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jpdoingwords · 8 months

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The Hand You Hold

Just finished editing this short for my collection. Kinda like it so thought, why not share early?

[I've changed the title of the collection too - it's now Becoming Something Else. Hopefully for the last time lol]

~~~

How to describe Melda?

I think I have to start with her mum. Everyone called her Mata, and she was a bonafide hippy, a painter and genuinely strange person. She had a habit of staring at herself in the mirror for long stretches of time – even when they had visitors.

She said, when I first went to their place and saw her doing that, that she was an artist ‘searching for her deepest soul’. Melda had just rolled her eyes. Not surprisingly, Melda too was unconventional, and we had an unconventional friendship: we didn't make a lot of demands on each other. Even if I'd been keen to be in her pocket, I'd have had no chance.

She was always busy. She loved sports, watched pretty much all of them, and played many. She took salsa lessons once a week, went swimming every day at the local pool, and did Tai Kwon Do as well; somehow, she squeezed all this around studying full time. I have no idea how she did it.

She was a total extrovert. She could, and did, talk to anyone and everyone. She could never just stand in line for the bus, or walk through the checkouts at Woolies; she had to have a conversation with anyone who made eye contact, whether they wanted to talk to her or not. A remarkable number of people would start off surly but end up chatting happily to her anyway; and everyone remembered her, even the checkout chicks, who saw a thousand faces a day. Back then, I never stopped being amazed by the things she remembered about these virtual strangers. If they had kids, she knew how old it or they were, their names and birthdays; ditto for their dogs; if they'd crashed their car, moved house, got married, engaged, had a birthday, changed jobs. Anything and everything.

In stark contrast, I rarely left my room, except to attend lectures and tutorials, and to eat in the central café. I often wondered why Melda bothered with me, after we met in class during our first semester. She’d just chosen me, and I went along with it.

It was a hot, summer afternoon at my study desk when I remembered that I was supposed to be meeting her at the campus Tavern. I wished I hadn't agreed to go, but it was too late to back out by then, so I reluctantly left my air-conditioned room and hurried across the burning tarmac towards the shade of the trees in the main quadrangle.

Aside from hating the heat, I was also keeping a low profile because one of the girls who lived in the same block as me, Amy, was on my case about donating to the 'campus social fund.' She liked to say that the proceeds were used to pay guest lecturers to speak and such; but I knew it mostly financed student parties. I'd never been to one of those parties and had no intention of ever going, so I saw no reason why I should feel obligated to donate. Amy fervently disagreed with my stance. As I made it to the relative safety of the trees, I saw Melda through the window of the Tavern. She waved, but even at that distance I could see that she was unhappy about something. I went in and took a seat across from her. She had a drink ready for me, which she slid across the table. She was already halfway through her own. 'What is it?' 'John.' That was her long-term boyfriend. 'What's happened?' 'He's been weird the last few days – kinda distant. I asked him what’s wrong, and he said that he feels like an accessory in my life. I told him that’s not true, but he says he feels like he never sees me, and when he does, I’m always distracted.' I understood his position to some extent. Though her unavailability had never bothered me, if I'd been a different kind of person, I could see how that might bother someone. I didn't say that though. 'But you guys go on date nights all the time?' 'Not enough, apparently. We were meant to be going to the cricket on Saturday, just to watch his old team play, but now he says he's not going. I suppose I have to give it a miss, too.' 'Why?' 'He’s made me feel like shit about it.' She sighed. ‘It’s annoying. I wanted to catch up with the girls while I was there.’ I felt bad for her. It wasn’t her fault that she was who she was, and I thought that John was an asshole for making her feel that way. She didn’t choose to be outgoing, that was just how she was made.

I didn’t say that either, though; instead, I suggested, 'I could go with you, if you like?' She stared at me. 'Really? You'll hate it.' 'I'll take a book.' 'You never know - you might get into it,' she said optimistically. That idea was ridiculous, but I'd committed to going, so I tried muster some enthusiasm. 'I have no idea how cricket works.' Melda smiled. 'I'll explain everything. Another drink?' 'Sure,' I said, just glad that she’d cheered up.

***

When Saturday arrived, I prised my eyes open at eleven. I was looking forward to spending the day in bed, and maybe doing a little work on an essay in the afternoon if I could be bothered, but of course – I was going to the cricket. I groaned.

I really didn't want to, but I knew better than to say so to Melda when she arrived. Even if I hadn't thought it was shitty to be a flake, she'd never have let me get away with it, anyway.

Melda had a dodgy old car which ran on prayers and the smell of an oily rag. It made a weird and probably dangerous thumping sound when it reached speeds above eighty. The car was as much a part of our friendship as if it was sedentary.

That morning I wished it really was alive; then it could’ve escorted my overly upbeat friend to the cricket without me.

I was relieved when we reached the ground and I found an area of lawn beneath huge eucalypts where I could stretch out on the grass.

For the first couple of hours of the game, I paid very little attention to the cricket, but eventually, I put the book down and sat up, stretching my back.

I'd have laid back down again, but I was distracted by a situation near the clubhouse. A girl, who was perhaps eighteen but probably younger, very made-up and very confident, was flirting outrageously with a guy who at a glance I took to be at least a few years older than her. They were far enough away that I couldn’t hear what was being said, but he was looking away from her, scowling.

Behind her back, and facing me at an angle, there were three guys who were also watching what was going on. Two of them were laughing between themselves, while the third was slowly shaking his head, his face serious. He must’ve sensed me looking, because he turned and caught my eye. I flushed in embarrassment and snapped my attention back to the field, mortified. When I looked back again, the whole tableaux had shifted, and the serious guy was gone.

I sighed without realising I’d done it, and Melda, who’d been chatting with one of the women behind us, asked, ‘Are you bored?' 'No,’ I said reassuringly.

She gave me a suspicious look. 'I'm watching you.' I snorted. 'Well, that'll bore you.' I allowed my eyes to wander – I wasn’t looking for the guy, I swear, but I found him anyway. He was standing on the boundary line, so I had a chance to get a decent look at him then.

He was dressed in whites, with a bat in one hand and his helmet in the other – padded up, as Melda would say. He was tall, broad shouldered and slim, blonde with a bit of stubble on his face. Good-looking, in my opinion. A few minutes later, one of the batsmen already on the field was caught out, and he took to the field. I didn't do anything that I thought was obvious, besides actually watching the game for the five minutes he was playing, before he too got caught out. As he walked off the field and disappeared into the changerooms, I settled back and took up my book. I'd just opened it when Melda said knowingly, 'Ahh, I see.' I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

'What?' 'You were checking out Maddox.' 'Mad Ox? Interesting nickname.' 'That's his surname,' she said, spelling it out, before adding, 'He's the team hottie. I was tempted myself, before John; but he has a long-term girlfriend.' She gave me a mock-evil smile. 'I'll introduce you, if you want?' I scoffed. 'Don't you dare.' Melda chuckled before turning back to the woman she'd been speaking to, leaving me to my book.

***

One afternoon a few weeks later, I set out for the city centre. I was in particular need of new music which, in the days before the push of a button delivered every conceivable song to your mobile devices, entailed an expedition. I had wide ranging taste, and I could never get what I was looking for at the local shopping centre. There was one particular store in the CBD where everyone went. They had almost any album you could imagine. I was standing on the platform at the traino, oblivious to everything beyond the book I was reading, when someone put their hands on my shoulders from behind.

I spun around, prepared to use the self-defence moves I'd been taught in a one-day course back in high school, but thankfully it was just Melda. 'You're a prime target for a mugging.' 'I worry that you've thought about that,' I said lightly as I slipped my book into my bag. 'Well, if all goes to wrack and ruin, it's good to have a backup plan.' She grinned before adding, 'What are you doing anyway, other than reading Eliot?' 'Going into the city for new tunes.' 'Nice. I've got to buy a dress for a wedding I'm going to. I'll come with you, if you'll come and offer an opinion on the dress?' 'I don't know how useful I'll be, but sure. Why not?' She asked, 'What's on your wish list?' 'I've been searching for a CD copy of that Eartha Kitt record I have for ages without any luck; and I could always do with more Talking Heads… but maybe something completely different – techno, or hip hop. There’re a few options.' She smiled. 'It's good to keep it diverse.'

The store was in one of the pedestrian malls, and filled three storeys. We stepped off the escalator on the second floor, where I made a beeline towards easy listening and was soon up to my elbows in Frank Sinatra and Roy Orbison. I was reading the track listing of a CD when a voice caught my attention.

Glancing up then swiftly down again, I saw Maddox was in the alternative section, with a girl who I assumed was his girlfriend. She was pretty, with one of those faces that I’ve always thought of as kind – gentle lines, an easy smile. A minute later, Melda came over to me.

'Have you found it?' 'Nah – but look who's here.' I nodded in their direction. She grinned and ducked around the racks, heading for where they were standing. 'Hey Maddox!' He looked over, and for a moment I saw him hesitate, before saying coolly, 'Melda. How's things?' ‘Aw yeah, all good,’ before adding, ‘Hi, Susie.' She said, ‘Hey,’ quietly.

Meanwhile, I was sidling off towards the dance section, further away, hoping Melda would forget I was there, but no such luck.

'Hey Deanna - come here a minute.' I was tempted to pretend I couldn't hear her, but I resigned myself. She would just pursue me across the store if I did – it’d happened before. When I reached them, Melda said to Maddox, 'This is Deanna. She's my friend from uni.' Maddox smiled at me.

'Hey Deanna. We've met before, haven't we?' Up close, I saw that his eyes were very green. I had to remind myself to look respectfully. I shook my head, feeling shy. 'I was at the cricket a few weeks back, though.'

'That’s right. You witnessed Dan Michaels getting flirted at.' There was something about him that made me relax. I guess it was just that he was so casual, and it was contagious. I shook my head a little.

'He looked so awkward about it, I felt sorry for him. And those other two, just laughing about it.' I shook my head again. He replied seriously, ‘That girl’s only sixteen you know. Same age as my sister. I’ve tried to tell her it’s not a good look, but she keeps coming back regardless.’ He paused before saying, ‘This is Susie by the way - my girlfriend.’ He glanced at Melda as he said it.

‘Good to meet you,’ I said to Susie.

She smiled back. ‘You too.’

Maddox asked me, 'What did you think of the game, though?' 'I can’t lie - I’m not into sports. I had no clue what was going on.'

Melda had been remarkably quiet; I looked at her to back me up, and found she’d zoned out, staring into space. She snapped out of it when I looked at her though, and put on an easy smile.

‘She’s not lying. I explained the rules, but she didn’t take any of them in.’ That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t argue.

Maddox chuckled as he looked back at me.

'You seriously never played cricket? Not even in school?' 'Hell, no. I'd rather be reading.'

Susie smiled. ‘I’m just the same. Only fools run around for “fun” in the middle of summer.’

‘Exactly,’ I agreed with a chuckle.

Susie turned to Maddox. ‘We should really get going. Mum’ll be waiting.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ He said cheerfully to me, ‘Good meeting you, Deanna.’ Almost as an afterthought, he added, ‘Seeya, Melda.’ We said goodbye, and I turned back to the racks of CDs.

To my surprise, the copy of Eartha Kitt I’d been looking for was right there – in the wrong section and all. I picked it up, and held it up. 'My luck’s in!' That’s when I noticed she was looking at me with slightly narrowed eyes. 'What?' 'What the hell was that? Or should I say, who the hell was that?' Puzzled, I said, 'I don't know what you mean?' 'Yes, you do! I've known you for two years, and never - not once - have you spoken to a male, of any description.' ‘That’s not true,’ I said, offended. ‘I talk to people in my classes all the time.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You know what I mean – one’s that you think are attractive.’

‘Even if that was true, which it’s not, it’s not like they start conversations with me, either.' Her tone irritated me, and I thought uncharitably that she only believed that because I couldn’t get a word in edge-ways when she was around.

I went to pay, setting the CD on the counter. Melda followed, saying, ‘'What happened at the cricket that you didn't tell me about?' The clerk serving me caught my eye as I gave her the cash, then looked at Melda and back again as she handed me the change with a sympathetic look.

I rolled my eyes, then thanked her as she handed me the bag. Once we were outside, I said, 'I was just watching some guy getting hit on by a young girl, and in the background two of his mates were ripping the piss. You know I'm a people watcher. Maddox saw me looking.' I felt resentful having to explain this. Everything felt out of kilter suddenly. ‘It was nothing,’ I said, drawing a line under it.

She accepted that, and we talked about other stuff, but I could tell that something about all that annoyed her.

***

March arrived, and the days slowly became less offensively toasty. Melda had got over whatever it was that’d made her so sulky with me, though it'd taken far longer than I’d expected. I had asked her what it was that’d been bothering her, but she'd just brushed me off, saying she was just feeling moody. That was plausible, because sometimes she’d been like that in the past, but… it didn’t feel the same.

The truth was, something had shifted between us, but neither of us wanted to admit it or try to figure out what it was, so we ignored it; but she was cooler towards me, and I wasn’t as trusting as I’d been. We saw each other less.

It was Thursday, and I'd just left a lecture. There'd been a rain shower while I’d been indoors, so I threw off my shoes and walked on the grass in the quadrangle, enjoying the rainy grass on my feet. Melda found me like that, enjoying the moment. 'What are you doing?' I looked up without hurry, smiling.

'What does it look like?' 'Well, I know what you're doing, but why are you doing it?' 'Your Mata told me it's called earthing. It’s good for the soul.' She just looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I smiled, just happy to be alive. There was no real reason - sometimes the universe is just like that; it grants me – and I’m sure, everyone else too – these moments of joy for no other reason than that I exist. I thought that the effort to explain that would probably destroy the feeling though, so I ignored her pointed look. She settled onto a bench nearby, pulled a sandwich out of her bag and began eating it, while I continued to walk and smile to myself.

When the sandwich was gone, and I'd had enough of getting my wet feet, she asked, 'Do you feel like going for a walk? I'm going to see John – my next class isn't for a couple of hours.' John worked at an office fifteen minutes' drive from the uni, and she knew I had no classes that afternoon. 'I’d never walk that far, even if I'd just won the lottery and I had to so I could claim the cash.' Melda chuckled.

'I was going to drive down to the park and walk from there. That way I'll get my workout in without going swimming this arvo. John says he wants to take me to the movies.' 'OK, I'll come. No canoodling in front of me, though.' She shook her head with a faint smile. 'I promise.'

We met John outside his office, and while they talked, I went across the street to a café – well, I say they talked, but from what I could see through the window, John ate, while Melda did all the talking. As I drank a coffee, I was thinking disconsolately about the essay I had waiting for me back in my room. It was grim: thirty thousand words on Joyce’s Ulysses - gods.

Eventually I zoned out, looking unseeingly at two men on scaffolding above. They were cleaning the windows of the multi-storey building which stood at right angles to the cafe. I couldn’t see their faces through the distortions of the glass, but one of them was older and bald, the other was younger and blonde; both of them seemed to be completely unconcerned about the height at which they were working.

I couldn't even imagine climbing that high, never mind moving around while I was up there like it was nothing at all. The first gust of wind and I'd be clinging to the railing for dear life - crying, probably. Melda and John had stood up, presumably saying goodbye, so I went to wait for Melda on the sidewalk. 'Deanna?' The voice came from above, and looking up, I saw that the blonde window washer was Maddox. 'Are you stalking me?' The words were out before I thought them through, and I flushed. He just laughed though, and shimmied down the ladder.

I shook my head, and he raised an eyebrow at me. 'I don't like heights,' I explained while I pretended I wasn’t flushing. 'You get used to it,' he said. 'What are you doing here?' I pointed across the road, where John had already moved halfway into the building, while Melda went on talking. John’s arms were crossed firmly. He wasn’t smiling. 'Waiting on the lovebirds,' I said dryly. He looked, pondered them a moment, then said, ‘I think she said you go to the same uni?' 'That's right.' 'One of my mates goes there,' he said. 'He’s studying engineering.' 'Oh, he's one of those.’ He laughed. 'He really is. What are you doing?' 'Arts, English major.' I know I didn’t sound very enthusiastic - the spectre of that Joyce essay was looming over me. He didn’t notice though. Melda was preparing to cross the road and he began moving away.

'I better go. We do this building every Thursday, and the owners are tyrants about quick completion.' He smiled, gesturing up to where the older man was leaning against the railing looking down at them impatiently. 'He'll be on my case as it is. It was good seeing you.' I smiled back. ‘Good to...’

Melda had reached us, and talked over me. 'I didn't expect to see you here, Maddox.' He'd already begun climbing the ladder, and said over his shoulder without turning back, 'Gotta go where the work takes me.'

Melda and I went back in the direction of the park, and we hadn't got very far before she said with a certain brittleness in her voice, 'Must be your lucky day, bumping into Prince Charming again.' I searched her face, wondering where the attitude was coming from. I put it down to the conversation she'd just had with her boyfriend. 'What's going on? John looked a bit sulky.' She said dismissively, 'John's fine. He's just having a moment.' ‘A moment?’

‘Reckons he heard some bullshit rumour about me. I put his mind at ease.’

‘What rumour?’

‘Oh,’ she waved a hand dismissively. ‘The usual thing where I talk to a guy, and onlookers just assume I’m hitting on them so they go tell John I’m cheating, or trying to. You know how it goes.’

It hadn’t happened since we’d been friends, but perhaps it had before we met.

‘Who are you supposed to be cheating with?’

She waved the hand again. ‘Oh, just some guy. You don’t know him.’

She began talking about something else then, and I let it go. She’d tell me if she wanted to. I wasn’t one to push for confidences.

***

I went back to the café the next Thursday, telling myself it had nothing to do with Maddox, but of course it did.

As I walked towards the café from the bus-stop, I anxiously asked myself what I was doing, and the honest answer was that I didn’t know.

Yes, he was attractive, but from what I’d seen of him, he also seemed like a nice person – and at least half my interest was simple curiosity about who he was.

Perhaps I was wrong to act as I did, but at the time, it seemed right.

When Maddox and the older guy had finished work, and the scaf was back on the truck, he came in to buy himself a coffee. He said hi then loitered casually near my table while he waited for his order to be prepared.

He thankfully acted as though he didn't realise I'd come to see him, though of course, he must've known; and afterwards, I realised that he'd probably deliberately mentioned that he’d be there so I’d come back. 'This your new local?' I shrugged, and was about to reply when I saw the old guy drive away in the scaf truck. 'I hope you weren't expecting a ride?' He glanced where I pointed and smiled absently. 'Nah, one of the boys in picking me up to take me to training.’ He hesitated before saying, ‘We had a corker of a wind-up on Saturday. I expected to see you there.' He avoided looking at me as he said it. I could feel my neck and ears turning red, but I said as coolly as I could muster, 'I don't go to those kinds of things – not my cup of tea. I'm sure Melda was in fine form, though.'

'Yeah, you could say that.' He paused, hesitating. ‘She had quite a lot to say about you.' That surprised me. 'She did?' He nodded. The barista called his name then, and he went to collect his coffee before coming back. He pulled out the chair opposite mine, and perched on the edge, like he was ready to spring away at any moment. It must be quite a thing to be that athletic, I thought abstractly. 'What did she say?' I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, but I think I probably sounded anxious. I certainly felt anxious. 'I know she’s your friend, but I don't like back-stabbing, and the things she said about you...’ He grunted in annoyance, pressing the coffee type tabs in on his cup, one after the other. 'She’s a piece of work.’ I'd been watching him warily. I wondered whether I really wanted to hear whatever he was going to say. I had no way of knowing whether it would be true or not; but I decided that I should hear him out. 'What did she say?' I repeated, sounding more apprehensive than before. He took a deep breath.

'She said you're super weird – needy and a bit desperate. She warned me away from you, said I could do better.' He shook his head, muttering, ‘As if she knows anything about me.’ I felt the words like a punch to the chest. She'd called me weird to my face before, but always in a playful way, so I’d thought she was only joking. The desperate and needy really hurt though, because it simply wasn’t true; but it wasn’t a struggle to imagine her saying it – and who knew how much more there’d been, knowing what she was like when she’d been drinking. Into the weighted silence, I said, 'You said she was warning you away from me? Why?' He was still looking down at his cup. 'I asked.'

‘You… oh.’ My face was burning. 'But you have a girlfriend…?’

He interrupted, catching my eye a moment as he said, ‘Had.’ He looked at the cup again.

I couldn’t stop myself asking, ‘What happened?'

He shook his head slowly.

'Has Melda ever told you about me and her?' 'No, not really.' She'd only mentioned that she'd found him hot before she got with John, but I wasn't going to say that to his face. 'Why am I not surprised?' He took a drink before continuing. ‘Ever since she’s been around, she’s tried it on with me. At first, she was dating a friend of mine, Pete - that’s how she got involved with the club in the first place. She used to hit on me openly, in front of him, then when he’d get pissed off, she’d say she was only joking.’ He shook his head, looking out the window. ‘I’ve knocked her back at least a dozen times, I reckon. She really only backed off when Susie came into the picture.’ He looked at me then. ‘Last month, after I saw you guys in the city, that Saturday, she came to the club and had another crack.’ I frowned. 'Another crack?’ 'Got drunk and was all over me, even though Susie was there, and she lost it. Melda and her had a bit of a scuffle.' He sighed, and added, ‘Things between Susie and I were going badly anyway. This was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.’ Leaning back in my chair, I let out a long breath.

I wanted to believe he was lying, but I didn’t. It fit too well with what I did know. She usually told me when she’d been to the club - the fact that she hadn’t mentioned it at all was telling. Then there’d been that ‘rumour’ that’d upset John, which she’d brushed off; and other smaller hints, too… Her moodiness and coolness towards me in the previous months felt like the final seal on what was probably the truth. He was watching my face closely, and when I met his eye, he looked like he was about to say something; but the door opened then, and glancing up, he recognised the guy that'd come in. He stood, and pushed his chair in.

'Here's Pauly. I better go.' He hesitated a moment longer. 'Sorry to tell you all this.'

'It’s better that I know,' I said reassuringly, even though I felt sick. 'Even if it sucks.' He rested a warm hand on my shoulder, pausing a moment before asking tentatively, 'I'll see you around?'

Even with such a lot of difficult thoughts whirring in my brain, I had butterflies at the question, the slightly anxious smile. I smiled back.

‘Same time, same place?’

‘Alright.’

After he was gone, I sat for a long time staring at my fingers curled around the cup in front of me, trying to process everything. I felt devastatingly hurt. I’d been more open with Melda than I was with most people. She understood me, or I’d believed she did – but I’d clearly been wrong. That she’d tried to sabotage the potential relationship out of sheer jealousy was breathtaking in its cruelty. If she’d talked to me about her feelings towards Maddox, I’d have respected them; but the way she’d acted, the things she’d said… I simply couldn’t forgive it.

Still, a part of me insisted I seek out confirmation that what he’d said was true, beyond his words and my own thoughts. So I waited, and left the café in time to intercept John as he left his work.

***

I was in my room working on the final draft of that wretched Joyce essay a couple of days later when there was a knock on my door. I recognised Melda’s knock. She'd tried to call twice, but I hadn’t answered. What was there to say? She said jokingly, 'I know you're in there. I can hear your music.' I didn't answer. 'I'm starting to think you're avoiding me. I know I've been a moody bitch lately, but you know how I am.' 'Do I really, Melda?' 'Are you having an existential crisis in there? Do we need to get you to the Tavern and out of your own head?' 'Nope. I’m perfectly fine,' I replied. It was only a half-lie. 'Are you going to open the door, or are you going to make me stand out here all afternoon?' 'If you want to stand out there all day, that's your business.' She finally twigged that I was serious. I could hear the frown in her voice. 'What's going on?' 'You tell me. Have you got something to say to me?' 'No.’ 'Yeah – it is easier to say things behind my back instead, isn’t it? Then you can just go on pretending we're friends to my face.' There was a pause before she asked, 'Who have you been talking to?’

I closed my eyes for a moment. It was an admission.

She continued, ‘I suppose it’s Maddox. So much for sisters before misters.’

‘How dare you say that to me when your knives are still in my back?’

I could hear the eyeroll in her voice.

‘Stop being so melodramatic. I never said anything about you.’

‘So when he asked you about me, you just said nothing? Righto. That sounds just like you.’

‘You know I meant I haven’t said anything negative. I only told him good things – he just hates me, so he’s twisted it around, hoping you’ll hate me, too.’

‘Interesting way to get with someone you like – break up one of her friendships first. Quite the opening salvo.’

That prodded at her jealousy, as I’d suspected it would. The brittleness was back in her voice.

‘Says a lot for the person he is, doesn’t it? That he’d just lie to get what he wants.’

I sighed. ‘It would – if he’d lied; but John confirmed what he told me. I suppose he hates you too, does he?’

There was a lengthy silence. She must’ve known the jig was up. When she spoke again, her voice was flat.

‘So – what. We aren’t friends anymore?’

‘No,’ I confirmed.

She said with derision, ‘I don’t need you anyway.’

At some point, when I made no reply, she walked away; though I didn’t hear her go.

~~~

Contents page of the Collection

#jpdoingwords #BecomingSomethingElse #short story #original fiction #contemporary fiction #failing friendships #the title is from an Everclear quote #you were blind to the fact that the hand you hold #is the hand that holds you down #wip wednesday

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willowlived · 11 months

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close your eyes and count to ten - day one | lake

abstinence camp spoilers! broken bones/ injury mention. that's it :) no editing. one day if i find my ao3 i will but not today :') yes this is also a day late but i have day 2 coming too shhhh

Is it the smartest thing in the world to drag Pete here when technically abstinence camp is technically still in full fucking swing for the next ten minutes? No. Truth be told she would not be surprised if Grace motherfucking Chasity to come around with her axe, being more of a cockblock than ever before. That's what it feels like at least, though maybe that's because of the company she keeps now.

Stephanie Lauter knew what being absolutely fucking whipped meant. Up until she got there, she thought that it was straight fucking bullshit that thirteen year olds wrote in their creative stories or hopeless romantics waxed about in stupid poetry. Meeting Peter Spankoffski? Well... she is sort of starting to think that she might just understand the meaning and never in her life had she wanted to actively pursue someone, and fuck it had been hell just sitting there next to him, talking to him and trying her best to not flirt ( or flirt in a tame manner- restrained and clearly so ). For weeks she has been swallowing down glances, she has been swallowing down words or touches- No more.

Closing ceremonies are happening and things are crazy and chaotic ( as crazy and chaotic as things can get at a abstinence camp being ran with only one insane counselor instead of two ) but it's finally the perfect time to steal Pete away, Steph helping him walk down to the water, she helps him sit where they can both let there feet dip in the water, and then she sits next too him, not too close, hands pressed to the ground one, subconsciously reaching in his direction, keeping up her restraint so to make sure he did not grab it. If only she had her phone, she would start a timer, she would play some music, she would have an easier time trying to find the words to say. Words when it comes to these sorts of things have never been her strong suite, but she has a playlist for everything to ease the mood-

Or well... maybe she does not have one for everything. After all, what fucking songs could she put in a playlist to describe a good old "We kissed and it was real and wonderful, don't you agree- but we have been pretending like nothing happened for the sake of our heads staying on our necks" mood? Mentally scolding herself, Steph sighs- It's just words... Say something...

" So is your brother coming to get you? " Fucking smooth Lauter. It probably isn't the best conversation to start with. Surly the last thing he wants to talk about his brother. The last thing she wants to do is talk about leaving. Not when there is so much to discuss about the past, something that was also not her strongest suit, much preferring the now. Pete, though, does not seem so bothered, a small smile forming on his lips through from Steph's perspective it seems... sad.

" That was our plan. Maybe plans have changed, though." His eyes fall down and his shoulder tenses, kicking at the water with his non-broken leg as he clears his throat. Regret hits Steph like a rock and like he senses it, he looks over at her and offers a smile, small, tense, but like he's trying to assure the both of them of the fact and not simply her. He exhales and shakes his head. " After everything I just have a bad feeling. Like we're never going to leave- "

Which probably makes this conversation something we shouldn't be having. Doubt creeps in for a moment as Stephanie swallows and tears her eyes away, again fishing for words when she felt a hand resting on hers, turning back to find Pete looking at her this look she could not quite place in his eyes, then she looked back to the water, a little bit of a smile on her lips as she teases. " Well if you're going to make moves like that Spankoffski I don't think that we will. No pre-marital hand holding. " Thankfully, that got a laugh out of him-

Surprisingly, that laugh gave her enough of a confidence boost to properly grab and hold his hand, squeezing it a little while giving Pete a bit of a smile before she drops it, looking back behind them just to make sure that there was no one there, sighing a little to herself in relief, before looking back to their entwined fingers.

A comfortable silence falls around them for a moment, but it does not feel like it's they are quiet, words coming from the pair of them in the way Pete was playing with her fingers. Are they waiting out the ticking clock? Are they enjoying the time? It's a mix of both, at least from her perspective and for the second time this summer, despite how many hours they have spent in the sun, Steph actually feels it hit her skin. And it's all the she needs to talk about what's been on her mind.

" So senior year is coming around, yeah? " Steph starts and Pete hums and looks up at her, tilting his head, clearly not following her train of think though he nods his head. She looks out at the water, but she scoots a little closer to Pete, carefully so their knees are touching. " I know it's going to be a little messy and fuck we will have a whole other person out there trying to kill us if we get all kissy and touchy and I know that- "

" Wait." Pete cuts her off, a little crack in his voice that she hears him scold himself slightly for, her eyes moving to look at him in hopes to reassure, only to find him looking wide eyed right at her. " Are you actually asking me what I think you are? " His voice lowers a little bit as though one of their classmates would near, a certain timidness that she had not seen all summer and makes her sad to see.

" Are you, Stephanie Lauter, asking me to be your boyfriend? - O-Or date or whatever? "

" ... I mean if I, Stephanie Lauter, was asking you that, and happened to mention that I have been meaning to follow up with you about a certain kiss that happened, what would you, Peter Spankoffski, say?" She asks, not hiding her nerves. Pete, though, smiles and blushes, and wordlessly nods his head, breathing in before finding his words.

" I would say that it might be a little complicated, but I would really like that. "

Steph, smiles wider and laughs happily, muttering a small " Cool. " Fighting the urge to kick the water around in her joy. She instead, takes another chance and kisses his cheek before standing up and holding her hand out to help him.

