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dont-tempt-me-frodo · 3 years

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Only For You

have some soft geraskier just because

also available to read on ao3

The midday sun filtered through the sea of leaves above, dappling the stream with gold. The mossy ground was springy underfoot and the warm air was thick with the smell of wild garlic.

Geralt knelt by the water’s edge, delicately plucking the leaves off a dark green plant and folding them into a cloth. Their sweet scent wreathed around him, almost chasing away the tang of the garlic.

He sighed heavily through is nose and gently pocketed the herb filled cloth before rising slowly to his feet. He cast his amber gaze along the bank of the stream and spotted another plume of the rare plant so took the opportunity to gather more of its pungent leaves. He would use them to brew his potions later. For now, he was content enough to take what he needed then make his way back to the clearing where he had left Jaskier and Roach.

When Geralt had paused their travelling to look for herbs, Jaskier had dramatically flopped down by the base of a tree, complaining about his sore feet and encouraging Geralt to go on with out him.

Geralt couldn’t begrudge the Bard a short rest. They had been on the move now for almost four days with very little respite, camping under the stars, and although Geralt could relax into the journey astride his chestnut mare, he knew the constant walking was hard going for Jaskier.

Jaskier didn’t usually complain about the long days of endless walking. He filled the journeys with his relentless chatter and impromptu lute playing. But at night, when they curled up together, cocooned in each other’s warmth, Geralt could feel Jaskier’s weariness, his exhaustion.

The next town was only half a day’s walk away, and he had promised Jaskier that they could spend some time there. The Bard’s delighted smile sent a ripple of affection warming through him, and his slow heart skipped a beat. Hopefully there would be a contract or two for Geralt but failing that, Jaskier would always drum up some coin in the local tavern.

Geralt always enjoyed watching Jaskier perform. His masterful lute playing, his rich singing, his animated charm and boundless energy never ceased to amaze him. And afterwards, they would go up to their room and make good use of the lumpy straw mattress on a pallet that passed for a bed in these parts. If Geralt had his way, they would go a few rounds before Jaskier was delirious with overstimulated pleasure. And then he would tuck his Bard close to his chest and hold him as he slept.

The Witcher smiled to himself as he folded the last leaf into his cloth then pushed it into his pocket.

He plucked at the nape of his shirt, trying to fan away the stifling heat building around him, then started the slow trek back the way he had come.

Geralt focused on the noises of the forest. The bubbling of the stream, the twittering of a finch, the cautious steps of a deer, the rustling of leaves high above his head where the slight breeze didn’t quite penetrate the thick canopy. He frowned though. There was a sound he was anticipating but didn’t hear. The strumming of a lute.

Jaskier’s melodies had followed Geralt into the forest and he had fully expected them to lead him out again. But the lack of plucked lute strings was deafening and worry coiled in his gut.

He quickened his pace, ready to draw the silver sword strapped to his back as he approached the clearing.

If anything had happened to Jaskier…

The Witcher thundered through the thicket and then stopped dead.

There was Roach, tethered to a sapling just like he’d left her. And there was Jaskier, bundled up at the bottom of a sprawling oak tree, lute in his lap just like he’d left him. But, and Geralt wilted at the realisation, the Bard was sound asleep.

A painful ache of affection burned in the Witcher’s chest. The weariness, as well as the heat of the day must have caught up to Jaskier, and Geralt was once again remined how human his companion was.

Geralt stepped into the clearing softly, taking off his swords with the intention of slinging them over Roach’s saddle. The mare lifted her head as he approached, blinking slowly at him and snorting. Geralt hushed her with a pat of her velvety nose. Roach flicked an ear at him then went back to nibbling at the sweet grass. Geralt gave her neck a rub then made his way over to the dozing Bard.

Jaskier was propped up between two roots, his doublet jacket folded neatly by his feet, the laces of his embroidered shirt plucked open to try and let in the air. He looked so peaceful and utterly beautiful that Geralt didn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead, he carefully removed the lute and placed it to one side then slid in next to the bard, tucking his arms around him and guiding him into his broad chest.

Jaskier shifted slightly, a mumble escaping his lips but he didn’t wake, instinctually nuzzling into Geralt.

The Witcher leaned back against the tree, letting his own eyes flutter shut for a moment as the comfortable weight of Jaskier in his arms sent curls of warmth through him.

He was vaguely aware of their surroundings, trusting Roach to alert him if anything, or anyone, was approaching. The sweet scent of the soap Jaskier favoured chasing away the lingering forest and Geralt breathed deeply, a content smile twitching his lip.

Geralt half dosed for a little while but cracked open one eye when Roach stamped her foot. She was regarding him with those glassy black eyes and the Witcher sighed.

“I know,” he rumbled softly, glancing up at the sky half hidden by the interwoven branches.

If they were to make the town by nightfall, they’d have to make a move. And Roach was growing impatient, stamping the ground again and snorting.

Geralt shook his head at her, then shifted slightly, blinking down at the bard still asleep in his arms. It felt cruel to wake him.

Very gently, Geralt brushed Jaskier’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, back and forth, a steady rhythm to bring the bard back to wakefulness.

Jaskier’s breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered. A soft yawn fell from him and Geralt’s heart melted.

“Hey,” the Witcher hummed.

Jaskier gazed up at him, his expression still lax with sleep and his smile was crooked.

“Hey,” he yawned, and the Witcher leaned down to press a kiss to the bard’s forehead.

“We need to get going,” Geralt mumbled, “Still a fair way to go before we reach civilization.”

Jaskier made a noise that could almost be described as indignant, and he curled up tighter into Geralt, burying his face in the Witcher’s neck.

“Nope. You’re too comfortable. And I’m still not fully awake yet,” Jaskier whined, but Geralt could feel his grin.

“Come on bard,” Geralt chuckled, love for the man in his arms thrumming through him.

“Fine,” Jaskier lifted his head to make sure Geralt could see his pout, and Geralt cupped his cheek and captured that pout in a soft kiss.

Jaskier melted into him, his own hands coming up to clasp at either side of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt rubbed noses with Jaskier, kissed his cheek, his jaw, his cheek again, and Jaskier bubbled with laughter.

“You’re ridiculous, Geralt,” he sighed fondly.

“But you love me anyway,” Geralt hummed, his amber eyes bright and his smile coy.

“How lucky you are,” Jaskier patted Geralt’s shoulder then tucked a lock of his silver hair behind his ear.

“Very lucky,” Geralt agreed, turning his head to kiss the inside of Jaskier’s wrist.

He heard Jaskier’s heart skip a beat, and the bard’s hand lingered in Geralt’s hair so that the Witcher could lean into the touch.

“Come on bard,” Geralt said again, shifting now to let Jaskier know he was being serious.

Jaskier huffed out a breath and let Geralt stand before reaching for him. The Witcher took his hands and hauled him to his feet, curling an arm around Jaskier’s waist and encouraging him in closer. Jaskier let himself be guided flush against his Witcher and he rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Love you Geralt,” Jaskier preened.

“Love you Jaskier,” Geralt rested his cheek against Jaskier’s head as he walked him over to Roach, “up you get. I’ll grab your doublet and lute.”

Jaskier paused, leaning away from Geralt to fix him with an incredulous look.

“Who are you and what have you done with Geralt?” he gaped.

“Very funny,” Geralt grumbled, going back to the tree to retrieve Jaskier’s things. He thumbed Jaskier’s doublet absently as he flicked those amber eyes back to his bard. “You’re tired and I feel bad for having to wake you up,” he admitted sheepishly, “it’s only fair I do a bit of walking for a change.”

Jaskier’s expression softened, and he ducked his gaze, his smile wide.

“Softie,” he said to his boots.

“Only for you,” Geralt came in close, took a gentle hold of Jaskier’s chin and tilted his head up so he could press a kiss to Jaskier’s lips.

Jaskier quivered and Geralt smiled.

“Let’s go,” the Witcher rumbled, “and hopefully there’ll be a nice soft bed for tonight.”

“There better be,” Jaskier grinned, mirth dancing in those blue eyes, “absolutely no sexy times for Witcher’s if we end up on the floor. Again.”

Geralt laughed.

“Well, we’d better get a move on then,” he gruffed, “if there’s any hope of finding a bed for the night.”

Jaskier winked at him and Geralt’s heart flipped in his chest. Gods he loved this man. This wonderful, ridiculous bard. And as he helped Jaskier up onto Roach, he couldn’t stop smiling.

#my writing #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geraskier fluff #geraskier fanfic #the witcher #netflix the witcher #henry cavill #joey batey #roach

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elysiadjarin · 3 years

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Gentle Burn

She was only supposed to be a girl at a brothel. What made the Mandalorian look at her twice?

https://ko-fi.com/elysiadjarin4

Warning: 18+, smut, lemon content, trigger warning for dub-con

1: Just a Girl

Lyra shivered. Sitting on her pallet, she wrapped her arms around her legs and stared at the wall across the room. She knew that she’d sworn to do it, to not run away for the sake of her family, but... everything seemed so hopeless, now.

Now she just sat, waiting for some customer with enough credits to come around and decide to buy her body. She didn’t even really have any tears left to cry. Just a sort of... aching resignation. As much as she’d hoped, dreamed of being able to find some way to help her family, she’d hoped that this wouldn’t be it.

