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ahtsumu · 4 years

Text

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. ��Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: [email protected]

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: [email protected]

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving.

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu scenarios #miya osamu imagines

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writingonsaturn · 3 years

Text

Better Unsaid

a/n okay this has been all over the place!! it was originally going to be a blurb and darker and closer to smutty (so keep your eyes out for that??? lol), but then I made it softer and the concept got away from me and it got soooo much longer than expected lmao and i still dont love where it ended so maybe part 2?? i have the idea i just dont know lol

summary: Reader is a princess and Anakin has been her guard during the most public season for the past two years (not the most logical thing but just go with it lol, it gets explained better in the fic) and after a near death experience the two are conveniently forced into a....

ONE BED TROPE ONE BED TROPE *cough cough* ONE BED TROPE WITH ONE PERSON HAVING TO WAKE UP THE OTHER BC THEYRE HAVING A NIGHTMARE,, :)))))))

His smugness is the only thing about him I can consider ‘ugly’. And because I am so desperate to not have feeling for Anakin, the Jedi who has been assigned to protect me through coronation season (which lasts for most of winter), for the last two coronation seasons, I hold onto my distaste for that side of him. Which is why I suppress my laugh as he waits for my reaction with that confident smile.

“Come on, that was funny.”

Rolling my eyes, I let myself sit on my bed. I can’t tell if he’s actually funny or if my evening has been so boring that his sense of humor has started to become appealing to me due to comparison. In short, the suitor I was forced to spend an entire evening with lacked personality so much I’m starting to find Anakin funny.

“You’re much more entertaining than this evening’s suitor.”

Anakin’s expression shifts slightly, his assured grin dropping slightly. “Another miss?”

“You have no idea.” I relax slightly, taking a moment to be glad that I completed my father’s request and now I can just enjoy the time I have with Anakin. “I know my father’s desperate to make sure my marriage is useful for our people and that he worries about this selection process because he always thought my mother would be here to help, but sometimes I wish he wouldn’t rush it so much. It feels like all he wants me for is to marry me off in exchange of finance or weaponry or something diplomatic.”

“You’re more than that.” His response is so soft I think I might have missed it if I needed it less. I curse myself for feeling so validated by him. His words shouldn’t mean anything to me. After all, he could easily just be saying that because agreeing with my father will just make me more unpleasant to be around.

I smile politely while avoiding his eyes. I keep my hands on either side of me, fighting the urge to fidget. “Thank you, Anakin.” My words sound weak in my own ears, so I’m sure he notices my shift in mood. “I’m tired today, I think I’m going to go to bed early.” Normally, I’d be able to shrug off these kinds of things, but the beginning of Coronation Season makes me irritable. The anniversary of my mother’s death hits me harder each year.

“Y/n.” My name comes out so velvety I can’t find it in myself to interrupt him. “You are more than someone meant to be used as some kind of royal currency, and I mean that as more than just a...friend.”

I let his last word linger. We’ve tried so many titles that never seem to fit right. He’s the chosen one, one of the most powerful Jedi to exist, and the Jedi assigned to protect me each Coronation Season because that’s when my mother was assassinated. He’s my guard, but we’ve spent too many nights laughing together and talking about everything and anything. And I guess now he’s my friend, even though sometimes when he looks at me in a certain way or sits too close to me or reaches for my hand to guide me somewhere I can’t breathe right.

“Anakin, you know I love when you’re here, even though sometimes you drive me insane. And I appreciate your kindness, but your words can’t change the truth. That’s how my father sees me and he’s not exactly wrong. I’m not a son, I haven’t been raised to lead an army or lead much, and--”

“I’ve seen you in meeting after meeting, convention after convention. I’ve witnessed the way you handle real problems and I know how you care about your people. You’d make a great leader, you don’t need a husband to be valuable.”

My chest swells, feelings I never let myself think about mixing with thoughts of Anakin that I’ve spent so long trying to avoid. “That settles it, you’re my favorite person.”

He grins, the look warm enough to melt the odd lump in my throat. I fight down a smile as he steps forward. “And I wasn’t before?”

“I take it back--your head’s big enough without the additional praise.”

Rolling my eyes, I lean back slightly in order to recreate the distance he so easily destroyed. “And I thought you had finally warmed up to me, princess.”

The use of my title makes me skeptical. The last time Anakin used it was when he was trying to ease me so that I’d walk around the palace garden so he had an excuse to do the same. It was beyond late and I was half asleep, but he had os much energy he was desperate and just needed to do one more thing. I felt bad that his schedule revolved so heavily around mine (and when he softens his eyes and says please, I’m left incapable of saying the word ‘no’) so I agreed.

“What do you want?”

Anakin dramatically clutches a hand over his heart. He throws his head back slightly as if he’s just taken a fatal blow. “When did you turn so cynical? I’ve been back for three days and I’m starting to believe you’re a different person now.”

Yeah...he’s definitely getting ready to ask for something that’s more trouble than it’s worth. Then again, everything with him seems to be worth it in some capacity. Even if it’s just that one smile he gets when he’s truly content and doesn’t think anyone’s looking.

“Mhm,” I mumble, still fighting a grin, “so you’re not going to ask me anything?”

His lips part slightly as he exhales. I watch the way his eyes narrow at my victorious expression. “I don’t have anything to ask of you, but I do have a small request. A request so small you won’t have to do anything but say yes.”

Suspicious. Too easy. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You just said I was your favorite person. Remember that.”

I’m too tired for his coyness. I’d rather him make his ridiculous request now so that I can be in bed within the hour. Though I can’t pretend I don’t normally feel better after letting him drag me along on whatever ‘adventure’ he just needed to complete while also not letting me out of his sight. I used to tell him that I wouldn’t tell anyone if I wasn’t under supervision for an hour or two a day, but he dismissed the idea immediately. That’s been the cornerstone of everything.

“What is it?”

He sighs once, tilting his head slightly. The way his eyes soften tells me he’s already won at least half the battle. “They still haven’t caught the attempted--” Anakin pauses, something behind his eyes darkening. I know what he’s remembering. Last night, an assassin had gotten closer than they ever had. I had almost been shot in the garden, Anakin had barely pushed me to the ground in time. A fact he’s been beating himself up for since, especially considering that no one has been able to find my attempted killer yet. “They were so close to you. They were within palace limits and they disappeared like they never existed. Who’s to say they don’t work here and are waiting for the next moment you’re exposed? Who’s to say they aren’t here tonight, waiting for me to retire for the night?”

I didn’t realize how my near death experience had been so personal to him. He, like everyone else, was beyond frantic after it happened. But my father put an end to verbal worry before it could truly begin. He said the best thing we could do was act like everything was fine as the assailant was searched for. Anakin hadn’t been particularly cheery after my father instructed the guards to focus their search on known enemies instead of prioritizing venting the staff closest to me. I comforted him as best as I could, but he didn’t feel like speaking about it and I had to worry about the suitor meeting my father wouldn’t let me cancel.

“Anakin, you’re right next door to me.” I have to fight the urge to reach for him. “I was fine because of you, and I will be fine because of you.”

He sighs once, his expression not easing. “And if the person is silent? The attacker could easily work in the palace, but no one wanted to direct the search inwards.” His words are more strained than I’ve ever heard them be. “I think it’d be smart for me to stay in here. I know you’ve refused having a guard stay in your room or outside your door, but...” Anakin sighs. “Your safety would be more assured.”

Him staying in my room? The only line I’ve ever been allowed to draw, and I’m actually considering letting that go. If he seemed even slightly less sad, I wouldn’t even consider it. It’s not a good idea. I’m already too attached to him. “Anakin--”

“I’d feel more assured.”

Damn him. Stupid, extremely sweet Anakin who makes saying no to him impossible. I stretch my arm forward, letting my hand squeezes his forearm gently. “There’s no reason to not feel assured.” He doesn’t ease, the cloudiness behind his eyes remains stubborn. “You’re still worried.” No reaction, the haze that’s taken him isn’t letting go. “Fine--but tell no one or my father is going to take to posting guards at my door every night.”

...I guess there are worse ways to spend a night. Which is kind of a problem since I’m trying to...enjoy Anakin less. Ugh, I even sound dumb in my head. “I promise, princess.”

Ugh, he’s adorable. “You’re intolerable.” I stand from he foot of my bed and pull back the covers on my bed. He doesn’t reply, something dark still playing for him. I watch him move to face the door. Wait--is he doing what I think he’s doing? “No, you’re not going to stand there all night. You need sleep.” He has the audacity to give me an annoyed look. “I already didn’t want to do this so now you have to listen to my conditions.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips pressing together oddly. He’s trying to gauge something from my expression, perhaps he’s looking for buttons to press to get his way. I guess I look as stubborn as I feel because instead of arguing he just sits on the floor. What? I watch him cautiously, trying to figure out if this is some weird argument trick.

“What are you doing?”

“What you asked.”

And just like that I’ve put myself in a position that I will no doubt regret terribly the second common sense returns to me. There’s no way to deny that Anakin and I are closer than we probably should be. We’ve felt like friends first since the day we first met. I can’t think of any reason to not offer to let him sleep in my bed except those stupid budding feelings I refuse to label.

It’s not like I actually like him. I can’t--I’m going to be married to some nobleman and he’s prohibited from ever forming attachments. I’m not even sure if we’re allowed to be friends. Having actual feelings for him would be so, so pointless. It would just lead to heartache and the ruining of the one genuine relationship I have. I’m just a tiny bit confused right now because he’s objectively really attractive and he’s always there for me. Always there to make a joke after a particularly rough meeting. Always there to offer me a supportive smile. Always there to humble me when I teeter on acting like my father.

Anyone’s heart would flutter at that, so it doesn’t mean anything. And if it does, I need to squash any budding feelings now before I mess things up. Which is why I should keep him at arm’s length until I get it together. But is that fair to him? And what if doing that is making things worse? What if it’s just reinforcing the idea of having feelings?

This is ridiculous. I’m going to get over this if it kills me. It’s just a bed and it’s only sleeping. I’m meant to be able to lead an entire union and I can’t sleep next to someone and act normal?” “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

The second the words leave my mouth I regret it all. What’s wrong with me? Did I seriously think I’d be okay?

I hear his soft exhale, “I’ll be fine. I’ve slept in worse places than on your marble floor.”

His voice sounds so weighted I can’t help but feel bad for not noticing that he’s still bothered. Whether he’s upset about his near miss or the fact that my father didn’t take his advice, I don’t know. But something’s wrong. The easy thing to do would be to just let him sleep it off. The smart thing to do would be to leave him alone until tomorrow.

I think of all the times that I’ve been upset and Anakin had refused to let me go to sleep angry or sad or overwhelmed. “I know, but it’s really not a big deal. It’s not like we don’t know each other. I mean, last Coronation Season you buttoned me into more gowns than my handmaid. And I owe you for saving me from one of the worst suitors I’ve ever had.”

“I’m starting to think we need to develop some kind of signal.”

The tiny bit of lightness that’s returned to his voice makes all of my internal struggle feel worth it. “You always seem to know.”

“That’s because when you’re reaching your limit, that one line appears between your eyebrows.”

I didn’t realize I had such a tell. I try to remember the way that the suitor drawled on and on about how amazing he was and how he couldn’t wait for the day he had a bride to bear his children and plan (tedious) social events. My hand moves to my forehead, trying to feel the crease Anakin mentioned. Can everyone tell when I’m growing tired? Am I that transparent?

Anakin’s slight laugh steals my attention. He’s facing me again, his elbow holding his head up on the foot of my bed. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t--I don’t think i get a crease between my eyebrows when I’m irritated.”

I hear him stand. I don’t realize he’s approaching me until he’s so close I could touch him without even needing. to stretch. “No, when you’re irritated you raise your eyebrows slightly, because that’s when you’re at your most sarcastic.”

“Really?”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “Just like that.” I force myself to keep my expression blank. “When you’re reaching your limit, your eyebrows crease here.” His finger taps the space between my brows so gently I almost don’t realize what he’s doing. “And when you’re trying not to laugh--which is often, because you refuse to admit that I’m funny--you press your lips together in a way that forms a dimple here.” The knuckle of his pointer finger brushes against the bottom of my cheek.

I bite my tongue to fight the warmth spreading across my face. “I didn’t realize i was so transparent.”

“I can’t always tell what you’re thinking.”

“I’ll take it.” Maybe if I was less tired, I’d argue a little more. “You know you’re not that difficult to read either.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I can tell when you’re just being stubborn for the sake of it. I can see it in your eyes and you’re doing it right now.”

His expression harshens slightly before softening. “Y/n--”

“I’m not wrong.”

He sighs once, stepping back. I watch him pace around my bed before taking a seat on the edge of my other side of the bed. “Are you happy now?”

“Happy that I won? Absolutely.”

Anakin halfheartedly glares at me. “Careful, add a crown and a robe that trails down a throne and I’d feel like I was speaking to your father.”

“Careful, another side comment like that and I’ll ‘accidentally’ kick you off the bed in the middle of the night.”

“Not if I kick you off the bed first.”

I trace a thoughtless pattern on the fabric of my bedsheets. “What are you? Twelve?”

“I’m older than you.”

“Barely.” I continue the thoughtless pattern tracing as I fight the sleep from my eyes. “Your comebacks are usually more creative than that.”

He exhales, relaxing slightly as he rests his back against a pillow. “I’m tired, like you claimed to be.” His eyes flutter slightly, a bit of his exhaustion showing. “Go to sleep.”

I should. I’m too old to think I can put off a tomorrow I don’t want by just staying up. This is stupid. I’m too old to think I can put off the anniversary of my mother’s death by going to bed. She had been taken from us on castle grounds, killed by a revolutionist who viewed my mother as a class traitor. I still remember the way she slumped to the ground, her blood staining the snow beneath her. I remember the way the guards were so busy chasing her killer no one thought to keep me away from the body.

“Y/n?”

I scratch the back of my arm in hopes of banishing my thoughts. “Yes?”

“You’re being quiet.”

“You said to go to sleep, that tends to be a quiet thing.”

I can feel his eyes on me. “Since when do you listen to me?” Not trusting myself to actually reply, I only offer him a hum of acknowledgement. “I know you’re not half asleep.”

Folding my hands on my lap, I avoid his gaze. “It’s tomorrow.”

I don’t know why I trust him to understand my vague response, but I do. His silence stretches over us like a thin blanket on a cold night. Maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m implying. I can always correct him tomorrow, when my eyelids are no longer as heavy as my heart. The more seconds that pass in total silence, the more I think that maybe he’s fallen asleep.

I wouldn’t be surprised, Anakin has seemed tired recently, like some additional weight he won’t share with anyone has been thrust onto his shoulders. A small part of me rolls in guilt. I need to be a better friend, just because I’m suddenly a little too aware of him doesn’t mean I can shrug him off and ignore him.

My hand almost flinches away from the feeling of something surprisingly warm touching my pinky. When I realize that it’s just Anakin and that the contact was probably accidental, I force myself to ease. It’s not like we’ve never touched before, I don’t understand why I’m making it weird. Sitting in my bed in the dark doesn’t change anything. His hand turns slightly, pressing into mine a little more assuredly. Biting my tongue, I turn my hand slightly, exposing my palm. And just like that, our fingers intertwine.

“She would have been proud of you.” His voice comes out so low I barely register the words.

The words shouldn’t mean much to me--he never knew my mother and has no way to know what she wanted me to be.--and yet I find comfort in them. I smile, turning my head towards him. “You didn’t even know her.”

He rolls his eyes slightly, relaxing further before squeezing my hand once. “Who wouldn’t be proud of you? You’re kind and smart and decent to be around when you’re not telling me what to do.”

My heart swells in my chest so much I’m surprised it doesn’t burst. Could he be cuter? “Yeah...now I’m sure you’re my favorite person.”

“Now you’re sure?”

The smugness in his voice has me rolling my eyes. “Don’t make me regret saying that.”

“Maybe in the morning,” he says easily, “now go to sleep. There’s nothing worse than escorting you from meeting to meeting while you’re tired.”

“I’m not that bad.” Even in this darkness, I can make out the way he raises an eyebrow. “Shut up--I’m going to sleep, but not because of you.”

He lets out a slight huff. “You’re impossible.”

The desire to respond to his comment is not enough for me to win the fight against the weight of my eyelids. The moment my eyes shut, I feel powerless to anything that isn’t sleep. I let myself fall into a weightless sleep, my only tether being the Anakin’s fingers around mine.

A distant noise yanks me from my sleep. I’m too drowsy to do anything but register the sound. I hear another similar...whine? cry? I can’t tell and I’m too asleep to figure it out. I almost fall asleep again, but a third distressed sound keeps me from it. I wipe my eyes lazily with the back of my hand as I try to sit up.

Squinting, I make out a figure on my bed. It takes me a moment to remember Anakin and how I fell asleep. Our hands are still together and no light is peering through my window so it can’t be that long since I fell asleep. Another disgruntled sound carries itself throughout the room. I shift slightly, leaning over Anakin cautiously.

Golden brown curls are beginning to stick to his forehead and his eyebrows are drawn together sharply. He’s having a nightmare. I shift even further forward before cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder before squeezing him gently.

“Anakin,” I whisper, “it’s not--it’s not real.” His eyebrows draw together even more harshly. I shake him a little more stubbornly. “Anakin, wake up--you’re having a ni--”

My forearm is grabbed so suddenly I barely register it before I feel my back shoved into my mattress. I blink twice. His dark eyes are frantic and the look on his face is far from the gentle, easygoing expression I’m used to. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling from above me. I swallow a slight panic and something I don’t understand as I try to keep my eyes on his face and my thoughts away from how close he is. Anakin pries his fingers from my forearm one by one until only his palm is touching me.

“Y/n, I--”

“It’s okay.” Honestly, I’m more worried about his uneven breathing than the way he grabbed me. I can’t imagine everything he’s been through or how justified his nightmares are. Anakin moves his hand away from me. I don’t sit up until he’s off of me and sitting with his back against my headboard. “It’s okay--I just--you were having a nightmare and I thought I should wake you.” He doesn’t react. I turn my body further, keeping my back straight. Anakin doesn’t move, and the longer he stays still, the more I feel like I should say something else. “Do you want talk about it? Or do--do you want to talk about something else? Or go to sleep? Or get some water? Or--” The far off look behind his eyes silences me. I scoot forward slightly. “You’re okay, Anakin, I promise.”

His head turns at that, his eyes searching mine for something I don’t understand. “I thought...” He cuts himself off by swallowing once.

I shift a little more, trying to find anything normal in his expression. “Thought what?”

Anakin’s hand is on my arm so quickly I don’t even register his movement. I let his fingers press into my skin. He’s holding onto me like I’m a figment of a dream and he’s beginning to wake up. “I thought I’d failed.” He exhales, the sound heavy. “Failed you and that you’d--I thought I had lost you.”

A lump rises in my throat, thick and unmoving. Cautiously, I place my hand over the one still gripping my shoulder like a lifeline. “You didn’t. Nothing happened, it was just a dream.”

His gaze falls to the ground before he repeats the last of my words. “Just a dream.” There’s a hollowness to his voice I don’t understand.

I exhale, carefully running my thumb over his knuckles. “Yes.” He doesn’t say anything but his expression hardens again. I let us sit there like that for a long minute. “I promise.”

“You can’t promise things like that.”

I sigh, unsure of where to go from here. “Bad dreams are only bad dreams.” He doesn’t reply. “I think you should try to get some more sleep.”

Anakin is unresponsive. I shift back, but before I can transition from almost being on top of him to just sitting next to him, he pulls on my arm to keep in place. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You almost died today, y/n. I was right there and if I had been a second later--”

“But you weren’t.” He doesn’t ease. “You were there and I was fine. Don’t torment yourself over what could have been. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“If anything ever happened to y--”

“It’s not going to,” I whisper, ignoring the way his hold on my arm tightens even further, “Especially this time a year when I have a pretty good gau--”

He tilts his head slightly, eyebrows drawing together and a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Pretty good? Really?”

“Someone needs to watch your ego, chosen one.” This time when he tries for a smile, the look has some strength behind it. Relief pools in my stomach. “Now get some sleep, tomorrow’s a busy day and when you’re sleepy you’re beyond irritable.”

Anakin lets me pull away enough to lay down, but he doesn’t follow. Not for a long second. When he does, his movements are impossibly rigid. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as carefully as I can manage.

“Y/n?”

I regret turning my head immediately. I didn’t realize how close he was. It would take no effort from me to make our lips meet. Wait--why am I thinking of that? I’m not allowed to think of stuff like that...especially not about him.

“Yes?”

He lets out a breath before moving his hand. I don’t understand his hesitation until I feel his hand cupping my cheek gently. “What if next time I’m not enough? What if next time I lose you because I’m not strong enough?”

I never thought my death would be such a personal thing to him. Sure, I knew that we had some kind of bond, some kind of friendship, and that my death would bring sadness. But I never imagined I’d matter enough to him that thoughts of my death would be frightening enough to slip into his subconscious and become a thing of nightmares.

“You are enough. Nothing is going to happen to me and if it does it’s not going to be because of you.” Anakin’s lips press together in a way that implies serious uncertainty. His thumb brushes across my cheek so unexpectedly I almost ask him what he’s doing. The intensity behind his eyes is enough to burn me. “Was your dream really that bad?”

He lets out an uncertain breath as his eyebrows draw together. I don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. “It’s more than the dream. I...y/n, princess,” he tacts on, a hint of humor returning to him, “you’re more than a mission to me.”

The admission is so soft I can’t help but smile. “I know, Anakin, we’re--”

“You’re more than a friend to me.” I don’t know if my blood freezes in my veins or if my lungs don’t contract when they should or if my heart literally skips a beat, but I know something in me completely stops at his words. “I--”

“Don’t say it.” I don’t know how I managed to cut him off so sharply and I’m a little disappointed when I do, but it’s the right thing to do. Thought of the code that’s so important to him have clouded half the immense shock and joy swelling in my chest. “What you’re trying to say...I um, I want to say the same.” I try to drop my gaze but he tilts my head up slightly with his hand. “But we shouldn’t, you know that.”

