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fayes-fics · 2 years ago

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Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death.

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society.

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul.

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even.

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach.

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought.

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily.

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit.

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball.

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony.

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone.

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize.

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life.

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future.

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

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ladybyakuya · 5 months ago

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| HIGH IN LOW PLACES + natsuki seba & yoichi nagumo.

+cw. — fem!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, canon typical themes and elements, mention of alcohol and drinking,ex.plicit smut{ mention ofunprotected, oral acts }, slight angst and fluff.

+wc. — 2k.

+syn.— how do they generally spend their off day ? Is it any different when you're with them?

+notes. — my sk days debut post. yay! yay! i just caught up with it and im still making memes in my head ( yeah, its that bad </3)tap the banner for better quality </3 cuz tumblr made it so whack after upload. the title is from a song by beach weather ( one of my recent favs ). i have some more wips on sk days but lets see if the starts align or they go against me. wanted add two more characters but i got carried away while writing. so next two for next weekend ig. if you catch my favoritism, then good. go ahead & exploit it ;) | redirect to blog navigation.

✦ natsuki seba :

The sun has not even kissed the horizon yet. It is still afternoon. Natsuki was busy building one of his work-in-progress weapons as usual even though it was an off day. The JCC is not exactly asleep but is surely a little doused today. JCC never sleeps. You are in his dorm room, waiting for him to finish his work at least to a certain stage and then have lunch with you but you doubt he is barely aware of what time it is. You are not exactly hungry, at least not for those wet soggy noodles but you do miss him even though he is right in front of you. There are times when you have to feed him lunch so that he can keep working. The dorm room is small for two but given the habits of you two, it always works out, somehow. You sleep when he is working while he sleeps when you are busy or out to get something. But currently, sleep is nowhere to be found at the banks of your eyes.

“Natsu, come eat with me,”

Seba turns his head at first and gives you a look; a look that clearly states: “Are you mad?” Do you know how ridiculous you sound? His eyebrows grow closer while his lips pucker forming a pout and then he goes back to working again. He is mocking you. He is working while you sit idle and flip through a porn magazine from his collection. It’s funny because the porn magazine is not his. It is from Shin. He was just looking out for him. Shin thought it was highly uncanny how a guy could make weapons all day and night, and be obsessed with something so odd that one forgets to masturbate. Doesn’t even have the urge? Or better does his curious side not think about such self-pleasurable prospects? Well, what would Shin know?

“Natsu, come eat me out,”

At first, he looks up from the device he was working on and then spares a glance at you.

You make yourself busy flipping through the pages of that lewd magazine. He is staring. You can feel it.

He goes back to work again but a second later he puts the miniature parts from his hand beside the device and turns his chair towards you rubbing his chin as his elbow stands on the hand-rest of the chair. He is considering it. Holy Shit. You did not mean that.

“Really? Can I?” There is a thin layer of sneer laced underneath his voice.

You closed the magazine and stood up, keeping it on his table. He looks at the cover and a chuckle escapes from his chest probably remembering how he got it or why you ordered him to eat you out; not that he would mind . . . his eyes are back on you again. “Now that I’ve your attention. Finish your lunch and then work on your project.”

“I’m going out to meet someone,” You try to leave but he grabs your wrist pulling you back in front of the bed.

“You're lying.” he snorts out a chuckle.

“You know,” Natsuki gets up and takes slow steps towards you as you back away cornering you as he still holds your hand. “eating you out . . . that might just be the thing I need to finish my project.”

Wait. what?

Before you can ask anything he just puts you on his shoulders, walks to the bed throwing you on the mattress. For someone who is a weapon engineer, who does not spend time on fieldwork he sure has a lot of strength.

“I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to get your attention that’s all.” you try to protest but it does not faze him, not even a little.

“Well you did a good job.” Grabbing your ankles he pulls you towards the edge of the bed before getting on his knees. He points to the cup noodles. “And, i’m not eating that.”

He pulls down your panties and shorts simultaneously. You do not stop him because you crave him as much as he needs this to de-stress or that’s how he would put it. Spreading your legs he places a trail of tender kisses along your thighs threatening your sanity, threatening the urge to push him away but you simply do not want to do that. You want this: him worshipping you like he used to. The moment his lips graze your entrance you arch back, hands resting on the mattress and crumpling the sheets as Seba gets more devoted to the cause. You put one of your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face deeper inclining his face a little to lap his tongue against your pussy lips. You bite your lower lip roughly before a whisper of words comes out of your mouth, “Ya know, you should return those magazines to Shin,”

“What?” he asks; nose glistening with your arousal, wet lips, cherry cheeks, and excited eyes. A curvature appears along your lips as you run your fingers through his hair and tug at it revealing his forehead forcing his eyes to close just for a second. He is still waiting for your response.

“Nothing. Get to work,” you say and he listens to it like a good boy.

✦ yoichi nagumo.

“Is it that tasty?” Nagumo asks drinking an o-choko full of sake from your share. His face distorts feeling the strong fizziness. “How can you drink this?” his voice spikes up as he gulps it down. He hates it, hates this, that how you on every weekend would to go Sakamoto stores and buy liquor to drink out your misery. What a waste! He does not understand why you would spend your weekends drinking, especially when he is here. Sakamoto would often tell you to stop drinking but what’s the point? You nod like a good girl, buy some cup noodles and chips and after the store closes Shin arrives with the booze. Shin is knocked out on the floor already. But he is still keeping up with you not that he enjoys it but he is looking for an opportunity to make you stop and in that process, he ended up taking a few shots. He hates it, he hates this. He hates how you make drinks. It stings on his tongue. This is not because he wants to spend his off day with you. He rarely gets a day off and he can not go that to waste, can he now?

“Wanna fuck?”

You look at him with heavy eyes and a flustered face for a few seconds. “No.”

He is stone-cold sober. He is not even that drunk, to begin with. You are. You are still so dizzy and slumber threatening your eyes but you force them open divulging, “Too much work.” Ah! The slur. The slur in your voice. His head tilts as a smile breaks on his face like a plague.

“I’ll do the work.” Nagumo insists. “All of it.” His voice is low, slow. He wants to get through to you. “I’ll make you feel so good.” He does not want you to dismiss his words as just a drunken haze or something like that. He is already neck-deep in guilt for being unable to give as much time he wants, as much as the time you demand and crave from him. He can not sabotage your security but he would not deny that he likes meeting with you in secret; gives him some sort of thrill he thinks. “I promise,” he mumbly adds.

But he does not want to overdo it or wear you out. He can’t. He won’t. He is a good when he is with you. “Woah, careful.”

After moving the bottles and cups aside, now you are all on your fours crawling towards him like a cat. He can see your boobs, the nipples— everything. Wait, is that his tank top? He must have left it when he came to you here last time. He can’t remember when but he remembers he lost that one black tank top.

As you reach, your face inches away from him you lean for a kiss but he sways away. It instantly ruins your mood. He is smirking now as you are pouting. It turns into a snort. “Shin’s still here,” He points at the boy sleeping on the couch. You glance at the boy and then look at Nagumo. He is confused. You are impatient. Fuck it.

You hold on to his shoulders trying to get into his lap, legs sprawled apart and as you make yourself comfortable your legs get clamped around his waist. He does not lose his balance but rather helps you with it.

“Babe, Shin’s still here,” Nagumo repeats making you remember.

“Don’t care,” you shout and Nagumo covers your mouth with his palm while his index finger stills over his lips shushing you. You nod. It seems he got through to you.

You do not allow him to dodge him anymore.

You lean into his hand that is still over your mouth, nuzzling against his palm. He shoves his fingers into your hair, his index finger grazing behind your ears igniting your skin with goosebumps. His thumb roughly stretches across your bottom lip before you kiss the tip of it but he swats his hand away before you could suck on it; grabbing his other arm and you slide it under the blacktop. Nagumo does not squeeze your boobs. Not yet. He does not want to do it, not like this. Last time, both of you were sober and now both of you are drunk: you on alcohol and him on you. You buck your hips trying to get closer to him.

“God Nagumo, why are you being like this? You said you'd do all the work. . .”

because it's amusing. The fact that you are scolding him with a whispering tone is making him tremble in mirth. He is barely holding it; you are frustrated, drunk, and horny. God! What is he going to do with you? Can he really hold himself back? Maybe he should not have proposed the idea in the first place. His hands are stretched, settled on the floor as he watches you: intently, nervously.

“Kiss me.”

And your lips instantly dance against his in a frenzy yet his hands are still on the floor. Even in this state, you manage to unbuckle his belt with one hand as the other works on the buttons of his shirt. It turns him on how swift you are too. You would be very skilled in his line of work. Maybe you are, too skilled that he did not even notice. Nah! you can't be a spy.

“Put it in” you command this time breaking the kiss. Nagumo was just starting to get to the good part of the kiss only to get deprived of it. He does not waste a second to abide by your said words. If he did, he might have to walk out thinking out the possibilities of how odd it was for a first meeting with you.

Strong hands against the plush of your hip as he adjusts his cock to your entrance. He pushes aside your panty before rubbing it against your entrance. Your hands squeeze the muscles of his shoulders.

“Without . . . condom?”

So, is that why he was delaying it? You thought he didn't want this but mentioned it for the sake of pity and now he is trying to get on your nerves to wake Shin up.

Your brain freezes after such a flow of info. You give him a nod.

Nagumo swallows before his cock goes inside without rubber. It's electric: the feeling of your flesh around his.

“Take me to that room,” you gasp out the words.

“What?”

“I said what I said.”

You become so handful when drunk not that he minds. He takes you to the room kicking back the door behind you to close before crashing onto the bed.

The next morning Shin has to buy a pair of black trousers for Nagumo and he does it without even questioning. He really does not wanna know what happened after he took you inside the room.

