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tgmsunmontue · 3 months

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It's all academic darlin' PART 9/10

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8

Part 7 and 8 are Explicit. And nothing else makes sense without the first six parts but you do you!

PART NINE

Jake goes through the next few minutes in a haze as he finishes the washing up and watches Bradley hug Admiral Kazansky good bye, telling him they’ll see him tomorrow. He’s told it was very nice to meet him and Jake returns the sentiment, meaning it wholeheartedly. Still difficult to think of the COMPACFLT as someone who makes amazing waffles and likes Star Wars, but he imagines he’ll get there. Bradley leans into his space, hooks fingers into the loops on his jeans and grins at him.

“So. You survived.”

“Yeah, he’s actually pretty cool.”

“Well yeah, he’s… he was the steady presence for me. The one I felt like I could always call up and get advice. Proper advice. Not Mav’s just do it attitude, deal with the consequences later approach… It works for him but I’ve always been a little more careful.”

“Risk averse?”

“Not really, but definitely always wanted to weigh things up before committing properly.”

Jake hums, because he’s wondering if he’s reading too much into that statement, that Bradley is saying something about not wanting to risk committing being with him. He doesn’t think so. It goes against everything Bradley has said and done in the last twenty-four hours but he can’t help the little niggle of doubt.

“So… He gave you permission to tell your friends.”

“You were listening huh?”

“Of course I was. Ice knows I always listen in. More difficult to do when he’s only using ASL though. He’d have used pen and paper if he really didn’t want me to know.”

“I’ll add it to my pile of stuff to learn…

“You’re going to learn ASL?”

“Well, I want to be able to understand whatever you guys are saying to each other. I mean, I thought this sign was pretty obvious,” he makes the two-handed gesture he had thought meant blowjob and Bradley snorts, rests his forehead on Jake’s shoulder and his laugh is gentle and quiet and he never wants this feeling of rightness to end.

“Oh no, that’s totally the sign for what you think it is. Blow job.”

“What?!”

“It was a comment I made months ago, when Mav was telling me about you. About how you disobeyed orders and saved his life…”

Jake can’t believe that Mav just talks about fucking top-secret missions. Obviously he’s assuming Bradley isn’t sharing it with anyone who doesn’t already know, but how the fuck has Admiral Kazansky not murdered Maverick yet?

“How the fuck does Kazansky say anything at home?”

“Well, he doesn’t,” Bradley says and Jake groans at the bad joke.

“Shut up! You know what I mean!”

Bradley laughs, shakes his head and shifts his hands from the belt loops to hook his hands behind Jake, pulling him close. He shoves his hands into the back pockets of Bradley’s jeans, needs somewhere to put them to stop feeling awkward.

“Anyway, Mav told me about you saving his life and I jokingly asked him if he’d wanted me to give you a thank you blow job. You know he kept sending me things to do at the cabin, like he was trying to make me stick around until you got there. He likes to think he’s sneaky but he’s like a sheet of glass.”

“So what, you’re with me because you’re grateful?”

“Nope. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful, Mav is pretty fucking important to me. But I’m not with you because of that. You’re funny and intelligent and you aren’t intimidated by me or my career. That’s a pretty fucking amazing trifecta right there,” Bradley says, and he’s completely serious now, his eyes intent on Jake’s face like he really wants to press home how much he believes what he’s saying and Jake shifts uncomfortably, not used to being the subject of such an intense gaze.

“And then… and then, on top of that, my dad, Mav, already likes you. Tomorrow night he was going to try and set me up with you a third time. And Ice? He thinks you’re hilarious. That you’ll, and I quote, fit in with our crazy family without even trying, end quote. I’ve adlibbed a bit. Anyway, those are five things which I find are pretty important. I usually don’t have the Mav and Ice approval so early on… Jesus Jake. Do you have any idea how amazing I think you are?”

Jake swallows, throat tight and he shakes his head a little, because no, he didn’t think Bradley thought anything like that about him. Not like that.

“And then there are the sprinkles and cherry, which are you getting on with my friends, maybe a little too well to be honest. And all of this? Wrapped up in something that looks like you do… it’s like hitting the jackpot.”

“Oh.”

“Too much?”

“Maybe a little?” Jake says, unsure as he sucks in a shaky breath.

“Okay… so what did you want to do today? We’ve got all afternoon and all night…”

“Whatever will we do to entertain ourselves.”

“I’ve got some ideas.”

… … …

Bradley doesn’t know exactly where Jake’s insecurities come from, but the lack of him talking about his parents makes him wonder. Jake hasn’t said they were dead, only mentioned his brother and sister when they’d emailed about family. Jake is confident, cocky and a touch arrogant like every naval aviator Bradley has ever met. It hasn’t seemed to bleed into his relationships though, not if he’s never really had one. And maybe that’s the telling part. It’s okay, he can work with that. Finds himself willing to work with it, when Jake is just… leaving himself so open like this.

They make out against the kitchen bench for a little while, there’s no sense of urgency for him. Not when he’s had more orgasms in the last twenty-four hours than he’s had the entire week prior. Still, there’s a low buzzing thrum of arousal in his body and he’s pretty sure that it will just become his natural state when Jake is nearby. Another thing he’s willing to work with.

“So, are you going to tell them?” Bradley asks, because he’s insanely curious and part of him wants all of Mav’s usual machinations to be ruined just so he can see the look on his face for once.

“Who? Oh, the other Daggers coming tomorrow? Yeah. Probably. Think I’d like to introduce you to Javy if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You met most of my friends last night.”

“Javy is my best friend.”

“Okay…?”

“He’s definitely going to want to meet you…”

“You want to have him around, cook dinner?”

“No. I don’t want to spend time cooking for them when I’m still getting to know you.”

“You’re secretly the sweetest, you know that?”

Jake looks embarrassed, doesn’t meet his eye and Bradley kisses him again, slow and gentle, tries to reassure with every press of his lips. Then Jake is pulling back, eyes wide and he’d be worried except Jake looks delighted.

“Oh my god… I can fuck with him. I can fuck with him so bad.”

“What? Who?”

“Javy… this is like a triple blind.”

“What do you mean?”

“He knows I’ve been emailing this professor. He probably isn’t picturing someone like you, when you think professor.”

Bradley’s takes that for the compliment he assumes is there somewhere, grins and nods encouragement.

“So I let him meet you, and he’s not going to expect you at all… then… do you have a photo album or something?”

“No, Mav’s got most of them. I’ve got a couple of pictures somewhere. What do you want exactly?”

“Picture of you and Mav…”

“Oh… what, you going to bring him back and introduce me and then just hope he stumble across a photo album picture of me and Mav?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Nah, I think I can think of something. Put some on the fridge maybe? I’ve got a graduation photo as well somewhere. I hide it because Kezia gives me shit about how young I look.”

“Yeah… do you mind?”

Bradley grins and shakes his head, is pretty sure Jake is now feeling the same glee he had when he realized he could maybe get Mav.

“I’ve got to ring him, stupid asshole, trying to hide the fact that he’s in North Island…”

Bradley pulls away slightly, clearly isn’t allowed to go to far as Jake refuses to remove a hand from his back pocket, tugs him close as he presses call on his phone and waits for his friend to answer.

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

“Hey. I’m good. And I have a bone to pick with you. You’re in North Island.”

“How the fuck did you find that out? It was meant to be a surprise!”

“A little bird told me…” Jake looks at Bradley then and he laughs silently, little bird indeed. Standing so close he can hear everything, especially with how Jake is angling the phone.

“Who?”

“Not important. Anyway, I wanted to talk about something. You know that guy I was emailing?”

“Who? The professor guy?”

“Yeah. Him.”

“Ooohhh… you hot for teacher?”

“Yeah. I am actually.”

“Holy shit! Really? He’s not like old as fuck and walking around with a zimmer frame?”

“No, no zimmer frame in sight.”

Bradley laughs silently again, is a little horrified that maybe Jake at any stage thought that maybe Bradley was that old, but listens as Jake arranges to meet Javy for an early dinner in a few hours at one of the burger bars downtown. He hangs up and then kisses Bradley firmly.

“Man this is going to be fun. I see why the Admiral is so excited about tricking Mav now… and why Mav must enjoy doing it to people.”

“Do not encourage him. He doesn’t need encouragement okay?”

“Yeah yeah… okay. Fuck. I’m sorry. I should have checked. Are you okay with me going out to dinner?”

“Of course… I’m not your keeper or anything.”

“But we’ve only just… met. I don’t want you to think that he’s more important –”

“Jake. He’s your best friend. Has been your best friend for years. Someone who you also haven’t seen in over seven months I’m betting. He’s more important. I don’t mind at all.”

He really doesn’t, the fact that Jake had immediately wanted to arrange to see his best friend, even if he’s using the excuse to fuck with him, tells him more than Jake probably realizes. That’s he’s loyal, and places importance on his relationships in equal measure. It’s a good sign. He can’t handle being the only person in anyone’s life, learnt that one early on.

“Well, I know you have work to do. Don’t pretend you don’t… you were complaining about it in your last email.”

“Yeah, but you’re here…”

“I am here right now. And I’ll be back later. Consider it an incentive to get as much work done while I’m gone as you can…”

“Yeah okay, I’ve always been pretty focused with the right motivation…”

“Good to hear. You know what I want to do right now?” Jake asks, and both his hands are back on Bradley’s ass, gripping him through his pockets.

“What?” Bradley asks, letting himself grind up against Jake with clear interest.

“I want to fuck you.”

“You going to ask nicely?”

“Bradley, please, let me fuck you. I want to get my mouth on you, my fingers inside, stretch you open for my cock, then I want to fuck you and leave those marks all over your chest you asked for and want to see if you’ll beg me to touch your cock, or if you can come without that…”

“Yeah… that’s pretty nice…”

… … …

Jake leans down, latches his mouth on the sensitive nipples he’d discovered last night and sucks. Bradley’s cock jerks between them, a spurt of precum dripping from the head.

“How are you so hot?”

“Good genes…” Jake snorts, licks his way across Bradley’s chest.

“You sure about these marks? You know I’m not a horny teenager unable to control myself…”

“Channel your inner teenager, go to town okay? I want to look absolutely wrecked.”

“This better not fucking backfire…” Jake mutters, because while he’s not generally a guy that gets off on leaving marks, it isn’t exactly a hardship to suck at Bradley’s body when he responds so beautifully, because him enjoying it is something that will get him off.

“Trust me…”

Jake can’t believe it, but he does, he really does. He thrusts forward, not quite getting the leverage he’d usually have considering he’s trying to mark Bradley up as much as humanely possible with his mouth.

“You can leave more later, please, just fuck me… come on.”

“Okay.”

He lets himself focus on drawing back before snapping his hips forward, watching Bradley’s face carefully to gauge whether that’s okay. The way his eyes fall shut the same time his mouth gasps open he’s going to take it as a winner and he does it again again again, feeling his own orgasm coiling up in his gut. He can see a half-dozen bite marks starting to darken across Bradley’s chest and collar bone, feels an unexpected thrill. Inner teenager indeed.

Bradley isn’t making any move to touch himself and he wonders if he needs or wants Jake’s hand on him, whether he’s holding back for some reason Jake’s not aware of. Bradley’s hands are all over Jake’s body instead, running over his chest, down his arms, digging into his shoulders and he’s getting close, wants to touch Bradley now but also wants to know what exactly might tip him over the edge. He has a hunch. He adjusts slightly, mostly maintaining his pace and then he scrapes a blunt nail across Bradley’s left nipple and bloody fucking hell. He almost jackknives up and headbutts Jake in the face, though the loud whine he makes has Jake doing in again; ready this time for the entire-body jerk and he presses down with more force, captures Bradley’s mouth in a hard kiss.

Then he shifts again, sucks the same nipple into his mouth and yeah, Bradley’s coming, his voice making broken sounds that have Jake’s name mixed in and he licks one more time, savors the full body spasm that Bradley gives and then he fucks into him a few more times, watching Bradley as he lies almost catatonic beneath him, and Jake has never felt so fucking smug before in his life. Yeah. This is fucking amazing.

Later, post showers, music playing in the background, they sit on the sofa, Bradley reading through essays he’s marking, constantly muttering under his breath and Jake can’t help but smile to himself every time Bradley grumbles and taps away, clearly making comments. Jake’s replied to some emails and is now reading the manual for one of the aircraft he’s going to be asked to inspect as part of his interview for the test pilot position, and he feels quietly comfortable. He makes a few notes, wonders if he could ask Mav some questions and guesses he can likely ask Mav many things now.

He gets up and uses the bathroom, comes back through to the kitchen for a glass of water and sees there is already a new photo on the fridge and it’s Bradley as a toddler, with an incredibly young-looking Mav grinning at him. There’s a couple and he recognizes Nick Bradshaw from the Navy database photo. The woman must be Bradley’s mom. She has the same easy smile and a little part of him aches for the fact that he’ll never meet them but Bradley will never meet his own parents either so it doesn’t make him feel bad enough to dwell on it.

He’s a bit peckish so he raids the fridge and cupboards, prepares a plate of cheese and crackers along with some apple slices and grapes; things that can be eaten one handed. He brings it back to the sofa, kicks at Bradley’s feet and passes him a glass of water, leaning down to give him a kiss before going back to his reading.

“Thanks…”

“I’ve got a vested interest in making sure your energy levels stay up.”

“Yeah you do…”

They grin at each other but lapse back into doing their own thing.

… … …

He has no idea how he lost time so quickly, or how he quite got through so much marking. Definite motivation he guesses, glancing at Jake. At least that’s what he’s going to put it down to. Jake bringing him snacks has let him keep his momentum, rather than get distracted and it’s kind of nice to have someone else just showing that extra consideration. He hadn’t expected it and it makes him feel a little unprepared for just how easily Jake had just simply thought of him and what he might need.

“Hey, I’m going to go, I’ll see you in a bit okay? I’ll bring you back dessert…”

“Mmm… look forward to it.” Bradley says, deliberately misconstruing his meaning and running his eyes down Jake’s body meaningfully. Gets a playful shove in response and he laughs.

“I meant ice cream, but sure, you can have me too…”

“Wait, you want to take my car? And take the spare key.”

“Uh… what?”

“Take my spare keys. They’re on a hook behind the door. It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Then you don’t have to book a Lyft or be buzzed in, or knock on the door. That okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

“Good.”

“That made my brain go offline…”

“More than the idea of me wanting to eat you for dessert? Clearly not doing a proper job of it.”

“Fuck Bradley…”

“Yeah, we’re pretty good at that…”

“Oh my god, stop already. I’ve got to get going,” Jake mutters, but he still looks pleased, and definitely less spooked than he did mere moments before. “I’ll stop in at the grocery store on my way back. I’m bringing Javy back to meet you remember? So don’t strip yourself naked and wait for me on the bed. Do more work and I’ll see you later. Don’t forget to eat something more than cheese and crackers. You need anything for these brownies we’re apparently taking tomorrow?”

“Oh. Dark chocolate. I like the idea of being naked and waiting for you in bed… we’ll have to explore that later.”

Jake grins, gives him another kiss, firmer this time and Bradley presses into it.

“I’ll pick up the chocolate.”

“Thanks. Enjoy dinner with Javy…”

“Will do.”

… … …

He walks into the bar and spots Javy easily. He hadn’t expected for them to be joined by Trace and Floyd but there they are, all chatting with each other and dressed in civvies, and he slides into the spare seat at the table, greets them all.

“You don’t seem surprised. Did the little bird tell you that they were here too?”

“Yep. Dinner tomorrow night.”

“Huh. I want to know who this birdy is… Mav?”

“He’s really shit at keeping secrets sometimes,” Jake provides, thinking about Mav’s whole secret relationship with the Admiral, but then not stopping to think about sharing mission critical information with Bradley. Or Jake’s own medical history. The fact that he hadn’t exactly told Jake that they were in town, and Bradley had just let him overhear is something he won’t ever be admitting to.

“How are you two?” Jake asks, because unlike Javy who he’s emailed a couple of times a week since they went on their first deployments in different directions, he doesn’t keep in regular contact with either of them, just the standard group chat that the Dagger Squad have which goes through peaks and troughs of communication. They talk about superficial things for a while, take in the ambience of the burger joint and place their order with the waitstaff.

“Any particular reason we’re eating so early?”

“I had a late breakfast so needed an early dinner.”

“A late breakfast huh? Were you busy in bed?” Javy asks, grinning and leaning back, knowing he’s just let the cat out amongst the pigeons and Jake doesn’t care, because he’s going to get them all and he’s going to enjoy every fucking minute. Phoenix and Bob both look between him and Javy, expressions only mildly interested.

“Yep. Sure was. Had someone special cook for me as well…”

“Jake’s been emailing this professor guy, getting all hot and bothered via email!”

“God, shut up…”

“I’m not saying anything untrue!”

“Well, we’re not emailing anymore, I met him yesterday. Properly,” he adds, thinking back to over ten months ago when he’d first met Bradley at the cabin.

“Yeah? What’s he like?”

“He’s great. He’s smart, and funny and understands being in the Navy pretty well for a civilian. We went rock climbing with his friends last night… I was going to ask if you wanted to meet him,” Jake says, looking at Javy, because he’ll know how significant that is. He’s never introduced anyone to Javy before.

“Oh holy shit. You’re serious?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty serious.”

“Wow…” Javy says and Jake’s pretty sure he’s at a loss for what to say.

“You got a picture or anything?”