"You want to us to pretend that nothing’s different? You want me to escort you from meetings with one suitor to the next every Coronation Season until you’re married off?”

“No, I’m not saying that. The point is that I’m not saying anything.” His eyebrows draw together in uncertainty. “Isn’t it enough for now, for both of us to just know? If we say it...that could mean bad things for you. And I don’t want to be a bad thing for you.”

“You could never be.”

It’d be so easy to believe him. To believe him and to let him say what I never imagined I’d be able to hear and damn the consequences of tomorrow. “Can we just refrain from verbally saying anything until you’re sure?”

“I’m sure right now. I’ve been sure since the first time we ever walked in the garden together. The night after the first Coronation Ball I escorted you to.”

I remember that night well. The way he hadn’t scolded me for needing air or taking off my uncomfortably high heels to walk in the grass. “If you mean it, you won’t say it yet. I refuse to get in the way of what you’re meant for.”

His thumb runs my cheek entirely, stopping at the corner of my mouth. “Are you capable of not disagreeing with me?”

Rolling my eyes slightly, I place my hand over his. “Probably not.”

Anakin exhales, his playful irritation clear in the sound. “You’re impossible when you’re tired.”

“I am not tired.”

“I can see the sleep in your eyes.”

“I can see it in yours too.”

He pauses, eyebrows drawn together cautiously. “I’ll go to sleep if you do.”

He must be more tired than I thought if he’s compromising with me so quickly. “Deal.”

Neither of us close our eyes for a long second, we just watch each other with wide eyes. It still doesn’t feel like he’s eased, but he’s come back to me so much more than he was earlier. I’ll make sure to check how he’s feeling in the morning. The first morning after we’ve...I don’t know.

I’m trying really hard not to get excited because anything that’s been not said could be taken back so easily. That’s the point--but it’s hard not to let my heart get ahead of my rationality. I’ll just take the good for what it is for now and tomorrow we can figure out the rest. Even though he’s not allowed to form attachments and my father really wants to marry me off to foreign royalty.

Tomorrow. This can begin to be solved tomorrow. My eyes shut and I let myself roll fully onto my back. The second I’m comfortably settled, I feel Anakin shift against the bed. I’m too tired to open my eyes until I feel a weight placed against my chest.

I open my eyes on instinct, less surprised than I should be when I see Anakin’s head resting against my chest. Before I can speak, I feel his arm rest against my side. “Anakin,” I breathe, my hand moving to smooth his hair out of his face the way I’ve wanted to for so long. “What did we just talk about?”

“You said not to say anything,” he mumbles comfortably, “I’m not saying anything.” ...It is kind of the ideal compromise. Especially since I’m too tired to find reason and he feels so warm. “I can feel you overthinking. Go back to smoothing my hair before I have to rise and stand at your door so that your handmaid comes to wake you. Something tells me she’d be glad for the excuse to get rid of me.”

That might be the most dramatic thing I’ve ever heard him say. Selma is the most patient woman in the palace. “Selma would never report anything involving me, I can’t believe you don’t like her. She’s the sweetest woman I’ve ever met.”

“She’s the one that doesn’t like me,” he says, “she always watches me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m planning on stealing you away.”

Too tired to fight my smile, I go back to smoothing his hair out with my fingers. After a moment, he lets out an exhale that relaxes his entire body. “Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight.” The word is barely a mumble as I feel sleep tug against me for the second time tonight.

It’s strange, but my excitement doesn’t diminish my tiredness, it just makes the prospect of rest feel so much fuller. Safer. Because there’s so much to sort out and grieve but it’s okay, because we have the time and everything feels okay because Anakin is here, right beneath my fingertips.

#anakin skywalker #anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fic

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jrueships · 2 years

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Fic you would 10/10 recommend

OKAY so i think or i heard or maybe i think i saw smthin abt this day being fic appreciation day or whatever so IM HURRYIN WITH THIS ONE so i might come back here later n reblog with some more fics i missed but I WILL GIVE YALL SOME!!! just to note tho im honestly not a big fic reader in just regular gen? I'd say I prolly read maybe like.. one fic over 2 months? And that's if a fandom gives birth to a new fic with people im intrigued by! Im a very picky reader so i don't do it often (as u can tell by my VERBOSE vocabulary of same one word showing up 50 times in one sentence i try to write) SO DON'T RLLY EXPECT LIKE. A BIBLE of recs! i also really like reading shorter fics!

You know for fic recs i GOTTA recommend the MOOTS writings!!!! btw if any other moot on here writes and posted a story that's not recommended here LEMME KNOW! LEMME READ THAT SHIT!! ANYWAYS from the moots ive read from: ok. Nevermind. I was gonna link each story and it would have been awesome but the links won't link so 😭 um. I'll just say the title of the fic and the author LMAO sorry im on mobile. OH ALSO most of these fics you're gonna need an ao3 account to read! But it's WORTH IT trrrust me paps!!

Wreck my plans (that's my man) : sunlightdappling!!! I think I read this b4 we became mooted or at the very beginning of moothood but!! The title ALONE made me excited to read it! I love titles with parentheses i love you song titles i love you two verses! The verses are unfamiliar to me but if i had to guess the title is from a swift song? Idk why! I've never really listened to her but i just get the feeling it's something she'd say? IDK what i mean is THE TITLE IS VERY SMOOTH AND ROLLING!! Which is very much how the whole story feels! It all flows so well and everyone is so real!! I love wall street exec/principal/dad/mom andre a ton here! So cool when authors include more teammates in the fic besides the two it's centered on! I'm personally not big on the warriors cause im attracted to poverty (spurs) BUT i LOVE this fic and tbh like all the warriors related stuff my moots bless me with because Warriors are Gay. And my moots? Gay. This is good stuff, everyone just IT IS JUST SOMETHING YOU WANNA AND SHOULD READ and my picky pallet self loved it VERY much! READ IT!!!!

Kdsburneraccount : <- author!! GO CHECK OUT THIS AUTHOR!!! Moot does it ALL! You see a fic in another language you really wanna read because it's like 1 outta the 4 fics your ship has? CHECK OUT KDSBA!!! (Not actually kd) translates the CUTEST stories with permission ofc so OTHERS can enjoy as well! ANDDD moot ALSO writes GREAT fics ! For very interesting ships!!! Includes lots of people in the fics without any being ooc! You can tell moot takes TIME with these!! If you're thinking of getting into nfl fic! This ur person! AND IM YOUR PLUG ‼️‼️

The whole kyle/demar tag. Read it . Just. Read it. 29 fics with love poured into each and every ONE of them (i think idk i read like half i don't remember) putting it in the moot section bcs there's gotta be some tumblr moots of mine established in these stompin grounds (or planning to set ship root here!! So just keep an eye out on this tag !)

Nahco3 : <- author! BRO. IF YOU ON SPORTS TUMBLR N NEVER READ A NAH FIC. DO IT. RN. Reading at least THREE sodium bicarbonate fics is required! Sorry! Either witness greatness or lag behind idk what to tell ya buddy! Moots ability to write like SO many 10k+ works where every single word sounds MWAH is so MWAH it's MWAH just CLICK ONNA FIC MAN!!! SEE FOR YOURSELF!!! my personal fav favs are the fics with russell just cus his personality and behavior are A1 both in real life AND fiction. Russell fics are just something to read if you like those kinda elegant but POPPIN personalities IDK lol READ IT!! Read a kyle/demar story and thank nah for being the strong pillar that ship needs to stop it from falling into the 'short one uwu smol bean baby tall one MEAN and emotionless daddy 🥺' trenches. Seriously. That's a real savior right there !!! Also james harden is so funny in the fics we hate him but we all agree a straight guy who is Straight can just be hilarious sometimes

Freaky Friday : hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy)/ just moots fics in gen also legally if you read nahco3 you read HTW too! TWO-PACKED DEAL!! it's like getting TWO ps5s for the price of ONE ps5! SERIOUSLY READ THIS FIC!!! READ THE FICS!!!! I included the one that got me into moots fics (b4 we were moots! It was just such a creative concept AND all done in one chapter too? The DEDICATION??? i HAD to check it out), but read them All. OR YOU ARE MISSING OOOUT!! writing main ships are HARD. Yet this account manages to knock em outta the park EVERY time!!

Of course i love ALL my moots AND ALL THEIR WORKS so if yall want to be included LEMME KNOW and i will add yall in the rec! I'm just writing this at night rn so im trying to go a lil fast n post!

Ok now just for fics in general hmm

Tonight : anonymous A BRAD/JOHN FIC!!!!! and the fic that encouraged me to join tumblr n scrounge up some fics of my own for the fandom! John n beal have such an interesting relationship and storyline which NEEDED to have a fic done on it! AND THIS ONE IS SO GOOD! i haven't read it in forever since my start here so i can't describe all the deets but! I like it :). It has my og fav there and the perfect melancholy kind of vibe beal/john gives off.

A little TLC : madina / madina fics overall. Madina was probably one of my first fav fic authors for the fandom. AND IDK IF I JUST HAVENT MET MADINA AS A MOOT HERE OR MADINA DOESNT USE TUMBLR OR SMTHIN BUT IM KINDA SAD I CANT BE MOOTS WITH MADINA! because i just wanna COMPLIMENT madina so BAD madina is a GENIUS i LOVE madinas fics i love how madina writes russ , (and yes i am biased because madina writes a lot of my favs but STILL), IF YOU LOVE RUSS.. you'll love madina! Madina just gets PEOPLE! So right! And knows how to write main ships AND rarer ships so well! Only weakness to madina i can think of? Lakers fan lol

Just read all the kd/russ fics they're like all so high quality and good concepts and it's all written about a really complicated relationship but the fics do it so well ! JUST READ EM!! (again tho i read like half and a long time ago so😭)

Football fics now I TOLDYOU I DONT READ ALOT anyways Prom King by playclock!!! When /I/ was rec this, i thought the authors name was playc*ck so i was a little confused 😭 waiting for that thing some writers do where they label it unexplicit or mature then it has l*wd in it LMAO but no! This one is just a really soft really cute fic about stef and allen! If you're looking into getting into nfl through that ship or just that ship, READ THIS FIC!!! it gets INSECURITY it gets PLAYFULNESS it gets FRIENDSHIP it gets LOVE!!! i love it im so glad i was recced it and now im reccin it TO YOU! guys

Easy like a [tuesday] morning : counselor. CUTE title for a somber soft fic!! I love sports fics that dive into issues athletes might have that no one really considers! This one was so understandable it was sad AND I LOVED IT!! a lovely lamar and hollywood fic, their friendship is shown so well!! READ.IT.

AGAIN i mainly read whatever catches my eye, whether that be interesting characters, title, coverart, booksleeve, SO TAKE MY RECS... however you wanna take em JUST KNOW i am no historian of literature or WHATEVER ! THESE ARE FICS I LIKE, you may not like em, who cares everyone knows everything is about me lol eat shorts

#IM KIDDING #what im tryna mean is THERES DEFINITELY A LOT OF OTHER GOOD FICS OUT THERE AS WELL I PROLLY MISSED #GO FIND EM!!!#im a very peculiar picky person with media i digest so i have a select few to share!#there is always more! find the fics that make YOU wanna read!!!#whether it be because of characters or style or beauty or length or WATEVER #i dont even format my fics aesthetically so that should tell u not to take me too seriously!!#ted tumbunity things #hope u enjoy !!!#srry i couldnt give more!

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yutaholic · 2 years

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"Then Favorite came along and they acted like she was their savior (looking at you Doyoung) when Favorite was super boring imho I still like it and listen to it but it was meh in comparison and the dance break still haunts me haha"

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA THIS GOT ME ROLLING 🤣🤣🤣 Dude loves that song so much he even has a solo from it. I mean, yeah it's a good song but I also think it's boring and a far cry from what NCT 127's signature songs are. Sticker IS a masterpiece. They managed to turn that weird instrumental into something amazing with purely their vocals and rap, and if there is one group who could pull that off, it's NCT 127. I am throwing knives at the next person I see slandering Sticker. 🔪

2 Baddies MV is really good and as much as I hate to admit it, it might've been a big factor as to why I liked the song just after the first listen, which rarely happens to me with 127 title songs because I always need time to process them due to all the noise and such. I think it was the nananananananana near the end that got me hooked it was so addicting and seeing the members jamming to it was just so fun.

I know Jaehyun was originally trained to be a rapper but him getting more rap lines in new songs makes me sad too because HIS DEEP VOCALS HUHU I'm a sucker for it and I'm kinda sad I don't get to hear it as much. (tho I still wanna fight him for what he did in the Killing Voice video. Have you heard him in the opening of Lemonade there??? I WANT TO PUNCH HIS THROAT WHO TOLD HIM HE CAN LOWER HIS VOICE THAT MUCH AND MAKE ME WET)

And OOOF A MARK x Y/N x JENO FIC IN THE WORKS??? WHY DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE US SUFFER LIKE THAT (but that's okay we like suffering in the name of horniness, i guess)

Looking forward to your future works as always!!

Now I'm gonna go reread Emergency because I saw that you made some revisions to it. Have a good day!!

- Dyochi Anon

I really think sometimes that Doyoung does this shit just to annoy us lol we have that kind of relationship with him. Ironically it’s only antis I’ve seen that hate on Sticker. All the czennies I know or follow love it. She’s iconic!

“I always need time to process them due to all the noise and such.” Okay but this is EXACTLY how I feel! I love them for their noise music but sometimes I just gotta process it first haha for me the hook part was Jaehyun’s verse

Jaehyun’s vocals are so beautiful he’s the #1 member I want to have a solo album (followed very closely by Ten) because his voice is just *swoon* and the whole r&b vibes he prefers suits him so well. I saw clips from that video and I agree. Sometimes his deep ass voice makes me [redacted]

Thank you for supporting all the nonsense I write on this blog! I wasn’t totally satisfied with Emergency when I posted it even though my beta reader gave it her stamp of approval so I fleshed it out a little more (it went from 8k to 9k).

With the future chapters I will be focusing on the boys’ pov because I notice I tend to give too much insight and detail for all the characters and I need to be more limited in this series if that makes sense. I get the picture in my head and it didn’t come out how I wanted when writing so I went back and fixed it haha

Hope you’re having a good day! ❤️

#dyochi anon

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manndo · 4 years

Text

let me hear you [javier peña x reader]

gif credit

pairing[s]: javier peña x female!reader

warning[s]: 18+ only due to swearing, sexual situations/references -- aka mentions of face fucking, marking/biting/claiming kink, mentions of piv sex, hints of sub!javi (idk what happened, but it happened!!); flashback; sprinkling of fluff; angst (no happy ending. . .for now??); one use of y/n cause it couldn’t be helped

word count: 3.0k

prompt[s]: inspired by this post from @pedropascalito

summary: javier just wanted — no he needed — to hear your voice.

author’s notes: alright, here we go — first javier peña fic! this honestly got really out of hand?? i had seen @pedropascalito’s post come up on my dashboard, and i got inspired to write this. however, this was supposed to be like, maybe 500 hundred words?? but like, apparently i can’t write drabbles and so here were are, 3,000 words later. yeaaa, so that is how that went down, lol. i do want to make note that this is also my first time at writing something semi-sexual — there isn’t any actual smut, but it is talked about/heavily implied. so again, if you aren’t 18+, please do not read/interact with this. also, if i missed tagging any warnings, please let me know. i am trying to make sure i tag all the warnings, but like i said, first time writing something with ~spice~ so i could have missed something. so please, let me know! :) as usual, all mistakes are my own. comments/likes/reblogs are loved and appreciated. enjoy lovelies! ☺️

It was his fucking fault.

Sure, he could blame it on the job, on Pablo fucking Escobar, but it wasn’t any of those things. It was him. It was always him.

“Come on,” he muttered as the first ring sounded through the receiver. Then a second, then a third. “Pick up the phone,” he begged softly after the fourth. “Please.” But, then there was a fifth ring and the tell tale click of your answering machine message about to begin. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath and pulled the phone away from his ear, ready to slam it back down on the receiver. But, he stopped himself and quickly brought the phone back to his ear.

“Hey, Y/N here! Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. But, if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”

---- ☆ ☆ ----

“Hey, I got you something,” Javier said as he entered your apartment, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“A present? For me?” you asked, turning on your heel to face him. A smirk broke out over your face. “Something we can both enjoy?”

Javier chuckled softly and shook his head, taking a step toward you. “You are insatiable, princess,” he muttered as he reached out, brushing an errant strand of hair from your forehead.

You hummed. “I wonder where I get that from,” you said, your eyes wide and innocent as you reached out, forefinger and middle finger pressing against the bottom button of his tucked in red shirt.

Javier looked down at your hand as your fingers slowly walked their way up his chest, before coming to a halt at the third button from the top (the first two buttons were, as usually with Javier, already undone). With practiced ease, your fingers deftly worked open the button before the brushing against the exposed skin. Involuntarily, he shivered at the ghost of your touch, but it was gone before it started, your fingers now working on the next button. Before you could get to the second one, Javier reached out his free hand and wrapped it around your wrist, stopping your movements. You raised your eyebrow. “Maybe next time, princess,” he promised with a wink before letting go of your wrist. You didn’t continue your movements, and Javier took that as a sign to pull the bag he had been hiding from behind his back. He held it out between the two of you. You eyed it for a moment before taking it from him, and opening it. You furrowed your brow before reaching in and pulling out the box.

“An answering machine?” you asked, puzzled as you let the bag fall to the floor and held the box in your hands.

Javier hummed and shrugged his shoulder. “I noticed that you didn’t have one.”

“What gave it away?” you asked, a hint of sarcasm in your voice, glancing back at him.

Javier rolled his eyes. “You need one, princess.”

“Do I? I have been doing perfectly fine without it for the past few months, Javi,” you explained, flipping the box over. He watched your eyes scan the back of the box.

Javier sighed, and rested his hands on his hips. “Hermosa,” he started, his voice low and serious. “What if someone can’t get a hold of you, hm? What then?”

“They call back, that’s what.”

Javier let out a small, irritated growl, and you looked up from the box to him. Slowly, you raised your eyebrow as you gave him a questioning look. Javier huffed, tightening his hands on his hips, but said nothing. He watched as your questioning gaze began to study him, head titling ever so slightly as your beautiful eyes carefully took him in. And, with every second that passed, every inch of him that you gazed upon, it seemed as if you were figuring out the real reason Javier had bought you an answering machine in the first place. That he wanted — no needed — to be able to leave you messages. That he needed you to know he had called, and that you’d call him back once you got his message. To let him know you were home. To let him know you were safe. Because, there were times, times when he called and the phone would just ring and ring and ring, and fuck. Those were the times his heart would pound in his chest, and his mind would fill with all these terrible fucking scenarios of what could have happened. It was his own nightmare filled by his own experiences, the job he had dedicated his life to, and this. This answering machine; it wouldn’t elevate all those thoughts, Javier knew that, knew that it wouldn’t make them all magically disappear. But, there would be some temporary comfort from his aberrant mind.

“Alright, Javi,” you said quietly, breaking the silence. Javier watched as you took a step toward him, a small smile playing at your lips. “I’ll keep it. But, you,” you said, taking the box in your hand and pressing it against the middle of his chest. Javier’s hand immediately came up to cover yours, holding it and the box in place. “Are helping me set it up.”

Javier smiled as he brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

It hadn’t taken long to set up the machine itself. However, the recording was a different story.

The first time you tried to record yourself, Javier had interrupted you with a playful smack to your ass that had caught you completely off guard, causing you to yelp in the middle of your sentence. You had scolded him for his behavior, telling him to keep his hands to himself. With a smirk, he promised, but you didn’t believe him as you erased the recording and started again. And, you had every right not to believe him — because a moment later, he reached out, running his fingers up the side of your ribcage.

“Javi!” you squeed, side bending as you squirmed to get away from him before he could attack again. However, he was quicker, and was able to get one last swipe at your sides before you got fully out of his reach. He let out a small laugh, a grin pulling at his lips as you huffed, a few strands of your hair blowing with your breath, and placed your hands on your hips. “What did I tell you?” you asked, glaring down at him.

“Sorry, must have forgotten,” he mumbled, acting nonchalantly as he raised his beer bottle to his lips and took a swig, but his dark eyes were dancing with mischief.

You narrowed your eyes. “Forgotten my ass, you little shit,” you mumbled, stepping back to where you had been standing before. “Hands to yourself, Peña. You hear me?”

He stood up from the couch. “Alright, alright. Hands to myself,” he repeated and you eyed him for a moment. Javier could tell you were still skeptical that he would do something. “Promise,” he said before he breezed by you, heading toward the kitchen to grab another beer. Javier could feel your eyes on his back as he dropped the bottle in the trash and opened to the fridge to swipe a fresh one. When he turned around to head back in the living room, you were still eying him wearily, but you had already deleted the previous recording. You started recording again, your eyes finally leaving his to look down at the machine. A wicked grin spread across his face. In four quick strides, he was standing next to you and before you could give him a warning glare, Javier had leaned down and sunk his teeth into your bare shoulder blade (he silently thanked God you had chosen to wear a tank top that day).

You had, after all, said hands only.

“Javier,” you groaned, and for a brief moment, Javier had expected you to pull away, irritated by his actions. But, you didn’t pull away, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see you grasping at the corners of the end table, knuckles turning white. He mentally grinned, and bit down a little harder before worrying the skin between his teeth, and electing a whimper from your lips that went straight to his cock.

Javier knew you fucking loved this — the biting, the marking, the claiming. You had never said anything out right, but oh, Javier knew; he knew it by the way he found you admiring the marks he’d made the night before in the mirror, your hands gently running over the bruises. He knew by the mewling, the whimpers, the groans of pleasure you made. Or, his absolute favorite, the way your pussy clenched deliciously around his cock if he was buried inside of you.

