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absentcaryatid · 2 years

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My Yunho

An ATEEZ fanfic by AbsentCaryatid

Your college classmate Yunho is disappointed he is eclipsed by a taller Yunho in your life. There is some angst and longing but all ends well.

2.6K words, Content note: all tumblr ages, gender neutral reader who is shorter than Yunho, They/Them pronouns used for the reader, brief mention of kink, food

You first noticed the slightly dorky but still attractive man when he stood up to leave. It was the first day of a science lab together and your rapt attention to the professor teaching your favorite subject meant you had not yet given thought to the students around you. Staring a little too long, your classmate caught the way your eyes lingered on him from across the room.

As he headed toward the exit, he offered an understanding smile and remarked, “Everybody usually says how tall I am at this point.”

The audible scoff and confused look on your face took him by surprise. “Really?” Scanning him up and down led to the rough estimate, “You are what, one hundred eighty centimeters maybe? Do you mostly know short people?”

Straightening up with a peevish look he corrected, “One hundred eighty-five, and I did catch you giving me the once over.”

His cockiness was not impressing you. Taking that confidence down a notch was going to feel good. “You have a massive cowlick. That is what got my attention.”

“All day so far? How did no one else tell me?” He groaned at his less than reliable roommate Mingi who had eaten breakfast with him and said nothing. The titters that morning from his tablemates in this class and the one before were suddenly making sense in retrospect. Patting all over his head, the now chastened man could not find the errant hairs by feel and you took pity on his state.

Watching his awkward reaction, you got the sense it had been a nervous rather than conceited conversational opener so you rethought your own tone. Waving the man to lean over, you gently smoothed the section down but it kept bouncing back up. “This will take some water. May I?” He nodded at your drink held aloft. Splashing a bit from the bottle into your palm, you molded the strands back into place and smiled with satisfaction.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. It seemed his attitude toward you had softened as well. “My name is Yunho, by the way.”

In return you gave your own adding, “That is an easy name to remember, I have a Yunho of my own.”

At this fact, Yunho managed to cover the way his face fell with a cough, or at least had attempted to.

You tried not to enjoy the compliment of his telling disappointment. “Sorry I could not be impressed with your height, my Yunho is one hundred ninety-six centimeters tall.”

Classmate Yunho whistled at the numbers. “And I thought I was tall. Must be nice to be a real giant.”

Wanting to preserve some of his vanishing dignity you added, “You are not short though, I could only help after you bent over in reach.” With a rehearsed set of complaints you also responded to his commonly voiced comment. “Shoes are never in his size most places and whenever my Yunho hugs me my head ends up in his armpit. He says it is not glamorous being that height but he seems to like it.” You gave a devious grin, “I do get a kick out of the rare times he encounters someone taller making him finally seem small.”

“I know what that is like,” Yunho laughed, “though surely it happens to me more often than him.” Walking out the door together, it was easy to fall into pleasant conversation until you reached the next class of yours in a building nearby. Parting with smile, Yunho headed to an early lunch with Mingi across campus.

As he left, you called out, “See you next time, Little Yunho!”

Turning back to you, his hand whipped up and covered his laughing mouth. The action was adorable. You were smitten. This was a problem.

Mingi was made aware of Yunho's arrival by an accusatory tone from the usually affable man. “You let me leave our dorm looking like a fool this morning. I was tempted to mess up your lunch order after the way you treated me.” Yunho passed the takeout bag while Mingi handed over one of the caramel coffee drinks he had been in charge of obtaining. They sat together on the bench outside the dance studio before their hip hop class.

Gesturing to his own hair, Mingi mocked, “So you finally noticed whatever you had going on up there. I thought maybe you were trying a new style.”

“Really?” Yunho calmed at the explanation.

Mingi gaped at his best friend. Sometimes Yunho was so earnest. It made him very easy to tease. “Of course not, it was clearly bedhead. Next time look in a mirror before heading to class. You want to make a good impression this early in the semester, right? You never know who you will meet.”

“That's the problem. I did meet someone.” Yunho facepalmed then turned on Mingi. “They acted like a real friend,” he emphasized with a look, “and helped me with my hair.” He chuckled at the recollection, “Then they called me Little Yunho. I think I liked it.”

“Little. Okay.” His friend nodded as he took the information in. “Didn't know you were into embarrassment or degradation. I won't kinkshame.” The way he laughed made it sound otherwise.

“Mingi!” The name was punctuated with a swat to the shoulder. “It is not like that at all.”

“Well, that sounds promising, then. I am glad for you. Maybe you should be grateful I didn't point out your unintentional hairstyle at breakfast if it could lead to a new relationship.”

“Don't think you get off the hook that easily for letting me go out like that.” Looking downcast, Yunho sighed, “Friends is all it can be, though I liked them from the start. Apparently they have a boyfriend already, named Yunho no less. Far taller than me, hence I became 'Little Yunho.' The name is okay though, I'd put up with anything from them. I figure to have gotten a nickname means I must be doing something right.”

The dazed face along with those words told Mingi all he needed to know. His friend had it bad for you so he decided to try and be positive. “College relationships can come and go,” Mingi mused as he thought over his own intermittent dating experience. “Don't give up on the first day. You never know who will be the last Yunho standing.”

“This is not a contest, Mingi. But, thank you for the encouragement.” Yunho dusted lunch crumbs off his lap. “Besides, gaining another friend is a pretty good outcome from the class, if that is the way things go. Just like having you in my life since our middle school years has meant so much. Friends is good. That would be okay.”

It did not take years of friendship to know Yunho was deceiving himself to protect his tender heart. But, there was nothing Mingi could do so he decided to watch how this all played out. Knowing firsthand how easy it was to like Yunho, Mingi had hopes you might come around in time. There was no way anyone would not want his roommate. Even Mingi did a little bit if he was being honest.

The next science class, Yunho was seated at your table up front by the time you got to the lab. This sign of obvious interest caused a smile to break out as you greeted the handsome man. Between his looks that kept growing on you and personality shown the first day, you really were falling for him, despite your intentions. It was not like you to make friends easily but this Yunho made it effortless. It might have been unwise, but you chose to work together from then onward despite the danger of falling further.

For his part, Yunho was equally entranced by you. He tried not to imagine the hulking brute Big Yunho must be. “Their boyfriend better be gentle with them,” he thought to himself. Yunho began to fume over the imagined competitor who had the luck to meet his classmate before he did. Eventually he set jealousy aside, for the moment, and had a productive lab session despite wanting you to be his partner in more than just science experiments.

A month went on like this. Yunho would bask in your warmth toward him while also being saddened by your unavailability. When you were absent the next time class met, it sent a pang of loss through Yunho's body. The lab had become the highlight of his week and daydreaming about seeing you again had filled the long wait each time.

Mingi had spent far too many hours hearing about all your perfect traits that Yunho could list endlessly. With a flash of insight after the session dragged to an end, Yunho wondered if his crush had been too obvious and made you uncomfortable. Perhaps you were now enrolled in a different lab to avoid him. Pained, he crashed his head into his crossed arms on the table as tears began to well. Soon after, he was interrupted by a bewildered voice.

“Um, sorry to bother you when you are napping,” the newcomer kindly said, ignoring a more anguished appearance than tired as the other students filed out. “You are Yunho, right? I'm San and we have a friend in common. Your classmate texted asking if I could deliver a message to you.”

His head lifted to look over San with suspicion. Yunho bit back a spark of envy, “You have their number?”

“We have history together,” San replied while doing his best to suppress a smirk.

This information gave Yunho hope. “So you are an ex?” If San was a former partner you probably would not turn Yunho down for his own short height, that is if you ever were free to date again.

Wondering if he was considered a rival by the man you had so dreamily described this morning under the influence of cold medication, the perceptive man clarified, “Uh, no. History class. We have been friends since working on a presentation together. They asked me to come find you and say they are sick. I was told to look for someone tall.”

Yunho snorted at the description. “Not tall enough apparently.” For whatever reason, he really was hung up about your boyfriend's advantage over himself.

San ignored the comment. It was not his place to sort things out between these two who clearly had developed feelings for each other. “Anyway, they wanted me to give you their number, if you don't mind, so they can find out what they missed today.” With this news, San watched light return to Yunho's eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Job of inputting contact details complete, Yunho shook San's hand in gratitude. He wanted to shout now that he knew he wasn't a bother at all! As San watched in amusement, Yunho grabbed his backpack and raced out the door.

In no time at all, Yunho was across campus and at the dance studio without even bothering to pick up the drinks that were his lunchtime assignment today. “Mingi, Mingi! I have their number. Help me figure out what to say.”

Mingi calmed him down and got the full story out of Yunho. “Let's be friendly and simple, okay? They still have that boyfriend, so unless you know they are not exclusive you should keep the tone light. Something basic like hoping they feel better soon.”

After a few messages back and forth, it was decided your little brother would come to the dance studio on his way home from his own classes. Yunho would hand over the test prep packet so you could study whenever you felt up to it. If he had given it any thought before dashing out of class he would have gotten an extra one from the professor. However, the small cost of copying it himself before dance class was something Yunho was happy to take on.

As the machine flew through the papers, again he wished he was “your Yunho.” There was nothing he would not do for you, and he hoped one day you would be romantically available to hear that from him.

Dance instruction passed quickly. Afterward, Yunho waved off Mingi's offer to wait together, preferring to be alone with his thoughts. He came to realize sometimes it really is enough to have made a new friend. Not everything had to be a grand romance. He could still be happy if things never developed further. To have you in his life in any form was satisfactory. Maybe. Despite wanting it to be true, Yunho did not feel convinced by his own argument.

For the second time today, someone stepped into a classroom looking for him. A young voice piped up, “Are you Yunho?”

“That's me.” Yunho turned to face the person he was waiting for, a child still in the first year of high school by your description. Looking over the gangly teenager multiple inches beyond Yunho's own height he blurted out, “I was expecting someone shorter for a 'little' brother.”

The boy laughed. “Meanwhile, you are taller than I expected for someone my sibling keeps calling 'Little Yunho'. I was resigned to being referred to as a little brother forever and suddenly they were calling me 'Big Yunho' at home. I rather liked the upgrade.”

It took time for dancer Yunho to take in the new information. The rudeness of his pointing finger toward the youngster could be forgiven as he slowly commented, “You are 'their' Yunho.”

“Yes,” he admitted, without a hint of the groaning he was doing internally at being stuck with duty as a go-between. You were going to owe your brother a lot for his involvement today. “They want to know if you can come over for a family dinner some time this week once they are feeling better to thank you for the help today.”

“'Their' Yunho is their brother,” a dumbfounded Yunho continued to work through.

Your “little” brother could not figure out what you saw in your classmate. His looks were serviceable enough but he did not seem to be quick on the uptake. Still, you were siblings and he cared a lot for you so he took pity on the older Yunho and decided to clue him in. “You both get the same absent look when speaking about each other. I think you two need to talk. They had sworn off romantic relationships to get through college with fewer distractions but I don't think they are going to stand by their plan if the way they gush about you is any indication.” He gently took the papers from the hands of a near frozen dance student Yunho.

College classmate “Little Yunho” finally closed his mouth and began to beam. He then punched the air as if lost in a romantic movie.

Sibling Yunho rolled his eyes. “Let me head out before you get any sappier. I'll tell my dad it is a yes for a dinner guest and whatever night it ends up being I plan to be busy at basketball practice. My guess is there will be enough time to get to know you on other visits.”

And he was right. From the very first dinner, elder Yunho was popular in your household. He made your parents laugh and your grandmother immediately had a crush on the generally polite young man. Afterward, she even opined he would be marriage material once he got the hang of eating with his mouth closed. Study dates over the following days quickly led to real dates and in time, “my Yunho” no longer referred to your brother but to your beloved boyfriend.

Yunho Masterlist

General Masterlist

#ATEEZ #ATEEZ Fluff #ATEEZ Angst #ATEEZ Fanfic #Kpop Fanfic #Kpop Fluff #Jeong Yunho #ATEEZ Yunho #Yunho #Yunho x You #Yunho x Reader #Gender Neutral Reader #It was a rare day off #They/Them reader pronouns #cross posted on ao3 #diverseinsertknet

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camaro-and-smokes · 2 years

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Homebound - Is She for Real? Part 13

Rating: General for this chapter Warnings: Slurs mentioned Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, OFC Tags: Babies, angst, fluff

Links to all chapters on tumblr on Part 1 >>

Read on AO3 >>

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Billy, Steve and Emma arrived at the airport.

"The gate is 27," Steve said when he got the tickets. "Fuck, it's on the other side," Billy said frustrated. He had set Emma's baby seat next to him on the long seat he was sitting on, and while his other hand was constantly touching Emma, he was playing with the lid of his Zippo with his other hand.

Steve was standing in front of Billy studying the tickets, and patted Billy's shoulder with his hand. "Babe, calm down, and put the lighter away. That clicking drives me crazy.” He looked at Billy. ”We're here, there's plenty of time before the flight leaves, and there's a shuttle that takes us at the gate.”

"I'm already anxious enough about flying alone, and now with Emma. What if something happens? She's so small, we got the ok from the doctor for flying, but can she really take the pressure change? What if something goes really badly wrong? I don't know if I can manage if something happens and I have to be alone at home with her next week and..." Billy rambled, throwing the now empty hand in the air, and started to take in shallow breaths.

"Firecracker, Billy, wow. You need to calm down,” Steve said as he realized that a full blown panic attack was on its way, and he quickly crumpled the tickets to his jacket pocket. “I'm here with you. You do have your meds with you, don't you?" he asked. Billy was already gasping for air way too fast, and Steve knew he might faint soon.

"Billy, I know it's hard, but you really have to calm down. You're going to pass out if you keep that up. You gotta take deeper breaths. Just try to count into three with each inhale and exhale,” Steve said calmly, squatting in front of Billy to trying catch his gaze and see if his words still reached Billy. “Tell me: are your meds and the paper bags in your bag?" he asked again calmly. "Em-Emma's, in-in the si-si-side pocket," Billy managed to stutter between gasps.

Steve started to go through the bag desperately trying to find the side pocket Billy was talking about. The thing was, it was a brand new bag full of baby gear and he hadn't packed it. He tried to talk to Billy while at it to keep him from fainting. "Billy, you're going to be just fine. We're going to be fine. Just stay with me. I can't have you pass out now with Emma. Stay with me, babe."

When Steve's finger hit the corner of a paper bag, he pulled it out so fast that he cut himself in the process to the other bags. "Shit! Uh, hey Billy, here's a bag," he cursed while giving the smeared paper bag to Billy, who was not far from fainting.

Billy started to breathe into the bag, and quite soon his breathing started to calm down. When Steve found Billy's meds, he took a tablet from the bottle and gave it to him with a bottle of water. "Here. Drink up,” Steve said and rubbed Billy's thigh with his hand. “I'm here with you, everything is going to be just fine, babe."

"Steve, you're bleeding," Billy said, already taking more even breaths. "There are tissues in the other end of the bag, and some band aid too."

Steve dug the bag and found what he was looking for. "Look at the two of us. You with the bloody bad and me with the bloody hand. People think that I just hit you," he chuckled. "Yeah,” Billy chuckled, “This is just your intricate way to beat me in public, first some fist with a bag to hide it and then painkiller to take edge away, and now everyone thinks that that's one abusive man and so bad in hiding it," he continued, making them both laugh.

Steve rubbed Billy's shoulder again, glad that the panic attack got handled on time. "Let's go get something to eat, ok? You haven't eaten anything except that cup of coffee I saw you drink in the morning, have you?" Steve asked, and took his and Billy's bags while Billy had Emma and her bag. "No, I haven't," Billy replied, now realizing that that might've contributed him getting so light-headed so fast. "Babe, you have to start to remember to eat in the mornings. You can't suddenly have a panic attack like this when you're alone with Emma. That could be fatal to her." Billy understood the consequences quite well. Which was one reason he was anxious for having to stay alone for days at a time while Steve would be travelling.

When they had eaten and Billy had taken care of Emma's diaper disaster, they took the shuttle to the gate.

Billy was fuming as they walked towards the gate from the shuttle stop. "Why is it so hard to get the changing table into some other space than women's bathroom? Or a whole dedicated space for it? I mean, sure, it's usually women with small children like Emma, but what if it's a widower? What then? It shouldn't be this hard on an airport this size. Thank god the bathroom was empty and no one came in." "Maybe you should write about it to them? And I don't mean to belittle you, I mean actually write to them about it. That is a flaw." "Maybe it just is women's job," someone snickered behind them.

Both Billy and Steve immediately looked around to see who was stupid enough to say something like that out loud. "Billy, not here then, ok?" Steve asked quietly when they didn't see who it might've been. He knew that Billy would go and give a piece of his mind to the person who said that unless the panic attack meds kicked in before that. And if the person was not concerned of making it physical, Billy would have no problems in returning the gesture. "I have Emma, don't worry," Billy said. But he knew that men saying something that stupid out loud usually didn't know when to stop, and he liked to make them.

Finally they got to the gate, now suspicious of every man around them. ”Ok, there's still half an hour before the boarding begins. You wanna go for a smoke now? I'll take care of Emma,” Steve said, knowing that Billy was always going for a smoke the latest possible moment before boarding to calm his nerves, but now it wasn't optimal with their little girl. ”Sure, why not,” Billy said getting up. ”She should be fine unless anything comes up, if you know what I mean. Are you sure you'll manage?” ”Babe,” Steve chuckled and looked up at him, quickly squeezing Billy's hand. ”I know how to take care of her by now. We'll manage just fine.” Billy smiled, took his jacket, and started towards the small smoking balcony in the side of the building.

Even though it was still August, the weather was slowly turning into autumn, and the wind was chilly thanks to the wide open space of the airport. Billy raised the lapels of his denim jacket and leaned to the wall lighting his smoke shielding the flame, and took a drag, savouring how the smoke felt in his lungs.

It wasn't long after a man joined him. Billy didn't pay any mind to him, before he opened his mouth.

”You know, they shouldn't be giving children to you people.” Billy took the smoke from his lips, and turned to look at the man slowly, measuring him. He was around the same height as Billy, in his thirties, normal weight, nothing remarkable about him otherwise. ”I don't think I got that. Mind to repeat it?” ”Suits that you faggots can't even hear.” Billy smiled, and licked his lips. He took another drag of the smoke. ”You have no idea who you are talking to. I'm, like, the last person you want to call that. Good for you that I have a daughter now. Keeps me from beating the living shit out of you." "Oo, I'm so scared." Billy frowned, and shook his head. He straightened himself up and looked at the man, contemplating between letting his old self loose, and trying to do this by Steve's words: 'Don't do anything I wouldn't do'.

