#i know there were dozens of injuries on set but I can’t beLIEVE no one died
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They don’t let actors PHYSICALLY WRESTLE big cats on camera anymore. Although maybe its for the best
#I’m watching roar (1981) and i am FREAKING OUT#i know there were dozens of injuries on set but I can’t beLIEVE no one died
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✧*̥˚ Under the Sky *̥˚✧
✧ Mature Content. Minors DNI. Warnings below the break ✧
✧ Pairing: fairy king!yeosang x chubby!fairy queen!reader
✧ Summary: The night of your wedding you disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Regaining your senses, you set out to return to your true love.
✧ Genre: ateez fairy au, romance, adventure {smutty at the end}
✧ Word Count: 1.9k-ish
✧ Warnings: Mentions of death. Reader has some injuries. Unprotected fairy sex. I'd say "wrap it up" but darling, you're a fairy. Have a ball.
✧ A/N: This is for @anyamaris and her absolute love for fairy Yeosang. Thank you for trusting me to write this. Love you forever, sis!
The fae believe that each soul, upon its entry into the realm of the living, is split in two. It’s said that to find your other half is to find a love so deeply rooted in the land of the fae that, should you ever part, the Fates themselves would shift to reunite you…
Hours have passed since you awakened in a graveyard of sorts. Found in the darkest reaches of the forest, it's desolate. No singing blue birds or fields of which to frolic. Only shallow graves dug in packed dirt and a thick smog that carries the nauseating stench of death. Nothing survives there. You aren’t sure how you did or how you even got there. What you do know is that your wedding dress, spun from the silk of a dozen spiders, clings to you now in tattered strips. A dozen scrapes and bruises adorn your body. None of which you notice in the presence of the sharp pain shooting through your back. Your wings, once grand and glittering, have been stripped from your back. An evil, depraved act that not even the fearsome creatures who you crept past to escape death's valley could bring themselves to do.
Night descends swiftly as you push on, at last reaching a point where the air is crisp and the forest is lush. You stop along the way to drink from sparkling ponds, nibbling on foraged berries for strength. Purple means poisonous but the blue ones are safe. Or was it the other way around? You shake it off. Your thoughts drifting to your husband Yeosang. Please don't think I abandoned you. I'd never. I couldn't. A girl like you from such a humble background marrying the king of the fae had been the talk of the town. People spoke of the riches you’d inherit. The luxury you’d live in. For you, none of that mattered. You'd call home a dry rotted tree stump if it meant having him by your side. You were only wed a few hours before your disappearance. Why? How? You shake yourself for answers only to come up empty-handed.
A firefly zips past your face, snapping your attention back to the world around you. The energy here, it’s different, familiar. In the distance, you hear music blended with the laughter of mothers and their children. The baritone voices of men sing a song that brings you back to your childhood. Back to…“Home!” you cry, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You race towards the sounds, dodging weeping willows and woodland creatures busy carrying on their own business. Bursting out into a clearing you find yourself at the center of your village. It’s the annual May fair and the streets are so packed that you’re swallowed by the crowd. Your lip quivers, tears flowing, as your attention shifts beyond the extravagant celebration to the castle sitting at the summit of the trees. Through a stained glass window, a single light shines.
“Yeosang!” you shout, shoving your way through the crowd to find a way to him. The villagers begin to notice you. The music gradually dies down to reveal exchanges of “The queen. The queen? Can’t be. It is!” “Yeosang! I’m here!” you’re shouting in every direction, intent on continuing until your throat’s raw. “I’m here, my love! I'm...aah!” What little breath you have left is knocked out of you when you’re swept up into the air. You look down to find the villagers growing smaller and smaller. You’re flying but how? “My queen. My treasure. You’ve returned” Yeosang beams, holding you close. The mere sight of him makes your head spin. The face of your love, heavy with hope and sadness, is the last thing you see before everything around you goes black.
“If anyone steps foot through these doors without my approval kill them!” Yeosang commands the soldiers lined up before him in the throne room. “If I have to do it myself I’ll send you into the afterlife with them!” In all his years as king Yeosang had never so much as raised his voice at his people. Admired for his gentle strength, the loss of you had filled him with a rage that burned wildly enough to destroy everything in his reach. And he'd done so, regrettably. In search of his love. In search of you. Word spread quickly that, in your absence, Yeosang had embarked on a rampage soaked with the blood of his enemies. “The Mad King” they came to call him, not to his face of course but he heard their whispers. “Gone, she is. He needs to accept it. Probably nothing but bone by now.” Yeosang never listened, he refused to. You would be together again. He'd accept nothing else.
The pitter-patter of a maid’s feet against the pearlescent castle floors provides some relief to the soldiers. “My king! My king!” she squeaks, nearly out of breath. Yeosang motions for his men to disperse, “What is it, Fern? The spiders again? I’ve told you, they work here. You must stop being so frightened of them.” “No, it’s the queen. I took her to the bath and she…” She carries on explaining but he’s already whipping through the halls in search of you. Bursting through the doors of the washroom he finds everything as it should be. The only peculiar thing is you, dripping wet before a mirror carved in cherrywood. Bubbles from your bath still gliding down your generous curves. Your back’s turned to the mirror, your attention fixed on the bruised, raised skin where your beautiful wings once were.
“They’ll never come back? Will they?” you say with enough despair to break him. Yeosang plucks a towel from a nearby hook, proceeding to dry you off. “In time” he sighs, working his way up from your feet to your calves, “Until then I’ll carry you wherever your heart desires.” Wrapping his arms around you, he releases the towel to lay his hands upon your wounds. His wings pulse, radiating a soft blue, as he massages the tension from the damaged muscle. “But you are as fierce, as exquisite a woman, as you were with them” he whispers, “And I swear that whoever has done this will feel your pain tenfold.” “When did you become so vengeful? Such a beast you've become” you coo, placing your hands on either side of his cheeks. Yeosang draws you in closer, resting his head on your shoulder.
He breathes you in as you pet wings and you can’t help but giggle at the way they shiver when you touch them. “What’s so funny?” he asks, his head popping up. You do your best to stifle your amusement, “Uhm, nothing. Nothing at all” A seriousness creeps across his handsome face, his lips suddenly meeting yours. “Do it again...” Never one to back down from a dare, you drape both arms over his shoulder, fingers lightly stroking his wings. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” he asks between passionate kisses. You shake your head, heat rushing down between your legs as he presses his hardening arousal against you. “Show me…” Too entranced by his kiss to watch what you’re doing, you blindly tear at his clothes until not a single shred of garment separates you.
Cradling the back of your neck, he pulls away from your lips, kissing along your collarbone. “As you wish, my love” he hums against your chest, nibbling at your pillowy breasts. Bringing your legs around his waist, he brushes the tip of his cock against your tender bud and it’s your turn to shiver now. To rock back and forth along his length, the slick from your aching pussy soaking him from base to tip. “Yeo…Yeosang…so good” you moan, the friction setting off sparks in your system. Yeosang feverishly laps at your heaving breasts, tasting them as your chest rises and falls, your breaths growing shorter the more you grind down against him. “That’s it, darling. Use me to make yourself…mmm…feel good” he urges, tilting his hips so that his swollen head teases your entrance.
You catch yourself biting down on your own tongue, dragging your clit along his shaft, your walls already pulsing, desperate to be filled. “Inside of me. Please” you whine, hips stuttering, “Need you, Yeo…” He peaks up at you, your eyes glazed over, so needy. How could he refuse you? He raises his hips, fingers reaching between your legs to spread you wide for him, feeding you his cock painfully slow. He has to take his time with you. Feel the way your thighs tremble. The way your core contracts each time he goes the slightest bit deeper. Your low, soft moans in his ear are sweeter to him than his own pleasure. With every stroke your sounds grow fractured, those sparks having grown into full blown fireworks, setting off within your very essence. Yeosang grabs you by the hair, thrusting into you with such force that all thoughts of anything else leave your mind.
Any words you say are incoherent, your limbs moving as they wish. You are in heaven. The pressure builds. Unbearably strong. Dominating your senses. “Fall apart with me” he whispers, lovingly palming your scars, “I will carry you always. I promise.” “Aah…I…I…” Whatever you meant to say escapes you, your high crashing against you like the roaring tides of some vast ocean. The waves are unforgiving, taking more and more of you each time. Steadying your weakened body against his, he buries himself into your depths, your walls clenching around him, hitting just the right spot to trigger his own release. His seed gushes into your womb, warm and sticky, marking you as his own for the first time since your wedding night.
Struggling to catch your breath, you collapse onto his chest, suddenly aware that you’re no longer vertical. You tilt your head to the side to find that the floor might as well be worlds away. You’re…on the ceiling. “You…have to…warn…me…” You attempt to scold him but can’t focus with him still grinding into you the slightest bit, filling you to the point of overflow. “But it’s so much fun not to” he teases, kissing you all over your face. “Cut it out” you giggle, not meaning a single word. “My king! Did you…” Fern starts, fluttering into the bathroom. She scans the washroom for a moment before looking up. “Oh my gods and goddesses!” she screams, startling Yeosang enough that you both fall from the air, his wings stopping you a mere inch from the ground.
Throwing her hands over her eyes, she flees into the hallway shouting “I’ve seen nothing! Carry on!” You move to climb off of him but he won’t let you go, his arms still locked around your waist. “Do you mean to chase her in this state?” “I don’t know! I just…we’ve traumatized the poor thing.” you sigh, burying your face in his chest out of embarrassment. It’s been so long…too long…since he felt you curled up against him this way. “I love you so dearly, Y/N” he sighs, kissing the top of your head. You return the kiss to his shoulder, “And I, you, my king.” You curl up there, floating in the arms of your love. A nightmare behind you and a dream before you. After a long, perilous journey you are, at last, home.
#yeosang x reader#yeosang x y/n#ateez au#ateez x reader#chubby reader#plus size reader#ateez x y/n#yeosang au
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Assurance and Authority (5/25)
Post-BOTFA Persuasion Au: Bilbo returns to the Shire after the Quest, having rejected Thorin’s proposal of marriage. For years after, he struggles with regret. When he and Thorin meet again, he knows better than to hope.
Chapter 5 also available on AO3
(Ch 1) (Ch 2) (Ch 3) (Ch 4)
When playing with other fauntlings by the creek, Frodo slipped on a wet stone and twisted his ankle. His injury was not a severe one, merely a sprain, but the lad was still in too much pain to walk. Bilbo carried him in his arms back to the Great Smials, where the boy was tended to by a healer in the rooms where he stayed with his parents. He was given herbal tea to relieve his pain, his swollen ankle was to be dressed with cool compresses for the next few days, and he was given strict instructions to stay in bed with his injured leg elevated for no less than a week.
The fauntling, being an energetic and ever-curious lad, was much more devastated by the assigned bed rest than his injury. He wept and wailed miserably, which caused his parents even more distress than they already were in due to their son’s accident. They tried to soothe him with calming words and tender touches but the boy was inconsolable, crying until he exhausted himself and fell asleep. Even then, Primula and Drogo did not leave their son’s side, wishing to be there in case he woke, which required someone to bring food for them and assist with whatever else that was needed.
Bilbo was more than happy to help. Now that everything was said and done, his mind would stray to the dwarves who had knocked at his door. Hamson and Halfred had told him that they had not known anything about the appearance of the mysterious visitors, only that they had seen the dwarves begin marching west before they had set off running to deliver the message, catching a post cart on the way.
And so, Bilbo wondered and worried - were the dwarves going to pass through Tuckborough? Would they ask after him? Who had come to Bag End earlier today?
The answer came much earlier than he was ready for.
Frodo woke a short time after his crying fit and asked for food, as did Drogo. Bilbo fetched them something for afternoon tea and carried three heavy-loaded plates to their rooms, taking an extra one in case Primula found herself hungry as well. When he entered the antechamber in their rooms - a living room of sorts, with an armchair by the fireplace and a table - he saw that Frodo sat by the table with his parents, having been moved from his bed in the sleeping chamber. Just when Bilbo was about to set their plates before them, Amaranth and Asphodel entered the rooms with haste, their gazes glowing with excitement.
“Bilbo, Prim!” Asphodel cried, “Oh, you shall never guess! We’ve just seen Thorin Oakenshield! A really kingly dwarf, I must say, quite royal!”
Bilbo very nearly dropped the plates he was holding. “I beg your pardon?”
“We’ve just been introduced to him!” Asphodel grinned. “He’s come here together with three dozen soldiers and a lady! Lady... oh, I can’t quite remember! Lady Diz? She’s – ”
“Lady Dís,” Amaranth said.
“Yes, that’s her name! She looks like a ruler too! Though she has a beard, can you believe it? She’s dressed as finely as this Thorin fellow, they look so royal together, I must say! Quite a pair, the two of them, you’re going to see for yourself, Bilbo!”
Bilbo quickly concluded that the lady had to be Thorin’s wife. At this thought, grief so great struck him that he swayed on his feet. Amaranth and Asphodel stepped close to him with a cry of alarm to hold him upright, while Drogo and Primula rose from their feet.
“Uncle!” Frodo exclaimed.
“Are you quite alright?” Drogo said.
“Should we send for a healer?” Amaranth asked.
Bilbo dismissed everyone with a shake of his head. Putting the plates on the table, he replied, “It’s simply... I’m quite surprised. What a sudden visit!”
“That it is,” Amaranth said. “They say they’re on their way to the Blue Mountains. Fortinbras invited the King, the lady and all the dwarves to dine with us tonight.”
Upon hearing this, Bilbo nearly fainted again. Before he could comment, Asphodel added, “Fortnibras ordered for tables and chairs to be carried outside. We’re going to feast under the stars!”
Primula gasped. “How splendid! Oh, I cannot wait for it!”
“As do I,” Asphodel replied.
Amaranth, though she did not say the same and despite the fact that she had a more guarded disposition compared to her sisters, showed signs of excitement too, as her eyes gleamed with joy. It was no wonder that the three sisters were so eager to meet the dwarves; Brandybucks were more open and aware of the outside world, living at the edge of the Shire, and the three daughters of Mirabella were half-Took, thus they also shared the Tookish love of the unexpected.
“You wish to attend, then?” Dorgo asked his wife.
“Yes, I do not see why not.”
“How can you even contemplate such a thing?” he said angrily. “To attend a party when your only child is in need of care!”
“I shall not leave him unattended for the whole night!” Primula retorted. “I wished to go only for a while, and I wanted to ask mama to watch him for me in the meantime.”
“Still, I do not like it. You’re his mother, mothers should tend to their children!”
“So should fathers! Have you, as his father, not considered going too? I would not believe that you decided to forego a feast. If you have no problem with attending, then, why shouldn’t I?”
“But I want to go with you,” Frodo said then. “I want to meet the dwarves too!”
To that, his father replied that it would not be possible. His mother argued that it would be much too soon for him to move and that they would not have him risk worsening his injury. The refusal brought the fauntling to tears and Frodo cried miserably again. The attempts of his parents and aunts to console him were for nought.
In Frodo’s sadness, Bilbo found a perfect opportunity to avoid facing King Thorin, which was what he wished to do above all else.
“Frodo, my dear boy,” he said, “How about I stay with you tonight? I can tell you all about dwarves, so you will feel like you’ve met them! And then, tomorrow, perhaps your papa could carry you to eat breakfast with everybody. Then, you’re going to see the dwarves.”
“Why, that’s a good thought,” Drogo said. "I shall be able to carry you just fine, son. My joints are doing much better indeed.”
This, at last, seemed to satisfy Frodo. The lad calmed, nodding his head, and leaned into his mother’s side for comfort.
“But Bilbo, wouldn’t you want to meet with the dwarves?” Primula said, stroking her son’s hair. ‘Wasn’t Thorin Oakenshield the one you went on your adventure with?”
“Yes, well. I feel a bit weak, after all the events of today. Staying here with Frodo will be just the rest I need. I don’t think they shall be very upset to see me in the morning instead of this evening. They’re not setting off at the crack of dawn, are they?”
It was indeed terribly rude to hide away like this and Bilbo was well aware of that fact. However, he could not find the courage in himself to look the King in the eye just yet.
And so, while everybody prepared for the feast under the stars, Bilbo stayed by Frodo’s side and entertained him with all sorts of stories about dwarves. He told the fauntling about how Durin’s folk enjoyed making merry and songs, about their bravery in battle, their mistrust of outsiders but openness and affectionate nature with each other, and many other of their traits and quirks. All the while, he made as little mention of their King as possible, not wanting to think about the fact that the one his heart had been crying out for, and the one whose heart he had broken, was so very near.
As time passed, Frodo began to grow increasingly sleepy. His father paid them a quick visit, bringing them food for supper, which Frodo ate with his eyes half-open. Then, his mother came to put him to bed. After she tucked him in, she proposed that she and Bilbo have tea, which Bilbo agreed to readily.
“What is wrong, Bilbo?” Primula whispered once she poured him a cup and handed it to him. “You have been acting strange since the dwarves have come.”
“I might be able to tell you,” Bilbo said, “But not today. Not when... Not now.’
Primula accepted the answer, though she appeared concerned. The two of them sat by the fireplace, sipping on tea. The quiet between them was interrupted when Drogo walked into the room, closing the door carefully after himself.
“Is Frodo asleep?” he murmured.
“Sleeps as hard as a rock,” Primula said.
“Good, I should hate us to wake him. The king and the lady follow me. They insist on calling on you, Bilbo, but they wait for permission outside in case you do not feel well enough.”
Bilbo began to feel unwell indeed upon hearing this. His heart pounded so hard in his chest that he could scarcely hear his own thoughts. Through a haze of shock and anxiety, he first wished that he had brought his magic ring with him, as that would allow him to disappear, but he tended to forget about the little trinket these days. After a panicked internal debate, Bilbo came to the decision that it would be better to face Thorin sooner rather than later in the end. Mustering a weak nod, he allowed Drogo to let them in.
Lady Dís entered first, and Bilbo was surprised to see that she was not disguised as a dwarven male. Instead of wearing a tunic and trousers, she was dressed in a robe of dark blue with silver embroidery. Her eyes were in the colour of the sky, while her hair and short beard - decorated with delicate silver nets of crystals and sapphires - were very dark brown. With her attire, proud brow and nose, and the assuredness with which she carried herself, Bilbo had to admit she looked regal indeed.