Javier gave one last pinch of the skin between his teeth before pulling away. He grinned at the abused skin, could see the indentation of his teeth and imagined the beautiful colors it would turn within the hour. The thought sent another spike of arousal straight to his cock. You whipped your head around to face him, and though you were glaring at him, it didn’t matter. He could see the arousal in your face; the way your pupils were dilated, the way your lips were parted ever so slightly, the hitch in your breath. The grin on Javier’s face grew. “You only said hands, princess,” he said, holding his hands up, the unopened beer bottle still in one hand as he took a step back before letting himself fall back on to the couch.

“Peña,” you growled, voice low, warning, but Javier could hear it. That tinge of arousal. “I’m warning you.”

Javier chuckled, low and deep in his throat. He locked eyes with you, and leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees. “Warning me?” he asked, keeping his tone light as he looked away from you, and grabbing the bottle opener he’d left on the coffee table. “Warning me about what, princess?” He swiftly popped the bottle top off, and dropped the little metal top and opener back on the table. Javier leaned into the couch, resting one arm over the back of it as he looked at you, that grin still pulling at his lips. He took a long, slow swig of beer. He kept his eyes on you as he pulled the bottle away from his lips, waiting for you to say something. However, you were completely silent, but your eyes weren’t. No, they were still screaming for him. “Come on,” Javier started again, his voice an octave lower than before. He licked his lips, and watched as your eyes followed the movement. “What’s this warning you’re gonna give me?”

The seconds ticked by, the two of you silently watching each other. You were studying him so hard Javier couldn’t help but almost feel naked under your gaze, even with all his clothes on. He forced himself not to move, not to shift against the couch as he waited for you to say something, do something. He took a swig of his beer, and watched as your demeanor slowly shifted. Your back straighten, and a sly smirked pulled at your lips. He watched as you came to stand next to him, your thigh brushing against his knee.

Javier felt the tables were turning on him.

“Instead of a warning, how about this?” you started, resting one hand on the back of the couch while the other came to rest on high on Javier’s thigh as you leaned down, your lips only a few inches away from his. The hand on his thigh squeezed and Javier couldn’t help the small groan that escaped his lips. “You let me record this tiny, tiny, little message,” you explained, eyes flickering down to Javier’s lips, then to his crotch. Javier watched you lick your lips, hand sliding farther up his thigh, coming to a stop just short of where he wanted you to. “Without interruptions.” Your finger traced the outline of his half-hard cock, causing another groan to escape Javier’s lips as his eyes fell closed, hand gripping the bottle of beer in a death grip. “And, I’ll let you fuck my mouth,” you finished, and without warning, covered Javier’s clothed cock with your palm and pressed down, grinding your palm against him.

“Fuck,” Javier hissed, hips bucking into your hand, but as soon as it started, your hand was gone — and you were gone too. When his eyes opened, you were already standing up straight over him, looking down at him with that shit eating grin. Your eyes were dancing with arousal and mischief. Oh, how the tables had turned.

“You think you can be a good boy for me, Javi?” you asked, breathlessly and wanton, a sound that went straight to his cock. He nodded his head so quick that he was afraid he might break his neck. A wicked grin pulled at your lips as you turned your attention back to the machine.

It was the most painful ten minutes of his life because, of course, you wouldn’t like the first take. Or the second, or the third. Javier knew why you didn’t like them — it wasn’t cause you sounded bad, or you stammered ever so slightly in the middle. No, you were teasing him. You were purposely messing this up just so you could watch him squirm as he waited, his body humming in anticipation as his poor cock strained against his jeans. Javier had thought about shucking his belt, unzipping his pants, and taking out his cock, just to get some sort of relief, maybe even give it a few tugs. But, he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to. Jesus Christ, allowed to — anyone else, and Javier wouldn’t have hesitate. But you, there was something about you that had him giving up the control he constantly needed. Maybe it was the way that when he pushed, you would push back— that constant back and forth that turned him on to no fucking end.

“Javi,” you called out, voice soft and practically singing. Javier snapped his head to look up at you. You were standing there, all doe eyed and innocent looking, a small smile playing at your lips. “I’m finished.” You took a step toward him, and reached out, giving his knee a squeeze. Without hesitation, he let his legs fall open and you came to stand between them. “See,” you mumbled, as you ran your hand from his knee to his thigh and back down again. “I knew you could be a good boy.” Javier’s cock twitched in the confines of his jeans. “And you know what good boys get?” You slowly went down, falling to your knees in front of him, and God, was it such a pretty picture. You grabbed the practically empty bottle of beer from his hand and set it on the end table beside you. “Good boys,” you started, hands coming to rest on his belt, “get rewarded.”

---- ☆ ☆ ----

The obnoxious beep pulled Javier out of his thoughts. “Fuck,” he muttered before realizing that he had said that out loud. “Shit, it’s—” he started and slammed his hand on the payphone box. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s me, princess. I wanted to — I needed—” Javier felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just—I needed to hear your voice,” he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. He quickly turned and glanced behind him. There was nobody near him, nobody that could hear the desperation — the absolutely fucking heartbreak because that’s what this was, even if he didn’t want to admit it — in his voice. But, still this was a shitty fucking place to be doing this.

But, he hadn’t thought — he saw the payphone and just called, the need to hear your voice so fucking strong. It had only been a week, but he fucking missed you. He missed everything about you, but God, did he miss your voice. He missed the way you sounded when you greeted him in the soft morning light after the two of you had woken up, limbs tangled around each other to the point where Javier wasn’t sure where one of you began and the other ended. Or, the way you sounded when you greeted him at your door after work, a smile on your face and your arms open, willing to be whatever he needed after a long, rough day. The sound of your voice when you whispered sweet nothings into his ear before you both fell asleep. The sound of your laughter when he told one of his jokes, or when he tickled your sides because he knew you were ticklish. And God, he missed the sound of your voice when you said his name. Javier. Javi. Peña. Pendejo (the one name usually reserved for when he’d done something particularly, utterly stupid or reckless). It didn’t matter what you called him, or even when you did — when you were happy, sad, angry, sleepy, aroused — he just missed it, so fucking much.

Fuck, he just missed you.

And now, here he was, standing at a goddamn payphone, leaving you a vague fucking message. He coughed, and softly banged his hand against the payphone’s metal box. “Please cal—” The line went dead, the recorder cutting him off, and leaving Javier with the numbing sound of a dial tone.

“Fuck!” he cursed as he pulled the phone away from his ear. Javier looked down at it for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh, eyes falling closed once more as he let the phone come to rest against his forehead. “Fuck,” he whispered again, his fingers clenching around the phone. The dial tone was softer now, not pressed against his ear, but he could still hear it. It was still as loud as ever, still ringing in his ear, taunting him and reminding Javier of what he had lost.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña imagine #javier peña imagines #javier pena imagine #javier pena imagines #narcos imagine #narcos images #my writing

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deniigi · 4 years

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A fic from Boba’s POV as a babysitter seeing Din’s family dynamics isn’t self indulgent it’s indulgent to your readers - fuck, that sounds like the best, most hilarious thing ever?!? (With peppered in bits of Boba’s identity crisis/diaspora feels)

I say you release babysitter boba fic ;) It sounds hilarious

Ask and you shall receive, anons. Beware. It’s like 11k of world building lol.

(I will post here and not on Ao3 because I’m not ready for that level of commitment rn lol)

Title: in the plains of Zeffo

Summary:

“I don’t like him,” Karren told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

(Din’s original finder’s old crush on the Armorer is rekindled after he helps her reunite with Din. He tries to win her favor, but keeps getting tripped up by Din who knows she’s not interested. Boba Fett’s POV.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------

There was little more entertaining than watching Djarin snap.

Boba ten years ago would have spat at the very idea that such meagre fare would suit his humor, but he was getting old, man. You had to take what you could get, and Djarin’s bared rage was a sight to behold.

Currently, he was locked in combat with Urro Bojzka. The Urro Bojzka. The one who even Boba had heard of, growing up on Kamino.

Dad had had some pointed feelings about Mr. Bojzka. Mainly, they revolved around how it was unfair that everyone called him an opportunistic traitor when Bojzka continued to exist and thrive in the universe at large, but Dad also had more specific feelings about Bojzka that bordered on jealousy.

Urro Bojzka was said to be the ideal Mandalorian man.

He was big. He was strong. He sounded like he’d smoked six different kinds of spice for forty years, and nothing and no one could take him down.

The cherry on top was that he was notorious for rescuing kids. The man had snatched nearly two hundred up out of smoking ruins and battlefields. A good twenty or thirty had become foundlings and then Mandalorians themselves, and counted among their number now, to Bo-Katan’s absolute glee, was their sweet, precious Din Djarin.

They should have known. Din was the epitome of Mandalorian; it figured that Urro Bojzka himself would have picked him up as a child.

Din however, had little appreciation for this fact beyond that which was only polite. He made it very clear that he’d already thanked Bojzka for taking him out of his childhood hellhole. He’d done that bare minimum and so no one could ask anything more of him.

Bojzka had other plans.

It turned out that Urro Bojzka had a thing for Din’s covert’s Armorer. God, did he have a thing. And not only did he have a thing, but he’d had it for decades.

Apparently, a thousand years ago, when Boba and Din and all the others around them had still been rolling around on dirt floors trying to eat beetles and shit, Bojzka had attempted to court Din’s Armorer. He’d gone as far and wide as a young Mando could. He’d tried flowers, perfume, credits, displays of strength and courage. He’d tried gifts of food and offers of travel. He’d even stooped so low as to read a book.

None of it had gone well for him. And that was probably because Din’s Armorer had recently proven herself to be no less than one of the heiresses of the Katzkai clan.

The Renda Bears. Those people were hard-fucking-core.

When Bo-Katan found out that Din’s ‘Goran’ was, in fact, Nomri Katzkai, the second daughter of Lanlee Katzai and the official apprentice of Fii Katzkai, the imperial Armorer himself, she threw up her hands and declared all endeavors hopeless now.

Din was one of them; he just didn’t know it. And his buir, who had removed herself from her family to be even more hardcore than anyone would have thought possible, didn’t seem overly excited to start explaining shit to him anytime soon.

So here they were. With Din about to kill one of the most famous war heroes in recent Mandalorian history over a crush that wouldn’t quit.

Bojzka smiled at him with dark eyes with scars through both of his eyebrows.

“Just a message,” he lobbied. “One letter.”

Boba would’ve fucked him. Yeah, why not? Just look at him.

“She’s busy,” Din said. “You’ll have to submit it to Eegang Quodo. That’s E-e-g-a—”

“Yeah, see. Here’s the thing, kid. This letter’s gonna be kinda personal, if you catch my drift—”

“Q-u-o—”

“—probably not great for the eyes of anyone who ain’t, you know, in on this whole relationship—”

“—d-o. He’s usually busy, too. So you probably should submit it to Paz, instead. He’ll lose it for you forever. That’s P-a-z—”

Fennec hid a razor-sharp grin behind a clenched fist. She flashed it at Boba.

‘I love him’ she mouthed, pointing at Din’s hiked-up shoulders. Even his cape seemed to have gone stiff in Bojzka’s presence.

“Din, honey. Listen to me,” Bojzka crooned. “I know you’re protective of your mama, but—”

“She’s not my mother. Don’t you fucking dare call her that, you hulking piece of—”

“Ah-ah-ah. You’re not listening. Come on. Chin up. Ears open.”

Bojzka tapped at the bottom of Din’s helmet like a CO with a teenage recruit, and Fennec just about screamed when Din went completely still and silent.

Bo-Katan met Boba’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. She mimed a syringe. Boba shook his head. If this fucker got bit, he deserved whatever infection it brought.

“Atta boy,” Bojzka said to Din’s rigid silence. “Here’s how it is: your mama and me go way, way back. And you know, after your touching reunion the other week, she even went and had a drink with me, and we got to talkin’ and started to reconnect, the old folks do. And I could read her body language, Din-Din. She wants a man. And that man’s me. So instead of actin’ like a child over all this, why don’t we—”

“She wanted Naseem,” Din snapped. “But Naseem died. Twenty years ago, he died. You just wear similar boots.”

Get ‘im, Djarin. Get ‘im.

“I—who?” Bojzka snapped.

“Naseem,” Din repeated like he was an idiot. “Traditional, bantha-sized, green armor. He worked all the time to keep all the kids in the covert fed.”

Bojzka processed this.

“Naseem what?” he asked stiffly.

“He’s dead,” Din said. “And Hajka left. So no. Goran needs neither a man or a woman, and especially not you. What she needs is a break and for Karren to stop fighting people on sight.”

Bojzka backtracked like a champ.

“Karren, that’s her youngest, right?” he asked. “Well, I bet Karren could use some sisters. I bet he’s lonely over there on, uh.”

“Zeffo,” Din gritted out. “And no. He’s not. He has three sisters. One of which is still at the covert, terrorizing him left and right.”

Even Bo-Katan could only empathize so much with Bojzka, war hero or nah.

“Why’re you all up in arms, Din? What’d I do to you?” Bojzka finally asked. “Don’t you want your buir to be happy?”

Din’s shoulders finally came down from his helmet.

“Of course, I do,” he said. “Which is why if you set so much as a toe on Zeffo, I’m taking both of your knees with me to Yavin.”

Any parent would have been proud to have Din as their child. He took family honor to a level that even the Katzkai clan would have had a hard time sniffing at.

He had to have learned this from the wayward heiress. Although, if Boba was honest, he didn’t really think that the wayward heiress was all that wayward.

She’d come to visit Din on Tatooine. She was short and stocky and not terribly interested in the court or anyone outside of Din.

She wasn’t nearly as hostile as Bo-Katan expected either. She didn’t appear to love anything that she was looking at, no, but Din had explained that that was mostly because she wasn’t really a fan of him having become Mand’alor to start with.

When she came to visit, anyways, she was far more interested in getting a good fuss in to give herself peace of mind that Din was okay. That way she could then go back to dealing with the apparently endless series of crises at the new covert.

She was a great parent in that way. She even brought along her youngest, so that he could see his big brother.

That kid was fuckin’ adorable. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Barely, barely, barely in armor. He was strapped into his leathers so tight, he looked like he was stuffed with straw.

He had medium-brown skin with yellow undertones and huge, nearly-black eyes. Coarse black hair poured into his face and curled around his ears—and if he thought he was going to stuff all that in a helmet one day, he had another thing coming.

He bopped after his buir when they entered the palace and stopped occasionally to stare up in awe at the palace’s high ceilings. Upon realizing that he’d lost his escort, he scampered along to catch up and did the whole thing again and again until buir had enough and snatched his hand.

He didn’t like that. He was fourteen-fifteen years old. He was too big for hand-holding, buir.

Never too old to be ignored, though.

“Goraaaaaan.”

“Hush,” the Armorer told him. “Keep up.”

He was handed off to Boba outside Din’s personal quarters, mostly because he was making such a fuss at the Armorer that she began contemplating leaving him at the palace forever. Din intervened and the kid latched onto him instead until Din convinced him that he’d be available talk just as soon as he and their buir were done speaking.

The kid’s name was Karren.

He and Boba were now best friends.

“—so Goran said, ‘I’m not having that idiot in my rooms.’ But then Eegang said, ‘we already have Paz in these rooms,’ and you’re not supposed to laugh, Mr. Fett, but we all did because we’re all stupid. So we had to do like, a thousand chores for eavesdropping.”

“So she’s not into him, then?” Fennec clarified. “He’s really into her, you know.”

“Of course, I know,” Karren lamented. “But Goran’s picky and the last person she was all close with was Hajka and we’re not allowed to talk about her anymore or Din’ll make you do two hundred push-ups while he watches.”

Amazing. Say more about Din’s oldest-child syndrome, little one.

“No, I like Din,” Karren sighed. “Now that Digo’s gone, he’s even nicer.”

Oh?

“What happened to Digo?” Boba asked as Bo-Katan joined them in curiosity.

“Digo’s a jerk is what happened,” Karren huffed. “She wanted Goran to give over the forge and join the elders, but Goran isn’t even that old. So when she said ‘no,’ Digo got mad and said that the only foundling Goran respects is Din. Which is bullshit because everyone knows that Goran has always been the nicest with Digo and Nasif—she made all sorts of excuses for them, Mr. Fett, like when they went out and got caught stealing parts like Jawas, she did four whole hunts to raise their bail. When Din gets in trouble, he takes care of it himself. He doesn’t ask Goran to do that kind of thing. And me and Shimmol just don’t get in that kind of trouble to start with—but no. Digo had to be all ‘if you don’t treat us as equals, then we’re gonna leave and start our own forge.’”

“No kidding,” Fennec said. “So they left?”

“Yeah, both of them ‘cause Nasif does anything Digo tells her to,” Karren said, kicking his feet. “And good riddance.”

Too many sisters, this one had. Boba felt for him.

“So Goran’s still recovering from that betrayal, I take it?” he asked.

Karren frowned and chewed a lip.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “No one tells me anything. I think that Goran’s been more worried about Din than them after all that happened. We thought he got crunched by the jedi—or at least I thought he got crunched. Paz says that Jedis compact Mandalorians into cubes of armor and Din’s got the best armor.”

Do not laugh at the child. Do not laugh at the child.

“I don’t think Jedis crunch Mandalorians,” Bo-Katan said generously, having snuck into the bare antechamber while everyone was distracted with the kid’s story.

“Well, I do,” Karren countered, with zero conception of who he was talking to.

Fennec beamed.

“Do you like this Urro guy?” she asked.

“No,” Karren answered immediately. “He’s sent Eegang four messages and they’re all gross.”

Yep.

It was gonna be a late puberty for this one.

“What makes them gross?” Bo-Katan asked.

“The mush,” Karren said expertly. “Bojzka calls Goran ‘Nomri.’ That’s a bad word at home. No one says that word. Goran is ‘Goran.’ The only people who call her anything else are the elders.”

“And you and your siblings, no?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karran cocked his head at her.

“Yeah, and ‘buir’ I guess, if we aren’t in trouble,” he said.

Bless him.

“Are you in trouble a lot?” Bo-Katan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I got a temper or something.”

“Is Din in trouble?”

“With buir? No, not like me and Shimmol. He’s too old to be in that kind of trouble. His trouble’s like ‘help, I fell a hundred feet off a cliff’ kind of trouble. He gives Goran indigestion, but she can’t make him reflect on falling a million feet out of a ship—Eegang says that’s called ‘rehashing trauma.’”

The covert on Zeffo sounded like it was holding itself together through sheer force of will and that alone.

Where did Boba sign up? It sounded like a fantastic experiment to pass the time.

“Are you a foundling, Karren?” Boba asked.

The kid lit up.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been with Goran for five years now. Six in a few months. My dad’s a piece of shit. He killed my mom, and Goran got him arrested for that and for what he did to my auntie.”

Well, fuck. That explained a lot.

“And you like it there—on Zeffo?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karren shrugged.

“It’s cold and wet,” he said. “I liked Nevarro better. Din was home more on Nevarro.”

Awww.

“Aren’t you proud of Din for becoming Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asked as gently as she could manage.

Karren’s frown eased up finally.

“No,” he said. “Din should just come home. He doesn’t need to be Mand’alor or married to some jedi. He should just come home. It’s stupid; his foundling should have stayed with us from the start. We always have room for more foundlings. I dunno why he had to leave with his foundling at all.”

Bo-Katan sat back and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If it helps, I think he just wants to come home, too.”

“So let him,” Karren blurted out to her.

Tough tits, kid. That wasn’t how it worked.

“I think we should perhaps focus on one thing at a time,” Bo-Katan said. “What do you think, Fett?”

What did Boba think?

Boba thought that he had a great idea to distract this kid from missing his big brother.

---

Karren was perhaps a little too small still to reach the brakes in the crawler, but you know what? So was Fennec sometimes and she did just fine.

“Gas,” Boba said, pointing. “Neutral. Brake. Park.”

“Gas, neutral, brake, park,” Karren repeated to him with his hands on the wheel and his knobbly wrists peeking out from the gap between his gloves and his leather braces.

Bo-Katan had refused to be present or responsible for this. Fennec had told them to wait while she went and took a shot first. ‘For safety’ she said.

“What’s neutral for?”

“You’re about to tell me,” Boba said, adjusting the rear view mirrors down to kid-height.

The sound of Fennec throwing herself onto the back of the crawler rattled through to their compartment.

“That’s our signal,” Boba said. “You ready to jam?”

“Jam?” Karren asked him.

Hm.

Punch it?

“Punch what?”

The fuck kind of slang did they use at the covert?

“Rock?”

“OH. Yeah, I’m ready.”

There we go. Onward march then.

---

An hour later, Din sighed with Karren whining under his arm.

“There is a reason he’s not trained yet, Fett,” Din said as Karren started chomping on the bunched-up flightsuit in his elbow.

The Armorer pressed both palms into the forehead of her helmet.

The crawler had perhaps seen better days. But it had also seen worse days, and Fennec was still going through little loops of cackling at the memory of having to chase after its open tailgate. Boba didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The kid had done amazingly well for his first time at the wheel.

“I’m leaving all of you,” Karren grated out, trying miserably to escape Din’s elbow-prison. “I want to be Mr. Fett’s foundling.”

Bless him.

“You don’t,” Din told him forcefully. “Fett can’t handle a foundling.”

Ay, Boba would drink to that. He was happy to be a foundling-sitter and borrower, though.

“Buir,” Karren pleaded.

“You make me tired, child,” the Armorer told him. “Say goodbye to vod.”

“NO.”

Din sighed. The Armorer sighed. Karren, in a beautiful 180, latched onto Din’s ribs again.

“Come hooooooome,” he pleaded with Din.

“I caaaaaaan’t,” Din drawled back at him in a delightfully uncharacteristic tone.

