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hearts-hunger · 4 years

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say it again when we’re sober || frankie morales x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: High off your asses and half-asleep watching Deep Space Nine, you and Frankie say some things you might not have said sober - but that doesn’t make them any less true.

Pairings: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader, College AU

Genre: Fluff, smut, idiots to lovers

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Drug use, making out, fingering (be safe smoking the devil’s lettuce, kids), perhaps boring amounts of consent-talk (but is there really such a thing? consent is so sexy)

A/N: Yeah so I got high and somebody had Star Trek on and I let my imagination run wild. I’m pretty proud of this one, though - I think it’s hot and really soft. Also, I know this isn’t a Frankie gif, but since it’s a college au I wanted him to look a little younger :) Enjoy!

One second. Omw.

You stuffed your phone in your pocket after reading his text and looked through the grating in the security door, your arms crossed over your chest against the cold. It seemed like Frankie was taking his sweet time coming from his dorm to let you into his building, and you shifted from one foot to another to try and generate a little heat.

He came through the inside door a minute later, grinning like an idiot when he saw you; you tried to ignore the butterflies you always felt when he smiled at you. He opened the security door for you and ushered you inside with a gallant wave.

“Sorry it took forever, Santi almost set the whole place on fire trying to make popcorn.”

You gave him an exasperated smile as you walked with him down the corridor towards his dorm. “Great. So it smells like burnt popcorn?”

He smirked. “Not for long.”

“Wait.” You grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie and pulled him to a stop.

He raised a brow. “What?”

“We’re not gonna - ” You looked around and were satisfied to see an empty hallway, but still lowered your voice. “- smoke inside, are we?”

He looked amused at your worry. “Yeah, why not? I thought you wanted to smoke.”

You punched his shoulder and gave a begrudging smile when he laughed.

“Shut up,” you said. “And yeah, I do, but you’re gonna get in trouble doing it inside.”

He rolled his eyes as you started walking again. “Ugh, fine. We’ll go outside if you want. But it’s gonna be cold.”

“I’ll make you some hot soup or something.”

He snorted. “Yeah, let’s get high and have soup. That sounds great.”

He held the door open for you when you reached his dorm, and you were greeted by the smell of burnt popcorn, as promised.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called, looking around for the culprit. Santi’s head poked out from the kitchen and gave you a wide grin.

“Hi, sunshine,” he said. “Sorry about the popcorn. I didn’t burn all of it, though.”

You went through to the kitchen as Frankie went into his room for a minute, picking out a handful of popcorn from the not-burnt bowl. “And they said college wouldn’t make you any smarter, Santi.”

He smirked. “Yeah, well, you’re the one still hanging out at our apartment on a Saturday night when you could be doing literally anything else, so who’s the real dumbass?”

You smiled. “Still you. What are you doing with your Saturday night, if you’re too fancy to spend it here?”

He leaned against the counter. “I’m going to Will and Ben’s.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding sagely. “Mario Kart.”

“Hey, you’re welcome to join,” Santi said. “Unless you’d rather be alone with Frankie.”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively; you laughed and tried to downplay the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Yeah right,” you lied. “I’m here for his weed, not anything else.”

“Oh, are you guys smoking?” he asked. “Can I join?”

You shrugged. “Sure.”

“Only if you want to freeze to death,” Frankie called. A second later he came out of his room, holding another hoodie and the pencil case he kept his stash in.

“She’s making me take her outside to smoke,” Frankie told Santi.

Santi grimaced. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Frankie tossed you the extra hoodie he’d brought out, a soft blue thing you’d seen him wear a lot. You put it on and were practically swimming in it, but it was nice and warm and smelled like him.

“Thanks,” you said, sticking your hands in the front pocket and swinging back and forth on your heels.

He looked amused at your enjoyment of his hoodie. “You ready?”

“Lead on,” you said. You gently butted your head against Santi’s shoulder. “Bye, Santi. Hope you win in Mario Kart.”

“Thanks,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

You and Frankie walked back out of the housing complex, catching each other up on your day. You’d been best friends since you arrived late to the first meeting of your physics class and had to take the only open seat, right next to Frankie. He’d walked you to your next class so you wouldn’t get lost, and from then on, you’d practically been inseparable.

Lots of people had thought you’d get together. Santi, Will, and Ben - Frankie’s best friends from freshman year and now your friends too - teased both of you mercilessly about it. You couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t thought about it - really, you spent a lot of time thinking about it - but you were way too shy to make the first move. You figured Frankie would tell you if he felt that way about you, and you’d live with it if he didn’t. You loved him and you knew he loved you, even if it wasn’t like that, and you were happy with it.

He took you down to the side of the outbuilding that technically served as the housing offices, but it didn’t see much traffic during the day and was abandoned at this hour.

“Ok?” he asked, and you knew that as much as he’d grumbled, he was happy to change his plans around to make sure you felt comfortable.

You looked around at the dark parking lot. “Yeah, it’s good.” It was cold, like he’d warned you it would be, and you stood close to him as he fished a joint and a lighter out of his bag.

“Your pencil case must make you popular with all the ladies,” you teased.

He laughed. “Yeah. I haven’t really found a better place for it.”

He put the pencil case in the pocket of his hoodie and took a long, slow drag when the joint was lit. He held it out to you and you took it carefully.

“This isn’t the ‘hype you up’ kind, is it?” you asked. You’d had something before that made you all jittery and wild, and you hadn’t liked it that much.

He shook his head, bottling a cough in his chest. “Uh-uh,” he said, turning his head to exhale. “It’ll chill you out. You’re good.”

You took as long a drag as you could manage, giving a decent volley of coughs as you exhaled. You smoked with Frankie pretty frequently, all things considered, but you still weren’t very good at it. You liked being high, but you didn’t really like the process of getting high.

“Hit it again,” Frankie offered. “We both know you don’t ever get anything on the first try.”

That was probably true. You took another drag, the lit end flaring with color in the darkness, and managed it better with a little less choking.

You handed it back to Frankie. “Thanks for coming outside.”

“Sure,” he said with a smile. “Anything for you, kiddo.”

You stood close to each other for warmth, passing the joint back and forth until it was spent. Frankie killed it and you looked up at the stars, dim with the light pollution from campus but with certain constellations still recognizable.

Frankie cleared his throat. “So, I’m gonna say something, and it might be a little weird.”

You laughed and tipped your head back down to look at him. “That’s always a danger when you open your mouth, Frankie.”

His smile and the way he looked at you seemed so impossibly tender that you wondered if you were seeing it correctly.

“Ok, smart-ass,” he said, and his voice matched the way he looked, soft and affectionate. He looked a little nervous, and you wondered what he wanted to say that could be such a big deal. Usually Frankie was so straightforward, unafraid of speaking his mind -

“I wanna kiss you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“What?” you choked.

He laughed. “Goes down real smooth, huh? Well, forget I said it.”

“No, Frankie,” you said, trying to get your composure. You felt a swing of dizziness and grabbed onto his arm to steady yourself.

“Easy, tiger,” he said, putting his hand on your other arm. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You looked up at him. Could you really have heard him right?

“Say that thing you just said.”

He smiled. “Which one? About wanting to kiss you?”

You tipped your face up almost unconsciously. “Yeah, that one.”

He gave a thoughtful hum. “Well...” He leaned closer to you, close enough that your noses touched. He chuckled softly. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, kiddo. Pretty much since the day you grabbed the seat next to me in physics.”

You could feel his warm breath on your skin. “That long?”

He hummed in agreement. “That long.”

You closed your eyes. He was so close - you felt his warmth all around you, protecting your from the cold.

“So kiss me,” you said softly, almost afraid to speak too loud and break the spell, to test this delicate balance you both hung in.

You didn’t know how long he waited - it could have been seconds or hours, you couldn’t tell - but then there was nothing but the feel of his mouth on yours, warm and soft and cautious.

He pulled back just enough to see your face.“How was that?”

You smiled. “Sweet,” you said, a little dazedly. Better than you had imagined. “Nice.”

He laughed. “Sweet and nice, huh?” He kissed you again, still as gentle as could be. “You’re sweet and nice.”

“You have a way with words, Frankie.”

“I’ve been told that a lot actually.”

He kissed you deeper then, still taking it slow, giving you time to get used to him. He let you take the lead, and when you opened your mouth, he responded in kind. You could have kissed him like that forever, lazy and easy and full of promise.

“Frankie,” you breathed.

He pulled back a little. “Hm? You ok?”

You pressed closer to him to close the distance; his cautiousness was sweet but unnecessary, and you wanted more of him.

“I want...” But you couldn’t say it, were too embarrassed all of a sudden, your face warming even in the cold air. Not even getting high could erase your bashfulness altogether, or make you brave enough to ask your best friend for - well, more.

The hand that had been holding onto your arm released you, only to find its way to your waist.

“You want...” he prompted, giving you a few feather-light kisses to your cheeks and nose. “What do you want, pretty girl?”

Your breath caught when he called you that, and you wondered if he’d do it again if you asked.

“Call me that again,” you said.

You felt his smile against your cheek. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl,” he murmured. “‘S just me. You don’t have to be shy.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into him, your best friend, the person you felt safest with.

“Touch me, please.”

“Okay,” he said against your jaw. He moved to kiss you, steering you gently back a few steps until you were against the wall, bracketed by his arms. You let your hands drift over his chest, fingers glancing over the little bit of collarbone exposed by the loose collar of his hoodie.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, ok?” he said. You nodded, and his hand moved from your waist to your breast, kneading gently. You could feel the warmth of his hand even though the hoodie, and you sighed as he kissed you deeper.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, moving his thigh between your legs; you were surprised by the rush of warmth that went through your whole body. You didn’t know if he would have noticed, but you gasped a little, and you could feel his smile.

“What?” he asked, amused and kind.

“Just... surprised me a little.”

He nosed against your jaw. “Good surprise?”

You nodded. “You can...” Again, you drifted off, embarrassed. He kissed you again.

“I want to do whatever you want to do,” he said easily. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. All you have to do is tell me.”

Your cheeks felt impossibly hot against the cold air, and you leaned your head against his.

“You can...” you started again. You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You can - I want you to - ”

You put your hand over his and moved it down, slowly, giving him time to pull away. Even though he’d said he was ok with whatever you wanted, it was still so early, and you wanted to go slow, for both of your sakes. He got your meaning and started fumbling with the button on your jeans.

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl,” he reminded you again, but there was only affection in his voice, and you knew he would patiently remind you as many times as you needed. Frankie knew you, knew how you always got so tripped up trying to say what you meant, what you wanted - he knew you and cared for you like you needed to be cared for.

You blushed and hid your face against his shoulder. “Want you to... finger me. Please.”

A thrill rushed through his body at that, a wave of desire and protectiveness that you could feel under your hands as you held onto him. He moved closer to you, one hand leaning against the brick wall behind you, the other slipping under the waistband of your jeans.

“You can tell me to stop any time,” he said. “Just say the word.”

“Okay,” you agreed, already a little breathless at his warmth so close to you.

He moved his hand slowly, staying over your underwear; he gently worked his way over your heat, pressing just enough to make you sigh against his mouth. God, his hand was so big, and his fingers were so gentle - it was heady, with his fingers rubbing slow circles and his tongue in your mouth. You pressed against him, wanting more, wanting him.

He pulled away and you wondered if you’d done something wrong, tried to tamp down the sting of disappointment and embarrassment as you thought he may have reconsidered it all. Before you could say anything, stutter out an apology, he gave you a quick, reassuring kiss.

“It’s alright,” he said. “Just wanted to warm my hand up a little for you.”

He cupped his hands over his mouth and warmed them, rubbing them together; he reached for your hands and blew gently on them too.

“Figured your hands were cold too,” he said sweetly, and kissed your knuckles. You gave him a wobbly smile and let him hold your hands for a moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, with an innocence and sincerity that made you weak in the knees.

You leaned close to kiss him, and he obliged you. You draped your arms around his neck and tucked your hands under his hood to keep them warm as he went back to the job at hand.

His fingers were a little warmer, but they were still a shock as he slipped into your underwear and traced over your heat. Your breath hitched from the first touch, and he gave a pleased hum as he started to circle your clit.

“Frankie,” you sighed, letting your body move naturally against him.

“Feels ok?” he asked gently.

“Y-yeah,” you breathed. He moved down and teased at your entrance; you bunched the fabric of his hoodie in your grip.

“Easy does it, pretty girl,” he said, nipping at your bottom lip. “Gonna take it nice and slow.”

True to his word, he slowly worked a finger into you, his thumb still rubbing your clit. You let out a shaky breath that gave way to a quiet moan, and you immediately felt yourself blush.

“Sorry,” you said.

He chuckled. “That’s ok. Sounded real pretty, baby.”

He made a come-hither motion with his finger, and you moaned again, a little less quietly. You buried your face in his neck, your cheeks burning; he smiled and kissed you, and you felt hot all over knowing he liked the sounds you made.

“Please, Frankie,” you said, kissing his neck. His thumb on your clit was driving you crazy; your legs started to shake and you leaned on him to steady yourself. “Please.”

He knew what you meant, and he added another finger, setting a steady pace. He didn’t seem in any mood to rush, and you let him draw you out with his skillful, patient touch.

“Fuck,” you breathed quietly, tangling your fingers in his curls. You could feel your orgasm cresting like a wave between your hips, a low fire turned into a roaring flame with Frankie’s fingers inside you and his mouth on yours. You gasped and let out a sort of mewl as he gave your clit more attention, crumpling his hoodie in your fists.

“Frankie,” you almost whined.

He kissed your collarbone. “Tell me, pretty girl.”

Your breath came in short pants. “Gonna cum, Frankie.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice low. “Cum for me, baby.”

His praise tipped you over the edge and you came on his fingers, riding out your orgasm as he drew it out as long as he could for you. You leaned your head back against the wall and he kissed your neck, murmuring words of praise.

“So beautiful,” he said against your skin. “What a good girl for me.”

When you came down from your high - well, one of them - blissed out and a little overstimulated in the best way, you looked up at him and gave him a dreamy smile.

“Thank you,” you said unsteadily. You were half aware that you were leaning heavily against him as your legs still shook, but he didn’t seem to mind.

He chuckled. “No problem, baby. My pleasure.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling a little dazed as the endorphins seemed to make the weed start to hit more noticeably. You were content and warm, feeling more comfortable and safe than you had in a long time.

“You ok?” he asked. He ran a soothing hand up and down your back.

You hummed in agreement. “A little cold.”

“Yeah, it is a little cold out here,” he agreed. “Why don’t we go back to my place and get warmed up?”

“At least buy me a drink first,” you said, and he laughed.

“Come on, trouble.” He took your hand in his; you tucked yourself close to him and leaned against his arm as you walked back to his dorm.

Santi was still out when you got back, but he’d lit the one candle he kept for when girls came around, and the apartment smelled comfortingly like laundry, or some variant of a “soft cotton” smell. You kicked off your shoes and curled up on Frankie’s bed.

He leaned down and gave you a quick kiss. “Be right back.”

You were content to lay on the bed and doze a little; you did get a little in your head when you thought Frankie had been gone for a long time, but he came back just before you started getting panicky, his laptop and a bowl of popcorn in hand.

“You two and your popcorn,” you said, moving over to make room for him on the bed.

He smiled. “Yeah, but I didn’t burn it, because I’m not an idiot.” He set his laptop on his thigh and pulled up Netflix. “Any requests?”

You shook your head, cuddling close to him. “Whatever you want.”

He put on Deep Space Nine, one of his guilty pleasure shows, and put his arm over your shoulders.

Between the two of you, the popcorn bowl was quickly empty, and you you spent the remainder of the episode kissing and going through every dumb question you had about Star Trek. Your attention got hooked during one scene with a monastery and a weird prophecy-orb that gave people sex visions - or at least that’s what you gathered, as you were very tired and still pretty high. You looked over at Frankie to confirm that’s what had just happened, but stopped before you asked when you saw him.

He was asleep, his head at a bit of an uncomfortable angle, his arm still around you as he snored gently. You couldn’t help a smile as you studied his face, all soft and pretty and restful.

You couldn’t help the words that came out of your mouth, either, tumbling out before you could stop them.

“I love you.”

Oh, boy. Your pulse jumped as if you’d just yelled it from the rooftops instead of whispering it to him while he slept, and you watched his face for any kind of reaction. You didn’t know whether it had been a good idea to say it or not, but you had, and you found it was the easiest thing in the world.

You wanted to say it again.

He shifted a little, tucking you closer to him; you held your breath, waiting to see if he had woken or was just moving closer in his sleep.

“Lay down,” he murmured. You did as he said, laying your head on his chest, tucking your hand in the pocket of his hoodie. He was warm and solid and safe, and you relaxed completely against him.

“I love you, Frankie,” you said again, even softer.

He gave a sleepy grunt.

“Heard you... the first time,” he mumbled, still mostly asleep. “Love you, baby. Let’s... say it again when we’re sober, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you agreed. You smiled and snuggled close to him, already feeling like you were home.

taglist: @punkgeekchic, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies

let me know if you want to be added to my pedro pascal character taglist!

#this is kinda off brand for me lol let me know what you think!!#frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #college au #frankie morales x reader fluff #frankie morales x reader smut #francisco morales #triple frontier #santiago garcia #tw drug use #tw drugs #maddie writes stuff!

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firstofficerwiggles · 4 years

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Dress Code, Part 2

Link to Part 1, Part 3 (T rated), Part 3 (M rated)

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Some swearing, Jealous!Din, sexy dancing, touching

Summary: You continue to challenge Din about what you choose to wear. Pretty fluffy overall. Plans for a Part 3.

Word Count: ~4200

Author’s Note: I am not good at making up planet names so I will admit to totally stealing these. Eridani is the name of a real star and Alastria and Chantil are both from Star Trek. Also again a little hint of Ed Sheeran in the dancing scene.