King Thorin followed right after her. His clothing was in the same colours as lady Dís’s but he wore very little jewellery. His hair, streaked with a lot more silver than it had used to be, was not decorated and very simply braided, and so was his beard, long now, held in one plait. In Bilbo’s eyes, Thorin had never needed any regalia to demonstrate his kingship; rather, a proof of Thorin’s regality was in the very way he behaved, in how he talked, thought, moved and held himself. The little room in which the King stood now seemed much too small to contain his powerful presence. The sight of him wrenched Bilbo’s heart with yearning, yet the hobbit could not tear his gaze away from him. He both hoped and dreaded to catch the King’s eye, but Thorin would not look at him.
“I do hope your little one is well,” lady Dís told Primula. “I am a mother myself, I know how your child’s ailment must pain you.”
The implication that Thorin’s wife was a mother, which would only mean that the King had started a family with her, was like a blade piercing Bilbo's sternum. The hobbit had to fight very hard not to audibly gasp in pain and the ringing sound in his years almost made him deaf to the continuing conversation.
“Oh, thank you, ma’am,” Primula replied. “My Frodo is all right, he sleeps now.”
‘We do not wish to intrude on you," the dwarrowdam said. "I just wanted to inquire about Master Baggins. We’ve been told you’re unwell, master Burglar.”
Hearing himself being addressed by his old moniker helped Bilbo regain just enough composure to speak. He forced a small smile. “Thank you, my lady. It’s nothing a good rest cannot fix. I shall be right as rain tomorrow.”
“Then I shall not keep you from your rest. I hope to see you at breakfast.”
“Very well,” Bilbo replied, unable to refuse, though in truth he had absolutely no wish whatsoever to spend more time with Thorin’s wife.
Lady Dís, satisfied, said her goodbyes and left. King Thorin turned to follow her, but acknowledged everyone in the room with a look and a nod before that. Bilbo was the last one he directed his gaze at and when he did, their eyes met at last.
“Thorin,” Bilbo said, in greeting and goodbye, in an apology and plea, all at once.
“Master Baggins,” Thorin replied measuredly, bowed his head, and headed out of the room.
It was impossible for Bilbo to stifle the ache of disappointment at Thorin’s dismissal. Indeed, the hobbit was troubled with so many thoughts and emotions that he hardly knew what was happening around him. As though through a mist, he registered that Primula had Drogo walk him to his rooms and that Drogo made him a melissa tea to drink. Once the herb started taking effect and Bilbo calmed a little, he began to understand a new truth in earnest: Thorin was married with children and clearly wished to have as little to do with him as possible. After all, he said but two words to Bilbo. Seven years, and 'Master Baggins' was all he had to say!
Bilbo persuaded Drogo to leave him, though the other hobbit was greatly concerned and thus loath to comply, and only then allowed his tears to fall. Until this day, he had harboured some hope of Thorin still reciprocating his affections. Now it was apparent that this was not the case. Bilbo could barely stand the loss of that hope and wept bitterly.
It was not a restful night.
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1. "I miss you" || "It's only been two days since I left" || "Feels like ages to me"
With Niko/Joel😍
Thanks for the prompt! It’s Niko/Joel, as requested, and it’s 925 words.
Trigger warning for mentions of injuries.
“Good morning!” Nino called, as he stepped through the door of the hospital room. He hoped Joel wasn’t still sleeping.
“Niko!” Joel grinned, sitting up in his bed. “I missed you!”
Of course he’s not asleep, Niko realized. This is Joel we’re talking about.
“It’s only been two days since I left,” he chuckled.
“Feels like ages to me,” Joel sighed. “It’s lonely here. The only people I have to talk to are the nurses. And they only come by every so often, to change my bandages.”
“If you don’t like it,” Niko teased, “then maybe next time you should watch where you’re going, when we’re onstage?”
“I still can’t believe I walked right into a fucking pyro,” Joel shook his head. “We rehearsed our set a dozen times, and I still managed to step on it and burn my foot.”
“Honestly, I’m just glad you weren’t hurt worse,” Niko confessed. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, my foot fucking hurts,” Joel grumbled.
“No shit!” Niko sputtered. “At least you still have a foot, after that.”
He was trying to keep the mood light with jokes, for Joel’s sake, but the truth was that it had been absolutely terrifying. One minute they were singing together, like they always did. The next minute, Joel had been engulfed in flames, and hit the stage floor like a stone. The fans had started screaming when the awful smell of charred flesh filled the air.
It had been Joonas who grabbed Joel and smothered his foot with his jacket, until the flames were out. It was Olli who called 112, and Tommi who dragged the injured Joel backstage to wait for the paramedics.
The task that had fallen to Niko was perhaps the hardest. He had to stand there with his mic, and say something to calm the crowd, even though he felt like screaming himself. He’d managed to choke out that the band would be heading to the hospital, and that the rest of the gig was canceled.
Thankfully, he had waited until he was backstage with the guys, to dissolve into panicked tears.
That had been two days ago, and since then, Niko had calmed himself. The doctors had told him that Joel was going to make a full recovery.
“I went on social media last night,” Niko announced, trying to focus on anything else. “I gave our fans an update - let them know you’re recovering and you’re gonna be okay. I also let them know that the gig in Helsinki is cancelled.”
“I’m so angry at myself!” Joel huffed, the air of his sigh pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “This was supposed to be our first show in the capital, and now we can’t go!”
“Another opportunity will come,” Niko assured him. “Right now, I’m more worried about your health.”
“I’m fine,” Joel insisted. “What did the venue say, when you called them?”
“They said they’ll give the fans refunds, for their tickets,” Niko shrugged.
“That’s good, at least,” Joel considered. “I’d hate for some teenager to be out ten euros because of me.”
“It’s not like there were that many fans, who were going to be there anyway,” Niko frowned, taking a seat beside the hospital bed.
“Hey,” Joel glanced up. “It’s not like you to sound so depressed. What happened to ‘we’re going to become the next biggest Finnish export?’”
Of course Niko’s usual bravado was absent. Could Joel really not see why?
“I just…,” Niko felt tears welling up in his eyes, as he struggled to speak his true feelings. “I thought I could’ve lost you, y’know? You’re only twenty years old. How is Blind Channel supposed to conquer Finland - and the rest of the world - if you fucking die before we even drop a full length album?”
“We can go back to the studio as soon as I’m discharged from the hospital,” Joel said quickly, “and work on the album some more, so…”
“That’s not the point!” Niko cried. “The point is…fuck. What if I’d had to call your mother, and tell her that her son wasn’t coming back to Oulu?”
“But, that didn’t happen,” Joel soothed him. He wasn’t used to seeing his friend get so emotional. “The gig in Jyväskylä didn’t kill me.”
“I just…,” Niko wiped at his eyes, with the back of his sleeve. “I really care about you a lot, okay?”
“I care about you, too,” Joel blushed. “Um, hey…what’s that in your hand?”
“Oh…it’s flowers,” Niko blinked. He’d almost forgotten, that he’d been clutching the bouquet in his hand the whole time.
“You bought me flowers?” Joel asked, blue eyes wide.
“Isn’t that like…what you do when someone’s in the hospital?” Niko reddened. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No, not at all,” Joel smiled. “Can I see them?”
“Sure,” Niko nodded, setting the bouquet down on the blanket that covered Joel’s lap.
“A dozen roses?” Joel smirked. “What am I, your girlfriend?”
“That…That was the only kind of flowers they had at the gift shop when I got here, okay?!” Niko stammered, his whole face turning as red as the roses.
“I like them, actually,” Joel laughed, sniffing the petals with his long beak. “Thank you.”
“Y-Yeah, no problem,” Niko mumbled. “Uhh…So. Tommi’s off work tomorrow. Since you said you’re lonely, should I ask him to visit you?”
“Actually,” Joel said softly, looking away, “I would kind of prefer…if you could visit me again? Only if you don’t have to work, of course.”
“I’ll be here,” Niko promised. “There’s nowhere else that I’d rather be.”
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The Phoenix Chapter 14 - Resurrection (Final) Age 18+ Content
Three years have passed since that fateful day at the dunes. For my safety, as soon as I regained consciousness, New Republic Intelligence agents removed me from Solista. Their sources revealed the TIE fighters were there to finish what the stranger, Marc Risner, and Demetri Loken could not. Orders were given to level the entire eastern section of Veya, not just the compound and the academy but the entire thing; schools, market, homes, all of it. There was indeed a faction charged with killing former Alliance officers, especially pilots. Since we were no longer in active service, they hoped to snuff us out quietly before anyone connected the events. It remains unclear why they wanted me so badly they were willing to risk exposing their operations rather than move on to the next mark. I either killed someone important or they feared any news of a resurgence would draw me back into service.
Without being able to interview Din, everything regarding his involvement is theoretical. It’s believed the pilots were caught off guard by the Razor Crest coming back to Veya. It’s unknown why he was returning or if he survived. Theory continues he engaged the TIEs to keep them from the city and sent the distress signal in hopes the New Republic and Mandalorians would arrive before he fell. Certainly sounds like the man I know......or knew.
Apparently still on the top of the hit list, a permanent plan for my protection for formulated. At first, I refused but a few weeks later, after careful consideration, I agreed and the wheels were set in motion.
The New Republic issued notices throughout all spaceports. Captain Astrid “Bash” Lightner succumbed to injuries sustained during her battle against enemy combatants in the sand dunes of Solista. Yeah, I’m dead. My name was changed and I never returned to my home world. Bert maintains the compound in Veya to keep up appearances, going back occasionally to show his face. He ensured Rozier inherited the flight academy and the last time he was there, it’s thriving under the new name “The Astrid “Bash” Lightner Aeronautical Institute.” She’s such a sweetheart. I miss her dearly but at least she’s safe.
I had one request, the Republic had to hold a public service for me on Veya and put it in the spaceport death announcements. At the service, Republic officials were on hand looking for Din, who we hoped would surface, but he didn’t, putting one more checkmark in death column. I can’t say how many times I’ve cried thinking about him. After three years, I should have given up but I don’t. Someone out there knows what happened to him.
Even under my new name, it wasn’t safe to open a new flight school and I’m not good for much else so I rejoined the New Republic. I formed a special task force assigned with seeking out those faction members, thwarting attacks on former Alliance members, and squashing any potential uprising. I’m pleased to report, it’s gone well. We’ve managed to round up dozens of those assholes.
One thing we discovered is their primary means of operational funding is beskar. Bars and bars of it have been recovered. I convinced the higher ups that it should all come to the vault here for safe keeping and should be returned to the rightful owners as soon as they could be located but the Mandalorians are elusive. I sent word to everyone working for the New Republic if a Mandalorian is spotted, to give them our contact information; that the Republic was looking for a specific Mandalorian for a job; it would be lucrative and paid in beskar. I thought they were all interconnected but they’re not. After Mandalore was destroyed, they splintered off into groups and clans. Some who contacted us didn’t know Din Djarin at all. To say the least, it’s frustrating.
We were contacted two weeks ago and informed a Mandalorian, wearing a full suit of beskar, had been spotted in Mos Eisley. I’ve hit so many dead ends, I don’t allow myself to get hopeful. It could just be someone who has their own beskar armor or maybe inherited Din’s after his death, I just don’t know.
Our contacts in Mos Eisley found the Mandalorian and I am expecting his arrival today. If it’s not Din, maybe this is the end of the road and I have to accept that, after three years, he’s dead.
There is a tap on my office door. “Commander, the bounty hunter you requested is here.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant, please bring him up.” I feel a flustering nausea in my gut. This is the moment I find out. I’ve searched for so long but now I’m afraid to know and my hands tremble.
The door opens and there stands a Mandalorian. I don’t need to hear his voice. I don’t need to see his face. His body and posture alone, without a doubt, belong to Din Djarin. Trying to withholding the flood of emotions, I feel the blood leave my face. “Lieutenant, leave us and lock the door on your way out.”
The lieutenant takes notice. “Ma’am, are you feeling okay? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine, please leave us now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He’s silent.
I walk to him. “Din.”
Looking down to my nametag reading “Maj. “Scorch” Borskey”. “Astrid…you’re…...I don’t…”
“Din.” The tears come uncontrolled. “I’ve searched for you all this time.”
He pulls off the helmet to reveal he’s also moved. “You were dead…... I went to Solista for your service.”
“I had people there looking for you.”
“Well, I went to Solista but couldn’t go through it. Instead, I went to the dunes and sat at the crash site for hours, grieving the loss of you.”
“They were still trying to kill me. I had no choice but to leave.”
He pulls out a tattered, dirty, and partially charred folded blue note. “I found this while there. Do you want it back?”
Taking it from his hand and pressing it to my chest, I sigh. “You’ve carried it all this time.”
“I have.”
I want to touch him but I’ve been dead all these years. “Did you find someone to be your constant?”
“No. I’ve been alone. You?”
“Of course not. I’ve been waiting for a dashing tin can to sweep me off my feet. Turns out, they are in short supply.”
“Astrid, may I touch you?”
“Please, my love, before I fall to pieces.”
He gently strokes my cheek, allowing my tears to absorb into his glove before placing his hands on my waist to pull me close. He looks at me just as lovingly as the day he left me. Moving a hand to my face, he leans in, kissing me softly and we fold into one another. Enjoying his strong arms, I remember there’s something I must do before we get carried away.
I reluctantly back away, giving him two swift kisses. “Hold that thought.” Opening the door, I call back out to the lieutenant and whisper to her.
I explain to Din, “She’s going to get Bert. You’re going to want to sit down.”
“Why? Did something happen to Bert?”
He continues to stand.
“No, Bert is fine. I had him wait down the hall until I could confirm we found you.”
We hear a commotion coming from the hallway. Bert comes in and I kneel down, smiling and opening my arms. “There he is!” The accompanying child wobbles on little, unsteady knees. Din stands still, quiet as I take the boy into my arms to carry him over.
“Din Djarin, love of my life, would you like to meet your son?”
Din’s knees give way and he falls to the floor. I kneel by his side as tears now stream down his face.
I set the boy down, place my hand on Dins’s shoulder and laugh, “I told you to sit down.”
“This is my son?” He stares at a boy with light brown skin, dark hair and deep brown eyes. “He’s mine?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Hey there, kiddo.” The boy reaches out to touch Din’s shiny chest plate. “Oh, you like that, huh?”
“Now you see why I had to be dead.”
“He…...he looks just like me.”
“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Can I hold him? What’s his name?”
“Arlo.”
“Arlo, you wanna come here? Can I pick you up?”
Din stands, removing his gloves and Arlo sweetly extends his arms upward. Din scoops him up and his head is almost immediately met with the hard strike of a wooden toy.
“Yeah, you’re going to hit me? You got that from your mom. What has she been teaching you?”
He sits in my desk chair with our beautiful child in his arms, just taking it all in. It’s touching to watch Din’s gentleness as he examines the result of our love affair. Arlo yawns and rubs his eyes.
Bert steps in. “It’s good to see you again, my friend. I’m going to take the little one home for a nap. You’ll be able to see him later if you’d like.”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Bert.”
Still in shock, he follows them to the door and watches Bert and Arlo walk down the hallway.
“Astrid. I...I can’t believe this.”
“I know it’s a lot take in."
"I'm sorry I wasn't here to be with you, to help you with him."
"You didn't know. So look, we actually have a quarry for you. You won’t have any trouble with it but before we discuss it, there’s something else I’d like you to do for me.”
“Name it. Anything. I would walk through fire if you so wished it", he says kissing my neck.
I smile. “I want to request something from you. It’s one I’ve asked before, at the dunes, and it’s okay if you say no.”
He smirks as if he’s read my mind, his breath becomes heavy. “Go ahead, mesh’la, ask it....please ask it."
“I want another child.”
He reaches over, closing and locking the door. “I see. Well, Commander….ma’am, I think I can grant that request.”
“Din....here....?”
He issues no reply. I gasp as he unzips my flight suit down to my stomach and kisses my collarbone while unfastening his trousers. My body has starved for him.
“Oh my god, Din. I need you.”
I jump up, wrapping my legs around him as he carries me to the conference table, setting me on the edge, and removes my boots. We kiss passionately, discovering that lovers’ hearts once thought dead, burned with eternal flame. Tears stream as we are swept away in the moment. I run my fingers through his slightly longer, curlier locks of hair. In his eyes, I watch suffering dissolve into hope. No longer will he be alone.
I scoot from the table. He finishes unzipping my flight suit, pushing it from my shoulders, and allowing it to fall to the floor. Bending me over the table, I quickly reach over, grabbing my jacket from the chair to muffle myself as he hooks his index finger underneath the back of my thong, sliding it to the side, exposing me. My jacket can’t silence my vocalized pleasure as he lashes my pussy with an eager tongue.
He stands, grasping his cock and pushes it inside, holding it in, collecting and calming himself.
Beginning to pump himself into me, he breathes heavily. “You feel so good. I’m not going to last.”
His trusts become fast, intense, and hard. He grabs a handful of my hair, pulling me toward him so he can kiss and bite my neck as he continues making love to me. He doesn’t attempt to be discreet.
He tilts his head back and yells, “Fuck, give it to me! I want it all!”
The girthy friction stretches and pulls me. “Oh Din. Yes, please, harder. Daddy, fucking harder!”
He snorts and huffs like a bull while driving deep into me. Fucking him again in his armor is driving me crazy. I forget to be quiet and I’m screaming his name, moaning hard. I arch my back and begin moving in rhythm with him, pushing myself back on him.
He pulls me down to the floor and gets on top. Moving his large, strong hands to my face, he kisses me with all his passion, tears......everything. We’re eye to eye as his dick enters me again. He pushes my knees up to my head for full penetration. “Oh god Din!”, I cry out.
He moans loudly as he pushes deep inside and comes. “Oh yes ma’am! Fuck! I love you!”
Feeling the throbbing of his cock inside me as he grunts and strains. I pull him into a tight embrace, hoping this isn’t a dream. "Is this real. You're really here, right?"
"I am here, mesh'la. I made it back to you."