@underratedcharactercorner

@interstellar-inn

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firenati0n · 1 month ago

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wip wednesday <3 :)

hello friends, it has been a while...thank you for all of the tags over the last few weeks <3 i really appreciate the love. queueing this post early :)

here's a long snip from something i am writing for fun in a doc aptly titled "proposal au chapter 1 henry pov"

if you have not read proposal au and are interested in a little romcom, here is the link :) - fully posted, 54k :)

Henry has a routine, honed after years of trial and error, comfortably adopted now by him and those important to him. Typically, he wakes up, gets ready for the day, makes sure David has everything he needs in Henry's absence—which reminds him, he needs to ask Alex for more treats soon—and then walks at a moderate but comfortable pace to the 4 train. Somewhere in the middle of all this, his brain spares a moment to wonder what Alex's face will look like in the morning. If his hair will be neat with defined curls, or tousled in a cheeky nod to his night's activities. The latter makes his stomach churn, just a little. Today, however, feels different. Something is in the air. It goes— David whines at his feet before he leaves, so he takes an extra three minutes to soothe him before leaving, because regardless of what people may whisper behind his back, he's no monster. The train pulls into the platform seven minutes behind schedule, resulting in at least twenty-five percent more congestion and more harried commuters squishing into Henry's space, the air a mix of cologne and sweat and stress. Then, after walking into the office at 8:25am—too close to his regular time for comfort, requiring him to walk at brisk pace instead of a leisurely stroll—he watches as the people in the elevator don't hold the door for him, even though they absolutely saw him walking hurriedly to catch it. And then, as he's rounding the last corner between him and his blessed office at 8:28am, he gets stopped by Amy and her newest embroidery project, a floral arrangement of sorts, which is admittedly very lovely. Maybe she should work with the design team sometime for one of the book covers, she'd be an excellent asset. So, he definitely cannot be blamed for his tetchy attitude when he walks into his office at 8:32am, late and desperately in need of some bloody tea. He runs an agitated hand through his hair as he heads to his desk, a thrum of nervous energy making him restless.

xoxo roop

open tag + tagging back some friends and folks who got me over the last few months fjaskldjflasf sorry if i missed anyone! my brain is like scrambled eggs rn:

@kiwiana-writes @cha-melodius @alasse9 @jafffacakess @porcelainmortal

@run-for-chamo-miles @onward--upward @blueeyedgrlwrites @suseagull04 @judasofsuburbia

@caterpills @rockyroadkylers @seths-rogens @orchidscript @onthewaytosomewhere

@energievie @indestructibleheart @clockwrkpendrxgon @everwitch-magiks @sophie1973

@eusuntgratie @stellarmeadow @rmd-writes @fairflowered @incalamity

@anincompletelist @wordsofhoneydew @cricketnationrise @miss-minnelli @itsmaybitheway

@whimsymanaged @zwiazdziarka @milowren29 @msmarvelouswinchester @sherryvalli

@getmehighonmagic @welcometololaland @thedramasummer @priincebutt @stratocumulusperlucidus

@leaves-of-laurelin @14carrotghoul @anchoredarchangel @clottedcreamfudge @tintagel-or-cockleshells

@dumbpeachjuice @shesfromboston @miharaikko @theprinceandagcd @kj-bee

#wip wednesday #roop writes #rwrb fic #rwrb #fic: queerano #firstprince #sorry i have been so MIA #i have been Going Through It on a level never experienced before #but it is okay #we continue to persevere

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

Text

In Stitches 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

We've all agreed that The Quiet Ones, Follow You Anywhere, Hidden Treasures and this fic (maybe more) have built the deluluverse.

Summary: You find your work hindered by your client's son.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had to do it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re not late, but you’re too dang close! You pride yourself on being at least fifteen minutes early wherever you go. Being self-employed, you make a point of always being on time. And you are but that long hand is a bit too close to the tick mark.

It doesn’t help that Mrs. Odinson is one of your best and favourite customers. You hate to let her down. You shake off that rattly feeling as you pull up to the gate and glance at the time again. Still a couple minutes to spare.

You buzz in with the button and wave at the camera. You’re never quite sure who’s at the other end but they always just let you through. You suspect it’s standard business and all the help know every face that comes and goes.

You roll through and steer around towards the vehicles along the east side of the curved driveway. You’ve never seen the sleek silver car you pull in next to but you know Mrs. Odinson’s pear-coloured porshe and Mr. Odinson’s slate grey beemer. They must have company. You can’t remember if she said there was a special occasion.

You slide into the space and grab your bag from in front of the passenger’s seat. You push open the door and gasp as the seat belt keeps you from climbing out. How forgetful! You unbuckle and untangle yourself, stepping out in your heeled oxfords and cigarette pants.

Your reflection looks back at you from the sleek polish of the unfamiliar silver car. You smile and shut your door, locking it with a chirp from your key fob. You tuck the key ring into your blazer pocket and bounce up towards the front door. You climb the stone stairs, broad and trimmed with curled railings. You stop at the top and clang the large knocker, a raven’s head with a ring in its beak.

A man in a dark suit answers the door. You’ve seen him before with his steely hair and sleepy eyes. He’s often the one who opens the door but he says nothing and shows you to Mrs. Odinson’s salon, as she calls it.

As the man leaves you just outside, you peek in through the open doorway. You see your client before the standing mirror in the corner, swirling as she checks her reflection. You cough and give a gentle knock on the door frame.

“Ah,” she spins to you with her pretty smile, “just in time, darling.” She struts over breezily, “the hem has come undone on this.” She smooths her elegant hands over her bodice, “so much for designer, eh.”

“Oh, my,” you give her a look up and down, “shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“Thank you, darling,” she trills and strolls back to the mirror. You follow her and pull up the stool you often use for such a fix. You have a routine between you, you know what she expects and you do it.

You sit and open your bag. You pull out your needle and stir through your spindles to find a matching thread. As you thread the eye, she continues to preen in the mirror.

“Something special going on?” You ask in your usual small talk.

“Didn’t I mention? My son’s come home at last.”

“Your son?” You look up as her curiously.

“Oh, not Thor,” she laughs, “no, no, he’s always about, isn’t he?” She tugs on a blonde wave, trying to make is stay in place, “my other son. Loki. Finally decided to move back home. Not here, certainly, but close by. Near to his mother.”

“Mm, that’s exciting,” you comment as you grab the hem and work around her movement.

“Isn’t it? We’re having a little luncheon. At the tea room, I feel a public place will deter an outbursts,” she pouts at herself, “you know how family can be.”

“Erm, sure,” you agree dulcetly as you tie off the thread, “all done.”

She swirls, her skirt nearly hitting your face. You lean back on the stool and wiggle your nose. She admires herself. She is beautiful. Her age takes nothing away from her natural grace. You could only dream of having a similar bearing; you’re a bit too short, a bit too clumsy.

“Mother,” a voice drawls from the hallway. You glance over as you wrap up the thread around the spindle, “we’re due to be off.”

You don’t know that timbre. It isn’t Thor’s rumbling baritone, rather something smoother, something refined. You tuck away the thread as a slender but tall man appears in the doorway. He tugs at the cuff of his jacket as he furrows his nose.

“Ready, just needed a touch up,” she faces him, “darling, I’ve a rack for you to take. Wouldn’t want you to make the trip just for a loose hem.”

She points to several garment bags hung from a rack against the wall. You stand as her son’s green eyes find his mother then drift over to you. His sharp features turn imperious.

“Must you trouble so,” she swats at him as a loose thread dangles from his cuff.

“Wasn’t me, mother, I only just purchased the piece,” he counters, “quality, these days.”

“Darling, come, you’ve some scissors,” she beckons you forth with a flutter of fingers.

You reach into your bag and take the silver scissors from their sheath. You approach them with a smile as the man stares at you, eyes narrowing. He’s much unlike his brother. Much calmer.

“May I?” You ask and Mrs. Odinson forces his arm towards you.

He hums but offers no protest. Your fingertips brush his shirt sleeve as you roll back his jacket cuff and snip the offended thread. You feel the seam with your thumb.

“Should do for the day,” you advise, “but it’ll come loose eventually. I could do a quick sew-off...”

“We’re already late,” he declares and rescinds his arm. “Mother.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she pats his chest gently, “go on then, get yourself off. Your father and I will catch up. Oh, are you taking Thor with you?”

“I believe he is capable of tending to himself--”

“Yes, but... he does enjoy indulgence,” Mrs. Odinson girds.

“He is an adult and it isn’t yet noon,” Loki reprimands, “I shall drive on my own, then.”

“You always do as you wish, don’t you, Loki?” She rebukes playfully.

He grumbles again and his eyes flit toward you one last time, “you might have the tailor see my brother. Perhaps she could sew his lips shut so we might have a peaceful lunch.”

Your cheeks bulb a bit larger at his joke. You can't entirely disagree.

“Eh, don’t begin,” Mrs. Odinson giggles as she snaps shut a compact and shoves it in a clutch, “you’ve only just returned.”

“Mm, yet it feels I never left at all,” he frowns, still watching you.

You chalk it up to curiousity, perhaps he feels it improper to ask, you do feel it a bit much to introduce yourself without prompting. The Odinson household always holds an air of formality you can never quite riddle out. You keep a smile on your face as his cheeks dimple and he tilts his head.

“Right then,” he straightens his posture and tugs his jacket straight, “suppose I should go and hold our reservation before they think to give it away.”

He inhales and pivots away, striding off with long, stiff steps. You watch after him before you turn back to the room. You go to slip your scissors back into their sheath and drop them into your bag before lifting it. Mrs. Odinson holds a cape and a jacket before her.

“Which do you think it better?” She asks as you cross to the rack to gather the waiting hangers.

“I think the cape would be better, it is rather warm. It shouldn’t rain I think,” you proffer, “is this the hounds tooth?” You peek through the opening of one of the garment bags.

“Yes, dear, it is so lovely and yet that dang clasp is giving me such trouble,” she sounds ready to swoon at the tragedy, “might you replace it? Perhaps a button might do instead?”

“I’ll have a look,” you fold the bags over your arm and hike up your bag, “I’ll be off then. Hope you have a good lunch.”

“Thank you. Don’t you work too hard, dearie,” she trills after you, “much too nice a day to be pent up.”

You sweep off with your armful. The dresses are heavier than one might expect. You find it surprising how fabric can add up. You go downstairs and once more find that stoic man in his dark suit. He opens the door for you and you thank him brightly.

You amble down the steps, looking around your load to keep from stepping on the treacherously low edges of the bags. You would hate to trod on one of Mrs. Odinson’s dresses. You’re so distracted with your efforts to keep from mussing up the hems that a honk has you jumping in your boots.

You yipe as you turn to face the silver car, its bumper stopping just short of you as the headlights flash. Your lips make an O and you quickly scurry out of the way. You dip your head down guiltily. You should’ve been paying attention.

The car door opens on the other side as you approach your own. You peer over with a sheepish look, “I’m sorry--”

“You should be careful. I could’ve hit you,” Loki says, more accusatory than concerned.

You smile, “I know, I’m sorry. I was distracted--”

“Certainly, you were,” he affirms, as if telling you exactly how the world works, “and what would I do should you be caught under my tires? Can you patch yourself up so easily as a stray cuff?”

“No, sir, I’m sorry. Again, I wasn’t meaning to get in the way--”

“You don’t look very sorry. Not so many people smile in the face of mortal injury.”

Your cheeks wobble but you keep your smile. You can’t help it. When you’re happy or nervous or even confused, you just tend to smile through it. A smile makes everything a little better.

“I’m not smiling at that--”

“Then what are you smiling at?” He hisses harshly.

You bat your lashes and look side to side, “you.”

“Me?” His forehead wrinkles. “Are you being smart?”

You shake your head and your lips twitch, “smart? No, sir, I’m only... I suppose I just smile at everyone.”

“So you would,” he mutters and angles back to his car, “be sure to stand back then. Wouldn’t want to run over your toes.”

He drops into the car seat and slams the door. You stand back and watch him buckle in. He takes his time, adjusting his mirror, then his long fingers tap his shifter before he cranks it into reverse. He swerves around and hug the pile of clothes.

You don’t blame him for being agitated, you’ve had a few close calls yourself. Accidents are never fun. His adrenaline was just going and at least he cared enough to be upset. It’s a good reminder to be more aware.