Billy walked to the man and stopped within arms reach in front of him.

The man clearly had expected Billy to be just empty threats and not at all expected him to respond this way. When Billy tilted his head, took another drag, and blew the smoke on the man's face with a wild grin that oozed violence, the man leaned back to the wall behind him.

"What kind of a man would deny a child a loving home? Or loving parents? A loving and caring base for them to grow up on? Are you that kind of man? Huh? The kind of man who would rather see a child being in a foster care system, brought up unwanted, beaten, or even molested by their biological parent? Are you that man?"

Billy took a step closer, now invading the man's personal space, and not giving a living fuck about it. "Are you? One who would deny my daughter a chance to a good life I and my partner can provide? Huh?"

The man was very still. Which was good, because if he had done anything else, Billy would've hit him. Now, instead, Billy just stumped his smoke to the wall, right next to the man's ear so that some hot ash jumped on his skin, making him flinch. After staring at the man for a while after that, Billy turned and left the man alone on the balcony.

Billy walked back to the gate and sat on the other side of Emma's baby seat. His hands were shaking of the adrenaline shot into his system by the confrontation, and he put them around Emma's seat to give them something to do. He leaned down to nuzzle his nose on the little girl's forehead, basking in the baby scent that was still strong on her skin. He did it as much to marvel his most precious treasure as to hide his upset from what happened on the balcony.

"Everything okay?" Steve asked when he saw that Billy was upset just from his demeanour. Billy clenched his teeth, but didn't raise his eyes from Emma. "Yeah, I will be once the meds kick in." Steve decided not to push it. A worry had started to slowly gnaw his mind about going home, and especially returning to work, now in his new role and with a totally new job description. Because it meant that he would have to leave Billy with Emma alone for longer times than he was comfortable with.

He trusted Billy, he would take great care of Emma. He loved that tiny bundle with all of his heart, he was a natural when it came to taking care of her, and he would rather die than have anything happen to her.

Steve wasn't worried about that. He worried Billy forgetting to take care of himself.

The flight was uneventful. Some people tried to make a number of having to sit close to a small baby, but after an older lady commented out loud, that "Probably none of you folks have to listen to a baby crying twentyfour seven like those gents do. You'll manage some hours and a half hours if it comes to that," the whines from grown up people in the cabin died down.

When the plane landed Billy made sure to get the lady's address so he could send her flowers.

"Man, I'm so happy to get back home," Billy said as they walked out from the terminal and towards the parking lot where Billy's new BMW was waiting. He turned to look at Emma and made a face at her, smiling. "Daddy is so happy to show our little bird your new home," he cooed to Emma, who was now awake and as always, her blues locked into Billy. Steve couldn't help his heart leaping a little in his chest with Billy's words. He hadn't thought of it before but now it hit home, literally. No matter the actual relations, they were bringing their family home.

"Alright, here's your another new baby," Steve said when he pushed the button on the remote control of the beemer. Parking lights blinked in a car on the front row. It was exactly the same colour Billy's Camaro was. "I love the way you think, babe," Billy said smiling when he saw the car. "I thought you'd like it," Steve replied. "It has quite a bit of all kinds nice things but you'll have time to get to know her better later. Emma's seat is from this," Steve opened the backdoor that revealed a system to set the baby seat down. "Just put the seat here and lock it with the seatbelt and she's good to go. Oh, and I put a mirror on the headrest where you can see her trough the rear-view mirror." "Or then the seat can be just put on front seat?" "On this car no. Front seat airbags can't be turned off." "Well, nothing is perfect, I guess," Billy said walking around the car on the passenger's side door and taking in the sleek design of the car. He sat down in the passenger seat and put his seatbelt on. "Will you show me what she can do?" he asked Steve. "I have all intentions to do just that," Steve said smiling when he sat down on the driver's seat after storing all of their bags into the trunk. He turned the key in the ignition. The sound that came from the motor gave Billy chills and made him smile. "I think I'll be just fine with her." "I know so," Steve said smiling, and put it on reverse.

After a quick stop to get some groceries, Steve finally drove the beemer on their driveway and into the garage that was now empty of other cars until Steve got his new company car. Billy took Emma with him, and Steve the groceries, both agreeing that the bags could be brought in later.

Then they walked to the front door together, smiling, and Steve opened the door and let them in to their home.

"Hey daddy's little bird, you're home now," Billy said to Emma, and was suddenly overtaken by a massive wave of all the emotions he'd had to go through to get Emma here. "Oh god, she's finally here!" he cried and broke into tears. Steve felt the same, and all the frustration, endless waiting for any contacts, all the no's that they'd gotten before the joy that was Emma came their way, pushed tears into his eyes too. "I know, firecracker. Our family is finally home," Steve managed to whisper between his own sobs into Billy's ear who was crying against his shoulder.

When they got over the initial emotional response of getting Emma home, Steve went to the kitchen to make supper, and Billy took Emma upstairs.

Billy's old room had been turned into a nursery and they had painted and decorated it in a very simple manner well before they got the call on Emma's birth.

But when Billy now opened the door and walked in what was waiting for him and Emma wasn't what he'd left behind weeks earlier. His mouth fell open as he took in the sight.

A scenery of a meadow was painted on the walls with birds, flowers, butterflies, and other creatures big and small, and in the corner of the room was a tree that grew all the way up the wall and spread with big, fat green leaves on the ceiling. A chair was set into the corner, right under the tree. There was a bunch of stuffed animals they'd received as presents from their friends on it. A teddy bear called Max would be added to that pile.

Billy couldn't hold back tears, again. Steve had done his magic once again, making their little girl's room perfect for her to grow up in.

"Do you like it?" Steve asked behind Billy, leaning to the doorway. "Babe, I love it. It's perfect," Billy said as he turned around and marvelled at the wall painting. "I knew you'd like it. I'm sure Emma will grow to love it too." "She will," Billy said and turned to look at Steve with the gorgeous, wide smile that always melted Steve's heart. "You've done so much to have everything ready here while I was in Hawkins." Steve walked to them and wrapped his arm around Billy's waist, and looked at Emma sleeping contently on Billy's strong arm, against his chest. He gave a kiss on Billy's temple. "Emma laying on your arms like that is one of my favourite images in my mind from now on." "Mine too," Billy whispered. "It was all worth it." "Yeah, it was," Steve agreed.

#harringrove #harringrove fanfiction #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove redemption #is she for real #suometar writes #stranger things fanfiction #fics

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forthereaderinserts · 4 years

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HCs for naga Orochimaru child?Basically that Parent Oro AU but he gave them more snake DNA and they have the lower half of a snake.They also have more snake traits now,like seeking warmth and swallowing things whole.

|||Kini's Scenario Emporium|||

Ahh nagas the perfect snake partners

(fun fact I am actually just a warm-blooded flesh snake :3)

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Like how the more human Oro!kid was first a test subject, his naga child would be to test how far he can push biology and power. His snake-like nature allows him to be able to teach his child to adapt to their instincts to walk like a human with the muscular structures of a snake.

All the time he spends with his kid leads to a lot of unexpected bonding time. You'd be surprised by how much a relationship can grow when you spend a ton of time unhinging your jaws and swallowing forest animals.

He enjoys having someone as feral as you be loyal to him, but it's even better now that your relationship with him is actually healthy. Every time you slither up to him, absolutely bursting with joy, and show up the poisoned corpse of a test subject or animal, he feels so proud of you.

~|~|~

#submitted by ithecrystaldragonheart #it got eaten by tumblr but i managed to catch it in time #mod kini #parent oro

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 3 years

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an icarus and his sun: chapter 14

A/N: hello i return!! just one more chapter after this, it's so wild to think that this fic is almost over!

Warnings: kissing, self-worth issues, talk of near death situations and past injury

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

Kissing Scott felt like Jimmy was cradling sunlight in his hands. Something that should have been impossible, and yet all the same it was happening. And now that Scott had Jimmy, he seemed determined not to let him go. Not that Jimmy was exactly complaining about Scott’s new mission to kiss him breathless- but considering not too long ago Scott was trying to make him breathless in an entirely different sense, and that the others didn’t even know what all went down… they should probably stop. So with great regret, Jimmy tried to pull away from Scott- key word there being tried.

“Scott, c’mon, let go of me,” Jimmy chuckled, dodging yet another kiss. Scott settled for pressing his lips to Jimmy’s cheek before tucking his head under Jimmy’s chin. His wings shifted to curl around the both of them, and as nice as it felt, they really needed to get up from the floor so that Jimmy could let his friends know what happened.

“Mm… no,” Scott hummed with a giggle.

“We should probably tell the others what happened- they all think you’re still fighting off the corruption, or are possessed,” Jimmy pointed out.

“I don’t see why we can’t just tell them later,” Scott pouted. Jimmy let out a fond, incredulous sigh.

“You also haven’t properly eaten anything in a few days, you’ve been living off of splash health potions for the most part,” Jimmy said sternly.

“Well, I know something I’m hungry for,” Scott teased, and Jimmy didn’t even need to see his face to know that he was smirking. Jimmy sighed again.

“And I thought you were incorrigible when we hated each other,” he commented with a chuckle. Scott pulled away enough to look at Jimmy with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You’re stuck with me now, better get used to it, sweetheart,” he murmured. Jimmy could feel his face warm up considerably at the petname, and Scott grinned at the sight. Well, two could play that game.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, sunshine,” Jimmy replied with a grin. Scott’s eyes went wide, and he flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Oh you can flirt back now. Right,” Scott managed to get out, voice coming out a bit strained. Jimmy just grinned wider.

“So what do you say, sunshine? How about we let everyone know that neither of us are dead and that you’re also not possessed?” Jimmy offered. Scott made a flustered sound at being called “sunshine” again, but collected himself enough to let out a sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” he grumbled, before getting up off of Jimmy. Jimmy stood up as well- just in time to catch Scott as he suddenly tilted to one side. Scott was leaning against Jimmy heavily, and Jimmy looped an arm around his waist as he tried to keep Scott upright.

“Scott?!” Jimmy gasped, unable to keep the panic from his tone.

“M’okay- think that lack of actual food thing is catching up to me. Just stood up too fast and got dizzy, that’s all,” Scott reassured him, standing up a bit more but still holding on to Jimmy, just to be sure.

“Then we’d really better tell the others so that we can work on getting your strength back,” Jimmy said with a relieved smile. He led Scott over to the lever for the secret door, and the moment he flicked it, a group of people came tumbling in. Nearly all of them fell to the floor in a heap, except for Pearl and Pixl, who sheepishly smiled at Jimmy and Scott. Gem was the first to pick herself up from the floor, dusting off her robes and letting out a nervous laugh.

“We uh. We might have been listening for a little bit there! We just didn’t want to interrupt,” Gem explained sheepishly. The others picked themselves off from the floor as she spoke, and Shelby was the last to get up from the floor, holding a black shulker box to her chest.

“Where’d the corruption go, I’ve got a box for it!” Shelby chirped, peering around Jimmy and Scott. The two of them blinked in surprise, and Scott looked to his arm. The corruption was long gone, all that was left was a scar from the initial cut. Jimmy looked around the room, and soon spotted what was left of the corruption lying on the floor near where he and Scott had fought. It looked like a mass of red vines that twitched every so often, and Jimmy’s stomach turned with nausea at the sight. Scott seemed to notice Jimmy’s sudden distress, and followed his gaze, only for Scott himself to turn several shades paler than he already was as he clung to Jimmy a bit tighter. Shelby noticed where the two of them were looking, and quickly scrambled over to carefully gather up the corruption and put it in the shulker box.

“Hey, easy, just look at me- you’re okay,” Jimmy soothed, reaching out to gently turn Scott’s head towards him. Scott’s look seemed far away even as he was looking into Jimmy’s eyes, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before blinking them open with a shaky sigh, gaze looking much more focused than before as he leaned his forehead against Jimmy’s.

“I think it’s probably good I’ve only been living off of health potions, pretty sure I would have just lost whatever I would have eaten right then,” Scott got out with a short laugh.

“So… how did you get the corruption out anyway?” Pixl asked after pointedly clearing his throat. Jimmy and Scott jumped slightly, pulling away from each other (but not far enough for Scott to be without standing support) with a pair of sheepish smiles.

“Well I uh. We were fighting, and I might’ve kissed Scott to throw him off, but it ended up being the push to snap him out of it and fight against the corruption,” Jimmy explained with a blush. Scott looked at Jimmy with a perplexed expression.

“Jimmy… I didn’t do anything against the corruption. It- before I woke up with you uh… holding me, the last thing I remembered was losing to another version of myself in some sort of red dreamscape. Your kiss saved me, not anything I did,” Scott explained. A series of adoring coos and gasps sounded from the group, and Jimmy felt his face burn.

“True love was the key this whole time?” Shelby pondered, looking down at the shulker box she held with the now contained corruption.

“Well- I- surely it’s gotta be more than that,” Jimmy managed to get out, feeling incredibly flustered.

“So a mix of love and wills, then. It sounded like Scott maybe could have beaten it on his own, he just needed the extra help!” Shelby replied with a shrug. Scott frowned.

“I don’t know, honestly. The other me- it- he?- was mostly toying with me, I think. Said something about how ‘he’ would be pleased to know that I was specifically under the corruption’s control,” Scott explained shakily.

“He?” Gem asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“The other me referred to some other person that he was sent by, maybe? Then when I asked about who the ‘he’ was, the other me said something about how I didn’t ‘remember’ and how that made me easy to control,” Scott continued.

“The corruption is sentient?!” Shelby gasped, holding the shulker box away from herself.

“And apparently sent by someone else? And seemed to already know you somehow?” Gem pondered. Scott shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know. All I know is that it’s gone now, and I’m extremely glad for that,” Scott said, voice tight with nerves as the barrage of questions began to overwhelm him.

“And we’re glad you’re okay too!” Katherine piped up, stepping forward with a smile, clearly picking up on Scott’s discomfort. Scott blinked in surprise at her words.

“You.. are?” he asked in disbelief. Katherine just looked as surprised, if not more, than Scott did. The others had a mixture of concern and confusion on their faces as well, and Scott shifted uncomfortably at the attention.

“Why would I not be?” Katherine asked. Scott swallowed nervously.

“I- I knew about Fwhip’s plan for the ball, and didn’t say anything. Your- your castle was destroyed because I was too afraid to do anything about it,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid speaking any louder would awaken the wrath of those around him. An almost wounded expression came across Katherine’s face.

“Scott, even if I was still mad at you when we found you lying in front of Gem’s home, I wouldn’t have wanted you to die. Besides, between Fwhip’s gloating monologue and what we knew from what Pearl and Gem had told us, we know that you weren’t exactly a willing participant in Fwhip’s plan,” Katherine said softly, taking a slow step closer to Scott. His wings shifted anxiously, and Jimmy gently squeezed Scott’s arm to comfort him.

“I- you’re not mad?” he asked, voice still hushed and timid. Katherine smiled gently.

“No, I’m not. If castles can be rebuilt, so can friendships,” Katherine replied softly, holding out her arms. Scott barely hesitated at the invitation, letting go of Jimmy to instead hug Katherine tightly. Any remaining tension Scott held seemed to melt away as Katherine hugged him back. He hesitantly drew back after a few moments, a contemplative expression on his face.

“Is something wrong?” Jimmy asked. He reached out towards him, intending to put a comforting hand on his shoulder- but was pleasantly surprised by Scott taking his hand and tugging him closer so that they could stand side-by-side, fingers intertwined. Jimmy felt his face flush, and Scott smirked at him for a brief moment before schooling his expression into something more serious.

“So now that the uh- the corruption is dealt with. For now. Hopefully. Anyway what I’m trying to say is- what do we do about Fwhip and Sausage?” Scott asked. The others exchanged glances, seemingly having an entire conversation without words that Jimmy was hopelessly unable to decipher. Scott didn’t look like he knew what was going on either, and seemed a little apprehensive at that fact.

“We’ll protect you,” Katherine said firmly. The rest of the group nodded in agreement. Jimmy found himself nodding too- and to his shock, Scott seemed a little flustered.

“I- that’s a nice gesture, but not really what I meant- I was talking about them in a more general sense, not just if they try to come after me specifically. Again,” Scott explained with a sheepish laugh.

“Well I can definitely handle whatever they throw at us. Fwhip ran like a coward after I chased him away a few days ago,” Pearl said with a confident grin.

“Sausage won’t be an issue either, not with my magic to defend us!” Gem added.

“If I’m not gonna take out my rage on Scott for playing with Jimmy’s heart, then I guess I can settle for Fwhip or Sausage,” Lizzie said with a shrug. Scott paled slightly, and Jimmy frowned at Lizzie with a disapproving glare.

“Lizzie, you don’t need to be mad at him anymore, we made up!” Jimmy protested, raising their joined hands as proof.

“Think a little more than that happened,” Pixl commented dryly. Joel let out a laugh that he was quick to stifle, pushing at Pixl with one hand while covering his mouth with the other. Lizzie rolled her eyes at the two of them before looking at Jimmy again.

“Well I’m not mad because of that, but how do I know he’s good enough for you?” Lizzie said, glaring at Scott in a way that Jimmy could tell was playful, but Scott didn’t seem to realize that, wings stiffening before relaxing as he took a deep breath.

“I know I have a lot to make up for. And I know it’s not gonna be as easy as me nearly dying on you all to gain your trust again. But I’m willing to make an effort-” Scott paused, looking at Jimmy the gentlest he ever had, the ice in his eyes melting for Jimmy and for Jimmy alone- “because he’s worth it.”

“Scott…” Jimmy trailed off, unsure of what to say after all of that. Scott just smiled at him and squeezed his hand. Lizzie just blinked at them, dumbfounded for a moment.

“I was mostly just messing with you, but… I’m glad to know that you’re serious about him,” Lizzie said with a smile. Scott let out a breath of relief, smiling back before his expression settled into something more resolute.

“Speaking of serious, we should probably discuss more concrete defense plans in case of any other sort of attack from Fwhip and Sausage,” Scott said. Various sounds and mutters of agreement filled the room, and they began discussing defensive strategies- things like making moats, building walls, and sharpening their fighting skills. Jimmy didn’t contribute much to the conversation, not that he exactly had much to offer- but even if he did, he was too busy listening to Scott with rapt attention, a smitten expression on his face all the while.

Taglists below! Let me know if you wanna be added/removed to/from either!

