storm this time, and the branches of the whomping willow almost seemed relaxed as they drooped loosely, allowing themselves to sway with the wind. there was an odd semblance of peace.

you jumped slightly as remus placed a hand on your shoulder. caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t heard him arrive.

“sorry,” he muttered. he looked out the window with you.

hit by a stroke of bravery, you brought your hand up to cover his, coaxing it off your shoulder. you let his hand fall to his side, where you tangled his fingers in yours. it was nice, albeit a little uncomfortable. his hands were much larger than your and your fingers didn’t quite fit together.

“the full moon’s tonight.” you sighed heavily. “shouldn’t you be resting?”

“i’m alright. i’m used to it.”

“you shouldn’t be. you shouldn’t have to get used to- all of this. i wish you didn’t have to- to suffer.”

remus smiled sadly, turning to look at you. “i wish that too.”

you looked down at the ground. “me and the boys are going to come with you tonight,” you stated. there was no room for questioning.

“what?”

you lowered you voice. “after pomfrey brings you down to the shack, we’re going to sneak out and meet you there. we’ll be in our animagus form before you transform. that way, you don’t have to be alone.”

“have you lost it?” remus laughed incredulously. his hand broke free from your so he could cup your cheeks softly. “no, you’re not.”

“we’re not, or i’m not?” you murmured. “i know you think differently of me. but i don’t want you to. i’m not- not weak, or naive, or helpless, remus. i’m just as good as the other marauders.”

“no, i don’t think that of you. quite frankly, i think you’re stronger and cleverer and better than all of them combined. i just don’t want- i couldn’t handle it if you got hurt. especially if it was because of me. i-”

“moony, you would never hurt me. i know you wouldn’t; there’s no hesitance in my heart. and i’m a rabbit,”

“yes, you’re a rabbit, do you not see how-”

“i’m a rabbit, which means i’m fast. i can get away if i really need to—which i won’t, because you’re not going to hurt me.”

“how do you know that? how can you be sure?”

“let’s say i’ve done my research. i did check out that book, remember?”

“don’t come near me with your damn prongs!” sirius laughed, pushing james’ head away as he pretended to butt into sirius’ chest with the crown of his head. the four of you had yet to transform, still reviewing the logistics in the boys’ dorm.

“prongs! i like that.” you declared. “i think we all need code names. moony has one. james can be prongs.”

“hey, that’s not nearly as cool as moony!”

sirius snorted. “peter should be wormtail. the first thing i saw when he was transformed was his tail, and i really thought his animagus was going to be a worm!”

it was peter’s turn to be outraged. “are you serious? that’s so-”

“‘course i’m sirius! i’m always sirius.”

“if we’re going by first impressions, i say sirius should be padfoot. i’m being ser- i’m not kidding, have you seen his paws? they’re like pillows; mine are perfectly normal, thank you,” you sniffed.

“alright, and what’ll you be?”

james gestured at you from head to toe. “hopper.” he declared.

“i’ll take it! y’know what, i’ll take it.”

“‘right then, folks! we better get going. have you got the map?” james dug through a heap of junk.

“we finished it?” peter questioned.

“yeah, hopper helped with the dungeons area. we just gotta seal it later.”

“wait a minute, how come you get to be hopper and i’m wormtail?”

sirius held up the parchment triumphantly. “found it! i also found dog treats. who got dog treats?”

“that would be me,” you snickered, finding yourself very funny. “the house elves helped.”

you’d only figured out the travel strategy yesterday, and in hindsight, you should’ve practiced. the invisibility cloak was draped over james’ antlers with peter in between each one, and sirius stood by james’ side while you balanced for dear life on sirius’ back. it was much more difficult for you to cling on than it was for peter. you’d tried being down on the ground, walking alongside sirius and james, but you had gotten too close to being stepped on for your comfort.

peter had wanted to travel as humans and transform outside, which you vehemently opposed. it was safer to become animals in the privacy of a dorm room rather than on open grounds. you thought it was a bit unfair that peter, who had an easier time being on james’ back than you on sirius’, was so adamant about “convenience.”

it was a clear evening. you’d always enjoyed astronomy, but since discovering remus’ condition, looking at the moon had only brought dread upon you. you figured it must be a lot worse for remus.

you’d found that, in animal form, there was some primitive way you could communicate. you found it secretly preferable to normal communication with the marauders. there was no nuance or room for jokes, only barks with general meanings and vague symboling. it was effective, timewise.

“hurry up!” prongs nudged his head forward, almost sending wormtail flying.

“merlin, we’re trying!” padfoot whined. “i’m carrying a bloody rabbit on my back, so would you give it a sec?”

you pawed at sirius’ head. “i’m not that much of a burden! do you know how hard you’re making this for me? i’m on the verge of slipping off at every turn!”

“would you all shut it? i’ve gotta get past the whomping willow,” wormtail squeaked. he scurried to the base of the willow with the nimbleness that only a rat could process and pressed his tiny hand to a special spot on the bark. its defensive branches went limp, and the three of you pushed forward.

you jumped from padfoot’s back, scrambling to land properly. your rabbit body abilities weren’t very natural to you.

“moony!” padfoot barked. there was a flicker of recognition in remus’ eyes, though for the most part, they were clouded in discomfort. the four of you shifted back to your human forms, hoping to comfort remus before his full moon transformation.

“remus?” you whispered, so quietly that it oculd be mistaken for a breath. you crept towards him, who was curled into himself in a corner of the room. “remus, it’s going to be okay. we’re here!” you tried to lift his spirits.

remus shook his head. “i’m scared,” he confessed shakily. “if anything happens to you…”

“we’ll be alright, moony.” peter smiled reassuringly. the wonderful thing about peter was his ability to empathize with everyone. he had a way of calming his friends down during their lowest moments. “and if anything goes wrong, we know to leave immediately,” peter promised.

remus nodded, eyeing the ground warily. “you should probably turn again. it’ll be anytime now.”

within moments, remus was surrounded by four animals once more. you still weren’t used to being so small as a rabbit. you nuzzled against remus’ thigh, rubbing the side of your face against the fabric of his pants affectionately. remus smiled sadly, using two fingers to scratch behind your ears. you cooed.

there was a sudden snapping and remus inhaled sharply. he was beginning to transform. you backed away quickly, as did the other marauders, and watched as remus began the painful process of becoming a werewolf. you didn’t bother looking—it felt voyeuristic; wrong. there was nothing you could do to cover the sound of remus’ bones breaking, his well-worn clothing ripping and tearing, and the cries of pain that already began to sound like howls.

you wished you could cry yourself. unfortunately, the best you could do was stomp your feet and grind your teeth (which you did, violently).

for all that remus described himself to be as a werewolf, you found him startlingly beautiful. before you was a wolf, larger and slightly lankier than normal, that was distinctly remus. he had the same opalescent green eyes, the same mysterious and confident composure, and the same quiet curiosity. this was not a monster or a creature meant to kill. this was remus lupin at his most vulnerable.

padfoot whined lowly. “moony, y’alright?”

moony seemed startled; not threatened, but rather emotional. “i’m alright.”

“hell yeah!” prongs waved his head around excitedly, forcing padfoot to skirt out of the way to avoid his wild antlers. “this is so cool!”

“speak for yourself,” wormtail squeaked. “i’m still motion sick. moony, do y’know how we got here? i rode on prongs’ bloody head, like ratatouille!”

“what’s a ratatouille?” prongs and padfoot were equally puzzled.

you and wormtail shared a look that only non-pureblooded folk could understand. “don’t even worry about it. that movie won’t be released until nearly three decades later, and you’ll all be well and dead by then. let’s just move on.”

“can i come closer, moony?” you tilted your head, one ear sticking up quizzically. moony huffed in affirmation.

“it’s me! can you tell?”

“i can.” moony seemed amused. “you’re just as annoying as a rabbit as you are a human.”

you thumped in displeasure. “you git. i didn’t carry a mandrake leaf in my mouth just for you to insult me.”

prongs grunted. “you are quite funny, hopper. have you seen her binky yet? it’s so embarrassing.”

you thumped a few times more. “yeah? says the one with the death contraption on his head! plus, all you can do is grunt like a caveman. i didn’t realize it was possible for you to get any dumber.”

padfoot barked madly. “merlin, i love this. i’m the only one who can make actual sounds.”

wormtail scratched the floor angrily. “don’t rub it in, padfoot. or i’ll bit you and give you rabies.”

“i don’t think that’s how it works,” prongs corrected.

“it’s nice to see that you’re all just as insufferable as animals,” moony snorted, beginning to pace restlessly around the shack. “it’s too cramped in here. i feel like i’m suffocating.”

“couldn’t be me,” wormtail gloated. “perks of being a rat, i s’pose.”

“oh, shut it wormy. i’ll have padfoot eat you.” you threatened.

padfoot cringed. “absolutely not!”

“what, so you don’t think i’m tasty? i’m offended by that, you know.”

“hey, do you want to be eaten? ‘cause i-”

“can you all shut it?” prongs hooved the wooden flooring with a loud scrape. “you’re stressing moony out.”

prongs was right—moony was beginning to scratch at himself again, only able to entertain himself with your animal antics for so long. you leaped towards him frantically, and moony froze. he brought his face down to yours very slowly, like he was scared to hurt you. you could feel his warm, damp exhales puff through his nose and onto your face. there was fear in moony’s eyes as he examined you, so fragile in comparison to his powerful, muscular build.

“don’t be so egotistical, moony,” you scoffed. you found that reverse psychology type tough love was the only thing that would get through to remus when he thought he didn’t deserve kind words. “you’re not special. hell, i’m loads better than you. watch this.” you spun in circles as you became a blur in front of moony’s eyes.

moony vocalized what sounded like a laugh. “c’mere,” he probed, inviting somebody else closer for the first time. “let me see you.”

“i’m quite pretty, aren’t i?” you bragged. “very cute, if i say so myself.”

“precious,” moony agreed. “you’re my little treasure.”

you wanted to kiss him right then and there. you were his treasure. you discovered another downside to your animagus form: you had no lips to kiss with. you settled for a lick.

“did you just… lick me?” moony teased, lifting the paw you’d licked curiously.

“so what if i did?” you countered, thumping, thumping, thumping as you’d learned was the best way to communicate your annoyance. the boys were annoying you a lot today.

“merlin, we should call you thumper instead.” wormtail chirped.

“hey, i want a kiss!” padfoot ran over, tongue lolling, and covered you in slobber as he repeated his minstrations from the first transformation. he did the same to moony, who pushed him off seconds later.

“i’m disgusting!” you whined, rubbing yourself against moony’s legs. “ew, you’re so gross, pads!”

“hey, where did those names come from anyway?” moony allowed himself to lay on the ground so you’d be able to wipe yourself off on him better.

prongs trotted over, careful not to impale anything. “you got a cool name, so we wanted ones for ourselves. d’you like ‘em?”

moony dipped his head in approval. “very fitting. though i think i prefer love over thumper, though,” he cooed.

you preened. “i love you too, moony.” as if on instinct, you stood on your hind legs and lifted yourself to the underside of moony’s head, where you rubbed your chin on the fur there.

wormtail, padfoot, and prongs gave each other indecipherable looks. wormtail spoke first. “did you- did you just scent him?”

“what does that even mean?” you denied.

“yeah, we’re just affectionate, s’all.” moony added.

“good godric, i’m tired. is anybody else tired?” you whined, stretching your body until you were very flat and long.

moony nudged you with his nose affectionately. “go to sleep, little one. the others will wake you up when it’s time to go.”

so you closed your eyes, curled up against the warmth of moony’s chest, feeling his heart beat steadily against your body—the body you’d sacrificed months of time for in order to be here with him.

･ﾟ⋆☾*･ﾟ.・。.*゜✭・･ﾟ✫・⋆。.

taglist: (if your name has a strike, that means tumblr won't let me tag you)

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @bambamwolf87 @yourallihave @cowboibeepbeep @liszblog @springflwer07 @getawayfrommewerewolf @ilovehotdads69 @soumya-13 @emmaev @urgrandadsashes @girl-ln-green @vilentia @bibli0thecary @khayhuij

(note: i've realized not everyone wants to be tagged in both marvel/marauders content, so if you want to be specifically in ONE or ALL, shoot me an ask and specify! otherwise i'll keep u in the general for now. ty!)

#wherever you stray i follow #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus x reader angst #remus x reader fluff #remus lupin series #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x y/n fluff #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader series #remus lupin x animagus!reader #remus wherever you stray i follow #mauraders series #marauders mutual pining #remus lupin mutual pining

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honourablejester · 2 months

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I’m reading the Pathfinder ‘Lost Omens: The Mwangi Expanse’ setting book (guess whose copy arrived recently!), and I’m on the section on the Mbe’ke dwarves of the Terwa Uplands, and I just. I want to mention the origin story the Mbe’kes tell about themselves:

“This is the story that Mbe’kes tell.

Long ago, dwarves marched upwards on a Quest for the Sky. They saw many wondrous things on that march; temples and treasures, magics and mysteries. One group of dwarves, who would later become Mbe’kes, finally emerged in a sheltered valley.

They looked about the rocky sides of the valley, and they looked at the great blue thing above, and mistook it for just one more cavern, if perhaps larger than most. Sages stroked their beards and engineers hefted their tools, and the dwarves set about breaching the vault of the sky. They climbed the tallest mountain in the land, braced the sky properly, and started digging. Dwarves, of course, can dig through anything, and so quite soon they broke through the sky into the Plane of Air.

The People of the Air were greatly surprised by these strangers. First a great hurricane-spirit tried to chase the dwarves away, but the dwarves had fought worse beneath the earth and were not cowed. Then a great djinni of the west wind offered the dwarves fine treasures to leave, but nothing matched the wonders the dwarves made themselves. Finally, a curious cloud dragon asked what in the seven stars above and the three stars below the dwarves were doing.

Once they understood their mistake, the dwarves descended back to Golarion and looked about the valley from which they’d emerged. They could most certainly make a home there, and did, and ever since Mbe’kes have been good friends with cloud dragons.”

Now. A couple of things. First, the actual historical and archaeological record tells a different story, suggesting that the proto-Mbe’ke initially fought for territory with the cloud dragons in the Terwa Uplands (evidence includes a suspicious number of old Mbe’ke relics made of dragon bone), but eventually the two groups made peace and became the firm allies they are today later down the line. Second, the Mbe’ke have a proud tradition of ‘tangle-tales’, an expression of their humour, which involve telling the most ridiculous, nonsensical, over the top stories possible with the straightest face possible, and responding to them just as seriously to encourage elaboration, until someone finally breaks and laughs. So. Tall tales are a prized tradition for Mbe’ke. And third, there’s this later note:

“If one were to ask a Mbe’ke, they would say that their people are famed for three things: first, they are the most stubborn of all dwarves; second, they are the most argumentative of all dwarves; and third, they have absolutely no sense of humour. This last will be said with a perfectly straight face.”

Their humour and culture is a combination of dwarven stubbornness and pragmatism, and cloud dragon whimsy and curiosity. And in that context …

I just really love that origin story? As a thing they tell about themselves. Because you can see …

The things they pride themselves on are being stubborn, argumentative, and secretly humorous. And it shows. Their origin has them climb out of the earth, look up, fail to realise that the sky is not just another ceiling, and then impossibly dig through that as well anyway. Stubborn, yes. Heh. And then, in the Plane of Air, they cannot be driven away by force, because come and have a go, and they can’t be driven away by bribery, because we’re dwarves, you can’t offer us anything we couldn’t make ourselves, but they can be politely knocked back by someone gently arguing with them until they realise their own idiocy. In this story, the cloud dragons were just ‘lads, what are you at?’, and the Mbe’ke looked around, realised their cosmological error, and just went ‘oops, our bad mate, thanks for the head’s up’, packed up their kit, and went back down a layer.

I love so much that this is a story they tell about themselves. That it shows what their pride is held in. In stubbornness, in doing the impossible, in refusing to be driven back by any insurmountable obstacle or show of force or attempt to undermine their integrity, but also in recognising their own foolishness, in acknowledging their own errors, in having fair dealings with people who deal fairly with them, and in poking some gentle fun at every previous thing on this list. Yes, it’s showing them in their best light, according to their own values, and the reality is often different, but it does illustrate quite well what those values are, and it’s fascinating.

And I also love some of the little details. They climbed the tallest mountain in the land and braced the sky properly. Like, if you’re going to do this ridiculous thing, you’re damn well going to do it right. Is it plausible or even possible? Irrelevant. Do it right regardless. I love that they saw another vast ceiling, another impossible barrier, and the ‘sages stroked their beards, and the engineers hefted their tools, and the dwarves set about breaching the vault of the sky’. Like, right, on we go! Another job, let’s get it done. They’re so … dwarvish. And god I love dwarves. You cannot stop a dwarf from digging. I love them.

Ahem. Anyway. I like the Mbe’ke a lot? Also dwarves. Just. In general. Heh. Carry on!

#pathfinder #pf2e #lore #mwangi expanse #dwarves #mbe'ke dwarves #i just love dwarves #worldbuilding #mythology #story telling

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 1 year

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Let's settle down for the night.

Quick summary: You’ve been each other’s for a long time. You trust him with your life, your body, you time, and he trusts you with his. Sometimes, though, you find yourself craving a quieter kind of intimacy. Without the helmet.

Word count: 6.3K

Warnings: A lot of fluff 😩😩; may be inaccurate ‘cause, I gotta say, I’m a Star Wars fan but I did not proper hyperfixate on it like with some of the other stuff I’ve written about (buffs, please help me out here); kind of angsty??? like, reader’s an orphan etc; allusions to smut (under the shirt stuff amiright amiright); explicit mentions of smut.

A/N: What a fittie, guys. Bound to happen. This one goes out to @manicdream for giving me a lil’ prompt where you and Din are in looove aaaand—I guess you’ll have to keep reading for the fluuuff and feels! I really had fun with this one! Love this stoic, brooding, dramatic lad, and I enjoyed exploring love languages, their communication, etc, etc. i have no idea when this would take place, so just try to follow along, I guess??? I hope you enjoy this short, little story! I think this is gonna be just one part by the way. For all you Pedro Pascal sluts out there 😌😌😌, I do think I’m gonna write a smut thing for Joel Miller TLOU. NO PROMISES, THOUGH. Just finished the latest episode and what the fuck 😀😀😀 it just gets more and more traumatising huh. Anyway, please enjoy this happy fic!

ੈ✩‧₊˚

We’ve been walking for a while, now. Muscles aching, legs straining. The low, sloping sands of the Tatooine desert are pink in the setting suns, stretching on for years and years.

The light flames up brilliant red and orange and bright white in his beskar, and I have to squint my eyes when I look over at him. From this angle, he looks like he’s all armour. When the suns finally go down, he’ll be a silhouette. That time of day always suits him best. You know how people you meet just seem like things sometimes. Din’s like rich soil, the kind that you can sink your fingers deep into with one single push. Or like a rock – with how little he talks, I used to think he was a rock. He’s also dusk. Dusk happens to be my favourite time of day.

My feet are dragging again. If I were with anyone else, I’d never let my guard down—but it’s just us, and we’re in the middle of nowhere, and we’ve got a whole bunch of credits in my pack that’s almost enough to finally buy us our own ship. Won’t have to put up with sceptical glances on commercial flights anymore, or getting bashed about by produce on cargo ships we’ve had to sneak onto. Maker, I miss the comfort of the Razor Crest. But, y’know, it’s—it’s what it is. Lucky for us, transportation is the worst of our problems – it’s been a relatively quiet trip over the planet; no trouble—yet. Quietly trading with sketchy contractors in isolated taverns. We never ask questions about the high-paying ones, whether we’re implicitly tipping the scales of some political bantha shit, but I’m always curious.

A dry gust of wind cools my stifling skin, a break from the still weather.

“You alright back there?”

Din has his head angled slightly back towards me. His grainy, modulated voice curves my mouth up into a smile, and I stare fondly over at him as he slows his pace a little to fall into step with me. I urge him not to slack with the jerk of my head.

“Yeah, ‘f’course,” I assure him, tongue buzzing with foul saliva. Can’t drink just yet, though, ‘cause I already chugged about half of my waterskin way back at sun-up. He’s offered me the rest of his, but I refused to take it. Though, right now, grimacing at the bile in my mouth, I am thinking hard about changing my mind. “We’re safe,” I say confidently. We’ve been careful.

