#if you fit in a kid's booster seat you can use one though

[alfredosauce50]

One more night

[Boxer! Denmark x reader] 8

Wordcount: 4, 351 Rating: MA+ for adult themes and strong language. Viewer discretion advised. The reader is referred to as she/her.

One more night - 8

Hey brother

She needs you, he said.

Be that as it may, Allen couldn’t agree. Not anymore. Ever since he got out of prison, he had a feeling you’d outgrown him. With conflict after conflict, that feeling was starting to look like reality.

“Got everything you need?” He wiped his mouth after finishing his protein shake. Your shifts were ending soon, and he was picking you two up for a late Friday lunch. He and Mathias stayed home up until then, making for a strange dynamic.

They weren’t hostile with each other, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable, either.

The Dane lifted Bob as if to answer the question. Otherwise, he had Amy’s bag over his shoulder. Inside were a few diapers, wipes, his bottle, some formula, the list just went on. Everything clunked around as he followed the other man into the parking lot. Just as he was about to enter the passenger seat, Allen extended an arm in front of him.

“Uh-uh. Baby’s gotta ride in the back.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

And sit in the back he did. As he strapped Bob into his booster, he wondered how absent-minded he had to be to miss this. It must’ve been muscle memory. Meanwhile, Allen was worried he’d hit him too hard.

“How’s your head?” He asked, pulling into the street.

“Fine. It’s my ribs that still hurt.” Mathias replied.

He drummed his fingers against the wheel, nodding quietly. If Mathias didn’t sustain any brain damage, he wouldn’t have to pay with his conscience. Not that he didn’t pay plenty already, and most of it to Bob.

“Mat!” You ran to him, still wearing your cap.

“Kæreste,” He took your hand. “How was work?”

Allen stood on the side. He could wait for you to acknowledge him, but the moment never came.

“It was fine. Some kid dropped their ice cream and started crying, though.” You stifled a laugh, pulling him along. “Then Amy made him a new cone out of nowhere. She’s super fast at scooping, it’s scary.”

Mathias could only smile, relieved to see you again.

“Well, once you get used to carrying something heavy all the time, it gets easy.” Amy noted.

“I guess I need more practice.” You walked back to the car with Mathias at your side, not paying any mind to the silence that followed. You were a little peckish by then, and so was Amelia.

Everyone was digging into their plates at the local Chinese buffet. You were almost done with yours, and your boyfriend was halfway through mowing down his. He managed to heap several mountains of rice, noodles, meat, and seafood onto a single plate.

“Slow down, champ. Nobody’s fighting you for it.” Amy mused, forking a pineapple into her mouth.

“I’m just so hungry.” Mathias said, dropping some bits of chewed-up food onto his plate.

“You know you can always get more, right?”

“Mhm. That’s why I have to eat quickly before my appetite goes away. There’s too much I have to eat!”

“Said every American ever. You’re fitting in just great, Mathias. I’m proud.” She nodded, closing her eyes.

“Oh yeah?”

More came flying out of his mouth.

“Speaking of eating our fill, I’m gonna go grab more.” You stood up with your plate and gave those two a funny look. “You know, before I lose my appetite looking at everything Mat forgot to swallow.”

Amy laughed. Mathias pouted. Allen didn’t react and followed you to the self-serve stations—presumably to get more, only he barely touched his food.

“Want some?”

He stood in front of a stir-fry, hand on the ladle.

“No thanks. Just came for this,” You murmured, scooping yourself some noodles. A brief pause followed, and you never turned to look at him.

Allen sighed and dropped the ladle. Two weeks had passed, and you were still giving him nothing.

“Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You turned to leave.

“Then why are you ignoring me?” He stood in your way, stopping you from going any further.

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“Then why didn’t you say hi?” He asked. You glanced to the side restlessly, unwilling to continue the conversation. But he had you trapped, just like he always did. “See? This is what I mean. If you’re still mad at me, we can work it out. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Even if we ‘work this out,’ it doesn’t mean I can’t be mad at you.” You sighed, feeling his hands slide up your arms. Before they got to your shoulders, you pushed them off. “I just need time.”

He merely reached up again.

“How much time?”

“You can’t know these things.”

“Why not?”

“How am I supposed to tell when I’ll stop feeling this way? I don’t know.” You frowned. Seeing his defiant look turned your anguish into frustration; Allen didn’t understand boundaries at all, and that struck you as so familiar, you practically shoved him off.

“A week. A month. A year.” He raised his voice in desperation, stepping forward to close the distance you established. “Just give me a number. Come on.”

Mathias didn’t have physical ones; he didn’t have emotional ones. And being suffocated all over again riled you up more than you could imagine.

“Allen—”

“You can’t push me away forever. You know that!”

“Just leave me alone!”

That shut him up. The searing ache in his chest returned, but he couldn’t be shocked by your outburst. He’d been suffocating you for the last minute, and being lashed out at was well-deserved.

“Why are you so obsessed with making up with me when it’s them you should be apologizing to?”

Allen didn’t answer, but his face did all the talking. His cheeks flushed a deep red, and it looked like he was about to cry. You were breaking him down, bit by bit. Everything he was to you was coming apart.

“You’re always all over me. I didn’t mind it because I loved you, but you can’t put me above Amy!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He uttered faintly. It was all he could manage, too focused on the ‘loved’ to even think. Loved, you said. Hot water rushed into his head, and his chest tightened.

“She’s your sister.” You lowered your gaze. It was strange, saying something so obvious and having it hurt. But it was the cold, hard truth no matter how you looked at it. “And I’m just your friend, okay?”

Allen didn’t know what came over him.

Driven by a harrowing sadness, then an itch he could likely never scratch, he pulled you into a crushing embrace. He pinned your neck with his chin, eyes as wide as he could get them. And his heart, pounding so hard, you could feel it thumping against you.

No words were exchanged, but the sensuality confirmed what you suspected all along.

When you returned to your seats, he stared out the window, the whites of his eyes pink from crying.

You sat next to your boyfriend, who remained equally as unknowing as Amelia to what you had just discussed. And they never asked, seeing how tense you were. What was meant to be a rage-fueled incident was starting to look like something more.

Did Allen beat up Mathias to protect you, or his relationship with you? The thought drew you in and repulsed you at the same time, but at the end of the day, anger was all you could feel.

“Gil’s coming over in a bit,” You said, putting your phone down on the counter. Amy was mixing a big bowl of dough while you were in charge of the chili. Allen just went out for some essentials.

“Okay. I got my stuff packed.” Mathias took a seat on one of the stools. “Also, why did he text you first?”

“Well, he wasn’t sure how well you were doing, and you sometimes like to sugar-coat things.” You moved the diced vegetables into the pot before continuing. He blinked at your response, but couldn’t exactly argue with it. “He wanted you to teach him how to use the gym equipment. Bar and everything.”

He perked up.

“Only I made him promise not to let you touch it.”

“I’m sure I can do some lifting.” He slouched.

“Just not anything heavier than fifteen pounds.”

“Bob is seventeen pounds.”

“Anything heavier than Bob.”

“Yeah, dude. You might accidentally fuck up your lungs from breathing too hard.” Amy hummed. After giving the dough a few kneads, she picked it up and threw it down for a plap. “A boxer without lungs is like a car without wheels. You don’t want that.”

“You guys need to believe in me more.” He mused, spinning around on his stool. “I’ll be fine.”

His injuries were still fresh, and so was the upset with Allen. Amy seemed as furious with him as the day Bob came home; she hadn’t said a word to him since. You just fought with him. And it must’ve been some fight for it to end in tears—not yours, but his.

Yet, Mathias, the main receiver of grief, didn’t feel any contempt against him anymore.

Ten minutes later, he was beside the stove, holding the ladle to be useful. You handed Amy circles of dough so she could fry it. While it crackled in the pan, he began zoning out, thinking of anything but food.

He stared at the photos on the side of the fridge.

They were all of you, Amy, and Allen.

Some were from as early as primary school. Back then, you weren’t nearly as tall as Amy, and she wore star clips in her hair. Allen had a missing tooth in all of them. But that wasn’t the detail he focused on.

It was that he held both your hands. The longer he stared, the more his face contorted—what should’ve been innocent made his stomach churn with guilt. He regretted so much that he said, that he did.

Amelia was a single mother. He’d always known that. You were just helping her in any way you could, and he belittled that too. Looking after Bob himself was a real eye-opener, and he’d mostly been carrying his things. And to think he’d been so careless with you.

It was all for his own satisfaction, his own sureties. He was insatiable, his desire as fierce as the way he moved. He could drive you to the corner with how he loved, but what kind of love would that be?

Allen had been right about him all along. And like any brother would’ve done, he defended you from him.

Mathias wasn’t one to ruminate, but it ate away at his conscience to think about. It eventually got to the point that he wondered how you two could forgive him, and his best bet was this—recovering.

He got down in a plank and did a push-up. Then another. And another. It was exactly what his doctor told him not to do, but the action was automatic, and he never stopped, doing rep after rep until it hurt.

“Mat, what are you doing?” You asked softly.

He was wincing by then, but he kept going, driven by a profound guilt he didn’t know he had until now.

“What are you doing?” You repeated, alarmed by his unresponsiveness. You’ve only seen him once like this before—when he drove around for hours looking for the exact brand and flavor of candy Amy wanted.

It happened the day after he missed her delivery, so you just knew instantly. He was beating himself up.

But he did nothing wrong.

“Mathias.” You whispered, dropping to the ground to hold him up. Only then did he slow down.

Amy watched from above, shocked by his behavior. She couldn’t let the bread burn, so she exchanged quick, worried glances between him and the pan.

When he finally stopped, he was on his side, tearing up from the intense throbbing pain in his chest. You were on the ground, helping him up. To say it hurt to see him like this was an understatement. He was supposed to be the brightest person you knew, and equally as resilient. Nothing could beat him down.

So when he cried, nothing felt right in the world.

The front door creaked open.

Allen walked in with a brown bag of groceries, and what he saw made him freeze immediately. Mathias was sitting against you, struggling to breathe, but for some reason, you were staring straight at him.

He couldn’t tell what it was behind your eyes.

But he didn’t stick around to ask.

He just dropped the bag and ran.

Everything spilled all over the floor—apples, canned goods, a tub of sour cream—and he was gone.

“Can I ask you something?” Mathias muttered.

He was back in Amy’s room, sitting upright on a chair. You had been doing breathing exercises with him for the past ten minutes, only stopping to drink some water. His tears had dried into reflective trails, but his cheeks were still as red as they always were.

“Anything.”

“When was the first time Allen talked to you?”

“The day after.” You answered, not quite sure what he was getting at. And nor were you prepared for what he was about to say. But this conversation was the last of your concerns as you iced his chest.

“Well, I heard you both,” Mathias admitted, catching you in his sincerest gaze yet. And you stared back, faltering at the thought of his scrutiny.

He kept it to himself all this time. He was supposed to be an open book, yet, it was so like him to be secretive about certain things. And even more so when he sprung them up on you out of the blue.

“Well, what did we say?” Your eyes fell to his chest.

“Well,” He repeated faintly. “He said he loved you.”

Your heart clenched at the memory, then everything that could’ve pushed him to say it. Allen and Amy were the closest you had to family, even if they weren’t related to you by blood. You weren’t really their sister, but it should’ve counted by now.

As you lingered on the thought, you came to regret what you said to Allen. Not the part about Amy being his sister, but you being ‘just a friend.’

“He did.”

“Do you love him?” Mathias gazed at you attentively. He already had his answer, seeing how anguished you became, but he needed to hear you say it.

“Not in the way I love you,” You squeezed his hands, face contorting as you continued. Your heart was racing, but it felt so right to say what you’ve always wanted to say. “I would give everything to you.”

“I know. I heard you,” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours. “And I feel the same.”

“So why are you asking?”

“I wanted to know if you’ll ever forgive him,” Mathias hung his head, pressing the top of it against your chest. It took him a few moments to confess what could change everything. “Because he only really made those mistakes after what I did.”

And everything meaning how you saw him.

“So I can’t forgive myself if you don’t forgive him.”

You stared at him in shock, then disbelief.

“Mathias, he could’ve killed you. And he could’ve killed Bob if he left him any longer in his car!”

But he was so sure of himself he couldn’t even look at you. He was always praised for being selfless, kind, and unassuming, but the one who really deserved those titles had always been Allen.

“He thought I took advantage of you.”

You froze.

“And that was only because he couldn’t believe you would betray them. He found your tests, (F/N).”

You did betray them, only Amy was more forgiving about it. She’d done the exact same thing, after all.

But Allen couldn’t even fathom the idea.

“But it’s my fault, okay?” Mathias raised your hands to his eyes as they welled with tears. When he tried talking again, he could only do so in an incoherent warble. “I was out of control. I made you do it. I’m always asking for more, and I’m always holding you down even when I should know better. I’m sorry.”

Allen believed in you so much, he took his anger out on Mathias, and the thought crushed you from the inside out. What was meant to be his fault and his alone, was starting to look like all of yours.

|

Amelia had been running for the past ten minutes. She was furious with her brother, but she was looking for him all the same. Now that she thought about it, it had always been this way.

She found him in Baskin-Robbins, sitting at the same table you and her always used during breaks. In front of him was a scoop of half-melted vanilla, which he didn’t pay any mind to. His arms were folded, his face was buried in them, and he was sniffling.

“Hey, asshole.”

Allen could fuck up again and again. He was brash, explosive, and reckless. There were more things he did wrong than right. But he was also selfless, and so loving, it was too much to imagine a life without him.

“Ames?” He glanced up, looking like hell. Allen wiped his nose and eyes to try and hide the obvious, but it wasn’t hard to tell. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you, dumbass.” She huffed, tightening her fists by her sides. “You think I’m here to work?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not wearing my uniform. Or can you not tell because you’re squinting so hard?”

Allen turned back to his ice cream and stirred it idly. He never imagined he’d be talking to his sister so soon—at least no sooner than you, who actually responded to him. With Amy, it had been nothing but silence, and it was about to be broken with this.

“I thought you were pissed at me.” He mumbled.

“I am.” Amy fumed. Anger shot through her as she recalled everything he had ever done, but coupled with that emotion was endless sadness. “And I always will be because you’re such a fucking idiot.”

He couldn’t find it in himself to return her scorching gaze. He never could. He was too ashamed. And with everything that came out of his sister’s mouth, he retreated deeper and deeper within himself, unable to fathom the bitter hatred he was receiving.

“You know, he’s always looking for you when he’s in his playpen.” Heat rushed to her eyes, which she rubbed away before it could turn into tears. “I’m telling Bob what you did to him when he can finally understand. So you better enjoy it while it lasts.”

But the longer he listened, the clearer it became it wasn’t hatred behind her voice.

“Because when he grows up, he might not trust you like he used to. Even if he wants to.”

The words were as black as tar but sunk into him like water, and when he realized what she really meant, he looked at her with the most profound regret.

She wasn’t talking about Bob.

She was talking about herself.

He was never good at sticking around. Not around home, and not on the right side of law either. Allen was a twenty-something-year-old who had been sentenced, deployed, and nearly sentenced again.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he couldn’t keep his head straight to save his life. And the ones who suffered the consequences never deserved it.

“I’m sorry.” He let out. The second he uttered it, Amelia plowed into his arms. He hugged her back as hard as he could, knowing it was the only form of protection he could ever give. “I’m trying.”

“You try too hard.” Amy sighed.

“But I don’t know what else to do.” He shut his eyes.

“Just do what you wanna do. You don’t have to do something great for us to need you around.” She let him go, sparing him a gentle smile. It was what he needed to hear this whole time, and when he finally did, he felt the heaviest weight lifted from his chest.

“You’re our brother. And that’s good enough.”

|

“Are you guys gonna eat this or what?” A voice called from outside. Whoever it was, it wasn’t the twins.

You had been sitting on the bed with Bob, helping him play with his shapes. Mathias was taking a nap. Without wasting another second, you made your way to the kitchen. Standing there was your boyfriend’s classmate and fellow international student.

“Gil. Hey! How did you get in here?” You asked.

“Oh, uh, the door was kinda open, so I thought I’d just let myself in. Was I not supposed to?”

“No, it’s fine.” You bounced Bob, who was well into throwing a tantrum after being pulled away from his sorting cube—his face scrunched up, he threw his arms back, and he let out a high-pitched cry.

“Sorry. Did I come at a bad time?”

“Not at all. Amy just went out for a quick errand,” You walked back into her bedroom, collected some toys, and walked back out. Laying them all out on Bob’s play-mat, you put him down. He stopped crying. “She’ll be back soon. Oh, and you can have some of that, by the way. You know where everything is.”

“I was wondering,” He hummed, getting himself a plate to start building a taco. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Mathias walked in, rubbing his eyes.

“So, how’s Mat? Are we still up for the gym?”

“I don’t know. You can ask him,” You turned to the Dane, who looked as surprised as you did a minute ago. When it occurred to him, his face fell. He made plans with Gilbert. To be fair, it had been a long day for everybody, and nobody had eaten lunch yet.

“Oh, shoot. I’m sorry, I forgot.” He apologized.

“That’s cool! We’re still going, aren’t we?” Gilbert piped, munching on his taco. He had sour cream up his nose, which he didn’t bother getting.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Mathias frowned, giving his hair a nervous rub. He turned to you with a pleading look, and fortunately, you came through.

“Mat laughed too hard and his ribs shifted.”

“Yeah.” He spun back to his friend. “Stupid, I know.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Gilbert snorted, sliding onto a stool to keep eating. When he glanced up again, he licked the chili off his fingertips. “Sounds like something Mat would do. But we won’t go if you can’t. I was kinda tired, anyway.”

“I bet you wouldn’t have said that if I could,” Mathias remarked, joining you down on Bob’s playmat.

“Yeah, well, you can’t.”

“I’m still sorry, though.”

“It’s whatever, man. I’d rather you get better sooner than later. Somebody’s gotta win that tournament!”

Mathias gave him a wordless stare.

“Right.” He smiled. “I will.”

It used to be all he could think about, but he had to put boxing on the back burner. He did ever since he got injured. But somehow, it felt different now than back then. He just didn’t have the same drive.

“Gil, are you sure you don’t wanna go to the gym?”

“I don’t wanna go by myself, though.”

“I’ll come.”

“Are you sure? I mean, Amy isn’t back, so who’s gonna look after Bob?” He asked, finishing his taco.

Mathias hugged you from behind, burying his face in your back. You let him, sensing a drop in his mood, and, well, something else too. Protest. You turned to him with a slight frown, completely stumped.

A key slotted in the front door.

You didn’t want to leave Mathias by himself, but anybody could see that he felt terrible for flaking. Just as you were about to double down, Allen and Amy walked inside, arguing about Bob.

“I’m not saying you can’t be alone with him. You just have to work on your temper first.” She explained.

“But that takes time. And who else is gonna look after him while you guys are at work?” He asked.

It looked like they made up with each other.

“You could bring Bob next door.”

“And be supervised while I’m supervising?”

“For a bit.”

“That’s just embarrassing! And it’s not like I’m gonna leave the house. If I do, I can use the baby carrier.” Allen defended, exasperated beyond comprehension. “I’ll just be going down to Whole Foods. I think I can manage bringing Bob there and back in one piece.”

“He’s gotta be more than just in ‘one piece.’ Like not half-conscious.” She raised her brows.

“It’s not like I’m gonna beat up Mathias again.”

Gilbert ‘uhhed’ nervously.

“He beat up Mat?” He whispered at you. This was his first interaction he had with your so-called brother, and he was even scarier up close. What he was hearing didn’t help these first impressions, either. “How in the hell did he manage to do that?”

“It’s a long story.” You replied sheepishly.

“But I won’t argue with that. That was my fault.” Allen shook his head in dismay. Even then, he wasn’t prepared to drop the subject. If there was one thing he wanted to get right, it was looking after Bob.

“Damn right, it was.”

“I just want you guys to trust me again.”

“We will. We just need time. Just like how you need time to learn how to change a diaper.” Amy assured.

“I know how to change a diaper.” Gilbert mumbled, turning Allen’s head to him. He sunk into his neck, instantly regretting his mindless comment as he caught those piercing red eyes. “Kind of. Not really.”

“Who are you?”

“Er, nobody.”

“That’s my friend,” Mathias explained, peering over your shoulder. “Gilbert. I go to school with him.”

“Great. Another guy.” Allen grumbled, lifting the pot lid so he could scoop himself some chili. He dropped a spoon in, walked to the living room where you were, and sat on the couch. “Just what we needed.”

Next chapter: Dream on 

Tag-list: @sunnysssol @chicha027 @javelintine

[syllabicacronyms]

The seatbelt situation is a little better than it once was, as I understand it - seatbelts and airbags have been evaluated with the  Hybrid III female dummy, which is representative of a 5th percentile AFAB body, since 2000 from what I have been able to gather. Unfortunately, although this brought real change like making airbags safer, it doesn’t work out perfectly in practice and doesn’t represent those under five feet tall. This is one of those things that definitely needs to be better addressed.  And so I know what I’m about to say Fucking Sucks, but those “tools for adjusting where the belt hits you” are often a bad idea. Many, like this style pull the lap belt up too high. Others introduce slack in the shoulder belt, which can also be unsafe. Even if these products say they have been “crash tested,” there is no standard for which to test them to or even a requirement that they actually tested them at all. The only items held to an actual, legally defined standard are child restraints. Yay, minimally regulated capitalism. /sarcasm 

Spider is definitely on the money here - sit as far back as you can and make sure the lap belt lies low. Adult bodies have a bit more room for imperfect fit because our bones are stronger and our pelvis more developed and able to “hook” onto the belt than a child or pre-teen’s. For those who are shorter, this may not be entirely comfortable and that fucking sucks, but the closer to a good fit the safer you are. 

We need car manufacturers to figure out how to make seats and seatbelts that will work for a wide range of heights safely and comfortably, and for all the cars that already exist? We need a real, legal standard for what amounts to “adult booster seats.”  And until then? Wear your seatbelt the best you can. If not for yourself, wear it for everyone else in the car - unrestrained passengers become a danger to others in a crash.  (And re: fire departments (and also police stations) offering free seats and help installing. Yes, these can be a common location for such programs but don’t count on them having properly trained people there. The Safe Kids website has directories for where to find people who have been properly trained in your area.)

There was a crash on the route that @dadhoc used to take home from their last shitty corporate job. Someone was ejected from one of the cars and killed.

Y'all, wear your seatbelts. Please. The traffic there is such that those cars weren't going over 30mph, I guarantee. Low-speed crashes kill.

Wear your seatbelts. Wear them correctly. Put the lap belt securely across your hips and not over your stomach. Your hipbones, not your soft and precious innards.

Please. Every time. Every time.

[miekasa]

pls do dad!armin hc I’M BEGGING YOU <3

Fine. FINE. Just this once... since it’s father’s day or whatever but this is the last one I swear 🙄🙄

He was very nervous to find out you were having a kid, but it turns out all of that was for nothing because he’s pretty good with them.

Still, Armin wouldn’t want too many kids—he would love all the ones you guys do have, but he doesn’t want a family as large as Jean’s or anything.

So you have one daughter and she is the center of his entire world. Nevermind the fact that even as an infant she clearly is a mommy’s girl, Armin still loves her with his whole heart, he’d give up anything for her.

She’s a pretty quiet kid, even as a baby. Not a lot of screaming or crying or kicking or whining—just a lot of sleeping. She’s almost scarily quiet... to the point where a few weeks after taking her home, Armin took her right back to the hospital because he was worried something might have been wrong with her hearing

A valid concern, but you admit it was a little funny seeing him fuss around and essentially try to cause a crying fit. Most other parents would kill to have a kid this quiet, and here was Armin snapping in your baby girls face trying to startle her.

Turns out nothing was wrong, the doctors (several, Armin wanted to be sure) assured you that her hearing was fine; she’s just a tired little bundle of joy. It’s gives Armin a lot of relief to know she’s perfectly healthy, but it does freak him out a little when he picks her up and she falls asleep within the next two minutes.

She does not get Armin’s blonde hair and he’s not upset about it. He’s not, really. Ask him, he’s perfectly fine with it. Not even a little bothered because he knows blonde is recessive. He gets it. Totally. Not bitter.

Truthfully, she looks... almost nothing like him at all, she’s all you, save for the shape of Armin’s eyes and his button nose; but just about everything else she gets from her mom. At first glance, you wouldn’t even be able to tell she was Armin’s kid.

Do you know how exhausted and bitter he is when he picks her up from school or whatever after school activities she has and they ask him for ID every single time 😭😭

She acts like him though, and as she gets older, it’s apparent she’s got his mind and curiosity and quite frankly, his ability to manipulate the two of you into getting her just about anything she wants.

Armin loves hanging out with her as she gets older, and he’s a pro with homework help, though she turns out to not need much help. She just pretends to because she likes spending time with Armin and counting dinosaurs with him.

Matching family pajamas for every holiday occasion: Christmas, Easter, New Year’s, St. Patrick’s day, hell even your birthdays. You all have matching pajamas and Armin loves it.

When she’s a baby, one of the first things Armin buys for her is a little plushy/stuffed animal, and you better believe it stays by her side through thick and thin. She’s very careful with it, even at five years old—she would never take it anywhere where it could potentially get dirty, and she keeps it in tip top shape. It’s her most prized possession.

At around that age for father’s day, she gets Armin a miniature/keychain version of the same plushy and he literally cries himself to sleep thinking about it it’s the cutest thing anybody has ever done for him. He wears it around with pride, happily telling people the lore of tiny stuffed animal hanging from his keys whenever they point it out.

Around that age is also when Armin realizes that maybe... maybe one more kid wouldn’t be too terrible. He grew up and only child and, yeah, he had Eren and Mikasa, but he always did wish he had a sibling...

You saw how your daughter turned out, so you don’t know why Armin is still sighs deeply when your son comes along and he also looks nothing like him 😭😭

He’s almost tempted to keep having kids until one of them at least resembles him a little bit. According to punnet squares if you had four at least one of them should look something like him right...

Unlike your daughter, your son cries for everything, and honestly, his older sister is the only one who can calm him down; virtually nothing you or Armin do can quiet him, but when his sister holds him, all is well in his world.

Armin feels kinda guilty using her as a baby-quieting machine but what else can you two do. Sometimes she just walks into your room while you and Armin are (unsuccessfully) trying to calm the crying baby, and she just sighs. Hops up on the bed, sits criss-cross in between you and Armin, and pokes her little brother’s cheek, “You’re being a crybaby.” And like magic, he starts to settle down.

(“This is probably not what they meant by gifted kid, but I swear she has a gift.”)

When that doesn’t happen tho, or the crying fit happens in the middle of the night, you can usually wake up to Armin curled up inside the baby’s crib, with your son on his chest, and Armin’s hands holding him close.

Armin spends a lot of time picking out their baby/booster seats and is 100% looking up and comparing the reliability of different brands. That goes for most things tho, from strollers to bibs, he’s done a thorough check on everything.

Obviously loves beach days with the kids, even if all your son can do is sit and splash his little baby hands around. Armin thinks it’s precious and he loves holding him up and dipping his little feet into the water.

His favorite thing tho is lining everyone up to leave footprints in the sand. He always takes a picture and keeps it as his homescreen.

Mikasa is the more trusted babysitter, but whether you two like or not, Eren is the favorite. There’s just something about him the kids like. Eren doesn’t have the same talent as your daughter, but even he can quiet down the crying toddler quicker than you can. (“They just recognize greatness.” “It’s just because you’re tall and your hand is big, shutup Eren.”)

They also really like Sasha, especially your daughter, and she very loudly proclaims that Mikasa and Sasha are her role models.

Blushes very easily whenever his kids poke at or kiss his cheeks. The one picture you have him and your daughter on Armin’s birthday with her hands around his neck giving him a kiss as he blows out his candles is one of his favorites.

He tries to become a better cook, but it doesn’t work out, so he leaves that you. What he does get good at is bath time and doing hair. Braids, twists, ponytails, headbands, bows, the whole show, he becomes a pro.

He’s a fucking wreck when you send them off to school/daycare for the first time. He made fun of Eren for not being able to make it through one work day after his paternity leave was up, but Armin is hardly any better. He doesn’t end up staying at home like Eren, but it is a big adjustment for him, and he can’t say he enjoys leaving them at all. 

When your daughter learns how to read, it’s her that reads bedtime stories to him. And Armin sits there and listens like she’s the greatest storyteller in the world and always applauds her for her reading skills. 

For whatever reason, one of the few things your son likes to fall asleep to is the sound of Armin typing on his computer, so he beings to use it to his advantage; he saves just a bit of work to do from home in the evenings, and conveniently does it all right before bedtime. 

Speaking of which everyone, yourself included, gets a little kiss on the forehead before bed. Two on your birthdays. 

[joaquinwhorres]

Blank Out - Ch. 2 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

[ Masterlist ]

SUMMARY ››››› Bucky Barnes has a list of names–amends he needs to make. When he gets to yours, he finds the amends process a bit more…difficult than it should be.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,550-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› I’ve decided that this story calls for alternating perspectives. Also, lemme know what you think about how this explores post-End Game life.

"You know Bucky Barnes?!"

Rocio was upon you before you had even fully entered the dining room. Despite the fact that it was probably cutting off her circulation, the eight year old was still proudly wearing her "Soldier Arm". You were surprised she could even put it on anymore, a thought that brought on the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia. When the two of you had constructed the costume four years ago, you had needed to roll the ends of the glove up and then safety pin it to the top of Rocio's sleeve to keep it from sliding off. Now it didn't even reach her shoulder anymore.

"I never mentioned that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Rocio exclaimed

"Oh," you shrugged, rounding the table and passing by a wiggling Ravi in his booster seat.

Rocio fell into step behind you letting out an indignant and frustrated sound. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She had an amazing and irritating talent for both shouting and whining at the same time. You breathed out your annoyance through her nose.

"Rocio," you said, flatly. "Do you really think I know Bucky Barnes and kept it a secret from you?"

The little girl pouted for a second as she thought it over before slowly shaking her head. "You're not very good at keeping secrets."

"Hey," you pointed a finger at her.  "I never told anyone about your crush on Spider-Man did I?"

"I was six!"

"And yet, old enough to propose," you grinned, remembering finding the letter Rocio had addressed to Spider-Man with haphazardly spaced and sized letters. It had taken a few attempts to decipher some of the spelling, but it had proven excellent material to tease Rocio about for the past two years.

Your niece scowled at you and marched back to the table, dramatically throwing herself back into her chair.

You turned back to the stove and the probably cold eggs, smiling to yourself in victory. It was a brief moment of peace as you dished eggs onto three plates because the moment you popped the first one in the microwave, the interrogation started back up.

"Well, if you don't know him, why was he here?"

"He wanted to talk to me and your mom," you said, watching the eggs spin round and round.

"About what?"

"The weather."

"Y/N!" Rocio hit her hand against the table, causing Ravi to jump in his seat and stare at his sister with wide eyes.

You whirled on your niece. "Rocio Ishani, you know better."

