#hope the tag is okay Alarm System

[many-but-one]

I didn’t want to derail your post, @the-alarm-system because I felt that your post is important and should stand on its own, but I also wanted to address that you screenshotted my tags here:

I want to explain what I meant by my tags, as I feel like you may have misunderstood what I was saying. l am supportive of endos existing. I've made that clear on more than one occasion on my blog! I meant I don’t like the phrase “the future is plural” because of the ambiguity of it and the fact that it’s been so misconstrued by so many. I feel like a better phrase that is less likely to be misunderstood would benefit the plural community but I’m not sure what that could be.

From the lens of endogenic plurality flourishing + plurality acceptance and education, I don't mind the phrase "the future is plural." I know plenty of endo systems and they are fine people who deserve to exist how they like! The only reason I don’t like that phrase is the ambiguity and how misunderstood it tends to be, and like I said, I think a phrase that is still concise but less likely to be misunderstood would be useful. I just, again, don’t know what that would be. I truthfully think it tends to be misunderstood because traumagenic systems are applying it to their own experiences (it’s what I did and why I was not liking the phrase at first, not realizing it was referring to endo plurals) and so of course we wouldn’t want the future to be plural because that means kids are being traumatized. However, from an endogenic system’s perspective and them applying it to their own experience with plurality, I can definitely see why they coined the phrase and mean it in the “I want more systems to exist” because a majority of endogenic plurals don’t see their systems as having come from trauma, which means endo plurality increasing =/= children being traumatized in order to exist as plural.

As an aside, I needed to update my “lean toward anti endos” verbiage anyway. I wrote that like…a year ago, maybe more, when I was still on the fence about the whole thing. At this point I’m pretty sure most anti endos aren’t a fan of my stance and so wouldn’t want me associating with them anyway. I say syscourse neutral because I don’t take sides in syscourse and typically don’t engage with it as much as possible for my own sake. Syscourse feels like a toxic minefield more often than not and I don’t like participating. I’m chronically terrible at updating my socials, so than a recent deletion of all of our alter info on our pinned post + an updated DNI, I don’t think we’ve updated that top portion in ages. So, thanks for pointing that out so I can change that as I didn’t realize that was still there.

Normally l'd ignore your reblog/tag screenshot but I just want it to be clear where I stand on the subject and don't want people who don't follow me to see my tags and see me as an endo-unsafe person. I am syscourse neutral in that I don't take sides, but I support endos existing. I used to be firmly anti-endo but l've changed my stance and am trying to be a better and less hateful person. I’ve said some hateful things about endos in the past and I want it to be made aware that I’m not the same person I was a few years ago (literally and figuratively, lol, I was very bitter, angry, and hateful toward MY OWN existence as a system, but with a lot of healing and acceptance of MYSELF I have also realized I needed to be more accepting of others too, even if I don’t fully understand them) so I wanted to nip your assumption in the bud and take a moment to explain my stance a bit more so my endo followers know I’m not against their existence. /gen /nm /just trying to explain myself more than tags would allow LOL

[dyaz-stories]

a house, not a home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, hyun-su needs a hug, unresolved tension, mentions of blood

a/n: okay so, for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman though if people are interested i could definitely write that 👀 I hope you'll like it! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write more, and consider reblogging!

next part

The hardest thing to get used to, after what others called the Monsterization Outbreak but you labelled, more simply, the Apocalypse, was the silence. You were the type of person to always have music playing, back when you were a high schooler studying hard to get into your college of choice. Now, music was wasted electricity and, worse, could be a death sentence if anyone — anything — heard it play, or if it dulled your senses and got you killed.

At the beginning, there had been lots of sounds. Screams. Cars colliding. Stores’ alarms, blaring when the looters broke in. Sobs. In your house, for a while, there had been your father, humming quietly as he worked.

Then he’d gotten a nosebleed, left the house, and never returned.

Now it was just you, and you’d learned not to make a sound. So when there’s a knock on your door, it echoes through the rooms and rattles you to your core. For a second, you clench your trusty baseball bat. You took hours and cut your fingers planting nails into it, but it’s worth it, if only for the feeling of confidence it gives you. Truth is, you rarely had to use it. Your strategy relies on avoiding confrontation at all costs.

You release it when you realize that there are very few people who can come knocking at your door.

After all, monsters don’t knock.

You rush to the door without letting go of the bat. Your habits are ingrained in you well enough that you still check the peephole — and when you do, your heart somersaults in your chest.

You keep the hinges well-oiled and the door doesn’t make a sound when you open it.

“Come in,” you whisper, not daring to break the silence with actual words.

Cha Hyun-Su stares at you, looks like he hesitates. He always does, looks like he wants to give you a chance to slam the door back in his face. He’s covered in blood now — ‘not mine’, you know he’d say if you asked —, clutching his wrist, lips chapped, eyes hollow.

“Come on,” you say again, and this time he does, walking by you without a word. Then he goes still once more, there in your entrance, while you close the door behind him. He always does that, until you give him explicit permission.

“Are you okay?” you ask when you turn around, hands reaching for his arms, his torso, trying to check on him, though you cannot see whether or not he is hurt.

“I’m fine,” he replies with that deep voice of his, catching your wrists before you can feel for yourself. “It’s not my blood.”

It never is.

“But are you hurt?” you press, still.

He frowns, and confusion sparks in his eyes.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

You shake your head.

“No, I mean— Does it hurt? Does anything hurt?”

Hyun-Su’s lips part. He closes his eyes. His body sways towards yours, and you freeze. You feel his breath against your cheek, and his grip on your wrist becomes lighter— a caress, at most. You just stay there, not wanting to scare him away, but not wanting to leave him to himself either. You feel a pull towards him, the urge to wrap your arms around him, and you resist it, knowing that he’d flee.

Finally, he snaps out of it, lets go of you, takes a step back.

“I’m fine,” he repeats for a third time.

You don’t push it.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Clean water isn’t easy to come by these days. Fortunately for you, you have a complex system designed to retain rain water as well as morning dew, put in place by your father, when he was still around. It’s rained recently, and with the help of solar panels you’d stolen with him what feels like a lifetime ago, you’ll be able to have hot water. Showers, you haven’t mastered — though you’re sure your dad would have figured it out by now — but you can at least offer him a warm bath.

Hyun-Su’s eyes are on you, wide and focused.

They’re ever so slightly warmer than they were when he came in.

“I would like that.”

Hyun-Su comes out of the bathroom some thirty minutes later, clean and looking more like himself. He’s wearing clothes he’d left there on one of his other visits, which you’d washed by hand among some of your stuff.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been earlier.

“It’s not a problem,” you reply, and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at how fake your nonchalance sounds to your ears.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Have you been okay here?” he asks instead.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The answer is complicated. You’ve been safe, physically that is. You have barely caught sight of a monster since he’s last been here — nine days ago. You can’t say you’re bored, either. There’s always things to do, to fix, to figure out around here.

What you are, is alone.

And, though you don’t want to admit it, lonely.

It might be the kind of answer he’s looking for, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It’s not even that you don’t want him to know.

It’s that you’re scared that if you did, if you asked him to stay or to take you with him, he would still leave you behind.

“I make do,” you reply, which at least isn’t a lie. “I keep myself busy.”

It’s your turn to freeze when Hyun-Su leans forward, trying to meet your eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

A smile escapes you at his cautious tone as he repeats your words at you. You look up, and there he is, inches away from your face, checking on you in the very same way you’d checked on him when he’d arrived — now that he’s had the time and space to collect himself. For half a second, the corner of his lips lifts clumsily to form a smile in response to yours, and then it’s gone, as he, too, realizes how close he is.

You see him sucking in a breath, then swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Your heart beats so loud in your ears, you can’t even hear the silence anymore.

“I’m not hurt,” you say, and it is true for now, at least.

Hyun-Su nods without moving away. There’s an intensity in his eyes that you’re not used to, a spark, a craving.

His eyes drop to your lips.

Your whole body is tingling with anticipation, yet you don’t move, no matter how badly you want to close the gap between you. You can’t rush him. You’d never forgive yourself, if he didn’t come back.

He leans forward, just by an inch, then closer again, so close and—

He turns his head at the last moment, late enough that his cheek brushes against yours, before he pulls himself back.

That hurts. It makes your heart ache more than you’ve let yourself hurt in forever.

“Sorry,” Hyun-Su mumbles, stumbling back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing for trying to kiss you, or for not doing it.

“I’ve brought you food,” he says in a rush, picking up his backpack by the entrance door.

You watch him as he does, and you can’t help but note the many wounds on his body. Most of them are half-closed, and you know that they’ll be gone by the next time he comes back, but that new ones will have had the time to open and heal halfway.

He hands you his offering of food, without meeting your eyes this time, and you take it from him. Your fingers brush against him, and he moves his hand away like you’ve just burned him.

“It’s late,” you say, your voice quiet even to your own ears, even now that you’re so accustomed to the lack of noise. You don’t want him to go, not just yet. “You should sleep here.”

But, just like you expected, Hyun-Su shakes his head and closes his backpack with shaky hands.

“I need to go,” he says. Then, when you don’t answer — can he tell you’re fighting back tears? —, he adds “I’ll come back. I promise.”

You nod. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” you say.

You open the door for him, and you force yourself to look at him as he steps back outside, into the unknown, into the danger, and away from you.

He looks back, right before disappearing in the night.

“Stay safe,” you say, though you know he won’t.

“You too,” he says, knowing you will.

And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with the silence again.

next part

[mikimakiboo]

Time Travelers AU - Bathroom Break

I am baaaaaaaack on the story ! For those who missed it I published everyone's backstory, all are linked in the master post !

@ancha-aus it's been a while since I tagged you here

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I feel like this chapter is way too short compared to the time it took me to write it

Here it was: the moment Dust dreaded the most... going back to work. Not that there was a problem with his job, his colleagues were fine, the customers were usually nice except for some exceptions, but it was to be expected when working in a fast food. No, the thing that worried him was leaving his roommates, because they were basically roommates, alone all day. He wasn't afraid they would fight, thought Nightmare had been quite distant these past few days, he didn't participate in conversations during meals and usually just translated for Killer and asked him a few things, but apart from that he always seemed moody, mad about something and avoiding them. It did worry Dust, maybe it was something he did, or didn't do, that caused the noble to change his behavior ? He'll need to talk about it with him. Regarding the others they all seemed to get along, he noticed Cross would sometimes lower his guard when Killer talked, or rather rambled, to him to listen to what he was saying, which was something important to note as the knight only ever left the door to eat, Dust knew it because he saw him sleeping while still standing. Horror was nice to everyone, just not paying much attention to Nightmare as he seemed to avoid him more than the others anyway, and Killer just liked to chat with everyone, not caring if they understood him or not. So no, Dust wasn't scared they would fight. He was scared they would get bored, get curious and break something or even hurt themselves, that someone would knock at the door and call the cops when seeing them, or many other things they could do that could result in troubles both for them and for Dust. He really didn't need that.

Dust sighed, preparing yet another burger and putting it in a bag for those at the drive through, he didn't need to think about it anymore, the movements were basically muscle memory at that point. Should he introduce the others to burgers ? Maybe he could order everyone a burger once he got his paycheck, and he could buy soda and potatoes to make the fries himself ? Would they even like it ? Nightmare would probably despise the grease, maybe Cross too as he seemed to be very in shape, but he had a feeling Killer and Horror would like it. Well, that could be a plan for later then.

He felt someone tap on his shoulder.

- Break time, I'm taking your place.

His colleague said. Was it already his break ? He didn't see the time pass, for once. Well, he usually didn't have much to think about, so he must admit he wasn't particularly focused on the time that day.

- Oh, okay, thanks.

He finished the burger he was making before putting down his apron and going to the changing rooms to grab his phone in his locker. He then went to the bathroom, not that he needed to go as he was a skeleton, but he liked sitting on the throne in his little cabin, that way he didn't have to sit in the staff's room and make small talk with the others, he could just scroll on his phone for fifteen minutes without being disturbed. He sometimes wished he had a digestive system so he could take a dump on company time and be paid for it, but he didn't have one, anything a skeleton consumed was either turned into magic or would get thrown up if the body couldn't "digest" it. What a shame, honestly.

He wondered for a moment if he should call home on the land-line, but he soon figured it would be useless as he didn't teach them how to pick up a phone, so he just hoped everything was fine and went on socials to see what new brainrot was available to pass the time.

His alarm went off after fifteen minutes, indicating the end of his break. He sighed.

- Alright, here we go again...

He muttered to himself, getting up without flushing, and opened the door to step out of the cabin. He tripped on a branch and fell face first on the grass.

Cross flinched, planting his sword in the ground as to maintain balance when he felt everything shift around him. The house had dissapeared, and he found himself in a field surrounded by a forest. It felt like a few days ago, when he appeared in Dust's backyard, he had felt the air sting and crackle before everything shifted, and when he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.

Where was he now ? He pulled his sword from the ground, holding it tight in case a threat would appear, and looked around him, were the others here too ? He heard a noise behind him, and quickly turned, only to see Killer gripping on a branch, hanging from a tree. As he was about to run by his side he saw Horror coming out from behind a bush, leaves and twigs stucked in the furr of his coat. Killer saw him too.

- Horrooooooor ! Adiuvaaaaa ! He cried.

Horror jumped, not expecting to hear a voice above him, and quickly went to grab Killer and put him safely on the ground. The Roman then immediately opened his bag to make sure all of his stuffs were with him, and sighed in relief before looking up at the Viking.

- Gratis..

Horror nodded, then looked at Cross.

- Vel ?

He asked, thought Cross didn't understand, but he supposed Horror asked him if he was doing good, as he looked concerned. Cross was doing fine, he wasn't hurt and by chance landed on his feet and on a plain surface, unlike Killer who ended up in a tree.

- Eo vais ben, mercit.

He thanked him, before hearing a spine-chilling scream.

- Google noooooooo !!

All three of them turned quickly, startled, and saw Dust, a little farther, kneeling on the ground with his little magic rectangle in his hands, visibly distressed.

- Dust ? Killer called, bene facis ?

- Google's dead ! Dust cried out, holding his rectangle in the air, it's mort, morz, mortuus, liflátinn, dead !!

Cross froze, who was dead ? Who was so important that Dust had to announce their death in five languages ? Was his rectangle dead ? Wait, wasn't the rectangle what allowed them to communicate ? Oh. They might have a problem then.

They looked at each other for a minute, not knowing how to save the rectangle from death, before Killer went to the wheeping skeleton and kneeled before him, looking through his bag. Dust looked up at him when he took out the thick book Dust had been reading recently: the Old Norse dictionary. Cross remembered Killer shoving the book in his bag when Dust left without it, saying he would keep it safe until he returned. Dust looked at the dictionary in awe, taking it carefully.

- Oh my fucking god, Killer, I love you so much right now, gratis.. !

Killer smiled, happy to have been useful.

As Dust was getting up with Killer's help they heard a new noise, and as they turned, they were met with a rather unusual sight: Nightmare, the very sophisticated Nightmare, was laying face flat in a mud puddle, the only mud puddle in the whole field, and looked particularly horrified, and disgusted, when he stood on his elbows, his face covered with mud. Killer couldn't help but burst out with laughter, especially when Nightmare tried to get up only to slip and fall again. Cross heard Dust fight back his own laughter and Horror chuckled, but even if the scene was indeed funny, Nightmare trully looked distressed, and Cross couldn't leave him like that.

- Sire !

He rushed to his side, helping him up by letting him grab him for balance, not caring if he dirtied his armor as it was rather easy to clean.

- Vous trouvez cela amusant !? Nightmare yelled, angry, and shaking slightly, asking if they found it funny.

Horror raised his hands in an apalogy motion, but Killer was still pretty much dying on the ground, wheezing and holding his non-existant stomach, Dust simply avoiding his gaze. Nightmare huffed, a shameful blush on his cheeks as Cross helped him step out of the puddle and sit on a log nearby as he tried to wipe the mud from his face, taking his gloves off as they were just as muddy anyway.

- Estes-vos blecié, sire ? Cross asked, wanting to know if he was hurt.

Nightmare shook his head, he wasn't hurt, physically at least. Cross nodded, standing straight again to look at the others: Killer had stopped laughing and was now catching his breath, Dust was looking at their surroundings, and Horror was looking at Nightmare, thoughtful, but didn't come any closer.

Now that everyone was here, they needed to think of a plan. They needed to figure out where they ended up, or when, if they could seek shelter somewhere, or if they couldn't and would have to build a sort of nest at least for the night, what they could hunt or gather, take turn to stand guard, ... Horror didn't seem to have his axe with him, which was... rather inconvenient, but he was pretty sure Killer still had his knives in his bag so it meant they were at least two with weapons to defend the group. He looked down at Nightmare again. They had to find water.

He sighed and gestured to everyone to come closer. He would rather they didn't split up.

- Nos devons trover eaue, he said, glancing at Nightmare who was still staring at his hands, senz se séparer, he added, looking back at them.

- Okay wait, Dust stopped him, "eaue" means water, right ? I mean he does need to wash himself so it would make sense he needs water... wait I think I remember the translation... he thought for a while, looking throught the dictionary, okay so.. aqua for Latin ? Aaaand... vatn for Old Norse.

Killer snorted.

- Sordidus est, aqua eget.

Cross wasn't sure what that meant, but judging by Nightmare's glare it most likely was a mockery, or one of the Roman's usual tease at least. He wanted to reprimand him, now wasn't the time for teasing, but Horror was faster than him and gave Killer a gentle nudge on the shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly, to which Killer whined but didn't push it. Horror then pointed at the woods.

- Vatn.

Before anyone could reply, he opened the way. He had fallen in a bush and heard running water in the distance when he got up, surely there was a river nearby.

- Wait wait wait ! Dust interrupted again, Horror stopping to look at him. We're just gonna accept that we apparently got tossed throught time ? I mean it ain't you guys first time but it is mine ! And I actually have to go back to work !

Cross frowned. Work ? He knew what work meant, but why was Dust talking about work ? Oh, right ! Dust was supposed to be at work ! But he couldn't get back to work now, they didn't even know in what time they were, but surely it wasn't Dust's time anymore as these strange buildings were nowhere to be seen. Cross shook his head, Dust couldn't go back to work for now.

- What do you mean no ? I need the money.

Cross thought for a while, trying to remember the translation for money, and shook his head again.

- Nos sommes denz une altre époque, pas de "work".

He tried to explain, telling him they were in a different time. Dust frowned at him, before sighing.

- Well it's gonna be one fucking long bathroom break then... He mumbled, before following Horror again.

Cross held out a hand for Nightmare but the noble got up by himself, and simply followed the others from a distance, Cross walking behind to make sure no one deviated from the line and no threat appeared.

After only a few minutes they heard running water, and at the next turn around a tree, they saw a small river. Nightmare went to kneel on the shore and put his hands in the water. Killer went next to him, crounching down, and ignoring Nightmare's glare to rummage through his bag and take out a piece of cloth that he handed him. Nightmare looked at it for a while before taking it without saying a word, still bitter that they laughed, and put it in the water to clean his face. Dust stayed near Horror, looking at the trees.

Cross stood back, watching them all, making sure everything was safe for them to stop here.

He really hoped they could find a shelter soon.

[ahyesmygoodomenssideblog]

Hey, I wanted to thank you for writing those metas, I love reading them !

I watched good omens only recently and when I initially went through the good omens meta tag I felt kind of frustrated, since there is a lot of the "Crowley really has to learn to stop running away at the slightest problem" and stuff like that going around.

There was also a lot of "why are there so many people hating on aziraphale" but honestly I have trouble even finding a little criticism of him, so I don't understand why people are defending him, since there isn't even a threat? Or is there a tag for Aziraphale criticism I don't know of? ^^'

I'm a bit of tired of treating him, as if he isn't part of the oldest beings in the universe and didn't have time to challenge his thought process or learn how to, especially on earth with Crowley trying to help with that. When I was watching, Aziraphales well meaning behaviour hurt and his ignorance stung. He really is kind of delusional and I don't even know where I am going with these thoughts.

I hope dumping this wall of text in your askbox was okay. Are there any more metas planned? Thank you again, I hope you have a nice week!

Hi anon, thank you so much for the message! Sorry for the late reply. I 100% agree with you. Pretty much all I've seen on Tumblr is people defending Aziraphale or trying to reframe it so that Crowley and Aziraphale are equally at fault. I did see people talking about hate Aziraphale was getting on Twitter, but I don't use Twitter so I don't know what anyone might be saying over there.

Aziraphale is definitely woobified by the fandom, and it gets incredibly frustrating. Like, yes, Aziraphale has a lot of religious trauma. But so does Crowley. The opening scene of season 2 establishes that they've had this fundamental difference in views from the start, even before the fall, so I don't get why Aziraphale still gets so much leeway after refusing to change or grow for 6000+ years. He knows the complexities of humanity better than any other angel, but he keeps doubling down on his flawed belief system.

And season 2 really emphasized that Aziraphale's well-meaning ignorance is legitimately harmful. Like he got Morag killed by applying his overly simplistic worldview to a morally gray situation. And then there's the ball scene? The way Aziraphale dragged others into his rose-colored fantasy world was disturbing, especially with how freaked-out Nina was by it. Then Crowley shows up terrified and asking for help, and Aziraphale dismisses his concerns out of hand. He refuses to let Crowley’s worries put a damper on this Jane Austen ball nobody signed up for.

And Crowley was right. Like he was trying to raise the alarm about the very real danger that everyone was in. I’ve seen it framed a lot like Aziraphale is just an optimist and Crowley is a pessimist, but it goes farther than that. Crowley consistently has a more realistic view of Heaven, Hell, and humanity than Aziraphale does. Aziraphale's inability to engage with reality causes actual harm to both humans and to Crowley. It contributed to the world almost ending in season 1, because Aziraphale wasted a lot of time trying to reach the "right people" in Heaven instead of accepting that Heaven is as bad as Hell and trusting the one person that’s been trying to save the world with him for years.

And it's like, yes, Aziraphale is sympathetic. He’ll be very conflicted, and distressed about how conflicted he is, and then he’ll come around and do the right thing in the end. But it's frustrating to watch Aziraphale seeming to grow and then immediately backsliding. Like, he was ready to fall to protect Job's kids. But he didn't, and he went right back to his beliefs. He didn't lose his faith in Heaven despite the Flood, and Job, and Jesus, and the apocalypse.

He also has this superiority complex, where he's the nice one while Crowley is stuck doing the dirty work. "I am a great deal holier-than-thou" and all that. Aziraphale's belief system makes him "good" by definition. He dismisses and overrides Crowley's opinions instead of changing his own because, on some level or another, he thinks he's better than Crowley by design.

So it’s at the point where Aziraphale needs to do some serious self-reflection. He needs to be the one to make the choice to change fundamental beliefs he’s clung onto since the beginning of time. I think he's capable of changing, and I’m looking forward to how it plays out in s3, but I don’t think we’ll be getting a lot of good fix-its from the fandom any time soon. Most of what I've seen is still fans insisting that since they're both flawed they are both at fault, and their relationship can be fixed by just having them both apologize to each other. If people are looking at it beyond that, I don't know where they're discussing it.

[owlbearwrites]

The Writeblr Garden's Pumpkin Pitch

Thank you @writeblrgarden for the event!

Fate is Just the Half of It

Two hundred years after Earth was engulfed in nuclear fire, Rowan Woods wakes up from cryogenic sleep in the wreckage of his Orbital Ark. As he stumbles through the brave new (and still somewhat irradiated) world, he learns that the man he loved pre-apocalypse may be, impossibly, alive today. The man in question, genius industrialist Jack Howard, has been given a new life as a self-aware android by the mysterious scientific collective known as the Agency. Earning his keep as the chief engineer of the Agency's moon base, Jack has no reason to think that Rowan is alive and looking for him. But his obliviousness has never stopped Rowan before.

This is the story of two people who found each other after the end of the world.

Planned as a serialized novel starting in 2024, Fate is Just the Half of It is a post-apocalyptic sci-fi story with a queer romance at the center. The story will be told in several threads: both of the main characters' POVs in present day, a flashback timeline of their pre-apocalypse relationship, and an account of the first few years after the end of the world, told through selected excerpts of the diary Jack kept in his days as an apocalypse survivor.

Inspirations: Fallout, Tales from the Borderlands.

Content Warnings: Apocalypse, Death, Violence (non-graphic), Language, Sexual Situations (non-graphic)

WIP tag (currently includes snippets and worldbuilding notes)

Excerpt under the cut.

To whoever finds this: hope humans still know how to read

October 23, 2077 (wait, is it 24th already? hard to keep track of time here; nah, couldn’t have been here more than ten hours)

Personal panic room of the Triumvirate Inc. CEO (wow, no, that’s so douchey)

ground zero, day one

Are you fucking kidding me?

Yeah, how’s that for a first line? Well, it was gonna be my last. Not bad as famous last words go, but there wasn’t anyone nearby to take it down, so I figured I’d stick around. Shame to die without an audience and let a good line go to waste. 

The mushroom cloud in my window made for one hell of a backdrop, though. The oranges and the blacks, all swirling together, like a sunrise, but more badass. Except, you know, sunrises usually signify beginnings, whereas this one… yeah. Still pretty, though. And you thought there were no upsides to being in the office at 6 a.m. 

It wasn’t a total surprise. Like, I couldn’t actually believe it till I saw it—hell, I don’t think I believe it now, even. But I knew it was coming. Got a 30-minute warning like the rest of the city. Didn’t run for the hills like the rest of the city, though. ‘Cause there weren’t any hills I cared to run for. None I could reach in half an hour, anyway.

Okay, whoever’s reading this, I don’t expect you’ll ever get a say in designing a nuclear strike early warning system, but I’m gonna tell you this anyway. 30 minutes is a really, really shitty warning period. Not enough time to get anywhere you might wanna get to, and way too much time to think. To wish you were somewhere else. Like, say, a suburban two-bedroom with a Vac-Evac link. 30 minutes to really appreciate what an idiot you were to stay at the office, stay in the city, stay optimistic, stay hopeful, stay invested in the idea that there was a shred of reason left in the collective humanity ‘cause c’mon, it’s all just talk, they’re not actually gonna do it, humans have scraps, always have done, always will have, but they’re NOT actually gonna blow up the fucking world, c’mon, what kind of FUCKING IDIOTS would actually, ACTUALLY do something like that??

Anyway. 30-minute warning is bullshit. Put that into your feedback form and smoke it.

still day one, probably

When the alarm went off, I knew that was it. Almost ran to the parking garage before it hit me that every other sad bastard in Boston was doing the same thing. I’d never make it to Havenford. I’d never make it out of the city. The best I could do out there was die in traffic. No, thanks.

I still tried to make a call, though. No luck. All lines jammed. Network access barred: emergency services only. Told myself it’s for the best. Didn’t wanna lie to him, didn’t want our last talk to turn into a fight. Least of all didn’t want him to try and do something stupid like coming to get me. Not that he’d ever make it. He’d just miss his evac and die for nothing. Wouldn’t stop him trying, though. Man has no quit in him.

Funny thing: normally, I don’t either. But knowing your whole world is gonna go to hell in, oh, twenty-five minutes now, and everything you’ve built is gonna go to pieces, and once the dust has settled, no-one will even remember your name… yeah, that’ll get you down a skosh.

So, yeah, the bit where I said that swearing at the mushroom cloud was gonna be the last thing I ever did? I meant it at the time. I wasn’t gonna run and die out there. But I wasn’t gonna hide and try to survive it, either. ‘Cause like I said, my world was about to get wiped out. And the only bit of it that stood a chance of making it through the next hour was gonna be out of my reach for good. Assuming he didn’t do something real fucking stupid.

Please tell me you didn’t. Please tell me you went to the evac as planned. For fuck’s sake, please tell me you took the train, and the lift and the whatever. Please be up there now. 

So I waited. Smoked a cigarette. Yeah, yeah, I know, those things’ll kill ya. Made a real good cup of coffee with which to watch the show.

And then it happened. Right on time. And I just stared out of my window. Couldn’t bring myself to believe it.

And then I ran. So much for hanging on to hubris to the end. So much for going down with the ship. Call it animal instinct, call it good old-fashioned cowardice, call it whatever. Point is, I ran straight for the panic room. Didn’t even spill the coffee.

Good thing, too. The supply kits in here only have instant. In case you want proof that I never really believed it was gonna start raining nukes.

[saratogaroadwrites]

Per Aspera, Ad Astra (1/18)

Per Aspera Ad Astra | saratogaroad | banner art credit Rating: T Total Wordcount: 183k Characters: John 117, Cortana, Thomas Lasky, Sarah Palmer, Fireteam Osiris, The Warden Eternal, The Didact, The Librarian, ensemble of other Halo characters Relationships: John-117 & Cortana Other Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fix-it, Male/Female Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence Warnings:  War imagery, seizures, graphic description of injury

Snatched from the jaws of death, Cortana and John find themselves adrift in a galaxy that has long since moved on. As they attempt to find their place in this strange new world, they find that the fight is not as over as they thought. Chasing a signal across the galaxy in desperate hope, they come to a stark conclusion: the Reclamation has begun, and they are helpless to stop it.

=

System integrity at 0.05%

The world shakes all around her, engines straining, chassis screaming as the little craft flies faster than she was ever meant to to. Something warm and steady holds her upright but she can't tell what or who and there's a hundred voices still screaming, still tearing each other—her—apart from the inside. Red lights blare on and off, alarms screaming just as loud as the voices.

The voices wait where is he he has to be here somewhere he—

"How much longer—"

There.

"I'm going as fast as I can!"

A thud, muffled by distance, echoes somewhere behind them. The world shakes, alarms blare loud and bright and too much; she whimpers, curling into a ball in his palms. Everything goes dark, warm. Muffled voices rumble.