MCYT General Fic Taglist: @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @space-ace123 @vyeoh

AIAHS Taglist: @anty-kreatywna @beepa99 @devilwoodkitty18 @logosbottm @riobug

#empires smp #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #geminitay #shubble #ldshadowlady #smallishbeans #pearlescentmoon #pixlriffs #katherine elizabeth #flower husbands #seablings #mcyt #aiahs #sage writes

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elvish-sky · 3 years

Text

How Gandalf and Pippin Put Aside Their Differences for the Greater Good {Faramir x Reader}

A.N: OK GUYS- i literally tied my hand to my sister’s to figure out some of the logistics of movement for this. She thinks I’m crazy now. But I loved this request! I’m currently catching up on requests and also dealing with some personal issues, and I haven’t been happy with anything I’ve written in a really long time, but I’m really happy with this! It would mean so much to me if you guys liked it too, I put so much work into this and I’m so proud of it!

also- a thousand thank you’s to @gossip-girl-of-middle-earth for giving me an idea for this fic. i appreciate you letting me use it so so much. thank you.

Requested by @raineeace on Tumblr: Your recent request you wrote was beyond cute! You’re an amazing writer, so catch me reading the rest of your LOTR content !! I also wanted to request something as well! Can you do a Faramir x Fem!Reader and Gandalf and/or Pippin try to get them together? I loved the how you wrote Aragorn as cupid, and I wanted to ask if you could make these two matchmakers as well? Lots of fluff please and I can’t wait to see what you come up with! :)

Word Count: 2,334

Pairing: Faramir x Reader

Summary: You and Faramir have been mooning over each other for months, but nothing has come of Pippin’s efforts to get you together. What happens when Pippin enlists the help of a certain wizard?

Warnings: Fluff, Humor

****

How Gandalf and Pippin Put Aside Their Differences for the Greater Good {Faramir x Reader}

Pippin leaned over the banister, watching you and Faramir walk together below. You smiled at something the man said, then nodding your head goodbye and walking away. The hobbit watched as Faramir stood there, watching you go, looking oddly lonely.

Pippin had been watching/trying to get you and Faramir together for a while now. He had first noticed the chemistry and romantic tension between you when everyone was gathered waiting for Frodo to heal, and decided to do something about it. Now, months later, nothing had happened. Pippin thought that at this point neither of you was ever going to confess your very obvious feelings for the other.

At least, not without some extra help.

“Come on, Gandalf, please?”

The wizard shook his head, “I cannot believe you are still going on about this.”

“They need the help,” Pippin told him, “Plus, getting them to admit their feelings to each other would help them, and ease your exasperation with the two of them for walking in circles around each other!”

The wizard shook his head. “I’m not going to help you with this!”

“It’s for the greater good! Can you really stand to see the two of them mooning over each other all the time?”

“That’s true. It’s getting ridiculous,” Gandalf sighed, “Fine. I’ll help. Where do we start?”

Back in your room, you lifted your head from your desk as a loud, hobbitish whoop rand through the air. You chalked it up to Pippin hitting another elf, probably Legolas, with an apple, and returned to your work. You hoped that it wasn’t Legolas that Pippin had hit, because the last time that happened Legolas had promptly eaten the apple, and Pippin had bemoaned the loss of his snack for weeks.

That night, you left your room, closing the door behind you and setting off down the hallway. You’d barely made it fifteen feet when another door opened right in front of you and Faramir came rushing out, crashing into you.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there, I feel terrible!”

“It’s okay!”

You shuffled your feet, nervous to be so close to the person you’d been in love with for months.

It was also weird how close your rooms were- Aragorn had given everyone from the Fellowship and friends special quarters after his coronation. You could understand why the hobbits’ rooms were so close together, but wondered why Aragorn had placed you and Faramir almost directly across from each other. Probably because the two of you worked together the closest on negotiations with the other kingdoms.

Eventually, Faramir broke the silence with an awkward laugh.

“So, late to dinner?”

You smiled, glad he’d spoken first.

“Yeah. I got so focused on drafting that new trade agreement with the Iron Hills that I didn’t realize how low the sun was.”

He nodded. “I completely understand, I’ve done that far too many times, working on something like that or staying outside the city for far too long.”

Laughing, you looped your arm through his. “We should get to dinner before Aragorn yells at us.”

You entered the hall together, pushing open the doors to see your friends all seated around the high table. Dinners with the group had started when everyone was waiting for Frodo to heal and wake up and had just continued on, everyone reluctant to give up the time spent together.

Letting go of Faramir’s arm, you took your usual seat between him and his brother.

“What prompted you two to arrive together?” Boromir winked at you as he whispered.

“Huh? Oh, we just bumped into each other in the hall.”

“Sure, sure,” he smirked as he spoke.

“Pass the potatoes, please, Boromir.” You were determined to change the subject, and, happily, it seemed to have worked.

What you didn’t notice was Gandalf staring intently at you and Faramir, muttering something under his breath as Pippin watched gleefully.

You yawned, pushing your empty plate away with a groan.

“I’m stuffed. And tired. I think I’ll head to my rooms.”

Everyone said goodbye, and you pushed back your chair and went to stand.

But you couldn’t.

There were handcuffs on, one on your wrist, and the other on Faramir’s. And they hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Who handcuffed us?” You were bewildered.

“Gandalf…” Faramir glared at the wizard.

Gandalf glanced behind himself, and, seeing no one, turned back around with an innocent expression.

“What could I have done to make this happen?” He gestured to your hands, still handcuffed together.

Faramir said, “I don’t know, but it had to have been you!”

“Ask yourself this, Faramir. What motivation could I have possibly had? I think one you probably just ran astray of something else?”

You sucked in a deep breath.

“Okay, then, how do we make it stop?”

“Only time will tell,” the wizard nodded sagely.

“What are we supposed to do until then?” You exclaimed.

“Just stay together? Do everything together?” Pippin looked all too pleased by this.

“Fine. C’mon Faramir.”

The man rose, and together you marched out of the hall, handcuffs clanking, never moving further than five inches apart.

Once in the hallway, you turned to Faramir, panicked.

“What do we do? We’re stuck five inches, or less, apart from each other for Eru knows how long, we both have important duties.”

“And there’s going to the bathroom, and sleeping, and eating..” he was just as freaked out as you.

You turned to each other.

“What are we going to do?!”

“Y/N, Faramir, chill.”

You tried to turn, but the clanking and tug on your wrist stopped you as you spun the wrong way, twisting yourself with Faramir.

“Ok, no wait,” he backed up, accidentally taking you with him.

“Here, go this way, move your hand left.”

“No, no, my left, my left.”

“Spin this way?”

“You go under, I go over?”

“Aha! Yes, that worked!” You high-fived each other clunkily, and turned, making sure to bring your arms over your heads so that your hands fell back again.

“Oh, Pippin! What were you saying?”

Pippin smiled at Faramir. “I can help.”

“Would you mind telling us how?”

“You just have to accept it!”

“WHAT?” You screamed in unison.

Back in the hall, Aragorn winced at the echo of the yell.

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” He questioned the wizard.

“Of course not,” Gandalf replied, “but it was not mine. It was all Pippin, and if anything goes wrong that’s who we’ll blame.”

Legolas chuckled. “Alright then. We’ll leave it all on Pippin.”

Boromir raised a mug of ale. “TO-”

He was cut off by a resounding shush, and, chastened, began again.

“To Y/N and Faramir”

Everyone echoed the sentiment, quietly, and clinked their mugs.

Back in the hallway, you and Faramir were glaring at Pippin.

“You want us to just live like this?”

“Yes! You’ll be fine, maybe it’ll wear off soon, and maybe you’ll learn something.”

“Ughhhhhh,” you stormed away, dragging Faramir behind you.

Approaching your door, you were suddenly stopped when Faramir halted behind you.

“What?”

He shuffled his feet. “Whose room are we staying in?”

You considered. “Which one is bigger? We’ll need all the maneuvering space we can get.”

You walked together over to your doorway, poking your heads inside before moving back to his.

“Yours.”

“Mine?” He asked.

“Yeah. You have more space and a bigger bed. Let’s just go back to my room so that I can grab a few things if I’ll be staying with you indefinitely.”

“How are we going to do this?”

You stared at Faramir’s bed.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

You hadn’t thought this situation could get any more awkward, but there it was. The crown jewel of awkwardness, coming out to torment you. It had been bad enough attempting to change into your nightclothes, which you’d managed by turning your backs to each other to put them on, and only wearing one sleeve. But this was worse.

You decided to just go for it, and climbed into the bed, sliding under the sheets. Your movement pulled the handcuffs so that Faramir went with you, and you ended up on one side of the bed, him on the other, hands cuffed together in the center.

“This is not very comfortable,” Faramir observed.

That was true. You were lying flat on your back when you always slept on your side, and you were literally handcuffed to another person. Unable to stand the absurdity of it all, you broke out into laughter.

Faramir joined in, and you laughed together until you had tears in your eyes. His smile was so bright in the dimly lit room, and you could listen to his laugh for a thousand years without getting sick of it.

When the laughter subsided, you decided nothing could be more uncomfortable than the position your body was currently stuck in.

“Do you usually sleep on your side?”

Faramir nodded, looking a little confused.

“Ok. I’m going to try something, it’s going to be really awkward, but we might actually be able to sleep.”

“I trust you, Y/N. Whatever you’re going to do will be fine.”

You smiled at him, internally still freaking out that you were sharing a bed with Faramir. But there was no time to panic, your shoulder was killing you.

Taking a deep breath, you flipped so that the handcuffed arm was now underneath you, chain stretching up to where Faramir’s arm hovered.

“Would you be alright with putting your arm over my waist?” You wanted to make sure he was comfortable with all this.

Craning your neck, you saw a faint blush creeping up his face in the dusky light.

“Only if it’s ok with you,” he seemed nervous.

You were too, but you nodded and felt him slowly settle his arm around your waist.

Once it was there, his hand gently hanging near your stomach, you both relaxed, letting out sighs as the tension left your bodies simultaneously.

And then you giggled. Again, because this was just too ridiculous.

He laughed too. “You alright?”

You nodded, the movement of your head bumping into his chest as he sucked in a breath.

“I’m good.”

It took a while for each of you to fall asleep, brains spinning with thoughts of the person next to you. But eventually, you did.

It was the best you had slept in years.

The next day, the two of you began to figure out how to go around with your hands stuck together. You ate by spooning the food into each other’s mouths one at a time, which you were pretty sure Boromir was sketching to memorialize forever.

You blinked your eyes open the next day to sunlight streaming through the windows, and soft breathing behind you. Carefully, you turned around so that your hands now rested between your bodies.

Faramir’s face was glowing with the light of the morning sun, hair spread on the pillow. You’d never seen him so peaceful, and he looked gorgeous like some Vala come across the world to Gondor.

Unable to resist the impulse, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

You quickly moved back, only to notice that the weight on your hand was gone.

You looked down.

The handcuffs were gone.

“Faramir! Faramir!” You shook him awake.

“What, Y/N?” He asked groggily.

His morning voice was perfection itself, and you had to bring yourself back to reality.

“The handcuffs are gone. Look!”

He shot up at this, looking down at his now-free hand.

“Wow! We should probably go let Gandalf know.”

You nodded. “Meet you in the hall in ten minutes?”

He gave you a thumbs up, and the last thing you saw as you closed the door was Faramir marveling at his now-free wrist.

Later, in the room that Gandalf had claimed as his office right next to the large hall where you usually ate, you sat together.

The wizard inquired, “What exactly happened?”

“The handcuffs were gone when I woke up,” Faramir told him.

“That shouldn’t have just happened. They were supposed to disappear when a physical manifestation of your affection for each other happened.”

“You did this?” You were outraged.

“Yes, Y/N, I did.”

Sensing that you were about to interrupt in outrage again, he added on.

“It should have been a physical manifestation of affection that was not circumstantial because of the handcuffs.”

You sighed, knowing what it was.

Faramir turned to you. “Do you know what it could have been?”

You stared straight at the floor.

“I… kissed your cheek when I woke up this morning.”

He blinked at you, shocked. Gandalf discreetly slipped out the door.

“You just looked so handsome in the sunlight with your hair glowing and I couldn’t resist and I’m so sorry and I’ll leave Gondor right now and never come back and what you must think of me no-”

“Y/N.”

You stopped rambling, looking at Faramir. He leaned closer to you, and in the depths of his eyes, you saw nothing but love. He paused for a moment, head tilted as if asking for your permission.

You nodded your head.

Faramir moved closer, tilting your chin up so that his lips met yours, kissing you oh-so-gently. Then somehow you were standing, lips still touching his as he surged closer and kissed you harder, like all the passion and feeling in the world was just pouring out of him and into you.

Finally, you broke apart, smiles on both your faces.

“I think I love you.,” you said, then clapped a hand over your mouth.

Faramir smirked. “It’s okay, Y/N.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you too.”

You gazed at each other for a few moments, before you grabbed his hand.

“Now, let’s go kill a wizard.”

Opening the doors to the hallway, you saw said wizard suddenly disappear.

You corrected yourself.

“Let’s go kill that wizard once he returns from wherever he’s hidden himself.”

Faramir laughed. “Let’s kill Gandalf later. For now, would you like to go for a walk?”

You smiled at him, looping your arm through his and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Lead on, my love.”

Everything tag❤️: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit @guardianofrivendell @hey-its-nonny

Fic tag: @eru-vande @annkdarar @lust4crust @the-reformed-ringwraith @ethereal-earendil

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aetherarf · 3 years

Note

Not the one who requested the scara x tall!fem reader but as a female who's taller than the average in her country i'm thanking you with all my 173 cm of height :") honestly it was soooo good! loved it so much! ><

If this isn't too much to ask, could you write something more with that prompt? Say something like Scara wants to show off how cool and beautiful HIS tall gf is during some sort of diplomatic event he had to attend because all the other harbingers were already doing other missions and some ppl there decide that it's a good idea to comment on the height difference which sort of hurts his s/o a bit :') thank youu

I'm glad you could enjoy it! Also, of course! This can, arguably, be a continuation of the other but I'm not linking it for... Tumblr-Is-Stupid reasons.

[[ Summary: Scaramouche doesn't like big frilly events... However, even if he's forced to go to one, he's going to give you an opportunity to show off... and maybe he's showing you off as well.

Word Count: 1'311 ]]

You looked in the mirror, twirling a little as you looked over the dress...

At first, you were... hesitant. It felt getting measured, and having to discuss specifically what you wanted, but looking at it now... Oh, it was wonderful.

Scaramouched walked up beside you, setting his hands on your waist, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder, "You look good," he praised, sweetly.

"Only because you knew that designer," you said, thinking aloud beyond all else.

"Well, it doesn't matter. Are you ready? The Tsaritsa is cruel to those who aren't overly-punctual."

Looking over your dress, ensuring there wasn't anything wrong with it, and examining your entire appearance in one last check...

"I'm ready."

Scaramouche stepped back, grabbing your hand, "Come, let's get going." He pulled you closer to him, an arm around you as he set his hand on your side--

Oh, you knew exactly what he was doing--he wasn't just going to a meeting, he was intending on showing you off. A warm feeling in your chest--He adored you so, he's willing to show off his love.

Before walking out the door, you bent down to give him a kiss, him trying to stand on his tip-toes to chase your lips... Only to huff, quietly pout, realizing that he couldn't exactly reach up and force you to kiss him.

He always got so huffy whenever he realized this.

...

As you walked in... you realized how mentally un-prepared you were. It was... massive. A grand, almost terrifying chandelier as you looked up at the ceiling, and it seemed that even your dress, at the time you had thought would might be a little too dramatic, eye-catching, it was actually one of the most mundane outfits in the room. From extremely rich merchants and industrymen to the other Harbingers themselves who seemed to adore drawing attention to themselves, with their clothes, their masks...

At least you didn't feel self conscious about being stared at anymore.

"Hey," Scaramouche said, garnering your attention, "I need to do something, I'll be back in a few minutes. Okay?"

"Oh, alright. I'll just... probably mind my own business."

"That's for the best. They're all monsters, here... Try not to get eaten up by them."

He sounded oddly serious as he walked away, you watching for a moment as he left, disappearing past the crowds of people.

Oh well. After looking around, feeling lost, you spotted a few chairs at the edge of the room, away from most people. It was probably for the best, reasonably easy for Scaramouche to spot you when he came back, and you wouldn't accidentally intrude on others... on whatever conversations, business or otherwise, they would be having.

You sat down, looking around... distantly, you could recognize many people of prestige, ones you've seen written about, or only in the distance as others listened to them speak, or nearly worshipped them as though they were divine.

Was Scaramouche posing a risk to himself, bringing you?

You suddenly felt self conscious once again, damningly so... And you shook your head, sighing softly.

"Well hello sunshine," you jerked your head up, looking at someone who was standing before you--A charming young man, with pretty blue eyes and messy, copper colored hair.

Childe, you believed this one was called.

"Oh, am I in the way of something," You asked, about to stand, but he immediately sat in a chair beside you.

"Of course not... I was just curious. You were sitting alone, and I wondered might be going on in that head of yours," He looked at you with adoration, and pure curiosity... you could only be flattered.

"Ah, I'm... just someone's plus-one," you said, "He's busy right now, so I just decided to wait for him."

Childe's eyes widened slightly, and his smile grew to a grin, "Oh, he left you, did he? How cruel. After all, you're like a beautiful white fawn wandering into the forest of grey wolves... How could he leave you like that?"

You laughed, unsure and nervous. Rejecting him flat out might not be the best idea, but...

"Ahem," You heard his voice, and Scaramouche walked over--not sitting beside you, but right on your lap, grabbing your jaw and jerking his head to kiss you--intensely, your face burning with the shamelessness of his action, and when he pulled away, you were gasping for breath, and he had your lipstick on his lips. He jerked to look at Childe, a smug smile on his face, "Oh, Childe, were you saying something to her?" He asked, and he... stared.

"Uhm, just chatting, I should probably go talk with Signora or something. See you later, Balladeer."

"Bye." He said, and then he looked up at you, "... He was flirting with you, wasn't he?"

You were still reeling, and you wouldn't lie, seeing Scaramouche with your lipstick on him was a prettier sight than you'd like to admit. "Y-yes, I was just trying to be nice."

"Being nice gets you eaten alive out here," he said, wiping the corner of his mouth, trying to wipe off his face, "Damnit."

"I, uhm..." you fumbled for a moment, and provided your lipstick, "I don't think it'll come off, but you might be able to just apply more and make it look good." You admitted, and he took it without question, applying it...

It, shockingly, managed to work on him. He handed it back, "Yours is smudged a little, fix it. We're going to start the dinner soon, I can bring you to the restroom so you can have a mirror to do it with."

"Right," you said, lightly tapping his lower back so he'd get off of your lap, "That'd be nice.