"Sorry," Rocio mumbled, casting her eyes down to the table--one of her tells of genuine embarrassment and regret. The microwave beeped, and you sighed, switching the plate out for another one.

"I don't know what he wants to have a conversation about. He was here for three minutes and you did most of the talking. And even if I did know," you added on, stopping Rocio before words could come out of the little girl's open mouth. "I don't think it's a child friendly conversation. Which means when he comes, you're going to your room."

"He's coming back?"

You nodded. "When your mom comes to pick you up," you said, stopping the eggs with six seconds left on the clock. You took the two plates to the table, setting the hot one down in front of your seat and the warm one in front of Rocio. You raised your eyebrows at your niece, gesturing with your head to the kitchen before turning back to get Ravi's plate. Rocio trailed you in, pulling out the silverware drawer to get forks for the three of you and tearing off three paper towels as napkins. She still hadn't quite grasped that Ravi wouldn't be using a napkin however much he needed one. Instead, she ripped one half sheet into a quarter, as if that would convince him to use it in the same way that the small bright green fork convinced him to be somewhat civilized in his eating instead of using his hands.

It was a few more minutes before you were all at the table, ready to eat.

"Your arm, please," you said, gesturing to Rocio's glove. The little girl put up no fight, shimmying out of it and lightly laying it on the empty chair next to her, signature side up so she could admire it all of breakfast.

While the interrogation seemed to be over, talk of the Avengers was not. Most of the breakfast conversation revolved around ranking the Avengers from most powerful to least powerful, and most helpful to least helpful, and the ever ambiguous "best" to "worst." And then, as it did with young kids, talk bounced from subject  to subject--connected only by the vaguest semblance of eight year old logic. It ended with a request to watch Wild Kratts after breakfast.

You did.

You did a lot of other things after breakfast too.

You made and played with play dough and stopped when you noticed Ravi was alternating between building with his and eating it.

You each drew pictures for Lilly with varying degrees of realism, had a fashion show turned impromptu dance party, and played hide and seek during Ravi's nap. (Rocio was such a good hider that you hadn't found her until after Ravi woke up, and you were definitely looking very hard and not reading a book.)

You painted each other's nails, and built an epic race car track for Ravi and made individual pizzas.

You raked leaves outside and picked a few favorites to press in books and even found time to fit in a small hurt self/strong self activity before Lilly arrived.

You were in the middle of deconstructing eating your creations when the front door opened.

"Where is my family?"

You looked up with a smile and gestured towards the door, but Rocio remained put. "We're in here!" she shouted, fingers sticky with peanut butter and fluff.

Lilly sauntered into the room, her emerald green suit still pressed and wrinkleless despite a day on the job. She arched her perfectly threaded eyebrows as she looked at you and daughter and the table all covered in graham cracker crumbs. "Looks like you three had a good day."

"Yep!" Rocio chirped, and Lilly clicked forward and into the corner of the room where Ravi was playing with his two cars on a section of the track.

"How is it my two year old is the least messy of the three of you?" she asked, bending over to press a kiss to Ravi's head. He squirmed away, continuing to move his cars along the track.

You laughed as Rocio licked a finger clean of peanut butter. "Because Ravi takes after you, and Rocio takes after me," you said, grinning at Rocio. Lilly frowned and crossed back over to the girls. "Don't worry though, I think we're all adventured out, so tomorrow we're just going to sit and stare at the walls."

"No!" Rocio shouted, and Lilly hushed her.

You tilted your head as if thinking. "I guess we could wash my car," you said, tapping your chin with a finger. "And the baseboards do need some dusting."

Rocio let out a dramatic groan, and you laughed, picking up a napkin to rub away at the spot of marshmallow fluff on her chin.

"Well, if you're not going to clean my house, you can at least clean your hands."

Rocio gave you a look of exasperation that she should have been much too young to even think about giving. Nevertheless, she slid out of her chair and headed to the sink, Lilly stopping her en route so she could press a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

"How was work?" you asked as Lilly sunk into Rocio's vacated chair.

"People are idiots," Lilly rolled her eyes, giving a sigh.

"Says the literal genius," you returned, and Lilly snorted, shaking her head.

"It doesn't take a genius to follow simple instructions. I'll lay everything out for them, and even with pictures, they can't complete a single build without running into some potentially catastrophic error."

"That's not what you want to hear from the lead engineer at Stark Energy."

Rocio skipped back to the table, and Lilly scooched out her chair, gesturing for Rocio to come sit on her lap. The little girl veered off early though, instead attempting to climb into your lap. You shook her head, casting a quick glance at your sister who dropped her open arms.

"Your mom's missed you," you said, gesturing with her head across the table.

"I live with her," Rocio whined.

"And?" Lilly asked, moving her chair back up to the table. "I still miss you when I work."

"Really?" Rocio asked, walking over to the chair next to Lilly, and claiming it.

"Really," Lilly assured, placing an arm on the back of Rocio's chair, gently combing through her daughter's hair with her fingers. She looked up at you offering a small, weak smile before looking back down at her daughter. Her brow creased. "What are you sitting on?" she asked, tugging at something underneath Rocio. The little girl joined her mom in looking down, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the object.

"My Soldier Arm! Oh yeah! Guess who we met today!"

"Who?" Lilly asked.

"No, guess!"

You would have to teach your niece about the art of not playing a guessing game after making the answer so obvious. Then again, it still seemed so surreal that Bucky Barnes would turn up at your doorstep, that even with the "Soldier Arm", you doubted that Lilly would guess.

Lilly pursed her lips, putting on a show of thought. "Was it--"

There was a knock at the front door interrupting Lilly's guess. Rocio practically launched herself from the chair, already halfway out of the room by the time she could scream "I'll get it!"

"No!" Ravi shouted. His usual reaction when Rocio was too loud, too energetic, too Rocio.

Lilly exhaled a laugh at her son before turning back to you. "This was too much sugar," she said, circling a finger around Rocio's half-eaten creation. You laughed and Lilly smiled, and it felt nice for things to be normal between you--easy. Even if it was just for a moment.

A moment that was brought to a screeching halt by Rocio dragging Bucky Barnes into the combined kitchen and dining room by the hand.

"We met Bucky Barnes!" she chirped.

Lilly's face went slack, only managing to get out a small "Holy shit." Your eyes didn't linger long on your sister though. Instead your gaze was drawn to Bucky Barnes who looked vaguely amused at Rocio.

"Rocio, release your captive," you prompted, and reluctantly, Rocio released his hand, taking a few steps back towards her mother to give him some space.

"Is this--are you--what is happening here?" Lilly asked, looking between Bucky and you and Rocio, as if one of you had a reasonable explanation for this.You had only ever seen your sister this flustered twice before. Both of the previous occasions had been heartbreaking and traumatic, and you'd never quite gotten to experience how funny flustered Lilly was.

"He wants to talk to you and Y/N about something!" Rocio filled in.

Lilly's head whipped to you. "You know him?" she whispered, as if this was some secret conversation for your ears only.

You shook her head. "No, he just came by this morning and asked to speak with us."

"About what?" Lilly asked, furrowing her eyebrows and looking back to Bucky.

"I don't know."

For all of the differences between Lilly and Rocio--and there were many--their brain processing was eerily similar.

Bucky cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. "I um--I don't know if you want--" he gestured to Rocio. "Here for this."

"Rocio, go to your ro--the playroom," you corrected.

"I promise I'll be quiet if you let me--" Rocio started, and Lilly cut her off.

"Rocio, take your brother and go up to the playroom please,"

"But--" Rocio's face melted into the start of a complaint, but there a sharp cut of her mother's eyes stopped her dead. You remembered being on the receiving end of that look quite a few times while she was growing up. If anything it'd grown in power.

Rocio stomped forward, taking Ravi by the hand who whined and complained until she let him pick up a few cars to take with him, and the two exited the room, heavy footsteps echoing up the staircase.

You turned back to Bucky who was staring over Lilly's head, at the wall of family pictures.

The idea had hit you four years ago after Rocio woke up crying from a nightmare. Together, you spent the night going through old photo albums and Facebook albums, searching for the best pictures of the family. You ended the night with about forty pictures that needed to be framed, and the whole project took about a week to finish.

Every time the two of you ate lunch together over the past four years, Rocio would choose a picture, and you would tell her the story behind the picture. Your eyes flitted amongst them now.

There was the first time Lilly held you as a baby which was also the first time you smiled. Lilly's high school graduation--one of the few pictures with both of your parents in it, hovering on either side of Lilly as a six year old you sat on her hip. Lilly and Hector's beautiful wedding day. Lilly and Hector at your high school graduation. Lilly and you at the baby shower for Rocio, and Lilly and Hector at the shower for Ravi. There was one of Rocio's grandparents meeting her for the first time, and a good number of photos documenting your visits out to the family. Before the blip.

During your four years together, you and Rocio had also taken pictures of memories the family couldn't be there for and hung them on the wall; reminders of stories to tell should they ever return.

Rocio and you moving into a new house.

Rocio's first day of Kindergarten, first, and second grade.

The two of you and Rocio's ill-fated hamster, Churro.

Birthday parties and day trips that the rest of the family should have attended.

Bucky stared at the pictures, his frown deepening.

"Would you like to sit?" Lilly invited, allowing her collected professional persona to seep into her voice and straighten her spine.

The super soldier nodded, choosing the chair at the end of the table, closest to the door. He wet his lips, his eyes drawn from the pictures and down to the wooden table. It was strange seeing an Avenger--someone who had fought Thanos--seem so nervous in the company of two ordinary women.

He reminded you of the fourth graders who entered your office.

The fourth graders were always so hesitant to work with you--terrified of opening up and showing even a glimpse of vulnerability. It took three sessions just to get them to admit that they weren't fine and a few more before they lost the skittish look in their eyes. You doubted Bucky would be pried open by bags of chips or any of her fidgets, but figured you could at least try.

"Can I get you something to drink?" you asked, and Bucky shook his head.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time."

You nodded, and Lilly cocked her head. "So what brings an Avenger to my sister's house?"

He wet his lips and then looked up at the pair of you. "You're part of my efforts to make amends." Bucky made an attempt at a smile.

Across the table, Lilly's chest constricted with barely suppressed laughter, and the corners of your lips twitched in and out of a smile. Whoever had advised him to smile, surely hadn't meant for him to smile like that.

"What are you here to make amends for?" Lilly asked, her voice steady and betraying none of her amusement.

"I…" his eyes drifted back to the wall of pictures looming beside the group. "I'm the one responsible for your parents death."

You felt the world stop.

Or maybe it wasn't the world, maybe you stopped. Maybe every single atom within you stilled for a moment. Maybe your brain shut down and heart paused its beating, keeping you from thinking or feeling anything other than the numbness of shock. Because as surprising as it was for Bucky Barnes to show up on your doorstep at ten in the morning, you never expected he was responsible for changing your entire life.

"I know there's nothing, I could ever do to truly make amends--"

"You don't need to make amends."

Everything seemed to restart then. Your heart picked up its beating and brain whirred into action, sifting through memories and thoughts you'd long ago pushed to the back of your mind and locked there to remain untouched even by years of therapy.

Your skin prickled with flashes of images. The dark figure at the top of the staircase, the glint of metal you'd assumed was a gun in his hand, the cold blankness of his stare as his eyes bore into yours. And then the horror and sick relief of finding your parents in the moments after his disappearance.

"They were horrible people, and I'm glad they're dead. Thank you for salvaging my childhood"

"Y/N," Lilly gasped, horrified.

"You hated them too," you argued back. "Don't pretend you're not glad that Rocio and Ravi never have to meet them."

"Our relationship with our parents aside, they were still our parents. The least we can do is not thank the man who murdered them in their sleep."

Bucky for his part looked completely bewildered as his eyes darted between the two arguing sisters.

You shook your head. "You were more of a parent to me than they ever were."

"And it's because of that that I remember you waking up screaming every night for three years. So if you're not going to ask for amends for our parents' murder, at least ask for amends for what you had to go through because of him."

"My nightmares aren't because of him," you dismissed. Lilly would never believe--let alone understand--the reason behind your nightmares.

Seeing the argument was fruitless, Lilly tsked and dismissed you with a flip of her hair, turning instead to address Bucky. "Why?"

"Why…" Bucky stumbled along, confused by the conversational whiplash or the vague question.

"Why did you kill our parents?" Lilly demanded.

"Does it matter?" you asked.

"It matters to me."

You stared at your sister for a solid thirty seconds before, and shutting your eyes and bowing your head in surrender. Lilly didn't understand. If you had it your way, Lilly would never understand. You would never burden your sister like that.

Bucky swallowed hard. "I wasn't told the specifics of every...assignment. All I know is that your parents were working on something HYDRA wanted, and when they were offered a chance to join the cause, they declined. I was tasked with eliyoution and retrieval."

"Retrieval?" Lilly pressed

"Of their research."

Lilly gave him a single nod before looking down at the table in front of her. "I didn't even know they were conducting their own research."

You felt her skin prickle, an icy hot sensation shooting through your veins. Carefully calm, you reached across the table, palms open for your sister's hands. Lilly placed her hands into yours. "They never let us get to know them," you said gently, squeezing Lilly's hands. "That's why I'm angry and you're hurt."

Even as you said this, you could feel Bucky's gaze on you, intently studying your motions and facial expressions.

You looked back at him. "Thank you for coming to tell us. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

He nodded, his brow still slightly creased as he looked at her. And then his gaze flicked to Lilly, and you released a breath.

"I know it doesn't mean much--it doesn't change anything, but I'm not the person who did that anymore. I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James "Bucky" Barnes."

Lilly nodded, releasing your hands and looking Bucky square in the face. Her own expression was completely neutral, not a trace of a tear or any of the hurt she'd voiced.

"If you want to make amends, you should come here for Thanksgiving."

Neither you nor Bucky had been expecting that. Your instinctive reaction was to snort out a laugh as if it were a joke, and Bucky looked like the very dictionary definition of confusion: brow knitted together, eyes narrowed, mouth hanging open.

"It would mean the world to my daughter. You can think about it as replacing a memory of my daughter meeting her grandparents. you's right, this will probably be a happier memory anyway."

"You have to come!" Rocio rushed into the room, you and Lilly shouting her name in a mixture of surprise, horror, and reprimand. The eight year old made no excuses or explanations. Instead she stood by Bucky's chair, peering up at him with a bright intensity only a child could muster. "Please."

Bucky looked away from Rocio to Lilly and then you. "Ok."

[no-droids]

A Show of Good Faith

Part Six of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.1k what i fuckin tell yall

Warnings: SMUT, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie, canon-typical violence, slight description of blood/injury

***

Isn’t it weird that nobody really ever talks about what happens immediately after you have a dead body in front of you?

It’s the part leading up to it that’s usually the most crucial, obviously.  The adrenaline of the actual moment is overwhelming—you react without thinking, danger pumping through your veins alongside your blood and sharpening your survival instincts until they’re deadly.  You do what you have to do to stay alive, nothing more.  So it’s not really until you have a still moment with the evidence of your actions right there in front of you, glassy-eyed and staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, that you suddenly don’t know what to do.

Shocking is a word.

Debilitating is another.

Things… things come in flashes.  You have blood on your hands; it’s thick and cold and electric blue in color, not dark or warm or crimson.  One of them is vibrating violently, clutched around something heavy and clunky and unfamiliar, something with a handle made to fit a six-fingered grip.  The kid is passed out in your other arm after expelling all his energy helping you take down the brutal assailant, choking him with… with some unknown baby shaman toad powers and holding him in place so you could grab this knife and you could… and you could…

The body of the man you just stabbed lays in a bloody pile on the floor in front of you.  It was self-defense, but the reasoning behind it doesn’t take anything away from the gore, the blank state of shock rendering you motionless for Maker knows how long.

Corellia is a fucking shithole, you knew that coming in.  If it was a sewer even with the Empire’s shipbuilding industry boosting the economy, it’s even worse after its collapse.  To circumvent any unnecessary danger or attention, you chose to land the ship in one of the dense forest areas on the outskirts of the tracking fob’s radius.  But unluckily for you, rats like forests just as much as they like sewers, and one of them apparently crawled his way onto the vessel a few minutes ago.

You drop the vibroblade to the floor with a clatter and slide down the hull wall, clutching the baby to your chest and trying to calm your breathing.  There could be more of his friends close by.  What you should do is climb into the cockpit and find somewhere else to lay low, send Mando a coded message with word of your new location.

But there’s a dead body in front of you.

And it’s… it’s dead.

Strangely, you default to something you’ve never actually done before.  Something you probably shouldn’t ever do, in case your companion is in stealth mode or trying to hide from something, because it’ll immediately give away his position.  You could theoretically get him killed, but you’re not thinking straight.

Your wrist trembles as you hold it in front of your lips.  “Uh… M-Man-Mando?”

The sound of blaster fire and grunting crackles through your emergency comm link, before you hear a quick, breathless, “What’s wrong?” come through the speaker.

“It, uh—” you stare down at the oddly-colored blood on your fingers, wondering how you voice is able to come out so calmly, “it s-sounds like you’re busy, I’ll—I’ll just—”

More grunting.  A thud.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You’re at a loss for words.  You take a second to look down at the dead body, before lifting your wrist back up to your mouth.  “I’m o-okay now, but I… but someone followed me into the Crest and he tried to… I-I mean he’s—he’s dead now, but—”

“Are you hurt?”  He suddenly sounds urgent.  It’s ridiculous that he didn’t actually sound urgent until now.  “Is the kid hurt?”

“We’re—we’re both fine, but…”  You look down at the child in your arms.  “But the baby did something I—I c-can’t explain—and now he’s… I-I think he's asleep…”

“Good,” he replies shortly.  You can hear him running now, pounding footsteps and heavy, quick breaths.  Another blaster shot.  “We need to get out of here.  Rendezvous Sector-15, soon as you can.  You’ll see me.”

“Do I…”  Maker, you sound like an absolute idiot.  “Do I just… just leave the body here, or…?”

“I’ll take care of it when you get here.”  He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, but for some reason you feel incredibly frustrated with yourself.  You should be able to pull yourself together, but your hands are all tingly and you can’t actually feel your fingers unless you really work for it.  Stars, when’s the last time you actually blinked?  “Can you fly?”  

You don’t respond.  You don’t even feel like you can stand up right now.  The blaster shots scream through the crackling comm link for a second, and then you jump when he barks your name even louder than the gunfire.

“—Listen to me,” he urges, and you blink rapidly, the seriousness of his low growl hitting you right in the chest.  “You can fly.  Understand?  Get the kid, get in the cockpit, put your seatbelt on.  Fly out to me, right now.  We’re leaving.”

His voice doesn’t call for argument.  It’s abrasive and rough and unquestionable enough to get through to you.  Of course you can fly, you can fly with your fucking eyes closed.  Coming that firmly and doubtlessly from him, it’s a universal truth.

“Copy.  Sec-Sector-15.”  You say, adrenaline beginning to pump blood through your veins again.  Just.  Just don’t look at the body, okay?  Don’t look at the body, you can do this if you don’t look at the body.  “I’ll see you?”

“You’ll see me,” he repeats.  And then the noise cuts off with a click.

You struggle up to your feet, heart pounding.  You can do this.  You can totally do this.  You can walk, because you can fly.  Duh.  Mando said so.

You admittedly almost fall a couple steps down the latter while trying to climb up it one-handed, the baby held tightly to your chest, but you’re eventually able to get the both of you into the cockpit.  The kid is carefully buckled into his little booster seat before you’re collapsing shakily into the pilot’s chair and swiveling forward.

Okay.  Flight check.  Now.  To your left, flip down these few switches here—one two three four five—okay, good.  To your right, press those two buttons sitting just above the nav console.  Yep, got it.  Up top now, those two red ones overhead.  Good.  Good, you can do this.  Type coordinates into the nav comp.  Sector-15, locked.  Easy.  This is easy.  That big, knobless lever to your right—yes, the one with the exposed threading at the end, push that long metal stick forward and set thrusters to full.  Okay.  Left thruster, looks good.  Right looks good, too.  Okay.  Seatbelt… seatbelt is… Seatbelt: on.  Hatch: sealed.  Shields: engaged.  Flight check complete.  Now all you have to do is take off.

Now all you have to do is take off.

All you have to do… is…

You stare down at the joystick in front of you blankly.

And then you shake your head back and forth frantically, hoping the rapid movement will jar some sense into you.  Maker, get it the fuck together.  What did Mando hire you for?  You told him you were useful, didn’t you?  This is what you do.  You fly.  So fucking fly, yeah?

You lift the ship off the ground and immediately take her around southeast, taking deep breaths and feeling the powerful rumble beneath your chair.  Yeah, you can do this.  Don’t think about the blood on your hands, the dark streaks of sickly purple now smudged all over the controls.  Don’t think about the dead body in the hull.  Don’t think about how you’re the reason it’s dead.  Just fly the ship.  This is something you can do.

You coast over the thick treetops and into the industrial sector, carefully scanning the gritty streets below.  You don’t know what he meant when he said you’ll see him—until you suddenly see him.  Smack in the middle of the airspace, rising phoenix strapped to his back and hovering a few hundred feet above absolute chaos wreaking havoc in the slums below.  Blaster flares light up the night sky, though the sparks and flash grenades illuminating the dirty Corellian streets have nothing on the beauty of seeing those small twin jets in the darkness, the ones beginning to fly towards the ship.

“Got eyes,” his voice says through the comm link.  Relief pounds through you.  Stars, relief shouldn’t feel like this much of a struggle for your cardiovascular system, should it?

“Beginning deceleration,” you confirm breathlessly, slowing down and pressing a few buttons to open the hatch with your free hand.  You bring both of them back down to swing her around until he’s got a clear path, feeling the ship dip just slightly with the sudden weight of him dropping in.

“Landed,” he grunts.  “Set course for Nevarro.”

You floor it and elevate the Crest up through Corellia’s smoggy atmosphere, punching in coordinates in the meantime.  The ship dips just a touch once more while the computer takes a few seconds to calculate a hyperspace path, and your eyebrows narrow before it quickly pulls back up again.  It’s not until you see the manual hatch override indicator light blink next to the nav console that you realize he must’ve dumped the body before closing the door himself.

Well, that’s one way to handle that, you suppose.

The computer beeps quietly when it’s finished.  “Standby for jump,” you tell your wrist.

“Copy.”

You triple-check the positive seal integrity readings before your hand is reaching for the double-reinforced hyperjump control, still trembling slightly.  You lean all your weight forward into it, trying to keep your arm from buckling as the stars slowly shift across the observation shield for a split second, before you’re being hurled into the interdimensional wormhole.

Quiet.  Hyperspace is fucking quiet.  You forget, sometimes.  Not how quiet it is—but how loud everything else is, not until you’re hurtling through the closest thing to purgatory you’ll ever experience in life.  It looks… indescribable, even after the thousandth time.  Empty space collapsing in front of you and expanding behind you simultaneously.  Starlight streaking across the windows, space-time curving around the ship faster than the ship itself is moving through it.  You take a moment to consider it as you unbuckle yourself shakily, before standing up and checking the seat behind you.

The kid is still knocked out cold, but you press the button to close the shield to his crib just in case, setting an alarm protocol to Mando’s remote arm brace should it open.  

And then you slowly make your way around bulky cockpit chairs and down into the hull, shakily climbing down the ladder one step at a time.  As soon as you turn around, there’s a caped wall of beskar rummaging through something with his back to you.

“Did you…”  You announce yourself while looking around, trying not to sound as small as you feel.  This is a such stupid question, you already know what he did with the body.  But you… you should make sure, right?  “You already took care of… of the…”

“Yeah.”  Mando spins around and pulls out the cot from the wall at the same time, and you jump when the bed rattles loudly on its track and ricochets a few inches backwards after reaching its full extension.  He quickly makes his way around it and over to you.  “It’s gone.  Come here, you’re hurt.”

“I’m f-fine,” you insist, feeling your hands shake when he abruptly grabs the left one and turns it over, pulling your wrist out towards him and up to the light so you both can see.  “What about the qua—oh.”

There’s a long, ragged slice decorating the inside of your forearm, dried blood staining the ripped fabric along your sleeve.  You blink down at it, not able to recognize its pain even with the evidence of the injury in front of you.  It doesn’t look deep, but its edges are a little nasty and it’s still bleeding.  Why can’t you feel it?  Shouldn’t you be able to feel that?

He makes a noise through his helmet—something you can’t quite figure it out.  Something between a short growl and a low huff of breath, before he’s grabbing your hips and steering you over towards the bed, lifting you up and setting you on its suspended platform when you’re close enough.

“Didn’t find the quarry,” the Mandalorian says quietly, turning around and looking through the first aid kit once more.

“You didn’t find the…”  You blink down at your injury.  He didn’t even find the quarry?  But then what was all that ruckus about?  And why are you going back to Nevarro to collect payment?  Shouldn’t you be turning around and… and…?

He’s suddenly in front of you again, and this time he’s got a… a syringe in his hands?  An E-bacta shot, you realize with an uncomfortable jolt.  He pulls the cap off and sets it down on the bed next to you before holding out his gloved hand for you, waiting patiently but expectantly.

“No,” you immediately tell him, heart beginning to pump faster as you bring your arm up and hug it to your chest.  You didn’t even know those things were street legal—they heal incredibly quickly but people have been known to abuse them because… well, because they’re supposed to give you a wicked fucking high.  Bacta isn’t addictive and there’s no possibility of overdose, but this shit is concentrated.  You can’t imagine how expensive it was.  “Don’t b-be ridiculous, Mando—you—you almost bled out from a knife wound and we didn’t use one of those.”

“What do you think that is?”  He looks down at your arm.

“It’s a scratch!”  You exclaim, starting to feel a bit hysterical now from the adrenaline comedown.  Maker, that needle is big.  You knew bacta injections were thick but holy fucking stars.  “It doesn’t even h-hurt!  I could’ve… I could’ve done this to myself on accident for all I—”

“This has boosted antibiotics, too,” he cuts you off, quickly losing his patience and grabbing your wrist when you still don’t hand it over to him.  He levers your forearm down, holding it parallel to the floor on your lap.  “We don’t have any bacta kits left, I looked.  This’ll work fast and it won’t scar.  Hold still.”

“No—” you try to pull your hand away, hating the way your voice jumps when you’re aiming for calm and reasonable.  “—I’ll be fine, w-we shouldn’t waste th—”

He tightens his grip.  “Listen.  This isn’t a scratch.  It’s a torn laceration from a dirty Corellian vibroblade.  Now I’m giving you at least a quarter dose, so hold,” he tugs your wrist forward, “still.”

You see the large needle heading towards your arm with determination and you’re instantly going rigid with panic, whipping your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut as you suck in a terrified breath.

You wait like a statue for the pain, frozen in anticipation and fright, but it never comes.  Slowly peeking one eye open, you look back to find a chrome visor staring intently at you, unmoving.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you eventually gasp when he doesn’t say anything, and Maker, are your eyes actually starting to water?  “I-I’m sorry, I’m just—that’s a b-big needle and—and I actually just k-k-killed someone and it’s just—” oh stars, here come the sniffles, “—I’m s-so sorry, I’m trying t-to keep it—keep it togeth—”

He carefully places the syringe down on the bed next to you as you turn your head away from him and try to stifle your short, panicked breaths with the back of your hand.  But then you’re being caught and pulled forward, hauled into an iron chest without a single word.

It should be uncomfortable, you think.  You should want to take the armor off and feel the muscles of his arms wrap themselves tight around you instead of cold metal, but for some reason, you don’t.  He feels… right like this.  Like the beskar is a natural extension of his body, like it holds just as much comfort as his bare chest does.

The Mandalorian stands there between your knees and silently embraces you, holding stoic and steady for you, tilting his head so you can calm your breathing into the crook of his neck.  It’s covered in fabric but it smells like him, warm and soft and damp with sweat.  You breathe him in, clutching him tight with your uninjured arm and feeling your heartbeat gradually begin to slow as it’s pressed against cool metal.

“E-bacta has calming properties,” he says quietly after a moment.  “It’ll help more than this.”

“Shut up.”  You mutter against his throat, doing everything you can to drown yourself in him.  Maker, he smells good.  He just got finished bringing down an entire Corellian sector, why the fuck does he smell so good?  “I'm not—not letting you stick that thing in me.”

“Yeah?”  He returns softly, dragging a hand up your back.  “Bet I can make you want it.”

“Not happening,” you grunt, tightening your hold on him.  “You’ll put regular bandages on my arm until we can resupply on Nevarro and save that torture device for another poor soul who needs it.”

“This isn’t over,” he eventually warns you, gently pulling away.  He turns around and starts picking out gauze and tape from the first aid kit regardless.  “I was just blindsided.  Tears don’t work on me, but.  Don’t ever do that to me again.”

You relax, smiley and dopey-eyed and happily sticking your arm out for him for whenever he comes back, so fucking glad he gave in.  You’ll get bacta on Nevarro, that sounds perfect.  “So… so all that fuss and you didn’t actually find the quarry?”

“Someone tried to take off my helmet,” Mando replies shortly, starting to rip open a few packets of sterile gauze strips without looking at you.  And then he doesn’t say anything more, like that should be explanation enough.

“Ah.”  You remark after a second, thinking about how many blaster fires you saw.  Maker.  “I see.”

What a pair you two make.  Someone who went into shock from hurting another person in defense of your life, and someone who brought an entire block down because another person tried to take his helmet off.  

Something he’s done with you twice now.  Without ever being prompted.

Stars, you’re both so different, aren’t you?  Such massively different problems, different ways of life.  You’re suddenly struck with how much you could learn from him, if he was ever willing to share.  How much the both of you could probably learn from each other.  His assertiveness; your humanity.  His decisiveness; your consideration.  His secrets; your honesty.  None of them are true opposites, not in the way people normally think.  They’re not polarizing, they’re… complimentary.  Filling in the gaps neither one of you can fill in yourself.

“Does that scare you?”  He finally asks, when you’ve been quiet for too long.

“No,” you tell him blankly, watching his hands work.  “Just… no.  Not really.  I mean.  It makes sense.  Was just thinking about how different life must be for you.”  You tilt your head thoughtfully.  “Showing my face, telling people my name.  Things I take for granted, I think.”

Maker, maybe you’re getting a little too honest here.

“Is that why you never ask about those things?”  He’s quiet.  You both stare purposefully down at your arm as he begins laying down the strips of white cotton over your cut.  “Because you recognize what it means to give them up?”

“What—like your name?”

“Anything,” he says, and though he keeps working, his hands start to slow down.  “You never ask me about anything.  My name, my past… why I don’t take the helmet off.  Everyone always asks, but.  You never have.”

You shrug a shoulder.  “Figured you get tired of telling people no, don’t you?”

His fingers still, hovering over your injury.  He doesn’t move, so you elaborate.

“I mean… yeah, I’ve thought about those things, but…” you speak slowly, choosing your words very carefully.  Your eyes narrow with the effort, trying to pinpoint and voice your exact opinion without making assumptions.  “But I respect you.  And your creed.  I call you Mando because that’s what you told me to call you.  And if you don’t take the helmet off, then you don’t take it off.”  You shrug once more.  “Some things don’t need explanations.  They just are, and I’m okay with that.”