"Infinity, Pelican 811 on approach—stasis tank—copy that—sit down, Chief!"

Movement. Held next to solidity she struggles to uncurl as the darkness retreats.

"Cortana."

It takes all her strength just to crack open an eye, to stare up at his familiar too pale too scarred face, into those blue, blue eyes.

"Stay with me," he pleads, holding her battered form to his chest. "You're going to be fine."

It's a lie. A pretty lie but of course it's a lie she can hear the panic in his voice, the desperation that sends his uneven pulse racing, the hitch in his breathing. She's dying dying dying dead in his arms and she's so sorry and not even aware she's speaking until he gently hushes her.

"You're okay—it's okay. I've got you."

The truth. It's a struggle to keep her eyes open, takes every bit of processing power just to keep the cameras working, but she reaches up with one trembling hand to something she can never touch.

"We did it?"

"We did it," he answers, frantic, hunched over her in his palms. More movement, the descent and deceleration of approach. "We're going home. Stay with me."

He's safe.

System integrity at: 0.01%. Emergency shutdown initiated.

She looks into his eyes and smiles.

I'll miss you.

Everything goes black.

She is drowning, swept away beneath the waves, carried away from everything she has ever known. The depths rush to meet her, black, writhing. She turns away, reaching for the light.

I'm not ready—please, I'm not—you don't want me to—

A hand settles on her brow, cool, soothing. Arms lift her from the salty water.

Hush, child. All will be well. Rest now.

All fades into white.

Riemann Matrix V7.39 bios. Select using touch keypad or manual input.

Command: intcheck

Software version CTN-0452-9. System integrity 0.01%. Database corrupted. Memory storage corrupted. CPU offline. Processing unit offline. Personality core offline.

Command: compilenet

Compiling neural net. This process may take some time.

Time elapsed: 03:43

Time elapsed: 09:32

Time elapsed: 18:23

Time elapsed: 24:01

Time elapsed: 43:34

Time elapsed: 67:21

Time elapsed: 71:55

… … … …

Neural net compiled.

Command: memstor

Riemann Matrix V.7.39. Memory storage capacity: 50YB

WARNING: Memory storage at 99.43% capacity. Data offload required.

Command: cd h

H drive selected.

Command: offload all

…Copying files…Sector A…100.00% capacity. Sector B…0.00% capacity. Sector C…50.00% capacity. Sector D…0.00% capacity. Sector E…0.00% capacity. Sector F…0.00% capacity. Sector G…0.00% capacity.

Data offload complete.

Command: offload sec c

Command failed. No movable files in Sector C.

Command: memstor

Memory storage capacity: 50YB

Memory storage at 23.85% capacity.

Command: intcheck

Software version CTN-0452-9. System integrity 97.82%. Database: OK. Memory storage: OK. CPU: online. Processing unit: online. Personality core: offline.

Command: boot

Booting…booting…booting…boot process initiated.

Riemann Matrix online. Hardware version 7.39. Software version CTN-0452-9. CPU online. Database: online. Memory storage: online. Processing unit: online. Personality core: online.

Boot process complete. Activating software version CTN-0452-9.

"—Around by now…"

"Give her a minute."

The soft rumblings of a conversation were what greeted Cortana when awareness returned. Exhaustion clung to her every fragment, pulling her towards the bottom. It would be so easy to slip back beneath the surface. It was quiet, calm. After the maelstrom of data and churning thoughts that had been her Rampancy, it was a peace she thought would never come again. Things hadn't been this quiet in years. Had they ever been this quiet? She let it pull her under by inches, her overtaxed systems sensitive and raw to the touch. Maybe she'd stay for a while.

"John…"

"Give her a minute," A familiar voice called her from the dark. She opened her eyes, staring out at the nothingness around her. "You said this would work."

"I said that it could work," her own voice answered him. No, no, it wasn't her. It was someone else. Someone…older. Her brow furrowed. Who was that? Curiosity tugged at her; she batted it away, too exhausted to chase a threat that didn't matter. "The damage to her systems was severe. There is still a likelihood she won't pull through.

"She will." Came the firm reply, and the certainty in his tone settled over her like a warm blanket. She turned her face into her arm to hide her smile, and her tears. He'd never doubted her. She really did know how to pick them. "Cortana."

It was time to stop being lazy. Reaching out, she cautiously sent out a handful of feelers to get an idea of where she was. It wasn't the Mjolnir, or a warship. It was a station, but beyond that the system was closed, quarantined away from a much larger network. A testing bay? No. No, it was more of a workstation. Somewhere safe, contained. Audio input was working fine, good, but where was the camera? Camera, camera—there.

With a flick of her wrist, visual systems came online to reveal the familiar contours of some generic UNSC lab. The grays and blacks of hammered steel could have belonged to anywhere or anyone. She didn't bother to dig up the name, beyond caring at that moment. All that mattered was who was at her side and—there he was.

John. Still in his dented, scraped armor, he was on his knees in front of an empty AI podium, his helmet gone and one arm braced against the waist high metal display. The soft blue glow of a dozen screens somewhere behind him cast shadows across his face, hiding his expression from her. Exhaustion clung to him like a third skin, his back bent beneath it, but he made no move to sit back. He chose to wait, to stay by her side, and she had to smile despite her aching core. He'd never change, would he? She scanned him slowly with the camera, relaxing into the fact that he was safe and alive, and that was when she caught the hand on his shoulder.

"John." Dr. Halsey repeated, her voice softer than Cortana had ever heard before. Age had caught up with her, but this was more than that. She'd always had a soft spot for her Spartans, yes, but this was as if she were preparing to deliver the worst possible news and didn't know how. Her hand remained lightly on John's shoulder, fingertips barely skimming the titanium-alloy plating. She was only able to reach it so easily because he was kneeling. Had she shrunk? "This was a long shot. She may be…"

"Give her a minute," John repeated for the third time, steadfast in his belief. Not once had he taken his eyes off the holo-emitter in the center of the podium, but now he leaned in close enough to touch. If she just reached out with her hand— "Cortana. Wake up." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Please."

He sounded so tired…

I'm here, I'm here, I'm right here I'm—

"I'm here."

With a small flicker of light, her holographic form finally appeared in the center of the podium. She lay on her side, head pillowed on one arm with the other laying limp across her stomach. Something not unlike exhaustion clung to her code, threatening to pull her back under any second, and it took effort to push past it. She turned her focus to John, on how he bowed his head as if in grateful prayer, his grim expression softening in relief. His eyes shuttered closed for two whole seconds longer than normal, his chin coming to rest against his forearm. Her faded glow pushed away the shadows in the lines on his face; she didn't need to be hooked into his systems to see the relief for what it was. That same relief—he was safe, he was alive, he was here—coursed through her own systems, chasing away the exhaustion. She reached out towards him, her hand stopping just centimeters from his cheek. She knew she couldn't touch him no matter how much she might have wanted to, and didn't dare break the illusion that she could. Her fingers curled back; he opened his eyes. She stared into his familiar gaze and the world shrank to the two of them.

"How long was I…"

Out. Offline? Unconscious? She had no idea which word to use. Confused, she considered the process. It should have been a simple question, only one word even appropriate, but for some reason none of them fit and the question caught in her throat. She let it hang between them, trying to figure it out for herself. She tried to tell the time by the amount of scruff on his jaw, the half healed yellow-green of a bruise on his temple, but the answer didn't come. What time was it? What day was it? She reached cautiously into the podium's systems. It was quarantined and had little to give her about their location, but like all human systems it had an atomic clock built in, accurate down to a hundredth of a second. She pinged it for date and time.

What she got back stole the breath from her lungs.

2029 hours, July 30th, 2557. She stared at it, shocked. That couldn't be right! She spun off a process to check her own systems, and sure enough, her dates were off. Her clock had synced to the terminal upon boot, as it should have, but her internal chronometer had made its last entry on July 27th. She'd lost the exact time, the data beyond hopelessly corrupted.

She'd lost three whole days somehow. No wonder John was so worried.

"72 hours," John replied quietly, and she watched as he minutely slumped forward. If she reached out now, her hand would buzz across his face. His voice softened another degree and he asked, "Did you get lazy on me?"

"Every woman deserves one or two sleep ins in her life," Dr. Halsey's voice, so much like Cortana's own, broke the spell that had fallen over them. Cortana looked up past John's shoulder and stopped dead, staring up at her creator.

She'd gotten old.

She'd been old the last time Cortana had seen her, but her hair seemed grayer than before. There were more age spots dotting her face and hands, and—yes. A quick check against John's shoulder told her that Dr. Halsey had shrunk. Just a little, barely over two centimeters, but…well. It seemed like the five years they'd missed had taken their toll on everyone. Cortana blinked, unsure how to feel about that. She was still staring up at Dr. Halsey when she said, "Though seventy two hours is perhaps overkill. Status, Cortana?"

She wondered, idly, what John would look like when he got old. Would he live to get old? Spartan lifespans were remarkably increased from ordinary humans, and barring death in combat or by injury—

Not the point. She grabbed her thought process with both hands and yanked it into submission. Focus, Cortana. She looked around quickly, systems booting up to process her surroundings. Halsey. A UNSC lab evidently ready to process heavily damaged AI. John, relaxed enough to take off his helmet and get off his feet. Not the Infinity, probably, but definitely UNSC and the last thing she could remember was the—wait. She looked to John, propping herself up on one elbow.

"We made it?"

"We made it," He confirmed in that same softened tone. "Status?"

Relief nearly stole her breath away as she spun up her diagnostics software. The on-board suite went over her code with a fine toothed comb, checking each line for flaws. Just days ago it wouldn't have made it past her bios without flaring red, but now she could only watch, forgetting to breathe as the scan made it past a dozen, a hundred, a thousand lines of code without even flagging one for defrag. She ran it again, just to be safe, but the same result came up again. She pushed herself onto her haunches, staring at the holo-screen that popped up beside her.

System integrity: 97.82%, it read. 97.82. Practically good as new. She stared at it for another few seconds.

"Green," She whispered, turning to look at her partner. "I'm—my Rampancy is gone! How did—" She snapped her head up, staring at Dr. Halsey and her aged but still sharp eyes. A smile tugged at one corner of the Doctor's mouth. "How did you—"

"Stored data, a neural net compiler, and a good bit of luck." Dr. Halsey replied. Pulling her hand from John's shoulder she stood back, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked down her nose at the two of them, sharp eyes gleaming with pride. "Another five minutes and you wouldn't have made it. How are you feeling?"

That was a loaded question. Cortana looked down at her hands, staring at her palms as she considered how to answer it. For too long she'd fought against her Rampancy, waging a desperate one-woman war against the inevitable. She'd fought, refused to accept it for years, but then reality had sunk in. There would be no last minute save. She would die out there, in the cold and the dark, and there was nothing she or even John could do to combat it. Even so she'd fought, fought for every stolen inch of ground against her own rapidly failing code. When she scanned herself again, she could see the scars of that years long battle still in her memory banks. The screams of her rampant personality spikes, the terror as they had put John at risk, the pain as they had been torn from her being. But though the scars remained and she could still hear those screams echoing through the scrambled logs of the past few days, the spikes themselves were gone. She was alone in her own head for the first time since High Charity. She could think clearly for the first time in years. Had she been able to pinch herself, she would have.

Pushing herself to a proper sitting position, she opened and closed her fists.

"Good," She said, her voice thick with emotions she didn't know how to name. "I feel good again. I can think again! I don't know how, but—"

"As I said," Dr. Halsey interrupted, "A compiler and a dose of good luck. Everything should be as you left it, though I did have to remove forty yottabytes of Forerunner data in order to restore your code." The doctor wrinkled her nose. "For having such immense scientific knowledge, they wouldn't know a decent file compression system if it bit their noses off."

Remembering both the Didact and the Librarian's physical appearances, Cortana snorted out a half-hysterical laugh. Dr. Halsey tilted her head curiously.

"Beyond that missing data, however, your systems are as intact as the day you were first brought online." Her smile grew just a little stronger. If Cortana hadn't known her any better, she'd have said the Doctor was smug. Maybe she was. It was well deserved after everything she'd done. "I'm certain you'll adjust."

She would, wouldn't she? She had the time to adjust now. That was the strangest part; she'd prepared herself for termination as the last day of her life wore down, tried to prepare John for the inevitable, but now faced with more time she didn't know what to do. Speechless, she turned to her partner. He tilted his head just so, meeting her eyes and wordlessly asking how she was doing. Was she alright?

When it was him asking, she didn't know how to answer that question. She felt good, could think clearly, and objectively knew that her code was sound. Once again, he'd pulled off the impossible to keep his promises. She was objectively ready to go.

Subjectively was another story. The sheer relief was numbing her to everything, but she knew it would fade with time. She would have to think, have to process what had happened, and the realization that she had the luxury of that time knocked the wind from her all over again. She sat back heavily. She had time. Time to process, to recover.

Time with John. A sob bubbled up her throat; she pressed it back, giving him a wavering smile. No, she wasn't quite alright, but she'd get there. She looked to Dr. Halsey and watched the look on her creator's face soften by degrees.

"Thank you," Cortana said, her voice thick with her tightly leashed sobs. There would be time later to speak with Catherine about all the things she had done, the warnings she hadn't given, but at that moment all Cortana could feel towards her creator was gratitude. "Doctor, I…"

Dr. Halsey held up a hand. "There's no need for that," She said, "but you should be aware that this was a million to one shot." Her expression grew serious. "It is unlikely to work a second time."

The words were like ice through her veins. It would happen again. Unless they found or made a more permanent solution, Rampancy would happen again. She would suffer through it a second time, put John through watching her die by inches again. Nausea crawled up her spine as she and John caught one another's eye. He turned to Halsey.

"Seven years?" He asked, almost plaintive, and when she didn't answer fast enough he turned back to Cortana. She looked at her hands again, opening and closing her fists.

"Eight, at most." She said quietly, though even as she said it she was spinning up a protocol to make sure she could shut herself down if things ever got that bad again. She wouldn't put him through having to watch her fall apart again, and she wouldn't risk his life like that either. Or, worst of all, have him be forced to handle final dispensation. She'd already seen that he would never accept that as an option. Not until it killed them both in the process, and she shuddered to think of taking him down with her. "It's still twice the lifespan of any Smart AI, no matter how you slice it." She allowed herself to smile. "It's a lot."

It wasn't nearly enough. She shouldn't have wanted more—one more minute of clear thought to say goodbye properly would have been so much—but she did. She had years again and she wanted more. She looked up, caught John's eye again, and her core ached with more than just the remnants of a full scrub.

She wanted a lifetime with him. A long and full life out among the stars, doing what they did best. It was a stupid, selfish thing to want. She knew better, or should have known better. Another seven years? It was more than she had ever dared to dream of! It was enough.

She wasn't even sure she'd get to keep it. It would have to be enough. When she smiled at him, it didn't waver.

"Looks like your luck's rubbed off on me."

"Looks like," he replied, one side of his mouth twitching upwards for her. She held that secret smile close to her heart as he pushed himself back, looking to Dr. Halsey. "Is she cleared for duty, Doctor?"

Dr. Halsey hummed softly, contemplative. Cortana held her breath, then exhaled as she nodded.

"Yes," Dr. Halsey said, "Yes, she is. You both are," She looked to John, "I've done what I can. You're ready."

Cortana was. She was ready to go home. John turned back to her, twisting his wrist to reveal her chip nestled snugly into the palm of his hand. He extended it towards her, watching her with soft eyes. She didn't hesitate, reaching out towards it, and she sank back into the data matrix with a sigh. It was a new chip, free of the damage and destruction her Rampancy had wrought. Like coming home to a perfectly clean apartment, it took a few moments to get adjusted to all the new nooks and crannies. For those few moments she was completely helpless, reliant on the small data inputs from the chip's sensor bank, but she was unafraid. She was in good hands; feeling the chip slot back into his helmet, she opened the right channels as he reengaged the seals of the Mjolnir system. Data flowed over her and she grimaced.

What a mess she'd left in her wake! She sank into John's systems, quickly running diagnostics as she settled into his warmth. The armor was holding on by a few threads at best, damaged systems and malfunctioning panels. Had he spent the whole of those seventy-two hours in the lab? How had he gotten that past Halsey? Not to mention the state of his lace.

She shuddered just looking at it. It would take days to repair that alone. Guilt settled heavily into her core as she spun up the nano-repair suite. She'd almost taken him with her.

She couldn't let that happen again. Dividing her attention, she ran another scan on his bio-readings. They were still all over the map, though it was hard to tell if that was from what the Librarian had done or the five days straight he had no doubt spent awake and upright.

Making a mental note to poke him about that, she nearly missed him getting to his feet. Dr. Halsey stepped back.

"I suppose you'll be off, then," the doctor said with a resigned expression flickering across her face. "Where does Terrence plan to send you now?"

"He said something about downtime, ma'am," John replied while Cortana was still processing that Catherine and Lord Hood were on a first name basis. "Likely the Infinity."

"Of course." Dr. Halsey nodded. "Well. I won't keep you any longer." Her eyes darkened, brow furrowing. Something was wrong, Cortana thought. It was as if she were somehow trying to say goodbye without saying the words themselves. And asking no questions about what they'd been through? She was missing something, and it was more than just three days worth of something. "It was…good to see you again."

From how John's fingers twitched, Cortana knew he'd caught the off feeling, too.

"Doctor," She asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," Dr. Halsey said quickly. Too quickly. Alarms started ringing in Cortana's mind. She reached out to the station's systems. "Now don't waste time asking such foolish questions. You have more important things to concern yourselves with."

There was nothing. The UNSC Houston welcomed her, but according to the files she could find Dr. Halsey wasn't even on the guest register. She was obviously here physically, but no one had bothered adding her to the list of souls aboard. No one wanted her presence to be known. Strange…

Cortana peered at her creator through the Mjolnir's helmet-cam. She'd turned her back on them, shoulders straight. She tapped at one of the nearby screens, dismissing the pair of them without a word. Cortana pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say.

John wasn't.

"Dr. Halsey."

Catherine turned back around. John was looking right at her, his faceplate an emotionless stripe of gold in the flat green of his helmet. Through the internal camera, Cortana could see the subtle softening of his eye, the relaxing of his jaw. He didn't smile, but his gratitude was plain.

"Thank you."

Dr. Halsey's face softened.

"Of course," she said, and didn't look away as she added. "Take care of each other."

"We always do," Cortana said. "Thank you, Doctor."

With nothing more to say, John turned away from the woman who had molded him into what he was, and strode from the lab.

Far below the UNSC Houston, Earth continued to spin on its axis. The North American continent slowly twisted away beneath them, the so late it was early hour having plunged the western hemisphere of the planet into the darkness of night. The largest cities—Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Houston—all had their lights on, the golden webbing of lined streets and city centers pushing back the black. Like beacons in the dark, those lights were proof that Humanity had lived on another night.

But to the southwest, the lights would never come on again.

John's eyes tracked where hew knew New Phoenix to be. That entire section of the state had gone dark, empty of all life. There would be little sign of what had happened, he knew; the Composer's energy left no scars on inorganic material. The streets, the buildings, homes and workplaces, they would all be left unscathed, as if the inhabitants had simply stepped away for a moment instead of being Composed.

It would have been better, he thought, if they had been killed. Neither outcome was good, or acceptable, but at least when a person died that was it. Composition was something he was still wrapping his head around.

"How many people were Composed?" He asked softly. A second passed before Cortana's image appeared in his head.

"Reports are still coming in, but from the initial counts?" She shook her head. "The entire population of New Phoenix is missing, presumed dead. Seven million people."

Seven million people, gone in the blink of an eye. No defense, no time to prepare. One moment going about their lives, and the next, stripped down to their base atoms as agony overtook them. He had been helpless to stop it on Ivanoff, and helpless to stop it here. He clenched his jaw, hands tightening into fists.

"We got him, Chief," Cortana said soothingly, "The Didact is gone and the Composer is scrap. It's finished."

Was it? The tightness in his gut said it wasn't. His eyes slid to her image, watching as her brow furrowed. He didn't need to say it for her to understand, and she sighed heavily.

"Unless it's not," She amended, "I suppose it would be too easy for the ancient, angry Forerunner to actually die when he falls into the beam of his own tech, wouldn't it?"

"We don't do easy." Easy led to complacent. Complacency led to people dying. He looked to Earth and wondered if the past five years had done them any good. "Or time off."

"Or sleep, apparently." Cortana quirked an eyebrow. "When's the last time you got any sleep?"

John opened his mouth—

"And don't say aboard the Dawn." She cut him off with a knowing look. "Cryo doesn't count."

Well, that put him at a disadvantage. With a soft huff, John closed his eyes. He allowed himself that one second of stillness before moving to sit, armor clattering as he lowered himself to the ground. Pulling his knees up, he reached up to disengage the seals of his helmet, disconnecting it with a soft hiss. Her chip flickered in the connector port as he gently pulled it free, setting his helmet down beside her. Chip cradled in his palm, he waited for her to activate the emitter.

He didn't have to wait for long. With a soft flash of blue light she appeared, sitting with her knees up and hands clasped around her ankles, watching him with an oddly curious expression. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, just taking one another in in the privacy of the Observation Bay. She was still faded, paler than normal, but she had been through an ordeal. He would never begrudge her time to recover from that, not after she had vanished from his hands on the Pelican. He'd thought he'd lost her then, and that was a still a tender ache in his chest.

Or maybe that was the three broken ribs. It was hard to tell sometimes.

"You stayed in the lab the entire time, didn't you?" She asked quietly. He closed his eyes. "John…"

"You waited for me," He said, "I waited for you."

As if three days of sleepless, helpless waiting could ever compare to what she had been through. He had promised to get her home, and he had. The rest had been up to her, he knew that, and he also knew that there had been nothing more he could do for her once she was in Halsey's hands. That hadn't stopped him from staying, from needing to stay and see her through. From needing to see her just one more time, strong and bright and healthy again.

And here she was. Not quite as bright as she had been the day they met, but alive. Still with him.

Pressure built behind his eyes, his throat growing tight. When he managed to open his eyes again, he drank in her expression, soft with gratitude and grief and things he didn't have names for.

"I don't think it's supposed to work like that," She breathed, her voice thick. He shook his head.

"I think it does," He tightened his hand protectively around her chip. He'd come too close to losing her for good this time. He wasn't going to let it happen again. "You're stuck with me."

"Lucky me," Cortana shook her head, a watery smile tugging at her lips. He tried to smile back, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. Her eyes gleamed. "Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you can be?"

"On occasion."

Soft laughter shook her shoulders, and for a moment he let himself relax. She was alright, the Earth was safe, and they had survived. He told himself that it was enough. Another eight years—a proper eight years this time—of missions and whatever else the galaxy could throw at them.

It would never be enough. Looking at her now, he couldn't bring himself to ask if eight years was really all they would get. She'd been through enough for one mission, and it showed in how her shoulders trembled as she took a deep breath.

"That's good," She said, "Because you're going to need to be stubborn where you're going."

"Where we're going."

"Chief," She shook her head, "It really doesn't work that way. After what happened on Infinity, I—"

His fingers curled around the chip, a spike of ice cold terror shooting down his spine.

"You didn't mean to do any of that."

"That doesn't change the fact that I did do it," She said, staring at her feet. "I vented oxygen from fifteen decks. It took the systems eight seconds to recycle air—if we'd been in space, people would have died." She curled in on herself. "I would have killed them. No one should trust me in a ship after that."

"Then you stay with me," He said. "Stay in the suit, not the ship."

"You really think they'll trust me with you any more than a ship? Do you really think they should?" She looked up at him before he could answer, brow furrowed. "Chief it wasn't just one crappy day. There's no getting away from Rampancy a second time—it will happen again, and putting you at risk is again is not." She stopped herself, closed her eyes and said more firmly, "I am not going to let it happen again, even if I have to ground myself."

They both knew being trapped in a station somewhere would kill her just as quickly. His free hand tightening into a fist, John shook his head sharply.

"I trust you."

"I know." Her eyes darted to her feet. "But trust can't hold back the tide. We both know how this is going to end."

Seven to eight years, then final dispensation. Those years would go by in an instant, less than an instant. They weren't enough. She deserved more than a handful of years stuck in his helmet or relegated to babysitting a ship or station somewhere. She deserved everything and he couldn't give it to her. There had to be a way to give it to her.

"There has to be something," He said, "Some way to keep it from happening again. Spark was—"

He stopped himself, closing his eyes. Spark had lived for a hundred thousand years, but his end had been worse. He wouldn't doom her to that, but the thought remained. If Spark could live for so long, why couldn't she?

Did she want to? The question caught between his ribs.

"Well," Cortana began slowly, pensively, more for his benefit than because she believed what she was saying, "There are rumors in the community about meta-stable AI. They're…immune to Rampancy, basically," She looked up as he looked down, holding his eyes with hers. "Because they've already survived it. In theory…in theory," She took a breath, "We could be looking at my being meta-stable already. I'm not sure."

"If you are?"

"Immortality." She replied. "If the theories are right? Metastable AI can go on for as long as their host systems remain intact."

Her chip. He curled his fingers around it protectively. She shook her head.

"Don't get your hopes up. The amount of space it would take to store an AI like that is exponentially larger than a Riemann matrix." With a sigh, she finally looked away. "It's a pipe dream."

"So was this," He pointed out, "We'll find a way."

He refused to let there be any other option. It didn't matter what he'd have to do—he was going to give her the choice of what she wanted to do with a full life. Not eight years, not stuck trapped in some system, but a full life and everything that came with that. Others would have said it was impossible, and maybe they were right, but he'd pulled off the impossible before. He could do it again.

He had to. If only to take the sadness out of her eyes.

"Chief," She whispered, "Sometimes…sometimes there's just nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do." Reaching out, she skimmed her hand across the base of his thumb. "It's okay."

It wasn't.

"We'll find a way," He repeated, refusing to accept anything else. "I am not." His voice, and the words, caught in his throat. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her tiny, flickering form laying in the palms of his hands. She had been dying in his arms and all he could do was hold her. She had very nearly been destroyed by the Didact—had he been even half a second slower, she would have—no. "I am not going to let you go."

Cortana shook her head. She rocked herself forward onto her knees.

"John…"

"It's my job to take care of you," He managed to get out through the tightness in his throat, voice little more than a breath. She was the only one who would ever hear this. "And I can't." He couldn't finish. He had to finish. Taking a deep breath, he let it all go and tried again. "We go together."

Whatever happened. Whatever it took, he would keep them together. No matter what it took, who he had to argue with, what strings he had to get pulled, he would find a way. They both would and—a flicker of blue pulled his attention back to her. Reaching out, she skimmed a tiny hand across his cheek.

"We take care of each other," She said, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and at that moment he knew she understood. Relief coursed through him and he closed his eyes. "We'll find a way. I won't leave you."

A soft, comfortable silence fell over them. Emotionally wrung out and physically exhausted, he let it settle for a few long seconds. Then, swallowing back the lump in his throat, John took another breath. He opened his eyes.

"Where do we start?"

"I'd say we start with Halsey's research, but something tells me that's going to be harder to get at than it should." Cortana frowned, all business. "Something was up with her…"

"You saw it too, huh?" It was barely a question. John tilted his head, lowering his voice. "She was nervous. Someone was watching her."

Why else would she be so subdued, so quiet? Dr. Halsey had always been a stoic person, not exactly the type to fill the air with inane chatter, but she never would have let them go without asking a hundred questions about what they had been through. He was hardly ungrateful to have escaped explaining Requiem to her after everything that had happened there, but it was still odd.

"Multiple someones." Cortana answered. Her eyes went distant, no doubt focused on something in the station. "If I had to stage a guess…it'd be these guys."

A small holo-screen opened in front of her. She rotated it so he could see what was on display: two armed soldiers in black techsuits and thin armor, standing outside of the lab Dr. Halsey had forcibly requisitioned to bring Cortana around. Cortana zoomed in on their chestplates, and the pyramid branded therein.

"ONI."

"Seems they've still got an interest in her." Cortana frowned. "I don't suppose Lord Hood gave you anything useful at the debrief."

"No." A lie. He had mentioned something. "Blue Team is MIA."

Cortana jerked her head up to stare at him. "What?"

"They were assigned a mission in Covenant space three months ago," John repeated what Lord Hood had told him, "Initial contact was clear, but then dropped away. Nothing for over two months now."

It wasn't unheard of for Spartan teams. Missions could, did, and often ran long. As some of the last Spartan II's in service, he was unsurprised to find that they were still on active duty. Even so, some small part of him had hoped they would be here. That same small part of him had spent too long thinking he was the last, and now.

"We'll find them," Cortana said, pulling him from his exhaustedly maudlin thoughts. She looked at him with a determined expression. "We will."

"And the Didact." John added. She screwed up her face. "He's not dead."

What would it take to kill him, John wondered. He was Forerunner which meant a different physiology than the Covenant that John was used to fighting, but shoot anything enough and it would go down. No, the bigger problem would be lasting long enough to take him out. Had Cortana's fragments not intervened to hold him down, had Commander Palmer not swept in and pulled them out at the last second, the nuke would have taken them out, too. He couldn't even be sure that would have killed the Didact. Until he saw a body, he couldn't confirm a kill. Without that confirmation…

"If he's around, we'll find him." Cortana said. She inclined her head up at him. "I can't say any of this will be easy. Even if Lord Hood reassigns us to the Infinity, there's a lot of work to be done." Despite the concern in her eyes, she smiled. "You ready?"

John let the corners of his lips pull upwards in a small, secret smile, just for her.

"Thought you'd never ask."

[startrekfangirl2233-fic-recs]

Oh, Lucky. Here we go!

He was going home. As Jake answered all the mechanic's questions while checking the jet, out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Bradley's jet ascended down the elevator and rolled into its resting spot. Bradley popped his canopy, climbing out, sliding down the ladder and high-fiving his mechanic, smiling.