" Well then I guess you need my phone number and you need to get back to you brother. "

It sure as fuck was going to be an interesting last two minutes of the summer of 2020's Camp Idontwannabang. And it sure as fuck was going to be an interesting senior year, but as long as Peter Spankoffski was holding her hand, she sure as fuck knew she could handle it all.

#a day late but you know.#enjoy the happiest of ideas i had because some of these are going to get mcfucking sad- however i think i will probably only do three days #in which steph has the hots bad for pete and has been Suffering #be gentle with me i have not written fanfics in forever #i rp mostly but i have to Whoops #lautski #stephanie lauter / peter spankoffski #stephanie lauter #peter spankoffski #nightmare time 2 spoilers

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sidespart · 3 years

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The Fall of King Romulus Part 2

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Prologue Chapter 1

“Young Sir! Come look at this! A beautiful gift for your sweetheart, no?”

Logan bit back a curse as Roman, once again, slipped form his side and almost skipped towards the merchants stall.

They had finally left the forest earlier that morning. Barley a quarter- mile beyond the tree line the path merged with the great eastern road, already heaving with traders wagons heading to Steveange for the monthly market. Roman had gone to work immediately, finding an exhausted looking couple and charming them into exchanging a ride in the back of their cart for a selection of songs to soothe their gaggle of bored children.

Even Logan, no lover of music, could admit that Romans voices was objectively pleasing. Even the wailing baby settled down under the effects of his lullaby.

The closer they got to the city gates the more densely packed the road became, to the point where their pace might have been improved by walking. But the rest was welcome and the sun was still high in the sky by the time they had finally made it to the city square. They might even have made it to their target in good time, had Patton not insisted that they stay to help the family unload every box and crate from their cart before moving on.

Patton stood nearly seven foot tall, with shoulders to match and the patience of a Raspanzean monk. Moving him when he had decided not to move was difficult at the best of times. Currently, with a good deed in need of doing and no less than three small children clambering all over him, it was going to be impossible.

Logan looked at Virgil for support.

Virgil was already manhandling the smallest sack of produce down from the cart, under close supervision of a surly looking nine year old.

Logan looked back at Patton. Patton had somehow acquired a fourth child, and was swinging the small boy gently back and forth with one giant arm.

Logan sighed.

Eventually they agreed that Patton and Virgil would stay to help the family, and then set about finding the four of them somewhere to sleep. Logan and Roman would head down the main street, complete their mission and return with, hopefully, enough coin to let them settle here for at least a weeks rest.

Which Logan would have no problem with. Except that the monthly market seemed far larger than when Logan had visited the city as a young apprentice. The city square was packed with stalls filled with meat, produce, spices and enough live animals to generate a stink so strong even Patton and his twice broken nose winced. The main road meanwhile was filled with more temporary looking stalls offering books, jewellery and potions of every colour alongside the usual clothing and home wear. These continued the whole length of the road from the square to the city temple and even spilled over into the side streets and thoroughfares of the city proper.

All of which apparently meant Roman couldn’t walk for more than two minutes without stopping to gawk at whatever gaudy display was on offer or chat with the seller.

“Roman!” he caught up with the wayward bard at a jewellers stall, where a heavy set man with salt and pepper hair was holding up an extremely impractical looking necklace for him to inspect

“Oh there you are specs” Roman grinned at him, “have you seen Master Galvenets wares? Look how shiny!”

“Is this your sweetheart?” The jeweller – presumably Master Galvenet – grinned at Logan with far too many teeth and reached below the makeshift counter top, “Then may I suggest this one instead – to match his eyes?”

The necklace he presented was even bigger than the last. With blue glass masquerading as the sapphires surrounded by enough ostentatious filigree to decorate a dukes bed chamber. Logan stared, momentarily struck dumb by his own disdain.

Roman nudged him, waggling his eyebrows and giving him a lecherous grin “What do you think sweetie? It does match your eyes.”

Logan blanched. Turning quickly to the seller her snapped out “We are NOT together. And also - we’re, extremely poor. And not interested.”

He grabbed Roman’s wrist and proceeded to drag the giggling bard with him back towards the main street. “Can you try to focus?” Logan glared at him, “remember this package is time sensitive.” Superstitiously, Logan patted his pocket, feeling the shape of the vial they had been entrusted to transport to Steveange still safely stored inside.

Roman failed to look chastened. “Logan, it’s a herb. And we we’re asked to deliver it within a week – it’s only been five days! Your forest short cut worked, alright, the worlds not going to end if we stop to appreciate some fine wares on our way.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You consider Master Galvenet’s works, ‘fine wares’?”

Now Roman had the grace to look a little sheepish “They had a charm of their own.”

Logan hmphed. “They were very clearly fake.”

“Oh?” Roman linked their arms together, tugging him back into the steady stream of south bound shoppers, “How could you tell?”

Logan told him.

The ensuring lecture took them the rest of the way down main street, and into the rabbit warren of alleyways that branched out behind the city’s temple.

Even here, there were traders. Many had their wares spread out on blankets on the ground instead of stalls, but they seemed less inclined to call over whilst the two of them walked together deep in discussion and so, mercifully, there was less opportunities for Roman to get distracted.

“A festival?” Roman suggested. Logan shrugged, it was possible, something was certainly occurring to draw such an enormous throng.

Eventually, Logan had to admit that his boyhood memories were not enough to navigate every twist and turn of the city streets and Roman stepped away from him to ask a couple for directions. Logan took the chance to study him, but whatever fit of irrationality had led to him wandering back through half the forest the previous night seemed to have past. Even the scratches on his hands and arms had healed almost completely overnight, helped along by a generous slathering of healing salve from Virgil.

(Logan had, at the time, pointed out that the healer was using up rather a lot of their dwindling supply for an extremely minor injury. Virgil had hissed at him)

Roman was often contradictory. He would spend a day whining about his need for beauty sleep but then stay up till the early hours to fulfil every song request from whatever crowd they managed to gather. He fussed with his makeup and performance clothing as much as a lady at court, but kept his hair cropped unfashionably short and made no effort to seek out high class patrons who could have kept him in silks and finery. He was talented enough with a lute to spend the social season entertaining upper class lords, and talented enough with a sword to spend the rest of his time as a body guard or becomes some towns local hero. Instead he travelled with them.

“You know, I’m fairly sure there were some gentlemen painting miniatures on the main road, if you want to keep staring at me that is.”

Logan flushed, caught. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“You don’t pay me enough for that” Roman grinned cheekily.

This was an old joke. Virgil had originally found Roman, and hired him as a body guard and escort for a three day trip through a bandit ridden mountain pass. Three weeks and many diversions later, they had emerged on the other side of the mountain. Roman had become as much a part of the group as any of the others and had stayed to travel with them as a friend rather than a hire.

Logan was glad of it. Most of the time.

“Did you get the directions?”

“I did, I had to ask three people before I found someone who recognised the address – the city’s full of tourists!”

The woman who opened the door looked like the word crone ha been invented especially for her. Her grey hair stuck out from a shoddily tied scarf and her face looked like at any moment it might collapse under the weight of her own frown. She scowled at the pair of them, looking like she already learned everything there was to know about them from one glance and found it all spectacularly unimpressive.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

Logan resisted the urge to smooth down his waistcoat like he was presenting to a lecturer and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. We have been sent by Madam Valarie to –“

This, if anything, seemed to make the scowl deepen.

“My sister? What does that witch want?”

“To deliver you …this”

With a flourish Logan produced the vial and held it aloft. The thin shaft of light spilling from the doorway made the red herb glow a burning orange in the dim of the alley.

“And you think I’m dramatic.”

“Shush.”

Needlessly dramatic or not, he had the woman’s attention. She reached towards the vial with trembling hands but Logan drew back before she could make contact.

“Your sister paid us half, with the promise of the second half on delivery.” Reaching into a different pocket he produced an envelope and held it out. “She told us to give you this – it should validate our story.”

The woman muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary under her breath but accepted the envelope. Without speaking further she turned and retreated into the hovel, leaving the door open behind her

The two men exchanged a glance, and then Roman deftly stepped around Logan to walk in first, one hand on his sword.

He needn’t have bothered, the short hallway opened up to small kitchen, where every conceivable surface was covered with books, scrolls and bric-a-brac. Three of the four walks were taken up with shelving where kitchen ingredients and appliances sat shoulder to shoulder with ornaments, candles and what looked like half a taxidermy ostrich.

If the old woman had hired muscle ready to take to leap out and take the herb by force, they would have had a hard time finding space to stand.

“My sister claims this was picked under the glow of a full moon.”

Logan nodded, “that is what we were given to understand.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “For this to be worth the price it needs to be used within ten days of the moon’s glow, my sisters village is two weeks ride away on the eastern road.”

“We came through the forest.” Logan explained, “Also, I sealed the herb in a pre-sterilised sample jar – the lack of air exposure should help it retain its freshness far beyond its normal time frame!”

The was a silence. The woman was now looking at Logan not with suspicion, but with the exasperation of a teacher whose student has just said something rather stupid.

Logan crossed his arms.

“If you look at the specimen carefully you will notice no discoloration or other signs of degradation – this method can be used to prolong the lifespan of most vegetation and-“

She interrupted him by laughing, an awful crows call of a noise, and held up a hand for silence.

“You are obviously quite uneducated.” she told him cheerfully “And you are bothering Mittens.”

“I beg your pardon I- wait what?”

“YOWCH!”

Logan spun round, as much as he could in the cramped space, only to find Roman desperately trying to relinquish a scrambling ball of fur back onto one of the high shelves. The cat had already dug its claws deep enough into the bards wrist to draw blood, and was currently clinging on for dear life as Roman waved his hand around like Patton trying to kill a spider.

“My apologies Master Mittens” Roman told the cat a few moments later, after Logan and the crone had finally convinced it to release him “I thought you were a hat.”

“Why must you touch things.” Logan hissed and was surprised by a much gentler laugh from their hostess.

“Aw now, Mittens is not the most dangerous thing you could have touched in my kitchen. Here. Drink.”

Logan blinked as she shoved hot cup into his hands. Its contents was extremely dark and disturbingly viscous. A few drops glopped over the side, singeing his finger. He held it as far from his body as he possibly could.

“And for you?” She held up a second cup towards Roman who smiled politely but shook his head ‘no’

“No thank you, Madam.”

“We’re both fine.” Logan said firmly, putting the cup down on one of the first patches of exposed surface he could find. “If you wouldn’t mind completing our transaction we will take our leave of this…place.”

She looked at him for one long moment and then turned back to Roman.

“Your friend says you passed through the Serpents Forrest”

Logan frowned - “That’s not what the locals called it.”

“Well that’s who lives there.” The crone snapped without turning around, “One of the darker fae. I’m not surprised he” – she jerked her chin back towards Logan – “ got through alright, since the gods look after fools.”

“Excuse me!”

“But how did you manage?”

Roman juts shrugged, eyes sparkling with mirth at Logan’s outraged expression. “We saw no one Madam, but if we had done - I carry iron.”

That rusted hunk of junk Logan thought, but the crone was nodding approvingly

“A clever boy” she patted Roman cheek, “I thought so when I heard your accent – you’re from beyond the mountains.”

Logan frowned. He was not gifted when it came to interpreting expressions, but he thought Romans smile had suddenly become very fixed.

“So are you.” Roman replied softly.

There was a moments quiet whilst the two looked at each other and Logan tried not to roll his eyes out of his own head. All they needed to do was a simple swap of coin for produce and instead Roman had manged to find the only other grown adult in Steveange who still believed in fairies.

Whatever northerner to northerner communication was happening seemed to pass, and the crone reached past Roman to pull a small burlap sack from the shelf. Mittens took the opportunity to skitter across her arm and settle himself on her shoulder.

“Here you are then.” She tipped the sack out on top of an open tome, producing three cloves of garlic and a hefty pile of coins Logan couldn’t help but stare. That was more money than Logan had seen in one place since he had started traveling.

The crone picked out three gold pieces and a fistful of silver and handed them to Logan. He counted quickly and handed her the vial. Transaction complete, Logan headed immediately to the door, but turned back when he realised Roman wasn’t with him

He was still trapped between the crone and the shelving. “Will you come and see me before you leave the city?” she asked “It would be nice to share my tea with someone who would appreciate it.”

Logan thought to the gelatinous mess in the tea cup and gagged but Roman just smiled

“If time allows my lady.” He brought her withered hand to his lips and deposited a courtly kiss before sidestepping her and heading after Logan.

The city alley smelt almost like fresh air after the over mixture of incense, garlic and cat that her permeated the crones kitchen, and Logan breathed it in gratefully before setting off. Roman falling into sept beside him.

Logan glanced at him, uncertain.

He knew Roman was from the Northern Kingdom. He guessed from his speech patterns that he either grew up upper class or was truly committed to his larger than life bard persona. He had mentioned a brother once, off hand, and during an argument compared Logan to a tutor he’d disliked who had made him study maps until he could recount every river on the continent by heart.

That was all he knew.

Logan was curious by nature, a trait which tended to get him in trouble. He would have liked to pepper Roman with a hundred questions about life beyond the mountains, but Patton had told him once he should only ask a question about a sensitive subject if he was prepared to answer one himself.

None of them like to talk about where they came from, but that was fine. They were going forward together.

It was obvious though, that meeting his countryman had shaken Roman. He walked silently, even when they turned into a wider street and found the market still in full swing, shoppers crowding around each stall, he made no comment, only stepped closer to Logan.

If he was Patton, he might have known what to say to sooth whatever emotion was clouding Romans features. If he was Virgil, he might have made a joke or pointed out an interesting stall to distract him

As it was..

“So do all Northerners believe in fairy stories or is it just you two?”

“What?”

“The dark fae of the forest? She can’t have been serious.”

Roman straighten up, fixing him with a mock glare “Logan! You’re honestly going to keep pretending you don’t believe in magic? You travel with an elf!”

“Half-elf. And there’s nothing mystical about him.”

“He makes potions Logan!”

“He mixes herbs into useful medicines, it’s no different than any human herbalist.”

“He chants when he does it. And his eyes do that thing.” Roman wiggled his fingers in front of his face, apparently to illustrate ‘that thing’.

“Which I’m sure helps him know how long each concoction needs to stew before adding the next ingredient. You cannot decided a race is magical just because they’ve failed to invent clocks.”

“Urgh!” Roman threw up his hands, “Sometimes you sound like you’re from Arkaze’yed.”

Arkaze’yd was on the western coast. The most industrially advanced of the great cities, they had recently converted the city temple into an extension of the university.

Logan preened. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Roman pulled a face. “You are such a - ooh! Jam tarts!”

He darted away again, but this time Logan couldn’t fault him. A boy was hastily unpacking a crate of what looked like fresh jam tarts onto his masters stall and the scent was delicious

They had to wait for three families ahead of them before they could finally have their turn. Roman picked out four of the tarts and chatted happily with the seller whilst Logan carefully counted out the money.

“I had herd the monthly market of Steveange was something to behold but this! Are you going to go all night?”

“Most likely.” The trader told them happily, “The towns packed for the coronation.”

“Coronation?”

“Princess Stephanie is to become queen,” the man gushed, one hand over his heart in what Logan considered to be an alarming display of emotional royalism. “The guests have been arriving all week.”

Logan nodded absently. That explained the hubbub. The rich went traveling and the poor went to see them. A coronation was a good enough excuse for a festival. If you liked that sort of thing.

“They say,” the trader whispered leaning forward, apparently unbothered by Logan’s total lack of interest in royal gossip, “That even the mad Prince is coming - Remus of Notaleveale!”

“Is that so.” said Logan, monotonously “Here’s your coin.” He turned to Roman to claim his pastry and – stared.

All the colour had drained from Romans face. He gaze was fixed on the trader, his eyes so wide he looked quite wild.

“Roman?” Logan asked, as gently as he could. He realised that Romans hands were shaking the second before the bag of pastries fell from his grip.

“Roman- ROMAN hey-“

Other customers were starting to push between them, Logan bent down quickly to rescue the bag form the floor and reached out to grab his friends hand.

But when he looked up, Roman had gone.

Part three

#creativitwins #logan sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #Roman Sanders #TS: Fall of Romulus #this features #10% more plot but 100% more logan #this is the second full fic ive ever done and the first multichapter so feedback appreciated :o

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ragsweas · 3 years

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Hobbit Fic Rec List!

MODERN AU!

Hello! I always wanted to share a gigantic list of awesome works in Hobbit fanfic, but realized they are too many. So let's start small. A few modern AU that everybody has to read!

.......*.......

How to fall in love in 100 days by Kytanna

As their lives intertwine, Thorin, Bilbo, and their nephews learn the meaning of finding a family, love and the hard path towards healing. All, over the course of a hundred days.

A lovely piece with all the cuteness and fluff.

Softer Strokes by autisticalistair

Thorin is a well-known artist living a secluded life in the Swiss Alps. Bilbo is a former history professor living in a trauma rehabilitation centre after a devastating accident that took his parents lives. Through a mutual friend, Bilbo finds himself in Switzerland, and Thorin finds himself with company for the next few months, and neither of them are prepared for what that will bring.

I'll never say 'I love you' by JustReadingMaybeWriting

Bilbo is a veterinary student who one night saves the life a handsome but wounded man. Bilbo should have called an ambulance. If he had called an ambulance, he wouldn't be in this weird mess. He certainly wouldn't be falling in love with the man he saved, who can't seem to leave him alone.

This one's a bit dark, but I love it.

painted blind by nasri

The last time Bilbo stepped foot in Aberdeen it was with a broken heart and a bachelor’s degree. All things considered, this time isn’t so different.

Plan B by Drenagon

Plan B: an alternative strategy; a contingency plan, devised for an outcome other than the expected plan.

Or, sending an unqualified temp to act as Thorin Oakenshield's PA because no one qualified can put up with him.

(He'd say they can't meet his standards. Of course he would.)

Meet Bilbo Baggins. He just became Plan B.

One Modern!AU I always wanted to read and this is just it! It's amazing!! And the whole COmpany is there!!

A Land Far Away by Prollyaghost (Callmerin)

"If we were in a different time or place, this story may have begun with ‘once upon a time’, or even ‘In a hole in the ground, there lived…’ But as it so happens, we are in this time and place, in the outskirts of London, where there are no ‘once upon a times’ and the only holes in grounds lead to sewage tunnels. There does happen to be, however, a man who has dedicated a great deal of his life studying these ‘once upon a time’s. He is an English teacher, enjoys afternoon teas with homemade raisin scones, and he most certainly does not believe in fairy-tales.

His name is Bilbo Baggins, and that last bit about him is about to change."

Bilbo Baggins, an English teacher who has never been outside of England, suddenly finds himself thrust into an adventure when a strange man named Thorin Oakenshield requires his help to fulfil his father’s dying wish. Turns out studying the niche topic of the ancient, fictional society of dwarves was more useful than his parents could have imagined. Plunged into a forgotten land, Thorin and Bilbo must find the mythical Arkenstone, before the legends of the past come back to haunt modern society.

Okay, this one's a WIP, but damn the premise is super interesting and honestly can't wait for the next update!

Nothing Gold Can Stay by perkynurples

Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

This is one of the fics that does not need an introduction. No matter how many times you read this, it isn't enough. And we all love Fili and Kili here.

What to do When Your Cat is an Asshole by lily_winterwood

“You have a cat?” asks the face on the screen. “Yes. His name’s Smaug, he’s orange, and he’s an asshole. Aren’t you, Smaug?” Surly Food Provider glowers at me, which, of course, I am immune to. “Aren’t you a little asshole?” I don’t see why he needs to call me that. My butthole is perfectly licked, and it smells wonderful.

The AU where Smaug is Thorin's asshole cat. Written for the Bagginshield Unexpected Anniversary.

This one's small, and hilarious and even better if you imagine Benedryl Cucumbersnatch narrating the whole thing

No Ordinary Love by badskippy

Bilbo and Ori have been best friends since they were ten years old and tragedy brought them together. Now, a new job, a sudden rainstorm, a chance meeting and budding romance with a burly, handsome stranger will not only alter their lives, but set in motion events that will change everyone around them, and reveal how lies, deceit and assumptions can leave deeper scars than the ones that can be seen.

WIP, unfinished, but damn was this an interesting tale. For anybody who loves angst, go give it a read!

Remember Me by thehistorygeek

Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield are destined to suffer. In every life they live, in every age, in every era, they meet, and this meeting brings back all the memories of the lives that have come before. But every meeting serves also as a death sentence, for once they have met, one of them is doomed to die soon after, usually tragically and prematurely. They remember nothing of their past lives until they meet, and once they have there is nothing that can be done to stop their fate.

For anyone obsessed with Reincarnation and/or History, this is it.

A Remover of Obstacles by MistakenMagic

"Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him."

Another fic that DOES NOT need an introduction. I have read it thrice and every time the emotions are still the same. Trigger Warnings, but damn this is all worth it.

An Unexpected Meeting by what_am_i_even_doing_tho

This is the chronicling of the modern day shenanigans of Bilbo Baggins, who is an absolute gay disaster, and Thorin Oakenshield, who is unashamedly enamored. Aka, the modern Bagginshield AU that no one ever asked for but they're getting anyway.

green and gilded by nasri

The next time he visits his parents there are flowers left in the grass, pressed back against the gravestone. They are yellow and white daffodils, plain and wilting.

“Who’s been to see you?” He asks, taking a single photo of the flowers with their drooping stems and curled petals and the wet winter grass that surrounds them. His mother would call it kind, his father might say it's curious, and Bilbo takes another petal to tuck into his pocket.

You know those stories that you read once and then they never leave your head? And somehow your whole life begins to revolve around that one story? Yeah, this is it. Spoilers in tag and I would suggest you read before advancing cause many people do not like it, but even if you are not in that group, just give it a read. This story deserves all the reads.

Bran' New Suit by pibroch (littleblackdog)

Andrew's description had been sufficient to recognize him— a riot of honey brown curls, short in stature, a well-favoured face with expressive features— but it hadn't quite been enough to prepare Tom for the sharp, almost painful tug in his gut at the sight of the man. They had never met before, to the best of Tom's recollection, but there was something eerily and inexplicably familiar about him all the same.

One of the first Modern AU I read and dauym...you won't get it until the end but then...it's fun.

Under New Management by frostyjack

Fili's life is pretty good -- he's doing well at university, he gets on well with his uncle and guardian Thorin, and he's never likely to know what it's like to be poor or unwanted. Then Thorin takes in a foster child -- Kili Oakenshield, a long-lost relative whose past is a total mystery. Suddenly, Fili's life gets a whole lot more complicated. But maybe it gets better, too.

Lots of trigger warning for this one, but when the end comes, you'll know it's all been worth it.

One-Sided Conversations by northerntrash

"Thank you for listening," Thorin said, getting to his feet. "I hope to be able to return the favour, one day."

The man on the bed didn't respond, but since he'd been in a coma for longer than Thorin had known him, that wasn't entirely surprising.

(Not Quite) Prince Charming by manic_intent

The problem, Bilbo would later tell Gandalf in aggrieved irritation, was not so much the unannounced visitors, oh no, but the fact that due to the lateness of the hour and sheer merciless fate, it came to be that at the respectable age of forty, Bilbo was being introduced to a real, live king while wearing striped pyjamas and fluffy slippers.

The Making of a Story by northerntrash

When Bilbo finds a case of old family photographs, he becomes determined to find the original owners: what he does not expect is to become quite so involved in their lives, or that those photographs should prove quite so important.

Misunderstandings and other obstacles for love by ylc

This series dammit! It's amazing, and the dynamics you would ask from a Modern AU.

Candle Glow and Mistletoe by euseevius

Bilbo and Thorin have been married for six months now. The thing is, Thorin’s family doesn’t know this. And because pretending to be just friends for the three weeks you’re going to spend at the family cabin is so much easier than telling the truth, that is what they will do.

(Of course Bilbo has his own ideas of how believable it is for a grown man to bring a friend to spend Christmas with his family. That’s why they make a bet out of it.)

For days you need to just laugh at these two idiots.

The Lost Kingdom of Erebor by Twisted_Barbie

AU. The Lost Kingdom of Erebor is shrouded in myth, likened to the heavens and compared to Atlantis. Until an archaeological discovery unearths that which was lost and awakens the Mad King from his cursed eternal rest.

Not a happy ending, and mysterious and you need to give it a read. Just, do it. It will all be worth it.

Of Palaces and Ruins by livelongandgetiton

Slow burn. Bilbo Baggins is a half-baked archaeologist who has put his dreams of adventure on hold to teach secondary school. Thorin is the grandson of a politically powerful figure in the historically rich and deeply isolationist country of Erebor. When he flees conflict and corruption in Erebor to settle in London, he finds his hands full with two young boys. Gandalf meddles, and Bilbo signs on as a personal tutor for the boys in hopes of getting a foot in the door to archaeological work in Erebor. He soon discovers that Thorin is a tough nut to crack. As Bilbo takes care of the boys he and Thorin grow closer, and secrets about not just the brooding stranger, but the mysterious country and politics of Erebor begin to unravel. It turns out that Bilbo isn't leaving adventure behind, after all.

WIP, updating. JUST READ IT!!!

Write Me Down Easy by lucyraebrown

Bilbo Baggins, a simple man with a wish for something more than his life teaching high school English, is obsessed with a famous author by the pen-name Oakenshield. Although he knows the future is dim for his chances of finding out about the man behind his favorite book, it's reassuring to know someone has the same thoughts about the world.

WIP, updating. It's mostly fuff and happiness, so yesss...feed your inner Bagginshield!

Show Me My Silver Lining by BiSquared

Three years after the hostile takeover of his grandfather's record label by one DJ Smaug, lead singer Thorin Oakenshield is ready to give up on his dreams, even if his band isn't ready to give up on him. If Thorin can convince talent scout Bilbo Baggins to sign them, they might just have a fighting chance. Of course, this is the night when Thorin gets stage fright.

The music industry AU no one asked for.

Love-In-Idleness by perkynurples

Taking Bilbo Baggins, a successful movie actor who is only just getting used to the perks and intricacies of becoming A Face People Want To See, and putting him together with Thorin Oakenshield, with his very traditional (read: slightly backwards) ideas about what constitutes Real Art and Real Talent, might very well be viewed as just some clothead’s idea of a joke. But there are jokes, and then there are carefully calculated risks the size of controversial reproductions of classic Shakespearean plays - for Bilbo, it is the chance of a lifetime to prove himself to all those who have ever deemed him too one-dimensional to even attempt stage, while Thorin has the opportunity to get out of the rut that’s been hindering his career for so long now, and shine in a role worthy of his talent once again. That is if the two learn how to share the same space for more than ten minutes without wanting to tear each other’s hair out. The course of true love never did run smooth, after all…

Did I read this in one go? Yes I did. Did I fall in love with Bagginshiled all over again? Yes I did.

.......*.......

And that's the list folks! I hope you guys have fun reading all of these nice fics! (And all the bagginshield angst/fuff)

#the hobbit #hobbit #fanfiction #fanfic #thilbo #thorins company #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #modern #fanfic recommendation #hope you all have fun!

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sylvies-chen · 3 years

Text

You Make Me Feel So Young

Summary: Tim shows up at Lucy's apartment after struggling with some guilt, and finally gets that dance she'd saved for him.

Warnings: none

Words: 2.6K

A/N: For day 1 of the Chenford Fanfic Week 2021 organized by @therookiebook!! I'm so excited to participate, I hope you guys like this oneshot <3

AO3 link

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He feels guilty.

Lucy knows he does, even before he tells her. After everything at Angela’s wedding went down, after she and Jackson had been taken and nearly died, after the dust had settled from that entire stressful day, Lucy can feel the guilt oozing out of him.

Only Tim Bradford shows up at her door to talk about it, and it’s about the last thing she expects to happen.

Like, ever.

“Hey,” he blurts out as soon as she opens the door.

“Hi.” Lucy doesn’t know what to say but she knows the hand that’s holding onto the edge of her door feels numb all of a sudden and her breath gets caught in her throat.

“Can I come in?” Tim asks, trying to seem nonchalant. Lucy sees right through it, knows that him coming here alone, out of the blue, must mean something’s wrong. But she doesn’t say anything because she knows Tim takes a while sometimes to be able to open up. So instead, she nods.

“Yeah, of course.” Jackson’s out, so she lets Tim in without hesitation. Not that it’d matter if he were here, really, but she sees that broken, guilt-ridden look in Tim’s eyes and knows it’s best that they’re alone.

He plays it cool at first— out of self-preservation, she thinks— and looks around the apartment as she lets him in.

“This place looks a lot nicer than the last time I saw it,” he starts out.

“Yeah, well Cujo’s not around to tear up pillows anymore so I’d say it’s a big improvement,” she jokes meekly.

His hands are shoved in his pockets stiffly as he walks around her living room, glancing over to Jackson’s bedroom.

“Jackson’s not here?”

“No, he went to check up on Angela. I’m surprised you aren’t there too,” she adds.

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s where you’ve been for the past week,” Lucy explains simply, glancing at him expectantly and waiting for him to talk. Not this kind of talk, not small talk or dancing around what he really needs to get off his chest, but for him to actually, really talk.

All does is stand by her couch, less than ten feet away from her, and avoid her gaze. She swears she can see his fists tensing up in the pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

“I wasn’t.” She was . “I just know how worried you were about her when she was taken. I don’t blame you for not wanting to leave her side.”

“Just making up for what I didn’t do the first time, I guess,” he grumbles under his breath.

Lucy sighs, cutting their small talk short and getting to the point. “Why are you really here, Tim?”

Her bluntness surprises him, she thinks, because he blinks at her. “What?”

“Why are you here?” She repeats. “You’ve never shown up at my place randomly while off shift. Hell, I didn’t even think you’d remembered I live here. I know this past week has been intense but clearly you need something or else you wouldn’t have come here. So would you just tell me whatever it is you want to say so that I can help you?”

He exhales quietly, his chest shaking as it falls. “It’s my fault. Angela and Jackson nearly died, she nearly lost her baby, they were put in danger at her own damn wedding, and it’s… it’s my fault.”