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“Are you serious? More snow?” Your voice is incredulous as you fly over the frosted winter landscape of the planet Alastria. It’s been two weeks since you won your wager against the Mandalorian and you haven’t had any opportunity to wear anything that he could consider even remotely revealing. First he took you to Hoth, and although you and the child had a great time playing in the snow, you spent the whole time covered in sweaters and a giant parka. You had laughed it off though, enjoying his cleverness at finding a way to circumvent your win. But then, he had dragged you to Eridani and Chantil each one colder than the next. Plus to add to his diabolical plan, he has purposely been keeping the Razor Crest’s internal temperature low in order to ‘save on fuel’ so you can’t even wear your lighter clothes on board. You’ve been so covered up you might as well be wearing your own suit of beskar.

You suppose it hasn’t been all that bad though, you begrudgingly admit to yourself. The three of you have been spending more time together as you’ve been traveling. Lately it seems like Din always finds a way to be around you and the child. In the past he’s preferred his pilot’s seat while flying even with the autopilot engaged, but now he seems to find little projects to do wherever you are. Like the evening you were cuddled up with the baby telling him various fairy tales and Din had sat near you both spending the whole time cleaning the same blaster. Or when you were baking cookies, and he had decided to reorganize some supplies that happened to be right next to where you were working. Finally, the other day he had even thrown off the pretense of being busy and joined in and helped you and the child build a blanket fort in the hull. As the baby napped on a pile of pillows inside the fort, Din had stayed with you in there, just resting for once while you both had the chance.

With all of this closeness, you had hoped there might be some movement on the romantic front between the two of you, but there hasn’t been anything definitive in that area. You must have replayed him calling you ‘sweetheart’ a million times in your head, but he hasn’t said anything like that again. You’ve tried to show him how interested you are, wearing your necklace everyday so he can see it, smiling at him as much as possible, teasing him, and going so far as to touch him with little brushes of your hand, a pat on the shoulder, or even a squeeze of his arm whenever you get the opportunity. He seems receptive enough to your flirting, yet he’s given you so little response you wonder if he’s realized what you’re trying to do.

The Mandalorian’s voice brings you out of your musing, “I thought we could visit my old mentor, Davi. His town might be in the mountains, but it’s nice, I think you’ll like it, despite the cold.” He smirks a little under his helmet. He knows he should probably feel a bit guilty at the tour of icy worlds he’s been giving you, but honestly, he’s been enjoying getting under your skin each time you land on another freezing planet and he hears you sigh over having to bundle up again. He should probably admit to himself that he does miss seeing your dresses, but you look cute even under all those layers. Plus he was right, your necklace looks good with all of those sweaters and heavy knits you’ve been forced to wear.

“Who is Davi?” you ask, curious to know more about Din’s past.

“He sponsored me when I first joined the guild. I was his apprentice for two years before I starting hunting my own bounties.” Din tells you. “He’s retired now, and he lives with his niece, Isa. I think you’ll like them both.”

Even with the snow and ice, you can see that Davi and Isa’s town is charming, and you enjoy the quaint buildings with their pretty trim. It reminds you of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child in the winter. The majestic mountains make for a stunning backdrop too and you are glad that Din brought you here. He notices the happy light in your eyes as he says, “I knew you’d like it here,” rather smugly.

“Yes, yes, you know everything,” you reply, rolling your eyes only slightly at him.

You arrive at a brightly lit home that oozes warmth and coziness from its frosty windows, and when Davi throws open the door, you receive a cordial welcome that makes you feel like he is your old friend too. Davi is thrilled to see Din and even more delighted to meet you and the baby. Even though Din has introduced you as his friend, Davi teases the Mandalorian about finally meeting his lovely family. Davi’s niece, Isa is also quite pleased to meet you and she even hugs you in greeting. She’s a pretty young woman in her early 20s with bright eyes and a cheerful smile.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she tells you excitedly, “I thought I was in for another ‘guy’s visit’ having to hear all of their old hunting tales again.”

“Oh come on, Isa, you love that story about the crazy Gungan we had to chase through the swamp,” Davi reminds her with a laugh.

“Sure, maybe the first 100 times I heard it,” Isa retorts. “I’m looking forward to some quality girl time instead.”

“That sounds great,” you tell her. You have been living in a heavily testosterone-laden climate and it has been forever since you’ve had the opportunity to hang out with another woman and just do ‘girl’ things. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’d love to go shopping and maybe get our hair styled too?” She suggests, “There’s this great party tonight and I wanna look fabulous!”

“Count me in!” you reply enthusiastically. You look over at Din for a moment though, hoping he’s not going to insist that he needs to accompany you shopping like he usually does. But he’s obviously comfortable here and he just gives you a small nod. “Let’s go now.”

Isa notices your exchange with interest, but doesn’t say anything, yet. She can’t wait to get you alone though and grill you all about your relationship with the mysterious warrior. You head back out into the snowy streets with Isa chatting excitedly about the shops and the fantastic salon that she’ll be taking you to. You arrive at a store with many party dresses, they’re beautiful but most of them are a bit risqué too. You’re just starting to look when Isa interrupts you with “Ok, spill, I want to hear all about you and Mando.”

“There’s not much to tell, I’m the nanny to his foundling.” You try to tell her, but your cheeks flush and she knows there’s more.

“Oh c’mon, I can tell you’re not ‘just-the-nanny’,” she laughs lightly. “He’s never ever brought a woman to meet Davi before.”

“Well, a few weeks ago I thought there was more starting to happen between the two of us,” you say and then tell her about the necklace and your silly wager. “I really thought that was leading to something…” you trail off and shrug, “but I guess not?”

“What?!? There is definitely something happening,” Isa asserts. “That was super romantic of him to buy you that necklace, and he clearly gets jealous of other men paying attention to you. He likes you.” She says it like it’s a fact. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Maker, I do, so much, probably too much,” you admit to Isa. “He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I know he seems rough and dangerous, and he can be, but he is also very kind, respectful, and considerate. You should see how gentle and soft he can be with the child. I don’t even care that I’ve never seen his face.”

“Your whole face lights up when you talk about him,” Isa is beaming at you. “I think you need to tell him how much you care.”

“But if he doesn’t feel the same way, it will just make everything awkward and weird.” You want to believe Isa, that Mando reciprocates your feelings, but the alternative scares you too much.

“He feels the same way.” She is confident about that. “But, maybe you could just give him a little push, feel him out more,” she says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Let’s find you a killer dress and make sure he takes you to this party tonight.” Isa turns back to the dresses pulling out several that are very sexy. “It’s in the hot springs caverns and it’s warm and steamy in there all the time,” Isa explains.

“Wait, so no bundling up?” you ask hopefully.

“Just for the walk there, but once we’re inside you’ll be plenty warm. So, we’re going find you something that shows plenty of skin,” Isa declares.

Gathering a pile of garments, Isa pulls you to the dressing rooms and then you both try on several looks that range from seductive to downright lascivious. She is partial to an electric blue dress that is tight on her figure and has several cutouts exposing various sections of her skin. The dress you find is surprise, surprise, silver, in a halter style. The bodice is tight fitting with a deep vee that ends just at the top of your stomach before flaring out into a flirty mini skirt looking like molten metal is pouring off of your hips. Your back is almost totally bare save for two delicate straps that cross over one another to hold the bodice in place. It is a lot more skin than you normally show, but you have to admit you look great. Light winks off of your necklace and you smile to yourself thinking about how your Mandalorian might react to seeing you like this.

“That’s the one!” Isa announces handing you a pair of strappy stilettos to try on with the dress. They are the perfect final touch. The rest of your time with Isa passes quickly in a happy haze of hair styling and gossip. She tells you about her friends and the guy she wants to impress. You’re really looking forward to tonight, but you’re worried, “How are we going to convince Mando to go to this party?” you wonder to Isa, “It’s not really his thing.”

“Leave everything to me.” Isa sounds like she is up for the challenge.

You and Isa return to her home giggling cheerfully about your big plans for the evening. Din loves seeing you so happy, his only regret is that you can’t have more days like this one. He had a long talk with Davi about all that has happened since he first found the child and the dangerous path it has thrust all three of you on. Fortunately for Din, his old mentor is more tactful than his niece merely providing a friendly ear as Din lists all of his concerns for your life with him. Davi can tell that Din cares for you more than he is admitting, but he doesn’t push the point. Instead, he calmly suggests that you appear to be able to meet the trials of living with a bounty hunter, otherwise you probably would have left by now. Din nodded in agreement to that, making Davi smile knowingly to himself.

As you sit down to dinner with everyone, Isa chats animatedly about your fun day together and suggests that you prolong your visit by a few days. Din, who ate his own meal in private beforehand, seems amenable to the idea, this town is fairly remote and only Greef Karga remembers Mando’s connection to Davi. As Isa talks, she manages to casually bring up the party to her uncle. Din is only half-listening as he is focused on the baby actually eating his food and not playing with it, until Isa says, “And you don’t have to worry about our safety, Uncle, because Mando will be there to watch over us!”

“Wait, what are you saying?” Din’s head snaps up.

“I think it’s a great idea!” Davi replies, delighted, “The ladies are all excited for you to take them to that party in the caverns tonight.”

“A party?” Din sounds like you are going to drag him to a deadly ambush. Except he feels more confident that he can handle the deadly ambush.

“Oh come on, you’re still a young man, you’ll have a wonderful time with these beautiful women. And I can take care of the little one,” Davi urges him, “after all he loves his Uncle Davi.” Davi tickles the child under the chin and receives a joyful coo in return.

“Please, Mando,” you give him your most hopeful look, “I promise we’ll have fun.”

Din sighs, but he knows he can’t say no when you’re looking at him like that, he’s not made of stone. “Alright.”

“Great! We’ll go get dressed!” Isa springs into action pulling you with her. You both manage to get ready in record time knowing that you don’t want to give Din any opportunity to back out on your plans. Before you leave her room though, both you and Isa make sure your cloaks are completely covering your outfits for the night. You caution Isa that if Din has even one inkling of what you have on, you won’t be going anywhere. You are thankful your cloak is so long that only the toes of your shoes peek out.

Isa leads you out of town towards the caverns and you see other young people heading in your direction. She discreetly stays ahead of you and Din the whole time under the guise of being the leader but mostly so you two are walking side by side. The new shoes are higher than anything you’ve worn for a while so you lean in and take Din’s arm. He seems to take this as perfectly natural and helps steady you on your feet. When you arrive at the caverns, balmy air hits you and you breathe it in welcoming the warmth. Isa ushers you in and leads you to a place where you can leave your cloaks. You can’t resist being a bit dramatic now that your big moment is here and you let your cloak drop from your shoulders in one fluid motion before handing it over. Then you do a small twirl to let the Mandalorian get a good look at you.

Din’s mouth goes completely dry and he feels like his heart skips several beats as he takes you in. He is thankful that his helmet hides his expression because there is no way he could hide the raw desire he is feeling right now. You look more gorgeous than he could have imagined. The silvery dress makes your curves sparkle alluringly and all he can think about is running his hands all over the silky looking material and then moving on to all of your soft exposed skin. Plus the color of the dress perfectly matches his armor, making it look like you belong with him. He feels as if all of the blood in his body is rushing to one sensitive spot and it’s making him slightly lightheaded. You are smiling at him expectantly, but he has forgotten how to speak. He has to clear his throat twice before he can ground out, “What is that?”

Ok, that wasn’t what you expected him to say. “It’s my new dress,” you retort, a little exasperated.

“That is not a dress. That is pieces of fabric pretending to be a dress.” He sounds frustrated and like he is trying to control himself.

“Hey, you remember our deal, you can’t say anything critical about my clothing.” You give him a pointed look.

“You look like walking sex.” He hisses at you.

“Well, I am going to take that as a compliment.” You flip your hair over your shoulder and huff off in the direction of Isa and a group of friends she has found. If Mando wants to be a fuddy-duddy all night, you’re going to let him. Isa is fun and you’re sure her friends will be too. You put your smile back on and square your shoulders in determination as you stride over towards them.

The caverns have been lit with several colorful lights which bounce off of the icy walls and the pools of hot steaming water. There’s a band playing music with a strong beat, a lively dance floor, and several servers circulating with fancy drinks. Isa cheerfully introduces you to her friends, one of whom is a handsome man with golden brown hair and a charming smile, named Guy. He seems to be a bit of a scoundrel, but when he voices how beautiful you are, you can’t help but be flattered. He’s telling you about his job as a pilot for a transport ship, trying to impress you with tales about near misses with ex-Imperials, when he notices the Mandalorian who is not-so-subtly invading your personal space.

Din had watched you walk away, a bit mesmerized by your swinging hips. Of course, by the time he gets his feet moving in your direction, some asshole is already flirting with you. He sees the man flash you a toothy smile and he even has the audacity to lean in and pick up your necklace, Din’s necklace, under the guise of admiring it, all the while staring blatantly at your breasts. Din hears his pulse roaring in his ears as he comes to loom over you and glare at this jerk.

“Hi, Mando,” you say a little sarcasm in your voice at the greeting, “meet Isa’s friend, Guy.”

“Guy?” Mando drawls out incredulously.

“Hey man, nice to meet you,” Guy is affable. “Didn’t catch your name?”

Mando just stares at him and then says, “Seriously, your name is Guy?”

“Guy was just telling me about making the Kuiper run in under 20 parsecs,” you break into the frosty exchange.

“Impossible,” is all Mando says drily.

“No, really,” Guy insists, “I managed to do it by skimming by a black hole.”

“It’s impossible,” Mando says again.

“Maybe you and Guy can trade piloting tips?” you say, adding a small chuckle to ease the tension.

“Not fucking interested.” Mando is being downright rude to him. You’ve never known him to act this way to someone who wasn’t a threat. Luckily, Isa comes to your rescue as she brings her friend Lisbeth over to meet Mando. He seems to come back to himself a bit and is polite as he greets Isa’s friend.

“Are you two together?” Guy questions you nodding his head in Din’s direction.

“Not like that,” you reply, “we’re just friends.” But you say it as if you don’t really believe it.

“You sure?” Guy smiles shrewdly at you.

“Well, he’s never said otherwise,” you conclude with a small shrug.

“In that case, how would you like to dance with me?” Guy holds out his hand to you and gives you a wink. You can’t help but glance back at Mando for a moment, but then turn your gaze back to Guy and say yes. You don’t imagine that Din will ask you to dance anyway as he seems determined to be a grump tonight, plus you’re pretty certain he doesn’t know how to dance.

Guy leads you to the crowded floor and you begin moving to the beat of the heart-pumping music. At first you’re just dancing next to Guy but then he starts closing the distance between you two and eventually puts his hands on your hips. He pulls you in a little closer to him but then suddenly he’s gone, being shoved away roughly by a beskar-clad arm.

“If you’re going to dance, you’re going to dance with me.” Mando tells you possessively. His hands replacing Guy’s on your hips, pulling you in close to him.

“Mando!” you squeak out in surprise at his abrupt appearance. “Is he ok?” You turn your head to look for Guy, embarrassed that Din has so rudely dismissed him.

“I don’t give a damn,” Din tells you as he reaches up and turns your chin so that you are looking back at him. Ironically, the lead singer of the band is belting out a warning to a woman not to fuck with his love. You face flushes as you look into the black visor of the helmet.

“I- I didn’t think you’d want to dance,” you stammer out, stunned by his actions.

“You didn’t give me a chance to ask you,” he replies and he begins to direct your hips to sway with his to the music. You move with him in a sultry pattern. You were wrong, Din does know how to dance. You move your arms up to encircle his neck as you let yourself relax into the movements, your bodies syncing together with the beat.

As the music changes a bit, he turns you in his arms and pulls you against him until you are flush with his body. You lean into his chest feeling the cool metal of his cuirass against your bare back and he dips his head down to your ear, and says “I like dancing with you.” His voice seems huskier than normal.

“I do too,” you tell him in reply. You’re feeling bolder now and you roll your hips over his and brush against something hard that is definitely not beskar. He groans deeply and then turns you around again so he can look in your eyes as he asks, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“I think I have some idea,” you say flirtatiously and give him a wink. He pulls you back into him with a growl and guides your body into a move so sensual it makes your head spin. His hands are on your bare back now and even though it’s only the leather of his gloves that touch you, the heat coming off of them is undeniable. You can’t resist telling him, “Your hands feel good on me.” He doesn’t say anything in reply but merely tightens his grip on you and then lets his hands explore more of your back.

You lose track of time as you focus only on the Mandalorian and the way you move together. You’ve both become quieter the more you dance as if you no longer can handle verbally teasing each other and just want to feel. Each song blends into the next, and it’s like you are the only two people in the room. A sonic charge could go off and you wouldn’t even notice. When the lights flicker to signal the end of the party, you’re surprised. It takes you a moment to come back to reality, you feel like you’ve just awoken from the middle of an intoxicating dream and your head is a little dizzy. Fortunately, Din seems more in control, and he guides you towards Isa and the exit. Isa! You completely forgot about her. When you reach her, she gives you a sneaky smile and hands you your cloak. As you take it from her, she leans in and whispers, “I told you so.” Din takes the cloak from your hands and places it around your shoulders covering you back up against the cold. Then he takes your hand in his and threads his fingers through yours as he leads you back out into the dark night. All three of you are quiet as you walk back to Isa’s home. When you arrive, Din tells Isa, “We won’t come in, we’ll just let the child sleep here and come back in the morning.”

“Not too early,” Isa says rather cheekily, “I’m sure you’ll need your rest.”

As you head back to the ship with Din, your stomach flips at the idea of being alone with him all night. You shiver a little in anticipation.

“Are you cold?” he asks, noticing the shiver.

“Only a little,” you tell him, not wanting to give away the real reason.

“Maybe you should be wearing more clothing,” Din says, but there is a teasing tone to his voice now.

You reach the ship and head inside. It’s a little chilly in there but not as bad as you thought it might be. You whisk your cloak off of you again, headless of the cold, wanting Din to see you in the dress again.

“I’ll make you a new deal,” he says, his helmet moving up and down as if he is looking you over. “I’ll take you to some warmer planets and I won’t complain about your clothing, but only if you promise to never wear that dress in public again.”