We're sweating and out of breath, lying on the short, rough carpet of my office. I touch my nose tip to his as I notice the time. “Oh my goodness, I’ve got to get you started so you can get this job done today.”
“Today? The information provided said this job would take about three days. Who is the point of contact?”
“Ah, yes. See, I’m the POC and we’re paying so much in beskar, it would be highly suspicious to the higher ups if you left with so much for only one day of work.”
I walk him over to the vault in my office, opening it to show him the many dozens of beskar bars.
“How? How did you find all of this?"
“It’s a long story but it’s all yours to take back to the Mandalorians. Distribute it how you see fit. When you’re done, I thought you could come back and stay......indefinitely. Din, I have a beautiful villa. It could be just the three of us.”
“Astrid, I’ll never let you disappear from life again.”
“Well, step one is not calling me Astrid. It’s Amiliana Borskey now.”
He chuckles, recognizing the name from the first night we met. “Ah, your Highness.”
“I hoped if you ever heard it, it would peak your curiosity enough to seek me. I go by Ana.” I look at the clock again, “We will go downstairs, I have a speeder bike and tracking fob waiting for you.”
I get dressed, my flight suit is wrinkled and my hair is disheveled. The front of his trousers is noticeably damp. We kiss once more before he puts on the helmet.
As we enter the hallway, junior officers scramble to act like they were in the hallway for any good reason, trying to look busy, or as if just passing by.
“Evening ma’am,” a female lieutenant says. Her head down but eyes looking up, trying not to smile.
“Good evening L.T.”
The others, with their backs against the wall, grant me passage. “Good evening ma’am.”
Din laughs at the sight.
I laugh and look at Din, “It’s funny to see me like this, huh? Man, they are going to gossip about this shit forrrrrrever.”
Passing by, I turn back to them and shout, “Hey!” They jump. “If I get one single call about anything you may or may not have heard in that office, your faces are all burned into my memory. Got it?”
They reply in unison, “Yes, ma’am!”
“And quit smiling. This is a respectable place. Get the hell outta here!”, I snap.
And with that, they giggle and disperse, tripping over themselves.
We get downstairs and I hand Din the tracking fob, already blinking fast.
He remarks, “Something’s wrong with this thing,” and holds it up trying to figure it out, banging it on the side of his hand.
“Hmm, weird. You know, Din, there is only one here but the sunset on this planet is breathtaking. No dunes, just beautiful grassy meadows.”
“Astr.....I’m sorry.....Ana, is there a bounty puck to go along with this?”
“No, my love, but you won’t need one.”
I take his hand, pulling it to my chest, and clasp it with both of my hands. The fob blinks so rapidly, it’s almost solid red. I giggle, playfully slapping the side of his helmet and start a full sprint to the front door toward the speeders yelling, “You’re it, tin can!”
He stands momentarily stunned.........then shouting, “NO! You’re not funny!”, he bursts into laughter as he starts after me.
#din djarin#mando fic#din djarin fic#din dijarin fanfiction#starwars fanfic#ao3fic#ao3feed#the mandolarian#dindaddy#smut
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Labor in the Battlefield
This is very much just a fic I made for self indulgence. I've noticed sometimes my stories just forget to explain shit and/or just forgets things that were set up in the beginning. I have adhd so yeah... I do this for fun anyway. This is SFW mentions of gunfire and (VERY) simplified pregnancy and birth. Enjoy.
Katherine never meant for this to happen. She didn’t even mean to hide her pregnancy from them, it just… happened. This mission was supposed to take three weeks and then she’d have told them and gone on parental leave.
But the mission went sideways, dragging on for months. Now here she was, eight months pregnant in a firefight. She was so close to making it through, extraction being only days away and her due date still three weeks away… But Katherine can’t ignore the pain in her body anymore. The unmistakable feeling of contractions renders her unable to keep standing and she collapses with a strangled gasp.
“Katherine!” Price’s worried voice barks over comms. “Gaz, Katherine needs help!”
Gaz drops to his knees by her side, turning her on her back to check her for injuries. ”No visible injuries, but something is wrong,” he reports back to Price. Gaz frowns worriedly at the panic in Katherine’s face.
“Get Katherine the hell out of here,” Soap growls, she spots him a few dozen feet away, firing at the enemy.
Ghost agrees in his usual gruff voice, “Go, I’ll cover you.” Enemy combatants drop like flies as Ghost begins protecting her and Gaz with his rifle.
Gaz hauls her up and a second later Price is by her side as well as they drag her off the field into cover. Soap follows them and crouches down in the doorway, keeping hostiles away from the team and Ghost follows a moment later.
Katherine’s leaning against a wall and Price sternly asks where her injuries are, while Gaz is preparing a medkit.
She shakes her head. This isn’t how this was meant to happen, but it’s happening. There is no changing that now.
“Captain, I’m not injured, I…” She can’t believe this is really happening. She takes a deep breath. “I’m going into labor.”
With the bombshell she just dropped Katherine bowed her head as pain pulsed through her body as the contracts made it hard for her to stand. The crimson haired field medic was taking deep breaths through the pain.
“God damnit,” Price says as he quickly kneels down next to her.
She sees the tension as Ghost and Soap join her side, Ghost’s blue eyes narrowing with concern.
With a gentle but firm touch, Gaz removes the flak jacket from her body in order to allow Price room to inspect you.
As he works on the straps of her body armor, he looks over to Soap and Ghost. “We are not going to make it out of here if she goes into labor.”
"YOU! Get your ass out there and make sure no enemies get close take Soap with you!" Katherine barked out as she pointed at Ghost.
Then she pointed at Price. "You! Get a medevac here as soon as possible!"
She didn't need to tell Gaz anything as he was doing what he was supposed to, helping her out of her gear to give birth. Seeing as she was about to give birth in an active battlefield she seemed to know what to do.
Ghost gives her a sharp nod and a small grin before barking an order to Soap, who nods once as well. Ghost takes back his position in the fight, covering Price and Gaz as they tend to Katherine’s needs.
Price gets on the radio, making contact with the extraction team. Meanwhile, Gaz finishes getting her body armor off and checks the position of the baby. "I can't feel the head but she's pretty far down. You're going to have to deliver that baby yourself. Just push when the contractions come.”
Katherine took a deep breath. "God, this was not meant to happen. This was supposed to be a short mission." She ranted to no one in particular. "I know, I know," Price says, taking her hand in a firm grip.
Gaz leans over and speaks in a low voice, so the others can’t hear. "We’ll get you and that baby out of here. I promise.” A contraction hits her and Gaz helps you in a sitting position, grabbing her legs and helping her to squat down. There is no time to waste. “Remember to breathe, that baby is almost here.”
"Price, If we get out of this alive, remind me to kill the man who got me pregnant." She muttered as she took deep breaths, pushing with the contractions. Katherine's crimson hair was matted to her face. A smile breaks out on the stoic Captain’s face, though he refrains from commenting.
Another contraction hits Katherine and Gaz urges her to start pushing. “Push. You’re doing great. The baby’s almost here,” he says, keeping a firm grip on her legs. Finally, a head with a fine head of red hair breaks through and Gaz helps her to deliver the baby’s arms. One last long push and the baby slips out of her, landing into Gaz’s hands like a delicate doll.
The sharp cries of the newborn was both an air of relief and new stress. Katherine held out her arms for her baby, panting from the pain and finally delivering her child. Gaz gently hands the baby over to her while Price is talking into the radio. His expression softens completely as he looks at the beautiful child in her arms. The cries of the newborn fill the small space and it’s the most beautiful thing they’ve ever heard.
Gaz finishes tying the umbilical cord while Price takes a few steps forward and crouches down to get a closer look at the baby, carefully studying her.
"Rose, that's going to be her name." She told Price as she looked over at him. Katherine held her newborn close, kissing the top of her little head. Price grins approvingly at the name.
“Rose… It suits her. How do you feel?” The expression on his face radiates relief seeing her and the baby unharmed.
Katherine let out a groan. "Like bloody death. I hope that medevac gets here soon." Rose had calmed down and stopped crying now sleeping in her mother's arms.
“It is just minutes away. Rose needs to get to a hospital, quickly,” Price responds.
“You’re one badass mother,” Soap compliments Katherine with a small teasing smile as he crouches down beside her.
"Damn straight." Katherine replied tiredly, the adrenaline fading from her body. She wanted to just rest but she couldn't right now.
“Just a little longer,” Price tells her. “And you can rest. You’re both going to be okay.”
Rose wakes up once more, yawning big and stretching her tiny hands. Katherine sees Ghost’s attention shift back to the baby and she can’t help but chuckle a little as she observes his fascination with her.
Katherine smiled softly. "Do you want to meet her Ghost?" She asked him. Ghost can barely keep the excitement off his face as he finally nods. She carefully hands him the baby and he’s instantly smitten with the tiny life he holds in his big hands, looking over her with loving eyes while she looks up at him with curiosity, studying him.
"How does it feel to hold her daddy?" She asked, finally confirming who Rose's father was. Katherine watched him hold the newborn like she was the most fragile thing in the world, she knew he'd be a good father. Ghost holds the baby up to his face and makes a small sound of awe before answering her. “It feels as if my life finally has meaning. As if I was born with one purpose and that is to protect her.”
There is no denying it, she can feel the fatherly love in Ghost’s eyes, the way he gazes curiously at her tiny face. Katherine finds it so heartwarming.
Price finally ends his call with the medevac team and approaches both of them, offering a smile to Ghost.
She smiles as she watches him. Glad he was taking it well. "I'm glad your life has meaning now." Katherine was also glad he was too preoccupied with his daughter to chew her out for not telling him she was pregnant this whole time.
Ghost finally tears his eyes away from the baby to look at her with a teasing grin. “I should beat your ass for not telling me sooner,” he mumbles in an endearing way, only half-joking.
"I didn't want to stress you out in an already stressful situation, love." Katherine explained softly. “Ah sure, sure, you were only thinking of my well-being,” he replies jokingly.
Price can't help but chuckle and smile softly at the pair. The medevac helicopter is finally coming into sight, flying low enough to be clearly identifiable. It is only a few minutes away.
She sighed in relief as she saw the medevac, soon this will be over and she could focus on being a mom. The helicopter finally touches down nearby and a medic hops out, heading your way.
“That’s them,” Price tells her and he urges her to stand up.
Rose is still asleep in Ghost’s arms and he offers Katherine a grin as you both stand up.
“They seem to love each other,” Price remarks, nodding towards Ghost and the baby.
"No doubt he will be a doting father." Katherine agrees as she gets up with the help of Price. The medic approaches Ghost and gently pries the child from his hands, putting her into the medic’s arms. “Don’t drop her.” Ghost says with an edge in his voice, before the medic carries his daughter to the helicopter.
Price wraps an arm around Katherine’s shoulders once more and helps her into the med-evac while Soap covers them both from afar. The team finally gets in and Soap climbs in last as he’s covering them from enemies still out there. But as soon as Soap is inside and the helicopter takes off, he finally sits back and relaxes.
Rose was handed back to Katherine and she held the newborn close covering her small ears from all the noise. Everyone safely in the helicopter.
"I love you boys, and I'm not just saying that. You are the best team a girl could ask for." She told the whole team. Looking between Gaz, Soap, Ghost and Price. Her words are met with an approving nod from Price, who turns his expression soft and looks at her.
Soap gives her a cocky grin. “Of course we are,” he replies with confidence.
Ghost seems to take her more seriously. “I love you too. More than you know.” He looks down at Rose with a small smile.
Gaz is the last one to respond. “I’d risk my life for you a thousand times over.”
Katherine smiled as she finally fell asleep leaning on Ghost as she rested. The ride in the helicopter is smooth, and as the adrenaline fades from her body, she just feels utterly exhausted. Ghost wraps an arm around her and leans her against his chest, feeling comfortable and protected. Katherine can’t believe how things ended up this way, but she was lucky to have ended up with a loving team and a beautiful baby.
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2 Edmonton police officers killed during domestic call; suspect dead and 1 hospitalized
Two Edmonton Police Service patrol officers were killed while responding to a domestic dispute call early Thursday morning, the city's police service has confirmed.
The male suspect is also dead from what investigators believe is a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
One person – a female of unknown age – is in hospital with life-threatening injuries but was in stable condition as of 10 a.m. when Edmonton's police chief spoke about the incident for the first time.
Dale McFee called the deaths of two west-end patrol members an "unthinkable and horrific tragedy."
He identified the members as 35-year-old Const. Travis Jordan and 30-year-old Const. Brett Ryan.
Jordan had served with EPS for eight-and-a-half years, and Ryan five-and-a-half years.
"Constables Jordan and Ryan were valued members of our EPS family and they worked side by side with us every day in service to our community and I can't tell you how devastated we are with their loss. We know that their family and friends, their EPS family and our entire community will be profoundly impacted by this incident but we must all be there for each other. This is a time where we lean in and lean on each other," McFee said, speaking at Edmonton Police Service's downtown headquarters.
KNOWN DETAILS
As EPS was called to Edmonton's Inglewood neighbourhood shortly after midnight, the investigation into the officers' deaths is still in the early stages.
But McFee provided what detail he said was available as of late Thursday morning.
"At approximately 12.47 a.m. this morning, Constables Jordan and Ryan of our west division responded to a family dispute in an apartment building near the area of 114 Avenue and 132 Street. Upon arrival, the two patrol members went inside the building, approached the suite, and were shot by a male subject.
"At this time, all indications are they did not have a chance to discharge their firearms," McFee said.
"The two members were rushed to the hospital by our own members who worked valiantly to save their lives en route. Unfortunately, they were both declared deceased at the hospital."
He promised to share more details as they became available, but asked for the public's patience while police investigate.
McFee said the public was not at risk.
"Our members are today, even in the face of tragedy, at work protecting our city. This is what police officers do every day. Even when they understand the risks that they face. We are grateful for their ongoing commitment even in the face of tragedy.
"As a police chief, I just want to tell you how humbled and proud of our members who continue to serve our community, this community, under such horrific circumstances."
'PRETTY WORRYING'
As McFee and other police and government officials spoke, the bodies of the slain officers were being transferred to the medical examiner's office, escorted by emergency vehicles.
And, dozens of police officers remained in Inglewood at an apartment building – Baywood Apartments – which had been taped off since the early morning.
A community resident told CTV News Edmonton he was woken up by helicopters, sirens and emergency lights.
A Baywood Apartments resident told CTV News Edmonton he didn't hear anything overnight and was surprised to find police set up outside his home in the morning when he left for work.
"It's frightening. I'm very worried about it. My child's safety. I've never had this problem here," Tom Deagle said.
"We're trying to get out of here, out of this neighbourhood, because it's constantly stuff, but I've never seen to this extent. It's pretty worrying."
Noting gun and gang violence is up across Canada, CTV News' public safety analyst called the situation in Edmonton "very sad commentary."
"Canada is still a relatively safe country but we have these incidents up here increasing and we need to do everything as a country – not just police but everybody – to try to prevent this kind of thing from continuing," Chris Lewis said.
"It’s a huge dark day for the police service, for every man, woman, civilian in uniform that knew the officers and those who didn’t. It’s hard to describe the feeling of dread and grief that goes through a police agency."
Multiple government officials and agencies sent their condolences to EPS from afar, including Calgary Police Service and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.
This is a breaking news story. Information will be updated as it becomes available.
With files from CTV News Edmonton's Evan Klippenstein and Nicole Lampa
from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/6Lx2KRp
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Mortal of Gold - Part 3
(Yandere!C!Techno x GN!Shy!Reader x Yandere!C!Philza)
Anyone want my list of the characters as gods? There were a few characters that I couldn't think of like Ponk, so I just left them out. ANYWAY. Hi, how's it going? ALSO I CANT EDIT THIS DAMN POST AND THE SPELLING ERRORS ARE SO IRRITATING
Part 1 Part 2
TW: Mention of amnesia, memories being altered
Send me a message via inbox if you wanna be added to a general or series tag list. Make sure to turn off anon, please.
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“They weren’t born… A mortal?”
A light wind brushed over your features, causing you to give a small sigh and roll over onto your side in an attempt to block the light from hitting your lidded eyes. It was nice and quiet for once…
“(Y/n)?” A distorted voice echoed softly, causing you to flinch a bit. You opened your eyes slightly to see a silky blackbird sitting on the sheets beside you, a few golden trinkets laying beside it. Upon seeing your eyes slide open, the creature hopped up onto its legs and began making soft cooing noises, “(Y/n)! (Y/n), you’re awake!”
Glancing around at the surroundings you had been placed in, racking your mind for any sort of familiarity but failing to come up with anything at all, even who you were. You sat up, slowly brushing your fingers along your ombre silk clothing before putting your hands on the sheets below your body, frowning as you didn’t recognize the bed as yours.
“Hello…” You murmured softly, reaching your hand out to the crow who eagerly jumped forward to nuzzle your hand. The feathers of the bird felt… Odd. They felt more like grabbing at misty fog, but with a light staticky cotton texture that caused a buzzing sensation on your fingertips, “I’m sorry, my memory… Seems to be a tad faulty… Could you tell me your name?”
“I’m Chat, Dadza- er… Philza’s familiar! I was a gift from Mumza, oops... Kristen, the Goddess of Void and Death.” It chirped, its voice having multiple layers in your head, causing you to shake your head a slight bit, “No, they’re not married, only parental figures to the souls that pass on to the afterlife or those they saved sometime before they passed on… I believe they have more of a co-worker relationship.”
You nodded slightly, pursing your lips at how the creature’s voice sounded in your mind. It was unsettling and caused shivers to crawl up and down your back, but at the same time, it was incredibly calming and had a soothing aura. How that worked, you had no clue whatsoever. Brushing off the unsettling voice of the bird, you decided to focus on the name that caused a light to go off in your head, “Alright… Philza… I think I remember that name…”
“Yeah! Dadza- Eck… Sorry. Phil, he’s the God of Survival and Crows! He controls not only every crow in the mortal land, but he also controls whether or not someone will survive a situation. If there is no way that the mortal can survive, he will send a crow down and have them guide the soul of the mortal to him! Then he escorts them to Kristen! He has gained the name Angel of Death because he works for Mumza!”