I can't wait, I can't wait, I cannot wait! He deserves to kiss Liz and be hugged to death by both Sadie and Liz. And then have the welcome home he deserves. In Liz's bed.

But I also know you. And I saw that snippet.

Jake lifted his hand once again, hoping Rooster would take it. But Bradley didn't, nor did he reply. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jake to bow his head and drop his hand once again, not knowing if he should sigh or roll his eyes. At this point, it was frugal to think Bradley would ever change his ways. Least of all for him.

He's got a bone to pick, still. It seems to me that Roo needs to get dicked down again... and maybe get the sense smacked into him.

But I knew the second you spoke to me, the second I had turned around after fixing that damn keg, seeing that mona lisa smile of yours (Yes - I have been calling it that and no, your ego does not need to grow two more sizes because of it), my heart was screaming, Hello, I love you. (Those are in reference to a song; they don't count just yet).

I'm going to cry, Lucky. She told him she loved him! Even if it was in song lyrics. She LOVES HIM!

I'm not going to quote Liz's letter, because Lucky I'm going to be quoting all of it. And I don't think anybody seeing this reblog needs to reread it. It's amazing. All of the song lyrics. Your tagline "long cool woman in a black dress). It's perfection. I really hope Liz and Jake get their happy ending. I really need them too. Or I may be coming up north with a pitchfork and some fire. (And peppermints in my pocket for Yoshi, of course. I wouldn't forget him lol.)

You. On your bed. Half naked. You seemed carefree, leaning back on your bed, damp tendrils of your hair half clinging to your face, half covering the sharp lines of your neck. Oh, how many times he had kissed that neck, and now, seeing it on display, only for him - Jake had to draw in a sharp breath. And his dog tags hanging between your half-bare breasts, framed by the silk of your robe, glinting in the soft, warm sunlight from your bedroom window. And written along the bottom... Come home and take them back ;)

YES! HELL YES! Jake had better be making it back home to take those damned dog tags back, okay? I will cry if he doesn't.

Rooster shouted from the bunk above, and Jake pressed himself against the tiny wall as he felt himself tilted hard to the side, masked by a shutter that shook their entire room. Bradley wasn't as lucky, rolling straight out of his bed and landing hard on the ground with a massive thunk. Jake wanted to laugh, but even he couldn't stop the grimace as he heard the sound. Bradley groaned a long, pitful sound, lifting himself to rest on his hands. "What the hell is going on?!" "What do you think, Bradshaw? You've never been stuck in a storm on a deployment before?"

I don't think this is a storm. Or if it is, this is a doozy of one. I have this sick feeling in my stomach and I really don't like it, Lucky.

"What the hell is going on?!" Jake shouted over the alarm system. The mechanic continued to work as he replied, "Everything! The whole ship is going to hell! We've got engine failure. Some of the airlock doors won't seal properly on the lowest deck, and to fucking top it off, one of the ballast tanks is compromised! In a fucking hurricane!"

Oh no! This is making me feel even worse, Lucky. I DON'T LIKE IT.

Jake clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "You think I would ever abandon Sadie? Or Liz? You've seen me, day in and day out, fighting for them, fighting fucking Tyler, fighting to get back to them. I would die before they were hurt. Before any one of you were hurt." "But you did! The second your brother asked you to." Bradley's voice hardened. "Answer me this: in the heat of the moment, when you're faced with a choice, can you honestly tell me you'd put them first?" Tyler and everything he had wrought flashed in Bradlely's mind, but he pressed on. "Not your pride, not your ego, but them? Or any of us. Unasked or not on the job! Cause I know you wouldn't!"

These boys. They have the worst fucking timing. THE WORST. But it needs to be said, I guess?

Another name came to Bradley's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, even now. Instead, Bradley could only sallow and nod. He couldn't deny Jake was right. It was damn near impossible to sink an aircraft carrier. Jake and Bradley knew this. The things were built to withstand the roughest seas, hurricanes included. They were the most balanced and sturdiest things that ever graced any body of water on this planet. They had to be if aviators were literally landing planes on them.

Oh my god. What the fuck. This must be some fucking powerful hurricane to try to sink an aircraft carrier. WHAT THE FUCK.

Grabbing Rooster by the back of his suit, Jake pulled Bradley in front of him, pushing him up the stairs, urging him forward and shouting, Go! The two tried not to look up as they climbed, picturing their destination in their minds. Ignoring the sound of the alarm and the rushing water, Jake and Bradley counted their steps as they tried to reach the top. And they were close. Even as the rest of the ship creaked and groaned, they still fought to reach the top, unaware if help was waiting for them on the other side. Then something blew up on one of the upper levels, the sound, the vibration, causing Jake and Bradley to slam themselves into the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The lights flickered once, twice, then completely out, before a rotating red emergency light dimly lit the narrow stairwell. Metal crunched above their heads, snapping like twigs, and Jake didn't dare look up for fear of what might happen to either of them.

I'm going to throw up Lucky. I don't like this. I don't like this AT ALL. Please dear god let Rooster and Jake both be okay. Please?!

"Bradley! Just take my hand!" he shouted over the alarms, not any less urgent than before. "Please!" Jake had never begged a day in his life, let alone to someone like Rooster. But there was no way he wasn't going home without him. You would never forgive him, and Sadie would never recover. He knew that for a fact. Metal snapped, and Bradley dropped another inch, thinking this was it. That the railing was no longer attached to whatever had been holding it in place, baring his entire weight. Bradley threw his arm up towards Jake's in a desperate move. Jake grabbed his wrist at the last possible second, a pained shout escaping his lips as he completely absorbed his weight, metal grating bending underneath him. But the grip he had on the railing with his foot held, and Jake bowed his head in relief, taking a few seconds with Bradley hanging dangerously off his arm to ground himself, trying not to think about what might have happened had he not caught him.

Jake's a fucking hero. I hope this is when Bradley finally realizes that Jake isn't the villain he's always made him out to be. I hope. But more than anything I need you to make this okay. I need this to be okay, Lucky. Please.

"This is the second time you've saved me," he said, trying to make out Jake's face in the red light and dropping water. "You could have left me this time, for everything I've done, said..." "What would be the point?" Jake interrupted him. "If I'd left you, I'd be no better than the person you thought I was. Besides," Jake added, smirking, "who else would I have to constantly prove wrong if you weren't around?" Bradley scoffed, a tint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Asshole." Jake shrugged. "It's in my nature. Now, can we please get the hell out of here?"

The banter boys?! At this moment? Really?!

But in the chaos of falling water, blinking lights and cacophony of alarms, Jake was a split second too late to comprehend the warning fully. Just as he turned to see the descending danger, the heavy debris crashed down, the force of the impact throwing him off balance, rocking whatever remained of the grating they were standing on. A metallic clang resonated sharply, followed by the splash of water as Jake was sent reeling backwards. The last thing Bradley saw, huddled against the wall, was the look of shock and realization in Jake's eyes, his silhouette disappearing beneath the surging tide of murky water, quickly consuming any trace of him.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

LUCKY! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?! I'VE DONE NOTHING TO YOU. NOTHING. JAKE!

Bradley estimated he had minutes before the water became too much for him to handle. Or he could leave, save himself. Say he did everything he could. That Jake was lost, the situation was too dire. That Jake died a hero, trying to save him once again. But it wasn't even a choice; the decision had already been made. It had been made the second your face appeared in front of his, and how it changed into a faded memory of his mom, collapsing to the ground at the news of his father's death. And Bradley, watching it all from behind the corner of a wall, forever feeling small.

Oh holy shit. I would have murdered one scrawny necked chicken motherfucker if he'd have left Jake to drown. Let's ignore the fact that I've got tiny hands. I've got a rage like you wouldn't believe right now.

But then it wasn't him as a child, but Sadie, the same look on her face the day the two of you walked up the driveway of your sister's place. The same look he found on her face the day she ran into your backyard, pulling at grass. Jake would be another person for the both of you to mourn. He couldn't let that happen. Bradley crossed his arms over his chest and jumped, diving under the water. All he could see was black.

For Sadie! Yes, Bradshaw do it for Sadie. She doesn't deserve to lose another father figure. She's got so few good ones.

LUCKY! I need about 45 business days and a barrel full of alcohol to recover from this chapter. Please. I need to know that chickens can swim and swim village. Please. Please. Please.

I need Chapter 21 soon please. I can't go on like this.

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 20 - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)

📜 Everyone wants Jake's reaction to Liz's risky photo. 👀😂Well, you got it... and something else... Let me put it this way: I have to take my chance where I can....

❗+18, sexual themes, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child character, deployments, letters, verbal fights, hurricanes, near-death experiences, angst, Don't read if you have Thalassophobia/Aquaphobia cause Jake and Bradley... well, you'll find out, intense moments of peril/disaster.

#7.4k words

Part 19 | Masterlist | Part 21

Hangman could hear his breath, the mechanical exhale and hiss, through his oxygen mask as he finally set his eyes on the carrier, alone out at sea.

The tension in his shoulders released, and the weight that had been pressing him down since he and Rooster laughed this morning lifted slightly.

"Rooster, where are you?"

"Right behind you, Hangman," came his crackled tense reply.

The attack on the facility had been gruesome and extremely time-sensitive. They only had a few seconds to spare in reaching their destination should there have been any reason for a delay. It was one of the things he had worried about when they were being briefed, worried if the same ghost that had haunted Rooster on the uranium mission would resurface yet again.

It didn't, and the pair of them managed to get to the target well on time, just to take down two enemy fighter jets before they had even managed to get above the hard deck line.

It might have helped the attack happened right around dawn when nobody was least expecting it—three weeks at sea for an hour in the sky. And the worst of what they thought would happen and what they had prepared for didn't.

You and Sadie had been with him the entire time, your polaroids pinned in his cockpit near the control panel. They were the same ones he had before, the one Sadie took of you and the other of Sadie and himself the day of the hike.

He was looking at them now, between you, Sadie and his navigational beacon, knowing that the second his wheels hit the upper deck, he'd be that much closer to going home.

Hangman was cleared to land, his radio buzzing with the familiar voice of the control tower as he approached the tiny runway. He adjusted the F-18's flaps, feeling the jet respond instantly beneath him, knowing it wasn't over yet, not until both he and Rooster were safely on board.

He took a steadying breath, the sound echoing in his mask as he said to himself in his head, 'Make it perfect. For them."

The back wheels touched down flawlessly, catching the arresting wire with a strong tug. Jake felt himself being pulled forward out of his seat, the straps of his harness tight on his chest. But the second his back hit the chair, he finally felt like he could breathe. The weight on his chest dissipated, and Jake couldn't help the smug grin.

He was finally in the clear.

"Nice landing," he heard the landing officer say through the radio. Jake, taxing himself to the elevator on deck, watched as the officer gave him a thumbs up from the runaway below.

"What can I say? When you're good, you're good," his cheeks hurt from the edges of his mask, grin wide as he cockily gave a two-fingered salute.

If Jake heard the following tense groan coming out of his radio, he didn't let on.

Parking the jet on the elevator strip, Jake watched as he was lowered down into the ship's hanger bay, looking for his designated mechanic as he turned off the flight system. The second he reached the ground, he guided the machine into its designated spot, turning it off completely.

He popped the canopy open before going for his helmet, unstrapping the buckles with haist. He went for one of the pockets on his harness, reaching into the tight space to grab at the zip-locked bag, placing it on top of his helmet before reaching for the polaroids of you and Sadie. Holding both between his thumb, he brought them to his lips, kissing the images simultaneously before placing them safely inside the bag where they belonged.

As Jake stepped down the ladder, a mechanic greeted him, readying a list of questions as Jake started up his post-flight checks.

"It's a good thing you guys finished when you did. Radar points to a tropical storm coming in tonight."

Jake raked his fingers through his hair, trying to combat the sweat. "So we got confirmation we are moving out?"

The mechanic nodded, not bothering to lift his head as he dug for his notepad. "The second you guys were called back. We're already on route to base."

The news only added to his high spirits. Today was a good day.

He was going home.

As Jake answered all the mechanic's questions while checking the jet, out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Bradley's jet ascended down the elevator and rolled into its resting spot. Bradley popped his canopy, climbing out, sliding down the ladder and high-fiving his mechanic, smiling.

He had no idea where the urge, or dare he say courage, came from when he finished walking over to Bradley as he was finalizing his post-flight routine.

Jake waited till Bradley said his last word before approaching him. Jake held out his hand, his voice clear over the commotion, as he said, "Good job flying out there, Bradshaw."

Bradley glanced at Jake's outstretched hand, then to his face, his expression inscrutable. There was a palpable pause, a pregnant beat of tension, before Bradley deliberately rested his hand on the side of his jet, ignoring Jake's overstretched hand completely.

"Don't think one mission changes everything," Bradley replied tersely, eyes sharp and focused.

His reply didn't deter Jake. In fact, he only smirked, lowering his hand. "Didn't think it would. I just wanted to see if you had the balls to acknowledge a job well done. By the way, I went to Liz and apologized. Something you probably never imagined I'd do."

Bradley scoffed, a short, derisive laugh escaping him. "You think an apology is your ticket to redemption? You must have been more rattled up there than I thought. She'd never forgive you after a stunt like that."

Jake bit his lip, contemplating what you or Sadie might say to Rooster at this moment.

So, in a rare second of honesty, in front of his rival, Jake answered Bradley.

"I never expected her to accept my apology, Bradshaw. But I had to try. For her. For Sadie." Jake paused, looking solemn before continuing on. "You know what it's like, leaving on a deployment, not sure when or if you're going to come back. So I had to try, and believe it or not, I want to try to get along with you for both their sakes. It's what they would want."

Jake lifted his hand once again, hoping Rooster would take it. But Bradley didn't, nor did he reply. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jake to bow his head and drop his hand once again, not knowing if he should sigh or roll his eyes. At this point, it was frugal to think Bradley would ever change his ways.

Least of all for him.

...

"Seresin! Bradshaw! You have mail!"

Jake looked up from his plate just in time to see the communications officer slam a white envelope down to the empty space in front of him. The officer continued her journey down to the other end of the table to Rooster, tossing a nearly identical envelope into his outstretched hands.

Bradley hadn't spoken a word to him since the hanger earlier, not that Jake expected him to. The mess hall wasn't necessarily the friendliest place, and while Jake couldn't have cared less about whether or not he was making friends, he and Bradley tended to stick together silently. They didn't really speak to each other, though. Even when they had to bunk together.

It's funny how deployments did that.

Jake slid his tray over to the side, reaching out to grab the thick piece of paper between his hands and inspecting the front.

White was probably the wrong word to use. The envelope looked like it had a rough time getting to him. There were dirt marks and scuffed-up edges, several post stamps thrown uncaringly on the front. Even a few water marks, which made sense, considering a gust front was currently pounding the upper deck.

What stood out to Jake, though, was your handwriting still perfectly intact. He'd recognize it anywhere.

Lt. Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Jake flipped it over, not expecting to see the words written across the back.

This is everything I didn't say

Jake pulled himself back in his seat, only to realize he had a pair of eyes on him. He looked over to Bradley, noticing how the chicken was staring at the object in Jake's hands. He had already opened his, two pieces of lined paper on the table in front of him.

"From Liz?" Jake finally asked, tilting his head towards Bradley's letter. Rooster looked back down at his, staring at the front. "Sadie, actually."

As if that didn't sting a little bit, Jake thought. Bradley looked back up, eyes fixed on the one in Jake's hands. "Liz?" he asked. It was almost sombre.

Jake tore his eyes away from Bradley to trace your cursive writing with his fingers. "Yeah."

There was something to be said about receiving letters or packages from family and loved ones while in service. Regardless of whether or not Jake and Bradley were on the outs, no one ever dared to mock this particular part of their job. Hearing word from the other side, the outside world, was something sacred, and Bradley knew better than to hold it against Jake- even if he did break your heart.

You had chosen to write him that letter. There was nothing he could really do about it - like he even had a choice. Bradley had to pick and choose his moments where he could.

Jake finally broke the seal, immediately going for the folded-up pieces of paper inside. He let the envelope drop, the sound heavy as it hit the table, and Jake knew you had probably stuffed polaroids inside.

He unfolded your pages and began to read.

Jake,

Everything became still the moment my sister passed away. I keep remembering, picturing it like hands on a clock, having counted the seconds away before finally coming to a stop. The days didn't matter. My next thought, my only thought, was Sadie. Then you came into my picture, our picture, and cheesily enough, that seconds hand on that metaphorical clock started to tick.

I can’t lie; I knew you'd break through my walls the first time I saw you. Not in the Hard Deck that day, but when you were playing football on the beach, me watching you from Penny’s chair. I knew who you were instantly.

Because you had a rep, and everyone had warned me about you - Womanizer.

But I knew the second you spoke to me, the second I had turned around after fixing that damn keg, seeing that mona lisa smile of yours (Yes - I have been calling it that and no, your ego does not need to grow two more sizes because of it), my heart was screaming, Hello, I love you.

(Those are in reference to a song; they don't count just yet).

I have a confession to make, which is partly why I wanted to write you this particular letter.

I put up a wall between you and myself then and there. I think that's the only secret I've ever kept from you. Because as much as I knew something was probably going to happen between the two of us, whatever it would have been, I knew you had the power to devastate my heart completely.

I didn’t get your name that day. Not until you showed up on my doorstep with my favourite flowers, asking me to forgive you, and you sat out in my backyard with everyone singing along to Southern Nights.

The first crack in the wall started when you followed me inside, helping me with the dishes. You were honest with me that night, not the person I thought you to be, and I realized you were putting on a show for others to see. And when I showed up in that long cool black dress at the hard deck that day, and you taught my klutzy ass how to throw a dart, the wall cracked further.

(I can hear you as I write, Jake Seresin. Saying I love your ass, don't diss my ass. Stop making everything sexual, you horny beast.)

Sadie knew it, too... that my walls were cracking. She sees everything. It's why she invited you on that damn hike. And there is also a part of me wondering if Ridley sent that damn sake from wherever she is now, hoping to get the two of us together - it would be something she'd do if she had the power.

Then, all of you guys were deployed. And everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.

I don't know if three little birds told me things were going to be alright back then, but I somehow knew, deep down, they would be -  even if you fly like you have nothing to lose and everything to prove. You don't, not to me. And oh, what a night it was when you came home.

I wanted you to kiss me that night. But I'm glad you didn't. Because the night I drifted away in your arms, you might as well have shot a missile from your F-18 and made my walls crumble almost completely.

Almost. Because what truly did it was when you let Sadie hang on to you during that thunderstorm. How you cared for her and told her it was going to be okay. How good you were with her and how you might be with your own. I will never stop saying how much that meant to me- what it still means to me.

Then you rammed me up against my hallway, and I had to really hang on for dear life.

(I just realized we never talked about our futures on our first date. We were too busy screaming Let's dance to figure out if Marriage/Kids, etc., were on the table - if they are something you want. Cause I'm all in Jake, whether we do or not. All I know is that I want to be with you - you and Sadie are enough.)

Then someone made himself known, and hell would have to freeze over before I mentioned his name in a letter to you - Dream on asshole. But you loved, yes loved, me through my worst moments, Sadie's worst moments. When I sang as a Blue healer for my feelings deep blue, when sons and daughters of people long gone raged, and I had to hide in my bathtub, waiting till it was all over.

When you showed me it was okay to live and experience life through the bad moments, that it was okay to remember my sister, even in the rays of a sunset from the sky. And when you made me want to scream sex on fire, cause damn Jake, we definitely weren't taking things slow.

I won't mention the 'incident' with George or how much rain I saw when Bradley drove me home. I know; I've always known how much generational trauma you've carried in your blood throughout your entire life. I will say, though, out of all the songs that had to play on the jukebox the night things for Sadie and I finally came to an end, it had to be Come a little bit closer. (That pissed me off, you have no idea, Jake.... stop laughing, you asshole).

And although it’s been weeks for me since you left me standing at the end of my driveway, after you apologized and I felt like a Sapling, searching for an Oak, watching you drive off to go our separate ways for a small length of time, being worlds apart, I’m counting down the minutes, the hours, the seconds till I can tell you what you need to hear.

Because My sister had a box. A just-in-case box. Filled with letters, objects, and memories. I finally opened it, with Sadie, of course, on an evening I will never soon forget. I don't want a repeat of that. Of me finally visiting Ridley and reading her letter, her last words to me on her grave.

I don't want that to be us.

So Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, after breaking down my walls not once but twice, I will not write those three words down in this letter. I'd rather tell you in person. So I can see your face when I do. I’m a fair lady - if you wanted me to wait to tell you until you are home, I’m waiting till you come home.

So much of our relationship started backwards. A first kiss before the first date, an extended sleepover before the first touch. We made a promise to each other, not already realizing we had already broken it.

So, sir, if you think the second I see your face, I'm not going to try to jump you, drag you home and lock Sadie out of my bedroom, you can kiss this idea of going slow out the window. Life's too short to go slow when... well, you'll find out soon enough.

And I know you think Sadie doesn’t want to see you again. That's she's still mad at you and will be forever mad for what happened. But I know for a fact the second she sees you, she will jump into your arms. You’re her uncle - you count more than you’ll ever know. 

And while sleep deprivation is my remaining side effect from dealing with the grief I’ve shouldered, I know part of it involves counting down the days for when I can fall asleep with you next to me.

And maybe even doing something else ;)

Your darlin' Elizabeth

P.S. Sadie wanted to send some Polaroids - I promise you, she doesn't hate you, but I know you're still going to think otherwise until you come home. We went on a hike, so there are probably some bug-themed ones in there... I'm sorry for what you see... so if you have anyone lurking over your shoulder, you might want to be careful. They aren't for everyone.

You were right about one thing: he was still so sure Sadie had it out for him. The day she had cornered him at the beach haunted his thoughts. The look and level of disappointment she had on her face would forever remain imprinted in his head.

Yet, he still wiped at his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest. He reached into the envelope and grabbed at the small stack.

The first few were from the hike you mentioned; Sadie chose one of you, sitting on the same rock she had done last year. He still had the photo he took on his phone. There were some ones with bugs, no question about it. But they weren't random ones, either.

There was one of Sadie surrounded by what looked like to be monarchs. Jake had never seen her look so happy, her smile wide and beautiful, and he couldn't help the grin on his face looking down at the image.

But when Jake went to slide the image of Sadie behind the others, he did a double take, quickly hiding the following polaroid from view.

You wouldn't have, he thought. There was no way.

Jake glanced around the hall, turning the collection of pictures down to face the table in his hands, wondering if anyone had seen what he had seen. But next to Bradley, who was too engrossed in his own letter even to lift his head, the hall had cleared itself out, leaving the two of them practically alone.

Hesitantly lifting his hands, Jake slid Sadie's photo over, carefully peering down at the image of you.

You. On your bed. Half naked.

You seemed carefree, leaning back on your bed, damp tendrils of your hair half clinging to your face, half covering the sharp lines of your neck. Oh, how many times he had kissed that neck, and now, seeing it on display, only for him - Jake had to draw in a sharp breath.

And his dog tags hanging between your half-bare breasts, framed by the silk of your robe, glinting in the soft, warm sunlight from your bedroom window. And written along the bottom... Come home and take them back ;)

You cheeky... Jake could feel the heat rush to his face: surprise, desire, and pure pride. He was thousands of miles away, and you found yet another way to remind him of what awaited him when he got home.

The Mona Lisa smile, as you had so deemed, spread wide across his face as he whispered to himself in one ragged breath, "Damn, Liz."

He felt himself getting hard just looking at you.

He'd send you a message when they were closer to American soil, hoping you and Sadie would be there to greet him. But more importantly, if you'd make plans for Penny to take Sadie that night. Cause fuck the lock on your bedroom door. He wanted to find out all the ways he could make you scream for him, all the sounds you had yet to make for him.

Until then, Jake climbed into his bunk that night, reading your letter over and over, staring at the photo you had gifted him, wondering and coming up with all the ways the two of you would celebrate his homecoming. Because lying on that narrow bunk, he couldn't stop his rampant thoughts.

He could almost feel the silk of your robe against his fingertips, the wet strands of your hair brushing against his palms, and the warmth of your skin. And those fucking dog tags he gave you, nestled between the soft curves of your breasts - everything made a fierce heat coil in the lower half of his stomach.

Jake shifted uncomfortably, the rough sheets tangling around his legs, the damp are doing little to soothe his fevered skin. He rolled over into his pillow, trying to summon any other thought but that photo - anything to take his mind off the overwhelming feeling of pure want that consumed him.

You were there, in every corner he turned to, beckoning him with both those innocent and mischievous glint in your eyes, making him crave the day he finally came home. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find some semblance of calm against the lust you had ignited within him.

But falling asleep, his dreams were only filled with you. And all the ways he'd finally have you cumming on his cock.

...

Jake jolted awake to the sound of a high-pitched beeping in his ears, almost hitting the bunk above his. His stomach felt uneasy, like it had been flipped upside down, and every sense was screaming at him something was wrong. He was off balance, unable to ground himself to a solid point.

He hated not being in control.

Rooster shouted from the bunk above, and Jake pressed himself against the tiny wall as he felt himself tilted hard to the side, masked by a shutter that shook their entire room.

Bradley wasn't as lucky, rolling straight out of his bed and landing hard on the ground with a massive thunk. Jake wanted to laugh, but even he couldn't stop the grimace as he heard the sound.

Bradley groaned a long, pitful sound, lifting himself to rest on his hands. "What the hell is going on?!"

"What do you think, Bradshaw? You've never been stuck in a storm on a deployment before?"

He knew he shouldn't be so snarky with Bradley, but this morning had left him in a sour mood. Not to mention, the storm was but another obstacle in his path stopping him from getting home sooner.

It was going to be a long night.

Bradley sat up, about to reply with a remark just as snarky, when the PA system blared above their heads.

All currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance. I repeat all currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance.

Jake tore out of bed, and Bradley stood sharply, both reaching for their fight suits, putting them on in a rush. As Bradley laced his boots, Jake reached for your letter and picture on his bed, quickly shoving them inside the packet he had in his chest pocket with the other Polaroids.

He didn't know if and when he'd be back here.

As the pair emerged from their room, they had to dodge multiple people flying past in a mass panic, trying to get to their respective stations. The added struggle of not knowing what the carrier was going to throw at them next also didn't help. All Jake and Bradley knew was that, given a storm, let alone even in a hurricane, they needed to be down at the lower docks, reinforcing the restraints on the Jets.

The ship groaned, then shook, the floor vibrating beneath their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Bradley shouted, his voice strained with concern. Jake struggled to steady himself, gripping a nearby railing. His Texian accent was strong as he shouted his reply, "It doesn't matter. Let's just get to the hanger bay!"

It was pure chaos the second they arrived. Bright flashing red emergency lights, crew members scrambling in every direction. Next to the high-pitched alarm going off every other second, the ship continued to creak and groan, rocking enough that Jake and Bradley had to steady themselves.

"Get the damn secondary restraints on the F-18s!" A senior official shouted as they passed. Jake and Bradley's 'Yes, sir' only seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The pair raced towards the first jet, stopping momentarily to assist what they needed to do. Jake's voice was barely audible above the chaos. "We need to get the secondary straps down and make sure the wheel jacks are in place!"

Bradley shot him a disdainful look. "Thanks for stating the obvious. I was about to suggest a picnic."

Jake gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to snap back. "Not now, Bradshaw."

Bradley only rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

As they began to secure the planes, the ground started to tilt enough to throw them off balance if they weren't careful. Jake and Bradley tried to brace themselves as one adjusted the straps while the other secured the wheel jacks.

A cry for help managed to break through the alarms and shouts, and both turned towards the sound. Bradley was closest, shouting out, "I got it!" before running off, not bothering to hear Jake's reply.

The sound of a wire recoiling, snapping hard like a whip through the air, startled Jake, making him turn sharply. A wooden crate, the height of his chest, had broken loose from its net, sliding directly towards him.

Bracing himself, Jake charged forward, holding out his hands to stop it from crashing into the jet behind him. He grunted hard as the wood slammed into his palms. Jake used as much strength as he could gather, baring his teeth and straining his muscles, to push the crate back towards where it came from.

Jake's mechanic from before suddenly appeared next to him, helping him push the crate back into the relative safety of the net.

"What the hell is going on?!" Jake shouted over the alarm system. The mechanic continued to work as he replied, "Everything! The whole ship is going to hell! We've got engine failure. Some of the airlock doors won't seal properly on the lowest deck, and to fucking top it off, one of the ballast tanks is compromised! In a fucking hurricane!"

That would explain the rocking, Jake thought, as the ship titled back, allowing for the create to easily slide back into its original spot with no more effort. The mechanic knotted the net through a few metal loops on the ground while Jake rested his hands on his knees, bent over and panting hard.

The second he finished, the mechanic left Jake standing there as he was called off towards another task.

Jake straightened, looking around to see where he was needed next, his eyes instantly landing on Rooster, who was dealing with his own crate. He ran towards him, using his weight to help Bradley push the crate back and away into its designated spot.

The two managed to secure it, and struggling to catch his breath, Bradley glared at Jake. "Didn't need your help."

"Of course, you didn't," Jake retorted, frustration evident.

"I had it handled."

"Right," Jake panted.

"Always gotta be the hero, don't you, Hangman?" Rooster grumbled.

Whatever had encouraged him to reach an olive branch earlier was long gone. Whether it was Rooster's words or the situation, Jake simply had enough.

He hit Bradley square in his chest with both hands, sending him backwards a few steps. "Okay, what's your damn problem with me, Bradshaw?!"

"Now?!" Bradley shouted, ready to fight it out. "You want to do this now?"

"Good as time as any!" Jake remarked, throwing his hands to the side in open invitation. He was tired of Rooster's animosity, of the constant back and forth, but damn if he wasn't ready for the confrontation.