It’s a while before he goes back to dressing your wound, and even longer before he speaks again.  When he does, he’s almost completely finished securing the bandages and it’s barely above a murmur.  “Nobody usually thinks that simply about it.”

“Well.  Fuck ‘em.”  You blurt.  “I think it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy.  You should be the one who gets to decide who you are and what’s important to you, right?  No one else.”

He stops again, this time tilting his visor up to look you in your eyes.  You blink up at your own warped reflection.

“I think that shit is yours.  Fundamentally.  Doesn’t matter if you want to share it, change it, hide it, or burn it away forever.  It’s your decision, and you’ll tell people what you want them to know.  So fuck ‘em if they don’t respect that,” you tell him bluntly.  “They obviously don’t know anything about you at all.  Else they wouldn’t be asking.”

He doesn’t move.  He just stares silently at you for a few seconds, and Maker, for some reason you wish now more than ever you could see his face.  Even though it contradicts everything you just said, you wish you could see his face.  What color are his eyes?  You bet they’re brown.  You bet they’re a warm, deep brown—expressive and soft and lovely behind such hard, unforgiving steel.  His features are probably just as warm as the rest of him.  Dark hair, wavy hair.  Plush, gentle lips.

His hand comes up slowly.  Gives you ample time to pull away before he’s softly cupping your cheek, tilting his helmet to the side as he studies you.

“Would you.”  He’s quiet for a moment.  And then he clears his throat through the modulator, before he tries again.  “Would you like to know my name?”

You go shock-still, blinking at him and barely breathing.  Why?  Why is he asking this?  He wants to give you his name?  Immediately after you just told him why you don’t need it?

Your throat is a desert.  “Only… only if you want to give it to me.”

He tilts his head the other way and takes a moment to consider you, gently trailing the leather of his thumb along your bottom lip.  Your eyes dip down the length of his body, heat suddenly filling you when you realize how close and well he’s positioned right now, how his hips are at the perfect height standing right between your legs like this.

Mando slowly lowers his helmet to look down at your parted thighs, too.  And then he’s shifting the visor to the side just a bit, eyes catching on something on the bed next to you.  “Want to give you a few things,” he says lowly.

You probably would’ve melted into a puddle if he didn’t immediately hold up the E-bacta shot in front of you in both hands.

Your heart starts pounding though, all the same.  “No—”

“Listen to me,” he tells you calmly, as if you could do much of anything else right now with how much space he’s taking up in front of you.  His size and proximity gave you a thrill just a second ago, but now he’s nothing more than a giant fucking metal wall armed with a needle and blocking your escape.  “I want to give you a few things, but only if you say yes to all of them.  Are you going to listen?”

Maker, your heart is racing, rapid calculations going off in your head as your eyes flick between the syringe and his visor.  Where the fuck is he going with this?  “Y-yes.  I’ll—I’ll listen.”

He holds the shot up between the two of you, as if you didn’t see it the first fifty fucking times.  “First.  I’ll give you a quarter dose of this.  I’ll be gentle and I’ll give it to you somewhere where it won’t hurt, where you won’t even be able to see it, and it’ll make you feel better.  Even good.  Okay?”

You narrow your eyebrows at him.  “You’re not doing a great job at selling me h—”

“Second.  I’ll give you my name.”

Your breath catches.  He continues on casually with the terms of the deal, as if he didn’t just set your whole world on fire with five words.

“You can’t ever use it around other people,” he tells you.  “Only here.  With me, on this ship.  In front of the kid is fine.  But if anyone else ever asks, you don’t know it.  Okay?”

“Okay…” you whisper after a second, your chest filling with flames.

“Third.”  He slowly catches your uninjured wrist in a gentle grip and begins to guide it forward.  “If you… if you want, I’ll… I’ll give you this,” he murmurs, bringing it down to cup his cock.  “I… won’t be gentle.  But I will make you feel good.”

Maker, he’s already rock hard under your palm, throbbing and swollen for you.  Almost as quickly as the urge first came on, you suddenly don’t want to escape anymore.  Instead, maybe you can just… appeal.

“What if we…”  You carefully reach down into his pants, holding his hips still between your knees and beginning to caress his cock.  His skin is like silk under your hand, as hard as the beskar he straps to his body but so warm, and pulsing with life.  “What if we reverse the order, maybe?”

“No,” he grunts immediately.  “You’ll take the shot first, it’ll be a—” his breath catches when you give him a good, rough squeeze.  “—a-a show of—of good faith.”

“That’s literally the only thing I don’t want from this all-or-nothing deal,” you reason, wrapping your legs around him to bring him closer.  He acquiesces cautiously, slowly moving forward.  “I’d be an idiot to give it up first.  Ideally it should go second if there are three terms.”

“I know what you’re d-doing,” he tells you flat out, though he makes no attempt to stop it at all.  He just growls low in his throat when he’s close enough for you to lean up and bite down onto his neck, one of his hands landing on your thigh and locking down onto it tight.  “It won’t… won’t work.  You’re—you’re t-taking the shot first, that’s the deal.”

“I could try crying again,” you proposition breathlessly, squeezing his cock once more and feeling him shudder.

“Ngh—meant it when I—” he gasps when you brush your thumb over his head, dampening the fabric covering his neck with your hot breaths.  “When I-I said that you—you need to w-work on your… your negoti—tiating—”

“What if I just ask you really, really nicely?”  You whisper, slowly starting to jerk him off.  Your grip is tight and strong, and he practically sags and grabs the metal bedframe on either side of you.  “Will it work if I ask you to please fuck me?  Please?  And then I’ll take your shot?”  But then you’re struck by a sudden thought, and maneuver your head away just enough to look up at where his eyes should be.  “But we don’t… we don’t actually have to… y’know, do the other thing, though, if you don’t want to.  It’s okay.”

Mando abruptly pulls back, pinning you with a blank chrome stare.  “W-what?”

“If you…”  You want to find some way to word this to get the correct sentiment across, but it’s difficult with him looking at you so hard.  The last thing you want to do is sound ungrateful.  Your hands stop moving, carefully letting him go and resting on his hips instead, so he knows this isn’t you just trying to find some way out of this.  “You don’t have to tell me your name, y’know.  It’s okay, I’ll—I’ll take the shot, it’s fine.  We don’t need to… to turn something like that into a.  A deal, or anything.  You can still tell me if you want, of course, I just… I don’t want it to be part of like, some sort of… agreement between us, or something.”  You tap a thumb over his hipbone, tilting your head.  “So I’m taking it off the table.  Even if you were the one who put it on there.  No pressure.  I’ll take the shot.  And then you can tell me whatever it is you want to tell me after that.  Apart from that.  A… a show of good faith.”

Mando holds still as a fucking statue in front of you.  If you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin under your hands, you’d say he looks like a droid in sleep mode almost.  He stays like that for so long, you actually start to worry a little bit.  Was that a thankless, bitchy thing to say to him after he offered to reveal such a big secret about himself?  Should you have just kept your mouth shut?

You suppose he was right, your negotiation skills could use a bit more work.  You did technically just… willingly give up something incredibly valuable in exchange for absolutely nothing in return, didn’t you?  Actually not absolutely nothing, you just agreed to have an actual fucking needle shoved into your body just so he wouldn’t feel any sort of obligation to reveal himself to you whatsoever.  That’s like… rule number one of what not to do when negotiating, isn’t it?  Fuck, what have you done?  Is it too late to take half of that shit back?  Can you start this whole thing over real quick?  How much pressure do you think that glass syringe can handle?  You know you can’t outrun or overpower him, but do you think you’d be able to smash it with your foot before he can stop you?  No.  No fucking way, you would.  Don’t be stupid, don’t be fucking stupid.

And Maker, he’s… he’s still not moving.  You actually start to squirm a little bit under his unreadable gaze, before he eventually brings both hands up to your face and gently cradles your jaw in his gloved palms, bringing you to a still.

“Unbelievable,” the Mandalorian says softly, tilting his helmet at you and carefully brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones.  He doesn’t sound upset.  He sounds truly mystified by you.  Stumped.  Reverent.

You blink at him.  “What?”

“Nobody w-would… but you’re…”  He seems like he’s trying to find the words to describe what he’s thinking, but he can’t.  “You can’t—you… t—?  Not just.  But be—because of.  On—on… pr-prin…”

“I… I do still want you to fuck me, though,” you eventually whisper when he never finishes his sentence.  He’s not the best with words, but that’s okay.  You’re perfectly willing to entertain other mediums.  “First.  Even if it is part of a deal, I don’t give a shit.”

You bring your hand back to wrap tight around him, beginning to pull up and down in strong, steady strokes once more.  The tips of his fingers tighten just slightly on your jaw.

“Please,” you whisper, turning your head to kiss one of his palms.  “Just show me, it’s okay.”

He stays like that for just a split second more.

And then he’s suddenly whipping one of his hands down to grab your wrist.  The other wraps itself more fully around your jaw in its absence and firmly holds your head in place in front of him.

“I won’t be gentle,” he tells you once more, voice coming out hoarse and shaky.  “I—I c-can’t—”

You nod in affirmation as much as you can with his iron grip wrapped tight over your chin like this.  “Th—”

You can’t even get a single word out before Mando shoots both hands down to grab your hips, abruptly yanking your ass off the bed.  Your legs have just enough time to buckle once they hit the ground, but then he’s spinning you around and practically shoving you right back on top of the metal platform, facedown with half your upper-body and both arms hanging over the edge.

Your pants are being snatched over your ass and down your legs as you still work to adjust yourself to the chaotic shift in position.  Holy fuck, he wasn’t ki—

Something blunt presses up against the apex of your thighs, pushes forward, and oh, holy fu—

—oh—holy fuck—

You’re surprised you have enough breath to shout as loud as you do when he slams full-force into you, rattling the bed as he sheathes himself in your slick warmth to the hilt, fully armored behind you and pressing cold beskar tight up against your ass and thighs.  You claw your fingers over the smooth metal surface under the cot and try to brace yourself on something, but there’s nothing to hold onto.  Fuck, he’s so fucking thick.  Forcing you to yield to his hardness, tightening his grip on your hips and keeping you locked in position.

And then he pulls out and then slams back in—starts pounding into you, using your body as a counterweight to thrust himself into and Maker, you would probably be screaming if you could even breathe right.  The inability to inhale just means you can hear him groan through the modulator, shuffle up closer to you and start to drill into you harder.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and fuck, you would think he was suffocating you if it weren’t for both of his hands being anchored to your hips.  It blazes through you like wildfire, burning your lungs and setting your body alight with flames.  He leans over you and clamps a hand down over your shoulder, and your eyes roll back when he moves up and adjusts his angle just the slightest bit, pounding down into you instead of just into you, and—

“Maker, h-how did I deserve this?”  He whispers quietly to himself, delirious and tight as stars explode behind your vision.  His helmet rests on your shoulder blade, the beskar as heavy and unyielding as his thrusts are as he pummels into that one blinding, heavenly spot, over and over and over again.  “What did I d—where were you when I was—when I was—?”

You finally gasp a ragged, desperate breath in like you’ve been underwater for the last minute instead of under him, taking his cock the way he needs to give it to you.  And then you’re writhing, grinding your body back against his as much as you can, choking on the burning air and trying to put your needs together into a coherent sentence.

“T-take your helmet off,” you finally manage to lift your head up and beg, “please—please, I-I won’t—I won’t look, I sw-swea—” and then your cunt clamps down hard when he shoots up from you and practically rips the thing off his shoulders without another word, the sound of steel clanging loudly on the floor by your feet.

His hand comes around your throat and yanks you to the side before his teeth are sinking into your neck, not a single break in his hard, pounding rhythm.

He probably gets about ten good thrusts in like that before you’re going rigid under him and cumming—hard.

Everything below your waist locks down tighter around him than a fucking vice, and then you explode wet and hot around his cock with a hoarse shout, squeezing him and spasming through each rough, steady thrust as it launches you higher, and higher—

“Fuck—” he snarls into your neck, and then he suddenly kicks up from the rapid slapslapslapslap that got you over the edge to a surging, brutal bam—bam—bam that wrings a sharp, ragged cries from your throat.  Your face screws up and you try not to scream at the sensation, wondering how it was possible that he could make the bliss even more debilitating.  “Fuck, th—your cunt gets… s-so fucking tight when you cum—”

You just whimper for him helplessly, listening to the vulgar sounds of him fucking into you, the loud squelching as he keeps rocking mercilessly deep.

“You hear that?”  He murmurs next to your ear, and the slick sound of it echoes obscenely through the silent hull.  His voice is soft, contrasting blindingly with the way he’s holding you down and fucking you so strong and steady through the aftershocks.  “Fuck—you get fucking wet after you cum, too, don’t you?”

You try to move, try to adjust yourself just slightly, but he locks down around you and holds fast to his rhythm.  Fuck, it feels like he’s fucking the air out of you faster than you can breathe it in, grip like iron and tightening the more you struggle.

“‘M never leaving this,” he slurs, dropping his head to rest between your shoulder blades.  “Never.  Fuck, I’m—you’re—you’re never getting rid of me, sweet girl, I’m—I’m never—never f-fucking leaving—”

“Fuck, I’m—” you gasp, closing your eyes and trying to focus on the spark of a feeling deep inside you.  “Stars, I think I-I might—”

And then Mando licks a slow, warm line up the curve of your spine and a second orgasm is suddenly burning a fucking hole through you, tearing another broken wail from your throat.  You spasm and arch under him, bearing down on his thick cock and trying not to sob.

“Fuck, there we g-go—” he grits against your skin, picking up his speed and fucking hammering into you, completely deaf to your hoarse squeal at the change in tempo.  “Good.  Ngh, fuck—you—y-you want me to cum now?”

“Please,” you beg.  “Please cum, p-please—”

“Where?”  His voice is tight, breathless and shaky.  “Tell me where—quick—”

“Fuck—inside,” you moan, eyes rolling back at the thought of taking his load deep inside you.

Mando’s hips stutter.  For the first time in what feels like an eternity, they jerk back in before they could fully extend all the way out, and your abused lower muscles start to squeeze him in anticipation.

“I can’t—” he rasps, “—I’ve—I-I’ve never—and y-you’ll—”

“Safe,” you wheeze, because you don’t have enough air in your lungs or composure in your thoughts to tell him you have an implant contraceptive.  All you can manage is a shameless, breathless, “Cum deep,” half-tossed over your shoulder.

Your hair is gathered and locked in a tight fist behind your head and if you thought he was fucking you full force, you soon realize he was only at about an eight.  He flattens you against the bed and yanks your head up, arm coming around to brace across your chest and starting to just fucking wreck you from behind.

The change in angle forces his cock to spear up against something that blinds you, something so raw and impairing that you can’t speak anymore, even if you could find the air to.

“Fuck—m’gonna cum,” the Mandalorian grits, the bed rattling on its tracks as his head drops to your shoulder, “f-fuck, s’too fucking good, sweet girl—m’gonna f-fucking cum, I—”

He plows his hips into you just like that once, twice, three—

You lock down and everything goes blurs and goes out of focus, white hot pleasure ripping you apart from the inside as you do scream this time, clamping down and straightening your spine and convulsing in ecstasy.

He snarls and bites down on your neck, grrriiinndding his cock as deep inside you as it’ll go and shuddering above you.  You can feel him pulsing, throbbing as he growls his way through it, breathing heavy and giving you his load just how you asked.

Mando pulls out of you much quicker than you want him to and stumbles backwards, suddenly dropping to his knees on the floor behind you with a metallic clang.  He doesn’t do anything more than that, though; he just stares at your fluttering hole as you slowly start to leak his cum, one of his hands coming up to brace itself on the back of your thigh as he catches his breath and watches.

Fuck, you’re spent.  Panting and exhausted in the same position he left you.  You try to move, but you can’t.  You just sprawl there on your tummy and slowly wait for the feeling to return to your body.

But then he says something.  It’s too quiet—a soft, one syllable word you can’t quite make out.

“Wh—?”  Your muscles feel like lead.  “I couldn’t hear y—”

Gloved hands trail gently over your ass.  And then you feel a small, sharp little prick on the swell of one of your cheeks, but it’s gone after a split second.

And then… fucking bliss.

You sag into the metal bed, feeling the room begin to spin.  Fuck.  He gave you the shot.  The fucker just gave you the shot.  How dare he?  Before you could even work yourself up to the point of tears again?  While you’re still… still fucking dripping with cum right in front of his face?

Until—

“Din,” he says softly.  “It’s Din.”

Din.

How perfectly appropriate, you think.

Short, simple, and to the point.  No flourishes.  A quick, one-syllable punch of air.  One singular, closed I vowel sitting quietly between two consonants, guarded on all sides.  Hard at first, but then tapering off to a soft sound if you let it.  Din.

“Din,” you whisper, fighting the overwhelming high with every last fiber of your gradually depleting consciousness, wanting so desperately to hear the word out loud with your own voice before you’re pulled under, trying to make sure it’s real.  It comes out sounding that way, too; weak and quiet and straining for these last few precious moments with him.

Both of his hands wrap around the back of your knees and you feel his plush lips press gently against your upper-thigh, just below the curve of your ass.  He opens his mouth and licks hot and warm along your damp skin, pulls both your knees apart just slightly and then starts to drag his tongue to the side a bit, and then—

And then everything goes dark.

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day 28 “you have to let me go”

juice pops and soup

summary

“Peter?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be locked up in school?”

“Don’t feel so good.”

“We’ve talked about that phrase, Pete,” says Tony.

“Sorry.” The kid’s voice sounds truly miserable. “Can - Ccan -” Peter stops talking, and Tony’s ears are assaulted by the loudest sneeze he’s ever heard. “Can you come over? I need soup. And Gatorade. I think I’m dying.”

OR

Tony is sad after dropping off Morgan at school for her first day. Luckily he gets distracted for a bit looking after Peter when he’s sick. 

“Daddy,” says Morgan. “You have to let me go now.”

Tony continues holding her, as he watches her fellow kindergarteners hug their parents goodbye and run inside the classroom.

“You know, Mo,” says Tony. “You can always take a gap year.”

“Tony,” says Pepper, lightly touching his arm.

“Ok fine.” Tony puts Morgan down in the school hallway. She looks so small under her Spider-Man backpack. Way too tiny to spend the day without her parents.

“Bye!” Is the only farewell they get before Morgan zips out of their sight and into the classroom.

Tony turns his head towards Pepper. “I don’t like it.”

“We’ve met her teacher,” says Pepper. She’s already starting to walk away from the open classroom door. “And you like her.”

Tony has to admit Morgan got the best teacher in the elementary school. A regular Miss Honey, but that still doesn’t mean he’s ready to leave his daughter behind.

“Wait, Pep!” calls out Tony, but she’s already turning the corner.

He sighs, and takes a peek inside the classroom.

Morgan’s sitting at a table, excitedly talking with two other kids with the biggest smile on her face. It brings a sad sort of smile to his own face, and he sluggishly follows his wife out to the car, abandoning his baby to the school system.

*

The penthouse is quiet when it’s just Tony. He doesn’t like it, and his mind dwells on Morgan not being there and about how one day she’ll leave for college, about how she’s growing up. Time only speeds up the older he gets. He’s sure one day he’ll blink and she and Peter will be completely grown.

He’s dwelling on these thoughts when his phone buzzes. Seeing Peter’s name flash on the screen fills him with joy, but also gives him pause.

“Peter?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be locked up in school?”

“Don’t feel so good.”

“We’ve talked about that phrase, Pete,” says Tony.

“Sorry.” The kid’s voice sounds truly miserable. “Can - Ccan -” Peter stops talking, and Tony’s ears are assaulted by the loudest sneeze he’s ever heard. “Can you come over? I need soup. And Gatorade. I think I’m dying.”

Tony stands from the couch. “Sure thing, kid. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“Thanks,” he says, though it sounds more like tanks.

He hangs up his phone, and heads to the drug store, where he buys way more shit than Peter had asked him for. He figures if Pete had wanted someone who won’t overact, he would’ve called Happy.

Tony has so much stuff, some he bought and some he brought from home, that he struggles to carry it up to May and Peter’s apartment in one go. He manages it, though, and his heart melts when Peter unlocks and opens the door for him.

His kid has a blanket wrapped around his body. His face is pale, and there’s absolute misery leaking out from his eyes.

“Oh, kid,” says Tony, stepping inside the Parker apartment, and setting his bags down. He shuts the door behind him. “You look terrible.”

“Tanks,” he says.

Tony looks around, and takes in the chaos of the apartment. There’re used kleenex all over the floor in the living room. Empty Gatorade bottles. Hoodies, and mountains of throw blankets. And it’s wrong. May usually keeps Peter contained to his bedroom when he’s sick.

“Why does your entire living room look like a dumpster fire?” asks Tony. “Where’s May?” There’s no way she’d allow Peter to turn the apartment into the mess it is currently. Not even when he’s sick.

“She had that - um - she that had -”says Peter. Tony puts his hand on his forehead, and nearly burns himself, he’s so hot. “Conference. She’s at a conference.”

“You’ve got quite the fever.”

“Yeah.”

“Should’ve called me sooner,” says Tony. He puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders, and directs him back towards the couch, forcing him to lay back down.

“I knew it was Morgan’s big day,” says Peter, burrowing under the blankets Tony throws on him. “Figured you were stressed enough. How are you taking it?”

Only Peter Parker would ask how someone else it’s doing while he’s sick and disgusting. Tony smiles fondly. It’s part of the kid’s charm.

“Like a knife in my heart.”

Peter laughs, which is a mistake, because his chuckle turns into coughing fit.

Tony looks on with pity, then springs into action. He busts out the dehumidifier and plugs it in, and then works on making  the kid’s drink. He cracks open a bottle of Gatorade, and puts into a bendy straw, one that’s printed with small Iron Man cartoons.

Peter rolls his eyes when he sees it, but accepts the drink anyway.

Now that that’s settled, Tony puts the juice pops he bought in the freezer, and begins making the brat’s soup. Peter has dozed off by the time it’s finished, with just his left arm hanging out of the blanket, his fingers barely brushing the carpet.

Tony sets up a TV tray, and brings over the steaming hot soup and crackers, before sitting on the edge of the couch and gently nudging the kid awake.

He blinks a couple of times, yawns, and eventually sits up. “Mmmm thanks Tony.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” says Tony. “I’m surprised you called today, with the amount of grief you give me about my, uh -”

“-helicoptering,” finishes Peter, while he slurps down a spoonful of soup. “And, um, Pepper told me to call you.”

“What?”

“Well May must’ve let it slip to Pepper that I was here sick,” says Peter. “Cause Pepper texted me today and told me have you help me out. She said you really needed the distraction.”

“Oh did she?”

“Yeah,” says Peter. “But I’m glad she did.” Peter looks down at his soup. “I actually don’t mind all the fussing. I just don’t want you to know that I don’t mind it.”

“Good thing you just told me, then.”

“I’m on a lot of cold medicine, Tony, I’m not really in control of what I’m saying.”

Tony laughs. “We can just forget this conversation happened.”

“Good.” Peter takes another soup full of soup. “Did you get juice pops, too?”

“Of course I did.” Even though he hadn’t asked for them. Tony doesn’t mention this part.

“Good.” He repeats.

It clicks in Tony’s mind in that moment, that if this nearly grown superpowered teenager is willingly to ask him for juice pops and soup, that maybe it’s impossible for children to outgrow their parents. That their relationship might change, but they will still call when they need soup or breakdown on the side of the road.

Hell, that’s enough for Tony.

Peter finishes eating the soup, slurping every single mouthful. Tony takes the empty bowl, rinses it, and loads the dishwasher. He brings back a juice pop for him, but the kid is already tuckered out again, buried under a mountain of blankets and barely visible.

He puts the popsicle back in the freezer. He lets Peter rest.

*

Tony’s car is first in the pick up line.

He’s aware that it’s annoying for other parents to get out of his car, but he doesn’t care. He’s waiting for his daughter.

She runs to him when her teacher allows her too, and Tony kneels down, hugging her.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” says Morgan. “I made so many new friends!”

“I bet you did.”

She sighs, and bites her lip. “I missed you, though.”

“I missed you too,” says Tony. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“I’m always gonna be here at the end of the day, or whenever you call me.”

Morgan smiles, gives him another hug, and climbs into her booster seat.

There’s light contentment in Tony’s chest, and there’s a scratch in the back of his throat. That damn kid and his slimy germs. He coughs as he drives away, but he doesn’t have any regrets.

[k-n-e-o]

Stray kids reaction to their s|o being really short

Requested? Yep by @beepbeepitsmeyall​ 💕

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A|n: Some of the reactions are some of the things friends and family have said or done because I myself am short in comparison to almost everyone I know. I hope this is good, I wrote most of it when I was really tired so I guess we’ll see lol 

_______

Chan

Loves having you sit on his lap when he works.

Smiles if you have to use a step stool (or a stool).

Watches in case if you fall off it, grabs your waist if you do.

Thinks it’s cute that you have to look up at him.

Remember when he said that he was fun-sized?

Yeah no not anymore.

He thinks your fun-sized and he’s the party pack lol.

“You could fit in my pocket”

------

Minho

Annoying about it.

When you’re around others he’s more like “how’s the air down there?” Or “where’d you go?” Even though you’re right in front of him.

Alone he’s more like “awe aren’t you just the cutest little baby I’ve ever seen” (sounds a little strange when I write it out)

Teases you when you go to restaurants if you need a booster seat.

Despite all of his teasing though, he still loves you the way you are and will certainly stop if it makes you upset or even insecure.

“Are you sure you don’t need a booster seat? Those tables seem pretty high up”

------

Changbin

He’s short too, so he would love it if you were shorter.

Does all the stuff the others do to him, the teasing and the jokes.

But also loves cuddling you because of how small you are.

Pinches your cheeks cause you’re just so darn cute.

And because of that, he can not stay mad at you.

“Y|n! Where did you put my...awe...you look so cute”

------

Hyunjin

Because he’s tall (and probably a pain) expect the top shelf to now be the most hated thing on the planet, more so than it already is.

He does the thing where you stand face to face with one another and measures your height difference with his hand

(does anyone know what I mean?)

thinks it the funniest thing ever.

Also for some reason, he’s amazed at how much love and knowledge and wit can fit inside of your tiny little body.

“How are you so smart? Aren’t short people’s brains supposed to be smaller?”

(I’m so sorry, I don’t know what that was lol) 

------

Jisung

Makes comments (nice ones not mean ones)

especially when you have to readjust the seat in the car (if you drive of course)

if you don’t drive, then he loves how you can easily criss-cross your legs on the seat.

I’m gonna be honest,

he loses you in convenience stores okay, us short people can move fast sometimes.

Freaks out and has to go to the store’s staff to call you over the P.A system.

“Yes, I’ve lost a child about yay tall. Is really cute, and probably has a bunch of snack in their arms”

------

Felix

CUDDLES.

Ahem, sorry that was a bit aggressive.

Hugs you a lot, cuddles you a lot.

He also loves to compare hand sizes because yours are probably smaller than his.

Okay okay, wait 

if you sit down and your feet don’t touch the ground, this man will squeal.

No joke.

And he’ll giggle and go all soft if you swing your legs.

Puts you on his shoulders or back if you need to reach something.

“Can you grab it? Or do I need to go on my tippy toes?”

------

Seungmin

For some reason, I feel like he would be the kind to always want to get stuff from high shelves for you.

Like the cliche movie scene where the main character is reaching and the guy comes up close behind and grabs whatever it is.

Yes literally that all the time.

Early in the morning and need something from the medicine cabinet?

Seungmin is there.

Cooking food and can’t reach something?

His spidey senses are tingling.

Loves when you wear his oversized hoodies because they’re even more oversized on you.

“I think we need to get you baby clothes, grown human clothes don’t fit you” 

------

I.N

Okay out of the blue but hide and seek with I.N.

You would always win.

I.N can never find you because you fit in the weirdest places.

Ends up promising you food or something if you come out of your hiding spot.

Might end up sitting on you during movie nights because you hide under the blanket so well.

Your head becomes his own personal armrest, and he teases you for it too sometimes.

“It’s like it was fate that you’re just the right height”

__________

I hope you enjoyed 💙

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Nine: Swan Song

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Heh. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @hoodedbirdie @literal-fand0m-trash @thyestean-feast @fioccodineveautunnale @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @kylolover96 @lukesrighthand @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains character death and depictions of vomit/bile. Stay safe!]

While the Armorer spoke quietly with the Mandalorian at length and continued to smelt the reclaimed armor down, you remained out in the hallway with the IG unit to scan for threats. You couldn't bring yourself to go into the forge and just sit quietly like Karga and Cara, your whole body still buzzing with the vestiges of the huge rush of adrenaline you had received earlier. 

The robot's many sets of eyes swiveled back and forth, silently observing the tunnel in front of you. It also seemed to take note of your fidgeting. "Never fear. I am programmed to protect." The droid assured you. 

"As comforting as that is…" you grimaced, obsessively checking your blaster over yet again. "I'd feel much better if we didn't have to fight. Or if we had decent cover. I never know what will explode." An explosion echoed faintly down the tunnel as if in response to your words and you went rigid. You gripped the blaster even tighter, feeling the stock dig into your palm.

"I would advise not shooting at the inanimate objects to avoid possible damage."

"Wonderful." You muttered, a reluctant grin making its way onto your face. "This is why I prefer my knife."

"If you would like to attempt such an inadvisable tactic, I am unable to stop you." The droid commented. 

"No, no no. I promise I won't be that dumb." Your laugh was too high, choking off in your throat when you caught sight of several headlamps down the tunnel.

"Engaging the enemy." IG-11 announced, the spindly ex-bounty hunter droid striding forward into the spillway with purpose.

"IG, wait!" You protested. "How am I supposed to-"

"Do not worry about hitting me. Aim for them." The robot interrupted you calmly.

"Aim for them, no shit!" 

You knelt beside one of the many, possibly-explosive crates, tucking the stock of your rifle up against your shoulder. You then used the flat surface to steady the gun as best as you could, gritting your teeth probably a bit too hard. 

IG-11 was a force to be reckoned with. The droid barely even needed you, only once caught off-guard by one of the eight troopers that bore down on it like an unstoppable (but ultimately doomed) wave. 

One well-placed shot from you blew that particular stormtrooper's elbow out, making him scream in agony. You froze at the sound, your body stiffening before you could fight it off. How many men had you killed today? You had pushed it down, shoved the thought away, but-

IG-11 spiraled and struck with terrifying accuracy, it's blaster searing a hole in the side of the last trooper's helmet. "You have been protected." The droid droned quietly. It went on to ask, "Were you harmed?"

"No, n-no, I'm...I'm fine." You breathed. "Sorry, I get all…" 

"You did well. It is advisable to use cover at any and all opportunities." IG-11 mused sagely. 

"No kidding."

A nerve-wracking five minutes later the Mandalorian finally walked back out of the forge area, Dune and Karga close behind. "We push forward." The armored man said, answering your unspoken question. "We'll hit the river, and it'll take us to the flats. All we can do now is hope that the Imps won't head us off." 