“Girls!” The matron of the brothel swept in, headdress clinking.

Everyone in the room snapped to attention. If the matron herself had come, it could only mean someone important or rich.

“Who here has had experience with children?”

In the dead silence that followed, Lyra felt her throat tighten. Slowly, she stood, though everything in her wanted to stay, to lie. But there was no way to lie. No way to hide. Not in any way that the matron couldn’t find out.

“Ah, Lyra. Good, good. Come here.” The matron didn’t wait and turned around, whisking out.

Lyra picked her way through the pallets, trying not to step on anyone’s belongings.

“Good luck getting pregnant,” a girl jeered as she passed.

She flinched, then ducked her head and closed the door behind her. She didn’t want to admit that the girl had touched on her fear. That the customer who had gotten her services would want to pay for the risk. That she’d have to give up her body in more than one way.

The matron led her into one of the preparation rooms. “Come on now, Lyra,” she said impatiently. “The customer is waiting.”

Lyra sat down and let a few servants quickly whisk her hair up and apply a bit of makeup to her face.

“Now listen, girl,” the matron said, patting her tresses, “the customer is a Mandalorian asking for a girl that knows how to take care of children. He seems to have a child of his own, but I don’t know if he wants you or not. Whatever he asks for, you will give it to him, you understand?” she asked sharply. “I paid money for you and I don’t want to lose you.”

Lyra simply nodded, frightened beyond belief. A Mandalorian? They never came by. She’d only ever heard of them, never even seen one in all her eighteen years. Shivering, she glanced into the mirror to try to erase the stark fear that clouded her eyes.

“Now come.” The matron began heading upstairs to a room. Lyra could only follow, and pray to the gods and the stars that whatever happened, somehow her first time would be tolerable.

Din Djarin hadn’t really known what to expect when he asked for a girl that could care for a child. He’d known that the brothel would perhaps take it a different way, but he’d needed a place to lay low and not raise any eyebrows. Besides, he had a reputation to keep, whether truth or not.

Still, he found his mouth abruptly going dry as he looked up from the bassinet. The matron had entered, a girl trailing behind her.

“Here you are, sir, the best for you,” she purred, bowing slightly. “This girl has raised children, and she is... untouched, as of yet. Enjoy your evening.” She bowed herself out, closing the door.

Din found himself just staring. He hadn’t intended to even touch whoever came through the door, just wanting someone to maybe help with the Child. But after the matron’s words, and seeing the girl... the young woman...

He had to admit, his trousers felt rather tight.

The girl edged into the room, eyes cast down and fingers twisted in the shawl thrown around her shoulders. “Good evening, sir,” she murmured, her voice soft and... musical, even through his helmet. Her mahogany hair spilled over her shoulders, a strand of it slipping over her eye.

He realized what he was doing and shifted, standing slowly. He glanced down as the Child cooed. “Good evening.” He wasn’t used to talking like this, but... he’d needed to talk more than he’d ever expected for the Child.

“You know how to care for children.”

“Yes, sir. I- I had younger siblings.” She sounded uncertain, as though she weren’t sure whether to reveal it or not.

Din realized, with a jolt, that this girl was in a brothel. She’d most likely been sold into this life. And from what the matron said... just recently. An idea stirred in his head, one that he pushed away for the moment.

“Good. Come here.” He motioned, gloved hand stretching out.

She timidly approached, still submissive and uncertain. Her eyes widened a little as she caught sight of the Child, and he absently noted that they were chestnut in the low lights of the room. He abruptly remembered how suggestive the low lights were, and shifted.

“I need to go clean,” he said stiffly. “Take care of the Child while I am gone. If you could get him to sleep, so much the better.” Turning, he strode off into the refresher, not concerned about the Child. He knew intentions, and his intuition screamed at him that the girl would never even dream of doing anything to a child.

But even as he stripped, he had to pause for a moment and grip the edge of the sink, staring at his face in the mirror, jaw ticking. He couldn’t get rid of the image of her innocent, skittish chestnut eyes, or how temptingly soft her mahogany hair looked.

And well, he had paid for a night...

Lyra wasn’t sure what to think.

He’d essentially dumped her with... his child? And then went to clean. She wasn’t even sure whether he intended to do anything with her or not, though she assumed... after all, he’d paid for her. Still, she couldn’t assume. After all, the people who came to brothels weren’t kind.

But even so, she decided to push that aside for the moment and smile down at the child, looking up at her with wide, brown eyes. His little green ears flapped, and she had to giggle despite herself.

“You’re adorable,” she cooed, reaching into the bassinet and offering the little one her finger. He let out a cute little squeak, grabbing her finger.

She lit up, happy that the little one seemed to like her. “Well hello there. You’re so small and cute.” She lifted him up in her arms, snugly tucking him into the crook of her elbow. “I don’t even think I’ve seen your kind before, but I have to admit, you’re adorable.”

She tapped his nose, rewarded with a giggle. He reached up and waved his arms, looking delighted.

“I think your Father would like you to get some sleep, Hmm? Maybe you’ve been traveling a lot?” She gently stroked his long ears, letting herself relax a little. It felt familiar, talking to a babbling baby cradled in her arms. “I’m sure you need some rest after being so big and brave,” she cajoled, rocking him and patting his back. “Why don’t you get some sleep.”

He blinked sleepily, mouth opening in a yawn that made her melt. He even seemed to understand her, his eyes darting toward the refresher door. Maybe, she thought fleetingly, this Father of his wasn’t cruel, at least, if the child seemed so comfortable around him. He closed his eyes, cooing contentedly. He still grasped her finger.

She hummed, beginning to sing a lullaby that she used to sing for her younger siblings. She tried to sing softly, not wanting to be too loud or disturb the warrior in the refresher. By the time she came to an end, she noticed the little one’s chest rising and falling with even breath, fast asleep.

“You sing beautifully.”

Din watched as the girl’s breath caught, wide eyes glancing up at him. She’d sat at the edge of the bed, the Child cradled in her arms. The sight of her leaning over him, clad entirely in white, made him feel things he... couldn’t exactly hide.

“Thank you, sir.” She carefully put the little one back in the bassinet.

He strode over to it, reaching over to gently close the top and send it toward the chair in the room that he could see. He’d redressed in his clothes but only put his helmet back on, leaving the armor off.

He’d made a decision. At least for one night.

Crossing his arms, he gazed at her through the visor. “What’s your name?”

She kept her eyes lowered, hands clasped in her lap. “Lyra, sir,” she whispered.

“Lyra.” He saw her shiver at the sound of her name, even through the voice modulator. He stepped forward, closer to her. “Lie down.”

She tensed, but lay back without protest. The shawl slid off of her shoulders, leaving only the white, lacy nightgown that came up to her thighs. Her hair pooled over the sheets.

His fingers tingled. He wanted to bury his hands in those long, soft locks. Something about this girl... something about her made every instinct in him want her. It had been a while since he’d had an... experience. And he could tell by the way he’d been so hard through his entire shower. But still, something about this girl just...

He placed his knees on the bed, taking his gloves off. He’d put them on out of habit, but now his hands itched to just feel her skin. Leaning down, he gently placed a hand on her calf.

“Relax. I don’t intend to hurt you,” he said, feeling his voice rasp with desire. Her skin felt smooth and soft in a way that made his calloused hands burn, wanting to touch more, feel more.

As his hand wandered further up, gliding across her skin, he felt her shiver. He could still feel the fearful tension that hummed through her, and sighed to himself. He didn’t blame her, knowing what she most likely expected. But he didn’t want fear. Not tonight. Not from her. He saw it enough on a daily basis.

“I swear,” he said, pausing at the hem of her nightgown. “I have no intention of causing you pain. It brings me no pleasure. I would rather have you just as pleased as I am. Now, relax.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

But he could feel the slight way her muscles loosed, the tension still present but not as taut. He slipped his fingers under the hem of the nightgown, sliding higher.

“Raise your arms.”

She obeyed, and he slowly lifted the dress over her head. He relished the sight of her skin, untouched, not a bruise in sight. For a split instant, he almost felt enraged at the idea of seeing a single bruise on her.

Then he was dragging his hands over her thighs, up her hips, her waist, her sides. Everything in him ached, wanting more of the contact. He wanted it. Wanted her. He almost wished he could graze his mouth over her skin, feel it on his mouth. Taste her.

Her chest rose and fell with quick breath, cheeks flushed.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he rasped, eyes fixed on her face as he slid his hands to her breasts. They fit almost perfectly in his palms, a little small but so soft he could have groaned. His fingers teased her nipples, not wanting to overstimulate or hurt her tender body, no doubt brand new to the sensation.

Her eyes closed, and she bit her lip as though to stifle noise.

He bent closer. “Don’t hide your voice.” He wanted to hear it. How much better would her voice be, moaning?

Another twitch of his fingers, and he was rewarded with a soft, breathless moan. She shivered, one hand going up to her lips. The sound sent his heartbeat down into his bones.

When he finally had her, on his lap, sitting on the bed, he almost shuddered at the feeling of her hands on his shoulders. His fingers slipped in and out of her, preparing her. She was so tight that he almost wondered how he would even fit.