“Uh, no…” He doesn’t want to say they’ve been a bit busy to take selfies, although he will definitely want some photos next time he’s away from Bradley. Fuck. Bradley’s going to need a better phone with a decent camera and Jake can’t trust him with that. They’re going to have to figure out something though.

“Look at that blush!”

“Too busy with other things huh?”

“Shut up. You want to meet him or not?”

“Hell yes! I’m picking if he’s into rock climbing he’s not in his eighties.”

“He’s a couple years older than me, and he can definitely keep up with me…” Jake says, and he realizes then that Bradley likely grew up training with Mav and being expected to go on runs with him and likes to exercise, rather than needing to do it as a requirement for his job like Jake needs to do.

“And I’m sure you’ve tested that out…”

“Yes, several times in fact,” Jake grins back, feeling pretty smug.

“That invitation to meet him open to all of us?” Phoenix asks and Jake shrugs, like he doesn’t care either way, knows if he plays it too keen they’ll get suspicious.

“Yeah, sure. Come and meet him. He already said he wants to meet Javy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s heard a lot about you…”

Javy’s eyebrow goes up at that, and Jake grins, because he’s referring to Bradley’s comment about Mav talking about all the Dagger Squad. Bradley’s likely to have an idea of each of them through whatever Maverick thinks of them, which is a little humbling because from what Bradley has implied Mav seems to think Jake is somehow someone worthy of his respect. And time. Someone he thinks is good enough for Bradley to be with, and he finds that to be a pretty huge commendation on what Mav thinks of him.

Their food arrives and he flicks a quick message to Bradley, no idea if he will even check it before Jake gets back to the apartment. Their conversation turns to work, talking about different aspects of training they’re each carrying out in different parts and he mentions he’s applied for the test pilot position at Fallon on Mav’s recommendation. Phoenix is taking an instructor role at Top Gun for the next two years, while Javy and Bob are slated to do training of new pilots at Pensacola for eighteen months. Jake doesn’t have any current orders, having only returned from a seven-month deployment at sea, but he’s hoping he’s at least going to be land-bound for the next little while even if he doesn’t get the test pilot position.

“Okay, I need to go to the grocery store on the way back. I’m just getting some ice cream and chocolate. I’ll meet you guys outside the apartment building,” Jake says, giving them the address and watching them all plug it into the map app on their phones.

“Can you get Moose Tracks?”

“Who said the ice cream was for you?”

“You mean you’re getting ice cream and chocolate and not going to share it with us?”

“The chocolate is for the brownies we’re making for dinner tomorrow, not for eating.”

“Just buy more chocolate.”

“Wait. Is he coming to dinner tomorrow night?”

Jake freezes, and shakes his head, thinks frantically.

“Uh no, of course not. I’m just bringing some brownies for tomorrow. Bradley’s a really good cook…”

“I was going to say, inviting the guy to Mav’s for dinner seems a little rude.”

Jake laughs, wonders if they can here how crazy he’s feeling. This subterfuge shit is harder than he thought. God he needs to get back to the apartment.

“I’ll see you guys there! Bye!”

… … …

They’re waiting for him outside and he’s glad he didn’t tell them the apartment number. Wouldn’t have put it past them to buzz Bradley and ambush him before Jake got back. Javy is looking at the keys in his hand with a raised eyebrow and Jake simply makes a what would you have me do face. He’s aware he’s falling hard and fast, but he also feels like Bradley’s a giant safety net ready to catch him. He opens the apartment door, trying to be a little noisy to give Bradley some warning, because his five phone messages have all gone unanswered and he wonders if it’s finally death-knell time for his current phone. For all he knows ten months might be a personal record.

“Hi…” Bradley says, appearing in the doorway to the hall and he’s clearly had a shower and changed, no longer wearing the tank and sweats he’d lounged around in most of the day. Instead he’s in jeans and a dark blue Henley, looking all sorts of delectable and Jake gives him an approving smirk and gets an eyeroll back in return, it’s accompanied with a grin though and yeah, he’s falling and falling, doesn’t want to stop.

“Hey. Uh. These two were there as well.”

“Okay,” Bradley says, walking over and holding out a hand to shake, starting with Javy and he bites back a comment about making Mav proud with his manners.

“Bradley, this is Javy Machado, Natasha Trace and Bob Floyd. Javy, Natasha and Bob, this is Bradley Bradshaw.”

“Hey man, nice to meet you,” Javy says, shaking Bradley’s hand, and he’s definitely scrutinizing Bradley for asshole vibes and Jake can’t help but feel a deep swell of appreciation for his best friend. Yeah. He’s got his back. Bradley is shaking Natasha and Bob’s hands and then reaching for the grocery bag.

“Let me take that and put it in the freezer… Wow. Did we really need four different flavors of ice cream?”

“Well, I don’t know your favorite, so I got vanilla and chocolate, and then she wanted the Moose Tracks,” Jake says, pointing at Phoenix who looks suitably annoyed at being thrown under the proverbial bus. “And when I’m already getting three tubs of ice cream I figured I might as well round it out with strawberry. And I got fudge sauce…”

“Fair argument. I prefer vanilla with fudge sauce, so top marks…” Bradley says, throwing him a wink and Jake flushes, because he knows Javy is going to take that as some sex role-play thing when it’s not, just a reference to their conversation yesterday. Fuck. Was it only yesterday?

“Make yourselves at home, does anyone want tea or coffee? Bowls of ice cream? Or are we all wanting to forgo bowls and just eat directly from the tubs and enter sugar highs side-by-side?”

He walks towards the kitchen and Phoenix and Bob follow him and he lets Javy tug him to the side a little.

“He is not what I imagined.”

“Nope. Pretty fucking hot right?”

“I mean… I guess? I’m more impressed with the way he looks at you like he’d give you the world if you asked for it. I was worried that you were gone on this guy, but he seems pretty gone on you too, so… that’s good. You deserve a guy that wants to do everything for you.”

Jake nods sharply, because he gets that. In theory. It’s nice to hear, even if hearing and feeling it so much in the last day has felt overwhelming, even if it has been positive. He glances up and Javy is looking at him like he understands, gives Jake a quick hug before heading to the kitchen to join the other two in getting ice cream. He glances around the living room and sees two new photo frames, Bradley’s graduation photo with Maverick set at about eye-level, and another frame set at about knee height, where the Admiral is in uniform with Bradley standing beside him, so there’s definitely no mistaking him and he grins.

“Are you sure we haven’t met, you just look really familiar,” Phoenix is saying, like she’s trying to place him and Jake hides his grin. Wonders if Bradley knows Mav has a photo of him on his desk. An old photo, but still a photo.

“Maybe I just have one of those faces?” Bradley suggests, catching Jake’s eye.

They’ve clearly decided to start in on the ice cream, digging in and serving themselves up and using bowls; the kitchen isn’t big enough for five people, so he reaches to give Bradley a kiss across the counter and Bradley obliges by meeting him halfway. It feels so easy and the rollercoaster ride does a loop-de-loop again.

“Jesus Bagman, did you become a vampire while you were deployed?”

Jake looks to see what she’s talking about and Bradley’s Henley has pulled slightly, caught between the counter and his body as he stretched across to kiss him; revealing the highest of the marks Jake left and another a little lower. Bradley pulls back, tugging the Henley back into place and shrugs, clearly not embarrassed at all so Jake decides to follow his lead and just smirks at her eyeroll. Bob has headed out to inspect the bookshelves and Jake can feel the anticipation growing.

“So, what do you do Bradley?”

“I’m an engineer. A problem solver.”

“Well, good thing you’re with the biggest problem we have then.”

“Hey!” Jake objects, but they’re all laughing at him and he rolls his eyes, flicks them the middle finger, but Bradley is wrapping his arms around Jake’s waist and kissing his shoulder.

“If you’re a problem then it’s the kind of problem I like to have…”

The look Javy gives him is flat, like he thinks Jake is maybe an idiot for thinking that Bradley is somehow not into him. Or maybe Javy is the idiot, because there is no way that Jake is letting this go.

“Hey Phoenix, do you mind putting the ice-cream back in the chiller?”

She lets out a put-upon sigh but does it with a mouthful of ice cream, spoon hanging out of her mouth and Jake waits, watches as she opens and then closes the door, her eyes catching the photo. She’s generally more observant than Javy so he’s hoping she’ll get the ball rolling, or Bob will see the photos on the bookshelves first.

“Is this… Who are these people in this photo?”

“My parents and godfather…” Bradley says. “And me as a kid obviously. My dad died not long after that photo was taken actually.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Phoenix says, looking uncomfortable and Jake wonders if that’s going to derail everything, but Javy is now looking as well, then glancing at Bradley.

“Thanks. It’s fine. Was a long time ago now obviously. My godfather really stepped up and helped my mom raise me. She passed over twenty years ago though, so that’s one of my few family photos.” Jake hadn’t really put all that together and he wonders where Bradey usually keeps it.

“I’m sorry, I just have to ask, what’s your godfathers name?”

“Pete.”

“Peter Mitchell. Maverick,” Javy states, looks to Bradley for confirmation and he gives a nod. Jake grins, pretty impressed Javy put I together the fastest. “Plus you have a moustache that belongs in a porno from the 80s…” Javy adds and Bradley’s eyebrows shoot up, he looks to Jake and Jake coughs, his ice cream catching in his throat with an aborted laugh. He’d forgotten he’d said that.

“Holy shit, you’re Mav’s son. He has your photo on his desk,” Phoenix says. “That’s why you looked familiar!”

“Guilty as charged. Don’t hold it against me. Jake wanted to have a little fun…”

“Hey! Don’t blame this on me!”

“It was you going on about a triple blind…”

“What are you guys talking about?” Bob asks, coming back to stand in the kitchen and he’s looking between them all and he wonders if he heard the conversation.

“Bradley here is Mav’s son.”

“Oh. Huh. That explains the photo of him on the bookcase. I was going to ask how you knew him.”

“You must know Mav’s partner. Oh my god! You almost slipped up and told us he was coming to dinner tomorrow, because of course he’s coming to dinner tomorrow. At least you don’t have to worry about introducing the boyfriend to Mav!” Phoenix says, laughing and Jake shrugs, because she has a point. Not that he’d ever really thought about seeking Mav’s approval for that part of his life.

“Wait, so you’ve already met Mav’s partner? It’s a guy right? That’s the big secret right? What with DADT and everything…”

“That was definitely part of it… but uh…” He stops, feels unsure suddenly, because even though Admiral Kazansky gave him explicit permission, and Jake clarified, that he’s expecting Jake to tell them, so Mav can’t ambush them with the same information tomorrow he realizes the amount of trust he’s been given.

“His partner’s also in the Navy. I met him this morning.”

“Is it Cyclone?”

“Idiot! He’s met Cyclone. Will we know them?”

“Yes. And its going to fuck you all up so much…”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Javy mutters.

“He told me to call him Tom and made me waffles this morning, and I’m still processing it okay? I just want to make you all freak out like I did…”

“Can’t you just tell us?” Phoenix asks, looks at Bradley and he shakes his head. Jake blinks. He just said his first name. What the fuck?

“Nope. Jake made me put clues out and everything. Pretty sure you can figure it out. And you’re right, it’s not Beau.”

“Did you just call Admiral Simpson by his first name?”

Jake snorts, lets out a little laugh and catches Bradley’s eye, clearly amused.

“I call most of them by their first names. Some of them I’ll call uncle… And I’m just a civilian remember.”

“Holy shit,” Bob says, voice quiet and Jake looks to see what he’s looking at.

Sure enough he’s finally noticed the picture of Bradley and Admiral Kazansky, sitting the perfect height to be noticed if you’re sitting down, but not if you’re standing.

“Admiral Tom Kasansky.”

“Bullshit,” Javy says, emphatic and Jake just smirks, knows he’s got a couple more bullshits to get through before he starts to accept it.

“Are you… you’re… holy shit. You’re serious.,” Bob says, looking between Jake and Bradley and then back to the photo.

“Yep,” Jake says, popping another spoon of ice cream in his mouth.

“Is he telling the truth? I mean, anyone can doctor photos now…” Phoenix says, and again she’s skipping over him to talk directly with Bradley.

“All true. I mean, I call him Ice because I grew up calling him that.”

Javy makes a high pitched sound that Jake will take as something equal to a second bullshit.

“Anyway, he wanted to meet Jake without the whole formal dinner thing. So he came around and made waffles.”

“Bullshit. No fucking way did the COMPACFLT make fucking waffles!”

“He did, and he is telling the truth,” Bradley says, starting to look a little worried that Javy seems to be freaking out. Jake moves an arm to wrap around his waist, gives him a quick wink to try and convey that everything is okay and it seems to relax him.

“Wait… you seriously met Admiral Kazansky this morning?”

“Tom,” Jake provides, ignoring the immediate sense of wrongness at the name, but he’s going for shock value.

“Bullshit…” Javy says again, but it’s quieter now, and Jake can tell he's processed the worst of it.

“Nope. He told me to call him Tom.”

“I need a fucking drink.”

“I can help with that,” Bradley says.

PART TEN

#Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #Sereshaw #rooster x hangman #It's all academic darlin'

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imthejudge · 10 months

Text

make sense of me

Warren Graham x Nathan Prescott

Chapter Seven Word Count: 8,257

Chapter Six

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Read on Archive

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41111322/chapters/120710245

Chapter Seven: improve

The following morning comes all too soon, the night having gone by in a blur. Such as it goes. Warren wakes up feeling… strange. Knowing it’s his last day stuck in the 80s before attempting to travel back home. This uneasiness knotted in his stomach doesn’t come from the anticipation or worry over the feat. Not entirely. It comes from the fact that he can’t convince Nathan to come back with him. And having run out of time to do so.

If only he’d known earlier. Or if there was some way of discovering this before they’d travelled. Before the storm, before the fight in the parking lot, before everything. What he would give to go back, all the way back. Before Jefferson ever got anywhere close to Nathan and the others.

Warren certainly considered it. The temptation to turn the dial to a date before anything happened. But he knows it’s too big of a risk, not being able to voice the idea to Nathan, who he’s sure probably thought of it himself. Both refusing to bring it up, like an unspoken agreement that it wasn’t a possibility, as much as it hurt to admit.

Messing with time, well. It's dangerous. Warren doesn’t even want to dive too deeply into their current circumstance. His mind likely to explode from trying to wrap his head around what being in 1983 might’ve contributed to the future already. To try to ‘fix’ what transpired before the events of he and Nathan’s present in 2013? Warren doesn’t need to go through loop after loop trying to change the future. It’s chaos theory, you know, the butterfly effect and all. Living through the attempt would likely cause them more pain than actual help. And as selfish as it sounds, Warren doesn’t want to put him or Nathan through that. The choices they might have to make… the consequences with them.

So it’s with a dreadful acceptance that Warren starts his day, wanting to push it all far from his mind. But, despite it all, there’s that little, tiny, bit of hope that still lingers. That perhaps it’s not too late yet. That Nathan can be swayed, and that’s what keeps him going. It’s enough motivation to plaster a somewhat acceptable–and at the very least neutral–expression on his face when he and Nathan meet up with Lou at the Two Whales for an early start on their last day.

But even Joyce’s prized smile and his favourite order of Belgium waffles can’t raise his spirits, only managing a couple mouthfuls before he begins aimlessly poking at it with his fork, gaze downcast.

“Uhh, I don’t think so. Warren’ll be the deciding factor.” Warren drifts back to the conversation at the mention of his name, focusing on Lou and Nathan as they eye each other competitively. “You don’t think he’ll agree with me?” Lou feigns a look of despair, shaking her head solemnly. “Sweet, unaware Nathan.” She takes a long sip of the chocolate milkshake she has in front of her.

“What’re we talking about?” Warren looks between the two of them, completely lost.

“Your friend over here thinks strawberry is the superior milkshake flavour,” Lou throws a thumb Nathan’s way with an expression like he’d just tried to convince her that the sun revolves around the earth.

“Yeah, cause it is.” Nathan crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, the expression so strikingly reminiscent of the version of Nathan Warren recalls before everything that it sends a chill along his spine.

The feeling only deepens when he clues into the fact that he’s going to have to agree with Lou, and therefore disagree with Nathan. “Err, chocolate all the way, man… sorry.”

Nathan tears his eyes away from Lou to squint them further, disgust curling his lip. Arms still crossed, he gives Warren a quick once over. “This explains so much.”

Warren has to stop himself from bursting out laughing and he can see Nathan’s expression has lessened somewhat, too, allowing himself the slightest quirk of his lips. Lou looks between them, shaking her head disapprovingly before she turns away from them and absentmindedly stirs her shake with her straw, “I don’t know what you guys think is so funny, this is a serious matter.” But amusement flashes in her eyes when she flickers them back to the boys’ direction. “But onto actual serious matters, we’ve yet to figure out a way to divert the energy from the lightning strike to Warren’s car. Which, if we don’t do, then all our work will practically be for nothing.”

Warren considers this. He had the idea of potentially finding a metal wire that they could lead from the source of impact–right on the bald head from the statue centering main campus–to where they’d situate his car.

When he shares his idea, Lou nods thoughtfully. “It’s risky, but probably the best option we have as the point of impact is so awkward. We’re lucky it’ll be late in the day, but I’m afraid that as much as that means there won't be any students around to witness us doing this, there is going to be campus security lingering about. And I have a feeling that messing around with the statue of Jeremiah Blackwell in the very middle of campus is going to be like lighting a beacon for them.”

“We’ll just have to be extra careful, then.” Warren states, not wanting to dwell on all the things that could potentially go wrong with their plan.

“I agree,” Lou blinks, fixing her gaze somewhere past Warren, no doubt already going over details in her head. A silence grows, the two of them determinedly lost in thought.