“I know.” Yeah, I know he knows. “I was just wonderin’ cause, y’know, you’ve been a little quiet.”

Playfully, I nudge into him (damn that beskar) and laugh as he shoves me back. “What, so you’re saying you want my ‘mindless chit-chatting’ back now, huh?”

I’m talking out of my ass, of course. We’ve had a thing going for a while, now – it’s been just us for a while. I know he doesn’t mean any harm when he teases me like that. It takes a lot for him to hurt my feelings, and he never does. Maybe at first, when neither of us would admit that we were happier being together than apart. I don’t know why I didn’t just tag along with him sooner. If I had known that those gruff, little grunts he’d make during conversation when we’d cross paths during jobs meant that he was enjoying himself?—well, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time in asking him to be my partner. In all senses.

But still, he feels the need to explain: “Ah, you know I was just—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I suppose that, after so long needing to be strong and tough and brave and coarse to get on with life and work, he likes being soft. This is soft for him: letting me walk ahead just slightly, his shoulder behind mine, so that he’s always got my six; teasing me about things he’s told me are his favourite qualities of mine; secretly watching me from behind the security of his visor. I don’t tell him I love it, and I don’t tell him I notice, but he knows, I think.

He turns away to complete a quick scan of the horizon on his blind side, and I do the same for mine, before we turn back to each other. He’s tired – I can tell by the way he’s leaning in towards me, like he wants to be held. The privacy of this big, wide desert must be a comfort to him. I know it is to me.

“How’s your day been?” he asks me lowly.

I laugh. “You mean the day we’re currently spending together?”

He nods. “Tell me about it.”

Stars, I’m glad it’s getting dark, because my cheeks start to glow with warmth. Not necessarily just his voice or even the words. Consistently, he always asks about my day. Yesterday, it was in a dingy tavern, after avoiding a bar fight (some prick tried to trick me out of a drink the contractor bought me fair ‘n’ square). The day before, it was in the dead of night, looking up at the stars, with the bounty, unconscious, lying between us.

“I liked it.” He scoffs. “I did. There’s been no trouble, and, y’know, I grew up on a desert planet like this.”

“Bantha farmers, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He grunts.

I laugh again. “You bastard! You’re so judgemental. Honestly worse than those Coruscanti pricks we worked for ages back. Remember how they looked at us when we traded? Tried to underpay us? Bet they’ve never risked even chipping a nail.” Bounty hunting is a little more difficult these days without the assurance of carbonite freezing, without the security of the Guild – we’ve had to complete ten times as many jobs for five times lesser rates just to get where we are now. Reminds me of when I first started out: bounties fighting back, trying to make a run for it. But what else are we supposed to do?—take up a job where?

The suns slip below the horizon, and everything is washed a low, gentle violet—and Din is that silhouette, now, and everything seems peaceful, like it all fits together just right. Even though, of course, it might not fit together just right when I try to haggle the price of that gunship down a few credits or so and the vendor absolutely obliterates me with the most personal, cutting insults in the entire galaxy. Din’s no help in the communication sector there – the stoic type – but, if anything, he’ll be able to stand behind me with that armour and steel glare and weapons of his to try and intimidate that damn stubborn seller all the way to fuckin’ Bargain Town. Because, damn, we’re relying on it. Peli, bless her soul, doesn’t have anything large or powerful enough to support the three of us on our run from the Empire.

Speaking of the three of us, the kid’s absence, I hate to say it, is kind of nice. Of course, I worry about him, but I trust that he’s being well-looked-after at the garage. Safer than he would be with us. But I haven’t had Din to myself in what seems like years. Last time he touched me was—was—a long time ago. Too much stress. Not enough time to savour it. And he’s all about savouring those kind of things, those moments, dragging them out as long as possible.

I can feel his stare on the side of my face. My sweaty, greasy, clogged face – stars, I can’t wait until we reach a water supply.

“Are you looking at me right now?” I ask, amused.

He does another strategically-timed scan of the area, turning away from me even though I can’t see his face. I wonder if he blushes under that helmet, if it’s really obvious. “You’re looking at me.”

I roll my eyes and smile softly, lowering the scarf around my nose and mouth and tucking the fabric beneath my chin. “How was your day?”

“Good.”

“Good why?”

“‘Cause I’ve got your mindless chit-chattin’ to keep me company.”

Forcing a laugh, I glare at him again. “Ha-ha, you’re so funny, Din. Real knee-slapper right there.”

It goes quiet again – he becomes like that, sometimes, after I use his name. The first time I spoke it was in the dark hull of the Razor Crest, in hyperspace. He sat and stared straight ahead at the streaking silver, motionless, wordless. Here, the desert air is still and calm. His shoulder is still brushing up against mine.

“Are you tired?”

Yes. My legs feel like they’re about to fuckin’ fall off. Here, walking along the plain, is good, but earlier, climbing over dunes and rocks and boulders, was hell. But we need to be getting back to the kid as soon as possible. As much as I trust Peli, I need to see him and make sure he’s okay. So, I shake my head and say, “It’s only a little ways up till the next settlement.”

“It’s a lot further.”

My heart drops. “Oh.” Wishful thinking’s just got me forging fake memories at this point. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me.

“D’you think we should stop?”

“No, we can—”

“I’m tired—” he abruptly comes to a halt, apparently deciding that this little patch of sand will be a nice bed, “—let’s stop for the night.” He beckons me to him, coming in close and retrieving the lamp from inside the sling-bag, setting it down.

Well, if he insists.

You know, it’s moments like these where I just let myself be fond of him. I let myself stare freely at him, admire the shape of his body, the sleek, smart make of his helmet, let myself wonder if his face is any bit as handsome as he sounds. Everything about him is rough. The way he fights, the way he bargains, the way he pilots. His hands. I think about the texture of his hands as I sit down. I remove my gloves and stuff them away, gliding my skin across my skin to just try and simulate that touch.

“You’re not cold?”

I untwine the bag from my shoulders, setting it down and retrieving our remaining food for this day. “I’m not cold. I have, like, five layers on.”

He eyes me doubtfully. “Okay.” And he sits down on the opposite side of the lamp, facing me, one leg propped up as a rest for his arm. The pulse rifle lays by his side, ready.

I offer him a hardening clump of bread and a few stout, odd-looking, white-and-purple vegetables (generously given to us by a farmer we passed a while back)—but Din shakes his head and urges me to eat as much as I can. I bite back a remark about that helmet of his – he must be starving.

“We’ll get something better to eat when we get to the city.”

I snort. “It’s hardly a city.”

“You know what I mean.”

Stupid Din always making stupid decisions and rationalising them because he thinks it’s for me. He knows I can take care of myself, that I’m good at it, but that doesn’t stop him from dropping everything to try. It’s nice for someone to have my back, for that someone to be as wonderful as him, but, holy kriff, he’s so stupid sometimes.

I tell him flat-out, “We don’t have enough credits,” because we don’t. We have barely enough to cover a scrappy, little ship. We definitely don’t have enough to purchase any food. We’ve relied on favours and luck for long enough, and we can go for longer until we’re off-planet. Peli’s got—edible food—probably. I don’t trust it won’t make me shit my brains out as soon as we’re in hyperspace, though.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, though. “We’ll get a worse ship.”

“Din.” Stupid. I toss him a chunk of bread, swivelling around to give him privacy.

He protests, “I’m not hungry,” and reaches over and taps it against my shoulder – I shrug him away.

“I’m already stuffed, so what’re you gonna do about it?”

He sighs in exasperation. “Thought you might say that.”

“‘Cause I’m just so predictable?”

“You’re stubborn.”

Snapping my head over my shoulder, I scoff and give him an incredulous look. “I’m stubborn?”

He tilts his head to the side as if to goad me further. “Yes.” The warm light of the lamp glows along the strong planes and clean lines of his armour. His hand leisurely dangling from his knee, he rubs his gloved fingers together, and I’m suddenly jealous of a clothing item. I know he must notice the slight catch in my breath.

I turn back around to face him, the sand moulding easily beneath my smooth movements. “And there’s not a brooding Mandalorian sitting across from me now, refusing to eat.”

The first few years of working with Din, I never once saw him eat or drink a thing. It was like he was a droid (don’t tell him I said that): always working, working hard, but fuelled by seemingly—nothing? Obviously, I figured he had to eat some time. When I became his partner, sharing the Razor Crest, he’d retreat to his bunk to eat. And when I asked him his favourite food, he said he didn’t really hate or love anything – as long as he could consume it and it wouldn’t kill him, he’d tolerate it. Over the years, though, I’ve learned he tries to steer clear from any kind of berries. Doesn’t trust ‘em. And he’s not a fan of fish, but the kid is, and I am, so we have it more often, now.

Din jerks his head and allows me to toss him one of those weird vegetables. Having already finished my chunk of bread (on the brink of mould—so yummy!), I take a large, eager bite right out of the vegetable. My mouth is flooded with its bitter juice, and I squint my face up a little at the greenish tang.

“How’s that taste?” he asks.

“Like dirt.” I chew the mouthful slowly, careful not to judge too quickly, and eventually hum in contentment. “But—” I retract, “—sorta sweet underneath. You ever tasted a beet?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s sorta like that.”

He watches me for a few heartbeats, calm in the steady, amber light. I smile at him.

“Turn around,” he tells me brusquely.

I wink at him and do as I’m told, shuffling around again and turning to back the blue and purple horizon, the lamp and his gaze warm on my back.

I’m silent as he unseals his helmet with a quiet click and hiss. I try to imagine him again. Every single time, I feel guilty over it, because I know how dedicated he is to his religion—but, oh, I can’t help myself. I run my tongue over my teeth, enjoying the remains of that bite, before taking another, crunching down into the flesh. As I do, I hear Din do the same. My heart stops a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

“It’s nice.”

Stars. Stars, that voice. His voice, unfiltered by the modulator. Slightly hoarse from lack of water, scraping a little in his throat, but smooth in its low, rich tone. Like dirt you can sink your fingers right down into.

I set my hand flat on the sand my by side before pushing them vertically down, down, down, past the cooling surface and to where the glowing spirit of the day lingers.

Calm yourself down. It’s just a voice.

“You should have the rest of it,” he continues, and there’s the tap of the vegetable against my shoulder again.

Oh, stars. He hasn’t got his helmet on. He hasn’t got his helmet on. If I turned, he could be right there. Just him. I think about clamping my eyes shut to avoid the temptation of looking at him, but I can’t really co-ordinate myself at the moment. He taps again, encouraging me to take it back. My fingers hook up inside the sand, and it slips around me to my satisfaction.

“If you like it,” I say dryly, “you should eat it.”

The vegetable disappears from my peripheral. Another crunch, and another, and another. We sit in silence as he finishes it. The horizon is finally flat and unwavering in the cool of the night.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze when he’s done, hiking up the scarf around my head so it doesn’t slip too far over my hair. When I turn around, the helmet’s back on.

I wonder if he saw the colours of the sunset earlier. I had my head turned up for hours, watching every single shift in pink and orange and blue with wonderstruck eyes—but Din was striding on ahead, uninterested. I’m no engineer, alright? I don’t exactly know what he’s seeing in that helmet of his, or why. Infrared sensors for tracking, like in a rifle I once had that – that was one of the best damn weapons I ever owned, guaranteed to locate and hit your target, and I loved it to bits—until it got fuckin’ stolen by a bunch of fuckin’ Jawas. Point is, isn’t it just black and white in there? Sort of a purple-y black and white, and you can see changes in tone and depth and all, but black and white nonetheless. Red for footprints, though. Is that what he saw when I told him to look at the sky at sundown? Black and white? What is he seeing as he’s looking at me now? Me, I’m admiring the regal gleam of his beskar again. But he won’t be able to interpret the warmth of the lamp’s light on my face the same way as I did for him. I’m not the prettiest in the galaxy by a long shot, I know, but isn’t he missing out? On the beauty of the natural world? I think I’m prettiest at sundown – something in my undertone, I dunno – but he’s only seen me in that greyscale. Imagine if he just thinks I’m—okay-looking.

Overthinking it again. Din doesn’t waste time with things he doesn’t think add to his life. He doesn’t think I’m just okay-looking.

“You’ve got a good voice,” I tell him, grinning widely.

“You’ve heard my voice before.” The raw clarity of his words are lost once again behind the modulator. I shift my position, wriggling away from my disappointment.

“I know.”

A chill passes brightly through the air, and I tug my cloak tighter around myself, bringing my knees in close. Din doesn’t move a muscle, though, and he sits there and observes me a little longer.

We’ve been each other’s for a long, long time. We’ve been through a lot of shit together. And I’m not exactly thinking critically, and I’m not sure where I’m going with it, but I find myself asking, “When Mandalorians get married, they can take their helmets off around their partner, right?”

The mortification immediately sets in.

Holy kriff.

Din looks at me carefully. Then, he nods the slightest of nods.

Holy kriff.

“I’m not—” I stutter out, eyes darting away, over there, over here, anywhere but his constant, steady, shameless attention, “—‘m not asking you to marry me, Din. I was—I was just wondering ‘cause, y’know, I think you mentioned it to me once, ages back, and—and I was just thinkin’ that maybe—” you pause, glancing up at him; he doesn’t move a muscle, and there’s nothing that gives away any kind of anything he might be feeling, “—maybe I’d like to see—what—you—look—like.”

Wow. Wow, I’m almost amazed at how slick I am with these things. God, Imperial spies could learn a thing or two from the master.

I clear my throat, deciding to embrace the grave I’ve dug for myself. “But I’m not asking you to marry me, so you can stop looking at me like that, now, alright?.”

He says nothing, does nothing.

I situate myself with untying my waterskin from beneath my cloak, hiding my face in my shoulder and cursing, “Damn voice. Gets me too damn stupid-excited,” under my breath, like it’s a secret, like he can’t hear every fuckin’ word I’m saying on a planet seemingly stripped from all other noise.

Seething at myself, I crunch back into my vegetable, then tearing off a piece of bread to stuff in alongside it, taking a careless swig from my waterskin to wash it all down. Honestly, at this point, I’d rather die from dehydration than address the awful, awful statement I just made. Stars. Probably scared him right off. We’re as close to married as the real thing anyway. Din’s more of an actions-over-words kind of guy – I don’t need to call him my husband. It’s not like—well, marriage is companionship, and we have that already. Marriage is trust, and we have that already. I don’t need to call him my husband. He’s just—my guy. My person. Would be nice to have it on paper, I guess. Proof that he’s my person, that he wants to be my person. Bless him, but for every single thing he does for me, every action, I still crave him saying those words. Not shit to do with marriage, exactly. Just: “You’re my person. I’m yours.” Words aren’t his forte.

“I’d marry you.”

I swallow the hard lump of bread with difficulty, scrunching my face up into a grimace. “Hmm?” I ask, drifting back to the present.

“I’d marry you,” he repeats, and my eyes go wide. Oh. “Right here. If you want me.”

Huh. Huh. I dunno what the appropriate reaction is here, so I just continue staring unblinkingly at him. My stomach is erupting in flutters, and I just stare at Din.

Then, I look around us, at the barren desert. And look, yeah, I grew up on a planet very similar to Tatooine, and, yeah, sure, I have fond memories of my childhood. And then they get not-so fond. I scrunch my nose up in disapproval. “Not here.”

“Where?”

I shrug, brows knitted together in deep consideration. “I dunno.” And I really don’t, because—because I didn’t think we were the marrying type. Just the together type. Growing old and pissy together, living together, fighting together, figuring it out together—type. Mandalorians value community and strength and The Way over everything else – not necessarily love. Didn’t take him for the marrying type.

I screw my mouth together and exhale deeply. “Just somewhere prettier, I guess,” I decide on. “Not this quiet, but still pretty quiet. Y’know, somewhere with trees. Proper, green trees. But not the kind where there’s stuff in there waiting to kill you.” I want there to be as many colours as possible, in the sky, in the flowers, so he can see me and see all that beauty all together at once.

He tilts his head. “Like, with mountains?” he asks.

I smile. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind mountains.”

He glances down at the sand, tracing some kind of pattern into it with his forefinger. “We could go to Takodana?”

Stars. My smile widens. Stars, is this a proposal? Did I just propose to him? Did he just propose right back? That’s actually quite funny, that is. In the middle of nowhere, running out of water, running low on food. Romantic.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Din?” I ask, more confident.

He grunts and shakes his head. “Not really.”

“‘Not really’,” you mock him, deepening your voice and attempting to widen your shoulders. I laugh at my own impression, leaning back on my hands and huffing a strand of hair out of my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifts, clearing his throat and adjusting to a more comfortable position. “I mean, I’ve kissed you—between your legs,” he tells me, nervous, like I’ve managed to forget how well he treats me, how eager he is to kneel down in the pitch-black and take care of me like that.

Heat blooms in my stomach. “Great work down there, by the way,” I tell him through a sly grin.

“Thank you, mesh’la.” Is he blushing? Does he blush? I find myself wondering over that again.

I smile and stare at him.

“Could I kiss you?” The suggestion just slips out without a second thought. I just think that, after some food and water and rest, I don’t really have to filter anything out anymore. I don’t have any complaints – just some recommendations for fun we could be having.

Din doesn’t reply.

Ah, shit. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? Mandalorian, remember? Stupid, stupid. If there’s anything anyone knows about Din, it’s that he’s a Mandalorian first. He’s a Mandalorian before he’s mine – he’d never say it out loud, but we both know it’s true. I’d never ask him to choose because that’s cruel. Am I being cruel?

Either way, I can’t seem to stop, and I don’t seem to care: “I’d keep my eyes shut,” I blurt out, trying to keep my breathing from becoming heavy with lust, and failing a little more than a little bit. Stars, I’m turning myself on at this point; he just has to sit there and look pretty. “You know I’d keep ‘em shut. I wouldn’t look. I just—wanna—” you sigh, “—I just wanna kiss you. It’s nice, I swear. Nice feeling. I’d keep my eyes closed. Or—or you could tie something around ‘em?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Stars,” I curse. “I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes from dust and dirt and blink hard. “I think I’m just tired.”

“You’re tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Is ‘tired’ why you’re pressing onto yourself down there?”

He flicks his fingers over to where I’ve got my hand stuffed between my legs, rocking softly against the heel of my palm. I swallow hard. Fuck, I didn’t even notice I was doing that. I convinced myself I was—ha!—I was just warming up my hands.

I shift my eyes sheepishly back up to meet Din’s, guilty as charged.

He sighs deep from within the chest. “You keep ‘em closed and we tie something around ‘em.”

Silent, I nod in agreement. My thighs squeeze together.

He jerks his head to beckon me over, and I go shuffling on over to him on my knees, probably looking like a right idiot, but, then again, I don’t really give a fuck because I’m about to kiss Din Djarin. I’m about to kiss my Mandalorian. I’m about to kiss my companion of almost a decade, more if you count all those shady bounties we used to end up competing for. My Mandalorian, my Din Djarin, mine, mine, mine. I’m not possessive, I don’t think, but, gods, I—I—I can’t believe it sometimes. That I get to know him like this. That I get to know such an incredible person. That he won’t say more than two words at a time to anyone, not even those we’re close with, like Peli—but, with me, he’ll talk for hours. He jokes that he’s just humouring me, but I know he loves it. He tells me so.

Din makes a motion with his hand to turn around, so I do, and I let him tie an old, folded food cloth around my head – unsanitary, sure, but, again, I don’t care, and my head’s reeling, and my heart’s racing so hard, thrumming in my ears, and he’s so close, and his fingers are tangling through my hair as he lowers my scarf, and they’re brushing against the nape of my neck now, and—

“Can you take your gloves off, Din?” I ask, and, unfortunately, the neediness seeps right through my voice. “Please?” Stars, I’m pathetic.

Behind me, there’s the shuffle and quiet groan of leather as he tugs them off, and then a quiet pat! as he tosses them to the side.

And then his hands are back. Rough, calloused fingertips ghosting over my ears, my hair, as he knots the cloth, then knots it again for good measure. Darkness is closed over my eyes, tinged the rich green of the fabric. My breath seems nearer this way, short, shallow, hot. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, still, as he cups the back of my neck, his touch cool.

I reach over my shoulder, taking a deep inhale as I run my fingers over the dips and hills of his knuckles. I fold my hands over his and squeeze, bringing them forward and kissing his fingertips gently. I feel the texture and thickness of his fingers, trace the lines of his palm. Din comes in close behind me, the solidity of his chestplate (cuirass? I dunno, once, he got all pissy ‘cause I didn’t call by it’s actual name) pressing up against my shoulder blades.