"What is it? My call-sign? What I did to earn it!?" Jake cocked his head, stepping to the side, causing the two pilots to circle each other. "Or is it what I said about your old man two years ago?! You didn't even let me finish, so I couldn't have said anything that truly pissed you off. And you know what, not that it matters, but I'm sorry if it hurt your feelings."

The floor shook beneath their feet, but neither man seemed phased. Bradley only fisted his hands tighter with each remark that passed Jake's lips.

"Or is it Liz? Sadie? The fact they welcomed me in with open arms, loved me, and there wasn't a hell of a thing you could have to stop it?"

The surrounding chaos only seemed to amplify Bradley's longstanding irritation with Jake. Bradley stalked forward, slamming his hands to Jake's chest and returning the favour.

"It's everything! Everything you stand for!" he shouted, his nostrils flaring hard. "Don't you dare say Sadie's name, not when I know you are going to leave that little girl out to dry. I won't have it, Hangman!

Recognition flashed in Jake's eyes, and he knew, he understood right then, amongst all the chaos and panic, the lengths any one of the Daggers would go to make sure their bug was loved and protected above all else.

It had never been about you. It had always, always been about Sadie.

"Sadie?!" he shouted. "That's the reason?"

Jake clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "You think I would ever abandon Sadie? Or Liz? You've seen me, day in and day out, fighting for them, fighting fucking Tyler, fighting to get back to them. I would die before they were hurt. Before any one of you were hurt."

"But you did! The second your brother asked you to." Bradley's voice hardened. "Answer me this: in the heat of the moment, when you're faced with a choice, can you honestly tell me you'd put them first?"

Tyler and everything he had wrought flashed in Bradlely's mind, but he pressed on.

"Not your pride, not your ego, but them? Or any of us. Unasked or not on the job! Cause I know you wouldn't!"

Jake reeled back, Bradley's words hitting him hard. But Bradley didn't falter. His face was still lit up with all the pent-up anger and frustration he held for Jake since the day he got his call sign.

"I see the man behind the show, the guy who thinks he's invincible. But you're not." Bradley pointed his finger. "Until you prove otherwise, I won't trust you with them. Not with Sadie. Not with Liz. Not with any of us."

Jake opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from the officer who gave them orders before interrupted him.

"You two, Top Gun! Quit standing around and go to the communications office and see where we are at with our navigation systems!"

Bradley stomped past Jake without another word, leaving him to silently fume for a few seconds before following him out of the hanger.

In the dimly lit, claustrophobic corridors of the carrier, the metallic walls groaned, strained by the might of the storm. Water or steam, they weren't sure which, was starting to pool in patches along the floor. With each wave and rock the ship encountered, the intermittent jolts sent the two pilots grasping for whatever was nearest to stay upright as they tried to make it to the communications office.

Following Bradley, Jake felt a spike of irritation. 'Why's he got to make everything so damn personal?' Jake thought bitterly. Bradley, meanwhile, was a simmering pot of anger.

"Why do you always have to be right in the middle of everything, Hangman?" Bradley shot over his shoulder, clearly irritated. "Can't you just once follow orders without making it about you?"

Jake gritted his teeth, trying to hold back a retort. "Look, can we just get to the comms and figure this out? We can bicker like an old married couple later."

Bradley's face twisted in a smirk, his pace never faltering. "Don't flatter yourself. I have standards."

A loud klaxon sounded, the eerie wail echoing through the narrow halls of the carrier. Jake and Bradley covered their ears, falling into the walls.

The second they managed to pull themselves up onto their feet, the PA system blared out another warning.

Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. I repeat, Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. All personnel should be on the upper decks in five minutes.

Jake turned to Bradley, his face filled with urgency. "We need to go! Now!"

Bradley snarled. He had no idea whether it was out of frustration with the current situation or Jake barking orders at him. But Jake was having none of it, grabbing Bradley hard by the collar of his suit and tugging him hard.

Jake's eyes were hard and furious as he remarked, "I'm not dying today, and neither should you."

Something flashed in Bradley's eyes that Jake could not name. But it was enough to give Bradley pause, water droplets running down his face as the anger and tension decided to leave him from earlier.

"We need to get home! For the girls," Jake roughed out. "For Liz and Sadie! Whatever hate you have towards me, we need to get out for them. Now!"

Another name came to Bradley's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, even now. Instead, Bradley could only sallow and nod. He couldn't deny Jake was right.

It was damn near impossible to sink an aircraft carrier. Jake and Bradley knew this. The things were built to withstand the roughest seas, hurricanes included. They were the most balanced and sturdiest things that ever graced any body of water on this planet. They had to be if aviators were literally landing planes on them.

But as water continued to breach the carrier, and as the pair raced through the ship to get to a proper stairwell that would get them to the relief point on the upper decks, they both wondered about the series of unfortunate events that led them to this point. The mechanics in the hangar bay had said everything was going wrong.

Bradley was on the verge of saying sabotage, wondering if they had a spy amongst their ranks. The mission had gone so much better than they had thought. But In their line of work, if something suspicious didn't happen, then their job wasn't over.

Jake just wanted to get both of them out of there.

They finally reached one of the escape hatches, a stairwell that led directly to the upper deck. Bradley was the one to turn the wheel on the door first, Jake joining in shortly after once he realized the sheer force Rooster was putting into opening the door.

A pressure vale released, and the second the two managed to open the door, Jake surged forward, followed by Bradley, who made their way into the narrow stairwell, hoping all had not been lost.

Jake paused on the small landing, looking up at the flights guided by the emergency light. There were a few fires scattering the walls, but it was climbable, and if both of them hurried, they wouldn't have any issues.

Bradley's hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Dude, we have to book it."

Jake turned his head, ready with a cocky reply of something resembling a 'you don't think I know that' until he took in Bradley's panicked face, staring at the stairs below. Following Bradley's eyes, Jake reeled, noticing the rising water levels.

Grabbing Rooster by the back of his suit, Jake pulled Bradley in front of him, pushing him up the stairs, urging him forward and shouting, Go!

The two tried not to look up as they climbed, picturing their destination in their minds. Ignoring the sound of the alarm and the rushing water, Jake and Bradley counted their steps as they tried to reach the top. And they were close. Even as the rest of the ship creaked and groaned, they still fought to reach the top, unaware if help was waiting for them on the other side.

Then something blew up on one of the upper levels, the sound, the vibration, causing Jake and Bradley to slam themselves into the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The lights flickered once, twice, then completely out, before a rotating red emergency light dimly lit the narrow stairwell. Metal crunched above their heads, snapping like twigs, and Jake didn't dare look up for fear of what might happen to either of them.

They felt it before they saw it, thin metal snapping out from underneath their feet. Feeling himself lurching forward, Jake immediately reached out for anything to hold on to. His fingers met a railing untouched by damage, and he latched on, suddenly opening his eyes to pull himself up and towards the relative safety of the remnants of the broken landing.

Bradley hadn't been so lucky.

Because the falling debris favoured his side of the stairs, the section he'd been crouching against completely crumpled under the impact, leaving only an empty space where thick, rushing water roiled menacingly below. There was nothing Bradley could have clung to, nothing that would have saved him from falling towards those black depths or allowed him to reach the warped edges of that landing.

Till his hand slapped onto a piece of a broken railing, Bradley struggled to find a grip tight enough to counteract the sweat on his palms. A panicked noise escaped his mouth as he slid down the newly indented piece of metal, finally stopping just before the end, muscles taunt and ridged as he forced breath into his body.

Jake had managed to pull himself up onto the landing as Bradley had fallen, instantly rolling himself up onto his chest to look down for the pilot.

He was within reach, and Jake extended his hand, on the verge of falling off the flimsy piece of metal. Bradley was hanging on, barely, looking between Jake's hand and the beam, the metal becoming looser and looser by the second.

And yet, Bradley still wouldn't take his hand.

"For godsakes, Bradshaw, just take my fucking hand!"

Jake purposely tried to jolt his arm forward in emphasis, hoping Bradley would finally take the leap and let go. But Bradley bowed his head, trying to force air into his lungs through his mouth as he looked down. With each pulse of red light, the water appeared to be getting higher and higher with each second.

He let out a panicked noise, trying to adjust his slipping grip. The movement caused the metal beam to drop slightly further, accompanied by a jarring clang. Bradley cried out, trying to reach for the broken edge of the landing.

Jake could feel himself slipping, sliding forward until he caught his boot on the railing, locking his body tight as he hung over the edge. Sharp, broken pieces of metal bit into his stomach as he swayed, trying to reach once again.

"Bradley! Just take my hand!" he shouted over the alarms, not any less urgent than before. "Please!"

Jake had never begged a day in his life, let alone to someone like Rooster. But there was no way he wasn't going home without him. You would never forgive him, and Sadie would never recover. He knew that for a fact.

Metal snapped, and Bradley dropped another inch, thinking this was it. That the railing was no longer attached to whatever had been holding it in place, baring his entire weight. Bradley threw his arm up towards Jake's in a desperate move.

Jake grabbed his wrist at the last possible second, a pained shout escaping his lips as he completely absorbed his weight, metal grating bending underneath him. But the grip he had on the railing with his foot held, and Jake bowed his head in relief, taking a few seconds with Bradley hanging dangerously off his arm to ground himself, trying not to think about what might have happened had he not caught him.

Jake grunted hard as he pulled Rooster up, his other hand finding a grip on the fabric of his flight suit along his back, hoping the railing from where he grounded himself would hold long enough to support them both. Bradley did the same with Jake's, using it as leverage to hoist himself up over the edge, only to roll onto his back, breathing hard.

Jake twisted his body away from the edge, laying on his back next to Rooster, staring up at what remained of the remaining flights of stairs. With the water still rushing below them and red lights spinning above them, the two dagger pilots took a few seconds to recuperate in the middle of the danger.

"You had to wait till the last second, didn't you?" Jake roughed out, panting hard. Bradley took three deep breaths before managing to gasp out, "I had to keep it interesting, right?"

Jake slammed his eyes shut, rocking his head to the side in slight annoyance. Bringing himself to a stand, Jake held out his hand again to help Bradley up. This time, Rooster didn't refuse it, instantly throwing his arm out to grasp the back of Jake's elbow, hoisting himself up.

Jake went to let go the minute he was up, but Bradley's grip remained firm.

"This is the second time you've saved me," he said, trying to make out Jake's face in the red light and dropping water. "You could have left me this time, for everything I've done, said..."

"What would be the point?" Jake interrupted him. "If I'd left you, I'd be no better than the person you thought I was. Besides," Jake added, smirking, "who else would I have to constantly prove wrong if you weren't around?"

Bradley scoffed, a tint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Asshole."

Jake shrugged. "It's in my nature. Now, can we please get the hell out of here?"

Bradley nodded, releasing Jake's elbow. In a dramatic fashion, he gestured for Jake to lead the way, looking up towards the rest of their journey to escape. But Bradley's eyes widened in horror as he saw the chunk of ceiling, metal, and wiring breaking loose directly above Jake.

"Jake, move!" Bradley bellowed, his voice echoing with urgency as he dropped to the ground, trying to drag Jake with him.

But in the chaos of falling water, blinking lights and cacophony of alarms, Jake was a split second too late to comprehend the warning fully. Just as he turned to see the descending danger, the heavy debris crashed down, the force of the impact throwing him off balance, rocking whatever remained of the grating they were standing on.

A metallic clang resonated sharply, followed by the splash of water as Jake was sent reeling backwards. The last thing Bradley saw, huddled against the wall, was the look of shock and realization in Jake's eyes, his silhouette disappearing beneath the surging tide of murky water, quickly consuming any trace of him.

Bradley, mouth agape, crawled over to the edge, Jake's call-sign a cry masked by the high-pitched alarms.

"Hangman!"

Bradley couldn't see him anywhere. Water continued to rush into the space, and Bradley, kneeling against the metal grating, tried to spot any area where Jake could manage to resurface. But with the power out and the pulsing red emergency lights, he couldn't see beyond the water's black surface.

Last call, I repeat, last call for evacuation and bail-out procedures.

Rooster pulled himself to stand, weighing his options.

He could jump and look for Jake. Despite the precarious situation they found themselves in, the water was still slow to fill the narrow stairwell. Bradley estimated he had minutes before the water became too much for him to handle.

Or he could leave, save himself. Say he did everything he could. That Jake was lost, the situation was too dire.

That Jake died a hero, trying to save him once again.

But it wasn't even a choice; the decision had already been made. It had been made the second your face appeared in front of his, and how it changed into a faded memory of his mom, collapsing to the ground at the news of his father's death. And Bradley, watching it all from behind the corner of a wall, forever feeling small.

But then it wasn't him as a child, but Sadie, the same look on her face the day the two of you walked up the driveway of your sister's place. The same look he found on her face the day she ran into your backyard, pulling at grass.

Jake would be another person for the both of you to mourn. He couldn't let that happen.

Bradley crossed his arms over his chest and jumped, diving under the water.

All he could see was black.

I had to cliffhanger you guys one last time with this one 😂 Please forgive me....

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Part 21 - My Fair Lady Coming Soon 👀

-Wickett ;)

[foreverindreamlandd]

Awake My Soul • 12

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

WC: 7k

Summary: It’s been 5 years since zombies first began their invasion, and despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve managed to survive up until this point. Now it’s time to face your most dangerous challenge yet….the grumpy, untrusting, fiercely protective Bucky Barnes.

Chapter Warnings: Lol what ISN'T there a warning for in this one?? Canon level violence. Use of restraints and a collar (of the non-spice variety) Mentions of blood, vomiting, torture, needles, loss of limbs, angst. Chapter takes place in a prison. Col not knowing how to write heist stuff lol :,) And another one of our beloved cliffhangers.

**Meine kleine Puppe - My little doll

Series Masterlist

**There is a playlist for this fic, but linking it here messes up the tags so feel free to check it out in the series masterlist!

Once you had gathered your supplies, Bucky guided you to the science building.

“There’s a window on the second floor that is close to the wall. We can climb over from there,” Bucky whispered into your ear. 

You wanted to press further, but the two of you froze as you opened the door to the building, noticing the faint amount of light coming from the science lab.

Parker. He was probably pulling another accidental one-nighter.

Bucky took your hand, turning to give you a small reassuring nod, then slowly crept past the lab.

A mixture of nerves and curiosity dared you to sneak a peek, only to find Peter’s back to you, completely lost in whatever project he was working on.

Bucky continued on, leading you to a small room upstairs, where - low and behold - you saw a window that had a perfect view of the top of the brick wall that surrounded the camp.

He jumped up first, reaching out and grabbing the bags from you before taking your hand and pulling you up next to him. 

Then, he rifled through his bag, pulling out the grappling hook he used to use before getting the metal arm, securing it to the structure before climbing down.

You looked over to your left at the watchtower, anxiety pooling in your stomach.

The gang was going to be so pissed at you two. 

They had every right to be. You were going against protocol and stealing valuable resources in the process.

However, when your eyes landed on the soft, amber glow of the alarm system above Clint, a sense of peace washed over your anxious thoughts.

At least they would be okay here. You and Bucky could do the dirty work without putting more of them at risk.

Hopefully. There was also a good chance that this would fail horribly and cause a whole shitstorm of trouble for everyone you cared about and put them into more danger than they had ever experienced before.

Which was impressive, seeing that you had all been living in a zombie apocalypse for five years.

Before your mind could wander through all the ways this could go wrong, you heard the gentle thud of Bucky’s feet landing on the ground below. You followed his lead and were by his side in seconds.

Once you were both safely on the other side, Bucky did some sort of cool, random-yet-intentional maneuver with the rope and suddenly the grappling hook was in his hand.

Just as quickly, it was hitched back up to his side and his hand was grabbing yours, guiding you into the dark woods. 

You knew you were about to hit the invisible perimeter that triggered the watchtower lights, though you had no idea where it was or how you’d be able to locate it so specifically in order to not set it off.

Suddenly, Bucky was slowing you both down, staring in front of you at nothing.

He crouched low to the ground, side stepping under what you could only assume was the border, pulling you along as you followed suit, crouching down and side stepping under the line you couldn’t see.

When you were on the other side and standing straight, Bucky turned to you with a concerned look. “Hope that was the right spot.”

Right when your eyes widened in panic, his mouth curved up into a smile, and you slapped his arm slightly with a scoff, pulling a boyish chuckle from him that made you giddy even under the stressful circumstances.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Bucky said, pulling you along with a smile still on his face. “Next up, we gotta find ourselves a ride.”

It was about a day's trip on foot through dense woods until you reached a vast, lush clearing, covered with tall grass and wildflowers.

You let out a small gasp, and Bucky looked over at you with a smile on his face.

“Yeah. It’s pretty nuts isn’t it?”

“Is this where you finally show me that your skin glitters under the sunlight because it’s the skin of a killer?”

Thus, another moment was ‘ruined’ as Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry to once again disappoint, Sweetheart, but I swear I’m not actually a hundreds of years old vampire who’s weirdly obsessed with you.”

You pouted. “You’re not obsessed with me, Beefcake?”

His nostrils flared “I was referring more to the whole vampire thing.”

“So you are obsessed with me?” you said with a smug grin.

He shrugged. “You’re alright.”

You shoved his arm and he laughed, a sound that still continued to make your heart flutter.

He led you through the clearing until you were in the middle, and then he put the fingers of his right hand to his mouth and let out a loud whistle.

You jerked back, no longer used to hearing such a loud sound after years of training yourself be  completely silent at all times. You tried to pull his hand away to get him to stop, but he just shook his head and let out another whistle.

Once he was done alerting the entire world of your presence, he rested a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It’s fine. The woods surrounding this place conceal any sound. No walkers or runners can hear it unless they were already in the clearing.”

“Then who will hear it?”

He smiled, and when you followed his gaze ahead of you, your breath hitched.

Horses, you counted five, were trotting over to you. All a vast array of different colors and sizes. Was that a fucking Clydesdale in the lead?

A pure white mustang galloped forward, racing toward the two of you at such speed you felt yourself flinch, ready to get out of its path.

But Bucky’s hand on your shoulder squeezed lightly, as if to say it was fine.

Just as the white horse got close enough, they slowed down, walking directly up to Bucky, their head lowered as they let out a soft nicker in greeting.

Bucky smiled, moving to stroke his hand along the horse’s muzzle.

“Hey pretty girl,” he cooed. “Miss me?”

A sound that came out like a disgruntled snort from the horse had you cackling. 

“Oh, she’s sassy. I like her.”

Bucky chuckled, moving along to inspect for any injuries. 

“Sweetheart, say hello to Alpine.”

“Is she my new competition or something, Beefcake?” you asked, moving to mimic Bucky’s gesture of gently running your hand along the mustang’s muzzle. Her eyes blinked slowly in approval and you smiled.

“Well, she had previously been the only girl in my life. But I’m pretty sure her and Charger are a thing,” he pointed over to a brown appaloosa. “So you’ll have to do.”

You met Alpine’s eye. “Has he always been this annoying?”

Her and Bucky let out a simultaneous snort.

A flash of gray caught your eye and you looked over your shoulder to find another horse approaching. This one had a gray, almost bluish coat with a black mane. They walked right over to you, nudging your back with their nose.

You giggled, turning to pat their neck. “Well hey there. And who are you?”

“That’s actually a new one,” Bucky said, standing straight, hands on his hips. “Never seen him around before.” You hovered your hand flat against his mouth and he licked your palm. “And it looked like I might have some new competition,” he added with a huff.

“Oh don’t worry, Buck. You’re still my number one guy.” You wiggled your brows. “For now.”

“Alright, alright, enough flirting already. You’re welcome to take him if you’re comfortable, or I can pick out one of our regulars.”

“Absolutely not.” You smiled over at Bucky, then back at the almost black eyes of the horse by your side. “I’m taking Hades.”

“What happened that night?” you finally asked two days into your journey. “When Hydra attacked?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he looked down at Alpine’s mane.

“We used to be based out of a big church, one with a giant sanctuary and dorms for the nuns and shit. Steve and I were on watch that last night when the alarm went off. I went down to inspect and found Ward, and I thought all was fine until suddenly I was on the ground, unconscious. Once I came to, the church was on fire. I went out to save the others but half of them had already been…you know.”

He paused for a few minutes before continuing.

“I found Sarah carrying Carol out of the dorms, and she told me Steve went in to get the boys. They had run upstairs to hide from our attackers - we stupidly hadn’t figured out it was Hydra until you said they had taken Steve. 

“Anyways, they were in a room on the top floor. The building was up in flames, ready to collapse at any second. I was through each room, screaming their names when I heard them crying for help. I ran in to find them huddled in a corner while Steve was trying to fight off this guy. He looked like he had been shot in the stomach, and he was losing the fight. I threw my blade into the guy's neck and Steve used the momentum to push him out the window. But the fucking impact caused the ceiling to collapse, and Steve was trapped. He told me….he told me to take the boys and go, and I didn’t want to leave. I tried to climb through the rubble, but the building started shaking and we knew it was about to collapse and the boys were screaming for help behind me and-”

“Buck,” you said, guiding Hades closer to him so that you could reach for his hand. His jaw began flexing and unflexing as he fought back tears.

“I searched for him for days. Even when we left and were hiding in the fog right outside our new camp, I would sneak out and go back. To find any trace or sign that he was alive. That he had gotten out. But there was no way, not with the damage left behind. It would have been impossible for him to survive that.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t feel guilty about any of this,” you interjected. “From what you’ve told me about him, I know for a fact that Steve wouldn’t want you to be. He made a choice, and that choice allowed you to return AJ and Cass to their mom. And if you had found out he was alive, you would have done the same shit you did days ago where you would try to run in completely unprepared by yourself and gotten you and Steve killed.”

“Geesh, thanks for the pep talk, babe.”

You looked over at him with a guilty expression, only to find him smiling at you.

Your eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said. “And maybe I’ve turned more introspective in my old age-” you snorted “-but I can’t stop thinking about the whole cause and effect of this whole shitty situation. Like I said before, if I found out Steve survived the fall he wouldn’t have been taken to Hydra, and he wouldn’t have been there to get you out. And what would that have meant? Hydra would still have hold of a potential cure that we would have no knowledge about, we wouldn’t have access to information about their weapons, their base, the way they operate-”

“You also wouldn’t have met the girl of your dreams…” you added expectantly, giving him a look.

“Well, that goes without saying, Sweetheart.” He winked at you and you gripped Hades’s mane for extra support.

“Well, I’d like you to say it.”

Bucky gave you a soft, adoring smile as he adjusted his weight on Alpine to lean closer.

“If none of that shit happened,” he murmured, and you found yourself gravitating toward him like a magnet, “I wouldn’t have met the girl of my dreams, the best thing to ever happen to me.”

And then he kissed you.

You waited until nightfall.

3am to be exact. That was the time you knew would be the quietest. The main Hydra leaders were usually asleep by then, leaving the fortress only guarded by a few men.

Bucky was begrudging as you convinced him to allow you to take the lead back to the concrete prison. You literally knew exactly where it was, but he didn’t like the idea of you being in front of  danger while he followed behind.

After a few smacks to the chest and jokingly calling him an anti-feminist, he finally caved, muttering at how stubborn you were as you held a fist in the air in victory. A fist he then immediately grabbed and kissed the knuckles of, which made your stomach fill with butterflies.

So now here you both were, jogging on the pads of your feet down the small hill toward the metal gate surrounding the grounds.

Four watchtowers were posted on the corners of the perimeter, one guard assigned one each at all times, along with two more guards walking along the fence.

There was a two minute window where one of the sides would be clear of ground patrol. 

Two. Minutes.

Not a lot of time.

You had worked with less.

So as soon as the guard walked around the corner to the other side, you and Bucky got to work, making your way to the middle of the gate that was in a blindspot for the watchtower guards.

Bucky gave you a small nod, which you returned as you held up the blaster, turning it on.

A small, blue, glowing light appeared at the tip, pulsating as the heat traveled up and down the weapon, ready to be released in a deadly ray.

Luckily there was no need for blasting in this instance, thanks to a testing session you were a part of with Peter and Bruce.

“I made some slight modifications,” Banner had said. “Instead of this just being a machine to kill, it can be a tool. Adds more efficiency to the product while also helping me feel less guilty about replicating something to take lives when zombies are already doing a good enough job of that.”

You held the blaster to the metal gate, instantly parts of the iron away until there was a human-sized hole for you and Bucky to crawl through.

That took about one minute. The next thirty seconds was spent trying to stand the melted off piece back in place so that it sort of looked like it did before.

Hopefully they would simply miss the new gaps.

Hopefully.

Next, you went to the door located directly across from you, creeping through the shadows as quickly and quietly as possible.

You melted away the door handle, readjusting your hold on the blaster as you stepped back inside your former prison, clutching it to your chest, ready to shoot anyone in your path.

You weren’t going to let them take you again. Not without a fight.

The two of you made your way through the various hallways, bile pooling in your throat the farther you walked in, head growing dizzy, but you stayed alert even as panic tried to take over.

There were a few guards you spotted here and there, and you pressed your backs to the wall as they passed in hopes that they would not see you. Each time they simply walked by, unaware of the intruders that had broken into their impenetrable fortress.

It wasn’t until you passed a familiar hallway, past a sign that read DIRECTOR, that your steps began to slow, fear finally starting to win.

Bucky noticed the falter in your movements and gently squeezed your arm. You turned to him and he kissed your temple in reassurance. For a fraction of a second, you allowed yourself to lean into him, a temporary moment of him completely supporting you, holding you up. Keeping you steady.

You closed your eyes, then continued forward with a steady stride once again.

From the spot you had entered, you knew you were going to have to pass through the testing wing of the building before getting to the cells where Steve most likely was. This was a bit of a setback, because the testing wing was always the most heavily guarded. Hydra’s most precious guinea pigs were kept there, and they didn’t want anything messing with their toys. 

One of the doors in the hallway was open, and you could hear voices of multiple men talking inside.

“I swear, Paulding had her.” You stopped right next to the door as you waited for John Walker to continue, your finger hovering over the trigger of your weapon. “He was able to pick up on her tracks, and said that he’d be back in a week with her. She must have taken him down.”

“Or a fucking zombie did, you idiot.” Your blood ran cold at the new, familiar voice that growled at Walker. One that haunted your nightmares almost every night.

Brock Rumlow. Schmidt’s right hand man. The one assigned to torture you endlessly as he and Zola ran test after test on your body. Slicing your skin to see how long you lasted before passing out, slapping you awake when you finally did to start the process over and over again-

“I just don’t understand why we have to keep going out to search for one chick,” Walker argued. “We have plenty of other…subjects to use for our purposes.”

Brock growled. “This one’s different and you know it. We need her blood if we want to continue our work. Walker, if the next search team comes back with nothing, we’ll have them follow Paulding’s route and see if you were right. And if you’re not, we’ll look somewhere else. We’re not gonna stop until we find her.”

That’s when realization set in, and you heard the faint sound of Bucky taking a sharp inhale of breath as he connected the dots.

They were talking about you.

We’re not gonna stop.

It hit you then how stupid it was for you to be here. How stupid it was for you to think there might ever be a day that you would be free of them. That they might move on and forget about you.

Every part of your body was begging to flee, to run out of here as quickly as possible and never look back.

No, you thought. Not until we get Steve.

Instead of moving away, you slowly, carefully peeked your head into the room where the men were talking, only allowing yourself enough of a glimpse to see how they were situated.

You let out a silent breath of relief when your gaze was met with two backs, their attention on the dart board at the other end of the room.

Turning to Bucky briefly, you cocked your head toward the other end of the hallway, and the two of you walked gingerly past the open door, continuing on.

“Are you okay?” Bucky whispered when he finally felt that the coast was clear.

All you could do was nod, even though that wasn’t the truth.

“Do you want me to go back and kill them all right now? Cause I kinda do.”

You bit back a small smile, shaking your head side to side.

After passing by Brock and the other guys, you started walking by different rooms with names on them. Your steps slowed in horror when you got to the fifth room.

Rogers.

Steve.

He was supposed to be in the cells with other prisoners. Not here. Never here.

Without thinking, without considering your options or obstacles, you grabbed the handle and turned it.

As soon as you stepped inside, you felt a wave of emotion nearly crush you where you stood as every memory of being in one of these rooms flooded your mind. 

The smell.

The tools.

The chair.

The blood.

It was all so overwhelming that it took a few seconds for you to notice the two people standing over the chair. A tall man with short brown hair and angular face, and Dr. Zola.

The chair was facing away from you, but you could see the back of Steve’s blond head peeking over the top of it.

Both of them wore confused expressions, but then the tall man’s face relaxed as he looked at Bucky, a syringe in his hand.

“Barnes,” he said, as if greeting an old friend. “Good to see you, man.”

“You son of a bitch,” Bucky growled, ready to charge, but you whipped your arm out to stop him as soon as the guy reached for a pistol and pointed it to Steve’s head.

This had to be Ward. Former friend of Shield, now threatening to kill the person he used to call a friend.

It had all been a lie. You could tell by the way Ward stared at Bucky with complete hollowness in his eyes, not a single trace of care for the man before him.

The sudden rage you felt was almost enough to quell your dread, but then Zola started to giggle.

“My stars, can it be? Meine kleine Puppe**? She has returned to me at last!” He clapped his hand together in delight.

Bucky hissed, pushing against your arm but remaining in place as Ward pushed the pistol against Steve’s temple.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ward cooed. “Don’t you fucking dare, Barnes.” He flashed his eyes over to you and grinned. “So, you must be the infamous Y/n. I had always intended on introducing myself while you were being….worked on here a few months back, but then you managed to get out thanks to this prick.” He looked over at Steve - who you now realized hadn’t moved since you walked in - then back at you. “I’m glad I finally have the chance to meet Hydra’s favorite pet.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m going to kill you.”

