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sinsiriuslyemo · 5 months ago

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Chapter Fourteen: Amortentia

Sirius and Penny seemed to have fallen into a routine without even trying to, having breakfast together each morning before Penny would go to work and Sirius would busy himself in her study. It had only taken a couple of days after they had placed the order for the ingredients to arrive by owl, which had intrigued Penny immensely. She had asked so many more questions, some of which he’d had trouble coming up with an answer. If she were a witch, he would expect her to be an author or historian of some kind, writing the books that would be studied in wizarding schools all over the world. Then again, if she were a witch, she likely would have very little interest in a wizard like him. Apart from being an escaped felon, he had always been a bit of a prat despite the war having reigned them all in from their schoolboy days. While he gallivanted throughout Britain, picking fights with Death Eaters and all but asking for danger, she would be playing it smart, hiding in plain sight while noting all the major happenings for a future history book.

She might not even know his name. Or perhaps she would, but his reputation would no doubt precede him.

Waiting for the ashwinder egg to dissolve, Sirius peeled a rose stem and gently placed the shavings into his brew before he cut each of the petals into quarters and stirred anticlockwise. From the corner of his eye, Penny walked past him, glancing into the kitchen where he was working.

“I still can’t believe owls know exactly where to go even without an address,” she said, going to the coffee table to set down her thick binder. He recognized it as the one that held her dissertation. “How do you guys even train them to do that?”

He smiled to himself; her curiosity was intoxicating, a bit like James’ was back when they were students. It made Sirius want to indulge her every whim just to watch her inquisitiveness take hold of her.

“There are trainers who do it for a living. They normally keep an owlery where they raise and train Owlets until they’re grown enough to either be sold to a wizard or sent to an owl post,” Sirius replied.

“And all they need is a name?”

“That’s right.”

She hummed thoughtfully, slowly taking a few steps toward him. “Do you really think a love potion is gonna work?”

“Trust me,” Sirius replied, adding the rose petals one quarter at a time until the brew was a pale magenta.

If his calculations were correct, he should be able to infuse the solution he was currently brewing into a hefty piece of chocolate that would lure Wormtail out of the castle, and to the Shrieking Shack. But he needed to get the brew perfect before he added the scents from Peter’s amortentia.

“Besides, this isn’t quite a love potion per se. It has most of the same ingredients, but once I add fresh mint, watermelon and bathe it in the summer sun, it should act more as an attraction potion,” he said.

“What’s the difference?”

Tilting his head thoughtfully, Sirius answered, “Well, for one, it should only work on Peter instead of the first person to stumble upon it. And two, it won’t make him fall in love, just draw him out to where I want him.”

“Well, that’s good,” she replied. “Especially considering that you’ll be at a school.”

“Mhm,” Sirius hummed, the majority of his attention was on crushing Moonstone into a fine dust.

“Wow,” Penny whispered as she stepped closer to him. “That’s so beautiful. What is that?”

“Moonstone,” he answered. “Some people call it the wishing stone.”

“Wishing stone?”

“It has conjuration properties.”

A smile formed on her lips. “Can you really wish on it?”

Snorting softly to himself, he shook his head and measured just enough Moonstone to activate the potion he was brewing. Carefully, he opened the pot he was using in place of a cauldron and dropped the shimmering powder into the pot. As the misty, lavender smoke began to rise from the boiling brew, Penny leaned forward to have a look at what was in the pot. Had he anticipated that she would do so, he would have warned her to be careful of inhaling the smoke. While she wouldn’t be completely under the influence of the potion just from a whiff, she would undoubtedly be pulled under the seduction of its scent, and likely cause her inhibitions to be lowered, at least for a few moments.

Her eyes drifted shut in a slow blink and she stumbled back as he quickly clapped the lid back onto the pot.

“Oh wow,” she exhaled.

“Yeah, sorry, I should’ve warned you, it —”

His words died when he turned toward her only to find that she’d all but closed the space between them in a single step. Her hands slid over his chest as she looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes at half mast. Sirius froze in place, his breathing deep and slow as his hands subconsciously went to her waist. The smell of maplewood and peaches overwhelmed him, pulling him under a different sort of spell and making something primal stir in the pit of his stomach. A rush of air left his parted lips as her nose grazed against his, her face tilting up to inch her lips closer.

With every ounce of strength he could gather inside him, he gently pushed her away, one hand coming to cup her face.

“Penny,” he mumbled, his forehead leaning against hers. Fighting the urge to taste her lips, Sirius swallowed thickly, his heart pounding in his ears so loud that he swore she could hear it as well.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, somewhat breathlessly.

“That’s alright.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” she repeated, a bit louder as one hand came up to cover her face. She took a step back from him, her other hand coming up to join the first, leaving two icy spots on his chest that shocked him enough to pull him out of her spell.

“It’s alright, it was just the potion,” he reasoned, though whether he was reassuring her or himself, he couldn’t say. “You must’ve inhaled some of the smoke. It should fade after a moment.”

“That’s… really strong,” she said as her hands lowered, fingers lingering against her lips. “How are you going to keep other people from inhaling it and wanting to make out with you.”

Sirius bobbed one shoulder as the corner of his lips curled up, his hands gently pulling away from her. “I still haven’t added the scents that will draw him out and, then I’ll need to add a bit of him into it.”

“How are you gonna do that?”

“I don’t know yet,” he answered. “Haven’t exactly thought that far.” Sighing heavily, he began to brainstorm out loud. “He’ll likely be staying in the dorms with his wizard, so I’ll have to sneak into the castle.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? Like, oh! Could I pretend to be, like, an inspector? Or maybe a new teacher, looking for a job? Oh! Or, or, I could say I’m looking for an intern for an expedition!”

Sirius couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his lips. “As much as I could use your help, it’s far too risky, even for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that although I am more than willing to take some risks… I could never forgive myself if anything ever happened to you, including having your memory altered,” he answered.

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” she replied. “I mean, I was able to go into that owl place —”

“That was different,” Sirius replied.

“How?”

“Albus Dumbledore wasn’t at the owlery,” he said.

“What?”

Sirius snorted softly. “He’s the most powerful wizard alive, and all he would need is to have one look at you to know you aren’t a witch.”

“What, is he half goblin or something?”

Sirius could ‘t help the barking laughter that burst out of him. “No, but he’s incredibly powerful, and I suspect rather skilled at Legilimency.”

“What’s that?”

“He can read your mind,” he replied.

“Whoa, really?” she asked, the twinkle of fascination coming back to her eyes. “Can you do that?”

“Not exactly, but… in a way,” Sirius answered, lowering the temperature to a simmer. “I have a dog’s nose. Though in my case, I can’t so much smell thoughts as I can feelings. Intentions, things like that. It’s how I knew you meant me no harm when I first woke up here. That, and I can smell magic.”

“You can smell magic?”

“Mhm.”

“What does it smell like?” she asked.

He thought about his answer for a moment, absently licking his lips. “Sweet mostly, but also a bit salty… like an ocean breeze at sunset. And a hint of spice that hits you like crackles of lightning.”

“What do I smell like?” she asked with a smile.

A burst of goosebumps appeared on his arms as he looked back at her. “Fresh cut timber. Light rain, with a sweet undertone.”

Her smile widened, clearly satisfied with his answer. “Good to know I smell awesome.”

“Oh, you smell…” Delicious. Divine. Intoxicating. He could say none of those words. There was a pull in his hips as he allowed himself to get lost in the thought of her scent, his eyelids falling slightly as a shiver ran over his arms. Clearing his throat, he pushed the thoughts away and forced a smile at her. “Awesome, yes.”

Blinking at him, she bit her bottom lip. “I should start getting ready for my shift tonight.”

Sirius frowned, turning his attention back to cleaning up what was on the counter as she walked down the hallway and into her bedroom. Her working the night shift meant that he was on his own for supper. She had only worked one other night shift since he had been staying with her, but still, he preferred when she worked during the day. At least then, they could eat together and watch another film.

His tongue came out to lick over his bottom lip, eyes closing as he remembered how close they’d just been to kissing. His skin erupted in goosebumps as a hum buzzed in his throat and a tug in his belly brought a shiver down his spine. He had to reign himself in, especially since he would be leaving in just over a week’s time.

When she came back into the sitting room, she was wearing a long, flowy pale blue dress that hung down to her mid calves. Her hair was swept back into a ponytail and there was a soft red hue on her lips. Subconsciously, his tongue came out again, this time to glide over his top lip as a curiosity of what she would taste like gnawed at the back of his mind.

“There’s some ham and cheese in the fridge, and I think a couple cans of tuna in the pantry for when you get hungry.”

“I miss you when you work nights.” He tried to make it sound as casual as he possibly could, looking away from her.

Still, he could hear the smile in her voice when she answered, “I miss you too. I really like watching movies with you.”

“So do I,” he said, a smile coming to his own face as he placed a hand on the lid before looking back at her. “I have to put this into a flask.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He arched a brow when she didn’t move an inch. “That means I’m going to open it again.”

“Oh, right,” Penny replied, taking another step back from him and the pot. “Sorry.”

“Quite alright,” he said, pulling open the lid and ignoring the urges stirring inside him when the smoke wafted beneath his nose.

“You know, you should think about testing it before trying to use it on Peter,” she said as he transfigured the burlap that the ingredients had been delivered in into a glass vial with a stopper.

Sirius arched a brow, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder, unable to suppress a smirk.

“I’m just saying, it’s not a bad idea to be absolutely certain it works,” she said with a bob of her shoulders, apparently trying to seem indifferent.

He carefully poured the solution into the vial, putting the stopper on and setting it to the side. He waved his wand over the pot, cleaning it in an instant before he looked back at her. “Perhaps. Suppose I could use the opportunity to workshop how I’ll be able to actually use it and not be caught.”

Penny smiled in what seemed to be self-satisfaction. “Exactly.”

“But offering yourself up as a test subject isn’t the wisest either. You were affected just from the smell —”

“You won’t take advantage of that,” she replied softly, shaking her head. “I trust you.”

Sirius nodded as though to agree, even when he knew how difficult it would be to not give in to her advances. It was a miracle he was able to resist her the first time.

“I gotta go,” she said regretfully, picking up her keys and handbag. “I’ll be home in a few hours.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he answered before he could think better of it.

He relished in the pink hue that colored her cheeks as she walked to the door, giving him a little wave as she stepped through it.

Letting out a breath, Sirius turned back to the vial. He would need to keep it in a cool, dark, dry place overnight before he could infuse it into chocolate, and began to scan his eyes around the kitchen, searching for such a spot. If he decided to test it, he would need an extra day to be sure he could have another batch ready for Wormtail. And it wouldn’t hurt, either, to have a plan for where he would sleep. It seemed almost certain that Dementors would be roaming around Hogsmeade, so that was out. Staying near the castle seemed just as foolish. That left the Shrieking Shack or the Forbidden Forest, the former of which would no doubt be more comfortable for him, assuming there was still a bed in it.

Unless there had been another werewolf pup admitted into Hogwarts, it was unlikely to be in use. He would be safe there, and close to Harry. Or close enough at any rate.

Waiting for Penny to come home was torture if he didn’t occupy himself with some sort of task, but with little left to do with respect to his plan to draw Wormtail out, Sirius decided to make dinner for both of them. She would no doubt be expecting him to fix himself something to eat around the usual time they would have their supper. But he wanted to do something for her, anything to repay her kindness. And so, Sirius found himself looking through her fridge and pantry for something to make.

He’d never been one for cooking — of the four of them, Remus had been the only one who seemed to enjoy it — but he did know one recipe by heart; Shepherd's Pie. He’d learned it thanks to a bet he’d made with James in their seventh year. Luckily he hadn’t forgotten it over the years, though he found himself having to improvise a bit when he realized that Penny didn’t have all the necessary ingredients. In the end, he made it work, and had it in the oven by the time Penny came through the door.

“Hello,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder as he used the wand to wash the used dishes and wipe down the counters.

“What are you doing?” she asked, setting her bag and keys down. “Not another brew? What happened to the first one?”

“Oh no, I found a perfect place for that first batch I brewed. It needs to sit overnight,” he replied. “I’m just cleaning up. I’ve made supper.”

Penny was silent for a moment before she said, “Oh!” He finished cleaning up his work area and turned to face her as she came to stand in the doorframe of her kitchen, glancing around before she asked, “What’d you make?”

“Shepherd's Pie, although you didn’t have lamb or peas so I instead used ground beef and green beans,” he answered, his brows furrowing as he cast his eyes to one side. “Which I suppose would technically make it a Cottage Pie.”

She beamed. “You cooked for me?”

Blinking as he shifted his eyes back to her, he nodded once. “I did. Let’s just hope I remembered the bake time correctly.”

She chuckled. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, I wanted to,” he answered.

Penny’s smile widened as she gently swallowed. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“Of course,” Sirius answered, gesturing to the oven with his head. “That won’t be ready for at least another few minutes.”

“Perfect,” she replied, looking at him a moment longer before she made her way down the hall.

He couldn’t help but note how domestic it all felt — cooking supper for the two of them so that it would be ready when she got home from working at the library. He never imagined himself settling down with anyone at all, nor did he ever imagine that he would want to. And for a brief moment he allowed himself to imagine a scenario where after the war, he would be proven innocent and set free, and he could spend the rest of his life hoping she would break her no dating rule for him. But it was only a fantasy, and rightly lasted all of a few seconds before reality came crashing down. Even if they won the war, it was much more likely that he would be returned to Azkaban. The Minister would likely take pity only in sparing him from the Kiss. But his pride would never allow for Sirius to go free.

Shaking the thought from his mind, he went about getting some bowls and forks out and bringing them to the coffee table. He got a trivet and placed that on the coffee table as well, beside her binder. He didn’t dare look up when the bathroom door opened, allowing her fresh, sweet scent to drift out. By the time she closed the door to her bedroom, his heart was pounding in his chest as he thought about her wrapped in a towel, water dripping from her still damp hair.

A loud, steady beep sounded from the oven, and Sirius blinked several times before he went to fetch the finished pie. Grinning to himself as he pulled it out, he silently wished Remus were there to tell him how lovely it looked. Then another thought came to him; with the full moon approaching the following week, where was his friend going to be staying? Sirius doubted very much that Dumbledore still allowed him the use of the Shrieking Shack, and considering the general population's stance on werewolves, he thought it equally unlikely that Remus had a home of his own that he could lock himself inside.

Still, knowing his friend, Remus would no doubt have a plan for where to stash himself for the full, and that somehow made Sirius feel worse. In their sixth year, they had formed a pact to never let Remus suffer another full moon alone again. Of course, the war had seen fit to make sure they wouldn’t be able to keep that vow, starting with Remus being sent off on secret missions, always curiously close to when the full moon was approaching.

“That smells great!” Penny’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and Sirius smiled at her, picking up the pan.

“Help yourself,” he said, bringing the pan to the coffee table and setting it on the trivet he had set there. “Be careful, I just took it out. It’s hot.”

“Thanks,” she said, pulling out a spatula from the drawer beside the oven and going to join him at the coffee table. She picked up her binder and moved it over to the end table, in front of the telephone.

“Do you have more to do with that?” he asked, gesturing to the binder.

“Oh, I’m defending my dissertation tomorrow,” she answered.

He smiled thankfully when she served him first instead of herself. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” she answered unassuredly, serving herself some of the cottage pie before she went back into the kitchen to grab two glasses of lemonade.

Sirius waited until she came back into the sitting room. “Maybe a little?”

Bobbing her shoulders, Penny sat down beside him. “A little.”

He waited a bit longer, not moving to begin eating just yet.

“Okay, I’m freaking out,” she replied with a sigh as she turned toward him slightly. “I know I shouldn’t be, I mean I know this dissertation forwards and backwards. But what if I mess up? I mean what if they ask me something that I don’t have an answer for?”

“I think you’ll do wonderfully. It’s like you said, you know your own work, forward and backwards —”

“Yeah, but you saw me when I was under pressure, I ramble, I’m insecure, I’m —”

“Brilliant, Penny,” he said. “You’re brilliant. You picked up a big strange dog, by yourself, and brought him home to nurse him back to health. You were the one who gave me the idea to use chocolate to lure Peter out.”

“We still don’t know if it’s gonna work,” she mumbled.

“It will,” he replied. “You thought you wouldn’t be able to go into the owl post and send for that list of ingredients, but you did. You’re going to be great. Don’t overthink it.”

The corner of her lips curled up slightly, but she still looked a bit unsure.

“Would it help if Padfoot went with you?” he asked. “Just for a bit of moral support?”

She smiled at him in earnest then. “You would really come?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, that would be great, actually,” she answered. “Oh!” Her smile suddenly fell away, her eyes widening. “I almost forgot,” she said, turning to rummage in her handbag still on the corner of the sofa. “I stopped by Blockbuster on my way home…” She turned back to him, holding up a tape in a blue and white case. “Return of the Jedi.”

A slow smirk formed on his parted lips. “Oh yes.”

She chuckled and stood, going over to the VCR to put in the tape and turn on the TV.

“I was thinking…”

“Yes?” he asked as she plopped down next to him and started to look for the remote.

“Well, you said you could use some help when you go to…” She paused, her eyes moving up to the ceiling as though trying to find a specific word. “Hogwarts?”

“Yes, Hogwarts,” he answered.

“Okay, so… I know you said it wouldn’t be a good idea to ask your friend, Remus for help —”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Sirius answered with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, but you forgot one thing,” she said as she paused her search for the remote again to look at him. “You have someone to vouch for you now.”

“Who?”

Her smile vanished from her lips. “Me. I can vouch for you. I can tell him that you’re innocent and that your friend, Peter, is a rat.”

He smiled softly at her. “That’s a sweet gesture, but I don’t think it will work.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, Remus doesn’t know who you are. Secondly, he’s more likely to believe that I used the Imperius curse or otherwise forced you through magic to contact him on my behalf,” he said.

“It’s worth a try, Sirius. You can’t do this alone,” she replied softly.

“I can’t risk him warning Dumbledore or worse, the Ministry.”

Penny frowned. “He was your friend. You don’t think he would at least give you a chance to explain if you asked?”

Sirius moved some food around in his bowl, inhaling deeply. “I doubt that very much.”

His instinct told him that Remus would show far more consideration than that for a man who was, in fact, once one of his best friends, but Harry’s life depended on Sirius’ success. It was simply far too great a risk to take when Harry was in danger.

“I think you’re wrong,” Penny said, resuming her search for the remote.

He said nothing as her hand began to wedge between the cushions, including the one he was sitting on. Her body heat hovered over his shoulder, and he swallowed thickly, trying to ignore it. Finally, she found the remote on the other side of him, and reached for it, pressing herself against his shoulder. He turned his head toward her, his eyes subconsciously falling on her lips again.

Perhaps just one kiss would be alright. It wasn’t as though she didn’t already know he would be leaving soon. And her lips just looked so bloody inviting. Slowly closing his eyes, he inched his way closer, his nose grazing hers just before cool air hit his face.

“You should think about it,” she said, quickly sitting straight up again and turning on the movie, their moment over. She began to gather some of the cottage pie on her fork. “It wouldn’t hurt to have someone else on your side who might be able to help.”

Letting out a breath, Sirius turned his eyes to his bowl, taking a deep, silent breath. He couldn’t help but hope that she was right, but he still wasn’t willing to risk it. At least not yet. Maybe after he exposed Peter as still being alive, Remus would be more willing to listen, but not before. Apart from the uncertainty that Moony would even listen to what he had to say, it would just be too much to ask of him.

#gary oldman #sirius black #fanfic #sirius black x ofc #harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #if only she knew

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ratsoh-writes · 1 year ago

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there aren’t really M&M’s in Canada. But they do have Smarties. And they are… dare I say better than the M’s.. much less dye, it’s pretty transparent. And they’re overall much more enjoyable. Do you think these would count as something you couldn’t bring into ebott. ALSO- if there’s a post about the requirements on why so many foods aren’t allowed I wanna know! I’m so confused why foods are banned but open to hear your idea about them. Anyway, glad to se your back all and powerful writer!

Lol I always get confused when people outside the US mention smarties. We have a candy called that, but it’s not chocolate. It’s like these little fruit flavored chalky disks instead.

My friends and I used to crush them and snort a line of the dust at school for jokes. I got detention for that once

———————

The chocolate smarties sound fine I think. A big reason a lot of foods are banned in ebott is cause of the dyes and chemicals they use when making them. Monsters can’t process junk as easily as humans. Like a human eating lucky charms might experience health problems over time but be otherwise fine as long as they eat other things. A monster eating the same gets all kinds of problems much quicker. It’s too noticeable for food companies to get away with without a lawsuit.

#worldbuilding

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christinesficrecs · 4 years ago

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Fic recs for this post, because how could I not!?!! Kudos to everyone that jumped in the comments and left links. 💜

erroneous manoeuvres by slippingfromreality | 5.3K

“Hey, Stilinski!”

Stiles clenches his teeth. “What do you want, Hale?” he shouts back, not bothering to turn around. The smug smirk that’s most likely waiting for him is already seared into his mind from overexposure.

“A date!” the answer comes, still as loud, and most of the bystanders giggle or snort in Stiles’ direction.

Stiles rolls his eyes. This is the third time this week. He’d complain that Hale’s jokes are getting pretty stale, but he’d probably be milking this situation for all that it’s worth, too, if their roles were reversed. “Wrong aisle,” he grouses back, “try the bakery section. I hear they have fresh tarts.”

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“Alright, cool, we should go,” Stiles says breezily, dusting off his hands as he stands.

“We should?”

“Yeah!”

“But… Do you even care about photography?”

“Not as much as I should,” Stiles plants both his hands on the table, bracketing Derek in, “You’ll have to correct my miscreant ways.”

Of Glasses And Lacrosse Sticks by charlesdk | 6.8K

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Derek hesitated for another moment, before he sighed and said, “Fine. One date.”

Between the Drinks and Subtle Things by yodasyoyo | 4.4K

He holds up his free hand, eyes still closed. “One second,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m just taking a moment to mourn the fact that we could have been fucking since–” He cracks open an eye and glares at Derek.

“Freshman year,” Derek supplies. “I’ve pretty much had the biggest crush on you since our freshman year.”