He eased himself into her, inch by inch, making sure she moaned with each shift. Every sound that spilled from her lips seemed to make him twitch and throb, just as much as her tight, wet heat engulfing him. Her flushed face and parted lips made him grunt, wanting to bruise her lips until they swelled.

By the time he could make his first thrust, she’d already had him trembling, close to the brink. Everything about her drove him crazy. He had to groan when he finally buried his fingers in her hair, carding it through his hands. It was even softer than he’d imagined, somehow.

He made her clench around him, again and again, before finally allowing himself to hunch over her and moan, low and long. His hips rutted into her, spilling everything into her. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched as she took it without a word, eyelashes fluttering with exhaustion.

Finally, he laid down and pulled her into his chest, not pulling out of her quite yet. Sucking in a breath, he made sure not to hit her with his helmet and ran his hands through her hair, basking in the quiet comfort.

“Did anything hurt?” he asked eventually, voice still barely a husk.

She shook her head. “No, sir,” she whispered.

“Good.” He struggled to think for a moment, still playing with her hair.

He knew what he wanted. It was... maybe impulsive, but the same instinct that had saved his life on so many occasions nudged him to do it. After another moment, he brushed fingers down her back.

“You should go clean up before you sleep.” Sliding out of her, he sat up. “Wait for me in bed. I’ll return.” Standing, he bent to grab his clothes and put them on, then walked out the door.

He’d do what he had to.

#mandalorian x reader #writing #mando and grogu #the mandalorian #x reader #lemon #mandalorian smut #+19

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mynightingalecomplex · 4 years

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Don’t Get Too Comfortable

Ok, so here’s a (not so little) fic I’ve been toying with. It’s long, so I’m going to break it into parts. I default to Pre-Disney+ Mandalorians, so the helmets are not an issue.

Synopsis: Just off a successful hunt, Jesse Libarra finds herself traveling in company with another Mandalorian, Aden Nasreyc. The two Mandalorians are looking forward to a few days of rest on a backwater planet but, unknown to them, the Black Sun have followed Aden and are intent on exacting their revenge on the man who killed their leader.

Tags: previous injury, broken ribs, exhaustion, field medicine

Link to glossary

Link to illustrations:

Part One

Part Two

Aden floated up from dreamless sleep into a fuzzy, pink semi-wakefulness. Dreams still niggled about the edges of his mind and his eyelids were stuck shut, but he could feel the pillow under his head and the blankets twisted through naked legs. It had been so long since he had awakened in a bed --an actual bed!-- that he allowed himself to simply lie there without wondering where he was, how he’d gotten there, or who was trying to kill him. He couldn’t remember any reason to get up, so maybe he’d just lay there for five more minutes….

He surfaced again some time later. Judging by the light, it had been more than five minutes. Again he lay still, luxuriating in the feel of sheets and a foam pillow against a cheek that had slept for three months on the inside of a helmet. Golden light played through his eyelids. The enviro-unit grumbled and whined, insulating the room in a cocoon of noise. He drew up his knee and burrowed into his pillow, searching for the fragments of his dream, but it was fruitless. He was awake now and would find no more sleep for a time.

Aden opened his eyes. Light like liquid gold streamed through the curtains as they danced in the enviro-unit’s breeze. Dust motes floated in a ballet up and down the shafts of sunlight. Somewhere outside he heard a door slam, a voice, but then all was silence. He squinted at the chrono on the table. Fifteen hundred. He yawned. He knew he shouldn’t have slept so long. It was wasteful. It was foolish. It was dangerous. But it had been necessary.

The hunt on Vurus had been long and dangerous. Three months without a single full night’s sleep, of constant watchfulness and wakefulness, living always with the shadow of death, had left him at the edge of his very considerable limits. He had taken privation, discomfort, and mental and physical punishment, and if he hoped to take it again he had to have rest. It had been a risk to spend so long asleep, particularly after the mess at the space port, but in a blaster-proof room with another Mando’ad on his six the risk had been worth taking.

Memory jarred him further into alertness. He rolled up on his elbow to look around the room. There on a pallet between the bed and the window, slept the girl from his half-remembered dream. Feet bare, dressed only in red fatigues, long brown hair pooling loose about her face and shoulders, she lay in the sunlight like a porcelain doll except for the blaster clutched in her tapered fingers.

Suddenly conscious that he was dressed only in his boxers, he sat up to pull the sheets over his naked legs. The pain that had long been his companion, dulled just enough by sleep and medication to pass out of his mind, flashed through his body and left him gasping. Modesty forgotten, he hugged his legs to his chest and buried his face in his knees, all his efforts concentrated on silencing the string of curses that had lined up on his tongue.

When the spots finally cleared from his vision, he found Jesse at his knee, regarding him from the floor with grave green eyes. “Hiya.” She said, her voice low and rusty with sleep. “Do I need to ask you how you're feeling?”

He tried to smile. “Bout as bad as I look.”

“Sheesh. You belong in a hospital, then.”

“You up for breakfast?” His stomach had woken up and was reminding him that the last thing he had eaten was a protein cube on the train to the Vurus spaceport.

She turned to look at the chrono. The golden light caught in her loose chestnut hair, glistening like syrup in a crystal decanter. A rogue corner of his mind ran an imaginary hand through that long brown mane before he could stop it. He shoved the thought back into the depths of his subconscious and pulled the sheets up over his legs, trying to ignore the blush that was creeping up his neck.

“We might could find breakfast around here.” Jesse said. “I know a little place that caters to late risers.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She tossed his flightsuit at him and headed for the fresher. Gingerly, Aden eased himself into his clothes. Socks, suit, gloves, tak-vest and ammo belt went on with his usual care. Pushing himself to his feet, he stomped into his flat-soled boots and opened the curtains. He stood at the edge of the window -- no point making himself a target-- and looked out, enjoying the peaceful removal from the afternoon bustle and the warmth of the sun on his face.

His stomach growled. He couldn't remember his last meal. There had been a cup of burnt caf at the Vurus police station and a ration cube on the train to the spaceport, but after all the trouble had started an empty stomach had been the least of his problems. He rubbed his ribs absently and winced. Jesse was right; he was slow and getting slower.

“Fresher's open.” Jesse padded out in sock feet, tying off the end of her long brown braid.

“Vore.” He stepped away from the window. He looked reluctantly at his armor stacked neatly on the chest-of-drawers. “What do you think? Is this a blaster and beskar kind of place, or maybe a little more casual?”

Jesse shrugged. “Depends on how threatening you find greasy eggs and soggy waffles.”

Aden considered this. Battle-ready was all well and good, but three months in full kit left a man feeling more like a sardine than a member of society. It was just a diner, after all, not a drug den. Not even a cantina. And they hadn't been on Dantooine long enough to make any enemies. He bounced once or twice on the balls of his feet, enjoying the unaccustomed lightness. “Maybe just the body plates.” He said. “Just so they know we're Mandos.”

The diner was everything Jesse had promised. Basically a long chrome tube with big glass windows, the diner was alive with beings crowded into red vinyl booths. Waiters, humans and Twi'leks instead of the droids popular on city worlds, bustled about with pots of steaming caf and plates of greasy food, laughing, shouting, and bantering with the customers. Aden felt himself relaxing. This was a small town on a peaceful world, and the sense of community amongst the patrons was almost palpable. It felt like home.

They were seated in a booth along the big front window, working through their second pot of caf. The waitress had looked askance at them at first, but in only chest and knee plates, helmets off and sleeves rolled up, they looked less than threatening. Even in Verad, mercenaries were not unheard of and their money was as good as anyone else's, so here they were in a sticky vinyl booth waiting for their pancakes without drawing any more than an occasional curious glance.

Aden sipped his caf and looked out the window at the dusty street. “Nice place.” He commented. “Better than Vurus, but I'm a country boy at heart.”

Jesse nodded. “Beats durasteel streets and monorails, that's for sure. I grew up in the vhetin'e. Long rolling hills and grass as far as you can see so this always feels like home.”

Aden watched her as she looked out the window. He knew he shouldn’t ask. It was rude and it wasn’t remotely his business, but her sharp, sad, porcelain face and those deft fingers belonged to something more than an itinerant bounty-hunter on a third-class world. “What are you doing trapped out here, Jesse?” Even he could hear the despair in his voice. ”Don’t you have family waiting for you?”

“No.” She answered first, then looked away from the window. “No family.” He didn’t think she was going to elaborate. There was no reason she should and he was kicking himself for being a di’kut when she went on. “I was with the GAR before the… before the Empire took over. When Kal Skirata and his boys bugged out they went with hundreds, thousands of others, commandos and regular troopers too. The Empire lost almost a third of their fighting force, but they kept it quiet. Whole regiments disappeared at a time, and most of them headed for Mandalore. It was chaos.” She looked down at the cup in her hands but he knew she wasn't seeing it. “One of my boys got out. One didn't. Two didn't even try.”

Aden tried to think of a way to ask the obvious question without further insult, gave up, and asked anyway. “What about you? You bugged out with the rest?”

She shook her head. “Not a chance. I’d have stayed. I wasn’t there to serve the Republic. I was there cause my boys were there and it was a steady paycheck. What did I care what symbol the boys had painted on their armor?