🪡

The fabric store isn’t very busy. The higher-end boutiques never are. You don’t often come to them yourself but you desperately need a yard to match Mrs. Odinson’s crushed velvet jackets. You need to replace a full panel and you can’t compromise; she’ll notice. She has a good eye. She never seems to miss.

Time is hardly on your time. You agreed to drop off the lot the next day. She has a gala and needs that one dress in particular. You know she’ll expect the rest.

You walk around with a swatch in hand, comparing the hue and feel. You don’t want the new material to contrast. You can’t forget the thread; you don’t have quiet that shade of magenta.

You stand amid the velvets, flipping over the large rolls, tugging the end, rubbing the fabric between your fingers. Your advance is patient even as your inner expediency nips away at you. As you come to the end of an aisle, you stop short as you look up. There’s a shadow there, waiting.

You stand still, waiting for them to come down that aisle. You’d hate to get in their way. But they don’t and in an instant, the shadow flickers away. You hear them retreat down the next row and you curl around, seeing no more than a leather heel before the figure disappears.

How odd.

The mysterious entity doesn’t distract you for long. The pinks are close, each of them seems just a shade off of what you’re looking for. You sigh and breathe out between your lip, rolling your tongue around the tip of a needle that isn’t there. A habit.

You lug out each roll and carry them down to the front counter. You lift each up as a woman greets you from the other side. You smile and clear your throat.

“You don’t happen to have any in the back,” you wonder, “I’m looking for something in between.”

You show her the square of crushed velvet and she sucks her teeth, “not quite, I think. I think we’ve something close in our catalogue but it wouldn’t be at this location. The north end may have it but I can’t confirm.

You sniff and nod, still smiling. It isn’t her fault she doesn’t have it. You remember the days you worked in a fabric shop, though it wasn’t as nice as this one. You thank her and take the rolls off the counter.

“I’ll just put these back then. I need thread anyhow,” you announce.

“Wonderful, you just let me know if you need anything, hon,” she beams at you.

You nod and turn back. You take the rolls back and set them away how you found them. When you spin, you feel something shift, as if there’s a breeze in this stagnant shop. You peer around. It’s strange, it’s as if you’re being followed but you haven’t seen a single other customer in the shop.

You tilt your head and cluck your tongue as you carry on to the racks of thread near the counter. You dive into the search for the perfect thickness and colour. It’s a much more fruitful hunt. As you pluck out the very strands you need, you hear the door. Your head pops up and you glance behind you curiously. You don’t see much of the other person as they leave the store, you never even saw them pass.

You shrug and take the spool to the counter, “thanks again,” you say to the associate, “better get out of here before temptation gets the best of me.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #in stitches #mcu #marvel #avengers

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theglamorousferal · 1 year ago

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The Cryptid of Smallville

I am posting the first couple chapters of the fic that I am currently working on juuuust in case AO3 goes down again. In the next couple days I’ll start posting some of my wips that I don’t think I’ll finish. If any of them inspire people to write more then I’ll be happy.

I had the thought a while ago about what if Danny was raised alongside Clark Kent and the hijinks that would result in Danny being near the liminal space that is cornfields. These are basically a series of connected one-shots because I am not that great at trying to do a real plot lol

Without further ado, here’s the first chapter of the Cryptid of Smallville! (Small edit: here’s the link to AO3 the first two chapters are there)

______________________________________________________________ The night sky was clear and open above the cornfields as a gentle breeze caused the plants to stir. It was a calm night on the Kent family farm. A streak of neon green broke across the sky and landed in the middle of the fields, purple tinged smoke wafting from the crash site. A boy of about six rolled over in his sleep, glowing green eyes glancing at the stars above framed by smoke. The gentle breeze is still blowing, returning the night to calm.

*****

Danny was gonna put Clockwork in soup time whenever he got back into the Zone.

He was laying there, staring at the clouds in the sky, surrounded by corn, and only about three and a half feet tall, wondering where in the Realms he was. Clockwork had said something about sending him off somewhere with people who could handle a child with powers growing up before tossing him through a portal by the ankle. He had ended up in low orbit and was lulled to sleep by staring at the stars he is so fond of.

Crawling out of the hole he was in, he examined the surrounding area and just found a bunch of burnt and slightly smoldering corn and kicked up dirt. The gentle breeze brought the smell of bacon to his nose and he floated to look just above the tall plants around him. He spots a house in the distance and starts heading there, making sure to walk the last few yards just in case this isn’t where CW intended him to go. He finds himself stumbling from the field just to make eye contact with a man pulling on his work boots for the day on the porch steps, the man freezes.

“Hey Martha?” The man yells into the house.

“Yes Jon?” a voice muffled from the door yells back.

“Do we have a spare room done up?” the man, Jon, asks, not taking his eyes off Danny.

“Why? Are you expecting someone and forgot to tell me?” the voice sounds like it’s getting closer to the door.

“No honey, I think we may have a repeat situation of Clark though.” He briefly glances from Danny up to the last bits of smoke wafting from the field. A quiet “What?” comes from the house. He gentles his voice, full attention on Danny. “Hey son, did you have a bit of an accidental landing in the corn? Is your head okay? Are your parents around?”

Danny stays still for a moment thinking about what’s going on. The man seems to at least suspect that he crash landed on his property and mentioned something about something like this happening before. Have these people dealt with a random child appearing at their house before? Specifically one that crashed from the sky? He has many questions, but he should probably answer Jon first.

“Yeah, I got sent away until I was better, my head doesn’t hurt at all and my parents are not exactly from around here, and don’t know where I am.” He pauses thinking about it. “Does the children-crashing-onto-your-farm-thing happen a lot to you?”

Jon chuckled as he finished tying his boots up and walked down the stairs just as the door opens and a woman in an apron is standing there looking surprised to see an unknown child standing in her yard. The man crouches down in front of Danny, giving him a once-over.

“You’d be surprised, now what’s your name son?.”

“It’s Danny Fenton, what’s yours?”

“Jon Kent, my wife over there is Martha. Now you look like you could use a good meal and a washup, how’s that sound?” Jon grins at Danny and musses up his hair before standing and offering a hand to walk into the house. He smiles over at Martha who blinks and then gives Danny a warm smile, standing aside to let them enter the house.

“Good thing I made some extra breakfast then, let’s get some food in you young man, you’re as skinny as a post!” She smiles and heads towards the kitchen. “Be sure to wash up your hands first hun, can’t eat with dirty hands! And Jon! What have I told you about your muck boots being in the house! I’m sure Danny can find his way and wash his own hands; second door on the right hun; and git outta my house with those things on, I’ll have more coffee ready for you once you feed the animals!” Jon pouted and trudged his way out of the house.

Danny smiled a little to himself as he looked for the door Martha was talking about, noting the wallpaper and decor that looked like every midwest farmer’s house he’d seen in any piece of media ever. After washing his hands he made his way to where he could hear soft humming and dishes being washed. He saw a plate of pancakes and bacon on the table next to a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and a container of syrup and headed to the spot.

“Thank you Mrs. Kent.” he said from his seat and she smiled back at him, going back to the dishes. Danny realized he’d probably have to start explaining what he could to them soon, but decided to focus on the breakfast in front of him. The breakfast that wasn’t alive and currently trying to kill him. He nearly cried.

“So Danny,” Martha began as she wiped her hands off with a dish rag. “Do you remember how it is you got here?” She joined him at the table with a cup of coffee after setting a mug, a spoon and the sugar bowl next to the machine for her husband when he came in.

“I do, it’s a really weird story though, I’m not sure you’ll believe me.” He was hesitant, he still wasn’t sure these were the people that Clockwork meant to send him to. Though they’ve taken the whole crash-landed-child-thing pretty well… Screw it, he’ll see if he can wait until Jon comes back and explain to both of them. “Can we wait for Mr. Kent too? I don’t really want to say it twice.”

She smiled at him, taking a sip of her coffee and then nodded. “That’s fine hun, he shouldn’t be more than a couple minutes unless the rooster decided to pick a fight again.” she chuckled to herself, looking out of the window while drinking her coffee. She sees the faint trail of smoke rising in the sky outside and her eyebrows pinch in worry. “You didn’t happen to see anythin’ burning when you got up, did you?”

Danny glances out the window and sees the smoke. “Oh no, there was just a little bit still smoldering in the hole, but there wasn’t anything actively burning. I can show you both when I finish explaining what I can.” The slapping of a screen door startles him and Jon walks in, heading straight for the coffee maker and making himself a cup, then joining them at the table.

“So Danny-boy, what can you tell us?” Jon gives his full attention to Danny.

Danny shifts in his seat, looking every part the six year old he appeared to be, uncertain at the attention of two adults. “Well, it’s a long story and kinda out there? I’m not sure how much you’ll believe?” He looks uncertain at the pair across from him who share a look. Martha reaches across the table to take Danny’s hand.

“Honey, you wouldn’t believe the stuff we’re used to, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Danny only hesitated a moment longer and then sighed looking far older than his apparent six years. “So to start off with, wherever this is, I’m not from around here. I’m assuming since you both speak English that this is still Earth, but maybe not MY Earth, I’m still a bit confused on the whole ‘multiverse’ thing, but either way, I got sent here until some stuff got sorted out and so I’ll be here until it does.” He was rambling, he knew, but he’s kind of anxious about stuff. “I kinda got put in my childhood body and now I have to get back to my actual age and my Guardian said something about time here running differently than in my dimension before he just chucked me through a portal. He did say he was sending me to people who could handle my weirdness as I age, so I’m assuming you are them and maybe have some experience with kids with freaky weird stuff happening to them?”

The Kents once more shared a look, this one a little longer than the last, then turned back to Danny. “Oh son, I think you’ll fit in just fine. So, how long can we expect you for? I can tell you’re probably a lot older than six judging by how you talk?”

Danny blinked at him, trying to process the fact that they didn’t seem phased and rather seemed like they believed him. “Uh, I was sixteen, so I guess a decade? I’m sorry to impose on you for a while, really I can figure out stuff on my own, I don’t want to be a bother.”

Jon chuckled “Oh trust me son, it wouldn’t be an issue, I’m sure Clark would love a younger brother, or at the very least a friend who understands him. We have plenty of room here, and though we’d probably ask you for help with chores, we’d be glad to have you for however long you need.”

Danny blinks again at them. They weren’t serious, right? They just seem fine taking in a random child and having him live with them for however long. And who was this Clark? What did he mean by younger brother?

“Clark?” he asked hesitantly.

“Oh right, our son, you’ll meet him when he gets home from school, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine! Now Danny, let me show you to a room and we can get you settled, we’ll probably have to head on over to the thrift shop to get you something to wear besides these charred and muddy pj’s, but we should have something from Clark that’s too small that’ll fit you for now.” Martha took his hand and led him upstairs to where he’d be in apparently his new home.

*****

Clark had had a pretty boring day at school. The classes were boring. He had to hold back in gym class again and when studying the skeletal system in biology, he started studying the teacher’s bones instead of the display skeleton or the worksheet. He was really looking forward to getting home and maybe going for a fly around the fields where no one could see him or maybe catching the latest episode of Rescue Rangers.