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He hadn't factored Stiles Stilinski - lacrosse player, class clown, part of the popular crowd, currently spending his entire day staring at Derek and smiling - into his plans.

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#sterek #sterek fics #ficrecs #jock!derek #nerdy derek hale #jock!stiles #nerd!stiles #high school fics

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interrogatethecat · 3 years ago

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am I gay?

word count: 1.5k

insp comes from this post that showed up on my dash today. these two are idiots and I love them. the rest is under the cut or on ao3!

Dean is fairly certain that he’s too old for this.

This is the kind of thing that twelve year olds send their friends to make fun of them. That teenagers make sure is wiped from their browser history (Dean is so doing that after he’s done). It is not what a forty year old man does while sitting in his kitchen. Yet here he is, in his forties, pulling up one of those stupid am I gay? quizzes while he sits, back against the wall, in the bunker’s kitchen.

Everyone, even Dean, knows that these things don’t work. They’re all stupid questions about star signs and complex coffee drinks and what do you think about Lady Gaga? They’re just a bunch of bs, supposed to be a joke. Dean so fucking desperate, though, that he can’t really bring himself to care how ridiculous it is that he’s trusting Buzzfeed to explain his ever precarious heterosexuality.

At least this quiz seems at least somewhat legit.

For those unsure of their sexual orientation, the header reads.

There’s half a second where Dean thinks again about how stupid this is and how he should really be in his room— what if Sam or, god forbid Cas walks in— and then he clicks start quiz.

What do you consider yourself? is the first question. Straight, gay, bisexual, asexual, or not sure?

Dean nearly rolls his eyes. Why would he be taking an am I gay quiz if he was sure? He clicks on the last option.

Have you ever had feelings for a member of the same sex?

He can’t help his snort. There’s the crux of the problem. The goddamn tingling in his stomach he gets when he’s around Cas that’s a little too similar to butterflies.

Who’s he kidding? They’re totally butterflies. His stomach erupts into full-fledged butterflies whenever Cas smiles at him or texts him with emoticons or starts the coffee pot before Dean gets up. Whenever— well, whenever Cas is being Cas. Dean can’t really blame himself for getting a crush on Cas because Cas is awesome. The fact of the matter is, though, that Cas is a man, or at least, man-shaped, and Dean is pretty sure he isn’t gay. Or, he thought he wasn’t.

But what does Dean know? He’s clicking on yes, I was in love with someone of the same sex on some online quiz while having a sexuality crisis.

He barely has time to begin reading the next question before he hears footsteps in the kitchen doorway. His head snaps up.

“Um,” Cas says, “Hello, Dean. Do you mind if I sit down?”

Now, Dean Winchester is a man. A very manly man. Possibly a Less Than Heterosexual Man, but still a very manly man.

He blushes. Hard.

“Uh,” he says eloquently. “Hi. Cas. Uh, sure. Knock yourself out, there are plenty of chairs.”

Cas offers him a small quirk of his lips. “Thank you,” he says, still sounding a little wooden and awkward. The butterflies in Dean’s stomach start acting up again.

And that is exactly how Dean finds himself taking a sexuality quiz across the table from his best friend who’s the reason he feels like some questioning teenager in the first place.

Fuck. His. Life.

Cas, thankfully, doesn’t ask what Dean is doing on his laptop. He pulls out a laptop of his own from under his arm and opens it.

Dean stares. Which is fine, because Cas’ gaze is fixed on his screen. He isn’t going to notice the attention Dean pays to his features, the curve of his mouth and line of his jaw. He won’t see the way Dean’s face softens when Cas squints at the computer and scrunches up his face. He’s not going to notice the way Dean’s eyes trace his face. Or get stuck on his lips.

They’d be nice lips to kiss.

God, why is he even taking this stupid quiz? There’s his answer right there.

A foot nudges Dean’s under the table and he hurriedly looks back at his screen. Back at his stupid quiz.

“You’re staring,” Cas says.

Dean glances back up at him. Cas is even more beautiful when he’s got blush dusting his cheeks. He isn’t looking at Dean.

Dean yanks his eyes back down and knocks his foot back against Cas’.

“Not like you can talk,” he quips. “Do you even know how to blink?”

“Of course,” Cas says, straight-faced, “It’s a natural bodily function.” It’s not long before his eyes crinkle and give him away.

“Coulda fooled me,” Dean says. He smiles back, too. Takes in Cas’ crow’s eyes. They’re a recent development and they suit him. It’s been a long time since Dean has really thought of Cas’ body as a vessel, but as it— he— ages, it’s hard to believe that this body ever belonged to someone else. Cas is at home in it, and the soft lines around his eyes only make it clearer.

The moment stretches.

Only after Dean realizes how long he and Cas have just been staring at each other does he duck his head and go back to the computer. He’d better not be blushing again.

Have you ever had feelings for someone of the opposite sex? the next question prompts.

Yeah, definitely. Robin. Cassie. He had loved both of them, and had at least cared for Lisa. Click. Next question.

“Dean,” Cas says suddenly, “how would you respond if someone thought we were together?”

Dean freezes mid-sentence, then forces himself to relax. He must have heard that wrong. “Huh?”

“How would you respond if someone thought we were romantically or sexually involved with each other?” Cas asks.

“Uh.” If Dean wasn’t blushing before, he certainly is now. “Like. A couple?”

Cas surveys him before shortly nodding. “Yes. Like a couple.”

“I dunno, man,” Dean says. He can’t look at his computer right now (the question how would you feel about touching the genitals of another person of the same sex is not helping the situation) so he looks at Cas. Then past him at the knife block, because looking at Cas isn’t helping the situation either. “Who, uh. Who’d think we were a couple?”

“Sam often talks about how ‘buddy-buddy’ we are,” Cas says, air quotes and all. “I would be unsurprised if that would be a conclusion he came to.”

Dean chokes on air. This truly is a circle of Hell Dante never imagined.

“Well, I mean,” he struggles to force out an answer, “it’s Sam. He’s— Sam. He’s probably just been eating too much salad.”

Cas hums, clicks something on his laptop, and nods.

“Thank you,” he says, as though Dean isn’t about to die on the spot.

Dean takes a subtle breath. This is fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine. He’s just going to finish this stupid quiz, find out if some dude who lives in his parents’ basement thinks he’s gay or not, and get the hell outta dodge before Cas gives him an aneurysm.

He speeds through the questions without any interruptions. Clicks submit answers. The browser loads, and—

“Dean,” Cas says, just as Dean reads, Congrats! You may be bisexual! “I have a question.”

Dean just wants one minute to process. One minute to read the little informative blurb on the page and see how he feels about it. He doesn’t get that minute; he pretends he’s not having a revelation and answers, “Yeah?”

“Are you romantically interested in me?”

Dean wants to pass away on the spot.

“What? Why would you think that?” he asks, voice a little higher than usual.

“According to thequiz.com, you are ‘so into’ me,” Cas says, turning his laptop to face Dean.

Is your BFF secretly into you? Take the quiz! the header reads, then below it, Your BFF is so into you.

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times before choking out a weak “oh.”

Cas is still watching him carefully, searching for something in his expression. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it. He shuts down, turning the computer back towards himself.

“My apologies,” he says, eyes downcast. He closes the laptop and moves to stand.

Dean practically throws his laptop at him. “I might be bisexual,” he blurts. “And maybe, uh. Definitely into you. Don’t need a quiz to tell me that. So.”

Cas looks at Dean and then the screen. Then Dean again.

Dean forgets to breathe.

Cas breaks out in a gummy smile. Somehow, that takes Dean’s breath away, too.

“We could go on a date,” he says, “if you want.”

“Okay,” Cas agrees.

“Okay,” Dean says. “Awesome.”

They stand there, grinning at each other like the idiots they are (did they seriously just get together because of some stupid online quizzes? Dean thinks so) until Dean starts, “So do I need to take a quiz to figure out if I can kiss you, or—?”

He doesn’t. Cas just leans across the table, and it’s really fucking amazing.

He totally forgets to clear his search history. Oops. Not like he cares, though, when a few days later he and Cas are holding hands and playing footsie under the table in some dime a dozen diner on a date.

tag list: @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @glowstickcas @starrynightdeancas @floral-cas @castielsbeeslippers @dune-echo @gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat @fellshish @bestiarum @top13zepptraxx @linaraiscorner @theedorksinlove @destiel-is-canon-i-guess @justcastiel

let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

#these dorks i love em #the real question is who introduced cas to online quizzes #there are many right answers. go!#spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #my fic #my writing

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insomniac-dot-ink · 4 years ago

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Hey! A new wlw short story is up on my Patreon. Check it out! And please consider becoming a Patron for more wlw writing and more. As a struggling artist anything helps.

Here’s a free preview:

Headlights Girl

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the land, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they shrank away from my gaze deep into their cages into the nooks and crannies. Most things do.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness and sleep. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There have been stranger kids born in the age of spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for small articles and mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy with fire on his breath. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father calls it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He doesn’t look at me much. And I know what he means. I know what he means when he calls it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. They could barely afford to send me to That School. I didn’t want to be there either.

We weren’t the same, not really. None of us are the same age and most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons under flat mattresses. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or have a pig-nose or blackhole for a nose. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he runs away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I’m 16 when I heel-toe my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with a collection of loose clothes, change, a bath towel, sewing kit, a bible written in a language I don’t speak, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he’s at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at Target and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There’s a beer in front of his idle hands and he glances at the bag on my shoulder.

He sighs like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafs through a wad of cash he kept in a safe in the garage. He hands me almost three hundred bucks and we nod at each other. I’m out the door before the midnight bus arrives.

I watch the headlights of the bus approach through dense summer night and think it must be like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I get on the bus and kick my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, I cross my arms over my chest, and watch the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet move like tides. They toss me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I taste the painted deserts toward the west. I dip my toes into the largest cities with lights brighter than my own. I graze my palms on neon signs and hunch my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touches me. They don’t come close enough when I open my eyes and they see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that will smite them.

I find my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gather. I don’t talk much, I don’t like to, and people stare at me whether I’m speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it aches. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’ve never seen a movie in any theatres, but I can imagine what it’s like.

I like the ocean cities best with their pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding white paths, and crushed seashell parking lots. I like the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkles from the ocean water as it sun-dries. I camp out on beaches and bum cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I’m good at taking care of myself once I get in a rhythm.

Sometimes, or often, I dream of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dream of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I am weighted down through the cold to where no human has ever been before. I open my eyes there, I open them all the way, lightning-bright, and in my dreams, the salt doesn’t sting. It doesn’t hurt, instead, I light up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I do something good then. Maybe I do something good and bring the sun to places that have forgotten it.

I meet Mags on the beach. She’s got one eye and five teeth and carries around string and scissors everywhere. She smells like seawater and roasting kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes are neat despite her leather-cracked skin and her arms and neck are covered with tattoos of shipwrecks. She cackles and pulls me aside the first night we meet.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is old creaking wood. I am quiet. “I could give you one.” She offers with a grin that is more empty space than anything.

I shake my head. “Nana.”

“What do you like, kid?”

I shake my head again.

Mags likes me more than I deserve. I pocket her last pair of socks when she’s not looking. She never mentions it and drags me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She takes me to the soup restaurant for something that isn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackles, she spits when she talks, people glare at her as well.

I think she’s normal, not touched by the spirits, but she likes me more than most people and I don’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snort. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snap.

“Lippy-wild thing. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heats the needle before she uses it, red hot and untouchable. She dips it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she calls them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin with color and movement. She shows me on her right foot first, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It takes her six hours to make a little shipwreck right above her big toe. It’s a schooner going under and I’m the only witness to the way she makes the waves come to life and crash against its sides. I can’t look away and I forget to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washes another needle. She heats it red-hot. She dips it in ink and hands it to me.

I practice all over my thighs first, there’s enough meat there and it’s easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looks like nothing but squiggles, a wobbly stick figure on a skateboard, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practice designs in the sand. Mags takes me to the museum on Sundays. They’re free on Sundays.

Something stirs in my chest, even as the guards yell at me about how flash photography isn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I’m shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rots roars to life in my chest.

I stab in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake next, and then finally, something good, something that gives people a reason to stare. I make it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than the others.

I don’t want to leave the ocean city. Mags says she has to keep moving though. She gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackles. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winks as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I want to make her pinky-promise like I’m a kid again and begging one of the other kids to tell me if I’m actually beautiful when I close my eyes. I can’t do that; I wave as she totters up the steps of the bus and is taken away with the tides of her own feet. ------------ I get an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked to them first and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but coach surfing and camping out on beaches is a tiring pastime. Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie run a tattoo shop together. Davies walks like he’s never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie has a throw-pillow that says “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies is nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie has topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’s been asked to leave a number of stores before the children start staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me, it’s not that type of town. I rankle at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. I brush off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie calls me “Shadow” and I think it’s a joke. Davies says I must be possessed by the ghost of a dead star and now I’m nothing but a blackhole: take everything in and let nothing out.

Neither of them lets me touch a needle in those first six months. They have me practice on pig skin and stand by their shoulder as they work. I feel like a dental assistant except I’m the hanging light above shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stand at their shoulder as they draw thick lines and thin dots and make hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They ask me to stop blinking and stand still. I almost walk out and find a new cliff to crash against, almost. No one had ever expected me to show up to something before. No one cared if I went to school or when I got home. And no one kept any tabs on me after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, it didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow.” She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I am eloquent in the morning.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want the desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

I grumble. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before. I tell myself I’ll just try it out, no harm in having a bit of a savings anyway. No harm in seeing what the fuss was about.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with my eyes. I don’t let up though. I put on pants for this, after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder now.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, he had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me now as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “The line’s barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” He chuckled darkly. His grin is crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.

“Look at you go. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun before the new year. I tell myself I’ll only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I don’t have to actually stay. I’ll just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chases after girls with eyes that glow.

I don’t break my lease. I draw cartoon heroes in speedos on tipsy college girls who swear they’re sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I have to give two refunds for a duck that turns out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with nothing but doors ahead of her. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I’m best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It’s dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hide my smile when she goes to my bosses and points at it while jumping up and down. The best thing she’s ever seen. She should pay us double. Where did you get this girl? I try not to blink so they can’t see the wetness under my eyes.

Sometimes I still stand by the bus stop to check who’s coming off. I don’t expect to see Mags again so soon, but sometimes I want to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

🌸Check out my Patreon for the full story! 🌸

#wlw #urban fantasy #writing #found family #sapphic #short story #femslash #writers on tumblr #writeblr #magical realism #patreon #my work #long post #long post cw

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captainimprobable · 3 years ago

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Here’s a very messy first draft of a fic I’m working on! There will be five parts, which I’ll post together on Ao3 once theyre all done. This is the first part!

I’ll edit this for ao3 but I was too excited about it and wanted to post it here first before I did RIP

There are many things Luz admits she doesn’t understand. She can’t figure out how cars work, and she’s not so sure about long division. But, she thinks, as she watches her girlfriend chop up vegetables in the fading light of the setting sun, some things she does understand.

��How did you get so good at this?” Luz asks, stepping closer to peer over Amity’s shoulder. Every cut is perfect, each individual piece almost exactly like the one before. It makes sense. It is so Amity.

“Don’t get excited,” Amity warns, tipping the vegetables into a pot of boiling water. “This is all I know how to cook. I had a chef growing up.” She blushes brightly, and Luz grins. Amity blushing has become one of her Top Five Favorite Things, right under Azura and above Hexside.

Amity herself, of course, is above them all.

“Sorry,” Amity says sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to sound spoiled or anything, it’s just- my parents don’t cook, and they don’t have time to-”

“Amity. It’s fine.” Luz laughs, and Amity’s blush intensifies. Luz is about to say something about it when Eda bursts into the room with all the subtlety of a hurricane. “Look what I foooound,” she sings, proudly presenting something extremely dusty and unidentifiable. Luz and Amity raise their eyebrows in unison.

“Uh, what is it?” Luz asks.

“It’s a human-” Eda pauses. “Okay, I’ll admit, I have absolutely no idea what it is. But it’s cool looking and I like it.” “Another human treasure? Lemme see!”

“Suit yourself,” Eda says, and hands it over.

The thing is heavier than Luz expected, and she grunts as she puts it down quickly on the kitchen table.

“Dang, Owl Lady, you’ve got strong arms,” she says.

“I work out,” Eda responds, flexing her muscles.

Amity and Luz look at each other, and then at Eda. They blink.

“Fine,” Eda says. “Buzzkills. I don’t work out. You caught me, congratulations.” She stalks out of the kitchen, muttering something about “dumb kids and their dumb honesty”.

Luz snorts and turns her attention back to the thing on the counter. “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” she says, and blows the dust off. Once the cloud clears, the thing begins to take shape, and Luz squeals. “A record player! With a record on it! This is amazing! My mom has one of these back home!”

“Record player?” Amity says. “What does it do?”

Luz grins, always happy to show off her human knowledge. “I’ll show you,” she says, and sets the pin on the groove of the record. It’s silent for a moment, but then a slow tune echoes through the room. There are no words in the song, and Luz has no idea who wrote it, but she’s in awe.

“Wow,” Amity says, echoing Luz’s thoughts. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Luz agrees, completely entranced by the melody. Once the song fades away and the next one starts, she gets an idea. She regards Amity out of the corner of her eye, gathers her courage, and says “Amity Blight, may I have this dance?”

Surprise flashes across Amity’s face, but she recovers impressively quickly.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She reaches out her hand and Luz takes it, gently guiding Amity to the middle of the kitchen. Amity hesitantly puts her arm around Luz’s waist, pulling her closer, as Luz puts a hand on Amity’s shoulder. It feels familiar, and when they start swaying around the kitchen, Amity starts to laugh.

“What? What’s so funny? Did I do something?”

“No, no,” Amity says, tightening her hold around Luz’s waist. “It’s just...this is so different from our first dance together.”

“Our first...oh, you mean Grom!”

Amity takes a step backwards, and Luz follows, trying not to trip over her own feet.

“Yes I mean Grom!”

They dance in silence for a moment, moonlight shining through the window.

“Hey,” Luz starts, not sure if she wants the answer to the question she’s about to ask. “Who did you wanna take to Grom, anyway?”

Amity stares blankly at her for a few seconds, and for a moment Luz is worried she said something out of turn. But then she smiles softly, so softly that Luz’s heart does a funny thing in her chest, and she’s pretty sure that, for a second, she can’t breathe.

“It was you, Luz,” Amity says quietly. “It was always you.”

Luz stops dancing. She stops blinking. She stops breathing.

“Uh, Luz?” Amity says, sounding worried. “Are you okay?”

Luz blinks, comes back into herself, and says “YOU WERE GOING TO ASK ME TO GROM????”

“Yes? Why is that a surprise? You know I...like you.” Amity blushes again. They’re still not used to saying these things out loud to each other. It’s a process.

This time, Luz blushes too. “Yeah, but like..that long??? You’ve liked me since Grom???”

“Since before Grom, actually,” Amity admits, looking down at the floor. “It’s...it’s been a long time.”

Luz’s grip on Amity’s shoulder slackens, then tightens again.”Wow,” she says, breathless. “Me. You’ve liked me for months. You!!!”

Amity giggles. “Me,” she agrees.

Luz knows that the smile on her face is sappy, but she can’t help it. She just likes Amity so much it’s overwhelming sometimes.

They begin to sway again, and Luz feels like she’s in a trance. She can’t believe that one person can make her feel this happy. It’s like magic.

“So,” Amity says, cutting into Luz’s inner monologue, “When was it for you?”

“Huh?”

“When did you start to like me?”

Amity manages, with what looks like supreme willpower, not to blush this time. Luz does not manage the same.

“O-oh,” Luz says, thinking back to all the times she made a fool of herself in front of Amity before they’d started dating. “I don’t know? I mean, I realized it that time you saved my life, but I think I’ve probably liked you for a lot longer than that. Maybe even before Grom.”

“Which time?”

“What?”

“Which time? I save your life a lot,” Amity smirks. Luz rolls her eyes. “Okay, fair,” she says. “But I mean that time at your parents’ presentation. Right after you...when you called me “my Luz.”

“Oh, no, you heard that?” Amity looks extremely embarrassed as she leans forward and hides her face in Luz’s shoulder. Luz tries not to smell her hair. She fails.

“Of course I heard that!” She says when she’s done. “You practically screamed it out loud to a room full of strangers!”

“I did, didn’t I? Wow, I was so obvious!”

Luz rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. “I didn’t notice.”

“What??? How???” Amity asks, picking her head up to look Luz in the eye. “I was a complete mess in front of you for months! What did you think was happening?”

Luz shrugs. “I just thought you were cute, that’s all. In hindsight, though, maybe I should’ve picked up some context clues.”

Amity snorts. “It’s okay. You being oblivious saved me a ton of embarrassment. Until I kissed you on the cheek. That..uh….that was not planned.”

Luz can’t stop the smile that takes over her face. She remembers that day well. She was so focused on finding Phillip’s diary entries and also not making a fool of herself in front of Amity, that she was taken completely by surprise when Amity kissed her. She’s pretty sure she literally fell to the floor afterwards, overwhelmed with the fact that Amity had just kissed her and suddenly realizing that maybe, just maybe, her crush liked her too.

“Well I’m glad you did,” she says gently, twirling Amity around once, twice, three times. “I think it’s time for me to return the favor.”

“What do you-”

Before she can think about it long enough to stop herself, Luz leans in and kisses Amity on the cheek.

The world freezes.

Amity looks at her, and she looks at Amity, and Luz’s eyes are so wide, and Amity’s mouth is hanging slightly open, and suddenly Luz is completely, entirely unsure of herself. Her confidence is gone, and suddenly she can hear the ghost of laughter and “Ew, why would anyone want her?” And she realizes she’s made a horrible mistake.

“U-um sorry I-” She stutters, but can’t get a sentence out, until finally she manages “I’m gonna leave now.”

She backs up slowly until her back hits the door, and is about to turn the handle when Amity says “Luz, this is your house.”

“Drat,” Luz says, slapping a hand to her face. “You’re right.”

