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kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

Text

1979

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (Read part 2 HERE)

Rating: T (Teen) - part 2 will be E

Summary: The year is 1979. You need a ride to anywhere that’s far away from where you are. When a handsome stranger in a rustbucket pickup gives you that ride, neither of you could predict any of the events that follow.

Warnings: Smoking (and lots of it), mild violence (a punch is thrown), brief harassment of reader, food, mention of a gun (one is encountered but not used), mention of homelessness, brief mention/description of war (Vietnam), child abandonment, mention of abusive/dangerous father figure, passing mention of serial killers, vague description of non-specific events leading up to reader resorting to hitchhiking, very meta mention of a certain beloved space opera

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Whew! This one has been in the shop for a LONG while. Originally I meant for this to be a single work, but I’ve hit a bit of a slump with the last bit. I decided to post this to see how y’all feel about it! The second part will be much longer :) Also: I know there has been some discourse recently about Din’s characterization in certain fics, so I hope this does him justice for you! I’m always open to comments, and like I said I’m very interested in hearing what you think! As per usual, no use of Y/N and please heed the tags/warnings.

8:47

You lean against the streetlight, glancing down at your watch and then back up to the motel across the street. You told yourself you'd wait until 8:30 and then you'd go back and reserve a room for another night. As you watch the second hand wind its way around the small, plain face of your 2-dollar timepiece, you've convinced yourself that maybe staying out until 9 is the ticket.

Your ticket, out of this shithole town.

The summer air is hot and thick around you. It's especially unbearable both between your legs and at the band of your bra, the elastic stretched around your middle doing its best to make you feel as sweaty and uncomfortable as possible. At least you're wearing your cutoffs, giving your legs the chance to breathe. You've also got a loose tank on, which flutters in the sticky wind as cars pass you by.

8:51

Your thumb has been stuck out for passerby to see for the past three days. No one has picked you up. You suppose you should be more wary of taking lifts from complete strangers with all the murder and kidnapping that's been in the news recently, but you're more than a little headstrong with a dash of stupid to go along. That's what your mother always told you, anyway.

Some Cadillac speeds past you, blaring what you think is a Donna Summer song, and you watch as the music and taillights fade into the night.

You shouldn't be surprised, you figure, as the minutes continue to tick on by. There's a gas shortage, you reason with yourself as you bend down to pick up your bag, thumb still stuck out, elbow resting on your waist. People don't do this anymore. Afraid of getting picked up by a pervert or a killer. Afraid of picking one up, and then a streetlight just like the one you're under is the last thing they see.

8:58

You sigh, ready to head in for the night. Marvin, dude who sits at the motel's front desk, is sure to give you shit about it again.

You're preparing to cross the street when you hear the low growl of a pickup truck approach. Not looking to get creamed by some fuckin' rusted-out GMC, you step back onto the curb where you'd been posted.

Except the truck slows up, and the window rolls down as it crawls to a stop in front of you.

Your heart races. Finally.

You walk up to the passenger side window and look in, expecting some fat old putz looking to get some tail in exchange for a ride.

That's not what you see.

"Need a lift, young lady?"

The truck's driver is older than you, sure, but you were wrong about pretty much everything else. He's got short dark hair and a 'stache, with some stubble across his chin. He's wearing a leather jacket over a plain gray tee, with a pair of sunglasses hung on the collar. One hand is on the wheel while the other is laid across the back of the bench seat, a cigarette perched in between his first two fingers.

You lean forward on your tiptoes as best you can, forearms resting on the door's open window. Pretending to survey the interior, you look around and take the opportunity to check the man out. God, you think. I wouldn't mind giving him whatever he wants in exchange for this ride. Maybe another kinda ride. Ha!

"As it turns out, I do. You offering?"

You rest your chin on your arms and give him the sweetest smile you can muster. The man eyes you up and takes a drag from his cigarette. You watch with rapt attention as he inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke out through his nose.

This guy's got you all hot and bothered and you haven't even gotten in the truck.

He gestures with his hand. "Come on, kid. I gotta make the state line by midnight."

You definitely like the sound of that. Eager and supremely stoked to finally have a way out of this dump, you pull on the handle, jump in, and swing the door closed behind you. Your backpack finds its place between your feet, and the stranger starts driving again as you pull your seatbelt across your shoulders.

"Where're you headed?" the man asks, glancing over to you and then looking back at the road. The asphalt seems to stretch into infinity, flanked by trees and fields and the occasional watering hole.

"Away from here," you chuckle as you fidget with your fingers. Black nail polish decorates your trimmed nails. It's chipped and uneven in some spots; you never were great at painting your nails, especially your right hand.

"I got that," the man drawls, voice deep and smooth like honey. "Any particular destination in mind?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. Your first and only priority was a way out, and anything after that was a problem to be handled when it came to it.

"Nope. Just as far as you're willing to take me."

The guy nods and takes a drag. The smell of cigarettes never bothered you like it does some other people; you find it relaxing, calming, especially when it's fresh and all-consuming like it is in this guy's truck. The vehicle itself is old, maybe 10 or 15 years, and a glance into the bed behind you tells you he's traveling with a couple boxes and nothing more.

It's certainly not state-of-the-art, but that's all the better for staying under the radar.

The silence looms over you like a cloud. The stranger seems content to just listen to the engine and the tires on the road, but you're prone to fill silences unprompted.

"What's your name?" you ask, and look over at him. He glances at you and raises a brow.

He clears his throat, eyes moving back to the road. "You can call me Mando."

"Mando?" you retort before you can stop yourself. "What kinda bogus name is that? Like, what... you got a thing for mandolins or some shit?"

The man huffs. "It is what is, kid. Get used to it."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "Alright, alright... Mando."

He doesn't try to continue the conversation, so you don't either. Minutes pass, and then hours, and you find yourself drifting off not too long after the clock reads 10:00. You shake yourself awake, wanting to stave off sleep until he pulls over to rest for the night.

But the engine is like a lullaby, the soft swaying of the truck a gentle rocking motion, and your eyes fall closed despite your best efforts.

When you wake up again, the truck is no longer moving, and the clock reads 12:30.

You must have been woken up by Mando putting the truck into park. The darkness outside does not give any clues as to where you are, but as your eyes adjust you can just make out some picnic tables, garbage cans, and signs.

A rest area. Makes sense.

Mando is fumbling with something beside you. It's a map, you realize when you look over.

"Where are we?" you ask with a yawn.

"Just over the border. Made it a bit later than I would've liked, but that's not a big deal. You can sleep here in the cab. I'll take the bed, since I sleep there anyway."

You nod, though you find it odd the way he's... not asking you for anything. He hasn't mentioned payment, monetary or otherwise. You watch as he folds the map back up, and catch his gaze as he stashes it in the glove box.

"I gotta repay you somehow, mister," you mutter. "For how nice you're bein' to me. 'Specially since I made fun of your name and all."

At your words, Mando gives you a stern look from under one of his furrowed brows. "No, you don't. Blanket's under the seat. Get some rest."

He turns away, grabs the keys, and is out the door before you can reply.

It's just so unusual for a guy to pick up a girl like you and refuse payment, much less not ask for or take it outright. It's a shame, really. Any other guy, you'd give him what he wanted sure, but with less than enthusiastic participation. The one man to whom you'd gladly deliver anything he asked... and he seems not to want it.

You suppose you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Better a prude than a murderer, that's for sure.

As you reach under the seat for the blanket, your hand brushes against some sort of canvas bag, long and zippered. You lean over to look in at it upside-down, hair brushing against the dusty floor mats.

It's a rifle bag. You reach in to feel at where the barrel would be, and sure enough, there's something distinctly rifle-shaped inside.

Huh. It's not a surprise that a guy like him's traveling armed, but it makes you wonder. A hunter, maybe? Probably. There's a lot of those around.

You spot the blanket and pull it out. It's gray, scratchy wool, but as you pull it over yourself, you find it keeps the nighttime chill away quite well.

You wake up to Mando swatting at your feet.

"Time to get up, sunshine. Gotta get going."

His deep voice pierces through the fog of sleep still hanging thick over your mind. You groan and push yourself up onto your elbows, drawing your feet in to give him space to slide into the drivers' seat.

It's still dark out. You see a hint of light on the horizon, the beginning of the sunrise peeking over hills and fields.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing at your eyes. You're a chronic over-sleeper, so seeing the sunrise is a rarity. It seems Mando has no such problem.

"A bit after six. We'll stop at a diner for something to eat in about an hour. You're welcome to go back to sleep until then." He turns the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life, a blast of lukewarm air hitting you in the face.

"No, no. I'm up," you assure him, shrugging the blanket off your shoulders. As you fold it, you look over at the man beside you. He's wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as yesterday, but the shirt underneath has changed. The sunglasses are still hung on the collar, but now it's some faded band tee from like 8 years ago.

You set the folded-up blanket on the seat between you and him, watching as he puts the truck into drive and starts off. Before you know it, you're watching the early-morning world pass by outside your window. You kick off your sandals and tuck your feet up under yourself, sitting crosslegged on the seat.

About 15 minutes later, you've grown tired of watching farmhouses and cornfields fly by in the dark.

"So, uh..." you start, not really knowing where you intend to finish your sentence, "you like music?"

Stupid. That was stupid.

Mando chuckles. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" you reply, hopeful that he might have more to say.

"Yes. I do like music."

You roll your eyes. "What kind of music? Jazz? Opera? Country-western? Who's your favorite artist? Got any favorite records?"

He glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be traveling with you for a good while, I might as well know a bit about you. And vice versa."

Mando just hums.

"I'll tell you mine, then," you inform him, grinning widely now. "My favorite record right now is Parallel Lines. By Blondie, you know? I really like them. This time last year I woulda told you my favorite album was something by Wire or the Sex Pistols - I was real into punk, if you know anything about it. Now I'm more into poppy stuff. I just think it's fun, to be honest."

You continue to ramble to Mando well into the drive. The sky grows lighter and the road grows more crowded, but he does not stop you. At the end of a tangent about Bowie, you turn to look at him, and he's sitting there like you haven't just talked his ear off for the past twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I jus-"

"Don't apologize. It's... I don't mind," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the sandal-shaped marks on the tops of your feet. "Don't you have any particular songs you like?"

Mando's quiet for a minute. You wait, looking up out the window. The sky is a pale pink and blue, with a hint of orange off to the east. A field of cows comes up on your left - your eyes track them as they pass by, wondering what it's like to pet one.

You bet they're soft. Soft and cuddly and so dumb they're cute.

"You have to promise not to laugh."

The words come as a surprise. You look over to Mando, eyes wide and interested.

"Never. Favorite music is sacred."

He sighs. His grip tightens on the wheel, like sharing even a small part of himself causes him distress.

"Tapestry. Carole King," he says, though the words are quiet and guarded.

That wasn't the answer you were expecting. "Really?" you ask, smiling brightly.

He just nods, though he spares a glance towards you, like he's gauging your reaction. You lean back against the seat, turning towards him more fully.

"I wouldn't have guessed. Color me surprised, Mando. You have good taste." It's true. The album's a classic, though more so with girls your age, not guys who pick up hitchhikers and keep rifles in their trucks. "What do you like about it?"

Mando shifts, bringing his left arm up to rest on the door, elbow propped so his head can rest on his hand. "Not sure. She writes a good song, that's all I know."

You're not satisfied with that answer. You'll get to know Mando, even if it's like pulling teeth. "Bull-shit. Pink Floyd writes a good song. Paul Simon writes a good song. Why her? Why that record? It came out like ten years ago, there's gotta be a reason - a real reason - you still like it."

The drone of the engine and the road is like a soundtrack in itself to the silences that loom heavy before every sentence he speaks. You wonder when the last time he really got to talk to someone was - talk like this, not small conversation with the waiter or grocer.

You're no psychiatrist, but it doesn't take a genius to spot someone who's been alone for a while.

Mando hums. "I guess I relate to her songs... in a way I didn't expect to when I first heard her music."

You smile at that, pleased as punch that he trusts you with that information. It's like cupping cool water in your hands on a hot summer's day, fleeting and precious. "What's your favorite song on the record?"

He turns his gaze to your for a moment, dark brown eyes staring at your dirty feet and day-old shirt and messy hair. You're not sure what exactly he sees as he takes you in, but you sit there and allow it regardless.

Mando looks back to the road, watching the small town approaching slowly on the horizon. "I Feel the Earth Move."

You nod. "A classic."

He just hums in response, and you expect the truck to fill with silence once again.

Except it doesn't.

Mando reaches out and presses the button to turn on the radio. Blondie's Heart of Glass flows out through the speakers - and you laugh.

The glowing neon sign advertising Lindy's Diner, with her promise of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee, gets you more excited than you care to admit. Mando pulls into a parking spot along the street, and you're out the door before the wheels have stopped turning.

Admittedly, you do also have to pee.

You rush into the diner to take care of your business, also using the provided sinks to brush your teeth and the mirror to comb through your hair with your fingers.

It's not much, but you do feel better. Hopefully tonight you can stay in a motel at least, maybe take a shower.

You exit the restroom and look around the diner. Mando's sitting in a booth, smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. You head over, tossing your backpack into your side first and sliding in after it.

"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves. You watch him walk over to the men's restroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Whatever. Kinda rude. Not like you care, anyway.

You lean back in the booth and take a menu from the stand at the end of the table. The classic breakfast platter is looking particularly tempting, with its hash browns and bacon and eggs-however-you-like. You're contemplating scrambled versus over-easy when you hear a pair of footsteps walk up to your table.

Two strange men stand over you, looking at you like they know exactly how homeless you really are.

"You here alone, baby?" the shorter one asks, putting a grimy hand on the back of your booth, right behind your head. You open your mouth to say no, in fact, I am not, but the other guy speaks for you.

"It looks like you are, honey. Just our luck, a girl like you all on her -"

"Is there a problem?"

Mando's deep voice cuts through whatever it was the creep was planning to say. The low timbre of his voice, normally soft and kind, is uniquely dark - almost menacing - when it hides a threat.

You slowly cross your legs, hoping no one notices the movement under the table.

The two guys turn, and behind them you see Mando, looking extremely pissed. He puts a hand on the back of the taller man's neck, cig still perched between his fingers, and yanks him away from where he'd been standing in front of Mando's side of the booth.

"Jesus, man! We didn't know you were -"

Mando puts his hands on his hips, eyeing them up like a lion might size up its prey. "What? You didn't know what?"

The guy gulps. "Uh..."

"Come on," Mando taunts, something dark glinting in his eyes. "Don't get nervous on me, now."

"We didn't know you were with her, man. Sorry."

Mando shakes his head. "No. Don't say that to me. Say it to her." He nods hid head towards you, subtly positioning his body in between yours and theirs.

You're frozen in your seat, torn between fear and arousal.

The tall guy glances at you. "Sorry," he mutters. The shorter one's still looking at you funny, though.

Your companion jerks his head towards the door. "It's best you both leave, now."

You realize the diner's gone quiet, customers and employees alike watching the exchange with bated breath. The taller guy glances around and turns, heading straight for the door. His buddy hesitates, gaze shifting from Mando to you and back again. Eventually he also turns to leave, following the other one out.

Mando slides into his seat, though he won't quite meet your gaze when you look at him. Noise picks up in the diner once again and you let out a shaky breath.

You're about to say something when the two guys pass by the window. The shorter one peers in, works his jaw, and spits on the ground on the other side of the window from you. You see him mouth the word 'bitch!'.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Mando to try and joke about it, attempting to brush off the uncomfortable encounter. But he's not there, and you realize belatedly that he's now storming outside.

Mouth agape, you watch as Mando stalks up to the short guy. Jesus, you think, if looks could kill...

The creep whirls around, throwing a fist at Mando before he even gets a good look at him. Mando dodges it easily with a step back, looking simultaneously murderous and annoyed. He winds his arm back and sends his fist flying at the creep's face. The guy stumbles and falls, clutching at what is now a bloody and broken nose, landing on his back on the sidewalk. His friend has long run off.

Mando puts a boot on the guy's sternum, pressing down so he can't get up no matter how much he struggles.

You see him lean down, elbow on his knee, and say something. The guy's eyes widen and he nods frantically. Mando then removes his foot and, without sparing the guy a second glance, re-enters the diner.

He slides into the booth again and takes the menu from you. There's blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but he makes no move to wipe it off. He flips through the pages as if nothing happened. You stare at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter, voice soft and wavering.

Without looking from the menu, he responds. "Yes, I did."

"But, you coulda just... just let him go..."

"I could have," he replies, and turns a page. "But I didn't."

"But -"

For the first time since you both entered the diner, he looks up at you, and you're taken aback the intensity of his eyes. "He deserved worse, kid. Far worse."

He sounds so sure of it that you can't bring yourself to say otherwise. You sigh and clasp your hands together on the table, unsure of where to go from here.

Just then, the waitress comes up to your table, notepad and pen in hand.

"You two know what ya want?" she asks as Mando puts the menu back in its place.

He gestures for you to go first.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the classic platter with scrambled eggs and white toast. And black coffee, please."

The woman nods, writing your order on her pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the blueberry flapjacks, please. And coffee, black, for me as well."

The waitress nods and turns away. As you watch her push through the silver kitchen door, you realize that maybe you should be grateful for the way things went. That they didn't get uglier.

That Mando was there at all.

"Thank you," you say softly, doing your best to convey your sincerity to the man sitting across from you.

He simply nods, observing you with a look you can't quite place.

After breakfast, the two of you set off down the highway again. Fleetwood Mac flows out through the speakers and you don't expect to stop until after noon, when Mando will have to refuel (both the truck and your stomachs). Until then you kick off your shoes and put your feet up on the dash, window cracked about an inch so the summer wind can flow through your hair.

Despite the rocky start to the morning, the hours pass by easily, weightlessly. Sometimes you talk with Mando, other times you simply sit and watch the world pass by. You don't think you've ever seen this much land in one go, and it thrills you. The idea that there's so much more.

The topics vary from your time in school to movies to the truck. You're surprised to find out that Mando's never seen Star Wars, a fact nearly unheard of to you. You promise yourself that you'll make him watch it sometime, somehow.

Lunch passes without incident; you insist on paying for your ham and cheese sandwich, because Mando had covered breakfast before you could protest. It hits the spot, along with your ice-cold Coke from the little market's freezer. There's a line to get gas, as there is everywhere, but luckily it isn't too long, since you're in the middle of nowhere. Mando won't be able to fill the truck up again for a few days, meaning you'll have to stop for the night earlier tonight than you did yesterday.

You do find something interesting at the market and you decide to shell out the money for it because it intrigues you. A new style of Kodamatic camera, complete with a pack of instant film - 12 potential photos.

In your mind you see pictures of mountains, and the truck, and Mando, and you stuff the camera in your bag before your mind can wander any further down that road.

You have to admit - traveling with someone who you know can protect you if the need arises is comforting in a way that almost makes you nervous. You keep telling yourself not to get used to it, that this is just a temporary situation for as long as he sees fit to keep you around. After he decides he's had enough, he'll leave you, and you'll be on your own again. You can't get too dependent on him.

Nighttime arrives much too quickly. The sun has just dipped below the horizon when you drive into another small town, not much more than a stoplight and a few bars. You get lucky, though, because the unmistakable neon of a motel glows just ahead.

"Thank god," you groan as Mando pulls into the parking lot. "I need a shower so goddamned bad."

Mando chuckles. His arm rests with his hand out the window, flicking the ash at the end of his cigarette out onto the pavement. The orange glow at the end of it brightens as he takes a drag, and you tear your eyes away from his lips before he can catch you staring.

That's another problem. He's every inch as attractive to you now as he was before, except now you know he's nice. The mustache and the dark curls and the broad expanse of his chest are all only made hotter by the knowledge that he likes Carole King and Elton John (he knew all the words to Tiny Dancer) and blueberry pancakes.

Plus there was that whole punching a guy to defend your honor business.

The guy at the motel's front desk reminds you of Marvin. Greasy blond hair and acne on a kid not much younger than you. You give him a disgusted look when he eyes you up, but he cuts it out when Mando walks in behind you. It gives you a small sense of satisfaction to see him so meek before your companion.

"We need a double for the night," Mando drawls, counting cash on the counter, cig perched between his lips. The sign advertised a night's stay for $22. You'd tried to pay Mando your share, but he'd refused your money.

The kid shakes his head. "Only got singles available."

Mando raises his brows. "Really."

The kid, whose name is Matt according to his name tag, nods. It takes Mando a moment to think on it, and then he looks to you.

You shrug. "I'm fine with it if you are, Mando."

He nods once and pays for the room. 12. You take the key and head over to get a head start on your shower while Mando parks the truck and gets his stuff.

The hot water feels divine. Even the towel feels great, because as threadbare and shitty as it is, it's clean and warm from sitting under the vent. You finish up in the bathroom and emerge in a pair of old track shorts and a loose-fitting tee.

Mando's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. His jacket's draped across the table and he's kicked off his boots, so he sits with the remote in hand, barefoot. It's the most casual you've seen him thus far, and it makes your heart race.

"Shower's all yours," you tell him.

Mando looks at you from the corner of his eye. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at any given moment, so you fidget with the hem of your shirt as he looks at you.

A thought blooms unbidden in your chest. I wish I could kiss him.

You blink, taken aback at the sudden, intense nature of your desire to feel his lips against your own. Not knowing what else to do, you cross your arms and turn to the TV. Bonanza is on.

"Seen this episode before?" you ask. It's an old show, but you still like it.

Mando nods, humming. "Used to watch these every week, right when they came out. Only the first few seasons, though."

"Why'd you stop?"

He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the ground. He gives you a small smile, though his eyes hide something pained.

"I got drafted."

