#’i would like for me desert to wait quietly’ made my heart do a flip flop ACTUALLY A LOT OF THINGS HE SAID MADE MY HEART DO A FLIP FLOP
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bethiewhimsy · 3 years ago
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ASCENDING
#s2e11 is now one of my favorite episodes i aM FEELING ALIVE#PLS YALL THE AKUTAGAWA CONTENT WAS TOO GOOD#i’ll never fall in love with another#okay that’s really fucking dramatic but guys srsly i love him sm im shakinggg#’i would like for me desert to wait quietly’ made my heart do a flip flop ACTUALLY A LOT OF THINGS HE SAID MADE MY HEART DO A FLIP FLOP#ALSO???? ATSUSHI’S PARENTS ABUSED HIM AS AN INFANT THATS HORRIBLE IM SOBBING#the trauma dumping in this episode was HEAVY#THE INFAMOUS PHONE SCENE OMG I LAUGHED AND THEN CRIED AND THEN DIED#literally the way akutagawa said ‘are you there?’ had me sO SAD the desperation the wistful hope OUCHHHH#AND THE INFAMOUS ELEVATOR SCENE LOLLL THEYRE SO SILLY#they’re characters are so complex and i adore them crying rn#*their damn it it’s so late that my grammar is failing me#ALSO!!!! I DESPISE FITZGERALD BUT HIS MOTIVE FOR THE BOOK HAD ME SO SAD THAT I ALMOST DIDNT MIND HIM!!!!!#pls he just wants his daughter back ;-; and his wife to be happy again ;-;#OMS WAIT ATSUSHI’S MORALE ON POWER I WHOLEHEARTEDLY AGREE WITH??? power is to be distributed to those in need boi so true#anyway THE FIGHTS GONNA BE EPIC IN THE NEXT EPISODE#y’all im literally so sorry this is so fucking annoying#pls just block me or tell me to shut up#bsd brainrot rants are gonna be the death of us all#pls y’all im actually genuinely so sorry#when i hyperfixate i become the very definition of it#pls don’t hate me i love y’all very much#bsd brainrot rants
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no-droids · 4 years ago
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Beginner’s Luck
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Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 14.6K
Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT.  Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry
A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos
***
“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting.  “Turn around, let me see.”
“No.  I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says.  You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in.  “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”
“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.
Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it.  You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle.  Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.
Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him.  He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.
“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence.  “I look ridiculous.”
Still, nothing.  You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth.  Oh for the love of Maker—
“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl.  He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.
Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it.  You fucking knew he was laughing.
“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.
“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?”  You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries.  The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace.  “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”
“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now.  “Way too big.”
“Too big?”  You blink at him.  “That’s your criticism?”
When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no.  It’s fucking… rust.  It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character.  There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?
“You’re telling me you went from this—”  You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens?  It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”
He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull.  “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh.  “This planet isn’t nice.”
That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully.  “Are we on Corellia?”  You ask without thinking.
“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron.  “Tatooine.”
You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill.  Different setting, same kind of people.  Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them.  You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?
“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else.  It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.
“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs.  “Someone… nice.  It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”
Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you.  Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to.  Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy.  But for real, who is he talking about?
“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?”  You ask instead, but he shakes his head.
“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace.  “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”
“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again.  “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”
Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore.  “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words.  “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”
You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second.  “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment.  “We can stay with your… friend.”  
You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step.  You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.
Was that not subtle?  You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated.  You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again.  That’s what’s called a friend, right?  
Maker, why are you being so weird about this?
Thankfully, you end up getting away with it.  After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit.  You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.
***
It’s bright.  Fuck, it’s so bright here.  You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it.  Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.
Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now.  But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance.  “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”
Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely.  You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.
“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him.  “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”
“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink.  What… what happened last time?
“It sure won’t!”  The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long.  “I’m still recovering, Mando!”
“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.
She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second.  “How much do you think my life is worth?”
Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration.  Probably both.  “I brought my ki—”
“You bring trouble!”  She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground.  “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”
He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot.  How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide.  He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his.  He talks to you.  He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without.  Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.
So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.
“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos.  “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”
Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders.  Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.
“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?”  She faces him and pokes his armor again.  “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”
“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase.  Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point.  He said she was nice?  And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?
“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks.  Fuck, there’s no way.  There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.
But… he doesn’t respond.  Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation.  Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue.  Maker, five hundred credits.  You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it.  He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.
So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.
Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around.  Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side.  You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now.  Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does.  Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it.  You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—
But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.
“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.
You understand him.  Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway.  You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing.  It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him.  That’s insane.
He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.  
“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.
And you think now is finally the time to go, right?  Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently.  Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you?  You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?
You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape.  He leaves and doesn’t look back.
Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.
“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk.  Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask.  “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”
You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her.  “Pre-Imperial or post?  Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”
She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.
***
So Peli is… a character.
She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it.  She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable.  You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night.  You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.
The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse.  You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck.  Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror.  Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.
Din was right, though.  She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about.  She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being.  On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears.  It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.
At least you stay busy—which, understatement.  She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing.  Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later.  You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset.  You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life.  However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do.  After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.
One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself.  You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.
You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.
Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.
You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.
***
A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.
There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game.  There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.
It’s an unpredictable nightmare.  But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game.  The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.
“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.
You don’t argue, because there’s no point.  The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point.  You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void.  You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best.  Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.
“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it.  “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”
You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand.  “I have a lot of free time.”
“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair.  Peli sets the mug down and sighs.  “You’re a good mechanic.  I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”
Now, you do smile.  But it’s a hidden one.  A fond one.  One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him.  You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him.  Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace.  It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him.  Nothing can touch you.  You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.
No, you’d never consider it.  This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous.  You love the baby.  You love him.  You’d never consider it.
“Don’t you get bored?”  She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit.  “Just waiting around for him to come back?”
You don’t have to think about your answer.  Of course you do.  If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without.  Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go.  You’ve never experienced anything like that before.  There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age.  So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them.  You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.
“Yes,” you admit quietly.
But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy.  You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family.  You don’t know of anything you could want more.  Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment.  Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence.  You know what it means to live for yourself.  You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different.  As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better.  Now you have other people to live for, too.  
You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago.  He used to terrify you.  You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up.  Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.
No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition.  Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do.  You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea.  But maybe you can also…
You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation.  “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“What do you want now?”  She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.
“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal.  “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them.  Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface?  I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”
She furrows her eyebrows at you.  “But I still need your help with…”
You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it.  Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work.  This is what Din does, right?  Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet?  Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.
“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin.  “But only if you win this round.  What d’you got?”
You set down your cards to reveal your hand.  A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.
“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.
***
It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7.  They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave.  Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.
You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done.  After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.
As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape.  You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating.  You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.
Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before.  You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted.  It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.
Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired.  You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open.  Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.
“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you.  Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.
You know you must look a hot mess right now.  Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is.  Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.
Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could.  Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.
You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that.  You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.
And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted.  He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.  
Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level.  And fuck, nothing stops you from looking.  He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either.  He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.
He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs.  Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…
The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.
You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time.  Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now.  Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…
“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all.  “But… shit, but…”
“But…?”  You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.
“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides.  “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”
You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him.  All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.
“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside.  Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful.  “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long.  “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”
Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him.  Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you.  The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.
“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.
“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck.  “Shit.  I… I need to clean up.  Grab your things, go tell…”
Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss.  You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters.  “Uh.  Go tell…”  He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so.  “Her.  That we’re leaving tonight.”
“What?”  You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused.  “What are you saying right now?”
“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat.  “The mechanic, with the… droids.  Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”
“Peli?”  You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point.  “Did you forget her name, Mando?”
“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that.  “Never asked.”
“But you—?”  You blink at him.  “But you said she was your friend?”
“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy.  It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it.  Yikes, you absolutely did say that.  You forgot.
“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response.  “Ha.  Oh.  Yeah, huh.”
There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom.  Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?
“Were you jealous?”  He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.
“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far.  You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.
“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw.  “Tell me the truth.”
You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered.  So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would.  Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.
His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help.  His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.
“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle.  “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”
His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you…  Mind blank, no thoughts.  Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.
“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try.  “There’s no reason.  I was jealous.  It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid.  I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”
Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off.  Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.
“See that wall?”  He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it.  You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about.  It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar.  He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you.  “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”
You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar.  “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”
Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.
She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore.  “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”
“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.
“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again.  “You owe me five hundred credits.”
“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point.  Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.
“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.
“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.
Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly.  You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here.  She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.
“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him.  “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”
And then your jaw drops.  Holy shit, is she serious?  You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly.  Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.
Also… girlfriend?
Is that what you are to him?  Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so.  You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important?  You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again.  If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough.  Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough.  It’s an elementary school version of what this is.  And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend?  Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.
“Uh.”  He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point.  Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder?  Lover?  No, not good enough.  Partner?  No.  No, not wife, definitely fucking not—  “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder.  “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”
All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness.  The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.
“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.
***
So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.
You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing.  You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here.  Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.  
When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food.  A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps?  Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things.  While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.
Well.  Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.
Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful.  The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you.  You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.
So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically.  So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one.  He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.
Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch.  It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye.  Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.
Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—
You fire, and… well.  You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life.  You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.
“Try again.”
There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it.  Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.  
No, you think in frustration.  You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time.  You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.
You adjust your aim and fire a few more times.  Miss, miss, wild miss, miss.  Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you.  Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—
Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.
“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise.  He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.
“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit.  “Go ahead, give it another shot.”
But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was.  Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing.  He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast?  That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?
“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.
“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.
“So how did you toggle so fas—?”
He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.
“How in the f…?”  You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch.  “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again.  “Design flaw.”
“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon.  “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature.  Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”
The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.
“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking.  “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando?  I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”
“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips.  They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again.  “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”
“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.
“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.
“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin.  “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”
But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off.  “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”
Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him.  “Holy shit, are you serious?”
“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards.  “Of course not.  Pick up the gun.”
Okay.
Okay, so that one gets you.
You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you.  Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.
Shit, okay, focus.  Focus, you can do this.  You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life.  The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours.  His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows.  He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.
He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on.  Maker, chill out.  Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot.  This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…
Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong.  You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—
“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.
The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center.  You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.
He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target.  Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.
When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more.  You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit.  Bullseye, right on the nose.
This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.
“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh.  “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”
“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down.  “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong.   Are you just distracted?”
Uh, fuck yeah you are.  So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind.  He’s your biggest distraction, all the time.  He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.  
Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.
“Can I watch you do it?”  You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf.  “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him.  He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused.  You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.
He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically.  You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out.  You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot.  You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.
As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right.  You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop.  Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.
He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable.  Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago.  No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere.  The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit.  They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands.  But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there.  He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either.  He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.
None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize.  It’s not fun because he’s too good at it.  This is life.  This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.
You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element.  You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you.  Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.
Is it just you, you wonder?  Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?
No, you think.  No.  You have seen him relax.  You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.  
But… only with you.  A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.
Fuck.  Why does that turn you on so fucking much?  It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit.  The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.
“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it.  You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it.  You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.
Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders.  He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.
Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back.  Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.
He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason.  There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator.  He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime.  Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.
Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf.  The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.
“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.
Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots.  Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.  
You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this.  His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too.  You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.
A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him.  Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more.  So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point.  And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.
Din is a fucking statue.  He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it.  Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.
You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already.  You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out.  You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.
At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public.  Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.
Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else.  Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response.  He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it.  This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else.  This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.
You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue.  His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue.  While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.
Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth.  Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with.  You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it.  He endures.  Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.
But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando!  Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”
You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing.  The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.  
And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.
The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming.  Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at.  Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.  
He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance.  The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever.  Handling it is all on him.  He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun.  It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?
Wrong.  So wrong.  You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss.  Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs.  But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.
Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length.  Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him.  His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.
So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want.  His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache.  You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.
“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise.  “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”
Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?
You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.
His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth.  You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner.  The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.
He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean.  His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.
He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going.  Is that fucked up, you wonder?  What would he think?
He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving?  Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that.  The coast must not be clear, you have to assume.  Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t.  You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants.  He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.
The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows.  What would he think?  That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent?  Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.
At some point, you can’t stop yourself.  You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.
You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit.  Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss.  He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on.  You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.
Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair.  Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—
That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand.  And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this.  You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again.  Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified.  Debased.  And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.
When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum.  You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins.  By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants.  You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.
The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest.  You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble.  Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that.  He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake.  He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense.  Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.
Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.
“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet.  “Now you should be able to focus, right?”
Fuck…  Fuck, is he serious?  You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard.  How does this work again?  What does this do?
“Wh-What?”  You croak—fuck, your voice is gone.  “I… I can’t—”
“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it.  Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield.  “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath.  “You can do it.”
You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way.  “I… can’t.”
“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace.  A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.
It sounds… wonderful.
Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady.  The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.
You drop your hands, already defeated and drained.  “I can’t.”
“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again.  Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.
You shoot.  Nope.  So you shoot again.  And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.
“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again.  “Expensive.  Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”
Miss, miss, miss, and—no.  Just, no.  There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap.  You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place.  “Mando, I ca—”
“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.
… What?  N… No…
Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.
You… you know it must just be a joke, right?  Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be.  You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.
“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding.  If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away.  Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something.  Is he messing with you again?  Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?
It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate.  Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.
The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready.  You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—
—it hits dead center.
Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is.  You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.
“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint.  Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened?  “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him.  “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”
You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all.  Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?
No.  Shut up.  Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything.  Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—
You do, and oh.  Oh, no.
“Uh?!”  Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic.  What the fuck?  No fucking way.  Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot.  “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”
Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you.  You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.  
The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb.  There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—
—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.  
It fucking bends.  Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.
Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.
… that’s not closed.
The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away.  Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it.  You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.
Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.
“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him.  “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”
Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door.  You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance.  The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.
***
Stay tuned for the next part!
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aurumacadicus · 3 years ago
Text
Sincerely, Yours (Chapter 9)
Thank you all for waiting so patiently, and thank you @fadeintodark for commissioning me! Watch out for under the cut, or read the rest on AO3 here.
--
Steve pointed out the house as soon as it came into view. “We’re a ways off still, but that’s home. I think it’s big enough that we won’t step on each other’s toes.”
Tony lifted a hand to block out the sun shining in his eyes, following the direction Steve’s finger was pointed. “Where?” He saw a dark blob against the sunset, barely. He put his free hand on Steve’s shoulder and stood up on the front board of the wagon. “That’s it?”
“Whoa!” Steve said hastily, reaching up to clamp his hand around Tony’s elbow to steady him. “Sit down. It’ll still be there when we get closer to it.”
Tony squinted, trying to see it better. “Just a second, I—”
“We’re gonna hit a bump in the road, and you’re gonna fly off and break your neck,” Steve groused petulantly. “You’re tryin’ to make me a widower before we even get home.”
“You wouldn’t let me fall,” Tony retorted, and was surprised to find he actually meant it—and not just because Steve’s grip on his elbow was strong (though it was) or because he’d felt Steve brace himself against the board as well (he had). He knew, down in his bones, that Steve wouldn’t have let him fall and get hurt, even if it meant he had to throw himself down to break the fall. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the fact. He really needn’t have worried about not knowing Steve well enough. He hadn’t just gotten to know Steve in his words; he’d gotten to know him in the spaces in between them, too, unspoken but certainly there.
“Will you just—Tony I can’t hold these horses with just one hand—” Steve began, but he didn’t try and yank him down against his will, either.
Tony dropped back down into his seat, trying not to feel too flustered. The alphas back home would have snapped at him or yanked him back down regardless of whether he was going to do so himself. Steve’s grip had been firm, but not tight; he could have easily yanked his arm free if he’d really wanted to. It had seemed more like Steve was trying to hold him up so if he did lose his balance, he wouldn’t fall. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Steve answered immediately, grabbing the reins again. “I’m sure this is all new, and… different.”
“I’ve never seen so much open space,” Tony admitted, peering around again. “I… expected more desert.”
“Lots of desert out there,” Steve replied, shrugging. “Luckily we’re in the plains. Good cattle country.” He glanced at Tony, smiling a little. “Sand doesn’t really agree with cattle’s stomachs, you see.”
Tony smiled down at his lap at the joke, even though it also made him realize just how much he didn’t know. He had had so much to learn before coming, and he hadn’t had a chance to learn even a fraction before he’d had to flee. “That makes sense. I guess I already have a lot to learn.”
Steve glanced at him speculatively before returning his gaze to the road, humming quietly. “I’m gonna tell you a secret. Well, not really a secret,” he added, tilting his head in thought. “Most everyone around here knows, but they never talk about it, so it feels like a secret.”
Tony turned his head to look up at him, frowning a little when he noticed Steve’s brows were furrowed together, and he looked pensive. “You don’t have to,” he offered.
“No, I’m gonna,” Steve said. “Just tryin’ to remember what I put in my letters to you. I have yours memorized, but I basically forgot what I said as soon as I sent it,” he added, smiling shyly.
Tony smiled again and hoped he didn’t look too pleased or smug at the admission. “I… might know your letters to me by heart as well,” he said, looking out at the plains again. “So if you have a question or anything…”
“I mentioned being sick, right? And being sent to live with someone for treatment,” Steve asked.
Tony tilted his head, frowning and rubbing his chin as he mentally flipped through each of the letters Steve had sent him. He remembered it being early on in their correspondence. “Hmm… Yes, I’m sure. You said you were sick—had even had polio—and your best friend kept track of it one year and you were sick for almost half of it. But your mother sent you to a friend for treatment, and the treatment worked,” he added, looking back up at him. “And you’ve been healthy ever since.”
“That’s the jist of it,” Steve agreed, nodding. “But there’s more to the story. I’m actually from New York, too.”
Tony blinked at him, stunned. “You?”
“In name, mostly,” Steve answered with an uncomfortable shrug. He was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking, before he continued, “My da came from Ireland. So did my ma’s parents. They were poor, but my ma was a nurse, so she always had work. It’s how she met Dr. Erskine—she helped him at his practice. But he wanted to work more on his experimental treatment, and he had to come out where it was less crowded, drier. That was before I was born, but Ma was interested in the treatment still, so she kept in touch. Then she had me, and I was always sick, so I took up what little extra money they had,” Steve said, shoulders sagging a little. “I know it was hard on them. Da didn’t have any problem blaming me before he drank himself to death, after all.”
“Steve,” Tony said softly, unable to help aching for him. He reached out and put his hand on top of Steve’s, frowning.
Steve offered him a small smile. “No need to worry. Ma made up for whatever bad Da did. She was a great mother.”
“She must have been. She raised you, after all,” Tony said, managing to smile back at him. “And you’re still scared she’ll haunt you for being rude.”
“I still remember her wooden spoon,” Steve sighed, and Tony covered his mouth with his free hand to try and stifle a giggle. “Anyway. Da died, and it was just me and Ma. But I got sicker, and she wasn’t able to afford everything the doctors suggested to make me better,” Steve added, frowning again. “So she wrote to Dr. Erskine, to see if he had made any progress on his experimental treatment, and if he might have any suggestions for us. Dr. Erskine always liked Ma. Never had an unkind word about her the entire time I lived with him,” Steve said proudly.
“She sounds wonderful to me,” Tony said, because she did. He loved his own mother, of course, but growing up in high society as they had, there were expectations and societal norms to follow, so sometimes Tony had felt there was a door between them that he wasn’t yet old enough to open. Then she’d died, and he’d never gotten the chance to know her as an adult.
“She was,” Steve agreed, smiling again. “So when Dr. Erskine said he was ready to look for patients to start the treatment, she said she’d be willing to send me to him as soon as she got the money together. Dr. Erskine said he wanted to get started right away though, so he’d pay for the train ticket, and Ma could just pay him back. He told me that every penny she sent him went into an envelope for me, because he knew Ma wouldn’t accept it as a gift, even if he pointed out we were helping him more than he was helping us,” Steve added. “And the treatment worked, so I got better. He still wanted to monitor me though, so I stayed on his farm, hired out to ranchers and learned their business.” He paused, then added, face going somber again, “My best friend’s family moved here a couple years later. Told me my ma got consumption. Dr. Erskine and I were getting the money together to send for her, because she’d do better out here than in the cold and wet of New York.”
Tony frowned as he went silent, reaching out his other hand to clasp Steve’s in both of his. “Steve…”
“She made it out here,” Steve said, grim. “She did. We had a lovely seven months together. Dr. Erskine said it was six more than she would have gotten in New York. But she still withered away in front of me.”
Tony gave his hand a squeeze and wondered if Steve even felt it. “I’m sorry, Steve.” He hesitated, then asked, “Did you at least get to say goodbye?”
Steve glanced at him sharply, but he didn’t look angry. He looked confused, mostly, and then stricken, as if he was remembering Tony’s letter where he said his parents had died, and the question had made him realize that Tony hadn’t gotten to. “Yes,” he said, instead of pointing it out. “Yes, we both got to say goodbye.” He looked back at the road. “There’s a portrait of her above the fireplace. Last painting I ever did. Threw myself into work, after. New York wouldn’t have felt like home without her there, after all.”
Tony sat back in his seat with a sympathetic nod. New York hadn’t felt much like home after his parents had died, either, parties where everyone treated him like finely spun glass that might break with the wrong word, or friends of his parents who gave him sad eyes and sadder frowns as they asked how he was. Jarvis and Ana had filled the void where his parents had been, but outside of the mansion, there wasn’t really anything they could do to fix the way he was treated. Jan had tried to ease some of the tension, but even she couldn’t make society stop viewing him as less-than without his parents, and a commodity to own as a lone, wealthy omega. He wondered how different that would have looked to a poor alpha.
“So I’m not… from here, either,” Steve finally concluded, drawing him back out of his thoughts. “I came when I was… oh, goin’ on ten, I think? Didn’t know anything about farming or cattle. Tried to help Dr. Erskine with his garden, once. He’s the one who helped me get a job with the ranchers. I’m sure everyone else will be happy to help you learn everything you need to know, too, Tony.”
Tony couldn’t help but feel bolstered by that. Steve had been an outsider, once, but that hadn’t stopped the people in and around Timely from taking him in. And everyone had seemed so excited for Steve (for them both?) when he’d arrived at the depot, waiting with bated breath to see what kind of omega Steve had found for himself and happy that he finally had. Even the waitress who had scolded Steve for ‘making him cry’ had really helped put him at ease. Steve said these were all good people. Tony couldn’t help but believe him.
“…Steve,” Tony began thoughtfully.
“Hmm?” Steve asked, looking back at him.
Tony looked up to meet his gaze, trying to bite back a grin. “…Are you a cattleman because Dr. Erskine was trying to keep your black thumb out of his garden?”
Steve’s mouth dropped open, and he blinked at Tony wordlessly. He looked back at the horses. Looked at Tony. Looked out at the rolling hills of grass. Looked back at Tony. “Oh my God. I only helped him one day when he said I should go tell the Smiths he’d sent me.”
Tony let out a frankly unattractive bark of laughter before he covered his mouth to muffle it. “Steve!”
“I really thought he was trying to help me build muscle strength but he really just didn’t want me around his squash,” Steve gasped, looking absolutely mortified.
Tony laughed harder, reaching out to grab Steve’s sleeve so he wouldn’t lose his balance and tumble right off the wagon.
.-.
They eventually got close enough to the house that Tony could actually see it. It looked like an incredibly nice house, just like Steve had said—two stories, and a porch that looked like it wrapped around the entire bottom floor. It looked like one of the rooms on the second floor had a balcony, too. There were a couple of trees next to the house, and they looked enormous. There was also what looked to be a large barn near to the house, and another house-like structure nearer to a corral? He wondered what it could be.
“It’s prettier than I imagined,” Tony decided, because he hadn’t really imagined the house beyond someplace that he’d live with Steve. He hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up. He remembered that Steve had proudly told him there was a pump inside the kitchen. He thought that was incredibly charming, especially because he’d had running water back home. He hoped he’d be good at pumping water.
“Thanks. I worked hard on it. I’ve moved my stuff out of the master bedroom for you,” Steve said as he pulled the wagon up to the steps leading up onto the porch.
Tony frowned at him in concern. “I don’t want you to put yourself out for me, Steve.”
“You’re the omega of the house. You get the master bedroom,” Steve told him firmly, hopping off the wagon like it was nothing. He circled the wagon and held his hands out to help him down, adding, “I’m bullheaded. You’re not going to change my mind.”
“Well,” Tony sighed, frowning. “If I’m not going to change your mind.”
“Omegas are in charge of the house,” Steve said, grabbing his waist and helping him hop down to the ground. He paused, considering, then added an embarrassed, “Ma always was, anyway.”
Tony tilted his head, brows furrowing together. He couldn’t remember much about his parents’ dynamics, because he’d still been quite young, not really allowed to attend parties in the same way an adult could. Still, he remembered that his mother was always a gracious hostess, and his father had just… seemed along for the ride. “Okay. But I’ll need your help learning what all that means,” he added, frowning up at him. “I was an orphan before I could put my finishing school classes to the test.”
Steve’s smile faded a little. “You’ve had a hard life, huh? For all the comforts you had, I mean.”
“…I suppose,” Tony admitted. “I prefer not to think about it too much.”
“Right,” Steve said, voice drifting off. He frowned down at Tony a moment longer, then realized his hands were still resting on his waist and jerked them back like he’d been burned. “Oh! Sorry! I’ll just—” He turned back to the wagon, grabbing Tony’s carpet bags.
Tony ignored the way his heart fluttered in his chest when he saw that Steve’s ears and the back of his neck had gone pink, instead clasping his hands in front of him. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem at all,” Steve said hastily. He cleared his throat, then put both bags in one hand and extended the other toward the door, pretending he wasn’t flushed in embarrassment. “Shall we?”
Tony felt the need to clear his throat as well, nodding. “Of course.” He couldn’t help perking up when Steve dropped his hand to offer his arm to him again. “Such a gentleman,” he said, approving, and maybe teasing a little.
Steve smiled a little as he reached out to open the door. “Just doing what feels right.”
“I like it,” Tony decided. He allowed himself to give Steve’s arm just a little squeeze. “It makes me feel good.”
Steve’s shoulders dropped, just a little, as if he hadn’t realized how anxious he’d been. “I’m glad,” he said, then ushered him inside.
Tony paused just inside the door to look around, only belatedly moving out of Steve’s way when Steve squawked and nearly ran him over.
It was a large room, with a couple of easy chairs and a couch facing the window. There was a dining table on the far side, and a doorway that he assumed led to the kitchen. The floors were wood, but they were covered in woven carpets. A wide staircase was in the middle, leading up to the second floor. To the left of it was a giant fireplace on the back wall, probably connecting to the kitchen, made of shale stone in reds and browns and a beautiful mantle made of red wood. He remembered what Steve had said about his mother’s portrait and drew his eyes up, breath catching in his chest as they finally caught on the portrait.
Steve’s mother was beautiful. He could see where Steve got his good looks, all pale skin and blonde hair and long lashes. She was smiling, a small but warm thing. It made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She was wearing a blue dress that brought out the color of her eyes. She had a white ribbon in her hair. Tony suddenly ached at the fact that he’d never get to meet her, because she looked so incredibly kind and warm.
“What’s her name?” Tony asked quietly.
Steve stepped up beside him, and it was only then that he realized he was now standing right in front of the mantle. “Her name was Sarah.”
“That’s a pretty name,” Tony replied. His eyes traced over Sarah’s face again. Steve hadn’t done anything to make her look less than what she was—had painted her wrinkles, her freckles, a mole just below her ear. It just made her look more beautiful, more real. “This is incredible work, Steve. You never said you painted,” he added, turning to look up at him.
Steve was still looking up at his mother’s portrait. “I don’t anymore, not really. Didn’t really want to, after Ma died.”
Tony looked back at the portrait too, taking in every detail he could. “What a lovely painting to have as your last one,” he decided. “She’s beautiful. I would have liked to have met her.”
“She would have loved to have met you too, Tony,” Steve said, quiet.
Tony smiled up at the portrait, then turned to look back up at Steve. “So whe—oh,” he said, surprised, when he realized Steve was looking at him. He glanced between Steve and the painting, then shrugged bashfully. “Were you waiting on me? Sorry.”
“I don’t mind,” Steve said, and he sounded like he meant it. He cleared his throat and seemed to shake himself, turning toward the staircase. “I put the master on the second floor. The windows let in a nice cross breeze when it’s hot at night, and there’s a fireplace for when it gets cold in the winter. There’s a balcony, too. Don’t use it much, really. I prefer the porch.”
“That makes sense,” Tony decided. “It sounds lovely. Where’s the bathroom?”