Amity giggles, hand covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. She’s bright red but so is Luz, and suddenly Luz is laughing too.

They laugh together for what seems like hours, until finally they manage to subdue themselves, tears in both their eyes.

“Hey,” Amity says softly, once the giggles have stopped. “Come here.”

Luz complies, stepping around the table and over Ghost, who has an unidentifiable animal in her mouth. When she finally reaches Amity, she finds herself pulled into a bone crushing hug. Startled but pleased, she squeezes back, marvelling at the fact that she has the most perfect girl in the world in her arms.

“Look,” Amity says, still wrapped up in the hug. “I know we’re both new at this, and it’s kind of scary, but you don’t have to run away every time you kiss me on the cheek or something. You have nothing to be afraid of, okay? You’re my girlfriend, and I’m not gonna stop liking you.”

Luz sniffles a little and squeezes harder. “You don’t...you don’t think I’m too much?”

“Luz,” Amity says. “I could never get enough of you.”

They stand there like that, swaying slightly in the single stripe of moonlight that comes through the window. When they part, it’s with a sigh, and a silent promise that they’ll come together again.

“Thanks,” Luz says, eyes rimmed red. “You’re a pretty awesome girlfriend.”

Amity smiles. “I know.”

Then she shrugs shyly. “And if you ever want to kiss me again...I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Noted,” Luz says weakly. She thinks her knees might give out, actually.

When it’s time for Amity to go, Luz walks her to the door, like the gentleman she is. “Goodnight,” she says, trying to ignore Hooty loudly digesting a mouse. She doesn’t want to think about where his stomach even is.

“Goodnight,” Amity says.

They smile dumbly at each other, neither wanting to be the first one to leave. But Amity needs to get home, and the night is moving quickly, so they reluctantly part ways. Amity turns to wave at Luz when she reaches the end of the Owl House’s property, and Luz waves back, stars in her eyes and a breathless wonder at the fact that this girl, this amazing, brilliant, perfect girl, is hers.

There are many things Luz doesn’t understand.

But this, what she and Amity have, the bond she feels growing stronger and stronger every day they spend together; this she does understand.

She closes the door. She doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but she knows that as long as she has Amity by her side, everything will be okay.

#lumity #the owl house #writins

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denkamis · 4 years ago

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hi!! could i get double chocolate and cherry with kaminari, shinsou and midoriya please?❤️

idk if i did this right so im sorry if i didnt!

to anon: hey anon, no worries! you did it perfectly :)) aww i love the characters you chose for this prompt, this is adorable. enjoy some fluffy times with these sleep deprived boys from a very sleep deprived writer <3

warnings: none! just some swearing and some bad sleeping habits lmao. reader is gn!

prompt: denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou, izuku midoriya scenarios + “it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyways.”

denki kaminari

denki stays up late playing osu and minecraft

what can i say, he’s just a gamer man

so he’s honestly pretty reliable when it comes to you knocking on his door at late hours of the night

always the biggest cuddle bug, really happy that you go to him first out of everyone

literally drops everything for you hehe

lots of sleepy kisses too

“fuck! goddammit,” denki grumbled, shaking out his wrist as he had just failed the six star version of the intro of blend-s on osu. he had gotten rather addicted to the circle clicking game. this further resulted in denki staying up late on school nights, despite kirishima’s warnings of him potentially falling asleep in class the next day. it was fine, he could always borrow notes from you or jirou anyways!

as he went to restart the map again, a soft knock came at the door to his dorm room. spinning off his computer room chair, he prepared himself to be lectured by aizawa for the fifth time this week about breaking curfew. “aizawa-sensei, i know that i’ve been loud lately but i swear this time it won’t happen- y/n?” he stopped mid-sentence as he saw you standing on the other side of the door. “what are you doing up so late?”

you shook your head, immediately hugging his torso instead. you were clearly a bit distraught about something, but denki wasn’t a mind reader. he figured that from the way you were clinging onto him, it must have been a bad dream of some kind. “hey, hey, easy there! nearly knocked me over, huh,” denki laughed lightly, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head before closing the door behind you. you clung onto him, face buried in the crook of his neck. it made a small blush dust across his cheeks, a warm feeling spreading through his arms as he held you close. “i hope i’m not bothering you,” you mumbled, to which denki hummed. “you never bother me, babe. it’s okay, i couldn’t really sleep anyways.”

the two of you stayed like that for a long while, denki swaying the two of you back and forth. you could feel gentle lips peppering the crown of your head with kisses. as your heart rate slowed, denki piped up. “wanna stay here for the night? my bed’s missing out on some action! and by some action, i mean sleep. i really can’t sleep.”

you snorted at his words, your eyes flicking up to his goofy yet endearing smile, his eyes bright yet a bit tired from late night gaming. he poked his tongue out at you, making you roll your eyes with a tiny smile of your own gracing your features.

“how could i say no to that?”

hitoshi shinsou

we already know he’s up at these unholy hours

not for any particular reason, just because he can’t really sleep

quite the insomniac that one

and the fact that he can’t sleep properly or well unless you’re with him

you smell like lavender in the morning too bc he puts it in his pillow to help him sleep, thank you

shinsou lay awake in bed, eyes trained on the ceiling as he waited for himself to fall asleep. it was no secret that he barely got any rest, so it was simply easier to just sit and wait until his body exhausted itself to the point where he simply fell asleep. staying as still as he could, he kept counting the amount of times he breathed in and out. it made him acutely aware of his surroundings. the crickets outside his room, the way the moonlight streamed through his blinds, the miscellaneous creaking sounds of the dorms. yeah, he definitely wasn’t sleeping tonight.

he didn’t flinch as the door to his room opened, blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted to the light spilling into his room along with a new figure. “y/n?” he asked, not bothering to sit up. “hey, are you up? sorry toshi, i couldn’t sleep,” you explained softly, allowing the door to close behind you as you tiptoed across his dorm room. his hair was sprawled across his pillow, deep violet locks hiding his hands situated behind his head comfortably. it showed off his arms that were built from training for when, not if, he ever got into the hero course.

a lazy smile crossed his lips at your words, his heartstrings being played by you so seamlessly. “it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyways,” he replied with a tilt of his head towards you. he moved over a bit in his bed as to give you space to lay down next to him. you crawled beneath his comforters, inhaling the scent of lavender as you did. apparently shinsou had said that the smell helped him fall asleep easier. strong arms wrapped around your waist, encasing you in a protective embrace as your head rested comfortably against his chest. the comforter was thrown over the two of you. you felt so much safer already.

his large hands were placed on your lower back, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your skin as his breathing began to relax noticeably. hiding your smile, you cuddled closer to him. to this day, you had never seen shinsou fall asleep so quickly since that night.

izuku midoriya

baby is up studying for a test that’s in like 2 weeks

either that or he’s on an all might video spree on youtube and no that is not the first time this has happened, it is certainly not the last

he has so many stuffed animals in his room probably, like he just has them stuffed in his closet

the all might plushies stay on the bed tho

his cuddles are unmatched tho, change my mind

izuku was pacing around his room, vocabulary words spinning about his mind as he counted them on his fingers. he was mumbling definitions to himself, going over all of them in his head before referencing his notebook to make sure nothing went wrong. amidst his ramblings, a knock at the door made him jump to attention. “come in?” he called out, watching intently as he saw you come into view. his face showed relief, grateful to know it wasn’t aizawa or kacchan complaining about his incessant pacing.

“would it be alright if i sleep here tonight? i’m worrying about my grades and stuff again,” you rubbed the back of your neck with a small smile, trying to play off your question as relaxed as you could. it wasn’t exactly a secret that you had a crush on the boy in front of you. he was kind and humble, wanting to help as many people as he could despite all the circumstances that had the world against him. it was admirable. even now, he looked so concerned from the clear lack of sleep you’ve been getting these past few days. “of course you can sleep here. ah, wait! i have to, ah,” he stumbled over his words as you looked to the bed to see not one, not even two, but four all might stuffed toys on his bed.

“oh.”

midoriya’s face erupted with crimson, shoving the plushies into his closet as he sputtered out various excuses as to why they were there in the first place. when he turned back to you, you were giggling. not at him, but because of the entire situation in general. “you’re adorable, izu,” you told him gently. a light feeling bloomed in his chest upon seeing the smile you held for him. you looked so undeniably beautiful to him, the way your hair was a bit messy and how you stood in your pyjamas. while others, including yourself, would find that you looked completely normal, midoriya loved seeing you be so casual, so comfortable around him.

“you’re sure i’m not interrupting you, though?”

midoriya returned your smile with his own, stepping forward to intertwined his scarred fingers with your delicate ones. “it’s okay,” he murmured softly, holding your hand as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him, “i couldn’t really sleep anyways.”

all works © denkamis 2021.

tags:

@meilbox @honeykami @httpfirx @strawberrysalwa @hey-i-really-miss-you @smexy-goose @satis-kei

want to be on the taglist? see this post!

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #denki kaminari x reader #denki x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha drabble #mha drabble #denkamis.scenarios #denkamis.requests

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barry-j-blupjeans · 3 years ago

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@taznovembercelebration day 5: proposal, taste

“Here, taste this,” Lup said, shoving the spoon towards Barry. Barry fumbled to take it, desperately trying not to spill any of it down his shirt. He put it in his mouth, shutting his eyes to fully experience to flavor (and to not see Lup’s expecting stare).

The flavor came to life on his tongue. There was definitely some tomato in there somewhere, which was complimented but the dusting of rosemary he had seen her put in. There was a small chunk of potato, which was soft and easy to chew. It was seasoned to perfection and when he finally opened his eyes again, he had to take a moment to remember how to talk.

“That’s fucking amazing,” Barry said. “Holy shit. You weren’t joking about being a good chef, holy fuck.”

“Natch,” Lup said, grinning. “I guess you really lucked out on the marriage front, huh?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I guess I did,” Barry said, probably way too genuinely.

To be clear, Barry was both elated and panicked about suddenly being married to Lup. They had both gotten… a little more than drunk last week and had apparently decided that, fuck it, they deserved to get married. For happiness and for insurance benefits. Barry did not remember making this decision. He did not remember how he got to the court house or why they legally allowed two drunk people to get married or anything. All he knew is that he had woken up at his apartment with Lup sleeping on the sofa and texts from five different people asking what the fuck his Facebook post meant.

Apparently “no longer a batchtler, me n loop getting married <3333333” needed more context than that.

But it was fine. Two young adults fresh out of college could handle themselves with marriage. Living together would make the most sense and Barry had an extra room in his apartment, which was now their apartment. There were some things to work out of course, like “what chores do you actually enjoy” and ��can you cook” (big yes for Lup, big no for Barry). All and all, it was going pretty well.

Bonus points were that, y’know, he enjoyed being around Lup. It wasn’t- it wasn’t a crush. He didn’t have a crush on his… wife? Roommate. On his roommate. She was just very pretty and very smart and incredibly funny and one of the best people he knew and god, wow, she was great. Barry was so lucky. She was so good. She could cook. She liked his jokes! What more could he want?

“So, uh,” Lup said, interrupting his thoughts. She was stirring the stew slowly, looking over at him thoughtfully. “Who’d you think proposed?”

“Uh,” Barry said. “I mean, I can’t really… see myself doing that. Not that you’re- not that I wouldn’t propose to you, you’re- you’re really, uhm. Really… marry-able…”

“Thanks,” Lup snorted, “you’re not too bad yourself, Bar. A real marry-able man.”

“Thanks,” he said, flushing.

No, he could safely say he didn’t have a crush on Lup.

#blupjeans #barry bluejeans #lup #taz nc #taz november celebration #ise cube writing #mine

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 5 years ago

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Crashing | Jurdan Fake Hating One Shot

Written for: @poeticbrownmermaid for my 1k celebration!

Massive thank you to: @clockworkgraystairs and @sweetlyvillainous for beta reading this and holding my hand before I posted 🥺❤️

Summary: You’ve heard of fake dating. Get ready for fake hating. It’s all very romantic.

Rating: M/E for explicit language and a short, soft focus smut scene (a steam scene, if you will). The sexy parts start and stop after the ☽☽ in case you want to skip.

Masterlist

“You taste—” I’m cut off by my own giggle, which rises to my lips like my mouth is a glass and my laugh is the Champagne they’re serving at this dumb party. “You taste like bubblegum.”

Cardan looks at me funny, then snorts. “What?”

His eyes are beguiling when they’re amused. Even more beguiling when they’re amused and looking at me. They are dark intoxication. They compete against the night sky for vastness. I could swallow them whole.

We’re on the terrace under the stars outside his fancy-pants mansion. I’m sitting on the stone railing, my knees bracketing his lithe frame. His hands and lips are breathless effervescence on me.

I’m in a daring dress of red satin that I would’ve never chosen for myself had Oriana not insisted on finding us girls a tailor. It’s an elegant, backless number with an audacious slit up the side. The whole time before this in the ballroom, I could sense Cardan’s eyes eating it up while he pretended to hate me.

In this dress, I am a femme fatale spy from a film, meeting her tryst in the secret of shadows. Which is honestly not too far off from the reality of the situation, though I am no spy.

Cardan ghosts one hand up the exposed skin of my thigh. The night air is bracing as his touch.

“Jude,” he murmurs, “Are you drunk?”

He’s in a rakish black velvet suit with two blood-red rubies dangling from the pointed tips of his collar. It is decadence and sin given form. The first hour of this hell party was just that: Hell. By the time Cardan pressed a napkin into my palm with the words “Terrace. 10 min.” scrawled on it in smeared ink, I was beginning to glare at him in earnest—if only for the way he must’ve known he was teasing me.

Now, we’re making out behind two conveniently tall potted plants.

It’s all very romantic.

“I had one glass of wine, Cardan,” I say. I slide my hands from his hair and scrape my nails lightly down the column of his neck. It is heady, watching his eyes shutter. My hands slide down his chest and take up his lapels. I give them a firm tug. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I,” he says, lips hovering over my own, “Don’t believe you.” His breath fans across my face. It really does smell like bubblegum. And not the minty kind, either. I’m talking bright pink and bubblicious.

I lean back a little and stick my bottom lip out in a mock-pout. “Why not?”

“For starters,” he says, “You’re a lightweight.” He trails that damned hand down my exposed thigh again.

I shiver. “So? I also ate like twenty of those canopy things.”

“Canapés?” Cardan smirks.

“Yeah, whatever, Your Highness.”

He flashes me a grin and I’m briefly stricken into silence. “Then, what have you to say to your unprecedented giddiness this evening, Your Majesty?”

“Ew, don’t call me that.” I grimace. “I just called you ‘Your Highness’.”

“What? Scared of the implication?”

“Uh, yeah.” My brows shoot up on my forehead. “Mainly because it implies that I’m your mother.”

Cardan’s face goes slack. “Shit, really?”

I nod and bite back my grin.

“I thought they were interchangeable.”

“About as interchangeable as a fork and a spoon.”

He sputters a laugh. “Shows what I know about royalty.”

“You realise how ironic that is, don’t you?” I say, nodding pointedly in the direction of the party.

It goes on without us, spilling its mirth in great golden shafts out onto the terrace. It doesn’t touch us, though. The air is cool, clear of the preening bullshit that so regularly lathers these kinds of events. And though he makes me dizzy, Cardan is the only real thing here.

I think I like parties better this way. From the shadows. In there, we’d have to talk to people, explain ourselves. We’re supposed to hate each other. We were always supposed to hate each other.

A smile plays at the corners of Cardan’s lips as if he’s gleaned these thoughts of mine. “You haven’t answered my question.”

I narrow my eyes. “You think I’m too giddy to not be drunk.”

“Mhmm.” He nudges his nose against mine. “I’ve never heard you giggle before.” A slender finger tracks up my spine and it takes a considerable amount of concentration not to squeeze my thighs together. Goosebumps and a flush spring to my skin, anyway. “It’s delightful,” he tells me.

“Well, maybe you should work on your sense of humour.” My voice comes out shakier than I want it to.

“Maybe,” Cardan says, grabbing the back of my knee and hitching it up. “But that sounds like effort.”

I want to roll my eyes. This is exactly the reason we used to hate each other. His laziness, his arrogance, and entitlement made me want to punch him clean across his pretty cheekbones. I know my stubbornness and sharp tongue made him hate me right back.

Yet, when our worlds crumbled around us, we found ourselves crashing into each other. Entwined in a thicket of mutual understanding. Suddenly, there was so very little to hate.

We pretend to in public to keep up appearances. Everyone knows we hated each other. If we started being friendly around everyone else, people would talk. That’s the last thing we want. Even if they’d technically be right.

In private, though, Cardan is probably my most closely held secret.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still annoying as all hell. Like right now. But I’ve always liked a challenge.

I hook my leg around his back, pulling him in. My fingers card through his hair again. “I can be delightful in other ways,” I say, biting my lip.

His eyes lower to my mouth. “Oh, I’m well aware.” Cardan’s voice comes out a rasp. He cants my chin with the crook of his finger, pulling my lip from between my teeth with the pad of his thumb. He looks at me with undiluted lust. The weight of his gaze is like a dizzying nightmare.

Then, he devours me.

Our mouths slide together, slowly at first, but building in fervor. Hot and heavy, like a fever. His grip on my thigh is bruising. His other hand splays across my bare back, crushing me to him, long fingers twining in my hair. Everything turns saturated and slow.

I invade his mouth with my tongue, determined to drink him up. He tastes like bubblegum and our reconciliation. At the same time, I hook my other leg behind him so he’s pressed flush against the apex of my thighs. ☽☽

A muffled groan rolls between his teeth. “Fuck, Jude.” Cardan is growing firm beneath his trousers. The feel of it sends a curl of sweet desire, dark and throbbing, through my core.

“You’re going to have to be quieter than that,” I tease. I’m so featherbrained on the savour of his mouth, his liquid touch. My veins feel full of amber liquor instead of blood. I know I’m not drunk, and yet I feel it.

His fingers drawl back up my leg. “The question is, dear,” he says, “Can you be quiet?” The coolness of his hands sends a shock along the heat of my inner thigh.

I realise where he’s going with this and my breath hitches. My cheeks blaze. “Yes,” I tell him, though I don’t sound as confident as I should for such a high stakes rendezvous.

“Hmm,” Cardan thrums. “We’ll see about that.”

His fingers are deft and twice as sly. He hisses through his teeth when they glide over me, exploring.

As a steady rain, he begins my unravelling. His mouth covers mine, swallowing a soft whimper that escapes my throat. I want to moan his name, to curse aloud, but I can’t if we’re to stay hidden.

The thought is both terrible and exciting at once.

Cardan keeps a torturous pace. I cling to him, panting, clutching at his arms, clawing at his back. His mouth roams my jawline. His teeth tug my ear. My mind is frenetic, frenzied, and at once thick in a viscous haze.

All I can think about is how this party is so stupid and soul-sucking, but Cardan is the farthest thing from stupid and soul-sucking. About how he makes me feel very much alive. About how I like him more than anyone here, probably more than even myself.

His other arm wraps certain and solid around me as he spins my world on its side. I lean my forehead on his shoulder. He kisses my neck. I can’t help the gasps that leave me.

My heart is racing. So quickly does it pump, in time with his ministrations, I think I might turn to white lightning in a bottle before all is said and done.

I know it when I’m drawing towards that precipice. My toes curl and flex. My legs begin to quiver. My knees lock up.

“Cardan,” I gasp. “Please.”

“Can you be quiet for me, Jude?” Cardan murmurs rough against my ear. He sounds a little breathless, too.

I am so muddled, I am so close. I can only manage a soft sob in response. Now he’s doubling his efforts and oh, gods is he clever.

I bite his shoulder to keep from making a sound as I shoot over the edge, a wondrous arc so high I’m sure I scrape the stars of their dust.

My hips writhe against his palm. I pull and rake my fingers through his hair as I spiral through the five stages of sweet delirium.

He holds me through it. Presses his lips to my hair and whispers what I think must be comforting things into my ear. I can’t tell because I’m incapable of comprehending much of anything beyond myself in his arms. He strokes soft circles over my back until it’s done. ☽☽

When everything settles, I’m still clinging to him, my forehead against the sureness of his shoulder. A sheen of sweat dewing my skin.

I’ve always hated this part about intimacy. The aftermath. Everything is too quiet. The excitement is gone. You’re faced with the reality of looking at each other without the rosy filter of lust. Maybe you’ll see each other for who you really are, and that’s a scary thought.

That’s probably how I felt once with Cardan, too. Back when we started…whatever this is. But now, in this moment with him, it feels less vulnerable and more like holding someone’s hand as you stare upon something a little terrifying.

Which is why I’m able to look up at him and ask in every manner of seriousness, “Why do you taste like bubblegum?”

His responding laugh is gentle and he shakes his head. “One-track mind,” he says. I shrug and wait.

“They’re serving bubblegum cocktails at the bar inside.”

My nose crinkles. “You actually drank one of those?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“No, I think I’ll sleep quite soundly if I never do.”

Cardan gives me an awful kind of grin that makes my toes curl anew. “Didn’t hear you complaining earlier.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” he says, then tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “I happen to like bubblegum cocktails.”

I give him a dubious look. I can’t help but feel that maybe we’re not talking about bubblegum cocktails anymore.

For a long moment, we just sit there staring at each other. There’s a bloom of laughter from inside the house. The clink of glasses. His eyes trace the lines of my face. I still feel drunk on him and he’s looking at me too soberly.

So I say, “You have shit taste, then,” and hop off the railing. I side-step him before beginning the task of smoothing down my dress. If I walk back into the party all flushed and disheveled, people will know what I’ve been doing—which is almost as bad as if people knew who I’ve been doing.

“Oh, you can’t say that dear,” Cardan lilts as he leans back against the balcony with all the insouciance of someone who lives in this ridiculous mansion. And rightly so, because he does. “Not when you taste equally delicious.” Then he brings his fingers, the ones that have just been inside me, to his mouth and closes his lips around them, burning gaze locked on mine.

My eyes go wide. My jaw slacks as I watch him. I’m somewhere between affronted by his audacity and completely turned on again. Which is a confusing place to be.