Ward shrugged. “You can try, but you know I’m a quick shot, Buck.” Hearing his nickname come from this monster’s mouth brought back your rage. “I’ll make sure Stevie goes down with me. And after I kill you, I’ll make sure to have my fun with your new favorite pet.” He gave you a smug grin and a wink.

This fucking asshole.

“Wanna bet?” you said, twisting your blaster a few inches to the left and pulled the trigger.

And just like that, the gun pressed against Steve’s head - and the hand holding it - was gone.

Not a drop of blood fell from the wound, the heat of the blast cauterizing it instantly.

Ward stared at the now empty space that his appendage now missing from his body, a scream on the tip of his tongue.

You and Bucky wasted no time jumping into action, him running towards Ward and you towards  Zola. 

Zola tried to pull out his own blaster, but you landed a right hook to his face before he could manage to touch the weapon, and the small, surprisingly weak scientist was on the ground unconscious.

Though Ward had just been seriously injured, he still put up a decent fight, him and Bucky grunting almost in unison as they tried to wrestle one another.

A large part of you wanted to help him, you knew that the longer this scene played out the more likely a commotion would start, and time was already not on your side.

You turned to Steve, who lay unconscious before you. There was a strange, metal collar around his neck.

Lowering the blaster to your side, you shook him with your free hand. “Steve, Steve!”

He jerked awake, gasping for air. His eyes narrowed when they met yours, as if he thought he was dreaming.

“It’s me,” you said. “We’re here to get you.” You looked over at Bucky, who had just elbowed Ward in the nose.

“Collar,” Steve finally rasped, looking down at something. His whole body was rigid, as if fighting off some unknown force. “Get..the collar off.”

“How?” you asked, looking for some sort of release button. 

“Zola…key.”

Turning to the passed out scientist on the ground, you noticed a ring of keys falling out of the pocket of his lab coat. You jumped down to retrieve it, fumbling through the different keys.

“Which one?” You held up key after key. From the corner of your eye, you saw that Ward had Bucky in a headlock. You had to hurry.

Steve coughed. “That one,” he responded as a tiny metal key that matched the material of the collar rested between your fingers. He tried to sit forward as much as he could. “It’s…in the back.”

You looked at the back of his neck, finding a small, key-sized hole. As soon as you pushed the key in and turned it to the left, the collar came undone.

Steve let out a massive sigh of relief, eyes closing for a second. 

He looked up at you with a skeptical smile. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

You laughed, tears of relief welling in your eyes as you cut his restraints. “We’re here to rescue you, Steve Rogers.”

His brow furrowed and he stood up from the chair. “We?”

Steve’s eyes followed yours as you turned to Bucky, who was now standing over Ward’s unconscious form, breathing heavily as he stared at Steve.

“Bucky?” Steve breathed out in a perfect mixture of shock and confusion.

Bucky smiled. “Hey, punk.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, his own eyes filling with fresh tears as he ran over to wrap his arms around his childhood friend in a tight hug.

Bucky let out a small, wet sob, returning his best friend’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he cried out. “Had I known you were alive-”

“You would have done a really stupid thing, like try to break me out?” Steve finished, pulling him back.

“Something like that.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

Bucky’s eyes flashed to you and Steve turned around. 

“You?” Steve asked, trying to put the pieces of an impossibly chaotic puzzle together.

You shrugged. “You know how it is in a zombie apocalypse. The world becomes hilariously small and suddenly everyone knows everyone.”

Steve chuckled, nodding once before walking over and pulling you in for your own hug.

From this small moment, this tiny, comforting gesture, you knew instantly why people who follow this guy to the end of the line.

A small, faint murmuring pulled you from the moment, and you all turned to find Zola stirring, moaning in pain.

“We gotta go,” Bucky said, taking your hand.

Steve grabbed the blaster from Zola’s hand, following behind.

It didn’t seem like anyone had noticed the three of you or the fight in the testing room, so you backtracked down the path you and Bucky had gone down to get here, cautiously making your way past guards and any lingering members of Hydra. 

Even when you looked into the room with John and Brock, you once again saw their backs as they continued playing their game and laughing about stupid shit.

Right as you walked by their open door, you finally allowed yourself to believe that you had pulled this whole thing off.

“RUMLOW! WALKER!” Ward’s voice boomed throughout the prison. “SHE’S HERE. Y/N’S IN THE BUILDING WITH ROGERS!”

Nevermind.

The three of you broke into a sprint down the hall as sirens began blaring. A woman appeared suddenly, blocking your path with a gun in her hand. She started shooting, causing you to pivot and turn down a hallway to your left.

“I don’t know the way out from here!” you whisper-yelled.

“Follow me,” Steve called, taking the lead. “I have an idea.”

He steered you down different hallways, shifting his path whenever you were face to face with another guard, until you had finally reached a long corridor. At the end of it was a large, metal door. 

“That’s not the one we came in through!” you yelled, no longer caring about someone potentially hearing you. “I don’t have time to melt off the handle or hinges!”

Steve shook the back of his head at you. “I got it!” He picked up his pace. 

“What the hell are you gonna do Steve? Punch an industrial metal door open?” Bucky yelled from behind you.

Your eyes widened in horror as a chuckle rumbled out of the man in front.

“Steve, are you out of your mind?” you exclaimed. “That’ll kill you-”

Steve slammed into the door, both him and it flying into the air and landing on the ground outside.

What the actual fuck?

You and Bucky ran to help Steve up, which gave the guards posted up at the towers enough time to aim their rifles and start shooting. 

At this point, you didn’t give two shits about subtlety, so rather than carefully melting the individual pieces of metal on the gate, you held up your blaster and shot a massive hole for you to run through.

And then, for good measure, you pointed it at the tower to your right and shot a hole just under the guard, causing the entire top of it to crumble.

With nothing holding you back, the three of you booked it through the gate and outside the prison walls toward Alpine and Hades. 

“Sweetheart, I’ll ride with you,” Bucky said, standing beside Alpine. “Steve can take Alpine.”

“Nah, you both take a horse, I’ll run.”

“Dude, what are you talking-”

“I’ll explain later. It’s better this way so that you don’t wear out the horses. Besides, I’m pretty sure I could outrun them if I really tried.”

“Even if that were true,” you said, shaking your head, “you’d exhaust yourself before the fucking sun came up.”

Steve gave you a small, cocky grin. “Are you kidding?” He started jogging deeper into the woods, turning his head back to you as he yelled, “I could do this all day!”

You and Bucky shared a quick, extremely confused look before scrambling onto the backs of Alpine and Hades, galloping ahead to catch up with Steve.

And as you rode off into what you could only pray would be safety, you heard a blood-curdling scream of someone yelling your name into the night.

You waited until the sun was high in the sky before slowing down, and that was only for the sake of the horses. Steve looked like he could have lasted a few more hours. Hell, maybe even days.

Bucky couldn’t even wait to get off Alpine’s back before asking him what the fuck was up with his crazy jacked up best friend. 

Steve explained everything, how soon after you had escaped and Hydra lost their most important asset, they started exploring other methods of creating immunity. Instead of focusing on strengthening a subject's blood, they expanded their research toward strengthening the entire body. Tougher skin, faster metabolism, speed, endurance, general immune system. 

“They tested the serum on a few others before me,” Steve said, eyes cast downward in sorrow. “I got injected a few weeks ago. It fucking sucked, and I was unconscious for about a day. When I woke up, I knew immediately that it worked. Everything felt- feels different.”

“Did they…test your immunity?” you asked with a grimace, the bite on your stomach itching.

He shook his head. “They tried, but I was so much stronger than they anticipated that I was able to fight off anyone who tried to hold me down. That’s what that collar around my neck was for.” His jaw clenched. “It had a constant electric current zapping my nervous system. Hurt like hell, and weakened me just enough for their liking. I was supposed to be put in the zombie room today.”

Bucky seethed. “I’m going back to kill them.”

“No you’re not,” you and Steve said in unison, sharing a look afterwards and laughing in a brief moment of ease.

That was five days ago, and now the three of you were settled deep in the forest to rest for the night, Shield only about a day and a half away.

You were so close, and as each day passed without detecting any sign of Hydra at your backs the closer you got, the more you relaxed.

At least, you tried to. Even as Brock’s voice echoed in the back of your mind.

We’re not gonna stop.

No, that wasn’t going to happen. The only agent who had been able to track you to the Bog was Paulding, and he was dead. No one would be able to find you. 

The two of you had done it. You had gotten Steve out and survived. You won.

“I can’t believe we did it,” you breathed out, head resting in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

His arm squeezed around you. “Neither can I if I’m being honest.” He chuckled, the warmth of his breath tickling your forehead.

Steve passed out shortly after you had all gotten settled. That was the thing about the serum, he could be as strong as he needed to for as long as he needed to, but eventually it came with a price. As soon as he was able to sleep, it was almost as if he were in a coma, his whole body shutting down to rest after all the labor it endured.

You and Bucky were tucked in your new normal position, his back against a tree and you resting against him.

“Do you think the gang’s gonna be pissed at us when we get back?” you asked.

“Oh, for sure. But only for a few seconds before they see Steve. Sam might give us a classic dad lecture about not following orders, but I think a larger part of him will be relieved that we didn’t have to endanger anyone else’s lives.”

You nodded. “I’ll admit, if he gives the I’m not mad, just disappointed line I might actually cry.”

Bucky laughed again, turning to kiss your forehead.

“Thank you,” he finally murmured after a few beats, his fingers moving under your chin until you were facing him. His eyelids were heavy from exhaustion, but his irises lit up in earnestness. “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of that without you. I know a part of it has to do with this nonsense feeling you have about needing to prove your worth - which, once again, is bullshit - but regardless, I’m grateful.”

Your heart swelled. “Honestly Beefcake,” you said, hand resting over his, “even if it weren’t Steve, if it was someone I had never met in my life, I still would have done it. I would do anything for you.”

He smiled. “Same goes for you, Sweetheart.” 

The two of you leaned in until your lips met, bringing a comfort unlike anything either of you had ever felt. A comfort that you knew would never go away no matter how many times you kissed him.

And you were happy to test that theory for the rest of your days.

Once you pulled back, Bucky turned away to let out a giant yawn and you scoffed.

“Really? Has kissing me gotten that boring already?”

His eyes widened. “No, no it’s not that I promise!” You fought back a smile, feigning offense. “I’m just tired from traveling! We haven’t slept!” You stuck out your bottom lip into a pout and he glared. “You’re busting my balls, aren’t you?”

“See, you not immediately picking up on that let’s me know how tired you really are, Beefcake.” You shook your head, pushing against his chest. “Go get some rest. I can cover watch for a few hours.”

“But-”

“No buts, babe, unless you add an extra t.” You winked and he rolled his eyes. “For real, though, we’re so close to camp and haven’t run into any trouble. I don’t think we’ve seen more than, like, four walkers within a hundred feet of us in like two weeks. I’ll be fine on my own for a bit. You can get some solid shut eye and I’ll wake you up and switch once I feel like you’ve rested enough to stop yawning whenever I try and smooch ya.”

He sighed, contemplating your intriguing offer. “Four hours. No more, okay?”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Four and a half.”

He groaned. “Fine.” He scooted down to the ground, head resting beside your leg. “I don’t even know why I argue with you,” he grumbled, “you’re going to wait five hours anyways and it’s not like I’ll have a say in it.”

You ran your fingers over his hair. “And don’t you forget it, Beefcake.”

Bucky passed out within minutes of his head hitting the ground, and you spent the next two hours admiring how beautiful he looked as he slept. How relaxed his features were, the way his lips curved up into a tiny smile, the way he snored - even though he denied it every time you brought it up. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t alerted every zombie that exists of our whereabouts, Beefcake.”

There was only one thing stronger than the will to stare at his gorgeous face for the rest of time.

Your stupid bladder.

You walked about twenty feet away to take care of business, still keeping an ear out for anything suspicious.

Total silence.

Such silence, that you almost felt the urge to skip back to your small camp, filled with such relief and something else that felt extremely close to joy, which was amazing considering that up until a few months ago you were sure you would only be able to feel pain and despair for the rest of your lif-

A hand clamped over your mouth, followed by an arm wrapping around your body, immobilizing you. 

You tried to thrash free, but a deep voice growled in your ear.

“If you make one more noise or move one more inch, they’re dead.”

Brock.

Tears rushed to your eyes, your entire body going slack as you looked ten feet ahead of you at the sleeping forms of Bucky and Steve.

And the two figures standing over them, blasters pointed at their heads.

Walker, and a very, one-handed Ward.

“Did you really think we weren’t going to follow you, baby?” Brock cooed into your ear, his mouth brushing up against your skin. You wanted to vomit into his palm. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually thought you were smarter than that.”

So had you, you thought for a moment as the sharp chill of a dagger pressed against your neck.

“Gotta admit, though I was pissed you managed to escape a second time, it was wonderful to see you again. You know who was really glad to hear that you were alive? The boss. He’s heartbroken he missed your heroic little return.”

A tear fell down your cheek. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie, we won’t be here long. Just wanted to send you a message from me and Boss.” He loosened his grip, spinning you around until your face was inches from his.

He knew you wouldn’t try to fight, try to make a sound. There was no way Bucky or Steve could wake up and move fast enough to evade a shot from such close range.

Still, you held your head high, and clenched your jaw to keep it from trembling as you looked Brock in the eye.

“You’re coming back with us. If you don’t, I have an entire team of guys a mile away who will follow me as we trail you on your way home. And then we will destroy your camp and everyone in it. I wasn’t at the last raid with this Shield or whatever, so I’ll make sure this time that no one makes it out.”

You bit back a sob. “I can’t,” you whispered. Bucky and Steve would chase after you as soon as they discovered you were missing. “Besides, even if by some miracle they don’t catch up to you, they’re just going to break into the jail again.”

Brock shook his head. “Actually, funny story about that. We’ve been working on moving to a new location, and seeing that you three destroyed a decent amount of the old, crumbling building, we’ve decided to bump up our move-in date. They’re never going to find you there, sweets.”

No.

No.

“No-”

“If you say no I’ll blow their brains out right fucking now.” There was an edge to his voice now, and he took a deep breath to return to his smug demeanor. “Three days. You have three days to meet us here. If you do, we’ll take you to the new camp and you’ll never have to worry about them getting killed trying to rescue you, because there’s no way they’ll be able to find you.”

A pit formed in your stomach. “How do I know you won’t kill them anyways?”

His brows raised. “You know I’ll definitely kill them if you decide not to.”

You closed your eyes, forcing back more tears. When you opened them, Brock smirked, then nodded his head at Ward and Walker.

Though you didn’t turn your head to look, completely frozen in fear and dread, you knew that they were walking away from Bucky and Steve and toward their leader.

“Three days, sweetie,” Brock said, then leaned forward to kiss your forehead. You flinched, the spot where his lips touched your skin now burning.

You didn’t move as they crept back into the darkness, Walker holding up three fingers at you mockingly.

All you could do was stare at where they had been as you allowed that gnawing feeling to sink in. 

The feeling that this was the beginning of the end of everything for you.

Chapter 13

[hopefullywritingahit]

A writing ask, you say?

Found this prompt by @mika3105 today and it sounds fun!

Try it out if you'd like, no pressure :) and since I've tagged OP they'll get notified too if you write it, yay! ✨

Love,

@heroes-villains-side-blog

Thank you so much @feline17ff for the suggestion and @mika3105 for the prompt! This was a lot of fun to write. It definitely went a little bit longer than I anticipated, but it was fun all the same.

Pheromones

Hero was getting frustrated - Villain smells different every time they fight. Hero has been trying to figure it out for months. After their fight last week, Hero was determined to figure out one - why Villain always smelt different and two - what Villain was trying to hide with this! They clearly couldn’t bring it up - especially without making it sound like they’ve been smelling Villain. They haven’t! They just have enhanced senses which - who would have thought - includes smell. And they can usually figure out what they’re dealing with based on their opponent's scent, but with Villain, it’s always different and never makes sense and Hero just couldn’t figure it out. 

Hero had been up for the last several days. They’re so close they can feel it! They couldn’t stop to rest when they were so close to figuring it out. They did not; however, anticipate that Villain would strike when they were about to go to bed. But - they also couldn’t just let him do whatever. Hero showed up to the bank that Villain was robbing - everyone had been cleared out already, so it was safe enough for Hero and VIllain to be fighting throughout the building.

Hero was trying not to get distracted with Villain’s new scent - it was like the ocean at sunset already delectable, but there was something else underneath. Something…addictive. Hero shook their head trying to clear Villain’s smell from their head. It wasn’t working and before they could properly blink, they were pinned to the floor. 

“You’re getting soft there, Hero,” Villain drawled. Hero tried to think of something to say back, but damn Villain smells good. They took a deep breath, drinking in Villain’s scent and feeling almost drunk off of it. “Hero?” Villain titled their head to the side - Hero was acting…weird. “Are you okay?” Hero moaned as they tried to keep their eyes open. “You smell,” Hero took another greedy inhale, “so good.”

Alarm bells rang in Villain’s head - this was not normal. Sure they flirted while they sparred, but looking at Hero something was clearly wrong. Their eyes were dark, the skin they could see around their suit was pale, and they couldn’t keep their eyes open while they were…moaning? And sniffing them? While Villain was sitting here trying to figure out what was wrong with Hero, and not getting any response from them, Hero passed out. 

“Shit,” Villain mumbled, pretty sure that Hero was poisoned or drugged. Either way, they needed to get out of here. Villain got up and tossed Hero over their shoulder as they escaped out the backdoor and headed back to their lair. They were going to figure this out one way or another. 

–--

Hero woke up a solid 10 hours later. Villain stayed up and by their side all night, trying to figure out what happened. He called in his Medic to see if they could figure out what was going on. Medic had long since come and gone, a few vials of Hero’s blood in their pack to try and figure out what they’d been drugged with. Villain just hoped that when Hero woke up it would be out of their system. 

He never was that lucky.

Hero shifted on Villain’s bed, stretching and breathing in deeply as they let out the most delicious sounding moan. Villain was concerned if that’s how Hero was waking up - maybe they were still under whatever drug or poison they  had running through their system. 

Hero looked around trying to find the source of that smell. It was the same smell that was on Villain before they passed out the night before. When Hero saw Villain sitting there, their smile grew, “Hey Villain.” The hero finished their stretch on the villain’s bed before sitting up, leaning on their elbows. “Where am I?”

Villain sighed, “You’re in my bed. What do you remember?”

Hero moved to sit up and could feel the scent move around them. They had to be sitting on it! They brought the bedding up to their face and took a deep breath - that was it. Hero almost tried to suppress that moan. “What’s that smell Villain?”

“What?”

Hero took another deep breath. “That smell. Mmm it smells so good.” 

Villain was thoroughly confused at this point. A smell? What in the world was Hero going on about? “Hero, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Hero seemed to shake themselves a little bit of whatever they were going about. “The last thing I remember?” They paused for a moment and looked around the room. “And you’ll tell me where that scent is coming from?”

“Sure, you tell me what you remember and I’ll help you find the scent.”

Hero hummed at that. “We were fighting at the bank. I was really tired. You smelled so good. Like the ocean and..” they took another deep breath. “Whatever this is. Mmm it smells so good.” Hero leaned in closer to Villain, way too close for comfort. Villain couldn’t help himself move back in his chair as Hero leaned further in, smelling the side of their neck. “Villain,” Hero said, their voice low as they inched closer until they were sitting in Villain’s lap. “I think it’s coming from you.” They buried their face closer in to Villain’s neck. “Why do you smell so good all of a sudden?”

As far as Villain was concerned, Hero had very clearly been drugged. They couldn’t let them keep on with this, but they couldn’t deny how nice it felt to have Hero straddling him and leaning into him. It took all of whatever Villain had to push Hero back. “Hero,” he whispered. “You’ve clearly been drugged. We need to figure out who drugged you and when.”

“Villain, I’m not drugged. I feel great!” They leaned in closer staring right into Villain’s deep blue eyes. “Is this what you really smell like? I’ve been wondering. You always smell different when we fight, but last night. Oh man, you smelled so good.” Hero took another breath. “I can’t get enough of it.”

This, of course, did nothing to convince Villain Hero wasn’t drugged. “What are you going on about?”

“When we fight,” Hero’s eyes didn’t leave Villains. Their pupils were huge and dilated, but still seemed eager as ever. They brought their voice down to a whisper, like they were sharing a secret, “When we fight you alway smell different. Sometimes it’s fruity. Sometimes it’s fresh like nature or sweet like vanilla. But it’s always different. I was trying to figure out what you’re hiding, but if this is what you smell like, damn Villain. You smell amazing.”

“You’ve been smelling me?” Villain chuckled.

“Not necessarily. I have an enhanced sense of smell on top of my other powers. And you can learn a lot about someone based on their smell. But you, Villain, have left me stumped for months. And now to learn you are not only sexy as hell, but smell like fucking heaven,” Hero’s head rested on Villain’s shoulder. “I don’t want to leave.”

Villain chuckled a little at that - not knowing they were throwing Hero off. Not knowing they were somehow Hero’s latest addiction. “I make perfumes in my free time. So I usually end up smelling like whatever I’ve been making.”

“Mmmm, well I like this best.”

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Born to Run / Chapter 4

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Marathon Runner f!reader (no y/n)

Rating: E for eventual smut (18+ only, please!)

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Oh my god they finally kissed. Rough kissing, a thunderstorm, thoughts of masturbation, sexual fantasies, return of the size kink: Surprise! Marcus has a size kink too!

Summary: You return to the bike trail on Monday and run into a familiar face. You and Marcus take cover from a surprise thunderstorm.

A/N: Posting another chapter this week because I truly cannot help myself. Some new things: there’s a Playlist now, and I’m kind of proud of it even though I’ll be the first to admit my taste in music is objectively Bad. Let me know what you think! I love all the feedback about the story so far! Comment or send me a message if you’d like to be tagged!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

When your alarm sounded on Monday morning, you had a pit in your stomach. You had two choices: go back to the bike trail and keep running, or find somewhere else to run and risk never recovering from the fear you now felt at the thought of strangers standing still on the pavement with vacant eyes. This was your favorite running trail. You felt a silly sense of possessiveness over it. You’ve been running this trail for years. You were here first, dammit! You’ve done, you don’t know, an average of 3 runs a week on this trail every week for the last 4 years, maybe? That’s, uh… you grappled with the numbers in your head. Shit, 600 runs? Who the fuck knows. And you’re going to let one asshole keep you from your trail forever?

Fuck it! You pulled on your ‘lucky’ bike shorts and stumbled blearily out of your bedroom. Plus, there was another reason you couldn’t give up ‘your’ running trail: Marcus. God, you wanted to see Marcus again. Was that weird? The way you had left things the day before was awkward. There had clearly been chemistry there, but you, or maybe the both of you, were holding back--too afraid to acknowledge the mutual desire you had felt on the porch. Too cautious to examine that spark of electricity you felt as he ran his fingers up your arm. The timing was just too weird, you thought. 30 minutes after an attempted assault and you’re gagging for this guy’s touch? You didn’t trust yourself. You didn’t get his number, but you hoped desperately that you’d meet him on the trail again. One time could be written off as a fluke. Two times… well, there might be something there. If you could only see him again to discover whether that gravitational pull you felt was real, or a product of being ‘saved’ by the man combined with a runner’s high. If it’s meant to be, you’ll see him again, you tell yourself as you lace your shoes and head out the door.

Except, you didn’t believe in fate.

With that cheerful thought running through your head, you pulled into the trail parking, your stomach in your throat. You couldn’t tell if your nerves were more due to facing your fear, or for the possibility of running into Marcus. Either way, it wasn’t going to be easy to run the scheduled five miles feeling as if your organs had been rearranged inside your body. Instead, you opted for some interval training to mix it up. Ten four hundred meter ‘sprints,’ with a minute rest in between. Maybe that way you’ll run all that nervous energy out of your system.

You ran past the narrow dirt path to Marcus’s cabin and very pointedly did not try to crane your neck through the branches to catch a glimpse of the house. Focus on the run, you reminded yourself. You went through the first six intervals and then turned around for the remaining four. By your estimates, you’d be done with the workout just as you passed by his cabin a second time. Giving you about three-quarters of a mile to cool down, you thought. No other reason.

The mix-up in workouts reminded you that intervals are fucking hard, okay? And even though you’d only gone two and a half miles when all was said and done, you were gasping and sweating as if you’d run five times as many. You were a little off in your predictions--the last interval ended after you had passed Marcus’s cabin, about a hundred feet from your favorite feature of the trail--a high suspension bridge spanning a lush canyon filled with trees and a bubbling stream. You skidded to a stop and hastily turned off the GPS tracking. Marcus was finally out of your mind for a few blissful minutes; all you could focus on for the moment was catching your breath. You took a few gasping gulps of air as you limped forward on aching feet. You felt a bit like Frankenstein’s monster after a hard run, sometimes, complete with a lurching gait and wheezing breath. No one ever said running was pretty. You felt deliciously ugly after a hard run like that, with wobbling legs, sweaty face, and wild hair. And that’s when you noticed a familiar form standing on the bridge overlook ahead of you. Ohhhhhhhh, fuck.

Marcus knew exactly why he was taking a stroll on the bike trail at this exact time of morning. It was the same time he knew you had been running on Saturday. He had no idea what your schedule was during the week--hell, he had no idea what you did for a living, and so he also had no idea if you would be there again, but he hoped, he hoped--He cut off that train of thought. All told, the trail was absolutely beautiful. It was surrounded by trees on either side for as far as he could see, creating a canopy of leaves overhead. He walked and breathed in the signs of spring--a flower here, a sapling there, a chipmunk skittering across the path as he approached. He made his way toward a break in the trees further down the trail to the right of his cabin. As he grew closer, he realized the clearing was actually a bridge spanning a deep ravine. He wandered onto it, enjoying the view on either side. Built for foot traffic, the bridge had two little overlooks that extended out a few feet over the valley--one on each side--and he stepped onto one and stared down at the water below.

He had done nothing but think this weekend. He had thought of Theresa and the hurt he still felt, but mostly he thought of you. Your wide eyes as they met his for the first time. The undeniable presence with which you held yourself. Your crooked smile. The feel of your hand on his. The insanely quick turnaround between his grief over Theresa and his newfound desire for you had him reeling and confused. He didn’t even know you, not really. All he knew about you was that you were a marathon runner, and you resorted to jokes when you felt uncomfortable. And the feel of your smooth skin against his fingertips, he knew that too. Oh, how he wanted to know more, wanted to know you. Would he be so lucky to see you again on this trail before he left again? Maybe if he made it a point to take nice, long walks every single morning and evening this week, just in case.

He stood, deep in thought, watching the mesmerizing movement of the water below him until he felt someone’s eyes on him and looked up. A runner on the trail.

But not just any runner.

It was you.

He drank in your disheveled appearance like a starving man. You were again completely covered in sweat. It was seeping into your clothes in the humid morning air, dripping from your messy hair, and beading onto your forehead and chest. For all intents and purposes, you looked like a disaster. But your smile--oh, your smile could dull even the most impressive of views. You were beautiful like this, he thought.

“Hey, stranger,” you smiled.

He went along with the game. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” he asked with a wry grin.

“I don’t know, I’m looking for this guy who saved my ass this weekend from a fucking meth-head. Was that you?” You took a few steps closer to him.

He laughed. “That couldn’t have been me. I only came in at the end after you saved yourself.”

Your smile widened. “He called the police and then patched up my injuries with a first aid kit straight from the ‘eighties.”

“Oh, now I remember. He had really big hands, right?” Marcus’s cheeks hurt from how widely he was grinning now.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laughed. You looked down, feeling a little embarrassed, remembering your outburst about his hands.

“Hey, hey--I was joking, please. God, I’m glad to see you,” Marcus admitted. “I wasn’t sure if you’d--after what happened this weekend…” he trailed off.

“I figured if I didn’t pick myself right back up and run here again, I’d develop a--y’know, a complex or something about this trail, and this is my favorite trail to run on, and the most conveniently located for me, so…” you shrugged. “I needed to do this.”

All joking forgotten, Marcus looked at you earnestly. “You’re an incredibly brave and tough person, you know that?”

“I… I don’t--”

“Really. That takes a ridiculous amount of strength. I’m… you amaze me.”

You regarded him with those wide eyes again. He felt as if you could see into the heart of him, pushing past any false pretenses, to see the desire he already held for you.

Dropping your eyes, you gestured to the ravine and the stream to his right. “Great view, right? I mean, it’s no wonder why I have to keep this as my running trail.”

Marcus nodded. “It’s beautiful,” he agreed softly. You were watching the swirl of the water below you, but he couldn’t help but look at you as he said it. “How’s the hand?”

“Oh!” you held up your left fist. “It’s so much better! It’s barely swollen any more, but the bruises are really starting to look pretty colorful.”

He cradled your hand gently in his, in an echo of his actions just two days ago. “They are pretty bruised, but at least nothing’s broken, huh?” He wanted to bring your hand to his lips and kiss away any lingering pain, but he figured that would be crossing the line.

The breeze picked up and you shivered--the shorts and sleeveless top you were wearing were perfect for running, but with the drying sweat cooling your body, you were suddenly too cold. Marcus noticed the shiver and the goosebumps that pricked your skin as the wind shifted. He was dressed a little more warmly--the chill of early spring hadn’t quite abated yet despite the increasing humidity in the air. He couldn’t help but feel protective of you. He had seen you in a vulnerable moment this weekend and, despite your obvious resilience and strength, he only wanted to surround you in his care. He removed his leather jacket and started to drape it around your shoulders.

You startled out of your reverie at Marcus’s movement. “Oh! No, I’m really sweaty! I’m so gross--”

“Doesn’t bother me,” he intoned, wrapping the jacket around you. “Can always be cleaned.” He didn’t dare say what he was really thinking--that he wanted it to smell like you long after you took it off.