“I need to piss.” Nathan announces spontaneously and tonelessly, straightening up from his seat so fast Warren almost jumps.

As he walks off to the direction of the bathroom Lou shakes her head, an air of amusement still about her. “He’s a strange one.”

“Yeah,” Warren agrees lowly, though not being able to help the little bit of endearment that seeps into the response.

“Are you excited to go back?”

Warren looks up at her from his slumped position, having held his head in both his hands as his elbows rested against the booth table. She’s gazing at him expectedly, her smile replaced by genuine inquiry and a hint of something that Warren can’t quite pin. Though, it reminds him of how his mom would sometimes prod him back home when she was worried over him.

To the future, she means. He hesitates. “Yeah.” No. The instant contradiction of the voice in his head comes as a surprise, almost like he’d been avoiding actually asking that question internally so he’d never fully admit it to himself.

She’s unconvinced, Warren can tell by the way her brows knit together. But she doesn’t say anything more since Nathan’s walking back towards their booth and throwing himself across from Warren once more. They get the bill, which Lou pays without discussion, then they’re leaving the comfortable coziness of the diner to brace for the contrast of the brisk fall air outside.

“Shotgun.” Nathan bumps Warren’s shoulder as they head back to Lou’s car. Warren rolls his eyes, letting Nathan beeline it to the passengers seat while he bends down to tie his shoelace that’s come undone. But instead of witnessing Nathan launching himself in the front seat like he expects once he’s finished, Nathan’s still waiting beside the car door. “Hey nerd, you good?” Nathan asks once Warren catches up.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Warren drops his gaze, hand reaching out for the backseat door handle. Pausing, he lets go of it to set his gaze back on Nathan. “Actually, no. Not really. I can’t stand the idea of going back to the future without you.”

Shock registers on Nathan’s face momentarily as he stares back. A beat passes between them, where that shock morphs into something else, something Warren can’t decipher and just as Nathan opens his mouth to speak Lou pops her head out of the driver's side window to peer over at them inquisitively, “everything okay? You guys coming?”

They don’t say anything. Then Nathan drops his eyes as he turns away, opening the passenger side door to duck inside. “Yeah…” Warren eventually answers once he’s inside the car, too. “Let’s go.”

They end up splitting off from Nathan, who goes back to the dormitories to shower, while Warren and Lou continue back to the school labs for what is likely their last time. Warren finds himself hung up over all these ‘last times’. The last time he’d see the Two Whales in its prime. The last time he’d sleep in Lou’s dorm room. The last time he’ll routinely work on the reactor with the best lab partner he could ever ask for.

The last time he’ll see Nathan.

The hardest one to accept of all.

Nathan. Who has, against all odds, become his friend in the end. There is a twinge of something in his chest. Somehow the term ‘friend’ just didn’t feel adequate enough. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling, really, since it’s accompanied by the realization that if he would try to define it further, it would only hurt more. Because whatever it is that developed between them will be staying right here. Stuck in 1983. Forever.

So Warren doesn’t want to dwell on the thought, no–he outright refuses to think about it further.

But as much as he tries to push it all away Warren has a difficult time concentrating when Lou and him tackle what’s left with fixing the reactor. He finds himself struggling to focus his full attention throughout that morning. Even going as far as zoning out while working on it, sometimes–much to his embarrassment–during crucial conversations with Lou.

The saint that she is, Lou didn’t lose her patience when he’d ask her to repeat something, or when he–not once, but twice–dropped the pair of pliers he brandished when aiding her in lining the interior walls with the last of the new material.

Continuing to fumble into the afternoon, Warren adds it all up to his concern. His mind wholly and inexplicably taken up by a single thing. Nathan . But it isn’t just about his consistent worry over the fact that Nathan said he wouldn’t go back with him, leaving him behind. No, it was just simply…Nathan.

His presence, his attention. That smirk he’d point at Warren when he’d try to provoke him. His eyes, his hands, his hair. The jacket he gave to Warren so that he can breathe him in at all times. Notes of all the different scents that could vaguely be described as who Nathan is, but aren’t close enough to commit to. So Warren doesn’t bother discerning them. He just knows he can’t live without it anymore.

How–as much as Warren has been avoiding thinking about last night–something shifted between them. Something that could be traced right back to the very moment that Warren entrusted letting Nathan carry the reactor in his hands. The trust Warren hadn’t realized he had put in him then, somehow further solidified after last night. Because that was the exact moment Nathan decided to return that trust.

And it’s cruel, really, to have shared such a vulnerable moment together only for the repercussions to become as fragile as paper that he will have to shred to pieces in order to go back home. Repercussions that are, simply put, how Warren has never become so enthralled with another human being before. Completely and utterly invested in Nathan.

And just when Warren starts to wonder when Nathan will show up, the door to the lab opens as the very person saunters in, immediately sweeping his half lidded and dark-circled eyes to meet with Warren’s. And for the third time that day Warren lets the pliers fall from his grasp, the disruptive sound of metal hitting the floor ringing around the space of the lab.

Warren instantly darts to pick them back up, embarrassed, his lab coat crinkling noisily as he does so and further cementing his humiliation.

“Hey,” Nathan nods his head to Warren.

“H-hi,” Warren stutters out in response. What the fuck was that?! A judgy voice that sounds way too similar to Nathan berates internally. Warren can sense himself turning red–from embarrassment, definitely from embarrassment–and swivels on the spot he’s standing to focus his attention back to the reactor Lou’s still busy with.

“Hey, Nate,” she calls to him with a small wave of her hand. And then he’s rounding the lab bench to walk into Warren’s direct line of sight again, precisely the opposite of Warren’s intentions when originally turning away.

But he’s there. And Warren has no choice but to witness in silent horror as he crosses his arms and begins pulling his sweater–Warren’s sweater–up and over his head, exposing the skin of his back as the shirt he wears underneath rides up with the motion. Warren’s drawn to the spot, until his shirt falls back in place, almost hanging off of him, really, and Warren tunes in that it’s the Grease shirt he himself had been using as a pyjama shirt.

Warren’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken aback by the image. It’s not his shirt. It’s Lou’s. And yet he continues aiming his dumbfound reaction with increasing obviousness at Nathan as if this second layer of clothing that Warren has worn himself is somehow scandalous.

Quickly fixing his face, Warren sends what he hopes isn’t a super noticeable side-eye at Lou who’s stationed across from him on the other side of the bench. She’s still transfixed by her work, to which Warren wastes no time shifting his attention back to Nathan. His hair is still a little wet from his shower, reminding Warren of how it had looked the day they’d first travelled here. The natural texture of his dirty blonde hair starting to come through as it dries. Some droplets that cling to the ends threatening to let go, and when they do they prove to be just as distracting as how they’d been on that first day after stepping out of the storm.

Nathan looks really good.

Warren tears his gaze away, pretending to be busy with a couple of tools that are laid out on the lab bench in front of him.

Nathan’s always looked good, though. He’s always been attractive, objectively so. Warren’s always known that. He supposes that’s what makes a popular guy like Nathan so popular… right? Is Nathan even popular? Warren assumes. Because he’s part of the football team and knows sooo many people. Not to mention his involvement with the Vortex Club, and whatever exclusive club within that club he’s a part of. So it’s easy to conclude how that, along with his obvious looks, makes him desired.

Okay, cool. So why is Warren so hung up on it? Yup. That’s Nathan Prescott. He’s also kind’ve an asshole. But not as much of an asshole as originally presumed. They’ve moved past that, and with all the acquired context, Nathan has turned out to be a completely different person from what Warren initially assumed. Therefore all of this factors as a reasonable enough consequence to Warren being internally occupied over the subject matter that is Nathan Prescott.

But, like, he looks sooooo gooood.

Warren lifts his gaze again, settling on Nathan across from him, now loitering on the lab bench adjacent to the one Warren and Lou work at. He’s always had those pronounced cheekbones, sure, but since when did Warren start paying so much attention to his neck–

“...did you want to take a break?” Lou leans into Warren’s frame of view.

“Huh?” He blinks, focusing on Lou’s tilted head across from him.

She quirks an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at Nathan, then back at Warren with a slightly amused expression. “We’ve been going nonstop, it’s okay if you want to take a break and hang out with your friend for a bit. I can take over.”

“Oh, n–no, it's fine. Today’s the last day, we should take advantage of every minute.”

“There won’t be any point if your brain is too fried, Warren.” Warren gawks at her, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Is it that obvious? “You’ve been working too hard, taking breaks is important, too. We’re basically done, anyways. All that’s left is reattaching the door,” Lou clarifies.

“Ah, right,” Warren only reddens further. “I mean–are you sure? Because I can focus, I swear.”

She rolls her eyes, motioning Nathan’s way with her head. “Go on.”

“So where are we going?”

Warren pushes open the door of the main school entrance, holding it for Nathan and craning his neck to look over his shoulder at him. After triple checking it was okay with Lou to take a break–who insisted–and quickly shedding his lab coat, the two of them were on their way out. “I told you, I just wanted to take a break. And I’m hungry. We’ve been at it since this morning.”

“We driving?”

“Yeah,” Warren steers them in the direction of the parking lot, hyper aware of the fact that this is the first time it’s only the two of them since last night, if he’s not counting the very brief morning they shared before meeting up with Lou. Which he isn’t.

Silently, they walk across campus until descending the few steps into the parking lot. “Can I drive?”

Warren comes to a halt in front of his car, his eyebrows raised in surprise when he looks at Nathan, “Uh, sure, yeah.” He lightly tosses the keys he already brandishes in his hands, Nathan catching them effortlessly.

“Where to?” Nathan looks at him expectantly once they’re sat inside.

“Well, I felt bad extorting Lou of any more money sooooo...” Warren twists himself in an awkward position so he can get to the wallet in his jeans pocket, fighting against the seat belt he’s already fastened. “I still have, like, twelve bucks left and was thinking we’d pick up some sandwiches from the gas station?” Nathan’s gaze drops to the few crinked bills in Warren’s hand. “Um, I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he adds.

“E-Z Gas it is,” Nathan confirms as he starts the car and begins shuffling around to rearrange it to his liking. Then he’s pressing random buttons that even Warren isn’t familiar with, the irrational fear that his Chevy might explode causing him to latch onto Nathan’s arm to stop him.

Nathan doesn’t react, but Warren jolts and releases his hold a second later, the motion having been instinctive. “What are you trying to do?”

“This thing have any music?”

Warren flips it over to the CD that he has in. It’s a mixtape he’d made himself featuring a bunch of his favourite artists–ironically from the 80s–that he had the intention of lending to Max. He never ended up mustering up enough courage to do so, with how intimidating her music taste is. Giving her a thumbdrive full of cult classic films seemed an easier bet, especially since she’d expressed an interest after that one time they’d nerded out over just about everything they’d ever watched for 4 hours straight.

Nathan rifles through the mixtape, one hand on the steering wheel as he maneuvers onto the street, the windows already down due to a brightly shining sun that’s had the afternoon to turn the interior of the car into a sauna. Warren welcomes the cool breeze that flows in, enjoying the sensation of the sun against his face that he knows is fleeting with the storm bound to roll in later that day.

The sporadic sound of the first few seconds of a variety of songs abruptly stops when Nathan backtracks to one he likes. The familiar upbeat synth tempo of Take on Me by a-ha blasts through the dinky speakers of Warren’s Chevy and flows out of the windows when Nathan dials up the volume.

Talking away I don’t know what I’m to say I’ll say it anyway Today’s another day to find you Shying away I’ll be coming for your love, okay

Warren almost thinks it’s a joke, trying to read Nathan for any indication that he’s mocking Warren’s choice in music. But he can’t find anything to suggest he is, instead all he sees is how he leans back, one arm draped over the steering wheel. His hair all over the place from the wind in a way that Warren could never replicate himself because it just looks so cool. Almost reminiscent of a frontman to a band of the current century they’re stuck in.

But most surprising of all is his expression. No ounce of fear nor furrow to mark his usual scrutiny. And even with the consistency having faded in the last couple of days, Warren doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nathan this at ease.

So, needless to say I’m odds and ends But I’ll be stumbling away Slowly learning that life is okay Say after me ‘It’s no better to be safe than sorry’

He doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t want to think too deeply that this is the manifestation of his acceptance to stay. And Warren doesn’t know if he’s hurt more by the fact that Nathan is likely experiencing this sense of freedom for the first time in a long time or that he’s already so readily accepted a life where he’ll never see Warren again.

Or, perhaps, Nathan is simply enjoying a single moment of uninterrupted bliss. Something that Warren is quick to want to join in on. The comfort of listening to a favourite song while driving with the windows down. The laziness of the sun hitting the skin of his arm as he props it up on the window. The current company they share. As if for a second they can hold onto a life that sounds so much more promising than the one offered. Like there is a better end to the story they’re getting.

“Oh, things that you say Is it a life or just to play my worries away You’re all the things I’ve got to remember You’re shying away I’ll be coming for you anyway”

Warren didn’t realize how he’d started to sing along, lowly, but he’s not alone. He sees Nathan’s lips move along with the words. And before they know it, Nathan’s turned it up even louder and the two of them are shouting alongside each other. Hitting the high notes as a duet, both out of tune but neither of them bothered enough to care because their chests hurt too much from belting it out.

“Takeeeeeee on meeeeeee,

Take. On. Me.

Takeeeeee meeee onnnnn!

TAKE ON ME.

I’LLLLL BEEEEE GONEEEEEE

IN A DAY OR,

TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

They’re both breathing heavily when the song finishes, the silence filled by the rapid intake of air for only a second before they exchange a look of understanding and Nathan presses the back button on the radio console to start the song over again.

Warren almost urges Nathan to forget the gas station and tell him to just keep driving. For another couple of replays of the song? For the rest of the evening? Forever? He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want it to end. The hunger in his stomach protests to the idea, so when the same E-Z Gas station they’d visited to get the frozen peas comes into view, it’s with much reluctance that Warren brings up a hand to turn the volume dial down.

They park and go in to grab their sandwiches and some bottles of Coca-Cola, this time passing on the peas. When they return to the car with their stuff, they unsheath their sandwiches from the red and white checkered paper they’re wrapped in and scarf them down sitting on the hood of the car in silence. Leisurely, they sip on their drinks until there’s nothing left to preoccupy themselves with.

After a minute or so passes without breaking the silence, Nathan slips off the hood of the car. Warren has to suppress the panic that rises from within him when he does this, brought back to the last time he’d done the same maneuver. But Nathan’s not running off, no hint of frustration surrounding him like last time.

Warren watches as he, instead, makes his way to the backseat to pull his sweater back on then come back around to where Warren still sits on the hood. Nathan shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing Warren with his stare, “let's walk to the beach.”

Before Warren can respond, his body answers for him and he’s jumped off. “Okay.”

The steady sound of the waves crashing on the beach can be heard before the trees open up from where they walk to reveal the expanse of sand. There’s an ethereal look of sunlight behind dark clouds that threaten to rain, casting everything in a weird lighting that almost looks artificially improved. Warren’s acutely aware of the beginnings of the storm that is bound to hit Arcadia Bay soon enough and bring them the lightning bolt to take them home. Him home.

They take their time walking toward the water, their steps awkward from the uneven sand. Warren had been hoping for a chance when it would just be the two of them again, trying to gather the courage to say something that’s been on his mind ever since Nathan told him about everything that happened.

He suddenly stops, looking up from his feet and telling himself now is as good a time as any. “Hey, um. I’m gunna try and stop him, you know.”

Nathan stops, too, only a couple of feet from where the tide reaches. He wears a confused expression when he looks back at Warren.

“Jefferson, I mean. I know you’re going to tell me not to because it will be dangerous but I can’t let him get away with everything he’s done to those people–and to you–it’s not… it’s not right. I’m going to expose him, he’ll be caught for what he did.” It was true, it had been a consistent thought throughout Warren’s mind. Jefferson can’t get away with it. And Warren will do everything in his power to stop him. “My friend’s mom is a lawyer, so that will probably help. And I’ll obviously be super careful, I won’t get involved but I’ll talk to the right people who can investigate it. We’ll find that Darkroom you mentioned and–and he won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

Warren’s wringing his hands together nervously. Nathan isn’t facing him anymore, not saying anything as the silence begins to stretch out. Warren’s worried he’s breached the already delicate subject. Almost wonders if Nathan might turn to him in anger or pretend he has no idea what Warren is talking about. To discredit everything from last night due to regret in his state of vulnerability, as if to say it were a mere fever dream Warren conjured up.

Without facing Warren, but instead with his body angled away to face the beach, his gaze distant, he says something in such a low voice that Warren almost misses it, so close to being lost to the waves that crash on the shore. “I never thought there would be anyone who believed me.”

It takes a second for the words to reach Warren, for him to fully understand the weight behind them. Said so quietly, so calmly as if it lessened their severity. But it’s devastating to hear, remembering how distressed Nathan had been when he found him the previous night. Wild eyed and frantic and so scared in his confession to Warren.

Nathan finally turns himself to Warren, his expression taut as though he’s calculating everything Warren just said. “I don’t even need to ask you if you mean it. ‘Cause I think I already know you do.”

“I do. I mean every word of it.” Warren has to try to keep his voice from wavering from the sudden sense of overwhelming emotion that overtakes him. Of course he’d meant every word. Nathan deserves that. And Warren tries not to think how it will sort of feel like avenging him. Because even if Jefferson goes down, he will have succeeded in bringing Nathan down with him, as far as he knows.

“I know.” Nathan repeats, offering a small smile that’s quick to slip away again.