“These people don’t need you. We need you. Shimmol took your bed and if you don’t take it back, she’s gonna keep it.”

Din’s shoulders dropped.

“I told Shimmol that she could take my bunk, Karren,” he said. “I’m not using it—”

“BUT YOU COULD BE.”

Boba took it back. He could take on a foundling. Fuck it, why not? This one was great.

“Come here,” Din said, dragging the kid up to his toes. He knocked the front of his helmet against Karren’s forehead with enough force that the bump was noticeable. That made the kid shut up and stand up straight on his own volition again.

“Soon,” Din told him forcefully. “Behave for buir.”

“Promise,” Karren demanded.

“Ehn.”

“Din, promise.”

“I dunno, kid. I’ve got a husband and all these damn kids to worry about.”

“Bring them. All of them.”

“No room,” Din said without missing a beat. “You have no idea how much space the husband needs to thrive.”

“Well, if you don’t come, then Urro’s gonna try to move in,” Karren snapped.

Din actually paused at that. The Armorer shook her helmet.

“Territorialism becomes neither of you,” she said. “If Urro wishes to join our covert, then we will treat him as we treat any other who wishes to.”

Din’s helmet seemed to squint at her. Karren glared outright.

“I don’t like him,” he told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

“Carry on with your work and give my best to the jedi and the child,” the Armorer said with an air of dismissal. “Come, Karren. Thank you three for looking after him. Apologies for the vehicle. Come.”

Boba missed that kid already.

--------

Bojzka, Boba had to say, really had no shame and he could almost appreciate that. Either that, or Din’s buir was a catch that the rest of them were failing to appreciate.

“How bad can it be?” the guy mused at Din’s stiff, furious hands mere days after the Armorer and Karren��s departure. “It’s a helmet, right? You can take it off with the people who matter, no?”

“We do not take it off,” Din said from between clenched teeth.

“Right, I got that. But there are exceptions for kids and spouses,” Bojzka said. “Or did I misread that part?”

Din was going to start shaking at any minute now. Bo-Katan assigned Boba the task of making sure he didn’t commit War-hero-homicide while she went off to find a calming device. It was only polite. It wasn’t Bojzka’s fault after all that he’d come in right after a tense meeting with a dissident group from Mandalore itself that made even Bo-Katan’s jaw jump.

“I think the rule is more important than the exceptions here,” Boba pointed out on Din’s behalf. “Joining the Children of the Watch isn’t something to take lightly.”

Din pointed at him wordlessly. Bojzka lazily followed the finger and then pointedly ignored Boba.

“What I’m hearing is that if we marry first, nothing changes,” he said.

Din’s index finger curled in with the rest of his knuckles until it was a fist.

“She is not looking to marry,” he said.

“What, so you speak for her now?”

“She is not looking to marry.”

“I can repeat things, too. Wanna see? You don’t speak for Nomri, Din.”

Boba was getting the feeling that Ms. Katzkai sort of did let Din speak for her in these types of situations. He was, after all, her oldest. And it sounded like he was the most loyal of her foundlings, too. If she shared anything personal with anyone besides her second in command, then it was going to be Din. That was just how these things worked.

“Did you call Eegang?” Din asked.

“I did,” Bojzka said. “He’s not especially helpful, I have to say. He keeps sending my missives back to me with grammar corrections.”

No. No. Keep it in, Boba. Keep it stoic.

“Eegang is the second CO at the covert,” Din said. “If you won’t take my word for it, then you’ll take his.”

Bojzka arched a fucked-up eyebrow.

“Eegang, the same guy who is allegedly secretly married to his partner? That Eegang?” he asked.

Din balked. Boba felt like electricity had just rocketed through him.

“Eegang is—” Din started.

“Nomri told me about him,” Bojzka said off-handedly. “She seems to think that he’s bitten off more than he can chew with taking on his last kid.”

“Eegang—”

“Something about baby being blind? Funny, did you not think that she trusted me enough to talk about her people?”

Any more of this and steam would start rising from the lip of Din’s helmet.

Thankfully, Bo-Katan returned with the jedi, AKA the calming device. Skywalker even came equipped with Grogu. They both appeared very confused and innocent, what with Skywalker drowning in his formal robes. They looked like they were going to absorb Grogu at any moment.

A+ distraction work, Kryze. Well done making yourself useful.

“Who’s Eegang?” Skywalker asked.

The line pulled taut across Din’s shoulders began to loosen.

“A comrade,” he said sharply in Bojzka’s direction.

“Is he nice?” Skywalker asked. Grogu chirped at him and resumed trying to dig into his multitude of collars.

“Very nice,” Din confirmed, staring deep into Bojzka’s eyes.

“He’s got foundlings, too?” Skywalker asked.

“Two,” Din confirmed. “Who he adores. Regardless of all challenges.”

Ah. It wasn’t just Eegang Din was protective of. It was the baby. Bojzka had really stuck his foot into that one.

“I’m sure the foundlings are fine,” Bojzka said. “It was just Nomri’s concern that—”

“Stop calling her that in my presence,” Din said. “In fact, let’s drop the whole thing now.”

--------

Boba wanted to meet secretly-married Eegang. He sounded like he had a rich interior life. Din gave him a strong look and said that if the Armorer had left the covert, Eegang would not. One of them had to be there at all times.

Bo-Katan asked what Eegang’s speciality was.

Surprise, surprise: it was diplomacy.

Kryze was now invested. She followed Din around on his heels and suggested that if the Armorer gave words to Eegang to deliver during a formal meeting with the Mand’alor, then Bojzka might finally get the picture that Katzkai wasn’t interested in him.

Din thought about that.

He asked if this was not just a ploy for Boba and Bo-Katan to rally his covert comrades against him.

And it honestly wasn’t until he phrased it like that.

-----------

Eegang was tall, sea-green, and in Bojzka’s face without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Three tests,” he threatened Bojzka with a baby on his hip. “One: stop sending transmissions. Two: get Elder Fayrz to approve your presence. Three: make even one of Goran’s foundlings like you. If you pass all three, your admission will be taken into consideration.”

The baby was very pink with curly hair so pale it was almost white. Its blue-gray eyes moved rapidly back and forth as it cuddled into its buir’s teal armor. Bojzka glanced from it to Eegang’s chipped helmet.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

“Please give confirmation of your understanding,” Eegang said mechanically.

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Please give confirmation of your understanding.”

“Are you a droid or somethin’?”

“Please give—”

“Alright, alright. Fuck. This is confirmation of my understanding.”

“Excellent. This conversation is over,” Eegang said. “It is your responsibility to contact the elder and earn the approval.”

Bojzka jerked.

“Wait, what?” he said. “How am I supposed to do that if y’all won’t even let me through the door?”

Eegang’s helmet tipped so daintily to the side that Boba could have shed a tear.

“That sounds like a you-problem,” Eegang said.

-----------

Eegang thereafter blocked Bojzka out of his mind and heart. He introduced himself with a dipping motion to Kryze and Boba that probably would have been more dramatic if he’d opted to wear a cape, which he did not. He revealed himself to be exceedingly polite and very fond of Din, though—if the gentle armor tapping and the use of the word ‘little brother’ was anything to go by. Din was usually receptive to gestures like that, Boba had learned, but not this time.

No, no. Din cared not for his ‘big brother.’ He cared only for the attention of Eegang’s baby.

“His name is Mesa,” Eegang explained after Din had kidnapped said baby. He introduced Mesa to Grogu who was stationed nearby, stuffed in the sleepy jedi’s shirt this time. . Grogu waved from Skywalker’s chest, but Mesa didn’t register the motion.

“His grandmother was quite ill, and it was her dying wish to see the child placed into the care of someone trustworthy. I have to admit, though, I may have made the decision a little rashly,” Eegang hummed as he watched Grogu lean as far as he could out of Skywalker’s clothing to try to make contact with his fellow foundling.

“Is he your first?” Bo-Katan asked.

Eegang winced.

“No, uh. I’ve got another,” he said. “She’s a huge fan of certain someones.”

“Me,” Din said without hesitation.

“And Paz,” Eegang said. “Which is a deadly combination.”

“She will be a mighty warrior,” Din informed Mesa and Skywalker. Skywalker twitched awake and didn’t understand anything that was happening. He noticed the baby, cooed, and waved with his gloved hand.

“She’s declared this one goat her nemesis and I cannot—I cannot—get her to just leave it alone,” Eegang said.

“A goat clan in the making,” Din said with approval.

“I’m hearing unnecessary commentary,” Eegang said without looking at him. “Please rephrase or shut up.”

Din seemed to gloat at the scolding. Skywalker glanced between him and his tall, teal comrade. He made his move and carefully came in to extract baby Mesa from Din’s arms to add him to his ever-growing collection. Grogu cooed again, closer now. He offered Mesa a hand, and this time, Mesa perked up and tried to grab at it clumsily.

“You manage the covert in the Armorer’s absence?” Bo-Katan asked Eegang. “You must be very dedicated to the Children of the Watch.”

“Define ‘manage’ and then ‘dedicated,’” Eegang said. “I prefer ‘accidentally charged with responsibility one too many times’ and ‘in too deep to turn back now.’”

“He’s being humble,” Din said. “Eegang has brokered peace between our covert and locals on numerous occasions.”

Eegang’s shoulders started to raise.

“Stop telling people that, they’re going to expect things from me,” he said, then popped back up like flipped switch. “Oh, I totally forgot why I even came. Jedi?”

Skywalker looked up from the conference of baby talk happening in his arms all wide-eyed, as though he’d been caught in the act of stealing imperial property.

“We did not welcome you into our covert,” Eegang said, “You must allow us to present you with a gift of welcome and entry.”

Oho. Very formal. Boba folded his arms and watched Skywalker for his reaction.

“A what?” Skywalker asked.

-------

Bojzka was somewhat justifiably upset at the double standard going on here.

Skywalker was a jedi and yet welcomed into the covert with open arms and no admission requirements. He was, in fact, measured against his will for a set of armor. This was what Din’s buir had actually been after when she’d sent Eegang along to say hi.

Boba found that he enjoyed the reciprocation of ulterior motives that they were getting from Din’s covert. Kryze had never been happier. This was a game that she knew how to play.

“Wait no, hold up,” Bojzka interrupted. “I deserve a chance. Din, at least give me the name of one of your siblings so I can track them down with the elder.”

Din didn’t want to; there were foundlings happening and another meeting soon, but eventually even he had to give the guy something.

An honorable battle required at least two willing bodies.

-----------

Din and Karren’s remaining sibling at the covert’s name was Shimmol. According to Din, Bojzka had next to no chance of gaining her favor because she did not leave the forge and therefore Bojzka had no access to her. Eegang corrected Din and said that Shimmol did, in fact, leave the forge, but never on her own volition.

She was preferred the dark. She hated social interaction.

To circumvent that, the Armorer had refused to induct her into the trade until she proved herself able to coexist with others. But Shimmol was eighteen, that fun age where no incentive or punishment was effective and digging your heels in was far more preferable to doing a damn thing your elders mentioned.

She’s announced that very weekend that she was officially becoming a recluse. Her present aspiration in life was apparently now to become a forge spider.

Bojzka, along with everyone else, had no idea how to receive this information. Kyrze took it upon herself to pat Bojzka on the shoulder and tell him to start with the elder. He might actually have some luck that way.

-------

It took two weeks for Bojzka to re-emerge from whatever hellhole he’d had to walk a tightrope across to locate the covert’s elder Fayrz. He climbed in through Din’s personal quarters’ window and interrupted him and the Jedi in a moment of infrequent intimacy.

The sound of a body being throw over a bannister had a special kind of thud to it. Boba was up on out of his quarters in an instant.

Din flung Bojzka’s helmet after him. Skywalker had the grace to cover Djarin’s face with his shirt and walk him back into the room before anyone caught sight of it, telling Boba and Fennec, who had also emerged from her bed, prepared for drama, that all was fine. There was just a misunderstanding.

His bare torso was covered in scars. Boba found himself somehow surprised and impressed as the jedi unsuccessfully wrangled his furious husband back in the direction of bed.

He and Fennec peeked over the banister to see what had become of Bojzka. He was fine.

Fennec informed Boba that she was claiming part of his bed ‘in case anything else good happened’ since he was closer.

-----

In the morning, Din was in marginally better spirits. Skywalker was to be found at his side, walking backwards and tripping over his cloak every four paces. He truly knew how to hit all Din’s ‘endeared’ buttons. If not to the earnestness and the near-miss of a disaster on the stairs, it would have looked like manipulation.

Bojzka attempted to rectify the peace by breaking into the court through one of the windows high up on the wall outside the second floor’s conference room. This time, to ensure that he had Din’s full attention, he removed the jedi from the equation. Or he tried to anyways.

The jedi, in a split second, decided that, all joking aside, today, he would not be moved. His green saber managed to glow even in the sunlight pouring in to the hall.

“Do not touch,” he ordered, with both feet planted and Din and Grogu securely at his back.

Bojzka cocked his head at the saber pointed right at his nose.

“That’s a fun trick,” he said.

“Do not touch,” Skywalker repeated. “Me, him, or the child.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bojzka said. “Stand down before you regret it.”

“Luke,” Din said testily. “He’s not worth it.”

“Make me regret it,” Skywalker said to Bojzka.

Bojzka’s eyes widened slightly in interest. He used the back of his wrist to try to nudge the saber’s tip away and snapped his hand away from the burn.

“Do you expect me to be afraid of you, jedi?” he asked, trying to play it off.

Skywalker’s eyes reflected the light of his saber.

“Ask him what the glove’s for,” Fennec called from the far hall. Bojzka scoffed. Skywalker didn’t move.

“What happened to your hand?” Bojzka asked.

“My father cut it off,” Skywalker said. “But not to worry, I got a new one. Now step back. Sir.”

Bojzka didn’t move for a long time.

“Does it feel good to walk in the presence of these people?” he asked. “Is it a kink for you the way it was for your master?”

Boba had officially lost the plot. These were old politics now. Kryze would know what Bojzka was talking about, if only she deigned to come out from wherever she was hiding, which she wouldn’t. Of course.

“Does it offend you? My presence here?” Skywalker asked back without emotion.

“It doesn’t,” Bojzka said.

“I’m glad. That’s very convenient for me. I’d feel terrible if you bled out on these tiles,” Skywalker said. “So move.”

And goddamn. The mountain finally yielded to the sky.

-------

Skywalker spent the rest of the day on high alert, with one hand on the hilt of his saber and his full concentration tied up with making fierce eyes into the palace’s corners to keep Bojzka at bay. It was really something to see. Din looked about ready to lay his fingers on his heart and swoon, and that was more than fair. If Boba’s spouse threatened to kill a man for looking at him wrong, he’d be touched too.

Fennec told Boba that she’d protect him from a man the size of a bantha but no larger, and it just didn’t have the same kind of ring.

She apologized and he told her it was fine. It was just in the delivery--and also, he’d murder anyone so blinked at her wrong, too.

She was pleased. Boba was glad they were on the same page.

“Let’s go find Kryze to negotiate,” Fennec said, “I need to know why Old Faithful’s back.”

--------

Kryze’s commanding voice wrang out of Bojzka the real reason for his presence. The truth of the matter was that, War Hero aside, he was having a hell of a time getting the covert elder to grant him a second look.

Din told him that that was the point. Elder Fayrz was like that all day, every day and he’d change for no body, spiritual or physical. He bothered people when he wanted to bother them, and the rest of the time, he liked to pretend he was senile. He only really ever showed up if someone was buying a round or their life was in the balance.

Skywalker said that he sounded a lot like his late master.

Din agreed and said that Elder Fayrz had dedicated his life to two things: the covert children and fungi. Somehow, he made those two interests overlap. Din recalled being twelve and being taken out on a ‘mission’ by the old man who had informed him that he required his nose.

Elder Fayrz had no sense of smell. For a man with a fungi interest, he called this ‘very dangerous business indeed.’

Kryze demanded to know if all the weirdest Mandalorian elders still living had congregated at Din’s cohort which he quickly confirmed. Bojzka, however, demanded to know what would make this elder look him in the eye.

Din told him to go find a deathbed and lay on it.

He remembered belatedly to add ‘nearby Elder Fayrz’ to that statement.

----------

After about a month of this kind of back and forth, the Armorer decided that she’d had enough. She did not come to the Dune Sea. She sent a missive to Din informing him that he was coming home.

‘To talk,’ she said.

Boba vaguely remembered Karren saying something along the lines of ‘Din doesn’t get into trouble anymore,’ and was pleased to find that that was not the case. Din already knew what awaited him at his home covert and anyone with slightly more than a rock for a brain could see that it wasn’t going to be hugs and kisses.

Bojzka volunteered to accompany Din as a guard when the jedi made himself conveniently unavailable. Kryze and Boba flipped a coin while Din resisted stabbing him, and of course Boba won. Kryze flipped it again to be sure, and Boba told her sweetly that he’d send her a postcard.

“Have fun with the schmucks lounging around this place,” he gloated at Bo-Katan’s rolling shoulders.

She gave him two naughty fingers.

Whatever, girl. Sucks to suck. Bye, bye, now. Come on, Fennec. There’s adventure to be had.

---------

It was a ways to the new covert on Zeffo. Several hours, in fact, many of which were spent playing ‘I spy’ with Fennec while Bojzka gritted his teeth and asked them if they were always like this.

Fennec got Din to join in at that comment.

Eventually they ran out of white dwarfs and capes to identify and settled down into silence until the ship declared landing to be imminent.

Karren remembered Boba and the second he set foot inside the curiously constructed covert entrance. The kid came hurtling up to tackle him and wrap arms around his middle. It was endearing. Boba checked the doors to see if a guard would notice a kidnapping.

Fennec reminded him of child-based expenses. Her wisdom was invaluable as usual.

Karren scrambled away from Boba and, for a moment, made like he was going to attach himself to Din’s armor, but instead wriggled past Din to go tearing down the hallway. He skidded, crashed, and then clambered into a different room at the dead end of what appeared to be a row of barracks. Seconds later, Eegang exploded from one of the rooms adjacent wearing no armor but his helmet. He flung himself through the same doorway Karren had vanished through.

Din tilted his head.

“It’s fine,” a voice said behind them.

Their small party turned to see a woman wearing a cool purple helmet with only her flakvest on. Eegang’s pale baby was sat on her hip, pawing at her chest, trying to find purchase in the vest.

“Sotra,” Din greeted.

“Welcome back, brat-child,” Sotra said. “We missed you.”

This had to be Eegang’s secret-wife; unless she’d stolen that gurgling foundling in the night or something.

“Electrical?” Din asked, pointing at the far room.

“Loft,” Sotra said. “There’s hay, so of course all the kids have to be in it.”

“Just hay?” Din asked.

“And goats,” Sotra said.

Ah.

“We raise goats now?” Din asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Sotra said, sashaying past him towards the room her husband had abandoned, “It’s either coexistence or war, I’m afraid. The forge is past the hangar, keep going through the kitchens. Voxie knows you’re here—he’s awake, by the way. Welcome home, Din.”

“Thanks,” Din said. “This is my advisor, Boba Fett and our friend Fennec.”

Sotra splayed her whole, tall body into the doorway of her and Eegang’s barracks just as a fearsome battle cry sounded out on the other side.

“Hi,” she said.

“RELEASE ME,” a child in front of her about hip-height with serious bedhead shrieked in Mando’a.

Fennec’s eyebrows launched up to her forehead. Boba felt like he needed to record this so that Kryze understood what she was missing.

“Vod Din is home,” Sotra told the child.

“DIN.”

“Shhhh.”

“RELEASE M—mmf.”

“Shhhhh. It’s quiet time,” Sotra said with her free hand over the child’s mouth. “We’re being quiet.”

Din chuckled.

“Hey, Samo,” he said.

Samo let loose an ear-piercing scream behind her buir’s hand and ducked under Sotra’s legs. She ran at Din like there was a bomb behind her. Din caught her and swung her up to perch on his arm and she kicked relentless at his tassets in excitement.

“Shhh,” Din said. “People are sleeping—”

“YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE—”

Doors started opening all down the line of barracks. A few curious, hazy, and lopsided helmets poked out from some of them, and from others, calls of ‘EYYYYYYY’ and chats ‘ALL HAIL THE MAND’ALOR’ started up, to Din’s immediate mortification.

This, Boba was delighted to realize, was not a cry of honor.

These half-asleep fuckers had been waiting months to embarrass Din. And he’d known that this would happen.

“Be quiet,” Din snapped all around him. “The elders are sleeping, you’re going to—”

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally home,” a taunting voice rang out on top of the rush. “If it isn’t the Mand’alor himself.”

“Paz,” Din sighed. “Not now.”

“When could there possibly be a better time, your liege?” a huge Mandalorian wearing full blue armor despite the early hour drawled from the doorway he’d attempted to casually lean in. Samo’s braids flew as her round cheeks snapped his way.

“Paz, don’t be mean,” she told him from atop Din’s arm. “Or it’ll be to the goats with ya.”

“Fuck me, the goats, what ever will I do?” Paz scoffed.

“BUIR, PAZ SAID A BAD WORD.”

“I heard him,” Sotra said scathingly, right at Paz’s visor.

“To the goats,” Paz’s neighbor hissed at him.

The hissing was taken up just as quickly as the earlier ‘all hails’ had been. Paz told everyone to shut up and mind their own asses. He was publicly booed until Eegang emerged from the loft room with Karren stuffed under an arm and demanded to know why people were congregating in the halls. He reminded everyone that that shit was a fire hazard, and in doing so, his tone changed completely from easy-going to Commanding Officer and the effect was immediate.

People scurried back into their rooms like frightened mice until there wasn’t a single open door left in the whole line.

Eegang huffed and traded Karren to Din for his daughter. Samo happily climbed onto his shoulders and held onto his chin. Karren grinned mischievously up at her, winked, and then thumbed back to the goat loft.