Steve paused, then said, “Ah, well, there’s a bathtub in the master bedroom. It drains outside, but you still have to carry the hot water up from the kitchen. There’s a chamber pot under the bed for at night, but there’s an outhouse a ways behind the house.”
Tony blinked in surprise, then belatedly remembered to sputter, “…Okay!”
“I know a lot of the wealthier houses had indoor plumbing. It never really occurred to me to want it myself. Didn’t seem like a worthy expense to me,” Steve tried to explain.
“That’s fine, Steve,” Tony told him firmly, before he could get too embarrassed. “I don’t mind. It’s nice to know. Can I see it from the window?”
Steve blinked at him. “I didn’t want to see my outhouse from my bedroom window so… no.”
“Of course,” Tony said, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that. Then again, he wasn’t an expert on outhouses. He told himself it wasn’t a stupid question, even though it felt like one. “Okay.”
“I’ll give you the grand tour after we get all your things settled and I get the horses put away,” Steve offered.
Tony turned back to him. “Oh! Can I help? I can tack and untack a horse,” he said proudly, then paused. “Although… I’ve never had to care for them afterward. There was always a hostler who did that part. But!” he added brightly. “If you show me how, I can learn!”
Steve smiled at him, obviously amused. “I can show you tomorrow. You’ve had a pretty harrowing journey, I think.”
“Please? I can help,” Tony started, then closed his mouth so fast his teeth clicked together, embarrassed. That was unbecoming. Steve had said tomorrow. Steve was probably tired too, after the ride.
Steve tilted his head, just watching him for a moment, before he nodded. “Yeah, alright. I don’t mind. Just didn’t want you agreeing just to be polite.” He smiled again. “Sometimes omegas do that, when they want to impress an alpha.”
Tony scoffed to try and cover a small, teeny-tiny part of him that was embarrassed. He would not blush at being caught out. “I’m not doing anything to impress you.”
“You don’t hafta do anything to impress me,” Steve said, smile widening. “I’m already impressed just by you being here. Anything else is just extra.”
Tony was definitely blushing now. He peered up at Steve, frowning. “Are you making fun of me?”
Steve huffed out a laugh. “Absolutely not, Tony. I told you. You’re so brave. I’m always going to be impressed.” He motioned at the stairs. “Come on. I’ll take your bags and trunk upstairs and then we’ll take care of the horses together.”
Tony stared at him for a moment longer, then turned to obediently walk up the stairs ahead of him.
“It’s on the left,” Steve added, and there was definitely amusement in his voice.
.-.
“There’s the outhouse,” Steve said, nodding toward a rather solid-looking little building about ten yards behind the house.
Tony peeked over the back of the horse he was leading. “Looks fancy.”
“Like I said, the house was a shack when I first got here. We had a windstorm, and the outhouse blew over with me in it,” Steve deadpanned.
Tony whipped his head around to look at him, eyes wide. “Really?!”
“It was such a harrowing experience that I wouldn’t joke about it,” Steve assured him.
Tony thought about what the experience must have been like and decided very quickly it wasn’t something he wanted to ponder too much. “What’s that building?” he asked instead, pointing at the one nearer the corral.
Steve turned his head to look at what he was pointing at, then smiled a little, directing his attention back toward the barn. “It’s the bunkhouse. The cowhands live there when they’re not driving the herd to market.”
“Does your best friend live there too?” Tony asked as he followed Steve into the barn. There were several empty stalls, but some of them still had hay in them, so there must have been other animals of some sort around somewhere.
“Bucky? Nah, his family has a house in town,” Steve said, motioning at the wall where the tack went. “He has little sisters, so his ma wanted them closer to the doctor. Not sickly or anything, just seemed smarter with three girls, especially if they took after Bucky.”
“His name is Bucky?” Tony asked skeptically, even as he untacked his horse. He noticed a sore on the horse’s side and frowned, gently rubbing his thumb over it. “He has a saddle sore.”
“His name is James Buchanan. He goes by Bucky because there was three other James on our block.” Steve pointed at one of the shelves. “Ointment. Usually I don’t use Brownie for wagon work, but with all the other horses out driving herd, well. Pickings were slim. He’s more for riding than pulling wagons. Oh, wipe him down first, then ointment.”
Tony paused, then said, “Wipe him down?”
“I’ll show you,” Steve replied easily. “Anyway—normally it isn’t so quiet around here. I do have cowhands. It’s just…” He sighed, struggling for words, then continued, “Eventually they go to bed. And I’m just sitting up in my house, all alone.”
Tony looked over at him again, watching him carefully wipe down his own horse before taking a wet rag and copying the motion. “I think I understand,” he said after a moment. “It’s different. I had friends, but I always went home to a big empty mansion. It was just Jarvis, Ana, and me. They loved me, but… it was lonely, still. They have each other. The relationship I had with them wasn’t the same.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed quietly. “I have friends and everything, but Buck’s courting someone, and the others like to go into town to drink, and I’m just… not about that life anymore. It’s why I put that ad in the paper.”
“I’m glad you did,” Tony admitted, standing up straight.
Steve smiled over at him, wide and bright, almost goofy looking except it was so sincere. “Me too. I’m glad you gave me a chance after my first letter. I know it was bad,” he added before Tony could try and tell him otherwise. “I was telling Buck what it said, and he about drop-kicked me. Said I’d be lucky if you sent me a letter saying you weren’t interested anymore.”
Tony considered what he’d said, then cleared his throat, instead turning his attention to the horse to smear some of the ointment on its sore. “I… thought about it, honestly,” he admitted. “But, um. Steve, please don’t take this the wrong way.”
Steve looked over at him, frowning. “What?”
“You were already in the ‘yes’ pile ahead of other alphas just by virtue of not mentioning… um… what’s in my pants,” Tony said, blushing a little.
“…What?” Steve asked after a moment, stunned. Then he looked outraged. “Strangers were asking about your underpants?! That’s disgusting! They didn’t even know you!”
Tony jerked around to face him, surprised, then let out a somewhat hysterical giggle and turned away again. Most had skipped right past undergarments altogether, but he wasn’t about to tell Steve that when he already looked ready to track down those alphas and bust their heads together.
.-.
Steve had some fried chicken in the icebox that they ate for a snack before bed. “I’m a fair hand in the kitchen because it was just me and Dr. Erskine, but I’m looking forward to not having to cook when work picks up again,” he’d said when Tony had complimented it. “There’s nothing worse then coming home all hot and dirty and then having to cook. One of the fellas had an omega who’d cook for all of us in exchange for room and board, but when he…”
Tony had seen how upset he was at the memory, so he hadn’t pushed, instead promising that while he hadn’t gotten to learn as much in the kitchen as he would have liked, he’d endeavor to learn quickly, while Steve had the time to give him tips on what he liked. Steve had assured him that he would be a quick study, like he had been with the horses. Tony couldn’t help but believe him. Steve was even more earnest in person—everything he said seemed so reasonable. He’d never known anyone like that back in New York, except maybe Jan, and even her attitude was tempered by society.
Speaking of Jan.
Tony knelt down in front of the trunk Steve had left at the foot of the bed, key heavy in his hand. You’d be crazy if you thought I wouldn’t find a way to give you a wedding gift! Jan had written, and he really had been foolish to think she’d allow him to start his marriage off with two carpet bags he hadn’t even gotten to pack himself. Tony turned the key over in his hands a few times, jittery with nerves, then took it in both hands and carefully stuck it in the lock. Once he heard it click, he took a deep breath, then carefully pulled the trunk open, leaning the lid against the footboard of the bed.
It took Tony a moment to realize what he was looking at, but when he realized, he couldn’t help a little hitch of breath, reaching out to carefully put his hands on the linen he found on top. She’d packed a trousseau for him. He remembered this tablecloth from a dinner party at her house. Tony thought it would look nice on Steve’s dining table, if a little large. He could hem it up, though, maybe. Or… maybe one day they’d have a bigger table.
Under the tablecloth was a set of sheets. They looked like they’d fit the bed. Tony thought about swapping them out, then decided against it. It was a little embarrassing, but he really wanted to wait until it was a… a marriage bed. They were marriage sheets, after all. He and Steve weren’t even sharing a room yet, but the sheets were supposed to be for both of them to use, weren’t they? Tony was unsure about the finer details, but it felt right to save them, so he decided not to think too hard about it, instead pulling them up so he could peek underneath them.
“Oh,” Tony whispered, shocked, when he found the red suit and golden-yellow shirt Jan had made for him. It felt like a lifetime ago. He’d thought he’d left it behind, because he’d left the finer clothes Jan had made him at her house for fear Obadiah would see them and force him to go to more parties with his son. He hadn’t been able to fit more in his carpet bags than a couple of undershirts that she decided he needed. He trailed a finger over the delicate stitching on the dark red vest. Maybe he could wear this to one of the parties in town. Surely it would be a special occasion that warranted it? He couldn’t think of another time he’d get to wear it. Certainly not while doing chores or helping out on the ranch where he was able. That would be foolish.
Maybe he’d ask Steve, once a party invitation came around. Steve would know if it was appropriate or not, surely. Tony stroked his hand over the fabric fondly, then carefully pulled it up to see if there was anything beneath it.
He yelped and slammed the trunk shut, turning to lay his arms across it for good measure. Oh God. Oh God the lacy negligee Jan had been working on. It was just sitting there. Being lacy. Would it even be long enough to cover anything?! —He wasn’t going to wear it. Ever. That was too embarrassing by far. Had she even made it with him in mind? Tony covered his face and groaned when he felt the heat of his cheeks against his palms. Of course Jan had made it with him in mind. Just like she’d packed this trunk with linens and a fine suit for parties. There were probably other things on the other side of the trunk, but he was loathe to check it out. He took the key and locked the trunk back up, mostly because he didn’t trust himself not to get back up and peek inside just to make sure the negligee was there in mortification, then climbed into bed.
Oh. It was so soft. Tony didn’t know why he was so surprised. Steve might not have had indoor plumbing or electric lights, but he did seem to have shelled out for creature comforts; the couches and chairs were well-stuffed, the wooden chairs at the dining table had thick pads on them, the carpets were plush underfoot, and he’d mentioned that if Tony wanted to change anything, he could. ‘Two bachelor alphas would hardly know what an omega would want out of home, after all, so it’s important that you be given free rein of your domain,’ he’d said, and Tony had had to try very hard not to swoon after being told the opposite since his parents had died.
He snuffled into his pillow and tried not to blush when he wondered if the linen was fresh or if he was smelling Steve.
.-.
Tony hadn’t expected to sleep well, so he was stunned when he looked outside and saw that the sun was already high in the sky. He quickly washed his face at the basin (was this water from last night that he simply hadn’t noticed, or had Steve snuck it in while he slept?), dressed himself, and hurried downstairs.
Steve wasn’t there, but the smell of bacon and eggs still hung heavy in the air. There was a plate on the table with a napkin over it, and when Tony lifted it, he found a plate full of food—the bacon and eggs, some thick slices of toast, some tomatoes, and there was a bowl with a little bit of butter and jam on the side. Tony felt guilty for a moment, that he hadn’t been the one to make breakfast for Steve, but… clearly Steve wasn’t upset about it. He’d mentioned how tired Tony had looked last night, and had just sort of smiled at him indulgently when Tony said he’d wake up early. He truly was different from all the alphas back home. It was overwhelming, mostly, but Tony was also finding that he liked it.
As he was sitting down to tuck into his breakfast, he noticed an envelope propped up against the candle in the middle of the table, with Steve’s familiar writing spelling out his name. He grabbed for it before it had even really registered, pulling the envelope open and bringing out its contents.
Dear Tony,     You’re here! I honestly couldn’t really believe it until I woke up this morning in the guest room. I was so jittery with nerves since the telegram, so worried about why you were coming in such a rush, and then hoping you’d like me. I had fun getting to know you yesterday. I hope we’ll have just as much fun getting to know each other as the days pass. I can’t wait to introduce you to all of my friends. I guess it’s a good thing that Bucky bullied me into staying behind, because this way I can acclimate you to being the omega of a rancher at a slow pace instead of just throwing you into the fire with a ‘best wishes.’     I was going to wake you up, because I knew you’d want to jump into learning everything you could immediately, but you looked so exhausted when we finally went to bed last night, I couldn’t bring myself to. You’d been through a harrowing experience, and to be honest… part of me liked that you felt safe enough to fall so deeply asleep. Especially after all you’ve been through. So have some breakfast, maybe explore around the house a little, and then I’ll come get you when I’m finished with my chores. I thought we could ride around and look at the ranch. It’s small enough that it shouldn’t take long. We should be home in time to make supper and then… I don’t know. Get some use out of that front porch? It’s been so long since I’ve had a guest. I’m trying very hard not to go out of my way to impress you, because I don’t want you to be disappointed that I’m not that way all the time, but… on the other hand, it’s also all I want to do. I want you to be impressed. Because I’ve been impressed by everything you’ve done since you got here.     Well, if I wait any longer, the cow is going to bust her way in here, so I better go take care of her. See to all the other animals. I hope you like strawberry jam. I’ll be in soon! Sincerely, Steve
Tony bit his lip, feeling warm and fuzzy down to his bones. Steve had been impressed by him, and Tony had been so worried the entire time. He wondered if he should tell Steve that he’d also been impressed. On one hand, he delighted in how different Steve was from the alphas back home; on the other, he knew it would probably make Steve sad, that alphas treated him so differently. Maybe there was a way he could spin it so that Steve was too distracted by the compliment to think about it too hard.
Then his eyes landed on the postscript at the end, and he had to cover his mouth to muffle a shriek.
P.S.—Hey, I heard you yelp last night? If there’s a spider or something and you want me to take care of it, just tell me. I’m used to them now, so I don’t mind.
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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years ago
Text
Aaron Hotchner / Worth Your While
Prompts: The Beard Hotch Fic™ - inspired by that one episode where hotch has a beard and all of us collectively lost our minds 
Word count: 3.728
Warnings: E, phone sex, mutual masturbation, beard kink (i guess that’s a thing??), oral (f receiving), i don’t know just smut
Image Credit: @agenthotchner​
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“Still don’t know when you’re coming back?” 
A sigh floated through the phone, “Not yet,” you hum, climbing into bed on top of your covers, your legs folded underneath you. You hear his cot creak underneath him. You hummed, as you placed your pillow beside you, if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine that he was lying there beside you. 
“Enjoying the hot Pakistani desert a bit too much, Hotch?” a small chuckle leaves his throat, voice gruff over the line. 
“I would enjoy it a lot more if you and Jack were with me,” your chest aches at the sound of the weariness in his voice. He was so tired — and now you couldn’t even take care of him. Another sigh leaves his lips, before he adds, a ghost of a laugh in his voice,  “although he’s not a fan of the beard.” 
You raise your eyebrows, “Really?” 
“His exact words were, ‘do they not sell razors there, Dad?’” you snort, turning onto your side, “I think I’m going to shave it off before I get back.” 
“Ah let’s not rush it,” you bit your lip, running your fingers over your bare neck, “why don’t we ask for some other opinions before we jump to conclusions?” 
You could practically hear his eyebrow raise over the phone, “And what’s your opinion, sweetheart?” his voice is low and scratchy, and you can almost imagine his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as he murmured the question against your neck. 
You feel a heat begin to climb up your neck, and down your body, “I don’t think you should shave,” 
“You don’t think?” he presses, and you hear the cot groan again as he shifts, “or I shouldn’t?”
“You shouldn’t,” you swallowed, fingers drifting down to the waistband of your shorts, “not until you see me again.” 
“And what are you going to do when you see me again?” you whimper, fingers past the elastic of your shorts, your fingers drift against your soaked panties, “answer me.” You gasp his name as your fingers circle your clit, “are you touching yourself?” 
“Yes,” you say, breath uneven as he shifts in his cot again, more this time, “I need you, Aaron, I—” 
“Call me on video call,” he hisses, and you know his fingers are around his length, the video call feed only confirming it, “see what you do to me,” his pants are gruff and short, “show me what you’re doing.” You flip the camera from your face to the middle of your thighs, your hand hidden beneath the fabric of your obviously drenched underwear, “Pull those off, I want to see you. I want to see exactly what I’m doing to you.” 
Your underwear slides down your thighs, slowly, as you lift your hips for the camera. And his breath hitches when he sees you — soaking wet and two fingers deep in your pussy, “Aaron, fuck, I miss you—” 
“What do you miss?” there’s an edge to his voice, an urgency, but still, his voice is hushed and quiet, tension thrumming in the air, “tell me what you want me to do to you.” 
“Is that an order, sir?” and you hear him groan quietly over the phone that hangs in the silence of the desert. 
“Fuck, yes, it is,” he growls, and he hears a quiet hum leave your throat, and he knows you’re enjoying this — all too much, but not as much as if he were actually there. If he had two thick fingers pressed inside of you. His mouth swallowing all the little noises leaving your throat, until his lips sucked dark bruises against the hollow of your throat. 
“I would want you to pin me down, your fingers parting my thighs,” quick gasps part your lips, filling the silence of his tent, and you wonder — could someone hear you if you were just a little too loud? Could a colleague hear your desperate cries of his name, you begging him for his cock, his mouth, his fingers — anything, “feel your beard against my thighs as you wrap your tongue around my clit, fingers inside me, like mine are now—” Your fingers sink deeper, adding another with a loud gasp, your hips rolling against your hand, “and I’d cum all over your face.” His beard slick with your cum, as he kisses you again, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. 
“Then, you want me to fuck you hard, don’t you?” a helpless whine parts your throat at his words, low and sharp, “But still, I’d sink into you, slowly, let you feel every inch of myself part you — wet and tight — for me.” 
You arch your back against your bed, Only for him. 
“Aaron, please, I need to see you — see your face—” You’re close — he doesn’t need to see your face to know that. And you know he hears it — hears you preen against you, and in the quiet silence of your bedroom, and his hand squeezes his cock. Fuck, and he abides by your request — shows you his face contorted in quietly controlled pleasure, his teeth against his bottom lip, until he hears you. 
“Aaron, I’m—” he groans, far too loud for the quiet desert and conscious colleagues that surrounded him. But it only further pushes you over the edge, thinking about that groan in your ear, pressing kisses against your neck, fucking you hard and fast until your walls tighten around your fingers, phone falling from your hand. But not before you hear him say your name, reverent and breathy.
Your fingers begin to still, the feeling of your fingers carrying you through your orgasm, chest rising and falling in quick pants. Your body slumps against your mattress, boneless, eyes squeezed shut. That is, until you hear a voice on the phone. 
“Fuck,” you mutter, reaching for the phone, “sorry, did you say something?” 
“I love you,” he murmurs, voice deep and blissed out — and you can almost feel the words of love vibrate against your skin, “I miss you, so much.” 
“Distance makes the heart grow fonder?” you offer, flipping the camera so he could see your face, “but phone sex definitely helps.” 
A smile pulls at his lips, “It does, but it’s not enough.” 
“No, nothing compares to the real thing,” you sigh, rolling over on your bed, “but luckily, the real thing is waiting for you when you get back,” and then you add, “Just don’t shave the beard.” 
He runs a hand through his beard, “Yes ma’am. You’ll make it worth my while?” 
You grin, tilting your head, “Don’t I always?” 
~~~
Hotch leaned against the headrest of the airplane seat, stuffed between two sleeping passengers — this was certainly different than using the jet. Not that he was complaining — he needed to get back. He resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the arm rests. 
Ian Doyle. That was a name he had spent several months trying to forget. The events of what happened still haunted him, but even more than that, the lies he had to tell the team wore away at him. Guilt gnawed at his insides, a pit in his stomach that he was sure would give way. 
He had to do it. He had no choice. He was the team’s leader. He had to make the hard decisions. He had to bear the burden. But he only wished he didn’t have to do it at the team’s expense. 
He rubbed at his eyes. Watching them cry and mourn, listening to them grieve right in front of him, as he evaluated each of them for field work — it had killed him. And now it would all come out. Prentiss was alive. And they had kept it from them. He had kept it from them. 
But there was no use thinking about the fallout. Not when he was on a plane miles away from its destination still. No, he needed to think about something else. 
He glanced at his phone, smiling at the picture of you and Jack smiling back at him. He remembered the day they had taken that photo. It was your first time spending time with Jack. He never met someone who clicked so easily with Jack — after everything that had happened with Haley, Jack was a little quieter, a little more reserved (not so dissimilar to himself, you had pointed out to him). But with you, it was different. He would smile. He would laugh. He understood. He knew you and you knew him. And he was so grateful for that. 
And he was so grateful for you. 
His fingers rubbed at his chin, still prickly with his beard. He had kept his promise — he had kept it for you. Even though Jack would be less than pleased. He would be staying with Jessica either way while he dealt with the situation at hand. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep the next few days — he knew that for sure. But even so, the prospect of seeing you soon made his chest feel a little lighter. No longer would date night consist of a hurried dinner and possible phone sex. Now, he could hold you, he could touch you, and he could fall asleep to your quiet breaths, instead of to a far too hot desert and a lonely cot. 
And the best part? He hadn’t told you that he was coming back yet. And he didn’t think he was going to, until he was at your doorstep. 
~~~
“How was work today?” Hotch gave a heavy sigh over the phone, and you put down the bowl of dough you had been stirring, “Aaron?” 
“It was a hard day,” he cleared his throat, “we saved a kid, but he saw his father die in front of him.” 
“Aaron,” you wished you could touch him, could comfort him, no words were enough for times like this, “you couldn’t have done anything more. You saved his life.” 
“I know, I just—” he clicked his tongue, “I just wish it didn’t turn out that way.” 
“And that’s why you’re one of the good guys,” you smile at your phone, “and that’s why you can’t let it eat away at you — you still have your own little boy to come home too. Not to mention, your very patient girlfriend.” 
He laughed, a soft noise that made your heart stutter in its chest, “You have been very patient, haven’t you?” 
“I have,” you hummed, perking up at the tone of his voice — appreciative and teasing — “got something to reward me with?” 
“I actually might,” and you bit your lip, “but you’ll have to do me a favor.” 
“This is my reward, and I have to do you a favor?” you clicked your tongue, “doesn’t seem very fair, Agent Hotchner.” 
“I know all about fairness, sweetheart. After all, I did study it in law school,” you could almost see him shaking his head, a smile dancing across his lips, “I just need you to open your door.” 
“Open my door?” you wiped your hands clean, before grabbing the phone off the counter, making your way to your door. You spotted the back of someone’s head through the peephole. Locks clicking as you undid the lock and the deadbolt, you held the phone between your shoulder and your cheek,  “Aaron Hotchner, did you order me dinner again? Because I told you I already—” 
You gasped, your phone clattering against your hardwood floors. Aaron stood, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips, as he tilted his head, “No, but I did bring dessert.” 
“Aaron!” you ran into his arms, hands on his shoulders, face buried in his chest, “I can’t believe this. You’re back. You’re here.” 
“I am,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, “and I’m not going anywhere now.” 
You pulled away, “You’re back for good?” and he nods, as your fingers cup his face, thumbs running over his cheeks, and you note the bristle underneath your fingertips, “and I see you kept your promise.” 
“Of course, I’m a man of my word,” he breaths, leaning closer as your breath hitches, his lips pressing against yours. It had been months, and you had nearly forgotten how he tasted, lips moving firmly against your own. His teeth grazed your lip, as he eagerly swallowed your moan, as your hands tangled themselves in his hair, walking backwards, as he shut the door with his foot, “I missed you so much,” he says in between kisses that stole the air from your lungs. 
Your hands pushed the jacket from his shoulders, “I missed you too,” his hands squeezed your hips, before his hands slipped your thighs, lifting you against him, as he carried you to your bedroom. No longer could you tell where you began and he ended, but you didn’t care — not when his teeth grazed against your pulse point like that. He had you pressed flush against your bedroom door, lips burning a trail of kisses down your neck, fingers toying with the straps of your camisole. 
“Take me to bed,” you whispered, and he did — placing you on your bed, and in a second, he was on top of you. 
Your fingers busied themselves with undoing the buttons on his button down, while his slid the hem of your camisole higher and higher. You undid the last button and the shirt slid off his shoulders, and he lifted his arms as you did away with the undershirt immediately. Your fingers traced over the broad expanse of his chest reverently, enjoying how his muscles reacted to your touch and how his breath stuttered his chest when your fingers grazed him. The same man who stayed calm under pressure crumbled under your touch. 
You raised your arms and he slipped the camisole from your body, groaning when he realized you had no bra on underneath. His fingers teased your nipples, mouth wrapped around one of them, “Aaron,” you arched your back into his touch, your fingers slipping between your bodies, trying to undo the button on his pants. His teeth grazed your nipple, soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue, “please,” 
You undo the button of his pants, and pull them down, helping him kick them off. He whispers your name, pressing a kiss to the skin between your breasts, before tucking fallen strands of hair behind your ear, “What do you want, baby?” 
Your eyes fall to the prominent bulge in his boxers, “Fuck me,” you look up at him, thumb brushing his lips, and he smiles, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. 
“Not before I taste you,” he says, voice husky, as he burns a trail of openmouthed kisses down your body, re-familiarizing himself with every curve and dip of your body, until the fire in the pit of your stomach all but engulfs you. He tugs your sleep shorts down, as you lift your hips to help him, kicking them off. His calloused hands part your thighs, as he settles between them. You watch him with lidded eyes, breath stuck somewhere in the back of your throat. A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight of your obviously soaked panties. You hiss as his beard scratches beautifully against your thighs, friction making you squirm, until his large palms steadied you. Fingers splayed over the soft skin of your inner thighs, his nose brushing far too close to your soaked center, as he kisses right below the waistband. 
“I had forgotten how good you smell,” he murmurs, another kiss, this time right on top of the wet spot on your panties. 
He spreads you wider, hips jumping as your heart does in your chest, when his fingers brush your slit through the thin fabric. He doesn’t remove them, no, instead, he slides the crotch aside placing you on full display for him, half wrapped in that silk fabric. You hiss when you feel his warm breath mingling with the cool air of the room. His tongue darts out across his lips, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, before leaning down to press a kiss to your warmth. 
His moan vibrates against you, a reverent noise of unrestrained passion and you know that this is just as much for him as it is for you, sending shivers down your spine of what’s to come.  A single finger begins to part your folds, as his mouth presses butterfly kisses all around your clit, his beard deliciously grazing against your thighs. And finally, he takes a single broad swipe up his tongue up the length of your weeping cunt. A gasp blooms into a moan, as your fingers grasp at him, traveling the length of his shoulders, until you are able to card your fingers through his dark strands. 
His tongue moves in tight circles, your muscles squeezing his thick finger, as keen against him, eager for more, more. As you always were for him, and only him. Desperate for his touch, even when he couldn’t provide it. His beard only stokes the fire coiling in your stomach, now burning against your cunt. 
The phone sex seemed like a distant memory, a cheap imitation of the real thing. Nothing, nothing could compare to his lips, his tongue, his teeth, his touch. Nothing could compare your fingers threaded through his hair, his moans quietly reverberating against your slick folds. Nothing could compare to him — the sweet man who had just come back after spending weeks away from his home, his family, his friends, his life — but he chose to spend this night with you. 
Another finger parts your folds, and a broken whine leaves your throat, as your head falls against your plush bed, “You take me so well, sweetheart,” he mutters, tongue flicking against your clit, as you lift your eyes to meet his gaze, “so good to me. So patient. So sweet.” 
And that’s when his mouth closes over your clit. Your hips rock against the flat palms of his hands, as his tongue flicks against it. And the coil in you snaps, his name a ghost upon your lips, a soundless scream on your lips. You feel him hum against you, far too pleased, but you barely notice, lost in your own high. But he does not relent, pulling your orgasm from you as his fingers scrape against your shuddering walls, tongue eagerly tasting all that you offer him. 
He drags himself back up to you, his hardness brushing the inside of your thigh. His fingers trace your jawline, as your eyelids flutter, watching his tongue dart across his chin, still glistening with your release. His lips quickly follow the paths scorched by his fingertips. His lips find yours again when your breaths are even, and even now you can’t get enough of him. 
You arch towards him, fingers sliding down his chest to the waistband of his boxers, “Sweetheart,” a strangled groan of your name on lips still sticky with your cum, and he stares at you, eyes black as the darkness that surrounds you, as you slide his boxers down finally. 
You both groan in tandem, as your fingers close around his length, flushed and weeping. His hips lean into your touch, the head of his cock brushing your folds. 
“Aaron,” you shake your head, “I need you.” 
“Where do you need me?” his voice barely above a rasp. He rips your hand from him, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He presses another kiss to your skittering heartbeat. 