“No, when the dust settled, the Imps repainted the troops that were left, brought in the last battalions of Kamino-trained soldiers, and all us irregular non-coms showed up the next morning to find our clearance revoked, our quarters occupied, our possessions confiscated, and our boys renumbered and reassigned.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, Jesse lost in thought, Aden shocked at this first-hand account of what had been only rumors through the Mando’a community. Finally Jesse shook herself and the gloom that clouded her face vanished as if it had never been. “So, here I am, foot-loose and fancy-free, back doing what’s best for the one who's most important.” She tapped her chest plates. “Me.”

Aden didn’t know what to say, but he was rescued from shoving his foot further into his mouth by the arrival of the waitress with their order. After months of hard work on nothing but field rations and will power, Aden felt he could eat an entire nerf by himself, horns, hooves and all, but he had settled on ordering basically the entire menu, because his momma had raised him with some manners. Werris eggs, fried nerf bacon, sausage, crispy potato patties, and stacks of waffles with cream and slices of shefna fruit on top all appeared from the kitchen together, still sizzling in pools of grease or dripping with sticky Alderaanian molasses. It took two waitresses to bring it all to the table.

After that, there was no more conversation for a while. Talking was a waste of time with food going cold on the table. Jesse was polishing off the leftover half of his third waffle - - he considered it more a gift to a good friend than an admission of defeat-- when she spoke suddenly, pointing an accusatory fork at him. “All right, pretty boy. Now it's your turn. What's a handsome fellow like you doing on Dantooine without enough money to buy a bed for the night?”

He winced, but it was only fair. “Oh, you know how far money goes in this economy. Gotta work where you can.” He tried a nonchalant shrug, knowing it wouldn't work.

“Vurus to Dantooine's a long jump with no money in your pocket.” She rejoined. ”And this isn't the place to come to turn a quick credit.”

No, he thought, but it might be a good place to stage a tactical withdrawal. But of course he wasn't going to tell Jesse that. No sense in getting her mixed up in whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into. “It's as close as I could get to Qilura on a passenger ship.” That at least was true.

“Family out there?”

“A sister. Brother's wife.” He answered immediately, glad to have something he could talk openly about. “She's not Mando, but she did right by him and she's trying to do right by his boy, so I do what I can.” ‘What he could’ meant going hungry and traveling forth-class on passenger ships so Miran and her son could live a step above the poverty line, but he could see Jesse understood that and wasn't going to ask him to elaborate. “It's not the kind of help I'd like to give her, but it's help she needs and it's the least I can do.”

Jesse nodded and scraped the last of the whipped cream off his plate with her fork. “Good for you. It's hard when they're not Mando'ade. How do you get from here to Qilura? That's another two jumps from here.”

He shrugged. “There's usually some freighter or other going that way. I'm not above hauling cargo and swabbing decks if it means a free hyperspace jump.”

“Makes sense.” Jesse said. “Tell you what. I've got a little extra on me this time, so how about I stake you a day's rations and a hyperspace jump and drinks'll be on you next time we run into each other.”

“Jesse, I…” Aden was at a loss. What could he say? How could he accept? But, on the other hand, how could he refuse? “That would be… “

Then the world exploded.

#star wars #mandalorian #mando #jesse libarra #wounded #injured #cared for #field medicine #caretaker #treated #broken ribs #explosion #hurt #collapse

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whitewolfbumble · 5 years

Text

Of Gods & Goddesses - Chapter Four

A Modern & Fluffy Greek Mythology AU with Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The connection was immediate and the mystery behind Bucky Barnes ran deeper and deadlier than you thought. Falling in love has never been this complicated, for a goddess or otherwise. A modern reimagining of Hades and Persephone, with Bucky the God of Spring and you the Goddess of the Underworld.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (aka God!Bucky x Goddess!Reader, Persephone!Bucky x Hades!Reader)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.5k

MY MASTERLIST // OF GODS & GODDESSES MASTERLIST // CHAPTER THREE

The city was long since in your rearview mirror with the dark green forest a wall on either side of you as you sped through.

He had been a little tense, arms and legs held together unmoving and stiff when the two of you had slid into the black car. Now, the further you had gotten towards your house, the more relaxed he had become and the more tightly wound you had become.

This is insane!, you thought to yourself, repeating it for the hundredth time and gripping the steering wheel all the harder. Never have you analyzed anything less in your entire existence or chosen to disrupt the balance of things in such a way.

What were you supposed to say when he asked why you weren’t there tonight? What were you doing here now? Why had you insisted on doing this?

You couldn’t just steal a god and take him back to your house. There were rules. There were reasons why this wasn’t done.

You glanced to him, eyes shooting over to the passenger side and held him in your gaze for a moment.

He was sitting here, hands folded easily in his lap now, a vision in the dark shadows of the night that veiled you both. But while you sunk into the shadows easily, he was somehow still full of colour and that glow of calm energy, deep jewel tones breaking through the darkness.

His eyes, watching out the window at the greenery speeding by, were a deep alexandrite blue with little flecks of icy beryl set into them. His hair in the darkness looked like onyx with flashes of chestnut and amber and carnelian. As always he had that almost invisible aura of glowing new life, pale and beautiful and small.

You saw another colour too, something light in shade below his eye, forming just under his skin. It was a tint darker than his lips, though you doubted it would stay so light for long.

“Nat told me a little about what happened tonight,” you said quietly, eyes back on the road and mouth as dry as you could ever remember it being. Gods, you could use a bottle or two of champagne right now. “Who did you get in a fight with?”

He pulled a bit of a face, shrugging as he looked down to his hands.

“T’Challa,” he started, stumbling through words laced with sadness, confusion, and embarrassment. “I guess I… well, he said I did somethings. Awful things. But I swear, I didn’t. At least, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. I can’t exactly remember.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled through your teeth, trying to quell the cold fury inside you. That was a side you couldn’t let Bucky see yet. “He’s determined guy, I’m surprised you didn’t lose an eye.”

“Steve got him off me,” Bucky admitted. “But I don’t think he was quite done yet. Managed to break away to the balcony.”

“All the better reason to get you out of there,” you said more to yourself, grasping at any straw you could to justify you stealing a god away from his home. And not even one of your own gods working under you.

“Well, I’ve never been to the Underworld before, or your realm at all I guess,” he said, eyes looking somehow brighter. It was almost like he was looking forward to this?

A crooked grin cracked through on your face, a mixture of validation and amusement sprouting in you. You were happy from the distraction from your anger and self-doubt anyways.

“Well, you won’t be able to say that much longer…”

You faded out, the massive black gates and concrete fence looming just ahead. You nodded out the windshield to the structure that was stories high, dark, and intimidating. There was a veil or mist, slightly murky and shimmering just before the gates. You drove through without interruption, passing through the wobbly mist to the clarity of the other side, and officially into your realm.

“We’re now officially within the Underworld now. So welcome to my home, I guess,” you added, frown following. Gods, you desperately needed to brush up on your small talk and social interactions. You’d be cringing over that one later.

You curved around with the circular driveway, a black marble and gold detailed fountain in the middle of it, parking in front of steps up to the impressive front doors. Nothing about your home was ordinary, to be sure.

“It doesn’t have the height or grandeur of the Tower,” you said, feet crunching the gravel underfoot as you walked around to him. “Or as much plant-life as you would probably prefer, but it’s home.”

“I thought it…” he started before turning and walking in step with you up to the doors. “I thought it would be… I guess different.”

You weren’t exactly shocked at that reaction, giving him a smile as you opened the door, pushing it in to reveal the sprawling space inside.

“We’re in my realm, sure,” you said, throwing your keys into a gold bowl on a low white table. “But that back there was the South Gate. The Underworld you’re thinking of is just west of here, at the aptly described West Gate. Here it’s less dead souls and mist covered wastelands, and more minimalism with a cool colour pallet.”

You walked just a couple steps ahead of him, floor to ceiling of windows on your left and modern art decorating the grey concrete walls to your right. Bucky wandered behind you, taking it all in.

“I won’t go over a full geography lesson here,” you said. “But it’s important that you stay on these grounds, within this building. I won’t get into what lurks beyond them, but in here you’ll be just fine.”

You looked back hesitantly, wondering at what point he’d snap-to and demand to be returned. But he quickly nodded in understanding, eyes going back to peek into large rooms as he walked by of what were mostly art collections, sculptures, and rare jewels on display.

You ended up in your living room, with low and long leather couches, a lengthy fireplace set into the wall, and a stocked bar to one side.

“Kitchen is through there, and I’ll set you up in one of the spare rooms,” You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stayed in one actually. “If you need anything, I’m here. And Veronica, the A.I., of course.”

You briefly debated going through a tour of all the rooms; anything to keep from having an awkward conversation of questions from him you couldn’t answer yourself.

It was only you and him here though. It wasn’t like you could put off talking to him forever.

He was silent as you turned to him, fiddling with your hands under the silence that was fast turning tense, at least to you.

He only watched you softly though. Was he waiting for you explain why you had broken your promise to him? Why you had abandoned him to a party only to be attacked when he was looking for you?

