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7s3ven · 1 year ago

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NOBODY’S SON, NOBODY’S DAUGHTER. luke (pjo) pt 1

PART 1 > PART 2 > PART 3 > PART 4 (last pt)

( master list )

IN WHICH… Y/N L/N, after spending a decade at Camp Half-Blood, still remains unclaimed. Luckily, Luke is there to keep her company as her good friend. And to, perhaps, provide a bit more.

“I’m in the wind, you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.”

( follows the show - kind of just a oneshot bc i’m bored )

Warnings : fighting, violence, a little too much of a description about injuries

—

Nobody had been this excited about a new kid since three years ago, when a H/C-haired girl showed up holding a Harpy’s head. The new arrival had slain a Minotaur, which Clarisse wasn’t too happy about. She was convinced he was a liar.

Y/N sat in the Hermes cabin, closely inspecting her empty juice box. She had waken up an hour ago yet her good friend, Luke, still woke up earlier. She always wondered where he went in the early morning. Perhaps to get some sword training in before the day started. He was, after all, the best swordsman in camp.

The rays of sun poured through the window, bathing the wooden floor in light. A few of the Hermes kids groaned, knowing Luke would burst through the doors any second and force them to get up. He always did when the sun rose.

As expected, Luke kicked the door open. “Good morning!” He exclaimed, as energetic as ever. “The new kid’s coming today so get up and start cleaning! I’m mainly talking to you guys.” Luke sent the group in the corner a stern look and added, “Y/N, you’re fine.” He pointed at her with his usual boyish grin.

Lately, Y/N had been sleeping in Luke’s bed while he slept on the floor. They took turns switching. Lying on the ground for more than a decade now wasn’t good for the back.

After all this time, Y/N was still unclaimed. It usually took a week or less. Y/N was a prime example of the Gods above ignoring their children.

“He’s the one who killed the Minotaur, right?” Y/N questioned as Luke collapsed onto his mattress, partly to annoy Y/N who was sitting on it. The H/C-haired girl scoffed and playfully rolled her eyes, yet she couldn’t contain the amused smile on her face.

“Yeah. He can join your little monster slaying group. Let’s hope he gets claimed because I can’t deal with a boy version of you.” Luke teasingly grinned while Y/N scoffed and slapped his shoulder.

“You love my company.” She uttered, rolling her eyes.

Luke’s friends snickered to themselves. “More like he loves you.” One whispered to another.

“What’s his name again?” Y/N asked, tilting her head to the side. “Was it… Tom?” Luke stared at her in disbelief before lightly snorting.

“You’re way off, Y/N. Stop thinking, you’ll hurt that tiny brain of your’s. Just do what you do best; sit still and look cute.” Luke ruffled her tidy hair, turning it into a bird’s nest again.

Y/N flung a pillow at him, and glowered at the Hermes boy. “I’m going to kick your ass in capture the flag.” She threatened, poking his shoulder. Clarisse, out of all people, was her best friend. So naturally, she teamed up with her.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, princess.” Luke lightly shoved her which caused Y/N to gasp in disbelief.

“Don’t push a lady, Luke!”

The other campers, already used to their antics, just chuckled. “Hey, love birds!” One of the unclaimed kids exclaimed. “Get a room!” With her smart she was, Y/N assumed she was Athena’s child.

Y/N and Luke liked to play a silly game where they guessed which camper belonged to which godly parent. It was fun. Luke was never wrong until the day he tried to guess Y/N’s.

A year ago, he guessed Aphrodite. His explanation? Because she was charming and she had a certain aura that followed her. And because she was pretty. That was the only time he was wrong because Y/N never ended up in a cabin.

“So, what do you think of the new kid? Which cabin?” Y/N asked as she and Luke walked outside. He shoved his hands into his pockets, laughing.

“Tough call. I haven’t even met him yet. Apollo, maybe?” Luke shrugged and frowned. “I’ll tell ya my guess when I see him.”

“I’m guessing… Poseidon.” Y/N uttered, earning a light snort from Luke.

“No way. Is that your confirmed guess? Being a child of Poseidon would mean being a forbidden child.”

The game had a few rules.

One. You can only take a single guess and once you confirm it, you can’t change it.

Two. You can’t ask the kid you’re talking about. Luke considers that cheating. You can only observe them.

Three. No asking Annabeth because she’s always right.

“I guess. It’s not like I ever win, right?” Y/N laughed, grinning at Luke. He stared at her for a moment before returning her bright smile.

“I know we don’t usually make bets, but if your guess turns out right, I’ll willingly give up in the next capture the flag game after he’s claimed.” Luke puffed out his chest, certain Y/N wouldn’t win.

“And if you win?” She asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You give me your strawberries.” Luke had an obsession with strawberries that everybody, even the gods above, knew about.

“You’re on, Luke.” Y/N held out her hand with her lips curved up into a teasing smirk.

“Good luck, princess. Looks like I’ll be taking all your strawberries.” Luke ran his tongue over his teeth, already being able to taste the sweet, red fruit in his mouth.

He walked off, playfully winking at Y/N. Clarisse, who saw the whole conversation go down, hurried over to Y/N. “Looks like you and lover boy have a bet going in.” She smirked, raising both her eyebrows. “You two are cute together.”

“Don’t mess with me, Clari. We’re just friends.” Y/N rolled her eyes at what her friend was suggesting. She had been friends with Luke for three years now and she had known him for even longer.

“Are you just friends… or you want to be more?” Clarisse leaned forward with that taunting glint in her beautiful eyes. Y/N groaned, shoving her away. Clarisse simply laughed. “Come on, princess.” She mocked.

“Oh, come on, Risse.” That was a horrid nickname given to Clarisse by an Apollo boy who seemed to be obsessed with her.

“Shut up!” Clarisse exclaimed, eyeing Y/N up and down in disgust as if she was the Apollo boy. “You know how I feel about him!”

“And you know how I feel about Luke.”

“Yeah… but do you?” Clarisse tilted her head to the side before her gaze flickered to something, or rather someone, behind Y/N. “The Minotaur kid is out.” She grumbled and sharply clicked her tongue.

“Great. I can see if my stupid guess was correct.” Y/N glanced over her shoulder, watching the boy walk beside Chiron. His hair was curled, much like Luke’s, and blond. Clarisse had wandered off in the midst of Y/N’s staring, but she didn’t mind.

Suddenly, the boy lifted his head. His eyes clashed with Y/N’s, and he almost jumped at how intensely she was staring at him. Y/N merely smiled before turning away.

“So, what do you think?” She asked Luke as they walked towards the Hermes cabin side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other.

“Hard to say for now.” Luke replied. Y/N looked at him and he stared back before the pair burst into quiet laughter. Just locking eyes could make two friends find anything hilarious.

“I assume you’ll take him under your wing? Good luck.” Y/N nudged him with her elbow, which seemed to be a normal gesture between them.

“Thanks, princess. See ya.”

Y/N turned around, almost crashing into a disoriented Percy Jackson. He seemed jumpy and panicked. Of course, how couldn’t he be? He had just unknowingly killed a monster and his mother had been taken.

“Hi. The first day is always rough. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Y/N muttered to him before she passed by.

She didn’t stick around to hear Chiron announce him. She sighed, wandering aimlessly around the camp. She saw Clarisse talking to her siblings. Y/N had always wondered what it was like to have siblings you could relate to. What did it feel like to understand each other? To go through the same difficulties?

The Hermes cabin was comfortable and friendly enough but it wasn’t the same. She wanted to feel what a true family felt like, or at least was supposed to.

As Y/N had expected, Luke was the first to talk to Percy.

“I’m Luke.” He introduced himself to the boy after the rocky start to their conversation.

“Percy. Hey, uh, who was that girl before? The H/C-haired one?” He questioned, clearing his throat.

“Y/N. She’s nice most of the time the time but a pain in the ass during capture the flag.” Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m just kidding. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

“You guys seem close.” Percy uttered, remembering the way Luke looked at Y/N when they talked.

“Yeah. She’s my best friend. Unfortunately for me, her best friend is an aggressive Ares kid.” He grinned, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Feel free to lie down anywhere. Just don’t get too close to Y/N. If she’s having a monster dream, she kicks in her sleep.”

One of the campers across the cabin groaned. “I know how that feels. The bruise lasted for weeks!” The others burst into laughter while Percy hurriedly made a mental note.

Avoid the pretty girl when she sleeps.

Percy was lucky that Y/N, who lay on the floor a few feet away from him, wasn’t having one of her infamous nightmares. He couldn’t say the same for himself, though.

Percy sat up, panting and sweating. He looked around, realising where he was. Birds chirped in the distant and he could hear the faint sound of chatter through the wooden walls.

“You okay?” Luke asked.

“Super.” Percy sarcastically responded.

“We all have them here, you know.” Luke clicked his tongue and sighed. “Intense, reoccurring nightmares. That’s normal here. Take Y/N for example. When she first came here, no one wanted to get near her while she slept. Girl’s a bloody good kicker.”

Percy lightly chuckled while Luke smiled. “The daydreams and ADHA and dyslexia are normal too. Demigods just process reality differently than humans do. For the first time in your life, you’re just like everyone else.”

“So, are you also…” Percy trailed off, not wanting to sound rude to his first friend at camp.

Luke found his hesitation amusing. “Am I unclaimed? No. Hermes is my father.”

“And Y/N? Is her father also Hermes?”

Luke scrunched up his face like he had just eaten a sour lemon. “Oh, no. Heck no. Y/N’s unclaimed… still. She has been for a while.” The brunette pressed his lips into a thin line as he gazed at Y/N, who was laughing with Clarisse.

“Why hasn’t Aphrodite claimed her? I mean, she looks the part.”

“That’s what we’re all asking ourselves. We all thought she’d be Aphrodite’s kid.”

Boys and girls flocked towards Y/N like she was a muse. It was no secret that out of all the campers, Y/N stood out the most. There was something unique about her, how she always hung around the aggressive Ares kids like she wanted to be one of them.

She was a tough opponent but a little too soft for Ares’ liking.

Too gentle for Ares but too angry for Aphrodite. She was constantly stuck in the middle. It almost seemed like no god or goddess wanted her in their cabin because she had proved herself over and over again.

“How long has she been unclaimed?” Percy inquired. Kids before him had asked that very same question and every time, they were never ready for the answer.

“A decade.” Luke replied, “She’s been here for a decade. Last year, there was a stupid rumour going around that she was fully mortal but that doesn’t make sense. If she was, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“Why so long?”

“Nobody knows.” Luke shrugged. He had wondered that too. And he could see how it was weighing down on Y/N. The unclaimed kid was what campers referred to her as. They used her as an example of what not to do.

“Will she ever get claimed?”

Luke hoped she would. For her sake. He knew how she felt about not having a related family of her own. For now, she was satisfied laughing over silly tales with the Hermes kids.

“So, where does she go during the day? She disappeared yesterday and today.” Percy tilted his head to the side, not being able to spot Y/N anymore. Luke paused. It was uncommon for him to not have an answer to everything.

“I… don’t know. I assume Clarisse and her go somewhere.”

“Probably swimming in the lake.” Grover said, overhearing the two’s conversation.

It was scorching during Summer at Camp Half-Blood. Most stayed in the shade while an occasional kid or two tended to the plants. So it would make sense that Y/N would go to a lake to cool off.

Luke left Percy in the company of Grover and made his way towards the Lake in the middle of the forest. As Grover guessed, he found Y/N and Clarisse and a few other Ares kids swimming in the water or sitting on the nearby rocks.

“Hey, Y/N, your lover boy is here!” One of them exclaimed. Y/N, from her spot in the middle of the lake, glared at him. She huffed before swimming over to Luke, easily heaving herself onto shore.

“Hey, Luke, ready to make your guess yet?” She asked, grinning up at him. “Or do you wanna swim?”

“My guess is definitely not Hephaestus.” Luke said as he sat down in front of Y/N. His gaze flickered to her new swimsuit. “New bathing suit?”

“Yeah. Miya got it for me.” Miya was a child of Aphrodite and favored Y/N quite a lot.

“Ah. No wonder it’s so…” Luke hesitated, “Revealing.” He tried to act like a gentleman but his cheeks flushed every time he even looked at Y/N.

“One more day until I kick your ass.” Y/N laughed as she sank back into the water, returning a moment later with her hair dripping wet and her face shining in the sunlight. She looked effortlessly angelic.

“Are you sure you’re ready to handle Y/N again, Luke? She almost beat you last time.” Clarisse snickered as she floated on her back.

Luke scoffed. “Keyword. Almost.” It was true that Y/N had almost beaten him in his own game of sword fighting but that was because she was becoming increasingly more distracting.

Gone was the shy and quiet kid who always trailed behind Clarisse. With every passing year, Y/N became more headstrong and, well, beautiful. That’s why it was so hard for Luke to keep his feelings to himself now. Even Clarisse could see through his facade.

“I’m ready to make my guess.” Luke finally announced, catching Y/N’s wavering attention. She arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “My guess… is Demeter. I met the kid and he seems gentle. A soft and kind soul.”

“Nice. I guess we’ll find out soon.” Y/N’s guess was nothing but a joke and she’d end up laughing if she was actually correct.

“Join me for a little swim?” Y/N asked, reaching out to tug on Luke’s shirt. He sighed while Y/N merely smiled. A moment later, he gave in. Luke lifted his shirt over his head while Y/N stared at him a little too shamelessly for her liking. Some of the Ares boys teasingly wolf-whistled which made Luke chuckle.

He jumped into the lake, practically tackling Y/N and taking her under with him. “Luke!” She yelled, hitting his shoulder when they resurfaced.

“Oh no. The married couple is fighting again.” Zyra, Clarisse’s half-sister, said. She and Clarisse shared a knowing grin.

“They��re so whipped.” Clarisse whispered, subtly swimming away to give the two more space.

It was the day Y/N had eagerly been waiting for. Perhaps her favourite day at Camp. Capture the flag day.

Clarisse handed Y/N a spear. “I got it fixed for you.” The brunette said. During the last game, Y/N’s spear had broken. She was forced to fight with half of it after that.

Y/N adjusted Clarisse’s armour, ensuring that it was tight enough before putting on her own helmet.

“You’re gonna love this.” She overhead Luke say to Percy as they passed by. “Camp-wide mock warfare. All glory to the victors. Annabeth’s the head counsellor. She’s led our team to three straight wins.”

Y/N looked away, giving Luke the perfect chance to gaze over at her. “Y/N and Clarisse lead the other team. Clarisse is rather… impulsive, though. Y/N’s come up with some good plans but Ares kids always go off the rails.”

“What’s the deal with you and Y/N anyway?” Percy suddenly switched the topic, much to Luke’s surprise. “I mean, you guys say you’re just friends but you’re always looking at each other. And talking. And you stare at her like she’s your world. Sometimes I wish I could look at someone like that.” Percy sighed while Luke was left speechless.

Luke cleared his throat and shook his head. “Let’s just… focus on the game.”

The conch shell blew. Y/N stood side Clarisse, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Heroes, it’s time.” Chiron announced. “The game begins. The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor. As always, there will be no maiming and no killing. I trust these rules will be respected.”

He subtly glanced over at Clarisse and her cabin.

“Let the games begin.”

There was twenty minutes until the next conch shell, which meant game-on. Normally, Clarisse and Y/N would pair up and hunt through the woods for the first few hours. But Clarisse had a different idea this time.

“Good luck.” Y/N said to her friend, slinging her spear over her shoulder. Y/N split up with the rest of her team, taking with her small portion of campers.

“We follow Clarisse’s plan this time. We’re the last defense meaning that if the blue team manages to get through, we fight like our lives depend on it.” Y/N said as she gripped her spear tightly.

“What are going to do?” Someone else asked.

“I’m going to…. look around.”

Luke grunted as a sword piercing his upper arm. He easily disarmed his opponent and kicked them to the ground.

“We give up.” The red leader grumbled, wincing as their brushed their fingers over his cuts.

“I wanna move quick. Straight through the woods for their flag.” Luke uttered.

“Y/N and Clarisse hunt in those woods for the first few hours, you know that. They’ll cut us down.”

Luke grinned, shaking his head. “Annabeth has a plan for Clarisse. And Y/N, as always, is mine. Don’t worry about her.”

“Last time I didn’t worry about her, she almost chopped my head off. By accident!” Chris loudly exclaimed, shoving Luke. Unbeknownst to the pair, Y/N was watching from above in the trees, hidden by the thick leaves.

She skilfully hopped from branch to branch, sliding down in front of her teammates. “The blue team is coming. They got past the other defences. Get in position.” Y/N hid behind a thick tree branch, panting and listening carefully for the sound of Luke’s voice.

She heard a twig snap and peeked her head out slightly to see Luke, Chris, and the rest of their small team. Y/N looked up, signalling to her friends above that it was almost time.

The moment Luke, who was leading the pack, stepped right where Y/N wanted him, she revealed herself. “Now!” She shouted, raising her spear and striking Luke. He easily blocked her attack.

“Thought you could ambush us, princess? Nice try.” Luke chuckled, pushing Y/N back.

“I’d say that it worked just fine.” Y/N retorted, lunging at Luke again. She pinned him to a nearby tree, holding the blade of her spear to his throat.

Chris grabbed Y/N by her shirt, pulling her back. Luke swung his sword at her but Y/N simply ducked to avoid the blow.

She tried to run off to help her teammates but Luke blocked her path. “Where do you think you’re going?” He uttered, playfully furrowing his eyebrows.

Y/N scoffed, kicking his ankles. She pointed at spear at his chest, poking it ever so slightly. “Ready to give up, Luke?”

“In your dreams.” He rolled over, latching onto Y/N’s arm and pulling her down with him. Y/N yelped, quickly scrambling up before he could grab her again.

She looked around at her surroundings, finally understanding what Luke’s plan was. It was to keep Y/N away from her team so that Luke’s could take them down. That left Y/N solely alone, standing between the flag and the blue team.

She panted, glaring at Luke. “Bring it on, Luke.” She muttered, holding up her spear. Luke was the first to make a move. He jumped at her, swinging his blade. Y/N dodged it and blocked another attack from Chris.

She quickly lowered her head, tackling another Hermes kid. Y/N rolled across the floor, swiftly standing up. “You won’t be getting near that flag on my watch.” She kicked Luke and whacked Chris. One of the Athena girls launched herself at Y/N, gripping onto her leg.

Y/N shook her off but the girl’s weight caused her to topple over. The bits of debris grazed at her skin. Chris swung his sword, slashing at Y/N. The blade cut her lower arm and blood welled up from the slit.

Quietly groaning, Y/N heaved herself up. She lightly swayed, unbalanced and a little weak. “Like I said,” She murmured, “You aren’t getting that flag.”

Y/N blocked every attack and blow aimed her way but she was getting slow. She could barely lift her weapon fast enough to stop Luke from successfully landing a hit.

Everything was becoming too overwhelming as she struggled to keep up. It was all a fast blur filled with weapons violently clashing against each other and shouting.

Up above, thunder crashed and lightning flickered through the darkening sky. Rain poured down, drenching the campers.

The thunder got louder and the lightning brighter as the seconds passed until nobody could ignore it. A harsh flash of lightning hit a tree nearby, setting it alight.

“Y/N, watch out!” Luke shouted, reaching out. Strings of electricity rippled around Y/N as a burning tree branch fell towards her. Luke sprinted towards her, dropping his sword in the process. He tackled Y/N, shielding her from harm’s way.

She groaned as she hit her head, black dots swirling around in her vision. She felt numb and her head lolled to the side as she heard shouts of victory followed by gasps of surprise.

“Y/N L/N has been claimed by Zeus, the king of Gods and the God of thunder and ruler of the sky.”

#percy jackson series #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan x you #one shot #percy jackson fanfiction #demigods #romance #zeus #greek mythology #roman mythology #annabeth chase #grover underwood

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onceonafullmoon · 11 days ago

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And they were roomates

Sae x GN! Reader

Arranged Marriage AU, slightly suggestive at the end, fluff, typed out in like an hour so it might be ass

Sae’s charming, in a typical book stereotypic way, his blunt, chilling demeanor, he’s like something out of a billionaire romance novel you’d pick up, but he’s also not. He watches Crayon Shin-chan, he cracks jokes (though sometimes you can’t tell if he’s serious or not), and he’s a massive weirdo (he finds the strangest things intriguing, an example being his choices of friends). And maybe that’s why you found yourself falling for him, because he’s a complete dork at times despite everything about his initial impression screaming otherwise.

Your relationship with Sae has always been quite stiff, but it’s not something you ever really minded when you thought about it.

Arranged marriages aren’t exactly supposed to be considered the prime of romance, but you haven’t really gone into this thinking that it would be some sort of romantasy book. At best, it’s a slightly awkward roommate situation with a healthy dose of boring that you’d find in any dorm situation.

The only difference is that you share a bed with a pillow between the two of you, (for your comfort more than his, you suppose he wouldn’t care either way) and the fact that his parents and yours will occasionally pester the two of you about your marital relations.

But other than that, it’s the standard roommate situation. Adjusting to each others schedules (he goes for runs at ungodly hours in the morning), setting rules (you’re not allowed to hog the shower in the evenings) and occasional roommate bonding activities (you and him have movie nights, and you strongly uphold the idea that Taxi Driver is a shit movie), it’s normal.

But you notice that lately, things have skewed slightly, you find yourself a bit too eager to see him when he comes home from practices, discover yourself taking over for the cooking when you know he’ll be late, looking forward to hanging out with him. You notice that nowadays you don’t even bother to put the pillow down between the two of you when you go to bed.

It takes you a good while to realize, but you know that deep in your heart it was obvious. You have a crush on your husband.

And it’d be so silly of you to pursue that, these lingering feelings of affection, when you know he’s only in it for familial obligations, but still, you can’t help but fall for him.

Anyway, it all comes to a head one night as the both of you are baking in the kitchen, your hands and clothes stained with flour as you set to work rolling out the dough for cinnamon rolls, him being occupied with the creating the batter for the pumpkin bar recipe you showed him (you knew he wouldn’t eat any of your baked goods on the account of his diet, so you compromised with this). It’s simple and domestic, and you can’t help the way your heart races slightly in your chest as you try to focus on the way you carefully push your rolling pin across the expanse of the tan dough.

You’ve been absentmindedly chatting for sometime when suddenly the topic of your marriage is brought up, and you laugh as you tell him that you weren’t exactly sure what marriage would be, but you didn’t expect it to be like this.

“Is it worse or better?” Sae asks, pouring the batter into the tray carefully, using his spatula to maneuver the liquid out.

You pause to consider this as you reach over for your brown sugar and cinnamon mixture to spread over the dough.

“It’s not worse than what I thought the worst case scenario would be, but it’s not better than the best case scenario.” You answer, looking at him with a slight smile.

He looks up at you then, mildly curious as he sets his bowl down, the batter spread out evenly in the pan in a way that’s so infuriatingly perfect compared to your slightly clumpy spread and speaks, his cool tone betraying nothing of his own feelings on the matter.

“And what would have been your best case scenario?”

You’re tempted to respond comically, an image of an Adonis with a heart of gold and the charisma of a prince flitting through your mind, your imaginary husband having both the ability to lead a university lecture and yet somehow also only listen to you during arguments, but you shrug and decide to be honest.

“I think my best case scenario would have had a bit more romance.” You say, starting in on carefully rolling up your dough.

“Not that we aren’t madly attracted to each other.” You add on as an afterthought, a slightly bitter smile on your face as you consider your own one sided secret infatuation. “Which reminds me, when exactly are you going to fall in love with me?”

You can already see his reaction, the blank look he’ll give you when you bother him too much with your jokes, a dry scoff leaving his lips as he stares at you with a disbelieving demeanor, probably paired with an eye roll if he’s feeling particularly catty.

“I already have.” He says instead, making you pause in your actions, your dough half rolled as you look up at him.

You can’t usually tell when Sae is joking, it’s true, but you can tell when he’s really serious about something, the way his body shifts to face you as he begins to talk, even the slow smooth candace of his tone, but the most important give away is the way his eyes narrow slightly, the green in them becoming even more piercing.

For a moment, you’re stuck there, frozen in place as the implications of the words really start to sink in, awe struck by the realization that what you wanted, what was something so close, yet so impossibly far away, was right there in your grasp.

And then the oven beeps, and the world resumes motion as you watch him absentmindedly put the tray inside, clueless to how you’re feeling as he shuts the door in place.

“I’ll be back later then, I’m going to shower.” He says, and you can’t tell if you’re still breathing.