“Not the welcome you deserved, but the one you got. I’m afraid nothing has changed here,” Eegang told Din compassionately, wrapping his fingers around Samo’s ankles. “I see you brought friends.”

“And foe,” Din said, gesturing at Bojzka who beamed.

Eegang’s visor contained a grimace that would otherwise have wracked his whole body.

“You got in,” he deadpanned.

“Sure did,” Bojzka said. “Lovely place you have here.”

And honestly? Yeah. It sort of was. Maybe a little ramshackle, what with all the scaffolding and haphazard support beams thrown into the walls to keep the wet earth above ground from crushing everyone below it, but for all the unsteadiness, it was oozing with comradery. Family.

Behind each of those doors was a little unit like Eegang and Sotra’s or perhaps a tired body, barely extracted from its boots, taking comfort in this honeycomb of tunnels and rooms.

Boba couldn’t help but wonder how he and Dad would have done in a place like this.

“We try,” Eegang said flatly. “I’ll let the Armorer deal with you herself—if she’s awake, I mean. Otherwise, you’re condemned to Shimmol. I’m going back to sleep. Vok is waiting for you, keep going straight through the kitchens, Din.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “Sleep well, Vod.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Monster. No goats for now.”

Samo waved at Boba and Fennec with a smile as bright as the sun. She ducked expertly as Eegang passed through the doorway to their quarters. He closed the door behind them.

------

“You don’t see families like that much anymore,” Bojzka hummed as Din led their troop down the hallways, through a series of ladders into a kitchen and then from there into a surprisingly neat, up-to-date hangar with concrete floorings. Six crafts were parked inside, tucked into the tight space like fish in a barrel.

“We have a few,” Din said. “I don’t know how many people are living here now, though.”

Given the size of the place? Maybe fifty or so, if Boba had to take a guess. There had been several sets of boots lining the wall outside the barrack doors.

Din picked his way through the crafts to two tarps covered in piles of spare, rusting, and grease-covered parts. At the end of the aisle between the tarps was a rectangle bordered by wooden benches and to the left of that was a little box that a mechanic presumably operated from. The box, however, had no windows. Its door was slightly ajar.

Din knocked and a snort and a slurp answered him.

“Jus’ a mo,” a thick voice said inside.

Fennec looked at Boba with intrigue.

“Tool gnome,” she said.

No, friend. Just a grease-monkey.

“Tool gnome,” Fennec insisted.

The door opened and a man at least six feet, two inches peered out of it.

“Tool giant,” Fennec amended in a whisper.

“Is that you, Din?” the mechanic asked. His helmet was rusty red and gray. Its visor had a yellow tint to it.

“It is,” Din said. “It’s been a while, Vok. These are my—”

“Forget them. Goran told me what you did to Razor.”

Din cringed.

“I—”

“AH. No. I don’t wanna hear it,” Vok said. “I just—I’m glad you’re safe, but you ain’t touching any more of my children, you hear me, boy?”

Din sunk into his shoulders in shame.

“I hear you,” he said.

“You’re damn right you do,” Vok said. “Man, I had a whole speech written out and shit, and here you are, early as the fuckin’ dawn. Did you miss Paz?”

“We did not,” Din said.

“I tried to have him do an inventory, I did,” Vok said sympathetically. “But he wasn’t havin’ it. Took an IOU and everything.”

Din sighed.

“Thanks for trying,” he said. “Is the forge...?”

“That way,” Vok said, gesturing to the far end of the hangar, where a series of scaffolding led up to a dark hole in the wall. “Mind your step. Stairs are next on my list. Who’re your friends?”

Din introduced them. Vok considered Fennec and after a moment of thought, saluted her. She tipped her jaw to the side and gave him a once-over.

“Din’s got my number if you’re not busy,” Vok said.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Fennec said.

“I hope you do, my darlin’. You? Boj-whatever? I heard about you. You can go fuck yourself.”

“Thanks, Vok, we’re going now,” Din intervened.

----------

Fennec said nothing on the way up the scaffolding. She didn’t need to. Boba applauded her.

---------

The forge was the least finished part of the covert, and Boba could respect the Armorer’s dedication to looking after the flock before her own needs. Not that the forge wasn’t a comfortable place. Upon entry, Bojzka whistled at all the equipment inside. There were steel beams crossing in hatches along the ceiling. It appeared as though someone was working on a ventilation mechanism up there. Ropes and pipes hung down from the beams as though a pulley system had been recently removed.

The forge itself was a huge circular structure with a high wall around its exterior. It was built of a slick-looking black material. There were three water troughs set up in a line behind it and two rudimentary wood blocks with anvils set on them. Benches littered with iron tools sat next to the anvils.

Din appeared very at home in this place, despite not having even been in it. He wove around the accoutrements of the room towards a wooden door that had been placed on hinges on the far side like an afterthought.

He knocked.

“We don’ want any,” a sleepy woman’s voice drawled.

Boba jumped as a something brushed his elbow and discovered that Karren had followed them all the way down to the forge. His soft boots had hidden his footsteps, but, like Din, he was now in a place that he knew like the back of his hand. Din grabbed the scruff of his neck as he went for the door with both hands.

“You’re supposed to be in the nursery,” Din told him. “Shoo.”

“Shimmol, Din’s home,” Karren said through the door. “Goran, Din’s home.”

Very cute. Karren wanted to be the one to shared the news. Din pulled him back as shuffling started up on the other side of the wooden door.

It opened to reveal a fluorescent pink helmet with floral patterns painted down the edges in white.

“Din?” the young woman, who could only be Shimmol, asked.

Din’s brain stuttered.

“Uh?” he said.

Shimmol’s flightsuit was once white, but it was burned and smudged to gray all over. Her heavy gloves were half-burnt on both hands, too. She surged forward into Din’s chestplate. Din hugged her back awkwardly.

“Hello, sister,” he said. “This is, uh.”

“Do you like it?” Shimmol asked, pulling away from him to touch the edges of her helmet. “I thought it was cute. Wait til you see the pauldrons. They match.”

“They’re hideous,” Karren said.

“Did anyone ask you?” Shimmol flung at him. “No, I didn’t think so. Get gone, womp-rat.”

Wow. No wonder Karren was desperate for Din’s attention.

“I’m not a womp-rat,” Karren said. “I’m a Tooka. Goran said so.”

“You know, what you actually are is a ‘nuisance,’ so it doesn’t matter what—”

“Children.”

And lo and behold. The lady herself. Gold helmet and everything.

“Din,” the Armorer said, placing a hand on Shimmol’s side to move her. “Welcome home.”

Din accepted the helmet touch with grace.

“Bojzka,” the Armorer said next. “I didn’t expect to see you in my home so soon, or at all.”

Bojzka beamed.

“You’ve grown a beard,” the Armorer noted. “It does not become you.”

Boba coughed into his elbow to hide the bark of laughter screaming to escape his throat. Fennec thumped at his back.

“Let’s move somewhere with more light,” the Armorer said. “Karren, Shimmol. You’re dismissed for the next hour. Go eat breakfast.”

“But—” Shimmol started.

“Up, up, up,” Karren chanted, getting behind her and shoving hands into the small of her back. “It’s people-time.”

“Leave it. I hate people-time,” Shimmol said. “I thrive on darkness. It sustains me better than food.”

Din looked desperately into the Armorer’s helmet. The Armorer ignored him and told Shimmol that she knew this to false and to stop whining. Upstairs, now.

The kids relented and left the forge. Din pointed after them.

“I know,” the Armorer said. “Let her work through it.”

Din pointed even more insistently.

“No, no. It’s true,” Bojzka said. “Mine went through the same thing.”

--------

The Armorer sat them all down at a ‘u’ shape of benches on the far side of the forge. She turned on some overhead lights. They lit up the forge and threw its equipment’s shadows harshly against the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” she said lightly. “It takes a long time to get to Zeffo, even in the Outer Rim.”

“It suits you,” Bojzka flirted.

“It does not,” the Armorer countered unrepentantly. “And your flattery remains aggravating.”

Bojzka didn’t seem to process the meaning behind those words, too busy he was with basking in the Armorer’s presence. She ignored him to turn to Din.

“Eegang tells me that you have been aggressive towards Bojzka, ad’ika, is this true?”

Din hunkered down into his shoulders. He didn’t want to answer. The Armorer didn’t make him.

“This is unnecessary,” she said. “Bojzka does not bother me.”

Bojzka rounded a gloating grin at Din.

“He is delusional, but I’m afraid that head trauma does this over time,” the Armorer said lightly. “There is no need to defend my honor—I’ve already had this conversation with Eegang, so know that it is not only you who I’ve spoken to about this. And Bojzka.”

“Yes, dear?” Bojzka hummed.

“I would appreciate it if you ceased in antagonizing my foundling and second.”

“I’m not trying to, Nomri.”

“I know,” the Armorer said. “And that is where I believe this tension arises from. Din, you and your advisor may leave. I’ll handle this. In future, know that it is not your place to speak on these matters in my stead, yes?”

“Yes, Goran,” Din mumbled.

The Armorer waited.

“Buir,” Din corrected.

“Thank you. The last thing I need is the Mand’alor becoming invested in old-standing relationships. You may go.”

Din stood and Boba and Fennec stood with him.

“He is not Naseem,” Din said right at the doorway.

The Armorer’s helmet turned slowly his way.

“No one will ever be Naseem,” she said. “It’s okay. Go.”

-----------

Boba need the full story on this Naseem guy approximately yesterday, but all he had at his disposal in the kitchens where he, Din, and Fennec had been banished was a collection of foundlings all staring up at their party looking guilty as hell.

In the midst of their group was a ten-year-old holding a glass jug absolutely brimming with frogs.

Boba had never seen this many foundlings together at once before, and he had to say: these traditionalists knew exactly what they were doing. There was nothing quite like a whole mass of youths to shift the mood.

The kids made a break for it.

Fennec was the fastest of all of them, but even she was not as fast as the bodies that popped their heads out of the rattling back room and launched themselves without warning over the few rows of tables set out in the main space.

Din’s covert collectively looked after the little ones, he explained when one of these bodies returned with the wrist of a shrieking Twi’lek child in their grip. The shrieking cut off when the nurse dropped down into a crouch and flattened both of the child’s hands against their helmet so that they left splotchy prints behind.

Two of the folks who filed back into the room covered in mud did not wear helmets. Din didn’t recognize them until they spoke and said their names. They’d removed their helmets back on Nevarro, apparently, and they had not to put them back on. Now, they wore veils and headscarves—neither of them comfortable with their whole heads and faces on display.

One of these was a woman named Madda. She saw Din’s helmet and froze by one of the long tables.

“Din, I’m so glad you returned,” she said with hitching breath. And then she took her newly-acquired jug of frogs and went tearing back down the hallway towards the covert’s main entrance. Din watched after her, confused.

“Is the transition difficult?” he asked one of the other Mandalorians next to him.

Their helmet showed zero emotion, and yet Boba gleaned from it everything he needed to know. He put a palm on his forehead.

“Djarin, come here,” he said.

-------------

Din chased after Madda to apologize for fucking up what was probably a years-long infatuation at this point. Fennec watched after him with a sly grin. But the Mandalorian with the flat helmet turned to Boba with far more open shoulders.

“You got through to him like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“It’s his secret talent,” Fennec told her.

“What was your name?” the Mandalorian asked.

“Boba Fett,” Boba said. “And yours?”

“Jhuvac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Boba said politely.

“Aren’t you the clone-guy?”

Welp.

“I prefer ‘Fett,’” Boba said.

“Nah, I feel that,” Jhuvac said, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. “Paz calls you the ‘clone-guy’ is all. That shit’s wild, by the way. But you can’t help your dad’s decision now can you?”

What was this? Understanding? From a traditionalist? Kryze would lose her shit.

“I can’t, although everything after that was totally me,” Boba said.

Jhuvac glanced back at him.

“Including the Solo stuff?” she asked.

Boba lifted a brow.

“Is there something you would like to know?” he asked.

“No,” Jhuvac said. “I know everything I need to. But you know what’ll make Vok’s life miserable?”

---------

The mechanic was a huge fan of Han Solo, and he had a list of reasons why Boba should cease hunting the man about as long as one of his lanky arms. He listed them out one by one in his hangar full of metal scrap. Jhuvac was very correct when she said that the mere mention of Solo meeting his maker would cause Vok immense misery. Boba could see how it could be entertaining.

Fennec made it even more entertaining by poking holes in each of Vok’s carefully laid out arguments.

He kept asking her why she was hurting him like this. Was this a domination kink?

Fennec asked him if he wanted it to be.

Vok walked it all back and told her to do her worst.

Jhuvac decided that she suddenly had other things to do and invited Boba to accompany her on these things. Boba assented and left Fennec to her business.

----------

In the end, Boba found himself outside in a group huddle with a handful of covert people, two with no helmets, watching the feud between the foundlings and the local wildlife. The covert, he learned, broadly did not like Zeffo. They hated how wet it was. They hated how cold it was. 90% of them had grown up in desert climates, the remaining 10% in ice climates.

Zeffo, as far as they were concerned, was a backwater hellhole that they’d had little choice in selecting.

“It was this or breaking up and forming two coverts,” Sotra explained, removing Mesa’s captured snail from his face area for the third time. She gave the snail to the guy next to her who got up and took it down to the edge of the nearby river. He stooped to set it in the grass, then froze in shock when a fish’s wide mouth erupted from the water and encapsulated his whole glove.

It left the glove wet and empty.

“But you didn’t want to do that?” Boba asked.

“No, if we separated, it would be Eegang at the head of the new covert,” Sotra said. “And that’s just not in the cards for us right now.”

Gotcha.

“The children didn’t want to be separated either,” one of the Mandalorians with no helmet said. “Goran gave them the option, but things were frantic, you know. They cling to each other when they’re young like this.”

More than understandably, in Boba’s humble and correct opinion.

“What do you all think of Bojzka?” Boba asked them.

“Who?”

“The bull with no helmet? Beard?” someone said.

“The one trying to court the Armorer?” Sotra asked.

Everyone clambered back onto the same page in the face of this descriptor.

“He’s supposed to be some kind of hero,” Jhuvac said. “But I dunno, man. He seems a little, uh.”

“Goran’s too good for him,” Sotra interjected simply. “Imagine stooping so low after a life of respect and service.”

“He’s not ugly,” the Mandalorian who’d lost the snail pointed out. “I’d bang him.”

“You’re not a good bar, Ban.”

“I could be.”

“You’re the lowest bar, Ban.”

“Can’t be disappointed if your expectations on the floor.”

“Go bang him for Goran then,” Jhuvac said. “I can’t tell if she thinks he’s kinda cute or if she wants to stab him in the heart.”

“For the good of the covert, I will endure this hardship,” Ban said.

He was unceremoniously yanked back down when he started to stand.

“Din mentioned some guy named ‘Naseem?’” Boba asked.

The name alone sent the group into titters.

“Naseem was so nice.”

“Naseem was great, you have no idea. So respectful.”

“He wanted to take Din on so bad, it was almost heartbreaking. He and Goran were perfect for each other. He was so happy around her; I don’t think he ever talked in front of anyone else.”

“God, when he died, I cried so hard. I cried for days.”

“Same.”

“Kind of a tough reputation to beat, then?” Boba asked.

“Oh definitely,” Jhuvac said. “I mean, there was Hajka after him, but she was just so explosive. Like, she made Goran laugh a lot, I remember that, but she was kinda awkward, too. There was a battle on her home planet and she left everyone here to defend what was left of her people.”

“Goran collects the awkward ones, they’re her favorite,” Sotra said.

“You can’t judge her, you collect Eegangs,” Ban pointed out.

“There is only one Eegang.”

“Girl, we know.”

There was a pause while Sotra handed off her child so that she could beat the shit out of Ban on the lumpy grass. Jhuvac handed Mesa over Boba’s lap to the quiet person at his right. They took the baby without question and laid him on their chest.

“Where did you grow up, Boba?” Jhuvac asked. “Sorry, Fett. Do you like Fett?”

Boba was taken aback. It had been ages since someone had called him by his first name—and a Mandalorian no less.

“Boba is fine. I grew up on Kamino,” he said.

“With a covert?”

No, no covert. No anyone, really. Boba was what people in white coats tended to call ‘under-socialized.’

“That’s sad,” Jhuvac said. “It must have been lonely.”

It was, actually. Especially after Dad had died.

“That’s so sad, I’m gonna cry,” Ban said. “Join our covert.”

All helmets and eyes rounded on Boba and he felt like his collar was suddenly digging into his neck. He shook his head.

“I’m not really a Mandalorian,” he said. “It’s not right—”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Jhuvac, let ‘im talk.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Listen, Din has ‘don’t trust people’ syndrome. If he trusts you enough to bring you with him here, then you’re Mandalorian enough for us,” Jhuvac said. “And anyways, being a Mandalorian is about what you do, not who you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re clone-guy so long as you follow the Creed in a more or less northernly direction.”

Boba stared at her and realized that everyone was staring at him again. He cleared his throat but found that he didn’t have any words trapped back there like he’d thought.

“Or easternly,” Ban offered to break the awkwardness.

There were still no words on Boba’s tongue. He struggled to say at least something.

“I—th—that’s kind of you,” he eventually managed. “I don’t think I could cut it here, but that’s really kind of you.”

The Mandalorians exchanged looks and shrugs.

“Know that the offer stands if you feel any pull towards it later,” Sotra said. “We have a number of reformed who converted and who move in and out of our covert. Not recently, but when we were children, there were more. Goran, too, was once a reformed Mandalorian.”

“My buir, too,” Jhuvac added.

“My ba-buir was reformed,” Ban said. “But she might have caused a public riot. Or two. Or three.”

“Speaking of which,” Sotra said. “Elder Fayrz has emerged from his cave.”

“I’ll get him,” Jhuvac sighed.

Boba frowned and looked from them out to the hill the foundlings had selected to gossip on. A Mandalorian in black and white with a green cape was, indeed, now kneeling among them. Every face was turned towards him in wonder.

“I’ve heard of this guy. He looks fun,” he noted.

At least one hand from every body came up to clutch at their face.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Ban said.

------

Din rejoined Boba in the midst of Elder Fayrz’s attempt to recruit him into the covert. He somehow knew Dad. That in itself was a little disarming. At first, Boba hadn’t believe that the elder was speaking the truth, but then he started up with alarmingly specific training corp numbers and mentioned off-handedly that he used to work in the corps, training kids from six to fourteen.

It made sense now why, in old age, he was considered the most dangerous person in the covert to have around the foundlings.

Grandpa was a serial spoil-er and mischief-instigator. The children saw in him everything they wanted out of life and were loathe to be separated from their most favorite old man.

Din got between him and Boba and informed the Elder that he’d just gotten married.

The Elder’s attentions went rocketing in the opposite direction. He wanted pictures, he wanted to know all about the reception, he wanted to know why Din hadn’t brought his partner home with him, what color their armor was, where they were presently based—the whole barrel of spotchka.

Boba appreciated the save.

He also appreciated the moment when the Elder fully realized that Din had, in fact, married a real jedi.

“YOU STUPID BOY.”

There it was.

The children bustled and whispered.

“This is what happens when we do not teach them to read—where is your buir? I told her, I told her that you needed more lessons. Always with the dogs, I knew it would have some effect—”

Din couldn’t even argue. He and Kryze had been over the very same deficit about sixty times. If they were lucky, Bo-Katan gave him a day or two off in between scoldings.

While the old man was outraged, Din signaled to Boba that they would be leaving soon.

--------

Bojzka joined Boba, Din, and Fennec at the ramp of their ship about ten minutes late. The Armorer personally showed him out of the covert and told him to return only if the galaxy began to collapse in on itself. She was at least cordial about it, which, in hindsight, was probably why Bojzka was having a hard time reading the glaring ‘please desist’ sign flickering over her head.

“Be safe,” she told Din while Karren made sad sounds behind her.

“Will do,” Din said. “Next time, I’ll see if Luke will come.”

“We would like to have him,” the Armorer said.

She dipped her helmet to Boba and Fennec and they returned the gesture.

“I hope you were well-received by the others,” she said. “Bojzka, good bye.”

“Talk to you later,” Bojzka hummed.

“We shall not,” the Armorer said.

---------

Back in the Dune Sea, Kryze was waiting in one of the conference rooms. Din avoided her and all her probing questions. Boba did not. He was in a sharing sort of mood and Fennec had a ‘thanks for the lay’ message to compose to Mr. Vok.

Kryze crossed her legs and gestured for him to join her at the table.

He did and crossed his legs right back.

“So?” she asked.

“Shocking peaceful,” Boba said. “Violent mostly towards their own members. Tried to recruit me at least three times.”

Kryze’s eyebrows did a little dance.

“Surprising,” she said.

“Not very,” Boba corrected. “Din is one of the more reserved members. He resembles his buir more than I expected.”

“And Bojzka?” Kryze asked.

“Soundly rejected, but somehow optimistic about it,” Boba said. “The good news is that Din’s been forbidden from trying to kill him.”

“That is good news,” Kryze agreed.

There was a long pause.

“Are you thinking about it? Joining, I mean?” Kryze asked.

“No,” Boba said, “But it is nice to occasionally be around Mandalorians who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Unicorns,” Kryze said.

“A whole covert of them,” Boba told her with a smirk. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you all.”

“I beg to differ,” Kryze said. “If the issue is resolved, then I suppose we’ll have to move back on to official business.”

That was no fun.

“Why is Fennec so smug?”

Oh, that was more fun. Sit back down, Lady. This is going to be a bawdy one.

#the mandalorian #the armorer #din djarin #boba fett #dinluke #ficlet #don't mind me I just need answers #and in their absence I make them myself

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write-ur-wrongs · 4 years

Text

Of Monsters and Men (pt. 1)

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier travel to a small seaside village after being hired to take care of a monster that has been terrorizing the villagers for months. However when they arrive, Geralt finds that the monster in question isn’t so easy to kill.