Karga passed a large, square object off to IG-11 while the Mandalorian spoke. The boosters on the bottom of it seemed to indicate that it was a portable jet pack of some kind. You also saw a shiny new addition to the Mandalorian's pauldron.

"What's…?" You trailed off, gesturing at the insignia that had been welded seamlessly to his armor. It looked like a stylized mudhorn, which, when you thought about it, suited him immensely.

"My signet. I...I'm considered a clan now." The Mandalorian hesitated, his hand finding the child's in their little bundle of robes. "I have a Foundling in my care." His voice was warm, an almost incredulous wonder shining through his words. "She used...she used some of your beskar to make it. The ingot that I took from you, I-I asked her to use it," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hope that's--i-is that alright? I'll compen-"

"It's definitely alright." You interrupted him, nodding rapidly and certain that you were smiling like an idiot. "Don't even worry about that. Obviously, you guys can put it to better use than I ever could."

"Thank you." The Mandalorian said sincerely.

Greef suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable. "How did you get ahold of that ingot of beskar, anyhow?" He asked narrowly.

"I was paid with it when I got hired to clean his ship." You explained. "But I guess the person that hired me was actually only interested in having me jimmy the boarding ramp open for them, because as soon as I got it open I was clocked with the ingot. They ended up leaving it with me, though. Maybe they didn't know what it was worth?"

The Mandalorian turned towards Karga and you could feel him glaring, while Greef simply hummed and looked anywhere but the glowering man. "Karga, did you-?"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no! But I can't take responsibility for the actions of every hunter under me." The older man protested, waving his hands. "You know the rules, Mando, no questions asked."

"You were the only other person who got paid in beskar, Karga." The Mandalorian growled. "If I find out that it was one of-"

"We don't have time for you guys to have a beskar-based pissing match." Dune interjected, "we have to keep moving, or we're Imp chow. Squash your shit now or deal with it later."

"I apologize for anything my associates may have done to you that, er, caused you inadvertent discomfort." Karga addressed you hurriedly.

"Uh, I...forgive...you?" You replied, more than a little confused. 

"There, you see Mando? No issues here!" The Guild leader said brightly. The Mandalorian shook his head, growling something under his breath and then stalking off in the opposite direction.

...

The rickety old lava skiff, while originally half-welded to the dock, didn't stay stuck too long in the wake of Cara's heavy blaster fire. Karga quickly grabbed the side of the craft, steadying it before it could drift away from the dock.

"Watch your feet, it's molten lava." IG-11 warned. When you turned to give the robot an incredulous look, you saw the Mandalorian and Cara doing exactly the same thing. Your deadpan stare cracked a little and you were caught off-guard by a giggling fit, clumsily stumbling over the lip of the boat as the armored man followed after you.

"Fucking droids." The Mandalorian groaned while shaking his head, though he sounded less irritated and more amused.

The droid that normally piloted the skiff appeared to be out of commission, but it was no matter. Even though the lava moved slowly, it moved enough to carry the boat along with it.

The child was still limp in Cara's arms, the former dropship trooper absently rocking them back and forth. Weariness dragged at you as well, grey static slowly encroaching upon the corners of your eyes, but you did your best to push it away for the time being. You weren't sure how much longer you could get away with that, though. Stars, once this was over you would sleep for a thousand years.

A sudden crackling noise behind you made everybody whirl, respective blasters and knives brandished. But it was just the ferry droid, emerging from the ashen lava that had entombed it. It held a punting pole in its hands and began to beep, sounding almost inquisitive.

The Mandalorian finally muttered, "I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid," his tone one of long suffering.

IG-11 helpfully supplied, "I believe he is asking where we would like to go." 

"Downriver. To the lava flat." Karga ordered. The droid gave a chirp of confirmation and jabbed its pole into the lava, propelling the boat onwards at a much less leisurely pace.

The Mandalorian sat down heavily beside you after a moment, his helmet in his hands. "I can't believe you came back." He mumbled. "I didn't think...I figured you wouldn't. Thought I did a pretty good job at ruining everything."

"I can't believe I did either, honestly." You answered him, wincing when you realized how bad that sounded. "Wait, no, I uh...I just mean I didn't really know what was going on. I followed the noise and found IG-11."

"So, nothing new." The Mandalorian replied, his voice wry. Then, he murmured, "my little mudhorn."

You shot him a confused glance from beneath your lashes, but for all you could tell he was staring at the floor of the boat. Your eyes shifted to the silvery signet on his pauldron, taking in the vicious contours of the mudhorn's silhouette. I'm considered a clan now. 

"What will you do after we take care of this?" Your words were audacious in their optimism and you knew it. He knew it too, if his snort was anything to go by, but he humored you.

"I have to find the kid's people. I can't train him, he's...well, he's not really the Mando type. But he's a Foundling in my care, so I'm to act as his father until I can either return him to his people or...or until he comes of age." The Mandalorian heaved a sigh. "And seeing as he's fifty now, I don't think him coming of age is something that'll happen in my lifetime." His hand sought yours out on the bench seat after a moment. "If you...I mean, I know that...uh, the kid likes you. So if you wanted, I'd...I'd consider…" He trailed off, squeezing your wrist gently.

You opened your mouth to stammer something and then Greef inadvertently cut you off with an excited, "That's it! We're free!" The older man pointed ahead, indicating the daylight coming into view in the distance. You couldn't blame him for being relieved, really. This underground canal was stifling.

But the Mandalorian was already shaking his head, fingers tapping at the button pad on his gauntlet. "No. No, we're not." He said bitterly, getting to his feet. "Stormtroopers. They're flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon." Your heart sank at his words. "They must know we're coming."

His shoulders slumped. You could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. He had almost died, only for this to happen?

Cara, meanwhile, leaped into action. "Stop the boat." She demanded of the ferry droid, which just continued to chirp merrily to itself. "Hey, droid, I said stop the boat!" She barked, storming towards the robot. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" 

The droid carried on punting the boat forward and Cara grimaced, jamming her blaster into the vacant space between the droid's dome and body. One quick trigger pull sent the droid's head flying off with a loud crack!, the dome hitting the lava and immediately beginning to melt. The child started awake at the noise, tiny fists waving wildly in the air.

The boat continued to roll downstream, slowly but surely carried by the flow's current. "We're still moving." Greef pointed out, his tone laden with dread.

Dune swore under her breath, turning to face the rest of the group. "Looks like we fight."

The Mandalorian scoffed, "There are too many." His hand absently tapped the side of his helmet and you read his fingers: enemy ahead, five, five, five, so at least fifteen.

At least. Your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. It had been one thing when you were running along pell-mell with no actual thought put into your actions, but now-

"Well then what do you suggest, because I can't surrender." Cara snapped, cringing when the kid started to whimper.

IG-11 suddenly spoke up. "They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable." It rose to its full height, proclaiming, "I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape."

"You don't have that kind of firepower, pal." The Mandalorian retorted. "You wouldn't even get to daylight."

The droid leveled him with a stare. "That is not my objective."

"We're getting close." Dune hauled you to your feet. "Saddle up." You obliged wordlessly, waiting until she turned away before you allowed yourself to grimace in pain. Maker, your side hurt.

"I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer." The IG said calmly as you and Cara maneuvered around it and the Mandalorian to prepare what limited defenses you could muster. "If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct."

"What're you talking about?" The Mandalorian growled impatiently. 

"I'm not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed."

"Are we gonna' keep talking or are we gonna' get out of here?" Greef enquired, waving a hand at the molten riverbank.

"I can no longer carry this for you." The droid murmured, pressing the jet pack into the Mandalorian's unwilling grasp. "Nor can I watch over the child."

"Wait." The armor-wearing man sounded like he was having trouble breathing. "You can't self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the child." Was he...was he arguing with the droid? "That supersedes your manufacturer's protocol, right?" He reasoned desperately, his head tilted up to look at the spindly droid. When the robot didn't answer immediately, he pressed, "Right?"

"This is correct." IG-11 allowed.

He was arguing. With a droid. Stars, you saw something new every day. "Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out." The Mandalorian ordered curtly, turning to check over his own weaponry. 

"Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The child will be lost." You watched the armored man's shoulders slump even lower beneath his pauldrons and cape, like an immense weight was pressing down on him. "Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved in which I survive." The droid carried on relentlessly. You abruptly understood what it was saying, and despite your best efforts you felt tears sting your eyes. First Kuiil, now this?

"Listen, you're not going anywhere." The Mandalorian said sharply. "We need you. Let's just come up with a-"

"Please tell me the child will be safe in your care." The IG unit requested. "If you do so, I can default to my secondary command."

"But…" the beskar-wearing man's voice faded to a hoarse whisper, "you'll be destroyed."

"And you will live, and I will have served my purpose."

"No, we need you."

"There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive." The droid said pragmatically.

"I'm not sad." The armored man denied gruffly. He was lying and everyone knew it. You could hear the tremor in his words.

"Yes you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've analyzed your voice." IG-11 reached out those metal fingers, gently running them over the baby's ear. Then, without further ado, the droid hoisted a leg over the side of the boat.

"IG-!" Karga began to protest, watching the droid sink into the lava. Flames licked upwards from the ex-bounty hunter's knee gaskets, but it doggedly headed for the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The Mandalorian stood still as a statue, just letting the droid go. You ended up burying your face in your hands, unwilling and mentally unable to observe what would happen. 

The ringing impact of beskar suddenly broke the silence and the Mandalorian began to sing, his words wrapped in a deep, mournful tone that sounded like it came from the center of his being. "Motir ca'tra nau tracinya," His voice faltered. "Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a! Cuun hett su!" 

The droid's self-destructive explosion rocked the tunnel and you heard the Mandalorian's breath hitch, the noise sharp and pained even through the modulator. 

He then inhaled deeply, the words reverberating off the sides of the tunnel when he roared, "Cuun hett su!" and slammed his gauntlet against his breastplate once more.

The skiff slowly slipped through the archway and out into the smokey sunlight. Fifteen broken stormtroopers littered the black ground around the mouth of the canal, none left alive in the wake of IG-11's sacrifice. You scrubbed at your face in irritation, choking back your tears. There will be time later, you promised yourself, time for Kuiil and the IG. Time to mourn them properly. You weren't permitted such time now and you knew it. People needed you, they needed--

Without warning, that ship you had seen earlier buzzed by overhead, its powerful laser cannons sending chunks of half-coagulated lava flying into the air on either side of the canal. 

"Moff Gideon!" Dune shouted, the Bren blaster whirring to life. The TIE fighter's engines screamed and whined, the craft circling back around. A line of ground to the left of the skiff exploded, green lasers punching through the cooled lava. 

"He missed!" Greef sounded absolutely thrilled.

"He won't next time." The Mandalorian replied grimly, loading a fresh canister into his heavy blaster.

"Hey, let's get the baby to do the magic hand thing!" Karga suggested, wiggling his fingers at the child. "C'mon baby, do the magic hand thing." The child stared up at him, waving their hand uncertainly. Greef sighed, "I'm out of ideas."

"I'm not." The Mandalorian snapped. He reached for the jet pack and you tugged his cape out of the way so he could attach it to his backplate. He pressed his forehead against your own briefly before he tapped at his gauntlet keypad, igniting the boosters for the pack.

"Here he comes!" Cara yelled, bracing herself back against one of the seats while her blaster roared away. Whoever Gideon was, he appeared to be coming straight for the boat. The fighter wasn't slowing one iota. 

Right as you saw the TIE fighter's cannons begin to light up in preparation to fire, the Mandalorian punched the controls on his jet pack. The armored man hurtled into the sky, easily clearing the TIE fighter and then shooting his grappling line at the back of the ship. 

Gideon took off with him in tow and Karga laughed incredulously, "you've got to be kidding me! That was your plan? Mando, you're a maniac!" He then grabbed onto the cooled lava wall that rose on the right side of the boat, fumbling his way up onto the relatively-sturdy riverbank with a muffled grunt of exertion. "Alright trooper, you're next." The older man said, extending a hand to help haul Cara out of the boat.

She too managed to get to solid ground, and she carefully sat the bundled child down for a moment before turning back to you. Cara held out her hand and Greef held out his. "C'mon rookie, get up here." She said with a tired grin. "We need good seats to watch your Mandalorian work his magic, right?" 

Your laugh caught in your throat, almost a sob, and you reached to clasp their hands. But then your breathing abruptly hitched as, in reply to the first tugs of the two individuals above you, the wound on your side made itself felt with a vengeance. You panted, half-blinded by the sudden pain and knowing that you had gone full dead-weight.

"Use your legs rookie, c'mon!" Cara complained, planting herself and slapping her other hand closed around your upper arm to help her leverage. You gritted your teeth and forced your body to cooperate in a last ditch effort to get you up onto the river banking. Despite that, you were still all but dragged the rest of the way, Dune and Karga barely managing to muscle you to safety. "Look at him go!" Cara exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the sky.

As you tipped your head back to watch the TIE fighter skitter and weave through the air, the ground suddenly felt like it was tilting under your feet. Your ears started to ring and your knees trembled unsteadily, threatening to give out beneath you any second now while the static at the edges of your vision that you had been keeping at bay crept steadily in from the sides. 

You clumsily took hold of Karga's shoulder, the older man giving you a confused look. "I...I don't feel so good." You stammered.

Cara turned to you, her mouth moving and her expression changing to one of concern, but you couldn't hear her at all over the ringing in your ears.

She grabbed your cloak, yanking it up off your body as you sagged against Greef. "Sorry," you breathed, knowing that she must have spotted the blaster wound on your side. Your own voice sounded so loud to you. Your bloodied fingers found her gorget, floundering desperately for a handhold. "Take care...of the k-kid-" you whispered, all of your adrenaline finally spent. 

You had been running on fumes for the last few minutes. You weren't sure how much blood you had lost, all you knew is that you had been bleeding since getting clipped on the battlefield. It hadn't hurt when you were moving or distracted, the urgency of your situation enabling you to draw on your body's ability to push through the predicament. But now, it seemed that your luck had run out.

Your eyes felt too heavy. You needed sleep. How long had it been since you rested? You deserved a rest. A rest sounded phenomenal.

"...shot, give--osi'kyr, let me see them!" That was the Mandalorian. He sounded terrified. You couldn't remember ever hearing his voice crack like that. What was wrong? When had he landed again? What happened to Gideon?

"S'wrong?" You slurred. You appeared to be laying down. Possibly. Up and down were a little confused at the moment. 

"Focus on me, please, you have to stay awake-" He sounded so sad.

"Going into shock--must have been when-" Cara's voice was faint and wavering, as if she was underwater. 

"Sweetheart, cyar'ika, please, please--" His helmet pressed to your forehead and you heard his breath rattle. No, that couldn't be right, the bacta spray should have fixed that. Was it your breathing that sounded that bad?

You dimly felt dried blood flaking off of your hands as you moved your fingers. "Want to sleep. S'dark." You mumbled.

"Don't you dare!" His modulated voice cut through the gray haze rudely, too loud and bright. "You're not going to sleep!"

"F-five minutes." You bargained, grimacing when his helmet banged into your forehead.

"You stay awake, you hear me?! I'm not letting you do this! Not after everything we've been through!"

"Never even...got to…" Your head felt as if it was stuffed with clouds, words trickling out of your brain and vanishing like water in the sand. "'Pologize…" He had your hand in his own now, leather rubbing feverishly over your knuckles. "Got so mad…"

"You're not the one who needed to apologize, dammit. I...I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind." His voice broke. "I-I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I-" Blood was roaring in your ears, drowning out anything else the armored man might be saying. Your fingers were going numb. Flickers of conversation reached you, battling against the roar.

"-them still, Karga, he's got to close this, stop the bleeding--"

"-idea, but make sure it holds until we get back to town--"

"I love you, I'm so sorry, this will hurt--" 

Pain stabbed through your body, startling a ragged exhale out of you. Something was burning. It smelled disgusting and you retched without meaning to, bile foaming at your lips. You wondered absently if that was the smell he had been talking about when he had been poisoned, death-rot...

Metal was pressing against your forehead and a blinding heat seared at the wound on your side, the two sensations warring for your attention. Vomit surged up your throat, making you gag again.

This is it, you realized vaguely. This is how I die. Huh. The notion was not nearly as repulsive as you had expected. Dying sounded halfway appealing. You could rest then. 

"Stay awake, please stay awake-"

"M' here. M'wake." You assured whoever it was, your hand weakly patting at theirs. "So tired...can I sleep soon? Pl-ease?"

"Not now, not now, you h-have to stay awake." His voice was trembling. "The kid needs you, dammit."

"Need you to--to take the kid and run." You urged, confidently stating, "I'll hol' 'em off so y' can escape. They're comin' in warm an' I'm comin' in cold." You struggled to grab your blaster, but your arms refused to cooperate. "Did y' turn up the gravity? Can't...can't move…hurts..." The tears wouldn't stop rolling down your cheeks in a torrent. You weren't even sure why you were crying.

"Stay awake. Just like on Sorgan. All I need is a f-few more minutes, okay? Remember?" Your body tilted crazily, someone's arms fumbling beneath your shoulders and knees to hoist you off the ground.

"Mm, I can do that. Do whatever y' want." You mumbled. The darkness closed in around you, a sweltering maw that slowly drew you deeper and deeper into its grasp. "It's...it's so dark. M' scared." You admitted, your numbed fingers petting the hand that rested on your arm.

"I'm right here with you." He assured. "I'm not going anywhere. Sing that song, please? The one you sing to the kid. The...the lullaby."

Your brow furrowed with effort and you opened your mouth, your voice faint and pitchy in the blackness. "Stars fading, but I linger on...dear...still craving…" 

The words wouldn't stick. Your brain was drawing a blank. Why couldn't you remember the words?

You fell asleep.

...

You dreamed of wind whipping your face, steam that hissed and boiled on the lava flats, droplets trickling down from underneath a proud helmet to gather at the edge of his chin and drip onto your tunic.

You dreamed of drowning, thick liquid sliding over your head, enveloping you in its fetid grasp before your consciousness faded back out. 

You dreamed of a mudhorn in beskar, the shimmering silver-clad beast guiding you through the black.

Eventually you spiraled downwards into a deeper sleep, and finally you dreamed of nothing at all.

Interlude

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

I Feel For You (Werewolf!Jungkook x Empath!Reader)

Genre: Supernatural Au, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Explicit language, violence, mentions of blood, injuries

Word Count: 6K

Your friend's party was the first time you’d seen him since you were kids. His hair had grown significantly since then, falling across his face in soft wisps he has to continuously blow out of his eyes. His eyes. They were the same as they were before, dark as night but would glisten in any lighting, like the moon across the lake. 

You hadn’t spoken to him in a decade, convinced he must’ve been a figment of your imagination, but the reality of it was that you were just from two different worlds that would never mesh.

You’d only said two words to him that night, when you were both just barely out of booster seats, and you’d wandered too far back in the woods behind your house without your mother noticing. 

Back then he was just a little brown haired boy with brown eyes that seemed to shift as he bared his teeth. You’d been the little girl with pigtails wiping her wet eyes with her dirty hands as she tried to push herself up off the ground. 

“Please don’t.” 

And he’d thought you were afraid of him hurting you. He was shaking in the trap, blood seeping down his leg, teeth bared in defense, and he thought this little girl was scared this monster would eat her. He’d never know you were trying to help him and yourself. 

You thought maybe you’d go over, see if he recognized you, see if he remembered you. But as the DJ cranked the music louder, a group of guys started a fistfight, and a searing pain shot through your jaw, blood pooling in your mouth despite you standing perfectly still by yourself in the corner, you ducked out before it could escalate and made your way home, spitting blood and hoping nobody saw.

—

“Can’t I just skip? I think I might be coming down with something, you know?” Jungkook pleads, grabbing his mother’s hand to rest against his forehead. It was warm, but nothing out of the ordinary, especially for a wolf, and he knew she knows that.

She humored him anyways, flipping her hand over a few times with a puzzled look on her face. After a second, she stood up and began walking towards the bathroom.

“You know what, let me get the thermometer.” Her face broke into a sly grin, knowing fully well that her son knew the only thermometer they had was not for the mouth.

Suddenly, he’s flying past her, tugging on his backpack and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, “You know what, I’m suddenly feeling a lot better! I’ll see you when I get home.” He takes the stairs three at a time and bolts into the kitchen, ignoring his brothers stuffing their faces and taking their sweet time, nothing to worry about being late to, besides ‘work’ with their father. 

Jungkook is the last of 7 boys born to his mother and father. His eldest brothers, Jin, Yoongi, and Namjoon, were all home-schooled by their mother before Jungkook was even thought of. Once they were done, they took their places on the Pack Council with their father.

Hobi, Jimin, and Tae had gone to the “pack school” which was basically homeschooling with all the kids in the pack by a few select pack members. By the time Jungkook came into the picture, not only did the pack accept the idea of sending their children to human school to avoid suspicion, his mother was so worn out she just didn’t have the energy to educate Kook on her own. 

In her defense, Jungkook was a lot more hyper and wild then his siblings, and being the last meant her sanity was at the edge after the first 6. 

Jungkook didn’t mind, though, he was fascinated by human nature, everything that made their society so different from his, and he made it his mission to learn and experience as much as he could about both. At least, it started out that way. 

As Jungkook grew, so did his wolf. It was harder for him to control his animalistic tendencies, and it was worse when he had to keep it all hidden to avoid exposing his pack’s secret and causing an all-out witch hunt. 

Instead, he chose to push all of his wolf qualities, along with some of his human ones, deep down and lay low. It was easier to protect himself and his family that way. Don’t bring attention, don’t make friends, just go to class and come home. 

And after a while, it got a hell of a lot easier. People stopped coming up to him, trying to talk to him, hell, even teachers didn’t call on him anymore. Instead, all he’d get was the occasional wary stare and a few whispers, but that was about it. 

It hurt him to have people think terrible things about him, but it’s not like he could tell them the truth. So, for now, he’d let people believe whatever they wanted about him, from mute kid who cut out his own tongue to a deranged psychopath who writes stories about how he’d murder his classmates (yes, those are real rumors he’s heard float through the hallways. Humans and their imaginations). 

As long as he was here and his secret was safe, it didn’t matter what others thought of him. 

Jungkook made it through the first for periods just he always had. Aside from getting a surprised look from his Algebra teacher for acing his last test, it was like every other day.

Then it lunch rolled around.

He made his way to his usual table out in the quad, far from everyone else and sat alone. He liked being able to enjoy his meal in peace, watching everyone around him.

Today, his peace gets interrupted not even ten minutes in.

You watched Jungkook sit down at the same table he always has. Seeing him in the daylight instead of the strobes at the party made him easier to study. He wore the same black sweatshirt and pants he does every day and he looks the same as he did Saturday night. 

“Why are you staring at him, got a crush or something?” Your friend nudges you, sending the whole table into a fit of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs.’ 

You just roll your eyes, keeping your attention focused on the boy across the quad. You’d never told your friends about what happened years ago, considering it wasn’t any of their business anyways. They hadn’t even acknowledged his existence until they saw him at the party that night, wondering why he’d bothered to show up. 

You didn’t know he went to school with you, let alone that your friends knew him, well, knew of him. It was that night, when you’d asked them who he was, that they’d relayed horrid gossip about him.

Knowing just how insane high school ppl gossip can be, you took every new piece of information about him with a grain of salt. It was that night you learned his name, Jungkook. 

Unfortunately, that was the only useful information they had on him, so you figured if you wanted answers, you’d have to go to the source. 

You’d have to talk to him.

Without even thinking, you rise from your spot at the table, stepping over the seat and heading towards him. You could hear the whispered screams of your friends, obviously confused and concerned with your rash actions, but you just blocked them out. 

Your path to his table felt like a million miles, as if you were on trial, with all eyes on you. You’d somewhat made a name for yourself here, part of the ‘popular’ clique on campus, but you didn’t see yourself that way. It was just your nature to be friendly with others. You could sympathize easily, share and understand, most importantly, you listened, and people liked that.  

You rose the social ladder without even realizing it, and soon you were the talk of the school. Everyone wanted to be friends with you, but the socially elite students had already claimed you as theirs and you were too polite to turn them down. 

So, as you made your way to Jungkook, you could feel the judgment each student passed on you with each step. It was like slowly being suffocated, each state and new set of hands around your neck. 

Sometimes high school is just too much.

You didn’t care though; you’d happily dig your own social grave if it meant finally getting answers from the boy in the woods. 

Jungkook can sense you staring at him from across the way, but ignores it. He used to the stares so he figures it’s harmless. It’s when the hairs on the back of his neck stand as his wolf sense you approaching him that catches his attention and drags him from his protest. 

Jungkook doesn’t look up to see who’s there up until you’re standing across the table from him.

When he does, something deep down open side of him recognizes those eyes, your eyes. 

“Mind if I sit?” You ask sweetly, giving him a smile. He just stares at you dumbfounded, not sure what to say, so he just slowly nods his head once.

You set your bag down next to you and rest your arms on the surface of the table. Jungkook ignores his lunch, frozen staring at you. This had never happened before, not even his first year. People didn’t just approach others and sit at tables they didn’t belong. There was a system, a hierarchy, and everyone had their place.

This was not yours. 

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you stick your hand out across the table, expecting him to take it, but he just stares at it.

“This is usually the part where you shake my hand,” you try not to smirk but it’s hard when he looks like he’s never seen a hand before. 

He hesitantly takes it in his, “Jungkook.” 

He’s hoping this will suffice whatever curiosity you’re harboring towards him and you’ll leave him in peace. Jungkook thinks this is his punishment for going to that stupid party on Saturday when his father told him he couldn’t go. He wasn’t there for long, but he just wanted to say he went to at least one high school party in his life. 

Now he thinks people might have gotten the wrong idea and that it was okay to hang out with him. He’d just have to let you down as easily as possible.

“No offense, but don’t you have friends to sit with?,” he gestures behind you to the table you’d left, your friends awkwardly watching, laughing and whispering. You didn’t bother to look back, just kept your focus ahead, ignoring what you knew was gossip behind you. You loved your friends, of course, but they have awful habits.

“I do, I just figured you’d like some company.” 

He doesn’t mean to, but he scoffs, his wolf annoyed that someone was pitying him. 

You see it but don’t take it too seriously, sensing he was just uncomfortable with your unwarranted presence. 

“I’m fine, you can go now.” You don’t want to leave yet, though, hoping to break through this icy exterior and find out what’s underneath. You can feel it in the deepest depths of your soul that he’s hiding something, holding himself back, and you know it has to do with that night 10 years ago. 

“If it’s alright with you, I’d actually like to stay,” you gesture back behind you subtly, “besides, they can be a bit much sometimes.” You hoped to ease the tension and find some common ground with him, but his wall is strong.

“I’d actually prefer to eat alone,” one part of him is screaming at himself for how cold he’s being. This was a chance to make a connection, maybe make a friend, but the other half is rationalizing that if he lets you in, you’ll ruin everything he’s spent so long protecting.

His mood affects you, the agitation cutting through your usually bubbly aura. You couldn’t help how easily influenced you were by the feelings and emotions of others. You were born to feel what others felt; their happiness, love, frustration, and pain. 

“Why do you insist on cutting yourself off from everyone?” It’s an intrusive question, one a stranger should not ask and did not have the right to know. You couldn’t take it back once it flew from your mouth, though. Speaking before thinking was also an affliction you’d been graced with, one you had spent years trying to correct to no avail. 

His wolf wants to snap, confronting his features into a deep set scowl, his eyes dark. 

“Why do you pretend to be friends with people you don’t like?” It wasn’t fair of him to attack you, but your insistence on prying into his life was wearing his patience thin.

The human part of him regrets the blow when he sees your features, clearly taken aback.

“I’m not pretending, I do like them, just not all the time, no one can like everyone all the time.” You wanted to snap back at him but you kept your calm. It was fair in a way to ask such a question after yours.

Jungkook wolf isn’t satisfied yet, though so he sinks a lower blow, “And why do you always run away when they start shit?”

The guys in your friend group were notorious for picking fights, hyped up on testosterone and privilege. You didn’t think anyone had noticed your disappearing act during such events, but clearly you weren’t as sneaky as you’d thought. You didn’t have a choice though, considering how would you explain when similar wounds appeared on your body as they happened?

You became defensive on instinct, feeling like prey stalked by a predator. You were just trying to be civil and his whole demeanor became a shield to protect himself and retaliate against you. 

“I guess we both have secrets then, huh.” You get up, walking past your table, your friends following you with their eyes, shooting back to Jungkook once you were out of sight. 

At first he didn’t understand why you reacted so harshly to his questions, figuring they weren’t serious. Turns out you may be just as cut off as Jungkook, you’re just better at faking it. 

—

You’d ignored your friends incessant questioning over the lunch fiasco, opting to pour yourself into your studies and after school activities. Once you finished up the meeting for student government, you headed out to the field to grab some supplies for the drama club from the field house.

The coach of the boys lacrosse team had given you the okay to borrow equipment for the club’s upcoming performance, so as the director, you figured it was your job to get everything together.

Walking out, the sun dipping lower in the sky as the boys team practiced on the pitch, you notice a familiar figure looming near the end of the bleachers. You take a second to investigate and see Jungkook watching the team, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

His eyes follow every shot and pass, following the footwork of the athletes, studying each movement. He looked like he wanted to join in. 

Despite getting off on the wrong foot, you could feel the longing dripping from him, the intense desire to be out on that field. He was holding himself back again, and your inner self was dying to know why.

Going against every petty bone in your body, you silently approach him, arms folded across your chest, “You stare any longer without blinking and your eyes will shrivel up.” He jumps a bit, swiftly collecting himself, a minuscule wave of guilt flushing through him when he realizes it’s you.

Jungkook looks back out on the field, fighting his urge to run out and join the team on the field. 

“What are you doing here?,” he asks, slightly interested in the answer but more so interested in what was happening before him.

You follow his line of sight, wondering why he didn’t just ask the coach to try out if he wanted to play so bad. 

“Grabbing some things for the drama club, what about you? Stalking the boys lacrosse team?” His head shoots towards you, eyes glowering.

“No, I just like lacrosse, that’s all.”

Jungkook’s defensive expression turns sullen, once again watching as the ball is thrown back and forth.

“So why don’t you play? I’m sure you’d probably be good at it with your,” you realize where you’re headed with this and can’t help the embarrassment flushing your cheeks, “physical build.” 

Jungkook’s first instinct is to be flush as well, but he covers it up with a sly smirk, “My physical build, huh?” 

Rolling your eyes you reach out to push his shoulder, returning your hand back to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

Watching you get so flustered feeds the grin on his face. It was kind of cute, though he wouldn’t tell you he thought so. 

“I can’t.”

Your face distorts into confusion, wondering what could possibly keep him from doing something as normal as participating in a sport.

You want to ask him why, but after the last ‘why’ question you’d asked him had gone so sourly, you figured there must be a reason, albeit probably not a good one, and that it wasn’t your business to judge.

instead, you take a step forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, well, as best you could considering he is much taller than you, and just watch the team practice. 

You can feel him stare at you when you move closer, but he turns back watching just as you are.