It must be nice being emotionally dense you think, but as you see a hint of a smirk on his face you realize that you might be wrong about his sensitivity towards emotions.

“You should be more firm with your boundaries starting now though.” He says over his shoulder. “I’ve got needs too and I won’t be able to hold back if you keep forgetting to put that pillow down.”

The words echo in your mind as you look after him as he leaves, your dough half rolled into a tube as you struggle to process what just took place. Eventually, you manage to form a single thought as you stand there, face flushed.

Asshole.

#bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader fluff

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arcanefox207 · 11 months ago

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The Wolf You Feed (Part 1)

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 8k

Part 1 / ? (Ongoing Series) A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T

Summary: Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Warnings: No Outbreak, AU but with TLoU characters, Large age gap (Reader is 29. Joel is 50). This chapter includes smut with fingering and cum eating. Dominant Joel. Eventual Angst. Drinking Alcohol. Pet names but no use of Y/N. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab.

A/N: Please hang in there. This chapter has a lot of setup and is a bit of a slow burn. Its also my first fic and I am pouring my heart and soul into it.

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N

“Remember, if you need anything you can ask Joel. He knows his way around the house” your mother reminds you.

“Thanks, I will be fine but I’ll keep that in mind.” You appease her but have no intention of bothering her neighbor.

“Love you, honey. Talk later!”

“Bye mom. Love you.” You end the call and slump back against the couch. This was going to be your home for the next few months. Your parents had gone south to avoid the brutal New England winter and had offered their summer vacation home in Kineo to you in the interim. No rent and plenty of free time to figure out what to do with your life next. All you had to do was pay the utilities and keep an eye on things.

The offer was genuine but also came from a place of concern. You had spent the last few years living a more-or-less nomadic life and poorly indulging your dreams of adventure. Your bachelors degree in Liberal Arts proving to be as useless as everyone told you it would be. It got you jobs easy enough but nothing that felt like a long term career. It all felt directionless but you also had been hell bent on proving everyone else wrong and keeping up the appearance that you were doing just fine.

Your past relationships were nothing too exciting either. Months of casually dating someone and it not really going anywhere or random hookups that you regretted the next day. One or two guys you were getting serious with but ultimately scared you off when they started talking about a family in their big picture. You were starting to get cynical about any compatible prospects.

You are only 29 and wonder if a midlife crisis before your 30’s is normal. At least, that is what it felt like was happening. You had been treading water for too long and felt like you were too tired to keep swimming.

Your mother finally wore you down enough when your lease was up at your Boston apartment and you had no real obligations. You hated your current job, your roommates were little more than acquaintances and the busy city life scene was starting to lose its charm especially when it was astronomically expensive to live there. It was getting harder to say no so you agreed to her offer.

You had to admit living in the country sounded like a nice change. You had a few months to figure stuff out and the thought of something new was exciting to you. Even if it meant continuing to endure the bitter winter, you had a chance to start fresh somewhere new. Something different.

You didn’t grow up here and spent most of your life living in suburban homes with slightly warmer climates. Your parents had bought a small one bedroom vacation home in a sleepy New England town that they mostly only enjoyed in the prime summer months. The home sat mostly vacant otherwise. They would rent it out for weeks at a time but in the winter months no one from away wanted to go there. Too far from ski resorts and civilization to be of interest to a casual vacationer. It had a lake that drew much attention from outsiders only when it wasn’t frozen. The town was reduced to just the year-round locals in the coldest months.

Your new residence was outside the main populous of Kineo and nearby the lake. In fact, you could see the lake peeking through the thick pine trees out the front window if you looked hard enough.

The closest and only neighbor in sight was the handyman your parents raved about across the street. He kept an eye on the place while they were away. You had never interacted with him on your occasional summer visits, but knew he had been kind to your folks and heard about him often enough. You occasionally saw him out in his yard from afar and he would give a lazy wave to your parents in passing. You never really got a good look at him up close but from what you could see he looked rugged and fit and always wore jeans and work boots. He had a modest waterfront cabin across the street and seemed to keep to himself.

You had arrived just a few days ago and already had a job lined up at the local coffee shop, Grind. You were getting your caffeine fix and saw a help wanted sign in their window and you had no trouble securing the job when you chatted with the owner. She hired you on the spot and seemed desperate but grateful that you actually had enthusiasm for coffee and knew your Americanos from your Lattes. Grind Coffee House was on the main drag along with some other quaint shops. It was charming enough and an easy 10 minute drive from your house. The pay was pitiful but would be enough to get by. Things seemed to be lining up perfectly.

You went to bed early that night and felt optimistic that this was going to be good for you. This was going to be the reset that you craved. A new adventure. It was like nothing you had experienced before and maybe that was exactly what you needed.

–

Shit. Your first day working at Grind and you can’t even get the car to start.

It was freezing cold. The kind of cold that hurts when it touches your exposed skin. You turn the key in the ignition again and the engine makes a pathetic attempt to turn over. Nothing. Fuck.

You turn the key again. Nothing. Fuck fuck fuck. You pull out your phone and realize you have no idea what to do other than call your new boss and make a horrible first impression. No, that wasn’t going to do. You look in the rearview mirror and see across the street that lights are on at your neighbors house, despite the early hour. As quickly as the thought crosses your mind you push it away. No. No way were you going to bother him at this hour. You hadn’t even officially met the guy yet.

You pull up Google on your phone and scan the first few results for “car won’t start” and narrow it down to engine troubles or dead battery. Either outcome is something you are not equipped to handle.

A few moments pass and you reluctantly weigh the options. Would a garage even be open this early? How long would that take to get someone out there? You were wasting time and had to do something. You curse to yourself and go back inside the house.

You walk over to the fridge where a note is hanging front and center “Joel Miller” with a phone number neatly printed. Your mothers careful handwriting to contact the poor neighbor that she probably harasses all the time. You sigh and open your phone to dial the number.

It rings a few times, and then you hear a gravelly voice that catches you off guard.

“Hello?” A deep and thick, unfamiliar accent answers. Not what you were expecting.

“Hi, Mr. Miller.” a long pause and you stumble over your words. “I uh, I’m sorry to call you so early. I'm Rick and Linda’s daughter.” and mumble your name. Another pause.

“Ah, right. Whatcha need, kid?” He asks with little expression in his tone. You can’t tell if he is annoyed or just sounded that way.

“My car won’t start and I–” you pause, not too sure how to ask for help from a stranger. “I don’t know what to do...” Your voice trails off with uncertainty on how to ask for help or what you are even expecting.

You hear a long exhale on the other end, like he is letting all the air out of his lungs while he is thinking on it.

“Dead battery most likely… on a day like this. I’ll be right over.” He hangs up the phone before you can say another word and instead say thank you out loud to yourself and let your voice trail off. You instantly regret making the call.

You zip up your coat, pull your knit hat snug over your ears and head back outside when you see a black Ford pickup truck ease into your driveway. A tall man wearing a brown suede jacket approaches. The morning light is faint but you can make out that he is much older and has some silver streaking his hair and beard. He looks weathered and rugged but also has a warmness about him that is hard to reconcile with his rough exterior.

“Joel Miller, I presume?” you nervously laugh and awkwardly introduce yourself for the second time. You attempt to be extra friendly and maybe penetrate his bristly wall. It seems to help when he notices you are a young woman and not some bratty teenager that your parents probably made you out to be. He takes a step forward and reaches a hand out towards you, nodding. He firmly shakes your hand and you are taken aback by how his grasp seems to engulf you.

“Pleasure to meet you, darling.” His voice is smooth and polite and has the tiniest hint of playfulness in his tone. You can’t place his accent, but you know it isn’t from around here and only someone from away would say ‘Darling’ so casually to a stranger.

His dark brown eyes hold your gaze for a moment and he has the faintest smirk as he subtly scans your body. It sends goosebumps down your spine. You are grateful that you made an extra effort to look cute for your first day of work. You realize your hands are still embraced and nervously laugh as you pull away. He gets right down to business, but not before stealing another peek of your body when he thinks you aren’t looking.

“Lets see what we got here.'' He climbs into the driver's seat and in no time confirms it's the battery when he hears your car's engine protest. He walks over to his tailgate and brings back some jumper cables.

You stand there with your arms wrapped around your body trying to hold in as much warmth as possible. Your bare hands clenched in a fist and tucked in as far as they could in your jacket sleeve to shelter from the cold. Your teeth chattering as you try to stand out of the way but want to be nearby too. At least give the illusion you can be helpful if he needs something. You regret your first meeting being a clueless damsel in distress, but maybe he liked that sort of thing. His tune did seem to change once he saw you.

Joel returns and leans over the edge of the seat leaving the door wide open, his large palm dragging up slowly from the floor to the steering column, searching for the hood release. His finger catches on the button and he pops the hood. It’s hard not to stare at him while he slides his expert hands with reckless abandon.

His eyes find yours and the corner of his mouth raises slightly. You question if you are mistaking his caught you watching me look for more than what it was. He seems to enjoy you watching him work. He steps away from the seat and pulls a pair of work gloves from his back pocket as he works to connect your car to his truck with the jumper cables. He starts his truck back up and approaches you. Your breath and his making little frozen clouds as you exhale.

“You can sit in my truck if you want, it’s plenty warm in there.” He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “This will just be a minute.” You thank him and take him up on his offer and climb into his passenger seat. He has a classical rock station playing on the radio. A thermos sitting in the center console. You glance in the back seat and see some neatly organized tools and miscellaneous junk on the floor. It smells metallic and leathery.

You outstretch your hands to the vents that are pouring warm air into the cabin and relish the heat.

A few moments pass and you don’t see much of what’s going on with the hood of the truck blocking your view. You doom scroll on Instagram to keep yourself busy but your mind keeps thinking about Joel. You were in no way prepared for your neighbor to be so fucking handsome. It felt absurd to be so turned on by him.

He’s too old. You tell yourself. Don’t even think about it.

Your thoughts are interrupted as the hood slams shut and Joel opens the driver's door. He reaches his arm out to grab his thermos while he climbs into the seat with a groan. The door shuts hard behind him and a blast of cold air invades your space briefly.

“Damn cold one today” He says it with a huff as more of an observation than a complaint. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks over to you. You nod in agreement and find yourself caught up in what to say to him. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them in his backseat. He rests his arm along the back of the seat and it is nearly touching your shoulder. The way his body takes up the space makes you feel small and helpless. Then, you remember you are small and helpless compared to him. He doesn’t feel threatening towards you but you certainly does give off the aura that he could be intense in the right circumstance. You find that undeniably attractive.

“Your folks called me last week. Told me you were gonna be staying here a while.” His eyes are back focused on you. “Meant to come over this weekend and introduce myself.” he seems a little nervous and takes another sip of his coffee. “Didn’t wanna bother you, though.”

You feel a small smile start to grow on your face. The thought that he shared the same reservations brought comfort. Joel rests his thermos between his legs while still holding it with one hand. He looks like he is hesitating to say something but does it anyway. He looks over at you with tender eyes,

“Didn’t expect.. You know...” He makes an unreadable expression as he is searching for the words and scans your body up and down. “Someone like you.” You were not entirely sure what he meant by that, but his smoldered stare on your body made you feel hot inside and your cheeks flush. He looked at you with intrigue and it made you feel good. It made you feel wanted. It had been too long since you felt that way.

In fact, it has been too long since you had any sort of relationship. Even a casual lay.

“You really saved my ass this morning. Thank you.” You pause and feel yourself giving a sultry gaze back at him. “I owe you one.” Joel makes a no big deal gesture with his hand and a cocky smile as he chews the inside of his cheek. In that brief moment you feel something between the two of you. The desire to flirt; tempt a man with at least 20 years on you. An unexpected but undeniable magnetic pull. A curiosity to learn what lies beneath. A forbidden fruit that is ripe and beckoning for you to take a bite. Something different. Something exciting. Something you know you should stifle before it even begins.

His eyes reflect the same sentiment but also harbor concern and restraint. It’s a bad idea. The brief silence between you looms loudly. The elephant in the room.

“Where ya’ off to so early anyways?” he asks, eager to change the subject. He takes another sip of his coffee while you reply.

“Oh, first day working at Grind. You know it?” Joel's demeanor changes in a subtle way that you may not have seen if you weren’t so focused on trying to read him.

“Oh. Yeah..” he chides and looks down, pensive in thought as he brings his hand to the back of his neck and rakes it through his hair. “I know the place.” He glances back up and avoids eye contact. The bite in his voice does not go unnoticed, but you don’t pry.

An uncomfortable subject; noted.

“Better coffee than this I reckon” he says as he places his thermos back in the center console. He attempts to lighten the tone and then glances at his watch.

“I gotta get to work, sweetheart. Keep your car runnin’ for a bit and you should be all set. Probably get that battery replaced.” His tone is more serious now, more business-like. You realize you had been waiting in his truck longer than necessary. You really have to get to work anyways.

You thank him again and return to your car. He waits for you to get in and raises his fingers off his steering wheel in a lazy wave to signal he was leaving. He backs out of your driveway and heads down the road towards town.

You take a deep breath and adjust the knobs in your car. Joel had put everything on high heat and full blast for you and your car was now unbearably toasty. You tune your radio and ease into the road and on your way to work.

All the while your mind can’t stop thinking about your charming, handyman neighbor.

So that's Joel Miller. You smile to yourself and faintly feel butterflies in your stomach. Anxious thoughts that excite and frighten you.

–

It took Marlene all of five minutes to become your new work bestie. She was efficient and smart and knew her way around the place. She was the only one working when you arrived and despite the line of customers she was friendly and teased you for arriving late on your first day.

Marlene had great rapport with everyone. It was apparent that the customers were all regulars and she wasted no time introducing you to them. She had a somewhat forward style but it was well received because she knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t waste time being flowery and over the top. It reminded you of the brashness of Boston.

After the morning rush things were relatively calm. You had time to chat and get to know her a little more while she was showing you the ropes. It wasn’t complicated and you were a quick study.

By mid afternoon it was time to close up shop. The hours were a perk. You were scheduled to work weekdays from open till close and would have to occasionally help out on Saturdays. Marlene worked the same shift and the weekends were mostly covered by high schoolers.

It was just after 2 o’clock when the owner, Tess, stopped by.

“How did it go?” she asks you both as she takes a seat and rests her bag on the counter. Marlene had no intention of telling her you were late and talked you up, pleased with your presence. Tess had a few other properties she owned so her time at the coffee shop was only as needed and Marlene you learnt was more or less the one who ran things day to day.

You recap the day and thank her again for the job. You did genuinely enjoy the work. It was easy. Simple and straightforward. You got to know lots of town folk and everyone was curious and interested in meeting the new girl in town.

Tess seemed pleased enough and was quick to head out. She was friendly but brief and gave the impression she had other responsibilities that demanded her attention. She joins you behind the counter briefly and pours herself a black hot coffee in a to-go cup. Another perk of the job was indulging in all the free coffee.

“Let me know if you guys need anything!” She says energetically as she collects her bag and heads out the door. She flips the sign to “closed” as she leaves.

“Tess is cool. She doesn’t interfere too much and we only see her a few times a week, if that.” You nod to acknowledge Marlene. “Lets finish cleaning up and get out of here.”

It was nice leaving with the sun bright and warm. Winter meant shorter days, so getting out of work with a few hours of daylight felt luxurious. The bitter cold from the morning had made its departure.

You had been so focused with work it wasn’t until you got back to your car that you allowed yourself to think about Joel again. You know you shouldn’t but can’t help feeling turned on at the thought of him. He was handsome in that brooding, mysterious way and he emanated competence. It was refreshing and welcomed.

You decided to send him a text message. You had his number in your recent contacts after all and you were curious if he would play along. You were certain that there was something sparked between the two of you, but unsure if he would act on it. Unsure if there were too many obstacles between you.

You keep it simple and friendly.

You: Thanks again for your help!

Your car starts up with no issue and you head home. When you arrive you glance down to your phone to see a simple reply.

Joel: Anytime

It was brief but you couldn’t help but read it with that low, southern drawl. His voice was so distinct. Polite but stern. You add him as a contact in your phone and wonder if he did the same.

You take a shower, make some dinner and get comfortable in your bed. It’s early and you watch some TV when you hear your phone chime. You glance at your phone and see Joel Miller has you on his mind as he revives the conversation with you.

Joel: So how did it go?

You smile and recount this feeling like you were a teenager talking to your crush. You want to gush about your first day but you play it cool and brief.

You: Went good, I think I’ll like it there

A few minutes pass. Against your better judgment you start to go into details but delete it before you hit send. You recalled his strange reaction earlier when you brought up Grind. This man has you second guessing yourself and you don’t want to blow it before it even begins. He replies instead before you elaborate.

Joel: Glad to hear. Thought you would.

You: I’m exhausted though, getting to bed

You decide to be playful and see how he reacts.

You: Goodnight, Mr. Miller.

Joel: Just Joel.

Joel: Goodnight darling

Darling. Even if it was just a typical Southern phrase it made you wild. It was uncommon to hear in the north and felt so endearing and warm. The knots in your stomach return as you struggle to fall asleep. Your mind is too excited to see where things go from here. You knew he was interested in you enough to keep talking. It would have been easy for him to end the conversation there and keep things formal and neighborly.

Your mind wanders thinking about how truly handsome he is. How badly you want his manly, rough hands on your body. How his voice makes you melt. How his domineering presence makes you tingle in your core. You feel yourself starting to get wet just at the thought of his body and what you wanted to do to it. What you wanted him to do to you. Sinful thoughts.

You slide your hand between your legs and feel yourself already wet and wanting. Your delicate fingers tease circles over your clit and it doesn’t take long before you get off. You feel ashamed to be lusting over an old man you barely know, but nevertheless wish it was Joel’s rough hands on you.

You wonder if he is doing the same thing and sharing the same thoughts about you.

–

A few uneventful days go by and now it’s Friday. You haven’t seen much of Joel other than his truck occasionally driving off, but he had been stuck on your mind all week. Lonely nights accompanied by dirty thoughts of Joel that only fueled your yearning to get closer to him. Your inhibitions regarding age and disapproval of your parents were blinded by your building desire. It still weighed on you though. Your parents would be appalled and probably disown you if they knew. It would just be another tick on the disappointment list.

Work is busy and the day flies by. Just a few hours to go. You are taking a break, sitting at one of the tables by the front window and snacking on a blueberry scone. You reason with yourself that tonight is as good as any to try to make something happen.

You: You doing anything tonight?

An agonizing hour passes and no reply. Your message is on read. Marlene takes notice of your change in demeanor. When things finally slow down and its just the two of you waiting around to close up she presses you.

“So.. whats going on? You look distant.”

“Just trying to… make friends here.” You pause. “A friend in particular.” Your voice trails off. Marlene catches on quick and she had suspected you were starting to fall for someone.

“Anyone I know?” Marlene knows everyone. You don’t want her judgment on the matter so you keep it vague.

“My neighbor. He doesn’t seem the type to come to a place like this though.” Your phone chimes and you try to play down your excitement as you look down and see it’s from Joel. You can barely contain a smile.

Joel: Just got done a job. No plans

Marlene searches your face and rolls her eyes.

“Just go over then. Easy enough.” she was right.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

The rest of the shift goes by quickly and you are both out the door by 3 o’clock.

You sit in your car and decide to just call him already. You were craving to hear his voice again and you wanted to put him on the spot. He answers quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Joel. I still owe you, you know for helping me out earlier.” Joel sighs in defeat.

“I see you aint lettin’ that go. What did ya have in mind?”

“Can I come over tonight? I’ll bring over drinks.” Your offer was more forward than you intended, but you went with it.

“Yeah, ok. Sounds good.” He pauses and has a counter offer for you. “Come over for dinner first?” You melt at the thought and realize you haven’t responded and there is a silence while you are getting lost in your thoughts. “Grilling steaks. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You can feel your smile spilling into the phone. That sounds more than good. It sounds really fucking good.

“Alright. Come over ‘round 7.”

“Ok. See you tonight.” You end the call and take a deep breath. Your heart is beating out of your chest in excitement.

–

Getting ready for the night you attempted a relaxed look. You wanted to look nice, but approachable. You had some worn jeans that tucked neatly into your Bean boots. A button down flannel that you left undone over an intentionally low cut, fitted shirt. It accented your chest just right. You wore your hair down and went light on the makeup. You threw on a light leather jacket and grabbed the six pack of beer as you head across the street.

Joel opens the door and leans in the doorframe with a casual figure, taking you in while he bites his lip,

“Evening' sweetheart” He steps back and holds the door open for you and gestures to come in. He was definitely a gentleman. You normally are not a fan of the pet names, but he worked them into his vocabulary so smoothly it was welcomed.

You step inside and turn around, holding up the six pack of beer.

“Sam Adams. That ok?” He shuts the door and nods in approval. “Figured I’d bring some Boston culture over.” You step further inside. His kitchen is just off the main entrance and has an island with some bar stools at it. You make your way over and take a seat and rest the case on the countertop.

Your eyes scan the room. His kitchen is tidy, save the spot where he prepped the steaks. You see an empty whiskey glass. Evidence that he had at least one stiff drink before you came over. You panic a little and regret not doing the same.

“That where you lived before this?” He interrupts your thought as he stands across you at the island. His crossed forearms holding him up as he leans towards you with intrigue. He is dressed plainly in a pair of worn jeans and a plain navy blue t-shirt that hugs his arms just right. His biceps bulge as he is leaning forward and your mind is now preoccupied with just how broad his shoulders are. You almost forgot he asked you a question.

“Yeah, for a few years anyways.” You briefly recount, distracted when Joel takes a beer bottle from the case and effortlessly pops the cap with his large, calloused hands. A satisfying hiss escapes the bottle followed by a clink as the cap falls to the countertop. He slides it over to you and repeats the motion again for himself.

“Oh, wow.” you say out loud, without realizing it. Joel has that cocky side smirk again, well aware of his impressive party trick. He holds the bottle up and towards you and you do the same, clanking bottle necks together and taking a sip. Your eyes are locked on each other for a moment; trying to read each other's intentions.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna put the steaks on.” he gestures his head to the back door that leads onto the deck. He grabs his suede jacket off the back of a chair and walks towards the back entrance. You trail behind and this was the first time you really noticed just how beautiful his home was.

His open living room and kitchen had a vaulted ceiling with massive windows lining the whole back side of the cabin. It faced the lake and you could imagine how serene it would be to watch the sunrise. The cedar walls and flooring made it feel cozy and inviting. There was a large wood stove in the center of the living room and an open loft above the back of the living room. The deck seemed to wrap along a good part of the home.

“Your home is beautiful.” It had looked so much more discrete from the road; tucked behind some pines and a long driveway. The backyard was a short distance to the lake and sloped slightly down to a dock. Joel probably had a boat parked there in the summer. The cabin was perched perfectly with a breathtaking view; isolated and private from the world.

“Thank you. I built it myself. Me and my brother Tommy.”

“Thats… impressive.”

“Eh, just comes with being a contractor. Made more sense to build my own place the way I wanted.” There it was again, that feeling in your core that excites you. Joel likes to be in control, and he has the skill set to back it up making it all the more alluring.

Its a cool night, but not uncomfortably cold to be outside for a few minutes with a jacket. In fact, you are grateful to have the crisp air to help ground you and calm you down. It was embarrassing how easily Joel could work you up. You lean over the railing and gaze out over the lake while he tends to the grill for a moment and then joins you at the railing.

“I spent a few years there myself. Boston.” This was news to you, but you were still curious about his Southern accent.

“And… before?”

“Texas.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Most my life.” You smile and give a slight laugh.

“Well, that certainly explains things. You don’t exactly sound like a New Englander” you tease him. Joel laughs and looks a little distant. Something you have come to realize about Joel is that he has a lot on his mind he doesn’t say out loud. His mysterious demeanor was something you found as attractive as it was frustrating.

“You like it here so far?” He asks.

“I do. Its simple and peaceful. Life is easy here.” you realize while saying this out loud that you mean it. You really are enjoying your time in Kineo more than you ever had expected. “And… my neighbor isn’t so bad.” You tease. Joel rolls his eyes and returns to the grill, pulling the steaks off.

“Mine is a pain in the ass.” He jokes as he closes the grill. He wasn’t wrong. You were persistent if anything.

–

Dinner is laid back and enjoyable. He has a small dining room table but you choose to sit next to each other at the island drinking your Sam Adams and enjoying your ribeye steaks. Joel cooked them to perfection. You stay seated long after you are done eating, getting carried away with conversation. Your bodies are facing each other and knees knocking into his as you get animated with your storytelling.