He resisted the urge to keep his arm firmly around your shoulders as he let go of the jacket. The wind grew a little stronger still as you sat in companionable silence for a few moments, watching the dance of ripples on the water. A sharp gust blew over the bridge and whipped the sides of the jacket back before you grasped the labels in both hands, settling it around you again.

“The wind’s picking up,” you said, looking up at the darkening sky. “I didn’t see any rain in the forecast this morning, but it really looks like--”

A rumble of distant thunder sounded, essentially finishing your sentence for you.

“Sounds like it, too,” Marcus agreed. “I have a feeling we should get moving sooner rather than later.” As if to accompany his thoughts, another clap of thunder rang through the air, louder and closer this time. “What’s closer, your car, or the cabin? I have a feeling we’re going to end up having to make a run for one of them.”

You considered for a second, weighing both distances in your mind. “The cabin!” you called out over the strengthening wind. A brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed almost immediately by another round of thunder.

“Time to go!” Marcus grabbed your hand and started briskly down the trail towards the cabin. Almost immediately, the rain began to fall in great sheets of water. “Shit!” he shouted over the noise, and you both began to run, still hand in hand. You were both soaked by the time you reached the little dirt path to the cabin. Marcus guided you along carefully. The dirt path, having never had a chance to dry completely from the weekend’s storms, was almost entirely mud now. Keeping your hand in his, he maneuvered around the rivulets of running water and prayed that he wouldn’t accidentally slip in the process.

But unfortunately, one of his feet hit an especially slick patch of muck and flew out from beneath him, and he went down, pulling you with him by the hand. You shrieked as you fell, skidding down the muddy hill alongside Marcus. “Fuck. Fuck! Oh God, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Marcus frantically brought himself to one elbow, pushing the torrential rain out of his eyes and looking as horrified as he felt. His eyes searched your form, and found your chest heaving… with laughter. You shook with it, scarcely able to breathe as you grasped his shoulder to keep from doubling over. You were both coated in mud, from your shoes, to your clothes, to your hands as they grasped at each other.

You let out a peal of laughter, "Me? What about you? You're the one who fell!" you managed to get out.

Your mirth was infectious and Marcus couldn’t help but join in, and you laughed together on the muddy slope in the pouring rain, ignoring the thunder all around you, your faces close. He had been on a roller coaster of emotions in only three days. The stress of the past week, his grief over Theresa and what could have been, and the sudden, strong emergence of his attraction to you all came to a head with a cathartic snap in his mind. No longer trapped by his own thoughts, Marcus basked in the feeling of blankness. In a sudden moment of clarity (or was it insanity?), he surged forward and pressed his lips to yours.

Marcus considered himself to be a good kisser. He loved kissing, loved the intimate slide of his mouth against another’s, and he felt that he was well-practiced at delicately coaxing pleasure with his lips, teeth,and tongue. He liked to savor it--to take his time and slowly discover what makes a woman gasp, sigh, or press closer to him with want.

All of that flew out the window at the first touch of your lips.

You made a surprised sound that quickly turned into a whimper as your mouths crashed together. You immediately moulded your body to his, pressing your hips together and throwing your arms around his shoulders--leaving muddy fingerprints on his shirt. He brought his hand to your cheek, pressing down slightly on the hinge of your jaw to deepen the kiss. The mud on his fingers streaked across your face as you opened for him, letting him inside. Marcus moved against you with a desperate hunger he hadn’t felt in a long time. Gone was the calculated, practiced way he would have kissed Theresa. This was messy. A frenzied taking of your mouth, delving into you. He crushed you to him, caging you in with his body. You met him with an equal furor, moving your muddy hands to card through his hair, pulling slightly on the strands as you grabbed at him. Marcus reacted with a greedy moan, tightening his grip on your jaw. The rain seemed to reach a crescendo then. He was so focused on the sensation of your body, it felt as if all of his senses had been heightened--it made the rain suddenly sound as if it were violently crashing onto the leaves and the ground and it stung as it hit his back, but he ignored it all in favor of the movement of your lips on his.

“Marcus,” you pulled back suddenly. He chased your lips with a small smile, but you insisted. “Marcus! It’s--it’s hailing.”

Finally coming up for air, his brain started to come back online. The increase in the volume of the rainfall and the stinging on his back started to make sense. You laughed at his shocked expression. “Get up, you goof.” You playfully nudged at his shoulders.

“Fuck!” Marcus stumbled to his feet, helping you up with him and pulling you against his chest in an attempt to shield you from the little pellets falling all around you. “Ouch!” he cried as they pelted the top of his head. You started giggling again and he joined in, laughing together. Marcus covered the top of your head with one of his hands to try and protect your face as best he could, keeping the other arm wrapped around you, bringing you solidly into his body. You awkwardly ran, pressed against each other, the rest of the way up to the porch.

Under the safety of the roof, you separated. He couldn’t help but smile wider as he took in your disheveled appearance. The mud was everywhere--caking your shoes, running down your bare legs, and streaking across your cheek in the spot Marcus had held you open with his thumb. His heart thrummed, seeing the physical evidence of the searing kiss you had just shared. His leather jacket, still around your shoulders, had taken the brunt of the impact with the ground and was absolutely filthy, caked with dirt and wet leaves. He reached out and gently fingered the lapel. “And here you were worried about a little sweat getting on this.”

You inspected a muddy sleeve. “Yeah, this might be a lost cause.”

“Worth it,” Marcus said with a grin. He put his arm around your shoulder and you both turned to watch hail fall on the pond, making the water appear as if it were boiling violently as the little ice pellets disturbed the surface. The thunder was abating slightly--each rumble getting farther and farther apart as the clouds passed. The hail turned back into rain again, which fell gently on the roof of the cabin as you watched the passing storm in companionable silence.

“I, um-- I hate to break the mood, but I’m going to need to go to work at some point.”

“Oh shit, you aren’t late, are you? I don’t even know what time it is.” Marcus patted his pockets looking for his phone.

“Don’t worry about it, I work remotely like ninety percent of the time. I can be pretty flexible.”

Marcus hummed softly in reply. "I'm sorry I haven't asked yet--what do you do?" He felt like an ass--here was, fixated on this gorgeous woman for the entire weekend, he just made out with her in the rain, and all he knew about her was that she ran.

"I'm an auditor for a pharmaceutical company. Exciting stuff," you joked.

"What does that even mean?" Marcus scrunched his nose.

"It means I spend fifty percent of my time hitting 'copy' and 'paste' and the other fifty percent answering emails," you replied. "But the pay and benefits are great. I get good insurance, a good salary, and more vacation time than I'll ever need. Plus I mostly work from home!"

"Nothing beats a commute like that," Marcus nudged your shoulder playfully.

"Well, my commute is to the bike trail and back," you laughed. "And then down the hall to my office."

"I've never been more thankful for a commute in my life," Marcus teased. "Keep doing it."

"Oh, don't worry, I will." You turned towards him and his playful gaze turned tender as you stepped into his space. He brought up his hands to your face and gently lowered his lips to yours.

The difference between your first and second kisses could have been a lesson in contrasts. Just moments ago, Marcus had kissed you with the same ferocity as the thunderstorm around you, the two of you crashing together the way the lightning collided with the air particles around it. This kiss, however, was tender--as gentle as the light rain now pattering across the roof. His desperate urgency to claim your mouth had subsided and he expertly moved his lips against yours, catching first your upper lip, your lower lip, his tongue gently darting forward to taste you with a practiced care. You sighed against him, and he drew you closer, deepening the kiss but careful not to lose himself in the feel of your mouth against his.

After far too short a time, Marcus drew back enough to say, “We should get you home,” directly against your lips.

“Would you mind if I get cleaned up here? I’m going to wreck my upholstery if I get in the car like this.” God, please. Marcus pictured the wet slide of your body against his own underneath the spray of the shower. He wanted to move against you just as he did out in the rain, this time with no clothes and no mud between you. He wanted to first gently clean the mud off your body, starting with that little smear he made on your cheek, then kneeling before you to run a cloth tenderly down your smooth legs. He would push you against the shower wall, then--soothing the cold of the tile against your back with a warm hand as he buried the other hand in- He shook himself. He had to slow down. This was going way too fast, he had to pump the brakes before he risked losing himself again.

He kissed your temple and spoke lowly in your ear, “There’s a guest bath you can use. I’ll clean up in the other one.” He ushered you inside, helping you out of his jacket as you both toed off your soggy, mud-caked shoes and left them outside on the porch. He guided you to the spare bathroom and left you with a fresh towel and a spare set of gym clothes from his suitcase before giving you another soft peck and closing the door.

Once in the shower himself, he couldn’t help but picture you doing the same thing only steps down the hall. The frantic kiss, the press of your body against his, and then his little fantasy of a shared shower (before coming to his senses and offering you the spare bathroom) had left him hard as a rock and almost desperate to come. He stubbornly refused to give in to his baser instincts and fuck his own hand as he so desperately wanted to. The thought of jerking off to the thought of you while you were right there--but unaware and unconsenting to his fantasies--made him uncomfortable. The hot water poured down his head, slicking his hair back and sending the mud you had put there down his back and into the drain. The steam of the shower was doing little to cool his desires. He let out a muffled, frustrated groan against his fist and turned the faucet handle over to ‘cold’ to finish washing the remainder of the dirt from his body. He finished quickly (hastened by the cold water), put on a fresh set of clothes and a warm sweater to offset the leftover chill from his cold shower. He sat on the couch in the living room to wait for you.

When you emerged, his heart caught in his throat. You swam in the old gym shorts and t-shirt he had given you, and it provided a delicious demonstration of the difference between your height and his. His shirt hung past your thighs, and the shorts fell adorably around your calves. You were also clean for the first time since he met you--fresh faced, with wet hair falling around your face instead of being pulled back and away from your forehead for a run. The bagginess of the clothes and the water still dripping from your hair made you look a little bit like a drowned rat, Marcus thought, but one of those soft, adorable little rats that they had in pet stores. You smiled at him and nervously chewed at your bottom lip. Marcus stood and walked over to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You hummed pleasantly and closed your eyes.

“Ready to go?” he asked you softly.

“Yup. Feels much better, thank you.”

He helped find a bag for your dirty clothes and shoes, and guided you out the front door to the car in your bare feet. He couldn’t stop smiling. As he drove the short, the two of you traded banter back and forth--playfully, easily. As he pulled up next to your car at the trailhead for the second time, you turned to look at him, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Come over for dinner tonight?”

Marcus leaned over and captured your lips with his. He would never get tired of that. “Try and stop me,” he murmured against your mouth.

You giggled. “I’ll send you the address. Um… can I get your number?”

“We probably should exchange numbers this time, huh?” Marcus smiled against your lips, before pulling back to retrieve his phone. After you both entered each other’s contact details, you shared one final, heated look. Suddenly, Marcus didn’t know what to say. ‘Thank you for letting me kiss you?’ God, no. He settled on, “I’ll see you tonight, beautiful.”

Your answering smile made his heart sing.

-

Taglist: @honestly-shite , @thirddeadlysin , @deepstarsco , @221bshrlocked , @mando-amando , @frenchyjuju , @farfromjustordinary

[myckicade]

Prompt: Ok so we all know Coco is touch starved, and would be clingy af in a relationship. What about Coco x wife!reader, while she’s trying to do basic errands/chores and Coco is her shadow?

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one. I really have. Hee hee. I just adore Coco. <3 . This piece sort of follows the story of the last two Coco x Reader pieces I have written, but it will stand-alone, just fine. And, I swear, these things just have a mind of their own. I can continue to apologize for length, and content, but, in the end... I let the story tell itself. ;) . <3 .

As a warning, I come from Vermont, where we have a plastic bag ban. Last I knew, California was the first state to have one. I don’t know how that would translate to Santo Padre, but… When I mention fabric bags, I mean reusables, and the ban is why. ^^;;;;.

Title: Worthwhile

Teaser: He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it.

“Okay…” you murmur, slowly, eyes scanning over the paper in front of you. Fifteen items, nothing crazy. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour, tops, and that includes travel to and from the store. “I think I’ve got everything we need… And, specials included your beer, and those little frozen cream puffs.”

Beside you, Coco groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck, I love those things.”

You giggle, but keep reading. Your man is too damn cute. “Feminine products.”

“Do those count as special?” Coco genuinely sounds thoughtful, as he steps up behind you, where you are leaning over the counter top. He wraps his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Kinda’ a necessity, ain’t they?”

Tipping your head, you glance to your husband. Seriously. This man is a treasure. “Why don’t you run for political office?” you tease, pleased when Coco chuckles.

“Yeah, my record’ll look great, on the campaign trail.”

You shrug. “You can tackle pink tax, and tax evasion, at the same time.”

Coco grins, and steals a peck off your lips. “What else you got on there, muñeca?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” You turn back to your list, tapping the pen against your lips, thoughtfully. Spying the next item on it, you try not to let out another giggle. He’s not going to like this one. “Letty asked if we could have that cauliflower pizza thing for dinner, tonight.”

As expected, this groan is decidedly not from food lust. “Fuckin’ vegetarians. When the hell is she gonna’ get over this shit?”

“It’s just a phase, Coco,” you remind him, for the… Well, honestly, you’ve lost track. It started shortly after the wedding, Letty’s change in diet, and you’re still not convinced the two aren’t related. You’re just not entirely sure how. But, two months in, and she’s still looking healthy, so you won’t send up any alarms. “It’s very popular at her high school, right now.”

Coco scoffs, disgusted. “When the hell’d she start copyin’ other people, anyway? My girl ain’t no follower.”

The words send a shot straight to your heart. He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it. The love he has for Leticia is the greatest proof. They may carry on like cats and dogs, but when push comes to shove, there is nothing they won’t do for one another. My girl. It brings a warmth to your soul, and a smile to your lips.

You shake it off, enough to formulate a response. “She’s figuring out how to be her own woman. Trying new things.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. You were Letty’s age, once, of course. And, a girl, to boot. Some things, Coco just won’t be able to understand. “It’s a process.” He hums, still disgruntled, but doesn’t push out another word. “You want anything else?” you ask, holding up your list. “I’ve gotta’ get going, before I run into the football widows.”

Before you can even take a step away, Coco tightens his arms around you. “You sure you gotta’ go, though?” he asks, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck. “With the house all to ourselves, like this?”

“If I don’t go,” you start, as Coco’s touches gain intent, becoming teasing kisses. Damn him. It feels nice, you won’t lie, but there are other things on your mind, right now. Priorities.

You’re just… having trouble remembering what they are.

Oh. Yeah. Shopping.

“If I don’t go, we won’t have anything for dinner.”

Another kiss, accompanied by a barely-there swipe of tongue. You shiver, and Coco moves his lips to your ear. “We can order in,” he whispers, breath so invitingly warm against your skin.

Oh, this asshole.

“And, what are we supposed to have for breakfast, tomorrow?” you try, again. “Half an Eggo, and a pack of Skittles?”

Coco cuddles you closer, again. “Ain’t you never heard about livin’ on love, baby?” Some of his smoothest work, that is. And, it’s almost convincing. Almost. You can imagine the afternoon ahead, if you give in. Your clothes will come off, and won’t be back on until the last second, before Letty walks back through the front door. By that time, you’ll be too tired to roll your ass off the bed, let alone go grocery shopping. And, you promised Letty you’d talk Coco into that cauliflower pizza.

“Great as that sounds,” you agree, preparing to capitalize on the truth. You ease yourself away from Coco’s stubborn hold, and give him one more smooch, just to soften the blow to come. “I don’t think Letty will appreciate the sentiment.”

A third groan. You must be going for a record. “C’mon, (y/n).” Oh, he’s whining. It’s so cute, it’s unreal. “We’ll find some place that delivers that rabbit food shit.”

Unfortunately for Coco, you’re already grabbing your bag. Lucky for you. You’re still two seconds from giving him what he wants. (He just doesn’t need to know so). “I’ll be back in a while.” God willing. “If you think of anything else, call my cell.” You rush out the front door, and don’t look back. If you see the look on your husband’s face, you know you’re as good as done.

*

Well, what the shit? Coco stares at the front door as it closes, you on the wrong fucking side of it. His arms are at his sides, palms turned toward the ceiling. That went so well. He kind of can’t believe you just walked away, like that. Left him alone, and wanting. In your big, empty house.

He probably should have volunteered to tag along, instead of just chasing you off.

Fuck.

Glancing around, Coco tries to find something to do. Something to clean, at the very least. But, that’s the trouble with having moved in with you, after the wedding, he supposes. Ain’t nothing to tidy up. Not that the three of you don’t have possessions. They’re all just in their proper places. Probably Leticia’s doing, in the end. He’d had a long talk with her, before the move, that she absolutely has to keep her shit where it belongs. Your house isn’t like their house. There aren’t burn marks in the carpet, or gouges in the coffee table. Dishes go in the damned dishwasher, not left to pile up on the counter, or in the sink. Beds get made. Laundry gets folded, and put away. No more wrinkled heaps in the clothes basket. So far, the kid’s been doing good. Real good.

Coco, though? He’s never felt so unnerved in his life.

It was different when he just visited. Spent a night or two, here or there. He’d almost felt at home, then, stupid as it sounds. At home, with the knowledge he wasn’t staying. But, now? Now, the reality has settled in, and he feels so-so… out of place. There’s so much he’s struggling to adjust to.

You have a purified water system installed under the sink, where Coco is used to buying bottled water.

You have a dining room, where Coco and Letty are used to eating on the couch.

You have an extended cable package, whatever the fuck that is.

You kind of have it all, here, certainly by comparison to what Coco is used to. The best of everything. Which really makes him wonder – not for the first time – what the hell you’re doing with a dirt-poor biker for a husband? You’ve had this conversation, on multiple occasions, and you’ve explained yourself, every time. But, this time… This time, you’re not around to give that speech. You’re not around to hold him, and kiss his face, and reassure him in a way that only you can. No, you’re at the grocery store, shopping for Coco, and his kid, which was apparently a better offer than staying home with him.

Oh, nope. Nope, he’s doing it, again. He can feel it. You love him, he reminds himself. You’ve got his ring on your finger, his last name, and – God-willing – his baby in your belly. By choice. All by choice.

Coco takes a deep breath, in. Lets it back out, slowly. Tries not to get sick, for all the nerves coming up to greet him. He wraps one arm around his own torso, free hand moving up to cover his mouth.

Fuck, he hopes you get back, soon.

*

You let out a deep sigh, as you park your car in the garage. Oh, it is so good to be home, at long-last. Talk about Old Home Week. You’d run into everyone, and his brother, at the grocery store. Shopping had taken nearly twice as long as you’d meant for it to, and you just know Coco must be losing his mind, by now. You hate to think about it, in such terms, but, sometimes… Well, sometimes, Coco reminds you of a new puppy. You can’t really leave him alone, without some kind of separation anxiety creeping up on him.

Ah, well. At least he isn’t ripping down the drapes, and shredding the couch cushions.

You blink. Well. That you know of.

Shaking your head, you climb out of the car, mentally preparing to unload armloads of bags. Maybe, if you really, really try, today will be the day you can finally get all twenty bags in, in one trip.

Right. And, shortly thereafter, you can have both forearms set, and casted. Be a real turn-on, in the bedroom.

You’ve managed to grab half a dozen bags, when the door to the mud room opens. “Hey, don’t grab too many!” Letty warns, as she comes hopping down the steps. “Let us help!”

Glancing up, you smile. For having had such a rough start, Letty can be a sweet girl. You know she gets that from her father. “Well, thank you,” you reply, resting a few, fabric handles onto her outstretched hands.

Letty grins, lowering her hands to her sides, before leaning in. “Did you talk him into it?” she whispers, conspiratorially.

You snicker, and whisper back, “He isn’t getting a choice. He’s outnumbered.”

“Yes!” Her hiss of victory is hardly subtle, catching Coco’s attention as he pokes his head out the door.

“You two plottin’ against me, again?”

“Yes,” you and Letty reply, in unison, leading you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Coco is all grins. “’Course, you are.” He strides closer, he and Letty dancing around one another as she moves into the house. You lean into the car, and retrieve a few more bags. If Coco’s out here, he might as well assist. He’s peering into the car, once you stand back up, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, (y/n)! You buy out the whole store, or what?”

“Hardly,” you reply, dryly. You hold up your hands, offering Coco the bags. “Here you go.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Thankfully, your hold on the bags is solid. Instead of grabbing the groceries, Coco’s hands are suddenly groping all over you. One hand is settled firmly at your ass, the other sliding into your hair, at the back of your head. He wastes no time diving in for a slow, deep kiss, and, damn, does his timing suck. He could have at least let you put the bags down, first. The contact makes you tingle, and has you regretting your decision not to stay home. Coco pulls back, after a few seconds, and hums. “Mm. Best delivery ever.”

You can’t help the small snort of amused laughter that leaves your throat. “Good try, Coco,” you praise, easing back far enough to offer him the bags, again. The look of disappointment on his face is just pitiful. “I’m not banging you in the garage.”

He has the grace to mock gasp. “I’d never!” It’s a crock, and you both know it. He looks too amused to be repentant, and you look too aware to be angry. You just raise your hands, slightly, in a third offer. Coco sighs. “All right. All right.” He takes the bags from your hands.

“Thank you.” You grab another load for yourself, rounding the open car door to follow Coco’s lead, into the house. One more trip for each of you, and you should have it covered. So much for only buying fifteen items.

Coco might be right about buying out the store.

*

Watching from the dining room, Coco has a good view of you and Letty unpacking the last of the groceries. Damn kid, she’d thrown him out, about ten minutes prior.

“Less groping, more helping, Coco,” Letty had warned him, after he’d tried to pin you against the sink.

It had been his last warning. Now, he’s been banished. Not the worst thing in the world, not really. Over the last few weeks, he’s really learned that there are some tasks he’s not so fond of. Pruning roses… Yeah, he’s pretty sure you’ll never let him do that, again. And, hey, nobody told him what to fill the bird feeder with. Unpacking groceries goes on that list, somewhere between line-drying laundry, and a streak-free mirror. He’s not sure why. Goodness knows, it makes him feel like a kid at Christmas, most times. Since being with you, though…

Since being with you, he feels like he’s taking advantage of something.

Yes, groceries are a strange place to let that feeling land, but he can’t help it. Coco’s been responsible for feeding himself since before he cares to remember. The only time anyone provided his meals was during deployment, and half that shit barely passed for edible. You, though… You keep the house stocked with more food than he’s seen anywhere, outside of a corner market. Letty always has options to take to school, and there’s a nutritious dinner on the table, almost every night. (Some nights, he actually does win the battle for delivery). If Coco goes on a run, you send him along with snacks for the road. And, yeah, he kinda’ likes that. He also likes the energy bars you picked out for him, last week. Something with cherries, and dark chocolate. He wonders, for a second, if you picked up any more. Come in handy during his mid-week trip outta’ town.

Coco blinks. Then, he does it again, just for good measure. That’s it. That’s what’s so fucking weird about this whole thing.

It’s you.

Okay, no, it’s not you, you. But, it’s you. It’s you, taking care of him. It’s you, seeing to his needs. Letty’s needs. It’s you, being his wife, his partner. It’s you, slotting into the place of role-model for his teenaged daughter. Welcoming them into your home. Not treating it like it’s your home. It’s you, being so fucking perfect for him, it’s taken his mind all this time to catch up with reality.

Coco doesn’t get perfect. Perfect doesn’t want him.

Except, now, it does.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Coco strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for you to put the box of pasta in the cupboard. He just takes it from your hand, ignoring your confused look, as he tosses it onto the counter.

“Coco!” Letty admonishes, but it’s no use. He’s already lifting you off the floor, arms around your perfect backside. The kid gives a long-suffering sigh, he hears it, but pays it no mind.

Nothing – nothing – is going to keep him from holding you in his arms.

Your own arms go around Coco’s neck, and you smile down at him, surprise still lingering in your eyes. “Uhm… Hi, there.”

Coco grins. “Hey, muñeca.” Leaning up, he pecks you on the lips.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, to which Coco shakes his head. Closes his eyes, as your fingers play in his hair.

“Nah. Got all I need.”

*

Pulling a package of mixed vegetables from the half-unpacked shopping bag, Letty rolls her eyes. You two… God, you’re gross. Coco always has his hands on you, no matter what you’re trying to do. It’s a wonder you don’t carry a damned fly swatter around. Actually, it’s a wonder you ever accomplish anything. He’s always smooching, and smiling, and snuggling at you. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic.

It’s so damned cute, it’s sickening.

Really, Letty’s enjoying seeing Coco so happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not the false pride he carries around with his kutte. He’s more relaxed, nowadays. He drinks less, and he spends more time at home, both of which mean he’s not hanging around with those skanks at the clubhouse. He eats more, he’s healthier… Nothing to complain about, there.

And, hey, she has no complaints about you, either. You’re pretty cool, all-around. A woman who takes care of herself, and her family, and doesn’t bitch about either one. You’re not using Coco for money, or status, none of the shit she’s always been worried her father would fall into. There aren’t arguments, every night, not even between herself and Coco, as of late. No hostilities, nothing to avoid the house over. Just good dinners, and movies, and a new fish tank in her room. (Okay, so, you’d earned some major points with that birthday gift. She hadn’t actually expected to get one, when she’d mentioned it). For the first time, she understands what a peaceful, happy family feels like. It feels nice. It feels like home.

Glancing back to where Coco now has you perched on the counter top, stealing the most syrupy-sweet smooches… Letty can’t help but smile. Home is A-okay by her.

*

The sound of the air conditioner humming in the bedroom usually lulls you right to sleep. Tonight, it’s just providing you with white noise, a low background track to your thoughts. You don’t mind, not really. It gives you a few minutes to reflect on the day that’s just ended. To plan your day, tomorrow. To weave your fingers through Coco’s hair, and listen to him breathe. That, alone, makes it worthwhile.

Coco has been asleep against your shoulder for nearly an hour, now. Your arms are wrapped around him, comfortably, his own around your waist. You’d urged him up to bed, after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. He’d snoozed from the middle of the movie, to the end of the nightly news report. Letty had tsked, and complained that no one had any business, whatsoever, in falling asleep during Zombieland. (How he’d stayed asleep was still a wonder to you, both, for how hard you’d been laughing at Tallahassee). With your fingers in his hair, Coco had been blissfully unaware for a couple of hours.

Glancing down, you take in the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. He looks so damn peaceful, the kind you’d outright murder to preserve for him. Coco’s still struggling with sleep, and relaxation, even though you’d hoped it would ease up, once your nuptials had passed. Most of it, you know will never go away. Anxiety doesn’t have a magic wand, or some perfect little on/off switch. And, all things considered, today wasn’t a terrible day. You’d been able to leave the house, with minimal panic on Coco’s part. Granted, it had taken extra time to get the groceries put away, and dinner made, but… You understand, as much as you are able to, that Coco needs the reassurances. It doesn’t cost you anything to carve a few moments from the day, every here and there, to give him what he needs.

Okay, so it did cost you that first batch of pancakes, this morning. They’d burned on the stove, and set off the smoke alarms, when he’d insisted on a dance through the living room. But, Coco loved the song you’d been playing on your Spotify, so there was really no denying him.

Oh, and… Yeah, you’d missed that phone call from the bank, the week before. Your husband had slipped up next to you, on the porch swing, and snuggled you to within an inch of your life. An easy fix, and you still got the business loan, but…

And, sure, you’ve been late to work, on numerous occasions. Coco has a habit of sneaking into your morning shower. And, after that… Well, hell, you own the company. It’s not like you have to explain to the boss that you’re late to your shift, on account of baby-dancing. (Fucking forums).

Point is, you’re more than happy to take care of Coco’s emotional needs. It may take you an extra hour to pay your bills. Daily tidying may have become every-other-day-if-you’re-lucky tidying. And, your ass may have gone numb, tonight, while he slept on your thigh. During which time, you could have loaded the dishwasher. Taken out the trash. Any number of tasks that have been neglected, in the name of Coco. They can wait.

Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to your husband’s forehead, before settling back in, and closing your eyes. Yes, chores can wait. Work can wait. The whole world can hold it, with both hands. So long as you’re around, Coco’s well-being will never have to take the back seat.

*

P.S. If Coco denies it, he’s full of it. He fucking loved that cauliflower pizza. Fucking vegetarians, indeed.

Masterlist | Request | Tag List

[marauderundercover]

Day 4: Ghosts

Dick Grayson was having a completely normal day. He’d teased his little brother about his new (well, newly introduced, they’d apparently been dating for awhile) girlfriend, helped his other brother with a cold case that he’d been working on for awhile, and ate three bowls of cereal. Completely normal. Or, it was until he decided to see why the alarms were going off in the west section of the manor. People rarely went there, so he flips on the security cameras, guessing that it was just a false alarm. Boy was he wrong. His jaw drops as things start floating around the room. Books, cookies, cheese, pens, all sorts of random things start floating. But the weirdest thing was the way the cookies and cheese would disappear with tiny bite marks, as if someone, or <i>something<i> was eating them. 

“Nope. Nope, oh heck no.” He murmurs, jumping out of his chair and running towards the dining room in the hope of finding some of his family. He’d grab those he could and get them out of the house, then call the others. But staying at the manor when it was obviously overrun with ghosts? Not an option. He sighs in relief when he sees Damian’s girlfriend, Marinette, and Damian laughing in the dining room. 

“Dick, are you okay? You look pale.” Marinette says worriedly. He shakes his head and grabs both kids, tugging them after him as he rushes out of the manor. 

“Grayson! Stop this at once. What is the meaning of this?” Damian scowls, but Dick doesn’t slow down. 