He laughs at my probably very foolish expression and I turn on my heel to head back to the party. I’m not actually offended. I just can’t bear to look at him while he’s tasting me off his fingers without combusting on the spot.

Cardan grabs my wrist. “Wait, wait,” he says, still laughing.

I arc a brow and turn to face him. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and sounds earnest enough. “It’s just… you make me giddy, too.”

His words are a punch to the gut. I hadn’t realised it until he said it, but it’s true. It’s not the way he kisses me or the high of a climax, though those are surely nice things, too. It’s the way I feel when we’re together. Just his presence makes my head swim, my stomach turn flips.

He makes me feel a little bit invincible, and entirely beyond reason.

I look at him, the warm glow of the party playing off the sharp angles of his face. He’s still holding my hand, fiddling with the ruby ring I always wear.

On the crest of a breath, Cardan says, “Stay tonight.”

“Why?” I whisper, because we’ve never spent the night. I’m not sure we’d even know how.

“Because I’ll miss you terribly?”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I think you’ll survive.”

“Because you’ll miss me terribly.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely survive,” I say. Even as my heart gives a squeeze. I don’t want to leave.

Not yet, not yet.

“Because you’re too intoxicated to drive home,” he says.

“I took an Uber here, Cardan,” I tell him. “And for the last time, I’m not drunk.”

“I’m not saying you’re drunk, Jude.”

He’s not grinning at me, which I think is a good sign. It means he’s not hinting at something sexual. Then again, that might also be a very bad sign. It means he’s hinting at something deeper. I’m not sure I want to get into that conversation just yet.

“Fine,” I say. I do want to stay. The thought of it sends a little thrill through me. “Hate me for an hour more. We’ll have a big argument about… something. And then I’ll tell Madoc I’m leaving.”

His hands snake around my waist. “What will we argue about tonight?”

I smile at him sweetly. “If your head is half as cunning as your fingers, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Cardan hums. “I do love it when we’re at each other’s throats.”

I roll my eyes but I’m betrayed by my laugh for not the first time tonight. Stupid punch-drunk feelings.

☽☽☽☽☽

Enjoyed this? Try: King | Wicked Game | We’re All Mad Here

Masterlist

AN: So this was supposed to be a drabble for my 1k celebration but my hand slipped and whoops! It’s 2.5K words. I really hope you enjoyed this secret tryst one shot. I had so much fun writing it. If you liked this and want to see more from me, comments and/or reblogs are very much appreciated!

I have a tag list so if you’d like to be added to that, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you! I also recently jumped on the Twitter/Instagram bandwagon. You can follow me @/rebelwriter23 on Twitter and @/slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Instagram.

Back to the forest now. -Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Crashing- Illenium

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monstersandmaw · 4 years ago

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Male vampire x male character - Part Two (nsfw) (Halloween ‘surprise’ Patreon story).

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I'm really pleased that you and my Patrons enjoyed the first part, and that folks were keen for more. I’ve had more interaction with this post on Patreon than many of the others, which is surprising given how mlm stories are usually much less in demand than m/f ones. Thanks for that!

Anyway, here's more of our favourite oblivious dork Alec and his obviously-not-a-vampire crush... Part Three is on the way too (tomorrow), despite this having been planned as a quick porn-without-plot one-shot, as it were. Oh well?!

Hope you enjoy.

Part One

After his initial - admittedly strange - meetings with Sebastien, Alec didn’t see him on campus at all for the rest of the week, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Yes, the guy had been a bit of a pompous arsehole in the library, but he’d made up for it by coming to the art room and apologising, engaging him in conversation — even if that conversation had been slightly… odd? — and being so god-damn-fucking beautiful too.

He overheard his students gossiping about ‘Dr. Dulac’ earlier that afternoon while they all carved the pumpkins he’d bought for them at the local supermarket, and it seemed that the general consensus was that Sebastien was single, unfailingly polite (even in the face of Janette Hilton, the English Department’s longest-serving and least sympathetic lecturers), hotter than any celebrity you cared to name, and a specialist in the poets of the First World War like Sassoon and Brooke, among other more esoteric interests.

After an hour of clock-watching in his tiny little office in the Art Department on Friday, he abandoned all hope of concentrating on his last few bits of admin, and shut down his laptop. After clearing up yet more pumpkin seeds that he’d somehow missed on the last two sweeps he’d done of the studio, he stepped outside, never wanting to see another bloody thing again. Too bad he had a whole bloody cardboard box of them waiting to go into the boot of Kay’s car for her party that night. Still, he was almost sinfully proud of the carvings he’d done on them. One was decorated the whole way around with the foliate style engravings usually reserved for the steel on antique guns, with different depths to create the highlights and shadows, and another particularly spherical one had been cut away in squares to resemble the Death Star.

The October air outside bit into his lungs as he drew a deep breath - the spicy, fragrantly damp scents of autumn filling his nose - and his eye was drawn to the twinkling lights of the little coffee cart that still lingered in the park, selling tea, coffee, and hot chocolate to chilly students leaving the university campus for the night. With a black coffee for himself in one hand, he made his way to the Engineering Department, warily holding another frothy concoction in his other. It was apparently called a ‘London fog’ and it smelled of earl grey tea and lavender. He thought it sounded (and smelled) disgusting, but Kay perked right up when he deposited it on her desk five minutes later.

“Bless you, Alec Twayblade,” she grinned, taking the plastic lid off and inhaling it like it was the best thing she’d ever smelled. “Oh my god. How can you not like this?” she said after taking a huge gulp and moaning obscenely.

Alec didn’t bother to reply, his eye-roll speaking volumes anyway. They’d had this discussion so many times that they were both probably playing it out silently in their heads right that second. When Kay glanced up and saw that he certainly was, she snorted and grinned. “I love you, Alec,” she laughed. “You’re still coming tonight?”

“Against my better judgement,” he growled, leaning his weight on her desk and folding his arms across his battered, blue cable knit sweater. He had a huge daub of yellow paint on one elbow from that morning, and a small burn hole in the bottom from a failed attempt at pyrography a few years ago. It was the most comfortable jumper he owned, and he would probably wear it until it unravelled around him.

“You’re still not going to wear a costume, are you?” she added as she stood, pouting.

He shook his head. “I draw the line at that.”

“But you’d be so good making one!” she countered. “You helped me with that bat costume when we were at high school… Don’t you remember how fucking awesome it was?”

“I do,” he chuckled. “But I’m not going to wear one myself.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Too much attention, huh?” she said softly. “Well, you know you’ll stand out more if you’re not wearing one tonight…?”

He shrugged. Honestly, he just couldn’t be bothered to dress up. Halloween had rather lost its shine for him anyway. “Not if I hide in the kitchen all night and make too-strong cocktails for everyone,” he said, flashing her his most roguish grin. “Plus, I spent much of today carving pumpkins with nattering eighteen year olds who are far too old to be carving pumpkins on academic time, but —”

“— you’re an awesome teacher who understands the need to let off some steam on the holidays,” she interjected. “Plus, it’s good practice anyway… working with a new medium…”

He allowed his lips to pinch upwards into a tiny smirk and let her have that one. “It’s nice to see them having fun,” was all he said.

An hour or so later, just as he arranged the last of the pumpkins down the garden path of Kay's Victorian semi-detached house, a voice murmured from behind him, “I can see the hand of a master at work in these carvings.”

Not having heard anyone approaching, Alec jumped, cursed, and dropped the pumpkin - thankfully with the candle still unlit. It rolled in a semicircle until a black boot gently stopped it, and a familiar face dipped into view as the owner of the boot bent to pick it up. To his surprise, it was Sebastien, and he was in costume. Probably anyway. Hopefully? Fuck. Alec’s brain stalled at the sight of him.

His eyes raked up Sebastien’s body and his jaw went quite literally slack.

The slender man was wearing thigh-high boots and leather pants so tight they had to have been spray-painted on, into which was tucked a loose, old-fashioned, white shirt with a good bit of flounce at the collar. “Holy shit,” he whispered, and Sebastien chuckled softly, a low, amused sound in the back of his throat.

“You recognise the costume?” he asked, seeming innocently amused. The long, dark coat, accented with gold brocade and bright gold buttons, opened briefly in a soft gust of wind that made the lit pumpkins flicker and lifted his loose, silver-white hair back for a breath as well.

“I…” he swallowed. “Uh, you’re Alucard,” he croaked. “From the Castlevania games…” A wry incline of Sebastien’s head told him he was correct, and then Alec blurted stupidly, “Shouldn’t you be shirtless though?”

Sebastien’s smile grew from pleased to deeply amused, his eyes glittering, and it was only then that Alec noticed the contacts burning a bright gold in his eyes and, as his lips peeled back and Sebastien began to laugh, he saw long, tapering, white canines befitting a vampire costume. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?” Sebastien asked, still laughing quietly as Alec flushed crimson.

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I know. I just… forget it.”

“Where do you want it?” Sebastien asked, and Alec’s poor brain went blank.

“What?”

“The pumpkin,” Sebastien deadpanned and Alec’s poor, blank brain melted out of his ears with embarrassment.

“Uh… there’s fine,” he said, pointing at the little wrought-iron garden gate.

Sebastien placed the pumpkin down on the flagstone path so that the carved graveyard scene glimmered and flickered with appropriate spookiness, visible to anyone approaching along the quiet, suburban street. Enormous London plane trees stood sentry every few paces, heaving up the tarmac pavement with their roots, like a sleeper shifting a blanket with a restless turn, and sheltering the cars snuggled and parked beneath them. A carpet of leaves clung to the gutter in a long, golden line, melting into nothing in places in the glittering puddles. It would have been beautiful, had Alec not been faced with quite literally the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.

“Am I early then?” Sebastien asked, dusting off his palms and turning back to face Alec, who had barely managed to make his legs work long enough to stand up straight again.

He shook his head. “No. Henry’s inside already,” he said, running his fingers through his scruffy black hair. “With Rachel and Alison. I just forgot to put the pumpkins out earlier.”

“No costume?”

With a roll of his eyes, he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Too bad,” Sebastien said, eyeing the front door. The contacts were really creepy, shifting in the light that spilled down the stairs as the front door suddenly opened and Kay stepped out before he could worry that he’d been the only one to dress up. He could probably brush it off anyway, Alec supposed, and tried not to envy the man’s quiet confidence.

Silhouetted starkly against the hall light, with her high ‘Dracula’ collar on prominent display, Kay shrieked with glee and clapped her hands when she saw Sebastien. Apparently the two of them had been getting along rather well, while Alec had sequestered himself away in the Art Department like an ascetic.

“Bastien! You look amazing oh my god!” she blurted, rushing forwards a step or two before halting abruptly. “Wait, does that make me your father for the evening?” she cackled. “Wow, your teeth are really good! Mine wouldn't stay in for more than a few minutes…”

Sebastien’s gold eyes flickered sideways to Alec but it happened so briefly that he almost missed it. “Custom made a long time ago,” was all he said. “Shall we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, of course, come on in,” she said, waving them all inside, Sebastien first. As Alec passed her last, she slapped him hard on the backside in rebuke and hissed, “Told you you should have worn a costume! You look like a big dumbo!”

“No different from any other night,” he quipped back, and she growled something indistinct at him. Perhaps a werewolf costume would have suited her better. “You could have told me you’d invited Dulac…”

“Why?” she retorted. “So you could suddenly decide that an evening moping alone with your PS4 playing Rocket League with strangers was more appealing? No fucking chance. Get inside. Sebastien’s right; I’m freezing my tits off.”

The distant murmur of voices in the living room made him veer off instinctively into the kitchen, and while they began to watch some old Hammer horror film, he made drinks. That, at least, he was good at.

Entering a while later, he found that Sebastien was seated on the sofa beside Henry, who wore an enormously fluffy wolfman costume - mostly a repurposed Chewbacca onesie with a latex wolf mask. He’d pushed the mask up onto his head in order to eat the Halloween themed nibbles on the coffee table, and the effect rendered him entirely ridiculous. Another reason not to wear a costume: it’s impractical, and gets in the way, and washing ketchup out of matted fake fur is a nightmare. Alison and Rachel sat practically in each other’s laps, one a zombie and the other a ghost, both squeezed into one groaning old armchair.

After half an hour of Christopher Lee’s admittedly creepy Dracula, Alec slid from his seat at the periphery, and ducked out again into the kitchen. Straightening from fishing a beer from the back of the fridge, he heard the soft click of the door and turned to find Sebastien standing there.

“Get bored with late 1950’s horror too?” Alec asked. “Beer?”

Sebastien inclined his head in a way that said he wasn’t a beer drinker and held up his almost-empty wineglass as an excuse as he moved a little closer. “If you don’t like cheesy horror films, and you don’t seem to like Halloween either, I wonder why you came at all tonight?”

“For Kay,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She loves this shit.”

At that, Sebastien paused, a delicate smile on his face. In the soft glow of the under-cupboard lighting, his tanned skin seemed to shimmer, and Alec wondered fleetingly if he’d put some kind of glittery body powder on. Next, he wondered what on earth Sebastien was doing in here with him, looking at him like that.

“You are a good friend,” Sebastien said quietly, seeming perhaps a little sad around the edges.

“She’s done more than her fair share of looking after me,” Alec sighed knowingly. “Not that I’m doing it because I owe her,” he added, twisting the cap off the bottle and leaning back against the counter to drink deeply from it. As the malty froth washed over his tongue, he felt eyes on him and looked over at the other man.

Sebastien tilted his head slightly to the side, the false golden light in his eyes making him look like a cat in the dark. “You said she was trying to set you up with someone…”

Alec snorted, nearly shooting beer out of his nose. “Yeah. Well, she seems to think a good fuck will sort my mood out.”

“But you think otherwise?”

“You offering?” he asked bitterly, taking another swig and feeling uncharacteristically bold, though absolutely not expecting the answer he got.

“Perhaps.”

His eyebrows shot up and this time he did cough a little. “You can’t be serious.”

“You think someone who looks like me is entirely straight?” he asked with a wry smile, and Alec had to hand it to him. Not many men he knew could pull of long, luscious, white-blond hair like that, or would have the confidence to wear fucking thigh-high boots and whisper-tight leather pants…

“Still… you don’t really know me… That’s all I meant…”

“Doesn't mean one couldn’t engage in — how did you call it? — ‘a good fuck’. Not that I’m averse to getting to know you better, before or after.”

Alec swallowed another enormous gulp of frothing beer and blinked. “You’re serious?”

With a melodramatic smile that revealed his vampire teeth clearly, ‘Alucard’ purred, “Deadly.”

And Alec burst out laughing. The spell was shattered and the two men shared the remnants of their drinks and their laughter together before Alec sighed. “Your place or mine?”

At that, Sebastien seemed to falter, as if he hadn’t thought through to that point. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I assume yours would be alright?”

Alec shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t mind smacking your head on the ceiling and being able to touch two opposite walls at the same time…”

Sebastien’s lips hitched into another wry smile. “I’ve fucked in tighter spaces, I’m sure.”

“You know what?” Alec said as he rinsed out the beer bottle at the sink and half-turned to look at the other man over his shoulder. “You’re absolutely not what I expected.”

“Nor were you,” he shot back, still smirking. “And it’s been a while since I was assaulted by someone in a library.”

“Bring back happy memories, did it?” he snorted.

“Not exactly,” Sebastien murmured, and Alec realised he hadn’t actually been joking. “But I must confess that — despite my behaviour — I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of you when you rounded that bookshelf…”

Turning, Alec approached him cautiously. If he was genuinely serious about his proposal, Alec would find out now. “Pleased enough to seek me out afterwards…” he said, raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t do that ‘one brow at a time’ thing that Sebastien could, but it seemed to get his tone across all the same.

Unusually for Alec, Sebastien had an inch or two on him in height, and as Alec paused in front of him, close enough to catch the faintest hint of a woody cologne, the man angled his face just perfectly for the light to dance along his high cheekbones. Fuck, he was exquisite. The urge to kiss him rose in Alec; to feel his lips against his own, to have those elegant hands scrunch his hair…

As if reading his mind, Sebastien slowly, carefully, raised his right hand and brought his index finger to Alec’s chin, tilting it upwards just a fraction with the lightest pressure. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, and it left Alec breathless. Again. Panting slightly, he parted his lips and then swallowed thickly.

Sebastien’s eyes darted instantly to the motion of his throat and for a second, Alec could have sworn he saw a vibrant red light reflected in his eyes. Sensing his moment of hesitation, of tension, Sebastian frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Alec breathed. “I thought your eyes went red but it must have been a car on the street outside or something.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, but then blinked rapidly. “Do you still wish to continue this?”

“Yes,” he whispered. Don't stop now. His whole body was thrumming in a way it hadn’t ever before with casual encounters. He felt alive for the first time in months.

Sebastien stepped back, turning his face away a little more. “Should we make our excuses…?”

Alec shook his head. “Nah, Kay will know what’s going on anyway, and I don’t want to face her smug looks until tomorrow at the least.”

With a softly amused chuckle, Sebastien stepped back and allowed Alec to leave the room first. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as the other man followed behind, but he didn't turn around or look at him until they were outside on the main street.

“It’s a bit of a walk…” Alec said, only realising then how long the walk would be. “I’m way over on the other side of town by the station…”

The continuing intensity of Sebastien’s scrutiny was beginning to shift from a turn-on to just marginally unnerving, but he told himself that an esteemed professor at one of the country’s finest universities, with more letters after his name than anyone his age had a right to possess, was unlikely to be truly dangerous for a one-night stand… right? There was something about the way he stared at Alec — an unmistakable hunger in his eyes — that made his skin prickle and his heartbeat jump instinctively. Like a deer before the gaze of a tiger, he was entranced.

Unexpectedly, Sebastien’s easy stride slowed at the brick gateway to a small, gravel park that sat between an old church and a chemist, the latter closed at this time of night. “May I kiss you?” he breathed, still gazing at him unblinkingly, as though Alec were the pretty one in this equation, not him.

Alec couldn’t help grinning. The way Sebastien’s eyes bored into him then drove all thought of threat and fear from his mind, and he nodded.

The man’s hands were chilly from the night air, but the moment they cupped his jaw and drew Alec toward him, he forgot about that. He forgot about everything at the meeting of their lips. Sebastien began tentatively, merely brushing their lips together, but when his golden eyes fluttered closed, he deepened the gesture, tongue just begging entrance, teasing him before withdrawing, retreating and returning.

Searing want shot down Alec’s spine and he arched into Sebastien’s taller body, hips seeking contact through his jeans. He moaned, deep and guttural, and it seemed to awaken something in Sebastien, because the man grabbed hold of the back of Alec’s hair and pulled his head slightly to one side to begin to kiss along his jawline, down to wards his neck. For a heartbeat, Sebastien froze there, nose pressed to his rabbiting pulse point, his teeth just grazing skin, before he exhaled harshly and stepped back. “We shouldn’t get carried away,” was all he whispered, stepping slightly out of Alec’s dazed field of view. “My place is nearer though.”

“Ok,” Alec said, still reeling. “Sure.”

When they reached the apartment building, his steps faltered in amazement. “You live… here?”

A slight flush seemed to warm Sebastien’s cheeks as he stepped up to the main doorway, only to have it opened from the other side by a man in livery. “Good evening, Monsieur Dulac,” said the friendly doorman instantly.

“Good evening,” he replied. “This is my friend, Alec Twayblade.”

It was impossible for the doorman not to realise that his ‘friend, Alec Twayblade’ was going to be a little more than that for the night, but he never let a flicker of judgement pass across his face. From the concierge desk - Sebastien’s building had a fucking concierge desk too - another man looked up and wished them both a good evening as they headed for the lifts.

“Does the English department also sell diamonds or drugs or something? How the fuck can you afford a place like this on a lecturer’s salary?” but even as he said it and the doors closed with a soft chime, he realised the truth of it. Sebastien’s aristocratic features and bearing were not merely a persona. They were truth. He stared up at him while Sebastien turned a key in the lift panel.

“Are you secretly royalty or something?” he whispered, only half joking.

The man shot him an amused look and shook his head, silk-white hair whispering against the rougher wool of his costume coat. “No, of course not, but I do have some inherited wealth.”

Some? “So you don’t actually have to work at the university at all then?”

He made a so-so motion of his head and said, “No, not really, but I genuinely enjoy teaching.”

“Your students certainly seem to enjoy you…”

“You don’t enjoy teaching?” he asked as the numbers on the dial climbed and climbed.

Please don’t say you live in the fucking penthouse too, Alec thought, already suspecting it might be true from the whole ‘special access key’. He glanced at the number pad and saw that the button labelled ‘PH’ was illuminated. Fuck. “Most days I enjoy it,” he admitted. “But I kind of fell into it a while back and just sort of…” he shrugged, “Stuck with it.”

Sebastien asked no more, and the lift finally stopped on the top floor. The doors drew back to reveal an apartment beyond that Alec could only gawp at. It was like something from the set of an Architectural Digest photo shoot. Nothing was out of place in the hardwood floor paradise, with clean, crisp lines and white marble counter tops in the kitchen off to his left, while a comfortable, and yet still clinically modern, sitting area sat to their right. Deep, fluffy rugs dotted that part of the penthouse, and a wide balcony stretched out over the city beyond, complete with a little table and chairs for warmer evenings.

“This place is incredible,” Alec breathed, the reason for his even being here completely forgotten.

Clearly sensing that, Sebastien smiled bashfully and said, “Would you like something to drink?”

Alec cleared his throat and hoped he wasn’t going to be faced with a choice between very expensive wines that he’d never heard of. “Sure… thanks.”

“White, red, beer, or whisky?” he asked, walking towards the kitchen and dumping his ‘Alucard’ coat over the back of a white sofa as he went. Alec’s mouth went dry as he watched the point where his narrow hips met the flowing material of the white shirt. Dear god, an arse like that shouldn’t be… well, it just shouldn’t be. And yet there it was. Clad in leather and looking positively delectable. “Or a soft drink?” he added when Alec remained silent.

Aware of where his gaze had landed, Sebastien halted and looked back over his shoulder, long, loose, naturally straight hair already losing the curls that had been worked into it for the Alucard costume. Definitely not straight, if he owned hair curlers.

“Uh…” Alec said, unsure what the question had even been now.