Joel mostly listens while you ramble on. The more you drink the lower your inhibitions get. You are a lightweight to begin with and it doesn’t take much. You don’t even notice that he isn’t really listening to you anymore. His focus has left your well intended words and shifted to your body. He’s looking at your low-cut shirt teasing him. The way you brush your hair out of your face when you laugh. How your neck looks so inviting when you tilt your head back to take a sip of beer, You don’t register that he is eyeing you crudely like you are a piece of meat. That he is fighting every urge inside him to just lose himself with you.

He inches his hand along the countertop closer to yours until he is grazing your wrist with a light touch and dragging his fingers back across yours. It sends a shiver through your body as you become aware how he is looking at you and how painfully reserved his touch is. It is polite but intrusive. He watches how it makes you feel. How you start to come undone.

Your pent up feelings are starting to overwhelm you and you excuse yourself reluctantly. Your heart starts to race and you wonder if he can hear it beating.

You get up and bring your plate over to the sink to wash it. It is a distraction more than anything while you gather yourself. Joel watches you from behind for a moment. You can feel his gaze burning into you and brace yourself against the counter. You like the way it feels. The way he makes you feel wanted.

That loud silence returns. The air in the room feels heavy. He joins you at the sink and you can feel his heat envelop you as he approaches you from behind. His broad body boxes you in and makes you feel small and vulnerable.

Joel takes his hands and dances his fingers down your arms lightly. His touch starts a fire inside you and you crave a heavier hold. You need him like you need air in your lungs. He presses a gentle kiss behind your ear and another one drags to your jawline and to the soft meat of your neck. His coarse beard scrapes against your skin and makes you shudder. You press your ass into him and feel him hard against your lower back. He responds by pressing into you firmly and brings his mouth to your ear.

“You feel what you do to me, beautiful girl?” He asks with his low, gravely voice and presses another kiss into you. His heat is searing into you.

He agonizingly slides his hands down to your hips and turns you to face him. He pushes your body gently against the countertop and moves one of his hands up to caress your face. He presses his hips into you and holds your chin gently between his thumb and finger. He stares down at you with a thirst in his eyes. He narrows his focus to try to get a reading on you. Your mouths are just inches apart. There is a hunger he is resisting but the wolf inside is slowly starting to win over reason.

“I want this, Joel.” You stare up at him and make sure he can see the desire in your eyes and that you are serious. You want to remove any hesitations he has on your account. You try to rock your hips into him but he has you pinned. He can feel your needy attempt.

“We shouldn’t…” Joel pleads, but his words are empty and not speaking the same language as his body.

Your age, your parents, your unfamiliarity with one another all should be reason enough to quelch this flame, but it just makes you want it that much more. He has wanted you since he first laid eyes on you that morning he came to your rescue. He wants to be respectful but fails, instead teasing you with how much he wants you. The hesitance is an illusion that he has kept up until that moment. Your body is trapped against his and he is looking at you like you are prey in his clutches. You had suspected and even hoped that Joel was a dominant lover with how confident he carried himself.

You seize the opportunity to show him just what he is doing to you.

You push your tongue into him and taste him; sweet and malty. His warm and wet mouth is inviting and intense. All reluctancy fades away as he gives in to you and takes control with his tongue. You can feel his cock is hard and straining against his jeans as he rocks into you. Your arms hang around his neck and tangle into his hair as you grind against each other. The friction of both your bodies sending each other into a frenzy.

He drags his mouth away, biting at your lower lip as he moves along your jawline to the soft skin at your neck. You stretch your head back giving him full access to your bare neck as he nips at you hungrily. His scruffy beard rubs roughly against your supple skin and feels so good. One hand roams up your shirt while his mouth traces lower and lower down to your collarbone. He thumbs and circles over your nipple. He can feel it harden through your bra and engulfs your breast with his large hand. His touch is brazen but you welcome it. You can feel just how badly he wants to devour you and it makes you moan.

He slides his expert hand from your breast and drags it down to your jeans. He unbuttons them hastily with force and works his hand slowly inside. Your underwear is already wet from your arousal. He pulls his mouth away from you and has a devilish grin as he grabs at your pussy and narrows his eyes on you.

“You’re so wet for me.” He says breathlessly with anticipation while he has you in his grasp.

He slides his hand inside your waistband and teases your clit as his hand slides against you. You want to reply to him but your words are trapped beneath the moans caught in your throat. He brings a finger to your opening and slowly pushes the tip inside you. The pressure from his large, calloused fingers makes you buck into him. He rubs his thumb over your clit as he slowly teases your entrance with his finger. He takes it slow and when he thinks you are ready he slips another one inside.

You can feel your walls clench around his obscenely thick fingers and he pushes deeper. Twisting and playing at your entrance and thrusting in. Your hips writhe in his grasp. While one hand is busy with your cunt the other has an iron grip on the back of your neck. His mouth messily returns to the soft skin above your collarbone and into the crook of your neck. You are completely at his mercy and can’t imagine any other place you’d want to be.

You are so tight but he stretches you open artfully. Moans escape your lips as you gasp when his fingers dip further into you, reaching that perfect part deep inside.

“Come for me.” He pants into you with a snarl as you convulse on him.

He doesn’t let up and fucks you relentlessly with his fingers until you are coming and moaning his name. Incoherent expletives escape you while you soak him.

You ride the wave of pleasure for as long as you can. It has been too long since you had fucked around with someone. However, no one had ever so masterfully gotten you off with just their fingers. The way he handled your body and worshiped you with his mouth was intoxicating.

As you come down from your high he slides his wet fingers from inside you and pulls his mouth away with a final ravenous kiss on your swollen lips. He places a kiss on top of your head and pulls you in close for an embrace. The hard protrusion against your body makes itself painfully known.

Joel presses his forehead against yours as he works to unzip his jeans and free himself. His fingers are wet with your slick. He smirks at you as his hand glides over his swollen cock and rubs your wetness all over his length. His breathing shallows as he strokes himself with one hand and braces his body on the countertop with the other. His swollen head grazes your belly with each thrust into his fist.

You watch him wantonly as he palms himself with more vigor. Joel’s cock is thick and intimidating, but you crave it in the worst way. It is by far the largest you have ever seen. It glistens in your slick and the precum that was beading at the head. A desire builds inside you and you yearn for more of Joel. Want him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt.

“Let me, please?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper. His hand slows and comes to a stop. He stretches out his arms to hold him up against the counter as he hovers above you and lets you take over.

You reach out and grab on to him. You marvel at its size and how weighty it feels in your hands as you start to rub them up and down. His skin is hot and velvety smooth and pulled tightly. Your pace is much slower but more precise. You feel the veins bulge under your grasp as your fingers glide up and down his length.

A moan hitches in his throat as you rub your thumb over his sensitive tip. You do it again and again. Teasing Joel Miller feels dangerous. You can feel how ragged he is and how close he is to coming. You want to make him come undone.

“God, damn it.” Joel grunts under his breath. He peels back your hand and painfully pulls it off of him. His cock twitches at the loss of your touch. He stands up straight and towers over you as you shrink back.

“Get on your knees.” He commands with his hand firmly on your wrist as he pulls your face closer to his. It sends a shiver through your body and you oblige. Any warmth in his eyes has been lost and he is staring at you; dark and menacing. He throws your wrist away and grips his hand along the side of your neck. His touch is rough and urgent. His fingers snake around to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer to him while you drop down. They twist into your hair and he has a hold on the back of your head. It doesn’t hurt, but his grasp is firm and might if you tried to fight it.

He takes his cock back in his grasp with his other hand and pumps it. His movements are jerky and his breathing is labored. You can tell he is so close. He roughly pulls your head back by your hair to look up at him.

“You gonna’ finish what you started?” he asks with darkened eyes. “Then open up.” He commands you through clenched teeth.

You respond with an uncontainable smirk. You part your mouth slowly and let your tongue hang out, never taking your eyes off his. You sit back onto your knees so that you are slightly under him and wait patiently. He widens his stance. His hand slides to the top of your head and tangles in your hair. You can feel him slowly starting to lose control and come undone before you while he strokes himself. You brace yourself, hooking your fingers into the back of his thighs and clawing at his jeans. You can smell his sex and feel his heat but he holds you just out of reach and makes you wait while your thirst grows.

Finally he taps the head of his weighty cock against your tongue and you lick at his slit, sending him over the edge. He groans as his thick spend coats your tongue and drips messily onto your chin. You close your mouth around him as he begins to stall out and swallow, pulling the final drops of cum from him while you choke his cock with your mouth.

“Good girl.” He rasps at you. “So fucking good.” His grip on you loosens and he tenderly drags his hand along your jawline. You relax your mouth and let him slide himself out. He groans when your tongue licks the underside of him as he pulls out.

He thumbs over some of his mess that falls out of your mouth and curls his thumb over your bottom lip. You lick him clean and he moves to hold your face in his hands while you look up at him.

“My good girl.” His words shoot straight to your core and make you weak. He brushes your hair behind your ear and helps you up. He places another kiss on your head and wraps his arms around you. His hot and heavy body feels so good against yours. You tilt your head up and press your mouth into him one more time.

“Are we even now?” you joke. Joel smiles. Everything about him feels warmer. He peels himself away from you and steps back, leaning against the island. You adjust your clothes and zip yourself back up while he does the same.

“Actually… think I might owe you now.” Joel says with a playful tone. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and shakes his head at you like he can’t believe his predicament. You like the idea of Joel owing you.

–

You don’t spend the night. He offers to walk you home but you opt to go alone. It felt good to get some fresh air, to clear your head and recap the night. You also wanted to leave him wanting more.

You weren’t sure what would come from this situation with Joel, but you knew you barely scratched the surface with him. He was rough around the edges but you liked that about him. You liked that a lot.

(Continue to Part 2!)

A/N: More to come! Undecided how many chapters but I have quite a bit mapped out. Please be kind. This is my first fic and it is nerve wrecking to post! If you loved it, PLEASE let me know. I'd love to know your thoughts so far! What did you like? What do you want more of? How much angst can your heart take? I aim to test it in future chapters. Comments/Reblogs are appreciated so much. Thank you all

Also special thanks to @magpiepills for the lovely cover photo (and her mood board inspirations she helped with along the way!) and to both her and @legendary-pink-dot for reading my first draft and giving their feedback AND courage to post this.

If you wish to know when I post the next chapter, please follow @ArcaneFoxFics and turn on notifications!

Love to my friends who give me the courage and support to do all the things @magpiepillsjunior @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @for-a-longlongtime

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #the wolf you feed #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #New England Joel #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller series #fic: the wolf you feed #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfic

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brandwhorestarscream · 5 months ago

Note

If d16 was carrying in the movie that could have saved him.

OOH I HAVE. THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS

Part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here!

Hear me out, ok. Sentinel Prime heavily, heavily advocates for chastity. He very publicly denounces casual intimacy, waxing poetic about how it's a very special thing that should only be shared with someone you truly love and trust. To give yourself away to a stranger in a one night stand or even casually to a friend is one of the greatest disservices one can do to themselves. Interfacing should only be done with your bonded mate. While it's certainly not illegal, their Prime's warm concern and insistence that they're all special and should be treated as such keeps a lot of mecha's panels closed. The vast majority of them are saving themselves for their conjunx endura.

Now, the real reason Sentinel doesn't want them having sex? He doesn't want them breeding. Specifically the lowest of society, he doesn't want his cogless servants sparking each other up and having babies with t-cogs. It would raise too many questions, and while he has no qualms about taking a newspark's cog out before they're presented to their parents, accidents happen. People slip up. Some sparklings come before their parents can get to a hospital. Some nutcases want home births because it's "more intimate and natural". Some just plain don't realize they're carrying until they start having contractions. Cogless bots popping out babies with cogs will only cause problems, so the best way to prevent such a thing is to convince them that chastity is their best option. Most of them die before they can find someone they want to be with forever, and even among those that do, they struggle to save up enough money for a bonding license. Keeping them repressed and chaste is just another means of his control.

Now, as for sweet D-16 >:) he practically worships Sentinel Prime. He has such blind adoration and trust in him. Orion adores him too, of course, but not quite on the same level. He doesn't look at Sentinel with the same stars in his optics, though certainly has boundless respect and admiration for him. When they're visited by the Prime post-Iacon 5000, they're invited up to his personal suite 👀

Consider: instead of getting immediately jumped by Darkwing, they actually do get escorted up there. It's grander than anything either of them have ever seen, a shining and spotless penthouse with a 360° view of the city, expensive chaises to lounge on and bottles of the finest, smoothest high grade, even a jacuzzi! Sentinel Prime meets them there, and, placing a gentle hand on each of their faces, purrs that he wants to reward them.

"I've never seen anything like what you two did today," D-16 whimpers at his praise, beaming sunshine, and Orion is awestruck. "Come... sit with me."

They follow their Prime obediently and he relaxes onto one of the lounges, pulling the two cute little miners down on either side of him. They talk--or rather, Sentinel talks and they hang onto his every word, each tucked under one of his arms and nestled close against his chassis--and eventually he pops a bottle of champagne and pours them each a glass. Neither Dee nor Orion have ever had such high quality energon before: it goes down thick and smooth and warm, sending a blast of heat through their little bodies that pool in their tummies and make them start to squirm and feel woozy. Sentinel prompts they drink the whole thing, each of them, and by the time they're done they're gasping and swaying. So strong! Too strong!

The Prime's huge blue servo slides onto D-16's face, admiring his dazed expression. His optics are flickering, shutters at their halfway point, and he's visibly flushed, mouth dropped open and pretty lips parted as he pants. Swaying gently back and forth like that, Sentinel can't resist. He leans down and kisses him, gentle but controlling, and D-16 makes an honest-to-Primes squealing noise.

As soon as Sentinel pulls back, Dee wavers and collapses back against the chaise, optics blown wide even as an uncontrollable smile splits his face. He starts giggling, covering his face and rocking back and forth as euphoria bubbles out of him in uncontrollable, adorable laughter. "Oh my stars-" he gushes. "Oh my stars omistars omistars wow...!" His first kiss has left him breathless and elated, barely able to speak, worship and the greatest joy imaginable shining in his optics.

Sentinel Prime has them, both of them, in his suite, over and over and over again. They're both virgins, have never touched another mech or been touched in turn, and their leader takes great revelry is breaking their seals. Fucking their tight little valves until they're wailing and cumming in his lap, sobbing in ecstasy into his neck, clumsily kissing at his plating and swearing that they adore him, they love him, please more, more, more! He frags them on the furniture, against the wall, on the floor, even in the hot tub. He has them both on their knees in front of him on the lounge, licking and sucking at his spike and pushing each other to lap up drops of his transfluid, asks them to use their mouths on each other while he watches. He even asks them to bear their sparks and they do: he doesn't share his own but he's glad to tease at theirs, and it reduces them to mewling little piles on the floor, twitching and rocking and moaning as they crash through overload after overload. Such beautiful little pets, so eager to please, he could definitely get used to having them around for awhile.

When their time comes to an end they've started to sober up, snuggled against his sides on one of the lounges, still whimpering and panting high on pleasure, excess charge making them woozy and giggly even though the high grade is nearly out of their systems. Airachnid arrives and doesn't even give them a passing glance, informing the Prime that it's time to depart. He sends them back to their home in the mines, promising to see them again soon, just as soon as he returns from his next crusade to the surface.

D-16 and Orion stumble home giggling and shoving each other, still adjusting their armor and poking at the paint transfers spattered all over them. They're euphoric, there's no other word for it, high as a kite on pleasure, on the knowledge that Sentinel Prime wanted them and they were able to satisfy him! No longer virgins and instead claimed by the Prime!

Their batchmates welcome them home with a cacophony of cheers and hugs and jostling--MINERS! In the RACE! Their very own brothers, in the Iacon 5000! And- wait, why are you two all wet...?

They weren't intending to tell everyone, but the way they look at each other and blush and start snickering and struggling to explain is telling enough. Ratchet is already approaching with a wrench to scold them, they know better than to let a moment of excitement cloud their judgement-

"Uh, w-well-"

"Sentinel Prime wanted to-"

"SENTINEL PRIME?!" The entire room screams out in shock at once, before the cheering resumes tenfold. Their batchmates got the attention of THE Sentinel Prime?! Sentinel Prime made love to their batchmates! A couple of miners got the attention and affection of their Prime! If they thought the Iacon 5000 was inspiring that's nothing compared to this: before you know it the entire sector is mining energon at a lightning fast pace and they've hit their quotas before shift is even a quarter of the way done.

Orion and D-16 happily get to work as well, eager to do their best so that when their dashing Prime returns to them, they can tell him about how hard they worked and how much energon they mined and how well everyone is going to eat because of them!

When Sentinel Prime suddenly returns and orders triple shifts, they're surprised. Very surprised. It's not like him at all! Pretty soon the miners are running on no sleep and little fuel, some are injured and being denied time for repair and seek medical treatment. And D-16, despite his best efforts, is starting to fall behind after several weeks of the brutal demands. He's getting dizzy which he attributes to the lack of recharge. His servos keep dropping things even when he's sure he has a tight grip on them. He's nauseous, all the time, and multiple times a shift stumbles away from the rest of his crew to gag and vomit in a corner of whatever energon vein they're currently working in. Orion tries to get him to slow down, to stop, because he's clearly sick and needs medical care, but Dee isn't willing to stop. "Sentinel Prime needs us, Pax! We can't stop now!"

It all comes to a head as they're dragging themselves out of a tunnel with a full load of raw energon to be refined. D-16 suddenly stumbles, clamping one servo over his mouth and running off to the side. Orion hurriedly follows him after making sure Ironhide and Jazz have got the minecart.

"Hey, easy, easy-" he comes to rub his back as his best friend bends over, servos braced on his knees and body already rolling with slow, threatening heaves. He moans that he doesn't want to, he's so sick of purging, it hurts, please Primus, not today! "C'mon, just, let it out. You'll feel better once it's out, Dee."

D-16 groans and hunches over further, arms wrapping around his middle. "No... Primes, please- hgk-!"

"OI!" A miserably familiar voice suddenly bellows behind them, and Orion's sympathetic expression drops to sheer annoyance. Oh, no. "YOU TWO! Whaddo you think you're doin'?!" Darkwing is storming up to them. "Sentinel Prime wants his energon, so GET BACK TO WORK!"

"Darkwing, please," for once Orion is polite, one servo still braced on his friend's back. "D-16's sick, he needs-"

"I don't CARE what you think he needs!" Their superior roars, grabbing them both by the shoulders and forcing then around to face him. "I said, get back to-"

Dee promptly hurls all over the slagger's pedes.

He can't hold it anymore, but he tries, clamping both servos over his mouth even as he purges again. Half-digested energon splashes through his fingers and sprays all over Darkwing's chassis, who roars in disgust and backpedals away from him. Dee crumples to his knees, gagging, both servos planted on the floor before he throws up one final time, emptying his already meager tanks and ejecting a puddle of digestive acid that burns at his throat. It dribbles out of the vents on his neck and nasal ridge, and he sobs. Primus, he feels so sick!

Darkwing's response, naturally, is to grab them both and throw them down to sublevel 50 😌 there they meet B-127, and the plot kicks off, though a bit later than before. They make it to the surface and set out to find the Matrix. The journey is significantly longer with D-16's condition, constantly having to stop so he can rest or purge. Orion, at one point, offers to carry him, and Dee is too miserable to protest. Let's Orion gently hoist him onto his back and promptly passes out with his helm on his shoulder. He's overly warm, Orion notices: feverish, surely a sign that he's getting worse. They need to find the Matrix, soon. Maybe it can help cure Dee's sickness! And if not, well, once energon flows again they won't have to mine, and D-16 will be able to see a doctor as soon as they get home. They'll get him the medicine he needs and he'll be just fine.

When they finally arrive at the Grave of the Primes, D-16 is in bad shape. Shaking like a rust rattler, dry heaving because there's nothing left in his systems to throw up, and very hot to the touch. Orion nor Elita nor B-127 have ever seen a mech in quite such a miserable state, and they're all very worried. Orion sits him down on a rock and tells him to rest, and D-16 just hunches over, helm between his knees and arms folded over his head, the epitome of misery. Whimpering softly and praying to the Primes to please, please, make it stop. Whatever this virus is that's tormenting him, please just make it stop!

Then, they find and awaken Alpha Trion.

The Prime notices Dee's condition. Immediately. He can see it, an invisible aura none but the divine can see: this young mech hosts a precious newspark inside of him. Before he tells them the story of what happened, he opts to examine the little one. He's so young, probably too young to be a carrier yet, but he's undeniably sparked. A few decacycles along.

He tells them what's going on, why D-16 is so grievously ill. "Your sparkling is starving," he tells him seriously. "You are not receiving enough donations. Their protoform is cannibalizing your body, that is the root of your sickness. Where... is the sire? He or she should be caring for your needs."

All four of them are staring at Alpha Trion with their mouths open. D-16 is carrying?! He's pregnant?! But who-

Elita one punches Orion in the face as hard as she can, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a cry of surprise. "OW! What the-"

"You slagger!" She plants one pede on his chassis and presses down til she hears metal creak and he goes 'ow ow ow!'. "It was you, I know it was you! Who else would be so dumb?! You got him sparked up and haven't been taking care of him?! You worthless deadbeat! I should rip your fragging denta out with pliers! One at a time! I should!"

"Omigosh, Dee," behind her, B-127's voice has gone airy and light in excitement. He comes up to the silver mech's side, grabbing his servo to squeeze. "Congrats, dude! You're gonna be a mom!"

D-16, for his part, is sat there in shock. Shoulders dropped and loose, mouth hanging open, staring at Alpha Trion with his optics so wide they're at liberty to pop right out of the sockets and need recalibrating. "I'm..." his voice is barely above a whisper, shaking servos drifting toward his tummy. "You mean- I'm-?!"

He's starting to smile, joy bubbling up in his chest. Excitement, too. And terror. And a million other things that he can't name because he's too shocked, but suddenly despite how sick he feels he can't help but start to laugh. Delight blooms in his chest and forces it's way out of his throat as he starts to giggle and chuckle, and before long he's doubled over holding his stomach and laughing with tears of joy streaming down his face.

"I'm- I'm having a-" he jumps up to run over to Orion, shooing Elita off of him and throwing his arms around his friend. "Pax I'm sparked! I- I can't wait to tell Sentinel, he's gonna be so excited!"

"Sentinel?" Alpha Trion's voice goes cold and harsh behind them.

"Yes! Oh- Oh yes, Sentinel Prime, he-"

"He is NO PRIME!" The old mech bellows, and all four of them turn to look at him in confusion. "He does not bear our name!"

"...WHAT?!"

The grand reveal is even more sour this time around. So, so much more sour. The betrayal runs so much deeper, and D-16 is horrified and sickened. Watching the mech he adores and admires so much bowing to the quintessons and giving away the energon that they worked so hard for. It was already bad, but now? Now, he's carrying that monster's offspring. A sparkling conceived under false pretenses, under coercion, under lies. This baby hadn't been created by love and mutual respect, it has been made by a mech that lied to their faces to get them into his bed, to get access to their bodies to use for his own pleasure however he saw fit.

D-16 feels disgusting. Violated. Worthless. He feels tricked and used and abused. He stares down at his body feeling more nausea already roiling in the deepest pits of his tanks. Sentinel had touched him everywhere. There's not a single inch of space anywhere that's clean of that mech's touch.

No one is surprised when he suddenly folds to his knees and screams. Screams with all the force of his anguish, his shattered trust, his broken and reviled body. Manic, he claws at his chassis with feverbright optics, wailing at them to, "Get it out of me...! GET IT OUT OF ME! I don't want it, I don't- I don't want it, GET IT OUT!"

Orion is at his side in an instant, yelping, "Dee, no! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!" As he forcibly grabs his friend's servos to stop him from tearing himself apart. D-16 shrieks a wordless noise of agony, and then collapses forward onto Orion to begin sobbing violently into his shoulder. Clutching onto him like a lifeline, wailing with all the devestated force he can. Bawling against Orion and falling to pieces, brokenly asking what he's going to do.

...

Ok im gonna cut this here cuz it's getting long, like really long and my hands are tired. I can barely move my left side today lmao. Poor poor Dee 😌 hope you enjoyed this nugget of angst! If ya'll wanna see a part 2, you know what to do. The box is open uwu

#transformers one #megatron #orion pax #d-16 #sentinel prime #elita #b-127 #your daily dose of angst #brandwhore writes #valveplug

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in1-nutshell · 5 months ago

Note

Hello! Can I make a request?