They watch the waves for a little while, Warren finding a strange comfort in the way it steadily lulls and crashes onto the bank. The water darkening the sand as it soaks in, before fading away.

“I’ve… actually been thinking…” Nathan casually holds his hands deep in his sweater pockets, kicking some of the sand they stand on with the tip of his shoe.

His eyes dart to Warren, who can’t help but stare back widely with increasing anticipation and a failed attempt not to make himself sound too hopeful when he lets out a breathy, “yeah?”

Nathan’s eyes skirt away again, and Warren almost thinks he’ll drop whatever it is that he was going to say. Warren wants to curse himself for his inability to act–for lack of a better word–chill.

“I…um… fuck.” Nathan tries. And Warren frowns. It’s not unlike Nathan to act frustrated, but if Warren didn’t know any better he swears Nathan almost seems… apprehensive?

“I–” Nathan tries again, articulating with his hand out in front of him now. Trying, but met with more frustration at his attempt to get the words out. He sighs, dropping his hand and making a strangled, choking type of noise. “And I–”

Warren is having difficulty hiding an expression of increasing amusement, his mouth turning into a smothered frown. It’s definitely a sight to behold Nathan like this. He’s got both his hands in front of him–a development–like he’s invisibly force choking someone. It’s very reminiscent of Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith, the episode of which he’s at the height of his tormented attractiveness, in Warren’s opinion. The comparison makes Warren internally reel back, always having fixated on Episode III Anakin.

Huh. Warren is fully frowning now, not having anticipated the rabbit hole his thoughts are sent down as some things seem to click into place for him–and at such an inappropriate moment.

He pushes the mental Venn-diagram comparing Nathan Prescott and Anakin Skywalker–and what it might mean to him–far from his mind, very far–however difficult it may be–to focus back on Nathan and his continued struggle, apparently not having noticed Warren’s own mental freakout. Thankfully.

“Look. Okay.” Nathan runs a hand through his hair, seemingly collecting himself somewhat. “I was pretty dead-set on staying here, to not go back, but… but things… everything has changed. And honestly–I couldn’t give a fuck about going back, at all–but now, now… you won’t be here for much longer. And when you’re gone I–And for so long I’ve been alone and I’ve been fine with that cause–cause it’s all I’ve ever known! And I don’t know if that’s what I–I… fuck!”

He’s pushed his fingers in his hair again, this time the action is frantic, forcing his head back to look at the sky. Warren blinks, taking in Nathan’s freakout which seems so oddly familiar because–

Nathan’s eyes grow wide, his expression slightly lax as if something’s suddenly dawned on him, “This is your fault! You’ve rubbed off on me, oh my God. I’m fuckin’ doomed. I’ve turned into you–”

Something escapes Warren–he can’t help it–too late to catch it before he realizes it’s a laugh that he’s let out. And in that instant Nathan reels on him, latching onto the gesture. His eyes are dangerously narrowed as his face screws up again “are you–are you kidding me right now?”

The way Nathan looks at Warren, like he could ignite him just from how his gaze burns into him somehow makes Warren crack up even more, he’s clapping a hand over his own mouth and trying hard not to double over. “Nonono, I’m not I’m–” but any attempt of lying is squandered by Nathan getting right up into his personal space and taking hold of his arm to try and pry it away.

“Are you seriously laughing at me when I’m trying to admit I have feelings for you?”

“I’m sorry! I swear I’m–wait, you what?” Warren’s dumbstruck, eyes wide and mind completely and utterly blank. It’s Nathan’s turn to smirk now and before Warren can blink or react in any way or absorb anything that Nathan said, the space between them–that he didn’t realize had grown so close in proximity–is closing, until–

Nathan’s lips crush against Warren’s in a flurry. Chapped and warm, the sensation so foreign Warren doesn’t know how to react. It’s only for a moment, but Warren instantaneously feels everything. Tasting him, it’s bitter, the desperation, the hope, his breath against Warren’s skin. And just as fast as it happened it’s over, breaking apart from each other with a jolt.

They both stand and stare at the other, breathing heavily, before Warren’s reaching out to grab Nathan’s face and force their mouths back together. He has no idea what he’s doing, or if it even remotely qualifies as anything real, his mind briefly thinking of how Nathan is probably way more experienced in this department, but shoving the thought away just as fast because he doesn’t care in that moment, he just knows he wants more, needs more. He’s greedy for it and Nathan seems to be just as eager. Impatient, yet so engrossed that there is no need to be. No need to rush but not being able to help the desperation that so completely consumes them.

Warren has no idea how much time has passed when they separate from each other again, but it comes with a need for air and a sudden question that jumps from his tongue–

“Does this mean you’ll–?”

“Yeah, nerd, I’m with you. We’ll go back together.” Nathan says, sort of exasperatedly, his hair array and what Warren notices is a growing smile that braces his lips. Real and whole and directed at Warren. It reaches his eyes in a way that makes them squint. So foreign to Warren but so full of life, bringing colour to cheeks that aren’t as gaunt or sallow as they once were.

The already heightened elation interpreted from the warmth in Warren’s own cheeks and chest spreads further as a grin widens across his face to the point where it’s almost painful. He compares it to the dance and how he’d felt when he saw Nathan standing in the middle of the dancefloor after showing up. All dressed up, camera pointed, face full of trepidation, and showing up for Warren.

It makes his heart do a little flip, the realization of what this feeling he’s feeling is. And unspoken, he knows it’s exactly the same way that Nathan feels about him. All hesitation and doubt gone. That if there’s anyone in the entire universe that he’d wanted to see in that moment at the dance it would be him. That if there is anyone in the whole world he’d end up stuck with travelling through time it would be him. That if there is anyone to be trapped in an impossible situation, Warren’s glad it ended up being him.

Words can never describe how Warren feels about the circumstances that led them to this exact moment, however fragile and carefully constructed this moment may be. And he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The feeling Warren’s experiencing must transfer physically–perhaps directly beaming off of him and directed straight at Nathan–because next thing, Nathan’s pushing a hand against Warren’s shoulder to knock him backwards, though with no real force. “Alright, ease up.”

But they’re both still smiling like idiots and Warren can’t tear his eyes away from Nathan, the wavy hair that dances across his forehead from a wind that’s picked up around them. How the strong sunlight that threatens to lower beneath the layer of storm clouds casts him in such perfect lighting Warren wonders if his mind might be playing tricks on him by dosing this particular moment through rose-coloured glasses, as if he’s growing nostalgic over it already.

Warren could bask in the happiness that emits from Nathan forever, rooted right to this spot. But he doesn’t have to. He won’t have to mourn this moment because Nathan is coming back with him and they’ll make many more moments like these.

“Come on, I’m ready to leave this fuckass place.” Nathan states eloquently and swivels where he stands, shoes digging into the sand further, before he begins trudging his way back up the beach.

“Yeah, me too.” And this time Warren means it.

Warren’s never been so aware of the way the sun slowly begins to set. Maybe not since he was still a young kid mourning the last few weeks of summer break before having to go back to school. The feeling wasn’t completely different from this, but at the same time it felt like nothing before.

It’s bittersweet, to say the least. The way the water in the bay pulls the sun down until swallowing it whole and dosing the small town into another star-filled night, putting an end to their last day.

“Hey nerd, you gunna help us or are you having a moment?”

Warren’s stood planted on the grass in the middle of the main campus, having zoned out from the view that cascades down to the horizon on the water. He spins around when Nathan calls him out, sending an apologetic and lopsided smile at him and Lou situated a couple feet behind Warren. “Sorry!” Just can’t believe we’re here already…”

Here meaning a mere hour away from when they’re supposed to travel back to the future. No big deal.

It’s started to rain, only sparsely, but enough to confirm the storm that is headed their way. Nathan has his hood on, pulled far over his hair so Warren can only make out the deep scowl he wears on his face. He holds up an umbrella to cover Lou, walking backwards together as she uncoils a thick copper wire from the spool in her hands leading from where they’d secured the end of it to the campus statue’s head.

“Here,” Nathan’s shoving the umbrella he wields into Warren’s hands after he lightly jogs to catch up to them. “Stay with Lou, I’m going to go grab the car and move it to the right spot on the main road.”

Their fingers brush, Warren hesitating with a response. He can’t explain the uneasiness that settles in his stomach at the idea of letting Nathan out of his sight, like something awful will happen in the few minutes they’re apart so close to going back.

“It’s okay,” Nathan says, low so only Warren can hear him. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Warren can only nod and watch as Nathan turns his back, “Wait!” Warren calls out, prompting Nathan to face him again. “I want to say a proper goodbye. To Lou. With the three of us.”

Nathan and Lou only stare at him for a second. Then Warren’s outstretching his arms, holding them wide, “Come on, bring it in.” Lou complies and so does Nathan, though not as willingly. But their enthusiasm is quick to change once they’re all in each other's embrace, the grip they hold tightening as the realization that this is it dawns on them.

I’m going to miss this. Warren doesn’t have to say it, and neither do Nathan or Lou. He can sense it the same way as if they did. They’d somehow managed to grow so close after such a short amount of time. The same could be said about Nathan and Warren, but it won’t be the same without Lou. And after everything, all of their work to get to this exact moment… a part of him doesn’t want to leave this behind.

They break apart and Warren clears his throat. “Well,” he focuses on Lou before sending a fist toward the sky. “Don’t you, dun dun dundundun, forget about me…” he sings off-key.

Lou, in return, looks between Warren and Nathan with vague concern and total lack of understanding of what she is witnessing. “Uh…”

“You know, Breakfast Club? Wait, is that not out yet?” He points the question at Nathan.

“Oh my God.” Nathan rubs a hand across his face, not even able to look at Warren as he angles himself away.

“Oh. Nevermind.” He cringes internally. And probably externally, his face scrunching up with embarrassment. “It’s a really good movie, though.”

“Okay, I’m going now,” Nathan begins to trek across campus in the direction of where they’d parked Warren’s car in the school lot. He may not have been able to handle the overbearing sentimentality, but Warren could swear he heard a sniffle escape him before he disappeared.

Lou, on the other hand, struggled to get back to unspooling the wire, her eyes glassy. “You can’t just make me cry and then leave…” she mumbled out, busying herself again.

By the time they spooled all the way to the campus’ edge and down to where the sidewalk meets the road, Nathan pulled up alongside them. The rain had picked up significantly, causing Lou to almost slip down some of the grass that’s grown muddy, Warren shooting out a hand to help stabilize her.

“We gotta get going!” Nathan calls over to them above the steady shower as he exits the car and slams the door, “a security guy was eyeing me when I left the parking lot and I think he’s headed this way!”

“Shit,” Lou curses, squinting from how the rain beats against the umbrella. “This isn’t as inconspicuous as I’d hoped and It’s going to be hard to explain exactly what we’re doing. I have a feeling ‘a science project for Mr. Wells’ class ’ isn't going to fly. I have an idea, but I’ll have to make a move right away–”

“–Wait, Wells as in Principal Wells?”

Lou falters, “Mr. Wells becomes principal?”

“Guys–”

“Right, not the point.” Warren rushes the words out. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to cause a distraction in the dormitories, it should buy you two enough time!” She pushes aside the sleeve covering up her watch, “you have less than 15 minutes, it’ll be fine.” As reassuring as her tone is, she can’t hide the worry that flashes across her eyes when she meets them with Warrens.

And Warren recognizes that this is it. “But you won’t make it back again.”

Lou shakes her head solemnly. “No.”

“So this is goodbye, then.”

“For now,” her voice is soft, as is the smile she gives him. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing me very soon.”

Warren mirrors the expression. She’s right of course, it will be as if no time has passed. The same can not be said for her, though. Lou will have to wait 30 years before they’ll meet like this again.

“Thanks for–for everything,” Warren stutters out. “I don’t think we could have done this without you. You’re, uh, the coolest mom in the world. But you’re also a great friend. The best, really.”

Lou’s mouth, which is now pressed into a thin line, is set into a frown like she’s suppressing the urge to cry. She wrings her hands around the umbrella handle, fingers turning white with strain. “I’m… I’m really proud of the kind of person my future son has turned out to be.”

They hug again, this time properly and not as awkward as before. When they’re finished she hugs Nathan, too. “I’m glad you two have each other,” she says to him, causing him to look away. “Now I’m really going to go, before this somehow gets weirder.”

She waves over her shoulder at them as she darts away in the direction of the dormitories, angling the umbrella against the harsh wind and rain. The boys waste no time turning their attention to the car where Warren begins wrapping the wire around the antenna at the back while Nathan holds his varsity jacket above them to help shelter against the aggressively growing downfall of rain.

When Warren’s finished he wipes aside the hair that sticks to his brow, checking the watch that Lou lent him. “Okay we have 9 more minutes until impact, let’s get in the car!”

But as Warren straightens back up, the wire that had been pulled taut suddenly goes lax. The copper material seems to flicker, the reflection of the streetlight above catching the droplets that fall from it. Their attention snaps to one another as an understanding passes between them that the wire has come loose on the other end.

Before Warren can say anything, Nathan beats him to it, “I’ll go, you stay!” He yells as he’s already whipping the jacket around himself to pull his arms through.

“But–”

“There’s no time! Get in the car and start it,” Nathan flings the car keys Warren’s way, who instinctively encloses a fist around them in the air.

“I–I caught them!” Warren stares at the palm of his hand in disbelief.

“Proud of you, bud,” and then Nathan’s gone, swallowed by the sheet of rain as he sprints headfirst into it.

Warren has no choice but to dart around to the front of his Chevy and fling himself into the driver's side, forcing the keys into the ignition and starting the engine.

The precious few minutes they have left that creep by in Nathan’s absence are torturous. Warren waits apprehensively, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a vice and his free foot tapping with impatience. Come on, Nathan, come on. His eyes are glued to the passenger’s side window, barely able to make out anything from the rain that distorts the glass.

Warren chances a glance at his watch. 9:58. 6 minutes.

With nothing else to occupy him, he tries to look through the sheets of torrential rain that aggressively roll over the car and make it almost impossible to hear anything else. He squints, his heart giving a jolt when he sees a flash of red before it’s gone again. A quick glance at the car's digital clock tells him 3 more minutes. The anticipation is killing Warren, making him instinctively reach across the passenger seat to yank open the side door. He doesn’t care when the inside of the car is instantly drenched, all he cares about is if Nathan will be back in time.

The downpour is deafening now, and visibility has barely improved after opening the door. “Nathan?” he tentatively calls out. There’s no response, until he hears a muffled sort of grunt somewhere in the distance. Before he can call out again, there’s a flash of lightning far off–not the one they’d been waiting for, but close enough to momentarily light up the setting Warren looks out to. And to Warren’s utter horror, the still image of Nathan grappling with someone on the ground instills itself into his vision. It’s as if he caught a momentary glimpse of a picture taken with flash to paint the scene in front of him.

Someone’s yelling, and though it’s hard to make out, Warren knows it’s not Nathan. “Did you really think I’d let you get away after what you fucking freaks did to me?! You’re dead! And your friend is next!”

The tips of Warren’s fingers go numb as he feels the blood drain from his face and hands, realizing who it is that has stopped Nathan from getting back, tackling him to the ground mere steps away. “Nathan!” Warren cries out, automatically beginning to crawl across the passenger seat.

“No!” He hears Nathan shout, “don’t! Don’t leave the car!”

Warren freezes, looking back out to where he can see the blurred mass that is Nathan and his father rolling across the soppy grass. A quick glance at the car's interface reads 10:03. One minute. “But I–I’m not leaving you–!”

“It’s fixed! It’s fixed, Warren–you can–ugh–” Nathan lets out another grunt and Warren knows he’s been hit again. There’s a scrambling that can be heard mixed with the downpour and for a brief moment Warren can make out Nathan’s form back on his feet again, booking it toward the car. Warren stares wide eyed, holding his breath when Nathan gets closer and–

He’s back on the ground, his father’s arms wrapped around his legs to take him down again, landing face first. But he’s so close that when he whips back his head Warren can see his face. His pupils are blown out and he looks terrified.

“Give me your hand!” Warren calls out, thrusting his own toward Nathan. Nathan doesn’t hesitate when he complies and reaches up. They’re so close, and Warren stretches as far as he can, until it hurts, until his ribs feel like they might expand and break from the pressure, until the strain is almost unbearable. Their fingertips brush and Warren begins to wrap his hand around what he knows is Nathan’s own.

Please please please please…

But all sensation is lost when a blinding flash and boom takes up all of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Warren clenches his jaw hard as he braces himself, the air on fire around him. And just as fast as it happens, it’s all over.

#another late update lol #grahamscott #warren graham x nathan prescott #nathan x warren #nathan prescott #warren graham #lis #life is strange #life is strange fanfiction #thought i should update on tumblr since there's officially one chap left #woooooooo!

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kirbyskisses · 10 months

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how goes gojo comfort you when you need a little love and care kirb?

KENDALL!!!! ue ue ue (soung of crying) - i don’t think any of you understand i’m not exaggerating my heart really always skips a beat when kendall is in my notifications. i’m talking full heart stop. i love you so immensely. 😭

gojo satoru is not a man well acquainted with the concept of being exhausted. only a handful of intense fights from his youth, before his height shot up (and before his control of the immense and ever-infinite cursed power that is his birthright became absolutely pinpoint), could qualify as something that caused him any physical depletion.

even then those occasions, of which he can count all on one singular hand, were cause by special grade level threats pushing his teen body to the brink of physical and emotional collapse. now an adult with complete domination of his technique and a penchant to quickly master any skill he tries, gojo doesn’t have any familiarity with burnout.

but he does see it on me. he spots the slumped shoulders, the dulled eyes that can’t bring themselves to meet his sky-filled, oceanic blue one and the shorter sentences that quietly reply to his teasing, beleaguered and monotonous as i’m unable to find the energy needed to properly respond beyond three words or so.

so he’ll start by getting pouty, those (dumb, stupid, kissable) pink lips curving down into a frown with a whiny “sweetheart” escaping

“you’re not looking at meee. hmph. ‘s no fun to tease you when you’re like this.” he pauses and huffs before my tired gaze just barely gazes at his larger form - garnering enough sympathy to turn his face from a joking pout to a genuine look of concern.