He could spot his house in the distance and after looking around to make sure no one would see him, he sped down the driveway as fast as he could, knocking up a lot of dirt in the process. He really liked going fast, whether running or flying. He just loved the wind in his hair.

“Ma, Pa, I’m home.” he kicked his sneakers off and rushed upstairs into his room to drop off his bag. He listened around for heartbeats and realized that Pa was out on the tractor and Ma was out with the chickens. He froze as he heard a much closer sound though. It was very slow and faint, but he could hear another heartbeat in the house. Even more, he could hear someone muttering to themselves in the guest room and the flipping of pages.

Clark slowly made his way down the hall towards the sound and peaked in the room with his x-ray vision. There, sitting on the ceiling, was a child about half his age reading a ratty old book about space. Clark stood in the doorway, now able to see him in regular vision and just stared at him. He took a moment until he decided to just join him up there and sat across from him.

“So who are you?” Clark asked while the kid was still focused on his book. He didn’t even look up from the book.

“Name’s Danny.” The kid paused for a second before he looked up and stared at Clark. Danny looked from Clark to the ceiling, to the floor, and then back to Clark. “Oh, so that’s why they said I’d fit right in here. I guess we are pretty similar! I’m guessing you’re Clark then?” The child beamed at him, putting out his hand to shake. Clark took it gently, not wanting to hurt the kid. Then the kid gripped his hand tight and Clark realized that they have more in common than he thought and gripped his hand tighter in response.

“So where are you from?” Clark asked, very curious as to how this kid who could fly and had his strength, but also had almost no heartbeat ended up at his house. Danny rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m not from this Earth and I kinda got put here to recover for a long while and my Guardian decided your parents are the best equipped to handle a kid growing up with powers, so he sent me here. I’m guessing because of you?”

“Yeah, mine started manifesting around your age. What powers do you have? How long do you plan to be here? Where are you from? You said this wasn’t your Earth, I’m guessing you’re from a different dimension then? That’s so cool!” Clark, ever curious, shot off many questions rapid fire and Danny laughed while answering them all as best he could.

Part 2

#Danny Phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #superman #clark kent #danny fenton #danny is a cryptid #cryptids #de-aged danny #ma kent #pa kent

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goosewriting · 1 year ago

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Across the Galaxy and Beyond

summary: some time after the Mantis crew split apart, Cal has an unexpected reunion with reader on Koboh

relationship: Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for Jedi Survivor, vague-ish mention of events from the Battle Scars book but i don't think it counts as a spoiler, hurt & comfort, flashbacks, kissing

word count: 8.9k 👀💧 ...i am unwell about this man what can i say

A/N: started writing this when i first started jedi survivor, and finally got around to finishing it now that i finished reading battle scars and the cal kestis brainworms are attacking me again. story doesn't follow the game exactly. also this could be read as a separate story from my wherever you go, i go trilogy, but i like to think it's the same reader and timeline lol so go read that if you haven't c:

Navigation: Part 1 (you’re here!) | Part 2 (wip)

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — — Part 1: Just like old times

After Cal's escape from Coruscant, the Mantis was pretty shredded. The main problem was the gyro, but upon entering Koboh's atmosphere, all systems started failing and the Jedi had to make an emergency landing somewhere on some cliffs.

It took a lot of climbing and wall-jumping and fighting the aggressive local fauna, but after a couple of hours, Cal and BD finally made it to the outpost where Greez' cantina was located. On the way there he also encountered bandits who called themselves the Bedlam Raiders, as well as old Separatists battleships and battle droids, of all things. Just what has Greez got himself into?, Cal thinks to himself after saving a local from Rayvis, the leader of the Raiders, and outing himself as a Jedi in the process.

When Cal and BD finally enter Pyloon's Saloon, they meet with Greez. Since the Raiders have just been at the saloon (and the place doesn't look all too inviting either), there are no customers, so Cal and Greez catch up at the bar. The Latero is extremely happy to see the boy and his droid in one piece after all this time. Over a drink, the redhead tells him about the last job on Coruscant gone wrong, how only two of them made it out. He expresses his frustration, how the Empire is only growing stronger and everything he does feels pointless. Things haven't been easy since the Mantis crew split up.

After catching up a little, Greez tells Cal that he has some spare parts and will take care of the ship. He'll send someone to bring the ship to the landing dock behind the saloon. In the meantime, he should take a breather and explore the outpost. Cal doesn't like feeling like he's wasting time, but with the state the Mantis is in, there really isn't much else he can do.

The Latero shows him the room in the basement, telling Cal he can stay as long as he needs. Greez wasn't kidding when he said he had a room just for Cal: there was a meditation area in the middle of the round room, and even his old clothes and some unfinished tech projects were all stashed away in a big chest.

They both sit down on the edge of the bed, and it doesn't take long for the conversation to take a direction Cal doesn't like. Not because what Greez is saying is wrong; on the contrary, he's probably right, but the redhead doesn't want to hear it. Not right now. Greez, in a genuinely concerned tone, goes on about how the game is rigged and Cal should walk away while he can, maybe even settle down somewhere. Cal lashes out for a moment, claiming someone has to keep fighting.

— — —

You approach the stable in the outpost riding on your nekko, humming a happy tune to yourself. You're lost in thought, letting your trusty mount walk the last stretch to the stalls by himself, as he knew the way. Once you reach the structure, you get off and start putting away your haul; you just came from a successful hunt. You'd skin and prepare everything later though, so you pack the preys away in special boxes where everything would be preserved for a couple of days.

“Hello master,” a robotic yet chirpy voice greets you.

You turn around with a smile, facing the Separatist battle droid you had found and reprogrammed to help you out at the stable.

“Hey there, Connor,” you greet back. You've told him several times not to call you that, but he insisted, saying you saved him and now his purpose was to serve you. You take a moment to inspect his blue and black markings that have started chipping more noticeably; maybe it's time for a new paint job.

“Did I miss anything while I was gone?” you ask, taking the saddle off your nekko and placing it onto the designated wooden beam.

“Yes, in fact,” Connor replies, placing new food and clean water in the trough. “There's a ship on the landing pad behind the saloon that I've never seen before.”

“Is that so? What kinda ship?”

“A modified S-161 Stinger, and it's pretty busted up. I'm surprised it even made it this far.”

You stop in your tracks, your grip tightening around the halter you just took off the nekko, which is now happily munching away on its fresh feed.

“Interesting,” you remark, putting the rest of the equipment away and turning around to face the droid. Since you spent most of the day down in some caves, you didn't see or hear anything. “Do you know who was on board?”

“I didn't see who came off the ship, but I overheard some prospectors talk about a newcomer that went one on one with Rayvis,” Connor comments, then leans in closer to you, looking around as if to make sure no one would be listening in on your conversations, when it's clearly just the two of you at the stable. “I also heard Turgle mentioning a Jedi being seen around here.”

“Huh,” is all you manage to say, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. There was no way he was here, right? After all this time? As far as you know, he doesn't even know you're here. So if it is him, he isn't here to see you, but Greez instead. It's probably because of the Mantis; Cal is in need of repairs. This thought immediately replaces the initial anticipation with a strange, cold feeling.

“Can you believe it?” Connor goes on. “I've never even seen a Jedi. I would love to meet them.”

You take a long look at the droid, remembering the state you had found him in. He had never been in the war, actually. He spent several years in an abandoned Separatist camp, never even getting to be activated. So he only knew his programming: serve the Separatists, fight the clones and kill the Jedi. Yet he had never lived any of it. Reprogramming him had been easy in that regard, as his memory banks were mostly blank. Back then you were looking for a droid companion to help you out at the stables, and even though you know what battle droids mean to the Jedi, you can't help but think that they are kinda cute. The B1 models, at least. The B2 series and commandos are pretty scary.

So you gave your new friend a name (you couldn't decide between Hank and Connor, but decided to go with the latter as it somehow suited his demeanour better) and a new purpose in life, and he seems content with that. The only fighting program you left in him is for defending the stable and nekkos. First and foremost it is his mission that they are not harmed. You also ordered him not to leave the outpost, for his own safety. You don't want the raiders to find him and get access to his memory bank. They would use the information against all of you at the outpost, and either scrap him or reprogram him to join the raiders. Once they were dealt with, however, you promised Connor you would take him around Koboh first, then show him the galaxy.

“I'm going to the saloon,” you announce. “Can you take care of the rest?”

“Roger roger!” Connor replies with a salute, getting to work.

You find yourself smoothing out your clothes and hair as you make the short trip to the saloon. When you reach the bar you're met with Monk, the witty bartender droid. He greets you with a happy tone and some strange phrase that you don't entirely understand, as he always does. You ask for Greez, and he points towards the door to the side, saying he's in the basement with some old friend of his that just dropped by.

With a gulp and a forced smile, you thank him and head down the stairs. The urge to turn on your heel and run away grows with every step. As you're about to reach the door, you hear voices coming from the other side.

“-to be something more than a lightsaber.” That's Greez, you think. He sounds… sad? “Think of yourself. Settle down, find a home.”

“What home, Greez?” You swear your heart actually stops beating and accelerates at the same time when you hear the voice, his voice. “There is no home. Home was the Order. It was my teacher.”

You've stopped a couple steps away from the door so it wouldn't open and have you interrupt the conversation, but you involuntarily lean forward to hear better what Cal says next.

“It was everyone I lost… Home was the Mantis with you, Cere, Merrin, and–”

The automatic door whooshes open and Cal and Greez turn their heads towards you as they stand up from the bed they were sitting on.

“I- I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you sheepishly state after a moment of uncomfortable silence from everyone, approaching him but staying at a distance. “Hey, Cal. It's been a while.”

“Yeah, it has,” he retorts, and you can't really read the tone of his voice.

You look each other up and down, taking in how different you both look since… Since the last time you saw each other. Since you split up.

A thousand thoughts go through your head, and a thousand different feelings resurface, making your heart tighten in your chest, like there isn't enough space for everything it's trying to process.

Greez can't take the tension anymore, so he clears his throat loudly.

“Lemme show you something, Cal,” the Latero says as he walks towards a panel on the far side of the room. He presses a couple of buttons and a section of the wall slides open with a creak, revealing a path behind it. “This is an old smuggler's tunnel, you'll find spare parts in there. Just… be careful, I have a pest problem.”

With that, Greez walks by both of you, giving your arm an encouraging pat, before leaving the room. It's just you and Cal now.

“Spare parts?” you ask, trying to make some conversation. “For the Mantis, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Cal replies, looking at the tunnel entrance but not moving from where he stands. “Gyro's fried.”

You two stand there in silence, and you want to smack yourself in the face. You feel like an awkward 12-year-old all over again, not knowing how to talk to your cr– You stop your train of thought before you dare finish that sentence and potentially embarrass yourself further. The heat on your cheeks that refuses to leave your face since you've laid eyes on the Jedi can't possibly have gone unnoticed by him.

“You know, Greez has had this room set up for you for quite a while,” you tell Cal, shooting him a quick smile. “So I take it you'll be staying for a while, right? The Mantis isn't going anywhere.”