Like let's say a teacher called in sick and the students were allowed to leave early, but there is a problem…

Arcee, Optimus, bumblebee, and Bulkhead are away on a mission, everything was going fine until they got attacked by Decepticons.

Ratchet is at the base, but he can't leave because what if the others needed him to open a spacebridge and he wasn't there?

The only one available is Maxima, she had left the base early to go and strech her tires.

What if Team Prime had no choice but to let Maxima pick up the kids?

Just imagine faces of everyone upon seeing a freaking monster truck at school and not only that, but also seeing Miko, Jack, and Raf get into said truck!

HA! Love this concept!

Hope you enjoy!

Maxima picks up the kids from school

SFW, Platonic, Slight Familial, Cybertronian reader

TFP

There were times that Maxima hated having the alt mode she had.

One of the main things was that she could never go to town without raising too many questions.

This also limited her area in being a guardian or even a sub guardian!

She was given guardian duties only at the base.

Even Ratchet had sub guardian duties!

…But then again, he was an ambulance something less discrete than a monster truck.

So, forgive her for making a full stop when Ratchet told her that she needed to pick up the kids.

Maxima: “Ratchet, you do realize that my alt mode isn’t exactly… normal, right? Is there literally no one else?” Ratchet: “I know Maxima, but right now the rest of the team is out on a mission, and I cannot leave my post.” Maxima: “What if we traded places?” Ratchet: “Maxima this is not up for debate, besides your closer.” Maxima: “Then how am I—wait a minute, I got an idea! Just gotta make a quick stop…”

The kids had no idea what to expect today.

It was getting late and there was no side of their guardians anywhere.

Not even a single phone call!

A huge shadow suddenly engulfed the trio.

The trio were shocked to see Maxima’s alt mode in the drive.

The doors opened revealing Agent Fowler and Maxima’s holoform in the front. Fowler: “C’mon kids, it late.” The kids excitedly started climbing in when a shrill voice spoke. It was Sharon, one of the most annoying PTA parents to ever grace the schools’ halls. Infamously known for her calling… Sharon: “EXCUSE ME!” Sharon glared at the kids inside the truck. Sharon: “And wait do you kids think you’re doing?! Get down from there!” Maxima pokes her head out the window. Maxima: “Is there a problem ma’am?” Sharon glares at her: “Yes! This vehicle is not suitable for picking up children! I should report you for it!” Maxima: “I’m just picking the kids up ma’am. No harm done.” Sharon’s face turned red. Sharon: “My husband is a police officer! I can have you ARRESTED MISSY!” Agent Fowler’s head pokes out the window. Fowler: “Is there a problem ma’am.” Sharon: “There’s going to be a problem if you don’t pick these children in a suitable car!” Fowler: “Miss, this was the only vehicle avail—” Sharon: “I WILL HAVE YOU ARREST YOU BIG, FAT— ARGH!!!” Sharon pours her hot coffee on Maxima’s tires and spits on them. Maxima’s holoform winces a bit. That was going to be a pain to clean… Fowler shows her his badge: “Special Agent William Fowler to you.” Sharon quickly shuts up and quickly runs back to her car.

Maxima quickly got out of that town using every suitable backway she knew before speeding down the dusty road.

She had disabled her holoform once they all got to the base.

Thankfully the team had arrived a few minutes earlier

Maxima had opened the doors for the humans to get out.

Maxima is about to transform but Miko waves her arms. Miko: “Wait! Wait!” Maxima: “Huh? Miko?” Miko: “Just wait here! Boys cm’on!” The trio went off to one of the supply closets. Bulkhead: “What’s with that?” Maxima and Fowler: “Sharon.” Bulkhead and Arcee cringe at the name while Bumblebee whirled a bit angrily. Maxima: “Yeah… she spat and pour coffee on my rims.” Miko, Jack and Raf walk out with buckets of water, soap and drying rags. Maxima: “Umm, what’s all this for?” Raf: “Helping you clean the coffee, spit and dirty from your rims.” Maxima tries to ignore the swelling in her spark. Maxima: “Seriously its not—” Miko: “Shush! Play with the rubber duck while we clean.” Maxima chuckles a bit as Miko places the duck in her dashboard as the others got ready to clean her rims. Maybe today wasn’t such a bad day after all.

Visual representation of what Maxima wanted to do to Sharon when she saw muddy puddle near her the next day...

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #maxima

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girl4music · 2 months ago

Text

Those last 2 episodes. Appropriately titled ‘Heart Part 1’ and ‘Heart Part 2’ because my heart is so full. I have so much to say and have no idea where to start with it.

So much happened. Every lead character’s individual arc was thoroughly concluded in a very satisfying way. Even some of the recurring ones got an endgame so there’s a lot to cover in this recap of a fantastic finale and I feel so fulfilled on great storytelling and great representation packed into a neatly tied up ending.

MAJOR SPOILERS: do not read this if you have not seen the finale of ‘She-Ra and the Princesses of Power’.

I guess I’ll start with Shadow Weaver because she had an endgame that I had predicted. Well, sort of. I said that Shadow Weaver’s arc can only go in 1 of 2 ways. I said it was either personal attainment (villainy) or personal sacrifice (heroism). So I wasn’t surprised when it was the latter. But I wasn’t able to trust in her going that way sincerely until she started attacking that monster, told Catra that she was proud of her, took off her mask and then told them both ‘you’re welcome’. I couldn’t trust that she was sincerely helping them to achieve releasing and channelling the Heart of Etheria’s magic… which by the way, is what almost brought them to the brink of destruction the first time they tried to do it. However, I understood that because She-Ra was the conduit for that, that it could have a different outcome. Still destructive but destructive only to the opposition. I think anyway. I might have to rewatch that part again because I don’t think I fully understood what was going on there. But yes, Shadow Weaver went out in a heroes death rather than was the cause of her own demise out of hunger for power and a desire to attain the magic of the Heart Of Etheria for selfish aim. I was happy with it.

Glimmer and Bow: I decided to talk about these 2 lead characters together since part of their arc involves each other. It was no surprise to me that they would declare their love for each other. I mean Glimmer has always had a crush on Bow and they’ve been the very best of friends since they were children. I wasn’t sure about Bow at first but I knew intense romantic feelings would develop and I’m glad it was Glimmer who said it first. I am a bit disappointed that there wasn’t a kiss on the lips but I think I understand why that was. I’ll get there. Be patient. There’s way too much to talk about first and I really want to save Catradora until the very last section because I’ll have the most to say about them as a lot of their arc informs well… pretty much the whole TV show.

Glimmer individually had more of an arc in the TV show than Bow did so a significant amount of my meta goes to her. It was mainly how she was fairing as Queen but also how useful she could be to the team because of it. Then of course there was Micah. Reuniting with him but having to battle with him because he was an unwilling agent of Horde Prime. I laughed with pure joy when the influence on him ended and he said “Hi, I’m your dad.” I really felt for Glimmer when she was desperately trying to heal him and she said “I won’t lose another parent!” So it was so satisfying for me to realize she healed him and that she poured all the love she could into that heal and when she succeeded, the proud smile that he wore must have made her feel like Queen of the world, never mind just her little town of Brightmoon. She deserves it.

Likewise it was wonderful to see how proud Bow’s dads were of him when he gave that rousing battle speech to the reawakened masses of Etherians, telling them to be their own warriors and fight for their home. It was right that it was Bow to do that rather than Adora or Glimmer because that is what he had trained himself to do from the beginning. He wants to be an archer battling on the side of the greater good and not a historian. So to see his dads holding each other, proudly watching him… it brought a tear to my eye, I have to admit. So beautiful!

Hordak and Entrapta: I had no idea that I would get a closure for Entrapta, let alone Hordak. I did and I’m so happy about it because even though she was only a recurring character, Entrapta buried her way into my science, tech and engineering loving heart (with a spanner and a blowtorch? You will never know 🤣) but I am glad that she got over her obsession enough to focus on what really mattered. Saving her friends.

The fact that what stopped Horde Prime wasn’t Adora or Glimmer or who you would expect, but Hordak and Entrapta? That hit so hard with me. To give THEM the hero moment of defeating the villain. I was like “Oh my god! That’s brilliant!” Because it is. Think about it. Who do you think Horde Prime tortured the most? His Little Brother! I still don’t know if that was literally or not. 🤷‍♀️ Was he actually related or was he just another clone because he did call Catra his “Little Sister” too? That’s still so creepy to me. But yeah, for Hordak to get that moment of retribution was absolutely delicious for me and then for Entrapta to reach him when Horde Prime tried to take over through the Hive Mind? So, so, good! That made total sense and it was brilliantly executed!

Scorpia and Mermista: The only reason to lump these 2 characters together is because they were chipped and controlled the longest that they caused significant damage to Etherians. There’s not really much to say about them other than that they’re going to have huge headaches now that this is all over due to how far gone they were. I mean I’m glad that they were able to save them but I just don’t know what the aftermath will be for them or whether they will be the same ever again.

From the way I watched and interpreted the TV show, I understood that one of the main narrative themes of it was psychological conditioning and I’ve been in awe that this children’s show was brave enough to tell that very dark story,… let alone see it right through until the end because it’s an ambitious, elaborate and difficult narrative undertaking. Especially to do it properly,… which they definitely did. To tell the darkness of… well… basically radicalization and genocide but to do so in such a way that it could teach and motivate kids to develop on their innate judgement and discernment so if - god forbid - they ever end up in that situation, they’ll know exactly what to do about it. With team She-Ra being their idols, they’ll be able to fight conditioning. I can imagine that’s what the creators intended with this and I cannot acknowledge and commend them on it high enough. I think that ND Stevenson and the entire creative team are incredibly courageous and amazing to make this a main thematic narrative all throughout this TV show and handle it with skill and compassion that it does not once come across as too much for PG.

Catradora: (Yes, I’m using the ship name because the way they tie up their individual character storyline arcs seamlessly also ties in with their romantic arc and you do not know how hard it is to find this with WLW ships.)

First off, I want to point out something that may or may not have been pointed out before with Catradora but this is just how it came across to me in the narrative given I interpret psychological conditioning as a main theme within it. To me, a lot of the reason why Catra is the way she is as a villainous character when it comes to receiving love and affection has do with this factor. She’s so closed off and repressed to the point that she cannot even see that she’s corrupting and sabotaging herself. She is a lot like Xena in this way. But a major striking difference for Catra is that she physically loses the one person in the world that stops her from doing this, whereas Xena physically gains that one person. Trust issues, abandonment issues, parental issues all tie in together - but that was all tolerable when Adora was around her. As soon as Adora leaves her behind in the Fright Zone and, furthermore, begins to oppose her as the hero of Etheria, she spirals so hard and so fast that all of those issues - which were always issues caused by the abusive treatment from Lord Hordak and Shadow Weaver - come crashing down one by one on top of her because she no longer has the person who makes those issues just inconveniences for her. Not only that but … it feels like personal betrayal for her that Adora fights her. She genuinely does think that Adora hates her. I mean who wouldn’t if they were in her shoes (paws?) and had the “upbringing” and “nurturing” backstory she’s had? So Catra has this preconceived notion that Adora never cared about her and left her because she thought she was better than her and was chasing after heroic glory and believes that she was too weak to go with her. In a way it’s a personal vendetta out of misunderstandings Catra has against Adora and those feelings are intense not just because the Horde brainwashing is that deep and severe but also because her love is that deep too and she can’t differentiate which feelings are which. So she becomes She-Ra’s mortal enemy because in her mind, She-Ra is what has taken Adora away from her.

But obviously, from Adora’s side, She-Ra was sprung on her, Etheria was sprung on her. In fact her entire world upended once she recognized her life for what it was. A lie. That she was the villain brutalizing innocent people. She couldn’t go back to them even if she had wanted to because everything she had ever knew was fraudulent and she had been coerced and deceived into being a weapon. And what I really like about Adora’s individual arc is that eventually this was revealed to be true on both sides of the war. She was a weapon for evil and for the greater good. But all she wanted - as all heroes do - was just to protect and defend her loved ones. That’s it. Catra could never see it that way though and it makes sense that she couldn’t given her conditioning was even worse as it involved one-on-one attacks from Shadow Weaver as well as whatever the treatment was with the entire group. Catra’s psychological conditioning was much more personal, intimate and isolated so what was ingrained into her had much deeper and stronger layers added on to it. Hers was a solid brick wall built trauma complex. Those are always much harder to recognize and escape from but with the right therapy,… it can be done. Given her issues weren’t so bad when Adora was around her but got much worse when Adora left her… it is clear that Adora represented a sort of therapy for her. Adora helped her keep all the crippling thoughts of self-doubt and self-contempt at bay. But they were on full volume when Adora left and kept attempting to kill her.

Okay, so let’s finally get on to their romantic arc and how the finale not only concluded their individual character representation and development arcs but also ended their ship slow burn. It wasn’t until the fantastic episode of ‘Save The Cat’ did I realize they were going there. See,… to start with, I knew that they were going to become a canon WLW couple at some point otherwise I would have never started watching it. That was the draw for me. That they were both lead characters in a canon WLW ship in a children’s TV show. That floored me. But I was not prepared at all for what I got to see in the finale. It was groundbreaking. It was phenomenal. In fact I’m sure it was life changing for many queer kids to see that kiss happen the way it did. Or… just happen on-screen at all. Look, I am so used to the “implied” and “assumed” and “disguised” when it comes to WLW physical intimacy that I just do not ever expect blatant leaves-absolutely-no-doubt-whatsoever kisses. I certainly don’t expect WLW kisses written and portrayed as “the power of love” kind. It’s extremely rare. To see it in a children’s show nailed me to the floor. But furthermore - added on to that astonishing feat - is that both lead characters overcome all their issues and obstacles through that very act like… a fairytale story. It’s like… when the Princess kisses the Princess, all is well… there’s no stopping either from that point on. It seems corny but it all just depends on how it’s done. But the fact is you don’t see it done between WLW at all. So to see it done WELL alongside seeing it done at all… I mean Indy knew that he had an assignment with this but the phrase “he understood the assignment” doesn’t cover or justify what was accomplished with this and I can’t believe it’s took me this long to see it.

Every TV art/entertainment creator should watch this TV show and regard this finale as the perfect example of what queer representation can and should provide in TV because this was just the epitome of what true love is. But the fact it was between 2 female lead characters.

I can’t even begin to explain how much it meant to me but I will spend the rest of my life trying to express it because this really was a groundbreaking achievement and I will be adding this WLW ship to my very short list of WLW ships that shape and satisfy every piece of me.

I have had the best fucking time watching this TV show and I will be doing reruns of it for god knows how long because I am sure there is so much more there for me just like there is with Xena, Buffy, Charmed, Dragon Ball Z, Wynonna Earp and Arcane. All these beloved shows are timeless to me for a reason and She-Ra is the same.

I hope you all enjoyed reading my recaps of my very first watch of ‘She-Ra and the Princesses of Power’.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all. 🎄

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digitaldiarystuff · 1 year ago

Text

FRIENDS?

Hello everyone, this is my digital diary which I’ll pour what’s in my head. Hope you enjoy my writing and feel free to reach out to me!

— — — —

summary: you’ve met Jude through your close friend which put you in the same friend group but even though you’ve fancied him from the jump you’re also scared because you know how footballers can be

pairing: Y/N - Jude Bellingham

genre: angst / fluff

— — — —

“Are you done putting the decorations up?” your friend Chris asked. This was his christmas party and you were helping him add the finishing touches.

“Yeah I’m almost done. Don’t worry it’s going to be great.” you said reassuringly.

“I know but this is my first christmas in Madrid and I want everything to be perfect.” he said coming to the living room to see the final product.

You have known Chris since you were in high school, your parents knew each other and you were cordial until the end of high school when you both decided to move to a bigger city. You, for education and him to pursue his music career which has been great so far. He had put out 2 albums in 2 years and had big success.

When you were new to the city, you two bonded over the loneliness you sometimes felt and that prompted your close friendship. Even as he gained followers and became famous, he made sure you were with him. He invited you to events, referred to you as a sister in interviews.

“It’s going to be amazing!” you exclaimed as the doorbell rang. He went to open the door welcoming his friends which consisted of some influencers, producers and even one or two footballers who listened to him and invited him to games.

You hugged them as everyone was coming in and complimenting the party and you. Being one of the few people who wasn’t a celebrity, you’ve put a lot of effort into your appearance tonight. You wanted to look good.

“Hello, darling.” you heard someone say and you absolutely knew who he was. It was Jude freaking Bellingham. You’ve met Jude through Chris as well and you’ve formed a semi close friendship over the last couple months, though you couldn’t help but develop a massive crush on the guy from the day you’ve seen him. He was everything you’d wanted, handsome, nice, sassy, tall and funny but you always remained cool. Even though you sometimes felt his eyes on you for too long or his hand on the small of your back, you knew how they were and you couldn’t blame him. He’s in his prime and playing for one of the most prestigious clubs in the world, he could get anyone he wanted and you reminded yourself that a couple of times a day just to get him out of your mind.

“Hi Jude!” you said and hugged him.

“You look incredible.” he said while his nose was in your hair, the hug lasted an eternity before you decided to pull back.

“Thank you, you look great too.” you said slightly blushing. He had this kind of effect on you, he said things that wouldn’t normally make you feel things like this. He really looked amazing, though. He was wearing a black button up shirt since this was a special occasion but you knew whatever he was wearing didn’t matter he just was devastatingly handsome.

“Okay, let’s get this party started!” Chris yelled as everyone around you cheered including Jude.

It had been a couple of hours into the party and everyone was pretty wasted at this point. You were also a little dizzy but not too bad. It was going great with games and traditions and right now you were sitting on the couch between Chris and Sofie, one of your friends and playing cards when your eyes caught Jude’s. He was out by the pool and drinking alone, deep in thoughts.

You excused yourself and went over to him. He didn’t notice you until you were just in front of him.

“Don’t party this much, you might regret it tomorrow.” you said in a teasing voice.

“How can I enjoy myself if you’re far from me?” he asked in the same tone.

“I-you could’ve come to me.” you mumbled in a newly found confidence. Maybe you shouldn’t have had that last glass of champagne.

“You wanna sit?” he asked as he slides on the sunbed. You carefully sat next to him hoping you weren’t in his space much but on the contrary, Jude felt like you were too far away and gently placed his hand on your waist pulling you closer.

“This is better.” he mumbled, clearly more intoxicated than you’ve ever seen him. He was always a flirty person with you but this was next level.

“What were you thinking?” you asked suddenly remembering seeing him sitting alone silently.

“I wasn’t thinking of anything.” he answered but you just raised your brow.

“What? I wasn’t!” he said like a kid that’s been caught.

“I know you better than that Bellingham.” you said.

“Well, if you really know me, you tell me what I was thinking.”

“That’s not how this works!” you exclaimed laughing. He joined after hearing you.

“I was thinking about you.”

“What were you thinking about me?”

“I was thinking” he trailed off. You decided to wait and not pester him.

“…about you.” he confessed and looked up to your eyes staring intensely. It’s like he was trying to read your thoughts about his confession.

“Jude” you said, sighing. You wanted to believe his words so bad but seeing every footballer you know being a player, you found it hard to believe.

“Y/N” he said in the same tone, trying to get your attention to him.

“It’s true, I was thinking of you.” he tried again.

“You’re just drunk.” you chuckled slightly trying to lift the mood. You were in denial, hoping he would just stop this before you say how you feel about him embarrassing yourself because you were too close to saying how you always think about him as well.

“I am.” he accepted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

You gulped and your eyes closed for a second before you opened them again and saw him even closer than before. Your eyes shifted to his lips and he watched your every move carefully. Just as he was leaning in, one of your drunken friends yelled out to you stating she was going home before being sick. You turned to her immediately afraid that she’d realize what’s going on but she was too wasted to even see anything. You got up and went to her without even glancing at Jude embarrassed about being this afraid. It wasn’t like you haven’t thought about kissing him, it was just you knew he was drunk and didn’t want to be just someone for him to spend the night with and leave without caring.

One by one, everyone started leaving. It was just Chris, his situationship, you, 2 of his friends and Jude. The night had slowed down and you were just on the couch talking about life until Chris took his lady’s hand and took her upstairs before telling you to crash wherever you want to.

You started cleaning up before going up to the guest bedroom that was designated for you. You took a trash bag from the kitchen trying to empty plates until you felt another presence in there with you. It was Jude.

“Did they leave?” you asked, trying to make conversation. You were still pretty nervous about your moment out by the pool.

“Yeah.” he said shortly. Just as he was bringing the glasses on the counter he stumbled and nearly broke them before pulling himself together.

“You’re barely walking straight, just stop Jude.” you said laughing.

“No, I’m not!” he said offended.

“C’mon.” you said taking his hand in yours to help him balance, taking him to the guest bedroom. He drove there and there’s no way you were letting the starboy of football drunk drive on christmas.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked like a child.

“The guest bedroom, you need to sleep.”

He didn’t protest, just followed you but held your hand harder. Just then you realized how you were holding hands but didn’t want to make it awkward and pull your hand back.

You entered the room followed by Jude and sat him on the bed. He still didn’t let go of your hand. You tried pulling back but he didn’t let you.

“Jude, you need to rest.” you said smiling softly.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m going downstairs to clean up a little and rest too.” you explained.

“Where?”

You actually now realized this is the only spare bedroom in Chris’ home.

“On the couch.” you said sounding more like a question.

“No you’re not.” he said making you sit down with him.

“Yes I am, we can’t fit in one bed.” you said terrified about the possibility of sleeping next to Jude. You already knew you couldn’t even relax just hold your breath the entire night.

“Are you calling me fat?” he asked, smiling.

“No, I’m calling you big.”

“I heard girls like that.” he smugly said. Of course girls liked it, especially me.

“Well, some girls do.”

“And you don’t?” he asked curiously.

“Jude, you’re wasted. Just sleep.” you said trying to change the subject.

“I’m not even tipsy Y/N. I’ve only had 2 beers.” he said like it was obvious.

“What-Well you looked drunk.” you said shocked.

“That was the only way to get you to pay attention to me. Look, you’re taking care of me.” he said motioning your intertwined hands.

“Well, that’s what friends are for.” you said looking down.

“Yeah, friends do that. But we’re not friends.” he said before leaning in and capturing your lips with his and kissing you softly.

#jude bellingham #football #football imagine #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x yn #football oneshot #football angst #football fluff

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dreamsofminnie · 7 months ago

Text

“Ethereal Paintings”

25~ Do not perceive my impending doom☔️

Scaramouche X reader smau | word count: 1,632

Anxiously they all huddle around a single lit-up home screen, occasionally murmuring to each other to shove over cause they can't see.

The wait for the ding of the following message took up seconds they couldn't bear to sit still for.

“How can a single message be an excruciating pain to wait for.”

“Maybe they got old fingers to type fast.”

“Okay, zoomer. Have you ever SEEN them??!? They are in their prime!! And still go on dates!!!”

“The ideal parents…”

“Okay but still…what’s taking so long??”

“I bet the other two aren’t even there yet.”

“Expected though. He probably needed a few dozen pep talks.”

“....and how was Ayato the one to do that and go with him??”

“Probably so Scara isn’t forced out….Ayato has a third key just in case…”

An unrelevant message popped up from scara on Kazuha’s phone. He reads it out loud.

“Do not perceive my impending doom. I’m likely to get shut out.”

Layla frowns and she shakes her head. “Her parents will warm her up first.”

“As long as they tell us they got in though…it’s been a while—”

*DING*

The phone lit up and the awaited message popped up. The blue-haired Kamisato grabbed her phone fast and opened it up for all 8 pairs of eyes to see.

“They’re in!!”

☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️

The door creaked open afraid to startle the resident and make a mess of the situation.

That was proved to be unnecessary as the pair peered past the dark and dimly lit studio. She wouldn’t have noticed at all. Only two large white eyes stared up at the intruders, its tail swishing as it sat over the resident like a gargoyle.

The woman’s lips frowned and eyebrows furrowed in apprehension and anguish. She waves her hand and the man gets her message.

The flutter of thick curtains draws open loudly, the room now getting beat with the rays of moonlight and the twinkling of the city underneath the building's height.

The noise couldn’t even wake the slumbering resident. Too drawled out in her vicious unhealthy cycle of mourning from an act of betrayal.

