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nehswritesstuffs · 5 months

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fly little seagull, that rock can be home - Part 1

I’m back! With another Trafalgar Nauja fic! [*confetti*] I was working on this alongside fly little seagull, you’re too far from the nest, because I’m apparently a sadist, but I knew I couldn’t let 13k words go to waste, and now it’s over 30k words and counting after being distracted by a bunch of other things, and although I didn’t set out to make this series a choose-your-own-adventure with Law and this OC child, that’s what it’s turned into and I wish I could say I’m sorry but I’m not in the slightest.

8568 words to start; deviates from the main story in the second section of the third chapter (so, like, 17.5k words in) and then this storyline effectively replaces the rest of the main fic in this continuum; tldr: Law is morphing into a little kid’s Cora-san and is about to say what he thinks is his final goodbye to her pre-Dressrosa; much slower in pace than the other variations of this fic, but also will be much steamier and domestic; there are so many fcking OCs in this that it’s almost just Law in OC Land for a long while and I am not sorry; shout out to all in the Rare Pears server for putting up with me and my nonsense they are true fandom heroes lol, as is Rimetin for being this fic’s first victim

fly little seagull, that rock can be home; Law is about to leave the Polar Tang as he heads to certain Death on Dressrosa. Then he goes to say goodbye to one specific person, only for half a lifetime’s worth of motivation to vanish in an instant. [AU where Law acquires a kid and realize the true gift Cora-san wanted for him]

The girl’s words piqued his interest. “You want to do medical illustrations?”

“Yeah! Well, I still want to be a doctor, like you, but I also want to be able to do drawings! I’m not very good at those yet, but I’m gonna practice real hard!” She pulled another drawing from her desk and showed him; it was a copy of an illustration of a hand’s skeletal structure from one of his textbooks. “See? I’m not good at that yet, but I’m still learning, right?”

“You are,” he agreed, chest filling with pride. “This is wonderful, Nauja-ya. You are very talented.” He watched as she put them away and sat next to him.

“What did you want to talk about?” she wondered. “Are we going to an island where I have to behave extra? I don’t like those islands.”

“No, actually…” He swallowed hard. “I’m…” He saw her face and all the happiness and joy it contained, melting away his prior conviction. How could he chose dying at the hands of Doflamingo over raising this child? Was getting revenge for Cora-san worth throwing away the gifts the man had given him in the first place? Maybe what he owed that foul-mouthed, accident-prone, absolute flaming mess of a spy—who was honestly the best spy he had ever seen—was to live and love. That that would be the best revenge levied on a man who never understood either. He still didn’t wholly understand why he did it after all these years, but maybe… just maybe… taking care of this kid would give him the answers… could help him with his guilt… might finally give him some peace.

If nowhere was safe from Donquixote Doflamingo, then he was simply going to have to run until they found nowhere.

“You and I are going to have to take a special trip soon, away from the Tang,” he said. “Be prepared to pack in the morning, alright? It’s going to be an adventure.”

Nauja’s eyes lit up. An adventure?! With just her and Law-san?! This was going to be the best!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

They didn’t often get new visitors in Hinba, which was one of the first things that the barman noticed about the pair. It had been a rainy evening when they arrived—not storming, just the steady, reliable autumn rain that could lull a person to sleep. It seemed fairly normal a night until they walked in: a tallish man with a piercing glare, both a pack and a sword slung across his back, and a small child hiding under his feathered cloak. They both appeared to be worn from travel, though the man more so. He let the child find a table near the back and he went up to the bar, the proprietor now able to see the dark circles under his eyes and the glint of two rings on a chain hiding in the unbuttoned folds of his shirt.

“Food and drink, please,” the man said, “and a room if you have one.” His accent was something near-completely foreign to the barman, making him stop for a moment. The stranger caught his hesitation and spoke slower. “You do serve food here, yes?”

“We do; just don’t normally get strangers, is all,” the barman shrugged. “We’re a bit out of the way for most, and even the trade routes aren’t always consistent.”

“Is there a doctor around?”

“You in need of one?”

“No, but I am one, and I’ve been looking for a place to set up shop where I can fill a void. A good physician upholding their oath means that everyone gets care.”

“I see.” The barman put a glass of beer and a bottle of pop on the counter. “Any requests for that food?”

“No allergies, but I’m not fond of bread or pickled things.”

“…and is the kid picky?”

“No; my daughter is less picky than I am if you’ll believe it.” The man took the drinks, tattoos spelling DEATH across his knuckles flashing in the low lamplight. “Do you have a room? I’d like to not sleep on our ship tonight.”

“Yeah, I can get you a real bed, but you’ll have to share. It’ll be ready by the time you’re done eating.”

The stranger nodded in silent thanks and took the drinks over to the corner where the child had already set up with what looked like a book and drawing set. It was curious, but then again, things did rarely happen on their island.

“What do you think is up with him?” one of the regulars wondered. The barman watched as the stranger put the drinks down and settled into a chair with his back to the wall.

“None of our business,” he shrugged. He watched the strange man for a moment, taking note of his interactions with the child. She was completely at-ease and he seemed tired by simply looking at her—yes, that was a father and his daughter. “Maybe we’ll find out eventually.”

“What, do you think they’ll stay?”

“Nearest doctor’s been a three-day sail for a long time now; there’s a chance.”

“With that bedside manner? No fucking thanks.”

“Eh, that’s not our decision to make.” The barman then put down the glass that he had been cleaning and went into the kitchen, getting two plates of food. He brought them out to the strangers, chuckling as he saw the girl’s eyes light up happily. “Hungry, kid?”

“Yeah!” She put aside what she was working on and bounced up and down in her seat. Huh… she was drawing what looked like a medical diagram… “Thanks for the food, Barman-ya!”

“Eat up, buttercup,” the barman said. Huh. Her accent wasn’t like her father’s, though it was clearly influenced by it. “So… where you strangers from?”

“Here and there,” the man replied. “We used to live on the Grand Line, but we needed a change of scenery.”

“The Grand Line…? Must have been an adventure getting to these southern waters…”

“It was.” The man took a careful bite of his food and tried to ignore the barman. When he realized the conversation wasn’t entirely over, he glanced up. “Yes…?”

“Just… nothing. You must have a familiar face.”

“He looks like a pirate!” the kid sad cheerily around her food.

“Famke…” the man warned with a gentle sternness.

“Well, you do…!” she insisted before turning towards the barman. “Vaor’s not that guy, but lots of people think he’s that guy, because the person who takes the bounty photos is bad at it. He tried complaining but it’s no good.”

“Is that so?” the barman chuckled. He could see the man’s face get dark with blush—it was obviously a sore point. “Well, don’t worry, kiddo; even if your da here was some big-shot, we don’t give a shite about that.”

“You don’t…?”

“Last time I checked, the World Government doesn’t give a damn about us, so the least we can do is make it mutual,” the barman explained. It was faint, but he could see the kid’s father relax a little in the shoulders. Ah—so he was concerned about that; no wonder. “You could round up more than a couple bounties here on Diura… just saying.”

“Then I’m sure you are more than underserved from a medical standpoint if you take such an attitude towards piracy,” the stranger said. He then nudged his daughter’s shoulder with the back of his hand to get her attention. “Chew with your mouth closed.” He sounded as though it was something he’d already said well over a thousand times in her life and would likely say a thousand more.

“…but Vaor…!”

The barman didn’t stick around to hear the end of the argument; their first new visitors in a long time needed a place to sleep.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Later on, upstairs in their rented room, Law and Nauja were getting ready for bed. They were separated by a changing screen as the girl pulled on her pajamas, her father already in a fresh pair of shorts as he sorted through the contents of his pack.

“Is this the place we’re gonna stay?” she wondered from behind the screen.

“It might be,” he replied. She came out with her day clothes neatly folded and placed them on a chair before climbing atop the bed. “We don’t have too much left if we want to have the money to start a clinic when we do settle.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The Den Den.” He then found the transponder snail’s shell—it was sleeping—and placed it in a tray on the nightstand with some lettuce. “Can’t ignore that for too long.”

“…or we can’t call my uncles!”

“Correct.” He waited until Nauja was under the bedding before he handed her Professor Nanuk so he could replace everything else in the pack. “Go to sleep now, famke.”

“Vaor…?”

“Hmm…?”

“How did you meet Moetje?”

He looked at her as she rested herself against her pillow, hugging her stuffed toy tightly. It was a practical move, he knew that much, but it was still disarming. If there was anyone listening in on them—and he would have been surprised if no one was—they could mistake his hesitation for a widow’s melancholy, especially if they stayed and the rest of their story ended up sticking.

“We were in classes together,” he replied gently, deciding on a story. “It’s easy to not pay attention to who else is in the room when you’re in med school because you’re trying to concentrate on not failing, but partway through our first term I finally looked behind me and there she was…” He put their pack on the table and went into the bed, glad for how warm Nauja was against the chill of the rain. Reaching back into his memory, he tried to remember the name of a classmate… someone he barely recalled, but knew needed a memorial… because all of Flevance did. “Antje was a year older than me, and my fifteen-year-old heart couldn’t take how pretty she was.”

“Yeah… Moetje was pretty, wasn’t she?”

“She really was.” Fuck… he didn’t even know if he liked women, let alone anyone at all. That was something he might figure out now that he was a civilian… he just needed to find where they were going to settle first. “Go to sleep, alright? We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Mmmhmm…” She burrowed in close and quickly drifted off, her hand unconsciously reaching for the rings still on the chain on his neck. “I love you, Law-san.”

“I love you too, Nauja-ya,” he whispered back. He opened a Room long enough to turn off the lights and tried to go to sleep himself, though he knew it would be light and fitful as it had been since they left the Tang.

What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I’ve made an important decision,” he told the late-night collection of his crew. “I cede captainship of the Heart Pirates and am going to live a civilian life.”

The entire mess hall was so quiet one could almost hear everyone breathing.

“Wait… what?!” Penguin abruptly stood, absolutely flabbergasted. “What the fuck?!”

“What got into your head?” Shachi asked. He stared down the younger man, trying to get a read on his face. “This was not part of the plan.”

“What plan?” Jean Bart asked.

“Yeah, what plan?”

“What’s going on?”

“What aren’t you telling us?”

“Quiet,” Law insisted, the room going silent again. “I was supposed to leave tonight to enact a plan to take out Donquixote Doflamingo and his criminal operation at its roots. Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo were supposed to be in charge while I did that anyhow. Everyone was supposed to hide in the Mokomo Dukedom until after it was safe…” He swallowed. “…well after I died at his hands.”

“Why fuck with Doflamingo?” Clione wondered. “Man’s a psychopath, sure, and what do we care that he’s an underworld broker? We just know what to avoid.”

“Doflamingo killed someone important to me once,” Law explained frankly, “and the past thirteen years of my life have been about me figuring out how to get revenge. I was saying my goodbyes to Nauja and…” he sighed, choking up, “…I can’t do it. I spent half my life meticulously planning how I was going to go out in a blaze of glory as I possibly killed one man… and I realized that, as I looked at Nauja, I didn’t know what I was going to do if I survived… that I didn’t know if I could ever forgive myself for choosing death over raising her.” He felt hot tears stream down his cheeks as he licked his lips and avoided looking at anyone else in the crew. This was more information than he ever wanted to share, but knew that if anyone deserved it, it was them. “That person… he’d want me to live… to raise a child while growing older than my father ever got the chance to be… because that’s what he wanted to do with me when I was a kid…”

“…but Doflamingo denied you both that,” Jean Bart said, his voice grave and even. “Nauja is a chance to have that life and honor the one who saved you. A gentle revenge.”

“Can’t we just help you take him down?!” someone asked. Law shook his head.

“To go up against Doflamingo is choosing dying at his hands rather than raising her; I’d never forgive myself, more so if any of you were involved.”

“…but what if we wanted to help raise her too?”

“Please, just… let me be selfish. I just realized that I have a chance to truly be free of all this and… I can never repay you all for what you’ve done, so please…”

Law was cut off by the scraping of a chair against the floor. Everyone looked and saw that Bepo was now standing, tears in the Mink’s eyes.

“You’re going to have to tell us all about how the two of you are doing on a regular basis,” he insisted. “If we can’t be there, then we at least deserve that much.”

“Bepo, I…”

“I’m going to miss you,” the navigator cried. He lumbered up to his captain—no, his best friend—and tackled him in a shaky hug. “What would I have done without you?”

“Electrocute the goobers before you entered your teens?”

“You know what the bear means,” Penguin interjected. He and Shachi looked at one another, then Law. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Law nodded, croaking out a tiny “Yeah.”

“Dreams change all the fucking time,” Shachi shrugged. “Sometimes all it takes is chasing one to realize you were after something else all along. Right?”

The thing was that he didn’t realize how right his words were.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Morning came, bringing sunshine with it. Law and Nauja soon found themselves in the village leader’s office, the greying woman in early middle-age staring them both down. Here was this strange, tattooed man explaining that he was a surgeon who wished to set up a practice, with a young girl at his side almost too old to be the daughter he claimed she was if he was not already lying about his own age.

“You are both strangers,” she reiterated, “and have yet been in town for an entire day. How am I to trust you with my people’s medical needs, of all things, under such circumstances? We’ve dealt with only a midwife on the island for well over fifteen years, so why stop now?”

“All I want is to give my daughter a stable life away from bad memories,” Law said. The village leader—Torilsbur Dervla according to the nameplate on the desk—did not seem like someone who could be easily convinced, which made him glad they prepared in advance. “You don’t have a doctor on the island and I can fill that void.”

“You already said you are a surgeon. I am not so ill-informed that I don’t know the difference.”

“My training and real-world experience meant I functioned as a hybrid family practitioner and surgeon—I am more than qualified to run a small hospital, let alone a rural clinic.”

“Of course.” She stared at his hands and frowned. “By what organization?”

“I began my formal training in what was Drum Kingdom, though I finished in Water 7. Plenty of fieldwork supplemented what I couldn’t learn in the classroom.”

“Couldn’t handle the strain?”

“No… the king had a poor idea of what public health should be and banished nearly all the medical practitioners—doctors, surgeons, nurses, researchers, you name it. The prestige might have returned when it became Sakura Kingdom, but my wife and I always wanted to help real people, not be locked away in a research tower.”

“…and she is…?”

“Moetje died,” Nauja said frankly. “That’s why we can’t stay in Water 7 anymore. Vaor called this a ‘fresh start’.”

“Then there is the question of you, Lawsdottir Nauja,” Dervla mused. “I know you must look like your mother, but I still have to note how the resemblance between you and your father is minimal.”

“Ma’am…? Why did you call me that…?”

“Lawsdottir? We don’t use family names here since not everyone is born with one, so that is how we trace our lineage, using son and dottir and bur. You are his daughter, thus Lawsdottir.”

“So I am Lawsdottir, and Vaor is Corasson?”

“If one of your grandparents was named Cora, then yes.”

Law watched Nauja consider this before nodding. “I… I don’t know if I could do it now, but could I go by Antjesdottir? Maybe later?”

“That would be up to you and your father,” Dervla said. Law saw her expression soften slightly before she turned back to him. “You really want to stay here?”

“With your permission—we won’t stay where we’re not wanted.”

“It’s true that a good doctor’s a long way off from here, and a good surgeon even further. I can show you where you can set up your practice, but understand that we do not accept strangers into our folds easily. You could live here until she is grown and you would still be the Lvneelish surgeon and his daughter, here for seas-knows-why.”

“You try leaving home as I did and attempt going back, with a child at that. No… I’d like for this to be our home. We would do well here.”

“I’m warning you now: although we are not poor, what we do have is of little interest to most. Aside from fishermen, there’s mostly sheep and potato and goat farmers around these parts, and while some of us won’t pay in beri, others won’t pay at all.”

“A doctor finds a way,” Law stated. Dervla nodded at him, now fully convinced.

“Come with me then, Doctor Corasson Law, Miss Lawsdottir Nauja, and I can bring you to where the last doctor used to live. If we’re lucky, you might still be able to make use of some of her things.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

With the night sky above them shining brightly, the little dinghy’s occupants sat quietly as the currents and wind gently guided the craft further into the South Blue. Nauja held Professor Nanuk in her arms as she stared up at the sky, taken in by the swirls and glittering specks above them.