In the mere minutes from when you first noticed, that mark under his eye had gotten darker. Oh gods, you had done that to him. You might as well have anyway. He wouldn’t have gotten into with another god if you had kept your promise.

He trusted you, believed you when you said you would be there. He had made himself vulnerable and you felt that in turn now.

Your face scrunched a little, sympathy pain stabbing in your soul. Reflexively your hand went up to touch the bruise just under his eyes, the colour already a plum-like purple now. Your fingertips didn’t touch him, hovering just over the spot.

“I’m so sorry,” you said morosely, your eyes glued to the injury but his locked to yours. “I feel responsible for this, I should have been there. I don’t really have an reason I can give. Nothing good enough to justify this anyways.”

You were snapped out of your misery by his hand taking your wrist. His skin was so warm compared to yours, the heat of spreading through you in a moment. Only then did you catch that look in his eyes, soft and intent at the same time. He moved your hand to rest on his face just like you had wanted too, the connection another jolt of heat through your body.

“You still came,” he said, voice low and quiet. “There’s nothing to forgive, Y/N.”

You held your breath as your fingertips moved gently and slowly on his cheek. Bucky did the opposite, not holding his but instead inhaling a deep contented breath, moving in closer and placing his forehead to yours. If his eyes were open he would have seen a kind of thrilled panic in your eyes.

How had you, the relatively brazen one, and the shifting man you met on the balcony switched places? Now you were the unsure one, breath rapid and mind racing, too afraid to move and break the delicate equilibrium of this moment.

How was he this comfortable with you? Why had he wanted you to touch him?

...But did it matter? At least in this moment you couldn’t believe it did, a haziness falling over your brain as that magnetism he exuded overwhelmed you. Combined with that floral, spring rain scent of his you were done for.

You had no choice under that sway but for your muscles to relax into him, his hands coming to your waist to steady you.

“I think…” he whispered, a gentle night breeze on your skin. “I think I missed you.”

You swallowed, another wave of dizzy hitting you. What was he saying?

“You don’t know me, Bucky,” you said, that heady floral smell filling every pocket of your lungs. It was as though you had been transported into a field thick with wildflowers and sun and rain. You could smell the beautiful florals, feel the heat of the sun, taste the mist of rain on your tongue.

“I know,” he agreed, swallowing. “But I still did.”

This was insane and you knew it, but you didn’t care. You had thought about him since you met him. You were losing sleep over him. Torturing yourself over trying not to think about him. Your heart broke when you refused to see him out of your own spiralling doubt. You snapped when you heard he was hurt. You stole him away in the middle of the night. You had him in your arms now and decidedly didn’t want to let go.

“If it helps,” you spoke, barely audible in the little space between you. “I think I did too.”

His reply was unspoken, just the feeling of his arms wrapping and tightening around you.

Yes it was insane, but it was true and in this moment it felt real.

“I think I-” you said, pulling away slightly and stopping short as you saw what was around you.

Mouth ajar you looked around, taking in the scene of your once clean-cut minimalistic living space.

The blue and grey space was filled to the brim now, transforming from a space you knew well into a full blown greenhouse of sorts. Vines had climbed up the walls, covering them in a thick leafy tangle. Green sprouted under foot, thick and lush grass and leaves covering the sealed concrete.

The most stunning were the flowers though. It practically stole your breath away. There were more varieties than you knew, blooming and growing everywhere. Blue and violet Floss Flowers, light peach Peruvian Lilies, white and butter yellow Windflowers, ruby red Persian Buttercups, bright turquoise Blue Himalayan Poppies, and so many more. They filled the once dark room with blooming, beautiful life.

“What is it?” Bucky asked. You looked back to him with a disbelieving scoff before realizing his eyes hadn’t left you.

“Your handiwork certainly brightens up the place,” you said with a grin, gesturing around you.

His eyes glanced to the side for a second before back to you. It took a moment, but his face pulled into one of confusion. Slowly this time he looked around the room and actually saw it now, eyebrows shooting up and eyes wide at the display all around him.

“Oh gods,” he said, instantly fighting within himself to either laugh at this or be embarrassed by it. To your delight he ended up smiling, a moonbeam bright look that made your soul hum in a contented way you swore you had never heard before. “I swear I didn’t mean too. I’ll fix it, I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, a warm smile on you lips. You put your hands back to cup his face, leaning him back down to you, as you had just been.

“Please don’t,” you said, quietly. “Not yet.”

The warmth in you smile matched his, growing as fast as the flowers had.

“Okay Y/N,” he hummed, settling easily into holding you again. Whatever hum your soul had made sounded exactly like the one he did just there.

You thought there maybe should be some awkwardness or shame or something nagging you. But there just wasn’t. Only the smell of spring and his warm arms around you. There wasn’t room for much else.

Your attention was was pulled just to the side of the pair of you, wrapped up together. You thought the movement would be more stunning flowers growing, but you found quickly you were quite wrong.

You didn’t blink and didn’t move, just spoke to Bucky with a clear and steady voice

“Bucky,” you started, voice a warning. “Don’t. Move.”

You felt him stiffen under you just as a distinct vibrating growl filled the room. The aggression in the sound was palpable, and you felt his hold on you tighten, pulling you deeper into him. Slowly he tried to turn his body and block you from whatever was making the noise

“Bucky, don’t,” you whispered, eyes moving to lock onto the large black figure just in the shadows.

“What is it?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. But at the sound of his voice the snarl grew louder and angrier, conjuring up visions of nightmares.

You lifted your hands off of his shoulder, raising them up slowly. Carefully and with deliberate movements, you reached down to Bucky’s hands at your sides and removed them. You held on to one wrist, moving so that at no point were you completely detached from him, but shifting your body so you were in front of him, facing the creature making the noise.

You felt more than a little resistance from Bucky, who was not all too pleased to be behind you, despite being unaware of the danger he was in.

“Bucky… this is Cerberus,” you said, calm and steady. The commanding tone was neutral and controlled, but the threat clearly wasn’t over yet. “Cerberus, this is Bucky, God of Spring. He’s welcome here, and you’ll treat him as such.”

At that there were three distinct clashes of teeth flashing the shadows, snarls and bellows ringing out like thunder. The fury behind them was not thinly veiled at all, murder and blood in every snap and rumble.

This time when you spoke your voice was lowered, sounding cold and deadly and spreading a chill through the room with a single word.

“Enough.”

Bucky couldn’t see it but your eyes were taken over by a glacial blue colour, clouding your irises, pupils, and whites of your eyes completely. It was death and ice and lightning held in your eyes, displaying pure power and directed solely at Cerberus before you.

In the darkness you saw three sets of purple eyes flash with that same icy look. After a moment the growling stopped, and the three set of eyes faded into one pair, melting back into their violet glow.

After that Cerberus stepped forward, looking rather displeased but not murderous at any rate, so that was a start.

You relaxed immediately, moving out from in front of Bucky, who was looking wide-eyed at the creature as Cerberus stepped into the light and jungle of a living room.

He was built like a wolf, long black hair and tail shining in the moonlight coming through the gaps in the vine-covered windows. You walked up to him easily, patting his side. Your head was about at his shoulder, with his sharp teeth and predator eyes looming just above you protectively.

“I know he’s a little dangerous looking, but if you give him space there’s no need t-”

When you turned to look at Bucky you didn’t find him across the room, but right up to Cerberus, both hands scratching the dogs chest and craning his neck up to look fondly at the black beast.

You swore both you and Cerberus had the same stunned and surprised expression on your faces watching Bucky, who had a rather goofy expression on his face.

“Who’s such a good protector, huh?” Bucky said, voice low and like he was talking to an infant. “Who’s a good protector?”

You watched as slowly Cerberus sat back on his hind legs, wary eyes on Bucky before stretching his neck up for Bucky to scratch more.

“Oh please,” you muttered to yourself, leaning against the dog’s fluffy side.

“Who’s such a god boy?” Bucky asked, and you felt a breeze on your legs. Looking back you saw a bit of a wag from your so-called murderous beast.

“Alright, I think it’s time you got back to work,” you said to Cerberus before speaking to Bucky. “And you got some rest.”

Bucky parted with the beast with a last scratch before you two began walking down to the hall to the bedrooms. You casted a glance back to Cerberus, who was hopefully off on his nightly patrol, slinking back silently into the shadows.

“I think he likes you,” you said, a little floored. Besides Cerberus loving you, you didn’t think that was possible.

“That’s great, I-”

“No, that’s definitively not great!” you said, laughing incredulously at the turn of events. “He’s supposed to protect this place, I can’t have him rolling over for complete strangers!”

“What about gods who are not so much strangers?” he asked, the smallest hint of mischief in his eyes.

“I mean I’m happy he didn’t tear you to shreds, Bucky,” you said. You slowed down and stopped in front of a bedroom door, Bucky following your lead and doing the same. “But I think I better have a talk with Cerberus in the morning all the same.”

“So he protects this place?” he said, conversationally with that look still in his eyes. You wondered if he was purposely lingering. If so, you didn’t really mind that at all. You weren’t sure you wanted to say goodnight just yet. “And you while in it, I assume?”

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s usually pretty good at both. The best, actually.”

“So,” Bucky started, taking a step closer to you. “If I were to hold you again, would he show up looking to kill me again?”