The dress has served its purpose, better than you could have anticipated. “Alright, it’s a deal,” you tell him with a smile.

“Although,” Din drawls out, “if you want to wear it again when we’re alone together, I’d like that.”

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

Thank you for reading! I promise there will be a Part 3 (if I can, I’ll do one T rated and one M rated). Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

@sleepwithacommunist @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @rueblogsthings @mackycat11 @tv-zepeda @remmyswritings @dee-rosemary @boomtownboy @mandosboobiez @hoodjarin @haley7242

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction

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amispnrewatch · 3 years

Text

SPN 1x06 “Skin”

Okay, I’m gonna try to type while I watch this time instead of forgetting this blog exists until the episode is almost over.

You can tell the footage for the previously on segment was saved on a VHS copy instead of the original film that the show was shot with because even in the HD iTunes version I have it looks low quality as fuck. And jumpy in the way that brings me back to my teens watching the WB all the damn time.

I love this song. WTF is this song. Shazam says “Good Deal” by Mommy and Daddy. I… have no comment, except that it sounds like everything I was listening to in college at the time this shit was airing.

Aaaaand not!Dean turns around to face the SWAT team after obviously torturing some woman. THAT is a cold open.

I wanna know what that car is in the background. It’s pretty. Maybe a convertible Impala? They have similar grills. This is not at all important.

Also, I love that with these higher definition versions of the episodes you can see that Sam’s email is lawboy and whatever dot com and that people in the fandom have started calling him Law Boy. It’s hilarious.

DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?

SAM: I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.

DEAN: Oh, so you lie to ‘em.

SAM: No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.

DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

Aaaaand now I have Dean and Cassie feelings again and we haven’t even gotten to her episode yet.

SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.

DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

Aaaaaand now I have Dean and Lee feelings and we’re nowhere near Lee’s episode in season 15.

YOU JUST BLEW THROUGH A STOP SIGN DEAN WTF.

Little Becky. Oi with the reusing of names.

Of course Sam made friends with a bunch of rich kids while he was at college in a desperate attempt to try to be normal.

SAM: You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.

DEAN: We could.

REBECCA: Why? I mean, what could you do?

SAM: Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop. (DEAN laughs.)

DEAN: Detective, actually.

I love that Dean was like “how dare you call me that.”

Okay, after a bit of research, I totally want to take a day trip to Bisbee, Arizona, but it’s already in the 90s here in the desert and it’s not even May so that trip is going to have to wait until… winter or something. There is no way in hell I’m going deeper into the desert when the weather gets hotter.

It’s a historic mining town tourist trap looking place now which is exactly the kind of shit I love.

SAM: Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.

I mean, not technically, technically you would 1) NOT FUCK WITH A MURDER INVESTIGATION YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY INVOLVED IN BECAUSE ANYTHING YOU FIND WOULD BE INADMISSABLE IN COURT 2) find evidence to provide a reasonable doubt for the jury that he did commit the crime. You know, like a lawyer would need to do, Law Boy.

DEAN: I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.

When I made my husband watch this show with me (he’s seen it all at least once now over the years) this is the recurring thing that drove him crazy.

You guys can’t even go in through the back door? Or shut the front door behind you? Really?

REBECCA: (tearfully) Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in.

Yeah, that doesn’t even really mean that she knew her attacker. Just that it was someone she let her guard down around or got in some other way. See: The Son of Sam and Nightstalker, etc.

Love the pinup magnet on the fridge. I’d throw shade at that, but I have a pinup magnet on my fridge too so… pot kettle and all that.

Okay, both people in the next couple are gorgeous.

And oh wow those special effects changing eyes… wow.

This poor couple. I feel so bad for them in this episode.

How… how are the police gonna explain the way he was able to beat himself over the head with a bat??? I…

I love that 5:30 in the morning on TV is clearly like… 10 AM.

Okay, this is a really unrelated point, but the graffiti on the dumpster here reminds me of the Teen Wolf fandoms use of the name Void!Stiles when Stiles Stilinski was possessed by a Nogitsune… I just spent way too long digging through YouTube and my Tumblr tags from back when those episodes were airing looking for a few specific videos and couldn’t find them. The TL;DR reason I bring it up here is goofball, bi-coded main character guy getting possessed by an entity set on destroying the people he loves. SOUNDS LIKE THIS EPISODE AND A WHOLE LOT OF SPN RIGHT. I love that all these monster hunting shows call out to each other.

This scene haunts me years later and I don’t even WATCH Teen Wolf. I just watched the fandom on Tumblr collectively lose it’s shit then tripped down a Hale Pack fanfiction rabbit hole.

ANYWAY

Back to Supernatural, a show that also treated its fan base, cast, and characters like garbage! Huzzah!

DEAN: Well, there’s another way to go—down. (They look down and notice a manhole.)

I’m gonna be mature and ignore the double entendre there…

But I love that Dean thinks of the world in 3D. Which sounds like a dumb statement to make, but this is honestly a good example of that in action.

SAM: I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.

Really Sam, sewers run by houses? SO WEIRD. I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED.

DEAN: You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.

SAM: That is sick. (DEAN puts the bloody pile back on the ground.)

Guys, there is a WHOLE ASS EAR in that pile of yuck you’re looking at. I think it’s pretty safe to assume the shapeshifter indeed sheds its skin like a snake. A much… gooier snake.

Sam’s friend is rightfully pissed at him for fucking with the crime scene.

This is before the pearl gripped guns?! Wow. I never noticed that before.

Also, this whole episode gives me feelings.

++++

Cool. Tumblr mobile ate a whole section of my notes on this when it crashed for NO APPARENT REASON. Love that.

It always boggles my mind that actors can trust the people they’re working with enough to let people “tie” ropes around their neck or put them in actually dangerous positions in a scene.

SHAPESHIFTER: He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?

SAM: Where is my brother? (The shapeshifter leans in close to SAM.)

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me. (He backs away.)

SAM: What are you talkin’ about?

SHAPESHIFTER: You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks. (He laughs.) I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens. (He smiles and covers SAM with a sheet.)

This exchange is just… so much. So many feelings. And I will forever (unless we magically get a fix-it fic mini season someday…) be SO MAD that none of this got resolved in that pointless, trash heap of a finale.

REBECCA: Okay, so, this thing—it can make itself look like anybody?

SHAPESHIFTER: That’s right. (She chuckles.)

REBECCA: Well, what is it, like a genetic freak? (The shapeshifter laughs.)

SHAPESHIFTER: Maybe. Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else. (REBECCA looks around, uncomfortable. The shapeshifter’s eyes glint silver, and he smiles.)

It always amazes me how much of this show is a pile of accidental queer allegories parading around in an ill-fitting toxic masculinity suit.

Vulcan mind meld! I love nerd!Dean. Also, I’m rewatching Star Trek: TOS with my husband, because that is what my life amounts to these days, rewatching comfort TV and flailing over the bits I love.

This post does a better job than I can do of pairing up screen caps with the dialogue of this next scene. SIX EPISODES IN. They’re dumping all of this character depth SIX EPISODES IN. FUCK THIS SHOW FOR NOT EMBRACING ITSELF.

Okay, I love that he screams back in her face after he threw the phone. It’s not something to laugh at because the situation is horrifying, but I can’t help laughing at it every time.

AND THE WAY THEY CUT THESE SCENES. Going from him winding his hand back to backslap her directly to him dropping the chains on the table to show how hard he must have hit her without actually making the actors hit each other. Good job editing department!

I… don’t understand the shifter’s motivation for killing people. If he can take over people’s identities without killing them, why kill them? Is it just because he’s a homicidal, rapist piece of shit? Cause that’s all it seems like.

How did the SWAT team even know she was being attacked? Why can the snipers aim no better than Storm Troopers?

Ugh, these kind of transformation body horror scenes are exactly why werewolf stories have never really appealed to me much. Like, I could do without watching your ribs move and teeth fall out, dude.

BUT.

THIS FUCKING SCENE.

I looked up the song that’s playing over shapeshifter!Dean being caught by the SWAT team and then going through the grotesque transformation. (And as far as I know, the iTunes version has the original music from the episodes.)

It’s a song called “Mary” by The Death Riders

Who's your mother, who's your mother here boy // Who's your mother, whos your mommy dear // Who's your father, who's your father here boy // Who's your father, who's your daddy dear

Silently screaming // Where everyone knows // Daddy's always watchin' // Where everywhere - everywhere I go

I don't wanna be a freak show pretty boy anymore // I don't wanna be a full time slave // I don't wanna be your midnight cowboy anymore // I just want to be Mary

This is… a fascinating choice. Here are the rest of the lyrics. The song as a whole has a weird incesty kinda vibe to it? Kinda like when SPN tries to straight-wash itself and misses the mark wildly. (Like Dean’s male siren episode.)

The midnight cowboy line reminded me of 12x11 and the bull riding scene with “Broomstick Cowboy” by Bobby Goldsboro playing over it

Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy, // Dream while you can; // Of big green frogs, // And puppy dogs, // And castles in the sand.

For, all too soon you'll awaken; // Your toys will all be gone. // Your broomstick horse will ride away, // To find another home. // And you'll have grown into a man, // With cowboys of your own. // And then you'll have to go to war, // To try and save your home.

And then you'll have to learn to hate; // You'll have to learn to kill. // It's always been that way, my son; // I guess it always will.

Because, you know, why not add tons of feelings into the lyrics, right?

Props to the people who can embrace their rewatches and reclamations of the show with ease. Because every episode seems to remind me of how hollow and tragic Dean’s ending was and I just… struggle all over again.

Anyway, back to the episode so I can move on with my day.

REPORTER: An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home. (A sketch of DEAN appears on the screen.)

DEAN: Man! That’s not even a good picture. (SAM looks around cautiously.)

SAM: It’s good enough. (He walks away.)

DEAN: Man! (He follows SAM.)

(CUT TO: Alley. DEAN and SAM are walking. DEAN steps into a puddle.)

DEAN: Ugh, come on.

I love that we get two tiny little back-to-back vanity moments for Dean here. One commenting on the sketch artist rendition of him being broadcasted on the news and the other tripping in the puddle. There is literally someone running around the city trying to kill people while wearing Dean’s face, but Dean is still concerned with how he looks appears to others. He’s still concerned with keeping up his own performance. The shifter left him with just a t-shirt, so he doesn’t even have his usual comfort layers on and at any moment someone could spot him and call the police or try to kill him for assaulting Sam’s friend. His life is wildly out of control in that moment and the only thing he can try to focus on is his appearance (something semi-controllable) and finding the shifter before any of that other shit can happen.

One day I want to put together a like top 10 episodes focusing on / explaining each TFW character from the series. Like the kind of list you could show someone who’s never seen the show, but has OPINIONS about the characters (or who hasn’t seen the whole show and seen the growth they went through… you know, like the people responsible for the travesty of 15x20). This episode would be on that list. I’m not sure how I could manage to make a list of only 10 episodes to understand Dean Winchester by, but eh.

SAM: What are you gonna do to me?

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though.

SAM: They’ll never catch him.

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life. (He picks up a sharp knife and examines it.)

Speaking of season 15 in general, this right here. This was Chuck’s villain story arc thesis statement. AND THEY DROPPED THE GODDAMN BALL WITH IT. I think that’s the thing that honestly pisses me off the most these days (about 5 1/2 months from when the finale aired) is that they tried making the whole thing a tragedy but did such an awful job with it that it just ended up like a deflating condom balloon at a dive bar concert. Disappointing and gross. The finale for season 14 set them up SO FUCKING WELL and it just… didn’t get there.

Becky’s parents are gonna be pissed at how torn up their house is after all this shit…

And you’re not shooting him when you first see him strangling Sam because…?????

I like that he took the necklace back. Also, is this kinda Dean death number .5 of the show? Like it wasn’t him but it was also kinda him. Eh.

At least they left the windshield on Baby this time. Reflections are better than tearing her apart.

#SPN 1x06 #amispnrewatch #reclaiming spn #performing!dean #lawboy #bi!dean #dean x cassie #dean x lee #stiles stilinski #void!stiles #teen wolf #dean deserved better

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fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

Note

aw, sweet loceit in the evening sun. logan is actually super good at explaining healthy relationships and boundaries and stuff actually, i betcha he could recognize abuse no problem

…aye remy! REMY!! HAve you thought about going to that gay bar more often? who knows, maybe you'll encounter someone nice, make friends with like-minded people, hear some disco, the full nine yards. janus might be there, remus might be there. (just look around for the guy with the blue tie, he's a great guy, if he's not wearing it he'll look like he has that blue tie kinda energy! you could totally just get drunk and unload your grievances on him and i bet he won't even mind!)

(Mentions of U!Virgil but I say beforehand when that happens so those who don’t like U!Virgil can enjoy the rest of the fic up until then)

(Words: 4100)

Remy wiped away a tear while looking at your message. The cold light from their phone was the only thing brightening up the room. Virgil was sleeping beside them, his arm was laid around their waist.

"You just like tots gave me the greatest idea! I'm gonna invite Rem out to the bar! It's gonna the funnest thing like ever! Thanks girl!!"

2 days later Remus was dangerously close to eating the moss straight from the gay bar's wall. He had been left without supervision for over 15 minutes while he sat outside waiting for his friend to show up, what else was he supposed to do?!

"SSSSUUUP BABE!!!"

Remy came towards him as fast as they could. They had on a short leather skirt, a neon mesh crop top and a leather jacket over it.

They did a little turn "I just like felt a bit glamorous today!"

Remus choked on his own spit "The world must be a dark place when you aren't feeling glamorous"

"Awwww babbbe"

He sent them a big grin. He'd just put on his usual oversized dysphoria hoodie and matching oversized (:O) sweatpants.

Remus' smile disappeared in an instant as he noticed dark bruises all around Remy's neck. Shades of purple and green collided against each other.

"Ehm did a vampire come and attack you last night? Seriously are you alri-"

"JUst a reminder that it will be loud in there" Remy interrupted.

"Oh. Right!"

He fumbled around in his bag after his headphones. After putting it and a chew necklace on he did a thumbs up. Remy took off their sunglasses and leaned down so they were face to face.

Their face was so close he could feel their breathe against his lips. They put the sunglasses onto him and sent him a soft smile.

“There’s like lots of bright lights too” They explained.

Remus’ heart fluttered. He didn’t understand why “T-thanks”

They moved their arm around his shoulders as they went into the bar. It was past 12 am so some of the daytime furniture had been moved to make place for a dancefloor. There was indeed lots of neon lights flickering all around the bar and fast pop music was blasting through the speakers.

It was hard to see any details of anyone around him so Remus quickly forgot about the bruise. In this lighting it just looked like a weird choker anyway.

A guy with a see through shirt bumped into Remus. He had top surgery scars. For a moment they looked at each other in the most knowing way. The stranger looked away and continued talking with whoever he was with.

Remus whole body seemed to vibrate. There were so many butterflies in his stomach it felt like he was going to puke, in a good way.

Remy sat him down on one of the tall barstools and slumped down right next to him “So whatcha gonna drink?”

“The squashed down organs of my enemies!!!” He shrugged “Soda?”

They burst out into laughter “What? You catholic or something? Not allowed to drink alcohol?”

He slumped in on himself and started fiddling with his necklace “I-I dunno-”

“No. No babe I was just like joking. Like a stupid bitch. It’s okay” They waved at the waiter “Your most alcoholic fruit mix and your finest coca cola please!”

Remus leaned in to whisper “With salt”

“With salt? Please!”

He kept vibrating like an overexcited weasel. After getting their drinks he kept tapping the glass to stim some of the happiness out.

“Honestly I’ve never been to a gay bar before. I’m digging it. Just like how I’m digging graves”

They playfully hit his shoulder “Then I’m tots gonna try my best to make this the ultimate first gay bar experience! I can’t think of any other lil fucked up gremlin buddy I would wanna have by my side!”

"Muhahah!! I am officially assigned ultimate gremlin buddy-”

“Greetings” A voice suddenly came from behind them.

Both of them flinched away. Remy let out a short yell and Remus was close to throwing his drink in the person’s face when he saw it was just Logan.

He had on jeans and a black button up with the top button unbottoned. He had with him iced coffee from starbucks because he had to drive home later.

“LOGIE!!!” Remy threw their arms around his neck to pull him closer “Babe this is the Log-legend. Once he was like sooo drunk so when he like tried to kiss me puked on my shoes instead!”

Logan grimaced “I am still very sorry about that”

“Oh I already know him through Janus” Remus replied.

“Oh my gawd babe” Remy looked between them all “So like we all know Janny?! Wig! Sad he isn’t here then”

Remus held up his cola “Cheers to J-anus!” The other two held up their glasses in agreement.

“Cheers”

“Cheerio!”

“He is very pretty and charming and cute” Logan dreamily sighed. He stopped himself from continuing to say compliments.

“Yeah” The other two sighed back in unison.

Logan sat down on a chair next to them. Remy looked around the bar before squinting at him “No Patty?”

He instantly started looking like a Very sad seal “Sadly my wife is away on a convention with her magical girl anime fanclub this whole week. I estimated that going to the bar would make me feel less lonely”

“You have a WIFe??? Like a real one???” Remus exclaimed, his eyeballs were close to popping out from surprise.

“Yes. This may be a controversial opinion but when I marry someone I prefer them to be physically real” He replied druly.

He got a smug grin on his lips “Does she peg you?”

“She does far more than just peg me”

“Nice!” His eyes went even wider “IS That a stim toy??!”

He pointed at the tangle Logan kept between his fingers “Correct. If I do not have something to relieve my focus onto I can easily go into senso- OH a chewie?”

Remus nodded while showing of his chew necklace. The two of them started rambling about their favorite stim toy. Until they went off into special interests (star trek/astronomy and art/animal biology respectively).

Soon enough Remus was showing pictures of the animal bones he’d found. Logan ooeh and ahhed at all of them before asking the most nerdy of questions (where he’d found them, their bone density, if any damage had been done to them) which only made Rem infodump which made Lo infodump which made them both happy stim.

