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marvel-and-mischief · 1 year

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❄️ December Writing Challenge ❄️

Day 26. Bookstore Date

Pairing: Ezra x GN!Reader Words: 1118 Warnings: none

December Writing Challenge masterlist

The bookstore is enormous. Spanning fifteen floors, nine cafes, a rooftop terrace with an alcohol-free bar, and a creche on the first floor, you’re beginning to think meeting a stranger (that you’d been exchanging messages with on the inter-planetary web) here is a terrible idea. But you’d chosen it because it’s public and easily accessible from your pods charging station, plus when you mentioned books to him your conversation came to life. It buzzed with talk of childhood favourites and guilty pleasures; which ones were for reading in bed and which you preferred on the go. So the bookstore is the perfect place, but you worry you’ll never find him.

His name is Ezra, he’s a little older than you and he’s spent most of his life mining for gems on forest moons but he’s looking for stability now, and a friend to keep him company. You wanted a similar life, maybe settle on a university planet like this one, study for a few years and find steady work that had you hanging up your landing pod for good.

You’re standing in the fantasy section on the second floor, browsing the spines for your favourite book when you hear a beeping coming from your comms device. Pulling it out of your jacket pocket you squint at the thin line of screen that slowly reveals Ezra’s message.

-I have retrieved my

-book. Will meet in

-blue room on sixth

-floor

You pick out the book you’ve chosen and rush to the elevator before the doors close. Pressing the button for floor six you thumb the pages of your book nervously. He seemed like a great guy over texts; he was conversational but never talked over you, he asked questions and was open about himself too. And because he couldn’t send a picture he described himself; scar on cheek, missing his right arm from a work incident, streak of blonde in his hair. He shouldn’t be difficult to spot.

Stepping onto the sixth floor looks like every other floor of the bookstore. You seem to be in the classics section, and along the lefthand side are different coloured doors that lead into various quiet rooms for people to read in. The third door along is blue, so that’s where Ezra must be. You feel your stomach flutter but you hurry across the floor regardless.

You knock once, then twice, then a third just incase he hasn’t heard it. The door swings open to reveal Ezra, exactly how he described himself, wearing black corduroy trousers and a knitted jumper. He looks cosy, sophisticated, blending into his bookish surroundings. He calls your name as a welcome and to ensure the right person has come knocking. He has a deep voice that, along with his appearance, has you weak at the knees. You can only nod in response.

“Come on in. I have left you the armchair nearest to the window. It has a fine view of the park and children playing ball games. I find it too much of a distraction if I am to converse with a companion.”

You saw a smidge of his wide vocabulary in his texts but the way he speaks has you hypnotised into wanting to hear him speak more. You take the seat near the window, unwind your scarf and pop the buttons on your coat to relax into the cracked, leather chair. Ezra sits next to you on a loveseat, side on, legs crossed next to a book whose cover you recognise.

“You chose Wilde?” you ask, resting your own book on your lap. Ezra hums, tracing a finger along the gold lines of a picture frame, a haunting image of a skull resting at the top.

“The Picture of Dorian Gray. A classic. And one of my all-time favourites.”

You think it an interesting choice of book for meeting someone for the first time. It speaks to his character: he could have chosen to impress you with non-fiction, or go for something lighthearted, but no, it’s an honest choice and you’re grateful for that. You talk about the exploration of themes, about youth and beauty and the absence of both the older you get. It’s a deep conversation that lasts most of the hour until Ezra has to bribe one of the bookstore staff to let you have the blue room for another couple of hours. Time is passing quickly, just as it does in Ezra’s book, until the children outside have long left the park to go home.

“And what about you? Which book did you choose?”

You’d completely forgotten about your own choice of book, so much so you had to dig it out from where it had slid between the cushion and the side of the chair. You describe the plot of your favourite book, one Ezra hadn’t heard of. It gives you a chance to speak of your own moral beliefs, Ezra chiming in where he agrees or disagrees which always leads down pathways of discussion that fly far from your original topic. Ezra is a fascinating, clever, funny, understanding man who you can see yourself spending eternity with, if only to hear more of what goes on in that head of his.

It’s late before long, and you and Ezra are asked to leave so the store can close for the night. You stand outside, bundled up in your Winter clothes, leaning against each other for extra warmth, not really wanting to leave but knowing you can’t stay on the sidewalk until the store opens in the morning.

“Well I hope you don’t mind me saying, it has been an extraordinary evening. One that has far exceeded my expectations.”

“I’ve surprised you?” You ask, a cheeky smile gracing your lips. Ezra chuckles deeply.

“Yes, but don’t take that personally. It is rare to find such a like minded individual, especially when I am looking for someone like me.” His tone is self-deprecating and gives you pause. You don’t want to leave Ezra tonight, so you curl your arm around his and don’t let go.

“There must be a late night hub, or an all-night bar we can find in this town. Let’s not part ways just yet.” You stare hopefully into his large, brown eyes and see the moment where his sadness for the night ending turns to relief when he processes your words.

“I would be happy to walk these roads until dawn if you asked me to,” Ezra admits, stepping off the curb and pulling you alongside him.

You’ve found something in Ezra that you see in yourself. Maybe it’s loneliness, perhaps it’s a passion for books. Whichever it is, you’ll be holding onto him for good.

#wwdilfcember #december writing challenge #ezra #ezra x gn!reader #exra x reader #prospect #pedro pascal

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smoocheys · 7 months

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sry if this is a weird ask but i was looking at this post again https://www.tumblr.com/smoocheys/731759295760416768/the-smunkerrrrrrrrrr?source=share&ref=_tumblr and just. man i'm so confident you'd knock it out of the park if i commed you for my funny lizard, i'll totally go for one if you end up opening nsfw comms. ur posing and linework are so lovely and u do those bits so well, love ur style so much (also requesting not to tag this with my name or anything, i just went unanonymous for the link and pfp)

yaaaa! im considering trying to open comms soon but im not sure When ill do it or how....! december is supposed to be my Break month but i need more moneys so maybe ill take just a handful of regular comms and try experimental ones, like nsfw solos...? unsure... (sorry for rambling about dis on ur ask + ive also removed your username tag wee hee ^_^)

and also thank u!

#smunk mail

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snippyschnapps · 1 year

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dont have energy for good avert now. YOU! like beasts? me too. i can draw them. draw the FUCK out of them. low low cost of £9 per hour and if youre not caring about tiny details i can make a pretty thing in like 3 of those. maybe less. AND. before 25th of december i can give discount. hear that? what a steal. look at this beast:

COULD BE YOURS. not this one specifically but any beast of your choosing. maybe several. open your mind to these possibilities. envision a beast TODAY (it’s free) (envisioning is free) (commissions not free) (please commission me it will help me continue to be alive & well & continuing to make more beasts)

WHERE? i hear you ask. WHERE TO GET THESE WONDERFUL BEAFTS? well you see tumblr eats any text near links i post so i wont put it in here, but its my pinned post. right there! guaranteed always! beasts front+centre! wow!

aaaaand post

Edit: lmao wow i was really tired when i posted this but it worked i guess because my comms are now closed while i work on this one! If you want to reserve a slot you can ask, but I won’t work on it until im done with my current work and I have time again. If multiple people reserve slots you’ll be put in a queue

#commission stuff #been sitting starign at nothing cause brainworms now its 3am and the money anxiety is back please buy my creatures even if only 1 #small beast? anyone. doesnt even have to have solid design. i can make 4 you. special #art #artists on tumblr #creatures #furry #monster #ohgh brainworms eating memory of what tags i need to add to this #good night i love you

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flailing-feathers · 1 year

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I got a stream to do this afternoon so fuckit I’m letting out my negativity demons here now ‘cause they’ve been weighing me down.

Been feeling like shit every time I’ve poked social media lately, idk if it’s because it’s December or what but I’m back in another one of my ‘I’m a loser who can’t make rent with the one thing I’m any good at’ modes. Yeah the economy’s in the shitter but I am thirty four years old, have an art degree from a decade ago, and spent most of last year redoing my portfolio after I quit my day job over their handling of the pandemic (and only because I had a bunch of money saved up to give myself time to restart my art career doing remote work). Spoiler alert, that wasn’t nearly enough. I opened commissions in August 2021. I started job hunting in January 2022. It is now December 2022, and I’ve made less than 3k all year, no job, the feds paying for my food since March and my bf paying my rent since September (we don’t live together, he’s just helping me).

I’m too damned old to suck this hard. I can’t come up with cool ideas people would want to buy, I’m an unhireable schmuck that doesn’t have 3+ years industry experience in anything, and as much as I know part of it is that the market is objectively worse, I still feel like the biggest loser for taking more than twice as long to find work as I did when I graduated college. I’m so much more skilled now but I still don’t know how to make money. There seems to be no light at the end of this tunnel where I can actually make progress in my life.

Maybe it’s cultural programming but I hate having to be propped up financially (though I am equally in favor of UBI, and wish that was even remotely possible in the US). I hate being useless. I hate knowing that I’m intelligent and skilled but not the right kind of intelligent and skilled to not be living in a shitty little cold-ass apartment that I now can’t even pay for by myself. Art is the only thing I’m any good at, and yeah this is privilege talking but I can’t go back to regular dayjobs because nobody around here has trustworthy policies for protecting their minimum wage peons from health risks. I was uninsured even when I had a job.

Back to the whole social media thing - I’ve been a lot less active lately, not because of anything going on with platforms or the AI debacle or any other large scale dramas, it’s just that I look at it, and it makes me feel bad that I’m not posting new art or have cool promos or merch and there’s no demand for my work whatsoever. I’m still the kind of awful little shit that when I see other people posting comms, even though they’re probably just barely scraping by, too (and likely undercharging), I feel like a loser ‘cause I have barely gotten any comms and can’t even come up with merch ideas. I haven’t done anything for Studio 252MYA in ages while other artists are pumping out banger after banger. It’s great for them, of course, they deserve any boost they can get. I guess it just hits me right in the Impostor Syndrome. I don’t feel like I belong there, I’m not one of those paleoartists that are actually cool.

In the fanart world, I have an even stupider problem - I only hyperfixate on one thing at a time, and I’ve drifted away from Star Trek and back to Pokemon. I don’t stop liking a thing if it stops being my fixation, but it is a lot harder to want to choose to work on stuff relating to it over other things. My fixations tend to last around a year, no more than two. It’s fun while it lasts, but objectively ST64 is going to be much slower going now and other things are going to be chosen to be worked on instead more often than not. But there’s a little voice in the back of my head that most of the people who followed my fanart Twitter were in it for the Star Trek and I’m going to disappoint them by having less and less of it.

Lately I haven’t been doing anything for social media at all. Just making stuff for my bf and futzing about with my Neocities. I love how small and focused that community is. No room for expectations and disappointment and feeling like shit, just fucking around with silly ideas and exploring other people’s. A happy little island getaway where I can scratch a creative itch with no stakes.

#text dump

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fluffytriceratops · 1 year

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Digital Art Commissions.

So I’ve decided to open up art commissions! And hopefully I'll be able to open them this month (December). I'm currently doing research on the right pricing because I want it to be fair for both the creator and the customer.

I will start by opening five slots. It will be first come first serve. I’m thinking if opening a ko-fi, so you can probably pay through that. Possibly PayPal? Maybe through Tumblr? I haven’t decided yet, I’ll be looking into it for the next while and when I make the official commissions post, all the info will be on there.

The comm will be a digital piece created by me using Procreate. It can be as simple or as detailed as you want it to be. However, the more details the higher the price. But I think that’s obvious hehe.

I am willing to do NSFW within reason. There are some things I won’t do, that will all be listed on the official post.

And I will do both original characters and canon/fandom characters. :)

If you’re interested, make sure to keep an eye out for the official post! If you’d like to be tagged in the official post, lemme know on this post so that I can tag you so you can see it!

Thank you and have a good day!! <3

— LF / Fluffy / Fluffie

#art #artist #artist on tumblr #female artists #digital art #digital artist #art commissions #digital art commissions #art comms open #fluffytriceratops #procreate #procreate art #procreate artist #art commission info

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amiedala · 2 years

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WHISPERS

PROMPT: Wish

SUMMARY: “You can look at me,” Din whispers. “I trust you.”

So you do. And that’s the shape of it—love—and everything you’ve wished for.

WARNINGS: allusions to sexual content, mentions of violence, pining

WORDCOUNT: 2,329

AUTHOR’S NOTE: day 9 of @dindjarindiaries’s Dincember!!! all throughout the month of December, i’ll be writing (relatively) short din djarin x reader oneshots (alongside all the other incredible participants!!!). today, what came out was romance and love. enjoy!

It starts in the dark.

After a bounty hunt gone sideways, after all the stitched scars after the charged moments in the hull, your bodies orbiting each other without ever touching. You feel the weight of a thousand glittering stars in your chest whenever you’re around him.

You know his name. Din Djarin, melodic and fitting underneath all the armor. You know his secrets, how he sounds when your fingers are patching up open wounds. You know how close he throttles himself to death, whether it’s over a bounty, or to save Grogu, or to protect you. You use his soap in the shower sometimes, when he’s gone—wrap yourself in the sweet suds to keep you warm. You’ve felt his mouth in the dark. You’ve tasted the hollow of his throat, right where his collarbones connect. You’ve seen the nightmares, you can predict his thrashing without any light to see him by.

The first time you and Din do anything, it’s your hands braced over the thick, sinewy curve of his thigh after a particularly difficult bounty, cleaning up the mess of scarlet. He hissed at your touch, and you pulled back. One gloved hand closed over your wrist, pressing it back against the cut. “Keep going,” he said, voice low and intentional, thick through the modulator. He gave you a singular nod, and you turned back to the wound, trying to focus on damage control so you didn’t fixate on your bare skin against his.

After that—contact comes in fragments. Din watches over you while you sleep, a shiny, determined star. Sometimes, he’ll let you pilot the ship, the rickety, stubborn hunk of metal you’ve both learned to call home, silent except for the approving fix of the visor on the contours of your hands, tracing over the same buttons and levers you’ve seen him do a million times. When he’s gone for more than a handful of days, and the Razor Crest is starting to swell and sigh with emptiness, he’ll buzz your comm, and you’ll go back and forth until you’ve forgotten the shape of loneliness. Well, you talk. Din listens. He’s not good with words. He uses his mouth like a survival skill—to breathe, to stay alive, not much else.

Unless it’s on yours.

You’ve already fallen for him the first time his lips touch your own, when you feel him, unarmored and unmoored, in the pitch-dark. You’ve wished for him, under millions of sustained stars. It feels like it’s buzzing with a frequency only you’re tuned into, before Din touches you like it means something. For weeks—months, maybe—you’ve been nursing the galaxy’s biggest crush. It doesn’t matter that he’s a sharpened, whetted thing, that his native language is violence. You see the way he uses his body, like it’s an extension of a weapon, but there’s softness and warmth buried underneath all the armor. He rarely—if ever—attacks first. It’s protection, you realize, when you see how easily he snaps towards destruction. It’s not ruthlessness. It’s a need to keep what he cares about safe.

The baby, of course.

And you.

Stars, you. When you meet him—the Mandalorian, long before Din’s name slips out of his mouth—you’re surrounded by a group of men and their menacing smiles. You knew you weren’t a good thief when you stole the food from the upper part of the city—you’d never taken anything before—but there were children starving down in the bowels of the same streets, and you couldn’t stand to see that. Not if you could help. Even if it meant you were going to get knocked around or thrown in jail.

