#we need to get a canonized tag on ao3 lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quin-ns · 1 year

Text

The Bet (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Word count: 4.4K

Summary: butcher leaves you to keep an eye on soldier boy and things become interesting when a deck of cards gets involved

Tags: (18+), enemies to lovers (not exactly but kinda), canon-typical behavior, soldier boy being soldier boy (yes that’s a warning), humor/comedy, strip poker, bets, kissing, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, table sex, surprise ending

A/N: been wanting to write for a jensen character for a while and got inspired rewatching the boys. the character is such an ass but I can’t help but be into him lol

Cross-posted to ao3 • the boys masterlist • writing masterlist

“We’ll be back in a bit,” Butcher announced, stepping in the direction of the door. He looked between you and Hughie, as if still trying to decide which ‘we’ he wanted. “Come on, lad,” he addressed the latter. Hughie seemed relieved, eyeing Soldier Boy wearily before standing and joining Butcher.

Hughie gave you an apologetic look, while Butcher pointed at you and said, “you—keep an eye on him.” He pointed at the supe, as if it wasn’t obvious.

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes at Butcher. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“No,” Butcher replied casually, ushering Hughie out the door before he himself attempted to step out. You got to your feet and caught the door before he could shut it. Butcher let out a dramatic sound and cocked his head as he looked down at you.

You didn’t find him intimidating, not anymore. You had squared up against the man more than once. Hell, you thought Butcher respected you more for it.

“You have a problem?” he asked, baiting you.

“He’s gonna try and fuck me,” you said bluntly—albeit under your breath.

Butcher scoffed out a laugh, seeming actually amused. He also knew it was true. Ever since Soldier Boy had laid his eyes on you, he’d been gunning for you. Whether it was lewd comments or hungry gazes, it was obvious to everyone. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide it one bit.

“Well, don’t let him then,” Butcher offered in a mocking tone.

Butcher wouldn’t have left you with the man if he thought you’d actually get hurt, you knew that. And it’s not like the supe scared you—at least not for that reason. The only one who seemed outwardly uncomfortable with his behavior was Hughie. You could handle him, but being alone in his company wasn’t an ideal way to spend your afternoon.

“Gee, thanks,” you replied sarcastically.

“Hey lady, I’m a gentleman,” Soldier Boy piped up in a gruff, annoyed voice. He seemed genuinely offended.

“See?” Butcher said in that stupid, I told you so tone. “Like I said, we’ll be back.”

With an annoyed huff, you pulled your hand from the door and allowed the man to pull it shut in your face. You caught his victorious smirk right before. Everything was a showdown with Butcher it seemed, and boy did he love to win.

“So,” Soldier Boy started as you turned back to him. “Are you gonna be a bitch to me this whole time? Just ‘cause I paid you a few compliments?”

You scoffed and shook your head, wondering how he thought saying shit like, “your tits look great in that shirt,” counted as a compliment. Whatever, he wasn’t going to change and you weren’t going to bother yourself with lecturing the stubborn asshole. You and the boys needed him as a weapon, not as a politically correct member of society. You’d burden yourself with whipping him into shape after he took care of Homelander.

“We’re gonna end up with a few hours to kill,” you noted as a change of topic, looking around the room.

You could hear the smirk in his voice when Soldier Boy said, “if you’re looking for suggestions, I have a few ideas.”

You rolled your eyes, but glossed over it. He was attractive and even charismatic—you couldn’t deny that—but he seemed to counter that with the crudeness of his personality. You spotted a deck of cards and grabbed it. “How’s your poker face?” you asked, holding up the cards for him to see.

“Texas hold ‘em?” He actually seemed into the idea.

“Sure, why not,” you decided.

You sat down across from him at the table where he’d been sitting. He pushed aside wrappers and pill bottles to make room. You began to deal and laid out the cards.

“What, you don’t have any chips?” Soldier Boy asked, looking at you expectantly.

“Where would I have chips at?”

“I don’t know, poker was your idea. You can’t play poker without betting.”

“I mean, you can,” you argued half-heartedly. Being alone with him was exhausting already.

“If you’re fucking boring you can,” he shot back. Suddenly, a look you could only describe as devious crossed his face. “We could play strip poker.”

At first, your instinct was to tell him hell no. You should’ve, honestly. Another part of you wondered if it would be fun— it was that impulsive, indelicate side of you that made you work so well with the boys. You must’ve been curious, crazy, or both to agree. But, you did.

“Fine.”

He practically beamed, grinning in victory. You were already starting to regret it. “Now it’s a real game. Gotta have something on the line.”

Even as he said that, you had an inkling that the stakes would be a bit higher for you. And as the two of you played and clothing began to disappear from the both of you, you suspected he wanted to be naked in front of you almost as much as he wanted you to be naked in front of him. That became obvious when he took off his shirt and pants after his first two losses. You’d opted to remove a sock after yours.

Still, the two of you carried on a conversation during the game. It was a shock to you when you began to relax around him. It was even more surprising when you laughed at some stupid joke he made at Hughie and Butcher’s expense.

“You seem like most of the brains behind the operation,” Soldier Boy continued, laying the charm on thick. You could spot it clear as day, but even you weren’t totally immune to it as you grew to actually enjoy the game.

“More like their wrangler,” you replied with a small laugh.

“Maybe they’re too busy grabbing at each other's dicks,” Soldier Boy suggested. It pulled another laugh from you despite the offensiveness of it. Being around the boys for so long you’d developed a darker sense of humor.

A smile crossed his face, seeming proud of himself as he watched you react.

“You startin’ to hate me less?” he asked suddenly, like he just had to know right then.

“What?” you replied with a small chuckle, hardly registering the question for a minute. “Does it matter?”

It seemed to pain him when he replied unconvincingly, “no,” with a scoff. “Well, maybe.”

“Wow, that must’ve been hard,” you commented sarcastically. “Does my opinion actually matter to you?”

“What, a guy can’t make conversation?” Soldier Boy was getting defensive.

Over the past however long, his ego had been deeply bruised. You saw it back when he realized the truth about his team. He’d been betrayed and forgotten. You suspected there was a part of him, a still human part, that was desperately seeking approval. Even if he covered it up.

Still, you dropped it. You could’ve told him that you were beginning to think he wasn’t so bad, but you didn’t want to risk boosting his ego. He was still a dick, you tried not to forget that.

After a few more hands, you were missing socks and pants—still keeping your bra, underwear, and shirt—and he was missing everything except a sock and boxers. You were sort of in the lead, but things were pretty tied up.

You gathered the cards up again and began to shuffle. “Why don’t we play gin rummy?” you suggested. You were getting a tad tired of the same game over and over.

“What? Why? We’ll keep playing this. Deal.”

You let out a huff, but gave in. You decided to just go ahead and deal.

“One last round,” you told him.

“Whatever,” he replied in a mutter, collecting his cards.

You two played and carried on a light conversation about random things. You weren’t really focused on playing truthfully, but you should’ve been. You lost the hand, meaning you had to lose something else. Soldier Boy seemed eagerly awaiting your decision, most likely assuming you’d take off your shirt. You’d already lost your socks and pants, so it seemed like a natural progression.

So, of course, you had to screw with him.

You reached under your shirt and unhooked your bra. You removed the straps through your sleeves and pulled it out from the bottom of your shirt.

“Oh, you’re killing me, sweetheart,” Soldier Boy said huskily under his breath.

You let out a small chuckle to yourself at his reaction. You let him suffer for another few seconds before announcing, “Alright, I’m bored.”

“What?” Soldier Boy furrowed his brows. “No, c’mon, keep playing,” he tried to convince you yet again.

“We’ve been playing for an hour and you refuse to learn any other game,” you argued back.

“I know how to play other games. I just prefer poker.” Soldier Boy frowned as you scraped together the card to put them back in the box. “What about a bet? One last game, winner takes all.”

You eyed him curiously, wondering where he was going with this. You’d let him convince you to play strip poker and that was already pushing it. “What kind of bet?”

Soldier Boy couldn’t bite back his grin and you had a feeling where he was going with this. “How about I win, you let me fuck you,” he stated casually. You scoffed. Of course he couldn’t help himself. He fully registered the bored I’m over it expression on your face, yet continued anyway. “And if you win, you let me fuck you and I’ll thank you for the privilege.”

At that, you couldn’t help but laugh in his face. “What kind of deal is that?” Your voice was dripping with amusement. It was actually kinda funny, the level of audacity and shamelessness he had. “No thanks, buddy.”

You moved to stand and heard Soldier Boy curse under his breath. “Fine, fine,” he said loudly, regaining your attention. If you could read people the way you thought, he seemed kinda desperate. It was almost comical. Then, his tone shifted. “I heard you earlier,” he said seriously. It threw you off. “That supe you want dead. Not Homelander, the other one. Personal to you.”

Tek Knight… Why was he bringing up that bastard?

“Heard you trying to slip him onto the list for me to take out,” Soldier Boy continued knowingly. “But your boss won’t let you.”

“Butcher isn’t my boss,” you corrected. It was the wrong thing to focus on, so you did something that was probably going to be very unadvised in hindsight. You heard Soldier Boy out.

“Whatever. Because I like you,”—you raised your brows at that and muttered an uh huh to yourself, because you didn’t really believe him—“you win and I’ll take him out.”

He was groveling, but damn him for figuring out something you wanted. You hated Homelander and pretty much all supes just like the rest of the boys, but also, like they all did, you had a grudge against a certain supe. Tek Knight was the reason Butcher found you. Before he even brought in Hughie, he had found you. Because Tek Knight had killed someone you loved.

Que the tragic backstory, right? You all had one. At one point you had believed the superheroes were heroes. That is, until you saw Tek Knight recklessly kill a bus with civilians in it—one of which was your best friend. Vought covered it up, blamed the criminals he’d been chasing, and praised the supe for his heroism. Needless to say, that changed your preconceptions of superheroes. Not long later, Butcher found you and took you under his wing. You bonded over your desire to kill the so-called heroes that had taken someone from each of you.

Except, Butcher was so determined to kill Homelander after what happened to Becca with Ryan that your need for revenge had been set on that back burner. And now here Soldier Boy was, offering you the only thing you really, really wanted. All you had to do was bet your dignity.

Could be worse, right?

“You in?” Soldier Boy asked, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to the moment. He was already grinning, like he knew your answer.

You returned to where you had been sitting across from him previously and smothered any last doubts you had. “Yeah,” you replied curtly.

That cocky smile of his only grew—it was probably the happiest you’d seen the man. He had a nice smile, but you knew his joy was because of your weakness.

You had to win, even if it was only to watch him lose and wipe that stupidly dazzling smile off his stupidly good looking face.

You didn’t trust him to shuffle, so you did. The stakes were high and you could already see the bulge in his boxers when he stood and scooted his chair closer. He was eager and ready to play—and more. You didn’t want to give him the chance to rig the game. You made an effort to avert your eyes as you dealt the cards out.

The cards in your hand weren’t the best, but they were good enough. Hopefully.

Maybe he wouldn’t be thinking with his upstairs brain, he already seemed incredibly impatient, which could work in your favor. Although, that didn’t seem likely since there was no chance either of you would fold. You pushed all the inner back-and-forth thoughts out of your head and tried to focus on the game. You put on your poker face and just hoped he had a worse hand.

You didn’t say much as you played. Neither did he. You avoided eye contact while he threw you a few looks here and there. There was an intensity to the game that hadn’t been there before. Probably because both of you had a good reason to win. At least, a self perceived good reason on Soldier Boy’s part. You thought yours was much more valid.

The game neared the end and it was time to show.

The moment of truth.

“Two pair,” you said, showing the cards that you had.

Soldier Boy let out a breath, which made you wonder if he had been holding one in. That wasn’t a good sign. He laid down his cards. “Full house,” he revealed.

Well fuck. You lost.

“Damn,” you muttered, but it overlapped with his voice.

“Oh fuck yes.” He sounded a little bit too enthused for your liking. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Take it as a compliment, sweetheart,” he commented smugly. “And don’t be a sore loser.”

“You sure got over Countess quick,” you mentioned in an off-handed tone just to mess with his head a little. “I thought you were still into her.”

He scoffed. “She was a bitch.”

“You called me a bitch earlier,” you pointed out.

“I call everyone a bitch.”

“You’re fucking confusing.”

“And you’re hot. I bet you’re a good fuck,” he countered with lascivious tone.

“You’re gross.” You were somehow still taken aback by his crassness even though you should’ve been used to it by now.

“What, you want me to tell you I’m into you?” He said it like it was offensive. “Like actually? Fine, I am. Big fucking deal,” he dismissed. “Now I won, get your ass over here. I’m not gonna fall for whatever mind games you’re playing.”

You could’ve told him no. You should’ve told him no right away. But damn, you couldn’t help but wonder. You couldn’t deny that Soldier Boy was attractive and from the view you got when he stood, you knew he was… large. Yeah, you should be saying no. What were you thinking?

Well, you were thinking you perhaps you did want to fuck him.

That was the truth even though it shouldn’t have been. You admitted that to yourself.

So, keeping with your end of the deal (because you planned to use the bet to justify all future actions to yourself), you stood from your chair. Soldier Boy was running his hands over his thighs when you moved towards him. He just couldn’t wait to touch you. He could hardly contain his excitement.

He pushed back from the table to make room. When you were within reach, his large, firm hands grabbed at you. Soldier Boy pulled you into his lap with a chuckle.

“Hi there,” you greeted in a sarcastic tone when you came face to face with him.

“Hey, darling,” he replied smoothly. Soldier Boy leaned in to kiss you, but you turned your head slightly. You weren’t sure why, you just did it. He scoffed a little, seemingly disappointed. “What—you’re not gonna let me kiss you?”

You eyed him curiously. “Why is that something you want?”

He shrugged a little. “I’m old fashioned.” He leaned in again and you didn’t turn away. “And it wasn’t a lie when I said I liked you,” he admitted under his breath before capturing your lips.

For a guy that hadn’t been in action for a few decades, Soldier Boy was a surprisingly good kisser. His lips were soft and plump, and moved expertly against yours.

When he pulled away, you were left slightly breathless. That seemed to fuel his ego because when he looked at you, a smirk appeared on his lips.

“Maybe we can both be winners,” Soldier Boy decided smugly. You became aware of his hand creeping along your hip. His fingers grazed your skin and then his hand made its way into the front of your underwear.

A spark of pleasure and even excitement shot through you when his thick fingers found what they were looking for.

Soldier Boy let out a deep, content hum when he brushed against your folds. You were already getting wet for him due to anticipation. He pressed one finger into your entrance and you bit back a gasp. Your body welcomed him, which made him chuckle.

You were waiting for some snarky comment, but at the moment he didn’t have one. Soldier Boy was far too focused on getting you ready for him to think of something. He rocked his hips, grinding his hard cock against your thigh as he pushed another finger into you. He moved them expertly, it should’ve been surprising how much care he was taking to elicit pleasure from you. However, you were far too distracted by the feeling of his thick fingers thrusting and curling inside of you to analyze him.

His thumb found your clit and you moaned, writing in his lap. Soldier Boy watched you, lips slightly parted, breaths heavy. His cock was achingly hard—you could feel it against you.

You felt a familiar knot in your belly form due to his motions.

“That’s it,” he said heatedly, feeling your walls begin to tighten around him. “You feel so fucking good. Can’t wait to be inside of you. Want you to come on my fingers first, though.”

His voice did something to you. You shouldn’t have liked it so much, but it was deep and rich and fuck, it was hot. As your eyes scanned his lust blown face, you saw something else. You couldn’t quite place it.

Your body tensed and as he perfectly moved his thumb and fingers in sync, you knew he was going to get what you wanted.

You fell against him when you started to quiver, the pleasure becoming all-consuming. Soldier Boy welcomed you against his firm body.

“For a girl that hates me you’re squeezing my fingers real fucking tight,” he grunted out against your ear.

Barely another second passed before your orgasm crashed over you in a wave. You pressed your lips together to conceal a dizzy moan, but it broke free.

You rode through the aftershocks on his fingers, catching your breath with your head on his shoulder.

When you finally came to your senses, his words rang in your head. “I don’t hate you,” you clarified in a murmur.

You sat up in his lap, head hazy with pleasure and trying to catch your breath, as he withdrew his hand from your underwear. Soldier Boy stared at you, scanning your face with an odd desperation you finally recognized. You meant it and he realized that.

You were yanked from your pleasured daze when his large hands gripped under your thighs.. In a swift motion, Soldier Boy lifted you. He stood as well and suddenly, you were lying with your back on the table, staring up at his lust blown emerald eyes.

His hands flew across your body, ridding you of your last pieces of clothing. Once you were exposed beneath him, Soldier Boy rid himself of his own clothes.

The two of you were completely naked, eyes scanning over each other's bodies. He pulled you to the end of the table and positioned himself between your legs.

Everything moved in an adrenaline filled blur.

There was very little time to prepare yourself as he planted a hand near your head and used the other to grab his cock. You briefly felt him line himself up to your entrance. Then, he was pushing into you. A gasping moan that surprised you both slipped from your lips as he filled you.

You had gotten a glimpse and knew he was big, but that had done nothing to prepare you for the stretch of his thick cock inside of you. There was a twinge of pain laced with the pleasure and it made you quiver around him.

A deep groan came from above. His eyes had fluttered shut. His hand slapped to grab your waist. His fingers flexed and dug into your skin.

“Fuck,” Soldier Boy cursed under his breath.

His cock throbbed inside of you and you could tell he needed a moment. You had to give him credit for maintaining some level of self control given how long it had been for him.

Except, you were getting impatient. In a bold move, you wrapped your legs around his waist encouragingly. Then, you raised your arms to grasp his face in your hands. You pulled him down into a passionate kiss, which he gladly responded to. He pulled back his hips a little, then thrust forward. You gasped against him and he smiled.

He straightened then, moving both hands to your hips. You braced yourself as he withdrew again, fully this time, then shoved forward.