“It’s so pretty,” she marveled. “Why don’t we ever see the sky like this when the Polar Tang is above water? There’s so many…”

“Whenever we use lights at night, it disrupts our ability to see the stars,” Law explained. He looked at her as she stared wide-eyed at the sky. “You like it?”

“I love it, Law-san!” she gasped. “I wonder if anyone else in the crew has seen the sky like this! I’ll have to ask when we get back!” When she turned her attention towards him, however, she tilted her head in confusion. “Why are you sad?”

“Nauja… we’re not going back to the Tang.” He saw her hug her toy a bit tighter in the starlight. “We’re going to find a place to stay, and then live there.”

“Wait… you mean… forever…?”

“For as long as we need to; if that’s forever, then it’s forever. Most likely we’ll need to move after a few years, but I won’t try to make it often.”

“Why…?”

“…because it’s too dangerous to keep constantly traveling, especially in a big group. The whole crew wants you to grow up in a good place, and I realized recently that place is probably not a pirate ship in the New World.” She stared at him, silent, and he tried not to panic. “Listen, I know I’m…” Fuck, this was awkward. “I know I’m not your real dad, but while we’re doing this, we should probably at least pretend like I am so no nosy aunties try anything.”

“Law-san… you are my real dad,” Nauja replied. There was an uncomfortable silence between them, the only sounds being the waves against the sides of the ship. “My first dad… he wasn’t like you. He wasn’t mean, but…” She avoided eye contact, instead seeming very interested in what was going on behind Professor Nanuk’s ear. “What did you call your dad? In Flevench?”

“Vaor, Vader, Papa…”

“My dad wasn’t mean, but he also didn’t really like me,” Nauja said, her head bobbing in a nod. “My vaor loves me, because he teaches me, and tells me I’m good and smart, and does things to protect me that my dad would have never done. You gave up the crew for me… and I don’t know why, other than that you’re my vaor… and he would have never done that.”

“Come here,” he requested, holding open his arms. The little girl stepped forward and allowed herself to be enveloped in his grasp, both glad that the hug was so warm against the cool night air. “You know, Cora-jiisan… I didn’t understand why he cared about me either. I thought that maybe it was pity for my situation, or out of fear of my name, but I look at you and I know… I know why he lov… why he cared for me so unconditionally, why he died to keep me alive and free.”

“…why…?”

“…because I think… that when he looked at me… he saw hope.” He leaned his head back until it tapped against the mast and he was looking up at the foreign night sky, so different than the stars he and Cora-san navigated by. “He saw hope that the bad man who eventually killed him wouldn’t win… that there could still be good that came from all the terrible things we had seen and done. Cora-jiisan needed me just as much as I needed him.”

“Does that mean that you need me as much as I need you?”

“In our way, yes,” he assured. He looked down at her and saw that she was happy and content. A frown then formed on her face, which he echoed. “What is it?”

“Who was the bad man who killed Cora-jiisan?”

“His name is Donquixote Doflamingo, and he was supposed to be his brother.” They weren’t pirates anymore, yet it was still important she knew what not to trust. “He is a very mean, cruel man who is sick in the head and will do anything to get revenge for Cora-jiisan and me running away if he finds us… if he finds out that you exist. Even if we stuck to being on the Tang, you’d be in danger should he find you and realize that you’re my famke… that I’m your vaor…”

“Oh!” she gasped. “I know this is a different subject, but does this mean I’m a Trafalgar now?”

“I guess it does.” He smiled wanly at that, seeing that his daughter was smiling at him in the starlight. It made the night sky seem that much brighter. “Get to sleep, famke. We should be able to reach the next port tomorrow morning. We’ll talk more then, alright?”

“Yes!” She settled into his lap with Professor Nanuk firmly in her grasp, keeping both close as she closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

Vaor and famke.

They were father and daughter.

Neither of them couldn’t ask for anything better.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a modest house on the edge of the village, with living upstairs and in the back; the front sitting room was a waiting area and other rooms set up as an office, a consultation room, a small infirmary, and combination larger-infirmary-and-operating theater. It was a bit bigger than most of the other houses, though with the amount of space in it dedicated to doctoring and medicine, it was almost like some apartments had been stuck onto a proper clinic. Nauja was nearly vibrating with excitement as they were being shown about, while Law was looking around at everything with concern.

“This is wonderful,” he acknowledged, “but I feel like there’s a catch.”

“No catch,” Dervla said. “Just do what you said you came here to do and it’s yours.”

“I have money,” he replied icily. “This just seems like a lot to just give away.”

“Vaor, some of these expired before I was born!” Nauja gasped, pointing at a glass-doored medicine cabinet.

“Don’t touch anything until I’ve had the chance to inspect it,” Law warned. He then turned back to the village leader. “Well, am I right?”

“Like I said: just do the job you say you’re here to do and there won’t be any problem,” Dervla repeated. She pat Law on the back of his shoulder and gave him a nod. “You know where to find someone if you have a question.”

“I do, but…”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.” She then left the newcomers alone in the smaller infirmary, with Law able to hear her shut the front door on her way out.

“I don’t know…” he mused. He picked up a medical journal from a bookshelf and cracked it open—it was nearly twenty years old and filled with hand-written notations and commentary in the varying articles’ margins. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“Vaor, we have a house, a place for medicine, there’s a school in town… it’s actually really neat here.”

“It’s still really suspicious when someone goes from not wanting you around at all to giving you a house specialized for your profession within an hour,” he replied. He kept flipping through the articles, a sense of familiarity washing over him. “You know… Oma used to do this.”

“Do what?” Nauja asked. She placed Professor Nanuk on the counter and bounced over towards Law, who sat on his haunches to show her the journal.

“Write in the margins like this,” he said, dragging his fingers over the ink scribbles. They were not far removed from the copperplate handwriting of his parents’ generation, the most prominent difference being the shakiness of the hand despite still being legible. “Opa did too, but not nearly as much as Oma did—it kind of annoyed him.”

“That’s silly,” she giggled. She then watched as he turned a page and almost instantly grew pale. “Vaor…? What’s wrong…?”

One look at the journal and she knew what it was: the next article was coauthored by her grandparents. Law sat directly on the dusty floor and tried his best to not cry.

“I… I remember when this was published,” he said shakily. “La—your Tante Lami was a toddler, and I had to watch her at night while they wrote.”

“I thought you said everything from… erm… home is gone,” Nauja said quietly. Law let out a laugh in disbelief, tears flowing freely down his face.

“The old doctor died before Flevance did; even if she had anything from there, unless someone bothered to come in here and take it…” He couldn’t continue, instead palming his eyes as he broke into a heaving sob. Nauja tackled him in a hug and he held her close, not wanting to let go.

There was still proof that Flevance had once lived, that his parents had lived, and that there was a legacy to pass down as he lived…

…wait a minute.

Shakily, Law disengaged Nauja and handed her the journal so that he could stand up. Tears still in his eyes, he looked at the other volumes on the shelf, running a pointer finger over their spines. Sure enough, there was plenty of medical journals and textbooks from Flevance. The collection was from a broad pool of sources—all the Cardinal Blues and the Grand Line were represented—if there had been someone on the island that was affiliated with the World Government, the entire shelf would have already been burned. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and ducked out of the room, heading into the office. His suspicions were confirmed and his jaw dropped laxly: whole bookshelves of medical publications going back decades… and many of them from the White City itself.

“Vaor…?” He glanced over and saw Nauja standing awkwardly in the doorway. “What is it?”

“I… erm…” He rubbed the back of his neck and waited until she stepped into the office properly. “It’s old, but there’s medical knowledge here that the Marines would kill this whole island over.”

“Really…?” She scrunched her nose and peered at the closest shelf. “This isn’t even from Flevance.”

“A lot of it is, or I’m sure is influenced by Flevance,” he replied, “and this one…? This is from an island that also doesn’t exist anymore. Rumor says it was destroyed for its thirst for history and knowledge.”

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah.” He licked his lips as he selected another book and flipped through it. “It makes sense if the previous doctor was well-learned that she would have had this sort of personal library, but it also tells me something else.”

“What’s that?”

“No one here is going to turn us in, even if they compare me to my bounty poster. We can stay here… for as long as it takes.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah.” He put the book down and knelt down on one knee to be at eye level with her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. “This is our home now.”

“…but… how will I get strong and good at stuff if we stay put? What if I can’t?”

“Don’t you worry about that.” He brought his hands up to her face, holding her as though she might break. “You’re going to grow up to be an amazing person, Trafalgar D. Water Nauja… I’m going to make sure of it.”

She hugged him and, before they knew it, they were both crying.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

One of the things that was extremely evident when it came to living with Amber Lead Syndrome was that there were good days and bad days. What observers often referred to as bad days were usually the good ones, and when presented with a bad day, it was understandably cause for alarm.

It was a bad day as Law and Cora-san were huddled on some rock, glad for the break in weather that allowed them to camp on the seas-forsaken outcropping instead of attempting to find an island with an inn they hadn’t been run out of yet. The teen could barely move, causing his adult’s panic to skyrocket. He had fussed over the boy and made sure he ate before turning towards his alcohol supply, soaking his depressive thoughts though the afternoon sun had yet to dip low into the sky.

“One day, after we’ve figured this shit out, we’re going to get out of this Blue,” he said, fully drunk at that point. Law was barely able to turn his head and see Cora-san sitting next to him, staring off into the distance as he drank directly from the wine bottle. “There has to be a quiet place we can go.”

“The East and West are both hot,” the boy replied, his voice feeling like sandpaper against his throat.

“They’re quieter than here.”

“What about the South Blue? Do they have weather like the North?”

“Yeah, in some places, but,” he took another drink, “they have to contend with giant and fierce animals more than we do. The only places I can think of that doesn’t are too out of the way.”

“Cora-san… I’m not going to make it that long…”

“You can’t say that, Law!” he sniffled. “We’re going to get you a cure and then I’ll find us someplace nice to live! You can study medicine and open up a clinic and I’ll be there to help you!” He emptied the bottle and laid down—there was no mistaking that he was drunk. “My papa did not live to be very old. I think I’d like to get older than he did one day, raising a family peacefully amongst other people.”

“Then go and get married and acquire babies,” Law huffed. He tried to hide the fact he head tears in his eyes—it was something he knew he’d never see. Cora-san as a dad? Ridiculous.

“I have my family,” Cora-san replied. He placed a shaky hand on Law’s face and turned it towards him. They were both on the verge of crying, held together by barely a thread. “You are my family now, Law. Do you think I tell all those hospitals that you’re my son to be an asshole about it?”

“…no…?”

“Then it doesn’t matter if you end up being the eldest or the only.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Law’s. “It doesn’t matter what anyone fucking says: you’re my son now and I love you.”

“…but…!”

“I don’t know how many you lost, and I can’t replace them, but I can still love you, because everyone needs that, don’t they?”

“…but… what did I do…?” He watched Cora-san’s eyes flutter shut and he frowned. “Cora-san…? What did I do that makes you love me? I’m just some shitty kid who tried to kill you.”

A snore was his only reply. Fuck… and with him unable to move too.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As Law feared: there was a steep learning curve to dropping himself and his daughter into the middle of a rural community. Curious passers-by kept popping their heads in and seeing who it was that was occupying the old doctor’s house. Children used to being able to barge into the front room without reprimand were shocked to discover that there were suddenly people living there. Local customs and traditions were plentiful as the young father tried to figure out what was going on around them. The Port and Village of Hinba was the only major population center on the Island and Country of Diura, which was otherwise dotted with varying farms and pastures as advertised, and yet there seemed to be no end to the amount of people that were coming in and out to meet them.

“You sure are an interesting pair,” chuckled the elderly neighbor lady—Svana—as she helped Law clean the infirmary. It was a quiet day, after Dervla had threatened everyone else to leave him alone or get kicked off the island. Nauja was outside with some of the other children who lived nearby, making it just the two adults in the house.

“Now why would you say that, Svana-ya?” he posed. Law was placing fresh bottles of antiseptic in one cupboard while she was washing the inside of another.

“Last time we got a new doctor we had to send to Roshawan for one,” she noted. “People don’t normally come here thinking that they might be able to stay and make a living… especially not if they arrive with a young one in-tow.”

“Consider us unique,” he said. He knew full-well that she was likely considered the island’s best font of information on them aside from Nauja, except no one was truly aware of how much they had planned beforehand. “What was the doctor like who was here before?”

“Dr. Ghar-Spartel was a hardy woman, who traveled the seas before settling here,” Svana nodded, her expression turning far-off as she reminisced. “We all mourned her when she passed—I think it’s part of why we never found another in all this time.”

“I was told you don’t take easily to strangers, yet you mourned someone you sent for?”

“We did; it turned out she was in town when our call was received and her heart fit here so well that no one could imagine anything different. With any luck, you two will acclimate as easily as she did.” She left the cupboard open and went to wring out the cloth and wet it again with the cleaning solution. “I get the feeling she would have liked the both of you—had a soft spot for Northern blokes who’d wander in town.”

“Was she Northern…?”

“Never publicly claimed a lick, but she was acquainted with quite a few. Came with the territory considering how far she sailed; she spent many an evening telling me tales of Lvneel and other places.”

“Maybe you can tell us some of those stories one day,” he said. “Leaving home young has… disadvantages. I don’t have a lot of stories to pass on to my daughter about my home sea. Not about Lvneel, or Kuenta, or Whiteland, or Flevance, or Notice…”

“I’ve got plenty, especially of Lvneel and Flevance,” she replied. “They were cultural hubs, and I’m sure you’ve heard how Flevance was known for their medical knowledge before the Plague, so she spent plenty of time there.”

Law finished stocking the cupboard and closed it. “Weird how that works: a place that was the best-equipped to handle a situation being wiped out by it instead.”

“It sounds suspicious to me, but that’s age and how life is here for you,” she sighed. She saw the confused, embarrassed look on Law’s face and she chuckled. “We don’t care about what the Government says in these parts. We’re not affiliated with them—never have been—so there’s no love lost if you know my meaning.”

“I know perfectly well your meaning, Svana-ya,” Law nodded. His face was still warm—it looked like embarrassment, but deep down, he was just happy he could continue to get something from his hometown… and something as intangible as stories? He was beyond elated. Now the only problem was making sure his neighbor didn’t catch on about how much he already knew… how much she was able to piece together…

Just then, the kitchen door at the back of the house slammed open and the sound of more than one child came barreling in. Nauja came sliding into the infirmary in her stocking feet, with a small gaggle of children close behind.

“See?!” she said, pointing at Law. “That’s my vaor! He’s a doctor, isn’t he, Svana-ya?!”

“He’s no midwife, but he’ll do,” the older woman chuckled. The village children all stared at Law and the ink visible thanks to his tank top shirt. “It’s impolite to stare—you act like you’ve never seen sailors’ marks before.”

“Are you a pirate?!” one of the children gasped. Nauja froze, yet Law knew exactly what to do. He crouched down with a wicked grin and wiggled his fingers, coming at the children until they screamed and ran away.

“I’m the worst pirate of them all! The Surgeon of Death!” The children that were not his all scurried out, with his daughter staring at him in confusion. “What…? It’s not like I’m not already mistaken for him.”

“Vaor… don’t do that again. You looked weird.”

“Oh, now you’re too cool?”

“Vaor…” Nauja rolled her eyes and went to find the other children, leaving Law with an expression of deadpan irritation on his face. Svana laughed merrily at that.

“What betrayal!” she cackled. “…and to think people wonder why I never had children!”

“I don’t know; maybe because you’re the island’s midwife?”

“Delivering children is not the same as having and raising them, young man,” she retorted. She forced her giggles under control as the man young enough to be her grandson attempted to get back to cleaning. “She is a good child; you should be proud.”

“I am.”

“…and I’m sure her mother is proud of you both.” He paused loading the cupboard for a moment, clearly lost in thought, before putting the vial back down on the counter. “How long has it been just the two of you?”