After a quick trip to the restroom, cleaning off the mess on your face and trying to calm down after such a shameless display, even if you had done nothing but sit there and mind your own business, and when you came out, he offered his arm for you to hold onto as he escorted you to the massive dining table, sitting down with the countless other Harbingers and big-name figures within Snezhnayah.

The Tsaritsa stood at the head of the table, and her voice--Gods, it was booming, and it sent a shiver down your spine. However, it quickly proved that this was something she had spoken about it constantly, over and over again, a sort of rite to promise that the words spoken here not be forgotten...

But focusing on it was hard when Scaramouche's hand rested on your leg, lightly pushing up the skirt of your dress to gently rub the skin, you lightly tapping his leg with your hand, warning him.

"Your skin is soft," He whispered, plainly, and his hand stilled, but it did not move away from your leg.

... Only for him to begin stroking your skin once again,

"Shouldn't you be paying attention?" You asked, voice low and quiet, terrified of a possible punishment...

But his smile, oh, that damned smile, you knew he was up to trouble...

"I'll behave," he said, softly, "But you owe me."

"I always owe you," you said, not trying to tease, but realizing how much he could toy with those words now that they were in the air between only the two of you.

"We'll talk when we get home." He declared.

He said this--And you knew, if he was any other man, he would end up wanting some... favor. A very particular one you could think of.

But Scaramouche?

He'd drag you to bed, and press kisses to your face until you were falling asleep, and if you even tried to leave just to go to the restroom, he'd whine, crying for you like a spoiled baby.

Maybe you did spoil him.

He was too sweet, in the quiet and safety of your home, not to spoil.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche x reader #tall fem reader #fluff #fluffy bark #// ig #bark writes #fallinfl0wers #request

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themaribatpit · 3 years

Text

Jasonette July Day 1: Suit Up

EDIT: Written by The Maribat Pit Content warning: Swearing, there is a quote that is a reference to Titans!Jason, references to Chloe’s actions in “Battle of the Miraculous”. Rated: T Inspired by: that one Tumblr post that suggested what would happen if Jason used a Lucky Charm. Prompt: Suit Up The kidnappers had Marinette, and Jason knew that desperate times called for desperate measures. Marinette hadn’t returned home from her mission the night before, Plagg returned that morning without her. He explained that Marinette had managed to free most of the kidnapped kids, but she was captured shortly after being depowered. They assumed she was one of the kids that hadn’t managed to escape.

Jason went from slightly worried to absolutely frantic. Roy was still in rehab, and there was no time to call in the Bat clan for help, it was up to him. In his mind, the more time they wasted, the closer she came to sharing his fate. “Great, just fucking fantastic”, he muttered to himself “the bad guys have the girl you love and you’re here looking for her jewelry”. If he went in guns blazing as the Red Hood, they would probably just kill her instantly and without a second thought. That being said, she would probably kill him later for tearing through the apartment like this. He was flipping the bed on its side, opening all the drawers and pulling out all of the contents. He was trying to find the Chinese Miracle Box, thinking maybe someone in there would help him if it meant saving their Guardian. He remembered a conversation they had when his curiosity about her powers got the better of him.

“So what if you were to, hypothetically, use several of these things at once?” He remembered asking.

“I did once, the Multimouse clones were using different fusions. Wearing them all at once can be pretty draining, even the fusions can be pretty taxing at the best of times if I’m not careful” she explained.

She also explained what happened when her old classmate tried to put on various Miraculous at once and started demanding power from them. Suffice it to say she didn’t get her way. So, by the sound of things, Tikki was his best bet, or he’d probably end up pissing off the other ones like Chloe did.

He found the box in her closet and opened it, to find that Plagg’s ring was missing and so were Tikki’s earrings. He closed the box and pushed it back into the closet, before searching the room for the earrings. She had said something before about Plagg and Tikki being the least suspicious of him. Probably because their combined magic was what created the Lazarus pits, the very reason he wasn’t still six feet under. He finally noticed the small red and black box sitting on the chest of drawers, and he popped it open to find the earrings inside. He wasted no time putting the studs in one ear, before a pink ball of light appeared in front of him. The ball of light turned into Tikki who gave a little stretch and yawn before being startled to see Jason instead of Marinette in front of her. “Hey Tikki, sorry, no time to explain but Marinette’s in trouble” he spluttered, “please I need your help, I wouldn’t be asking otherwise”.

“If that’s true, then there’s no time to waste, let’s go!” Tikki exclaimed, “Just say the words and I’ll help you.” Jason’s mind suddenly drew a blank, as he tried to remember what words Marinette used to transform into Ladybug.

“Bug Prism Power Make Up?” he tried.

“He doesn’t know the magic words?” Plagg asked slyly, “our Guardian’s life is on the line and he doesn’t know the magic words”.

“I know that you’d make a nice chew toy for Brutus”, Jason snapped as he tried to think. “Go go Lucky Charm?” he tried, Tikki shook her head.

“Lucky charm usually comes a bit later” she rubbed the back of her head, “keep trying, if Marinette is in trouble, then she needs our help”.

“Okay let me think, uh…It’s Magic Time? Ladybug Up? In brightest day, in blackest night...?” He kept throwing out suggestions, but Tikki continued to shake her head. “Uh, Shazam?” he had to give that one a try at least once, Tikki sighed.

Tikki thought it was admirable watching him at least trying to figure it out, even if Plagg was no help at that moment. It was clear to the little Kwami, she didn’t need to look that hard to know that this boy cared deeply for Marinette, even if he was hesitant to admit it at first. Tikki remembered gently encouraging Marinette to confess her feelings towards him, while Roy and Jason’s brothers took a more…direct approach.

“All right Jason, I’ll tell you the magic words but first,” Tikki told him and they both heard the Kwami’s stomach growl, breaking the awkward silence in the room. Jason remembered why Marinette usually kept a cookie on hand whenever she brought Tikki along, while the faint smell of cheese usually meant Plagg was in tow instead.

“Come on, let’s go get you a cookie” Jason said, “and some cheese for you” he shot Plagg a slightly irritated look. As Jason looked around the kitchen, the only cookies and cheese they had were the cheap stuff. Tikki tried to be polite about the fact that the oreo wasn’t going to cut it, Plagg just turned up his little cat nose at the processed American cheese. “Sorry Tikki, Marinette’s been a bit busy lately,” he told her before rounding on Plagg “what’s your problem?”

“You don’t happen to have any camembert, do you?” he asked, still refusing to even look at the slice of processed cheese.

“Camembert? Who was your last user?” Jason asked incredulously. Desperate times were calling for even more desperate measures, “just hang in there Marinette,” he thought.

Jason wouldn’t be racing over to Wayne Manor if it wasn’t a dire emergency. Tikki was safely tucked away in his jacket pocket, while Plagg was clinging to the hem of his jacket as it billowed behind him. Jason brought his motorbike to a stop just outside the gates, before hopping off darting past Damian, petting a sleeping Alfred the cat in his lap. Right now, he was hoping Alfred the human was baking something that would catch the Kwami’s eye. Sadly, he was not, a note on the kitchen door explained he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Sadly, this couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He opened the kitchen door, the cookies from Alfred’s last batch were stored in a cookie jar on top of the fridge. There was one cookie left, he unzipped his pocket and gestured to the cookie in the jar. Jason reached up and grabbed the jar, before opening it and grabbing the cookie inside. He also reached into the fridge and grabbed the camembert for Plagg. With the Kwami munching on their snacks of choice, he dashed out of the kitchen. Plagg had practically inhaled the wheel of cheese all at once, and glided alongside him. Meanwhile, Tikki clung to the cookie with one hand and the hem of Jason’s pocket with the other.

That morning, Bruce was not expecting to see Jason rushing past him. He wasn’t expecting to see a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie threatening to fly out of his jacket pocket. “Hi, can’t talk now, Marinette needs help, bye.” He called before disappearing down the hallway. Jason dashed past Dick who had just woken up, and Tim was on his way to the kitchen for some more coffee.

“Was that the last cookie?” Dick asked, slightly groggily.

“Oh that had better not be the last cookie” Tim groaned, someone had better be dying if that was the case.

Jason rushed to his motorcycle, and slammed the gate shut behind him before hopping on and putting on his helmet. Tikki was halfway through munching on the cookie, when she gave him a quick rundown of the powers that she would be giving him. Jason knew that the Miraculous granted the user enhanced speed, strength and endurance, he just hadn’t thought there would come a day when he would have to use their power. It was probably for the best that their guardian didn’t choose him when he was 13, for reasons that a bunch of guards were about to find out very soon.

Meanwhile, Marinette found herself in a cage inside a warehouse. There were two men guarding the cage, neither of them knew that Marinette was the girl in the black leather catsuit. They caught her just as the clock had run out on her powers, and they assumed she was one of the kids that had been captured. She was a petite young woman, and they found her dressed in a polka dotted hoodie, shorts and tights. She sent Plagg to go get help, and he had been gone for a few hours now. She was getting increasingly antsy, Jason was probably worried sick about her.

Jason arrived at the suspected gang hideout as fast as could, leapt off his bike and grappled to a vantage point. “Ok, relatively small time trafficking racket. Now where is Pixie Pop?” Jason thought to himself, scanning the area from his vantage point. “Plagg, go find Marinette, and tell her to not transform until I arrive.” Plagg flew out of Jason’s pocket and made his way there. “Alright Tikki, what's the magic word?” The Kwami flew out of Jason’s pocket as he spoke, Tikki glided to Jason’s ear and whispered to him the phrase. Jason repeated “Spots On” and felt power coursing through his veins. It felt like Venom without the addictive or berserk tendencies, pure energy was flowing through him. He felt the uncontrollable urge to pose and move with the flow of energy, doing a flourish of kicks and punches. It ended with him raising his left leg to his head, as if it was a vertical split and slamming it down. “Owwwwwwwwwwww” Jason groaned, “My thighs were not meant to do that.” He was not expecting the compulsive flourishes for the transformation itself.

Jason looked at his reflection in a nearby puddle, he could see he was wearing a full spotted suit and domino mask like Ladybug, yet his leather jacket stayed during the transformation and received its own ladybug pattern. Jason sucked up the pain and pushed onwards to the gang hideout.

Jason snuck in through a vent and approached a large main room, housing most if not all of the guards and their “merchandise” with cages strewn across the room with mostly women and children locked up. He finally sees Marinette, alive but imprisoned in a cage with a few other people in a corner. Jason needed a distraction so that Marinette could transform into Lady Noire. He had to do something to take the attention off every single person in the room.

Jason sighed and thought of a plan, it may not be the most flattering, but it worked and it would not be so threatening as cutting out the lights. He burst from the air vents and landed in a crouch, standing straight and shouting “Halt Evildoers, it I...Red Bug?”

This indeed worked as planned, as every guard, goon and hostage set their eyes on the intruder. The guards began pointing and laughing, “Good, they don't think I’m a threat” thought Jason. The guards underestimating Red Bug was what he needed, so that they would not find him threatening or harm anyone just yet.

Marinette took this opportunity to transform into Lady Noire. She wasted no time and began with Cataclysm, bringing down all the cages and making her way to Jason’s position. Both Lady Noire and Red Bug began fighting the guards, buying the hostages time to make their escape. As the last person successfully escaped the gang hideout, both Lady Noire and Red Bug stood side by side. More of them began to trickle in as they heard the commotion and began to surround the pair.

Marinette needed to think fast, she didn't have much time left after casting Cataclysm. She said to her partner, “Lucky Charm, Now!” Red Bug raised his eyebrow, “Lucky Charm?” he repeated. He suddenly felt the same compulsion as he did during the transformation, his arm suddenly shot upward with the yo-yo spinning. He looked up to see a swarm of ladybugs converge to form...a purse? Red Bug caught the purse with a look of disbelief, Lady Noire looked around the room for a plan to use the purse. Lady Noire got a burst of inspiration and turned around to tell her partner of her cunning plan, only to be greeted by thin air. She was brought out of her stupor hearing her partner yell out “LIGHTS OUT BITCH!”. She whipped her head towards the source of the noise to see Red Bug beating the guards with the Ladybug-themed purse. “I guess that works too” she said to nobody in particular. Knowing she had little time remaining as Lady Noire, she started running for the exit. Red Bug had no issue dealing with the remaining goons. Marinette hadn’t expected Jason to suit up with one of the Miraculous, not that she was complaining. She had expected him to come charging in as the Red Hood, or maybe start by picking off the guards one-by-one. She was surprised, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one, mostly. Since leaving Chat Noir behind in Paris, the fight left her feeling oddly nostalgic. Sometimes she missed fighting alongside a Miraculous user, though Tikki might have something to say about his...unusual use of a Lucky Charm. She walked over to Jason’s parked motorcycle and waited. Within minutes Jason followed suit and walked out the front door of the hideout. A swirl of green light surrounded him as he changed back, and Tikki zoomed over towards Marinette. Tikki nuzzled against Marinette’s face for a moment, before Jason walked towards her. He pulled his girlfriend into a big hug, Marinette is left breathless for a moment as he nuzzles into her neck. He didn’t say anything, but neither of them really needed to say anything at that moment. Touched by how much Jason cared for her, Marinette returned the hug. She stayed in that warm embrace for a long moment, before reaching up and gently patting him on the head. “Let’s go home...Pixie Pop.” Jason pulled away at the mention of the nickname he gave her, and before she could react, Jason began pinching her cheeks. “What did you call me?” Jason jokingly interrogated, while Marinette giggled like an idiot. EXTRA: Jason is sitting next to Dick and Damian in the Wayne manor lounge with two ice packs on his thighs Jason: I don’t know how you do it Dickie, my thighs were not meant to do that. Dick (covers Damian’s ears): Soooo did you and Marinette…. Jason: I literally beat up some guys with a purse today, don’t push me.

#jasonette #jasonettejuly2021 #maribat

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norcumii · 3 years

Text

...oh thanks, Tumblr, it wasn’t like I was trying to answer that ask or anything. -_-

OHKAY. Take two! For this trope mashup meme, @dogmatix asked:

Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Apocalyse AU / Mermaid/Siren AU / Aroused by their voice

This modern!AU got a liiiiiittle bit more absurdist than planned, but NO REGRETS. Assistance was provided by @dharmaavocado and @deadcatwithaflamethrower -- THANK YOU BOTH!

*****

There was a lovely breeze coming in across the ocean, the sky had just enough puffy white clouds to keep things interesting, and Rex was taking a maintenance day. The last family group of tourists to charter a day trip had included several children that were at least two parts sticky and three parts grime. His poor Vigilance needed a serious scrub down, and Rex was not looking forward to restocking. Small Grubby Fiend 1 had stumbled – supposedly due to a sudden swell, but more likely because Small Grubby Fiends 2 and 3 hadn’t stopped ‘not kicking’ each other for way too long. Not being an entire idiot, Rex has gone right for the band-aids with cartoon characters, but since it wasn’t a cartoon Small Grubby Fiend 1 liked, that meant another – until all three Small Grubby Fiends had been plastered with far more of his first aid kit than was good for anyone.

It had been a long day.

So there he was, untangling life-vests that hadn’t even been used, while singing along with whatever music was playing from the boat’s speakers. Rex wasn’t sure if the music was pop, rock, or some other unholy category he’d never heard of, but thankfully it didn’t matter. He liked it, and could figure out which of Tup’s mix tapes it was on, which was the important thing.

Tup always made hilarious offended noises when Rex called them mix tapes, which was a significant reason why he did so. They were music folders, sensibly labeled by mood, because his little brother had realized at some point that was the only way to keep Rex up to date on anything past the 90’s grunge music.

Tup’s accusation, not his. Rex damn well knew how to use a radio – several kinds of radio, thank you very much.

He was several songs into mind-numbing chores when he spotted a flash of red streaking under the dock, and Rex ducked his head to hide a grin. He’d started spotting movement like that a couple of weeks ago, around the time the neighbors descended on their beach house. There were several ginger teenagers, so he figured one of them was a hell of a water rat who had damn odd taste in music.

To be fair, so did he.

It’d been weird at first, realizing he had an audience that disappeared the moment he acknowledged their existence. But the most he heard or saw out of them beyond the momentary glimpse was a bit of percussion, someone drumming in time against the water – and once, the dock itself – so Rex had shrugged and accepted their presence. It was kinda nice, actually, just to have someone around. He lived a ways off the end of a long, sparsely populated road, and while he didn’t mind the solitude, sometimes you just wanted another–

Rex’s train of thought went off the rails with a loud yelp as he discovered something slimy stuck to the back of a life-vest. It might have been edible once – it was a shade of radioactive green he didn’t associate with anything other than candy or video games, at least, so that was his best guess. Much as he wanted to blame the Small Grubby Fiends, he hadn’t done more than a spot check of these vests for awhile – could’ve been anyone.

Ugh. At least unlike some clients he could name, Rex’s eavesdropper wasn’t vandalizing anything. Wasn’t about to begrudge that.

Rex had managed to get most of the neon green grossness cleared when the rumble of an approaching car caught his attention. He wasn’t expecting visitors, not that that had ever stopped any of his brothers. Lost delivery drivers usually turned around before hitting up the driveway, which was long enough and had enough private property signs to keep out idiots looking for easy water access.

“Who the hell is this?” he muttered, setting the vest aside. He didn’t recognize the little black car, or the burly guy stepping out of the passenger’s side, but the guy waved and casually started towards Rex as if he knew who the hell he was.

Not reassuring, especially since the stranger rapped the car’s roof, and it headed back up the driveway.

“You seem lost,” Rex said, standing up and trying to look just the right level of intimidating.

“Nope,” the guy said back, still heading towards him. “Need your boat.”

“That’s work related – you need to wait till I’m back at the marina tomorrow. I’m at home, it’s my day off.”

Burly guy finally stopped, planting his hands on his hips – a move which just happened to part the jacket of his cheap suit enough that Rex could see the gun he carried. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Fett. I don't want any trouble – I just want you to head inside, and take that day off while I borrow your boat.”

Oh, FUCK. Nobody really talked about how the mob owned most of the marinas in Tatooine Bay, but you didn’t need to declare water was wet to get drenched in the rain. It just wasn’t something that ever happened to someone you knew, just friends of friends or something.

“And if I don’t agree?” he couldn’t keep from asking.

Burly Guy had a surprisingly expressive shrug. “Most people don’t enjoy pushing their luck that far.”

To his credit, it was a remarkably polite threat. “I’m surprised anyone ever does.”

“Eh, every now and then there’s some freaky masochist looking for cheap thrills, but it ain’t my kink. Don’t think it’s yours, either, so if you’d just head inside, that’d be appreciated.”

The smart move was probably to comply. Rex wasn’t inclined to cooperate anyways. He was saved from making either bad decision by...sound.