Meanwhile Remy sat beside them completely zoned out. They got time to drink 2 more of those fruit mixes and a few shots. The room was starting to spin.

The loud music wasn’t keeping out the yelling. They dunked their forehead against the bar table and covered their ears to try and get it out. The music was supposed to keep it out! Why was nothing working! The bruise ached. Their throat closed in on itself until they couldn’t breathe.

“Remus” They gasped out. They looked over to their friend with a desperate look in their eyes. They just needed a distraction.

“So my theory for why you keep finding bones in specifically that part of the woods is because of the kind of dirt making it take longer for them to deco-” Logan was explaining while Remus nodded along.

“Rem! L-let’s like go up and dance or something. Please”

This time it caught Remus’ attention. He looked over to them “Sure- are you feeling alright? Did you drink too much? You’re looking like a mummy”

“Yes. No. I just like- Like- They’re playing Charli xcx of course we gotta like dance!!”

“I will protect your belongings then” Logan added.

Remy stumbled up on shaky legs. Remus sent them a warm smile that made them want to cry before taking their hand. He let them lead him out to the dancefloor. Honestly he was pretty nervous about it, but being with them always made some of the anxiety melt away.

They stumbled on their own feet and fell forward. Their friend took ahold of their wrists and pulled them close to his chest. Their faces were so close to each other. So so close.

He didn’t let go. They couldn't remember him ever letting them hold him this close. Their chests pressed against each other. Their arms around his shoulders. His hands on their back.

"You’re right. It is a good song. Good to crash a car too" Remus said absentmindedly.

Remy let up into shaky giggles from how sudden he’d said it “Yeah. Yeah I guess”

They kept giggling. He chuckled back. He started spinning around on the dancefloor. They moved with him. His arms wrapped closer around their waist. Their cheek leaned against the slope of his neck (even though they had to lean down to get on his height level).

Remy quietly sang along to the music which made Remus start yelling along to it. The enby threw their head back from laughter. They took his hand and intertwined their fingers.

Remus moved his hand out and spun them around before pulling them close again. Their cheeks were flushed red, his was as well. He playfully dipped them down when the song ended.

It continued on into a song neither of them knew but they kept dancing anyway. They didn’t stay as pressed close to each other but they always had some contact. Holding hands. An arm around a waist. A head leaning against a chest.

When they finally got back to the bar table they were both panting. Remy was completely leaning on Remus since their body had started to hurt, but even through the pain they were both bubbling over with so much happiness they kept breaking out into bouts of giggling.

To their surprise Logan wasn’t sitting alone. A tall person with long dark hair sat on the chair beside him. Xir hand was on his thigh. The nerd had a soft smile on his face as they leant close to talk.

“Uh Lo?” Remus had to wave his arms around to get his attention.

His head shot around to look at them “Hello” He glanced to the person “These are the ones I was protecting belongings for” He stood up and held out his hand “Shall we?” Xir took it. Logan waved at his friends before going off to the dancefloor with the stranger.

“Huh. Good for him”

“I guess”

Remy ordered another high alcohol fruit mix. Remus happily chewed on his necklace while humming along to the music. Between their chairs their hands hang with their fingers intertwined. Holding their hand had started to make Remus feel all funny in the head for some reason.

The enby watched on as Logan and the stranger danced for a bit before moving to a corner to make out. When the stranger started to lead him towards the bar’s bathrooms Remy turned to their friend.

“Yeah okay he’s not coming back for like a while. Smoke break?”

“Of course!”

They finished their drink before leaving the bar. The pair stopped right outside. Remus sat down on the side of the pavement. Remy tried to sit down but they stumbled over themself and fell flat on the ground.

Remus got up to help “Are you okay? Are you sure you haven’t drank too much?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine” They laughed out.

He sat them down on the pavement while dusting off their clothes. He patted them on the head while pouting “You should get some water”

“Naaaah babe. I’m good”

In the moonlight the bruise was visible again. That horrible dark purple bruise around their neck. It looked like it hurt.

Remus put his hand on their shoulder “Beanie are you alright? I do know it wasn’t some halloween monster that got you that bruise”

For a moment their whole body tensed, they forced a smile “It’s fine. me and my boyf just tried like some new kinky shit in the bedroom y’know. Nothing more” They lied.

They took out a cigarette pack and a lighter from their bag. They traced their thumb over Remus’ lower lip and opened his mouth just slightly. Remy leaned closer while putting a cigerette between his lips. They lit it.

Remus took a deep breathe. It’d been a while since he’d last smoked. He leaned so close the cigarette nearly touched Remy’s skin. They parced their lips as he breathed out the smoke right into their mouth.

A smile spread on their lips. He held the cigarette over to them but they shook their head. They looked around in their bag again and took out a small poppers bottle.

“Should you really take that. Won’t your brain melt out of your ears?” Remus asked “I really don’t wanna have to slorp up your brain juice...yet”

“Relax babe. It’s like not dangerous as long as I don’t like take too much and I only take when partying” It took a moment before they quietly added “And I only party when I need to get out of the apartement”

“What?”

They forced on a bigger smile “What?”

Remy moved the popper up to their nose and inhaled as much of it as they could. It took a few seconds before they let up into a giggle. It was in a higher tone than their usual bubbly laugh, it almost sounded like cackling. They could see stars.

(U!Virgil mentions from here on out)

“Y’know my boyfriend gave me like a flashback or whatever last night” They giggled while swaying from side to side.

Remus gently grabbed their shoulders and moved them to lean against him so they wouldn’t fall over “Uhu. Did you stab him?”

“No silly. He just. He’d been soooo sweet all weeek and I just I just ruined it ‘cause i like overeacted to some joke he made while like we were washing the dishes” They were barely even aware they were speaking “And like it just kept going until we were like screaming at each other”

Remy was still smiling and giggling between every word but tears started to form in their eyes. Their fingers felt numb. Bile was rising in their throat.

“And he just like threw the plate he was holding down on the ground. And it like didn’t hit me. He wasn’t even aiming at me. He was just throwing it at the ground. But it shattered and it was so stupid and overemotional and stupid and pathetic but I just I just curled up on the floor and like had a panic attack like a stupid baby”

They smeared their hand across their face to try and get the tears away. They felt sick. Remus quickly put out his cigarette, it didn’t feel like the right time to smoke.

“And I just like- Is that normal? Is that fine? Like throwing stutff like that? I-I- he’s never done it before. Or I mean like not plates” They looked up at Remus “Is it fine?”

He gulped while fiddling with his hoodie sleeve “Well uh did he apologize?”

“Mhmm. He like- like for some minutes he like kept yelling ‘cause he thought I was just like faking a panic attack to like I dunno manipulate him but then he like comforted me and like calmed me down and like held me and cuddled all night until I fell asleep and- and he said sorry a bunch of times and like he said it would never happen again. He uh usually doesn’t lie”

“Well ehm then it should be fine right? Right?” They both shrugged at each other “I mean everyone can make mistakes! And it was during an argument! Everyone does drastic things during an arguments! So it’s fine. I think”

A shaking breathe of relief left Remy’s lips. They stretched themself over his lap and he moved his arms around them. “Thanks babe. I was like tots worried for a bit but y’know i was thinking like that too. So it’s fine”

“Yeah” He combed his fingers through their hair “You do know you can vent to me whenever right? I promise I won’t gross you out with details about how to pull out rabbit teeth ever again so if I can hold that back then I can also listen to stuff! I can super listen!!”

They closed their eyes. They felt so tired. So tired and sick and horrible. “Mhm. I know babe. I know”

Remy sent him a soft smile before suddenly puking. Some of it came on his pants but mostly on the ground. Remus stood up and carefully moved them down to a sitting position.

He rubbed up and down their back with one hand and held their hair back with his other. Their shoulders were shaking and they were taking in shallow breathes between every sudden throw up.

“It’s okay beanie-boo. Breathe. Breathe. You got all the time in the world. Until the sun blows up at least”

“I-I took- too much- too much” They slurred out before lurching forward again. It seemed to stop for now.

“I’m aware” He carefully wiped away some of the puke left around their mouth with his hoodie sleeve.

They leaned back against his chest. They closed their eyes and focused on breathing. He held them so so gently. As if they would break like glass otherwise. He pressed a kiss to the top of their head.

“There you are!” Logan said as came through the bar entrance “What a relief. I assumed you had left without me because you thought my actions were unacceptable” He noticed how pale and shaky Remy looked and got a worried look on his face “Is everything alright?”

“They feel like someone has slammed a fish into their stomach. Not good” Remus replied.

“I see. I suppose it woud be best to get them home”

Logan picked Remy up with ease to carry them to his car. He was quite sure he’d carried dogs that weighted more than them. Remus anxiously followed along.

He sat them in the passenger seat. He shook their shoulders until they opened their eyes. They let out a quiet whine.

He held up 4 fingers “Remy how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fuck yourself”

“Noted”

They moved to the side and seemed to pass out again. Logan closed the door before turning to Remus.

“Did they take anything?” He whispered.

“Only a popper”

“Good. Do you need a ri-”

“Bus”

“Okay” Logan was about to go but stopped midstep and lowered his voice even more “Oh and Rem...Could you please not ask Janus to hang out next weekend? I am planning a surprise...I hope it will make him happy”

“Good luck comrade....Please text me once Remy is home safe. Please?”

“Of course”

He did a little nod before leaving. Logan got into the car. He couldn’t stop looking at the bruise around their neck. Remy continued to sleep for most of the ride until they they were 5 minutes or so away from their apartment. They suddenly flinched awake.

“Stop the car!” They gasped out.

“Are you still feeling the same?”

“Logan stop the fucking car!” There was fear in their eyes.

Logan stopped by the side of the road. The road was barren and dark. It had to be past 3 am at least. Remy crawled back into the backseats while their whole body shook.

“Don’t. Look. At. Me”

“Sure” He stared down into the steering wheel to not accidentally see their reflection in the glass.

“I just. I just have to change clothes. I just. I don’t want Virigl to call me a whore again. I mean. He won’t. But what if. What if he gets mad. I just. I just have to change” They slurred out.

They stumbled out of the car after changing into a pair of long pants and closing their leather jacket. A cold chill went up Logan’s spine. He quickly stepped out of the car as well.

“Okay bye bye Logie!!”

They tried to move but Logan grabbed onto their shoulders. He forced back a choking feeling in his throat “What do you mean by your boyfriend getting mad?”

“Pff! It’s nothing! I’m drunk!! Byyyeeeeee”

They started to stumble away but Logan easily followed along “It did not sound like he called you a whor-...you know what...with your consent. I am simply going to remind you that calling a partner things like that is not okay. Not in any circumstance”

Remy’s expression turned cold. They walked faster “I don’t like what you’re implying”

“I’m not implying anything”

“Yes you Fucking are!”

“Exscuse me for being worried about your wellbeing. What you just said sounded like a very bad sign”

“Yeah exactly it only SOUnded bad! My boyfriend isn’t bad!” Remy snarled out.

“I am not saying he is. He doesn’t have to be bad to say awful things, as long as he changes”

They shoved their hands into their pockets. Their hands moved into fists “You don’t know a fucking thing about me. You tried to kiss me once when you were drunk and that’s all. We don’t know each other”

Logan took a deep breathe “I don’t need to know you to see red flags. Remy-” He searched for words “Remy you’re bruised. How- you can’t expect me to not get worried”

Remy suddenly stopped and turned around to meet his eyes. “MY BOYFRIEND ISN’T ABUSIVE! I-”

“I’m not necessarily saying he is. I just wan’t to talk-” His voice started to sound desperate.

They looked like a cornered animal. Tears were brimming at the edges of their eyes “YOU DON’T KNOW A THING!”

“Remy-”

“I DID THIS TO MYSELF!” Their hand went up to the bruise “I DESERVED IT! VIRGIL DIDN’T DO A FUCKING THING! I DID! I TOOK A BELT AND HURT MYSELF! OKAY?! VIRGIL CARES ABOUT ME!”

He tried to sound soothing “Remy please take a deep breathe-”

“NO! NO! YOU KNOW WHAT LOGAN?! THERE IS STILL CUM ON YOUR FUCKING LIPS FROM YOU SUCKING OFF SOME STRANGER IN A DIRTY BATHROOM! SO NO! I AM NOT TAKING LOVE ADVICE FROM SOMEONE WHO IS CHEATING ON HIS GODDAMN WIFE!”

They stormed away. For a moment Logan was frozen in place before he forced himself to run after them to try and make sure they would be okay.

“I am not-”

Remy looked at him for one last time. The look in their eyes made him feel cold. It was pure hatred.

“Logan get the fuck away from me! I am drunk and high and alone on a street with no one but you who is sure as hell fucking stronger than me and all you’re doing is spouting bullshit! So please get why I want you to leave. And why I don’t ever want you to talk to me again!”

He stopped dead in his tracks “...Right....Yes....I am so sorry”

Remy didn’t even respond. They simply turned and walked away. Logan stayed and watched to make sure they got home to the apartment safe before going back to his car.

He slumped down in the seat. His heart was racing and his thoughts were for once an illogical flurry. He sat motionless for several minutes before finally getting some semblence of an idea.

He took out his phone and dialed one of his usual numbers. It took several signals before Emile Picani picked up.

“Mhm? Logie bear? I can’t today I have clients in the morning” He yawned out.

“This is about one of your patients. I am fearing that they are in danger”

In an instant all of the sleepyness in Emile’s voice disappeared “In danger? Physical? Is it urgent? Do I need to call someone? Which patient are you even referring to?”

Logan hesitated. If Remy had reacted that strongly to him just attempting to ask about his boyfriend it was very likely that they would stop going to therapy if Emile brought it up. His throat tightened, he didn’t want to put them in any more danger.

“I....Nevermind Emile....This was just a far too gone joke...Someone dared me to call you. I am sorry. Have a good night”

He ended the call. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a long sigh. His hands held onto the wheel so hard his knuckles whitened.

Logan had no idea what to do. No idea at all. All he knew was fear. Fear for Remy’s safety. Fear for their well being. Fear that anything he did would only make their situation worse.

#mini fic #remus sanders #logan sanders #remy sanders #sanders sides #remsleep #resleep #rem^2 #these sure keep getting longer huh #its past 4 am #fun

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thebestofoneshots · 4 years

Text

About a Girl

Paring: Dean x reader

Prompt: Reader turns into a small kid after a witch puts a spell on her and the boys need to figure out a way to fix it before she grows down into nothing. While Sammy investigates, Dean has to take care of her.

Warnings: none

“Did you hear what she said?” You asked Sam as you walked out of the witch house “before Dean shot her?”

Sam thought about it for a second “I don’t think she said anything...”

“No... no... I’m sure she did! She said something... juvelin? Juven... juven-something... didn’t you hear Dean?” You asked turning towards him, he was rather distraught packing things up on the trunk of the impala.

“Maybe? But I don’t think is anything to worry about (Y/N).”

You were still unconvinced, but the brothers thought it was nothing, and they had more experience with witches than you did so you decided to ignore your uneasiness. “Maybe I’m just tired... We’re going home now, right?”

Dean nodded. You got on the back seat of the impala and the boys got in the front. You hung out with them for a while, sitting on the middle seat and jamming to Dean’s tunes. But sooner than later Dean played one of his soft rock music and even if you loved most of them, they knocked you out since you were a child, since your dad would listen to it while road tripping.

Dean smiled when he saw you soundly asleep as he reached out for a drink from the cooler. Sammy was awake still and the three of you arrived home around 7 pm. Once the impala was on the garage and the boys were about to leave the car Sam called you to wake “Hey (Y/N), we’re at the bunker!”

There was no answer, so he turned to wake you up. His eyes opened wildly when he saw what laid on the back seat. He quickly motioned Dean to turn too. Both of the boys stared for a bit, for where their friend was supposed to lay a little girl was instead.

Dean was about to speak up when the little girl started to open her eyes. She slowly sat and looked at the two boys confused. “Are you dad’s friends? Did he go on a hunting trip again?” She asked as she yawned.

“Yes?” Answered Sam.

The little girl sighed “nice to meet you then, I’m (Y/N). Who are you?”

Dean gave Sam a look. Was this little girl really you turned back in time? It certainly looked like so. “ I am Dean Winchester.”

She giggled “No, you’re not. I know Dean Winchester, he’s about this height,” she said placing her hand at eye height “he’s a year older but I’m taller. Daddy says it’s because I eat all my vegetables and he’s a picky eater, only likes pie.”

Sam snorted from the side and Dean gave him a look before turning back to you.

“All through,” you said standing up and getting close to him “you do look a little like my Dean,” you said after grabbing the sides of his face with your now small hands “especially the eyes,” you stared at his eyes, those definitely looked like Dean’s eyes, you would know, even at five years of age you knew those eyes were special, you quickly separated from him and stood back on the leather chair of the car “are you related to John?”

“Yes,” replied Sam, “he’s uh... our cousin.”

“So you’re Sam and Dean’s uncles. Nice to meet you,” she smiled.

Dean had already gotten out of the car and opened the door for you to come out. “What is your name?” You asked Sam before he came out.

“I’m... I’m Henry Winchester,” he replied. Dean gave him a look and he just shrugged, if he said he was Sam little (Y/N) would think they were messing with her.

“All right (Y/N) time to go in,”

“Where are we?” She asked as she followed the boys through the big concrete walls.

“This is the men of letters bunker. Where we live,”

“I wish I lived in a place like this,” you spoke as you looked in awe all around “maybe one day,” you said hopefully. A small knowing smile grew on Dean as he heard those words, they had invited you in when they bumped into you on a hunt a few years back, you’d been with them ever since, and you always called the bunker your home.

“So... Not-my-Dean-Winchester, what are we going to do?” You wondered “some of dad’s friends just leave me in the corner and tell me to behave, some others are really nice, Bobby once took me to the movies... You guys seem really nice, but also very tired. Did you just finish a hunt? You have that look in your eyes dad has when he finishes a hunt.