“…not… erm… long,” he admitted. He kept staring at the countertop, hoping she’d drop the topic, yet her hand gently touched his back in an effort to console him. “Can we please not talk about this, Svana-ya?”

“Bottling it up won’t be good, lad,” she cautioned. “You still have a lot of life left to be weighed down by something so heavy as those bits of metal on your neck.”

“I’ve carried more for longer,” he said, knowing the risk of saying so. The thin chain that held his parents’ wedding bands—scavenged from the ruins of the hospital when he was a reckless teen—suddenly felt very conspicuous, even though their presence was supposed to be part of the lie. “This is for my daughter—I don’t care what it does to me as long as she can grow up strong and free from everything.”

“She won’t if she loses both her parents this young.” The old woman rubbed his back and, for a moment, Law felt his stomach churn. He wasn’t used to genuine concern out of strangers and it made him feel guilty… guilty for everything. Flevance, Lami, Cora-san, the crew… everyone. Shit… did his classmate even like him back then? Had she tolerated him at the very least? He couldn’t remember…

“Being there for Nauja was part of why we moved from the Grand Line,” he stated. “I couldn’t stay there and raise her at the same time… it wasn’t right. It’s… cowardly to come here, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Corasson Law: it’s the bravest thing you could have done for her.”

Seas… he really hoped she was right.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The sense of déjà vu that Law was experiencing did not settle well with him, as it made him think of a time when he was the child, diminutive due to stunted growth and comparative height to his adult. He held Nauja close as he opened a large Room, the two of them surrounded by citizens of the small town they were in. Well, on the outskirts of, but that was besides the point.

“You don’t scare us,” a shop owner said. He had been a Marine for twenty years before retiring, the seagull tattoo still prominent on his upper arm. “A member of the Worst Generation would fetch a large price… especially one who tries to go into hiding while his cohorts make trouble elsewhere. What are you after, Rogue Shichibukai?!”

“I’m not here for trouble if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Law announced for about the sixteenth time.

“Then where’d you get the kid?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m making it my business, boy.”

Law sighed and twitched his fingers, the mob of citizens being replaced with their children and pets. The startled kids all looked at him and Nauja without really knowing what to say, let alone knowing what happened.

“You’re the man that Dad wanted us to stay away from,” a little boy realized. Law breathed a sigh of relief and put Nauja down; they had about five minutes before they needed to start running again.

“Perceptive,” he replied. “Do you always listen to your dad?”

“Yes…?”

“I doubt that, but close enough.” He stroked Nauja’s hair as she huddled against his leg, holding onto his trousers as she tried to hide from the other children in the safety of his coat. “What’s the matter? You were fine a little while ago…”

“That was before they tried to take me and run you out of town,” she mumbled.

“But he’s a bad man!” a girl declared.

“Maybe your dad’s the bad one!” Nauja shot back. “Mine just wants to take care of me! Why does that make him bad?!”

“Nauja…” Movement caught Law’s eye and he grimaced—the adults were back sooner than he expected. “Time to go.” He picked her up and waited just long enough for her to flip her middle fingers at the other children before he triggered a series of swaps that landed them in their boat, then switching the entire boat with a whale that was breaching just offshore so it could damage the wharf. He finally let out the breath he had been holding and put his daughter down, only for her to slump onto the deck in irritation.

“They hate us,” she grumbled. “Vaor… why do they hate us…?”

“…because they don’t know any better, and hating people who are different than them has worked for their survival in the past.” He made sure the wind was catching the sail correctly before pulling a map out of his coat pocket. “That’s another one down.”

“This stinks,” she said. “I feel like we’ve been searching forever.”

“Not forever, but definitely a long time,” he admitted. Law crossed off the island they had just been on and took a look at where they could go next. They were running out of options around the entrance to the Grand Line, meaning the further they went into the South Blue, the more dangerous it was likely to become. He sat down as he studied the map, propping his feet up on Nauja’s legs in order to rile her up. It worked and she wriggled out from under him in order to crawl over to his side and nestle in the crook of his arm.

“How long were you and Cora-jiisan running?” she wondered.

“Almost half a year—it’s only been a couple months for us,” he reminded her. He traced the line of a water current and nodded. “I think if we keep low and only stop for supplies, we might be able to get to this island in about two weeks or so.”

“…Diura…?” She peered at the paper and frowned. “Why there?”

“It’s far enough from Reverse Mountain that we’re out of the way of other pirates,” he reasoned. “Fewer pirates mean fewer people who would recognize me even if I don’t use my Devil Fruit. It even looks like it might be out of the way for people around there too.”

“How?”

“The currents are all wrong.” He took her hand and gently traced the current paths on the map with her finger. “This is a major water current that goes through that area of the South Blue, and this is the major wind current. Neither of them go near there, which means that it’s minor sailing traffic only.”

“…so… it would be no problem for the Tang, but it would for a normal ship?”

“Not a problem, just more difficult.” Shit, he wished Bepo and Penguin were there to explain it better, maybe even Hakugan, since he was admittedly less comfortable with specifics. He kissed the side of her head and squeezed her gently. “We’ll find someplace. I promise.”

“Why here?” she asked. “Why not the North Blue?”

“Too many people remember my face or my accent or both,” he admitted. “Besides, the Marines would be looking for me in my Home Blue if I simply vanished off their Grand Line radar.”

“Those villagers sure did know who you were…”

“…and they’re the only ones who caught us so far,” he reminded her. Their amount of close calls had been racking up exponentially—it was a surprise that they hadn’t been chased out of town before this. “One report does not make the military change course… not like that. Besides, it will look like they called the Marines because their harbor was wrecked and they didn’t want to pay for it.”

“…oh.” Nauja took the map and looked at it closer. “There’s a town on Diura. Do you think it’s big?”

“Probably not, but something tells me that they have the room to take in a girl who lost her mother… a man who lost his wife…” He watched as her face scrunched while trying to remember their cover story.

“It was a couple years ago,” she recited. “Moetje was sick, and you were really sad for a long time after she passed away, so my uncles told you that moving might help, since we can go where you don’t have memories of her.”

“Good—and where were we before that?”

“Water 7; you didn’t like needing to prepare for Aqua Laguna every year anyhow.”

“…and how did we get through to the South Blue?”

“A ship that could pass through the Calm Belt gave us passage, but no one has to know that it’s because it’s a submarine pirate ship and not a Marine ship.”

“Exactly.” He frowned and remembered the last time he was running like this, when it was with Cora-san, and how different this time was. “Can you remember something for me?”

The girl perked up. “What is it?”

“Remember that I love you, okay?” He watched as confusion crossed her face. “I never got the chance to tell Cora-jiisan that in all the time I spent with him. I love you…” he took a deep breath, “…and the crew loves you. That’s why we’re doing this. Do you understand?”

“You love me… and the crew loves me,” she echoed. “You loved Cora-jiisan, and he loved you. That’s why we’re running… why he ran with you… why the crew can’t run with us.”

“Yeah… that’s the gist of it.”

The little girl stayed quiet for a moment, mulling everything over as she idly picked at the hem of her sweater. She then nodded; she understood, and she was glad.

“I love you too, Vaor.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

That night, after the rest of Hinba was back in their homes for the evening, Law used his Devil Fruit to take apart the wall in the front sitting room, having found a space inside just big enough for Kikoku. While he had entertained the idea of leaving it out as a display, it was safest that he hid it away, at least for the time being.

“You’ll come out soon enough,” he murmured to the sword as he placed it inside the thin nook. He let his hand linger on the scabbard, giving the blade inside a moment to accept its oncoming rest.

“Do we need to put my knife away?” Nauja wondered. Law looked and saw the girl was holding up her weapon; he let go of Kikoku and shook his head.

“I still want you to train,” he said. “A knife is easier to keep out of sight than a long sword. Don’t worry—Kikoku understands.” He then replaced the paneling and plaster as though it had never been moved. “This is it. We’re home now.”

“…yeah…?”

“We still need to be careful, but yeah. I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.” He let her cling to him in a tight hug—it was time now to get on with the rest of their lives.

#One Piece #fan fiction #Trafalgar Law #Trafalgar Nauja #Law lives the life Cora wanted and (mostly) succeeds #much slower in pace than the other variations of this fic but also will be much steamier and domestic #The Great Dilfening of Trafalgar Law #lots of part lies and semi-truths and manipulating heteronominative assumptions #gratuitous abuse of multiple languages/cultures #accidentally wrote grace/demi Law enjoy folks #this man should have half the town trying to bed him but NOPE #I've had parts of this draft prepped for so long that it's the old post UI this is wild

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destieltropecollection · 3 days

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Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 9: Empty Rescue

his and mine are the same | @cascigarette Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,510 Main Tags/Warnings: Post Canon Fix-It, Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Alcohol, First Kiss, Newly Human Castiel, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel and Dean Winchester Use their Words Summary: Dean rescues Cas from the Empty. They end up having to talk about that final confession.

Two lesbians, two bicons, and their cat walk into super turbohell | @nuttysaladtree Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,038 Main Tags/Warnings: crossover with She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, the Empty, Fix-it, first kiss Summary: And they bury one person and zero gays. 15x20 "Carry On" finale fix-it that Castiel deserves. Mentioned Bow/Glimmer. Sam Winchester shows up, too, as well as the OTP Dean x pie. Melog is best kitty, and good riddance to the Empty/Shadow/Cosmic Entity and Horde Prime.

sometimes you just don't know the answer (wait for me) | @cassiecasyl Rating: General Word Count: 7,992 Main Tags/Warnings: Canonical Character Death, Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, Grief/Mourning, Album: evermore (Taylor Swift), Grieving Dean Winchester, Episode: s15e18 Despair, Alternate Ending, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Reunion, Castiel in the Empty (Supernatural), Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Angst, Hope vs. Despair, Love Confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending, Inspired by Hadestown, Song: Doubt Comes In, The Fates (Hadestown) Cameo, First Kiss, Reunions, Epic Love Summary: As Dean grieves, Jack tells them of an old story, one that has been told and sung over and over again anyway. Two lovers challenge the universe to escape death. They walk the long way home, but the one in front is not allowed to turn around for the whole way. Every entity of grand power knows this, for the pact has to be respected were it ever to be attempted again. Of course, Dean goes to find Castiel, because if anyone can do this, it's them.

Can't Stop Lovin' You | @teeparadigm67 Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 9,512 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Castiel is Saved from the Empty, First Kiss, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Happy Ending, Fix-It, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty Summary: On paper, the plan seemed simple. Jack opens the portal between the worlds. Dean walks into the Empty and makes it loud enough to wake the dead. Drag Cas’s feathery ass out of there. Simple, right? Cloaked in Cas’s grace, tape deck in hand with Van Halen blasting out its little speaker, he plans to bring the angel home and tell Cas all the things left unspoken between them for all these years. Now they have a chance, he can’t throw this all away. The only problem is, the Empty has other ideas. It doesn't stop Dean however, it’s his turn to be the one who drags Cas out of perdition. Inspired by: Van Halen - Can't Stop Lovin' You

Bring Me To Life | @Taymarpigeon Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10,960 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-Canon Fix-It, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gratuitous Smut, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Winchester Calls Castiel "Angel", Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Castiel (Supernatural), Interrupting Sam Winchester Summary: In 2008 Dean Winchester met a man who changed everything; he says a man, Castiel Angel of the Lord was so much more than a man and not just because of the whole halo and wings thing. November 5th 2020 Castiel sacrificed himself to save Dean and by extension the world, but not before turning the hunter's life upside down one last time. In 2025 Dean was... moving on, let's put it that way. He hadn't forgotten Cas, spending the past five years trying to be all the things the Angel said he was in that teary goodbye. He put one foot in front of the other, day by day, because as Frank Devereaux once said: 'that's what you do'. This life only ends one way for most hunters though and Dean was no exception. Skip four months into the future and he's back, only this time he's done playing by the rules, done pretending his life didn't end with Cas that day in the dungeon. He's done. Time to do what he should have from the beginning...

stay | @thisisapaige Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15,073 Main Tags/Warnings: Fix-It, Post-Canon, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Light Angst, Happy Ending Summary: Standing on the bridge beside his brother, Dean looks around. Something’s wrong. Because this Heaven, this place Dean supposedly deserves, just seems so... empty.

The Little Issue with the Mission to Perdition | @amaranthhiding Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 16,460 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 15x19, Jack and Amara Try Fixing Things Together But Make Everything Worse (at first), Amara is Part of Team Free Will, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Major Character Death, Angst with Happy Ending, First Kiss, DCRB 2023 Summary: Chuck is defeated and his power now belongs to Jack and Amara. They struggle with adjusting to their newly-shared existence, and with big questions such as, how can (almost) all-powerful beings avoid becoming what Chuck was? What even is all that power good for when it doesn't allow Jack to save someone from the Empty who absolutely deserves being saved? Who thought it was a good idea to hand all that power to two beings who, together, have spent less years on Earth than the average human child? ...And why is there suddenly black goo everywhere?

Until the Moss Had Reached Our Lips | @alulangel Rating: Mature Word Count: 20,543 Main Tags/Warnings: Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Lake House, Saved from the Empty, Groundhog Day Loop, Castiel’s True Form, Castiel’s handprint, Creepy forests, Inappropriate use of pie Summary: After everything with Chuck went down, Dean thought he deserved some time off. Not a retirement, just a break. A little cabin by a lake. Fishing. Baking. Time to process and reflect. Except he doesn't remember exactly how he got there. And he doesn't know why he can't leave. And there's something about the woods around the cabin, creeping closer and closer and closer every day...

one working part | @mittensmorgul Rating: Explicit Word Count: 40,051 Main Tags/Warnings: Inspired by It's a Wonderful Life (1946) Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth (Supernatural) Angst and Fluff and Smut POV Alternating Not Canon Compliant with Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth (Supernatural), Human Castiel Summary: Wherein they actually inherit the earth. Again. Because I will never be done retelling the end of their story in more sensible and satisfying ways. This time, via the power of a classic holiday film... with a slightly demonic twist.

Empty Earth (WIP) | @amaranthhiding Rating: No Rating Word Count: 102,437 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-15x18, Epic, Plotty, Angel True Forms, Consensual Possession, Enochian, Apocalypse, Rebellion in Hell, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Witch!Sam, Destiel and Samwena, Jack & his three fathers, Crowley & Jack Summary: After Castiel's confession, Dean carries a spark of hope telling him this can't be the end. This spark is the strongest weapon for Dean, Sam and Jack in this final war. The enemy is God. The battlefield is an Earth devoid of humans, a Hell in rebellion against its queen, and a Heaven betrayed by its creator. And the stakes are everything and everyone they have ever cared about.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2024 #destiel #fanfic #supernatural #empty rescue

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sixhours · 2 months

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One Day at a Time - Chapter 6 - Transition

Author's note: Good news! The rest of this will probably be posted today, with the exception of an epilogue I haven't had the guts to write. When I do, it will be posted as a separate work, and it's not necessary to wrap up this story. Thank you for reading! Your comments and reblogs are feeding me. <3

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

After weeks of sleeping on the narrow, lumpy mattress in Ellie’s old room, his back finally gives out.

He’s reaching for the coffee pot and something about how he moves his shoulder causes a domino effect of rippling pain that starts at the nape of his neck and ends by setting his sciatic nerve on fire, every muscle along his spine locking up tighter than a fist.

He barely makes it to the couch, easing himself down to a prone position with a groan that he hopes Charlie can’t hear from the bedroom.

Her footsteps echo on the stairs.

No such luck.

“Did someone just die down here?”

“M’fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Just my back.”

“What happened?“

Ellie chooses that moment to come through the front door. “Joel? I need a–”

“He’s on the couch. Think his back gave out,” Charlie says, now standing over him, looking concerned.

Ellie’s face pokes over the back of the couch. “Again, old man?”

“M’fine,” he repeats, trying to roll to his side to try to stand, but that only aggravates the nerve and sends a ripple of spasms up his traitorous spine. “Fuck!”

“Should I go find Maria?” Ellie asks. “Those pills she had worked last time–”

“No, I just…need to rest for a minute,” he grumbles, knowing full well he’s out of commission until someone finds him a muscle relaxant.