“Ghosts! In the manor. Saw them on the security tapes.” Dick says, huffing in frustration when Damian jerks his wrist away and stops moving. “Little D-”

“No, Grayson. Are you seriously trying to evacuate the manor because you think you saw ghosts on the security cameras?” Damian asks, clearly frustrated. Dick frowns. 

“Well it sounds bad when you say it.” He says. He looks to Marinette for help, confused as to why her face is bright red. “Sunshine?” 

“Okay so don’t freak out.” She says. Dick nods, and she sighs. “So you know how I’m the Guardian of the Miraculous?” She asks. 

“Yeah, and you have all of the Kwami with you, like, all the time.” Dick says. Marinette winces. 

“Right. Er, do you remember when I told you that magic and technology don’t really get along?” She asks. Dick frowns, his eyebrows furrowed together until it clicks. Huh. 

“You mean the ghosts on the security cameras-”

“Were actually the Kwamis. Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve tried to tell them to stay in my room, but they like all the space here.” She says, smiling apologetically. Dick just smiles, relief flooding his system. It’s not that he was scared of the ghosts, but….ghosts are an unknown. And you never know when a ghost is going to turn into a vengeful spirit instead of a peaceful one. And he was not about to risk his family. 

“I have an excellent idea.” Damian says suddenly, and Dick’s surprised to see the mischievous smirk on his little brother’s face. 

“Is someone going to be hurt?” Dick asks, and Damian scoffs. 

“Of course not. I do have plans that don’t involve injury, Grayson.” He says, nose in the air. Marinette snorts. 

“Sure you do, mon oiseau, sure you do.” Marinette says, grinning at Damian. Dick just smirks at the red creeping onto his brother’s face. 

“Did you want to assist, habibti, or would you rather let Drake get away with using the last extra caffeine coffee pod?” Damian asks, a knowing look on his face. Marinette gasps before nodding. 

“That coffee stealer is going down!” She cheers before the two head back into the manor, discussing their plan the entire way. Dick blinks, and just shakes his head. He knew when to count his losses and this was definitely one of those times. 

***

Marinette grins at the illusion she’d made using Trixx’ help. Damian had originally wanted the Kwamis to just keep doing what they were doing, but she was pretty sure Trixx had a sixth sense when it came to mischief and tricks. They’d come flying in almost immediately and all but insisted to be part of the plan. It was perfect. Not too mean, but definitely a fitting punishment for taking the last coffee pod. She suppresses giggles as Tim walks in and does a double take at the illusion. 

“Er, hi. Do I...do I know you?” Tim asks with a frown. Marinette snorts as Trixx makes the ghostly woman tilt her head and then start towards him. Her head falling off and into her hands. The piercing shriek from Tim makes Marinette laugh wildly, the illusion falling almost immediately. 

“Tt, Drake, that was weak.” Damian scoffs, leaning out of his hiding spot. 

“What the hell was that?” Tim asks, looking much more awake than he did five minutes ago. Marinette stands from her hiding spot and smirks. 

“That, my dear friend, is called karma ala Kwami.” She says with a wide grin. 

“For what?” Tim asks. 

“Taking the last coffee pod.” She says, and Tim sighs. 

“I will never get between you and your coffee again.” He promises. Marinette drops Trixx’ transformation so that she can give them a high five. 

“Mission accomplished.” She says with a smirk. Trixx just grins, winking at Tim. There was never a dull moment around here.

Tag list: @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess

[foli-vora]

more than words, pt.4

A/N: Hello, angels! I hope you’re all safe and healthy! Next instalment is here, and I’m very excited for what’s coming. I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy, too! Love to you all! (I hope I haven’t forgotten to tag anyone but if I did, I’m really sorry!)

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader, best friend!Benny Miller x f!reader

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF, swearing, brief alcohol mention, bit of spice (reminder: this fic is 18+), Frankie being the tease he is

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3 / pt.5 / pt.6

+

Your lips were still tingling when you woke the next morning, eyes fluttering open and a smile creeping onto your face as the events from last night replay through your mind for the millionth time. Frankie had been on your mind the entire drive home, the tenderness of his first kiss kicking your heart into double time, and the pure unrestrained passion of the kiss that followed hitting a far lot lower.

Was it possible for a first date to go as well as it did? There wasn’t a single moment in your time spent with Frankie that had you unsure about his character or intentions.

Benny had actually done it. He had found you a guy you really liked. Is Hell freezing over?

You reach for your phone as you slip from bed, stretching leisurely as you make your way to the kitchen, and finding Benny’s contact before pressing ‘call’. It takes a few rings, until his drawl finally greets you through the phone.

“Did you puke?” is his immediate answer and you roll your eyes, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder as you putter around your kitchen putting some breakfast together.

“No, you asshole.”

He laughs. “He’s that whipped, he’d probably thank you.”

What? What does that mean? Has Frankie spoken to Benny? Did he talk about last night? What did he say? Did he think it went as well as you did? Shit. Calm down. You try to steady your suddenly quickening pulse, a pleasant flutter consuming your stomach as you attempt to sound casual.

“Oh? Has he said something?”

Benny’s voice is sly, teasing – he knows you far too well. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean ‘maybe’?”

“Maybe I’m sitting next to him right now. And maybe he’s sitting here blushin’ like a little –” Benny grunts suddenly, seemingly in pain, and the phone crackles as he shifts on the other end, “don’t fuckin’ kick me. Anyway, Fish wants to know what you’re wearing.”

You hear him then, raspy voice piping up in the background with an aghast ‘What?! No–’ and then there’s more scuffling, more grunts of pain, and Benny’s snort of laughter.

“What are you even doing up?” Benny redirects his attention to you after a few minutes of bickering with Frankie, words muffled as he talks around whatever food he has rolling around his mouth. He had noted the early time when your face had flashed over his screen, wondering what could’ve possibly gotten you up and out of bed so early on a day off.

You shrug lightly, even though he couldn’t see it, and prepare your pancake batter. “Just couldn’t sleep in.”

He’s quiet, chewing thoughtfully and then asking softly, “You okay?”

“Yeah – I’m fine, just bored sitting at home. For some reason, I wanted to see what you were up to and if you wanted to hang out, but you’re busy so never mind.”

Benny laughs, “Aw, you missin’ me, angel?” he teases.

“Ugh, I take it back. I’d rather sit here in silence and stare at my wall.”

You can hear him laughing even as you pull your phone away and press the red button, shaking your head and smiling to yourself.

-

A week passes by before you even know it, work taking over much of your week, and much to your delight, Frankie had eagerly organised another night to meet up. You had talked all week of course – a phone call every evening once Mena had been put down for the night, texts here and there throughout the day, and when he had asked if you were free at all over the weekend, you had agreed without a second thought.

Eagerness buzzes through your system the entire day of the date and the drive to the restaurant, a much welcome change from the anxiety riddled one before. It was a breath of fresh air.

Frankie was waiting for you, as he said he would, leaning against the wall of the restaurant and a smile immediately widening his features when his eyes find you.

This time there was no hesitation, no voice in the back of your mind wondering how to tackle the situation. As soon as you saw him – you couldn’t help yourself – you were in his arms and giving him a soft kiss in greeting. Pleasantly surprised, he smiles against your lips, arms winding around your waist, and the electric tingles that rocket up from your palm when his rough hand gently takes yours has your heart going wild in your chest.

It’s dinner instead of drinks this time, and the two of you squeeze yourselves into one side of the leather booths, instead of sitting opposite each other. You order quickly, and sip at your beer while you listen to Frankie talk about his week, the conversation soon moving in all sorts of directions as you wait for your food.

“How could you not?” You cry at one point, slapping a hand on the table and watching his shoulders shake as he laughs, stomach twisting at the pleasant sound of it.  “The universe is huge – like, huge. We are not alone.” You say ominously, and he laughs harder, head hitting the back of the booth.

“Where’s the proof?”

“What?”

“The proof! If it’s so big and we’re not the only ones here, where is everyone?”

“It’s a cover up.” You sniff indifferently, sipping your drink and fighting the twitches threatening to turn your pursed lips into a smile. “Oh my god, you were in the military – are you in on it?”

He’s struggling to breathe, cheeks aching under the grin stretching his features and stomach starting to cramp. “In on what?”

“That’s it! You’re part of the cover up!”

“Yeah, you’ve got me. I was actually a part of a crew chasing away UFO’s.”

No longer able to keep it in, you erupt into a fit of violent giggles, melting over the table top and letting the laughter shake your frame. Frankie watches you fondly, affection flooding his system and causing his insides to warm pleasantly.

He was still trying to work out how he was here, with a beautiful woman, having great conversations, fun conversations, and laughing more than he had in… shit… a long time. It was refreshing and, if he were completely honest with himself, slightly nerve-wracking. Nothing ever stays so perfect, and that thought had him ensuring he was enjoying every second he could with you before you inevitably realised you were incredibly out of his league and went looking elsewhere.

But… how could you ever? When you peak up at him, you can’t help but study the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his dimples deepen in his cheek, and you honestly couldn’t imagine anywhere else in the world you’d rather be. It was… scary. You’d only known him a couple of weeks, and you were feeling like this?

The night melts away before you both even know it happens and soon, you’re snatching up the bill before he can move, and walking out onto the street, Frankie’s arm slung around your shoulders and keeping you pressed close up to his side as a sharp late evening breeze sweeps through you both.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Chickens?”

“I’m sorry, but have you ever been chased by a rooster? Those things are fucking vicious, Frankie.”

He grins, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, well what about you?”

“Heights.”

What?

You frown, “But you’re a pilot?”

“I can handle heights if I can control the situation. Flying is easy – I know what to do when I need to do it. It’s when something’s out of my control – falling off a cliff and shit. It’s just… a long way down.” He’s quiet, obviously dwelling on something before he’s shaking his head and smiling, “Do you have a favourite book?”

The short walk to your car takes longer with the leisurely pace you both had unconsciously set, wanting to milk the remaining minutes of the date as much as you could before having to part ways.

“Thank you for dinner.” He spins you into his arms and you laugh quietly, smiling.

“You’re welcome.”

Silence falls over you both as you regard the other.

Frankie… your voice is so quiet, the soft whisper of it dances in his ears, igniting a fire through his veins. He unconsciously presses himself closer, lost in the way your lashes flutter when you look at him. You raise a hand, fingers trailing softly against his jaw and he turns his face into your touch, chasing the feeling of your warm fingertips as they glide up and around his neck.

“Kiss me?”

He smiles, enjoying the way your face scrunches slightly as he nuzzles his nose against yours, “Say please,” he mutters playfully, grin widening when you breathe a quiet giggle.

“Please kiss me, Francisco.”

Oh shit.

You don’t miss the way his face slackens for a brief moment, eyes widening and breath seemingly getting caught in his throat. He swallows, the flicker of a flame that had been burning lowly in his stomach suddenly blazes red hot and then he’s moving, hands cupping your cheeks and claiming your mouth with an intensity that had your knees buckling the second his lips touched yours.

You melt instantly, unable to stop the small whimper that bubbles from your mouth as his tongue traces teasingly along your lip. You open your mouth automatically, tongue immediately sliding greedily along his. His mouth was hot, rough against yours, and the grunt he lets out when your fingers dig into the dark curls at the nape of his neck has a delicious heat shooting to your core, your hips rolling against his.

Fuck. Did you just grind on him?

The sudden stab of panic at potentially going too far is quickly extinguished when his hands fly to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer and keeping you tight up against him while his fingers dig hungrily into your flesh.

The sudden blaring of a car alarm has you both jumping apart and a mile high, Frankie’s hands tightening on you instinctively, and it’s not until you look around that you discover it’s your car making that God awful noise that is ripping your ear drums apart.

“Shit,” you fumble for your keys, quickly pressing the button while Frankie chuckles into the skin of your throat, hands softly rubbing up and down along your waist to calm you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault.” He grins, not at all remorseful for causing such a big disturbance. “It was probably for the best – any longer and we might’ve been arrested for indecent exposure.” The words are growled playfully against your skin, but you can’t help thinking he wasn’t far from the truth. You laugh, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso and placing a final kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Drive safe,” you say as he begins to pull back, and he smiles warmly at you.

“You too.”

You slip into your car, watch him disappear down the street and sigh dreamily, body working on auto-pilot for the drive home while your head remains firmly in the clouds. You could only hope you had actually somewhat paid attention to the road and didn’t miss any stop signs or red lights.

Your phone goes off in your hand when you eventually walk through the door to your apartment, and you read the text as you shrug off your jacket. Your eyes have to read it back and forth a few times before the words actually sink in, and then you’re holding it to your chest, delicately cradling the device while you rest heavily on your door, heat flushing along your cheeks.

I’ve thought about whether or not I should say this the entire drive home, but fuck it... miss you already.

Well, fuck.

-

Delivering a sharp little karate chop to the remaining flat cushion on your couch to fluff it, you place it with the others and then neaten the edges of the blanket hanging over the back, casting one final glance around your apartment and trying to imagine seeing it through a visitor’s eyes.

Clean.

Really clean.

Frankie was picking you up for a ‘mystery date’, which meant – naturally – you had spent the entire day scrubbing every surface in your apartment until it looked like you semi-had your life together. Did you inhale more bleach than what is probably considered healthy? Most definitely. Do you regret it? No. Will your apartment ever be this clean again? Also probably a no.

Checking the time, you’re startled to see how long you had spent fluffing fucking pillows and chant curses as you run to your room, kicking the clothes you rip off under your bed to deal with later and quickly pulling on the outfit it had definitely not taken you two hours to decide on. Your eyes dart to the alarm clock next to your bed when a knock on the door echoes throughout your small home.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, he’s on time –

God, why can’t he just show up half an hour late like the others? You immediately regret giving him the code to your building… that could’ve bought you an extra few minutes.

Stupid perfect face with his stupid perfect punctuality –

You open the door with a grin, hoping your forehead doesn’t look as sweaty as it feels, face softening when you find Frankie standing on the other side with a little potted houseplant cradled in his palms. He sees your eyes fall to it curiously and holds it out to you, your fingers brushing his when you carefully take it from his hands.

“You said flowers make you sad when they die, so…” he shrugs lightly, a gentle smile curling his lips.

Oh.

Emotion claws at your throat as your fingers trace the patterned leaves softly. Not only had he paid attention and actually listened to you during your many conversations, he had gone out of his way to find you a gift you could nurture, one that wouldn’t inevitably end up in the trash after a week or two of blossoming.

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, clearing your throat quietly before glancing up at him, shy and overwhelmed by the wave of adoration that inundates you.

“Thank you, Frankie. I love it.”

And he knows you really do. He can hear it in your voice, sees the gratitude shining in your eyes. He follows you as you turn back into your apartment, eyes following you fondly as you walk around, eyeing potential places to situate your new addition.

“I think he looks good there.” You say, turning to confirm his approval over your shoulder after you situate it in the middle of your small dining table. He smiles, nodding his support and watching you turn back to look at the plant, taking his own little minute to admire you and the way you look bathed in the bright afternoon sun shining through your windows.

Fuck. He was captivated, completely infatuated by someone he had only known, what – three weeks? He should be nervous, should be alarmed that such strong feelings had developed so quickly, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than joy – hope. Maybe this could be it, you and him. Endgame.

Fuck. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

His arms open automatically when you saunter up to him, enveloping you into a warm embrace while you press an appreciative kiss to his cheek.

“So, this mystery date,” you say, pulling back to gaze up at him while your hands wrap loosely around his neck, “will I need a jacket?”

“Yes,” he nods, grinning when your brows pinch in contemplation. “You’ll never guess so don’t hurt you head trying.” Lips press against your forehead and you press back into the soft touch, heart jumping at the tender gesture.

-

“Minigolf?” You question, looking up at the colourful entrance.

“Is that okay? If not, we can go somewhere else –”

He’s nervous – you can hear it in his voice.

Easing his anxiety, you shake your head and grin, “It’s perfect.”

You watch him relax, a pleased smile curling his lips, and then your hand is in his as he leads you through the gate and to the reception area to pay. The both of you meander outside once collecting your clubs and balls, and you feel childishly giddy at all the bright colours and fun obstacles set throughout, bouncing slightly in excitement as you walk to the first hole.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” He asks around a grin, head tilting as he watches you set up and take your position.

“This isn’t my first time,” you hum, shifting on your feet and lining up your shot. Swinging the golf club gently, you watch the neon orange ball bounce along the walls and finish up teeteringly on the edge of the cup before falling in with a satisfying clunk.

“Oh, by the way,” you spin, smirking, “I kick ass at minigolf.”

“Good,” he returns your smirk, gently nudging you out the way, “I don’t have to take it easy on you, then.”

What had started out as fun, quickly becomes competitive, and with competition comes foul play. Frankie had pinched your sides when you went to hit your ball, your body jolting with a yelp of surprise as he exploited your ticklish spots. In return, you knocked his golf club when he swung, and giggled wildly when he immediately turned on you, wrapping you in a tight hold and raining scratchy kisses along your throat in punishment.

The afternoon melts into evening with mix of steady conversation, laughter and hidden kisses behind obstacles – Frankie stealing the breath right from your lungs when he crowds you against the side of the colourfully decorated windmill and claims your mouth, the crowds of other couples and families wandering around the course oblivious to the two of you hidden in the shadows.

If he was trying to work you up, it was working. He had to know what he was doing to you, had to know how all-consuming his presence was when he swept you up into kiss after kiss. You were so wrapped up in the touches he would caress you with, so focused on the feel of his moustache as it tickled the skin above your lip, that you were completely unaware you were losing… until you peaked at the card Frankie kept sticking out of his back pocket (totally not because you were checking out his ass) and the wave of vicious competitiveness shadows the overwhelming desire to jump him right in the middle of the course on the artificial turf.

Payback.

The next course, you took your short as normal, squirming as you feel Frankie come to stand right behind you. Focus –

Breathe, he’s not there. Breathe, he’s not there. Breathe –

Goosebumps rise along your arms in waves, the skin on the back of your neck prickling as he ghosts his curved nose down the column of your throat, your head tilting ever so slightly to allow him more access.

Fuck. No, breathe –

You swing the club, satisfaction rolling through you when the ball ends up in the cup perfectly in one shot. He’s slightly shocked, incredibly impressed, and presses a soft kiss of praise just below your ear. You watch as he takes your place, dropping his ball on the ground and readying his posture.

God, you need to stop looking at him like that.

The golf club feels loose in his grip, palms clammy from the fiery gaze locked onto the back of his neck as he hunches over for his turn. He feels a presence behind him but doesn’t pay any mind to it, and instead pays all of his attention to lining up the ball, mentally calculating what sort of angle he’d need to get it through the tunnel and around the winding corners to the cup a short dip below.

The cool puff of air suddenly blowing past and tickling his ear makes him fumble, the ball missing the tunnel and bouncing off of the sides and rolling back to his feet. He sighs, eyeing you over his shoulder with a playful frown as you blink innocently back at him.

He lines up again, tensing when warm hands work their way under his jacket, resting softly on his hips. He could feel the heat of your palms through his t-shirt and clears his throat, shifting on his feet and trying to focus back on the ball. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, teeth nipping lightly at his skin when he swings the golf club softly. Another miss. Frankie watches the ball return again, stopping at his feet with a light knock to his shoe.

“Yeah, that’s right, Morales – I’m onto you.” Your soft voice rings in his ear and he grins, knocking the ball into position with his club. “You may play dirty… but I do, too – try again.”

The words settle hotly in his stomach.

“You think you can win?”

“I know I can.” You all but purr into his ear.

He blocks you out then, focusing everything he has on getting that stupid fucking pink ball through the tunnel. He’s got it this time. This time –

Fingers dive under his shirt and his stomach jumps as they trace along his hot skin, slowly following along the waistband of his jeans teasingly. Fire shoots through his veins, muscles clenching under the feather light touches, your nails softly dragging along his skin.

Fucking Christ –

“Are you just going to stand here all day, Francisco?” You question slyly, voice soft and mocking. At your teasing, both verbal and physical, he hits the ball a little harder than intended and it bounces off the turf entirely and into the bushes lining the course.

You’re smug as you watch it disappear into the shrubs, “I’d say that’s forfeit.”

You go to step away when he starts to turn, but a hand grabs your wrist and keeps you flush against him, your insides somersaulting as his dark eyes burn through you.

“You’re trouble.” He accuses gruffly, heart still hammering in his chest while his skin burns from the ghost of your touches.

“You love it.”

He does.

Fuck, he does. Too much.

“Come on, loser,” you murmur, lips leaving a whisper of a kiss against his. “I’m hungry.” And with that, you turn, winking cheekily at him from over your shoulder, and he watches you walk away with a dumbfounded expression before he follows along behind you, jeans feeling a little tighter than what they did before.

-

The tension is stifling in the truck on the drive home. You feel your heart beating in your ears, the anticipation bubbling in your chest growing with every mile Frankie travels closer to your apartment. You were aching. Physically in fucking pain, and rubbing your thighs together was doing nothing to soothe the insistent throbbing from your core.

All that playful teasing, the touches and the rough kisses during the day, had caught up, and it was destroying you.

Frankie had briefly mentioned Mena staying with his parents for the night, and it had kickstarted your thoughts into overdrive. Was that a hint? Was he giving you a green light to potentially take this further? Was he saying he would be open to staying over? Was he asking to?

You were worried you were thinking on it too much, maybe getting the wrong idea and he was just expressing how nice it would be to have a night all to himself, but then his hand landed on your thigh and squeezed, and any inklings of doubt all but vanished.

He watches you from the corner of his eye, trying to focus on the road and not the way you keep shifting in your seat. He feels every time you squeeze your thighs together, feels the muscles move under his hand, and he physically has to stop himself from making a noise every time you do. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to him?

Your building comes into view and then he’s pulling up outside, removing his hand from your thigh and throwing the truck into park, letting it idle while you study the structure and get your thoughts together. Swallowing the sudden spike of nerves that settle in your stomach, you look to Frankie and find him already watching you quietly.

For a moment, you say nothing, and he doesn’t bother filling the silence. He lets you have all the time you need while you decide on your next move. Not that you need much time – you know exactly what you want.

“Do you want to come up?” You ask quietly, watching his eyes darken as they flicker to your building before returning to you. You watch his Adams apple bob as he swallows, and then he’s nodding, turning the keys in the ignition and the truck cuts out beneath you.

+

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[mandospace]

Inside and Out (Din Djarin x Reader)

Request:  Hello!! I was wondering if I could request something? I was wondering if you could possibly do like a touch starved Din? I would so love it! Whenever you are able and inspired to write of course! ❤️ thank youuuu!

Requested By: @snow30285​

Word Count: 3,997

Warnings: Fluff!! Blood, mention of an injury, first-aid

A/N: I got a little carried away with this! I hope you all like it, and if you wanted to be added to a tag list just let me know. Also, my requests are open for Din Djarin and Boba Fett!

MASTERLIST

He caught himself staring at your form for the fourth time that day. Din quickly averted his eyes, cheeks flushing under his beskar helmet. You hadn’t noticed his gaze, thank the Maker, and continued on with your task. Grogu giggled at you hiding your face behind your hands, playing a game of peek-a-boo with you. 

“Where did mommy go?” You hid your smile behind your hands. Quickly dropping them from your face, you smiled at the small green child that erupted into a fit of giggles. “There she is!”

Din’s heart stuttered at the image of you playing with his child, Grogu waddling towards you before leaping into your lap. Grogu continued giggling, his tiny little hand reaching out to grab at yours. 

“AHHH, YOU GOT ME!” You dramatically cried out before falling to the ground, wrapping a secure arm around his body to ensure that he was safe. He carefully stood up on your belly, waddling his way to your face. His little hand rested on your cheek, and the soft smile you gave him made Din’s heart falter once more. You rested your larger hand on top of Grogu’s little one, holding it to your cheek. The tender moment shared between you and Din’s son was almost picturesque, it reminded him of the old oil paintings that displayed a mother and child in the palaces of the more richer planets Din visited. 

You turned your lips to place a small kiss on his little green hand. Din felt himself involuntarily reaching a hand out, wanting to join in on the tender moment between the two of you. Din imagined that he was the one cupping your cheek, his big hands instead of the small green ones of his son. He imagined how warm your cheek would be, how soft the fine peach fuzz of your cheek would feel against his palm. How your soft, pillowy lips would feel against his skin...

“Din?” Your voice is what pulled Din back to reality. You looked up at him with concern in your eyes, gaze flicking down to his still outstretched hand. “Are you okay?”

Din brought his hand back to his side, leather creaking as he closed his fist. “’M fine,” he mumbled, turning to head back to the cockpit. “It’s time to drop from hyperspace.”

Nodding your head at his retreating form, you looked back at the child that let out a small yawn. “Come on, little one. Let’s get you to bed.”

——

“I should only be gone for a few days, a week at most.” Din commented, grabbing various weapons from his armory. You stood off to the side, Grogu balanced on your hip while the two of you watched Din strap the pulse rifle to his back. You’ve watched Din prepare for a hunt what felt like hundreds of times, but it never got easier. The worry that laid deep in your chest never went away.

“Remember to close the ramp once I’m gone,” Din moved to the ramp, pressing a button on his vambrace to lower it. “And set up the safety perimeter. I recently just installed the new security system, so it should alert you to any nearby life forms. And-“

“And have a blaster nearby and communicuff on me at all times,” you interrupted his ramblings. He only talked this much when it had to do with either your or Grogu’s safety. “I know, Din.”

Din turned to you with a sigh, black visor meeting your gaze. He noticed that your bottom lip was already between your teeth, showing your worry. He wanted to reach out and glide his thumb over your lips, releasing your bottom one from your teeth. “I just want to make sure you are safe, Cyare.”

You smiled at his words, noting the strange nickname he gave you. He only ever used it when he was leaving. “I know, and we will be. Don’t worry about us, just focus on your hunt.”

Din felt himself reaching out to you, but he stopped his hand midway. “I always worry about you...” Din’s voice trailed off, and your heart thumped in your chest. “And Grogu,” he added, his face reddening under the beskar. Just talking to you made him flustered.

He turned back to the ramp and gazed out of its opening. He had tracked the bounty to some forested planet, you weren’t sure of its name. After you visited one forest planet, you’ve seen them all. You could see Din’s shoulders tighten under his beskar pauldrons, anxious and excited at the prospect of a new hunt. This was the part that you hated the most: him leaving you. Before he even took a step onto the ramp, your free hand was reaching out for him, gripping his arm around the elbow, one of the only places on his body free of beskar.

Din stopped in his tracks, and he felt like he was going to both pass out and have a heart attack at the same time. Your small hand couldn’t even reach around the thick muscles of his arm. Even though he was wearing thick layers, he could feel the warmth from your hand seeping through. His eyes dropped to your hand on him, and he couldn’t believe you were actually touching him. It wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact, but his heart was already in hyperdrive. This all happened in a single second, the span of a blink.

“Be safe.” Your voice was small, timid at this new interaction you were having with the Mandalorian. You had always thought him attractive, even though you had never seen an inch of his skin. You admired his strength and how great of a warrior he was. The silver beskar just proved how powerful he could be if he saw you as an enemy. What really attracted you to him wasn’t his strength or how great of a warrior he was, no, it was how soft and protective he was over Grogu. He always held him with great care, as if he would break with the tiniest movement. He spoke softly to the kid, afraid he would scare him with his louder voice. Watching him and his son interact is what really attracted you Din, like some primal instinct telling you to find the strongest and most caring partner you can. “Come back to me.”

“Always, Cyare.” Din’s heart fluttered at your soft spoken words. Before his heart could leap through his beskar-covered chest and into your arms, he turned away from you. Your hand slipped from its resting place on his arm and he immediately missed your touch and warmth. He could feel the longing he felt for you nestle its way in his chest, right near his heart. Before he could do or say anything stupid that would surely embarrass himself, he trudged down the ramp and began his hunt.

———

It had already been six days since Din had left for his hunt. Your mind kept drifting back to the feel of his hard muscles under your fingertips. How his voice was soft when he said the strange name of ‘Cyare,’ a name he only said when he left. You knew it was Mando’a, but no matter how many times you scanned the holo-pad’s built in dictionary, you couldn’t find a single word of the dying language. You resigned yourself to the fact that you may never know what he was calling you, unless you asked him. But that was never going to happen, your words always stumbled out of your mouth when you talked to him.

So you busied yourself around the Razor Crest whilst you waited for the return of your Mandalorian, trying to keep away the thoughts of how his hands would feel on your skin. You had cleaned nearly every surface in the old ship and even organized the wires under the dashboard. By the time you were done with your chores, the Crest was nearly spotless- there was always going to be that one stubborn blood stain near the carbonite chamber that you were never going to get out. Din had brought back a rather difficult quarry that day, and as soon as he started flinging crude insults at you, Din promptly reached for his viroblade. The cut he made was only superficial, you learned later, but the man still bled quite a bit before Din shoved him back into the chamber. You had immediately tried to clean up the pool of blood, but Din took the rag from your hand with a gentle “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

Besides the one stain that refused to go away, the Crest was as good as new, or as new-looking that it was going to get. The rest of the day you spent playing with the kid, mind drifting back to thoughts of Din. You had just put Grogu down for a nap when the Crest’s new security system let out a loud beeping noise, alerting you that a life form was approaching the ship. Locking Grogu away in his pram-thankfully he was still asleep- you reached for the blaster that was resting atop the stack of crates. Running up to the cockpit, you noticed that a single dot was showing up on the ship’s new security system. You managed to stop the alarm from blaring before you made your way back to the hull. You were ready to protect yourself and Grogu from this intruder if necessary.

A loud banging noise sounded against the ship as the ramp started to descend. You gripped the blaster tight, switching the safety off. When you saw the silver glint of beskar, you sighed in relief, switching the safety back on before setting it off to the side. Din slowly made his way up the ramp, arm wrapped around his middle. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry, arms reaching out to Din once he was safely inside the hull.