Yes, that’s how he remembered you, a very talkative little girl who used to play with him and Sam when you were together. And very clever too, you seemed to always know what the adults were about.

“We are actually getting home from a hunt,” Sam answered. You looked at him expectantly “A witch.”

“Oooo, dad’s never faced a witch before”, she said. “Are they very dangerous?”

“Some are, this one was just... weird, she put a spell on our friend,”

“I’m sorry, are they all right?” You asked with concern.

“She seems to be,” Sam replied “but we need to contact a friend that is a witch to help us. Dean, keep an eye on her while I contact Rowena,”

“But I don’t know how to take care of children,”

“Do what you’d wanted to have when someone took care of us,” Sam shrugged and turned on the corner opposite to where you and Dean did.

“Woah,” you exclaimed excitedly “this place is amazing! Look that table,” you said as you ran to stand on one of the chairs around the war room table “this whole bunker is amazing, you are very lucky to live here,” you told Dean as you admired the whole place. “Are you guys rich?”

“No... we ugh... sort of inherited it.”

“So... will you tell me to shut up and sit in the corner?” You wondered, it wasn’t uncommon and you were used to it “because I can, but I’d be happier if you allowed me to take a book at least, you have plenty of them. I promise I wouldn’t damage it. Just look at the pretty pictures. But if being quite in the corner is the order I’ll take it, sir.”

“Of course not!” He scoffed “I was going to ask you if you wanted to watch a movie,” he asked, “we would make popcorns and stuff.”

“I’d like that a lot,” you nodded excitedly.

Jack entered the room just a few seconds before that and tried to figure out what was happening “who is that?” He questioned.

“Jack, this is (Y/N),” he furrowed his brows, that was (Y/N), she looked just like (Y/N) but at least 25 years younger. “(Y/N), this is Jack... my son...”

“You don’t look old enough to have a son that old,” you said turning your head back and forth between the two of them. Dean had a little smirk drawn on his face, finally someone recognized he wasn’t old,

“I’m actually four,” stated Jack.

You frowned and turned to Dean.

“It’s a long story, magic.” he explained.

“WelI guess it makes sense,” you said as you shrugged “we will still watch a movie right?”

Dean nodded, by then you had already jumped over the table and walked towards Jack, you handed him your small hand “nice to meet you Jack.”

“How did this happen?” He asked Dean as he looked at you.

“Well my dad asked them to take care of me,” you replied.

“A witch,” Dean signed from behind.

“Oh...” acknowledged Jack “maybe I could try?”

“No, we don’t want Chuck noticing anything,”

“Who is Chuck?”

“God,” replied Jack matter of factly.

“What?” You asked confused.

“My granddad, not God, that would ridiculous,” replied Jack.

“It would,” you giggled.

“So, what do you want to watch? I’m sure they must have princess movies or something on Netflix,”

“Netflix?” You shrugged “I was thinking maybe we could watch “The adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad”

Dean licked his lip on that particular way of his “is that the headless horseman movie?”

You nodded energetically “I will hunt him down one day!”

“But the movie terrified you,”

“Before I knew I could take him down like dad does all the time with other monsters, he’s like a superhero.”

Dean smiled, he remembered, way back when, his dad was his superhero too.

“Jack, find the movie, I’ll go make some popcorns with (Y/N),” as the two of you walked in the kitchen Sam was sitting there FaceTiming Rowena.

“Hi, Henry!” You smiled “why are you talking to your computer?”

“That’s her? Wee little thing was adorable,” said the person from the computer.

“Is the computer talking to me?” You asked confused.

“It’s ugh, kinda like a phone call, but with video,” explained Dean.

“Like in Star Trek?” You asked.

“Yeah exactly,” replied Sam.

“Cool, didn’t know that excited. Maybe it’s because you guys are rich.”

Rowena chuckled from the other side of the screen. “I’m sorry darling, but I can’t do anything unless I know the spell they used.”

“On your friend?” You asked turning to Dean.

He nodded and started making the popcorns on the stovetop.

“Hey Henry,” you said to Sam “Do you want to come watch headless horseman with us?”

“He doesn’t like that movie,” Dean replied.

“Do you wanna change it?” You asked Sam, who you thought was called Henry.

“No, don’t worry (Y/N), I have a lot of research to do.”

You shrugged and walked beside Dean. You could barely see the stovetop but it was fun to hear the little kernels pop.

As the popcorns were ready the two of you walked towards the tv room, or Dean Cave as he liked to call it. Jack was already sitting on the sofa and the movie was just a click from starting.

“Your TV looks so weird,” you said trying to find the rest of it, but it seemed to only be a screen “looks like a cinema...”

“Yeah, it works like that,” answered Dean, how would he explain that this wasn’t the same world you remembered. Everything changed so much in a couple of decades it would be hard to explain a little kid such things.

As the darkest scene of the movie approached, right when the horseman followed Ichabot’s through the dark forest you were playing full attention. Taking in everything that happened in the movie and analyzing all the possible outcomes, even as a small 5-year-old your mind was blazing with “what ifs” and “whatnots”. You needed to know, “how could you save Ichabot?”.

“What would you do?” You asked turning to Dean.

“What?” He questioned, right after losing his focus on the film.

“How would you get out of it if you were Ichabot?”

“I’d look for the body, salt and burn.”

“But no one knows where it is, besides the head is somewhere else...”

“I’d do my homework prior, and I’d have Sam, Cas and (Y/N) to cover my back,”

“Me?” You questioned.

“No, a different (Y/N), she’s uh... much older than you,”

“And she would help you hunt down the headless horseman?”

“She’d probably figure out a solution for the problem before we realized we were in trouble.”

“She sounds like a cool person,” you smiled “I’d like to be like her when I grow older, there aren’t many girl hunters out there.”

“Oh, there will be, lot’s of them. You’d be among the best.”

“Well you don’t even know me but thank you Not-My-Dean-Winchester”

As Jack found another movie and clicked play, the three of you continued watching the TV attentively. But halfway through the film, your interest in it had faded and you started paying attention to everything around you. The strange-looking TV, the bright little boxes that Dean checked whenever they would beep, he’d said that it was his phone but it didn’t look like any phone you’d seen. As you kept taking in all the new things you started drifting asleep on the couch.

As the movie finished and Dean and Jack noticed, Dean motion the younger boy to be silent and he lift you up to bring you to your room. Your face was hiding on the crook of his neck and your small arms hugging his neck. Halfway asleep you mumbled, “you know, it’s funny Not-My-DeanWinchester, that you smell exactly like my Dean Winchester”.

He frowned, yes, you had always been close, even as children, but noticing the way someone smelled, you, your adult version had never mentioned anything similar. “I quite like that smell,” was the last thing you said before drifting so deep into sleep that not even when he laid you on the bed a little too abruptly did you notice.

He went back to his room. And did some research on his laptop before sleeping himself. Neither him, not Sam had found the spell yet.

The next morning, as the boys went to check out on you their hearts almost fell to the floor. Instead of a very talkative little 5-year-old, they had a way smaller kid in your room. A version of you that most have been 2 or 3.

“Where’s mom and dad?” You asked. They didn’t know how to respond. You’d grown down at least 2 years in a night, if this kept going you would be unborn in less than a week.

“Hey!” Sam approached you “they went to work, we’ll take care of you today, my name is Sam,” he said pointing at himself, when you were three your mom was still alive and you hadn’t met the Winchesters “that’s Dean,” he pointed at his bother.

You took a deep breath, even kids know when they're in danger, and you felt safe enough to trust these two unknown men “I’m hungry.”

“I’ll uh... let’s make some breakfast all right?” Smiled Dean and he motioned for you follow him. Once you got to the kitchen he sat you on the counter to be able to keep an eye on you while Sam called Rowena again.

“Samuel, you need to stop ringing me whenever you...” she stopped complying as he saw the smaller girl sitting on the counter dangling her feet “oh, don’t tell me that’s (Y/N).”

Sammy nodded.

“Yes I am, thas my name,” you said with a smile, “I’m twhree yeahrs old” you showed your hand, with 4 fingers up.

Dean got close and lowered one of the “three,” he said softly.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“We need to find a cure,”

As the day passed by, the boys got more and more desperate, Rowena had travelled to the bunker to see you in person and try to understand the spell.

“I think I have it!” Said Sam after hours sitting in the library, “(Y/N) said something about juvenile, I found a spell, juvenillis juvinale a puero usque ad senem,” it’s something like form old to young.

“Oh I know this spell,” smiled Rowena “I just need a few things and we’ll be able to fix (Y/N).

“Fix me, why?” You asked Dean as you munched on some cereal.

“A different (Y/N),” he replied absentmindedly.

After the three of them found all the stuff they would need Rowena started with her reversion spell. “a puero usque ad senem, a puero usque ad senem, redde id leve et quod suus 'non est verum” she said, and then threw some dust to a vase, a little explosion made a noise and green smoke came out from it but you were still toddler.

“It didn’t work!” Exclaimed Dean angrily.

“No, it takes time for her to grow up again, she should be back to normal in the morning,” stated Rowena “pleasure to see you boys, but I’ve got business to run, demons to keep in line, all that hell business, so goodbye”.

As Rowena left the bunker after packing her stuff the boys sat back in the library still worried. You were quietly sitting on the main table playing with Dean’s phone. Who would have thought angry birds would keep your three-year-old version entertained for hours.

As Dean took you to bed, you started to be wary of your surroundings, you wanted to see your mom and dad. “I don’t like it here,” you said as he sat you in the bed, “it’s scary I want to see my momma,” you cried shyly.

“I know,” replied Dean in the most understating way “I get it, but it’s all right, you’ll see her soon. The sooner you fall asleep the better.”

As he stood up and walked towards the light switch you stopped him “NO!”

“Lights on?”

“I don’t want to be alone, I never sleep alone, always with mom and dad.”

“But I’d be right next door,” he tried to reason but you only denied with your head.

“Won’t sleep, I will stay awake all night if I’m alone.” Dean drew a deep breath but sat beside you on the bed. “Can you tell me a story?”

“A story?” He questioned.

“Yes! A story before bed,”

“I don’t know any...” he said sadly.

“A song?”

“Can’t sing.”

“Plweeeease?”

“Hey Jude, don't be afraid” he started to mumble the so-known lyrics, “You were made to go out and get her, The minute you let her under your skin, Then you begin to make it better”.

Before either of you realized you were both half asleep. As you opened your eyes in the morning, you felt your bed being occupied by someone. And that someone was cuddling you. You hadn’t been cuddled in years. So naturally, you opened your eyes and jumped backwards when you realized how close Dean’s face was to yours, you even distinguished his small freckles. The bed was small, so that jump led you to the floor. Hitting yourself in the head with the side table in the process.

“Auch,” you complained once on the floor rubbing your head where it had collided with your side table.

Dean’s head popped from the side of the bed, half-sleep at first, but when he saw you, your regular aged self a giant smile grew on his face “You’re back!” He said with content “She’s back!” He screamed so the boys could hear.

“Back? From where?” You asked as you got up from the floor and crawled back inside the bed, yes Dean was there. But it was so cold you didn’t even care, you just wanted your covers on top of you.

“You turned 5, and then 3.”

“Five what?” You asked frowning.

“Years old.”

“I was a kid?”

“Oh, and a very adorable one. You made us watch frozen,”

“Bullshit! I would never! Didn’t even exist when I was a kid.”

He chuckled “Well I guess you do know yourself, we watched the headless horseman animated movie when you were 5, when you were three you basically played angry birds on my phone all day,”

“And why are you in my bed?” you asked after your brain started to process everything Dean was telling you.

“Well, your three-year-old version didn’t want to be alone, threatened to stay awake all night if I didn’t.”

If I’d know that was all it took I would have done it ages ago, you thought to yourself. “Well, then, that sounds like a fever dream, heck maybe I’m still dreaming,” you sad as you dragged Dean from his sitting position to lay back down, “whichever it is, you are now my personal heater”.

“I mean, I knew I was hot but—”

“—Shut up Winchester! I’m trying to sleep,” you mumbled as you cuddled into him. Yes, you were so sure you were dreaming because you only cuddled Dean Winchester in your dreams.

“Hey (Y/N)?” He questioned as he looked at the ceiling and drew small circles on your back.

“Mhm?”

“Why did 5 years old you knew that I smelled like, and I quote, ‘her Dean Winchester’?”

“I’d know it was you no matter my age Dean. I could have been 50 and still recognized you. Besides, you’ve always smelled so nice...” you replied half asleep.

A small smiled appeared on Dean’s face. You thought he smelled nice, and you were cuddling him, even if you were probably still being affected by the spell, he would cherish this moment for as long as it lasted.

Permanent Dean taglist: @akshi8278 @hobby27

Find more Dean fluff here

Feedback is always apreciated ✨

#imagine #one shot #oneshot #x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester one shot #dean one shot #dean x reader #fanfic #supernatural imagine #dean imagine #dean winchester imagine #reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #Dean

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ashdoesfandomarchieved · 3 years

Text

we're living in a powder keg (and giving off sparks)

Fandom: Star Trek Lower Decks

Rating: M

AO3

Beckett Elizabeth Mariner wakes up with the absolute unshakable knowledge that she has done something unspeakable.

“Oh my fucking god.”

On the pillow across from hers, Brad opens his eyes. He blinks once or twice, squinting at the obnoxious sunlight streaming through the blinds. It creates bars of light slanting across the bed and floor. There’s a brief moment of confusion where he stares up at her owlishly before he groans and rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. Clearly not shaken at all by the unspeakable horror coursing through Beckett’s veins.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God .”

“Please lower your voice,” he mutters, voice muffled almost beyond comprehension. Almost. “I think I have a migraine. Or a hangover.” A pause. “Or both .”

“Oh god oh god oh god-”

Beckett’s comm begins chirping on the nightstand, derailing her mental breakdown. She lunges for it, flips the device open and answers the call. “Yeah?”

“Beckett Mariner, where in god’s name are you?” her mother’s voice shrills across the tiny speaker. Not exactly the distraction she was looking for, but she’ll take it. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I swear to god if you’re in prison again-”

“I’m not in prison!” she hisses. “And that was one time!”

“Six times. In the last month.”

“I- mom -”

“We’re in Wvaxuv,” Brad snaps, snatching the comm out of her hand. “We’ll be there in fifteen. Over.” He snaps the comm shut, throws it at the nightstand on her side, and flops facedown into his pillow again. Beckett, both impressed by Brad hanging up on his captain and horrified by him hanging up on her mom , stares at him, mouth agape.

“You just hung up on my mom.”

“Mffffmmn.”

“My mom , Bradward.”

“Mm.”

“Your Captain .”

This does get a reaction out of Brad, but not quite the one she expected? He peeks one eye out of where he’s currently trying to become one with the bedding. It’s cute, in like a cat-like way. Which is exactly where Beckett is trying to keep her thoughts from going. There is nothing cute or nice about waking up in the same bed as Brad. There’s not.

“I think I’ll care about that when I’m sober,” he says, at last.

“You don’t care that you just hung up on my mom, but you know what city we’re in?” Beckett raises an eyebrow, both impressed and unimpressed. She contains multitudes.

“I always know where I am,” he mumbles, turning his face back into the pillow. “Also, it literally says in the tourist brochure on your nightstand.”

Beckett grins and then stops herself. “Okay, Mister ‘I always know where I am,’ how long will it actually take us to get back to the Cerritos ?”

“ Ten minutes if we get dressed like right now.”

She stops, face heating at the reminder that oh yeah they’re both fucking naked under the duvet. Beckett carefully inches away, toward her end of the bed, just in case. She casts a quick look around the room and locates her clothes on the floor, near the bathroom.

“Don’t look,” she warns. Threatens?

Brad gives her a thumbs up, seemingly content in continuing his faceplant. Beckett decides that she can trust him not to sneak a peak--not that it mattered at this point but she was not thinking about that --and hurriedly dives toward them and gathers them up. She throws them on the bathroom floor and slams the door shut.

“Oh my god.” Beckett stares at the yellowing tiled floor. “Oh my god .” She turns on the sink, cupping the freezing water in her hands and splashing it onto her face. It does little to clear her mind, but it does help with the hangover nausea. She grips the sides of the sink, breathing in and out slowly. After a few moments of this, Beckett finally dares to look in the mirror.

She’s looked worse. Especially after a night of getting blackout drunk. Her hair is down, out of its usual high ponytail. It’s also completely wrecked, she notes, running her fingers through it to pull out the tangles. She looks a little sweaty and her eyes are bloodshot with dark circles rimming them, but nothing about her appearance suggests that she did anything stupid or dangerous last night. All of her limbs and toes are accounted for. All things considered, it’s not that bad.

Well, except for the trail of hickeys going down her neck. Jesus , she thinks, straining her head around to see how far they go. Nevermind, she doesn’t really want to know. That’s definitely going to be a problem to examine later. Much, much later.

She quickly pulls her pants on, studiously ignoring her sore muscles and the purple bruises in other places besides her neck and shoulder. Fuck . She can hear her comm chirping again through the bathroom door, but doesn’t make any attempts to hurry and answer it. From the sound of things--or lack thereof--Brad isn’t making an effort either. He probably decided, as she has, that they can get reemed out when they actually get back on the ship.

Beckett pulls her tank top over her head, frowning when she realizes that it does absolutely nothing to hide the bruises on her neck. Where the fuck is her jacket? She pops back into the bedroom.

“Where’s my jacket?”

“You threw it in the Gezorvazors’ fountain.”

“And you didn’t stop me? Dude, that was my favorite jacket.”

He makes a vague hand gesture, still face down on the bed. “You can borrow mine.”

“Yours isn’t nice like mine is,” she snaps, picking his weird hoodie/jean jacket hybrid. “Mine is leather, and badass, and-” She slips his jacket on, pulling the collar up to hide the hickeys. “-And. Oh shit this is comfortable.” The fabric is soft in the way that clothes only get after you’ve owned them for years and years and ruined the fabric with too much fabric softener and shit. Also, it’s a little big around her shoulders, and Beckett’s kind of a slut for comfy clothes that are too big for her. “You’re not getting this back,” she realizes out loud.