“I need you to fuck me—” you gasp, as his teeth scrape against your neck, pressing soft kisses against its length, before sucking a pretty bruise against the hollow of your throat, “please.” 
He sinks into you then, sliding into your warmth, murmuring in your ear. Your mouth falls open, “Even after all this time, you take me so well,” his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, “I love you.” 
His name is a prayer, his touch is your salvation, as his nails dig crescents into the curve of your hips, “Missed you so much—” his own snap against you harder, deeper,  “needed you so bad. I love you. I love you.” 
“I want to feel you cum for me, sweetheart,” his fingers skim your clit, and that’s it. You come apart underneath him, veins no longer filled with blood, but with pleasure. His hips stutter as your muscles flutter around his cock, still fucking you through your orgasm, as his fingers make you jump against him, “Say my name,” he growls, as your arms wind around his shoulder, tugging him closer, closer, closer, “say it.” 
 And you do, just as he cums inside of you with a groan of your name in your ear, nearly collapsing on you. He presses into you, and it’s much too warm, the sticky heat and smell of sex pervades, but you don’t care. Still you tug him closer, chest to chest, as your eyes shut. You feel him come down from his high, his breath slowing. He pulls himself out, and your body mourns his absence. He curls up beside you for a moment, his finger drawing absentminded circles on your thigh. You look at him, a smile pulling at your lips as you find him staring at you. And you press kisses to him — to his shoulder and neck, your fingers sweeping his hair out of his eyes. 
But his gaze still persists, “What?” you ask softly, your fingers tracing his jaw, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your fingertips. 
“Should I keep the beard?” and you laugh, shaking your head, as you lay back on the pillow. 
“I think you should do whatever you want to do,” and he kisses you again, full and warm and happy, “and I think you should definitely take Jack’s opinion into mind.” 
He raises a brow, a smile on his lips, “Will you still make it worth my while?” 
You roll your eyes, fingers cupping his cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, “I will always make it worth your while.” 
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k-comfyspace · 4 years ago
Text
Cliché
Star: Wong Kahei (Loona)
Idea: Yes
Love: Hi! I noticed a lack of Vivi on tumblr recently, or I’m just looking in the wrong place but could you write one about her and reader haven’t gone out on a date in a long time, so when they do reader would spoil Vivi so much and show her affection that she would get so shy? Thanks a lot!
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You’ve been struggling for the past few weeks, your parents constantly on your back with work, friends wanting to get drunk, and on top of that you haven’t seen your girlfriend in weeks.
You couldn’t call Kahei because you were hesitant because you didn’t want to interrupt her schedules. While when she was the one that could call you were too busy attending a meeting or you were resting.
It made it increasingly irritating that your schedules were just shy of catching up with each other, which annoyed you that when an opportunity showed that you could talk to Kahei, it was time for you to leave or start something.
Now it was different, walking out of the elevator you padded down the hall, a smile on your face before you knocked on the door.
Kahei sat up when she heard the door, her heart hammering against her chest as she got closer, grasping the doorknob she took a deep breath before opening it.
Truthfully she has been waiting for today. Having planned it the previous week she couldn’t help but be giddy. After weeks of not seeing each other today she could finally see you.
Opening the door, a bright smile made it to her face when she saw a colorful bouquet. You peeked over and saw your girlfriend, smiling happily, you lowered the flowers and offered it to her.
Kahei took it happily before inviting you inside. Right as you sat down, you felt something crash into you suddenly falling on the couch, feeling someone on top of you as you immediately hugged back.
Kahei sighed, embracing your warmth as she tucked her head in your neck, finally after weeks she could finally hold you. Your scent fills her senses while your warmth and comfort spread to her. Your arms around her tightened, leaving a kiss on her head, saying the first words to start a great day.
“I missed you so much.”
You got out of the car, opening the door for Kahei before taking her hand in yours.
You planned on taking her out to the mall, since you knew you were both tired, a movie would be enough for both of you to relax and not get too tired from.
On your way to the cinema you and Kahei spent a good amount of time arguing on who would buy the food, while Kahei wanted to split it, you insisted that you could pay for all of it but she wasn’t too fond of the idea.
After a little more arguing, it resulted in you two agreeing that she would pay for the tickets and you would pay for the food.
Picking the seats both of you whispered quietly, talking about your theories on what would happen during the movie while also commenting about the trailers that would pop up on the large screen.
When the lights dimmed and the movie started you leaned back, relaxing since for once, you were doing something that wasn’t related to work.
Doing something that your parents didn’t ask you to do, that you were here because of the girl beside you, the thought made you smile. Your hand reaches for Kahei’s before intertwining your fingers, your thumb rubbing the back of her hand and lifting it near your lips and giving it a kiss.
Kahei raised her head, looking at you in question for the sudden gesture while you could only smile lovingly at her, she could only thank that the lights were dim because you would’ve seen the blush that seared her face while you wore that bright smile of yours.
During the movie you and Kahei would watch attentively but sometimes one of you would pause, seeking for each other’s hand or leaning against one another. It was a small gesture but it still made your heart do flips because of the sweetness.
After the movie both of you would walk out with smiles on your faces. Roaming around the mall as you spoke with each other about random topics you could think about. Sometimes stopping inside a store if you or Kahei saw anything that you could buy.
After a few hours you eventually got hungry and instead of reserving a restaurant you thought you could reminisce all the times you went out on dates at midnight, going into fast food restaurants where you could order and eat everything that you wanted to.
“This brings back a lot,” you said before picking up a fry, but instead of eating it yourself you moved it towards your girlfriend, who Suddenly grew shy, lowering her head as a pink hue spread on her face.
“You don’t have to give it to me, Y/n,”
You giggled at her but you didn’t pull away, until she took it eventually, though avoiding your eye contact after she ate it. You tried to look at her in the eyes but Kahei kept glancing away, still the red tint on her cheeks while you only smiled as you tried to catch her.
Then you noticed the red tint slowly disappearing, her face raising gradually, which sadly didn’t last when the desert arrived. When anyone is eating ice cream no one could really avoid making a mess, so when Kahei took a spoonful she left markings around her lips.
Due to your unconscious actions and caring nature you suddenly leaned forward, startling your girlfriend as she sat back, her face suddenly exploded with blush when you wiped the corner of her lips with a tissue, your other hand holding her chin.
Your face inches away from hers and while she was burning, you were too busy to notice, not until you sat back and placed the tissue down.
Glancing at your girlfriend who is frozen in place, her face beat red before you burst out in laughter, now clicking in your head as to what you did before you smiled at your girlfriend, wiping a rear that slipped past your eyes as you laughed, “You’re too cute,”
You laced your fingers with Kahei, walking down the park as you both giggled to yourselves. After you spent a few more hours in the mall, Kahei wanted to end the day peacefully so you drove to the park near their dorm.
Catching up on what’s been happening to each other, “...then Jinsoul bumped her head, it was too funny,” you laughed at the end stopping at the top of the bridge and leaned against the side, your girlfriend linking her arm with your as she rested her head on your shoulder.
You enjoyed her presence before you remembered something. Placing your hand in your pocket and feeling the box, you smiled to yourself before pulling it out, Kahei’s eyes widened. Her body stiffening when she saw but you were quick to speak before she could freak out.
“Don’t worry it’s not what it looks like, though I would be happy to spend the rest of my days with you, I know we’re not ready for that yet.”
You felt her relax a bit though there was a part in her that became giddy at the possible future. Releasing a sigh, you opened the box revealing two golden rings, “I know it might be cliché but, I wanted something to represent you by. A promise that should be kept at all times, a lover who I know would always be there for me as I am with them,”
Kahei felt her eyes water, eyeing the rings as you took it out and slipped it on her hand, wearing yours after as you wrapped your arms around her, kissing the top of her head.
Kahei was happy, a tear falling down her face as she closed her eyes. You pulled away and cupped her cheeks, wiping the tears before leaning in and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
“With the way things ended up today, I feel like we haven’t been apart for so long,” she said after a while, letting the silence of the night linger, both looking at the sky.
You hummed, closing your eyes, listening to her voice, “That even if we spend weeks apart, the love we have won’t ever disappear. Make it a few months or a year, I would always love you.”
“I love you too.”
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hankwritten · 3 years ago
Text
Hofstadter’s Law
Demoman/Soldier, 2k
Request for MinnesotaMedic821, Drunk
“You sure this best way in, Jane?” Demo muttered quietly as he gazed up at the looming concrete spires of BLU base.
“I am very sure!” Soldier said, not quietly at all. Practically yelling actually. Right in Demo’s ear too, what with his arm slung around the RED’s shoulders as the only thing keeping him upright.
“Shhh!” Demo hushed him. “You want me to go half-deaf as well as half-blind? ‘Sides, the last thing we need right now is the other BLUs hearing us.”
Soldier���s head, lolling like a pad of butter sliding around a hot pan, took a long and winding trip from one side to the other. “…Why?”
“…Because I’m a RED in the middle of a nest o’ BLU corn snakes?” Demo raised a brow. “Ach, you really did have a number done, didn’t you? Remind me not to let you near the Everclear again.”
“Okay! I will definitely remind you!”
Demo eyed him dubiously. “Remind me what, Jane?”
The grey shell of the helmet stared at him for several seconds. “…What?”
“Let’s just get you in, aye? We can do all sorts of filling in each other’s memories when your toesies are tucked safe under your covers.”
But in order get the Soldier safely in bed, they’d need to first traverse the minefield of potential termination that was the center of BLU operations. No problem at all really. It was late—even if some of the mercs had hit the town like Demo and Soldier had, they’d certainly be back by now, fast asleep, no chance at all of waking up and discovering a very difficult to explain situation in the form of an enemy merc carrying around their Soldier. As long as they were quiet, they’d be perfectly safe.
Demo guided Soldier towards the back doors, at which point they promptly ran into the enemy Demoman.
The BLU, spread out on a fabric lawn chair surrounded by dust, desert, and least a half-dozen bottles, blinked wide-eyed at the pair who’d just come around with the low-speed but high-inertia gait of a drunk couple. He shook his head slightly, as though to dispel the ‘ole three am fog and ascertain that yes, that truly was his teammate being helped along by the RED demolition’s man. Demo, for his part, froze like he’d been staked to the ground.
Soldier, as heavy things are want to do, kept going at his expected velocity. It nearly took them both over—Demo had to abandon the arm under his shoulders, lunging to haul Soldier up the waist and folding him in half like a Panini.
“Well,” the BLU in the lawn chair said, “you two look like you had fun.”
His face was a mish-mash of raised brow and, perplexingly enough, a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he bore witness to the two truants. Most shockingly of all, there wasn’t a trace of surprise on his face now, just those shades of smug amusement you put on when watching a particularly entertaining drunkard. The fact that Demo was used to having that expression leveled at him was neither here nor there.
“Er…” he said eloquently.
The flash of dread that’d shot through him when he’d caught sight of the BLU was the worse case scenario of course: reported on, fired, dead in a gravel pit somewhere, all rendered in gory detail by his mind’s eye. (His overactive imagination a bloody menace sometimes.) But as the BLU continued to sit there, not sounding the alarm, not even looking particularly worried, Demo’s fear for his own neck slowly morphed into confusion.
“I was just er-”
“Oh, hello Demoman!” Soldier chimed in. “We have been out. Drinking alcohol!”
“I’ve heard that’s a fun pastime,” his teammate commented mildly.
“Don’t tell him that,” Demo complained, hauling Soldier to an upright position. “Jesus, this er, isn’t what it looks like, honestly.”
“Sure it isn’t,” the BLU said, wearing what could now be identified unmistakably as a smirk. He gestured with his bottle. “Back entrance ‘s that-a-way.”
A little ball of defensiveness, not matter how unjustified, rolled around in Demo’s gut to the point he wanted to stop and give the other Demoman a piece of his mind. Which would probably involve lying. And then consequences to lying since Soldier had already given away this wasn’t a one time thing. He shut his gob and took the out.
Until the hum of the BLU’s resumed tune was far behind them, until the curving architecture of the base would keep them from being overheard, he didn’t dare start asking questions. Only when he was sure that the corner they’d rounded was at a significant distance away did he accusatorily hiss, “what was that about?”
“Hm?” Soldier asked pleasantly. He fixed a dopey smile on his friend, a second ago which had been the responsibility of a beetle crawling a tuft of bullheadidly tenacious grass.
“Your Demo, why’d you tell him where we were? And why didn’t he flip out?”
“You’re my Demo,” Soldier hummed unhelpfully.
“Ach,” Demo said, realizing he’d get nowhere with the security lights and a whole herd of horseflies bearing down on them. “Fine, lets get you inside first. But I’ve still got some bloody questions.”
They’d arrived at the unassuming little door cut into the base’s thick concrete, welded metal gushing haphazardly from its size as though its very addition had been an afterthought. Demo motioned at Soldier.
“Pass me your keycard, lad.”
“M’what?”
“Keycard.” Demo’s heart sank. “You keep it in your wallet or something, right?”
Soldier stared at the card reader. He stared at long and hard, so long and hard that Demo was starting to wonder if the question had made it through his ear canals at all when he concluded, “I forgot it.”
“You for- Oh for the love of Pete.” Demo took the hand that wasn’t supporting his mate and rubbed it long suffering across his face. “Well that’s great. Bloody great, risk my arse hauling a drunken fart back to his base cause he can’t hold his bloody liquor, and we can’t even get in to the fecking-”
The door hissed, layers of dust shaking loose like with a sci-fi swish as the vacuum seal was opened to the desert night. Demo gawked, watching it shake away grit like it was built into the surface of Mars instead of a dead-end town in the middle of New Mexico, and letting out a wash of air-conditioned oxygen.
When it was partially ajar, it unveiled the BLU Sniper, arms folded and leaning on the inner wall.
“How…what?” Demo asked. Soldier was too busy looking at the beetle again to be perplexed.
“Heard you guys arguing from the roof.” Sniper jerked his thumb upwards. “If you were sneaking ‘round, might want to think about keeping your voice down in the future. Probably could’ve heard you all the way at RED.”
“I wasn’t- We weren’t-”
Sniper waited. When no adequate explanation was forthcoming he said, “you comin’? Cold air’s getting out.”
Demo grimaced, and began the arduous processes of lugging the Soldier inside.
Chill ran up where his t-shirt had sweated to his neck, Soldier fairing no better since they’d spent the past half hour (every moment since Demo had realized Soldier would be going nowhere on his own) with their sides pressed together. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until the cold ai) brought the slightest suggestion of relief to his (admittedly also not terribly sober) body.
“If this is going to be a running thing for you two, maybe don’t get so munted next time, yeah?” Sniper offered. It was neither reprimanding nor conversational, like this was a totally normal exchange happening here with a RED in a BLU hallway.
“Who said anything about a ‘running thing’?” Demo demanded. “You didn’t overhear that!”
Sniper raised a brow. “Soldier said you were his new best mate. I assumed that meant you’d both be out and about more than once.”
Demo grit his teeth, the pieces clicking into place. “Did he now.” He leveled his best attempt at a glare from his blindspot at the disoriented Soldier who, unsurprisingly, was more interested in resting his head on Demo’s shoulder than being reprimanded. “Well that’s good to know. Any chance you can point me to his room?”
Sniper took one gloved hand and shoved a thumb over his shoulder.
“Thanks. Cheers.”
“Goodbye Sniper,” Soldier said belatedly, a good three minutes after he’d disappeared around a corner. “Oh hey! My room!”
“Jane, is there anyone you didn’t tell about us?” Demo demanded.
Soldier thought for a moment. “…I didn’t tell any REDs.”
“Jane,” Demo groaned. “This is supposed to be a secret. What if one of them tells the Administrator? You want that? Going to be hard ever meeting up again if we’re both six feet under.”
For the first time, a bit of shame managed to reach the Soldier through the woolen mesh of his inebriated state, and he looked at his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just got really excited. Wanted everyone to know I was hanging out with you.”
Demo sighed heavily, not up bullying his friend when he was in such a pathetic sate already. “I know you were. Ach, it’s fine. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.”
Later being sometime after he’d managed to deposit Soldier onto a four-poster, though with the way the night was going it seemed like that moment would never arrive. His outlook wasn’t improved when he opened the door of Soldier’s room and found that not only was it Soldier’s room, but the occupancy of the entire Offense division.
“Whzzat?” Scout said, rolling to his elbow just in time to be bombarded by the hall light. “Ahg, dammit Sol. What the hell man?”
Demo didn’t bother freezing this time, successfully desensitized to literally every BLU on the planet stumbling across his ill-advised trip through the enemy base. Instead, he walked over, dropped Soldier on the bed, and began helping him unlace his boots.
“What the-?” Scout said when he finally lowered his arm. “Oh right. You. Jesus, how ‘bout a little consideration for the sleeping guy?”
“Mmrrhaunna,” came from the bundle in the corner.
“Yeah, what they said.”
“You don’t got the right to be begging consideration from anyone, jackrabbit,” Demo said hotly as he frees the military-grade combat boots from Soldier’s feet. He threw a blanket over the man’s form, who sighed appreciatively and said something about how this would earn Demo a medal. “‘Sides, don’t need to worry about me no more. I just came to drop of your sergeant and get out of here.”
To prove it, he backed out of the room with hands raised. Mission complete. Time to get out of here and bring this mortifying night to an end.
He might have gotten away with it too, if Pyro hadn’t shot straight up and pointed an accusing finger at him. “Mrrhaha! Hudda hah ha hoo.”
Demo reared back slightly from the Pyro who was still very much in their rubber suit, now with added nightcap. Whatever the hell they were saying, they were very impassioned about it. He looked to the Scout for help.
“They want you to tuck them in too,” he said, and the light flooding in from the single open door was good enough to see that he was smirking as he did so.
“Wha- I’m not bloody tucking anyone in,” Demo said hotly.
“Hudda ha. Mrra haa hur ha.”
“You tucked Soldier in,” Scout translated. “Only fair.”
“Gurrhaha.”
“…Otherwise they’ll tattle.”
“I cannae bloody believe this,” Demo groaned, rubbing his face.
Grudgingly, he made his way over the giggling pyrotechnician, absolutely giddy to have gotten their way. Thankfully boots weren’t part of the pajama equation, and Demo had only to tuck in the blanket’s edges ‘round a pair of socked feet and a squirming, suit-clad body. When he tried to leave it at that, a keening noise stopped him, and he was forced to repeat the process for Mayor Balloonicorn. All the while, he could feel the Scout staring smugly at the back of his head.
“D’awww, ain’t that adorable. Going to be hard to be scared of you now, though. Y’know, after you swung by to give us goodnight kisses and all that crap.”
“Just for that, I’m going to have a sticky trap with your name on it, boyo,” Demo pointed an accusing finger in Scout’s direction. He just shrugged.
“But uh,” Scout added, just as Demo was finally about to make his escape. “Glad you turned out to be cool though. He was really gung ho about tonight. Its nice he has good friends besides us.”
Demo cast his gaze to Soldier, who’d fallen fitfully in the short while it’d taken to get Pyro off his back.
“…That’s good. It was a fun time.”
“Oh yeah?” Scout wiggled his eyebrows. “How fun?”
Demo took one of the pillows he’d used to burry Pyro in and flung it at Scout’s face.
“Sticky trap. Your name.”
He could still hear Scout snickering all the way out into the hall.
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quazartranslates · 3 years ago
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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH17
**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**
[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]
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Chapter 17: Journey (Second Half)
Even when the moon had reached the middle of the sky, the excitement of the Valentine tribe in the distance remained the same, and the joy continued.
But it was a joy that some people avoided.
A petite figure walked through the stone forest. It had gotten dark, and the moon overhead couldn't bring enough lighting. The shadows of the stone pillars made one unable to see the ground beneath them. When there came the sound of an eagle crying overhead, she lost her guard and knocked her head on a stone, groaning and singing in pain.
She was a human girl, maybe a Valentine.
The traveler jumped off the wind-eroded column and walked up to her. She retreated in fear, her back pressing tightly against the rock wall, and shouted, "Don't capture me! Please, let me escape! Don't tell the patriarch and the high priest!"
"Who are you?" asked the traveler.
The girl's panic was quelled by this question and this voice. She summoned the courage to look up at the stranger. In the moonlight, the handsome traveler made her unconsciously open her mouth: "I... My name is Aya, a member of the Valentines."
"Where are you going?" asked the traveler.
"Ant City... I want to go to the Ant City!" Aya whispered at first, but suddenly she said it out loud.
"You should go before dawn. The desert at night is very dangerous," the traveler warned.
Was he concerned about her? Aya looked at the stranger in astonishment. He was very tall, fair-skinned—very different from the short brown Valentines—and handsome.
Aya suddenly looked back and gazed at the bonfire in the distance. She suddenly had an idea in her heart.
She stood up from the ground, dusted the dust and gravel from her skirt, and looked at the traveler with trepidation. He stood in front of her as quiet as the moonlight, as determined as a desert poplar that refused to fall. She was nervous, but she was forced by her inner anxiety.
"You… Do you want to ask me to dance? We can dance all night!" Aya got up the courage and rushed out an invitation that was implicitly out of line.
If people from the Valentine tribe were here, they would understand her. Aya was afraid that he couldn't understand, and boldly squeezed a sentence from her throat: "I’ve grown up, I can do more intimate things than dancing, I can do it!"
When she finished speaking, she quickly bowed her head, afraid to see contempt from the traveler's eyes. This shame, mixed with fear, made her red-eyed and so sad that she almost cried.
"I’m sorry, I’m a monk," the traveler answered her.
Aya's heart retreated. Even a girl like her who lived in a remote tribe knew what this meant—he would not rush to get close to a girl, and would not do anything more than the moment before entering marriage. She should apologize and run away in shame.
But the fear of the future was forcing her. Her lips trembled and she desperately begged: "We could get married, I don't want gifts, I don't want rings... We could get married tonight, and you wouldn't have to visit me after tomorrow. Please, I don't want to... I don't want to..."
The traveler replied, "I’m sorry, I have a lover."
Aya began to cry, shaking with tears. She was jealous of the lucky girls in the tribe who could dance with their favorite boy on this beautiful night while she was locked in her room, waiting for fate. She had escaped, but where could she escape to? She couldn't cross the vast Sea of Tranquility desert, and could only go to the Underground Ant City—the hell on earth that frightened her. She doesn't have the strength of a bear, the sharpness of an eagle, or the agility of a monkey. How could an ordinary human girl survive there?
Everywhere was a dead end, and there was no glimmer of hope. She finally despaired, wiped her tears, and turned to walk towards the village. She had escaped on impulse, but now that she thought about it, there was nowhere to go. Why shouldn't she go back and accept her own destiny?
But the traveler stopped her: "Do you have some difficulties? Do you need my help?"
Aya stopped and turned to look at him. The traveler stood in the bright moonlight and watched her with gentle blue eyes. This stranger cared about her and worried about her pain. This thought makes Aya burst into tears. She couldn't wait to tell the whole of her grievances, but when she was stared at by such a pair of eyes, she couldn't say anything, she could only shed tears silently.
"Thank you... Sir... Thank you."
Amidst the joyful celebration, this tribal girl with honey skin told her story intermittently.
The Valentine tribe was a tribe that had migrated here from somewhere else. Unlike the aborigines with high noses, deep eyes, and white skin, they had a darker skin color and were not very tall. In addition, since they had come later, their relationship with other tribes was not harmonious and they even suffered from discrimination.
Demons always liked pure human girls. As the Dragon Ant Queen aged, she asked for more sacrifices. The secret of her bloody cruelty was circulated in the Sea of Tranquility desert—she drank great amounts of the blood of virgins in an attempt to stop the traces left by time. Aya, who had just become an adult, was chosen as the Valentine tribe’s tribute this year, and would be sent to the Dragon Ant Queen’s palace in the Underground Ant City. She didn't know if she would really face a bloodthirsty tyrant, but she knew that all the girls who were sent there had never come back.
Aya's mother died young and her father had been bewitched by a trader and became a believer in Utopia, leaving the tribe to pursue this dreamlike land of perfection. Left alone, Aya was brought up by the tribe on the condition that she would be a tribute for the tribe when she grew up.
Aya, who had no choice, grew up in fear. In order to keep her pure, the patriarch and the high priest had forbidden her from having contact with the opposite sex. She felt sincere envy and deep fear when she watched her peers walk into marriage one by one.
Finally, in this unattended bonfire festival, she was moved by the joy and excitement. She quietly escaped from the village and wanted to mix into the Underground Ant City to live out the rest of her days. Then she met someone who changed her life.
Now, she and this man were sitting on a low and easy-to-climb wind-eroded column, looking out over the bonfire in the distance.
She confided intermittently, confused for a while, self-pitying for a while, and sometimes even felt guilty: "Maybe I shouldn't have run away. If I leave, another girl will be sent there instead of me, and they don't want to do that... They should have a better life."
The traveler who had been silent until now told her: "No one should bear this pain, and neither should you."
Tears flowed from her dry eyes again and Aya choked: "But everyone doesn't think so. Since I’ve accepted the tribe’s support, I should repay them. This is a matter of course."
"It is an obligation to raise a child. It is unjust to ask her to repay this obligation with her life," said the traveler.
"It's not my fault? Isn't it because I’m too selfish?" Aya asked hopefully.
The traveler shook his head. "It's not your fault, nor is it anyone's fault."
"Whose fault is it then?" Aya was confused.
The traveler couldn't answer, and he was also thinking, if the world forced a warm and kind ethnic group to sell their own kind in exchange for surviving, whose fault was it?
"It's the Devils’ fault," the traveler said. "So we must destroy them and drive them back to the underworld, so that they will never come to this world."
"That's good. In this case, daddy wouldn't believe in any Utopia anymore? A world without demons itself is so beautiful. It’s a Utopia already. I want to live in such a world. Everything is good, perfect and the best," Aya said. Her poor vocabulary couldn't express the world in her heart. She can only describe it as "the best".
"What kind of world is it?" the traveler asked.
Aya thought hard and described the Utopia in her heart: "It must be an equal world. Besides human beings, there can also be demons that don't harm people... I heard that there are such demons in the Underground Ant City, and some even marry humans. If they don't harm us, I can accept their existence. No matter what kind of skin colour, like you or me, or whether we’re men or women, whether we have a faith or not, as long as we’re willing to be peaceful and friendly and not hurt each other, we should be equal and should be happy."
The traveler was surprised. He didn't expect an uneducated tribal girl to have such a mind and ideal, which made his heart that was blindly hostile to all demons ashamed.
Aya couldn't help but smile when she thought about such a world: "It would be great if I could live in a world like that."
With that, she smiled again and sighed softly: "What’s the point in dreaming of such ideals? We don't even know if we can survive the next evil tide... There will always be some demons fleeing to the surface each month during those days. Last month, they ate five sheep that belonged to the patriarch's family and they’ve eaten people before."
Aya asked, "I heard that monks like you can do magic spells. Can you do that?"
"I don't have that kind of power, but I have the Lord in my heart." The traveler replied that he had faith even though he had been exiled.
"Would believing in the Lord make me as smart and powerful as you? Can I also believe?" Aya asked uneasily.
The traveler handed her a heavy book as an answer.
Aya held the book carefully, for fear that her hands would ruin the precious book. She looked at the words on the cover and sounded it out with difficulty: "The Canon, is that how you read it?"
She only knew some simple words and feared that she would remember wrong. After flipping through the pages, she was embarrassed to find that she couldn't read even half of the contents.
"This is what my mother left me, and now I will give it to you," said the traveler.
Aya closed the book in a panic, threw it back, and hit the traveler in the waist with it. He groaned and his face suddenly turned pale.
"Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Sorry, I’m sorry!" Aya apologized fearfully, and she was so anxious that her tears fell down.
"It doesn't matter, it's a previous injury." Although the traveler looked haggard, he had a calm expression, as if the wound on his body was really just a minor injury. He put the book back in Aya's hands. "It doesn't matter. I memorized this book very young. If it can help you, it has value."
He didn't think it was a pity to give the Canon to a girl who couldn't even recognize its words. Moreover, the place where he was going was dangerous, and the result of going was that he might be left sleeping in the ground forever. If he let her go back with this Canon, at least the tribe wouldn't blame her for her escape.
There was a kind seed in her heart. Whether she believed it or not, she should be treated well.
"Thank you, really thank you." Aya thanked him repeatedly and was overwhelmed with joy when she held the book.
During this bonfire festival that she wasn’t allowed to attend, she had still received a gift. Maybe the traveler didn't know the meaning of the gift, but it still made her jump secretly. There was a happy bird singing in her heart, almost flying out of her chest.