It didn’t register as singing – there was something too off about it, a combination that wasn’t quite autotune, or that polyphonic singing Echo had gotten into when Fives got obsessed with the guitar. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right in a way that was madly distracting.

The...singing? – pulled both Rex and the goon around towards the end of the dock, and if Rex hadn’t been so muzzy-headed from that sound he would have been gaping much more blatantly.

There was someone slipping out from under the dock, and it was most definitely not one of the neighbors.

It was a trim, shirtless figure in the water – ginger indeed, short red hair just dry enough to be messy spikes. Pale skin was freckled in scales of shimmering reds, protective lines over what would be vulnerable areas on a human. It swam close enough to the surface that Rex could see the sleek fins and tail, and part of his brain kept screaming ‘mermaid!’ while the rest took in the long, sharp claws on webbed hands and whispered ‘predator.’ Its singing showed sharply pointed teeth, and it should not have been nearly that gorgeous.

The mermaid glanced over at him, eyes a deep blue-on-blue that could never masquerade as human, flicking a look up and down him that could have been flattering or terrifying – it all depended on if that was measuring him for a meal euphemistically or not.

The singing changed as the creature turned its attention back to the goon, and the magnetic pull on Rex lessened. He staggered back a step, not too surprised to find he was halfway down the dock without noticing. The hazy feeling in his brain stopped, or at least dropped down to levels that were close enough to normal, so he got a clear view as the goon started walking into the water, oblivious to everything except the mer-siren-thing he was shambling towards.

The siren moved when the goon was almost waist deep in the water, flowing forward to delicately place a hand at the goon’s throat. The singing continued, but now there was a new undertone, soft and somehow questioning. Rex couldn’t tell if there were words to it or not – maybe a whole other language for all he knew – but the goon responded, voice soft enough that he couldn’t make out what was said.

Whatever he said, it didn’t please the siren. It kept singing, but it snarled, showing more of those pointed teeth, then it twisted and dove, hauling the unresisting goon under the water.

A terrifying few moments more, and the last hums of the song seemed to stop vibrating through the water.

“What the absolute fuck?” Rex said numbly. Thank everything, no one answered.

A smart man would’ve hidden inside, or driven off to a movie theater or something – inland and away. Rex wasn’t sure why he stayed: curiosity – morbid or otherwise – shock, or a healthy disbelief in the whole debacle. He was maybe a bit too numb to not have some kind of shock, but –

He felt like he maybe deserved it. “Yeah, I can have a bit of shock,” Rex muttered to himself. “As a treat.”

Okay, he might have more than a bit. But by the time the siren poked his head out of the water again – politely out of arms’ reach – Rex had calmed down a decent degree. They just looked at each other for a bit, then the siren gave him a polite nod.

“Hello there,” he said in a pleasant, deep voice with a hell of an accent.

Rex held up a hand, needing a moment. Of fucking course the British even colonized under the goddamned sea. “Hi. You speak English.” It wasn’t quite the most inane thing he could’ve said, but his brain hadn’t managed to catch up yet.

He was talking to a goddamned mermaid who had just kidnapped and possibly eaten some mob thug who’d been trying to take Rex’s boat. It had been a day.

“You’re not the first land-dweller I’ve made the acquaintance of.”

Rex absolutely refused to make any kind of a crack about being charmed. There was too much hysteria lurking in there. “Speaking of acquaintances, you didn’t, ah, kill that guy, did you?”

The siren’s lips pulled back from his teeth a little. “I still haven’t decided what to do with him, so right now he’s out of the way.” He must’ve seen something impressive in Rex’s expression, because the angry disdain smoothed over to something more neutral. “He’s stashed in a cave I know. Enough air to breathe, but the only entrance is underwater and too far for most humans to swim without assistance.”

That was...a lot. “Thanks for the help.”

The siren smiled, an oddly sweet, bashful expression. “I’d be a very poor guest if I didn’t assist.” He cleared his throat, his expression going awkward. “Though I...suppose ‘guest’ is a bit presumptive.”

Rex grinned. “No, I spotted you a couple weeks ago – ah, I mean, sort of.” Before he could make more a hash of that, he cleared his throat. “The name’s Rex.”

The siren folded his hands together and did a little bow thing. “Obi-Wan. Pleasure to meet you.”

He wasn’t blushing. He absolutely was not blushing. “So...you in town for long?” Ok, now he was blushing, that was worst subject change ever meeting worst fishing attempt – meeting worst and wildly inappropriate pun.

Obi-Wan’s expression fell, sorrow way too visible in those non-human eyes. “I suppose you could say that. I...no longer have a home to return to.”

Definitely not a topic to change to. Right. Rex cleared his throat and shifted. “Well. You’re welcome anytime, for what that’s worth.”

The slow-growing smile didn’t remove that sorrow, but it did kindle something warm inside. This was at least three different kinds of trouble, but Rex didn’t think he’d regret any of it.

~end

#star wars #My writing #meme #trope mashup #Rex/Obi #mermaid #dogmatix #still not thrilled with how it wraps but it's certainly not the worst fic ending I've read recently #oh I'm still salty #whoops?#meanwhile there's several lines in here i adore more than is reasonable #AND I DON'T CARE

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stephreynaart · 3 years

Text

Gravity Falls - “Waiting”

Pop-Pop AU

Stan sits in a hospital waiting room, thinking about his life and the people he loves.

- - - -

This is kinda old, but I realized I never posted it on tumblr. Hope ya like it!

Lots of fluff, the only ships are Soos and Melody.

AO3 LINK

- - - -

It had a square aspect ratio. Ink pen and watercolor on white heat pressed cotton paper in a bland white frame. One single blue flower in a red vase with what looks like a yellowish shadow. One shadow going left, the other going right. The lack of confidence and inexperience was obvious, the lines were unfocused and jagged, the color plainly filled the shapes and gave no other visual interest to the image.

Below the frame was a small white card that read “Painting donated by Jessica Blaise from Gravity Falls Elementary School”

Stan scanned the painting at least 20 times while sitting in that chair. The too rough and too soft at the same time chair that had similar copies populating the almost white room he sat in. The wallpaper bouncing off light pinks and blues with tiny ducklings as a makeshift wainscoting was starting to irritate the old man. It was too bright, and the consistent buzz of the fluorescent lights seemed so loud. Stan adjusted himself in his chair, switching his crossed legs to a wider spread and leaned his head against the wall.

The only other stimulus in the room were a few posters promoting proper hand washing techniques, the play area with a small table and chairs with large blocks, crayons and that weird “game” with the metal wiring and wooden beads that’s in every waiting room Stan’s ever sat in. He played with the toys to give himself something to do after he read all the magazines. The novelty wore off fast.

The television mounted on the wall was airing some cooking channel with no sound and no subtitles. Looking at food when you haven’t eaten in a few hours was practically torture, so Stan had been averting his eyes.

There were other paintings on the wall, one was less of a painting, but instead a print of a painting. He doubted that the artist got any compensation from it, if they were still alive. The other was a charcoal drawing done by a student from the community college a town away. Another square, but the entire image was black, the brightest thing on the page was an intruding infant hand coming from the left with the arm fading into the dark background. The fingers seemingly mid-twitch and grabbing at something. The lighting was dynamic and interesting. Stan swore it was a drawing of a penis the first time he glanced at it, which resulted in his brother’s laughter. Stanley smiled at the memory, it was only a few hours ago, but he relishes any time he can make Stanford laugh.

Stan’s eyes darted at the door in the far corner when it opened suddenly. He eased back into his chair when the nurse crossed the room to talk with the receptionist. He couldn’t hear the conversation very well, but could tell they were just gossiping and making jokes. Nothing that was of his interest. So he looked back to the elementary school child’s painting and analyzed it again. His eyes were dry and he was tired. He wished he could sleep, the chair wasn’t comfortable enough and when he did managed to sleep, his neck was sore when he woke up. He was only lucky Ford let him use his shoulder as a pillow for a while. He looked to his left and noted the book his brother placed in the seat. It seemed thick and in what looked like Hebrew. Stan wasn’t very surprised Ford was fluent in the language they were acquainted with as children. Their grandparents on their father’s side were the last to be fully fluent in Hebrew. It was like his brother to be curious of their heritage, but Stan only remembered a few phrases and words he learned from holidays and special event when he had to recite anything in Temple.

Stan crossed his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall and let out an exasperated sigh. It had only been 10 minutes since he last checked the time. He wanted to be at home, be in his soft warm bed and getting ready to eat pancakes at this time in the morning.

He and Ford were on the porch of The Mystery Shack when Soos rushed them off to the hospital the yesterday afternoon. What he originally thought would be a couple of hours of waiting turned into almost twelve. Apparently labour can last a long time.

Stan wished he could be a witness for Soos and Melody like he was when Dipper and Mabel were born, but Melody wanted her privacy, which Stan could respect, but Soos wanted him there…..so he and Ford waited in this bright, annoyingly pastel waiting room, twiddling his thumbs awaiting the arrival of the new member of the mystery family. He was glad he was in at least comfortable clothes, some gray sweatpants and a sweater Mabel knitted for him that read “godfather”.

He was never clear on what the title entailed, but it was mentioned a few times by Soos’ grandmother and the kids insisted that Soos was intending to ask him. He hadn’t, but he didn’t protest Stan wearing the sweater. Whatever job godfathers had, he was willing to play the part if Soos were to ask him.

Stan looked at the double doors a few feet away that lead out of the waiting room and into the halls. His brother left to find something for them to eat, but was taking his sweet time. The turkey being basted on the television was no help in aiding his growling stomach.

He distracted himself by returning his thoughts to Soos and Melody. Just down the hall they were experiencing the strange and beautiful phenomenon that was witnessing the arrival of a brand new person. Stan remembered the feeling so clearly. His entire life he’s felt the presence of human beings. It’s inherent in most people to feel when someone is in the room with you, the other soul sharing the same space as you. Imagine being in a room with a set amount of people and someone else comes in, but imagine they came in without using a doorway. Just appearing seemingly out of thin air. Suddenly another person is with you, and they’re brand new to the world, a life full of potential and power. Yes, today is indeed a happy day, but no amount of positive thinking would ease Stan’s nerves. His foot began to bounce and his hands unconsciously began to fiddle with each other. He didn’t want to think anything would go wrong with Soos’ baby, but anything can happen and life is so fragile, especially at the start of it.

He recalled his nephew’s nervousness the day Dipper and Mabel were born. His hands were shaking and he was constantly checking on his wife and asking the doctors loads of questions. He didn’t fully understand the twins’ father’s behavior until the end of that day.

Mabel’s birth was swift and easy. Her mother only needed to push one and a half times before she was here. It was as if she was eager to meet everyone waiting for her. She cried like most babies do, but Stan could’ve sworn they were tears of joy. While Mabel was greeted with, “hello, beautiful”, “hi, sweetie” and “she’s perfect”, Her brother’s introduction to world started with, “what’s wrong?”, “wait, let me hold him”, and “he’s not moving”. Dipper was rushed out of the room before his mother got a chance to look at him. Stan managed to catch a glimpse of the horrifyingly blue tint on his great nephew’s tiny face. The memory still gave him chills. He remembered how much he wanted to hold Mabel, who began to fuss and cry, obviously missing her brother. He was terrified at the prospect of another incomplete set of twins in their family. After the longest 30 minute of his life, Stan’s great-nephew returned with a bright pink face, wailing with all the power his little lungs could produce. Once the twins were reunited in their mother’s arms, they settled down almost instantly. The doctors told their parents Dipper was significantly lighter in weight than his sister, but both were very strong and healthy. Every so often Stan thinks about Dipper and how much he has impacted his life. His thoughts lead to darker places and he questions if Ford would be here if Dipper wasn’t there to find the third journal. He shook his head as a cold shiver went up his spine.

Stan did his best to distract himself from revisiting the scare that Dipper caused him 16 years ago.

16 years…..17 in August

Stan blinked. The squishy, bright faces that stayed with him that first summer had changed significantly. They stayed in contact all year round and visited every summer since they were 12. But every in-person meeting was always a shock. Dipper was developing the square jaw Stan, both his brothers and nephew shared. He started to regularly wear glasses their second summer with the Stans. Poor kid will grow up looking like Filbrick like the rest of the Pines men. He reminded Stan of Ford at that age.

And Mabel…..

Stan will never get over how much she looks like his mother. It didn’t strike him until Soos and Melody’s wedding and she put her hair in a bun. She’s calmed her hyperactivity down a bit, but not by a lot, she still brightens his day with her wit and creativity. They’ve both matured physically, but not much has changed personality wise and they still acted like big children when they’re around each other. Stan loved them very much, and wished he could see them more often. He wondered what the future held for all of them. Would they still visit town after going to college? Would they move here? Or somewhere else?

He’s had several conversations with them to see how they’re managing the prospect of separating. They’re much better at communicating than he and Ford were and they seem actually excited to have some independence. It made Stan nervous, but he was sure their close relationship wouldn’t suffer.

Wendy chose to be elsewhere for the next few years. She and her friends booked a plane ticket and plan to backpack and hitchhike around Europe and the UK. Stan hopes they stay safe and watch out for each other. Lotta weirdos in Amsterdam. She was set to leave in the coming days, Wendy wanted to wait until today arrived so she could meet Soos and Melody’s kid before going away for who knows how long.

A tap on the shoulder woke Stan from his deep thoughts. His brother arrived with some warm sub sandwiches and coffee.

“Any word yet?, he asked Stan

“Nothin’ yet”, Stan felt helpless not having any clue how Soos and Melody were doing.

Stanford took his seat next to Stanley and they both silently enjoyed their late breakfast. Since arriving they’ve witnessed families reuniting and going past the door in the far corner to meet their children, grandchildren or siblings. Stan looked at the clock again. How has it only been another 5 minutes? He sighed, leaned back and finished the rest of his sub. One hand holding the sandwich, the other went back to gripping the arm rest, then a six fingered hand went down to rest on top of it. Stan let go of the armrest and tangled his fingers between Ford’s and held onto it with a, hopefully not too tight, grip. It was like an anchor to reality, much better at easing his anxieties than any words could. Over the past 4 years, Stan and Ford’s bond grew stronger. Stan still feared one day he would wake up and find himself still in that basement surrounded by broken machinery and languages he didn’t understand. He hasn’t yet, and was enjoying the time he had left with his twin. Stan took a moment to look at his brother again, Ford made eye contact and smiled then continued to read his book. Hands still intertwined

Stans thoughts went back to Soos…

It amazed Stan how much he had grown and it still baffled him that Soos idolized him as much as he does. Before Soos, Stan had no one. His brother was….gone, the rest of the family didn’t talk to him much outside of the holidays and special occasion. There hadn’t been any sense of consistency in Stan’s life for years, decades even, until he hired the chubby little kid he barely glanced at one random Saturday. Soos always arrived to work early, sometimes with breakfast for both of them. Stan didn’t know how much he needed a reliable companion until he had it and he enjoyed the 10 years he had with that kid… or man he should say. Here he was…a few rooms away, becoming a father.

Stan used to daydream a lot about the prospect of having kids when he was younger. He’s was always good with them when he had the chance to babysit his nephew, then later Dipper and Mabel when they were toddlers. He loved having kids in his house that first summer. He loved the energy and the sense of adventure the twins brought. They gave him a sense of purpose and belonging he hadn’t felt in years. He wished he was brave enough to have his own children. Not that he was ever with anyone long enough to want to have kids with him. He supposed it was for the best that he didn’t subject a child to homelessness or an unhappy marriage. He was also terrified at the idea. His dad used to say having kids ruined his life. He wondered who his father was before his older brother was born. Did they really ruin his life? Stan often wondered if he would be like his own dad if he has children of his own. Would he change and become that annoyed parent that resenting his children?

He thought about Soos again

That was probably the closest to parenthood he ever experienced. The first time he felt like one was when Soos asked him for homework help after closing. He initially told Soos no, he wasn’t exactly smart and didn’t think he would be any help. It apparently upset the kid, so Stan sighed and gave it a try. It was fairly simple middle school math, he didn’t remember everything, but helped Soos do more than half of it. Soos thanked him and went home happy. Stan felt weirdly proud, he was glad he made a small difference and managed to teach Soos something he didn’t even know he knew.

The second time was when Soos was a teenager. His grandmother wasn’t able to teach Soos to drive, since she had forgotten how and her late husband used to do the driving, she mostly walked everywhere. Soos offered to work for free so Stan could teach him. Stan loved driving and found teaching Soos cathartic. He was a fast and eager learner, he only bumped Stan’s car once while trying to figure out parallel parking. Little did Soos know that he was getting paid for his normal work hours. Stan just put it away long enough to help buy the kid some old used truck in the junkyard for getting his license. They fixed the truck up and in only a few weeks it was ready to be on the road. Soos has taken good care of it and it’s still his ride to this day

Stan was very proud of Soos. He taught the kid some basic self defense and managed to be a decent influence in his life. Soos at least has his priorities straight.

Stan was even glad to see that Soos was willing to question him. When the portal was reaching the final countdown, he didn’t hesitate to protect the kids from him when he thought Stan was dangerous. He didn’t know, none of them did, so he didn’t blame Soos for distrusting him. He hoped he never had to betray him again. They both had crappy dads, and Stan knew how Soos saw him. Stan was never really sure if he reciprocated those feelings. It felt natural to act the part, but to put a label as important as “dad” on Stan was daunting. Soos definitely deserves better than what he was given, Stan wasn’t sure if he was it.

Stan looked up at the familiar voices running towards him from the double doors.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Mabel waved to them

The two teenagers and Wendy walked in holding a balloon and various toys. They took some seats across from the Stans and asked how everyone was doing and if the baby arrived yet.

“Not yet, hopefully soon” Ford answered

Stan relaxed and silently enjoyed his family’s company. He laid his head back and leaned slightly on Ford to rest for a minute. His eyes shut as he listened to the kids joke around and talk amongst themselves. He squeezed Ford’s hand one more time before drifting off.

He knew he should’ve tried sleeping earlier, he wasn’t out for more than 15 minutes when Soos came into the waiting room. Stan’s eyes shot open and he was on his feet faster than he did when he was being chased by angry costumers as a door to door salesman. Soos’ red eyes sagged and he seemed exhausted, but carried a proud, wide smile across his face. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“It’s a boy”, he squeaked, “mom and baby are okay”

Dipper and Mabel were first to start the hugs, and the room filled with cheers of congratulations and love. Stan felt light as a feather giving Soos a hug and joking about child labor.