You had closed your eyes when the first man swung, but nothing happened. No blade grazed you, no razor’s edge spilled your blood. When you opened your eyes, hesitant, heart pounding, all five of them were on the ground. Some looked more gruesome than others, but all of them were knocked out cold. Or dead. You’re not sure.

And there he was—a Mandalorian, in the shiny, consuming flesh—and your heart leaped in your chest.

“Come with me,” was all he said. And you did—following his quick, expert pace out of the city and onto the Crest. And you never left. You never want to. In time, you learn that you were a bounty—the blinking, red puck hidden in the stomach of the ship reads your name—but he never cashed you in. He kept you—keeps you—because, for some reason, you’re worth more than credits.

You have it bad. Like an inexperienced, flushed teenager. You trace the outline of the beskar with your eyes, memorize the shape of it. You’re addicted to the smell of him—metal, smoke, soap, and, bizarrely, cinnamon—and it lives in your head, whispering to you even when he’s gone. You learn his name in the dark after a bloody recovery and a full-strength bacta patch, and you burn with it, this trust. You want him. It’s consuming, the weight of it, like it’s eating away all of your self-control. Your dreams flood with Din—his voice, his stature, his body—and he starts to live on your tongue.

You keep him there, underneath in the warm plush of the bottom of your mouth. For weeks, it festers and burns like a deranged flame, but you don’t dare let it out. You’re his passenger. You were his bounty. He looks at you—you can feel his gaze cut down to the core—but that’s it. After sideways missions, he lets you patch him up. Sometimes, he’ll talk to you—really talk—but for weeks, that’s where the line stops.

And then—you let it slip out. That whisper, that sweet, desperate thing that hides under your tongue. It’s driven out, turned brazen by the time he spent down on Corellia’s surface—six days, nearly a full week—bleeding out of your mouth before you have a chance to stop it. “I want you.” Three tiny words, billowed up to something heavy and tangible. It’s out in the air, hanging in the balance.

You’re standing, both of you, only a foot apart. He’s intact, no wounds to patch, no reason for you to touch him, but you had accidentally whacked yourself in the face with a wrench when you and Grogu tried to fix an electrical issue, and a bruise blooms out around your temple. It’s nearly impossible to see in the dim, dim light—but of course, Din catches it, hand snapping out to anchor your chin to inspect it closer. His gloved hand is still on your cheek when you admit it—bare, vivid, wanting—and you burn under his touch.

He stares at you. The visor doesn't move. His head doesn’t tilt. “You shouldn't.”

Embarrassment burns hot up your neck, seeping down to where his hand is glancing against your face. You’re darkened with it. “I—but I do.”

He doesn’t move. Neither do you. And then, like a lightning strike, he tears himself away from you, storming into the fresher, slamming the door behind him. You nave no idea what to do, but you feel tears bubbling up at the corners of your eyes, wet, hot, shameful. Your heart won’t stop hammering. Your body burns with the rejection—Maker, you were usually far more eloquent than that, and it slipped out like a secret. You bury your face in the palms of your hands, rocketing toward the cockpit, wanting to curl yourself up in the copilot’s seat and let yourself cry. At least, with the company of the stars glittering back at you, you won’t be alone.

But there’s something so heavy—so pregnant—about the silence. It changes from heavy to suffocating, all the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You don’t clock it, at first, and then it’s all-consuming. It’s him, standing behind you, and you didn’t hear a thing.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you dare.” It’s rough. It’s not sharp around the edges, not jagged, not tinted with rejection—it’s intense. It’s the shape of the confessions under your tongue, where your want for Din lives, warm and wet and ricocheting throughout your body. You freeze.

He strides toward you, you can feel it, and then the seat swirls around to face him. Din keeps you anchored there, each gloved hand planted on the armrest, the underbelly of his forearms grazing against your thigh. He’s kneeling, slightly crouched, and he’s face-to-face with you; the only barrier between his skin and yours is the helmet.

“You—you shouldn’t want me,” he mutters, like he’s chewing on glass to make the words come out right. “I’m—not like you. Not good. And if I touch you, if—if you let me touch you, I will not be able to stop.”

Your mouth gapes open. Wide, like a fish. The air feels hot and heavy. You’re choking on it. “You mean it?”

One quick, curt, affirming nod. Yes.

“Please don’t stop,” you manage, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks, your skin inflamed in goosebumps. “Don’t ever stop.”

And, after he carries you to his bunk for the first time—you know he’s a man of his word. It’s like he’s an addict and you’re the most dangerous form of spice. The reserved, untalkative man of the past—it leaves his body like the beskar does, discarded with a decisive bang against the metal floor. You don’t need his words. But he gives them to you, in the pitch-dark—you’re so pretty, sweet girl. I want you. I need you. So soft. So good for me. And, in the interludes, after you’ve both been wrung out and left to dry, bodies constellating around each other, a sentient tangle of limbs, he whispers other things. His name. Why he refused to collect your bounty. The times he thinks of you on hunts. There’s so much sweetness, in the midnight black. It lights you up from the inside out, clings to your chest like stars.

For months—you lose track of time—it’s all you want. To share the darkness. To touch Din Djarin’s bare skin, to feel his forbidden mouth against yours, to be held by the man underneath the metal. But you get greedy. You want to stay by his side on his hunting trips, you want to kiss him in the light.

And, the gnawing one, the one that breeds underneath your skin like a virus—you love him. You love him, and you need him to love you back. For weeks, you keep it at bay, keep it leashed in your mouth like a rabid animal. You pinch your skin to keep it from slipping out, you whisper it under the heavy pulse of the shower’s warmth. Not quite a confession, but something in between it.

It comes out in the night—like everything always does—your tongue curving around the words, wanting to make it count, make sure it’s right. You’re laying with Din, naked and intertwined, underneath heavy blankets, skin pressed to skin. His face is on your chest, your fingers stroking through his hair. The world burns. “I love you,” you whisper, to the gathering dark. “I wished for this. For you.”

And, for days after—you think it stayed secret. Spoken only to the silence, nothing more. That Din was sleeping when you confessed to it, that he didn’t hear you. But he holds you just as possessively. His lips find yours, then travel down your body. He sinks into you, over and over again, hot and sweaty and yearning. He doesn’t leave the ship unless you’re sleeping, and he kisses you with abandon.

It’s not a confession, not what you did, but you can feel it. Din’s words aren’t his strong suit—he shows. He wraps you up tight, he strokes your hair, he uses his mouth for other things. And, honestly—it’s almost a relief, not hearing him say the words I love you. You feel it, every day. You don’t need it spoken aloud.

When it happens—when Din tells you—he doesn’t use the words you did. He gets up in the middle of the night, turning on the dim light by the fresher, and when he crawls back into bed with you, the light seeps into the holy sanctum of the bunk, and then Din’s right there, kneeling against the floor, and your eyes flutter open.

It’s only a silhouette, at first, and then you make out the distinct features of his hooked nose, the dark curls of his hair, a strong jaw—and then you slap your hands over your eyes and rocket upwards. “Maker above,” you gasp, “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry—”

He says your name.

“It was an accident, I swear, I swear—”

“Sweet girl.” There’s no anger in his voice, no panic. You feel Din’s hands close over your wrists, patient, strong. Slowly, you let him drag them away, and your eyes flutter open, staring at him. He’s beautiful—dark hair, defined eyebrows, his gorgeous nose, the curve of his pink lips. You can’t stop staring. “It’s okay. I wanted to show you.”

You bite your bottom lip, transfixed. “But I—”

“You can look at me,” Din whispers. “I trust you.”

So you do. And that’s the shape of it—love—and everything you’ve wished for. Trust, safety—and the way it’s reciprocated. You look at him, for hours, and for days after, unable to tear your eyes away from him. Din Djarin, the man without the metal, the man who knows you—you thrill with the thought of it, starry and glittering. He trusts you. And, as the weeks dwindle past, as you relearn every shape and curve of his body, you know this is it—what you wished on those stars for, that very first night, what love feels like. It slips out of Din’s mouth, when you’re on the edge of sleep. I—I love you. It’s clumsy, and it’s whispered like something sacred, like it’s the first and only time it’s ever slipped out of his mouth. It runs through you, thrills you—sparkling and enduring. It—love—replaces the whispers in the dark, sustains in the light. And you know it, down to your bones.

#dincember #dincember 2021 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #my writing

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rainbowsans · 3 years

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also!!! before I pass out completely!! I do apologize if I am being extremely annoying and unbearable with sharing plush photos and reblogging peoples post on receiving their orders and such as well as organizing yet another plush launch!!! sorry….I am working on art but the art I’m working on is commissions and some self indulgent work amongst friends that I’ll potentially share when I’m not a coward!!

I’m trying to get paid work done first so I can work on other projects I wanna do that I have written down, but you know trying to limit the hand activity so ensure my wrist doesn’t hurt as I draw. It’s getting easier some days, but it’s been slow with lack of art since I’m only working on comms. I apologize;;; as November passes by I’m not going to be able to even open up December comms, maybe. After I’m done with October comms, I’ll definitely open them in early 2022! but as of right now? no more comms for the end of the year.

the plushies will be the only thing that will financially support me until then, so when sir and Vice drop please consider getting either or if you can! It would mean a lot! 💕

But again I do apologize, haha my ADHD wants me to get stuff done as soon as possible so I’ve been all over the place. but yeah. Sorry again. Let’s end this year with nothing but memes and simpable skeletons! Some holiday goodies will sure to come! thanks for your patience, support and overall just…thanks….you guys are the best. Seriously, take care.

#txt #update

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lilacadaisy · 2 years

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surprise @karda i was your secret santa for @mcytblrsecretsanta ! for you, i wrote some crimeboys holiday fluff :D

here is the link for ao3

or, if you’d prefer to read it on tumblr, it is under the cut. enjoy :]

“a hundred glowing souls”

// warnings for brief mentions of c!ranboo’s death and c!dream’s escape. nothing too angsty, don’t worry.

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It is wintertime when all hell breaks loose. When Pandora is opened and its most dangerous inhabitant is unleashed upon the world outside.

Upon Tommy.

The soil is just beginning to roughen, the frost newly coating the earth. The chase from what remains of Logstedshire is terrifying in its own right. The aftermath—the fear, the anticipation, the looking around every corner unsure of whether Tommy would breathe his last right then and there—that is the worst part.

But if there is one thing that Tommy knows better than anything else, it is that, sometimes, the solution to anything is to wander.

And in the midst of winter, he slips a bag over his shoulder, clambers over the walls he’s built around his house, and does just that.

---

The point of wandering is that you do it aimlessly. It’s maybe not the best idea to entertain when there’s a prisoner on the loose hunting you down, but it’s winter. Tommy can’t stomach spending the season cooped up in those walls of his. This once was one of his favorite times of the year, and he can’t help but feel like a moth drawn to flame with the way the scents and sights and tastes beckon. The world is calling his name.

Besides, he has his comm in his hand at any given time, thumb poised over the “notify entire server” button that Sam had added before he got really deep in his position as the Warden. If the worst comes to the worst, Tommy sends out his location to every soul out there and they track him down and save him. That’s what he’s assuring himself of, anyways. There are always other possible scenarios.

“I’m Tommy Fucking Innit,” he whispers to himself as he crosses an unfamiliar field, staring up at the stars. “Nothing bad will come of me.”

He passes through mainland SMP, crossing bridges and rivers, passing portals and trees. At this time of the night, almost everyone is bound to be asleep. Snug in their beds. Perhaps dreaming about their friends or families. Tommy removes an apple he had packed from his bag and crunches into it. His feet carry him into the night. He could always visit Snowchester, he thinks, then pushes away the idea.

Tubbo is… busy. Tubbo is taking his time recovering from Ranboo’s death, and that’s perfectly okay. As long as he is taking care of himself and Michael, Tommy can give him some space to recuperate. He understands grief and loss and the tangled knot those emotions burrow in one’s chest. That knot can take a while to unravel. He’ll visit Tubbo when he’s ready.

So rather than take a path he knows by heart, he just lets himself get lost. Because surely Dream would be asleep, too, at this hour. Tommy is fine. He mouths the sentence over and over to himself.

At some point, the grass underfoot gives way to snow. Tommy is infinitely thankful for the fact that he wore his good shoes. Wet socks are comparable to hell itself.

Soon enough, the snow begins to fall overhead, not enough to be a blizzard. Rather, it’s a heavy fall of thick, fluffy flakes that (no matter how much he attempts to brush them off of himself) stick to his lashes and hair. He recalls that Techno once told him that every snowflake is different and feels almost guilty to try swiping them off his clothes.

Snow should make it seem more like winter, but in a blurry, hazy way that Tommy cannot quite articulate, it doesn’t seem like the season at all. He enters a pine forest and stops in a clearing. It’s quieter here. A tad bit nicer.

December is the month that Prime is meant to be appeased most. A time for giving and forgiving. For traditions, both the ancient and the new.

Everyone has their own way of celebrating it, too. Techno rings bells. Some of the others visit the church nearly hourly. There are weirder ways, too, one infamous one involving tortoise shells and butter. Tommy’s way of celebrating, though, has always involved light.

So Tommy turns to the brightest lights in the sky, cupping his hands to his mouth, and bellows, “Anyone up there? Hello? Can I please get a wish granted or—or however you do it?” After a brief moment of no response, Tommy continues, “Can I get some holiday spirit? It feels like any other night right now and I’m not the biggest fan of that! Just some… some lights or something. I dunno, man.”

His voice echoes right back off the trees. Tommy cocks his head up at the sound, expecting an answer for just a moment, before the silence is broken with a voice: “Uh, Tommy? What the hell are you doing?”

Tommy’s head snaps back down to see none other than Wilbur Soot staring at him with an axe in his hand.

“Oh, fuck off,” Tommy murmurs to himself, promptly spinning on his heel because nope, he doesn’t feel like dealing with this tonight if he can help it. Then, to Wilbur, he shouts over his shoulder, “Can’t a man shout in the middle of nowhere in peace?”

“You’re… literally less than a hundred feet from Phil’s house,” Wilbur says.

Huh. Tommy didn’t realize he’d made it quite that far away from the central part of the server. Unable to help it, he snaps right back around to point at the other man. “It’s night, though. What in Prime’s name are you out here for? Go sleep in your shitty bed or whatever you do.”

“I was getting firewood? For a fireplace?” Wilbur emphasizes with confusion, motioning toward the axe in his grip.

“Well then don’t bother others, you royal shit,” Tommy says, jutting his chin forward pridefully.

“Wha—” Wilbur lets out a noise of offense. “Don’t come after me for being awake! You’re the one literally wishing upon a star at three in the bleeding morning!”

Tommy’s mind blanks, and all he can think to say is, “You heard that?”

“Anyone within a five mile radius heard it, Tommy.”

“Oh,” Tommy says quietly, then hums. He shivers and draws his cardigan closer to himself. “Interesting. Well. I’ll be off, then.”

“Aren’t you cold?” Wilbur whispers just loud enough for Tommy to catch it.

Somewhere not so far away, a horse—probably Technoblade’s—brays. The wind howls. The stars watch.

“A little,” Tommy admits, and who is he kidding? He’s freezing his ass off, despite the cardigan, the sweater, and the shirt layered atop him. His teeth are chattering audibly. Wilbur seems to notice, too, given the knowing look he sends Tommy’s way.

“Why’d you come here?” he sighs exhaustedly.

Tommy’s fingers tighten on his elbows. He looks anywhere away from Wilbur’s gaze. “It’s supposed to be the holiday season, innit? I was—I couldn’t stand hiding anymore.”