“Well, I think you should at least try,” you look up at him, finding him already looking back at you, “you might regret it if you don’t.” 

And with that bit of wisdom imparted, you get what you came here for, knowing that Jungkook follows your every move with his surprised gaze until you’re out of sight. 

Once you’re gone, Jungkook’s attention goes back to the field, seeing the team packing up for the night. He goes against the part of him telling him to go home, and jobs out to the field instead.

Approaching the coach, Jungkook prepares himself for the step he’s about to take, your words in the back of his mind; ‘If you don’t, you might regret it.’

—

The first time you see Jungkook on the field is during a late evening run to the field house after one of the members threw up all over the jerseys you’d borrowed. The coach was hesitant, but allowed you a few more after your promise to wash and return them yourself. 

The team had already packed up and headed to the locker room, but Jungkook stayed behind to get in at least another hour of practice. 

The coach had agreed to let him try-out that first evening, and after proving himself a valuable addition to the team, he was finding all the time he could to catch up, considering the team had already been in practice for a few weeks now. 

You didn’t mean to stare, fully prepared to march out, grab what you need, and head back in, but you watched as his arms lifted his jersey over his head, wiping the sweat dripping from his face. 

Officially bordering on crappy stalker tendencies, you shook yourself out of your trance and grabbed the jerseys from the shed. When you turn around to head back to the auditorium, Jungkook is jogging towards you. 

“Enjoy the show?,” he pries, smirk taking over his face. If you were paying more attention to his cocky attitude and less to his bare torso, you’d have quickly offered a witty comeback. 

“What-I was just getting some, stuff, for the drama club,” you stop yourself before you ramble on and humiliate yourself further. Jungkook likes to tease you, though, so he finds any way to push your buttons and take advantage of your innocent nature. 

“So that wasn’t you I just saw drooling when I took my shirt off?” You snap yourself out of it, scoffing, eyes rolling so hard you thought they’d get stuck for a second.

“Don’t flatter yourself Kook.”

He’s about to press you further when you feel a sharp pain shoot through your jaw, the faint taste of blood leaking onto your tongue. You wince, hand shooting up to hold your face, eyes darting frantically around your surroundings.

Jungkook could sense your change in demeanor immediately, noticing you wince, stepping forward, “Hey, are you okay?” 

His hand reaches out to you, and you are about to brush it off when you both are alerted to yelling towards the quad.

Jungkook is the first to rush towards the noise, you following in quick pursuit. The closer you get, the more painful your jaw gets, stiff and throbbing, a ringing pulsing in your ears. You almost have to stop and hold your head between your knees, but you need to see what’s going on. 

There in the quad, you see one of your friends beating the shit out of another guy. They are both wearing practice jerseys similar to Jungkook’s. You notice the blood dripping down the guys chin, a large welt on his cheek.

You’re about to say something when your friend swings swiftly, landing a particularly hard punch to the guys face, sending him to the ground. 

At the same time, your head whips to the side, the force sending you sideways, but you catch yourself. Your hand shoots up to hold your face, tears pricking at your eyes, fighting back a yelp as the pain fills every one of your senses. 

Before anyone can see you, you collect yourself as best you can and stagger towards the parking lot. You needed to get away from here, you needed to get in your car, and get home before someone sees.

You’re spitting mouthfuls of blood as you go, the tears streaming down your face, the red and purple colors slowly painting the affected area.

Once you make it to your car, you steady yourself and head home, the farther you get from the school, the clearer your head gets. 

Jungkook turns around after the last blow, coach coming out to break it up. He expects to find you standing there, asking, “Isn’t that one of your friends?,” but finds you gone. 

Without meaning too, his wolf senses kick in, searching for a sign of where you might have gone. He follows your scent to the parking lot and then notices the trail of bloody spit that ends at an empty space. 

He can tell from the scent that it’s yours, he just understand what could’ve happened between the field and the quad that could cause you to bleed like that and run off. 

Jungkook was not only curious, he was worried. 

—

You try to cover the bruises as best you could, but it just wasn’t working. You’d tried to convince your mom to let you stay home, but she wasn’t having it. Your secret was yours and yours alone, not even your parents knew, so you couldn’t argue with her.

Instead, you dragged yourself to school, trying your best to hide your wounds with makeup and a turtleneck. You’d just have to avoid everyone today and lay low. 

You’d gone through the first half of the day without any real problems. You’d met up with your friends in the library where they talked about the fight, and one made fun of your outfit choice, of course, ‘only teasing’ though. 

Avoiding people ended up being pretty easy, until you locked eyes with Jungkook down the hall, causing him to make a beeline straight for you. 

You tried to turn around and keep walking, pretending like you hadn’t seen him, but he was quicker than you, blocking your path.

“Why’d you disappear yesterday?” He wants to ask about the blood, but figures he should start off simple and then get to the bizarre. 

He looks over your face, trying not to seem suspicious, but you instantly reach your hand up to cover the side of your face that’s bruised.

Jungkook notices, zeroing in on the faint purple tint of your skin. He didn’t see anyone with you guys when you were in the quad during the fight, and he was sure he would’ve sensed if you’d been attacked right behind him. How the hell did you get a bruise like that?

As if to help him connect the dots, you both turn your attention to another figure at his locker down the hall. It’s the guy that was attacked, the guy whose bruises are an exact match to yours. 

Jungkook isn’t sure how exactly to piece this all together in his mind, but he does now realize that you had started acting funny once the fight had started, and disappeared right after the final blow. 

Was it possible for one person to feel another’s pain like that? Considering he’s a werewolf, it shouldn’t have been a total shock to him, he’s around unnatural things all the time. 

Still, he’d never encountered something quite like this. It was normal for a pack to share emotions and feelings, in their nature to sense each other on an emotional level.

You are definitely not a wolf though, and this is way more than that connection. 

Before he can question you about it, the bell rings and you rush to class, leaving him behind with more questions. 

Jungkook finally caught you at the end of the day, right before you could run off again. It was his first lacrosse game, and considering you were the reason he even tried out, he thought he’d invite you to come watch.

He also wanted to talk to you about what happened, and figured after the game would be as good a time as any. 

A small part also just wanted you to be there so he could show off and maybe, just maybe, impress you. You were the first girl, first person even, to befriend him despite his objections, and the more you helped him take his wall down, the more he started to like you. Jungkook might of even developed a bit of a crush on you. 

“You want me to come to your game?” You repeat back to him, and that signature smirk rears it’s annoying head again. 

“Yes, that’s what I said didn’t I?” Flustering you was his favorite part about your friendship. He never got tired of seeing your cheeks turn red and listening to you nervously ramble. They were some of the points on the ever-growing list of things he liked about you.

“I won’t have anyone to sit with,” you admit, realizing how distant your other friends had become since you’d started hanging out with Jungkook. Don’t get you wrong, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it would be awkward to be alone.

“That’s okay, you can sit with my brothers.” This was the first time Jungkook had really mentioned his brothers, other than the time he had admitted to you that he wasn’t an only child like you and that his family was big.

“Your brothers?”

Jungkook smiles, appreciating how enthusiastic you looked when he shared personal information. 

“Yeah, I have 6, and they all wanted to come watch my first game. You can sit with them if you want, I’ll let them know you’ll be there.”

Now, even though you were nervous, the chance to meet Jungkook’s mystery siblings was more enticing than sitting at home watching movies by yourself, so you promised him you’d come.

—

“What is she, your girlfriend or something?” Jin insinuates, mocking face making kissy noises to further antagonize his youngest brother. Jungkook’s face flushes beet red, flying at the eldest, tackling him.

“Jin, leave our little Romeo alone,” Taehyung joins in on the teasing, causing Jungkook to throw a pillow at his head after tackling Jin to the couch. 

Namjoon and Yoongi are watching their brothers play fight from the kitchen table, not wanting to incur Jungkook’s embarrassed rage onto themselves.

“Is she cute?” Jimin asks from the other couch, Jin and Taehyung nodding their heads in question, waiting for Jungkook to spill. 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess...” he rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat radiate off his skin. His brothers always found ways to pick on him, since he was the youngest, he was the best target.

“Ooo, well if she’s not your girlfriend maybe I’ll make her mine,” Hoseok yells as he enters the room, shoving Jungkook playfully. 

A low growl rumbles through the room, shutting everyone up. They all stare at Jungkook, his teeth slightly bared, and they fight their natural instinct to react. 

“He was just kidding Kookie,” Jimin says softly, patting Jungkook’s shoulder, calming him down.

“Sorry, didn’t realize how serious you were about her,” Hobi admits sheepishly, pulling out a chair next to Yoongi and plopping down.

“I’m not-,” he scoffs, “I mean, we’re friends, that’s all.”

They all stare at Kook, knowing their little brother all too well, seeing right through his aloof act. 

Jungkook pass over to Hoseok, head down in submission, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.” 

Hoseok just beams a wide smile, “It’s okay, it’s natural to feel protective over your mate.”

Jungkook’s eyes shoot wide open, “What-she’s not my- she’s not even a wolf, and how would you even know-“

Joon is up and patting the youngest’s back, “It doesn’t matter that she’s not a wolf. You’re exhibiting all the signs of having found your mate.”

Jungkook’s embarrassment grows more than he thought it could.

He wants to tuck himself away and hide forever. It had been obvious to everyone but him that you were his mate. The first girl he’d made friends with and it’s his mate. What are the odds?

“We’ll be on our best behavior, promise.” Taehyung holds his hand up, scouts honor. They all share a laugh and Jungkook gets ready for the game. 

—

When you show up at the field, Jungkook meets you at the sideline, pointing you in the direction of his brothers, who all watch you with anticipation.

“Good luck,” you whisper it in his ear to make sure he hears it over the loud roar of the crowd. You miss how his cheeks turn pink, but he just smiles and runs back over to the bench.

You make your way over to the group of boys all smiling at you and cheering for their brother. One of them, tall with brown hair and glasses, stands to help you over the bleachers to sit and shakes your hand.

“You must be the famous Y/N we’ve heard so much about,” Namjoon says and the. Introduces himself along with the others.

You can’t help but feel nervous, not only at the revelation that Jungkook talks about you to his family, but the fact that you’re surrounded by 6 guys you’ve never met before, each one beautiful in their own way. 

You could’ve guessed, considering how attractive Jungkook is, that his brothers would be as well.

The game starts, and you’re sandwiched in between Jimin and Yoongi, cheering alongside them for Jungkook. 

At halftime, your team is up down by one, and Jungkook has yet to be put on the field. 

While you’re growing impatient for him, his brothers seem to be perfectly fine with Jungkook riding bench. In fact, every time the coach looked like he was about to out Kook in, they all watched on almost nervously. 

You wondered why.

Jungkook meets you at the bleachers while the halftime clock runs, the team getting water and the coach going over plays.

“Why are your brothers not upset coach isn’t putting you in?” You ask, holding his water bottle for him as he tightens his shoe lace.

Jungkook knows that it’s because they’re afraid he’ll lose control and wolf out on the field, but he can’t tell you that.

“They’re just overprotective, afraid I’ll get hurt or something.”

You nod in understanding, even though you can sense that’s not it.

The game starts back up and before you know it, Jungkook is heading onto the field.

The boys are all watching in nervous anticipation, so you take the initiative to cheer Kook on for all of them. 

Jungkook sees the ball as it plops to the ground and suddenly he’s after it, scooping it up and running for his life. 

The crowd is cheering and as he approaches the goal, he can hear your voice above them all. He turns his head to look at you for just a fraction of a second, but it's enough for a member from the opposing team to tackle him violently to the ground.

Suddenly, everything is black.

—

You wake up in the emergency room, ice pack to your head and half of Jungkook’s brothers standing around you.

You try to sit up, catching Jimin’s attention, and he rushes over to help you slowly rise from the cot.

“Where are we?,” you slur, head pounding and vision blurry, 

“We’re in the emergency room, do you remember what happened?”

You stare at your legs, trying to think back to last thing you remember, “We were at the game, and Jungkook was about to score, but-“

And it’s all blank after that.

Hoseok approaches your other side, “He got tackled pretty hard. He passed out on the field,” the all look at you, “you passed out in the stands at the same moment.”

While your head is pounding and fuzzy, you understand what had happened and you know that they’re going to want answers.

Before they can get any out, though, they are ushered out and Jungkook comes in. He’s holding an ice pack to his head as well, smiling when he sees you.

“You trying to steal my thunder or something?” He asks sarcastically, cracking a smile out of you.

“I can explain,” you start, but you’re at a loss for words. 

Jungkook just walks over and plops down next to you on the cot.

“Is that why you ran off the night of the fight? Why your blood was in the parking lot and you had the same bruises as that kid?” 

He’d already pieced it together in his mind, and you’re tempted to make an excuse, but decide the truth needed to come out sooner or later.

You stare at the floor going over what you were going to say in your mind. You’d never told anyone this, and here you were, about to tell Jungkook, the weird kid from school and the kid from your past, your deepest secret.

“I remember you,” he adds, and you lift your gaze to look at him.

“That night in the woods, 10 years ago. You were the little girl that was scared of me.”

He looks sad and you can’t help the racing of your heart at the fact that he had remembered you after all these years. You were sure he’d forgotten or not realized it was you, considering he hadn’t brought it up, until now. 

“I wasn’t scared of you,” you whisper, and Jungkook looks surprised.

“I was crying for you, for myself. Your leg was caught in a trap. I could feel your pain, Kook.”

This whole time he’d thought he was this horrible monster that made a poor little girl cry; for 10 years he believed he was the big bad wolf. 

But he wasn’t.

“And that explains the blood, the bruise, and our matching concussions,” his lame attempt at a joke makes you laugh and he’s glad the two of you are alone.

“Yeah, sorry about ‘stealing your thunder,’” you giggle and he can hear his heart beating in his ears.

“Are you okay?,” he asks, looking over your head in search of any other injuries. You grab his hand and squeeze it tight.

“I’m okay.” 

—

You both are released from the E.R. and Jungkook invites you to family dinner at his house. 

As you stand on the front steps, you find yourself more nervous knowing you were meeting his entire family this time, but he folds your hand in his and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

Dinner is filled with loud laughs and plenty of teasing. You and Jungkook not only have matching concussions but matching blushes as well.

His parents absolutely adore you, knowing the second you walked in that you were their son’s mate. 

After dinner, Jungkook walks you out to the back porch to get some fresh air as the others clear the table.

you both lean on the railing staring up at the stars, when Jungkook lowers his gaze back to you. He’s mesmerized by the way the stars glimmer in your eyes, and when you lock eyes with him, he holds his breath. 

Before you can say anything, he’s leaning down, lips pressing gently to yours. 

It’s sweet and soft, holding a passion neither of you had ever felt before.

When he pulls away, you both stare at each other in silence for a minute, before his mother calls you both in.

You're standing at the sink in their kitchen drying dishes as his mother hands them to you, when she turns to you.

“I used to tell the boys stories of the old world when they were little,” she smiles at you and you return it.

“There was one story, about these incredible healers with the kindest hearts,” and as she looks at you, she can sense the great power within you. 

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

Had to repost this because Tumblr deleted it somehow, but hopefully it’s back and everyone can see it, sorry💜

-Moonie🌙

[star-linedsoul]

Happy Birthday, Erica Winchester!

Born June 17, 2016, my Supernatural OC Erica would be four years old today!

So, I thought I’d share a moodboard featuring the father-daughter relationship between Dean & Erica and was inspired to write a passage centered around the special day, which can be found beneath the Read More due to length.

It includes Daddy!Dean, fluff, & a cameo from the Colonel (because Sam & Dean should have kept him and you CANNOT change my mind!)!!!

This was written all in one sitting and given only a moderate proofread, so any mistakes are mine to be ashamed of later. 😅

I hope y’all enjoy!

As always, my ask box is open for questions or requests to be added to a taglist for Legacy!

Taglist: @wordspin-shares​

This is perfection.

An open highway stretched between rolling pastures, the asphalt shimmering in the heat of the mid-June sun. A black Impala cruised over the blacktop, its rumbling engine accentuating the guitars wailing from the radio speakers as Dean Winchester drummed on the steering wheel in sync with the bass line. Sam Winchester was not reclined in the passenger seat, however. The car wasn’t cruising along a highway somewhere on the far side of the country, making its way toward a town in the midst of being terrorized by one of the many creatures that went bump in the night. So what gave Dean the idea that this casual drive through the farmlands of northern Kansas was the epitome of idealism?

He looked up at the rearview mirror with a grin. A baby-faced girl with curly blonde pigtails sat in the backseat, secure in a purple, high-backed booster. She kicked her feet in time with the rhythm of the music, weaving her head side to side as she babbled her own made-up lyrics from a mouth stained snow-cone blue while her hands were busy gently stroking the ears of the aged German Shepherd with its head in her lap.

“Erica Jo!” Bright green eyes immediately met their match in the rearview mirror as Dean called the girl’s attention. “What is today?”

She grinned, her teeth as stained as her lips. “My birthday!”

“And how old are you today?”

“Four!” she squealed, raising one hand as she turned her thumb in to display the appropriate number of fingers.

“That’s right!” Dean confirmed, hitting his brakes and his blinker simultaneously as the pastures on either side of the road were replaced with lines of business-fronts. “And do you know what that means?”

“We’re having a party!” Her attitude was infectious as she clapped her hands in delight.

Dean felt his own grin grow into a full smile as he turned onto a street lined with modest houses, seeking out a familiar blue two-story with a wide front porch that already had several cars parked in front. As he wheeled into the driveway, he spotted his brother standing in front of the garage, already lifting the door so that the Impala could be parked inside. Erica was unbuckling the car seat before Dean could shift into park.

“Uncle Sam!” The birthday girl threw herself from the car as he opened the door, giggling as she was swooped into long arms and lifted high in the air.

“There’s my favorite niece! Happy birthday, kiddo!” Sam brought Erica down and rested her on one hip, stepping away from the car to give Dean room to get out. “Perfect timing, man. We’ve got all of the decorations up and I’ve got the grill ready for you.”

“Hey, I’m just glad I got the easy job!” the elder Winchester returned. “Keeping the birthday girl occupied for the afternoon was cake. We had fun, didn’t we, Slugger?”

Erica grinned and nodded. “Are we gonna have cake now?”

“Soon,” Dean promised. He then looked around at the cars lining the driveway and the street. “It looks like just about everyone made it.”

“Almost,” Sam agreed. “We’re waiting on…never mind.”

The brothers watched as a yellow Gremlin turned the corner and slowed to a stop at the curb in front of the house. Sam suddenly found himself in possession of a particularly wiggly four-year-old who took off for the car as soon as he returned her to the ground.

“An’ Carlee!” Erica cried as she raced across the front yard as fast as her legs would carry her.

The redhead who had climbed from the driver’s seat of the car quickly crouched down to catch the little girl in a hug. “Hey! How’s my favorite Winchester?”

“What’s up, bi—best friends?” Charlie greeted the brothers as she walked across the lawn hand-in-hand with Erica, quickly correcting herself as she side-eyed the birthday girl.

Dean was grateful. Erica was in that stage where she was a sponge for new words or phrases, and he & her mother had already had the trouble of explaining why she couldn’t call her little brother a “son of a bitch” when he took her toys. It had not been an enjoyable experience, nor had the lecture he had received afterward about watching his mouth around the kids.

“Hi, Charlie,” Sam said, pulling the redhead in for a warm hug.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest with a mock pout. “I thought I was your favorite Winchester.”

“That was the past,” Charlie returned with a melodramatic sigh. “I’m ‘An Carlee’ now. The times have changed.” She dropped the act for a wide grin, joining Dean in a tight embrace before holding up a Star Wars-themed gift bag. “So where does this need to go?”

Dean quickly ushered everyone into the house, sending Charlie and his brother on to join the rest of their guests while he steered Erica into the kitchen. There, they found the most beautiful woman in the world arranging food trays.

“Mommy!” Erica cried, surging forward to wrap her arms around Cameron at the legs.

The blonde smiled as she stopped her work and wiped her hands on a towel before returning Erica’s embrace. “Hey! I thought that was you guys I heard…did you and Daddy have fun today?”

Dean could feel himself smiling like an idiot as he watched the exchange between two of the people most dear to him as Erica gushed about their afternoon of fishing, snow-cones, and the park while Cameron listened with rapt attention on their daughter. He still didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky.

He had thought the evening plans might be derailed when Erica protested changing into the dress Cameron had picked out for the princess-themed party, but Cameron had quickly cut off the threatened tantrum before it could begin, waiting for the strong-willed little girl to disappear up the stairs before looking at Dean and releasing a long-suffering sigh.

“Don’t look at me!” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender as he leaned against the counter. “She gets her stubbornness from you.”

“In your dreams,” Cameron returned with a scoff as she approached him, cupping his face in her hands and looking him dead in the eye. “That is one hundred percent pure Winchester, my love. God help us when she’s sixteen.”

Dean smiled down at the woman who had so readily built the home he had always wanted but never felt he deserved. “Aren’t we lucky?”

“Every day we’re breathing,” Cameron returned easily, offering a wide smile of her own before pressing her lips against his.

Before Dean could consider taking her captive and sneaking away from their own daughter’s birthday party, Cameron had pulled away and was disappearing upstairs with the order to start the grill before their hungry guests began to mutiny.

The evening passed in a blur of laughs and smiles shared between the gathered crowd of family and friends-that-had-become-family. Erica had been quick to grab the spotlight once she joined the guest in her princess dress and crown—though Dean was quick to notice she was in sneakers rather than the glittery sandals Cameron had painstakingly picked out. They had learned there were some battles that simply weren’t worth fighting. The guest of honor danced between the throng, accepting their birthday wishes with the charismatic enthusiasm reserved for happy children. Dean was happy to fade into the background and let her shine. He retreated to a corner of the yard, sharing a beer with Sam and relishing in this moment he had rarely dared to imagine in the days when his life had been focused around the darkest corners of the world.

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” He ventured aloud, trusting his brother to know what he meant.

“I’d hoped we would,” Sam returned. “Even when we were at our worst, I hoped we’d find a way back.”

“And we did. We made it, Sammy. We’re home.”

Sam clinked the neck of his beer bottle against Dean’s. “Yeah. We are home.”

The soft rushing of little feet through the grass alerted the brothers to the fact that they were no longer alone. In the same motion, they shifted and crouched, catching the two girls recklessly charging forward and swinging them up in the air.

“Just what do you two think you’re doing?” Sam demanded, lightly shaking the girl in his grip. His daughter dissolved into a fit of giggles, so he looked to his brother. “Uh-oh. Mine seems to be broken. Can you get any information out of yours?”

“Mama says it’s time for cake!” Erica reported immediately, unafraid where she hung slack in her father’s grip just over his head.

“Cake? We don’t have any cake over here, do we Sammy?”

“Nope. Just raspberries!” Sam blew against little Mary’s cheek, making her shriek and laugh.

Erica groaned, kicking her legs as Dean still held her in the air. “No! You gotta light the candles!”

“Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so?” Dean swung her back down to the ground as Sam did the same with his daughter. Taking the pair by the hands, their moment clearly over, the brothers returned to the party.

Dean lit the four candles of the birthday cake as everyone gathered their phones and cameras. Stepping back beside Cameron as the singing began, he watched the shadows dancing across Erica’s excited face in the candlelight. She screwed her eyes shut as she made her wish. Dean relished in the knowledge that he’d been able to give her a life where she was able to make the normal wish a four-year-old made over their birthday candles: a pony, a house made of candy, or a trip to the moon.

This was perfect.

[all1e23]

Astrophile [Pt. 5]

Chapter:  Milky Way

Summary: Movie night is the best night ever.

Warnings:  Fluffy fluff. Protective & soft Bucky.

A/N:  Please don’t call looking for Bucky. He won’t be there. ;-) Send me love because i”m needy, okay?!  Plus all your comments make my day.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed! Thanks!**

Bucky can’t remember a point in his life when he’s had serious difficulty asking a woman back to his place but right now occupying the sidewalk out front of Y/n’s bookstore he’s not feeling very confident. It could be the fact that he’s thoroughly exhausted after working a 10-hour shift or it could be the way she smiles at him. He’s not sure. Either way, he’s dragging his feet. The last thing he wants is to disappoint his baby girl, but they barely know each other. What are the odds Y/n wants to spend all of her free time with him and his daughter? From his experience with women over the last five years, the odds weren’t good.

The sound of Y/n’s laughter trickles through the cracks in the front windows, and his nerves don’t stand a chance next to that sweet sound. He needs to remember to help her fix those cracks though. That can’t be safe. He holds the door open for an elderly couple exiting and slips into the shop after them. Y/n is sitting at the front counter with a book in hand; her nose is crinkled in the cutest way. It reminds him of his Orion, she makes the same adorable crinkle when she’s focused. Bucky looks down and curses internally. He’s in his black jeans, dirty ass boots he only wears to work and a dark blue NYFD shirt, glancing back up at her light blue spaghetti strap sundress, and for the first time in his life, he thinks he should have listened to Sam. He should have changed before he left.

Not that his clothes matter he supposes. Y/n’s just Ori’s friend. That’s all. 

Y/n looks up, a grin splits her face in two when she sees him standing in front of her. She sets her book down and looks behind him a small frown tugging at her lips when she notices he is alone. That’s a real confidence booster, Bucky thought.

“No, Ori?” She asks, smiling the same polite way she does for everyone. It’s not the same way she lights up when Orion is around he’s coming to notice.

“No,” he replied, nerves seeping back into his voice. “She’s at Nat’s waiting on me to pick her up.”

“Well,” She says, setting her book on the countertop before her and crossing her arms over her chest setting Bucky with a firm, playful glare. “Does this mean you have come to say sorry for treating my sweet Beck so cruelly?”

Bucky chuckles, relaxing enough to find his footing around her. She’s easy to talk to. He remembers that much. On more secure footing now, he closes the space between them resting his elbows on the hard surface that holds the register and leans forward a bit giving her that charming grin he saves for times like these. The times when asking real sweet just won’t cut it. 

“Uh, wasn’t on the agenda no. I guess I should add it on to butter you up.”

Her eyebrow quirks up from his proximity and curiosity. “Butter me up, huh? What are you buttering me up for?”

Whelp, here goes nothing, Bucky thought. It was far too late to back out now. 

“Every two weeks or so Ori and I have a movie night. I pick up a pizza and get a movie. We hang out on the couch and eat an unhealthy amount of junk food. It’s kind of our thing.”

She smiles at the thought of the two of them sitting curled up on the couch watching movies together. While that mental image is so sweet she might have given herself a cavity, none of what he has mentioned has anything to do with her.

“That sounds fun,” She murmurs, a little unsure of why Bucky drove out to her to tell her all of this. The confused look on her face had Sam’s voice ringing loudly in his ears, get it over with Barnes! This is just pitiful man.

“It is,” Bucky agrees, taking a deep breath and ripping the band-aid off before he makes a bigger fool of himself. “That’s kind of why I’m here. After you left, she asked me if it would be okay if you came to movie night and I promised her I would come here and ask if you would join us. I know it’s a little weird and you just wasted last night with us so it’s okay if you can’t or even if you don’t want to. I promised her I would ask and I don’t lie to my kid.”

Bucky and Y/n are both very mindful of the fact that he could have easily avoided all of this by merely telling Orion he asked her, and Y/n would have played along without hesitation. She would have explained that he came by to ask her, but she was unable to come because she had to work, none of which would be a lie. She does have to work. Instead, he went nearly twenty minutes out of his way to ask her if she would come to movie night with him and his daughter because he won’t lie to her. Even over something as small as asking someone to movie night.

It wasn’t that hard of choice.

“Okay. I’ll come to movie night.”

Y/n smiles at the look of shock on his face. He wasn’t expecting that obviously and maybe he didn’t want that answer. 

“Unless,” She wonders aloud. “You want me to say no?”

“No!” Bucky rushes out startling her a bit. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I mean no,” He manages to say at a much more normal volume. “You can say whatever you want. I didn’t think you would want to come. S’not like anything real exciting is gonna happen at the Barnes residence tonight.”

“Sounds pretty exciting. Pizza and a movie? Both of those are in my top five favorite things.” 

She takes a moment to observe him, and it’s apparent just how exhausted he is, and yet he still came all this way to ask her when he could have called Natasha for her number. There was no way he’s taking the bus or driving when he looks like he is about to fall asleep standing up. She hops off the stool behind the counter and starts rapidly typing away on the computer in front of her.

“Can you flip the sign on the front door to closed?”

Bucky frowns but meanders back to the door and flips the sign over. “Is the next shift not here yet or somethin’?”

Y/n shakes her head as she gathers up a big bag she is shoved under the computer and pulls her jacket off the back of the stool. 

“Nope. I don’t have anyone else coming. Just closing the shop early today. Can you get the lights over there?” She asks, ignoring the way his mouth is hanging open like he was trying to catch flies.

“You can’t–” He watches her turn off her office light and make her way towards him. “You can’t just shut down your shop because my kid wants to hang out with you.”

She laughs and flips off the lights she had asked him to turn off moments ago and shrugs casually. “Why not? It’s my shop. I can do whatever I want. That’s what it means to be the boss. Besides, you’re exhausted and can barely stand up so I can drive you to pick up Ori and we can order a pizza instead of picking one up.”

Bucky follows her out the shop thoroughly baffled by whatever the hell is currently happening. 

“For the record, a night spent with Ori is never a waste in my book,” She states, keys jingling against her shooting star keychain as she locks the front door. Bucky watches as she struggles to get the door locked having to kick the bottom a few times to force the lock into place. Did everything need to be fixed in the damn shop? He watches as she shoves a unicorn stuffie into her bag and a small black book titled ‘The Moon Book.’ They are unmistakably gifts for Ori, and he can feel his heart stop at the thought she must have put into those presents.

He needed to thank whatever God brought this amazingly kind woman into his daughter’s life.

------

“Comet!” Bucky shouts through Natasha and Clint’s living room towards that staircase that led up to their master bedroom and the bedroom they have set up for Ori because Natasha insisted she has a place of her own when she’s over. Bucky had to admit with the amount of times she spends at their place it wasn’t a waste of money. 

“Let’s go baby girl. It’s movie night, and I’ve got a surprise for you waiting outside.”

Natasha grins up at Bucky who is expertly avoiding his eyes and doing everything he can think of to prevent the question that’s about to come pouring out of her mouth, “So. Y/n’s coming over for movie night I hear?”

There it is. He freaking knew it. 

“Nat,” Bucky murmurs, a bit of warning edging into his voice. He’s too exhausted to have this talk again and it’s not one he wants Y/n to hear. 

“Ori likes her, and that’s the only reason she’s coming over for movie night. You know she told me Y/n is her best friend? She needs friends. You know how hard it is for her to open up. She’s got no friends at school, so if she wants Y/n to come over every single movie night, then it’s okay by me.”  

Her expression softens at the thought of her niece having no friends at school and struggling to fit in. It makes her furious that no one in that pathetic excuse for a school can see how incredible Ori is. She can’t take it out on pre-k students, but their parents are fair game if you ask Natasha. Truthfully, Ori reminds her of Y/n a lot. Natasha nods towards Y/n sitting in the car, Ori’s surprise. 