“I’m going to pour myself a whisky, if that helps…?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sebastien smiled, looking almost endeared by Alec’s inept stuttering. Surely he couldn’t be unused to such a reaction? “Make yourself at home then.”

With a smoky, peat-tinged whisky in a wide, heavy-bottomed tumbler set on his glass coffee table, Alec watched Sebastien turn the gas fire on, and, to his surprise, he came to a halt directly in front of him. Setting his own whisky down on the table with a deliberate, and yet delicate, clunk, Sebastien turned back to him and raked his eyes down Alec’s body in a way that made him flush hot all over. His cock twitched with interest and he tried not to preen under that gaze.

Sebastien’s eyes and teeth were back to normal now, with no hint of the golden contacts or the vampire fangs, and Alec fleetingly assumed that he must have removed them at some point between getting the whisky and appearing in front of him looking like he was about to ravish him. Oh dear god, please let him be about to ravish me, he thought with a big, dumb grin spreading across his face.

Seeing his reaction, Sebastien reached down and knelt facing him on the sofa, running his palm over the already-growing bulge in Alec’s jeans. Alec let out a deep grunt and rocked his hips up into the contact, throwing his head back against the soft, open weave of the white fabric. “Oh fuck,” he hissed.

Sebastien’s fingers found the button of his jeans and deftly undid it, but he paused. “May I?” he asked, and Alec found himself nodding before he’d even worked out what Sebastien wanted.

He found out a moment later, when his jeans were around his ankles and Sebastien was kneeling on the floor between his knees and licking a long stripe up the length of his rapidly hardening cock.

“Oh god,” he panted as the wet heat of Sebastien’s mouth engulfed half of his length and then drew back to leave his wet tip exposed to the slight chill of the apartment air. The contrast stole his breath for a heartbeat, but Sebastien returned his attentions to his cock, gently sucking and working him to full hardness in a matter of minutes.

Pleasure sparked through Alec’s whole body and he strained not to thrust back into Sebastien’s mouth, even as Sebastien took him right to the back of his throat, the tip of Alec’s cock nudging against the silky resistance of his throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he chanted as Sebastien’s fingertips just teased and caressed the underside of his balls too, and Sebastien hollowed his cheeks and sucked a little more insistently. “Oh fuck…” Really fucking eloquent here, Alec, he thought vaguely, but one look down at the vision kneeling between his legs and sucking him off drove even that thought from his brain.

The suck and slide of Sebastien’s mouth was incredible, and while he had no idea quite how much time passed, it felt like mere seconds as the heat stoked in him until he could feel the orgasm threatening to crash through him. “I’m… I’m really close…” he gasped as Sebastien moaned against his cock, sending little vibrations thrumming through him and tipping him even closer. The sharp prick of his teeth every now and again was a perfect counterpoint to the slick heat of his mouth, and it was never enough to hurt. Normally Alec wasn’t one for including teeth in this, but with Sebastien, it felt perfect.

Sebastien pulled back just as Alec felt himself beginning to coil up, his lips swollen and glistening from the exertion of bringing him that close, and he smiled. He looked radiant, and Alec’s cock twitched enthusiastically in his hands as he let out a soft whimper. The air was cold and his tip beaded pre-come freely, which Sebastien thumbed away with a surprisingly tender gesture, only to watch as more pearled immediately at his slit. Using just the tip of his tongue, Sebastien lapped at it delicately and Alec’s whole body shuddered.

His thighs shook at the tiny, intense stimulation, with Sebastien's fingers gripping the base of his cock in a tight circle, and he gasped, chest heaving. It was too much and not enough, and as he found his perineum teased as well, he bellowed and trembled. He was half a heartbeat away from coming harder than he could ever remember coming in his life, and Sebastien wasn’t going to let him have it. He roared and ground his teeth, bucking his hips, which made Sebastien laugh softly.

“Alright,” he heard him murmur, before he swallowed him down to the back of his throat again, and Alec shattered with a yell.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he found that Sebastien had risen and was sitting on the small sofa beside him, whisky in hand, staring openly at him. He didn’t look smug exactly, but there was a quiet satisfaction to his brown eyes that made Alec flush, at which Sebastien’s beautiful lips drew back into a smile. He noted again those slightly larger canines, but they were nothing like the vampire teeth he had worn earlier.

“What do you want?” Alec asked, voice hoarse. God, he sounded wrecked. Had he really shouted so hard he’d made his throat sore?

Sebastien’s dolorous, dark eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “What do you want?”

“To watch you come,” he said immediately.

“And how would you like me to come?” Sebastien replied, sipping nonchalantly at the golden liquor as if the were discussing what Alec would like Sebastien to wear. As it was, his leather pants were constricting his obvious hard-on in a way that had to be painful for him, and his shirt was open at the neck to reveal delicate collarbones and a glimpse of his beautiful olive skinned chest.

He was an absolute vision. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he blurted in a whisper before he could stop himself, and to his surprise, Sebastien laughed. The sound was bright, delighted, and oddly self-conscious, as if he hadn’t been expecting a compliment like that. “Sorry,” he added, looking away. “Look… if you’ve got condoms, I’m… I’m good to… you know…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Sebastien asked, his gaze sharpening again.

“Yes?”

“’Yes?’ Or ‘yes’…?” Sebastien asked, seeking clarification.

“Yes. But I don't understand your question.”

“Look at me,” Sebastien said.

“Hard not to…” Alec quipped back, still feeling utterly wrung out.

“Most people assume I’m going to be the one taking it…”

Alec’s eyebrows rose as realisation settled. “Oh. And, what, I look like a top?”

Sebastien’s lips twitched. “Conventionally more so than I do, with your rugged looks and the rough shadow around your jaw…”

“So… do you want me to… you know…? Or…” Fuck, he felt like a teenager again, struggling to articulate himself and not get his sentences in a tangle while this breathtaking creature just sat there and watched him make an idiot out of himself.

“I very much want to fuck you,” Sebastien said at last. “If you’d like that as well.”

“Yes,” he said instantly.

Sebastien set down his glass and rose in a single, elegant motion, and then held his hand out to Alec.

His skin was still cool, especially next to Alec’s searing body, and his hold was steady as Alec heaved himself to his feet and allowed himself to be alternately tugged and kissed into the bedroom.

___

Part Three

Behold, plot has appeared to go with the Halloween porn I had planned. Alec’s family will come up in the next chapter.

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#vampire #male vampire #male vampire x human #exophilia #vampire boyfriend #male vampire x male human #male monster #mlm #mlm exophilia

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telli1206 · 4 years ago

Text

The Heart Will Follow (Chapter 2)

Jay’s never had a crush...until he met Carlos. And now he can’t stay away.

Carlos doesn’t know what to make of Jay’s presence, yet. But what should he do, exactly, about a boy that’s both cute AND terrifying?

A collection of Jaylos isle meetings, inspired by this beautiful headcanon I came across randomly that I can’t get out of my head. And thank you to @hersilentlanguage for motivating me to post this!

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: It Was Only Me And You

Evie tilts her head slowly, trying ever so gingerly to cast a subtle glance over her shoulder. Once she catches a flash of dark eyes, she whips back around. She tries to keep her actions as casual and composed as possible, but Carlos quirks a brow when he notices her mouth tipped open in surprise.

“He’s looking over here again. He’s-yeah, Jay’s definitely staring at you.”

Carlos sighs deeply and scrunches his eyes closed, letting his body slink back lax in his chair.

“Really? W-why do you think he keeps, doing that?”

Evie chews on her lip for a moment, examining Carlos carefully as his eyes flutter open to meet hers.

“Who knows.” She waves off the topic, leaning forward to help Carlos tackle the massive pile of books on his desk. “But there’s no point in worrying about it right now, is there? We have to get you home so you can catch up on these assignments.”

Carlos blinks, staring at her with a surprised look. He starts to turn, as if debating a look behind him, to see what Evie saw, but instead shifts back quickly and straightens up in his seat.

“O-ok. I guess. There is a lot here for me to do.”

He grabs his bag, smiling gratefully as Evie starts to stack his books so he can easily slide them in.

“Thanks, Evie.”

Evie feels a warmth bloom in her chest, and she has to fight down the happy curl that’s making its way across her lips. She only officially met her new friend a couple of hours ago, and already she feels giddy with excitement to have found a fellow kind soul on this dump of an island. She only wishes that she had a chance to meet him sooner. The fact that Carlos was hidden this whole time in the mansion just across the way from her seems like a travesty - a friendship that she’s really needed, and been deprived of.

Her resistance to smiling ebbs away the more she watches Carlos. He’s stopping every time he picks up a book to let his fingers trace across the letters on the cover, brown eyes alight with wonder, before carefully tucking his new treasure safely into his bag. It’s definitely slowing down their exit from class, but Evie can’t help but marvel at how excited Carlos is for school. It’s adorable.

And she finally has someone she can ask to study that won’t look at her like a complete freak for actually wanting to do her school work.

Evie’s knocked out of her thoughts by a loud snort from behind, obnoxious enough to startle her and make Carlos flinch. Her eyes narrow at Mal, who flashes her a steely glare while dragging Jay along past her and Carlos.

Jay’s constant presence makes Evie uneasy. Even as Mal pulls him by forcefully, he’s still staring at Carlos. And now he’s close...too close for her comfort. She tenses when she sees the thief leaning in even closer to her friend, only relaxing when Mal firmly yanks him away, earning space between Jay and Carlos.

Evie comes around the desk to stand by Carlos, making a fuss under the guise of helping him more, but secretly hoping for protection for him that can come with her proximity. Carlos smiles gratefully at her, happy for her help, but also glaringly oblivous to the fact that he’s still in the sights of his dark-haired classmate.

“Come on, Carlos, we should head home. By the way, can I tell you how excited I am to have someone to walk home with? Especially since it’s you.”

Carlos ducks his head, hiding a shy smile as he slings his hefty backpack over his shoulder. Two books are still in his hand, and he ignores Evie’s comment (other than the light flush dusting his cheeks, which Evie still notices) in favor of chattering excitedly about his first Poisons and Potions class tomorrow.

His animated talk is the perfect distraction, allowing Evie to guide them quickly away from prying eyes. She hooks a hand under Carlos’ elbow the second she sees Mal and Jay lingering against the lockers. She isn’t sure why they’re still hanging around nearby, but she’s not about to stay and find out.

“-so I know we probably can’t bring materials home, but do you think the teacher might make an exception if I offered to clean up the room for them or something? Because there’s an acid that’s good for cleaning concrete that I could really use. Mother would love-”

Evie’s half listening to Carlos, nodding and humming accordingly so he continues while she’s keeping a watchful eye. She fixes as heated a glare as she can muster when she catches Jay’s eye, feeling mildly satisfied when his eyes widen slightly in surprise.

She lets her glare shift then to Mal, hoping for a smiliar reaction, but is less than surprised when instead the girl’s face scrunches in anger, and a mocking tongue pokes from between her pinkish lips.

For a second Evie thinks how much fun it would be to just bite at that offensive pink tongue, and to bruise those small, pouty lips with pressure from her own. Mal would be shocked, no doubt, and the painful groans would be music to her ears...

Wait...painfulshrieks. Why is she thinking about Mal’s groans?

Evie shakes her head dismissively, returning her focus to Carlos and his chemistry babbling. She’s having trouble holding onto his elbow as his gestures become more wild and exagerrated. His nose is scrunched and his cheeks are flushed and red from barely taking a breath between sentences. It makes his freckles stand out so much more against the brightening skin.

He’s so cute, Evie thinks, stealing peeks at him as they walk. With beautiful brown eyes and lips like his, she has no doubt her friend will have at least a few of the kids at Dragon Hall crushing. Hard.

Her thoughts suddenly shift to Jay, and the looks he was giving Carlos. His stares. The creepy closeness. And her breath hitches in her throat.

Maybe she’ll have more to worry about with Jay than she originally thought.

———

“Evie? I appreciate you walking with me, but isn’t your home...right there?”

Carlos points back to the dusty sidewalk Evie had just hurried past. It’s dirty and quiet and isolated like it’s barely even looked at, let alone used. And yet, there’s still a light disturbance in the softly settled dirt that bares an eerie resemblance to Evie’s high-heeled shoes.

Yes, Carlos surmises. Those are definitely her heel prints and that’s most definitely her turn off to get home.

But her fingers are fidgeting and her gaze is scattered. She’s quietly shaking her head No but refusing to look at him at the same time.

“Evie? Is...is something, wrong?”

She finally looks up at him, her bottom lip pulled tight between her teeth. Carlos catches a look of concern before Evie relaxes and flashes a toothy grin. It seems...forced? But Carlos decides not to question it.

“Of course not, Carlos! I’m fine,” she chirps, still smiling at him. “I just want to make sure you make it home ok.”

She covers Carlos’ hand with her own and smiles warmly, and Carlos is practically beaming from the attention.

He was overjoyed when his mother finally agreed to let him attend school. But he had never imagined that going to Dragon Hall would benefit him even more than just advancing his education.

But now, he has his first...friend. And it’s already better than he could have hoped for.

“Evie, how do you think I made it home before today?” he teases with a little smirk. “I’ll be ok, I swear. Besides, if your mom’s anything like mine, she’s going to be royally pissed if you’re late. Am I right?”

Evie sighs, casting a troubled glance towards her castle, and Carlos knows his assumption was spot-on. Not that he’s surprised, really. He would have been more shocked to find out Evie had kind, loving parents than the latter.

But to Carlos, that only begs the question why Evie would want to go against her best interest to stay with him.

“Get going,” he urges again, pointing towards her castle. “I want to walk to school with you in the morning, so don’t go getting yourself in trouble, ok? I’m not about to lose a fr- uh, person, I just found over something so trivial.”

Evie cracks a smile, clearly not missing Carlos’ almost slip-up. Evil, hopefully he didn’t already ruin things by flat-out announcing his desperation by using a word only saved for the weakest of islers.

“Ok, I guess you’re right,” Evie chirps, and Carlos breathes a sigh of relief at the smile still bright on her face. “You’ll be careful though, right? Just...watch your back.”

Carlos raises a brow. “Of course. But...what do you think’s going to happen, Evie? I’m like, 50 feet from my front door.”

Evie bites her lip again, letting her eyes scan behind them, over alleyways and their quiet, abandoned path. She pauses for a moment to narrow her gaze on one darkened corner, and Carlos can feel his heart thudding harder in his chest as he examines her movements. But she finally eases her stance and turns back to face him.

“It’s...nothing. Really. It’s just - anything can happen, right? I worry about everything,” she dismisses with a chuckle. “I’ll..um...I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? Do you, want to meet here? At 7? And...walk to school, together?”

Carlos immediately brightens at the idea, Evie matching his wide smile with her own.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Evie presses her smile down, offering a short wave before turning to follow the path towards her castle. Carlos watches for a moment, instinctively checking to make sure she’s safe before heading his own way. But he can’t help noticing her eyes continually darting back to that corner, as if waiting for something...or someone to emerge from the darkness.

Carlos tries to shake off his nerves as he watches Evie’s figure disappear around the mildly crumbling brick of her castle. After a final pause to listen for any sounds of distress, he takes a deep breath and starts the rest of his trek to Hell Hall alone.

At least, he thinks he’s alone.

And the muted silence deludes him into believing that that’s the case...for a while, at least. It’s not until he’s just about to ascend the steps to his front door that a distinct crunch of dry leaves behind him leaves him frozen in his tracks.

“Heh. Shit.”

Carlos spins on his heel, and comes face to face with...Jay?

“Um..what’s up, short stuff?”

Carlos huffs at his words, his fists clenched as he tries his best to stare down one of the most intimidating boys at his new school. There’s no way he’s about to show fear when Jay’s right in front of his own home.

Wait, why is he at his home?

“W-what do you want?” Carlos presses, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “I-I know my house looks...big, but I don’t have-”

“Is the bitch home?”

Jay takes a slow step forward, and Carlos swallows. He’s barely a foot away now, and it feels so close. He can almost smell the sweat beading on Jay’s brow. He keeps his eyes trained down, with a blurring focus just below Jay’s chin, so as not to concentrate on the smirk he knows he’s giving him right now.

“Y-yeah. And she’ll probably beat my ass, a-and yours too, if I don’t get inside right away. I-I need to make...h-her dinner.”

Shit. That sounded so weak. Carlos dares a peek at Jay’s face, and it surprised to see the smile wiped away, and Jay chewing on his lip. He looks almost...worried.

And he surprises Carlos further by taking a generous step back, his arms raised in surrender.

“Well, wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Jay teases, and Carlos curls a sneer at his mocking tone. “Now, now, calm it down freckles. I’m not gonna get you in trouble, ok?”

Jay drops his hands into his pockets, hunching over to rock on his heels some.

“Doubt those eyes of yours would be so pretty with nasty purple bruises around ‘em. Until next time, then?”

Jay pulls out a hand to issue an awkward salute, quirking a smile as Carlos tilts his head, eyes narrowed and confused.

“Bye bye, Carlos De Vil.”

Jay turns and shuffles slowly down the path, kicking at random pieces of dirt and rocks on the way. He keeps his head down, refusing to look up or even cast a single glance behind him.

But Carlos stands unmoving, still staring at the weird thief with long, dark hair that’s tangling in the dry heat. He’s trying to make sense of what just happened, but all logic that could explain what just happened is lost on him.

Did Jay just say his eyes were pretty?

#jaylos #jay x carlos #descendants #my writing #carvie #malvie #Carlos De Vil #jay son of jafar #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #the isle of the lost

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tippytopdays · 3 years ago

Text

Just a Typical Morning

literally slapped a fresh coat of paint on this little thing and did some proofreading, posting here because it's not really a story i feel like belongs on my Ao3

_____________________________________________________________

A snap. A small flare of light. A hiss. The light goes out with a brief spike of pain. The scent of nicotine filling his lungs, sitting there for a moment before being lazily huffed back out. He rolled the cig between his teeth, canines catching the paper.

For once, it was a slow day. Quiet too, if the silent city ruins said anything about it. No howling of some crazy Zed in the alleyways, no rushing of cars; nothing. Then again it’s probably something like, 6AM if he thought about it, since the sun wasn’t high enough yet to count as day.

Well as close to day as it could get, he assumed. It wasn’t like he knew anything else, anyways.

Deimos gripped the cig between his fingers, watching the flecks of tobacco sprinkle over the railing. The balcony was small, granted, but it was enough. Throw on a piece of metal or two along the railing and it even made for some quick cover if there was an attack. Overhead assault was harder to avoid, especially from so high up.

The end of the cigarette glowed dimly as he inhaled, smoke trailing into the air.

He didn’t like being up this early. It was too quiet.

Normally by now he would probably be going downstairs to fetch some grub from the cafeteria with Ford, talk about their evenings or whatever else would come up. Sometimes he’d be scrambling to get his gear on to check whatever combusted in the lower levels. Of course if it was the mercs just screwing around and breaking whatever had gotten mixed up with their roughhousing then he’d get upset. Fixing that shit isn’t easy you know, but it wasn’t worth straining his voice anyways; Ford could do that for him in spades.

He sighed in a soft plume of smoke. Really, what else can you do when the hired help has to be a bunch of knuckleheads, anyways?

Whatever it was, he definitely wasn’t throwing any parties for them that’s for sure. Last thing anyone needed was those guys keeping everyone up all night by being loud as fuck.

Another drag, a slight shake in his fingers as they met his lips.

His arms hurt like Hell from having to spend so long rewiring that at this point he was surprised they were even remotely steady at all. And when he thought about it him waking up at the ass end of dawn because the comms had crashed again was probably a good reason as to why he was up so early. Digging around in cramped crawl spaces was not how he wanted to spend his day; and being tossed into a late night mission on top of it was even lower on that list.

Damn his bed seemed real inviting, early morning or not.

When was the last time he’d slept in? Or just had a day off? Sure they’d had low days along with the high ones, but when did they get an actual break where they could relax? The last time there wasn’t some kind of emergency or chaos outside their doors was at least a decade ago at this point, maybe less. He didn’t really have it in him to care much, since he didn’t keep track of the days anymore. No point to it.

More smoke filled his lungs. He really should just get some extra shut eye, rest until he felt better.

But, for some reason, he couldn’t.

He’d snapped to awareness with a cold feeling of dread weighing down his stomach. It had been so strong he’d shot up, halfway reaching for the pistol at his bedside thinking someone was there. But there wasn’t. It was dead quiet, like the moments after a bad mission.

Maybe that’s why he was outside right now. The casual air helped to mask the intent in his eyes as he scanned the skyline.

A glint of reflected light from a nearby rooftop nearly made him crush the cig in his hands as he tensed. Eyes snapping upwards he focused, but relaxed when all he found was a few familiar faces among one of the many teams patrolling the area. He snorted, smoke curling around his face.

Another pull, the cold wash of nicotine a nice cleanse to the tension in the air.

He was overthinking this.

And after all they’d been through, who could blame him really? Being constantly on the run would make anyone look over their shoulder or keep a gun within reach. Still, it wasn’t like the Agency knew where they were this time. To add to it nothing could get through the blast doors even if it tried. They’d tested those well enough for him to be certain.

It was just a very quiet night and he wasn’t used to it. That had to be it.

The cig smoldered between his lips in one last drag before he flicked the used butt over the railing. Arms raising over his head he stretched with a groan, “Damn,” He muttered, wincing at the series of pops going up his spine, “Ya’d think I’m getting old with how I crack like a handful of spaghetti.”

He was done with his morning smoke anyways.

Mobility returned to his spine Deimos rubbed at his neck he turned his back to the city, meandering back inside. Hitting the switch beside the glass door to slide it shut behind him he glanced at the clock on the comically cluttered bedside table he owned. Yep, too early for him to be this awake, if the glaring red 7:37 was anything to go by. Well mostly glaring, since his cap was haphazardly draped over it when he’d tossed it there yesterday. Or last night, he didn’t look at it then because he was too busy flopping face first into bed.

A healthy gurgling from his stomach brought him out of his thoughts.

That’s right. He didn’t eat last night either. Not really any time to when you’re face first into the ugly end of some bastardized wiring job done nearly half a decade ago. He hummed under his breath.