Wilbur doesn’t know about that, though, about any of it. How would he? Tommy has been too cooped up in his walls to come and tell him. Of course, Wil has probably realized that his burger man is dead by now, but… who knows? Maybe Phil explained it to him. Or Techno. What does it matter anyways?

“You stayin’ with Phil these days?” Tommy asks slowly, deliberately, and watches as Wilbur nods slowly. “Back to dear old dad,” Tommy continues after a low hmph.

“Don’t go all the way back right now,” Wilbur says, somewhat resigned, somewhat tired. Now that Tommy is really looking, Wilbur is shivering, too. He goes on, though, “Just… just come in for a bit and warm up or something.”

Tommy ignores that. He came all this way for holiday spirit so holiday spirit is what he shall receive. “Remember when we would celebrate Prime with a tree? The big one, right in the center of the town square?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Tommy scans the clearing. “I miss that.”

Wilbur takes a minute to compose a response, but when he answers, it is hesitant: “Do you wanna do something like it again?”

“Yeah.” Tommy grins.

“Will you come inside and warm up if we do this?” Wilbur asks pointedly. Tommy nods. Wilbur’s shoulders slump in relief. “Okay. Let’s… find a tree, I guess.”

Tommy bounces up and down on his heels, unable to contain his excitement. There hasn’t been a tree for the holidays in… oh Prime, it’s been years.

He begins to scour the clearing for the tree of all trees. They are in a forest, so thankfully there are a shit ton. All tall, beautiful, proud evergreens, tops pointed to the sky like soldiers in rows. Tommy despises each and every one of them.

Until he finds the one, tucked away, sticking haphazardly between two much, much taller pines.

It’s practically on the brink of death, needles scattered about on the snow beneath its measly trunk. But tiny, slumped over, and barely up to his waist, it’s the most perfect little thing Tommy has ever had the pleasure to witness.

“This one,” Tommy says determinedly, hands curled into fists on his hips. When Wilbur gives him a dumbfounded stare, eyebrows raised, Tommy only folds his arms together.

“You’re sure?” is all Wilbur says.

“Yep.”

“Alright then. Help me light these netherite chips.” Wilbur fishes through his pocket for a spare lighter and tosses it over. Tommy catches it with ease, sticking out his tongue. Wilbur rolls his eyes and reaches into his other pocket for the chips. They’re just crumb-sized fragments of netherrack, enchanted to not catch nearby objects aflame, mostly used to light small spaces. In this instance, though, they’ll be preventing forest fires.

Wilbur always watches Tommy to make sure he isn’t about to burn himself on accident with the lighter. Luckily he doesn’t, and the work goes twice as fast.

The repetition is almost trance-inducing, as they light the pieces and select the perfect spot on the tree’s boughs to place them. It gives Tommy a sense of focus, of purpose, and this holiday begins to feel more and more festive by the minute.

Of course, he can’t just let this be all work, no play. And what’s better than a classic Tommy Innit prank?

He forms a snowball behind his back slowly enough that Wilbur doesn’t notice, then throws it as hard as he can, effectively dousing the candle chip Wilbur had just lit. It explodes with grandeur, startling the man much more than Tommy had ever hoped, sending the blond into a cackling fit.

“Bastard!” Wilbur gasps, shaking the snow from his face like a wet dog.

“Prrrrrick!” Tommy laughs. It is loud and boisterous and so, so Tommy.

Wilbur—after a moment—throws his own head back in laughter, something warm and light grasping at his heart. They continue decorating the tree, but not before Wilbur manages to get revenge by hurling a snowball when Tommy least expects it.

They keep decorating with smiles on their faces, and despite the silence, their actions feel loud.

It is only once they run out of netherrack chips that they stop and take a step back. The once-dark clearing has suddenly become a golden center of silence. This is what should come after life, Tommy thinks, and not that hellhole void. No. This is warm and beautiful and it’s making Tommy’s heart tug in his chest. He stares at the tree and thinks, we did that. Him and Wilbur.

“I… I bet Prime sure likes their offering,” Wilbur says. It sounds strained. Too forced. He was always a man of the people, not of the religious.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” Tommy says. He shrugs, hands in pockets. “It can just be a tree.”

Wilbur sucks air in between his teeth. “It deserves at least some recognition, though. It’s—it’s been through a lot. You can tell by how it’s leaning.” He swallows, considering the pine. “And it didn’t deserve any of that. It’s small and scrawny and still too young. It shouldn’t have to bend like that.”

And Tommy suddenly doesn’t think they’re talking about just the tree anymore.

He glances over at Wilbur; the man is staring at the glowing beauty of the lights, brows furrowed, something like guilt caught up in his expression. Tommy looks away for just a moment, then comes to a decision, and reaches out for Wilbur’s hand.

“Neither should you have to,” he says, and Wilbur’s breath hiccups as he realizes Tommy’s open palm is outstretched. “You blew up our home. You went down a dark path. But no one deserves to die, Wilbur.” The last part comes out too choked. He coughs, once, to clear it. “No one deserves that afterlife.”

Wilbur hesitantly takes Tommy’s hand. Tommy squeezes. Wilbur squeezes back.

There is a long bout of silence in which the two of them just stand there, snow catching in their hair, taking in their work.

Wilbur breaks the quiet after a while. “I’ve been growing a garden here, you know.”

Tommy hums. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Lots of—lots of carrots and beets and things. Remember when you used to sing to make the plants grow faster?”

“Yeah.” Tommy’s lips curl into a fond smile at the memory.

“I’ve been doing that. I’ve been sitting in the garden and playing for them. Phil got me a new guitar for the season after my last one—” The words trail off. Tommy squeezes Wilbur’s hand again. His faraway gaze clears, eyes regaining focus. “After it broke in Pogtopia.”

“‘After it broke,’” Tommy snickers. “Wil, you chucked it at the fucking wall.”

Caught off guard, Wilbur lets out a sudden bark of laughter. “I did, I did.”

“Boom bam bosh.” Tommy lets go of Wil’s hand for just a moment to mimic the thing’s splintering and destruction. “And then it was firewood. Techno didn’t mind though. A fire is a fire, especially in a stone ravine.”

“That it is,” Wilbur agrees. He’s grinning widely. “But it’s okay because this new guitar is even better. It’s spruce, Toms. Literally spruce.” He gesticulates wildly. “And the sound. Oh, you have to come over one day so I can play you something. It’s so clear. ‘S magnificent.”

“I’d like that.” Tommy laughs. His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! That reminds me…”

He backs up and removes the messenger bag from where it’s slung across his shoulder, unfastening the clips, digging past oranges and yarn and cards Michael made him in order to find—

“Aha!” He pulls out a massive sprawl of yellow wool and shoves it in Wilbur’s face. “Look!”

“Wow! That’s nice,” Wilbur says. His nose scrunches up. “What is it?”

Tommy flips him off easily. “It’s a sweater. I made it for you, prick, while I had nothing else to do. Well, kinda. I salvaged one of your old ones and fixed it up a bit. The one you have on right now has blood and shit on it.”

Wilbur’s puzzled expression falters, then melts away completely. He takes the cloth gently from Tommy, then turns it over in his hands, using the candlelight to inspect it. There’s a soft look to the corners of his eyes, the creases smoothed over, with a gentle humbleness taking their place.

“It’s got pockets now,” he murmurs. “And the burns are gone.”

His fingers brush lightly over the wool, then puts a hand in a pocket. He makes a puzzled face, and removes whatever is inside, opening his fist to reveal…

“Stones?”

“They were from the river that ran through L’Manberg,” Tommy explains softly. “From the very first summer.”

“Oh,” Wilbur says as an exhale. His knees begin to feel wobbly. He sits down smack onto the snow, crossing his legs to examine the pebbles. His fingers curl protectively around them. “Oh, Tommy.”

His shoulders begin to shake and he burrows his head in his hands. Tommy kneels beside him and doesn’t say a word, just pats his knee reassuringly.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Wilbur says after a sniffle.

“You did.” Tommy looks up at the stars and smiles. “You just don’t know it yet.”

So there they sit, two friends near both the prettiest and ugliest little tree anyone has ever known, and talk for a while. They’ll go inside once Tommy sneezes. And the next morning there will be warm drinks and confusion from Phil and a mountain of other problems to face.

But tonight, for the first time, Tommy begins to truly believe that they’re going to be alright.

#crimeboys #my writing #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #fluff #i hope you like it <3 #there was one thing i absolutely HAD to include and it was a reference to oranges

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iknowwhereyousleepatnight · 7 months

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he’s THE guy ever

#death note #l lawliet #manga redraw #my art #he’s THE guy #i love him #did u know i didn’t even care for him my first read/watch through of dn #so wild #that’s bc i was weirdly fixated on light #and i love light he’s perfect and awful and great #but now i understand #L is the guy ever #you’ll never guess but i’m tired lmao #winter brings it out in me #i’ll wake up and be ready for a nap an hour later no matter how long i’ve slept #maybe i should get that checked out #anyway friendly reminder that soon i shall finish my comms sheet and comms will be open probably by the 7th december #maybe sooner.i need to check when my finals are but they'll be in the first week-ish of december and after that i can draw and sleep all da

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 3 years

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Upside Down - Ch 10

Summary: The best intentions often lead to the wrong conclusion. Following episode Season 1 episode 14

A/N: Hello lovelies,

Another chapter. I’m so excited where this story is leading. I hope you guys are getting as invested as I am, I didn’t realize how many episodes Season 1 has. Anyway who’s excited for the Book of Boba Fett? I am, I think I watched the trailer like four times yesterday. Don’t forget December 1, will be the premiere of Sins of the Father and The Reunion. if you guys want to get tagged on those stories, let me know. I’ll be reposting those stories to get you guys all hyped.

Love all of you. Thank you for sticking with me during my writing. I know sometimes it’s not always gold. However, I always try to write something that I hope is entertaining. At least it is for me, yes I’m that kind of author that rereads their own work.

Warnings: Angst, I think that’s it. If I miss any warnings, just let me know.

Feel free to comment, leave some love, do a reblog, or all three. I love to hear from you guys, tell me what you think. Love oo. If you want to be tagged let me know.

AO3 Link | Words: 5,221 | Previous - - - > Next

Upside Down Master List | Main Master List

INTERFERENCE

“Captain Rex” Kix comm-ed early enough to know that the General would still be asleep, but not so early that Rex wouldn’t have been up already.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come to med, please”

“Is there something wrong? Is Nerium okay? Is the General okay?”

“Everything and everyone’s fine, just please come to med”

“On my way, Kix”

- - - - - - - - - -

When Rex walked into med, he noticed the General was fast asleep in one of the furthest beds and Kix sat at his desk going over some reports and charts.

“You wanted to see me, Kix?”

“Yeah, come have a seat”

“Okay…”

Rex was worried, Kix was eerily calm and polite.

“Nerium told me about everything that happened while you guys were planet side, the crash, the mastiffs, the Lurmen, the Separatist, the comments…” Kix looked up to focus on Rex’s eyes.

Rex swallowed, he hoped not to lock eyes with Kix but at the same time, he knew Kix wouldn’t be looking anywhere else, Rex knew Kix could wait, he had the patience of a Jedi, he would bide his time till eventually Rex looked him in the eye.

“Crazy about those mastiffs, right?”

“Rex”

“They were massive”

“Rex”

“And strong, when that one bit me on the arm…”

“You got bit on the arm?”

“It wasn’t anything major” Kix let out a sigh, and shook his head back and forth, he stood from his desk, grabbing his scanner and datapad.

“You know the drill on the bed”

“Kix”

“Rex, I’m not asking”

Rex got up from his chair and sat on the first bed, he was thankful he had time to clean his armour, change his blacks, and have a shower, not in that order, but at least the bed he was sitting on wasn’t going to get dirty from him.

Kix stood before Rex, not saying a word scanning his vod, everything came back … great, in fact Rex’s numbers had never been better coming back from an assignment.

“Well you’re healthy, so that’s good”

“Great” Rex stood to walk out, however Kix rested his hand on his cuirass.

“Oh, we’re not done talking, come on” Kix motioned for Rex to follow him to the room Nerium used with Jesse and Hardcase. Rex wasn’t going to open his mouth first, whatever information Kix wanted he would have to ask for it.

“Are you in love with Nerium?” Kix asked as soon as he entered the room.

Okay, well that was one way to rip the bacta patch off, “I think so … maybe … honestly, I don’t know” despite how he sounded like a shiny, it was the only response Rex could offer, he wasn’t sure what he felt, maybe it was love, maybe it was something else.

“And you felt it was good to tell the woman you love or think you love, that she had no pride, that you didn’t trust her, her training, or that you questioned if she was loyal to the Republic?”

“I never said that!”

“You implied it”

“It … It came out wrong”

“Okay, well what was suppose to come out?”

Kix sat on the table of the conference room, his feet resting on the chair in front of him, watching his vod stalking back and forth like a caged animal.

“I don’t know. I was trying to say I wanted her safe, but … it … it just all came out wrong.”

Kix rubbed his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Okay, so here’s what you are going to do…”

“I know what I have to do” Rex cut Kix off, he didn’t need to be told how to act like some shiny.

“Oh, you do?”

“Yes”

Kix motioned for him to continue, but at that moment all words and thoughts escaped Rex, there was nothing, he knew he needed to apologize but …

“Alright so I may not know the right words to say”

“Okay, so can I continue then”

“Fine”

“You are going to go to her quarters, beg for her forgiveness, tell her you are in love with her, and that she makes you so love sick you forget how to speak”

“Yeah … not doing that”

“You want to smooth things over with her or not?”

“I can’t declare something when I don’t know what I feel”

“Okay” Kix nodded, this wasn’t his plan for today, but enough was enough, “what were you trying to imply when you were saying she shouldn’t do watch duty”

“That I wanted her safe”

“Why?”

“Because I needed her safe”

“Come on, Rex, why?”

“Because … the idea of her getting hurt, shot or worse, makes my stomach turn”

“But why, Rex?”

“Because she needs to be safe, she’s been through so much already, I need to keep her safe”

“Dig deeper, Rex”

“She deserves it, she deserves someone looking out for her”

“You mean like Cameron?”

“No”

“Then who?”

“Someone”

“Not Cameron?”

“No. Not Cameron”

“What about Bly?”

“No.”

“Fives?”

“Pfft”

“Echo”

“Why are you asking?”

“Well you are determined to keep her safe, I’m trying to figure out for who? Are you doing it for me, to keep my vod’ika safe?”

“Sure, let’s go with that”

“Rex!”

“I don’t know, okay”

“Yes, you do, come on, Rex.”

“No, you come on”

“Rex, your her Captain and yet you tried to stop her from doing her duty. From doing what she was trained for, you need to tell me why? Why don’t you want her in harm’s way?”

“Because I can’t see her hurt, okay!”

“Why!”

“Because I fail her every time when she needs comforting, okay! There, I fail her. If I can keep her safe, then I won’t have to worry about failing her.”

“You mean because Cameron comforted her after the crash, and he checked on her before he left.”

“Yes!”

“Why does it bother you, if she is comforted by someone other than you? Isn’t it good she receives some comfort?”

“No. Okay. Yes. But it’s just wrong”

“Wrong? Cameron was wrong?”

“Yes!”

“Why was he wrong? Come on, Rex, just say it, why was it wrong for anyone else to comfort her?”

“BECAUSE, I DON’T WANT SOMEONE ELSE TO COMFORT HER!”

“WHY?”

“BECAUSE I WANT TO BE THE ONLY ARMS THAT HOLD HER, I WANT MY LIPS TO BE THE ONLY ONES THAT REST ON HER FOREHEAD, I WANT TO BE THE ONE THAT COMFORTS HER! OKAY!”