“I uh, I don’t know actually,” you said, a heat flushing your face. You didn’t get too many visitors keen on wanting to hold you, the Goddess of the Underworld, afterall.

“Okay,” Bucky said, taking another step closer, the length of his body practically pressed to yours now. If you didn’t know his any better his height and frame would seem intimidating, but your fluttering heart was not out of fear. “Can I try it, just to see?”

“If he does shred you before you can soften him up, you’ve been warned,” you said, trying to hide in sarcasm.

It wasn't exactly a "no" though and Bucky picked up on that with a grin.

Your fluttering heart felt as though it bloomed in your chest the moment his arms wrapped around your waist, pushing the pair of your closer together. Close enough to breath him in, feel his heat, hear his heartbeat.

That haze of intoxication filled you again, the connection in you so strong to be near. Now that you had him so close it overwhelmed you, thawing you out and filling you with a bubbly firey warmth. It was like he was turning your cold, wintered soul into spring again.

It could have been minutes or days he held you and you held him, but at some point Bucky brought you gently back to reality.

His lips found their way to your ear, gently brushing your skin as he spoke. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You stepped back rather quickly, breath rapid in your lungs and that warm haze covering you. Again you saw Bucky, now with that same delicate white flower crown wrapped loosely around his head. Again it had bloomed in a quiet moment between you, a beautiful fragile thing, sitting gracefully on his brow.

“‘Night, Bucky.”

You didn’t know how you walked back to your room, or why you change out of your pajamas just to get into fresh ones. This night was not the one you expected to have in the least, your mind fuddled and heart thumping loudly.

When you entered your ensuite, running the tap and heating up the room with steam, you looked up and saw yourself in the mirror. Somehow, wrapped around your head in a small circle was a wreath of dark green stems with pale blue blooms. Unmoving in front of the mirror, you took in that wreath and it's ethereal glow, seeing those same small white flowers accompanying those little blue blossoms, matching the flowers Bucky had on his.

You still didn’t know what you were doing, but whatever it was you liked it.

_______

CHAPTER FIVE

_______

A/N: Hope you liked this one darling! Please let me know what you thought and if you want to be tagged in this! Thanks!

Permanent Tag List: @dontpanc, @smodvocate, @bunsterjonez, @captainrogerrsbeard, @marveloustrashpanda, @hangirl93, @buckybonky, @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen, @thisgirllikeme, @jjsoccer11, @innerpandablizzard-blog, @fanatic-fanfic, @mdgrdians, @christinky, @universal-death-of-a-fangirl, @cauraphernelia, @cassiopeia-barrow, @ailynalonso15, @1elboomdemsechevarria, @cameronskywalker, @rogrsnbarnes, @verygraphicink, @onlyanothersocialcasualty, @lisalisa007, @james-bucks, @zannemes, @msruchita, @breezy1415

Of Gods & Goddesses Tag List: @holyfuckinghale1975

Buck Barnes Tag List: @bexboo616, @kaaatniss, @lost-in-translating, @emabookcookie, @jewelofwinter, @crazybutconfidentaf, @jitterbuck

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #greek mythology au #bucky fanfiction #avengers #marvel #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #avengers au #of gods & goddesses #persephone!bucky #hades!reader #hades x persephone

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mr-mellow-dj · 6 years

Text

Vacation Sunrise

An old file that I posted on FF dot net a while ago.

Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Andrew W. Marlowe and ABC television. No infringement is intended.

It was early. Lately, Rick Castle had been waking early in the morning partly because he was used to his early riser wife’s habits. Since this was a vacation, she slept much longer. She needed the rest and was trying to catch up from the previous several weeks lack of sleep. With Rick being several years older than his wife, his biological clock was stuck on early rising.

It seemed like the murderers were trying to get theirs in before Detective Kate Beckett went on vacation. Detective Beckett and her team had five murders in less than a two week span. And managed to solve them all before Rick and Kate left for a week’s vacation in the Hamptons.

And, of course, the murders didn’t happen during the day or at a reasonable hour. No, they had to happen in the dead of night (no pun intended). Kate had been getting up before 5 am every day the two weeks prior to the vacation. With the vacation, though, Kate was able to sleep soundly and much later than she had before.

Rick gently got up out of bed, hoping he would not disturb his sleeping wife. She was laying on her side toward the middle of the bed, her chestnut hair surrounding her face like a halo. Her peaceful face almost looked angelic to Rick. There were times, like now, that he almost had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming this, this extraordinary woman, this fiercely intelligent female, this beautiful lady, Katherine Beckett was his wife.

He pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt to go outside to watch the sunrise. He made one last look at his sleeping wife as he strode to the bedroom door.

Rick carefully went down the stairs to the first floor. Avoiding the sides of the steps that made the most noise. It took some talent to negotiate the stairs for a novice, but since Rick had owned this house for over 15 years, he knew where to step and where not to step.

He reached the end of the stairs and turned to go out the rear door to the porch facing the ocean. He looked at the new flag he put on the flag pole. When he decided to put up a flag, it was primarily to know if the wind was blowing. If it wasn’t a bright day or a windy day, the no-see-ums would eat everyone alive. Nighttime was especially bad if there wasn’t a breeze.

But, being Rick Castle, he had to have a humorous bent to his flag. It was his sign or signet, two black chess pieces on a field of red. Of course it would be a Rook and a Pawn. What else could there be?

The flag slowly flapped in the breeze. “Good,” Rick thought. “Maybe I’ll be able to go out and walk on the beach this morning.”

This was the last day of their vacation at the beach and Rick had a tradition to walk the beach and take pictures of the sunrise. Rick had started this tradition when his daughter was little. Alexis would spend much of the summer at the house in the Hamptons but they would both return to the city the weekend before the school year started. Leaving early to beat the traffic rush back to the city, they would pack and be on the road before 9 am most years. Another part of the tradition was that they would have breakfast at the beach and have a late lunch in the city.

Rick would at least do his part of the tradition. He would walk the beach and watch the sunrise. He grabbed his camera off his office desk, pocketed an additional set of batteries and set off.

Castle enjoyed photography even though he didn’t have much time for it anymore. After Kyra and before Meredith and Alexis, Rick would take his film camera and go on a trek in his car to see what looked interesting. Once Alexis came along, he couldn’t just drop everything and run off in any direction to suit his whimsy. However, every time he was involved in a photo shoot, he would talk to the photographer about lighting and composition. What each photographer thought made a good picture and how to avoid making bad ones.

Camera in hand, he walked barefoot down the path to the steps to the beach. As he put his foot on the sand, he marveled at how cool the sand was. Not a drop of rain happened overnight, yet the sand was cool, bordering on cold. Around him were the distinct, little crab tracks that bore witness to the lack of an overnight shower.

“I almost burned the soles of my feet on the sand noontime yesterday and this morning it feels very cool.” Rick thought.

Rick’s feet sunk a little into the soft sand, the sand pressing between his toes. High tide had not reached this far over the past several days, thus with the bright sun drying the sand it became a soft powder rather than the harder compacted sand that was closer to the water.

Now it was low tide and the expanse of sand to the water lay before him. Rick crossed the soft powder until he reached the harder, recently underwater beach.

He slowly walked toward the sunrise crossing over the band of small shells that had washed up on the beach. For the most part, these shells were not much more than a knuckle length and half as wide. Mostly, they were nondescript shells of shades of brown or grey. Occasionally, there was a scallop or cockle shell that was colorful with the occasional blue or purple. Kate seemed to have an affinity in finding those shells.

Rick continued down the beach looking for sandpipers. Previous years there had been small groups of three or four birds on the shore digging for their first meal of the day. Rick would try to get their silhouette in the picture surrounded by the colors of the sunrise reflected in the sea. Today, apparently the shore birds had slept in. No getting the proverbial early worm or early mollusk for them.

For the past several years, the sunrise was partly cloudy which happened to be Rick’s favorite. If it was overcast, there was little light to work with and the sky was a dull grey. No clouds and there were practically no different colors. Even with the wispy cirrus, there was little to the pallet. This morning’s sky was partly cloudy, so there were a multitude of colors. Reds, oranges, yellows, blues and greys were about the sky. The ocean reflected the colors with the waves making a series of cuts in the reflection with foamy whites and slightly ominous blacks.

Rick had walked maybe a couple hundred feet down the beach. No birds were nearby so Rick turned back. He took several pictures of the sunrise with his camera and his phone while retracing his steps.

He noticed the footprints in the sand he had left and took a picture of two of them a stride’s length apart. His footprint changed the color of the sand from a milk chocolate brown to a light, perhaps pale, beige. He could see where he stopped to ponder the sunrise and the magnificent colors before returning to the house.

Rick walked up the pathway to his porch and reached the door to enter the house. He turned to contemplate the sunrise once again. “God,” he thought. “You have made a splendid sunrise, but you outdid yourself with the woman in my bed. I cannot thank you enough for directing her into my life.”

Although not terribly religious, Rick continued thinking, “Thank you God for blessing me.”

#castle #castle fanfiction

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smuttbunnie · 7 years

Text

blue.

Member: Taekook

Genre: Angst

Description: If it is not like the others, beat it until it is. If it does not fit in, then break it until it fits. If it is flawed, then burn it for it is useless. If it is different, let it die…for it doesn’t deserve to live.