You decided not to question why the crow called Philza and Kristen Mumza and Dadza, knowing that you’d probably find out later, but by the sound of it Chat seemed to be multiple children, “Okay… Makes sense…” You mumbled slowly, nodding your head up and down. With a sigh you slowly brought your legs over to the side of the bed, only now becoming aware of how large the soft mattress was. Lowlands! (Hell) You could probably fit six people who were ten feet tall in it with room to roam! Pushing yourself off the bed, you also realized how high the beautiful bed was off the floor, Gods, whoever lived here was tall!
Behind you, you heard a small chirp, and you saw Chat watching you curiously. With a small shrug, you decided to pick the familiar up and hold it in your cupped hands as you walked out the door, “Oooh! Dadza never carries us like this, and Technoblade does only when he’s about to yeet us out a window!”
“Yeet?” You scowled in confusion as you walked through the arched doorway, your bare feet padding silently on the quartz flooring, “I'm scared to ask. Technoblade? Is he also a god of some things? He sounds familiar as well…”
“That’s its word for throwing something. Well, it yells the word when they throw something or get thrown, so I assume it’s yelling in excitement,” A deep voice spoke from in front of you, causing you to gasp and lift your head from the crow. The telepathic chirping and squeaks from Chat in your mind quickly formed the name Technoblade, so… You had a feeling that your answer was on its way past his
lips, “I’m Technoblade, or Techno, the God of Blood and War. It’s… nice to see you finally awake…” He shifted awkwardly on his feet as you curiously studied him.
His appearance could certainly be described as godly if anyone asked you. His long pink hair was mostly twisted and tied into a braid with bits of golden chain and a polished golden crown adorned with rubies, garnets and diamonds. Upon his pale skin, dozens of scars of varying sizes decorated his skin in different areas, but they were displayed in an almost proud manner. Almost. When he spoke, his dark pink eyes hidden behind cracked glasses searched your form for any sort of injury, “I’m… (Y/n)... I think. I don’t know if this bird is exactly trustworthy in its information… Do you know where I am?”
Techno snorted as Chat gave an offended squawk at your statement, “That’s very fair, to be honest. You’re in the Tundra of the Upperlands, and this is my palace. No there is no snow, I believe the person who named this place has never looked into the name or word Tundra, but it’s been like this for too long to change it-” He paused for a moment as he noticed you looking extremely confused, “Ah. Right. Desert. Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh… Okay…” You frowned at the tusked male for a moment before shaking your head, deciding not to question it much, “Now, uh… How did I get here, and why don’t I remember anything about myself? Or, about you and this Philza guy, I was told about.” You lifted Chat slightly toward Techno as a silent indication that Chat was the one who told you about Phil.
“That’s uh… Phil’s field of expertise.” He rubbed the back of his head with his black-tipped fingers before adjusting his crown, “I don’t understand much of what happened, and Phil will tell you what you need to know that will keep you safe.” Hesitantly, he held his free hand out towards you making you realize that he was easily over seven and a half feet tall, “C’mon, I’ll take you to him and get you the answers you need.”
His hand was extremely steady, you noticed as you stared down at it cautiously. Once you noticed that he didn’t seem to want to do you harm, you slowly shifted Chat into one hand and used your free hand to take the one extended to you, which you couldn’t help but notice, made Technoblade very happy, “Okay. Thank you.”
The god held your hand in his calloused one for a few moments before beginning to lead you down the tan and white hallways that were turned a light golden hue from the rising sun. It was quite a long walk filled with a slightly uncomfortable silence, but you distracted yourself by looking around the palace curiously. It was obvious he was the God of War by how many swords hanging on walls and sets of armour he had placed on armour stands in the hallways.
Eventually, he walked you through an archway that led into a wide-open room with multiple windows that had many crows perched on the windowsills, some chirping and singing some little tune in perfect unison while others shuffled around, seeming to do a little dance. You were quick to realize the whistling of one of the birds didn’t match up and noticed that it was coming from the man with the large white and green striped hat as well as massive black feathered wings dangling on his back, fluffing themselves up every so often. When you and Techno stepped in, the blackbirds started chirping loudly, losing the rhythm of the tune the winged man was whistling as Chat started telepathically squealing about… 2/4? Two out of four what?
“Ah!” The hat-wearing male turned around and clasped his hands together upon seeing you standing up, “(Y/n), you’re awake. I was worried the injuries you sustained were enough to keep you out cold for a few more weeks. I’m glad to see I was wrong. I’m Philza, God of Survival and Crows, and I see you’ve met Chat and Techno. Pesky bird, I told it not to wake you...”
You pursed your lips for a moment, analyzing the shorter god as the bird squealed out its protests. While he was shorter than Techno, he was certainly tall, standing roughly around six feet tall, his wingspan
probably double that for each wing! His blonde hair was long around his face but was pulled into a loose braid like Techno’s was, although instead of gold intertwined into his hair, it was silver. His outfit was made up of a loose green shirt and black pants, with a red heart-shaped pendant dangling off of a chain into the center of his chest. Why did that pendant… Look familiar? You slowly rose your hand up and clasped at the pendant around your neck, noticing how Philza smiled softly, “Technoblade… Said you could tell me why I can’t remember anything?”
“You’re still wearing my gift, I see,” Philza gave a soft hum as Chat jumped from your hand and onto his shoulder, before gesturing for you and Techno to take a seat where he already had drinks and some form of cakes set out, but they certainly weren’t there when you came in. Upon seeing your confused blinking, he gave a soft laugh, “I’m a god, mate, magic is no difficult task for me, let alone creating some measly tea and desserts. Now, sit down and I will tell you everything…”
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General - None
Mortal of Gold -@generalalmond @binas-idea-vault @ohworm-writes
#philza x reader#technoblade x reader#techno x reader#yandere philza x reader#yandere technoblade x reader#mcyt#mcyt x reader#yandere mcyt#dream smp#dream smp x reader#technoblade dream smp#philza dream smp#technoblade dreamsmp#philza dreamsmp#phil dream smp#phil dreamsmp#mcyt au#dsmp#mcyt god au
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Just a Little Pretense
Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.
The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
AO3
“… It would be to take you off my hands!”
Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.
Jaskier blinks, impressed.
All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.
Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.
Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.
His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.
But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.
“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”
A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.
Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.
And closes it.
Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.
More than convincing.
Except, it just might be … too convincing.
Wait—
Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.
“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.
It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.
Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.
The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.
Oh.
Fuck.
“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.
And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.
“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.
Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.
Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?
Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.
The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.
Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.
Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.
“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”
The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.
He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.
“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”
“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”
Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.
“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.
“I never meant it, Jask.”
“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”
Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”
Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”
They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.
Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.
He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.
“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.
Geralt hums, lips pursed.
“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”
Still, no smile.
“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”
Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.
“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”
Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.
“Yes, dear.”
Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.
Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.
A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.
---
Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon
Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3
#geraskier#geraskier fic#reverse trope#fake breakup#geralt x jaskier#post mountain#hurt/comfort#geralt of rivia is a sap#soft jaskier#jaskier is an idiot#don't mind him#established relationship
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Here to Misbehave (Finale | S.R.)
Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |
Summary: It’s Halloween, and there are a lot of things on Spencer’s mind.
A/N: Here it is, everyone: the end of the story. Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this far. I greatly appreciate all of you, and I hope you enjoy it!
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Fluff/Smut (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Penetrative sex, light D/s, mostly fluff!
Word Count: 7.5k
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Autumn has widely been considered the season of change. It is an understandable characterization; from the shifting hues of the leaves to the wildly fluctuating temperatures, few things stayed consistent in the fall. Perhaps that’s why someone who loathes change, someone like me, finds the season so thrilling.
It’s like the Earth and the Sun made a pact to make changes more predictable in their own unique, chaotic way. The breeze becomes biting and the days become shorter, but for these downfalls, we are granted a beauty and calmness that can’t be rivaled by any other season.
But she wasn’t a season, and when it came to my attention and appreciation, there were few choices that were easier to make.
“Spencer. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
(Y/n)’s face was half covered by the cup she held tightly with both hands, but I could picture the hidden expression perfectly, regardless.
“What? We don’t have to agree on everything.”
The truce was received poorly, her response a heavy scoff and a shake of her head. I tried to follow along with her suddenly heated words but couldn’t contain the stars in my eyes that often accompanied my daydreams. If she did notice, she stubbornly ignored the adoration to continue, “I understand you’re a genius or whatever, but I think your opinions on cider and cocoa are... wrong. They are wrong.”
It was my turn to feign displeasure (I hoped hers wasn’t real, anyway), clutching tighter to my own drink that I found myself defending on a park bench with dozens of strangers as an audience.
“An opinion can’t be wrong!” I chirped, only hating the way my voice jumped a little bit. After all, it was hard to hate it when it made her giggle. But despite how much sweeter the liquid seemed when I drank it in the presence of her smile, I also knew that she wouldn’t appreciate my immediate agreement. So, I pushed back just a little, “It can be misguided or ignorant but not outright wrong.”
“Unless it’s yours, on this topic,” she shot back without hesitation.
I tried to flash her a pout, hoping that maybe it would work for me like it did for her. It did not. Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped open with another laugh, and I decided that I preferred that outcome, anyway. The longer my bottom lip stuck out, the wider her smile got. I waited to stop until her eyes closed and turned away, just long enough for me to let the full force of my affection show before she noticed.
She saw it, anyway, in the form of a similar smile spread over my face when I softly admitted, “Fine. You’re right.”
“Oh, I know.”
Her tongue peeked between her lips, and I found myself thinking less of cider and cocoa and more about how unbelievably lucky I was to find someone that I never felt the need to prove anything to. A person that didn’t care if I held all the answers.
I might’ve continued down that sappy train of thought, but it was hard to do while she had hoisted herself halfway over the table to try and grab hold of my cup right as I went to drink from it. Of course, she had failed to take into account just how big the table was, and just how close I was willing to come to falling before I let her drink from my cup right after she’d criticized my preference of fall flavors.
For a second, I really thought she might climb onto the table to win, but the judgmental looks from the parents in the park must have beaten her desire to win. As forlorn as humanly possible, she fell back into her seat with a loud “Hmph!” which really only managed to elicit an equally immature giggle from me.
“Shut up,” she laughed before shoving my paper plate further into my chest, “And eat your stupid pie.”
All I could think as she grabbed my fork and stabbed the middle of the piece to try to lift the entire thing at once, was that I was right about one thing: Autumn, in all its vitality and beauty, could still never compare to her.
That thought persisted through the pumpkin patch, growing in intensity as she skipped through the vine-laden path like a regular fall fairy. It was much easier to get lost in her there, crouched and inspecting foliage. Her arguments regarding gourds were much less spirited, with her watching me wide-eyed and curious as I explained the stages of pumpkin growth and all the different uses for the fruit.
I still let her make the final choices, opting to analyze her selections and tease her for them later, instead. That was the plan, anyway, to continue the competitiveness lest she gets bored with me before the day was over. When she walked past me holding open the passenger side door, I thought it might’ve already happened.
But then she just placed the pumpkin into my hands so she could open the back door. Before I could even move, she carefully removed it from my arms again and placed it in the seat.
“What are you doing?” I said through a very amused chuckle.
She was decidedly not entertained by my confusion, stopping to turn to me with a bored, frustrated expression. “I’m buckling him in,” she explained slowly, like I might need the help. Then, to add insult to silly injury, she added, “Duh.”
I was too distracted by the details to tackle the absurdity of it all.
“Him? It’s a boy pumpkin?”
“Obviously. Look at him,” she snorted, finally clicking the seatbelt in before tenderly petting the top of the lucky little gourd. Once she was convinced it would be as safe as she could make it, she allowed me to begin to escort her into her proper seat.
“You know it’s safer on the floor, right?” I asked before she’d slipped past me. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the car so I could enjoy the warmth of her before it was replaced with the dry air of the engine.
“How dare you,” she balked with an open mouth that was just begging to be kissed. By the time I got close enough to try, though, her hand fervently shoved my cheek away. I tried to laugh, but she used the same hand to cover the noise, trying and failing to convince me she was being serious.
“Why don’t you just hold him?” I mumbled against her palm.
That was enough for her to abandon my embrace altogether. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she pried my arms off of her and finally made her way to my passenger seat. I didn’t fight her too hard, even taking the time to shut her door like my mother always insisted.
The mercy was not returned, with her eyes narrowed into a playful disbelieving glare that I hadn’t seen in some time. My mind was brought back to the first time she ever let me know she was jealous, bickering over blondes and preferences while she sat in the very same place. And, just as before, she was still wearing the same raggedy old sweatshirt of mine.
“If this is any indication of how you’ll be with a human baby, I have dramatically overestimated your competence,” she droned, obviously unaffected by the stars that appeared in my eyes every time I looked at her.
“The one and only time you’ll ever be able to say those words. I hope you enjoyed it,” I joked. A funny enough joke that she couldn’t help but smile through her facade.
“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I did.”
The day could have ended there, and it would have been enough. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t be better with her there. In a way, I think we were trying to prolong the high of ‘hooky,’ finding even the faintest interest in an activity as enough of an excuse for a detour.
… Which was probably how we found ourselves in our third park of the day. After all, I loved any autumnal vision, so how could I decline an opportunity to let them serve as a backdrop for watching her? And that was an accurate description of how I spent the day. It might sound boring, and if it were anyone else, it probably would have been. But no matter how often I saw her, I found myself learning new things about her every single time. Each freckle and scar became a part of the high-definition collection of memories that I would never let myself forget. The most beautiful images that kept me sane in the face of evil and filth.
“Do you see that?”
For a moment, I thought she might have read my mind. But then I realized that her eyes were still fixed forward, stuck on the horizon ahead of us.
“See what?”
“That,” she pointed, “Right there.”
My eyes followed the line, finding nothing but an area of carefully manicured, yellow grass and trees already set to rest for the season. It must have been clear to her that I was lost, because her pointing became more animated and her voice rose as she shouted, “Right there!”
“The giant pile of leaves?”
“Uh-huh.”
Then, in all of my obliviousness, I just sort of stared. Even when her hand grew tighter around mine and her feet started to move faster, I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late.
“What about— No! (Y/n)!” I shouted, cutting off my own train of thought and only barely letting go of her in time to watch her jump straight into the collection of fallen foliage that some poor landscaper had obviously worked hard to gather.
I have to believe that even if that unlucky, underappreciated individual saw what she’d done to their hours of work, that they would forgive her. It was hard to feel anything but joy at the sounds that came from the pile. Yet I approached her cautiously, with both hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throw myself into danger with her.
“You’re a terror,” I said, settling for a crouched position in front of her. Still able to see her but far enough from her grasp that she had to crawl through a wall of leaves to come nose to nose with me. “This is literally the scariest thing you’ve done all season.”
“Come on in, the water’s fine,” she purred.
As enticing as the offer was, my mind was too preoccupied with statistics of spider and snake bites, not to mention the possibility of ticks still scouring the landscape for any last second hosts. The answer was easy.
“Absolutely not.”
With another exhale of pure displeasure, she threw her body back into the leaves, burying herself into a mess of yellows and reds that somehow only made her look even more beautiful. The chaotic scene matched her energy well, and the harm she was doing was minimal considering I was absolutely going to search every inch of skin for any marks later.
The only thing that was more appealing to me than watching her make an absolute fool out of herself in a pile of leaves was the intense urge to tease her about it. So, taking a regrettable seat on the grass, I sighed, “I think I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”
There was a loud gasp from the center of the pile, followed by a scuffle of flailing limbs among the foliage.
“You don’t own this leaf pile! I do! I am queen of the leaf pile!” she screeched.
“Alright Princess,” I subtly corrected, “whatever you say.”
As promised, I didn’t put up a fight. Even when she finally got a hold of my hands and dragged me into the madness with her. I followed her no matter what nonsense she demanded, just as she had with me so many times. Granted, my desires weren’t nearly as dangerous or strange. They were pretty much just a collection of foreign films and reading that always lulled her to sleep.
But that day there was no sign of her energy waning. The early sun faded and we kept going. I’m not sure how, but she managed to enjoy herself in the D.C. landscape of bars and blaring car horns despite not being able to indulge in anything herself. Although she did half-heartedly attempt to trick me into buying her drinks in several different establishments, I think she was honestly proud that I avoided the drinks altogether. It was a nice reminder that sobriety could be something enjoyed between the two of us, regardless of the environment. However, we didn’t let that stop us from jumping into a crowd of very drunk women who had insisted we join their haunted tour of the city.
“Are you scared?” she whispered into my ear. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin caused a shiver to run down my spine, ruining any credibility I had in my response.
“No. Why would I be scared? It’s just history.”
“Are you sure?” she asked again.
“Yes!” I insisted with the worst possible timing. Because just as soon as the word had left my lips, I felt the distinct sensation of fingers running down my neck and arm opposite to her. I was so convinced that’s what it was that I even spun around with a yelp, crashing into at least three different people just to find a very startled woman with the worst hung scarf I’d ever seen.
(Y/n) had already put two and two together and was lost in an absolute fit of laughter. There were already tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she doubled over, barely able to stand through it all. Because there I was, her 31-year-old FBI agent boyfriend, screaming over a scarf.
“Laugh it up,” I droned. And she did. She kept laughing through any attempts at a response, and after the initial embarrassment wore off, I couldn’t help but join her.
“I hope you know you chose me. You chose this man!” I shouted, gesturing to the people around us who had already forgotten about our shenanigans, “And everyone knows it!”
“I’m sorry I can’t—” she wheezed, pausing to take a necessary breath that was all lost with another bunch of giggles “—You’re a fucking FBI Agent!”
“Well I can’t shoot a ghost, can I?” I mumbled through the hit to my ego. But any suffering was quickly dealt with as she threw dramatic arms around my waist, pulling me close and protecting me from any other errant scarves that might show up.
“I love you so much,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I returned with a quick kiss on her forehead. And even if I implied otherwise, I think she knew that I was having just as good of a time as she was. In fact, it was one of the most relaxing days of my life, which was saying something, considering how much walking was involved.
But no matter how tired we both were, I still had one last place to take her. It took her a while to figure out why the route felt so familiar, but I wasn’t ready to ruin the surprise. I wanted to watch the realization dawn on her. She didn’t disappoint.