“COME ON, REX, WHY?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE HER!”

Kix had never been prouder, of himself and his brother, he glanced at his chrono, “well that only took 20 minutes of my life” Kix laughed out.

Did he just say that? Did he just say he loves her? No … but he does, he loves her.

“Thank the force!” Rex and Kix turned their heads to look at General Skywalker.

They both stood at attention “General!” Both saluting out of habit.

“At ease, boys. You guys done yelling?” Both nodded in agreement, “Well then, congratulations Rex, you finally admitted you’re in love with Nerium.”

“General, how …” Rex began

“I may have been near death on the planet, but I wasn’t blind. Nor have I been blind to the past few months”

“Thank you” Kix motioned towards the General, “General, I have been trying for the past month to get him to confront his feelings.”

“Now that you have Rex, what are you going to do about it?”

Rex let out a deep sigh and looked to the ground, “Nothing”

Kix’s jaw dropped, Anakin leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms, eyeing his Captain, “May I ask why? If you love her, why not act on it?”

“I … I can’t be what she needs, sir. She needs someone who knows how to treat her right, not say the wrong thing, not make people question her loyalty or her training. I’ll apologize to her for my blunder back on the planet, but I’m not going to tell her anything else”

- - - - - - - - - -

I stepped out of the fresher, now that I was clean, safe and my body finally relaxed after a good nights sleep, I felt I could at least make my way over to med. Kix told me to take the day off, but it just felt wrong. I was about to grab my medic gear, when my comm beeped. I answered it, but even before I could say anything Rex’s voice came through loud and clear…

“She deserves better, every time I see her, she takes my breath away and I can’t think at times. When I saw her fighting alongside Bly, I was completely …”

“Rex”

“Kix, I know what you are going to say, but I can’t be that man for her. Bly is a better man for her, than I am.”

I really should not be listening to this, I was probably comm-ed by accident.

“Okay, vod, okay. I think it’s a mistake. I think if you explained…”

“Kix. Enough …”

“Rex” General Skywalker’s voice cut Rex off, “We get it, your in love with …”

I turned off the comm, tears began to prick at my eyes, I should have known he wouldn’t be interested in me. Of course, he would be in love with Aayla, who else was fighting beside Bly, I mean she was beautiful, smart, a brilliant fighter and was a Jedi. No wonder, Rex freaked out when I was to take watch, he wanted to make sure she was safe. He cared for me but as a friend and nothing more. It also made sense why he got a little weird when I mentioned Bly and Aayla, I should’ve known. Oh, how could I have been so stupid?

- - - - - - - - - -

Anakin looked down at his comm, Nerium turned off the link, but when did she turn it off? Was it before or after he called out Rex for being in love with her? Anakin took a moment to search out her feelings, despair, pain, heartache, those weren’t the feelings of someone who heard good news. Maybe he just made this worse.

“General?”

Anakin looked up at Kix, “Sorry, what?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Gentlemen, I have something I have to go deal with, Rex you need to tell Nerium how you feel, sooner rather than later, and please don’t make me issue it as an order.”

“Yes, General”

Anakin headed out of the med, he needed to fix his mistake before he ruined a potential relationship.

- - - - - - - - - - -

I was pacing back and forth in my quarters for the better part of twenty minutes, but I felt like a caged animal. I needed to clear my head, get out of the confining quarters, I headed to the mess hall, maybe some caf would calm me down. I was surprised to find the mess pretty empty, but then it made sense since mostly everyone was at their station, it was actually pretty nice to have it fairly empty, I grabbed my cup and made my way to the first free table.

“Hey darlin’”

I looked up to see Fives, I gave him a smirk all my usual banter and sassiness was subdued, I just didn’t have it in me. He sat down in front, reaching for my hand.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?”

“I … I’m just tired, it was a pretty rough couple of days on the planet”

“Nerium, I know you better than that, what’s wrong?” All his teasing vanished, this was a different Fives in front of me, protective Fives.

“It’s … it’s nothing, Fives”

“Come on, talk to me, you’ve always been able to talk to me”

“I know, it’s just …” I looked around the hall no one was really there, I guess what was the real harm, I took a deep breath, “I … I overheard something I shouldn’t have, and it made me realized I … I mean I wasn’t … not during my first deployment, but I thought …” I shook my head, “Doesn’t matter anyways because he’s … I mean …”

“Okay … I think I’m following you” Fives rubbed the back of his neck, “If I understand correctly, you overheard something that upset you. Something that you didn’t think you would have to deal with during your first deployment?”

“Yeah something like that”

“And this person you overheard, is … yeah that’s the part you lost me”

“I guess, I thought this person …” I thought about what I wanted to say, I pulled my hand away from Fives and rubbed my forehead, “I thought he viewed me differently, and I found out I was wrong”

“You thought he viewed you as a friend and he doesn’t?”

“Yeah, kind of”

“Well then that’s his loss for losing out on knowing an amazing person. Right!” Fives squeezed my hand, determination settling on his face.

I chuckled, “I guess. I just really thought we were good friends, but I guess I misread the friendship” I shrugged looking back down to my caf.

“It’s okay though, because you have awesome people who love you and awesome people who enjoy spending time with you like Kix, Echo, the General, Ahsoka, Hardcase and Jesse, those guys can’t stop talking about you” I laughed at that, wiping a tear, “Rex, loves you” I swallowed hard at that, nodding, “and I love you. So really who cares if one jerk doesn’t appreciate who you are”

“Thanks Fives, you’re sweet”

“Sweet enough to go on a date with?”

I laughed really hard at that, “How many times are you going to ask me?”

“Till you say yes”

“And then…”

“Then a date”

“And if the date doesn’t work out, then what?”

“Please it’s me, the date would work out”

“Sure it would” I propped up my chin looking at Fives, smirking, “Okay, so on this so-called date, what would you do? Where would we go?”

“Definitely ‘79s, then back to my place”

“So all of this just to get into my pants”

“Well maybe dinner too”

I laughed again, “Fives, your funny and sweet, and I appreciate you. But the answers a no, you’re like my brother, it would just be too weird.”

“You just bro-zoned me”

“Yeah, I did, I’m sorry. I know you want more from me, but…” I shook my head, my smile faded, “I’m sorry, I can’t …” I was doing to him, what Rex did, accidentally. The tears started to fall.

“Hey, hey” Fives moved to sit beside me, “I’m just kidding, I just do that cause I know it irritates you. I’ll stop. Please stop crying” he moved his arms around me.

“I’m sorry” I mumbled through the tears as Fives pulled me into his side, I felt his cheek rest on my head, as my head rested on his shoulder.

“No, I’m sorry, you were really tired and you were hurting already, I should never have tried to tease you. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

We didn’t speak for a minute as I tried to compose myself, Fives hand rubbing my arm up and down, he was sweet, why couldn’t he be like this all this time, “Want me to walk you to your quarters?”

Fives felt Nerium nod against his shoulder, his heart broke for her, he wasn’t sure what di’kut hurt her, but he was going to find out. It didn’t take him long before he began to guide her back to her quarters, a few clones looked over at Nerium, wondering what was wrong with her. At that moment, Fives understood why she always tried to avoid emotional outbursts in front of people, he switched sides with her so she’d be protected by the wall and his body, pulling her in closer to shield her from prying eyes. Fives was getting lost in the warmth of her resting against his chest, the way her arm wrapped around his waist, before he realized it, they were standing in front of her quarters, inputting the code.

“Nerium”

“Hmm”

Fives tilted his head to look down at her, he tried not to chuckle seeing her practically asleep leaning against him. He rested his cheek against the top of her head again, poor thing was so exhausted from everything she’d been through, only to come back and find out some idiot didn’t like her. Maybe Kix, would have an idea as to what she was talking about, after all where was she when she overheard whoever it was talking, and why were they talking about her?

Fives slowly guided her into her quarters, it wasn’t the first time Fives had been there, but it was the first time it felt as though he shouldn’t be there. He didn’t want anyone assuming the wrong thing. Fives did his best to gently get her to sit on her bunk, but she refused to lie down, no matter how much Fives tried to encourage her by pushing her back.

“Nerium, you gotta lie down” Fives tried not to chuckle, she was practically out sitting on the edge of her bunk.

“I … I’m not … sleepy” Came her subdued voice

“Okay, if your not sleepy, look at my fingers and tell me how many am I holding up?”

Fives watched as Nerium tilted her head back, her eyes still closed.

“Three”

“Nice try, your eyes are closed and I wasn’t holding up any fingers”

“Liar face”

Fives chuckled, bending down to pick her up, and lay her in her bed. He was surprised when she didn’t fight him, as soon as he laid her down, he gently removed her boots, and pulled the blanket over her.

“Sleep well, darlin’”

Fives couldn’t help it, he knew there was no chance with her, but if she ever changed her mind, he’d be there for her in a heartbeat, for however long she allowed him. His hand reached up and gently moved her hair off her face, he leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. He heard her let out a soft sigh. Fives hoped whoever she deemed worthy to be by herside appreciated everything about her, or they’d have to deal with him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“What are you doing?”

Fives turned to see General Skywalker walking towards him, his face stoic, his arms crossed, as Nerium’s door closed behind him.

“Nothing, sir”

“Doesn’t look like nothing”

Fives turned to look at the Nerium’s quarters, “Oh… oh no. I wasn’t … I helped her back to her quarters. She was pretty upset about something, and I thought it best she wasn’t alone, she fell asleep as we walked here. I just laid her down on her bed. No funny business. I swear.”

“Alright, Fives, I believe you. Walk with me” Anakin motioned to Fives to follow him, maybe he wouldn’t be able to talk to Nerium right away, but he could at least gage what to expect.

“Sir?” Fives eventually asked as they began walking away from her quarters. He had spent sometime with his General, but this was the first time it was one-on-one.

“You said she was upset?”

“Yes, sir”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure if I should tell you”

Anakin stopped to look at the trooper, “What happened? Is she okay?”

“I think she will be, just a personal matter”

“I see”

“I’m sorry, sir, I would tell you if it was important to the Resolute or to the Republic”

“Well, how about this, the morale of my medic is very important to the Resolute. After all, it could affect the rest of the crew”

Fives didn’t say anything, he simply nodded, “It’s a bit of a stretch, but okay…” Fives answered smirking, he looked over to his General who was smiling in return. Anakin’s hands were behind his back, listening intently to what Fives had to say.

“So you see General, I’m not sure what idiot had the audacity to say he didn’t like her, but I’m going to find out.”

“Actually, Fives, leave it with me, I think I know the idiot.”

“You were there for the conversation?”

Anakin looked at Fives, his face didn’t hide any of his protective nature towards Nerium, it was all there to be seen by Anakin.

“No, it … it was a miscommunication, I don’t think she heard everything correctly.”

“I hope so, because I don’t think I can take seeing her cry again.”

Anakin nodded towards his trooper, “Thank you, Fives, leave this with me, I will deal with it”

“Yes, General” Fives saluted, and walked away. Anakin let out a sigh and rubbed his face, yup, he screwed up. ‘Well, Nerium’ Anakin thought, ‘I hope you’re awake.’

- - - - - - - - - - - -

I woke up to a knocking on my quarters door, I felt like I had been hit by a Mastiff Phalone, man I wonder if this is how Rex felt when he was flung by that beast. More knocking at the door.

“Yeah, I hear you! I’m coming!”

I swear if that was Fives, I was going to smack him, regardless of the fact he tucked me in. Actually, I needed to give a proper thank you for looking after me, I also needed to properly thank Kix for giving me the day off.

I opened the door to see Anakin.

“General?” I straightened and saluted

“Nerium” Anakin laughed seeing her all professional, regardless of the fact she had no boots on and her hair was a mess, “I thought we moved past this” he motioned towards her arm.

“Right, sorry” I lowered my hand, and motioned for him to come in, “What can I do for you Anakin?”

“First, how are you?”

“Like I got run over by one of those beasts on the Lurmen planet” I sat on the bunk, while Anakin sat on the chair by the desk, my head rested in my hand.

“Yeah, first mission usually does that, you’ll get use to it, it’s your body dealing with the constant adrenaline.”

“Well that’s good, was worried I got sick for a moment”

“No. Um… so … about…”

I held my hand up, looking at Anakin, “If you’re here to talk about the accidental comm call, don’t worry I turned it off pretty quickly.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have” Anakin quirked his eyebrow at Nerium, hoping she wouldn’t want to kill him.

“Anakin, I didn’t need to hear that Rex was in love with Aayla, all right? I’m not even mad at him anymore, I totally get why he freaked about me taking first watch, he wanted to keep her safe, and I didn’t have any experience at that moment. So I get it.”

“Yeah … I was trying to help, but I just screwed it up. Listen, I shouldn’t be the one to say this, but seeing as I messed up, I think it’s fair that you learn Rex wasn’t talking about Aayla.”

I narrowed my eyes at Anakin, “Anakin, I don’t want to know who he was talking about.” If he was going to tell me that he was talking about me, I … it’s better if I didn’t know, better that I just think he was talking about Aayla than actually find out the truth.

“Actually, I think you do”

“No, I don’t.” My tone was firm and unmoving.

Anakin was shocked, that’s not the reaction he was expecting, “I don’t think you’re understanding me, Nerium, and what I’m trying to say.”

“I do. I know what you’re going to say. Because outside of Aayla and myself the only other female that was there was a 14-year-old and I know there’s no way Rex would be talking about a child that way, right?”

“You’re right. He wasn’t talking about her.”

“Then I don’t want to hear it, okay?” I got up from my seat and walked over to my bookshelf, looking at the space that use to house the book my father gave me, that was currently in Rex’s possession.

“What changed? Back on the planet…”

“I know, and truthfully, nothing changed, I …” I let out a deep sigh, I turned to look at Anakin, “I know what I feel for him, but I don’t think he knows what he feels, I don’t think he even has a clue on what to feel. Anakin, Rex is my best friend, before we landed on that stupid planet, we never had any sort of miscommunication, any cross word between us when we kept it to friendship. But down there … on that planet, everything changed. I felt it, I could sense he was about to say something to me, he was about to tell me, and then you were in pain, and those animals tried attacking us, then the Lurmens and the Separatist, it just threw us both off. If we …” I rubbed my forehead, trying to push away the pain that was rising in my head, or maybe the tears that were threatening to come up, “We were so close to talking about what we felt, and we messed up Anakin, we made it difficult to do our jobs, we were both so distracted ...”

“I disagree, if anything you guys excelled even more”

“Because we were angry at each other, well annoyed. I think it would be better for the both of us to keep it as is, at least until we both know exactly what we want. It’s best if I just keep on thinking he’s in love with someone else, and that’s what I’m going to choose to believe.”

“Nerium, please don’t make a mistake because of my interference, I was trying to help you guys out, I …”

“I know Anakin, and it’s sweet that you want us together, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that … if we’re ready for that. I mean there was just the possibility of it, and we lost our minds on the planet. Not to mention, it’s just a little over a year since I left Onderon. I …” I looked down to the ground hiding the tears that were escaping, I wiped away what I could, “I think this is for the best, Anakin.”

“Nerium, I’m so sorry, I kriffed everything up”

“No, Anakin. You didn’t. It just helped me realize, that I can’t … right now, regardless of what I feel for him, I can’t. Not until we figure out what we want, and not because people are telling us what we want. I’m assuming that’s why you and Kix were talking to him.”

Anakin nodded.

“Nerium, if there’s anything you need?”

I shook my head, “No, I’m good. Please don’t say anything to Rex, I’m supposed to be talking to him today, and the conversation will go better, if I can do this on my own terms.”