“She’s not the only one that has trouble making friends.”

Bucky’s frown deepens as his gaze drifts to the woman sitting out in the car, “What are you talking about Tash?”

“Y/n doesn’t have anyone,” Natasha clarifies gently. 

“Before we met she didn’t have any friends. Her whole life is that shop. She goes to work and then back up to her apartment that’s right above the shop. I think that’s why she spends so much time hiding in her books. She’s lonely.”

 Bucky watches as Y/n sets the book and a small unicorn stuffie on Ori’s seat and anger instantly swells in his chest. Who the hell wouldn’t want to be her friend?

“Well, she’s not alone anymore,” Bucky says, looking back at Natasha. 

“Don’t even start. I’m not gonna let her go through life with no one to fall back on. If I didn’t have you guys, I don’t know where I would be. Especially at the beginning, when Ori was a baby. I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for you Tash. I know that for sure.”

Natasha leans up on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

“You don’t have to worry about that. You’re stuck with me. Friends will help, but I think Y/n wants more. She’s just scared to realize she wants something more. Do you really think Stark is no good for her? I know he’s a little much, but he’s sweet under that facade he puts on.”  

Bucky’s eyes dart out to the car towards Y/n. “I– I don’t know. I don’t really see them together.”  

Natasha grins and shakes her head at clueless dummy in front of her, handing over Ori’s booster seat. Ori comes racing towards them halting any more Stark talk. Ori starts to say hi to Bucky but her entire face lights up when she sees Y/n in the car, and she rushes past him towards Y/n’s car. Bucky looks back at Natasha with an unreadable expression. It wasn’t often she had trouble reading him, but right now she had no idea what he was thinking.  

“Fine. Whatever. Set them up. I don’t care, but when it blows up in your face, I am one hundred percent saying I told you so.”

-------

Tonight was going down in the top three of the best movie nights ever, or at least according to Ori. There was pizza, homemade ice cream cookie sandwiches - which were merely premade chocolate chip cookies they had in the pantry and Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer. Ori’s favorite part? Y/n. It seemed like Y/n had a good time. He couldn’t really tell. She was hard to decipher sometimes, but she did this adorable little giggle snort laugh about ten times throughout ‘Hotel Transylvania 3’. Not that Bucky was paying attention to her; all his focus was on his little comet.

At one point, Ori had giggled and said, Daddy, you are just like Drac. He doesn’t know what to do either. Bucky really didn’t know what she meant, but Y/n seemed to get it because she covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. This was the last time he was going to bring Y/n over for a movie if they were going to gang up on him and he made sure they knew! Neither fell for his bluff, and they both had the nerve to say yeah right. At the same time even!

They are a couple of trouble makers.

Ori had fallen asleep on Bucky’s lap before the movie ended giving him a chance to thank Y/n for the car ride, closing her shop early and everything else Y/n’s done for Ori. As much as he loves his daughter, it’s nice when she falls asleep a little early. It gives him a minute to be just Bucky again, even if it’s only for thirty minutes before he goes to bed. He manages to slip out from under his little comet without waking her and offers Y/n a beer which she accepts with an excited grin and shit if that isn’t cute.

“So,” Bucky clears his throat uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other as he passes her the amber bottle over the kitchen island. “Nat is gonna try to set you up with Tony Stark. Just a warning.”

Y/n chuckles and sighs heavily, this isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. “She’s always trying to set me up with someone.”

“I personally don’t think he’s your type,” Bucky says too quickly, too flustered, he shouldn’t care if he’s not her type. They don’t know each other and talking about her personal life was too invasive. He glances back to check on Ori and finds her still fast asleep on the couch, clutching the unicorn stuffie that Y/n bought her.

“You think you’re gonna go?” He asks, purely for the sake of his daughter. If she started dating Stark then it meant Ori would be seeing him from time to time because there is no way he can keep Ori away from Y/n now-- not that he would ever want to. However, he wasn't sure he liked the idea of Y/n spending all that time with Stark. 

For Ori’s sake of course. It had nothing to do with him or Y/n. 

“Does it bother you if I go out with him?” She counters, taking note of the disapproval in his voice and the way he is ducking her gaze.

“I wouldn’t say bothers me. Just a little worried is all. Friends worry about each other, don’t they?” 

 Y/n can date whoever she wants and Bucky’s interest in that topic has nothing to do with anything other than friendly worry. He doesn’t want her to get her heart broken when things with Stark go sour, which they eventually will. He’s protective of his friends. The same way he looks after Steve or Natasha. That’s all this is.

“Friends huh?” She snarks, trying to hide the hint of hope that filled her voice — attempting to conceal that deeply buried longing to have someone else in her life besides Natasha, Ori and her books. Bucky can see right through her facade, and it makes his chest ache to know she’s been alone so long she can’t see they have been friends long before this night.

“Yeah, we are friends, Y/n.” 

Bucky motions to Ori’s still squeezing her stuffie and grins at Y/n. “It’s too late to back out now. My kid loves you, and you made me read. You chose this mayhem.”

“Does this mean next movie night can I suggest a movie? It’s a grownup movie though. We may have to wait till her highness falls asleep.” Bucky shrugs for her to go ahead, not even realizing that he just agreed to spend another movie night with someone else besides his baby girl. 

“We should watch The Martian once you finish reading it.”

“What the hell?!” Bucky shouts softly conscious of the sleeping little girl not that far away from them. He glares playfully at her and shakes his head in mock disapproval. “There’s a movie, and you made me read the whole damn book?”

Y/n perks up, beaming brighter than the sun, “So you finished it?”

Bucky grins at the way her whole face brightened, disregarding how his heart danced from merely a glimpse at that smile. 

“Yeah,” He confirmed. “I finished it after you left the other night.”

“And you found out that Beck saves the day? Hm??” She asks, full of sass and i told you so’snark. Her eye catches a picture of the solar system, and she sets her beer down to look through the stack of Ori’s artwork that was on the counter. There are a few space-related ones that she imagined Bucky was happy to see when Ori brought them home, but her favorite was the picture of Ori as a princess.

“Yeah, yeah. Beck isn’t so bad. He stepped up at the end.” 

In a normal situation, Y/n would have gloated over being undeniably right, but something under all the stack of colorful crayon drawings had her attention.

“Oh my god,” she says with a playfulness in her voice he hasn’t heard before, and he’s not sure it’s a good thing. She spins around on her heels holding a copy of ‘New York City Firefighters’ to her chest.

“Please, please tell me you are in this,” she begs practically bouncing with excitement.

It was, in fact, not a good thing.

Bucky’s cheeks tint pink at the sight of the horrid calendar, he reaches over the counter in an attempt to seize it from her delicate hold, but she pulls it out of his reach, immediately flipping to find his month.

 “Don’t look at that. I meant to throw it away. Give it here!” He whispers, chasing her around the counter.

“Oh my- It’s so much better than I thought it was!” 

She giggles, tip-toeing away from him as he chases her around the kitchen island. He had no shirt on under his jacket; his head was turned away from the camera with a shy smile, they left his hair down, and it was wet? They must have caught him mid-laugh because his nose scrunched in the cutest way. She’s never seen anything this amazingly hilarious in her life. 

“Look at that little grin on your face. Were you shy Buck?”

“It’s for charity!” He whines, forgetting the way his heart flips at the sound of his name on her lips.

“Is it?” She asks through her laughter and tears that were now steadily falling. “Did they ask you to do that bashful smirk and the little nose crinkle?”

“They did actually,” He deadpans reaching over the counter finally stealing it out of her hands, her defenses had weakened thanks to her laughter, and he seizes the moment. Y/n sighs happily and wipes the fallen tears from her cheeks, attempting to catch her breath but the more he whines the harder it is to stop her giggles.

“The guys wouldn’t leave during my shoot. You can thank them for the face. Did you see Clint’s? He’s holding an ax over his shoulder like he’s Thor or somethin’. How come you’re only laughing at me?!”

“Oh, god. This is the best night. Will you sign it for me so I can put it up in the shop? Oh, please! Please!” She begs, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet for the second time over this dumb calendar.

He groans and looks around for a sharpie, pulling one out of the stacks of mail he had pilling up in the middle of the empty pizza boxes from dinner. She leans over his shoulder and watches as he writes quickly like he’s worried someone will rush in and catch him. 

Y/n, you’re smoking hot!

Y/n giggles and tries to take it from him but he pulls it out of reach. 

“Are you crazy? I’m not letting you take that!” 

Her jaw falls open, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite her urge to stay mad at him. 

“That was mean. Cold even.” She groans when her eyes fall on the clock behind his head. Bucky follows her eyes and winces when he spots the time 11:37. Waking with Ori first thing in the morning would be a real blast. She rarely sleeps past seven and the second her feet hit the floor she’s ready to breakfast. After cuddles of course. 

“It’s getting late. I guess I should get going. I have to open the store in the morning.” 

“I guess I should get her up to and follow her lead,” He muses as he pulls the calendar out of reach once again and smirks at her as if to say, Nice try.

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

He doesn’t really like the idea of her going home this late on her own, but he can’t do much with Ori sleeping on the couch. A text will have to do this time. Y/n raises her brow at him, slipping her purse on her shoulder. 

“Dude, I don’t have your number. How am I supposed to text you?” Bucky rolls his eyes and holds his hand out for her phone.  Y/n rolls her eyes, mocking him and sets her phone in his hands, he quickly types it in and hands it back over to her.

“Now you have my number.” He says with a smug smile and all.

“Okay,” She starts, stopping at the front door. “Before I go I have to know.”

“What?” Bucky pulls the door open for her, heart racing at the serious look on her face. What the hell does she need to know that is that serious?

“Do you often fight fires without your shirt?” She asks, fighting off her giggles for the second time.  “Or is it just optional. When you’re feeling extra confident, you go no shirt. Not sure about how the pecs look you cover them up? Or is it by the seriousness of the fire? Smart. That’s very smart.”

He narrows his eyes and ushers her out the front door, “You’re banned from movie night. That’s it.”

“It’s too late, Buck,” She singsongs as she cheerfully skips down the stairs. “You chose this mayhem, remember?”

“No idea what I was thinking,” Bucky's shouts after her, watching as she walks down the sidewalk and gets safely into her car. The front door doesn’t close until her tail lights disappear. Just to be on the safe side. It takes all of ten minutes to clean up thanks to Y/n helping after pizza, even though Bucky remindeed guests don’t clean up. He’s beginning to see she does whatever she wants regardless of what anyone tells her. Bucky likes that. After making sure everything was shut down from the night, and all the doors are locked, he stashes the dreaded calendar in the basket next to the couch and scoops his sleeping comet off the sofa.

“I sleep with you daddy?” A sleepy voice called out from the crook of his arm.

“Yeah, comet.” He whispers back, placing a light kiss to her head as he carefully climbes the stairs towards his bedroom. Bucky lays her down on the right side of the bed, away from his pillow but she quickly moves over and wraps herself around his pillow taking up residency in the middle of the bed. Just like always.

The quiet vibrations coming from his side table have him yanking his ratty old black t-shirt over his head and skidding on his socks back into the bedroom. By some small miracle, Ori is still fast asleep and he breathes a sigh of relief. He flips the light off on the side table and gently crawls into bed, scooting the bed hog over as he went.

[(917)- 555 - 8899]: Home sweet apartment. Thanks for tonight. I had a lot of fun with Ori, and I guess you weren’t so bad either. Have a good night Mr. December.

Bucky chuckles quietly glancing down at Ori wiggling around in his bed, struggling to find a comfortable spot. He gently moves up to sitting and types out a quick reply and deletes it just as fast as he wrote it. He tries again, but everything he types sounds so stupid. He groans internally and leans his head back against the headboard. It shouldn’t be this hard to send her a simple text message. He takes a deep breath and types out the first thing that he can think of and hits send before he can change his mind. He doubts he will  dream about anything besides her sweet laugh and pretty smile.

He’s not so sure he minds. 

[December]: For the record, I wanted you to say yes. Have a good night, Beck.

Previous // Next

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 18

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​

“Mommy is going to be really mad,” TJ laments from the backseat as they pull into the driveway. “Is that why she didn’t come and get me? Because she’s mad?”

“She’s just tired,” Tyler assures him, as he kills the ignition. “She needs sleep.  Having a baby is hard work. And your sister is only three weeks old. Still new.”

“She’s going to be so pissed,” the five-year-old sounds as if he may cry. “She doesn’t like when I get in fights. When I’m bad at school.”

“I think she’s going to understand why you go into this fight. Once you tell her everything and...”

“I can’t tell her! That’ll just make things even worse. Can’t you just tell her I wasn’t feeling well and had to come home?”

“I don’t think that’s going to work, mate. Have you seen your face?”

“That’s going to make her even more mad!” he cries, and then promptly bursts into tears.  

Normally he’s the strong, stoic one; very rarely showing even the slightest hint of sadness. Even as a baby he rarely cried, not even for a wet diaper or out of hunger.  At three he’d adopted the habit of cracking jokes –even at his own expense- when he felt the threat of tears coming on.   Rage and frustration are his two main negative emotions; easily going from laughing and smiling to angry and intense.   Possessing a hair trigger temper that’s bad enough on an adult, but extremely troubling and almost terrifying on a little kid.

“She’s not going to be mad,” Tyler assures him. “She might be mad at the kids that messed you up but...”

“I messed them up worse!” TJ snaps, as if offended anything other than victory had been suggested or expected. “Don’t forget that part! I handed them their asses!”

“...but she isn’t going to be mad at you,” his father calmly continues.

Snapping back or letting his own anger or frustration show will do nothing. Other than encourage the kid to escalate his own behavior.  It had been a hard thing to learn; not to immediately react when TJ begins acting out. Handling it emotionally and letting his own temper take over just to makes things even worse. According to the therapist, anyway.

 “Redirect not escalate”, he can hear her say. “Kids like this need patience and understanding. Not judgement and punishment.”  He’d thought it was bullshit at first. That not punishing bad behavior only encouraged it to get worse. It’s how he’d spent his own childhood, after all.  Until it had been drilled into his head that there was nothing normal about the way he’d grown up and he needed to ‘break the cycle’.  

“You don’t know that!” TJ argues. “That mommy won’t be mad!”

“I’ve known her longer than you have. I know her a bit better. I know what makes her mad and sets her off. I’m a master at pissing her off.  And I know she won’t be mad at you. She's going to be a little sad when she sees what your face looks like.”

“That’s even worse! I don’t want mommy to make mommy sad!”

He cries even harder now. Arms folded across his chest, chin tucked into his chest and his eyes closed; entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. If there’s one thing that he is sensitive about, it’s his mother. No one upsets his mother on his watch.  And if they dare raise their voice to her or look at her with even the slightest bit of threat in their eyes, he’s the one jumping to her defense.   Tanner fits the typical ‘mommy’s boy’ stereotype, but TJ will fuck someone up if they mess with her.

Tyler kills the ignition and waits; giving his son a few minutes to get all the tears and emotions out. He knows better than to even attempt to offer any form of support or comfort, whether it be verbal or physical; the kid hates feeling as if someone is pitying him or seeing him as weak and it will only send him into a blind rage. So he gives TJ the chance to work things out on his own; occasionally glancing at him through the rearview mirror, holding off until the sobbing subsides and the five-year-old gives a long, shaky sigh and then uses the front of his t-shirt to wipe his face.

“You good?” He asks.

TJ nods.

“You wanna go in? See mommy? Tell her what happened?”

“You won’t leave, right? You’ll stay when I tell her?”

“I’ll stay right with you. What do you think she’s going to do to you?”

“Nothing. But I don’t want her to be sad. I hate when mommy’s sad. And she won’t be sad if you’re there.”

He wants to tell him that he’s made mommy sad plenty of times. More than he likes to admit. That he’s made her cry too many times to count and regrets every single tear she’s shed because of him or over him. But he doesn’t; burdening kids with adult problems solves nothing. It only causes more issues. And they have enough of those to deal with.

“Let’s clean you up a bit,” Tyler suggests, as he slides from behind and wheel and steps out, popping open the back door of the truck and reaching for TJ’s backpack. “You got clean clothes in here?”

“I think so. Mommy always remembers to put some in.”

“Good thing one of us has our shit together, yeah? Go in the garage,” he instructs, as he unbuckles the straps on the booster seat and then wraps one arm around his son’s slender body, helping him down to the ground. He’s tall for five; long and lanky, yet solid and strong.  “I’ll clean you up in there. That way you look a bit better when mommy sees you.”

“Okay,” TJ agrees, bare feet slapping against the cement of the driveway, stopping momentarily to scoop up that day’s newspaper that the delivery boy had tossed onto the grass, then throwing it at the front door.

Sighing, Tyler closes the truck doors and sets the alarm before joining his son in the garage, peeling off the blood and dirt stained t-shirt and locating the cleanest part possible; wetting in at the sink in the corner and then using it to clear away the dried blood from TJ’s face.  

The kid never winces once; not even a single flicker or pain despite the often vigorous scrubbing or the fingertips that poke and prod as they investigate each injury.  

“Is it broken?” TJ asks, when his dad presses on the sides of his nose.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think anything’s broken. Any missing teeth? Loose ones?”

“None missing. But...” he pauses as he uses the tip of his tongue to press against each tooth. “A couple loose ones.”

“They’re baby teeth. So they’ll just fall out and you won’t be gruesome toothless for long.”

“Now that’s mean,” TJ giggles, then immediately grows serious. “Am I going to get arrested? Are the police going to come here?”

“Why would the police come here?”

“Because I beat those kids up. I heard what Mrs. Tucker said. About it being assault. That’s a bad thing, right? That’s what police come for. Bad things.”

“You’re five. I think you’ll be able to escape an assault charge. And don’t listen to that stupid bitch.”

TJ’s eyes widen.

“And also don’t tell your mom I called her that.”

“She is though,” TJ concludes.

“A stupid bitch?”

He giggles. “Yeah.”

“The stupidest of bitches,” Tyler agrees, and then tosses the soiled shirt into the hamper before locating a clean one at the bottom of TJ’s school bag. “Feel better?” he asks, as he yanks the item of clothing over his son’s head. “Just a bit?”

TJ nods. “You know what would make me feel even better, though?”

Tyler arches an eyebrow.

“Ice cream.”

Grinning, he lays a hand on the back of his son’s head and gently pushes him towards the door. “Ice cream would make me feel a bit better too.”

***

“So what was it today?” Esme inquires, as she stands at the kitchen island; body swaying from side to side as she holds Addie along her arm, free hand flipping through a stack of mail. Not even glancing up when they step into the room. “Desk tipping? Chair throwing? Calling the teacher a stupid fat cow?”

“In his defense, I’m the one that actually called her that,” Tyler admits. “And it’s bit more than that.” He drops TJ’s school bag on one of the bar stools and then lays a hand on her hip and presses a kiss to her temple. “You might want to give me the baby.”

“Why?” she gives a small, almost nervous laugh, a scowl creeping across her face she looks up at him and sees the seriousness on his face. “It can’t be THAT bad?”

“Trust me on this,” he says, and she places the baby along his arm; Addie’s head nestling into the crook of his elbow.  Carrying her across the kitchen and giving a Declan a kiss on the top of his head as he sits snacking in his highchair before tossing open the freezer and taking out the ice cream.

“Mommy...” TJ begins, nervously rocking back and forth on his heels. “...don’t be mad.”

“Why would I...” her eyes widen when she looks at him; taking in the various cuts and bruises that inhabit his face and then rushing to him, kneeling in front of him with one hand on his shoulder, the other gently cupping his cheek.  “What happened? What the hell, Tyler?”

“He got into a fight,” her husband responds, as he places Addie in her swing by the sliding door. “No big deal.”

She frowns. “Not you. I wasn’t asking you.”

“You need to actually specify which one of us you’re speaking to when we’re both in the same room,” he reminds her. “Or neither of us will answer because we have no clue who you’re talking to.”

“I got into a fight,” TJ confirms, as she scoops him up and places him on the edge of the island.

“It looks more like someone used you as a punching bag.”

“He looks worse. Much worse. So do the other guys.”

“There was more than one?” Her fingers cautiously survey the damage, the cut across the bridge of his nose and the swelling under the left eye the most concerning.

TJ sticks his bottom between his teeth and nods.

“How many more?”

“A couple.”

“A couple?”

“Four,” he admits.

“Four kids? In your class?”

TJ looks to his father for moral support as he joins them, placing three spoons and three bowls of ice cream on the counter, then handing him an ice pack tucked under his arm.

“Eye,” Tyler gently orders. “It’ll keep the swelling down. And it was four older kids,” he says to his wife, remarkably calm and composed as he leans stomach first against the island and digs into the ice cream.

“How much older?” she asks.

“Grade four,” TJ answers.

She frowns. “You’re five.”

He shrugs. “I’m a bad ass,” he reasons.

Esme stares pointedly at her husband.

“What?” Tyler asks innocently. “Guess he’s got good genes.”

She sighs and turns back to her son. “You fought four kids?”

“I was really only fighting one kid,” TJ explains. “The others jumped me. So I fought them too.”

“All of them? At the same time?”

“And won,” Tyler says, and then shrugs when she glares at him. “Just sayin’.”

“You don’t seem the least bit upset about this,” she observes.

“Why would I be? My kid just took on four other kids and beat their asses. Why would I be upset? I’m proud of him.”

“Have you looked at his face?”

“He’s got a black eye, a split lip, a sore nose and a couple of loose teeth. They’ll fall out and his adult teeth will eventually come in. I don’t see the big deal. I’ve had worse.”

“You’re forty years old,” she points out. “And you used to...well...you know what used to do for a living. Of course you’ve had worse. He’s five!”

“And it won’t be the last time he gets a little messed up. It’s not a huge deal.”

“He could have a concussion,” she argues.

“He does not have a concussion. Did you hit your head?” Tyler directs the question to his son.

“Nope.”

“He doesn’t have a concussion,” he concludes, and returns to the bowl of ice cream in front of him.

“You can get punched hard enough to get a concussion,” Esme reminds him.

“I don’t know how hard you think grade fours hit, but it’s not hard enough to give him a concussion. Would you relax? He’s fine.”

“He doesn’t look fine. Do you have a headache?” she asks TJ.

Tyler sighs in exasperation. “Esme....here...” he pushes on the bowls in front of her. “...relax.”

She scowls. “We should take him to get looked at.”

He can’t help but laugh. “Why? He’s fine. He got into a fight. Stop making a big deal out of it. It won’t be the last fight he gets into, trust me. Millie’s always beating the hell out of him.”

“Why did you get into a fight in the first place?” Esme asks, as she combs her fingers through TJ’s thick, unruly hair and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“The one kid was picking on Tanner,” he explains, as he digs a spoon into the bowl of ice cream his father sets in his lap. “And it made Tanner cry. So I got pissed off and I told the kid to leave him alone. That he’s my brother and no one makes my brother cry.  NO ONE.”

Tyler gives a grin of pride and approval, then frowns when his wife digs her elbow into his ribs. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she says. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking those little shits fucked with the wrong kid.”

“They deserved it mommy,” TJ pipes up. “They all deserved it. And I’d do it again to protect Tanner. To protect any kid against the bullies. Bad people should be punished for being bad, right? Like daddy used to punish them for hurting good people.”

“Okay, that’s not exactly how his job worked, but...” she sighs. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mom...” he looks her dead in the eye, suddenly appearing –and sounding- much older and more mature than he is. “...I’m tough. Okay? You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“You’re five. Not fifteen,” she reminds him, and then tousles hair. “You need to stop sounding so much like your dad.  It’s not a bad thing, it’s just...it makes me nervous. You go and take your ice cream outside so I can talk to daddy for a bit, okay?”

“Is he in trouble?”

“Probably,” Tyler grumbles.

“No one is in trouble. I just need to talk to him. About adult things. No little ears allowed. Got it?”

“Got it,” he agrees, and then jumps down form the island. “Am I grounded?”

“Not this time. You did the right thing. You stuck up for your brother and defended yourself. But you do not...I repeat DO NOT...go around starting fights. Ever. You don’t hit kids for no reason, you don’t pick on anyone, you don’t even look at someone the wrong way. Because you’re freakishly big and strong for a five-year-old and you’re going to seriously hurt someone. Now go outside, finish your ice cream, and then go and see Ovi and tell him he’s invited for dinner.”

“Okay,” TJ says, then gathers up his bowl and scurries away, cheerfully greeting Mac as he steps outside; the dog waking from his nap under the patio table and excitedly rushing to see his favorite little human.  

****

“So....” Esme leans against the counter alongside her husband, scooping out a spoonful of ice cream and popping it into her mouth. “Did you kill anyone? Am I aiding and abetting a fugitive?”

“I behaved myself. No blood was shed. I promise.”

“What about tears? Did you make anyone cry? At least tell me you made someone cry. Or shit their pants. Both would be a bonus.”

“I might have made the principal cry. Or shit himself. I’m not sure. He wouldn’t even come out of his office. Totally threw the secretary under the bus.”

“Mrs. Tucker,” Esme scoffs. “That stupid bitch.”

Tyler grins. “Look at that. There ARE things we agree on.”

“She’s so condescending. Every time I go in there, she starts talking to me like I’m one of the students.”

“Well in her defense, you are smaller than most of the kids there,” he teases.

“Don’t make me take out my small people rage on you. I’ve spent thirty-five years not being able to reach the bottom of the washing machine or being able to get things off high shelves. I’ve got a lot of pent up anger over that shit, so don’t you start with me.”

“And you say I need anger management. Everyone thinks TJ gets it from me. I think we both know where he really gets it from.”

“I don’t think he got any of my DNA,” she frowns. “So did you? Make Mrs. Tucker cry? She’s terrified of you.”

“She was ballsy today. She actually tried to scold me. For my bad language.”

“How bad was your language?”

“First I called the other kid an asshole. Then I called him a little prick.”

“Normally I’d balk at calling kids names like that, but in this case, I think you were justified. She tried to scold you, huh?” Esme grins.  “That must have gone over well. Did you make her wet her pants? Did you give her ‘the look’?”

“Which look? I have about twenty.”

“More like forty. I’ve counted them.  But you know the one I’m talking about. Mille and the twins all have it. That one that clearly says you’re tired of someone’s shit and ready to show hands.”

“In that case, yes. I gave her ‘the look’.”

“And the principal never came out?”

“Nope.”

Esme snorts. “What a pussy!”

“I don’t know what his issue is. I’m not that scary.”

“Sure you’re not,” she laughs. “You’re so scary, Chuck Norris sleeps with a nightlight on.”

Tyler smirks. “Now that’s a good one.”

“So what they say? What’s the punishment?”

“They wanted to suspend him for four days. But I wouldn’t sign that papers until all the little pricks got in trouble too. Why is our kid the only one catching shit when all he was going was standing up for his brother? And defending himself when the other little fucks jumped him.”

“Think this is the elementary school version of the Goonies from hell?”

Tyler laughs at that. “That’s exactly what they are. The Australian version of Farhad and his buddies.”

“We have to find something to laugh about when it comes to Dhaka, right?”

He nods in agreement. “Secretary said the other parents will want an apology.”

“Fuck them.”

“And that they could press charges.”

“Give me a break. He’s five.”

“It’s still assault. She’s right about that.”

“Well if that’s assault, then so is what they did to him. They jumped a five-year-old. Who turned around and beat the hell out of them.”

“Millie said it was...and this is a direct quote from our daughter...’fucking awesome’. Is it wrong that I would have loved to have seen that? Just watch him destroy those kids. He’s in kindergarten and he’s taking on older kids. A group of them.  At the same time. And he’s winning. Now come on, that’s impressive.”

“And did you hear what he just said? About teaching bad people a lesson? I wonder he gets THAT from.”

“I know you hate when I say this about any of them, but that kid is all me. There’s no denying whose DNA was more powerful when he was made.”

“No one wants to hear about your stellar genes or your super sperm or whatever you’re going to say next.”

“No one,” he grins. “Meaning you. Don’t be bitter about this. I’m sorry your genes just could not compete that day. That they didn’t show up until the very last one. It’s not my fault that they were asleep at the wheel.”

“I’m going to smother you in your sleep one day and no one will be the wiser. They’ll probably sympathize me, actually. That poor girl; putting up with his bullshit for so long. No wonder she didn’t do it sooner.”

“Listen, anyone who knows you, knows you don’t put it with bullshit. And that I’m one who’s been putting up with yours for almost seven years. Don’t act all innocent. You’re tiny but you take no shit from anyone. Like one of those dogs people carry around in their purses. They look all cute and sweet, but they’ll take out your Achilles tendon and then go for your jugular once you’re down.”

“One day Tyler...” she muses with a dramatic sigh. “...one day I will bring you down. You’ll be begging for mercy when I finally get a hold of you.”

“You’ve had me begging before, so...”

“Okay, during sex does not count. I’m talking about making you beg for mercy. Because the next time you compare me to some angry animal...”

“So I can’t ever bring out the comparison to a honey badger?”

“I will seriously kick you in the nuts! “

“Considering how short you are, it’d have to be a head butt.”

“Do you want to see your forty first birthday?” She laughs, and he chuckles and wraps an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his, lips pressing against her temple. “Do you think they will?” she asks, turning serious once again. “Want to press charges?”

“I doubt it.  They’ll be embarrassed when they find out a kindergarten kid that’s still afraid of the dark beat the fuck out of their spawn.  At the same time.”

“You’re a little too proud about that.”

“I’m so fucking proud of that kid I could cry,” Tyler admits.

Esme rolls her eyes.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the school calls the child protection people again.  Because I’m too ‘aggressive’ and a ‘bad influence’.  I’ll fucking show them aggressive if they show up here. I’ve got lots of property I can hide bodies on.”

“Okay, how about we NOT kill the child services person. Chances are they won’t even show up because last time they found nothing against us, and they were pissed at the school for wasting their time. So...” she carries their dirty dishes to the sink, then stands behind him and curls back around his waist and rests her head against his back. “...let’s not even think about that. I’m proud of you. For handling things as well as you did. I thought for sure you’d have an anxiety attack going there. But you held in there and kicked some ass. Maybe not literally, but still. You did awesome, baby.  Progress!”

“Do I get a gold star on the chore chart chore of it?” he chides. “I think I’m on three out of five days of good behavior and responsibilities met.”

“Oh, I’ll give you something later for it,” she promises.  “You do realize that even though this time was justified, our son still has issues, right?”

Tyler sighs. “I know. He takes after me, yeah? Of course he has issues.”

“Baby, he’s five and he’s been through a lot and he’s having a hard time processing it all. This has nothing to do with you. Stop beating yourself up over things you can’t control. You didn’t do this to Tyler in the same way you didn’t do something that made Austin sick. Have you had that dream again?”

“Not since we talked about it. Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. Obsessing over shit. About her turning six. But no. I haven’t had the dream since that night.”

“Then stop. Please. Stop hating yourself for things that are beyond your control. You’re not a horrible person, Tyler. You’re a good person who has had to some horrible things.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

“Well, I kind of like you a little bit, so...”