Oh. "Oh. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," he says and gets up, brushing past you to enter the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

You walk over to sit on the other side of the bed from where he was. Drafted. Jesus. You feel bad for bringing it up, even if it was unintentional. The TV plays though you aren't watching, mind wandering to thoughts of Mando in Vietnam. You picture him in the jungle or in a helicopter, the deafening noise of artillery and gunfire filling the air around him.

Maybe that's where he got the nickname. It certainly explains the rifle.

You reach over for the remote and shut off the TV. The clock on the wall reads about 8:00, still early for you, but you tuck yourself under the sheets and blanket regardless. You face the door, away from where Mando will sleep.

Just as you're drifting off, the lamp on the bedside table clicks off. You feel the weight of Mando crawling in beside you, and he too curls up on his side, back turned.

You fall asleep hoping he's not too upset with you.

The next thing you know, you're awake, though the world is still dark outside. Behind you, Mando snores softly, warm breath fanning out across your neck.

Wait.

You blink a few times and realize the two of you must have shifted in the night. Mando's body is pressed right against yours, chest to your back, arm draped over your middle and hand tucked under your chin. Your legs are intertwined and against the back of your thigh you feel -

You feel him.

Sleep is a powerful drug, however, and the realization is not enough to make you move. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you think maybe this isn't so bad. Your tired brain convinces you to revel in it, to enjoy this position you've found yourself in. Before you can second guess that reasoning, you drift off.

And then you're awake again.

This time it's thanks to a rush of cold wind in your face. You reach back to feel for Mando, but the warm pillow tells you he's not there. You open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at something. It's still dark out, but the lights of the motel parking lot put him in silhouette before you.

"What is it?" You lean up on your elbow to get a better look. The nighttime air is cool on your face, smelling faintly of gasoline and rain.

He bends down and picks up whatever it is that's in front of him. You watch as he turns to look left, then right, seemingly in search of something. He turns around and you see what he's holding.

It's a baby's carrycot.

You immediately sit up, heart racing. "Is it -?" you whisper.

Mando nods, closing the door behind him. You get out of bed and rush over to stand next to him, peering into the carrier.

Sure enough, there's a baby asleep inside. It looks to be a boy, about a year old. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

"Why - who would - what?"

Mando shakes his head, staring at the little guy. "I don't know. I heard a knock at the door and there he was - no sign of anyone else."

"We should - what do we do, Mando?"

He brings the carrier over to rest on the table beside his jacket. The boy is out cold - his little hands grip the blue knitted blanket and his mouth is just barely open. He's got dark hair, wispy and soft atop his head. As you observe the sleeping child, you notice the corner of a small piece of paper tucked in between the blanket and the cradle. You reach out and grasp it between your thumb and forefinger, unfolding it carefully.

"What does it say?" Mando whispers. Your voices are low so as to not disturb the child.

"Grogu. Please take him far from here," you read, and feel your blood run cold as the note goes on. "Not safe in this area. His father is dangerous."

It's scrawled in blue ink on half a sheet of lined notebook paper, the fringe from being torn still attached. Your hands shake as it hits you - there's some mother out there so scared for her son that she left him in the care of strangers. That there's a man out there who legitimately threatens this boy's life.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, rage and sadness simmering in your chest.

"We have to, Mando." Your words are shaky but certain. The man beside you rests a hand on the carrycot, still looking at the sleeping child within.

You turn your eyes to him. He nods, solemn.

"Let's let him rest. We'll leave in the morning, get as far west as we can. Might even be able to make Texas if we leave early enough. We can figure it out from there."

His other hand brushes against your back, and then he's drawing you into his chest. The embrace is soft, unhurried, and you lean your head against his shoulder, hands tucked against his chest. Letting your eyes slip closed, you think back on the previous day, how you never could have predicted this turn of events. How you've never felt so uncertain of things, even when you'd lost everything.

Together you return to bed, but neither of you gets much sleep.

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #fanfic #din djarin fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x fem!reader #female reader #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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hitoshisbabygirl · 4 years

Text

Authors Notes ♡: WHEW I LOVED THIS I had a time trying to come up with an idea and then it hit me : a princess being saved by fantasy au! Dabi. I’m still nervous with my smuts but heh I enjoyed this a whole bunch to write . Dabi is my favorite villain and I just love him so much, I tried to make him a soft inside and hard outside man in this , I Had fun for our free for all collab and I hope I help give it just a fun twist to fantasy and Halloween spirit ~ I hope you enjoy reading this and much as I did writing it ~ bunny ❥

Warnings :UH NSFW! Demon dabi has two dick (and their thick) , pet names, unprotected sex , a tad bit of a size kink? , a bit fluffy at the end but I think that’s it!

Word count : about 2k give or take!

Paring(s) :Dabi x F! Reader

Even with this being NSFW I had to make it a soft fluffy ending I’m sorry ♡

———————————————————————

Enchanted flames

Dabi

“If you have found this letter the Princess of Yuei needs your help. Meet me in the Enchanted Woods tomorrow night. Ill escape with you if you can save me from the proposed wedding - Princess [ ]”

With a sigh [. ] dropped the letter out of her window hoping someone, anyone , could save her from the doom that awaited her from an arranged marriage that had been planned from her kingdom to be to the neighboring ones prince, a smaller and very...purple hot headed boy by the name of Mineta who was unsavory for a lack of words. Sighing as she watched the paper fall she secretly wished her type of prince would come save her from this hell she expected.

As the night approached she slipped past her guards, telling them she was going out for air in her garden. The two towering men who looked down at her agreed, moving at the way to let the young woman past them and out into the halls, her dress dragging behind her as she headed out the giant doors to her garden. Taking in a breath she climbed over the perfectly managed hedges andddd off into the forest adjacent to the castle, roaming through the woods to her chosen spot to hopefully meet someone who could save her.

“Hello there little sheep, you called for help, correct?” A low, raspy voice called out as [ ] turned around , looking into the dark abyss in front of her. “ Hello? Helloooo? Who's there?” the girl called out as she heard something heavy land behind her. Turning to her right she saw bright blue eyes look back at her from the shadows. Before she could react a rather warm hand covered her mouth as the person or thing dragged her throughout the woods , the two of them slipping into the night. As soon as [ ] woke up her eyes adjusted to a dark but brightly lit and beautiful chasm, cyan and turquoise crystals of all types surrounded the room as she felt intense heat from everywhere around her. Standing up on shaky legs she felt eyes on her from behind. Letting out a deep breath she turned only to run into a barely covered chest.

Looking up from the revealed purple and pale skin , she saw those same blue eyes , lit with curiosity. “Ah you're awake..welcome little sheep to my...well..living quarters” The mystery man spoke as [ ] blinked at him, a grin spreading over his face as he continued to speak “Well i guess the princess doesnt know she isn't in her little castle anymore. Haven't those guards of yours realized they can't leave royalty alone or guys like me come along and take them out of their cute little homes” He said as [ ] gave him a suspicious look , her own thoughts taking over her face as a sense of calm rested over her features “Ohhh so you're the one who found my note..” She said as he gave her an unreadable look , soon walking away to leave the girl in her own world. “I guess he did” she thought to herself as she heard the male come back, a pile of things in his hands. “Here; a change of clothes and something to eat. I tried to be gentle taking you out of those dreaded castle grounds and through the woods but your dress isnt the smallest thing in the world” he said as [ ] let out a giggle , picking up the dark shirt and skirt he had given her along with the meal : some type of rice and meat with soup. Before she could ask the man answered “No i didnt steal it, i told you this is my home , its only natural id have something in this god forsaken place to eat.” He said as he pointed down the cave. “Theres a waterfall ahead if youd like to freshen up there.” And with that [ ] walked down the empty carved walls, finding the waterfall he was talking about.

Once she was finished getting cleaned and dressed she headed back the way she went, seeing the male now cloaked in a dark cape , fiddling with a pile of wood before setting it ablaze with a bright blue flame. “Ah i see you're finished , ILl be heading out , i'm gonna find us some more wood so you don't get cold. Theres a pot over there where you can reheat your food and get more if you like.” As he finished he proceeded to get up and head down another pathway, presumingly to the opening of the chasm “Wait!” [ ] called out as he stopped, turning to the girl with a questioning look back at her. “Yes princess?” he responded to her as she felt a unnatural wave of heat spreading to her face from simply calling her by her actual title. “What can I call you? And how long will you be gone?” She questioned. “Aw are you worried about me?” He cooed as she puffed out her cheeks “I was just curious” She lashed back as the male in front of her laughed , giving her a crooked smile. “ The names Dabi, and i won't be gone too long, an hour or so” Dabi said, giving her a smile as he started to leave again.

“Oh yeah , and there's a spare jacket in the back if you get too cold or that fire goes out.” and with that he left [ ] by herself as she finished up the dinner he had made which was exceptionally good, even better than what she tended to have at the castle. While she waited around for dabi to come back , [ ] looked at her royal dress, the red and pinks making her want to revolt as she pushed the fluffy tooled pile up into a blanket of sorts, covering her legs as she sat there thinking about her predicament “I really ran away...but what else can you do when youre gonna be married off to someone years older than you for land and alliance” she thought with a sigh as footsteps came from behind her , Dabi pulling his hood from his head as he smiled to himself at the girl in front of him “Im back princess” He declared as she turned to him, giving him a small smile as she stood up, dusting off her dress , coming up to Dabi “So...whatcha find?” She started as he pulled the bag from behind him , dumping out different goodies for the two of them. An array of food, wood and fresh buckets for water collections. “Here, this is for you too” Dabi said as he passed her a well woven balck dress, better than the two piece he had first given her. Taking in a deep breath he spoke up “I didn't want you to struggle with rags , so i got you something a little more comfortable and well...suitable for a run away princess” and with that she looked up to him and giggled which was heaven to his ears. ‘Why thank you Dabi..i'm flattered” [ ] said as she took the black dress , running to a hidden corner to change as Dabi smirked “Oh boy..what have i signed myself up for”

Weeks later and multiple posters for the lost princess later, [ ] had a rhythm living with Dabi. They cooked together and he left out to get things from shops ans out in the woods. Word spread that the princess had been stolen and the ugly grape himself had put a reward out for her safe return. Unknown to everyone she was quite content with the dark demon mage Dabi and his home in the woods. He explained the chasm as his work space, a place he could hone in on working with his flames and different elixirs that people needed. He was a half breed of human and demon, his father ridding of him to hide his affair with an otherworldly being, to keep the peace of his people and the overworld people as well. He really wasn’t a bad man, just someone who stayed in the shadows and kept to himself. And [. ] ‘s heart went out to him, as his did out to hers as she explained her own situation. ”Well damn sweetheart at least i saved you hm?” Dabi said as the two of them laughed together about their lives and what they'd like to change.

As the night drew on and they had their fair share of drinks and food that night “Thank you Dabi..for everything” [ ] said randomly as they relaxed by the fire he had started , [ ] wrapped into the oversized fur Dabi made her as the male laid against a log watching the tired girl mumble to him. She gave him a sleepy smile once he put his warmed hand on her face. “You're cute yknow...i'm not gonna let anyone get to you okay?” He said as she shook her head, moving herself closer to him , laying her head on his lap as he rubbed her head until she fell asleep, him soon realizing he was in love with the rogue princess in his lap.

As the next month rolled around , the princess and her demon mage had started a loving relationship, the two of them growing fonder and fonder of eachother. [ ] noticed that Dabi had tried avoiding being around her when she was fresh from the shower or even roaming too close behind her, he even took more time to come home with more ingredients or even sleep opposite to her. She didn't understand the switch from wanting to hold and hug her to avoiding her all day. One day she was able to catch and trap him with her. “Yes princess…?” Dabi ased as [ ] crossed her arms around her chest , the simple movement making him turn from her. “Did I..do something…?” She asked, her eyes bouncing between his as the turquoise she learned to love ignited with heat.

”Oh no doll...you haven't done a thing but make me want you even more..”

And with that comment her eyes widened. “What..?” She questioned. And with that Dabi picked the smaller girl up, pinning her to a crystal wall as she gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck.”Dabi…….?” [ ] called out as he started to kiss her neck ,running his rougher hands up the soft flesh of her thighs. “I think i'm in love with you doll..youve been invading my head or a while and all i can think about is making your cute little body want me the burning way i want you...I wanna make you cry out for me all night long...make you mines forever.....is that okay?” He whispered in her ear. With a shudder she agreed , letting him kiss the swells of her brest as he gave her a lopsided smile, picking her up and taking her to a pile of pelts and wool they made into a bedroom to rest in. Placing her down lightly he towered her , taking off his vest to reveal his toned and scarred body “Youre quite a beauty yknow...im glad you trust me…” He said with a smile as [ ] herself smashed her lips against his, cutting off his mushy talk. With a groan he pushed her dress up , letting her breast bounce out from the top. Pulling away from the kiss she helped him take off the dress over her head. With a shy smile [ ] covered ehrslf and laid back, spreading her legs lightly to expose her glistening lips to him

“Well damn, i havent even toughed you yet and youre this wet..what a little slut you are”

He growled out as he leaned back over to give her a kiss , pulling her lower lip as he licke dhis was down between her legs, giving her clit a hard suck as she whinned , closing her legs over his head as he slurped away at her pussy, making sure to watch her through hooded eyes, a tail whipping from behind him as a pair of horns appeared from atop his head, one mangled and cracked the other long and curled “Surprise” Dabi called out as his voice dropped octaves, it coming out as a low rumble as [ ] felt her walls clench at the sound , a chuckle coming from him. Going back to slurping and sucking on her labia and clit , Dabi watch with glee as the gilr under him started to shake, her hips rolling back to his mouth as he bit lightly down on her lips and pulled away from her , laughing at her pleas and whimpers “Turn sound baby and let me show you how much i love you” Dabi said , watching as [ ] rolled over arching her hips back as he smacked her ass, loving the moan she let out. Pulling down his pants he pulled his throbbing member out, rubbing it hard against her clit as she felt her heart jumped at the feeling of how thick he was. All of a sudden she felt hands pull her cheeks apart as a finger rub around the tight rings of her ass. With a gasp she looked back to see not one but two swinging dicks between the burning up male, a feral look in his eyes as he let a low rumble come from his chest “ Sorry babygirl..when I change there's more than just one of me to deal with, i promise i'll be gentle” He said as he rubbed her tight muscles just loose enough to put in the tip, her lower lips drooling as he slid his true size into her throbbing walls, moans and grunts tearing through the chasm as he pulled his hips back , starting to set a rhythm to his hips. While he picked up the pace, [ ] felt herself being full as the two dicks of his stuffed her. She could help the feeling of her walls getting tighter as she came once then twice and not once did Dabi stop, he laughed as he gave her more and more , pushing himself deeper in her as he let out what sounded like a howl of pain as he doubled in pace, reaching down to rub her clit as she screamed, soon feeling a hot and warm gooey feeling flood her senses. Dabi slowed his hips down as he pulled himself from her ass first, then from her pussy and cum started to leak from her holes.

“Shit...im sorry princess I didnt mean to go so rough…” Dabi breathed out as [ ] turned around giving him hr own lopsided smile as she saw him transform backto himself, those turquoise eyes softening as he saw the woman he had fallen for spent out from his own actions. “Geez when you said you were a demon i didnt think it was true…” She laughed as he scratched th back of his neck “Ive never transformed like this around someone….especially during sex but that means I trust you a lot….well doll..let me clean you up and then...we can go fro round two hm?” He smirked as he watched her pussy clench and relase more cum once he said that. “Mhm...clean me Dabi then we can have some more fun..”

#my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #the circus dome collab #dabi x reader lemon #dabi x reader #dabi smut

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drivingsideways · 3 years

Note

Hey talk to me about your top three favourite kdrama women. What makes them special? What's a fic you would like to write about any one of them?

Mystery anon! :D What a lovely ask.

I’m going to cheat a bit and divide my answer into characters I loved a lot, but do not want to write fic about, because I think the canon gives me what I need; and characters that I loved a lot but NEED TO BE RESCUED ZOMG. (My fic writing impulses are 50% spite and 50% fix-it )

Caveat being that I’ve still watched only maybe a dozen kdramas, so I’m pretty limited in my knowledge!

Characters that I love a lot, but have very zero fic impulses toward:

Han Yeo-jin from Stranger/Secret Forest: What a delight! What an iconique character! Is there anyone like her? NO. LSY-nim gives us a delightfully complex character, and Bae Doona knocks it out of the park in every single scene, so I’m just happy to be along for the ride. I think what makes Yeo-jin special for me is the intrinsic place of empathy that she operates from. I think “righteous” is a word that often comes with negative connotations (self-righteous, for eg), but I do think she’s one of the most righteous-in-the-good-way characters I’ve watched in kdrama or any drama. I’m tired of stories that portray goodness as “boring” , as unworthy of narrative breadth or depth, and I love that Han Yeo-jin comes to us like a breath of fresh air in our particular dystopian narratives hellscape. She’s good, but never naive. She’s righteous but never cruel in her moral certainties. I think that LSY nim, in the second season especially, gave Yeo-jin the kind of arc that character deserved when she’s forced to really dig deep into herself to figure out how she’s going to live in the world in the face of a deeply cutting, deeply personal disillusionment, and I’m really hoping for an S3 to see how that plays out further.

Goo Hae-ryung from Rookie Historian: Ok, I will admit this may be rose tinted glasses view due to this show being my gateway drug into kdrama, but c’mon! She’s a reader! and a Thinker! And loves her wine! She’s plucky! She’s cute! She’s got a wry sense of humour! She’s got principles! She’s got a solid common sense to her that somehow doesn’t get in the way of her dreaming BIG! Oh dear, doesn’t she sound like the Mary-est of Mary Sues? Good for her.gif, I say! Anyways, Shin Se-kyung is unutterably charming in this (AS IN EVERY SHOW OMG GIRL) and I just have a huge fondness for free-spirited heroines who get to tramp through the narrative changing the world as they do!

Lee Ji-an from My Ahjussi: I’ve never had my heart broken more OR restored by any single character. IU is *phenomenal * in this, I think she really stepped up to what the script demanded from her. Ji-an’s weariness, her fear and vulnerability, her prickliness, her anger and her bitterness, and how, despite everything, she fights : GOD. Just. Again, what I love about the writing in this show is that it’s deeply empathetic without being cloyingly sentimental. I think a less, hmm, imaginative writer/PD might have focused on the Lee Ji-an the victim, and while the show definitely tells you in no uncertain terms that she is one, of both circumstances and a cruel society, I think it refuses to take away her agency over her own life.(Lee Ji-an when we meet her is too busy hanging onto life by tooth and claw to indulge in self-pity, but we also see the toll it takes on her not to be able to say “this is too heavy a burden for me to carry myself and it isn’t my fault”; the show I think approaches Dong-hoon from the opposite side- his emotional isolation is partly a result of his own choices, but he doesn’t see it yet, and so his journey is also about letting people in and sharing the burden, but also recovering his own agency over his life. It’s an interestingly gender-bent arc, which is one of the things I love about this show. )

Ok, can I please add one more?

Hwang Han-joo from Melo is my Nature: She just felt SO real to me. She’s someone who doesn’t have the spectacular brilliance of either Jin-joo or Eun-jung, and struggles with accepting her limitations but not allowing herself to be defeated by them? I love her struggles as a mother, as a working woman in a sexist industry, a woman who’s perhaps having to rethink and reimagine what she wants from romance. I love that she’s a little silly, a lot kind, and an optimist, and just. I just think she’s the bravest of the three, tbh, and I LOVE HER AND I WOULD WATCH A SPIN OFF ABOUT JUST HER (i shouldn’t have faves among the three i know, BUT I DO, IT’S HER, IT’S HER.)

Ok! On to the next section! And I’m going to cheat again because I can’t stop at three. SORRY. NOT SORRY.

Characters I love and SHOULD write fic for if I weren’t such a tired and lazy bunny:

Song Sa-hui from Rookie Historian: Oh, girl, girl, GIRL. I love how she fights to snatch her freedom from the jaws of the patriarchy. I love that she unapologetically centers herself while doing that, because she knows that nobody else will. I love that she’s prickly and calculating. I love that she’s smart and knowledgeable. I am SO HAPPY that she got to carve out a little bit of freedom for herself, even if it also is exile to some degree. She *should * be Emperor Jin’s Prime Minister and steering the ship of state, while also carrying on a tumultous affair with Queen Min Woo-hee, while ALSO commiserating with Emperor Jin about his boyfriend Historian Min Woo-won’s regrettable tendency towards Principles (TM) and masochism-but-not-in-the-fun-way. (This takes up much of his time which is why Song Sa-hui is running the country, of course. It works out well for all concerned, well, except her dad, of course.)

Song Ga-gyeong from Search:WWW: What’s NOT to love about our brilliant, beautiful, emotionally tortured gay icon? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I loved how the show allowed her to be flawed and make bad decisions, and then allowed her to make better decisions and regain control of her life. What I do need to do, of course, is see the CANON LOVE STORY between her and Cha Hyeon through to the end. It must, of course, include at least one baseball game, a lot of tequila and messy beach kisses.

Oh Ji-hwa from Beyond Evil: Oh boy, this year’s runaway hit cleared the extremely low bar for standard crime/ thriller shows by leaving more than one of its female characters breathing and with all limbs intact, and got called feminist for it BUT it didn’t do justice to any of them in any meaningful way and that never hurt more than in the way they sidelined Kim Shin-rok’s talent by not giving Oh Ji-hwa anything much to do. She’s a tough as nails cop, a loving sister, a devoted but unsentimental friend-and by rights SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE HEROINE OF THIS SHOW. My secret fic fantasy is to rewrite the show entirely by making her , and the two other female characters in non-antagonist roles- Yoo Jae-yi and Im Sun-nyeo- as the central characters, as they investigate a serial killer who targets women. It’s the only acceptable version of this done-to-death (ha!) genre, I have no idea what the Baeksang jury and tumblr fandom is smoking when they hype the show so much, I want none of it.