“I understand. If it helps no one knows I comm-ed you.”

I nodded. Anakin stood from the chair he occupied, he closed the distance between us, resting his hands on my shoulder, “I am truly sorry, Nerium. I should never have interfered. I’m sure Padme is going to yell at me for some time about this.”

I chuckled wiping the tears, “Give her my love, and tell her I would love to meet her one day.”

“Definitely, will”

Anakin pulled me into a hug, the gesture broke down any remaining walls I had up and I just began crying even harder. Anakin tightened his grip, he didn’t say anything, just held me, after a few minutes I started to feel an overwhelming sense of calmness fill me.

“Anakin?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you using the force on me?”

“Depends, are we happy about this or no?”

“I’m happy about it”

“Then yes”

“Thank you”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I think we should do the holovid tonight, since you are off”

“Echo, I still have to work tomorrow, pretty sure, but I think Kix might be switching me to the night shift, it’s my turn anyways.”

“Okay, so we can do a short vid”

“You missed me that much?”

“Yes” Echo smirked across the mess hall table, lunch was almost done, and then I still had the day to just enjoy the time off. I resolved to go to the shooting range, if I had to be buying drinks every time I was on shore leave, because I had the lowest amount of downed droids, I was going to either need a pay bump, or get better at shooting.

“Well I’m back now, I’ll tell you what, if Kix does switch me to night shift starting tomorrow, we can do holovid tonight, but if not we can do it on our usual day.”

Echo let out a deep sigh, “Fine”

Fives was quiet the whole time we sat there.

“Fives, you okay?” I asked

“Yeah, Nerium, I’m fine”

Echo and I both looked at each other and then at Fives, “Okay you are definitely not okay, you just called me Nerium and not darlin’”

“I told you, I was going to stop”

“Fives, what’s going on?”

“Nothin’” He kept his head down.

“You know I’m gonna keep asking you?”

“Here. I’ll grab your tray, while you keep working on him” Echo reached forward grabbing my empty tray. Once he was far enough away, I turned back to Fives.

“Is this about earlier?”

“How are you okay?” Fives voice was laced with annoyance and anger, he turned to look at me, even his face showed his anger, which threw me.

“Wait, are you angry with me?”

“You practically breakdown on my shoulder and then you act like it’s no biggie now”

“Fives, don’t you get why I’m okay? Why it’s not bothering me?”

“No!”

“It’s because of you”

Fives was shocked he hadn’t expected that answer, he expected her to say that she talked with that di’kut.

“Me?”

“Fives, you took care of me, and were there for me. I appreciate it, and you helped me. You didn’t try to fix the problem, or try to take things into your own hands. You let me just feel what I was feeling, and I appreciate it; it made me feel safe.”

I placed my hand on his arm, hoping to convey how much I appreciated his care.

“Does this mean, you’ll go out on a date with me?”

I started laughing, “No, but I do have a gift for you” I leaned over and kissed his cheek, “Thank you”

Fives looked at me, his cheeks were tinting, “I’ll always be there for you, Nerium” he leaned over and kissed my forehead.

“What just happened?” Echo looked at the both of us.

I winked at Fives, “Fives and I have decided to elope, we are going to leave the GAR and raise loth-cats”

“Please tell me you’re joking, please! Cause honestly, Nerium, you can do like 100 times better than him”

“Ouch!” I laughed, I looked over to Fives, who was laughing as well.

“Yes, relax Echo, she’s joking. But thank you, for that vote of confidence”

“Hey, I say it like it is”

I rose from my seat, “Well as fun as this was, I gotta go. I’ll see you guys at dinner right?”

“Try and stop us” Fives responded, he held on to my hand, “Hey I was serious, about what I said, anytime, I’m here for you”

“Thanks Fives”

Fives watched as Nerium walked out of the mess hall.

“Echo, you really think I’m not worthy of her?”

Echo looked from Fives to the entrance, “Fives, doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what you think? Do you think you’re worthy of her?”

Fives looked from the entrance back to his food, “No.”

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hesgunnalovethis · 3 years

Text

Greenhouse Planet

Prompt : ( ty @write-it-motherfuckers )

“How the hell are you still alive?”

“Honestly, I’m just as confused as you are”

Leonard x Reader

Word count: 2755

TW: OC death, blood mention, medbay

A/N: you ever make up your own planet and species? me too apparently.

Greenhouse Planet:

“Jim stand still will you.” You watched as Leonard McCoy struggled through the small gathering in the transporter room completing his pre-mission checks. Usually he liked to be more prepared but with Jim Kirk - the worst patient in the fleet - leading the Enterprise, he had to make exceptions.

“Bones, please, I had a check-up last month.” Kirk said punching co-ordinates into the control desk, much to Scotty’s dismay.

“You had 6 broken bones that month, Jim.”

“Yeh and I’m sure they’ve healed.”

You watched Lee’s face curl looking at the results of the little readings he’d gathered from Jim before admitting defeat and sliding his tricorder back into his pocket.

You followed the others onto the transporter platform ready to face whatever was waiting planetside when you felt familiar hands wrap round your waist. Instinctively, you let yourself relax into the curves of your partner. Every inch of you belonged together, bodies fitting seamlessly.

“You don’t have to come, Y/N” Leonard rumbled softly into your ear, sending a shiver down your back.

You wrapped your hand around his, turning to look into his incomparable blue eyes and throwing a playful look over his lips “Good to know you still worry about me even after all these years.”

“Worry? Me? Never.” Leonard scoffed, “It’s just, part of me just thinks you’re too pretty to be doing this kind of dirty work”

“Maybe you can make it up to me later?” You said running your hand up his arm to rest on his bicep. An intimate moment positively overlooked by the rush of the room.

“You know I hate talking about ‘later’ before this kind of thing.” Leonard sighed more to himself than to you.

You had often spoken about the increasing dangers on recent fieldwork.

“Ah, my Southern pessimist.” You said giving Leonard’s arm a comforting tap.

“One of these days I’m going to be right.” The infamous grumpy doctor persona had returned.

“You’ll never be right, Leonard. Not while I’m around.” You smirked and joined the others settling on the transporter platform.

Leonard followed. You could feel his eyes burning into you while Jim finished conferring with Scotty at the panel. His gaze didn’t budge.

“Okay, Scotty” Jim said taking his place at the front of the crew “Standby.”

***

Once your body had reconfigured itself you were in a jungle like landscape. Surrounded by tall plants you watched as your crewmates looked around equally confused, some picking unidentified green out of their hair and clothes.

Jim addressed the group. “This planet belongs to Bokencams. Bokencams are known for their botany but also for their lack of humanity. That means stay on task, stay out of sight. Starfleet had cultivated a healing plant which was promptly stolen. It’s our job to get it back. I’ll go in to reason with them while Andrews, Clarke and Y/L/N look for a point of entry. These creatures aren’t known for their intellect which means the plant should be easy to locate once inside. Got it?”

Mumbles of assurance rippled through the group.

“Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura you’ll be here listening in for language and translation. The rest of you cover ground and cover each other. Eyes everywhere and comm anything unusual in.”

Everyone began to prepare for their own tasks: Jim shirt off and wiring himself, the red shirts activating phasers and Bones looking high strung. He pulled Jim aside, “Don’t you think I should be closer in on this action, Jim? I don’t recall anyone else having years of medical training to hand?”

“I need your brains here, Bones.” Jim said clapping his back pointing Leonard towards his portable control panel.

“Come on you three” Jim said pulling his top back over his head, “The sooner we get out of here the better. I hate greens.”

You, Jim and the 2 others began towards the seemingly empty green dome which sat perfectly isolated amongst the greenhouse planet. Getting closer Jim signalled for you all to split off, Clarke taking east, you taking west, Andrews taking south and Jim taking north towards the front door.

The tall plants made it easy to slip into your assigned station unseen and to your surprise the entire building seemed unguarded.

You could see Jim beginning his strut towards the front door of the dome with no attempt to conceal himself. He wanted the attention on him. That was how his plans often went. Very Aries of him.

After all three of you had confirmed your position Jim stepped into the building without any trouble.

The comms were silent.

Getting to work you ran your eyes over the immense building. It stretched for miles each way. You began looking for any entrance. The distinct lack of windows was the first thing to jump out at you. The second was the space between the dome and the moss covered ground giving the building the appearance it was floating.

You waited what seemed like hours with the anticipation but was likely a plethora of minutes before emerging from your cover bolting towards the underneath of the dome.

Drowned in darkness on your hands and knees you dragged your hands across the underneath of the building. The material was nothing like you had felt before. Somewhere between glass and beads.

You crawled through the damp ground for miles every inch of the underneath feeling eerily the same. You were beginning to lose hope when you felt a crack. You froze and ran your hand back over the beaded glass. Definitely a space. You crawled again searching for the same space parallel which could suggest a door.

“Y/L/N come in.” rang from your comm. You ignored it. “McCoy to Y/L/N come in.”

Your hand ran over another definite space. Rolling into the centre of the somewhat door you lifted your feet and hands to the beaded glass and began to push. With very little effort the hatch lifted enough for you to climb inside.

You appeared to be in a lab. Green seemed to cover the entirety of the inside as well. You grabbed your comm, and rang to all ground comms “Y/L/N, stationed West, inside dome. Repeat. This is Y/L/N, stationed West, inside dome. Over.” Leonard’s voice came immediately “I love you. Be careful.” You switched off your comm.

***

Bones knew you’d be the first in. You were good at your job. He just didn’t let himself admit it until he heard the message through the comm. Uhura reached out to squeeze his hand but Leonard pulled away. He would detach and get on with the job. Or try. They listened into Jim’s meeting with the Bokencams,

“You have nothing to collect. It’s property of this planet. Here it can be stored at its optimum.”

“And how have you been storing it exactly?”

Jim was stalling. Giving as much time as possible to those working around the dome. And it could’ve worked.

***

The dome was silent. You couldn’t tell if it was empty or sound proof. You weaved in and out of the green rows scrutinising every plant. One seemed to have stories written on the stems, another with the softest looking leaves you had ever seen. You ran your hand over the soft looking plant which sent a searing cut over your palm. ‘Should’ve seen that one coming’ you thought.

Behind the soft plant was a small glass cube. Inside was the purest green your eyes had ever met. The edges of the leaves appeared whitened as if touched by a December morning. That had to be what you were here for.

You slid the top off of the cube and carefully removed a cultivation of the plant. Unsure how else to test your theory you picked off a leaf and placed it on your tongue. Instantly you gashed hand sealed without a scar. You pressed the plant into your pocket and headed back for the hatch when you saw a green creature sliding through the space you had made. His eyes fixated on you before you had a chance to move. His thick fingers reached towards your arm extending way past where they should’ve. He bound your arms with a vine and marched you out of the lab door.

You couldn’t be sure where he was taking you but you knew it couldn’t be good. The creature had moved you round enough corners to be totally disoriented. Every green wall looked the same and there was no way to retrace your steps back to the hatch.

From the corner of your eye you saw a familiar looking red through a window amongst the green. Your head shot backwards making eye contact with Clarke. So you were east. Good to know.

“Y/N?!” Clarke mouthed through the window.

A segment of wall opened. A disguised door. And Clarke stood phaser pointed, face stern. All around him identical green creatures materialised from walls and ceilings crowding him. The Bokencam guarding you extended his arm into the crowd and released a phaser shot. Several of the green creatures fell backwards. Dead. He shot again and Clarke’s body thudded to the ground.

Your chest tightened enough to double you over. You felt winded. You tried to call his name but nothing came out. Your feet could barely support your weight never mind fight against the direction you were pushed. The creature holding you continued to march not batting an eyelid. He had killed tens of his own for one of you. The lack of humanity brief truly was not a warning. You kept your eyes on Clarke willing the blood to spill back into his body until he was completely out of sight.

***

Bones was barely listening to the conversation anymore. His thoughts were consumed by you. His mind immediately considering the worst possible outcome. Assuring himself he was overthinking he tuned back into the conversation.

“Guess I’ll pack it up then. Thank you for your time.” Jim began to close out the meeting.

“Now that you have wasted our time I think you should be offering some sort of penance. Would you not agree, Captain?” The green creature in front of him snarled back.

“I don’t think that’s necessary at all. I would actually argue that we’re now even.”

“Maybe we could change your mind.”

Bones sat up bracing himself for whatever mess Jim had talked himself into.

“No,” Jim said with no attempt to hide his own panic, “Y/N?”

Bones’ body went stiff.

“Y/N?!” Uhura asked, “Did he just say Y/N?”

Bones picked up his phaser and started towards to dome.

***

“Y/N are you alright?” Jim asked as tears began to fall from your eyes, Clarke’s body falling to the ground replaying over and over in your mind. “Y/N what happened.” Jim took a few steps towards you as all of the creatures raised their phasers.

“DON’T” you yelled to Jim, “They killed Clarke. They killed him right in front of me. They killed their own to do it.”

You watched as man who didn’t believe in no win scenarios calculated this in his head.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen.” Jim said to the creatures, a clear switch in his persona. “You’re going to hand over Lieutenant Y/L/N to me, right now. We’re going to walk out of that door and return to where our crew is stationed. We’re going to pack up and we’re going to leave.”

“No Captain I think that’s what you want to happen. But let me tell you how it goes here. First-“ The creature was cut off by the sound of doors clambering.

You looked up to see Leonard McCoy - hater of fieldwork - standing in the doorway accompanied by a plethora of red shirts, phasers charged.

“Hand her over. Now.” Bones said stalking towards you.

“Is this all about her?” The creature who had led you through the green corridors said kicking your back, sending your body forward and the leaf which had been resting on your tongue down your throat. Leonard’s face stiffened. “It is isn’t it?” The creature laughed “Well then let me make this very easy for you.”

The world went in slow motion.

Your eyes focussed on Leonard, managing the weakest of smiles as the phaser behind you released and shattered into your side.

The rush of familiar coloured shirts flooded the room you were in. Phasers shot in all directions and your body seized.

You found yourself laying across Leonard’s lap, as if it had always been there. Together you lay as one. Fitting seamlessly.

Leonard fussed over your side speaking words you couldn’t fully understand. You grabbed his working hands in yours.

“Hey,” he said brushing stray hair out of your face “You’re doing really well stay with me. Tell me something. Anything.”

“Maybe you were right.” you whispered looking up at him.

“I’ll never be right, Y/N, not while you’re around.” He placed a bloody hand behind your neck, thumb stroking your jawline.

“Bones!” Jim shouted through the fighting, “Help them!”

But you could see on Leonard’s face, there was nothing he could do.

Leonard pulled you close releasing a gentle sob by your ear.

“I love you too.” You whispered into the darkness

***

Leonard McCoy stood in a private room in his medbay looking at his soulmates cold body. He half heartily picked up the chart which lay on the bedside as he had so many times before. He read over the details as he had so many times before.

‘Lutenient Y/N Y/L/N

Time of death: 15:34

Killed in Action’

He checked his watch.

18:32.

Maybe it was time.

He brushed his hand over your forehead tucking your hair behind your ears. He had no more tears left to spill. He took your hand in his and placed a forceful kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry.” He stated. Not remorseful. Not angrily. Just stated.

His pressed the buzzer by the bed letting the on duty nurses know you were ready to be collected.

A small team arrived flashing sympathetic smiles towards Leonard.

He instinctively started to help until Nurse Chapel put a hand to his chest. “You don’t have to do this bit Leonard.” He nodded his head and stood back as the rest of the nurses wheeled your bed out of the room. “Go home.” She said squeezing his hands and then she left closing the door behind her.