“Is he always like this?” Charlie asks.

“Pretty much,” Ellie says, too quickly for Joel’s liking.

“I’ll go find Maria,” Charlie says, surprising them both when she takes Joel’s hand and gives it a tender squeeze. Ellie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself again. I’ll be back,” she addresses Ellie before heading out the door.

When Charlie is gone, Ellie plops into the armchair and leans forward, an almost predatory smirk on her face.

“So…is she your girlfriend yet?”

“S’not like–”

“If you say ‘it’s not like that’ one more time, I’ll take the damn pills myself,” she says.

Joel groans. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Got ya right where I want ya,” she says. “Spill it, dude.”

“No, we’re not…I don’t…I dunno,” he grumbles.

“You ‘don’t know?’”

“S’what I said,” he grits his teeth against another wave of pain, forcing himself to lie absolutely still. “It’s complicated.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “That’s just what grown-ups say when they don’t want to tell you the truth.”

He winces. “Yeah. Well, the truth is…it’s complicated.”

She sighs. “Are you sleeping together?”

“That’s none of your–”

“Just saying, if you’re fucking her, she’s probably your girlfriend. So it’s not that complicated.”

“Ellie, I’m not havin’ this conversation,” he growls, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Well, you should probably figure it out before the baby gets here.”

He can’t argue with that, so he doesn’t.

“It’s gonna be weird…having a baby around,” she says thoughtfully. “Remember how bad Tommy was after Izzy was born? When he kept putting Maria’s breastmilk in his coffee by accident?”

Joel snorts. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You’re gonna be busy,” she says. “Babies are a lot of work.”

Even in his pain, he picks up on the unspoken question in her voice. He softens. He wants to sit up so he can look at her, but his back protests. Instead, he reaches blindly for her hand.

“C’mere.”

There’s a reluctant pause, and then she’s standing beside him, slipping her fingers into his.

“I know I haven’t been, uh…great…lately. M’sorry.”

She shrugs, biting at her lower lip.

“Truth is…I was just gettin’ used to the idea of bein’ your dad, and now with the baby…”

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s a lot. An’ I know it’s prob’ly a lot for you, too.”

Her voice is too light, like she’s trying to cover something up. “You’ll have a real kid soon.”

He frowns and gives her an experimental pinch between her thumb and index finger. “Dunno. You feel pretty real to me.”

“You know what I mean,” she says softly, and he feels it in his heart, a twinge more powerful than any back spasm. He grips her fingers tighter.

“It’ll be different for a while…and yeah, I’m not gonna get much sleep. Prob’ly be…distracted. But it’s still you and me, kid,” he says. “An’ I’m always gonna be here.”

His back takes that moment to seize up again and he hisses. “Shit, sorry.”

She sighs, but there’s a smile in it. “At this rate, you’re always gonna be here on the couch .”

“What’d you need, anyway?” he groans, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, a hammer.”

“What for?”

“Cat found me this new poster, was gonna hang it in my room.”

“There’s one in my toolbox; s’by the door,” he says. “Just put it back when you’re done.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re not gonna hurt yourself again, are you? Your girlfriend’ll have my ass.”

His answering glare has no effect and she leaves him, laughing.

Charlie returns with the pills a few minutes later, and he swallows two of them eagerly before she can fetch a glass of water. Then he hears her rummaging around up in the bedroom. She comes back with a heating pad.

“Found it at the post,” she explains. “Your kid is killing my hips. Lift up.”

Your kid.

He frowns. “I don’t need—“

“Spare me,” she sighs. “Lift up.”

So he does, still grumbling, and she slides the pad under his lower back and plugs the cord into the wall. It’s instantly warm, oozing heat up his spine, and the muscles slowly start to unwind. He can’t hold back a groan of relief.

“It’s the bed, isn’t it?” she sighs, easing herself into the armchair.

“No,” he says too quickly. “Strained it at work. Tommy’s got us workin’ doubles to get the new barns up.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe you should consider moving back into your room.”

“Not kickin’ you out,” he scoffs.

“I’d stay there, too.”

He side-eyes her. “No playin’ house, remember?”

“I think we might have crossed that line already,” she murmurs, quirking her lips.

Then she’s up and doing something in the kitchen, and Joel tries to focus on letting the heat work its magic. He knows the muscle relaxant has kicked in when he can roll over slightly and it doesn’t make his back seize. He tries to sit up, but Charlie is instantly at his side, holding him down by the shoulders.

“Gotta work,” he mutters weakly.

“Nuh-uh. I already told Tommy you’re out of commission,” she says.

“The hell’d you do–”

“You’re not good at letting people take care of you, are you?”

He grunts. “Says you .”

“Yeah, we have that in common. Not so much fun on the other side, huh?” she murmurs.

She plunks down a mug of coffee, a glass of juice, and a plate of eggs and toast on the table next to him, then puts a DVD in the player and hands him the remote.

“Stay,” she commands. “I’m at the post all day, but I’ll bring you lunch on my break. You’d better be horizontal when I get back.”

He wants to complain, but the pills have made him slow, and she’s out the door before he can think of a response.

The coffee is black and strong, just the way he likes it. The juice is awful–it’s green, some combination of things from the garden–but he chokes it down anyway, thinking of Sarah and her vitamins.

And then he passes out because he forgot that taking muscle relaxants on an empty stomach will do that. He wakes a few hours later, mouth dry and tasting of that awful juice, to find a paper bag and a note from Charlie have replaced the food and drinks on the table.

It’s a sandwich. Take another dose if you need it. I’ll be home by 6.

He’s pleasantly surprised to find he can sit up. Sure, the noise he makes in the process is unflattering, and he’s not going to be doing cartwheels anytime soon, but it’s an improvement.

This time, he eats the sandwich before he takes the second dose and manages to stay awake until Charlie gets home, but his head swims and he barely makes it halfway through their nightly movie. He wakes to her tugging gently on his hand.

“Come to bed.”

He’s too tired to protest. He lets her lead him to his bedroom, lets her pull back the covers and tuck him into bed, lets her wrap her body around his.

“You just wanna take advantage of me,” he slurs lightly into her hair.

She snorts a laugh. “Yes, Joel. This was my grand plan. For you to knock me up and throw your back out so I could keep you as my sex slave.”

“Mmmff. Knew it.”

“Go to sleep, old man,” she murmurs, nuzzling into his chest until he can feel her smile against his skin.

~*~

Sometimes Charlie is so distant, it’s like she isn’t there at all. She stares into space and he has to say her name four or five times before she hears him. Sometimes he has to physically touch her to bring her back, and then she looks at him as though he’s a stranger.

After the second or third time, he recognizes it as the disassociation of grief. He lost days of his life after Sarah was taken from him, days where he existed in body only, when Tess or Tommy would have to pull him back from the edge of a deep, dark pit. He’d wake up unable to remember how he’d gotten to bed or find himself in the middle of a fight with no idea how he’d gotten there. It might have scared him if he thought he had something to lose.

Those are the nights she needs him.

He knows he should turn her away. He knows he’s using her as much as she’s using him. But she comes alive when they’re together, and he tells himself it helps, and maybe it does.

He takes half as many showers.

Tonight, she arches back into him as he thrusts into her on her side from behind, curled around her body, heady with the feeling of being surrounded by her, all soft skin and warmth. She’s murmuring into his palm, slicking her tongue around his fingers, sucking them into her wet mouth and humming. His other hand rubs flutter-like circles against her clit the way he knows she likes.

She’s three orgasms deep and still hungry, panting and pleading, more, there, so close, please .

And then she comes hard, clenching around him and wrenching a hoarse name from her throat.

Not his name.

It barely registers until she’s scrambling away to sit at the edge of the bed, still trembling from the aftershocks, pulling the sheet across her naked chest.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” she gasps.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, reaching out to pull her back against him, but she jerks away from his touch.

“Fuck,” she grits out, followed by a low, keening sob. “Shit. Fuck.”

Some part of him has always known; the way her eyes clamp shut at the critical moment, the way she positions him and guides him and takes and takes and takes, the way she asks to forget, to pretend. Joel knows it’s foolish to think she needed him and not just the idea of him: a warm body, a working cock and fingers and tongue.

“Charlie, it’s–”

Her muffled sob cracks something in his heart. Then she’s locking herself in the bathroom before he can find his feet.

Shit.

He gets out of bed and pulls on his boxers, goes to the closed door. “Charlie?”

“Go away.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dammit, I’m not…mad.”

Silence.

“I don’t care if you…if you need…if you…fuck,” he hisses. “Just talk t’me.”

Her voice is so faint it barely registers. “I can’t.”

“Okay, you don’t have to, but…can you at least open the door?”

“No.”

He makes a fist against the wall, gritting his teeth. Without a better idea, he turns and slides down the wall, pressing his back to the door.

I’m here , he thinks helplessly. Just tell me what to do.

Silence. And then…rustling, a soft grunt, until they’re back-to-back with the door between them. He hears the hitch of another muffled sob.

“I always…thought it would be him,” she whispers finally, voice thick. “That we’d do this together.”

He feels a familiar shameful flush. What can he say?

I’m sorry it happened the wrong way, at the wrong time, with the wrong person.

I’m sorry I’m not him.

But he’s not sorry at all. He’s a selfish asshole, so he doesn’t say anything.

“We wanted this so much. And sometimes it feels like a…a betrayal. Like I’m moving on…forgetting him.”

He swallows hard, thinking of Sarah, wondering if he might hold this child in his arms and feel that same gnawing guilt, like he doesn’t deserve to be whole again.

“I think he’d want you to be happy,” Joel says softly.

“I tell myself that, I do…but I don’t think I believe it. I don’t–”

More silence. He shifts his weight. The floor is cold and hard, digging into his ass. It can’t be good for her back.

“When we…started…you said…you needed to pretend,” he tries, tipping his head back against the door and closing his eyes. “I knew that goin’ into this. Knew I wasn’t, uh…I’m not–”

“I thought…I wanted…I don’t know,” she hiccups. “I don’t know anymore.”

“We…you don’t need to—”

“It hurts,” she grates out. “It h-hurts and I miss him and it’s not f-f-fucking fair.”

It’s not fucking fair .

What else is there to say?

“I know,” he whispers roughly. “I know.”

They sit like that until his ass is numb and her silence is too unnerving to bear.

“Come back to bed,” he says, defeated and not expecting her to answer. “Please.”

There’s a watery sigh on the other side of the door. Then he hears her moving, the slightest groan as she gets to her feet, and he eases himself off the floor. The door opens. She’s wrapped in a robe, one hand cradling her belly under the terrycloth, the bedsheet pooled at her feet.

Her eyes meet his, red-rimmed and hollow. He cups the back of her neck and pulls her into an embrace.

“S’alright,” he whispers when her tears wet his chest and she shudders against him. He sways like he used to when Sarah was little, rocking her back and forth until she quiets.

“Oh!”

She jumps suddenly, startling in his arms, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Swiping at her eyes, she grabs his hand, guiding it down her body until it’s resting just below her belly button. Her skin is warm and taut and smooth.

“What—“

Then he feels it, the tapping against his fingers, some tiny arm or elbow or foot poking at him from under her skin. She laughs through tears as the insistent little being seems to dance under their hands.

“Never been this strong before,” she whispers thickly.

Joel doesn’t trust himself to speak, pride warring with sadness in his chest. They stay like that for a long time, his hand on her stomach, new life roiling beneath his palm.

~*~

The baby should be able to hear them now, so at night, he reads out loud from a tattered copy of The Fellowship of the Ring , sitting up in their shared bed with a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. The reading was his idea, the choice of material was hers.

One hand holds the book, the other rests on Charlie’s stomach. She says she likes the sound of his voice, but most of the time, she’s asleep before he gets to the third page. At this rate, the kid will be twenty before they finish the first book in the trilogy.

Tonight, the baby–Coconut, he thinks–is particularly active, rolling and kicking against his hand. A particularly hard jab causes Charlie to jump, hissing a soft ouch under her breath, and he puts the book aside.

“Hey, kid, settle down,” he says, rubbing at the squirming lump. “Let your mama sleep.”

This earns him another pointed jab; the kid is all attitude.

“Mmm,” Charlie mutters. “I know what’d help me sleep.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm,” she stretches, arching her back, and he can see the outline of one dark nipple through her bra.

“Again?” he murmurs, sliding a hand up to cup her breast and rolling it gently through the fabric. “Already?”

She sighs at the contact. “Mmm. Please?”

He tosses his glasses on the nightstand, more than happy to abandon the book, and curls around her, nuzzling her neck. “‘Fraid I’m not going to be much help with, uh…y’know.”

Not for the first time, he wishes he was about fifteen years younger. Even then, he’s not sure he could keep up with her. He wonders if she was always like this, or if it’s the pregnancy. He wonders if he’ll get to find out.

They don’t talk about this, or what will happen after the baby comes. They go to her midwife appointments together and Joel grinds his teeth through every second, but he stays by her side. Sometimes she holds his hand, and when she kisses him, she does so with the full force of her being. But just like the baby, their relationship doesn’t have a name.

She guides his hand between her legs, under her panties, finding her slick and swollen. She gives a contented little hum of pleasure when his finger traces her seam. “I’m sure you can figure something out.”

He huffs a breath into her nape, kisses the spot where the soft, downy hairs tickle against his nose, and strokes her the way she likes, circling and tapping until she’s arching against him. She comes almost immediately, fluttering and pulsing against his fingertips. A little one.

“More?” he murmurs, gentling his touch as her breathing calms.

“Mmhm, please.”

Her clit is a hard, slick little pebble under his fingers. He draws her orgasm from her more slowly this time, teasing, building her up until her climax is a growl sprung from the depths of her throat and her thighs clench his hand in a vise. He cups her sex gently and trails kisses along her neck, her throat, her shoulder as she rides it out, whispers into the shell of her ear, “More?”

Charlie reaches back and threads her fingers into his hair in answer, pulling him tighter against her, and he breathes her in, sweat and soap and something uniquely her. It drives him crazy, makes him feel feral and protective and alive. She turns her head, seeking his mouth, and he obliges, tongue parting her lips and tasting her as she hums and shivers and writhes against his hand, don’t stop please don’t please don’t stop .

“I got you,” he murmurs against her lips in between kisses, fingers circling and circling until his wrist aches. He can feel the baby roll and kick under his forearm, feels her fingers gripping him there. He loves watching her like this, loves the way her back arches and jaw goes slack with pleasure, the sounds she makes when she comes.

And then she does, coming undone in his arms with a throaty moan, shuddering and keening in a way that makes his cock twitch.

“Better?” he murmurs, finally pulling his hand away and groping for the blanket they’d tossed aside.

“Much,” she sighs, relinquishing herself to his warmth. “You sure you don’t want me to…”

“M’fine,” he says, wrapping an arm around her belly, which has gone mostly still. “Kid calmed down.”

“Yeah. S’the hormones,” she murmurs drowsily. “Oxytocin.”

“They can feel that, huh?”

“Mmhm,” she says. “They can feel everything.”

“...everything?”

“Don’t make it weird,” she murmurs, and he can feel her smirking against his arm. “Read to us?”

Us . They’re slowly bending all the rules, he thinks.

He groans. “Thought you were goin’ to sleep.”

“I am, but I like your voice.”

“Uh huh. Damnit, lost my place,” he grumbles, grabbing for the hefty paperback. “Never find it again, damn book is six-thousand pages long. Thought this’d have dragons, so far they’re just describing’ stuff and yackin’.”

“It’s Tolkien,” she yawns. “It’s a classic.”

“Buncha elves and gnomes and shit,” he mutters. “This Dildo Baggins character sounds like a porn star.”

“They’re hobbits,” Charlie laughs and pokes him in the thigh. “And it’s ‘Bilbo’, you grouch.”

He squints. “Right, need my glasses. Tiny print.”

Charlie snickers, something about old eyes , and burrows deeper into the covers as he finally finds his reading glasses and his place.

He doesn’t make it two pages before he hears her snore.