But he had a lover. Aya bowed her head sadly, trying to hide her sour mood. With her head bowed, she opened the book and read the words by the moonlight, secretly blushing: "Love is... is..."
"Love is patient, love is kind," the traveler told her the pronunciation.
This heartfelt statement made her emotion surge. She seemed to be inspired by fate and bravely continued to read: "Love does not... what?"
The traveler told her slowly, "Love does not envy."
Aya's hand stroking the pages froze, and her foolish longing turned into full loss and self-mockery, which finally made her thoughtful.
Love is not envy. Aya silently read this sentence in her mind. Don't be envious of the girls who can dance with their sweethearts, and don't be envious of strangers who care about their loved ones. It was not her love.
The bonfire in the distance had become faint, the voice of celebration had gradually lowered, and the festival had come to an end.
Aya held the book and whispered, "I want to go home."
The traveler said, "I can take you to the Ant City and help you settle down."
"No, I’m willing to go back. Thank you," Aya said. "But before you go, can I talk to you for a while? We can talk about anything."
The traveler promised her.
Aya talked happily about the past, and stopped talking about the fear that made her feel miserable and helpless. Instead, she talked about the interesting things she’d encountered. She had been so angry when the bucket was pushed into the well by the sheep when she had been fetching water that she’d chased after the sheep. She had burned her hand when she was making naan and the neighbour's boy had helped her fetch water to cool it down. After listening to the traders talking about the outside world, she had learned that there was a place called the Vatican. She was excited to talk about all these interesting things, because she didn't think the traveler was happy. She wanted him to be happy, and she also wanted to know about his past, even if it was just his name.
But the traveler was always a silent listener, and he had no intention of telling his own story.
She didn't know where he came from, what kind of pain and despair he had experienced, why there was such a gentle sadness in his body, and what kind of person he carefully sheltered in his heart.
But the traveler didn't say anything. He didn't say anything.
Late at night, the young girl was very tired and sleepy. She murmured and asked, "Where is your lover? Where did she go?"*
*{E/N: he and she are pronounced the same in Chinese}
The traveler replied, "He is always in my heart."
Aya couldn't tell whether this is what the traveler said or what she dreamed. She fell asleep with the book as her pillow, and the traveler took the liberty of taking the strange girl back to the village. He covered her with a blanket, sat next to her to watch over her, and went nearby to find some dry wood to raise the fire and warm her.
The traveler himself didn't sleep. He waited for the rising sun and then quietly left to continue his journey.
Before the start of this journey, he actually hadn't had many opportunities to watch the sunrise, as he couldn't see it in the Village of Dusk. When he’d moved to Neverland, he had spent half a year under the eternally starry sky. When he was on tasks outside, he was in a hurry and didn't have the mind to wait for a sunrise. In fact, he didn't have any attachment to the sunrise. If his lover was still there, it would be beautiful for them to watch the sunset together. The sunset never fell in the land of Dusk. They could sit side by side on the beach, holding hands and watching the end of time.
He wanted to take him to the snow-capped mountains to see if the snow leopard he had once treated still occupied the mountains, where there was a beautiful waterfall and ice lake and the frozen blue-green water amidst the ice and snow made the mountain as beautiful as a fairy tale. He also wanted to take him to the polar regions to see penguins. They could even adopt an abandoned baby penguin, feed it, and watch it stagger on the ice until it was strong enough to return to the colony.
He had many, many things he wanted to do with him. Maybe he didn't want to do these things. Maybe he just wanted to be with him.
When people who love each other are together, they can feel each other's hearts even if they don't say a word.
But if the distance was between life and death, could these thoughts reach the other side of the Styx?
The traveler watched the sun rising over the horizon, and his heart was at peace. He was like a boat drifting from one port to another. He may encounter storms along the way, but when the boat arrived at the harbor, he would still feel lucky and never feel dismayed.
He never felt that he should take happiness for granted. His decision with his faith was not to seek happiness, but to let his heart find peace, even if he was punished for it.
It was better to suffer frankly than to live falsely. He knew that he wouldn't run away. He had made a mistake and did not repent, so he should be punished. For him, such punishment was not pain, but atonement. All the sufferings in this world were to redeem the original sin that he was born with, and he had to pay for it with his whole life.
At dawn, Aya woke up from her sleep. She was covered with a blanket and didn't know when the bonfire before her had been lit. There were still faint flames swaying in the wind, but the traveler had left.
Aya grabbed the blanket, picked up the book, and ran to the village in a hurry. The rocks and thorns along the way made her run too fast, and she accidentally fell to the ground.
She couldn't care less about herself and picked up the Canon, only to find that a piece of paper had fallen from its pages.
She picked up the paper and turned it over. It was a hand-painted portrait of a handsome young man smiling at her.
There was a name in the corner, which should be the name of the person in the portrait. It was very simple, and she could easily read it out even if she couldn't read much. She gently said: "Qi Leren."
It was just an ordinary name, but the tender brushwork on the portrait made her voice go soft unconsciously. She wanted to take a closer look and feel the overflowing tenderness, but a gust of wind blew from the desert, violently and rapidly, and took the portrait from her unsuspecting hand, blowing it into the clear sky above the vast yellow sand.
The sand flying in the wind overwhelmed Aya's eyes. She waved her arms wildly in confusion, but she could only grasp the yellow sand in her hands. When she opened her misty eyes again, the portrait had been brought to the sky by the wind, fluttering and rootless, and was about to disappear into the heavens.
Aya chased it without thinking, racing the wind all the way. A great sadness filled her heart and a voice in her heart made her run, run, run desperately... She lost her shoes, her feet stepped on stones, and blood flowed, but the pain of her body could not overcome her inner sadness and she still dared not stop, she wanted to catch what was about to be lost—until she tripped over thorns and fell heavily to the earth.
She fell in such pain that she fell to her knees and cried. Her feet had already been cut bloody, her knees were scraped open, and she was bleeding. Even her hands were full of cuts. She shrank back and wanted to give up, but she looked up and looked into the distance unwillingly.
The wind was blowing again, and a gust of wind sent that thin piece of paper to an unknown distance. Such a large desert, such a small piece of paper. In an instant there was no trace of it, only the vast yellow sand and blue sky.
Who was the man in that picture? Aya would never know.
It was doomed to be unknown, impossible to find and impossible to obtain.
And how could the emotion carried on the delicate paper withstand the relentless sand in the desert?
It would eventually be destroyed, buried and forgotten.
Aya was stupefied and kneeling in the hot sun, with mottled blood all the way behind her showing that she had made an almost crazy effort for a story with no answer. Her eyes, which were filled with the wind and sand, kept shedding tears, but they couldn't wash away the hard sand in her soft eyes. It seemed that something sharp was stuck in her heart, so sharp and painful, but she didn't know what it was.
She didn't know anything.
Sadness and melancholy suddenly welled up in the girl's heart and she burst into tears on this barren land, for a stranger whose name she didn’t know, for a stranger who only knew her name.
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Editor’s Notes: After checking three different mtls (my number has gone up again oh dear), I’ve determined that BMBL calls the book the Bible in the original Chinese. I’ve chosen to translate it as Canon in order to distinguish it, as BMBL has stated previously (and will again later) that, despite being very similar, the religion in this series is not Christianity.
I think this chapter is the first time I’ve cried a bit while editing. I encourage everyone to come back and read this little interlude again once you’ve finished all of Part II, there’s quite a bit that hits differently.
I’m going to be taking a one week break while we’re between arcs in order to do some catching up, so the next chapter will be up on June 18th.
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beeexx · 4 years ago
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A little Tarlos moment fron 2x09
Read on ao3
TK’s headache has moved further down from his forehead, to settle like a blanket of pain wrapped over his eyes instead. It makes sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair all the more worse, the bright light doing nothing other than adding to his growing discomfort and slight nausea. He is tapping his leg, the sound bouncing off the quiet sleepy room, and he thinks that the only reason Marjan hasn’t whacked him to make it stop is because she’s still pitying him over his brief spell in a room similar to the one Judd is in for a concussion that still hasn’t completely gone away. He moves his head between his legs, closes his eyes to try and drown out some of the blinding lights and breathes through his nose. 
He keeps bouncing his leg though.
TK hates hospitals. He has many reasons for disliking them but he’s never had to spend a night on the edge of his seat, worried sick for people he cares about before, not in this capacity at least and it’s making him feel sick.
The worst thoughts rush through to the surface unbidden. What if he never gets to see either one of them again, hear them laugh, joke around with Judd, dinner at their place every other Sunday. What if Judd doesn’t make it? What if Grace dies? What if -
“Hi, you okay?” It’s Carlos of course, back from his coffee run, who gently places a hand on his shoulder. TK tenses for a moment, caught off guard and suddenly ready to bolt right out of his seat. He can’t fully tamper down his reaction and Carlos notices of course. TK thinks he’s probably frowning and it doesn’t take long for Carlos to start to shuffle around until he’s sitting on the ground in front of TK, coffee cup left forgotten on the chair. TK opens his mouth-
“Don’t tell me you’re fine, it’s very obvious that you aren’t.” Carlos chastises making TK look up from the ground he’s been staring holes at. His lip twitches though and he nods.
“Yeah, I won’t.” He promises and it makes Carlos’ worry lines less prominent for a moment. His hair is still a little sleep tussled, a few strands of curls at the back Carlos spends ages on each morning to lie flat are now loose and he looks tired, he is probably as tired as TK feels. 
It’s been just a few days since the kidnapping and TK’s gotten used to having a particularly sort of nasty headache as his daily companion since then, ruining both his days and nights with spells of pain that won’t go away. Well, it’s probably ruined Carlos’ nights too, judging by the growing circles underneath his eyes, and TK’s constant tossing and turning every time they’re in bed. It’s been a few days of bad sleep and lounging around the house with Carlos worrying. It makes TK feel really bad, he hates it when Carlos worries about him. 
Both he and Carlos had however gotten their best night’s sleep in days when the call came through, waking them both and sending TK into a near panic attack when he heard what had happened. He’s strung so ridiculously tight he’s scared he’s going to snap in half and he goes back to bouncing his leg, trying to distract from his discomfort, averting his eyes.
“Hey, no shutting me out.” Carlos gently cups his chin and forces him to meet his eyes, thumb stroking up and down in comforting motions, eyes kind and understanding. TK sighs but he nods.
“Sorry.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, trying to get the lingering thickness away. He looks away for a moment, sees Mateo is asleep with his head resting on Paul’s shoulder while Paul is reading, frowning slightly as his eyes move across the text, flipping pages now and then. Marjan left with Tommy a while back to go do something TK isn’t sure of exactly and he hasn’t seen his dad for a while either. They are all somewhere near of course, lurking, in case something changes.
“I’m scared.” TK keeps his voice down though, just in case. Carlos nods and moves his hands to cover TK’s thighs, pressing gently down on his right leg to stop the movement. It’s an involuntary reaction on TK’s end that he stops, the effect of Carlos’ touch on him, anchoring, calming him down almost immediately. Carlos gently squeezes his knee.
“I know baby, I am too. But the doctors are optimistic and we have to believe them.”
“They are cautiously optimistic and I don’t know what that means in doctor lingo but cautiously sounds like it’s not something to celebrate yet.” He mutters. 
“Maybe not, but it’s not cause for sitting here looking close to fainting either. I don’t think Judd would like it if you ended up in a hospital bed yet again after getting out of one so soon.”
“I would do it if it would make him wake up and bust my balls.” 
Carlos' mouth twitches.
“He’s going to wake up.” Carlos says with such conviction TK believes him.
“But what about Grace?” He whispers, dread filling his stomach. Grace with her kind eyes, easy smiles, never ending patience and generous support TK’s not realised he’s cherished this much until she’s suddenly been hurt, with the outlook not seeming good. He is scared, terrified even that she might not make it. He doesn’t know what it would do to Judd if that was to happen. Carlos grows serious and his eyes travel to the room she is in, sadness passing over his features. With Michelle gone a lot Carlos and Grace had formed an easy friendship to fill up that empty space, and so it wasn’t totally unusual that when TK came home after shifts to find Grace and Carlos out on the patio together, drinking lemonade and chatting away, smiles wide and whatever task they had said they would do, long forgotten. It’s not just TK it pains to see Judd and Grace hurt, it pains Carlos just as much and TK immediately reaches forward, cupping Carlos’ cheek and leaning his forehead on his, offering his comfort up like it’s second nature. They both exhale, breathing through it together. 
“It’s going to be okay, it has to.” Carlos says quietly and gives himself over to the worry for a moment before he pulls himself together, pushing the worry down. TK knows compartmentalising like Carlos can do is something that isn’t always the healtihest of coping mechanisms. Right now though, TK isn’t going to say anything, god knows he has a terrible track record of bad ways to deal with things, and he wishes at this moment that he could do it too, push it down and focus on something else. 
“The doctors say Judd is going to wake up but it will be a few hours until then, so we’re going to have to believe that everything is going to be okay. In the meantime why don’t we go home and shower and change clothes.” He suggests.
“Not to sleep?”
“I’m not aiming that high today, I don’t think either of us will be able to do that. But you don’t look too good right now and it’s worrying me a little, so instead of checking you into this hospital myself I suggest we go back to mine and recharge for a moment and come back with food for everyone. I’m sure they’ll all need it.”
It’s a distraction, probably as much for Carlos as it is for TK, but it’s a distraction born out of kindness and a big heart, the need to do something other than sit here and worry sick. Carlos, TK has learnt during this year, is the kind of person that needs to do something, he’ll feel absolutely useless sitting still. His brain works best when he’s doing things while TK tends to be the other way around, shutting down, unable to do anything other than freezing, standing still in his growing anxiety, until everything boils over and the urge to either get high or do something almost as equally stupid gets too much and he can’t stop it, sending him down bad paths. 
So he takes the opportunity and nods. Carlos gets to his feet and holds his hand out for him. TK takes it and gently and carefully Carlos pulls him to his feet and wraps an arm around him immediately. For a moment TK snuggles close, nosing at Carlos’ neck before he moves his head away, focusing on walking instead.
“How’s your head?”
“Sore.” He admits out loud and Carlos frowns. “It’s feeling more like a migrain though so maybe it’s just stress?”
“Maybe, do you want an ice pack?” TK thinks of saying no but he isn’t looking forward to getting into the car with the raging monster banging against his eyelids so he nods. Carlos gently kisses his forehead, squeezes his hand before he walks away, leaving TK alone in the mostly deserted hallway, with his thoughts again. 
Being a firefighter has made TK somewhat immune to certain high risk situations, gruesome injuries, fright so visceral people become unpredictable, or shock so silent it feels it lasts for days unable to break free of, and death too, to some extent at least. His dad’s cancer, which had been a suffocating presence, expanding each day inside of TK’s ribcage, making it impossible to focus on anything other than it, giving him little room to exist outside of the anxiety and constant worry. Tim more recently, which had been quick and taking the breath out of him, slamming straight into TK like a block of concrete, catching him unaware. 
His own overdose is a reminder that it takes different shapes.
And then this. Relentless, big, sudden. Impossible to escape. Scary.
They all wear their worry on their faces and clinging desperately to hope that feels like it’s dimming with each moment he stands here. 
He twists the string of Carlos’ APD hoodie, the first thing he had gotten his hands on when they were rushing to get here in the middle of the night. It was a few hours ago now and there hasn’t been an update for a while now, other than that they can only wait which anyone knowing him should be aware he’s terrible at. 
Carlos comes back shortly after, holding the promised ice pack, TK looks behind him at a nurse with red cheeks and a bright smile as she watches them. 
“Carlos Reyes did you flirt with a nurse to get me this?” But he accepts it gratefully and presses it to his face, exhaling in relief at the cold seeping onto his clammy skin. 
“I charmed her more likely, by talking about my very cute but bratty boyfriend.”
“Yeah I’ve changed my mind, I don’t care how you got it, I’m just happy that you did.” Carlos snorts and ruffles his hair. 
They drive back and Carlos helps TK up the stairs before he disposes of him gently onto the bed. When he goes to leave, TK tugs him back, holding tightly onto his hand.
“Where are you going?” He sounds small, he feels small right now.
“Just to get some water, I’ll be right back -” But TK shakes his head, moves the pack of ice away and pulls harder on Carlos’ hand until he gets the hint and climbs into the bed. TK pulls him close, arms wounding around his neck and tucks his face into Carlos’ neck. Carlos' hands come to rest on his waist, big and strong, secure around TK. He feels the heath of them through the shirt he is wearing. He can feel Carlos’ heartbeat against his ribcage too, riverbating through him.
Still here. Still alive. 
TK is used to danger. 
But he isn’t used to this kind of danger, when it feels deeply personal, like an attack. 
And it’s all so sudden, after Carlos’s suspension that has luckily been lifted but had given him enough stress and worry making TK wish he could march into Carlos’ precinct and yell at his boss that one of their best officers deserved better. It comes too soon after he was taken hostage and hurt, the wound hasn’t even begun to heal and it’s been roughly torn open again making TK feel so goddamn unsteady, the fear he’s suddenly been slammed with so tangible as it presses down on him from all sides. He feels he’s been edging closer and closer to a panic attack all night and the only thing that hasn’t sent him completely over the edge is having Carlos near. 
But he’s also so goddamn scared suddenly. He’s suddenly terrified of losing Carlos. A car accident, those happen so often and maybe TK’s been naive but this has never felt like such a palpable threat to him before, until now. Until Judd and until Grace. 
“Talk to me?” Carlos whispers, forcing TK out of his thoughts for a moment and TK hugs him closer, biting down the tears that have come unwillingly. 
“You can never leave me.” The words come pouring out of him and his voice breaks, unable to be kept steady. He bites down hard on his lip but an audibly sniff escapes and when Carlos tries to move his head away TK hugs him tighter, not wanting any space left between them.
Carlos is quiet for a moment, but no longer than that. He takes his hands away from TK’s waist and wraps them gently around TK’s wrists to gently tug them away from his neck so he can look at him. 
“What’s wrong?” He asks and takes TK’s hands in his, holding them delicately, stroking his thumbs soothingly across TK’s skin. TK angles them slightly against Carlos’ chest, closer to his ribcage, where he can feel the thumping of Carlos’ heart underneath his shirt. It comforts him, the only steady rhythm to latch onto at the moment, to try and steady his own breathing, copying the unwavering rise and fall of Carlos’ chest. 
“I don’t know…” TK whispers, unable to meet Carlos’ eyes. He focuses on his and Carlos’ tangled hands, trails the blue veins with his eyes, Carlos’ slender and long fingers, trying to find the right words, while also buying some time. 
“No?” Carlos gently pushes and TK shakes his head. “TK.” Carlos sighs before he cups TK’s cheek and angles it up so he can meet his eyes. TK blinks a few times to clear his watery eyes and Carlos wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, expression stricken, like it gets when he wants so badly to help but doesn’t know what to do. 
“When I was taken hostage…” He begins, clears his throat a few times, can’t bear watching Carlos upset. “I didn’t really stop to consider how awful it was for you during those hours, and I haven’t been able to grasp the intent completely behind your worrying these few days and now it makes me feel like such an ass. But I understand it now too, what happened to Judd and Grace, it could happen to us too and it’s so scary, so scary Carlos, what if -” He stops, gulps down more tears and bites his wobbling lip hard. 
“Hey, hey.” Carlos says gently and TK’s eyes snap to him. They are sad, but determined too. “It could, but even so I will always promise to fight to get back to you.”
“I wish you could promise me you won’t leave me or that I could promise that nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“Well knowing you, letting you out of my sight has proven to be a massive mistake, I swear you’re the most accident prone person I know.” TK wetly chuckles and Carlos’ mouth twitches, the joke easing the tension between them.
“I get scared too, all the time…” Carlos confesses and TK searches his face, reaches out automatically to smooth over the worryline on his forehead, itching to kiss it away.
“Yeah?” TK asks. Carlos nods.
“Yeah, all the time. Especially where you are concerned. But I do think it’s only normal with our jobs and so on. Just… I don’t know, try and be more careful?” The frown grows into a wry little smile and maybe if TK wasn’t so shook from earlier he would have joked it away, but he nods seriously instead.
“I promise. I will always come back, always. Even if I leave.” It’s a painful reminder of TK walking out on Carlos a few months back, still making TK feel ashamed of how he acted. But things are different between them now and walking away from Carlos and from everything they have built together and are going to continue building, that is not an option anymore. “Good.” Carlos whispers and kisses his nose making TK smile. “I will always come back too. Always. I will fight every day to make that promise true.”
“Me too.” TK promises, takes their intertwined hands and kisses the promise into their hands, hoping that the day will never come where he doubts it, doubts them and their future. 
“We’re going to be okay.” Carlos promises and TK closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Carlos’, slowly starting to accept it. 
“Yeah.” TK whispers. 
“And so is Judd and Grace.” 
TK isn’t fully there yet where he dares believe it to be true, but he isn’t giving up hope that it’s all lost either. 
“So, how about a shower?” 
TK opens his eyes, yawns before he stretches, pops his back and nods.
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
Carlos helps him to his feet and in the bathroom they undress each other before they get in together. TK hums in content as the hot water washes over him and with it the last doubts he has about the future, down the drain where it belongs. As soon as Carlos joins him inside TK walks close, presses his body to Carlos’. It’s not sexual, but it’s a need, to have him near, to let the calmness of Carlos’ wash over him and bring with it a comfort only Carlos can bring out in him and judging by the harsh breath escaping Carlos’ he craves the contact almost as much as TK does. TK presses a soft kiss to Carlos’ heart and it grows comfortable between them. That’s until Carlos decides to squirt shampoo loudly on top of TK’s head, breaking them out of the moment. TK’s glare turns into a laugh and Carlos’s eyes sparkle, so very much alive and TK’s insides flutter.
They shower for longer than what they had planned and when they do make it back to the hospital, carrying food from a place Carlos knows to be one of Grace’s favourite takeaways he feels better, more hopeful and willing to believe that things will work out. Carlos’ hair is messy from TK running his fingers through it, but his arm is secure around TK’s waist and TK’s leaning on his shoulder, watching their family help unpack the bags.
And then Judd wakes up.
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mustangsgloves · 3 years ago
Text
rain check
listen, I've started this rather angsty Captain America AU for Royai years ago, and finally got around to finishing it...so I hope you enjoy
CW: angst ahead, and what seems like character death, but I promise it's all ok (I'll write it being ok, if you want!)
Summary: With the fate of Ishval at stake, Roy makes the only decision he can...landing the plan in the expanse of the desert before the bombs reach the population. As soon as he makes his choice, Riza radios in...
Read on AO3
----
Roy placed his state-issued pocket watch on the dashboard of the plane. Despite it being the symbol of his leash to the military – generally something that he’d rather not always be reminded of – Roy had made it his own.
Opening the watch, he adjusted it so that the photo placed carefully inside of the top half was facing him. His lips curved upwards softly as Riza’s smiling face, slightly hidden by her own hand – a result from trying to hide from the camera – looked back at him from the small circular frame. All parts of this decision were easy ones…all except for her.
Static fissured through the plane’s intercom.
Riza’s voice broke through, “Colonel Mustang? Do you read me?”
“Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Roy replied airily, ignoring the way his stomach flipped and his heart screamed at him to save himself, if only to spare her from pain. “So nice to hear from you.”
“What’s your status, sir,” Riza asked, dismissing his nonchalant comment.
After a few moments, Roy sighed. “I’m going to have to put her in the sand.”
He continued talking, trying hard to ignore the quiet gasp from the woman on the radio.
“If I don’t, a lot of innocent people are going to die. I can’t let that happen Hawkeye…not after the war. I can’t let this man win. Ishval can never go through that kind of horror again…I won’t let it.”
“Sir, we can figure this out,” Riza replied, her voice tense. “There has to be another way. Just wait, I’ll get Fuery on the line, he’ll know what to do.”
“It’s too late, Lieutenant.”
Roy banked the plane slightly, headed for a wide swath of sand several miles to his right. He could make it there, he had to make it there…
“Sir, please. Just let me notify Fuery. He can… maybe he can tell you how to hardwire something to make the plane go down by itself and give you a chance to get out safely. I’m sure that –”
“Hawkeye,” Roy tried again, chest tightening at the growing fear in her voice.
“Fuery is already on it, I’ll talk to Havoc…Breda too, they’re already searching for a safe landing site, just hold on a few min–”
“Riza,” he breathed.
She stopped, and through the static Roy heard a shuddering breath.
“I don’t have a few minutes, Riza. I have to put her down now, otherwise I’ll miss my window and the bombs will reach Ishval.” He held back tears as he eased the plane downwards.
“Colonel, I…”
Roy exhaled, gazing at the photo in his pocketwatch. Instantly, he felt at peace. “I’m going to need a rain check on that dance.”
A beat of silence before a quiet, “I thought rain made you useless, Colonel.”
Roy gave a small puff of laughter. “Sure, but with you around I’m sure I’ll be able to manage.”
Roy remained quiet as he listened to her fight down a quiet sob.
“Though the more I think about it, the last time we danced, I think we were just kids.” He knew his voice would be barely audible through the growing static as he approached the ground. “I think I’ll need you to remind me how, go over it a bit, nice and slow…I wouldn’t want to step on your toe –”
The plane crashed into the sand, and the world went black.
--
As they screeched to a halt on the airfield, Riza let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. They had finally tracked down the man behind the scheme to bomb Ishval earlier that day, and Roy, of course, had done something reckless in the heat of the moment and boarded the plane mere seconds before the doors closed.
Riza had tried to convince him otherwise, or to at least let her go with him, but there had been no time, and he was set on his decision. However, the dark-haired man had somehow found time to lean down and give her a swift kiss on the lips.
Understandably she had been floored. Roy had given her his sly, trouble-maker smile before saying, “I should’ve done that years ago. See you soon, Hawkeye.”
With that, he had leapt out of the parked car and sprinted towards the plane, which was quickly gaining speed, given her one last look, and then disappeared into the small aircraft.
Sitting in the driver’s seat beside her, Lieutenant Havoc had remained quiet through their small moment, simply chewing on his ever-present unlit cigarette. The man was now watching the plane with a smirk, but Riza could see the concern clearly in his blue-eyed gaze.
“Damn,” Havoc chuckled. “If I had known all it took for him to get the courage to kiss you was to have a bomb threat and an airplane, the men and I would’ve arranged this years ago.”
Riza sighed and rolled her eyes, but she was thankful for Havoc’s attempted distraction. His unsaid words hung heavy in the air. They both knew it: this was practically a suicide mission. But they refused to say it…say it and it becomes all too real.
It was the same as when Hughes had fallen from that train, just two months before. Riza had watched as Roy avoided declaring his friend dead for weeks before he was forced to do so by a commanding officer. Roy had told her that as long as he didn’t say it, as long as those words never left his mouth, then it wouldn’t feel real.
But in the end he had had to say them. “Hughes is dead.”
Roy had felt responsible for Hughes’ death, Riza knew. She knew that he beat himself up over it for those many painful weeks, thinking about how he should have realized he was going to fall earlier, should have grabbed him sooner, should have held on tighter… So many should haves, but should haves wouldn’t bring him back. Hughes was dead, and there was nothing they could do about it.
As Havoc put the car in gear and pulled off of the airstrip, beginning to head back to their makeshift base a few blocks away, Riza found herself remembering what Roy had told her right after he had reported the news of Hughes’ passing to the base. Take care of yourself, Hawkeye, please…I can’t afford to lose you too.
Did he know? Did he know that she couldn’t afford to lose him either?
She swallowed down the growing unease in her throat. Roy would be fine. He would take out the man on the plane, Lyle, and land the plane safely. He would come back. She would tell him, remind him that she couldn’t lose him either. Everything would be fine…
So why did she feel so sick?
--
Upon entering the small base they’d set up, Riza immediately took charge. “Fuery! I need you to patch me through to Colonel Mustang right now!”
Fuery looked up from his makeshift communications desk and nodded, immediately going to fiddle with different knobs in order to connect to the intercom in the plane that Roy was currently flying.
“Havoc, Breda,” Riza continued, spinning around to look at the two men. “I want you to get specs on the plane and try to locate a safe landing zone for the Colonel, as quickly as possible.”
“Falman, I need you to get as much information on the bombs in the plane,” Riza said after Breda and Havoc saluted and exited the small room. “We need to know if there’s a way to disengage them.”
Falman nodded and disappeared out of the door that Breda and Havoc had exited.
Breathe, Riza told herself. Stay calm…
Listening to the static of Fuery’s radio as he scanned channels, she tried to calm her racing heart…and ignore the flood of memories that had, unbidden, entered her mind.