“The Mayflower?” she asked with a bit of a bashful laugh before looking up at me through narrowed eyes, “Feeling nostalgic, Dr. Reid?”
“Yeah, a little bit. Thought it was more romantic than the club,” I offered, trying to shrug off the nervous butterflies that burst through my stomach. “Not by much, mind you.”
Although I got the feeling that she didn’t know, or perhaps just didn’t remember, that wonderful night from almost a year ago was one of the most important days of my life. I knew it then, too. From the second I set my eyes on her from my pitiful place against the bar, I knew that she would ruin me.
“Nothing screams high end romance like an alley and a little light law breaking,” she sighed. I almost missed it, too preoccupied with the way her arm tugged me tighter so she could rest her head against my shoulder.
“I can take you home if you’d rather.”
“Hmmm. Depends,” she hummed. Then, turning her head up to me with that playful look that always turned me to putty in her hands, she purred, “How much longer do you think you can wait before you just have to have me?”
I sucked in a sharp, sarcastic breath, eyeing her just long enough for her to start to fume, I let out all the air with a defeated sigh, “I guess we’re staying.”
That serene sort of teasing continued past the reception desk and all the way up the elevator. If there were other people there, we didn’t bother noticing. We were too busy watching one another to even look away long enough to find our room. Doubling back through the dizzying hallways until we found the elusive number, we finally settled into the only vaguely familiar layout of beige and tan.
She was much quicker at it than I was. Before I’d even finished washing my hands and checking exposed skin for bugs that I was convinced had hitched a ride from the leaf pile, she was already stretched out on the bed in nothing but a tiny piece of lacy cotton and her favorite sweatshirt. The sight made me stop, lost for breath and logic of how I was lucky enough to be there with her again.
“See something you like, Dr. Reid?” she teased through giggles, no doubt recalling the same memory as me.
My answer didn’t need to be said, but I said it, anyway. She deserved to hear it.
“Yes.”
With arms outstretched, she sleepily begged, “Come here.”
But I couldn’t.
“Not yet… I just… I want to look at you like this a little bit longer.”
How could I move on from this moment, when it was the best I’d ever felt? So overwhelmingly safe and at home despite being in a strange, sterile room. I had no desire to move any inch of me if it meant that this image would persist for the rest of my days.
“You getting all romantic on me?”
“Always,” I chuckled. Her usual disgust for my sappy behavior didn’t show itself, overpowered by the gentle curve of her lips and hands that were becoming more and more insistent to be held. Eventually, I had to move, knowing that it was the only way to hold her.
My body reacted the way it always did when it found her. All of the tension dropped from tired shoulders, desperate to touch her more. To feel the imprint of her body pressed against mine, a mess of heat and need and love.
She was the one to kiss me first, and for a moment I let her do it without reciprocation. I wanted to feel how her touch became softer and shier as she realized what I was doing. That I was spending all of my energy memorizing the way her lips parted as she tried to hold back a giggle against my almost-still lips.
“What’s happening in that big genius brain of yours?” she murmured with eyes half open but still containing universes.
“I’m just thinking of all the things you’ve done to make me fall in love with you.”
I thanked all of the gods in every pantheon that made her too tired to tease. Instead, she just laughed, playing her part in bringing us back to that night we met.
“Like quote Picard?”
“We still haven’t watched Star Trek together,” I whined.
The sound must have stirred something new in her, because she rolled us over to take her seat on my lap. She hung over me, looking down at me, hopeless and breathless at the feel of her thighs under my hands. My heart started to race, but I didn’t know why.
It wasn’t until she spoke the words that were already running through my mind, “We’ve got time. Picard can wait.”
Everything about it was effortless. Our bodies had fallen together and mouths found each other exactly like every romance novel has ever tried to tackle the metaphor of gravity.
But if we were an orbit, it was not a binary like the traditional notion of two equal souls. Despite the nickname I’d chosen for her, nothing about her soul was small. And even though she burned bright, she wasn’t anything like the fiery combustion of a star.
She was a home. A thing so full of vitality and life that I would love to watch for whatever time I had left. I was just a moon, loyally following her and trying my best to shield her from whatever might try to harm her. To protect her when she needed rest and to lead the tides to kiss her when she wished. I would be her shadow, shining a light onto her even in the darkest time. All that I asked for in return was a spot beside her.
‘One day,’ she had said before, ‘if you will have me.’
But it was never a question. Not for me. And if she really needed me to answer it for her, I was happy to give her that. I hadn’t been waiting for even a year, but it felt like a lifetime.
“Yeah, he can,” I repeated, quiet and with such a heavy waver that I’m surprised she could understand the shifting inflections. Even if she didn’t, she knew that something had changed in those few seconds of silence.
“What’s up, Spencer?”
I didn’t know how to answer. How to explain what I was feeling. But I grabbed hold of one hand, clinging desperately to her and guiding her to the heart that felt dangerously light. The rapid pace of its beating still not enough to alert her of the true cacophony of my thoughts.
“Are you okay?”
The answer was yes. Because no matter how loud and chaotic the sounds inside my head were, they all lead me to the same conclusion.
“Picard can wait, and we have a lot of time,” I tried to explain through a dry throat that was only growing tighter with the unwieldy weight of the feeling.
“Yes…” she mumbled back, just as trepidatious and nervous as I was.
Just like I was. Because we were. We were connected by some force, whatever you want to call it. Whether it was a chemical or psychological or heavenly connection, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know how I felt. To know that there was nothing that would ever tear me away from her.
“But I don’t… I don’t think I want to wait.”
After a couple more seconds of silence, she answered with a knowing stare, “… What?”
From my position underneath her, I was able to reach over just enough to grab my jacket. Of course, it helped that she moved with me, clearly curious and terrified of the possibilities. But a good kind of terror… I hoped.
My confidence grew as her legs gripped tighter around my hips and her hands shot up to cover her chest with balled fists pressed against one another. I heard the friction of her skin as her body started to shake in a different way, with an adrenaline that I hadn’t seen from her in even the most dangerous situations.
But when I pulled a small velvet box from the internal pocket, everything stopped. She became completely still. Her eyes were wide and frozen on the object in my hands, only to look away when she heard my voice.
“(Y/n).”
“Where did you get that?” she asked like she hadn’t just seen me pull it from my jacket. The same jacket that I wore every time that I was with her. The wool fabric that she’d swaddled herself in on a number of occasions, none the wiser of how much heavier it was for me when I wore it.
“I know this is really random, a-and to be fair, I wasn’t expecting it, either,” I said through the most awkward laughs I’d ever produced (which was saying something), “I mean, I knew I wanted to marry you, I’ve known that for quite some time, hence the ring.”
I paused, but got nothing in response. Nothing except her lips quivering from their parted position, and her nose twitching as she tried to settle on just one expression. But it didn’t matter how she contorted her face; they were all exactly as they should be. Because they were all her.
“But today, with you… I-I’ve never been that happy in my life. Jumping in leaves and fighting over fall flavors and I—“
Her eyes stopped bouncing, settling with my gaze and robbing my lungs of all air. She made up her mind, deciding to leave everything exactly as it was. The honest truth of the overwhelming storm of every emotion that had been experienced in the little time we had shared together.
The knowing that everything had happened exactly as it should have to bring us here.
“I love you so much,” I whispered, careful to make every word as genuine as they were, “And I know that we have all the time in the world left with one another… but I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be my wife.”
“Ask me,” she answered immediately and abruptly.
“Okay,” I laughed, endlessly entertained by how she could sound so aggressive even when we were both at our most vulnerable, caught in the nexus of our love.
“Um… Will you… marry me?”
There was no hesitation. No worry, no fear, and no doubt.
“Yes, you stupid old man!” she outright screamed, throwing arms around me even when it meant we both slammed against pillows and the headboard. She didn’t stop squealing even when she kissed me, struggling to find more of me to hold onto.
After she decided that tugging on my hair was the best way to express her affection, I managed to break away just long enough to shout, “Wait! I have to put the ring on you!”
“Then put it on!” she yelled, thrusting her hand in front of my face and practically slapping me in the process. But none of the pain mattered. Nothing was even recognizable outside of the feeling of her sweaty, shaking palm resting against my fingers.
I noticed for the first time that I was also trembling. I took the time to focus, slipping the ring over her finger. But once it started to safely slide into place, my eyes returned to watch what I knew to be happy tears fall over her cheeks. I wiped them away, but they were replaced with the wetness from my face when she brought us together again with a long, gentle kiss.
A calmness came over the room like the feeling following a storm. A clean slate with soil enriched for growth. A hope for a future forever changed.
“What do we do now?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and holding tight to my hands.
The answer seemed clear enough.
“Whatever we want.”
—————————————————
Is this really happening?
I stared at the diamond shining back at me with a clarity that had to be a metaphor for my heart. In the vague reflection of yellow light and us, I felt a warmth that doesn’t normally accompany metal. My finger’s new companion felt so comfortable in its new resting place. A constant reminder of the man I called home.
Then I turned back to him, unsure how I was supposed to move on from this moment. I never wanted to leave, but I also needed to move. I compromised and settled with my face against his chest, listening to the heartbeat he’d just dedicated to me. In that peaceful quiet, I heard him speak so softly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.
But I did.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said with fingers dancing through the ends of my hair, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
And for once, the thought didn’t feel like a burden. In fact, it felt like freedom. I was finally free to be who I was without worry that I would be alone. Without worrying that I would be too much or too little to please him.
I was enough.
Enough.
“I love you,” I said, tasting salt from tears I hadn’t even noticed were falling.
Curiously, and in a rare role switch, Spencer was the one who took a blatantly affectionate display and turned it into something else. Pulling me away from his chest, he dragged me up until he could drag his lips over my jaw.
“Don’t cry, little girl,” he cooed with what I could only imagine was a wicked grin, “I haven’t given you a reason to yet.”
Something about that gruff rumble in his throat caused my skin to ripple with goosebumps. Every inch of me burned with flames that could only be put out by his touch. I chased after his lips with my own, but he was insistent on trailing down my throat. He knew I would be powerless to him. I wouldn’t be able to argue when my hands were knotted in his hair and my hips were already rocking helplessly against his erection.
“I want you to fuck me,” I seethed. My blood was boiling from the heat I felt within, and before he could even answer I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.
“Oh? You don’t want me to make love to you?” Spencer laughed. As if that had ever been our style.
“No, I want you to take what’s yours.”
He responded to the demand by pushing me from my seat, forcing me onto my back on the other end of the bed. I wasn’t going to complain, either. The new position allowed me access to his belt, which I unbuckled before he even had time to laugh.
“Are you really challenging me right now, little girl?”
But despite the taunt, he did nothing to stop me. His hands were also busy removing my clothes. And just like before, our nakedness was reciprocated. With each lost layer, I should have felt lighter, but I didn’t. I felt so powerful, so aware of how our bare bodies twined together.
“Here, of all places? Do you remember what I did to you that night?”
How could I ever forget?
“I’m not the same girl you had in your bed then,” I purred. We both knew it was true, although not in the way I was implying.
Because Spencer had changed me. Irrevocably. He taught me so much — not just about physics, literature, or criminology, either. He taught me about kindness, softness, and vulnerability. He taught me how to trust that someone could hold me without the intention of letting me go. More than anything, he taught me that I didn’t have to learn these things alone. Even the smartest man I’d ever met needed help with them sometimes.
Then again, something told me that Spencer wasn’t in a very humble mood. Perhaps it was the fact he’d pinned me down again, with his hands clumsily gripping hard enough to leave crescent moons in my forearms.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he growled with a small, chaste kiss, “You’re still just a fucking brat.”
I wasn’t feeling bratty then, though. Especially not as I felt the head of his cock pressed against me, just hard enough to feel the resistance of my body. He waited there, no doubt taking pleasure in the way my whole body squirmed underneath him. My hips bucked, but he managed to keep a cruelly steady distance.
“You’re so precious when you’re needy,” he mumbled. And although I stubbornly avoided looking him in the eyes out of protest, he forced my face towards him again, anyway. “Go on. Say please.”
“Fuck off,” I whined through a prominent pout that did me no favors.
“Say it.”
“Please!”
I managed to make eye contact, but it was fleeting. As soon as he thrust forward into me, my back arched and I lost myself in the pillows. My hands found him, though, leaving angry red welts over heated skin. If Spencer was at all affected by the pain, he made no showing of it. His pace continued, steadily forcing our bodies together until I trembled in his hands.
He would hold me there, at my limit but not pleading for him to do anything different. With tender hands, he would fuck me until I swore bruises would follow. But I never felt unsafe; I felt cared for and cherished in a way I’d never known. I trusted him to know my limits better than myself.
I trusted him with all of me because I had already seen that when given the chance, he would do whatever he could to protect me.
The love I felt must have shone through my eyes because his hips got slower, drawing out each movement. My hips rose in tandem with his, allowing me to feel every inch of him inside of me.
“This body belongs to me now and forever,” he whispered.
It always has.
“You belong to me.”
And I felt it. The undeniable string of fate that tied us to each other. I could feel his every emotion as his fingers brushed over my throat. I melted under his touch, completely consumed by the love he felt for me. The kind of love that people spent their whole lives searching for only to come up empty. That powerful thing that drove gods to war and men to madness.
The only feeling that could tear down every wall that had been carefully crafted to protect myself. Because I didn’t need them anymore. Spencer’s arms would take their place, holding me through the storms that might follow the same way he had carried me through the ones that led us here.
“Yes,” I breathed, “I’m yours.”
For forever and whatever comes after.
The words were truer than they’d ever been before, and Spencer took it as permission to let go of any remaining hesitation. The slow, gentle thrusts became faster and our moans echoed in the small room without a second thought to the poor patrons in the rooms surrounding us. Because if they felt what we did, they would understand. Spencer still tried to hush the sounds, crashing his lips over mine in a sloppy, frenzied kiss.
I was suddenly reminded of every romantic story I’d ever heard. They all spoke of feeling so close to someone that they felt like an extension of yourself. I wasn’t sure if it was completely true, but there was no denying how at home our bodies were. The way our tongues wrapped around one another and how our noses bumped so gently in the chaos was unmatched by any meeting driven by lust or need.
His hips met mine over and over again, no matter how hard I tried to keep him closer. Even when my hips chased his to be held longer, Spencer was persistent in the ruthless pace. Because like me, he was lost in the euphoria. I knew it from the sound of his whimpers and the way he bit my lip just a little bit harder.
“Tell me what you want, little girl,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged.
“You,” I answered without any doubt, “I just want you.”
His response came even faster, even more desperate and scratchy as it came through his lips into mine.
“You have me. For the rest of my life and whatever comes after, I will take care of you.”
There was nothing left to say. I could feel the truth and force behind the words as he fucked me harder, eliciting one more quiet cry from me in the sound of his name.
“Spencer...”
When he returned the call, though, it wasn’t with any name I’d heard from him before.
“So you better get used to this feeling,” he said through a smile that I felt on my lips before he drew back. He looked me in the eye as he buried himself in me, tensing to hold himself back just a few seconds longer. To see the look on my face and let that be the feeling of us giving in to each other for the first time in our new story.
“Because I’m never going to grow tired of this, Mrs. Reid.”
Mrs. Reid.
That was going to be my name.
Mrs. Reid.
That was the only thought running through my mind as I felt the coil in my gut snap and all of my muscles tense around him. There were no whorish sounds left in my lungs, only little whimpers and whines as I tried to claw him closer. Spencer gave up his visual in exchange for kissing me while he finished. My walls held him so tightly that I felt each pulse and every place where his release filled me. But nothing was more compelling than feeling the way his lip quivered between mine as his body fell onto mine with no grace required.
Spencer could act hard all he wanted, but I felt the way he craved softness. Safety. Love. All things I was happy to give… for a price.
“Say it again.”
“Say what again?” he replied sleepily but animated enough to have a healthy dose of snark. Snark that earned him a rough nudge of my elbow into his ribs.
“You know!”
But naturally, the genius had to play dumb. With a happy little hum, he snuggled closer to me, burying his face into my neck so he could mumble against the skin, “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Please,” I sighed, “for me?”
He seemed to contemplate the plea for a little while longer, with wiggling toes I felt against my shins and a happy sigh that breezed over my neck. I tried to take in those small things while I waited, knowing that while I had a lifetime to learn them, this moment would never come again.
“Fine,” he finally settled, propping himself up to give another soft kiss followed by the most beautiful sound in the world.
“Only for you, Mrs. Reid.”
—— The Next Morning ——
Waking up next to Spencer with a ring on my finger was literally waking up to find my dream come to life. And sure, his light snoring and constant wriggling under the sheets he continued to pull off of me weren’t perfect or picturesque, but they were real. The same way that he chirped when he felt my legs wrap around him in his sleep and only woke when he heard me giggling.
His eyes fluttered open, taken aback by something that he saw. Although I would blame it on the sunlight filtering through the curtains, I was sure that he would give me all the credit.
“Good morning,” he slurred.
“Hi,” I answered with a smile and an attempt to pull him closer. But my hand was stopped by his, squeezing my palm between his fingers before dragging my knuckles to his lips. From there, he laid a gentle kiss over the diamond he’d placed there the night before. Although it was strange to be outshone by a rock, I let it go for now.
“I know you shouldn’t sleep with it on, but it’s so nice to see it’s still there,” he said with a heavy breath before lowering our still joined hands to rest against his heart. I could feel the way it beat a little bit quicker as I came closer, and I wondered if this was really what it would be like forever.
“I couldn’t resist wearing it.”
“You know you can still change your mind, right? We haven’t told anyone.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” I replied unlike every time before. There was no teasing, no joke or anger or sadness. Just a pure, unadulterated joy.
… Of course, the question did bring up an entirely new anxiety. It did feel a bit silly, but it needs to be expressed.
“Have you?”
“God, no,” he laughed. Like he’d only asked the question to see the way I might panic. But as soon as I heard his assurance, I knew it was the truth.
My mind started to drift back to that first morning we spent together. It felt like a lifetime ago, but everything still felt so very much the same. I wondered if there were things I would change if given the chance. It wasn’t until after I ran through the laundry list of things that we would have been better off without that I realized I’d asked the wrong question.
