#my two smart and snarky men
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Every now and then I remember this
#him writing an emotional letter back to seb after seb wrote him that encouraging one those years ago#carlos sainz jr#sebastian vettel#f1#also that photo was so so so soft#my two smart and snarky men#who also both love Ricci
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warnings: enemies to friends, hinted enemies to lovers, Tyler’s sister!reader, mean!scott, bickering, very real tornado danger, mentions of a car crash and physical injuries, not proofread, f!reader
summary: the three time you see storm par’s one and only scott, including the one in which he saves your life.
author’s note: look at me, finally writing something again! I’ve been extremely busy and, truthfully, in a writers slump. I started writing this after seeing twisters, and I just got the motivation to come back and finish it. I’ve been obsessed with this man since that movie, and good lord do we need more fics of him. anyways, enjoy! (also, for my traitor fans— I haven’t forgotten about you! I hope to work on the next part soon!)
the first time you’d seen scott, you’d wanted to break his jaw, and you hadn't even gotten his name.
“get lost on the way to the hillbilly convention?”
his tone is snarky, his eyes full of disdain as he watched you slide out of tyler’s truck.
your eyes had widened, your spine straightening as you registered his unprovoked hostility.
“the fuck is your problem?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you come back to your senses. you look him up and down, huffing a laugh at his clothes.
“you look like you’re going to a fuckin’ business meeting.” you say, coming to a stop in front of him. your cowboy boots dig into the dirt, and the sun beats down on your face.
perfect day for storm chasing, as your brother had said. darkening clouds rolled in the distance, and the wind was steadily picking up. according to lilly's drone data and tyler's instincts, your first chase would occur sometime within the next few hours.
you had been away at college when tyler’s tornado-chasing YouTube channel took off. you’d always loved the thrill of being close to the storms, but even when you came home to visit during summers, tyler refused to let you tag along.
until now, that is. now that you’ve graduated with a degree in meteorology, just like him. he had always accused you of wanting to follow in his footsteps.
“don’t mind storm par over there,” comes your brother’s drawl as he appears beside you, a hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. “the stick up his ass seems to have been lodged a little deeper recently. you’ll get used to it,” tyler grins, barking a laugh at the brunette's scowl.
"haven't seen you before," another man moves to stand beside the brunette. he's also wearing storm par gear, and you watch as him and the taller man share an unreadable glance.
"she's new," tyler responds for you, his wide grin still present as he acknowledges the shorter man with the tip of his hat.
"i'd run while you can, sweetheart," the taller one says, a look of pity in his eyes as he looks back to you. "fucking him isn't worth dying over."
you stare at the man for a moment before bursting into laughter. the storm par pair's eyes both widen, their stares moving from your hysterics, to tyler's rolled eyes, and then to each other.
"you two are supposed to be scientists, huh? the guys who are gonna 'tame tornadoes?'" you throw the last two words in air quotes as your laughter subsides.
the shorter of the two men nods, while the taller opens his mouth once more. "that's right. while you morons are out trying to get yourselves killed, we'll be busy doing shit that actually matters."
"right, right," you nod along, glee shining in your eyes as you stare at the taller one. "you must be so smart, then. where'd you get your degree?"
"MIT," he says smugly, popping the gum in his mouth.
"MIT, wow," you whistle, your eyes finding your brother's. tyler just shakes his head, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.
"you got a degree from MIT, and you're too stupid to tell that he-" you jab a finger towards tyler. "is my fucking brother?"
the man's smug grin instantly falls as his eyes scan you, then tyler, and then fall back onto you. tyler steps forward, smacking a hand on the man's shoulder with a laugh.
"meet my little sister, storm par. may not have gotten a degree from MIT," he says, tipping his cowboy hat to you. you mime tipping an invisible hat back at him. "but she seems to be a hell of a lot smarter than you."
the second time you see scott, you still don't learn his name.
"jesus christ, this thing is huge!" you yelp as tyler swerves the truck back onto the dirt road. he scowls as the storm par truck ahead of him jerks back and forth on the path, blocking his approach.
"how's the wind lookin'?" he asks, his words clipped as his hands grip the wheel tighter. wheat fields ripple on both sides of the road, an ocean of tan as the sky continues to darken.
"pickin' back up," you tell him, glancing down at the laptop in your lap. it was displaying real-time data of the atmospheric conditions. the software had cost a pretty penny, but had been worth it. plus, it had been more than covered by tyler's t-shirt sales. cheesy or not, tyler’s face on a shirt was worth his weight in gold to his followers.
tyler groans as the white truck in front of him cuts him off again.
"ty, just go around!" you yell at him, your eyes widening as you stare out of the passenger side window. the clouds overhead were beginning to swirl.
"i'm tryin' to drive nice," he tells you through gritted teeth. "don't wanna make you sick-" he begins, but you roll your eyes and reach over, jerking the wheel. the car swerves off the road and into the ditch beside it, and tyler scrambles to avoid hitting a wire fence as he swats at your hand.
"what the fuck?!" he yells at you, his eyes cutting to you for a second before focusing back on the road.
"stop tryin' to baby me!" you tell him. "show these storm par pricks what we're made of."
tyler falls silent, clearly debating his next move. you're about to grab the wheel again when his foot slams down on the gas and the truck lurches forward. you cheer, throwing a fist in the air as you laugh with glee.
"just don't tell mom!" he says to you, laughing along.
as the truck speeds forwards, tyler lets off the gas just enough to keep speed with the storm par truck. you lean past him to get a look into the cab, and there's the brunette you'd had the displeasure of meeting a few days ago.
you can see his scowl from here, and your grin is wide as you hold your middle finger up, waving it around to make sure he couldn't miss it. his scowl deepens, and before he can even think of responding to the gesture, tyler hits the gas again.
"what was that for?" your brother asks as you lean back into you seat.
you shrug. "just havin' fun."
the third time you see scott, he saves your life.
it's a week after the middle-finger incident. although storm par and your brother's wranglers have been following the same storms, you haven't had the pleasure of bothering the tall brunette, much less seeing him. you’d caught glimpses, but he seemed to be keeping his distance. you supposed he’d finally grown tired of your constant teasing.
you don't know why you find yourself caring. he's an asshole. an asshole who hates you, your brother, and everything the two of you stand for. who constantly underestimates and looks down on you.
and yet you miss his scowl and the unmistakable pop of his bubblegum.
"hey, you okay over there?" boone asks as he leans over the center console, his head peeking out between the two front seats. you know the question is directed at you, as boone is watching you like a hawk.
"yeah, fine," you shrug, your eyebrows furrowed as you lean down, getting closer to the screen of your laptop.
"ty, turn the music down for a sec," you tell him, and he listens without protest. a rare occurrence, but now wasn't the time for bickering.
what had first appeared to be a measly EF1 had begun to grow. it wasn't dying out, and things were starting to get scarily real as moisture kept feeding into the funnel miles ahead of you.
"this thing isn't stopping," you tell the two men. "you need to tell the rv to turn around. hell, we should turn around."
boone shakes his head, leaning further into your space. his eyes scan your computer screen, and although he's learned a lot from tyler, he still doesn't see what you see.
"nah, it's gonna be fine. ty said it's gonna die out anyways, right? we just need to get in it before it does."
"boone," you warn, turning in your seat to face him. "love you, but shut the fuck up right now." you reach out a hand and grip tyler's arm.
"ty, I mean it."
rain starts pelting the windshield. you can hear the wind howling outside of the truck, and you shudder as hail begins to pound against metal.
tyler mumbles something under his breath as he kicks the windshield wipers up to maximum speed. "you sure?" he finally says.
he turns to look at you as you nod, and those precious seconds are all it takes for the world to spin on its axis.
a fence post slams through the windshield as rain and hail continue to obscure the world around you. you scream and tyler jerks the wheel out of instinct. the truck turns sharply, running off the road. your stomach drops as the truck drops and rises again- your own personal rollercoaster from hell.
"tyler!" you yell, gripping the straps of the harness holding you in.
"workin' on it!" he responds, jerking the wheel the other way. the truck rights itself back on the road, and you close your eyes as adrenaline rushes through your veins.
fuck, the others-
"boone, tell the others to turn around now!" you yell at him, and he's nodding frantically from his seat in the back, his hands fumbling for the walkie talkie in the floor.
"so much for an EF1!" tyler says, and although his tone sounds easy, his face betrays him. you can see the glimpse of fear in his eyes. it mirrors your own.
"yeah, ri-" you begin, but the sentence never fully forms.
you black out as another car slams into the passenger side of the truck.
"c'mon, get up!"
everything feels fuzzy. your head is pounding, and your ears are ringing. pain shoots through your body, engulfing every inch of skin. you think something has to be broken, judging from the numbness you feel on the right side of your body.
"get up!"
your eyes begin to crack open, but your vision is blurry. someone is a few feet in front of you, but you can't make out who it is.
"for fuck's sake-" the voice growls, and you can just hear the faint crunching of glass before your hearing comes back in full force.
the wind is an unbearable howl, and the rain and hail pounding down around you make hearing your own thoughts almost impossible-
your thoughts. what had happened? one second, you're driving and then-
fuck. tyler. boone. where were they?
your eyes shoot open, your body jerking against the harness still keeping you strapped to the leather passenger seat.
you look to your left- to the driver's side- but tyler isn't there. you try to turn you head to see into the back, but a sharp pain in your neck quickly stops you.
"tyler?!" you yell, but your voice is carried off by the wind. you can't even hear your own words.
"boone?!"
"they're fine!" a voice calls to you, and your gaze shoots back to the driver's side. you can see a man crouching by the driver's now blown-out window— which is upside down.
you were upside down. the truck had rolled with the impact of whatever had hit you. everything comes back with devastating clarity, and even though adrenaline pumps through your veins, the pain is beginning to become unbearable.
“can you move?” the voice says. you can’t tell who it is through the spots in your vision and the sheets of rain still coming down.
“I-” you start, pushing your chest against the harness. “I think so.”
“good,” you recognize it as a man’s voice. “then hurry the fuck up and get out!”
under different circumstances, you would’ve scoffed at the order, but now wasn’t the time for defiance. your life was literally on the line, and if you didn’t get to shelter before the tornado engulfed you—
well, you didn’t want to think about that.
you force your brain to gather itself, directing your thoughts toward moving your aching limbs. your left arm is the only one that responds, coming to fumble with the metal buckles of the harness.
the first one unclasps and you swear you could cry from relief.
“any day now!” the man calls, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. you reach your left hand across your torso, working at the clasp on your right side.
“im trying!” you call back. once you get it undone, your arms fall downward as gravity claims them. you groan in pain as your right arm shifts. something is definitely broken, but you can’t afford to give into the pain at the moment.
you reach for the lap belt, tugging at it with a shaking hand. the wind continues to howl around you, and you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. hopelessness begins to eat away at you as you try and try again to undo the lap belt, to no avail.
“it’s stuck!” you call out, hoping the man can hear you. “I can’t get out!”
your breathing is picking up. your chest feels tight, and the feeling you still have in your left hand ebbs as you begin to panic.
you don’t want to die. you know that. it scares you shitless.
but you don’t want anyone else to die, either.
you’re stuck. whoever is outside of the truck isn’t. he should run while he can—
“hold on!” you’re jarred from your thoughts as a figure begins to crawl through the hole left by the blown-out window, and that’s when you register your savior.
it’s him, the brunette from storm par. the man who belittled you, who rolled his eyes at every sentence you spoke, and who you somehow found yourself missing.
he’s crawling into the cab, his arms no doubt suffering cuts from the shattered glass littering his path. “I’ve got you,” he calls to you, and when your eyes meet his, there’s no look of disdain. there’s thinly veiled terror.
“you need to leave me,” you tell him, and you can’t tell if the wetness on your face is from your tears or the rain that’s now blowing sideways into the destroyed truck.
“shut the fuck up,” he tells you, groaning as he slices his forearm on a jagged piece of metal.
“im serious,” you reply, your left hand still fumbling with the belt restraining you. “I can’t feel my right side—”
“will you shut up? please?” he heaves out, his face inches from yours now as he reaches for the lap belt.
you fall silent, but not because you’re heeding his demands. no, you’re too busy examining his face. he’s never been this close to you, and you’re taking in every little detail before death comes to sweep you up.
can’t blame a girl for wanting to gawk at a handsome man in her final minutes, can you?
“stop staring at me,” he grits out, his forearm flexing as he tugs at the lap belt. something has the fabric trapped, and although he’s freeing it inch by inch, you’re not sure if—
the belt gives, and his arms leave your lap to cushion your fall, protecting your head from slamming into the metal below you.
he doesn’t say anything, but you watch as his gaze flits over your right side. stone cold as ever, his expression gives nothing away regarding your physical state. you can’t bring yourself to look down.
“im gonna pull you out, okay?” he says, and you absently nod your head. the pain is heavier now— harder to push away. your vision swims as he hooks his arms under yours and shuffles back on his knees.
agony spreads through your thoughts as the numbness gives way to excruciating pain. your eyelids flutter, but the man doesn’t stop. he grunts as he pulls you forward again, slowly but surely removing you from the truck.
“you need to leave me,” you tell him again, your teeth biting into your bottom lip to stifle a scream of pain. “im not going to be able to walk. I’ll just slow you down—”
“jesus christ, you don’t listen, do you? im not leaving you here to die.”
he finally makes his way out of the wreckage, pulling you with him. once you’re free of the ruined truck, he stands on shaky legs— fighting to maintain balance as the wind whips across his figure. he reaches down, scooping you up in his bloody arms, and starts to run as best he can. the rain is so thick you can’t even see a foot in front of you, let alone where he’s taking you.
lightning cracks overhead, followed by thunder so loud it shakes your shattered bones. your head tilts up to the sky, and you watch in horror at what was once an EF1 tornado races toward you. it’s got to be an EF4 by now— maybe even a 5 based off its sheer size.
“drop me!” you screech, your working hand clutching the soaked fabric of his storm par shirt.
if he hears you, he pays you no mind as he continues to struggle against the wind.
with your eyes focused on the impending doom behind you, you don’t even realize when he reaches his destination. he jumps down into a deep ditch, and you hear him groan as his feet hit the ground. he must be hurt, too.
“is she alright?” a voice calls, and your eyes widen as boone comes into view, a large cut across his forehead that looks like it definitely needs stitches.
“not the time!” the storm par man shouts, ducking behind your friend. your eyes catch boone’s over his shoulder, and you give your fellow storm chaser a weak wink. boone’s lips crack into a wide smile, even amidst this horrible storm.
the brunette carrying you falls to his knees, laying your back against muddied dirt. he refuses to let you go, his arms cradling you against his chest as he shelters you with his own body. there’s nothing to hold onto except for him, and you know if the tornado gets any closer, you’ll both be goners.
you close your eyes tightly, welcoming your end despite your overwhelming fear— but it never comes.
you pry your eyes open as the sounds of wind and rain finally begin to subside. the body above yours still clutches you tightly.
“are we alive?” your voice comes out a whisper. your left hand flexes against the man’s chest, and sure enough, it meets a solid body. he’s not an imagination— he’s real. you’re still here.
“yes,” his chest rumbles with the words, and his arms slowly snake out from under you as he sits back on his haunches. his eyes are locked on yours, his icy blues unreadable as he watches your face.
you don’t say anything for a moment. and then,
“you’re the stupidest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”
his eyes widen in surprise, and his stern facade cracks for the first time— at least, that you’ve seen— and he chuckles.
the bubble surrounding you two quickly pops as tyler’s voice meets your ears. you turn your head and there he is— your brother, running towards you with relief written all over his face.
“oh, thank god,” he says, throwing himself to his knees and scooping you up in a hug. you hiss in pain and he pulls back, his hands on your shoulders as he looks you up and down with a grimace.
“you took the worst of it. those storm par pricks—” his eyes cut to your savior, who is still sitting nearby, watching the two of you. “hit us. you and boone were knocked out, and you were stuck, so I got him first and was coming back, but—”
“ty,” you interrupt, your left hand landing atop one of his. “it’s okay. im okay. we’re okay.”
tyler takes a deep breath and nods, his eyes flitting back down your body, focusing on your right leg. you follow his gaze, grimacing at the unnatural twist of the limb. no wonder it had gone numb.
“I’ve had worse,” you tell him, taking notice of your limp, lacerated right arm.
“now’s not the time to play hero,” your brother chastises, standing up before reaching down and picking you up. your eyes meet your savior’s once more. he’s standing now, too, his arms crossed over his chest as he matches your gaze.
“guess we owe you a thanks, clipboard. and you owe us a new truck.” tyler says, to which the brunette rolls his eyes.
“ty,” you roll your eyes, too, as you keep your gaze locked with the brunette’s. “ignore my brother. thank you for saving my life….” you trail off, realizing, truly realizing for the first time that you don’t know his name.
“scott.” he tells you. you nod.
“thank you, scott.”
he nods back, turning his back to you as he starts to limp back to the road your vehicles had been abandoned at. you doubted they would still be there.
just as you’re about to look away from his retreating form, he glances over his shoulder and gives you a true, sweetly small, smile.
maybe storm par isn’t so bad after all.
#twisters#twisters film#twisters fanfic#scott twisters#scott from twisters#scott miller#scott miller x reader#scott twisters x reader#tyler owens#Tyler Owens!sister!reader#enemies to friends to lovers#enemies to lovers#david corenswet#David corenswet x reader#twisters oneshot#David corenswet oneshot#David corenswet fic#twisters 2024#twisters 2024 oneshot#glen powell#daisy edgar jones#anthony ramos#oneshot#one shot
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STUFFING [thanksgiving special]
pairings: henry cavill x male reader x chris evans.
summary: his father’s best friends; chris and henry, visit for thanksgiving dinner, and at the end, the readers' fathers get drunk and passes out. Leaving the reader, Chris, and Henry to get down and dirty.
requested by: @dangerousstrawberryshark
word count: 1,081
warnings: threesome, anal sex, double penetration, dirty talk, praising.
It's that time of year again, the time of year when your dad invites all of his hot dilf-y friends round for Thanksgiving. You try to make small talk, but the majority of them just kind of ignore you or actually just don't hear you because of how quiet and timid your voice is when they're round. Except something is different this year. Your dad only invited two of his friends round, and they've never been round for Thanksgiving before, which is strange because they get invited pretty much every year.
"Henry! Chris! Come in, come in" your hear your dad shout out from upstairs as you see two cars park in your driveway, you slowly make your way downstairs and you turn the corner to be met by two greek fucking gods. Perfectly chiselled jawlines, your mouth gaped open practically drooling over them right before their very eyes. You slowly wipes your mouth and walk closer to them "H-Hey" you say quiet and timidly as you face them both, "This is my son" your dad says introducing you to them.
"Don't worry he does have a life even though he still lives at home at twenty-five" you dad's snarky comment causes you to roll your eyes as you smile softly at them as you walk past them and into the dining room where all the food is set up. You keep mumbling things under your breath as your dad embarrassed you in front of the two hot dilfs, "so what if I still live at home at twenty-five" you mumble to yourself as you place the knives and forks down at the table.
"You guys didn't need to dress up" you hear your dad's loud booming voice echo from the hallway all the way into the dining room, after them chatting in the hallway for about ten minutes they all finally make there way into the dining room taking their seats. Your dad is at the head of the table and your next to him whereas Chris and Henry are on the opposite side to you, "I'll be back, I need to go serve up dinner" your dad says as he places his napkin down and he walks out of the dining room leaving you alone with the two hot men.
The awkward silence was deafening, but you couldn't take your eyes off of them. You wanted them. The way their suits clung onto their bodies was proof of how they must be muscular, and you wanted to see their sexy body's as they pounded into you. Fuck..you could dream. Your dad strutted in with plates of food, placing them all down, and you started to eat. Even though you were eating, you were watching Chris and Henry, the way the forks filled with food were placed into their wet mouths.
After dinner and a couple of games and a lot of alcohol at least on your dad's part, the day was coming to an end. Your dad passed out from the amount of alcohol he had drank, Chris and Henry helped you carry your dad upstairs to his bedroom, covering him up to keep him warm so he doesn't freeze. You slowly close his bedroom door, and you come face to face with the two men, "I guess that's it for tonight" you say in a soft nervous tone as you look up at the two men but they both just smirk down at you.
Henry steps forward and grips the back of your neck, pushing his face against yours and pressing his lips against your soft ones, your eyes widen in shock but slowly close as you enjoy this touch of passion. Henry and you both stumble to the side, pushing your bedroom door open, and you both land on the bed bouncing slightly but not breaking the kiss. Chris slowly walks in as he watches this unfold, your body laying on top of Henry's as you both passionately make out, Chris slowly pulls down your smart trousers and your underwear just enough so that your tight pink hairless pucker is on display.
Chris leans in and begins lapping up your hole, rimming you to the best of his ability. His tongue slowly pushed inside you, curling and flicking against your soft, warm walls. Once your hole is all soaking wet and slowly opening up with Chris' hot breath against it, he leans away and strips off naked and presses his pre-cum soaked tip against your hole slowly pushing it in. You throw your head back breaking the kiss, you gasp out in shock and pleasure as your feel his cock completely fill your hole.
Henry manages to unbutton his shirt opening it up exposing his hairy chest and ripped abs, your eyes dart down and you gasp out at his reveal. Chris grips onto your hips as he continues to slowly pound into you faster and faster, whereas Henry's hands travel down to unbuckle his belt and he manages to get his thick uncut cock out. Chris stops pumping into you for a moment and helps you both strip off fully naked and you get back into the position you were just in.