“Honey….” The woman’s voice was laced with worried concern for the view of her daughter sprawled across the carpeted floor.

But now that light is in the large studio did they see what lay beneath her was actually a canvas she scrawled all over in dark purple.

illumi darted away as her mother approached her body. Father looked at the cat and dug through his pocket, bending down he poured the cat treats into a bowl on the ground.

“Courtesy from your owner.” He smiled as he watched the cat eat happily and he scratched her head before joining his wife beside their main concern.

Father picked y/n up and the three of them headed to the bedroom upstairs. The only place that seemed untouched by her crazed despair.

Concern grew as they saw how rigid her body was in his arms. “She’s much lighter than her average weight…”

“...I saw convenience store snacks in the kitchen. Oh, my baby…” He lays his daughter down on the bed as the couple sits beside her next to each other.

Mother touched Y/n’s forehead and sighed in relief. “No fever at least. I’m betting on large migraines instead.”

“How should we wake our little darling artist?” Father grunts out as he watches y/n furrow her face restlessly.

Mother smiles nostalgically, Father gets the memo and they both place their palm on either of y/n’s cheeks stroking her face, she bristles and her face relaxes.

Deep bagged eyes blearily open in a daze. Her night terrors had dissolved from a familiar warmth as she took moments to recover her awakening.

“Our go-to way of waking you up when a nightmare consumes you. Better than getting terrified awake.” Mother giggles as she softens her voice and eyes. Leaning in she kisses her forehead which astonishingly melts the throbbing migraine, somewhat.

“Mom…dad…’m so tired. And numb…” Y/n struggled to sit up as her parents helped her up.

“Darling, you have no energy at all. Drink this, hot rejuvenating soup. 100% mother-made and she had the whole pot put in containers for you to save for later on.”

Father passes a thermos while the three get comfy and close to hold each other. Y/n sat in the middle.

Mother watched her gulp down the warm soup and waited till she was halfway done. Make sure she has enough nutrients for the heavy topic.

“Now…y/n. Why are you destroying yourself… Are you tryingg to have a more rough love story than ours?” She lightly teased to try and pry a smile from your sunken lips.

Having no energy to move a muscle and only lying on their shoulders, her lips mumble.

“I don’t...love him. He’s my enemy. Stole from me…my life’s passion. Didn’t consent to a.i feeding…Falsified his affection and…broke my heart.”

“Darling, have you ever gotten his viewpoint–“ Father got smacked on the head lightly as mother cut him off.

“We’ve chatted with the boy, albeit over text buutt, I can see him trying desperately to get you back. This is no story like ours, but I do think it’s time to return and face him once again.” Her words provided an unfounded warmth.

“You don’t have to accept any apologies, answer him, or force him to conform, just listen to his story. How else would you be able to debate with him?” Mother gives her a secure pat to go forth and face it.

“If I knew from the beginning I would've asked Papa to sue him...making a mess of art’s history…” Y/n whimpers and keeps her head down, he eyes puffy from lack of sleep and the sinking spirals of despair.

Mother quirks an eyebrow, curious and suspecting the real motive of all this. “My little artist…do you think you have to hold up the grandiose history of the art world I had a part in? All alone?”

Father's eyes understood but y/n scrunched up her face and body. She thought about it too much subconsciously that it was her job to parade around history like it was her legacy to maintain.

The berating thought of sheltering the traditional art from the wrongful social norms, she took it on herself. Building herself around a castle she wanted to protect, her walls having a gaping hole from a purple wrecking ball caused a collapse.

The wall feels lacking in her way of protection and slowly rebuilds. Her art castle is her only safe space and requires all her attention. The cracking walls tremble in another collapse, begging to open up the castle.

“And the walls have chipped y/n…I never asked you to uphold my reputation in history, nor will I ever carry such a weight. Sure I was important, but it’s the past now, oh my sweet color child.”

Tears welled up in y/n’s eyes. She couldn't let it go. Her mother was her idol, her inspiration. To let others mindlessly trample her past work was horrifying.

“Fear of A.I art covering up traces of the beautiful art I’ve founded, your fear drives hatred, dear. You’ve let it consume you. And you’ve let it destroy you.” Mother pulled your trembling body close and sighed lightly as she latched onto her.

“Do you hate how he tempted you, what he used against you, or the sinking feeling that he’s left the morals you silently pleaded him to follow?” She placed a kiss on her head while holding father’s hand behind her as she bawls.

Father ruffled her hair and followed mother to kiss her head as well.

“Let me tell you my view of our story. When your mother went off the radar, I was restless and worried. I didn’t dare ask one of her friends the whereabouts of her. I cared and soon enough my mind raced so often with missing her. Then I thought of a possibility of me driving her away permanently because of my ignorant bickering and debating. I didn’t want to be her cause of giving up and destroying her foundation.”

Father’s mouth curls bitterly following with a softer voice.

He feared he was the problem, that his stubborn rebuttals caused her to get tired of him. He hated how he was like that. But he couldn't help it. It was in his nature.

Is that what Scara’s feeling…?

“So when I saw her again, all shining in that much deserved spotlight and passion, I knew I loved her creative spark with each time I've ever thought about her in the 3 years she's been gone.”

He didn't want to leave that spotlight where she was the star. She shone to him in a way he knows he’ll never get to experience again if he lets her go.

Y/n listened, just like all the times she’d pay clear attention to their stories.

This time was no different, no matter how the tale was meant to free her, she wanted to be guided by her parents she loved so dearly.

So she opened her heart and head to these experiences; a gateway to guide her own turmoil.

But… How does he feel? Was I like a shining light to him…?

That thought made your heart wrench.

“She came back, with much more vigor than the last time I saw her. And it filled my soul. It meant I didn’t crush her spirit, and she thanked me for pushing her past her limits.”

“I was her revelation.”

“Her reason to start again."

“You are your mother’s daughter Y/n, pursue that soulful feeling again."

Now… did I have a right to go back to him after anguishing him as he did to my unwarranted goal.

Would he still. . . Pursue me with this obstacle i made. . .

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Synopsis{3}-> Scara decided to stop his a.i art creations when he realized that you are really his fav artist—as long as you were the one to teach him how to paint and draw. Facing multitudes of slip of the tongue from your friends; you figured out that he was your mortal nemesis; hatred brewed and twisted your view on him.

Lmaoo, i write Scaramouche’s name so much it autocorrected

Yayyy done, now to the fun part😚

Male POV🤤🤤

//Taglist//

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years ago

Text

Bluebird — Part II — (Azriel x Reader)

Hiiiii. Still don’t know where I’m going with this. Totally just winging lmao. Still hope you enjoy!

Warnings: None!

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“Another attack – this one just outside the village. The most brutal thing I’ve ever seen. It was Alda this time. The tailor’s daughter.”

Your head jerked up. Ale sloshed over the tankard in your hand, dripping onto your boots.

The man sitting with his friend at the bar raised an eyebrow at you. “I hope you’re going to refill that, Y/N. You poured half of it onto the floor.”

Your cheeks burned. “Yeah—yes. Sorry.”

Their conversation resumed as you turned back to the ale tap. The topic itself had lost its shock value, with how often you heard such conversations in your father’s tavern — but you knew Alda.

Well – knew her in the sense that you sometimes nodded in greeting as you passed by each other in the village. Knew her as well as a sheltered, friendless girl such as yourself could know anyone.

You placed the tankard in front of the man – your father’s friend…or associate. Whatever they called themselves. Alf, you thought his name was. “Is…is Alda dead?” You asked.

Alf gulped down a few mouthfuls of ale before he nodded. “She is. Yet another attack from the scumbag Fae. I’m telling you—” He turned to the man beside him, then, “They’re priming to strike and wipe our kind out completely. There’ll be a war before long.”

There was no mistaking the way your stomach plummeted, your body going cold all over. Sheltered you may be, and inexperienced, perhaps naive – but while you had pretty much educated yourself, taught yourself everything you now knew at twenty-one years of age, your father had been the one to teach you about the Fae.

Terrible, evil beings who assaulted and slaughtered humans for sport. Beings who preyed on young, innocent girls and lured them out of their beds in the dead of night. Was that what had happened to Alda?

Was it what had happened to your mother, when they’d killed her?

The Fae hadn’t breached your village in decades – until recently. The attacks were ratcheting up.

“We need to start rallying our forces.” The second man said. “If they’re planning to strike, we need to be ready.”

The forces he spoke of were, in fact, your father’s doing. Though he was an aloof, nonchalant man – not a natural parent, by any means – the visceral hatred he felt for the Fae seemed to bring him alive. You covered his work behind the bar every week while he gave impassioned talks to the men of the village about the evil across the wall. What they were capable of. What they had already done to your kind. The fact that many humans lived in squalor, whilst the Fae lived in the lap on luxury on what was once human-owned land. And it was your job to go around after his talks, collecting the coin that the punters donated to further his cause.

You were privy to everything that was said in The Bluebird Inn. And you’d had no choice but to be aware of the Fae, when they’d taken your own mother from you when you were just a babe, too young to ever hold a memory of her. If the Fae truly were getting bolder, coming closer…if they were picking the village girls off one by one—

You shuddered, wiping down the bar. The two men rose from their seats and went over to join the crowd of rebels that currently surrounded your father, the noise from the group only growing louder, more incensed, as news of Alda’s murder spread.

“Have you ever seen a Fae?”

You looked up to meet the eyes of the handsome, blonde-haired young man who leaned against the bar, bracing his forearms on it – Devin. He was, perhaps, the most dazzling of all the men in the village – only a year or so older than you, and currently completing his training to be a Village Guard. One day, he would join the other guards in protecting your people and warding off more Fae attacks. He was a quiet supporter of your father’s cause, having attended two of his talks now.

“No.” You blinked at him. “Of course not. Have you?”

“I have.” Devin nodded. “Count yourself lucky, Y/N. You don’t want to see a Fae. They’re hideous, horrible beings. Terrifying. You can see the evil in their eyes.”

“I thought they were always rumoured to be quite beautiful.”

His broad shoulders shrugged. “They are – but that’s all a part of the allure. They coax you in with their beauty, and then they rip you limb from limb and leave your broken body to be found by your loved ones. And they do it because they can.”

Sick – you felt utterly sick. And cold. How could such beings exist? It didn’t matter that your father had spent your entire life drilling these facts into your head – the details were never any less horrific.

“The attacks are becoming more frequent, aren’t they?” You asked quietly, pouring Devin a drink.

He nodded, his pretty, pale blue eyes darkening. “They are. The Village Guards are doing all they can, but they don’t stand a chance against magic. These are dark, unsafe times, Y/N. And you’re the exact kind of person they target.”

“I��I carry a blade with me. My father has shown me how to use it.”

His lips lifted into a wry smile. “Smart as that is, it won’t do you much good against a being who can infiltrate your mind and plant thoughts there. They can convince you that you want to go with them, to follow them. They can get you exactly where they want you, and then they’ll strike.” He reached forward, placing a hand on your arm – the contact tinged your cheeks pink. “I know you’re independent, Y/N. I know that you help your father with the tavern, and you run a lot of his errands. But…it’s not safe, right now, for a young woman to be out walking alone. If you absolutely must travel somewhere — send for me. I’ll be your chaperone.”

If possible, your cheeks burned even more. Any of the girls in the village would have killed for such an offer from Devin. He was easily the most sought-after man around here. And to think he was offering you his protection…

“I will.” You said a little too quickly, hoping your face didn’t show how flustered you truly were. “Thank you, Devin.”

With a charming wink, he rose from his seat and took a place amongst the other gathering audience members, glued to your father’s talk that evening. It was obvious in the incensed murmurings amongst the men that the tensions were ratcheting up. That it wouldn’t be long before they struck, and the human-Fae troubles would begin anew.

You couldn’t help scanning each face and wondering which of them would survive to tell the tale.

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Azriel went back.

Despite telling himself not to, a few nights later, he went back.

It struck him again how dark and dingy that little village was. But the thought eddied away as he positioned himself in the same spot and waited.

The young woman played the piano again. It was at the same time, by the same dim candlelight. But a different tune.

He wondered if this was a routine of hers. If she played at the same hour every night.

And then he wondered why he damn well cared.

He’d never had much interest in humans. Not from any sort of prejudice; it just seemed pointless — needlessly painful — to build connections with people who he’d have decades with at best. It was easier and far more logical to quietly respect their existence from a distance.

But that mantra was not in keeping with a growing fixation of a human woman he had no business going near.

He supposed it just…soothed him. To imagine a life of peace, where time was set aside every night to play music. Such beautiful, chilling music.

It was a damn sight more relaxing than the ever-present roaring in his head.

And that was why he went back again.

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“I haven’t seen you much recently.” Elain sipped delicately from a teacup, brown eyes flitting over Azriel in all his dark glory. “What’s been keeping you busy?”

It was a pleasantly warm day in Velaris. Warm enough for them to take their tea outside. They had so far sat in companionable silence as Elain had admired the vibrant flowers and Azriel had pored over reports while sunning his wings.

But he found himself quietly restless. Eager for nightfall; to spread his wings and fly amongst the stars

“Just business.” He responded vaguely. A far better answer than the truth — that her mating bond with Lucien suffocated him. “Nothing exciting.”

Elain hummed thoughtfully, studying the shadowsinger. There was a pause before she said, a little coyly, “I hope nobody’s giving you grief—about me, I mean.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Grief?”

“I’m a grown woman—female.” She still found herself having to correct her words sometimes. “I make my own choices. And that includes whose company I do or do not wish to keep.”

“I don’t think anybody would expect otherwise.”

Silence was the only response. Because both of them knew what she was hinting at — the warning Rhysand had given Azriel to watch how he behaved around Elain. How Elain had learned of it, Azriel didn’t know. But she wasn’t daring enough to confront it outright.

“I just wanted you to know that.” She said, rising from her seat. “I enjoy spending time with you, Azriel. There’s nothing wrong about that.”

No, there wasn’t. Still…the two of them didn’t usually speak so boldly to each other. Az found himself unsure of how to respond.

And even more so, as Elain leaned down and pecked him on the cheek, her strawberry scent enveloping him. He felt his body go taut, felt his cheeks flush.

“Don’t work too hard.” Elain said softly. And then she gathered up the tea tray, and disappeared inside.

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The coins jostled and clinked against each other as you set the clay pot in front of your father. “Tonight’s takings.” You told him.

Rough, dirty fingers rooted around inside the pot. Your father glanced up at you. “Not bad.” But could be better, was what he meant.

You were starting to wonder if there was an amount that would satisfy your father, if you presented it to him. You knew he was eager to further his cause, to build up funds and supplies, but…he always seemed so disappointed.

Still, you hovered in front of him, wiping your hands over your wrinkled shirt. “…Devin said it’s not safe for people like me to go out unattended. With all the Fae attacks. He’s offered to be my chaperone.”

Your father’s gaze flitted to yours. To raise the subject to him was to test the waters. Your unspoken plea lay heavy in the air: go on. Let me have friends. Give me some freedom. You can trust me.

“Devin is a fine male.” He said, and a little kernel of hope arose in you. “But I don’t want you getting any ideas, Y/N.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Yes, Papa.”

“I need you here, helping me however I ask whilst I do my work. That’s your duty. And Devin is training to be a Village Guard. That is his duty. Perhaps when this whole thing is over, things will be different. But right now, I need you here.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Are all the chores done? Have you locked up?”

“Just some trash to take out. I had to kick Kiall out. He drank too much again, and he was becoming a nuisance.” Your voice gave away how downtrodden you felt, but you knew your father would pretend not to notice. “I thought I might play some music for a while.”

“Not tonight, Y/N.” He shook his head. “I head out tomorrow to give talks in the other villages. I need as much rest as I can get — as do you. You’ll be holding the fort here while I’m gone.”

You inclined your chin. And for a third time, you droned, “Yes, Papa.”

Your father dismissed you by easing himself back in his chair and retrieving his glass of whiskey from the small table beside him. You lingered a moment longer before turning on your feet.

But it was in the doorway that you stopped, a feared, plaguing thought arising in you.

“Do you truly think we can win against the Fae?” You asked.

Your father glanced over his shoulder. And something shadowed his face as he bit out coldly, “We have to.”

The tone of his voice frightened you too much to respond.

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Azriel waited. And waited. And waited.

But the woman didn’t appear. And the sweet music didn’t float up to him.

He supposed he felt a little foolish for becoming so…hopeful. For racing to the human lands to glimpse and hear what had occupied his thoughts for the last few days.

Gods, Rhys would chew him out if he knew. Even though Azriel was the damn spymaster. Even though he knew how to stay hidden, and he could sure as shit defend himself against any number of humans — it was still risky. Because he could frighten the humans, if nothing else.

But he still hoped. And when he realised that it was getting late, and The Bluebird Inn was in darkness — that no music was coming tonight — he felt frustrated.

His whole body was restless as he turned and made to leave. He didn’t want to return home yet, but…there was no point in being here. In staring at a bleak, darkened village—

He was just about to take off when he caught the movement in his periphery.

A door opened below — the inn’s side door. And out stepped the woman he’d so eagerly wanted to glimpse.

Azriel’s entire body went still, only his wings keeping him aloft. He watched as the woman — carrying what seemed to be a trash bag — turned into the alley beside the inn.

He shouldn’t have done it, but he did. He flew closer.

Close enough to watch the human deposit the trash bag into a bin. Close enough to see her turn — and pause at the sight of a man who came stumbling seemingly out of nowhere. Azriel tensed, not quite catching what the man slurred at her.

“We’re closed.” The woman’s voice floated up to him, skittering over Azriel’s skin. As sweet as the music she played. “And you’ve had plenty to drink. I won’t be serving you any more.”

The drunken human man staggered closer to her, clutching at the wall. “One more drink, and I’ll leave you in peace—”

“I said no, Kiall. My father is trying to sleep.” The woman snapped. “Go home and sober up.”

She made to step past the inebriated lout, seeming so much smaller than him.

And it was as the man’s hand shot out to shove her against the wall that Azriel acted without thinking.

He swooped down, landing with a thud in the mouth of the alley. His face was a sheet of fury, his wings a blanket of unforgiving night, as he stared at the two humans.

They both paled at the sight of him. The woman quietly gasped.

“The lady said no.” Azriel intoned quietly, lethally, his cold eyes fully on the man. “Leave.”

There was no movement; just two humans gaping at the sight before them. Until the man seemed to reach for some sort of weapon. Azriel almost laughed at the idea.

“Leave,” he said again, taking a step forward, “while you can still leave with your heart beating.”

That was all it took to frighten the man into moving. He shoved the woman away from him, tripping over his own feet as he took off. Azriel tucked in his wings just enough for the man to scuttle past. He left as quickly as his human legs would allow.

And then it was just Azriel and the woman. The woman who so beautifully played the piano. The woman who was still staring at him, wide-eyed and trembling.

He wanted to know her name. But it didn’t seem appropriate to ask. And his head was roaring so much with fury that he wasn’t sure he could even formulate the words.

“Are you alright?” He managed to bite out. He knew he’d got there before the woman had been hurt, but he still studied her for any indication of harm.

She blinked at him, pressing herself against the wall. And then stiffly nodded — just once.

Azriel wanted to hear her voice. But she didn’t speak.

“You should go back inside.” He said quietly.

She paused, and then nodded again. He nodded, too.

“Goodnight, then.” He inclined his head.

He shot into the skies before he could make any more reckless decisions. He knew that the woman watched the whole thing in both fear and awe.

He should go home. And not return. This had been foolish, and dangerous, and damn well pointless. She was just a human woman. Az had seen many in his half a millennia, and he would see many more.

He had no reason to be so transfixed.

But that didn’t stop him waiting and watching, making sure she made it inside, before he turned and flew back to the city of Velaris.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ azriel tag list:

@hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @emturtles @lostpirateinwonderland @kammsinn @localhopedealerr @pee-stachio @tobifeemo @torchbearerkyle @honeycriess @shadowsingersmate24 @azziessidehoe @camillo-420 @aztheshadowsinger @shadow-singer123 @weirdo-fun @bookscurlsandgirls @limelightsuperhero @eviepeo

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cowboygenesis · 29 days ago

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5: the armory | din djarin x reader

part 5 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist and spotify playlist. | buy me a coffee?

pairing: din djarin x reader chapter warnings: none. word count: 12.2k series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. notes: 12k words is just ridiculous. i feel like most of this is just a build-up for WHAT IS TO COME-- eckhem-- anyway, enjoy some domestic goodness and please let me know what you think of the series so far!

Din didn’t complain much when you asked to make a quick stop at your cottage.

You invited him in, finally said hi to Grogu, and poured both of them a hefty glass of sweet brew. They sat at the same table you had eaten at a week prior, as you excused yourself to your bedroom to find an appropriate outfit for work.

It didn’t take you long. Hidden in the depths of one drawer sat a stack of loose, linen pants that tightened at your ankles. They weren’t exactly meant for strenuous work, but they’d have to do for today. You had discarded most of your old clothes when you moved to Terrine, and the planet’s traditional wardrobe mostly consisted of folksy, warm layers that were perfect for farming and the like, but less so for the gritty, grimy chores of a mechanic.

You fix up your hair, wash your face, and finally exit. Your two companions look at you with curiosity, and you can only smile when you see both of their empty glasses on the table.

Din’s helmet tilts down as he surveys you before his gaze lands back on your coy, pleasantly glowing face. He stays silent, but with a glance at your new bottoms, he finally seems to understand why you had requested that stop in the first place. The last time you had worked the Crest in a skirt, the hem frayed beyond repair.

“Ready to go?” you announce through a confident grin, suddenly excited by the prospect of spending some more time in your new triad.

You watch Grogu chirp happily as he attempts to reach out to you, making Din tuck him into his metal crib. The man looks at you and nods, standing up and shutting the sphere with a click of a button on his gauntlet. You hear Grogu’s whines of protest, and frown a little as you fasten your cloak around your neck.

“Do you have to keep him in there?” you question with genuine curiosity as the Mandalorian stands to his full height. You watch him grasp the empty glasses by the rim and carefully bring them to the sink. The sight makes you bite your lip to catch a grin from forming. So polite.

“I told you he’s unpredictable,” the man explains as the two of you approach the foyer. You put your boots back on and make sure the windows are closed, not so much for safety as it is for the fear of a thunderstorm brewing while you’re away.

“Still, I feel like he’s missing out on the view,” you shrug as you finish up your laces.

“He’ll be fine,” Din retorts in a low rumble, and you almost want to laugh at how poorly he reacts to your parenting advice.

“Hey, you’re his dad,” you chuckle, opening the door to let the two through. Once they step on the deck, you exit behind them and lock the door. “Who am I to tell you what’s good for your child?”

Din doesn’t reply, but you sense he’s oddly pleased with your answer. You omit to him the fact you were trying to be sarcastic.

The walk to the Razor Crest is unsurprisingly pleasant. You pass by the rolling fields, wave to a few mildly confused neighbors, and eventually end up at the edge of the forest.

It’s still pretty early, so navigating should be simple. That’s, of course, until you see Din playing around with his gauntlet again as he leads the way.

“What are you doing?” you ask, trying to glance over his shoulder as he taps away.

“Tracking the Crest,” he replies as a small satnav screen appears to you on his forearm. You see the nearby area mapped out over a grid, with two points pinned in red.

“Sheesh,” you mutter under your breath as you enter the thicket. You see Din’s helmet tilt at your reaction, and you shrug with a soft, albeit coy smile.

“We’re a little old-fashioned around here,” you explain tightly while ducking under a particularly low branch blocking the road. “I haven’t gotten a tech update in… half a decade, at least. It’s still a little shocking to me when I visit the city once in a while— makes me feel like I’ve aged at twice the speed.”

He ponders your words, and as the path narrows, you’re forced to walk in a tight line. Without thinking, you finally jump to the front, letting Din and the crib follow just behind.

“Five years you’ve been here?” he questions through the modulator as you skip a pebble with your foot. The breeze rustling your pinned hair is pleasantly chilly, nipping at your cheeks and sending a satisfying shiver down the base of your neck.

“More or less,” you reply, “I… didn’t think to count since day one, so it’s all just approximations at this point.”

“Why?” he questions, and you furrow an eyebrow despite knowing he won’t be capable of catching your expression with the way you’re walking ahead.

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you count?”

The query makes you walk a little slower, your shoulders dropping with the soft swing of your arms. You don’t have a proper answer for him.

“…I was too busy thinking about other things,” you finally shrug, thankful he can’t see the scowl forming on your wind-tinted face. “Like how I’d make a living in this new place, where I’d settle, how I could find people to trust again.”