Roy, several years younger, laughing as he leaned nonchalantly on a standard issue Amestris Military car in which Maes Hughes sat in the front seat, pretending to drive.
Roy, a few months before, sheepishly handing her a pair of earrings he’d bought for her at the local market. He was blushing and her own cheeks flushed as well.
Roy, over the years, spending the day slacking off from his paperwork and duties, making jokes and laughing with the rest of his team.
Roy…almost a decade ago, holding her a little more closely than could be considered proper while they slowly danced, and him gazing down at her with a look that she didn’t dare give a name to.
“Ma’am,” Fuery’s voice interrupted her quickly spiraling mind. “I’ve made it through.”
Riza felt her stomach twist. “Thank you Fuery,” she managed, quickly grabbing the proffered phone.
“Colonel Mustang? Do you read me?”
A beat. Riza could feel her blood rushing and panic rising in her throat.
“Lieutenant Hawkeye,” came the staticky response. “So nice to hear from you.”
Riza’s chest tightened.
“What’s your status sir?” Leave it to him to try to lighten the mood.
For several moments he stayed quiet, and Riza knew…she knew that he wasn’t coming back from this.
“I’m going to have to put her in the sand,” Roy said quietly.
It was all she could do to keep the growing sob in her throat contained that the gasp that escaped seemed inconsequential. She barely registered what he was saying as he continued.
“…Ishval can never go through that kind of horror again…I won’t let it.”
Riza’s mind went blank, simultaneously overstimulated and empty. Of course he was right…but all of her selfishly, desperately wished it didn’t require losing him.
“Sir, we can figure this out,” she began. “There has to be another way. Just wait, I’ll get Fuery on the line, he’ll know what to do.”
““It’s too late, Lieutenant,” Roy said softly.
She kept talking. If she kept talking he couldn’t tell her nothing would change what was about to happen. If she kept talking…he wouldn’t leave.
“Sir, please. Just let me notify Fuery,” Riza said, not even trying to hide the desperation in her voice. “He can… maybe he can tell you how to hardwire something to make the plane go down by itself and give you a chance to get out safely. I’m sure that –”
“Hawkeye,” Roy interrupted. Riza kept talking.
“Fuery is already on it, I’ll talk to Havoc…Breda too, they’re already searching for a safe landing site, just hold on a few min–”
“Riza.”
All of her defenses broke with that one word, uttered softly and almost reverently.
Riza managed a shuddering breath. Roy’s voice left no room for argument.
“I don’t have a few minutes, Riza. I have to put her down now, otherwise I’ll miss my window and the bombs will reach Ishval.”
“Colonel, I…” Riza tried again, the lump in her throat making breathing, let alone speaking, increasingly difficult.
“I’m going to need a rain check on that dance.”
Riza felt the tears that had begun to gather in her eyes start to roll slowly down her cheeks. She swallowed hard. “I thought rain made you useless, Colonel.”
His laugh, as comforting and reassuring as it usually was, only made the tears fall harder. “Sure,” he said lightly, “but with you around I’m sure I’ll be able to manage.”
She fought down the sob fighting to leave her throat.
“Though the more I think about it, the last time we danced, I think we were just kids.” His voice was barely audible over the growing static. “I think I’ll need you to remind me how, go over it a bit, nice and slow…I wouldn’t want to step on your toe –”
The comms cut off, and so, it felt, did Riza’s heart.
--
Static.
“Colonel?” Riza croaked, “Colonel Mustang! Sir? Colonel do you read me? I need you to come in, sir…”
Static.
“…Roy?”
There was nothing but static.
“…Roy?” Riza’s voice cracked. Havoc fought back a flinch at the desperation in the word.
Havoc watched his superior officer from the doorframe, having come running as soon as he heard her raised voice. His stomach twisted at the way her face screwed tightly with unbridled emotion. It hurt to watch the tears flow without restraint. Havoc tried to ignore the way that she had pleadingly said “Roy,” and the way that her knuckles went white as she desperately grasped the phone and the desk it sat on…he tried to ignore the tears pricking his own eyes.
Riza let out a ragged scream as the static laden silence on the other end of the comm grew louder. Fuery looked away from where he stood nearby, eyes screwed shut and defeat written clearly on his features. Havoc clenched his jaw, strode forward quietly, and went to place a hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder, but the woman flinched away, falling to her knees. She choked out another cry – shorter than before but no less painful. Swallowing back a sob of his own, he let himself crumple to the ground beside her, simply sitting there for several moments. Letting his tears fall freely, Havoc gently maneuvered Hawkeye into his arms, and she collapsed into them, sobs raking her small frame.
Whatever else had happened, even if the world had been saved, their team suffered an insurmountable loss today…she had suffered an unimaginable loss…
Roy Mustang was gone.
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broadwayandnetflix · 4 years ago
Text
Pick Me Up - Bill Hader x Reader
Theme: Fluff, with some Angst
Warnings: Language, Use of Alcohol
Summary: Bill wakes up in the early hours of the morning with a request to pick up a rather drunken you.
Word Count: 2.4k
A/N: I started this ages ago, I still really dig some of my word usage in this fic. Once again, Maggie Carey and Bill will not be married in this fic. Thanks for dealing with my sporadic fic posting.
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It was just supposed to be one drink. Even if you could remember that rule, you were pissed off and needed to forget everything for a while. Just enough for the alcohol to slip into your system and make you feel somewhat fixed for the night.
Except one drink became two, and three, and soon five. I think it’s important to note that you were an incredible lightweight when handling alcohol.
Usually, you’d have a friend by your side, but this bar wasn’t that far of a walk from your apartment. It would almost be quite the resource, but you rarely tended to turn to drink.
Except that is, until you found out that your boyfriend of five years cheated on you. You were crushed, obviously, but you had almost seen this coming. Or maybe you didn’t; it just didn’t seem impossible for him to pull this act on you.
After booking a job as a cast member on the thirty-eighth season of Saturday Night Live, you often found yourself becoming busier than you had ever been. You would frequently come home late and not have enough time for your partner as you had imagined.
Except, Justin had been so understanding. Why wouldn’t he? He was a surgeon at Lenox Hill and would always take night shifts to keep things afloat.
He was charming, kind, and always knew how to surprise you. You could still picture your future wedding and marriage so vividly; he was the man of your dreams, but was he really?
He probably wasn’t when you had found him fucking a random girl senseless in your shared bedroom. That’s beside the point, everything felt floaty and fuzzy, and the bartender looked concerned.
“Want me to call someone for you?” she suggested as she leaned against the counter. One hand flipping a pen, the other sneaking up to the phone beside her on the wall.
Justi-no, just no, you stopped yourself quickly.
You swallowed carefully, looking at her with an emotion swirling within you that you couldn’t quite place. She cocked an eyebrow, just waiting for your answer to flop into her fingertips.
“His name is, um, he’s a friend. Just a friend, yeah, sure. Okay, hmph. His number is-,”
He had just gotten to bed finally, or so he had thought, almost perfecting not focusing on the way his breathing was lulling him to sleep. It was way too late for this anyway; he would definitely make a pick me up at the local joe’s the next morning.
That was until he heard a faint buzzing come from his bedside table; he rubbed his eyes with annoyance. At this hour, who the hell was disrupting him was his first thought, that was until he saw an odd number.
Seth had always told him not to accept calls like these, but something didn’t sit right. Hopefully, he was wrong; it could very well be someone ‘butt-dialing’ him.
“Hello?” damn, he sounded gruff, was this new?
“Hi, I’m here with Y/N; she’s currently here with me at April’s Brewery on 16 W 51st street. It’s getting rather late, and we are closing up soon. She said I should call you, Bill, right?” she confirmed, the information twisting around in his drowsy mind.
“Oh, um, yeah, I am. Is Y/N, okay? I mean, yeah, I’m coming as soon as possible.” he stammered, hanging up before she could even speak, rushing out the door, and calling forth a taxicab.
Why did Y/N pick him of all people? He was him, and you were well you! He didn’t even think you were even that close, well, maybe you were. Things between you and him were pretty nice; you could make him laugh like no other. You made his days better, even if it was with something small and not that big in retrospect.
Except then again, wasn’t this Jus-whoever’s job? Your boyfriend’s job to pick you up? Why were you even drinking in the first place? He had many questions.
The cab pulled to a halt, and he paid the necessary change. Giving the driver a tight-lipped smile, he hopped out and made his way into the destination he was given.
The bar looked reasonably deserted at this point. Still, there you sat looking absolutely crushed, or what appeared that way, nursing what seemed to be a glass of something that didn’t quite look like water. Lost in some conversation with the women who he assumed had called him, her eyes catching him in what looked to be a sense of relief.
She had whispered something to you, but instantly you poked your head up. Immediately locking eyes with him, you pulled yourself up, an excited grin dashing upon your lips.
“You came, oh Billy!” you squealed, rushing over to him before slipping, his arms rushing over to hold you up.
Billy? he thought with much amusement and, of course, concern.
“Woah Y/N, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this...” he drew on his words, your head tilting in confusion. 
“I’ve never seen you this drunk,” he admitted finally only to have you burst into a fit of giggles.
“Oh, Billy, you are so fucking funny. Do you know that? You make me laugh so much, like a crazy amount. God, you are so cute!” His eyes widened. Were you cheating? No, no, he couldn’t do this.
“Y/N, sweetie.” he began while sliding the bartender a couple twenties, leading you out the door. Steering the two of you to a nearby pocket of space between the bar and a convenience store.
“You have a boyfriend, I sincerely hope you didn’t forget,” he stated only to see you deflate at the thought.
“No, not anymore, or at least I don’t think so.” you cried the tears coming down faster than he could’ve imagined.
Wait, really? He sure as hell didn’t see this coming; you two had been together for what had appeared to be a long time. Judging by your conversations at work, things seemed to be fine between you two, rusty, but okay.
You shifted your feet, looking anywhere but him, he gulped, taking hold of your quivering hands that tugged at each finger anxiously. Eyes widening, you looked up at him, something settling in your eyes that he couldn’t quite process.
He smiled softly, lifting up his thumb to wipe away your tear stained cheeks. That’s what friends did, right? You sniffed, pulling back a little farther.
“I don’t think I can go back home tonight; Justin cheated on me with someone from his work.” you huffed, feeling everything come back at full swing.
“Oh Y/N/N, come here,” he whispered, beckoning you into his arms. It absolutely crushed him to see you so....broken.
Slowly but surely, you fell into his arms and sobbed quietly. His hands rubbing soothing circles onto your back, whispering sweet nothings to you. Anything to help, god, he hoped he was helping.
“God, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” you choked out after a while, clearing your throat and pulling away from him.
His eyes darting between yours and the way your hands twitched anxiously. The sky now a deep violet speckled in navy clouds, stars peeking out from the city fog to illuminate your surroundings. The neon lights of the convenience store sitting behind you showing just how late it was. The way it hit you all at once, lighting up the way your cheeks were stained from your tears.
He had never really had a chance to tell you how beautiful you were. It wasn’t even like he was trying to start trouble; you just were.
Whether it was in weekly meetings, bright and early, the buzz of the day settling into the cast. He’d notice it, the way your lips curved into that gorgeous grin you always seemed to carry on you. The way you did your hair, how it complimented your features so effortlessly. How your eyes would filter in appreciation of everyone in the room, how you’d stop shortly at his. The crinkle in your eyes, a smile beaming at him, offering a little wink.
Mornings with you were never dull, or at least that’s what he thought. He always knew you were out of his reach, so his heart stayed far from him, like a buoy sinking up and back down into the waves of his consciousness, always there but never willing to commit.
Even now, in your current state, he was in awe of your beauty. Yet, it wasn’t polite to stare, and he had to make sure that you’d get some sleep and a cup of water and painkillers by your side the next morning.
“I have a spare bedroom. Honestly, it’s way too late, and I don’t mind it.” Bill gestured, trying to focus on any signs of protest that could erupt from you.
“O-okay,” you whispered in agreement, rubbing your eyes as fatigue started to settle in. A motion that Bill definitely didn’t miss while he looked you up and down.
He gave a toothy grin before motioning you to follow him, standing before the bustling streets of Manhattan. Even at night, cars buzzed and honked past at moderate speeds. His hand outstretched to catch the attention of taxis, one hand reaching out to take ahold of yours.
It felt nice when he touched your little hands slip into his somewhat larger grasp; it felt normal almost. God, he was such a freak, you just got cheated on. You were just friends, nothing else. Get it together, Hader.
A car pulled close to the curb, and within seconds the two of you settled in. He gave the address and buckled in. You looked rather comfy with your face smudged against the cab window.
He smiled softly, as slowly but surely, you fell asleep. The city blurring around the two of you, bright lights and street signs becoming one. He always admired New York City at night, the way it never really stopped moving. Despite the early hours of the morning, people still bustled amongst the streets.
It was still fairly early into his departure of Saturday Night Live; his face was familiar, but not quite famous like his other costars. He could walk the streets with ease and get stopped only a few times. He didn’t know how long it’d last, but he enjoyed the sense of invisibility he carried.
You, however, were admired by many. Bill could remember your first few days on set, those who were not married or dating setting bets on you. Hader often scoffed at the idea of winning your heart amongst his coworkers, you were a constellation, and he was light-years away. That is until you mentioned that you were dating some doctor, and the competition died down.
Yet every now and then, his stomach would grow a flutter, and his cheeks would blush when you’d lay your head on his shoulder, a familiar friendly feat you’d perform after long hours in 30 Rock. He hated that he crushed someone who was taken; he never once stopped hating himself for that.
The car halted to a stop, Hader’s apartment complex sitting right outside. He eyed the cash monitor for the second time that night. In an instant, he paid the acceptable amount, tipping the driver for good measure. Almost standing up before remembering how you had fallen asleep against the window.
He huffed anxiously, wondering how on earth he would do this. The driver was obviously tired and not pleased with the hold-up between his departure towards his own comfy mattress. Grabbing his stuff, he slipped out of his side before going around to opening your door.
Your figure slumping towards the pavement before he scooped you up in his arms. Internally cursing himself if you were to wake up, and want him to rid you of himself at once. Instead, you peeked one eye open, his body heaving anxiously. Y/E/C peeking up at him in dazed confusion, before murmuring something and nuzzling deeper into his hold.
It was a skill that he hadn’t perfected, getting someone into his house, without making much noise. Not to mention the fact that you were asleep in his arms, chest rising in perfect rhythm. He nudged the cab door closed and made his way up to his apartment door. Victoriously managing to slide his hand out from underneath you and into opening his front door.
Slipping into the building, he quietly kicked the door closed behind him. You only stirred, which promptly stopped him dead in his tracks, before continuing on towards the spare bedroom he owned.
Gently he laid you down onto the bed, your body curling up at the contact of the comfortable mattress. He smiled before digging around to place a blanket over you, fitting it, so you were well adjusted to sleeping.
His heart heavy and mind slowly beginning to beg for sleep, his feet padding towards the door of the guest bedroom. That is until he heard a rustle and a soft murmur escape your lips.
“What was that, Y/N? Did you say something?” he wondered aloud, his eyes trying to adjust towards the room now blanketed in darkness.
“It’s-just, I’m not used to sleeping alone anymore, you know? I’m so tired, though, could you stay until I fall asleep?” you admitted softly, playing with the sheet covers on top of you.
Bill’s eyes widened into the size of saucers; he didn’t see this coming. He shook his head before quickly nodding in your direction; you yawned without much thought and laid back, dozing off.
He stood there absolutely puzzled on what to do, except stare, which was definitely not inappropriate whatsoever. His eyes darting anywhere in the room, but you, he focused on an old rocking chair that his mother gave him when he first moved in.
It looked comfy enough. It would do, if that’s what you wanted, that’s what a friend would do. God, he hoped that’s what a friend would do in this case scenario.
The chair creaked noisily, and he cringed every single time until you stirred once again, thrusting your hand upward into the air. He sat puzzledly until your finger flicked up and down to signal him to join you.
He gulped, “please, Bill, just for tonight?” you said with a slight whimper.
Timidly he shoved the covers outward to create space, sliding into the bed, stiff as aboard. You couldn’t help but murmur something sleepily before rolling over beside him.
He froze, but he couldn’t stay awake forever. Your head now resting upon his chest, curling into his side, you smelled nice. He let you stay put before trying to get situated himself, sleep soon beginning to overtake him.
Friends totally did this, yep, of course, they did, Bill.
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daydreaming-away-reality · 4 years ago
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Don’t Recall [3]
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Tom Riddle x Reader | ☔ + 🌠 + ✨ | 2k [ Don’t Recall Masterlist ]
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The sound of whimpering filled the air as you stood with your arms crossed, (E/C) eyes narrowed as you looked down at the girl before you. A trail of blood was running down the arm that she clutched onto, as she tried to make herself smaller to avoid your gaze.
Tom stood next to you, holding onto the letter that had arrived for you a few days ago. The brown haired boy let out a huff, annoyance evident on his face. 
When Tom heard the scared whispers of the other orphans as they walked down the hall, he didn’t pay them any mind. He never cared about what the others had to say about him and knowing that he would be attending the Hogwarts in less than a month had solidified that for him.
Both you and Tom had received letters recently about your acceptance into the school. An attached note explained how someone would escort you both to shop for supplies as well. Getting these messages finally made that visit from the professor feel real. Relief to get away from Wool’s Orphanage was a shared unspoken feeling between the two of you. 
A chance to start again.
Trying to ignore the hushed words of usually useless information from the others, Tom continued on his way.
At least until he heard them say your name.
His footsteps abruptly stopped as he stopped only long enough to catch the important details before picking up a brisk pace to find you.
The other kids scattered when they saw the determined presence of Tom as he made his way towards where he heard you were. Something about the aura around him scared some of them. 
As he approached the room where you were supposed to be, Tom felt goosebumps as he drew closer to the deserted space. Despite it being summer, the temperature was dropping to a chill with every step closer to the room.  
Spotting the back of your figure, Tom entered the room, feeling the cold that originated from this room. Your face held an unreadable expression as you stared at the girl with cold eyes. If you knew that Tom was beside you, there was no indication given. When he shifted his gaze, he spotted the new girl who arrived at the orphanage. Grasped in her hand was the familiar sight of waxed sealed letter.
“T-Tom,” the girl’s voice exclaimed. When she noticed his eyes on the letter, her entire expression to one that looked more pitiful. Tears began to well up in her eyes. “Help me, it’s not what it looks like.”
Not fully understanding what was happening, Tom looked at her suspiciously.
“Why do you have (Y/N)’s letter?” he asked in a stiff tone.
“I...”
That sentence was never going to justify her reasons to Tom, even if she were able to finish it.
As he took a step forward, your gentle touch on his arm halted him. Looking into your (E/C) eyes, he watched as you mouthed the word, don’t.
Giving you the smallest of nods, Tom was startled when he heard the shriek by the girl.
“Don’t touch him!” 
Both of you were redirected to the girl as she glared at your hand on Tom’s arm. 
“Tom doesn’t even look my way because of you,” she hissed. “Leave him alone.”
Although Tom didn’t quite understand what she was getting at, he knew that whatever this was about was petty.
A pure look of disgust appeared on your face as a cracking sound filled the air. As the temperature dropped another degree, the cracking stopped ominously. 
The window behind the girl shattered, glass flying everywhere. 
On instinct, Tom pulled you back to keep you a safe distance from the spontaneous combustion. 
When Tom looked back at the girl, she had dropped the letter in favor of cradling her injured arm - a piece of glass had imbedded itself in her arm. Lucky for her, all the shards were small, so nothing but a bit of blood would be the only thing she would see today.
Moving to pick up your letter, Tom could see the nonverbal exchange between you and the girl. Whimpers began to fill the air and when you took a step forward, the girl immediately tried to shuffle back.
Fear filled her eyes.
Letting out an annoyed huff, Tom looked at the girl with no sympathy for her. 
“Leave both (Y/N) and me alone,” he stated. 
Turning back to you, Tom reached out and nudged you to encourage you to go with him. You glared a final dagger the girl’s way before walking beside Tom away from the scene. The air finally warmed, returning to the normal room temperature.
Following Tom, you soon found yourself guided into his room. The door pushed so it wasn’t closed but offered the two of you enough privacy.
“Here,” Tom offered, handing your letter back to you. You accepted, staring at the wax seal. Not much longer before you’d be gone.
Tom’s hand on your back gently guided you towards his bed where you sat down and let out a sigh. The brown haired boy sat down next you.
“You okay?”
His question prompted you to nod. Besides hearing an onslaught of accusations from the self-centered girl who baited you out by taking your letter, nothing was wrong. For someone so new to Wool’s Orphanage, the girl clearly had no idea that there were rumors that circulated about you and Tom. If anything, the only part of the rumors she heard were your name and Tom’s.
If she knew what was good for her, she’d stay away from you both now.
“Anything you want tell me about?” Tom asked. “What happened?”
You gestured to the paper on his desk and he immediately fetched it with a pencil. You paused to think, then wrote down just enough words to get your idea across.
Selfish brat.
A chuckle came from Tom when he saw your words. “Yeah, it definitely sounded that way.”
Shifting the conversation elsewhere, the rest of your day was spent listening to Tom. No one came looking for you about the new girl’s situation. No one mentioned you when they talked about the broken window. 
Although one comment managed to reach your ears among the hushed whispers.
Ice princess.
To everyone except Tom, that sounded like a fitting title for you.
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You quietly followed after Tom through the bustling streets, eyes filled with wonder as you watched all the magic happening around you. Not far behind you was a witch who was supervising and assisting the two of you. 
For your first experience at Diagon Alley, you were absolutely captivated by the sights around you. There were witches and wizards all around you. Everything magical seemed... so normal. 
You felt Tom grab your arm and gently pull you aside when a group of wizards loudly paraded down the streets, jerseys adorned, and faces painted in bright colours.  
“Carefully,” Tom murmured. “Don’t want to lose you in that crowd.”
You smiled and gave Tom’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It was nice to have someone who cared about you around like this. Things at Hogwarts might be different for the two of you later on, but you appreciated these moments now.
Unknown to you, Tom’s cheeks heated up a little when he realized the two of you were holding hands out in public. While he mental panicked, your focus was elsewhere on the various shops that were located on this street.
Having already gotten your wands, robes and other material, the only things left were the textbooks. 
(E/C) eyes spotting the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, you pulled Tom in the direction of the shop. The witch accompanying the two of you seemed to have noticed the store as well.
“That should be our final stop for the day,” she said.
As your trio wandering into the store, the witch offered to help you both find all the textbooks and let you roam around freely. Wandering away from Tom, you peered at all the different shelves and books in curiosity. 
Browsing through some books, a title caught your attention.
The Daily Prophet Archival Collection 1930-1935.
Pulling the book off the shelf, your eyes skimmed the back cover.
…most notable articles... important information... best writers.... murders...
Siting down, you flipped to the table of contents. Finger gliding across the dates and article titles, you froze when you found what you were looking.
Arson of the (L/N) Household - March 20th,1931
You could feel your pulse accelerating as you flipped through to get to the article. No one seemed to ever know the true reason why you had lost your parents - assuming it was just a bad fire. You had desperately tried to seek out information only to no avail. But now that you knew about the magic community, you had a feeling you’d be able to dig up something - anything.
You were right. To think it would take seven years for you to find it.
Eyes barely taking in the moving images for the passing pages, you could barely focus on anything else but the book before you. 
Stopping at the right page, you felt your heart suddenly stop. 
The sight of the burnt remains of the place you called home with fumes of smoke still filled the top of the page. 
“Take (Y/N) and get away from here!”
You pushed the uncomfortable feeling back and continued to read the article.
Late last night, on the outskirts of London, the (L/N) household experienced arson and with left both Roy and Pearl (L/N) deceased. It wasn’t until smoke had filled the sky that the neighbours had noticed the fire and called for assistance.
Roy (L/N) was a top auror within London, famed for his ability to help capture the worse criminals of the magical community. Often working with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, (L/N) was an up and coming wizard expected to great things. 
He and Pearl were well known through the magic community as the young couple that were destined to do great things - as their colleagues noted.
Their young daughter (Y/N) (L/N) is the sole survivor of the fire.
This tragic event appeared to be linked to Roy (L/N)’s work as one of the wizards responsible for the arson, Argon Nott, was captured fleeing the scene. Timaeus Rowle is believed to be his companion that managed to escape and is still at large.  
Nott, along with Rowle, were affiliated with the group, Crux, an underground crime organization that has recently been brought into light by the work of (L/N). Cases around the Crux are still waiting for trial in the coming months. 
Due to the roles that Roy and Pearl (L/N) held within the Ministry, their funerals and memorial services are set to be held later next months.
Gently tracing the image of your parents, you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen their faces. Years had slowly taken away their details, leaving behind the only the traces of their haunted screams in their final moments. Trying to commit this image to your memory, you watched your parents wave at you cheerfully, their fate unknown to them.
Finishing the article, you blankly stared at the moving picture of Timaeus Rowle. After reading through all that information, you weren’t sure how to feel anymore. Numbly flipping to the back in search of the index, you checked for any additional entries on Rowle. 
Nothing.
Your parents were amazing people who had their lives cut short and one of the criminals were out there, living his life.
This was not the sense of closure you had always hoped for.
Slowly shutting the book and letting out a shaky breath, you held back the tears that threatened to fall.
Life wasn’t fair.
You knew that ever since moving to Wool’s Orphanage, but finally knowing about your past brought these feelings up once more.
Getting up, you put the book away. 
Just as you put the book away, a familiar figure approached you. Tom had a relieved smile as he approached you. 
“Finally found you,” he said. “Ready to go?”
While your thoughts were all jumbled up with this new information, you knew that you shouldn’t say anything to ruin this day with Tom. Things were going to get better.
Meeting Tom’s dark eyes straight on, you gave him a firm nod.
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atths--twice · 3 years ago
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Chapter Seven
Fox was up at dawn the next morning, packing the last of his items, staring out the window and out to the Nile. No more would they have the luxury of beds, fancy dinners, cool places to seek out for a reprieve.
And he could not have been happier at the prospect of living rough.
A knock sounded at his door, surprising him, believing himself to be the only person who could possibly be awake at that early hour. When he opened it, he found Dana, looking happy, but slightly nervous.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile.
“Hello. I know it’s early, but…” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Would you like to have breakfast? Just you and I, before the others wake to join us?” She smiled and, as always seemed to happen, it caused his stomach to flip.
“I would love to have breakfast with you,” he answered and she nodded. “Let me get my jacket and we can go downstairs.”
It was slightly cooler in the mornings, and he also had something for Dana tucked inside the inner pocket. He had wanted to give it to her on Christmas, but mistakes being made, he was unable to do so. As they would now be alone, possibly for the last time in a while, he knew the timing was perfect.
Closing his door and locking it, he fell in step beside her. She was quiet but seemed to be giving off the same excited energy he himself was feeling. He looked at her appreciatively, the simple yet attractive style in which she dressed always pleasing to behold.
She did not have overly fashionable clothes, but she did not seem to care or desire them. And yet for he, who had grown up with women of all ages dressed in the latest fashions and the best jewels, her simple dress drew him to her even more. Her beauty was held in the simplicity of dress, her manners, and her intelligence.
And her eyes, which spoke to him, even when her mouth did not.
“Have you everything ready?” he asked and she nodded.
“Yes. I packed and repacked last night. Kept thinking I’d forgotten something. Or could rearrange things and find room to add one more thing.”
“Are you needing something?”
“Not at all. I have everything I need,” she assured him with a smile. “It was simply in case I needed or, more accurately, wanted it.” He laughed softly and nodded in understanding.
The dining room was nearly empty, most of the patrons still sleeping. Suggesting a table on the veranda, she accepted and they sat down. She smiled and he smiled back before the waiter walked up to ask them what they wanted to eat.
After he had walked away, he began to reach into his jacket pocket when she let out a deep breath and turned those blue eyes onto him. They were serious and he drew his hand back, folding them in his lap.
“I want to talk about… to tell you why I came here. You’ve never asked and I’ve never volunteered the information, but I want you to know.” She drew in a breath, licked her lips, and closed her eyes briefly. Opening them, she smiled softly and he waited, not wanting to hurry her.
Coffees and sweet biscuits were set on the table and for a few minutes their attention was diverted. When she had taken a few sips of coffee, she nodded and exhaled.
“I… my family is from Maryland, as I told you, and two houses down from us was a family with three children. We all grew up together, though they were slightly older than me. The youngest boy, Matthew…” At this, she trailed off as her hand went to her throat and he knew what she was going to say. He wanted to stop her, tell her it was not necessary, but she had said she wanted him to know, so he would listen.