Chris slips his cock back into your gaping hole and with the help of Chris' hand, Henry's cock slips into your tight hole. You gasp out in slight pain that eases away in pure sultry bliss as your hole accommodates to the size of both their cocks. Henry bucks his hips up into you and Chris digs his nails into your hips as he pumps himself back and forth into you his cock rubbing up against Henry's thick member. Your eyes roll back as they pound away into you relentlessly as your cock spurts out cum as they both stretch your hole to an orgasmic size.
Your hole tightens against Henry and Chris' cocks as they stop pounding into you and both feel your muscle ring tighten around them, their cocks can't take it anymore and they spurt out cum inside your asshole giving you the ultimate cream pie. "I think I know what I'm thankful for this year" you say in a soft tone as you feel both their cocks slip out of your hole and they pull you under the duvet to warm you up. "Happy Thanksgiving" Henry and Chris say in unison and they both place a kiss on either side of your cheek as your naked bodies rub against eachother.
Happy Thanksgiving. 🦃
taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold
#henry cavill#henry cavill x male reader#henry cavill smut#henry cavill x male reader smut#chris evans#chris evans x male reader#chris evans gay#thanksgiving#x male reader#gay#fanfic#x male y/n#male reader#smut#gay smut#boypied#boypied smut#boypied fanfic
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Kinktober Day 20- Roommate!Miguel x Reader
*Requested by Reader ;) *
It was your third year of college and you had decided to get one of the dorm houses right next to the college. Finally! No more small apartment in a large dorm hall; no more random fire alarms because someone didn't know how long to cook popcorn; no more being locked out of your dorm room because you were in a shared bathroom; and finally, no more loud and obnoxious roommates. Having this house meant that you picked your roommate. You had your freedom.
What better than a roommate who is going to have their heads stuck in the books or at the library? You interviewed so many people, but only one caught your attention as the perfect roommate.
Miguel O'Hara
The man was not only eye candy, but one of the smartest students on campus. Correction, he was the smartest student. You were surprised when he was in the hunt for a roommate. The two of you got along and you decided to go with him. All you ever heard about him was either girls wanting to fuck him, or that he was a hardass who kept his head in the books. A perfect roommate.
Things were going smoothly for the first few months. You barely saw him due to your conflicting schedules, but he kept his part of the house clean. There was never any loud noise from his room, nor was there any reason to complain. The only little issue you were having was that he was too fucking sexy.
Lord did the impure thoughts start when you saw him exit the shower one day. You swore drool was coming out of your mouth as you stared at him. You would have never thought that Miguel was so fit. No wonder why all the girls on campus wanted to date him. The man had a body of a god!
"Perhaps I should charge a fee," Miguel said, waking you from your trance. Your face was flustered,
"Sorry! I was just surprised!" You admitted, hiding your embarrassment.
"Surprised it took you long enough to know why I like to hide here instead of the library?" You could have sworn you saw a smirk on his face, "Midterms are coming up. Let me know if you need help...studying."
Oh man, you were embarrassed. Since then, Miguel had gotten a little more snarky with you. In a playful manner. Honestly, it felt like he was pulling st your heart strings. The man was smart, hot and a menace to your thoughts. You were ashamed to say that you had thought about your roommate a lot at night as you played with yourself.
You weren't the only one. Miguel was pumping his dick in his hand every night to the thought of you under him. You were pretty dangerous to be around. Walking around in your underwear and a shirt; laying on the couch; hell, Miguel was even aroused by you cooking dinner. In his eyes, you were already his. He just hadn't sealed the deal yet.
"Argh, I hate men!" You cried out, planting your face onto the couch. Miguel was sitting on the side chair,
"Including me?" He asked, not straying away from his essay. You huffed, face him,
"No..."
"Good, now who do I have to beat up for annoying my precious roommate?"
"Hahaaa, just one of my classmates. We were doing a project and he had the gall to tell me I had no idea what I'm doing. I fucking major in the subject!"
As you were venting, Miguel was staring at you. He found it cute how red your cheeks got when you were angry. How tight your clothes were against your body. Miguel wanted to see you strip. To get lazy and comfy. It was something only for his eyes to see. He moved his laptop over his bulge, wanting to hide the fact that he was getting turned on from just staring at you.
"And then he had the absolute nerve after all that to ask me out! Like, why would I want to date a rude snob like him?! After I said hell no, he called me a bitch and went to shit talk me to his friends!" You whimpered, tears threatening to spill.
Miguel immediately went to your aid. He brought you a box of tissues, sitting beside you now. You rested your head against his shoulder, trying your best to not cry.
"I can beat him up for you, amor. (love). You can do so much better."
"Haha, thanks Miguel."
---------------
After that, you went back to your hard studies since Finals were around the corner. That boy who had bothered you prior stopped bothering you completely. In fact, he avoided you. It was strange, but you were happy about it. All you needed was to pass your classes. Miguel helped you study for midterms, perhaps he was willing to help you again for finals?
You were sitting in your shared living room, waiting for Miguel's class to get out. You were getting frustrated from trying to figure out stuff from another class. Glancing at the time, you inhaled deeply. There was still plenty of time before Miguel came home, you could use a little destress. Laying against the couch, you spread your legs and began to rub your clit was massaging you breast.
"Mhm, Miguel," You closed your eyes, imaging that it was Miguel toying with your body.
Raising your hips, you started to feverishly rub your clit. Whines coming out as you desperately wanted Miguel to touch you. You lowered your fingers to your aching hole, doing your best to finger yourself.
"Miguel!" You whined.
"Fuck," Miguel groaned as he walked through the door. You gasped loudly, fixing yourself,
"M-Miguel!? Y-Your c-class-?!" You panicked. Miguel hurried to your side,
"Don't you fucking stop now." He groaned, his hands making haste into your shorts, "Fuck, hearing your moans when I walk in. Cómo puedo contenerme? (How can I hold myself back?)"
You gasped as Miguel had you pinned to the couch. His hands quickly replaced yours and he entered two digits into your wet cunt. You moaned, arching your back into the couch as he pumped his fingers roughly. Your pussy clentching down against his hand whike your hips moved against his palm. His fingers were so thick, bigger than some of your toys. He was already stretching you out.
"Hah, ah, M-Miguel..." You whimpered a moan as he curled his fingers. Miguel licked his lips,
"Qué hermoso. Tu cuerpo se está desmoronando por mi culpa. (How beautiful. Your body just falling apart because of me.)" You trembled as you reached your first orgasm, "What a naughty roommate. Teasing me so much."
You panted heavily, never experience an orgasm like that before. You followed Miguel's gaze, watching him undo his pants as he licked his fingers. His pupils almost looked blown once he had a taste of you. It made you wetter. Finally, all of those wet dreams you've had of fucking your roommate was about to come true. Miguel cussed lowly as his belt got in the way.
"I never seen you this stressed," You teased, helping him undo his pants, "How long have you been wanting this?"
"Why do you think I became your roommate?" Miguel watched your reaction towards his large dick, "You?"
"Before midterms,"
You stroked his dick with both hands. His low rumbling groans were turning you on more. You brought your lips to his tip, licking the precum that had started to drip. You winced at the salty taste but continued to suck him. Miguel's hand rested on your head as you bobbed your head against him. It was difficult and you could not take him fully, but Miguel seemed to enjoy it. Tears formed from the corner of your eyes as Miguel forced your head lower.
Muffling against his dick, Miguel stopped, allowing you to breathe. You crawled over his lap, positioning his dick over your soaked hole. Miguel held your hips and placed you on your back before entering. The two of you moaned in unison. Miguel held your legs up as he stretched you out. Miguel was destroying your pussy and he hadn't even moved yet. You gripped the couch's blanket, raising your hips as he kept pushing himself inside.
"Looks like you need help with your finals," Miguel groaned, watching your pussy suck his dick as he finally fit his whole length, "Let me start by teaching this naughty pussy a lesson."
"Mhm, p-please," You begged. Miguel pulled back then slapped his length into you with force, "Ah~!" You cried out.
"Qué compañera de cuarto más cachonda. ¿A punto de romperse después de un solo empujón de mi polla? Tu coño fue hecho solo para mí. Mira lo mojada que estás, sólo para mí. (What a slutty roommate. About to break after just one thrust of my dick? Your pussy was made just for me. Look at how wet you are, just for me.)"
"M-Miguel!"
You gasped for air as he fucked your brains out. Each thrust was bringing your orgasm closer and closer. Miguel grabbed your breasts, playing with them as he sucked on your collarbone. His dick pounding you relentlessly. He had his body pinned against you like an animal in heat, refusing to let you go. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning into his ear as you reached another orgasm. Miguel shivered in delight and decided to reward you. He slammed his cock a few more times, filling your womb with his cum.
"Looks like you're going to need a lot more lessons, cariño (sweetheart). But don't worry, I won't charge my dear roommate."
"Y-You better not." You huffed. Miguel smirked as he gave you another slap of his dick, "W-Wait~ Mhm, d-don't...d-do that." Your whines turned into moans as Miguel kept abusing your poor cunt.
"After waiting this long, you really don't think I'm not going to fuck you dumb? Gotta make sure I keep tutoring you."
"Hah, hah, y-yes," You replied, throwing your head back in pleasure.
You did not care how many times you needed to ask Miguel for help. You knew that he would tutor you seriously. It was your payment that you really looked forward too. Anytime either of you were stressed, you two had some of the best sex. When it was time to renew your lease for the house, both you and Miguel did not hesitate to agree. Miguel was the perfect roommate. Perfect boyfriend. You were not letting go of him, and neither was he of you.
#kinktober#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel spiderverse#spiderman 2099#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel spiderman#atsv miguel
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Hi! I saw you were taking requests and wanted to see your take on everyone dealing with a reader who's a smart ass? Thought it be a funny concept about something you'll enjoy 🤍
X-Men x Reader (Part.1)
You're a smart ass (Part.1)
You have a playful and sarcastic personality that adds humor and lightness to your relationship with your partner. Your sarcasm creates both moments of laughter and occasional tension, but ultimately strengthens your relationships.
Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Bobby Drake, Wade Wilson, Jean Grey, Wanda Maximoff & Pietro Maximoff
I confirm it's a funny concept! Thank you for that one ♡ Hope you enjoy. — Love, Marie, your friendly marvel fangirl
Logan Howlett (Wolverine)
- Logan has always admired your wit, but when your sharp tongue turns into you being a bit of a smart-ass, it both amuses and irritates him. He raises a brow every time you make a snarky remark, half-impressed but also battling the urge to roll his eyes. “You think you’re funny, huh, darlin’?” he’d growl under his breath, though his lips twitch into a grin despite himself.
- While he’d try to keep things serious when the situation called for it, your teasing often gets the best of him. Like that time in the Danger Room when you outmaneuvered him with a smirk and a cocky quip, Logan pretended to be pissed, but you could see the pride in his eyes. “Better watch it, or I might not go easy on you next time,” he’d say with a low rumble, knowing full well that he’s too soft on you.
- There are moments when your sass pushes his patience, and he’ll let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples in that way he does when he’s had just about enough. But instead of snapping, he pulls you close, growling something like, “You’re gonna be the death of me,” before kissing you fiercely, reminding you who’s in charge — at least until the next time you decide to test him.
- Despite all the banter, Logan wouldn’t trade your fiery spirit for anything. Deep down, he loves how sharp and quick-witted you are, even if it means dealing with your sarcasm on a daily basis. You keep him on his toes, and after everything he’s been through, your energy and humor are a breath of fresh air. Sometimes, when the two of you are alone, he’ll lean in and say, “You might be a pain in my ass, but you’re my pain in the ass,” with that gruff, affectionate tone that never fails to make your heart skip a beat.
Remy LeBeau (Gambit)
- Remy is no stranger to charm and wit, so when you sass him, he’s ready to dish it right back. He loves the playful banter between you two, and half the time, he’s probably encouraging it just to see what you’ll come up with next. “Ah, ma chérie, you t’ink you can outsmart Remy, eh?” he’d say, a devilish grin lighting up his face as he leans in closer, daring you to keep going.
- When you make a smart-ass remark, especially in front of the other X-Men, Remy can’t help but smirk proudly. He’ll throw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close and whispering, “You gon’ get us in trouble, but I like it.” He’s never one to shy away from mischief, and with you by his side, the two of you are unstoppable when it comes to pulling off clever pranks or getting the upper hand in any situation.
- Every now and then, Remy will try to one-up you with his own smart comments, leading to playful verbal sparring matches that only deepen your connection. But even when he’s trying to get the last word in, he never minds when you come out on top. “Damn, chérie, you too good at this,” he’d laugh, eyes sparkling with admiration as he wraps you in his arms.
- On the rare occasions when your sass catches him off guard, you might notice a flicker of surprise before he recovers with that signature grin. “Ah, you keep me on my toes, mon amour,” he’d murmur, pressing a kiss to your temple. Remy loves every part of you — the wit, the sass, and the undeniable chemistry between you two. No matter what, he’s always ready for the next round of banter, knowing it only brings you closer together.
Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)
- Kurt is gentle and kind, so when you hit him with a sarcastic or smart-ass comment, he’s more likely to chuckle than to take offense. He’ll tilt his head, a curious smile playing on his lips as he tries to figure out if you’re serious or just teasing him. “Are you making fun of me, mein Schatz?” he’d ask, his voice full of playful curiosity.
- Despite his more serious nature at times, Kurt is never one to shy away from your banter. If anything, he enjoys your quick wit because it keeps things light between you two, especially during difficult missions or stressful situations. Whenever you throw a clever remark his way, he’d respond with a thoughtful hum, pretending to be deep in thought before adding, “You know, I think I love you even more for that.”
- Kurt has an incredibly patient demeanor, and while your sass might fluster him at first, he always handles it with grace. He might try to counter with a more philosophical or heartfelt response, which often makes you laugh even harder. “Ah, mein Liebe, you are too clever for me,” he’d say with a soft chuckle, before pulling you into a warm embrace. Even when you push his buttons, he can’t help but love you more for it.
- When the teasing gets a little too much, Kurt will lean into his affectionate side, making it impossible for you to keep up the act. He’ll teleport behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and whisper, “No matter how much you tease, I know your heart.” His sweet words, paired with his playful nature, always bring a sense of comfort to the banter, reminding you that, above all, you’re deeply loved.
Scott Summers (Cyclops)
- Scott is a bit more serious than the others, and your smart-ass comments tend to catch him off guard. He’s used to people following orders and being straightforward, so when you hit him with a sarcastic quip, he’s not always sure how to react at first. He’ll frown slightly, not out of anger, but out of pure confusion. “You’re kidding, right?” he’d ask, trying to gauge your tone.
- Despite his initial bewilderment, Scott can’t help but admire your sharp mind. He may act exasperated, but deep down, he appreciates that you’re not afraid to challenge him, even if it’s through sarcasm. You keep him grounded, reminding him that not everything has to be so serious all the time. “You know, you’ve got a smart mouth,” he’d say with a smirk, shaking his head in mock disapproval.
- When you sass him in front of the team, Scott tries to maintain his composure, but there’s always a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’ll shoot you a quick look that says, “We’ll talk about this later,” but you know he secretly loves the way you keep him on his toes. It’s a side of you that only he gets to see, and despite his stoic nature, it brings out the softer side of him.
- After a long day of leading the X-Men, Scott finds your sass refreshing. He’ll sit next to you, finally letting his guard down as you tease him about being “Mr. Perfect” all the time. “Alright, I get it,” he’d say, his voice filled with warmth and amusement. “You’re right — maybe I do need to lighten up.” And in those moments, he’d pull you close, appreciating every part of your smart-ass self.
Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)
- Erik, always the strategist and thinker, isn’t used to someone challenging him with quick wit and sharp humor, especially not someone as close to him as you. The first time you throw a smart-ass comment his way, he pauses, his cold eyes narrowing, but there’s a glint of amusement behind the stern expression. “Careful, little one,” he’d murmur, his voice low and commanding, “you’re playing a dangerous game.”
- Despite his typically serious demeanor, Erik finds your sharp tongue intriguing. He’s surrounded by people who either fear or revere him, so your sass brings something refreshing into his life. Occasionally, when you get a bit too clever for your own good, Erik will raise an eyebrow and smirk, “You really think you’re clever, don’t you?” His tone is dangerous, but you both know there’s a playful undertone hiding beneath the menace.
- Erik’s response to your snarky comments often depends on his mood. In darker moments, he might grow irritated, his patience tested by your quips, especially if you question his decisions. “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” he’d snap, though there’s a deep affection behind his frustration. But when he’s feeling more relaxed, Erik has been known to surprise you with his own dry, sarcastic retorts. “Perhaps I should just let you lead the revolution next time,” he’d quip with a smirk, his voice thick with sarcasm, but his eyes soft with affection.
- At the end of the day, Erik admires your courage and intelligence, even if you use them to give him a hard time. There’s a sense of respect in how he handles your smart-ass attitude — after all, he’s seen too much of the world to be fazed by a little sass. In quiet moments, he’ll pull you close, whispering in your ear, “You may be impossible sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Bobby Drake (Iceman)
- Bobby loves a good joke, so when you start tossing smart-ass remarks his way, he’s all in for the banter. “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” he’d ask, grinning from ear to ear as he prepares to throw a sarcastic comment right back at you. With Bobby, the sass only escalates into playful teasing that often ends with the two of you laughing uncontrollably.
- He’s the kind of guy who thrives on humor, so your quick wit only strengthens your relationship. Whether it’s during training or just hanging out at the mansion, Bobby always finds a way to keep the mood light, and he loves that you can match his energy. “Wow, look at you, Miss Smart-Ass,” he’ll say after you roast him with a particularly sharp comment. “Guess I’m not the only funny one around here.”
- There are times when Bobby’s insecurities come through, especially when your teasing touches on sensitive topics like his struggles with his powers or his place in the team. In those moments, he might brush off your comment with a forced laugh, but you can tell it’s bothered him. Later, he’ll admit, “Hey, about earlier… I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I just… you know, I’ve got my stuff to deal with.”
- Despite the occasional hiccup, Bobby loves that you keep him on his toes. Your sarcasm brings a balance to his humor, creating a dynamic that keeps things fun and light-hearted even during the toughest times. After all, he’s always been the class clown, but with you by his side, he feels like he’s met his match. “You know what?” he’d say, pulling you into a playful hug. “I think we might be the funniest couple in the mansion. No one else stands a chance.”
Wade Wilson (Deadpool)
- Being with Wade means endless chaos, and your quick wit fits right in. Wade absolutely adores your sass, and from the moment you drop your first sarcastic comment, he’s all over it. “Oh, look who’s got a smart mouth! I like it, babe!” He’s practically bouncing with excitement, eyes gleaming behind his mask. Your banter becomes a regular part of your relationship, with Wade taking every opportunity to match your smart-ass remarks with ridiculous quips of his own.
- Wade’s response to your sarcasm is often over-the-top, always aiming for laughs. You’d roll your eyes at something absurd he does, and Wade, without missing a beat, would respond with, “Oh, did you roll your eyes at me? That’s it, we’re getting a divorce.” It never fails to make you chuckle, and you know that he appreciates how you can keep up with his crazy antics. He loves that you never back down, even when he’s being the most outrageous version of himself.
- However, there are moments when Wade’s insecurity creeps through, particularly when it comes to his appearance or his mental health. If your sarcasm hits a little too close to home, Wade might joke it off, but you can sense the shift in his tone. “Yeah, I mean, who wouldn’t want to be with a guy whose face looks like a melted pizza?” he’d say with a forced grin. You always reassure him, showing him that your wit comes from a place of love, and Wade, with his usual dramatics, would throw himself into your arms, “Aww, babe, you really do love me, scars and all!”
- Despite his unpredictability, Wade loves how your humor keeps him grounded. Your ability to match his energy and throw in some sarcasm helps him feel normal in the whirlwind that is his life. “You know, I think we make a pretty kick-ass duo,” Wade would say, wrapping his arms around you. “You with your snark and me with my endless charm — we’re unstoppable!” And though the world may be chaotic, your relationship with Wade is filled with love, laughter, and plenty of smart-ass remarks.
Jean Grey (Phoenix)
- Jean is known for her calm demeanor, so your sarcasm catches her off guard at first. She’s used to people being more respectful around her, especially considering her immense power, but your playful attitude draws out a side of her that she doesn’t often get to express. The first time you make a smart-ass comment, Jean raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a small smile. “Oh, so we’re doing this now, huh?” she’d say, her voice light with amusement.
- As your relationship develops, Jean grows to love your quick wit. It brings a sense of normalcy to her life, something she desperately needs amidst the chaos of being an X-Man. She enjoys the way your banter makes her feel human, reminding her that she’s more than just a telepathic, omega-level mutant. “You’re lucky I don’t read your mind more often,” she’d tease after you make a sarcastic remark, though you both know she’d never actually do that without your permission.
- There are moments, however, when Jean’s powers make her feel overwhelmed and vulnerable. If your sarcasm comes at the wrong time, she might take it to heart, her telepathic abilities amplifying the impact of your words. “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” she’d say softly, her eyes downcast. You’d quickly realize that she’s struggling, and after a gentle apology, Jean would nod, grateful for your understanding. “Thank you,” she’d whisper, her voice filled with affection.