Brad finally lifts his head off the pillow, eyes zeroing in on her. His face is unreadable. “Huh.”

“What?”

Her comm chirps again. Brad picks it up and throws it to her. “Call your mom.” He jerks his head toward the balcony on the other side of the suite. “Or don’t. Either way, we’re gonna be late.” He makes to get out of bed, which is Beckett’s cue to get the fuck out of there . She escapes onto the balcony which is less of a balcony and more of a ledge.

She flips the comm open and answers it.

“ Your mom is flipping out,” D’Vana says. “She thinks you went AWOL and kidnapped Boimler again.”

“Her thinking that is a thousand times better than what actually happened,” Beckett replies, relieved. “She’s not leaving, is she?”

“ Without you? Fat chance.” There’s a pause. “So are you gonna tell me what did happen-”

“Just a long night of drinking and bad decisions. I’ll see you back on the Cerritos, ” she swiftly interrupts. “If my mom asks, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” She hangs up over D’Vana’s sputtering protests. “Shit.” What was she going to tell D’Vana. What was she going to tell her mom?

A gust of cool wind blows through the street, cutting straight through her. She wraps the jacket tightly around her. It smells like Brad. “ Shit. ”

_____

Beckett sits in her mom’s ready room with a paper cup of coffee heating her hands. The smell isn’t doing great things to her nauseous stomach, but the warmth radiating through her fingers is soothing and the caffeine is knocking out most of her headache. Turn of the century and there still isn’t a definitive hangover cure for humans. Go figure.

Her mother’s slightly raised eyebrow is both a question and a criticism. She has too much tact to say that Beckett looks like shit, but they both know Beckett looks like shit. Damnit.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Freeman says at last, rubbing her temple with two fingers. “Just please stop violating regulations while on shore leave.”

Beckett wants to ask if this means she can violate regulations while off shore leave, but feels too shitty to get into that argument. “You got it, Cap’n,” she says, instead of emoting. She gives her mom a lazy, two fingered salute.

“Also, please remember to keep up with your birth control, I don’t really need any Beckett/Boimler hybrids running around on this ship-”

“Literally what the fuck -” Beckett all but shrieks, voice way to loud for the hangover she’s sporting. “ Why would you even say-”

Her mom looks pointedly at Beckett’s bruised neck. “I’m not a complete idiot, kiddo.”

“Oh my god,” Beckett buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god .”

Freeman rolls her eyes, flicking her fingers at her daughter. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s my job to embarrass you. Now get out of my sight. And ask T’Ana for a hangover cure.”

This has Beckett sitting up. “Wha- T’Ana said there wasn’t a hangover cure .”

Flat look. “Beckett. What century is this?”

Beckett scowls at the desk. “Ripped off for five years and counting,” she mumbles.

_____

Avoiding Brad was harder than she thought it was going to be.

(Not that she’s avoiding him. She’s not.)

(She totally is. )

When he first came back to the Cerritos --almost two years ago now?--it had been easy. He’d been in a state of remorse/guilt, and had basically allowed Beckett to call the shots. This was generally considered a bad idea by absolutely everyone, because it meant that Beckett swung dangerously between watching his every move like a crazed stalker to having nothing to do with him. It had accumulated in Sam and D’Vana going the old-fashioned route by locking them in a storage closet.

Things had eventually ironed out after that. Nothing was ever quite the same--it couldn’t be with Brad’s newfound confidence and Beckett’s decision to see him as an equal rather than someone to mentor--but it was better that way. They worked better that way. At least until Beckett had fucked everything up by having drunk sex with her best friend of four years.

So here Beckett was, hiding in medbay because she thought she might have seen Brad walk by.

“You gotta admit, this is weird, even for you,” D’Vana says.

Beckett peaks over the biobed. “He’s gone, right?”

“Honey, what’s going on between you two? Do I need to fight him? I can totally fight him.”

“What?”

“I mean, the last time you were this mad at him was because--”

“I’m not mad at him,” Beckett waves her off, not too keen on dredging up ancient history. Shitty ancient history at that. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine,” D’Vana repeats dubiously. “Which is why you’ve been hiding in medbay--your least favorite place--all day. Instead of doing fun things, like moving everything in Ransom’s cabin a little to the left or putting extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”

Beckett grins. “We should put extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not.”

“ So are.”

Beckett scowls. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“I am, as in I will help you bury the body if need be, but as it stands there isn’t a body to bury and you’re in my way.”

“Rude!”

“Coward.”

“Killjoy.”

“ Both of you, out,” T’Ana snaps, from like 20 feet away. She’s not even looking at them, but one of her ears is swiveled in their direction.

D’Vana gives Beckett a dirty look, turning on her heel and marching out of the medbay. Beckett follows, more subdued.

“Seriously, you need to get your shit together,” D’Vana says, once she’s caught up to her. “I promise whatever happened between you and Brad isn’t as terrible as you’re thinking. It’s probably even fixable.”

“Real encouraging, bestie.”

“I try.” D’Vana gives her a friendly punch on the arm that’s probably going to bruise. “Now go find your man.”

_____

Becket does not, in fact, “go find her man.” First of all, because she doesn’t have one, but also because the idea of facing Brad right now is so mortifying--seriously what is she supposed to say? --that the thought makes her break out in hives.

(Not literally, but still.)

A couple more days of this has Sam and D’Vana returning to the tried and true method of locking Beckett and Brad in a storage closet to sort out their shit.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!” D’Vana shouts through the door.

Beckett flips her the bird, even though she can see, scowling at the door. “Fuck you, D’Vana Tendi!”

There is no response, meaning that her ex-friends have left her alone with her thoughts, Brad, and Brad’s very loud thoughts. Goddammit.

“Look, just say it,” Brad suddenly snaps after the longest, most awkward pause Beckett has ever had the misfortune to be a part of. His entire body is tenser than Beckett has seen in a hot minute. Probably since before he transferred back to the Cerritos.

“Say what?” she says back hotly, now not really sure if they’re about to argue about something, but also not one to back down from a fight.

“I don’t know-just. Whatever it is- just please. I’m tired, D’Vana’s tired--hell the whole ship is tired of this. So just.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know it was bad, I know that you regretted it.”

“I. What.”

“But, you’re also my best friend and I don’t want things to go back to how they were when. When I came back and you hated me and I was shitty to you and-” Brad stops messing up his hair. “Just say it was awful and we can forget it ever happened.”

Beckett steels herself as she finally admits: “I don’t remember it.”

It was Brad’s turn to go still and quiet.

“Brad--I. You know how I get when I’m drunk.” Beckett has never felt embarrassed by her drinking habits, but now she wonders if she should. Okay, she’s not, not really. But she was at least regretful that she had done something so stupid as fucking up one of her best relationships while intoxicated. Literally. “I don’t remember anything after the sixth drink,” she groans. “I think I was messing with your hair?”

“You said it was the color of jellyfish.”

She manages a weak smile. “Yeah.”

“And then I said jellyfish were translucent and have been extinct for over a thousand years on Earth so your point was redundant and that’s when you kissed me.”

“Oh.” Beckett wracks her memory. Nothing comes up. She doesn’t know if she feels proud or scared by the fact that she was the one to initiate whatever happened between them. “Was it. Good?”

“For me.” Brad shrugs, nonchalant in a way she wishes he weren’t. “Can’t really say if you liked it or not. Rest of the night is.” He makes a gesture with one hand. “Fuzzy.”

“But you remember more details than I do.” Beckett takes a step toward him.

He takes a step back as she crowds his space. Swallows. “Guess I do.”

“Was that good? What came after?” she asks, steadily, taking another step toward him.

His back hits the wall. He makes a little oof sound, maybe at the impact, but more likely at her question. “I-it was fuzzy ,” he reiterates, voice pitching up.

“Just answer the question, Bradward. I thought this was honesty hour for-”

“Yes it was good!” he snaps. “It was awesome, and earth-shattering, and all the stupid fucking cliches we both make fun of and mock together, and-and you didn’t care the next morning! Actually, no, you were fucking horrified-- so I panicked and--”

Beckett kisses him. It’s a short peck, hardly a brush of lips really, but enough to leave him gaping like a fish after. Kind of shocked, like a computer bluescreening. Goddamnit, he is cute.

“I. I- what .”

Beckett carefully leans in, brushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand--giving him time to opt out or push her away if he wants-- and kisses him again. This time she goes a bit more slowly, somehow coaxing his panicked mind into letting him kiss her back. Only for a moment, sadly. As soon as he begins softening against her, mouth opening slightly to kiss her back, he draws away, face disturbed. “Beck, what are you doing?” His voice is weak.

“Experimenting,” she replies, eyes quickly darting back and forth between his.

“ Experi -”

“I mean, there must be a reason I jumped straight from drunken makeout to lets fuck on our last night of shore leave. I’m just trying to find the missing puzzle piece.” She leans back in. Kisses him again. Pulls back almost immediately. “That means kiss me back, dumba-”

Brad cups her face and kisses her back. Like really kisses her back. Like tilts her face to the side until the angle is just right and slips his tongue in to slide against hers-

“Fuck,” Beckett says, when they draw back for air. “ Fuck.”

Brad drops his hands, but makes no move to pull out of her space. “Got enough data?” he asks sarcastically.

“I might need a larger sample size,” she says breathlessly, eyes darting back down to his lips.

“Well, feel free to go makeout with whomever-”

“Not that kind of sample size, dummy. I'm working with just one test subject, you see.” Her hand fingers the top button of his shirt almost thoughtfully. “My sample size needs to be bigger in quantity, not diversity.”

“ Beck- ” he whines.

“What, so you get to remember this awesome, showstopping one-night stand while I wonder forever if you're actually as good as my sore everything implies?”

Brad’s face visibly heats up. “Well, it's not a one-night stand if we do it again, is it?” he mutters.

“No,” Beckett replies curtly, making her eye contact as direct as possible. “It's not.”

“And you really want to fuck in a storage closet.”

“It can't be much worse than on a planet of jellybean aliens.”

“Gezorvazorians,” he corrects. Pauses, considering. “It might not be that good sober.”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of having sex with you?” Beckett groans again in exasperation. “This is literally a one time, limited offer, Bradward.”

“I have anxiety, Beckett! It was fine when I was on drink number eight, but I'm going to freak out if I do this without-”

“Oh my god, just stop thinking-” she shoves him back into the wall, hands fisting his stupid Starfleet shirt, “-just do what feels good.”

Apparently what feels good is letting Beckett once again call the shots on this one, like she does on everything. He lets her crowd him back against the wall, pop each of his shirt buttons and makeout as aggressively as they can while still standing upright.

“For the record,” she says, in between kisses, “if you don't want to have sex with me, that's a hundred percent fine, I don't want to pressure you-”

Brad rolls his eyes. “You really gotta-” kisses her again, “make up your mind-” her hand pulls at the short hair on the nape of his neck, eliciting a high pitched noise “- getting mixed signals-”

“My mind is made up, it's just that I realized that I maaay have been a bit pushy-”

Brad pulls away to give her a deadpan expression. “Yeah, if there's one thing I do remember about you in bed, it's that you're kind of pushy. Actually, scratch that, you’re relentless.”

Beckett flushes. “I-”

“I don't mind. Just as long as you're sure.”

“I am,” she meets his gaze challengingly, fighting her blush down.

“Cool.” He nods once, curtly. The image doesn’t exactly mesh right with his disheveled hair and unbuttoned shirt. “Cool, cool, cool. I'm probably going to freak out in the middle of this, fyi.”

“Don't say ‘fyi,’ it's lame.” She glances around the room. “So. Floor or wall?”

_____

They don't actually fuck in the storage closet, much to Beckett's disappointment and everyone else's general embarrassment. D’Vana in particular is going back and forth between remorse and spastic giggling. It’s just as well. Brad really couldn’t stop laughing at her after her “floor or wall” comment which made getting laid kind of hard. No pun intended.

_____

The next few days are kind of a living hell for the Cerritos. Which is unbelievable, considering how weird Beckett and Brad had made it for everyone before their conversation in the storage closet.

It really really doesn’t help that Brad’s bunk is like. Right over hers. Goddamnnit.

“Good news is we have shore leave again in three weeks,” Jennifer says, handing her a wrench.

Beckett, who’s holding a screwdriver in her mouth, makes whahed? noise, eyes glued to the charred remains of the food replicator. Jen leans back against the counter casually, flipping her silver hair over her shoulder. She’s not really helping Beckett, just watching while she takes advantage of her own buffer time. Beckett doesn’t mind because a) everyone’s entitled to their own buffer time and b) Jen isn’t bad company. At least when she isn’t involving herself in the soap opera worthy drama that is Beckett’s life. Like right now.

Jen gives her a bemused look. “You don’t have to tell me what happened last time,” she says, which is great because Beckett has no intention of bringing up the events of their last shore leave, “But you want my advice? Fix it this time. For everyone’s sake.”

Beckett takes the screwdriver out of her mouth and places it on the counter. “I literally have no idea what you are talking about,” she says in lieu of feeling an emotion.

“Me neither,” Jen admits, sighing. “Look, I don’t put much stock in the rumor mill, but even I know there’s something going on between you and Boimler.”

Oh. Shit.

“Oh, shit,” Beckett says.

Jen grins. “Yeah, shit Mariner. Who’d have thought: you and Brad Boimler. Six years ago, I’d have laughed in your face.”

Beckett makes a face. It’s not a laughing one. More of a grimace, really. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking.”

“With you it rarely is.” Jen looks wary, but the corners of her eyes still crinkle with amusement. “I’m just saying, I know something’s up. Don’t really care, but it’s making this ship socially awkward. I refuse to work somewhere socially awkward, Mariner.”

“Oh, we are in agreement,” Beckett quickly defends, holding her hands up.

“Good, then fix whatever the fuck’s going on. I can’t take much more of this.”

Beckett doesn’t have much to say to that. Mostly because she’s in total agreement, but also because that’s the moment D’Vana comes around the corner and she’d rather not get Into It with the perky Orion today.

_____

It’s Sam who brings it up. “So, shore leave on Earth,” he says. “Who’s down?”

The four of them are sitting at the bar, pretending like nothing weird is going on between two of their members. It helps that Sam is sitting between her and Brad, but it also doesn’t because he keeps catching them staring at each other. It’s super fucking awkward, so Beckett takes the opportunity to direct their attentions elsewhere.

She groans loudly, dropping her face onto her folded arms. “If I wanted to be on Earth I wouldn’t have joined Starfleet,” she grumbles. “This fucking sucks.”

D’Vana perks up immediately, like Beckett knew she would. “I love Earth!” she says, enthusiastically gesturing with her martini glass. “So many different cultures and languages and religions on one planet. If I wasn’t stationed in deep space, I’d have asked for a position there.”

“All those religions and cultures and shit is why Earth has a reputation of not getting along with itself,” Beckett mumbles into her arm.

“That’s not specific to Earth though,” Brad points out, pretty much speaking for the first time that night. He looks a bit surprised, like he hadn’t meant to talk to her at all or make eye contact. Which was most likely the case, considering. Still, he pushes on. “I mean, how many interplanetary disputes have we broken up in the last year alone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t come from those planets so I don’t have to feel bad about it,” Beckett mutters.

Sam snorts. “So is that a no?”

Beckett shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Will there be alcohol?”

“There can be.”

She flutters her eyelashes at Sam. “Well, if you insist then.”

Brad and D’Vana exchange a look.

_____

Earth isn’t too bad.

Beckett should know, she was born there.

The distinct lack of shenanigans she can get up to are fairly disappointing, however. And the distinct presence of cops is still as annoying as ever. But Sam drags the four through downtown San Francisco, intent on making the most of it.

He is determined to teach D’Vana how to surf, so they find themselves at one of those swim stores--the ones that smell like chlorine and weed and have like a display of goggles that takes up two entire ailes and the walls are covered in surf boards and body boards, and there’s little naked mermaid figurines everywhere. It’s one of those out-of-this-world vibes that has Beckett remembering the little things about earth she misses.

Sam somehow cuts a deal on four surf boards and some swim trunks for him and Brad. Beckett, who had the foresight to bring her own swimwear, doesn’t spend a dime on anything but the salt water taffy up at the front counter. D’Vana, who showed up for shore leave already in a bikini and has chronic steal Beckett’s food syndrome, walks out of there the least broke.

“So we want to start in the whitewater,” Sam says, rubbing copious amounts of sunscreen on D’Vana’s back. It’s a wise move, considering the last time they spent free time on a sunny planet, D’Vana walked away with the worst sunburns. “That way we can work on your stance without any pressure.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Beckett flips her shades down. “I’m heading out for the Big Bois. The Chungos, if you will.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Have you ever surfed before?”

“Does doing handstands on a floatie in my pool count?”

“No.”

“Then listen to the expert. We also probably don’t want to go way out until we get wetsuits. Trust me on that one,” Sam says, grimacing. “I mean, I’ve gone without, but it’s cold as shit out there.”

Beckett snatches the sunscreen from Sam’s hand and squirts a glob on her calf. “Fine, defeat me with your logic. You want some of this, white bread?” she asks Brad, who very much lives up to said nickname. He sighs, accepting the bottle from her.

All sunscreen up, Sam stands, picking up his surfboard. “I’ll take D’Vana out first,” he says in a blatant show of favoritism.

Brad and Beckett roll their eyes in tandem. “Whatever,” Beckett says, shooing them off with one hand. “I’m taking a nap.” She flops down on a towel under the giant umbrella that D’Vana got from god knows where . Brad looks from her to Sam and D’Vana unsurely before deciding that he’ll strike out on his own for a bit.

“Don’t drown,” Beckett says, already half asleep.

“Duh.” She can practically hear his eye roll. “Remember to wake up in two hours and apply more sunscreen,” he shoots back.