“Matthew was two years older than me and I…” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head and wiping at her eyes. He swallowed, hating to see her hurting, but knowing there was nothing he could do to help her. “I tagged along with all of them, equally hating and loving him. He treated me like an annoying little sister, but then brought me flowers or held my hand when I had fallen and scraped my knee. He had a way about him. I was in love with him for most of my life.” She smiled at him with tears in her eyes and she sniffled, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.
“He… he never encouraged it, or expected it, showing attention to other girls which broke my heart. But one summer, I stayed with my grandparents and came home in September before school started. I had changed and he noticed, his attention no longer given to other girls, only me. I was fourteen, he was sixteen, and a far off war had recently been declared. Our lives, though not yet consumed by it, soon would be.” She took a second, drinking more of her coffee, not meeting his eyes.
“We were still the same, but different. I had our lives planned in my mind: engaged once I was eighteen, married by nineteen or twenty, a family not far off. I was so happy.” She let out such a shuddering breath, Fox reached for her hand, not caring what others thought or if she would object. She clung to his hand, still not meeting his eyes, tears on her cheeks.
“Though America had not officially entered the war, we all knew it was imminent. It weighed upon everyone. The Lusitania…” She shook her head and closed her eyes. He knew what she was thinking and it made his stomach turn. Opening her eyes, she exhaled quietly. “When Matthew turned eighteen, in August of 1916, he enlisted in the military. He was so proud, ready to fight the Germans and stomp them out. I was terrified.”
“Dana,” Fox said, as she began to cry quietly, but she shook her head, determined to see her story through.
“When… when war was declared… he was so happy. Oh, that makes him sound… I didn’t mean-”
“I understand,” he whispered and she nodded, her head down.
“He left not long after for training and then to England. He asked me to promise to wait for him. It was the easiest promise I ever made.” She blew her nose in the napkin and wiped her eyes. “He arrived in England in June of 1917 and was killed in October of the same year.” She covered her face and cried and he swallowed down the large lump in his throat, turning his head to give them both a chance to compose themselves.
When he had, he looked at her, seeing her tears were subsiding as she took deep calming breaths. Uncovering her face, she looked at him, tears clinging to her lashes.
“My life was planned. I only wanted a husband and a family. And I lost it all. My life ended when his did. My heart was broken.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was… I can’t describe it. I…” She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “I was devastated. Then angry. Then devastated again. My brother came home, wounded but alive, and I hated him for it. My sister’s husband had not fought, a childhood illness of scarlet fever keeping him from doing so. I hated him too. I hated all of them, until I found an old book of mine, one Matthew and used to read together, about the gods and goddesses of Egypt, planning one day to see them together. That’s when I read about Kha’ari. When my heart was broken, I found her.”
He took a drink and tried to dislodge the lump which once again sat there, as she cried softly for a second.
“My path was clear, I needed to come here, to find her temple. My parents didn’t want me to leave, my father was adamant that I stay, wanting to keep an eye on me, but I was still angry, still hurting. I had to leave. I came here with my aunt and uncle, two people who knew to keep quiet about subjects and let me grieve. They helped set me up at my flat and get me the job at the museum in a training program. They left me and for the first time I felt like I could breathe. When I discovered there was not a temple dedicated to Kha’ari, I was broken again. I did my work, but felt empty for quite a while. But when King Tutankhamun was discovered, I once again felt hopeful. Felt that spark within me ignite, just as it did for you.”
She smiled and he stared at her, once again amazed by her, and by women in general. Women who suffer and hurt, yet carry on every day without giving any indication of their pain.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again and she frowned. “I had no idea.”
“I hadn’t told you, how could you have known?” she asked softly.
“I kissed you. I… should not have done that, not when you…”
“Fox…”
“I took liberties and you’re… grieving… you’re hurting.”
“No, Fox,” she said, softly still. “No. Well, not exactly. I did grieve. I suppose I always will, but it’s… mellowed. It’s evened out. I’m not hurting anymore. Not the way I was. I have a new path now. It’s this… and after this… I don’t know. But, my grief and pain are no longer the same.”
“That’s why you want to find it. To thank her,” he stated, as it all finally made sense and she smiled.
“When I first arrived and did not find it here, when all I had wanted was to offer up my pain to her and have it taken from me, I wanted it for different reasons. But now, five years have passed since the worst day of my life, and yes, I want to thank her.”
He stared at her and felt a new desire grow within him. If it took years, he would work to find that temple for her, to present to her the opportunity to give her proper thanks.
If she asked him for the moon, he would attempt to try, wanting nothing more than to see her happy.
____________________
They were quiet after her story, but a comfortable quiet that did not feel strained. He kept feeling he should reciprocate with his own story, but it did not feel like the right moment. That had not been what drove her to speak, so he remained silent.
“The dress your mother sent two years ago,” he said, her eyes raising to his in question, as the puzzle pieces he knew of her life began to fall into place.
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “She sent it with a note hoping it would be something I would wear ‘out with a young man.’  I never found an occasion worthy of it, until recently anyway.” She smiled and he nodded.
“Or the young man, I suppose,” he joked and she held his gaze, saying nothing as she then looked away.
Clearing his throat, finding double meaning in her answer, or lack thereof, he once again reached toward his jacket pocket and took out the gift he had purchased for her a few days past, placing it onto the table. Pushing it toward her, he watched her looking at it.
“I noticed that your journal was nearly full as you wrote in it recently. I knew you needed a new one, and I had planned on making it a Christmas gift, but…” He pulled his hands back and she smiled as she looked at the dark, rich brown of the leather.
“Thank you. I was in need of a new journal… oh, Fox…” she breathed and then gasped as she opened the journal and saw what he had added to it.
Every night before he had gone to sleep, he sketched copies of his sketches from his own journal into hers. The first three pages were dedicated to the sketches of what they had seen and what had caught his eye.
“This is beautiful. Oh, the details of this one… Fox. This is from Karnak. I remember turning around and you weren’t there. I came back and you were sketching this one.” She looked up at him and he smiled with a nod. “Thank you, this is an amazing gift. One I will treasure always.”
He nodded, saying nothing, her story weighing heavily on his mind as they finished their meal. He was thoughtful as they left the veranda and for the first time, her words did not reach his ears as they walked and she spoke to him. His mind was full and he needed time to think of all he had learned.
The arrival of the men was a welcome distraction, their excitement driving away the heaviness of the morning. They were all laughing and talking, Pierre both writing and signing.
Their trunks were brought down and added to the wagons, a third one procured for all of the extra bits they had not accounted for, the others too full to hold any more.
They had to ferry across the river one wagon at a time, the weight of all too heavy to sustain them if they did not. Once they were all together, they set off. Akl drove one wagon, his boys the others, with everyone else on horseback, using borrowed horses which would be brought back when they were settled.
It would take nearly three full days to reach their final destination, needing to stop and camp for two nights. The weather was perfect, the sky cloudless, the company easy. No one could have asked for a better start.
By the time they stopped for the day, they were sore and tired. Akl’s sons began to prepare a fire as he set about making them dinner.
The three men insisted they had bedrolls and were not in need of a tent for two nights, so long as the fire was warm, they would be quite fine.
Fox insisted they put up the smaller tent for Dana, and though she refused, not wanting to be of any trouble, with the help of Sobek and Atum it was quickly erected and her bed made up. As she stepped inside to have a look at it, she brushed Fox’s arm, her eyes thanking him.
They ate and sat around the fire talking, getting to know one another better.
John, 28, was from Kansas, the middle of six boys, and the son of a very tough man to please. He was cruel at times, enticing his sons to squabble and fight one another, believing it made them stronger. No weak sons for him, thank you.
“Although it doesn’t excuse me,” John said, as he looked at Dana. “It’s part of why I was willing to leave when we first met. My father’s voice in my ear telling me a man should never be led by a woman. That I was weak if I allowed it.”
“I understand. I do,” Dana said softly, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t mean that it’s right, however. To be diminished because of my sex… to be thought as less than another, it is unfair.”
Pierre clapped his hands at this, nodding vigorously and tapping his chest. He signed something to John, who nodded and signed back with a rueful smile.
“Yes, it is unfair and I apologize again, to you both. For my thoughts were somewhat similar when I met Pierre, though it was wrong of me.” He nodded at his friend again. “It’s hard. To get that voice out of your head, even after all this time. I haven’t seen my father in nearly ten years. I left home when I was eighteen, moving from place to place doing odd jobs and never went back. I got into a lot of scraps and some of them… I’m surprised I survived. Surprised I survived that, more than I survived the war. But I did and I learned from them, though not enough it seems. I apologize to you once again, Miss Scully.” He bowed his head to her and she smiled kindly at him.
“For the last time,” she stated softly and he grinned as he met her eyes, his forgiveness granted.
Charles, 30, was from London, very near Fox’s family, though they had never met. He had two younger sisters, both now married and in the country somewhere.
“I’ve been away from home for a long time myself. After the war, I couldn’t go back. I was different and the thought of home did not hold the same appeal. My mother had passed while I was in Belgium, the letter from my sister reaching me nearly a month after it happened. I… I read it and put it in my pocket, took one breath, and was back to the fight. I had no time to think about it, to dwell and remember her. I felt nothing because I would not allow myself to do so. I was twenty three, in the middle of a bloody war, and it was I, not my mother who survived.” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes quickly. Pierre clapped him on the back gently and Charles nodded.
“When the war was over, I couldn’t go home. Not even for my sisters. I had to leave, to go anywhere. Anywhere hot. I’d spent nights freezing without a fire and I could not abide a cold London winter. I had to go somewhere warm. I traveled through Africa, visiting many of its countries. I like it here, this continent suits me.” Dana smiled at him and he nodded. Pierre rubbed his back again and looked at Dana and then John.
“Right,” John said. “Charles and I know Pierre’s story, having heard it before, but Charles is not as fluent in sign language as I am, so I’ll be translating for him.” Pierre smiled at Dana again and she smiled back. He began to speak with his hands and John spoke his words quietly.
“I am twenty five, from Bordeaux. My parents have a vineyard there and I have two brothers. An older and a younger. I don’t remember ever being able to speak, though my parents said I did. I fell when I was two and was in the hospital for a long time, though I have no memory of it. I was brought to Paris by train and had surgeries done as my brain was swollen. I survived them, though it was a long time in the hospital, again something I do not remember much of, but from it, I was left unable to speak. I eventually attended schools for the deaf and the mute where I learned sign language. My parents thankfully did not lose their vineyard, as my injuries and costs thereafter were expensive, but it thrived. I will never be in charge of it, my…” Here Pierre paused his hands and took a deep breath. “My younger brother will, my older brother having died in the war.”
It was now Charles’s turn to offer support, his hand on Pierre’s shoulder. Pierre nodded and then shook his head, his hands once again moving quickly.
“I came to Italy four years ago, a doctor there claiming he could treat and cure muteness. I…” Again he paused, his hands lying in his lap. The fire crackled and they all jumped, laughing in embarrassment. Pierre smiled and began again. “I was in love with a young woman and I wanted to be able to speak to her. To speak the words I love you and not just write them. But the treatment was not what I believed it would be. It was…” He swallowed and wiped at his eyes. “Terrible. Just… terrible. I won’t go into more detail.”
“And you never went back to her?” Dana asked softly. Fox looked at her and saw tears on her cheeks as she stared at Pierre. “You didn’t go home?” He shook his head and looked down at his lap, his hands moving, but his gaze not meeting hers.
“No,” John said for him, his voice very quiet. “I was and still am ashamed. Of my imperfections and my cowardice to face her with them.”
“Oh…” Dana breathed and she began to cry softly. Pierre looked up at her and then stood to his feet, walking close to her. He handed her a handkerchief and she took it, grasping his hand. “I’m so sorry. If she loved you, she saw past what you consider imperfections. I know she did.” He shook his head and shrugged, sitting back down as the rest of them were silent.
Dana, after her tears subsided, told them about herself and Matthew. Fox was thankful to her for telling him privately that morning, the shock and pain at hearing her pain would have been hard to hear in front of strangers. He would have been unable to hide his feelings and desire to comfort her.
When she had finished, Pierre was sitting beside her, holding her hand. Their stories were somewhat similar, thus they seemed to find comfort with one another.
All eyes turned to Fox and he cleared his throat. He had never told Dana his whole story and as he relayed it now, of being stabbed and shot, his multiple illnesses both during and after the war, she rose from her seat and sat close to him, taking his large hand in her small one. She would squeeze it when he paused, needing a second to compose himself, the panic rising within him. When he was done, she remained next to him, now holding his hand in both of hers.
“Bloody hell,” Charles said, shaking his head. “We’re all quite a broken bloody mess, aren’t we?” They all laughed, Dana wiping her eyes as she did, still holding onto Fox’s hand with the other.
“I’d say so,” John said almost bitterly. “And with that, I think I’m going to call it a night.”
They all agreed and stood to make their beds ready. Fox walked Dana to her tent and she stopped at the door before going inside. She searched his face and he smiled, not wanting her to worry. She took his hand and squeezed gently.
“Goodnight, Fox,” she whispered.
“And to you, Dana.”
One more squeeze and she let go of his hand, stepping inside the tent. He waited for a second and then rejoined the men around the fire.
He lay on his back looking up at the stars, the sand cool beneath his fingers, and he thought of what Charles said; they were all a broken mess, each in their own way. He turned onto his side and stared at Dana’s tent, hoping she was asleep or at least near to it.
A snore from Akl, around his own smaller fire with his sons, came from his left. The other men seemed to be asleep already also. He closed his eyes, his thoughts once again on Dana, hoping she was able to find peace as she slept.
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sunshinejihyun · 4 years ago
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The Fool in Love Was Actually the King || Kiro
Author’s note: I’ve been needing some sweet, fluffy Kiro content lately, so I needed to deliver.
Warnings: there’s a thunderstorm? does that count as one?
Word count: 2553
Masterlist
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It started off as a humid day, the type of day that made Kiro’s hair stick to his forehead and the back of his neck and the girl’s hair would have as well, except for the fact that she had already pulled it up in a small ponytail, grumbling about the weather.
Despite her sour attitude over the stickiness in the air, Kiro was still able to drag her along to the pond behind his house and got her in a boat for a little picnic while watching the large koi fish swim about.
“So,” she started, talking around a mouthful of sandwich. “What big thing are you working on next? A movie, magazine shoot? No, wait! Let me guess, an album?”
The way she got so excited over his work made Kiro’s heart warm and his stomach flip. When other people asked him about things related to his job, Kiro knew it was only because they wanted to have the insider scoop. But not her; no, she genuinely cared about him and asked because she was interested in him and what he was enjoying.
“Hmm… you must know me so well, Miss Chips!” He exclaimed, taking a swig of water as her face brightened into a beautiful smile. “Yes, I’m working on my second album. Today was the first time in weeks I’ve been able to be out of the studio!”
“And you chose to spend it with me? I’m honored!” She polished off her sandwich and there was a smudge of peanut butter on the corner of her lips. Reaching over, Kiro brushed his thumb over her soft lips and collected the peanut butter onto his thumb before popping it in his mouth and sucking it off. “K-Kiro!”
“Tasty!” He exclaimed, secretly pleased at the blush starting on her cheeks. As she stared at him speechless, Kiro felt a drop of water on his head and looked up at the darkening sky and as she raised her eyes to see what he was looking at, rain started pouring down. “Hold on, let me move the boat, we shouldn’t be out on the water if it’s going to storm!”
Kiro was too focused on rowing back to shore that he couldn’t even concentrate on the fact that she was definitely watching his muscles move underneath his tee shirt and getting flustered sitting across from him. As the boat reached the dock, Kiro got out and tied it to the pole at the end before holding his hand out to the girl, and as she took it, he relished in the warmth and softness that he found himself craving when he hadn’t seen her for a while.
Standing on the dock, one of her hands enclosed in Kiro’s, his other hand went to lightly rest on her waist. “I’ve never kissed someone in the rain before, what do you say, Miss Chips?” Although his voice came out teasing, Kiro was nervous. Sure, he had kissed the girl countless times before and didn’t want to seem eager, but he couldn’t deny that he had been craving feeling her lips against his once again and… he was a romantic; Kiro had heard that kissing in the rain was one thing you should do with the person you loved at least once, and he wanted to try it with her.
Without saying anything, she stood on her tiptoes and gently brushed her lips against his own and as she did so, Kiro’s grip on her waist tightened slightly, keeping her in place so he could kiss her longer, relish in her taste for just a moment more. When Kiro released her waist, she looked up at him with shining eyes, adoration dancing over her features and he was sure that he looked quite the same.
Then the lightning struck. The both of them jumped in their place, their grip on the other tightening only slightly and Kiro started off in a light jog, urging her to keep up. “C’mon, my house is right up this hill!” His grip on her hand was slipping from the wetness pouring down on them and Kiro stopped for a second to move his hand to her waist and finish guiding her to the house like that, a secure grip on her the rest of the way.
Stepping in the doorway, Kiro shook his wet hair out of his face and brushed it back, all the while she slipped out of her wet shoes and soaked jacket. With a glance at her, Kiro felt his cheeks heat up as he noticed her shirt clung to all of the curves. It was hard to peel his eyes away, she was so breathtakingly gorgeous he could have easily stared at her all day and never find anything he’d get bored of looking at.
“Um, Kiro?” She was looking at him like he had grown two heads and Kiro realized he had been staring for longer than he thought. “Can I borrow some clothes so I’m able to heat up? I’m freezing cold.”
To be quite honest, the only thing going through Kiro’s head currently was the thought of soaking in a bubble bath with the girl standing in front of him. To be able to see her relax and just let go for a few moments, those were his favorite times. Where she wasn't worrying about work or stressing over the messages Victor left on her phone; where she could just spend some time with Kiro alone, no cares in the world except for how much the both of them cared about the other.
So Kiro quietly took the girl’s hand, guiding her to his rather large bathroom and turned on the tub, letting it fill with water before gesturing to the collection of bubble soaps he owned. “I thought we could have a bath together… don’t worry, I won’t look! I’ll close my eyes and you can even keep your underwear on if you want! I just want to spend some time together.”
She stepped forward and kissed Kiro’s lips once before choosing a soap that smelled like sweet strawberries and pouring a generous amount by the faucet. As bubbles started forming, she pulled off her shirt before dropping her soaked skirt to the ground. “Keep those boxers on, Mister!” She exclaimed as Kiro started to pull his pants down over his hips. She admired him as his shirt came off and Kiro knew his neck and chest were starting to flush red from her watchful eyes on him. He could stand in front of a crowd with no problem, but as soon as he stood in front of the woman he loved, he was a flustered mess.
Love. It was such a silly thing; when he met the extraordinary woman who was now settling in between his legs, her back pressed to his chest, Kiro felt his whole world change. Where he used to see muddy puddles on the ground after a storm, when he met her he started to see the rainbows in the sky. She helped change his perspective on the world, and finally taught Kiro what it meant to feel loved.
Sure, he was adored by many people, and he appreciated all his fans immensely, but she loved him for everything he wasn't, whereas they loved him for everything that he was forced to be. She loved Kiro despite his obsession with comics and the dorky way he sang and danced when it was just the two of them alone. She loved him even when he cried in her arms some nights, when the pressure from everything became too much and he just needed to release it somehow. She just loved him.
Kiro loved her just as much, if not even more than she loved him. He found himself thinking of her every day and wondered if she thought about him as much as he did her. He loved the way her hair first looked in the morning before she showered, all poofy and bangs flying everywhere. He loved the way she tried to cook for him but still managed to burn everything she put on the stove. And he loved the way she looked at him, like he was the only person in the world for her and that look was what could dispel all of Kiro’s worries in a fleeting moment.
“What are you thinking about?” She asked, leaning her body back against his so her head was on his shoulder and she could lightly kiss his neck. “You’ve been awfully quiet today.” “I’m thinking about all the deserts I could be eating right now,” he teased, his fingers dancing over her bare sides, making her squirm and giggle. “We should order a bunch for tonight.”
“Tonight? What is tonight?” She questioned, moving so she was sitting still in his lap but this time facing Kiro.
“Well, we’re having a sleepover, of course!” He exclaimed, leaning in and kissing her browline and dissolving the confused look on her face. “What kind of boyfriend would I be, knowing you have a fear of storms, to let you go home tonight and sleep by yourself?” Her eyes shone, and Kiro couldn’t tell if she was crying because he remembered, or happy that he just assumed she’d be staying the night. Maybe it was both, but either way she moved in and wrapped her arms around his neck, and Kiro immediately hugged her back, his hands resting on the middle of her back. “At this point I should just move in,” she pulled back with a playful look in her eyes, resting her forehead against Kiro’s. “I stay here more than I do at my own house when you’re not on tour.”
“I think we can figure something out! It would be nice to come home to you after I finish a leg of a tour.” Kiro answered honestly and the grin on her face went straight to his heart and the piece of it she already owned just grew a little bigger. “Will you move in with me?”
This was it: the biggest milestone they could take before getting engaged, and Kiro was ready to jump all in. This was the woman he loved, why should he spend more time away from her than need be?
“I would like that a lot Kiro, yes. I love you.” She always said those three words with such sincerity. No matter how many times she said it, it felt like she was saying it for the first time.
“I love you too!” Kiro stood up to grab a shampoo bottle, water falling off of him like a waterfall, and tapped both of her shoulders with it. “I now crown you, Potato Chip Queen! And you know what your first act shall be after being crowned Queen?”
She giggled, rubbing her shoulders with her hands. “I don’t know, Kiro! What?”
“You must kiss your King, of course!”
She stood up and he bent down to meet her shorter stature, her lips planting firmly on his for a second before pulling away. “Mwah!” She laughed at his shocked expression and moved to get out of the tub. “Your Queen demands some new clothes to wear! Go on now, or else you’ll upset her and you don’t want to know what’ll happen if she gets upset!”
Kiro grinned before wrapping a fluffy towel around his waist and stripping off the boxers clinging to his lower half and quickly exited the bathroom making his way to his bedroom to dress himself before dropping some clothes outside the door and calling for her to let her know they were there. Continuing on into the living room, calling and placing an order for takeout before settling down on the couch and scrolling through his phone.
As she stepped into the living room, Kiro let out a low whistle. She looked gorgeous no matter what she wore, but in a pair of his sweatpants and one of his tour tee shirts, she looked ethereal. “Next time you need a change of clothes, you can go into the closet and grab your own!” He stated proudly.
“What if I don’t want my clothes? Yours are pretty comfy!” Her smile dropped off her face as lightning struck and the building shook and she quickly jumped onto the couch, throwing herself in Kiro’s arms. Kiro rubbed her back comfortingly as the storm raged on outside and when the doorbell rang signaling the delivery was there, he walked with her tucked under one arm to grab the food sitting on the doorstep. “You ordered me food?”
She snuck out from under his arm and poked her head into the bag. Once she was satisfied with the order she snatched it from Kiro and made her way to the kitchen before dumping some of the dinner onto a plate. “Make yourself at home, babe.” Kiro teased.
“This is my home!” She responded before handing Kiro a plate she had piled food on. “I’ll meet you in the living room! After we eat we can make a pillow fort!”
With the thought of the storm momentarily gone, Kiro followed closely behind the girl and flopped down next to her on the couch, both of them eating quietly as they rushed to eat the food before it got too cold.
Once he had finished, she took his plate back to the kitchen to wash up and Kiro stood up, grabbing all the couch cushions that would detach and threw them on the floor before grabbing some chairs from the next room over to hold up the sheet over the cushions. She reentered the room with an armful of blankets and silently started making a little bed for the both of them to lay on and once she was satisfied with how it looked, she and Kiro put the sheet on top of the chairs together.
“After you, my Queen!” Kiro gestured inside the fort and she crawled in, pulling the blankets back for Kiro to climb in next to her. “This is cozy.”
Snuggling into his chest, she breathed out a sigh of relief. “I could get used to this, laying with you every night.” “Well, good!” Kiro exclaimed, his hand rubbing up and down her back in a comforting motion. “You’re going to have to!”
Suddenly she gasped, moving to sit up. “Kiro!” He looked at her, heartbeat picking up in panic as she twisted her face in disappointment. “We didn’t have dessert!”
Kiro laughed and pulled her back down to him, her lips softly meeting his own. “That’s alright, you’re the sweetest thing in this house currently, my Potato Chip Queen!” Her mouth twisted in a soft smile and she buried her face in his neck, arms wrapping around his middle. “Now sleep, my love. Plenty of time for sweets tomorrow, and every day after that.” He kissed her forehead and she made a sound of contentment, her eyes closing as her full day caught up with her and before long, she was fast asleep.
Matching his breathing with her own, Kiro finally felt at ease in his own home. She helped to build the foundation with love that ran so deep, he’d be able to feel it even in the darkest storms.
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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years ago
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gotta get down on friday
we have fun in the royai support group discord server
the challenge was to write a fic based on/including lyrics from rebecca black's "friday" so here u go. i wrote the most important fic i will ever write in my life and did it for the meme 🤙
rated: t | words: 2058 | tags: alcohol, night out, team bonding, fluff, pre-canon, fluff, drunkeness
read on ao3
“Are you free on Friday night, Lieutenant?”
“I can be, sir.” Riza lifted her head from her paperwork and looked towards the Colonel’s desk. He was turned to face the window in his chair, gazing out of it thoughtfully as he tapped his pen on his lips. “What do you need?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head, turning to face her. “Just you.”
“Me?”
That threw her completely. What would he possibly need her for on her night off –? Unless it was for more unfinished paperwork. Her stomach dropped, but it was quickly halted. Thankfully.
“I’m thinking of getting the team together for a night out.”
A night out? This was unexpected.
“Is that what you’ve been contemplating, staring out of that window, instead of work?”
Her challenge was conveniently ignored.
“We can go to the pub, have a few drinks, shoot some pool. It’ll be great!” Roy already looked so excited by the prospect.
It would be a good team building exercise, she supposed. They knew each other in a professional capacity, but not in a personal one. And while Riza wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of bearing herself to the strangers on her team – aside from Havoc – she could see the benefits. It had the potential to form tighter bonds with her new teammates, who’d she’d only known for a few short weeks.
“So, can I count you in?” Roy’s expression told her that he sincerely hoped she’d say yes as he eagerly awaited her answer.
It would be nice to get out of her apartment on her night off and enjoy herself. They hadn’t had much of a chance since being assigned in East City because they were still trying to get settled into a new routine.
“Gotta get down on Friday,” he joked with a playful smirk, trying to entice her further.
Riza snorted and shook her head fondly at his antics. “Okay, sir. I can be available on Friday evening,” she confirmed.
“Excellent,” Roy grinned. “Okay, I’ll go and wrangle the rest of the team!” He eagerly rose from his chair, rounding his desk. “Although I don’t think they’ll need too much convincing.”
“Havoc will definitely be up for it,” she reassured. “He always was a fan of a night out with friends in the Academy.”
Roy paused, absorbing this new information. “Did you happen to partake in those nights out too, Lieutenant?” He turned to face her expectantly.
His question was innocent enough but still Riza pursed her lips. This man knew her better than anyone – and was already aware that she, Havoc, and Rebecca had all been through training together – but still, her drunken embarrassment was best kept to herself. Well, what she remembered of it anyway.
“I did,” she replied carefully and offered him no more than that.
Both of Roy’s eyebrows lifted with intrigue. He hadn’t expected her to say yes, but what was she supposed to do with Rebecca Catalina and Jean Havoc as her friends through her Academy years? Plus, she wasn’t afraid of letting her hair down. Far from it, especially when in good company. Glancing over at her commanding officer, ignoring all titles and positions at the moment, she knew Roy would be the best company. She’d feel safe with him by her side. Havoc too. And if this was something Roy wanted to do for his team then Riza would support him.
It would be fun.
Roy approached her desk with a smirk, dragging Riza out of her thoughts. “You’ve never told me of any drunken stories, Hawkeye,” he commented, coming to a stop before her, hands slotting into his pockets. She didn’t know why he suddenly had an interest in her possible drunken antics. Or why.
She shrugged. “You’ve never asked.”
“Am I allowed to ask about said drunken antics?” He was treading carefully with his question but there was a hint of amusement on his face.
“No,” was Riza’s firm reply.
His laugh brightened up his entire expression. “I didn’t think so. Still, can’t fault me for trying,” he added, lifting his hands in surrender.
Riza hummed noncommittally.