- Despite the occasional tension, Jean appreciates how your sharp mind challenges her. Your smart-ass attitude keeps her grounded, helping her navigate the pressures of her powers and responsibilities. “You always know how to keep me on my toes,” she’d say with a smile, leaning into your embrace. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” And while Jean may be one of the most powerful beings in the world, your sarcasm reminds her that she’s also just a woman, capable of love and laughter.
Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)
- Wanda, initially reserved and quiet, is surprised by your quick wit and sarcasm. She’s not used to people being so casual with her, especially given the weight of her powers and her past. The first time you make a smart-ass remark, Wanda’s eyes widen in surprise before a small smile pulls at her lips. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be,” she’d say, amusement dancing in her eyes as she begins to warm up to your teasing nature.
- As your relationship deepens, Wanda grows to appreciate how your humor helps lighten the heavy burdens she carries. Your sarcastic comments often draw her out of her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” she’d tease back, a smirk on her lips, her Sokovian accent slipping through as she gives you a playful nudge. She loves how you can make her laugh, even when she’s feeling down.
- However, there are moments when Wanda’s emotions become overwhelming, and your sarcasm might accidentally cut too deep. If she’s in a particularly vulnerable state, she might take your comment the wrong way, her powers flickering dangerously as her mood shifts. “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” she’d say, her tone sharp. You’d quickly reassure her, explaining that you didn’t mean it, and Wanda, ever self-aware, would soften. “I know,” she’d sigh, taking your hand, “I just… I need some time.”
- Despite the occasional misstep, Wanda loves how your quick wit keeps her grounded. Your playful banter reminds her that not everything needs to be serious, and it helps her find moments of joy in an otherwise heavy world. “You always know how to make me smile,” she’d say softly, leaning into your embrace. “Even when I try to be serious, you just… bring out the light in me.” Your smart-ass attitude becomes a source of comfort for her, a reminder that she’s not alone in the darkness.
Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)
- Pietro is quick in every sense of the word, so your sharp tongue and sarcastic remarks don’t catch him off guard — in fact, he thrives on it. The first time you throw a snarky comment his way, Pietro’s already grinning before you’ve even finished. “You’re fast, but I’m faster,” he’d quip, zipping around you in a blur before coming to a stop with a smug look on his face. “Think you can keep up, smart-ass?”
- Your sarcasm and quick wit become a game to him, a challenge he’s always ready to meet head-on. Pietro loves the verbal sparring, and his playful nature means that he’s constantly teasing you back. “Oh, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” he’d say with a grin after you make a particularly clever remark, speeding off before you can respond. It’s a back-and-forth that keeps your relationship exciting, always filled with laughter and light-hearted banter.
- However, there are times when your sarcasm touches on his insecurities — like his tendency to rush through life, or his complicated relationship with Wanda. In those rare moments, Pietro might bristle, his smile fading as he crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, not everything can be a joke,” he’d mutter, clearly hurt. You always know how to handle him though, and after a bit of reassurance, Pietro’s back to his usual self, cracking jokes and challenging you to keep up with him.
- Pietro loves how your smart-ass attitude matches his fast-paced lifestyle. Your quick comebacks keep him on his toes, and he adores how you never let him get away with being too cocky. “You might be the only person who can keep up with me,” he’d say, pulling you into a tight hug after a particularly playful argument. And while life with Pietro is always fast and chaotic, your sarcasm adds a layer of fun and connection that makes your relationship all the more special.
#logan howlett x reader#remy lebeau x reader#kurt wagner x reader#scott summers x reader#erik lehnsherr x reader#bobby drake x reader#wade wilson x reader#jean grey x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#pietro maximoff x reader#marvel x reader#marvel headcanons#marvel headcanon#marvel imagines#marvel imagine#x men x reader#x men imagine#x men imagines#x men headcanons#x men headcanon#x men#marvel#x reader#imagines#imagine#headcanon#headcanons
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AHHH I love the Joel x reader series, the way their relationship unfolds is chef kiss! Can we have a fic on how they met, the process they went getting to know each other specially after Sarah’s mom left him must not be easy for Joel to fall in love again so it will be nice to read how reader broke his walls down
Have a nice day 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼
series masterlist
warnings - men (only stupid words, no name-calling, etc.), alcohol, cursing
word count - 11k
a/n: I didn't plan for this to become a two-parter, but I guess that's just how it goes sometimes haha. Also: this is SO long overdue, I'm so sorry, I took a break from this series, but I'm back! And there are more requests to come ˙ᵕ˙ thank you so so much for the request and your sweet and kind words🥺, I really hope you like this, and then the 2nd part that will include much more Joel x Reader content🤭 and I hope you have a wonderful day/night🤍🤍
You're Lonely. I Can Fix That. Pt. 1
1999
"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!" A familiar deep voice from behind you called out, catching you off guard. "If it isn't sweet lil' Y/N." With a forced smile, you turned to the left. Right away, your eyes found the one and only Tommy Miller. The infamous dark locks were still unruled on top of his head. He wore his hair slightly longer than you remembered. The cheeky grin, the entire town had come to know, was still as evident as ever plastered on his face.
He had just made his way to the bar, where you had been occupying a barstool for the past hour.
You welcomed him with a tight smile, "Hey, Tommy." Surprising you, the older man threw an arm around your shoulder to pull you into a side hug that you reciprocated slightly awkwardly. He had caught you off-guard.
"How the hell they're lettin' you in here?" With a smirk, he took a seat right next to you, his palms brushing over the dark oak of the bartop. He definitely felt comfortable.
You held onto the drink you had been nursing ever since you got there. "I just know the right people," you teased him with a smile, making him chuckle.
"Wow, breakin' the law now too? What happened to you?" His fake gasp almost sounded too real. You joined him, giggling at his comment. "How have ya been?" He added before you could add a snarky remark to his rhetorical question.
You nodded, "Good. Busy."
"You in college now?" Tommy asked. You wondered if his Southern Accent had gotten even stronger. After not seeing you for a good two years, the younger Miller brother wasn't yet caught on to your current life.
Another nod from you, to which he smiled. "Smart girl. What 'bout your sister? How's she?" The corners of your lips curled into a smile. You just waited for that question to finally drop. Her name had to enter the conversation at some point.
"Still not interested in you." You sent him a wide grin.
He shook his head with a chuckle. "Why you gotta hurt me like that, sweetheart?" You rolled your eyes at his love for nicknames - just like you always did - minus the fake gag you used to do behind his back.
Ever since you could remember, Tommy Miller, one of town's biggest troubles and flirts, had been ogling after your older sister. She was probably the only girl who had never given in to his charming personality. At one point, you had stopped counting the calm afternoons you were sitting in your parents' restaurant, either helping out or doing your homework, getting interrupted by the distracting loud voices of Tommy and his friend group. They always chose to sit at the same booth - the one with the perfect view through the slit window into the kitchen.
After a few months, you were convinced that they weren't visiting for the food or drinks. You had caught onto their actions. Tommy was after your sister. And knowing where to find her after school was for his benefit. Only problem: she was interested in anything, and everything, but the youngest Miller brother. It still never failed to amuse you how dedicated the boy was to get her attention in any way possible - even if it was for all the wrong reasons and probably just wanted to tick her off his list of 'girls in town I've slept with'.
And even now, years after she had left your Southern hometown, he was still thinking about her. It almost made you 'awe'.
"Where's she? I haven't seen her in forever." He interrupted your train of thought.
"Do you really wanna know?" You asked him teasingly. "I'm about to break your heart." He had to know at some point.
Over exaggerating, he placed his hand on top of his chest, holding onto the wrong side, idiot, and lowered his head. "Please do it quick."
No matter how annoying he was in the past, he was entertaining. You had to give him that. Your slight amusement was hard to conceal. "She's in New York."
Tommy looked back up at you right after those words left your lips, scrunching his eyebrows. "New York? Damn... going big, huh? What's she doin' over there?"
"Marrying a lawyer," you simply answered, leaving him with his mouth hung open as you took a sip from your drink. You almost choked on the liquid once you saw his face.
"Wow," he breathed out dramatically. "She really thinks a lawyer's gonna be better than me?" Both of you knew the answer to his question should stay muted.
You chuckled. "I convinced her that a lawyer would be better than you."
Getting a laugh from him in return. "You little-" He reached out, ready to destroy your hairstyle with his fingers, when the two of you got interrupted.
"This man's troubling you, Y/N?" The sudden voice of your friend behind the bar caught your attention. After serving the people on the other end, she had gotten back to you, expecting to continue your conversation from before, when the man next to you caught her eye.
"Oh, this is trouble in person," you told her with a smile.
Tommy sat up straight right away, a proud grin plastered on his face. He seemed to be very proud of the title you had given him.
"That would be me." He reached out his right hand over the countertop. "Tommy," introducing himself to your friend and bartender for the night.
"Maria," she accepted his hand, shaking it briefly, locking eyes with him for a second too long. You immediately noticed the change in her gaze, making your smile drop within a split second.
She was quick to turn on her work persona, asking him for his order and turning around to snatch the two beers he had asked for out of the fridge. Of course, not without sending you an amused grin. You had to hold back the shake of your head tickling you.
While Tommy still had his ass planted onto the seat next to you, you caught a glimpse of a group of men in a booth right behind the younger Miller brother. Their stares were too hard to miss. The faces seemed familiar.
You cleared your throat. "Your friends seem nervous."
Your comment caught Tommy's attention. With a swift look behind him, he sent them a nod before turning back to you. "Eh," he brushed it off, "They'll be alright. Probably just jealous it's me sitting here with a pretty girl instead of one of them." No. Just no.
"Tommy," you warned him, turning your head to look right into his eyes, a teasing smile threatening to expose you. "No." Just as quick as he had looked up, the little glimpse of almost hope evaporated, replaced by humour as he threw his head back in laughter.
"Oh well," he slapped the countertop, "I tried." You shook your head with a soft chuckle.
Maria was back, in her hand the two cold dark bottles filled with the liquid you couldn't even smell without gagging. She put them down right in front of the Miller brother. A grin that showed her dimple, splashed on her face. You leaned back to watch.
Tommy gave her a nod with a grin, reaching back into his jeans pocket, only to be stopped by your friend.
"It's on the house."
He held still mid-move. "Oh no. No, no, I can't accept that."
Maria held out her hand. "Don't worry 'bout it."
"Nah, I can't just let a drink go on the house. I've been here way too much," Tommy argued, that shit-eating cocky grin still on his lips.
"Never when I was here." The woman behind the bar smirked. You could've sworn she was damn close to winking at him. "So, trust me, it's fine."
With a defeated sigh, the man dropped his head, shaking it with a soft chuckle as he reached for the glass bottles. "I appreciate it, thank you, sweetheart." He stood up, only to turn towards you before officially leaving you alone at the bar again. "Y/N," he called out, getting your attention, "How about joining us for the night?" He nodded towards the table, where the rest of his group was still eyeing you with clear interest. "And Maria, I don't know how long you're working today, but we won't be leavin' anytime soon, so feel free to come too."
Before she could answer, you cut into it. "Thanks, Tommy. We're good, though."
With extended arms to each side, he sent you one last grin. "The offer's open. I ain't takin' it back."
When he finally turned around to join the other three men, you sighed, pushing your barstool straight to lean forward against the countertop. You were met with the crossed arms of your friend and neighbour. A conversation was about to start.
"What?" You wondered, going back to nursing on your drink, that she had made extra sweet just for you.
"'What?'" Maria mocked you, snatching a wet towel to wipe over the wood. "A hot dude just asked you to spend some time with his extremely good-looking group of friends, and you turned him down? What the hell is wrong with you?"
You dropped the straw back into the glass to gasp at her. "I came here to spend some time with you, not to sit around with some weird ass dudes. I know about them. I'm not a fan of them."
Maria didn't grow up around the area. She didn't know about Tommy's reputation just yet. She came to Texas for college after most of them in Boston had rejected her.
After transferring from one college in Kansas to one in your hometown, you had looked for people searching for roommates in the area, when you found Maria's flyer on the campus blackboard. One coffee date later, the two of you knew it was a match made in heaven. You had become almost inseparable ever since.
Back to her trying to set you up for no good.
She chuckled at your comment, switching to drying off some glasses her co-worker had left freshly washed on the counter. "Oh yeah, you're right. They're neither forty-plus nor one of our professors. How dare I even think you could possibly find any of them attractive?"
With an open mouth, you glared at her. "Are you judging me?" Getting only a grin and a shrug in return.
You leaned forward. "I have to pay for every single one of my drinks every time I'm here."
"Well," she put down the glass she had been cleaning, leaning in closer to your face. "You're not a hot country guy with a Southern accent." She really was that easy, huh?
You let yourself fall back slightly, arms crossed in front of your chest as you dared to take a quick glance over to the table, coincidently catching the eyes of one of Tommy's friends as he winked at you, making you almost shiver. And not in a good way.
With a shake of your head, you turned back to Maria, who had caught the quick interaction that made her chuckle.
"You know them?"
"Their faces. I know Tommy, kinda... but I have no idea who his friends are. I only know they're loud and... disgusting." After finishing your drink, you slid it over to her, with a wide smile asking her for another refill, which she accepted with a slight sigh.
"And how do you know him?" She continued interrogating you as she moved around the space to mix the alcohol and fruit juices to make your cocktail.
You raked your fingers through your hair, hoping to style it just the way you had managed to do, only hours ago when you had gotten ready in your bathroom. "He used to have the biggest crush on my sister. I mean," you stopped for a second. "Either that or she was one of the girls on his list."
"His list?" She took a quick look up at you before directing her attention back to the glass in front of her.
"His 'every girl in my year I still need to fuck' list."
Just as she passed you back your now freshly filled glass, Maria gave you an unamused glace along with it, making you chuckle.
"What? I'm serious."
"That was the name of his list?"
"Listen, maybe... maybe not. But I'm sure there was a list. I just couldn't care less what the actual title of it was." You took a quick sip. "So, don't you even dare." You pointed a strict finger at her.
"Don't I even dare what?" She wondered, teasing you because both of you knew where you were going with your thread.
"Give into his disgusting fake charisma!"
"Maybe it's real!" She fought back with a smile, earning herself a straight and monotone facial expression from you. Maria scoffed, "Oh, I'm sorry for being attracted to guys my age." You knew telling her about your crush on the humanity studies professor the two of you shared, would bite you in the ass someday. And now, she won't let it go. Ever.
"Look, at least we won't ever have to fight over a guy." You stated with a grin.
Your friend joined you with a bright smile as she pointed her finger at you, "Amen."
You raised your glass.
With a swift move, Maria threw a fresh washcloth over her shoulder. Her gaze was fixed on the table by the wall a few feet behind you. The one Tommy and his buddies had claimed. Their loud voices were echoing through the entire bar - hollers and shouts that could not be ignored. Maria chuckled.
"You should accept his invitation."
You had to roll your eyes. "I don't want to, thank you very much."
"What about that New Year's resolution of yours? 'Meeting new people', was it?" She teased you. Fuck, you cursed to yourself. She wasn't wrong. The new year was only about a month in, but Maria had already achieved 50% of her resolution, while you were still stuck on yours with 0%. After coming back to your hometown, you remembered most of your old friends from school (not that there had been many) had moved away just about the time you did. And no one had the nerve to come back. So, you were stuck. Stuck with having to meet new people to connect with. But that was a shadow you would have to learn to jump over. And that brings us to your New Year's resolution.
"But-" you groaned, but Maria was ready to interrupt you.
"No buts-" she pointed a strict finger at you. "And they're not even completely 'new' to you. You already know Tommy, that's a start. And that will make getting to know the other ones even easier." Her hands went back to cleaning the bar area.
"I don't even wanna get to know 'the other ones'," you mumbled under your breath, hiding your lips behind the rim of your glass.
Maria looked up. "What was that?"
"Nothing," you quickly added before ending the conversation with a sip.
You took a deep breath. You had two options to choose from. Either you continue your evening alone by the bar, sipping one cocktail after the other, with your best friend by your side whenever she wasn't focused on drunks stumbling over to the counter, lulling about which drink they'd want next. OR you could go after your resolution and try to have a good night with the random idiots you used to curse at back in your school days. You could've hit yourself over the head for even just taking the second option into consideration, but something lured you in.
With a shake of your head, unbelieving of what your body was telling you to do, you pushed yourself away from the counter. The barstool you had been occupying scraped over the wooden floor. Before you turned around, you got a hold of your cocktail - if you were going to do this, you would not be doing it without more alcohol.
By rolling your eyes, and your attention still on the grin Maria sent you along the way, you didn't see the man you were about to run into. Strong hands on your shoulders stopped you. You definitely felt like you had just stepped on someone's toes too.
"Oh, sh-" you whipped your head around. "Sorry." Glancing up, you already found the possible softest brown eyes looking down at you.
"Sorry," the man immediately spoke up too, taking his hands off you as if your skin had burnt him.
"S-Sorry about that," you couldn't help the stutter. God, those eyes were almost bronze, you thought, Jesus, and his curls too...
"All good," he cleared his throat, "just gotta make sure you ain't runnin' someone over with a force like that." His voice was just as warm as his looks.
You almost let an awkward chuckle escape if it hadn't been for Tommy's loud voice echoing through the rumbling background noises of the bar.
"Yo, Joel! Don't forget our beers! You can flirt later!"
Joel. The man didn't even hesitate to turn around. "How about you go get your beers yourselves?" He got a round of groans in return, only for the Miller brother to stand up and jog over to the two of you. You had to catch yourself back into the present again, daydreaming about the man standing in front of you can wait.
With a sheepish grin, Tommy stopped by your side and threw an arm around your shoulder. "Y/N, is this man bothering you?"
"I should ask her that about you, don't you think?" Joel's eyes fell to his brother's hand that had pulled you in close to the side of his chest. Tommy dropped it quickly.
"You're no fun," he hissed at the man in front of you before turning around to lean against the dark wood that was separating him from the bar area.
A weird silence spread between the two of you as your eyes lost focus on the Southern man now behind you.
"I'm sorry 'bout him," the soft voice apologised. Joel's voice.
You eyed him a little closer.
His shirt was somewhat tight, yet loose enough. It seemed to have a relaxed fit, but his arms and chest were definitely worked out enough to test the stretchiness of the material. It looked comfortable. With his lazy set of dark curls, this man radiated comfort. Even his beard, which he had decided to keep at a length that made it look well-kept, but not too neat, but not completely rugged, added to the softness of his entire appearance.
With a chuckle, you ran a hand through your hair. "It's alright, I- that's how I know him. So it's- you know..."
"You know my brother?"
Brother? Joel? Joel Miller. Tommy Miller's brother. How Tommy having a brother never crossed you, was beyond you. But then again, you literally only knew about the younger Miller brother because of your sister, so no surprise that you had never heard of an older Miller brother before.
"I- well, I wouldn't say 'know'-" you started, but the familiar voice interrupted you once again.
"Oh, come on, Y/N! Don't hurt me like that!"
You swiftly turned your head around to glance at him. "Tommy- we don't know each other that well." Unless you could count the multiple times he had asked you about your sister's well-being in the past, and now present. Or the times he had caught up with you on the street and bombarded you with questions about her.
With a kiss of his tongue, he brushed off your comment. "Don't be like that." He turned his attention to Joel. "You remember Izzy? Back in my High School days. The chick from the restaurant two streets down from our school?"
"Oh, God," the older Miller shook his head as he mumbled. His fingers pressed the bridge of his nose.
"Y/N's her sister," Tommy laughed, mostly to himself. "What are the odds of us meeting here tonight, huh?" He asked into the room, turning back around to the bar, happy about the next round of alcohol. "Joel," the younger Miller nodded towards him. "These are on you." He held up the four beer bottles he carried between his fingers. Not even waiting for an answer, he walked away, getting an annoyed sigh from his brother in return, who switched places with his brother.
Tommy bumped your shoulder. "And you're coming with us. Come on."
After daring to take a quick look behind you, finding Joel handing over the money to Maria and accepting a beer for himself, you followed his brother. The table with his friends seemed to already have been waiting for you as they welcomed you, and the beers, with loud cheers. You joined Tommy on his side of the booth, as the current situation was too uncomfortable for you to sit next to one of his friends. Especially if it was the one that had winked at you before.
"Alright, guys," Tommy's voice brought you back. "This is Y/N," he introduced you before moving on to tell you the name of each man on the table. "And the man of the evening!" He called out, his arm reaching out to the figure that was coming closer to your table. "My brother, the one and only Joel Miller." Looking up, you found him already looking at you again. You quickly diverted your eyes to the dark wood underneath your hands.
"The man of the evening when he didn't even want to be here in the first place?" One of Tommy's friends commented with a scoff. Mike? Yeah, it was Mike.
Joel slit into the other side of the booth, directly opposite of you. You noticed yourself sitting up a little straighter.
"Well, not all of us are thirty and have nothing better to do than to get drunk in the middle of the week," the older Miller replied. He casually sat back, taking a sip from his beer.
Mike chuckled. "Not all of us can't ever leave the house because they had a kid when they were a teenager."
Joel put the beer, taking a deep breath. The sudden change in atmosphere was evident to everyone at the table. Even to you. Well, this was already going great.
Tommy was quick to react. "Hey," he stopped the conversation, "I thought we agreed on no fighting today? Please, guys, come on. Get yourself together."
With your eyes on the oldest Miller brother, you could see his lips moving, mumbling something under his breath that you didn't catch, due to the loud background noises.