It took a few experimental thrusts before he set a pace, but when he did you could do nothing but lay there and take everything he gave you.

You weren’t sure what you previously thought fucking him would be like, but damn it was good.

Soldier Boy knew what he was doing. He pounded into you hard and fast, forcing pleasure through your body. He was panting above you, then leaning down to press sloppy kisses to your body. His beard scratched against your skin, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was his cock filling you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Soldier Boy cursed and muttered the praise. His husky voice cascaded over you. You didn’t reply, but he seemed pleased with the fact that you couldn’t. You were doing everything in your power to not let out embarrassingly loud noises.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with panting breaths from you both.

He brought his hand down and pressed his thumb against your clit. Soldier Boy flicked his eyes up to you, watching your face contort in further ecstasy.

He was fervorous, putting everything he had into fucking you. It was going to be quick, he couldn’t hold back much longer,, but he wanted you to come with him.

He kept up his motions, pounding into you, filling you over and over again.

You grasped at his back suddenly, digging your nails in as your body tensed and the knot in your belly exploded. Soldier Boy groaned loudly as your body tensed and shivered around him. You couldn't hold back your moan that time.

That sent him spiraling into his own release.

One, two, three—Soldier Boy slammed into you a final time. You felt his cock twitch. He shuttered above you. Then, he was spilling inside of you. You should’ve stopped him, but you wanted to feel him fill you up.

Soldier Boy let out a heavy exhale and practically collapsed on top of you. He nestled his head into your neck, nose brushing against your ear. The feel of his cock stuffing you full, his come dripping down your thigh, and the weight of his body was all consuming. You couldn’t deny that you loved the feeling.

You ran your hands across his muscular back, listening to his heavy breathing in your ear and his heart pounding from the exertion.

There were no words spoken between you two for several moments as you each caught your breath.

“I’ll take him out,” Soldier Boy muttered into your neck, catching you off guard. It took you a second to register his words, but when you did, you turned your head to look at him. Just in tandem with him to lift himself to hover over you. He planted his hands steady to hold himself up. Your noses were only a few inches apart and you could feel light puffs of breath coming from him against your face.

“What?” you couldn’t help but ask, stunned and wanting to be sure you heard him right.

“That supe you hate,” he clarified. “I’ll kill him for you.” Soldier Boy raised his hand and brushed a few strands of hair back from your face. “If that’s what you want.”

You swallowed. “Yeah,” you told him, nodding slightly. “I want you to.”

“Alright then,” he confirmed with uncharacteristically tranquil demeanor. Seeing a gentle, oddly caring smile instead of a sleazy smirk on his face threw you off.

You thought Soldier Boy was going to lean down to kiss you—he looked like he wanted to—but something caught his attention. He lifted his head towards the door.

That’s when you heard it. The door knob rattled..

A devious grin crossed Soldier Boy’s face. It suited him better than the previous expression.

“Oh shit,” you cursed, knowing what was about to happen and that you couldn’t prevent it.

You turned your head towards the door, just in time to see Butcher and Hughie walking back in.

#quin-ns writing #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #the boys #the boys season 3 #jensen ackles #the boys x reader #soldier boy smut #the boys smut #jensen ackles x reader

5K notes · View notes

dindjiarin · 1 year

Text

The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader

gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here

Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.

WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.

A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.

"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids."

A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.

Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.

Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.

"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"

"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."

The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.

"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.

Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.

As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat."

"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.

You continue, “And you need something to relax.”

At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.”

“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow.

The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face.

“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”

Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze.

The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.

As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.

“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”

Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.

Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”

***

The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options.

Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart.

After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?

You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.

Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours.

“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.

The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod.

When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave.

You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you.

“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you.

Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.”

“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.”

His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”

"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter.

The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch.

You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.

Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled.

“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch.

The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.

“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.

He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.

You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.

But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.

“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.

“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”

Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.

Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.

“Show me who did this."

Cold, calm, his words are a promise.

Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.

Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.”

The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.

“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.”

Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.

The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined.

He gently flexes his hand, letting go.

____________________________________

As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.

But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.

The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.

It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself.

Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go.

Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.

Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”

He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.

“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you.

Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.

“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.

Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell.

The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster.

“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.

You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”

The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.

Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy.

“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.

Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.

“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.”

You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.

Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”

Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.

Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning.

"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”

The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.

Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures.

Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid.

___________________________________

“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.”

On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.

The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away.

The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much.

For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.

Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you.

Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him.

All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.

It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.

Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing.

At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.

You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.

Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.

A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.

"Oh!"

The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand.

"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."

Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.

"Do you not get cold?"

"I do."

"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.

"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather."

"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.

The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.

"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."

"The name is quite literal, then?"

"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.

He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded.

"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.

"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.

You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.

“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur.

Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.

Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.

"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire.

You frown, "No one does."

Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.

Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."

Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.

"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.

"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically.

"I need to separate you two."

"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand.

Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.

"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief.

It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.

Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.

"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family."

The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.

"I cannot teach you the methods of your people."

“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.”

Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”

Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about.

“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.”

“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”

Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest.

The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu.

But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man.

***

Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.

Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches.

_________________________________________

Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.

You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning.

“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.

“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.

“Why? He’s a baby.”

Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."

“He's what?”

Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father.

“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.”

“Uh, yeah. Fifty?”

Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure.

“Is fifty so terrible?”

Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull.

Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?”

The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.

“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.”

You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.

Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”

He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you.

“I will teach you what I can.”

***

Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same.

“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks.

“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement.

Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.”

You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”

Din closes his eyes in frustration.

You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”

Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you.

Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”

Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod.

“Of course. For the kid.”

__________________________________

Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy.

An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder.

The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts.

Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.

Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.

__________________________________

Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin.

While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling.

Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best.

“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front.

“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.

The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.

Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.

“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.

“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”

Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.

He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor.

Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.”

Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air.

“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”

That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.

“Tell me.”

Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth.

“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face.

Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.

You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.

"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”

Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke.

Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.

Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.

You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -”

“What you thought was wrong.”

Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.

“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.”

The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted.

Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.

“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.

Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation.

Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.

His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.

“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach.

“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time.

He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.

His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?

His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.

Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end.

Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches.

“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”

He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time.

Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.

Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria.

Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.”

He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble.

The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated.

“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.

You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.

“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp.

He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.

“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.

“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.

He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.

He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.

Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability.

Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting.

“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this.

“Turn over,” he orders.

Of course, you obey without hesitation.

His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief.

“You okay?” He rumbles.

Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.”

He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.

The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.

Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.

***

In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.

“What is it?”

“Your life is not the only one that has changed.”

Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love.

“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly.

___________________________________

Tagging:

@morks-watermelon

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #pedro pascal #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #my writing #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #my fics #personal #grogu

1K notes · View notes

moonstrider9904 · 17 days

Text

That Old Song

Pairing: Crosshair x Female Reader

Summary: After pining after him for months, you get the chance to see Crosshair one more time before he ships out with his squad to Kaller.

Tags: SFW. Kissy-kiss, pre-relationship, general softness, implied tragic romance

Word count: 1693 words

Read on AO3 | My one-shot masterlist

This one was inspired by That Old Song from the Slime Rancher soundtrack because it gives me tragic romance vibes and even though I always wanna give Crosshair a happy ending, I really felt inspired to explore the more tragic side of canon because we all know what happens to him by this point (and season 3's not even over lol Lord help us)

The sky turned purple as the sun on Anaxes began to set. The warm toned twilight would always bring a sense of foreboding with it, but you were used to it. The hangar on Anaxes was not a front line, but it was still a warzone, and war didn't discriminate. It took away, it destroyed, it forced goodbyes, but like the stars that were rising in the ever-darkening sky, there were always gleams of hope that traced finer, beautiful shapes if you knew how to look for them.

He was such a glimmer, at least to you.

You hadn't stepped a foot inside the base since the Havoc Marauder landed. Though repairs and refueling were insistently handled by the team's own engineer, you had the honor of being the only mechanic around whom Tech would even allow to set a finger on the hull of the modified Omicron-class attack shuttle. While he was off running diagnostics and the rest of the squad loaded up on rations, you were finishing up putting away the supplies you'd needed for a standard oil change. You caught the scent of the oil coming from your gloves, which you carefully removed to reveal your hands, the skin on them soft and surprisingly well taken care of despite your profession. At that moment, you could hear the subtle pacing behind you, and a gentle smile formed on your lips. You'd had so many encounters with them that, while short, had already allowed you to recognize how each of the defective clones walked - you'd gotten the chance to know such a detail from many clone battalions, but you didn't enjoy knowing any of them as much as you did for Clone Force 99.

The steps approaching you were light as a feather resulting in lifelong training for stealth, and long resulting in a tall silhouette. Carefully paced one after the other, you knew he was already smirking at the sight of you. It was simply who he was.

You turned around and your eyes landed on the silver hair and the deep brown eyes that would reflect sunlight so beautifully whenever a golden ray hit them just right - that was the only thing that made you yearn for sunshine in the middle of that twilight. Regardless, you couldn't help but grin at the man approaching you. Being in his presence was everything that occupied your thoughts when he was gone.

"Thought you'd be here," he said while chewing on a toothpick.

The giggle that left you was just a bit too obvious for your taste, but you muscled through it. "Aren't you smart."

"I hope you haven't been here all week," he teased. "I don't tell you when I'll be here in my letters for you to tie yourself to the hangar."

"It might surprise you to know I'm always exactly where I need to be," you smirked, your hands traveling to your hips. "I just happen to be needed here right now."

Crosshair, who was always so stern and so serious, let out a chuckle in front of you. The way others talked about him, even his brothers, you were already sure by then that you were one of the only people he ever did that around, and the low sound of his laughter and the way his chest fluttered when he did made you feel your knees giving out on you. Finally, Crosshair took a couple of calculated steps toward you, decreasing some of the distance between the two of you. He looked down at you, silent for a moment, so peaceful you could hear the wind blowing at your sides. Despite the cool breeze, all you could feel on your skin was heat.

"Have you heard the rumors?" You asked him.

Crosshair nodded, the seriousness returning to his face. "Yeah. War's ending soon."

Sarcasm flooded his previous remark, and you gave him a bittersweet smile. "You don't seem all that happy about it."

"It's not that," Crosshair replied. "I'm not in a position to assert or expect anything."

"Right," your mind went back to your initial pondering on the cruelties of war, but you decided to focus on the man in front of you. "Will you be headed to Coruscant?"

Crosshair shook his head. "We're needed on Kaller."

"Oh," you said. "I see. Kaller... snowy, full of clankers."

"My specialty," Crosshair purred.

You giggled. "So... maybe it's safer to say that I'll see you again soon?"

As you were talking to him, you inched closer to Crosshair. Your hands were down at your sides, but you couldn't help but notice how close his hands were to yours, and how easy it would be to reach out and touch his gloved fingers with your bare ones. What you hadn't realized up until that moment, even with all the letters and the hours you'd spent thinking about Crosshair, was how desperately you needed to hold him, and to be held by him.

But Crosshair sighed, hesitant. "Darling..."

"We haven't been sending each other letters for months now just because," you whispered. "Have we?"

A faint smile appeared on his thin lips. "No."

Your own smile, though soft, grew at him, and your eyes seemed to sparkle.

"Crosshair..." You sighed, the dreaminess finding its way into your voice.

He couldn't help but laugh again. "Well, damn. You really are smitten."

Flustered, you looked away, but Crosshair reached out to gently hold your chin and have you look up at him again. He took in the way you were looking at him, with sparkling eyes and an adorable smile, your cheeks warm and your silhouette glowing with hope, like a girl first entranced by puppy love. Your hand went up to perch itself over his wrist, but as you did, your romantic heart stilled itself when the thought of him leaving soon bled into your mind, forcing the smile to slowly disappear from you.

"What is it?" He asked.

You chuckled bashfully. "I just..."

You feared the effect of your words, you feared that it would put a pressure on him that he didn't need, one that no soldier deserved to be burdened with. But inside you, a flame burned, one that prompted you to simply speak now, to not hold back, to not reduce yourself and your feelings to letters and comms. Crosshair, the man of your dreams, finally stood before you, his hand on your skin. You would never forgive yourself if you wasted this opportunity now that you had it.

Because how in the world could you have known what happened next?

"I just don't want you to leave," you whispered. "I never do."

Crosshair gave a soft exhale as he rolled the toothpick to the opposite corner of his lips and spat it out to the side only to look at you again, his gaze turning gentle on you. His other hand traveled up to your face, and now he cupped your cheeks with a steady, soft grip.

"Would it help if I told you I don't want to leave you here either?" He asked.

You smiled softly. "It's nice to know that."

Your eyes met, and you were overtaken by the desire to collapse in his arms and become one with him. You valued each second you'd been gifted to look at his face; your gaze traced the tattoo over his right eye, memorizing the little textures where the ink seemed to falter - you'd never noticed it wasn't a solid line, it looked like it'd been drawn over the artisanal canvas of his skin. You basked in his warmth as your hands reached out to his waist, and you pulled yourself closer to him, and while you did, part of you wanted to curse and lash out at the fact that you hadn't done this sooner.

But you were there now, and that was enough to calm you. And if the war was ending, you wanted to cling to the hope that you'd be in the arms of your beloved again soon.

"Crosshair?" You asked.

With his gaze, he prompted you to continue.

"I..." you said. "I want to kiss you."

Crosshair didn't wait longer, and he slowly lowered himself to gently press his lips to yours. You felt as if every star in the sky above you would explode at that moment, and your arms slid up around Crosshair's shoulders while his slid around your waist. A kiss that started out softly didn't hesitate to become what you could only describe as romance itself, fully engulfing you both in one wavelength as your lips danced together, timeless in your own right. Softly, you moaned at his taste, and you vowed never to forget the sensation of his lips on yours, warm and intoxicating, like it would give you everything you'd ever need for the rest of your days.

You never wanted it to end, but the time came for Crosshair to set you down again. You hadn't even noticed when you'd started to stand on your toes, but when the soles of your feet were back on the ground, you looked up at him with hope, with love, and with the unspoken desire to scream "don't go" building up and eating you up inside.

With all those feelings in your gaze, looking at you nearly broke Crosshair's heart.

Your hands gently traveled to Crosshair's cheeks and you felt his stubble growing in beneath your fingertips. You gave a light chuckle and added that detail to the many you'd remember from that night, and finally, you smiled brightly at Crosshair.

"Let me know where you end up after Kaller," you said.

Crosshair smiled softly. "You know I will."

You knew it would be time for him to leave soon, so you resolved to be with him in the time you had left. You threw your arms around Crosshair and held him tighter than you'd ever held anyone. You didn't mind the armor under your soft body, all that mattered was you were holding him.

And fervently, during those last few moments, you prayed neither Kaller nor whatever came after it would take him away from you.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#moonstrider writes #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #tbb reader insert #the bad batch fanfic #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #crosshair #clone force 99 #the bad batch #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #crosshair x you #tbb

110 notes · View notes

cameliawrites · 1 month

Text

Kanej Fic Recs: The "Figuring Out Intimacy" Trope

If you're anything like me, you're a glutton for very specific fic tropes applied to your very favorite OTPs (and we all know my OTP of OTPs is kanej). To this end, ao3 tags are your best friend. When you see that delicious combination of tags like "emotional hurt/comfort" and "healing" and "pining" with some sort of moody, vaguely poetic title, that's the good shit right there. That is a MEAL, and you are about to feast.

Anyways. I'm getting off track.

I come to you today with more than just an offering to the potluck; I am here to open up the doors to the whole damn buffet. That's right - FIC RECS. Specifically, fic recs that scratch the particular itch for "post-canon fics where Kaz and Inej figure out how to touch each other, but really the Physical Armor is always symbolic of the Emotional Armor that they have to learn to lower if they hope to ever really Be Together." Do you know what I'm talking about? If you know, you know. It's kanej figuring out intimacy. It's touch, but it's about the way they touch each other's souls. It's a fandom-classic fic trope. FEAST AWAY. (And feel free to reblog and add any of your own favorites! This is certainly not an exhaustive list, just some favorites of mine that fit the bill.)

They're all complete, they're all canon compliant (I had to set some limitations because my list was getting out of hand lol), and they're listed in order of rating (T, M, etc.), but otherwise they're in no particular order, and the summaries and/or most of the excerpts are those provided by the authors on ao3!

Can We Stop? by thegoldenkneazle (Rated G, 220 words, drabble)

Excerpt:

Kaz immediately drew back, rolling over onto his side of the creaky bed to create space between them. “Are you okay?” he asked, dark eyebrows drawing together.

Every Time We Touch by Pokemon67 (Rated G, 1k words, oneshot)

Summary: "Inej hadn't been exaggerating. It wasn’t easy for her either."

Excerpt:

She couldn’t quite recall how they’d ended up here, in Kaz’s room, on his bed. She was perched on his legs, right in front of him, and if she raised her head she could look into his eyes count the little flecks of gold the light always teased to her were there.

Uncharted Waters by insignificant457 (Rated T, 5k words, oneshot)

Summary: "One step on the long and winding road to intimacy."

Excerpt:

Perhaps Inej should be insulted that she’s been penciled into Kaz’s schedule, fit snugly in between a Crow Club shareholders’ meeting and a parley with the Liddies, but when it comes to taking steps forward in their relationship, romantic spontaneity is not exactly something they can afford.

Council of the Tides by blacktag189 (Rated T, 15k words, multichap)

Excerpt:

With each tiny step forward they made, the urgency to be pulled out to sea still built. She couldn't ignore the brutal truth in that - that no matter how much he gave her here...one day everything would align just right and she would leave. But today wasn't that day.

Discover the Rest by Silver_89 (Rated T, 4k words, oneshot) (note: restricted to ao3 account holders)

Summary: "Post Crooked Kingdom fic where Kaz and Inej have made some progress with touch but touch is not the only progress Inej wants to see from him. She wants to know him too."