Leonard knew he would still be expected to work. They were too far into deep space to get extra crew. But for now Chapel was right Leonard needed to go home. To his empty quarters you both called home.

Leonard began to cry again. Because now it was over.

He could hear a situation in the corridor. Biobeds going wild. Nurses shouting. But his instincts didn’t kick in until he heard them call out his name.

“DOCTOR MCCOY!” They shouted for the second time as Leonard drew a hand down his face picking up his medical pack and moved into the corridor were you sat upright on the bed.

Leonard was frozen for a minute. Legs stuck to the ground. Then he heard your voice.

“Move! MOVE!” He shouted as he rushed to your side his eyes flickering all over your face and then to the monitors beside you. “How the hell are you still alive?!”

“Honestly, I’m just as confused as you are.” You leaped forward from the bed towards Leonard but he pushed you backwards lifting your top to look at your wound, brows knitted.

“Really, Leonard? You’re really killing the moment here.”

“It’s gone? How the hell is it gone?” He ran his fingers over your side.

You reached your hand into your pocket revealing the greenest plant with the crystallised leaves.

“You FOUND IT?!”

“Believe it or not Leonard I’m not awful at my job.”

“How did that- but how did it work?”

You cast your mind back to Leonard appearing at the dome doors, “I swallowed it. I had one of its leaves in my mouth, I accidentally swallowed it when they pushed me.”

“Sorry, you ATE an unidentified plant you’d JUST found?” Leonard said, disgust covering his face.

“...Yeh.”

“Again. How the HELL are you still alive.” Leonard wrapped his arms around your back lifting you from the bed. You wrapped your legs around his body.

An intimate moment that was positively seen by the room. Neither of you cared. It made sense. Every inch of you belonged together. There you stayed, fitting together seamlessly.

#star trek #star trek fic #Star Trek Fanfiction #star trek imagines #leonard mccoy imagines #leonard mccoy fanfiction #leonard mccoy x reader #bones star trek #bones x reader #doctor mccoy #dr mccoy #mccoy x reader #mccoy

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fumingspice · 3 years

Text

kiss me hard before you go

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Angst because someone (not naming any names) *cough* @lilypadscoven is too happy to write angst. Such a strange excuse, i know. Like whose even happy anymore? That’s so 2014, Freya.

Warning: Angsty as shit! I think. Idk im usually a happy person. Mentions of cheating, mentions of smut etc.

Requests are open!

taglist: @sarahp-stan @jumpoffabridge-t @sarahpaulsonsoftie @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia @delias-bitch-craft @creepingwolfberry @thesapphictimelady @goodeday2u @that-fucking-error @saucy-sapphic @sarahp-stan @winters-witch-bitch @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate

You frowned to yourself, flicking through the endless posts on Instagram. It was some godforsaken hour in the morning and no matter how hard you tried or how deeply you tried to ease your restless mind you could not fall asleep. You scrolled on social media endlessly.

God, what time could it even be? 04.27.

You gave a defeated chuckle. Even time was in on the universe’s cruel joke. She exited Instagram and went to messages. You couldn’t count the number of unsent messages and thrown out speeches you had started and couldn’t bring yourself to finish.

Billie Dean Howard.

The contact had found itself hidden deep in the archives of old messages. You hadn’t contacted her since December when you had walked away.

Walking away was better that being the one left behind, or so you had tried so hard to tell yourself. In hindsight, the truth was that Billie Dean was going to end up leaving you anyway. Was it courage of conviction or just the simple knowledge that you couldn’t live knowing that the only person you had ever opened your heart to was going to leave you?

What was the last thing she said anyway?

Goodnight :(.

Always with those stupid text faces. Those stupid, adorable text faces. How did she have such a powerful effect on you that you could see Billie’s face in a colon and a bracket? Why hadn’t you blocked her yet? What was left to hold onto other than movie-like memories that had slipped away like the changing of seasons.

You slipped from beneath the covers, Your hair tickled Your shoulders. There was no one beside you for you to reach for in your infinite loneliness anyway. It wasn’t infinite. Why did it feel infinite? Why did you allow one person to waltz into your heart and make you home there? You reached for an unopened bottle of wine and paused. Billie had left this bottle there. You never drank unless it was around Billie.

“Dom Perignon,” Billie told you. You were never interested in the details of fine wine. All you knew was that the older it was the more people liked it.

“Isn’t that expensive?” The brunette asked, reading the label.

Billie nodded with a throaty chuckle. “Only the best for my girl. I thought I would save it for a special occasion.”

A special occasion. You chuckled in spite. The occasion in question was supposed Billie’s birthday. A party with many guests. One too many. The house was brimming with sets of both of your friends. You could recall reaching for the same wine all too well before being stopped by your friend’s girlfriend. Erin took you by the wrist and guided you out to the garden.

“No one’s out here,” you protested. Erin’s face was almost forlorn.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Sorry for what? You snapped out of your confusion. You could see the side of Billie’s body. Pressed against the wall beneath someone else. The anxiety had somehow eased when you watched Billie kiss another, fading into nothing because you knew that there was quite literally nothing that could get even worse than what you were watching.

You pursed her lips. When you imagined these moments, you had always imagined screaming bloody murder. You imagined punching and yelling. You couldn’t move. No tears. Hell, you couldn’t even feel. Erin grabbed your arm and trailed you back, but not before the sight of you, heartbroken in a red dress. had registered in Billie. She barely had time to pull away from her kiss and have the shock of what she was actually doing register.

It was always a red dress. Red dresses end up in heartbreak. A goddamn blaze in the dark.

Now, you found yourself standing at the window that looked out into the garden. Looking at the spot where you had seen her lover betray every bit of trust that you had. What would have happened if you didn’t see? What if you had seen but Billie didn’t? Would you have said anything? Would Billie have said anything?

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Billie was wine. Aromatic, warm in her stomach. She was a magnificent swirl. She was the impossible to hide stain on your favourite white dress.

Every inch of this house had Billie in its essence. She was inescapable.

It got even worse when a buzzing noise brought your attention to your phone. “Who the fuck could that be?” you asked yourself. Your heart dropped at the contact.

Billie Dean Howard is calling...

Your world collapsed for a moment as you stared at the phone buzz. Your head told you not to answer, your heart launched for it like a desert oasis. You let it ring a moment too long. You barely managed to blurt out a cracked, “Hello?” when Billie hung up. Presumably giving up.

You bit your lip. Your thumb hovered over the redial button as you fought with yourself. Maybe she’ll call again. That’s a huge maybe. Your finger jolted down unintentionally. Billie picked up on the third ring.

“Y/N?” Her breath hitched. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m here,” you stated flatly, “I can hear you.”

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“Honestly,” you replied. You felt no need for warmth. “I don’t think I meant to.”

“Oh. Uhm, how- how are you?”

“What do you want, Billie? It’s five in the morning,” You cut off. You could hear Billie’s breath falter a little.

“To be honest, I just wanted to see if you would pick up.”

You shook your head, cursing how well you knew the medium. “Don’t lie to me, Howard.”

Billie chuckled. “How can you tell?”

“You were the medium, but I was the human lie detector.”

“You’re a lawyer with an Irish mother and Scilian father. It would be more shocking if you weren’t one.”

You smiled, before catching yourself in an eyeroll. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m in town. I wanted to see you.”

“It’s five in the fucking morning.”

“You’re telling me that I actually woke you up? You were sleeping when I called?”

You bit your lip. “Yes.”

Billie chuckled again. Like it was a fucking game to her. “Well, now who’s lying?”

“What do you want, Billie?” You scoffed.

“I already told you. I want to see you.”

The audacity of the last sentence. The fact that you knew Billie Dean would come whether or not she was invited boiled your blood.

“Why.” It was more of a flat remark than a genuine question. Why. Why now.

Billie was silent for a moment. “I just want to see your face.”

Your groaned internally, another eyeroll coming into play. You scoffed. “You know the address. Find your own way over.”

And she did. The door knocked almost immediately.

You opened the door so quickly that it creaked aggressively.

“You have some fucking nerve. You know that right?” You snapped. The medium’s eyes widened in shock.

“Nice to see you too.”

You stepped aside and ushered her in, cold from the whipping air. Refreshing if you weren’t standing in shorts and a cardigan.

Billie turned around to face her. Tension grew, like insulation keeping everything in. You could choke on all the words you never said.

“You look beautiful.”

“Je vais te tuer avec mes mains nues et dormir comme un bébé après.”

“I’m flattered.”

You groaned and walked away from her and into the kitchen. You didn’t know if you would slap her, kill her, or kiss her. You were just as prepared to strangle her as you were to fuck her hard on the kitchen floor then and there, kissing every single freckle and mole on her skin. “You have three minutes,” You muttered, pouring yourself a cup of coffee to stop yourself from looking in Billie’s direction. Your heart raced at a thousand miles a second.

“I just dropped in to say hi.”

“Hi.”

You were unamused. “Is that it? Are you going get out of my life again?”

Billie frowned. “Am I? Y/N, you left me.”

“Because you fucking cheated on me, Billie Dean! What? Did you want me to pretend I didn’t see it? Pretend nothing happened? Do you want me to pretend that you didn’t rebuild my ability to trust people just so you could knock it down yourself?” You shouted. The words were coming out thick and fast now apparently.

“I was so drunk, Y/N,” Billie whimpered, her eyebrows furrowed. She was in genuine pain, you could see the guilt right in her brown eyes.

And you couldn’t give a shit.

“I’ve heard this a hundred times.”

“How many times do I have to say sorry for this?”

You raised your mug to your lips. “You can say it until I’m dead.”

You met the medium’s gaze. Brown eyes waterlogged with tears. Billie dipped her face in her hands. “I don’t know if I can go through with this again.”

You snapped again. “Good,” you said. “Because I’m done.”

“You can’t be serious.”

The pair met, closer than you had in months.

“No matter what stupid, thoughtless, selfish, idiotic, drunken things you said or did. No matter how many times. I have never stopped loving you. I’ve never fallen out of love no matter how many times I told myself I had. I haven’t gone to sleep without imaging your goddamn mouth on my lips and hands on my body and I fucking crave to hate you for it,” you spat, venom on you tongue and tears spilled down your face. “I don’t sleep, Billie. I don’t sleep because I know your arms aren’t there to hold me when I’m still awake at four in the morning. Because I can’t reach across the bed no matter how angry I am at you and feel your hair. I fucking love you goddammit. You threw that away. Not me.”

Tears streamed down Billie’s face. “I regret what I did every. Single. Fucking. Day. I miss coming home and seeing you writing those stupid fucking reports that I know you hate writing because I know you hate your job. I miss seeing your face when you’ve won a case that has been scratching you for weeks,” she inched forward once more, her hands close to Mallorie’s face. “I miss seeing you reorganising the goddamn silverware every few weeks to keep the Fair Folk happy in the same way I miss seeing the way your mouth curls when you come.”

You scanned Billie Dean, searching despreately for a bluff, something that would give way to the fact that this was all a lie; a gimmick for a one night stand so that you could just shut her out and go back to hating her. Hating the person you love is so much easier than having your heartbroken again. You couldn’t find that bluff. Even your gut-instinct that panged you when someone lied to you wasn’t alerting anything. Billie’s words were as genuine as her tears and it was killing you to see that Billie loved you. The lawyer had hoped- prayed even- that the medium’s words had been bullshit, sweet nothings that could be whispered into the ear of any lover that had fallen into her bed. But you weren’t just a one time fling that had walked into a casual meet. You had walked into her long-term girlfriend with her tongue down another’s throat. You had stashed that little red box with a diamond engagement ring inside even further into the closet that night, and that’s what had hurt you.

A raw truth in her words soaked into you. Refreshed you. They were the words that the ocean screamed back at you when you stood on the cliffside begging for a reason to go on.

And so you gave in. Almost, at least. You stepped forward into Billie and allowed her storm to engulf you. There was no calm here. There was a raging appetite for destruction and creation. What was that lyric? A tornado has met a volcano. Her lips ravaged yours to the point of being rubbed raw, the type of sting that bothered virtually every moment of your waking day, one that went on for days. You bit down on her lips, her tongue, her chin and cheek. Whether in was in spite or the desperation to seek and find every single piece of her that you could was unclear.

Those fateful memories crept back, and you pushed hard against her chest. Billie’s lips, now red, white and swollen, pressed against yours again, retracting when there was no return.

“I’m sorry,” you lied. “I think there’s a possibility that I don’t love you.”

Billie’s eyes resembled a broken mirror, or maybe the view of a dying star. The thing about dying stars is that they died a very long time ago and you only notice years later. She nodded with a weak smile. “I understand,” she whispered, pressing her head against yours. She picked up her bag and turned to leave.

You stopped her. What on Earth were you doing? Let her leave so you can hate her in peace.

“Kiss me. Before you go,” you pleaded. “Hard.”

Billie shook her head, her face scrunched before throwing her face at you. The force drove you into the counter sending a glorious shock of pain up your back. Billie was doing what you had asked.

“Fuck you,” you pulled away and muttered, as if she had gonr too far in teasing you.

“What did I do?”

You raised your hand and slapped her face, lightly. “Fuck you for proving that I still love you.”

A rush of relief knocked Billie, visibly. She returned to your lips, much more gently this time, as if she were savouring every part of you.

“I told you to kiss me hard,” you whispered, although not necessarily opposed to Billie’s touch.

“I’ll do anything you really want,” she replied.

You paused for a moment. “Anything?”

Billie smiled. “Anything.”

You kissed her once. Soft. Tentatively. “Fuck me. On the table.”

#billie dean x reader #billie dean howard imagine #billie dean howard x reader #lana winters #billie dean howard #lana winters x reader #Cordelia Goode #cordelia goode x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #ally mayfair richards #ally mayfair richards x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson x reader #i was drunk when i wrote the last half #so maybe i'll drunk write more often

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storm-leviosa-fanfics · 2 years

Text

Cat-in-the-box

A gift fic for @darlinglissa. Hope you have a great Christmas, Mel!!

(@batfamgiftexchanges)

Summary: Something suspicious is afoot in Wayne Manor, and Tim is Not going to be fooled by it, even if it is Christmas.

AO3 link here

It was a horrible night in Gotham, and Tim had just lost the world’s most important game of rock-paper-scissors.

“Better go get suited up, kid.” Dick patted him on the shoulder and skipped (skipped) to the elevator like he hadn’t just ruined Tim’s day. Tim wanted to murder him. Just a little. And Dick was just so eager to escape his wrath… He listened to the stalactites drip, drip, drip, and then let out a sigh and went to suit up. Murder wasn’t worth the hassle.

There was a reason no one wanted to patrol. The pretty fall leaves and light frosts had given way, not to snowfall and icicles, but a driving December rain that was almost - but not quite - freezing.

It was utterly miserable.

Bruce, upon looking outside for the first time at about ten past five in the evening, had decided it wasn’t worth everyone catching their death of cold when the weather was too dreary for even the most hardened criminals to be out, and told them he needed one person out with him and one person on comms, decide amongst yourselves. Hence rock-paper-scissors. Hence Tim being the one catching his death of cold. He hadn’t done a single thing to deserve this torture either! It wasn’t fair! Someone must have- Oh, right, he was meant to be patrolling.

When Tim almost slipped off a roof for the third time in half an hour, Bruce gave up and sent him home. It was hard not to be relieved. He was pretty sure the rain had soaked into every part of his suit and his fingers were kinda going numb. He’d given up trying to find the difference between wind-tears and rain on his face about twenty minutes into patrol, and he wouldn’t even need a shower because he was getting one long cold one just by being outside. He had stopped one whole robbery all night. The streets were deader than Jason. Until Mr Freeze escaped on Christmas Eve, it would probably be the same. Tim being out was stupid and pointless and he wanted to go home, so when Bruce told him to leave, he did.