"Yeah, no fighting!" Trevor, you thought his name was, called out, raising the already half-empty bottle of beer in his grip. "To Tommy! Welcome home, brother."
Welcome home? Confused, you joined the table, everyone raising their glasses, clinking them all together in the middle.
Once you noticed the other side of the table had fallen into a conversation, you leaned into Tommy on your left.
"Where were you?" Your voice was too low for any of his friends to catch it, but loud enough to get the attention of the older Miller across from you too.
"Because of the 'welcome home'?" The man next to you wondered. You nodded, letting him continue. With a smirk, he put his bottle down. "Your sister didn't tell you?"
You rolled your eyes. "Tommy, she doesn't even know where you are right now, nor does she care. I can guarantee that." A chuckle from ahead of you made your head turn. You could see the smallest glimpse of a grin playing on Joel's lips as he tried to hide it by taking a sip of his beer.
"Wow," Tommy huffed out. "You're really just gonna put more and more salt into that wound, huh?" You ignored his overly dramatic comment, choosing to just continue glancing at him with a somewhat smile on your face, waiting for him to continue. He brushed a hand through his hair before giving you an answer to your question. "I was stationed in Iraq. As of last week, I'm a free man again."
You found your mouth agape. "Oh... oh shit, I had no idea." Your reaction made him chuckle. "Congrats?" Your reaction turned more into a question as you were unsure about what exactly to say to him.
"Thanks, girly," he smiled at you. "Although I am a bit offended that you didn't even notice I've been since graduation."
"Oh, please," you chuckled with a shake of your head. "But," you started again, getting a raise of his brows in return. "Now that I think about it, my mom did ask about you once."
"Really?" His eyes lit up. His reaction reminded you of a little boy being granted three wishes. You almost giggled. "What did she say?"
"Where's Danny Zuko and his entourage?" You smirked up at him. "It was around the time Izzy moved away. That's when she noticed how quiet it was without you guys."
"She called me Danny Zuko?" Tommy smiled to himself, raising one eyebrow as he glanced at you. You could already feel the greasy hand coming up to glide over his hair even before he actually did it.
From across the table, the warm yet rough voice spoke up, "Don't let it get to your head, Tommy." Joel was looking at his brother in slight amusement. You could tell he wanted to shake his head at his actions.
The younger Miller scoffed. "Don't be jealous just 'cause no one's callin' you the hottest man of the seventies." That's because Joel Miller might just be the hottest man of the century.
"Fictional man, though," you corrected him.
He gave you a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. "You bein' a smartass now?" Getting a sarcastic grin from you as an answer.
The conversation with Tommy moved more naturally than you had expected. You had been scared of awkward silences and pauses, but they had yet to happen, and you prayed they wouldn't even get an appearance this evening.
"So," a voice from the other end of the table caught your attention. "what do you do, Y/N? You lookin' a lil' young." Some of the other guys chuckled at his comment. Unessecary, but okay.
Before you could even open your mouth, Tommy spoke. "She ain't that much younger than us, Mike." Just clearing the air - you were thankful for that.
You cleared your throat, your fingers nervously intertwining underneath the table. "I'm in college."
"What are you studyin'?"
"Mathematic."
A scoff erupted from your side of the table, but on the other end, making it impossible for you to see exactly who it was from. "Mathematic? How the hell you gonna pay them bills? Doing fractions?" His rhetorical question got a round of laughter from almost the entire table. The guys continued joking about what you had just told them.
"Subtracting and adding, why the fuck would there even be a course for that?" Well, I bet you can't even calculate the tip you should give waiters.
"Everyone with a degree in math can't be anywhere else but in an office. What a life." A life where they earn more money than you, most likely.
"You also had those smartass kids at school that were good at math for no reason? Always hated them. So annoying, I swear to God." At least I was never crying at the dinner table with my dad trying to explain my homework to me.
You decided to stay quiet and let yourself fall back into the leather cushions behind your back. With a soft sigh, you brought your glass up to your lips, taking two sips of your cocktail. You didn't have the energy nor the need to speak up against them. You didn't know what their occupation was. And neither did you care. You're focused on yourself. You had to listen to far too many joking comments about your choice of degree to give a flying fuck about them anymore.
Your eyes wandered around the room before Joel's voice suddenly brought you back.
"What do you wanna do with that degree?" His question surprised you. Your eyes stopped at his face. Even in the dimlit bar, you could still make out his soft features. His coarse voice sent a chill through your entire body - a good chill though. The kind of chill you get after putting the first foot into a hot bath. That was Joel Miller's voice. Warmth. Pure warmth.
You put your glass down, pressing your lips together for a quick second. Looking up at him, his gaze was already on you, patiently waiting for your answer.
"I- ehm," you wiped your hands down your jeans. They weren't wet, you were just nervous, apparently. "I'm not sure yet. If possible, I would really like to get a Master's in STEM too, but..." you trailed off, not about to spill your entire life story to a, technically, stranger. "We'll see."
Joel nodded. His gaze never left you, following each word that fell from your lips. "And," he continued, "what could you do with a Mathematic degree?"
"Oh, a lot," you spoke up. You could feel yourself sitting up straighter, your hands back on top of the table. "A lot of people become financial advisors for companies. Or statisticians... ehm... I could also obviously become just a Math professor," you shrugged. "Most things are office jobs, though."
Joel had a soft smile on his lips, that only made you feel the heat in your cheeks spreading with each second. You hoped the lack of light in the room hid it well.
While you had added that last comment as a validation of most people's thoughts of the jobs you had mentioned being 'boring', you were surprised by his reply.
"So you'll have an easy life, at least. While also making quite a good amount of money. That's the smartest way to live if you ask me." Exactly.
The older Miller surprised you. He seemed to have taken in everything you had told him, giving you fitting answers. All while the men next to you had moved on to the degree they had claimed as 'useless' - Engish Literature.
"Very smart of you," he added at last. You almost caught yourself giggling as the corners of your lips curled up, your hands still stuck together.
"Thanks," you could only mumble. Get yourself together. Not wanting the conversation to end, you brushed some hair that had fallen into your sight away from your face. "And what do you do? Work wise."
Joel had started picking at the label of his beer bottle, snatching his fingers off it as soon as your question hit his ear.
"I'm a contractor," he told you. Impressive.
You nodded along. "Wow... that's- you know, not an easy job."
He smiled at your comment, ducking his head slightly. You found it almost endearing in a way. "Well," his hand came up to hold onto his neck. "Much easier than studying math, I can tell ya that much."
"No," an awkward chuckle escaped your lips as you crossed your arms on top of the table. "I meant like physically."
To that he tilted his head, nodding slightly in agreement, his hand wrapped perfectly around the beer bottle again. "Guess you're right about that, yeah. I already started praying for my back and knees." He took a sip to end his statement.
You wanted to ask about the kid they had mentioned. God, you were so curious. Something about him seemed so intriguing and you had already figured out that you were most definitely captivated by his warmth. The attention he had praised you with, whether it was out of politeness or not, had only added to your fascination with the man in front of you.
Tommy's loud holler right next to you made your head snap as you found the guys cheering on one of their friends as he held two beer bottles to his lips and tilted his head back to down it all in one go. What an achievement.
In your mind, you shook your head. That New Year's resolution can wait, you decided.
Just as you were about to take another sip of your glass, you noticed the lightness of it, looking down to find it empty already. You couldn't recall ever finishing it, which was already probably not a good sign. Without a word, you got up from your seat, your glass in your grip. You made your way back to the bar, the seat you had occupied earlier was already waiting for you.
Out of the corner of her eye, Maria caught your form coming closer, making her turn towards you, a glass of beer in her hands that she was about to give a waiting guest.
"You want a refill?" She wondered as soon as you had leaned against the counter, sitting yourself down on the wooden barstool.
You shook your head. "No, I'm good for tonight."
"What?" She called out in shock, stopping right in front of you as she took your glass. "Already? Are you okay?" You only nodded. For a second, she let her eyes wander across your face, choosing to refill the cup with water and slide it over back to you. "Drink that, you'll need it."
"Thanks," you mumbled. "But I'm fine, really. Just... tired."
Maria obviously didn't believe you. The time you had spent together let her get to know you better than you had wanted.
"Really just tired?"
You wanted to respond to her and had already opened your mouth, but a deep voice from the backroom that was only accessible from behind the bar called out.
"Maria, get you-!"
"Not now, Steven!" She shouted back, her eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance. You chuckled. Steven... one of the newbies of the bar's staff, but because of his apparently previous work experience as a barista he thought of himself much higher than most of the employees - at least that's what Maria had ranted about after each shift she had with him. With angry steps, he busted through the door, his eyes immediately on your best friend.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice was filled with rage, making you sit up just a bit straighter.
But Maria wasn't that easily intimidated, especially not by a man the same height as her and two years younger.
"Helping a customer, you idiot. We're here together, so do your goddamn job and stop hiding in the backroom," she snarled back at him. With a huff and a shake of his head, he turned around towards the two girls who had been waiting by the bar.
"I'm telling you, I'm gonna get fired soon," she mumbled under her breath, but clear enough for you to hear her.
You shook your head in amusement. "You're not gonna quit?"
"I won't have the patience to do that. They'll fire me because I swear to God, I'm so close to fucking beat him up." With a deep breath, she collected herself again and leaned forward, her hands on the bar top. "Now," she looked up at you. "You're tired? Of?" Of course, she knew you weren't actually physically tired.
"Drunk unfunny men," you told her as your eyes followed your fingertips that were tracing each line of the wood underneath your palms.
A whistle sound from somewhere next to you caught both of your attention.
Maria rolled her eyes. "Yeah, tell me about it," before having to leave you to serve the man who had called after her. He was already waiting for her with a smirk on his lips.
You accepted the glass of water she had left with you and downed the entire content of it quickly. Before you could even stand up to finally leave, a figure suddenly appeared to your left and blocked your way. Just as you were about to complain, not in the mood for yet another stupid comment dropping from a man's mouth, you looked up.
Joel again. He noticed your movement.
"Oh- sorry, did you wanna go back?" He motioned with his hand past him and took a step back, but only a small one because of the barstool behind him.
You shook your head with a smile. "Eh- no, no... I-"
"Another one for you?" Maria suddenly appeared again. She pointed at the empty beer bottle Joel had put down. Her eyes quickly raked over both of your faces.
He motioned a polite no to her. "Thank you, but... that's gonna be it for tonight."
"You too?" She wondered, her head nodding towards you. "What's going on with you two? Why so boring today?" A soft smirk had made its way onto her face.
With a confused facial expression, you stared at her.
The older Miller chuckled, "'m sorry. But ehm... I got a lil' girl at home. Promised her not to stay out for too long, so I gotta get back."
Maria took the empty bottle off the counter. "A good dad, I see. I respect that," she nodded.
While she was occupied with some new dirty glasses Steven had placed in front of her, Jeol turned his attention back to you.
"Sorry, what were about to say?" He asked you. "You're gonna go back?" You shook your head again, nervously you had also subconsciously started playing with your fingers again.
"No, I... I think that was enough of Tommy Miller and his friends for me."
"Yeah," he sighed, letting himself sit down on the barstool next to you. "I-" he started again but stopped himself, the tips of his fingers tapping on the wood. His hands were beautiful, you noticed. Strong. Thick-
Maybe it was the three glasses of alcohol you had in your system but you could've sworn Joel Miller was glowing in the dim light of the bar. His skin was radiating gold specs and even his hair seemed to be more than just plain brown. It was deep, auburn and soft. And his curls, good God...
Your heart rate had slightly picked up now that it was only the two of you.
Joel nodded. "I get that. They can be a bit much sometimes. I'm sorry."
"It's alright," you chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, thinking about what to say next.
The silence took over the both of you for a good few seconds. Both pairs of eyes fixed on anything but each other. You took a deep breath, followed by Joel doing the same. Silence can be so unbearable sometimes...
"So," he started again. "You're gonna stay here?"
You gulped. "Y-Yeah, yeah... I... I'm just gonna wait for Maria, we live to-"
"Oh no, girl," your best friend suddenly jumped in. "Tonight's gonna be late. With Steven here, I don't know when I'll be done." She turned to Joel. "My co-worker's an asshole that doesn't know how to do his job, so...," she shrugged.
The oldest Miller chuckled and nodded, amused at her choice of words.
"It's fine, I'll just... wait," you argued, but she was having none of it, waving her hand in front of your face.
"No, no, you should get home. You said you're leaving?" She asked the man next to you, catching him off-guard with her question.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna go now."
"Well, that's convenient. Would you mind... maybe, taking her with you?" Your best friend nudged her head towards you.
"Maria!" You shout-whispered.
But Joel just casually nodded. "Sure." And stood up immediately.
"No," you stopped him. "It's fine, really-"
"Y/N," she interrupted you again, "you really should get home." Maria raised her eyebrows at you. "You got that thing tomorrow."
"What thing?" You asked her with a tight smile on her lips.
"You know... the thing. That you need to be well-rested for."
"Maria-"
"Can I trust that you get her home safe?" She ignored you, turning to Joel. A big grin and awaiting eyes on her face.
He nodded politely. "Yes, ma'am, I promise."
"Ma'am?" She gasped with a smile, "Oh, I trust you a lot." After exchanging looks with the Miller brother, she turned back to you, slapping your hands off the counter with the washcloth she had been holding. "Now get your ass out of the bar."
Your eyes kept following her as she continued to take a step back. Followed by another step. Her hands motioned for you to leave once again, making you shake your head and Joel next to you chuckle.
With a soft sigh, you stood up.
"You good to go?" He asked you, making you look up at him with a somewhat forced smile.
"Yeah."
He opened his palm, letting you walk ahead first. After thanking your best friend for the drinks, he joined your steps but kept walking behind you. You only came to a halt as you passed Tommy's table and only because Joel spoke up. If it had been just you, you would've continued to just pass them, they wouldn't have noticed it anyway.
"We're gonna head out," he told the table, his hand tightly on his brother's shoulder.
"We?" Tommy asked, turning his body just a bit to find you a few steps next to Joel. "You're goin' together?"
"I'm gonna get her home," he nodded.
A round of hollers erupted from the rest of the guys, taking you by surprise. "GET IT, MILLER!"
"Shut the fuck up, Mike," the older Miller was quick to argue back, clearly annoyed by their reaction.
Tommy laughed, "Don't mind him, brother, he's just jealous. Right, Mike?" The rest of the group joined in, starting by teasing and poking their friend, who was the same guy that had raked his eyes up and down your body back when you were still sitting by the bar. Wonderful...
Joel only rolled his eyes. "Anyways, we're goin' now." That made his younger brother suddenly stand up and walk over to you, his arms opened wide. Before you could react, you were engulfed in a tight hug. You were only able to awkwardly pat his back with one hand.
"It was great seeing you again, sweetheart," he let you know, freeing you again, and taking a step back. "Maybe we'll see each other again."
"Yeah," you could only let out an awkward smile, "maybe." With one last pat on your upper arm, he turned to his brother, doing the same thing to his arm before joining the rest of his friend group at the table again.
With no last words, Joel continued his walk straight ahead, coming to another stop right by the door, where the hooks that had been drilled into the walls were holding the outerwear of each visitor.
"You left a coat here or somethin'?" He asked you.
You nodded and pointed. "The beige one on the right."
He got it off the hook for you and opened it for you. Slightly taken aback by his kind gesture, you thanked him with a surprised tone and turned around to get your right arm into the coat first. He helped you with your left arm as well and only turned back to the hangers to get his own jacket. You waited patiently for him before walking over towards the door, pushing it open and holding it, making sure he got through it as well. As soon as the wind of the cold January air outside hit you, you pulled your coat tighter around you, cursing at yourself for not taking a scarf with you as well.
Joel walked past you, putting on his jacket just then. You noticed he was walking towards a specific direction, clearly to where he had parked his car, but you wanted to stop him. So you did.
"You know, you really don't have to." Your voice made him turn around. "I don't know what the hell Maria was talking about. A-And you don't me that well- and I obviously don't know you either. And I totally understand if you just want to get home quickly. You really don't have to bring me home too. I'm fine with just taking the bus-"
Joel couldn't help but be amused at your sudden rambling. He chuckled at you. "The last bus probably already left. And I really don't mind." With a few steps, he came closer, stopping to keep a comfortable distance between the two of you. "Plus," he looked around for a second before locking gazes with you again, "I promised Maria that I'd get you home, so... can't break that, you know?"
For a second you just looked at him. You noticed you were wrong. It wasn't just the dim lighting in the bar. Even with the almost freezing, for Texas, temperatures outside, he still managed to look incredible. His hair still looked as soft as before and his skin was still glistening golden. You knew exactly what Maria had tried to do. She knew it. Joel was the embodiment of your type.
-
He drove a truck. Of course he did. It fit him perfectly.
The car ride turned out to be less awkward than you had imagined it would be. Thank God. Joel had turned on the radio, giving the entire situation a calming background sound while the two of you talked about your days. He had started it.
Joel asked you about what you were doing in the bar in the first place and how you had known Maria, commenting on your relationship with, 'You two seem very close'. So your story about how you had moved away for college and came back only a few months ago started. He continued to listen to you attentively, nodding along to each word you spoke, giving you a comment here and there, but choosing to stay quiet for most of the time and let you tell your story. After you were finished, another moment of silence washed over you. So you decided to change the subject.
"You said you got a little girl at home?" You remembered the stupid comment one of Tommy's friends had dropped - you had already forgotten his name. And his answer to Maria's question hadn't left your mind ever since it came from his lips.
With your eyes on his side profile, you could see the slight curl of his lips.
"Yeah... I- I got a daughter," he took a deep breath. "Sarah."
You nodded. It warmed your heart the way he started speaking oh so softly.
"How old is she?" You wanted to continue the conversation, noticing the fond look on his face while he was concentrating on the street after you had given him your address, and he told you he knew the way since he had been in that area for work before.
"9. Her birthday‘s in August." You almost chuckled at his added comment, to let you know that her birthday was in the Summer. It was small but sweet.
There was another question burning the tip of your tongue, begging to be let out, but you knew that it was in no way your business to be asking that question. Yet, you were still intrigued about... her mother? As if he could read your mind, Joel continued.
"And I told her I wouldn't stay out too long. It's a school night, so I gotta get her out of bed early in the morning." So...? Single father? No, maybe his partner is on a business trip, who knows...
"Understandable," you nodded, swallowing down the other question and ignoring the voice repeating it inside your head. You couldn't help it. As much as you would've wanted to keep your thoughts sane, it was close to impossible when the man next to you was as attractive as Joel Miller. You had only met him a mere hours ago, yet he was able to captivate you in such a short period. Damn his looks and kind attention when you're speaking.
The rest of the relatively short car ride the two of you spent in mostly silence. Neither one of you wanted to come off as too strong and ask too many questions that might suddenly feel too personal. So you decided to stay quiet. Even though several questions were bubbling up deep inside you - it wasn't much different for Joel.
He brought the car to a halt right in front of your block. You glanced at him.
"Thank you." He was already smiling at you. "You- you really didn't have to, but... thanks."
He nodded, "My pleasure. Better stepping into the car of a stranger than taking a taxi, right?"
"Right," you chuckled, reaching out for the handle to push the door open. With one foot out in the cold again, you turned towards him for one last time. "Good night, Joel."
"Night, Y/N." He copied your sweet goodbye wave after you had closed the door and headed over to the entrance door. Only when you had gotten safe inside the building, Joel started to drive away.
"Stepping into the car of a stranger and a taxi is the same fucking thing, you idiot," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head in disappointment at his own misery. But at least it made you laugh.
-
You were finished with taking off your make-up and your skincare routine and had switched out your outside clothing for some comfortable pyjama pants and an old shirt you had kept from the musical production your High School had put up. The entire time you had spent in the bathroom, your mind had been anywhere but in the same room as you. You couldn't stop thinking about him. His voice. His side-profile. His lips. His hair- God... his curls. You shouldn't. You knew you shouldn't think of him that much. For fuck's sake, you had only met the man a few hours ago and suddenly he was occupying your mind more than what was then playing on the TV in front of you.
Your eyes switched to the clock Maria had put up on the wall to your left. It didn't fit the rest of the furniture even a bit. But she had found it at a garden sale and got it 'for a good deal', you remember her saying. The place needed a clock though and in that moment, you were thankful that you had one.
11:30 pm here, so 00:30 in the morning in New York.
Knowing your sister, she was probably still up and wouldn't go to sleep until closer to 2, or even past that - that girl needed to figure out her sleep schedule, but that was her worry and not yours. You only benefited from it.
With a big deep breath in, you pushed yourself off the couch and stumped over into the hallway to fish your phone out of your coat's pocket. Maybe she was actually still awake.
You clicked through your address list until your eyes fell on Izzy's number and you pressed to call her. Your feet took your back into the living room, letting you fall onto the cushion again.
It only took a few rings before you heard her voice.
"Hello? Are you okay?"
You chuckled. "Yeah, I am. Hi"
"Hey, how are you?"
After you had gotten through the casual formalities and explained to her what you were doing right now and why you had to call her, you were finally able to drop your first question.
"You remember Tommy Miller?"
A groan from the other line made you giggle. "Oh God... yes, why?"
"Did you know he has a brother?" You wondered.
"Ye-" she gasped, "YES, I do know! Omg yes, of course. Joel, I think his name was."
"Yeah, it is."