Excerpt:

Inej didn’t share much about her time at the Menagerie...And yet she had shared that she struggled with touch too. He understood why. But she didn’t know why he was the same. I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all. It was time he tried taking it off.

All Flowers in Time (Bend Towards the Sun) by laurie_ipsum (Rated M, 10k words, multichap)

Summary: "Does this fandom need yet another Kaz and Inej figure out intimacy fic? Probably not, but I did it anyway."

Excerpt:

Kaz wants all his firsts. It’s written in his eyes, on his face, in every line of his body. She can tell it terrifies him. It terrifies her, too.

One Thousand and One Nights by Trogdor19 (Rated M, 11k words, multichap)

Summary: "One new touch, every night…"

Excerpt:

He dips his head, his cheekbone brushing against hers so quietly it’s like the way she moves. So silkily between shadows no one’s ever quite sure it happened. 'Wait for me,' he breathes. The letters barely given enough air to shape them.

The Trouble With Wanting by A_nonnie_mouse (Rated M, 6k words, oneshot, part of a series)

Summary: "Inej begins to reckon with her own armor so she can have what, and who, she wants."

Excerpt:

“Kaz.” She was frustrated at his self-deprecation. “Please understand. My mind wants you. My heart longs for you. My body…” She struggled for words, the shame rising again, threatening her eyes with tears. “My body isn’t entirely convinced something horrible isn’t going to happen again. This wasn’t because of you. You understand that, don’t you?”

show me where my armor ends (show me where my skin begins) by kingsandqueensofthebarrel (Rated M, 25k words, oneshot)

Excerpt:

“You’re something I want, Wraith,” he says, his tone all business like. “And I don’t stop until I have what I want.” “That could have sounded romantic.” “It’s a fact.” She hums and squeezes his hand.

collision course by cameliawrites (Rated M, 10k words, oneshot) (shameless self-promotion)

Excerpt:

Inej adjusts to Kaz the way that winter adjusts to spring: she thaws, and thaws, and thaws—and then she utterly melts.

you're a bandit like me, eyes full of stars by sarathedreamer (Rated M, 54k words, multichap, part of a series)

Summary: "Kaz and Inej learning to be with one another after Crooked Kingdom (events in Rule of Wolves might be mentioned in later chapters but you'll be warned!) Basically a slow burn filled with angst and fluff, and little plot :)"

Excerpt:

She blushed and felt a smile tug at her lips, so she looked down at his hand, held up in front of her like an invitation. His fingers were barely shaking. Inej looked back up at his eyes, asking a silent question once more, and Kaz nodded after a short hesitation. She gently cupped his hand in hers, fascinated by the softness of it, by the way two of hers were not quite enough to hold one of his. No one but she could know how graceful Dirtyhands’ weapons were under his gloves, and that was another one of his secrets she would gladly keep close to her chest.

Things We Can Never Do by rainstormdragon (Rated E, 3k words, oneshot, part of a series)

Excerpt:

They had done this before more than once. First words, then their hands on their own bodies. Gasped encouragement and shared fantasies. “Tell me what you’d want to do,” he urged her, not moving even a hair’s breadth toward her, giving her the safety of the space between them. “Tell me what you’d want me to do.”

Closer by lilieswho (Rated E, 7k words, oneshot)

Excerpt:

There is a deep desire crawling under Inej’s skin. It’s a feeling she’s begun to grow used to by now — the feeling of wanting someone, wishing for their touch and hoping they wish for hers back. Not someone’s, no. Kaz’s.

If you've made it all the way to the end of this rec list (hi!! thanks!), you should absolutely reply to or reblog this post with your favorite "kanej figure out intimacy" fic, whether it's on this list or something else! :) Support your local organic pasture-raised fic authors, etc. etc.

#fic recs #kanej

58 notes · View notes

ageless-aislynn · 2 months

Text

Title: “15 Minutes” (9/?) Author: @ageless-aislynn Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You're in peril but don't be afraid, help is near. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating: T (PG13) Length: 2,568 (this chapter, 22,261 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Trigger warning: claustrophobia Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N: Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you’ll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we’ll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 10 is in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞 The tags have been updated for hurt/comfort starting with this chapter. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger @mysardencut @laurenstacy610 @sporadicbelievernightmare @ultrablackwidower @bxmxtx @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Trigger warning again: claustrophobia If you need to avoid the actual scene, skip the entire first section but there will be a lot of mentions of it again through the rest of the chapter, just so you're aware. I don't want to cause any distress to anyone so if you'd like a recap of what happens in this chapter, feel free to contact me here and I'm happy to oblige so you can stay in-the-know without reading something that could trigger a bad reaction. Stay safe, my friends! 🤗

You tried to gasp in a breath but there was a weight pinning you down. Smoke burned your lungs and your eyes. Your left arm couldn't move but you were able to bring your right hand up to wipe your face, trying to clear your vision. The only light in the rubble came from a shower of sparks a few feet away, emitting from a panel half-ripped from the wall. There was very little to orientate yourself by.

"Hello?" you tried to call but you couldn't take a deep enough breath to yell. The muffled ring in your ears told you that at least one of your eardrums had ruptured.

Evaluate, you thought in the tone you used when triaging patients, shoving down a wave of panic. You tried to squeeze out from under whatever was pressed across your back. No good, too much weight.

There wasn't a tremendous amount of pain but you worried at the numbness from your waist down, behind whatever was restraining you.

Evaluate.

You tested moving your legs, your feet, your toes. It felt strange but yes, you had movement.

Spinal cord potentially compromised but not severed, you diagnosed as clinically as possible.

Something overhead gave an alarming groan.

Alert help. Report your position.

"Hello? I'm by the crane operator booth. Can anyone hear me?"

You couldn't get the volume you wanted and you automatically tried to inhale deeper. You couldn't and had to fight another wave of panic. The animal part of your brain wanted to claw the twisted metal of the deck, trying to squirm free, but when you twitched, something above you groaned again.

You had no way to know how perilous the collapsed structure was. A wrong move could bring it all down.

A fresh wave of smoke irritated your nose and you coughed weakly. From far away, you heard the muffled sound of a woman saying your rank and last name.

"Here," you choked out. "I'm here."

A blue light shimmered a few feet away, the lower half of a blue-tinted woman, her upper body phased through the rubble. Then she shrank until she fit the space, adjusting like a camera lens. A hologram.

She repeated your rank and last name. "We have your location," she said, your damaged hearing distorting her voice. "Sit tight, a rescue crew is on their way."

You tried to respond but the smoke triggered more coughing, so you nodded.

"I'll stay with you for as long as the holo-emiter holds," she said, gesturing towards the ruined wall panel that continued to spark.

"Thank you," you managed to say. "Casualties?"

She glanced up and away as if receiving new information. "Reports coming in of injuries but no fatalities. Your alert gave enough time for almost everyone to get clear."

"Good." You made yourself slow your breathing down, taking shallow breaths since you couldn't take deeper ones. For a moment, your head swam and it felt like the floor tipped. Your fingers scratched for a hold on the crumpled metal.

The sound of your rank and name cut through the terror. "You're all right," the woman assured you. "You're not falling. Try to stay still. Silver Team will be back on site in a few more minutes. John will be here soon."

It gave you something to focus on other than bring trapped. The way she knew that the mention of John would comfort you, that she didn't call him Master Chief like most people did, even the mannerism of how she'd looked away, like someone was speaking in her ear...

"Your name wouldn't be Ms. Classified, would it?" you asked haltingly and tried to smile.

"That's... not inaccurate," she said and maybe it was your blurry vision but you could've sworn she gave you a fond smile, like she knew you. "I'm not supposed to tell my name."

You tried to say it was all right but couldn't draw enough breath.

"Ah, screw it," she said. "What are they going to do, fire me? My name is Cortana."

You must've blacked out because the next thing you knew, she was kneeling next to you, her small holographic hand resting atop your outstretched arm as she repeated your rank and name.

If you could get a breath, you needed a good, solid breath. Your chest instinctively fought to expand but couldn't beneath the pressure bearing down on your back. Something above you slid and the pressure abruptly worsened. You clawed, you fought, you struggled to breathe. To live.

"John, get here now! The support beam is failing!"

"Not his fault," you tried to say. "Tell him. Not his--"

Metal screamed and everything went dark.

You woke, grasping at nothing. You still couldn't get a deep breath but this time you were on your back and it felt like someone had laced a corset brutally tight around you.

"Easy there. You're all right," said a deep voice.

Your vision swam and then Spartan Vannak-134 appeared out from the dim lighting. You were still clawing at the air, trying to sit up, and he caught your hand a little awkwardly in his much larger ones.

"Where?" you gasped.

"You're back on Reach, in medical."

Once he said it, details emerged like a black and white picture filling in with color: the beeps of the monitors, the distinctive antiseptic smell. Your hearing was still deadened but not as much as before, meaning they had already begun healing therapies on your eardrums.

Anything you might've wanted to say dissolved like sugar on your tongue before the words could be spoken. Your head seemed too full. I'm drugged, you thought and that was the last thing you knew for a while.

Voices drew you from the murky depths and you tried to open your eyes but couldn't.

"Hold her hand," Vannak said in a quiet rumble. "She likes that."

A new hand gently folded around yours and your fingers instinctively gripped hold.

You woke, feeling the phantom press of metal bearing down on you, forcing the air from your lungs. You tried to sit up, your limbs flailed, uncoordinated and leaden. A second hand closed around yours and a feminine voice began to softly sing, a lullaby in a language you didn't recognize.

The room was blurry but you caught a glimpse of red hair -- Spartan Riz-028. You went under once more, dreaming of music that soothed your fears.

Later, there was a new voice to lure you up from the sticky darkness.

"Poor little thing. She looks so small."

"She'll heal. Hold her hand, it helps."

At some point, you jolted awake to find your hand cradled carefully within Kai's.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter in the chair next to the bed. "You need anything?"

Your head felt less stuffed with cotton than before but now that cotton seemed to have been transferred to your mouth. "Water?" you croaked.

She jumped up and returned shortly, carrying a cup with a straw in it. You intended to sit up but a searing pain in your ribs immediately convinced you that was a bad idea and you let her help you by holding the straw to your lips.

"Slowly," she advised.

Once you'd taken a couple of sips, you mumbled your thanks then promptly passed out.

You thought you'd closed your eyes for a brief moment but when they fluttered open, it wasn't Kai sitting in the chair, holding your hand.

As soon as John knew you were awake, he was on his feet, carefully brushing the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of your cheek.

You mouthed his name.

"Rest," he said. "I'm here. You're safe."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you truly felt as if you were. Your mind let go.

"And how's our favorite mech, the Hero of the Pit?"

"That's not a very heroic name," you confessed, smiling as Maria and then Jamie entered medical.

You were sitting on the side of the bed in generic gray scrubs, waiting for Dr. Savannah to give you final instructions before your release. It had been two days since the explosion. Your hearing had, thankfully, returned to normal. The rest of you... not so much but you were on the mend.

They both gave you careful hugs.

"You look a lot less like you were squashed by a building," Jamie said sincerely and Maria punched his arm. "Hey, that was a compliment!"

"Don't make me laugh," you begged, holding your left side. They'd fused your broken ribs back together but the tissue damage would take longer to resolve. Still, aches, pains, limited motion and all, you knew you were very lucky.

"I hope they're giving you a nice vacation, at least," Maria went on.

"I should be ready for light duty in a week."

"Technically, I said we'd evaluate you for light duty in a week," Dr. Savannah corrected as she entered. "Afraid your friends will have to catch up with you later."

They said their goodbyes and, as they left, you started to stand. The doctor quickly said, "No, you don't. I don't want you walking on that leg."

"It's not broken," you argued.

"Not anymore," she countered. "Stay put. I got you a ride."

"I don't need to be wheeled back to the barracks." You tried to keep your tone confident but the truth was even that little bit of exertion had left you feeling twinges all along your left leg. Your left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Well, good thing you're wrong on both counts," she said, winking. "And here he is now."

John came through the door, dressed in his undersuit as if either about to head to the Brokkr stations to have his Mjolnir mounted up or returning from having it removed. You didn't even realize you'd moved to rise again until Dr. Savannah put a practiced hand on your good shoulder to keep you down.

"I'll be sending PT to you twice a day, starting tomorrow," she said. "They'll help you to get your strength and mobility back. Around that, rest. Catch up on your reading, watch some thoroughly trashy movies, and keep your feet up. Not too far up, though. Nothing too strenuous. Make him do all of the work."

That got you to look at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

John cleared his throat slightly, a faint but definite flush creeping up from his collar. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, see you back in a few days, sooner if anything else develops. You know what to watch for."

It wasn't until she stepped back and John approached that it clicked.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated in a murmur that shivered straight down your spine.

Since your left side had taken the brunt of the damage, he put your right to his chest and cautiously picked you up in a bridal carry. Despite the care, being moved set a thousand things to hurting and your breath hitched as he straightened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, your tone tighter than you would've liked. You thought, I hope nobody sees me being toted around like this, but, as soon as you left medical, you realized that no one was actually looking at you.

I think if Master Chief offered to drop me and pick up any marine, ODST or officer in this hall, they'd be hopping into his arms before I even hit the floor!

At the first turn he made, you realized the rest of it. "This isn't the way to the barracks."

"Nope," he said and you knew him well enough now to see the hint of a smile in his eyes.

You didn't have to wait for further clues, there was only one place, then, that he could be taking you. "How many strings did you have to pull for this?"

"Not as many as you might think," he demurred. "Your actions saved lives."

And they could've blamed you for failing to make sure a bomb hadn't been sent to the Pit in the first place. The curly tailed Warthog had been your responsibility, after all. You'd been curtly informed of all that when they'd debriefed you the first day you'd had your eyes open for more than 15 minutes.

You doubted they'd told that to John, though.

When you reached his room, he maneuvered so to get his thumb on the panel without jostling you too much. The lights came on as he took you through the doorway and then he paused.

"Kai," he rumbled, shaking his head. "She said studies show people heal better with color. I should've known she'd overdo it. Say the word and I'll have her in here clearing this out."

"It's your room," you said, "but personally, I love it."

The duvet on the bed and the pillows on the couch were now a rainbow of jewel tones. A tapestry with a field of sunflowers dominated the wall at the foot of the bed and you could've sworn there was a dusting of diamond glitter shimmering on every wall, sending tiny holographic rainbows through the air in all directions. But the main thing that caught your attention was overhead.

"She put up stars," you said, brightening.

"Ah, that one was actually me," he confessed. "You seemed to really like those in her room so I thought..."

You stretched up in his arms, inhaling a little sharply at the stab of pain in your left side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love them, John. Thank you."

A short time later, you found yourself lying on the bed in the darkened room, looking up at those stars. John had profusely apologized for not being able to stay after getting you settled in. He'd turned down the bed so you wouldn't have to, had put your padd close at hand on the nightstand to the right along with a bottle of water and a couple of emergency ration packs in case you got hungry before someone bought you a meal. He'd even procured you a set of unthinkably soft civvies to change into, exactly your size and in your favorite color.

You couldn't imagine that a Spartan had ever taken care of a sick or wounded person before, other than in a battlefield triage situation, so he'd probably found a checklist from somewhere to guide him. His earnestness to make sure he'd done everything right sent warmth flooding through you.

Before he left, he'd paused to kiss the top of your head.

"You know," you said, lifting your chin, "my lips aren't broken."

He hesitated. "The last time I did that, an entire base fell on you."

"Only the warehouse part," you said dismissively, "and there was absolutely no correlation, I promise."

He tried to smile at that but his eyes still showed concern.

"I promise," you repeated more seriously and he exhaled as if about to make a tremendous leap. His kiss was so soft and gentle, it was barely more than a whisper against your mouth.

Once he had left, you'd considered taking Dr. Savannah's advice and watching a holo, reading something on your padd, or doing any number of things to pass the time but ultimately, you'd wanted to appreciate his handiwork.

After all, it wasn't just anybody who could say a Spartan had literally hung the stars for them.

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#master chief x reader #x reader #john-117 x reader #fic: 15 minutes #series: how to date a spartan without even trying #ageless aislynn #aislynn's fics #aislynn's fic

75 notes · View notes

thecreelhouse · 4 months

Text

part time soulmate, full time problem

Paring: Gator Tillman x Alt Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns) || MDNI!

Summary: While you and Gator brace yourselves for your inevitable departure in two days, feelings threaten to break the surface for both of you. Amidst that, your families come home unexpectedly, and the past comes back to throw one last punch your way.

Word count: 6.3k

CW/Tags: PTSD, domestic/familial abuse (physical and emotional), violence and descriptions of violence, brief weight mention/fatphobia, gun mention, misogyny, alcoholism, death mention, dissociation, no smut this chapter (sry y’all!!), hurt/comfort, fluff

Series Masterlist // Read on AO3

A/N: I realized when I finished writing this chapter I can’t remember if it was mentioned in the show if Gator lived on his own or not, so if it’s not canon, whoops lol. Please take all of the tags into consideration before reading. If any of this is upsetting to you and you need to skip this one, I completely understand. Take care of yourselves first babes!! Next chapter will be back to the filth lol promise, and it only goes up from here. Thank you again for all the support on this series on here and AO3 🫶🏻

Day 8

It takes five whole days for the snowstorm to end. With your face pressed up against the window, you can’t believe your eyes, fogging up the glass with your breath.

“Am I dreaming? Do you see this?” Your fingers are splayed on the frigid cold glass, tingling over the temperature contrast.

Gator tiredly shuffles up behind you, “No, ‘cause your big head’s in the way, freak.” His arms slide around your hips while he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Why is your chin so boney? Quit stabbin’ my head with it, jerk.” You reach back to his face, shoving your now freezing hands on his cheeks; Gator yelps at the sharp cold touch.

“Get your corpse hands offa’ me,” He grumbles, large hands grabbing yours and pinning them to your sides. “Can ya’ at least let me wake up fully before you start misbehavin’?”