“No, no,” she replies sympathetically, shaking her head. “It’s not. What happened to them happened because of La Fiera, not you.”

“I was her man of honour,” he explains with a dry and slightly sarcastic chuckle. “Where’s the honour in failing to protect the bride?”

“If you really felt that, you wouldn’t have come here. You knew,” she tells him, her voice determined and fierce. “You knew I wouldn’t let you sit here and feel sorry for yourself. If you wanted to sit around feeling sorry for yourself you would have gone to a bar, alone. But you came here, which means somewhere deep down you know you couldn’t have done anything to stop it.”

For one of the only times since Lucy’s known him, Tim Bradford is speechless. He looks for words but finds none, huffs, and sits down on her couch, fiddling nervously with his thumbs. Her heart sinks at the sight of it. This guilt of his isn’t going away with anything she says, she knows that now. Healing takes time, so all she can really do is just be there for him.

She sits down next to him on the couch, leaving only an inch of space. “You don’t have to carry the weight of everything, you know,” she continues gently. “You take on so much, you don’t always have to feel so responsible for every bad thing that happens. That’s no way to live.”

“I’m a cop,” he shrugs painfully. “I became a cop because I wanted to keep helping people, protecting them. So sure, it might make me a more serious person, but I do it because it’s supposed to be what I do best.”

“I get that. But no one’s perfect. I’m not perfect, even with all of your Tim tests,” she teases meekly. “That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. You fought hard to get both of them back and you did. You did that. Angela’s home now, she and the baby are safe and alright. That’s what matters.”

He looks at her, stunned but greatly appreciative. “Thanks,” he offers, slightly begrudgingly, after a moment. “I just... thanks .”

“I think I have something of yours,” she tells him gently, changing the subject to lighten the mood. Because if she can’t assuage his guilt then at the very least, she can make him feel better; feel happy again.

Tim’s brows scrunch up, sending a confused look her way. Lucy wordlessly moves to pull out her phone, connecting it to the small wireless speaker on the coffee table. The buttons crisply click as she turns up the volume, pressing play on the first ballad she finds in her list of varied songs. (But her taste in music isn’t actually as diverse as she’d like and is really just filled with K-pop tracks).

The music streams through the speaker and throughout the apartment, audible but still quiet so as not to disturb the other tenants. Tim stays seated as Lucy stands up, still confused but shifting to the edge of his seat as if being drawn to her by an unnamed force.

Lucy finally extends her open palm, giving him a shy but cheeky grin. “Your dance, Officer Bradford?”

Realization hits and Tim’s shoulders relax a little. “I don’t know, I’m not in the mood for dancing right now.”

“Come on,” she pleads. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise. Or, at the very least, it’ll give you something to tease me about at work.”

Tim gives a hearty chuckle, smiling widely as he accepts her hand. It makes Lucy smile too. Why shouldn’t it? He’s always so surly and serious, making him laugh would make anyone proud and giddy. Right?

“Alright. After you, Officer Chen,” he replies as she pulls him off the couch and onto the rug in her living room. His hand is warm. They’re calloused, and bigger than hers to the point where her fingers get swallowed up in his as he gives her hand a squeeze. But god, they’re so warm and safe . Her mind can’t stop coming back to that observation, no matter how much she knows she shouldn’t.

Tim’s other hand finds her waist, his grip gentle. Her hand flies to his chest, pulling him in until her chin is inches away from resting on his shoulder.

Up until now, space hasn’t really been an issue for them. The only time there’d been this much physical contact between them was last year when Caleb had buried her alive. Even then, the situation had allowed for a special exception. She’d needed all the physical and emotional support she could get at that moment, and Tim had provided it for her.

Now though, there's no exception, no special circumstance, no excuse. They’re dancing while wrapped up in each other solely because they want to be, and that change is enough to terrify Lucy. She doesn’t move though, only keeps swaying to the music and letting out small, shaky breaths.

What can she say? She never was one to back down from something that scared her.

“You’re a good dancer,” Lucy points out quietly.

“You’re not half bad yourself,” he replies, his breath catching onto her neck and sending a delightful shiver down her spine.

“Is it safe to say you’re enjoying yourself? You feel more relaxed, I daresay you’re having fun,” she tries teasing.

“I’m just surprised,” he counters. “I was prepared for my toes to endure some serious stomping.”

“Oh please, like my tiny toes could ever harm you.” Her nose scrunches playfully as she feigns a threatening look, which makes Tim smile again. What is it with that smile of his killing her softly?

“I don’t know, you’re a lot tougher than you look.”

“Was that a compliment?” She asks teasingly.

“Don’t tell Nova, she’ll get jealous,” he jokes back, continuing to sway to the music.

“Yeah but I bet she’d love this,” Lucy remarks. In her head, she adds that the line between herself and Nova is getting blurred but it goes unspoken and, eventually, ignored.

“Nova’s not the only one,” he risks replying. “You’re right. This is… nice .”

Tim leans back a little to meet her eye, the swaying decelerating until they’re standing in her living room. Alone. With an intense and inviting gaze piercing into her eyes.

“It is,” Lucy agrees. Her voice is barely audible and before she can think twice, she blurts out probably the worst thing she could ever think of: the thing she means with every fiber of her being. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

She really does mean it. She wants to stay there forever, where everything feels good and safe and right . Only she hadn’t meant to say that out loud, per se. To her surprise though, he doesn’t react poorly to it. Instead, he flashes the smallest smile and nods in agreement, swallowing hard. "Me too."

He looks so young like that, something juvenile and exciting radiating off of him like a breath of fresh air. For a second, she almost thinks he’s the same age as her.

And oh fuck , something just clicks after that.

His lips part only slightly, his eyes glimmering with something intense and hopeful. Her skin is on fire, her heart is racing, and every neuron in her brain is telling her to look away but she can’t. She can’t escape his eyes. Lucy doesn’t know what this thing between them is, only that one minute, they’re dancing and the next, they’re… doing something else. The swaying stops and everything comes to a glaring halt as the song starts to come to a gradual end. They’re left with nothing to do but stand there and look at each other. It’s almost like he’s listened to her and that somehow, he’s made them become completely frozen in time so that maybe, just maybe, they really could stay here forever.

Admittedly, terrifyingly, Lucy would have no complaints about that.

They’re holding each other too— god , she almost forgot about his hands on her wait, on her back. They’re strong and massive and yet so gentle. And before she knows it, they’re pulling her in closer and closer.

His face is inches apart from her, their lips so close. She shouldn’t be thinking about his lips, about any of the things she’s feeling right now, but she can feel his breath and it makes it impossible to think of anything else. Her chest is almost pressed against his and she wonders if Tim can feel the shaky rise and fall of her chest against his.

They get closer again, and closer, and closer…

Then, the door clicks and swings open, sending her and Tim jumping apart.

The moment ends before it ever has a chance to start.

“Hey, I’m back,” Jackson calls out as he walks in, checking his phone. “So fire up the next episode of Love Island and put in the popcorn because I am ready to g—”

Jackson stops mid-sentence once he looks up from his phone and finds Lucy, standing next to Tim as they both look away from each other with flushed cheeks and awkward coughs from their throats. The music on her phone has stopped now, thankfully, but the light from the speaker still flashes to indicate it’s on and Jackson soaks in the whole scene. He meets it with confusion though, his brows furrowing.

“Uhh… What’s going on here?”

“I was just about to leave,” Tim announces, looking down at the floor as he makes a beeline for his coat.

“Right, yeah,” Lucy nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess?”

“Yeah, of course. Uh, bye,” he replies awkwardly, his eyes meeting Lucy’s one last time with something that she daresay looks like disappointment— like yearning. Jackson’s still there though, and so the moment is short-lived. Tim’s hands fly back into his pockets, just as stiff as they were when he first came over, and he leaves. The door shuts behind him abruptly.

Lucy stares at the door where Tim used to be, her shoulders sagging in a disappointment of her own, but she turns to see Jackson staring at her and knows she has no way to explain… well, to explain whatever the hell just happened.

“You want to tell me why Tim was here?”

“He felt guilty about what happened with you and Angela,” she explains, a little defensively. “I was just talking it out with him.”

“Sure, yeah,” Jackson nods with an unconvinced laugh, “that’s why you two jumped apart like frogs as soon as I came in.”

“We did not jump apart ,” she protests.

“Ok, if you say so,” he concedes, his hands up in surrender. “Besides, whatever you two were doing here, I just—… don’t want to know.” He lets out a small chuckle after that, shaking his head as he moves to grab a pack of unpopped popcorn out of the cupboard and put it in the microwave.

“It was nothing,” she mumbles quietly. “Nothing happened.”

It’s the first real lie she’s told that night. Jackson drops it after that though, and she sighs to herself as she sits back down on the couch.

She closes her eyes as the microwave buzzes and Jackson starts to ramble about his visit with Angela, slowly transporting herself back to that dance with Tim.

Maybe she’s wrong for this, maybe she’s completely insane and unprofessional. But as she plays it over in her head, her own words ring through her head and she realizes that maybe she really did want to stay like that with Tim forever.

Oh, screw it . She knows she did. It’s not a fact she can necessarily scream out to the world, but she did.

To Lucy, there are much worse things to want to be.

#Chenford Fanfic Week 2021 #chenford fic week 2021 #CFW 2021 #chenford #the rookie #lucy chen #tim bradford

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 10 – Welcome to the Mad House

Note: In the last chapter, a few people were wondering about Dick knowing Marinette was there and I realized I cut out the pre-fight strategizing session that explained it. Signal was the first to respond because it was a daytime event and he was already on patrol. He called Red Hood in as backup because he knew Jason was free. Dick just showed up without warning because he knew Marinette had an appointment there earlier and was no longer responding to texts or phone calls and Dick got scared and came to check.

Chapter 1 Chapter 9

“And you’re sure I’m dressed appropriately?” Marinette asked again. He’d lost count of what number that was by now.

“Marinette I promise you. You’re dressed perfectly. You look amazing and not to make you pout, but nobody is going to care what you’re wearing and it’s too late to change now anyway,” Dick assured her again, this time on the steps walking up to the Wayne Manor front doors.

Marinette looked scandalized. “Of course they’re going to care! What people wear affects how people think about them. I mean, each person reacts differently to the same outfit, but it has an effect. And, technically, I’m going to dinner with two of my bosses, which just adds extra pressure on top of meeting my boyfriend’s family.” She couldn’t stop herself from grinning as she said boyfriend despite the spiral she was going into, which was making her physically sick on top of mentally sick. “And Alfred! What if he thinks I’m not dressed properly for what he planned? I don’t want to insult Alfred!”

Dick laughed hard enough to grab his stomach in pain. Marinette pouted at him. “Alfred will only care if you are intentionally trying to be offensive. That’s going to be true for almost all of them.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “But you’re dressed perfectly, I promise you. It’s nice but not too nice. The perfect meeting the family dress. But they’re going to care more about the person than the dress and they are going to love the person.”

He ran his hands up and down her arms at a soothing pace before pulling her against him and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. She smiled warmly at him and nodded, her lips set in a determined line. “Let’s do this. We got this.”

Dick chuckled and reached for the door. Before he could reach the handle, the door opened up in front of him. “Master Dick and you must be Miss. Dupain-Cheng. Please come in.” Alfred gave them a warm smile.

“Thank you so much. You must be M. Pennyworth.”

“Indeed I am. Please call me Alfred. Everyone else in the family does.” He smiled kindly at her. “It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“Thank you. Please just Marinette, Alfred. It is a pleasure to meet you. Dick talks about you all the time.” She reached up to give him la bise. She pulled away to offer him the box she had been carrying. “I brought some macarons for you and the rest of the family.”

He took the box gratefully. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“The grey ones are Earl Grey flavored, if you wanted to get to it before the rest of the family.” She handed over the box with a wink.

“Very thoughtful, indeed.” He nodded again with a secretive smile.

“The rest of the family in the living room?” Dick asked.

“They are, Master Dick. Awaiting Miss Marinette quite anxiously, I believe. I’m just finishing dinner. It should just be a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Dick and Marinette chimed at the same time. Alfred nodded again before disappearing toward the kitchen. Dick smiled to her and guided her toward the living room. “And now, into the mad house.” He took a deep breath as he opened the door to the living room. The room went silent for a few seconds before the noise level ramped up again with everyone welcoming them at the same time. “One at a time,” Bruce boomed loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

Dick nodded to him before going into introductions. “You already know Tim,” he started indicating Tim, who was already at Marinette’s side. Marinette nodded and gave Tim a hug. “That is Damian,” he pointed to the surly looking teen sitting on his own in an armchair. He nodded curtly to her so she returned the gesture. “And Jason.” He indicated a large man leaning against a console table. They waved politely to each other. “Duke,” he nodded toward the young man that just jumped up to shake her hand. “Barbara,” he moved out of the way so Barbara could roll closer to Marinette to say Hi. “Cass,” Cass waved excitedly. “And of course, you’ve met Bruce…”

“It’s good to see you again Mr. Wayne.” She held out her hand to shake his.

“Bruce, please. We’re not in the office. Welcome Miss. Dupain-Cheng.” He said warmly, reaching to give her a hug instead.

Marinette beamed at him. “Marinette, please. And thank you. You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you, Marinette.”

“Yeah, yeah. Beautiful home, blah, blah, blah. Alfred’s the one that does all the work anyway. Hi, I’m Stephanie.” She pushed Bruce over as she made her way over to Marinette. Marinette assumed it was a common occurrence based on the way Bruce just sighed and accepted it, sitting down quietly to observe the results.

“And this is Stephanie.” Dick repeated with a laugh.

“Hi, Stephanie. It’s nice to meet you.” Marinette grinned at her.

“How are you feeling? Do you need to sit down? Or drink some water? Or have a snack before dinner?” Stephanie fired off quickly.

“Let her breathe, Steph,” Barbara chided her.

Marinette smiled politely. “I’m fine right now, thank you.” Dick shook his head behind her so she couldn’t see. Unfortunately, she followed everyone’s line of sight and caught him. She gasped and slapped his arm. “I am!”

“You just threw up outside like seconds ago,” he pointed out. “In a bag! That we have since thrown away,” he added quickly before Alfred could hear from the kitchen and get upset they hadn’t mentioned it earlier.

“That was your driving,” she wrinkled her nose at him and turned back to the family. “And now that you’re not driving, I feel better.” Dick laughed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Oh God, I know exactly what you mean,” Barbara laughed in agreement.

Stephanie nodded in approval. “I like her.” She grabbed Marinette’s hand to pull her away from him and onto the couch. Cass nodded in agreement and moved to join them. “Come on, let’s complain about Dick some more. I have all kinds of stories to tell. You’re a fashion designer right?” Marinette nodded trying to keep up with her, both physically and mentally. “Oh girl, have I got pictures for you!”

“No! No! Let me wow her with my amazing fashion sense.” Dick trailed after them.

Stephanie leaned closer to Marinette as though confiding in her, but kept her voice at the same level so Dick could hear as well. “He says ‘amazing’. I think he’s confusing the word with appalling.” Marinette giggled. She wouldn’t agree out loud, but she’d seen some of his shirts and Stephanie wasn’t wrong.

“She met him wearing that red and black monstrosity and she still went home with him,” Jason pointed out. “You’re not going to scare her away.”

“Wow! You withstood that shirt huh?” Barbara sent them a teasing glance. “You must have been wearing your tight pants that night, Dick.”

“Oh yeah. How drunk were you? I’m going to say you were very drunk. Only possible excuse.” Stephanie waved it off.

“Dick has a lot of assets to offset…” she immediately stopped to rephrase grimacing.

“Hey!”

“Dick is amazing,” she corrected. “And yes he was. And he is smart, sweet, hot, thoughtful, devilishly charming, brave…”

“Says the woman that took down a guy triple her size the first time I met her and took out two henchmen in the hospital last week,” Dick cut in proudly. Marinette ducked her head embarrassed to talk about her more violent experiences in front of his family and her boss. She really did not want them thinking she was dangerous and unhinged. Dick squeezed her and kissed her temple.

“Yeah, we heard about the hospital. Two questions…” he moved so she could see him better.

“Jason, stop being a pain in the ass,” Tim chided him. “She doesn’t want to talk about that.”

Jason examined her for a second. Yes, she was closing off but it didn’t seem to be out of residual fear. It was more embarrassment. He could fix that. “Can’t. It’s in my nature.” He turned back to Marinette with a conspiratorial wink, “Pain in the ass is my middle name.”

Tim groaned. “Welcome to the family. You aren’t really in it until Jason harasses you mercilessly.”

“I thought it was when someone tried to kill you,” Stephanie scoffed.

Cass smacked her upside the head. Stephanie looked back at her betrayed. “What?” She caught Barbara’s pointed look and turned back to Marinette. “…In video games of course,” she corrected.

“Ooh,” Marinette’s eyes widened in excitement. “You guys play? What do you play?”

“Yes!” Duke exclaimed. “How are you at UMS?”

“Award winning,” Marinette smirked. “Literally. You have a copy?”

“As I was saying,” Jason interrupted loudly. “Two questions: one, how are you feeling after the hospital? And two, why did you throw a perfectly good gun?”

“I’m doing okay now. Spent a few days surrounded by either Dick or Tim in meetings or Adrien, my roommate, so I’m feeling a lot better,” she assured him.

“She still has a pretty nasty bruise,” Dick interjected.

“Seen her with her shirt off to know, huh?” Stephanie wiggled her eyebrows.

Marinette squeaked and spoke louder than she needed to. “As for the gun, we don’t really have guns in Paris so I don’t have a lot of experience shooting, but a gun has more than one potential use. During all the akuma attacks we learned to use everyday items creatively. I used it for the less common usage,” she shrugged as casually as she could. “A baton would have been better but you work with what you got.”

“Oh, I suppose Chat Noir has a baton,” Dick playfully grumbled.

Marinette grinned cheekily at him. “He does in fact, kind of like Red Robin but it can break into two if he wanted it to like Nightwing and Signal.”

Damian scoffed. “Being able to break in half decreases the tensile strength of the weapon, making it less effective.”

“True except for one thing… magic.” She wiggled her fingers for effect. Dick huffed out a laugh and Damian scowled.

“Oh, are we comparing baton size between Parisian heroes and Gotham heroes?” Jason asked suggestively.

“I mean you can… but Chat’s could also extend to the length he needs for any task, so...” She shrugged confidently.

“Oooh. I think the Gotham heroes would be a lot more popular if their weapons could do that, too.” Stephanie grinned.

“Anyway…” Jason interrupted. “Do you know how to shoot a gun or what?”

“Oh, no. I don’t,” Marinette answered, returning to Jason’s original topic. “That’s why I threw it. I’m confident enough in my throwing skills to know I’d hit him, but not in my shooting skills and I didn’t want to hit someone else.”

“I’ll teach you sometime,” Jason said resolutely. He wasn’t about to let his de facto sister-in-law not know how to defend herself.

“Oh that’s right. You were the one responsible for the horde of weapons in Dick’s apartment that made me freak out and run in the first place.” She gave him a pointed look.

“You ran because you were afraid.” He pointed out.

“I ran because I have good survival instincts,” she corrected him.

“Clearly not. You ran from Dick,” Damian interjected. Dick gave him a warning look that Damian determinedly ignored.

“Aberration,” she waved him off good naturedly. “You find a stockpile of weapons in Gotham, you run.”

“True. So you in?” Jason asked again.

Marinette stared at him strangely for a few seconds. “Huh. You know, you’re the second person this month to offer to teach me. Red Hood made the same offer.” She missed the glares Damian and Dick sent toward Jason, for different reasons, and the exasperated looks Tim and Bruce sent him.

“He probably just wants to make sure you know how. I’m sure he would be okay with a different teacher,” Jason assured her.

Marinette beamed at him. “It sounds like fun. I’d love to learn.” Dick let out a defeated sigh next to her.

“If you would like to make your way to the dining room, dinner is served.” Alfred announced.

They slowly made their way to the dining room. Dick and Marinette trailed behind the rest so Dick could give her a discrete hug and supportive smile. Jason quickly fell into step beside Marinette. “Damn, you really are the size of a pixie.” He stuck out his elbow to set it on her head.

Marinette gave him a playful glare, dodging before his elbow could land. “You know, you look about the same size as that guy at the bar… didn’t turn out too well for him.”

“Though she be but little, she is fierce,” Jason laughed. “I’m a better fighter than that guy was. After the baby, we can spar and I can show you and maybe teach you a few more moves in case you need to defend yourself.” He let the ‘when you get kidnapped for being with a Wayne’ part of his sentence go unsaid. “You seem like you’ll be scrappy.”

“I’m better than scrappy,” she smirked at him.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Jason grinned as he passed her to get to his seat.

“No, you’re not allowed to encourage each other.” Dick pulled out Marinette’s chair for her and gave Jason a warning look. Damian rolled his eyes at Dick as Alfred started serving the meal.

“Miss Marinette, I made yours less spicy than the rest of the family’s but if your medicine now allows you to eat bolder flavors, I have another back in the kitchen.”

“No, thank you Alfred. This will be perfect. The medicine helps but doesn’t make everything go away. More like a low simmer rather than a full boil.”

“Oh yeah. Dick said you started your morning sickness extra early. That sucks. I hope it means it’ll end extra early for you too.” Stephanie commented sympathetically.

Marinette smiled gratefully. “Thank you. Here’s hoping.” She raised her water in Stephanie’s direction and took a drink.

“Maybe it’s twins,” Jason offered taking a bite of his dinner.

Marinette choked on her water. Dick patted her back. “What?”

“That’s a sign of twins isn’t it? Early morning sickness?” He asked around the bite of roll in his mouth.

“This dinner suddenly got a lot less fun,” Dick mumbled to Marinette.

Marinette glanced surreptitiously toward the direction of her purse in the foyer before snapping her eyes back to Jason. “That’s not funny. You take that back.”

“Sorry, Pixie.” He shrugged nonchalantly, a taunting smile tugging on his lips. “I don’t make the rules.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Jason Aloysius Hubert…”

“Not one of those was anywhere near…”

“…Sebastian Tobias…” she continued ignoring his interruption.

“What the hell kind of names…” Jason started chuckling incredulously.

“…Winthorp…”

“Winthorp?” His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“… Pain in the ass Todd! You take that back right now.” Marinette finished. She glared at him but her faltering puckered lips, straining not to smile gave her away.

Jason broke out into raucous laughter. It took him a few minutes to calm down enough to speak again, but when he did, he wasn’t ready to end the fun. “I’m just saying having a little Marinette and little Dick running around here together would be cute,” he finished innocently.

She scoffed playfully. “If you want two babies running around here together, you better go find a woman to knock up right quick.”

Jason choked on his water. Everyone else’s eyes bugged out. “No! No! No! Little Dick? Cute. Little Marinette? Adorable. Little Jason? Terrifying,” Tim interjected.

“Hey, fuck you, Timbers,” Jason glowered at him.

“Language, Jason,” Bruce chided him.

“Well at least that wouldn’t result in a baby,” Stephanie observed, calmly eating her dinner.

“Might result in a death though,” Duke added, seeming not at all upset at the idea.

“I was an adorable kid,” Jason groused.

“It’s true,” Dick agreed. “You should have seen little Jason running around the manor doing extra credit and bragging about his report card.”

“That’s because my grades were amazing. But not ready to have one of my own honor roll students, so it’s on you, Marinette.”

Marinette leveled a look at Jason. “You know what? If it’s twins, you’re coming over for at least two hours a week…”

“Four,” Dick whispered.

“Per child, so four hours total per week, to watch them for us. Since they’ll be so cute and all. You can teach them with your honor roll brain.” Marinette poked her fork in Jason’s direction still giggling.

Damian scowled at the interaction between Marinette and Dick and Jason. “Threats are unnecessary. It is unlikely you will bear twins unless there is a history of it in your family. Is there a history of it in your family?” he asked disdainfully.

“No,” she admitted.

“Then your panic is childish and unwarranted. It is a statistical improbability,” Damian finished.

“Damian!” Bruce chastised him.

“Back off Demon Spawn. We were just having fun.” Jason growled.

Marinette snorted. “It was a statistical improbability that I would have gotten pregnant in the first place. And yet, here we are. Statistics has taken a giant leave of absence with this pregnancy already.” She stuffed her forkful of potatoes into her mouth with a smirk.

“Life finds a way,” Tim nodded sagely.

The table broke down into giggles. “Dork,” Stephanie snorted, shoving his face away.

“Is it common in France to give multiple middle names?” Bruce asked, trying to keep the group on lighter topics.

“How many names are you planning on giving the baby?” Duke asked.

“Uh, common for rich people anyway. I think they get an extra name for every couple million they’re born into. Adrien has four middle names. My friend Chloe has six.” She rolled her eyes and turned toward Duke. “And we haven’t talked about it but I was only planning on a first, middle, and last name.” She looked over to Dick for confirmation.

Dick nodded, slightly relieved. “Good. That’s good. I agree.”

“You haven’t talked about names yet? That’s going to be a fun conversation. Can I bring popcorn and watch?” Stephanie chuckled.

“Six?” Duke asked.

Marinette nodded. “Unbelievably pretentious parents.” She stopped and looked around. “I mean…”

“Nobody here has more than two middle names, you’re good,” Barbara waved off her concern.

“Oh, thank God. I didn’t want to upset anyone,” she let out a relieved breath.

“No, just entrap Dick and use us for our money,” Damian bit out.

“Damian!” Bruce chastised.

“Damian…” Dick growled lowly. Damian steadfastly avoided Cass’s disapproving frown and Dick’s angry glare.

“Marinette, I apologize for my son’s bluntness. I’ve tried to instill better manners in my children,” Bruce leveled a warning look at Damian.

Marinette blinked a few times and nodded. “Honesty is a virtue,” she started out slowly. “It’s good to be suspicious. I was of anyone who seemed to warm up too quickly to my friends who had assets others might want to take advantage of. A little bit of skepticism is healthy. And at least you’re being honest about it. Most of my friends wouldn’t be if the roles were reversed.” She chuckled slightly before turning toward Bruce. “There’s a respect in that. I know where he stands. He isn’t pretending. There’s no duplicity, no illusions, no pretending for the sake of politeness. You don’t know me and this,” she motioned to her belly, “is a lot all of a sudden to take in, and not just for you.”

“There’s no way she could have intentionally trapped me. I was the one who provided everything, as I’ve said before,” Dick pointed out, his voice sharp and defensive of anyone questioning Marinette.

“Unless it isn’t yours,” Damian hedged coldly.

“Demon Spawn, I swear to…” Jason threw down his fork and started to get up.

“Damian, you will treat our guest with respect or you will go to your room,” Bruce thundered.

“Wow, you are really unafraid. I bet you’re a fearsome sight in any kind of competition.” Marinette sent him an impressed smile. “That’s a valid question. I guess the only way to be absolutely sure is with a blood test and if Dick would like one, I’ll agree to it… after the baby is born. I’m not going to subject the baby to unnecessary dangers just to prove a point.”

“I don’t,” Dick assured her. “I don’t need it. I have no doubts.” Marinette’s eyes shined with appreciation and leaned into Dick as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“But your family might,” she pointed out quietly. “It’s a reasonable request. Believe me when I say if something like this happened to Adrien, Chloe would openly be on a warpath and Alya would be doing all kinds of duplicitous, questionably legal investigations into the woman.”

“Good friends,” Cass commented quietly.

“Yeah, I think I’d like them,” Stephanie agreed.

“And they would demand a blood test, so I understand and take no offense,” Marinette assured them.

“We don’t need it,” Tim spoke up.

“Speak for yourself,” Damian grumbled.

“That’s it Damian, go to your room,” Bruce barked. Damian huffed and pushed away from the table, leaving without a backwards glance.

“Perhaps it is time to retire to the living room with dessert,” Alfred offered, giving Damian a disappointed look as he passed him out of the room. As soon as everyone except Damian was settled in the living room, Alfred brought out the macarons, setting them on the table in the room. “Provided by Miss Marinette.”

“Oh, these look delicious. What are the flavors?” Bruce asked eying the cookies.

“The purple ones are lavender and honey. Dark brown is chocolate hazelnut. Light brown is salted caramel. Yellow is lemon. And pink is raspberry.”

“Holy shit, Pixie!” Jason exclaimed swallowing his bite. “These are good.”

“Jason, language, please,” Bruce repeated in a tired voice.

Cass gave her a thumbs up and grabbed another flavor.

“If you don’t marry her, I will.” Stephanie agreed, shoving her second macaron into her mouth.

Marinette giggled. “Good to know I have backup options.”

Dick narrowed his eyes playfully and wrapped his arms around her protectively. “That’s it we’re going home. You’re not allowed around my family anymore.”

Marinette laughed harder and cuddled into him, resting her head on his shoulder and humming contentedly as he squeezed her tighter against his side.

Chapter 11

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - illusion

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stusbunker · 3 years

Text

A Gentlemen’s Agreement Epilogue

A Supernatural Denny AU Fan-fiction Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny Lafitte

Other characters: Pamela, Jesse, Caesar, Crowley, Balthazar, Meg, Jo, Lee, Lisa, Sam (mentioned), Drea OFC, Robbie and SJ OMCs, Deanna OFC

Word count: 2340

A/N: Enjoy! xoxo Stu

Brunch

The sun was bright, but the air was crisp. The remnants of the early snowstorm had left soggy lawns and damp sidewalks. Benny pulled up to the restaurant and parked on the curb, smiling over at Dean. He waited patiently.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Dean squinted in the midday light.

“Been dying to meet ya. Figured it’s only fair, I met your folks, you can meet my people too,” Benny said simply. “But I’m not gonna force ya.”

“I just, I’m not used to being out in public. In numbers,” Dean sputtered.

Benny raised a single eyebrow at him. “Well, I guess this is your best shot to try it out, dontcha think?”

“What if they don’t like me? I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your friends,” Dean explained the root of the problem.

“I like you, they will too. Just relax, be your charming self and if you don’t know what to say, you can just keep eating.” Benny put his hand on Dean’s thigh, squeezing just so.

Dean growled out a sigh. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

Like that could make an uncomfortable situation worth it. Benny smirked at Dean’s logic, waiting for his face to soften from grouchy to amiable. Once Dean relaxed, Benny kissed him, just long enough to keep him flustered and climbed out of the truck.