Was it too early to get something from the cafeteria? It was still morning he supposed; maybe some breakfast sausage would be left this time since he’d be able to get there first for once. The thought alone was tantalizing despite the exhaustion tugging at the edge of his conscious.

Did he even change after all that sweatshop work yesterday?

Pulling at the hem of his tank top he took a whiff. Yep, stunk of old sweat and probably a hint of grease; he didn’t. Pants probably didn’t smell too great either but who would check those and not come off like a weirdo? A quick sweep of the cargo pants half hanging off his hips proved them to be good enough with no obvious stains or rips.

Deimos shrugged. It was good enough. At least he didn’t stink of blood or anything, otherwise Doc would be on his ass hard. Though it wasn’t like anyone would be able to tell the difference in this sausage fest anyways. He’d be fine for a quick early morning bite.

Just needed to grab his jacket and boots and he’d be good to go.

Deimos scratched the stubble lining his jawline while he scanned the room. He’d taken off his jacket somewhere mid collapse but he couldn’t place where. He wasn’t one to lose things—most of the time at least—but sometimes it felt like they just up and disappeared. With his luck it would probably end up in a really obnoxious place like behind the bed or something. Not like that would happen since the thing was braced up against the wall in the corner so it had to be somewhere around here.

He paused when he noticed the distinctly leather looking lump laying on the floor beside said furniture.

Oh. There it is.

Approaching the bed he picked up his jacket off the floor. It still had some dust from when he’d been crawling through the vents last night as he swiped a hand over the shoulder. He grimaced at the sticky webbing that stuck to his fingers; a few cobwebs, too. Gross. Shaking it to clear out any excess dust he threw it on haphazardly, adjusting his pants once it was snugly over his shoulders. Belt tightened up again he’d turned towards the table and nearly tripped over his own boots.

Welp, at least those weren’t far either. Glad he’d had half the mind to take those off before crashing.

Cursing a bit under his breath he snatched his cap off the clock. With a quick sweep of his hand through his hair to straighten it a bit he put his hat on and sat on the bed, scooting his boots closer with a foot. Once they were laced up and buckled he got to his feet, ready for the day—or at least, the really early morning.

He glanced at the clock again. It blinked lazily at 8AM.

Eh, early enough. But the call of some sweet breakfast sausage was not to be ignored.

The moment he turned towards the door there was a series of firm knocks. He jumped, nearly tripping again as he cracked out, “Uh, yeah?” Damn that cig wasn’t enough apparently because his nerves must still be fried from that morning.

“Deimos, it’s me.”

His lips quirked a bit, confused. Normally, Doc only went after him when something broke or got jammed up again but a glance at the tablet resting on the table face up didn’t reveal a blinking light for a missed message. Unless something went wrong in the handful of seconds he’d been standing there then why was he trying to talk to him now of all times, “Hang on.” Tromping across the room he swiped his code in, the door opening with a hiss.

Doc was standing in front of his room, arms behind his back and head turned away as he kept his focus down the hall before turning to face him. He scanned him head to foot, “You look like shit.”

Deimos rolled his eyes with a huff, “Good morning to you too, Doc.” Leave it to him to state the obvious. Not like he didn’t already feel like crap in more than a few ways. He propped an arm against the door as he nodded towards him, “What’s up?”

2B stood a bit straighter, and just by his posture alone he had a feeling that whatever he was going to say wasn’t good, “Boss called in this morning, we have another assignment.”

Well he wasn’t wrong.

Deimos sighed, traces of smoke licking at his tongue as he tossed his head back, “Seriously? Now? Doc I haven’t eaten yet.” As if to prove his point his stomach made yet another unhappy glug. Both men glanced down, the tech sweeping a hand towards it with brows raised.

“I can tell.” Doc merely returned his gaze placidly, “Have you seen Sanford yet?”

He shook his head, “Nah. Haven’t left until now.” Though if he were to take a guess, he’d say the demolition’s expert would be working out somewhere.

It seemed they shared the same thought as 2B nodded, “I assume he might be downstairs at this hour. I did hear some commotion from one of the training decks.”

He chuckled a bit. Typical Ford.

“I want you to be ready within the hour, Deimos. You’ll get to eat when you get back. I’ll tell the staff in the kitchen to keep something in the oven for you.” He turned around, fully intending to leave before adding, “And also, get some washing done when you get back. You smell like a corpse.” With that he took his leave while Deimos scowled at his back.

Great. Of course it would be doc who’d notice.

Still he only sighed, punching the code into the panel to lock the door behind him. Getting his gear from the locker he had downstairs would only take a couple of minutes, and Ford should already be up if he was taking up a training room.

Just another day in Nevada, per the usual.

Things never really change.

#madness combat #Deimos #2BDamned #my writing #fun

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wille-zarr · 4 years ago

Text

The Mandalorian: “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Seven ~ “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; canon-level violence; near-death experience; angst

word count: 11.9k

chapter summary: not one to wait around on the mandalorian for rescue, you begrudgingly join forces with an unlikely ally, knowing it will take all of your wit and tenacity to outsmart the threats looming against you and the children

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: this is a repost as the first time i posted it, it didn’t show in the tags. opening italics are a flashback to the previous night. this chapter makes quite the narrative sandwich. begins and ends with fluff, but the middle filling? pure a.n.g.s.t.

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Seven: “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

“Tell me, Mandalorian,” you laugh, letting your eyes lazily dance along the outline of his gleaming Beskar, admiring the flickering flames reflecting back against it. “I have a question.” You didn’t need a mirror to know that mischievous glint in your eyes had returned. You could simply feel it: the up-to-no-good attitude radiating from within like a blazing warning beacon.

Happy.

You are happy. You haven’t felt this in so long, you’re simply drunk on it.

After several hours singing and dancing at Kuill’s homestead, your spirit- your heart- are bursting with bliss, like they might just erupt wings and soar up of your body, leaving the bounds of the physical realm for the mysterious realm of the Force.

The euphoria has pretty much eradicated any anxiousness you still felt regarding the day’s prior embarrassing events. Though, to be honest, as much fun as the dancing has been, the Spotchka is perhaps the most to blame for your loosened lips.

Which leads you back to your question for the Mandalorian.

He leans forward, resting both hands atop his knees, quiet, patient, and long-suffering as always when dealing with your jestering mood.

“Mandalorian-” you drop down to your knees, directly in front of him- “dance with me.”

He stares, neither speaking nor moving at your request. You might have wondered if he had heard you, except that he is staring directly into your eyes… At least, you assume it’s your eyes. A bit hard to tell with the, you know, helmet and all.

You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. “You know-” you motion circles in the air with your hands- “dancing: when two people grab hands and let the music dictate their movements?”

He jolts his head away, staring down at the dirt.

“I don’t dance.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out into laughter at the frown in his voice. But you lose the fight, the grin stretching across your face despite your best efforts. “The Mandalorian doesn’t dance.” You say it as a statement.

He begins rapidly tapping his fingers against his thigh armor, probably hoping you’d just go away.

No chance of that, Mando.

With a smirk, you reach out and grab onto his upper arm, just below where his armored veneer ends, and you teasingly squeeze.

You open your mouth to smart off again, but the words fall flat when his gloved hand slaps down on yours, pinning it in place against his bicep. Your lips part. At first you thought he might throw your hand off- maybe you broke some Mandalorian code by, you don’t know, touching him or something. But you watch, blinking, as his shoulders relax, falling back into repose.

Yet his hand remains, holding your own hostage.

Neither of you speak.

Maker. This… is awkward. A running theme with your interactions, it seems.

“Well,” you clear your throat, flashing him a cheeky grin, “that’s okay, Din. I guess you got two left feet, huh?” You release his arm, but his own hand keeps yours pinned in place. You’re not sure what to do, so you tug, relieved when he releases his hold.

You leap to your feet, dusting your skirt off in hopes of appearing casual about the interaction. “Fine, so you don’t wanna dance-” you scrunch your nose down at him- “so I’ll just dance with Cara then.”

“Cara?” he grunts.

With one last snicker, you hop away from the Mandalorian, straight to where Cara is conversing with Omera, interrupting their conversation with your request.

“Cara, Din turned me down.” You throw both hands on your hips. “So, will you dance with me?”

“I think I need another Spotchka first.”

“Oh!” Omera laughs, grabbing both yours and Cara’s hands. “Come on!”

The three of you join hands, laughing and snickering as you join the others around the fire in a lively dance.

-------

Few things bring Cara more joy than tormenting her favorite people. But what brings her the most joy? Tormenting Din. And after observing his behavior last night at the bonfire, she has plenty of ammunition to hurl his way.

“Mando,” Cara calls out, increasing her pace to catch back up to her companion. “What’s the big rush?”

This, of course, is a baited question. Cara knows exactly why her Beskar-clad friend is moving faster than a Kowakian Monkey-Lizard that’s being chased by a Hutt.

And it involves one lively, plucky little friend of the Mandalorian.

And what kind of friend would Cara be if she didn’t take the preverbal knife and twist it just a little deeper, tricking him into taking the bait.

“She can wait, you know.”

The hitch in Din’s step brings Cara immense satisfaction. The Mandalorian, even hidden behind all that hard exterior, is damn easier to read than he thinks.

A dangerous, mysterious Mandalorian warrior- brought down by simple childish infatuation.

How amusing. But really not surprising.

He can don as much Beskar as he can physically strap on, harden the soft layer of human skin with an impenetrable shield. And yet, for all the advances in technology, they’ve yet to discover how to armor the heart against the blaster blot of a crush.

“We can’t waste our entire day here, Cara,” Din grumbles, shooting Cara a glance. “We need to get back to the homestead.”

“Don’t give me that look, Mando.”

Din shoots Cara another glare in response.

“Yeah, that look.” Cara grins. The Mandalorian is no fool. And yet, even with all his experience, he really is about as dense as his armor. “Are you really in a rush to return to the homestead-” Cara casually adjusts the rifle slung across her back- “or are you just fretting over your pretty little friend?”

The Mandalorian freezes mid-step.

“If you’re trying to keep it a secret, Mando-” Cara brushes past him and continues walking- “you haven’t exactly done a great job of it.”

Cara downgrades her grin to a smirk as Din’s footfall resumes behind her.

“I don’t know what that liquid is the Sorganians keep offering you-” a harsh huff of air follows- “but you should probably lay off of it.”

Her chuckle turns into a mocking belly-laugh. “Oh, you’re not getting out of this one, Mando,” she snorts. “While she was singing, Kuill tried asking you a question. You didn’t even look at him, much less give an answer.”

The Mandalorian spins around. “He did not-”

“Uh huh. He shuffled off, mumbling something about a ‘love-struck blurg’.”

The Mandalorian continues stalking forward, but he’d have to move much faster than that to escape Cara’s prodding. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cara.” His tone is a warning, but she’s hardly afraid of him.

“Fine! Fine,” Cara sighs. The Mandalorian is making this way too easy. She really had hoped he’d put up more of a defense.

Cara lets the air hang silent a good thirty or forty long seconds- just enough to let Din think he’s off the hook. “You know,” she blurts, “you could have danced with her last night when she asked you, you damn Bantha-brain.”

“I don’t dance,” he mutters, a twinge of ire in his tone.

Cara huffs. “No, you just stare, apparently.”

The Mandalorian releases a long, heavy sigh, but does not respond.

“She’s pretty…” Cara voice takes on a nonchalant tone, “great personality…”

“And a lot of damn trouble,” he grumbles, hooking a finger in his belt and twisting around to face Cara.

“Well,” she puffs, intrigued by his reaction, “don’t get your Beskar britches in a stitch. If that’s how you feel, guess it’s a good thing she’s coming with me then.”

He faulters a split second before huffing through the vocoder.

“It is.”

Cara rolls her eyes. There is no talking him through this. Fine, be stubborn. Mando, you are a-

“On Taek,” his voice barges through her thoughts. “Since Taek…” His voice turns slow, languid. “She’s… just inexperienced, in over her head.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” His words are careful. He crosses his arms, slowly, methodically.

Cara pauses long enough to gather her thoughts. With a shake of her head, she sighs, “when she was fighting me- sure, she wasn’t very strong or even good at it, but the way she instinctively moved and reacted, she’s been trained before, I’d say. She isn’t clueless.”

“What are you thinking then?” The Mandalorian shifts his weight, angling his helmet to the side.

“I don’t know for sure. But I certainly don’t think she’s exactly what she portrays.” Cara raises an eyebrow. “We should probably run her name through the databases. I’d be curious to see what shows up.”

“I already did.”

“Not surprised,” Cara chuckles. “And?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s impossible.” Cara stops in her tracks. “No one is recordless.”

Din sighs, brushing past her. “I know.”

“False or wiped identity.” Cara can’t help but smirk. “I’m impressed.”

“Just watch her, Cara,” Din mumbles through the vocoder, matching his pace to Cara’s. “And… watch out for her.”

“I’ll leave the ‘watching her’ part to you for now, since you seem to enjoy it so much.”

Even through a dark visor, the long-suffering, please-just-stop gaze was more than apparent to Cara. But, of course, she plans to pretend she hasn’t noticed.

“Mando, you truly ar-”

“Cara.”

The alarm in Din’s voice rips the words from her mouth.

“What is-” Cara freezes. “Hey!” She throws a hand on her hip, the other hand reflectively slapping against her blaster holster.

“This… is where we left the bikes-” Cara blinks, glancing around at the empty alley- “right?”

Din does not answer. He steps forward, swiftly circling around the perimeter, observing the surrounding environment, the neighboring alleys… but finding nothing.

“Were they stolen?” Cara growls, temper beginning to take control. “Damn! I ju-”

“Look.” Din lifts something up off the ground, and Cara’s heart plummets.

“Is that…?”

“It’s her bag.” Din’s voice is measured, dangerously cool. “And her purchases are still inside it.”

Cara sighs, knowing this… didn’t bode well. “She wouldn’t have left it willingly.”

Din angles his helmet to glare out into the far horizon. “No.” He shifts his weight, swinging around to face Cara. “No, she wouldn’t.”

Cara frowns at Din’s fluttering cape as he sweeps past her, stalking straight back towards the shops.

She sighs.

“What have you gotten yourself into…”

-------

“Don’t worry, kids!” you weakly chuckle, knocking your hat back out of your eyes. “Look, this is just a little… fun adventure.” You rest both hands on your hips. “I’ve been kidnapped before, and I’m still here. We’re… going to be just, uh, fine.”

“No!” Large, rolling tears race down Winta’s cheeks. “And- and we’re trapped here! With them! And-”

“Winta,” your voice turns firm. You toss her a warm smile, grabbing ahold of her shoulders. “If I’m not worried-” you pause to brush your hand across her cheek before pulling her close- “then you shouldn’t be either, sweetheart.”

Of course, you are worried. Terribly worried. Nearly freaking-out-wanting-to-shriek-and-jump-out-the-ship worried.

Okay, so panicking. You’re panicking!

You swallow, the dry walls of your throat sticking together, making it difficult to even breathe.

“Yeah, this will be fun!”

You flash Birdie a curious gaze, raising an eyebrow when you discover him grinning with glee. “Birdie, what about the current situation has you so excited?” you can’t help but prod. Damn, you want a slice of whatever has this kid beaming with elation because, kriff it, you might just start crying yourself any minute.

“The Mandalorian will find us,” Birdie chirps, spinning around the hull of the Razor Crest. “And kill them! Just like one of his adventure stories!”

“Birdie!” Winta hisses. “You don’t know that!”

“He will!”

“He might not!”

“But he’s Mandalorian!”

“He might die, Birdie!”

“No, he can’t!”

“YES, he CAN!”

“Kids!” you bark, separating the two of them before hands start flying. Stars, where’s an adult when you need one because you sure as hell don’t feel like being one right now. You kneel down on the ground between them. “Stop this immediately, both of you. Winta, go over there. Don’t talk, even look at each other.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

Both kids obey your orders, but that doesn’t stop them from tossing each other angry glares from across the room, each tempting the other to break your order first.

You sigh, roughly rubbing your face with both hands. Stars, what next?

You feel a little tug on your pants. You flash your eyes downwards, smiling wryly at the baby. His expressive eyes are visibly distraught from the heightened emotional tension in the room, and the blanket you had wrapped him in remains tossed over the back of his head like a protective canopy.

“Come on, kiddo,” you sigh. You reach down and toss him up against your shoulder, releasing a tight breath when he tucks his face into your neck for comfort. Such a trusting action would normally warm your heart, but instead, your wry smile turns bitter. These children need you for comfort, for reassurance, to tell them it’s going to be okay. After all, that’s what parents do- they promise everything’s going to be okay.

But that’s just it. You can chant the words over and over and over again until the air runs out of your lungs, your empty chest filling with a baseless hope. But words on their own are meaningless. They cannot change fate.

You- you can’t do it again. You cannot lie to another child.

Your hands begin to shake, the hollow ache of grief bubbling and swirling in your stomach, the excruciating anguish of grief and despair eating away at what is left of your confidence. How can you sit here, swallow back against your fear, and vow to these children it will be okay?

A tiny squeeze on your arm rips you back to reality, back to the children here now. You press your eyes tightly together one last time, throwing away your pressing desire to just break down. Peeling your eyes back open, you sigh at discovering Winta and Birdie pressed against you, wide eyes glued to your face, searching it for answers and guidance.

“Listen, I said it’s going to be okay, and it’s going to be okay.” You flash them a shaky smile followed by a sharp nod. “And that’s that.”

Your smile warms, relief flooding your heart as their faces relax at your promise, however baseless it was.

Maybe that’s all a parent really is. Someone who lies about the truth until you are old enough to face the bullshit for yourself.

“Chins up,” you sigh, jumping to your feet and placing the baby back down on his blanket. With a sharp whine, he takes it up in his hands, crawling back underneath it.

Kid’s got the right idea.

You take this moment to flail your eyes around the room, desperate for a shred of an idea, any idea on how the kriff to get out of this. Unfortunately, the Mandalorian’s weapons are locked away, as the Nar Shaddaa lady assured before leaving you alone with the kids in the hull. Everything- the escape pod, the ramp, all locked down.

Maker. This- your plans- are spiraling out of control. When this whole mess began, you had a few escape scenarios in mind, but they were wild and risky, per your usual style. They had to be scratched the split second the children were involved. You’ve never cared much if you take risks with your own safety. After all, what is life but a game of chance? But it would be a cold day in each of the seven Corellian hells before you ever, ever put a child in harm’s way.

You groan as you are punched with reality: you are completely and utterly dependent on the Mandalorian and Cara for rescue.

And, well, that’s just not good enough. If there’s anything you’ve learned during your miserable existence in this galaxy, it’s that you can never, ever rely on others as a first line of defense.

Gotta take matters into your own hands. You might not be much of a fighter, but, blast it all, these Nar Shaddaa gangsters have made one critical, critical error:

They’ve triggered a mother bear…. And there’s no coming back from that. You will fight for them. If things get out of hand- If things change… You exhale slowly, resigning yourself to your decision.

If there are no other options, you will give them that name- the one once so unfortunately, intrinsically linked to your own.

But you can face that name again for them. The children are worth it- worth throwing everything away for.

You are emboldened by this decision, the protective instincts flooding your system, renewing your resolve to get out of this mess for them.

“Well, kids-” you lower your eyes, meeting three innocent expressions- “ready for a little fun?”

“YEAH!” Birdie shouts, bouncing up and down.

“Shh!” you hiss, swiftly pressing a palm to Birdie’s mouth. “Ready for quiet fun, Birdie. Quiet fun.”

Birdie mumbles something through your fingers as you lead him over to the bunk compartment. With a grunt, you lift him up to sit atop the mattress.

“Winta, bring the baby over. I want you three to stay right here. Do. Not. Move.” You swoop your finger in the air. “And no fighting.”

“I never fight,” Winta snorts.

Birdie jumps up on his knees. “You do too!”

You open your mouth to interrupt another round of squabbling. “Kids, you have go-”

“Girl,” barks a voice from the cockpit. “Get up here. Now.”

You grit your teeth as the snarled demand of the woman from Nar Shaddaa reverberates throughout the hull. The baby whimpers, tucking his head back behind Winta, who doesn’t exactly look that much better herself. The sparkle- the zeal for adventure- has even been ripped from Birdie’s eyes.

“Do not move.” You point a finger again. “Winta, you’re in charge.” Birdie’s mouth drops open, preparing to object, but you slam a hand down on the control switch, entombing the children inside with a snap.

With a heavy sigh, you yank on the brim of your hat to lower it back down on your brows. Biting your lip, you begin to make your way up the ladder, dread building in your stomach at not knowing what exactly to expect.

“Get up here,” barks the woman again.

“I’m here. I’m here,” you respond lazily, your outer rim accent thickening as you slip into your Nar Shaddaa persona. You stroll into the cockpit, hands raised in the air in surrender. “What is- AHG!”

Her hand lashes out, fingers sinking into your upper arm, digging ruthlessly into your flesh. With a harsh shove, she heaves you to the floor. Your knees crash into the metal flooring of the cockpit, and you cry out as your hands catch the brunt of your fall. The pain reverberates through your joints, the ache lingering longer than you think you can bare. Your cry is cut off by your own hand pressing to your lips, not wishing to alarm the children hidden down below.

“Stay down,” the man seated in the pilot’s seat grumbles, flipping switches.

Oh. Oh, you are seething now.

Clenching your teeth tightly together, you begin to raise up off the floor. “This- AUF!” The woman’s boot smashes into your back, sending your head hurling towards the floor. You grit your teeth, raging as hot, sticky blood trails down your cheek from the impact.

“Really? Making us repeat ourselves?” The boot presses harder, pinning your cheek flat against the biting cold of the metal floor. “Stay. Down.”

You squeeze your fists together, so tightly that your fingernails are digging into the flesh of your palm, to keep from snarling back at her. You can’t be stupid- you can’t be prideful. Hold back. Hold on.

“Well-” the woman sighs, lifting her boot- “you are an annoying one.”

“Thank you,” you grumble under your breath, “cultivated talent.”

So much for silence. Hell, your stupid mouth is going to get you killed. This- oh stars. Oh stars, what can you do? How do you get out of this? The children, they-

“Where is she.”