The manor was too quiet when he got back. He didn’t like it.

He knew Babs had been on comms, not anyone in the cave, so maybe they had all just had an early night, but that didn’t sound like his family. He crept down the hall like he expected to be ambushed, and honestly? He kind of did.

Somehow, despite being on guard, seeing Jason of all people coming down the hallway surprised him.

“Tim,” he said, as if this was normal.

“Jason?” Tim squeaked back. He hadn’t meant to squeak. These things just happen sometimes.

“You get sent home early?” What in the world was happening here?

“Yes? It’s quiet tonight.” Jason leaned against the wall next to him and Tim realised he’d made a mistake. Now he was stuck here until the conversation was over.

“Good, good. Hey, wanna bet on when Mr Freeze’ll get out of Arkham again. The brat reckons it’ll be next week, Dickface says no earlier than the 16th which is a cop-out if you ask me but whatever. We’ve got 10 bucks each on it. You want in?”

“He’s too smart to try anything earlier than the 20th,” Tim said before he could stop himself. “He knows Bruce’ll catch him the minute he shows his face. Doesn’t mean he won’t escape earlier, but you know what Arkham’s like, chances are we won’t know he’s out until he’s making ice sculptures of Nora in a blizzard again.” Jason was tapping his foot impatiently, and Tim knew that Dick got a cop-out answer but he wouldn’t. “I don’t think we’ll see him until Christmas week, at least, most likely Christmas Eve.”

“Cool. Cool. You’re all wrong and I’m about to be $60 richer, but that’s your mistake.”

“Wait, how many people are in on this bet?” Tim asked. The door at the end of the hallway clicked open and Damian stepped out. What he’d been doing in Dick’s room, Tim didn’t want to know.

“Oh, you know, me, you, Dickiebird, the gremlin, Cass, Steph, Duke, the usual suspects. I’m gonna try and get Babs in on it,” he said, pushing off from the wall. “I doubt she’ll go for it, but you never know. She pretends to be too good for all our nonsense, but I know she loves it.”

And then he was gone. Tim hadn’t even gotten to ask why he was there.

In Tim’s defence, they had no way of knowing what was going to happen. Previous evidence suggested Mr Freeze would escape Arkham near Christmas, and that their mission (should they choose to accept it) would be to track him down and gently escort him back to his cell. Every. Year. They’d done it so many times now, they had the routine down to an artform.

It was, they had been assured, no one’s fault that he chose to switch it up that year. This did not make Tim feel any better.

“You’re on bed rest until the end of the week.” “What? But Bruce-” “Bed. Rest.”

Tim did the math in his head. God, his head hurt. End of the week would take them up to… okay so he couldn’t remember what the date was. Or how many days of the week were left. Shit happens alright? Sometimes you just can’t remember what day of the week it is, even though you have a busy schedule that relies on you knowing when and where you need to be places. That was perfectly normal and perfectly justified, in Tim’s expert opinion. Totally, definitely, absolutely not the concussion talking.

“Yeah, so, Tim? Buddy? I think maybe we should rest a little. And stop thinking so hard. There’s way too much thought going into days of the week right now.”

Oops.

The upside of being benched was that he had time to think about what to get the others for Christmas. The downside of being benched was that he had time to think about what to get the others for Christmas.

It should have been easy. They were brothers, after all, and Tim was normally pretty good at remembering what people needed or wanted. This year, though. This year. Everything had been so insane, so crammed with one disaster after another, Tim’s usual ‘list of gift ideas’ was alarmingly short. There were only so many times he could give Damian dog treats, or Dick an ‘adopt an elephant’ subscription. And what were you even meant to get people who had more money than sense, anyway? His poor concussed head had spent way too many hours in front of a computer screen, but he had acquired approximately zero gifts and it was a problem.

“Master Tim, away from the computer, please.”

Well, now it was a problem for future-Tim. Future-Time hopefully would not have a concussion. Or broken ribs that really did not appreciate being coiled into that position. Ouch.

Alfred wanted him to help bake gingerbread. Privately, Tim thought this was a terrible idea, because when had anyone in their family (except Jason) ever shown an ounce of competency in the kitchen? But Alfred was insistent. Tim was going to help him make gingerbread. He would not hear arguments or complaints. Two hours later, Tim was covered in flour, and sneezing harder than he’d ever sneezed in his life from inhaling ginger powder like an idiot, but also the proud baker of some only-slightly-burnt gingerbread men. They were not iced. Yet. Alfred had promised him some icing, but did not trust him with the food colouring or icing sugar, and so Tim would just have to wait. This was not a problem. Alfred was telling him all kinds of stories about Bruce when he was a kid, and Tim had never had so much blackmail material in his life.

“Bruce did what?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

“He wanted to touch the bird, so he jumped into the tree.” Tim just about fell off his stool. There was no way he could sit there with a straight face and listen to this.

“Please tell me you have it on video.” “Unfortunately not. We do still have the bird, however. It goes on the tree every year.”

“You can’t tell me that and not show me which one!” Tim had a sneaking suspicion that he knew which one it was. The one that was always placed by Alfred just out of Bruce’s reach, even though he had to stand on a step to do it; the one that never matched but always got put up anyway; the one that made Alfred grin, quick and sharp, and Bruce sigh whenever they saw it.

Alfred pointed out the feathered robin to him, and Tim started laughing all over again, because of course it was a robin. They really had stood no chance at all of being functional.

By day three, Tim was bored. Actually, ‘bored’ didn’t cover it. Bored was a weak word that did not properly convey the utter tedium of his life. Tim was fucking miserable. His life was so dull he wanted to cry. There was nothing to do, or, more accurately, nothing he wanted to do. He wandered the halls like a ghost, moaning at anyone who would listen, and he knew he was being obnoxious, but he just wanted something to do. Relaxing for a week should’ve felt good, but instead it was just dull. And no one was around to bother, which was unusual in itself. He’d knocked on Dick’s door and had no response, Jason’s door also held back complete and utter silence. He didn’t dare knock on Damian’s, and there was no point trying Cass’s. She was either inside, or she wasn’t, and either result wouldn’t get a response if he knocked. Cass simply did not believe in answering the door.

He would rather die than go bother Bruce.

Instead, he languished in boredom, pointlessly refreshed social media feeds looking for new content that did not exist, begged Babs for a cold case to solve and got told to shove off, begged Steph for a wikipedia rabbit-hole to fall down and got a string of emojis that could loosely be interpreted as ‘pls go away I’m busy see you later bestie”.

When Tim was bored, strange things happened in his brain. It started making connections that didn’t exist. Jason cornering him weeks before became a distraction technique, the silence became suspicious, his brothers’ closeness became scheming. Something Was Up. This was not simply a break from the usual shenanigans; this was a Case, and Tim was going to solve it.

Tim’s first step was, of course, reconnaissance. He was going to Search Rooms for Evidence. Starting with Dick. Because his room was closest and Tim was lazy. So Tim, dressed in all black because ninjas, slipped out his window, edged along the little ledge a ways, slipped, fucking shit damn it, recovered, waited to stop shaking, jimmied the lock on the window, and finally tumbled through Dick’s now open window, rolling to absorb the impact and sound.

He could feel eyes on him.

Yep. Those were his siblings staring at him. They looked like baby birds, all ugly and wrinkled and massive creepy eyes, and never tell Damian Tim said this but he hated baby birds with the burning passion of a thousand suns. They were just…disturbing. They made him shudder. Just like his siblings when they were scheming to Do Something Bad. He stared at them. They stared back. No one blinked.

“...oops?” he offered. Then he fled back out the window.

Babs was, surprisingly, unhelpful.

“Tim, they’re not up to anything, I promise.” “Everything’s too quiet. Something’s up, I can feel it.”

“If Dick was planning on pranking you, I’d know about it. He tells me literally every time he’s planning something.” She was trying to be reassuring, he could tell, but it wasn’t helping.

“Look, Tim, just try and get some sleep. Everything will look better when you’re not sleep deprived.” This ignored the fact that Tim was not, for once in his too-short-too-long life, sleep deprived. He did not need or want more sleep. He wanted something to do. He told her so. Babs had no answers.

Why did he even bother?

He took another nap, and woke up to Damian and Jason whispering outside his door. Definitely not suspicious at all.

There was, he realised after ten minutes of meandering up and down corridors he hadn’t seen in weeks, no one else in the house. It was then that he realised it was Christmas Eve. The last ostentatious clock he’d passed had said it was about 7pm, which meant the others would be returning from Alfred’s last minute Christmas food shop in about half an hour. Then everyone would go out on patrol. Except him. Obviously. Tim was still benched for two more days. But Christmas Eve patrols tended to be quiet anyway, something about the holidays made people unwilling to break the tentative peace, regardless of their reasoning. Mostly they went out to boost morale, and to point the misfortunate in the direction of a shelter or food pantry. Tim was seriously going to miss it. Last year, some kid had managed to persuade/bully Batman into saying ‘ho, ho, ho, merry Christmas’ on camera and it had become Gotham’s new favourite meme literally overnight. Tim had missed that, too. It was maddening.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, because they were all out in the city playing at Santa and his elves. Tim lay flat on his back in bed and hated everything. He wasn’t even allowed in the cave to run comms and it was stupid. Instead, he was trapped in his room, alone, listening to the house settling, and the clocks ticking, and the cat in Damian’s room yowling, and the owl outside hooting, and-

Wait.

Damian’s cat was more of a silent killer than Damian was, why the hell was he yowling?

Tim became the one creature stirring in the house, and rolled over and grabbed his headphones. The cat was Damian’s problem, not his. Tim was going to play the untitled goose game and ignore the world’s problems, as was his right.

Tim made his way to the lounge on Christmas morning in the sneakiest way he knew - through the secret passage on the third floor, down the servants’ stairway, along the balconies on first floor of the east wing, and then past the guest toilet. It was much, much longer than simply going down the stairs, but Tim knew, deep in his heart, that he was getting pranked today and he was not going to fall for it that easily. Damian might’ve believed otherwise, but Tim wasn’t stupid. And he definitely wasn’t stupid enough to get pranked when his brothers had been unsubtly planning it right in front of his nose. Not happening. Not today. And so, the long way round.

Alfred, like every year, had made them breakfast - a light one, in preparation for the real feast later in the day - and graciously allowed them to eat in the lounge instead of at the table. He knew better than to expect them to have good manners on Christmas morning. It also meant that Tim had no escape from whatever his brothers had planned, because they were stuck in the same room until lunch time. Thankfully, Bruce and Cass were the only people awake and he could trust them: Bruce would never, and he and Cass had an agreement when it came to pranks. He could claim their protection for the time being.

By the time the others came downstairs, all in a chaotic, rowdy, over-excited clump that very nearly did not fit through the door, Tim had nestled himself into the sofa between Bruce and Cass - the perfect place to be safe from any pending pranks. And sure enough, within five minutes, he was dodging thrown food as Duke retaliated to a particularly awful joke. Dick laughed. So did Bruce. Tim counted it as a win, even if he did have to flatten himself into the sofa to avoid a piece of orange.

None of them opened any presents until breakfast had been eaten, and everyone had helped with the clean-up and dishes. Then, the presents were handed out one present per person at a time, just to be fair. This was how it had always been. Until today. Today, they all opened one present each, until they reached Tim. At Tim’s turn, Dick suddenly sat bolt upright and blurted out “Tim has to open all his presents together!”

That… wasn’t how this was meant to go? He was so confused?

Damian got up, went upstairs, and came back with a box. Tim was growing more confused by the second. The box was unwrapped and plain brown and oh god, this was their prank wasn’t it? This was their plan: a prank disguised as a gift. And he couldn’t refuse it without looking rude. Damn it. He reached out to take the box with dubious hands, but Damian set it on the floor by his feet instead. That was strange, but Tim wasn’t going to question it. He glanced at Bruce, once, at Cass on his left, and they both nodded to him. The box wasn’t even taped shut - just laziness, really, could they seriously not be bothered to at least make their prank look the part - and he reached out to lift the lid. As he did so, he heard a muffled meow.

Tim stopped.

“Damian. Cat,” he said.

“He’s fine,” Damian replied, then made a ‘carry on’ gesture at the box. An odd smile was tugging at his lips and Tim did not like it at all. Nevertheless, he reached out again to open the box, half his awareness on Dick wiggling in place, on Jason and Duke literally on the edges of their seats, on Damian and his weird little grin.

Meooow

That was definitely not Damian’s cat. Alfred the cat did not meow like that, Tim knew. Where was the fucking cat?

The fucking cat chose that moment to knock over the box it was in, formerly on the floor by Tim’s feet, and escape under the sofa. Tim caught approximately one glimpse of it before it disappeared, and he thought it might be grey.

“Damian? Cat?” he said again.

“She’s fine,” Damian replied. “She’s just not used to this many people. And also does not appreciate being in a box, most likely.” Tim blinked at him.

“Cat?” His brain had not caught up with this fact, apparently. It could only repeat this one word over and over. Cat. Cat. Cat.

He slid off the sofa, onto his hands and knees, and looked underneath, just to check. Maybe he’d imagined it. Somehow. But there were bright amber eyes staring back at him from the far side. Tim pssped at that cat like every stereotype. The cat did not move.

“Leave her be for now,” Damian told him. “She will come out on her own when she feels more comfortable.”

Tim’s other gifts were, predictably, cat related. A bed, some toys, a litter tray from Jason with a truly horrific Bat-themed pun on it because of course, and, finally, the most awesome looking scratching post/tree/general source of enrichment Tim had ever seen. It apparently took actual hours to assemble which sounded like an opportunity for some weird family bonding (thank you, Bruce - you were apparently in on the scheme and didn’t let anything slip. This was a new achievement that Tim wasn’t sure he liked). By the time Tim had unwrapped a toy with catnip, the cat had emerged, sheepishly, from beneath the sofa. At Damian’s warning glare, everyone let her sneak back into the cardboard box and curl up, a ball of grey fluff with eyes, and that was where she stayed for the rest of the unwrapping chaos.

She slept through lunch, too, and this wasn’t concerning because Tim remembered reading once upon a time that cats slept for most of the day. She woke up a bit in the afternoon, when they were all tangled together and half asleep from too much food, and let Tim play with her and stroke her a few times, slowly, from head to tail. By the time Alfred brought out the snacks, she was almost used to him. She certainly appreciated being fed, yowling for more only ten minutes later and then stealing smoked salmon off his crackers. That was not appreciated. Tim liked smoked salmon. But he would gladly give up all his smoked salmon to the cause, if it helped make the cat (his cat. And wow, what a wonderful thing to get to say) feel more at home.

He had named her, after much playful debate with his siblings, Mel. This was mostly because he’d been told her name was Sprout and that simply would not do. She was a beautiful and charming little lady, not a goddamn brussel sprout. He refused to consider it. And Mel was a pretty name for a pretty cat, so it tracked. Better than Sprout, anyway.

In the evening, when everything was quiet, and the TV turned down low, Mel curled up on his lap and purred. It was the absolute best feeling in the world. He felt very peaceful, and very happy with the world in general. And then Damian sat down next to him.

Damian’s hand trailed down the cat’s back so gently, Tim could almost forget he was one of the most violent teenagers on the planet.

“I made sure we got her from a shelter, instead of a breeder or,” he said, and scrunched his nose up in disgust, “a kitten mill. She deserves a good home.” He did not say ‘I trust you to give her one,’ or ‘I know you’ll do it’, and to any outsiders it would sound like a threat, but Tim knew him well enough to hear the unsaid words.