They approached a large round table midway along the heated patio, where four people were already seated.

A raven haired woman waved them over. “My good Benjamin, did you bring a straight boy to brunch, just for me?!”

“Pammy!” Benny leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Hate to disappoint ya darlin', but ain't nothing straight about this'n."

“Hey, now! Can’t a guy speak for himself?!” Dean snipped defensively as he sat in the spot beside Benny.

Everyone laughed. Pamela raised her eyebrow in question.

Dean licked his lips and put on the smolder, “Sorry sweetheart, but I’m taken.”

“Wait, this--- THIS is your sassy mechanic?!” Crowley leaned forward, extending his hand, his English brogue gruff and pandering. “Nice to finally meet you, handsome.”

Dean gave Benny the side eye and all Benny could do was shrug coyly. Dean shook the man’s hand, trying not to show his discomfort from his lingering glances. Benny made the rest of the introductions, Jesse and Cesar were also a couple, but had been married for a few years. They seemed to be waiting on someone before they ordered. The group sipped their cocktails with a fresh pitcher of Bloody Mary in the center of the kitsch tablecloth.

Benny poured Dean a generous portion of the red drink and slipped seamlessly into the conversation. Dean sucked the palmeto out of an olive and listened casually, not too sure where he fit in this part of Benny’s life.

Twenty minutes later a rail of a guy swaggered in, with oversized aviators and a black linen suit.

“Oh, thank Christ for booze,” he huffed, grabbing Dean’s glass without even acknowledging Dean was there. The blonde chugged the entire drink, before breaking for air. “I just had the worst hook up of my life, no, well, the year at least. He took me to his mother’s house. She tried to make me breakfast. I was simply mortified. I just left. What could I even do at that point, honestly?!”

Now that his audience had his attention back, the man gawked at Dean. He even pulled down his sunglasses for a better look. “Now who the fuck is this? Is it show and tell?! Because I am not prepared in the least.”

He casually patted at his hair and eyed Dean from top to toe. Benny chuckled, but Pamela was the one to make the introduction.

“Balthazar, our regular hangover diva. Meet Dean, Benny’s boy toy,” she deadpanned, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh you can’t be serious,” Balthazar lamented, looking from Pam to Benny to Crowley and finally at Dean. “Fuck you southerners and your goddamn accents--- always gets the hotter ones,” he muttered defensively as he threw himself against the armrest of the chair, crossing his legs.

“Well, now that we’re all here,” Cesar ended the dramatics concisely. “Maybe somebody should find our waitress?”

Dean looked at Benny confused. “We’re always here for a while, she doesn’t bother us until we’re actually ready to order. Tend to annoy her otherwise.”

Crowley volunteered as he needed to head to the men’s room anyhow. Five minutes later he arrived with an obviously surly waitress.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Meg’s smokey voice broke through Balthazar's latest story. She centered herself between Cesar and Crowley’s seat and cocked her hip, tongue firmly in cheek as she waited for Dean to take her bait.

“Heya, Meg,” Dean sighed. The inevitable caught up with him after all, they just had to run into someone he knew.

“Oh, this has got to be good, now, pray tell, how do you two know each other?” Crowley probed.

“Oh me and this schmuck? We go way back.” Meg smiled without teeth.

“Is that so?” Benny tested the waters.

“Not like that,” Dean grumbled. “Meg, here, took my little brother Sammy out for a few spins, back in the day. Didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? It was high school.” Meg let her indifference coat her entire being until curiosity sparked to life in her eyes. “So what are you doing with this crowd, or did they bring you in just to add a new level of torture to my Sunday shifts?”

“Well---.” Dean swallowed, looked at Benny for clarification and got mild amusement instead. “I think you’re stuck with me now.”

“Joy,” Meg bristled before taking their orders, knowing most of the table’s usuals before they even opened their mouths.

News

Benny rushed into the customer entrance of the shop, the wet October air had kept the service doors closed for the past week. He leaned against the counter, decorated in local business cards and charity fliers, anxiously waiting for someone to talk to. His chest was so tight he worried he’d pass out from excitement. He just needed to see him was all, once he saw Dean it would be easier.

Lee sauntered in from the service bay, they both had drawn the short straw it seemed.

“Hey, mind getting Dean for me? It’s important,” Benny asked, unable to keep the burning smile from his face.

Lee eyed him curiously but nodded and headed back the way he came. He didn’t shout, not really. “Dean-o, your boyfriend’s looking for ya.”

Dean unfurled himself from the engine he had been tinkering with all morning and glared at Lee.

“Husband, whatever, seems urgent,” Lee acquiesced. Dean nodded and wiped his hands off on the closest rag. Dean pulled his wedding band out from his undershirt out of habit more than anything. He couldn’t wear it on his hands at work, but he didn’t want to lose it so Benny made him a braided leather necklace once they got back from their honeymoon.

Dean ignored formality and walked straight into the waiting room. Once he saw the look on Benny’s face he knew what was happening.

“It’s go time?” He asked, shock and exhilaration sparking his instinct to move.

“It’s go time, cher. Lisa called me on the way to the hospital. Sam’s driving her from the office. Her water broke about 9:30,” Benny explained, the nervousness slipping into his cadence.

“Alright, I’m gonna clean up, you want me to drive?” Dean asked, gauging the unsteadiness in his usually stalwart husband.

“That’s probably best, yeah,” Benny agreed.

Dean leaned in and kissed him firmly, resting his forehead against Benny’s temple before pulling away.“Hey, we got this, alright? That kid is gonna be so spoiled having you for a daddy, you know that?”

“Look who’s talking, gonna have you wrapped around their finger before they can even crawl,” Benny teased back, inhaling with contentment.

Dean headed back to warn his coworkers that he had a baby on the way and to clean up enough to be allowed into a hospital. Jo followed Dean out into the lobby. Quickly, she hugged Benny before demanding regular updates to the group chat.

“Alright, get out of here, we’ve got you covered for the rest of the week. Let me know and I will put in paternity leave as soon as everyone’s home, okay?” Jo got all professional about things as Dean left.

“Oh, right, shit. Well, I guess I’ll let you know when you can come over and---,” Dean started before Benny pulled him by his elbow.

“We should be goin’” Benny urged. Dean looked at Jo one last time and nodded.

This was it.

Dean held Benny’s hand the whole way to the hospital, their grip tightening every so often, grounding them both. Because Lisa was a friend and the surrogacy was looser than most circumstances, both Benny and Dean were allowed in the delivery room. They were the best cheerleaders a birth mom could have ever asked for. Seven hours later, one chubby baby girl entered the world screaming to high heaven and splitting her fathers’ hearts open for an entirely new level of love and devotion.

Mary Andrea Lafitte-Winchester, or Drea for short, was a happy and healthy little girl. And an overprotective big sister to her twin brothers, Samuel Joel and Robert Fergus, who came along four years later.

Sunset

They’re old men now. Dean is five years retired, while Benny works the register for their sons on the weekends. Both of their hands aren’t what they used to be. But they keep busy. Drea is bringing the kids round tomorrow, it’s the start of summer break and Dean’s been dying to teach her kids to fish.

Dean went grey after he turned fifty, but it hasn’t changed since, in color at least. Benny’s beard is as white as Santa Claus and he hides what little hair he has left under a cap. They’re both a little rounder, a little lower to the ground, but they got that way together and neither of them notice it on one another anyhow.

Every year they visit Jesse and Cesar in Arizona for New Year's. Though they fly more than make the drive these days.

They still take turns cooking the meals and the movie nights from their early days resurfaced into movie afternoons when their kids moved out. Dean can’t hear for shit anymore and, naturally, Benny makes fun of him for it. But Dean’ll put in his hearing aids if company is over.

It’s early evening in the beginning of June and the bugs are orchestrating quite the soundtrack to their time on the porch. Dean pours his whiskey. Benny’s already sipping his sweet tea, his medications don’t let him drink much anymore. Jo’ll come by on Sunday, along with SJ and his wife and Robbie. Sam and Jess usually make it to every other dinner or so.

“Hey there, handsome. Mind if I join you?” Dean teases, once a flirt always a flirt.

“Not at all, cher. It’s a helluva view,” Benny glances at his husband, watches Dean take in the peaches and pinks kissing the slopes of the fields. They sit like that for an hour, until the dark is too thick to see through. Groaning and creaking they stand in turn. Dean keeps his hand on the small of Benny’s back as they head inside for the night, steadying them both.

They moved their bedroom to the ground floor after Dean’s heart attack, a lot less worry about making it upstairs that way. After being married forty years, Dean still makes jokes about it being Benny’s place. But it’s always been his home. He kisses Benny goodnight, makes it a little saucy because he can. He’s the first to close his eyes.

In the morning Benny makes waffles and tofu bacon. Dean pretends he can’t taste the difference, fooling no one. They make out while the sink fills for the dishes, too few to run the machine. Benny gets handsy first and Dean tries to squirm into the upperhand. They’re interrupted by a car pulling in the drive.

“Busted,” Benny whispers.

“You’re the one who wanted kids,” Dean grumbles against Benny’s neck, an old, unfounded retort.

“Yeah, but the grandkids---,” Benny starts.

“Were made to be spoiled,” Dean finishes and kisses Benny once more. Drea’s yelling at her kids to slow down before her dads even make it outside to greet them. Her eyes, blue as her daddy’s are tired. They don’t envy her the school aged years. Dean bends down as baby Deanna, who’s nearly four, comes crashing into his arms. He pulls her up and holds her tight, reminds him of her mama and he can’t help but get a little weepy over the passing years.

“It’s so good to see you, baby girl.” Benny pulls his daughter into a hug before helping with their bags. The older kids don’t come inside until it’s time to eat, climbing through the barn and splashing in the creek until they’re soaked. But Deanna sticks with her Grandpa on a simple stroll, while Pappy and Mama catch up.

Dean still has the jacket he bought from Benny, though the pants are long gone. He’ll leave it to Robbie when the time comes, when his son finds himself a stud that’s worth settling down for. If that’s what he chooses.

For now, Dean lets his granddaughter pick up every rock and stick she finds and examines it to the nth degree. He explains what he can about each one. She’s very curious. He even lets her wipe her chubby little hands on his pants’ leg when she needs to. They get back to the house just in time to start dinner, but before they go inside Dean takes a mental picture of his husband on the porch, their daughter beside him and his granddaughter running past him.

It is a helluva view after all.

Tell me what you think?

Series Masterlist

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Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @fookinghelljensensthighs @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary @itmighthavebeenintentional @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6 @lyarr24

#supernatural #supernatural au #spn fanfic #spn au #dean/benny #dean winchester x benny lafitte #bi!dean #aga: epilogue #A Gentlemen's Agreement #childbirth #meeting the friends #found family #aging #mortality #love of a lifetime #grandpa and pappy #health issues #Joel is for Jo and Ellen

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bbrandy2002 · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday Jessica!

Title: Twinsane

A/N: Jessie, You already know Burns and I are big fans of your characters and stories, in particular your Leo and Drake. The three of us made our big writing debuts at the same time in the Summer of 2019 and became fast friends that have continued through every high and low we’ve each experienced in our lives. You’ve always been a great and supportive friend with a big heart and a bit of a funny bone. We both hope you have an amazing birthday and we wish you all the best in the coming year.

This story takes place in a universe created by @jessiembruno.

Palace -- Throne Room

Liam paced the ancient throne room, site of their infant daughter’s upcoming anointing and baptism. Everything seemed to be in place; Regina had made sure of it despite the cast on her arm from her latest sex injury.

Still, he worried.

Not because of terrorist threats, not because of Lilyana possibly blowing out her diaper and ruining a $2,000 christening gown. No, he had two concerns:

His brother and his brother-in-law.

His wife tried to console him about it, but every time she did, the new father threw his hands up in the air and said, “I don’t want to talk about that stupid pendejo. I just can’t with him --” and the fights they had afterward weren’t worth it.

Leo had passed two kidney stones on the day Lilyana was born. Liam felt bad for him; he really did. Everything he’d heard about passing kidney stones was that it was a truly painful ordeal.

But Leo, as always, had taken things too far.

First of all, he’d named them: Rocky and Peter. He referred to them as “the twins,” and everywhere he went, that goddamn jar went with him. It was embarrassing to be somewhere with him in public and then to hear the telltale rattling as he adjusted change in his pocket.

That was nothing, though, compared to when he’d bought “the twins” a Silver Cross Balmoral pram at the eye-popping price tag of seven grand. It was both nicer and more expensive than Jessica and Liam’s $2,700 Bugaboo by Diesel stroller; Liam had thrown a fit. And not just because Leo had charged them both to Liam’s credit card.

“We are carting around a royal baby! You spent seven thousand dollars on a grocery cart for your goddamn kidney stones?”

Leo, puffing out his chest, had merely clutched the jar of medical waste to his heart. “My children are royal adjacent, thank you very much.”

At least Drake understood that the elder Rys brother was off his rocker, but since Drake flew all the way off the handle every time the subject was mentioned, Liam tried to avoid the inevitable blowups. Just last week, there had been an … incident at a formal dinner.

“Drake, will you watch the boys while I take a piss?” Leo had extended the jar toward the surly dark-haired man.

“Get those fucken things away from me, Leo! Those were in your fucken dick! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Liam had tried to calm Drake down -- Princess Lesedi looked absolutely horrified at the outburst -- but as usual, Leo just made things worse.

Huffing loudly, he proclaimed, “Lilyana was in Jessica’s bacon hole, and I don’t hear you complaining about that, Drake. You hold her all the time, but you never take the twins when I ask! I am through with this open favoritism!”

Only Alyssa, quietly intervening and taking the jar, had prevented a full-on brawl from breaking out. But since she started to cry when Drake refused to hold her hand afterward even following a thorough handwashing, the crisis hadn’t really been averted in the end.

Thinking of Drake only led Liam to ruminate on Mateo, his brother-in-law. Nearly a year before, when the four friends had attended a Yankees game with Jessica’s brothers, Mateo had made a sloppy pass at Alyssa without knowing she was in a relationship.

Well, to be more precise, he’d actually talked about Alyssa in front of her face, not realizing she spoke Spanish, and told his brother “Alyssa can sit on my face.”

The only thing that had saved the weekend from devolving into complete anarchy was that Drake didn’t know enough Spanish to translate. But someone -- probably shit-starting Leo -- had explained Mateo’s words to Drake, and now Alyssa’s new husband was out for blood.

If any of them ruin my little princess’ day, Liam swore to himself, I will murder them. I’m king. I can pardon myself.

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

Palace -- Ballroom

Lilyana was properly anointed and baptized. At the head table, overlooking the large gathering as he cradled his daughter in his arms, Liam looked over the party with a sigh of relief and scooped up another forkful of chicken tagine. Everything had gone off without a hitch, and now they just needed to feed all these people, hand the princess off to Regina or one of her doting aunts or uncles, and he could spirit his wife away to take his “royal scepter” anywhere she wanted it.

His eyes tracked to Leo, who was in rapt conversation with Penelope across the room. When Leo pulled the jar out of his pocket, Liam threw back his entire scotch in disgust.

Jessica, resplendent in a new Ana de Luca original, came back to the table. “God, these fucken people are intolerable, Liam. How much longer --” Her words were cut off when Liam wrapped his hand around her wrist.

“My love, give our daughter to her grandmother. Te necesito. Ahora,” he added, eyes locked on hers. (I need you. Now.)

She took the baby from his arms and brought Lilyana to Alyssa. “The princess needs some time with her Auntie Lyss.”

Alyssa smirked as she kissed the infant’s sweet-smelling head. “And the queen needs to get her back blown out?”

Jessica tossed her hair. “Fuck yeah.”

Alyssa high-fived her before she walked away.

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

Palace -- Liam and Jessica’s Quarters

“You’re so gorgeous, love,” Liam grunted, gripping a fistful of Jessica’s hair and tugging her head back, exposing her throat to his lips and teeth.

She shuddered at the feeling, reaching for his thick length. “We don’t have a lot of time …”

“We have as much time as it takes.” He unzipped the dress and slid it down her body, admiring the curves that had only become lusher with motherhood. Lowering her to the bed, Liam’s lips moved over Jessica’s breasts and stomach. He toyed with the waistband of her underwear.

“Liam, please --”

The panties dropped to the ground, and her plea melted into a throaty groan at the first swipe of his tongue. “Fuuuuuuuuck.”

“Yes, love,” he said against her, working her with his hands and mouth. “Dámelo.” (Give it to me.)

She was still shaking with her release when Liam crawled over her, his rigid cock probing between her thighs. “Now, muñeca.”

Something crashed against the door.

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

Palace -- Ballroom

To his delight, Leo had reunited with Miss Willoughby, his fourth-grade teacher. Though she was no longer as perky as he remembered and had grown an unfortunate goiter, she listened attentively to Leo’s stories about his children.

She had had a lot of champagne.

“Do you have a picture?” she asked at last, after Leo had regaled her with the tale of taking Peter and Rocky grocery shopping for the first time.

“Even better than that.” Leo proudly reached into his jacket pocket. “Boys, I’d like you to meet Miss Willoughby.”

The teacher shrank back with concern. “Leo … what -- what is that?”

“They are Rocky and Peter.” He pointed to each stone as he introduced them. “Their birth was excruciating, but it was worth every moment of pain.”

Miss Willoughby rubbed her misshapen throat lump. “Are those --”

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Technically they are kidney stones. But the word ‘kid’ is right in there! Love makes a family, Miss Willoughby. Not your status as ‘human.’” He punctuated the last word with finger quotes of disgust.

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

On the other side of the room, Drake’s gaze narrowed on a familiar face. “Devereaux!” he hissed.

Alyssa looked up from where she had been singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” to Lilyana. “What?”

“Is that Jess’ fucken brother?”

She bit her lip. It was Mateo, but no way was she letting Drake get involved in a brawl at the princess’ anointing, for Christ’s sake. “I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean, you ‘don’t remember’?”

Waving a breezy hand, Alyssa hastily tried to defuse the situation. “Oh, I was drinking a lot that day.”

“A lot for you. Not for your average 15-year-old,” he snickered, agreeing.

To Alyssa’s relief, the man had slipped out of sight. “Well, be that as it may, you should let that Mateo thing go. Everything’s cool.”

He scowled. “It is not. I know he’s here today! I’m going to find him and kick the shit out of him.”

-----------

“You should call me Roberta.”

Leo raised his eyebrows. “Miss Willoughby -- Roberta. I would be delighted to.”

She set down her flute. “You certainly grew up handsome …”

Smoothing his blond locks back into place, Leo gave her a rakish grin. “Why, Roberta. How forward of you.”

“Is there somewhere we can get away?” She reached out and gripped his ass with surprising strength.

“I guess that depends on how much you’ve had to drink.”

“The perfect amount.” Her hand slid around to the front, grappling with the front of his pants.

“Whoooooooa. Well, in that case, yes. We can get away.”

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

Alyssa handed Lilyana to Drake in another attempt at distraction, nervous about the way he was pacing the room. “Uh, I have to use the bathroom. Can you take the baby?”

He was already cooing at Lilyana, assuaging Alyssa’s nerves until she made out the words. “And Uncle Drake’s gonna beat the fuck out of your Uncle Mateo ... yes, he is! Yes, he is!”

“Drake!” she gritted.

“Because nofuckingone talks about your Auntie Lyssa like that; no, they do not!” he continued in a singsong voice, ignoring Alyssa completely.

She rolled her eyes and headed out of the ballroom, content that he at least wouldn’t start any physical fights with a baby in his arms.

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

Palace -- Liam and Jessica’s Quarters

Jessica sat up with a start, unfortunately bending Liam’s manhood at an awkward angle. He screamed.

“Who the fuck is at the door?” Her shrewd eyes, trained to find danger, scanned the room. She threw Liam’s jacket on -- their size difference meant it fit her like a gigantic robe -- and grabbed her taser.

“Love, wait!” Liam struggled up from the bed, wincing at the pain in his dick.

“Goddammit, Leo!” Jessica screeched upon throwing the door open.

Her brother-in-law’s bare ass, driving rhythmically toward a faceless someone who was pressed against the opposite wall, greeted her.

“Jess! Fuck!” Leo slowed. “Sorry, Roberta, hang on.” Continuing to hold her against him as a shield, he craned his head around to look at her. “I’m a little busy right now. What?”

She slammed the door closed. “Liam, get dressed.”

“What the fuck is going on?” The king complied, his good mood completely dissipated.

“Your fucken brother is banging someone outside our door. I’m pretty sure his ass is the crashing sound we heard. His naked ass touched the door. I’m having maintenance replace it tomorrow!”

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

Palace -- Hallway Outside Liam and Jessica’s Quarters

Leo struggled back into his pants, grateful that his partner had kept her dress on. “Miss W -- Roberta, I’m really sorry, but we’re going to have to cut this short. Er, not that anything about me is short, obviously. But I’m pretty sure my brother’s about to come out here --”

The door flew open. “LEO, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Liam raged.

“Run!” Leo grabbed Roberta’s hand and took off running down the corridor, jacket in his other hand.

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

Palace -- Ballroom

Alyssa hadn’t come back, but the more Drake stared at the man he had noticed earlier, the more he was convinced it was Mateo Garcia.

That fucker.

Lilyana had fallen asleep against his chest. He wasn’t going to disturb her or put her in danger, but …

Drake looked at the abandoned plates of cake on their table. Steadying the baby with his left arm, he picked up a handful of cake and squeezed it experimentally in his fist. Maybe he hadn’t played ball with Liam and Maxwell in a few years, but he still had a decent arm.

He rose, stalking closer to his target but staying close to the exit for a quick getaway.

Drake raised his arm and fired.

The handful of cake exploded against the man’s face. Spluttering, Mateo whipped his head around and roared, “What the fuck was that?”

Drake and Lilyana slipped out the nearest door, almost colliding with a sweaty Leo, panic in his eyes.

Leo grabbed Drake’s shoulders, careful to avoid Lilyana’s head. “Drake! We have a crisis on our hands!”

He listened to Leo with only half his attention; his other ear focused uneasily on the new commotion of screaming and -- was that breaking glass? -- inside the ballroom.

“So I need you to come on the search mission with me,” Leo finished.

Drake shook his head to clear it, registering an older woman with a prominent goiter slinking back into the ballroom. “The fuck are you talking about? Did you just finish having sex with that woman?” He jerked a thumb toward Roberta.

The blond man scowled. “I didn’t get to finish, and neither did she, thanks to Jess and Liam’s drama.”

“But the --” Drake gestured to his neck.

Leo waved it off. “I hit it from behind. No distracting visuals that way.”

“You, dickhead!” Drake grimaced. “Thanks for the mental image.”

“My pleasure. Now, we need to go. Find someone to take the baby. I need you completely focused.”

“On what? Where the fuck are we going?”

“Have you not been listening to me? Jesus, Drake! I need you to help me find the twins!” Leo raked his hand through his hair, making it stand on end as his blue eyes burned with obsessive fire. “I took my jacket off when I was nailing Miss Willoughby -- er, Roberta -- and the jar must have fallen out. My children are missing, Drake!”

Drake nestled Lilyana against his chest and covered one of her ears. “You -- you have lost the fucken plot, Leo. I am not searching for your -- your -- dick rocks!”

“You were there at their birth, Drake. It hurts me that you take no interest in your godstones.”

“Stop calling them my ‘godstones’! That is not even a goddamn word --” Drake broke off his rant as Alyssa appeared in the hallway, covered in red. “Jesus Christ! Baby!” He thrust Lilyana into Leo’s waiting arms; the baby woke up and began to cry. “What happened?”

“Huh? You made the baby cry!” Alyssa went to take Lilyana, but Drake grabbed her.

“Look at you, Devereaux! Where are you bleeding from?” Frantic, he tugged the neckline of her dress aside, exposing her bra. She slapped his hand away.

“Stop! I’m not bleeding!”

“But --” He gestured to the bright stain marring her light blue dress.

She looked down. “Oh, that. Someone dumped gazpacho on me when I was walking through the ballroom.”

“What?”

Alyssa pointed. “It’s anarchy in there; didn’t you notice?”

The men peered into the room. Roughly 40 people, most screaming, flung food at each other, ducking to avoid flying lunch items and using plates and -- in several concerning cases -- overturned tables as shields.

“What happened?” Leo looked concerned.

Alyssa noted the guilty look on Drake’s face as she rocked and tried to shush Lilyana. “I think this baby needs to eat. Have you seen Liam or Jess?”

The question seemed to snap Leo back to reality. “You should look for them, Lyss. Head them off --”

“What do you mean ‘head them off’?”

But Leo continued, “And in the meantime, Drake and I need to find the twins!” He grabbed a loudly-protesting Drake by the arm and dragged him down the hall.

A moment after they turned the corner, Alyssa, still rocking the baby, was startled by her voice from behind her. She turned her head to see Liam and Jessica stalking rapidly toward her. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back!”

Jessica took Lilyana, cuddling her. “Let’s go eat.” Stepping into the ballroom, she shrieked, “What the fuck?”

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

“I need you to help me file a missing persons report,” Leo said 15 minutes later, after they had repeatedly combed the hallways looking for the jar of kidney stones. “My children are in danger!”

“Stop calling them your fucken children!”

Leo pressed his lips together with frustration. “I went through two hours of labor and five minutes of pushing, all for your GODSTONES! The least you can do is help report the twins’ disappearance and bring them back to their Papi Chulo.”

He was saved from Drake’s wrathful retort by a notification on Drake’s phone. “Oh, no you don’t,” Drake muttered, typing furiously on his keyboard.

“What are you doing?” Leo huffed impatiently.

“Someone outbid me for this lure I really want.” Drake finished typing and sucked in a breath. “Ohhhhh shit.”

“What now?”

Raking a hand through his hair, Drake extended his phone toward Leo. “Uhhhhh, I think you better look at this.”

“HOberta69? Drake, don’t buy anything from a seller with that name -- holy shit!” he exclaimed as he looked closer.

He clicked the link; the phone screen filled with his own image. “Yeah,” video Leo said, “it hurt like a son of a bitch when I pushed these li’l fellers out, but that’s parenthood!” He held up the jar and shook it. “The rascals.”

Drake covered his face with his palm. “You are so fucken embarrassing.”

“This fucken kidnapper! I give her the best two-pump-chumpin’ she’s ever had and this is how the old bag repays me? Oh, the fucken humanity! I will hunt her down! I will throw her in the dungeons! I will --”

“She’s basically holding them for ransom,” Drake said reasonably. “Maybe if you message her …”

But Leo had already clicked the “buy it now” option. “Thank God I still have Liam’s credit card saved to my account.”

Drake’s eyes widened. “You paid for the dick rocks? With Liam’s credit card? You know he’s gonna fucken kill you?”

“Calm your tits, Drake.” Leo heaved a heavy sigh. “You and Alyssa haven’t created a family yet. The first lesson you’re gonna learn when the time comes, though, is that parenthood is full of bullshit sacrifice … and Liam is the lucky guy who gets to make that sacrifice.”

37 notes · View notes

cactuskate · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3: This Can't Happen

an: sorry friends life got crazy! as a treat, I will be posting chapters 3 and 4 tonight so look out for them :)

Summary: Y/N takes a leap of fate and joins the Falcon's crew... on a few conditions. But the surly and sexy Han Solo seems to already be giving her a hard time, and she likes it?!

Warning: swear words, bruise injury

word count: 3234 (sorry not sorry)

----

You enter the Union headquarters sheepishly, trying not to catch the attention of the Sisters as you sit in the back for the daily briefing. After the last mission is handed out, and you are left unassigned, you know you are in for it. Sister Carrie stands at the front of the room, staring right at you through the crowd of Union warriors.

“Last night, Y/N and Estrella successfully completed their mission involving four war criminal stormtroopers. As of tonight, justice was served and all four men are in the custody of the Resistance. Unfortunately, one trooper came looking for our Y/N today, and they engaged in a round of combat that resulted in Y/N turning the trooper into Resistance officers sooner than anticipated. While this was the right decision, Y/N compromised the integrity of the mission so as a result of this regrettable action, the Sisterhood has decided a week’s probation will serve as punishment. That is all for tonight. You may be dismissed. Go forth and serve.”

You groan as the room turns to you, your face growing warmer by the second.

“Sister Carrie, may I speak with you for a moment?” you ask, hoping to deflect some of the stares from your peers. You approach the front to speak with the Sister. She looks tired, distraught even.

“You must know, we had to punish you to such an extreme. You had to be an example for the others,” Sister Carrie offers, somewhat apologetically.

“I understand, Sister,” you say, solemnly.

“You are one of the greatest warriors our Union has. It would be inappropriate to let your actions go unpunished. Although, I hear that this man had it coming, and it would be rude of me to not acknowledge the great service you provided to the community today,” Sister Carrie continues.

“So, I was caught on a technicality, then,” you state blandly, more than you ask.

“No, dear, it was more than just a mere technicality, and you know it,” Sister Carrie corrects.

You know she’s right. You didn’t have to say anything to him. You were right to fight back, you were wrong to reveal the details of the mission. You were so overcomed by the moment, by the trooper’s sinistry, that you couldn’t help yourself.

“I was offered a job, off-planet, as part of a cargo crew. I wasn’t going to take it. But I’m starting to think I should,” you say softly, as Sister Carrie looks at you with caring eyes. “I wanted to ask you about how it would work to be an interplanetary Union member. I think my skills would be valuable on more planets than just Tatooine.”

“My dear, I’ve been waiting for the day you ask me about this. I’m saddened it comes today, after such a difficult decision to place you on probation. Nevertheless, this is your path.”

----

“She’s not coming, Chewie,” Han sighs, pressing his drink to his lips. The two have been camped out all day in the cantina, hoping you would show up. It was late afternoon, and the clock was ticking. There was only about an hour left until sunset, two at most.

“Give her time,” Chewie urged, trying more to convince himself there was still a chance for her to show up than Han.

“Oh, get a grip. There’s not much time left, Chewie,” Han said, accepting defeat.

He wasn’t sure why he cared so much about someone he just met two days ago. Ever since he laid eyes on Y/N, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The duo sulked in their booth, looking down at their drinks. If Y/N hadn’t sat down at the booth, they would have completely missed her.