~*~

They’ve kept up the movie night routine even though there’s no good reason for Charlie to stay off her feet. They’ve rented the last of the action flicks from the library, so now they’re working through television shows and sitcoms. Some unlucky soul from the time before left behind a sizeable collection of M*A*S*H episodes on tape, so Charlie often falls asleep to the sounds of Hawkeye’s sarcastic drawl.

They’re on the couch in their usual spots, her with a bowl of homemade strawberry ice cream perched on her belly, him with a beer. The ice cream is the only thing she craves–strawberry preserves mixed with cream and sugar, then frozen and scooped into a bowl. Joel makes a new batch every other night before they go to bed. They’re going through Maria’s summer preserves like crazy, and he’ll be doing work on the community greenhouses for the rest of his fucking life at this rate.

But it’s worth it, he thinks, as she takes another bite of the rich, creamy concoction, licking the spoon clean with her strawberry-pink tongue. She’s a fucking distraction. The laugh track is going off in the background, but with every bite, her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter, and he wants to take that spoon out of her mouth and–

He adjusts himself, forces his eyes back to the screen, takes another sip of his beer. Jesus .

A few minutes later the bowl is licked clean, and a well-placed kick from the baby sends it rocking, tumbling into her lap.

“Apparently we demand more,” Charlie laughs.

“Kid’s gonna come out lookin’ like a strawberry,” Joel mutters.

She smiles. “Baby wants what it wants.”

The phrase triggers a memory, and he chuckles. “With Sarah, it was mangoes.”

Sarah’s mom, sitting at the kitchen table in their tiny one-bedroom, devouring the fruit straight from the rind, sticky juice coating her fingers, running down her chin.

Baby wants what it wants , she’d said, and then he’d kissed her, lips syrupy sweet.

He doesn’t remember if he loved her–there was no room for love to grow, really. Not enough time, not enough money, not enough maturity between the two of them. But they’d made Sarah, and he’d loved his baby girl enough to make up for the rest.

“Who’s Sarah?”

Charlie snaps him out of his reverie. She’s looking at him curiously.

Oh.

He reaches for the remote, pausing the show, and the silence around them has weight, he can feel it pressing against his chest. He coughs, clears his throat, tries to figure out how to start.

“She was, uh…my daughter. Before.”

She blinks at him, wide-eyed, her question a small, breathless whisper. “You had a daughter?”

He ducks his head. “Yeah. She, uh…was killed on Outbreak Day. She’d be about your age now. Little younger, I guess.”

Her eyes are so bright, they almost glow.

“Her mom…my ex…liked mangoes,” he explains. “When she was pregnant. Couldn’t keep enough of ‘em in the house.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Didn’t know you liked mangoes,” he says weakly, trying for a joke. She doesn’t smile.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to hide it. It never felt like a good time, and it’s…I didn’t want you to feel like I was…replacin’ something.”

She looks around then as if seeking some kind of clue, something obvious she might have missed. There are no photos of Sarah on the mantle, no drawings or keepsakes to indicate he’d been a father before Ellie–only the broken watch on his wrist. He holds it out to her, the shattered glass face shimmering in the light of the TV screen.

“She gave me this for my birthday,” he says, and the words stick in his throat. “It’s…all I have.”

“And her name was Sarah?” she says in a small, tight voice.

His smile is sad. “Go figure, huh?”

Her lip quivers. “Joel…”

She sets the bowl aside and starts to get up, the bulk of her belly and gravity working against her.

“Don’t–” he starts, but she makes it to her feet before he can protest.

Then she’s standing between his knees and cradling his face in her hands. There are tears in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She cries at everything now, but that doesn’t explain why he wants to cry, too.

He wants to say something reassuring, to set her at ease, but his tongue is thick in his mouth and it hurts like it does sometimes, like the wound is fresh and raw and new all over again.

“I can’t,” he says thickly, pleading. “Not…right now. Not yet.”

She nods slowly, kisses his forehead with something like love, and cradles him against her. Her warm, full belly presses against his chest, against his heart, and he hates that it soothes the ache. It’s too much like forgetting.

Her whisper at his temple is a balm.

“One day at a time.”

#fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #pregnancy #babyfic

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gg-pedro · 4 months

Text

can you hear the music (ch. 5) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano, and you find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 5: new life, old wounds. a honeymoon has to come to an end eventually.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, hurt/comfort, sickfic?, joel needs taking care of, non-gratuitous descriptions of a wound, mentions of death, swearing, references to gun violence, fluff at the end, angst, and more angst.

words: 4.4k (eek)

a/n: edited this one to death. go listen to adrianne lenker.

Weeks passed. Rainstorms rolled into Jackson.

Dark clouds eclipsed the sky, releasing sheets of rain that melted away most of the snow and rendered the ground a muddy brown. The storm system lasted days, save for an hour or two of sunshine between downpours.

Joel had asked you to move in with him. You refused. Then he begged you, saying that he wanted to be around to help you get back on your feet, but still, you declined the offer.

You always figured your honeymoon winter would have to come to a bitter end at some point. Watching Joel execute a man in cold blood probably wasn’t helping to close the divide that had been growing into a chasm and stretching you thin.

Your wound was halfway healed now, too. It still left a scar that made you nauseous when you had to look at it in the mirror.

You’d been allowed a week off from your usual duties around the commune. You asked to be removed from the position you had in the clinic, and Maria personally saw to that. You helped out at the school instead, with the kids you had grown so familiar with. They were the only thing bearable about your day.

You stopped offering piano lessons. That irked Joel the most. He’d gone even paler when you told him that than when he watched a bullet narrowly miss ripping a hole through your center.

Maybe this is what you got for complaining about the quiet sanctity of your life in Jackson.

You still played. You had long since memorized most of the scores you had collected over the years, so you’d taken to composing your own. It was all harsh, rolling sonatas that poured out of you whenever you sat before the keys. You’d pause to scratch the notes down on paper, skipping over a title because you knew you’d only be able to come up with one thing.

Joel. Joel Miller. Joel #3. Joel and I. Joel… why didn’t you ever ask his middle name?

You’d left him in the dark almost entirely about how you were feeling, save for that conversation you’d had in the clinic. By consequence, he was treating you as if you’d suddenly become fragile. As if you couldn’t handle getting hurt or witnessing death. You wished that you could say any of that was what was bothering you.

Still, he came. He showed up for you. He was sweet. He cared. He barely even flinched when the little things would set you off. It made it all the more difficult to try and push back from him.

On a cool evening, one where the air was almost warm but the breeze was bitter, the two of you sat on his back porch.

He was strumming on his guitar, trying to remember how to play Led Zeppelin's Going to California.

He paused to tune the high E string and looked over at you. “Tommy said he’s goin’ on a supply run next week. Might try and hit up that old college I told you about. Want me to look for some more sheet music to bring back? Beginner stuff, or stuff for you?”

You blew on your hot mug of tea, watching the steam swirl in the air. “No. You’d have to sift through some old performing arts building. No use in that.”

“You sure? I know you said you wanted–”

“–I promise, Joel, it’s fine. Don’t make more work for yourself.”

“Alright, baby,” he said quietly, plucking away at the strings again.

“But for Ellie,” you interjected. “She mentioned wanting some more movie scores. Might be worth finding that for her.”

He played a little softer as he spoke. “It’s no good if she doesn’t know how to play it.”

“She can read music,” you countered. “She’s welcome to use my piano anytime.”

He stopped playing completely this time, groaning a little as he stretched to prop the guitar up against the house. You watched his expression mold into concern as you made eye contact.

“You’re shakin’, honey. Let's go inside. Or I can walk you home.”

The liquid in your cup mirrored a choppy ocean from the tremors in your hands. “I’m okay. Just cold out here.”

Joel got up and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay. Then I’ll get you a blanket. Gonna catch your death out here.”

Your knuckles were turning white with your grip on the mug and you flinched away from his touch. “Stop it, Joel.”

He paused. “Stop what?”

“Treating me like I’m another child,” you said. “Did you hear me when I said that I was fine?”

“That ain’t fair. I’m just tryin’ to look after you,” he responded.

You started laughing. “Really? It really feels like you’re trying to make up for something.”

It started to drizzle again. You watched as the rainwater began to dilute your tea.

“Yeah? Make up for what, exactly?” He shot back. “Protecting someone I care about?”

You stood to meet him and the rain picked up. “Protect me from what? A man alone in the woods with no weapons?”

“Just ‘cause he dropped his gun doesn’t mean he had no weapons, doesn’t mean he was alone–”

“You beat his fucking face in, don’t act like you did it out of anything but emotion you couldn’t control.” The two of you were nearing drenched, but neither of you seemed to care. “Just admit that it was a bad decision. And that it was cruel, Joel. So fucking cruel.”

Joel just stared at you. “I’m walkin’ away from this, baby. You’re mad, I know. You don’t have to see things the way I see ‘em.”

You followed him to the back door. “I’m not done, Joel. Give me one good reason as to why you did it. A rational, true reason.”

“No,” he said as he opened the door.

“Then fuck you. You were wrong, it was cruel, and there is blood on my hands. How does that make you feel? To know that I blame myself for what you did?”

He slammed the door shut before walking inside, his face washed with anger. “Don’t you come into my fuckin’ house yellin’– not with Ellie upstairs,” he seethed. “ Blamin’ me for shit. For makin’ decisions that you couldn’t even imagine.”

You brushed wet hair out of your eyes. “Oh, but I could imagine it, Joel. I’ve been alive through all of this too. I still came out human on the other side. Not everyone is living in the world that you are. Not everyone acts like a fucking animal everytime they get the chance.”

“So that's how you see me, hm? A fuckin’ animal. You along with everyone else in this goddamn place. Just some old man who likes havin’ to kill people?” He looked away from you and shook his head. “I’ve got my reasons. Bein’ here isn’t gonna make me soft. Won’t make me forget,” he inched closer to you, “the ways that I lost people. I can promise you that.”

Joel had had a part of his humanity brutally gutted from him when his daughter died in his arms. Even still, he found it again in places he hadn’t expected. In Ellie, especially. In you.

“And listen to this closely– real fuckin’ close,” he began again, “I don’t give a shit if you hate me. Move on, never speak to me again. As long as you’re alive, and I know that I did what I could to keep you that way, I’ll sleep fuckin’ easy at night. You understand that?”

He inhaled and went on. “Maybe that man made a stupid goddamn mistake tryin’ to hunt. Maybe I did, too. I wish I could say I was sorry for that. It’s a cruel world out here.”

“Sleep easy at night? Is that really the truth?” You crossed your arms over your chest and watched his expression shift.

“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t make it any harder.”

You knew that was a lie.

You could see it now. Joel in another universe. A few less fine lines on his face, a few less grays threaded into his dark hair. No bad memories that would pull him from sleep. The right pocket of his jeans wouldn’t be ever so slightly stretched from storing a handgun there. Wouldn’t look at himself in the mirror like he was searching for the person he used to be. Wouldn’t look at you like you were an impending flatline on a heart monitor.

But this was now, and he would always be so stubbornly him, and you wished your feelings were important enough to him that he could see things the way you do.

He dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “Look, I’m just tryin’ to make things easier on you. Clearly you took this real hard, and I never should’ve brought you out there, and–”

“Enough, Joel. Don’t act like that was the mistake, or that you ‘ruined’ me, or some stupid shit like that. One of us has to feel remorse for what you did to that man and if you won’t, then I will,” you countered. “And sure, It’s been difficult on me. I’ll give you that. It hurts. There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?”

The look on his face told you that you had cut deep. You immediately wanted to back down, but you were tired and it hurt and he still felt like he wasn’t listening.

“I ain’t gonna yell at you, baby, if that's what you want. Just… just go. Go on, go home. I’ll still be here if you need me.”

You were angry because you were hurt. He read right through you, too. Knew you didn’t mean all of that. You were trying desperately to stay hurt and mad at something, anything, because once that faded, all you’d be left with was sadness and guilt.

You turned your back on him anyway, soaking wet and furious, and made your way home. You couldn’t help but cry. God, you hoped you hadn’t just ruined everything.

He’s still there if I need him, you kept repeating to yourself. He’s there if I need him.

Joel wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t.

He used to get at least a few hours every night. Took him a while to get there after settling into life in Jackson. Even when you were with him, lying close to his chest, he’d still wake up with the sun, hours before you did.

At least you quelled the restless anxiety that accompanied the morning exhaustion. You’d slip your hand under his shirt, rubbing circles into his side and his chest, and beckon him back to sleep. He almost never did, but he loved it anyway.

And now? He was getting almost nothing.

Sometimes, he could swear that he heard your pleas. Those strangled sobs echoing through the dense forest. Joel. Joel. Joel, stop it, fucking don’t, please–

A single gunshot, and the sound of you sobbing.

There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?

He laid awake, the rain pelting the roof and the rolling thunder in the distance making his heart rate spike and setting his body into fight mode. It was a feeling he’d grown accustomed to. He’d check that his pistol was on his dresser, then he’d check on Ellie, and finally, he’d look out his window, hoping to see that light on in your bedroom. Maybe your backlit silhouette. Anything.

You didn’t need him trying to protect you all the time. Worrying about you. Losing sleep over you, for fuck’s sake. If anything, he thought, coming into your life had just made things worse for you. If anything, he needed you a hell of a lot more than you needed him.

Powering through sleep deprivation wasn’t an uphill battle. It was all downhill. After the third day in a row with almost no rest, he was flagging. The world around him felt blurred, his senses and awareness all dull. He barely got through the work day with Tommy. He felt, in a word, awful. It was strange. He felt even worse than he had after all those nights on foot with Ellie where he would insist on giving up his sleep for hers.

He wanted you. With more sleep, maybe he could push those thoughts away if he tried, but now, all he wanted was you.

Fittingly, Ellie was the only one that noticed. Well, Tommy must’ve noticed, but he didn’t mention it.

After dinner, he could hardly keep himself awake to listen to her talk about her day. Sitting on the couch, with his head lolling to the left and subsequently making his hearing muffled on both sides, he dozed off.

“–el? Joel? The fuck, man, I was just getting to the good part of the story!”

A hand shaking his shoulder jolted him awake and he was slow to reorient himself with the room. Breathe. He was in the living room. The fire was lit. It was still raining. Ellie was there. You were… fuck, where were you–? Oh. Right.

“Are you good?” Ellie asked.

He nodded quickly, swallowing around a raw throat. “Yeah– m’fine,” he said. “Keep goin’, I’m listenin’ to ya.”

“Uh, no, you weren’t. You fell asleep. And you’ve only been sitting for like, five minutes.”

Joel sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Wanna tell me somethin’ I don’t know?”

“You look like shit.” She told him pointedly.

“Mmh. Shouldn’t have even asked.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Come on, dude. Are you sick?”

“No.”

“You sure? You look sick. And super fucking tired.”

“Yeah, m’tired. Storm’s been keepin’ me up,” he said, which was only half of a lie.

Ellie didn’t believe him. “Huh. Fine. Sleep away then, old man.”

Joel’s eyes were closed, but by the way Ellie’s voice got quieter as she spoke, he knew she was walking away. He was a little too tired and a little too deaf to hear the front door open and close again a few minutes later.

“He looks dead.” A pause. “Is he dead?”

“Jesus. No, Ellie, he’s not dead.”

A palm smoothing over his forehead, then the back of that same cool hand against his cheek. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Too tired, and the touch felt too nice.

“Oh, Joel,” you exhaled. “He’s burning up. Probably killing his back, too.”

Warily, he opened an eye to see you crouching in front of him, Ellie close to your side. He would’ve thought he was dreaming, but in his dreams, his entire body didn’t typically ache.

“I knew something was wrong with you,” Ellie proclaimed, looking proud of herself.

“Why’re you…?” Joel rasped.

You cut him off. “Hey, Joel, you with me? Is there any possible chance that you got bit?” You asked. Just covering all bases.

“No,” he replied. “And fuck you.”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Ellie, go heat water up on the stove.” You interjected. “See if there are any tea bags left.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Joel’s eyes slipped shut again just as you sat down beside him. He was sitting upright, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“C’mon, Joel. You should be in bed,” you said softly. Your fingertips brushed his forehead again, confirming the fever you had felt earlier. “Figures… Ellie says you haven’t been sleeping.”