Cal shrugs and shoots you a quick, unsure glance, then casts his eyes back down, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was just about to head out,” you lie. Your plan for the evening was to have a drink at the bar and unwind, but him being here changes everything. “You could join me and I'll show you around if you'd like…”

Cal looks at the tunnel again, weighing the options in his mind. One is going down there to fix the Mantis as soon as possible, then taking off to who knows where. The other… you're not so sure. And if you're being honest with yourself, you're too scared to ask.

“Sure, why not,” he finally agrees with a sigh and starts walking towards the door that directly leads outside from the basement, but you feel like something, or rather someone, is missing. You look around the room, scanning your surroundings for a certain droid, then turn back to Cal.

“W-Where's BD?” you ask, fearing the worst. You'd really hate it if something happened to him.

“Oh, he wandered off somewhere earlier,” Cal says and you release a breath of relief. After calling for him, the little droid comes hopping down the stairs and into the room.

“BD!” you greet the little companion, and he excitedly beeps at your reunion. He comes running towards you and you pick him up in a hug.

“Oh, how I've missed you,” you spin him around a couple of times, then set him back down onto the floor. “I have a droid of my own now, but you're still the cutest. Don't tell him, though,” you add with a wink.

“You have a droid?” Cal asks as BD climbs onto his back and you all make your way out.

“Yeah, he helps me out at the stable,” you explain, pointing at the building as you reach the end of the stairs. The stable is practically behind the saloon. From these stairs it's a very short trek to reach the paddocks.

“Those are nekkos, right?” Cal questions, approaching the fence and looking at the two animals chilling in the sun. “I met Mosey earlier. She said she worked at the stable,” he turns around to look at you. “But she didn't mention you.”

You're about to retort by saying she couldn't have possibly known that you two knew each other, but you're interrupted by a chirpy voice.

“Master! You're back already?”

At the sound of the familiar robotic voice, Cal instinctively draws his lightsaber, and turns towards the side entrance to the stable. You hurry to get between your droid and the Jedi; you don't want to see Connor get sliced today. Not by him. Said droid peeks out from behind the archway, and BD beeps repeatedly, alarmed.

“Wait!” you exclaim, holding your hands up into the air defensively. “That's my droid!”

“Your- Your droid?” Cal repeats, clearly confused. He puts away his weapon nonetheless.

“He's reprogrammed, and he's never even been in the war,” you explain, walking backwards as Cal starts approaching the stable to inspect the battle droid further, with you still between them. “He was never even activated. He's good, I promise!”

“Master, who's this?” Connor asks, walking back into the stable to make room for Cal and you. “Is he bothering you?” The droid activates the blaster you had built into one of his arms, and Cal's hand goes to the hilt of his sabre again, while BD beeps in exasperation.

“No, stand down!” you order, and the blaster immediately turns off with a whirr. “Will everyone please calm down?”

Still standing between Cal and the battle droid, you let out a huff, looking from one to the other.

“Cal, BD; this is Connor, my droid,” you start introducing them. “My good and reprogrammed droid, whose mission is to protect the stable and the nekkos, nothing more.”

Cal seems unimpressed, still looking at Connor with narrowed eyes. You turn to the droid.

“Connor; these are Cal and BD,” you start. “And you know what? Cal here–” You look at Connor with raised brows and lower your voice. “–is a Jedi.”

Connor brings his hands up to where his mouth would be, gasping in surprise.

“You- You are?” he asks, quickly going around you to take Cal's hand and shaking it vigorously. “It's such an honour! I've always wanted to meet a Jedi!”

“So you could get up all close and stab me in the back?” Cal retorts, his voice laced with uncharacteristic venom, and pulls his hand from the droid's grasp.

“What? No, I–” Connor starts but you push him to the side a bit.

“It's okay, Connor. He'll warm up to you, eventually,” you comfort him. “Please go get the nekkos ready for us?”

You've never heard a sadder 'roger roger' in your life and it sends a sting of pain through your chest.

While the droid goes to prepare your mounts, you turn around to Cal and frown at him. He crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively.

“Why would you say something like that? He's genuinely excited to meet you,” you explain. “When was the last time someone was actually happy to see a Jedi, hm?”

“Not a battle droid, that's for sure,” Cal retorts with a huff.

You look up at him for a moment, holding his rather cold gaze. You wonder just what happened these past few years that had him like this. Sure, you understand why he isn't a fan of battle droids. Normally you aren't either. But there's just something about Cal that's… different. He looks older, but it might just be the beard. He also looks more tired, carries himself differently. With confidence like he always did, but also in a “don't mess with me” way that wasn't there before. Gone is the spark in his eyes, that glimmer of optimism and hope, replaced by the promise of not holding back if anyone were to cross him.

For several moments, you just look at each other, and you're sure he's analysing you just as you are him, and you wonder what is going through his head.

“The nekkos are ready,” Connor announces, leading both of them out of their respective stalls by the reins.

You allow the animals to sniff Cal and inspect him, while you give a short explanation on how to ride and guide them. Cal's mount is white with a dark face and legs, while yours is a dark purple and brown. After thanking Connor and waving him goodbye, you both hop onto the saddle and head out of the outpost. You know your way around, taking a route that would keep you hidden from the patrols, both the imperial ones as well as the raiders. You'd much rather deal with the local fauna. And you do come across a couple of rawkas at the river, and a pack of gorgers when heading further up the Southern Reach. But you two make quick work of them.

In fact, Cal has grown stronger, and not only that, but he also has a new array of weapons it seems; now he double-wields his lightsabers, and he also has a blaster, which completely takes you by surprise.

Once you reach the base of the big silo, you get off your nekkos and climb the rest by foot, getting on top of the structure and sitting at the edge. It's not a super well-hidden spot; if the patrols under you decide to look up they would definitely see you, but it's a good vantage point to show Cal the different places. You point towards the landmarks, explaining them to him so he can orient himself and navigate beyond the outpost. You tell him about the caverns, the mines, to look out for different patrols and what areas to avoid; be it because of the raiders, like fort Kha'lin, or because of bigger fauna like bilemaws, goroccos and mogus. Especially mogus. They are fierce.

Once you're done with your explanation, you lean back onto your hands with a sigh. Cal attentively listened to everything, but he doesn't seem interested in keeping the conversation going, as he hasn't said anything.

He's looking out, scanning this corner of Koboh as far as he could see from here, taking in the view and probably trying to commit to memory everything you've said. You look at him from the corner of your eyes, your gaze falling onto the holster on his hip.

“So,” you try starting the conversation again. “You now double-wield and you have a blaster. Which, by the way, is pretty uncharacteristic for a Jedi, no?”

“A lot has changed, I guess,” is all you get out of him.

“Do you have any other new tricks?” you ask, and the memory of him re-discovering his Master's lessons after his escape from Bracca comes back to you, making you smile fondly to yourself for a moment.

“Hmm,” Cal thinks aloud, also leaning back and finally tearing his eyes from the landscape to look at you. “There aren't any new Force-tricks, if that's what you mean. But I do have this.”

He brings one of his arms up, showing you the contraption on his brace.

“Grappling hook. Comes in pretty handy,” he explains, showing you some of the mechanisms. Your hands reach up to gently hold his wrist, so you can inspect the device better, and you could have sworn you heard his breath hitch at the contact. At that moment, you realise that's the first physical interaction you've had since he arrived, and you quickly let go.

“We should head back,” you say as you stand up, dusting off your legs. “It will get dark soon, plus you must be hungry. I know I am.”

“Yeah, I could eat,” Cal replies, getting up to his feet as well, and BD beeps in agreement.

Cal climbs down the silo first, while you scan the area one last time for any patrols. When it's your turn, just as you're almost at the base of the rather unstable ladder, your foot slips and you lose your balance. You hold onto the next best thing, which happens to be Cal. Seeing you're about to fall, his arm reaches around you and he pulls you towards him while with the other hand he tightly holds onto the railing that goes along the walls of the structure.

“You okay?” he asks, and when you look up at him this time, you're finally met with a pair of eyes that you recognise. There's concern in his gaze but also a certain warmth, amused at how you were a fierce warrior yet managed to be clumsy in small things like these. He found it cute, which you knew for a fact because he would tell you often, back then…

“Y-Yeah, thanks,” you mutter, separating yourself from him now that you're back safe on the ground. Feeling the heat spreading on your face, you can't help a sheepish smile. “Guess some things never change, heh.”

“Guess not,” Cal says with a small smile of his own, and your chest tightens at the sight.

The ride back to the Outpost is silent, and you wonder if his body is also reacting as strongly as yours; ever since slipping, your skin feels like it's tingling, and your heart hasn't calmed down in the slightest.

Once you're back at the stable and the nekkos have been taken care of, Connor mentions that Greez left some food for you, and hands you several small containers wrapped with a cloth.

“You wanna eat at my place?” you find yourself asking Cal, who's scratching behind the nekko's ear. He turns around to you with raised eyebrows in what you assume to be a surprised expression, but he's quick to relax his face back to normal.

“I have a room behind Doma's shop,” you explain, holding up the food in your hands and you gesture to it with your chin. “And Greez knows this is far too much food for myself.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Cal replies, calling BD back to him, who was scanning some stable equipment. “Let me help you with that.”

Cal takes the food off your hands, and you say your goodbyes to Connor, who stays at the stable. It's a quick trip past the saloon's entrance into Doma's shop. She's behind the counter organising some of her merchandise, and returns your “hello” from afar without looking. Only when she hears Cal's greeting does she turn around. She shoots you a look and you know exactly what she means, heat prickling again at your cheeks. You give a curt shake of your head, quickening the pace to evade Doma's questioning, heading for the door at the back that leads to the place you have been calling home for the last year.

It isn't much, but it makes do: one big room, that's both kitchen and a living space, with two doors at the far side that lead to a small bedroom and the refresher. The main room is decorated, you like to think it's warm, cosy and inviting. You even managed to thrift an old couch somewhere, refurbished it yourself, and it now essentially serves as the centrepiece of the room. There are several rugs on the floor, as well as piles of pelts and leather in the corner that you still have to finish working on so you could sell them. These days that's your main source of income.

Cal stands at the door for a moment, taking everything in, and you suddenly feel very self-conscious. The space is clean, but the fact that you can't read his face makes you a little nervous. To distract yourself, you take the food from him, bringing it to the kitchen counter.

“I think the food is still warm,” you say as you start opening the containers, the delicious smell filling both your noses. “Do you mind setting the table?”

Cal and you make quick work of getting everything plated and grabbing some drinks, then sitting down in front of each other at the wooden table to eat. You make some light conversation between bites, catching each other up on what has been going on in your lives recently. He tells you about some of the missions he's been on ever since the Mantis crew split up, and you tell him of your own solo adventures before you came to Koboh.

When the plates are empty, your bellies full, and the conversation is about to die down, you ask if you can check out Cal's lightsabre. He unclips it from his belt to hand it to you, and you catch yourself being relieved at the fact he still trusts you enough to just give his sacred weapon to you without further inquiry.