“I have questions,” you stated, waving over the waitress to ask for a drink. Han and Chewie jolted up, startled by your presence. “Conditions, too.”

“Anything you want, you’ve got it,” Chewie exclaimed, happy you had decided to show. A wave of relief rushed over Han as he sat across from you, trying to convince himself that you were really there.

“Hold up, fur ball. Let’s hear her demands before we throw out bargaining altogether,” Han said, not hiding his excitement very well. You took a slow sip out of her glass, carefully catching their gaze - first Chewie, then Han. Han’s stomach started to churn. He was willing to agree to anything to get you on the crew, but he wasn’t ready to reveal that just yet.

“Okay,” you say, setting down your drink carefully. “First is responsibilities. I can do pretty much anything you might need a crewmate to do except pilot. I’ll cook meals, I’ll clean quarters, I don’t know the kind of wiring or mechanics the Falcon has but I’m a quick learner and have experience in repairs.” You look between the duo again before proceeding, making sure to note any changes in their expression. “I will not be joining in on your smuggling unless it is advantageous to me. I speak several languages. I am good at getting information from people - they tend to offer it to me. I would be willing to help on any job to that extent. Anything further, I’d need to consider. How does that sound?”

“Sounds fine so far, but I’m guessing there’s more,” Han said, shooting a knowing look at Chewbacca. You grab the base of your glass and spin it a couple times before taking a sip. Han tenses in his seat, watching your glass rise to meet your lips.

“Second, conditions,” you say, as you set your glass back down on the table. “I’d like my own private space on the ship. Preferably a room with a door, but I would take a corner if that was all you had. I don’t mind sharing other things, I just want my own space to sleep.”

“We have a spare room on board. No one’s slept in it in years, so it might need some sprucing up, but it’s yours,” Han says, agreeing to your first condition, wondering how many more you were going to introduce.

“Good,” you nod. “I’d also like some sort of allowance. It doesn’t have to be much, and it doesn’t have to be a share of your jobs. I’d just like enough to buy small items and maybe save some of it away,” you say, glancing between the two again.

“That’s a given. What’s your next condition?” asks Han, more seriously than before. There isn’t a single condition he wouldn’t agree to, same with Chewbacca.

“Final condition. I am not going to be sitting on the ship twiddling my thumbs when you two are out on a job. Of course, I’ll stay back when you need me to or if I have repairs to make, but I plan to venture out into whatever city we are in,” you say, pausing before you continue cautiously. “I need you to not ask questions about what I do or where I go or who I’m with, aside from emergencies or things I choose to offer.”

This was the most important condition. The answer to this would be the determining factor of whether or not you would be able to still work for the Union and live up to the oath. Han glances and Chewie, who gives him a nod.

“That’s something we agree to. But, I have to warn you, Chewie is so nosy, so that might not always be avoided,” Han says sincerely, clearly joking about Chewie, who gives him a disgruntled look.

“So we agree then, on everything?” you ask, making sure your arrangement is final.

“Yes. You are officially part of the crew,” Chewie grunts happily. Han gives you a smile and shakes your hand.

“Good, because Rella and Brendol are outside with my belongings and it would have been a pain to unpack everything,” you say with a smirk.

----

“So, that’s basically the lay of the land. Here is your room. I’m right next door, which you should be grateful for. Chewie is a big snorer, so it’s a good thing his room is next to the cockpit,” Han says, leaning on the doorframe, watching you as you take in your new quarters. “What do you think?”

“It’s great, thank you,” you say, placing your bags on the cot. The room had potential. Han was right, it definitely needs some major sprucing up. But it was all yours, and you couldn’t help but reel with excitement about your new adventure.

“Right, let’s get a move on,” Han says, turning to walk to the cockpit. “It’s going to take the better part of two days to get this delivery to Navarro. Once the cargo is delivered and we get paid, we’re going to have to figure out where to get a high paying job with the guild. They aren’t always too welcoming to smugglers.”

You buckle into your seat behind Chewbacca, carefully watching Han click on a series of buttons to prepare the Falcon for takeoff.

“I could help you find information about jobs on Navarro,” you offer. “If we can find a cantina the guild hangs out in, I’m sure I could find someone to tell me how to get a good job.”

Han turns slightly to look at you, then turns to Chewie.

“Not even an hour into being a crew member and she already is willing to talk to the Navarro guild,” he chuckles. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

After a few minutes of takeoff, the Falcon is ready to launch into hyperspeed. You have never flown at hyperspeed before. The one time you flew off-planet only required enough fuel to travel a planet over. Now, you are about to travel systems away. As the Falcon revved into hyperspeed, your eyes widened. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. With stars lighting up the cabin, Han and Chewie unbuckled.

“We can move around now,” Chewie informed you, clearly entertained by your amazement.

“This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” you say, mostly to yourself.

“You get used to it,” Han said softly, tossing a rag into the bin under the main board.

“I doubt it,” you say, still in awe. After a moment, you announce, “I think I’ll go unpack.”

“I’ll take the first shift, Han,” Chewie says, much to Han’s delight.

----

After what feels like hours of cleaning and unpacking in your quarters, you venture back up to the cockpit to find Chewie.

“Will you tell me what all these buttons mean?” you ask Chewie, settling into the co-pilot’s chair for a better view.

Chewie explains each button, though you’re not quite sure what they all mean. He begins to quiz you on it when you are interrupted by Han.

“What are you doing up there? That’s my chair,” he grumbles to you, not trying to hide his annoyance.

“Stop being so weird about your chair, Solo,” Chewie grumbles back. “I was just showing her the controls.”

“It’s fine, Chewie,” you say, addressing the Wookiee, and ignoring Han. “I should get started on some of my tasks,” you say as you rise from Han’s chair and squeeze past him to leave the cockpit.

Han shoots Chewie a confused look as Chewie shakes his head in disapproval. After a moment, Han ventures out to find you. You are fixing one of the leaking pipes in the south bay when he finds you.

“Look, I didn’t mean to…”

“Be a jerk?” you offer, not meeting his eyes, still slightly annoyed by his childish behavior. This was the Han Solo you thought you’d get. The past two days of niceties were apparently a rarity. You felt him still standing there, so you looked up from what you were doing. “What do you want, Solo?”

“I apologized, I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Han shoots back, absorbing your annoyed mood as his own.

“I think I must have missed where you apologized,” you drone, putting all your effort into not showing any more emotion to him. “You don’t need to apologize, I just won’t sit in your chair anymore. Noted,” you say, poking your index finger on your temple. “And I’m not upset, I’m genuinely trying to do my tasks.”

“Fine,” Han says, still not moving. He watches you as you return your attention to closing the leaky valve. Though you struggle a bit, you eventually fix the pipe. He’s still there. Watching.

“What?” you sigh. You don’t like how much influence he has over your emotions. You’ve only known him for three days and it’s already so hot and cold with him.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” he murmurs. “It’s not easy.”

“Maybe that’s intentional,” you huff, placing the tools back in the metal box.

“I keep thinking about yesterday. What you said to that trooper. How you said he came back for a second round. You had planned to fight him in the cantina, or at least interact with him, didn’t you?” Han says, thinking out loud. “He was a target of some kind.”

Ugh. You were really regretting saying another word to that trooper. First probation, and now Han’s peaked interest.

“He’s a bully. I don’t like bullies. Simple as that,” you say, nonchalantly.

You pick up the toolbox and try to move past Han. He stops you from moving any further. His shoulders are so broad that he blocks the doorway without even trying. He is facing you straight on, your eyes meeting him.

“I don’t think it's as simple as that. Nothing about you seems simple,” he says softly.

He holds your gaze for a moment before finally moving to the side, letting you go to your next task. A pit grows in your stomach as you walk to the other end of the ship. It’s a feeling you don’t like to welcome often. You do your best to shake it off, and focus your energy into completing what tasks you can in peace.

----

You don’t see anyone until dinner, which consists of freeze dried leftovers. Not much is said - a result of a long three days. The quiet is nice; you never realized how quiet space could be. With no conversation or noise to distract you, you are keenly aware that your side radiates pain. Han and Chewie don’t seem to notice, which is just as well for you. You’d rather not think about your injury, let alone allow it to attract the attention of your crewmates. After dinner, Chewie goes to sleep and Han takes watch over the cockpit for the night. You return to your quarters for a bit, waiting until it becomes quieter before deciding to run a few laps.

Not even a day into probation and I’m already bored.

Running is exactly what you need, especially since you finished the majority of the maintenance work for the entire travel period in the first few hours. You sneak out of your room, careful not to make too much noise. Space is cold. You aren’t used to that. You look down at your side, which is now turning the same shade of deep blue as your top. Starting off slowly so as to not agitate the pain from your ribs, you quickly realize that the only time running inflames the injury is when you twist your torso. Otherwise, you can run just as well as you could before.

Immersing yourself in your workout, you lose count after a few laps around the Falcon. You are so focused on your breathing and your footwork that you don’t hear the cockpit door shoot open.

“What the hell are you running from?!” grumbles an annoyed Han. You stop short, sending a ripple of pain through your ribs, causing you to retract over your legs, hugging you side, moaning slightly.

“You scared me, oh my stars,” you groan, gently rubbing your side as you remain bent over your legs. Han stands there impatiently. As you stand back up, his face goes pale.

“Shit, Y/N. Look at your side,” he says softly.

The light from the Falcon illuminates your discolored ribcage, revealing an assortment of bruising colors. Han gently grabs the bottom of your shirt, lifting it gingerly to see the trail of color extend up to your chest. Before you can swat his hand away, he gently tugs the top of your waistband down to see the color continues down towards your hips.

“Solo, stop,” you wince, carefully taking a step back until he releases your garments.

The soft snap of your waistband on your skin sends a ripple of pain through your bones. Han quickly walks to the common room and you follow.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as he grabs a bag from under the couch. He unzips the bag and pulls out a syringe. A bacta shot. “No...Solo. I-I don’t want that,” you refuse, already realizing what he’s going to try to do.

“Y/N, you need it. Please let me,” he says, insistently, his eyes growing with worry. “I haven’t ever seen a hit get this badly bruised,” he says quietly.

“Solo, that’s your last bacta shot. You need to save it. I’m fine… That bastard just hit me in the same spot twice,” you say, wincing as you remember the blows. “It’s just a bruised rib - worst case scenario it’s broken. Most people with this injury don’t do anything but give it time. It’ll heal in a few weeks and the bruising will go down in a couple days,” you say sincerely, trying to put on a convincing face.

Han frowns, but he puts the syringe back in the bag and zips it up.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” You look at him confused. “What the hell were you running from?” You roll your eyes.

“I was jogging, trying to pass the time. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” you say, searching his face trying to get a better read on him. After a moment with no response from Han, you continue. “Luckily for you, I’m going to sleep.”

You start to walk to the door of your room when Han’s hand catches your arm. He turns you around and you meet his gaze.

“You tell me the minute you change your mind about that shot. I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he says seriously. His rough hand firmly gripping your bicep sends shivers down your back. Just as quickly as he grabbed your arm he dropped it, walking back to the cockpit, leaving you feeling a way you haven’t felt in a long time - aroused.

That night, you toss back and forth, convincing yourself that Han is off limits, for many reasons. Well, for two big reasons: he’s your crewmate, and you took an oath to the Union.

Yet, you find yourself getting more flustered by the moment. You relive the past three days, and all the times he’s watched you with those piercing brown eyes. Those things he told you in Brandol’s shop - how you deserve more - what he told you today in the bay - that there’s nothing simple about you. You try to shake the thoughts from your mind, but it’s no use. It’s nothing, this infatuation. Han Solo is arrogant and rude. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of liking him in any other way but professional.

This. Can’t. Happen.

#y/n x han solo #han solo x fem reader #han solo x y/n #han solo angst #han solo reader insert #han solo smut #han solo fanfiction #you wish you were y/n huh

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arietaurumini · 4 years

Text

Soulmate → Lee Sangyeon

@rainbowglitteramythyst asked: Hey can I get a Sangyeon imagine with #3 and #11 please thank you 🤗💖

Prompts:

3. “You can break my soul, take my life away. Beat me, hurt me, kill me. But for the love of God, don’t touch him.”

11. “So, you’re a werewolf, huh?”

Requested.

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairings: Werewolf!Sangyeon x female reader

Warnings: Slight violence.

Genre: Fluff, angst.

You finally woke up - after all your mother’s attempts to wake you- and you realized that you have half an hour to get ready to school or else... Let’s not talk about that. You jumped out of your bed and ran to the bathroom, took a quick shower, brushed your teeth and wore your school uniform. You combed your hair, put on your your shoes and grabbed your bag.

“Mom I’m off to school” You yelled before closing the door and setting off for school.

You managed to get to school just a few minutes early. You ran inside, walking through the hall which was deserted. As you passed the principle office you heard the door opens and your name being called. You stopped in your tracks and turned to see the caller who was of course Mr. Kim, your principle.

“For the love of god I was almost there!” You whined stumbling your feet when you heard the bell ring. “You can’t put me in detention I got here two minutes beforeــ” You continued rambling but he interrupted you.

“I didn’t stop you to put you in detention, Y/N, come in.” He said smiling and ushered you inside his office and entered. You hesitated thinking if you weren’t in trouble what he could possibly want you for? You followed him closing the door and standing in front of his desk.

“Now, Y/N, here’s your permission to get into class.” He said passing you a piece of paper then he pointed to a place behind you and continued, “We have a new transfer student, his name is Sangyeon and he will be in your class.” You turned your head to where he pointed only to find a tall, well-built, pale boy with light brown hair standing in the corner behind. You smiled at him politely and nodded your head but he didn’t even look at you.

“I want you to take him with you to class and if you have nothing to do, you might as well show him around in your free time.” Mr. Kim told you before turning to Sangyeon, "Now Sangyeon, you can follow Y/N she will show you around, and welcome to our school.”

With that both you and Sangyeon knew you were dismissed, you both nodded and left the office. You were so happy that you got permission to get into class, even though you didn’t like the idea of showing Sangyeon around but life is not that fair

You looked at him with a friendly smile and said, "Hi, I’m Y/N and I will be your classmaــ”

Before you could continue he started walking without even looking at you, processing what just happened you trailed after him, deciding not to start a conversation anymore, you walked silently in front of him until you reached your class.

You knocked and the teacher opened the door, “Y/N, why are you late this time?” The teacher asked and you handed her the principal’s permission then you got in and sat beside your friends.

“Alright class, we have a new student, please introduce yourself.” The teacher said ushering for Sangyeon to speak. No one bothered to pay her attention they were all immersed in what they were doing. Your were watching his every movement, why is he so mysterious, you thought.

He stood beside the teacher and smiled widely, “Hi, I'm Lee Sangyeon, nice to meet you all.” He said warmly and bowed before walking to the empty seat at the back of the class. You were so confused by the change in his attitude, now suddenly everyone started murmuring and you could hear some of it,

“Oh my god he is so handsome!”

“His smile is cute!”

Girls started gossiping about him around you, even your friends. You were just watching him where he sat and then turned and focused on the board.

***

Two classes passed and it was lunch time, it’s not gonna be that bad, you thought, as you walked from your desk to Sangyeon’s. He was bending on the desk, his head rested on his arms, you thought he was sleeping, so you reached your hand to wake him up. And before your fingers touched his shoulder, before you can even process it, his face was only few inches away from yours, his eyes gazing through yours and he had your wrist twisted in his hand.

His grip was so strong, and you couldn’t get your wrist out of it, and it was getting more painful. “Yah! Let me go!” You demanded still attempting to free your wrist. His grip loosened and you got your hand out, now standing back and putting space between you and rubbed your wrist, “Mr. Kim, told me to show you around, remember?” You said in a cold tone.

He just nodded and followed you, you both walked out of class, and you began showing him around and he would always nod without speaking. After you finished your tour, you both went to the cafeteria. You wanted to offer him if he wants to sit with you and your friends but he just left you a went to sit on another table with four other boys. As you sat with your friends you watched him, talk and laugh with those boys, then you remembered what happened in the classroom and frowned wondering why did he do that back in the classroom, you sighed and decided to stop thinking about him and gossip with your friends.

***

- Two Weeks Later -

“I told you it’s not just a high reflex!” You screamed at your best friend, making everyone in cafeteria look at you. You bowed apologetically then continued in a low voice, “I told you, it wasn’t, if only my hand was a reflex, what about the fan in the art room that fell and almost killed me? He didn’t just catch it! He snapped it in two! And also yesterday, when I was about to cross the street and he grabbed me, a few seconds later came a speeding car from around the block! How did he know? It wasn’t visible nor audible and he just knew it was coming!” You kept going at your friend trying to prove your point but she wasn’t convinced.

“Y/N, calm down, I told you it’s just a high reflex, and about the fan, can’t you see his muscles? I bet he is strong enough to snap a door in two, not just the fan, plus if you are right and he’s not a normal boy what do you think he is? A vampire?” Your best friend said sarcastically. You continued eating in silence but the thought hadn’t left your mind, what if he really wasn’t normal and that he really had special powers?

Next day, in the P. E class, you were cleaning the lab after the class ended, a detention the science teacher gave you for talking in class. While you were collecting the tubes and the materials from the desks you heard noises.

You followed the noises to where it came from, to the class room next to the lab, there you saw Sangyeon and the four boys that he always hang out with. They were all tall except for one, all of them had the same cold aura that Sangyeon had, you know they are in the same year as you but you didn’t know them personally. Your curiosity was killing you, so you stood beside the door to be able to hear them but they won’t be able to see you.

“I told you Jacob, it’s him.” You heard one of them say.

“But Jae, what if he is not? What if he is just an innocent human?” That boy Jacob replied.

“I agree with Jae, I’ve been watching him for weeks he is definitely the hunter.” Another voice came.

“Then should we get the rest of the pack?” The Jae one asked.

“Yes, we’re gonna tell them,” Said another one.

“Alright then, let’s go before anyone suspects your absence,” You finally heard Sangyeon’s voice.

Hunter? Pack? You were trying to understand what they were talking about, then you realized that they all fell silent. You heard foot steps, so you stayed still trying not make any sounds. The foot steps came close and the door opened you saw half the figure of that person as he left.

Claws! You are not dreaming, you are 100% sure those weren’t human hands! That figure had claws! He then walked out of the door and waited. The others came out and disappeared from sight, one after one. You were still standing silently, waiting for the last figure to walk away but he didn’t budge. Instead, you saw him turning, his face now visible to you, that face and that clawed figure was no one but Sangyeon, Your class mate.

He stayed there for a moment, you were scared that he would see you, but then you saw him going back inside the classroom. You took the opportunity and slowly moved out of your place and into the next class room. You were trying to steady your breath, when the door of the class slammed open and revealed Sangyeon’s figure.

You couldn't even move and you just stood there as he took slow steps towards you, you noticed that his hands were back to normal. But that doesn’t mean he can’t transform back any second. Then he spoke,

“I don’t know how much you heard Y/N, but what I know..” He paused and continued walking towards you. “Is that if anybody knows anything about it, you are surly gonna regret it.” He said in a low raspy voice, you shivered, not sure is it because of his voice or his warning.

He was now standing few inches from you, he gazed into your eyes for a few seconds before he bent down to reach your height, so your faces now were so close that your noses almost touched, and it made your heart skip a beat. Nevertheless you kept your eyes locked up to his.

“And next time you want to stalk me,” He whispered “Don’t wear that perfume.. I can smell it from a mile away.” You took so much to process what he said as your brain was malfunctioning from his closeness. He backed away, turned and started walking to the door. You asked a question that made you want to slap yourself, for asking it.

“So, you’re a werewolf, huh?”

He stopped and turned to you, “Took you long enough to process it Y/N?” He asked smirking, “Did I make myself clear about not telling anyone?” He asked once more with the warning tone again. You nodded rapidly, your heart was about to pop out of your chest. With that he nodded and left.

***

For the next few days, nothing happened, you would only watch Sangyeon from a far, and he sometimes would catch you and you would turn away quickly. Until that sciences period, that you both - For your unfortunate luck - were lab partners. As you were working together you would look at him,

“Until when are you going to stare at me as if I was a celebrity, Y/N?” He said without looking at you. You were surprised by what he said the you almost dropped the tube in your hands.

“It’s..” You began but your words died, you thought it wasn’t a good idea to continue. “Spit it out, I won’t bite you.. Not yet.” He smiled sarcastically.

If it weren't for that smile, you would have been scared to death but You took a breath and went on, “I just can’t believe that you’re a..” He shot you a warning look and you swallowed, “You know what I’m talking about, eh,” You said.

"And why is that? Didn’t you already suspect it?" He scoffed and you shook your head scared, “no I didn’t!” You denied. He raised an eyebrow and smirked, “What about that day in the cafeteria with your friend?” He asked going back to working. You thought for a minute, then you remembered and your eyes widened.

“How did you..” Your words died again, he laughed at your reaction, “You weren’t even that close to hear!” You whispered. “You really don’t know anything about us, Y/N.” He told you as the bell rang and the teacher asked you to collect your things and leave.

“Then why don’t you tell me?" You asked as you were walking out of the lab and regretted it almost immediately, because he stopped in his track and turned to you, then stepped forward and closed the gap between you.

“If I teach you about us,” He whispered beside your ear and it made your heart skip a beat, “Will you stop bothering me around?” He asked backing a little so he can look you in the eyes. His breath was hitting your face and his face was so close that you couldn’t even think and just made a small nod.

He stepped back, “Alright then, it’s a deal.” He said smiling, and stretched his hand out for a hand shake.

You looked at his hand and you remembered the sight of the claws, which made you hesitate, but when you looked back at his smile, you too smiled and stretched your hand and shook it.

***

For the next week, you two would spend time together after school and he would teach you about werewolves, you would sometimes ask stupid questions and then he would leave you making you run after him apologising for your stupidity. But you too became closer that you’re almost friends. Plus, you didn’t fear him any more.

“So you can transform anytime you want but only partly.. And you can fully transform only when it full moon?” You were recalling what he just told you.

“Exactly.” he said, as you were both walking home after school. And with that you both continued walking in silence. Then something came in your head but you weren’t sure you wanted to say it, but you being you, you know you can still try.

“Sangyeon,” He hummed in response, “Why did you agree to tell me? I mean aren’t you afraid that I might..” He interrupted you, “I trust you.” He simply answered. His answer rang in your head and somehow it made you blush.

You shook your head and cleared your throat and decided to change the subject, “But you said that every werewolf belongs to a pack, to which he is loyal.. Are these four boys you always hang around with are your pack?” You asked.

“Yes, but our pack has eleven members,” He replied. “Who's the Alpha? Is he that very pale, very tall, black haired boy from the other class?" You asked, he laughed at you description. “His name is Younghoon, and no he is not,” He said before adding, “I am.” He winked at you. “You are the alpha?!” You stopped walking and looked at him with wide eye.

“Yes,” He said and stretched himself in pride. “But Younghoon is the strongest though.. Second strongest,” He smirked and continued walking. “Tell me the names of the others!” You said excitedly making him smile at you, “Alright, there is Jacob he is that a bit short tanned one and there is Juyeon, he is the tall, tanned and the blonde pale one is Hyunjaeـ” You interrupted him, “That’s the one you call Jae?" He nodded, “Yes, those are the ones in our school, the rest are Kevin, Changmin, Chanhee, Haknyeon, Sunwoo, and Youngjae is our youngest.” He finished and you both reached your usual parting point. You said good bye and both of you went on your way.

As you were walking to your house, you sensed that someone was following you.. You picked up your pace then broke into run when the footsteps of the follower became a really close. You stopped when you felt that you were far enough, you sat on the pavement, panting you tried to steady your breathing, then when you stood up and turned to continue you way, you saw a hooded figure right in front of you. You took steps back and you were about to run, but he caught your arm. You let out a scream, fighting to get out of his grip but you felt something poking lightly at your side.

“If you let out another sound, I will make you regret it,” He whispered next to your ear, You were scared to death and your brain was malfunctioning, you couldn’t think of anything so you just stopped moving. “Good girl,” He said and dragged you to a narrow alley.

Your tears started falling silently on your cheeks as you walked with him. You were praying that someone would show up and save you, but the road was deserted. He made you stop and listened, you too could hear foot steps getting closer. You were about to scream but he put his hand on your mouth to stop you, your screams came muffled.

“Stop.. Stop it!” He whisper-yelled at you dragging you away but you continued, it was your only hope to escape.

Then you heard a growl, not a human one, and you saw a hairy figure at the end of the alley, even though you were blinded by your tears, but you knew it was him, you shouted for him, and struggled against your kidnapper’s grip. You heard another growl and the kidnapper pushed you away and broke into a run, Sangyeon ran to you and held you.

“Are you okay?” You heard his raspy voice, and all you could was hug him, laying all your weight on him, as you sobbed harder in his chest, and you could feel him changing back to his human form, because as he patted your head his hands didn’t have claws anymore. You stayed like this for a few minutes until you calmed down. Then you unwrapped your arms from around him and slowly stepped back.

“Thank you,” You said looking into his eyes, as you can finally see clearly. He reached his hand and dried the tears on your cheeks, and you know if you weren’t in this situation, you would blush. “Did he tell you anything? About who he is?” He asked and you shook your head no.

He then looked at a spot behind you. You turned to see where he is looking and you found something on the floor just a few inches away. He went and picked it up and sniffed it. You followed him to see what it was. It was a watch, the kidnapper must have dropped it when he was running away. You looked close and that’s when you felt like you were struck by lightning.

“It’s..” You began but the words couldn’t make its way out of your throat. “Mr. Lee, the science teacher, Jae was right.” He said picking it and standing up. “So-o.. He’s.. T-the hunter?” You shivered as you recalled everything that happened. Sangyeon nodded, still examining the watch. Then he looked at you, “Come on, let’s get you home.” He said and started walking and you followed him.

“How did you find me?" you asked as you walked back to the road. “I heard your scream,” He said, “I walked back and saw your bag on the ground, so I ran and your scent kept getting more powerful..” You interrupted him. “My scent?!" You scoffed, “Yes... I told I can smell your perfume from a mile away.” He smiled and you blushed.

You reached the main road again, he gave you your bag, and you walked together to your house in silence.

If Mr. Lee is really the hunter that they were talking about... Why did he come after you? Why didn’t he go for Sangyeon? Doesn’t he have this thing called wolfsbane?

“It was an identity check.” Sangyeon said suddenly cutting off your train of thoughts

“Huh?" you looked at him in confusion. “He used you to know if I’m really the werewolf he was looking for.” He replied simply. “What do you mean? Why is he looking for you?” You asked worriedly, he sighed and said, “Our pack used to have twelve members, one us was killed by the hunters, his name was Hyunjoon, he was from the young members,” He paused, “He had been hunting that teacher for a while as he tried to attack Jae before.. Then one year ago, we found him.. Hyunjoon found him.. In a school like ours, but he also found about Hyunjoon, and the latter thought that he could do the job alone and went for him, we tried to save him but we arrived too late.” He held the watch in his hands, “We found a watch like this one beside him.” He finished and looked at you, you could see his glassy eyes.

“So you came for revenge?” You chocked as a lump formed in your throat. He nodded and looked down. “So are you going to tell them?” You asked again and reached your hand to remove his hair off his face. “No,” He shook his head. “None of them is strong enough to face him.. I will go alone.” He told you.

You finally reached your home and stopped at the gate. You were thinking about what he said. “But he knows about you! That would be really dangerous,” you said worriedly. “Don’t worry about me,” He said and smiled to you. “Just try not to follow me this time.” He said and with that he left.

***

You woke up late the next day, as you couldn’t sleep last night. All you were thinking about was Sangyeon and what he’s going to do. You ran to school and you already knew you would receive detention for being late. You passed by the principle’s office, but this time he didn’t come out and yell at you like always. Instead you heard two voice coming from the inside. You crouched down to look from the window and saw two figures talking to each other.

One of them was the principle and the other was.. Mr. Lee.

The principle was yelling at him and went back to his desk. On his desk you saw bullets and he gave them to Mr. Lee. That was the last thing you saw before you ran to class.

After lunch time you ran to the school yard, you knew it was their P . E period so went to the yard and searched for them, they were sitting on a bench together talking, as you approached them. You were so scared but you had no choice.

“You were right, Mr Lee is a hunter.” You panted as you stood in front of the one named Jae.

They looked at you in confusion before they all stood up and came closer to you. Now you’re scared to death as you found yourself surrounded by a ring of werewolves who could attack you any second.

”Who are you? And what are you talking about?” Jacob asked

"I’m Y/N, Sangyeon’s classmate... I was attacked by Mr. Lee yesterday and he saved me.. And he said that he will go for him todayـ” Younghoon cut you off, “Why didn’t he tell us?” You looked at him and answered, “Because he thinks no one of you is strong enough to face a hunter.. But the problem is there are more than a hunter,” You said and it was as if they were all struck by lightning, “The principal is also a hunter.. I saw him giving Mr. Lee the wolfsbane just now.” You finished and you felt that you were going to collapse any minute.

“Does he know..? Sangyeon.. Does he know there are two hunter?” Juyeon asked and you shook your head.

“You need to stop him.” You demanded, “Even if we ten combined we will never be able to stop him.. He is the alpha.” Jae said

You were about to talk when all their phones started buzzing.

“He is texting us?” Asked Juyeon.

“He’s in class how can he..” You trailed before it hit you like a train. “He is trying to get detention!” You half screamed, “That’s when he plans to attack! Listen do you have science today?” You asked and they nodded in unison. “Then try to get detentions too.. Maybe we can’t stop him, but we can at least back him up... and tell the rest of the pack.” You said,

After school you ran to the classroom where you receive detention. But Sangyeon wasn’t there. Damn you Sangyeon! He tricked you, he knew you were going to tell them and he didn’t want you to follow him.

You thought about the places he could use... The quiet, far ones..The principal's office..the rooftop and the lab.. You excused yourself to the bathroom, and ran, you made sure you legs make an echo so the others can hear you.

You reached the lab and you were right, you saw Sangyeon going in. You hid under the window and watched. They were talking, you kept watching and in a matter of seconds, Sangyeon transformed and charged towards him, but Mr. Lee was quicker to get his gun out and shoot him. You screamed, as Sangyeon fell on the ground squirming in pain.

You couldn’t take it, you opened the door and ran in, standing infront of Sangyeon.