“The sun’s out!” You’re ignoring his grumpiness, thrilled the snow is finally done burying the two of you alive in this house. There’s also a weird, subtle pang in your heart that being snowed in together is coming to an end. You kind of liked being in your own little corner of the world with Gator, even if you almost killed each other at first, while visiting home, also your least favorite place in the world.

“I gotta call someone to clear the driveway.” He draws off his vape, blowing it over your head. A fluffy, thick cloud hits the window, blocking your view. “No way in hell either of us are shoveling any of that by hand.” You want to tease him for having his vape on hand shortly after getting up, but you realize it’s not a good time for teasing. Gator’s mind is elsewhere as he lets go of you; you catch on to his moodiness, realizing it’s more than just trying to wake up.

Spinning around to face him, you let your backside rest against the window sill.

“Hey, you doin’ alright?” You glance up to see him fixated on something, or maybe nothing, outside, brows drawing together while he’s lost in thought. “Gator?”

He can’t bring his eyes to meet yours, void of any expression. Leaning forward, your hand slips into his, softly lacing your fingers between his, while your thumb strokes along his hand.

“You have to go back soon, don’t you?”

You’ve been desperately trying to avoid this conversation, but you can’t push it off any longer. It’s not fair to Gator. It’s not fair to you.

“T- two days… I was kinda wishin’ the flight would be canceled because of the storm… but that’s— that’s just my luck, I guess,” You stutter, quickly following with forced optimism. “But we have two whole days together! It’s better than nothing.”

“Was kinda wishin’ for that too, darlin’.” Gator murmurs, finally peering down at you. There’s a rare, vulnerable sadness in his eyes, and that sadness is infectious as hell; you don’t even fight the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Jesus, this was easier to think about when we hated each other a week ago.” You’re cracking a joke to lighten the mood, but neither of you crack a smile or even force a laugh at the comment.

Gator steps closer, releasing your hand to cradle your face in his hands; the motion forces you to really look him in the eye, but he’s blurry through your tears. He lightly kisses your forehead and doesn’t pull back. Your arms enclose around him with little grace, hoping if you hold on tight enough, neither of you have to leave this week, or even this moment, behind.

“If I’m bein’ honest…” His voice crumbles, throat drying up as he holds back his own tears. “…we never hated each other, did we?”

You shake your head before hiding your face in his shoulder, “Never did. Not really. I was just angry.”

“Yeah, but you had every right to be. You still do.” Gator’s well aware that the wound hasn’t fully healed, and this past week was only a heavy duty bandaid slapped on top. He’d understand if you never fully forgave him, or never fully trusted him again.

“You’re not as awful as you think you are, Gator. You… you were pretty rotten… but you’re not that person anymore.”

“I’m tryin’ not to be. Still got a long way to go.”

“That’s all you can and should do. Just shows you want to be a better version of yourself. You deserve another chance, you deserve to be l—“

You bite your tongue before the big, scary ‘L’ word can sneak out, and redirect.

“I think trying is brave. Admitting your past self wasn’t who you should’ve been, making efforts to change that, even small changes, it’s big. It’s really fucking big. It’s scary, but I believe in you. You never completely lost your true self, it was buried by all the shit you’ve been through.”

While appreciative of your encouragement, he shakes his head, “That’s not an excuse, though.”

“You’re right. But it explains it. I think it’s still important to acknowledge it. Nothing changes until you acknowledge the truth of things.”

“Fuckin-a…” Gator’s at a loss for words. He knows you’ve been through a lot of shit too. The both of you have, with a lot of parallels in the suffering you had both endured. Yet you turned your pain into something more for yourself, and Gator just… pushed his pain aside. Ignored it, as if it’d disappear on its own someday.

You knew he never had a choice, though. Not under this roof. Not with that fuckin’ terrible excuse of a father. Even when he became old enough to know better, it couldn’t have been easy to watch everyone and everything change for the better while stuck in this godforsaken, hollow place. He gets why you moved. There was no hope here. Not really for anyone.

It wasn’t that you thought every person had to have a big, adventurous move halfway across the country to grow as a human being, but there’s truths everyone has to face at some point, or you drag them behind you like a ball and chain until your leg snaps.

None of the abuse Gator survived was an excuse for who he was shaped into, but nothing can change without addressing the root cause head-on.

“I hate this place. I hate what it’s done to us both. I hate the bitterness we were both raised under, the fucked up values and beliefs… and speaking of, how the hell did our parents allow us to have sleepovers as kids?” You can’t help getting sidetracked, and it pulls a soft chuckle from Gator.

“You really are still a pro at distracting yourself.”

“Listen, my brain likes to try to jump ten steps ahead of my mouth, but then it just kinda trips and tumbles and—“

Like a familiar routine at this point, Gator cuts you off with a kiss, sickeningly sweet with whatever artificial fruity flavor he just inhaled, just as clumsy and heartfelt as all the others before. Usually, by now, you’d smile with his lips on yours, but all you can think of is how much you’re gonna miss the familiarity of his quirks that you’ve grown to love so quickly.

Fuck. There’s that word again.

Gator pulls back to answer your question, “There’s a reason we stopped havin’ sleepovers as kids, y’know.”

“What? Why?” You tilt your head in confusion. Gator laughs and looks away.

“Pretty sure your ma’ called my mom when ya’ started your period.” He snorts, face turning red. Your jaw drops.

“No way?! That was the reason?”

His eyes squint shut as he laughs harder, nodding as his head leans forward to rest against yours. “They thought we’d try to fuck around I guess, worried we’d be ‘tempted by the devil’ or whatever.” He’s laughing in between his words as he reminisces about the ridiculous logic, if it could even be called that. “I overheard the conversation and kinda connected the dots.”

“Oh my god, I was thirteen! I was still playing with dolls! I didn’t even know why periods were a thing. I still thought babies came from the stork!” You’re almost bothered finding this out so much later in life, but Gator’s laughter is always contagious to you; you let the annoyance go, noting how it’s only further proof the two of you had parents that believed in the most outlandish nonsense.

“Wait, you still believed the stork was a thing at thirteen?”

“….. Maybe.”

“Now look at ya’, you’re the one corrupting me.”

“Hey, it takes two to tango, freak.” You taunt back, grabbing the vape from his hands. “Haven’t seen this in a lil’ while, I’m surprised.”

“My mouth’s been busy with… other things lately.” He smirks as you roll your eyes, shoving the vape in his hands. He also pays no mind to the way you use his insult- now a weirdly endearing term- back at him. Again he inhales the nauseating sugary flavor, blowing it in your face like a dick. “Well, they didn’t do a very good job at keepin’ us pure, huh?”

You go to grab the vape back, but he simply holds it high above your head. “I’m gonna take that damn thing and throw it into the fuckin’ snow.”

“Yeah, alright, if you can even reach it from down there.” He’s twirling it between his fingers, waggling his brows at you. “You need a step stool?”

“I ain’t even that short, asshole.” You grumble, relaxing back against the window sill, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just shorter than you, and it’s only a few inches.

“Says every short person ever.” His playful comment is met with you flipping him off before moving on.

“Y’know, I can’t even be surprised about this whole thing about the sleepovers. Ma’ wouldn’t buy me tampons, only pads. She thought even that was too sinful.” You’re sputtering out the words with giggles, realizing how bonkers this all sounds out loud.

“We really had fucked up families.” He jokes, grimacing. “But I’m glad they made us hang out all the fuckin’ time.”

“We still have fucked up families.” You quip, but you watch Gator’s smile fade quickly. The laughter dissolves with it. You know exactly what’s on his mind, so you’re concerned, but cautious to ask, “You still miss her?”

You knew only that his mother, Linda, “disappeared”, leaving him behind as a kid. You were only aware of the small details of hell Roy put Nadine through, and how badly that fucked up Gator even more. And you’d have to be blind as a bat to not notice the way he’s numb to Karen’s existence in the family.

He forces a sigh out, shrugging it off. “It’s— it’s still hard to talk ‘bout.” He’s contemplating if he should talk about any of it, and if he did, where the hell he would even begin.

“Hey, it’s okay. No pressure. If you ever do wanna talk about any of that… or anything… you know I’m here for you.” Your arms envelope around him, giving a reassuring hug. “If, and when, you’re ready, I’m here. Always.”

Gator hugs back, tighter than your grip; it’s his response to your kind words, and you don’t push for anything further, and he’s grateful for that. Hand in hand, his calloused, slightly wind-bitten skin is another comforting familiarity to you as he pulls you towards the door.

“C’mon, freak, let’s find someone with a stupid fuckin’ snow plow and make breakfast before ya’ corrupt me further.” He looks back at you, with that signature, smug smirk you’ve grown to love.

There’s no denying it anymore. It’s love.

And you’re terrified.

———

The sunshine reflects off the snow, creating that whimsical, sparkly look over its smoothed over surface. But god damn, is it blinding.

Insisting you needed to learn about gun safety before ever even touching a gun, Gator drags you out into the frigid outdoors to try some target practice out in a field.

You’re bundled in multiple layers; leggings under your jeans, three pairs of socks in your boots, a cozy and worn hat you crocheted years ago with a matching scarf and mittens, and a combo of your leather jacket, Gator’s sweatshirt, and multiple shirts underneath. You’re still freezing, though, so you keep your hands pulled through the sleeves, holding them close to your body to keep them warm.

Gator’s in his bomber jacket, and usual, minimal layers— maybe just minimal to you, but you’re cold just looking at him— smirking at your get up. He’s wearing the neck warmer that you made him, though, blooming a certain kind of warmth and joy in your heart that he actually likes it.

Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of warmth that’ll actually keep you from freezing out here.

You glare behind your heart shaped sunglasses, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, shove it up your ass, Tillman.”

“You look like the kid from ‘A Christmas Story’, y’know, the one that can’t put his arms down—“

“Yeah, yeah, look who’s talkin’, Mr. ‘I wear 90s sport sunglasses only dads wear’.”

He whips them off his face, pointing to you with them. “Hey, watch it.”

“What? Ya’ gonna spank me for teasing you? Good luck through these layers.” You laugh, and Gator rolls his eyes in return, ignoring your comment before trudging on through the snow.

The snow barely melted, but the harsh winds smoothed it out to subtle, fluffy hills, only to feel crunchy when you step on them, boots falling through to the colder layers underneath. Somehow it makes the ranch look even more barren than usual. It’s like riding a bicycle, though, you never forget—

Except, you did. You forgot how to maneuver through any amount of snow larger than a foot, and you’re grumbling under your breath with annoyance that Gator dragged you out here, trying to lift your legs through the snow to walk properly.

You also forgot how to ride a bicycle, but that’s not important right now.

“Gator, I don’t wanna keep goin’, it’s cold.”

“It’s winter.”

“Really? I thought it was summer. I was actually hopin’ to go swimmin’.”

Gator sighs over your lazy sarcasm, continuing on with a few more crunchy steps, until he hears a faint, fluffy ‘thud’ behind him. Sucking in a breath to try and stop an inevitable snicker, he spins around to find you feet away, flopped over in a mound of snow, and— just your luck— face down. You roll over, pouting as snow speckled all over your face as it slowly melts against the heat of your body.

With frustration, you groan loudly, laying in the snow like a rag doll that’s given up. Backtracking, Gator looks down at you, smug as he mocks your pout with an over exaggerated one.

“You know what this is, right?” He’s referring to the air mattress incident.

Eyes narrowing at him, you grumble, “You and your karma can kiss my ass.” You flip him off with a bright red, painfully cold middle finger.

“Yeah? That a promise?”

“Gator.”

“Fine, c’mere,” He relents, standing over you and offers his hands out to you, waiting to pull you up. You reach back, but as his hands lock around yours, you use all your strength to pull him down into the snow with you. The loose, dusty snow puffs up and around him like confetti on impact. Landing face first, just as you did, he rolls over with a grunt, glaring at you. “You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

Grinning, you quip back, “Like you aren’t one in mine?” Gator opens his mouth to respond, probably with some snarky comment, but it dies on his lips when he gets a better glimpse of you.

Gator can’t resist admiring how pretty you look, even if you’re bundled up like a comical marshmallow, face wet and cold from the snow. The way the early setting sun reflects off the snow, into your eyes, illuminating the color of them. How the tip of your nose is flushed from the cold, cheeks in the same shade to match; it still looks cute on you. You’re panting, trying to catch your breath in the thin, winter air, but you’re still grinning like a dork at him, and he catches his own like a bad cold, hitting hard and all at once.

Your eyes are glued to his face, admiring the way his cheeks are tinted in the most subtle shade of red, thanks to the winter wind. How soft his smile is when he’s not being a smug little bastard, with lips chapped— I’m getting him some goddamn chapstick— and the bonus of the wound on his bottom lip from yesterday. All the little freckles and moles scattered across his skin, almost like little constellations you’re tempted to trace out. How the sun reflecting off the snow illuminates his eyes, too, adding an extra glow to his already warm eyes, brown and soft with flecks of hazel in them.

There’s no questioning it. No denial. You’re in love with Gator, the once gangly, awkward little kid you grew up with, now handsome and strong; a bit rugged around the edges while still secretly carrying a soft, heavy heart, filled with more kindness than he likes to believe. It terrifies you, to be in love with anyone, let alone your childhood best friend who ended up your enemy for years; when you came home, this was never even a thought that crossed your mind.

You didn’t even realize you still felt deeply for him, not even when you were crocheting a gift for him, not even when you were plucking glass and ceramic shards from his knees, and certainly not even when he took care of you after fucking around for the first time.

Maybe there was nothing to realize when it was there all along.

He’s a little winded from being pulled down by surprised, breathy as he begins to speak. “Hey, can I tell ya’ somethin’?”

Golden hour is taking over, blanketing the expanse of the property and beyond the horizon with hues of oranges and gold, purples and pinks; the two of you are painted in the stunning natural light, and you hope to God this is a good question, or the timing of whatever he’s about to ask could be absolute shit.

You nod, curious and a little nervous. “Yeah, f’course.”

Gator chuckles nervously before taking a deep breath, “I… I think I—“

An engine roars across the field near the house, interrupting Gator; wheels crunching along the snow packed down on the driveway from the plow that came through earlier. The two of you sit up quickly to see your father’s truck pulling up to the house, and your heart sinks. You immediately become nauseated and anxious at the sight; Gator can tell you’re frightened, slipping his cold hand into your soft, mitten-bundled one.

“I- I didn’t know they were gon’ be back tonight.” He can feel you trembling as you say that, voice shaking along too; you feel small, so wrapped up in the comfort and security you and Gator had created over the past week, only for that to be erased by the unexpected arrival of your families. Your mind races, scrambling to put together any vigilance and defense for whatever bullshit is about to come, for either of you.

It was tolerable to handle your parents when you first arrived in North Dakota, because you could prepare and brace yourself for their abuse. Right now though, where you should find peace in your vulnerability with Gator, you feel like you’re drowning in it, trying to claw your way through choppy waters that only slip between your fingers.

“M’not leavin’ your side, darlin’.” Gator reassures you, voice quiet, as if they can hear the two of you from this far away. Meanwhile, not a single one of them looks over in your direction, entering the house without a look back. “We can go back to my place tonight, if you’re alright with that.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. We can pack quick and get the fuck outta here. And I’ll take you to the airport when you gotta go in a few days.”

“Gator, that’s so outta the way for you—“

“M’not leaving you with your dad, I don’t trust that fu—“ He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so rude, he’s still your family.”

“Nah. He’s not. He’s never been, never will be. Bound by blood don’t mean shit.” You can feel your fear shifting into rage; taking deep breaths, you try to calm yourself, knowing you can’t waltz back in there hostile or bitter.

Gator stands and pulls you up, hand still secure in yours. He waits for you to take the first steps, not wanting to rush you into what could be a toxic situation.

When the pair of you reach the front porch, Gator asks, “Would ya’ feel better in the car? I can grab your stuff before we leave. I don’t mind.”

You shake your head, steeling yourself for whatever could, and would, happen beyond that door, before heading inside.

The warmth of the house isn’t enough to shake the cold from your bones. Your fathers are both at the kitchen table, glasses with dark liquor in both of their hands, while your mother’s already stuck at the stove; you can hear the faint sounds of Karen talking to the twins upstairs.

Your father looks up as he sees you walk in, Gator trailing behind. A sneering look upon his alcohol worn face.

“Whoa! Looks like someone gained some holiday weight since we left,” Your father slurs, laughing when his comment twists your face into offense.

Fucking moron, I’m under like, 60 layers of clothes.

“We were outside, I had layers on, y’know, ‘cause it’s winter.”

“Watch your tone, girl.” The last word radiates with disgust towards you.

Roy’s watching all of this, silently, letting your father spit hatred right off the bat. He sips his drink, shooting a glare at Gator, who has a hand pressed against the small of your back, reassures you he’s here. You can barely feel it through the inches of fabric, but the sentiment is all the same.

“Yer’ makin’ your poor mother slave over a hot stove ‘cause you couldn’t be bothered to have dinner ready for us.” He spits. You tense up, trying to hold your anger in.

“How was I supposed to know when you’d be home, you never said shit. You don’t have to force Ma to do anything. I ain’t obligated to do anything I don’t wanna, either.” Your voice threatens to break, but you hold yourself together. Your mother still won’t look at you. Won’t even address you’re in the room. “You could learn how to do somethin’ y’self for once.”

Your father shoves himself out of his chair, striding over to you; Gator can feel you try to make yourself small and hide. “Where the fuck are your manners, woman?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “Six feet under with your dead daughter, asshole.”

“Don’t you dare talk ‘bout Willow like that—“

“Like what, Pa?” It’s taking a toll on you mentally and physically already, to balance between standing your ground, calming yourself, and hiding your fear. Your fingers clench into fists at your sides. “Don’t try actin’ like you care now.”