A/N: This was getting to be quite lengthy, so I decided to split it into parts. This is the story I wanted to write when I first started watching the Witcher on Netflix and I am nervous and excited to finally be sharing it here!! Like with all my fics, I try to keep my Y/N has physically non-descript as possible, she/her and vibe are the only descriptors. I’ve also not proof-read but will edit errors as I see them post post lol. I hope y’all enjoy this!! Your feedback is always welcome :’)

this is approx. 2200 words and is largely setting the scene. I expect this to story to be told in no more than 3 parts.

_________________________

When Geralt and Jaskier rode up to the quiet coastal village, they were struck by how calm and peaceful it was. The sound of waves lapping against the rocky shoreline, the rhythmic bumping of boats against the docks, and the soft clatter of driftwood windchimes melted together to create an atmosphere that soothed Jaskier to his core. He found himself gaping at the sights that surrounded him in wonder; truly taken by the way setting sun cast a golden glow on everything and painted the cloud-laced sky in rich hues of pink and orange.

“This place…” he sighed theatrically, waving his arms around, “is wonderful! Geralt are you not moved by the sight of it all? Does your soul not sing out! Oh, Geralt! Wow!”

The witcher only rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. Jaskier was always so blown away by the simplest things and it both amused and annoyed Geralt. Yes, the sky and the sea were beautiful sights, but more importantly, they were merciless vehicles of danger, death, and destruction; and Geralt knew better than to romanticize things that were, at their core, dangerous.

Sensing the bard’s eyes on him, Geralt gave him a hum of acknowledgement hoping it would be enough to satisfy Jaskier’s need for collective appreciation. It was, as he dreaded, insufficient.

“Come now, Geralt!” he enthused, “take that stick out your arse for a moment and appreciate the sights and sounds of this charming inlet! Listen to the sea! The chimes, Geralt! Listen to how the wind tickles the –”

“For fucks sake, Jaskier! It’s a fucking port city just like any other. This place is one bad storm away from being wiped out by that scenic sea of yours!”

“Yeesh,” Jaskier said letting out a low whistle. “Was it the stick in the arse bit? Too far?”

“Jask-”

“- because look, you are very stoic but – and I mean this as a compliment Geralt, so don’t get your leather in a –”

“Jaskier!” Geralt interrupted gruffly as he dismounted Roach with a huff. “Will you please shut up! Let’s just find the stables and the inn and get this over with.” Without waiting for Jaskier to catch up to him, he led his mare deeper into town.

Jaskier, refusing to let Geralt’s gruff exterior get him down, dismounted gracefully and lightly jogged to meet up with him, his lute clacking loudly against his back as he ran.

“Remind me again what dreadful little creature brings us out to this enchanting harbor?” he asked, still jogging a little to keep up with the witcher’s long strides.

“Don’t know yet.”

“Oh, ho-ho! A mystery? Always makes for a good song. What do we know so far?”

Geralt stopped and turned slightly towards the bard before speaking.

“Apparently a creature has been killing and dismembering men in town. They are being killed at all hours, bodies found in town, at sea, or out in the surrounding forests. Seems nowhere is safe.” Geralt let his cat-like eyes linger on the bard’s horrified expression for a moment before turning back and keeping on the path into town, shaking his head at Jaskier’s queasiness.

“Yeesh – Geralt! You’re not serious! Why would you bring me with you!?” Jaskier picked up the pace, suddenly wanting to be closer to his friend.

“You invited yourself,” Geralt said, trying to contain his smile, “as always.”

“Of course, I invited myself! You’re far to proud to admit you’d miss me.” Jaskier retorted. “Let’s get these horses to the stables, get rooms, and find food so that you can sort this out as quickly as inhumanly possible,” he said, speaking quickly and with a light waver, trying to pretend the quaint seaside village around him didn’t now leave him chilled to the bone.

“Hmm,” Geralt chuckled, happy to have managed to scare the bard into silence, at least for the time being.

The local pub was busier than Jaskier had expected when they rode into town. Seems the reason the village was so peaceful upon arrival was because everyone had already made their way to the bar. Fortunately, he’d managed to nab them a table by the stone fireplace; after a day of riding alongside the sea, Jaskier was desperate for a cold ale and a warm fire.

“Alrighty then, Geralt,” Jaskier said, holding his hands up to the hearth, “what have we got so far?”

“Not much,” he replied, tearing apart the loaf of bread a barmaid had brought over moments prior, “a couple people stopped me at the inn to ask me if I was here to kill the beast, but they didn’t have any information to offer besides the fact that it was a constant threat.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have more luck here – I mean look around, you’d think the whole town’s come to drink!”

“Port cities, Jask,” Geralt said, letting his gaze scan the room slowly, “the people here either spend their days at the mercy of the sea or waiting for their loved ones to come home. You drink for sorrow and for hope of a bright tomorrow.”

“That was poetic as fuck, Geralt! My influence?” he teased, shooting the witcher a cheeky grin, who merely grunted distractedly in reply.

Now ignoring his still-talking friend, Geralt’s eyes had landed on the two women working behind the bar. One was talking excitedly and kept casting quick glances toward the bard, blushing brightly when she caught his eye, while the other was watching Geralt with inquisitive eyes.

“… I tell you Geralt the more you allow yourself to – oh! Speaking of which, here come a few now!” Jaskier flourished, winking enthusiastically at the blushing barmaid who was making her way towards them sheepishly.

Geralt sat back in his chair and rolled his eyes, already tired of the flirting he was about to witness. To his surprise and great pleasure, Jaskier got up and met her halfway, leaving him in peace with his thoughts.

Having brought his attention back down to the bread before him, Geralt didn’t notice that he had company until she was right in front of him. Sensing her presence, he shot his gaze up quickly, and found her staring at his wolf medallion with a quirked brow.

“Forgive me,” she started, her deep, velvet-like voice washing over Geralt like morning sun after a cold night, “but you’re… a witcher?”

“I am,” he replied, giving her a crooked smile, his own voice, low and gravely and smooth, not going unnoticed by the woman before him. “Geralt, of Rivia.”

“Oh fuck,” she said, with a breathy sort of laugh, “so you’re not a witcher, you’re the Witcher then, aren’t you?”

Geralt let out a low and modest grunt, shaking his head at the comment. He thought himself immune to the scrutiny and awe that came with being the White Wolf, having carried the title for so long, but there was something about the way she was looking at him that left him shy.

“I’m,” he faltered needing to stop to clear his throat, having made the mistake to look her in the eyes, “just a witcher. Really.”

“Well, they don’t send you out for just anything, do they? For you to be out here in our little hamlet…” she squinted at him with a small tilt of her head, “we must be under some kind of threat. Should I be worried?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, –” he stopped, waiting for her to introduce herself.

“Y/N,” she replied quickly, offering Geralt a warm smile despite the fact that she’d just crossed her arms, “and I mean we do get the odd ruffian coming through town. They always make a mess of things, don’t they? Beyond that, well, I suppose alcohol does breed violence in some,” she gave a light, one shouldered shrug, “but that’s not the kind of crime that would reach your ears.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, taking his time to consider Y/N’s words. She seemed almost too friendly, and there was something about her that both drew him in and had him putting up his guard.

“A monster has been picking the men of the village off one by one.” Leaning back into his chair to put some distance between them. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t be aware, considering,” he nodded towards the bar, “your job here.”

“Meaning what?” she retorted, wearing a playful smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Only that you must hear a lot,” he gestured vaguely to the crowd surrounding them, “and see a lot, doing what you do. I would have expected that the disappearance and dismemberment of men in town would be something of note.”

“Well,” Y’N tsked, “I’m sorry to say that you’ve been brought out here on something of a fool’s errand. There’s no monster here; the tale of disappearing men has been told here for months. It started with a woman, too embarrassed to admit that the man who impregnated her left her overnight, telling everyone that a creature from the forest killed him. From there the story grew wilder with every retelling.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed, watching Y/N carefully with narrow eyes, “I was told dismembered body parts were turning up, consistently, after each disappearance, and that they were being identified as belonging to the latest victim. Besides, I was hired to come here. Why would someone pay me coin to rid a town of ghost?”

“People struck by tragedy will claim to see many things, Sir Geralt,” she replied softly, “not all of them will be true. A dead fish floating at sea, a creature mauled by wolves by the roads, rotten meats abandoned by vendors…” she shrugged, “the mind will twist the truth in order to bring comfort. Who hired you?”

She added that last question quickly, and Geralt could tell it was calculated. Sensing this, he only replied with a quirked brow and a tilt of his head.

Y/N betrayed no sense of frustration when she realized the Witcher wasn’t going to elaborate. Instead, her eyes softened, and she smiled at Geralt with what he perceived as pity.

“Look, the truth is that there is no monster here. Isn’t that right Thalia?”

“Sorry, what?” Thalia, who had just walked back over the Geralt’s table with a tray of ales in her hands, was breathlessly giggling at something Jaskier had whispered in her ear. As she and Jaskier placed four ales on the table, Y/N took a seat across from the Witcher and quickly explained got the two up to speed.

“Oh goodness, that! I can not believe our town’s little lore made it to your ears, Sir Geralt!” She said with wide eyes as she snuggled up next to Jaskier, clinking her tankard with his before taking a generous sip.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jaskier coughed on his ale, “you’re telling me there’s no monster here? That we might actually be able to enjoy a little rest and relaxation here without any horrible monster-killing business? Geralt this is good news!” he exclaimed, smacking his free hand on the table for emphasis.

Geralt only growled out a hum in response, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

“I’ll admit,” Thalia continued, seemingly unaware of the tension between the Witcher and her friend, “it’s scary to think about – you know, murder – but when you actually think about who disappears, it’s not difficult to see the truth.”

At this, Geralt turned his fierce gaze away from Y/N. “What do you mean, ‘who disappears’?”

“O-only that the men who leave aren’t really the type that anyone would miss.” She replied, stuttering a little against her best efforts to not recoil at Geralt’s inhuman eye-contact. “They were mean, violent types. The kind of man that would get crueler the more he drank. Just, awful, evil men, right Y/N?”

Y/N nodded quickly in agreement, taking a slow sip of her ale. “Good riddance.”

“Exactly!” Thalia agreed, clinking her glass to Y/N’s.

“Hell, I’ll drink to that,” Jaskier laughed, before picking his lute up off the floor. “What do you say ladies, a song?”

Thalia cheered loudly and encouraged the rest of the patrons to listen to the bard, letting them all know that he was in fact, the one who traveled with the great White Wolf. Jaskier was positively floating from the adoration as he danced around the pub, pulling cheers and applause after every song.

All the while, Geralt never took his eyes off of Y/N, who had retreated back to the bar after finishing her drink.

Geralt wasn’t sure what to believe. He had a strange feeling about this place from the moment he and the bard arrived, and it frustrated him to no end that even after hours in town, he was no closer to understanding the source of his discomfort. One thing was for certain, something about the story he heard here tonight did not add up, and he definitely didn’t trust its source.

Y/N was standing behind the bar washing glasses, but she wasn’t focused on the task at hand. Instead, her eyes were trained on the crowd before her. Geralt watched her as she scanned the pub with calm, slow-moving eyes that jumped from patron to patron.

The witcher was distracted for a moment when Jaskier sauntered into his sightline, singing a loud chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. Despite himself, Geralt couldn’t help but smile at the bard, whose face was flushed from the ales and the exertion.

However, as Geralt watched Jaskier twirl across the crowded pub, something in his peripheral vision made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Y/N had turned he head and was staring right at him with a pair of pitch-black eyes.

Like a shot, Geralt turned his gaze to the woman behind the bar – his heart beating loudly in his ears – only to find her smiling warmly at him, her eyes their normal shade.

Instinctively, Geralt brought his hand up to his wolf-head medallion, hoping it would signal the presence of some supernatural evil. But he felt nothing.

He didn’t know what she was, but she was not human.

#the witcher fanfiction #the witcher x reader #the witcher netflix #the witcher fandom #fanfiction requests #fanfiction #fanfic #the witcher series #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #witcher x reader #toss a coin to your witcher #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x reader #Jaskier

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fa-headhoncho · 3 years

Text

Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 5

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: i stuck at prompts so uh hoskins is the best and walker is kind of the worst and the beginning then the worst at the end :)

Word Count: 1865

Reader: Female

Warning: uhhh

Author's Note: lmk for taglist, also sorry for not updating, I've had major writer's block. also struggling with tying things together in the plot. i'd rather not post anything than regret posting something lol. PLEASE GIVE ME CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, I KNOW THERE IS STUFF WRONG, JUST TELL ME

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

=====

Waiting.

All you have left to do is wait. After letting the Flag Smashers get away, flying to Germany to infiltrate their base, and Zemo “mysteriously” breaking out of prison; you have to sit here at a random cafe and wait. Wait for a sighting or wait for the two idiots to respond to your messages.

The whole situation frustrated you. No evidence pointed to Sam and Bucky breaking Zemo out but that was enough proof for you and Walker to agree that it was them. Hoskins, on the other hand, was skeptical.

“Why would two Avengers break a criminal out of prison?” Said soldier questions from beside you. The three of you were sat outside, away from prying eyes and ears while you had a quiet meal together. It was nice to have some calm but it made you itch.

You shrug and look down at your cup of coffee, “Steve got me out of prison and I have more a wrap sheet than Zemo does.”

“Yea, but that was to save the world.” Lemar points out, giving you an exhausted look. An uncomfortable pit in your stomach forms at the mention of the first battle, the one that blipped half the world gone.

Silence falls amongst the three of you again as you all are consumed by your thoughts. A small frown appears on your face as you think back to those years ago. Natasha Romanoff, a woman you will never see again, walked into your cell with a kind smile on her face. She explained to you the circumstances and how they needed everyone they could find to defeat a titan wanting world domination.

The look on Bucky’s face seeing you in Wakanda with the blonde was nerve-wracking. He looked like he saw a ghost. It brought back memories that you knew he didn’t want to think of and you felt guilty. It was not the first time the past has blended into his present and it wasn’t going to be the last, but it was worth it.

After his initial shocked expression, he greeted you with a surprised smile. One you never saw on him during your time at Hydra with his former self. He greeted you with your alias and his smile only got larger when you corrected him with your real name.

It was a sign of a fresh start between the two of you. He stuck beside you during the whole battle, protecting you from the aliens since it was obvious you were a bit rusty. It was nice… until you lost him again.

“They were desperate.” Walker’s voice rings out from across from you, a tone of realization.

“Who?”

“The Avengers.” He clarifies making you scoff and lean back in the patio chair. “They were up against an army that they thought they defeated years ago, an alien titan threatening to take over a world they’ve been trying to protect for years. The team was split into two and they didn’t know when the other half would show up.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms in annoyance at his backhanded analysis. You were out of practice, yea, but you were useful. They couldn’t have been that desperate to recruit you. “How does that relate to now?”

Now it’s Walker’s turn to roll his eyes. “So,” He drags out then lets out a scoff, “we have no leads. We’re at a dead end and we have the government behind us. They are as desperate as we are but the only difference is that they’re freelance heroes.” He carefully explains causing you to let out a sigh. You understood what he was getting at and it made you annoyed that he was right.

“So they can blur the lines we can’t.” You reluctantly conclude, he nods and relaxes in his seat. You had to hand it to him, he was smart. His training and years of experience did him well but that didn’t relax your nerves.

Bucky was still in recovery and you didn’t know how he would react to being in Zemo’s presence let alone working with him. He’s been doing better and this plus him not going to therapy is an uncertain combo.

Walker seemed to notice you dazing off again, subtly asking Lemar to go refill their coffees. You don’t notice when the man gets up and walks off until the blonde says your name.

“Hmm?” You hum, moving to grab your cup which was no longer there. A small blush appears on your face as you realize your distraction was gone. Now you have to look at him.

“You know, my wife doesn’t like me working with you that much.” He leans back in his seat and rolls his shoulders back, looking off in the distance. “With, you know, the countless charges of treason and espionage against you.”

You let out a snort, there was a lot more than that. “Where are you going with this, Walker?”

“You said you have more a wrap sheet than Zemo does.” He simply states, eyes finally landing on you. There’s a moment of silence between you two as you try to define his words. Why was he bringing up his wife? Why did it matter that she was eerie of you?

“Yet, she knows I’ll be safe and level-headed because Hoskins is here.” He continues, “Sam is with Bucky, he’s in safe hands. If Zemo were to try anything he has Sam there to help him.”

You roll your head back and run your hands through your hair. There he goes again, thinking he knows everything and understands the situation. He continues to drone on but you stopped listening. You were proud of yourself that you kept your temper down this long, honestly, especially with your emotions right now.

You wait till he’s finished before looking back at him. He had a solemn look on his face, trying to show some sympathy and kindness but it only pissed you off further. “John, he turned him into the Winter Soldier.” Your voice was struggling to keep at an appropriate volume. “He said the words and he was gone. He still had nightmares about it to this day.

“Sam doesn’t know how to deal with the Winter Soldier. I barely do and I spent most of my life working with him. If he--”

“He’s not going to, (Y/N).” He snaps and you immediately shut up. You didn’t even realize the tears that started to pool in your eyes until you felt the wet drop roll down your cheek. He allows you to compose yourself before talking again, “My wife worries about me every day, you don’t think she’s not blowing up my phone every time she sees a newscast?

“I love her, would do anything for her. But she knows that when I see a fight, a chance to do something good or change the world for the better, that she can’t hold me back.” He passionately states as he fails from hiding his own emotions. “She still would worry even if I had...” His hands started to shake and his voice started to quiver.

It startled you, truthfully. He was allowing you to see a different side of him, the real man behind the shield. It was an odd time to get a new perspective on him but it was eye-opening nonetheless. He was opening his heart up to you as much as he probably didn’t want to, showing the same vulnerability you were.

“She supports me. She supports this crazy dream I’m living out right now and she’s there for me. You need to do the same for Bucky.” He culminates his speech just as Hoskins exits the doors of the cafe, juggling three cups and a pastry in his hands.

Walker immediately tries to relax his shoulders while you advert your eyes to the group of tourists across the street. There was a tense air between the two of you that if Hoskins noticed, he didn’t mention.

He sets the pastry down in front of you and you send him a grateful smile, a small warmth in your chest at the gesture to make you feel better. It works slightly until Walker’s words echo through your head.

=====

You let out a groan when you feel something soft wack against your face. Opening your eyes, you see black and don’t fully process what’s actually going on until the object is pulled away and replaced by a phone hovering above you.

“They’re in Latvia.” Walker’s voice rings out from beside you. Your brain finally catches up with being woken up so abruptly as you reach out and grab the phone from his hands.

Avengers Abroad. The article title readout causes you to furrow your eyebrows. Walker starts collecting your things while Hoskins stands at the doorway with two bags in his hands.

You quickly skim through the piece as the blonde aggressively throws your clothes into your duffle, “Why are they in Latvia?” You question, looking up from the phone to Walker who just ignores you. It would’ve made you laugh, seeing him pack up like a child whose mother just picked him up in the middle of a sleepover but the expression on his face was not one to mess with.

“We don’t know.” Hoskin’s soothing voice answers for him. “We need to head out immediately in case they spotted Karli, though. The most we can do right now is meet up with them and help.”

“And arrest Zemo,” Walker adds, walking out of the bathroom.

You raise your hands in exasperation, a questioning look on your face. “Weren’t you the one who was just convincing me that it was a good thing that they had Zemo with them?”

“Never said it was a good thing, just a desperate thing.” He corrects, “Now we have enough information to arrest them both for harboring a fugitive, we can take whatever information they--”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You throw your covers off and get up from the bed. You were furious that he would even utter those words, he knew they were with him and now he was just trying to corner them to make it seem like he was doing civil justice. “You just want to turn the tables to make it seem like you did all the work, you want the starlight more than you want to take down Karli.”

There’s a tense moment of silence where you and Walker just stare at each other. You could tell you struck a nerve by the way his shoulder’s squared up. It happened every time you insulted him and it was his tell to show he was trying to hold back his emotions.

“Just grab the rest of your shit and meet us in the lobby.” He demands, giving your bag a heave and throwing it at you. Luckily, your reflexes work faster than your brain does and you catch it. There’s a bit of guilt that bites at the back of your head for the low blow, especially since he gave you some good advice this morning, but you had more important matters to attend to.

_____

taglist: @crowleysqueenofhell @mischiefmanaged71 @thewinterrbucky @lizajane3 @ahahafudge @spookycereal-s @a-girl-who-loves-disney @kittengirl998 @ sebby-staan @felicityofbakerstreet @sltwins @tanyaherondale @mads-weasley @healy-facedown @bbl32 @sebby-staan

#bucky barnes x reader #tfatws #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #james barnes #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x female reader #mcu

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9layerdevilfoodcake · 3 years

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Michael Langdon x Reader - The Gaga-verse

I was doing my daily listening to Lady Gaga and got the idea of writing a series of fics (mostly one shots) based on every song off of the ‘Born This Way’ album. Some based off lyrics, some just the feelings the song gives me. This is what I’m thinking so far

Marry The Night: By the title alone I feel like this has to be a vampire!Michael fic. Very “The Only Lovers Left Alive” style.

Born This Way: I’d love to break down Michael’s character and see what about him comes from nature and what’s from nurture, and see how the reader can learn to love the parts of him he can’t control.

Judas: I want to explore the idea of Michael finding his own Apostles and when/where he would find them. Here I think the reader would be his truest confidant and the only one to love him before his father. Alternatively I’d love to write a little ‘Master and Margarita’ thing but I think that’s a little too much to take on for a one shot.