“One day I might worm it out of you,” he murmured lowly, expression turning thoughtful. The office was empty so there was no risk of being overheard. Still, she appreciated his effort to maintain the secrecy of their past, as she’d requested. “Oh!” Roy exclaimed suddenly, as if he’d though of an extremely brilliant idea. “Or I can go and ask Havoc about them?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she threatened as she snorted at his hilarious suggestion.
“Maybe I would,” he grinned, unafraid.
“Havoc knows better than to tell anyway.”
Roy pouted. Actually pouted. “You’re no fun.”
“Maybe,” she replied with light scorn, turning her attention back to her work.
After writing for a few moments she noticed he still hadn’t moved. Electing to ignore it, Riza ploughed on ahead with her work, but then he still didn’t move from his spot. Riza glanced at him and geared up to ask what he needed but his soft smile made her pause and her writing trailed off. He was looking at her like… Well. Like he shouldn’t be.
Like he was completely enamoured by her.
“What?” Riza prompted him out of his thoughts. Despite her heart fluttering within her chest and her stomach flipping pleasantly with the way Roy was looking at her, they couldn’t be risking moments like this anymore. Not while they were in the positions they were now. They couldn’t afford it if they wanted to succeed.
Roy snapped out of whatever thoughts he’d found himself trapped in and grinned. He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I can’t wait for Friday.”
Without another word he hurried out of the office and turned in the direction of the cafeteria. Riza was left staring after him, wondering what had just happened.
*          *          *           *          *           *          *
There was a chorus of happy cheers as everyone on the team greeted one another in the pub Roy had arranged for them to meet at. Riza hung back and let them get it out of their system before she entered the fray. Roy noticed her distance from the group – of course he did – and diverted his attention from the conversation before him. He shot her a smile and there was a slightly puzzled look on his face. He was wondering if there was anything wrong. She shook her head to placate him but that wasn’t enough. He excused himself from an already tipsy Havoc and walked over.
“You made it,” he breathed excitedly.
“I did. I didn’t want to let the team down, sir.”
“You could never, Riza.” His smile matched his tone and expression. It was soft as he reassured her. The excitement was clear on his face and he looked truly overjoyed. Riza’s stomach fluttered.
“I didn’t want to miss it,” she revealed quietly, leaning in slightly so she could be heard over the team’s laughter.
She’d had a glass of wine while getting ready for the night. It had helped settle her nerves about meeting everyone outside of work for the first time. Although Havoc and Roy were going to be there, she still didn’t know Breda, Falman, or Fuery very well. She’d wanted to but there hadn’t been an appropriate opportunity yet. It was their first “team night out” and she’d been excited at the prospect of being a part of it. Riza wanted to be a part of something good, for a change. She’d have kicked herself in regret if she couldn’t make tonight.
Roy’s grin was infectious. “I told you it would be fun,” he winked.
“Gotta get down on Friday, right?”
As she quoted his own words back at her Roy’s jaw went slack as he stared at her in surprise before he broke out in laughter. “We do. And I can’t wait to spend it with you.”
“Now you’re talking dangerously,” she urged quietly.
Roy just shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s still the truth.”
Riza frowned at him. “Anyway,” she urged, trying to steer the conversation towards safer territory, “on top of that, I know how to handle Havoc when he’s drunk. I couldn’t subject you all to that on your own.”
Her expression turned confused as Roy wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her forwards towards the team. Both his hands came to rest upon her shoulders as they walked, and he gave them a gentle squeeze.
“Every day you become more of an enigma, Riza Hawkeye,” he spoke lowly into her ear. His breath caressed her skin gently and it made her stomach flutter again. His hands increased their pressure as he squeezed her shoulders while steering her over to the team. “I love that about you,” he whispered, “on top of everything else.”
Before she could reply or properly react he walked ahead and left her, asking who wanted a drink. The first round was on him. Havoc and Breda cheered loudly and quickly placed their order. Falman and Fuery were next, leaving Riza for last. They greeted her warmly once they noticed her presence, however her replies were slightly dazed as she was still reeling from what Roy had said.
“Hawkeye?” The culprit looked expectantly at her for her order, ignoring the fact he’d just announced that he loved her in a very public place. It hadn’t been loud but… But… But he still did it! He should know better –!
“Hawkeye.” Roy commanded her attention easily, his voice soft and welcoming. Her breath caught in her throat.
Glancing around she saw that no one was paying them any attention. The rest of the team had wandered over to their table to talk as they awaited their drinks. The bar was empty still, aside from them.
“What would you like to drink?”
Her eyes met his. His expression was open and unabashed, as if what he’d said had been no big deal.
Voicing it publicly was a problem. However there was no one around. Still, it couldn’t become a habit. Riza would make sure of that. It was dangerous. Their feelings had always been there though and had been for years. Riza’s had never changed. One night, underneath the desert sky, he’d confirmed it was the same for him. It was a comfort to know, Riza thought, and it was always nice to hear.
But still, she huffed in thought.
Riza placed her order after shooting him a warning look and he smirked, promising he wouldn’t be long.
After taking a seat at the table Havoc threw his arm heartily around her shoulders and left it there until their drinks arrived. Although almost being thrown off balance by his enthusiasm Riza didn’t mind it too much, because it was Havoc. Aside from Roy, he was one of her oldest friends. The heavy weight of his arm was a comfort and helped remind her that she was in the company of friends and teammates. Plus, it had been a while since she’d sat and had a drink with Havoc and that had always been a good time back in the Academy. She was excited.
For all the emphasis Roy had put on the importance of “Friday night” and how excited he’d been to go out with them all, Riza had to admit; it had made her look forward to the weekend ahead. She decided that “partyin’”, as Roy – and then everyone else – kept drunkenly calling it throughout the night, with this group was a good time. They’d chant “partyin’, partyin’, yeah!” as more drinks were brought to the table and it made her laugh. Riza knew once tonight was over she’d be looking forward to the next one.
It was early days, and their friendships were brand new for Riza, but they’d all accepted one another so easily and had eagerly welcomed Riza into their circle. She’d been almost afraid that after being so hard on them all at work initially they’d be put off by spending time with her outside of it. However, her fears were completely alleviated after tonight.
They were a good bunch of guys. They would be an amazing team all together, Riza was sure of it.
As Roy, Havoc, and Breda had drunkenly sung off key towards the end of the night, the evening had definitely been “fun, fun, fun, fun.”
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sunshinejins · 4 years ago
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the slowest and most beautiful way to fall in love - theodore nott
hello and welcome to the 9.4k MONSTER that is my theodore nott x oc fanfic.  like two people said they would be interested to read it so uh here it is.  
pairing: theodore nott x camilla avery (oc)
fandom: harry potter
i. beauty and the boggart
“I heard we’re doing boggarts today in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Draco sniffed as he took a bite of toast.  Theo looked up in interest, sticking his thumb in between the pages of Modern Magical History.  Draco was scowling at his plate as he flicked through the DADA textbook in front of him.  Blaise gave him a look that could have been interpreted as mildly amused, and turned back to his own breakfast.  Pansy and Daphne were too absorbed in their own gossip to even notice Draco had spoken, which surprised Theo to his core as Pansy made it obvious every time Draco spoke that it was worth dropping everything to listen.  Theo’s eyes then turned to rest on the one person who’s reaction he had been waiting for.
Camilla Avery, with her shiny blonde hair and curious hazel eyes had turned all of her focus from Pansy and Daphne’s gossip session to Draco.  Theo felt his heart catch slightly in his chest.  He’d always been fond of Camilla, ever since they were little and had played at Malfoy manor and had sat next to each other on the Hogwarts Express when they were eleven and Draco had been scouring the train for Harry Potter.  But when she had returned to school for third year with slightly longer hair that curled at the ends and a straight smile that dimpled in all the right places, Theo had felt like his heart had suddenly been submerged.
Now, she tilted her head slightly, and let waves of hair tumble over the shoulder of her robes.
“You sound annoyed, Draco,” her voice lilted with teasing, “Surely you realize that this would mean we’ve officially been taught more by a professor than any other year at Hogwarts?”
“I don’t trust that Lupin guy,” snapped Draco, “He’s a bloody Gryffindor.”
“And you’re a sodding stereotype,” Camilla gave him a warm smile and Draco rolled his eyes with a smirk.  Theo grinned.  Camilla caught his eyes and flicked her eyes pointedly at the book he held.
“That one any good?”
“S’all right,” Theo shrugged, “I’ll let you borrow it when I’m done.”
“Deal,” Camilla nodded.  Theo felt his heart swell.
Later, after a particularly taxing Charms class where Blaise accidentally shot a full glass of water at Theo’s head, the band of six piled into Lupin’s classroom and took up spots near the back where Draco and Blaise could easily tease the so-called “golden trio” in peace.  Camilla slid into place next to Theo with a soft grin and Theo immediately threw his arm around her.  His stomach tingled slightly but he ignored it in favour of keeping Camilla at his side.
Lupin talked for a while about Boggarts and taught the charm to destroy them, then revealed with a swell of excitement that there was one in the classroom they could attempt to defeat if they so chose. Camilla turned to Theo with excitement.
“We’ve got to try, Theo!”
“Nott’s’ll be a book with half the pages ripped out,” Draco teased over her shoulder.  Theo shot him a dry look.
“And what’ll yours be?  A copy of Harry Potter that can’t hear your brilliant insults?” Pansy burst out in a snort of laughter which prompted Lupin to pointedly shush them.
“That’s enough over there.  Now line up.  Neatly please!  You’ll all get a chance,” Lupin gestured to the cabinet that housed the boggart and the group of Slytherins, mostly guided by Draco, shoved their way nearly to the front.  Camilla stood behind Theo and wrung her hands excitedly. 
Weasley and one of the Patil twins, Theo wasn’t sure which one, went one after another and successfully transformed the boggart.  Millicent Bulstrode, a third year Slytherin that roomed with Daphne, Pansy, and Camilla struggled before somewhat turning a rather large dog into one with floppy bunny ears.  Theo stepped up to the boggart and it shifted a few moments before turning into a circus clown with blood red paint dripping down its face.  He cast his counter-curse with only a slight tremor and the clown became covered in sweet smelling flowers. Then, it was Camilla’s turn.  She stepped up with an easy smile and the boggart swirled between shapes for a moment before materializing into a figure.  Theo’s blood ran cold.
In front of his best friend was a figure dressed all in black, wearing an intricate silver mask, with a hood pulled up over its hair.  Camilla froze, smile no longer present on her lips.  Despite holding her wand readily in her hand, she made no move to cast the counter-curse.  It was like she was petrified.  Theo thought that would be the worst, that Camilla would recover and cast the counter-curse and turn back to him with a bright cheery smile and a throwaway comment about how easy she found it.  Then, the figure began to speak.
“Camilla… You have no choice,” it rasped in a voice that sparked something in the back of Theo’s brain.  Camilla still stood completely still, and Lupin had finally jumped into action and thrown himself in front of the boggart to force it to change.
“Miss Avery, you may lea-” Camilla didn’t wait to hear the end of Lupin’s sentence, she simply tore from the classroom without a glance back.  Theo found his feet were moving as well, chasing after her as quickly as he could.
Theo found her sitting in one of the windowsills on the third floor, the one where the two of them met frequently to trade books and read in companionable silence together.  She had buried her face into her robes, and from the short distance between them, Theo could tell she was crying.  He sat down softly in front of her, trying not to disturb her too much.
“Camilla?” She raised her head and Theo’s heart ached at the sight of tear tracks and tears themselves streaming down her face.
“Go away, Nott,” she buried her head into her sleeve again.  Theo tried not to feel badly about her using his last name, something she only did when she was upset.
“Camilla, please.  Talk to me,” he pleaded.  Camilla raised her head again, and after seemingly concluding that Theo wasn’t about to insult her, sat all the way up.  A few tears were still tumbling down her cheeks and she swiped them away hastily.
“What do you want to talk about?  How bloody embarrassing that was?  How weak I looked?” She snapped.  Theo shook his head.
“You didn’t look weak, Camilla.”
“Well what would you call it then?” Camilla shouted, voice echoing in the deserted hallway.  “I froze, Theo!  I couldn’t do a bloody thing!  I didn’t even move my wand!” Theo laid a hand on top of hers and she trained her eyes on him, pools of hazel blazing in the dim light of the sun.
“It was a Death Eater, wasn’t it?” Theo asked quietly.  Camilla hesitated.  For a moment, Theo thought she was about to pull away, but instead she flipped her hand up and slotted her fingers in between his.
“My father,” she said softly.  Theo nodded.  He knew Camilla’s father had been a Death Eater, so had his own, and Draco’s had been for sure.  Theo remembered Camilla coming to his house in tears when she was little, barely old enough to use the Floo network but stumbling into the fireplace in his bedroom anyways.  As she got older, she stopped speaking of her father completely, much like Theo.  His reasons, though much darker and more focused on bruises, didn’t cause a boggart to materialize in his father’s likeness however.
“He used to tell me that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would return one day, and that I would be expected to join the family in his ranks,” Camilla whispered, the words slicing through the morning air.  Theo frowned deeply and she looked sadly to their joined hands.  He stroked his thumb lightly over the soft skin.  He had never known that was the reason she used to cry.
“I didn’t know I was still afraid of it.  I didn’t think I remembered what he used to say,” she said with a grimace, “I’m terrified that he’ll come back one day looking like that and I’ll have no choice but to be forced into it.”
“That doesn’t make you weak, Camilla,” Theo said sternly.  Camilla gazed at him with thoughtful but endlessly sad eyes.  “It makes you very strong that the thing you find most terrifying is someone forcing you to abandon your morals.”
“But I froze,” Camilla’s voice was a terrified murmur.  Theo shook his head.
“You wouldn’t freeze if it was real.  You’d hex the ever-loving shit out of your dear old dad.” Camilla snorted and Theo smiled so largely at the sound that he couldn’t help but gather her into a hug.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Camilla.  I promise,” he said.  Camilla snuggled into his arms and he could feel her smile against his shoulder.
“Thank you, Theo,” she said.  Theo smiled into her hair.  It was then he knew: he was going to be in love with Camilla Avery for a very long time.
ii.  the blueprint to a perfect evening
“So, Nott,” Draco slid into the seat next to Theo.  Theo looked up with raised eyebrows.  Blaise sat across from the two and began helping himself to potatoes from the large dish in front of them.  Draco had a devious look on his face that Theo had seen before, right before he had broken his ankle when they were seven.
“Yes, Draco?” He asked, turning back to his bowl of oatmeal when Draco didn’t immediately start talking.
“The Yule Ball is in two weeks,” Draco said while taking a few slices of toast from the platter beside him.  Theo’s eyebrows rose again.  Contrary to his choice to appear uninterested in most school gossip, he had been aware of the biggest Hogwarts event in the last fifty years besides the bloody Triwizard Tournament.
“Yes, and?” Theo looked at Blaise for some sort of guidance and he raised his hands in defense.  Draco gave Theo a look that implied he thought he was rather thick.  Theo didn’t think he was but clearly Draco knew better.
“Who are you asking?” Draco flapped his hands in exasperation and Theo’s eyes widened slightly.  He hadn’t thought that far.
“We have to have dates?” He asked with a grimace.  Draco rolled his grey eyes and smacked Theo on the shoulder.
“Yes, dimwit.  Everyone needs a date.  Otherwise it’s just embarrassing,” he scoffed.  Theo shrugged noncommittally but the pit in his stomach deepened.  He knew objectively that he wasn’t a bad looking bloke, girls looked at him often enough when he passed by them.  He was more shy than his friends, but he supposed he had quite a lot of personality when he was comfortable.  None of that really mattered to him though, considering there was one girl in all of Hogwarts that he would consider asking to the ball and she had just slid into the seat beside him.
Camilla’s hair was pulled into neat plaits and they laid nicely against the emerald of her robes.  Her eyes were sparkling and she was giggling apparently from the remainder of a conversation with Pansy and Daphne.  Theo’s stomach turned cartwheels as she grinned at him and scooted close enough that their elbows brushed as she served herself eggs.
“You lot!  Do you have dates yet?” Draco asked, nearly leaning into a pot of raspberry jam to speak to the girls.  Pansy shook her head.
“We don’t.  But about five boys asked Camilla on the way to breakfast,” she said as she stole a strawberry from Blaise’s plate.  Theo’s stomach dropped.
“Surely you didn’t say yes?” He turned to Camilla in a panic.  Her eyes were wide with curiosity as she lowered the fork she had been holding.
“I didn’t.  I don’t want to go with someone random.  I’d rather know I’m going to have a decent night,” she said.  Theo’s stomach began fizzing again.  If he could just pluck up the courage, right now, when she looked so pretty…
“Why don’t we just go with each other?” Daphne said with a raised brow.  Theo looked up half-dazed.  Blaise was nodding, and so was Draco, and he quickly matched their attitudes.
“Makes sense at least.  There’s six of us,” Pansy said through a bite of fruit.  Camilla nodded, though if Theo knew her as well as he thought he did, she looked vaguely apprehensive at the idea.
“How are we going to decide who goes with who?” She asked, “Not to dent your confidence, Blaise, but I’d rather not be upstaged by that pretty face.” Everyone burst into chuckles at that but Theo knew there was a deeper meaning to her statement.  Camilla didn’t want to go with Blaise.  
“Well I’ll make it easy for you then, Avery,” Blaise drawled.  He turned to Daphne and extended a hand gracefully.  “Miss Greengrass, will you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?”  Daphne giggled and nodded, placing her hand good-naturedly in Blaise’s.  Draco shrugged and turned to Pansy.
“What about you, Parkinson?  Feel like accompanying me?” 
“Only because you asked,” Pansy mock sighed, then laughed and high-fived Draco.  Theo turned to Camilla who’s face had turned a rather pretty shade of rose.
“Guess you’re stuck with me,” he said apologetically, though his heart was racing against his ribs.  Camilla smiled, and placed her hand lightly into his.
“Guess so,” her voice was soft and it warmed Theo all the way down to his toes.
“I promise not to have a prettier face than you,” Theo said.  Camilla broke out into a laugh that lit up the room.
“Don’t promise something you can’t live up to, Nott.” 
The next few weeks were a blur of end of December lessons.  Theo wrote to his mother asking for dress robes and she had sent him a handsome enough set of charcoal grey robes that made him look like the lord of some fancy castle.  He had no clue what Camilla was wearing, considering that every time she tried to tell him, Pansy shushed her and made her keep it a secret.  Her smile convinced him well enough that she would appear looking flawless on the day of the ball.
Draco kept bugging him about Camilla every chance he got.  He had gathered that Theo harboured a not-so-small crush on their friend, and was convinced that he was a certified idiot for not asking Camilla flat out before they had all sworn to take each other as friends.
“I’m telling you, mate,” Theo said in frustration one night after Draco had been chastising him for an hour straight, “She wouldn’t have wanted to go with me.”
Draco had called him an idiot.
The night of the ball finally fell upon them and Theo felt his stomach bubble over from nerves.  Draco was dressed in complete black while Blaise had donned a rather posh suit of deep forest green which complimented his dark skin nicely.  They had gotten ready in record time, and expecting the girls to take at least another hour, had gathered some butterbeers and set up camp in front of the fire in the common room.
“I think Pansy’s wearing pink,” Draco was saying as he drained his bottle.
“Daphne’s wearing green too I think,” Blaise said thoughtfully.
“What’s Avery got going on then?” Draco asked him.  Theo shrugged.
“No idea.  Pansy would never let her tell me.”
“Watch her show up in orange or something ghastly,” Blaise snickered.  Theo shook his head.
“Whatever she wears will be beautiful,” Theo said, “Just like her,” he added in an undertone to himself.  Draco caught his words however.
“Bloody hell, Nott, just tell her you fancy her!” Theo was about to retaliate with some sort of half-formed comment on Draco’s lack of experience with crushes and therefore lack of ability to talk shit, when the girls descended from their dormitory.  Theo felt himself stop breathing.
Daphne and Pansy looked nice enough themselves, they weren’t in any way unattractive people.  But Camilla had them beat by a long shot.  Her dress was a beautiful shade of grey-blue that matched the colour of the sky on an autumn day and it had flowers all over the top before flowing into waves of chiffon at the bottom.  Her hair was glossy but her smile blew Theo off his feet.  She crossed the room to him and lightly punched him on the arm.
“You said you wouldn’t be the prettiest one in the room!” She joked, eyes sparkling in the firelight.  
“I’m not,” Theo said honestly, his voice rasping as it came back from where it had disappeared after Camilla had walked into the room.  Her eyes widened but the smile she gave him was so sweet that he didn’t mind the boldness of his statement.  He offered her his arm and she took it gratefully.  As the group exited the common room she leaned up to him and whispered softly.
“You’d best be ready to dance, Nott.” Theo wanted to tell her that he would have done anything for her if she asked, but he settled for squeezing her hand with a smile and walking into the Great Hall feeling like this may have been the best night of his life.
The party lasted for hours, and Theo had never had as much fun as he did twirling Camilla around on the dance floor and sneaking drinks of firewhiskey and bites of cake with her.  Pansy and Daphne had eventually ditched the boys to disappear and snog in some random corner for an hour, so Draco and Blaise had found girls from Beauxbatons to spend the night with.  Camilla, however, showed no desire to leave Theo’s side as she continued to laugh and sing with him through all of the songs of the night.
Finally, a few minutes before midnight, the Weird Sisters announced a slow dance for all the people who remained at the ball.  Theo gave Camilla a pointed look and extended his hand.
“Will you grant me this dance?”  Camilla grinned.
“Naturally,” she slipped her hand into his and he pulled her to an empty spot on the dance floor.  Theo fully expected her to keep a small distance as she had all night, only bumping into him during fast songs and once after too big a sip of firewhiskey.  Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms softly around his neck.  Despite the now almost alarming pace of his heart, Theo responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her close.  They swayed back and forth softly, more focused on holding each other than really dancing.
“I hope you had a good night, Theo,” Camilla said softly into his collar.  Theo pulled back and looked at her, her eyes more shy than he’d ever seen them.
“Why wouldn’t I have?” He asked.  She shrugged, playing with the edge of his cloak.
“I know you went with me because I was the last one.  I just hope it wasn’t disappointing,” she said.  Theo’s eyes nearly popped from his head.  He pulled her close to him again, until there was not an inch of space between them and murmured in her ear.
“I always wanted to go with you.  I just didn’t know how to ask.” He felt her smile against his shoulder before she pulled back and smiled at him deeply.  Theo grinned back, feeling like he had won the lottery.
“I wanted to go with you too,” she affirmed.  They fell back together and danced a few more moments before she leaned up one last time and pressed her soft lips against Theo’s cheek.  He looked at her in shock.
“What was that for?”
“A perfect night,” Camilla said.  The song ended and neither of them moved.  Theo felt like his heart was about to beat from his chest.  He had never wanted to kiss Camilla so badly in his life.  He could smell her perfume, some sort of flower, and the powdery scent of sugar on her lips from an iced bun.
He could do it, all he had to do was lean forward…
“Mr. Nott.  Miss Avery.  If you would please return to your common room.  The ball is over.” Theo looked up in shock at Professor McGonagall who wore a very knowing smirk.  Camilla stepped back immediately with a look of embarrassment and Theo nodded.  As they walked from the hall however, she slipped her hand back into his and didn’t let go until they had reached the dungeon.  She turned to him with a tired smile.
“G’night, Theo.” Theo smiled.
“Night, Cams.” She smiled and blew a small kiss, then turned to descend to the girl’s dormitory.  Theo leaned against the wall with a sigh of happiness.  He was never going to forget this night.
iii.  a green monster lives at the bottom of this bottle
Theo’s veins fizzled with what he assumed was a disgusting and unhealthy amount of firewhiskey.  Blaise and Draco were sitting up against one bed in the room, passing a bottle between the two of them.  Pansy and Daphne, hands grazing all over each other’s skin, were sitting against the wall beside them.  Theo was laying half on a pile of pillows that had been pulled off of Pansy’s bed, and Camilla sat beside him wrapped in an emerald green comforter while she giggled and took sips of her own bottle of whiskey.
They had made it to fifth year, finally, and this party was in celebration of that.  Pansy had bullied Millicent and Tracey Mills from the room and banished them to the common room for the night; Blaise had conjured about six bottles of firewhiskey from God knows where; Daphne had provided bags of treats she’d brought from home; Draco had cast silencing charms on the entire room to ensure no one disturbed them during their festivities; Camilla and Theo had done a ery good job of looking busy while the others bustled about.  Now, they had finished three bottles of whiskey between them all, and Theo was ready and tingling for something to happen.
Camilla’s head tipped towards him and she smiled in a way that made Theo think of very sunny days and chocolate ice cream.
“Theodore,” she drawled his name out.  Theo leaned up and tucked his chin into his hand while he gazed into her eyes. She looked beautiful, the flush on her cheeks from the alcohol deepening her dimples. If he wasn’t bloody terrified of ruining their friendship, he would have surged across their small distance to kiss her. 
“Yes, Camilla,” he tried to drag her name out like she had done to his own.  She giggled and the sound filled his chest.
“You look like a proper Englishman,” she said.  Theo blinked at her.
“What the hell does that mean?” Camilla started laughing again, which prompted the rest of their friends to tune in and listen.
“You’ve got the sexy messy curls and the pale skin and the look of someone who generally spends a lot of time being pretty.  That’s what Englishmen do,” Theo’s heart stopped and restarted about a thousand times in a row.  Draco let out a loud cackle and Daphne and Pansy dissolved into giggles while Blaise held a slight hint of a grin.
“Blimey, Avery,” Draco said through tears of laughter, “You’re bloody buggered aren’t you?” Camilla sat up in retaliation, though she wobbled a bit as she stood and the sleeve of her sweater brushed Theo.
“You’re one to talk, Draco!” She hiccuped and Pansy tumbled to the floor in laughter.
“You’re pissed, Cams.  Just admit it.”
“Maybe I am!” Camilla said, tossing her arms in the air, “But I’m not wrong!”
“Yes, Theo is beautiful and stuff,” Daphne said in quite a wobbly tone, “Can we move onto something fun?” Pansy’s face curved into a grin.
“We could play spin the bottle.”
“You two are in a relationship though,” Blaise pointed to where the two girls’ bodies were tangled at the legs, “How are we meant to play when you can only snog each other?”
“Oh I have no worries about Daph leaving me for one of you lot,” Pansy said dismissively.  Daphne nodded with hiccup and Blaise shrugged.
“I’m game.”
“Me as well,” Draco added.
“And me,” Camilla raised the hand that held a bottle of whiskey.  Five pairs of eyes trained on Theo.
“Fine, you bloody horny gits,” Theo said in fake exasperation.  They cheered and Draco drained the last of the firewhiskey he had been sharing with Blaise and placed the bottle on the floor.
“Ground rules?” He asked.
“Tongue absolutely required,” Pansy said.  Camilla snorted a mouthful of whiskey out of her nose and Daphne dissolved into giggles.  Theo shifted slightly uncomfortably.  Despite the alcohol burning his veins, there was only one person here he wanted to kiss and she was currently leaning over to spin the bottle with a grin.  The bottle landed on Daphne and she wiggled her eyebrows.
“I’m comin’ for your woman, Pans,” she chuckled before leaning over and pecking Daphne lightly.  Theo felt the knot in his stomach unsqueeze a bit.
“There was no tongue!” Pansy shouted.  Camilla leaned back and licked a strip up the side of Daphne’s face.
“There’s your tongue,” she said cheekily.  The six of them burst into laughter again and the game continued.
Eventually they had to make some restrictions to the game.  For starters, Draco made the assertion that they should be allowed to drink if they happened to not want to kiss someone, on the grounds that he would pitch himself off the Astronomy tower if he had to kiss Theo more than once.  Theo had steadfastly agreed, and since the addition of that particular rule, he had become closer to nearly inhuman levels of intoxication which had in turn made the girls nearly wet themselves laughing.
Then, the world skidded to a stop as Camilla spun the bottle and it landed without question on Draco.  Theo held his breath, hoping, truly hoping that despite all odds, she wouldn’t do it.  He hoped that she would take a large mouthful of firewhiskey and giggle in Draco’s face in apology.  Theo had never more wanted something not to happen.
She didn’t drink.  Instead, she climbed over the bottle in the centre of their little circle, settled herself into Malfoy’s lap and pressed her lips decidedly against his.  Blaise let out a whoop, his demure persona smudged away by alcohol.  The girls cheered as Malfoy’s hands cemented themselves on Camilla’s hip.  Theo felt as though he should maybe throw a bottle of alcohol into the fireplace.
Camilla finally pulled away after what felt like ten years of Theo’s life and looked very thoughtfully at Malfoy.