Jung Sun-ah from The Devil Judge: I love her rage, her spite, her passionate defense of women, her style, her sexiness, her rage, her rage, her brilliance, her tenaciousness, her smartness, her clothes, her refusal to hate herself for everything she is and chooses to be, her ambition, her comfort wielding power, her EVERYTHING. Dead, her? NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT. Here’s what *really * happened at the end of canon- she gets out of the building by planting that lady-like but still deadly gun against Kang Yo-han’s temple and making him lead her through his own “secret escape route” or whatever the fuck it was the show wanted us to believe. From there on out, it’s all sunshine and beaches, and scheming and waiting for the right moment to strike again-though of course, this time around, she also has to reckon with vigilant, tenacious cop Soo-hyun -another character who REALLY didn’t die for manpain reasons and had the good sense to leave her gay best friend to follow his psychopath boyfriend to Switzerland or wherever it is that star crossed lovers in kdrama land meet up on the regs these days- anyways, Soo-hyun and her are in this catch-me-if-you-can epic transnational honest and cute cop-and-beautiful sexy villain chase and yes, they WILL kiss (and more) AND IT WILL BE GLORIOUS.

*whew *

Thanks for coming to my TEDTalk.

#kdrama #thank you for this ask OMG #[fiona apple voice] ladies ladies ladies ladies

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Ten ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4422

Warnings: Canon-level violence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

What am I going to do?

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

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

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

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

But danger and my friends are a package deal.

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

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

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

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

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

{***}

I wake in the mountains.

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

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

I’m underwater.

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

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

It promises peace.

“Cosima.”

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

“Cosima!” Rumil shouts for me now.

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

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

I kick my legs, propelling myself upwards.

{***}

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

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

It was just a dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods once. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are elves.”

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

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

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

“You have accepted it, then?”

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

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

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

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

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waywardnerd67 · 3 years

Text

Sweet Slice

Title: Sweet Slice Summary: (Y/N) is new to Lebanon escaping the big city life when she gets a job at a local bakery. Things get complicated when her past returns and her boss gets in the middle. Pairing: Dean x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 2173 Squared Filled: Baker!Dean Bingo Card: @spnaubingo A/N: The sandwiches described are from the grocery store my mom works at. They can be found at http://www.straubs.com/category/sandwiches

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Staring out over the horizon, (Y/N) watched as the sun peeked over rising into the dark sky. Black and navy faded into beautiful pinks and reds as a sign of a new day. Breathing in the cool morning air, she threw up a few silent thank yous to whatever higher being was listening to her. Grateful for a new day, a new start and a new life for her. Carefully standing on the rooftop, she climbed back in through her single window and started mapping out her day.

(Y/N) had only lived in Lebanon, Kansas for three weeks. Finding a studio apartment above the only bakery in town that was owned by the handsome Dean Winchester. She gave him almost all her savings for the first month's rent and went in search of work. In a town of only two hundred-fifty people finding a job was harder than she expected. Until last week, when she approached Dean about the next month’s rent and offered her a job on the spot.

Now, as she pulled the hair out of her face and wrapped a red bandana over it (Y/N) headed downstairs for her first day at Sweet Slice. Approaching the kitchen entrance she could hear Led Zeppelin playing through the store speakers and pans clanging against one another.

“Morning boss.”

He looked over his shoulder a wide smile spreading across his face, “Good morning, let me get this pie in the oven and then I will give you your mission for the day.”

(Y/N) chuckled watching as he finished the pie he was working on. No one would ever believe from looking at Dean that he was a baker. His broad shoulders, muscular arms gave off the impression he was a tough guy. There were a few scars on his forearms she could see from the sleeves of his flannel being rolled up to his elbows. His large hands and thick fingers were the most deceiving as they gently and delicately handled creating the lattice pie crust on top.

“Ready?”

His husky voice brought her out of her daydream as she nodded following him to the other side of the kitchen. On the long table were various deli meats and cheeses along with a variety of breads then seemed to be freshly baked.

“I’ve always had this idea of not only offering specialty pies and baked goods but also to have a lunch hour with sandwiches on some of our breads. Today, I was you to just come up with some sandwiches for the menu and I’m going to taste test them for lunch.”

She smirked, “So basically you want me to make you a sammich?”

His laughter was infectious filling her body with a joy she hadn’t felt in a long time, “Yeah, I guess so. One of the perks for being the boss. If you need anything just holler at me.”

(Y/N) grabbed the pencil and paper on the table and started writing down some ideas she had. Sandwiches were something she knew all about being from New York. As a teenager she had worked at her local deli making sandwiches and giving the old mob men trouble as they flirted with her. The memory sent a chill down her spine. It was in that deli shop she had met Wyatt and her life changed forever.

Shaking her head, she went back to her list of sandwiches and began constructing them. A few of them, she had to have Dean bake up a few hoagie rolls because regular bread would not be right for them. By noon, she had assembled six different sandwiches for them to enjoy. She waited to garnish them until right before they sat down to eat. Dean had taken his flannel off wiping the sweat from his face from being near the oven.

His eyes widened as they glanced over the sandwiches plated in front of him, “These look awesome and I’m starving. Let’s dive in.”

The first sandwich was an Italian Sub that was on a fresh hoagie roll, spread with a mayo mustard blend and topped with salami, top round roast beef, baked and glazed ham, provel, dill pickle, onion, pepperoncinis and shredded lettuce. The noises coming from Dean as he devoured his half made her cheeks burn.

The next couple of sandwiches were simple ones with meat, cheese and simple lettuce, tomato, pickle toppings that could be offered cold or warm. The fifth sandwich was one her grandmother made for her every Sunday. Layers of baked and glazed ham, hard salami, mortadella, and provel topped with an olive Italian dressing blend on fresh baked focaccia bread.

“Now that sandwich sent my taste buds on an adventure. Whew!” He chuckled, finishing the last bite.

The final sandwich was her take on a grilled cheese sandwich. She had called it The Cure All making it whenever she had a particularly bad time of the month or a wicked hangover. On sourdough she placed two slices of cheddar, a layer of jalapenos, two slices of american, a layer of bacon, topped with caramelized onions.

Dean admired the sandwich for a moment before taking a large bite from it. His olive eyes rolled back as he closed them chewing slowly. She watched as he swallowed the bite and his full lips pursed together blowing out a gush of air.

“Wow, I think that may be the perfect sandwich and our signature sandwich to kick off a lunch special.”

Her cheeks were aching from smiling, “I guess I can add sandwich creator to my severely lacking resume.”

“If I have my way, you will never need a resume again and stay with me forever.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth a few things happened all at once. Their eyes snapped up connecting immediately. Her heart leaped within her chest with a bright, burning hope she has not felt in a long time. While Dean’s cheeks flushed crimson.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… not that I wouldn’t want to be with… um. Crap.” He put his head in his hands, “All I’m saying is you’re amazing and wonderful for what I have gotten to know of you these last few weeks. I think we would work great with one another.”

There was something deep within urging for her to reach out to him and after five years of being with someone who only pretended to care for her and use her she had kept herself guarded. Looking into Dean’s eyes, she could see the kind of man he was. The kind of man to sacrifice himself for the ones he loves. The kind of man to go out of his way to care for someone. The kind of man that would protect those closest to him fiercely and without regard to his own well being.

(Y/N) reached across the table placing her hand on top of his, “There is nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you.”

It was in that moment that everything changed for them. They became partners in every way they could in their lives. Sharing the business together, his home together, building a life together over the next year. Until her past caught up to her in the little bakery in Lebanon.

It was a normal Tuesday as Dean and (Y/N) prepared for their normal lunch hour. Their business doubled from them adding a sandwich and slice combo. Some of their normal morning customers had picked up a pie or two for that evening so when the bell rang signaling another customer, (Y/N) thought nothing of it walking to the front counter.

“There you are my sweetness. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

She froze in her spot, the familiar raspy voice knocking the wind out of her. Looking up, standing in the middle of the empty bakery and locking the front door was the man of her nightmares. Standing nearly a foot taller than her, his jet black hair was slicked back and dark brown eyes narrowing in on her.

“H-How did you…” The words would not come out as fear struck her mind instinctively backing up towards the door leading into the kitchen.

His menacing smile spread wider, “You know I have my ways. You know when I want something I get it. No matter what.” He took two steps towards her as he spoke.

The same desperate fight or flight feeling kicked in pushing her feet towards the kitchen yelling, “DEAN!”

Before she made it two feet through the door a pair of thick, leather covered arms wrapped around her waist. She let out a piercing scream before Wyatt clamp his hand over her mouth. He walked them back through the door holding her tightly against his body where she could not kick or push herself away.

“You’ve always been weak and pathetic, but that’s how I like my women. You can’t fight me.” He snarled into her ear.

“But I can.”

She looked up wide eyed as Dean appeared in front of them stepping through the door. He was holding up a large iron skillet never once taking his eyes off of Wyatt.

“Put (Y/N) down now.” His jaw clenched as he spun the skillet in his hand.

Wyatt laughed pushing her into the front case. She cried out as shards of thick glass sliced and embedded themselves into her skin. She glanced up just in time to roll herself over the glass that had shattered as Wyatt’s large body flew back towards her. Crimson filled her vision as she looked down to the floor. Bile burned up her throat as the sickening cracking of breaking bones echoed throughout the room. Her vision darkened as the last thing she saw was the door crashing open.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Every inch of (Y/N)’s body throbbed. She could hardly lift her eyelids, her vision blurry from exhaustion and her glasses missing. Trying to speak, she coughed and a large hand engulfed hers. Instinctively, she flinched pulling it away. Squeezing her eyes shut terrified she would see Wyatt sitting beside her.

“(Y/N), you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Her eyes snapped open tears freely flowing down her face, “D-Dean…” she croaked.

“Shhh. Don’t try to speak until you’ve had some ice chips.” He stood grabbing a cup and feeding her some ice, “After Sam and I took care of Wyatt, we had to rush you to the hospital. You lost a lot of blood and one large piece of glass embedded itself into your back.”

Dean became quiet looking down at their hands clasped together, “W-What hap-pen?” she whispered, eating some more ice and the cold soothing her burning throat.

She was surprised to see his eyes shining with tears, “We almost lost you and…” he looked away from her wiping his eyes.

“And what, Dean?” Her stomach churned and knotted a thousand thoughts running through her mind.

“And it wrecked me. I didn’t want to imagine life without you and when I did it gutted me.”

(Y/N) reached up wiping the few wayward tears from his cheek, “I’m right here because of you. Thank you.”

Her hand slipped down to his chest gripping his shirt and pulling him towards her. Every move she made was agonizing but worth it as his lips pressed against hers.

“I will always be here for you.” He whispered as she nodded her forehead resting against his.

Lying back she asked, “What happened to Wyatt?”

A low growl escaped Dean’s lips, “He and his buddy are currently in a cell hopefully getting to know their new roommates intimately.”

She wanted to know everything, but exhaustion was consuming her. Her eyes closing as Dean sat beside her on the bed humming her favorite Zeppelin song and lulling her to sleep.

Over the next several months, between her physical recovery and mental anguish as she relive her life with Wyatt to detectives and lawyers. (Y/N) slowly started getting her life back to normal. Dean accompanied her to New York where Wyatt and his goons were all put on trial for what they had done to her. After the guilty verdict was read, (Y/N) felt a great weight lift from her shoulders finally feeling free to live her life in peace.

When they arrived back in Lebanon, they noticed the vacant building across from the bakery had been sold and a new sign was being lifted into the air to attach to the store front. As the tarp fell to the ground, they both stared up completely stunned at what they saw.

The sign had a cake with a halo above it that read Angel Cakes Bakery. A tall, dark hair man stood admiring the sign before glancing over to them. He gave a small wave walking back into the building while (Y/N) looked over to Dean.

His jaw set in a strong line before muttering, “Son of a bitch…”

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jeon-googi · 3 years

Text

Flower Boy

— pairing: (ATEEZ) San x Reader

— genre: slice of life, Barista au

— words: 3k

— rating: SFW

— warnings: none~

— notes: HELLO! It’s been awhile, and I am so sorry for my lack of posting and writing. A lot of stuff has happened, from me graduating Uni early (whoo!), to a few deaths in my family, life has really gotten to me. It makes me very happy to see so many people still liking and reading my stories though, so thank you for all the kind comments and tags! I have a few stories in the works including a spin off of Soulmate! Until next time! (I rewrote a part of the ending and wanted to start off fresh with this so I hope you don’t mind!)

You smiled triumphantly, finally finishing the last stretch of your midterm paper, stretching your arms out in front of you in your cramped work space. It was nearing Spring Break and that meant the amount of school work was becoming borderline atrocious. Luckily, you planned well enough and weren’t experiencing the detrimental study cram like your roommate Irene.

“Irene c'mon you have to take a break!” You stood up, walking to her side of the dorm which somehow was even more destroyed than yours. Irene groaned as she rubbed her face, leaning back into her chair.

“Yeah a break would be nice…” she mumbled, her eyes red from lack of sleep. You smiled as you pulled her up trying to think of somewhere the two of you could go for a small break.

“There’s that new cafe nearby! The one Seonghwa from Psych works at?” You offered, gently tugging on your shoes near the door. Irene nodded as she followed suit, tugging on a light jacket. One of your friends from psych, Seonghwa, and a gaggle of his rowdy friends all somehow landed themselves a job at a new cafe by campus.

“You and Irene should totally come! Drinks on me.” He had offered one day.

The walk was short and sweet, the trees on campus starting to bloom gorgeous blossoms and the light sunny air put a pep back in both you and Irene’s steps. The cafe was a modern looking place, flowers adorning the outside patio. You also noticed the abundance of well dressed girls that filled the place as well. Shaking your head, you pulled the door open for both you and Irene, the bell above alerting the bustling baristas to your presence.

“Welcome to Cafe- Oh! Y/n and Irene! Welcome!” A boyish laugh sounded from behind the barista bar as you spotted Seonghwa’s tall figure operating the espresso machine.

“Hey Seonghwa!” You waved back as did Irene, filing into the line to the counter. From your spot, you could also spot familiar faces of his friends, Hongjoong his red haired best friend, and Yeosang from your literature class. You could understand now why so many girls were filling the small cafe, everyone here was absolutely gorgeous. You finally reached the counter where another boy leaned, making conversation with every customer, his figure so tall he had to lean down to operate the ipad for orders. Your heart sped up a little as you gave a wave to him, a large smile breaking his face.

God he was hot.

“Hey your Y/n right? Your friends with Seonghwa?” He asked, cocking his head in a boyish manner as he spoke to you. You nodded a bit lost for words, “Yeah and you’re...you’re San right?” You winced, hoping you got it right. He nodded happily and grinned, “That's me! Now what could I get you?” He asked with a sly wink. You fumbled for a quick order, something along the lines of an iced latte. As you reached for your card, San reached a hand out to stop you, his large hands surprisingly soft.

“No please it’s on me.”

You went to argue but he quickly passed the order to Seonghwa who shrugged and motioned you and Irene to a nearby vacant table. You and Irene quickly took your seats at the table, trying to ignore the glances of jealous girls at your interactions with the guys.

“They sure have a crowd going.” You mused, smiling as you spotted some of the waiters entertaining groups of girls. Irene nodded in agreement, her eyes particularly locked on the back on Yeosang’s head. You nudged her and she bashfully laughed it off, the two of you getting lost in conversation before a cough broke you both away. Again, San stood before you, grinning as he held two iced beverages he carefully placed on the table. You both thanked him gratefully as he kneeled down, placing his elbows on the table.

“So ladies what's the plan for today?”

It seemed to be in the cafe’s style that all the baristas and servers would make small talk with the customers, which you didn’t mind of course. You and San unexpectedly went back and forth, travelling from topic to topic. You found yourself getting lost in conversation with each other enough so that Irene interrupted the two of you.

“It’s getting a bit late isn't it Y/n? We still have some studying to do.” Irene said smugly, sliding her jacket back on her shoulders. Your eyes grew wide as you glanced at your phone, noticing you had been talking for a good while now.

“Oh shoot yeah, sorry San, I didn’t mean to keep you from your work-”

“No it’s no problem I had fun.” He brushed off your apology with a smile. You and Irene quickly gathered your belongings to leave, giving the baristas one last wave before exiting.

“Wait Y/n!” You heard a call from inside, stopping you in the middle of the door.

“Hm?” You asked, turning back to see a grinning San behind the counter.

“I work Mondays, Wednesdays, and the weekends. Come see me again!”

The hoots from the other boys behind the counter was enough to make your face turn a slight shade of red,

“We’ll see!” you called back before closing the door behind you.

After large study periods and quite a few tears, midterms passed as quickly as they began. The refreshing feeling of knowing you had an entire week to yourself was pure bliss to say the least. Irene had planned a trip with a few of her friends, and of course, felt terrible you wanted to stay on campus.

“Y/n c'mon it would be so much fun!”

You shook your head, “It’s okay Irene go have fun! I’m going to just relax here and do absolutely nothing.” you admitted with a content grin. She shrugged, and before you knew it, you were left alone. With so much spare time on your hands, you weren't sure what you wanted to start with. You had a few books you wanted to read, some recipes you wanted to try...or, you could also swing by San’s cafe as well. It had been awhile since you first visited and you couldn't deny the lingering effect he had on your mind. His black hair, smile, the way he rolled his sleeves up when making drinks. A blush stained your cheeks as you shook your head,

‘Here you are, thirsting over some guy you met once.’

But hey, one visit wouldn’t hurt right, and it just so happened to be the weekend.

Packing up a small tote bag with a book, your notebook, and a few pens, you headed out down the scenic route to the cafe. The flowers were even more in bloom than the last time you were there, gentle white daisies and yellow poppies. There was another tall man conversing with a family on the front patio of the cafe. He noticed you walk up and gave an energetic wave.

“Hey your Y/n right?” He smiled, a cute golden retriever air about him. You nodded, adjusting the bag on your shoulder, “Yeah, your in my stats class right? Let's see... Yunho?”

Yunho nodded happily, a large dopey grin on his face, “That's me! To be honest you came in on the perfect day-” Yunho politely excused himself from the family to make his way closer to you, your height differences astonishing this close.

“What do you mean-” You were about to ask before Yunho hushed you, glancing back towards the cafe and pushing you behind the cafe's hedge, out of the window's line of sight. He surveyed the front of the store before blowing out a breath.

“Whew alright he didn’t see us.” He said relieved.

“Who didn't see us?” You asked, also trying to peer your head over the bush.

“San. Ever since you came in, he has been looking forward to seeing you, and well, it’s been awhile since your last visit and he’s kind of depressed about it. Today has been the worst, but as luck would have it, you’re here!” Yunho rushed out quickly, giving you a smile of encouragement. You were a bit confused to say the least, but also a bit surprised.

“He wanted me to come back that bad? I thought he was just being nice-”

“San is nice to everyone, which makes him pretty popular. But the way he stared at you from behind the counter said it all.” Yunho admitted. “I’ve known him for awhile, and I’ve never seen him act like this. If you're not interested it’s totally fine I just wanted to let you know this will really make his day.” With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Yunho went back to entertaining the guests on the patio, leaving you with a pounding heart. It would be a lie to say it didn’t make you excited, you mean, you did find San very attractive and kind as well.

‘Lets just see how this goes..’

You walked back to the patio, opening the door gently, the bell alerting your arrival. There was no line like usual, so you had a clear shot from the door to the counter. San was behind the counter again as well, but his back was turned as he was finishing up some drinks for the few other customers inside. You approached the counter with a smile as you waited patiently for him to finish. He quickly turned around, not entirely too focused on who it was before him, but rather typing quickly on the Ipad. His voice was not in his usual tone as he started, “Thank you for waiting, what can I get started for you?”

You laughed brightly before moving yourself closer to the counter, his face being a few heads higher than your own so you could look up into his eyes,

“Hi San.”

San jumped back with a yelp, a few towers of paper cups falling with his flail, “Y/N? What are you doing here? Today? You showed up-er- here wow uh..” He stumbled over his words, a bright red flush dusting his cheeks. You couldn’t help the laugh that trickled out of your throat.

“I finally finished my midterms, sorry I wasn’t able to make it in sooner.” You apologized.

San shook his head quickly, “No no no don’t apologize it’s totally fine-” his hands nervously ran through his hair, pushing it back away from his forehead.

“I’m just glad-” he stopped to clear his throat, “I’m just glad you came back in.”

You smiled at that. San had a way of being so earnest, even at times like this.

“This time I am paying for my drink Mr.” you warned, already pulling out your card. San’s usual grin graced his features again as he held his hands up in surrender, “Fine you got me this time.”

You ordered another iced drink, and took a table near a large window within the shop, the sunlight not too harsh yet still warm against your skin. You heard footsteps approaching and you grinned, but looked curious when rather than San bringing your drink, it was Yeosang.

“Yeosang, hi.” You smiled. Yeosang gave you a polite smile as well, placing your drink down on the table as well as a warmed pastry.

“San got called into the back for a while, so he wanted me to bring this to you since he can’t come over and talk for awhile.” Yeosang said in his gentle voice. You laughed a bit at the situation, picturing in your mind no doubt San’s pouting face.

“Thank you very much Yeosang. Oh, and Irene wanted me to tell you she says hi.” The startled look on his face was perfect as he quickly excused himself back to the counter. You smiled and shook your head, pulling out your book to start your reading. Chapters in, you noticed the chair in front of you being pulled out. A tired San deflated once in the chair, allowing his head to hang back. You winced at the stiffness in your joints as you set your book down, watching the tired barista.

“Rough day?” you asked sympathetically, placing your chin on your hand. San shook his head as he sat up, leaning onto the table with his elbows. “Just busy. We’re training some new hires, so I have a lot to do.” He sighed but his smile easily came back.