You worry about a follow-up, but to your great relief, he seems to sense your discomfort. Din skips commenting this time, instead letting the two of you enjoy the woods’ nature in peace.

The air is fresh here, and you make a point of taking deep breaths every other step. You’re still smack in the middle of the windiest season, which shows as a strong current blows through the foliage above. You tilt your head to look, and marvel at the dancing leaves as soft beams of light spill through the small gaps.

“Hey, look at the sunlight,” you comment, raising a hand to point at the bright streaks trickling toward the ground. The awe in your face must be apparent when your voice tightens through the smile.

Can he even tell colors apart through that dim visor? You think that something as serious as a Mandalorian’s helmet would be smelted with practicality in mind, not aesthetic beauty. But it’s a shame, really.

You don’t turn around to check his reaction, but still silently hope that Din is looking to the treeline with you, admiring the gentle cascade from within the safety of his armor. You think you’re proven right when you hear the soft ‘woosh’ of metal, followed by a familiar bubbling of your little green buddy.

You turn around with a smile, letting yourself walk backward so you can watch Grogu without losing precious time and progress.

His big eyes glimmer with wonder as he surveys the sight above. You hear him coo softly, and almost envy the fact he gets to experience this beautiful view from the comfort of his padded crib. You almost want to ask his dad if they made these in your size.

You glance over at Din, giving him a self-satisfied, foxy smile. You imagine he quirks an eyebrow at your mein, unappreciative of your sudden cockiness.

“There’s nobody around,” he explains flatly, and you can’t help but tilt your head in amusement.

“I didn’t say anything,” you shrug, and Din huffs at you. “Just look at him. Who knew babies had such an appreciation for natural beauty?”

He watches you for a moment, just moments from answering, and just as you’re about to quip back, you watch his hand rise towards you.

“Carefu—”

But your boot hits an elevation in the ground before you can heed his warning. You lose balance, and before you can gasp or yell, you’re already plummeting to the ground below.

But the impact never comes. Your eyes are shut tight preparing your body for collision, but what comes instead is a firm, steady pressure around your waist.

Your eyes flutter open slowly, and what you see almost makes you feel like faceplanting would’ve been the better option after all.

Your wide eyes meet his visor, close enough that you could probably see his annoyed expression if you squinted hard enough. His front collides with yours, the plates lining his muscles digging into the skin of your décolletage.

You don’t dare look down, but you find you don’t need to— the grip at your midriff is inarguably the presence of his strong, steady arm keeping you pressed safely against him as you stand awkwardly, mid-fall, your hands resting awkwardly on his chest plate.

“Careful,” he repeats with an edge of sternness, and the proximity makes you feel his low baritone rumbling in your heaving chest as he reprimands you so carefully. You’re at a loss for words. You’re not sure if you should feel embarrassed, thankful, or entirely hot at his intervention.

It turns out to be an unfortunate mixture of all three, brewing in your gut as you notice your own hands are now gripping tightly at his shoulders. You realize you’ve never touched him like that. It’s probably the closest thing to a hug you’ll ever get from him, so weirdly, you want to linger in place for a while.

And apparently, that doesn’t bother him. Maybe it’s the shock of the moment or your stupidly confused brain, but Din seems to keep you pressed against him for a little longer than is probably prudent in this minuscule rescue scenario. His breath isn’t heavy like yours, but you still catch his shoulder rise and fall with a little more force than you’d think usual for someone of his stoicism.

Absentmindedly, or perhaps through the haze of lingering shock, you let your left hand glide along his shoulder. The movements are slow, gentle, and calculated, and you watch his reaction closely for any sign to back off— but there’s nothing. He stands there in silence, helmet perfectly still, but you can’t quite imagine what he’s looking at now: your dazed eyes or the fingers that keep inching towards his helmet.

Once you move past the pauldron, you feel the soft material of his cloak as it bunches at the collarbone. Your breath hitches with every crinkle and fold.

Still, there’s no reaction. Din, shockingly, seems to entertain your curiosity. His grip around your waist tightens, but you know that if he wanted to, he could easily stop you from advancing— he’s definitely strong (and fast) enough to overpower you had he felt uncomfortable. Your lip catches between your teeth at the realization that he doesn’t even try.

So you move further, letting your fingers slip past the cloak and towards his neck. You finger at the cowl there, and in that moment, as the cascading warmth of his pulse point heats your hand, you crave more— to slip deeper, touch skin, feel the humanity, if there is any.

Maker, what are you doing?

Maybe it’s common sense or just a brush with survival, but you feel like going just an inch higher will change your life. Forever. It’s a dreadful, all-encompassing pit that swells in your chest, threatening to spill out dare you continue your delicate assault at his identity.

You feel a radiating heat creeping onto your face, and take it as a final sign to back off.

Your fingers quiver as you withdraw from Din, eventually finding your bearings with a little shimmy against him.

“Uh,” you mutter as he steadies you, holding both hands on either side of your waist as you feel out the ground beneath you. Your legs threaten to give out between you. “Thanks.”

He nods, and there’s just a single, fleeting spark between you before he finally pulls away himself. You nod back at him with a ditzy smile before turning to the pathway again. You hear Grogu chirping in his crib, and you’re unsure if he’s laughing at your mishap or cheering you on.

Maker. Seriously, you might be something of a klutz, but that was just unnecessary.

You continue through the forest with your lip caught in your teeth, before the awkward silence surrounding you slowly morphs back into one of comfort. The steady rise and fall of his chest is still fresh on your mind, but you manage to put it in the sidelines. For now.

Grogu’s soft whines and giggles paint a smile on your face, and you occasionally catch a glimpse of Din looking at his satnav with not a hint of stress. You guess that whatever that was didn’t affect him too much, which quite frustratingly makes you scowl at the ground below your moving feet. It’s definitely for the better, and you’re just being dramatic.

But then, his hand comes up to rest atop your shoulder blade, gently maneuvering you left.

The contact is chaste, but it still makes your heart jump. It’s just so… unnecessary. If he wanted you to go left, he could have just told you: ‘Go lef—

“We’re here,” he proclaims, and as you exit your chaotic headspace, your eyes meet with the familiar, looming hull of the Razor Crest. It sits just beyond a downward slope, greeting you with a brilliant shine as the sunlight illuminates the freshly graffiti-less surface.

“She looks so much happier,” you comment through a smile, entering the clearing with your two companions on either side. “You got the graffiti off.”

Din nods as the three of you approach the ramp. With a quick press to his forearm, the extendable metal plates lower with a whoosh. You wonder how much more he can do with just that one gauntlet.

Din leads you into the hull, stopping Grogu’s crib near a wall and swiftly withdrawing the boy with a sweep of his arm. The baby coos as the man reaches for a mounted handle, pulling at it to reveal a hidden compartment.

You gaze inside curiously, quickly realizing it’s a makeshift bed hidden in the wall of the hull. There’s a thin mattress lining a metal plate, with some blankets tossed about. Hanging above sits a large net, fastened to the walls with small bolts.

You watch as Din places Grogu inside, letting the boy flop into the basket with a sweet chirp. You giggle at his antics, trying not to eye this ‘bedroom’ for too long— it feels almost too intimate, like you’re breaking his creed just by peeking in.

“You sleep here?” you question, moving your attention to the rest of the ship’s interior. You don’t spot anything out of the ordinary besides a few crates lying around, following down to an unlit sector of the hull. You can’t see into the darkness even as you squint your eyes,

“Sometimes,” he replies, and the curious tilt of your head is enough to make him elaborate. “When I’m not busy.”

“Busy?” you question, though you already understand what he means by that. You’ve never even spoken to a mercenary before meeting Din, but the line of work is infamous enough for you to recognize its hardships and irregular schedule, if you could even call it that.

“Sleep is a luxury,” Din adds in a murmur, not turning to you.

You chew the inside of your cheek at his words, pondering the short but surprisingly profound statement. At home, you let yourself sleep in late, often disregarding the privilege of being able to do so on a regular.

But him? You imagine the countless sleepless nights around a fire on alien planets, catching bounties, taking care of the kid, piloting the Crest… you figure the best he gets is a few minutes in the cockpit, his head lolling slightly in the helmet as starlight streaks across the windows.

He moves towards the wall-bolted ladder, and you take a glance at Grogu. The little ball’s eyes glimmer as he coos at you from the netting, extending his arms as if asking for a pick-up.

“Wait,” you call out to Din, and he stops in his tracks to look at you. Your eyes skim to his helmet, then to the needy baby. “Can’t he come?”

The Mandalorian sighs, moving his foot off the ladder to face you. “He’ll just distract you.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at the pleading child. “Distract me?” you echo, picking Grogu up and cradling him against your chest. He coos in delight, tiny fingers reaching for the collar of your linen shirt. “I think you’re underestimating him a little.”

Din crosses his arms, the slight tilt of his helmet betraying his most apparent skepticism. “Helpful? He’ll try to eat the tools.”

“Not if we keep an eye on him,” you counter, shifting Grogu to your hip. He gazes up at Din, ears twitching, as if sensing the conversation is about him. “Besides, I think he wants to see what we’re up to. He’s been trapped in that metal ball for long enough, I want him to enjoy the fresh air for a while.”

Din sighs, glancing between the two of you before shaking his head. “Fine. But if he gets in the way, it’s on you.”

You grin, victorious, and nuzzle Grogu’s head lightly. “You hear that, bud? I just proved your case.”

Grogu babbles in response, seemingly in thanks.

Din mutters something under his breath as he heads up the ladder. You follow carefully, Grogu nestled securely in your arm.

Once you make your way up, you catch the Mandalorian already leaning over the control panel, keeping his posture steady with arms planted firmly against the metal edge. You spot the same tool kit you used to fix the hull ready for you by the wall, and you keep a note of it for later.

You hum as you settle into the pilot’s chair, squinting at the flickering lights on the control panel and trying really hard to keep your mind from drifting to the last time you sat here. Grogu proves quite useful in distracting you, as he chirps softly in your lap as you get to work.

Din is still leaning against the bulkhead, watching your nimble fingers hovering the interface.

“Alright, let’s see what your dad’s been whining about,” you snort under your breath, tapping a sequence of buttons to pull up the diagnostics. A series of warnings flash in red and orange across the small screen ahead, and you sigh. “Okay, so… our faulty thruster is port side. Surprise, surprise.”

Din straightens slightly. “You said it can be fixed?”

You swivel in the chair to face him, raising an eyebrow as your hands wrap around Grogu. You’re suddenly feeling a little giddy; you think it might be the lingering buzz he ignited within you when he so heroically saved your ass from faceplanting earlier. The memory suddenly fills you with enough gut to test your developing camaraderie.

“I mean, I could just leave it and see what happens next time you try to take off,” you shrug, but the grin on your face is evident. “Could be fun.”

He looks at you with what you imagine to be annoyance, a soft sigh escaping through the modulator and making you chuckle.

“Noted,” he replies dryly, tilting his helmet towards the console.

Still smiling, you turn back to the screen, running a more detailed scan. The readout pinpoints the issue to the power coupler and some wiring near the base of the thruster. “Yep, it’s not getting proper power. Probably a burnt conduit or a loose connection, but nothing we can’t fix with these.” Your head nods to the toolbox sitting on the floor.

He nods, and you swiftly pass him the child before pushing off the chair. He doesn’t hesitate, cradling the little ball as you grab Din’s tools from the corner of the cockpit. “Alright, let’s go take a look.”

The man nods again, pulling up the smooth sphere so he can settle Grogu inside. He shows you to another ladder at the back of the cockpit, leading to the roof of the ship.

He ascends first, and you hand him the toolbox before clamoring up yourself. Grogu’s orb hums as it smoothly ascends through the air just behind you. Again, you feel a little jealous. Must be nice.

Din glances over at your head as it pops up from the hull. “Keep him out of the panels. It’s dangerous.”

“I know, I know,” you click your tongue, eyeing the child’s crib as you climb the last step.

As you stand atop the Crest, you realize just how massive the ship feels from this perspective. You’re almost level with the treeline now, and looking in any direction gives you a neat outlook on the horizon. A soft breeze whirls through the clearing, catching your tied-back hair.

Din sets the toolbox down with a soft clunk, snapping you out of your brief reverie. He stands a few paces away, his helmet tilting as he looks back at you. “Enjoying the view?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Can you blame me? I didn’t realize the Crest could double as a scenic lookout.”

He lets out a quiet, amused huff before gesturing toward the thruster. “Scenery’s not going to fix the thruster.”

“Fair,” you concede with a huff, moving to join him near the flap. The port-side thruster is even more battered up close, the wear and tear of use evident in the scorched metal and scratched panels. Seems like the ship was due for a cleaning.

Crouching, you run a hand along the edge of the panel, searching for the release mechanism. Din kneels next to you, pointing silently to a small latch you missed. You shrug as you flick it open, the panel hissing as it releases, revealing a tangle of wiring and colorful components beneath.

“Definitely a power issue,” you mutter under your breath, inspecting the cluster of cables. A faint smell of burnt plastic lingers in the cavity, confirming your earlier suspicions. “Damn, this conduit’s fried. You still think some kids did this?”

Din leaves you without an answer, and instead, you see his gloved hand appear in your peripheral vision, holding a replacement conduit from the toolbox. You glance up at him, a bit surprised.

“Well, aren’t you prepared?” you tease, taking the part with your dominant hand.

“Had a feeling,” he replies simply, watching you get to work.

You grin, settling into the task. Working on the open thruster isn’t easy—some of the wires are tangled, and the flickering sunlight makes it hard to see inside the dark gap below. You hold a hand up to shield your eyes, squinting.

“Hold this,” you say, passing the conduit to Din as you adjust some stray wires.

He obliges, watching as you carefully untangle the damaged strings and disconnect the faulty part. A stray spark jumps when you pull it free, and you flinch slightly.

“Careful,” Din warns, leaning a bit closer.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, though your heart jumps a little at the proximity. He’s peering just over your shoulder, and you can hear the soft breaths coming through his modulator as you reach for the toolbox. “You’re distracting me.”

“It’s my ship,” he replies, handing the replacement back to you.

You sigh, sliding the new conduit into place despite the intrusion and securing it with the hydrospanner from the toolbox. As you work, Grogu’s faint coos drift up from the crib, and you glance at it briefly to see him staring up at you, his ears twitching.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” you call while elbows-deep in the wirey cavern. “Your ride will be good as new once I’m done here.”

Din straightens slightly, glancing down at Grogu before looking back at you. “You talk to him like he understands.”

“You think he doesn’t?” you reply with a smirk, tightening the last bolt with your tongue peeking out. “He’s smarter than both of us combined.”

The Mandalorian only huffs, and you can’t help but smile into the wires at having made him chuckle. It feels like a bit of a reward every time.

You work like that for a while, leaning into the open panel as Din hovers behind you, occasionally commenting on the damage. You’re quick with your responses, your cheeks pink with the fleeting breeze as your heart fills with satisfaction at the smooth process. You still got it, after so long.

Finally, you run a quick diagnostic with the handheld scanner Din hands you from the toolbox, watching the screen light up green. Your eyes squint as you survey the information flowing across the small interface, humming to yourself once you’re satisfied with the lack of errors.

“Done,” you announce, leaning back and wiping your hands on your pants with a self-satisfied smile. Changing proved to be a fantastic choice, after all. Maybe it was finally time to update your wardrobe?

Din nods, standing and offering you a gloved hand to pull you up. “Good work.”

“Thanks,” You take it, surprised by how effortlessly he managed to set you on your feet. “Let’s just hope this holds up longer than the last one.”

“Depends on how rough things get,” he says, and you look at him with a quirked brow. You can’t tell if he’s being funny or genuinely pondering the safety of this forest after the events that had caused the error in the first place.

“Have you thought of relocating?” you question, leaning down to shut the toolbox. “Whoever did this can find you again now that they know where you’re settled.”

“It’s a convenient spot,” he quickly retorts, “And if people can track the Crest to here, they could likely track it elsewhere, too. It’s a hassle to move around so frequently, and fuel here isn’t exactly available or cheap.”

You nod, mulling over his words. You’ve never ventured the forest beyond this clearing, as the trunks grew thick there and obscured most natural light. You think that by ‘inconvenient’ Din means to say it’d be too hard to access civilization. “I guess so.”

You make sure to secure the latch of the thruster before the three of you descend to the cockpit. Once there, you leave the toolbox in its original spot and walk down to the open hull.

There, you find yourself stretching again. Your arms extend as you sigh a breath of relief and satisfaction— you haven’t greased your elbows in a solid moment, long enough to make you forget how good it feels to fix up a faulty mechanism, even without the promise of credits or a superior’s praise.

You turn to Grogu as Din checks something on his gauntlet again. You smile at the little ball, and he seems to sniff out your lingering attention when his big eyes turn to you.

There’s a strained silence as his eyes squint, before he… wails. It’s a sound you’ve not heard him make before, like a powerful, high-pitched shrieking that makes you clutch your chest.

“B-Buddy?” you exclaim, lunging towards him with worry.

Din happens to be a few steps ahead of you already. His arms duck into the crib as he withdraws the snotty baby with a low sigh.

He studies him, and your furrowed brows make your forehead crease.

“He’s hungry,” The Mandalorian explains, his tone betraying his otherwise stoic mein. He’s not exactly in the mood to deal with his son’s whining right now, and so much is quite clear.

“Did you feed him today?” you question, inching forward with your arms outstretched.

Din quickly pivots, moving Grogu away. Your worry fades into sympathy as you drop your arms, stepping away to avoid escalating the tension. This kind of parental pressure is probably not the kind Din is used to.

“Not enough, apparently,” the man mutters as he surveys the bundle in his arms. Grogu’s eyes are still filling with hot tears, but he’s quieted down enough in his dad’s embrace for you to admire them in peace.

It’s quite a sweet sight, albeit tugging at your funny bone. You’ve never been too good with kids, but the natural urge to protect the cute, little creature couldn’t be lost on you— or Din, for that matter. Your lip flips into a small smirk as you finally approach, just in arm’s reach of the pair.

You look at Din with somewhat pleading eyes, your lip caught between your teeth when he looks at you curiously. “Can I feed him?”

He tilts his head at you, lingering there for a beat before turning his attention to the babbling toddler again.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he replies sternly, but you’re not discouraged one bit. You understand his worry for the baby, and if he told you to, you’d gladly back away.

Still, this time you attempt to push just a little further. You’ve grown pretty fond of the kid, and feeding him seems like a good way to pursue this bond you have further. Plus, you’re a little curious to see what that looks like.

“I’ll be gentle,” you speak, close enough now to pet the kid’s comically large ear. He leans into your touch, looking at you with those big, wet eyes of his. “Besides…”

Din looks up at you in question as you poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue. You look up at him with a knowing look, tilting your head to match his posture.

“When was the last time you ate?” you question, almost sternly. You don’t mean to school this grown man on how he should live his life, but you’re genuinely curious about his habits now that he told you about his chaotic sleeping schedule.

“I’m fine,” he replies, holding your gaze as you continue caressing the kid’s ears.

He’s not fine. The delay in his reply is enough for you to know he probably hasn’t eaten since morning, if not longer. You give him a skeptical smile, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“I had a meal two days ago,” he adds, and your jaw drops.

“Two days ago!?” you exclaim, eyebrows rising up your forehead. It’s so much worse than you thought. “Are you even human under all that junk, Mando?”

He just shakes his head with annoyance at your whining. “I’m human.”

You don’t tell him the question was rhetorical, and instead slowly withdraw the crying kid from his arms. He hesitates for a second, but eventually lets you take over. You cradle the baby with both your arms, rocking him gently.

Your eyes move back to Din’s visor, and you sigh sympathetically.

“Din,” you say softly, “I get it—it’s been difficult settling in. but… you can’t forget your own needs.”

He stiffens slightly, the subtle shift in his posture telling you that your words hit something within.

“I manage,” he replies, his voice a little quieter now.

“Well yeah, I can see that,” you say with a small smile, almost teasingly as you glance down at Grogu. He begins to settle in your arms, tiny fingers curling around a strand of your sleeve. “But managing is not thriving.”

Din doesn’t respond immediately. His visor is fixed on the two of you, the baby nestled comfortably against your chest. For a moment, you wonder what expression he’s hiding under that helmet.

“Let me do this,” you continue, rocking Grogu gently. “You can take five, eat something, or just sit for all I care.”

Din sighs. “He’s particular. He might not… take to it.”

Jackpot. You grin, a spark of confidence lighting up your face with a grin. “Guess we’ll find out, right?”

Din watches you silently, and before he can argue any further, your bright expression seems to convince him otherwise. He sighs heavily, like the idea of taking a break was actually a hassle.

“Fine,” he replies, nodding towards a compartment near the open ramp. “There’s the food supply.”

You move on cue, smiling wide as you approach the small compartment. You move Grogu to one of your arms, letting the other hand tug at the metal handle of the storage.

The inside is… pretty much what you’d expect it to be. A few shelves lined with a variety of cans and bottles, some probably expired judging from the thin layer of dust covering the labels.

You reach for one of the smaller cans, squinting to read the packaging. It’s written in Rodian— yours is pretty rusty, but after a moment of concentrating you decipher the letters to read something like ‘Meat Blend’. Yum.

“Does he like this?” you call out to Din, raising your hand to show him the label.

“He’ll eat anything,” the man replies shortly, moving to the edge of the ramp. “There’s a fire pit near the ship. I’ll stoke it for you.”

You nod, pocketing the can into your duffle bag as Din begins descending the stairs.

You watch him stop halfway down, his body slowly moving to face you. You quirk an eyebrow in question, wondering if he might ask for something.

“Have you eaten?” he questions, and the simple question makes your heart thrum in your chest. His voice is stern, yes, but the implication of his query makes you feel like he’s not indifferent to your state.

You blink at him. “Me? Uh—” You fumble, suddenly hyper-aware of how long it’s been since your last meal. “I had some fruit this morning?” you add hastily, though you realize how pitiful that sounds the way the statement morphs into a question.

Din doesn’t respond immediately, but the slight tilt of his helmet suggests he’s not impressed by your answer.

“That’s not enough,” he says simply, and before you can protest, he’s nodding towards the compartment again. “Take something for yourself.”

You stare at him, momentarily stunned by his sudden concern. You reason that it might just be subtle payback for fixing his ship and offering to feed his kid. Maybe it’s not exactly kindness as it is being a good, hospitable host.

“Alright,” you mutter, grabbing another can at random. The label is colorful, and you figure all canned food tastes just about the same, anyway. “But don’t expect me to be as easy to please as Grogu. He doesn’t even have taste buds yet.”

Din turns without another word, but as he disappears out of view, you hear a melodic sound coming from his modulator. You smile, grateful to know that you are the one who caused him to laugh like that. Again.

Before you follow, you quickly pick out two more cans and stuff them in your bag. If he won’t cook for himself, you figure there’s no harm in making something yourself; might as well, right?

By the time you step outside, the flames are already crackling in the pit. The sun sits high above the tree line, casting warm, golden hues across the clearing as you approach the makeshift log-bench. Din crouches by the fire, his helmet catching the glow as he adjusts the flames with a metal skewer. Grogu’s empty crib hums quietly by his hip, in the case you need to relocate the baby.

You plop down on the trunk as Grogu squirms in your lap, his wide eyes glued to the cans you set in a neat pile beside you. You dig into your duffel bag again, biting your lip as you finally withdraw a small, compact multi-tool. It’s worn, and most of the mini-tools within are dulled with use, but you figure it’ll do for opening the mystery meats.

You watch Din stand up, looking at the kid as he coos in your lap. You reach for a small stack of metal bowl-plates, some tongs, and a ladle near the pit, placing them on the ground near your boots.

You put your tool down, smiling down at Grogu as you swiftly place him in his crib as you prepare his lunch.

Your hands get to work, grabbing Grogu’s designated can and flipping a small knife out of the multi-tool. You perforate the upper lid with a dull ‘pop’ before looking up at Din. “Come sit.”

“I’m fine,” he says almost immediately, watching as you carefully release the can’s pressure. Inside you find a light-pink, almost gelatinous mass.

“Suit yourself,” you reply, focusing back on the can. Once the top is off, you reach over the fire and place the can upright inside a makeshift metal pot held up by two rods. You haven’t gone camping in so long, you forgot how fun and interactive the whole thing was.

“You’re good with him,” he says after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

You glance up at him, smiling sympathetically. “He’s easy to love,” you reply, looking down at the baby with a fond smile as the gloop begins bubbling within the pot.