It wasn’t a matter of what I would have changed, but what I would have kept the same. And the answer was simple. No matter what I would face in my life, I just wanted it to be with him. Everything would be okay as long as I had him.
However, when I tried to kiss him, Spencer still seemed hung up on the things he would have changed. Our lips didn’t connect for even ten seconds before he broke apart, happily laughing through the words, “This is so much better when I’m not hungover.”
“Old man.”
He didn’t argue back, wiggling under the sheets until our chests were pressed together. I took it as a very poor attempt at a power play, because instead of craning my neck to look up at him from my spot, I simply climbed his lanky figure until our noses were pressed together.
“Your old man now,” he corrected, followed by my own clarification of, “You were always mine, Dr. Reid.”
“But now you get to show everyone.” He grinned, letting go of my hand to roam over the curves of my body. His daily attempts to memorize each version of me he held. After a few more moments of silent reverence, I asked the question we’d have to face eventually, lest we face even more awkward, embarrassing moments with the team.
“Who’s gonna tell everyone?”
He barely even considered the options before he shrugged.
“Let’s just… wing it.”
I paused, certain that I’d heard it wrong. “You, Spencer Reid, would like to ‘wing it?’” I repeated, barely able to get the words out without laughing from the absurdity of it all.
But he was quick to assure me, “Yeah, I do.”
“Alright. Whatever you say,” I sighed. I figured that it wouldn’t be worth it to plan right now, anyway. It wasn’t exactly our style. If anything, we would find the perfect time completely by accident.
“You know what we should do first though?” I excitedly announced to the best audience a girl could ever ask for.
“What?”
“Coffee,” I drawled. To which he quickly answered, “I love you an ungodly amount.”
Taking full advantage of that admission, I shoved the poor soul who’d shackled himself to me forever away as I ordered, “Go turn it on. I am craving shitty hotel coffee in bed with my fiancé.”
“Fine,” he resigned with a smile while rolling out of the bed, “Spoiled brat.”
“Your spoiled brat!” I shouted back from safe under the covers that I could finally get back in his absence. They weren’t as good as him, but they would be enough for now. I buried my face into his pillow, snickering as I heard a very tired Spencer call from the bathroom, “Forever mine!”
Just as the sounds of running water filled the room, I lifted my head at the distant sound of familiar chiming beside me.
“Is that my phone?”
I didn’t answer, paralyzed in my place as I felt the most intense sensation of deja vu I’d ever experienced. Right there on the nightstand, I saw the name Hotchner.
Spencer was quicker this time to leave the bathroom, but just as he turned the corner, a thought must have stopped him. Because he paused, staring at me with hotel sheets gathered around me and his phone against my ear.
He didn’t try to fight me for the device. In fact, he didn’t move at all, watching from a few feet away with a smile I’d never seen before. The kind that I felt so deep inside of me that I realized this was what they meant to share a soul with someone.
“Hello,” I spoke softly and filled with love, “this is Mrs. Reid.”
The End.
—————————————————
Epilogue
#spencer reid#spencer reid series#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid request#reid request#criminal minds self insert#criminal minds smut#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#dr spencer reid#spencer reid self insert
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Hey! I hope you’re feeling better :) Could you do some older Obi Wan and Satine in an AU where they both live, The Emperor doesn’t get away with his craziness and we just have a happy Obitine living out the rest of their lives? :’)
Hey Anon, we all love some happiness AU now and then.<3 I wasn't sure if you meant fic or art, so I did a little bit of both? (And by "older" i wasn't sure if you meant like "transforming into Alec Guinness" older, but the ficlet (~1500 words) ended up set just a few years after the end of the war.)
. . . . .
“So early?”
The sun hadn’t yet risen above the jagged Coruscant skyline, and the pink morning light softly illuminated the room as the city lights began to wink off. Satine pushed her hair out of her face to better observe the lovely man sitting up next to her in her bed, bare-chested and lightly freckled, his own hair charmingly disarrayed as well.
He bent, kissing her temple, his beard soft against her cheek.
“I promised Cin I’d lead a saber workshop this morning.”
Satine rolled onto her back, reaching up to smooth his hair as he straightened. “Then I shan’t try to entice you to stay. Since you gave your word.”
“Your very existence entices me to stay,” he countered, smiling a little. “Always.”
“Oh, very nice. Early morning flattery.”
“Genuine,” he protested, making a show of looking wounded.
“Always?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “That’s a bit difficult to swallow in light of your 15 year absence from my company.”
“Believe me, I was very enticed,” he promised, kissing her again.
“You might have to convince me. But later, I suppose.” She heaved a sigh.
“I can probably get away in time for a late brunch,” he offered.
She shook her head slightly, pushing herself up reluctantly from her comfortable nest of pillows. “Padme wants me in a meeting at midday.”
“And the Chancellor must be obeyed.”
“Well. This one, anyway,” Satine said, with a twist of a wry smile. She meant no offense to Padme’s direct predecessor in the office, the Prince of Alderaan, but, even all these years later, they all still lived in the shadow of what Palpatine had nearly done to the Republic.
“I’ll see you this evening, then.” He pulled his undertunic on over his head, and Satine smoothed his hair again.
“I suppose, compared to 15 years, that’s not so long to wait.”
“It will feel like an eternity, I assure you.” He gathered her into his arms.
“If you keep that up, you’re going to be late. And what will you tell all those impressionable padawans if they ask what kept you?”
“They wouldn’t dare. My dear Satine, our relationship is the absolute worst kept secret in the Jedi Temple.”
“Worse than Padme and Anakin’s?”
“At this point, I think so. The arrival of the twins rather disqualified them from ‘secret’ status.”
“How is the new training system working out?”
“What, letting the Skywalkers go home with their father at the end of the day? It certainly hasn’t seemed to impede their progress compared to their peers. A few other families are trying it as well. A couple from Lothal just brought their son to us on a similar schedule and will be living on Coruscant for a few years at least.”
“I’m looking forward to learning about the process in great and personal detail when we are also no longer able to maintain the pretense of secrecy.”
He hitched up her chemise, resting a hand against the large scar below her sternum, pale even in comparison to her fair skin. If it hadn’t been for her long recovery from the damage to her spine, the Skywalker twins might already have a playmate. As it was, it was only about a year since she’d been healthy enough to consider trying to conceive.
“As am I,” he promised, his touch tender as he settled his hands on her waist and kissed her forehead.
“It does seem strange to watch the Jedi Order bend,” she pointed out when he picked up his outer tunic from the floor. She wasn’t above goading him a little, now and then.
He shook his head, taking it serenely, as usual. “We do change. It usually takes a bit more time, but with our ranks so thinned by the casualties of the war, relaxing the requirements for initiates only makes sense.”
“And ignoring the amorous exploits of Jedi Knights so that they make more initiates?” She ran her fingertips lightly over his face, leaving a lingering touch on his mouth.
“We more or less always did that.” He kissed her hand.
“I recall being a bit more discreet in the past.”
“That was for your sake, not mine,” he pointed out. “I might’ve had some official censure for being indiscreet, but I expect most of my cohorts were more likely to congratulate me on having the good fortune of catching your eye.”
“Well, the Mandalorians couldn’t deny that you’re handsome and a fine warrior, but, indeed, the situation would’ve been rather disagreeable at home if we’d been exposed, at the time,” she agreed.
“Do you miss it?” he asked softly.
“What, the ugly, hateful rhetoric and death threats from Mandalorian extremists?”
He shook his head. “Home. Sundari. Mandalore.”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Bo is doing well, though. She’s wiser than she used to be. Sometimes I wonder if it shouldn’t have always been her on the throne.”
“She’s ruling what you rebuilt. Do you think there would’ve been anything left if it had always been her?”
“More flattery.”
“Also genuine.”
“I like that you think that, anyway,” she admitted. “Hadn’t you better go?” she asked, regretful.
“I could skip breakfast,” he offered, leaning in to kiss her neck.
“And go to teach while you’re hungry and cross? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she countered, giggling a little.
“I would not be cross,” he denied.
“Well, not at first. Anyway, I like that you suggested it, but you’d better not.”
“Actually,” he said, drawing back and giving her a twist of a smile. “There’s plenty of time. Workshop’s not till midmorning.”
“Then why all this pretense of getting dressed?” she demanded, indignant.
“One doesn’t like to assume. You might’ve wanted to go back to sleep.”
“My dear Obi-Wan, when have I ever preferred to go to back to sleep rather than…”
She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before he kissed her deeply.
. . . . .
(Evening...)
. . . . .
Satine wrapped her arms around his chest, nuzzling against him until he suddenly winced, breath hissing between his teeth.
“Old injury or new?” she asked, stepping back and looking him over critically.
“New. Nothing serious, I just think I overdid it at the saber workshop today.”
She circled him, running her hands over his shoulders.
“You’re all in knots,” she scolded. “Get your tunics off. Do you think you pulled something?”
He moved to oblige, flinching again. "I hope it's just a muscle cramp."
“Oh, let me.” She nudged his shoulder so that he turned to face her again, then ran her hands along the familiar lines of his tabard down to his waist, working at the fastening of his belt. “I don’t see why you didn’t go see the Healers.”
“It only just started to really trouble me.”
“Is that entirely honest?”
“You mean, I didn’t want to give some young upstart the satisfaction of saying he’d sent Master Kenobi to see the Healers? You think I’m that vain?” he asked, as she proceeded with divesting him of his tunics. He could afford a little vanity, she reflected, admiring the graceful lines of musculature of his lean form and leaning to plant a light kiss between his collar bones.
“I think you are… mindful of your reputation.” She couldn’t help smiling a little.
He snorted softly. “Perhaps I am … a little vain.”
“So who can I blame for this injury?”
“Me. Showing off,” he confessed. “I could’ve just held my ground, but I gave it a little flourish to make it a good show. I ought to have known I was getting too old for that sort of thing.”
“And did you win?”
“This time.”
“I understand that you enjoy teaching these workshops, but I don’t see why it has end up in an all out duel against opponents half your age.” She pulled him down to the bed with her, running her hands over his back carefully to gauge the sore spots.
“Is that meant to suggest that they have the unfair advantage or I do?” He rolled his shoulders under her touch as she started the massage.
“I’m sure both are true, in different ways.”
“Very diplomatic,” he assured her. “I suppose they want to test their mettle. I know I did, at their age.”
“And did you challenge the reigning swordmasters?”
“Certainly. And got soundly trounced for my trouble.”
“And now it is your duty to do the trouncing?"
“It is.”
“Can’t you leave it to Anakin?”
“Anakin does his share.”
“So who was it that almost beat you?”
“Young Dume. Depa’s apprentice.”
“Yes, I met him when he escorted Senator Syndulla’s daughter to the Chancellor’s office. He seemed like a sweet boy, I suppose I can forgive him.”
“Don’t be so quick to pardon. One of these days, he’ll win. Or Suduri will, or half a dozen others.”
“And then will you go see the Healers?”
“Why would I need to, when I can get such fine care here?”
She shook her head even as she smiled, leaning down to kiss the back of his neck.
#Obi Wan Kenobi#Satine Kryze#Obi Wan/Satine#obitine#Star Wars AU#Happiness AU#Star Wars art#my art#pencil sketches#I wrote a thing#the art is a bit repetitive bleh sorry I know I've drawn this before#and maybe better?#ah well#long post
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Sith Empress Shmi WIP
Summary: In a galaxy where the Sith Empire rose far earlier, Shmi Skywalker has killed Sheev Palpatine and taken the Sith throne. It would be perfect except that her son, Anakin, has run away and joined the Rebellion and claiming he’ll become a Jedi. Now after three years of being a successful Rebel general, Anakin Skywalker has been captured and brought before his mother.
-- -- -- -- --
Shmi Skywalker stood in front of the tall wall made completely of windows. It gave an impressive view of Coruscant’s skyline. The sun had just set and there were still a few streaks of orange and purple in the sky though most of it was covered by towering skyscrapers and the crosshatching lines of traffic.
The room she stood in was large and bare. There was nothing in here. No chairs, tables, or even drapes on the windows. It was an audience room, nothing more and nothing less. The only things in here were herself, the view, and the darkness as the only light came from the city.
She was one for theatrics like her predecessors. She would do away with them completely, but she couldn’t completely get rid of them. For one, it was expected. And two, it did serve as a reminder of who was in power here. There was nothing more or less in this room. Only herself, the darkness, the city, and the stars beyond. All of it was hers. She was the empress.
She stood tall with her chin held up high. She was dressed in black leathers with deep crimson and sapphire accents and details. A lavish cloak was draped across her shoulders, chest, and down her back with durasteel pauldrons on her shoulders. The cloak could be easily tossed aside in case she ever needed to pull out her two lightsabers. Her entire outfit was made to be moved in. She never wore anything she couldn’t fight in.
Would she need to fight? Would she draw her lightsabers?
No.
Surely not.
It was another several minutes before the door opened and the sound of boots approached her. She kept her back to them as she stared out the window even as troopers came to a stop. They dared not be the first to speak, which was smart.
Shmi ever so slightly turned her head and in a voice rich with authority she said, “Leave us.”
There was hesitation in the troopers, she could sense it. They were unsure if they should leave her with the prisoner, especially this prisoner. He was the most wanted man in the galaxy and most dangerous. But they were smart troopers. The hesitation only lasted a few seconds, before they turned and walked away leaving the Empress alone with the man.
She could hear him. He had slumped to the floor when the troopers let go of his arms. His breathing was ragged. He was injured. He hadn’t been taken easily, but the problem was he had been taken. He didn’t make mistakes like that. He didn’t get caught. Despite the injuries, he had let himself be captured. Let himself be brought before her.
Why?
Why now?
After three years, why had Anakin Skywalker, her son, decided to return?
He had been nineteen and deeply in love with that senator when he had followed her to the Rebellion. He had thrown away everything she had ever given him. He denounced himself as the crown prince and as a Sith. Said he was going to become a Jedi of all things and help the rebels.
She believed him foolish in leaving her. Alas, if only he was foolish in everything else. The truth was her son was brilliant. He was a genius engineer, an amazing pilot, a masterful military commander, and extremely strong in the Force. None of this surprised her. She knew from the moment she learned she was pregnant that her child would be different. He would be special.
It was annoying that his brilliance was being used against her and the Empire. Anakin Skywalker was just the piece they needed. He complimented the other key players of the Alliance and brought out the best in them. Over the past three years, the Alliance had gained in strength, numbers, and support. They had secured several victories over the Empire, all of which Anakin was present for.
And no matter how many bounty hunters or Sith she sent to bring her wayward son home, Anakin always managed to slip away. Until now.
What had changed?
Slowly, she turned around and looked down at the prisoner who sat on his knees staring up at her.
It took everything in her to keep her face even and emotionless because inside her heart was breaking.
It was her son. Her Anakin. The reason why she had run away from the Sith Order when she learned she was pregnant. The child she had birthed and kept hidden for years on the run. He was the reason she found other Sith to rally to her cause. He was the reason she killed Darth Sidious, the former Emperor, and take his title.
He was . . . her son . . . and she had missed him every day. All she wanted to do was fall to her knees, wrap her arms around him, and pull him tight to her and never let go. But she couldn’t. She was the Empress and he the rebel general.
He was face was bruised and scuffed up with dried blood. His long hair was slick with sweat. He now had a scar next to his right eye given to him by Ventress when she had gone to try to claim his bounty.
She had expected anger-filled eyes and insults hurled at her and long rambling arguments about democracy. None of that was there. Nor any sign of the young Sith apprentice he had been before he defected. He had been young, cocky, and a bit arrogant who liked to joke.
But this man . . . this Anakin Skywalker . . . was broken.
His blue eyes were watery; his body slightly trembled. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to her, but she had never expected to see this in her son.
“M-- mom,” he stuttered.
The air rushed out of her as a dozen needles stabbed her heart. Her hands tightened into fists and her lips slightly turned downward, but that was the only outward signs she gave to the turmoil inside of her.
“Please,” he pleaded, no begged. “Help me. Help me save Padme.”
Ah yes, Padme. The woman he had run off with. The woman he had married. The woman that had stolen her son. Though if there was ever a woman worthy of Anakin’s love, it would have been Padme Amidala. It was a shame that such a woman worked the Rebellion. Even more of a shame it was the woman that had Anakin’s heart.
“I keep . . . I keep having visions of her dying,” Anakin said. “She’s pregnant.”
Oh. Oh.
Her spies hadn’t reported this to her. How far along was she?
“Every vision I see her dying in childbirth. Mom . . . I can’t . . . I can’t live without her. Please, help me. Save Padme’s life.”
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. They didn’t move. Gold eyes met blue for several long moments until finally, the Empress sighed. She slowly lowered herself down to her knees so she was at the same level as her son.
“Of course, I will help you,” she said softly. “But you must know, I will only do this for my son. My heir and prince to my empire.”
Anakin’s gaze was unwavering. He already knew what the price would be. He wouldn’t have asked her otherwise. She wasn’t going to help him and let him go back to running wild, especially with her grandchild.
He closed his eyes and a few tears streamed down his face. “I know,” he whispered.
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Word Count: 1.4k
Warning/s: toxic relationship dynamics, dark!bucky x dark!reader, stalking, coercion and lying, manipulative tendencies, injuries and blood mention, food was mentioned for a bit
A/N: WE ARE GETTING THERE, BABES WHEW OKAY
follow the CTRL series:
i - .exe
ii - .avi
iii - .raw
iv - .png
v - .zip
CTRL playlist
CTRL moodboard
A month had passed since your not-date date had happened. You tried to forget the rest of the day, only focusing on how he looked and talked to you that day. How he smiled, trying to play off the ‘cool guy’ narrative.
You suddenly grew cold, noticing how your conversations became sparse—dry in between. Fewer texts and long waits. It made you nervous, sad, and a little bit annoyed. You barely see him around the office too—has Bucky been avoiding you?
His office is a bit out of the way for you to accidentally stumble in, anyway; the days you’re in the office were unsynchronized. Would it count as a punishable offense if you mess up with your company-approved laptop?
Saying you missed Bucky is an understatement: the bottle of cologne that smells like him sits empty on your dresser. The pictures you took of him taped loosely on your corkboard. Bits and pieces of papers he gave you tacked on it haphazardly.