I smooth my thumbs along the deepest crease in his palm. “Y’know, once, before I met you, I met someone who told me he could foretell my whole life, and my child’s life, and their child’s life, just from the lines on my hands.”

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is right in my ear, low and intimate. Maker. “What do mine say?”

“All good things,” you reply shakily.

“Anything about Takodana?”

He twists his hand over, enveloping my right and rubbing circles into the back of it.

Then, he’s letting me go, leaning away—and there’s that hiss and click of him removing his helmet. I blink against the green cloth, my eyelashes dragging up slowly. If I hold my breath, I can hear him breathing.

“Turn around,” he tells me, and I do.

It’s too dark for silhouettes anymore. If we were in daylight again, maybe I could’ve seen the vaguest outline of him. But we’re not in daylight. I blink again against the cloth, hard.

His hands reach out and grasp my hips, and they’re warm and large and I never get used to it. The breath is still knocked out of my chest. He angles and adjusts me to face him, and I place my hands on his shoulders, fumbling around his armour before settling them instead on his neck.

His neck. Bare skin. I smooth my hand up the column of his pretty, perfect neck, feeling every inch of him. I already know the texture of his hair. When he’s between my legs and kissing me there, I like to thread my fingers through it. It’s thick and wavy and slightly too long. But otherwise, I keep my hands to myself. Even though I’m not technically seeing him in the dark when he takes his helmet off to taste me, I don’t reach out and touch his face—because it’s his. It’s his, and he’s taken an oath to keep it that way. He’s never initiated a kiss, so I’ve never asked. I’ve been content. I’ve been patient.

But I guess my patience has reached a limit. Slowly, tentatively, I drift my touch up, up, and feel along his jawline, coarse with longer scruff. His breath hitches, and I smile and continue. I smooth my fingers right along his cheekbone – Din gently circles his hand around my wrist, pressing his nose into my palm, then kissing it, soft, careful, dragging the tip of his nose along the line of the vein that trails over my arm.

Stars.

I blink hard again behind the green cloth, clenching my jaw down till my teeth grit together.

I feel along the jagged bridge of his nose, take note of how it’s slightly crooked to the right, like he’s broken it before (wouldn’t surprise me). I learn the shape of his brow, the broadness of his forehead. I feel the feather-light brush of his eyelashes against my wrist. I’m silent—and I’m grinning like an idiot, because what else can I do? It’s like I’m seeing his face. I’m not, but it’s sure as hell the closest thing. The weight of his head in my hands, the cautious squeeze of his hands on my arms. I whisper some kind of babbling, incoherent request, and he relaxes his eyes – I can feel the muscles in his face release tension – for me to trace my middle finger over the shape of his eye. I’m not crying, but, fuck, it’s getting a little moist up in this blindfold.

His eyes droop down slightly at the ends. I like eyes like that – kind eyes. My mother used to say these types of eyes only belonged to the kindest of people. Stars. Don’t cry.

“You look insane, mesh’la,” he whispers, close to me, lifting his hands to tenderly hold my face, like I might break.

“Ah, bantha shit, baby,” I retort. “You’re loving this.”

And I can feel him smile. I can feel it crinkle up the sides of his eyes, and I can feel the squint of them, and the way his cheeks lift. He smiles a little lop-sidedly, actually, the left corner of his mouth just a touch higher than the right. I try to memorise every single bit of information I discover, as urgent and as desperate as if my life depended upon it.

Quivering with want, I press my lips to the inner corner of his eye, firm and sure and needy, my hands grasping around his face. Din grabs fistfuls of my cloak, bringing me nearer to him.

He smells like dust and tastes like sweat and salt, but, Maker, this is good. Satisfies some deep, hellacious ache that would have otherwise consumed me.

I kiss the ridge of his cheekbone with the same fervour, and then I kiss the corner of his mouth, the left side, the side that quirks up when he smiles.

Only, he’s not really smiling right now. He’s breathing heavily, almost panting, and stroking my hair away from my face and neck before mumbling out, “So pretty.” I press my nose against his, breathless with anticipation, heady at the warmth of his body. “S’good. You look so good—like this. Y’look good all the time—”

But I’m kissing him already, frantic, fingers pressing into the back of his neck, into his shoulders, bringing him as near to me as humanly possible. I sob dryly as he reciprocates, nudging his nose flat against my cheek. He opens his mouth to suck in a breath, and I lick into him, taste him deeply, practically having climbed into his lap during my whirlwind pursuit. His cold hands slip under my cloak, arms wrapping around me in a second.

The kiss is dry and rough, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It seems befitting of him somehow.

And when he makes a pathetic sound, a whimper or something, at the back of his throat, I almost melt right into the ground.

Closer, closer, closer – that’s all I can really comprehend at the moment. Even with our bodies slotted together, even though I can feel each shaky breath he takes as his stomach flexes over my own, I feel hungry for more. It’s Din. My Din, kissing me, his hands on me, his eyes on me. My Din, grunting into me as I shift in his lap and squeeze my legs around him. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine—

He grabs my face gently by the chin, urging me away from him for a few moments. I sit there, blind, his open mouth still hovering over mine. Oh, stars, I think of the softness of his tongue, and I kiss the corner of his mouth, wanting, asking.

Din angles my face to the side, coming in slow, warm, and languidly slides his tongue into my hot mouth, breath fanning out across my glowing face. Maker. I can’t control myself – a helpless noise passes through me as I take it good and kiss him back, eager, wide open.

I guide his hand down the the base of my throat, just to feel his touch somewhere else. He squeezes there lightly.

His other hand manages to snake under my shirt, pressing flat across the small of my back, sliding up my spine and sending shivers all the way right through me.

It’s—good. Really good. Can’t-open-my-eyes-for-a-good-few-heartbeats type of good.

“Maker,” he curses hoarsely under his breath as I pull away, still leaning forward for me, chasing my touch.

“Good?” I ask him.

He presses a kiss to my cheek, smiling. “We can do this—more often—‘f you want.”

“If I want, huh?”

He kisses me deeply again, his thumb slotted beneath the cloth over my eyes. He pulls it taut to the side over so slightly, and I can make out that beautiful, warm glow over the sand and his armour again. I shut my eyes as he tilts my head up, though, as kisses down to the hollow of my throat and back up again.

I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” I just know it. Everything about him is just beautiful. It’s just lovely, and I love it.

“Marry me and you can find out for sure,” he mumbles into my neck.

I can hardly hear him, of course – blood is pounding so hard in my ears that all I can understand from his words are that they rumble deep right through his chest, warm under the cool beskar.

I lift his head and press my nose into his cheek. “I can tell,” I continue, words brushing his lips. Again, I smooth my fingers over his face. “You’re so pretty, Din.”

“Marry me,” he urges, whispering against the fabric over my eye, warm.

I grin. “Later.”

He curses, something in Mando’a. “We’re going to Takodana as soon as we get that damn ship, you hear me?”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #rip razor crest #din you little fittie #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian #din djarin #mesh’la is the cutest nickname 💀#grogu #is a little shit #but he’s perfect #i’m feral for this man #star wars

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crystalbeetle888 · 2 months

Text

Voyage into the Unknown Pt.6

Master List Pt.5 - Pt.6 - Pt.7

Many more days pass, riding across fields and forest, through little valleys and rivers, up and down hills, in rain and sun. And during that time, I have only grown closer to Kili. Not forgetting Bilbo, and Fili. Their company is the only thing keeping me sane as the older men continuously thwart any attempt of mine at helping. I feel stir-crazy as the days melt together, with nothing productive to do except talk, ride, and train at sword fight with Fili until dusk.

The company rides up a grassy hill laying at the bottom of a tall cliff-face, large boulders scattered along the way. At the top, the ruins of an abandoned house lay. Thorin rides up to it “We’ll camp her for the night” He says, Gandalf already wandering around, inspecting the house. “Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them” he says to his nephews. Hoping off my horse I hand Kili the reins, and take my pack down “I suppose I won't be training with your brother tonight then” I swing my now very heavy bag on my back. “Well you can always watch the ponies with us, keep us company” I look over at Thorin who seems to be arguing with Gandalf in the ruined house “I’m not sure that he’s in the mood for suggestions right now, plus I think he’d say I’m ‘too distracting’” I mock Thorins’ deeper voice. Kili chuckles “You’re probably right”. “I’m definitely right,” I nod, pursing my lips. “And how do you know that?” he asks, “Because I’m a woman, and I know everything” we laugh together, Kili nodding along until a loud outraged voice interrupts us “Myself, Mr.Baggins!” Gandalf storms past us “I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day” I hear him mutter to himself as he wanders off into the wild. “Come on, Bomber, we’re hungry” Thorin calls over. The company whispers to one another “Where do you think he’s going?” I turn to Kili in concern, “Probably just off for a smoke, maybe a bath” He shrugs, not caring that the powerful being has essentially left us until further notice. Anxiety begins to creep into my mind, making me feel restless. Kili wanders off with his brother taking the ponies with him.

Settling in for the night, Bofur fills up peoples’ bowls with the thick stew. I get up and hop in line for seconds, behind Bomber, who patiently waits for his turn. Bilbo fidgets, walking back and forth “He’s been a long time” He stomps over, “Who?” Bofur asks, “Gandalf” Bilbo stresses, Bofur scoffs “He’s a Wizard. He does as he chooses. Here, do us a favour. Take these to the lads” He hands over two bowls to Bilbo who didn’t really want to help out. Bomber sneaking the ladle for his fourth serving, tries to sip straight out the spoon “Stop it. You’ve had plenty” Bofur chides him, wrestling the ladle from him. “Let him eat if he’s hungry” I say, frowning at Bofur. The two turn to look at me, Bomber smiling under his thick braided beard, and Bofur shaking his head “Don’t start down that road lass, he’ll eat you out of house and home” He wags his finger. I roll my eyes at his antics “He’s not a bottomless pit”. Bofur laughs and whacks Bombers fat belly “He’ll eat a whole cheese wheel and then some lass” the two dwarves laugh, Bomber looking quite proud of himself. “Bullshit” I say, causing the two to chortle louder “Language lass! Bombers appetite is something to behold” he exclaims. I uh huh them, taking the ladle and pouring a scoop into my bowl “I’ll believe it when I see it mate” “Well, maybe one day you’ll have to experience a true dwarvish feast, that’s where the real action happens” He winks and I laugh “I suppose I’ll have to then aye” He nods with a chuckle as I turn away, and walk around the socialising men to find a quiet spot to sit and enjoy my meal.

The wind is nice and cool after a long hot day of horse riding, my legs ache deeply, my heart aching also. Homesickness isn’t something I thought I would be feeling. But here I am, sadly sipping my stew, longing for my daily, or even weekly routine. Opening up the studio in the early morning, working away at my latest collection of paintings until noon, where I would then go and help teach at the local dojo to the juniors class. Some may think my schedule was repetitive or boring, but I really enjoyed the normality and structure. Always buying a vanilla iced chai from the bakery next door, possibly a mini pizza or pasty. Always passing by the same calico street cat, sitting on the town statue down the front most street, waiting for pets or food offerings. I had always thought her name was Fatty or Big Bess, Bessie for short. But I’ve heard other suggestions like Spot or Tiger, or more suitable ones for her weight like Jabba or Big girl.

I sniffle, face heating up at the thought of home. Taking a deep breath to settle my heart, I barely notice Balin walking over “You alright lass?” I jump, his voice surprising me, “Yeah just missing home, you know” I continue to sip on my now cold soup. “Aye I know that feeling well” He sits down on a rock beside me “Sometimes it helps to talk of it” He smiles warmly at me “Tell me about it hay?”. I sigh “I was actually thinking of a fat street cat” I laugh sadly and he chuckles “Not thinking of family?” He jokes. I smile strained at him “No, I don’t have any family left” stir my soup aimlessly. “I’m sorry lass, I didn’t mean anything by it” He apologises quickly “Nah it’s all good mate, they died a long time ago” I stare out over the dark valley, clouds rolling over the hills. “How’d they pass?” He asks quietly, “My mother died of- uh a brain illness, and my father died from- overindulgence in substance” I say before sculling the last of cold stew in one gulp. “I’m sorry lass, sometimes terrible things occur and all we can do is hold out, in hope of a better day” He leans over and pats my shoulder in a very fatherly way, causing my eyes to water “Thank you” I whisper.

The moment of solemn silence between us is broken by two princes rushing through the brush shouting “Thorin! Mountain trolls have snatched the ponies!” they shout alerting the company “Bilbo went ahead to try and release them, we don’t know how long he’ll last” Fear strikes my body ‘Shits’ just gotten real’ I think scared as the men grab their weapons, preparing for a fight ‘What the fuck is a mountain troll?�� I place my hand on my sheathed sword. I've never had to use this in an actual fight before, let alone aim to kill someone. Balin places his hand on mine “Stay here lass, if we don’t return, run like the wind and find Gandalf”. I nod shamefully, knowing I won’t be of much use. As the men march off to battle, the princes leading the way, a deafening silence washes over the camp. My anxiety spiking through the roof, ‘When am I supposed to run?’ ‘Where am I supposed to go’ and most nerve-wracking ‘What if they need help?’ I jitter and buzz with adrenaline, pacing around the camp. “How about I just go and check it out? Yeah, then if they need help I’ll- do- something” I hype myself up. Pulling out my machete from my pack, I jog into the woods, making sure to keep low. A bright glow lights up the forest ‘How did we not notice them?’. I creep up to the light and hide in a bush at the top of the mound, overlooking their camp. In the centre of the clearing a large bonfire is lit, with some of the dwarves spit-roasting over it. Three giant, ugly, ‘mountain trolls’ stand around arguing with Bilbo about how they're going to cook the company, before one of them picks up Bomber and dangles him over his mouth. Sliding on my belly, down the mound and through the brush, I sneak up behind Thorin who lays closest, and grab the rope tying his sack closed. Thorin jumps at the touch before I shush him, working on cutting him free.

“Oh, not that one. He’s infected.” The troll turns to look at him “Huh?” “You what?” they ask outraged. “Yeah, he’s got worms in his- tubes” Bilbo makes something up quickly, and to my surprise the troll toss Bomber back on the pile with a loud “Eww!”. “In fact, they all have. They're infested with parasites. It’s a terrible business and I wouldn't risk it. I really wouldn’t” He tries to convince them.

Their conversation about parasites drift into the background as I focus on cutting though this stupidly thick rope, with my stupidly small pocket knife. Finally cutting it, I pull the cord loose from around Thorin's neck, and attempt to grasp the back of Thorin's shirt and pull him up. However he’s much heavier than I expected, and I struggle to pull him even an inch up into the scrub. “Come here you!” one of the trolls exclaims before I am suddenly lifted up by my leg. “Oi look Tom, look what I've got” He proudly waves me in the air, ragdolling me, to the other trolls. “Put her down!” “Leave the lass alone!” the company shouts angrily. The troll brings me to his face and gives me a long sniff. “Mmmh man-flesh” he says, rancid breath wafting over my face causing me to dry-heave upside-down “And it’s a female” he says excitedly. “Taste better than the males” He raises me high above his face causing me to shout out in fear and wriggle furiously in his grip, kicking and punching his hand “Put me down you fat ugly cunt!” I scream at him causing him to crack up laughing. “Do you ‘ear that Will? This ones’ got fight in it” He shakes me around violently, ceasing my wriggling.

“The dawn will take you all!” Gandalf’s voice bellows over the commotion. “Who’s that?” “No idea.” “Can we eat him too?” the trolls ask before Gandalf strikes the stone he stands on, breaking it in half and allowing the morning light to cascade over the trolls. They retract, groaning in pain as they quickly turn to stone. The company cheers joyfully “Oh, get your foot out of my back” Dwalin complains from the spit-roast. Still hanging upside-down in the dead troll's grip, the blood really begins to rush to my head. “A little help anyone” I mutter weakly as my vision begins to spot. “Just hold on lass we’ll get you down” someone yells.

Eventually, after they had saved themselves, the dwarves managed to get me on the ground again. “You could’ve sustained serious injury, have you no care for yourself?” Thorin hisses as he marches over. Tired and nauseous, I lay flat on the dewy grass, without saying a word in response. I groan in discomfort, being shook around like that has really pulled everything out of place. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” He scoffs. “Yeah, I do have something to say actually. Sod off!” I bark back at him before covering my eyes with my arm, a headache slowly creeps up my neck. Balin interrupts Thorin by saying something in Khazdul, causing him to back off in a huff. Thorin then goes to harass Gandalf leaving Balin to tend to my wounds.

Master List Pt.5 - Pt.6 - Pt.7

#fili and kili #kili durin #kili x reader #the company of thorin oakenshield #the company x reader #the hobbit #thorin

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myfandomprompts · 11 months

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𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟒)

Synopsis: You are a French girl that had the opportunity to teach in Manchester, and you had been lucky enough to be granted a bed at the Bennett’s place. As Europe is on the brink of war, you start to worry for your family back at home, and you are surprisingly consoled by the one man of the house you would never have thought capable of landing you an ear. It’s not that you like Tom, is it?

Previous Part - Masterlist

Tags: angst, fluff

A/N: Sorry for my long absence, but until July I am swamped. I should be working instead of writing but here I am. There is work in the do, another Aemond fic among others things, but I'll try to finish this one first. And I am not forgetting the other work I promised to some of you. Thank you to @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan & @babyblue711 for awesome beta reading. Enjoy.

French spoken -> italics

It was a terrifying thing to witness.

Mass and queues of thousands of men waiting on the sand with the hope of being evacuated upon the Channel before the Germans broke the last lines of defence. And Tom had only one job: bring back as many as possible to the destroyer and manage to make it home.

“Come on lads!” he shouted against the wind. “Fritz is due to call again soon, and he won’t be selling ice creams!”

Then a bloke with a thick eastern accent tried to board the barge, a wild look in his eyes as he approached the boat. “You cannot stop me,” he spat as Tom pushed him away, telling him off.

“Oh, yeah? I can with this, mate,” he replied, drawing his handgun and pointing it at him.

Tom didn’t want to be here. Every minute he spent away from home felt like part of himself was betraying him, his father’s look as he refused him fresh on his mind, as well as the discussion with you. He had a task to accomplish, and even though he understood why this guy wanted to flee, he could not let him. Who did he think he was?

He tried to explain why he couldn’t board with them, but the wild look in the man’s eyes grew more determined. He was not giving up, Tom reckoned.

“I’m ready for death.”

But neither was he. “We’re all fucking ready for death mate! We’re all ready for death.”

Because life was apparently set to make him feel like he was in hell.

“Shoot me!” the man screamed and Tom had widened his eyes a little before finding his cocky expression again, refusing to let compassion take the better of him before the blond-haired man's desperation. Because every second he was spending on French soil infuriated him, wishing that the aching in his chest would disappear and be replaced by the usual soldier dread or determination his mates all seem to possess, like that eastern man obviously had.

Instead Tom was doing everything he could to get you out of his head, one way or another, and being geographically close to you did not help, at all.

“Right, behave, lads! Any more hassle and I’ll be going home with a boat half-full!” he shouted at the beach, the feeling of his gun heavy in his hands as the blond boy was shoved away.

Then that sound. That shrilling howl, that recognisable whistling that meant death filled the beach and all looked up. Several Stukas, Luftwaffe’s most dreadful aircraft were diving on them, dropping bombs and shooting away.

Everybody around him started to shout and move, panic taking over the entire beach as he saw the bombers dive one by one. Tom felt his whole body fill with dread, the same feeling he had had on the Graf Spree as it got bombed kicking in and the next minute he was running, sprinting among the soldiers and the fire raining down on them.

He had said he was ready for death, but as it came nearer and nearer his need to escape it only grew stronger. That would not be how he ends, not how he parted with his father. With you.

So Tom ran. And Tom fell.

The Nazi flag that hung below l’Arc de Triomphe was flapping against the warm wind of June like it belonged there, red, black and white flashing against the blue of the sky. Behind it marched hundreds of German officers who were parading on the Champs-Elysées with arrogance under the sour gaze of the Parisians that had enough courage to leave their home to witness their entrance.