He's changed some parts and the materials, and you hold the device in your hands with the utmost care, admiring the beautiful design and intricate markings on the wooden accents. Rather suddenly, a feeling of regret and shame spreads out in your chest, thinking about how not only this sabre but also Cal himself went through so many changes, and you hadn't been there for any of it. There's so much you want to tell him, about how sad you are that you weren't there for him, about how sorry you are with the way you left, about how you've been thinking of and missing him every single day. But telling him that wouldn't be fair. You have no right to be selfish like that.

“So what exactly happened that got the Mantis in such a state?” you decide to ask instead, reaching the lightsabre over the table to give it back. Cal takes it with a deep sigh, putting it back to his belt, feeling immediately comforted by its familiar weight.

“A job on Coruscant that went… wrong,” he starts, telling you how his team was gathering intel for Saw Guerrera, and it had all worked out until the very last moment, where everything went wrong, and he lost his whole crew in an instant. Only him and another person made it out of there. In fact, one of his crew members saved his life by pushing him out of the way and taking the blaster shot herself instead.

You listen intently, and your heart grows heavier by the second; you can hear the frustration in his voice, the voice of a man who's this close to giving up entirely, because he's just so tired, but he can't. He won't. You know Cal took it upon himself to fight the Empire by himself if he has to. A trait you genuinely admire but also despise. After all, that was one of the reasons you left.

Then he mentions the Ninth Sister, and your attention is fully back to what he's saying.

“I tried to get through to her, I really did,” Cal says, his voice cracking for a second. “But she wouldn't let up. I had no choice.”

“Did you…?” you ask carefully.

“I killed her,” he says matter-of-factly, but you can tell it's been eating away at him.

“I'm so sorry, Cal,” you offer, reaching across the table and placing your hand on his. “That couldn't have been easy. I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

He doesn't meet your eyes, his gaze fixed on his half empty cup instead, watching the drops of condensation slowly fall along the outside of the glass onto the table, staining the wood. But he doesn't pull away either, so you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You look exhausted,” you finally tell him, and he lets out a breath through his nose, as if saying 'you have no idea'. You offer for him to take a shower here instead of at the saloon before heading back, telling him yours is nicer, to which he chuckles lightly, and he accepts.

He insists you take a shower first while he takes care of the dishes, so you do just that. Once you're out, it's his turn. You hand him a towel and a change of clean clothes, and you can tell he wonders why you have them in his size, until he realises that they're actually his. It's an old shirt and lounge pants that you would always steal from him and had apparently taken with you. He doesn't comment on it though, instead he simply stares at the clothes in his hand for maybe a second too long, deep in thought. Then he blinks a couple of times, as if he just came back from zoning out, gives you a short 'thanks' and gets into the shower.

While he cleans up, you take a seat on the couch, pulling up the novel you're currently reading on your holopad. Only now that you're sitting with your legs stretched out along the length of the cushions do you realise how tired you are, both physically and emotionally. Out of everything you could have thought would happen today, meeting Cal was certainly not on the list. Still, you can't deny that you're happy to see him. For starters, he's still alive. And you've missed him, much more than you care to admit to yourself.

After reading the same sentence of your book over and over, failing to focus, you sigh and look at BD instead, who hops onto the coffee table and tilts his head at you with an inquiring beep.

“Has he been taking care of himself?” you ask the droid, pointing over your shoulder in the direction of the refresher, where you can hear the water running.

BD lets out a sequence of beeps and boops, and you narrow your eyes at him for a moment. 'He keeps himself busy' he said. Is he dodging your question?

“Is that so,” you reply with a hum, and BD shoots the question right back at you. You're a bit surprised at his concern, and for a moment you consider opening up to the little droid, but you hear the water turn off, so you bring your attention back to your book again instead, trying your darndest to focus on what's happening in the story. The washroom door opens with a whoosh.

“Where should I put the towel?” Cal asks, still standing at the door frame.

“Just put it in the hamper underneath the sink,” you reply over your shoulder, and in the corner of your eye you can see BD still looking at you, waiting for an answer. Then he tilts his head with an amused boop; he's got you all figured out.

“Oh shush you,” you start scolding the little droid, but Cal appears, walking around the couch to sit down. Except that your legs are stretched across it, so you start lifting them off the cushions and intend to bend them at the knee to sit properly, but Cal gently grabs your ankles, lifting them off the couch to sit down, and places them over his lap instead. His hand comes to rest on your shin, and you can feel the warmth he irradiates seep through the fabric of your pants.

“You looked comfy,” he points out, his hand gently rubbing up and down below your knee, while with his other hand he props up his head against the back of the couch.

You swallow hard, unable to answer, and bring the datapad up to your face to hide behind it. Why is he being so nice suddenly? Is it because you aren't outside where others could see? Or is it because he realised he still has you wrapped around his finger so he's just teasing you? You're beyond confused at the sudden sign of affection after he's been so distant the whole day, like he hadn't planned on ever seeing you again. And to be quite honest, you deserve the cold treatment. After what you did, the way you left.

Feeling the sting behind your eyes, knowing what's coming, you shrink further into yourself, holding the holopad even closer to your face to hide it from Cal's view. He can't see your expression from where he's sitting, so he gives a light chuckle, thinking you're just flustered. The sound feels like a dagger in your gut, and you unsuccessfully choke back sob.

Now Cal's face changes completely to one of concern, and he pushes the pad out of the way only to be met with your crying face.

“Whoa, wait-“ Cal says, and he retrieves his hands, holding them both up in surrender. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I thought we-“

“I'm so sorry, Cal,” you croak, crying freely now, as you let go of the device and it falls onto the floor with a 'clunk'. “I'm so sorry for everything, for what I did. For leaving you alone.” Your hands wipe away at your cheeks in a vain attempt to dry off the tears, but they just keep coming.

After the crew split up, the Mantis felt unbearably empty. After the failed mission on Hosnian Prime, after saying goodbye to Fret and Irei, who had definitely changed the dynamics of the crew (you still weren't sure if it had been for better or worse), everything felt like it started falling apart.

The first to leave was Merrin, saying she needed to recentre her fire and find herself again, to be able to draw all the power she now knew she was able to use.

Then, it was Cere and Greez. The Latero trusted Cal and left his beloved ship in his hands, telling him to look after it until he'd be back. Except everyone knew that he didn't really intend to. The loss of his arm had hit him harder than he wanted to admit, and for Greez it had been the wake-up call needed to “leave the game while you can because it's been rigged since the start”, as he would often say. Cere on the other hand took off with new-found determination. Her and Cal's goals weren't all that different: the endgame was to defeat the Empire, one way or another. However, Cal believed in taking action now, while Cere had her sights set on the future, being able to help those who would come next, long after she and everyone else were gone. She wanted to build a legacy, as the 'Jedi's knowledge was far too valuable to be lost to time and circumstance.

After everyone was gone, it was just Cal, BD and you.

The Jedi had become irritable, like he had already convinced himself that you would leave him soon too, as did everyone, apparently. You reassured him to the best of your abilities that you believed in what he stood for and wanted to stay by his side. However, now that you didn't have a whole crew to count on, you had to be more careful than ever.

“We have to be smart about this!” you'd plead, seeing Cal running head-first into danger time and time again.

When the nightmares became too much, you'd hold him tightly, kissing his tears away as he'd cry out for his master, Tapal.

“You were just a kid!” you had yelled at Cal one time, when what was supposed to be a quick run-down of the plan had become a big argument. “You act as if the whole universe is counting on you and only you to defeat the beast that is the Empire. Do you think that that's your destiny? As dictated by the Force? We've had our share of big, successful missions as a group. Now it's time to back down, Cal. We're just two people, what do you expect we'll achieve here? It's time to move on.”

Needless to say, those words had not calmed Cal down in the slightest. Now he felt just as betrayed by you as he did by the rest. More words were thrown at each other like daggers finally let free after being pushed back for far too long in an attempt to keep some level of normalcy between you two. But there was no going back. So you did what you told him as well: you moved on. That same evening, you packed your things and left.

Your heart bled and tears kept streaking down your face with every heavy step you took away from the Mantis, but at the time, you didn't know what else to do. You'd never wanted to leave Cal, and you hated yourself for doing this to him and to yourself, but what you had going on was no way to live anymore. Maybe, hopefully, now that you were gone, he would understand that.

You know it had been a horrible thing to do, especially like that. After years of telling him how you'd follow him to the end of the world. After telling him every day how much you loved him. After promising you'd be there for him. The worst part was that being away from him was far more painful than it was with him. He left a void in your heart that only he could fill. You meant to go looking for him many times, but were too scared. You didn't deserve to have him back. Not after what you did.

But now he's here.

Between cries, you apologise over and over again, saying how what you did wasn't fair, that you wished you had never left and worked it out instead, that you missed him so much it was hard to breathe.

Cal doesn't answer immediately, and you force your somewhat blurry gaze up to meet his eyes, and you see he's starting to tear up himself. He leans forward, lifting you up and settling you sideways onto his lap, enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug. You hold him just as tightly, crying into his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” The more you say it, the emptier it feels, but it's all you can manage for now, and you mean it. “I really am.”

“I know,” Cal says, squeezing you a little tighter. “I felt it. When you gave me the clothes earlier.”

You remember the countless nights you've cried yourself to sleep in the very clothes he's now wearing, the times when you missed him so much you felt like your heart would rip its way right out of your chest, muttering your regrets into your pillow, as if it could carry your apology and bring it to Cal somehow. You groan in embarrassment; you always forget that your stuff also carries imprints he can feel.

“I'm so lame,” you mumble and pull back to look at Cal, giving him a weak smile that quickly turns into a grimace again as a new wave of tears come rolling down your cheeks.

“No, you're not,” Cal reassures you, one hand cupping your face and wiping over your cheekbone with his thumb. You lean into his touch with a sniffle.

“I've missed you too,” he finally says, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “And I'm sorry—” He kisses your cheek. “—for making you feel like you were less important than the missions.” A kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You're the best thing that ever happened to me and I took you for granted.” His lips brush over yours. “Can we try again?”

You close the minimal gap and kiss him hard, like Cal was the air your lungs needed after being underwater for too long. He reciprocates just as intensely, pushing you down onto the couch and climbing on top of you. When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both panting. You run your fingers through his hair as he trails kisses along your jaw, and you giggle at how ticklish his beard feels against your skin; that's a new sensation you'd have to – no scratch that, want to – get used to. Your giggles turn into a low moan as he bites the spot over your collarbone, and when you turn your head to give him better access, you're met with BD still on the coffee table, now sitting comfortably, looking up at you two as if it was the most interesting spectacle in the world.

A strangled sound of surprise and embarrassment comes from your throat and you push Cal away a bit by his shoulders, to which he raises his head and grumbles in annoyance for interrupting him.

“We have an audience,” you whine, hiding your face behind your hands, and Cal lets out an amused laugh. BD beeps matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean 'don't mind me'?!” You turn to the droid and you swear that if he had a face, he'd be wearing the cockiest of grins right now.

“Some things really never change, huh,” Cal comments with an amused smile, thinking back to all the times you'd become flustered when you kissed in front of BD, saying it was inappropriate or something. If only you knew that Cal often did it on purpose because he loved seeing your cute, flustered face.

“Unlike this right here,” you point out and bring your hands to his face, stroking over his beard, enjoying the prickly sensation. “This is new.”