“It’s yer fault she died, makin’ her drive in the snow like that—“

Gator attempts to step in, still feigning respect to keep whatever little peace was left. “Sir, you can’t be twistin’ the truth like that. A drunk driver took her life—“

“Gator, stay out of it.” Roy warns, and immediately Gator shuts himself up out of fear of retaliation.

“It’s true, y’know. She was the safest driver I knew in this town, even in the snow.” You back Gator up. “It wasn’t her fault. How dare you blame her when she can’t even defend herself.”

Because she’s gone. Forever.

“She shouldn’t have been drivin’ so young, but you talked her into that one.” Your father sneers; he’s not speaking out of anger that she’s gone, he’s fueled by the insistent need to always be right, to always keep control.

“Willow had to learn ‘cause home wasn’t safe for her! She needed a way out. You made her life a livin’ hell in every way possible! I had to learn how to mend my own wounds while I was under your roof, and I took care of hers, ‘cause we couldn’t go to the hospital. I kept Lo’ alive a lot longer than either of you would ever! You and Ma both were supposed to protect her, supposed t’love her!”

Cruelly, he barks out a laugh, “Not like you did much—“

“You fuckin’ listen to me right fuckin’ now, you sick fuck,” You’re much shorter than your father, but the rage makes you feel bigger than he ever could be. You’re pointing a firm finger into his chest, only making him stumble back a bit because he’s already drunk. “I did everythin’ I could for that sweet girl, I taught her how to drive, I helped her with homework nearly every night, I gave her a safe place to rest her head once I moved out of your fucked up house. She had hope with me by her side. She had a future set that you woulda’ never cared to give her. She worked so. Fucking. Hard. Some drunk fuck took that away, not me. Not the snow. A drunk driver that didn’t give a flyin’ fuck about anyone but himself—

“Which, by the way,” You turn to Roy, eyes glassy as you try holding back tears; Gator reaches out protectively to hold you back, but you still glare at Roy. “The driver only got a slap on the wrist ‘cause it was one of your buddies, huh? Did ya’ tell my parents that one? You useless piece of—“

A sharp sting tingles across your face, with numbness and a deafening ringing in your ears to follow; your father uses his wedding ring as a weapon of discipline as he backhands you across the face. Pain sets in, and you can feel yourself dissociate as your vision doubles; reaching up to your face, you pull your hand back and find blood dripping down your fingers. You can’t hear the way your mother gasps, or the way your father tells her to know her place.

You also don’t realize Gator let go of you to lunge at your father, slamming him against the wall with force that knocks the wind out of his lungs. The arm pinning him across his neck doesn’t help much with his shallow breathing, either.

“Gator—“

“Roy, shut the fuck up, for once in your fuckin’ life.” Gator spits before turning back to your father, pressure increasing on his throat as he lays his arm into him with almost all he’s got, without killing him, of course.

Everything is blurry to you, everything sounds like it’s underwater and miles away as you stumble back into a wall, leaning into it for support. The edges of your vision begin closing in, turning black. Your heart beats wildly, and your body is begging to hyperventilate.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass out.

“Touch her again, and I’ll make sure ya’ rot in a lonely, filthy cell ‘till the end of your days, you sick fuck.” Gator spits into your father’s face, which is slowly turning blue as his windpipe is being nearly crushed. Roy reaches for Gator roughly, but Gator throws an elbow back, perfectly aimed at his throat. His father coughs wildly, collapsing to the ground while he holds his throat, glaring at his son in disbelief.

You’ve never seen Gator so livid before; it’s the first thing you can see clearly as the blurriness dissolves from your vision, taking the ear-piercing ringing along with it. His jaw looks like it’ll break any second with how hard he’s gritting his teeth together, with nostrils flared and a threatening glare towards your father.

You don’t hear Karen come downstairs, but you can slightly hear her yell, “What is goin’ on in here?!”

Gator turns to her, still holding nearly all of his body weight to keep your father from moving; this is when his eyes soften, oddly enough. “Karen, you needa’ take your girls and leave, unless ya’ wanna die here stayin’ with this fuckin’ pig.” He glares at Roy, still gasping for air on the kitchen floor.

She’s speechless, eyes darting all around, from Gator, to Roy, to your father, then your mother, and you, holding your face to stop the bleeding. She can’t tear her eyes away from you, knowing by experience how badly hurt you are. Unexpectedly, she’s reaching out to guide you out of the room, murmuring, “C’mon, gotta clean that up ‘fore it gets infected.”

It’s incredibly surreal that Karen steps up with motherly care in an instant, where your own mother couldn’t, and wouldn’t dare. She doesn’t say much to you, letting you zone out in the bathroom while you’re on the toilet seat, trying not to lose consciousness as she tends to the gash on your face.

“It ain’t worth it, y’know. Gator’s right. Y’all gotta go somewhere safe.” You mumble, startling her a bit after going so long keeping silent. She’s trying to focus on cleaning the blood off, but you can tell her mind is elsewhere, too. “One time’s too many, y’know. Bein’ hit and stuff.” She doesn’t say it, but you know she knows already. “You and your kids deserve better than this.”

Before she can respond, Gator’s in the doorway, pushing a wad of cash at Karen, from god knows where. You’re secretly hoping he stole it from his dad, an extra blow to his ego. “Even if it’s just a motel or somethin’, y’all gotta get out and find somewhere safe.”

She looks at it hesitantly, then back at Gator, “Why are you doin’ this?”

Gator hesitates, swallowing a lump in his throat, shoving it in her hands, “‘Cause you don’t gotta end up like my mom, too.” He looks over at you, “Darlin’, we gotta go. I got no clue how long they’re down for, but it bought us some time.” He comes in after Karen quickly bandages the now clean laceration, helping you up to head out of the room. Before leaving, he turns back to Karen, “I suggest y’all leave soon as y’can, too.”

Guiding you to the stairs, Karen catches his attention one more time. “Gator?” He throws a glance over his shoulder at her. “You better keep her safe.”

He nods, shifting your arm around his shoulder, and winding his arm around you, under your arms to hold you up, using him as support. You’re in a daze, hearing everything, but feeling so distant.

“Yes, ma’am.” He’s not just politely answering, he’s firmly promising.

As the two of you head for the door, you pass your mother, weeping on the couch, unable to look at you. You know it’s useless, but you have to try. You’d regret it if you didn’t. You stop in your tracks, stopping Gator alongside you. He notices you can’t look away from your mother and the state she’s in, and helps you over to her. Gator stands close, making sure nothing else happens to you, while you sit next to her.

“Ma?” You reach out to grab her hand, with a crumpled up wad of tissues in her grip. She can’t look at you. She won’t. “You don’t gotta live like this anymore.”

Her sniffling and weeping continues. You can feel the shards of your heart that you’ve taped and glued back together, time and time again, splinter apart once more.

“Mama, you don’t have to stay with him. I can help you find somewhere to go— you can even come with me. You can be safe.” You’re pleading with her; there’s a lot you resent her for, but she still never deserved the abuse and turmoil your father dragged her through. “You deserve better. Always have, Mama. Please.”

When she finally speaks, she still can’t look you in the eye. “It’ll get better when you leave.” It’s said so simply, but it just crushes whatever splinters are left of your broken heart. “He never wanted daughters from the start.”

You hold in your tears; you never saw crying as a sign of being weak, but your mother doesn’t deserve your vulnerability at this point. She didn’t deserve you, or Willow. Neither of them did. You both should’ve been raised in a family with unconditional love.

Looking at Gator, you hold your arm out, and he helps you back on your feet. You glance at your mother one last time, who still won’t look at you. “Yeah, well… we never wanted the parents we got… So I guess we’re even.”

Goodbye, Ma.

As you and Gator head for the door, you hear her try to muffle her sobs with more tissues. You take one last glance into the kitchen, Roy and your father both unconscious on the floor. Roy’s throat is already bruising, and your father’s face is unrecognizable, pummeled to a bloody pulp. Gator tries shielding you away, but you already see the damage. He’s alive, and the bleeding slowed, but he’s out cold, probably for a while, too.

“M’sorry you saw that.”

Your mind wanders as Gator wraps you in a big blanket, the one you used the night the power went out, before cautiously heading to his cruiser to help you into the passenger seat. When you’re settled in, he kisses your forehead before tugging the blanket around you tighter, making sure you’re warm and as comfortable as you can be, despite the pain.

“You’re safe in here, gimme a few minutes, I gotta grab your stuff, okay?” You nod at his words, dozing off seconds after he shuts the car door, locking it, just in case. The exhaustion of everything that just happened takes over, forcing you to rest.

The ride to Gator’s place is quiet enough that you’re able to stay asleep for the few minutes it takes to arrive.

“Darlin’, c’mon, let’s get ya’ inside.” You’re woken up by Gator softly speaking, pulling you out of the cruiser, confused as to what’s going on or where you are until awareness slowly sets in. “I grabbed our stuff already, and we can do whatever you want to, or if you need some space, I can give ya’ that.”

You can’t find your words or collect your thoughts, still lost in a daze, so you nod distractedly in response while he helps you inside.

Gator’s apartment is cluttered here and there; you knew he was rarely here to keep things tidy, though, with how often he was made to do Roy’s dirty work for him.

He throws the covers back on his bed to get you settled and comfy, helping you out of the several layers of clothes and your boots before laying you down, while you wrap yourself back up in the blanket he gave you earlier. “You should probably eat somethin’—“ You shake your head ‘no’. “Well, at least you need some water. Maybe painkillers— wait, you shouldn’t take any on an empty stomach. Maybe ice? Yeah, ice.” You tug on his hand before he turns away to leave, so he crouches down next to you at the edge of his bed. “What’s up, darlin’?”

Your voice cracks, forcing your words through a dry, choked up throat, “Are you okay?”

Normally, Gator would tease you for asking, for putting him first before yourself. He was never dishonest when he answered before, but he’s being upfront this time. “No… I don’t think I am.”

You sit up quickly, groaning as the room spins; Gator has to guide you back down to the bed, but you prop yourself up on your arm, leaning onto it as your tired eyes search his expression. “Did he hurt you? Did your dad hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em both—“

Barely above a whisper, Gator pushes the hair falling in your face behind your ear, “Easy there, tiger.” He can’t bring himself to laugh as he gently teases you, but does his best to smile, though it’s somber. “Not physically. Watchin’ him attack you like that… I shoulda’ kept you away from your dad, or let y’stay in the car from the start. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”

Your face falls while sorrow floods through you. “Gator, you did protect me. You probably saved my life tonight, or at least saved me an ambulance trip. You know he would’ve kept going if you didn’t stop him.” You hold his face in your hand, “You’ve always let me fight my own battles, and you’ve always stepped in if I needed backup. It’s something I’ve always been grateful for. You are someone I’m always grateful for.”

His thumb grazes your jawline on the same side your fresh wound is, careful not to get too close to it. “Not sure why you’d say that after what I did to you before you moved… But m’glad you weren’t alone with this shit tonight.”

“If anyone’s ever deserved a second chance, it’s you. It’s always been you, Gator.” You mumble the last part out as your eyelids grow heavy, head sinking back into the pillow, but it’s just coherent enough for Gator to hear it. He pulls the blankets over you, assuring you’re cozy and warm, while waiting for you to settle into a deep sleep; he hopes your dreams are even just the tiniest bit sweeter than this day was for you.

Silently, Gator promises to himself and you, that he’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe, and make sure you know you’re really, truly loved.

He just hopes to God he has the balls to work himself up to the confession again tomorrow.

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x you #Fargo #part time soulmate full time problem #my fics

78 notes · View notes

autistic-katara · 10 months

Text

ok i might get blocked by a couple ppl for saying this but the Jackson’s Diary fandom is seriously making me wanna become a proshipper out of spite (read the post before blocking me or whatever please)

like idk if u guys have checked the fandom tag on ao3 recently but theres been a bit of drama surrounding the fact that someone posted a smut-fic of Exer (an 18yo) and David (an almost 18yo, who was aged up A FEW MONTHS for the fic) and they were harassed into taking it down and making a fucking apology post ON AO3, THE PROBLEMATIC FANWORKS WEBSITE.

and this fic was tagged 100% correctly like it was very explicitly tagged as smut n stuff yet there were still a bunch of comments being like “uhm what did i just read 🤨” and when i made a comment defending the authors right to yk, not be harassed for making not even rlly problematic content someone who clearly would suffer withdrawal symptoms if they turned twitter off for too long started arguing with me abt how “erm ackhtually we should be allowed to comment harassment under ppls harmless and explicitly tagged fics cause theres no smut in this fandom and it shocked us” and u could just rlly tell they felt they were more righteous than God in their opinions and yeah so cut to tonight when i’m scrolling through the tag and i see a post titled “i’m so sorry” in which the author made a post basically being like “i’m so sorry for posting that ik it was disgusting it has been permanently deleted” which in the comments a few ppl were telling them that what happened sucked n stuff (myself included // judging by their reply they only did this to stop the harassment which yk, completely fair) and i went back to scrolling since i wanted an actual fic not fandom drama but like 2 posts down there was another post titled “please stop” or smthn like that where someone else made a post basically being like “guyssss can we please not write smut of these characters this fandom is so wholesome i dont wanna ruin it 🥺 anyways sorry this isnt a fic this just needed to be said lol” and like dude, my guy, WHAT THE FUCK?!

this is AO3, this is a fanwork archive that as far as i know was created (at least partially) due to the fact that ppl kept getting their “problematic” works taken down from other sites and the creators wanted to yk archive all fanworks. this is NOT a social media site where u can make callout posts abt how what someone else posted disturbed ur pure wholesome chaste scrolling by daring to uploaded something with *gasp* consensual sex between 2 consenting adults?! (or canonically 1 consenting adult and 1 consenting gonna-be-an-adult-in-a-few-months-but-isnt-much-younger-than-the-first-guy but u get the idea)

like guys, ao3 is not twitter. it is not tiktok, it is not tumblr, its not youtube, its not even wattpad. it is not a social media platform, it is a fanwork archive, specifically one that lets u post whatever kinda content u want (yes, even smthn depicting 2 consenting adult/almost adult participates that are in no way related having sex, ik its crazy what they allow online these days).

and look honestly the callout post wouldn’tve annoyed me this much if it was posted on yk an actual social media. like if it was posted on twitter or tiktok or on youtube as a video essay or even on here, like sure if i saw it id be annoyed that this fandom cant handle the tiniest bit of non-puritanicalism and fuck, maybe if it was on here id even drag myself into a pointless days-long argument that causes me suicidal levels of stress but on archive of our fucking own itself?! for the millionth time, IT IS NOT A SOCIAL MEDIA! u dont make posts like that that u want the rest of the fandom to read or whatever on there because its not that kinda website!

anyways yeah i hope i explained the situation ok, u might be able to check it out urself if u feel like it and yeah idk this whole thing just kinda felt like a wake-up call for me like yes i find incest and pedophilia disgusting OBVIOUSLY and i dont like ppl romanticising it in fiction but idk i’ve seen ppl talk abt toxic antis before and show screenshots of conversations where theyve acted super shitty but idk seeing this all unfold in person and having to argue with these hardcore antis just- i dont wanna be associated with these ppl, if these are what alotta antis r like i dont want anyone to assume i agree with them like at all, whether its other antis, proshippers, or ppl like me who have a super complicated opinion on it. like they harassed a person into taking down their smut and made call-out posts on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN abt how they dont want their wholesome pure fandom corrupted by gross dirty irredeemable sex. and just yeah hope no mutuals i seriously care abt unmoot or even block me over this since ik a few of u r antis but yeah srry for this i just kinda seriously hate this fandom right now :)

also incase anyone is typing out a “kill yourself pedo” reply/rb rn; i turn 15 on Friday, i am 2+ years younger than ur innocent bb minor boy David and his definitely not already a legal adult boyfriend Exer so yk

#jackson’s diary #jacksons diary #ao3 #proshipping #dexer #fandom discourse #will probably regret making this post by tmrw morning but yk thats future me’s problem #again hopefully i explained this ok i’m pretty sure it was quite rambly

198 notes · View notes

farmerlarrry · 11 months

Text

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader) — ongoing

read on ao3 here | orange slices playlist | current word count: ~90k

summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos. | You've been on your own since the outbreak started, hopping around from place to place; you’ve kept your head down, doing whatever you need to do to survive. How you feel about love and companionship changes once you meet Joel, and it's something you and him aren't quite sure how to handle.

warnings/tags: post-outbreak, age gap (reader is 24/25 in chapter one), angst, angst w/ a happy ending, slow burn (I’m talking S L O W), eventual romance, canon typical violence, canon divergence, injuries, fluff, hurt/comfort, gun violence, protectiveness, Joel has a soft spot for reader, Joel is bad at feelings, Joel needs a hug, protective!Joel, hurt!Joel, depictions of grief, time jump, eventual smut (I will tag the chapters as 18+ & add warnings to chapters, just because it’s going to be a while before we get there lol), this is going to be a long one my friends…, no beta we die like men, (if I missed anything please let me know!!!)

a/n: This is the first fanfic I’ve written in almost 10 years and I'm new to the character x you/reader writing style, so if anything sounds odd or awkward, I deeply apologize. The story is mainly based on the game, however, I keep it pretty vague so if you like the show depictions better, it should still work. I hope you enjoy!

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know. After Orange Slices is completed, I will no longer be posting on this account. If you like to continue following my writing, my main account is @urbancowboyjoel.

Chapters:

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen 18+ MDNI

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

coming soon…

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven

chapter twenty-eight

chapter twenty-nine

chapter thirty

there will be more... I just have it outlined up to thirty chapters right now...

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. ❥

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

#farmerlarrry #my fics #joel x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel the last of us #tlou joel #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou fic #the last of us

171 notes · View notes

fortheloveofexy · 1 year

Text

Top 5 vs Personal 5

List your top 5 fics ranked by kudos on AO3. are you surprised by what's most popular to your readers? then provide your ranking of your personal top 5 fics, and tag a few fellow writers!