“Can we see him?”, Mabel bounced with anticipation

“Yeah, dudes!”, Soos gestured everyone past the corner door and into the suite. “But only for a little while, Melody has to sleep”

The room was small, dimly lit and warm. The Pines crew collectively lowered their voices as Melody came into view on the bedding holding a bundle of blankets decorated with small yellow ducklings. She was leaned back on a large pillow, covered in blankets and toted a soft smile on her face. Soos stroked her hair and picked up his little son to show to the Pines’. The younger twins got a look at him first,

Mabel squealed and cooed at the tiny infant. Then Wendy, who said hi to the baby and told Soos she’d make sure to send him gifts while she was away

“What’s his name?”, Mabel asked Melody

“I named him after my dad”, Melody replied, “Jacob”. She smiled sadly at the memory of the father she lost the year before.

Soos approached the Stans, Ford smiled and complimented the couple on a having such beautiful little boy, but shot Soos a look, who silently replied with another one. Something was up.

Finally Stan got a look at baby Jacob. “Wow” Stan smiled, patting Soos’ arm. “He looks exactly like you”

Soos laughed, “really? I think he looks like Melody”, there was a short silence before Soos spoke up again.

“Do you want to hold him, Mr Pines?”

Stan looked at Soos and smiled, “heh, sure”. He held his arms out. Soos lowered his arms to pass the baby to Stan, who scrunched his face up and started to fuss. Stan took the infant and managed to hold him with one arm. He bounced and shushed little Jacob until he calmed down. “Heya kid”, He’s held babies dozens of times, but something felt different about this one. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Stan felt an almost magnetic pull towards him. Jacob settled comfortably against Stan and continued his rest. Stan softly beamed at the tiny person in his arms.

“Hey, Stan?”

Stan lifted an eyebrow and looked at Soos, who was fidgeting with his hands and nervously smiling.

“Uh..”, he paused, taking in the sight of Stan holding his child. “You know about my dad”, Soos looked at Ford again, who shrugged and nodded. Stan studied Ford’s face, who’s eyes strayed away as he hid a small smile. Soos got his attention again.

“You uh…he wasn’t…”, Soos choked up, his voice strained a bit, “I met you when I was probably the loneliest I ever was in my entire life”. Stan pictured the little boy he hired on the spot, he didn’t remember him until Soos showed up at his door step the next day ready to work. He didn’t know how much that quick, thoughtless decision would change his life.

Soos perked up and walked across the room to a table and picked up the piece of paper sitting on it. Soos glanced at it, then at Stan and smiled, gaining some emotional strength it seemed.

“You mean a lot me”, Soos, “you were there when I really needed it, you gave me a job, taught me just about everything I know. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that”

Stan got a bit nervous, Was this him asking to be the godfather?Everyone was silent and curiously watching. Soos held his hand out and handed the paper to Stan. He adjusted his arm to properly hold Jacob in his arm and took it. Stan flipped the page and noticed it was the baby’s birth certificate. Stan eyes bounced off the page and read the various information: birthdate, weight, parents, but he froze when he read the full name. Stan’s wide eyes questioningly studied Soos’ face.

“Are you…”, Stan felt his own throat tightening, crap. Come on, not in front of everyone “really?”, he asked. Soos gave a genuine nod and sniffed.

“I uh” Soos cleared his throat, “I was wondering, since Jacob doesn’t have one…if you wanted to be…. his grandpa?

There it was

Stan felt dizzy and took a small step back before remembering who was in his hands and regained his balance. Ford came to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Stan decide not to look at his brother and chose to stare forward, then his eyes went back to Soos, who look deflated. Oh man. Stan was terrified, he didn’t want to say no and hurt Soos, but if he said yes….he wasn’t sure what made him so nervous. The entire concept sounded so alien to him, like he didn’t deserve the title. He always considered Soos, Melody and their son a part of his family. But to bare a title like “grandpa”, had to mean he had children that that children. That he was already a parent without his knowledge. It all felt so natural to want to lean into this and become part of this family like Soos wanted.

He heard something make a noise from beneath himself. Stan looked down at little Jacob, who was mid yawn. The baby’s mouth grew wide opens and inhaled, scrunching up his face and suddenly shut. Suddenly two tiny eyes opened for just a few seconds, enough time for Stan to make eye contact before Jacob shut them and got comfortable again

Everything was different now.

Stan didn’t notice how quiet the room had gotten nor the tears forming in his eyes. Stunned by beauty and overcome with pride and a sense of purpose. The pride he felt teaching Soos math, how to drive and attending his graduation all combined just looking at the perfect being in his arms. If he said yes, he would want everything that came with it. Stan lifted the birth certificate up to read the name again.

Jacob Stanley Ramirez

“Y-Yes”, he heard a shaken voice say, almost not realizing it was his own “of course”. He looked at Soos, tears in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. He still wasn’t sure if he deserved this, but Stan wanted it. He wanted it all. Why not indulge just this once? He gave the certificate to Ford and used his now free hand to pull Soos into a hug. Gently sandwiching his…..grandson in between him……and his son.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fan fiction #stanley pines #stanford pines #soos ramirez #melody #mabel pines #dipper pines #wendy corduroy #pop pop au #poppop!stan #dad!soos #dad!stan

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N Sorry for the long break between chapters. As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks. Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic. Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs. In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment. Be careful what you wish for. Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut. Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that. Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing. What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question. By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat. A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse. Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week. His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires. Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.” It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp. Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.” She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie? Dietary advice in return for counselling? Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed. Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations. She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well. Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six. Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed. Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum. At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway. But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire? Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?” Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes. Sorry. Just a funny noise that’s... Please, continue.” When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again. “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital. I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship. No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add. “Only a professional one. But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie. I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation. “She’s a lovely girl. They all are. It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them. Children, that is. Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once. Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum. Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk. She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears. She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!” Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor. He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap. “Sassenach? Claire? Can ye hear me? Do I need tae call an ambulance?” The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope. “No hospital. I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis. With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips. Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her. After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there. “You were right. I should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.” Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name. She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration. “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls. “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will. I’ll try.” And when she said it to him, she really meant it. Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move. Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek. Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.” Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire. May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning. He bent his head until only a whisper separated them. The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb. Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh. Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home. She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants. For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been. Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away. “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation. She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie. This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken. I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well. As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned. The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor? Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie. A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed. He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door. “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...” she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth. “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office. She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing. Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers? An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.” She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation. Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer. But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer. And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me. Or rather, I kissed him. And I liked it! That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant. She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen. An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis. I can’t feel the way he makes me feel. And this practice is all that I have left. There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction. Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up. Moreover, he’s a good man. He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door. Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis? Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals. I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week. Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens. How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor. As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw. He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation. Perversely, she relished it. Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually. I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email. Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself. Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger. “Don’t call me that! I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you. Nothing. Just go. Please. Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered. At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so. Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection. She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey. “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so. Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls. I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp. I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it. Somethin’ ye couldna plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose. Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged. “Don’t. I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children. Ever. I tried, for years. Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances. And seeing you with those children last week. I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie. That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased. Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression.

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia. I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed. I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children. An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name. “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone. Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame. By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone.

#my writing #outlander

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writer-ish · 3 years

Text

the little things

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 3K words | rating: T (language)

summary: An exhausted and overworked Detective gets a sweet surprise. For Week 2, Day 6 of @wayhavensummer: Farmer's Market.

special note: After maybe a month or so of writing nothing (aside from 100-200 words here and there that, had they not been on a computer, I would have immediately crumpled them up and thrown them into a wastebasket), I sat down today and wrote this entire thing in a few hours. It is raw, unedited, and probably more reflective of my own personal state of mind than I'd like. That said, I am yeeting it into the tumblr void and then going out for the night - so uh, enjoy? be kind? and thank you for reading. ♥️

“Let’s go to the thing.”

Detective Grace Bennett looked up from her computer screen, her gaze blurry and unfocused, as she tried to parse together the words she’d just heard coming from the doorway to her office.

“The… thing?” she mumbled distractedly, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets in an attempt to violently will them to work properly. What time is it—? It must still be midnight or close to it—

Blinking rapidly, she watched as the numbers on the bottom of her computer screen came into a sort of unsettled, electric focus.

6:02 AM.

Fuck.

She had been working on her reports for seven fucking hours. All the way through the night. Once again, forgoing sleep in an attempt to pretend she had a grasp on all the things that she was responsible for - Detective of Wayhaven, Agency liaison, good friend, good daughter, good—

She looked up, remembering once more that she was no longer alone at the station.

Mason stood in the doorway, languidly leaning against its frame, arms crossed. To the casual observer, his posture was relaxed, his expression nondescript.

But Grace knew him well enough now to recognize the sharp keenness in his eyes. The way they took in every detail of her appearance, from the haphazardly tossed-up hair, to the rumpled blouse, to what she could only presume were lines of haggard exhaustion running through her features.

He could likely smell the day-old ice cold coffee by her side. The half-eaten ham sandwich crumpled beside it.

Again, his expression hardly belied a recognition of any of that. Instead, he appeared to simply be a person waiting patiently to hear the answer to a question he’d asked.

But somehow - she didn’t know how, and yet - Grace knew better.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh, pushing away from her desk. “What did you say again?”

“It’s Friday,” was his reply.

She inwardly groaned. Grace was not in the mood for riddles, and the enigmatic, indifferent phrasing of his response caused a surge of exhaustion-induced annoyance to flow through her body. Dropping her head into her hands, she took a deep breath.

Perhaps he took pity on her. Perhaps he realized that his typical reticent abruptness was not going to go over well this morning.

Whatever it was, Grace suddenly felt a hand on the back of her down-turned head. A light pat, then strong fingertips moving through the locks until they hit her scalp, kneading gently on contact.

She let out a soft groan, her shoulders wilting further, elbows almost giving out, as the painful yet pleasurable push of his fingers worked her sore and tired head and nape.

“The market thing,” he said softly after a moment, a moment in which she was certain she had become a barely-sentient pile of mush on top of her keyboard. “That they do in the square. It’s Friday. You like to go. I was going to take you.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the pleasure haze encompassing her weary brain, but when they did, she felt her body still.

He was offering to go to the Farmer’s Market with her?

It was true, she did enjoy going. Before the infiltration of Unit Bravo into their lives, her and Tina used to go together every week in the summer to peruse the wares and fresh produce of the local farmers—most coming from just outside the small city limits of Wayhaven, but others from even further away. There was always something delicious and fresh to purchase or some trinket that would catch their eye. Grace had lost count of the number of handmade soaps she’d impulsively bought, only to shove them under her bathroom sink and never use them.

But then, after the arrival of Unit Bravo, after Grace’s promotion, when things got busier - when things got more dangerous - she would find herself able to go less and less. If she did manage to make it out, she’d usually end up taking Nate with her for protection. It was the type of thing he enjoyed, too; just the concept of it, as well as the simple pleasure of a new experience. Plus, Mason had always refused to be caught dead anywhere near such a cacophonic plethora of different people, bright colours, and various smells.

So the fact that he was offering to take her today, now, was an incredibly unexpected development.

“Are you sure?” she asked, barely even trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice. She looked up at him, standing so closely to her, his hand still warm and comforting on the back of her neck. “You know it’s—the same, as it’s always been. Right?”

He snorted. “Yeah, I know. And yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright, well—” She was about to acquiesce, self consciously taking her hair out of its messy bun and running her fingers through it in an ineffectual attempt to make it look presentable, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the computer screen and groaned. Suddenly she felt a need to backtrack on her initial agreement.

“Honestly? I look wrecked, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, and I doubt I’d be very good company right now. Also, you hate the Farmer’s Market. Why torture us both?”

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was making excuses for his sake more than her own. The fact was, she’d gotten a surge of adrenaline at the idea of going now, on a quiet, cool summer morning, when things would just be opening up and most of the town was still sleeping—to get a nice hot coffee and a pastry. To pick up some strawberries and peaches. To look for a new candle or maybe another handmade tsotchke that she didn’t need to add to her already colourful and cheerfully cluttered space. And, most of all, to spend the time with Mason.

But still. She looked like shit and she knew he hated the thought of going - Why did he offer, then? her traitorous thoughts couldn’t help but wonder - so what was the point?

As though he could read her roiling thoughts - the fact that she wanted to go and the reasons why she thought they shouldn’t - he affected a frustrated sigh and leaned over her, bracing one hand on her desk and running the other from her neck down to her back.

“Get up, Detective.” With the one arm around her back, he hoisted her out of her seat. She found herself stumbling into the warm comfort of his chest, her cheek resting against the soft material of his black t-shirt.

Her hands grasped at the back of it as she steadied herself and she looked up at him, even closer now, chest to chest, their arms around each other. He leaned forward and her breath hitched slightly, but his lips only met the tip of her nose before he pulled back and held her at arm’s length.

“Change,” he commanded, pointedly looking at her wrinkled shirt and coffee-stained trousers, “and then meet me outside the station. You have three minutes.”

Still reeling from the playful kiss, she touched her nose lightly and watched him saunter out.

It took her a moment to snap back to reality and remember what she was supposed to be doing. “Right, clothes.”

In two-and-a-half minutes, she had stripped down, shoved her old clothes in her bag, and changed into the spare outfit she kept in the office: a winning combo of bicycle shorts and a light-grey oversized shirt with the words WAYHAVEN PD on it in large block letters. She’d ditched the heels, slipped on her spare runners, and did a quick rinse and spit into her old coffee cup with the mouthwash she kept in her desk “for emergencies” only, managing to meet Mason outside with thirty seconds to spare.

She caught him flick his cigarette to the ground before straightening up as she approached.

As she always did when she had the opportunity, she found herself admiring the view he provided - tall, broad-shouldered and sinewy, like a Hellenic sculpture come to life. His hair tumbled in dark waves towards his shoulders - he needed a cut, she thought to herself - his mouth naturally sullen, even when it was pulled to the side in a smirk, like it was in that moment. Hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, half-tucked into his standard black boots, which he still wore despite the heat that was already beginning to infiltrate the crisp morning air.

He looked like a goddamn supermodel, while she looked like she was taking her two-point-five children to soccer practice. She tugged self-consciously at her shorts.

“This is all I had—” she began apologetically as soon as she got close to him, but her words were cut off by his lips on hers.

All thoughts of self-consciousness vanished as she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. She felt her feet leave the ground as he held her closer to him, his mouth tasting faintly of cigarettes and entirely of Mason, a combination that always managed to make her feel lightheaded. She couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped from deep in her throat and he tightened his grip on her further, stroking her tongue with his, leaving her pulse racing in more places than one.

After a moment he set her down and pulled away, keeping one arm loosely wrapped around her shoulders.

“Better go now before we don’t go at all,” he said gruffly, leading her to her car.

By the time they got to the Farmer’s Market, the majority of the stands had opened, farmers and local merchants laying out their produce and wares.

All feelings of tiredness that had begun to seep into Grace’s consciousness on the drive over - Mason had generously offered to drive “this heap of crap”, as he’d put it, seeing how she was probably in no state to operate heavy machinery - vanished as they parked and approached the town square.

She looked up and watched as Mason appeared to brace himself, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.

“Hey.” He looked down at the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand resting gently on his chest. “Are you sure about this?”

She watched as his body appeared to physically drain of tension, his hitched-up shoulders gentling slowly downwards, his jaw unclenching, fists unfurling. His eyes closed briefly and he placed his hand over the one that still lay over his heart.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” His smirk came back to his lips slowly. “Let’s buy you some fruit.”

She laughed at the intentional absurdity of his remark, feeling something akin to joy bubble up in her chest. She knew better than to chalk it up to anything but sleep deprivation-induced delirium, but whatever it was, it was a high she was planning to ride for as long as she could before the inevitable crash.

They wandered through the colourful stalls, Mason waiting patiently as Grace felt for the good peaches, smelled the baskets of strawberries, picked through for the perfect cherries. He dutifully held the baskets and burlap bags she handed to him, shooing away her concerns about the smells or the feel of the scratchy material on his skin.

It was still early for Wayhaven and they were practically the only two there, aside from the people at their stands and Haley, as always, ready with her carafe of coffee and some fresh-baked pastries for selling.

Grace gratefully filled her cup with a smile, before noticing that Haley was gesturing her forward. Leaning in, she gave her friend a quizzical look.

“You guys are good now?” she whispered, nodding over Grace’s shoulder.

Grace turned in the direction Haley had gestured, her eyes catching on Mason. He was looking intently at a collection of wind chimes a few stalls down, his hands full of the fruits and goodies she’d acquired, a long baguette sticking out of one of the bags.

Her heart swelled at the sight of him, in that sharp, needful way it always did, a pleasure-pain that reminded her of the way he’d stroked her hair earlier. So necessary, so vital, so scary, so new: all these things that she held to be true about her feelings towards him. The knowledge that she needed him, perhaps—no, certainly more than he needed her, and the fear that it was all-too fleeting. Nothing more than just a memory, already half cooked.

“Yeah,” she said softly, feeling her mouth turn upwards into a smile she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s—we’re good.”

Haley nodded, pleased, before offering Grace a cherry danish that she refused to accept payment for. Grace took another bracing sip of hot coffee and turned back to Mason, only to find he’d disappeared.

She meandered a bit through the remaining stalls, debated the necessity of yet another vanilla sandalwood candle or birthstone necklace, and glanced up more than occasionally to see if she could spot where he’d gone or if he was going to return.

Right at the point where she was starting to worry, the weariness of her wakeful hours suddenly threatening to catch up to her in the kind of hysteria that only exhaustion could create, he appeared.

He still carried her two baskets of fruit and a large burlap reusable shopping bag with that telltale baguette and a few other things she couldn’t even remember now, but in his arms was—

In his arms, he was holding—

Okay, she was crying.

Goddamn lack of sleep, she was actually fucking crying in the middle of the Farmer’s Market.

As soon as he got close enough to see her tears, he came to a dead stop and threw his hands up in the air, weighted down as they were.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” His tone was a mix of fond exasperation and abject disbelief at the sight of Grace, coffee in hand, forgotten danish dripping cherry filling onto the ground, blubbering like a baby in the midst of all the produce and plants.

But she couldn’t help it, damn it, because he’d gotten her flowers.

Her grouchy, hundred-year-old, vampire non-boyfriend, who hated Farmer’s Markets and crowds and flowers themselves, had gone off on his own and come back with a bouquet of sunflowers, delphiniums, lilacs, and daisies and Detective Grace Bennett—

Could.

Not.

Handle.

It.

She pressed her lips together tightly, just for another sob to escape.

“Jesus Christ, Gracie.” He gently put down everything he was holding to approach her, likely exhibiting extra caution because of how incredibly unhinged she must have appeared in that moment, before bracing his hands on her shoulders. “What the hell is the matter?”