“Do you like it?” Cal asks genuinely.

“You know I like your scars,” you say, tracing over the one on his lower lip. “As long as they're not covered up, I think I can get used to it. It does look good on you.”

Cal smiles down at you tenderly and for a few moments, you simply enjoy each other's presence, taking each other in. Making sure that this is real and it's happening, that you're back again. Until you let out a hearty yawn.

“Let's get to bed before we fall asleep on the couch,” you say, rubbing your face, but stop to look up at Cal, who seems very content with his current position and hasn't moved yet. “You are staying here tonight, right? I mean, if you want to, you don't have to. Greez has the whole room thing for you, so I understand if—“

Cal interrupts your rambling with a quick peck.

“Yeah, I want to stay,” he assures you and finally stands up, helping you get off the couch.

“Let's go, BD,” you tell the droid to join you as you take Cal's hand and guide them to the bedroom.

You climb into bed, BD at your feet as he would always do on the Mantis, and Cal lifts the covers to get in as well but stops for a moment when he sees the holopicture on your night stand. In the small frame he recognises Greez, Cere, Merrin, Cal, BD and you in the cockpit, all grinning at the camera. Smiling to himself, he finally gets into bed, hugging you to him.

“I have the same picture of us on the Mantis,” he says after letting out a content sigh at finding a comfortable position. “Guess we still were connected somehow all this time.”

You hum in response, a bit surprised at the romantic implication, as if you were lovers who found comfort in looking at the same moon even though you were separated. But you like the idea nonetheless, and you agree.

The warmth both on your skin and spreading in your heart makes quick work of carrying you off to dreamland though, so before you can even give a proper reply, you're fast asleep in Cal's arms.

— — —

The next morning, you wake up to BD's beeping. You groan, turning over to cuddle a little longer, except that the other side of your bed is empty. You blink away the sleepiness in your eyes, and pout at the lack of Jedi in your sheets. Your nose is quick to pick up the scent of freshly brewed caf however, and the grogginess is quickly forgotten as you get out of bed and make your way to the kitchen, where Cal is preparing breakfast.

After a quick meal and lots of stolen kisses, Cal announces it's time to go check out Greez's smuggler tunnel to find that gyro.

“Be careful,” is the last thing you tell him before he leaves.

“Always,” he shoots back at you with a wink and takes off. You playfully roll your eyes at that, thinking back to the countless times on the Mantis you've had to patch him up after a mission inevitably went astray from the original plan.

While Cal is looking for parts for the Mantis, you go back to your own things, checking in on Connor and the nekkos at the stable, as well as preparing some pelts and sewing up your most recent leather project.

Time goes by fast as you skilfully work the needle and thread through the thick material, finishing the piece after a couple of hours. Setting it aside, you stretch your arms and back with a satisfied grunt. You check to see if your comms are working; they are, but there's no new messages. Strange, you think, Cal sure is taking his time to find that gyro. Is he not back yet?

Suddenly feeling uneasy by your own thoughts of how he might have got lost in the tunnels, or how he may have encountered trouble down there, you decide to go check with Greez yourself.

You quickly make your way to the Saloon, going down the stairs that lead to the bar with such speed that when you reach the end and see someone standing there, you bump into them before you can stop yourself.

“Whoa,” a deep voice exclaims at the impact, and you push yourself away from the man's back you just ran into. He turns around slightly towards you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, didn't see you there” you reply, regaining your composure and walking around him to get a better look.

He's not super tall, but he has a strong and broad build. Although you already felt that when you bumped into him and it was like walking into a wall. You give him a quick up-and-down, trying to gauge if he's friend or foe, but you can't quite read him. He narrows his eyes at you ever so slightly, probably doing the same.

“A new face, how rare,” you start, walking over to the bar and leaning on it with one arm. Your other hand finds its way to your hip, where you realise there is no holster or weapon; you mentally reprimand yourself for leaving your staff at the stable.

“Care for a drink?” asks Monk from behind you.

“No, I'm looking for someone,” the man says.

“Of course you are,” Monk replies with sarcasm. You give the bartender droid a nod; you'll take care of this. As he wheels back into the kitchen, you hear him mutter something about how his bar isn't a lost and found counter. Before the stranger can go on however, the doors at the back of the saloon whoosh open.

“Who's this?” asks Greez as he enters the main room.

“I was just about to ask him,” you reply, your eyes still trained on the man.

“I'm looking for Cal Kestis,” the man in question says instead, and your hand on the bar involuntarily curls into a fist.

“Who? Kal Restis?” Greez asks as he approaches him. “We don't know any Kales. Listen, if you're not gonna order something, get out of my saloon.”

“No, not Kale”, the man says, getting slightly exasperated as he repeats the name slower, and Greez keeps getting it wrong on purpose.

Just as you're about to intervene and send the man away, the entrance doors open and in comes Cal, a soft smile of self-satisfaction on his face.

“Cal!” The man greets the Jedi. You hear Greez mutter “Oh, this Cal Kestis” under his breath as they clearly recognise each other.

“I found the gyro,” Cal announces first, throwing a small mechanical part to Greez, who's taken by surprise but still catches it. Then he turns to the intruder with a smile. “You made it!”

“Good to see you, Cal,” he replies, and the two share a friendly handshake.

“Greez Dritus, this is Bode Akuna,” Call starts introductions, telling this Bode your name as well. You merely give him a short nod in acknowledgment as Cal continues. “He was on Coruscant. Wouldn't have made it out alive without his help.”

Oh, that changes things.

You leave your spot at the bar and drop your rather cold gaze to join the group. Coming to stand next to Cal, you take his hand, and try your best to give Bode a thankful smile. He returns it, quickly catching on.

“Wait a minute. Another one?” Greez quips, looking behind Cal. You were so focused on Bode, that you hadn't even noticed the strange looking droid that came in with the redhead. “Cal, you have a very bad habit of picking up strays.”

“I am ZN-A4,” the droid introduces herself with an exaggerated bow. The design and material she’s made of is something you’ve never seen before. “Humble servant of the Jedi Order.”

What.

“Oh, I take it you haven't broken the news yet,” Bode says to Cal, who sheepishly shrugs his shoulders.

Cal then brings everyone up to speed, telling you how when he was in the tunnels with BD, they stumbled upon this old chamber where the droid was stuck, so they freed her. Turns out she's a droid that belonged to a Jedi from the High Republic, of all things. Her master, Sandari, had sent her to activate the so-called forest array (that strange building the other side of the river that doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the scenery; you've always wondered what it was but never found a way to get in). However, Zee, as everyone started calling the droid, is in really bad shape, and she'll never make it that far. She looks dejected as she says that if she fails her mission, then the key to Tanalorr may be lost forever.

At the mention of the name, Greez chimes in, telling the group that there's an old prospector legend about Tanalorr being a world filled with treasure. But treasure or not, the important part is that it seems to be a real place, one potentially beyond where the Empire can reach: a safe haven.

Zee is delighted and very thankful that everyone seems on board with her mission, and the group is quick to formulate a plan: while Monk gets her up to speed regarding the state of, well, everything, and she gets some much-needed repairs, Bode and Greez will take care of the Mantis. Meanwhile, Cal, BD and you will go to the forest array to check it out.

As you're making your way to the stables, you nudge into Cal's side with your elbow.

“You didn't get hurt down there or anything, right? You sure took your time,” you ask him. It did not go unnoticed by you how in Cal's retelling of events, he skilfully left out how he happened to find that mysterious chamber in the first place.

“The tunnels were pretty old and unstable, but we're okay,” Cal deflects, shooting the droid a quick look. “Right BD?”

BD beeps in response, and you shoot Cal a glare accompanied by a muted gasp, stopping in your tracks.

“You fell through a hole the equivalent of several stories?!” You can't believe this guy.

“It's fine!” Cal tries to reassure you, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. “I promise, it's nothing a stim didn't already fix. So there’s no need to worry, okay? We have a job to do.”

You sigh in defeat as he places a soft kiss on your forehead. You first cup his face softly, then pinch both his cheeks.

“Just what am I going to do with you, Cal Kestis?” you ask rhetorically, taking his hand into yours and resuming the short trek to where Connor is already waiting and waving at you both.

Once you're all geared up and hop into the saddle, you tighten the strap of your staff, adjusting its position on your back.

“Just like old times, huh?” you ask at no one in particular, scanning your surroundings and taking in the scenery; it just never gets old. Cal's nekko trots up next to you.

“Just like old times,” he repeats, with that boyish smile you can't get enough of, and the glint of adventure in his eyes.

Your nekkos take off, and the freckles on his face seem to shine in the sunlight. They form the ever familiar star map that you'd follow time and time again, finding your way back to him. Because from the first time you looked at him, you knew: you'd follow this man across the galaxy and beyond.

— — —

A/N 2: if you understand the droid name reference you get a cookie 🍪

A/N 3: in the book Battle Scars there’s a part where BD tells Cal, and i quote, “Where you go, I go”, and when i tell you that i screamed omg (the first part of my “wherever you go, i go” fic was actually called ‘where’ but i changed it to ‘wherever’ when i added more chapters because to me it sounded better asdsdf) BD-1 and me sharing one brain cell obsessed with Cal fr😌

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane, @soka-writes-things, @padawancat97, @riddikulus-obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven, @alternatescififandomelover

#goose feathers #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi survivor x reader #star wars x reader

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sweet-s0rr0w · 14 days ago

Text

day 9 of @hprecfest - a WIP

Tales from the Special Branch, by @femmequixotic - E, 1.2 million words (yes, really), 2017

Summary: When Gawain Robards asks him to form Special Branch seven-four-alpha, Harry Potter knows they'll have to work outside the confines of the law--even though they are the law.

Excerpt:

The Centre's empty when he reaches it. Unsurprising, given the hour, but Draco's still relieved. He makes his way to the Auror showers, feeling less anxious than he has since yesterday. With a cheerful whistle on his lips, he pushes open the door to the locker room.

Potter's there.

Naked. Lying on a bench, legs on either side, his towel beneath him, eyes closed. His glasses are on top of a pile of folded clothes, his dark hair's still damp and curling from the shower. His cock is soft, curled between his spread thighs.

Draco draws up short, his hand still on the door, holding it open. Fuck, his mind says, and, judging from the shiver that goes through his body, it agrees, perhaps not in the same way.

Potter's eyes open at Draco's sharp breath; he turns his head. "Hi," he says, but he doesn't bother to cover himself.

"Sorry," Draco says with a stammer, and he turns to go. He can't do this. He won't. He needs to get out. Now.

"Wait."

Draco hesitates, then looks back at Potter. He's sitting up now, broad shoulders hunched just a bit, cock still on display between his thighs. His dark hair's falling across his forehead, into his eyes. "What?" Draco asks, doing his best to sound as imperious as he can. It's not enough; Potter's mouth twitches to one side.

"Just so you know, your stealth charm is shit," Potter says, and Draco stills, horror seeping through him. "I mean, relatively speaking. You were still better than most of the lads out there yesterday, but you can't really hold it entirely when you're…" Potter hesitates, then smiles, a bright flash of teeth. "Otherwise occupied."