“But I am glad you came by today.” He grinned. San’s eyes alway crinkled when he smiled like this, and he always had a laugh on his lips, in a way, you were a bit jealous he could uphold such an attitude. You both made small conversation, enjoying the time you guys finally had together. Before you knew it, the sun was beginning to set, casting the cafe in an orange hue.

Seonghwa emerged from the back, spotting you two chatting away at the table, “Sorry to interrupt but, it’s closing time guys!” He smiled, obviously eager to leave. Your eyes widened as you realized indeed, you were the last one in the establishment.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t realize-”

Seonghwa shook his head, “No you’re good. In fact since San was supposed to help me close, I’ll just have him walk you back to your dorm instead. I’d feel guilty just kicking you out like this.”

San whipped his head around, totally ecstatic over the fact one, he got to leave early, and two of course, walk you home.

“C’mon Y/n let's go!” He grinned, pulling your hand along with him. You laughed as you quickly collected your bag, giving a wave to Seonghwa.

The air outside was warm despite the night creeping in. You walked alongside San down the road to your university, an air of comfortable silence between you two.

“Why did you start working at the coffee shop?” You asked.

“It was always Seonghwa’s dream to have something like this, ever since we were in grade school. I just wanted to help make his dream..I don’t know a reality I guess?” San admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You nodded, honestly in awe of such kind words.

“I’m sure he appreciates you very much.” You smiled up at him, causing him to turn away bashfully. He cleared his throat as he glanced back down at you, “Well I mean how about you? I want to know everything about you.”

The walk back to your dorm was filled with conversation with San, ranging from classes to hobbies and favorite foods. It was so easy to talk to him, you found yourself drawn into him with every word and you couldn’t ignore the fluttering of your heart anytime he said your name. Before you knew it, your dorm was in sight.

“Thanks again for walking me back. I appreciate San.” You smiled, toying with the strap of your bag.

“Of course! I didn’t want you to walk alone.” San grinned, slipping his hands into his pockets. The air grew stagnant, and both of you fidgeted in the silence, not quite wanting your time together to end.

“Y/n-”

“San-”

The two of your stopped, realizing you talked over each other so easily before breaking into giggling grins.

“You first.” San smiled.

“Well I just want you to know, I um...I really like hanging out with you!” You admitted, casting your eyes down to his shoes. “I really like hanging out with you, and I would like to keep hanging out with you. If you don’t feel the same way though I totally understand-”

“Can I kiss you?”

You stopped, your eyes quickly scanning up from the floor to San’s face, the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Can you what?”

San smiled, a boyish carefree smile, one that stirred butterflies in your stomach.

“Can I,” his hand found yours, holding it between the two of you, “kiss you?”

You felt yourself nodding before the words even escaped your mouth. San waited, his face only inches now form yours. His breath was shallow, and you found yourself a little giddy at how nervous he suddenly looked. He was only inches away.

“Yes, San-”

You were cut off by a gentle sensation on your lips. It was soft and tentative, like he was holding himself back. San’s hand cupped your cheek and your own hand rose to his chest. He pulled back, his breath light on your face.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as San chuckled, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you so naturally.

“I really like hanging out with you too, Y/n.”

Your face was pressed into his chest, the faint smell of coffee and pastries still lingering on him.

“But..” You could feel San shifting, leaning down so his face was closer to yours, “I’d rather hang out with you as your boyfriend.”

Your smile widened as you stared back at him, your hands softly travelling to hold his face. He gently leaned into your touch, his smile mirroring yours.

“I’d like that too.” You whispered back, your forehead resting against his. The two of you stayed like this, giggling and whispering between each other without care. Eventually San begrudgingly acknowledged he had to leave, but not without a few pouts.

“I’ll see you soon yeah?”

You nodded, your fingers slowly drifting apart.

“I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow.” You smiled, earning a large grin from San. It only took him two brisk steps to be in front of you again while you laughed.

“San you really gotta head home-”

“I just wanted to see you like this. One last time before I go.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Like how?” You watched as his hand returned to your cheek, stroking it gently.

“Smiling.”

“Smiling?”

“Smiling, because of me.”

On her trip, Irene grinned as she stared at her phone. It was a blurry selfie of you and San, looking all lovey dovey at the café, while half of Yeosangs face was in the frame.

‘Told you we’d get them together!’-Yeosang

Laughing she grinned and replied back.

‘About time :)’-Irene

#ateez #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #san imagine #san x reader #choi san #kpop imagines

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intuitive-bbloom · 3 years

Note

Helloo!! Thank you so much for selecting me in the future spouse game. I'm overwhelmed.😄

My initials are S.H.

My favourite emoji💋

Take Care💕

Hello there angel! Congrats on winning!! 💕💕💕 sorry for this coming so late!! 😭😭😭

Let’s channel what your fsp has to say!

Body talk by Imagination

Passion and pain tastes the same when I’m weak by Tove Lo

Doctor by Jack Stauber

Come thru by Summer Walker and Usher

Valentine by Snail Mail

Whoaoaoao your fsp is coming in with very heavy sensual energies! Something tells me they have s*x a LOT. Sorry if you’re uncomfortable by this but that really came through with all these songs lmao.

My love, you know what we have is really deep, undeniable, magnetic, when we touch its fire, we create passion and sparks fly, I’m searching for love in you, we do it every single time, in the morning, afternoon, night, whenever. What we have is going to last a lifetime, we’re going to persevere through everything, you’re my flame, my little match stick, my fire cracker, you’re my fantasy, a dream come true, how did I get someone as wonderful as you. I’ve been through a lot of chaotic relationships, I’ve seen it all, I’m trying to get over it and be a better person. Been in one to many toxic relationships with people who did nothing but hurt me emotionally and physically, blurred the lines between love and hate but with you it’s different, you’re clarity, a breath of fresh air to my weary lungs, lungs that are so accustomed to pollution. You’re my doctor, you patch me back up and hand me love that I’m not used to, you kiss all my wounds and make me happy, you make me better, been so used to heartbreak and disappointment but you love me so good, you heal me and damn I’m so lucky to have you, I’m blessed to be with you. I love you so much. You don’t disappoint me, you’re there when I need you, you keep all your promises and we love each other that everyone is jealous, they can’t keep their eyes off of us. You’re my ecstasy, you’re the only person I want to make love to, I drop everything and run to you if you need me. Whatever you want it’s yours, you’re my valentine, we don’t always get it right but we make the most of it and pull through. I want a family with you, I want the best for you. We might not be in a talking period now and I’m sorry for that, I want to make it up to you, I’ve been so used to all that toxic shit that I couldn’t fully trust you, that I hurt you. You know where to find me when you change your mind, I’ll always be here waiting for you, you’re my number 1.

Hmmmm, well this is it! Lemme add some cards from my goodie bag to compensate for the long wait.

Gladiolus

Everything will be alright

Asian

Dog

You deserve nice things

Introspection

You’re not ready

Let your walls down

Moon

Whew! Hope you liked your reading love! 💕💕💕☺️☺️☺️☺️

#bblooms games #bbloom answers

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

Note

Hi I dont know if you want jercy requests at the moment but i had an idea for one :

Dark percy murdering calligula as a revenge for jason

Hello angel! Whew this request was willldddddd and I had soo much fun with it. There isn't any jercy per se (in fact Annabeth and Percy are together in this) but Percy is furrrrrious about Jason and he exacts a very twisted sort of revenge for his friend's honour. Basically this was an excuse to write dark!percy and by gods I hope I delivered!

CW: revenge driven, grief, graphic depictions of violence

Burning Maze Spoilers

he used to be nice.

He used to be nice.

Percy had been digging around the weapons room when his name had been shrieked like a dying animal. He had been looking for protective gear to give to little demigods in his sword-fighting class, when a scream like broken bones cracked through his body. He had been starting another calm, routine-controlled day at camp half-blood when he heard the news that made him snap.

*Two hours earlier*

“Jackson,” Annabeth knocks at his cabin door. He hears her voice carry through the open windows, and over the continuous sound of the ocean. “Pers, we have breakfast in half an hour and you have a sword class to teach today.”

The event had been printed on her wall of “to-dos” so that neither of their adhd brains would have the chance to forget. But he groans at the reminder, not wanting to escape his warm bed, or the duvet that wraps around him like a hug, or the pillows that hold his head as if he is a god. Sometimes he wishes he was a Hypnos kid. Their whole thing is sleeping . The knock sounds again.

“Seaweed Brain, come on,” His girlfriend sighs, “You promised we’d talk to Chiron about the—"

The loud and obnoxious cry of a harpy sounds somewhere in the distance and whatever she says next is drowned out completely. He knows though. Knows what she’s going to say and what they have to do. So he drags himself out of bed, like the last sack of potatoes on the crate. Heavy and bruised and discarded for the most desperate of the lot.

“I’m up,” He manages to rasp. He doesn’t like talking to people till he’s brushed his teeth, and eaten something, and spent at least half an hour staring at an empty coffee cup. A New Yorker through and through he supposes.

“Okay,” He hears Annabeth call, “I’ll see you at the dining hall then.”

He makes a sound half way between a grunt and a yawn and hopes she understands because that’s the best she’s getting out of him. The morning routine is quick, even done at the speed of a stubborn toddler. Soon he is sitting at the Poseidon table, scarfing down eggs and toast, and washing it done with a second cup of coffee. The buzzing in his veins is completely normal. And he’s definitely not speaking at a thousand miles an hour. This is how he always talks. Why on earth they allow coffee in a camp full of adhd kids, he’ll never understand. But it works in his favour so he isn’t going to complain.

By the time him and Annabeth are done talking to Chiron about introducing therapy to the camp, he feels like his eyes are moving faster than his sensory receptors can process and his thoughts are moving faster than his ability to process at all. So when his girlfriend, smiling at him about something, stops outside their training room he looks at her with furrowed brows and asks, “What are we doing here? Are we training for something?”

She frowns, “How much coffee did you have this morning?”

“Only three cups.” He shrugs, and clenches his hands in his pockets as if she can see through the fabric to the shaking body underneath.

Her grey eyes widen as if she’s about to scold him, a petulant child being chided by their ever tired caregiver. It makes the part of him still attempting to function slightly wild. He squishes that part down with the force of a thousand ships. Someone calls Annabeth’s name so with a quick peck to the cheek she leaves him in front of the training room and jogs towards the middle of camp and out of sight.

He stares at the room, trying to get his brain to stop focusing on things he doesn’t need to focus on right now, like the three lines of a song he heard at the grocery store a week ago that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head.

He used to be nice.

Entering the training room he scans the schedule and sees he’s teaching a class of small people, campers younger than ten who are just learning the ropes but should disaster ever strike will be ushered to the Cabin 9 bunkers to wait out the storm. It is a rule that no-one under the age of twelve be subject to war if they need not be. And he will make damn sure the need never ever surfaces.

He gathers swords of various shapes and sizes, along with a few daggers, and the straw dummies that have seen better days. It boggles his mind that they’re at a camp for children of literal greek gods but somehow there’s no funding for basic necessities like extra cots in the Hermes cabin, and better dummies to stab.

Muttering to himself he moves aside metal and stacks of straw, trying to find protective gear in the pile dumped at the corner of the training room. When he doesn’t see any he lets out a long suffering sigh... he has to go to the weapons room, which is more of a broom closet with deadly devices than anything else.

The room smelt musty, and the reek of rust slams into his nostrils at dizzying speeds. It reminds him of blood, and it made his skin itch with the need to get out. But still he bends down and searches through the mess of celestial bronze, and gold and—

The scream cauterizes his happiness. He is panic and pain and death and everything brutal in a single awful instant.

“PERCY!” His name has never sounded so full of agony, each syllable holds the stages of grief.

He is running towards the anguish before he’s even fully realises what’s going on. But what he sees when he crests the hill is enough to make the warmth of his heart run burning cold.

Annabeth is curled on the ground, tears like rivers of woe streaming down her cheeks and a purple flag clutched tightly in her fists.

“What happened?” His voice is soft. If he hears himself too loudly he’s going to shatter.

Annabeth cries harder, her whole body shuddering. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is all consuming. Grief will make itself known like thorns in your thumb or bullets in your heart.

“What happened?” He repeats.

And someone, far away, right next to his ear, inside his head, says, “It’s Jason, Jason Grace. He’s dead.”

He used to be nice.

It takes him three days. Three days of non-stop travelling, by foot, and air, and sea, to reach Caligula’s home. A palace. A grave. It is three days too long. Too long for a murderer to be walking free as if there are no consequences to his vile actions. But still he is here now and he will see the fall of a great, and watch how he bleeds just like everyone else. Not gold, the colour of the emperor’s one true love, but red, the colour of his victims.

Percy's eyes are almost black with violence, green so dark it reflects the night sky. His hands clench and unfurl as if practicing to wrap around a throat and squeeze till the symphony of breathing plays its last note. His body is strung taut, a bow string waiting to release. He is murder. He is nothing. He is your worst nightmare.

“Caligula.” He scrapes. It is the exact sound of a sword sparking against stone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing but scared silence greets him. He can feel the fear coating the walls of this burial ground like a fresh coat of paint. He will make a playground of the blood he spills, will invite all manner of creatures to use it as a park. He will revel in the slaughter he is about to participate in.

“Caligula!” His voice is the sharp edge of a small knife. Unassuming but deadly. ‘“It is no use hiding. There is no place you could go where I couldn't find you.” He feels the earth sway underneath him, and he grins. Oh this is going to be fun.

“Fine Emperor, if this is how you want to do it.”

With a shrug, he flings out an arm and turns three columns to dust. He watches the stone crumble, feels the sand on his palm as if he was crumbling the columns in his hands like soft cheese. With a small stomp of his foot a crack rivaling the river Thames splits the marble floor in half. The entire structure shudders, creaks right above him. His grin only gets wider, more dangerous.

“I will level this place to the ground. I will erase it from history as if it had never been. You will not exist Caligula, because you will go with it. Will be crushed under the weight of your own wealth.”

“You’re a fool,” A voice, reedy and nasalled in a way that has his soul curdling, shouts from somewhere on the far side of the room. “You will crush us both."

Percy laughs. He laughs and the sound widens the cracks in the floor. It is deep, and wild, but in the way a wild thing is caged: snapping at it’s bars, hissing to be free. He laughs.

“You are a fool Caligula. A fool if you think i am not willing to die if it means you suffer. A bigger fool still if you think it will not give me great pleasure to spend my last moments watching the life leave your eyes,”

The distant sound of bubbling starts to fill the room. Percy wonders if he can make blood boil. His mother has certainly said so enough times.

“Leave now half-blood,” The Emperor spits. There is still something of arrogant, misplaced bravery in his voice. It amuses Percy. “Leave now and you will not face the consequences.”

“And pray tell,” He contemplates, “Who you think will deliver your consequences if i leave?”

A scoff that echoes into the pathways of his brain comes from the back of the room. “I do not need consequences dealt. I have done nothing to deserve them.”

The sound of bubbling is getting louder. He looks curiously at the cracks still spidering around the room. “Ah Emperor,” He tuts, “That is where you are wrong. People who deserve consequences hardly ever get them. It is those who don’t think they deserve them that become the unlucky bearers.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” He snarls.

The bubbling is loud enough now that Percy almost checks to see if a small brook has carved its way through the floor. There is nothing there except ever growing cracks, turning to rifts and canyons before his eyes.

He used to be nice.

“We can do this one of two ways Caligula.” He starts, honey bees with a sting a little too sharp to be defence. “You can apologise and I’ll kill you quickly, or…” His smile is sickening. “And this is my preferred method, I could watch you die slowly, watch the life drain from your body and into the soil of blood-crops that will grow here, and your dying words will be the mercy you will inevitably beg for.”

The bubbling spills over the cracks, leaking salty water onto the dying marble floor.

“Better choose soon oh dear Emperor,” He giggles, “I am the only thing holding this room together. As soon as I let go the floor will split like your loyalties. You will be crushed to death by your own greed. And if that doesn't happen you will surely drown.” To emphasise his point water starts gushing from the floor, no longer a bubbling stream but a raging river. His laughter is carried along the ripples that hit the walls, already leaking with the all encompassing ocean. “Wouldn’t it be a pity Caligula? To drown in your own home, surrounded by all the things you killed for, watching as they drown with you?”

“Shut up half-blood,” He screeches, “You do not have the power it takes to kill me. You are nothing compared to the centuries I have been alive.”

“Do you know who i am honouring Caligula?” He asks softly, a stark and terrifying contrast to his smile a moment before. “In all your centuries can you remember but one demigod, a dear friend of mine, but just another victim of yours?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, “They are all the same in the end. All bleed, and cry, and piss, and die the same.”

The grin Percy lets loose starts hurricanes. It is the absolute wrong thing to say. ‘“If it is all the same to you Emperor,” He becomes terror. “Then i think i’ll spill your blood at his altar.”

And before the doomed emperor could react an invisible hand wraps around his throat and he was being dragged to the middle of the room. His eyes wide, popping out of his head; hands clawing at his neck as if trying to remove the grip they cannot feel; feet flopping helplessly underneath him.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.” It is a command.

Caligula glares, attempting to spit at his feet.

Percy tilts his head and with a single crook of his finger he slams the emperor into the wall. The crack is deafening. It makes him grin.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.”

Caligula produces an ancient roman gesture, passed through time as if centuries cannot dismantle the insults of humans.

Percy twists his wrist and the emperor’s body contorts into something unrecognizable, bones snapping and shattering to fit their new mold.

“Apologise for killing my friend.”

“Fuck you,” He manages to choke out.

A wave of ocean water alarming in its beauty rises behind him. He is its god. And with a wink he shoves all of it down the emperor’s throat. The column of that pale neck bobs as if attempting to take the water down. He can see the body trying to retch it all up, unable to handle the sheer amount, the salt that comes with it.

“Watch Caligula,” He motions to the palace sinking under the weight of his ocean, “Watch as everything you have ever cared to love drowns.”

Percy grabs a shard of mirror, uncaring of the gash it sweeps across his palm. He holds it up to the ancient powerful Emperor, who is convulsing into nothing. “Watch.”

He used to be nice.

Sometime later when Percy Jackson walks up a hill, and into the fading sun there is nothing but content mania lining his features, and behind him where a grand home once stood, is a trickling river and a single spear carved with the words, “Neo Helios”. The only sign that Caligula, Emperor and murderer, ever existed,

He used to be nice.

Until someone killed his friends.

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[image id: printed text that reads, "I used to be nice." end id]

#Percy Jackson #Jason grace #Annabeth Chase #Caligula #PJJG fanfic #He used to be nice #Firerose requests #PJJG asks #burning maze spoilers #toa spoilers #trials of apollo spoilers

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years

Text

Christmas Across the Stars

Summary: A backlogged mission on Jotunheim means Piper's going to miss Christmas with her family this year. At least she's not completely alone.

Written for @the-emo-asgardian's 'Tis The Season Writing Challenge on the prompt "snowed in and unable to get to family"

Word Count: 2,938

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: *wipes sweat off brow* whew! For a while I wasn't sure if I was going to get this done in time for Christmas. But here it is! I've been writing a lot of angst lately, so it was really nice to write something sweet and fluffy for a change. I did try to keep Piper somewhat vague as a character, but there's a lot of me/my family traditions in this story, so for that reason I decided to make it an OFC rather than a reader-insert. Hope you don't mind.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and your families, and I hope you all have a healthy and fulfilling New Year! Thanks for reading! :)

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

Read it on Ao3!

She had been staring at the stone ceiling for nearly three hours when Piper decided enough was enough. Abandoning the thick, itchy blankets and the naïve dream of getting some sleep tonight, she reached for her boots.

One of the annoying things about life on Jotunheim (and there were many) was the inability to do a damn thing without first putting on fifty layers. Her nylon jacket rustled as she pulled it over her arms, zipping up with an obnoxious squeak. Across the room, Olsen popped up in her bunk.

“Wuzgoinon?” she muttered, opening a bleary eye.

“Nothing,” Piper said quickly. “I’m just going for a walk. Go back to sleep.”

Olsen hummed, head dropping back to the pillow. Her other two companions didn’t stir. Piper sighed and grabbed her scarf and hat.

Her footsteps echoed against the rocky walls as she made her way to the bunker entrance. They weren’t supposed to go outside alone, what with being stationed on an unpredictable alien planet and all, but the blizzard that had been raging on for the past two weeks had finally seemed to pass and Piper could use a breath of fresh air.

The frozen hellscape greeted her with it’s usual chilly slap to the face. She coughed, bringing her scarf above her nose. When they had first arrived, the cragged mountain cliffs had hypnotized Piper. They stretched far above the horizon, their jagged silhouettes cutting through the paint-splattered sky like a crooked dagger. It was a severe kind of beauty, unlike anything Piper had ever seen before.

Now, it felt like the serrated ridges were laughing at her.

Piper sat down against the bunker door with a grunt, rubbing her hands through her mittens. What was she even doing out here? What had she expected to find? Despite her day-long daydreams, the bitter wishes she stored deep in her heart, her reality had not changed: she was a tiny ant of a person, trapped on this icy rock of a planet, sleepwalking her way through this drawn-out farce of a mission.

What a way to spend Christmas Eve.

When she had signed up for this job, it had been an adventure. Traveling across the stars to a world that until recently had only existed in myth, to test out technology that would allow for interplanetary travel? Move over, Captain Kirk. Piper Bassow was boldly going where no (human) man had gone before.

The mission had supposed to last for six months. They left at the beginning of February, wide-eyed and excited for the enterprise. They had planned to be home in August. Then something came up, some snag with the tech back on Earth, easily fixed but it disrupted the schedule. Their return date was moved to October. No problem, Piper thought. We’ll still be back for the holidays.

Then, a blizzard knocked out their antenna. Again, easily fixed, but they had to wait for the wind to die down before they could risk going out to fix it. Disrupted the schedule. Now their return date was end of November.