“Y/N.. What.. Are... You doing?” Sangyeon said trying to fight the pain and stand up.

“Get out of the way!” Mr. Lee shouted pointing the gun at you, but you didn’t budge. You saw the other door of the lab open and the principle got in.

“Bold of you Y/N to assume he won’t shoot just because you’re standing in front of him.” Mr Kim said, and you knew Sangyeon was surprised.

“I don't care!” You stepped forward boldly, then with eyes filled with tears, you said almost begging.

“You can break my soul, take my life away.. Beat me, hurt me, kill me. But for the love of God, don’t touch him.”

And for the first time you realised how much you love him.

“How romantic!” Said Mr. Kim clapping his hands. Then he ushered for Mr. Lee.

You closed your eyes waiting for the bullet to hit you but it didn’t come. Instead you heard a loud bang and then the room was filled with growls. You opened your eyes to find ten other werewolves in the room.

“Get out!” One of them growled at you.

“But Sangyeon..” He cut you off, “I said get out!” You realised that it wasn’t a nice idea to argue and ran out of the lab.

You looked behind you and saw two of them supporting Sangyeon out. You ran to them and shouted his name. “Y/N, follow us.” You recognized his voice, it was Jacob, you nodded and followed them. They lied him in a classroom far away from the battle.

“We need to go back.” He said, “Don’t worry, I will take care of him.” You assured him and they ran back, you went to sit next to Sangyeon.

“Are you okay?” You asked worriedly as tears trickled down on your cheeks.

He nodded and answered weakly, “Don’t worry.. One bullet.. Is not enough.. To kill the alpha.” He slowly put his hand on yours.

”Remember when.. I told you about.. Mating?” He asked looking up to meet your eyes, “That a werewolf can mate meets someone and then they find out they’re soulmates?” You asked through your tears and he nodded.

“I didn’t realise until now.. I was mated with you... You are my soulmate, Y/N.” He said gazing into your eyes. Then he pushed himself up and pressed his lips to yours.

Written by : Jade

#the boyz imagines #the boyz #the boyz au #the boyz sangyeon #lee sangyeon #lee sangyeon imagines #sangyeon imagines #lee sangyeon fluff #lee sangyeon au #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #the boyz scenarios #lee sangyeon scenarios

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 3 years

Text

Jersey on my mind (part 38)

A faint, warm breeze caresses Mila’s face as she and Juri walk along the quiet street, running alongside the newly built wall. A few of the Alexandrian men are working on the final piece, funnily enough nearby the church that caused it to break. It’s been two months since the wall collapsed now, or at least that’s what she thinks. Mila looks at the new construction as she and Juri passes, feeling a sense of calm throughout her soul as her eyes sweep over the repaired structure that has also been expanded; a part of Deanna’s original plan for the community. On the piece of the wall that stood by the invasion, next to the small graveyard, someone has written the name of those who have perished; loved ones, friends, family and those who became family after the outbreak. It’s a nice memorial site, a quiet corner of the community. Since that day, when the walkers poured into Alexandria, everything has gone back to a somewhat normal state.

It’s a hot mid-summer’s day, the sky is blue and the clouds look extra fluffy. Juri points towards them and gestures as if he squeezed an invisible marshmallow between his soft little fingers.

“Yeah they look tasty.” Mila smiles and squints up towards the floating clouds cruising by without a hurry. “What about-” Softly, she pinches Juri’s button nose. “I try to find us some yummy marshmallows for a barbecue when I get back, huh?”

With glittering eyes Juri nods and hugs her tightly; obviously he is positive about the idea.

“Then it’s a date.” Mila chuckles and hugs Juri back, before putting him down on the ground. “Ufh, you are getting heavy. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around.”

With a proud, sunny face Juri stretches, he’s certainly not a little guy anymore; in Mila’s eyes, paradoxically, he’s still her little baby, while she’s also well aware that he’s turning four in a few months. Where the heck did the years between infancy and two go? With a smile, she thinks of Maggie and what adventure awaits her and Glenn in the years to come. At least they have each other, a small consolation when the world is constantly on the brink of doom.

“Since you’re a big boy now, you’re going to teach Maggie’s baby a lot of important things. Like Carl does with you and Judith.” Mila says and takes Juri’s hand. “You think you can do that?”

Juri nods, with eyes that take the task very seriously. He adores Carl like an older brother and being addressed as a big boy, doing ‘Carl-stuff’, is everything he’s ever wanted. Juri gestures with his free hand and makes a finger walk in the air; of course he will teach the new baby to walk. But when he lets go of Mila’s hand, to show that he’s going to teach the baby to tie its shoes, Mila raises her left eyebrow.

“Well, I think we have to practice that one a little bit, Malysh.” Mila says.

Stubbornly, Juri signals that he’s already trying to learn, or rather states, very stubborn, that Daryl should teach him. He’s done it before, Juri gestures with a triumphant grin.

“Really?” Mila smiles. “Sure, I bet he’s good at it. What’s left for me then? I’m just gonna sit by and watch?”

By putting his hands together in front of him and pointing his index fingers straight ahead, Juri gestures a finger-gun. He narrows one eye and pretends to aim and fire. He points at her with a smile, clarifies that she’s best at shooting, therefore she should teach him.

“Spasibo, malysh.” She winks at Juri. “Not quite yet, though. But I promise you, I will.”

Further down the street, both of them catch sight of Daryl and Denise. They part, Denise walks away from them and Daryl turns and starts to walk in their direction. Mila waves at him and Juri starts to run as fast as his short legs possibly can towards their favorite archer. Despite his packing, a backpack and the crossbow, Daryl receives Juri when he reaches him; he lifts him up in the air on straight, strong arms, making Juri’s blonde hair dance around his angelic face. The silent laugh that spreads on his face makes Mila’s heart swell with joy. She had never thought that the surly archer would melt completely because of a, certainly charming, mute toddler; her little ray of sunshine. He even smiles as he lifts Juri into the air. Surely a sight for sore eyes, she thinks as they meet in the middle of the street.

“Ya’ ready?” Daryl greets her as he puts Juri down. “We’re heading out now.”

“All done.” She replies, notices a piece of paper in Daryl’s hand. A shopping list? “That’s a nice little list you got there.” Mila peeks over the edge of the slightly crinkly paper, that looks like it’s been passed around the entire community. “Food, gas, some medicine, more medicine… another medicine-” She frowns her eyebrows. “Orange soda?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Denise wanted to surprise Tara.”

“That’s nice.” Mila nods.

It was decided last night that Tara and Heath would go on a longer supply run. Daryl was asked to follow, but declined. Mila suspected that it was because of her; she’s been a bit under the weather the last couple of days; she’s been tired and just a bit feeble, felt nauseated. Carol was sure it was just her female hormones acting out, which could very well be a possibility. Tracking a period during the apocalypse wasn’t high on her ‘to do’-list, so she brushed it off. Daryl didn’t say anything about the reason for his decision, but Mila guessed that he didn’t feel like leaving her behind, even though she’s neither sick or… well, anything really. Just a bit tired. Instead, it was decided that Daryl and Rick would go on a supply run. Mila offered to come along; Daryl couldn’t possibly stop her from following, so it was settled that she’d tag along.

They walk to the dusty Chrysler sedan together. Rick’s already in place, assuring that his gun is loaded and attached properly to his belt when they arrive.

“Mornin’.” He greets them with a nod; Once a cop, always a cop. The only thing missing is the wide-brimmed hat. “Ready to go?”

Both of them nod and Daryl hands Rick the list of supplies.

“Ya’ see anything you miss?” He asks.

Rick glances through the list quickly.

“We’re outta’ toothpaste.” He states and lifts his eyes to them, waving the note between his fingers. “Keep an eye open for spearmint and baking soda. Michonne’s orders.”

“Got it.” Mila turns to Juri and squats in front of him. “Okay, be nice to Carol and the others, don’t run away.”

With a serious look, Juri reminds her of the promise of marshmallows.

“I’ll remember.” Mila promises and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “There, davay.” She gets up from the ground as Juri turns and runs over to the porch, climbs the stairs and gets into the house to find Carol.

They get in the car, Rick and Daryl in the front seat and Mila in the back seat. She puts her handgun and backpack in the seat next to her and Rick rolls over to the gates, where Eugene’s about to push it open for them. On the other side, pierced on a couple of rebar attached to a broken car, a couple of walkers are trying their best to reach for them with their worn, boney arms, all in vain.

Eugene strutts over to the passenger seat of the car and leans into the open window. The mullet looks more solid than ever as he hands Daryl another note. “I mapped out some of the agricultural supply places in the area.” He says in the heavy Texan accent Mila finds incredibly fascinating. “Even if they’ve been cleaned out, my bet is that the sorghum would be untouched. Now, that there is a criminally underrated grain that could change the game with our food situation from scary to hunky-dunky.”

No one says anything. Mila rests her elbows on the backs of the driver’s and passenger seats and leans in so her head sticks out in between the two men in the front.

”I'm talking standability-” Eugene continues. “Drought tolerance, grain-to-stover ratio that is the envy of all corns.” He pauses. “Think about it.”

”Gosh I could listen to him forever.” Mila says and looks at Rick. “Hunky-dunky.” She repeats in an as good as it gets Texan accent, while meeting Eugene’s eyes.

“All right.”

The car drives out through the gate, Rick accelerates and they leave Alexandria behind.

“I’m having a good feeling ‘bout today.” Rick says cheerful.

“Really?” Mila replies.

“Just-” Rick shrugs. “You know- You just feel it. Today’s the day. We're gonna find food, maybe some people. The law of averages has gotta catch up.”

“We ain’t seen nobody for weeks.” Daryl notes. “Maybe we ain’t gonna find nobody.”

“That’s sunny.” Mila says, strokes his bare arm with her fingertips. “Let’s cheer this bad boy up, sheriff.”

Rick grins and pushes ‘play’ on the stereo. The music starts faintly and Mila recognizes the band as Social Distortion.

”Oh I like this one!” Mila exclaims and starts to sing along.

”Thought ya’ only liked country?” Rick looks at her in the rearview mirror.

”Nuh.” Mila shakes her head. ”I’m full of surprises. Fun fact, I went to a bunch of cool concerts back in Jersey. These guys, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, Rise Against, Pearl Jam- Lots of rock, punk, country-” Mila continues to sing along when the chorus starts. ”I made out with the Social Distortion singer, Mike Ness, after a concert. Or at least I think it was him.”

”Think?” Daryl sputters and turns to look at her.

”I was eighteen!” Mila shrugs easily. “And drunk beyond judgement.” She confesses. ”He was- old, kinda’ handsome. Smelled quite nice, except the sweat. When I think about it, it could just as well be any middle aged guy with tattoos and tons of hair wax working backstage. I will never know for sure. But I’d like to believe it was the singer. Makes the story more interesting.”

Rick laughs.

“Concerts are wild.” He agrees while tapping the steering wheel. “I took Lori to see Tim McGraw once, before Carl was born. Cheap fried hot wings, beer in red plastic cups, great music; great night.”

“Is he the-” Mila starts to hum while drumming on the thighs. “Hu-huuu- I like it, I love it-”

“-I want some more of it-” Rick tunes in and snaps his finger to her beat. “I try so hard, I can't rise above it. I don't know what it is 'bout that little gal's lovin’-”

“Christ sake-” Daryl sighs and slides further down the passenger seat.

“Here-” Rick hands Mila the worn plastic case of cd’s from the door pocket. “Find something good.”

“Yes, captain.” Mila unzips the case and starts to flip the plastic pages, filled with scratched cd’s, before finding something that looks promising. “Here-”

“Please, don’t-” Daryl pleads.

Too late. She leans into the front seat and pushes the cd into the radio.

“Crank it up!”

Rick turns the volume wheel up to fourteen and both he and Mila happily exclaims “yeeeah” when the intro to “Life is a highway” blasts out of the cheap stereo.

“Ya’ both crazy!” Daryl cries, in an attempt to drown out the radio.

“Draws ‘em away from home!” Rick calls before tuning into the catchy chorus with Mila.

Rick knows the lyrics even better than she does; she still stumbles on the fast lines combined with her not pitch perfect english.

After driving for awhile, while continuing their exceptional singalong, Daryl manages to override the music:

”Look-” Daryl points out of the window and Rick hits the brakes in a matter of seconds. ”Back up.”

While Mila stretches forward and turns down the volume, Rick puts in reverse gear and drives the car back to the intersection. About a hundred meter to their right lies a couple of buildings. A silo, a shed and a barn, with ’sorghum’ written all over the dirty white roof. Rick turns the wheel, hits the gas and drives in the direction of the barn. He drives up on the dirt road and parks in front of the red building. It looks untouched, as if no one else knew about the great power of the sorghum. They step out of the car and look around. It’s quiet, no walkers.

“Let’s check it out.” Rick looks around the corner.

”Best to be safe.” Daryl says and walks over to the storage roll up door. He checks the handle, nods as to tell that it’s unlocked. ”Ya’ cover?” He looks up at her and Rick.

”Yup.” Rick returns, hand on his gun.

While the two men get ready for combat, Mila throws a glance out over the fields surrounding the barn; keeping an eye open for potential enemies. The door goes up with a loud noise and Rick bursts into the barn. Mila’s eyes land on the back of a truck.

“No sorghum?” Mila says.

”Doesn’t look like it.” Rick turns to her and Daryl. “We’re good.” He states and points at the truck. ”One more time?”

”It ain’t locked.” Daryl puts his hand on the handle and thugs at the box truck roll up door that rolls up with a rattle.

”Wohaa!” Mila exclaims.

The truck is filled with supplies; food, blankets, towels, everything really. It must be their lucky day.

”How ’bout that?” Daryl says. “Looks like we’re done for today.”

”Let’s get this thing going, grab our gear and come back for the car later. Take another way back and see what we can see.” Rick states. “We still need to find more things.”

”I’ll go start it up-” Mila says. ”If it starts.”

”I think it does.”

”Also one of your optimistic predictions?” She smirks at Rick, turns and walks over to the drivers side and opens the door. ”Hah, they where dumb enough to leave the keys.”

Daryl unloads the most necessary things from the car, Rick locks it with a ‘beep’ on the key and they get inside the truck; Mila makes herself comfortable between her two companions and they backs out of the barn and hits the road. They head in the direction Rick drove before Daryl asked him to stop. The road is lined by green, lush forest. The sun has settled behind some clouds, but it’s still warm, a sticky moist heat that doesn’t really make Mila’s tiredness any better. She’s already drinked a whole bottle of water by herself and starts to feel her jeans push at her bladder. In the distance, she sees what looks like a very run-down gas station.

“Should we check it out?” Daryl looks at Rick, who nods. “Might be some gas left.”

“Let’s find out.”

Rick parks at the first pump and they get out of the truck. The gas station is a mess; debris everywhere, an abandoned jeep is parked outside and the black color of the roof has begun to flake and exposes the gray metal underneath. The store looks equally miserable. She strolls up to the doors and peeks through the dirty glass, but sees nothing else than darkness. On her right Daryl’s checking out a tipped-over vending machine, filled with soda and candy. Someone must’ve given up halfway through their attempt to move it, Mila thinks.

“Give me a hand with this.” Daryl says.

Rick, looking around the desolated place, turns on the spot and walks over to help. Besides her urge to pee, Mila’s struck by a slight sensation through her head, like nausea, just as she has been doing on and off the last two days. Heck, not now.

“I just gotta- you know.” She makes a whistling sound, to signal that she needs to find a toilet, or just walk behind the corner of the gas station to pee, or vomit - right now she cannot decide which of them she needs the most.

“We’ll get this.” Daryl nods towards the vending machine.

Mila turns and walks towards the door of the gas station. She thugs at it, then pushes it open with force. It’s barricaded with a shelf and she creates a passage wide enough for her to get through and walks inside the dark store, gun raised in front of her. She lets her gaze get used to the dark, then sweeps over the empty, chaotic store before she walks towards the back of it, towards the door with ‘staff only’, hanging on just one hinge. The back of the shop, a room that looks like something between an office and a storage, with walls clad in brown wooden panels, is also empty. She quickly finds the ‘staff only’-toilet that doesn’t look far too disgusting to sit down on. She closes the door halfway, to prevent herself from being in total darkness. While unzipping her jeans she curses herself for not bringing a flashlight. As she sits down, she promises herself to wash her whole body with steel wool as soon as they are back in Alexandria; the toilet stinks of urine and It must be a pure bacteria party in the small space. She closes her eyes, feels how the nausea calms down a bit, focuses to breath through her mouth to close out the acrid smell. She takes another breath and feels her bladder relax, happy to release the huge amount of water she drank.

Despite the disgusting toilet, it feels better to go to the toilet inside than outside. Mila reluctantly remembers the time she had to pee in the woods, and a walker snuck up behind her. With her trousers around her ankles, Mila had to ward off the armless, dead man. It wasn’t her proudest moment for sure.

Loud voices and thumps make her wake up from her thoughts. Mila almost falls on her nose getting up from the toilet seat with her jeans around her ankles. Swearing over the fact that she might have to repeat her unworthy pants incident, she makes her way out from the bathroom, thuggin’ on her panties and jeans to get them over her ass, to see what’s going on outside. Is there an ambush? She loses balance, while trying to zip her pants, when she makes her way out in between the gap in the door and drops to the pavement. While brushing her hair out of her face, Mila catches sight of Daryl and Rick standing out in the street. The truck is gone.

“What the heck?!” She cries and gets up from the ground, fiddling with the zipper. “Where’s the truck?”

“Gone.” Rick hollers back at her.

Mila lets go of the zipper again -whatever if she shows off her undies at this point- and holds out her arms, to show that she noticed that very well on her own.

“I was gone for like, five minutes, and now you lost the truck?”

“He took it-” Rick continues.

“He who?”

“Some goddamn’ hippie.” Daryl scoffs angrily. “Crashed into Rick and then drove off with the truck, swiped the keys.”

“Wha- just like that?” Mila says, more confused than ever. What the hell happened?

“We talked to him.”

“Okay… and?”

“Told us his name- called himself Jesus.”

“Yeah I’m sure that’s his name.” Mila laughs dryly; right, Jesus Christ would surely show up in the middle of nowhere and steal a truck filled with toothpaste, food and other supplies. “Jesus don’t steal trucks.” She says. “Jesus isn’t even real! And how on earth did he overpower both of you?”

The two men in front of her transform into two ashamed puppies, that’s been caught peeing on the carpet, in the matter of seconds. Mila suspects that they weren’t overpowered but tricked; muscles and guns are no use for cunning, and she knows a lot about the latter.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Mila sighs, squats and ties her boots with an extra secure double knot. “Lets go.”

“What?” Daryl looks at her.

“We gotta follow the truck.” She replies and thanks her lucky star for not having eaten anything heavy earlier this morning. “I won’t let someone who believes himself to be Jesus just steal our truck. I went to church back in Russia when I was a child; stealing is a sin, which makes this Jesus a hypocrite. Come on.”

Mila starts to run. Had she known she would have to chase after a truck, she would have taken a pair of running shoes. They pass the vending machine after a few hundred meters, discarded in the middle of the road. Mila brakes and takes a deep breath, wiping sweat from her forehead. The sticky heat is killing her and the three of them drip with sweat. Rick’s shirt is several shades darker and Daryl looks almost freshly showered. Next to her, Rick doubles down and rests his hands on his knees, still hugging the gun.

“How far do you think he’d come?” She pants.

“Dunno.” Daryl takes a crowbar from his backpack, shatters the display case of the vending machine and starts to stuff orange sodas and some snacks into his bag. He reaches Mila a can. “Here, drink.”

She smiles, as to say ‘thank you’ and opens the can. The soda is somewhere between lukewarm and warm, but it’s better than nothing. She finishes the can quickly and wipes her mouth on the back of her arm.

“Isn’t this the soda Denise wanted?” She asks.

“Uhu.” Daryl nods. “Special request.”

He takes one of the cans, punctures a hole in its side and pours the lukewarm orange drink into his mouth. Very classy.

“Hey, whatever she wants. She saved Carl's life.” Rick replies and receives the can from Daryl. “If there's still people out here, and they're still people, we should bring 'em in.”

“Still feelin’ positive, huh?” Daryl asks his friend. “Takin’ em in? Like this guy, stealing our truck?”

“No, not this guy.”

Daryl turns and looks at her, the gaze wanders from top to bottom.

“Ya’ good to go?” The look is caring, protective. As if he was trying to say 'sorry ‘bout the bumpy ride'.

Mila nods, feels a drop of sweat run down her lip, into her mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.” She replies and collects her long, sweaty hair on the back of her head, ties it up with a hair tie. “I’ve ran marathons, remember.”

They set off again at a slightly faster pace, strengthened by the soda. Mila breathes calmly as she sprints over the concrete, counts her breaths as she used to do when she was an avid runner and used to go out for a long run for fun. The circumstances are a bit different from back then; no running shoes or comfortable running clothes in bright colors, no iPod filled with upbeat music and no fitness clock tracking her pulse and her route. The boots are actually horrible to run in, the same goes for jeans, t-shirt and denim shirt, plus a backpack and weapons.

They follow the tire tracks until they reach a crest, where Daryl signals for them to stop. Carefully they ascend the hill until they can peek over the edge. In the hill down on the other side they see the truck, standing still. It has a puncture and Mila immediately sees a long-haired man with a beard, dressed in a long coat and a beanie, which in itself is pure madness. She’s dripping with sweat and would never in her life put on a long coat or hat now.

“That’s him?” She asks faintly.

“That’s him.” Rick nods at them to follow him into the woods to the left.

They carefully make their way over the fallen leaves between the trees, without losing sight of the truck. The man walks around to the back of the car and they see their chance. They quickly get out of the woods, Rick takes the lead and throws himself forward, wraps his arms around the man from behind.

“Hold still and maybe we won’t hurt you.”

If Rick thought it would help, he was completely wrong. The man sends off an elbow into Rick’s stomach and is suddenly free again. He makes a move, kicks Rick in the guts and gets him down on the ground. It's obvious that the guy is a bit sharper than the rest of the knives in the drawer; Mila climbs out of the ditch just as the man is about to set off towards the driver’s door, but is stopped by Daryl. While the men fight with each other, Mila manages to get up on the road just as the bearded man slips out of Daryl’s arms, pushes him into the side of the truck, turns around and loses track completely at the sight of Mila, who -tired of running and still a little nauseous- has pulled out her gun and aims it at him.

“Surprise!”

The brief moment is enough for Daryl to get back on his feet. He sees his chance when the man turns and notices Mila and tackles him from behind, down into the ditch. At gunpoint, they finally have the upper hand.

“Thanks.” Daryl pants and looks at Mila.

“The power of surprise.” She shrugs and looks down at the man.

He’s about thirty, long brown hair, beard. Yes, she sees the resemblance to Jesus; every time she sat in church and counted the icons portraying him when she was little. The serious man with sloping shoulders, blue dress, beard and well-groomed hair. The difference is that the Jesus in the icons didn’t have a knitted beanie and a leather coat.

The foliage behind the man in the grass rustles. A walker then announces its presence, by a guttural hissing sound.

“Do you even have any ammo?” Jesus looks at them.

Without answering, Mila raises her gun at the walker and shoots.

“Okay.” Jesus nods, still with his hands raised in front of him. “You gonna shoot me over a truck?”

“There's a lot of food on that truck.” Rick says. “The keys - now.”

“I think you know I'm not a bad guy.”

Once again, Mila suddenly feels that unpleasant, nauseating feeling, but this time it spreads from her head down to her stomach. She turns around, hurries away a few meters, bends forward and vomits into the ditch. ‘Is she okay?’ she hears Jesus' question, while she spits and feels how she shivers all over her body; fuck, she hates to vomit. But it actually feels better.

“Ey-” She hears Daryl scoff at the poor guy. “Eyes here, dude! The keys!”

“I’m fine.” Mila hollers and waves her arm at them, still folded like a pocket knife.

“You sure?” Jesus calls back.

“Oh shut up!” She shouts. “It’s because of you I’m throwing up.”

“Sorry.”

“Just-” Mila straightens her back. She feels less nauseated, a bit weak but otherwise much better. “Give us the keys.”

For some reason, Mila can’t figure out why, Jesus throws her the keys. It might be out of pity, or the fact that her two comrades are holding him at gunpoint; she nods at him, as a way to say thanks.

While Rick ties Jesus up, Daryl hurries over to her.

“Ya’ okay?” His eyes are worried. “Ya’ sick?”

“No I’m fine.” Mila nods averted. “Probably just too much running and too little breakfast. I’m good now.” She smiles. “Just, don’t kiss me until we’re back and I’ve brushed my teeths, okay?”

He doesn’t look completely convinced, but he grunts a little, caresses her cheek and places a kiss on her forehead instead.

“There’s toothpaste in the back of the truck.” He says, before returning to Rick and Jesus.

Mila gets into the truck, sits down in the middle seat and closes her eyes; maybe she should try to find one of those toothpastes, she has a foul taste in her mouth. She looks around the cab and finds a pack of spearmint gum. As she pushes a third gum into her mouth, Daryl and Rick jump on either side of her.

“Where is Jesus?” She asks.

“On the street.”

“What? We can’t just leave him?”

“Of course we can.” Rick replies, turns the key and starts the car.

“So long, you prick.” Daryl shouts out of the window as they drive off.

Mila chuckles dryish; She has an underlying sense that something is going to happen. Karma. She takes out the case of cd’s from her backpack, picks the “best of sixties” album and pushes the cd into the stereo. The sound of Connie Francis “Tennessee waltz” crackles out of the speakers and Daryl hands out snacks from the vending machine.

“Still worked out. Today still is the day.” Rick recalls while snacking on a chocolate-peanut bar. He then points in front of him. “Hey, look at that.”

The truck drives out of the forest, and Mila sees both fields and buildings.

“Yeah, a barn.“ Daryl says.

As Rick turns off in the direction of the barn, something makes them all fall silent and listen; thumps, like something hitting the truck box, is heard even over the loud music.

“What’s that?” Mila exclaims. “You hear that?”

It’s inevitable what the noise is; footsteps.

“I think that son of a bitch is on the roof.” Daryl says.

All three of them react at the same time; Rick stands on the brake pedal, the car stops with a howl and Jesus falls down in front of the windshield and tumbles to the ground. Daryl, swearing loudly, throws himself out of the car to follow him and Mila follows Daryl. She has no idea why, but her gut feeling tells her that Daryl won’t be gentle on him. It also tells her that Jesus probably isn’t dangerous at all, which isn’t in his favor if Daryl, who’s all muscles and pretty bad impulse control, gets a hold of him.

“Daryl-” She calls. “No- Stop!”

“I’ve had enough of ya’!” Daryl shouts at Jesus, not hearing Mila.

This must look ever so stupid, Mila thinks as she sprints after Daryl and the hippy-dippy guy into the dry green field; like one of those silent films, except that the soundtrack in this case happens to be Helen Shapiro’s “Walking back to happiness” playing from the car. Mila running after Daryl, running after this odd long-haired man who seems to believe he’s Jesus. Why in the world would he otherwise call himself that?

”No- no, stop it!” Mila shouts, as if she was scolding at a bad dog.

She stumbles and falls flat on her stomach, while Jesus reaches the now stationary truck and throws himself into the driver’s seat. Daryl follows.

“Come here, you little shit!” He barks and starts to drag Jesus out of the car.

At the same time a walker has snuck up behind Daryl. Mila gets up on her knees, gropes for her gun, but before she has managed to raise it to shoot, she hears Jesus call out ‘duck’; Daryl ducks just in time. A gun finds its way into the walker's skull and it falls back like a bowling pin.

“Thanks.” Daryl pants, then sends off a punch into Jesus face. “That's my gun! Come here!”

He throws Jesus out of the truck, onto the grass. He doesn’t remain there for long; instead, he lays hooks for Daryl, who stumbles, giving Jesus time to get up on his feet and set off again.

“Son of a-” Daryl roars and runs after.

“Fuck- knock it out!” Mila shouts and increases her speed, minimizing the distance between herself and her, frankly pissed off, other half. Before Daryl’s able to take another leap in his hunt for the handcuffed, longhaired karate kid, she tackles him to the ground with a thud. ”Stop this!” Mila climbs up on top of him, to prevent Daryl from getting up from the grass. ”This is stupid!”

”Christ- knock it out ya’!”

Crap, she doesn’t have time to argue. Mila climbs over Daryl and sets after Jesus, who has slowed down to watch the wrestling match played out in the grass behind him. A surprised expression spreads on his bearded face as he sees her approaching, faster than he imagined. Jesus turns and starts to run again, but he doesn’t get up to speed fast enough. Mila lunges for him and they tumbles to the ground in a bundle of arms and legs, and she starts to wrestle him. He doesn’t fight her, but he tries with all his power to get loose from her grip. Mila gets a sharp elbow in the eye and a cracked lip before hobo-Jesus is ripped away from her by Daryl, who looks like he’s boiling.

“Ey, that’s ma’ girl, ya’ scumbag!”

“Wohaa, jeez.” The long haired, ravaged man, flies like a raggedy Anne-doll through the air.

Mila gets up from the ground, covered in dry grass and wipes blood from her mouth on the back of her hand. Her eye pounds and already feel swollen, a certain recipe for an upcoming, gorgeous black eye. Daryl pants loudly through his nostrils while holding on to the ravaged man’s coat, the poor guy can barely stand up straight.

“I had him.” Mila glares at Daryl and spits blood on the ground in front of her feet.

“I’d had him if ya’ didn’t tackle me.” Daryl scoffs back, still holding on to Jesus' collar.

“You’d kill that poor man if you’d catched him.” Mila replies, pointing at Jesus. “You’re not exactly sensible when you’re angry.”

“Oh yeah right, you’re the one to talk!” Daryl scoffs back. “What about that guy’s kneecaps-”

“I had every right-” Mila cries. “He sliced my guts with a fucking machete!”

”You two are related of some sort?” Jesus doubtfully breaks in.

”Married!”

“What?” Daryl sputters, looking both terrified and shocked at her sudden, out of the blue exclamation.

“Feels like it!” Mila replies and spits more blood; they’re arguing like they were married at least. “Pridurok...” She mutters, eyes locked at Daryl.