“We’ve moved up to like, huh?” he teases, as he turns around to face her, hands settling on her hips. “Only took almost seven years to get past the tolerating me stage.”

“Don’t push it. There’s days where my tolerance level is pretty low. Because let me tell you, as cute as you are, there are times where you just drive me absolutely batshit insane.”

“But you’d miss me. If you woke up one day and I was gone.”

“I don’t even like hearing you joke about that. That is not something I like to think about, let alone talk about. Especially now that we’ve got this Ovi bullshit hanging over our heads and the very real possibility that you’re going to get back into things and...”

“And we’re not going to worry about that shit unless we have to,” he finishes for her. “Stop,” he implores, taking her face in his hands and kissing her softly.  “We are nowhere near anything like that going down. That’s weeks away. If not months. It isn’t going to happen overnight. So I need you to stop thinking about it, okay?”

Esme nods, but the tears sparkling in her eyes gives away her true feelings.

“Don’t do that. Please. Don’t look at me like that,” he begs, and places a palm on the back of her head and pulls her into him. “Everything is going to be okay. It might not even come to that. Me having to leave.”

Her arms wrap around his waist, hands sliding under the bottom of his t-shirt and her index fingers hooking around the belt loops on his jeans. “I know you’re trying out the whole optimistic gig, but when you actually don’t sound optimistic, it doesn’t work very well. This shouldn’t even be happening. We shouldn’t even have to worry about this. It was supposed to be behind us.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. That this is shit is even happening. It’s not what I wanted. Trust me.”

“It’s not exactly your fault. You didn’t put all that crap in Ovi’s head. I just didn’t want you dragged back into this. Not now. Not ever. We have five kids that need you. Why didn’t he think of that? Of the people here that need you to come home safe and sound.”

“Because he’s a fucking drongo, that’s why. But you know what? There’s a chance I won’t even have to go anywhere. And that’s the chance I need you to think about. Can you do that? For me? Start thinking about how I may NOT have to go instead of convincing yourself that I AM going. Because one of us needs to be the strong one right now, and if I’m totally honest, I don’t feel like being that person.”

“You don’t have to be,” she says. “You know that. You don’t have to always be strong, Tyler. Sometimes you need someone to be strong for you. That that’s okay. No matter what someone told you or what you saw or heard growing up, there’s nothing wrong with NOT being strong. And fuck anyone who ever made you feel otherwise. Your father, Gaspar. Fuck them both.”

“I’m so fucking pissed,” he admits. “At Ovi. At Nik. At everyone and everything. I’m angry and I’m frustrated, and you know what? I’m fucking terrified. Because I don’t know if I can do that shit anymore. The job. I don’t know if I have it in me. Physically or mentally. And if I fuck up even in the smallest way, I’m NOT coming home. And that scares me the most.”

She tightens her hold on him; fingers releasing the belt loops and now gripping the back of his shirt, face buried in his chest.  “It’s okay,” she says. “To be scared. You can be scared with me, Tyler.”

Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he buries his face in her hair and closes his eyes.  It’s comforting; the feel of her body pressed against his, the smoothness of her skin and the heat that radiates off of it, the familiar scent that clings to her hair. There are so many little things that he tends to take for granted. The way she’ll stand on the top of his feet to kiss him because she thinks those couple of inches gained make a remarkable difference. How she’ll just wander into the gym in the middle of a workout and not say a word or even make eye contact with him yet leave a bottle of water where he can find it. Or how she’ll just silently reach for his hand and hold it while they sit on the patio outside of their bedroom and watch the sunrise together.  

Little things he’d miss in a huge way if they suddenly ceased to exist.  

[bodyswapmischief]

Silver’s Sauna: Nerd to Sliver Fox

Just moments ago, I was a nerdy high school senior. Now, I'm almost an actual senior at 55 years old. Yes, I have one hell of a body, but was it worth 37 years of my life.

I was always made fun of, in school. First I was, too short ... But, once puberty hit, I grew taller. To bad my muscles didn't get the growth memo. I was a tall, pale, nerdy skeleton. And jocks/bullies at my school never let me forget how much of an outcast I was.

With college coming up soon, I saw my chance to start over. I could work on my self now and become the person I wanted to be in college. So, I joined a gym, where I knew my classmates wouldn't bother me. Silver's Gym was mainly advertised to older men. The mascot was a fox. So ... the whole Silver Fox motif wasn't lost on me.

I walked up to the front desk. And, there was Mr. Edward Silver. He was the youngest and fittest man in there, in his early 30's. He was curious why I wanted to be at this gym. So, I told him my story. He understood and even gave me a discount. For the past few months I went, but saw no results. Mr. Silver tried to give me tips, but I just couldn't gain weight to build muscle. Exercising became a form of meditation for me. And working out next to overweight business men was a real confidence booster.

Today, I was working out when I saw a bald and severely obese man walk in. His clothes and the way he carried himself shown that his gluttonous appetite came from his extremely wealthy life style. Mr. Silver came, out of the back office, and greeted him. They started talking and the old man handed Mr. Silver a brief case. Mr. Silver motioned to me and the old man nodded. My gut told me I needed to leave, immediately.

I stopped what I was doing and rushed into to the locker room. My heart was racing and it felt like being back at school, running from my bullies. As I struggled to get the locker open, Mr. Silver walked in. Being bullied at school, I considered him my only friend, based on the interactions we had. But, now standing in front of me, he was different. He stared at me like a predator that had cornered his prey. I didn't know what he was going to do, but I knew he had me trapped. "Aw Eric! Glad I found you." He said in a fake cheerful tone. "I wanted to congratulate you, myself. You won the gyms surprise lottery. You got yourself a free trip to the sauna."

"That's great," I let out, fear shaking my throat. "But, I can't do it now ...  Can I comeback..." Mr Silver interrupted me, with his fake cheery tone. "Oh, we both know you're not gonna want to miss this opportunity." He grabbed me and forcibly led me to the spa area. I tried to break free. Even though Mr. Silver was shorter than me, his ripped body easily slammed me into the locker. With his ripped physique pressed against me, he looked at me straight in the eyes, his silent message was clear. I wasn't escaping. I stopped fighting back and let him take me.

He led me into the basement, with two glass chambers. The chambers were set up like saunas, except for the 3 glass walls. In one chamber sat the fat old man, with a towel across his legs. "Strip down and here's a towel." Mr Silver commanded. Understanding that I couldn't do anything to escape, I followed his command. He opened the door to the other chamber and I walked in.

The fat old man looked at me at smile. "Hello, I'm Theodore Hutchinson. And, I appreciate what you are about to do for me." I was confused. "What's going on!'" I order Mr. Silver to explain what was happening. "Years ago, I discovered these particles that I have infused into this mist. When properly charged these particles can overcome the obstacles of time and space. However they need to be balanced, or else ... bad things happen" Mr. Silver began to explain.

As he was talking, I witnessed what was happening to Mr. Hutchinson. Fat was melting of his body. Hair was growing back on his head. His body was becoming less hairy. His skin started to tighten and his body was being pumped with muscle. Once the steam cleared he looked like he was now my age. He looked like the buff jocks that made my life a living hell. His towel dropped to the floor revealing his hard cock. He started laughing in disbelief, while feeling up his body. The laughs turned into moans and he started rubbing his cock. His body pulsing with pleasure as as he felt up his now younger body.

The machine started violently shaking, as Mr. Silver walked back to it. "See. These little guys are fighting to regain balance. They need somewhere to go." He said deviously. Steam started filling up my chamber. I panicked, looking at  Mr. Hutchinson younger body. I subconsciously put one hand on my stomach. I brushed the other hand through my hair. Mr. Silver laughed. "It doesn't work like that. It's not a body swap machine. In Mr. Hutchinson’s case it naturally de-aged him to his senior year of high school. When he was a muscled up jock. You on the other hand, It will age you as if you kept living your life naturally. What you will look like ... well who knows. That's the fun part. Maybe you will get fat and bald like he was and maybe you won’t. Only time will tell." Mr. Silver Flipped  the switch.

The steam surrounded my body. Although I could still breathe, I felt suffocated. My body was heating up. Suddenly, I felt a pressure on my stomach and saw it start stretching. My chest became flabby and my stomach jutted out. " Looks like some gained the freshman 15," Mr. Silver playfully said.

Part of me was happy that I was no longer a skinny skeleton. But I worried how fat I was going to get, as the weight kept piling on. "Someone discovered beer on their 21st birthday." Mr Silver Chimed in.

Suddenly I feel my arm getting stabbed over and again. A tattoo appeared on my arm. My body was still chubby, but muscle was beginning to developed. My biceps started painfully pulsating, as they increased in size. My chest became more defined. " Look's like 25 was a good year for you." Silver seemed amused.

My body kept increasing in size and my belly became flatter. I begin to feel stabbing in my other arm and neck. More tattoos appeared. "Damn your looking good in your 30's, most guys I’ve seen let themselves go, by now." Silver said, not hiding the fact he was getting turned on.

My skin started to tan and finally an eight pack formed on my stomach. My body looked like what you might imagine an ancient gladiators body would look like. I was in the best shape my life. "So you are one of the it gets better with age guys, huh." Silver said, with a big smile on his face. He was really enjoying this.

The mist kept swirling, but my body only went through minor changes. A little more muscle gain and a pricking sensation as stubble appeared on my face.  But, then I started to feel drained. I was more tried. My body felt heavier. It felt like more work to carry all this muscle. The steam cleared. I looked down at my body. I was insanely fit and hot and my body wasn't changing anymore. With a body like this, I had to still be in my late 30's, at the most. Confused, I asked "why am I still in my 30's ..." I stop, shocked by how old I sounded. Silver chimed in, "It would look like that, doesn't it." Silver smiles. "But you are now 55."

My heart beat fast in disbelief. Mr. Silver held up a mirror. Although my body looked strong, I still felt heavy. I slowly got up feeling pain in my lower back and knees. I made my way to the mirror. I looked at my reflection and saw an old face staring back. Wrinkles on my face and grey in my hair and stubble.

"It looks like you are in great shape  ... but as an older man you are going have to live differently to keep that body tight. There will have to be diet changes and working out twice has hard and twice as much, compared to a man now half your age." Mr Silver smiled, checking out an analyzing the work he did to my body. I stumbled back to my seat, reality setting in. I'm an old man now. A hot Silver Fox, but still an old man. "What's going to happen. I can't go back home like this." I cried out. 

"Your past is taken care of. To everyone you knew ... you are dead. A bus crush that should happen any moment, now. As for the future ... you are now a father. Your son is that young man over there, Ted Hutchinson. As per his contract, he has given you his life and all the wealth that comes along with it. You will continue to work in his company and make money. And, you will have time for fun too, so don't worry about having to work to much. After all, you have 10 more years until retirement is an option. Your new son will get to live like the rich kid he always wanted to be, instead of the self-made billionaire he had to be. And, once you die, you will leave everything to your son. Do we have an agreement?"

With tears in my eyes, I nodded. I didn't have choice. My whole life was gone. If I said no, I'd probably end up on the streets, with my parents not believing I'm really me and a lack of work experience to get a job. Who's going want to hire a 55 year old man with no work experience or proof of being a citizen.

My life was over. Not that it was great, so far. But, it was mine. I missed out on so many experiences. It seemed like my 20's, 30's and 40's were going to be great. But, now I would never know. I mean with how in shape I am in, I'd probably live into my 90's, assuming something else doesn't go wrong in my body, but now that is only 40 years away. Silver comes back and brings me the contract. I sign it.

My new son, Ted, walks in. I feel angry about what he did to me. "I'm lucky my new daddy is so hot" he says as he enters my chamber. He walks closer to me. His body less muscular than mine, but still hot. He starts feeling up my aged body. And, I start feeling his, my anger turning to lust. "Don't worry I'll take care of you dad" Ted said, removing my towel and exposing my old but still impressive cock. He bends down and starts sucking it. I moan in pleasure.

I could get use to this. I mean there's nothing I could do about it now. I might as well enjoy it ... while I'm still alive. Being a Silver Fox can have it’s benefits. 

[bapyess1r]

Amphetamine

WARNINGS: you already know lol

Chapter 2

Talia’s POV

I was awakened by the sound of live music being played in the distance. I winced a bit as I looked over the clock. 9:30 AM. ‘Are they practicing already?’ I thought with a groan as I sat up. I scratched an itchy spot under my messy bun and stood to crack the bones in my back. Stretching my arms, I made my way to the bathroom. I almost startled myself as I noticed my swollen eyes and dried drool in the corner of my mouth. I had to fix it. I briefly adjusted my nose ring before ridding myself of the large tee shirt and began my shower. I took a deep breath as I stepped into the hot water, basking in the pleasantness of the morning sun coming through the windows. I could hear some solos being played from the shower and began to imagine Sam with his guitar in hand. I grinned, actually excited for the night ahead. Then I remembered him pointing a pistol at me and pouted a bit. I couldn’t just forget about that. What started off to be a great morning suddenly turned dull from the thought. I changed into a black AC/DC crop top (cut off purely because I was bored), white cargo pants fitted to every curve, and beat up black converse, the laces wrapped around my ankles. I combed my hair and put on a fair amount of makeup, thick black wings lining my eyes and lashes not too long. ‘Don’t wanna fly away and shit…’ I thought with a brief guffaw. I left the bathroom, drying my hair a bit more with my towel as my Godmother left from the kids room carrying her baby boy. The youngest of her three.

“Good morning, night owl! I was afraid you weren’t gonna wake up in time, you were up and out so late.” She laughed.

“I know! I’m sorry! I hung out with the band for a while after practice- hey baby!” I was distracted by their youngest daughter, Ava, who walked up to me with open arms in hopes to be picked up. Of course I did. She wrapped her arms around me as I sat her up on my hip, continuing the conversation as I followed my Godmother to the kitchen. “And that Sam guy came back so there’s that….”

“Oh yeah?” She smoothed a blonde strand of hair behind her ears as she put JJ in his baby booster seat.

“Yeah. I spooked him on accident but he was really nice about it.” I told her, skipping over the part about the gun as the baby gave me a big juicy gummy smile as he laughed joyfully. ‘Oh to be that carefree again…’ I thought with a smile as I turned on Disney jr for the kids and started on breakfast.

“Oh so you’ve met him already?” She began to grab bowls and spoons for the kids before walking to the kitchen, passing me as I made way to the stove.

“Yeah. He’s kinda cute for an old guy.” I smirked.

“He is good lookin’, right?” She whispered to me with a girlish grin, hoping her husband hadn’t heard. It was adorable. “Are you gonna play with the band tonight?”

“Well I was but he wants to play with just them tonight since it’s been a while. I’m gonna play next weekend.” I prepared to make bacon and eggs as she poured cereal on the booster seat tray and in the bowls for her daughters.

“Well that’s very nice of you, Talia.” She sounded proud of me. But I was honestly just being courteous.

“I wanna go see Sam!” The oldest of the three, Mariah said, waving her spoon in the air as she smiled at her mother.

“You’ll get to see him tonight when they play tonight, sweetie! You guys wanna go hear some music before bedtime tonight?” And with that, the girls cheered. “James gets off early today so you won’t have to worry about watching the kids tonight.” She said to me.

“Thank you! Because I had not a clue about how I was gonna watch the three of them and prepare for the block party.”

“Did you need me to ask your Godfather to stop somewhere and grab anything?”

“I may need some ice. Possibly some lighting fluid for the grill. Marcel is gonna grill what I prepare. And then Louie and Jules were gonna go purchase the alcoholic beverages…” I wiggles my eyebrows thinking of how absolutely trashed I planned on being tonight. And my friend from New York was supposed to come down and visit as well. Remembering that- “SHIT- I mean….dang…” I switched up my language, remembering I was in the company of children. “I forgot I have to pick up Anna from the airport! I’m gonna have to pick her up.”

“Do you need the car seats for the kids? I can set them out for you when you get ready to go.” She asked as I scooped up all of what I cooked into a plate with a piece of toast.

“That would be great! Now… I’m gonna take my breakfast to my spot on the docks and consume a bit of Can- Do- Nicotine.”

“Ok. I can take care of them til you’re done but then I gotta go to hospital.”

“Will do!” I hollered, grabbing my cigarettes and lighter on the way out the door.

As I exited into the driveway, I could hear the band practicing behind closed doors. I bobbed my head to what I thought might’ve been Orange Crush by R.E.M. It sounded almost exact. I sat down with my legs hanging off the ledge of the docks and lit my cigarette, ready to relax and consume breakfast. But then they stopped playing. “Booooo!” I said to myself in disappointment. I wanted to catch Sam singing; guess I missed it. I took a healthy drag and it wasn’t too long before he found himself outside with me.

“Y’know I definitely recall finding this smoke spot a long time ago.” He said and I turned with a large grin. He was decked out in a tight white v neck and a bold palm leaf printed Hawaiian shirt, his eyes hidden behind black shades. He smiled at me as a cigarette dangled from his mouth as he tried to light it against the winds.

“Finders keepers. And you were here to be fair.” I said before scooping the eggs and bacon onto my toast and holding it like a taco, taking a massive bite out of it. With an amused chuckle, he sat down and joined me. “Nice duds.” I gestured to his outfit of choice for the day with a slight look of judgement.

“What- you don’t like this?!”

“I didn’t say all that… It’s just an interesting look.” I giggled, diverting my eyes to the calm morning sea.

“You don’t like it.”

“I…. think there’s better Hawaiian shirts out there. Ones that don’t give off narc vibes.”

“Now I look like a cop?!”

“The shades and the conceal pistol doesn’t help your case either.”

“Wooooooow…..” he said in disbelief causing me to deliver the ugliest laugh. “Speaking of…. I just wanna apologize again for how I reacted to you last night. It was a long night and I’m still a bit jet legged.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“Peru.”

“Oooo what’s in Peru?”

“The Lost Treasure of Lima…” he waved a hand across the horizon of the sea for dramatic effect. Shit, it worked on me. I ooo’d in the background and allowed him to tell me about it. “Captain William Thompson was supposed to be in charge of transporting all of Lima’s riches to Mexíco as they were about to be on the edge of a revolt. He couldn’t resist the temptation of all that money and turned pirate.”

“How did I know this was gonna be about pirates?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good pirate story.” He smirked before continuing. “Basically, he and his crew were caught by the Spanish, they made a deal that they’d take them to where they ‘allegedly’ buried the treasure, got them as far as Cocos Island which was pretty close to Costa Rica, then split up to divvy the treasure. They managed to escape the jungle and were never seen again. The Spanish still never found the treasure.”

“And you did?” I asked, extremely impressed.

“I did not. Unfortunately.” he replied sourly, taking a drag of his cigarette. “We were close though…”

“What stopped you?” I asked, letting the nicotine fill my lungs. He sighed and began fidgeting with his lighter again.

“Would you believe me if I said we weren’t allowed to hunt there?”

“I see…” I definitely didn’t believe him. He didn’t seem like the type to just stop when he was so close. I began to finish the last few bites of breakfast and lit a second cigarette.

“What are your plans for the day? Seeing as you’re not playing tonight.” He said with a sneaky smirk.

“Go ahead and rub it in.” I joked. “I am preparing a few foods for Marcel to grill after your set.”

“A woman after my own heart!” he dramatically placed a hand on his chest and began fanning himself. I felt comfortable enough to punch him in the arm playfully. “Whatcha cookin’?”

“Devilled eggs, potato salad, chicken salad, kebabs, I have some chicken I managed to marinate before bed last night, burgers, and corn on the cob. And I have YET to start on a good chunk of these things AND I’m watching the kids until my Godfather gets off work. I also have to pick up my best friend from the airport. She’s visiting this weekend.” Just thinking about all of it, I got stressed out all over again.

“Well you do have a lot on your plate. Who’s your Godfather?”

“James Edwards.”

“You’re James’s kid?! Shit. I’m in big trouble.”

“How so?” I asked with a curious smile. He readied his mouth to answer but I could tell he made the decision to change the subject.

“Listen, I’m done rehearsing for the day. I can come over and help with the kids while you cook and run n’ grab your friend.” he offered. I looked at him with so much hope.

“Oh my god would you really?”

“Yeah! I love those kids! I kinda missed 'em since I’ve been gone.”

“So you’re close with my Godfamily then.”

“James and Barbs are good pals of mine. They never mentioned you to me not once.”

“I just moved here a month ago. I guess right before you left-” Just then I was interrupted by my Godmother’s call. “That’s my cue.” I began gathering my plate and ashed out my cigarette, he did the same.

“I’ll come with.” He smiled. For some reason, my stomach lurched and I became really nervous about it. If we were going to work together on the band, I was going to have to get used to it. He hopped up from his spot and offered a hand to me. With ease he pulled me up and grabbed the plate out of my hand to trash it for me as I walked towards the gate. Still, he beat me to it and opened the gate for me, gesturing to the entrance all corny-like. “Ladies first.” he said rather smoothly. I took an exhausted deep breath and brushed by him quickly, not allowing him to see my burning red face. “Howdy, Barbs!” He greeted my Godmother as she rushed to her car but stopped to hug him briefly and hand me JJ. “Hey, slugger.” He poked the baby in his little pudgy tummy and I smiled.

“Hey Sam! I heard you got in last night! We missed ya around here. Been too quiet.” she said opening the door to get in her silver accord.

“I’ll take the compliment.” he chuckled heartily. “So just a heads up, I’m gonna help Talia with the kids while she cooks and runs her errands.”

“That’s sweet- are you sure? I know you just got home.”

“Nah, I’m well rested and ready to get this show on the road. It’s no problem, really.”

With that she sighed. “Well the kids will be happy to see you, that’s for sure.” she quickly checked her watch before turning her attention to me. “Now, I gotta go. They’ve eaten breakfast. Just let ‘em play for a while, give them lunch, put them down for a nap. They should be good to go until James gets home.”

“Got it.” I nodded before she winked at me and smiled at Sam as he closed the car door for her. Sending her off with two heavy pats to the hood of the car.

He followed me into the cool air conditioned house and with a sigh he took off his bold hawaiin shirt and wiped the sweat off his face with it before hanging it on the back of one of the bar stools. As soon as the kids saw him they screamed their heads off swarming him. “AYE! There’s the little princesses!” He shouted, scooping them both up into his big arms. A man with kids was easily one of the most attractive things on the planet and he was really doing it for me. My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp tug on my hair. JJ had grabbed a fistful and tried to eat it.

“Lord, child….” I grunted as I tried to pry my hair out of his strong little baby hands. JJ just giggled at my struggle. “I love you, but you’re a pain!” I said kissing his forehead.

“Are you gonna stay to play, Sammy?” Mariah asked him, sweetly.

“I sure am, sweetheart.” he winked at her and she hugged his neck tighter.

‘Christ, that adorable!’ I thought as I walked over to him to give him JJ.

“Alright kiddies, while I’m doing a bit of cooking, you guys are gonna hang out with ‘Sammy’.” I said, emphasizing his little nickname to tease causing him to dart his eyes my way. I winked at him and backed away into the kitchen. “Have fuuunnn….” I sang as I stalked off. And with the kids outta the way I began to prepare for tonight's shindig. Just when I was getting started, I got a text on my phone from my best friend Anna.

Anna: I’m in the air, should be there in a few hours!

Me: get off the phone! Ur in a fucking aircraft!

Anna: well fine! Be that way bish! <3

Me: see you in a bit! Lol

[joaquinwhorres]

Mind Over Matter - Ch. 2 (Bucky Barnes x OC)

[ Masterlist ]

SUMMARY ››››› Bucky Barnes has a list of names–amends he needs to make. When he gets to M. & L. Kaminski, he finds the amends process a bit more…difficult than it should be.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,550-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› I’ve decided that this story calls for alternating perspectives. Also, lemme know what you think about how this explores post-End Game life.

"You know Bucky Barnes?!"

Rocio was upon her before Mina had even fully entered the dining room. Despite the fact that it was probably cutting off her circulation, the eight year old was still proudly wearing her "Soldier Arm". Mina was surprised she could even put it on anymore, a thought that brought on the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia. When the two of them had constructed the costume four years ago, Mina had needed to roll the ends of the glove up and then safety pin it to the top of Rocio's sleeve to keep it from sliding off. Now it didn't even reach her shoulder anymore.

"I never mentioned that?" Mina asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Rocio exclaimed

"Oh," Mina shrugged, rounding the table and passing by a wiggling Ravi in his booster seat.

Rocio fell into step behind Mina letting out an indignant and frustrated sound. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She had an amazing and irritating talent for both shouting and whining at the same time. Mina breathed out her annoyance through her nose.

"Rocio," she said, flatly. "Do you really think I know Bucky Barnes and kept it a secret from you?"

The little girl pouted for a second as she thought it over before slowly shaking her head. "You're not very good at keeping secrets."

"Hey," Mina pointed a finger at her.  "I never told anyone about your crush on Spider-Man did I?"

"I was six!"

"And yet, old enough to propose," Mina grinned, remembering finding the letter Rocio had addressed to Spider-Man with haphazardly spaced and sized letters. It had taken a few attempts to decipher some of the spelling, but it had proven excellent material to tease Rocio about for the past two years.

Her niece scowled at her and marched back to the table, dramatically throwing herself back into her chair.

Mina turned back to the stove and the probably cold eggs, smiling to herself in victory. It was a brief moment of peace as she dished eggs onto three plates because the moment she popped the first one in the microwave, the interrogation started back up.

"Well, if you don't know him, why was he here?"

"He wanted to talk to me and your mom," Mina said, watching the eggs spin round and round.

"About what?"

"The weather."

"Mema!" Rocio hit her hand against the table, causing Ravi to jump in his seat and stare at his sister with wide eyes.

Mina whirled on her niece. "Rocio Ishani, you know better."

"Sorry," Rocio mumbled, casting her eyes down to the table--one of her tells of genuine embarrassment and regret. The microwave beeped, and Mina sighed, switching the plate out for another one.

"I don't know what he wants to have a conversation about. He was here for three minutes and you did most of the talking. And even if I did know," she added on, stopping Rocio before words could come out of the little girl's open mouth. "I don't think it's a child friendly conversation. Which means when he comes, you're going to your room."

"He's coming back?"

Mina nodded. "When your mom comes to pick you up," she said, stopping the eggs with six seconds left on the clock. She took the two plates to the table, setting the hot one down in front of her and the warm one in front of Rocio. She raised her eyebrows at her niece, gesturing with her head to the kitchen before turning back to get Ravi's plate. Rocio trailed her in, pulling out the silverware drawer to get forks for the three of them, and tearing off three paper towels as napkins. She still hadn't quite grasped that Ravi wouldn't be using a napkin however much he needed one. Instead, she ripped one half sheet into a quarter, as if that would convince him to use it in the same way that the small bright green fork convinced him to be somewhat civilized in his eating instead of using his hands.

It was a few more minutes before they were all at the table, ready to eat.

"Your arm, please," Mina said, gesturing to Rocio's glove. The little girl put up no fight, shimmying out of it and lightly laying it on the empty chair next to her, signature side up so she could admire it all of breakfast.

While the interrogation seemed to be over, talk of the Avengers was not. Most of the breakfast conversation revolved around ranking the Avengers from most powerful to least powerful, and most helpful to least helpful, and the ever ambiguous "best" to "worst." And then, as it did with young kids, talk bounced from subject  to subject--connected only by the vaguest semblance of eight year old logic. It ended with a request to watch Wild Kratts after breakfast.

They did.

They did a lot of other things after breakfast too.

They made and played with play dough and stopped when they noticed Ravi was alternating between building with his and eating it.

They each drew pictures for Leela with varying degrees of realism, had a fashion show turned impromptu dance party, and played hide and seek during Ravi's nap. (Rocio was such a good hider that Mina hadn't found her until after Ravi woke up, and she was definitely looking very hard and not reading a book.)

They painted each other's nails, and built an epic race car track for Ravi and made individual pizzas.

They raked leaves outside and picked a few favorites to press in books and even found time to fit in a small hurt self/strong self activity before Leela arrived.

They were in the middle of deconstructing eating their creations when the front door opened.

"Where is my family?"

Mina looked up with a smile and gestured towards the door, but Rocio remained put. "We're in here!" she shouted, fingers sticky with peanut butter and fluff.

Leela sauntered into the room, her emerald green suit still pressed and wrinkleless despite a day on the job. She arched her perfectly threaded eyebrows as she looked at her younger sister and daughter and the table all covered in graham cracker crumbs. "Looks like you three had a good day."

"Yep!" Rocio chirped, and Leela clicked forward and into the corner of the room where Ravi was playing with his two cars on a section of the track.

"How is it my two year old is the least messy of the three of you?" she asked, bending over to press a kiss to Ravi's head. He squirmed away, continuing to move his cars along the track.

Mina laughed as Rocio licked a finger clean of peanut butter. "Because Ravi takes after you, and Rocio takes after me," she said, grinning at Rocio. Leela frowned and crossed back over to the girls. "Don't worry though, I think we're all adventured out, so tomorrow we're just going to sit and stare at the walls."

"No!" Rocio shouted, and Leela hushed her.

Mina tilted her head as if thinking. "I guess we could wash my car," she said, tapping her chin with a finger. "And the baseboards do need some dusting."

Rocio let out a dramatic groan, and Mina laughed, picking up a napkin to rub away at the spot of marshmallow fluff on her chin.

"Well, if you're not going to clean my house, you can at least clean your hands."

Rocio gave her a look of exasperation that she should have been much too young to even think about giving. Nevertheless, she slid out of her chair and headed to the sink, Leela stopping her en route so she could press a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

"How was work?" Mina asked as Leela sunk into Rocio's vacated chair.

"People are idiots," Leela rolled her eyes, giving a sigh.

"Says the literal genius," Mina returned, and Leela snorted, shaking her head.

"It doesn't take a genius to follow simple instructions. I'll lay everything out for them, and even with pictures, they can't complete a single build without running into some potentially catastrophic error."

"That's not what you want to hear from the lead engineer at Stark Energy."

Rocio skipped back to the table, and Leela scooched out her chair, gesturing for Rocio to come sit on her lap. The little girl veered off early though, instead attempting to climb into Mina's lap. Mina shook her head, casting a quick glance at her sister who dropped her open arms.

"Your mom's missed you," Mina said, gesturing with her head across the table.

"I live with her," Rocio whined.

"And?" Leela asked, moving her chair back up to the table. "I still miss you when I work."

"Really?" Rocio asked, walking over to the chair next to Leela, and claiming it.

"Really," Leela assured, placing an arm on the back of Rocio's chair, gently combing through her daughter's hair with her fingers. She looked up at Mina offering a small, weak smile before looking back down at her daughter. Her brow creased. "What are you sitting on?" she asked, tugging at something underneath Rocio. The little girl joined her mom in looking down, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the object.

"My Soldier Arm! Oh yeah! Guess who we met today!"

"Who?" Leela asked.

"No, guess!"

Mina would have to teach her niece about the art of not playing a guessing game after making the answer so obvious. Then again, it still seemed so surreal that Bucky Barnes would turn up at her doorstep, that even with the "Soldier Arm", she doubted that Leela would guess.

Leela pursed her lips, putting on a show of thought. "Was it--"

There was a knock at the front door interrupting Leela's guess. Rocio practically launched herself from the chair, already halfway out of the room by the time she could scream "I'll get it!"