We’re still fine, she told herself. Thanksgiving is a shit holiday anyways. Who cares if you miss it?

The final communication from SHIELD was what did her in. The last three months of data had gotten corrupted. They needed to stay until February. Piper had been on radio duty when she got the message. Instead of replying, she dashed the receiver against the wall.

It was immature. She had signed up for this mission knowing full well that there was a high chance that things wouldn’t go as planned. In fact, she should’ve been thankful—out of all the things that could have gone wrong, this was pretty innocuous. Everyone was safe, everyone was healthy, they had enough rations to last over a year. There was no reason to be this upset.

But … the reality that she was going to miss Christmas with her family this year was tough to grapple with. Christmas was a big deal. Her siblings and her had all long since moved out, but they still all flocked back by December the 24th, where they’d stay up all night stuffing their faces with their mother’s butter cookies and arguing over which movie to watch as the piney scent of the Christmas tree wafted through the room. No matter where they were in the world, they found a way home.

But Piper supposed she wasn’t anywhere in that world anymore.

She huffed, pulling her hands closer against her chest as the wind whistled on. Christmas had been the one thing she had been working towards all year. Feeling homesick? You’ll be home with everybody for Christmas. Getting frustrated with one of her teammates? By Christmas you’ll have forgotten they exist. Blizzard outside wrecking her day? Just think of all the stories you’ll have to tell everyone over Christmas dinner.

And yet, here she was, Christmas Eve, freezing her ass outside on this godforsaken ice cube.

“What are you doing out here?”

Piper nearly jumped out of her skin. She whipped around to find their Jotun guide looming over her with a frown. Nearly a year of companionship with him had proved that Loki Laufeyson was hardly the malevolent villain the rest of her world believed him to be (SHIELD wouldn’t have put this mission in his hands if he was), but something about his presence still unsettled her. He said very little, choosing to skulk in the shadows and reappearing only when he deemed it absolutely necessary. It never failed to amaze her that a living creature could move so quietly—you never realized he was besides you until you turned around and he was there.

Piper tried to pull herself to her feet, but with all her extra padding she just rocked around on the ground. Her face burned.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms and scowling up at him. I guess I’m staying here for a bit. Where had he even come from? She was leaning against the bunker door—it hadn’t opened since she’d been here. “What are you doing out here?” she asked accusingly.

Loki motioned his head towards the boulder pile behind the bunker. “We were getting some odd readings from the east. I thought I should check up on it.”

“Oh.” Piper peered through the ice, but she couldn’t make out the sensor that was supposed to track the movements of Jotunheim’s celestial satellites. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded, gaze unflinching. “I believe an animal disrupted the apparatus. I righted it.” Cocking his head, he frowned. “So is there a reason you’re sitting outside in the middle of the night in the dead of Jotun winter, or have you just finally gone mad?”

Piper let out a breathy laugh despite herself. She leaned her head against the stone door. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.” He sounded neutral enough, but Piper was fairly certain he was judging her.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she added quickly. Glancing at her watch, she added, “Or Christmas Day. I’m not sure.” There was another annoyance about Jotunheim—the time difference was catastrophic.

“Oh,” Loki nodded again. He didn’t move. She frowned. What was he waiting for? Perhaps he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“It’s a holiday,” she explained. “On Earth. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” For a moment, the two of them were silent, Piper staring out into the snow, Loki staring down at Piper. She waited for him to walk away, but he didn’t budge.

She sighed. “Do you need something?”

“You are upset.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were plain as day. Piper’s embarrassment came flooding back.

“No. It’s not—” she inhaled. He was right. She was far too upset. “I just—I thought I’d be home for it.” Her eyes were burning. Piper leaned her head back against the door in frustration. Was she seriously crying over this?

“Oh.” Surely he’d leave now, now that he knew that nothing was actually wrong. She shifted to move her weight from against the door so he would be able to return inside. But to Piper’s surprise, he didn’t leave. After a moment’s hesitation, Loki sat down next to her with a grunt.

“I’m afraid my knowledge of Midgardian tradition is rather lacking,” he said as he made himself comfortable against the door. “Christmas is a religious holiday, yes?”

Piper stared. It took her a moment for her to find her voice. “Oh, um, yeah—” she stuttered. “Technically. But not everyone who celebrates it is super religious. Like, I don’t think anyone in my family has gone to church in their life.”

“What is it you celebrate then?” He leaned forward, seeming genuinely interested

“I don’t know. Family. Giving. That’s what they call it, the season of giving.” Geez, she sounded like the star in a Hallmark movie. “My family always had a big get-together every year. Or, has—I guess they still are this year, I’m just… not there.” Her voice trailed off pitifully. Piper forced a smile, desperate to show him that she wasn’t completely pathetic. “But it’s fun. We have cookies and chocolates and everything and we decorate the tree and give each other presents—”

“Pardon me,” Loki interrupted, perking up. “What do you mean ‘decorate the tree’?”

“Oh, yeah.” Of course he wouldn’t know what she was talking about. “It’s a Christmas thing. You get a pine tree—some people have fake ones, my family always goes to a farm to get one—and you put it in your house, and you decorate it with lights and ornaments and stuff, and then you put the presents for everyone under the tree.”

That was another thing she missed this year. Usually, whoever was in town with her parents for Thanksgiving would drive out with them to the Christmas tree farm the next day to help pick out a tree. That was always an adventure—her mom would be scurrying between the lines of trees as the rest of them rushed to follow her, pine needles attacking them mercilessly from both sides. Piper’s mother was a perfectionist in every aspect of life and picking out a tree was no different. They’d spend hours circling the farm, listening to her as she found a flaw in each one they came across.

“The shape of this one is just too wide. Far too dry. Oh look, there’s a hole right in the middle! That one’s beautiful, but it’s so tall, I don’t think it would fit in our house—”

Eventually, she would find a tree that came close enough to her standards (“well, this one has a bare side, but we’ll put it up against the wall so no one will see it”) and Piper would crawl under the thing with the shitty saw they got at the front and go to work, her two sisters bouncing around like cheerleaders at a football game when the tree finally came crashing down.

Piper suddenly realized that she wasn’t going to get to see this year’s tree.

Besides her, Loki sounded lost in thought. “That sounds like Yule.”

She turned, frowning. “Yule?”

“An Asgardian holiday. We decorate pine trees as well.” He sighed, almost wistfully. Piper had never seen him this relaxed before. “It’s probably where the Midgardian custom comes from.”

“Oh, yeah.” She thought she had heard that once, that a lot of Christmas traditions had come from the Vikings, although she had never made the connection between that and Asgard. It made sense—wasn’t Loki straight out of Viking myth? “What do your tree decorations look like?”

Loki hummed. “We had special enchantments on the trees to create the illusion of glowing orbs of light within the branches. You couldn’t touch them—your hand would go right through.” He laughed. “It drove my brother mad when we were little. On more than one occasion he knocked down the whole damn tree trying to grab the light.”

Piper grinned. “That sounds like our cat! We have these little glass balls that are like, multicolored, and he’s always trying to bat them down. My mom wakes up to find ornaments all over the floor. One time he even managed to get the star” That cat’s a little shit and he knows it, she’d tell Piper on the phone. I can’t wait til you guys get home. He’s always on his best behavior for you.

Loki was staring at her quizzically. “The star?”

“Yeah. You put the star at the top of the tree, and it lights up. It’s like a topper ornament. I’m not sure where that comes from.” Piper sighed. “I hope they’re able to get it all set up this year. I’m usually the one who does the lights and the star and everything.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage.”

“Yeah.” Of course they would. The idea that they couldn’t manage without her was nothing but wishful thinking on Piper’s part, a tiny, selfish little part of her that wished they were as lonely and miserable as she was. “It’s just—” she inhaled. “I’ve never missed Christmas before.” Her fingers were going numb under her mittens. She rubbed them against each other.

She could feel Loki’s eyes on her, studying her as she blew into her hands. He didn’t say anything for the longest time, but the silence felt more analytical than judgmental.

“You should go inspide,” he finally said. “It’s far too cold out here for you to just be sitting still.”

He was right, but still Piper bristled. “I’m fine.”

“Please.” He stood in one fluid motion, holding his palm out to her. “If you freeze to death out here, SHIELD will find a way to blame me for it.”

“I—” Her pride screamed at her to keep protesting, but the biting wind was picking up, cutting under her coat and piercing her bones. She couldn’t help the shivers, even as Loki shot her a pointed look.

Piper sighed. “Alright.” She took his hand (how was he so warm?!) and allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her inside.

…

“Bassow! Bassow, wake up!”

The shouts rattled her skull as she pulled herself from deep within the recesses of sleep. “Hng?”

She was face down in her bunk. When had she even gone back to bed last night? She had been talking to Loki …

It was Medoff who was yelling her name.

“Come on, you’ve got to see this!” her teammate shouted in her ear as she shook her arm.

Piper groaned, pulling herself from the warm cocoon of blankets she had wrapped around herself at some point in the night. Her head was pounding. What time is it?

“See what?” she muttered.

Medoff yanked her out of bed, seemingly trying to jerk her up. “You’ve just got to see it. You won’t believe it otherwise.”

It was too cold. Piper ripped her blanket from her mattress and followed Medoff through the bunker hallways with it wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak, head lost in a sleepy fog.

“Is this really that import—” she trailed off when they reached the common area. The table where they took their meals had been pushed into the corner, but that was hardly what rendered her speechless.

There was a tree. A great, big, beautiful evergreen tree, with needles of emerald green, more vibrant than any Piper had ever seen on Earth. Kaleidoscopic orbs floated amongst the branches, slowly shifting through the colors of the rainbow before her eyes, held to the tree by chains of silver light. And on the top … it was a star, but comparing it to the plastic things Piper would haphazardly wrestle to the top of her Midgardian Christmas trees felt like a crime. It was as if someone had plucked one of the celestial bodies from the night sky and just fixed it at the peak, sparkling so bright it was almost blinding.

For a moment, Piper just blinked. “What—how—”

“We don’t know!” Olsen laughed from the table, where she was sitting with Wynn, the final member of their team. “We just woke up a few minutes ago, and it was like this! Isn’t it insane?”

“I mean, it is Christmas Day,” Wynn said. “Back at home, I mean. I guess Santa made it to Jotunheim after all.”

“Yeah. Santa.” Coming to her senses, Piper glanced about the room. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the most enchanting Christmas tree in existence magically appeared in their bunker mere hours after that conversation. She found him lurking in the hallway, watching them all from afar. Loki met her gaze, and Piper suddenly realized his eyes were the same brilliant green as the tree.

The biting homesickness that had been festering in her heart was still there, but it was beginning to fade, as if someone had wrapped it in a warm blanket. She smiled. As her colleagues continued to chatter over the tree, Piper made her way over to the Jotun prince.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged. “It was hardly an unpleasant task. I thought I might enjoy indulging nostalgia for a day as well.”

The changing lights from the tree cast a mystical glow to the desolate bunker, sparkling across the stone walls. It was like living within the Northern Lights. Hesitantly, Piper reached to put her hand on his forearm. “Merry Christmas, Loki.”

At first, he stiffened, but after a moment, he returned her warm smile. “Merry Christmas.”

#christmas across the stars #loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #christmas fic

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obxparadise · 4 years

Text

Last Friday Night

JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 5,548

~A fic in which JJ helps you recount the memories of your wild Friday night~

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, weed, and implied sex.

A/N: This is my longest fic yet!! It’s a combination of a story and flashbacks. Flashbacks are in italics! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Leave a comment and reblog if you liked it :) I also recommend listening to Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night” while reading :)