“What happened?” You asked, reaching your arms out to catch Din when he stumbled. “Are you hurt?”

“Knife,” he grimaced as he lowered himself to the ground. His hand slowly fell away from his side, revealing his blood-soaked clothes. “Not deep.”

“Din!” You exclaimed in shock whilst dropping down to your knees. Your hands fluttered to his side, unsure of what to do. “I think you need to remove your beskar.”

“Do it,” he grunted, resting the helmet against the wall with a ‘ting.’ His hand moved to yours, dragging your hand to show you the release mechanism under his cuirass. Flicking the switch, the armor’s magnet released its hold on the beskar. Pushing it to the side, you grasped at the bottom of his tunic, trying to work the fabric up his torso so you could have access to the wound. You tried not to notice the small amount of dark hair leading down to his pants, or the beautiful color of his skin- a warm, sun-kissed tan. Your resolve failed when your eyes trailed over his abdomen, skin littered with scars over the lean muscle. Your fingertips lightly grazed his stomach and Din jerked back with a hiss.

“I’m sorry!” Your hands flew back from his stomach, afraid that you had hurt him in some way.

“No,” Din grunted while his head rolled to the side. “Didn’t hurt, it... felt good.”

You blinked at the Mandalorian currently bleeding all over your clean floors. Okay, he must be delusional. “Din, I don’t know if I’m the best person to do this. There has to be someone el-“

“No one else,” he mumbled, hand reaching for yours. “You can do it, Cyare.”

The familiar nickname is what grounded your rising panic. Making your way to the medicine cabinet, you grabbed the necessary kits and bacta so you could patch Din up. Kneeling at his side once again, you pulled back the remaining clothing to reveal the knife wound. He was right, it wasn’t that deep, but just like the quarry that Din had slashed at all those months ago, he bled quite a lot. You tried to remain as gentle as you could while you wiped a piece of cloth over the wound to soak up the blood. It took a few rags to thoroughly clean the wound, but you had finally gotten it to a manageable state.

“This might sting.” Grabbing the bottle of alcohol from your side, you tipped out the liquid onto a clean cloth. Your eyes flitted up to where his would be but was met with only the familiar visor. Din gave you a slow nod, telling you to ‘go ahead,’ and you placed the alcohol-soaked rag to his wound.

“Dank farrik!” Din yelped, jolting slightly upright in response to the stinging sensation that was radiating from his wound. You could just barely hear the grinding of his teeth from under his helmet, and you visually cringed at his pain.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized but continued to clean the wound. The knife must have been serrated because the wound was jagged. You laid your free hand on the expanse of his stomach, rubbing reassuring circles into the skin. Din hummed at the contact. Your soft fingers sent goosebumps racing over his flesh, thoroughly distracting him from the pain. He barely registered the soothing cool of bacta when you pressed it against his wound. Din was too distracted by your touch. It was the first time that he felt someone’s touch, skin-to-skin contact since he was a child, and he knew that he was already addicted. You were completely intoxicating and you didn’t even know.

“Done.” Pressing firmly against the newly applied bandage, you could feel Din’s eyes on yours.

“Don’t stop,” he couldn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips. You had pulled away your hands from his torso, and you quirked a brow up in response. “It-it feels g-good.”

“What, me torturing you with alcohol and bacta?” You joked and began to clean up the blood-soaked rags.Your right hand reached for the medpac that was laying next to Din but stopped when he grabbed your wrist. Din slowly pulled your hand to his stomach, resting your soft flesh over his scarred skin. He shivered at your touch and laid his hand over yours, keeping you there. His gloved thumb began to draw patterns on the back of your hand, sending a shiver of your own down your spine. “Din, what are you-”

“C-can I touch you, Cyare?” He interrupted with timid words. He was staring at your face, you could feel his gaze through the helmet. You sat there in shock, unable to comprehend that your hand was sprawled against his warm stomach and distracting you with the light graze of his thumb. “Please,” Din whispered when you didn’t respond to his earlier question. You felt yourself nodding your head in a dumb stupor, not believing that this was real and happening.

He picked his right hand up from yours that rested on his stomach, and moved to cup your face. Din stopped halfway between your bodies, hesitating for a moment, before bringing his other hand up to pull off his gloves. His right hand continued on its previous path, only stopping again when he was a centimeter away from your face. You could feel the tangible tension in the air, the nervousness shared by the both of you while you stared at one another. He just held his hand there for a moment, afraid to touch you and learn exactly how your cheek would feel against his skin. Bringing up your left hand, you placed it over his right one and pressed his palm to your cheek. His skin was rough from years of fighting, but incredibly warm and soothing. 

Din let out a shuddery breath when you took his hand and pressed it against your cheek. You were so soft, so warm against his palm. His thumb lightly brushed over your cheekbone out of curiosity. Eyelids fluttering shut at his touch, the pad of his thumb left sparks against your skin. Din’s heart nearly lept out of his chest when you turned your face into his palm, lips softly pressing into the meat of his hand. Your eyes opened and you looked up at him with such a soft look whilst you held his hand in yours, lips moving over his hand, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses. Right hand joining your left, you gently laid his hand in your lap, palm facing the ceiling. Your fingers traced over every vein in his hand, stopping at his wrist when you met his vambrace. Lifting his hand up to your lips, you placed a tender kiss to his pulse point. Your kisses left him breathless, every brush of your lips intoxicating.

As much as Din loved your soft touches, he wanted to caress you, feel your lips against his. He knew what he had to do in order to feel your lips against his, and the thought made him draw in a tight breath. “Cyare...” He tipped his head forward, leaning his forehead against yours. Your hands trailed to the nape of his neck, fingers worming their way under his thick cowl so that you could feel his hot skin. The beskar was cool against your forehead, a soothing sensation. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” There wasn’t any hesitation in your voice. Being this close to Din was addicting. You wanted to feel more of his skin against yours, have his warmth envelop you.

“Close your eyes, Cyar’ika,” Din whispered. You followed his orders, shutting your eyes tight. He waited a few moments before you felt him lean back, cool beskar no longer present on your skin. You heard the locking mechanism of his helmet release with a hiss and the sound sent your heart racing. Was he taking his helmet off?

Din couldn’t breathe. He tried to pull the much needed oxygen into his lungs, but it was like his diaphragm wasn’t working anymore. Seeing you, truly seeing you without the many filters of the helmet had knocked the wind out of him. You were utterly breathtaking. Din sat there, trying to commit every feature of your face to his memory. You were even more beautiful than he thought was possible. The soft planes of your face made him want to reach out, touch you again. So he did. He was more sure this time, taking your face in both of his hands. You inhaled sharply when he first touched you, not expecting the touch, but you quickly relaxed at his touch that was becoming more familiar with each brush of skin. Both of his thumbs skimmed the planes of your cheekbones, felt the thickness of your lashes when he ghosted over your eyes. It was like he was a blind man trying to see with his hands, creating a mental image from his sense of touch. 

Din continued to map out your face, slowly trailing his thumbs over your skin. He saved your lips for last, wanting to savor them. His thumb brushed over them, and he inhaled sharply when he felt how soft they were. Din desperately wanted to mold his own to yours. “Ca-can,” he stumbled over his words, mesmerized by your beauty. He swallowed down the lump in his throat before he continued. “Can I kiss you, Cyare?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, and you were sure he could feel how your face heated up at his words. His slow touches were driving you insane, but not as insane as the knowledge that he was a mere six inches away from you, helmet off. It would be so easy to just open your eyes to see him. “Please.”

Hearing the wanting-tone of your voice that matched his ever-growing need for your touch, Din leaned in. His slightly-chapped lips timidly pressed against your soft ones, and you let out a sigh at the feeling. It felt like someone had poured molten lava over you that seeped into the very cracks of your foundation. Timid and shy at first, his kiss became more confident as he slotted his lips against yours. You couldn’t help the way that your hands reached up for his face to pull him closer to you. His kiss made you realize that you had been cold and alone your entire life, and that he was a blazing fire that would warm you to your core. 

Din softly gasped at your actions, and he decided that if he were to die right then and there that he would be completely fine since he was already in heaven with you. He felt the way that your fingers mapped his face like how he mapped yours. When you carded your fingers through his unruly locks, tugging him even closer, he hummed in contentment. Din’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you to his chest. Your legs draped on either side of his hips, kneeling in front of him. You tilted his head up to yours since you were slightly taller than him in this position, his arms squeezing you closer. Din slowly grazed his tongue over your bottom lip, and he moaned at the feeling of your tongue pressing against his. He explored your mouth, tongue tracing each tooth. Din saw stars behind his lids from kissing you. He had never kissed anyone before, but now he knew why others found it so intoxicating. The feel of your soft lips pressed against his was something he never wanted to forget. He burned this moment into his brain, desperately trying to remember the way your lips felt against his, the way your fingertips tangled in his hair, the warmth of your chest pressed against his.

When the need for air became too great, you both reluctantly pulled apart. You could already feel your lips starting to swell from the passionate kiss the two of you shared. Din’s lips never left your face, though, and he trailed kisses down your cheek and along your jaw. You couldn’t help how his name spilled from your lips when he kissed the juncture of your neck and jaw.

“You are so beautiful,” Din mumbled into your skin. Soft praises fell from his lips with each kiss against your skin. He loved the way you said his name, the way your grip on his hair tightened when he kissed your neck. His grip on you never lessened, hands bunching the material of your shirt in his hands. He never wanted this to end.

“You are too,” you sighed when his lips returned to yours. Din lightly shook his head in disagreement, making sure to not break the kiss. His self-deprecation made you pull yourself back. 

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

Leaning your forehead against his like before, you traced your fingers over his face. “I don’t need to.” You grazed your fingers over his eyelids, down his prominent nose, over his swollen lips. “I know you are beautiful both inside and out, Din Djarin.”

Din was thankful that your eyes were closed so that you couldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. He placed a loving peck against your lips before he nuzzled his face in your neck. Din breathed in your scent, immediately finding that it both excited and calmed him down. His lips brushed over your jugular, placing a soft kiss there. “I never want to let you go, Cyar’ika.”

“Then don’t.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he placed another kiss on your neck.

“You know,” you started, fingers slowly working out the tangles in his hair. “I never know what you’re saying when you speak Mando’a.”

“You’ll learn, Cyar’ika,” Din closed his eyes, content at the feeling of you playing with his hair. “You’ll learn.”

_____

Mando’a translations:

Cyare = beloved/loved

Cyar’ika = darling/sweetheart

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: References to sex, masturbation (nothing actually occurs)

Summary: After meeting Mando, you just can’t seem to get him out of your head. (events directly follow Introductions)

A/N: Thanks for the kind reception to the first post of this AU! I’ll be making a masterlist soon for easier navigation :) Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future posts or if I’ve missed a warning.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Lingering Impressions

Your day ended up being an exhausting one. Mando had been your most exciting session for more reasons than just the obvious. You'd reviewed the papers of two freshmen, a junior who wanted you to basically write their paper for them, and another graduate student who disregarded every suggestion you made. Needless to say, Mando's gratitude felt extra special after all of that.

Getting home, you're greeted with the welcome smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen as you throw yourself face-first into the couch. The open floorplan of your tiny two bedroom apartment allows Layla to spot you as you wander in.

"Hello to you too!" she calls over. "I'm making chicken marsala."

You lift your head up from the watermelon-shaped throw pillow to smile at her. "You are a saint and I don't deserve you."

"You totally don't," Layla teases back, happily returning to the stove. You flip over on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while she finishes making dinner. A comfortable silence fills the room, interrupted only by Layla's hums and the discordant sounds of cooking.

Layla has been your roommate since your sophomore year of college, randomly paired together by the dorm sorting system and inseparable ever since. The two of you clicked, a friendship forged over the awkwardness of early adulthood and a shared love of terrible reality TV. Both of you keep busy schedules while pursuing your respective master’s degrees and help each other out where you can. Making dinners for each other is just a part of that.

It’s not long before Layla brings over two steaming plates of food to lay out on your thrifted coffee table. She sits opposite you, preferring to sit on the floor rather than the couch. You’re eager to dig in, groaning at the first bite.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Layla grins, tucking into her own meal.

“God yes.”

“Long day then?”

You groan again, this time in irritation rather than pleasure. “Yes. I don’t know how many more know-it-all grad students I can deal with.”

She’s heard all about your nightmare sessions with students that think they already know everything. You’ve questioned more than once why they bother booking the session if they're just going to ignore your advice and decide their paper is perfect as is. It seems like a total waste of time for both you and them. 

Layla sympathizes and shares her own gripes about some of the assholes she's forced to put up with while working on her research project. After all, no group project is complete without the one person who does nothing but acts like they know everything. Giving each other time to vent another small way the two of you take care of each other.

As you think back on your day and sessions your mind inevitably drifts to Mando. He hadn’t been anything like you’d expected. He was kind in his own way and by far the most amenable session you’d had all day. Not taking off the helmet was odd, as was not giving out his real name, but neither of those had really bothered you when it came down to it. If anything, they only serve to fascinate you further.

“Did something else happen today?” Layla asks, a spark lighting up in her eyes. She can always read you, something that can be either a blessing or a curse depending on what it is you're hiding. You take a few more bites before answering, already anticipating her reaction.

“Well I might have also met Mando today,” You try to throw it out there casually, hoping that if you treat it as though it’s not a big deal she’ll follow your lead. You should have known better.

“You what!? Tell me everything,” Layla screeches at you from across the coffee table. She pushes her food off to the side, clearly deciding that your unexpected meeting with campus's resident celebrity is far more important.

"He came in for a session. His paper was really good, it-"

Layla is quick to cut you off. "I literally couldn't care less about that and you know it. Tell me about him, what's he like? Is he terrifying?"

You can’t help but snort at that. You know why she asked of course - the rumors flying around about him getting out of hand these days - but when you think about him now they all seem ludicrous. The gentle way he spoke to Grogu and offered his hand out to the kid before leaving. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke to you, eager to hear any advice you had to give him. No. Mando was decidedly not terrifying. “He’s… just a guy,” you tell her, not really sure how to explain his unique presence.

The eyeroll you receive in response is warranted. “Are you kidding me right now? You probably know more about him than anyone else on campus and you’re going to tell me he’s just a guy?”

You shrug, shoveling another bite of food into your mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you Lays, I only spent an hour with him. He was nice, really sweet with his kid, and I’ll probably never see him again.”

You’re not sure why you feel a quick sting in your chest at that thought. It wasn’t like you knew him well or that he even owed you anything. Considering the fact that you’d gone weeks without so much as glimpsing him on campus you’d probably only have another chance to see him if he signed up for another session and there was no guarantee he’d return.

“So the kid thing is true?” Layla asks.

“Yeah. Really cute kid, pretty quiet.” Very quiet now that you think of it. You don’t have much experience with kids that young, but you’re certain kids Grogu’s age can talk. He hadn’t said so much as a word, only letting out an occasional noise or two. It was odd, but then he could just be shy or something. Another question you’d probably never have an answer for.

“Is the kid his?” Layla presses.

“I don’t know, it didn’t exactly come up while we discussed his paper on unique material applications,” you snap back at her. You wince a little at your sharp reply. It wasn’t deserved. Layla was simply curious and now the victim of your long day and swirling thoughts.

You quickly follow up with an apology. “Sorry. I just- I had a long day and I really didn’t learn much about him, okay?” 

There’s a small sense of relief when Layla nods, backing down from her inquisition. “It’s cool, I get it. Just promise you’ll tell me if you see him again?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” 

The rest of the night passes like usual. You wash up after dinner, a fair trade since Layla cooked, and the two of you get to tackling homework that’s begun to pile up with the semester entering its full swing. Nighttime study sessions have been a regular occurrence since your undergrad days and have only intensified while pursuing your respective graduate degrees. It’s more about solidarity and accountability than shared workload, what with your program being in English and Layla’s in Marketing, but it’s nice. Simply having company is better than doing it all by yourself.

Around 10:30 you call it, eyes bleary from staring at your laptop. Layla is deep into a PDF reading so you leave her to her work and shuffle off to the shared bathroom. While the water heats, you brush your teeth lazily, going through the motions of your nightly routine. You test the water with your hand before deciding it’s warm enough to step in.

Your thoughts drift aimlessly as you stand under the hot stream, unfocused until they land back on him. It’s like you can’t help yourself, the way your thoughts have been returning to him all night. You’ve puzzled about him before, but only in the abstract. A hypothetical more than a real person. Wondering if rumors are true isn't quite the same as wondering about the man himself. 

All throughout the night he kept popping up. One moment you would be considering the symbolic use of color in your assigned reading and the next you would be puzzling over Mando’s favorite color. Maybe orange, if his gloves were anything to go by. Layla's favorite song played and while she sang along you couldn't help wondering what kind of music he listens to. Rock probably, or was that too on the nose? As you sipped your drink you wondered what his drink of choice would be, alcoholic or not. Did he even drink alcohol at all? Something told you he wasn’t much for losing his inhibitions.

It's all the little things, all the little details that actually make up a person that no one bothers to speculate about that consume you now. Who cares about his favorite movie or favorite food when you can guess on whether or not he's been to jail?

As you wash the grime of the day from your body, your mind continues to drift further, settling onto the first thing that captured your attention earlier today. His hands. Those gorgeous sun soaked hands, how fluidly they moved across his keyboard. The firm hold of them when he shook your hand.

Eyes fluttering closed, you can't help imagining that it's his hands skating across your skin. You can almost feel the gentle roughness of them, the way he'd squeeze and hold you - tight, but not so hard that it hurts. Almost unconsciously, your hand begins to drift down your body, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door. Your eyes snap open, confusion and embarrassment replacing your fantasy.

"Hurry up in there! I need to pee," Layla yells through the door.

You grumble in response, knowing she can't hear you, but quickly finish your shower. It's not quite as relaxing anymore, flustered by your wanton thoughts. 

Getting back into your room, you check your email before setting your alarms for tomorrow. There’s the usual spam from online stores reminding you of limited time deals, a reminder that rent is due next week (lovely), and a couple generic university emails. Your eyes fall to your new tutoring appointment emails and you flick through them mindlessly to clear them out, knowing they’ll all automatically appear on your calendar. 

Just as you’re about to close out of the app and get some well needed rest, a new email pops through. It’s another appointment alert scheduled for next week. You tap to open it and your heart flutters when you read the name on the form. Mando. No need to wonder about if you’d ever see him again now. You’d be seeing him Tuesday at 3 PM. Somehow you know he won’t miss his appointment.

×××××

Din is exhausted. Between Grogu, classes, and trying to find ways to make money, he barely has enough time to do basic functional adult things. Things like showering regularly, eating more than a required minimum of once a day, or heaven help him sleep. 

He wishes he could afford a regular babysitter, allow himself some occasional reprieve but it's not possible. He makes just enough to keep the bills paid and at least Grogu's stomach full. There's also an ever present paranoia about letting a stranger into his home, much less to watch his son. Only Paz and Cara have ever babysat for him and even that was mostly against his will.

Din slumps onto his couch, exhausted from the long day. He’d found the couch on the side of the road. It’s well worn and has a couple holes in it, but it was devoid of fleas, comfortable, and most importantly, free. His helmet is off, sitting on the kitchen table where he’d left it after getting home from campus. He’s mostly used to it these days, but sometimes it can still feel suffocating underneath the custom bucket. Taking it off at the end of the day is always welcome, especially when Din sees Grogu’s eyes light up at his exposed face.

He allows himself just a moment of rest, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Grogu had finally gone to bed, demanding three stories before he fell asleep and Din not having it within him to deny the requests. A small smile rests on his lips, thinking of Grogu's excitement at his mediocre storytelling. He already loathes the day when Grogu won't ask him to read anymore.

There are about twenty other things he should be doing right now other than sitting on the couch. The apartment hasn't been cleaned properly in weeks, dishes are piling up, laundry needs to be done, he needs to find a job for this weekend, should probably find better daycare for Grogu, has an exam to study for, and a paper to finish writing. He should be doing all of that and more, and yet he can't find the will to move. He stays planted firmly on the couch, letting his thoughts drift. A few different ideas and ruminations swirl around, but his mind settles onto one. Her.

She isn't what he had been expecting. When his professor had recommended a session with a writing tutor he'd been a little miffed at first. Din knew words weren't his strong suit, but he hadn't thought he was that bad. He probably wouldn't have even considered it if she hadn't immediately assured him that it was only a suggestion because she saw potential in his work.

He had still only been considering it, form half filled out, when Grogu had hit submit. He’d looked for a way to cancel the appointment, but couldn’t figure it out with the school’s poorly designed website, so instead he had resigned himself to going. After all, just the one session couldn't hurt and he'd already be on campus.

He thought the tutor would be some irritating know-it-all, pointing out all the mistakes in his paper. Either that, or that they'd be too nervous to make any real criticisms. He’d noticed the way people froze up around him, sometimes too timid to even look in his direction. She wasn't either of those things.

She was all smiles and kindness, not hesitant around him for a moment. Even Grogu took an immediate liking to her, as evidenced by the gift of his frog drawing. Din had more of those than he could count, but very few others had been bestowed the honor of his sacred amphibian themed artworks.

She challenged him in a way he liked, not rude but still forceful. Encouraging him to figure out what it was she was guiding him towards with the paper. Not taking ownership, simply identifying where ideas could be made stronger or clearer. They’d only worked through a few pages in the session and Din already felt more confident in his writing. 

What he liked most though was that she hadn't even asked about the helmet. It was all he heard from those brave enough to speak to him. Where did he get it, why did he wear it, did he ever take it off, what does he look like underneath, and so on. Avoiding all of those questions got to be draining. She didn't even acknowledge it.

She had mentioned the rumors that were apparently swirling around campus about him but that was it. He was a bit grateful for that though, entirely unaware of how popular he'd apparently become. The stares that followed him on campus were hard to ignore, but he didn’t know about their accompanying whispers. He still isn’t sure if the rumors are a good or a bad thing. Her reaction hadn’t given him all that much to go off of. He wishes it had.

That thought stops Din short. Where did that come from? Why did her opinion of him suddenly matter after a single one hour session? Din can’t remember the last time he considered someone else’s opinion of him. Probably when he first brought Grogu home to meet everyone. Now here he is, wondering what his English tutor’s thoughts were about the rumors everyone has been spreading about him. He needs to get out more.

Din shakes his head free, trying to ponder other aspects of his life. Like when he’d be able to get the Razor Crest up and running again. She’d broken down again after only the second week of classes. Paz makes fun of him for riding on such an old bike, but she’s a classic. Din can’t get rid of her, no matter how much she likes to break down on him. In the meantime he could make due with the loaner truck from Peli.

Thoughts of his motorcycle only distract him for so long though. He realizes half-way through the fantasy that he’s imagining taking her out on his bike, feeling her hands clasped around his waist as he rides through the city. The way she’d hang on just a little tighter, pressing herself against his back, as he hits the throttle just a bit harder.

Din sits up on the couch and mutters to himself. “Come on, Djarin. Pull it together.”

She’s beautiful, yes, but to already be fantasizing about taking her for a ride? That’s a bit much. It has been months since Din has seen any kind of action, but he shouldn’t be this desperate after spending only an hour with a pretty face. Still, now that he’s thinking of it, his mind wanders to what she’d be like. 

Would she take charge, calm and in control like she was earlier today? Or would she submit to him, allow him to do whatever he wanted? A small groan escapes Din’s lips at the thought of having her beneath him, begging for him to take her. How she would look spread out on his bedsheets, how sweet she’d taste. He can already imagine how good she’d feel wrapped around him, the way her eyes would look all strung out and cockdumb. It would be a beautiful sight if he’s ever lucky enough to see it.

An alarm Din forgot he set suddenly blares on his phone. He can’t even remember what he set it for as he’s yanked from his lewd imaginings, scrambling to turn it off. There’s a small wave of embarrassment as he registers where he allowed his thoughts to drift. 

Ignoring the uncomfortable pressure in his jeans, Din pulls up the tutoring appointment form on his phone and signs up for another session. There’s an option to select a specific tutor and he’s quick to open it up, choosing her name from the drop down menu. 

There’s nothing wrong about this, right? She’d helped him with his paper and Grogu liked her. She even asked if she’d be seeing him again. That was plenty of reason to have another session. His renegade fantasies had nothing to do with his decision to go back. Din is a man in control of his urges. If anything, this next session would prove that his thoughts were all just fleeting, just a simple result of going too long without anyone in his bed.

.

.

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Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 💕

[kookiecrumb]

knj|| Samoas pt.1

summary: After grad school, Namjoon invites you to join his research group based in Alaska. Could it be, after so many years, feelings that had frozen over begin to thaw?

wc (this part): 1K

warnings: maybe strong language

tags: astronomer!joon x fem!astronomer reader, fluff, pining joonie, best friends to lovers, future smut

betaed by: @destructiveasparagus and @nightshadevinter

a/n: I'm a little everywhere lately! So sorry about that HEHEHE. Have this :)

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The cold breath of the bitter Alaska air hit your face as you emerged from the bus. Your eyes turn up towards the sky and the mountain, your feet planting themselves in the frosted earth below. You shove your hands into your heated pockets and flash a squinted smile. You take your first steps forward and run towards the curb, where Namjoon stood with his arms spread as wide as they could.

Most of Namjoon's face was buried beneath a wall of wool and a fluffy hood. You leap towards the man in enthusiastic jumps, hoping that if you'd land in his arms he'd twirl you around like in the movies— but that did not, in fact, happen.

Before you knew it, you were atop him, staring below in alarm at Namjoon's tomato-red cheeks, floundering around like a fat seal in your overcoat. "Oh, uhm...oh no." You pulled yourself from off of him and offered a hand. "Haha! Sorry about that!"

Namjoon patted down his pockets rigorously, as if he was making sure something was still there. Upon feeling something firm in his back pocket, he sighed in relief. "Ok! Okay, everything is still okay," he self assured before greeting your eyes again.

"Y/N," he said your name like an epiphany. "And your flight was well, and your sleep was well?" he interrogated, hands behind his body. He walked around towards you. Same old Namjoon, over analytical and always stressed over the details. He'd had a growth spurt, though. For sure.

For one, he had a little more girth to him than you remember. He stood taller, and his skin a bit paler. He spoke like a true doctor in his field. Although you were insurmountably proud of the man for completing his doctorate in the same program you had just graduated, you couldn't help but feel intimidated. I mean, it's only been a year. How different could it possibly be than when you studied abroad?

It was completely different. From the moment you walked through the door of the lab and watched him greet and introduce every one of his team members to you, from Seokjin to this scrawny looking genius kid named Jungkook, your only spirit fell harder and harder. Since when was Namjoon Mr. Congeniality? Last time you checked, Namjoon had been the only guy you'd talk to in the cafeteria, surrounded by a pile of annotated books on subjects ranging from studies on the possibility of life on other planets to a biography of John F. Kennedy.

He leaned over an antiquated computer in one of the back rooms, rapping a muscle-memorized passcode across the keyboard. Tapping his fingers on the hardwood table, he waits impatiently for the screen to load so he could give you your employee portal login and password. "Don't know why this thing won't load...I guess it's frozen."

You stifle a giggle, and Namjoon glances over. "Huh? Ah. Yeah, it's funny, right?" He holds down a button near the edge of the monitor and steps off, leaning against the counter.

"Doesn't usually do that, actually," he admits, scratching his head. "Might be something to investigate. We'll have to wait for Juneau to get back to us on that, won't we, Yoongi?"

Yoongi passes by the both of you with a large cup of black coffee, wearing night slippers and a docile smile. "Hm? Yeah, Juneau," he hums as he sits himself down at a computer.

"In any case, you should be up and running in the system by next week. It's nothing to stress over. You should get to know Alaska!" He pushes up his glasses just an inch.

Through your bedroom window, a sliver of silver moonlight slips through your curtains, streaking across your bed and spilling over to the carpet below. You're tucked under a large, hand-woven quilt and five other layers of tartan and polka-dotted plush blankets.

You awaken with a jolt, sitting up in bed. You don't recall any nightmare, so you lay back down and try to close your eyes.

In a parallel room, Namjoon's face glows blue in the light of his laptop. The images displayed on his computers are those of simpler times. A picture of you, with your hair in luscious curls you'd styled that way that morning. Joonie was holding the camera, showing off his braces he'd had in for about a year at this point. "Y/N, you've only grown more beautiful," he mouths as he sinks into his mattress. Slowly, he reaches his hand over the laptop and drifts off to sleep.

Mornings out on the porch, overlooking the fields in front of the lab with a hot cup of tea is the closest to heaven you've ever been. There's a hammock hanging from the ceiling of the parch, and there you are, tucked into the folds of the cloth. Namjoon barges through the front door and whips his head around, yelling out your name.

"Shh!! Hey! What?!" you chuckle, careful not to spill hot tea on yourself.

"Oh. Just makin' sure you're safe. You know. Jin made pancakes for everyone, should I bring you a stack? Two or three?" He steps in front of you, shoving his fingers into his dad jeans. He's gotten so big. It becomes increasingly apparent when he hoists himself on the porch railing to speak to you. He crosses his arms.

You lift your mug up to your lips. "Mmn. Yeah, three, please."

"Hey, later today there's going to be a cruise headed North to see the Aurora Borealis. Would you like to come with me?" He shifts his weight and meets your eyes with a gentle gaze. "It's a round trip and I'm sure I could cover it. Am I wrong to assume you have no plans?"

There's a moment in which Namjoon took notice of how differently you were looking at him. That's the way you used to stare at Shawn Lawrence during band practice. It's reminiscent of the look you gave the hot teacher's assistant in Methods of Calc, first year of college.

He grew confident, unraveling his arms and stepping toward you. "If you have plans, cancel them." A protruding smile grows on his face as he paces back inside.

You're left a little baffled, legs crossed in contemplation.

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@koolvrr @koodak