Hair: Fun and silly/stupid one shot about going to the hair salon with Michael before the apocalypse and picking a style for the New World (yes he will try raccoon highlights). -I’m also obsessed with making it canon that Outpost!Michael is wearing a wig, so I’m tempted to make that a reality here lol

Scheiße: I don’t know what it’s going to be, but I’m thinking it’s gonna involve speaking in tongues for a hot sec lol

Bloody Mary: There are almost too many places this could go. Right now I’m thinking maybe a revenge fic. “I won’t cry for you, I won’t crucify the things you do”

Bad Kids: I’m not sure the plot for this yet but I know it just screams grunge!Michael. I also feel like this could work into a plot I’ve thought about where you and your family are the “new owners” of Murder House, and having a messed up version of a meet cute when Michael tries to kill you.

Highway Unicorn (Road to Love): I’m thinking it follows Michael and you in parallel as you question yourselves and where/what you should do, maybe an overlap in sojourn (but I also could see this taking place post apocalypse as a 'Mad Max’ type of journey). All climaxing around “Get your hot rods ready to rumble 'Cause we're gonna fall in love tonight”

Electric Chapel: (This is the one that started the whole thought process, so I have most of it plotted out already) I'm thinking a forbidden romance between Hawthorne!Michael and witch!reader. Starting out being told through secret meetups at an abandoned church. I can’t even narrow down a couple lyrics for examples because they all just give me so many ideas.

The Queen: Pretty self explanatory I think. What it would be like to rule the New World (or alternatively Hell) by Michael’s side

Yoü And I: Starts with Michael coming to find you after the Apocalypse “it’s been two years since I let you go” and then most is him reminiscing on your relationship and what he’s been doing while he waited to reunite with you. Think “Sit back down on the couch where we made love the first time and you said to me” and “I couldn’t listen to a joke or a Rock and Roll”

The Edge of Glory: I’m thinking tragic romance, maybe some star crossed lovers

Black Jesus + Amen Fashion & Fashion of His Love:

These two I’m not sure about. Mostly because I already have some plans for quotes from these in “I Hope They Serve Looks In Hell”

Americano, Government Hooker & Heavy Metal Lover- still not sure yet, open to any and all ideas

In hopes of giving myself some forceful motivation I’m not going to start these until I finish this next chapter of HelloGoodbye, since I keep promising it’ll be done soon. I also wanna do a little more research since I know a couple of these concepts have similar themes to ones already written and I want to make sure I don’t step on any toes of writers before me. But I wanted to put these ideas out there. So if anyone had any good ideas for the songs I don’t have plans for yet and want to share you’re thoughts with me please do! (also while I’m here, thank you to all the people who said such nice things about my other writings, be that messages, comments, or tags. You all have been so kind to me and kept me so inspired!!)

#michael langdon x reader #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon

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wickedobsessed101 · 3 years

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Fanfic Writer Asks

[SOURCE: criminal-minds-fanfiction: Most of the writer ask posts I come across are only like ten or so questions long so I thought I’d try to make a longer one because we like talking about our writing! Feel free to reblog!]

I’m answering all of these b/c I love Q & A’s about my writing, both for my fics and other things.

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction? It was 2013, so I was 14 years old. I’m now almost 23.

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one? I’m mostly in the Wicked Musical fandom, but I like to read for other fandoms, like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Chronicles of Narnia, ect.

3) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer. OCs, but I’m more than willing to create an OC for someone based on characteristics they give me.

4) What is your favourite genre to write for? I love me some fluffy romance and hurt/comfort, but I also love some angsty drama.

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi-chaptered stories, which would it be and why? OMG, don’t make me choose! They’re all my babies! I love all my children equally! They all hold special places in my heart.

6) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why? Goodness, most of my stories prior to 2017, because I was in high school and had no idea what I was doing because I was just getting my feet wet with writing.

7) When is your preferred time to write? Anytime really. The latest I’ve stayed up writing a fic was 4AM. *Glares at ‘Threads of Truth’*

8) Where do you take your inspiration from? Where ever it happens to come up. I’m not picky. Movies, music, people I’ve seen on the street, random thoughts that enter my head, anything.

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote? In ‘Threads of Truth’, it’s a tie between Villy’s first date, and an argument that happens in an upcoming chapter. And that’s all I’m saying about that.

10) In your xxx fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind? In ‘Play The Game’, I liked the epilogue ending that I gave Elphaba with her family, even without Fiyero. I like writing her with kids. Another ending would be with the Fiyeraba still together, but I’m satisfied with the ending it has.

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it? I’ll go back and fix typos that are pointed out, but I don’t change plot stuff. Like, I wrote what I wrote and I will amend my technique in future stories.

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why? Other than my OCs, because I get to fully create them and my lowkey babies, I’d have to say G(a)linda. She has so much potential and she’s so much fun.

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why? Boq. Not because I hate him (I don’t!), but because I don’t normally know what to do with him. If he’s not with Nessa, he’s literally just standing there like a brick wall. No offence, Boq!

14) How did you come up with the title for the xxx? - You can ask about multiple stories. [Ask me about a specific story(ies)]

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names? I usually change consonants and vowels to already existing names, or add unnecessary letters because... reasons.

16) How did you come up with the idea for xxx? [Ask me about a specific story]

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on. “Hopefully, this will soak up any more leaks.” (Upcoming Wicked fanfic)

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them? Yes, 2. Both of them are a few years old and I’ve grown as a writer since then. Maybe one day, I’ll edit them and repost, but not anytime soon.

19) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to? Not everything can have a sequel, y’all! XD

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently? Yes! Around 60% of them.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire? @vinkunwildflowerqueen @raven-curls @mylittleelphie @weaselspeedfanfic Ultimate Queen of Cliffies

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it? This goes back to Question #6; most of what I posted prior to 2017.

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence? Silence. I need to focus.

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes? I can’t write it. They’ll make out, and then be pregnant in the next chapter. Y’all can do the math for yourselves.

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story? YES! Yes, I have! Both sad tears and tears of joy. I’ve also cringed from second-hand embarrassment at the things the characters do and say. I’m not in control of their actions all the time. Sometimes they tell me what they’re gonna do, and I’m like, “Well, alright, then.”

26) Which part of your xxx fic was the hardest to write? [Ask me about a specific story]

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow? I write bullet points of things I want to happen in a chapter on the Word Doc, or in the story as a whole, and I try to keep those bullet points in order. And the Notes App on my phone holds a lot of my ideas, and sometimes full scenes.

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction? That I’d become obsessed with writing and continue doing it for almost ten years, as well as expanding to writing plays and musicals.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like? Yeah. I’m not gonna say which one, but just know there’s one... or a few.

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at? Yes, and I’m still not gonna say which one(s). I want all the love!

31) Send me a fic recommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to send the rec, not the answerer) Yeah, sure!

32) Are any of your characters based on real people? Yes. Villy Doiir from ‘Threads of Truth’ is based on 4 people I know in real life, all mixed together into one wholesome, mother figure/ mentor. Perhaps that’s why I like writing her so much.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten? All reviews keep me going, no matter the length. But I love it when people review saying that they picked up on little references that were really just for me. It makes me feel like we’ve shared a moment.

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten? A guest reviewer once said, “You tend to write Fiyero as an abusive person”. It wasn’t harsh, just... NOT TRUE. Especially for the story they were reviewing.

35) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest? Close to my chest. I’ll share it with the world when I’m ready.

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s? NOPE! You’ll just have to wait and see! LOL!

37) What’s the funniest story you’ve written? I... really don’t know. My stories all have their funny moments.

38) If you could collab with any other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspire some collabs!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it. I’m very busy, and collabs aren’t really my thing, but I’m always willing to lend an extra pair of eyes pre-posting.

39) Do you prefer first, second or third person? I’ve written one story in the first person and it was fun to get into the character’s head, but I love third person, cause I like knowing what everyone is thinking. Second person makes me feel a certain way and that don’t really like.

40) Do people know you write fanfiction? IRL, no. It’s not something I bring up over dinner. I’ll talk about my plays and musicals, but not fanfiction. I like keeping my fics for the online peeps and my more personal writings for the RL peeps.

41) What’s you favourite minor character you’ve written? My OC, Princess Hannalyn, from ‘A Royal Romance’. She was so much fun!

42) Song fic - What made you decide to use the song xxx for xxx. I haven’t done a song fic.

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it? Not fully, but they’ve had little inklings, but certain details were still a surprise. And I’m not mad about it.

44) What is the last line you wrote? “I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.”

45) What spurs you on during the writing process? When I’ll have one idea, and it spirals into many others, and when the characters write themselves. It makes it so much easier for me. Sometimes they tell me that they’re about to make a bad decision, and I just go along with it. They need to learn and grow somehow.

46) I really loved your xxx fic. If you were ever to do a sequel, what do you think might happen in it? [Ask me for a specific story]

47) Here’s a fic title - insert a made up title. What would this story be about? [Ask me]

48) What’s your favourite trope to write? I love a good Royalty AU (not fully AU ‘cause of our princey-prince, but still) and Holiday AUs. And I’ve never written a Coffeeshop AU, but I LOVE reading them. I’ll read anything. I’m not picky, and I love to see what ideas others have.

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about? Yes, and both of them were Gelphies: 1 - “Easier Said Than Done” by mecelphie - It’s part of a long, wonderful series of Elphaba and Glinda together at Shiz and how their lives evolve together and has many lovable OCs. 2 - “The Thropp Diaries” by denpa wave chick saki - It’s first-person Elphaba POV of the book. It expands on lots of mentioned moments and we get to journey through Elphaba’s thoughts.

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why? I’d have to say fluff, so I can get my escape from reality. But it’s hard to write pure fluff without a little bit of conflict.

If you wanna read my stories, they’re all right here: Fae’sFlower

#wicked the musical #wicked #wicked fanfiction #fiyeraba fanfic #faesflower #Q & A #Fiyeraba #gelphie #Elphaba #Fiyero #Glinda #Galinda #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction.net #let me tell you about my writing and my stories #writer #Q & A with Nia

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arch-venus25 · 4 years

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The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go...

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

“Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

“Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

“So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

“Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

“And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister—Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

“Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

“I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

“Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

“Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

“Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

“Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

“If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

“But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

“You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

For better or worse, they were sisters.

Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

“Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

“Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

“John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

“Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

“Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

“Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

“So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

“Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

“Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

“How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

“Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

“Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you! I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn

#landlord vampire fic frenzy #twinning vs vamps #arch-venus25 writes

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fandom-blackhole · 4 years

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Hayloft- Ezra x Reader

AN: hahahahahahah hello.....So I know that have have shit I was supposed to write but life has taken every bit of creativity from me so I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually write those. So I am sorry if you have been waiting forever for me to post a story. I’ve also made the decision to close my requests indefinitely unless I change my mind because I just don’t do well with them, sorry. BUT, I struck gold and got the idea for this fic and before I lost the inspo I wrote like a mad man all yesterday! So I do hope you enjoy! And yes, I did get the idea while listening to Hayloft by Mother Mother

Also this is going to be a two part story, I am currently working on the second part and it should be posted tomorrow morning most likely. And I made a playlist, if you’d like to listen to it (I am open to song suggestions to be added!)

Ao3 Link

Masterlist

Words: 3.1k (this a beast for me lol)

Warnings?: not really, AFAB reader, mentions of a stroke, Ezra’s charm (that needs a warning), bad poetry formatting (sorry tumblr destroyed how I had it in my Doc)

The itchy scratchy feeling of the hay digging through my nightwear was worth every uncomfortable second if it meant I could continue to sit here and listen to the man across from me, with his eyes that held galaxies and voice the carried the lilt of the most wonderful song, with that unplaceable accent. He was worth being tired in the morning from staying up all night up here in the loft of my family’s small barn. He was worth all the sneaking around and small meaningful glances sent each other’s way when no one else was paying attention, the brushing of hands when handing something to the other. I wouldn’t change anything about this unless it meant the small glances or the gentle brushing against each other didn’t have to be hidden from the others, if it meant that I could just be with the hypnotic man across from me with his hair as dark as the freshly tilled ground at the being of a harvest minus that one soft looking patch as white as a newly hatched chick’s down and a smile so crooked and white that it felt almost as if he was casting a spell over my very heart and soul. He was worth the pain of picking hay from my hair and clothes in the morning when I have to sneak back into the farmhouse, while already missing the touch of his rough and calloused but gentle hand. It was all worth every bit as long as he helped me forget everything just for the time being.

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Living on K-5 was rather simple. The planet was neither big nor small and it was known for its fertile soil that could grow just about any plant whether it was native to the world or not and once one harvest season had finished the other started as the weather always was spring-like with perfect growing conditions. Not many came to stay and those who did worked their entire life in planets many fields of harvest. To the few that actually knew the name of the forgettable planet called it the bread box of the known universe. Though the planet was known to very few people throughout space, the planet’s harvests could be found on just about any other planet or moon feeding just about everyone.

The farmers of K-5 were known to have bigger families on the premise of needing hands to work the land for food of their own and for money. The farmers also knew that most of their children would leave the planet and look for better elsewhere, and would hope beyond hope that at least one of their children would settle on the sad planet and continue working their farm. Though if luck would have it there might come a ship every so often with people willing to lend hands and work the land if they were compensated well enough. Most that came were floaters looking for something to do in between prospecting jobs, others were looking for a quiet place to finally settle after a long life.

My father had been one of 12 brothers and he was the only one to stay and take over the meager farmer his father and his father’s father had set up on a small corner of the planet. My father never really talked about his siblings, only ever calling them stupid for leaving the haven that was K-5 for a world they had no place to be in. My mother had been brought here by her mother, who had been a floater. They had made acquaintances with a farmer a town or so over and had lived there as farmhands as that family’s children started dwindling as they left. I have been told that my mother had a fire to her that no other on the planet had, that she was a woman of grace and humility, which is rare in space these days, something I was told I inherited though I’m not so sure I believe. We were a small family, I had two older brothers, twins identical in only their looks. Joshua, a dreamer as my father put it spitefully saying he inherited that from our mother, while his brother Anthony took after our father with his pessimistic view of everything including the world outside of our farm and K-5. I always counted Joshua lucky, he was able to sneak out of our small farmhouse late one night only leaving a note on my bedside table saying goodbye as he left one of the few ships to land on our soil. Father always resented me much like he did Joshua for multiple reasons, one of them being that it was the reason mother had passed, as Anthony informed me one night when asked, another reason being that I supposedly looked like a carbon copy of her, as I was told by the few farmers that remembered her, and lastly and most importantly was my fascination with the outside world. He hated that “Joshua did nothing but fill your head with fantasies.” He hated that because of our small family we needed all the farmhands we could get and that I would always sit with them listening to anything they would tell me, though few would say much as the floaters tended to be a quiet breed, preferring to keep to themselves.

In our town, the floaters and drifters were usually pointed to our farm when looking for work and usually met with my father before I ever had a chance to meet them, most ignoring me throughout their short stay, anyway. If we were lucky we would get one or two by the time harvesting or planting time had come around and they were always roomed in Joshua’s old room, now cramped from shoving multiple cots into the room rather than one small bed. The room was furthest from mine, which made it hard to sneak into to and talk with those who were willing to feed my curiosities. Having been caught and reprimanded enough times by both father and Anthony I had to learn how to be light-footed and sneak around unseen, though I believe that after awhile Anthony has given up on trying to ‘knock some sense’ into me and just doesn’t try anymore.

Life was the same for me day in and day out nothing much changing other than the faces and names of the floaters staying on our humble farm. Excitement in our corner of space was far and few between, leading me to seek it out through any means possible, and more often than not it was the few books I was able to get my hands on them being rare as they were, were exceptionally hard to find new stories. Though luck would have it, I was able to get my hands on three battered books whose covers were so worn and dirtied over the years that any image or words depicted were hardly seen. Of everything on my solemn planet, these were what kept me sane, even if I had read and reread each dozens of times. Though their covers were faded, the titles were imprinted in my mind. I treasured my well-loved copies of Pride and Prejudice, The Hobbit, and Frankenstein and kept them close to my heart while also hiding them from my father for fear of how he’d react to them. Though I love every book I owned, it was the newest in my collection that meant the most to me, for it was the first thing that brought the man I long for and I together, a rather small but thick copy of a collection of poems and stories written by Edgar Allen Poe.

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Waking up on Saturdays were the only time when I didn’t mind having to roll out of bed and deal with the early hour chill. Saturdays were the days that I got sent to town to collect groceries and odds and ends for the farm from the weekend markets. Father learned early on that I had the same touch as my mother when I came to finding the best bargains and deals, so he began sending me in his stead while he and Anthony ran other errands or helped the current farmhands do morning chores.

This Saturday wasn’t much different, upon waking and changing into the day’s clothes, I pulled my hair out of my face before stepping out of my room to head to the kitchen to find the list of what was needed on the counter along with the money needed. As usual, I went through my Saturday routine of making a thermos of coffee before pocketing the money and grabbing my bag. I slip my thermos into the side pocket of the bag as I slip the strap over my shoulder, before grabbing the list and scanning the contents as I walked to where my boots were stored next to the door. While glancing through the list, I started to slide my boots on before stopping. In a small section at the bottom were a few items that were reserved only for the few saturdays that the supply ship stopped in our area of the planet, which was very rare if ever. The supply ships were sent to the planet every couple of months with limited supplies and it landed in certain areas to sell what ever cargo it had brought, only to leave when empty. Only the ships usually were emptied after the first two or three stops and this area was usually one of the last stops, making the ships rare and highly sought after in the area. So the fact that our area was finally getting a ship after almost a year and a half without one was a huge deal. A rather large part of me hoped that there would be floaters on the ship willing to be hired out for farm work, especially since the lack of a ship has made my small family have to tend our meager fame with only the three of us because of the lack of farmhands.

Upon arrival, the town was already bustling with life. Quickening my pace, I went to the center of the town where the new supplies always were held, and upon arriving I made quick work of crossing off everything on the list in hopes of having time to browse for myself. Luck seemed to have shown mercy down on me today as everyone I talked to was fair in prices and after crossing the last item off the long list I still had enough money to buy something for myself and give father change without him being any wiser. Smiling I chatted with a few townspeople and other farmers as I browsed the market, and as I came to the last stall I had yet to look in the market. Having near given up and about to turn from the stall, my eye caught something that had fallen from the makeshift table. Upon picking it up I nearly cried with joy having found what I could only hope to be the next tattered book to add to my collection. Flipping the book over in my hands and flipping through the pages my smile grew as I called the seller over. We haggled the price for a couple of minutes before he accepted my offer with a murmur and taking the money and while turning to begin my journey back to the farm I heard my name being called a couple of stalls over. Looking up, I smiled politely when I noticed it was Mrs.Robertson, taking a deep breath and sighing it back out before making my way slowly over to where she stood.

Mrs.Robertson was a stout woman that had a smile that never seemed to leave her face. She was a lovely woman whose lemon pound cake was well-known amongst the area’s farmers and always had a warm cup of tea and an open ear for whoever walked through her kitchen door, even after her stroke that took all mobility in her left arm. While I have always enjoyed her company, especially as a child when I was longing for a mother figure, recently talking with her always ended with her trying to push her oldest son and I together. Her oldest and youngest sons were the only two of her five children to stay on the planet, and while her youngest had already married and had a couple of children, her oldest didn’t seem to have interest in doing the same, even if she swears that he infatuated with me. Father continuously tells me that he thinks the marriage would be a good idea, even as I tell him it wouldn’t work between the two of us.

So as I walk over to her and give her a hug in greeting I prepare myself for another attempt at matchmaking. Instead after parting from the one-handed hug, she had given me she motioned over her shoulder to a man who was standing there with a crooked smile that seemed to hold every last bit of charm left in the universe, and Mrs. Robertson, without missing a beat spoke up, “I was just explaining to this lovely newcomer that your father is always looking for new people to help with the farm and was just about to point him in your farm’s direction when I noticed you,” as Mrs.Robertson continued to rattle on I took the chance to glance back to the man behind her, only to find that his woefully dark eyes were still watching me with more mirth than I had seen in years. Looking back to Mrs.Robertson quickly hoping that no redness would grace my cheeks, though I knew it was there anyway. She quickly stepped aside and motioned to me introducing me before the man, if at all possible, smiled wider and stuck out his hand introducing himself as Ezra. As I stuck out my hand to shake his I opened my mouth to give him a polite reply only to be shocked into silence when instead of shaking my offered hand he raised it to his shining smile and graced the back of my hand with a kiss. Now I was absolutely certain that there was red dancing across my cheeks, if not my ears as well. Not able to take returning the gaze the man, I know knew to be Ezra, seemed to be piercing my very soul with I turned to Mrs.Robertson, thanking her and wishing her well before turning to Ezra who was still watching me and giving him a shy smile and tilting my head in a motion as to say ‘follow me’.

Ezra seemed to be quiet as we walked throughout the town head back towards the farm, though that might have been because the small talk and greetings that were being thrown my way from those from the area that I was friendly with. When we finally broke from the town and the only sound was the dwindling chatter of the market and buzzing of the local wildlife. Though I was startled to a stop from the previous silence by the man as he spoke melodically and seemingly wit purpose,

“In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed; But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him, with a ray Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream, that holy dream, While all the world was chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night, So trembled from afar― What could there be more purely bright In Truth’s day-star?”

Having turned to face the man confused, but noticing he was looking towards the sky with a smile, though one smaller than the one he was sporting when you both had made your introductions with each other, this one seeming more blissful rather than purposefully charming. It was only now though that I noticed the absence of his right arm as his left was moved to his face to shield his eyes from the ever glowing sun. Turning his head back to look at me, his smiled widened again before noticing my slight confusion.

“Sorry flower but I couldn’t help but to notice the collection of stories and poems in your hand there, and thought to quote a poem by our dear morose friend Poe. I find his works to be a tad too depressing for my likes but somethings just stick with your very person,” Ezra drawled before sticking his hand out, “May I?”