*Picture was found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

~~~

There’s a stranger in my bed

There’s a pounding in my head

Glitter all over the room

Pink flamingos in the pool

I smell like a mini bar

DJ’s passed out in the yard

Barbie’s on the barbeque

This a hickey or a bruise?

Sunlight shines through the window curtains, brightening up what was once a dim room. Tired eyes squint against the light as you attempt to roll on your back, groaning as an unimaginable wave of discomfort shoots across your skull. Hands find their way to your head, kneading your temples to try and ease the pain of a growing headache. The heavy weight of your hangover keeps you from moving, although you desperately need a water and aspirin. Maybe something greasy too.

As your eyes flutter open slowly, they readjust to the light in the room. Heavy breaths leave your mouth, tongue darting out to wet your awfully dry lips. The rancid taste of liquor is still on your breath, and you decide the first thing you need before medicine is a toothbrush.

Movement beside you urges you to freeze in bed, heart beating quickly. Turning slowly to the side, your eyes meet with a pair of tired, baby blue eyes and a mop of messy blonde hair, sticking up in every which way. The image of the boy doesn’t register quickly enough in your head as you shriek, heaving him off the side of the bed, cringing when he lands on the hardwood floor with a thud. Whoops.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

Crawling to the other side, your heart stops when you realize who had been your bed mate. “JJ? What the fuck?”

Out of all the boys who could have been lying beside you, JJ Maybank was the very last one on the list of people you would have expected. Luckily for you, JJ was no stranger. Sure, he was more of your sister Sarah’s friend, as Sarah’s boyfriend John B was JJ’s best friend, so you didn’t mind him, but over the last week or so, you’d grown closer to the group, JJ especially. He was chill, funny, unpredictable. Extremely handsome, too.

“What the fuck me?” He asks incredulously, rubbing his now sore elbow. A tiny laugh escapes as you watch his brows furrow in confusion. “What the fuck you! Why did you push me?”

“JJ, what the hell were you doing in my bed?”

He stretches, bare, tanned abdomen exposed for your viewing pleasure. Well, you definitely could’ve been stuck with someone a lot worse. No complaints, though.

“Well, I was sleeping peacefully,” he grumbles, grabbing onto the end of the bed to pull himself up. Pink sparkles litter his body, and you watch in amusement as he vigorously attempts to brush them off. Eyes scanning the room, they land on a confetti cannon. And if you had to guess, Sarah replaced the confetti with glitter. Great. “Oh, and by the way, you steal all the blankets in your sleep. I was freezing my balls off trying to wrestle them from you last night.”

Running a hand through your hair, which is somewhat damp and undoubtedly tangled thanks to alcohol, you try to connect the dots as JJ glances at you, lips curved, delight on his face. “What happened last night?”

How much did you have to drink that you couldn’t remember a single detail? To be completely hungover and forgetful the next morning is extremely unlike you, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were truly embarrassed.

“Only the best fucking night ever,” JJ grins, happily slapping your leg, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll tell ya, you and Sarah sure know how to throw a party. Best Friday night I’ve had in weeks.”

And that’s when it hits you. Your parents are out of town, your brother Rafe is away at a three-day golf tournament, and little sister Wheezie had spent the night with a friend.

Jumping out of bed, you run to the window and peel back the curtains. Your mouth drops in horror as you absorb the sight of your nearly destroyed backyard. Flamingo pool floats are crowding the pool, some full of air, and well, some had seen better days. Pong tables and plastic lawn chairs are flipped and broken. Red solo cups litter the patio, many still filled, others crushed and empty. Rubbing your temples, you cannot imagine how it could get any worse, but a dark figure between the bushes has you pressing your face against the screen, squinting to get a clearer look. For the love of God, the DJ is passed out in the grass. Is he dead? Shit.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

JJ appears beside you, looking over your shoulder. His eyes widen as he takes in the catastrophe that is your backyard. “Whew,” he whistles. “What a night.”

You elbow his ribs before stepping back, sucking in a breath as you realize how much cleaning you’ll have to do. Peeling off your clothes, you quickly change into a fresh pair of sweats and a cropped half tee shirt, making sure to throw on a few layers of deodorant after JJ’s teasing comment.

You catch him staring as you fix yourself in the mirror, smirking at a spot on your abdomen. Glancing back to the mirror, your mouth drops as your fingers brush over a deep red mark. “What is this? Where did this bruise come from?”

You jump at JJ’s cool touch against your warm skin, and he smirks before pulling back. “That’s a hickey, Y/N.”

“A what?” Open palms slap against your forehead in disbelief. “From who?!”

The only thing JJ offers is narrowed eyes and a slight close-lipped smile.

“It was you!” The realization hits you like a freight train. “Oh my god. We fucking slept together didn’t we?”

JJ’s body shakes with laughter as you frantically search your body for more marks, exasperated sighs leaving your lips as you find a few more dotting your neck. Thank God you had just bought a new concealer because you were going to need it. “We spent the entire night together, Y/N. Do you really not remember anything?” He’s pouting, and his voice comes out almost…offended.

“Okay, you know what?” Throwing your hands in the air, you turn back to JJ, whose hands are clasped together in front of him. “I need to remember what happened last night. No more surprises.”

JJ cocks his head to the side. He considers you for a moment before hopping back into bed, patting the place next to him. Hesitantly, you join him in bed, unsure if you’re ready to recount one of the craziest nights of your life. “Where do you want to start?”

Pictures of last night

Ended up online

I’m screwed

Oh well

“Kiara Carrera!”

Squeezing your way through the various partygoers, a relieved sigh leaves your chest as you spot the feisty brunette sitting by the pool, legs dangling in the water as she listens to Pope ramble on about the season finale of The Walking Dead while simultaneously spinning in a pool float.

“What’s up?” Kie says, grinning as you bend down to hug her around the neck.

“Any chance I could borrow your Polaroid?” Right away, you see the hesitation in her brown eyes. She’s not stupid. Giving a drunk girl a camera probably wouldn’t be the best idea, but you’ve been known to be quite persuasive. “Aw, please Kie? I’ll take really good care of it, I promise.”

Sarah may have had problems with Kiara in the past, but there was never any bad blood between the two of you. Frankly, you’d been pissed when Sarah pushed Kie away. Her insecurities ruined a great friendship. Kiara had always been a good friend to your sister. It was nice to see them finally getting along again, now that Sarah and John B were officially together. I guess they really didn’t have a choice, but you knew them. Time would pass, and they would be thick as thieves again.

Kiara reaches into her bag and pulls out a light blue Polaroid camera, holding it out for you. Squealing, you eagerly take the camera, excited to document a night of memories. “Be careful with that thing. It’s brand new.”

Kiara rolls her eyes as you cradle the camera to your chest, rocking it like a child. The alcohol is finally settling in your system, so you squeeze the camera tight to your chest, saluting her before holding the camera to your eyes. “Pope, come in closer.”

He rests his arms on Kiara’s thighs, and they both flash a smile your way. Collecting the picture, you wait for it to appear on the printed film, smiling at the two happy faces. Hm. They’d make a pretty cute couple.

“Alright, I’ll be back!”

Kie and Pope send you off with a final wave as you begin snapping photos of people dancing, people drinking, people swimming. Sometimes memories fade, but with pictures, you could relive them, bring yourself back to that very moment.

Teenager years are the most important. It’s a time filled with adventure, embarrassment, growth, love, friendships. After high school, everyone goes their separate ways. It’s a part of life. Not everyone stays together. But the pictures would remind you of simpler times. Times when you were happy and carefree without a worry in the world. Times where you were surrounded by old friends. Times that would only be relived through photos.

The pictures are spread in front of you on the kitchen counter. Chin resting in your palm, you smile down at the photos, fingers delicately tracing the outline of the film as your body drunkenly sways to whatever song the DJ is playing in the yard. In one picture, Kiara is throwing up the peace sign while Sarah leans her elbow on Kie’s shoulder. Another shows Pope and John B, both curled in a cannon ball as they launch themselves into the pool. JJ and John B throw up the middle fingers in a third picture, and Sarah and Pope laugh at a drenched Kiara, who had alcohol spilled on her moments prior.

“Well these are pretty cool,” a voice slurs beside you. A ringed hand reaches out to touch the pictures, and you recognize the rough, bruised knuckles right away. “But there’s something missing.”

Hand on your waist, you stare up at JJ, brows raised. He leans his hip against the counter, hazy eyes trained on you as he lifts a beer to his lips, tongue slightly darting out to collect the excess. You don’t even want to know how much he’s already had to drink. “And what’s that?”

“You’re not in any of them,” He notes, motioning to the pictures. You follow his fingers as they point to each photo, and sure enough, you’re nowhere in sight.

“Huh. I guess I was so busy taking pictures of everyone else I forgot to include myself. Well then,” Grabbing the Polaroid from the counter, you hold it out in front of you. JJ watches you curiously until you nod your head toward the camera. “What are you waiting for? Get in the picture.”

He leans in close to you, his cheek centimeters from yours, hand resting gently on your hip. You smile brightly while JJ opts for a half smirk, his trademark.

“Do something silly,” You tell him, plucking the first photo from the camera. “Make me laugh.”

You joke with JJ the most out of all of Sarah’s friends. JJ’s sense of humor is unmatched, even when he’s not trying. He thinks for a moment, only briefly, before you feel his tongue flat against your cheek. It startles you but you laugh, a real, genuine laugh, just as your finger presses the shutter button.

The picture is perfect as you lie it alongside the others, gazing down at what would soon become mere memories. Head tilting to the side, you examine the photos as does JJ, and he speaks up, “We should date them.”

It’s as if he read your mind. Rummaging through the cabinets in your kitchen, you locate a black sharpie, pulling the cap off with your mouth before scribbling the date in the bottom left corner of each photo.

You smile triumphantly until JJ plucks the marker from your fingers, scrawling more words on the pictures of you and him. Grabbing the photo of JJ licking your cheek, which oddly enough was super attractive, you roll your eyes as you read the hashtag. “TGIF? Really, JJ? How old are you?”

“Thank god it’s Friday,” his smile is lazy and all you can do is shake your head and return the grin. “Come on,” JJ offers you his hand and you take it as he leads you through a swarm of people before you eventually find yourselves back in your yard. “Let’s get someone to take a group picture.”

You nod in agreement, clutching the camera to your chest, scanning the yard for the remainder of your friends. You spot them on the other side of the pool, Sarah and Kiara cheering loudly for John B and Pope, who are engaged in an intense game of one-on-one flip cup.

“Hold up, J, let me get a picture of this.” Glancing through the viewfinder, you shake your head as you find yourself to be too far away. Keeping the camera to your eye, you pace forward a few steps, oblivious to the circular pool float just inches from your feet.

“Y/N, watch out!” But Kie’s voice falls on deaf ears as you trip over the float, toppling into the water with her pristine Polaroid.

Resurfacing with a deep gasp, you rub the water from your eyes, blushing a deep red as laughter bubbles around you, but the only one with a sour expression on her face who is indeed not laughing, is Kiara.

Chuckling nervously, you hold up the drenched camera before shrugging. “Oops?”

“Oops?” You stare at JJ in astonishment, almost as if you don’t believe a word he’s saying. “I said oops?!”

You groan as JJ nods, burying your face in your palms. Kiara’s brand new, one-hundred-dollar camera and you just had to fall into the pool.

“God, how mad was she?”

JJ shrugs. “Eh, she was pissed for about ten minutes. But hey, she got her payback, though.” He wiggles his brows and you shrink back into the bed. “Do I even want to know how?”

“You didn’t see the Instagram pictures? Kie took them on her phone since you know, you killed her camera.” Heart hammering in your chest, you snatch JJ’s phone from his hand, mouth falling open as you scroll through and find Kiara’s Instagram, her latest post an assortment of pictures from the night before.

“Oh. My. God.”

Each picture of yourself made you squirm more than the previous as you scroll through, cringing in embarrassment. There were pictures of you with your tongue out, looking drunk and ridiculous. Pictures of you and JJ dancing on tables, flailing your arms dramatically, also made the post. Pictures of you puking in the grass and slumped over the toilet made the cut as well. And when you read the caption of the pictures, the bile rose to your throat.

“Thanks for ruining my Polaroid. #Revenge.”

Scrolling through the comments wasn’t the brightest idea either, as your eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets at the first two comments.

@rafecam19: So, this is what my sister does when no one’s home.

@wheeziebee: Wait, Sarah and Y/N had a party without me? Well, I know where these pictures are going. #momanddadsnewfavoritechild

“I am so screwed,” Your head hangs in shame, already picturing in your brain the tongue lashing from your parents when they find out. Grabbing JJ’s phone once more, you scroll to the picture of you two on top of the dining room table. Your back is pressed against his chest while his crotch is dangerously close to your ass, palm gripping your hip. Cheeks heating, you turn the phone around, holding it out for JJ to see. “Okay, what the hell are we doing here?”

Last Friday Night

Yeah we danced on tabletops

And we took too many shots

Think we kissed but I forgot

“Y/N, you’re going to fall! Get down!” Sarah yells over the music, a beer in one hand while her other hand is firmly planted on her hip. Sarah, Pope, and JJ watch from below as you expertly climb onto the dining room table, careful not to spill the two shots in your hand.

Flashing your paranoid sister a smile, your body begins to sway to the music. Cheers are aimed your way, egging you on even more. “Oh, lighten up, Sar. Come up here and join me.”

“You’re insane,” Pope says, flashing Sarah a nervous look. “And very drunk, might I add.”

“Not drunk enough,” You answer, throwing back one of the shots. As soon as the liquid hits your tongue, you’re filled with a rush of energy.

“JJ, do something,” Sarah urges, shaking his shoulder to pull his attention from your body. You’d changed out of your wet clothes after the pool incident, and your body was now clad in tight jean shorts and a black off the shoulder shirt. The more he stared, the more he didn’t want to tear his eyes away. “Talk some sense into her.”

He watches you with a playful smirk before peering back at your sister. “I have a better idea.” Much to Sarah’s dismay, JJ gathers three more shots in his hands before heaving himself up onto the table, placing one of the shots in your hand. “For you, beautiful.” JJ winks and you gladly accept the shot, toning out your sister’s pleas. The shot glasses clink together before you and JJ down the liquid. JJ finishes the last two before chucking them to Pope, who has difficulty catching them, as he’s not the most coordinated of the bunch. Too much time on the math team does that to a man.

The music changes from rap to throwbacks, and the crowd of teenagers flooding your house erupt into loud cheers as they recognize some of the songs from their childhood. “Last Friday Night” blasts through the DJ’s speakers, and even Sarah, originally annoyed with your shenanigans, eases up and pulls Kiara and Pope away to dance.

You’re left alone with JJ who is trying his damn hardest to dance smoothly and not make a fool of himself. You laugh heartily at his amateur dance moves before moving closer to him, gripping his wrists to steady yourself. You turn yourself in his arms, jumping slightly as his hands grip your hips, lightly squeezing. He’s gentle with you now as your bodies tangle together, his lips calmly brushing your neck, and it’s a different side of him. While most of the time he’s calm, you haven’t been around JJ enough to see him let loose. The alcohol definitely helps.

His lips brush against your ear, sending a slight quiver through your body. “Is this okay?”

The feel of his front side against your backside, his hands on your body, rubbing, squeezing, and his lips dusting against your neck, jaw, ears, it’s exquisite. Blood rushes throughout your body, down your legs, up your arms, through your cheeks, in your head, and the sound of it pumping blocks out the surrounding noise. You’re the only two people in the room. At least, it feels that way.

Before your brain has time to process your body’s actions, you face JJ in his arms, hands on either side of his neck. His lips are parted slightly, breathing even, and his eyes are calculated, focused, scanning your face.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right?”

The air around you is thick, almost restricting your breaths, but JJ remains collected, eyes steady on your face. One hand situates on your hip while the other rests easily on your back. “Fuck no,” he breathes. “I only see you, baby.”

“Thank God.”

You lean in the same time JJ pushes forward, lips finally connecting in a soft but urgent kiss. Does time stop? It feels like it. And there’s no way this is your imagination, either. Weak knees, fluttering heartbeat, small gasps for air, rosy cheeks. All products of a real, sensual kiss.

JJ controls the kiss. He captivates you, and you go along with the feel of his lips, letting him guide you. The light strokes of his fingers on your back are a reassurance. Reassurance that the kiss is genuine. Reassurance that you’re safe with him. Reassurance that he wants this just as much as you do.

The adrenaline pulses within your veins.

His tongue brushes against yours.

Your head spins.

It feels like you’re floating.

You want it to last forever.

A low whistle breaks the kiss and you’re reluctant to pull away. “Shit, bro,” The voice belongs to John B who stands below you, staring with upstretched eyebrows. You’re still perched in JJ’s arms, steadying your breathing, coming down from the high. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Get out of here, man,” JJ bends down, hand slapping the backside of JB’s head. John B flinches, careful not to spill the two solo cups in his hands, before sending a wink your way. “Get a room.”

You blink rapidly, almost as if you can’t believe the story JJ is telling you. He watches your puzzled expression, waving his hand in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N. You okay?”

“I’m…yeah,” you breathe out quickly, fidgeting with your fingers. Your eyes scan JJ’s face, eventually falling on his mouth, and your own lips tingle. You can almost feel his lips on yours.

“So that’s how we ended up having sex,” You finally begin to connect the pieces of the puzzle, blushing deeply when JJ howls with laughter. “No, not exactly. Well, I mean, we did fuck, but not until later. Twice, might I add.”

“Twice?!” It comes out as a screech. Dragging a hand through your hair, your eyes dart to the floor, unable to look JJ in the eye. “When was the first time?”

Last Friday Night

We went streaking in the park

Skinny dipping in the dark

“Aw, not this fucking game,” JJ whines, pulling up a chair beside Pope, blunt hanging from the corner of his mouth. The party has settled down a bit, but many drunk teens are still going, laughing, dancing, and chatting up a storm. Off to the side in the lawn, your friends are gathered in chairs, each with a unique smile on their faces. After three hours, they’re all either drunk, high, or both.

You grab a chair for yourself, but JJ’s voice catches you off guard, halting your movements. “Uh uh, princess,” When he rubs his thighs, John B hollers with laughter. “You can sit right here.”

His tone is raspy, almost as if he’s challenging you, waiting to see how you react. The electricity between you is crackling strong, and it pulls you toward him until you’re comfortably settled in his lap.

Kiara clears her throat. “Okay so I don’t know what that is,” her finger points in your direction and your body tenses up from the feeling of numerous sets of eyes on you and JJ, “But don’t let it distract you from the fact that Pope still hasn’t told us when his first kiss was.”

You silently thank Kie for bringing the attention back to the game. Pope whines childishly, taking another sip of beer for courage. “Fine, fine, if I must.” He glances around the circle sheepishly, sighing, “My first kiss was the end of sophomore year.”

“No way.”

“Shut up!

“That late?”

“Pfft. Prude.”

“Alright, alright, relax,” Pope’s hands fly up in defense. “John B, truth or dare.”

“Easy. Dare.”

Pope thinks hard for a moment, and then the lightbulb goes off. “I dare you to go streaking around the yard.”

You stifle your laugh as John B’s face scrunches together. “Aw, come on man! Have some respect, my girlfriend’s here. I don’t want anyone else seeing my balls.”

“Hold ‘em,” JJ pipes up. “They’re small anyway, wouldn’t be covering much.”

John B flips off JJ before quietly cursing Pope to hell. Placing his beer on the ground, JB sheds his clothes, cheeks reddening as he shields himself from wandering eyes.

Your yard is big, spacious, and it takes JB a full two minutes to run around the backyard, weaving in and out of trees and bushes. Some are recording, like JJ and Kiara, while others like you, Pope and Sarah, try (and fail) to contain your laughter.

John B’s cheeks are flushed red as he stumbles back over to your group, and you desperately try to hide your laughter as JJ replays the video.

“Think that was funny, Y/N?” John B asks, pulling his clothes back on. He settles back into his chair and takes a long swig of beer. “No worries. I have one for you. Truth or dare?”

Normally you’d opt for truth, but tonight is different. You’re feeling bold. “Dare.”

He doesn’t even need to think. “You still have that hot tub on the deck, right?”

You nod, curious as to where he’s going with this.

“I dare you to go skinny dipping in the hot tub.”

“That’s it?” You ask, shocked your dare wasn’t anything raunchy. “I mean, that’s a pretty easy dar-“

“With JJ.”

You freeze.

And suddenly, you feel sober, although your BAC levels suggest otherwise.

“Damn you got her good,” Sarah mutters, supplying her boyfriend with a high five. “She won’t do it, though.”

“Oh, no shot,” Kie agrees with a nod.

JJ shifts underneath you, hand brushing your hair from your ears as he leans in to whisper, “What do you say, baby girl?”

That fuels you. Determined, you stand in front of the group, fingers going to the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, and tossing it to the ground.

Left in only your bra and the tiny shorts that barely cover your ass, you direct your eyes to JJ, smirking at the shit eating grin plastered on his face. “You coming?”

You danced with him. No problem.

You drank with him. No problem.

You kissed him. No problem.

Getting naked with him? Problem.

The lights on the deck are dim, hiding the bright color on your cheeks. The jets in the hot tub whirl beside you, taunting you, screaming at you to complete the dare.

Opposite you on the other side of the hot tub, JJ stands coolly, eyes drooping, lazy smile, taking long drags of his blunt. You watch as his lips form an ‘o’, blowing the smoke into the air. He’s calm, and you want that same tranquility.

He smirks as you pluck the blunt from his fingers, taking a long drag yourself. You feel dizzy, lightheaded, and cough out a puff of smoke.

“Easy, princess,” He cocks a brow, studying you. “Nervous?”

It’s amazing how quickly alcohol fucks with your emotions. One minute, you’re having the time of your life, dancing and kissing a boy way out of your league. And then a minute later, you can barely look at him. “Little bit.”

JJ takes another pull. “Tell you what. You turn around and I’ll change first. Then when I’m in the tub, I’ll turn around so you can change.”

You agree and turn your back to him, providing him with privacy although your head is screaming at you to sneak a peek. A splash in the tub has you turning around, swallowing as JJ rests his arms on the outside, blunt hanging from his smile. He’s effortlessly sexy, and you’ll make sure to thank JB later for the dare.

He winks before turning around slightly, awarding you with the same privacy you supplied him. Your shorts go first, then your thong, followed by your bra. Breathing deeply, you cross your arms over your breasts, thankful that JJ couldn’t see.

But unbeknownst to you, JJ had turned back around. “Sweet ass.”

Yelping, you struggle to cover yourself as JJ chuckles, holding up his arms to block the water as you tumble your way into the hot tub, letting the water shield your body. “Shit, JJ. You weren’t supposed to turn around!”

“And you thought I’d listen, why?”

Rolling your eyes, you settle deeper into the steaming water, moaning slightly as the jets massage your back. Across from you, JJ observes you with a smile. “You don’t need to be shy around me, you know. We’re friends, after all.”

“I’m not shy.”

JJ snickers. “Please. You don’t think I notice how your body tenses up whenever I’m close to you? You think I don’t see when your cheeks get that little pink color when I look at you?” His head hangs, tilted to the side, blunt held between his thumb and forefinger., lowering his voice. “You think I don’t know how much you wanted to kiss me tonight?”

There’s no way he can read you that easily, so you play it off. “Alcohol changes a person.”

His grin irritates you. He doesn’t believe you. Why doesn’t he believe you?

Drawing in a breath, you decide to go for it. You swim over to him, watching as his eyes widen, now alert, and climb into his lap, palms flat against his tanned chest. One hand goes to your hip, holding you in place. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not shy,” you repeat, brushing your lips over his. JJ’s chest rises and falls with harsh breaths, and for a second, you believe you misread the signals. He takes a quick pull of the blunt and you cover his mouth with your own, dragging the smoke back into your mouth, titling your head back, releasing it into the air.

“Fuck, that was hot.”

The blunt, now finished, falls from JJ’s fingers as his hand slides around to the back of your neck, pulling you in, kissing you hard. Your mouths mesh together, igniting a fire in your bones. Fingertips dig into his flesh, marking him. JJ’s hand on your waist pushes you further against him, impossibly close to his skin.

The sound of your heart is loud in your ears as you try to focus on moving your lips in sync. JJ’s hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, the curve of your ass. His fingers dance over your neck, your throat, and down the center of your breasts.

The tip of his dick rubs against the inside of your thigh, causing your mouth to open slightly. JJ takes advantage of the opportunity, slipping his tongue in your mouth, exploring, claiming.

You find yourself not wanting to stop. All of the nerves leave your body with each kiss JJ presses to your swollen lips. He’s hungry for more and so are you, but for something different.

He freezes when your hand disappears beneath the water, gripping his length in your palm. His wrist flies to your hand, stopping you, as his other hand runs through his hair, considering. “Listen, princess, as much as I really want to do this, I don’t think--.”

A finger to his mouth cuts him off, a sly smile playing on your lips as you shake his hand from yours. You reposition yourself over him, breasts peeking out from the water, as you slowly sink yourself down onto him.

With every groan that leaves his lips, and with each new swirl of your hips, you feel waves of confidence wash over your body. You’re drunk, he’s high, and you both feel alive.

This Friday night

Do it all again

The ceiling in your room distracts you from JJ’s face, which, if you know anything about him, has a wide grin on it. Heat bubbles in your chest as you replay the story in your head, ignoring JJ’s teasing comments about the color rising in your cheeks.

Sitting up abruptly, you turn to face him. He’s leaned back on your pillows, arms behind his head. “After that, we fucked right here,” JJ pats the bed proudly. “And that, baby girl, was your Friday night.”

Well, it could have gone much worse.

“Sounds like I embarrassed the ever-loving fuck out of myself.”