"Mm," Izzy hummed. You could hear the smile on her lips through her voice. "He was... Jesus Christ, he was handsome."
You laughed at her reaction. "He still is, to be honest."
"IS HE?!" She almost shouted into the speaker before remembering to keep her voice down as her husband was sleeping only a few rooms away from her.
"Yup, I met him today," you told her.
Another giggle came from her. "Ooooh, how?"
"Tommy was in the bar Maria works at, and he asked me to join him and his friends at a table, and his brother joined in too."
"Aah, okay okay," she nodded her head even though you couldn't see her. "And?"
You sighed, standing up to walk over into the kitchen. "And now I wanted to call you and ask you what you know about him." Your fingers brushed over the counter that desperately needed to be cleaned - you made a mental note.
"To be honest, not that much. He was neither a jock or a nerd or something like that, you know? Just... a guy... a really attractive one though. And he was... I don't know, like... two... three years above me, I think?" You listened to her talk while your eyes raked over the pantry, hoping to find something to snack on before you'd go to bed.
"OH-" She suddenly raised her voice, making you have to pull your phone away from your ear. "He was also a singer." Well, that caught your attention.
"A singer?"
"Yeah," she giggled. "Like a really good one, actually. That's why a lot of girls liked him. He played something on his guitar during one of our musicals. I don't remember which one, though." A singer...
"Interesting," you smirked to yourself at the new information. Plus the fact that you had found the last bits of your favourite chips package in the very back of the pantry.
She hummed in agreement. You could hear shuffling in the background but ignored it. "And," Izzy started again. "There was a rumour about him, but... I don't know if that's true."
"What rumour?"
"Apparently," she made sure to use a different tone with the first word, letting you know that it truly was only a rumour she had been confronted with. "Later in college, he got his high school sweetheart pregnant. When they were like 19 or 20. And that's why she dropped out. But I don't know how true that is."
'Not all of us can't ever leave the house because they had a kid when they were a teenager', you remembered the comment that came from one of Tommy's friends.
If he was two or three years older than your sister... and his daughter is 9...
A rumour... possibly not so much.
"Yeah, I don't think that's a rumour."
"What?!" She gasped. "Seriously?!"
Back on the sofa, you put your hand into the pack of chips and took one out to put into your mouth. "He told me about his daughter. She's nine, so that would work if he had her around 20."
"I don't know, that's too much math for me, but if you say so, I believe you," she rambled before taking a deep breath again. "Wow... I never believed that. He didn't seem like the guy something like that would happen to... especially not in Texas, Jesus... But wait..."
"What?" You wondered with a full mouth after deciding that instead of one, five chips at once sounded much better.
"So, did he really leave his girlfriend, though?"
"Huh?" You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion.
"Some people back then said that they broke up after finding out she was pregnant. Is that true?"
You waited for a second. "Ehm... I don't know, maybe. But the daughter's with him."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah," you swallowed down the content in your mouth before taking two chips again. "He said he'll have to wake her up in the morning because of school."
"Aww," Izzy giggled, "That's cute. Didn't think he'd keep her. Where's the mom then?"
"You know, I originally wanted to ask you all of those questions," you chuckled at the situation, your sister joining in.
"Sorry, I don't remember much else. Like I said, he was older than us, so... yeah." A moment of silence divided you two, only shuffling on her side and crunches from your side filled the phone line. Izzy was the first to break it. "But... do you remember Abigail? I think she had like History with him... I could ask her if you want."
"No," you brushed off her question, "it's not THAT important. I just... wanted to see what you'd know about him."
"Mm," a somewhat sad hum came from her. "A bit nosey, are you?"
You chuckled, "I mean," feeling your cheeks getting slightly warmer than before, "he IS really handsome. And he was really... attentive at the bar."
"You don't care about the age?" She wondered.
You scrunched your eyebrows, deciding you had enough of the chips you remembered to be much better than they actually were. "He's only like 31. That's not that much older."
"Maybe not in your eyes."
"And why would I care about anyone else's?" You asked her, throwing the colourful package onto the coffee table in front of you. "And even- I just- I only wanted to know a few things about him. I don't even know if I, you know... want something from him. Maybe he's got a new girlfriend right now, who knows."
"Okay, but I'm not saying you should throw yourself at him, you idiot," your sister chuckled. "Just... kinda like tiptoe towards him and see where things go. You're pretty, he's handsome, from what I can remember, so it can't hurt."
"Yeah... we'll see... It's very unlikely that I'll ever see him again even-" you stopped yourself for a second before mumbling, "Maybe in the bar again, actually... I don't know."
The next words of your sister went past your attention span as the front door opened. You shot up from your spot in the living room and walked over into the hallway, an already smirking Maria glancing right at you.
"Y/N?" Izzy's voice repeated your name a second time before you caught it.
"Yeah? Sorry, what did you say?" you apologised, motioning frantically for your best friend to take off her shoes and sit down on the couch.
Your sister chortled softly on the other end of the line. "It's alright. I just said I gotta go. I gotta get up earlier than usual tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah, okay," you pulled your friend by her arm just as she tried to escape into her room. "Thank you for the info, and I'll talk to you soon, okay?"
"Alright, bye," she sang into the phone.
"Bye," you quickly ended the call, flipping your phone closed and throwing it onto one of the cushions.
Maria fell onto the couch with a giggle.
"What the fuck was that?" You snapped at her. "Yeah, it's really late, Maria, you were right."You looked down at your imaginary watch on your wrist before staring at her with raised eyebrows. "It was very necessary that Joel drove me home."
"You are very welcome," she leaned back into the backrest with a smug smile on her lips. "How was the drive?"
"How was-?! How do you think it was?!" You continued to stand right in front of her, arms crossed in front of your chest.
"Honestly," she started with a deep breath, taking the pack of chips from the coffee table into her grip, "going off of the looks you two gave each other, I'm gonna be very surprised if you tell you you didn't do it on the backseat of his car."
You closed your eyes for a moment and pressed your lips together, trying to hold back a burst of laughter that was about to spill. After finding her gaze again, you answered her. "We didn't do it on the backseat of his car."
"What?!" She shouted out. "Are you kiddin' me?! That's disappointing." And shook her head before popping a chip into her mouth.
With a shake of your own head, you made yourself comfortable on one of the single chairs you had placed right next to the sofa.
"I swear to God, that man was eye-fucking you."
"Jesus," you chuckled, a hand brushing over your face and rubbing your eyes.
"No, really. I mean, he was doing it respectfully, which kinda confused me, not gonna lie. But he still looked at you a little too hot and bothered. And girl," her smirk only grew when she eyed you closely, "I thought you were about to lick his skin the way you were looking at him."
You couldn't hold back your laughter any longer. With a loud chortle, you leaned forward, hiding your face behind your hands. Maria joined you.
"I'm serious!" She laughed out loud.
You looked up at her. Your face now clear red as you realised you got caught, "I mean... I wanted to."
"I knew it!" She jumped up, throwing the package of chips into your lap. "I knew it! You ain't sly, girly!"
For a few moments longer, the two of you shared rounds of giggles before you could catch yourself again and sat back down normally.
"Yeah, well..." you shrugged, brushing some hair out of your face.
Maria snatched the chips package back again. "Then why not in his car?"
"Ths situation wasn't like that. We... we talked. I honestly didn't think that he was even looking at me the way you just described it," chuckling again at the memory of the words she had chosen.
"Yeah, well... I've seen enough men at bars and how they look at women, so... yeah," she shook her head slightly. "He did it exactly like that, just, like I said, with... a little bit more respect- I don't know how to explain it."
"It's okay," you giggled, stopping her by showing her the palm of your hand.
After she finished the rest of the chips, she threw the now empty package next to her onto the sofa, the thought of the last bits of crumbles possibly falling between the seat cushions made you shiver.
"So, how was the drive? Seriously."
You shrugged. "It was good. We had a nice conversation. I talked about college, he talked about his daughter-"
"Listen, I'm not one for dads. But..."
"Hot." You ended the sentence for her.
"So hot," she agreed with you, biting down on her lip. "He really is quite attractive."
You nodded along with her before speaking up again, "I called my sister just now," nudging your head towards the flip phone you had thrown onto the couch. "And asked her about him because they went to school together-"
"And?"
"Not much else. She doesn't really know a lot about him. Just that he used to sing apparently, and... he's a young dad."
"What about the mother of the kid?"
You could only shrug again. "No clue. Izzy said that the rumour is- or, there was a rumour that he left the girl that he got pregnant in college. BUT... he said that he needs to get up early because of her school tomorrow... so, I'm confused."
"Maybe... he got another kid? So not the kid from the pregnant High School girl, but from someone a little later?" She wondered out loud.
No, you had done the math correctly. "Very unlikely. Because Izzy's 27 now. And she said Joel was about two or three years above her, which would make him around 30 now. And in the car, he told me that his daughter is turning 10 this year. If we're going just by estimations, it would work that he had her around 20 and not going to college because of it. I doubt that he left his high school sweetheart that he got pregnant at 20, only to keep the kid he got from another woman when he was 21. I mean- everything's possible, but I doubt it."
Maria blinked at you. Twice. "You're confusing me with your calculations, but damn... you really thought a lot about that, huh?"
You let your head fall back with a chuckle. "I had some time, yeah." Then a groan echoed through the room. "Ugh, but I don't even know if or when I'd be able to see him again."
"But you know Tommy, maybe he can help," Maria tried to explain, but you glared at her with an unamused facial expression.
"I'm not gonna ask him to tell me where his brother is or to give me his number, Maria."
She looked at you with a somewhat surprised look, before standing up and raising her hands in defence. "I'm just trying to help you here, okay?"
"Yeah I know, but he could also be in a relationship for all we know."
"Not with the way-"
"He was looking at me, I know, I know, blah blah blah-" A sudden cushion that was thrown at your face made you shut your mouth. You were about to argue back, but Maria beat you to it, pointing a strict finger at you, while her other hand had made a ball out of the chips package.
"Don't 'blah blah blah' me."
You chuckled at her reaction. She scoffed as she turned towards the kitchen.
Just as you thought the conversation was over and she was on her way out, she stopped to take a quick look at you.
"I think that if he was a real gentleman and if the looks he gave you were real, he'll find a way to contact you. It's a small town, it can't be that hard." With her last statement, she exited the room, leaving you sunken into the armchair.
If, if, if...
What if you could find a way to contact him?
Part 2
joel taglist: @corvusmorte @aniia-x3
pedro taglist: @leslieelainetrask
#Joel miller x reader#Joel miller#hbo!joel miller#tlou#the last of us#Pedro pascal#Pedro pascal!joe miller#x reader#fluff#finding something to fight for#Tommy miller#hbo!tlou#Pedro pascal x reader#pre!outbreak joel
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Blüdhaven’s Shadows From the Gotham's Conserved Warrior Archives.
The industrial gloom of Blüdhaven’s dockyard loomed around them, the scent of saltwater and rust heavy in the humid night air. Every corner seemed alive with tension, the faint clang of machinery mingling with the whispers of the tide. Dick Grayson crouched low on a rooftop overlooking the sprawling mess of shipping containers and cranes, every fiber of his being attuned to the undercurrents of danger that came with his city.
“This is such a you kind of place,” Tim Drake muttered from his perch beside him, peering through a pair of binoculars. “Dark, depressing, smells like bad decisions and worse cologne. I’m starting to see the appeal.”
Dick smirked, keeping his eyes locked on the scene below. “Funny. I was just thinking this was more up your alley. Plenty of places to sneak around and make snarky comments from the shadows.”
“Touché.”
The Black Fangs gang had made their latest operation here, smuggling high-tech weaponry that would find its way to the worst people in Blüdhaven—or worse, Gotham. Dozens of armed men moved in and out of the warehouse, unloading crates from a cargo ship into unmarked trucks. The sound of barked orders carried on the breeze, punctuated by the occasional metallic scrape of containers.
Dick pointed toward the ship’s ramp. “See that guy in the leather jacket? That’s Marlo Tedesco, their logistics genius and an overall charming sociopath. If we take him out, the whole operation stumbles. But we’ve got to do it smart.”
“Smart,” Tim echoed, nodding along. “That means your way, which is apparently the opposite of fun.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Yes, my way. These guys are carrying military-grade rifles. If we go in hot, we’re toast.”
“Fine,” Tim said with a dramatic sigh, pulling a smoke pellet from his utility belt.
The two descended like silent wraiths from the rooftop, the shadows clinging to their every move. Dick’s escrima sticks hummed faintly as he activated the electric charge, the familiar weight of them a comforting anchor in the chaos ahead.
The first guard stood near a stack of crates, distracted by his phone. Dick motioned for Tim to stay back, then moved in with predator-like precision. One swift strike to the neck, and the guard crumpled soundlessly.
Tim joined him, crouching beside the unconscious thug. “You know, that’s kind of scary. In a cool way.”
Dick gave him a wry grin. “Flattery gets you nowhere. Focus up.”
As they crept deeper into the dockyard, the tension thickened. They encountered another pair of guards patrolling near a forklift. Tim tossed a small gadget—a sonic distraction device—toward a stack of barrels. The resulting high-pitched whine drew the guards away, allowing Dick to take them down with quick, calculated strikes.
The duo moved like a well-oiled machine, their silent communication honed over years of working together. Every step was precise, every takedown swift and efficient. But as they approached the warehouse, the stakes rose sharply.
“Uh, we’ve got a problem,” Tim whispered, his voice low but tense.
Dick followed his gaze. A group of six thugs stood outside the warehouse, their weapons glinting ominously under the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp.
“Change of plans,” Dick said, gripping his escrima sticks tighter. “We’re going loud.”
Tim’s grin was almost audible. “Finally.”
The first smoke pellet hit the ground, erupting into a thick cloud that obscured everything. Shouts of confusion filled the air as the thugs stumbled, their weapons useless in the haze.
Dick surged forward, a blur of motion and electricity. He disarmed the first thug with a precise strike to the wrist, then followed up with a spinning kick that sent him crashing into a stack of crates.
Tim was right behind him, his bo staff a whirl of calculated chaos. He jabbed one thug in the solar plexus, then swept another’s legs out from under him, the sound of metal against bone sharp and decisive.
One thug managed to fire blindly into the smoke, the bullet ricocheting off a nearby container. Dick didn’t hesitate; he closed the distance in an instant, slamming the thug into the ground with a brutal takedown.
“You okay, Robin?” he called over the chaos.
“Better than okay,” Tim replied, delivering an impressive roundhouse kick that sent his opponent sprawling. “This is starting to feel like therapy.”
When the smoke cleared, the thugs lay scattered, groaning in defeat.
Tim leaned on his bo staff, catching his breath. “I think we’re getting better at this.”
Dick smirked. “Speak for yourself. I’ve been good at this for years.”
Insid the warehouse was a labyrinth of crates, machinery, and narrow walkways illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. The hum of generators buzzed in their ears, mingling with the muffled conversations of the gang members inside. Dick gestured for Tim to follow, the two moving like shadows between the stacks of weapons and stolen goods.
They came across a trio of gang members in the center of the floor, huddled over what looked like a prototype energy weapon. Tim paused, narrowing his eyes as he studied the device.
“That’s not standard smuggling fare,” he whispered. “Is that—?”
“Stolen Wayne Tech,” Dick finished, his voice hard.
The sight of Bruce’s technology in the hands of criminals ignited a spark of anger in him, but he pushed it down. They had to handle this carefully.
Tim pulled out his handheld device, scanning the weapon from a distance. “It’s incomplete. Looks like they’re still figuring out how to assemble it. If they get this working…”
“We don’t let it get that far,” Dick said firmly.
The duo moved into position, sticking to the shadows. With practiced ease, Dick launched a wing-ding toward an overhead light, plunging the corner of the warehouse into darkness.
“What the—?” one of the gang members exclaimed, fumbling with a flashlight.
They didn’t have a chance to react further.
Dick dropped from a beam above, landing with a bone-jarring thud that knocked one of them flat. Before the others could recover, Tim lunged from the side, using his bo staff to sweep their feet out from under them.
One of the gang members scrambled to his feet, grabbing a crowbar and swinging it wildly at Dick. He sidestepped, twisting his body with fluid grace and delivering a sharp elbow to the thug’s jaw, sending him sprawling.
“Subtle,” Tim remarked, flipping over a crate to avoid a wild punch. He countered with a jab to the ribs and a swift kick to the chest, sending his opponent crashing into the wall.
“No time for subtle,” Dick replied, spinning his escrima sticks to deflect another attack. He followed up with a dual strike to his opponent’s knees, bringing him down hard.
The last thug tried to make a break for it, but Tim was faster. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a bola that wrapped around the man’s legs, tripping him mid-run.
“Going somewhere?” Tim asked, smirking as he retrieved his weapon.
The room fell silent except for the groans of the downed thugs.
“Warehouse floor clear,” Dick said, scanning their surroundings. “But where’s Marlo?”
As if on cue, a slow clap echoed through the space. They turned to see Marlo Tedesco stepping out from behind a stack of crates, flanked by two more heavily armed thugs.
“You know, I’ve got to hand it to you two,” Marlo said, his voice dripping with mock admiration. “You’ve got style. I almost feel bad about what’s about to happen.”
The thugs raised their weapons, but Dick and Tim were already moving.
Dick charged the nearest thug, using his escrima sticks to deflect the barrel of the rifle as it fired, the deafening sound reverberating through the warehouse. He delivered a powerful uppercut, then disarmed the man with a calculated strike to his wrist.
Meanwhile, Tim vaulted over a crate, landing behind the second thug. He delivered a quick flurry of strikes with his bo staff, knocking the weapon from the man’s hands before sweeping his legs out from under him.
Marlo, realizing he was outmatched, bolted toward the back exit.
“He’s making a run for it!” Tim shouted.
“I’ve got him,” Dick replied, sprinting after the gang leader.
Marlo led them on a chase through the maze-like warehouse, overturning crates and scattering tools in an attempt to slow them down. But Dick was relentless, his years of acrobatics giving him the edge.
He leapt over a fallen crate, closing the distance with each stride. Finally, he launched himself forward, tackling Marlo to the ground.
“End of the line, Marlo,” Dick said, pinning the man’s arms behind his back.
Tim caught up moments later, out of breath but grinning. “Nice work. Now what?”
Dick pulled out a pair of handcuffs, securing Marlo’s wrists. “Now we call the cops and let them deal with this mess.”
As they dragged Marlo back toward the warehouse floor, the faint wail of sirens grew louder in the distance.
Tim glanced at Dick, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, for a guy who’s supposed to be a ‘lone vigilante,’ you’re pretty good at teamwork.”
Dick smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head, Robin. You still have a lot to learn.”
The two shared a rare moment of quiet camaraderie as they waited for the authorities to arrive, the chaos of the night finally giving way to a sense of hard-earned victory.
@not-timothy
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#Spotify#dick grayson#batman#bruce wayne#dc headcanon#bat family#batman comics#richard grayson#nightwing#dick grayson robin#red hood#robin dick grayson#dick and jason#dc robin#roleplay#dc roleplay#dc comics#dcu#dc universe#dc rp#dc oc#jason todd#batfam#roleplay promo#crossover rp#roleplay blog#looking for rp#Tim and Nightwing's Adventures.
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speak on sadist arcade gannon 🗣️
I WILL SPEAK THANK YOU!
arcade is such a fun character. i’m going to start off with a little bit of how i view him, and then go into more of the original post!
arcade is often written as he portrays himself, asocial and boring. or worse, he’s made to be this anxious, unsure, annoying gay-man stereotype.
but arcade is smart, he’s witty, he enjoys snarky banter and cursing in latin. at the end of the day, arcade needs someone who can keep up with him. someone who can get those gears turning in his brain. arcade values knowledge like no other.
there’s always something to be learned, even with a low int. courier. (my original post was a joke about this, he’s a sadist and following around an idiot in a post apocalyptic wasteland would definitely scratch that itch.)
however, no source of intimacy in his day to day life turned into learning as much as he can. he enjoys books on topics that are redundant to the world he lives in, because it makes him feel important.
being a person of medicine, he knows his way around sharp objects, he’s used to cutting clothes, he’s able to perform basic first aid. (…more on this in a minute.) arcade knows his way around the human body.
arcade was an only child, raised around enclave remnants can only offer so much. and while he hates to use the word lonely (“alone and lonely are two very different things, thank you.” he’d say.) he is clearly starved.
for attention and touch, on a level that means something more to him. i think one of arcade’s strongest points is his friendship with julie, there’s no doubt in my mind he loves her, that he values their bond. but she can’t offer what he’s looking for in this regard, and that’s okay.
arcade craves connection. he deflects anytime the subject is himself, because to him there’s safety in isolation. he’s met “several good men” in his life, but none of them stuck around. for how much he craves that connection, he doesn’t know how to do it. showing versus telling. arcade is honeyed words, but faraway in his actions. until six.
and it’s not that he wants to hurt, or own his partner, no. arcade hates the idea that someone could “belong” to him, HOWEVER; the idea of consuming someone is… special. arcade wants his and his partner’s heart on a silver platter so they can dine together.
i’m going to go through two different scenarios, but each have their own flavour of dialogue.
"I've got more experience dealing with egregious injuries than you think. I could fucking rip you apart, and put you back together again. I could even make that hurt, if you wanted. Do you understand me?"
in this excerpt, as composed as arcade is, he’s frantic. perhaps six is a self sacrificing idiot, consistently putting himself in harms way because he wants to protect his friends, arcade specifically. to arcade, he might as well be doing the damage himself. six gets cut pushing arcade out of the way? arcade can feel the knife in his hand. in this version, i picture arcade’s sadism is more emotionally charged/based.