“Honestly—” Her calm, mostly unwavering tone probably leant her an even more psychotic air, as she could feel the tears continue to streak down her cheeks. “—I’m just really tired, but also I really, really love those flowers.” She hiccuped. “So much.”

His face cleared of its worry and instead he shook his head, affectionate exasperation back in his expression. “You’re nuts, you know that?” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She leaned into him, partly from weariness and partly because she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

He squeezed her tightly for a moment and then, bending over, he picked up her bags and the flowers as she scrubbed her face with her hands. He made to hand her the bouquet wrapped in plastic and newspaper, but when she reached for it, he suddenly pulled it back with a tsk-ing noise.

“No more crying, got it?” He pointed the flowers at her along with his warning.

She laughed, even as she felt the telltale tingle start in her nose once more.

“Yes, no more crying. I promise,” she added, making an X over her chest with her pointer finger. “Gimme.”

He passed her the bouquet, a soft smile on his lips as he watched her bury her face in the colourful blooms and take a big inhale.

“Magical,” she sighed happily, before looking up him. She could feel her eyes fill again and his own eyes narrowed, but she just smiled and shook her head. “Thank you.”

His expression softened and he gave her a nod. “Let’s go. Get you to bed.”

She made a teasing noise, a heckling gesture that acknowledged his innuendo, but he just snorted and shook his head.

“You, sweetheart, are sleeping for the next twelve hours. I don’t care how much you beg.”

“But you love it when I beg,” she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder, then giggled as he looked at her in surprise.

“Are you drunk?” he asked incredulously and she couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles again.

“Just delirious, I think,” she said, wiping more tears - these ones from mirth, rather than an overwhelming feeling of adoration over a thoughtful gesture from a sort-of boyfriend - from her eyes. “But yeah. We should go.”

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, transferring her Farmer’s Market treasures to his other hand and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders so he could guide her out of the town square.

She looked up at him, this big, grouchy vampire man, so reticent to talk about his feelings and yet so quick to show her how much he cared in a million little ways: his nose subtly wrinkling from the smell of the flowers that he’d gotten for her, his tight hold on her purchases, his arm protectively around her shoulders, shielding her from the growing crowd and guiding her back to her car.

The way he kept looking down at her, eyes scanning her face for further outbursts.

The fact that he’d brought her here in the first place, simply because he knew it was something she liked.

Was she going to be okay?

“Oh yeah,” she said, laughing at his groan upon seeing tears well up in her eyes again. She shook her head to try and get her emotions in check, before standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He shot her a disgruntled look that just made her laugh even harder.

A summer morning. The sights and sounds of the Wayhaven Farmer’s Market. Mason’s arm around her. All the tiredness, the endless work, the stress - it all just disappeared in that moment and Grace could only think of one word to describe how she felt.

“I’m perfect.”

- ☀️🍓💐 -

#wayhavensummer #the wayhaven chronicles #mason x detective #twc mason #twc fic #farmer's market #wayhaven summer: day 6 #day 6: farmer's market #a thing!!!#i have written!#let us rejoice!#mason x grace

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theclockworkmonk · 3 years

Text

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Read on FanFiction.net

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

************

"They can't be serious…." Harry muttered in disbelief as he stared down at the very official-looking letter.

"Who's serious about what?" asked Ginny, stepping into their living room.

Harry jumped and quickly tried to hide the letter behind his back. "Nothing!" he squeaked.

He should have known better. Ginny got a mischievous glint in her eye and darted around him, trying to get at the letter. They spent a minute chasing around each other, but eventually Ginny faked him out into tripping over the coffee table, and she quickly snatched the letter out of his hand with a triumphant laugh, making Harry once again wonder if she wouldn't be even better at Seeker.

"Ooooo," Ginny sang dramatically as she saw the emblem at the top of the parchment, "an official statement from the Wizengamot! Have they come up with a new award to bestow on you?"

"No, it's even worse," mumbled Harry.

"Oh, well now I'm very interested," Ginny teased, "am I worthy to take a peek at such official correspondence between such important people?"

"Well, it actually concerns you too, Missy," said Harry, crossing his arms, "so go ahead."

"Hold on, let's see if I can get the right tone." Ginny cleared her throat, pointed her nose in the air, and continued in her haughtiest tone,

"To the esteemed Harry James Potter,

After consideration of your actions to serve and protect the Wizarding World of Great Britain, as well as the recent discovery of your lineage to the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell, previously thought to be lost, it is with great honor and pleasure that we offer to restore your line to its former status by bestowing upon you one of the vacant Lordships!?"

Ginny dropped her character and her mouth gaped open in disbelief. "Along with the accompanying seat on the Wizengamot!" she finished quickly.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her face split into a wicked grin and Harry knew he would never hear the end of this.

Harry snatched the parchment back.

"Yeah, so in other words," he began before she could start getting her jokes in, "they're embarrassed by how many of their seats are still empty after half their members were thrown in prison or fled the country for being Death Eater collaborators, so they're once again trying to use me as their poster boy so they can look like they've turned over a new leaf. Except they clearly haven't, since they only deemed me 'worthy' after they found out which dead pure-bloods I'm descended from, so they're still the same navel-gazing, inbred aristocrats they've always been!"

By the time he was finished, he was shouting and he panted to catch his breath.

Ginny, however, still found the whole thing hilarious.

"Oh, it breaks my heart to see Lord Potter so displeased," she bowed low to him with a flourish of her hand. "Let me know if there's anything a lowly peasant like me can do to serve you."

"Yeah, yuck it up, Weasley," said Harry dryly, "Like I said, this affects you too."

She looked back up at him with a sardonic look. "How does your having to sit through long parliamentary bullshit have to do with me?"

"Well," said Harry, stepping toward her, "if I'm a Lord, that means that, if I ever get married one day—"

"Hypothetically speaking," said Ginny.

"Yes, then that hypothetical girl — whoever she might be — would become a Lady."

"Hmmm," hummed Ginny thoughtfully. She wrapped her hands around his neck and he snaked his arms around her waist. "So you think this is relevant to me because you're hoping to make me your Lady? That's mighty presumptive of you, Lord Potter."

"Well, I wouldn't say hoping," lied Harry. "It's just a logical possibility to consider, strictly because you're pure-blood, of course. But I'm still keeping my options open. After all, you know how much of a ladies man I am."

"Yes, of course. But you know…" said Ginny thoughtfully, tracing circles over Harry's chest with her finger, "'Lady Ginevra Potter….does have kind of a nice ring to it."

"Oh, but things would be expected of you, m'Lady," said Harry, "and you would definitely have to stop all that Quidditch nonsense. Such a vulgar and violent activity is beneath a woman of your standing."

"Oh, well, I guess that's settled, we have to break up," Ginny sighed, "We're just a part of two different worlds."

"I'll always remember you," said Harry romantically, "but alas, I must kiss you goodbye."

He bent down and gave her a kiss, then they broke apart as they cracked up into laughter.

"Come on, I'm not going to let anyone call me a Lord," said Harry, rolling his eyes, "and obviously I'm not actually going to sit on the bloody Wizengamot. Those seats are transferable, so I can give it to someone who will actually know what they're doing. My first instinct is your dad, but he probably won't want it either, and they'll do anything to get him off again. Andromeda would probably feel at home there, but could do some good. Or maybe McGonagall."

Ginny groaned. "You can be so boring sometimes, you know that? You have a chance to put Luna in a position of power, that would drive them insane! Oh, or how about Aberforth, that would be hilarious!"

Harry laughed. "We're not all agents of chaos like you, Gin. I swear, sometimes I think you're Eris in disguise."

"Oh, you think I'm a goddess?" Ginny flirted, "then I guess you better worship me."

"Hmmm," Harry kissed her again, but then sighed and pulled back. "Sadly, there's no time for that, we're already running late for dinner at the Burrow."

"Alright, should we go together or do you want to keep up the pretense that we're actually living in different flats?" she asked him pointedly.

He gave a weak, embarrassed smile. "I know it's ridiculous, and I might be a coward, I've just managed to escape your mother's disapproving stare so far in my life, I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

Ginny rolled her eyes but led him by the hand out the door of their flat, past the wards they had put up. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, and turned on the spot, feeling the squeeze of Disapparition.

*********************

"Come on!" urged Ron, "I'm hungry!"

"What else is new?" laughed Hermione, as she finished a letter she needed to send and tied it to Pig. After she sent the little owl on his way, she turned around to see her fiance standing by the fireplace, bouncing on his feet like a child on Christmas morning.

"Honestly Ron," said Hermione, shaking her head, "one would think you haven't eaten in a week, and there's no way that your mother even has dinner ready yet."

"Yes, but her pre-dinner scones should be coming out of the oven right now!" said Ron cleverly, "And I might as well have not eaten in a week, don't pretend like I'm the only one who's sick of our sad attempts at cooking."

"Alright, alright!" said Hermione. She joined him by the fireplace, threw some floo powder into the grate, and together they stepped into the green flames.

"THE BURROW!" Ron shouted clearly, and after the spinning sensation and flashes of various fireplaces, they stumbled into the sitting room of Ron's childhood home.

Ron's excited smile faltered when they saw the sitting room completely empty, with no one there to greet them. He recognized the overlapping voices of his family instead coming from the kitchen, and with a rush of horror he feared that his precious scones were already being eaten by an army of Weasleys. He led Hermione by the hand across the room towards the kitchen, and he started to make out individual voices.

"I just don't understand why they haven't told us!" said his mother.

"He probably knows what we're likely to do to him," grumbled Charlie.

"You've been away too long, brother mine," chuckled George, "I guarantee you she's the one keeping it under wraps."

"In any case, we know that pushing the issue will do nothing but make things worse," said Ron's dad gently, "We just have to—"

"Scones ready?" asked Ron loudly as he and Hermione entered the kitchen, and Hermione had to resist the urge to swat him. The conversation he had interrupted seemed interesting, and her suspicions were confirmed (and her curiosity inflamed) when all talk instantly ceased the moment they walked into the room. Six heads snapped towards the arriving couple as Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George widened their eyes in surprise and fear, like they were caught discussing something covert. Hermione also noticed how a few of them (mainly Ron's two oldest brothers) then narrowed their eyes venomously at her and her boyfriend.

While the kitchen of the Burrow was usually one of the warmest, most welcoming rooms in the world to Hermione, she noticed a distinctly cool, tense atmosphere this time. She looked sideways and saw that even Ron had clearly noticed, his eager smile slipping from his face.

There were several seconds of silence as the older family members' eyes all flittered between each other, holding a silent conversation that Ron and Hermione didn't know how to join. Then the loud ding of the kitchen timer made them all jerk suddenly.

"Wow, do I have great timing or what?" said Ron proudly, trying to ease some of the tension in the room, but some of his laughter died in his throat. His stomach didn't let him dwell on it, however, as Molly bent down to take the scones out of the oven, and the sweet, fresh smell filled the kitchen.

After she put the plate of scones on the table, Ron casually flicked a cooling charm over them before grabbing one greedily. The other Weasley men took their own, but they looked more like it was just something to do with their hands. While Ron hummed as he took a big bite, they chewed theirs thoughtfully.

"I should check on the washing," said Molly quietly, without looking at anyone. She grabbed a laundry basket and headed outside towards the clothesline.

"I'll help!" said Hermione cheerfully. She was always happy to help with the chores at the Burrow, but she also wanted to get one of the Weasleys alone to figure out what they had been talking about.

Molly didn't answer and continued outside with Hermione behind her.

"How have you and Arthur been?" asked Hermione pleasantly.

"Well, my days are still dreary, with no children left in the house," Molly sighed. "I knew that children don't stay children forever, but I certainly wasn't expecting my younger ones to hit so many milestones so quickly….and in the wrong order." She finished more quietly

Hermione frowned. Did Molly think she and Ron were getting married too soon? She had never expressed that before, she was overjoyed when they had announced their engagement.

"Er….well, Ron recently got promoted from Junior Auror," said Hermione uncertainly as she began helping Molly take garments off the clothesline and put them in the basket. "He'll be taking more serious cases now." So his career is well on track, if that's what you're worried about.

"I'm touched that you and Ron are willing to indulge that to me!" said Molly sharply

Hermione pursed her lips. Her patience was running out.

She stepped towards her soon-to-be mother-in-law and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Molly…"

For the first time, Molly turned to look at Hermione and the younger woman flinched back at the cold distrust and disapproval she saw in her eyes. Hermione felt a rush of deja vu, and after a short moment she realized where she had seen that look before: it was the same look she had received from Molly her fourth year, when the older witch had believed Rita Skeeter and was under the impression that Hermione was Harry's manipulative girlfriend, breaking his heart by messing around with Viktor.

"Mrs. Weasley...have I done something wrong?" asked Hermione weakly.

Seeing the hurt on Hermione's face, Molly's own harsh expression softened and was replaced with a wave of guilt. Her eyes got watery and her lip trembled, and before Hermione could say anything else she suddenly found herself being hugged tightly.

"No dear, you haven't done anything wrong," said Molly in a choked voice, as Hermione awkwardly patted her back, thoroughly confused. "I'm just being silly. I understand you're not choosing sides, you're just being a good friend."

Molly pulled back, and was smiling weakly at Hermione.

"Er...thank you," said Hermione, more bewildered than ever. "I don't mean to be rude, Molly, but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh no, of course not," Molly winked dramatically, "There's nothing to tell, I'll drop it. Come on, dinner is just about ready."

Before Hermione could insist more strongly that Molly explain what the hell was going on, Molly picked up the now-full laundry basket and returned to the house, leaving Hermione blinking dumbly behind her.

******************************

As Hermione followed his mother outside, Ron continued to chew into the warm, buttery scone, barely looking at his surrounding family members, the earlier tension all but forgotten to him.

"So….little Ronnie doesn't come around for dinner as much as he used to," Bill pointed out.

"He and Harry have been burning the candle at both ends at the Ministry," said Percy.

"Hmm-hmm," Ron nodded, engrossed in his scone, not looking up to see the stern looks on his brothers' faces. "More than we need to be, honestly. But because of Harry's saving-people-thing, he's always sure that the next case will end in disaster if the dark wizard isn't caught right now, and of course he would be lost without me, so whenever he's working overtime I am too." He shrugged.

"Oh yes, I think we're all well aware how loyal you are to Harry," Charlie said darkly, "Even over other, older loyalties, as a matter of fact."

"Charlie…." began their dad warningly.

Ron looked back up, and grew uncomfortable again when he saw that all of his family members were looking directly at him. Earlier, he had assumed that the awkward tension in the room was because he and Hermione had interrupted an important conversation, but it seemed to go beyond that, like they were pissed directly at him for something he had done.

"What's going—"

He was interrupted by his mother re-entering the house, holding the laundry with one hand and wiping tears from her eyes with the other. Hermione followed in shortly behind her, and Ron looked pointedly at his mother and gave his fiance a quizzical look, but Hermione just returned a confused, helpless shrug.

"The roast should be almost done now," said Molly happily, and waved her want to send a flurry of plates and cutlery flying to settle in front of where each of the Weasley men were sitting.

"And I'm such a terrible mother, I neglected something," chuckled Molly, and bent down to kiss the crown of Ron's head. "We all missed you, dear."

"Mum…" Ron grumbled awkwardly, but he saw his brothers look at each other with slightly guilty expressions, and as they followed their mother's lead, the atmosphere of the room became friendlier.

Charlie drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I need a drink."

"Excellent idea!" pipped George. He waved his wand and summoned a large bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet along with several glasses, which zoomed right past Molly's face, causing her to jump and shriek.

"For the last time, only the cook can summon in the kitchen!" Molly scolded him, "I won't have this room devolve in complete chaos of flying objects until someone gets a concussion!"

"And I know you don't always act like it, but you are all of age," said Arthur, raising his eyebrows at George pouring several glasses of whiskey, "so I see no reason why you can't bring your own drinking supplies instead of raiding mine."

Molly huffed. "Well maybe it will be best if we stopped keeping that poison in the house—"

She stopped abruptly as they heard a faint pop from outside, coming from down the pathway, and Ron knew that Harry and Ginny must have arrived. Instead of beaming and rushing out into the garden to greet her two favorite children, however, Ron saw his mother gasp and a bit of the color drain from her face. His family members all looked at each other with that same expression he first saw when he came into the room.

Charlie gave a low growl and picked up a glass. "Yup. Definitely need a drink."

#hinny ficfest #hinny fanfiction #hinny fluff #romione #hinny #hinny fanfic #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #harry and ginny #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #romione fanfic #harry x ginny #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,400

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: plot plot plot, mild descriptions of violence, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, sloooooooooooooow burn – seriously, we’re just getting started so it’s gonna be a bit before feelings are involved, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: The plan right now is for there to be 3 parts of Chapter 1. Tumblr isn’t doing a good job notifying my taglist, so I apologize if I bother anyone reblogging this a few times trying to get it to work. Thank you everyone out there for each like, comment, ask and reblog! The support means the world to me 🥰

Part 1 Part 3

Cross-posted on AO3

The village is a small community with less than a hundred citizens living there total, yet it is visible from miles away due to the bright paints used to decorate the houses. Murals depicting the village’s history and its residents adorn every house with details added by each new generation so that no one is ever forgotten. Back when visitors would pass through, they would always compliment the village’s beauty, but there is nothing beautiful at all about the electric fence the Imps erected shortly after seizing control, emitting shocks harsh enough to kill.

Originally the stormtroopers said it was to protect the village from threats, but nobody believed the lie. The only threat to the community was the Empire. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, now they like to remind everyone the whole village is their prisoner, usually by a show of violence so unbelievably malicious it stuns everyone into compliance.

There are some horrors time will never erase from your mind.

Juni trees grow beside the fence outside the perimeter, the only species of tree amongst the shrubbery and turu-grass, and they are tall enough for their thick orange branches to extend over the uppermost wire. In the mornings, Ahsoka climbs out your bedroom window, slides down the sloped roof of the house and leaps onto a nearby branch. You follow after her, trusting that she won’t let you fall when you stretch out your hand for her to catch you and lift you up using a bit of Force to give you a boost. The two of you sneak back inside the village using the same tree, only instead of leaping at the house, you drop the short fall onto the ground beneath. Five years and the stormtroopers haven’t caught onto your trick yet.

Except now the tree isn’t an option. Not when you both are half-carrying, half-dragging two-hundred pounds of flesh and metal.

Hiding behind a clump of coyal bushes, you and Ahsoka scout the entrance booth where a pair of stormtroopers dressed in their characteristic white armor stand guard, holding blaster rifles. There are others on patrol, walking along the fence and checking its integrity, gradually stepping further and further out of view, but they will be back eventually. Your window of opportunity is limited.