But Paris felt empty, most of its inhabitants had fled when the capital had been declared an open city a few days prior, the government relocating to Bordeaux the next day as the threat of a German bombing loomed over it. What was left of the French forces was only a deformed mass, scattered across the North of France as soon as the German had pushed through the Meuse and Sedan, trapping them between them and the sea. Many died as they covered the evacuation of Dunkirk, some even lucky enough to reach English shores when the remaining troops were either taken prisoners or killed. Only a few had managed to come back, either wounded or forced to take the German’s advancement by speed as they tried to reach Paris.

But Paris was now occupied, left defenceless as the exodus carried on. And there you were, in the city since the start of May, learning day after day of news of defeated battles and death, heart falling in your chest as the enemy crept closer.

It was upon your return from England that you had decided to go to Paris, after you had found your parents and after they told you that your brother had enrolled in the army back in January and hadn’t come back. An argument ensued in which you blamed your parents who had hidden this from you in order to have you stay in Manchester, feeling betrayed and left out by their omission. So you had packed and headed for the capital only a few days before the Germans had crossed the Maginot Line and put the whole country in disarray.

If your brother was to appear somewhere, you hoped it would be there. You would not sit back and wait for him to appear or not appear. You would not wait to learn of his imprisonment or death comfortably with your parents. You would not experience the same feeling you had had when Tom Bennet, whose blue eyes and wry smile haunted you every day, had been away at sea.

As he surely was now.

You sat down in your tiny flat and, feeling like it was for the millionth time, began writing the same words at the top of the paper again: Dear Tom, Then, after two minutes of agony you crunched up the paper into a ball and threw it in the bin atop of the rest.

It had been months, and you doubted that you would ever be able to put your thoughts into words, what you wanted to say to him. You felt that a letter was not enough, and it surely was.

You weren’t even sure it would reach him.

If he was still alive.

"They dismissed you? Just like that?"

"They didn't really have any choice. The Germans do not care about a shabby café, they prefer three stars restaurants."

It was several days after the German parade and you had just entered the American Hospital to find Henriette, catching her on her way to the office in order to enter new deaths to the registry.

Just in time.

“If you aren’t able to work anymore, you should leave Paris. Maybe go to the zone libre,” she suggested to you as she washed her hands thoroughly in a tiny sink.

“No, if I want to have a better chance at finding my brother, it’s here in Paris. No matter how much I hate being here,” you said, looking around to witness some Nazi officers stroll the corridors. You lowered your voice. “You should be the one leaving. Go in the countryside, not… staying among them.”

Henriette looked at you terrified as she glanced at the Nazis disappearing beyond the halls, then she gave you a frantic shake of her head. Your friend was Jewish, and you were awfully worried for her since the Germans’ arrival, the anti-Semitic ideas they brought with them spreading at an alarming rate.

“My duties are here and I am helping people, the ones who fought for us,” she answered as she went to the desk to grab the log book. “Even when some are ungrateful, might I add. Always feels rewarding when they are getting better.”

You eyed the book in her hands before giving her a short smile. “Men giving you a hard time, then? Hope it’s not the doctor,” you winked, aware of your friend's crush on the American.

She gave you a scolding smile. “Non. Some British guy who was very unhappy to be in Paris. Just, straight rude, called Jacques a coward. He did not like it,” she scoffed.

“Right, I swear they aren’t all like that," you laughed, picturing in your head a man like Tom doing the exact opposite of what you were claiming British people didn’t do. You tried to ignore the pang of guilt and longing you felt thinking about him again, a daily struggle, “What’s an English man doing here anyway? Prisoner?”

“Wounded at Dunkerque and brought back, shot in the shoulder. That boy was a sacré numéro.”

But you were not listening to your friend saying that the soldier had been a handful, because your anguish was considerably growing at the sight of the papers she had mulled out of the drawer, drawing all of your attention to it.

“Je peux voir ?” you said, voice slightly trembling. Can I see?

Every week it was the same routine. Ever since you had settled in Paris, you visited the hospital where you knew your friend received a daily list of the deceased soldiers that had passed away in the hospitals of the area, and every few days you came and consulted said list, hoping that your brother’s name would not appear. You dreaded the day you would learn that he had indeed made it to Paris, only to die there.

Henriette sighed. “Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” she asked, assessing your worried eyes staring at her.

As an answer you just extended your hand so she would give you the list, and she reluctantly did. As your eyes travelled the papers, you heard Doctor O’Connor enter the room and greet you. You absent-mindedly greeted back, eyes not leaving the list of names.

“Are they gone?” Henriette asked Webster in English.

“Yes, the one that vomited was pretty eager to leave. I doubt they will ask to go downstairs again after that.”

You gathered they were talking about German officers that had visited earlier. They were everywhere, even in the last place you wanted them to be. You try not to let it get to you.

“Good,” your friend answered with a firm nod. “Because I don’t think I could pull another miracle like that next time.”

You were about to put the paper back down on the desk, relieved not to see your brother’s name written on it, when your eyes noticed something and your heart stopped.

No.

“Henriette?” you said in a voice you did not recognise, your eyes refusing to leave the piece of paper. “What did you say that English guy’s name was?”

Both the Doctor and your friend exchanged a look before answering. “Uh… Bennett, I think,” she said.

“Tom Bennett, Royal Navy,” finished Webster matter-of-factly while watching you with curious eyes. “Why, you know him?”

You looked up from the paper, feeling the world spinning. No, there was no way.

“What did he look like?” you heard yourself ask, your voice barely audible as you felt your throat burn.

“British?” Webster answered with a scoff. “Blue eyes, blond hair, a pain in the ass. Big mouthed.”

You felt your vision blur for the briefest moment before it cleared again, and you let out a trembling breath you didn’t know you were holding.

This wasn't happening.

You had to sit down, and when you reached the chair next to the desk you felt Henriette rush to your sides in order to ease you down.

“Y/N, qu’est-ce qu’il se passe? Do you know him?” she repeated in French, concern in her eyes as Doctor O’Connor was looking at you dumbfounded, a brow arched high on his forehead.

You struggled to speak, your eyes fixated on the ground. No…You needed more time.

“How…” you began, swallowing hard to control your tears from flowing, hand over your mouth. “…when did he die?” you asked, your voice escaping your throat with difficulty. It took everything you had not to close your eyes and not fall apart on the spot.

“Oh no, no he is not dead, Y/N,” said your friend as she took your hand gently.

You glanced up at her. “What? But…” you stammered, looking at the paper you had put back on the desk with the names and back at her.

Doctor O’Connor seemed to catch up, closed the door and came to crouch next to you, lowering his voice as he spoke. “He is not, we only declared him dead so he would not be taken prisoner of war. We found a way for him to make it back home.”

You widen your eyes, not realising that they were wet from your own tears, heart beating hard in your chest. Tom Bennett was in the same building as you were.

Alive.

“What the fuck do you call this outfit? This your revenge?”

Tom had just grabbed the brown vest that looked like it had been lifted from a dead body from the male nurse. Jacques, he thought his name was, from what he had gathered when he had woken up five days earlier.

When he was met with silence, Tom sneered. “I know you speak English, you understood full well when I was calling you a coward.”

Tom smirked at the man looking out of the window to see if the way was clear, but when the nurse stopped him from exiting the room and uncovered the stretcher near the shelves, Tom’s smirk fell as he understood the plan.

“You’re fucking kidding me?”

Being rolled around in a stretcher was humiliating, but his desire to get away from this place and the stinkers that crowded it was worth this humbling experience, the prospect of even making it home in one piece, seeing his dad, Lois, and little Lois and Harry warming his heart a bit.

He laid still, even when he felt the stretcher come to a stop and a German officer ask questions to his “saviour”. Minutes later, the ambient sounds of the hospital died and he felt the linen over him being lifted off.

“Fucking finally. Did you take the long road or something?” he asked, straightening his clothes as he got up and took in the small room he was in, dimly lit with only one window and chairs put up against the walls. “What now?”

He was satisfied to see the frustrated scowl on the man’s face but he soon noticed the way his eyes glanced over his shoulder. When he followed his gaze, Tom felt his heart stop altogether. "...Y/N?”

You were standing at a corner of the room, unmoving, your eyes roaming over him and Tom felt crushed under it for a moment before you suddenly moved. He barely had time to register it was really you before you crashed on to him with force, enveloping him in your arms.

“Oi, careful there,” he winced with a scoff when he felt the pain that shot through his fresh wound at his shoulder. But he didn’t make any move to push you away as he felt your breath on his neck and your scent fill his nostrils, so familiar, so sweet. He had no choice but to assess that it was really you.

You were finally in his arms.

Well, almost. “Sorry! I didn’t think…” concerned, you pulled away from him, giving him space and making him instantly regret his words. “I know you’ve been shot, I was just so happy to see you…”

“It’s ok. You can’t be as bad as a bullet,” he chuckled, taking in the way your cheeks reddened at his joke and eliciting a small smile on your lips.

He managed to stay still for only two whole seconds before pulling you back against him, willing to take everything you would give him, everything you were. Your warmth, your embrace, your presence. You were the first familiar face he had seen in weeks, and he was still processing that you were really here.

He felt your hands coming to rest on his back again shyly, taking care not to press against his shoulder and he exhaled in blissfulness. He held you close until a clearing of throat came from somewhere behind him. You both pulled apart to look at Jacques, hand on the doorknob and absolutely not ashamed to have ruined this moment.

“Hey, Y/N. Tell him that he must be in the hall at nightfall, the contact will wait for him there. Meanwhile, he must not move from here, it's too much risk, d'accord?"

Tom saw you frown. “Oui, understood. But I thought you spoke English, why don't you tell that yourself?"

"I don't have time to lose with that merdeux. He can already count himself damn lucky that O'Connor accepts to help him, and you seem to have things well in hand... So, all the better for me."

You chuckled dryly, your eyes lightening a bit as you did so, and Tom arched a brow on his forehead at that. What was so funny?

“Very well,” you replied as the man opened the door and made him stop when you thanked him with all of your heart. Jacques gave you a nod before barely granting a glance at Tom and left the room.

“What did he say?” inquired Tom as soon as the man had disappeared.

“He said that you must meet the contact in the hall in about…” you eyed the clock that was hanging above the door, narrowing your eyes. “Two hours, when the sun will be down. It’ll be easier not to get spotted. The Germans are tense today, it is said that Hitler himself was in Paris this morning.”

Jacques’ interruption had you take a step back away from him and as Tom mourned your closeness, he was able to notice the way you shivered at the mention of the Fuhrer. His instinct instantly went to soothe you, but he stopped himself. The distant memory of the last time he saw you and the struggle he endured during this last month slowly came back, and he suddenly didn’t know how to act anymore.

All he knew was that he had been mad at you at some point.

“So it’s not you, huh? The contact,” he said, putting his hands in his pocket bitterly. “Seemed too good to be true.”

You must have seen his mood change on his face because you brought your arms to cross them over your chest protectively in reaction. “No… I know my way around, but I don’t have the means to go to Spain,” you tried to joke with a smile, but it didn’t stick.

Instead, Tom felt everything he had on his heart slowly takes over. “I came for you, you know,” he said, not leaving your gaze. “Back in Manchester. I came back to your flat, but you were already gone. No goodbyes, no letters, nothing. You said three days.”

He watched as your eyes filled with guilt instantly, making him want to take back what he had just said, make you understand that it was all because he had been miserable.

But it was too late. “I thought it would be better that way, for everybody. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry…” he nodded, tongue pressing against his inner cheek in animosity. “You didn’t even send a letter to us afterwards. To Dad and Lois. To me.”

“I… I thought you wouldn't have wanted me to. I thought you would be mad at me,” you tried to explain.

“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” he scoffed. “Did what we had mean so little to you, Y/N?”

“Tom…”

“No, really. I know you’re the bravest out of the two of us and all, but when you take so much place in my head, I would have expected you to at least try and end things properly,” he blurted out, nostrils flaring a bit in repressed rancour. “That would have been more like you.”

Tom was spiteful, but otherwise he found himself rather calm considering what he had experienced the last two months after he had discovered you gone. And now you were staring back at him, tears in your eyes, and he felt awful.

"It was a mistake," you suddenly said, shaking your head and hiding your face from him. "Coming here. I should have left you alone, I'm sorry."

You made for the door, passing by him in a blink of an eye and he barely had time to react. He tried to stop you as he made to grab you with his wrong arm, making him groan in the process and he was left with no choice but to rush to the door as well. He slammed it shut as you opened it, trapping you against it.

"No wait-" he called out before lowering his voice to a whisper, your hair brushing against the side of his face. "Wait… I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

You turned around, leaning your back against the door as you tried to not let a single tear fall over your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, coming to press his forehead over yours as you closed your eyes in reaction, his own refusing to leave your face. "Don't leave again."

You let out a trembling breath that fanned over his skin. “You’re the one leaving…” you said sadly, smiling weakly as you opened your eyes, glimmering. Then he felt one of your hands flatten against his chest between the two of you, resting there.

“It would be so much easier if you hated me…” you continued, looking somewhere between the hand on his chest and his lips, and he felt compelled to bring his own finger over the side of your jaw.

“Yeah…” he scoffed, grazing your skin. “Well I don’t think it’s that simple.”

Only your breaths could be heard in the room as he savoured your closeness, slightly pulling back from your face so he could see you better.

“Come with me,” he said in a low murmur, making you look back at him with wide eyes. “I don’t know where I’m going, but at least it will be away from here. Away from them.”

You bit your lip, almost like you had waited for those very words, a pained expression instantly appearing on your features. “I can’t Tom, I-” you started as he felt the pressure over his chest grow. “I have to stay here, in case he returns, I can’t…”

“Who?” he asked, his fingers falling at the hem of your dress over your shoulder in incomprehension.

“My brother,” you answered in a light shake of your head. “He was in the north, fighting. We have had no news for months, and I hoped… I hoped that he would come here, after everything that happened. After they were pushed back. Just maybe.”

Tom felt a rush of empathy take over him as he watched your eyes turn mournful, feeling the need to take the anguish away, to erase the pain on your face that he had pictured you with so many times when he was at sea himself. He wanted to be even closer.

But you have never felt so far away but at that moment.

“Y/N…” he started, seeing you escape his gaze once more. “If your brother is still… If your brother is still out there, Paris is the last place he’ll come.”

“But you made it,” you said, eyes fluttering, hopeful. “You’re here.”

“I was lucky,” he admitted grudgingly. “I was wounded, they told me they passed me through the lines before the Germans got here. Otherwise I’d be taken as a prisoner of war. Otherwise I’d be…”

He stopped, choosing not to think about the horrible things that would have happened but rather of what was.

“Otherwise I wouldn't be here, with you,” he pressed, applying a light pressure on your shoulder that made you shiver. “Trust me, if I had a choice I wouldn’t have come here, and your brother won’t either, Y/N.”

You let out a defeated sigh. You already knew all of that, you just didn’t want to admit it.

You ducked under his arm, leaving him cold and longing next to the door while you brought a hand to your throat in anguish, not quite looking at him. “I know. I know I just… I can’t just wait, not knowing while they kill and terrorise and take over. It’s just… horrifying Tom.”

“Come with me,” he repeated, coming to stand right behind you. “There is nothing left for you here, right?”

You turned to him, the tears in your eyes gone as you looked at him with renewed determination. “I can’t, you have to go home, and they have a plan to get you there, a sound one. You are the first of many, this is important, and I won’t be the one to jeopardise that,” you argued, taking his hand at his side with purpose.

“You’re just being stubborn again.”

You sighed, a sorry look on your face. “I can’t go with you because two people have less chance to be spotted than three. I’ll be fine if I stay, you won’t,” you pointed out, eyes intense. “I have ways to leave the city, legal ways. I… I heard you, I know I should leave, go back to the countryside. I’ll do it I promise.”

Tom remained silent, the sour taste in his mouth descending into his throat and he found nothing to say, no arguments, not even a witty response to give you. All of that because he knew you were right.

All he wanted was for all of this to be over and to be back to the time where you read your books in his living room, drinking tea while he enjoyed a smoke and the way you laughed. But that was impossible now. He was meant to probably die somewhere at sea, or in France if he didn’t make it back, and you were meant to be with your family, two armies separating you.

“There is a curfew,” you stated after a long pause, finding your words again and speaking in a low voice. “I have to get back…”

He wanted to argue, to find something, anything, but his mind was blank. Instead he watched the way your eyelashes fluttered and how you looked at the clock like it was the fouless thing you’ve even seen.

“Oh, I have something for you,” you remembered, and he saw you reach into your purse to put out two packets of cigarettes. “I figured you would want it. It’s not mild like back in Manchester but, maybe you’ll like those anyway.”

Tom stared at it, unable to take it at first. That was it, the sign that your time together was coming to an end, that you would disappear again and although neither of you wanted to, he knew that you had to.

You put the packets in his hands yourself instead, letting your fingers rest on his hands for a while, pensive.

“Come home safely, Tom, and desert,” you stated, a smile at the corner of your lips. “Properly this time.”

He smiled back. “Well, I’ll have to come back eventually. Who would be left to save your sorry frog’s arses if not us Brits, eh?”

He had talked in a joking manner but he absolutely didn’t feel like laughing, rather focusing on not letting his frustration that was growing by the minute get the better of him and on your fingers on his hands.

You had smiled a bit but your stare was intense, meaningful. He felt like time had stopped before you suddenly came to hold him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder again softly and staying there, silence stretching.

“Take care of yourself, Tom,” you breathed in his neck, your voice trembling. “Please.”

He held you back, wishing the moment would never be over and he could feel the beating of your heart somehow, beating along with his own. But after a while you slightly pulled back, letting go of you and he felt your lips press a single kiss on his cheek, unsure if the wetness there were your tears or his own.

“Goodbye, Tom.”

Then you were out of the room, barely letting him take a last look at your face as you closed the door behind you, and he just stood there, waiting for the steps to fade away in the corridor like some sort of dream. Then he brought his hand to his face, brushing it as to wake up.

He looked around, alone in a room he was doomed to wait in in order to get back where you weren’t, and when he kicked the bin that was beside the door with his foot, sending it to the other side of the room, it didn’t soothe him at all.

That was the longest two hours of his life.

You had no appetite on this yet another Franco-German morning in your flat. Pigeons were cooing by your window where your bag laid open, half packed, clothes spread other the bed and left abandoned there. Maybe what had pushed you to start packing last night when you came home, dry tears over your cheeks was the will to finally make the sound decision and leave Paris, the conversation with Tom ringing in your ears telling you that your brother wouldn’t make it back here. You’d be better back at your parent’s, you gathered. Or maybe what had pushed you to pack was something else, but you didn’t want to dwell on it, deciding to chase the ache in your chest for now.

You decided to visit the hospital in the afternoon, unable to rest until you knew if it had worked. You knew it was too early, but you didn’t care. If something had happened, they would know of it. Webster would know.

When you entered the lobby, you almost turned back when you saw the abnormally high number of German officers, coming in and out of the heavy doors as you tried to make your way to the first floor. When you reached your friend, she immediately dragged you into an empty room, panic in her eyes.

“Ils l’ont arrêté, Y/N,” she said, taking your hands.

“Arrested? Arrested who, Henriette?” you asked, feeling your throat tighten at her expression, desperately looking into her eyes.

“Léon, from the psychiatric unit. They came this morning and arrested him.”

“What?” you exclaimed, half relieved and half scared. “Why? On what ground?”

Henriette gave you a pained look. “Because I think that he is… Because he is Jewish.”

You recoiled, dread filling you as you thought about your bag on the bed back in your flat and your friend in front of you, all alone.

Like you were.

“That’s it. You’re not staying here. You’re leaving, and I’m coming with you.”

“But I can’t! I have work here, I’m useful, I save lives… I need the money.”

“You won’t have money when they’ll put you away in those labour camps. Henriette, we can't wait around until they take you away.”

Your friend only stared at you, defeated. She didn’t want to leave Paris, what she had always known. She didn’t want to leave her job or Webster.

But you were right.

“Très bien. I just don’t know what to do.”

“I do. Pack, we leave in the morning.”

A/N: By the time the Germans entered Paris the 13 of June, the Parisians that remained stayed inside their homes in fear, as there was a strict curfew. I made reader witness the parade for image purposes.

Here's an accurate representation of myself in my father's attic searching for testimonies of my grand-father and objects from WWII.

I frigging' love that attic.