"I've got more experience dealing with iniquitous injuries than you think. I could rip you apart, and put you back together again. I could make it all hurt. Do you understand me?"
this is the same idea, but a completely different tone. this time he’s offering, most likely based on an observation he’s already made of six’s self sacrificing behaviour. six wants a brush of death? arcade can offer that without a (serious) risk.
the change from ‘egregious’ to ‘iniquitous’ tells that the injuries go from generally bad to morally wrong. both are things he’s adept in. medicine or sadism.
all this being said, some fun ideas to consider. (nsfw!)
i want an arcade gannon who will cut through six’s last pair of pants without any remorse, maybe even a low chuckle.
featherlight touches with a scalpel or the carving knife he uses for cacti. dragging it down their tummy, down to their thighs.
an arcade who has a mean backhand, who then takes six’s chin in his hand and gives his head a shake like he’s a bad puppy.
an arcade who has six sit in his lap for hours as he works, laughs when they cry about wanting more.
arcade who will bite, arcade who scratches his partner’s hips.
arcade who lets six sit under his desk, pressing his foot to six’s cock as they suck him off.
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Official
Tags/Warnings: Chris/GN!Reader, kidnapping, snarky!reader, becoming official
Word Count: 927
If someone had asked you that morning what you’d be doing with your day, you’d have said you were going to take a shower, go to work, get takeout on your way home, watch some TV then go to sleep. That was pretty normal for you, an average day in your life, if a little boring. What had transpired would’ve been past 100 on a numbered list of things you thought could potentially happen, if something outside of your routine were to happen. Past 200 even.
See, it went like this. You’d left for work like you usually would and gotten into your car, a little behind (but realistically when weren’t you). You turned on the radio, because you couldn’t afford one of those cars that had apps, and you couldn’t afford to pay for spotify premium either, and then set off. Someone else might say you weren’t paying as much attention as you should’ve been, but you said you were paying just the right amount of attention - the normal amount. Who spends their morning commute looking for psychos with guns? Not you that’s for sure, at least not before today.
Peaceful, you’d have called it, the sun had barely started to rise and birds were still singing. Until they weren’t, and if you hadn’t been humming along to your music maybe you’d have noticed the sudden, ominous, lack of birdsong. But you were humming along. Then, there was a man stepping out into the road as if he had no regard for his health at all, and you swerved to avoid hitting him, only for you to hit the barrier at the side of the road instead, and the man stood just staring was the last thing you remembered.
It must’ve been at least an hour or two later when you woke up, you’d been knocked out by the impact, potentially drugged, and incredibly tired when you woke up that morning and apparently it was a deadly combo. You were inside of a warehouse, tied to a chair, for reasons you couldn’t quite discern - who the fuck actually took people hostage? Especially random civilians. Was this guy some sort of supervillain? It was an old man who walked in, judging by the fact that he was flanked by half a dozen younger men dressed in all black, you figured he was the guy in charge. You were kidnapped by someone’s grandpa. This was just sick and twisted really.
“I’m a bit sick, anyone got a mask? I’d hate to sneeze and kill grandpa over here.” You remarked, and watched as some of the henchmen struggled not to laugh. At least you had that going for yourself.
“Don’t get smart with me, you should’ve realised now just how much trouble you’re in. I’m sure my son has told you plenty.”
“Your son? Listen guy, I’m not into ol-” then you stopped as a face flashed through your mind’s eye. Chris. Chris who said he was trained in hunting. Chris who was no-contact with his family. Chris who more than once had called his family crazy. Oh no.
“There it is.” The old man mocked, and you rolled your eyes.
“Chris was right, you are a psycho. Who the fuck kidnaps people?” “Don’t act like you don’t understand what’s happening here.”
“Oh, I really don’t, other than you maybe being bitter that your son doesn’t talk to you anymore, like some middle aged mother in law who has a weird complex about her son. Do you have a weird complex about Chris?” You’d always been aware that your stress response was to word vomit, but you hadn’t exactly thought it’d apply in potentially life threatening situations. The old man, Gerard you were fairly sure his name was, pulled out a gun and aimed it at you.
“Maybe you just need a little encouragement.”
“Encouragement to what? You haven’t actually asked anything of me.”
Gerard sighed, and fired his gun, making you yelp and attempt to lean out of the way despite being unable to move. He’d not fired directly at you, but near you, a warning shot.
“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Dude do you have fucking dementia? Ask a question!” Gerard put his gun away and turned his back on you.
“Keep watch. Sometimes the encouragement just needs to be sitting and waiting, without food or water.”
That was how you were left in the warehouse with dumb and dumber, who had both almost laughed at your jokes about Gerard more than once. There was worse company, you supposed. When you saw something moving in your peripheral, you tried to ignore it, not wanting to risk being distracted from the men actively keeping you hostage. Once you got out of here, you had so many angry questions for Chris.
In fact, you yelled them at him while he was saving you. Shooting men in the legs and arms, knocking them out, breaking arms - it was all very attractive but you were pissed.
“Are you kidding? Hunting? I know you said your family was crazy but you could’ve told me that meant something different to the normal type! You could’ve fucking warned me, asshole!” You yelled as Chris panted and grunted, making sure he could safely untie you.
“We best be official after this.” You muttered as he pulled the rope away so you could stand, rubbing your wrists where red angry marks had appeared.
“Whatever you want.” He said with a small smile, relief clear in his features.
You were still mad at him, though.
Tags: @cainnoable @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @frillsinadress @categoryace
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You Were Marked: Day Thirty-Two.
pairing: din djarin x plus size / reverse age gap / fem!O/C
word count: 7.7K
chapter summary: Marathel is released from the hospital, Din changes his plans, and Marathel is surprised
warnings: angst angst angst, mention of illness, mention of past abuse, mention of mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing
***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***
You Were Marked: Masterlist
You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter
Marathel, still sleeping, slowly realized that someone was gently straightening out her arm. She came awake, and opened her left eye to a dim room and Ya-Bito holding her arm, stroking it. Marathel grunted something unintelligible; her face was mostly pressed against Din’s ribcage.
“I’m sorry, Marathel,” whispered Ya-Bito. “I just need to get some blood.” Marathel blinked her consent and winced against the prick of a needle. Ya-Bito collected the blood she required and put a pink bandage over the needle mark. “Go back to sleep,” whispered Ya-Bito with her alarming smile as she quietly left the room.
Din sighed in his sleep, flexed his legs, and tightened his arms around her and Grogu. Marathel lay awake, listening to the strong heartbeat below her cheek. A heart attack? wondered Marathel. Yes, she remembered heartbreak when a bonded Dahl would die. When Rodanthe unbound herself from her, her heart hurt, yes, she hurt all over.
But then she remembered the men of the Hold, the times they would catch the rhyddolur or the nwymunwya. Oh, did they ever raise such a fuss! They demanded so much of the already ragged women: more delicate foods, more bathing, more pleasuring, more soiled bedding, more scrubbing around their necessaries! Any woman in the Hold was expected to continue her work no matter how poorly she felt; the few times Marathel got out of working due to her cycle were an aberration. And even then, she would drag herself off her pallet to service the Bishop, or whomever he wished to watch degrade her; it wasn’t worth the extra beating. Those were the times she didn’t actually mind getting anally raped; at least then she just had to lay there. Hence, the joke only whispered in the kitchen, full of derision: wai wchlas. Man flu.
I suppose some things are the same for men from other planets. It was a little mean of her, though, teasing Din like that. She considered apologizing for her smart mouth, then decided against it. She did enjoy getting to use her snarky words — when she knew it didn’t mean a smack in the face. And Din once told me he loved me best when I said things like that.
But no more. Never again. They were untethered, and he wouldn’t say such sweet things to her anymore. Oh, he’d comfort her, dry her tears, feel pity for her, like he’d feel for any stranger, as he’d told her.
Din snuffled, then his breathing became even again. Marathel craned her neck to look up; the other times she’d slept in his arms her head was nestled between his shoulder and neck. This time she’d slipped lower to rest against his rib cage, and she felt a metal pocket closure pressing into her cheek. Looking up, in the dim light of the room, she could see … his chin?
Din’s helmet had caught on the pillow, and it had lifted the bottom edge just enough that part of his chin and jawline was exposed. How much of him have I seen? His hands, his forearms, quite nearly his entire torso, the top of his head, his … manhood, and now, this part of him that she’d only ever felt before. His soft skin, his strong jaw, and some patchy whiskers that had some silver threaded through.
Marathel tentatively reached out with a fingertip and just brushed a bit of beard on his chin, barely feeling the whiskers on her calloused finger, remembering running her fingers through his hair, and how he moaned against her lips as he kissed her. That was the only time she was able to touch his hair, and she desperately hoped she would remember how it felt, for this was more than likely be the last time she would be so intimate with Din.
And I only have this moment because of his pity for me. But … I’ll accept it, and let it carry me back to Tatooine. Then, I can focus on my future. And there, I’ll have friends that will keep me company while I figure out my life without the Bounty Hunter. I think I can bear that, so long as I have friends and I can see Grogu. Please, Frith, don’t let the Bounty Hunter take Grogu away from me.
Thinking of Grogu and the people she had left behind on Tatooine — especially Cobb’s easy smile and sparkling eyes — she fell asleep again.
It was a few hours later that Din felt someone jostling his shoulder. He turned his head to see Ya-Bito smiling at him. “Wake up, Mando. I’ve brought Marathel’s breakfast, Also, the doctor will be coming through in about thirty minutes, and she’s not big on patients sharing a bed.” Din grunted in affirmation, and Ya-Bito left, turning the lights up a little brighter on her way out.
Din was only half-awake, so he took inventory: his arms were both asleep, his neck had a crick in it, and Grogu was resting right on his bladder, which had hit critical mass. He looked down at Marathel. She still slept. He traced a glove tip along one of the spiral coils wrapped around her fingers. This is day thirty-two, Marathel. This is one of the few times you didn’t escape from me while we were sleeping. This is probably the last time I’ll get to hold you like this, and I’m so confused about how I’m supposed to feel about you. He cared about her, that much was obvious. He only wanted her to be happy and safe. He hoped she wouldn’t … didn’t hate him for his fluctuating emotions for her. He didn’t understand romantic love at the best of times, but whatever forces were at work between the two of them were way outside his comfort zone. If only …
But her breakfast was getting cold, and he really needed the vac tube. He squeezed her shoulder. “Marathel? Marathel, wake up.” Her head popped up, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Feeling okay?”
Marathel worked one eye open. “I feel horrible.” Din tilted his helmet, noticing her puffy, red-rimmed eyes and the red lines on her pale cheek from the pocket seams and zipper tab where she’d pressed her face to his chest. “My eyes ache.”
Unsure of what to say, Din said, “Ya-Bito brought your breakfast. And I need to get up.” Marathel nodded and sat up — thankfully without needing to push down on his full bladder to boost herself. She plucked the dozing Grogu off Din and nuzzled the boy’s ear as Din rolled off the bed with a groan and shambled to the vac tube. After relieving himself, he took off his helmet and took a look in the mirror at his own puffy, red eyes. Marathel’s story last night had affected him terribly. Even having something as simple as a doll was fraught with pain. Maybe she should stay here, stay in the psych ward, he thought.
But he couldn’t leave her behind again. He even regretted leaving her to go to Nevarro to get his helmet repaired; if he’d only been with her when her first treatment failed, if perhaps he’d gone with her to the Reconstructionists, if he’d been with her when she’d learned that her whole way of life was an abhorrent aberration …
And if frogs had wings, they wouldn’t bump their ass a-hoppin’, kid. Regrets and ifs and maybes distract you from what you need to do. If you make a bad decision, you do your best to bounce off your ass and keep hopping.
After hearing his buir’s words in his head, Din replaced his helmet with a sigh and left the fresher room to wash his hands at the sink. He soaked a washcloth in cold water for Marathel, turning around just in time to see her struggling with Grogu, who was actively trying to steal all the food from her plate. “Grogu, please, I know you’re hungry …”
“Listen to your Mama, kid, that is her breakfast, not yours.” He snagged Grogu from her and replaced the sausage links — floating in the air with the Force — on her plate. He handed her the washcloth. She muttered her thanks and held it against her eyes. Din sat down in the chair and said, “Your doctor will be coming in soon. They will probably talk to you about what you might want to do.”
“Do?”
“Whether you want to be released, or whether you might want to go in for psychiatric care.”
Marathel sighed and put the washcloth on her tray. “What do you think I should do?”
Din shifted in the chair, then said quietly, “I think that’s a decision you need to make.”
“Din … I don’t know enough to make that kind of decision. I’m lost out here. Right now, I only have you to help me. I know I’m a burden to you, but I need to know what you think I should do.”
Din shook his head and stammered, “Marathel … I ... my feelings for you ...”
Marathel put her hands to her forehead. “Urgh! Din, we need to talk about the important things! It doesn’t matter that you don’t love me anymore; that’s not the point right now! Please, tell me if going into this psych ward is a good idea, because I don’t know any different!”
“Marathel …”
“I’m a child, Din, just like Cobb says, I’m a full-grown child who dropped out of the sky! I need guidance if I’m going to survive out here! If I can’t rely on you for help, the one person, right here, right now, who understands what I’ve been through, then what am I supposed to do?”
Din spread his hands, saying, “I’m not the best person to ask, Marathel! Mandalorians don’t do psychiatry! I speak to my Confessor, the Armorer, and I follow her advice. I think about what my buir would say or do, and I follow the teachings of the Manda’lor. That’s it. Whatever is the most practical thing, that’s what I do.”
“Then what is the practical thing for me to do, Bounty Hunter?”
Marathel’s dropping back to calling him Bounty Hunter was not lost on Din. “Leaving you here would be inadvisable, in my opinion. I wouldn’t know when I could come back to get you. There are things I must do for my Creed, and soon, but I cannot leave you here, not knowing if you’re safe and all right. If you get released while I’m gone, and I can’t come to get you, what will you do? And, and ... my only perception of a psych ward, any psych ward, is that it’s not a good place. Ya-Bito has told you the same thing,” said Din. He paused, then leaned forward to put his hand near hers. “Regardless of whatever … has ended between us, I can’t … I don’t want you to stay here.” He leaned back in his chair, looking down to his knees. “But, your doctor is coming soon to talk to you, and you should consult their opinion, as well.”
Marathel took in his words, nodded, and said, “Thank you. Thank you. That was what I needed.” She took a breath, turned back to her tray, and frowned. “Grogu!”
Her tone made Din turn to Grogu, who had her toast in his mouth and part of a sausage in one hand. “Dank ferrik, Grogu, you opportunistic little … fink. I’m so sorry, Marathel. I … well, you were right. I haven’t taught him any manners. Did he leave you anything?”
“A runny egg and some fruit. I hate runny eggs.” Marathel sighed and pushed her tray away. “Perhaps someday you can stay in one place long enough to raise him right. How in Frith did your buir manage to raise you halfway decently?”
“I drove him into an early grave because I was a right shit,” said Din as he wiped Grogu’s mouth. “Perhaps Grogu is his way of getting back at me.” Marathel laughed at that, a real laugh that crinkled the skin around her eyes and colored her full cheeks. The only things marring her beauty were her facial wound, and her missing teeth. But she could get those fixed, and …
There was a knock on the door, and a voice came through the intercom: “Marathel? It’s Ya-Bito with Doctors Dine and Zohl. May we come in?”
Din quickly deposited a complaining Grogu in his bag with the stern command to be quiet. Marathel called out, “Come in, please.”
The nurse and doctors came in, and Din stood, saying, “I’ll step out …”
Ya-Bito asked, “Marathel? Did you want Mando here for this discussion? We’re going to talk about your release from this ward today, and what you may want to do next.”
Marathel looked up into Din’s visor, and he wondered if she’d say yes, stay or no, leave. Marathel swallowed, then said, “Please excuse us, Bounty Hunter.” Din nodded and left, disappointed. As he walked the halls towards the elevator, he considered her earlier words: it doesn’t matter that you don’t love me anymore.
It doesn’t matter, Bounty Hunter.
Bounty Hunter.
“Haar’chak,” muttered Din. Blinking rapidly a few times, he decided two things needed to be done: one, find some food for both himself and the kid. Two, he needed to talk to the harbormaster where the Crest was docked, because, with or without Marathel, he was apparently leaving this planet today.
Marathel, meanwhile, listened to Doctor Dine talk about her physical condition. Her D&C had been successful. Samples of tissue had been tested and none had been malignant — a new word for her that required quite a bit of explanation. Dine explained endometriosis more in depth as well, showing Marathel scans of her reproductive organs, commenting on their abnormalities. She recommended that Marathel see a specialist for potential hormone therapy or further surgery. Her wounds seemed to be healing well and she had no signs of infection. “There’s no reason why you can’t be released from this ward, Marathel. You seem well, and you’re strong and healthy overall. But there is the matter of your emotional and mental state.”
It was at this point that Doctor Zohl introduced herself as a psychiatrist that specialized in trauma. “Marathel, you are possibly the most traumatized person I have ever met, as well as the strongest. I have nothing but admiration for you. I only want you to have the most fulfilling life; that is the goal of everyone here.”
“I believe you,” said Marathel quietly.
“The thing is, Marathel, we are struggling with what would be the best course of action for you. In listening to you tell your story yesterday, I got the distinct feeling that four walls and a closed door cause you a great deal of anxiety. Therefore, we believe inpatient treatment — where you would stay here or go to another facility — would not be beneficial at this time. I would be concerned that you’d feel trapped, which would add to your anxiety, and do you more harm than good.
“And then, knowing that you come from a people who have been isolated for two millennia — coupled with the fact that you do not respond to bacta — we also can’t recommend that you go on medications that may help your mental state. We just don’t know how you may respond to antidepressants or anti-anxiety meds, because we don’t fully understand your full physiological being. Along with the fact that you have chronic brain damage, both due to physical trauma and hypoxia, drugs are just not a good idea at this time.”
Marathel began to feel despair. Can I not get better? Is there nothing that can help me?
Doctor Zohl sensed Marathel’s distress, and leaned forward to put her hand on Marathel’s knee. “Talk to me, Marathel.” Marathel closed her eyes and shook her head. “Marathel? This is what we think will work for you. You need to talk. The way you handled yourself yesterday was nothing short of amazing. However, we think you’re compartmentalizing and disassociating …” — Marathel opened her eyes, confused — “… but that’s a bunch of big words you don’t need to worry about at this point.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” asked Marathel in a small voice.
“We — and when I say ‘we’, I’m talking about myself and two other doctors — we just want to talk to you each day for a while. As we go along, as you become more comfortable, that may change.”
“How would that happen, if I’m going to leave here?”
Doctor Zohl held up a holopad. “Do you know what this is?”
Marathel nodded. “A holopad. I have one. Not here ... I think it’s on the Bounty Hunter’s ship. A friend gave it to me. I don’t know how to use it, because I ... can’t read.” These last two words were spoken in a shameful whisper, but when she stole a glance at the doctors, they seem unconcerned about her failing.
“Perhaps the Bounty Hunter can teach you how to use the holopad? We can give you a printout of the instructions of how to set up our visits together, and he can help you, yes?”
“Perhaps,” said Marathel with a shrug.
“You don’t believe he would help you? He seems to be very fond of you. He’s been here practically non-stop since he first brought you here.” Marathel was holding Grogu’s new Fawg on her lap, and she kept stroking the toy’s head. “And his little boy, of course, is obviously very precious to you.”
“Not right now; the brat stole most of my breakfast.”
The medics all laughed, then Doctor Zohl said, “We were surprised that you kept the child out of your chat with the New Republic officers. Both of you did. Is there a reason for that?”
“Yes.”
"But you’re not going to explain it?”
“No.”
Doctor Dine smiled and said, “I like your fierce loyalty. The Mandalorian is just as loyal to you. Yet you two both insist that you’re not in a relationship.”
“We’re not,” said Marathel with great sadness.
Doctor Zohl said, “Let’s leave that for now. Do you know what the Mandalorian intends to do once you leave here? Does he plan to take you somewhere?”
“I believe he will be taking me back to the planet where he first got me medical care. After I was made a Belwhyn. The people there, they were good to me. They are friends. I feel safe there.”
“Then what will happen, do you think?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think that far ahead.”
Doctor Zohl nodded. “Are you willing to chat with us over holo? We really think it would be beneficial to you. Friends are good, having supportive people is good. But you must understand that having a medical professional support system for your mental health is advantageous, and frankly, we’re good at it. I mean, you wouldn’t eat food that was made by someone who wasn’t good at cooking, right?”
Marathel smiled a tiny smile. “Well, no. I wouldn’t. For example, I’m not going to eat that runny egg,” she said, pointing to her plate.
Ya-Bito stood up and took a look. “Eewww. You’re right. I’d be happy to bring you something else.”
Marathel nodded, and Ya-Bito left to find another tray. The doctors discussed things with her for a little longer, and Marathel began at feel more at ease. She now had a plan, and plans were good; she couldn’t knit a sweater for Grogu without a plan, could she? So many things for her were new and unknown and frightening, but she had hope that these doctors could help her sick mind.