The world is colourless. It’s grey and ashen, like an old photograph of black and white. In this bleached out, almost anemic world, people walk these waxen streets. They’re all a vibrant, bursting red, so vivid that it hurts the eyes. Crimson like only blood and apples can portray, so passionate and colourful…

Yes. People of red walk these waxen streets, in a world that is grey and ashen, like an old photograph of black and white. In a world of monotone scarlet, walking on a monochrome pallet, this single drop of blue is, surely, wrong.

“You damn brat! You disgusting son of a bitch, if you dare come back here again I’ll fucking beat you until you can’t run away!”

Yeah right, Jungkook thought to himself as he quickly turned the corner of the familiar alleyway. As soon as you sober up you’ll already have forgotten about it like always.

Stuffing his hands into the torn pockets of his jacket, he spat the remaining blood in his mouth out on the pavement, not even grimacing at the copper taste anymore. The most common reason for travel is to experience your five senses to the fullest. He chuckled under his breath, allowing his bangs to fall across his eyes like a shield against these dull surroundings.

What utter bullshit.

Taste: Metal, like the irony, copper taste of blood. Touch: Easy, that’s pain. Physical more than mental recently. Smell: That permanent sting of alcohol on his old man’s breath. Sound: That incessant shouting and screaming. Sight: This damned red and grey world. Besides, the only reason he’d ever travel would be to get away from this sickening cesspool of a town.

Jungkook really hated red. It wasn’t necessarily the colour’s fault, it’s just that he’d really seen enough of it to last a lifetime by now. The red of his constant wounds, the red of the stamp on the bills that haven’t been payed yet. The red of all the normal, scampering little people around him… Red had seeped into everything, and he practically had to breathe, eat and sleep beside it.

Junkook sighed, not heavily, but one that was heavier than he let on. Blue was wrong now was it? Then what would that make red? Right? No…he really, really hated…the colour red.

***

The bubbly chatter of the classroom closely resembled the interminable, drone of a beehive. Buzz buzz they go, unceasing and bothersome. No no, more like infuriating. Ugh, just stop buzzing already he thought, gritting his teeth as the noise scratched like nails on the class’ chalkboard.

A quick glance around the room told him nothing had changed overnight. Not that it ever does, or ever will that is. Everyone’s a revolting shade of red again, as usual. The boy in front reeks of green jealousy and the girl giggling amongst her friends is a fair shade of pink, probably gossiping about that guy she likes. Mijun’s a cheerful orange as usual, Seo-jun’s just radiating purple with her royal attitude and little, ol’ Kim is as white and innocent as the daisies outside.

But even so, flaunting their colours around like it’s parade, they all stay this damned red. Pretty, pretty, petty red. Because if he’s red, and she’s red, and they’re red, then why must anyone be any different than red? He scrunched his face in annoyance, the buzzing becoming louder and louder. Everyone Jungkook’s ever met, has always been this frustratingly, persistent red.

“Kookie?! What’s with that cut on your lip?!”

Looking up with surprise, a tanned face of worry with concern lined into his brow appeared before the young boy, dark chocolate eyes swimming in distress. Ah. Junkook thought. He. He’s not red.

Taehyung’s hands roamed the boy’s face, grazing over the cut on his lip. Jungkook barely winced, slowly closing his eyes as he wondered if he could make time slow down for a little. These rough fingers of his older friend felt a little like sandpaper…has he been doing a lot of work for his part-time job again? So silly of him, his skin is a little dry too. He should look better after himself.

“Ah, it’s finally quiet…” Jungkook mumbled, opening his eyes as he let his selfish indulgence slip away. The worry on Taehyung’s face seems to only have increased, trailing his thumb over the corner of the boy’s mouth, inspecting the wound. “Kookie, are you okay? It looks like it hurts.”

“Pft, it always hurts you doofus” he chuckled, his companion taking a seat across him from the table. Ah, that nickname of his, he should really cut that out. Someday my heart will start hurting instead of speeding up, he morbidly thought, a smile that felt genuine yet seemed grim colouring his bruised lips.

Taehyung ran a hand though his hair, clicking his tongue as he ruffled his chestnut locks, brown like gingerbread with soft strands that begged for Jungkook to tangle his fingers into them. “If you tell me who did this I’ll just beat em’ up, you hear?” he angrily grumbled.

Taehyung probably did more harm than good. He attracts attention, and that attentions draws to this very noticeable blue. And in the end, blue is stained with bleeding red. The younger boy chuckled, grinning like he only ever could when his counterpart was near. “Oh~ I’m shaking in my boots!”

The space between them was filled with laughter and jokes from both sides, filling a gap that was only ever to be filled with conversation instead of touch. Jungkook still hadn’t figured it out yet. What colour Taehyung is. But to him, he didn’t think it mattered, since Taehyung was a little slow, rough around the edges and knew nothing of the drowning blue Jungkook was in. The only colour he was concerned with, was the rosy pink of Taehyung’s lips, and the pearly white of his teeth when he gave his lopsided smile.

***

“Eww! Oh gross dude, he touched you!’

*Thud*

“Oi, getting brave now are we? Stay in your place you gay fuck!”

*Slam*

“Are you getting off on this? Do you like being hit you masochistic little shit?”

*Crack*

Laughter echoed in the empty school halls, and jeers of wicked satisfaction echoed in Jungkook’s head. His pitch black hair was tossed in the direction his body was thrown, to and fro like a curtain swinging back and forth. He wondered how many hands it would take to count the bruises tonight? Maybe he’d break a record he chuckled.

“Look at him, the sick fuck’s laugh’n! Seems like we haven’t beaten em’ hard enough.”

He closed his eyes as he prepared for the next kick or punch, but the clear sound of his phone ringing sliced through the atmosphere. A wide grin spread over his face, laughter building in his chest as the red boys before him recoiled in horror.

“What’s with the freak, he’s seriously creeping me out!’

The young boy threw his head back laughing, wiping at the gathering tears in his eyes. Oh, what a day for his phone his to ring! What a day, what a day indeed!

“Sorry guys,” he mused between died out laughter. “My phone only rings when the only person in my contact-list calls.”

Giving a content sigh, he stumbled upright, grinning like a madman. This red really does bother him.

“I don’t have time to play today.”

It’s easy to fight back for Jungkook. He had to face against his own father, which was almost three times the size of these high school punks. But it’s easier for him..easier when he takes the blows one by one. The knee to his stomach, the punch to his cheek, and even that slam against the wall. It’s becoming easier and easier to take it, it’s becoming more painful, and yet gives him more relief.

It’s becoming so easy. And it scares Jungkook. It’s terrifying, and no one will save this falling blue.

***

“Kookie, every time I see you, I feel like you just keep getting worse…” Don’t sound so sad. You should never be sad, I like you best when you smile and I can see the crinkles around your eyes… Junkook thought to himself, wondering if he could hide these wounds so Taehyung could make those happy faces again. Peaceful silence was carried along with the breeze, both of the boys staring out at the lake before them. The dark blue water lapped at the bank, and thoughts of throwing himself into the familiar blue plagued Jungkook’s mind like a virus. He felt sick. Maybe he was sick…

“Taehyung, what’s your favourite colour?”

“Eh? Why do you ask that all of a sudden?”

The younger boy smiled a tragic smiled, gazing at the slightly disturbed surface of the lake, finding some sort of tepid comfort in it. He was like this too. Disturbed. No one takes note because it’s only ever so slightly. This disturbed blue inside of him was painful. It’s painful Taehyung, it’s disturbingly painful.

“Mine’s red. No, it…it used to be red you see,” the younger boy started.

Jungkook took a shallow breath, his arms loosely hung around his knees brought up to his chest. His gaze rose to the azure sky, wondering if he could fall into it’s similar embrace. It’s pretty isn’t it? So why isn’t he? His blue is different. It’s ugly, it’s horribly, sickeningly unseemly.

“I was crazy about the colour. It was everyone’s favourite too, and no one was different you know? Everyone just liked red,” he grimly laughed, as if sorrow and laughter went hand in hand in a mournful waltz. Dancing, dancing, never stopping for a rest. This made Jungkook tired. Exhausted even… Tired of this waltz, tired of laughing and sobbing when he wasn’t doing either.

“So I came to hate it…”

Taehyung had trouble making sense of what his friend was saying. It was like that with Kookie. He always spoke like it was some sort of a riddle…saying something, but always talking about something else. Why is it that he talks about colours, but it feels like he’s talking about something so much darker that Taehyung couldn’t see? It bothers him, it’s like this feeling that something was creeping closer, slowly making it’s way here. And Taehyung couldn’t see it.

“You shouldn’t hate red just because everyone likes it.”

To that the boy laughed again, resting his face into the palm of his hand. A common gesture, but the slight curling of his fingertips, as if he wanted to scratch his eyes out, made the gesture seem so horribly painful and gruesome.

“Ah, no Taehyung, you misunderstand.”

Jungkook swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if this lump could just suffocate him already.

“I didn’t like a different colour because everyone liked red.”

Licking his dry lips, he couldn’t do anything but grit his teeth and scrunch his eyes shut, listening to his own voice choke on tears that would never make it past his facade.