Part 5

(bold means I couldn't tag you) @chainsawsangel@mischiefmanaged71@depressedperson88@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @yentroucnagol@crlttpstrn @tssf-imagines @omgkatherine01 (I allowed myself to tag you) @nightdiamond8663 @r0segard3n

#tom bennett #tom bennet x reader #wof #world on fire #tom bennet imagine #smut #tom bennett fanfiction #oneshot #ewan mitchell #wof gif #angst #short story #fluff #world on fire 1x04 #gone with regret #usermyfandomprompts

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buckysdolls · 11 months

Text

Your Archer of Infamy (Priest x You) Series

Chapter 1

The windscreen wipers were frantically leaping left to right fighting off the rain that was lashing against your windshield screen. Twelve years of driving and you’re a hundred percent sure this was the worst weather you’d ever driven in, not to mention you felt the pressures of being even more cautious than usual as Rhea was in the car with you. You and Rhea had been friends since 2017 when Rhea joined the company. You were older than her by three years and as soon as you were introduced to each other your personalities clicked. That’s why you made such a great tag team, best friends in the ring, best friends out the ring. You and Rhea tried to drown the sound out of the rain with your singing.

“Out the curtain, lights go up, I'm home..”

“WHOA!” Both you and Rhea belted out Downstrait’s ‘Kingdom’, Cody Rhodes’ entrance song. Your phone chimed, it was a photo message from Damian. As you were driving, Rhea opened it up for you, the photo was of Damian, Finn and Dom waiting in the hotel.

“When are you two going to stop messing about and just do it?” Rhea blurted out, questioning the chemistry that lingered between you and Damian.

“Straight to the point as ever Rhea” Your exhale turning to laughter.

“We’re all just waiting for it to happen.”

“So am I” Your honesty had Rhea in stitches. She turned the music down that was on full blast to answer a video call she was receiving.

“Who is it?” You asked, wanting to look over but you knew you had to keep your eyes on the road. A chorus of ‘Hi’s’ told you it was Balor, Dom and Priest.

“ETA?” Balor asked, Rhea looked over at your phone’s navigation app.

“Two minutes, we’re just round the corner.” Rhea replied.

“Has she crashed yet?” Dom liked to pick on you, he was like a little brother to you. You constantly had playful back and forth spats with each other.

“Fuck you Dom” keeping your eyes on the road you gave him the middle finger which Rhea pointed the camera at so Dom could see. As Rhea hung up you pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, you both looked at each other and nodded as if you knew what each other was thinking. You both threw open the car doors, slamming them shut. Both of you hastily ran to the boot and grabbed whatever bags there were in an attempt to get as little wet as possible from the rain. Heads down to avoid the rain slapping into your faces as the heavy wind pushed it in your direction you both legged it over to the entrance, dropping the bags as soon as you were in the clear from the rain.

“That’s disgusting” You turned to Rhea gesturing to the rain.

“You got us here safely though” Rhea emphasised the word ‘safely’ loudly in an attempt to grab Dom’s attention as the three of them sat on comfortable leather chairs, their backs to the pair of you. They were waiting for you and Rhea to check in and change so you could all head to the gym together.

You and Rhea headed over to the front desk, as Rhea checked in Grayson Waller had approached you. He’d been trying for a while now, vying for your attention and you wondered how long he would keep up with it. You raised your eyebrows at him as if to question what he wanted, to which he just responded with a smirk, licking his lower lip and continuing to chew his gum.

From afar, Priest watched the interaction. He wasn’t a fan of it, his knuckles were turning white from the hard grip he had on the arm of the chair. He knew you were well liked and often the desires of many lads in the locker room when the topic of conversation was the female roster. He couldn’t blame them though. You were genuinely one of the sweetest girls but for everyone else the talk was superficial, it was always your looks, to him he cared more about how you reflected the same rockstar lifestyle he lived. Thankful for all your opportunities. Trying to be the best version of yourself. Being happy. The look was just a bonus in the neatly wrapped up package. Balor and Dom noticed where Priest’s attention was currently drawn too, Waller rubbing his hand up and down your arm.

“Tell her bro!” Dom yelled into a whisper. Within an instant Dom’s attention was on Balor and Dom.

“Nah. I’m eleven years older than her, I’ll just be holding her back” Priest slumped back in his chair trying not to look over.

“Sounds like some bullshit excuse to me” Balor coughed in between each word.

As Waller touched your arm you looked at it, as you did you tried to steal a glance over at Priest using your peripheral vision, you were hoping he was looking in your direction and to your pleasure he was. You adored Priest, you wanted him badly. He always gave you signals like touches and comments that told you it was reciprocated but he never acted up on it. You knew it was an ignorant thing to be doing but you tried to use the attention from other guys to get some sort of reaction out of him.

“Can’t wait to see you in action tonight.” Waller’s attempt to flirt with you was cringeworthy but you smiled to play along.

“Thanks…”

“We can take the action back to my room later if you wanted?”

Internally you were gagging and trying not to let your face screw up into a ball in reaction to the cringe comments leaving his mouth. Overhearing the comments Rhea stepped in trying to save you from any more painful Waller interaction.

“Beat it Waller” Rhea rolled her eyes.

“Charming as always Rhea” Waller brought his hand up to his chest as if her words wounded him.

“I’m serious, we’ve got better things to do Grayson” Rhea turned you around so your back was to Waller and although you were finding it hilarious because of Rhea’s bluntness you mouthed ‘thank you’ to her.

“Check-in” She whispered in your ear before grabbing her bags and walking away to the boys.

“Think about my offer, yeah?” Waller said as he backed away.

You breathed deeply to regain your composure.

“Hi, I’d like to check in please?”

“Welcome, absolutely, what is the name on the reference?”

You gave the lady behind the counter your name and booking reference, her lips rolled thinly and her eyebrows furrowed as if she was confused. You observed her closely as she kept tapping and scrolling. She’d occasionally look up with apprehension on her face, as she looked at your smile.

“I’m sorry Miss, it seems there has been a mix up with your booking. The room has been double booked.”

“How does that even happen?” You huffed in disbelief.

“I’m not sure…” The lady was dumbfounded, as she looked up at you with regret. You weren’t one to yell, it wasn't her fault.

“Any more rooms available?” You questioned hopefully.

The lady shook her head and pursed her lips outwards “ I’m afraid not, we’re fully booked because of the show. Neighbouring hotels are fully booked too. I could explain your situation to the current occupants and ask if they would mind vacating the room offering them a free stay another time?.”

You shook your head smiling kindly at the lady.

“That won't be necessary. Could you just make sure you refund me the room please?” You could tell the lady really appreciated your level of calmness, you were almost certain she was used to being yelled at in situations like this.

“Of course, miss. Once again our apologies for this mix up and thank you for being so kind about it”

Turning your back to the counter, you huffed and rubbed your eyes in frustration before making your way over to the group.

“What’s with the long face?” Dom asked.

“ I don’t have a room, they gave my room to someone else” You flopped over the arms of the chair Damian was sitting on so you were laid across him, letting your body go limp.

“Shit. I’ve got Buddy staying tonight…” Rhea replied implying she couldn’t offer you space as her boyfriend would need the room. You pulled yourself up like a sit up then dropped yourself onto the lap of Damian.

“It’s fine, I'll sleep out here. We only ever get five hours of sleep on the road anyway. Zero hours tonight won't hurt. Beside its comfortable”

“It’s only comfortable because you’re sitting on Damian” Dom pointed at the pair of you, You turned to look at Priest who was smirking at you which in turn made the corners of your lips curl upwards. Your eyes darted quickly between his dark eyes and lips, likewise he copied you. You could both sense the tension between you as you’d both forgotten where you were as silence filled the air.

“I aint complaining” Priest broke first and spoke up, his hands in the air. You refocused, turning back to face everyone else.

“Thanks for stating the obvious Dom” your sarcasm causing everyone to snicker. Priest put one arm round the back of you to lean on your waist.

“Take my bed, I can take the floor for a night” Priest said. You turned to look at Priest, you couldn’t help but look at him lovingly.

“I can’t do that”

“I’m not letting you sleep out here on your own” Damian’s other hand gravitated to your leg, settling in between your thighs.

“This makes me sick” Dom joked as you looked down at the hand. Damian followed your gaze and instantly removed his hand and pushed up to make you both stand up.

“C’mon let's go.” Priest ignored you as he walked past as if to pretend he didn’t just have you sat on him, his hand grazing your inner thigh..

“Meet here in ten yeah?” Rhea asked and everyone nodded in agreement. You followed behind Damian up to his room.

The day had dashed by, you were now alone with Priest in the hotel room. You opened the bathroom door to see him in his boxers and you in the only bedtime clothes you had, your lingerie, you weren’t expecting having to share a room with anyone okay! Sometimes pyjamas aren’t needed! You sighed quietly, trying to maintain your composure seeing Damian this way.

“I’m sorry I dont have pyjamas otherwise I’d wear them” You became nervous as you walked towards Priest, you weren’t sure if you were nervous because you were suddenly overcome with anxiety with how you looked or if it was because Priest made you nervously giddy.

“No need to apologise

“Like what you see?” Priest’s low gruff voice asked you. Priest was astounded by you, only asking you that question because he liked what he saw. You rolled your eyes in amusement.

“It’s alright I suppose” You shrugged your shoulders

You watched as Priest laid down on the floor and grabbed the blanket off the bed, his actions confusing you.

“You’re not actually sleeping there are you?” Priest folded his arms behind his head to lean on, his muscles tensing making your self control even weaker as he just gazed up at you.

“I dunno? Am I?” Reverse psychology… good one you thought. You dropped on to the bed telling Damian to get in. You didn’t need to tell him twice and he was up onto the bed and settled next to you. You turned over to face him, your faces inches apart, all Priest wanted to do was pull you into him and on top of him, his hands grabbing at your ass as you kissed intensely over and over again, him manoeuvring your body to grind against him.

“What do you think of Waller?” His thoughts shattered instantly. Why were you asking him about Waller? Not wanting to let you know he was confused or disappointed, he shrugged his shoulders.

“Seems fine” Damian’s reply was blunt.

“I think he wants to go on a date..”

“Enjoy it” Damian smiled and quickly turned over like he was giving you the cold shoulder. He was… he didn’t want to hear about your feelings towards Waller, not that you actually had any. Your reasoning in bringing Waller up had the intention of making Damian jealous and maybe get him to admit his feeling so you could too but his responses had you feeling that your desired outcome had failed.

During the night Damian was woken by your slow movement of turning over and placing your arm over his midsection, curling up to him and resting your forehead on his back. He didn’t want to wake you so he let you cuddle up to him. Was he really going to let someone like Waller get to you before he could?

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mikhailwrites · 5 months

Text

Waiting for Connection 3 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Previous chapter | AO3

They’re crouching in some bushes; a helo whirrs over their heads. “Alright, the target is two Ks away, bearing one-seventy-five, heavy enemy presence is expected, dug-in infantry in the buildings, possible anti-tank and snipers on the roofs. We will split into three groups and use the terrain to our advantage as we close in from three sides. Is anyone here proficient with explosives? And I do mean proficient,” Ghost pauses, not really expecting anyone to say yes. Using explosives in this game is pretty complicated; most trigger-happy, fireworks-loving kids give up or are told to give up after a dozen or so times they blow up either themselves or their fireteam.

“Aye, I can blow somethin’ up,” the Scotsman says. Well, alright, Ghost has his doubts, but he will enjoy chewing him out if he fucks up.

“Brilliant, you with me then, the rest of you check your gear and group up accordingly,” Ghost tells them, refilling his glass with bourbon. “You’ll get into positions around the target, I’ll take care of the snipers, and Soap here will breach the building so we can clear it. Everything clear?”

Again, he gets general confirmation. At least nobody is questioning his position as a leader today.

“Great, let’s move out,” Ghost commands.

They sneak forward, mindful of their surroundings and each other. Once they reach the crest of the hill, Ghost and Soap lay down in the tall grass while the other two groups proceed. Ghost takes his spotter’s scope and checks the buildings roughly half a click away. It’s a cluster of three, but two of them are little more than glorified sheds. It’s the two-story one that worries him.

“I can spot for you, Ghost,” Soap offers, surprising Ghost. It’s a role that nobody usually wants, not very glamorous, if you’re not the one firth a finger on the trigger, Ghost supposes.

Ghost gives him the scope. “Let’s see it, then.”

Soap hums, his voice deep in his throat as he looks at the building. “They’re not on the roof, sir; seems like the intel was wrong. I see a tango by that pile of hay at ten o’clock, ghillie suit.”

Ghost looks through the scope, following Soap’s instructions and sure enough, there is a sniper. “Well spotted, soldier.”

“Wind’s alright, but I’d account for half a notch, sir,” Soap says as he looks again.

Ghost wanted to do just that. Soap seems like an interesting bloke. “Rog, adjusting.”

Ghost presses a key to steady the avatar’s breathing before taking the shot. It’s a clean headshot; the sniper keels over as blood and brain spatter on the hay. “Good call. Anything else?”

“Not from what I can see, but I’d advise caution.”

“Alpha-one to all Alpha, the sniper is down. Proceed, but stay frosty, boys.”

He and Soap do the same, carefully advancing to the structures. The tall grass gives them some advantage, though Ghost doesn’t want to overestimate it. He’s also on the lookout for any more snipers. It’s quiet, only the cicadas and birds.

Crossing those few hundred meters is when they’re at their most vulnerable. Out in the open with no cover to get behind. They know it, and the enemy would know as well if anyone spotted them. It would be over quickly.

Ghost should be tenser than he is, but having Soap watching his six helps a lot. The lad is definitely something else—probably military or an educated enthusiast.

“Alpha-three and Alpha-four, we’re in position by the wooden shed,” the second team chimes in.

“Copy that, Alpha-two; check the shed for any surprises. Alpha-five, Alpha-six, what’s your status?” Ghost asks.

“Almost there, Ghost, are we to check the other shed?”

“Affirmative. Let’s RV by the northern wall of the main building in two.”

It’s been smooth sailing so far, Ghost thinks, which is, of course, when everything goes to hell. First, he hears a shout, then a burst of unsilenced shots. There goes the moment of surprise.

Ghost raises his rifle. Scope on it is not very practical for close combat situations, but he can make do. “We breaching wall or door?” Soap asks, coming up on Ghost’s three o’clock.

“Fuck, fuck, I’ve been shot,” their teammate exclaims, clearly angry.

“Status. You injured or KIA?” Ghost doesn’t even ask why the Alpha-five didn’t have Six’s six.

“Injured, managed to kill the bastard in the shed, though.”

“Good job. Alpha-three or four, do you have a medkit?”

“I do,” Alpha-four responds.

“Right, go take care of him, Alpha-Six. Regroup with Three on us; we’re going through the southern wall.”

“Roger,” they respond.

“Well, Soap, get us through that door,” Ghost says, taking a swing from his glass, realising it’s almost empty.

“On it, sir,” Soap barks out, all business, as he goes to set up the charge. Ghost waits by the corner, checking Soap’s six in case they have a pest problem. A minute later, two other Alphas join him.

“Alpha-Three, how’s Four doing?”

“All patched up, we’re coming to you now.”

Once the charge is set and they’re safely behind the corner, Ghost gives the green on the breach. “Be careful of friendly fire. Otherwise, if it moves, it’s a fair game. Let’s go!”

The blast cracks through Ghost’s headset. There’s a lot of smoke, but they run it nonetheless. Ghost spots a movement in the settling dust and pulls the trigger. “Tango down, let’s move!” He feels Soap right behind him and also sees the laser of his rifle.

They go up the stairs with Five and Six while Three and Four clean the rooms below. “Heavy armour, stand back!” Ghost hollers, taking a few steps back. “Frag out, fire in the hole!” He crouches and turns away from the blast.

As soon as the grenade explodes, he’s back on his feet. There are several doors before them. Ghost gestures for the other pair to go on the left while he and Soap go on the right. As soon as he comes to the door, a shotgun blast comes through them. “Shotgun behind the door,” Ghost announces. “I’ll kick them in, Soap, be ready to jump the gun.”

“Rog!”

Soap is fast. As soon as Ghost kicks the door, the Scot is there, sweeping the room until he finds the target and eliminates it.

Another shot rings behind them, where the other team is. “Oh, bollocks! I’m out, guys, sorry.”

More shots from downstairs. “Ground floor clear! Coming up to finish this,” Alpha Three announces.

There are two doors left.

One room turns out empty. The other, however…

“Stop!” Don’t touch it!” Soap barks out just as Alpha Three reaches for the doorknob. That’s when Ghost sees it. A tripwire. Bloody hell.

Soap quickly produces wirecutters and cuts it.

“Alright, clear,” Ghost leaves the last two enemies to his teammates.

With that, the mission is done.

One by one, the players thank for the game and disconnect until it’s just CallMeSoap and Ghost.

“Right, been a good game,” Soap says. Usually, a farewell follows, but not this time, as if he is waiting for something.

“Been the best bloody game I’ve played in a long time,” Ghost admits, unwilling to be the one to hang up on the stranger. “We could play again sometime; I miss working with someone who knows the drill for a change.”

“Miss working?” That is a specifically aimed question, telling Ghost that whoever the man is, he’s sharp.

“Been in the military, retired now,” Ghost shares a harmless little information. Deliberately and voluntarily, something he wouldn’t do a few years ago.

“I see, that explains a lot, actually. Thought you are either force or nutjob,” Soap admits with a lilt to his voice, suggesting a smile. “You don’t sound a retirement age, though.”

Ghost chuckles. “Maybe I just sound younger. So, what branch are ya?”

“I would tell you, but then I’d have tae kill ye,” Soap says with a mockingly deep and serious voice.

“Fair enough. Would you fancy another game sometime?”

“Sure. Dinnae have much time, so… dinnae hold yer breath, but I’ll add you to my friends.” The notification confirms his words. Ghost does the same.

“Gotta go now. Thanks for the game; was fun,” Soap says with finality.

“Yeah, it was; see you around, Soap,” Ghost hovers over the button labelled Disconnect.

“You know it, Ghost.” Then a sound announces Ghost is alone on the channel.

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #call of duty fic

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balladofthewhitehorse · 15 days

Text

Old Memories

It was a shock of a blue sky, and the wind carried the promise of a sharp frost and sharper winds. With it, England knew that a cold winter was coming soon and cold winters brought famine, a familiar ache in the pit of his belly even though it had not known hunger in a terribly long time. ‘’Chilly, isn’t it?’’ He spoke in a plaintive voice, mundanity pricking the corners of his mouth into a smile that it just about remembered how to do. Scarf drawn tight, England glanced sheepishly at Wales (muttering something about remembering to pack a hat next time they went up to Scotland’s place - and gloves too), his cheeks flush with embarrassment. ‘’Don’t you ever get tired of it, Scotty?’’ Heavens knew that England would - he practically lived beside his radiator these days, and the cold that closed around him was edged with steel; Something wicked this way came, and his heart thudded in his ears. They were in the middle of a valley, cradled on-all sides by hills that seemed - to England - insurmountable, fringed with grey clouds that suddenly felt like bulwarks that bore down upon the three of them with silent prejudice. It was…unfriendly.

Scotland grunted, shrugging as he held up a pair of binoculars to his chest. A bird was flying overhead - a silhouette that belied the promise of being a raptor of some kind, majestic all the way up so high. ‘’There’s no such thing as bad weather though,’’ He jabbed a finger pointedly towards England, heavy brows furrowed as he stared ruefully at his brother’s shabby coat. ‘’Just bad clothing.’’ He scolded, though Scotland’s voice remained light (fraternal even, in-spite of the growing distance between himself and his brother, England). ‘’What on Earth is this-?’’ Polyester; A dreadful material, in Scotland’s opinion, and he turned up his nose in thinly-veiled disgust. ‘’It’s so thin…no wonder the wind’s fucking cutting through you.’’ Scotland scoffed, the corner of his lips twitching into a vague smirk (He certainly wasn’t cold - having dressed appropriately for it). ‘’We’re cold because it is fucking cold.’’ Chimed in Wales, rolling her eyes as she buried her red-knuckled hands into her pockets; Nothing could be felt anymore, not her ears, nose or toes. It was as though piece by piece, the frost was consuming her slowly. ‘’Aren’t you?’’ She asked incredulously, brows knitting in disbelief. Beside her, England shivered and drew his coat tight around himself - thin-lipped with the cold, Wales casting a sympathetic glance at her youngest brother. ‘’Oh come off it, you’re just bragging.’’ She hissed, head snapping back to Scotland as she prodded him in the side. ‘’Give me your hands-!’’ A grasp, pulling at his gloves. ‘’-You used to get really cold when you were little! Don’t give me that look, Scot-!’’ A scuffle - distracted at the moment, Wales and Scotland scarcely noticed England slowly drifting off to the side. His eyes turned upward to the horizon, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end; The air crackled with a strange energy (Figures could come pouring down the hillsides; Thick rivers of steel and men, this was a perfect spot for an ambush) and England felt something heavy bearing down upon him. ‘’Guys…’’ Whispered a strained voice, his tongue as thick as lead (as thick as blood, pouring into the grass in ropes - from a gash on near the top of his thigh; He couldn’t run as fast now, couldn’t hope to manoeuvre in-time to avoid the axeblow that was coming soon). ‘’I-’’ England’s eyes snapped to the grass in confusion. ‘’I’m not bleeding, am I?’’