He shook his head and tried to dodge your touch. “M’fine, babydoll,” he said like it was a reflex.

“Yeah, you’re fine, I know. You’re always just fine,” you replied. “Wake up a little, though? For me?”

He couldn’t argue with that. Slowly, he rubbed at his eyes and sat up more fully. “...Ellie got you? Shouldn’t of fuckin’ done that…”

“It was fine. It’s barely six, It’s still light out. I’m glad she did.”

He opened his eyes again, looking panicked. “Six? Fuck, I gotta–”

“Six PM, Joel,” you clarified. “You haven’t missed a thing. In fact, it’s a great time to catch up on some sleep.”

After you grabbed both of his hands and threatened to go get Tommy, he finally relented, letting you help him up from the impression he’d made on the couch. He all but collapsed into bed, hardly putting up a fight when you tugged off his shoes and jeans to get him into something more comfortable.

On second thought, maybe this was more than exhaustion. He didn’t have much recollection of the fever that came with that infected stab wound, not until he dragged himself up from the floor with what dredges of consciousness he had left to find Ellie. This was sort of akin to that hot-and-cold aching feeling. Had a fever when he killed those two men, too.

He groaned audibly at the thought.

“You okay?” Your warm voice rang through the room.

This wasn’t that, though. He was safe. Probably picked something up from being out in the rain with you. Is that how that worked? More likely from the insomnia, which surely must’ve shot his immune system.

“Mhm, yeah… you’re stayin’?” He mumbled.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” You kissed his temple and pushed his hair off of his forehead.

“Why?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you were wondering that yourself. But when Ellie showed up at your door in the rain, her face awash with concern, you didn’t even think twice about coming.

“Ellie was worried about you. I had to come,” you said. “And… the things I said the other week, they– they weren't completely fair to you. I’ll try to make it up to you, if you’ll still let me.”

“Nothin’ to make up for,” he told you, words slurring together.

“I think there is, but–” you sighed. “Get some rest. You need it.”

He fell asleep easily after that.

Joel’s nightmares were so vivid that he woke up feeling like someone had died in his arms all over again. He didn’t know who. When he sat up and looked around the room he saw you asleep, clinging to his arm, and a glass of water on the nightstand next to a mug of tea that went untouched.

He was freezing, shivering under multiple layers. His skin and the fabric clinging to it hurt. Everything hurt. He sucked in a breath, too overwhelmed to do anything about any of it. The only thing he could manage was to call your name out into the dark.

Your bleary eyes met his in an instant and you had to untangle yourself from him to sit up. “Hold on, I’m awake,” you said, clicking on the lamp.

Joel was pale and his eyes were glassy.

“Did something happen? No, just feeling like shit? You’re still so warm… poor thing.”

He shook his head and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. When you opened your arms, he melted right into you.

“Okay, baby. You’re okay, I still got you. Bet your fever’s just spiking.”

After a long while of him in your arms, he spoke up. “M’sorry for what I did,” he whispered. “Thought I was gonna lose you.”

You felt the ache in the wound on your arm that pulled from holding him.

What could you say? That you would just put it past you? That all was forgiven? Was there anything at all that could be said with him in this state, sweating out a fever and shaking in your arms?

After mulling over the entire situation while you had been keeping your distance, you weren’t

sure if he would ever be sorry for pulling the trigger. He was sorry that it hurt you. That the golden image of him in your mind was tainted by what he’d done. That just made you angrier.

For Joel, part of that was true. He wasn’t sorry for pulling the trigger. He’d do it 100 times over, even if there was only a fraction of a chance that it made the difference between you living and you dying. But he was sorry for letting all of his past experiences haunt the decisions he made in the present, and he was sorry that he never did try hard enough to be better for you.

He couldn’t magically change, though. Nobody could.

The fork in the road was clear. To hold onto hope that you could just love Joel deeply enough and some softer, unscarred version of himself would start to appear through the cracks, or to let him go. Let him be who he is, far away from you.

Or maybe, maybe, maybe– keep loving him for who he is now, perhaps even if a little hardened and cruel, in this life with him. Love him deeply enough, love him long enough, and one day who he isn’t won’t matter.

“You won’t lose me. You won’t. We can talk about it more when you’re feeling better.”

And if he ever finds those old pieces of himself, or if you manage to bring them out– you’ll love those, too. And if not?

He brought his face up from your shoulder and took your face into his hands. “I love you. I love y’too much. Don’t lose yourself in all this. Not for me, not for nothin’. Okay? Promise me.”

There wasn’t an ‘if-not.’ The harshness of this life hadn’t taken away his capacity to care about you. To want to give you the world. To love and be loved. Some things, some far away and buried things, the most important things, they had never left him.

And Joel did. He did love you. It was a universal truth. It felt more certain than the sun rising each morning, than the salt in the sea, than the earth spinning on its axis.

“I promise,” you whispered. “I love you, too.”

You made sure Joel got better. Sleep was the best medicine. He was so bone-tired and out of it that you hardly had the chance to say anything else to each other for the next day or so.

You woke on Saturday morning to an empty bed. Joel’s room was tidier, empty mugs and dishes having disappeared from the nightstand along with the clothes that were scattered on the floor.

You could hear Joel and Ellie bickering about something downstairs, and the oaky smell of coffee was permeating the entire house. It made you smile. You wanted to stay in bed and bask in it for a few minutes– that lazy morning feeling, and the growing warmth inside your chest that told you that life could be good again. In the heaviness there was still warmth, light in the darkness, sunshine after the storm.

It was still drizzly out, but everything was remarkably greener. Even the pear trees that were scattered between houses in the neighborhood were blooming. You found yourself looking forward to summer.

After soaking in as much time in bed as you could, you got yourself up and went to check on the commotion in the kitchen. Joel was busy making breakfast– eggs and a few strips of bacon that were sizzling loudly. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder and was gesturing rather aggressively at Ellie with a spatula.

“Come on, how’d you know that one?” Ellie asked incredulously, throwing her hands into the air from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. “It was good, too. Admit it.”

“It was the worst out of all of ‘em,” he retorted.

“Wait, wait, listen to this one– how did Benjamin Franklin feel when he first discovered electricity?”

Joel glared at her over his shoulder. “Shocked?”

She laughed. You were starting to think it was less about the joke itself and much more about Joel’s obvious hatred of them. “You’re killing my flow here, dude!”

He could pretend all he wanted. That smile and the way he shook his head afterwards told you he loved it. Maybe not the joke, but hearing Ellie laugh.

He came over to where you were leaning against the doorway, handing you a cup of coffee and pecking your forehead. You took both things gratefully.

“I see you’re feeling better,” you said, catching him by the arm before he could walk away. “Breakfast, too?”

He nodded, pulling you into him again to kiss you for a little longer. “Mhm. As a thank you for lookin’ after me.”

You smiled against his lips. “I’ll take it, then.”

The three of you sat down to eat together before Ellie, who finished three times faster than either of you, asked if she could meet Tommy at the stables. It was more like a declaration, one that gave Joel no room or time to say yes or no.

You helped him wash and put away dishes, talking and laughing with him about completely mundane things. A part of you hoped that he wouldn’t want to bring up the last few conversations you’d had. This all felt so fragile and you would’ve done anything to keep it intact.

“I got you something,” he said after you’d sat down again. “Shut your eyes.”

Doing as you were told, you brought both hands up to cover your eyes. You could hear him leave the kitchen and bring something in from the dining room.

“‘Kay, open ‘em.”

He’d set a small vase of flowers on the kitchen table. The arrangement was made up of pink and white tulips, interspersed with golden poppies. You’d seen them when you went out with Joel– when you got hurt.

“I went out early this morning. You should see the fields, they’re covered in flowers,” he said. “I went out there to bury that man. Said a prayer for him and all that bullshit. He was alone, you were right. Someone would’ve taken him by now if he wasn’t.” He sat down in the chair next to you, reaching out for your hand. “Thought it was the least I could do… the right thing to do.”

You squeezed his hand as you stared at the flowers. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly. “You’re a good person.”

And somewhere, along the northern edges of a forest, there was a pile of freshly disturbed dirt and a cracked rock in place of a headstone. The rain would still come and wash over Joel’s work, but you hoped that nature would be kind to it. And in a few weeks when the sunlight gave birth to new growth, flowers would spread over the gravesite, too.

“I’m tryin’ to do my best, baby. For you.”

This time, you really did believe in him.

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msmarvelouswinchester · 6 months

Text

If We Love Again

Summary: Whatever problems we had back then don’t exist anymore. It’s why we have this second chance, and we can’t throw it away. -Michelle Maddow

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Y/N (Reader)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

WC: 1942

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Post-canon where DEAN IS ALIVE, kinda sappy, body-shaming (not by the boys), hugs and kisses

Square Filled: Your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong ( @taylorswiftbingo )

A/N: Alright. Alright. Hello you people! Jfc, how long has it been? A lot of things happened (personal matters and fandom problems too) so I took a break. Kind of gave up writing for a bit. Then two boys - Alex and Henry (RWRB fandom, I'm looking at you) got me back to writing! And of course I had to write for my baby, Dean Winchester!

And I've also lost my taglist. So sorry for not tagging anyone in this.

Completely unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

“What’re you doing here?” The usual routine of the bunker had been thrown off-kilter when Y/N had appeared, looking…frazzled. Maybe a tad smile but her eyes shone with unshed tears. And she was drenched to the bones and panting like she had run a mile to get to the bunker. The man welcomed her inside, saying, “Come in first, you are fucking wet.”

The words slipped and the man’s eyes widened, expecting a snobbish remark from her about the word and its placement in the sentence but soon enough, he frowned because Y/N didn't comment on the…apparent opportunity of turning the entire conversation inappropriate. Like she always did. But today, she wordlessly accepted the man’s gratuitous welcome and headed inside the old establishment.

Once at the end of the stairs, she said, rather whispered, “Hey Dean. Can you do me a favour? I need a hug.” If Dean didn't know what heaven looked like, he would have guessed he had ascended to heaven at Y/N’s request.

Dean, who had sprinted down the steps, looked at her and nodded, opening his arms. Y/N stepped into the hug and wrapped her arms around his torso, hands finding the nape of his neck. Dean’s hands had also instantly found their shelter around her body. They stayed in the position for a while. Y/N inhaled deeply quite a few times. The unforgettable scent of cinnamon and gunpowder hitting her and she let the tears fall as she let her guard down for the first time that night and Dean’s hold around her tightened. The sobs that left her, wrecked his heart. Each wail was like a dagger to his chest. He hated seeing her sad. He rested his chin on the top of her head, the familiar smell of her shampoo gave him whiplash as the memories of…everything queued up inside his head. But he still didn't know what had prompted her to show up at her place. “Y/N, sweetheart, can you look at me? I need you to look at me,” Dean murmured, “please.”

His voice washed over her and the sobbing turned into sniffles. She sniffled against the now wet, snot-covered spot on Dean’s tshirt before her red-rimmed, puffy eyes found his worried green ones. “‘M sorry,” she whimpered.

“Hey, shh, what're you sorry for? For ruining my shirt? Oh, I'll just bribe Sammy to do the laundry,” Dean grinned but the worry never left his eyes.

“I just—Dean, I'm sorry for…s-showing up tonight unannounced…I shouldn't have…what was I even thinkin’? Dean, I’ll—uh…see myself out.” Y/N said, and fidgeted in Dean’s grip but he was reluctant to let go. Not when she had just shown up a few minutes ago and broke down in his arms.

Dean said, “Stop, Y/N. Stop. It's alright. That's what best friends are for.” Nope, not letting you go this time.

“But…” Did you forget the part where we dated and broke up and vowed to never see each other again because it would break our hearts even more?

“No buts,” Dean said, as if he could read the thoughts in her head, “Whatever happened…happened. You were my best friend and you still are. If you need me, in a heartbeat, I'll be there for you. Do you understand that?” He glanced up, Jack if this is your doin’ because I pretty much dreamed about second chances last night then thanks, buddy.

Y/N nodded.

“Now let's go sit down. I'm gonna go find Sam and let him know you're here. And then we can go and kick some asses.” Dean gently guided her to his room in the bunker and sat her down on his bed, asking if she needed anything to drink, water or beer or anything to eat, knowing all they had was pie and a greasy two-days old burger in the freezer. They really needed to stock up their fridge more now they have started to live normal lives.

Y/N, though just asked for water.

Dean winked and said he would be back in a minute. And he was, with Sam in tow who had scooped her up in a giant hug. Oh, she had missed them.

“Hi, Sam. You look…different.” Y/N giggled at Sam in his formal clothes instead of the layers of plaid she was used to seeing on him. She had heard that the Winchesters had retired from hunting but seeing them bask in their post-retirement glory was astonishing.

“Yeah, had a makeover sorta, got myself a job and everything—”

“And a girlfriend,” Dean wiggled his brows and his brother blushed furiously. In between the conversation, Dean had handed Y/N a glass of water and sat down beside her on the bed.

She sipped on the water and hummed thoughtfully, “Who would have thought? Our little Sammy, all grown up!”

And for the first since her alarmingly sudden visit to the bunker, Y/N smiled.

“Oh shut up. Enough about me. Dean said something to me about kicking someone's asses. Do we have to bring out our hunting gear?” Y/N’s eyes widened at the question.

“No! Jesus, no guns. And no violence.” She warned the Winchesters.

“Can’t promise on the violence part, sweetheart!” Dean smirked. “So what happened?”

“Honestly. I think I'm good. It was a moment of…sadness but I'm oka—”

Dean cut her off, saying, “Y/N you were wailing. That was not nothing. Come on, tell us, we swear we'll be good.”

Y/N hesitated and Sam decided to put her out of her misery, “Whatever Dean says, if you don't feel comfortable in telling us. Don't tell.”

“Oh…” Dean sighed, “Yeah, I…I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. You seriously don't have to tell us, if you're not up for it.”

“It's just not that,” she swallowed hard. It should be easy to tell them, right? They were her best friends. She took a deep breath and said, “The guy, I am…or rather was dating—” She felt Dean tense up beside her and Sam side-eyed his brother but she continued “-well, he was an asshole. A dickhead. A fucking son of a bitch.”

Sam chuckled. “That's quite a description.”

“Yeah. So I applied for this job in NYC and well…I got it—” her heart soared in her chest as she watched the brothers’ faces split into a huge grin “-but this moron of my ex-boyfriend decided to throw my insecurities to my face because he didn't want me to go to NYC.”

Now looking back, Y/N didn't know why she was sad. She was angry. No, she was pissed because how dare a pathetic little man order her around about whether or not she should work in New York. “He was worried that I wasn't too pretty for the NYC girls, that I was too soft to survive in a big city like New York—”

This time Dean chuckled. Because Y/N wasn't soft, she was a hunter. Born into a hunter family only to give it all up because she wanted a quieter life. But she knew how to fight, how to wield a gun. And she was pretty. Too pretty and even after four years of breaking up, Dean’s heart still skipped a beat when she called his name, looked at his face and he was still enamoured by her very existence.

“So I told him that I would leave his sorry ass,” Y/N’s lips trembled, “and he said it was going to be the best thing because I wasn't worth enough for him to fight for because I…I am ‘too much’ and I…I don't put an effort into being the woman a man wants, no…needs. And in that moment, I got so sad, I needed to see you. Because I missed you guys so much. I missed this where no one judged me or at least didn't use to until…well, I…yeah. So, this is how I showed up here.”

“You're always welcome here, Y/N. And I'm sorry, things haven't been…good for a few years but don't think for a second we will judge you or not let you back into our lives,” Dean’s hands had snaked back around her waist, pulling her closer while she continued, “Well, he was kinda right. Don't you think? I talk too much. Sometimes I go on a ramble. I don't watch my diet—”

“That son of a bitch body-shamed you?” Dean was seething.

“Yeah. And he said, I was too much of a work to stay with. I have always been told that I'm too much of a work but it still hurts—”

Dean said, “Well the guy is an idiot. You aren't too much of a work, sweetheart.”