”Oh-” Jesus pants and looks just as confused as Daryl does, plus a bit tufted. “Right-”

“Shut up.”

Pow! Jesus falls to the ground. Mila rolls her eyes; why does he have to punch everyone? She snorts and turns, stepping through the tall grass in the direction of the car. Damn hypocrisy, she thinks to herself. She passes Rick, who walks in the opposite direction out in the tall grassy field, holding his bloody knife, but ignores him. She’s frankly grumpy and her eye hurts. But she halts when she doesn’t spot the truck.

“Where the fuck is the truck!?”

She looks around. It’s nowhere to be seen. As she lets her gaze sweep over the field she catches sight of something behind some trees, in the small pond.

“Shit.” Rick comes up at her side, eyes locked at the truck that’s sinking further down the pond. “He must’ve knocked it into neutral.”

“Now what?”

They both turn and start walking back towards Daryl and the man in the grass.

“Are you alright?” Rick looks at Daryl. “Let's go check them cars, get the hell out of here.”

“What about the guy?” Mila points at Jesus.

“What about him?” Daryl asks.

“Well, he was actually nice, saved you.” She replies.

“Hm.”

“Did he ever pull a weapon on you?” Rick asks.

“Fine.” Daryl sputters. “Fuck- fine. Let’s put him up a tree.”

“No. He’ll come back with us.” Mila corrects, giving Daryl a sharp gaze. “Enough of that grumpy attitude.” She nods at Jesus. “Come on, let’s find a car. Drag him with you.”

They find a working car about fifteen minutes later. Daryl throws Jesus into the backseat. Mila takes the wheel, Daryl calls shotgun and Rick takes place next to Jesus, who’s still knocked out and they start driving back to Alexandria.

“He took a pretty hard hit.” Rick says and meets Mila’s gaze in the mirror, then looks at Jesus. “Denise needs to look him over.”

“Try to wake him.” Mila suggests. “See if he’s got permanent brain damages.”

Rick shakes the man, who grunts and starts moving. He blinks and jumps.

“You’re alive.” Rick says. “Good.”

“Yeah-” Jesus grunts again. “Why am I in a car? I heard something about a tree.”

“It was a joke.” Mila says, meeting his drowsy eyes in the mirror.

“It wasn’t.” Daryl looks at her.

“You wouldn’t have gone through with it.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “You wouldn’t have left him.”

“I would’ve-” Daryl nods upwards. “Right up in a tree.”

“He’s a comedian.” Mila says, once again looking at Jesus in the mirror, not taking notice of Daryl’s irritated expression. “Or at least tries to be.”

”Where have you been all my life?” Jesus chuckles and looks at her in the mirror and sends off a radiant smile that tells Mila that he’s using mouthwash on a daily basis.

”Ey- knock it out!” Daryl reaches back and slaps the man on his tied up hands.

Mila lets out a faint laugh. Huh, look at that; a jealous Daryl Dixon. Jeez Louise, there’s nothing to worry about, Mila thinks to herself, but Daryl’s poor self-confidence doesn’t make it easy for him. She pats her jealous, southern knight on the back of the hand.

”He looks like a hippy dippy orthodox priest.” Mila gives the surly, blushing archer a soft gaze. “Calm down, Dixon.” She turns to the rear view mirror and the hippy dippy man in the backseat. If papa was here, he wouldn’t have let him inside the car. Not in a million years. “No offense, but you do.” She says to Jesus.

”None taken.” He nods at her with a curious gaze. “What’s up with the accent?”

”Up and running, thanks for noticing.”

While steering the car with her knees, Mila once again takes out the case of cd’s, now missing the one with sixties-music, takes out a random cd and puts it in the stereo. She adjusts the volume-wheel on the radio and increases the sound of “The Chain” and starts to tap the wheel while singing along.

“You’re a really good singer.” The man in the back calls after a while.

“Thanks.” Mila replies backwards. “I’m a dental nurse.”

“Did you sing to the patients?”

“To the kids, sometimes. Some terrified men before they, you know-” She closes her eyes and pretends to snore. “Put them down.”

“I’m sure that’s not what it’s called.” Rick replies.

“I made them sleep.” Mila shrugs her shoulders. “Right?”

“Not what it sounded like.” Daryl says and meets her eyes, with a slightly amused expression on his stern face.

“Anyway I think it sounded beautiful.” Jesus says.

”I like this guy!” Mila looks at him and Rick with an excited smile upon her face, nodding her head to the beat of the music. ”Can we keep him?”

“He ain’t a dog.”

“But he’s quite fun!”

”You see.” Jesus says triumphantly. “She likes me.”

That’s it for Daryl. He turns and once again starts to try and hit the guy. Mila hits the brakes and the car stops with such force that Jesus is thrown into the headrest of the passenger seat, and dozes off.

“Knock it off!” Mila roars. “Or I won’t drive an inch further.”

The angry mom-voice isn’t only effective on children, it works really well on adult men as well. Daryl mutters and returns to his seat. Mila steps on the gas pedal again and continues to drive. Outside, it eventually starts to get dark. The sky is clear and the stars look brighter than ever. When she brakes at the gate to Alexandria, it’s pitch black. Daryl gets out, opens the gate and she drives into the community; a sensation of calm spreads throughout her body. That’s when she remembers.

“Shit.”

“What?” Rick asks.

“Forgot to get marshmallows.”

When the gate’s closed and locked, Daryl gets into the car again and Mila drives up to the infirmary, parks and the engine dies. The three of them get out of the car and stretch. What a fucking day, Mila thinks to herself, while watching Rick and Daryl dragging the still unconscious Jesus out of the backseat. They carry him up the stairs to the infirmary, knock on the door and wait. Denise opens in a few seconds.

“Sorry to wake you up.” Rick excuses himself before Denise can say something.

From her spot at the car, Mila notices Denise’s confused expression as she notices the lifeless man.

“Who is this?!”

“Come on, man, he's heavy.” Daryl says to Rick. “Oh, that thing-” He looks at Denise. “Uh, didn't work out. It's this asshole's fault. Sorry.”

While they bring Jesus inside, Mila leans up against the hot hood and looks at the stars. Juri has probably been asleep for a while now. She doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s late. Rick and Daryl walk out of the infirmary just as she catches sight of the pole star.

“He’s taken care of.” Daryl says as he walks up to her. He examines her in detail in the faint glow of the infirmary. “Let’s patch ya’ up.”

Mila doesn’t struggle. She’s tired and hungry. They go back into the infirmary and she sits down on one of the beds with clean, white sheets and exhales. There’s a mirror in the corner of the room. When Mila sees her reflection, she sighs even deeper; she has a pretty neat blackeye and a cracked lip. Daryl sits down on the stool in front of her.

“A hell of a blackeye-” He squints at the look of her pulsating, sore eye. “Ya’ really took a few punches.” He takes the bottle with alcohol and a wipe and pours some onto it. “Like Rocky Balboa.”

“Yeah, but I won.” Mila replies.

“Just like Rocky.” Daryl replies. “Still though- hell of a fight.”

“Better me than you I guess.” Mila swears as Daryl, as gently as he can, wipes her cracked lip with the drenched wipe. “You’d kill him.”

Mila nods over Daryl’s shoulder, towards the knocked out man lying on the narrow hospital bed, handcuffed to the bed frame. Daryl turns, looks at Jesus, then scoffs.

“I’ll kill him if he ever puts his hands on ya’ again.” Daryl mutters and throws the wipe over the room, into the trash bin.

“Don’t have to, I’ll do it myself.” Mila smiles, but grimaces; it hurts to smile. “I know.” Daryl replies. “Sorry ‘bout earlier. For yellin’ at ya’.”

“You gotta work on that temper.” Mila states. “It ain’t good for the blood pressure.”

With a grunt, as much of an answer as anything, Daryl puts his hand at the back of her head, brings it to his lips and kisses her on the forehead.

“Ain’t gonna need to stitch ya’ up.” He says. “Come on, let’s get ya’ to bed, Rocky.”

“Yes, Adrien.” Mila grins wryly. “What about Jesus Christ Superstar?” She nods towards the other bed.

“Yeah we’ll deal with him later.”

“You gonna tuck me in first?” Mila asks. “I’d love that, but honestly, I need a quick shower before bed. I think I might have caught every possible STD there is from that disgusting toilet at the gas station.”

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd fanfic

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starkerforlife6969 · 4 years

Text

Starker - Accidentally Perfect

It all started with a bet.

And Tony hates how much of a cliche even that is. A bet. He's let himself get dragged into a bet by a fresh-faced eighteen year old who has a walkman ironically and brings a dictaphone into every lecture.

Goddamn, he hates Peter Parker. He seethes furiously at him from across the quad, the hot summer sun beating down on his shoulders. His blank tank top is helping keep the heat off, but it's still almost unbearably warm. Sticky with the promise of the summer holidays only a few weeks away.

"Do you actually think you can stare him out of existence?" Rhodey asks, a cool, amused voice from back in the shade of their stand. Tony turns and glowers, pulling his sunglasses off.

"He's such a little shit."

"He's eighteen, Tony. All eighteen year olds are little shits. We were, remember?"

Tony doesn't remember them ever being as unbearable as Peter. His face must say as much, because Rhodey sighs.

"We're twenty-seven." He says gently. "We're getting a little too old to keep blaming college wars on the freshman."

He barely resists the urge to stomp his foot. "He started it!"

It's true, Tony thinks. He can't really remember how it all started. He remembers the beginning of the semester, deciding to take a break from the all-consuming robotics thesis of his doctorate and go and drop in on a lecture. He remembers a bright-eyed boy with fluffy hair stumbling through a presentation in front of his peers. He very vaguely remembers calling out one or two inconsistencies with Peter's presentation. He remembers the bright red flush that had spread across Peter's cheeks, and the way he'd stumbled quietly over his words, and- okay- in Tony's defence, he was sleep deprived- trying to think up his proposal, still trying to get his second phD started and-

It had turned into all out war pretty quickly.

Turns out, Peter didn't respond well to being picked on.

Not that Tony had picked on him, just-

"Gluing all my furniture to the ceiling? Selling my text books? Hiring someone to fire a paintball at me every hour for four days?!" Tony runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. "He's evil!"

Rhodey barely blinks, eyes on his phone. "But..."

Tony's shoulders droop. "...But I started it." He mumbles under his breath.

"What? I didn't quite catch that."

"I started it, alright? Jeez," he winces, "I said sorry."

"No. You didn't."

Okay fine, he's not big on apologies.

Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway. They're where they are now. The bet. Whoever raises the most money for the oil spill just off of Mexico's coast wins. Their two stands sit opposite each other on the quad, six hours to raise money, loser has to get down on their knees in front of the entire student body and declare the other their superior in every single way.

That's why Tony's here. In a tight black tank top, muscles on display, sunglasses on, hair messy, grinning at everyone who passes.

"How much have we got, Rhode-aroo?"

There's a gentle clatter as Rhodey checks the basket. "Uh, $12?"

Tony winces. That's not great. "Whatever. It's gotta be more than Parker has anyway."

Rhodey hums.

***

As the third hour ticks by, Tony slinks back into the shade of their stall and dozes off a little. It can't be more than fifteen minutes, but when he opens his eyes, there's a trickle of students leaving their classes and walking through the quad.

For some bewildering reason, they're all walking to Peter's stand.

Tony frowns, tiptoeing over to enemy lines.

The first thing he sees is that Peter's money basket is full. Not just one money basket, but four money baskets. At least $100 in change, loose bills and Starbucks vouchers.

What the fuck?

And then- then he sees why.

MJ, the equally annoying friend, is manning the booth. She's concise and thoughtful and armed with scary statistics as she neatly collects money and scares more into baskets.

But Peter, Peter is all cream silk shirt and tight blue shorts, and big eyes and enthusiasm.

"I just keep thinking of the baby seals," Peter whines, rocking on the heels of his feet, pink converse scraping against the grass. "Those poor animals, all covered in oil..." he bites his lip, bats those eyelashes, and the tall jock who's leaning over him, nods, already fumbling for his wallet.

"Yeah totally, the-the seals."

"Right? Oh, thank you," Peter sighs, voice a little wanton moan, touching the guy's elbow, leaning in. "You're a hero."

The guy tosses in another twenty.

Jesus Christ. Tony can't help his grin of disbelief, even as irritated as he is that he didn't come up with it first.

Devious little shit.

***

When the crowd has dispersed a little bit, and the dynamic duo have bled most everyone dry, Tony makes himself known, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

"Wow, Parker. We're more alike than I thought."

Peter turns, looking up at him, eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh yeah? How's that? Did you actually start caring about the oil spill?"

Tony hums, feigning nonchalance. "I just mean, I thought your standards were a little higher."

The boy frowns, little face scrunched up in confusion. It's annoyingly endearing. "Huh?"

"C'mon, no need to hide now. Playing dumb and pretty to get donations? Way to care about the animals."

The outrage that flits across that expressive face is way too believable. "Pretty anddumb? Screw you, Tony. You're just jealous I'm winning." Peter humphs, crossing his arms. "Is surly know-it-all not enticing the crowds the way you thought it would?"

Tony shrugs. "Maybe. Because I won't reduce myself."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Come on, Peter. You know what you're doing to people." Here, Tony raises his voice. Hopefully, he'll be able to steer people away from here and over to his own stand. Though, Rhodey's death glare from across the quad is making him think maybe that's not an excellent idea- why, he's not sure. He barrels on, attention on him. "You're doing that thing- with the big sparkly brown Disney eyes and the scandalously short shorts and the elbow-touching. You're fake laughing at bad jokes and fluttering your eyelashes and selling your torturous mix of princess and bombshell that none of us can resist to trick people into giving you their money, admit it!"

Peter gapes, mouth in a delicious 'o'. "I am not!" He shrieks: scandalised.

Tony scoffs. "You expect me to believe that you're thisfucking irresistible on purpose?"

The boy doesn't seem to know what to do with that. He scrambles, blushing under the stare of the passers-by. "I'm...I don't...um...thank you?"

Tony stares. No way. No fucking way is this not an act, it can't be or-

"Yeah." MJ sighs, the sigh of the long-wearied, as she unfolds another dollar bill into the pile. "Join the club."

***

Tony's pacing back stage, still trying to understand everything in his head.

The entire student body is waiting on the other side of that curtain, mostly drunk, hopefully too drunk to remember this in the morning- to see his apology act.

"Big sparkly Disney eyes," Rhodes hums, re-watching the video on twitter. "I'm surprised you went with that one, you're always going on about his Bambi eyes. What's the difference?"

"I swear to god, if you keep talking-"

"I think my favourite bit is where you basically announced to the world that your kink is sexy princess."

"Oh my god-"

"Uh- T-Tony?"

Tony whirls around to see Peter standing at the curtain, and Tony can't help the groan of embarrassment.

"Look, Pete, I'll do it, alright? Just give me a second to shed the last of my dignity."

"No, it's not..." Peter blushes, and Rhodey lifts his hands, shuffling away to give them some privacy. Peter edges closer, stupidly gorgeous with all of his freckles, a fucking dandelion crown perched on his chestnut curls, like he's just trying to press all of Tony's buttons and- "Look, Tony," Peter murmurs, all sweetness and loveliness, "I was thinking, you don't need to- you don't need to go out there and say anything." He wrings his lily-white hands, silvery bracelets hanging at the wrist, "Really. I feel like- the fact that video from the quad went viral was- that's more than enough."

Tony doesn't know what to say, but it doesn't stop him from trying. "Pete, about what I said..."

"I really wasn't doing any of that stuff- I-, I wasn't trying to play dumb, or- I mean, maybe I was? I didn't- I didn't mean to, I just wanted to help the seals, and I've already bought my ticket to volunteer for seal cleaning over summer break and-"

Tony laughs, shaking his head. Because he knows. He sighs, meeting those lovely brown eyes. "I know you weren't. You're not- I was just- I'm sorry, Pete. For all of it. For the day we met."

Peter looks shy, but pleased. "You were an ass." He agrees amiably.

"I was. Am. Trying not to be."

Peter chews on his bottom lip, accidentally embodying Tony's every wet dream. "You could buy a ticket for the summer seal cleaning task." Peter shrugs, eyes darting away. "If you like."

"With you?" Tony wonders aloud, "with you being so...unintentionally you? Not sure I could cope."

"True," Peter whispers coyly, "imagine if I was actively trying to seduce you. You wouldn't last a minute."

At that, Tony laughs again. Loud and delighted. Head tipped back, unaware to how Peter drinks in the sight. "Is that a bet, kid?"

Peter beams.

#starker #peter x tony #college au #young tony #tony is a doctorate student #peter is 18 #fluff #peter parker is a sweetheart #precious peter parker #tony stark is a dork

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years

Text

stay lost in this moment forever

nearly 11k of pure, unadulterated horse girl geralt fluff. read on ao3 here.

in which they head to the coast, and get away for a while.

Geralt’s not quite sure what to do with himself, here. There are no monsters, just a rocky stretch of a beach that’s all theirs. At least, that’s what Jaskier had said, his mouth hot near Geralt’s ear as he took him in hand beneath the stars. Geralt hadn’t had the will to question him.

He looks at Jaskier, scribbling furiously in his notebook, the quill Geralt gifted him flying across the page. Geralt stretches languidly, but Jaskier doesn’t look up at him. “Jask,” he says, and no, he doesn’t whine.

Jaskier hums in acknowledgement, and Geralt fights the urge to throw a pillow at him.

“I’m bored.”

“What happened to the whole no emotions schtick?” Jaskier asks instantly, not turning his attention away from the page.

This time, Geralt does throw the pillow, and finally, Jaskier looks at him. “Needy this morning, are we?” Jaskier asks, the scent of satisfaction drifting off of him unbearably.

Geralt grunts in protest. He’d never be anything as undignified as that.

“Sure,” Jaskier says skeptically. He looks back down at his writing, and Geralt huffs and gets out of bed.

He takes his time getting dressed, and he definitely does not stretch to reach the top shelf, knowing the way it makes his back muscles ripple. There’s not even a rustle from behind him.

Geralt gets dressed and wanders out of their little shack. If Geralt was in a more generous mood, he’d call it a cottage, but alas. Geralt tries to walk as quietly across the stones as he can, the habit to be light footed ingrained in him even if there’s nothing that he is trying to hide his presence from.

Geralt makes his way down the beach, to where the rocks finally give way to grass. He walks a bit farther still, until trees start to sprout on the horizon, and he sees Roach. He walks up to where she’s grazing, in a pasture he fenced off.

Jaskier had been interested in him that day, at least. “Do you know what a sight you make, all sweaty and good with your hands?” Jaskier had whispered into his ear.

Geralt hummed. “I think you had better show me.”

And Jaskier did. Repeatedly.

He’s jerked out of his reverie by Roach nudging him with a snort. Geralt combs his fingers through her mane and leans on the post he had driven into the ground. Jaskier hadn’t been able to hold in his comments on that particular action.

Geralt huffs. He wishes Jaskier was here, that he wasn’t too busy composing to pay attention to Geralt. He’s distracted by a horse’s scream somewhere to his right. He wrenches back from Roach, who has her ears laid back flat.

Geralt looks toward the tree line, but nothing seems out of place. It’s not like he can ignore a call for help, though, so he unsheathes his sword and makes his way into the woods just beyond Roach’s pasture. He almost hopes he finds something amiss, just so he can tell Jaskier that keeping his swords on him wasn’t overkill. He’s a witcher, he can’t just walk around unarmed, no matter how many times Jaskier insists they’re on vacation. Witchers don’t just take vacations, he protested, but Jaskier paid him no heed.

He scans the woods as he walks farther in, but in the end, he almost steps right on it. There’s a horse lying in a copse, panting shallow breaths, his belly slick with blood.

Geralt’s face pinches, and he crouches down. The horse whinnies in agitation, but he’s not exactly in a position to refuse Geralt’s help. Something’s torn the horse’s stomach open and left it here for dead. Geralt’s stomach turns. He hates seeing needless suffering. He probes the wound with his fingers, biting his lip and trying to decide if the horse has a chance to make it, or if Geralt should put an end to the misery. The horse hasn’t stopped nickering since Geralt got there, so Geralt’s not going to take the choice away from him. Geralt sits down next to him and pets the horse’s snout, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a sugar cube that he keeps for Roach. The horse’s lips close around it, and Geralt convinces himself that the horse is going to be okay.

Geralt pulls out a flask, just a standard disinfectant, and pours it over the wound. The last thing they need is an infection, and Geralt thanks his paranoia for keeping him prepared. The horse neighs in pain, and Geralt runs two fingers over his soft nose. “It’s okay,” he croons. “You’re doing so good.”

Geralt looks at the wound, thinking. There’s really nothing left but to stitch it up. Stitching wounds is bad enough on humans who understand what’s going on, much less on an animal that doesn’t understand he’s trying to help it. He smooths a hand down the horse’s flank, murmuring nonsense and hoping it’s soothing.

The horse turns his head to nuzzle Geralt’s hand.

“Geralt? Geralt!” comes a call from out of Geralt’s view.

He doesn’t want to startle the horse, but he can hear the worry in Jaskier’s voice, so he replies, “Over here!” trying to be just loud enough for Jaskier to hear.

He hears Jaskier grumbling, then there’s a crashing through the underbrush. “Seriously, Geralt? What are you—oh. Oh.”

Geralt looks up at Jaskier, who looks down at all the blood before he looks back at Geralt, his eyes wide.

“I‘m glad you’re here,” Geralt says, “I could use your help.”

“Oh, joy.”

“What’s his name?” Jaskier asks finally, after a week, when it’s starting to look like the gelding is staying.

“Roach.”

“Geralt, you can’t just name all your horses Roach. That’s ridiculous.”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s worked out so far.”

“Yes, but two at once? They’ll be confused.”

“They’re smart,” is all Geralt says.

Jaskier throws his hands up and walks away, but Geralt coaxes him back soon afterwards. Jaskier gives him a begrudging kiss and smiles against his lips.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, “Pay attention to me.”

Geralt doesn’t glance up from he’s brushing Roach down, with the other Roach nosing against his arm. Roach has been standoffish ever since Geralt introduced her to the second Roach, and he’s starting to think Jaskier might have had a point about the names, but Geralt’s not going to admit that to him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says again, drawing it out.

There’s a smile playing at Geralt’s lips, but he finally looks up, Jaskier himself winning out over Geralt’s desire to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Jaskier is right there beside him, and when Geralt looks at him, he wraps an arm around Geralt’s waist. “Having fun?”

“Never,” Geralt deadpans.

“Never? Really? Never? Have you forgotten last night already?”

“I think I need a reminder.”

“I can probably arrange that.”

Jaskier mouths at Geralt’s neck, but Geralt pushes him away.

“In front of Roach?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and pulls him back in anyway. Geralt doesn’t offer any more protests.

“Geralt, stay here,” Jaskier says plaintively, tugging on his arm.

Geralt shrugs away from him, lacing up his pants. Jaskier wraps his hand around Geralt’s wrist from his spot on the bed. Geralt looks down at him and almost gives in, but he needs to check on Roach. His stitches have been healing well, but he has a troublesome habit of trying to chew them out if Geralt doesn’t change his bandages often enough.

He’s already had to restitch some of them, and Roach made Geralt plenty aware of his dislike of that situation, so Geralt would like to avoid a repeat.

Jaskier huffs and lets go of his arm. “Fine. I’ll just...wait here, then.”

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips. “Insatiable, hmm?”

Jaskier leans back against the pillows and sighs, looking at his lap pitably.

“I’ll be back soon,” Geralt promises.

Jaskier throws an arm over his eyes and turns over, making a rather uncalled for dramatic noise, if you ask Geralt. Geralt rolls his eyes fondly, trying not to let them catch on the planes of Jaskier’s back or the way the blanket drapes over him just so…

Geralt shakes his head and makes his way out the door, blinking his eyes against the cool early morning air. He walks along the rocky beach until the paddock comes into sight. He squints to see both Roaches leaning against each other as they sleep, and he smiles to himself. Roach had neighed and nipped at the intruder when Geralt had first introduced them, so he’s glad to see they’re getting along now. Jaskier would probably say it’s his fault they didn’t get along for rubbing his surly nature off on his horses, and Geralt would be inclined to agree.

As Geralt gets closer, he notices the sound of snapping twigs coming from the woods on the other side of the pasture. He stops and scans the tree line, but he doesn’t notice anything amiss. Probably a deer. He swings open the gate and latches it shut behind him as both Roaches blink at him sleepily.

“Good morning,” Geralt greets as he gets closer, stooping down to tug up a patch of clover to offer in his outstretched hands.

Roach gets to her feet instantly, snuffling into his left hand, and the other Roach follows her lead, sniffing at Geralt’s right hand tentatively. He starts to nibble at the purple flowers. When they’re done, Geralt examines the scraps of cloth, pulling it back so he can look at the stitches. It looks like everything is healing cleanly, and Geralt hums in satisfaction.

He stays with his horses for a little while longer, watching them navigate each other and making sure neither is being too ornery to the other. He huffs a soft laugh when the gelding prances around Roach in circles, until she headbutts past him to continue grazing without disturbance.

The sun is just breaking over the horizon when he starts to make the short trek back to the cottage, looking forward to waking Jaskier up properly.

Jaskier groans and blinks awake again at a banging on the door. He squints his eyes, trying to avoid the early morning light as he grabs his robe and stumbles toward the door, figuring Geralt has his hands too full to open it. He’s probably bringing home a fawn to nurse back to health, if the pattern holds. Jaskier snorts to himself at the thought. He wonders if Geralt could be talked into stew instead, but he imagines the pleading eyes Geralt would aim at him and already finds himself softening.

He swings the door open and is met not with Geralt and a deer, but a man with a scar and a rather portly goat.

The man scowls at him. “Where’s Geralt?”

Jaskier pulls his robe tighter around himself as his hackles raise. “Who’s asking?”

“That’s none of your concern. What is your concern is what I’m going to do to you if you don’t tell me. This place reeks of him.”

Jaskier raises his eyebrows. “You’re a witcher?” he asks. He looks at the man’s scar more carefully, then back down at the goat, munching contentedly on a stray dandelion growing through the stones. “Eskel?” he guesses.

He opens the door wider, gesturing for Eskel to come in. He does, hesitantly, and Jaskier waves a hand at the table, telling him to take a seat. Jaskier frowns at the goat that’s trailed in after them. “Geralt’s checking on his horses, but he should be back soon,” Jaskier says.

“And who are you?”

“Geralt’s…friend.”

Eskel looks him up and down skeptically. “Right. I’m sure Geralt tells all his friends about me.”

Jaskier’s cheeks burn, so he turns around and pulls a pot down from a cabinet before picking up the fire iron and poking at the embers. He throws a handful of wood chips onto the hot spot, and blows a gentle breath on them. They light, and Jaskier piles on some larger twigs. Once there’s a happy blaze crackling, he throws on a large log (that Geralt looked very handsome while chopping) and looks back to Eskel, who’s watching him carefully and petting the spot between the goat’s horns.

“Breakfast?” he asks weakly, willing Geralt to hurry up.

Eskel nods his assent, so Jaskier cracks some eggs into a bowl and slices some bread to toast.

“So. What are you looking for Geralt for?” Jaskier asks conversationally.

Eskel shrugs. “Haven’t seen him in a while. He didn’t come to Kaer Morhen last winter.” Eskel looks at Jaskier accusingly, and the tips of his ears turn red to match his face. “I heard he was shacking up somewhere around here, and I need help with a contract, anyway.”

Jaskier stirs the eggs more vigorously. “Oh?”

“Pack of drowners; more than I’d like to face alone. Besides, it’s perfect that you’re here, actually, you can watch Li’l Bleater for me.”

“Li’l—excuse me?”

“Li’l Bleater. She’s pregnant, so I don’t exactly want her in the thick of things.”

Jaskier looks at the goat’s rounded stomach more carefully, noting the way she’s starting to bag up. He scratches his neck. “Well, Geralt’s really the one who’s better with animals. I don’t think—”

“Nonsense. You won’t even notice she’s here.”

“Not until she gets placenta all over my floor, I imagine.”

Eskel scoffs. “She’s not due for another couple weeks at least. She’s not nearly wide enough.”

Jaskier can’t see how she could still walk around if she gets wider, but he’ll take Eskel’s words at face value.

“Besides,” Eskel continues, “she eats the placenta.”

Jaskier feels faint at the idea. He turns around and pokes at the eggs, deciding they’re done. He scrapes them onto three plates and puts toast beside them, feeling proud he didn’t burn anything for once.

He’s just setting the plates on the table when Geralt bursts in. His face immediately twists into delight at the sight of Eskel, and that dashes any hopes Jaskier had of them not gallivanting off together..

Ah, well. He supposes it will be good for Geralt to get out; he avoids the tiny village and its market like the plague, and Jaskier can’t say he doesn’t know why.

Even when Jaskier goes by himself, he’s still greeted with whispers and drawn faces, so he can see why Geralt prefers to skip it altogether. If Geralt did go with him and anyone dared to say anything to their faces, Jaskier would be forced to make a scene, and he doesn’t think Geralt would appreciate that very much.

He jerks his attention back to Geralt and Eskel, where Geralt is leaning down to give Li’l Bleater a hearty scratch, because of course he is. Jaskier plunks himself down in the wooden chair and sullenly eats his eggs, mollified when Geralt’s hand lands on his thigh and starts to rub circles into it with his thumb.

“—Shouldn’t be gone more than three days,” Geralt is saying as Jaskier bites into his dry toast.

It tastes like dust. “When are you leaving, then?”

Geralt looks to Eskel. “As soon as possible,” Eskel answers.

Jaskier wipes his hands on his pants and stands up, sighing. Geralt shoots him a concerned look, full of questions, and Jaskier is sure he’s two seconds away from saying he doesn’t have to go. Jaskier knows the itch under Geralt’s skin has been intensifying, knows that for all Geralt isn’t meant to stomp from contract to contract, never taking a break, he’s not built for being just a farm hand, either.

Jaskier shoots him a reassuring smile and tentatively pats Li’l Bleater on the head. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage without you for a few days.”

Geralt and Eskel stand up, too, and Geralt closes his hand around Jaskier’s wrist. “Don’t burn the place down,” he says.