She gives him the o-k hand signal, not opening up her eyes. “You got it, Mom.”

_____

A few hours later--way past when Beckett was supposed to dump more chemicals on her skin (and yes she’s going to be feeling that later)--Beckett wakes up to Sam and D’Vana’s dulcet tones. By dulcet tones she actually means they’re belting out I’ve Had the Time of My Life in tandem with the music booming on the speaker Sam brought because they are those annoying beach people .

D’Vana must’ve gone to one of the street vendors on the boardwalk, because she has a tray of tiny sandwiches and a paper bag of popcorn that she’s sharing with Sam. Beckett tries to get in on that action, but because D’Vana is the biggest hypocrite Beckett knows, she finds herself banned from the snacks.

“You and Brad can get your own,” D’Vana says stubbornly.

Beckett rolls her eyes. “Where is he, anyway?”

D’Vana points vaguely off in the direction of the water. Brad is sitting on his surfboard, looking more relaxed than Beckett’s seen him in a while.

She stands up, stretching out the kinks and stiffness in her joints, grinning when Sam winces at the cracking of her spine. Shaking the fogginess away, Beckett makes her way out into the waves, shivering at their chill. In a stroke of genius, or maybe just chaotic evillness, Beckett ducks under the water, swimming beneath where Brad is peacefully sitting.

“Nice view,” Beckett says, bursting out of the water. Brad flails, arms pinwheeling. He does fall off his perch on the surfboard, but Beckett catches it before the waves can take it away. She heaves herself gracefully over the side, sitting with her legs in the water. After a moment she offers a hand to a very sulky looking Brad, who’s usually coiffed hair is plastered to his skull by the water.

He takes her proffered hand and sits beside her.

After a moments pause, where they sit bobbing in the waves and watching the sunset, Brad says, “I would like to say that not even the holodeck can recreate colors like that buuut-”

“We do have top-of-the-line technology,” Beckett agrees. “It’s still nice knowing it’s real, though,” she adds.

“How sentimental of you,” he says, almost teasingly. It does wonders for the tension Beckett’s holding.

“Shut up,” she gets out, shoving his shoulder good-naturedly. It’s not hard enough to push him back in the water, but it’s enough that he swats her off. “I’m just saying .”

“So Earth isn’t so bad, after all?” he asks, smug.

Beckett rolls her eyes. “I guess ,” she allows, grudgingly. “But don’t go telling anyone.”

Brad just grins, turning back to the sunset. They don’t say much more after that.

_____

Beckett is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of the hotel they’re staying at overnight, when she comes to a decision. “I’m going to have sex with Brad.”

D’Vana, who Beckett had been pretty sure was sleeping, chokes in the dark. “Beckett what the fuuu -”

Beckett sits up. “I’m going to have sex with Brad,” she reiterates, throwing the covers off.

The bedside lamp clicks on, washing the room in a pale, yellow light. D’Vana’s expression is somewhere between I’m too sleep-deprived to deal with this shit and a murder is happening tonight .

“Like, right now?” she asks, finally.

“No time like the present,” Beckett says, already halfway out the door. Whatever protests D’Vana has is cut off when the door slides shut behind her. Sam and Brad are staying just across the hall, so it takes no time to get there and knock on the door.

“So are we gonna fuck or what?” Beckett asks the minute Brad shows his face. Sam makes a choked, gagging noise from somewhere behind him. Brad makes an equally despairing sound.

“Sam, could you-?”

“Gone! I'm gone.” Sam pushes past them, heading for the other suite. “I'll just sleep with D’Vana-- in D’Vana’s room!” He hurriedly course corrects, “In her room. I'm--I'll. Bye.” He ducks behind the door, slamming it.

“Yeesh, my girl ain't getting any tonight.”

“But we are apparently,” Brad dryly remarks. Or tries to dryly remark. It comes out strangled. “I thought that was a limited offer.”

“Yeah well, maybe I changed my mind. Are you gonna invite me in or what?”

Brad opens the door wider. “I didn't know you needed a literal invitation like some sort of vampire.”

“I was being polite.” She brushes past him. “I am capable of that on occasion.” She flops on the bed with forced bravado. Brad starts doing that thing where he avoids eye contact but realizes it's awkward so he then makes too much eye contact. Beckett resists the urge to tease him about it, if only because she's starting to feel weird about everything too.

“I’m not saying no-”

“Jesus, okay, rejection time-”

“But right now might not be the best time,” he finishes, face crimson.

“What?” She glances around the room. “Master suite in a five star hotel in San Francisco is a worse time for you than a storage closet? I didn't know you had an exhibition thing-”

“ I don't.” Brad scowls. “I'm just not in the mood.”

Oh.

“Oh,” she says, leaning back with her hands supporting her behind her. She kind of feels like an asshole for just assuming he’d be down anytime. There’s another moment of silence. Awkward.

Then, “I have some old timey soap-opera that Jen gave me, on my padd. You down?”

_____

“I don’t think this is a soap opera,” Brad says, ten minutes into their third episode.

They’re both lying on top of the covers, padd propped on a pillow, watching a collection of random episodes Beckett seemingly has. There’s about four feet of yawning distance between them, four impossible feet that’s frankly starting to piss Beckett off for reasons she’s trying not to examine.

“He’s married to his best friends’ daughter which means his mother-in-law made out with him,” Beckett replies, rolling her eyes. “His wife and her parents are pretty much the same age. He gets assassinated by his wife who was trained by a cultist group to take him down. How is that not a soap opera?”

Brad shrugs. “It just seems to be more action based.”

“Give it time, you’ll get it.”

Silence as they watch the main characters get chased by dinosaurs. Brad, surprisingly, does not offer up why it’s unrealistic--(she can totally hear him lecturing on about how dinosaurs actually had feathers, Beckett, and that one was definitely bipedal why is it on all fours?)-- instead tapping his fingers against the mattress and occasionally spacing out.

Whatever. Beckett’s perfectly comfortable reclining on the other side of the bed and ignoring him.

“It’s not me, right?” she blurts out. “I didn’t like, push you too much and now you want nothing to do with me?”

Way to sound insecure, Mariner.

Brad startles in surprise. “What? No!” He sits up. “Why would-”

“I don’t know, it’s just weird! And we’re not weird like this--we watch shit all the time together and make fun of it and it’s not socially awkward!”

“I’m not trying to be socially awkward! I just-”

“Well you are -”

“I thought you were mad at me ?” He tries, looking askance.

Beckett blinks across the bed at him. “You thought-- what --that I was mad at you for not being up for-”

“If you make that pun, I swear to god-”

“Not a pun, I’m being literal-you thought -”

“Beck-”

“You thought I was upset that you aren’t in the mood for-for my weird need to-to-” She can’t even finish it.

“Ughrhrh.” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “It sounds bad when you say it out loud.”

“Yeah no shit, Bradward.” She huffs loudly, turning back to the episode only to find that it’s over.

“Sorry,” he says at last, still into his hands. “I’m having a weird night.”

Aaaand now Beckett feels like shit. Because of course she was making everything about her when there were other people emotionally involved. God she needed to talk to her therapist.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, nervously tapping her foot at the air.

Brad drops his hands, staring at her flatly. “Do you really want to hear my weird TMI relationship hangups?”

Oh fuck, it’s gonna be that kind of talk.

“Uh, yes? I tell you my weird shit all the time-”

“ Unsolicited -”

“And you don’t give a shit. Why would I be upset about you telling me your weird shit? Is it a kink thing? I bet it’s a kink thing.”

“It’s not a-! Just-just let me talk!”

Beckett makes a phhhft- ing noise, but relents. She twiddles her thumbs for a moment, a mannerism she picked up from D’Vana over the years. Brad’s eyes zero in on the motion for a moment, as he nervously begins tapping his fingers against the mattress again and then stopping to clasp his hands tightly.

“You know how I don’t really. Date people?” he tries, wincing slightly.

“Yeah, sure.” She shrugs.

“Have you ever wondered why-”

“Because our friend group is so batshit fucking certifiable that any potential boyfriends or girlfriends get scared off. It’s why Amina and I were never gonna get back together.” Beckett doesn’t say duh , but it lingers in the air.

Brad rolls his eyes. “ Yes that, but also I don’t date people for the same reason it took D’Vana six years to figure out she and Sam were dating.”

Oh.

“Oh. Oh .” Beckett blinks for a moment, world realigning. “Wait, how did I not know that about you? I know everything about you.” Which is entirely the wrong response to your best friend sharing something that personal, but Brad doesn’t seem to pick up on it so Beckett thinks it’s okay. Hopefully.

“Apparently, not,” he replies, amused.

“But, you’re like. Okay hooking up every once in a while.” God, she hopes so. If she pressured her best friend into having drunk sex with her-

“Yeah, I’m in the mood every once in a while. Like, once a year kind of once in a while,” Brad says casually, alleviating her worries. “Just not right now.”

“Oh okay, cool.” A pause. “Thank you for telling me.”

He rolls his eyes again like she knows she’s going over every social media post and session with her therapist concerning how to handle your best friend coming out to you in her head and settles down next to her. “Whatever. What’s happening?” he asks, turning back to the padd.

Beckett apparently has episodes out of order because the main characters are hijacking the 1969 Earth space missions. “An alien race that controls humans through post-hypnotic suggestions is giving them the technology to land on their own moon.”

Brad huffs, amused. “Naturally.”

_____

Everything kind of goes back to normal after that.

Well, as normal as things get on the Cerritos .

Beckett takes her conversation with Brad to mean that he’s not interested in le sex with her (at the moment anyway) and backing off is in their best interests.

Whatever, she didn’t really know what she was going on about anyway. It’s not as if she was using not remembering their one-night stand as an excuse to hook up with Brad because she’s suffering from unacknowledged requited feelings.

(She’s not. She’s not . Goddamnit.)

The ship seems to give a collective sigh of relief, now that Beckett and Brad aren’t doing...whatever it was they were. Beckett is back to annoying the shit out of her best friend and Brad is back to pretending like he hates everything she stands for. It’s a comfortable equilibrium that Beckett’s glad to be back to.

Even if she still ponders all of the what ifs .

_____

If Beckett’s life is a movie--which is a metaphor she hasn’t used yet, but now’s probably the best time to start because the drama of hooking up with her best friend is totally some awkward comedy shit--then the Halloween party Sam and Jen throw is the punch line. Or the climax--whatever, no pun intended.

Beckett didn’t even know Halloween was like still a Thing until she and her friend group came across a Halloween themed shop during shore leave.

“Isn’t it July?” Beckett had pondered. “I’m pretty sure this holiday is supposed to be in October?”

“It’s one of those “Holiday in July” shops,” Brad said, rolling his eyes at D’Vana who’d donned a witches hat on and was cackling appropriately. “They were totally a thing when I was a kid.”

Sam pulled out his comm. “You know how Jen wanted to throw a party for the end of our assignment in the Neutral Zone? I think I know what theme we should go with.”

Beckett had laughed, delighted at the idea of them throwing a Halloween Bash on the Cerritos , but hadn’t taken it seriously until she walked into her favorite bar on the ship, which was now decked out in the most ridiculous decorations she’s ever seen.

“This is amazing,” Beckett says.

D’Vana grins. “Right? I think I’m going to marry Jen.”

“If I don’t get there first,” Sam retorts, darting off in Jen’s direction. D’Vana shouts after him, breaking out into a run. Beckett shakes her head and heads off to find a corner to enjoy her alcohol in peace.

She finds one, and gets through one red, plastic cup of cheap beer before Brad is at her shoulder.

“So, we’re done being weird, right?” Brad confirms. Surprised that he actually has the backbone to bring The Incident up, Beckett shrugs, eyes still on a dancing D’Vana. She’s somehow roped to humans into a weird-threeway dance that is honestly making Beckett wish she had a recorder device on her.

“Yeah, we’re good,” she says. “Sorry for. You know.”

“It’s cool,” Brad replies, giving her a thumbs up. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually?”

This gives Beckett pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, someone in our friend group was eventually going to hook up and make everything awkward,” Brad rubs the back of his neck, laughing, well, awkwardly . “Sucks that it was us but,” he shrugs in a what can you do way.

Beckett nods back, almost absentmindedly. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah,” she finishes off, lamely and god this is awkward. “Could have been worse,” she finally settles on.

“Could’ve been me and D’Vana,” Brad agrees, nose wrinkling at the thought. She’s pretty sure he had a crush when they first met, but it mellowed out over the years. Especially after D’Vana made it clear to a handsy ensign that she was only interested in girls .

(And being in a co-dependent/queerplatonic relationship with one Samantha Rutherford, but that was beside the point.)

Still, something about the suggestion of the two hooking up leaves a sour pit in Beckett’s stomach.

“It’s too bad though,” she blurts out, “that it happened like the way it did.”

Brad pauses, brow furrowed.

“I mean,” she bulldozes on when he doesn’t say anything. “If I’d have had a choice on how it would have happened...I would have done things differently.”

“Oh?” Brad angles his body toward hers. She leans back against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Yeah.” Her voice sounds far away.

“How would you have done things?”

“I-” She fists her palms and then forces herself to relax them. “Well, for starters I wouldn’t have been drunk .”

“Ah.” Brad winces, probably remembering the terrible hangovers they had the next day. “Yeah that probably wasn’t the best -”

“And it would have meant something.”

There. She said it.

It’s what her mom’s been hinting at for years now, what D’Vana had been getting at and Jen and Sam and even Brad himself; the one truth that Beckett had been shoving to the back of her mind, since even before that shared night with Brad.

Brad Boimler is her best friend and she’s in love with him.

The pause goes on for too long. Beckett doesn’t dare look at him, doesn’t dare breathe. She keeps her eyes firmly on D’Vana, who’s been joined by a slightly tipsy Sam. They dance around each other, ridiculous and fond.

“It did mean something.”

Beckett whips her head around, meeting Brad’s gaze disbelievingly. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing.

“Of course it meant something,” he says. “It was with you.”

Beckett likes to think that she’s smarter than the average person. And if not smarter, witty enough to pass as smarter. She has an automated response for every situation, a retort for every comment, a comeback for every line. There isn’t much that phases her-at least not until she woke up in a hotel room, naked, with her best friend at her side. And just like then, Beckett finds herself speechless.

“Oh,” she says, dumbly, as if she just hadn’t shown her own hand less than a minute ago.

“Mmm,” Brad agrees, looking stressed out. He doesn’t take it back though. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, beyond staring at her intensely. Then, “Oh god, I made it weird again.”

“No, no,” Beckett holds her hands up placatingly as Brad begins to freak out. “ I made it weird first, you don’t have to-”

“Well I made it weirder!”

“No,” Beckett grabs his collar, shaking him slightly, “-no you didn’t -”

“ Then why are you freaking out? ” He throws his hands up in the air, almost dislodging her grip on his shirt. She tightens it, bringing him down to her eye level.

“I’m not freaking out you’re freaking out -”

“Then why are you the one all up in my personal spa-”

“I’m not-”

“ Jesus Christ , WILL YOU TWO JUST KISS!” D’Vana shouts over the booming bass of Spooky Scary Skeletons Communist Remix.

Beckett freezes , as does Boimler. She’s suddenly aware that the two of them are standing, nose to nose, practically shouting at each other--even though the loud music drowns out what they’re saying to the people around them (thank god).

Beckett slowly lets go of Boimler’s shirt.

“Uhm.” She blinks up at him, every part of her completely aware that she left the ball in his court last time they had an opportunity to do anything.

Brad looks like he’s wrestling with himself--not an uncommon emotion when it comes to the uptight little dude--eyes darting from both of her eyes to her lips, to over her shoulder where D’Vana is probably being a little creep. Then, all of the tension bleeds out of his body, all at once and a determined look lights up in his eyes.

“ Fuck it,” he says, cupping her face and kissing her.

_____

The walk from the bar to Beckett’s room has never seemed longer, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that they can’t keep their hands off each other.

Even with the buzz of alcohol in her system, Beckett feels entirely present for once in her life. She pushes Brad back against her door, pressing kisses into his lips and the length of his jawline. He gives a little huff when she nips at his skin, pushing her off enough to get a good look at her.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Never been surer,” she replies, already having a go at his buttons. She gets down to the final one, pleased to note that this time they aren’t interrupted. “Are you sure?” she blinks up at him. “You’re in the mood, right?”

“Yes, Beck, I’m in the mood.” Brad rolls her eyes. It looks fond. “Are you in the mood?”

“So so in the mood,” she agrees.

“Great, now that we’ve covered the consent end of this-”

Beckett interrupts, diving back in for more kisses, much to his bemusement.

A few minutes later finds the two of them on her bed, sans their clothes. Beckett wants to feel very very smug about the fact that it’s been a while since that first, mistaken one night stand and Brad still has bruises in places unmentionable, but she’s kind of in the same boat.

“Holy shit, watch it ,” she swats at his face as he kind of nips at a dark bruise on her thigh.

“Oh I am .”

“Stop, that’s not sexy,” she kicks his shoulder, scowling when he snorts.

“Uh-huh.”

“No, no it’s not .”

“Yeah, okay, I stopped doing it .” Brad stares up at her unblinkingly for a moment.

Beckett stares back, arms folded-which feels weird because she’s super naked right now, but she’s already started doing it and Beckett fucking commits to shit-scowl firmly in place. Their little stare off only lasts for a minute longer before Beckett groans, “ Ugh , do it again.”

Brad does not, in fact, do it again because he's laughing too hard at her.

Beckett raises an eyebrow, flipping them over. Brad does not look like he minds, though, blinking up at her with equal amounts bemusement and what Beckett is assuming is appreciation. Whatever, it’s not as if Beckett doesn’t know that she’s smoking hot. It’s nice to see that Brad can acknowledge it though.

“Sooo,” he says, hands on her hips, steadying her as she grabs a scrunchy off the nightstand to pull her wayward hair out of her eyes. “How do you want to do this?”

Beckett takes a moment to make herself comfortable in his lap. “How did we do this last time?”