‘’Eh?’’ Scotland gently pushed Wales’ hands away, peering at England bemusedly. Something ragged lingered in his brother’s expression (torn banners, torn hands - Scotland recognised the sight well, and his jawline tensed in patient anticipation for a snap; Teeth bared, defensive - a dog prepared to bite the hand that fed). ‘’No, no…not at all, Eng.’’ He sighed softly, frowning slightly. ‘’You’re fine, lad.’’ He hummed lightly, clearing his throat sheepishly. ‘’There’s nothing there…’’ A twinkle crept into his eyes, Scotland lifting his chin with a wry smirk on his lips. ‘’You’re not weaselling out of this walk so easily, England.’’ The wind howled across the hill-peaks with a playful roar, tousling hair and tugging at hats with an insistence that made Scotland’s eyes shine. Binoculars swinging from side to side, Scotland shoved his hands into his pockets and raised his chin proudly, marching onwards without much regard for whether his family would be able to keep up. ‘’The view will be worth it all,’’ He boasted. ‘’Shift your arse.’’ ‘’I’m not trying to-’’ England started furiously, trailing off into a soft growl. ‘’Fuck off, I walk plenty.’’ No-longer did the wind howl ill, but tugged at his scarf and hat with a playful insistence. It sang of levity, a weight risen from England’s weary shoulders as he stomped after Scotland, snarling that he’d reach the top of the crest (and from high up, there was a good vantage-point; They would not be ambushed; They would not be swallowed up by the very Earth itself). He scowled quietly to himself, huffing and puffing and scoffing that he was perfectly fine with the pace he was managing and that the view couldn’t really be all that grand, the way Scotland was going on and on about it. ‘’You’ve dragged us all the way out here, in the middle of bumfuck no-’’

A sudden pang of dread swallowed his tongue. England swallowed anxiously. They were alone.

Quietly, Wales padded after him - a shadow at his shoulder, England casting an anxious glance towards her (as if begging her to keep quiet, a phone conversation that she wasn’t meant to hear in the first place; A secret that England thought embarrassing, shameful). ‘’You’ll be fine,’’ She breathed softly, patting him on the back lightly, a rare gesture from England’s childhood - back when the trees used to sprawl across the sky. Before she had tasted steel across her throat. Before she watched England, as she lay dying beneath the trees that sprawled across the sky. ‘’As you say, you’ve walked plenty of times.’’ A conspiratorial smile crept across her lips, across her cheeks as Wales crossed her arms behind her back with a playful hum. ‘’From your armchair to the kitchen.’’ Scotland let out a bark of laughter, as the three of them reached the hill’s summit. Around them, sprawled the scenery - and just as England was winding up a sharp comment of his own, he lifted his binoculars to his eyes. ‘’Guys, belt it-!’’ A silhouette glided effortlessly across the sky, wings cutting a stark shadow against the white clouds. ‘’-It’s an eagle.’’ A rare sight, Scotland couldn’t help feeling mesmerised by it - breathing in slowly and deeply, as if he couldn’t quite appreciate it enough. England’s sharp voice (indignant, defensive; A bristling thing, like a brambleberry bush - anger flashing like shiny berries in the autumn sun) faded away, petering into an equal appreciative silence. ‘’Doesn’t it look majestic?’’ Scotland sighed, feeling warm. Wales stood beside her brother, looking up towards the sky - eyes squinting in the sun. ‘’It is.’’

Slowly - sulkily, glaring at Wales’ back as she joined Scotland - England joined the two of them at last. He looked slowly around, eyes panning over the vast horizon. It sprawled out before him in a patchwork quilt of fields and forests and rolling hills, jagged mountains rising up in the distance; England was not a man who appreciated nature - or at least, he wasn’t before. There were no enemies hiding on the hills, silvery swords rallying in the howling wind, and England exhaled slowly and lengthily. ‘’I suppose it’s alright.’’ He grunted softly, crossing his arms across his chest as he tried to suppress a chill that crept through him (only the cold this time, only the cold). England leaned back towards the open sky, trembling as he slowly closed his eyes against the warmth of the wintry sun. ‘’...Peaceful out there. No trouble, yeah?’’ England mumbled, as if trying to convince himself that there was nothing out there, not anymore. Just him, and his siblings surrounded by miles, upon miles of hills - and they were all getting along.

Just like the old times.

#hws england #hws scotland #hws wales

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imwriting0verhere · 18 days

Text

Love Again

Chapter 8

Sam’s pov

Being in LA for the past two weeks was incredible. We arrived, fought the jetlag and got ready to start this North America tour. I had to do some interviews as well as a photoshoot that are all going to be released throughout the tour to get even more promo out and make myself and my music even more interesting and appealing to the American audiences. I’m never too crazy about those tasks but it’s part of this job. At least we’re finally on location and ready to play our first gig tonight in Los Angeles, and it’s at the legendary Troubadour no less. We’re all buzzing, even uncle Elton said he’d be there tonight. Everything still feels so unreal.

I’ve been with the boys all day, it’s just gone past 5pm as we walk out of soundcheck and into the backstage area to wind down and prepare for tonight.

The minute I sit down and turn my phone back on I’m bombarded with notifications. At least 8 messages make my phone vibrate and light up as well as 5 missed calls. And they’re all from Amber. My breath gets caught in my throat thinking the worst. So without even checking the texts I excuse myself and step out of the room to ring her back.

After several seconds and me ready to give up, she answers.

“Finally” I mumble before addressing her “Ambs you okay? A’ve just got me phone back and seen all your calls and messages” I try to listen for any signs of distress or where she might be. But the line is eerily quiet. I hear her exhale before she finally speaks

“What were you doing all day? Did you have fun?” she asks me in a very snippy and annoyed tone.

“Ehm, what d’ya mean? We’ve been prepping for tonight and just got done with soundcheck” I pinch the bridge of my nose out of pure confusion “You alreet, pet?” I ask again.

“Don’t know” she hisses into the phone and I’m really just getting more confused by the minute. What is she on about?

“You tell me! Given that its past midnight in London now which means you’ve completely missed our first Valentine’s Day together” she snaps at me.

Oh. Okay. Thank god it’s nothing serious.

I clear my throat before I respond “Look Ambs, I’m sorry I’ve missed it. My mind’s just on the gig tonight and everything going right. A wasn’t even aware that was today.

“But Saam” she whines “This would’ve been our first one together. I wanted to speak to you or facetime you all day”

I don’t want her to think I don’t care, but this is absolutely the last and least important thing on my mind today.

“Well, it’s still the 14th where I am” I try to appease her with that “So technically a divvent miss it”

She’s pondering over my words and I’m waiting for her to say something

“Ceemon, it’s not like a’ve done this on purpose. I miss yous” I smile down the phone

“Fine, alright” she tries to sound annoyed but I can hear the smile in her voice, knowing I’ve won her over with that “I miss you too babe. It’s killing me that I can’t even come over and visit you”

“Me too. But we’ll make it work aye”.

Before I know it, 20 minutes have passed and I need to get back to the lads.

“I’ve got to go now. Elton John will be here tonight and he’s coming early to have a chat and give us a pep talk, right.” I chuckle at her. I’m so excited to see him again and actually have him in the audience tonight. Proper VIP treatment just for him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, again. ‘m sorry a couldn’t be there today”

“Thanks babe, happy V-Day!” she says excitedly “Good luck tonight, I wish I was there with you”.

Stepping back into our little green room I make a mental note of having chocolates and a bouquet of her favourite flowers delivered to her tomorrow.

Y/N pov

Being on tour for almost four weeks already was the best and most amazing feeling. Traveling with the girls, exploring new cities, playing music to new audiences almost every night was everything I’ve always wanted to do. But on a day like today, I was very grateful to have some time off and start a very chill Sunday by waking up late and staying in bed for a bit. And given that we were playing two shows in Rome our label actually splurged and we were staying in a hotel for the time being. This Valentine’s Day couldn’t have started better.

At 11 am I finally decide to leave the bed and go shower, so I can start the day proper. February 14th was one of my favorite days ever since I was in high school. I didn’t have a boyfriend at the time but me and my friends tried to make it special for each other. Writing sweet and silly letters to each other, getting flowers or a cheap bracelet from Claire’s we’d been swooning over at the mall. It didn’t matter how much or if we’d even spent any money at all, it was always about showing love and affection to the people around you, the people in your life that you love and cherish, and couldn’t imagine living without.

So I’ve got a special day planned for my girls today.

Walking into the en suite bathroom and opening Spotify to enjoy some music while I shower and get ready. But a message catches my eye and as soon as I open it and see who it’s from, my mood gets even better and I smile down at my phone.

Morning sunshine! I hope you’re having a blessed day. Missing you over here, bun San Valentino mi amore 😘😉😂

Cackling at Johnny’s text and use of obnoxious pet names and emojis, I quickly type back

Thanks so much mi amore! You just made this day THAT much more special x 😍😘

My response dripping with sarcasm but it’s actually very impressive and sweet that Johnny remembered how much I love this day.

Fifteen minutes later I step out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and my damp hair falling over my shoulders. I lower the volume on my phone as I see Donna is back in our room. She acknowledges me with a quick “Good morning sleepyhead! Ready for the big day?” and as she turns around to me she sports a big smile and a mirth in her eyes that I can’t quite place.

“Yes, I’m going to be so disgustingly corny and loved up with all of you today” I grin at her before sitting down on my bed and looking down to scroll on my phone. Missing her smirk and the not so subtle bouquet of pink, violet and white flowers that’s now sitting on our vanity table. Next to it is a little bag filled with a The Safest Place EP, Johnny’s second band that I’ve supported and been a huge fan of since day one. And he promised me I’d be one of the first people to hear their music once they have enough songs to make an EP. The last item on the table are two pistachio croissants neatly placed inside an open cardboard box. One of my absolute favorite Italian treats, and now that they’re from a bakery in Rome, they must be absolutely heavenly.

“Someone’s already beat you to it. By the looks of it” looking up at her with confusion evident on my face, she just nods her head to the side and my eyes follow the direction until they land on the items on the table.

I gasped before quickly dropping my phone onto the mattress and stepping closer to investigate.

“What?” I whisper in disbelieve. “Did…did you get me this” I ask her bewildered

“Nope” she lets the p pop and just smirks at me some more “I believe they are from a certain Mr Bond” she walks past me, squeezes my arm gently and walks out onto the small balcony of our room. She’s giving me some privacy because she knows I’m going to want to talk to Johnny immediately.

Reaching for my phone again and starting a facetime call, I walk back over to the table to investigate some more. After only a few rings he picks up

“Hiyaaa” he almost shouts into the phone, the biggest Cheshire grin on his face “A’m guessing you got your present?”

“Johnny, this is crazy” I’m still a bit shocked and at a loss for words “How did you even…this is too much…” I trail off again

“It’s not. I know how much you love this day and that you’re treating the girls today. But you deserve some of that too aye” his smile softer now. My eyes get a bit teary at that. Johnny really is one of the best people I know.

“Do you like the flowers? Did you look at everything yet?” he asks excitedly.

“They’re so beautiful John!” and as I move closer to smell them, a smile forms on my face. I don’t have a lot to say, still a bit overwhelmed by this gesture so we just look at each other, my happy expression saying enough.

I reach my hand into the little pink paper bag and pull out a black and dark blue colored 7” vinyl. The Safest Place EP written on top of its case.

“Omg Johnny that’s you” I shout excitedly, looking at my phone screen again. He just laughs at my outburst

“Aye! I promised you, didn’t I?” he grins at me and I’m bursting with pride now. This means it’s official now, Johnny’s new band is ready for take-off and I hope they get to play many incredible gigs in the near future. This is such a good start.

“I’m so proud of you B, this is amazing! Thank you so much! For all of this” taking a moment to just look at him.

His warm blue eyes stare back at me, the softest look on his handsome face. I can feel his genuine care and good intentions just by looking at him.

He asks me about my plans today, he wants to know again how life on tour has been and how I’m feeling with all of this happening and my hard work finally paying off.

I can feel my thoughts drifting. Thinking about recent months, what happened between me and Sam and how different both men have been treating me. Even though things with Sam started very rough this year, and it still doesn’t feel like we made up and are back to being close friends, just how it was before that New Years party. We still need to have a proper conversation, in person, and he needs to show me that I can trust him again, unconditionally. But maybe we’re getting there now, after he contacted me that very first day of tour. Unfortunately, I haven’t heard much else from him since then.

And Johnny on the other hand, he’s been such a wonderful friend since we met years ago. I never thought I’d feel any differently for him, surprisingly, even after we shared a kiss one night a couple years ago. There was a tension between us that night, I think it was after one of his last shows with Catfish and something about him fresh off stage just made me see him differently. There was wine flowing and the adrenaline was high. So we made out that night. It was great, and it didn’t even feel like a mistake afterwards. But it was only a spur of the moment impulse and we just went on being friends.

I realize now that the feeling I had back then, might be coming back. For the past two months Johnny’s been such a constant in my life, almost taking Sam’s place. And although that thought was a bit scary, it doesn’t make me feel bad. Johnny was looking out for me, checking up when he knew I wasn’t feeling the best. Without either of us knowing really, he’s become one of the most important people this year, making me feel okay, making me feel special and understood. Showing me I can trust him. And without even realizing, Johnny Bond has warped his way into a very special place in my heart. And now looking back at the gifts I’ve just received from him, returning my gaze back to his lovely face on my phone screen, I really don’t think I’d want it any other way.

“I think I should go now B. Finally get dressed and leave the hotel room for a bit”

“Sure, yea” he looks at me with a pout but the sarcasm is coming through and I know he wants me to enjoy my time with the band now.

“Thanks again my sweet” I wink at him before blowing a kiss and with his last “Bye, sunshine” we end the call and I take a moment to take all of this in. Smiling to myself before I quickly get dressed and call for Donna that we can leave to meet the others.

#sam fender fanfic #sam fender imagines #sam fender fanfiction #sam fender x reader #johnny bond #sam fender #love again #bondy #the safest place #johnny bond x reader

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bucketsofmonsters · 5 months

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To Kill the King - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

find the full book here

If Everand had to hear one more story he swore to the heavens his knight wouldn’t live to see another morning. Not that that would be any great loss. Mornings on the road were as close to hell as Everand could imagine. Animals had run away with most of their food while Leo was meant to be keeping watch, keeping warm was near impossible, and he was only half sure that they hadn’t gotten lost. His travelling partner wasn’t helping matters.

“Are you listening Everand?” Leo called from atop his horse.

“Yes sir, of course sir.” He was going to strangle him. Everand didn’t even attempt to feign a smile, but of course the knight didn’t turn to look. He rode quietly, trailing behind and barely even trying to focus on what was being said to him.

Leo cleared his throat after Everand’s reassurance. “As I was saying, I have a good feeling about this one. When the world closes a door it opens a window and this is our window. Who needed that door anyways when this window is clearly superior?”

“I would have liked to have the door.” Everand grumbled, pulling back on Lilypad’s reins to ensure he wouldn’t have to ride side by side with Leo. She slowed in perfect synchronization with his request and he gave her a soft pat.

“What was that lad?”

“Nothing sir, nothing at all.”

“Yes, right. Well, I’ve heard wonderful things about King Richard, better things than I ever heard about that bastard Edgar anyways. So even if this whole banishing situation was something that transpired because of someone, well even then, it isn’t really a negative. In fact, if anything, we should be crediting the party that created this opportunity.”

Everand could not have this conversation again. At this point even the horses must have it memorized. Diverting it hadn’t worked, his new tactic was to try and get him to skip chunks of this discussion so it could be over sooner. “I’ve even heard they have a princess they want to marry off, isn’t that right sir?”

“We’re heading to a better kingdom, one where I can command the respect that I deserve! A kingdom that will properly utilize all of my strengths, one that will allow me to reach new heights. The king even has a daughter. I’ve heard he’s having trouble marrying her off. They say she is as beautiful as… as the springtime, as the moon. There’s rumors that she’s cursed but if she’s as beautiful as they say, perhaps a noble knight could find a way to break it. Things are turning around for me now, Everand, I can feel it.”

So that hadn’t worked. The squire cursed under his breath. He’d have to try a new tactic the next time around. He made a noise that he hoped would be interpreted as vague agreement and returned to ignoring the man.

As much as Leo had been trying to convince him otherwise with his little speech, they were both in a waking nightmare and it was aggressively Leo’s fault. But of course Everand got pulled into it, that’s how it always worked. Leo did whatever he wanted and Everand suffered the consequences. It had never happened to quite this extent before, but he was anything but surprised. He probably should have guessed that this was where they were headed years ago. Not this new kingdom to which they were travelling blindly, but this level of disaster.

Leo was probably still talking. He never really stopped, but Everand never found it hard to ignore. Especially out riding like this. Even when he tried to focus it was hard to not get wrapped up in the other noises, the wind blowing through the grass, the buzzing of insects around them, the stamping of the horses’ hooves. Lilypad always stepped more carefully. Her hooves sounded softer and they had more intention behind them. Destrier, on the other hand, was always as loud in his steps as was possible. Not that it was his fault, Leo wouldn’t stop enforcing that behavior in the poor creature. The sounds of the world were far more interesting and pressing than whatever made-up adventure Leo was trying to convince Everand that he went on that Everand had somehow mysteriously missed.

Everand pulled back on the reins for half a heartbeat, sensing that something had changed. He quickly ushered Lilypad to start again, not wanting him to appear suspicious in case something malicious was watching. And then, all at once, Everand realized that the ambiance of the path around him had shifted. The squire put all of his focus into trying to discern the source of the shift in noise. As they continued onwards, it became increasingly evident that they were approaching a town. He allowed himself to untense and felt a wave of relief run through him. Not only would he soon be free of all the alone time he was getting with Leo, but they would also be able to resupply. He could survive on shortened rations, but the horses wouldn’t understand why they were being fed significantly less and he’d rather not put them through that.

There were a few more minutes of listening to the bustle of civilization getting closer before Leo broke Everand’s concentration by shouting “Stop!” at the top of his lungs whilst yanking on Destrier’s reins. Everand brought Lilypad to a halt, waiting to see what invaluable advice the knight had to share this time.

“Do you see that, my lad? Over that next hill? I believe it’s the town surrounding our new king’s distinguished home.”

“I think you might be right. Good eye, sir.”

They rode right by the town, barely a breath from the nearest structure. Everand trusted Lilypad to follow in Destrier’s footsteps, staring for longer than he should have at the buildings as they passed. He didn’t particularly want to go there, he had no great love for civilization in any form. However, it was certainly better than the towering silhouette of stone walls that they were riding towards. They had no plan to get in, no plan if they got turned away, and Everand had no plan for what he was going to do whether or not they were let into the castle. He’d figure it out when they got there. God, he sounded like Leo.

He was jolted back to reality as he realized that they were at the gates of the castle. Leo was already talking to one of the guards stationed at the doors. Everand hoped he hadn’t missed anything too vital and did his best to appear squirely.

“We seek an audience with the king.”

The guard seemed very confused which wasn’t a great sign. “Who are you two?”

“I am Sir Leo and this is my squire.”

“So you’re a knight of where exactly?”

Uh oh.

“Well, of here hopefully.”

Everand appreciated the apparent attempt to confuse the guard into letting them see the most important man in the kingdom. Somehow, this did not seem to convince him. Everand figured he’d give it a shot. “Hello, sir, we’ve been sent by King Edgar to serve King Richard, as a sign of peace between the two lands. Sir Leo here was one of his finest knights.”