JJ laughs, holding out his arms. You send him a look before complying, hooking your leg over his waist, resting your head against his bare chest. His one arm lazily wraps around you, the free hand skimming over the skin on your thigh.

“I am never having another party ever again.”

JJ cringes. “Yeah, about that…you might want to check your phone.”

You snatch it from the night stand, crossing an arm over your chest as you read messages from a very large group chat. “JJ…why’s everyone talking about a party?”

But he doesn’t get the chance to answer as you scroll to the very top, phone falling between your legs as you read the message you drunkenly sent before you passed out at three in the morning.

Party at our house this Friday night! Let’s do it again, bitches.

You stare at JJ, palms flat against your head as he falls off the bed in laughter.

Fuck.

250 notes · View notes

delicrieux · 4 years

Note

Hello! May I have a one-shot with Kylo being injured and reader, who is part of the resistance, finds him and takes care of him? Thanks!

idk how this turned out to be 5k words but WHEW i mean if ppl want me to continue it im down so send in sum request of wat u think should happen!! xoxo gossip girl

requests are open! | masterlist | part 2.

Fear. The kind that makes it hard to breathe as if you are kept underwater; the kind that makes your muscles clench and freeze as all senses flow out one by one. Today had been almost too typical — you woke up, you trained, you talked to your comrades and learned battle strategy — and you were certain your evening walk would be just as uneventful. The breeze in your hair was playful; the setting sun provided warm light and set your surroundings in a pleasant, rosy glow. You like the fresh air; you like exploring; you like the freedom that comes with being alone in wilderness. And in turn, it serves as a reminder for why you are fighting in the first place. To preserve this peace, this freedom, that now has been tarnished when you stumble upon a body.

For a heartbeat you think he’s dead — his expression is lifeless and his face, pale as first snow, is bruised, covered in soot and dried blood. Willing your legs to move, you approach cautiously, not breathing, afraid to break the shrill, sudden silence — no birdsong, no wails of wind passing through trees… nothing. Life had, at that moment, stilled completely. But as you draw closer, grass crunching under your feet softly, you intake a breath of both relief and surprise. Dark locks of hair spray on his forehead and obscure the minuscule knit of his brows, his trembling lashes. He’s alive. The thought consumes you and you fall to your knees, skidding beside him, pushing his hair from his face and landing your palm on his forehead.

It’s awfully cold. Chilling. Almost biting at your sensitive flesh, urging you to pull away. It rolls in waves, this sudden cold, sudden sickness, as if it is a virus that spreads and you have caught it with this minimal contact. But you don’t pull away, despite the near overwhelming urge to do so, despite the fear returning with a new blow. Instead you glide your fingers down his jaw and press on his neck, breaking into a small, crooked smile once you feel a slow drum against them. He is alive, but barely. You glance about him, looking around the area. Nothing out the ordinary, no branches broken, no bushes disturbed and no trails left on the grass. How he got here is a mystery that will have to be solved a different time.

You hope he will tell you once he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all.

That, and, his name, too.

Your base is small and tugged away in a dense jungle, the tall trees and heat warding from unwanted visitors — the First Order. The compartments are small; there are barely above a few dozen people here; it serves more as a safe haven for lost wanderers looking for a cause or shelter, or a backup base in case others were destroyed and the rebels had nowhere to go. It is far away enough from war. Everyone here is, to some extent, safe.

You had never been on the front lines. You had never faced a Storm Trooper, had never seen the Force at work — if there even is such a thing, speculations speculations, nothing consistent, merely gossip — and you had never seen a dead body. Perhaps that is why you froze up so terribly at the sight of him. Perhaps that’s why you felt as if a void opened within you, swallowing up the last shred of light, of life, and leaving you hollow.

You should get used to the sight, though. There will be many dead in battle.

He’s the only one occupying a bed in the Medical Wing and he hasn’t woken up for two days now. His vitals are stable — no internal bleeding, no disease detected, nothing out of place as it seemed. But he is lost in deep sleep, constantly dreaming about something that made him tremble and muss and toss and turn, but never wake. It is entirely bizarre how his state is simply there, caused by no injury, no blow, nothing. And the more you take care of him… the more questions you get.

You eat in the cafeteria, a vast enough, pale walled space occupied by few people during lunch time. Next to you sits a blue eyed, blonde haired cherubic woman – she serves as the doctor, the only doctor here. She smiles lightly at you when you catch her gaze. You had always wondered why her name is Vendetta.

The amount of denizens is small here, so small in fact that the only ones serving under this branch is a rag tag team of scavengers, travelers, nobodies that had abandoned their old lives to fight in this war. Rebels, quite literally, with a cause. Many have taken new names. Vendetta, too, had a name before this, a life, a different purpose. Though her odd choice leads you to believe that what ever had happened to drive her here was painful and severe, deserving justice. In front of you sits a tall, bony, brown haired, brow eyed mechanic with a scar running down half of their face – Q. And beside them, July – you had never seen him smiling, had never heard his voice hold a tender note in it. He is always displeased. Always with a frown.

“Seven.” Vendetta calls you, noting your blank stare, the untouched food in your plate. Seven. You chose this because you were the seventh child in your family, and, subsequently, the seventh person to join the Resistance when this base first opened.

“She’s probably thinking about the stranger.” Q mutters, taking a sip, “His origins are…” They glance about, leaning in slightly, “ A hot topic, after all.”

“We get injured wanderers all the time.” Vendetta waves them off, “As if he’s any different.”

“I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss him, V.” July grumbles, his voice low, the sound of crunching gravel. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of you with something akin to hostility, “You never know who may be working for the Order.”

“You can’t just assume that.” You pipe up, “He might just be another gambler dropped by the Floating Casino because he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“Or he might be a spy.” July stresses, glaring.

“No one knows there is a base here.” You continue, unrelenting, “Half the Resistance doesn’t know it exists, how can someone from the Order?”

“Still, I advice we exercise caution.” Q says calmly, a pleasant smile on their face — if anyone can defuse an argument before it starts, it’s them, “You never know what people are hiding, Seven.”

“Okay,” Vendetta chimes, “I will certainly not disclose this vital information when the man awakes from his comatose state. I shall make sure to confuse and frighten him further by chaining him to his bed.”

“Good.” July says.

“That is not what I had in mind, and you know it.” Q mutters, a tad disappointed, “I was thinking more along the lines of… An interview.”

“Too civil.” July mumbles, “I say we go with Vendetta’s idea.”

“That was not an idea,” She hisses, “it was sarcasm.”

“Fine, interview.” You submit, “Either way, I doubt anyone from the Order would not say they are from there. They are feared. Probably would think he has the upper hand, or something. Plus, our disguise is impeccable. We look like a research facility. Better yet, a shelter if no one wanders up to the main rooms.”

“I also sincerely doubt anyone, Order or not, is so good at lying first thing when they wake up.” Vendetta agrees.

July narrows his eyes at her, “That is an awfully naive observation to make.”

“Really now? It is a known fact that people half-asleep always tell the truth.”

Another hour of this and you feel drained and sore and with a mild headache. As much as their company has helped you, they can be a bit too eager to prove one another wrong. On most occasions you’d enjoy the chatter. Today, however, you feel too distracted to focus on anything. Q makes some good points, July argues, Vendetta and her biting comments pick at your skin. Always the blazing look in her eyes, always a certain gleam of anger hiding within her mellow, sweet tone. You excuse yourself when you finish your meal and they do not keep you from leaving. Perhaps they noticed you being out of it. Perhaps they were too caught up in their new topic – Lo and Chester’s sudden break up.

It does not take you long to come to the Medical Wing. The door shuts with a silent sweep and your heart drops – the bed is empty. Before you can do much else strong arms wrap around you from behind. With a yelp you feel a hand squeeze your throat and your breath leaves you with a helpless whine, sparks flying in your vision. Your reflexes kick in before you can control them. In a panic, you elbow your attacker in the chest and the grip loosens a bit, enough to allow you to escape and put some distance. Inhaling mouthfuls of air, you turn to the man that had been sleeping since you found him in the wilderness.

You never quite realized how tall he is, or how angry he could be. He’s confused and you see fire in his eyes, a sneer on his face, and he stands unmoving, waiting for you to try something, anything, so that he could grab you and try to kill you again.

You raise your hands, palms up —a fragile, harmless motion to indicate you mean no harm. His guard is still up. He’s heaving and his shoulders are tense, his gaze not once leaving your form, “…Hi,” You wheeze, almost voiceless, “I’m not here to hurt you.” You indicate softly. Cold, again, as if thrown into a bottomless ocean; body heavy, like a stone. You gulp. “Are you alright?” You question gently, afraid to provoke him again. “You must be tired. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Where am I?” His voice is deep and scratchy and it seems to set him off. He trembles from anger, you can almost feel the steady build up of rage in his chest, ”Who are you?”

“I’m Seven.” You introduce, “I found you outside our base. Do you know how you got here?”

He takes a threatening step forward and your arms shoot higher, “I’m not your enemy.” You insist, “You are not a prisoner here. You were dying and I wanted to help you.”

He regards you for a silent moment as if unsure whether to believe you or not. However, you sense that he will not try to hurt you, for now at least. You give him a shaky smile, trying to ease him — you cannot imagine how frightening it is to awake in some room among strangers and not knowing where you are or what had happened. “Do you…know your name?” You continue your questions, your arms slowly falling by your sides. After another pause, he nods curtly, “Good. That’s good.” you step away from his bed, “Please, lie down. You’re still recovering. No shady business, I promise.”

You are a bit surprised that he listens, but you don’t show it. He’s cautious, regarding you as if you were some dangerous animal cornering him, and his walk is sluggish. You can tell it’s hard for him to move, but don’t say anything. You doubt it would do any good. He finally sits down and just stares at you. You try to smile again, “Do you know how you got here? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“How long have I been here for?” He asks instead.

“Two full days in the base.” You say calmly, “But out there?” You vaguely motion with your head to the outside world, “I don’t know.”

Your answer unnerves him. For the first time his frown falls and he stares at you with big eyes and a trembling lip, as if a lost child not knowing what to do. That expression warps suddenly and he looks away, his hands gripping the side of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Well, if there is…anything you need…” You start mildly, “You can call upon me. Or Vendetta. She’s the doctor here, so if you feel any pain or sickness, you should tell her. She’s sweet.” You smile, “And she will help. But right now, just try to rest…I’ll…leave you to it.”

You bolt past him to the door but– “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

You turn back to him, shaking your head lightly, “No. But it doesn’t matter. A lot of adventures come through here, lost and injured. You aren’t the first one. Now rest, please.”

He’s volatile, is what you learn upon the first days of his resurrection. His mood can change in a flip of a coin and he goes from placid to enraged in a blink of an eye. Tantrums, yelling — all signatures of a spoiled child not knowing what he has but simply wanting to break it. He’s nobility, or so your peers gossip. You hear snippets of all sorts of things, each more outrageous than the one before. The one that he is a prince kicked out of home for adultery seems to be the most popular one.

And he’s egotistical. He had not been, besides the attempted murder, that hostile and untamed towards you — the choking you told no one about as you concluded he simply felt threatened and scared. Though his other tantrums you are not so quick to chalk up as self-defense. Vendetta, exasperated, one evening told you that she somehow offended him — ”All I said is stop pouting because you need my help!” — and he, with a bruised ego, so high and mighty promptly jumped out of bed. Whatever he was trying to do backfired — perhaps he was trying to leave, or trying to grab something and to hit her with — but he slipped and fell and hit his head into the sharp corner of table. “And I said to him, oh I said: look what you’ve done now! Off to bed, quickly!” Vendetta finished bitterly, stabbing her fork idly into her food, possibly imagining his face there. His nose, much to V’s displeasure, was not broken, but an ugly gash and a dark bruise split his skin in half and he laid in bed sulking for at least a day.

As the week passed, he seemed to favor your company the most. It is not that he smiled and joked and laughed in your presence, and you were not exchanging secrets or hugging or even calling each other friends. He simply seemed to be more mellow around you, possibly because you oddly knew what to say and what to keep silent. It is as if you sensed the subtle shift of his moods; could read his expressions in a way no one could, perhaps no one tried. And you would come and visit him as often as you could when relieved of your duties — you felt responsible for him in a way, and you wondered if you would still feel this weight on your shoulders when he eventually left this place. After all it was you that had found him lying in the grass; it was you that had insisted to help him; and now, it is you that brings him food and tries to provide some comfort in a form of conversation. You don’t pry into his past, don’t even ask for his name, because you know he does not want to give it, and you won’t risk questioning in fear of another explosion of his temper. You talk about inconsequential things: what’s happening around the base, what sort of plants grow around here, what bugs could kill him before he took two steps. He especially enjoys hearing the rumors about him, even if he is too prideful to admit that they amuse him greatly.

“And what if I am?” He questions one evening, something akin to a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a kind hazel color that could be beautiful if not for the persistent angry spark within them that is now, seemingly, vacant, watch you closely.

You frown softly, “Are what?” You question, “A prince?” He nods. You snort, “Well then, your majesty, I shall make sure to inform the others. What will be your first decree?”

He pretends to think, “No more slacking around.” He says sternly, “This is supposed to be a military base, isn’t it?” He ends on a cheeky note. You gulp. Ah, yes, you might have let it slip that he’s in one of the Resistance’s safe houses, though you did not disclose the coordinates.

“On a mission to make fun illegal, are you?” You ask with a raised brow.

He frowns, “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Childish, really, though you suppose it is better than arguing with July.

You feel it before you hear it— rain and thunder. The merciless patter on the roof and on your window. In night the sound is almost deafening — a loud roar of an engine, followed by cracks of lightning and flashes in the dark sky. You would have slept through it if not for the pins and needles washing your skin behind the warm sheets thrown on your body. You stir. Thunder roars and a flash of bright white light illuminates your room and seeps through the cracks of your lashes. Cold, again, as if standing in the middle of a storm.

You finally sit up, rubbing your face and then looking around to see if your friends are playing some sort of joke on you. You were almost certain they had dragged you outside and left you to get drenched. But you are alone in your room and you frown and shiver from the biting cold. Groggily you throw the sheets away and leave your bed, not entirely certain where you are going but there is a pull in your gut and half-asleep you follow it. You think you might still be dreaming —the rain on your dry skin feels real, though all dreams feel real until you awake. You leave the dormitories and take the elevator to the first floor. The base is silent, save for the shrill of machinery. Finally, still in your pajamas and almost fully awake, you step past the main entrance and stop.

It’s pouring, a curtain of rain obscuring the confusing contours of trees and leaves and bushes. The darkness does not help. A bleak light pulses to life once you pass the sensor and your surroundings illuminate. Thunder, lighting, more rain. You stand safe and dry under the roof, and he stands at the very edge of it, half soaking, his face kissed and washed by the rain.

You are not sure what to think. He seems lonely standing there surrounded by darkness and water. It’s whispers, or something akin to that, that urge and beseech that he does not want to be alone. You hear them somewhere in the back of your mind. If he noticed you, and he should have with the light suddenly on, he does not show it. You approach him slowly, your footsteps concealed over the heavy drum of rain.

“Not used to it, are you?” You ask, your voice followed by a bolt of thunder. He stirs, head tilting in your direction. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet — there is no hostility in them, no anger, just a distant sadness. You give him a soft smile, “I can tell you don’t see it often. I didn’t, either, at first. I grew up surrounded by deserts and I had not seen a drop of rain for at least eighteen years. But, here… Well, there’s no shortage of it. We have storms at least once a week. You’ll grow sick of it before you leave, trust me.”

He says nothing, still looking at you. The light sniffs out. Both of you stand unmoving.

“Why are you here?” He asks, a note of genuine confusion slipping past his calm tone.

“I… don’t know.” You admit. A frown pulls on your brows and you bite your lower lip, staring into the heavy curtain of rain, “I…I really don’t know.” You turn to him, “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, savoring the silence. Then, “I got bored laying in bed.” Somehow you feel that anxiety has more to do with his sudden nightly venture, rather than actual boredom. Though, you suppose it is quite tedious doing nothing all day. You imagine he is active, judging by his built. He has a strong character and he knows what he wants (most of the time), or rather has a distinct sense of what he doesn’t want. You imagine he’d be a good commander, or leader, with his deep voice and unrelenting stare, if only he wasn’t so sensitive. He’s too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. His emotions get the better of him too quickly for him to be unbiased. For that reason alone you deem him unfit to be a spy, or a soldier, or a figure of military power. He’d burn all he would build if that were the case. No, him being of noble birth and being stranded here as some sort of twisted punishment sounds believable enough.

“What are you thinking?” He questions, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hum, ponder whether you should be honest with him or not. “Don’t lie to me.” He says suddenly and you jolt, heart drumming painfully in your chest. For a frightening moment you figured he could read your mind. Then again, you have been spending a lot of time together. He must have noticed how gentle you are with him, how carefully you pick your words. His signature frown is back, you see it for a second when lightning strikes.

“I was thinking about your life.” You admit, “Your work. Whether you really are a royal as most of my crew mates seem to think.”

Flash. You see half a smile blooming on his lips.

“But I know you won’t tell me. Don’t worry, I get it. Ladies love a mystery.”

“What?”

It’s your turn to grin, “Oh, please, it’s almost all I hear about. Seven brought a brooding stranger with a secret past into the base. Lo…Michel… Two of your rapid admirers. I already told you that your arrival has sparked many speculations.”

“I…I haven’t…” He sounds uncertain, flustered almost, as if embarrassed, but there is no way he is, you refuse to believe it. He stumbles upon his words and lastly says nothing. You snicker silently. Another flash of lightning and you see the same confused, puppy-like look on his face you have had the pleasure of seeing once or twice. He does not shield it this time, this moment of vulnerability. He probably doesn’t see the point because darkness obscures everything again.

You extend your hand to him as a silent offering. How many things have you offered him now? Life, health, your company. He regards it, ponders a bit, lastly gently clasps his hand over yours. You jerk. Electricity courses through you and your eyes go wide, tingles rushing all over your body. Lightning strikes. You see wonder on his face, a mimic of your own surprised expression.

“Come on,” You stutter, tugging him, “you’ll catch a cold.” He follows after you. The light blinks on. You don’t know what is happening. Couldn’t have been the thunder, the feeling is not as intense. It felt more like a build up of energy; like you accidentally touched a circuit and it zapped you.

Impossible, you hear something alike his voice but not quite — it’s quiet, distant, muddy.

“Hm?”

“What?”

Once inside, the door sweeps shut behind you, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He sounds a bit ticked now, and you decide to drop it.

“Oh,” You mutter, “must’ve imagined it, then.”

His hand is cold in yours and you squeeze it just a bit, hoping he won’t notice and hoping that you will warm it. When you reach the Medical Wing, you tilt your head and say, “Wait here. I’ll get you dry clothes from the storage.”

But as you turn to leave he doesn’t let go, though doesn’t say anything either. He’s choked up — either he doesn’t know how to say it or doesn’t want to say it at all. He doesn’t want to be alone. Those whispers come again, ringing in your ears so quietly you aren’t sure they’re even there. You give him a soft smile, catching his gaze, “Okay, we can go together. You’ll probably stay here for at least another week, so, it’s best you know where the storage is anyway.” There’s no rush in your words, no annoyance, just simple acceptance. It eases him, relieves him of saying and admitting things he’s not willing to bring to light.

The walk is quiet and you still hold hands. His is much bigger than yours, rough, though not unpleasant. They are hands of a man that uses them often — for better, or for worse — and a twinge in your heart, a sudden thud of uncertainty, informs you that your previous speculations might have not been correct at all. His hand doesn’t feel like that of a prince (not that you would know what that would feel like), no, it feels like a hand of a soldier. But that inching of something amiss is swept away by warmth, silent happiness, a certain deliriousness that starts blooming within you and spreading all around. You feel him, somehow; feel a connection. You can’t put it into words exactly, you doubt you could ever explain it to anyone. It’s fragile. And beautiful. And maddening that such a devout emotion is sprung by something as innocent as holding hands

You wonder if he feels it. You somehow know he does.

The storage room is not big. Your hand slips from his as he chooses to stand by the doorway and you rummage to get his things. You feel braver. Perhaps it’s the tiredness that leaves you so open and bold, but searching you can’t help but ask, “So tell me…” You start, handing him some towels, “What were you actually doing? Besides being melodramatic.” You add, your lips quirking upwards.

He regards you with lively eyes and you see a grin lift his cheeks. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and you know this action is precious and rare and you can’t help but beam at him in return, “You think I was being melodramatic?” He questions.

You laugh a little, a breathless bell-like “Yes” falling from your lips as you fetch him dry clothes from the upper shelf, “All you needed was a cape to swing around.”

His expression abruptly falls and the temperature drops with it.

“Right, no cape.” You mumble, a tad disappointed, handing him his clothes.

As you make your way back, you can’t help but saying, “I just thought it would suit you, is all.”

“What else do you think would suit me?”

You raise a brow, trying to keep up with his drastic shift in moods: again, hes smiling, then he’s pensive, now he seems lighthearted, genuinely curious. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You conclude.

He shrugs, “I’m just trying to figure out what you think of me.”

“And why are you curious?”

“Now you are the one asking a lot of questions.” He points out. You snort.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

This again, followed by quiet chuckles. You don’t turn to the Medical Wing now, instead stopping by the elevator and pressing the red button. The doors slide open. You glance at him.

“So…” You mumble, “This is not how I imagined my night going, but…” You aren’t quite sure how to finish, how to vocalize the strange swirl of emotions in your chest, “Well, goodnight.”

You step into the elevator, going to push the button—“Ben.” He says suddenly, making you flinch and turn to him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the floor, “My name. It’s Ben.”

Again, that same energy, that same shock you felt when you first touched his hand ignites your body with something closely akin to happiness. Trust. Bond. He trusts you. The connection you felt was not an exaggeration. He would not have given you his name otherwise.

“Goodnight, Ben.” You say softly, fighting a smile that’s trying to rise on your face, “Sweet dreams.”

“…Goodnight, Seven.”

As the elevator doors shut, you think you hear him say “Thank you”, but that might have just been your imagination.

hope you liked it! xxx

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

All the World’s Sadness

Category: Hurt and Comfort

Fandom: Atlantis- The Lost Empire

Characters: Kida, Milo

Hi, guys! Another piece I worked on for applying to the Shepherd’s Journal Zine that I thought I’d share :) One more to go and I’ll have enough for the application TT.TT

Kida hated the throne room. Kida was the queen of Atlantis; she ought to take honor in the throne that symbolized her royal blood and spiritual purity. The throne room was the culmination of generations of rulers, principles, laws, religion, and dignity; it wasn’t pompous or pretentious, but instead embodied the deep connection to the natural and spiritual worlds vital to the Atlantean culture.

Behind the crescent-shaped, blanket-draped, wooden throne sat a massive stone depiction of an Atlantean soldier. The head had been detached from the body, representing not only the self-sacrifice of defenders of their homeland and the dangers of a violent, militaristic state. Beyond the throne sprawled a still, clear pond smothered in floating lilies and inlaid with the stepping stones that patterned a swirling spiritual symbol. Buried underground lay the cavern where her ancestors had filled Kida to the brim with the power to face the oncoming catastrophe of the erupting volcano. However, now it again remained hidden, contained beneath that quiet little pond. Vegetation sprouted around the room’s edges, filling the air with a freshness, and moss coated the ornate Greek-style columns supporting the roof of the building.

Indeed, by all rights, it was a magnificent and regal throne room… But Kida still hated it, at least on that day- the anniversary of her dear father’s death.

Kida squirmed uncomfortable against the blankets; their once soft, embracing cloth now felt like coarse sandpaper against her bare back, making the skin burn and itch. She tried to keep her twitching writhes to a minimum, not wishing to arouse her husband’s suspicions. Milo sat casually in the newly-constructed twin to the ancient throne, attending to the last remaining bit of subjects who’d come to counsel with the pair of royals.