Unable to really respond as I was still in slight shock I was only able to nod and pass the book over. Where upon gracing his fingers Ezra was able to skillfully thrumb through the book, mumbling quietly to himself with a smile, “It has been quite sometime since I have been able to visit our friend Poe here or any of my other long dead friends I’m afraid,” he paused for only a moment sticking the tip of his tongue between his lips before giving a small quiet winning cry, “ Ah hah! Here you go, ‘A Dream’ by the one and only Edgar Allan Poe.”

Handing the book back with it open on a specific page and there it was, the poem in which he had just quoted in full. Smiling down at the page, before looking back at him with a somewhat astonished look I dog eared the page before sliding it into the bottom of my bag, “No one else around here really reads anymore. At this point I thought I was the last one in the universe to do so. It….it would be nice to actually talk about reading with someone, though regretfully I just met Poe today so we are not quite as well acquainted as you two seem to be,” looking back up with a smirk and remembering my thermos I grab it out of my bag before lifting it up in offering. “Coffee? Its not quite hot anymore but it is probably still warm.”

With his ever wide smile, Ezra stepped up next to me as I slid my bag back into place and gave a small polite nod, “I would love to do nothing more than share what I am sure is the perfect brew with you, darling flower.”

(If you want to be tagged in part two, let me know in my inbox! Also if enough people are interested I am thinking about opening my inbox to talk and expand on this world I’ve created? Anyways I hope you enjoyed! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated!! Much love and Happy 2021!)

(Also if you figured out what I based the planet I created off of please tell me, I’d like to see obvious I made it lol. And if you’d like a hint it’s in the USA)

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra (prospect) x you #Pedro Pascal #Prospect #ezra x female reader #the second part may have a little spice #considering the song i based this off of #but not alot bc i have found I suck at smut #but it might be hinted at or briefly described?#anyway i am kinda happy to be back writing wise #ive missed this

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

Text

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Five:Sensory Integration 1

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: A Friday full of teasing for Shane ends in a steak dinner with a blue-eyed beefcake. If you don’t finish this chapter hungry for one or the other, if not both, I haven’t done my job! Lol! (For inspo on Sy’s date outfit, think back to that one Men’s Health photoshoot Hen did and just imagine his hair shorter. That’s what I did. lol!)

Click me to catch up on the story and other stuff by Hannah!

Word Count: 4k (This date got away from me! Lol! And it’s only half over!)

Warnings: Mostly this is utter fluffy fluff, but I’m gonna put the following warnings on, anyway. Language, mature themes, alcohol consumption, borderline food worship (Shane may have a problem, I definitely do! Lol!) Also, pretty much every Sy fic I’ve read says that his given name is Logan, so...should his given name be used henceforth, that’s what I’m going with because it seems the most cannon and I like it and if it’s good enough for Wolverine...

Author’s Note: So, guys, this is crazy. First off, the reaction and love Sy and Shane’s story has been getting has taken me completely off guard and utterly made my day/week. (I’m serious. Every note makes my heart do a happy dance. A like, a reblog, a comment. It all means the world to me. Thank you for your feedback and for sharing this story.) Second, YOUR FEEDBACK MATTERS TO ME! Because initially, idk what I was thinking. I was going to skim over their first date and like…not write it…and I kept getting notes as I worked on further chapters to the tune of “can’t wait for this date!” and I thought…hmm…well, the date must be written! So, here it is, the first half-ish, of Shane and Sy’s first date. I hope it’s all you were expecting…or at least half of all you were expecting! Lol! More to come in part two of Sens Integ! (BTW, fun fact, these chapter titles are all named after treatments that therapists actually use on their patients sometimes! Lol!)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira @oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland @speakerforthedead0@tumblnewby @suavechops

Friday morning. She was up with the sun. And a bit before, really. Today was the day. Her first date with Sy. She’d taken extra care in the shower, less clumsy, thank God! She shaved her legs because she had chosen to wear a knee-length blue dress with a scoop neck and cap sleeves in wrinkle-proof Jersey knit since it would be in her tote bag all day. She was not shaving because she thought anything would happen tonight with Sy. She didn’t think she was ready.

That is, she was ready, but, only physically. Emotionally, mentally, she would need to prepare for him a bit longer before taking him as a lover. She hoped he was on the same page.

He had an appointment in the early afternoon. He greeted her with his warm “Hello, sunshine.” Following it up by telling her how pretty she looked today, causing blush to burn in her cheeks. She’d reciprocated, even though he was in his typical tee and shorts look. It was still true. They got on their usual bikes to warm up for about 15 minutes, and then took to the leg press to try to advance his strengthening.

“I’m really proud of your progress! You wouldn’t have been able to do this much weight two weeks ago!” She encouraged him.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Now, we are going to do some drills next. Simple ones, but they aren’t going to be fun for you. I’ve chosen to do them on your last day of the week for a reason. You may be sore. Ice and whatever you take OTC if you must. Ibuprofen or acetaminophen. But try the ice first. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Okay.” He conceded, dejected.

“Stretching afterward.” She promised.

“Okay!” He pepped up. She knew he just loved an excuse to have her hands on him.

Later, as he lay on the mat, sweaty from the exertion of the drills, with her up there with him having to use her whole body to leverage the proper stretch out of his hip flexors, she felt the heavy weight of his gaze. She tried to look anywhere but those sapphire eyes below her. They were too vulnerable. She couldn’t handle that right now. Not here.

“Shane?” Dammit, he was gonna make her.

“Hmm?” She looked down at him, smile meeting smile.

“I just…” he couldn’t seem to get out the words. But she thought she understood what he was feeling.

“I know, Sy. I know.” She gently patted his outer thigh where she had been bracing her hand for the stretch, and let his leg back down, while dismounting the mat, as well.

“Well, that’s about the hour. Any questions before I let you go?”

“Are you as excited for tonight as I am?” He asked. She chuckled. She couldn’t imagine him being more excited than she was!

“Yes! Hehe! But I still kinda meant about therapy, Sy.”

“Oh, right. Are you excited to finish up with your therapy patients at therapy today so I can pick you up from the therapy clinic and take you on our date?”

“Just because you say therapy 20 times doesn’t make it about therapy.” She laughed.

“Okay, I do have a question for you, since I’m here.”

“Shoot.” She encouraged.

He stood and held her face, taking it into a kiss so devastatingly and painfully tender, she could not process what to do next. She was leaning toward fainting. But then tackling him onto the mat again seemed an attractive option. She settled for placing her hands on his waist, ready to control the situation as need arose. But after a brief moment of slight deepening, he broke away, still holding her face in his large strong hands.

“Ahem. That’s a good question. Why don’t I have you a reply later this evening?”

“Sounds good to me, sunshine.” He grinned widely, and waved a quiet goodby to her.

She walked to the doorway of the small room to watch him walk out…his gait still uneven from his injury but improving enough that she could tell he once took very…confident strides. She could almost picture it. She sighed, forgetting herself for a moment until Anita came up behind her walking her elderly patient with a gait belt and front wheeled walker.

"Is that a bit of drool on your chin, Shane?" she said quietly, but still startling the younger therapist from her reverie.

"Oh, uh, hey." she checked her chin, absentmindedly, late in getting the joke, and rolled her eyes. "Funny, Nita. Do you need anything?"

"Nope, Gladys and I are just headed to the gym for a few minutes on the NuStep to round out her treatment." Nita grinned at Shane.

"Who was that handsome young man that just left, Shane?" Gladys asked her, as women of her…demographic tended to do.

"He's just one of our patient's Miss Gladys. But I can't tell you his name. It's against the privacy policy." She explained.

"Oh, okay. Well, if I was a few years younger, I'd let ya give him MY name…and my telephone number." she smirked with pride in herself. All three ladies giggled.

"I'm pretty sure he's spoken for, Gladys." Anita broke the news to her randy patient, smirking at her coworker.

"Shame! Well, that's one lucky young lady!" Gladys hobbled on with the walker as Anita cued her not to let the device get too far ahead of her feet. Shane was beet red from the whole interaction. At least she wouldn't have to wear blush tonight.

Her day finally finished, notes done, and final communications sent, the most important (in her opinion, probably not her employer's) message of them all was next. The text to Sy that he could head toward the clinic to pick her up.

She touched up her eye makeup, applied another coat of mascara, and dabbed on some of her favorite lipstick in a deep red that complimented her skin tone. She also spritzed on a bit of her favorite Armani perfume before slipping on her dress and black ballet flats and sliding on a pair of simple hoop earrings. She'd had her hair pulled up all day in a clip, so it should be pleasantly wavy when she took it down…and with a bit of flipping, shaking out, and finger diffusing, it was.

She looked in the mirror. She was ready.

Was she ready? She examined herself in the full length mirror in the empty locker room at the clinic. The dress and the shoes suddenly seemed all wrong, both together and as individual pieces for the occasion. She looked great, it wasn't that…but…was it right for tonight? Should she cancel? Was she being ridiculous? Clearly she was, as she'd already sent the message telling Sy he could come get her. But the closer she got to being ready to go, the less ready she felt. Those butterflies were suddenly clawing at her esophagus, disrupting the bile in her stomach, and threatening to choke off her air supply. They were no longer pleasantly fluttering. She felt like she had a boot against her windpipe.

She was snapped out of the panic attack when she heard her phone go off. A message from Sy.

Your chariot, m'lady. Should I come in and get ya?

She grinned like a lunatic. How could she have considered calling tonight off?

Nay, m'lord, verily the gates be locked. I shall use the rear exit and meet thee around yonder forsooth.

Wow, you ran with that one. *laughing in tears emoji*

I have that tendency. Lol. *monocle wearing emoji*

She grabbed her bags, walked out the back door, and tossed the one that wasn't her purse into her vehicle, which was parked nearby and walked around to the front. He was standing on the sidewalk near that edge of the building.

The sun was just setting, and the light from it hit him so bewitchingly that it took away her breath. Not in the frightening way of the panic attack she'd just had, but in the nice way, like right before you surface from a deep dive and you know the sweet relief of oxygen is imminent. She assessed his ensemble with approval. Black books, sleek dark blue jeans, and a sapphire v-neck polo that even in the low light of near dusk made his blue eyes dance with vibrant intensity against his fading tan. His hair was starting to grow out ever so slightly, but it was still very close cropped. His beard, she could tell, had been finely groomed, combed, and styled. He looked…well, she'd never looked up the word "handsome" in the dictionary, but she imagined it would describe the image before her quite succinctly. And alternatively, Sy's image could be used as an illustration in the reference book, itself.

The best part, though, was the look on his face when he saw her.

She felt like he'd never properly looked at her, perhaps. Maybe he wasn't expecting a dress, or loose hair, or red lips. Or maybe it was a combo of the whole Date Shane package he was seeing before him. As his eyes beheld her, he almost looked confused. As if she was a stand-in. Or maybe an alien. Some body-snatcher. Only he wasn't frightened. She was having a hard time working out his expression as she'd really never seen it before, and particularly, never aimed in her direction. He said one word.

"Wow." It was reverent. Not a whisper. But barely a decibel above.

Again, her cheeks required no artificial pigmentation.

"Hey. You look…you certainly scrub up good, mister." she giggled nervously, feeling immensely awkward at her inability to properly compliment the chiseled image of Adonis before her. His every muscle hugged to perfection by the fabric covering it. How did you even begin to tell such perfection how perfect it was?

"You…Shane, I don't remember the last time I saw anyone look so beautiful." he frowned, as if trying to recall, then giving up with a smile, and leaning in to kiss her cheek. He lingered a moment to hug her, hold her as the day faded, breathe her in. She did the same. He was freshly showered and wearing cologne, as he often did, but it rarely hit her so solidly as it did tonight. She loved this scent. Woody, but earthy, with notes of bergamot, a kind of musky scent similar to amber, but more masculine, and something spicy that she loved. The combination exploded like an olfactory fireworks display.

The shirt was an unthinkably soft cotton (blended she thought perhaps with kitten, she could not stop touching it.) and the warmth of him radiated into her as his chest rose and fell over the course of his numerous breaths as they stood there holding each other and enjoying this feast for the senses.

"You ready for supper?" he asked, a faint but distinct rumble from his abdomen indicating that he most certainly was.

"Yes." she smiled up at him as he took her hand in his and led her to his truck. A Ford F150, the same sapphire blue as his shirt and his eyes. She was sensing a pattern, here. It wasn't the newest vehicle, but he had taken immaculate care of it. She felt shame for her own treatment of her Explorer, Bessie, which often functioned as storage shed, trash can, and sometimes, hotel, when she felt like a road trip on a shoestring budget. He walked her to the passenger side, opened the door for her, and helped her in, as the truck sat a bit higher than what she was used to.

"So, I have us a table saved at this great steakhouse just down the road. And then, it's supposed to be a nice night, I thought we could take a walk by the lake?"

It sounded perfect to her. Quiet and simple.

"Amazing. As long as your knee is up for a walk?"

"I've got all weekend to rest before getting tortured again." he smirked at her as he pulled the truck out of the parking lot and on the main road toward the interstate. "B'sides, who better to have with me if I start hurtin' than my PT?"

The emphasis he placed on the possessive pronoun, claiming her as HIS PT sent a delighted shiver through her that she blamed on the AC, which he promptly turned down.

He had his Spotify shuffling Kings of Leon at a low volume as they conversed lightly and pleasantly. Since it was an earlier model, even well equipped as it was, it wasn't quite ready for auxiliary or Bluetooth sound, so he'd bought one of those radio receivers that tune into an unused frequency and connect to your phone or iPod. She'd retrofitted her 2003 Ford Explorer in a similar fashion.

They were both caught a bit off guard when "Sex on Fire" came on, and tried valiantly to keep talking. But it was hard to hear anything but those lyrics. Singing of exhibitionism and dangerous sex acts that were definitely moving violations…and simply the sex being on fire. She was thankful, for once, that this song that she'd always found catchy without paying much attention to the actual lyrics, was now fading into the night as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

She remembered to wait for him to get the door for her, even though it had been ages since she'd been on a date or had any kind of romance whatsoever. He helped her down from her perch, giving her a gentlemanly moment to adjust her skirt before taking her hand and leading her into the building.

He opened the door and led her in by that lumbar lordosis that made everyone tremble and swoon. She was no exception just because she knew that part of your back was not actually called "the small" and she got perturbed when she heard it referred to as such.

"Welcome to Mark's, how can we help you?" the host greeted warmly.

"Reservation for Syverson." Sy piped up. She was used to being the voice in these situations. She was thankful not to have to for once. It was a small thing, but it was still nice.

"Right this way, folks." he grabbed two large menus, a mid sized one, and a small one, and led them to a cozy but still spacious two-top in a quiet corner of the dining area. The warm light was low and ambient, and there were real kerosene lamps on the tables, which she loved. It had the rustic ambiance of a cabin with all the refinement of any four+ star restaurant she'd ever been to. Not that she'd been to many.

"Here you are, the table you requested, and your menus. Have a look at them, and Katie will be out soon to answer questions and take your orders."

As he walked away, Sy pulled her chair out for her, and aided her sitting. His gentility was so refreshing to her, because it was so sincere and kind, and in no way oppressive or domineering, as some men seemed to use such gestures. Wielding them like a club rather than a feather. She was just used to seeing a certain side of him, teasing and silly as he was in therapy that this side of Captain Syverson, or as she may end up calling him one day, Logan, his given first name, if it pleased him, had taken her off guard.

"Nice place." she approved, looking around at he exposed beams of the ceiling and the iron and copper chandeliers and light fixtures on the wall. She also noticed quite curiously a copy of American Gothic by Grant Wood on one wall and The Kiss by Gustav Klimt on another. Such different styles to be displayed in one room. She really liked it though.

"It's one of my favorites. I try to come in every couple weeks or so." The fact that he liked steak on the regular was definitely a point in his favor. She loved it but rarely went out for it on her own. Eating out alone wasn't so bad, but it was hard to enjoy a steak dinner by one's self.

"What's your favorite cut?"

"Oh, I've tried most of them, and you can't go wrong." He assured her.

They had a crazy selection. Ribeyes, filets, sirloins, prime rib, all seasoned, smoked, topped and wrapped in every way you could imagine…it was like staring at the Netflix menu of steak. And much like she tended to do with Netflix, she relied on a classic favorite. After all, who goes for an obscure choice their first time at a new steak house?

"I'm keeping it simple and going for their prime rib and a baked potato."

"Ah, that's a perfect choice. We're getting some of their lobster mac and cheese to start, though. Unless you're allergic or something?" he added the disclaimer when he saw her eyes widen.

"Not at all, that sounds…"she was thinking "sexual," but decided instead on "heavenly."

Soon, Katie, a peppy, slender young redhead in black jeans she'd been poured into and a white T-shirt she had outgrown some time ago, descended upon their table with gusto.

"Howdy, I'm Katie and I get to take care of you fine folks this evening. What drinks and appetizers can I start y'all off with?"

Sy looked at Shane to prompt her to start.

"Sweet tea?" she half stated, half inquired. Katie nodded and jotted.

"Sure thing! Sir?" she thought her eyes sparkled when she looked at Sy…she couldn't blame her. But…she thought she could take her if she tried anything. She was certain there was a very sharp knife in the black napkin set-up at her right hand.

"Same for me, Katie. And we are also gonna need an order of your lobster mac to start and a bottle of your house cab."

"Fantastic. I'll be right back with the teas and wine after I put in for the lobster mac for ya, and then I'll take your meal order." she smiled brightly. Sy looked at Shane, though, as he replied "Wonderful."

~~~~~~~

Her instincts about the lobster mac and cheese had been spot on. She couldn’t contain her yummy noises of enjoyment which amused Sy to no end. She couldn’t imagine the steak any better.

About that, she had been completely wrong. It was so succulent, tender, and flavorful, she debated on whether or not the provided au jus and horseradish were even needed. They were also too good to resist, though.

Her potato, twice baked to the perfect tenderness had a salt brined skin, and a garlicky butter that just sung with the sour cream and chives. She was in food heaven, and even if that meant she was dead, it was fine.

He’d ordered the same entrée as she had, but took his baked potato…a bit differently.

“You don’t like sour cream?” She asked, nonplussed.

“Nah, I mean, I can eat it, but…it feels weird in my mouth. I prefer the au jus and butter, instead. It’s much more tasty.” He said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” She laughed.

“You’re welcome to try mine when I get it all doctored you how I like it!”

She did, right from his fork. And he was right about it being so flavorful, but she preferred the mild, creamier texture of her own side with the savory notes of her steak.

They ate and enjoyed each other’s company and conversation.

“Ya know, Sy, I totally had you pegged as a beer man, instead of a wine guy.” She said, as she brought her own glass of the deep red liquid to her mouth and nose, inhaling the bouquet before she took her sip.

“Normally, you’d be right. With a burger, pizza, sometimes tacos or what not, definitely. But I can’t do beer with steak. It’s gotta be wine. Red. And full-bodied.” He held her gaze as he drank from his own glass. Why did he have to look at her like that when he said those kinds of words? Her cheeks were warm from more than the booze.

For desert, they shared a decadent marbled brownie/blondie a la mode. He’d had the idea to slide his chair so he was sharing a corner of the table with her, rather than looking across it at her. Purely so they didn’t have to keep sliding the dessert…not so their knees would brush against one another now and then, or so they could feel the heat radiating from one another’s bodies…but actually, exactly for those reasons.

“Last bite is to you, Sy.” She set her fork down, full to bursting.

“Are you kiddin’? My mama’d tan my hide if she knew I took the last bite from my date.”

“You’re being gallant, actually! Rescuing me from a certain belly ache.” She patted her small but slightly rounded tummy. She did like her food, and was no gym rat, after all. He didn't seemed to mind. Yet.

“How 'bout we share the last bite?” He suggested.

“Technically that’s not physically possible. Becau…”

He interrupted what was going to be an intellectual explanation of why no matter how small you cut up a bite, the remaining bit was still technically one bite, and couldn’t be shared.

“No. Shh. I know you’re smart. You got nothin’ to prove here. I’m gonna cut what’s left in half until I get a bite you’re willing to take. Okay?” She nodded.

He only had to take the fork to it twice before she conceded, also letting him feed her, feigning paralysis from the food coma. She held the fork tightly between her lips, making him work to pull it from her mouth. She looked innocent, but she was an intentional little shit.

“You're so cute when you eat.”

“Said no one ever!” She held her hand over her face.

“You are, though. You enjoy the food. Experience it. It’s like you’re…getting a story from it, or something. Like it’s…almost like it’s entertaining you, I don’t know. It’s just…beautiful.” He leaned his elbow onto the table, supporting his head in his hand as he looked at her.

"Well, sometimes I think I like food a little TOO much for my own good." she lamented, reaching for the cabernet only to have it snatched by her date. He uncorked it and dispensed a generous pour for her, and topped off his own glass, killing the bottle.

"No such thing. Like I said about the wine, full bodied is the way to go. Nothin' wrong with a little cushion." he winked at her. She could not resist finishing a rhyme she'd always heard about the desirability of curvy girls…for the pushin,' and hoped the flush in her cheeks from the wine was enough to disguise the deepening color from the current blush she was feeling thinking of Sy…pushin' her cushions…but something tipped him off to her distraction.

"What's on yer mind, sunshine?"

"I'm wondering if you're prepared to carry me on this walk we're planning, actually." It was possible to think more than one thing, after all. "I don't know how I'll ever even walk again."

"Ah, give it fifteen minutes. Finish up your sweet tea, and by the time we're done with our walk, you'll want an ice cream cone."

"Ha, doubtful." But she was ashamed to admit, ice cream already didn't sound bad. Vanilla…maybe pistachio….no, coffee! In a waffle cone…with fudge drizzle…and almonds…maybe she had a problem.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded. He flagged down Katie and gave her cash, and what one might call a benevolent tip. They left the warm steakhouse, and entered the breezy late summer evening, the humid air seeming thick with promises.

Up Next: Chapter Six-Sensory Integration 2

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