"No!" Ravi shouted. His usual reaction when Rocio was too loud, too energetic, too Rocio.

Leela exhaled a laugh at her son before turning back to her sister. "This was too much sugar," she said, circling a finger around Rocio's half-eaten creation. Mina laughed, and Leela smiled, and it felt nice for things to be normal between them--easy. Even if it was just for a moment.

A moment that was brought to a screeching halt by Rocio dragging Bucky Barnes into the combined kitchen and dining room by the hand.

"We met Bucky Barnes!" she chirped.

Leela's face went slack, only managing to get out a small "Holy shit." Mina's eyes didn't linger long on her sister though. Instead her gaze was drawn to Bucky Barnes who looked vaguely amused.

"Rocio, release your captive," Mina prompted, and reluctantly, Rocio released his hand, taking a few steps back towards her mother to give him some space.

"Is this--are you--what is happening here?" Leela asked, looking between Bucky and Mina and Rocio, as if one of them had a reasonable explanation for this. Mina had only ever seen her sister this flustered twice before. Both of the previous occasions had been heartbreaking and traumatic and she'd never quite gotten to experience how funny flustered Leela was.

"He wants to talk to you and Mema about something!" Rocio filled in.

Leela's head whipped to Mina. "You know him?" she whispered in Hindi, as if this was some secret conversation for Mina's ears only.

Mina shook her head. "No, he just came by this morning and asked to speak with us."

"About what?" Leela asked, furrowing her eyebrows and looking back to Bucky.

"I don't know."

For all of the differences between Leela and Rocio--and there were many--their brain processing was eerily similar.

Bucky cleared his throat, drawing the sisters' attention back to him. "I um--I don't know if you want--" he gestured to Rocio. "Here for this."

"Rocio, go to your ro--the playroom," Mina corrected.

"I promise I'll be quiet if you let me--" Rocio started, and Leela cut her off.

"Rocio, take your brother and go up to the playroom please,"

"But--" Rocio's face melted into the start of a complaint, but there a sharp cut of her mother's eyes stopped her dead. Mina remembered being on the receiving end of that look quite a few times while she was growing up. If anything it'd grown in power.

Rocio stomped forward, taking Ravi by the hand who whined and complained until she let him pick up a few cars to take with him, and the two exited the room, heavy footsteps echoing up the staircase.

Mina turned back to Bucky who was staring over Leela's head, at the wall of family pictures.

The idea had hit Mina four years ago after Rocio woke up crying from a nightmare. Together, they spent the night going through old photo albums and Facebook albums, searching for the best pictures of the family. They ended the night with about forty pictures that needed to be framed or professionally printed, and the whole project took about a week to finish.

Every time they ate lunch together over the past four years, Rocio would choose a picture, and Mina would tell her the story behind the picture. Mina's eyes flitted amongst the pictures now.

There was the first time Leela held Mina as a baby which was also the first time Mina smiled. Leela's high school graduation--one of the few pictures with both of their parents in it, hovering on either side of Leela as six year old Mina sat on her hip. Leela and Hector's beautiful wedding day. Leela and Hector at Mina's high school graduation. Leela and Mina at the baby shower for Rocio, and Leela and Hector at the shower for Ravi. There was one of Rocio's grandparents meeting her for the first time, and a good number of photos documenting Mina's visits out to the family. Before the blip.

During their four years together, Mina and Rocio had also taken pictures of memories the family couldn't be there for and hung them on the wall, reminders of stories to tell should they ever return.

Rocio and Mina moving into a new house.

Rocio's first day of Kindergarten, first, and second grade.

The two of them and Rocio's ill-fated hamster, Churro.

Birthday parties and day trips that the rest of the family should have attended.

Bucky stared at the pictures, his frown deepening.

"Would you like to sit?" Leela invited, allowing her collected professional persona to seep into her voice and straighten her spine.

The super soldier nodded, choosing the chair at the end of the table, closest to the door. He wet his lips, his eyes drawn from the pictures and down to the wooden table. It was strange seeing an Avenger--someone who had fought Thanos--seem so nervous in the company of two ordinary women.

He reminded Mina of the fourth graders who entered her office.

The fourth graders were always so hesitant to work with her--terrified of opening up and showing even a glimpse of vulnerability. It took three sessions just to get them to admit that they weren't fine and a few more before they lost the skittish look in their eyes. She doubted Bucky would be pried open by bags of chips or any of her fidgets, but she figured she'd at least try.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Mina asked, and Bucky shook his head.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time."

Mina nodded, and Leela cocked her head. "So what brings an Avenger to my sister's house?"

He wet his lips and then looked up at the pair. "You're part of my efforts to make amends." Bucky made an attempt at a smile.

Across the table, Leela's chest constricted with barely suppressed laughter, and the corners of Mina's lips twitched in and out of a smile. Whoever had advised him to smile, surely hadn't meant for him to smile like that.

"What are you here to make amends for?" Leela asked, her voice steady and betraying none of her amusement.

"I…" his eyes drifted back to the wall of pictures looming beside them. "I'm the one responsible for your parents death."

Mina felt the world stop.

Or maybe it wasn't the world, maybe she stopped. Maybe every single atom within her stilled for a moment. Maybe her brain shut down and heart paused its beating, keeping her from thinking or feeling anything other than the numbness of shock. Because as surprising as it was for Bucky Barnes to show up on her doorstep at ten in the morning, she never expected he was responsible for changing her entire life.

"I know there's nothing, I could ever do to truly make amends--"

"You don't need to make amends."

Everything seemed to restart then. Her heart picked up its beating, and brain whirred into action, sifting through memories and thoughts she'd long ago pushed to the back of her mind and locked there to remain untouched even by  years of therapy.

Her skin prickled with flashes of images. The dark figure at the top of the staircase, the glint of metal she'd assumed was a gun in his hand, the cold blankness of his stare as his eyes bore into hers. And then the horror and sick relief of finding her parents in the moments after his disappearance.

"They were horrible people, and I'm glad they're dead. Thank you for salvaging my childhood"

"Mina," Leela gasped, horrified.

"You hated them too," Mina argued back. "Don't pretend you're not glad that Rocio and Ravi never have to meet them."

"Our relationship with our parents aside, they were still our parents. The least we can do is not thank the man who murdered them in their sleep."

Bucky for his part looked completely bewildered as his eyes darted between the two arguing sisters.

Mina shook her head. "You were more of a parent to me than they ever were."

"And it's because of that that I remember you waking up screaming every night for three years. So if you're not going to ask for amends for our parents' murder, at least ask for amends for what you had to go through because of him."

"My nightmares aren't because of him," Mina dismissed. Leela would never believe--let alone understand--the reason behind Mina's nightmares.

Seeing the argument was fruitless, Leela tsked and dismissed Mina with a flip of her hair, turning instead to address Bucky. "Why?"

"Why…" Bucky stumbled along, confused by the conversational whiplash or the vague question.

"Why did you kill our parents?" Leela demanded.

"Does it matter?" Mina asked.

"It matters to me."

The sisters stared at each other, and Mina shut her eyes, bowing her head in surrender. Leela didn't understand. If Mina had it her way, Leela would never understand. She would never burden her sister like that.

Bucky swallowed hard. "I wasn't told the specifics of every...assignment. All I know is that your parents were working on something HYDRA wanted, and when they were offered a chance to join the cause, they declined. I was tasked with elimination and retrieval."

"Retrieval?" Leela pressed

"Of their research."

Leela gave him a single nod before looking down at the table in front of her. "I didn't even know they were conducting their own research."

Mina felt her skin prickle, an icy hot sensation shooting through her veins. Carefully calm, she reached across the table, palms open for her sister's hands. Leela placed her hands in her younger sister's. "They never let us get to know them," Mina said gently, squeezing Leela's hands. "That's why I'm angry and you're hurt."

Even as she said this, she could feel Bucky's gaze on her, intently studying her motions and facial expressions.

She looked back at him. "Thank you for coming to tell us. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

He nodded, his brow still slightly creased as he looked at her. And then his gaze flicked to Leela, and Mina released her breath.

"I know it doesn't mean much--it doesn't change anything, but I'm not the person who did that anymore. I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James "Bucky" Barnes."

Leela nodded, releasing her sister's hands and looking Bucky square in the face. Her own expression was completely neutral, not a trace of a tear or any of the hurt she'd voiced.

"If you want to make amends, you should come here for Thanksgiving."

Neither Mina nor Bucky had been expecting that. Mina's instinctive reaction was to snort out a laugh as if it were a joke, and Bucky looked like the very dictionary definition of confusion: brow knitted together, eyes narrowed, mouth hanging open.

"It would mean the world to my daughter. You can think about it as replacing a memory of my daughter meeting her grandparents. Mina's right, this will probably be a happier memory anyway."

"You have to come!" Rocio rushed into the room, both of the women shouting her name in a mixture of surprise, horror, and reprimand. The eight year old made no excuses or explanations. Instead she stood by Bucky's chair, peering up at him with a bright intensity only a child could muster. "Please."

Bucky looked away from Rocio to Leela and then Mina. "Ok."

[bellsybuilds]

[Part 2 of the Truck Stops and Tribulations series (link)]

<< previous part | next chapter >>

The way home - chapter 1 (T rating and warnings will change)

Din Djarin, Paz Viz(s)la, Baby Yoda, Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels, Poppy Adams (modern AU, all human, road trips, found family, family reunions)

---

Din just wants to keep this kid safe, but the effort is taking him cross-country and he's loathe to admit he can't do it alone. Paz is the trucker who rescues them one night, and is strangely happy to keep on helping them. Jack is the estranged, obnoxious brother Din likes to pretend he doesn't have, but beggars can't be choosers.

And Poppy is the up-and-coming drug mogul who will make them all reconsider their life choices.

Set pre-Kingsman: the Golden Circle.

Daylight is low, the sun all but set, and the air has sharpened with the oncoming chill of night when the three men emerge with the child from the Kentucky diner.

Din Djarin has barely slept since the Eastern bounty hunter's guild of Nevarro cut ties with him a week ago. He could have survived without the guild's network but the bounty on his own head doesn't help with the matter of getting a restful night's sleep.

Not when he's already running to protect one smaller and so much more vulnerable. A bounty is too large a burden for any toddler to bear.

They’re risking a lot in the hope Din's twin, Jack Daniels, can help with that.

“So, the ones following you.” Jack glances over his shoulder, waving them toward the black Wrangler parked out front and centre. “Who are they?”

The practiced answer catches in Din’s throat when he sees the way his driver looks at Jack’s jeep: Paz Vizla has a mean glower when he wants to use it.

“We’ll bring my truck,” Paz says. He doesn’t sound nor look interested in arguing the point.

Jack cocks an eyebrow from the six-feet-five-inch trucker to his blue, gold and red semi-trailer waiting by the adjacent country road. The cowboy blows out a long exhale and tips his hat back at the truck so large it couldn’t fit in the diner’s lot.

“Well,” he shakes his head. “I don’t mean to sound indelicate but-- aren’t we trying to fly under the radar here? Maybe Optimus Prime ain’t the ride you want for a quiet entry where we’re going.”

Paz shakes his head, frowning and lost. “Where are we going?” 

“Distillery,” Din says, quiet and firm. “Right? Same place?”

His brother nods, scanning him with a considering look. Din wonders if he’s weighing the risk of bringing them home -- a stranger and the one who spurned the opportunity of a lifetime.

Well, one man’s golden goose was another man’s choking hazard.

“Why--?” Paz begins to question, but Din catches his eye, holds it, anchoring the man with him. 

Caution, they had agreed. Not too many questions.

After a heavy pause, Paz huffs impatiently under his breath. He straightens, stubbornly resigned, broad shoulders pushing back under that unseasonably thin down jacket (what an envy, not to feel the cold). They had agreed to err on the side of caution with Jack, but Paz placing his trust in Din at all is still a wonder to him. At the end of the day, he and Paz are still strangers to each other. One week is not long enough to know a person.

“Fine.” The driver looks to Din’s brother. “I’ll follow you. I’ll park a block away and come the rest on foot. Keep a line open to let us know when we’re close.”

Din watches his brother adjust the kid on his hip. Jack had been awful reluctant to give up the chance to carry the little one, even just a little bit farther. 

The kid’s small hands are closed tight on his thick sleeves, dark eyes gazing up into his face, lips parted and glistening with the threat of a fresh dribble. Jack looks down into that round face with a small smile. The little one burbles a soft noise of wonder, entranced. Maybe it’s the moustache. 

Jack looks to his brother, jerks his head at their taller company. “Do we need him?”

Ugh. Din sighs. Jack has never been shy about speaking his mind and making Din’s life difficult. And people complained about Din’s manners.

In the long shadows of dusk, Paz’s frown pulls deep. Din glances away before the man can catch him staring. 

“He’s coming,” Din says. “And the kid’s booster seat is still strapped in. All our stuff is on that truck.”

Jack glances between them, coming to some conclusion, and it rankles how his mouth again draws into a shallow shrug: if you say so, little brother. “Note the license,” He directs Paz to his Jeep’s black plates. “Don’t get lost.” And then to his twin, “Take it you’re riding with him if the kid’s seat’s up there?”

Din frowns at the Jeep, gently biting his inner cheek. 

Has it really been only days since he met Paz? It feels like months. Maybe once they’ve spent more than a week together, Din will trust the kid alone with him. 

Unlikely.

I don’t trust anyone.

Din steps in and opens his hands for the child. The kid automatically raises short arms in response, and Jack’s expression softens. He hands him over with the familiar confidence of someone accustomed to handling tiny, floppy humans, and Din wonders what small children have been in his life lately.

“You mind giving my brother and I a minute?” Jack nods to the semi waiting on the other side of the road.

Behind Din’s shoulder, Paz grunts in assent and steps off, the crunch of gravel fading with his distance.

Jack watches him leave, gaze lingering on his broad back until he’s satisfied, then his hands find his hips and the look he gives Din makes his gut churn in old anxiety.

“Where the hell did you find him?”

“He… found me,” Din explains lamely, throat dry. 

The child pulls itself up higher on his chest with a loud yawn, small hands in his collar. 

“And why was he looking for you?”

“He was passing through the same diner on his way to finish a job. He saw us getting shot at. He stepped in.”

Jack’s expression twists with ugly skepticism. “Awful samaritan of him.”

How was Jack always so infuriatingly patronising? 

“We’ve been running for a week, Jack,” Din snaps. He is so tired and his brother is annoying. “He took a big risk giving us cover. But don’t worry. I’m cutting him loose.”

“Hey, I’m not worried. It’s your life. But you could have come straight to me.”

Din snorts under his breath. “Right.”

And all would have been forgiven after Din left him with a broken jaw and a black eye.

He swallows, throat tightening. “You told me not to come back,” Din reminds him.

Jack shrugs it off, shaking his head. “And when the fuck have you ever listened to me? We’re brothers. Remember, you and me? That’s all we got.”

Din scowls at him. He’s not the one with a memory problem.

“We got a lot of catching up to do,” Jack murmurs, searching his twin’s face. “It’s been three years, Din.”

Din bites his lip, his gaze dropping. Gravel crunches under the kick of his boot. “Yeah,” and goddamnit, his voice still cracks. 

There are a lot of things they could (and should) talk about, but this isn’t the time and he can’t name a single subject he’d volunteer to start. 

He’s grateful for the excuse of the child, shifting the warm bundle to the cradle of his other elbow to give all his nervous energy somewhere to go. 

Small fingers curl into his short beard with a quizzical noise. The kid’s dark eyes search his, sweet mouth pouting up at him, as though asking, What are you doing? Where are we going?

He tugs the kid’s thick beanie low around its ears and heavy lashes blink under his brush of its nose. It’s going to be okay.

“You look alright.” Din notes the good state of his brother’s clothes, the lack of shadows under his eyes, and the absence of bourbon on his breath. Three years ago, it was a different story.

Jack snorts a quiet laugh, pleased as always for every compliment. “And you look like you ain’t seen the struts of a real bed in months.” His voice drops. “I can’t get you inside, but we can get close enough and get the kid seen to. We got lodgings usually used by tour groups, but should be space enough for the two of you and the--”

Jack tips his hat in Paz’s direction and shrugs for lack of a satisfying way to summarise.

“-- Trucker.”

Din just nods, refusing to rise to Jack’s scathing tone. His brother can keep wondering. “Thanks.” 

For helping with the kid. For their shelter. For not asking all the questions Din had expected, and agreeing to see him at all. He doesn’t remember his brother as a generous man. He swallows, just a mite nervous. 

“I can pay you.”

Jack waves him off, nose wrinkled. “Don’t want your money. But the ones following you and the kid. They close?” 

“We got a day’s lead on them. Maybe less.”

“You’d gain more if you ditch that guy and his transformer. The semis are known and tracked. If they saw you get in that thing, they’ll see you coming for miles. And this guy.” Jack’s shoulders rise with the casual shrug of his offer. “He sounds too convenient. Am I gonna have to shoot him?”

It’s an honest offer and as casual a gesture as taking out the trash. Jack doesn’t even ask if Din could just dismiss the guy. It’s so Jack, and sheds years of distance between them. Some of the tension drops from Din’s shoulders. 

He wants to argue that there are still good people out there.

He shakes his head.

“If it goes bad.” Din glances to the truck and Paz is watching them, leaned up against the tall wheel, thick arms folded, eyes dark. “I’ll shoot him myself.”

///

Once back in the truck, Din says, “After this, we go our own way.”

Paz has just shut his door behind him. The cabin is briefly swamped in darkness, and pale light washes in from the diner’s sign over the dashboard. He stares at Din, the weight of his frown prickling on Din’s neck. The silence draws out a beat longer than comfortable. 

Jaw tight, Din keeps his attention on buckling the kid into its booster seat between them.

“What did he say to you?” Paz asks, low and cautious.

The little one watches Din’s hands with keen interest and his small feet kick happily once secured.

“Your truck is distinct. We need to stay discreet.” Din reaches for his own seatbelt and looks ahead to the road. 

“The truck the only problem?”

Din worries the inside of his cheek, rolling his jaw. “Your taste in music could use some work.”

Paz snorts a laugh and his seatbelt clicks into place. “You mean: you could use an updated education. Hick.”

Din bites his lip to repress a smile, looking out the window.

The truck rumbles to life. For a moment they idle, waiting for fuel to warm the engines. It’s not so cold that Paz probably needs to worry about the lines freezing, but there’s snow out there and Din has learned Paz is not the sort of man who likes to take chances with his home.

That’s what this truck is, after all: more than a transport and a vocation, it’s the man’s mobile home on the road. Din hasn’t asked if there’s a more permanent place waiting for Paz at the end of the line. The thought makes him uncomfortable in a way that’s difficult to name.

A soft thud lands by the kid’s booster seat. Din startles at the tall, feline face that suddenly rears into his vision, the weight of heavy paws pressing against his thigh.

For such a large animal, Paz’s maine coon is adept at sneaking up on him time after time. Din’s had a week to train his senses, but this giant among cats only makes a sound when it wants to be heard. Din could stand to learn a few pointers from its stealth.

He sags, shoulders dropping their tension. The ginger cat sniffs his cheek, his chin, blinking up at him curiously. Long whiskers tickle his beard. Maybe it’s scenting the roast he had in the diner. And to his surprise, the creature is purring.

Din glances to her owner, wary at her proximity. The last time she got this close, she was glaring him down into the pillows, fur aglow in the late afternoon sun wondering why this stranger was waking up in her human’s bed. 

Where else was he supposed to sleep?

It is not lost on Din that he's painted a target on Paz, too.

The kid perks up with a burble of delight, small hands reaching for the cat's thick tail swishing back and forth in his face.

“She deciding if she wants to eat me?” Din asks, leaning away from her roving nose.

Paz shifts the truck into gear with an easy smile and reaches over for his charge, stroking a firm hand down her back. His fingers disappear in the long fur. “C’mere, baby.”

The feline meows at the familiar touch, turning and pouncing immediately into Paz’s waiting lap. She’s large enough to fill his arms and make him crane around the impressive flare of her tail as tall as his torso. Din stares and wonders, not for the first time, why Paz decided on an attack cat instead of a dog like any normal trucker.

Din hasn’t known many truckers, but there’s something different about Paz. 

The other man blows out a comical breath of exasperation at the cat circling over and over in his lap to find the perfect spot. She fills his face with fur as he checks his mirrors and pulls them onto the road. He pats the dashboard, “Up” and she follows the instruction seamlessly, well accustomed to this routine.

The cat stretches along the dash’s full, impressive length and Paz tosses his cap up beside her. She’s a driving hazard, but one Paz is clearly familiar negotiating.

“You ever thought about giving her a real name?” Din asks, pointing to his brother’s Jeep waiting at the street corner.

'Ms Kitty' worked so long as there were no other competing felines in the district.

Paz grunts an unimpressed noise under his breath and pulls the truck into convoy. “You call your kid ‘kid’.” It’s a nudge, not unkind; don’t judge me. Pot, kettle.

Din almost smiles . But the kid is not his kid. 

Not that Paz needs to know that. 

“Point taken.”

The distillery is not far from the diner. A twenty minute drive at most. 

The cat dozes with its long limbs stretched out and the kid yawns into his over-large jacket collar. The quiet has almost settled back to the silent ease they usually enjoyed.

“What you said in the diner….”

Din looks over at their driver. “What?”

Paz is watching the road, eyes intent. The muscles of his jaw visibly tense. “Have I… done anything to make you not trust me?”

Din is grateful for the shadows and Paz keeping his eyes on the road so he can’t see the warm flush rise on Din’s neck. Damn it. He bites his tongue and idly grinds one fist into the palm of his other hand, wishing for the gloves in his pack behind the seat.

“It’s nothing personal,” he says, eventually. No, that feels… not enough. He sighs and unclenches his jaw enough to push the words out. “I’m grateful. For your help. You didn’t have to help us in the lot and... driving us cross country. Now, with Jack. I know it's a lot.”

“It’s fine,” Paz says quietly.

“We’ve asked enough. We'll be out of your hair soon,” Din decides. 

It has felt unsettling leaning on someone like this: like easing down into a familiar chair but wary of how long its frame will hold. It’s sad to say, but he hasn’t asked for nor accepted the help of another person in a long time. 

They’ve travelled together for a mere week. But a week in Din’s book would convert to long months by a normal person’s standard. And he hasn’t enjoyed many measures of ‘normal in his life’.

“If you want to go, I won’t stop you,” Paz says. He sounds distant, mind faraway. “It’s been my honour to help you two.”

Din frowns, hand closing tight over his fist.

It makes him uncomfortable when Paz speaks like this-- the air electrifying around him, his words falling with the gravity of things Din can’t see or understand. Paz would sound ridiculous if he didn’t sound so genuine.

It’s unsettling being in the presence of… that. Whatever that is.

“What you said,” Din parries the attention. “Growing up with guns. Running. Was that true?”

“It is.” Paz nods, glancing over his shoulder to change lanes as Jack’s rear lights signal a turn ahead of them. The long wave of Paz’s dark fringe almost falls in his eyes and Din watches him push it back with a hand, fingers threading through those heavy waves. “It was rough. I wouldn’t wish that on any kid.”

Din thinks about that and the way it resonates, the ghost of an ache down to his bones. “I’m sorry.”

Paz shrugs. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m doing all right.”

He glances Din’s way, catching him with a wry smile. Din can’t help but return it and huffs a laugh under his breath. A warm stillness blooms through the tension in his chest left from his conversation with Jack.

Maybe there are still good people out there. But he’s not going to wait around to be disproved.

A small, loud yawn breaks between them, tailing to an exhausted whine. 

Din winces with guilt, looking down into the kid’s slow, teary blink under the lamp lights streaming by. How does something so small make such a large sound?

“Aw, kiddo.” Paz sighs, equally pained in sympathy.

Din leans in, heart twisting when the kid turns its face up to the hand he smoothes over its tufty hair, thumb gently stroking its forehead. “Not long now,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

The kid closes its eyes with a soft, unhappy sound and leans into his palm. So small. So vulnerable. He doesn’t have it in him to pull away, fingers sinking into the short, black fuzz of its hair. This kid needs -- the kid deserves more protection than he can provide.

He’s guilty to admit Paz had answered some of that anxiety up until now. But they can’t hide here with him forever.

It’s mere minutes later that Paz announces, “All right, pulling over.”

Din steels himself and strokes the baby soft skin beneath his thumb. Forever is a nice dream, though.

///

Humidity is supposed to be good for one’s skin, but Poppy Adams would sooner dehydrate and mummify than weather another night in the jungle without air conditioning.

Night brings little relief. The jungle hums, chirping and screeching, the nocturnal shift of nature leaving no illusion of her party’s solitude. These ruins were ‘undiscovered’, but although no other humans linger within radio distance, they are not alone. It doesn’t matter.

This is her home now.

Break over, the scream of chainsaws fills the night and Poppy’s team resumes the heavy work of clearing the jungle strangling the old settlement.

Sighing, she turns the electric fan up beside her to its max setting and sighs at the fresh blast of air, collecting her hair up off her neck. Squinting at the monitor before her, the video feed is difficult to see beneath the glare of floodlights casting their clearing as bright as day.

The black and white picture on the monitor freezes and distends. Poppy scowls, pressing buttons to no avail. What the hell is this, the actual 1950’s? After a patient stretch of seconds longer than any technology deserves, she throws up her hands in disbelief. 

“Eli!”

The technician appears at her elbow, shoulders hunched and drawn. Poppy’s face wrinkles at the acrid stench of sweat that fills her nose from an arm’s distance. She expects a certain level of dress sense and hygiene from her people, but...

“Baby, why do you smell like that?” she asks, gaze lingering on the thick sweat of his brow. “Am I not paying you enough for deodorant?”

Taking Eli on was a favour to her late father, the man’s previous employer. Eli is her man for telecommunications, her doctor for everything technological. Getting a clear and reliable signal this far out from civilisation is reason enough to sweat, but that’s why she brought him on board. Eli was supposed to be the best and worth all the times he made her teeth grind with his nervous twitching. Nervous people are so annoying.

“I’m sorry, Miss Poppy. It’s just--” 

“Poppy,” she corrects, appraising his pitiful, shiny demeanour.

“Poppy.” He ducks his head in apology. Poppy pulls a face when he mops his brow with his sleeve and it comes away with a wide, dark streak. The soft grey of his suit is already stained with all shades of jungle. Well, she won’t be sending him to represent her at any board meetings, that’s for sure. “I will re-apply as soon as I get back to my things.”

Poppy waves off his ramblings. More constructively, she thrusts a hand at her unresponsive monitor. “Why does my surveillance feed look like a boiled VHS tape?”

Eli blinks, wide eyes darting to the suitcase-mounted computer. “Ah. That may be… m-may I?”

Spinning the computer around to her tech support, Poppy sits back, fanning herself even as the electric fan whirs on. 

Getting the diner water-tight and wired up with A/C is the first priority. Until then, the building is a dank tomb trapping the worst of the humidity and she is better off braving the elements with her fan, the work site’s bright, bright lights and all the jungle’s insects it attracts.

An uncomfortably large cricket the size of her hand falls down dead with a loud zap by her thigh. She brushes it away with a grimace.

The things she endures for better world order.

Eye on the prize, Poppy.

Eli straightens before the computer and turns it back round to her. “There you go, Miss Poppy. Please try again.”

She blinks at him, slow and heavy. She does not spare a glance to her restored monitor. “Eli, baby, I’m not inspired with confidence in your abilities when you can’t even remember how to address me properly.”

His eyes fly to her face and his sweat-flushed complexion pales to a pallor that almost makes her cringe in pity.

“I-I’m sorry, Poppy. It’s just how I was raised. Respect for our elders--”

“Oh, you’re saying I’m old?”

Eli pales even further. His shoulders begin to shake with his nervous tremors. “N-no it’s… respect for superiors, a-and--”

Poppy throws up her hand to mime a beak closing. “Your face, your voice. They grate on my nerves. I’m sorry, I feel terrible saying it, but it’s true. So, be quiet. And let’s see if you fixed this.”

She presses play on the video. This time, the visual snow resolves into the high vantage of a large parking lot filled with cars. The image is smooth and fluid as the seconds tick by. In the bottom corner, movement --

She claps in exasperated delight. “Oh, at last! It’s working.”

It’s difficult to make out at first: the blur of indistinct shapes coalescing into hooded figures under the tall street lamps. A long semi-trailer occupies the bottom right of the frame. 

Light flashes in the dark at the foot of the Waffle House stair; the spark of a gun firing.

Poppy glances up at Eli, hovering with some trepidation at her shoulder. “Is there sound on this?”

He tests a few commands on the keyboard. “N-no, Poppy. It doesn’t seem so.”

She hums in disappointment. “Oh well.”

The surveillance footage lights up with more flares in the dark, glittering around the carpark like the desperate putters of dragonflies. Multiple shooters. 

“Just a moment,” Eli reaches past her again, the image paling and brightening under the magic of his intervention.

“Oh that’s much better,” Poppy smiles when the featureless dark encompassing much of the image sharpens with the outline of vehicles parked row upon row, a full customer contingent even at 2am in the morning. 

Where are they….?

Poppy leans in, squinting at the barely discernible figure standing strong at the foot of the stair, a significant lump high on their back. 

The picture almost whites out with an abrupt flare of light from the bottom right of the frame, long and spitting. The gout of flame peters out and at its source towers a new person: broad-shouldered and stalking towards the figure at the stairs.

“Whoa,” Eli breathes as the flamethrower erupts again, spewing at the bounty hunters now cowering back against the cars for cover.

Poppy leans in. “That’s him.”

They watch the tall one shift the heavy flamethrower to his back, something equally bulky but short sliding into his hands from the opposite shoulder. The muzzled puff that alights from the barrel of this artillery is an anticlimax after the draconic display.

But Poppy’s eyebrows rise at the consequent explosion engulfing several cars in a furious inferno.

“Okay… okay,” she murmurs, knuckle brushing her lower lip as she considers the possibilities. 

It looks like the target had called for support, and the cavalry was packing heat.

“Update the intelligence,” she glances at Eli still gaping at the monitor. “It looks like he has help now. Advise they’re heavily armed.”

As they watch, the figures dash to the cover of the semi-trailer. The large truck shudders to life, a new explosion billowing up in the car park as it pulls onto the road, the carnage covering their escape. And conveniently lighting up the night well enough to get a read on the license plate.

“It’s only a partial,” Eli clarifies as they both squint at the frozen picture, the image’s fidelity failing to stand up to the demands of magnification. “But between this and the truck’s markings, it might help.”

“Up the bounty.” Poppy fans herself, settling back in her seat, face wrinkling as her shirt clings to her spine with sweat. “If people are going up against that kind of firepower, they’ll expect to be well-compensated.” 

And let nobody say that Poppy Adams won’t compensate for a job well done.

Eli almost bows to her, head low. “Yes, Poppy.”

She snickers, watching him. He’s endearing, for all that she wants to dunk him in a pool of deodorant.  “Go now, Eli. We’re on a deadline.”

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