Brad’s face turns red. “Uhm, I’m not sure if-”

Beckett grins, leaning in. “How’d we do it last time, Brad?”

“ Beckett ,” he whines. She flicks his nose, but then leans in to give him a quick peck. “That’s cheating,” he tells her.

She shrugs, unrepentant. “Well you have all the time in the world to make an honest woman out of m-”

“ Stoooop ,” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “I hate you. Maybe we should ’ve been drunk for this.”

“I have tequila under the bed.”

“Why do you-nevermind.” Brad sits up, jostling her slightly. “I really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”

“Too much talking, more kissing,” Beckett says, pressing a couple of featherlight kisses on his lips. She gets her way--as always--and there’s very little talking after that.

(That’s a lie, of course, because it’s BeckettandBrad, meaning that there’s a lot shit-talk and laughing and an embarrassing amount of awkward moments where Brad elbows her in the eye or Beckett makes a noise that’s distinctly not sexy, but honestly? Neither of them would have it any other way.)

_____

The next day goes like this:

Beckett shows up to her shift 40 minutes late, a string of freshly made hickeys on her neck and a shit-eating grin on her face. Freeman takes one look at her and reassigns her off the Bridge for the day, muttering something incomprehensible about grandbabies that Beckett’s forcibly not thinking too hard about.

She finds D’Vana just outside of medbay, who looks utterly delighted by Beckett’s disheveled appearance.

“So, everything’s fine between you two?” D’Vana is grinning a little evilly.

Beckett throws an arm over her shoulder, delighted as always over their height difference. “Oh so fine, mi amore.”

D’Vana shoves her off, but looks just as pleased as Beckett feels. “Thank god,” she says. “I couldn’t take much more of your sad, sad faces. It was embarrassing.”

This gives Beckett pause. “Hey, we weren’t that bad,” she protests.

“Oh, you definitely were,” D’Vana promises. “There’s only so many times Sam and I can lock you two in a storage closet before our quaple isn’t worth it anymore. We were like a minute away from throwing you out of the polycule.”

“I- polycule? Since when -”

“Oh Beckett,” D’Vana sighs. “I have some bad news for you.”

“Did you know that we were in a platonic quaple with Sam and D’Vana?” Beckett shrieks, practically flying out of the turbolift.

Brad stares at her. “...yes?”

No one tells Beckett anything.

#marinler #my fic #beckett mariner #brad boimler #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #the warp core four #star trek lower decks #stld fanfic #star trek lower decks fanfic #star trek lower decks fanfiction

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lord-of-nightmares-and-anguish · 3 years

Text

just a jimon thing my brain came up with in a rare moment of lucidity

Jace was known for his recklessness. Despite pretending to be oblivious to it, Jace was well aware that he tended to run into things head first. Which is kinda weird, because when Alec says We’re Lightwoods. We break noses and accept the consequences its inspirational. But when Jace actually does it, its reckless, and suicidal, and immature.

And....well when Jace allows himself a rare moment of clarity he can acknowledge that he’s a little reckless, and maybe a tad bit immature. But suicidal? Maybe, but not in the way people think. Jace doesn’t take the most dangerous missions because he has a death wish.....mostly. Death isn’t on his mind when he runs in front of Simon to take the hit from the demon. Really. Whenever he gets into situations like this, sprawled on the ground, and not even in a sexy way his brain distantly adds, the last thing on his mind is Death.

You either live long enough to see yourself become a villain, or die a hero. Over and over and over in his head, like a movie that never stops. In spite of his parabatai’s best efforts, he can’t seem to shake Valentine’s hold on him. He was his father in all the ways that matter but shouldn’t and he can’t let himself become like Valentine. He can’t. So yes, he acts like his flesh and angel blood are an adamis shield against everything bad in the world. He doesn’t want to die. Not really. Not yet. Not when he has the cutest Daylighter to play video games with on the weekend.

But as much as he loves Simon. And wow, isn’t that a revelation to have sitting in a pool of blood. As much as he loves Simon, he loves being remebered as good more. His intentions have been muddled, between the mixed messages from the Clave and his family, Jace knows that people don’t know how to feel about him. He feels it in the way they keep him at arms length. Far away enough that if he turns, they won’t be at fault for associating with him. But just close enough that if he ever ends up proving his worth they won’t be condemned with ostracizing him. It’s exhausting.

Jace doesn’t want them to still be guessing when he’s in his grave.

He groans as he feels cold hands pick him up and carry him to what must be a portal. Jace feels slightly unsettled because he doesn’t hear Simon breathing. Jace chooses to ignore it, because if he’s going to spend his last moments in his crush’s arms he’ll be damned if he spends it worrying about why Simon isn’t breathing. He figures that Simon’s allowed to break from his normal behavior. It’s not like he carries Jace around bridal style on a daily basis either.

~break~

Jace wakes up in the infirmary. He looks at the stars, and sees them dim before his eyes as the realization that he’s alive hits him, and yeah maybe Jace needs to reexamine his not suicidal thing. Jace thinks that he’s alone, which is why when he moves to get out of bed to make the long and probably painful trek to his room he’s surprised when someone stops him.

“Simon?”

The Daylighter was at his bedside looking down at him with the most torn expression he’s ever seen. His eyes glinted with determination while his face had red residue from his dried tears.

“Jace.”

Jace looks at Simon for a long moment as silence stretches between them. Simon seemed to be steeling himself to say something important but Jace was still stuck on how Simon had said his name. When was the last time someone had said his name as a sentence? Like everything he was could be encompassed by his name, and that was enough. He was enough. Jace’s last remaining braincell reminded him that everyone used his name as a sentence; and the only reason why it was different when Simon said it was because he was in love and possibly still riding the highs of pain medication. Jace heard heard Simon’s soft intake of breath, and prepared himself for whatever he was about to say.

“Jace, I-....I don’t know how to say this but I’m just gonna say it and maybe, hopefully this makes sense. You scared me today, Jace. Well, you kinda scare me everyday but today was different. Seeing you lying on the ground half-dead.....all to protect me. It was terrifying. A-and not because it was a lot of blood, but because the thought losing you makes me feels like im back in the grave again, wondering whether I’ll ever get out. And I know it shouldn’t affect me like this, since I’ve known you for months now, and I should be used to it, but fuck Jace I don’t want to be! You’ve been a soldier all your life. Fighting is in your blood so I know, that you know how to save someone without putting your life on the line. And I can’t watch someone I care about constantly put themselves in danger like this.”

Jace felt his heart break at those words and tried to mentally prepare himself for another person to walk out of his life. Obviously Simon’s monologue wasn’t enough torture because Jace could hear him gearing up to say something else.

“Which is exactly why, you need to tell me why you keep on acting like you’re an invincible punching bag, so that I can fix it. And I can ensure that I still have someone to beat in Mario Kart.”

Jace snorted, “Good to know that you have your priorities straight and my best interests at heart.”

“Always sweetheart, always.” And if Jace’s heart fluttered at the pet name, that’s nobody damn business but his own.

“Anyways, Jace chop chop! I mean you don’t have to tell me. Right now that is. But it’s either me or Alec and I know he’s your parabatai and all but he can be really dense when it comes to listening and helping people with things like this.”

Jace grumbled but he couldn’t deny that Simon was right. He loved Alec, but he has a hard time with sensitive subjects. Jace still shudders about the conversation Alec tried to have with him about Celine’s mental health history. Jace decided to just suck it up and tell Simon. It’s not like he has anything to lose, and he doubts anything he’ll share with Simon will ruin his perception of him. He knows to keep the darkest parts of himself hidden. He’s just sharing his thought process, right? He’s not revealing anything, its just simply a matter of logic. No one wants to be remebered in a bad light.

So he tells Simon that. He tells him how he feels cold, like he’s always on the outskirts of living in Valentine’s shadow, and there’s not many ways to redeem yourself in the Shadow world. Not when you messed up as much as Jace did.

He doesn’t expect Simon to hug him. He tells Jace that what people think of him doesn’t matter.

“And Jace, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m immortal. Trust me when I say that I’ll make sure that everyone remebers you for the great person you are.”

Jace can’t deal with the overload of comfort from Simon, but decides that he’ll try to enjoy it anyways because it’s not everyday he gets held by the love of his life.

Simon gently lays them down, mindful of the bandages around Jace’s midsection and tucks them both under the covers. Jace snuggles into Simon’s side, still sort of convinced that this is a drug addled dream because why else would Simon be so nice? When has a conversation about his behavior gone this well? Jace refuses to believe that this is real, because if it is then Jace will get used to this. Used to having someone be there for him. And eventually he will get hurt again, and Jace is just beginning to find his footing after everything that’s happened. So for now he closes his eyes and settles against Simon’s back. He tries to tell himself that this doesn’t mean anything, and that Simon cares about him as a friend and nothing more. Jace will take what he can get, and besides, friend cuddles aren’t all that bad.

#jimon #shadowhunters #shadwohunters fanfic #hurt/comfort #K I N D A #they get together #just not here #Jace is ok tho #like he's pining but he's fine #his pining wasn't really the focus lol #IT WAS HIM #ALWAYS YEETING HIMSELF INTO DANGEROUS SITUATIONS >:((((((#asdklfasjlkf #anyways #also this was not proofread #alsdfjasdflasdf #whoops

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duhragonball · 3 years

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Disinterpretation

I finally finished the Sarah Z video about “pro vs. anti”. It’s pretty long, and I ended up watching it in chunks over several days, but I think it’s worth watching, especially if you’re sort of partially connected to online fandom, but not enough to be aware of all the lingo.

As I expected, the whole thing was vague and confusing because the people involved in the conflict made it vague and confusing. In theory, the full terms would be “pro-shipping” and “anti-shipping”, but it seems like it’s more about particular kinds of ships that could be considered controversial. But that’s a slippery slope, and apparently the whole conflict mutated into both sides deciding that every hypothetical relationship between fictional characters is either equally valid or equally dangerous.

Long story short, it’s just purity culture, which was what everyone on Tumblr was calling it around 2012. But now, if you’re a sane person who genuinely asks: “Who gives a fuck about Voltron?”, these people will jump your ass and accuse you of being on the side of their enemies. “Children have died over the importance of Lotor/Hagger! Your callous indifference proves that you yourself must have murdered children!”

I think what Sarah Z really hit upon in this video was that media consumption has become so ingrained in our culture that people feel like it has to go hand-in-hand with our morality. That is, it’s not enough for me to watch Star Trek, I have to justify Star Trek as evidence that I’m a good person. Maybe this is where the expression “guilty pleasure” comes from. Conversely, it’s not enough for me to not watch Dr. Who, I have to somehow convince everyone that Dr. Who was invented by the devil.

I’m pretty sure the Reylo ship has a lot to do with this, since it’s kind of understood to be a dark, problematic concept, and fans either embrace its flaws or recoil in horror because of them. Star Wars itself is a dumb story about space wizards, so people try to give the debate more weight by linking it to freedom of self expression and/or enabling real world harm. Suddenly it’s not enough to just think two actors would look cute making out instead of fighting. Now it’s this battlefield for the soul of civilization or something.

I grew up in the 80′s, when “concerned parents” and grifters would accuse the Smurfs and metal bands of promoting satanism and witchcraft. I used to hear stories of teens going out into the woods in the middle of the night to do occult stuff, and all I could ever think about was: “Why would anyone bother wandering out in the woods in the middle of the night?” Which is why “concerned parents” turned their attention to things that were closer to home, like Saturday morning cartoons. It had nothing to do with the content; it was just about finding a safe, accessible target for their hysteria. Some people want to go on a crusade without leaving the house, so they pick a fight with Papa Smurf instead of confronting the real evils in the world. Even as a kid, I knew this was a con, because I’d watched the show for myself and knew it was too saccharine to be threat to anyone.

The pro/anti folks have tried to disguise this with a lot of terminology. I wondered why they seemed to reluctant to use the full terms “pro-shipper” and “anti-shipper”, and it’s probably a couple of things. First, the word “shipper” is basically an admission that this is pointless bullshit that doesn’t matter, and they’d like to avoid that connotation. Second, they seem to have decided that this goes beyond shipping itself, into practically anything else they want it to involve. It’s all part of the con, which is to make you believe that it’s “us vs. them”, and you can be part of “us” by curating specific attitudes about Steven Universe.

Seriously, “about Steven Universe” is such an incredible punchline. You can make anything funnier by adding those three words to the end of a sentence. “Do not interact if you blog about Steven Universe.” “Hey, what’s up, YouTube, this is SSJ3RyokoLover69, and this is going to be kind of a serious video about Steven Universe.” “Mrs. Johnson, the results of your biopsy are in, and I have some bad news about Steven Universe.” It’s a fucking kids show. “Oh no, all the characters look like the characters in all the other kids shows!” Yeah, that’s because it’s a kids show. Marvin looks like Garfield, this isn’t new.

The common denominator here seems to be that both sides try to wrap themselves in the flag of vulnerable groups: impressionable minors, trauma survivors, harassment victims, etc. The “pros” want to protect those people so that they can feel free to explore weird subject matter on their own terms, and the “antis” want to protect the same people from being exposed to weird subject matter that they might not want to see. It’s all about establishing a moral high ground. Back in the day, it was called “sanctimony”.

But people get roped into this, because at their core, people want approval, and this stupid conflict offers them a sense of community. As long as you support the cause, whatever it may be, you’ll have this online friend network that appears to support anything you do. But if you deviate from their norm, you’ll be cast out. Does this sound familiar?

To use a more familiar example, I still sometimes find people clamoring about Gochi vs. Vegebul. I’ve never understood this, because both ships were canon, and I never saw much direct evidence of a war between them, but people would still talk about how crazy the Vegebul shippers were, and how crazy the Gochi shippers were, and it was like some huge thing going on just over the hills. It’s the same idea, since the idea that you could like both or neither never seems to occur to anyone involved. I never gave a shit, because I used to see the same dumb agendas in the Harry Potter fandom.

Okay, so let me take you back. It’s 2005 through 2011, and I’m hateblogging all seven Harry Potter novels, because fuck you, that’s why. The funny thing I encountered was that occasionally fans seemed to want to pretend like my bashing of certain characters was proving them right somehow. They were like “See? He hates Ron Weasley too! That proves that Seamus Finnegan is the coolest guy ever.” The Slytherin stans would do this all the time, because I would constantly take the piss out of the Gryffindor characters for being self-important dopes. I think they just liked hearing it from an outside perspective. But I had to keep reminding them all that I hated all of them. Every character from Harry Potter sucks ass. Voldemort was my favorite, but only because he was the one guy who wanted to kill all of the others. But he sucks too because he failed.

And the shippers were the same way. I’d say something shitty about Ron, because Ron sucks, and some smartass Joss Whedon fan would be like “Yes! Boost the signal! That is why Harry/Hermione is the best ship!” And I’d be like “No, Harry and Hermione suck at least as bad as Ron does. They’re all terrible and I hate them.” I really do think there was some sort of Stockholm Syndrome going on with Harry Potter books, where everyone secretly knows they suck, but the fans sort of latch on to one or two characters and go like “Well, he’s not as shitty as the rest.” Like finding spaghetti in the trash and picking out the meatball with the least amount of lint on it. Then you’d go and start a flamewar with some other starving person over whether your meatball is shittier than theirs. This is what people mean when they say to read another book.

Anyway, the big thing I picked up from Sarah Z’s video is “disinterpretation”, a term coined by MSNBC columnis Zeeshan Aleem. The Twitter thread is worth a read, but the short version is that he once remarked that a Julia Louis-Dreyfus routine wasn’t very good, and someone got mad at him for insinuating that women are incapable of being funny. They just took his dissatisfaction with one performance by one comedian as being a universal condemnation of women comedians in general. And this sort of thing is all over the internet. Everyone sees what they want to see and then they take it as permission to overreact.

I ran into this myself a while back, because someone saw who I interacted with on Twitter and decided that they’re all bad guys and if I have any interaction with them, then that makes me a bad guy too. At the time I tried to play it cool, but the more I think about it, the more it ticks me off. And over the course of that conversation, it was said that I don’t talk about myself much, and that’s kind of funny, because all I ever do on social media is write long-ass blog posts like this one. I don’t expect anyone to memorize them, or even read them all the way through, but when I write all this stuff and someone goes out of their way to say they don’t know anything about me, the message is that they just didn’t pay attention to what I was saying, and they didn’t bother to try.

So I’m a little jaded from that, because I got called out for a bunch of stuff I didn’t even do or say, and apparently that’s just a thing that happens. People will reject you for completely arbitrary reasons, not because of anything you actually said or did, and you’re left thinking you made some terrible mistake. Except, no, I’ve seen it happen to other people, people a lore more conscientious than I am, and if they can’t satisfy the bullshit purity standards, then I never stood a chance. If the game is rigged so I can’t win, then I’m not going to play.

And it’s that same condition that probably draws people into these online holy wars, because if you declare yourself for the pro or anti side, at least then you’ll have a posse backing you up. Only they don’t support you, they support your willingness to support them. Once your commitment to their agenda wavers, even in the slightest, they will turn against you.

Sarah Z suggests that both sides of the war drop the pro and anti terms, since they lost all meaning long ago. But that just invites a new set of useless terms to perpetuate the same cycle. Her more useful advice is for fandom people to broaden their horizons. She got a lot of flak for tweeting “Go outside” once, but the ironic thing is that it’s sound advice. I had lunch with my mom yesterday and it was just nice getting away from things for a while. People need to do that more often, and unfortunately it feels like it’s harder to do than ever before.

But “go outside” isn’t just a literal thing. It can mean going beyond your usual haunts, reading the same books, watching the same shows, rehashing the same conversations. I think the reason this stuff always revolves around “shipping” is because there seems to be this deep-seated compulsion to pair fictional characters off like this, and for a lot of folks it’s the only way they can consume a story, so they do. And they do it lot, and there’s a lot of them, and they do it the same way every time, and lo and behold the same old conflicts start up. So maybe “go outside” should mean “go outside of that cycle once in a while.” Just a thought.

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