Y/N, this ain't gonna work. You want me. I want you but you don't want this hunting life while THIS hunting is my life. This relationship is going to be so much of a work and with Cain on the loose, I don't think I can put that much effort in this. Y/N gave Dean a soft smile, “I don't want to bring up old memories but you also said that, pretty much four years back.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “What the hell, Dean?”

“W-I? I was under the influence of the mark, Y/N and you knew it. I pushed away so many people. Letting you go was my biggest mistake. And I regret it because I still fucking love yo—” Dean’s mouth snapped shut.

And for the second time, Sam exclaimed, “What the hell, Dean?”

“Yo–love…what?” Y/N whispered.

Dean turned towards his brother, “Sammy.”

“Yeah.” Sam quickly stepped out of the room.

“Y/N. Letting you go was my biggest mistake and never calling you up was my biggest regret. I should have called because I still need you. And now I have this life. You know I start a new job next week? It's a construction but yeah. And it got me thinkin’ about you. Yeah. I was thinking how I fucked us over and never got to tell you the truth. I never got over us, you. I…I never wanted you to go—”

“I remember very clearly you throwing me out of the bunker and telling me never to contact you again. You know what, showing up tonight was my bigges—”

“Son of a bitch, I can't believe I'm fucking doin’ this,” Dean murmured.

“Wha–” The rest of the question turned into a squeak and Dean’s lips crashed into her. And then the thoughts crashed into him. Fuck.

Dean immediately jumped back from her. “I'm so sor—”

“If you dare to say sorry for this, I am telling Sammy to shoot you in your dick, asshole,” Y/N panted, “Fucking come, kiss me, you moron!”

“You sure? You just had a breakup and…”

Y/N looked at Dean, “I know. But Dean, I had kept loving you all along and maybe by some, heaven’s grace—”

“Jack’s grace.”

“Who’s Jack?”

“God. Well, new God. Jack had been living with us…its a long story for another time.”

“Yeah so, by Jack’s grace, maybe it's my second chance at being with you. Loving you.” Dean’s breath hitched at her words, “Your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong.”

So he walked up to her, and pulled her into a loving kiss. It was soft, eager and…just like old times.

They separated but their foreheads touched as they panted for air. “Second chance?” Dean asked

Y/N nodded, “Second chance.”

He smiled, “This time I'll leave no stones unturned to make this work. Because Y/N, sweetheart, you are worth everything.”

Oh boy, I'm kinda rusty XD

Let me know your thoughts! Comments are highly appreciated!

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #sam winchester

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daimyosprincess · 1 year

Text

PART I: FOREWORD

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: When the new Mandalorian studies professor Boba Fett comes into the university library looking for help, you’re more than happy to be of assistance.

—WORD COUNT: 6.4k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, references to sexual themes, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), bisexual reader, reader described as having hair, alcohol consumption by reader and others, GRATUITOUS flirting (like a ridiculous amount), use of pet names

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here it is, my first ever posted fic! I'm so excited to share this with y'all, it's been so much fun to write. Thank you for all your support for this series. Enjoy the Boba brainrot with me :)

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part II>

The university library is dead—classes aren’t in session and things are slow. The afternoon summer sun streams through the building’s tall windows, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the golden light. The faint rustle of papers turning is the only sound filling the idle air other than you and your coworker’s chatting at the circulation desk.

“No, I’m telling you there’s no good guys to date here. They’re all either emotionally unavailable or terrible in bed… or both,” your friend Selena gripes. She’s exasperated by the most recent of her flings ghosting her after their last hookup.

Swirling your iced coffee, you roll your eyes. “Well maybe you need to expand your dating pool, there’s more out there than just twenty-something guys who spend all their time in the gym.” You grin knowingly at your friend—she definitely has a type.

She throws an elbow at you. “Hey! Not all of us are into girls and men old enough to be our dads! Speaking of which…” she cuts off, wiggling her perfect eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice calls from behind your back, “is there a librarian I can speak to about reserving my course materials?” The voice’s vowels lilt and come together like sand being molded by an ocean wave, powerful yet graceful—it’s a voice that could warm you in sunny, shallow waters or drown you in a raging storm.

All but choking on your coffee, you spin to face the front desk. Standing on the other side of the counter is the most handsome man you think you’ve ever seen: copper skin, white teeth, and dark eyes stand atop a crisp linen shirt rolled up to reveal thick, strong forearms. Pale, silvered scars crisscross his skin, glinting in the light, making him look equally dangerous and enticing, like a trap baited with everything you’ve ever wanted.

Shit, he could get me in a lot of trouble… and I’d let him. You clear your throat, doing your best to recover with at least some of your dignity intact—a difficult task when the absolute god of a man before you just heard that you’re definitely into men his age.

Selena, however, beats you to an answer. “Yes, sir, that would be my coworker here,” she answers in a sing-song voice, “she’s more than happy to help you with anything you need.” You shoot her a dirty look as she flounces away back to her desk in the back, her attitude completely unapologetic.

Being the flirt you are, you did fully intend to hit on this handsome professor, but that’s not the point. Rallying your thoughts, you flash him a dazzling smile. “Yes, I certainly am,” you confirm. “What can I do for you, professor…?” Your voice trails off in anticipation of his response, and you catch the dark gleam in his coffee-colored eyes.

“Fett, Boba Fett. Professor of Mandalorian studies,” he answers smoothly, his rich timbre confident and unphased by you and Selena’s antics.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, professor,” you respond, matching his blithe tone. You introduce yourself with your name and title as the research materials librarian.

He smirks, flicking his eyes over your frame in a casual, yet interested, way. “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” When his eyes meet yours again, they flicker with amber fire, bright and tempting.

You let his compliment hang in the sunlit air between you for a moment, gauging whether he too felt the electric connection buzzing between you two. Judging by the glint in his eye and quirk of his lips, he did.

Game on. “Well, usually faculty submit their materials for purchase and reservation at the end of the previous school year or at the beginning of the summer session,” you inform him with an overly patronizing tone. “But I suppose I can make an exception for you since you’re being so polite.” You end your statement with a wink, inviting him in to test the waters.

Taking your hint, he leans his muscled arms on the high lip of the desk, bringing himself closer into your space. “You’re too kind. Things have been a little difficult since I’m new to the school and wasn’t in the country until last week… and I’d really appreciate your help, princess.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like spiced honey, hot and sweet.

Your brows arch up and you run your tongue over teeth behind your lips as you consider the handsome professor. Most men you meet are either too intimidated or too stupid to give you a fair fight, but this Boba Fett… he might just be the one. Without saying much, he’s said it all: true power doesn’t need to be defended because it speaks for itself. His innate confidence makes your stomach tighten and your blood run hot—this is going to be even more fun than you first thought. “Why don’t you come into my office and I can see what all I can do for you, Professor Fett,” you offer with a flirty smile.

“Please,” he entreats with a saccharine smile, “call me Boba.”

Leaning against your doorframe, Boba shoulders his leather satchel, his broad shoulders rippling under the material of his shirt. The muscles in his arms carve out valleys in his marked skin, making your mind race with the thought of how those arms would feel around you, lifting you up, or pinning you down beneath him. The way he totally fills up the space around him is enough to send heat between your legs, and the snatches of fantasy only heighten the desire simmering in your core. You’ve done everything you can to help the professor at the moment, but neither of you seem too keen on parting just yet, much to your satisfaction.

“So how old are you, then?” he asks, eyeing you tilted back in your chair below him.

You’d teased him about his thesis date being long before your birth while you chatted as you submitted his materials requests. “Why, professor,” you taunt, looking up at him from heavy-lidded eyes, “are you trying to make sure I’m at least eighteen?”

He answers with a devil’s grin. “No, just trying to see whether or not I’m old enough to be your father.”

Yep, he definitely heard that earlier, you groan internally as heat pricks up your neck. Not one to be beaten so easily, however, you lazily trail your eyes down to his left hand braced on your door, a smirk splitting your face when you don’t find a ring. “As long as you’re single, I’m twenty-six.”

“And if I’m not?” he counters, cocking his head in pointed curiosity.

You pray to whoever might be listening that he is because you might not survive temptation much longer, not with the way he’s looking at you like you’re the sweetest dessert he’s ever seen. “Well then, I’d be twenty-six and disappointed.”

He snorts, shaking his head with a deliciously low chuckle. “You really are something, aren’t you, little one?”

Your stomach flips at his continued use of the sweet names, but you swallow it down. Boba Fett is a test you intend on passing and that means you have to keep your wits about you. “I have been told I can be quite the handful. Hope that's not a problem… don’t think it would be for you, though,” you reply, looking him up and down meaningfully and letting your eyes linger on the fabric stretched tight over his biceps. He’s built like a kriffing brick wall, thick and solid, and you want to climb him to the very top.

The sultry look he gives you makes you think he’d let you, too. “After forty-seven years, princess, I don't think it would be.”

That same hum of charged energy of your initial meeting fills your office as your gaze falls into line with the intense depth of his own. You were wrong before, he’s not looking at you like you’re dessert. You’re prey, soft and open, and he’s the predator tracking you deeper and deeper in the forest, far away so no one would hear your shriek when sunk his teeth into your flesh.

But did prey ever want to be torn apart by its hunter? You roll your lips together, squeezing your thighs against the embers of desire flickering to life between them.

A few moments later, your computer chirps with an email notification and you blink back to reality, the tension fizzling out into the surrounding air. Probably for the best since I’m about ten seconds away from jumping this man's bones in my office. Straightening up in your seat, you clear your throat. “Same time tomorrow, then, professor?”

“If it’s not a problem,” he shrugs, his heated gaze betraying his nonchalance, “I know you’re a busy girl.”

He’s clearly enjoying calling you everything but your name and you, much to your surprise, are lapping it up. In an attempt to even the score, you push up from your chair, snatching up one of your business cards from your desk and scribbling your cell number on the back. Sauntering over to him stretched out in your door, you stop just a little closer than absolutely necessary. You slip the piece of paper into his front pocket, pleased with the way the muscle in his jaw twinges at the contact. “Oh, no, it’s no problem at all,” you practically purr, “At the university, we want to make sure our new faculty enjoy everything the library has to offer.”

He huffs in amusement, not moving away. “Your efforts should be rewarded, then,” he notes, his voice like rich molasses, “You’ve been nothing but eager.”

Before you can stop the impish impulse, you rattle off your usual coffee order. The worst he can say is no, but something tells you he’s willing to indulge you just a bit more than most would.

He tilts his head to the side, his lips twitching into a smile in understanding a second later. “Size?”

“As much as you’re willing to give me,” you wink, flipping your pen between your fingers under your chin. You’d like to think he’d indulge you in that too, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“Don’t worry,” he assures, his voice like bittersweet woodsmoke, “I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve.” The promises laced through his words like invisible threads, weaving together images of love-bruised skin and rough hands pressed into soft flesh.

You swallow thickly, and almost groan in embarrassment when his eyes track the bob of your throat with a smug look. “You could get a man into trouble, little one. A lot of trouble…”

He shoves off the doorframe, his face swaying dangerously close to yours as he turns to leave. “See you tomorrow, princess.” He says the words like a promise rather than a casual expression.

“Oh, professor?” you call out after him. You can’t let this man come out of your office thinking he’s won your little game, your pride simply won’t allow it—and neither will the lurid desire bubbling up from somewhere deep within you. You want to push him, needle him until he snaps, poke the bear until he takes a swipe. Not very smart for someone who’s definitely the prey.

He turns to face you as if he had been hoping you’d stop him. “Yes?”

“You should know,” you bait, letting your eyes flicker down to his lips and back up in wicked pleasure, “I like trouble.”

Every day since your electrifying meeting has been an excuse to see him: hand delivering something that could have been interofficed, calling his office phone and inviting him to look over some course book in person, or volunteering to give him a tour of campus that happened to include lunch together. Boba’s like a burning sun and you’ve been ensnared in his orbit, your every phase and season given life by his heat.

When you couldn’t find an excuse to be around him, he found one; he came to make copies in the library because his department’s machine “never seems to work right,” the coffee shop gave him an extra pastry he “couldn’t possibly eat,” or the darn databases wouldn’t let him log in and you’re the “only one who can get them to work.” Even when your extensive partnership gathering his course materials came to an end, Boba was quick to offer you a spot in his office to work while last minute construction went on in the library before the start of the fall semester.

Boba’s office is tucked away at the end of a long hall in the gothic-style humanities building and quickly becomes your own personal sanctuary for the remainder of the summer. Its soaring ceiling and long, arched window gave a sense of lightness to the corner space, the natural light reflecting off the pale walls. Brass lamps with warm, golden light keep the room cozy when clouds roll in, along with the sumptuous oriental rug spread over the stone floor. Boba’s furniture is functional and comfortable; a large, sorrel leather couch sits perpendicular against the wall from his sturdy oak desk, accompanied by matching armchairs facing him for visitors. The walls are lined with bookshelves and cabinets housing his impressive personal library and mementos from his illustrious life.

It’s in this ivory tower oasis that your heart begins to grow into a softer shape and your mind settles into the rough-hewn grooves of the professor’s tides. The power of him both rouses and relieves, stirs and soothes; the shards of you are made into soft seaglass by the roll and drag of his waves against the sand. And oh, how you’re tempted to let him pull you under the glassy surface, to submit and let his current tow you to blissful paradise. You yearn to provoke his storms as well as seek his shelter from the harsh creatures of everyday life—you’re sure he’s going to be the end of you.

The week before classes start you’re slouched comfortably across the couch in his office. Sunlight dapples the room in a saffron glow through the forked leaves of ivy hugging the window as you’re half-heartedly responding to the numerous last minute item requests from harried professors. While most of them are smart enough to be polite, quite a few have decided to be rude, pain in the asses instead.

You grumble loudly, throwing your head back against the cushion behind you. Your frustration is not helped by the fact Boba is extra good looking today, his white shirt is practically glowing against his sun-kissed skin and open a button lower than usual for the breezy weather—not that you noticed those kinds of things about him. Just like you definitely weren’t aching for his attention that’s currently wrapped up in class prep.

“Why do all these professors expect me to drop everything to attend to their specific requests like I have nothing better to do?” you huff, massaging your temples with your fingertips. “I do have an actual job besides course reserves.”

Looking over a pair of reading glasses, Boba leans back in his chair, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Must have seen you doing it for me, princess.”

You blow out a dismissive sound and roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re different.” Snapping your laptop closed, you manage to keep the pleased smile from turning up your lips. You have Boba’s attention now, just like you really wanted.

“Mmm, different how?” he hums, his intense gaze now trained on your face.

The heat of his assured, teasing confidence makes your guts churn. While your mutual physical attraction to one another is surely evident to both of you, you’ve been doing your best to hide the fact that he holds your heart in his hands too. No use ruining the good thing you have going with the handsome professor by admitting you have an honest-to-god crush with feelings.

Rolling over on your side so you can prop your head up on your hand, you find Boba entirely too smug for your liking. Putting on your most innocent face, you blink up at him with wide doe eyes. “Oh, you know me, professor, always happy to help you older folks figure out all the complicated technology involved in getting your books.” Despite your efforts, you can’t help cracking a grin at the end of your sentence.

That sparks the fire you hoped it would in Boba, his eyes glittering and his posture shifting forward in response to your goading. “Watch it, princess. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

Heaven help me, he looks so kriffing good, his shoulders alone make me want to risk it all. “Don’t worry,” you grin, “I’ve never had any trouble swallowing what’s in my mouth.”

“Well, well, well,” a rich female voice interjects from the door, making you jerk upright. “If it isn’t the new Mandalorian studies professor going at it with the pretty little librarian. I should’ve known that I couldn’t trust you around her, Fett.”

“Fennec!” you exclaim, relief dousing your prickling surprise: she knew you were a tease. You scramble off the lounge and throw your arms around your friend. “It’s Wednesday,” you state, perplexed, “I thought you wouldn’t be back from your trip until Friday?”