“okay. i’m done picking on you, sweetness. what do you need, my little sorcerer? how’s a bath sound, huh?”

it’s not really a question - i can barely mumble a retort because the second satoru gojo has a thought to do something, there’s no hesitation to do so. why would there be when he can commit any action without consequence? he alone is the honored one, when he sets out to enact his will the whole of the universe conspires for him to achieve it.

even when his will is just to carry me to a warm bath where he can feed me sweets, knowing i have a weakness for sour candy straws, dark chocolate and pastries in particular. puts my hair in a plastic shower bonnet unless it’s a particular day to soak it, work his large fingers through each coil and tangle, and shape each cute puff with leave in conditioner that smells like blueberry and lavender, or maybe coconut milk.

his face leans in, slowly starting what evolves into a barrage of kisses. his voice is cool in tone, though laced with remarkable and undeniable affection.

“you’re perfect, sweetheart. you’ve done so much - how about letting your favorite sorcerer take care of you now?”

so yeah. a very long winded way of saying that a bath, sweets and reassurance would be his go to for me🥺

#send selfship asks 💕#self ship #selfships #gojo daddy #satoru gojo #kirby’s asks🌸#mooties ♡#queen kendall 🍓#fluff #ship: satoby <3

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gerec · 9 months

Text

AU-gust 2023

7. Boarding School Pairing(s): Cherik, Charles/Shaw Warnings: Explicit, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, Age Difference

Sebastian can hear them through the wooden door, an occasional whine and the rhythmic thump thump as Lehnsherr fucks the pretty Xavier boy over his office desk. It’s the third time this week that Xavier has gone to see the man after hours, offering his mouth or his ass to his professor, too young and stupid to let caution temper his libido. Then again, the boy is brilliant and his family filthy rich; he’s probably never had to worry about consequences, used to living a charmed life.

Well, Sebastian’s determined to teach him what it’s like in the real world, as befitting his role as Headmaster.

He steps around the corner and waits, imagining Lehnsherr grunting as he finishes inside Xavier’s ass, then tucking himself in as the boy lays panting and fucked out, come smeared between the desk and his belly. He wonders if Lehnsherr kisses him after, as though there’s more to their trysts than just sex, or if he merely sends him on his way, knowing his indifference will draw Xavier again and again like a moth to a flame?

More than that, he wants to know what the boy looks like when he’s getting fucked, spread wide around a thick cock spreading him open.

He licks his lips, and watches as Xavier opens the door, stepping out with his bag slung over his shoulder and his tie sticking out of his pocket. Sebastian lets him walk past before he calls out to him, supressing the urge to grin when Xavier stops dead in the middle of the hallway and turns, eyes wide and face pale.

“Mr. Xavier. Come with me please.”

To his credit, the boy follows him into his office without a word, not bothering to feign ignorance over the Headmaster’s request. Sebastian lets him squirm in silence for a few long moments, ass sore and maybe clenching tight to hold in Lehnsherr’s spunk.

“Do you know why you’re here, Charles?”

Xavier doesn’t answer, only looking up at him with those big, soulful blue eyes. He’s too smart to incriminate himself before anything’s been said about Lehnsherr, and also too smart not to know he’s been caught in the act. Sebastian decides to let his rudeness go just this one time, knowing that Xavier will become the very model of obedience in the near future.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve broken the Academy’s rules, is it? And I think I’ve been very lenient with you in the past, on account of your good grades and model behaviour.”

The boys swallows, and ducks his head. “Yes, Mr. Shaw.”

“I’ve turned my head at your…fraternizing with the other students, Charles, because I understand that boys will be boys. But I simply can’t ignore a situation like this between a student and a teacher; it’s my job as Headmaster to ensure the wellbeing of every young man under my care.”

As expected, Xavier’s face goes white as a sheet, and he sucks in a deep breath before he asks, dejectedly, “What’s going to happen to me?”

“To you? Nothing.” He sits on the desk right in front of Xavier, so the boy has to crane his neck up to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “You and I both know that your family donates too much money to this school. Anything I do, your stepfather will throw money at to make it go away.”

Xavier sighs, only to realize that his relief has come a little too soon. “What about Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Sebastian pinches his lips together in disapproval and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to let him go with an official reprimand. I doubt he’ll be able to teach again, since it’ll go on his permanent record.”

“No, no, no please, Headmaster, you can’t fire him! It’s not his fault! It’s my fault; I seduced him!”

“He’s an adult, and in a position of authority at the school, Charles. Sadly, your confession, true or not, doesn’t excuse his behaviour.”

“No.” Tears start welling in those pretty, pretty eyes, and Sebastian almost feels bad for what must seems to be his genuine concern over Lehnsherr’s future. “Please there has to be something I can do.”

He makes a show of sympathy over the boy’s distress, handing him a tissue and giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Are you really so determined to help him?”

Xavier jumps to his feet. “Yes! I’ll do anything! Please don’t fire Mr. Lehnsherr, please!”

It’s nearly impossible to hold back his grin, given how easily things are falling into place, though Sebastian does manage to make his expression come across as fond and sympathetic. “Hmm….” He pretends to think about it for long moments, before he tips the boy’s head up with this fingertips. “Tell me again, how you were the one to seduce him.”

“I did. I made it impossible for him to resist me.”

He moves his fingers from Xavier’s chin to the back of his neck, feeling the boy’s whole body stiffen as he cards his hand through his unruly hair. “I find that very hard to believe, Charles, though, perhaps if you showed me what you did, I might be inclined to give Mr. Lehnsherr the benefit of the doubt.”

Understanding dawns almost instantly on Xavier, followed closely by resignation. He goes down on his knees without a word, and reaches for Sebastian’s belt with trembling fingers.

“No, no,” he says, delighting in the relief on the boy’s face, only to have his hopes crushed by his next words. “Bend over for me please, Mr. Xavier. If you’re determined to convince me, you’ll have to show me exactly what you did with Professor Lehnsherr.”

The boy shivers but does as he’s told, pulling his pants down and bending over Sebastian’s desk.

------

The knock comes a few minutes after the boy leaves, shuffling down the hall with slow and stilted steps.

He pours a second glass of Scotch from the bottle he keeps in his office, and hands it to Lehnsherr as he enters and closes the door.

“How’d it go? Did you get what you wanted?”

He thinks about the noises Xavier made on his cock and smiles.

“He was delightful. I can see why you like fucking him so much.”

Lehnsherr takes a sip of his drink and scoffs. “He’s got a pretty mouth and a tight ass. Would be a pity not to use him when he’s so very willing to put out.”

Sebastian laughs. “Well, he’s quite protective of you. I think he’s convinced himself that he has real feelings for you.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“You don’t feel even a little bad that he’s prostituting himself to keep your reputation intact?”

“Should I?” He smirks and adds, “He’s going to graduate in a few months and then head off to Oxford, after which he’ll inherit his father’s company and a massive fortune. We’ll be nothing more to him than a youthful indiscretion, Sebastian. Or at least a lesson in not trusting people so blindly…a lesson you taught me very well.”

“Touché,” he says, smiling as his protégé and former student downs his drink and walks out the door.

#gerec writes #cherik #charles/shaw #day 7 #au-gust 2023 #boarding school #blackmail #dubious consent #age difference

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whentommymetalfie · 1 year

Text

Home to you chapter 31

-For better or worse-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Alfie faces the consequences of his actions and tries to make the right choices to keep Tommy safe. But it might to more harm than good.

Warnings: hallucinations, self harm, ptsd, aftermath of forced hospitalization and medical malpractice, disordered eating, dependency

Wordcount: 5K

Alfie storms off. Leaves Tommy and the destruction he’s caused behind. Maids scatter as he stomps through the hallways of Arrow house, steps uneven due to the pain radiating down his back into his right leg. ‘

In the kitchen, he at least has the decency to grunt a ‘thanks’ to the terrified cook telling him there’s food left out for him, but declines being served said food anywhere else. The darkened, windowless kitchen suits him fine. And he’s not decent enough to feel sorry when the cook excuses herself and promptly leaves the room to avoid the anger that must be permeating the air around him.

He turns off the few lamps in the room because this day has given him a splitting headache on top of the pain in his back, sits down on a chair and glares at the food on the plate. Fuck Tommy. Fuck him and his broken head and his beautiful eyes and his blind trust that Alfie will do the right thing rather than the thing that feels good in the moment. Fuck him for the way his lashes fan low over his eyes when he’s tired, the way he’ll curl up against Alfie’s chest as if it’s the one safe place in the entire world and fuck him for screwing his head up so badly that just one day of bad news and worry has turned him into this.

And most of all fuck him for making Alfie feel that he would burn entire cities to the ground if it meant keeping him safe, making him happy, making him smile again.

He picks up the plate and is just about to toss it against the wall when a morsel of sanity takes over and he puts it back down. Settles for skewering a potato with enough force to nearly crack the porcelain.

Lizzie finds him there in the kitchen an hour later, though this time staring at an empty plate and with a cooling pot of tea on the table.

“Should I ask one of the maids to make up a spare bed?”

Alfie looks up to possibly throw something at her, but the unexpected look of sympathy on her face stops him. He grunts and picks up the fork to push his thumb against the handle until it bends.

“Picked up on the tension, eh?”

“The maids gossip,” Lizzie says and goes to stand before him, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. “But I think the whole house noticed the debacle.”

Alfie rubs a hand over his face. Tries to scrub away the image of Tommy looking up at him with big, scared eyes. Forget how he fucking dragged him through the hallway. He’s like that, isn’t he? Boiling over and burning everything in his way. Even if he tries to tell himself it was justified, he can’t fucking lie to himself: nothing justifies making Tommy look at him that way. He thought he’d gotten rather good at reeling himself back in, but apparently he’s not quite as in control of his faculties as he thought. And fuck Tommy for that, too.

“If you’re going to get on some high bloody horse and tell me that it was an awful thing of me to do, fucking yell at him, then I’m not interested in hearing it,” he tells Lizzie, who quirks an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to tell you that, because I think you already know.”

Alfie looks down at the table. Finds a particularly interesting knot in the wood. Considers leaving, but that would mean going back to the bedroom and he’s not ready to face the consequences of his actions. There’s of course the option of going sleep somewhere else, but that feels like admitting fully that he’s fucked up at an entirely new level.

While he ponders this, Lizzie goes to a cupboard and procures one of the bottles of whiskey which are apparently stocked in every room in this bloody house. The sight is dangerously tempting. Thankfully she only pours a glass for herself and puts it away before seating herself by the table.

“So, what news from Birmingham, then?” she asks.

The mere thought of this giant waste turned fuck up of a day sends a bolt of pain through Alfie’s skull and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Less than I would’ve liked. Like finding a needle in a haystack, this. Or a rat in a fucking nest of other rats,” he says. “That wife of his has a powerful family at her beck and call. Apparently not above getting blood on their hands. Or rather, paying someone else to get blood on theirs. At least seven Americans showed up with the steamer Monday morning. They’ve brought the heavy fucking stuff, from what little Jakob could tell.” They had machine guns. So did you. They must’ve had more than us, then. “We can be fairly sure they’re the ones responsible for Michael’s escape. If he’s smart he’s left the fucking country, but I’m afraid evidence points to the opposite. Dumb as a box of rocks, that man. And fucking arrogant. Think it’s far more likely that he’s lying low.”

“That does unfortunately seem likely.” Lizzie lights a cigarette and when he waves a hand at her in a beckoning gesture, she hands him one along with the lighter. He lights it up. It’s not his pipe but it’s fucking something.

“Had hoped Jakob would have more answers,” he says as he takes the first blessed drag of smoke. “But all we really know is Michael’s gone. He’s presumably hiding. Biding his time and planning whatever the fuck his next move is, and until he makes that move it’ll be hard to catch him.”

“Any idea what that next move might be?” Lizzie asks and he resists the urge to drop his head into his hands. It’s hard to play a game when your opponent plays after entirely different rules, especially when one’s own head has stopped working right. Even in the dirty business he’s used to, it’s fucking frowned upon to hurt the helpless and innocent. Calling Tommy innocent in any other situation is a stretch, but in this, he was. Simply trying to put the pieces of himself back together, bothering fucking no one. And Michael, in the most cowardly way possible, uprooted everything. There’s no telling what he’ll will do considering the limits he’s already crossed. That’s what today’s been about: Frustratingly little progress and a mounting fear that Michael will do something irrational and cowardly that’ll put Tommy in danger and Alfie will be as helpless to stop it as last time.

“I have a few ideas,” he mutters vaguely once too much time has passed between Lizzie’s question and his answer.

Lizzie takes a quiet inhale of smoke, and then, as if she could read his mind, “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to go after Tommy again.”

“I think we can be fairly certain that he would,” he says and taps ash from his cigarette onto the empty plate before him. Pours tea into the far too dainty cup he’s found in one of the cupboards. “Ada and Arthur are at least working to weed out Michael’s loyal people in your organization. Turns out that may be easier than expected. People who’ve been bought can also be bought back. Surprising to absolutely no-one, he’s not very good at building loyalties. So that’s something, innit.”

Lizzie nods. “I got a call from Ada. Told me they’ll stay the night in Birmingham and check in tomorrow. So you might want to get it together by then, because if either of them see you acting that way around Tommy-“

“Yeah, yeah I fucking get it,” Alfie says. “They’ll chop off my balls or something. That sister of his made that very clear.” He leans back in his seat and clasps his hands on his stomach. Watches Lizzie through narrowed eyes. “Though I have to admit, Mrs. Shelby, that you’ve been admirably level headed about the situation.”

Lizzie snorts at that, but her voice is soft when she speaks, “Well, I know what it’s like, trying to take care of him. You’re worried. That’s why you lashed out at him.”

“Got a foul temper, too. Can’t blame only the circumstances.”

Though the worry sits like a tight band around his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

It’s exhausting. Never being able to let go for even a second. . He lost it at the sight of Tommy shivering on the cold stone steps. Waiting like a loyal dog for its owner.

“I hate that he’s here,” he admits. “I can’t- fuck, I can’t function if I don’t know he’s safe.”

“He just sat outside for a few hours. Things could’ve gone worse.”

“Of course it could’ve gone worse, that’s the whole fucking point-“ he swallows the rest of the sentence along with a gulp of tea.

Lizzie runs her thumb across the edge of the whiskey glass and quietly says, “He’s not easy to love.”

The tea goes down his windpipe and Alfie breaks into a cough, just barely keeping it from spraying over the entire table. The weight of Lizzie’s words lands heavily on his shoulders. As if Arrow house itself has just collapsed.

When the worst of the coughing has subsided, he stands up.

“Well, I better go upstairs,” he says and forces himself to look at Lizzie, even if it’s too late to save face. “See if- yeah. I’m going upstairs.”

Lizzie calmly meets his gaze.

“There’s a spare bedroom right next to yours,” she says, as if nothing happened. “Just in case.”

Alfie leaves the kitchen. Hopefully Lizzie will think he just has abhorrent hearing. He pushes her words far down to the back of his head in some corner where he won’t be confronted by them. Wanders back through the house, where everyone is turning in for the night. Maids walking about, turning lights off, collecting laundry, carrying fresh towels. Ishmael is stood outside the bedroom door, loyal as ever. He needs to bring someone here to work in shifts. Can’t have him falling asleep on the spot. For now, he dismisses Ishmael, telling him to get a few hours of sleep. They’ll have to make do.

Alfie walks into the bedroom without knocking. Esther is on the chair next to the bed, reading glasses low on her nose and with a book in her lap. All he can see in the bed is a bundle of blankets, but soon he catches a glimpse of dark hair. Esther stops reading when he enters. Puts a finger before her lips and closes the book. She gives Tommy’s sleeping form a look, puts the book on the nightstand and comes to meet him, ushering Alfie out of the room.

“He just fell asleep,” she whispers as she closes the door. “I didn’t think he would. But it wore him out, the…” Episode, attack, bi-fucking-hourly breakdown? “He was very upset after you left,” she settles for.

“You asked me to leave,” he grumbles like a petulant child. And receives an ice cold look in return.

“Because, with all due respect Sir, you were behaving like an idiot,” Esther says. “And that doesn’t seem to have improved.”

Alfie can feel his shoulders visibly slump. He scratches his beard and clears his throat.

“I might’ve overreacted,” he admits. The sharpest creases between Esther’s brows smooth out.

“I know it comes from a place of concern for his well being,” she says. “But that’s no excuse. You can’t yell at him that way. Or forcibly drag him around.”

“I know, I fucking know,” Alfie says. “I know I can’t fucking control his every move. Been enough of that. And I want him to know that it matters what he thinks. What he wants or doesn’t want. That’s the whole issue, innit. Because I don’t want him… wanting things that are dangerous. You see my problem, here?”

“You can’t decide what things he wants. And if you’re going to let him make his own decisions, you have to live with them not always being the decisions you want.”