Can someone die from loneliness?
Is this what being in love feels like?
Suffocating, consuming, your chest feels heavy, and your stomach is in knots.
—
Another month, another throng of employees needing new passwords. There are literal posters around the floor reminding everyone to use a password manager. Bucky can’t believe that he has to work with idiots around him. When he took up computer science as a major in college, he imagined himself hacking into… government intel, or something. Not looking after dimwits that don't know how to install an update.
His text messages are red with notifications—bank updates, deliveries, and you.
For some reason, Bucky can’t bring himself up to return your messages. Hi’s, hey’s, and how are you’s littered his text chain. Is he a bad person for not replying back? He can always just make up an excuse, right?
When you told him that you liked him, kissed him like you meant it, his fondness dispersed into thin air. The easy is never worthy and the worthy is never easy, as his father told him.
A ding from his phone brought him forth, another text from you: coming up right now, can we talk?
Now, he can’t come up with an excuse.
—
Bucky heard you before you come in, knocking on his door like the first time you met.
He clears his throat, calling out a come in! before rolling back from his cluttered desk. Tickets were few and far in between, he knows he can spare you at least 20 minutes but he just doesn’t want to.
“Hey,” you said, your head poking into his office. You weren’t entirely sure why you came up here in the first place, you really, really, really just wanted to see him again.
Bucky chuckles, pulling the door open for you. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”
You breathe out a little, shaking the feeling sinking deep inside your stomach, “yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.” Stepping into his office, you eye his desk. He’s been busy. Papers and files are piling up on the left side of his desk, half of his setup is covered with those post-it notes. Several mugs littered his small space.
Huh, “Sorry, I can come back some other time.”
Turning on your heel, you pivot a little to grab the door when Bucky grabs your upper arm, “don’t go—”
He realizes the implications if someone were to see the two of you and so he lets go, much to your discomfort. You face him, either way, you’re sure he’s not gonna let you go that easily.
“Sorry, it’s just- I missed you.”
And there it was. I missed you.
He was thinking about you.
He was thinking about you.
He was thinking about you.
He was thinking about you.
He was thinking about you.
“I was just gonna drop off some files… But,” you rake your brain for a coherent train of thought, “I missed you too.”
A smile of relief overcomes Bucky’s features, his eyes crinkling just the way you like. His steely blue eyes hidden beneath his lashes.
“I have uh, a thing later… Dinner with friends—do you wanna come?” You make a show of peering over his shoulder and onto his desk, “unless you’re busy?”
“I’d love to come.” He says, tucking his pointer finger underneath your chin, flicking it forward so you’d look at him, “what time is it?”
“Come by around seven. I’ll text you my address.”
Bucky doesn’t need your address. He already came a dozen times by your building, trying to build up the nerve to knock on your door and kiss you silly. Like in those movies you watch late at night.
But he’s conflicted, no?
Are you really as good as they come?
—
At six-thirty, you already sent the text: take the east street, beige apartment block. I’m on the third floor, second door to your right. :)
At six-fifty five, Bucky’s already there, his car idling on the sidewalk. He’s… nervous. Why is he nervous? It’s just dinner. A small get-together with friends. Speaking of friends, he didn’t see any unfamiliar cars parked on the block. Maybe it’s not work friends?
Letting out a sigh, Bucky fetches the small bouquet of flowers and wine he brought, just in case. He doesn’t wanna be the only one showing up empty-handed.
On the dot, Bucky knocks on your door. He plasters on his best smile as you open the way, revealing yourself.
God, you look gorgeous. Why did he stop hanging out with you in the first place?
Oh, right.
“Aw, flowers and wine? You’re too sweet!” You chirp out, stepping out of the way to let him into your apartment. Taking the gifts from his hands, you put them away while Bucky busies himself checking out your place.
It’s weird seeing your place in real life. Bucky noted the hint of lavender in the air, coupled with a smidge of coffee brewing. He’s so used to seeing parts of it but not everything-everything. He careens his neck to look down the hallway, catching a glimpse of your bedroom.
“If you’re lucky, you can see it tonight.” A peal of boisterous laughter comes out of you, lightly kicking his foot with yours, “I’m kidding. It’s off-limits for visitors, sorry.”
“Right…” Bucky looks around, shifting his weight from the balls of his feet up to his toes. “Am I too early? I can help you set the table.” The table is halfway finished and you’re stirring in cheese into a sauce. Roux, perhaps.
“No, it’s okay…” You trail off, lowering the heat before facing Bucky, “I lied.”
“What?”
“There’s no dinner—I mean, there is. Just not with friends.” You bite your lip, looking down on your shoes before tearing your gaze away from the floor to meet Bucky’s eyes.
“You lied? Why- why would you lie about that?” Annoyance and frustration all seep out near the surface. His jaw ticking as he gritted his teeth.
“Are you mad?”
“Are you mad?” Bucky asks back in a mocking tone, bringing his fist down the dinner, “you—you’re crazy. I knew it, I knew you’re crazy. Lying about dinner and what, trying to get me alone? Jesus, what--” He lets out a mirthless laugh, the one that sends chills down your spine.
You stood there, frozen at your spot. You’re hurt. He called you crazy. He called you crazy when he’s the one who spied on you for weeks on end.
When he’s the one who watches you at night.
When he’s the one who left those notes on your desk.
The one who sent those texts and left calls and voicemails.
“Fuck you.” Your words rang empty as Bucky walked out of the kitchen in long strides. The dinner long forgotten.
You calmly watch him turn the doorknob open, failing when the adjacent locks prevent him from opening the door. Two deadbolts and a chain lock. Never would you have thought that the threat would be coming inside your home.
“I’d think twice before leaving without dinner.”
—
Bucky stirs awake. The sound of cutlery on plates grating on his nerves. His head is throbbing. His right temple feels tight and tender, there’s something hard and crusty covering the right side of his face. He can suddenly feel the weight of his left arm, leaning over to compensate for the sudden pain.
He wasn’t aware that he had closed his eyes; the lights suddenly glaringly bright.
Right, the dinner.
The dinner?
Wasn’t he supposed to—
“Thank fuck. I thought you were dead.”
God, he hopes he is.
#bitchassbucky writes#dark!bucky x reader#dark!bucky x reader smut#dark!bucky x reader angst#dark!bucky x reader fluff#dark!bucky#dark!bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes x reader#dark!bucky barnes x reader smut#dark!bucky barnes x reader angst#dark!bucky barnes x reader fluff
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Misread Details, Part Two
CW: Described death of whumper, BBU, implications of pet whump, references to noncon, dehumanization, sadistic whumper
Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert
The Unsolved Murder of Henry “Brute” Hanlon and the Box Boy Killer
r/LetsTalkTrueCrime
•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee
2 weeks ago
I’m back, r/LetsTalkTrueCrime! I really appreciated the questions and discussion under my last write-up, and a few of you really encouraged me to keep working to provide a part two to my Serial Killer Box Boy series, so here it is!
In Part One, we looked at the mysterious death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, who died of cardiac arrest due to an undiagnosed heart defect (and likely head trauma played a part) and was found at the bottom of the stairs inside his California home. The only valuable possession missing from his property was his legally-purchased Box Boy, who fled the city wearing Nathaniel Benson’s shoes and using his money to buy a bus and then train ticket.
The last confirmed sighting of the runaway Box Boy (and Benson’s possible killer?) was in Red Hills, California, a large-ish city a couple hours south of Benson’s house by train.
Questions remain around Benson’s death: did he suffer cardiac arrest and fall down the stairs? Did the Box Boy push him, with the shock of the trauma and injury leading to the heart attack that killed him?
Is the Box Boy merely a witness to a tragic but natural death, or the prime murder suspect?
And most importantly: If he wasn’t guilty, why did he run?
Less than a full calendar year after Benson’s death, the question of where the Boxie went after Benson died was answered… but even that answer only opened up more questions, and the sudden death of a second man places even more uncertainty into the story of a Boxie who might simply be an innocent victim - or who could be a serial killer whose makes a victim out of those who give him shelter.
Which leads us to the story of Henry James Hanlon, known to nearly everyone - including his wife - as “Brute”.
Henry Hanlon was born in a small town in Texas, but moved to Red Hills, California after finishing a stint in the Air Force.
His parents, James Hanlon and Estella Hanlon, maiden name Brickers, had had their first child, Henry’s older brother William “Bill”, right out of high school, born six months after their wedding day. Henry came three years later, and his sister Roberta “Bobbie” one year after that.
Henry was a perfectly normal, cheerful little boy, always toddling after his older brother and trying to join in the games of the older kids in town. His parents recalled him as the quintessential “middle child”, always resolving disputes and quietly getting things done. He received his nickname of “Brute” in fifth grade, when a classroom bully was harassing a female friend of Henry’s and Henry decided to take action. The only information I could really hunt down on this was some old school records that I found on a message board, and I can’t really verify if they’re real, but they suggest that the bully was sent home injured and Henry received a three-day suspension.
After that, it seems, anyone and everyone - even teachers - called Henry Hanlon “Brute”, and he never seemed to mind.
He received perfectly average grades, enlisted in the Air Force, served without distinction but without any significant incidents, and afterwards he moved out to California, where he settled into Red Hills (then a city with a thriving industrial district that was slowly beginning its slide into something rougher) and took a job with a manufacturing company, working in their warehouse.
“Brute” dated around a bit, but it wasn’t until three years after his move that he met the woman he would marry, Ellen Patricia Barry. She was a few years younger than him, and they met at a local bar that both were known to frequent. One of Brute’s former coworkers told police that Brute was big into pool and poker, both of which he would engage in when he went to the bar, and that he met Ellen during one of the poker nights, and that Brute stated that how easily she beat him was one of the reasons he was interested in her romantically.
Ellen claims they first spoke while playing pool, not poker, and also claims she’s never played poker in her life. Why Brute would have told his coworkers a different story is unclear.
They dated for about a year before they wed at Grace Baptist Church on a sunny summer day in 20XX. Ellen’s father gave her away while Brute’s little sister was the maid of honor. A year later, Brute’s daughter Elizabeth was born, and a couple years after that, their son Daniel.
The Hanlons lived a charmed life - they owned a cute three-bedroom cottage home (bought and given to them by Ellen’s parents as a wedding gift) in a good part of town with a little white fence around the property and a yard big enough for the children and dog to play in. Ellen was part of the local PTA and active in her church, and Brute himself had the appearance of a man totally content with everything he had.
But Brute Hanlon had a secret.
Ellen continued to believe he was employed by the manufacturing company, but he actually left his employment there years before his death. Instead, he seems to have transitioned into making his money “under the table”. Ellen wouldn’t discover any of this until after his body was located… in a secret house he’d never told her about, in one of the roughest parts of Red Hills.
Without her knowledge, Brute purchased a two-bedroom home with cash directly from its previous owner that was badly in need of repair in the Pauls Mill neighborhood. Once a “company town” from the 1930’s - 1950’s that was absorbed into Red Hills as it grew in the 60’s, Pauls Mill today is the kind of neighborhood where everyone knows if you belong there, or don’t, and it’s best if you belong.
Brute performed a few very cursory repairs to keep it livable, laid down some new carpet, and then used it as a kind of secret base for the unsavory activities he didn’t want Ellen or the children to know about.
While his family believed he was at work at the factory, Hanlon was in fact hosting poker games, selling illicit narcotics and unlicensed firearms, and generally making quite a bit more money than he had with legal employment entirely under-the-table. He would spend his day making connections (and money) through these activities, then go home right at 5 pm sharp to his loving family, eat dinner at 6 pm, help his kids with their homework and hear about their day, and settle in for an evening playing the loving husband and doting dad.
Somewhere during this time period, Brute told Ellen he was setting up a “poker night” with his friends again, now that the kids were school-aged.
What he did instead was drive down to the corner of Holt and McCormick streets, known to all locals as the Red Hills “red light district”, and pick up prostitutes, usually simply meeting with them in his car, but occasionally taking them to a nearby motel.
After his body was found, police showed his picture around to a variety of the individuals who make their living at Holt and McCormick, and more than a dozen locals immediately recognized him.
Some described him as a regular customer who wasn’t particularly special or notable beyond the simple fact that he never tried to renege on payment and could be relied on to always be looking for someone on a particular night of the week… but others, almost entirely male, said he could be violent. A few described being injured enough that they had to seek medical treatment after meeting him. The same individuals stated that he insisted on using dehumanizing and insulting language to speak to them during these encounters, and that he was often unable to perform unless he did so.
One individual, who gave his name as “Mix”, mentioned that the last few times Brute had engaged his services, he had brought along a collar and insisted Mix pretend to be a Box Boy.
During this time period, Brute continued to be an active, involved, and loving parent.
He was home right on time every night except “poker night”, attended his chlidrens’ recitals and baseball games on the weekends. He often took them to the Red Hills Zoo, local parks, and even did a weekend trip to Berras to see the Berras Aquarium, stay overnight in a hotel as a family, and then visit a redwoods park before returning home.
Six months before his death, Brute’s visits to the red light district abruptly stopped. Instead, he apparently met with a local prostitute, engaged his services, and took him home… for good.
The best record we have is that one woman, Needie Brandt, remembered seeing Brute leading a shorter, angular young man to his car one night, and described the young man as “one of those runaway Boxies, collar and all. Poor thing was half-starved”.
Runaways, especially Romantics, are picked up by police from time to time in Red Hills. Most Romantics don’t really know any other way to survive, so prostitution is a common way to make ends meet. Needie said the young man had been seen around the area for a couple of weeks, right alongside the rest of the working people in the red light district, and that after this one night she saw Brute Hanlon lead him into the car, she didn’t see him again.
Asked if she remembered a name, Needie only shrugged and said that even if she did, it wouldn’t be a real one. Which is probably a good point.
Somewhere in here, Brute began to date outside of his marriage while his family believed he was out with friends playing poker. He took dancing lessons with one Susan Krieger, had a serious relationship with a Lucy Graham, and was apparently occasionally taking a Natalie Dorn out for dinner.
Ellen was never informed about these out-of-wedlock interests.
Brute’s family knew nothing. When his eldest son went to state with marching band his freshman year of high school, Brute Hanlon was right there cheering him on.
Then, just two days later, he presumably went right back to brutalizing the Box Boy he was keeping in his secret second home.
We don’t have a record of what exactly transpired within the house after Brute took the runaway Box Boy in. What we do know is what the police found later on.
On October 18th, 20XX, around midnight, Ellen Hanlon called police to report her husband missing after he did not return from his regular poker night. His car was located in the parking lot of an abandoned FoodMart, but a friend of Brute’s came forward to say he often parked there and carpooled with friends when going out.
None of Brute’s possessions were inside, and it didn’t appear the car had been touched by anyone but Brute himself when it was dusted for fingerprints or signs of DNA. Brute’s friends who knew about his secret activities weren’t telling, and Ellen and the children didn’t know anything about their seemingly loving husband and father’s double-life.
At first, the trail seemed like it would go cold, and investigators were frustrated that they had so little to go on.
Then, on October 29th, 20XX, Brute’s neighbor (who apparently asked that his name not be given) called the police department complaining about how the small two-bedroom house next door had begun to smell “like something died in there”, and that he hadn’t seen his neighbor leave or return in days, which was very unusual.
When police arrived, the front door was unlocked. Officer William Keys, the first one inside, later described the smell as “unmistakable. I knew exactly what we’d find the second we walked in that door.”
He was right.
What they found was the bloodied and decomposing body of Henry “Brute” Hanlon, lying on his back in the middle of a small unremarkable living room, on a dirty and stained carpet. He had been viciously stabbed more than fifty times. One even went so far into Brute that there was an exit wound through his back. Medical examiners would later state that at least seven of his wounds would have been directly fatal, but that he had died within the first few and most of the wounds were technically post-mortem.
The murder had been committed by someone who had a very personal reason for the killing. Investigators believe this individual was “absolutely enraged”.
Next to his body was the murder weapon, along with a set of buckles and strips of leather that mystified the officers. These were eventually identified as modified leg braces, but rather than straightening bent or injured legs, they forced the wearer to keep their legs at nearly right angles, which would ensure they had to crawl rather than walk. They appeared to be homemade.
Bloodied smears and footprints led the officers down a hallway and to the bathroom, where there was evidence someone had showered, changed clothes, and then left.
The same neighbor who informed police about the smell also remembered seeing, on October 16th or 17th (later determined that it was likely the 17th, the day that Brute did not return home from “work”), a young man wearing an oversized coat, sweatpants, and a too-large t-shirt walk out of Hanlon’s house and down the street. The young man was on the short side, the neighbor said, had an angular face, and a visible scar at the corner of his mouth and another along the side of his face. He had the collar of the coat flipped up, and the neighbor doesn’t recall if he wore a collar or not.
He had dark eyes, and short but shaggy dark hair that seemed to have been cut hurriedly and unevenly, and he waved at Hanlon’s neighbor without pausing or speaking as he walked past.
Tests on fingerprints and DNA located within Brute Hanlon’s secret second home would reveal that the Box Boy who once ran from Nathaniel Benson after his death was the exact same one who ran from Brute Hanlon after murdering him. The Boxie’s fingerprints were all over the murder weapon… and everywhere else, too.
Within Brute’s home, more knives were found, along with what looked like a badly-crafted homemade whip and some other supplies. A few of the things investigators found appeared to be essentially identical to what was found in Nathaniel Benson’s home. Other things were different (“animalization” was mentioned in some of the reports, but what I’ve been able to find is seriously vague for some reason).
Possibly related, a series of dog leashes purchased from a local pet-supply store were found throughout the home, but there was no evidence of an actual dog. In the home’s main bedroom was a perfectly normal queen-sized bed that was clearly Brute’s, with a small side table, a large dresser, and an attached bathroom.
There was absolutely nothing outwardly out of the ordinary, besides the room being very plain and impersonal. Makes sense, since Brute almost never slept there.
In the second bedroom, however, there was army-style cot with a thin blanket and sheet, three folded shirts on the floor, two sets of bloody metal handcuffs hanging off the cot’s frame at the top and bottom, and a bucket next to the bed. Two metal bowls, clearly of a style meant to be a dog’s food and water bowls, were next to the door. One still had water in it. The window was painted and nailed shut, and bars had been installed over the windows.