Thanks for the tag @mostlymaudlin ! tagging @jingerhead @paradoxolotl @exy-shmexy @storiesnstardust

Top 5 (by Kudos):

1. Call Me By Your Name (3.9k, andreil)

Basically, Neil calls Andrew “baby” in his sleep once, so Andrew gets flustered and then secretly tries out different pet names for Neil.

This one... honestly really surprised me with how popular it got. It’s my most kudos’d fic by a long shot (2,378 kudos??? insanity). It’s a short little thing, entirely focused around andreil and pet names. To be honest, I have mixed feelings about this one being the top fic, because it’s one of my oldest fics and I don’t really love the prose now. I don’t really understand why it got so popular out of everything I wrote bc it’s never anyone’s favorite fic when I ask, but I’m glad so many enjoyed it!

2. Sweet Enough To Eat (3.1k, andreil)

Andrew experiencing cute aggression. That’s basically the whole premise lol.

Anyway, this one is my oldest fic, so I assume that’s why it’s so popular. It’s cute, sweet even! I still like it to this day. Not much else to say about it though.

3. May We Meet Again (10.7k, andreil)

The first installment of the Artist Neil AU.

To be honest, I don’t like it anymore. That whole AU has problems with pacing, and some characterization issues too. Plus, looking back at the art now makes me cringe so hard. The only reason it’s still up is bc I know a lot of people really like it. Sometimes I think about revising the whole thing but I still remember how big of an undertaking it was when I first wrote it and made all the art for it, so I probably won’t.

4. The Marks We Make (41.3k, andreil)

A (mostly) canon rewrite from Andrew’s POV with a soulmate AU twist.

This the first multichapter fic I ever wrote, and one of the earliest fics I ever published, so I’m not surprised it’s high on the list. There are some things I like about this one, and some I would do differently. Writing this fic helped me make some of my first friends in the fandom though, so it was very much worth it.

5. Yes Or No? (35.5k, andreil)

sub andrew & Dom Neil pwp - need I say more?.

This one truly surprised me. It was meant to be a one-shot experiment, something I wrote as an exploration of my own boundaries and limits. BDSM fics are often triggering for me, so I generally avoid them, but I wanted to write a BDSM fic that I would be able to enjoy and to explore BDSM from a safe distance.

However, given how much the fandom seemed to be against Andrew submitting (and sometimes even just bottoming) at the time, I worried I might end up getting hate for writing it. To my surprise, I did not, and so many commenters asked that I continue it that I ended up turning it into a whole series.

I’m quite proud of it still - it might just be a smut fic to most people, but it will always be more than just a smut fic to me.

I do hate the last 3 paragraphs of the main fic though. I was on a kick where I thought incorporating references to fic titles and canon lines into my writing was clever and fun, but now I just cringe when I look at it. Ahh well, maybe someday I’ll change it and tell nobody. Create a little Berenstein/Berenstain Bears moment :)

Top 5 (Personal Ranking):

1. More Than Words (32.9k, ongoing, neon friendship)

Neil and Aaron meet as kids and become best friends, long before Aaron learns his mother’s secret - he has a long lost twin brother.

I cannot gush enough about the love I have for this fic, this whole story. I can’t talk about it here because I have some insane twists planned (iykyk) but just know this fic is my baby and this story will be my magnum opus once it’s done. I love writing Neil and Aaron’s friendship, I love writing Aaron’s POV, I love the plans I have these boys. It’s still ongoing so I understand why it’s not higher up in the kudos ranking, but I’m hopeful that will change once I actually finish it.

2. A Quiet Self-Destruction (2.6k, andreil)

A character study on Andrew’s experience with depression, and how Neil helps him through his bad days.

I wrote this to comfort myself during one of my own depression spells. It still brings me a bit of hope on dark days. For that, I will always love it.

3. Scribbles and Sticky Notes (11.7k, andreil)

Neil retires from Exy, with heaps of fluff, soft Andreil, wholesome Twinyards, hurt/comfort, MCD and angst.

Hands down, this is the saddest fic I’ve ever written, and I’m quite proud of that fact. I think the pacing is really good, and the gut punches are quite successful (while being foreshadowed quite nicely). The characterization is also spot on, I think. It’s got MCD though, which I think is probably why it’s not more popular.

4. The Past, Stained Red (4.4k, andreil)

Part 3 of the Artist Neil AU. Andrew has a surprise run-in with a ghost from his past, and finally gets some closure.

This is the only fic of the Artist Neil AU that I actually still like. It’s well-paced, well-characterized, and I still like the art. Mostly, though, I viciously loved writing Andrew getting to close the door on Cass, and I loved writing him acknowledging the harm she did to him as a foster parent. He couldn’t see it as a child, but as an adult? He sees her clearly, in all her failure. It was extremely cathartic to write that.

5. Catdrew Meowyard (1.4k, andreil)

Andrew suddenly has cat ears and a tail. Nobody questions it. Shenanigans ensue.

This is such a silly little fic. I wrote it as a joke and I still love it dearly, even though it’s very dumb. It’s just very fun to write and to read, and it’s perfect for when I want to blow off steam and write some crack.

#aftg #andreil #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg fics #aftg fanfics #andrew minyard #neil josten #fic recs #aftg fanfic #andreil fanfic #andreil fic #aftg fic #fanfic

228 notes · View notes

mumms-the-word · 13 days

Text

A Little Boat Voyage

Pairing: Gale x Tav (Dani) Summary: Immediately after defeating Cazador and stopping Astarion from ascending, Gale and Dani need to discuss Gale's own ambitions. She agrees to a little voyage on the Outer Planes to hear what he has to say, preparing to fight him about his plans. ao3 link Tags: Angst, fluff, teeny tiny bit of implied smut, mostly angst A/N: This is a rewrite of the Act 3 romance scene that reworks a lot of the potential dialogue for that scene to fit what I actually think would have happened for Dani and Gale. I combed through the datamined file for all the dialogue that Gale and Tav could say, depending on all the possible situations for this scene, and stitched together a lot of game dialogue with Dani's own convictions about Gale's plans. So in my head, this is canon for them lol

Astarion’s words echoed in Dani’s head as she left his side in the group’s Elfsong Tavern suite. He was sitting by the window, looking out onto the moonlit streets below, contemplating the aftermath of his decision to slay Cazador rather than ascend, trying to process and make sense of it. She had gone over to speak quietly with him, knowing he needed her more than Gale did in this moment, and in the midst of the conversation, he had looked up at her with a kind of uncertain awe mixed with tired gratitude.

“You believed in me,” he’d said. “Believed I was enough just the way I am.”

There was more that was said between them, mentions of newfound freedom, new futures, more words of gratitude. But for some reason, those words stuck with her. Enough, he’d said. As if it were a novel concept to him.

She could relate. There were days when she never felt like she was enough, for some person or some challenge or another.

She paused to lean against one of the columns in the room, her eyes unconsciously searching for Gale. She found him sitting in an armchair by the fire at the center of the suite, staring into the flames. He’d been wanting to speak to her all day, but between all the drama of that morning and the difficulty of getting to Cazador and battling him, she’d almost forgotten about it. Now, she was almost too worn down to approach him. It would be all too easy to just go to bed and tell him that whatever he had to say could wait until morning.

But even she wasn’t that heartless. She sighed to herself and moved around to the lowered center area of the suite, approaching him from behind. He looked up as she stopped next to his chair.

“Gale,” she said coolly, one hand on her hip.

“Ah.” He gave a kind of grimace, as though he were wincing yet trying to twist it into a sheepish smile at the same time. “You’re still talking to me then?”

Dani pursed her lips and crossed her arms, waiting for him. She had no idea where this conversation was supposed to go, and part of her didn’t want to make this easy for him. He rubbed the back of neck, self-conscious.

“I suppose you have questions…related to a certain book we read together,” he said. She arched an eyebrow and he winced. “Well. That I read,” he amended. “And I do mean to discuss it but…”

He trailed off, his eyes wandering over to where Astarion still sat near the window, staring pensively out through the glass. “You’ve given me quite a lot to think about today.”

She sighed softly through her nose. She wanted to be angry. But honestly, she was just tired.

They’d started the morning off with a visit to Sorcerous Sundries, thinking it would be a relatively innocent visit. But her anger had been tested at the sight of poor Rolan, beaten and bruised by Lorroakan, and her fears kindled by the hunger in Gale’s eyes once they had found the Annals of Karsus. Then Gale had sparked her anger again, boasting to Lorroakan about his plans for the Crown—none of which he had disclosed to Dani at all—so Dani had retaliated by petulantly revealing his plans to Elminster when the old wizard had popped up unexpectedly outside the shop. Then there was her and Gale’s argument in the street, all before it was even noontime.

That would have been enough for the day, except that they had spent the afternoon and evening infiltrating Cazador’s mansion to stop his ritual. That experience had been draining for everyone and the resulting conclusion of the events was bittersweet at best. Dani had stopped one of her best friends from giving in to his dark ambitions, but she still had her work cut out for her when it came to her own lover’s ambitions.

She just wished everyone around her would stop being so damned power hungry. Was it so wrong to wish for nothing more than a warm home and for one’s friends and family to be safe and comfortable? She knew she could be greedy too, but her greed didn’t test the limits of reality or threaten thousands of lives all at once. It just emptied a few pockets. Maybe a few bank vaults.

At her silence, Gale shifted uncomfortably in his seat before at last giving a soft sigh of his own. “In truth, I wouldn’t blame you for giving me a wide berth. I thought the orb’s ever-present censure had tamed my wilder ambition, but that wasn’t the case. Obviously, as evidenced by all that I said and did today.” He shook his head. “There isn’t anything I can say that would excuse my reprehensible behavior. I’m sorry.”

She pressed her lips together this time, wavering between wanting to stay irritated and wanting to say that there was nothing to forgive and move on. But there were concerns she still had, questions he had yet to answer. She didn’t know where to start and so, after a moment, she simply pulled another chair over to the fire, near him, and sat down, watching the flames in silence. It took her another moment to finally put to words what she wanted to say.

“I’m not mad anymore about anything that happened today,” she said quietly. “I’m just…scared.”

“Scared?”

“Of losing you. To the orb. To Mystra. To your own ambition…” She shook her head, unable to look at him. She didn’t want to explain all of her fears right now. Some of them felt utterly stupid.

She couldn’t deny that she loved Gale, ambitions and all. What else could it be but love that kept her at his side? She’d abandoned relationships for far less in the past. No, she was certain with her entire being that she loved him more than she had ever loved anyone. But this path of godhood that he kept hinting at…if he was determined to follow it, it was a path she couldn’t take with him. She just wasn’t interested in abandoning this chaotic, colorful world just yet. Not for the Fugue Plane, not for an illithid life, not for godhood, not for anything.

But if she wouldn’t follow him…what then? The thought of leaving him or of him leaving her threatened to break her heart. She felt as though she’d never recover.

But she couldn’t say all that to him now. It felt petty and selfish to admit that the only reason she didn’t want him to become more powerful was because she was scared he’d leave her behind. She was petty and selfish, but Gale inspired goodness in her. It was ironic, truly. The very qualities that had inspired her to become a better person were the same qualities that he would give up if he continued to pursue the path of godhood for the “betterment of all,” as he’d boasted to Lorroakan that morning.

But what did she know, she thought bitterly to herself. She had never intimately known a god nor harbored ambition enough to actively plot to dethrone one.

Still…if she could at all sway him…

“Listen,” she said, eyes still on the fire. “I believe you’re capable of so many great things, Gale. I believe in you. Always have, always will. But when it comes to this plan with the crown…”

“All I am asking is that you consider it,” he said.

She made a helpless gesture with one hand. “I don’t even know how I could. How can I respond to something so…immense? It’s beyond comprehension. I want to understand, but I don’t.”

He was quiet for a moment before chuckling softly and shaking his head. “I don’t think I deserve you at times.”

“Gale,” Dani said softly, his name almost a resigned sigh as she said it. She didn’t want to hear this again. But Gale held up a hand.

“Please. Let me finish.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts, before taking a deep breath. “I watched how you handled the events with Cazador and Astarion today. You showed nothing but compassion and courage. Your heart bled for the victims in their cages. You sought a way to save as many people as you could, despite impossible odds. And you didn’t allow Astarion’s desperation or impassioned speeches to sway you or change your mind.”

“I didn’t want to lose one of my best friends,” she said. “If Astarion had ascended…he wouldn’t be Astarion anymore.”

“I know. Yet it could have been so easy to give in. To let him have his way, simply because you are his friend. But you didn’t. You appealed to a nobler part of him, risking your friendship to keep him from changing. From transforming into something more. Something sinister.” Gale paused again, glancing back at Astarion across the room. His expression softened into a thoughtful, yet sorrowful look. “I can’t help but wonder. Do you see the same kind of choice when you look at me?”

She didn’t answer, but her silence was answer enough. She looked back at the flames, watching them crackle and spark, letting them fill the silence.

“I hope that isn’t your final judgment of me,” he said. “I hope that you can give me another chance to earn your faith. I want you to continue to believe in me. I want to show you the wizard I am capable of being, rather than the poor excuse for a man who’s kept you company thus far.”

“Gale, stop,” she said, finally turning to face him fully, twisting in her chair. “Stop calling yourself a poor excuse for a man. That isn’t what I think of you. I know I get frustrated with you, but it’s because I see so much good in you.” She reached for his hand and enveloped it in both of her own. “I don’t want to lose you to the Crown any more than I wanted to lose Astarion to Cazador’s power. You mean everything to me, Gale. Worth more even than music and magic.”

“You won’t lose me,” Gale said, tightening his hold on her hand. “If anything, you’ll gain so much more for being with me. Please. Let me show you.”

“Gale—”

“Even if a permanent place in the heavens isn’t for us, at least allow me a chance to show you what it would be like. Indulge me. Close your eyes. Allow me to take you on a little boat voyage.”

She frowned, wanting to resist. But she could tell this was important to him. She breathed a small sigh and closed her eyes, keeping one hand in his.

She heard him murmur a spell and felt the aura of magic shift around her, the warmth of the Elfsong Tavern room giving way to much cooler air. Her skin tingled all over with the touch of magic, while Gale’s hand remained solid and warm in her own.

“Few mortals ever glimpse what you’re about to see. But don’t be alarmed—I’m here with you.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Now…open your eyes.”

When she opened her eyes, she found herself seated in a glowing blue boat with Gale sitting across from her. All around them, the sky, the space below, all of it was filled with scattered stars and clouds of purple, pink, and blue stardust. The galaxies and starfields stretched on infinitely around them, swirling peacefully in silence. Their boat drifted easily along a current of shimmering magic and when she lifted her free hand over the edge of the boat, her fingers caused tiny motes of starlight to drift and float through the air.

“Quite the view, isn’t it?” Gale said, looking around them. “The Outer Planes are a place of profound, sometimes overwhelming possibility.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. She gazed out over the infinite expanse, waiting to feel that reeling, terrifying sensation of being suspended over a void, but it didn’t come. She was safe in Gale’s little boat, his hold on her hand grounding her and keeping her steady.

“The home of the gods,” he continued. “Where they observe us from afar. Where they make play-things of us. Such power…infinite possibilities…how could I not crave this?”

She fell silent, focusing instead on the specks of starlight that fanned out behind her fingers, watching them dance briefly in the atmosphere and fade. He said it so simply, as though it were natural to crave such wondrous power. And maybe it was. Maybe she was the fool for limiting her desires to the Material Plane.

Not for the first time, she burned with jealousy toward Mystra and hated all that she had gifted Gale. All that she had made Gale capable of. How could a mere bard compare to a goddess who allowed him to tap into the mysteries of magic itself? And even now, with Gale hardly interested in reconciling with the goddess, who was she compared to all the power of the crown? Who was she compared to all this?

Gale could have this again. This and more. And she, with her small dreams and her fragile love, a love that would only last a mortal lifetime…she would fade into obscurity. Even if she managed to secure a legacy for her name, her body would rot in its grave and her soul would wander the Fugue Plane for an eternity until some god took pity on her and accepted her into their domain.

Perhaps if Gale became a god, he would be the one to take pity. She’d dwell forever in his domain of stars as one among a million other souls. One more copper in a vast bank, utterly forgotten by him, yet unable to escape him. The thought churned her gut and threatened to make her sick.

She swallowed, half-preparing herself for the worst outcomes for the rest of this conversation. “Is this really, truly what you want? To ascend? To claim godhood?”

“No, not like that,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I don’t want to join them, I want to better them—with you at my side, willing and wholehearted. Together we could become better than gods. We could have all of a god’s power with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart. I can think of no better candidate for redefining godhood than you.”

“I don’t want godhood,” she said. “I know you think it sounds insane that I don’t, and maybe it is, but…” She shook her head. “I’ve read too many stories, too many tragic ballads about what happens to mortals who ascend to godhood. They change, Gale. And they leave the ones they love behind.”

Gale sat back, a little surprised. “Is that what you think I intend to do to you?”

“Not immediately. But who knows how you would change once all that power was coursing through you. You saw how Cazador was—you saw how hungry Astarion was to claim that power. You know it would have changed him. Think how much more godhood would change you.”

“But it wouldn’t be true godhood,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand. “The power of gods would be at our fingertips, yes, but we could be—we could find a way to—”

“Stop with the bullshit,” Dani snapped, snatching her hand from his. “You can’t even articulate it because there’s nothing else to call it. You want to use the power of the crown to become a god. That kind of power corrupts, Gale. And if that’s what you want then—then—“

Her throat tightened suddenly with the threat of tears and she looked away, struggling to compose herself. She hated crying, especially here, where there was nowhere to hide, but there was no stopping the emotions building up inside her. She hid her face briefly behind her hand, but it was no use. The wide expansive of pink and purple starlight winked back at her and illuminated the flood of tears that welled up in her eyes.