A smile twitches at Jaskier’s lips, because that’s proof Geralt is coming back. He’s not going to go out and get the wanderlust from his younger years, he’s going to return to Jaskier. Good thing, too; Jaskier can barely take care of himself, much less the animals Geralt is amassing. Now they’re up to three for sure, and Jaskier is fairly certain he’s seen a dog trailing around behind Geralt. As long as it doesn’t end up at the foot of their bed, Jaskier is content for Geralt to do whatever makes him happy.

Jaskier glances at Eskel, who’s staring at them both, but he’s not going to let Geralt run off without a kiss. To his surprise, it’s Geralt that leans in to press his lips against Jaskier’s. Geralt pulls back, tugging at his hair and giving Jaskier a bashful grin.

Jaskier pushes playfully against his chest. “Be safe, you sap.”

Geralt grunts, the tip of his ears turning red, before he drags Eskel out the door. The door slams shut behind them, but not before Jaskier hears Eskel teasing Geralt. “Is that your boyfriend?” he sings.

There’s a solid thwack sound, and a, “I’m just jerking your chain, Geralt,” before they’re out of earshot, and Jaskier turns to Li’l Bleater.

They stare at each other until she creeps forward to nibble on the edge of Jaskier’s doublet.

He sighs. He can deal with a chew-happy goats. As long as she keeps her kids inside of her until Eskel returns, they’ll be fine.

read the rest on ao3 here!

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lil bleater #geralt is a horse girl at his core #fanfiction #fluff

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swordandquill · 3 years

Text

Title: Just a Call Away

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: Four times Eliot answers a call from his teammates, and one time they answer a call from him

Author’s Note: Written for Comfortember. The prompt for the first chapter is anxiety. I may hit some of the other prompts as I work my way through the chapters.

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

Eliot was asleep. Actually asleep. Under his nice fluffy down comforter, and he had just washed his sheets, and the bruising on his ribs was finally healed enough for him to sleep on that side without it hurting.

And his phone rang.

He should have left it in the living room, or turned it off, or tossed it out the window, or literally anything besides leaving it sitting on his nightstand. But he hadn’t. So he reached a hand out of his nice warm cocoon of blankets and groped blindly for it, pulling it back under the comforter to put to his ear.

“What?” he slurred, too groggy to even really be surly.

“I need help,” Parker said by way of greeting.

The team had called him far more times than Eliot cared to keep track of for that exact thing, enough times that it no longer immediately incited panic in him, since it was, more often than not, not actually an emergency, particularly where Hardison and Parker were concerned. “We ran out of cookies” and “we need more blankets for movie night” were not conversations that should have started with “I need help.”

Parker’s voice wavered though, and there was just enough panic in it to have Eliot pushing himself out of bed and looking for the nearest pair of pants.

“Where are you?” Eliot asked.

“Nebraska,” Parker sounded nervous admitting it.

“Nebra…” Eliot dropped back to the edge of his bed heavily, “Parker, I’m in Boston!”

“I know,” something that sounded very much like desperation entered her voice, “I’m lost, and you know military stuff, so you can help.”

Eliot ran a rough hand over his face and tried calm both his frustration and his anxiety. Military stuff, Parker, and lost were not things that should go together, especially when Eliot was half way across the country from her. He could deal with that later though. For now, he needed to try to get her out of whatever mess she had gotten herself into.

“What’s going on?” he did his best to keep his voice level; Parker could and would shut down on him if she thought he was angry with her.

“I got a tip that there was a stash of stolen World War II paintings hidden in an old cold war bunker in Nebraska,” Parker’s voice came across calmer now that she knew Eliot would help her.

As if that had ever been in questions.

“You’re lost in a cold war bunker?” Eliot couldn’t help the rise in his voice.

“I had the route all planned out, but then I got turned around, and all the halls look the same,” Parker snapped.

“They do that on purpose,” Eliot snapped back.

He could charter a private jet and be there in six hours, maybe five if he threw enough money at the charter company. He could call in a favor with one of his military buddies, and maybe, if he was really lucky, be there in four hours, but favors from military buddies could be complicated, and Parker would be fine for an extra hour or two… probably… maybe.

“See, you know military stuff,” Parker huffed, “tell me how to get out. There are markings on the walls, but I don’t know what any of them mean.”

There was a chance Eliot wasn’t going to know either. He had been in a handful of top secret military bunkers in his life, both with and without permission, but none of them had been cold war era, and while notation and signage was kind of standardized, it did change over time and a certain percentage of secret bases put up signage to intentionally confuse people.

He could at least try to talk Parker through, he guessed. She didn’t seem to be in immediate danger and if he could help her find her way out, that would be faster than her having to wait for him to get there.

“Okay, stay on the line and tell me what you see,” Eliot directed.

“I can’t,” the nervousness was back in Parker’s voice.

“Can’t what?” Eliot scowled, wishing Parker was there for him to scowl at.

“I can’t stay on the line,” Parker clarified, “I had to climb to the top of this big round room to get a signal, but I don’t think there’s any way out through here.”

“You climbed to the top of a missile silo,” Eliot said flatly.

“There’s no missile,” Parker countered, as if that was the problem.

This team was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

“Okay, you are going to tell me exactly where this bunker is,” Eliot said firmly, “and I’m going to tell you what to look for so you can try and find your way out. You’re going to call me any time you can get a signal, and if I don’t hear from you with in an hour, I’m flying out there to get you.”

He kind of wanted to make the last part a threat, but neither of them would have believed that.

“Okay,” Parker agreed.

She listened carefully as Eliot explained how military notation usually worked, repeating the information back to him when he asked. Then, he had to let her hang up.

It was a very long four hours while Eliot was forced to wait for Parker’s irregular calls. He spent the time pacing restlessly, running through every possible scenario and outcome, all the things that could go wrong, from Parker getting hurt, to getting lost and not being able to reach him to tell him, to finding herself locked behind failsafe doors that didn’t unlock once they had been triggered, to the owners of the stash coming back and catching her or just killing her on the spot.

He almost chartered the flight out twice, but both times he was interrupted by Parker calling, and he hung up on the hold music to answer.

Finally, finally, though, Parker found her way out, and Eliot could hear crickets chirping and the wind rustling in the grass when she called, and he felt like he could breathe again without something trying to crush his chest.

“Thanks, Eliot,” Parker chirped, apparently none the worse for wear. Eliot was feeling much worse for wear and did not appreciate the cheerfulness.

“Now that I know how to get around, I should go back and get the paintings,” Parker continued happily, “there’s supposed to be…”

“No, you will not,” Eliot cut her off with a snarl, “you are going to get on the next flight home, and if I don’t see you in person in the next eight hours, I’m going to take all the diamonds you have stashed under the floor at that warehouse you own on 9th street, sell them for half of what they’re worth, and give all the money to a clown school.”

“I didn’t know you knew about that stash,” Parker said meekly, then added in a somewhat horrified whisper, “clowns have schools?”

That was definitely not the thing to be horrified about here.

“Eight hours, Parker,” Eliot said firmly, then hung up.

He slid to the floor and leaned back against his bed, muscles aching from the constant tension vibrating through him for the last four hours, and pressed his forehead to his knees. He didn’t think Parker really understood just how much trouble she had been in. Some of those underground facilities were huge, and with no easy way to stay in touch with her, it could have been days, if not weeks, until they found her, and that wasn’t even taking into account the possibility of her getting caught, and what the people who caught her would do to her.

He was glad she had called, glad she hadn’t waited until she was starting to suffer from dehydration and hunger, or the guys who the stuff belonged to came back and started shooting, but it was hard to quantify just how much stress his team created for him.

He glanced down at the floor where he had dropped his phone. He was tempted to call Hardison and ask him to track Parker and make sure she really didn’t go back down into the bunker, or Nate, so he would chew Parker out before he took on the job of recovering and returning the stolen art, or even Sophie, just to have someone to rant to. Anyone, just so he didn’t have to sit here alone with his frayed nerves.

Instead, he shoved himself to his feet and went to go spend some quality time with his punching bag. It wasn’t like he was going to get anymore sleep any time soon.

********

Seven hours and forty-three minutes later, Parker appeared next to him so abruptly he almost dropped his spoon into the stew he was stirring.

“Please don’t sell my diamonds,” Parker said quickly.

Eliot contemplated smacking her with the spoon. Not hard, just enough to sting. Maybe a little hard. He could say she had startled him and it was reflex.

Parker hugged him before he could decide, and he was forced to put the spoon down so he didn’t get stew on her shirt.

“Thank you for helping me,” she ducked her head against his shoulder.

Eliot sighed heavily and wrapped his arms around her, “anytime, darling.”

Because he always wanted her to call. No matter what, he wanted her to call him if she got into trouble. He didn’t want to find out about it after it was too late to do anything.

“Also, Sophie said you probably weren’t really going to sell my diamonds, and that you were just worried about me because you care, and I should apologize for scaring you,” Parker squeezed him a little tighter, “so, sorry for scaring you.”

Eliot wasn’t sure if Parker really understood what Sophie had been trying to tell her or was just doing what she thought would make him less upset with her. Either one seemed like progress in a certain way, and at least she was safe now.

He pressed his face into her hair and closed his eyes.

“I really would have sold your diamonds,” he assured her.

“Oh,” Parker frowned into his shoulder, “does that mean you care a lot or that I scared you a lot?”

“Yes,” he grumbled.

“Okay,” Parker was quiet for a moment, her grip still tight around his shoulders, “will you help me burn down all the clown schools?”

“No!” Eliot gave her a quick, hard squeeze, making her squeak, then let her go, “go set the table. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Okay,” Parker grinned at him, then hesitated before kissing him on the cheek, “you scare me sometimes, too.”

Before Eliot could ask, she had turned away to start pulling things out of the cupboards. He stared at her for a minute before turning back to his stew. If anyone was ever going to turn his hair grey, it was going to be that girl, but he was glad to have her home.

#Leverage #Comfortember #eliot spencer #parker #Isabeau's writing

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elylandon · 4 years

Text

Part 1 - Chapter 8: Voices

Summary: You’re running for your life when you cross paths with an ex-bounty hunter and his small, green companion. You never thought you’d find someone throughout the whole galaxy who was as lost as you.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,681

Rating/Warnings: M for mature content. Swearing, violence, [eventual smut], etc.

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

Note: (Slight AU - Slow Burn) I hope you enjoy this one! ❤

---

While the Razor Crest was a decently sized ship, it could still feel a bit cramped at times. You never liked tight spaces, but you could say you were used to sharing such close quarters with others. There were times when you had shared tiny rooms with two or three other girls in overflowing group homes, and other times when you were dragged into tight corners of Thasar’s estate by some of his business partners. So being stuck on the Crest for days on end, or crammed into that small barn back on Sorgan, hadn’t ever bothered you before.

But then everything changed. You had to admit that it wasn’t exactly instantaneous. It was a gradual change you hadn’t noticed until you were painfully aware of it. How could you not be when every time you saw the Mandalorian, your stomach would erupt in a fit of flutters, and every time he spoke, those flutters would melt into something deeper? And thanks to the confined space of the Razor Crest, seeing and hearing him was such a regular occurrence that, after two weeks of this, you were starting to lose your mind.

You just had to go and tell him how much he meant to you all those days ago, how much you trusted him now, when you had every reason not to trust anyone ever again. And then he just had to jump on your vulnerability wagon and tell you his name, wholeheartedly relaying that he trusted you too.

You needed to get off this gods damned ship.

That was difficult when your party hadn’t exactly found an ideal place to stay just yet. However, as much as you wanted the space to privately mull over all these troublesome feelings you were having around the Mandalorian, you’d desperately appreciate at least a few short hours off this ship for a supply run. So that’s what you suggested to Din.

“I don’t think we should go back to my usual spots,” Din said from his chair, filtering through different planets on his radar. “By now, the Guild might have discovered them and asked after me, knowing now that I visit those places every few weeks.”

You nodded from your co-pilot’s chair, assenting his point. The child was, as per usual, perched in your lap, happily fidgeting with your pendant. He was alternating between lightly sucking on it, and determinedly examining it. This kid really loved small, shiny objects.

“What if we went somewhere completely random? Just pick a planet, land and barter really quick, and then be back in space within a couple hours.”

“We’re easier targets on land. We’d risk alerting any nearby bounty hunters of our proximity,” Din stated matter-of-factly. You sighed.

“We’re risking that no matter where we go.”

“I know,” he said, thoughtfully tapping his fingers against each of the control sticks. He stared at the radar for a long moment, but finally selected a destination.

“What did you settle for?” you asked, sitting up a little to get a look over his shoulder.

“It’s a moon of the planet nearest to us. Seems to be a hub for trade. If any nearby tracking fobs go off, they’ll most likely assume we’re on the planet before they realize that we’re not. It’ll give us a little time.”

“A few hours worth, maybe?” There was a hopeful lilt to your tone.

“We shouldn’t push our luck. Two hours max.”

“Fair enough,” you agreed, relieved. Din could tell. He glanced back at you.

“What? It’s only been two weeks and you’re already starting to feel restless?”

“You have no idea,” you muttered, squelching the jitters vibrating through your body at his attention.

---

Din watched as your shoulders immediately relaxed upon disembarking the ship. He had witnessed them inch higher and higher with each day that they remained stuck out in space, searching in vain for their next sanctuary. You wouldn’t admit it, but the close quarters were finally starting to get to you.

Din knew this, because he could feel it as well. He wanted to say it was because he wasn’t used to travelling with others, but that was a complete lie. It was your presence that was making him antsy.

Whenever the two of you were in the same space on the ship, he was hyperaware of every move and sound you made. Often times, part of him was tempted to snap at you, and convince you to leave him be, so he could focus on the task at hand. But he never acted on it. He was grudgingly coming to the conclusion that he wanted that awareness of you, constantly.

Din had admitted to himself on Sorgan that he hadn’t wanted to leave you and the child behind, despite thinking it was in the best interests of you both. Now, though, it was beyond that. After everything you had said to him as the three of you left Sorgan, he wasn’t sure he could have gone through with it, no matter how determined he was. Your words had settled something in him, and he was still trying to come to terms with that.

He needed to get off that damned ship, too.

You took a few steps off the ramp, head swiveling, taking everything in. The child mimicked you as he sat in his satchel hanging against your hip. Your hand was resting against the outside of the bag, and the child��s ears twitched as he reached out with his own pudgy hands to grasp yours and hold it close. Din’s chest tightened as he looked on, and he blew out an annoyed breath at the feeling.

“Come on,” he said, trying but failing not to sound curt in his frustration. “We’re on the clock. Let’s see what we can find.”

---

Din’s hand kept finding the small of your back as he guided you through throngs of people in the market. You were very capable of maneuvering on your own, but didn’t dare say so. You were afraid that, if you gave him any indication that you were put off by this gesture, then he’d stop, and never do it again. So you smothered the butterflies dancing the conga in your stomach and allowed him to steer you along.

Aside from the very slight herded-little-lamb feeling, the gesture was very… pleasant.

Two hours flew by like that, and the two of you found everything you needed, including a drum of fuel that Din could syphon from. That would last you another couple weeks in space.

Great.

For the most part, every merchant you met had been friendly and fair. That was, until you came across a vendor selling miscellaneous parts and gadgets. Something displayed in the stall had caught your attention, and you dragged Din over to get a look. The surly old woman manning the stand eyed your approach, running a very telling glance over Din’s gleaming Mandalorian armor.

“Check these out,” you said excitedly, reaching for two earpieces that sort of reminded you of Bluetooth headsets. You handed one to Din. “They’re ear comlinks. They might come in handy.”

“What makes you say that?” Din questioned, inspecting the gadget.

“You’re going to have to take on jobs soon, and I won’t be able weasel my way into coming with you, kid in tow. We could use these to communicate, in case you wind up being gone longer than a few hours.”

Din considered this, but wound up shaking his head.

“That’s not a bad idea, but these have seen better days.” He waved the earpiece. “I’m pretty sure this one is broken.” You took it from him and examined it, then smiled up at him.

“I can fix them, though. I’m certain I could increase their range sensitivity too.”

“To how much?”

“As long as we’re on the same planet, we should have a stable connection.”

He really did like the practicality of the idea. He was also all too aware that his funds were running low, and that he’d need to rectify that soon. He hated to admit it, but he knew he’d fret if he left you and the child alone for several hours… or days. He knew you’d worry too, not knowing if he was having a difficult hunt, or if he was dead in a ditch. If you were sure you could get them working, and working that well, then he wasn’t opposed to it.

“How much?” he asked the merchant woman. She once again ran an appraising eye over his armor, then named her price.

It was outrageous.

“Now way,” you argued, holding the earpieces out for the woman to see the damage. “They’re broken. They should be a fraction of the original asking price.” The woman shook her head.

“That’s a seven percent increase of what I bought them for. I have to make a profit for a living, girl.”

“I think you must be misremembering how much you purchased this junk for,” Din said lowly.

“The price is the price,” she quipped, not budging an inch. Din sighed.

“Fine. Forget it then, Y/N. I’m sure we can take our business elsewhere for a better bargain.”

Din started to leave, but then he noticed your expression and stopped. You were so focused, making deliberate eye contact with the woman, face a serene, calm mask. It almost looked like the two of you were in a trance. On a strange impulse, Din reached for your arm, planning to grab your elbow and carefully pull you out of it. But you spoke before his fingers grazed you.

“You will reconsider,” you said, voice monotone and even. “-and give us a fair deal on the broken comlinks.”

The woman blinked languidly, then straightened. Din watched, bemused, as she replied in the same monotone voice.

“I will reconsider, and give you a fair deal on the broken comlinks.”

If you could see his face, you might have laughed as his mouth slackened a little, a confused and troubled look marring his features. A far more reasonable amount of credits changed hands and you pocketed the earpieces, stroking the child’s ear as you brought your hand back to rest over him. As the woman started to blink more rapidly, coming out of whatever spell you had put her in, you quickly turned towards Din and grabbed his forearm with your free hand, pulling him away from the stall.

“Time’s up, right?” you asked, not even looking back at him. “We should get going.”

When Din found his words again, he said, “Just going to gloss right over whatever the hell that was back there?”

“Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out exactly how these powers work myself.”

As Din matched your stride through the market, you grudgingly released his arm. He looked at you sidelong.

“I thought you could only move things, like the kid.”

“If his abilities and mine are the same, I have a feeling he can do more than lift a mudhorn,” you shrugged, weaving in and out of crowds.

“Explain,” Din demanded.

“I will. When we’re back on the ship.”

---

Once you all were on course again, Din found himself watching you tinker with the earpieces. He was handing you tools when you asked for them, and waiting until you were ready to start explaining what had happened with the merchant. He had hauled the necessary equipment you needed into the cockpit, neither of you wanting to disturb the child that was sleeping down on Din’s cot. The comlinks were so small, and the tiny wiring looked a little complicated in his opinion, but you seemed to know what you were doing, so he just observed. Several times you had glanced up and noticed the set of his broad shoulders. He was waiting, but he was apprehensive, strumming like a livewire. You sighed.

“When I was a kid, there had been a couple times when I was able to-” you tried to find the right words. “-strongly convince others to do or not do things.” You refocused your attention on the earpieces, working while you talked, not really wanting to meet his concealed eyes as you told him this.

“Like one of my foster moms. Her husband would slap her around, and one day I got so sick of it, I threatened to knife him in his sleep if he didn’t stop. I was barely nine; I’m not sure what made me think I could play the intimidation card. He just locked me in a closet for several days.”

You really didn’t like talking about these things. However, you knew it would be easier for Din to understand the revelation you made with that woman today if you gave him a few examples. You soldiered on.

“I wasn’t sure how many days it had been, but I was starving, and I heard her walk by. I remember her opening the door when I called out to her, and I saw the absolute horror in her eyes at what her husband was doing to me. But there was also her fear of disobeying him, of the beating she would get if he saw her even talking to me. I didn’t really give a damn what she felt at that moment. She was letting him get away with it, even after I stood up for her, so she could go to hell for all I cared. But, I was so hungry, so I was going to do everything I could to get her to bring me some food. I found it strange that it didn’t take much.”

Din remained completely still as you spoke. You had to keep checking his chest to make sure he was even breathing, as if his tightly clenched fists sitting atop the armrests of his chair wasn’t enough of an indication that he was taking in your every word.

“Another time, there was a foster brother. I was thirteen, and he was a lot older than me. He used to sneak into my room at night to watch me sleep. I tried to pretend like I never noticed him, hoping he’d get bored and stop. But I could tell that he wouldn’t. Something inside me told me that I had to make him stop. So I told him to, and he did.”

You swallowed thickly after that one, and decided that was enough sharing for now.

“I couldn’t ever do this thing consistently. My attempts failed more often than not. That day, when we first met, I had been able to do it with Gurn to get me and the child out of that cage. But today, when I was listening to that woman, I could just tell she was lying. She hadn’t bought the comlinks. She’d stolen them, and was disappointed when she realized they were broken. She was trying to cheat us like she had been cheated.”

“How could you tell all that?” Din asked, speaking for the first time since being back on the Crest.

“I-I think that’s part of the ability. I’d never realized it before, but every time I have successfully influenced someone’s thoughts, I had been able to sort of discern what they were thinking. With the foster mom, it was her desire to help me, and her fear of getting caught. With Gurn, I could tell he was intrigued by my plan to escape, always eager to hunt me down. It was like a game to him. And then with this merchant, I could just sense that she was lying, and that she thought we were made of money because of your armor.”

“So… you can read minds then?” Din asked hesitantly, but you shook your head, scrunching up your nose.

“I think that’s a strong way of putting it. It’s more like these people had unguarded, weak minds. They were more susceptible to being influenced, to me sensing what they were thinking. But it’s always been a strain. It’s not like I can sit here and hear what you’re thinking, and I hope you know that I have no desire to influence you in any way.”

With that said, you finally met his eyes again.

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded, mulling over your words. “Do you think the kid can do these things too?” You shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know I could throw people across rooms until it happened. If I can do more than I originally thought, then… it’s possible he can do more as well.”

The two of you fell quiet then, and Din continued to watch you. As much as your explanation had sent his mind into a tailspin, watching you work was… calming. It didn’t matter if it was something like this, maintaining the ship, or playing with and caring for the kid, something about the way you did things was soothing. He couldn’t think of a better way to phrase it, but the moment he saw that focus in your eyes, and could imagine the gears turning in your brain, he felt like he could relax for once. Your presence alone took some of the pressure off, easing the constant tension he felt even before taking on the kid and crossing the Guild. He wasn’t alone in this anymore.

That’s what having a partner was for, wasn’t it? To share some of those burdens, and work through them together? Well, one of those problems the two of you would have to face together was the kid and his powers.

Technically, the child was older than you, but for whatever species he was, he was only a baby, already out there lifting mudhorns with his mind. Din knew he would have to start finding answers soon, for both you and the child, but the two of you agreed that he was comparatively more powerful. Din would need to fully understand what he was capable of in the future if he was going to continue watching over him.

Another burden being tackled together in your partnership was your past. He remembered thinking weeks and weeks ago that he wasn’t the person you should be untangling your story with, that he didn’t want to be. Now, he couldn’t imagine not being that person. It was a slow process. You were always so hesitant to let even the smallest details leak, and quick to regret allowing those leaks to happen. But you still managed to keep from bottling everything, and never once took back your words once you’d said them.

It made Din wonder if he could tell you about the things that he’s done, the things that gave him nightmares.

“Okay!” you suddenly exclaimed, causing Din to jump out of his thoughts. He tumbled back into the present to see you clicking the plastic around the wires shut before holding out one of the earpieces for him to take.

“I think they’re good to go. Time to test these babies out!"

Din suddenly realized something as he took the earpiece, and kicked himself for not thinking about it sooner.

“I’m going to have to take my helmet off.” You only nodded, as if, unlike him, you’d already thought of this.

“Yes, but for the test, I’m gonna head to the back of the ship, so we can’t hear each other except for in these. I won’t see a thing.”

You held yours up to show him the three buttons on the outside of them.

“This one turns yours on and off. This middle button is to mute yourself, and this bottom button is to mute me,” you explained. Another stupid thought crossed his mind. How had he originally thought that this was a good idea?

“How am I supposed to mess with the buttons with my helmet on?” Again, it seemed you had already thought about this. You smiled.

“Don’t worry. I have an idea for that. Let’s just make sure they work first.”

A few moments later, when he was sure you were at the back of the hull, he slipped off his helmet. Cool air touched his cheeks and he sucked in a lungful of fresh, unfiltered air. Ever since he swore the Creed and donned the helmet, in these moments, he could never decide if he was relieved to have the thing off, or panicked until he put it back on. But that was a nearly lifelong struggle he could deal with another time. For now, he tucked the comlink into his ear, and pressed the top button to turn it on as you instructed.

“Din?” your soft voice said over a current of static. That thing in Din’s chest lurched again, and he really wished it would stop.

“Sounds like they work,” he replied, about to pull the helmet back over his head.

“Yes!” you whooped in victory, and his lips tugged upwards at the sound.

“Alright,” you continued. “We should test the mute buttons, so don’t put your helmet back on just yet.”

He agreed and asked you what you wanted him to do. The two of you each tested muting yourselves, and then each other, finding that everything seemed to be in working order. You warned him you were coming back towards the cockpit, so he pulled the earpiece out and put his helmet back on. Within seconds you called up to him from the bottom of the ladder and he walked over to peer down at your beaming face.

“What was that idea of yours, then?” he asked, and your smile turned sheepish.

“Well, you’ll have to trust me for this part.” His shoulders bunched.

“Why?”

“I’m almost completely certain I can make it so you can control the earpiece from your vambrace. However, I’ll have to wirelessly connect it to the tech in your helmet.”

That fluttering in his chest from earlier evolved into a complete jolt of panic, but he quickly stifled it. Din did trust you. He was going to have to start showing it. He nodded his consent.

You asked him to drop down a couple of the tools you would need, including the earpiece, then you promptly turned away from him and closed your eyes. You lifted your hands above your head and waited, until you felt the cold weight of his helmet settle into your hands.

If he thought his heart was racing, he had no idea that yours was about to come crashing out of your chest. You knew the severity of what you had asked him. He’d told you about the Creed, what it meant to wear the armor, and why it was so important to keep himself masked from any other living being. So you knew very well the faith he was putting in you as he passed down his helmet, standing maskless above you. You were not going to betray that trust.

“Go ahead and stay up there for now,” you instructed. “I’m going to sit here in case I need you to toss me down any other tools.”

And so you sat, keeping your eyes closed until your back was leaning against the ladder. This way, you’d very deliberately have to crane your neck back in order to look up into the cockpit. When you opened your eyes, you glanced down at the helmet sitting gingerly in your lap. It was kind of odd, seeing the helmet without the rest of Din attached to it.

You shook your head at the thought and flipped the helmet over, taking a look at the inside. You went to work trying to find something to make a wireless connection. You knew there had to be one, because you had seen him use his vambrace to control what he saw through the helmet. You resisted the urge to pump your fist in the air when you found it, and then rolled your eyes when you heard a slight clinking above you as Din shifted his weight.

“If you keep hovering like that, I might accidentally look up and see you,” you teased.

“I’m just making sure you don’t break anything.”

You froze, fingers stilling inside his helmet. You had just heard his voice… his real, unaltered voice, completely free of the modulator and the brief static of the earpiece. It was deep, warm, and reposeful. Those butterflies came to life once again, and heat not only touched your cheeks, but pooled in your belly. The most surprising of your reactions, though? Your eyes started to sting, tears threatening.

“What’s wrong,” Din asked, noticing you had stopped working. You sucked in a quiet, ragged breath, blinked rapidly against the brimming tears, and shoved all those crazy emotions back, back, back. You could think about them later, but not in front of him.

“Is umm,” you quickly tried to think of something that might have made you pause, and would possibly explain the slight quiver in your voice. “Is this allowed? I just realized- i-it’s not forbidden for someone to tamper with your armor, is it?”

Nice save.

You couldn’t see it, but you could tell when he had shrugged his shoulders.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Oh gods. You were so desperately torn. You wanted him to keep speaking, keep talking to you forever and ever, so you could just melt into the sound of his voice. But you also wanted him to shut up until the helmet was back on, because his voice was making you feel things, and it was so distracting, and-

“I’m sure it’s fine, Y/N,” he said slowly, still wondering why you were hesitating.

“R-right,” you quickly said, getting back to the task at hand. Internally though, after hearing him say your name-

Gods, I am so fucked.

You worked for a couple more minutes, trying to calm yourself down, when he spoke again.

“Kid’s awake.” You quickly glanced over and saw that the child had waddled up to you, wide eyes fixed on Din’s helmet. You smiled at him, but then noticed his puckered brow bone. He reached a stubby hand out, touching the helmet… and then his lower lip started trembling.

“Oh no!” you exclaimed, dropping the helmet in your lap and lifting the kid to cradle him against your chest.

“What is it?” Din asked, concern touching his tone. The child looked even more upset, hearing Din’s voice while continuing to stare at the helmet.

“I think he thinks you’ve been decapitated,” you said, trying so, so hard to keep the panicked giggles out of your voice. The child’s reaction at seeing his Mando without a body was so cute, so heartbreaking, you weren't sure if you wanted to laugh or cry.

“It’s okay, little guy, he’s safe. He’s up there, but you can’t look just yet,” you explained, pointing up at the cockpit. You heard Din step back as the child looked up, and you made quick work to finish connecting the comlink while Din spoke soothingly to the child. The sound calmed you too, allowing you to move beyond your previous feelings while you finished.

When all was said and done, you covered both your eyes and the child’s while Din climbed down the ladder. He let you know when he had the helmet back on, then sat next to you, stealing the child from your lap as he instantly reached for his Mando.

You watched them for a moment.

These two are going to be the death of me, you thought.

“Are you going to keep your earpiece on all the time?” he asked, pulling you from your happy thoughts. You nodded.

“Yeah, I think so. But don’t worry, I’ll mute myself if we’re in the same space, or if I’m annoying you with my constant blathering,” you laughed. Din shook his head, though.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said thoughtfully, eyes still on the child. “I don’t mind the blathering. In fact, I find a kind of solace... in the sound of your voice.”

Your eyes widened, and your cheeks lit up once again.

Yeah, I am definitely fucked.

---

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