“You’re about a four out of ten on the snog meter, Draco.  You mustn’t treat a woman’s mouth like a whirlpool,” she said as she clambered off his lap and back to her spot at Theo’s side, though she sat much closer than she had before.  Theo gasped out a laugh at Draco’s offended face and Camilla turned to him with a smirk.  She tilted her head towards his ear and spoke in whispered tones that sent butterflies into his stomach.
“You didn’t honestly think that I wanted to snog him over you, did you?” She asked sweetly.  Theo gulped.
“It crossed my mind.”
“You’re supposed to be smart, Theodore Nott,” she giggled, and he felt her lips graze his ear.  Camilla then turned back to the circle and knocked the bottle away.
“I’m bored now.  Let’s play a game of Would You Rather.” Theo nodded his agreement to her suggestion, but focused mainly on the feeling of her lips on his ear.  She hadn’t wanted to kiss Draco, really.  He was glad she didn’t.  Though he supposed the stab of jealousy he felt towards one of his oldest friends cemented his growing feelings for Camilla.  She turned to him and gave a grin that seemingly soaked him from head to toe in honey.
Yeah.  He loved her.
iv.  a simple weekend
If anyone had bothered to ask Theo, they would have known how much he truly did not like trips to Hogsmeade.  He always wanted to visit Tomes and Scrolls and spend hours looking at the new books and writing utensils they stocked there, but his friends all insisted on spending hours in Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks.  He liked butterbeer well enough, but he would prefer to stay home and read and let his friends bring him back a bag of treats.  Not to mention catch up on homework.
There were all the reasons he gave for not wanting to attend the second Hogsmeade trip of their fifth year.  They were also all the reasons his friends were currently throwing back in his face.
“Come on, Nott,” Draco was begging, “It’ll be fun.  I promise we can stop in at that book place if you want but it won’t be the same if you’re not there.”
“Yeah, Theo.  We’d miss you too much,” Daphne added.
“Plus it’s our only chance to get out of here and away from Potter and his bloody prophecies about the Dark Lord,” Pansy added.  Blaise gave a nod to certify he agreed with the rest of them, but Camilla was suspiciously silent as she turned the pages of her book.  She wouldn’t even spare Theo a glance which he found, considering how close they were, quite odd.
“I just don’t want to go,” Theo said, finding himself becoming curiously angry at their rejection of his desire to stay back.  They all had copious amounts of homework, what with it being an O.W.L year and all, and he just wanted to stay back.
“Theo, honestly, don’t be a prat.  Come with us,” Draco said, flipping to another page in his Herbology book.  Theo felt his temper simmer and finally boil over.
“I’ve told you, you bloody git, that I don’t want to come.  That’s final.  Leave it,” he snapped.  At his words, Camilla’s head raised and she gave him a look that seemed like the halfway point between concern and curiosity.  He ignored her in favour of not turning his temper on her, gathered his books and swept up to the dormitory to sleep.  He heard murmurs of “what was his problem?” from Blaise and Pansy but he ignored them.  He was more than a bit tired of his extroverted friends and their ability to leave him be.  He would be fine after some rest and a day to himself.
The next day dawned bright and clear.  Theo was alone in the dorm when he awoke which he attributed to his outburst the night before.  He assumed the boys had gone on without him in an effort to avoid his temper.  His predictions were proven right when he descended for breakfast and found the Slytherin table void of all of his friends.  Camilla included.  Theo ate rather moodily, wishing he hadn’t snapped quite so much on his friends.  They probably wouldn’t even bring him back Sugar Quills.  Not that he deserved them.
Breakfast was over quickly, and Theo retreated back to the dormitory to pick up his study supplies.  They were rumoured to get a quiz in Potions the following week and he wanted to be as prepared as possible.  The common room was still deserted when he returned, and there was no sign of anyone returning for a while.  He sighed, though he knew he would study better if his friends, Pansy and Draco in particular, weren’t present.  His heart still ached a bit at Camilla’s absence.
It was on his walk to the library that he became aware of a pattering of feet behind him.
“Theo!” He turned and his heart seized as Camilla drew up to him, slightly out of breath, but smiling.  Her hair laid in soft curls against her emerald sweater and she was clutching an armful of textbooks.
“I assumed you were going to be studying today,” she said when Theo hadn’t managed to say anything to her after a few seconds, “So I ate breakfast early and I’ve been waiting in the windowsill for a while hoping you would come by and we could head to the library together.  You didn’t see me though,” she laughed slightly embarrassedly and Theo’s mind was still struggling to catch up.
“But… You… What about Hogsmeade?” He managed to sputter out.  Camilla’s smile turned slightly more bashful.
“I didn’t really want to go anyways,” she said softly before linking her arm with his.  Theo nodded, though his brain was still spinning slightly.  They walked to the library in relative silence, though it wasn’t uncomfortable in any way.  After choosing a table well away from Madam Pince, they both pulled out their textbooks and immersed themselves in studying.
Camilla and Theo had studied together plenty in their years at Hogwarts together.  They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses as well as their study habits.  Their study sessions were more like carefully choreographed dances with school subjects and each other.  When he was younger, however, Theo hadn’t been quite so entranced by how the sunlight from the window wove in with the blonde strands of Camilla’s hair or how her hazel eyes flitted across the pages she was reading from.  He didn’t fantasize about holding her hand across the desk or resting his hand on her knee either.
They worked in silence for most of the day before Theo managed to voice what had been bothering him since the night before.
“Camilla?” She raised her head and fixed him with her whiskey coloured eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you talk to me yesterday?  When I was talking about how I wanted to stay back?” She shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable in the way of someone who had been caught doing something against the rules.  Theo couldn’t see what would make her feel that way.
“I knew you were upset and I didn’t think another person talking at you would help,” she said.  Theo blinked.
“But that’s considerate of you?  I don’t see the issue?”
“I don’t know.  I was hoping you wouldn’t think it was odd of me,” she said looking away shyly.  Theo considered this for a moment before reaching forward and grabbing Camilla’s hand from where it rested on top of her Transfiguration textbook.
“I appreciate it, Cams.  I really do.  Just like how I appreciate that you gave up a day at Hogsmeade to study with me.” Camilla blushed deep pink.
“Well I wasn’t really giving anything up.  This has been a much better day anyways.” Theo processed her words more slowly than he cared to admit, but he made up for the lost time by lightly smoothing the back of Camilla’s hand with his thumb.  He remembered her saying he was pretty a few months ago with such bravery and confidence.  Now, she seemed more herself, and he couldn’t help but notice that she still let him hold her hand.
“I like it when it’s just the two of us to be honest,” Theo muttered, shifting slightly in his seat so his leg pressed against Camilla’s.  She smiled and rested her head against Theo’s shoulder.  His heart thrummed against his ribs deliciously.  Her hair smelt of rosemary, and her skin smelt like roses and almond oil.  Everything about her invited him in.
“Me too. I wish it was like this more often,” she said.  Theo hummed and nodded.  They sat like that for a moment, watching the sun dip below the mountains before Camilla sat up and lightly pulled her hand from Theo’s to his disappointment.
“The others will be back by now.  It’s dinnertime,” she offered as explanation.  Theo nodded, though he would have given anything to go back to their tender moment a second before.  They both gathered their books slowly and made their way down to the Great Hall.  Draco, Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne were already back, cheeks pink from the cold and tucking into a roast supper.  Draco caught sight of them and waved them over.
“What if they’re angry with me?” Theo mumbled quickly.  Camilla shook her head and gave him a kind look.
“They understand they pushed you a bit far.  I’m sure they’ll be completely fine.” Theo nodded, but still kept a half pace behind Camilla as they settled into their places.  Draco gave him a slightly guilty smile.
“Hey mate.  Sorry for last night and all.  I went a tad far,” he apologized.
“You think?” Theo said, though the grin on his face gave him away.  Draco clapped him on the shoulder with a grin and Theo chuckled, feeling his apprehension ease.  Pansy then turned to Camilla.
“Where have you been all day?  You were supposed to meet us in the courtyard at ten.  We assumed you were right behind us.” Theo gave Camilla a shocked look and she turned a very pretty shade of crimson while she stabbed a Yorkshire pudding.
“I had things,” she said evasively.  Theo shook his head with a laugh and she gave him a very private smile.  Dinner continued, but if anyone noticed Camilla’s hand resting lightly on top of Theo’s in between their laps, no one said a thing.
v. pansy’s frustration
Theo hadn’t gone through much in his life.  He was born into a rich pureblood family that had enough old money to keep him going for centuries and enough new money to keep a swimming pool of Galleons if he wanted.  Sure, his father was a Death Eater and a generally unpleasant man to be around, but he generally left Theo alone, and Theo’s mother was one of the best women he knew.  He was never hungry, had never wanted for anything, and his time at Hogwarts had been filled with loyal friends and good grades.
He supposed these facts were the reason that the only real pain he had ever felt in his life came from his crushing and potentially unreciprocated crush on his best friend.
Camilla, despite all of Theo’s very best efforts, had cemented herself in his life so resolutely as the most important person in his world.  He would have done anything for her, and he strongly suspected that she felt the same though she never said so.  This was why, when their little band of six was hit by a sudden burst of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder on the way to Hogwarts for their sixth year, he immediately grabbed her hand so as not to lose her in the fray.
“What the bloody hell is this?” Draco’s voice bloomed from the smoke and Theo chuckled a bit despite himself.  He hadn’t seen Draco all summer, and he had forgotten the posh tone of his voice.
“It’s probably a first year just messing around, sit down Draco, honestly,” came Pansy’s voice from a little in front of Theo.  The smoke finally cleared and Theo could finally properly see his five friends.  Pansy and Daphne were still curved around each other, sickeningly sweet in their love for each other, Blaise sat coolly with his fine china features curved into a delicate smile, and Draco was brushing dust from the sleeves of his black suit.  Camilla shook some powder from her head of blonde waves and shot Theo a smile before turning back to the rest of their friends.
“Right!  Sixth year!  N.E.W.T classes.  What are we all taking?”
“The basics I suppose,” Daphne hummed, “I don’t have many aspirations.”
“She wants me to support her I suppose,” Pansy said.  Blaise snorted and so did Camilla.
“Well I’m taking the full lot.  May as well, right?” Camilla said, running her fingers through her hair.  Theo gave her an interested look.
“What are you planning to do, Cams?”
“It’s a secret, Theodore,” she said with a devious smirk.  Theo rolled his eyes good-naturedly and Camilla laughed.  Draco turned up his nose slightly.
“I happen to think that Hogwarts is a pathetic excuse for a school.  I’d rather die than continue here another two years.”
“What, are you planning on dropping out?” Pansy asked with a raised eyebrow.  Draco shrugged evasively and turned his gaze out the window.  Theo looked to Camilla, expecting her to make a comment on Draco’s actions but she was watching him with a guarded expression.  She looked nearly afraid of him.  Theo ignored it, hoping it was a trick of light, and launched into a conversation about the start of term feast.  Eventually, everyone lapsed back into conversation and Theo felt the grip on his heart ease every time Camilla laughed.
They’d been back at school for only a few weeks when it happened.  Theo and Camilla had been eating breakfast in companionable silence, breaking it only to compare notes on each other’s DADA essay, when Pansy came charging up and tossed her Potions book to the table.
“I’ve heard something brilliant,” she said, helping herself to the bacon on Camilla’s face.  Camilla regarded her with a dry look.
“Is it about how good my bacon is?” She asked.  Pansy shook her head and Camilla rolled her eyes.  Theo chuckled and leaned forward.
“What’d you hear, Pans?”
“We’re gonna get to smell Amortentia in Potions today,” Pansy clapped her hands together in excitement.  Camilla raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that potion illegal?”
“Yes, but Slughorn thinks we should be aware of all sorts of potions in order to practice curing their effects!  Though I doubt we’d brew a cure today, but we still get to smell it,” Pansy said, now tucking into her own plate of breakfast.
“What’s so interesting about that?” Both girls fixed him with an incredulous look.
“Amortentia smells like the things you love,” Camilla said slowly, playing with the edge of her napkin. “You know, like what attracts you.”
“So you smell the person you fancy?” Theo asked, beginning to feel his heart rate pick up.  He could guess a few of the smells that would erupt from the cauldron for him.  Camilla nodded.
“Yeah that.  But also smells you like, like the ocean or something.” She turned back to her plate with a light blush.  Theo nodded, beginning to shovel his breakfast into his mouth at a slightly quicker pace.  Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get to Potions class.
The three of them met up with the rest of their friends at the entrance to Slughorn’s class.  Draco looked slightly disheveled to Theo’s slight surprise.  Blaise was still immaculate, and he leaned against the wall casually talking to Daphne.  They had no sooner arrived than had the door opened and the class begun to file in.  There were only twenty of them in the class, most of their former classmates not getting decent enough grades from Snape to progress to a N.E.W.T level.  Theo took his regular seat next to Camilla near the front and immediately noticed the bubbling pink potion resting on the desk in front of them.
“Welcome, welcome!” Slughorn cheered.  Theo smiled.  He enjoyed the new Potions master infinitely more than he had enjoyed Snape.  He actually made the subject somewhat interesting.
“I’m assuming you have all realized that today you will be introduced to a few more intricate potions which we will attempt to counteract by the end of this year.  The most interesting of which is this one, of course,” he gestured to the Amortentia.
“Amortentia.  The most powerful love potion in the world.  One tiny drop and the drinker of the potion will fall madly in love with the giver.  At least until the effects wear off!” The entire class chuckled and Slughorn smiled.
“Now I know you’ve all gathered that Amortentia tends to smell like what most attracts the person.  It can be a brilliant array of things.  I, for instance, smell oak matured mead and Sugar Quills.”
“I know you all have an interest in giving the potion a good smell.  So I’d ask you to line up quickly and quietly.  May as well get this out of the way before the rest of the lesson.” Everyone scrambled to get in line in front of the little cauldron.  Theo shot a look back at Camilla who stood behind him and she gave him a nervous grin.  Theo knew how she felt.
The line crawled slowly, everyone taking the time to smell the potion for at least a minute before reluctantly pulling away.  Theo noticed Hermione Granger smell the potion and give Ron Weasley a look of surprise.  He snorted.  He’d have to bet with Camilla on that relationship.  At his turn, Theo stepped up to the cauldron and inhaled deeply.
The first thing Theo smelt was books, the crisp scent of newly cracked pages.  Then, the scent turned to warm vanilla, the exact smell of the sugar cookies that he baked with his mother each Christmas.  Finally, without much shock to him, he smelt the intoxicating scent of Camilla: rosemary, rose, and almond.
Theo pulled away, smiling slightly.  Camilla stepped up and inhaled for a few seconds, eyes screwed tightly shut.  Theo attempted to read her expression, but it was carefully arranged as she stepped back and betrayed no hint of any feelings she held about what she smelt.  There remained only a few people after Camilla, and Slughorn quickly launched into the lesson after Ernie Macmillan had smelt the potion.
Theo wasn’t the only one who wanted to talk about what he had smelt in the Amortentia.  The second class ended, and they had stepped into the hallway, Pansy was on their cases.
“I smelt mint obviously, you know how Daphne drinks peppermint tea all the time.  And then hot chocolate and salt water.  What about you lot?”
“I smelt hot chocolate for you as well, Pans,” Daphne smiled. “Then I also smelt mint and dusty velvet like the curtains in my mum’s room.” Pansy nodded, and turned to Blaise with an expectant look.
“Wood polish, black tea, and cinnamon,” he said simply.  Pansy turned then to Draco who shook his head.
“You can’t weasel out of it, Draco.  What did you smell?”
“Fine,” snapped Draco, “Green apple, pine, and what I can only assume is lipstick.”
“My sister always smells like lipstick,” Daphne muttered thoughtfully, though only Theo could hear her.  Pansy had rounded on Theo finally and he shot a furtive glance to Camilla.  Camilla looked as though she wanted the walls to collapse on Pansy.
“What about you, Theo?” Theo cleared his throat.
“Ehm.  New books, vanilla, and…” his voice trailed off as Camilla’s eyes widened in almost fear.  He made a split second decision.
“Watermelon.” Camilla’s expression didn’t change, though a look of surprise flitted lightly across Pansy’s face.
“Interesting.  Cam?” She turned to Camilla who looked like she was trying to gather her expression into a more neutral one.
“Um.  Rosemary, clean linen and ginger.” Pansy gave her a similar look to the one she had afforded Theo, but Theo’s heart was too busy breaking to notice.  It was true.  Officially.  Camilla had no feelings for him.  Theo suddenly broke away from his friends, feeling like he had to get to Transfiguration or he would positively cease to breathe.
That, and he didn’t want his friends to notice the spare tear that trickled down his cheek.
The next few weeks nearly killed Theo.  He avoided Camilla at nearly every cost.  He had taken to sitting with Draco in most classes, which as dreary and dismal as he looked these days, was better than pretending not to be in love with his best friend who for sure didn’t love him back.  If he wasn’t mistaken however, Camilla was avoiding him just as hard.  She had fully begun to sit with other houses in class, even sitting next to Harry Potter in a few classes to Theo’s frustration.
This continued well into October, and it was beginning to look like Theo and Camilla would never speak again.  Meetings with the entire group of friends had become so tense that often enough, the girls would separate from the boys and head off to do their own thing.  This, coupled with Draco’s bad mood and Blaise’s unaffected attitude had brought Theo’s mood to an all time low.  His grades were dropping alarmingly, to the point where he had received a letter from his mother telling him in not so kind words to get his shit together.  He couldn’t help it.  He was miserable.
Halloween came and went, and it was finally November.  Theo had given up hope on reconciling with Camilla long ago.  She had fully integrated herself into a friendship with Hermione Granger as well as Harry Potter, and spent most meals sitting either with them or absent from the Great Hall in general.  Theo had reciprocated these actions by dramatically exiting the hall when Camilla sat at the Gryffindor table, or slamming the door of the common room when he noticed Camilla there.
Clearly, Pansy had had enough.
“You absolute bloody git,” she said one day at lunch, after Theo had pointedly been stabbing at his potato post Camilla sitting with the Gryffindors.  Theo looked up in outrage.
“What the hell do you mean?”
“You’re such a child,” Pansy snapped.  Daphne looked up in alarm, but sensing the tension in the air, returned to her shepherd's pie with no comment.  Blaise also looked interested, but continued to stare at his textbook without comment.  Theo balled his fists.
“What has prompted you to call me names, dear Pansy?”
“I know you lied about what you smelt in the Amortentia in September,” Pansy gave him a harsh glare and Theo felt his stomach drop out from under him.
“W-what do you mean?”
“I mean,” Pansy nearly snarled, “That I am fully aware you smelt something Camilla related in that cauldron and you lied about it.” Theo’s mouth opened and closed a few times without sound before Pansy snorted in frustration.
“I knew it!  You idiot!  Why would you lie?” 
“I didn’t need to embarrass myself, Pansy!  You try telling your best friend you’re in love with them after being friends with them for over ten years.” Pansy clicked her tongue in disgust.
“Why do you assume you would have embarrassed yourself?”
“You heard Camilla!  She didn’t smell me either.  Not in the mood to have my heart broken!”
“Oh you absolute prat!” Pansy shouted, gaining curious looks from some of the other Slytherins. “She lied about what she smelt too!”
“What?” Theo felt like all the blood had drained from his face. “Why would she do that?”
“Because you lied too!” Pansy shouted again, this time rousing Draco from his own thoughts as well.  Theo felt like he couldn’t breathe, his heart was beating so quickly against his ribs.
“I didn’t… I didn’t know…”
“Well of course she loves you, you blind idiot!  You’ve both been absolutely miserable for months without each other.  You spent the past eleven years attached at the hip.  How could you honestly think that she didn’t like you?” Theo shook his head, trying to focus despite the new information rolling around in his brain.  As he was processing this clearly monumental new piece of information, he noticed Camilla stand from the Gryffindor table and begin to make the trek back to the common room.  Theo stood without realizing, then shot a panicked look to Pansy.
“Oh go after her you idiot,” Pansy sighed.  Theo nodded distractedly and tore from the Great Hall, only hearing a small snippet of “Now for you, Draco…”
Theo’s feet moved of their own accord, chasing Camilla down in the hallway.  She walked quickly, though he assumed that meant she wasn’t expecting anyone to follow her.  He finally caught up close enough to see the shine in her blonde hair and called out.
“Camilla!” She froze, cloak swishing against her ankles.  Theo nearly tripped over his feet rushing up to her.  She turned to see him and her mouth opened in a small “o” as she realized who had called her.
“Theo?”
“You lied,” he gasped out as he reached her.  Camilla’s features rearranged into confusion.
“I’m sorry?”
“You lied.  About what you smelt in the Amortentia.” Her eyes widened before she swore quietly under her breath.
“Pansy…” she shook her head and straightened, a new defense in her limbs. “I don’t see why that matters.”
“Because you lied to me.  We’re always honest with each other.” Theo said, stepping half a step closer.  If Camilla noticed, she didn’t say a word.
“Well why don’t you go be honest with whoever it is that smells like watermelon,” she spit, and Theo finally realized the jealousy in her tone.  Despite himself, he began to laugh.  Camilla looked appalled.
“I didn’t realize what I said was so funny,” she sniffed.  Theo couldn’t stop.  He drew even closer to her and wrapped her in his arms, still shaking with mirth.  Camilla scowled and it only spurred him on further.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Well you bloody well should be!” Camilla said, pushing back from Theo and effectively ending his fit of laughing. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Theodore Nott and I don’t appreciate you treating my feelings like a big joke.” Theo’s mouth dropped slightly.  She was in love with him?
“I don’t mean to imply that your feelings are a joke,” he whispered softly.  Camilla’s expression stayed stony. “I really don’t.  That’s the last thing I want.”
“Then what then?  What was the purpose of calling me out for lying about my Amortentia?” She asked, folding her arms.  Theo took a moment to gaze at her up close, for the first time in months.  Her hair was still soft and curled, brilliant blonde against the grey stone of the castle.  Hey eyes shone hazel, and her lips looked as soft and kissable as they had his whole life.
“Because I lied too.” Camilla’s eyes opened wide.
“What?”
“Rosemary, rose, and almond oil,” he spoke softly, moving closer to her again until their noses brushed. “It’s what you’ve smelt like every day for the past eleven years.  That’s what I smelt in my Amortentia.” They were standing so close now that if Theo dipped his lips half an inch, he would meet hers.  He waited.  Camilla’s eyes grew shy as they dropped to his mouth hovering ever so slightly above hers.
“Books.  A whole library.  And mahogany.  That’s what I smelt,” she whispered.  Theo’s face broke out in the biggest smile of his life.
“Camilla Avery, I’ve been in love with you for my entire life.” She looked at him with a look that he finally now recognized as thinly veiled yearning, the same look she had been giving him since the Yule Ball.
“I’ve been in love with you even longer, Theo Nott.  Maybe even since we were atoms.”
“Have you been reading Muggle science books again?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t care,” Theo tipped his head down and kissed Camilla.  Her mouth opened slightly and he deepened the sweet kiss, pulling her flush against his chest.  Her hands tangled in his mess of curly hair and a small noise left her throat as his hands pressed into her back under her school shirt.  Theo kissed her over and over again, tasting strawberry and pancake on her tongue from breakfast, tasting sunshine on her mouth from the happiness that poured from her, finally feeling like his life was complete.
They pulled apart only slightly, still sharing breath between them.  Camilla’s eyes sparkled more than he had ever seen and Theo rested his head on hers.
“Please be my girlfriend.  I think I will positively die if you don’t.” Camilla laughed and the sound was sweet in Theo’s ears.
“We can’t have that.  Of course I’ll be your girlfriend, dummy,” Theo nodded with a laugh and pressed a kiss into her hair.  He didn’t care that they had probably missed the first part of Charms.  He didn’t even care that the comments Pansy would make would be nearly unbearable.  He had fallen in love with Camilla Avery and against all the odds, she fell in love with him back.
and there we go!  kudos to you if you made it all the way through.  tagging @remibarnes22 and @ladiefury because they both said they were interested!
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javisjeanjacket · 4 years ago
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Nightmare Before Christmas and Din because that line my god😍
Howdy anon!! 🤠 So writing this made me cry???🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ Idk why I'm like this. Also I'm well aware he would never do the helmet thing but it's fanfiction and it's just for fun y'all!! 😅 I hope you enjoy it!
Warnings: cursing, lil angst :)
Nightmare Before Christmas-"We're simply meant to be together"
~~~~~~~~~~
Heat bubbled off of your skin and grew thick and hot between you and the Mandalorian sitting in the captain's chair beside you.
Your arms crossed tightly over your chest and you let out a loud huff. "What do you think I did before you, Din?" You spat. "Was I just some fucking damsel waiting for a dashing Mandalorian to sweep me off my feet and keep me holed away in his ship for the rest of my life?"
The masked man grew eerily still. "You know you can leave anytime you want to." He responded, his voice warbling, trying to stop his emotions from spilling over.
You shook your head. "I don't-" You sighed heavily. "I don't want to leave, I just don't want you to babysit me-"
"Babysit you?" He stood from his seat, his helmet pushing the rift in between you even farther still. "I'm trying to keep you alive, cyar'ika."
"I can take care of myself, believe it or not." You stood your ground, your chin pointed up at him.
"Do it then!" He exclaimed. His hands flew up from his belt to wave in the air before you.
You breath was shallow and you could feel your anger pulsing under your eyes. "Do you mean that?" You asked softly. Your eyes studied the dark space where his eyes sat behind his helmet.
The Mandalorian fell silent, his helmet dropping to look at the ship floor.
Your breathing picked up as your heart began to prick with emotion. "Din, if you don't say something right now, I'm walking out that door."
Din said nothing, just shifted his weight and scratched at a scuff mark on the ship floor with his boot.
You looked over his form as your lip quivered. You could see every gentle moment with the armored man. The first time he had taken off his gloves and touched your skin, how he always threw his body in front of yours at the first sign of trouble. You could see it all and forced yourself to accept that none of it had meant as much to him as it had to you.
Hot tears began to spill down your face and suddenly you felt embarrassed to be standing in front of him. Embarrassed that you had ever thought he had ever felt the same way about you. Walking hastily, you marched out of the ship and onto the planet of Dantooine below. Your footprints were messy at the pace you were walking and the harsh wind of the desert planet whipped through your clothes easily.
Your heart was flipping and flopping in your chest and your mind started racing, thinking of how you would get back to your home planet from here.
Din's voice barely carried over the wind, your name in his mouth sounded ragged and well-used.
You thought you were imagining it at first, but there it was again, closer now and it sounded different-alive. Out from behind a microphone.
You turned in the sand and saw him standing behind you. His face not shielded by his beskar and exposed for you to see.
Your breath caught in your chest as you looked over his features for the first time. The mustache you felt tickle your skin and the brown mop of hair that shed all over the ship floor. His dark eyes that were powerful enough to ensnare you even through his metal helmet.
"What are you doing?" You asked, much too quietly for him to hear you.
The sun beat down on the two of you mercilessly as you moved towards each other. When he was in earshot you repeated yourself, "What are you doing?"
Din shook his head, his eyes seeing your face for the first time without the tint of beskar. He brought a tender hand up to your face and took in air as your skin met his glove. "Don't leave."
Your eyes couldn't help but linger on his full lips, the want of them tingling down your spine. You had to force air in and out of your lungs, for your mind was completely overtaken by the rigid lines of Din's features and the way his hair moved in the Dantooine wind. You nodded yes, and the word "K." was all you could get out.
"I just..." He shook his head and sighed. "I can't do this without you anymore. If you're not with me, what's the point?"
"Din..." You breathed, reaching out to touch his face for the first time.
He closed his eyes as you touched his skin and you could almost feel his love for you thumping under his skin.
"I'm sorry if I..." He stopped and pulled his lips into his mouth. "You know I just want to protect you, right?" His dark eyes bore into yours and you felt like it was very possible that you would fall right into them.
You smiled softly and nodded.
He moved his hands to clutch your shoulders. "You're my top priority. Always. Sometimes I don't think and I just act and..." He trailed off, his thoughts being carried away on the Dantooine wind.
"I know." You said, your hand dragging downwards across his chest. "I just want you to be able to be free and not worry about me."
The Mandalorian smirked and looked down to your feet below. "I'm always going to worry about you, cyar'ika."
Your cheeks grew hot at his pet name for you. "Well, stop it." You teased.
He snickered and ran his gloved hand over your hair. "I guess we're simply meant to be together then, huh?"
You nodded. "I guess so."
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