You adjust the warrior’s arm over your shoulders, quietly groaning when your muscles protest the heaviness. “What are we going to do? Stormies might share one brain cell, but they’re definitely going to notice this heap of metal we’re carrying. And as soon as they find out we don’t have passes, they’re going to start shooting.”

Passes are only given to a handful of the community’s traders each week. It is a three day ride on a repulsorlift speeder to the capital where they have a short span of time to sell their goods and then return home within the week with essential supplies. To ensure no one tries to run away, the Imps set up strict rules. If the traders are late, even if only by a few minutes or due to reasons outside their control, the rest of the villagers pay the price. Usually the punishment is a public beating, but sometimes the stormtroopers get creative and tie their chosen victims to a pole overnight by their head-tails.

Nobody, not even the younglings, sleep those nights.

“We’ll be fine,” Ahsoka answers, firm and confident, gaze fixed upon the gate. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got an idea.”

She doesn’t spare you a second to protest, stepping out into the open and forcing you to follow or else drop the warrior’s body.

The stormtroopers spot the three of you immediately, relaxed postures stiffening with alarm, and you have to remind yourself over and over to breathe, to not let them see any hint of the anxiety buzzing beneath your skin.

“Hold it right there!” One of the stormtroopers orders when the distance between you and them has shortened to a mere three feet. You freeze at once, heart pounding as fast as a thimiar’s seconds away from being eaten. A quick glance at Ahsoka reveals no fear in her expression. She stares at them indifferently, as if she is about to talk about the weather.

“Explain yourselves.” It is not a request.

You squirm, nearly knocking your head against the warrior’s bowed head, on the verge of losing your composure, when you notice Ahsoka lifting her arm.

“You will let us pass,” she says, adopting a suggestive tone while waving her hand in front of their visors.

They respond in unison, seemingly entranced. “We will let you pass.”

You bite your lip as you and Ahsoka pass between the stormtroopers and through the gate, not wanting to break the spell by letting loose the barrage of questions forming on your tongue. What your sister had done was as amazing as it was frightening. She had manipulated them with such confident ease you are certain this isn’t the first time she has performed the trick on someone.

“When did Aunt Shaak teach you that?”

“She didn’t,” Ahsoka replies lowly, casting a quick glance around. “I taught myself.”

Your skin prickles as you also become aware of the increasing number of eyes staring at you. With the sun fully awake and bringing morning light with it, several villagers are carrying on with their daily routines outside of their homes. Most of them seem a mixture of confused and concerned about the stranger, but you spy the Elders looking displeased by the new addition amongst their ranks.

You are not looking forward to being inevitably summoned and interrogated by them.

“How?” you ask, copying her hushed cadence. Then, a pulse of panic blooms in your chest. “Have you ever—?”

“No, I haven’t messed with your mind before. Never even considered it,” Ahsoka interrupts, sensing your worries. “I don’t practice often, but when I do it’s just harmless little suggestions. Like convincing Huno to give the younglings an extra sugar biscuit when he has some to spare or persuading Jaelee to go to bed early when I know she’s been overworking herself. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really sure the trick would work on those bucket heads since I’ve never tried it on two minds at once before. Lucky us, right?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What?”

Is she being serious right now? They would be dead right now if her gamble hadn’t paid off.

Ahsoka pretends not to hear you, nodding her head towards the blue-painted house up ahead. “C’mon, Maar probably already knows we’re coming.”

Maar Vashee has been the village’s healer for a little over fifty years. The purple-skinned Togruta helped deliver you and Ahsoka, and was considered by your mother when she was still living to be a dear friend. Her connection to the Force is especially sensitive due to her intricate relationship with the flora of the planet, using various herbs and plants to create remedies, and as such she developed a type of sixth sense where she instinctively knows when her skills are needed.

Entering her home that doubles as her clinic, you find Maar had indeed anticipated your arrival and set up a cot to place the warrior upon. Once he is laid down, you roll your aching shoulders, biting back a wince as the movement irritates the headache lingering at the back of your head.

The warrior hadn’t made one noise the entirety of the trip bringing him here. Even now as he rests on the cot, his breaths are so quiet you would fear he wasn’t breathing at all if not for his chest moving. You touch his hand impulsively, laying yours over his gloved one. There is no response, not a twitch or spasm.

A sharp gasp of surprise has you whirling around, eyes landing upon Maar standing in the doorway between the clinic and her living quarters. She clutches a glass jar of spotted red herbs labeled nysillin against her chest, staring at the warrior like she is looking at a ghost.

“Maar,” Ahsoka calls out softly, coming to stand by your side. A long moment of silence passes before the older Togruta manages to drag her gaze away to focus on you and Ahsoka, green eyes a bit too wide-eyed and haunted. Your sister’s gentle tone remains when she inquires, “What’s wrong? Do you...do you know him?”

Maar chokes out a brittle noise sounding like a cross between a dry laugh and a derisive scoff. “Personally? No.” She moves closer to the cot, the white circular markings around her eyes softening with what you confusingly identify as sympathy. “I’ve heard stories of his kind though. Years ago, many considered the Mandalorians the only ones capable of defeating the Imperials.”

“Holy frak,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

As a youngling, your mother used to tell you stories about the fiercest fighters in the galaxy known as Mandalorians. They lived on Mandalore and had a special connection with their weapons, a bond nobody else could understand or mimic, trained to handle guns and knives as soon as they could walk. They defended the galaxy from unlawful rulers and the threat of enslavement, unafraid to spill blood when they knew peace would follow. Your mother told you they never lost a battle. Defeat was a word unknown to them.

At least until—

“Mandalorians were wiped out during the Decimation of Alderaan,” Ahsoka interrupts your thoughts, voice pitched high with disbelief. “And the few who lived were hunted down shortly after. The Imps made sure there weren’t any left to challenge them.”

As if triggered, you recall a detail from your brain glitch, a thought that had crossed your mind when you were flying through the storm. You had been looking for Aldera, the capital of Alderaan.

It’s just a coincidence, you think. But a voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your Aunt Shaak counters, there are no coincidences.

And as much as you loathe admitting it, that voice is right. Having the image of a mudhorn slip into your brain shortly before you find a warrior—no, a karking Mandalorian of all people—with the same creature on his armor? It is too precise to be a coincidence. Your paths were meant to cross each other.

If only you had the slightest clue as to why.

Maar sets the jar down on a nearby table, then picks up the Mandalorian’s wrist to check his pulse. “That is what we all thought,” she agrees after a minute of counting has passed, dropping his hand. “His armor is characteristic of their kind. Nothing in the galaxy is as strong or valuable as their beskar. Let’s pray to Ai our beliefs about the Mandalorians’ extinction are mistaken,” she nods towards the unconscious warrior, “especially for his sake.”

Realization creates a sickening pit in your stomach.

Regardless of the status of his kind, when he wakes up his whole world is going to be flipped upside down.

Three hours later, not much has changed except the room is brighter, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window, and smells sweet due to the bowl of herbs Maar left simmering on the table near the Mandalorian’s head, explaining the aroma will cure him of his hibernation sickness as he breathes it in.

“He’ll wake up when the marg sabls open tomorrow,” Maar told you with a gesture towards the potted red-and-pink flowers in the windowsill. They grow all over Shili, popular because they open their petals in a sunburst shape every morning.

Ahsoka comes and goes, blessedly not criticizing your decision to sit at the warrior’s bedside when you have a list of chores to complete—doubled now that you lost your bet with Ahsoka earlier. She intercepts curious younglings hoping to sneak a glimpse of the Mandalorian whose presence has become known throughout the village. Nothing stays a secret long in the community. Gossip spreads as quickly as colds and takes twice as long to get over.

If the stormtroopers catch on, the consequences will be disastrous. For once, Ahsoka shares your fears, admitting she isn’t capable of tricking a whole platoon.

“The Elders aren’t happy,” Ahsoka says in-between sips of bone broth. “They think it’s too dangerous having him here.”

You swallow your mouthful, shaking your head. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

Averting your gaze towards your lap, you scratch at an imaginary stain on your leggings. “Just a feeling I have.”

Ahsoka leans forward in her seat, pointing an accusing finger at you, causing your head to jerk back up. “The Force connected with you again, didn’t it? I knew you were acting weird before we found him.” She frowns, hurt flickering in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I never wanted to be special, Ahsoka,” you reply honestly. “I never wished or prayed to have visions, to have these random details pop into my head, to feel others’ emotions so strongly it’s like I’m trapped inside their bodies. There is nothing cool or entertaining about it. It’s…” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, forcing you to take a pause. You inhale a shaky breath. “It’s terrifying.”

“I had no idea you were struggling so much,” your sister murmurs, voice soft with contrition.

“How could you when I didn’t even want myself to acknowledge that I was?” you counter, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as the truth sinks in. “I tried to ignore it all as best as I could. If not for meeting our friend over here,” you tilt your head in the Mandalorian’s direction, “I’d probably still be in denial. But I can’t ignore the Force this time. Not when the message is this important.”

“What is it?”

“We were meant to find him. To bring him back with us. I think—I believe he’s important. Remember what Maar said? About how people used to believe Mandalorians would beat the Empire?”

Ahsoka’s brow furrows incredulously. “You really think one warrior can defeat Emperor Gideon’s army? The rebels have been trying for years and the Emperor is always one step ahead.”

You can’t help deflating a bit, shoulders slumping. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Have you considered an alternative reason why he’s important?” she asks. When you don’t answer right away, she takes it as a cue to continue, “Maybe you’re right and he is going to change the galaxy for the better. But he could also be a warning. The Imps wiped out his kind, what if they plan to do the same to us?”

Your lips part to respond, only to close again wordlessly. You thought by accepting your brain glitches as messages from the Force they would become clearer, easier to understand. A lantern guiding you through this maze of darkness epitomizing your life.

But you have never felt more lost.

Falling asleep is a mistake.

You didn’t know this when you rejected Maar’s suggestion to head home and sleep in your comfortable bed instead of curling up on her spare cot that squeaks whenever you move. The prideful side of you believed it was best if you were the first face the Mandalorian saw when he woke up because he would remember you and the promise you swore. He would trust you to explain everything to him.

Within a second of waking up, you realize how naive you were to think you had even a shred of influence over him.

The sound of something shattering has you nearly tumbling off the side of the cot, jerking awake with a sudden burst of fear. You blink rapidly to clear the haziness of sleep from your vision, struggling to make sense of what you are seeing.

Pieces of Maar’s ceramic bowl litter the floor along with bits of charcoal and ash. Ahsoka and the Mandalorian stand on opposite sides of the room, staring each other down, poised to fight. The Mandalorian has a vibroblade clenched in his hand, while your sister crouches low, fists raised. You know Ahsoka can hold her own in a fight, even without the advantage of a weapon, but fear winds its way down your spine, cold and slimy, when you can’t help but notice how small she looks compared to him. Not only because he is a few inches taller, but because he also exudes an undeniable aura of intimidation: his unwavering silence, the skilled manner he wields his knife, even the sharp gleam of his beskar pieces reflecting the pale morning light has your chest tightening with dread.

The clinic’s lights flick on right as Maar announces her presence by cocking a blaster pistol. It is the Mandalorian’s own weapon, removed from his holster when Maar examined him earlier. “Alright,” she says to the room at large as she fully enters, dressed in her sleeping robe. “Let’s all settle down. Blood isn’t an easy stain to clean and I’d prefer it if none was spilt.”

You see the moment the Mandalorian decides to comply, shoulders loosening beneath the pauldrons and stance shifting from defensive to neutral, as he processes he doesn’t need to fight his way out of here. The vibroblade is sheathed within his right boot in one fluid motion and it is startling, truly, how quick he transforms from a dangerous threat to a potentially dangerous threat.

Ahsoka is reluctant to yield, staring him up and down for a drawn out moment that does little to soothe your frayed nerves. Only when Maar pointedly clears her throat does your sister finally obey, straightening to full height with a hand propped on her hip, the picture perfect image of nonchalance. In another life she would have made a fantastic actress in a holovid drama.

“That’s better.” Maar nods, satisfied. “Now why don’t we—”

The Mandalorian moves so quickly that you jerk in anticipation of attack, eyes widening to the size of moons as you watch the pistol fly out of Maar’s hand and straight into his outstretched one. Your lungs seize up, a single thought flashing through your mind. This is it, the moment we all die.

Except instead of shooting, he re-engages the safety mechanism and promptly holsters the gun at his side where it belonged. Without saying anything.

Ahsoka’s slack-jawed expression would have been comical if it hadn’t matched your own stunned face. Even Maar, who has witnessed over fifty years worth of shocking spectacles, looks awed by the unexpected display.

You recover first, somehow managing to piece together the right words to ask a coherent question. “Are you a Jedi?”

It is only because you are staring directly at him that you notice the virtually imperceptible tilting of his head. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers bluntly, oblivious to how your heart skips a beat. “Weapons are part of my religion. It’s important to earn their trust.” He addresses Maar then, adding, “Especially if they’re stolen from us.”

His baritone voice has changed from when he spoke on the ship. Without the exhaustion wrapped around his vocal chords you are able to hear his normal timbre. Due to the modulator in his helmet, it has a husky quality, an intriguing mix of smoke and honey. But that is not what has your montrals prickling and your spine straightening.

“I disarm all my patients,” Maar replies, back to being her cool, calm, and collected self. “I would have given it back—”

“How old are you?”

You don’t realize you have spoken until two pairs of eyes and an expressionless visor look at you.

The Mandalorian’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides once, twice. “Nineteen,” he answers after a few seconds of lapsing silence.

“Oh Ai,” Maar murmurs, vocalizing your own thoughts.

All this time you have been thinking of the Mandalorian as a man beneath the amor. A hardened and seasoned fighter who has seen a lifetime of bloodshed and violence. But the reality is he is only two years older than you. Standing right on that thin, blurry line between being seen as a teenager and being considered an adult.

“Who are you?” the Mandalorian asks, glancing first at you then your sister and back to Maar. Frustration and wariness blend together, sharpening his voice. “Why am I here? What happened?”

Ahsoka meets your eye with a question in her gaze, one you don’t have the answer for: where do we even begin?

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#Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic #togruta #ahsoka tano #the last mandalorian #my fic #my writing #pedrostories

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winter-turtle · 3 years

Note

I know this wouldn’t happen since your fic is a no power au, but you saying you love sick fic peter with protective iron dad in your other ask made me wonder, what WOULD Mob boss Tony’s reaction to the bite be? Especially if Peter got REALLY sick like some fics have him be. (Probably many, MANY, unalived oscorp employees, that’s for sure)

You, my friend, got me thinking. So despite me being busy whole day, I still went and wrote something short for this tumblr exclusive (I always wanted to say that) AU of an AU.

Or "what if" of The Ties That Bind Us/Grow As We Go

It's way past one in the morning, so please excuse any mistakes and enjoy these 850 words.

Tony was worried sick. But his “worried sick” had nothing on Peter’s “actually sick”. He shouldn’t have allowed Peter to go on that god-forsaken field trip to Oscorp.

“What do you mean you can’t figure out what’s wrong with him?! Why the hell am I even paying you for then?” he’d yelled at Strange and Cho from the top of his lungs.

His kid was in pain. That much was obvious.

It had all started after the dinner. Peter hadn’t eaten all that much in the first place – which, okay, combined with how pale the boy looked, Tony had assumed Peter got a cold or flu or something – but after he’d excused himself and said he was going to bed, he didn’t make it five steps before he collapsed.

They called in Strange, Cho as well, but even with their combined forces they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Peter. The only lead they had was a red spot on Peter’s hand and the abnormal bloodwork results.

It wasn’t until the team had looked through Peter’s camera for clues that they discovered another lead. Radioactive spiders display.

A quick hack to Oscorp’s security feed had shown Peter slapping something from his hand before he went to catch up with the group.

That’s when Bruce got called in.

That was two days ago.

Besides quick trips to end the lives of various scientists – already bloodied scientists that had received treatment from the rest of the team – who had something to do with the project and even the owner himself, Tony faithfully remained at his barely-lucid son’s side.

The too-high fever, the labored breathing, the seizures – it made Tony feel like ripping his own hair out. If given the chance, he would’ve gladly taken Peter’s place if it would take the pain away from the teen. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option, so all what was left for him to do was to gently wipe the sweat from Peter’s forehead with cool cloth.

Damn it, he just got his son into his life, he couldn’t lose him!

Peter sighed at the coolness, barely peeled his eyelids open before they slid shut once again. His skin was so hot that if given enough time, you could fry an egg on him.

Tony shook his head, dunked the cloth into the water, squeezed most of it out before resuming the now-too-familiar motions.

Tony was reluctantly dragged into shower when Peter somehow stabilized the next day.

Peter woke up… feeling better than expected if he was being honest. He had some vague recollection of intense pain, but there was no trace of it. He also woke up in company of passed out and very tired-looking Pepper in the armchair next to his bed.

So, as quietly as he could, Peter unhooked himself from the IV, got from under the light blanket and headed to the door.

“What the…?” he muttered when his hand remained on the handle as if it was glued there. He tugged and tugged, but the hand didn’t budge. It was only then that he noticed the blanket stuck to his other hand.

The sound of his struggling must’ve woken Pepper up and she had to alert others because the next thing Peter knew, he was surrounded by his family.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Tony – who looked like he just woke up – asked worriedly.

“Dad, someone- someone glued me to the door! I can’t get my hand free- whoa!”

Several people had to jump out of the way of the door that got ripped out of its hinges. Even if Peter tugged hard, there was no possibility that he’d tugged that hard. He opened his hand, but the handle was still stuck to his palm. Everybody looked as surprised as him.

“Isn’t that… heavy?” Clint asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s… not…” Peter replied as he waved the door around. “I know it’s supposed to be, but… wait, is this a dream?”

“Kiddo, if this is a dream, then we’re all somehow interconnected,” Tony said. “And I know for sure that no glue is strong enough to do… that. Okay, uh, maybe try to relax? It might make the door unstick?”

True to his words and several shakes later, the door fell on the ground with a loud bang.

“Kid—”

“Don’t!” Peter cried out as he backed away. “Please, don’t come any closer. I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.” They all stared with mouths hanging open. Peter’s jaw fell too once he realized what position he was in. He was pressing himself against the wall.

But a foot off the ground.

He began to hyperventilate.

“Pete,” Tony said gently as he approached, “don’t worry. I know for a fact that you would never hurt us. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.” Tony reached his hand. “Together.”

Peter, managing to calm down, tentatively reached his own hand towards his dad. Upon seeing that nothing bad happened, he wrapped himself around Tony’s front like a koala, burying his face in Tony’s neck.

“Together.”

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