“I hated red, because everyone hated me for suddenly liking blue.”

Taehyung stared at Jungkook, seemingly breaking apart. For a second, he looked like he was being torn apart by the world, bleeding blood that had run dry, crying tears that there was none left of anymore. His younger companion looked like he was in pain…unbearable pain that was far too heavy for him to carry. Yet he was forced to face this pain alone,suffering a silence too loud, and a colour too red.

And a second later, Jungkook was looking up at him, smiling his goofy smile, and wearing those eyes that only showed this pretense of joy.

“You haven’t answered my question TaeTae!”

“Oh..yeah, sorry…” the older boy stammered, caught of guard by the sudden dark image that had spilled out before him, and the way Jungkook just quickly cleaned it up again, as if it was filthy.

Running a hand through his cinnamon hair like he always does, he gave a nervous grin, and Jungkook sighed at the cute curves of his mouth.

“I don’t know…I guess I sorta just like all of em’ you know?”

Ah…that’s such a Taehyung way of putting it, Jungkook smiled to himself, wondering what he might have done if Taehyung had said it was blue instead. He abruptly stood up, Taehyung gazing at him with surprise.

“Haha…I should’ve known it would be an answer like that…”

Junkook looked down at the boy…the boy who was stopping him from pretending he was red. He had long been blue before him, but still, Taehyung made him feel like being this shade of sapphire was his utmost privilege. He couldn’t thank a lot of things in his life. But if, only this, he could thank for this boy, and thank for having been blessed with this boy’s kindness.

“Thank you Taehyung. Tomorrow, you won’t have to bother with that faded blue again. The class will be a rosy red once more.”

Jungkook prided himself on his love for this boy. That’s all love he had left in that battered body of his. He would sooner leave this red world behind, than see that love die out.

***

There wasn’t anyone who would miss this blue. How should he rid himself of this colour? Jungkook thought that, it would be wonderfully ironic if this blue died being bathed in red.

His mother ran away when she found out she had to raise a homosexual son. And his father tried to convince him otherwise with frequent beatings, as if, if he hit hard enough, the colour red could eventually be forced into him.

Everyday, working to scrape by food, fighting to just live another day, struggling not to fall when everyone tried to trip him. It was all just to see that boy’s face. Just to see him smile, and say “Good morning Kookie!”

Yes. The people at school would be happy too. Maybe a little disappointed that there wasn’t an ugly colour to gossip about and punish anymore. And Taehyung…sooner or later he’ll hear the whispers of the girls, or notice the snickering of the boys. Sooner or later, he’ll notice that Jungkook’s not red, but awful, ugly blue. And then, people might start to mistake him for lapis too.

Raising the kitchen knife, Jungkook held it over his wrist, watching as even his coursing veins protested with the blue underneath his skin. It’s always noisy, always red. But with Taehyung it’s quiet…and being blue isn’t a crime. But it’s just becoming worse. The silence is short, and the red is too much.

It’s all too much. Too loud, too painful, too scared, too unloved, too lonely, too…too blue. He liked being blue…but now he’s starting to hate that colour. No. He hates himself…that’s it. He hates being blue, because it makes it so, so very painful. He knows it himself…that blue isn’t a crime, or that it isn’t a sin. But it is a burden. And he’s starting to hate this burden…that, in itself, is a crime, a sin, that Jungkook had committed.

A quick slice, and then he’ll finally be that lovely red his dad always wanted him to be. A quick slip of the hand, and it’ll be over. He’s so tired…so very tired. It’s better this way sin’t it? It’s better if this blue just, burns.

But his action was incomplete. The weapon is flung across the room by a strong hand ripping it from his own. Blood slowly begins to pour down his arm, a warm sensation after this cold abyss of hatred. Who? Who is it? Who’s keeping this blue from drifting off into dark black? Isn’t that what they all wanted? For me, to just give up, and die-

“You idiot!”

In his blurry state, Jungkook finally made sense of Taehyung’s face, angry and shouting with rage Jungkook had never seen before. A world of cinders and ash, cold as icy blue, slowly began to become warmer. He thought only red burned this brightly…but the world lit up like starlight spilling onto the ocean. It’s blue…and it’s full of warmth, and affection.

“What the hell were you thinking?! Suicide, what the fucking hell Kookie?!”

A soft whisper of an explanation, one that tumbles out of his mouth like he’s falling down a flight of stairs. “There’s no one who’ll care, so what does it matter-”

The burning sensation intensifies, as his cheek stings from the slap Taehyung throws across his face. It resounds throughout the small room, and rings in Jungkook’s ears.

“That’s just you being selfish you dumb asshole! I care, I matter! Did you even think about me?! How I would feel?!”

This time it was punch, and Jungkook had to blink to regain his focus, his spinning vision stopping to allow him to gaze at this pain-stricken face that seems to be a ghost of his cheerful Taehyung from school.

“How dare you attempt such a thing, deciding to just leave me behind with all your pain. I would have suffered! Stop thinking about what’s best for me, when I know damn well that it’s you living by my side. You’re not doing this with my interests…you’re being inconsiderate of my feelings for you, you bastard!”

Breathless and panting, Taehyung’s shouted words hung in the air, as heavy as lead. It made the atmosphere almost impossible to breathe. The blood coating Jungkook’s lip made Taehyung realize what he was doing, anger quickly fading into guilt and regret. The colours Taehyung was showing were so beautiful Jungkook thought, changing so quickly that it was like looking down a kaleidoscope of hues and shades. Taehyung, I like your colour the most. It’ll never be blue..but it’s so beautiful, do you know that? I’m so jealous…

“Oh shit, shit I’m sorry,” the boy whispered, flinging his arms around the stunned younger boy. He was squeezing him so tightly that Jungkook felt like all his wounds together couldn’t hurt like this did. This hurt was deep, deep in his chest. It’s the feeling of knowing he did something terribly wrong…that he had forsaken this boy’s love. It hurt so much, Jungkook wondered if he might be left in tears by the end of this.

“I’m sorry Kookie, I shouldn’t be hitting you when-when you’re always the one getting hit. Sorry Kookie, sorry okay? I won’t hit you, I won’t I promise…”

A smile, a smile of all things crept onto the blue boy’s face, as he burst out laughing. Seeing the bewildered and worried face of his companion, his luaghter only increased in volume, tears clinging to his lashes as he held his stomach in pain. It was this familiar waltz again. Where his sobs dance with his laughter. This hurt…this was hurting. It felt oddly good to hurt like this, Jungkook thought…

“Taehyung-” he sputtered, still laughing as he grinned widely;

“This is the first time, I was ever so happy that someone hit me!”

Tears gathered in Taehyung’s eyes, rolling down his cheeks as he placed his large hands on Kookie’s small, drawn cheeks. He looked sick. When did he start looking so very ill? He’s skinny, like he’ll break in Taehyung’s hands. His dark hair, that pale skin of porcelain, those eyes that carried so much pain…it all looks so damaged. Did he even know, could he even possibly know how much he meant to him? How much he loved this boy? Taehyung was so angry, so very angry at the both of them.

It’s not wrong, to be blue.

Pulling the boy close, Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock, colour exploding before his eyes that had grown so accustomed to grey and red. It was like fireworks was lighting up a dark night, one Kookie had been blindly stumbling in with a red blindfold tied around his head. The taste of copper was suddenly washed away by that of a salty taste, as Taehyung’s lips crashed against his, in a deeply craved kiss.

He almost didn’t kiss back, the tears he tasted on his lips joined by that of his own. Unfallen tears, that always chose to stay clinging to his lashes, as if he was afraid of the marks it would leave. SIlver-blue, like that of morning dew and midnight rain. He… He’s- He’s blue.

Detaching himself from the bitter-sweet lips of the younger boy, Taehyung was shocked to see unending tears sliding down his companion’s pale face. It was the first time, Taehyung had seen Kookie cry. Tears fell, making up for all the lost time, for all the lost sorrow. Kookie smiled, so tragically happy that it broke Taehyung’s heart. The person before him, stained with tears, and blood and blue… No. Stained was not the word Taehyung would use. It was painted. Painted with tears, and blood, and blue. That person, was very beautiful. Because that person was honest, earnestly happy and upset, and blue.

“You’re blue!” Kookie exclaimed, but it might have been a sob. “You’re blue, Taehyung you’re blue. You’re blue, you’re blue, you’re blue!”

His laughter was swallowed as sobs wracked his small body, Taehyung pulling him into his embrace, trying to hold back tears of his own. Jungkook cried those words over and over again, afraid that if he didn’t say it, maybe it wouldn’t be true. How had he gotten into such a sate? This overwhelming happiness, it was almost enough to distract him from his broken, broken body.

“You’re blue…I’m so happy you’re blue, I’m so very very happy you’re blue,” Kookie sobbed into the material of Taehyung’s clothes. And in a choked whisper, he softly, again and again, cried;

“You’re blue.”

But with Taehyung’s hand in his, the streets will start to look silver. The world has a subtle beauty, like an old photograph that manages to be graceful yet crude. It’s a world of careful adoration, and tragic love. And even among all the pain and suffering, it still manages to be,

blue.

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