She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a satisfying hug. “Missed you too much, kitten, had to come back a little early,” she answers with her usual flirtatiousness. You don’t miss the way she winks at Boba over your shoulder as her palms slide over the small of your back when she pulls away. You secretly hope it will make him a little jealous.

“Never met a beautiful girl you didn’t try to seduce, have you Shand?” Boba pipes up from behind you, his tone familiar.

Your heart rate spikes at his compliment but you tamp down the heat threatening to creep up your face. Stepping back, you swing your head back and forth between the two professors. “You two know each other?”

Flicking her long braid over her shoulder, Fennec smiles, throwing a puckish look at the man behind the desk. “Oh, Boba and I go way back, long before either of us cleaned up and joined academia. Who do you think got him a job here?” she quips, sinking her weight onto her hip with her usual air of unapologetic fortitude.

“I got myself a job here,” Boba cracks back, his grumbling making it obvious he’s accustomed to Fennec’s ribbing.

She shrugs, grinning. “Don’t discount the power of a good word on the inside.” Slinging an arm around your shoulder, she loudly whispers in your ear, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing with a man like him anyways, kitten? Thought I taught you better than that.”

“Kark off, Shand,” Boba huffs, and Fennec throws her hands up in front of her chest in a showy apology.

Letting his languid gaze slide over to you, Boba studies the curves and planes of your body, mapping out each. You can’t squash the tingling glow buzzing in your chest at his attention, and your eyes sink down under fluttering lashes, your resolve weakened. “She’s a smart girl, she knows what she wants,” he finally says, releasing you from his inspection to smirk at his colleague.

The heat in your lower belly flares hot and wanting at his passive claim over you. Shit. Sometimes you wish he’d just shove your clothes aside and bend you over the nearest flat surface to take you for himself. Dangerous thoughts like those keep you up at night, wishing it his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy instead of your own.

You drop back down onto the couch to buy yourself a second to regroup. Kicking your feet up in an act of collected indifference, you drawl, “Aw, don't you two go fighting over me, there’s plenty to go around.”

“Yeah, but Boba doesn’t like to share,” Fennec snorts.

You grin up at the dark-haired woman and prop your computer back on your thighs. “Good thing we’re just friends then, Fenn.”

“Lucky him,” she chuckles. Straightening up and drawing a breath, her jovial expression settles into something more sincere. “Well, I’ve got plenty to do for classes next week, just wanted to stop by when I heard your voices. It’s good to see you again.”

Genuine affection spreads in your chest as you look up at your friend; for all her teasing and bluster, Fennec has a heart of gold. “Glad you made it back safe, Fenn, we’ll get coffee and catch up soon,” you promise with a candid smile.

“Sounds good, let me know if you ever want some better looking company.” She winks at you then tosses her head in Boba’s direction. “Always a pleasure to see you still in one piece, Fett.”

Despite his glowering expression, Boba’s voice is warm. “Same to you, Shand. Just remember to always watch your back.” The sound of the dark-haired woman’s throaty laugh echoes down the hallway as she heads towards her office.

When you look back at Boba, his mahogany eyes are already on you. They’re watching, as they often are, like you’re some fascinating phenomenon that might disappear if he doesn’t recommit it to memory repeatedly. “So you and Fennec are friends,” he states simply, leaning forward on his elbows. There’s something expectant in his tone, his demeanor hinting at anticipation. It makes the cozy atmosphere of the office crackle with intent.

You learned rather quickly that there was little use in trying to figure out Boba when he didn’t want to be figured, so you relax back into the couch and play along. “Yeah, she’s one of the first people I met when I started at the university. She took me under her wing and helped me find my way around here, she’s a good friend.” Before you can think better of it, you add, “But she’s only ever been a friend, despite what she might hint at.”

A small smile chips through the stony set to his features that makes your heart skip a beat. “Well that’s good to hear. Raises my hopes for your answer to my next question.” The richness of his voice belies any nervousness, if a man like him even feels such a thing. He always seems so sure, always in total control.

Was he jealous of Fennec? Your mouth goes dry and you force your easy smile to stay in place; Boba’s focus is zeroed in on you and you'd rather die than slip up in front of him—he'd enjoy it far too much. “Oh, do tell, professor. I'm all ears,” you urge, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your cool with passing success.

His lips twitch up, amused with your brashness. “You’ve been more than helpful these past four weeks, little one,” he begins, “I couldn't have gotten everything done for my classes or had the peace of mind to get properly settled here.”

“Really, it's no problem, I don't-”

Boba raises a hand for silence and your jaw clicks shut in quick obedience—much to your embarrassment and his obvious pleasure. “Whether you mind or not,” he continues, “or if you feel it's your job, I greatly appreciate all your efforts.” He studies you for a moment and it feels like he can see right through to your insides. “Can I take you to dinner at the Vineyard this Saturday, to thank you for all you've done?”

Genuine surprise releases a stream of words pouring from your lips before you can even register them. “The Vineyard? Downtown? It’s so fancy, you don't have to do that. I mean it's like $100 dinners and-”

“You deserve it, princess. I told you you'd get everything you deserve, remember?” Boba smiles, the corners of eyes crinkling in a fond expression. “Plus, I enjoy your company… and I think you enjoy mine, too.”

Your poor heart is beating so hard in your ribs you’re sure Boba's able to hear it. The safety of him and his space have disarmed your usual defenses, sanded down the spear of your tongue; it’s equal parts freeing and terrifying, uncharted territory ripe with possibilities and danger. You’re left unable to deny his assertion—or form any real words—so you opt to arch a brow instead.

“Don’t play coy, little one,” he chastens, his firm words and velvet tone skating over your heated skin. “I know construction in the library finished last week, yet you're still spending all your days in my office.”

Biting your lip, you do your best to look surprised. “Oh, really? I must have, uh, missed the memo on that,” you try lamely, scratching at the back of your neck. It’s a weak defense but it’s all you can muster at the moment, only half your brain is available to cobble together a response; the other half is too busy fighting the urge to leap over his desk and into his lap.

Boba chuffs a laugh, his handsome face all too knowing and his deep eyes sparkling with amusement—and maybe something darker, more sensual if you could bear to look. His reaction does, however, kick-start your customary attitude.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you fix him with the most sardonic look you can. “Well, I didn’t see you complaining, professor.” You tack on an eye roll for good measure as it never fails to get a reaction from him. And, oh, how you wanted to get one out of him, be the reason he’s loses his cool. Just the mere thought of it makes you ache.

Cocking his head to the side, he has the gall to look like he’s already won. “Why would I complain about getting what I want?” His face is drawn in a question, but his eyes flash with the answer.

“Well, you… you, er,” you stammer, suddenly unable to find a foothold. Boba had shaken the very earth beneath you with his admission, it has scattered your mind and rattled the bedrock of your resolve. The familiar nagging, forbidden desire to give in, to submit wells up in your throat; it would be easy, sinfully easy, to give up the fight and let Boba win. But easy’s never been my thing, has it?

Rolling back your shoulders, you mount your last stand. You let your head loll over to look at him directly, your eyes peeking out at him from under hooded lids. “And just what do you want, Boba Fett?” you answer, your voice husky and weighted.

The air itself thickens around you, dampening the outside world to something far away and unimportant as Boba contemplates his response. This is the impasse the two of you had been circling all along, choosing to precariously balance your brash determination against his indomitable will rather than risk tipping the scales. The only true solution is for one of you to give, but neither of you had yet been willing to break.

Finally, Boba’s lips part, a quick tongue darting out to wet the chapped skin. “I want,” he starts, low and deliberate, “to take you out to a nice dinner, have a good glass of wine… and have you all to myself.”

His words are etched in crystalline honesty and thus you have no choice but to respond in kind, even if it only skirts your shared quandary. “Then who am I to deny you, professor?”

The rest of the week might as well not have even happened as far as you're concerned—all that mattered was making it to Saturday. Boba had dangled the promise of sweet reward in front of you and seemed content to watch you flounder your way to it over the intervening days. It also didn’t help that Selena could not shut up about it, even now as she’s standing behind you, pinning and primping your hair to her liking.

“Ooo, I can’t believe it’s really happening!” she squeals, sliding another bobby pin into place against your scalp. “You and the hot professor, going on a date to a romantic restaurant all dressed up! I bet he’s going to invite you back to his place after. Do you think he has a big… you know?”

“If you never finish with my hair, I’ll never have to know,” you grumble. Now that the time has nearly come, you’re about sick to your stomach with all the overthinking you’ve done. You almost talked yourself out of going three times before Selena even came over to help you get ready.

“Hey, none of that sad shit,” she chides, pointing a hairbrush at you in the mirror. “You’ve been dying to go on this date all week, you’ve just got a little case of nerves. Totally normal.”

“But what if he doesn’t actually see this as a date? He never actually said it was. Or what if he really just wants to sleep with me and ditch me after this?” You groan, flopping back against your vanity chair miserably. Your earlier suspicions about his mutual feelings for you had soured—now you’re not even sure he likes you.

Selena thwacks the back of the head. “Ow!” you yelp, glaring at her in your reflection.

“Pull yourself together. Anyone within a mile radius of you two can tell you’re crazy about each other. Now sit still so I can get these pieces even,” she orders, centering you in the mirror with her hands on your shoulders. You do as she says, focusing on the practiced movements of her hands as a distraction for the feeling in your gut.

By the time you pull on your dress and slip into your shoes, you’re beginning to come back around to your usual self, likely in part due to the shot of tequila Selena convinced you to take with her—not that you needed much convincing to begin with.

She hypes you up as she fastens the clasp of your necklace around your throat. “Shit, girl, you look hot! I’m not sure he’s going to be able to take his eyes off you long enough to drive to the restaurant.”

“I do look good don’t I?” You flash yourself a smile in the mirror. After a trip to the mall yesterday, you and Selena had decided on a simple black satin slip dress and matching strappy heels. The deep “V” of the neckline and snug fit around your hips gave the dress just enough sex appeal while still being elegant. Twisting around, you check the lines of the dress in the back. “It’s too bad no one can see these panties, they’re so cute.”

“Oh, someone’s going to be seeing them alright,” Selena giggles from her perch on the end of your bed.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the girlish grin turning up the corners of your mouth at her insinuation. Shit, I hope he rips them off me. “Only if I decide he deserves to.”

“There she is, there’s the girl we know and love. Give him hell!”

Your phone dings on your bedside table and your friend snatches it up before you can get to it. “Hey! Give it!” you demand, grabbing at the device.

Sliding up the bed out of your reach, Selena hunches around your phone. “He’s here! And he sent a bunch of heart emojis.”

Your nerves tingle in cold-hot anticipation, your face going slack in disbelief. “He did?!”

Selena bursts into laughter. “No, I’m just messing with you, he just said he’s outside.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you groan, snatching away your phone. “Go ahead and see if I keep helping you come up with texts to send all your gym rat side pieces.”

She lays a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “You would never. Now get out there and blow his socks off, or you know, whatever else you want to blow.�� She smirks suggestively, shooing you towards the door. “I’ll lock up, now out out out.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going!” Your heart hammers in your chest and you consider another shot of tequila before dismissing it—no need to set yourself up to be any hornier than you already are for the Mandalorian professor. Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you’re out the door.

Leaning against a sleek midnight black Audi is Boba Fett in all his glory, dressed in a well-fitted pressed shirt (with the sleeves rolled up, damn him) and gray slacks. His salt and pepper stubble and dark eyes make his already handsome face look even better. Catching your appearance in the doorway, he juts his chin up in greeting, his eyes sliding over you in obvious pleasure. “Evening, princess.”

He holds out an arm and you take it to step off the curb, testing his muscles underneath your fingers as you do; if Boba notices, thankfully he doesn’t say it. He opens the passenger door and you step in, settling down onto the supple leather of the lush interior.

He doesn’t close the door right away, instead standing and clearly enjoying the view down your dress. You glare up at him in mock annoyance. “You gonna stare like a dirty old man or are you going to take me to dinner, professor?”

“You’re the one who got all dressed up for a dirty old man, sweetheart, I figured you'd want me to enjoy it,” he replies smoothly, his lips quirking into a smirk as he shuts the door before you can manage a response.

Yep, these panties don’t stand a chance.

“So, Fennec tells me you were some sort of deadly mercenary gun-for-hire before you settled down to teach the impressionable young minds of university students,” you smile cheekily over your glass of wine, swirling the sparkling contents around the cup’s curves. “That true?” Stars help me if it is, I don’t know if he can get any sexier.

The evening air is crisp and warm, a mild sea-breeze rustling the hem of your dress under the table. The scene laid out around you is so terribly romantic you have to pinch yourself a few times to make sure it’s not all part of the best dream you’ve ever had. Tables for two are scattered over a stone patio overlooking the sunsetted ocean, with glowing candles in their centerpieces and string lights criss-crossed overhead illuminating the space with soft light.

Boba lets out an exasperated sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Of course she did. Don’t believe everything she says about me, she loves to tell a good story.”

“Avoiding the question, are we?”

“Sure you don’t want any dessert?”

“Aww, come on Boba, pleeease? Please tell me,” you whine playfully, sticking out your bottom lip for extra effect. He hadn’t denied you anything yet tonight—and you intend on keeping it that way.

He sighs, resigned to his fate. “You’re going to be the death me, you know that, princess?” You squeal a pleased sound and lean in conspiratorially on both your elbows, eager to hear his answer. Tossing his napkin from his lap onto the table, he leans against the back of his chair and props his arm up, gazing at you over the candlelight. “I’ll tell you, but you have to answer a question of mine if I do. Deal?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you nod, blinking your eyes down to his crotch and back up to his face slowly so he’s sure to notice. “Yeah, we have a deal. Spill it.”

True to his word, Boba recounts what you’re sure is a heavily abridged version of his life before becoming a teacher. He was born on a rainy little island called Kamino and lost his father young. While his father was a Mandalorian, Boba himself didn’t necessarily consider himself to be one, hinting that he hadn’t felt the most welcome by his father’s people when he visited the island of Mandalore before it’d been nearly wiped off the face of the earth.

Alone in the Mandalorian diaspora, Boba had turned to what he knew best to make his way in the world: fighting. Working protection gigs, “recovering property” (which no doubt was not entirely legal), and retrieving missing or abducted persons, he made a name for himself in that world as the best since his old man. It was also how he met Fennec, who apparently was one of the best espionage mercs money could buy, and why he had a ridiculous amount of money for a college professor.

“So why did you go into teaching then?” you ask, pushing your now empty glass aside. “Kind of an interesting choice considering your… previous profession.”

“Didn’t plan on it.” Boba drains the rest of his glass and sets it next to yours. “After one too many close calls, though, I knew I couldn't continue that life. All of that wasn’t-isn’t the legacy I want to leave behind. The death of my father and his heritage might have been out of my control, but I will not let it be in vain. So I took what I knew, learned what I didn’t, and started teaching in Mandalorian studies.”

You two sit in silence for a while, watching the tide roll in under the silver gleam of the moon. “Thank you for sharing.” Your voice is almost a whisper, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He would've been so proud to see the person you’ve become, I’m sure of it.”

Boba tilts his head to the side, studying you as if you’ve said the most interesting thing the world has ever heard. “Thank you… that’s kind of you to say,” he answers quietly, as if he doesn’t quite believe you himself. The careful look in his eye makes you wonder what other secret burdens the handsome professor bears in silence. Even more so, it makes you want to shoulder some of it, or at least provide him some sort of relief.

The table off to your right bursts into hoots of laughter and the dusky spell between you is broken. You blink the haze out of your eyes and Boba clears his throat.

“Time to pay up, sweetheart. It’s my turn to ask you a question,” he smiles, his white teeth catching the flickering candlelight. The faraway solemnity in his eyes is replaced with dark heat.

“Go right ahead, I’m all yours,” you grin back, “ask away.”

Signaling your server for the check with two fingers, Boba leans forward, taking your hand in his large one. “Tell me, little princess, am I dropping you back at yours after this, or are you coming home with me?”

—Endnotes: I don’t know anything about cars, I just know that Audi is a fancy car brand, at least in the US. Don’t judge me 😭. Also I guess this is a coastal university. I don't have a name for the school yet though, what do y'all think?

Part II>

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