Gale reached for her hands again. “Dani, I—”

She shook off his touch. “Don’t. I can’t—I can’t let you do this,” she said, the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please. I know what you’d become and it would be nothing like the man you are now. And no matter how you would try to justify things or convince me to join you, I could never bring myself to abandon my family like that. Never. So in the end you would leave me behind, because nothing about me is enough to convince you to stay. So you’d leave, I know you would, because that’s how power works. It corrupts, it—“ She was rambling now, not making sense, her words a tangle on her tongue.

“Dani, please,” he begged, getting on his knees on the floor of the boat, taking both of her hands in his. “None of that is going to happen.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked. “Look me in the eye and swear to me that the moment your humanity is stripped away in your ascension that you won’t forget tiny, insignificant, mortal me, the lover you’re leaving behind, the moment I refused to ascend with you.”

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to confirm her fears. She snatched her hands from his again and used the heels of her palms to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Gods, I hate you,” she mumbled, but it was a complete lie. The fact was she loved him too much. Desired him too selfishly to let him reach for godly power. She swallowed and amended her statement. “Not you. This. I hate this. Sorry.”

It was his turn to be silent in the face of her confessions and her tears. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and breathed softly through her nose until at last she felt calm enough to speak. Then she took a shaky breath and reached out to cradle his face in her hands.

“Please, Gale,” she said quietly. “Don’t do this. I don’t need the stars. I don’t need eternity. I just want you. For all that you are right now. I love you for the man that you are, not the god you’d pretend to be.”

He stared up at her, stricken but amazed, his hands resting on her knees. There was a faint glimmer in his eyes that could either be tears or the reflection of the stars around them, but when he blinked the glimmer was gone.

“You…you would really prefer me as I am?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said. There was no room for doubt in her heart, nor any in her words. “You’re already everything I need you to be and more. Just…please. Let me be enough for you. Let me find a way.”

“Oh Dani,” he breathed. He rose to one knee and slipped one hand behind her head, guiding her down into a deep kiss that stole her breath and made her a little dizzy. She clutched the fabric of his shirt, trying to bring him closer and steady herself at the same time, trying to convey all the desperate longing and fear she couldn’t put into words silently through their kiss.

He pulled away, breathless, cradling her cheek in his palm. “I used to believe Mystra’s forgiveness was worth dying for. Or that the only way forward was to challenge her. But I was wrong. You showed me just how much I have to live for, here, on mortal soil. With you, I forget my goddess. With you, I want to live. With you…I even forget my greater ambitions. You put the very stars to shame, Dani.”

She felt her breath hitch as her eyes widened slightly. Of all the things she was expecting to hear him say, those words were not it. She searched his face for signs that he’d changed his mind, and found him staring back at her earnestly, dark eyes full of love and longing. For the first time that day, she dared herself to hope, just a little.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said. “And I could never leave you behind. Godly power, I can live without, but you? You’re everything.”

She stared, half-disbelieving, but his gaze was sincere and warm and so full of love she couldn’t help but be convinced. She curled her fingers around his wrist, not sure what to say next, but he merely smiled, grateful and tender, and brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him again.

He guided her off the seat of the boat down onto the floorboards, dismissing the benches with an idle wave of his hand to make room for them to lay down at the bottom of the boat. There he kissed her, breathing her in as naturally as if she were air, and she lost herself in his warm touch. The galaxies above swirled dream-like and slow overhead as their fingers found each others’ buttons and laces, their clothes slipping off with practiced ease, until both lay bare beneath the infinite sky, her pale blue skin tinged a faint shade of lavender by the light of the pink-purple stardust.

She combed her fingers through his hair as he kissed all over her, sighing and arching her back as he worshipped her body more than he’d ever done before, as if he were making up for a litany of mistakes. She could scarcely think straight yet she tried to encourage him with her words, breathing out her love and pleasure in half-lucid lyric fragments and shaky swears alike. He lavished love on her with his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, his hands, until at last he joined their bodies together and she unraveled. Every tangled thought and emotion unwound itself as pleasure coursed through her veins until they were both left spent, lying on the floor of the softly glowing boat, and she was left with nothing but her love for him and a dazed sense of amazement that here, amid the infinite expanse of stars and magic, he had chosen her.

Some time later, as they lay gazing up at the stars, with Gale fingers threading idly through her long, loose hair, he turned and brushed a kiss against her head. “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he said quietly. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about…well.”

She wrapped her arms more tightly around him. “I love you, Gale. I don’t want to lose you to anything. Not even this. As pretty as it is. You’ll have to forgive me for being so selfish with you.”

He chuckled, kissing her hair again. “There’s nothing at all to forgive, my love. Be selfish with me.”

They contemplated the stars and auroras that surrounded their little boat, words lost between them for a moment, until at last Gale, trailing gentle fingers down her arm, began to speak again softly.

“I conjured this illusion often during my confinement in Waterdeep,” he said. “An escape for the mind, where there was none for the body. It was easier to stare at the celestial abyss than recognize the emptiness within myself. Easier to pretend my destiny lay among such stars, than work to salvage a life on solid ground.”

He turned his head and she lifted her chin so she could meet his gaze again, her heart aching for him. She could all too easily imagine him locked in his tower, conjuring images of these galaxies and planes, desperate to be outside the walls that enclosed him for a year. Longing to be back among infinite beauty, rather than confined and seemingly trapped in a small set of rooms on the mundane Material Plane. She had thought the illusion he had conjured of his home in Waterdeep was charming and wonderful…but she could see how it must have felt like a prison to him.

“You changed all that,” he murmured, gazing down at her. “You see me as I am, and do not find me wanting.”

He seemed a little awed by that, but not disbelieving. She smiled and sat up, straddling his hips and taking his hands, lifting them up to her lips for a kiss to each one. Her long hair trailed down around her, the ends brushing against her thighs, against his bare chest and stomach. She held his hands, weaving their fingers together, and pushed his arms up so that they stretched over his head, leaning in to kiss him sweetly, her lips lingering on his.

“I will never find you wanting,” she murmured against his lips.

“Nor I, you,” he said. He freed one hand from her grip to move her hair from her face, gathering it all over one shoulder so the light of the galaxies and stars beyond could shine on her face again. “With these stars as my witness, I swear—you will always be enough for me.”

She stilled at those words, letting them wash over her and settle into her skin, into her chest, processing them. His words, the emotion behind them, the loving determination in his eyes, all of his was genuine, heartfelt, and deeply, deeply meant. It threatened to reduce Dani to tears again, but this time she swallowed them back and kissed him again, letting him know with every ounce of her being what that promise meant to her.

She thought she could never love him more than she already did. But hearing that promise from him—that she would always be enough for him—made her heart practically ache with love for him. She smothered his face with kisses until she was breathless, and he in turn tried to catch or return every one until he gave up and allowed himself to be smothered with a chuckle.

“I love you, Gale Dekarios,” she said at last, still hovering over him, her hair a curtain on one side of them both.

He smiled up at her and reached up to brush her cheek. “And I love you, Meridan Zavrai. I always will.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale #gale dekarios #gale x tav #dani #meridan zavrai #my fic #oc #the order of events is actually what happened in my game #from rolan to the annals to lorroakan to cazador #like it was a wild day #and then when gale said 'i don't think i deserve you at times'#i thought ht had like...learned his lesson #nope #so anyway here is a rewrite #no edits we die like men

22 notes · View notes

quin-ns · 1 year

Text

Taking Care (Saul Goodman x Reader)

Word count: 2K

Summary: after jesse beats up saul you help fix him up

Tags: brba ep. 5x11, canon violence, canon behavior, blood mention, hurt/comfort kinda, hurt!saul, saul being a bit sleazy but it’s goofy it’s fine, fluff, flirting, humor/comedy, very light hearted despite the episode, kissing, happy end :)

A/N: finished breaking bad and couldn’t get this episode out of my brain. im a saul simp now and even tho he lowkey deserved it i didn’t like seeing him get beat up. my self indulgent fix it- idk how big the fandom for saul fics is so I’ll just have to see lol

Cross-posted to ao3 • brbabcs masterlist • writing masterlist

As you headed into Saul’s office from the waiting room, you heard a commotion. Saul was screaming at someone. The door had been kicked in. You’d seen some pretty crazy things happen here, but you were in no way expecting to find Jesse being the cause of the chaos.

“Jesse! Stop!” you shouted, gaining the young man’s attention. He was standing over Saul—who was on the ground, hands raised in defense—with a gun pointed on the man.

Jesse stared at you in surprise, obviously not anticipating your arrival. His jaw tightened and he looked guilty. You were one of the only people left whose opinion of him actually mattered to Jesse. The two of you were friends; you could only hope he’d listen to you.

“Oh Y/N, thank god,” Saul said in relief when he spotted you in the room. “Call the police!”

You weren’t sure if he was serious or not—Saul never wanted police at his office—but it must’ve been bad if he was even willing to mention calling help.

“No need,” Jesse decided. He dug into Saul’s pocket and grabbed something out. Sounded like keys. “We’re done here,” he told you calmly. Huell, Saul’s massive bodyguard, tried to block the door. “Back up!” Jesse yelled, pointing the gun at him. You weren’t in the line of fire and you really hoped Jesse wouldn’t shoot you, but you stumbled back further away from him. Huell moved too and let Jesse out the door.

Huell ran over to Saul and tried to help him up. “Get off me! What do I pay you for?” Saul yelled at Huell and grabbed his phone. He frantically called someone and said, “hey, it’s me. We got a big problem.”

Huell ran off out the door and you turned to go after Jesse too. As much as he was deranged in the moment, you tried to convince yourself maybe you could help, but Saul interrupted your contemplation after making his call that you didn’t pay attention too.

“Leave him,” Saul coughed out. “He has a gun and is clearly not afraid to wave it around.” You looked back at him and became aware of the damage Jesse had done.

“Oh, you idiot,” you muttered, approaching Saul where he had slumped back to the ground. It was only the two of you in the office now. “What did you do?”

He let out a dramatic scoff. “Me?” Saul asked, offended, as you crouched down next to him. “I get assaulted and I’m somehow at fault?”

You took his bloody face in your hands and inspected the injuries. “Jesse wouldn’t beat you up for no reason.”

A guilty look crossed his face as your hands fell. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he grumbled reluctantly, sitting up straight. You weren’t sure if he ever would. “Can you help me out first, maybe?” Saul gestured to his face.

“Yeah,” you replied curtly, standing. You kept a first aid kit in your car. You were in a similar line of business to Mike and through him you met Saul (and Jesse, Walter, and Gus). Although, the only ones you became friends with were Jesse and Saul.

Your friendship with Saul was a little more… well, more complex. You had a good rapport with him and often bantered back and forth, flirting and what not.

You stopped by his office more than you probably should’ve and he was always pleased to see you appear. That’s how you thought today would go when you came by to visit. You had a couple minutes to spare so you figured you’d swing by for a few. He joked more than once that you could take up all his time in a day and he wouldn’t charge you a dime.

You went out and grabbed the kit from under your seat as quickly as you could. It was something you kept on hand given your past experiences in your occupation. And right now, it was about to come in handy.

Saul was standing when you walked in, looking around the room at the mess. His expression was defeated, which was only amplified by the cuts, bruises, and most of all the bloody nose.

“God, he did a number on you,” you commented, unable to hold back. You actually felt bad for him even though you weren’t sure whose fault it was—it looked like it hurt.

“I’m aware,” he replied, disgruntled, and dropped down into his chair.

You rounded the desk to his side with the kit and set it on the surface of it. You began to unpack the kit and set aside the things you needed. Saul watched you—your back was to him but you could feel his eyes on you.

The first thing you did was check his nose to make sure it wasn’t broken. Good news, it wasn’t. Just really, really bloody. And there was a cut on the bridge. You grabbed a packet of wipes and started to get to work.

You focused on wiping the blood away, but you noticed Saul’s eyes scanning your face. He was watching you almost transfixed. He had been quiet for a few seconds, which was longer than usual for him.

“If I knew I could get you this close I would’ve gotten my ass kicked sooner,” he finally spoke up in that sleazy manor you were so used to.

You scoffed out a laugh. “At least you’re not trying to say you won that.”

Blood was still dripping from his nose, layering onto what was already present, so you took care of that first. You cleaned it from his face which he groaned and whined about, but you wouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Don’t be such a baby,” you muttered.

You finished up with that and his nose finally stopped leaking fresh blood. It was a start, right? You threw bloody wipes away in a little desk side trash can and moved on.

You leaned in a little, glancing over the injuries. You dabbed at the cut on the bridge of his nose with one of those tiny square alcohol wipes.

Saul winced but recovered quickly.

“Are you gonna kiss it and make it better?” he teased while you rolled your eyes and reached for a band aid. “If so I think I might have a scratch on my lip.” You raised your brows with a look that said a sarcastic ‘really?’ “What? I—I thought it was a legitimate healing method.” The lie rolled so easily off his tongue you might’ve believed he believed it. Part of being a lawyer you assumed.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if I did,” you said offhandedly (baiting him), unwrapping the bandaid and placing it on the bridge of his nose.

“What?” Saul sounded incredibly offended. “I so would,” he argued.

Before he could get another word in, you grasped his face in each of your hands and leaned down to capture his lips. Saul, as expected, was stunned. You pulled back with a light laugh while he stared at you dumbfounded.

“See?” you said with sass and a smile. “Now can I finish?”

Saul nodded, speechless for the first time in… well, as long as you’d known him.

Now that his nose was taken care of, which is where the brunt of the damage was, you could focus on the more minor things. Like the eye that was probably going to be a tad swollen and the cut on his forehead.

“You’re taking such good care of me,” he mused. “I’m starting to think you like me.”

“Maybe I do,” you replied smoothly, not missing a beat as you worked.

“I want a do-over,” Saul announced, referring to the kiss where you’d very effectively proved your point.

You ignored him, except for biting back a small smile to yourself. “I can’t do anything about the eye and the cut on your forehead is so small it probably doesn’t need a bandaid. Unless you want one.”

“It’s fine,” Saul dismissed.

“Alright then,” you stepped back to look over him one more time. “You’re good to go.”

“Thanks,” he told you, but was already distracted by prodding at the bandaid.

“I only had a few minutes so I gotta head out now,” you told him as you packed up the first aid kit.

You closed it and grabbed it, then headed for the doorway. Saul realized you were leaving and furrowed his brows, trying to find something to say. You only made it about halfway before—

“Wait! A date!” Saul scrambled to stand, but recovered and tried to act casual. “A date. We should go on one,” he suggested. “Like, for real.”

There it was. Something you’d been waiting for for a while. You knew he had a thing for you beyond just provocative comments and flirting, it was obvious, but he never actually asked you out. So you didn’t plan on taking him up on any of his offers until he was serious. It took a while, but that moment finally came.

If you were mean, you would’ve said the punch knocked some sense into him.

“Sure,” you replied after a beat.

“Really?” He sounded surprised. “I mean, really?” he repeated, much more collected. “That’s great. Okay. So uh, how about dinner this Friday?”

“You sure you don’t have… other stuff going on?” you asked vaguely, but he knew exactly what you were referring to.

Saul flashed you that charming grin of his. “For you? I have all the time in the world.”

You couldn’t help but smile and let out a laugh at that. Sure he could be coquettish but you genuinely did enjoy his presence. Besides, it suited him. You couldn’t imagine Saul being a perfect, boring gentleman. The flirting was like a game with him and you liked to play just as much as he did.

“Do me a favor, though—”

“Anything,” he responded a little too quickly.

“—try and keep that handsome face intact, alright? No more bloody noses,” you requested with a sarcastic tone (though you did mean it). “If you and I go out I don’t want people thinking I beat you.”

Saul chuckled at your joke. “I’d let you,” he said lasciviously. Despite the wicked glint you were pretty sure he was joking. Although with Saul you could never be too sure.

You scoffed, but with a sense of humor. “I don’t think that’s the compliment you think it is.”

“Whatever,” he said with a shrug. Saul strolled towards you, going overboard with how leisurely he tried to be. You laughed to yourself when he stopped in front of you. The sound made him crack a smile of his own.

“Can I get my do-over?” Saul implored.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “No,” you said unseriously. You laughed at your own joke and Saul sensed your tone.

“You sure?” Saul placed a hand on your waist and decreased the distance. His other hand rose to your cheek. You looked into those soft blue eyes of his.

“Maybe not,” you sighed out as he was already closing the gap between your lips.

Saul initiated and you gladly reciprocated. This kiss, unlike before, was expected. And not to prove a point. You weren’t sure what you thought kissing him would be like, but it was nice. Good. He had you practically swooning by the time the two of you separated.

“I gotta go, but um,” you said softly, eyes lingering on his lips. “I’ll see you Friday?” You flicked your eyes up to meet his.

“How about seven? I’ll pick you up,” Saul offered with a lopsided smile.

You clicked your tongue. “But your car is so tacky,” you teased.

“Hey! My car is awesome,” he defended. “You’ll look great in the passenger side.” Saul patted your hip (nearly your ass) and shot you a wink.

“You better make this date worth my while.” You poked him in the chest, all teasing and accusing like, and stepped back. You turned on your heal and headed out of the office.

"I wouldn't dream of anything less!" Saul called after you. You could hear the smile on his face and for the rest of the day, nothing could get rid of the one on yours.