The Mandalorian watches as the food cooks, surveying your interactions with the baby. Once he seems satisfied, you see him turn towards the ramp wordlessly.

You turn to watch him leave but abstain from speaking. As much as you’d like to enjoy a meal together, you know it’s not possible for him.

You turn back to Grogu with an encouraging grin, picking up the metal rod Din left behind and stoking the fire yourself.

“You hungry, bub?” you smile, turning to the crib. His tears have dried completely as he watches you cook, his eyes reflecting the soft flames as he coos.

“So am I,” you chuckle, standing up to gently withdraw the can with your tongs in one hand and a bowl in the other. You grab the can by its edge and pour the kid a hefty, steaming portion.

Your eyebrows furrow as you scan for utensils.

“Minimalistic, isn’t he?” you jest towards Grogu, and he babbles as you reach a free hand into your bag again. After some digging around, you finally ‘Ah-ha!’ as you withdraw a plastic, star-speckled spoon.

You swirl the spoon in the bowl, cooling the pinkish mixture with slow, deliberate movements. Grogu watches with rapt attention, his tiny hands reaching out and grasping at the air as if to hurry you along.

“Hold your horses,” you say with a laugh, scooting closer to the crib and bringing the spoon to his lips. His big ears wiggle in delight as he tastes the first bite, a satisfied coo escaping him. “Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve acquired a taste for ‘Meat Blend’, kid.”

You get your answer as you shovel another spoonful of the goop to his lips. He eats with fervor, quickly finishing the entire bowl.

You put down the empty bowl, and when the kid belches, you can’t help but snort. “Woah, buddy. How about some manners?”

He only giggles at you, his mood drastically improved after getting to fill his belly. You giggle in return before taking a look at the remaining cans. These, too, are Rodian, reading ‘Paff Stew’ on the scratched label.

Your gaze shifts towards the Crest’s open ramp, and you can’t help but look for Din in the darkness within. Stubborn, he says. The irony.

You turn back to Grogu, presenting him the unopened cans with a sneaky grin. “So, what’s it gonna be, kid? Should we feed your dad, too?”

Grogu chirps happily, reaching his hand towards you— or the cans, rather.

“Are you sure, though? I don’t know if he deserves it after calling you a womp rat so many times,” you bargain, and Grogu seems to mull your words over with how quiet he gets. You chuckle, reaching for your tool again.

“I’m kidding,” you mutter through a grin, working at the tops of the remaining cans. “He’s a good guy.”

Grogu replies in another chirp, and you nod in faux understanding as you opt to pour each can into the pot. “Good point.”

By the time the stew is ready, you’re already preparing two bowls; one for you, one for Din. You place the ladle in the hot mixture, swirling a little to check the contents. It looks tasty enough, with a deep-orange base and some unidentified vegetables floating about in the vortex you’ve created.

You ladle a portion for yourself and double-up the one meant for Din. You hope it’s enough, and if not, there’s still plenty left over the fire.

“Ready to roll?” you ask Grogu, and he chirps in enthusiasm. A bowl in each hand, you walk towards the ramp of the Crest, noticing how the metallic orb follows suit on its own.

You walk up the ramp, suddenly feeling queasy. What if he’s… sans helmet? You’re not exactly sneaky, but the idea of walking on him in such a vulnerable state makes your throat dry up. He’s made it quite clear how important privacy is to him.

You clear your throat and call out gently.

“Din?” you step past the threshold, “I’m coming in.”

There’s a pause before his voice echoes back from within the previously unlit part of the hull. You see now that the darkness hid a brown curtain which was partially shut for privacy. “In the armory.”

The armory? The words send a chill down your spine, but you’re not exactly fearful. What did you expect? He’s a mercenary, of course he’d have a ship loaded with guns and ammo. You shake the unease off and press forward, bowls carefully balanced in your hands as you move past the curtain.

You walk down the dimly lit hull and finally reach an open compartment. It’s the size and shape of a weird, metal closet, and you catch Din sitting on a stool between the two extendable plates.

You peek inside, and the sight hits you harder than you expected.

The three walls are lined with blasters, rifles, and all sorts of artillery, meticulously arranged in a cacophony of unspoken violence. You’d seen plenty of heavy weaponry in your life, sure, but nothing so concentrated.

Din has his back to you as you approach, a small, sleek blaster in his hand. He grips a microfibre cloth, wiping down the metal surface. You recognize it to be the same weapon he usually carries at his hip.

When he turns to you, you’re already frowning at the heavy atmosphere.

“Nice collection,” you break the silence, trying to inject a bit of levity amidst the tension, “Good thing I’m terrible with blasters, or you’d have some serious competition.”

Din turns his head slightly, and you catch a glint of amusement in the tilt of his helmet. “You and the kid both,” he replies dryly.

You take a tentative step forward, holding out the heavier bowl to him. “I, uh… brought you dinner. The cans are a little weird-looking, but I promise it’s good. The kid loved it, at least.”

“That’s not saying much,” he retorts with a snort, and you can’t help but smile a little.

He sets down the blaster and cloth and takes the bowl from you, his gloved hand brushing yours briefly. “Thanks,” he says.

You nod, glancing around the armory again before forcing yourself to meet his visor again.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you say gently, pivoting to the curtain again.

He gives a small nod, and your eyes linger on his back as you leave.

The tension in your shoulders eases as you step back into the main hull. Grogu chirps from his crib, and you glance down at him with a soft smile. “You knew he was hiding all that?” you murmur, and the kid whines. You assume that to be a ‘yes’.

You settle yourself at the entrance of the ship, sitting cross-legged with Grogu’s crib by your side. The cool evening air brushes against your skin as the forest comes alive for the night. The sun shines just beyond, but when you glance up at the sky you witness the first stars appearing where night collides with day.

You hold your bowl with two hands, bringing it up to your lips and taking a languid sip. It’s still piping hot, filling your nose with herbs and umami.

“Not bad for a can,” you shrug, letting the warmth envelop your worn body.

Sip by sip, you start to gain a second wind. The horizon paints the Crest in beautiful, vibrant colors ranging from oranges to pinks, making you marvel at the sight.

Maker, you really need to get out more instead of staying cooped up inside your cottage most days. HoloDramas are nice and all, but it’s easy to forget the entertainment that lies just beyond the thicket. You think that Din and Grogu are a good influence on you that way, getting you moving on days you’d rather be lazy.

You finish your stew with a sigh, placing the empty bowl at your side. You lean back on your arms, and enjoy the satisfying feeling of a full belly as you glance at the wind-swept treeline beyond.

“Do you like it here, bub?” you mutter to the child, turning to see him sitting cozy under a blanket. He tilts his head at you, and lets out a little blip of noise.

“Yeah, I guess you’re not used to the peace, huh?” you chuckle, pretending to understand the chirps he emits in response. The nice thing about talking to babies is that they’ll never judge you—it’s all fair in love and war. You sometimes wish people your age were more like that; understanding.

Grogu watches you with those wide, curious eyes, his little hand peeking out from under the blanket. You smile softly, brushing a hand through his ear.

“Maybe this is what you needed,” you say quietly, as much to yourself as to him. “Somewhere quiet, away from all the violence and chaos.”

The kid lets out a soft coo. You glance at the horizon again, where the last rays of light stretch over the trees, casting long shadows on the ground. A gentle breeze carries the scent of the forest—pine, moss, soil, and something faintly floral.

“I felt the same,” you finally confess into the evening air, giving Grogu a somber smile. “I mean, before I came here. Everything I faced was just so… much. So overwhelming. In a galaxy so large, you sometimes feel like just an insignificant speck, you know?”

You untangle your legs, letting them flop against the ramp. “And at one, very specific moment in time, I realised that it’s all I am. A speck amidst the hurricane. Nothing I’ll do will matter one way or another, so why not live a life I actually want for myself?”

You turn to the crib, and can’t help but sigh contently when you see Grogu’s eyes closed shut, snoring softly amidst the soft padding.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” you whisper through a smile, leaning to tuck the baby in.

You sit like this for a while, letting the chilly air flow in and out of your lungs. Eventually, the white noise soothes you enough to close your eyes and enjoy the natural symphony without distractions.

That’s until you feel a looming presence by your side, followed by a quiet ‘hey’.

Your brows lift in surprise, but you say nothing as your eyes flutter open. You need to crane your neck when you see Din’s armored legs, chest, and finally focus on the helmet he dips down to meet your gaze.

“Hey,” you croak back quietly, watching as the man bends to sit down next to you. He keeps a comfortable distance, but stays close enough that the warmth radiating from his armor cuts through the cooling air around you.

For a moment, he says nothing, his helmet tilted up to the sky you’ve been watching alone the past hour he was gone.

“The stew was good,” he finally says, and you can’t help but look over at him with a quirked eyebrow.

Your lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. “You tried it?” Your breath almost halts as you realise he must have taken his helmet off to eat. So vulnerable, and yet so dangerously close to being discovered had you picked the wrong moment. The thought is almost invigorating.

“Had to see if it was safe,” he comments, nodding towards the occupied crib. “For him.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Right, because I’m just dying to poison the little guy.”

Din doesn’t reply, but there’s something almost playful in the way he shifts, as though he might be suppressing a laugh. You enjoy the mental image of a smile painted beneath that helmet of his, and eventually, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, watching the cascading sunset.

But you’ve had your fill already. Instead, as his helmet tilts away from you, you take the opportunity to study him closer. It’s not often you’re afforded such a small distance between you, not counting the few times he saved your ass or reprimanded you for something silly.

Your gaze tracks the sleek silhouette of the helmet, down to the dip of his neck. You recall placing fingers there, and the warmth of that memory makes you shudder. On his pauldron, you spot that beast again— a strange, horned animal you’re unfamiliar with.

“What’s that?” you question softly, careful not to startle him, though you doubt someone of his profession can be startled.

He turns to you slowly, then dips his chin to look at the insignia you’re referencing.

“A mudhorn,” Din replies as you lean in to take a closer look.

Your brow furrows as you glance between him and the insignia. “A mudhorn?”

“An animal from Arvala-7,” he explains simply, pausing as if deciding how much to share. “Strong and territorial. Dangerous without proper training.”

“Charming,” you remark, the sarcasm in your tone drawing a quiet huff from him—his version of a dry laugh, you think. “Why a mudhorn?”

“Killed one,” he says, and your eyes widen slightly. There’s no boast in his tone, like he’s saying something so simple and matter-of-fact. Killing isn’t beyond him.

“Not alone,” he adds after a moment. “Grogu helped. We… earned it. Together.”

You glance at the sleeping child, who snores happily as though dreaming something sweet. A smile tugs at your lips as you turn back to Din. “So, it’s… a crest?”

“In a way,” he admits. “For a clan of two.”

The warmth in his words catches you off guard, and you feel your chest tighten at the thought.

“So, you’re like a team, huh? Taking on the galaxy together, catching bounties, and turning them in for credits?”

He huffs again, shaking his head slowly. “Something like that.”

You nod, taking in the colors reflecting off his armor. They look even more brilliant on the surface, making a soft, effervescent canvas of his body.

“Is that beskar?” you ask, recalling your friend’s words from the market. and Din moves to look at the sky again.

“Yes,” he replies, rapping his knuckles around the edge of the hull entrance. “It’s impenetrable.”

You huff in silent admiration. You wonder if it’s really as strong as he says, but decide to let your speculations reside within for now.

“Must be nice,” you comment quietly, tracing a pattern on your thigh, “It’s like you’re untouchable with that thing on.”

He takes a quick, subtle glance at you before returning to his default position.

“It has its limits,” he says, and the words send a shiver down your spine. You imagine he says so from experience, and not sheer speculation.

“I doubt anyone’s gotten close enough to find out,” you chuckle softly, trying to ease the tension that abruptly settles over the two of you.

Din glances at the child, then back at you. His gaze lingers there for a moment, and you feel like the act alone knocks the air from your lungs in moments like this.

“You’d be surprised.”

His words hang in the air, and all you can do is nod sympathetically as your skin glazes over with shivers.

“Beskar is a tradition,” Din continues, and you’re almost surprised at how easily you managed to get all of this out of him. “It’s a reminder of what our clan stands for.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “And what do you stand for?”

He pauses, his visor fixed on you as a stray ray of sunlight passes down his helmet. “Honor, loyalty…” he trails, looking at Grogu. The little one is fast asleep, gurgling softly as the two of you watch over him.

“…Family,” Din finally adds, quieter this time. The word makes you bite your lip, mulling it all over as his gaze fixes on your fidgeting fingers.

There’s something in the way he speaks of his creed that tugs at your heartstrings. Unbeknownst to anything you could have hoped for, your new companion opened up to you more than you had to him. You wonder if you can match him.

“It must be a heavy burden to carry,” you murmur under your breath. “Standing for such values yet never being able to fully expose yourself to another person.”

“It’s who we are,” he replies simply, as if that alone is explanation enough. You don’t understand, but honor it anyway with a nod. Identity isn’t just a face, it’s your moral standing, your values, your creed. Still, as your gaze meets his visor, you can’t help but imagine the color of his eyes.

There’s a smile that lingers on your lips as your hand edges towards his. Briefly, your fingers brush, and your heart thrums when he doesn’t pull away immediately.

“A clan of two,” you comment through a smile as a wind sweeps through the hull.

“This is The Way.”

His thumb moves over your wrist for the briefest moment, and you can’t help but gasp softly at the contact before he finally pulls away. You don’t blame him.

You linger like that for a while, keeping minimal distance as the day comes to an end. With Grogu’s bubbling and your own soft breaths, it feels like something within you has stirred ever so slightly.

“And you?” he suddenly asks, making you turn to face him.

“What about me?” you chuckle nervously, shifting to one arm as you face him fully while perching on one buttock.

“What’s your story?”

You pause as you search for the right words. It’s been a while since anyone had asked you that, as the last time it happened, it almost got you killed.

“My story?” you echo softly. The evening light filters through the trees, casting golden streaks on the hull and over the both of you. “It’s… not as honorable as yours, I’ll say that much.”

Din remains silent, waiting. You sigh.

“I grew up in a quiet place. Just like here: peaceful and serene, with kind people and plenty of food to avoid us a war. It was wonderful, seriously, a real paradise— until it got boring, of course,” You let out a soft chuckle, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Things happened, people I cared for left… and I guess I thought I had to do the same. Follow that same path.”

“You left,” he repeats, and you nod.

“Yeah. Went out looking for a purpose, like most of us do— something that made me feel… whole. Like there was something out there, waiting for me to find it,” You glance at him, almost embarrassed to admit it. “I’m still looking, I guess.”

Din tilts his helmet slightly. “And you think you’ll find it here?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It sure is a hell lot better than what I tried doing before, you know, when shit hit the fan.”

He looks into you, but you refuse to elaborate on the last part. For the first time in forever, you think back to your hometown. Quaint, amiable, and green— just like Lazure Prime. The memories make you want to talk, but you know that doing so will result in revelations you’d rather keep buried deep, away from anything and anyone.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he says after a moment, and you blink at him.

“Strong?” you chuckle sadly, tilting your head to give him a forced grin. You appreciate his words, but they can’t seem to reach you where it matters most. “I told you, Mando, I can’t even shoot a kriffin’ blaster to save my life. Where’s the strength in that?”

“You know what I mean,” Din shifts, his helmet glinting faintly in the light. “Strength isn’t just about firing a blaster.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you mutter, lowering your gaze to the ground. “You’ve got your expensive beskar, a big ship, and a Creed to guide you. Me? I’ve got…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely at yourself and the rustling forest around you. “A cottage and a knack for boiling canned stew.”

He huffs softly— it’s that soft laughter you’ve grown to love. “You’re a good mechanic,” he counters, “And the kid likes you. That’s not nothing.”

You pause, and your smile drops. You feel your stomach twist with bitterness, but also sympathy— for him, and strangely, for yourself.

“Yeah, well, he likes frogs, too,” you joke, looking up at Din who laughs again. This time, it’s a clear sound— warm and hefty as his head shakes at your silly mein.

“Strange girl,” he says in a tight lilt, and you can’t help but shoot him a challenging glare.

“Oh, shut up with that, will you?” you counter, but your voice is threaded with the laughter that brews in your throat. “If I’m strange, what does that make you?”

“Efficient,” he replies, tone dry. You just can’t get a break, can you?

“Efficient my ass,” you roll your eyes, turning to lean on your side. He follows suit, moving to face you more fully. “What’s efficient about all that armor?”

Din tilts his helmet, the metal catching the soft light of the evening. “It’s practical,” he replies simply, but there’s a hint of quiet amusement in his tone.

You cross your arms, the smirk tugging at your lips betraying your feigned offense. “Practical? Please. If I tripped and fell wearing all that, I’d never get back up.”

There’s a brief pause before he speaks, and for a moment you feel like he’s holding back a harsher insult. “That’s why you practice,” he says, the corner of his voice tinged with mirth. “You should try it sometime.”

“Oh, so now I’m lazy and strange?” you quip, leaning back with mock indignation.

“Didn’t say that,” he counters smoothly, shifting slightly as he settles more comfortably. “But if the boots fit…”

You gasp, feigning shock, but the laughter that leaves your throat seconds later is real—soft, genuine, and filling the space between you with such ease you can’t help the tears glazing your eyes. For just a moment, the weight of the galaxy feels lighter, like maybe you’re more than just a speck amidst it all after all.

You look away from him when the tears threaten to fall, inhaling sharply as you watch the sun finally disappear beyond the treeline. You feel Din’s gaze linger on you for a second longer, but eventually, he joins you in marveling at the beauty ahead.

“I could teach you,” he suddenly murmurs, and you need to shake your head to make sure you heard right.

“What?”

Din looks at you, cocking his head. “I could teach you how to use a blaster.”

You blink in surprise, but before you can form a response, Din continues.

“Consider it payback for fixing the ship,” he replies curtly before looking at Grogu. “…And feeding the kid.”

Your eyes widen in realization, and a smile tugs at your lips. You can’t hide the fact you’re excited by the prospect of being taught by a kriffin’ Mandalorian of all people.

"Mando, you really don’t ha—"

“I know I don’t,” he interrupts, tilting his helmet. “That’s why I want to.”

There it goes again, a bright, uninhibited grin that makes your cheeks ache at its sheer intensity.

“Fine,” you nod, shooting him a playful glare, “But you seriously need to stop stealing my lines. I might need to start asking for royalties.”

Din lets out a soft snort, shaking his head as he leans back slightly, resting his gloved hands on his knees. "I don’t think I could afford your rates," he quips.

You smirk, crossing your arms. “That’s probably true. I charge extra for babysitting.”

“Good thing you babysit him willingly,” he counters, voice almost playful through the modulator.

For a moment, you just stare at him, dumb smile and all. You could get used to this side of him—the faint humor, the little quips. It feels natural, like he’s always meant to be this easygoing.

“Alright,” he continues, slapping his knees before effortlessly standing to his full height. His arm extends to yours, dwarfing your comfortably seated body. “Get up.”

Your eyes widen, smile dropping in confusion. “What?”

“Get up,” he repeats, fluttering his fingers like he’s letting you know his offer is about to expire. “There’s plenty of trees around— you can shoot at those.”

“Wh— what? Mando, I don—” you choke out, batting the air with your hands in refusal before his firm grip tugs at your wrist. You stop in your tracks, forced into silence as he looks you down.

“What are you scared of?” he questions lowly, making your gaze drop to your boots.

“I’m not!” you counter tightly, but the chuckle that follows is joyless when he withdraws the sleek blaster and holds it by the barrel.

You’re not scared of the weapon— just the damage it can and has done. When you saw Mando’s armory, you felt that unforgiving cold pinching at your throat, threatening to spill out the memories you tried so damn hard to bury deep; sleek, black tiles, the distant thrum of space, and a piercing scream echoing in your mind as hot tears spilled down your battered face, mixed with blood that you knew wasn’t your own. You’ll never come back to that, you’ll never let anyone—

He says your name. You must have been unresponsive for a while, as when you come to, Din is sitting by your side, grasping your shoulders in his firm grip. You shake your head, breathing heavily against the tightness in your chest as he tracks your face.

You look at him and fake your best smile, placing a hand on his forearm and squeezing. “I’m fine.”

“You started hyperventilating,” he counters firmly, almost frustrated with your lie.

You sigh, letting your faux expression of comfort dissolve. What is left is the semblance of shock in your eyes and a defeated frown. “It’s fine. I— I don’t want to talk about it.”

He drops his arms, instead opting to grip at your wrists. It’s steady but not unkind, his gloved thumbs brushing over your pulse in soft strokes.

“You don’t have to,” he says quietly, his voice softer, though the frustration still lingers at the edges. “But don’t tell me it’s fine when it’s not.”

You close your eyes, grounding yourself with a series of deep breaths. You hear Grogu’s soft bubbles from the crib, which makes you calm slightly before you finally speak.

“It’s just…” You trail off, swallowing hard as that sharp cold hovers over your skin again. “I don’t like weapons. I—” You nod toward his blaster, then glance away, ashamed of your own dramatic reaction.

His hands don’t leave your wrists. “I can put it away,” he offers, and your eyes widen when warmth spreads to your cheeks.

“No,” you counter firmly, grabbing at his forearm when you see it retracting. He lets you stop him, and the blaster he holds between his fingers seems to challenge you silently. “No.”

Din tilts his helmet slightly, waiting, patient. You’re at a loss for words.

“The… the last time I held one of these, someone I cared for—” you squeeze your eyes tight, biting your tongue. The man holding your wrist is patient, letting you exhale slowly as you gather your composure.

But the words never come. Instead, your face shifts into a look of pure pity, sorrow, and the unwavering regret that has followed you through life since the dawn of your grand escape from the planet that took everything from you. You hope your tragic frown is enough to make Din understand, make him see the blaster through your tear-slicked eyes and the pain that shoots through your heart like icicles.

And he does. You know it when his hand rises to your jawline and gloved fingers meet heated skin, smoothing against your flushed cheek. The touch is soft, chaste— affectionate—the touch of a man capable of hurting, killing, but loving just as passionately. You lean into it without question, without regrets.

“Din,” you croak out through your tightened throat, and at this, you feel his thumb caress your cheek. His visor stares through your very soul, reaching beneath the silver lining you’ve been hiding behind for years.

He doesn’t speak. You think he knows the sight of blood, but draws the line at the hot tears of a soft-hearted woman. You hate that soft heart. You hate the harm it’s capable of doing.

Wordlessly, your eyes flicker to the blaster lying by his side. It’s unholstered, placed there when your sudden reaction startled him. Again, the silver looks back at you with the soft, pink hues of the evening sky. It feels like a challenge.

Something red-hot bubbles within your gut. You white-knuckle your work pants, eyebrows tightening into a point on your forehead as the mocking weapon beckons you closer.

In that moment, as the Mandalorian’s hand caresses your face, you utter a silent promise to yourself.

“Teach me,” you whisper before common sense can stop you. Din dips his helmet, making sure he heard right.

“What?” he retorts, the touch of his palm slowly withdrawing as he studies your face.

“To shoot,” you repeat in a frustrated mutter, reaching to wipe a tear into your forearm. You’re missing his touch already. “I want to learn.”

He’s hesitant when he picks up the blaster again, eyeing it briefly before looking at you again. With a sharp exhale and a kick of your boots, you’re standing up again, reaching out your hand for him to take.

“Will you do it?” you ask, fluttering your fingers like he did before. “Will you teach me?”

He looks up at you with a tilt of his helmet, studying your face in the approaching dusk. The blaster in his grip gleams softly again, and your nostrils flare.

His hand meets yours with a snap. You feel his gloved fingers secure in yours as the Mandalorian rises to his full height before your very eyes. You can’t help but grin at him, and this time, it finally reaches your eyes.

“I’ll show you how to use it,” Din finally speaks, and his voice is a soothing balm to the brewing anger within you.

You nod through a long exhale, and with a bittersweet smile, you reach for the blaster in his hand.

“—Not tonight,” he stops you with that same firm grip on your wrist, but this time, it leaves your skin almost immediately. “You’re tired. You’re angry—”

“I’m fine,” you shake your head, but your furrowed eyebrows betray your words. “I can start now.”

He huffs quietly, watching your expression before slowly withdrawing the blaster to the safety of his holster. “No.”

His refusal stings. It’s firm, decisive, and exactly what you remember the Mandalorian like the first time he stepped foot in your quaint town— your quaint life. You watch as he steps back, his broad frame silhouetted against the ever-darkening sky.