Kida’s attention had been nonexistent since she had awoken that morning; everyone noticed her lapse in clear guidance and focus, especially Milo. He’d naturally assumed the more dominant role that day, falling seamlessly into the caring and patient benefactor of the common people. One could almost call it an insult, the way he nonchalantly perched on the edge of the throne, elbows resting on his knees in a relaxed posture. Yet, no one would question him for the rapt attention he afforded each and every person, and the understanding smiles that graced his boyish bespectacled face. Despite everything, a small smile appeared on Kida’s lips as she observed him speaking calmly with a disgruntled fisherman who was commissioning for repairs to the docks.

“Your request sounds very reasonable,” Milo announced as he straightened up and rolled his shoulders. “We’ll get right on that. I want a list of contractors drawn up sometime tomorrow, at the earliest available opportunity,” he noted to the royal scribe, who took a record of all the day’s decisions for the appropriate administrative staff to handle later. The fisherman jumped forward to shake Milo’s hand ecstatically, and the brunette just grinned and returned the Atlantean’s zeal with equal fervor. It was magical, how effortlessly Milo had earned the trust and respect of her people. Well, thinking back, perhaps it really wasn’t magical at all.

“Unnnnnnngh!” Milo exclaimed as soon as the fisherman, the last caller of the day, exited the spacious room. The man stretched his arms above his head, prompting a series of pops from his stiff joints. “Whew! What a day,” he sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Kida groaned, the ache in her bones and burning skin growing unbearable, and Milo side-eyed her worriedly. “Kida? Are you all right?” The queen refrained from answering in favor of glancing around the room. The staff had slipped into the royal compound’s bowels, leaving the husband and wife to do as they pleased. Now that her royal obligations had reached their limit, Kida eagerly jumped off from the throne, stumbling over her feet in the process and making her ankle bracelets clang together.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What’s all this?” Milo cried as she angrily ripped the clinging blankets from her person. As he hopped up to grab her lightly by the upper arms, she immediately melted into his lean frame, pouting dourly. Apparently, Milo hadn’t realized what day it was; nonetheless, he enveloped her in a crushing embrace, squishing her body against his. As Kida nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, Milo pressed his cheek tightly against the side of her head. He then patiently waited for her to voice her melancholy.

“I don’t want to be in here,” she huffed bluntly. She felt Milo’s facial muscles contract as his eyebrows shot up to the roots of his hair. She said that, but now Kida didn’t want to move; comfort and warmth poured off Milo’s form, and she basked in them readily. She drank in his scent like parchment and rain and the faint hint of earth, feeling calm slowly ooze into her being. After a few more minutes, with Milo waiting ever-so-tolerantly, she murmured, “This is the place my father perished. It sickens me.”

Silence descended. Kida’s face contorted slightly in confusion at the lack of Milo’s response, but then she felt the uncomfortable shift of his body. He coughed awkwardly and shifted his shoulders as he played with the dark blue cloth loosely wrapped over his thin frame.

“I, er… Yeah, that’ll do it,” Milo chuckled in discombobulation. Despite herself, a teensy smile curled up the ends of Kida’s lips. Her frazzled husband could be so adorable sometimes. Milo coughed once more as he struggled to compose himself and offer proper consolation. “I, er… Darn it, Milo, you should be ashamed of yourself… O-oh, uh, right, you’re sad, um, and I’m supposed to make you feel better, ummm… I love you?” Kida snorted in laughter and leaned up to look him in the face. His golden-brown eyebrows were tightly knit together above the wireframes of his glasses. Milo stared at her, resembling a puppy puzzled by its owner’s action. Perhaps it wasn’t the most eloquent comfort, but Kida felt reassured nonetheless. She put a hand on Milo’s cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I love you too, Milo. I feel better.”

“Really?” he blurted, eyes blown wide. Kida chuckled in amusement, her other hand sliding down the length of his arm to link their hands and entwine their fingers. Milo gave her that lopsided smile that sent warm bubbles coursing through her body anytime she was graced with its appearance. Without saying another word, Milo wrapped his free arm around her to pull her in for another soft embrace, peppering kisses into her long, moon-white hair. “I wish he were here,” he admitted against her scalp. “He should’ve been allowed to see what a splendid queen you are…” Kida exhaled deeply and melted languidly against his frame, tracing his star-patterned tattoo’s jagged lines.

“Mhmm… I wish he would have been able to see what a remarkable king you are,” she countered. She couldn’t see Milo’s face, but she could tell he was flushing from the intense spike of heat that rolled off his body in a sudden wave. He began stuttering nervous refusals under his breath, so Kida continued, “You are a wonderful king! My people- our people- respect you immensely.” Her fingers walked a path over his shoulder and up his neck. When she reached his jaw, she flattened her palm against his cheek. She rolled her head over his shoulder to smirk at him, turning his face down to her as she did so. “I certainly could not hope to rule without such a kind and considerate man by my side.”

“Well,” he considered suddenly, rolling his eyes up in pseudo-thoughtfulness. Kida snickered at his abrupt shift to a playful mood. In a second, he grinned widely and dropped down to press a sweet little kiss to the tip of her nose. “I certainly couldn’t hope to rule without such a strong, sophisticated woman by my side,” he contradicted coltishly. His tone was jesting, but seriousness swam in the sparkling pools of his eyes. Smiling lovingly, Kida stroked the contour of his jawline continuously as he gazed adoringly down into her sea-blue eyes. “At any rate, it’s a good thing he can see how well we’re doing, anyway.” It was Kida’s turn to be confused, and she quirked an eyebrow vexedly. Grinning, Milo jabbed his index finger towards the ceiling.

Kida immediately understood.

“Mhmm… Yes, you are right, Milo.” Above the barrier of the worn stone roof, her ancestors’ stone carvings orbited the mighty hidden city. Their mighty visages thrummed with the sparkling energy of life and spirit and magic; Kida knew her father’s soul coursed within those magical veins. She also knew that his wizened old eyes, with sight returned in his eternal afterlife, gazed upon her with all measures of fondness and pride. Kida’s eyes disintegrated the ceiling’s dark surface to envision his stone carving looking down upon her, and she smiled. “Yes, you’re right,” she repeated softly and snuggled into her husband’s body. “I know he can see how beautiful our amazing city has continued to become.”

Sadly, her father was gone, and nothing could ever completely fill the void left behind in Kida’s heart. Still, all was not lost- she had a kingdom that uplifted her, and a loving husband who thought her the world. With so much love and support holding her up, Kida could face all the world’s sadness without question.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#milo x kida #kida x milo #atlantis #atlantis the lost empire #atlantis: the lost empire

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Playing Pretend (9 - End)

Requested by: @calkesttiss | Prompt:

Hi! I just watched isi & ossi (rich girl and poor boxer boy AH) on netflix and now i cant stop thinking about cal and fake dating. Do with that what you will

Whew! Finally finished with this one! I genuinely had fun making this and even watching the reference. I hope you guys don’t mind on how long the fic is, and how long it took for me to finish the whole thing. As always, I always greatly appreciate you guys supporting me with this kind of content! Stay tuned for more fics to come! 😉💕

Cal Kestis x Reader

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Masterlist

9 of 9

The sun rises on Alderaan, the light spills through every nook and cranny it could touch—the Mantis was no exception. You wake up to Cal’s steady breathing blowing at your nape, you felt his arm securing you by the waist while you were sleeping. Ever so carefully, you toss to the other so you face him.

This was the first time you’ve been so close to him, close enough to study his features—what with the nightly meetings and hanging out in mosh pits and dim pubs, you barely had the chance until now. Boyishly charming and soft—these were the words that accurately describe him. Your eyes jumped from one freckle to another, your fingertip hovered over the scar on his nose bridge and watched as his eyelids twitch.

So handsome… you think to yourself.

For some unknown reason, the sensation of his touch and kiss from last night still burned fresh on your skin. You caress your neck, your arms, and even your abdomen—images of last night flashed before your eyes, the sounds of Cal’s sighs mingling with yours rung in your ears, and the arch of your back once at the height of your passion returned to your nerves. All at once, the feelings come washing over you like a wild river current.

Cal wakes to the sight of you beside him in bed. His eyelids slowly opened and blinked until the lights have stopped dancing behind them. His slender fingers rake your scalp and then they limply slide down your cheek to your arms.

“Good morning…” he greets with a sleepy, slightly raspy voice.

“Morning,” you whisper back.

After greeting one another, he tries to drift back to sleep but you give him a little, playful shake. He responded with sleepy grunts and chuckles then tightens his embrace around you.

“Five more minutes,” he whined.

“Come on, it’s breakfast time already,” you urged.

“No, it’s five-more-minutes time,”

Cal buried his face in the corner of your neck and secretly plant a kiss on your collarbone. He didn’t release you from his arm, rather he tightened it some more that he’s nearly constricted you. There was no way to convince him to get out of bed.

It took a few good minutes, nudges, and cheek-pinching for him to finally bring himself up from bed; he sat up and small purple patches on his neck and shoulder peeked out of the collar of his shirt. He lifts the hem of his shirt up to scratch his back, your nail scratches have embossed on his skin, and you discovered more bite marks on him.

Did… Did I do that?

When Cal stretched his arms, he’s taken notice of the apparent bruises on his biceps and eventually saw the ones on his shoulder by the corner of his eye. He glanced over his shoulder to see the culprit.

“Guess you didn’t slow down last night, princess,” he hummed.

You responded with a single shrug of the shoulder accompanied by, “Oopsie,”

While still sitting up, he searched for both of your hands, he pulled you close until your bodies touch; he secured your arms over his shoulders like a backpack, when he started to hoist himself—along with you on his back—up from the bed, your legs lock in against his hips and subsequently his hands secured your thighs, your arms connect and the two of you charge out giggling to the galley.

Apparently, Greez has already prepared breakfast for everybody. Cere and Greez shared a table, but you three youngsters—yourself, Cal, and Merrin—sat by the galley, chatting over breakfast, exchanging jokes and stories. Merrin shared to you about her life in Dathomir, Cal told you how he ended up in Bracca and his life as a Jedi, Cere would politely cut in too—sharing her experiences and knowledge—as well as Greez when he assumed that you’ve probably never heard of Lateron before, he even added stories about his great-grandmother. All of them fascinated you that your follow-up questions led to more stories.

You discover that this is what you have been missing all your life: an authentic conversation over meals, genuine laughter from humane stories—not politics and business rambles—and people who actually acknowledge your presence. This was the perfect company.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation like this,” you muttered.

An awkward silence hung in the air, you immediately reacted to it and you tried to turn it around. While everyone was still gathered, you run to the quarters where you’ve kept your bag; you produced the small satchel of credits whose amount is unknown even to you.

“I promised Cal—well, Greez too—that I’d keep my end of the bargain. So… here.”

The satchel rested in the middle of the round table at the lounge, you turn the flap open to reveal fistfuls of credits. You carefully turned the bag over so the credits spill.

“How much is in that?!” Greez exclaimed.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I just scooped whatever I can before I ran away,”

All of you teamed up in stacking and counting the credits. It didn’t take long with that many hands helping around.

“This is gotta be more than just 40,000 credits!” Greez gasped.

You were sincerely relieved that the amount you’ve bagged was more than enough to cover the loan—presuming that there will be interest.

“You know, you can come with us,” Cal blurted.

You sat there in silence, taken aback. You didn’t anticipate he’d say something like that.

“We’ll go around from one side of the galaxy to the other. You’ll have the crew… and me.”

“You’d really want me with you?”

Everyone else heard Cal’s invitation, and they were warm about it.

“We don’t know how we can repay you, [y/n],” said Cere. “So I suppose Cal’s offer would be the least the crew can do as thanks. You’ll be safe here with us.”

Greez wagged his thumb at Cere discreetly, “Yeah, I’m not so sure about that. But if you got a stomach for danger and adventure, what difference does it make?”

“Don’t worry, [y/n], Greez is just paranoid whenever he’s not inside his own ship.” Merrin jokes.

“Well, how about it, princess? You don’t mind tagging along with the most unusual crew in the galaxy and a handsome ginger misfit?”

You tussled his hair and chuckled, “Whoever said you were handsome?”

“Heard you earlier in bed,” he winked.

You dropped everything and took Cal’s offer by the hand. The Mantis crew welcomed you with open arms. You looked at them one by one, warm gazes and smiles all around you—something that you haven’t seen for yourself in a long time. All of a sudden, it feels as though your shell has broken. The poor little rich girl is no more. Your heart soared.

“So, where to next?”

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mysunfreckle · 4 years

Text

Full of love and pudding fruit

Danbrey, Dani’s POV of the “travelling Sylvain epilogue” in episode 36, 2.6k

Sylvain is healing. In every sense of the word, Dani realises – once again – with a smile. Her heart is almost full enough to burst as she watches Aubrey run, leap, and then stumble down a gently rolling hill. Every single time her feet pound onto the earth a burst of green grass and flowers on the point of blooming shoot up from the ground all around her. The barren field they just passed through is now a lush meadow and Janelle and Alexandra still have clumps of dirt in their hair from the last tree that suddenly hoisted itself into existence.

“Dani!” Aubrey yells, scrambling to her feet at the foot of another slope. “Dani watch this!” She throws her arms back, slightly impeded by her backpack and sprints up the hill, singing at the top of her lungs:

“The hills are alive! With the sound of music!”

In a wave of raw, joyful magic that Dani can feel reverberating in her bones green grass ripples up and down the hill and a host of yellow flowers turn their newly bloomed faces to the sun.

Aubrey lets out a whoop of triumph and lets herself topple over, almost disappearing into a particularly high patch of grass.

Dani climbs the slope towards her, laughing as she goes. They’re putting the planet back together again. They are breathing life back into the ravaged wastelands of her home and Aubrey is…Aubrey is brilliant.

By the time she manages to reach her, herbs have started to sprout in between the grass around Aubrey and the flowers are displaying a variety of colours.

“Hi there,” Dani grins, leaning over her so her shadow falls on Aubrey’s face.

“Did we lose Janelle and Xandra again?” she asks, smiling crookedly.

“No,” Dani smiles back. “I think they just prefer to stay out of the blast radius.”

Aubrey blows out a noisy breath, almost a raspberry, and sits up. “What about Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

There’s a tell-tale sound somewhere off in the wavy grass that to Dani sounds only like a garbled “pfft pfft pftt”, but to Aubrey somehow warrants an indignant huff and a: “Well maybe I’m resting!”

Dr. Harris Bonkers emerges from behind a clump of flowers, getting up on his hind legs and sharing another one of his unintelligible thoughts.

“I did not,” Aubrey protests, scrambling back to her feet and Dani smilingly helps to steady her just because she wants to.

“What did he say?” she asks and Dr. Harris Bonkers smirks at her.

“Nothing,” Aubrey says hastily, with a warning glance downwards. “I’ve just let him watch too much Disney.”

He replies with something that sounds rude even to Dani’s ears.

Aubrey wrinkles her nose. “Or not enough Disney.”

They wander back down the slope again in a little group of three, vaguely in the direction of where Janelle and Alexandra seem to be investigating the ruin of some sort of house.

Aubrey is still waving her hands left and right, flinging flowers everywhere she points and Dani lets her mind wander for a moment. She turns around, walking backwards to be able to meet Aubrey’s gaze as they go. Out here is not the only place that needs healing.

“So, uh, I had a thought today. We’re probably gonna have to name the City of Sylvain something else probably, right?”

The city is bustling again. An astonishing amount of the people who had been overcome by the Quell’s thrall have recovered. But that’s why they’re out here, healing the ravaged countryside. Because right now everyone has to take refuge in the capital. It’s the only place that has survived. The only place they know of anyway.

So the city is not only vibrant and alive again, with the glow of Sylvain once again warming its foundations. It’s alive with people, folks that are glad to be looking up at the sky again and that are ready to take back their home. To start over fresh. But it’s going to be a new Sylvain and it should be a new city.

Aubrey blinks at her. “Uh… why? I mean, I guess?”

Dani shrugs her shoulders. “I mean like, when it was the only habitable place on the planet, it kinda made sense to—”

“Oh, I see.”

“—name it after the planet,” Dani nods as Aubrey catches on. “Now it’s just gonna be confusing.”

“Yeah,” Aubrey frowns. like, we couldn’t— we wouldn’t wanna live in a city that was just called like Earth, on Earth.”

“Yeah.” Dani turns around, looking into the direction where she knows the city must be. She has always had a good sense of direction.

“Yeah, I guess,” Aubrey ponders beside her. “It’s not super creative. I get it.”

Dani looks at her. Sometimes when Aubrey looks out across Sylvain the orange of her eyes seems almost as bright as genuine fire. She tries not to bring it up, because Aubrey can get just a big confused by it herself, but it’s still an odd thing. This Aubrey-Sylvain timeshare. “So I don’t know how to have—” she begins. “Like do we form a committee, or do you get to do it?”

Aubrey looks at her in dismay. “Whew. I don’t know that you should give me that power, Dani.” Her expression turns very serious. “Ohhhh. I probably would just name it something dirty like Butt City or something, cause I thought it was funny.”

Dani laughs, because laughing is easy and Aubrey rubs the back of her neck, grinning crookedly.

“Let’s see. Um, you know. What do you think about the City of Chicane?”

Chicane… She does feel pang at the name, but Dani grins all the same. “Yeah, that’s not bad.

For a moment Aubrey smiles one of her shy, earnest half-smiles. “Feel pretty good about that one.

Dani swallows. Yes. Sylvain made whole and the City of Chicane. That’s a future worth making real.

“Hey,” she says, taking in a steading breath and trying for a smile. “I’m kinda hungry.” She brushes Aubrey’s hand with her own. “Can you do the thing?

Aubrey’s face lights up like the sun itself. “Yep!”

She flicks her hands upwards and Dani knows bow her head and close her eyes because a beat later two trees pop out of the ground, growing fast enough for it to be audible like a rushing creak of wood. Dani can feel some stray dirt and grass sliding off her hair and when she opens her eyes there is a laden apple tree standing to Aubrey’s right and an orange tree to her left. For trees that have just been called into existence they seem fairly unbothered to be standing opposite such an unlikely neighbour.

“Hold on—” Dani looks past the orange tree. There’s a third tree standing there, slightly smaller, its branches heavy with dark brown fruits that Dani is sure she has never seen before.

Aubrey makes a sound of pure delight and Dani picks one of the fruits, making sure not to trip over Dr. Harris Bonkers as he scurries out in front of her feet. The fruits smell delicious and…kind of familiar. She bites into it expectantly and gives a surprised squeak. Pudding.

“Did you just—” She swallows. “Dang, did you just make a new fruit?”

Aubrey’s face is a picture of glee and justified hubris. “It’s called Pudding Fruit!”

Dani can’t laugh and eat at the same time and she chooses eating. They’ve been eating very well while they’ve been on the road, actually. Aubrey has been keeping them all very healthy. But she has missed desserts. She swallows another mouthful of pudding. She has missed desserts and she loves Aubrey.

Dr. Harris Bonkers, after a careful sniff, avoids the pudding tree and jumps a clean six feet up into the air to grab one of the oranges. As he peels it with his little furry claws, he looks up coaxingly at Aubrey. “Pfft pfft pftt pft pft pft?"

Aubrey pulls a face. “No, I can’t make a carrot tree! That’s weird! Carrots grow in the ground—” A spark lights up in her eyes. “I could make a carrot tree. Dani, should I make a carrot tree?”

Dani would answer, but she’s currently struggling to swallow down both the pudding and the love and so she simply can’t right now.

Dr. Harris Bonkers thumps his feet.

“Okay, fine.” Aubrey bends over and touches the ground, retracting her hand just in time for the tiny, three-foot-tall carrot tree that sprouts out of the earth.

Her rabbit makes an eager jump and attacks the new piece of vegetation head on, not bothering to use his still fairly new dextrous paws, but relying on tried and tested rabbit skills.

“Yes,” Aubrey says approvingly. “Go to town, big guy. All yours.”

The affection in her voice as she says it warms Dani up inside. She swallows and slowly takes another bite of her pudding fruit. Fruit that Aubrey made. Aubrey Little. Aubrey Little whom she loves.

Dani stuffs the rest of the fruit into her mouth.

“Aubrey,” Janelle announces her presence, having left Alexandra by the house a little way away. “You know Thacker is going to want to catalogue all this stuff, right? There's- there’s no need to make things harder on him.”

“Well, yes,” Aubrey says and the slight smirk she still has on her lips is doing something to Dani’s stomach she thought she had grown past. “But also… pudding tree! Janelle. Pudding tree.

Janelle looks fond even as she shakes her head. “Okay.”

“Yes, right? I wouldn’t do it like all the time, right? I’m not gonna like make you know like I don’t know… a smartphone tree or something. It’s fine. Listen.” Aubrey waves her hands around. “I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to do this kinda thing, right? So let’s have a little fun with it, right? I think eventually Sylvain’s gonna be like, ‘Hey, cool it with the pudding trees.’ And that’s fine. I get it.”

If Janelle wasn’t here… If it was just her and Aubrey and impossible pudding, maybe she would have told her. Maybe, because as badly as she wants to tell her, just the thought of that heart-exploding word leaving her mouth is making Dani a little dizzy. Which is probably stupid. They saved the world. They changed Earth for Sylvain. She kissed a god.

But still.

Janelle seems to be having her own problems right now, because she’s currently spitting out the bite she took from a rather lumpy looking pudding fruit while Aubrey shuffles her feet apologetically. Dani wipes her hand on her jeans, lingering just a little longer before joining them again, just to make sure her heartbeat doesn’t start going crazy again.

“I know there’s no way we’re gonna put this world back together the exact way it was,” she hears Janelle sigh. “And I think that’s something we all have to just accept. But you are figuratively and literally planting a seed that is going to grow for eons in ways that we will never be able to predict and who’s to say that some important event doesn’t start right here with a new pudding fruit?”

“By the way,” Aubrey grins. “I’m calling this Wonka Forest. That’s funny, right? Isn’t that great?”

And there goes her heart again.

“It’s funny. The whimsy is wonderful, I love the whimsy,” Janelle replies, sounding somewhat unbalanced. “You know me, I’m down to clown, Aubrey. I’m just saying… for all of my considerable wisdom, I don’t know how we know when we’re making the right decisions.”

Dani can still taste the pudding and she can still feel her heartbeat, but she can also feel the weight of Janelle’s words. Because she’s right. Everyone has made a lot of mistakes leading up to this moment. And they’ve only just about started getting it right. That’s what it feels like sometimes anyway. Except. Dani doesn’t know exactly what it is, but this, here, now, this feels right. And if she can’t depend on that, then—

Aubrey cuts off her thoughts with the distinctive, nearly babbling sentences of her genuine sincerity.

“I— right now, I have maybe the most burden of choice any person has ever had, right? I have the power of creation. I can make any kind of tree. And if start thinking about what the right one to do is, I’m not gonna do anything. Because I don’t know what the right one is.”

Dani stands and watches her, and listens. Everything stills under Aubrey’s words. Everything except her feelings.

“So I just have to do the next thing,” Aubrey continues. “And the next thing and the next thing. And I think— my hope is, is that I act, if I act from a place of love and a place of fun and a place of, you know, making someone smile, that the next thing I do will be the right thing.”

Her feet have carried her to Aubrey’s side without her fully realising it and Dani, doing her level best to pour every last thing she feels into single movement, presses a kiss to her cheek. Her breath comes out uneven, but her voice doesn’t and she means every word.

“You’re so fucking cool.”

The single light of soft surprise in Aubrey’s eyes immediately flares up to another spark of triumph. “Right? I know, right?”

Aubrey is beaming and Janelle is smiling and Dani is just about ready to start laughing at nothing in particular when Alexandra walks over and raises her hand.

“Uh, hey, everyone? I need some help over here…”

---

One cheese bush and some much needed comforting conversations with mice folk later, all of them are sitting on a newly sprouted patch of moss, near the edge of what must once have been a grand forest.

Alexanda is letting the two mice take turns swinging in her shawl and Janelle is writing something down, probably for Thacker.

Aubrey is looking up at the trees though. They are all dead. Either charred or fossilised where they stood, some of them split or nothing more than stumps. Aubrey’s eyes are large and nearly solemn.

Dani silently scoots forward a bit, nudging against her knee and putting her hand over Aubrey’s.

She squeezes her hand in response, glancing between her and the trees. “Do you think the Amazon has trees that big?” She gets to her feet and Dani follows suit. “They’re probably bigger, right? Yeah, it’s the Amazon.”

She bites her lip and Dani can tell she’s thinking about Duck. They all miss them. But Thacker is working on opening the connection between Earth and Sylvain again. He thinks with Minerva on the other side, he can make it work.

“We’re going to see them again, Aubrey,” she says as they walk up to the first tree. It towers high above them, dark and sombre against the once again blue sky.

Aubrey nods and it’s not doubtful, it’s confident. “We will. And hey, Dani? We’re gonna see Amnesty lodge again, too.”

Dani smiles. “I do miss the old place.”

Aubrey gives her a sideways glance. “I miss the hot springs.”

“Yeah,” Dani laughs. “Me too.” She wraps her arms around Aubrey’s waist, leaning back far enough to be nearly leaning against the ancient tree. “But you know what? I’m no longer homesick.”

She lets Aubrey get a single fire-eyed grin in before kissing her and when she pulls away again Aubrey hands have found the folds of Dani’s knitted sweater and she’s leaning back against the tree with a sunshine look spread all over her face.

Such sunshine.

Dani swallows. “Hey Aubrey, you know something else?”

One corner of Aubrey’s mouth quirks up expectantly. “What?”

Dani tells her. And who knew? You can bring an entire forest back to life with just three little words.

#I'm still really really fond of this one #it's part of my larger fic Is Dani Cute #but this may be my favourite embellishment #danbrey #aubrey/dani #taz aubrey #taz dani #aubrey little #taz amnesty #the adventure zone #taz fanfic #my stuff #sunfreckle's stories #this should have gone on my taz blog voidfishling #but if I copy it I have to format it all over again so nah

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