#quin-ns writing #saul goodman #saul goodman x reader #saul goodman x you #jimmy mcgill #jimmy mcgill x reader #jimmy mcgill x you #breaking bad #better call saul #breaking bad fanfiction #breaking bad fic #bob odenkirk #breaking bad 5x11

319 notes · View notes

bourbon-ontherocks · 21 days

Text

20 questions for writers

I was tagged by @pia-writes-things (ty!!! ❤️)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

46!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

703,271. Which is, um, a lot.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Good Girls (formerly), HPI (formerly), and l'Art du Crime. There's also a random bit for les Combattantes, and one GG fic has a shared universe with Graceland. I'm very mono-fandom lol.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Take A Dip

It's All Coming Back To Me

It Hurts When I See You Struggle

Love And War

We're Living In A Powder Keg And Giving Off Sparks

Unsurprisingly, these are all GG fics, although I don't think my kudos ranking is accurate because most of these were impacted by the great kudos-bombing gate from 2020 so it's hard to tell what's actually my most kudo-ed fic.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Absolutely. My secret goal is to keep the conversation going back and forth for the longest possible time because I love the opportunity for a good ramble about my writing 😈

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I wanna say Ad vitam æternam (L'art du crime)? I mean, it's literally an MCD fic, so, not that merry... Also if I remember correctly, Always lost in the sea (HPI) doesn't end on a very hopeful note either.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't know? All of them? None? I generally tend to go for happy open endings with that extra bit of bittersweet so I really couldn't tell. But hey, maybe the ending to that thing I'm currently writing actually is the happiest of it all, because oh boy, things do get cheesy at some point 🥺

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No at all! Unless you count that one person who commented on several chapters of whichever long GG fic I wrote just to point blank hate on Beth character lol

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Of course I do (in English only), I like my porn toxic and desperate and angsty with just the right amount of power play and mutual hatred. Basically, I write hatefuck 😂

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really, no... I've tried a couple of times, but I think I'm better at/more interested in mimicking existing interactions than inventing a dynamic between characters who never met canonically (and also, boy the kind of SETUP you need to justify some characters crossing paths... it's just too much work). I'm more of a cameo/easter egg kind of writer, so once in a while I'll allow a character from another fandom to pop up in a fic and say hi, but it's really a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of encounter.

I guess my craziest attempt would be that Crazy Ex-Girlfriend / Good Girls crossover that I never finished though, cause like, super different moods?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of but I don't really attempt to know

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! By myself lol. I once posted a fic in two languages before acknowledging it was a hell of an additional work 😭

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Kinda? We never finished nor even posted it but at some point we shared a quite unhinged co-writing story with @whiskeyjack and @00gangfriend00 and it was a lot of fun 🥰

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

You... you guys have that? You don't just live by your Ship of the Moment just to instantly forget about it and hop on the Next Ship when it shows up? I'm sorry but I don't think I have one of those.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

What a trap question!!! 😂

It's All Coming Back To Me, obviously. Look, I really really want to finish it, not even for me at this point, but for the 120-something people who subscribed to it, for the faithful readers who still leave me comments every now and then hoping for closure. I know how it ends. I have it partially written. I just don't seem to know how to write for Good Girls anymore, and getting my head back into it feels like such an insurmountable load of work, I just- I'm trying, ok?

But like, if someone's interested in helping, or even writing that ending based on my notes (and getting full and proper credits for it obvi), just let me know! I'm really open to it 🥲

16. What are your writing strengths?

Probably dialogues? I've been told many times that my dialogues feel very close to the original, and the thing is, I write about TV shows and I have a very good ear so I think I catch quite easily the actors' voices and tones and mannerisms in my head, so every time I write down a line, I play it several times in my mind with the character's voice to determine whether they would say it like that or not. Looks like it's not working so bad.

Also I *think* I'm not too bad at stream-of-consciousness inner monologues. At least it's one of my favourite things to write so there's that.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes (that includes sex lol). Filling the gaps between the important parts. Descriptions. Setting up the scene.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Like, featuring two different languages inside the same fic, or writing in different languages? I'm not sure I've ever really written the first one? I guess I find it a bit clunky, occasionally I've written scenes that included a character whose native language wasn't the one of the fic, and I'd give them a line or two if that's relevant to the plot (for instance, if characters are lost somewhere in another country, I can add a line/dialogue in another language for comedic effect. Or it can be a way for a character to whisper something for themselves), but the logistics are quite nightmarish, you gotta either assume your audience knows the second language, or translate the lines in the author's note, or have another character translate it in a way that doesn't sound too articifial, that's really really tedious haha

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Good Girls.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

You think I know that? Out of FOURTY-SIX??? Lol. Get out.

Tagging: @sdktrs12 @joeyjoeylee if you're around @riosnecktattoo @humanbra @hemerae-ramblings @sothischickshe @asteraceae-blue

#tagging games #writing #my fic #fanfic

25 notes · View notes

tackytigerfic · 3 months

Note

Never have I ever…. There was only one bed!!!!!! pls and thank youuuuu, only if it sparks joy etc etc etc!! 😘

hello, my lovely! thank you so much for the ask.

According to my AO3 tag search, I have written this twice! Once in Dreaming Skies which was co-written by @sweet-s0rr0w (which we are both really fond of, it's a Dron getting together fic set on a dragon reserve in Romania and we got to write so much lovely world-building and magical theory stuff and there's a baby dragon and Draco wears a funny hat lmao)

Apparently I also wrote this in If It Takes All Night but I'm not sure that it works for this trope as such, as they're already having to share a bed because they've been cursed to have to touch each other at all times. So the prospect of any other beds is moot anyway?!

Oh and in Power Lines, before they get together they end up sharing one-bedroom motel rooms (it's an American road trip fic) because Draco is a poor student and is too proud to let Harry pay for separate rooms—how convenient.

I was going to talk about how I'd write this trope now but then remembered I actually have it in my current WIP, a Voldemort-lives wartime AU. They have to move into Harry's room because there isn't space for people to have their own rooms once Malfoy and Potter arrive from another universe. Here's a snip of them in their bed — this is when they're still in the enemy part of their relationship lol. CW for canon-typical violent thoughts ie Harry wanting to punch Draco. They're arguing about the other universe's Malfoy here as Draco thinks Harry has a crush on him.

The bed was soft under Harry’s knees when he landed, fury lending him speed, and he ignored Draco’s shocked inhale and the affronted wriggle of his warm body away from Harry where he leant over him.

“Shut up,” Harry said, and Draco pulled even further back, shoulders pressing into the headboard of the bed. “Shut up about all of it. You haven’t a clue how I feel. He’s my friend, actually, though it makes sense that you wouldn’t get that. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Such good friends that you’re sneaking around behind his boyfriend’s back,” Draco said, and Harry hated the sneering roll of his mouth, and the plump smooth curve of his unblemished cheek, and the warm clean smell of his hair—every part so violently him.

“At least I talk to him. To both of them," Harry said, leaning heavier on the duvet. Draco’s legs splayed awkwardly where he was trying to avoid Harry's weight. “No one else in this whole fucking place is trying to work with them. I’m the only one who sees how much they could help us.”

“Every single time your magic sparks off Potter's, you could be eroding the edges of the world,” Malfoy said. “Though there’ll be no Voldemort if the very fabric of our universe is destroyed, I suppose. One point for Team Reckless.”

Harry hadn’t hit anyone in years, probably not since Draco himself, in school, but he wanted to so badly that he could feel the hopeful tingle of it through his palm, out into the fingertips and collecting in his balled fist. Interrogate the feeling, Bill would say if he were here. Let yourself feel what you need to feel. Harry suspected “violent desire to punch Draco Malfoy right in his smug mouth” was not quite what Bill had in mind, though you never knew with Bill.

“Do you know what it’s like?” Harry said, pressing his hands flat against his own thighs, bearing down into the shifting muscle, grounding himself above Draco’s restless body. “Being me, I mean. Do you know what it’s like?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that,” Draco said. His colour was high in the spill of moonlight, throat swallowing convulsively. “Of course I don’t.”

“Just imagine,” Harry said quietly. From next door came the low sound of laughter. Malfoy had made it to bed, then. “Imagine being in pain all the time, horrible sick-making pain from all the Occlumency. And all the fighting. Years of it, Draco, years and years.” Under his palms he could feel the tremble of exhaustion in the stretch of his leg muscles. He straightened, stretched, then lifted himself up and off Draco so he could flop down onto the bed. The pillow was cool and firm under his hot cheek, and he closed his eyes. After a moment he felt the bed shift as Draco wriggled back down to lying too. The pillow under Harry’s head dipped with the added weight of Draco’s head, and he kept his eyes closed.

#drarry #tacky's fth #asked and answered #never have i ever ask game #thank you dear mama!#lovely to see your name pop up in my inbox #rowing and chatting #dron

27 notes · View notes

ageless-aislynn · 3 months

Text

Title: “15 Minutes” (8/?) Author: @ageless-aislynn Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You've got work to do. John worries. Things get a little more intense. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating: T (PG13) Length: 1,945 (this chapter, 19,693 total so far) Spoilers/warnings: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N: Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you'll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we'll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 9 is still in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞The next chapter will also see us entering into some hurt/comfort for a bit but I tend to lean heavier on the comfort, in case you're worried. Or, you know, would be disappointed. 😉 If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger @mysardencut @laurenstacy610 @sporadicbelievernightmare @ultrablackwidower @bxmxtx @jellotherelol

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

The Troop Transport Warthog hit a particularly rough patch and you held on for all you were worth to keep from being ejected.

"Sarge," Private Taylor yelled. "Where are we?"

"That's need to know and none of you need to know, marine," Sarge shouted back from the passenger seat. "Just keep your head down, do your job, and you'll be home 15 minutes before your mama has breakfast on the table."

You couldn't particularly tell if it were dusk, dawn or high noon, the air was so heavy with the greasy remains of mortar rounds. In the distance, a nondescript cityscape occasionally flared with either continuing pockets of active combat or just the remnants of the devastation that had passed through.

Wherever you were, it felt like you were barreling at top speed through a graveyard of vehicles: Warthogs, Mongeese and even the odd Scorpion, some overturned, blackened and smoldering, others weirdly intact as if their drivers had merely stepped away for a moment.

This was a salvage and recovery mission, tasking your unit with marking vehicles as repairable, recyclable or a total loss to be abandoned.

The next hour or so, that had been your focus, moving from Warthogs and the occasional Mongoose, conducting a quick evaluation, then using your spray gun to mark a green circle on the hood to send back to Reach for repair, a white slash to send it to be stripped for usable parts or a red X to abandon, not worth salvaging.

You marked a Mongoose with a red X, though the gun sputtered and you had to give it a few whacks before it sprayed properly, then you moved on.

Next up was a Warthog that seemed in decent condition from the outside, short of the rear antenna twisted until it resembled a curly tail. But the electronics were fried and the entire undercarriage looked like it had plowed over a series of flaming spikes, all major parts gouged out and burned. There might have been a few nuts and bolts reclaimable but since you'd just recently been writing up requisition for needed parts, you judged that it was more effort than it was worth.

You made the call to abandon it but as you tried to spray the red X across the hood, nothing emerged, even after shaking the sprayer and giving it a few more hits with the heel of your palm. With a slightly frustrated noise -- who was checking to make sure that the sprayers were in working order before they were sent out? -- you headed to get a replacement. Along the way, you caught a private going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, see that 'hog there? Would you red X it for me? Thanks."

"Um, sure," the blond man said and headed where you gestured.

You were still looking for somebody who had a spare sprayer when Sarge drove up in the Troop Transport again.

"Wrap it up, it's about to get hot," he shouted.

You quickly joined the rush back to board the Pelican and scrambled into a seat just as it lifted off. A split-second after you'd clicked the restraint down, the Pelican rolled to one side, shuddering from an impact.

Alarms began blaring, mixed in with the pilot calling out coordinates, and you automatically tried to look forward, as if you'd somehow be able to spot what was shooting at you. All you could really see was the anxious faces of the other marines around you. You spared a couple of breaths to be glad that neither Maria or Jamie had been called in for this.

The Pelican took a second, more glancing blow and the resulting shudder rattled your teeth.

"Covvies?" somebody asked over the engine whine and the private across from you shrugged.

"Who else?" she said. "But that felt like surface-to-air to me. What about you?"

She met your eyes and it was your turn to shrug. "I'm not sure. Never been hit by any sort of missile before."

"Oh well, congratulations on your first missile salvo," she returned with a crooked grin.

The Pelican rolled once more, this time in an evasive maneuver, then thankfully smoothed out and made its escape without further incident.

Your unit was taken to the covert off-world depot known colloquially as The Pit, where everything that had been marked for repair or recycle would be delivered for further sorting. In the center of the large warehouse area was a compactor pit for all of the scrap to be sent into. Several cranes were already busy moving the smaller vehicles like Warthogs and Mongeese into berths to be stripped down while the still operational vehicles were lining up to be loaded onto heavy transport carriers to be returned to base.

You finished stripping your second Warthog for salvageable parts and signaled the nearest lift operator. The clawlike crane clamped onto the 'hog's shell, picking it up and carrying it towards the compactor while you moved on to a Mongoose with a crumpled left rear wheel.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Warthog with a particularly distinctive twisted rear antenna being dropped off into the line to be loaded up and returned to FLEETCOM.

Frowning, you wove your way through the other mechanics, avoiding the occasional flying part, and found a green circle sprayed onto the hood.

Shit, the private must've heard me wrong when I told him to red X it. It seemed like an odd mistake to make but things had been hectic.

You grabbed a sprayer and neutralized the green and sprayed over it with a red X, then went to the nearest crane operator.

"You see that 'hog with the X on it? Drop it in the line for the compactor, please."

"Got it," the woman said and you waited until she'd picked it up and deposited it appropriately before you returned to work.

You were elbows into a Gauss 'hog's engine bay when you heard your rank and name called. Looking up, your heart gave a little skip: John in full helmeted Mjolnir strode your way with thundering steps you could hear even over the rest of the cacophony.

"With me," he said tersely, passing by and disappearing through a doorway at the back of the warehouse.

You had to hustle to catch up and he had already stopped by the time you joined him in the otherwise empty hallway. He turned, removing his helmet with a slight pneumatic hiss.

"Are you okay?" you both said at the same time.

The angle of the hallway meant you were shielded from most of the work floor. He set his helmet down and very carefully took your hands in his gloved ones.

"Insurgents took the field," he said, looking you over from head to toe. "Did you see combat? Intel was unclear."

"No, we got out but the Pelican took a few shots. Somebody said it felt like surface-to-air but I didn't remember Covenant using anything like that. It was insurgents, then?"

He nodded distractedly, glancing away to mutter, "I'll be right there." Then he looked back to you. "I have to go. Your unit's being sent back to Reach but if they divert you into combat..."

He trailed off, clearly realizing there was no way to finish that sentence the way he wanted.

"Tell them, nah, I'd rather not, thanks?" Your mouth twitched and you squeezed his fingers.

He gave a resigned chuckle. "Yeah, try that, please."

"You're the one who'll be much more in the thick of it," you pointed out. "You be careful, okay?"

"Always try," he said, bringing your hands up to press a kiss to the back of both.

Kai leaned around the door, her visor glinting green. "Chief, sorry but we've got to go."

"Copy that." He released you with clear reluctance and picked up his helmet. "Stay safe. I'll see you soon."

He vanished through the doorway and you took a breath, exhaling slowly. John suddenly appeared right in front of you again, leaning down to cup your face in one hand.

You were just about to ask if something was wrong when he kissed you.

For a moment, for forever, the universe shrank to just the two of you, his mouth on yours, a little frantic at first, then slowing, steadying out.

You felt like you were hovering off the ground and then realized you were; he'd picked you up at some point, pressing you gently to his chest plate. Your hand dropped to the 117 etched near his heart and it was gritty with sand and dirt. You were both grimy and sooty but it didn't matter. It couldn't have been more perfect if you were in a flowing ballgown and him in a tux, slowly spinning together on a glittering palace floor.

He set you back onto your feet but you only parted a breath away from each other.

"I... I'll get better with practice," he mumbled.

You smiled at him, feeling wobbly, lightheaded and more grounded than you'd ever been before, all at the same time. "John, if you were any better at that, I'd have to show you how fast I can get a Spartan out of their Mjolnir with my bare hands."

He was near enough to see his pupils dilate and that was incredibly gratifying. "I'll hold you to that," he said, his voice dropping an entire octave, making your toes literally curl inside your boots.

Then he put his helmet back on and left. You took a moment to compose yourself, then exited as well. There was no sign of Silver Team. No doubt, the Pelican waiting for him had taken off the second he'd boarded.

Cutting through the busy deck, you looked for any vehicle marked with a white stripe, still waiting to be stripped. On an impulse, you diverted to the line being dropped one at a time into the compactor. There was no sign of the curly tailed Warthog.

It could've already been compacted, you were thinking when you saw it going by overhead, clutched in a crane claw and heading back towards the line to return to Reach.

You didn't stop to think, you sprinted for the crane's operator booth. "Hey, put that 'hog down!"

The operator looked at you and you realized in a burst that it was the blond man you'd originally told to mark it with the red X back on the battlefield, who'd apparently designated it instead to come back to The Pit.

No, to go back to FLEETCOM.

Recognition went across his face at the same moment and he bolted from the booth. The lift automatically stopped, the Warthog swaying over the crowded deck.

You knew. You just knew.

You ran as fast as you could and slammed the alarm on the wall. "Bomb!" you bellowed over the shrill klaxon. "Bomb! Clear out!"

Jumping into the operator booth and grabbing the controls, you quickly scanned the area as marines scattered everywhere. There was only one place you could think to go.

You swung the arm around, guiding the curly tailed 'hog firmly clasped in its grip towards the compactor pit. It felt like it was taking a year to get there but you couldn't release the controls or the safety would bring it once more to a stop. Once the Warthog was finally in position, you opened the grip.

What if I'm wrong? you thought as it began to fall. I'll feel like such a fool if--

There was a saying that if you were close enough to an explosion, you would never actually hear it.

It was true.

end note:

If you want to, you know, imagine that Sarge's full name is, sayyyyyy, Avery Johnson, well then, who am I to tell you that you're right or wrong? 😇

If you don't know the Troop Transport Warthogs, here's one in action from Halo: Reach. It's on the level "ONI: Sword Base" and is scripted to be destroyed but there's a way to save it and the marines in it and take it with you for a great deal of the rest of the level! I love saving the Troop 'hog, even if it always still looks like it's on fire. Nah, it's fiiiiiine, no worries! 😎👍😂😉

32 notes · View notes