Your heart clenches.

That…that voice- that voice! The holo-communicator!

Din!

“I said,” he growls, low and dangerously measured. “Where is she?”

You’re about to open your mouth when the boot presses down on your back in a silent warning. You bite your lip as hard as you can stand to keep from snarling an expletive.

Think of the children. Think of the children…

“First, Mandalorian,” says the woman, “we need to come to terms on an agreement.”

“Show me her,” the Mandalorian’s voice lowers. “Now.”

Your stomach flutters at the rage lurking in his voice, but you don’t have a chance to think beyond that. A hard hand yanks the back of your collar, dragging you up to your feet as you cough and choke against the grip.

“Fine,” the woman sighs, sounding almost bored with all of this- their terrorizing. She shoves you forward. “Here’s your girl. She’s fine.”

Coughing into your hand, you rapidly blink, your eyes finally coming into focus. There he is- shrouded in the blue light canopy of the holo-display.

Cough- “Man-” cough-cough- “Man-do!” cough.

The Mandalorian steps closer, reaching out as if he could just somehow touch you. You clamber forward, slapping your hands down on the base of the holo-display.

“Mando! They ha-”

“Are you hurt? Is that blood?” His voice is hard, dangerous, even through the crackling audio of the holo-display. “Tell me. Have they hurt you?”

“Din!” you cry, losing every ounce of your cool. “Din, they have the children!”

Dead silence.

Breathing heavily, you continue, “Winta, Birdie, and, oh stars! The baby! The baby, Din!”

The Mandalorian freezes, visor trained on you, his stare melting you down to a little puddle on the floor.

“Oh yes, forgot to mention that,” the man mumbles, leaning back in the pilot’s chair beside where you stand.

The hum of the holo-display reverberates throughout the room, the only noise outside of your harsh, panicked breathing.

“You-” the Mandalorian’s voice burns. “If you put one mark on them-” he takes a step forward- “there is no place you will be able to hide from me.”

“Don’t worry,” the man snorts, “we’re taking good care of them, right?” He shoots out a hand, twisting it around your arm.

“Kriff off!” you snarl, all your pent-up rage exploding like a bomb. You fire an elbow at his face. He catches it, twists you around, and pins it against your back. “Go to hell!” you scream, kicking and stomping your feet. He twists your arm further, and you yelp from the burst of pain.

“Let. Her. Go.”

“Or what?” the man snorts. “You’re not exactly here, are you?”

“Rea, stop antagonizing everyone,” the woman barks, clearly irritated with her partner. “Let her go.”

“Hmf.”

He heaves you forward, and your ribs crash into the edge of the display, sucking all of the air from your lungs like a vacuum.

Your name- you can faintly hear it- over and over and over again- slipping through the stars and fog and mist swirling around in your head.

“I-” you groan- “I’m o-okay.” You press a hand to your ribs, taking deep breaths against the aftershocks of pain. You clench your teeth.

Oh. Oh, you’re going to kill them. By your hand. You will kill them.

“Listen,” the woman takes over, pushing aside her partner, “we are sending the coordinates for a rendezvous point. You have my word-” she smiles, that sickly, fabricated Nar Shaddaa smile- “they will not be harmed further, if you come alone and bring the original datachip you took from Marek. That’s all we want.”

You hold your breath, awaiting Din’s response.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” His voice faulters, lowering even further.

He’s afraid.

“Good. Just remember-” -the woman smiles, that same phony smile- “one mistake-” she rests a hand on your shoulder- “and the deal is off.”

The Mandalorian shifts, twisting his head to find you- to stare you directly in the eyes. You hold the gaze, unblinking, sending him a silent promise through the connection, just wishing, somehow, he could receive the message.

Two seconds…

Three seconds…

Four seconds…

“I understand.”

And the holo cuts off.

-------

“No, no,” you mumble. “I promise. This isn’t blood.” You continue wiping the very-much-actual-blood on your forehead from where it collided with the floor.

“Sure,” Winta grumbles from the Mandalorian’s bed, his blankets thrown over her head.

“No, really.” You wince as you dab at a tender area. “Okay, it is blood. I, uh, was thinking too hard.” Tossing Winta a lopsided smirk, you tuck your legs under as you sit on the floor of the Mandalorian’s Razor Crest bedroom. “I was thinking too hard, and my brain started bleeding, that’s all.”

“Whoa, really?” Birdie grabs onto your shoulder, staring directly at your wound. “That’s weird!”

Winta huffs, but you smile over at her, sneaking her a sly wink. No use scaring the kids. Might as well be a little silly. After all, anything that calms them, it in turn calms you, right?

Rising up from the floor, you toss aside Din’s shirt that you had been using to clean the blood away. “I owe you one shirt, Mr. Metal Man.” You grin as the kids giggle at your words.

Twisting around on your heel, you throw open his drawers, pawing through the mess the Nar Shaddaa operatives left behind in their search for the datachip (and checking for weapons, no doubt). Not that they really made the mess much worse. Din did a fine job of that on his own.

The man lives like a kriffing Rakghoul.

You glare up at the wall, sighing at the bare space left behind from the now-missing vibroblades. “Mando,” you grumble under your breath, just barely loud enough for the kids to hear, “couldn’t you have hidden a blaster in your, oh, I don’t know, underwear drawer?” Your smile blossoms as their giggles turn into full-on roaring laughter.

“Hey, if the Mandalorian asks-” you fling his clothes right and left over your shoulders, adding to the mess already consuming the floor- “the Nar Shaddaa bad guys made this mess.” You lift up a flannel shirt, similar to the one you had “borrowed” previously. “Deal?”

With a sly little giggle, Winta nods her head, lifting the blankets up for Birdie to join her underneath.

You shift to stand, and you pull on Din’s shirt to cover your blood-stained one. A gentle tug on your pants freezes you mid-buttoning. “Oh!” you gasp. Your eyes twist downwards, meeting the expressive orbs of the baby. His little hands are outstretched, pleading to be picked up.

“Of course, baby.” You pull him up against your chest, expecting he wished for more comfort. But instead, he stares, almost mournfully, at you, observing your wounds.

“I’m okay, little guy,” you sigh as you exit the bedroom and pace the hull a few times. He reaches his little three-fingered hands upwards, grasping for your wounds, but you push his hands back down with each attempt.

He squeals in protest. “Shh, I need to think, baby. I’m just a clumsy oaf. I tripped, is all,” you half-heartedly mumble, deep in thought. You need to focus. You need a damn plan.

Your thoughts are barely coherent, sloshing back and forth in your brain like a thousand loose marbles. If you could just… You freeze mid-step, mouth dropping open.

The back of the hull.

You see it.

A gleam.

A shine.

An… idea.

With a burst of a grin, you flip around, racing back into the bedroom. “Kids,” you hiss, dropping the baby back down on the bed. “Come! I need you to make a lot of noise. Scream; holler; just- noise.” Giggling to yourself, you rush back into the hull, freezing mid-way when you don’t hear them following after you. You twist around, discovering them still staring at you, wide-eyed, from the bed.

“Come on!” You wildly motion at them. “Don’t you want to be a part of an adventure?” You throw them a wink.

Birdie is the first to leap to your side, energy fueled by a promise of excitement. “Scream? Scream?” He grabs onto the fabric of your pants, yanking on them as he bounces up and down. “Why! Why!”

“A distraction.” You smirk, dropping down to meet his eye-level. He bursts into giggles as you ruffle his hair. “Think you can handle it?”

“But- but how?” You look over at Winta, finding her standing in the doorway as she bites her finger uncertainly.

You shrug, tossing both hands on your hips. “I dunno; doesn’t matter.” You sweep your hand in the air around the room. “Just scream about the, oh, refresher or something.”

“The refresher?” Winta snorts.

“I DON’T WANNA USE THE REFRESHER!”

“Stars, Birdie!” you hiss, slapping both hands over your ears. Maker, the sound certainly reverberates in this blasted metal ship!

Winta stares at you with large eyes, but you just raise your eyebrows at her. “Go on,” you mouth.

“Um-” Winta walks over and slides the partition covering the refresher open- “you’ve got to, Birdie! It’s the only one!”

“No! It’s stinky and gross, and I hate it!”

Heh. Kid would make a good actor.

“What the hell is going on down there?”

Just as you expected, the Nar Shaddaa operatives immediately check in on all the commotion.

“Um,” you mumble, rushing over and leaning up against the ladder. “The, uh, girl is just trying to help her friend with the refresher. He’s never seen one like this, and he’s…um, scared.”

You bite your lip to keep from snickering when muttered curses swirl down the ladder followed by the snap of the cockpit door clicking shut.

An impish grin stretches across your face, and you knock your hat back, amazed at how easily this is working out. “Well-” you turn to face the children, giving them a pointed look- “did I say stop?”

The children erupt.

And the baby, not one to be left out of the fun, takes it upon himself to begin wailing.

“Good, uh, good.” You cringe at the racket, fumbling over your feet in your hast to race to the back of the hull. “Keep on! Keep going!” You come to a halt, beaming up at your one-way ticket to rescue.

A blaster.

Of course, said blaster might still be clasped in someone’s hand.

And that hand might be frozen in carbonite.

But, hey, that’s a minor issue you’re about to take care of.

Grumbling under your breath, you begin punching away at the controls on the side of the carbonite block, unsure of what exactly any of them do. “Blast!” you hiss under your breath. “Come on, Carbonite Man! Unfreeze!”

You gasp. The block warms under your hand, shifting in color. Stars! He’s either cooking alive or unfreezing! Or is he- OH! HE’S MOVING!

You slap both hands over your mouth, gawking wide-eyed as Carbonite Man leans forward from the block like some sort of horrifying rebirth. So caught up in the terrifying visual, you barely register the kids abandoning their distraction technique to rush over and stand beside you. You stumble forward, reaching out a hand in the man’s direction. “Uh, sir, I- Oh!”

He drops down, coughing and sputtering and shaking against the floor.

“HE’S DYING!” Birdie shrieks against your leg.

“Shh! He’s, uh, fine!”

You hope, anyway. A dead body would be hard to hide.

You come back to your senses, swooping up the blaster the man dropped during the unfreezing process. You twist it around, pointing it directly at him as he coughs and shutters against the floor.

You blink, wide-eyed, as his body abruptly stops convulsing, resting stiff against the floor.

“Is he…?” Winta mumbles, voice quivering.

“Oh, blast!” His dark eyes shoot open.

Winta screams, clasping her hands over her mouth.

He groans, placing a hand on his forehead. The man, maybe in his early thirties, rapidly blinks, his eyes flittering around the room until they freeze, resting on your face.

Oh no.

He’s cute.

Had it been any other scenario, you would have jumped in feet-first flirting. The unruly stubble and the sweaty curled hair plastered to his forehead? Yes, please.

“Well, he-llo there, beautiful.” His lips slowly twist up into a smirk. “What’s a doll like you doing in my bedroom? I think I’d remember you.”

Maker. Why are they always cute until they talk?

“Where the hell do you think you are right now, bud?” you grumble.

He squints his eyes. “Uh… my eyes are actually pretty blurry, and I-” His expression plummets to the ground.

“Oh no.”

“Exactly.” You shove the blaster in his face. “Get up.”

“Wait, was- was I… carbonite?!” He leaps to his feet, throwing his hands in the air.

“Get back,” you growl, jabbing the barrel towards his ribs.

“Shit! Calm down with that blaster, lady!” The brief flash of anger in his face is swiftly replaced with horror. “Wait- where’s… Mandalorian?!”

“Calm down,” you bark, pushing as much authority into your voice as you can muster. “You’re on the Mandalorian’s ship, and you had better listen to me.” You tilt your head to the side, throwing the children a pointed look.

“Kids, cover your ears.”

They reluctantly obey, even the baby as he grasps at the ends of his ears, attempting to fold them down against his head.

“Now, let’s talk business.” You step forward, blaster corralling Carbonite Man up against the wall.

“Blast, blast, blast, wait, lady!” the man laughs nervously, throwing his hands out to the side. “I mean, come on! We can make a deal here, sweetheart.” He takes a step forward.

“Bold move considering I wield the blaster.”

“Drunk on power, are we?” His tone shifts into a smooth blend of irritatingly cocky confidence. “You like being in charge, sweetheart?”

“Maker,” you mutter under your breath. You bite your cheek to keep from losing your cool. After all, the kids will have enough lasting trauma from this situation without you adding to it by shooting this nerfherder in front of them.

“I mean, if you and those kids are his bounty-” he throws them a little wave; Birdie returns it eagerly before Winta slaps his hand down and recovers her ears- “shouldn’t you be pointing that thing-” he motions at the blaster- “at him?”

“Look-” you purse your lips, taking on a defensive stance. You didn’t trust this man to not do something stupid like rip the blaster from your grip, getting all of you killed. You step forward again, and he steps back, pressed up against the wall like a cornered womp-rat.

“Listen,” you hiss, using your authoritative voice again, “long story short, we’re being held hostage here-”

“By the Mandalorian? He took children? That dirty-”

“Just stop!” you groan, rolling your eyes. “And just listen. No, he’s a… a good man-”

“I beg to differ, ma’am.” He lifts an eyebrow, motioning wildly at the melted carbonite block from which he emerged.

“Really? You’re one to talk.” You snort and knock your hat back, shooting him an incredulous glare. “And why exactly is there a bounty on your head? I’m sure you’re just so innocent, such a good man.”

You inwardly cringe. You really are the last person in the galaxy that should be mocking a man fleeing a bounty hunter, all things considered…

“I’ll have you know I am innocent.” He crosses his arms.

“Really.”

“Yes, really.”

He shoots a glance at the children, all three of whom are watching him with intense fascination. Birdie looks like he’s found a new hero- a bit concerning, to be honest.

“Kids, cover your ears.”

“Aw,” Birdie whines, but they obey the demand once again.

“Tighter, kid…. No sneaking a listen…” He shifts back around to face you. “Ah-” the man slips you a wink- “let’s just say I had no idea the heiress was still married.”

“Oh stars.”

“But her partner sure informed me!”

“Dank farrick,” you groan, “you really are a banthabrain.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Enough of this.” You meet the children’s eyes. There’s no use forcing them to cover their ears at this point. They’ve overheard enough drama in just the past few hours to write an entire holodrama. You have to instead focus- focus on getting them out. If this man can be useful towards that goal, then he had better start talking- and talking fast.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” You smile, crossing your arms but keeping the blaster pointed at his head.

“I’d focus better without that blaster- hey! That’s mine!”

“Two Nar Shaddaa syndicate members are up in the cockpit.” Your lopsided smile drops. “They are holding us to get something they want from the Mandalorian. And if they find you, they will kill you. Catch my drift?”

“Kark. I didn’t ask to be unfrozen and dragged into this!”

“Then get in the freezing bay!”

“Now wait-”

“Are you afraid?” Birdie chirps, rushing over to grab the man’s hand.

“Birdie!” you hiss, jerking forward to snatch him back.

“Kid, to put it simply and in as few words as possible-” he drops down to Birdie’s eye level- “yes.”

Winta races over and grabs his other arm. “We can help!”

“Kids, you’re killing me here,” you groan as you snatch up the baby with your free hand before he can waddle over to join Winta and Birdie. “Look here, uh-”

“Pablo.” He smiles at you, sticking both hands out towards Winta and Birdie to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

They giggle as they take his hands. You lean all your weight to one foot, jutting your hip out. “Carbonite man, Pablo, whatever-” you purse your lips- “whether you want to or not, you’re stuck in the middle of this. You have three options.”

“One-” with the hand grasping the blaster, you lift a finger up- “help us, and I will have the Mandalorian release you.” Second finger. “I can refreeze you. Or three-” you smirk- “you get shot.”

“Dank farrick.”

“Well?”

Pablo turns his head, raising an eyebrow at Winta and Birdie. “Guess I’ll hedge my bets on the Mandalorian’s kindness.”

You release a long breath. Maker, you hadn’t realized how tense you’d been…

“Good. Well then-” you let a smile tickle the corner of your mouth- “got any ideas?”

-------

“No, that’s too dangerous. It’s a stupid plan.”

“Got anything better, little miss genius?” Pablo grumbles.

“Oh, and you’re a genius?” It takes all of your inner strength to keep your voice below a whisper. You feel your face warm with seething anger. “You’re the one who got caught by a bounty hunter!”

“And you’re the one who got kidnapped.”

“Stars!” you growl, shifting further away from Pablo, sliding across the Mandalorian’s bed. “Honestly? I hope they do kill you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

You hand is raised in the air, prepared to shove him off the bed when Winta bursts through the doorway of the sleeping quarters.

“Someone’s coming!”

“Kriff!” you hiss, flying to your feet.

“Hey, hey, wait, where the hell-”

“Under the bed!” You slap a hand on the top of his head, shoving it down with force. “Go!”

“I can barely fit,” he growls. “I think I’m stuck- HEY NOW.”

“Move!” you hiss through your teeth, pushing on his ass with both hands.

A few more panicked wiggles, and he slips underneath.

“Here.” You slip him his blaster back. “Don’t make me regret this.”

He peaks up at you with a lopsided smile. “Never, sweetheart.”

You barely make it back into the hull before the female Nar Shaddaa operative steps down from the last rung of the ladder.

“We’ve finalized the last details of the rendezvous with the Mandalorian.” She throws both hands on her hips, rolling her shoulders forward, taking on a much more intimidating presence. “We should be arriving within fifteen minutes.”

Stars! Fifteen minutes… Within fifteen minutes…

Oh Maker…

Swallowing back your anxiety, you stroll over to where the children sit in the bunk compartment, climbing up and joining them. You take the baby up, setting him down in your lap. He stares up at the woman and coos as the other children tuck behind your back.

“And?” You are trying your hardest to use your professional, almost bored tone of voice, the one you used when discussing “business” on Nar Shaddaa.

“I’m just reiterating my earlier point-” she smiles- “that one wrong move, play heroics, and you know how this will end.”

You blink, keeping the mask on your face. “Good, well, thanks for the update.” If you stay calm… the kids will stay calm… If you stay calm… the kids will stay calm…

The woman huffs and does a quick visual sweep of the hull before spinning around, climbing right straight up the ladder again.

Hell.

The unfrozen carbonite block. Tucked away in the back.

The kriff. She didn’t see it. Bloody hells!

You’ll just have to blame Pablo for that one.

You groan, letting your head flop forward against the baby’s head. He coos against the touch, reaching up and clasping both of his hands against your cheeks.

“Baby, I know you miss your daddy,” you sigh heavily, rubbing his ear with affection. “I think you all need naps.”

“You need a nap.”

You twist to frown at Winta. She just shrugs.

Well, she might have a point. After a long day of plot twist after plot twist, well…

You can’t take many more of them.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Your eyes shoot up, your mouth plummeting to the floor.

“What the kriff are you doing?”

Pablo keeps his blaster trained on you, shrugging at your question. “Sorry, but I intend to do this my way, whether you like it or not.”

You grit your teeth, rage boiling in your stomach- only the fear of alerting the cockpit keeping it from spilling over and consuming Pablo alive.

“I- you- how dare-”

“Save it.” His face falls into the most serious expression you’ve seen from him thus far. He swoops along the wall, angling his head cautiously, peering up the ladder.

“The door’s closed. Stay quiet. Climb.”

“Are you crazy?!” You leap to your feet, marching over with little regard for the blaster trained on your head.

“Get back,” he spits, holding a hand up in warning.

“No,” you growl, ripping your hat off your head and slamming it against the floor. “Shoot me. You won’t! Shoot me, you kriffing coward!”

His hand launches forward, twisting around your upper arm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh beneath the sleeve as he yanks you forward to hiss in your ear. “Don’t do this, not in front of the children.”

The children.

Stars.

You- you lost your temper in front of the children. You peak a reluctant glance over at the bunk, horrified to discover sheer terror etched in their expressions.

You want to throw up.

But your pride, your temper, still speak for you when your lips open. “In front of the children? Says the man pointing a blaster at me,” you say through clenched teeth.

His eyes grow hard, and he shakes his head vigorously. “You’ll thank me later.”

You have no idea what’s about to happen, but your priority is the children. Their safety. Their comfort. Their lives.

You will get them out of this, somehow. Somehow.

“I won’t forget this, Pablo.”

-------

It took Pablo less than thirty seconds to override the locks on the escape pod. Who knew that there was an emergency feature that allowed for it to be manually unlocked? Certainly would have been handy information to have that one time a Gungan was chasing you on his freighter…

“Come on, doll,” Pablo whispers, shoving Winta as tightly against your body as possible. She groans, wrapping both arms around your leg. “I’m tired.”

“I know, babydoll.”

“Ouch!”

“Shh!”

“Maker,” you mumble, barely audible. “Who designs a coffin escape pod that fits one person?” You squeeze the baby against your chest, praying there would be room enough to shut the door with all four of you stuffed inside. He releases a little whine, leaning into you as tightly as possible.

“Listen-” Pablo dips his head down within inches of your ear- “they won’t know you’ve launched. I froze the pod’s system computers from this panel, so you should be safe.”

“How do I know you didn’t screw the pod up?” you sneer.

He cocks his head, dipping in even closer to your ear. You feel his hot breath brush against your ear.

“Trust me.”

“Kriff. Off,” you mouth at him. He has the audacity to smirk.

“What in the Corellian hells are we supposed to do when we land?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Kriff, you want to smack that smirk right off his face…. You gasp when something cold presses into your one free hand.

“Take it.”

You look down, astonished to find his blaster in your grip. Your eyes shoot back up, honestly baffled by the gesture. This… this leaves him defenseless. “I could blast you right now.” A smirk tickles at the corner of your lips.

“Shoot me.” He grins, a bright, wide grin. “You won’t, you kriffing coward.”

And with one final chuckle, he seals the door shut, plastering the four of you tightly, but safely, within the confines of the escape pod.

“Here we go, kiddos,” you mumble, feeling light for the first time since this whole mess started. Yes. Finally… The kids will be out of danger… A thousand-pound weight lifts from your shoulders, and you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut.

“Let’s fly.”

With a jolt- a jerk, the pod releases, and you take over the controls, begging the force for a safe landing, if for any reason, for the children’s sake.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

“Maybe not, Winta.”