The doctors left to work on her release, and Ya-Bito brought a new breakfast for Marathel. The nurse wanted to see what Din had picked out for her at Mise-Tusil, so Marathel allowed Ya-Bito to bring out all the purchases and hold them up. “He didn’t do a half-bad job, your Mandalorian,” mused Ya-Bito as she carefully cut off all the tags. Not my Mandalorian, thought Marathel. The nurse continued, “Normally, I would advise you to wash everything – especially the underwear – before wearing, but you don’t seem to have much of a choice.” Ya-Bito folded everything again, and told Marathel she would find a packet of adhesive pads to wear instead of the disposable underwear.
After she left, Marathel finished her breakfast – with a properly cooked egg this time – and carefully stroked the neckline of one of the tops Din had bought. Such an odd thing, a man buying her clothing. And undergarments, for Frith’s sake. The Mandalorian, choosing undergarments for her! Surely these things were worth a lot of that money that Marathel was still so unsure about. She reminded herself that he had exchanged the coins for useable money; that’s what Fennec had told her. She then wondered what in Frith she was going to do for money! She was going to need the stuff in order to survive, wasn’t she? She couldn’t live off the generosity of the Bounty Hunter, or even Fennec and Boba, for that matter! She began to panic, fearing that the voices of the Dahls would fill her mind with horrible thoughts — she could just hear their quiet chattering — but instead, the practical-sensible voice came back to her, calming her.
One thing at a time, old girl. Tatooine is a big planet, and you have skills! You can cook, you can clean. You can care for children. You can grow a garden. You know how to sew, how to spin, how to weave. You can work somewhere like the palace! You can make things to sell! Silnima came from a bad place, and look at her now!
The possibilities suddenly filled her with excitement, a completely new feeling to her. Marathel felt overwhelmed again, but for the first time, with how good her life could be that she began to cry. Just then, Ya-Bito returned with Siewan in tow. Seeing her in tears, Siewan said, “Oh, kriffing hell, what is it, honey? Who made you cry? Whose ass do we have to kick?”
“I’m happy, I’m happy,” insisted Marathel.
“If you say so! The docs are still working on your release, but you can get dressed and ready to leave. If that is your plan. Is it?”
Marathel nodded. “I am … leaving, yes.”
“With Mando?”
“With Mando.”
“Good,” said Ya-Bito. “Whatever you think is or isn’t going on between you two, it’s obvious he cares about your welfare. And I also think that you are as important to him as he is to you. You two just haven’t … found each other at the same place yet.”
Marathel frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course not. But it is both our fervent hope that you will,” said Siewan. “Now, let’s get you dressed. Not sure where your Mandalorian is ...”
“Not my Mandalorian ...” said Marathel, rolling her eyes.
“Sure, honey, and maybe Kowakian monkey-lizards are flying out of my ass,” scoffed Siewan, making Ya-Bito laugh. “Let’s get you ready to blow this joint so you and Mando and the little greenie can fly off into the great black yonder.”
Din, meanwhile, was pissed off. He’d gone back to the Crest to find out that Teva’s goons had damaged his ship when removing the tracker, shorting out a section of his electrical system. Not only that, he was now blocked in by a fleet of cordovas for some high-rolling sonofabitch and his entourage, and he couldn’t leave until fucking tomorrow. The harbormaster merely shrugged and handed Din a credit for a room at the connecting hotel. Teva was at least apologetic, but couldn’t do anything beyond assuring Din that the damage would be repaired before tomorrow morning.
Grumbling, Din went to the hotel and presented his credit chit to the front desk, who said that a room wouldn’t be ready until mid-afternoon. Also, the chit was only good for a mid-sized room with one double bed. Din offered to put up the difference for a second room, a suite, anything, but the hotel was completely booked. Of fucking course, thought Din. One bed. My life has become a ridiculous rom-com holo! Dammit, Frith, get better writers!
He started the trek back to the medical center, almost getting there before he remembered that he had also meant to grab some food for himself and Grogu. He could get by without food, but the kid was a different story. He ducked into a dumpling house, and the proprietor — apparently familiar with Mandalorians — generously set up a quick private curtained booth for Din to eat in. In thanks, Din bought a few sweet dough dumplings for Marathel to try. He figured he owed her an apology for allowing Grogu to abscond with her breakfast, and possibly another apology for waffling when she had asked him directly for advice. While he was sitting there, watching Grogu work his way through a dumpling almost as large as he, his comm.link beeped. “What?”
“It’s Karga. I need an answer, Mando.”
Din sighed. “Go ahead.”
“Well, congratulations!”
“In her name only.”
“Her name?”
“It’s her money, it’ll be in her name.”
“When did it become her money?”
“Never you mind. Just shoot me the papers; I’ll get her to sign them.”
There was a long pause at the other end before Karga said, “I set aside that property for you.”
“Well, now it’s going to be hers.”
Another long pause. “I’ll hang on to the papers until you get here. See you soon.”
After Karga clicked off, Din sighed deeply and stared at the wall, mourning the death of The Plan. The Plan was no more. The Plan was to get a house for all three of them. Two bedrooms at least, one for himself and Grogu, one for her, her own room but in a house together, where she could adapt to a different and new life, hoping that in time, maybe, the arrangement could change. Perhaps it could have even changed to him moving into Marathel’s room, living as a couple, as a family of a father and mother and child, somehow adding more children, despite reality dictating that no natural children would ever come to them … but that was all only wishful thinking. Even after Marathel had announced she wanted to return to Unmanarall, he’d hoped somehow that he could change her mind, that she’d have some sort of epiphany that she was not a monster that needed to be exiled. And now she was separating herself from him even more, going back to calling him Bounty Hunter and making decisions for herself that didn’t involve him.
Perhaps he didn't feel love anymore, but he could feel regret.
Din put his helmet back on, thanked the proprietor, and left, with Grogu in his bag, still munching on the giant dumpling. He made his way back to Marathel’s ward, walked up to her door, and found it wide open.
She was gone.
The bed had been stripped.
His heart fell into his stomach. She left? She left? And didn’t even tell him what she had planned to do? Even just to say a kriffing goodbye? Feeling panicky, he went to the nurse’s desk, looking for Siewan, Ya-Bito, someone who could give him some answers. The young woman at the desk looked in the chart tracker and all she was able to tell him was that Marathel had been released, but nothing beyond that. He thanked her, wondering how he should go about finding Marathel. He took a few steps back, looking up and down the corridor, when Ya-Bito stepped out of another patient’s room. He hurried over to her, pleading, “Please, Ya-Bito, is Marathel ...”
Ya-Bito pointed behind her. “Goodness, Mando, she’s just down the hall, in the family room. We needed to prep her bed for a new patient.”
Din nodded his thanks, and then amused the hell out of Ya-Bito by jogging down the corridor to find Marathel, skidding to a halt in an open doorway. He peered into a large waiting room, where Marathel stood, looking confusedly at a holoprojector screen. She was wearing the russet top and dark pants he’d bought her the day before. Her hair was still braided, and she wore the pink fuzzy socks on her feet. She noticed him in the doorway, and turned towards him, asking, “Do they ... the people on the screen. Do they know we can see them?”
Din hadn’t heard her, for he was too distracted by the sight of her. The red top did put color in her cheeks, and stood out against her pale skin. The scooped neck showed off her upper chest while still being modest, with a decorative tie just under her breasts. The fabric was cut in such a way that it draped delicately over her curves, convex here, concave there, showing off her waist in a way he hadn’t quite ever seen before. The dark charcoal-colored pants also draped softly over her generous hips and her backside, and the sight made him want to drop to his knees before her and hug her tightly, just to feel her strong leg muscles rippling under the fabric of her pants. She was somehow ... more sexy, more tantalizing, clothed and standing before him, than she had been naked and astride him. He belatedly realized she had asked him a question. To cover up his distraction, he lifted Grogu out of his bag, allowing him to run to the toy table in the room. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The people. On the holo screen. Why are they there? They were just talking to each other, and now ...” Marathel blushed, and Din turned to the screen. It was a rom-com holo of some sort – he wasn’t familiar with this story, but he recognized the actress. She and some Twi’lek actor were kissing the shab out of each other in a bed, draped as they were in what Din called the magic L-shaped sheet – it covered her up to her armpits while only covering him from the waist down, a typical bedlinen in stories like these, he’d noticed over the years.
“It’s a holo, Marathel.”
Marathel turned even more red. “But don’t they know that we can see ... I mean, they’re just ...”
“I’m not getting why this is bothering you.”
“They’re just ... showing everyone their private, intimate moments! What in Frith is wrong with them?”
Finally, it clicked for Din. There had been a holo screen in her room, but they’d never turned it on. Her only experience with a holopad was either talking to him or seeing the holo of his recording of the burlesque dancers. Marathel had no idea of what she was seeing, because she’d never seen a rom-com holo story before. She thinks that these characters are real people, really making love on a screen before whomever may be watching them! This tickled him even more than the time she’d been stuck in a tree, and he began to chuckle.
Marathel’s eyes flashed with fury. “What is so funny?” she hissed.
“Nothing,” said Din, quickly getting under control; poking fun at her shortcomings only annoyed her. “None of what you’re seeing is real life. These people on the screen — they are pretending to be other people. They are acting out a story.”
“Why?”
“‘Why?’” parroted Din. Well, that’s a good question. “To entertain people.”
“So they are playing … guesedd?”
“What does that mean?”
“As children, I would play dwycwingen and Tymfy would play gochgoch and dwycwingen and gochgoch would talk about what they did outside the Hold walls. Running in the woods, getting chased by Dahls, sitting in the flowers. Doing what we — Marathel and Tymfy — couldn’t.”
Din felt a new pang of sadness for her, but also a happy feeling, knowing that she had a friend, and also happy knowing that she had at least some moments of a normal childhood, with games and friends and the love of a parent-figure. He had buir and she had Olba. He wished that she could have had buir as well, to teach her what a father should be. Finally, he said, “That is why people watch these holos. To see, hear, experience someone else’s life. Some holos are funny, some are dramatic, or sad. Some are scary. Some are romantic.”
“Romantic?”
“About people falling in love.”
“These people are not … loving each other right now?”
“No. I can tell you that the woman on the screen is married to a Rebel Admiral. I’ve seen her in other stories. The guy, I have no idea who he is.”
Marathel frowned. “So, she’s the dwycwingen, and he’s the gochgoch … but you have seen her be a dwycwingen with a different gochgoch in a different holo?” Din sketched a complicated flowchart in his head, parsing her sentence, but finally nodded. Marathel then said, “Now I feel … sad. They can kiss and … but it means nothing.”
“It’s meaningful to the people like to watch these things,” said Din, shrugging.
Marathel sighed and sat down in a padded chair. “So much confuses me.”
Din chuckled and said, “It amuses me sometimes, just how little you know about the galaxy. How much is new to you, when it’s so commonplace to me.”
“Cobb said that, too. He said … that my childlike ways warmed his cold, curmudgeon heart.”
“Did he?”
“Oh yes. Still not sure what curmudgeon means …” mused Marathel with a smile.
Din bristled. “Just how much did Cobb say to you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“He paid too much attention to you, Marathel.” Too handsy, too touchy-feely.
“You are …” Marathel struggled to think of the Newtalk word. “Bifennddus’sai?”
“Huh?”
“You are angry at the attention he gave me,” snapped Marathel.
Din dropped his head and muttered, “Jealous. The word is jealous.”
And just like that, Marathel had had enough of his snippiness whenever she mentioned Cobb. “Are you? Are you jell-uhs? Angry at me because Cobb was being a friend to me when I needed one?” Din looked back up. “I fell out of bed and hurt my knee; he helped me get up from the floor. He held my hand while I was undergoing those first injections, and I was frightened. He carried me, me, fat as I am, speeding back to the palace, when my treatment failed and I was losing all my blood again. He pulled me down off that windowsill and held me while I cried, after you left me there. You left me sitting on that windowsill. Yes, I said cruel things to you, I wanted the truth to drive you away, but I still had that childish hope that it wouldn’t matter to you. Because you had told me that you loved me and nothing else mattered. But of course it mattered. You didn’t love me. You never did.”
“Marathel …” began Din.
“It was all the Dahls’ doing.”
“I know. I know, Marathel.”
Marathel shook her head. “No, you don’t! Rodanthe tethered us … tied us together in a bond … because she wanted to someone to love me.”
“She … she what?”
“The Bishop told me that the Dahls kept all the men of the Hold away from me, killing anyone male who came near. But you … you weren’t from the Hold, and the Dahls knew that. They knew you’d be different. They let you come near me, to see if I would accept you, and when I told them to leave you alone … when you pulled a boomer on them …”
“… Blaster …” mumbled Din.
“The Dahls took advantage of my bond with them and my curiosity of you and Grogu. I could hear their noises and emotions but when they were all together in the throes of mating, they could make me do things. They made me grab at you. Pull you to me. Make you take me. And then I bit you …”
“Marathel, it’s …”
“But you didn’t consent to that. None of it!”
“Neither did you!”
Marathel ignored him. “Rodanthe … she loved me, but she wanted me to have a mate. She had her mate. Dahls keep their mates, the ones they like best. She had her kits, including me. And her other kits got their mates, she had her mate, so why not me, I suppose? So, when you and Grogu arrived, she thought you would be a good mate for me. I bit you, I marked you as mine, she tethered us together. Easy.”
“Easy?”
“Easy because I already loved you. Or I thought I did. Or she thought I did.” Marathel angrily wiped away a tear.
“She told me to love you.”
Marathel looked up in surprise. “She did what?”
“She came to me, the same night, after we … the second night of mating. She … looked at me. Stared at me, hypnotized me, smelt my breath, and then told me to love you and disappeared.”
Marathel closed her eyes, and more tears spilled over. “I wanted so much to be loved by you. I wanted more kindness. I wanted more affection. I’d never known kindness, or affection, so, of course, I wanted more.” She opened her eyes and Din was holding out a cloth for her to dry her tears, and she laughed. After blowing her nose, she said, “I also knew that it was such a struggle for you, to remain within your creed while … but it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?
“I told Rodanthe to release you. I told her that I could not keep a hold on you that you were not aware of. I had been a slave my whole life, first to the Bishop, then to the Dahls. I was not, not ever, going to keep you bound to me when it wasn’t v from your own heart. So, she released you. And then, it was as if my blood had turned to cold hard water; my heart stopped beating. I was utterly, truly, alone. And you felt the same way, just for a moment?”
Din nodded. “Yes. And I was so frightened I’d forget you again. But …”
“You remembered me, but you didn’t ‘forget’ you loved me. You cannot forget a feeling you never had to begin with.”
Din felt his heart hurt again and he dropped to one knee in front of her. “Ma’mwsh ha’laa…”
“It was all Rodanthe’s doing. You are concerned about me, you do not wish me ill, you feel you have a responsibility to me, but you do not love me.” Marathel’s face flushed with embarrassment, having to explain all this to him.
Din carefully took her hand, and said quietly, “Marathel, I don’t understand at all what those Dahls did to me, to us … I know I should love you. But I can’t remember why, or even how. And I’m so, so, sorry.”
He deserves so much better than me. “If you can’t remember why or how, then … you shouldn’t, I don’t think.” She pulled her hand away from his, and tightly interlaced her fingers together.
“Marathel …”
More tears fell. “Can we go?”
“Go? Does that mean you’re leaving the hospital… coming with me?”
Marathel shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yes. Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I … it was a concern of mine, yes,” said Din, mentally kicking himself for waffling again.
“Did you bring my shoes, at least?”
“Yes, I have your shoes.”
Ya-Bito and Siewan poked their heads around the doorframe. “We told her she couldn’t leave without her shoes,” said Siewan. “And not until you said goodbye to us, Mando.” Marathel and Din both turned to the nurses, who realized they’d interrupted something terribly important: Mando was on one knee before her, and Marathel was in tears. “Ooooh … shit. Um … okay, quick goodbye, then, and we’ll leave you alone,” said Siewan, grimacing.
Din stood, allowing the women to hug Marathel. They wished her well, and gave her release papers as well as contact information for the both of them. “Mando’s going to help you get your holopad set up, yes?”
Marathel colored. “I haven’t asked him yet ...”
“I’ll take care of it,” said Din.
“Good,” said Ya-Bito, and both of the nurses came up close to Din, making him take a half-step back. “And you’re going to take care of her, fella? Treat her right?”
Before Din could respond, Siewan said quietly, “Because we know what drugs to use.”
Ya-Bito nodded. “Drugs that won’t be found on an autopsy.”
“And we know where to stick the needle.”
“With no needle-tracks left behind.”
“No-one would ever know.”
Din took another half-step back, mumbling, “Yes, ma’am ...”
The nurse both laughed. “Oh, lighten up, Mando, we’re just kidding with you!” guffawed Siewan. Then she dropped her chin and said, “Or are we?” the nurses said their last goodbyes, and left.
Din felt properly chastised, and he went back to one knee to help Marathel put on her shoes, despite her protesting she was more than capable of doing it herself. He had trouble with the left one, and she bent down to help as he lifted his head, smacking her nose into Din’s helmet with a bonk. “I’m sorry, mesh’la,” said Din, not even realizing he had said mesh’la, and Marathel’s face colored as she realized that he was actually quite close to her and had automatically put his hand to her cheek. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine ... let me just get up,” said Marathel, pushing herself to her feet. Grogu ran over to hug her ankle with a squeal. “I appear to have grown a Grogu again,” she said, then she bent over to pick up Grogu. It hurt her injured shoulder, and she groaned.
Din’s hand went to her shoulder. “Does your shoulder still hurt? Did you need a sling?”
“No, it’s mostly okay, so long as I don’t wave my arms about much. It’s okay. I’m all right.”
“Well, let me carry Grogu. He’s heavy.” Marathel reluctantly handed over Grogu once she’d peppered his fuzzy head with kisses. “Ready to go? Are you able to walk?”
“Yes, if I can just …” Marathel put her arm through his again, and Din felt a spark of pride, just having her on his arm. It was if he had just met her again, as if somehow … she was a completely different woman. He walked her through the door, to the elevators, down to the lockers, where she sat on a bench and chatted with Grogu while Din re-armed himself. They slowly walked over the footbridge, allowing Marathel to look up and around at all the flashing lights, buildings, and decorations of the casinos all around them. Once they’d gotten to the other side, Din noticed the women’s clothing shop where he’d met Meejil and The Great YellowHair TwatWaffle and noticed a sign saying, “CLOSED” on the door. He wondered briefly what the story was with that while he handed Marathel into one of the droid carts. Din crowded in next to her, programmed in their destination to Mise-Tusil, and the cart zipped off to its track.
“Aw,” pouted Marathel. “This one isn’t as fast.”
“You’ve ridden one?”
Marathel nodded. “With Fennec. We had …” the cart suddenly stopped; a pedestrian had stepped in the cart’s way. Marathel yelped and slid in the seat, and grabbed at Din.
Din threw his arm around her, pulling her close against him. “Haar’chak! Are you all right?”
“I’m okay! I’m all right.”
Din felt her body against his arm as he looked into her startled eyes, as he caught the warmth of her breath in his helmet, as he felt time stop for a moment. I don’t love her, right? No, I don’t. Do I? I don’t know. But she’s right. If I’m not sure … then I guess … Din sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Marathel nodded. She smiled sadly at him and squeezed his hand. “I’m okay. I’m all right.” Fake it ‘til you make it, old girl.
The cart began moving again. “We have… a lot… we need to talk about,” said Din.
“Yes, we do.” Marathel stared off in front of them. “How many days until we get back to Tatooine?”
“I’m not … you’re not going back to Tatooine.”
Marathel was aghast. “What? Not going back … but … why?”
Din felt like a heel, because he was not going to tell her the full truth. “You said you hate it there.”
“Tatooine is the only other place I know. I’m not … I can’t … where, then?”
“Nevarro. I bought a house …”
Marathel quickly held her breath, thinking a house? For us?
Din continued, “You bought it, truthfully. Your… bounty. I only handled the paperwork. It’s a small place, but it’s a good-sized patch of land. A place where you can feel safe. Where … you can be a recluse if you want to be.”
No, just me, alone.
“It’s the one place that I come back to on a regular basis. You would be able to see Grogu. I don’t go to Tatooine often, and … I couldn’t take you away from him.”
Just everyone else I know. My friends. And Cobb. Especially Cobb.
“Marathel?” She turned to Din. “Are you ... upset about the house? Nevarro?”
“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Of course, I’ll follow your judgement. Whatever you think is best.”
Din, unconvinced, wanted to hold her hand, but was afraid to. “So, you’re okay with my decision?”
Marathel nodded as she stared off in front of her, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. “I’m okay. I’m all right.”
Din didn’t believe her, but they remained silent until the cart stopped.
You Were Marked: Day Thirty-Two point Five, part I ->
#the mandalorian#din djarin fanfiction#mando angst#the mandalorian angst#din djarin angst#starwarsficnetwork#pedrostories#mando x plus size oc#mando x original female character#reverse age gap#mandalorian romance
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Tagged by the incomparable @dingoat -- thank you! <3
3 ships
Right now, to nobody's surprise, Gale/Devi is eating my soul. On paper, they shouldn't work -- he's an educated, wealthy, powerful mage (who makes very poor life choices), and she's a much-younger-than-him thief who grew up as an urchin on the streets of Baldur's Gate, whose only "acceptable" skill is playing a violin (apparently pickpocketing and stabbing people aren't considered widely acceptable or desirable skills?). But in all the ways that really count, they are compatible -- they're protective of each other and their friends, and Devi's street-smarts balance out Gale's book/arcane knowledge, and her feisty-ness is another counter to his more balanced way of dealing with things (read: he's 90% of her impulse control). I suppose opposites DO attract! ;)
Theron/Xaja has lived in my brain ever since Shadow of Revan dropped, in canon-verse and in at least two AU's. Theron definitely brought out a side of Xaja that isn't necessarily a proper Jedi side to show, but it's definitely her -- she's also feisty, and protective, and she's got a snarky streak to her that sings to Theron's soul. And she loves Theron's devotion to the cause, and his intelligence, and his wit.