You open your mouth to argue, but the exhaustion weighs down on you like a stone. He’s right, though admitting it feels like another wound. Waking near dawn, fixing the ship, sharing your innermost worries… you’re nearing exhaustion.

“You’ve done enough today,” Din continues, his tone softer. “Rest. When your head’s clear, we’ll start.”

With a reluctant nod, you let your shoulders slump.

“Alright,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “It’s a deal?”

“It’s a deal,” he nods without a beat, tapping the silver gleaming at his hip.

It’s strange to you when a gentle simmer settles down in the pits of your gut. It’s not red this time, but bright and effervescent, like a gentle dawn or the last rays of sunlight you catch as it finally disappears beyond the trees. You’re almost… happy.

“It’s getting late,” you announce half-heartedly, feeling your eyelids get heavy. You move to look at Grogu, and sure enough, he slept soundly through the entire fiasco. He snores away within the softness of his crib, blubbering gently as you smile. “Someone should tuck the kid in.”

The Mandalorian eyes the green child for a moment before turning to you again. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What, just like you took care of the thruster?” you say, and the tease is heavy on your tongue. You’re close to forgetting the fear you felt just mere moments ago.

He tilts his head at you in amusement, before taking a small step forward. “You’re teasing again.”

“Not at all,” you shrug with faux nonchalance, but the way you stare up at him begs to differ. The man stand silently, hovering above your figure and bathing you in shadow. You could stay here, you think— in this odd tranquility he provides you, under his watchful gaze that you wish you could read.

You exhale softly, hesitantly breaking away from your gaze to look down at the crib. Then, smiling, you reach your hand to softly pet the child’s wrinkled head. What’s his story, you wonder? Would Din offer tell you, had you asked?

There’s a simmering satisfaction in your belly as your gaze slowly meets the T-shaped visor, just as you spot the stars rising like a brilliant blanket overhead. His hand hovers inches over his hip as if he were fighting back words.

You beat him to it.

“Goodnight,” you utter through a smile, walking a few steps down the ramp. You feel his gaze linger on your form, so still and longing.

“I’ll walk you,” he calls out sternly, but it’s rounded near the edges as you turn back to look at him.

“Din,” you shake your head through an airy laugh, shaking your hands at him to keep his feet standing in place. “I’ll manage.”

“You fixed the thruster.”

“You helped,” you counter, and your gut flips when his arm extends.

“I passed you tools, you did everyth—”

“You listened.” you finally counter, your tone firm as his arm drops to his side again.

His posture shifts slightly, as if caught off guard. For a moment, the air between you fills with static. You see his head tilt just a fraction, and you imagine his brows furrowing beneath the sharp visor.

“I listened,” he echoes, testing the words on his tongue.

“Yes,” you acknowledge softly, grin bright despite the swell of your lungs pressing against your ribs. “Really, truly listened. And turns out, that’s a lot harder to do than passing tools.”

There’s a solemn moment of quiet, a pause so heavy it feels like the stars have stilled overhead.

Then, he exhales through his modulator and shrugs. “You’re hard to argue with.”

Your heart leaps, though you do well to hide it beneath a teasing smile painting your lips. “You’ll get used to it,” you reply as you step further down the ramp.

He doesn’t move, standing there like a statue of pure silver, but his head follows your every shaken step. It’s not until you’re near the edge of the clearing that you finally decide to turn around.

“Hey, Mando?” you call out, and the lilt of your voice carries through the clearing between you. From where you stand, it feels like a canyon.

He nods at you to continue, and despite the squeeze in your chest, you give him a wide, foxy smile.

“Tomorrow’s the weekend,” you trail, making your companion tilt his helmet in amusement. He tries to gauge your riddle, but quickly fails as his words fall through.

“And?”

Your smile shifts into an effortless grin. “And I better see you at the cantina.”

He exhales audibly, the sound crackling through the modulator. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you reply, folding your arms as you take a half-step closer despite the obscuring darkness behind you. “You promised.”

“I didn’t promise,” he counters, his tone almost defensive. Damn his good memory, trying to trick him is pointless.

“Fair enough,” you giggle, but the self-satisfied glint in your eyes perseveres. “But I’ll be there. Just so you know.”

He nods, watching your lax posture as your cloak sways in the soft, nightly breeze. You hope he’s mulling over the question, even as his words come to punctuate your conversation. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Din,” you finally nod, waving him goodbye as you slowly move through the thicket. The last thing he hears of you as your cloaked form disappears in the darkness is the echoing bellow of your giggle.

Din remains rooted at the edge of the ramp, staring into the gloaming cavern long after you’ve gone. The silence around him fills with the hum of the Crest and the ribbiting of nearby creatures as they settle in for the night. Unbeknownst to you, as the silvery moon rises above the tree line and his gloved palms squeeze tight, he finally makes his choice.

And as the stars shimmer above, he wishes you had stayed to see.

28 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 9 months ago

Text

In My Blood | Part One

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

The aftermath of the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission floods the Belgian countryside with American fliers, including one very injured Curtis Biddick. On a regular supply run to a Resistance contact, you suddenly find him sharing your regular place of shelter for the night, a simple coincidence that very well may change the course of the rest of your life.

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Death, Injuries, Angst, Suffering, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4200

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

August 17, 1943

Pouring from the sky like a summer rain…you had never seen so many downed airmen in one day. It seemed the American Air Force had mounted some great attack. An attack that was met with what must have been every single Luftwaffe fighter plane that now infected your native Belgian soil. The majority were captured by Nazi soldiers, Gestapo, or collaborators the moment their boots hit the ground, keen eyes following the tracks of parachutes as they floated to the ground. But the lucky ones got away, stayed hidden, or were greeted by more friendly faces.

The efforts you had been putting in over the past three months on the exfiltration routes for downed airmen in Western Europe – helping to rebuild and reshape the Pat O’Leary Line into the Françoise Line after the arrest of its former chief, connecting the Belgian-run Comet Line with monetary and equipment-based support from MI9’s agent Jerome in Paris – the timing could not have been better for the sheer demand that the events of the day would put upon them. They were as strong as they could be and yet undoubtedly these numbers would overwhelm them.

Born the only child of a Belgian Jonkheer and the second daughter of the Marquess of Abergavenny, that you would end up as an agent of the Special Operations Executive had been as foreseeable as the Nazi invasion of Belgium. Unexpected and yet altogether unsurprising given circumstance and history.

Entirely too fond of fast cars, cigarettes, gin, and learning the fascinating operations of your father’s iron factories in Wallonia for your mother’s taste, you had been forced off to England in the spring of 1939 to support your cousin Philomena Nevill during her debut. It had been hoped, you supposed, that under the watchful eye of your grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness, that your ‘good breeding’ might suddenly become apparent. That the tomboy whom her father adoringly called mon petit monstre might be transformed into a lady under the onslaught of balls, polo matches, regattas, and horse races all whilst trussed up like some prized pony at a meat market. Never mind that you were three years older than the fresh flesh of the debutantes on display.

All that had been achieved was to put you in the same rooms as the likes of Lord Halifax, Prime Minister Chamberlain, and First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill. The only topic of discussion you had been interested in was the growing threat posed by Hitler with his growing Nazi empire and the fact that your parents remained in your home country right on his doorstep had weighed heavily upon you. There had been a tremendous argument in September, following the invasion of Poland and declaration of war by Britain and her allies. Your father had insisted he must remain to care for his business, his workers, his property. Your mother had insisted that she would remain to care for him. As one united front, all your relatives, including your uncle, the current Marquess, had insisted you remain in England where it was safe.

And so you had found yourself marooned on that unfamiliar island through the fall and winter of the phony war, dread heavy and sour in your stomach as military preparation took precedence over everything. With naught much else to do, you had volunteered with the Red Cross, fundraising as a member of the upper class, outspoken in your distaste for fascism. The watchful waiting came to an abrupt end on May 10, 1940, when the world awoke to the news that the Nazis had invaded the Netherlands, Luxembourg, France, and Belgium in one fell swoop.

Within eighteen days, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and Belgium had surrendered, France was on the verge, and you were orphaned. The hollow, inherited title of Jonkvrouw was all that remained of your parents after an unfortunate run in with a Stuka dive bomber on a bridge out of Brussels, so the letter from your father’s personal secretary read. The post-mark was from Marseilles, confirming that your father had sent everyone else to safety before trying to obtain the very same for himself. It had simply been too late.

Lest you fall to pieces over the loss of your home and family in such quick succession, to be caught grieving in unfamiliar formal homes amongst people you barely knew, you had sought refuge in purpose. Volunteering for the Auxiliary Territorial Service, you put your skills as a motorist to good use. Yet it never felt like enough. Driving lorries full of supplies across the English countryside while sailors and airmen risked their lives made you feel utterly impotent, particularly as the horrific bombing campaigns wore on. Mercifully, more meaningful opportunities found their way to you in the form of Vera Atkins and the SOE. Your social circles overlapped, on occasion, and she had proposed an altogether different use of your unique upbringing, for the four languages you spoke simply by virtue of traipsing across Belgium on your father’s coattails – for the country consisted of French, Dutch, and German speaking peoples and he had insisted you learn them all. While your mother had insisted you spoke only the King’s English with her.

The preliminary school had been difficult, filled with unexpected challenges and daring tasks such as crossing a rope strung between two trees high above the ground. Pure fury at the invasion of your homeland and murder of your parents had carried you through onto the paramilitary school, where you had learned how to master weapons, and hand-to-hand combat. It was then onto parachuting school, as the only way to return to now fully occupied Europe was by low-flying aircraft in the dead of night, and finally finishing school to hone your spy craft.

It was early 1943 by the time you were ready to be dropped into occupied territory, all under the auspices of a deployment to Scotland with the ATS, your extended family none the wiser as you plummeted into an empty field in Northern France to begin your work. By the time the heat of August came around you were proficient at cycling long distances with burdens of weapons and cash, sneaking across the border, making connections on both the French and Belgian side. Making one such delivery of fresh funds for the Françoise line contact brought you to the Flanders village of Beverst that warm summer day.

The small clinic of Doctor Legot, with his flat above, boasted a sizeable cellar, perfect for hosting resistance meetings or the occasional guest such as yourself. He was also a natural community figure for those from all walks of life to visit, obtaining more than just medical advice, though thus far the Gestapo had not caught wise. Letting yourself through the gate into the back garden, you concealed your bicycle amidst some conveniently overgrown shrubbery and slung your handbag over your shoulder before carrying your worn suitcase into the clinic which seemed rather empty for a Tuesday afternoon.

Greeting his receptionist Edda in Dutch, she gestured you down the hall to Dr. Legot’s office. Proceeding with a nod of thanks, you knocked on the door, quietly stepping in as he called out casually in Dutch.

“Enter!”

As you swung the door open, his head, covered in the thin remainder of caramel hair, shorn close to control its obvious curl, lifted to regard you warmly before falling serious.

“You could not have come on a better day, Marie.” He spoke solemnly, addressing you by the cover name bestowed upon you by the SOE, snapping the patient file he had been reviewing shut.

Stepping fully into the office, you quietly shut the door behind you, setting the suitcase on his desk to deliver the promised funds.

“Indeed, it seems you have been blessed with quite a few visitors today, Doctor.”

You watched silently as he carefully took stack after stack of Belgian francs, tucking them into his safe under his desk.

“More than we have places for, honestly. If you are looking for a place for the night you will have to share accommodations.”

Tight as your grip was on your facial expressions, you still felt your eyebrows twitch in surprise as Dr. Legot rarely housed downed airmen as he himself was not able to speak English and found their behaviour wildly unpredictable, at best. He was a man who preferred things neat and orderly. It was only by respecting his preferences that you had earned repeated shelter under his roof.

“I know, Marie,” he continued, obviously having caught your micro expression, “but the man is in a bad way. Brought his plane down in Maes’ orchard – a feat the boys could not stop commenting upon as they carried him in, even as the pilot was bleeding all over my floor. No one has even asked him if he wants to surrender or explained what trying to evade capture entails.”

“Hm.” You intoned thoughtfully. “Does he need a hospital?”

The middle-aged man settled his broad frame into his worn wooden desk chair with a pronounced ‘creak,’ exhaling heavily in contemplation. “Not need, no. If he chooses to run, he will need maybe two months recovery, but I can manage I suppose.”

The furrow of his brow and the pinched lines around his mouth spoke to his distinct lack of enthusiasm at the prospect, but like so many involved in resistance, his hatred for the Nazis greatly outweighed any other personal preferences after three years of occupation.

“I will give him the speech then, he ought to make an informed decision. Would you mind covering his eyes for me in case his choice is surrender?”

Relief washed across the man’s features, and he nodded quickly, grabbing a roll of bandages.

“Come down in five minutes.”

You nodded in agreement, allowing yourself those five minutes of rest in the safety of Legot’s office, a place you could let your guard down for a little while, until the minute hand of your watch completed its fifth trip around the face. Making your way to the back of the clinic, you stepped into the storage room to the open trap door leading down to the cellar, descending the worn ladder carefully.

Turning in the space lit only by candles, you frowned slightly to see the wounded man, one leg protruding from beneath the sheets swathed in bandages – most likely covered in burns. Stepping closer to the cot that you realized had been carried down especially for this patient, your small twin bed untouched in its usual corner, you swallowed tightly to see more bandages wrapped around the man’s neck, his right arm in a plaster cast and sling. That truly must have been some landing.

“You are certain he does not need a hospital?” You were not usually one to question a doctor’s opinion, but the look of this man left you full of doubt.

Would you not be risking his life hiding him in this cellar in this condition?

You watched a smile tug at his chapped, pink lips.

“You brought a dame, doc?”

Despite the fact that his eyes were covered in bandages, for the sake of protecting your identity, you could definitely read the mischief in his expression.

“Quite certain.” Doctor Legot bristled and gestured sharply for you to get on with it.

Clearing your throat, you summoned all the authority of your grandmother, as well as her haughty vowels, as you spoke. “Airman, listen carefully.”

The pilot’s head snapped slightly in your direction. “Hey there, gorgeous.” He grinned broadly.

The unexpected statement stole the wind from your sails, drawing an incredulous laugh from your throat. “You cannot even see me.”

“Can hear it in your voice.” He insisted smugly and you shook your head sharply – in part to clear it.

“Regardless, I am here you to offer you a choice. We can take you now to the local authorities for surrender, you will become a prisoner of war under the protection of the Geneva Convention and receive further medical care in a hospital. You will remain a prisoner for the rest of the war in relative safety. Or, you can remain here, rest and heal, and when you are ready, we will try and get you back to England. You would be dressed as a civilian and if caught, treated as a spy and shot without trial. Knowing all this, what is your choice? Turn yourself in or try and escape?”

“I will never turn myself into those Nazi fucks…pardon my French ma’am.” He smirked and you bit back another laugh at the preposterous expression.

“Very well. You will stay here and do everything Doctor Legot says. No argument, no trouble.”

“Whatever you say, gorgeous.”

Sighing at his incorrigible nature, you turned to the doctor and nodded.

“He will stay and try to escape.”

“Very well, I have one more appointment today and then I will bring you both some dinner later. Thank you, Marie.” He made his way up the ladder stiffly before securing the trapdoor shut, closing you both into your hiding place.

Reaching forward you gently began to unwind the bandages from his eyes, breath hitching in your throat at the brilliant blue that squinted back up at you.

“Knew you were gorgeous. Marie? I’m Curt.”

“Pleased to meet you.” You replied, doing your best to maintain some professional sense of formality. “You should rest.” Moving to the opposite side of the cellar, you sat onto the mattress that was about as exhausted as you, the springs groaning in protest.

“Yeah, probably right…hey did, did the Doc say if they pulled anyone else from the plane?” His expression was filled with a boyish hopefulness that made you long for a better answer.

“He didn’t, no, but I will ask around tomorrow.”

A soft smile graced his features. “Thanks gorgeous, you’re a gem.” He sighed drowsily and you watched as he was quickly pulled into sleep, so very fragile draped across the cot, swaddled in all those bandages.

In just eight weeks would he truly be ready to face tense train rides and a hike across the Pyrenees?

Your doubts were greatly eased the next time you laid your eyes upon him five weeks later, returning from a guiding run to Toulouse with several airmen who had been downed that day in August including a man named Claytor with a rather remarkable twang to his speech. You bore candles, medical supplies, and extra rations for Doctor Legot, knowing he was undoubtedly going through all at a prodigious rate with his unexpected long-term guest in the cellar. Your trusty suitcase also held an Agatha Christie murder mystery, an English book procured at great difficulty, and a selection of French comic books – while he may not speak the language, you were hoping the pictures would be sufficient entertainment in his subterranean dwelling.

As you climbed down the familiar ladder in the candlelit cellar, handbag swinging on your shoulder, you were startled to find Curt on his feet, looking prepared to try and catch you if you should fall, even with one arm still in a cast. Reaching for your suitcase as the doctor lowered it down for you, he cried your name in greeting.

“Marie! Thought you got lost or something up there.” His grin could only be described as cheeky, his charmingly blunt features only growing more handsome under the display of his playful side. He was dressed in clothes that had no doubt been obtained from a sympathetic local; brown woollen trousers held up by suspenders over a blue flannel shirt, a pair of worn leather boots on his feet.

“Curt.” You nodded politely, setting your case on the foot of your bed. “You are looking well.”

“Doc has performed a miracle, just waiting on this bone to finish healing, then I’ll be right as rain.” He nodded firmly, bandages replaced by a network of fresh red scars creeping up the left side of his neck into his dark brown hair.

Unlocking the latches on your luggage, you opened it carefully, retrieving the assortment of reading material you had collected. “Well, I thought since you might no longer be sleeping so much you might…appreciate something to read.”

Curt’s eyes, clearer than your last encounter, dropped to the comic books and novel you held out to him, eyes widening before he took them with a slow grin. “Been thinking about me out there on your travels?”

“Ensuring your stay with the good doctor remains without incident.” You replied nonchalantly, turning back to organizing your belongings before tucking the suitcase beneath the bed.

When you turned back to him, sinking down onto the mattress to rest your sore legs after your long cycle from Antwerp, he was watching you with a bemused expression.

“Appreciated all the same, Marie. Maybe I’ll learn a little French or something.”

“I thought…maybe the pictures?” You tilted your head and he nodded quickly.

“Definitely.” His grin was all too warm, showing his perfect American teeth and made you turn your attention to the small date book you kept in your shoulder bag, quickly looking over your coded appointments for the next few days.

There were several drops arranged for the area – weapons and radios directly flown from England, set to arrive over the next few nights. Most for the Belgian resistance, though two radios were earmarked for the Comet Line. Night drops were some of the most dangerous things you attempted, but when they were successful, the supplies, otherwise impossible to obtain under Nazi occupation, were invaluable.

“Sure look serious over there, gorgeous. Furrow those brows any harder and they’ll get stuck like that.” Curt’s voice cut through your concentration, your head jerking up to blink up at him as though you were startled he was still there.

The sound of the trap door scraping open saved you from trying to produce some reply. “That’ll be dinner.” You murmured, walking to the bottom of the ladder to accept one bowl and then another of thin vegetable soup followed by half a loaf of bread.

You nodded gratefully to Curt as he stepped forward to take one of the bowls with his good hand.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“See you in a few hours, Marie.”

Carefully setting your bowl on dusty brick floor, you tore the bread roughly in half, offering him the larger portion before retrieving your soup and retreating to your bed.

“He doesn’t cook too bad for a doctor.” Curt commented after swallowing a large sip of soup, taking from the rim of his bowl, and you could not help your small smile.

“I think he enjoys it? Talks about ingredients a lot – how hard some of them are to come by lately.” You shrugged and ate more slowly, savouring every bite as it had been a few days since you had been able to enjoy a warm meal, and Legot was indeed a skilled cook.

“How ‘bout you? You cook?”

You barely contained your wry laugh, shaking your head. Even if you’d had access to a kitchen these days, you certainly had not been raised anywhere near a stove. “My lifestyle isn’t really conducive to cooking, unfortunately.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “My Ma would probably skin me alive if I tried to get in her way in the kitchen. Sisters, too. My Pa and I knew better than to get involved in things we’re hopeless at.”

Licking your spoon clean of every last morsel of soup before moving to swipe a piece of bread through the bowl, you could not help your curiosity. “How many sisters do you have?”

“Two. The apartment back home isn’t big, but the five of us got along alright.” His smile was broad as he leaned back against the cinderblock wall, food long ingested. “What about you? Your family? Where are you from?”

His questions were numerous, bubbling out of him rapidly and making you swallow the half-chewed chunk of bread in your mouth roughly. “Belgium. Do not have one.” You replied evasively before taking another rough bite.

“Just fell out of the sky then? Like some kind of angel?” He teased and you choked a little on your next swallow before managing to get it down.

It would not do for him to know how oddly accurate his jest had been.

“I have to run an errand later tonight, so I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep.” You stood to dust the crumbs from your skirt, setting your empty bowl on the floor.

“An errand in the middle of the night…?”

“Mn.” You grunted in agreement as you toed off your shoes, pulling back the covers before sliding in between the sheets, laying with your back to him.

“Say, Marie?” He asked quietly and you slid your eyes back open.

“Yes?”

“Did you manage to ask around ‘bout…my crew?” There was a soft vulnerability to his tone, his playful bravado seeming to melt away, that made your heart drop.

You honestly had not been sure if he would have remembered that conversation weeks ago, barely conscious and in so much pain. You had of course done as promised, swinging by the Maes farm only to be told that he had was the sole survivor, the rest of the crew set to be buried in the local cemetery by the Nazis – with military honours. What an oddly cruel irony that seemed, to only afford your enemy honour in death.

“I’m sorry, Curt.” You shifted onto your side to face him. “There was no one else who survived.”

An impassive mask fell over his face, his animated expression going blank as he nodded before shifting to lay back on his cot, tucking his hands behind his head. “Thanks for checking.” He mumbled quietly.

“Of course.” You replied softly watching him turn his back to you before doing the same with a soft sigh, duty reminding you that you needed to sleep while you could, a long night ahead of you.

It felt as though you had barely fallen asleep when the scraping of the trap door woke you abruptly. Tossing the covers from your body, you grabbed your handbag, feeling the reassuring weight of your .25 calibre Wembley semi-automatic pistol and F-S knife contained within. Curt glanced back over his shoulder as you slid into your shoes, and you nodded to him.

“Go back to sleep, errand time.” You whispered, collecting both of your supper dishes to pass up to Doctor Legot before ascending the ladder yourself.

Cycling out to the appointed field, you waited hidden amongst the trees with several members of the resistance, the silence of the night unsettling. You knew the plane would fly in low to avoid radar, would cut the engine close to the target to throw off nearby soldiers, but it was a long way from the coast to here. The distant drone of a plane engine reaching your ears made your pulse jump and you forced your breathing to remain even and quiet, every muscle tensing as even the sound of the plane fell silent. Squinting through the trees into the night sky, you licked your lips in anticipation as you spotted the first of several crates falling towards the ground, suspended below parachutes to slow their descent.

Clutching your small spade tightly, you waited until the supplies began landing on the ground before the entire group emerged from the foliage to begin disconnecting the parachutes. Working in concert with others you dug a hole and quickly tossed the telltale silk in before covering it up with earth and tamping it down. Securing the two radios for the Comet Line, cleverly disguised as suitcases, you helped load the rest of the crates and spades into the waiting truck before everyone quickly dispersed into the night.

While your inclination was the cycle headlong towards the safety of the clinic, you forced yourself to maintain a reasonable speed, one that would not attract attention, while taking a rather circuitous route. The eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten as you returned to your hiding place, using the spare key to sneak in the back. Taking a moment to wash your hands in the small washroom for patients, you then carefully descended with the radios and closed the trapdoor. It made quite a racket as it slid home when pulled from the inside, startling Curt from his rest and you frowned apologetically.

“Sorry, everything is fine, go back to sleep.” You murmured, setting the newly procured radios off to the side.

“You’re just getting back now?” He scrubbed a hand down his face tiredly, glancing at his watching blearily.

“Don’t fret about me, rest up, regain your strength.” You smiled wearily and slid back into your bed gratefully.

“There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Marie…” A jaw-cracking yawn overtook his statement before he shimmied down beneath his blankets and succumb to sleep once more.

“You have no idea.” You whispered under your breath, settling in for a few hours more sleep before you had to begin your journey to deliver the newly acquired radios to the Comet Line before moving onto the next drop destination.

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

Read Part Two

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