He prayed that it didn’t contradict anything Leo had already said. It wasn’t the cleanest lie but it was certainly better than whatever his knight was attempting to peddle. The man seemed to be considering it when the guard on the other side of the door decided to join in on the conversation. “I’ve heard tales of Sir Leo, are you really he?”

Leo’s face lit up. “Aye, I am. See, everything is in order.”

The guard they’d been speaking to seemed unsure. “Do you swear it is you, Sir Leo?”

“I do, on my mother’s grave.”

“Well, this is on your head, not mine. You shall have your meeting.”

#to kill the king #indie author #queer literature #queer fantasy #self publishing #lgbt fiction #I don't believe it comes up during the sample chapters I'll be posting but Everand is a trans man #you'll get 4 sample chapters :)

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hannahssimblr · 2 months

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Chapter Twenty-Four (Part 2)

We meet Claire’s friends in the upstairs lounge of a swanky bar on George’s Street. I never came to these kinds of places while I was still the going-out type, mainly because they were too expensive, but also because Marnie and Fiona would have disapproved.

“The girls who go into bars like that,” Marnie had said to me before, “Are the same kinds of girls who, like, know about the Kardashians and wear peplum tops,” She was talking about Claire, really, because she liked to prod her fingers around in the distasteful fact that I was friends with someone so completely opposite to the way that she was, and as I recall the memory I realise guiltily that Claire is wearing a peplum top tonight. As I watch her strut towards the bar to buy cocktails for the table I feel bad. I never agreed with Marnie, but I never defended Claire either, but it was just like that back then, I don’t think I ever really said much of anything to rock the boat.

“Your hair is lovely,” Jaz says to me into the dead space that accompanies the loss of our person-in-common. “It’s gotten really long since I saw you last.”

“Hm. Yeah,” I wind a strand of it around a finger, “I suppose it’s been a good while since we’ve hung out.” I’m not sure that we ever really hung out though. Jaz and Serena were often in the apartment but I’m having trouble recalling a single time when we actually sat and had a conversation.

She says something else that I can’t hear. The music is loud and thumping, but I don’t bother asking her to repeat it, so I just smile and nod, which seems good enough for her. She and Serena want to talk to each other anyway, and that’s what they do until Claire returns. I stare out the window over the roofs of Georgian Dublin and think about Jude and what he’s doing and how I wish I was in Berlin instead.

When the barman comes to whisk away our empty glasses Serena stops him and offers to buy the next round.

“No thanks,” I say, “I think that one is enough,” And I mean it, because the last one was too sweet and too strong and cost an eye-watering seventeen euro that I’ll never get back.

“Oh, go on,” She says, “We’re all having one.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, I’m actually grand.”

“I can get it. On me?”

“No, it’s-” I clear my throat uncomfortably, “I’m trying not to drink that much honestly, I got a really bad hangover when we were in Cyprus and it’s kind of put me off.”

“I can get you a pint of water too?”

“Maybe a water without the cocktail, though.”

She shrugs, “Alright,” though she’s not acting like it’s alright. She’s acting like not wanting to drink is a really weird thing to want to do which kind of makes me want to shrivel up and die.

“Are you kind of gone off drinking?” She queries once she’s ordered, “I just remember before you loved going out and stuff.”

“Yeah I went out a lot at one stage, I suppose, but I don’t really do it that much anymore.”

“I just remember,” She grins and nudges Jaz, “That time that we were over at Shane’s old house for a party and you showed up really late and then immediately fell asleep in the bath.”

“Oh yeah!” Jaz says, “It was so funny, everyone was bursting to go to the toilet and we couldn’t get in or wake you, do you remember Claire, we were banging on the door for ages, and then one of the lads had to go in the bushes outside!”

Claire grimaces, “Yeah, kind of.”

I am horrified. I don’t remember that at all. I remember being invited to Shane’s birthday party and that I spent half the evening in some dingy bar in Phibsborough with my college friends beforehand, but I had no idea that I had passed out in the bath for any period of time. I’m so embarrassed that I don’t know what to say.

“Oh,” I say, “Yeah I think I remember that, that was pretty stupid I suppose.”

Claire jumps in quickly, “It wasn’t stupid, it was fine, I think you were just, well, I don’t know. Nobody cared that much, it was just a funny thing that happened. Serena, I didn’t hear when you ordered, which cocktail did you get for me this time?”

I sink into the cushioned seats in the booth and stare down at my legs because it’s easier than looking at anything else. God, I think, I’m so fucking stupid. Nobody else does stupid things in the same way that I do. I can’t believe that I’ve even done stupid things that I can’t remember, things that other people probably talk about when I’m not there. I sit consumed in the anxiety of it, imagining the extent of the horrors of what those things might conceivably be. Claire reaches out and subtly squeezes my hand and it is warm and steady, and she shows me that it doesn’t matter, or at least that she never cared about it in the first place.

I eventually do have another drink, then another, mainly because I can’t stop thinking of myself passing out in what I’ve now decided was a dirty bathtub, because it had to be. Shane lived with three boys and none of them ever cleaned up, so the chances of the bath having been scrubbed before I climbed into it is pretty close to nil. I like the feeling of being a bit drunk anyway, I always have, even when I was fourteen and sampling beer for the first time in some rural field it was something to lose myself in. When I’m drunk, for at least some period of time I’m not preoccupied with myself and the ways that I come across and whether the things I am saying are sufficiently interesting. In fact I don’t really think about the things I’m saying at all, which is liberating, even when Claire gently tells me that I am shouting a bit, which I’m not, I’m just being enthusiastic.

When Jaz comes back from the bathroom she tells us that there was a girl in the stall doing a bump of cocaine off her fingernail. She says this as though it’s juicy and scandalous, which I remind her that it is not, because she lives in Dublin, and probably everybody is doing cocaine anyway, but this makes her a bit defensive.

“I don’t do cocaine,” She says, “And I’ve never done it, I’ve never even seen it before now, so maybe you’re talking about a different kind of person to the ones I know.”

“You haven’t seen it because you haven’t been in the right places then,” I say, and try not to worry that she’s beginning to swim around in my vision like I’m viewing her through a tank at an aquarium. “Everyone is. Well, most people.”

She pats Serena’s knee, “Are you?”

“No, and I guarantee that Claire isn’t either. Why would any of us do something like that?”

“I suppose people find it a bit fun,” I shrug, which is probably the wrong thing to say because she scrutinises me. “Do you take it?”

“No,” I say, “Although, yes, once I did.”

“Up your nose?”

“Yeah.” Obviously. Where else did she think I put it?

Claire’s mouth drops open, “When?”

I wave my hand about vaguely, “Oh, ages ago, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter really.”

Jaz’s eyes are saucers, “What was it like?”

“Weird. It burned a bit, I suppose. It was really good for maybe ten minutes and then it was the worst thing ever. I never wanted to do it again after that.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Oh, I don’t remember. From a girl in my class, maybe, like it said it was ages ago.”

“Evie!” Claire is scandalised, “What would your mother say to this?”

“Nothing because she’ll never know about it,” I have the sudden urge to pee and raise myself onto unsteady feet, “Nobody actually probably would need to know about it. It’s a boring thing that happened to me ages ago and I don’t care about it anymore.”

“I think that’s mad,” says Serena, “But honestly out of all of us I’d have said you’re the most likely to do something like that.”

I paw around the booth for my phone which has become wedged between two seat cushions. “Would you have?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why though.”

“Is it because I seem a bit unhinged?”

Claire laughs uncomfortably, “You don’t.”

“It’s alright, I am a bit unhinged, I think,” I force a loose, easy laugh, and I see Serena grin, but I can’t tell anymore if I’ve made things weird by saying that. “There’s like, probably something wrong with me, but,” I throw up a peace sign, “In a cute way. Where’s the toilet?”

They tell me to go downstairs and I do, only to find a queue snaking out the door. I sigh deeply and join it, slumping heavily against the wall. I look at the glaringly bright screen of my phone to discover no new messages from Jude, which bothers me, so with heavy, lumpen thumbs I try to compose a message.

“Hey!” I exclaim as a passerby is shoved in my direction and bounces against my arm.

“Sorry about that,” they say, “Crowded.”

“Yeah.” And I glance up for a split second only to feel my blood turn cold, but it’s a false alarm. It always is, and it’s never him. I invent him, I see him everywhere, all of the time. He’s the jumbled face in the crowd, the man on the bus with his back to me who will turn his head and have me flood with relief, because it’s a stranger instead. I’m drunk now, I’m making things up, and I know that if I squeeze my eyes tightly and think of something else I’ll realise that this is just some kind of strange hallucination, a manifestation of my anxiety, and he will be another stranger in another bar.

Expect this time he is real.

“Oh, it’s you, Evie.”

I don’t even know what to say. I’m dumbfounded. Dean looks awful. Hair longer than it’s ever been, lank and greasy, tucked behind his ears and his face is a grey mask, bloodshot eyes sporting dark circles beneath them punctuated with broken blood vessels. He’s not well. I clench my teeth and I don’t say a word.

He waves his hand around in front of my face, “Earth to Evie, is anyone home?”

I inhale sharply through my nose. “Hi.”

“Didn’t think I’d see you here. I don’t see you around at all anymore, actually I was starting to think that maybe you’d moved out of Dublin.”

“Oh.”

“Did you drop out of college?”

I stare at him and he breaks into this nauseating lopsided grin like he believes in some world that he’s a charming man, “Woah, you’re chatty tonight.”

“I don’t have much to say.”

“Well you’re looking well, you look healthy.”

“Mm.”

His smile falters, “Are you pissed off at me or something? Have I done something?”

I’m incredulous. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean like, you seem a bit annoyed at me or something, or am I after picking that up wrong?” Somebody shoves past him from behind to get to the stairs and he has the audacity to lean his arm against the wall behind me to steady himself. I outwardly shudder at the nearness of him. The smell of cigarettes from his clothes invades my nostrils and it’s familiar in a hideous way, making me feel as though throwing up wouldn’t be off the table. I shrink away from him as much as I can, but it’s crowded. There aren’t many places to go, so I cling to my phone like it’s a life raft, as though somehow I’ll be okay as long as I have it heating up in my palm.

“Is that so?” I grit out. “Can’t really think of any reason why I might feel anything negative towards you.”

He sighs and shakes his head like this is all so silly, “Oh, come on like, I know that things went wrong but like, can we not be adults about it? Hook ups end all the time, I don’t know why you have to hold onto that, it’s not a big deal, it’s a pity you think we couldn’t be friends after the fact.”

I frown, “You think that we were just innocently hooking up and then it ended? That’s what you’re going to pretend was happening?”

“It’s grand, it just wasn’t a good match, we didn’t click, you know? I know that you’re young and you were a bit immature. You probably think something like that was a big deal, but it really wasn’t. That’s just how things are with adults, I thought we’d at least be normal around each other afterwards.”

“Are you serious? After everything that happened at-” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat and feel my control of the situation sliding, “-at Marnie’s pool party, you-”

“Hm? What party?” His eyes do a slow tour of my face, “At Marnie’s house? Was I there? When was that again?”

“Are you messing?”

“No,” He looks genuinely lost, “When was that party? I dunno if I was there, was I?”

“Jesus, Dean.” I try to wriggle further away from him, but a girl in the queue shrugs me off when I get too close to her and traps me there. “You were there, and so were Marnie and Fiona,” I say their names pointedly, as I really don’t think I should have to explain, but I didn’t expect the nostalgic, contented look that crosses his features. “Oh, yeah, Fiona, the brunette, she was nice. You know I hooked up with her too at a different point? We had a thing there in like, first year, maybe, and like she wasn’t all weird about it after, she was mature and we were still mates until she dropped out of NCAD…”

He keeps going on, but I don’t hear him anymore after that. I’m grappling with a new realisation, something I never anticipated in all the times I imagined this. During any of the nightmares I had about running into this man again, this was never a feature. It almost makes me want to burst out laughing with the horrible absurdity of it.

He doesn’t remember what he did to me.

He doesn’t remember the cruel things he said and did, it’s like it was all nothing. The things that wake me up at night and follow me around like a curse, cling to my psyche like glue, he can’t even recall what they are. That’s how little it all mattered to him. Actually, he thinks that I’m the one who is being unfair, he thinks that he’s the victim here, just because I’ve dared to be not-very-nice to him.

“Sorry,” I say, cutting off his monologue, “Can you let me through? I have to go.”

“What?”

“Um, I just need to…” I try to keep the tremors from my voice as he stares at me, but I stare back, right into his blown out pupils, and say again, “Please, I don’t want to be rude, I just have to go.”

He looks annoyed, “Do you not want to talk to me or something?”

I hesitate, “Well, I dunno, I just-”

“Am I not being nice? I thought I was being nice to you, am I not?”

“Yeah you’re being nice.”

“So what? Do you think you’re too good to talk to me now?”

“No, I don’t think that.”

“I dunno what’s wrong with girls now,” He is ranting. “You can’t just go up and have a normal conversation anymore, like they get all offended if you even look them in the eye or try to say hi.”

“Well I don’t know anything about that, I just-”

“You seem like you’re too stuck up to talk to me.”

“I’m not, it’s, like, nice to see you, I just have to go, I actually feel sick and I think I might throw up,” It’s a lie, but there’s a brief moment where I’m convinced it may actually come true judging by the way my body recoils when I move closer to him to force my way around.

He takes his arm away from the wall and moves away from me, out of the landing zone in case I decide to bring up the last four drinks and the microwave lasagne I had for dinner. Immediately I hurry away, through the crowd and up the stairs, but I don’t miss the last thing he mutters to himself, or perhaps even intended for me as I pass him.

“Stupid bitch.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #tw: sex mention #tw: alcohol #tw: drugs mention #tw: dean

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knownangels · 2 months

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jlb + mgc

wc: 5.3k

It's nearly midnight when he realizes it.

Their flat is sparsely decorated, but as the thought comes to him (a sudden zip of clarity right through his otherwise fuzzy-tired brain, the movie’s shit after all) Maran nearly upends the cute potted plant and several knick-knacks on the coffee table.

“‘Ey!”Benji yelps. His reflexes are somehow quick enough to keep Maran mostly on the couch as he tosses himself upright and catch the little wooden bobble before it hits the floor and, most likely, snaps. “S’from Saha.”

Maran ignores him, because the realization has coalesced into something nastier. An unfurling anxiety in his chest. A snap of cold, unpleasant fear.

If I don’t — If I don’t — he thinks. And what follows is yet another barrage; a worst-case scenario slideshow, mightwhatifmaybe twisted into ugly reality. Or, as real as it gets in his head.

Maran sits even straighter and then curves forward with a groan. “Oh, shit.”

Instead of winding an arm around his shoulders and offering a word of comfort, Benji kicks at Maran’s legs to make room again on the couch. They’d been a bit tangled up but comfortable. His best friend seems to be prioritizing the return of that specific comfort. Rather than…

Palm flat over his chest, Maran groans again. “M’gonna have a heart attack.”

“Shuddup.” Benji drawls, socked foot wiggling under Maran’s thigh for the warmth. “Course you fuckin’ start up during the only good part of this shit.”

“Benji, this is serious.”

In the blue light of the living room, technicolors from their movie washing little flashing patterns over his face, Benji’s dark eyes look pretty. And the sight of them is so familiarly comforting that Maran slumps a bit, feels himself relax. Not all the way. Almost.

Benji’s sleepy gaze tracks around his face for a second — searching — before it narrows.

“Prick.”

“Dickhead.” Maran seethes back, nudging his legsoff the couch. “I’m having a crisis.”

“Bit more quietly, yeah?” Benji tilts his head at the screen once more. There’s a nasty little curl to his mouth. “Said this part—“

They’ve seen this movie about a hundred times. It’s Thursday, third week of the month, and that’s their night — Benji keeps a busy schedule with studies and his on-campus job, and Maran’s got his own gig no matter how ill-paying or illegal). Besides being flatmates, they’re rarely in it at the same time. Sometimes the only times they see each other for a week are if they both end up at the lads’ place.

Thinking about it makes Maran feel a bit bitter for the good ol’ days. When summers felt like a proper holiday, schedules didn’t have to be worked around.

Maran leans forward abruptly and turns the television off. Benji blinks at it. Then he sighs. Then he digs his heel beneath Maran’s knee until it hurts.

“Well? Out with it, please.”

“Haven’ttakenBenoutyet!” Maran pulls his face from his hands to blurt.

They stare at one another. He no longer feels as though his heart’s going to explode from his chest, leave a little smoking hole. But it hurts. It hurts, still.

“You go out for food all the time.” Benji says. His brow is knit. “And you make him go to the skate park with you. And that time you wanted to go to the trampoline place. And the pool, yeah? Movies—“

“That was before.” Maran insists.

Before: soft touches under an elbow or to the small of his back that made him pause. An unpracticed but lovely smile across a loud party. The excited little snap of familiarity when their eyes met and passed a wordless joke.Before Maran even knew that it could feel like that. A stomach’s tight wind. The scratch of stubble on his neck, or how nice it was to fit together at the same height, or waking up to arms wound around his stomach and—

“That was before.” He repeats. “It didn’t count. Plus, those aren’t always dates.”

From the corner of his eye, he notices Benji’s face wash with confusion.

“But…they are, sometimes?”Now it’s his turn to sit upright. “So what makes — well, ok. So say—“

“We’re gettin’ off topic.” Maran declares, standing from the couch to put hands on his hips. “You’re s’posed to keep me in check and here I am being the world’s worst boyfriend?”

“You’re the worst of a lotta things.” Benji says wryly. “M’sorry if I can’t keep track of ‘em all.”

Maran smacks his fist into his palm, ignoring the dig (quite the bigger person move, if he’s asked, especially with that snide victorious grin settling over Benji how it is).

“Gotta make up for it.” He says, already planning. “Gotta be the best date ever—“

“Said that about, aw. Fuck. Whas’her name, started with a J? Took her to that green space on a hike or whatever.” Benji snickers. “And then you turn up back at ours with a leech on your arse and no girl in sight?”

Maran blinks several times then goes dead in the face, hands outstretched into claws. Benji screeches and kicks at him, arms squeezed tight to his sides, but it’s too late. Maran will not take disrespect and leave a survivor.

Right on the dot, quarter past five, Ben’s bedroom door swings open. He doesn’t seem shocked to find Maran sat on the edge of his messy bed; it’s where he usually is, every Tuesday and Thursday at exactly this time.

“You get into caffeine?”

“No.” Maran replies immediately. He glances down at his wringing hands, a tapping foot. “Hm. No.”

Ben, from where he’s paused in the doorway, laughs. It makes Maran’s cheeks flood a little, although it’s no different or more suggestive than it usually is. It’s just — it’s a very nice sound, is all. He’s always shocked to pull it as often as he does. Pleasantly, sure. Pleasantly shocked. Shocked all the same.

“Relax.” Ben meanders slow across the room, shucking his bag off his shoulder to thump loudly to the floor. He leans a bit as he slips between Maran’s knees, parting them to accommodate. “I believe you.”

The flush gets warmer. Warm still when Ben cups his cheeks and tilts his face up for a slow, soft kiss.

When it ends, Maran blinks up at him with heavy lids that almost refuse to open again.

“You gonna ask me if I h-had a good day?”

Maran cannot look away from the pink flush around his mouth, up his cheeks. “Huh?”

Ben shakes him a little, then shoves him backwards onto the bed with a palm to the forehead. “Precious. Precious fuckin’ baby.”

Maran sits up on his elbows. He’s trying to remember what he was here for, sitting there eagerly (anxiously) waiting to announce. Except. Ben’s doing his post-class declothing. Boots kicked off, shirt unbuttoned, jeans snapped to scratch below his stomach, belt shhhfing as it’s pulled half out of the waistband —

Maran cannot look away.

“Y-you get your brain eaten today or what?” Ben teases, in front of him once more. He sounds pleased though, a bit shy; he’s noticed the close-watch perusal. He’s enjoying the attention.

“You look nice.” Maran says, slipping hands up the back of his thighs. His fingers brush soft, warm skin either side of his spine (curved a bit, from sitting in the lab stools for several hours) and dig in enough that Ben makes a noise and stumbles forward. “Keep that on?”

Ben’s eyebrows quirk towards the ceiling, a nasty smirk lifting his whole face. “Oh, for like—?”