Investigators determined the bars were on the house when Brute Hanlon purchased it and had been installed by the previous owner. No reason for that installation was ever given.
Investigation revealed trace amounts of evidence of blood, but nothing much. However, the living room and dining area both showed poorly-cleaned bloodstains that were much older than Hanlon’s murder, including discolored patches on the walls.
A contract for a 24/7 “master/slave” style relationship was found in the top drawer of the dresser, signed ‘Pet’ at the bottom, and with Brute’s name alongside it. However, both signatures match Hanlon’s handwriting, and the Boxie is not believed to have actively signed it, as he would be illiterate at best. Plus, Box Boys are not legally allowed to enter into any contract, anyway, since they can’t understand obligations at that level, so even if he had signed it, it wouldn’t have been considered remotely valid.
I mean, not that those contracts are legal, but... you get my point.
Also located in that drawer were more than one hundred photographs showing the Boxie in a variety of compromising situations and positions. Several of these photos had Brute himself clearly visible in them, and a few had other individuals who have since been identified as Brute’s associates in his more illicit activities.
Interrogations of those associates led to more than seven further arrests for illegal gambling, the production and sale of illicit drugs, and illegal weapons sales. Those interrogations are also how we know about what Brute Hanlon was up to in-between Little League games and Girl Scout meetings.
Those associates claim that Brute kept a “secondhand Box Boy”, muzzled him so he couldn’t speak whenever guests were over, and that often ‘poker night’ simply turned into a game where the assorted guests and Brute himself repeatedly assaulted the Boxie. The associates claimed they thought the entire thing was consensual, but frankly… given the overwhelming evidence that the Boxie had to be kept restrained and was often seriously injured by these assaults... that’s doubtful.
Ellen and her children, who had previously been very visible and spoke often to local news stations about Henry’s disappearance, withdrew after his body was found and his second, secret life revealed - and have never given a single public statement or made a public appearance since.
Ellen moved her children out of Red Hills, moving back in with her own parents, briefly, in northern California. Where they went after that is unknown, but they appear to have left the state and Ellen may have changed her surname. Investigators are firm in their belief that Ellen knew nothing about her husband’s secret life.
I would give my right arm to know what his son and daughter think about it, and if they ever suspected what their devoted dad was up to when he wasn’t at home.
So, what happened to the Boxie after he left the house and disappeared down the block from the witness who saw him?
In short… no one knows for sure.
After murdering Brute Hanlon and cleaning off the evidence that must have been all over him, the Boxie simply fades away. He could have been anywhere, doing anything at all. There is a brief sighting of him on CCTV footage at the local bus station, where he is in line to buy a ticket… and then abruptly looks up, apparently noticing the camera and looking directly into it, then turns and walks quickly away.
The footage is grainy, but the Boxie does appear to be wearing his collar.
He isn’t seen in Red Hills again.
Instead, he reappears one more time before his final murder and disappearance… more than a year later, in a little town right along the border with Nevada.
Part 3 will go into how the investigation into the death of a quiet little oddball named Robert Weber reveals a basement full of skeletal bodies. But our Boxie isn’t the cause.
Instead, Robert Weber’s murder solves a series of related murders police had been stymied by for more than a decade, and a Box Boy who may have been meant to be Weber’s next victim instead turned accidental vigilante with a final killing of his own.
Or maybe I should say, his final killing so far.
-
@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary
#whump#jameson bb#box boy#box boy universe#sadistic whumper#pet whump#pet whump tw#dehumanization#dehumanization tw#prostitution mention#referenced non con#non con tw#bbu#epistolary#epistolary fiction#horror fiction#horror writing#original writing#death of whumper#intimate whumper#restrained#captivity#epistolary writing#oh my god this is so fun to do you guys#whump writing#whumpblr
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Even if you can’t protest you can still help
Not everybody can go to protests. Some people have physical disabilities that prevent them, some people have mental illnesses that make it dangerous to go into volatile situations, some people have sensory issues that mean a protest isn’t a good or safe place for them to be, some people are members of vulnerable populations who can’t risk arrest, some people can’t risk the possibility that an injury or arrest is going to cost them a job and end in homelessness.
Not everybody can protest and that is 100% okay.
If you can’t protest right now but you are in a city where protestors are being arrested PLEASE consider helping out with jail support as protestors are released: http://upagainstthelaw.org/jail-support-and-solidarity/
If that is ALSO out of reach for you but you can afford to do so please donate what you can to your local bail funds - search “my city + bail fund” or if you can’t find something local consider donating to The Bail Project. NOTE: please carefully research who you’re donating to - in chaotic times it’s not uncommon to see fraudulent gofundmes set up to attract donations.
And if you can’t do anything else please, PLEASE, fact-check all posts before you share them on social media. I’m seeing people share posts claiming that George Floyd’s murderer hasn’t been arrested but has just been placed in protective custody and that’s incorrect, not only has he been arrested he’s been charged and the thing to get angry about NOW is the fact that the charges are too likely to be dropped.
Also DO NOT SHARE photos or videos of unmasked protestors.
If you DO go to a protest here are some tips:
consider leaving your phone turned on at home and carrying a prepaid phone to the protest.
cover your face
familiarize yourself with the first aid information in Riot Medicine, particularly in regards to treating tear gas/pepper spray and PARTICULARLY in the recommendation to ONLY treat tear gas/pepper spray with saline and water.
don’t go alone, stay with your group
And other than ALL OF THAT here’s some advice:
YOU are more likely to be the thing that changes your family member or friend or old classmate’s mind about their worldview than anything else. YOU are someone they know and regard well. You are a real human person who they have interacted with and eaten meals with and have a shared history with. Whether they know it or not they value YOUR opinion over nearly anything they’d hear on the news or see on social media because to their monkey brain you, another monkey they are familiar with, are more real than the people on the TV; but that is only true IF you talk to them, and do so in such a way that doesn’t make them shut you out.
If you’re trying to defend the protestors to a friend or family member who is horrified by “how violent and unruly and destructive” the protests are speak to this person kindly. Don’t talk about billionaires and white supremacy and the police state (though these are all VERY important things that we should aim to someday discuss with our loved ones) - talk about compassion, talk about fear. Talk about the fact that some business owners whose buildings were burned aren’t worried about their buildings, they’re worried about justice for their communities and their communities are already helping them to rebuild. Talk about the fact that the protests are nearly uniformly peaceful until police use violence against protestors (and yes, tear gas, pepper spray, and less-lethal rounds are all violence). Talk about the fact that decades of protests against police brutality haven’t seemed to curb police brutality, talk about the fact that what we’ve learned from police wearing body cams is that police turn their body cams off to plant violence and abuse citizens.
There are a lot of impassioned speeches about eradicating the police and restorative justice that I could give but those aren’t going to change my country-music-loving cousin’s mind, those are going to make her think that I’m a crazy extremist. But if I remind my cousin about the time her husband’s friend was charged with a more severe crime than his white companions, or if I point out that as a teacher she works with school resource officers who have contributed to the criminalization of student misbehavior and that doesn’t help kids learn and doesn’t keep them out of jail later, it just puts them in jail now - well, that’s how I can make inroads with that one person.
You have to be tactical about this. You’re not having a knock-down blow-out fight with your uncle for everyone to watch at Thanksgiving so you can make your position clear to the whole family, you’re talking specifically to that ONE friend and tailoring it to their specific interests. Is your buddy a steelworker who’s furious that “the looters just burned down the target for fun”? Does your buddy the steelworker know that Target is a Minnesota company that has aggressively quashed attempts to unionize the workers for decades?
Don’t make this loud, don’t make this public, make this a quiet, one-on-one conversation. Listen to their fears and concerns, counter as calmly as you can, and try to engage their sympathy. Your goal in this conversation is to get them to even SLIGHTLY shift their perspective on police use of force. Your goal is to point out the dozens and dozens examples of peaceful protesters getting pepper sprayed, to bring up clear-cut cases of unarmed people killed by police, to point out that property destruction gets ignored when it’s because a sports team won but gets aggressively condemned when it’s people who *started* a peaceful protest responding to police aggression. Your goal isn’t to change someone’s entire worldview in a single conversation, it is to get them to question ONE thing they’ve staunchly believed.
If you do this well you’ll probably never even know if it worked. Whoever you’re talking to isn’t going to change their mind right then and there, you might both walk away from the conversation frustrated, but maybe the next time they see looters on the news they’ll wonder if it’s actually people looting or if they’re trying to build a barricade because the police attempted to shut down their constitutionally protected protest. Maybe they’ll never bring it up again but maybe they start questioning the validity of all these instances of police violence. Maybe this relative never talks to you again because you pissed them off and called them out (by calling them in) but maybe next year they’re donating to bail funds.
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It Was the Kid’s Idea
Valentine’s Day Imagine
Pairing: Mando x Reader
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: none; pure fluff
Request: “Hi! I saw that you wanted to inspo for Valentines fics! What about if Valentine’s Day is a really big thing on the reader’s planet and Mando is trying their best to impress them or make them feel at home since they’re always traveling? 🥺🥺 something like that!!”
A/N: Thank you so much @poeandstuff for the inspo! I couldn’t stop thinking about this all weekend- just the imagine of Mando and Grogu making homemade Valentine’s and decorations got in my head and just ughh it’s too cute to put into words.
I hope you all enjoy!! And thank you so much for reading!!
“I was hoping you’d know how to do this,” Din grumbles, frustrated as he messes up for the millionth time to cut out a perfect heart from the red paper in front of him.
The child only coos in response, his little hands covered in glue and glitter and he looks up to Din. “Oh no,” Din says at the sight of the little monster, “Come ‘ere you.” Scooping up the child, he brings him from their seats on boulders outside and into the ship, to clean the little guy’s hands.
“I just don’t understand why it’s so messy,” he grumbles, helping the little guy. He began to start feeling stressed, because he knew you’d be back to the ship at nightfall and nothing he planned was ready.
For the past two weeks of your travels, you’ve done nothing but talk about this holiday Din had never heard of but was the biggest day for celebration on your home planet. You babbled on and on about the origins and the traditions, and he knew you were homesick thinking about not being there this year. He may have faked annoyance, but he did love to hear everything you wanted to share with him. He made mental notes of every detail you described.
Now he’s desperately trying his best to get the ship ready to surprise you. The last stop before this planet, he picked up all the supplies he thought he would need. Pulling things together would be easy, he thought. Now, the man is feeling foolish because an impressive bounty hunting resumè and growing up under Mandolorian Creed, doesn’t teach you about frivolous holidays- Nevermind the crafting skills to make the decorations yourself.
He received the weirdest looks from the people selling in the market, when a fully armored Mandolorian and a green baby were buying red and pink paper, glitter, string, lace, candles, and everything else you mentioned people would decorate with. If he kept it simple, he thought he could decorate the ship when you were away and surprise you when you returned.
The actual day arrived and Din sent you into town to receive parts he had ordered for the crest. He knew it would take several hours and figured he’d have plenty of time. But now, every heart he tries to make is lopsided and he can’t keep the kid out of the containers of glitter.
The image of the ship in his head he was trying to achieve for you involved hanging strings of lights outside and around the inside of the crest along with strings of pink and red hearts. The lights were no problem and they were already done. He had soft yellow lights hanging from the outside door of the ship and also around the walls of the inside.
Now his finished string of messy little hearts would have to be good enough. He had just finished putting it together when he caught the little guy covered in the mess. Once the kid was cleaned up as best Din could get him, he’d need to make sure to ask you how to clean up the glitter mess in the ‘fresher. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to get it all. You’d know what to do, he thought.
Now he brings the kid back outside and places him on the grass. He had cut out a red heart and hands it to Grogu, also giving him some other supplies. “Make (y/n) something nice,” Din instructs and then stars hanging up the many strings of hearts he’s made. He places some in the nearby trees and then places them around the ship. They hang from the ceiling and look like they are somehow magically floating there.
Despite the hearts being wildly inconsistent in size and shape, Din actually was feeling proud of himself. He couldn’t wait but see the look on your face when you see he tried to bring your home planet to you. The Mandolorian harbored feelings for you for a very long time and as you told him about this holiday, he thought it was the perfect opportunity to show you how he felt.
“It’s really all about showing someone how much you care for them and appreciate them,” you had explained. “It’s a day of celebrating love.”
He even went out very early this morning before you awoke and bought several large bouquets of white, yellow and pink flowers. You said when you have someone as a Valentine you got them a gift, lots of times flowers and chocolates. Din had no idea how many flowers were needed to satisfy tradition so he decided to play it safe and get at least 10 dozen from the flower vendor. He figured that would have to be good enough. He had hidden them on the other side of the ship, so when you left you wouldn’t see them bunched up outside.
Now he went back and forth from his hiding place, bringing the flowers up to the front. He used them to line the ramp of the crest and still had two bunches left over, one he could give you and one he could have the kid give you. Looking back at his son, Din sighed, seeing the heart was covered in a mound of glitter and ribbon shreds at least the same height as the child. Picking it up and dumping the loose product into the jar carefully, it looked like a heart again, a heart that had been decorated by a toddler with three fingers.
“You did good, kid,” Din says, patting the little guy on the head affectionately, before bringing it over to a rock to dry. He looked up, seeing that the sun was beginning to set and you’d be back soon. He was incredibly nervous, and he began to doubt himself. He felt responsible for you not being home to celebrate and he wanted to see you happy. If he could’ve, he would’ve gone off course to bring you home. For a while, he was trying to do make it happen. However, the most recent puck was too much to pass on. He hoped the little thing he threw together here would be good enough for you.
He scooped up the child before he caught the frog he had been chasing. Holding him tightly in one arm, he grabbed the homemade valentine in the other. He had planned his entrance for when you would get back. He’d just be casual, and walk out with the kid like nothing was happening. He also figured this way; he wouldn’t have to face you and he could watch your reaction from the safety of inside the ship. It was stupid, but he was so nervous. He was so worried he’d be rejected. He had no idea if his feelings were reciprocated. In his head, this was the perfect plan, but now his heart is in his stomach.
“Din, I’m almost back,” your voice rang in his ear from his Commlink. “I’ll be able to see the ship just about… whoa.”
Panicked, Din froze in place for a moment. He was too scared to walk out and face you, until he felt the kid hitting at the chest plate of his armor. He pulled himself together and mustered out the courage to go out and face the consequences of his foolish actions.
“Din, what is this?” you ask, marveling at the beautiful decorations- your own little Valentine’s Day celebration in the middle of the forest. You were almost convinced it wasn’t real and you were hallucinating.
“I mean, it was the kid’s idea,” Mando said hurriedly, trying to play it off. The little guy babbling nonsense like he was swearing to his father’s lie. He waved the red card in his hand frantically, more glitter falling off and getting everywhere.
“Oh really?” You say with an eyebrow raised, placing your packages from town down on the ground. “And was he the one who put this all together?” You ask, seeing how as soon as Mando releasing him, he just walks in a circle, fascinated by his own little shadow.
“Yeah,” Mando responded tentatively, “I mean it kind of just appeared. I don’t know.”
You couldn’t contain the smile forming on your face. You were beyond touched that he would do this for you, even though he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. You knew this was difficult to him, matters of emotions were never his strong suit. He spoke by using his actions, he always had, and you always noticed.
You noticed when he would protect you on missions before looking out for himself. You saw him when he would get up and tend to the kid at night, even if was your turn. You noticed that he would give you his full attention when you would talk to him about anything. He would carry you home on nights where you felt like your legs wouldn’t work. You pick up on how carefully he would help you dress your injuries after a bad run-in. No small gesture he made went unseen and you loved everyone of the silent confirmations of his true feelings towards you. And now he just outdid himself in a way you could have never imagined.
“I can’t believe you did all this for me,” you say softly, unable to look in his eyes but settling to rely on the good faith he was meeting your gaze under the helmet. Of course, he was. He was watching every move, every facial expression as always. “Din, I absolutely love this.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says, looking around nervously. His eyes follow the green trouble maker wobble over to you to be picked up, his gift for you in hand. You scoop him up in your arms and take the heart from him.
“Is this for me?” You ask with a big smile, looking at the kid. He erupted into a fit of happy giggles when you planted a kiss on his wrinkly head. “Thank you, I love it,” you whispered to him. He coos and snuggles himself into your chest. You chuckle at the little guy’s actions before looking back to Din. “I think he likes me,” you joke.
“He loves you,” Din says, smiling at the two of you. His little family. He walks over and wraps his arms around your waist, relieved you can’t see how much he’s shaking. You can tell he’s nervous. Embracing both you and the kid he whispers, “And he’s not the only one,” he admits softly, “I do too.”
“I love you too,” you reply, sighing contently. You feel the butterflies and nervousness in your stomach mixed with a feeling of relief. Months of dancing around the feelings and the never acknowledging the tension between the two of you was finally over, and in his own way, he’s shown you by all this how much he cares.
“There’s just one problem though,” you say, just as you feel begin to relax. He immediately stiffens.
“W-what?”
“You didn’t ask me to be your Valentine…”
“Gods,” he mutters, shaking his head. He frantically removes his helmet and presses his lips to yours in a kiss, before you even register that he just took his helmet off for you. His hand holds the back of your head gently, as his lips move against yours. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.
“(y/n), will you be my Valentine?” he asks, his beautiful brown eyes looking into yours for the first time without the helmet hindering his vision of you.
“You’re so handsome,” you whisper, bringing a hand to his cheek, propping the child on your hip so you had the free hand. You completely miss the question, too in awe of the man in front of you. “What about the Creed?” you ask worriedly.
“You’re worth it, cyar’ika,” he mumbles, “I’d have left it all if you had asked me too. You and him are the two most important things in my galaxy. The moment him and you arrived in my life, the Creed became second.”
“Din,” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes, “I love you.”
“I love you so much, cyar’ika.”
#mando x y/n#mando x you#mandolorian imagine#mando x reader#mando fanfiction#mando imagine#din djarin x reader#din djarin x y/n#din djarin x you#fluff#fluff imagine#the mandolorian#pedro pascal#pedro pascal imagine
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