“So I’m just supposed to let him starve? Or wander around talking to crows all night? Because that’s what he’ll fucking do if I let him.”

Esther hushes him, eyeing the door.

“There’s always a middle ground,” she then says. “We don’t let him starve. We give him smaller meals. And you don’t let him wander around alone, you stay awake with him to read. Reminds him the crow isn’t real.”

And what if that’s not enough? he thinks.

“Yeah. Sure.” he says.

The frown has melted from Esther’s face, turning into that encouraging smile she so often wears when they discuss this.

He sighs. Rubs his hands over his eyes.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on him tonight?”

“Of course not, but-“

“I’ll sleep in the other room. Have to get some rest or I won’t be any use tomorrow. And I don’t want to wake him up if he’s finally asleep-“ He doesn’t want Tommy waking up and being afraid. Of him. He gestures for Esther to go back into the room, ignoring her frown returning. “There’s still a spare bed in there. But you can fetch me if he does wake up and- yeah. Just wake me up, if he really needs it, alright?”

Her frown remains, but Esther nods. Alfie escapes through the nearest door, thankfully discovering it’s indeed another bedroom. He regrets his decision the second the door closes behind him. Even more when he’s discarded his clothes in a heap on a chair and laid down in the cold bed, where Tommy’s absence quickly becomes painful. He can count the nights they’ve slept apart these past few months on one hand, and all of them were very much involuntary and forced by circumstance. Such as Tommy being laid up in a hospital bed. Or those dreadful few days in the asylum.

He could give up. Stop this charade, go back to Tommy and hope for the best.

He doesn’t.

Instead he lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He’s exhausted, truly fucking exhausted. Tommy has spent most nights wide awake, or waking both Alfie and himself with his nightmares. He still wanders out of bed at odd hours, and though Ishmael guards the door even at night and can remedy the situation, Alfie still has to wake up to calm him back down. Point is, Alfie isn’t sleeping much. But despite his eyelids feeling heavy, his body can’t seem to relax enough to let him slip into sleep. His mind is whirring with thought. He knows he’s fucked up. It’s what he does, isn’t it? Been a while, granted, so it’s long overdue that he does something colossally stupid with disastrous consequences. Tommy is so fragile, and he knows that, it’s not him that’s the victim here, but that doesn’t make it any easier, constantly walking that line, no room for the slightest mistake. Not now. Not after what happened. He can never tell Tommy, but it’s hard to see any light at the end of this new tunnel. To think that Tommy just a few weeks ago could go out by himself, eat if not entire meals then at least small portions each day, that they spent their mornings entangled in each other’s arms in sundrenched sheets, that Tommy would fucking smile, sometimes several times in one day. His throat grows tight at that thought.

He's not easy to love.

Oh, but he is. It’s so fucking easy. Just difficult knowing how to navigate it. What to do with all of this. To not suffocate, hold on hard enough but not too hard. He pushes that thought away. Because love… the mere word is terrifying.

But he knows, doesn’t he, that if Tommy never gets better, if he can never heal from this, he’ll spend the rest of his days just trying to make it feel bearable.

And what is that, if not love?

He wants to climb out of bed, storm into the bedroom and take Tommy in his arms. Never let him go again.

But he doesn’t. Instead he closes his eyes, thinks of all the things he must do to keep him safe, for which he needs to be fucking awake tomorrow (imagines caving in and returning to the bedroom, waking Tommy up and Tommy looking at him with fear) and eventually drifts into an uneasy sleep.

…

When the sunlight wakes him, he’s hardly more rested than when he went to sleep, and reaching across the mattress for Tommy only to find the bed empty only further sours his mood. He climbs out of bed, gets dressed, stows the guilt away in one of those dusty corners of his mind where it won’t bother him, and leaves the room. As he sets off down the corridor, planning on heading to the car without bothering with breakfast or any other nonsense that stands between him and getting to work, he still finds himself pausing. And as if by their own volition his feet take him back.

He cracks the door to Tommy’s room open. It’s quiet. He opens the door a further to catch a glimpse of the bed. Sees Esther first, sat by the bed with her knitting needles in hand, and then a small heap of blankets on the mattress that makes no sound and only rises and falls slightly at regular intervals.

The dust stirs as the guilt rears up. He beats it back down.

“Esther,” he hisses, just loud enough to make her look up from her striped sock and come towards him. He backs into the corridor and Esther follows.

“I’m going to Birmingham,” he says. “You let Tommy know, yeah? I’ll be back this afternoon.”

“I think it’s better if you tell him yourself,” Esther says in a tone that leaves no room for bartering. Or perhaps he’s just too fucking exhausted to go with any road but the one of least resistance. So when she steps aside and very pointedly looks towards the bed, he goes inside.

Tommy is asleep, holding the blanket close to his face, long lashes resting against pale skin sprinkled with freckles. Alfie’s heart clenches at the sight and he has to once again steel himself for what he’s about to do. Leave, even though he knows Tommy needs him here.

But Tommy also needs to be kept safe from his lunatic fucking cousin and right now Alfie needs to focus on that.

He reaches out to shake him, hand falling back to his side the moment the impulse lands. Instead he leans down and kisses his forehead, smoothing his hair back. Tommy’s eyes bat open and he blinks sleepily at him for just a moment, lashes fluttering over the impossibly blue. Then he bolts upright, throwing his arms around Alfie’s waist and burying his face in his stomach

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says into his belly. Holds on tightly. Alfie cradles the back of his head. Strokes his back with the other. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he wants to cave, open his mouth and apologize for everything, for yesterday, for leaving him alone all night, tell him he’s an idiot who only wants him to be safe and his baser instincts got the better of him leaving violence in their wake as always.

“I’ll have to go into Birmingham.”

Tommy pulls out of the hug and looks up at him, eyes big and sad. Then he lowers his gaze and nods. Alfie looks out the window to keep the ache in his chest at bay.

“But I’ll be back tonight. And- yeah. You just do whatever.” He pats Tommy’s head and the arms around his waist fall. “If you want to sit outside that’s perfectly fine. Just be safe. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

When he’s gathered himself enough to stop being a goddamn coward and looks at Tommy, Tommy is staring down at his lap, picking at his blanket. He strokes his hair.

“You’ll be okay. Yeah?”

“I’ll be good,” Tommy whispers. Alfie leans down and kisses the top of his head, and makes for the door. He hands Esther a note as he passes her in the doorway, leaning in to quietly tell her, “If there’s an emergency, you can reach me on this number. You call me, yeah? If he really needs it.”

Esther accepts the note but follows him out in the corridor, leaving the door cracked open behind them.

“Sir, do you remember the incident with mister Fairfax?”

And Alfie knows exactly what she’s referring to, doesn’t he? He pushes the memory far from his mind and says, “This isn’t like that.”

“Are you sure?” Esther’s gaze is unrelenting and he stares back.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure. Because until Michael Gray is caught, Tommy won’t ever feel safe. Won’t ever be safe. That’s all that matters. Making sure he knows that piece of shit can never hurt him again.”

Making sure Michael pays dearly for what he’s done.

He leaves before Esther can protest. And before the memory of the sadness in Tommy’s eyes pulls him back into the room and urges him to stay.

…

Alfie’s foul mood doesn’t improve throughout the day. The lead to a townhouse presumably owned by Michael proves fruitless, and so does the trips to the many abandoned warehouses. Needle in a fucking haystack. Come afternoon, he’s sat in the townhouse he’s purchased where they’ve set up a temporary office, waiting for a message from one of the many outposts his men are guarding. The stillness reawakens the worry for Tommy. On the desk, the phone virtually screams at him to pick it up. Call Arrow house and check in on him. Make sure he’s okay. But he swallows that urge. He’s doing what he can for Tommy, and he needs to stay focused on his current mission. This is good. He’s doing something real. Concrete, with a clear goal in mind. Even if that real, concrete, goal oriented thing only consists of waiting right now. But it helps his sanity, thinking of it that way. He can’t erase what happened to Tommy. He can’t make the awful memories from the asylum go away. Maybe he can’t even pick up all the broken pieces. And he knows it’ll haunt him for the rest of his life: Tommy’s panicked screams as the men dragged him away. The fear in his eyes. The dirt and squalor of the cell. The fact that Alfie was fucking there, but couldn’t keep it from happening. He can’t change any of it. But he sure as fuck can see to it that Michael pays the full price for what he’s done. Sooner or later he’ll find him-

A sharp signal has him jerking forward in his chair and reaching for the phone.

When he hears Ishmael’s voice on the other end, his chest fills with icy dread.

“Sir, Mrs. Shelby asked me to call-“

“What happened? Is Tommy alright?” He gets out of the chair and nearly pulls the phone from the desk, catching it at the last moment.

“Nothing happened, but he’s- we can’t handle him when he’s like this. It’s been bad all day but it keeps getting worse-“

“Is he hurt?” Has he hurt himself, is he in immediate danger, why are you still on the fucking phone and not taking care of him-

“No, Sir.”

“Keep him safe until I get there. I’m on my way.”

Alfie drops everything, gets in a car and drives back to Warwickshire at a speed that very nearly leaves the vehicle wrapped around a tree in a particularly sharp turn. But he makes it back in one piece, gravel spraying behind the tires as the car swerves to a halt on the driveway. He prepares himself to find Tommy on the front steps again. Perhaps wandering down the road following the imaginary crow. And that’s if they’re lucky. He doesn’t want to consider the other options. But the steps are empty and the grounds surrounding Arrow house eerily peaceful, bathed in afternoon sun. His men guarding the front door have no news so he marches straight past them and into the house, almost knocking Ishmael over as he bursts through the door. He grabs his shirtfront and hauls him upright.

“Where is he?”

“The bedroom, Sir,” Ishmael says and follows as Alfie sets off up the stairs. “Mrs. Shelby and miss… your housekeeper-“

“Esther.”

“Esther, is with him. I’m not sure what’s happened, but-“

“Then I don’t need to fucking hear it,” Alfie snaps and picks up the pace down the hallway. He’s panting by the time they reach the bedroom and he can finally tear the door open.

He expects some form of destruction. Instead he finds eerie stillness.

Tommy is curled up on the sofa, knees pulled to his chest and arms clutched tightly against his body while Esther sits by his head, stroking his faintly tremoring arm. He’s unharmed as far as Alfie can see, but his eyes are foggy. Staring straight ahead, through Lizzie who sits only inches away on a chair but might as well have been oceans away.

Esther stands and comes to meet him while Lizzie scoots her chair closer to lay a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy doesn’t react.

“What happened?” Alfie asks as Esther comes up to him.

“It wasn’t so bad at first,” she says quietly. “He even ate breakfast. But he’s been slipping further and further away all day. Finally he wouldn’t respond to anything. Began talking to himself or- well. To things and people who weren’t here. Tried to get at his scar again.” Her voice wavers and she pauses to get it under control. “I couldn’t get through to him. Mrs. Shelby had to help me keep him from hurting himself. But eventually he just exhausted himself.” She looks towards Tommy, blinking away tears. Whispers, “I couldn’t help him.”

Alfie’s throat is too tight to give an answer so all he manages is a nod. He walks up to Tommy and kneels before him, laying a hand on his arm.

“Tommy?”

Lizzie quietly slips away from his peripheral, saying something to Esther so softly he can’t quite hear it before shutting the door behind her with a click.

Tommy still hasn’t responded to the light touch on his arm. Alfie begins stroking his hair, fingertips raking softly over his scalp, and finally the fog clears from his eyes. He sits up, eyes growing wide as he takes sharp breaths through his nose. The faint tremor in his limbs grow worse.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have left.

“I didn’t know what to- I didn’t- I’m sorry,” Tommy stutters, fingers twisting into the blankets. Alfie takes his hands, cold under his, and squeezes them gently.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Been a hard day, eh?”

Tommy shakes his head and looks to Esther for help. Alfie cradles his face, caressing sharp cheekbones with his thumbs. “I know it was. That’s okay. You don’t have to hide something like that.”

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, wraps bony fingers around his upper arms and clenches until his knuckles go white.

“I wasn’t going to be any trouble. I tried. I’m sorry.”

Alfie bites back the ‘stop fucking apologizing’ already fully formed and ready to slip out his mouth.

Tommy lets pit a trembling breath. “I tried to be good. But I- everything I do is wrong.”

And that, that just about breaks his fucking heart, doesn’t it? No wonder he’d think that, after the display Alfie put on yesterday. No wonder he’s been slipping all day. Probably too paralyzed by fear of doing something wrong to make any decisions at all.

Alfie pulls Tommy down from the sofa and into his lap. Tommy goes easily, melting into his embrace, burying himself in his shirt.

He hears the door shutting as Esther leaves.

“Oh, no, petal,” he tells him, kissing his temple and holding him tightly. “No, you haven’t done anything wrong. And even if you had, you’re entitled to make every bloody mistake in the book.” Tommy’s hands twist into his shirt. Alfie rubs his back. “I’m sorry, love, about what happened yesterday. I’m a fucking idiot. Even more of a fucking idiot when I’m worried. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

Tommy shakes his head. “It was my fault”

“It’s not your fault that I fucking lost it. Uncalled for, that. I can’t ask you to make your own decisions and yell at you when you do. Doesn’t matter if I agreed with it or not.”

Tommy just keeps shaking his head.

Alfie can’t deny it, it dawns on him that there’s part of him -a bigger part than he’d like to admit- that wants Tommy to depend on him. Look at him with those trusting eyes, full of adoration, let him make all the decisions and eagerly obey. Wear his clothes not because it’s the only clothes he’s got but because he feels safe in them. And he fucking wants Tommy reach for and cling to him rather than doing things on his own. Maybe even sit like an obedient pet and wait for you the second you’re out of sight? He shakes his head to clear it from the disturbing thought. Fuck. no, even he has his limits. This all belongs to some dark, primal part of him that he needs to keep under control, not feed into.

He cradles the back of Tommy’s head, one of his thumbs rubbing small circles on the side of his neck.

“Maybe you don’t think so now, but you’ll want to decide things eventually. There’ll be a day when suddenly you’ll want all sorts of things again, even if that might seem far away right now.”

He doesn’t really expect a reply, and doesn’t get one either. His right leg has begun to ache and he shifts slightly.

Tommy wraps his arms around his neck and hugs him tightly.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Alfie promises. And decides that the situation in Birmingham and has to be left for his more or less competent men for the rest of the day. Might not be the right decision but fuck it’s the only decision he can make.

#tommy x alfie #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #breathe again verse #home to you

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addicted-to-dc · 2 years

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Survivor (Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader) - Part 2

I finally decided to continue some oneshots into small series. Maybe I’ll make them into 3 or 4 parts, idk. Enjoy!

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, jumping off buildings, crime, the usual Jason Todd fanfic.

Standing over Gotham brings back so many memories. It’s raining, the cold water nearly slicing your skin open with the harsh wind around you. Despite how calm you were forcing yourself to be, your heart wouldn’t stop beating at a variable rate. You couldn’t help it.

The distorted lights and little people moving below you remind you of a time when life was simpler. You were just a stupid kid to believe you could make a difference without any consequences. The cuts and bruises were expected, but there was nothing you could do to even prepare for the emotional torture you’ll endure for the rest of your life. At least the physical won’t be a problem anymore. You shivered just thinking about the Pit flowing through your veins, your body so used to it you’re practically a walking Lazurus Pit.

It had only been a few months since the visit. Despite Jason’s protests that Bruce didn’t know, you had a feeling that he did. It wasn’t because he was the world’s greatest detective, no, it’s because he’s your father. Despite everything, no matter what you’ve been through, he’ll always read you like an open book. You’re lucky that it goes both ways, allowing you to see through his tricks and mind games. Maybe that’s why you haven’t shot him yet, even if he was standing a few feet away.

“What do you want, Bruce?” you ask, removing your foot from the ledge. “Afraid I’ll jump?”

You turn to him, a wide smile on your face as you toy with a detonator. Jason had a busy night setting up the bombs, and you’re so damn excited to give Gotham the best light show since the Fourth of July.

“When did he get to you?” Bruce gently says with obvious sadness in his tone.

“Oh, no, you’re not going to play that game with me,” you respond, walking away from the edge. “No monologuing, no distractions.”

“You were healing, (Y/N),” he pushes, not even twitching a finger as you slowly approached. “You were so close and he just took it all away.”

You sigh and press the detonator, turning away from him to watch the explosions all over the city. The smile returns on your face even when you’re tackled to the ground, laughter spilling from your lips as he held your face in his hands.

“I was never going to be the kid that I was, you know that,” you chuckle and look to the sky. “Just another casualty in the crusade to cleanse Gotham.”

The bright smoke illuminating the sky felt like looking at shooting stars. It nearly made you want to make a wish on it, but Bruce interrupts it by pulling you to him. You’re too focused on the sky to notice, but his voice brings you back to reality.

“Is this really what you want? To become the very thing that changed you, to become Him?”

You instantly push away, and he lets you go. He’s just playing mind games, you tell yourself. It’s just a distraction. What time is it? You should have met with Jason by now.

“I will never be like him,” you growl, your body sagging after a few moments. “How could you even say that?”

You’re hurt, insulted that he would even think that you would allow yourself to be like that clown. Tears threaten to escape as you press your lips together.

“You just don’t understand yet,” you say, closing your eyes as you fall off the edge.

Bruce screams your name and jumps after you. You reach for your grappling hook and notice that it’s missing. Eyes wide, you look back to Bruce and quickly adjust your body. Reaching an arm out, you grab at the first thing jutting out of a building. A scream erupts from your mouth as your shoulder tears from the force of your falling. Looking down, you only have a few more floors until it’s ground level.