Probably not.

-------

“I hate adventure.”

You reach down into the escape pod, pulling Birdie up to his feet. “Come on now, Birdie. You love adventure!”

“Not anymore!” Birdie screams at the top of his lungs. “It’s stinky!”

“I want to go home!” Winta cries, flopping down on the sand. The baby takes this as his emotional cue, dramatically flopping over into Winta’s lap and launching into high-pitched whining.

“Stars almighty!” You drop down to your knees and throw your hat off your head. “We’re safe! Look, don’t give up now!”

You know this isn’t a fair request. They’re children, for goodness sake. Tired, hungry, stressed children. But you have no clue, no clue, where you are on Arvala. No clue where Kuill’s is. No clue what direction to go or how long it will take. It’s hot, everyone’s hungry… And outside of one blaster pistol, defenseless.

You stare up into the sky, squinting against the blazing, unforgiving sun.

Sigh.

“Come on now.” You lumber back up to your feet, thrusting an arm out towards the horizon. “We’ll get home that way.”

Yes, the direction the Razor Crest was headed when you launched from it. Better than wandering around in circles.

You rest the baby against your hip, the other hand clenching the blaster with a steely grip. The children stumble into a line behind you, eyes drooping and shoulders low. You sigh.

“Let’s sing while we walk, how ‘bout?” you chirp.

They grumble an affirmative. You think so, anyway. Stars, you’re actually jealous of their freedom to show outwardly how they really feel, not have to worry about keeping up a tough face.

Being an adult, to quote Birdie, is stinky.

-------

Eh, everyone’s a critic. The children fall into a heavy silence after you finish the second song, so you give up on the singing. Well, maybe at this point, letting them process the day in silence would be better for them than anything else.

They need the- wait.

You freeze, dropping your body down to the dirt at the top of the hill. You jerk your arm in circles, and the children flop down beside you.

“The Razor Crest!” Winta gasps, eyes widening.

Resting a hand above your eyes, you squint against the sun’s rays, sweeping your eyes around the valley in which the ship is positioned. But what you find is… well.

Not good.

You see no one. Hear no one.

But the ramp is open, and there’s blaster bolt residue all along the sides of the rocks, the far cliff face, and even new marks on the Razor Crest itself. You bite your lower lip to stop it from trembling. At- at least you don’t see their bodies. That’s… good, right? Means they’re somewhere… fighting?

Oh, stars…

You shift back on your heel to stand, anxiously brushing your pants off. “Stay here. Do not move for any-” you point at them and raise your eyebrows- “and I mean any reason.” You are met by sharp nods of agreement.

You sigh, twisting around to slide down the hill towards the ship. Crouching down, you scramble from rock to rock, moving closer in towards the ship. You still hear nothing, not even from within the ship. You pause, frozen in place, for a good three, four minutes, just enough to make sure it was safe enough to approach closer.

If no one is in the ship, you can fly it off. Fly it to Kuill’s, get help, call the Mandalorian, anything.

You cautiously rest one foot at the bottom of the ramp, as if it was triggered with bombs just waiting to go off with one wrong step. You release a puff of air, standing completely motionless as the Arvala wind whips your clothes around. You shake your head, taking several more steps.

All seems good, so now you can-

“WATCH OUT!”

You leap back several feet, clumsily falling off the edge of the ramp with an oof. You don’t allow yourself time to feel pain. You clutch at the arm you landed on, gritting your teeth. Stumbling up, you slip on loose rocks as you race towards cover. Panting heavily, you jerk your head around in circles. You reach down to your waistband, grasping for Pablo’s blaster.

Wait- no, no! The blaster- Pablo’s blaster! You- you must have lost it by the ramp in your panic! Damn!

“LOOK!”

Your eyes tear up to where Winta stands at the top of the hill. She and Birdie are leaping up and down, motioning wildly towards the opposite side of the Crest where you sit. You spin around, expecting the worst.

And finding it.

Seven Corellian hells.

The Nar Shaddaa woman, dusted up and bloodied, is racing towards the Crest.

And she’ll have to pass you to get to it.

“Watch out!”

BLAST.

The kids shriek as the blaster bolts sail over their heads. “DROP!” you howl, leaping up from your position. “DROP DOWN- ARH!” You grasp your left arm, grinding your teeth as the blood begins to pool on the fabric, warm and sticky against your hand.

You spin around, tears dripping from the pain. She’s lifting it again. Aiming.

You dive, screaming as your bad arm crashes into the dirt. No, no. The world falls dark for only a second. But now you’re stuck- stuck behind a rock. She’s coming- coming closer. You can hear her boots, crunching against the rocks and pebbles. Crunching crunching.

Kriff.

You- you can’t breathe. The smell of burned flesh- your flesh- turns your stomach inside out.

No.

This can’t- this won’t be your end.

Tears of terror and pain and resolve flood your cheeks.

You have one option. One chance.

You will get to the Razor Crest first.

One deep breath. Stumbling over pebbles, you push for the ramp. Your eyes are fixed forward. Tuning out any other thought besides-

run.

A bolt whizzes past your right ear. You instinctively jerk left, falling over from the burst of pain blasting from your arm straight to your head.

No, no. You can’t- You have to get up. The children…

Rage seethes in your chest. Damn her. Damn this galaxy.

You belly crawl to the nearest rock, pressing up against it. What can you do? Oh, Maker, what can you do?

You peak your head up. She’s so close. Closer. Lifts the gleaming silver. Aim-

Wait, what?

You gasp, slapping your good hand across your mouth.

You- your eyes… is this real? It can’t… You blink. No, it’s real.

The woman is floating in the air.

“What the hell,” you hiss under your breath. “What th- OH!”

The woman goes blasting off, crashing against the Crest with an audible crunch. Winta screams. You rip your eyes away, staring up at the hill, just in time to watch the baby fall into Winta’s lap.

Oh.

Oh no. No. No.

The baby- the baby used the force.

Complicated. How do things keep getting more and more complicated?

Movement pulls your attention away. The woman is getting up- clutching her side in pain. She releases a guttural scream, eyes flashing flames at you.

Right between you. In the middle. The blaster.

Like a match being lit, you burst forward. The pounding in your ears is like the hum of machinery, pushing you on like you had no say in the matter.

But then she falls, tumbles over her own feet, and you grasp the blaster from the dirt. But she’s on you. A snap against your fingers, and you cry out as the weapon launches from your hand. She kicked it.

She wraps an arm around your neck, but you pull her down with every bit of your body weight- both of you screaming against your injuries and wounds, but neither giving in.

Side leap- roll. You launch at her legs, taking her down. She throws you off- climbing astride. You grab her wrists, tears bubbling in your eyes as the pain in your arm blackens the edges of your eyesight.

You freeze.

You don’t- you don’t feel pain.

It’s cold. Just feels… cold.

With shaking, trembling hands, your clutch the handle of the vibroblade- your vibroblade- jutting from your side.

She jumps up off you, twisting around on her heel. You kn-know… she’s… the children. The children. You think you can… faintly hear them.

It wasn’t smart. But you have to… Gritting your teeth, you yank the knife from your side. Flopping over as you wail, the pain held back like a dam releases all at once.

Face kissed with tears, you wobble up to your feet, swaying against the darkness encroaching your vision.

May the force guide your hand.

You swing back. The knife flies, slips right out of your fingers. Slices through the air.

The Nar Shaddaa operative collapses, the handle of your knife glowing golden in the sun’s rays.

This will be your legacy.

Not your arrests, rebellion, schemes, failures, betrayals.

No.

When you die, your legacy will be the golden knife shining from their back. Your legacy will be the three children that will live on another day.

You’re selfish. You’ve lived a selfish life. But somehow, you think, with the last three minutes of your breath, maybe, just maybe, you have wiped that slate clean.

“Valera,” you mumble. Stars, you see her face. That’s all you want. Yes, to hell with this life. Valera… Bright eyes giggle above your face.

Maker…. You’re hallucinating… You’re… you’re actually dying. Years of close calls, and now you’re dying.

“V-Va-Valera.”

You reach up. But it is not softness nor warmth you feel.

Cold.

Hard.

“She’s going into shock.”

Din.

His voice is a thousand miles away. You are buried a hundred miles below the surface of an ocean. You are only vaguely aware of arms sliding underneath you, lifting you.

You feel no pain. Only a dark light, hovering at the edge, consuming more and more of the bright light. A battle, life and death. And you are stuck between them.

You comprehend a few things. The soft hug of blankets beneath your body. The gentle give of a mattress. A deep voice, muffled above the water’s surface. Soft, affectionate fingers tracing your jaw, cupping your cheek.

You hear your name, clear through the fog, a desperate, pleading voice.

It calls out. You want to answer.

But the darkness wins.

-------

You don’t remember the first time you awaken. Or the second. Nor the third. But the fourth time-

You pry open heavy eyelids, as if the lashes were tied to lead strands. You groan- you feel so heavy, like there’s a pressure boring down on you from some invisible source. You wiggle against the weight; the soreness shoots up your side; your arm-

Oh!

Your eyes shatter the lead weights into a thousand crystal shards, blasting wide open when everything hits your mind at once.

Hell! What- are the kids…? Where are- wait!

You lean forward, lifting up from the bed like some rakghoul emerging from its grave. A mistake. You moan against the ache that quivers up your spine.

“Easy.”

Catching the movement of silver, your eyes tear over to the opposite side of the room... Din’s room. You’re on the Razor Crest.

“Din,” you breathe, groaning as you place your good hand on your forehead. “What- what happened?”

He tilts his head. “You were stabbed.”

“I- I think I figured that part out,” you grumble as you stare down at your body, laying back against the pillows.

He remains silent, moving across the room to stand at your side. He doesn’t go to sit or even speak; he just… stares down at you.

“What?” you grumble, perhaps a bit heavy on the aggression. But hey, you’ve just been stabbed and shot. You imagine you have the right to be grumpy for at least a week or two. Maybe three, if you push it.

“I’m trying to determine-” he reaches down, dusting your forehead with the hint of leather- “if it’s you or the drugs speaking right now.”

“Drugs?” A teasing smile blooms at the corner of your mouth. “Hey, what kind of drugs are we talking about here?”

He lowers down into the chair positioned beside your bed with a grunt.

“It’s you.”

You chuckle even through your aching exhaustion.

“I…” you drop the humor, voice lowering to a mere whisper. “What happened? I don’t remember…”

Din twists his head away from you. You fear he might not answer; you begin panicking, wondering if something horrible happened and-

“When we arrived,” he sighs, heavy, tired, “they refused to show us you and the children. Next thing I know-” he tilts his head- “a man emerged from the ramp saying you were safe and to shoot them.”

Pablo. Some plan! You roll your eyes, perhaps with a smidge of affection in your heart, if you searched very, very hard. Very hard.

“Then we found you,” he whispers, barely audible through the vocoder. He leans forward, resting both elbows against his knees and shaking his head.

“Ka’r’ika, you… ” He reaches out again, dusting of leather against your cheek. “I- you died.”

“I… I did?” Your eyes widen. “I- it’s… really?” You blink, humor taking over for your lack of words. You force a grin. “Damn, that’s… hardcore.”

Din does not attempt to mask the aggression in his tone.

“They died too quickly.” He leans against the mattress, voice dropping in volume. “They deserved to have it dragged out.”

Shivers spike up your spine at his words. Sometimes you forget he’s a hunter, running with his own, perhaps sometimes cruel, set of rules and codes. But quickly… was it quickly? You let your eyes slide shut, trying your hardest to forget to stench of raw, burnt flesh, the children wailing…

You launch forward with a gasp. “The kids! Are they-”

He pushes you back with a firm grip on your shoulder.

“Time has helped.” He leans forward. “Every time they tell the story, the details grow a bit more elaborate. A good sign.”

“Heh, no surprise there- wait a minute, how much time are we talking about here?”

“Three days.” He angles his head at you. “Been taking turns watching you.”

“Stars! Three days!” You blink, biting you lip. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I can go to my, um, own bunk now. I feel better…” You begin shifting, but a firm, yet gentle, hand presses you back down, fingers lingering a few seconds longer than necessary.

You sigh, letting your good arm flop down on your chest.

“Ka’r’ika…”

You turn your head to watch him; he taps his fingers rapidly against his thigh.

“You did well.”

A small smile peaks through your lips, and you slide your hand along the edge of the bed, seeking his. You grasp the cool leather, pleased when he returns the grip.

“We can’t seem to stay out of trouble-” you toss him a lopsided smile- “can we?”

“No,” he rasps. You are happy to hear amusement has returned to his voice. “You can’t.”

“Mando-” you scrunch your nose- “you can kriff right off.”

He laughs… stars, even more beautiful than the first time you heard it. Best watch out, Mando, now you will do everything in your power to pry open that tin can heart of his and pull that laugh out.

Your mood turns, your face dropping.

The baby.

Hell, he… he used the force. Surely the Mandalorian knew, right? How- how could he not? Do you bring it up? Ask? You twist your head, avoiding meeting the dark depths of his visor.

You will wait. You will wait and see if he brings it up.

After all, the children saw it too. They must have told him what they saw…

“What’s wrong?”

You blink rapidly, breath catching in your throat. “Oh, ah, nothing.” Biting your lip, you take a deep breathe of air. “I guess, I just wonder, you know, this is my fault. I should have- could have… I don’t know.” You will not cry you will not cry. “I’m a karking coward.” You bury your face in your hand.

“You’re a lot of things-” you rip your hand away, staring at him as he speaks- “but a coward is not one of them.”

You blink as he continues.

“You protected our children. Killed to do so.” He angles his helmet. “Didn’t run, stayed with me to take a Bateran down.” He blows a huff of air through the vocoder. “And a coward wouldn’t have risked their life for those women on Taek.”

“That was just a gut reaction,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks burn at the Mandalorian’s praise.

“Bravery as an instinct is stronger than a deliberate choice. It means it’s in your nature.” He shifts to stand, hovering over your body before stepping back. “This is the way.”

“Um, oh. Ok-ay.”

Pride, there was pride in his voice.

“Well-” you stop him before he can move further away from you- “what now for you, Mandalorian?”

“Delivering the chip to the client.” He steps over a pile of clothing to stare up at some piping running through the walls. “That should take care of any future issues, for both of us.” He hooks his fingers in his belt, stepping back away from the bed. “I redirected their beacon. Made it look like they were in a completely different sector. Kuill should be safe, protected.”

Your eye twitches, afraid to ask your next question.

“So, where is this chip to be delivered?”

“Nar Shaddaa.”

Oh.

Oh, hell no no nonono.

You didn’t spend months of blood, sweat, and tears running to get away from there only to go back now. No, no. You’re going with Cara. You’re going to Keolith.

Movement from the corner of your eye breaks apart your panicked thoughts.

Din, stepping over another pile of junk, stoops down to pick some of it up.

“It- I…” he pauses, several quiet, long seconds. “I could keep you safe- if you were to stay with me.”

You blink, thinking you hear a light strangle of air slipping under his helm.

“…Until things with Taek are cleared,” he swiftly adds, stuffing some shirts into a drawer.

“Din,” your voice is soft, barely audible. He drops everything to turn and stare at you.

“I’ve been lying to you.”

Silence.

“I- I can’t stay here- not with you, your son, these people.” Your voice grows louder with every word. “It’s too dangerous. And- and I can’t go back to Nar Shaddaa. I had to flee the planet with only the clothes on my back. I’m in a big, hot mess.”

You vigorously shake your head, avoiding looking in his direction. “If there isn’t already, soon there will be a price on my head. It doesn’t matter why. And- shit- I… it’s bad, really bad.” The words spill faster and faster.

“And I don’t mean cheap hunters!” You throw your good hand in the air. “We’re talking private, high-level hunters!” You slap your face into your hand, yanking on your hair as you groan.

“Hell, on Taek- I stalked you. I heard stories of the Mandalorian hunters. Expensive, efficient. I thought you were there for me.” Gulping back against your dry throat, you force yourself to turn and face him.

He stands motionless, watching you. His visor, that damn visor, bores into you like it could dig secrets from your soul.

Oh no.

A hunter. He is, first and foremost, a hunter.

You-you messed up. He wouldn’t- maybe you overestimated… He’s going to turn you in, collect-

“I know.” His voice is soft, gentle.

Your lips part, confusion etched in your furrowed brows.

“I knew you were watching me, trailing me to the cantina.”

Your eyes widen.

“I followed you to the courtyard that night,” he rasps, crossing his arms. “To observe. Maybe question you.”

“Poodoo,” you breathe, eyes wide open in disbelief. “And there I was the whole time thinking I was being sneaky.”

A small gasp escapes your lips when he suddenly steps to the side. He sweeps around the bed, stomping right over the clothes you had tossed on the floor only a few days prior. You startle, digging back against the pillows, holding your breath until he pauses right beside you.

“You’re staying with me.”

“W-what? Didn’t you just hear what I said?” You start to sit up, but his firm grip on your shoulder pushes you back, holding you there as he resumes speaking.

“I’m not letting you leave until it’s safe and this situation is cleared up.”

You know you can’t argue when he uses that tone of voice, but you can try. “But the hunters!”

“Will not hurt or find us. I will- I swear-” he rips his hand away from your shoulder, dropping down into the chair. “You will be kept safe. And- after that… I will return you to Keolith, or whatever you wish.” His voice drifts, softening towards the end.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

But no, you will not cry.

You grab his hand with yours, ignoring the sharp exhale of breath that slips beneath his helm. You desperately wish you could feel, squeeze, the soft flesh hidden away in leather. You want to touch the man inside.

But that thought scares you. It scares you because, you have a feeling, if you were to ask, he would do it for you.

You- you don’t want that kind of power. You can’t handle that kind of power.

“Interrupting anything?”

You rip your hand away, tucking it beneath the blankets.

“Cara!” you laugh, brushing off your discomfort.

“So, you live!”

“It appears so.”

“Feeling okay?” Her voice softens, dropping the jestering tone.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Good.” That mischievous glint returns to her eye. “Well, aren’t we going to be just one cozy little group, all together in the Razor Crest.”

“E-excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow.

A new person entering the room rips your attention towards the door.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but-” Pablo takes another bite of his apple- “hey! That bed could fit three, easily. Who wants to spoon me?”

“You!” you growl, wincing as you lift up off the bed. “You’re not spooning anyone tonight! How about we just freeze you back!”

Pablo throws his hands in the air, giving you a raised eyebrow.

“Hold the spunk, sweetheart.” He takes another bite of the apple, casually walking closer to you. “I’m a free man. Kids vouched for me. They love me.”

Din releases the heaviest, most long-suffering sigh you have ever heard from him.

Apparently, three days with Pablo hasn’t exactly made the Mandalorian a fan either.

“In exchange for his assistance, I messaged and had Greef wipe his Guild bounty, listed as dead,” Cara chuckles.

“Yeah, saving Mando’s girl got me on the buddy list. And Mando, you wouldn’t have caught me the first time if I wasn’t taken off guard.” He points a finger at Din. “Lemme know when you want a rematch.”

“I-I’m not his girl,” you mumble, heart beating faster at the insinuation. Oh stars… You dare not steal a glance at the Mandalorian.

“Oh good, I was worried,” Pablo sighs. “Didn’t want Mando to find out that you grabbed this tight ass when we were alone in here.”

“Pablo!” you yelp, growling through clenched teeth. Stars, you’ve had enough. “Remember our previous conversation? I’m going to bloody kill you!” You launch a pillow at him with your one good arm that he easily dodges. “Get over here, you coward!”

He flops on the other side of the bed, yelling and covering his face as you smack him repeatedly with a pillow.

“Damn- HEY- wa- ouch!”

“Blast-” smack- “you-” smack- “banthabrain!”

“Stop.” A strong grip pulls your arm back. “You’ll agitate your injuries.”

“I will not travel with him in the same ship!”

“I’m not too excited about it either, sister!”

“Go with Cara then!”

“About that-” Cara taps her chin- “my little craft might have been destroyed in the scuffle with the Nar Shaddaa creeps.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wasn’t my ship,” she chuckles.

“We’re dropping them off,” Din sighs, rolling his head back as if to say, “how did I get into this mess?”

“If you can’t handle each other’s presence,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “I can freeze you both.”

“Grumpy old man,” you snort.

You turn towards Pablo, sticking a tongue out at him. He returns the gesture.

Cara grabs the back of Pablo’s collar. “Come on, let’s let her get some rest.” Cara swoops her hand towards the door. “Din, go get some sleep. I’ll stay and listen for her.” She leans in close to you, raising her hand to cover her mouth. “He wouldn’t leave your side.”

You feel your cheeks burst into flames, and you wish you could bury your head under the covers like the children.

“Fine.” Pablo spins around in the doorframe, tossing you a quick wink. “Later, sweetheart.”

Cara chuckles. “You too, Din.”

Letting his shoulders fall, he shuffles over towards the door, pausing just before the frame.

“Ka’r’ika, wait.”

You lift your eyes. “What is that?”

Your mouth falls open, the familiar golden gleam finally registering in your head.

Your knife.

“You should wield this with honor, Ka’r’ika,” Din rumbles.

You hesitantly reach out, taking it with a trembling hand.

“You earned the honor.”

You raise your head, a small smile on your lips.

“Teach me sometime?”

His hand lifts your chin. Skin, not leather, strokes just below your lip.

“As you please.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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a/n: I know this chapter is incredibly long, so I really appreciate it if you made it this far! :D No, seriously, I really do! I write mostly for my own pleasure. I mean, that’s the “correct” answer to give, right? But I will be the first to admit I also write because I want my readers to feel what I feel- a shared experience. So, if my writing has in any way affected you- made you feel something- feel free to let me know in a comment! :D Think of your comments as the gasoline that fuels the writing lol! Comments here or Ao3 are always loved. 💜

See you next chapter! Where do we go from here, hmm? ;)

And I went ahead and bumped the story up to an “M” rating on Ao3, mostly for the language and violence. Just to be safe. Each chapter will include detailed warnings so you can make the decision on whether to read it or not.

Feel free to check out my bio for links to my masterlist, Ao3 account, and taglist!

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #in fields of white #willezarr #wille writes

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