(also, looking at Xaja and Devi... apparently I've got a TYPE when it comes to my main characters in RPGs. You should take a look at my canon Warden from DAO sometime, Lynaen... who ALSO is a redheaded dual-wielding rogue with a healthy dose of snark. At least she was raised a Cousland and didn't spend time learning how to pickpocket on the streets like the other two? #roguelifeFTW)
And I gotta talk about Reanden/Mairen too. They started on a bit of a whim when @andveryginger and I decided to throw them together for a couple of one-off kiss prompts, annnnnd now they run a good chunk of our respective brains (Reanden likes to hang out in Ginger's head a lot). Mai (Ginger's) loves Reanden's intelligence, and his dedication to his kids and the Republic, and the compassionate, caring streak he has under his sociopathic facade. And he's got a type for snarky redheaded Corellian Jedi ladies -- the fact that Mai loves his kids like they're her own, and doesn't think less of him for his rare moments of vulnerability, means the galaxy to him.
First Ship
Oh man -- my very first OTP was Faramir/Eowyn from LOTR, ever since I first read the books at the ripe old age of 12 years old, and it's STILL one of my favourite ships. I think, even 20 years ago, I was seeing myself in Eowyn (as a female character, as one who wanted to fight and seek out renown, as one who, as I would discover later on in my own life, had a bucketload of mental health problems to the tune of depression), and wanted my own Faramir (gentle, noble, compassionate, intelligent). So a bit of projection there? ;) The first ship I wrote... well, I'd started a girl-falls-into-Middle-earth fic in high school, and the endgame goal was my OC with Legolas, but looking back on it now, I think my OC may have had more chemistry with Boromir. Either way, that fic has been abandoned for like 15 years -- I ain't bringing it back out to resurrect it. ;)
Last Song
According to Spotify, "Master Of Illusion" by Battle Beast! If/when I come up with a Gale playlist, that song's going on it.
Currently Reading
"Tress of the Emerald Sea" by Brandon Sanderson. I'm not too far into it, but so far I'm enjoying it! (Also, I LOVE Sanderson's writing style, and the little bits of snark he peppers in there. Current favourite line: "... he had a jaw so straight that it made other men question if they were.")
Last Film
In theatres -- "Argylle", which I enjoyed! I wouldn't class it as a "favourite" movie, but it was fun! At home (read: at Chez Boyfriend), it was "RED" -- that's one of my favourites. Bruce Willis and Karl Urban snarking at each other... =D (Karl is also my faceclaim for Reanden, and that movie was a big inspiration!)
Currently Craving
Nothing at the moment! I have my coffee and I have a big-ass Costco-sized muffin that I'm working on before I go for my tattoo appointment. (Also, Part 1 of my tax return came in last week... I could get ALL the groceries, thank God! Part 2 is dropping on Thursday, for all the backpay after the CRA applied the ADHD disability credit to my previous years... I legit cried when I saw that number. I can afford to get my car fixed, AND get this new tattoo, AND a haircut, AND maybe, I don't know, throw something into a retirement fund!)
Tagging, if you wish: @greyias @storyknitter @nayci @elveny @abysskeeper @auroraesmeraldarose
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OC Questions Tag
Thank you, @thewriteflame for the tag!
Let us focus on the OC of my Perfect 'Verse, Miguel Chua y Hizon:
5 words to physically describe your OC:
Tan-skinned, dark-eyed, medium-height, smirking, and snarky.
Who inspired your OC?:
I do not have a singular source of inspiration for my OC, but he is the product of the questions in my mind like how would Jo Gar and Sadi Ratan would deal with someone with a victim-slash-survivor of Filipino and Chinese heritage (he is a Chinese mestizo, BTW). Someone who would rather gouge his eyes than deal with the likes of them for various reasons. Someone who defies the two men's way of thinking of his kind, someone who does not let them bully him.
Give me a song to define your OC:
Cassandra by Taylor Swift, which expresses his fears of not being believed by many (especially by Jo Gar and Sadi Ratan) and paying the ultimate price for trying to expose the truth about a family that actually committed crimes.
If I met your OC on the street, how would they greet me?:
If I bump with him on the street, he would be freaking out and go apologetic about me being hurt, like "Oh no! I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" But he would be gentlemanly with me throughout our interactions and ensure that I am safe if I decide to leave.
Can your OC be your best friend? Why?:
If he is in the current state he is in the 'Verse, it is going to be difficult to get through his armor of sarcasm. But if he lets you in, you will see that underneath all the layers of snark, you will see that he cares about his family and friends, he has fears and insecurities, and that he does his best to keep himself above water. He is a sweet, smart, loyal guy bogged down by his personal baggage (and his secret mission) but tries not to show it to others due to his upbringing, training, and circumstances. Given the circumstances, it may take time, but yes, I can be besties with Miguel because I see his struggles and I go through such as well and we love to roast the two guys (because why the hell not? The feeling is mutual!)
1 adjective and 1 noun to describe your OC:
Mistrustful survivor
Soft-tagging: @avoidingcertaindoom, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @winterandwords, @laplumedemaureen, but this is also an open tag for those who want to participate in the game.
Happy Writing!
#writeblr#writeblr tag game#oc questions tag#original character: miguel chua#perfect 'verse#jo gar#mistrustful survivor with a heart
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In Defense of Tech's Hairline
It breaks my heart when I see fan art of Tech with a full head of hair.
While I don’t mind seeing different versions of him (darker skin and different features to better resemble Temuera Morrison is awesome, and I love it!), it does seem as if fans are trying to override a critical part of aging for many adults.
After all, 50% of biological men will lose their hair before 50, 25% of them before the age of 21. 21!
So, when people change Tech’s hairline, it makes me feel quite sad. It’s something that many people go through, and it’s as if the message is: “If you’re balding, you’re not handsome enough. I need to fix that.”
(Tech's skin, bone structure, and puppy dog eyes prove that statement is wrong, as seen above).
Which is far from the truth. There’s plenty of incredibly handsome folks with less hair, but even so, it’s a part of aging that many people are incredibly insecure and embarrassed about, because society sees thick hair as beautiful, and receding or balding as old or silly.
Look, I’m a lady with long blond hair in real life. So why am I worked up about this?
Well, let me tell a quick story, namely, of a guy I know who reminds me so much of Tech.
That guy is my husband of almost a decade.
A chief systems engineer with a graduate degree in science, my husband is an adrenaline junkie, an Eagle Scout, a gaming geek, and an absolute loving papa bear to our daughters. He’s Tech IRL, and it’s part of the reason I fell head over heels in love with that member of Clone Force 99.
(Above: Tech, but I'm sure my spouse has said that to me when I've asked when we're finally going on vacation to Hawai'i).
My husband and I met in graduate school, when he was 23 and I was 24. He wrestled in high school, and did competitive jiu-jitsu throughout undergrad and graduate school as well. As a result, his fair hair was always buzzed, making it impossible to grab during a grapple. But there was another reason he kept his hair very short.
My then-boyfriend was already going bald, in his early 20’s.
He could have been sensitive about it, but, ever the stoic cowboy type (I married a Texan, what can I say?) he just shrugged it off, and kept his hair barely above stubble, so few noticed. Eventually, he grew it out, but his receding hairline still bothered him.
He made up for it by growing a magnificently sculpted beard, but snarky remarks from friends and strangers still came through, ranging from how he looked older than me, to asking who he was cursed by to have so much facial hair but none on his head.
Finally, the inevitable ‘halo’ happened, shortly after our wedding. You know what I’m talking about:
My husband was not even 30. When he noticed the inevitable full loss of his hair, because of a friend’s unflattering picture of him on Facebook, the clippers came out, and he’s had a fully buzzed and shaved head (a la Captain Picard) ever since.
Once in a while, he lets his hair grow back…and that hairline comes out, along with the halo on his crown. And guess who happened to be on the screen when my toddler and I were scrolling through Disney + one fine day?
Sure enough, my almost two year old actually pointed at the screen and screamed, “DADA!” when Tech appeared. The fact that it was a scene where Tech was happily ignoring everyone and tapping away on his data pad was pure kismet--that was my husband on the screen!
My youngest and I got hooked on the show ever since.
My husband is a dashing, handsome, confident guy who knows he’s smart and that he’s loved.
Just like Tech.
Seeing the internet go donkey bonkers for him and that hairline of his makes me grin nonstop. (We will not discuss the finale on season 2 here and no, I have not let my toddler watch it either) I like knowing that a ton of people are absolutely simping and crushing on a guy with a receding hairline.
It gives me hope that many who are not feeling confident due to hair loss can see someone like Tech, and suddenly think: “The man is self-assured as all heck, and he has hair like me. Maybe I should be more like him!”
We do not talk as much about hair loss, because, ironically enough, Tech has a quote about it: "It is a fundamental part of life."
So, when I see Tech redrawn with a full head of hair, I just think of the heartache my poor honey went through as a young guy in his 20’s, already facing an inevitable part of aging the vast majority do not look forward to.
It's inevitable, but there's plenty of handsome dudes with little to no hair, ranging from Picard to Jason Statham and now, our animated neurodivergent prince of the Marauder. I love his hairline.
Besides, we all can’t be Howzer, dang it, with his flawless fade and mop of glorious hair.
("Howzer deserves his own issue of Tiger Beat," - Reddit)
#thebadbatch#cloneforce99#techthebadbatch#tech#star wars#star wars clone troopers#star wars tbb#tbb#tbb tech#hair#balding#male pattern baldness#i love my husband#my husband is tech lol#we did meet at a university with 'tech' in the name so idk
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a/n: Hi all, I'm looking to poke my head back in for a bit since I still have some more stories to tell. Anyway, let me know what you guys think of this since it was living rent free in my head for a bit.
Warning(s): none
The base was in full swing as the afternoon approached. Unfortunately for one member of 141 the day began far too early for his liking. A hand passed through the close kept sides of his Mohawk as he shuffled into the break room. As he took in his surroundings, an odd sound met his ears. He waited a moment before hearing it again. Sniffling. He was the only one in the room.. he thought before he swept the room finding the source curled up under a table for two.
Underneath sat a little girl. Her fingers curling tighter around the stuffed animal she held.
“Well hello, lass,” he greeted as if speaking to a skittish kitten, “whatcha cryin’ for?”
The girl curled tighter into herself, “Mama and Papa says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
He smiled a bit, “they’re pretty smart. Well, my name is Johnny, but you can call me Soap. What’s your name?”
“…Lina.” She replied, hiding her mouth behind her stuffed rabbit, “and this is Hase.”
“It’s good to meet you, Lina.” He moved to sit on the floor to be more at her level, “now what’s got you down?”
She rubbed at one of her piercing blue eyes, “mama and I came to see papa at work. He was gonna take me to shoot guns.”
The soldier nodded, “that sounds like fun,”
“But mama was talking to a man and I thought I saw papa so I went after him and…and I can’t find him.” Her lower lip quivered.
“‘S alright, no need to cry. Tell you what. I know my way around here and we can find your dad together.”
His answer came from her nodding. Her blonde ponytail swishing with each movement of her head. After a few moments the little girl was coaxed out from her hiding place.
“So, what’s your dad look like?”
She thought for a moment, “well he’s big. Like really big.” She put up her hands and stood on tip toes for emphasis, “an-and he wears a mask to scare bad guys, and he’s really good at those guns that shoot things really far away.”
Soap pondered the girl’s clues for a moment until he glanced at her hair once more as a smirk curled his lip. “I think I know where your dad is, let’s go.”
A knock sounded disturbing the sound of a pen scratching a signature.
“It’s open.”
The sergeant stepping in with a snarky grin was met with a flat gaze.
“Lt, you dog.”
“Hell are you going on about, Johnny,”
“I thought what we had was special,” Soap replied as if hurt, “and here you go keeping this adorable lass a se-”
“That’s not my papa.”
The sergeant nearly broke his neck to glance at the girl, “lass, you’re sure?”
Lina nodded, “Papa’s bigger.”
Wait. Bigger than Ghost? Then who-
“Papa!” She squealed, charging past the sergeant towards the soldier who stopped in the doorway from the girl’s squeal.
Without missing a beat, the colonel scooped up the child, who began to throw her arms around his neck.
“I missed you.” She buried her face into the cowl of his mask.
“Guess you got your answer,” Ghost huffed in amusement.
The two men were ignored by the colonel as he addressed his little one, “I missed you too, but where is your mother, Prinzessin?”
“Mama was talking to a man. He has the room that smells bad. We can go see her!”
“We will be waiting in my office, and leave Ghost and Soap be.”
As the human battering ram took his leave, a tiny hand waved over his massive shoulder.
“Bye, Soap.”
It was only a few days when Soap arrived at his desk with an offensively pink envelope resting on top of a stack of paperwork. Once he plucked up the scrap of paper and popped open the seal, his eyebrows rose as he read the contents.
“Oi Gaz, rain check on the pub crawl.”
At his companion’s questioning gaze, the sergeant flashed the pink invitation pinched between his fingers.
“I got a birthday party to go to.”
@locitapurplepink, @the-rain-on-kamino, @writing-positivelyexisting, @burningfieldof-clover, @padawancat97, @dukeoftheblackstar
#Konig#johnny soap mactavish#soap cod#konig cod#cod#I need uncle Soap in my life#totally has all the fun uncle vibes
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terror rewatch time!!! i'll be using this post to comment on ep. 6 "a mercy" block the tag terrorwatch2 if you'd like :-)
jirv's bandaged hand in the first scene :-(
also interesting thing is that when we see john ross in the show he actually seems aware that his men came close to killing him, that in life or death situations hierarchy disappears and whatnot, given both his warnings to franklin and his conduct when lady jane and sophia were at the admiralty. but of course he wouldn't put it in his memoirs; it's a truth he was able to confront privately within himself and a few other people perhaps but before the public? never.
i didn't remember bridgens overhearing part of the conversation between blanky and jfj
❗️ FIRST JFJ GENDER MOMENT ❗️
"turmoil on the inside needn't show on the outside" says soooo much about jopson in general. what sort of internal struggles might compel him to always be outwardly impeccable?
was this scene the first time crozier refers to him as just Thomas???
the cut from hickey poking around heather's brains to jacko poking into the canned food!!!
oh if tozer saw hickey doing that to heather he would have bashed HIS brains in methinks
hickey did out 2 and 2 together regarding them having to march out surprisingly quickly; he is pretty smart, but also absolutely not as smart as he thinks he is, and of course would eventually be done in by his narcissism and god delusions. also appears he kept an eye on jirv specifically 👀👀👀 once on his shitlist always on his shitlist
ned looking over at jopson as the latter is summoned is very interesting. and hickey's snarky little "a worst case of gastritis surely there never was"... is he trying to sound out where ned stands regarding crozier at that moment, seeing if they can be allied? let us remember that when he was with billy they discussed the other two lieuts' activities...
very interesting about hickey pointing out tommy armitage always wanted to be a marine, and considering tommy probably feels he owes him/has genuine gratitude for him not pointing out that he was also in the party that kidnapped silna + his proximity to the marines = hickey maybe having access to guns which could be useful for. you know. stuff 👀👀👀👀
and of course when hartnell asks him a question about himself he deflects immediately because. you know. and also the parallel with him asking hartnell "do you think crozier sees as a new man?" and previously his talk with Billy "the captain doesn't see you at all" and the worst thing is eventually crozier DID come to see hartnell and clearly held him in high regard!!! and if hickey wasn't terrible maybe crozier could have come to see him but the thing is. hickey wants to be SEEN and he doesn't necessarily mind if it is in a bad light... I'm thinking about his talk with goodsir last episode and the script saying that he smiles because he likes being perceived even if in fact goodsir is seeing right through him.
❗️ SECOND JFJ GENDER MOMENT ❗️
❗️ CHARLES DES VOEUX ALERT ❗️
❗️ BRIDGLAR ALERT ❗️
jirv singing and drinking with an angel costume...... i truly he chose the costume as a way to show that he can poke fun at himself..... "look guys i do have a sense of humor and some self-awareness about my religiosity..... i'm light-hearted...." :-((((
goddddd blanky drinking out of his prosthetic
tozer, heather and armitage on the corner :-((
WAAAAAAIT THE TWO GUYS IN THE POT I DIDN'T REMEMBER THAT. very interesting foreshadowing of both the cannibalism and the breakdown of the modes of masculinity/sexuality that follow as they get themselves more doomed by the minute
HICKEY SAVED BY THE PISS ALSO ❗️CHARLES DES VOEUX ALERT ❗️
crozier's speech!!!! truly a sober crozier is the best captain anyone could ask for. also "strange in ways we will find impossible to recount when we are safe and home"... both in terms of the tuunbaq and also the fact that they're on the very edge of propriety about many other things as well. and also well. his choice to not recount it in the end by simply not returning.
the despair on sol's face about heather :-(((
how interesting that hickey probably saved A LOT of man's lives considering 1) what he'd do later and 2) he had to kill a doctor to do it.
probably like. the one action hickey might truly regret was accidentally killing MacDonald but that was arguably one of his best acts bc it eventually saved a lot of peoples' lives.
something very powerful about the carnivale- as crozier put it a manifestation of their longing for home- burning to ash. oh baby you are never making out alive.
the final shots... it really feels like the moment of "even if we make it back to england alive there are some things which simply can never be discussed or said aloud or admitted to anyone not even ourselves"
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A Clash of Kings - 30 ARYA VII (pages 413-425)
Arya adapts to life at Harrenhal, and learns she owes the Red God a debt. She makes the first payment of three.
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There was always talk of Beric Dandarrion. A fat archer once said the Bloody Mummers had slain him, but the others only laughed. "Lorch killed the man at Rushing Falls, and the Mountain's slain him twice. Got me a silver stag says he don't stay dead this time neither."
For the foreseeable future, I will henceforth be picturing Beric as a man in purple with a black eye mask and striped underwear.
... now I want to rewatch the 1996 Billy Zane movie.
Beneath the standard of a black goat with bloody horns-
ngl my first thought was "The Bloody Mummers are Satanists?" (They certainly sound demonic of character)
After the hanged men had stopped kicking, Vargo Hoat and Ser Harys embraced and kissed and swore to love each other always as Lord Tywin looked on.
I'm choosing to imagine that they frenched, (I didn't actually choose it, it's just how I imagined the scene as I read it,) and that Tywin is a voyeur, and also that he is the worst relationship councilor in the history of ever.
(I think I might be a little mean today. We could cover it over and call it sassy or snarky or whatever men call it when ladies are mean but they like it, but we all know it's just mean.)
When she thought of seeing Robb's face again Arya had to bite her lip. And I want to see Jon too, and Bran and Rickon, and mother. Even Sansa... I'll kiss her and beg her pardons like a proper lady, she'll like that.
Awwww. I want to wrap her up safe, rescue her from this shit hole and take her home to be with her family.
I'm actually a little surprised that Arya hasn't had even a tiny meltdown now that she has some medium of safety, that's usually when the mental protection and disassociations begin breaking down, because mental resources start freeing up, but even though Arya has a steady food supply, hygiene and sleeping in easy reach, doesn't mean she's actually safe and she obviously knows that, she's still in as much danger as she was before, the danger just looks different now.
Oh no! Lord Cerwyn! That's Cley's dad! And Arya's down another ally that she never really had. LET ME HUG HER!!!
He'd bought a ton of silver to forge into magic swords that would slay the Stark wargs.
Well that's just the wrong show. Good to know conspiracy theorists will thrive in any world.
Arya's being really smart, keeping her ears open for gossip while she keeps her head down, alas, rumours make tabloids not news.
He laid a finger on her lips. "Three lives you shall have of me. No more, no less. Three and we are done. So a girl must ponder." He kissed her hair softly. "But not too long."
Uhhhh... bad touch? I... I feel very confused, on whether that was supposed to be familial comfort type or just creepy type? You didn't need to kiss her hair, what the hell man? (I might just be keyed to read that as creepy because GRRM does love writing shit like that which is creepy...)
...
...
... I need to be fucking sick, and I need so many of these men to be very fucking dead. Well, one out of many, I'll have to settle for it. For now.
"- Some are saying it was Harren's ghost, flung him down." He snorted to show what he thought of such notions. It wasn't Harren, Arya wanted to say, it was me. She had killed him with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through. I'm the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought. And that night, there was one less name to hate.
What I do like about this chapter is that it feels like Arya is getting her second wind, regaining her footing and sense of power. Not big power, but the power to do something, literally any thing, after so long being able to do nothing. And she's calling back her father's and Robb's words, being responsible for the lives taken, "If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look him in the face and hear his last words," but she also knows she doesn't have that kind of power and ability.
There's a blurred line here between justice and vengeance but Arya still holds the responsibility around killing another human (outside of desperate battle).
Chiswyck's last words probably would have been trash anyway.
oh gosh, draft autosave just rescued me again ^_^'
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