Not even a few seconds after you tear your shoulder, you let go and land on the ground. Rolling to the best of your ability, you snap your ankle as soon as it meets the concrete. You suck in so much air it feels like your head is floating. Bruce lands softly behind you, not saying a word.

“You really didn’t think I’d do it,” you laugh, reaching up to snap your shoulder back in place. “You have too much faith in me.”

Your shoulder and ankle quickly heal, cracking a few times as you roll them experimentally. It’s risky to keep entertaining him, especially when Jason warned you so many times against it, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to talk with him without a filter. It’s nice to see what he really thinks you’re capable of. You can’t wait to destroy what’s left of that weakling he still thinks you are.

“Maybe you don’t have enough for yourself.”

“Quit twisting words, say what you want to say. Communication is key to healing after all,” you quip, mentally planning a way to leave without leading him to Jason. “Or is this just a distraction so Dick can help you take me down? How long until he gets here? A minute? Maybe he’s waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in.”

“It’s just us,” Bruce responds. “It’s always been just us. No Nightwing, no Red Hood.”

It’s sad that you actually believed him. You almost say something, but the sweet scent of smoke fills your nose. Your eyes flash in recognition, and Bruce notices.

“Don’t, (Y/N),” he starts but cuts himself off. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you say, and your tone of voice makes him twitch. “We’ll see each other again soon enough.”

Taking one step backward, you run to the epicenter of the smoke. Using it as a cover, you quickly enter the sewers and run towards your rendezvous point. You chose to take a long way, giving yourself enough time to make sure that Bruce was not following you. Everything was checked over and torn apart just in case if there was a tracker placed on you. There was nothing that you found by the time you arrive.

You push the door open and lock it as soon as you enter. Jason places a hand on your shoulder, his fingers quickly running down to trace the damage on your suit. Your eyes follow his movements, finally noticing a hole with glowing blood surrounding it. Your blood.

“You okay?” he asks, hands still trying to soothe you.

“Yeah,” you reply, allowing the tension in your shoulders to dissipate. “Didn’t even know I hurt myself that bad.”

“He got to you, didn’t he?”

“No, he didn’t.” You say, removing your jacket and tossing it next to the door. “It’s funny, he said the same thing about you.”

“Of course he would,” he grumbles, guiding you to the couch.

“How long before phase 2?” you ask, sighing as you sat next to him.

“Don’t worry about that right now, we have plenty of time,” Jason smiles, dragging his fingers down your cheek. “You were amazing tonight.”

You smile back, relishing his touch, “I’m gonna rest, tonight took a lot out of me.”

He nods, retracting his hand. You stare into his green eyes, feeling right at home as you lean forward and mold your lips against his. Jason pulls you close, drawing a hiss out of you. He stops, casting you a worried glance.

“Sorry,” you mutter, pushing yourself up. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Silently, you enter your bedroom and shut the door. Taking in deep breaths, you force yourself to remove your clothes and enter the bathroom. As soon as you see yourself in the mirror you can’t help but stare. Your usual eye color is long gone, replaced with glowing green eyes similar to Jason’s. The consequences of using the pit was costly, but even now you still feel pieces of yourself disappearing.

You don’t usually lie to Jason, especially when it comes to Bruce, but you couldn’t help it. There were too many coincidences, too many gut feelings ignored. Gripping the countertop, you looked everywhere else but your eyes. Your wounds healed perfectly, but your thoughts still ran wild.

Was Bruce right? Who took your grappling hook? You move yourself away from the mirror. What would have happened if you didn’t catch yourself?

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine

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this-tumbleweed-surecan-fish · 2 years

Text

An Unfinished Writing Masterlist

Because I don’t feel like tracking everything down right now. Sorry. Also some I just didn’t feel like including? They’re disowned now. I’m gonna sort these by fandom and Mountark.

Mountark (My Beloved)

The Series

Poison the Well; 17/? Chapters, Hermitcraft

A mining town can be a prison colony if I want it to be. And an unsolved murder can be a murder mystery any day.

A Good Deal - A Bad Decision; 1/1 Chapters, Hermitcraft

Committing to a bond has consequences.

Despite Everything (It is still you); 1/2 Chapters, Hermitcraft

In which Pearl decides to finally have a conversation with Grian. It's long overdue.

Let our Love be a Flame not an Ember; 2/? Chapters, Empires SMP

The love story of a scam artist and an artist.

To Burn That Town To The Ground; 2/? Chapters, Empires SMP

Breaking News! The infamous Wither Rose Gang has finally been captured! Those damned Criminals will be brought before a Court of Law and finally face Justice!

Really there are only four people who aren't happy when the judge gives the sentence.

The Bard on the Church; 1/1 Chapters, Empires SMP

A very short thing with the only purpose of putting that lad in situations.

Aka Oli in Mountark, what will he do?

New Arrival; 1/1 Chapters, Empires SMP

Day 3 of Febuwhump: Joel arrives in the naughty corner.

It’s Ringing (It’s for you); 1/1 Chapters, Evo SMP

Day 18 of Febuwhump: The Police vs Watchers (Fail) (Not Clickbait)

Multiple (aka idfk)

Fish’s Library of Various One-Shots; 15/?

It comes to me in Dreams; 11/-

A collection of dreams from different worlds and visions of different lives. Aka I smush Evo, Empires, 3rd Life, Last Life and Hermitcraft into one crossover au.

Sorry I Came Back Wrong; 4/? Empires and Life Series Elements

The ankle had healed, the crush hadn't gotten better. And somehow since then everything and nothing at all had changed.

fWhip tries to deal with his crush and absolutely nothing goes wrong ever, not at all. - Can someone tell Grian to stop giving out weird shit? Also, why is his sister back in her magic phase?

FebuWhump 2023

Hermitcraft

All Dressed Up; 1/1 Chapters

In which Beef finds out that his boyfriend has a maid dress. That's it.

Hitmen don’t get kidnapped by Spirits; 1/? Chapters

At least usually.

Iskall is not sure how he got into this situation. She's pretty sure it's better than prison though.

In which people need to stop vandalizing Cleo’s garden; 1/1 Chapters

Joe is about to contemplate the moral implications of encouraging two teenagers to commit murder before he realizes that he is friends with a god of death who runs a school that teaches teenagers to commit murder, and that is probably a train of thought he'll need a whole night for.

A HC Soul Eater AU

Hiking Log; 1/1 Chapters

Day 22 of Febuwhump: "Joe turned the camera to the path again and he stopped the footage. The frame was blurry, still moving and slightly tilted. But there between the trees. There it was."

Empires SMP (Season 1, Season 2)

Fish writes made up Empires lore; the Series

Including such beloved titles as Lost to the Waves (Do you remember Home?) (3/3 Chapters), FFA: Fishfuckers Anonymous (8/8 Chapters), The Mad King (3/? Chapters), Witness me , Old Man, I am the Wild (2/? Chapters), Walking through Homes (2/? Chapters) and It all Starts to Sound like Applause (18/? Chapters)

They don’t get engaged in this; 1/1 Chapters

Scott gives Jimmy his coat to keep him warm, not thinking much of it. Jimmy freaks out because six months is very early for a proposal.

Through the Snow; 3/? Chapters

The world is in a state of eternal winter. Mages, priests and scientists search for a way to bring back spring at any cost. The reincarnations of the old Emperors are no more than a wishful thought. Or are they?

Cactus Flower; 1/1 Chapters

"He's alive?" he whispered. The eye of the Vigil stared down at him and the tiny candle. It wouldn't let it burn. "He's alive," Pixlriffs repeated and felt tears gather in his eyes. There was still a chance they'd find him.

In which Pixlriffs loses his son and the King of Mezalea gains one.

Sinking Teeth; 4/? Chapters

It's one in the morning and he presses down on the gas pedal uncaring of the speed limit.

It's one in the morning and Joel is dying on his passenger seat.

The Art of Shutting the Fuck Up (And other Mezalean Specialties); 2/? Chapters

In my stay I have discovered many things about Mezalea, its people and their culture. And since I started because of the disappointing small section on Mezalea in the Crystal Cliffs Library, I am presenting my discoveries here, in this journal, for others to read and learn more. Out of respect for the Mezaleans I will omit a few details but still, I was able to learn a lot that I don't believe they'll object to me sharing.

Everything you Wish, Everything but Freedom; 1/? Chapters

Corrupted Scott manipulates Jimmy and traps him.

But our Flowers are Withered, the Leaves Blown to Dust; 16/? Chapters

It was something so inherently Grimmish, to give someone a piece of unprocessed Redstone as a sign of affection, something so fWhip that he couldn't help but smile. What a weird custom. How wonderful. How wonderful that he was the one fWhip had chosen to give it to.

Meteor Shower; 13/13 Chapters - Multi Dimensional Big Bang Fic

It starts with a notification from his calender app, reminding fWhip that he meant to actually see his friends from school again at some point. He decides to try and reach out and before he knows it they're spending two weeks of vacation together. The twelve of them. The old gang. Just like they used to.

And then the meteor crashes.

Nebula; 1/1 Chapters

There's nothing someting everything wrong with Joel. aka The only normal person in the group [post meteor]. aka How do you go back to normal when the stranger in the mirror is wearing your skin? When you're wearing a stranger's skin? How do you know who is who?

(A sequel to my fic Meteor Shower. Read that before you read this, it'll make more sense)

Star-forming Regions; 2/? Chapters

Lizzie and Joel being platonically in love throughout the years. Wait... that's not... What is going on? (Part of the Meteor Shower AU)

Let’s Play A Game (Where We Both Lose); 1/1 Chapters

Do not challenge the gods, that's what all the fables and legends say. So really, Pixlriffs should know better.

Pixlriffs and Joel make a bet.

Can’t Wake From This; 7/? Chapters

Jimmy goes to sleep at home with his boyfriend and wakes up somewhere else. As he tries to navigate his strange circumstances, somewhere else he is presumed dead. It's not like anything can happen to him though, he's fine.

Right?

Break the Mold; 1/1 Chapters

One thing that never got old, no matter how long Joel was in this business, was waking up in a place he couldn't remember getting to. Todays mystery place was quite bright. He could tell even with closed eyes.

The Crown Academy; 1/? Chapters

On the 1st of October 1989, fourty-three women gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Eccentric millionaire Sir Reginald Hargreeves set out to adopt as many of these children as he could.

(He got thirteen)

King of the Endless Meza; 1/1 Chapters

The Return of the King Or; The King of Mezalea is many things, but most importantly, he is supposed to be dead for over a thousand years.

Myself as a Construct; 1/1 Chapters

There's a dead king in Tumble Town. Again. Or; The Sheriff knows trouble when he sees it, but that doesn't mean he understands it. So when the stranger leaves and the God returns he is actually glad. And then it happens again. This time Pixlriffs won't have to murder him afterwards.

Don’t You Hear It Breathing?; 1/? Chapters

Welcome to our little town! I'm sure you'll settle in fine. Just... ignore the calls at night. And don't go into the woods after dark. Not that there is anything unusual about this place, of course. Just be careful.

Heimweh; 1/1 Chapters

Jimmy can't help but feel like everyone's going to leave him one day.

Ah, yes, Me, my Boyfriend, my Boyfriend, a Zombie, my Boyfriend and his 1,50m Stuffed Donkey; 1/1 Chapters

They go on a fair date. That's pretty much it.

Life SMP

They Scratch and Bite and Bark; 1/2 Chapters

In which Joel gets adopted by a pack of dogs against his will.

Or something.

After Life SMP

It’s the Same Old Flames; 1/1 Chapters

Lizzie remembers nothing of her live but something is all too familiar about Joel.

I know that After Life has nothing to do with Empires but I have elected to ignore that ^-^

Dream SMP

they exist. i think there’s three of them

He Slayed The MInotaur; 3/4 Chapters

A monster makes its home near the icy village Octorso Glen. But that's okay. If a monster settles, a hero will come to defeat it. That's how it is in all the stories Phil tells them when they can't sleep at night. They just have to wait.

Techno had never been very patient.

A Universal Language; 1/1 Chapters

Day 9 of Febuwhump: How to make yourself heard without speaking 101.

#i am a fish and i can not stop talking #this fish has a type writer

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kookykosplay · 2 years

Text

A Cagey Situation

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42089724

CW: Sort of child abuse

For @whumptober

Hawks shivers, pulling his wings closer to himself and trying to keep warm. The little rips in his clothes let in small gusts of air and the room he was in wasn't warm either.

“Hey! Brat!”

Hawks jumps, turning to face the man.

“Y-yes sir?”

“Were you even paying attention? Honestly. I expected better. Maybe I should just let you go back to your,” The man smirks, “room.”

Hawks flinches back, eyes widening.

“N-no please. I promise I was listening.”

“Then you know what your task is for today's exercise. Hopefully you can perform well enough, otherwise there will be consequences. Understood?”

Hawk scopes, standing up straight and letting his wings move away despite the influx of cold that it brought.

“Yes sir.”

The man smirks, exiting the room to watch from the control center. Hawks shivers slightly, trying to remember what the man had said. He had figured one way or another he would get punished, but at least this way he'd spend a little more time out of his room before the punishment.

The loudspeaker crackles on.

“Begin.”

Hawkes cringes slightly at the static, but immediately bursts into action. He charges towards the targets, sharpening his wings as he goes. The last exercise he remembers doing was learning how to fight in close quarters with his feathers.

He whips himself around to face the target with his back, desperately suppressing the urge to not turn his back on anything. He desperately stabs his feathers out, hoping that he would hit the target.

“Fail.”

Hawks looks up wide eyed at the unexpected but immediate feedback from the people watching.

“Try again.”

Hawks nods, going back to his starting line. He was relieved he had at least picked the right activity to do.

At the request of the loudspeaker he repeats the exercise. And again. And again. And again.

After the fifth or sixth time, Hawks is panting harshly. He is barely even able to stand up. He looks over to the observation glass, desperately hoping that he can stop.

“Again.”

“Please no.”

The word slipped out before the Hawks could stop them. He cringes backwards almost immediately, knowing what's coming next.

“What was that brat?”

“Nothing sir.”

“Oh, I think it was something. And if you're so exhausted, I think you might enjoy going back to your room. A few days of being reminded who you are should help.”

Hawkes nods slowly.

“I'm sure you can handle doing it yourself.”

Hawks obediently turns, heading out of the room. He walks to a small courtyard that was near the training room. He pauses at the door, staring in dread at what's in front of him. A small birdcage hung in the middle of the courtyard. A small leather hood and chains sitting inside of it.

Hawks slowly moves towards it, crawling through the cage door. It automatically locks behind him. He places the hood on his head, fascinating around his neck. Lastly, he chains his wrist together and to the bottom grates in the cage.

He sits back uncomfortably on the bars, desperately trying to meditate. Hawks doesn't know how long he'll be there, and he knows it often goes better if he can pretend he's elsewhere. He tries to arrange his wings in a comfortable way, but no matter what he does one of them always sticking out and he can't cover himself enough to stay warm.

Hawkes isn't sure how much time is passing. But eventually, although it feels too early, he hears steps and a voice.

“Oh my god.”

He raises his head slightly, trying to look in the direction of the voice.

“Hello ma’am. I’m ready to perform better.”

Hawks feels someone or something rushed towards the cage. He recoils back slightly ramming into the polls.

“I’m sorry for flinching. Please don't make me stay here longer ma'am.”

Hawks feels a hand reach up and gently remove the hood. Looking up, he sees a woman with Bunny ears staring at him sadly.

“Don't worry sweetie. We’re here to help.”

“We?”

The woman seems distracted, checking behind her.

“Listen, I hate to make you wait here a little longer. But I don't know what to do with kids. I've got a friend who might be able to help.” Her face darkened slightly, “and there's a few other people I need to ‘talk’ with.”

Hawkes nods quietly, understanding that asking questions isn't going to help right now. He watches the woman run off, and waits there still attached to the cage.

After a few minutes, he sees a man all in black who looks annoyed walking up to him.

“Hello sir. Are you the friend that the bunny woman said she'd get?”

The man starts to talk as he works on the restraints.

“I am. And you don't have to call me sir.”

“Got it. I'm sorry for inconveniencing you...”

Hawks panic slightly, trying to figure out how to end the sentence but eventually just drifts off.

“The name’s Eraserhead kid. And don't worry about it. That's what I'm here to do.”

Hawks's eyes light up.

“You’re a hero.” His excitement dims rapidly. “Oh, I see. What training are you here to run?”

Eraserhead pauses as he opens the door.

“Training, kid?”

“Yes Mr. Eraserhead. You must be a specialist in something. And since I've been failing so much, they brought you in. So, what am I learning next.”

Hawks tries to jump out of the cage gracefully as he's been taught but ends up stumbling. He closes his eyes in anticipation of hitting the floor, but instead feels something soft cushioning him.

“Yeah no. That's not what's happening here kid. Listen, I am a hero. My job is to help people and kids who are in danger. You are a kid. Your job is to have fun and not worry about training and specializing yet.”

Hawks frowns upon him, wiggling to try and get out of his grip.

“That's not what my trainers told me. And my handler always said I'd get a new one if I didn't behave.”

Eraserhead sighs. Hawks immediately feels nervous, since nothing good ever happened when adults were annoyed at him.

“I'm sorry Sir. Am I not supposed to talk about past trainers with you?”

“No, kid. listen, just don't worry about it right now. I'm going to take you to talk with some nice men about your training so far. And then we’ll either find a nice place for you to stay, or you can come back to my house.”

“I’d like to stay with you Sir.”

“Not sir, Remember?”