“I thought,” Maran starts, and then bites his lip.

The sentence is there, right on the tip of his tongue, but Ben’s looking at him. Eyes soft, cheeks also a little warm, hands making a gentle sweep down and up Maran’s skull. He loses his train of thought entirely. But he wants those words out. He wants it to be special.

He wants.

Maran swallows and tucks his face into the familiar, clean smell of laundry. Ben doesn’t usually wear undershirts, so each side of his button up parts at each junction. Maran’s nose tucks into the folds of fabric, finds skin. He presses closer, arms tightening.

“I thought we could go on a date.” Maran says. Except he isn’t sure if that’s loud enough. If he’s heard. And there are certain things that he’s needed Ben to hear. That he’d like to take them on a good, proper first date is one of them. There are more serious things he’d like to say — scary ones — but here seems a good start. If he can fucking get it out. He’s never had trouble like this before. Or, maybe people had been kind to lie otherwise.

“I mean.” Maran lifts his face and tries for definitive. “We’re going on a date, so leave that, yeah? You look nice.”

Ben stares down at him.

By the time they’ve made their way down to the lot, most of that usual smarmy confidence Maran’s such a fan of has returned. He gets crowded up against the stairwell door, hand wound around th back of his neck for the kiss Ben’s eager energy insists on. And he’s stopped again at the car, pinned against the drivers side door by the hips. Ben does his best to make a proper mess of his neck.

When Maran flattens hands to his chest, he really does mean to push him gently away. Just enough to breathe a second, collect his thoughts — he’s always swimming in them, with Ben this close. Everything goes nice and soft and fuzzy.

“Hold on—“ he tries, but he’s laughing and Ben knows he doesn’t mean it fully, so teeth return to his neck after a brief pause. He gasps, back arching off the window when five firm fingers press into the valley of his spine. They roam a bit further, both hands greedy over either side of his tailbone; Maran tips his head back and makes eye contact with the camera attached to the light pole above them.

The sky above is muddy grey, washed light with the noon sun fighting to come out. It’s not ideal weather for what Maran has planned, and it’s not ideal that there’s a little red light blinking, but he —

Maran shivers then, eyes fluttering at the black lens. He imagines briefly what it must look like, from that perspective. Arms tight over broad shoulders, hanging on deliriously, Ben’s messy hair beneath his fingers — holding him where he is as much as trying to reign it all in a bit.

“Hold on.” Maran tries again, throat bobbing with a swallow. He sounds serious this time. He is serious this time; Ben relents immediately. Not without leaving a wet, noisy kiss right to the center of his throat. And he doesn’t step back all the way, not cold turkey. They haven’t had long to establish those sorts of things, the important things he calls them, but Ben knows him well enough by now. Well enough that an immediate retreat isn’t what Maran needs, even if he’s asking for space.

It feels better to breathe hard together, chests touching as well as hips (and lower, he tries very hard not to think about).

“This could be the d-date.” Ben tries, nose tucking briefly to Maran’s jaw before he slinks a separation of a few centimeters between their bodies. His foot is still firmly between Maran’s, keeping them close.

“Huh?”

Ben laughs. He jerks his head towards the backseat, tongue tucked between his teeth. “I’m pretty cheap. Push some of that onto the floor and we’re in b-business.”

Maran’s fuzzy thoughts clear up a bit at his tone; he doesn’t stop to interrogate the joke, though. Ben’s diverting. He knows why. Well. At least a bit. A date isn’t exactly what Ben’s used to, self-admittedly. And that’s part of the reason—

“Distractin’ me.” Maran teases, loosening his grip around broad shoulders to rest his wrists loose at the base of Ben’s neck. “You’re so fuckin’ mad I’m not telling you shit.”

Ben scowls at him, dropping the suggestive expression. “I hate surprises.”

Maran nudges him away enough that he can slip into the driver’s side. Technically, he should only ever be a passenger — he’s got no papers, no visa anymore. Matilda had drawn him a little stick figure on a scrap of paper, framed with his name and a nonsense series of numbers. Trust me this is legitimate, had been written in her proper, pretty scrawl underneath.

Ben doesn’t have to know all that, though. For as much as Maran’s told him, he’s got a temporary permit and he’s up to date on all the paperwork.

Instead of rounding the car and going in the normal way, Benny crawls across Maran’s lap and the center console. It’s a moment of scuffling and laughter and hands groping places they really don’t have to be, for the whole process of settling into the passenger seat.

Ben coasts that sneaky hand up his knee as he starts the car, tucking fingers between his thighs. Maran’s eyes go a bit funny, staring straight ahead while that touch moves slowly up and down his jeans seam.

“You’re going to make me—“

Blond eyebrows snap up. The touch goes higher, palming him properly. “Oh, that right? Already?”

“Crash!” Maran insists, cheeks flaming. His skull falls back against the headrest when the teasing squeeze doesn’t stop. “Ben.”

“You haven’t even s-started the car.”

He laughs. He doesn’t feel like laughing. He feels like — “I won’t at this rate.”

“Oh no.” Ben coos, leaning across the console to get properly in his face. Their noses almost brush so Maran glances away, snorting, but he follows. Cranes his neck, lifts up, puts weight on Maran’s thigh to bring their faces together again. His mouth dries up a little. “Oh nooo. That would be so awful. Very very b-bad.”

“Why are you bein’ evil.” Maran whines. The car hums, pleasantly familiar. They’ve fallen asleep under the stars in here. Gone to drive-ins, which Maran is sort of obsessed with. And yeah, like Ben’s trying to get a repeat performance, spent time in the cramped back. More than the soft twist of arousal behind his navel, Maran thinks of the security. The intimacy, the closeness. It’s nice like a messy room. Nice like waking up to fingers stroking his cheek. Nice like a blanket tucked under his legs for a movie, like the last fry handed off with a fond sigh, like —

“We’re doing a date.” Maran asserts. He snaps back into motion, taking Ben’s wrist and offering his knuckles a parting kiss before squaring him away on his own side of the vehicle.

Ben looks cute battered like that, eyes wide and lips parted. It makes Maran’s knuckles on the wheel a bit tighter than they ought to be; he drives slower than he might otherwise, thinking of that paper tucked in his wallet and his clammy palms.

When they pull into the grocery store lot, Ben’s huffy about being made to wait in the car.

“I’ll be quick.” Maran promises chipperly, leaning down to peer inside. Ben’s face is contrite. It makes him so cute, so Maran tells him as much.

“Yes p-p-please.” Icy eyes roll up and away. Ben peers across the heat-shimmering asphalt, arms crossed. “Cigarette counter guy always hits on you.”

Maran barks out a laugh at the absurdity of that. “You’re on something.”

His boyfriend — still a novelty, to even think that title — turns back towards the window. “He does. F-Fucker.”

“Then why you comin’ here? Perfectly good gas station nearby.”

Ben’s mouth twists. “Because I like t-talking about you when I pick up a fresh pack. So he knows.”

Maran blinks. Imagines that scenario, for second. Maybe: Ben, still sleep-soft and grumpy from realizing he’s run out of smokes, strolls in looking like the asshole he’s about to be. He could ask for specifics, for quotes but it’s more fun imagining what Ben might say. Maybe he compliments Maran. Makes a suggestive, early-morning like reference. Something about having just seeing him. If he outright shares the label they’ve decided on. Maybe he calls Maran boyfriend.

And then, blush returning, Maran imagines he just plainly says: yeah, that guy? I know that guy. We’ve got a date later. We’re together. Me and him. Me and Maran.

Maran swallows. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He goes to turn away, but one step is as far as he gets. Ben snags him by the wrist and pulls. Maran, still a bit in his head with the fantasy scenario of being flaunted, doesn’t expect the strength of it. He stumbles and catches himself against the door.

Ben leans out of the window, sunglasses pushed down his nose. The way he peers up at Maran, the way his pink mouth pulls up at the corner, the track of shrewd eyes around Maran’s face, then down his neck where his shirt comes away from his chest —

“I’ll m-miss you.” Ben teases. “Be quick.”

Maran usually stops to chat the nice old woman that works in produce. He usually lingers at the cigarette counter, where he usually pays. Except this time, arms full of an outdoor blanket and food and drinks and a wicker basket, he uses the self-check aisle and tries not to make blushing eye contact with the camera.

When he returns to the car, Ben’s pushed the passenger seat back. He’s dozing, even though Maran had been quick. The summer sun barely cuts into the interior, but enough of it slices across his cheek. When he hears Maran approaching, the bags’ rustling giving it away, he turns his face.

Maran pauses for just a second when their eyes slide together. Then he grins and tries to shake off the too-big shivery feeling that tingles up his scalp.

“No peeking.” He insists.

Ben grins.

He’s got an old plaid scarf from the early spring still tucked in the side door. He gestures for it and, as they pull out of the lot, instructs Benny to use it like a blindfold.

“Oh.” Ben breathes. Maran has his eyes on the road, or else he’d see the strange, vulnerable shift of his expression. “Oh, it’s that kind of d-date, huh?”

Maran laughs, even if that bubble of anxiety is working its way back up his core. At the next red light, he watches Ben fix it around his eyes. His pale hands come up in a tada gesture once he’s done. And Maran has to focus on driving again, knuckles white on the wheel— because there is something there, seeing the peek of his suggestive smile.

And it’s that — a smile. Not a nasty, sneaky grin. No watery, insecure sneer. It’s soft at the edges. There’s a bit of pink to his skin, right at the edge of the scar. Ben’s blushing, and he’s smiling a real one because he’s having fun and he feels— and Maran is—

The car swerves. Maran swears, jerks them back into the center of the lane.

“Jesus.” Ben laughs, his hand shot out to grab Maran’s knee. “What the fuck?”

“Cut off!” Maran lies, giggling high and tight. “Oh, shit. Some fucker — uh. Wow. Asshole!”

The park’s gravel drive crunches under tire as they pull up the serpentine path. Windows down, fresh summer air flowing and fresh. Ben taps fingers to the tune of the song on the radio, a steady rhythm on Maran’s knee that fulfills his itchy need to fidget by proxy.

“Are we out in the w-woods?” Ben asks, head tilting towards the window.

“A little,” Maran acquiesces.

“I won’t hike.”

“You don’t have to hike.”

“I won’t do it.”

Maran puts the car in park and then leans across to yank a strand of blond hair chastisingly. “You don’t have to, Ben, c’mon. It’s only a short walk.”

“How short?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

Ben drops his head back with a groan, as if Maran has just admitted to sentencing him to walk the fucking plank.

Dramatic, he thinks fondly. His touch slips down over Ben’s scarf-covered cheekbone, fingers curling under his scratchy jaw.

“I’m going to make you carry everything too.”

“What is this? A date, or some fucked up labor m-march?” Ben leans closer into where he figures Maran must be, only slightly off the mark. It’s cute how his focus is a bit to Maran’s left. “You t-taking me out in the woods to like, dig my own grave or something?”

“Ben.”

There’s a beat of silence. “That’s kind of hot, actually, like— the d-danger—“

“Ben.” Maran laughs. He twists the keys off and drops them into Benny’s lap with a shake of his head.

Maran leads him to the quiet little glade he and Lark had found, last time they’d been out this way. It’s just shy from the path — only five minutes into a random direction. There’s still an abandoned red glove marking the way.

(“She won’t miss it.” Lark had promised him when he’d stuck it on the branch. “She’s got so many pairs of gloves she won’t even notice it’s gone.”)

Ben’s confidence and easy enjoyment of their afternoon drops slightly. The energy cuts through the air like something palpable, touching cool to the nape of Maran’s neck. He’s been made to stand, sighing and grumbling impatiently, while Maran sets up the contents of their mini feast on the blanket.

“Ok, you fuckin’ prick. You can take it off now.”

“You’re going to be naked, right?”

Maran drops onto the blanket with a snort. “For fuck’s sake— just take it off, Ben.”

Ben paws at the back of his head. “Alright, fine. But just because you sound hot making demands—“

He squints against the sunlight, adjusting with a silly one-eyed squint that makes Maran feel like his face is going to split in half. He’s facing just off to the side, their little picnic out of sight, so Maran has the pleasure of watching his expression shift as he turns and notices.

“Oh.”

He tries not to let that tone and the flat look on Ben’s face get to him. Instead he spreads his arm invitingly.

“What’s this for?” Ben asks. His boot nudges the blanket’s edge.

“Customary to picnics, as I understand it.” Maran says primly. He’s getting more and more anxious the longer Ben looks like that. Not — not softly amused, anymore, but — there’s no nice curve to his mouth. No sparkle of something to his gaze. Maran swallows.

“Um. Couldn’t find the brand you like.” He reaches for the six pack behind him and sets it next to the plastic platter of food. It’s cheap — he doesn’t make fancy cheese money. Groceries in the States were a fucking scam. “The website says this was close in taste? Dunno. All that shit is the same to me. And, um. not sure if you like the fruit so I’ll eat it, but I—“

Ben drifts quiet and hare-like closer to the spread of food. Maran doesn’t dare move an inch; he’s afraid to startle. He keeps his arms wrapped around his knees, chin resting between.

And eventually, Ben settles into an awkward cross-legged slouch across from him. For a spread of time, there’s no sound but the quiet, distant bird-song and ambient noise of the forest. It’s a pleasant day; out here, not even the sounds of the city or the rumble of the highway breaches its protective bubble.

“This…this wasn’t really what I had in m-mind when you said date.”

Maran’s heart careens into his stomach. “I—I know it’s lame. I don’t know. I was just thinking…I dunno. We haven’t — we kinda just jumped in, yeah?” He laughs nervously, recalling that blue-tinged night at the pool. “You know. Right in the deep end. Hah. Sorry. We can pack up—“

Ben’s hand shoots out to wrap around his ankle when he pulls it closer, meaning to tuck beneath him and stand. He’s not looking at Maran, but at the six-pack rumbling the blankets between them.

“How long have you been p-planning this?”

“Not long.” Maran assures. “Last Monday? So it’s no worries, yeah, like if you’d want to go back and do somethin’ else. Watch a movie or —y’know, just hang out like we usually do? I like that.”

He’s desperate to earn back that easy, comfortable energy. And, horrifyingly, he’s desperate not to be desperate. The collision of those two desires in him is almost a physical thing. Writhing, sort of, inside his chest.

Is the beer wrong? Are there brown bits on the fruit? Do you like a different brand of biscuits more? Y’think the blanket’s ugly? I sort of just grabbed it becuase the sticker said machine washable, and if its gonna be on the ground — well, we can reuse it for stuff — but if you hate it and this turns out to be a bad time, I don’t know if I can look at it again it’d be too embarrassing—

Ben gets to his knees suddenly, shuffling across. When pale hands cup his face, Maran pretends he can’t feel the shiver to them.

“You’re going to yap yourself s-sick.” It’s a warm tease, more than a warning.

“Fuck off!” Maran yelps, nudging his hands away shyly. Ben catches him, forces him to look once more. That swell of anxiety melts a little. Or, at least becomes a different kind, with all that attention focused directly on him. He has to shift it. Give himself a break, since Ben doesn’t seem interested.

“I— do you want to see what else I brought?”

Ben’s eyebrows hitch. But if he’s expecting more flirtatious banter, if he’s about to pull Maran into his lap…well. That would be nice, right? Maran would go, if tugged.

Instead, he fishes into the deep pocket of his hoodie — not his of course, not technically — and retrieves the mint tin he uses to hold needles and thread. He has a couple of them stowed around because tends to forget them. Or lose them. One in Matilda’s car, one in his winter jacket, one in Xavier’s. Even one tucked behind the contents of Ben’s nights that he doubts the other is aware has even been put there.

“There’s a tree over there by the creek,” Maran starts to explain, threading the needle with muscle memory as he talks. Ben looks only briefly, his focus quickly returning to Maran’s hands. “It’s got, y’know. Oh, I can’t even —” Maran snorts, touching the back of his hand to a warm cheek. “I can’t even say— well. It’s got all those initials, yeah? Like when people carve’em in.”

Ben makes a face. And he has a moment of delight, to be proven right; Maran pulls the other thing in his pocket out, holding it up for Ben to see. His boyfriend takes it, rubbing the green and brown felt between his fingers.

“Thought you wouldn’t like that.” Maran teases. “Nerd. Leave the trees alone and all. So I glued that together— I thought I’d like to take you out here when we found that on our hike. Lark and me, I mean.”

Ben’s staring at him. Maran balks a little, biting his lip, then takes his felt crafted tree back and knots the end of the thread.

“So. I — We can still do that dorky shit, right. Without makin’ that poor tree’s condition worse.”

Ben lurches forward. His palms smack audibly to Maran’s cheeks; he’s dragged forward into a firm, close-lipped kiss.

“You should put it in your lab,” Maran gasps when they part, only for the rest of the sentence to be cut off in another. He gets lost in it a bit, Ben’s thumbs digging into his cheeks to urge his mouth open. Ben shifts closer, knees on either side of Maran’s hips. He keeps them upright with an elbow against the ground, careful to keep his fist curled around the needle as not to poke either of them somewhere important.

“So everyone knows what a big fucking dork you are.” Maran teases. His voice trails off in a dry little hitch because Ben chooses then to bury his nose against Maran’s neck. His face feels hot.

“They’d never let m-me hear the end of it.”

“Your lab partner?” Maran asks. He’s heard about them, an unlikely connection that had started over particularly hard class material. It’d quickly become a fully forged friendship, even if he hesitated to call it that — all his secretive, snarky fondness.

Ben nods, but it seems more like an excuse to rub his face there.

“Well, it is kinda silly.” Maran says. “Kinda kindergarten.”

Ben pulls away slowly to look at him. He’s lovely under the green tinged forest light, especially with flushed cheeks. Quite proud of himself, he swipes a hand up and down the curve of Ben’s spine.

“I felt bad when I realized we hadn’t done this yet. Like. Gone on a proper one. And I wanted it — I want it to be special, I suppose.” Maran beams up at him. “You deserve that.”

A passing beat of silence; the birds overhead, the creek in the distance burbling, a barking dog even further no doubt accompanying its owner on their own trek. Then Ben kisses him firmly once more.

“Show me how to?”

Maran has to take a second to process that question: as Ben asks it, he rearranges himself to prop his head in Maran’s lap, legs stretched out over the picnic blanket. He toes off his boots, kicks them off to the side, and reaches for the needle and thread.

“Okay.” Maran whispers. He hands the tree over and guides pale, tattooed hands into position. If his own fingers linger, lock between them and squeeze — who could blame him? “D’you like grapes?”

Ben is a quick learner. He works diligently at the stitches as Maran points where to poke the needle through, and the letters slowly begin to form. The top of his J is a little wonky, but Maran withholds judgment; first time for everything.

“When I was a kid we didn’t get f-fruit money that often.” Ben recounts. His voice is quiet and slow in concentration, a pleasant cadence that makes Maran sink back a little on his palms. “Always got the green ones, ‘cuz they were cheaper. Hated them.”

“I got the red.” Maran says. He leans over Ben to find the plastic container.

He cracks it open. He pauses, fingers hovering over the shiny red fruit.

He wants to share how much he liked planning this out. Even if it had him dead nervous at every step over the past week, even if there were times he felt stupid and childish. Even if he imagined worse case responses, just to ready himself in the unlikelihood they’d happen: Ben laughing at him, Ben scoffing, Ben refusing to even tag along in the first place. Worse ones: that he’d sit there, staring blankly as Maran tried his fucking arse off, only to ask why hadn’t he taken them somewhere nice or why hadn’t he asked first, what if he had plans?

He’d liked going to the craft store and finding suitable colors for that felt tree. He’d liked picking out the food assortment, the bubble of anxiety and excitement as he traipsed the grocery aisles, knowing that Ben was only a few paces away waiting for him to return. And he’d like the bright smile in the car, when Ben’s usual hatred for the element of surprise had melted into something sweet and soft, just because Maran was the one delivering it.

Because he trusted. Because —

“Can I feed ‘em to you?” Maran asks quietly, ignoring the little roll of shameful humiliation that floods his cheeks at a question like that.

Ben glances up, pink in the face too, and regards him for a moment. There’s a hesitation there — a distrust, almost. Like Maran’s about to laugh and throw them across the clearing, just for cruel casual fun.

“Yeah,” Ben says instead, his voice just as soft.

#writing #mgc #jlb #mgc x jlb #college au #holds them in my hands like two baby birds #i need to kill them.

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