I was so torn about having my excerpt be a sexy one, because it felt kind of reductive with a series that is 1.2 million words so far (longer than the actual HP series!) and full of incredible lore, worldbuilding and some of the best character exploration I've ever read. BUT, it's also femme, which means there are also countless delicious smoking hot sex scenes (hello, Midsummer's Eve al fresco sex scene that's lived in my head for five years), and the bottom line is that I want you all to read the fic, so. Basically, this series follows an Auror Special Branch, headed by Harry Potter, now senior in the force, and otherwise comprised of Draco, Pansy and Blaise. There are many side characters, including the delicious Jake Durant (a Legilimens from MACUSA, and Harry's long-distance boyfriend at the start of the second fic) who you'll end up shipping so hard with [redacted] that you're as excited for that as for the Drarry. The getting together is exquisite, with Harry's seniority at work and the need to keep it a secret adding extra tension and bite to the relationship. The first fic in the series is 15k, and works excellently as a one-shot, but hopefully will whet your appetite for more. The series is on hold at present, but don't let that put you off - stopping after the third fic works pretty well, imo, though femme's posted some hopeful recent updates, and actually I loved the fic so much that I just feel grateful to have been able to read what's already posted. HUGE rec. Anyone got a spare month coming up, this is totally what you should do with it :D

If you read it, and if especially you love it, please do let me know! And as always, please do take the time to leave the author a kudos/comment <3

day 1 - first fic you remember reading

day 2 - a fic rated G

day 3 - a fic not on ao3

day 4 - a comfort fic

day 5 - a romantic fic

day 6 - a fic for a ship you don’t normally read

day 7 - the best of your OTP

day 8 - a fic that was recced to you

#drarry #hprecfest2024 #day 9

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siilvan · 1 year ago

Text

proximate

characters: rodolfo “rudy” parra

summary: an undercover operation goes awry, leaving you and rudy in a tight spot – literally.

prompts: 3. "first one to make a noise loses" & 19. "the choice is yours"

genre: general, fluff, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: not proofread (i'll do it later </3), cursing, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, classic stuck-in-a-closet situation 😏, like two spanish words since i'm still a beginner lol

word count: 1.9k

note: RAHHHHHH RUDY MY LOVE‼️‼️🗣️ once again, shoutout to @glitterypirateduck for curating this event!!

also wrote most of this while fighting off sleep so if it's bad, i'm sorry, i have another rudy fic on my WIP list <3

things can't get much worse than this, right?

right?

"a simple mission," he said. "just a quick in-and-out." he said.

you swear, you're going to to kick alejandro with the heels that you're wearing if you come out of this alive.

as you go to round a corner, a few voices make you stop dead in your tracks and tuck yourself back against the wall. it's a small group, no more than four men, and you hold your breath as they stroll right past you without even sparing a glance in your direction.

if there's anything to be thankful for, it's the lack of discipline in the guards. they're all too worried about getting drunk at the party still raging elsewhere than catching the "agent" in attendance.

you let out a soft sigh as you watch them disappear down the corridor, until footsteps quickly approaching from behind make you jump and spin around, preparing to face the would-be attacker.

before you can even turn, though, a pair of gloved hands grab ahold of you, one coming up to cover your mouth as you let out a surprised yelp, and the other pressing you into the wall again. it's an instinct when you fight back, lifting your foot and stomping on theirs, praying that the heel of your shoe is enough to force them to loosen their grip and give you a chance to escape.

the grunt that leaves them – him, you realize – sounds all-too familiar. you hesitate, which gives the man enough time to yank his foot back and lean closer, mumbling something into your ear despite the pain lacing his every word.

"it's me—!" he says through a pained groan. the dots finally connect in your head and you crane your neck to look at him over your shoulder.

the man stares at you through a black balaclava, but his eyes are unmistakable. it's rudy.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, voice slightly muffled against his palm. rudy pulls his hand away and steps back, giving you space to face him properly. you mutter a quick apology upon seeing him stumble a bit, obviously sore from your attack, but he brushes it off with a casual wave of his hand.

"heard about the situation over comms, figured you could use some help." he shrugs as your gaze drops, dragging over the dark suit that sits snugly on his form. "we need to move quickly. the security's scattered right now, but it won't be long until they find the body." he adds, tapping your shoulder gently as he moves past you.

you follow close behind as he starts down the corridor that the group of guards came from earlier. "i'm assuming you mean the guy who's clothes you're wearing – did you not hide him well?"

rudy pauses at another intersection, holding a hand up to signal for you to stop behind him. "didn't have time to. i was more worried about you."

with the way he says the words so casually, you know that it's nothing more than work to him. helping a fellow soldier, assisting you in the field for the sake of the mission, doing his job as the second-in-command. still, you don't miss the way your heart skips a beat at the thought of rudy rushing to your aid for a different, more personal, reason.

after a mumbled "come on," he's continuing down the hallway with you right behind him, the distinct sounds of your heels clacking against the floor with each step and his leather oxfords echoing off the walls.

you nearly slam into his back when rudy suddenly stops in the middle of a hallway, opening your mouth to protest, until you hear aggravated grunts and conversation coming from further down the corridor. before you can react, though, rudy's grabbing your shoulder to guide you as he swings open a nearby door and hastily shoves you inside it.

he slips in with you and lets out a heavy breath as the door softly clicks shut behind him, leaving you in almost total darkness. you press your back to the wall and flinch when the handle of a broom brushes against your spine, making you shuffle forward a bit to get comfortable in the cramped space.

unfortunately, "comfortable" equals standing so close to rudy that you worry about him hearing the rapid beating of your nervous heart.

you're in a small room, some kind of broom closet, with one of your superiors confined and standing just inches away from you. the shadows obscuring your face end up being your saving grace— if he could see the way you're reacting to the close proximity, you'd probably die from sheer embarrassment.

"they were heading our way?" you manage to ask, whispering through the pitch blackness.

you can make out some movement in the shadows akin to a nod. "party guests aren't allowed in this area. it's safer to hide and let them pass by." rudy mutters in reply, shifting. his hand, covered by a dark leather glove, grazes your arm lightly, his touch leaving behind a faint heat that slowly spreads through the rest of your body.

he lifts his arm fully and finds something that you can barely make out: a string, hanging in the air between you two. rudy gives it a single tug and suddenly you're squinting, eyes adjusting to the dim, artificial light that fills the small space from the bulb at the center of the ceiling.

seeing him semi-clearly again is enough to make you stare, eyes greedily drinking up his disguise as he keeps his attention trained on the little bit of space at the bottom of the door. you manage to tear your gaze from him after admiring the way the balaclava clings to his focused expression, clearly outlining strong features that you know will make you melt all over again once the mask is removed.

fleeting shadows obscure the light coming in from the crack, signaling that the group from before is passing by. you remain quiet, practically holding your breath as you watch the last person's silhouette appear and disappear under the door, the group's conversation gradually fading as they continue down the hall without a single alarm raised.

rudy goes to open the door, hand firmly wrapping around the knob, but when he tries to twist it open, you're both a little shocked at it not budging. he twists it again, but to no avail.

"mierda," he whispers harshly, fidgeting with the doorknob. "it's stuck." he adds, shooting a glance in your direction.

you briefly meet his gaze and blink at him, swiftly understanding the implications.

you're alone, very lightly armed, and trapped in a stuffy closet with your second-in-command whilst surrounded by enemies. somehow, things did find a way to get worse.

the two of you fall into a tense silence as you take in the situation: rudy, testing the strength of the door once more, and you, carefully listening for anyone nearby with an ear pressed against the wall. catching a guard's attention isn't ideal, but two or three men shouldn't be too difficult to take out discreetly.

you don't hear anything for what feels like ages. no footsteps, no voices, not even a peep from your ally. with a frustrated huff, you pull back from the wall and settle for staring into the minimal space between you and rudy.

at some point, he pulls off the mask, allowing you to drag your gaze up to his uncovered face. you can see thoughts swimming behind his dark irises, plans being formed off the cuff, preparation for any and every possible outcome. if rudy's anything, it's meticulous and levelheaded, even in a bad situation. he's everything a leader should be, and you commend him for it.

the silence lingers heavy in the air, settling like an uncomfortable weight on your shoulders. you swallow down the lump in your throat awkwardly, wracking your brain for an excuse to break it.

"first one to make a noise loses," you mumble, sending him a cursory glance.

rudy chuckles softly, his shoulders drooping slightly. he meets your gaze and seems to relax, lips twitching into a small smile. "i think you lost when you said that."

you roll your eyes half-heartedly. "that doesn't count." you lean in, mirroring his smile. "you lost by responding, though."

he concedes, lifting his hands in a mock surrender. "you got me, i guess you're the winner." he says, before letting his hands fall to his sides once more.

you're left staring at each other again. the tension dissipates with those few words, however, and you let yourself bask in the warmth of his gaze. it isn't special, you know that rudy looks at all of his allies with the same warmth, but a part of you clings to the hope that his affection is reserved for you. it's silly – juvenile, even – to think of your teammate like this. what you have is just a schoolgirl crush, feelings that he'd never reciprocate—

"you look beautiful," he utters, nearly inaudible despite the lack of other sounds. "i, uh... wanted to tell you that before the mission."

did you hear that correctly?

you keen under his praise, muttering an equally soft "thank you" before mentally kicking yourself for the awkward response and opening your mouth to speak again. "you look handsome. maybe you should've been on this mission instead." you add with a laugh.

"you were handling yourself just fine." rudy says, eyes narrowing when you shake your head.

"there's a reason why you had to step in. besides—"

"—besides, why would i miss out on this view?" he asks. you stop short, jaw practically going slack. again, did you hear that correctly?

you blink at him, dumbfounded. "that's bold."

another mental kick makes you flinch at your own reply.

gloved hands wrap around your own, guiding your hands to sit between yours and rudy's bodies. he squeezes them gently, a comforting gesture that sends a shiver coursing down your spine.

"maybe this isn't the best place to say this," he starts, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "and, maybe that's exactly why i finally can say this, but... i've always thought that you're beautiful." he continues, voice dropping from a quiet timbre to a whisper.

"i want to be more than just teammates, if you'll have me." he quickly says, his grip tightening as his eyes search yours for an answer.

"rudy..." you trail off, before he speaks – again.

"the choice is yours. i'll respect your decision, no matter what it is."

if you didn't know better, you'd tell yourself that you're dreaming. it's not an ideal confession, not in the slightest, but there's something about it that's so very him. your chest tightens in the best way as you slide your hands from his, fingertips dancing up his arms until you cup his cheeks and bridge that final gap.

the kiss that follows is chaste and saccharine sweet. strong arms circle around your waist, drawing your body closer to his, grounding you in the moment as you threaten to slip away in the pure bliss of it.

after a few moments, you manage to pull back enough to give a verbal answer. "if we get out of here, then it's a date."

rudy chuckles, warm breath fanning against your lips. "keep your weekend open, cariño."

#fall4rudy #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #rudy x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #cod rudy #rodolfo parra #rodolfo rudy parra #sylph.writes

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