Hawks panics, straining to get out of his arms.

“I’m sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I promise I'll do better next time. Please don't make me go back to my room.”

“Your room?”

Hawks shakingly points back to the cage.

“Yeah. Don't worry kid, that's never happening again.”

Eraserhead turns, still holding Hawks, to head towards the entrance.

“Just relax kid. I'll be with you every step of the way if you want.”

Hawks nods, stopping his struggles.

“Okay Mr. Eraserhead. I like you a lot better than my trainers anyways.”

#whumptober2022 #no.2 #caged #mha #my hero academia #fic #child abuse #hawks #mha aizawa #mha hawks #mha fic #ao3 #whumptober

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

Note

please PLEASE write more abt bully bkg!!! what happened next?? what did kiri do omg

tw ;; mild toxicity, bully!bkg, kirishima being a shit, fem!reader 18+, spanking, oral (f!recieving), bkg accidentally worships your pussy instead of punishing you :/, unprotected sex, praise kink

PT. 1

a/n ;; have i mentioned he makes me absolutely out of my mind yet? have i said that?!??#?$#

i think we’ve established about the two of them enough by now so here’s how i picture it.

like i said before - bkg is a campus athlete, popular and well-rounded and all around has that like image to him and so when he essentially confesses to you after fucking you stupid in the library, that’s basically him making you his girlfriend. you don’t know that for a long time but we’ll get there later.

anwyays.. right after he fucks you nice n full of his cum, he slides your panties and shorts right back on and snickers as he watches you struggle to get to your feet before eventually helping you. he keeps your bra as a punishment and makes you keep his hoodie, almost biting you when you try and take kirishimas to return it to him. he’ll do it himself, don’t test him.

when you’re all dressed - he makes you pack up and ends up walking you to your dorm room in the middle of the night (which you beg him to not do) but he’ll be fucking damned if anything bad happens to you. it’s his version of affectionate but you don’t know that yet so you’re mostly awkwardly trying to dodge him on the way back BUT he’s still bkg so when he notices that he yanks you.

he makes you hold his arm and licks your cheek cause he’s such a fucking dick. hits you with a “get used to it, princess” with the most condescending tone. but he’s being so serious. you just think he’s teasing you but he’s not.. he means it. get used to him, basically because now he’s a constant presence in your life.

he drops you off in front of your dorm and you’re about to wave him off but before you can go he grabs your waist and basically dips you for a kiss. and it’s so good - fuck, you wish you could say you hated it. but bakugou is experienced as much as he’s mean so he kisses you like his life depends on it, his fingers digging into your sides and his tongue in your mouth. you almost forget your in public until he pulls you back up

he gives you a little breathless grin, patting your cheek with his hand and telling you “get cleaned up, dumbass” which is his way of telling you to get home safe.

and you do get to your empty dorm. you take a shower and just kinda reflect on the actualy fuck transpired cause you were pretty positive he wanted you in a casket but?!?!?! you fucked him and he kissed you? so ????

youre in the middle of your exams and you’re honestly tired since you got fucked within in an inch of your life so you shower and just.. go to sleep. in his hoodie cause it smells good and it’s big and comfy and you’re like... thinking about it really hard but it just makes your headache.

you conclude after a lot of tossing and turning that he’s probably still just trying to fuck around with you and maybe thinks you’re an easy lay. you can’t say you aren’t since you were willing and ready for him (the thought of how easily you gave in has you flustered)

you sleep, eventually. and you wake up the next morning not really expecting much. you don’t have bkgs number or anything so you just.. continue with your day as is. unlucky for you - you have classes with bakugou and kirishima

but you don’t think it’ll be all that different. still so non-chalant. and you go to class that day dressed normally - with bakugous hoodie in hand.

you sit in your regular seat that day and this is your first mistake.

kirishima is in class before bakugou is. and he is.. as always, a little shit. so he pulls up right beside you because even though bkg is pissed at kiri - they are besties so he tells him everything. kirishima wont tease you abt it and u still think kirishima is quite nice and handsome so you’re pleased to greet him.

ah.. another mistake on your behalf. this action WILL have consequences.

kirishima gets so cozy with you btw. he loves that you’re so comfy w him - strokes his ego so good. and he chats you up for a better part of the hour before your morning class.

he makes jokes and smiles and laughs and thinks about how easy it would be snatch you from bakugou and keep you to himself. he’s not good enough of a person to leave you alone.

aaah kirishima is a sweetheart and he treats you well. so when you feel his hand on your thigh underneath the table - rubbing little circles into your knee, you don’t even notice. and when he gets super close to you to hear you talk - telling you your voice is too soft even tho a class is empty, you let him.

and when you point out that ppl keep staring and whispering you, he tells you to ignore them and you do. you ignore the whispers and even the click of camera.

it’s only when you hear bakugou that you get a strange feeling in your gut. he stomps into the classroom - vicious. his schedule is so busy he normally doesn’t get to lounge around before class making sure to keep everything tight

but he got.. many messages about how you and kirishima were seating today. mostly from kami who likes to cause problems - he decided he should get there a lil early

well.. lo and behold he does - and he finds you and kirishima looking incredibly cozy with each other. and kirishima being.. kirishima - is the first to see him and he shoots his beloved friend the most smug fuckin smile.

bkg is pissed, naturally and stomps his way over to the two of you. he’s doing the thing again where he’s icy mad. he doesn’t even bother w kirishima and there’s a whole crowd around the three of you.

“get your shit,” he demands, clearly seething. you give him a wild look, noticing the now obvious tension before being completely confused. you’re about to protest w him but he sends you a spine-chillingly glare.

your whole class watches as he yanks you by the wrist out of the classroom as kirishima sits back and gives u a little wave. ur lost. obviously. and once you leave the classroom ur like “where are we going?”

the answer is to bakugous very nice car - a custom c3 corvette. he opens the door and stares you, grabbing your bags and taking them to the trunk. but u stand ur ground, cross your arms over your chest like

“what are we doing out here?”

bkg doesn’t hesitate in pushing you up against his car, his hands on your waist and his teeth nipping at your neck - sore from old bruises. and you gasp when you feel his fingers dig into your hips, all tongue and teeth.

“the fuck did i say about you cozyin’ up t’ that shitty haired bastard yesterday,”

this makes you swallow because bakugous mouth is travelling further and further and his hands are getting more bold. and you shiver, something hot and heavy in your core cause fuck he’s so possesive over you. it makes you dizzy, something sticky and warm in you.

“i.. i d-didn’t think you were being s..serious yesteryday”

he growls a little against your throat.

“guess i’ll have to teach you another lesson. im gonna get in the car and then you are. easy enough, nerd?”

you can’t do anything but nod and watch him open the car doors. when he gets in you follow and within the blink of an he manuevers you till your over his lap. you let out a loud yelp as his strong hands come down on your ass. still clothed.

you let out a soft yelp - a noise of surprise at the sudden sensation and you feel bkg bend down to speak in your ear.

“wanna act like a fuckin’ brat and flirt with your boyfriends friends? fine. i’ll fuck that shitty ass attitude right out of you,”

the firs thing you think is “boyfriend?!” but your voice gets muffled when you feel bakugou pull down your bottoms along with your panties. his hands are so strong and so big - long thick fingers covered in callouses from playing so many games. you can’t help but squirm under his touch, a growing wetness making your stomach clench.

he’s so so mean about it yk? a big strong hand smacking against your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. he chuckles when you whine, when your body shivers - bare cunt expose to him and nothing else. a wave of humilation floods through you.

“‘s not my fault you’re like this y’know? all you gotta do is follow instructions - i know you now how to fucking do that, right? always bein’ so prissy,” ― bakugou tsks, smacking your ass hard before spreading your cheeks out. he admires the way your cunt trembles with mean laugh ― “but you wanna go flirt with shitty hair that much, huh?”

you’re gonna protest and tell him it’s not even like that.. which makes you question why’re so eager to go with his demands. but the words get lost as the sound of spanks slowly drift and it’s just bakugou admiring your ass. he didn’t really get a good chance too when he was fucking you yesterday but now he’s got eagles on you n your pretty little cunt.

“never gonna let anyone touch your pretty little pussy but fuckin’ me,” ― and he groans, sliding his fingers through your folds ― “fuck.. fuck”

you’re not expecting much but within another few seconds you’ve got your cheek pressed to the glass window, ass up and body folded with your cunt directly in bkgs face. you’re not rlly sure why this was happening because you were sure you were getting punished. and maybe the humilation of having your face pressed to glass is enough

but it doesn’t negate the fact bkg is tongue deep in your cunt. both hands massaging your ass - spreading your lips apart so he can get into fucking deeper. sliding his tongue against your folds and slurping on your clit until you’re jolting with pleasure like you’ve never known before in your life. you’re moaning so loud the whole campus could probably fucking hear but bkg doesn’t care and doesn’t stop

and your thighs give out, he goes from eat it from the back to getting underneath you and has you sitting on his face. you just keep cumming and bakugou is rock fucking hard - but he doesn’t even bother jerking himself off. he spends all of his time n effort worshipping your sweet cunt

you cum on his face so many times you’re completely limp by the time he sticks his dick in you. but it feels so good when he does that too - oversenstive walls stretched out his big cock, a hand on your sides as he shifts you into missionary.

he doesn’t even intend to make you cum again but the position has him so deep in your cervix that you do and he’s so close. and when bkgs close, he’s fucking obscene.

but it’s not all that vulgar like you’re expecting and that makes you fucking whine. hearing bakugou praise you and your pussy does something terrible to your brain and in your fucked out haze - arms around his shoulders, you’re fucking whimpering.

and bkgs just in your ear like

“such a sweet fuckin’ girl for me, taking my dick so damn good, haah fuck. all mind. know how to behave when i fuck you like this don’t you? be a good girl and take it all.. there you go, just like that,”

when he cums inside of you he stays there for a while and stares at your completely gone expression. it’s unusually soft and you wont see it often but he grabs your face and kisses you hard

“you’re my girlfriend now you fuckin’ dweeb so start fuckin’ acting like it yeah?”

you whine and nod, unable to refuse even if u want too

“yeah..yeah”

#bully!bkg #prettyboy.thirsts #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #return to sender #this is not proof read at all im losing my mind.#dubcon cw #toxic cw

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no-droids · 3 years

Text

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay! I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck? Look whenever you want? That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind. You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are? Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look. You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right. You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there? Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means. It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible. Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look. Sort of.

Sort of. Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid. Mostly for him. What if he’s making a mistake? It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you. This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn. Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him. To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around. Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer. Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?” (“I don’t know. Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?” (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?” (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles? Or moles, or birthmarks?” (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?” (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?” (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?” (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look. One right after the other. You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence. You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take. One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally. And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines. He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful. When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib. But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off. He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because. Now he does. Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully. Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch. Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear. At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom. He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door. Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them. Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born. Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare? He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye. But to you, he’s… his own monument. Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else. A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him? No, that’s not phrased right. What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference. He could be anybody. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features? Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun. Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would. Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing. Every single time. You feel like you could do it in the pitch black. You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous. Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable. Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous. Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides. He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back. He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over. No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova? For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning. He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it? Din is… different, he notices. He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too. He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around. That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why. You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood. While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes. Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite. Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder? He said you’d say no. Was he right? You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could. Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself? Where would it be? Naboo? No, that’s too cheesy. One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it. You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels. Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away. You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is. You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated. Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you. “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair. “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it. “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it. “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss. You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs. “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time. You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it. “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around. “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body. The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it. “Be safe. Please.”

But then… well. Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach. You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so. Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned. “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up. You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him. But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you. Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him. You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea. “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

***

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…? You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real. You actually fucking did it. You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey! See that, bug!?” You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms. “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him. “No demon powers necessary, little man! I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two. You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward. You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach. You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious. Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm. It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible. You have company. “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.” He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you. It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still. Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…” You immediately feel yourself get nervous. “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more. The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity. Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits. It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it? But it doesn’t hit. It misses, like usual. Miserably. And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck. You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either. But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect. There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly. However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just…

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point? All that practice and nothing to show for it. If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot? Are they gonna stand still for you? Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk? You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done. It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time. You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him. “I hit it earlier. I did, I promise. You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago. “I know you did. It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center. I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet. Dumb. Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear. “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection. It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things. Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through. You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you. Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it. “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point. I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist. “Try using this one when you do.” And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship. Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand. You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor. Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety. It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look. The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be. The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside? Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot? Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him. Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones. “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs. “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up. He didn’t have to do this. This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do. Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle. You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place. It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly. “They’re… dangerous animals. Fiercely protective, preferring solitude. The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him. It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor. Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel. You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back. “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other. The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right. The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is. What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears. Fuck yes.

“Look at that!” Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory. Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous. You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark. “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot. A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later. “That one.” Bark splinters. “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing. “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous. As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance. So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger. Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress. He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that. Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way. It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back. That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again. “We have to get going. The fifth quarry is far. Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker. You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest. His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight. “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you. After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding. You hope he sees it in your eyes. You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along. It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.” Short. Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay… Um. Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.” Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks. Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now. “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay. I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp. “My fault for being late.” And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive. Aloof. Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help? Maybe?” Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you. “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up. You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known. You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it. “I can be useful. I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—”

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?” He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze. You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how. I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.” He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before. “No. Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry. Quit asking. I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine. Uh. You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then. No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder. Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat. Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting. It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself. It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting. Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him. A choice he made because it just fit him best. You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you. You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence. Not… everything else’s. Now it’s haunting again. Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes. Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance. Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will. You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid. You’re quiet but in a different way from Din. When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to. When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right. What were you thinking, wanting to tag along? Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant. Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though. That still stings a bit. This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time. Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally? You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap. He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there. You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either. The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be. He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is. You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms. There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny. He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull. There’s a good chance he’s already asleep. “I think… he might still be mad at me. Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation. That’s not gonna work, come on. They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips. It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?” You ask him, unable to even fathom. “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength. You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again. It’s just as well, you figure. He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time. You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be. So big, crammed into such a tiny place. You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace. He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time. You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door? The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be. You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?” You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor. A complete mystery again. Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.” His voice stops you dead in your tracks. It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter. “I… hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

And… Maker, if anybody else had said it. If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment. But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted. That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it. This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now. Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before. Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him. He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is. “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to. It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before. Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time. “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well. Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet. “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly. “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way. I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel. I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?” He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused. “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…” Now you’re confused. “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything. “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now. “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing. He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all? By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.” He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground. “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor. “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?” He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they? You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little. You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?” Din asks you, the words sounding cautious. Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all. “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this? It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed. Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did. Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier. It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now. At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have. You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second. There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him. Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral. “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that. What are you, an eight year old? Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life? Credits? Time? Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal. Why is he even entertaining this right now? “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words. “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall. Someplace to find for yourself. Explore. Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that. Like he… just inherently understands. He knows.

He knows you. He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying. You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now. “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing. “Ever. And not because you can’t handle it, understand?” He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to. “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars. He’s… too kind. You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve. You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to. Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands. You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it. “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit. Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints. That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din. Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this. Yikes, this is a toughie. “Um. If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words. “Say what you mean. Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain. “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry. It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before. If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week. But only if you want to, you don’t have to. It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise? Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah. Well.” You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that. As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up. You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?” Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest. So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?” You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you. You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip. You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable. One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker. The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you. Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Forgive me. Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed. But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing. Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through. You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours. It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…” You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic. It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good. Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you. “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering. Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes. “There could be, but I don’t know it. I’d use… out of a million million millions. Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier. Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation. How is that possible? You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through. You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t. You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower. You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?” You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth. The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall. Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on. “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…” You blink, surprised. “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay. You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it. He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you. “You’re going to run.”

“Um.” You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised. “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation. “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee. “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves. He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside. “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire. You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start. You’re going to run from me. Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now? You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised. Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?” He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay! Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone. “One. This is a safe world, but things can always happen. You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only. Do not shoot me with it. Do you understand?” You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow. “Out loud, please. For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you. “Do not… shoot at me. Near me. Around me. No, just—don’t shoot. Unless I am… very far away. Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that. You frown, but acquiesce regardless. “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words. “Second rule. Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either. We’re on foot. I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair. “Good.”

“Three,” he says. “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you. Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight. What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod. “Also not really a rule. Please continue.”

“Four.” He pauses for a second. “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back. “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide. “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious? “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you. “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet. Trust me.”

You… do. Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do. If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin. It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it? It actually sounds right on par for him. “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly. “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright? I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises. Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening. “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too. Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly. It is a very, very stern tilt. “Okay. New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows. “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious. “Us. Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate. “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh. Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting. “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry. You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine. “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator. Not mean or harsh, but firm. “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not. When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground. “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest. There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud. It… really is a struggle for him too, then. You understand.

“Okay,” you nod. There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given. You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself. It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more. “Final rule. I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe. Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies. He doesn’t do that. Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?” You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you. Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself. “This is your communicator. It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance. I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days. If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.” Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other. Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head. His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator. “Gar darasuum.” For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain. You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning. Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here. Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way. The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?” You ask, already clueless. “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side. “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me. You know how I think. I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…” He slowly shakes his head. “See me. Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now. “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time. “Remember what I told you a long time ago? What your best weapon is?”

You… do not. He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast. You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?” Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers. “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet. So…” He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. “Don’t try to outrun, okay? Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.

Outsmart. Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking. His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know. You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair. Are you going to a city? Would there be one in walking distance? The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals. The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him. He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long. Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement. He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #angst #hurt/comfort #reader insert #the mandalorian #rough day #no-droids

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