“Thanks, Dames,” Tim said, and it was a thanks for many things: for the cat, for thinking about ethics, for the trust he was placing in him.

Alfred told him not to let her sleep on his bed, and Tim followed that advice for all of 5 seconds. He just liked the feeling of her warm fluffy body curled up on top of his duvet, okay? That was allowed. And as he watched her sleep, with snow falling outside and lights twinkling from the tree in the driveway, he thought maybe, just maybe, he’d been wrong about the whole ‘definitely going to get pranked’ thing.

#batfam fanfiction #batfamily #fanfiction #tim drake #christmas fic #gift fic #cat #contains far too many christmas traditions highly specific to my family and my family only

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themandhoelorian · 3 years

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Dincember - December 2: December (Ariana Grande version)

summary: Your plans for Life Day include getting dressed up, going to the cantina, and doing anything to stop thinking about the Mandalorian that’s been frequenting your repair shop. But when he shows up with a broken heater, your plans quickly go out the window as you work to keep him warm.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn! reader (but they have long hair)

warnings: *spicy* themes (reader throws that ass back ahaha, some shoulder touching, implied smut), mentions of drinking, a little bit of swearing, heels and a minidress probably deserve a warning considering the pain they’re caused me, a lot of Yearning (TM)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: I had never heard this song before writing this, and let me tell you, it was NOT AT ALL what I was expecting. I never thought a xmas song would inspire so many Thots in me, but here we are I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . Hope you enjoy!

***

Maker knows there’s no good reason for you to be wearing this dress.

You wanted to wear something at least a little bit festive to celebrate Life Day, but the shimmering silver frock you picked is admittedly a bit fancy for going to a party that’ll just be Nevarro’s shadiest figures getting plastered in the cantina.

You’ll probably freeze because of it too, the lacy edges of the skirt barely grazing your mid thighs and the thin straps doing nothing to protect your shoulders from the wind.

It’s so damn impractical, you’re not even sure there’s an event that this would be an appropriate outfit for, but you haven’t had a reason to get dressed up in so long that your wardrobe has dwindled to the few plain jumpsuits you work in.

And for some reason, this tiny piece of satin.

So without much hope of finding something better to wear in the small market, here you are, tugging down the edges of this too-short dress, trying to make yourself look a little more sensible before you head out the door.

It’s far from ideal, but you figure it’s worth it if it means you’ll finally be able to go out for the first time in Maker knows how long.

It has to have been at least a year, before things started picking up so much at the shop that you barely had time to sleep, never mind going out and doing anything for pleasure. You’d chosen to set up your repair shop on Nevarro knowing you’d have a steady stream of business from the bounty hunters returning with their always damaged quarries and usually damaged ships, and for the first few years, that’s exactly what you had. Enough work to keep yourself fed and the shop running, but not so much that you never stepped outside to see the light of day. It was the perfect work-life balance you’d heard so much about.

But then one day, a certain Mandalorian landed his cruddy ass, pre-Imperial, piece of crap ship on your dock, and you haven’t gone out since.

When he first started coming in, you thought you had lots of time to take on another client, but as you’d quickly come to realize, Mando is no ordinary customer.

For one thing, no one else returns to Nevarro nearly as often as him. Give your average Guild member half a dozen pucks, and he’ll be back for his payment in about three months.

Mando’s back in a matter of weeks.

Just the sheer frequency of his visits in addition to your original clientele is enough to keep your hands full, but on top of that, there’s his sad excuse for a ship, always seeming to be on the verge of falling apart, that you have to deal with.

You’re not sure if it’s because the Razor Crest is a prehistoric relic or if his quarries actively hack away at the frame while he drags them into the carbonite or if Mando is just totally incapable of maintaining even a base level of functionality on his ship, but every time he comes back with his half dozen frozen bodies, his ship has just as many repairs for you to complete.

Honestly, it’s a little ridiculous how often Mando is in your shop, how many times you’ve had to rewire the same parts, but you can’t say you’re ever upset when you see the sputtering thrusters of the Crest dropping onto your dock. He pays you well, always tipping more than you probably deserve, and he keeps you company if you’re still working when he returns from getting his next round of assignments.

At first, he would just watch silently as you showed him how to perform routine maintenance on the part you were fixing. You didn’t mind, it was nice to have someone there when you were alone in the shop most of the time, but once you’d explained every part twice over with no fewer damages to the Crest, you decided maybe it’d be better to talk about other things instead.

For a while, he kept up the steely mystique, only grunting out a few words if you asked him a question, and you thought he was getting irritated with how often you tried to coax him into conversation, wondering each time he flew off if that would be the last time you did business with him.

But he kept coming back, kept hanging around whenever you patched up his ship, and slowly, you got him to talk. He started with stories of his most recent hunts before working backwards through the memories of his distant past, showing you a dry wit and smoldering tenderness you found yourself growing fond of.

As more and more of his deep, filtered voice replaced the silence you’d come to expect from your job, you found yourself losing more and more of the free time you’d become used to as well, for reasons that had nothing to do with the fragile machinery of the Crest.

You started taking longer to complete even the simplest tasks when he was there, getting too caught up in thinking of a snappy response to his teasing comments to care about being efficient about snapping the ship’s broken parts back into place. And then, without fail, every time you thought you were finally done, several hours behind schedule, he’d suddenly remember that there was just one more thing he wanted you to look at, keeping you working for an extra hour or two as the sky turned dark outside.

If anyone else asked you to stay past your listed hours on such a regular basis, you would slam the door in their face without a second thought, but for Mando, you’re always a little too willing to do the work for him.

After all, if you turned him away, you’d just end up where you always do after a long day in the shop, curled up in bed, thinking of him even long after he’s gone as you work the tension from your body. You’d remember how he looked, what his voice sounded like that day, and inevitably your mind would drift to wondering what his broad chest would look like hovering over you as his gloved hands fist your sheets, what his voice would sound like growling that nickname you don’t understand into your neck.

You know it’s wrong, but what can you say? You need some kind of release from working so damn much and it’s his fault you don’t have time for a more wholesome form of self care. It’s only fair that he be the one to help you, even if it’s just in your head.

Not that you don’t wish he’d help you for real too.

Maker, you don’t know how this happened, but somehow, Mando’s managed to take over your entire life. When he’s here, you spend all day flirting with him while you fix his ship, when he’s not you spend all day wishing he was, and at night, well, you’re definitely still thinking about him then. You’re in desperate need of something to distract you from him, somewhere to go that isn’t this shop and someone to talk to that isn’t covered in beskar.

So when you ran into Karga on your last run to the market and he invited you to a party at the cantina for Life Day, you immediately accepted. You usually don’t like parties, much preferring to stay in for the holidays, but you figured going out for a big celebration was exactly the chaos you needed right now. Talking to strangers mindlessly all night to distract yourself from your thoughts and drinking enough to drown out the rest sounded like the perfect plan for Life Day.

Especially when the alternative is staying here alone, cold and miserable, as you imagine what it’d be like to spend the holiday with Mando.

So you closed the shop early today, giving you lots of time to dig through your closet for the most festive (and apparently shortest) piece of clothing you own and get ready for the party at a leisurely pace. You felt overindulgent spending so much time on your appearance, and you’re almost certain you’re going to show up severely overdressed, but hey. If it makes tonight feel as far from your everyday life as possible, you’re all for it.

You’re just about to head out, checking yourself once over in the mirror as you slip on a pair of strappy heels, when the comm in the control room starts beeping.

Kriff, you swear you had turned everything off when you locked the landing dock, but even if you hadn’t, you don’t know who the hell is trying to get their ship fixed on Life Day. For the few hours you had the shop open today, not one person showed up, and even yesterday, only one customer had dropped in for a quick oil change. Everything always seems to freeze around the holidays, the galaxy in silent agreement to leave business aside for a couple days, but apparently the dumbass waiting outside your shop didn’t get that memo.

You let the beeping run, figuring whoever’s trying to get through will eventually leave on their own, but it never stops, the blaring persisting as you struggle with the buckle of your heel until it’s just too much to ignore. You storm into the control room, the unsecured sole of your sandal slapping against your foot as you slam the speak button on the console.

“It’s Life Day. We’re closed,” you snap, returning to your heel before you can even check the source of the frequency. You finally fasten the strap and start to back out of the room, but then a smooth, modulated voice comes through the comm that makes you freeze.

“Even for me, mesh’la?”

Maker, of course it’s him. Of course he has to show up the one time you’re absolutely not supposed to be thinking about him.

“Especially for you, Mando. You’re already in my shop too much, you can’t be here on my one day off too.”

You try to sound irritated. You should be irritated, he’s actively messing up your plans right now, but you know you’re not fooling anyone when just the sound of his voice makes your heart flutter.

“It won’t take long, it’s just my heater this time,” he reasons. “Are you really gonna let me freeze, mesh’la?”

You think that maybe you should. Maybe if you left him in the cold he’d be so upset that he’d stop coming to you for repairs. Maybe then you could finally stop thinking about him.

But really, you know that would just make you more miserable.

“I showed you how to fix it last time, you can warm yourself up,” you challenge. “Or did you really forget already?”

“I remember. I just wanted you to do it for me.”

That makes you pause. Why would he come to you for something he already knows how to fix? Mando’s not exactly one to waste credits on things he doesn’t need, and he’s considerate enough that you wouldn’t expect him to bother you on Life Day with something he could take care of himself.

You’re about to point it out and turn him away, but then he sighs your name, warm and rich even through the comm, and you feel what little resolve you have left evaporate into the temperate air.

“Come on, I’m kriffing cold.”

“Fine,” you mumble as you punch a passcode into the console. The ceiling of the shop whirrs open, revealing the familiar sight of the Razor Crest descending onto your dock.

You have time, you decide. If it’s really just the heater, it should only take 15 minutes to finish, still leaving you lots of time to get to the party, and you figure it’d be a little cruel to let Mando to spend Life Day cold and alone on that sad hunk of metal, even if he can technically fix those problems by himself.

Besides, he’s already ruined your plans of not thinking about him today, you might as well let yourself see him too.

By the time you grab your tool kit from the closet and step out of the control room, heels clacking loudly against the worn duracrete, Mando’s halfway down the ramp. He’s about to greet you, but as you approach, his already rigid stature tenses, his visor trailing over the exposed skin of your chest and legs.

You can’t help but smirk, knowing he’s probably shocked at seeing you like this, in a dress with your hair draping over your shoulders, a drastic contrast to the way you usually only wear plain jumpsuits and keep your hair pulled back in a messy knot.

“I should make you pay extra for making me work when I look like this,” you joke.

You strut past him into the ship, heading straight for the heating system in the corner of the hull you’d come to know so well.

“Yeah,” he rasps out, following behind you. “Sorry, uh, were you about to go somewhere?”

“No, I just hang around the shop like this when you’re not here.”

He cocks his head to the side when you look back at him, like he’s rolling his eyes at you under the helmet and waiting in annoyance for an actual answer. You give him a playful grin as you hand him the tool bag.

“I got invited to a Life Day party. Figured I should probably try to dress up a little bit.”

“Oh. It-- well, you look good.”

You scoff as you turn back to inspect the pipes, squatting with your knees pressed together, one hand holding the back of your dress down.

“I’d look good in anything compared to what you usually see me in.”

“No, mesh’la, you always look good. But this…”

You’re not sure if he stops mid sentence or if your brain just isn’t comprehending what he’s saying anymore because hold on-

Did Mando just say you always look good?

You turn back to him and raise your eyebrows, silently urging him to elaborate, but he just stares at you with that impossibly intense gaze, making your stomach flip and giving you absolutely no indication as to why he just said that.

Well if he’s gonna be like that, you guess you’ll just have to figure out what he meant for yourself.

You walk towards him until you’re mere inches from the tool bag he’s cradling against his chest, holding his gaze as you slowly pull a wrench from the assortment of tools. You linger there for a second, looking up at him through your lashes, before you make your way back to the heater.

But this time, instead of squatting tastefully to reach into the panel, you bend over, sticking your ass out towards Mando as the short skirt of your dress rides up your thighs.

Mando coughs behind you, so you look over your shoulder at him, arching your back more to maintain your position. His grip on the bag tightens while he growls out your name in a warning that goes straight to your core, and it takes all your willpower to keep your composure as you blink innocently at him.

“What’s wrong, Mando?” you mewl.

He actually grunts at that, shifting his weight from where he was leaning into one hip so he stands completely upright. He looks even broader like this, so strong and domineering that you know you should be intimidated, but you just feel incredibly hot watching him squirm.

“Just- stars, just fix the kriffing heater already.”

Your lips turn up into a wicked grin as you turn back to finish the repair.

“Okay, Mando. Whatever you say.”

As you make quick work of the damaged pieces, you can’t help but revel in the feeling of Mando’s gaze burning into the expanse of your thighs, relish in the knowledge that the ever stoic Mandalorian is flustered at just the sight of you.

You can’t lie, this feels good. Really kriffing good. After months of thinking about him every time you laid in bed and trying desperately to forget those sinful images every time he’s near you, to know you have that kind of effect on him too is sending warmth all over your body, along your chest and through your stomach.

With a final twist of the wrench, you flip the switch to turn the heater on, the old pipes creaking and small puffs of vapor shooting out of the system as it hums to life. You admit, it’s not your best work, but in your defense, you’re not usually trying to, well, present yourself to your customers while doing a repair.

And honestly, you couldn’t give a damn about how well the finicky heater’s working when Mando is right there, so clearly enticed by your show, and you’re as close as you’ve ever been to getting what you’ve been dreaming of.

You stand up, smoothing down the back of your dress as you turn back towards him. He hasn’t moved at all since you went back to work, still standing with his back perfectly straight and gripping your tool bag just as tightly as he was a few minutes ago.

“Well, that should do it,” you muse, looking into the steely visor. You’re expecting him to make a move, say something or step towards you or really just do anything, but he just nods, keeping the painstaking tension in the rest of his armored body.

For a while, neither of you move, frozen as you try to anticipate what the other is thinking. From what Mando has told you, you think this is what hyperspace must feel like, each moment seeming to stretch into infinity as the energy of a million stars spins around you. The two of you look at each other, unmoving for what feels like ages, willing the other to close the gap first and let the galaxy of suspense you’ve created collapse around you.

You wait and wait, but at some point you remember this is Mando you’re dealing with, the man so stubborn his head is literally made of beskar. Mando, the reason you’ve abandoned the Life Day plans you were determined to follow through on because he wouldn’t take no for an answer when you said you were closed.

Maybe it’s persistence or maybe he just knows that if he waits long enough, you’ll give him whatever he wants anyway, but regardless, there’s no chance he’s going to be the first to give into this standoff, no matter how bad you both want it.

No, if you want this, you’re going to have to work for it.

But you’ve never minded having to do a little extra work for him.

You stride towards him, returning the wrench to the tool bag before taking it from his arms and placing it on a crate behind you.

“While you have me here,” you say, turning back to him with wide eyes. You take another step towards him, bringing yourself so close that you can hear the soft hitch of his breath come from his modulator.

“Is there anything else I can do to help you stay warm?”

He brings his hand up to brush your hair off your shoulder, exposing the thin strap of your dress. You shudder as the worn leather of his gloves barely glances across your skin, the small touch charged by the way he keeps the rest of his body so static.

“Yeah, mesh’la. There is.”

You gasp when he hooks a finger underneath the strap of your dress, his touch feather light as he traces a line from your collarbone to the top of your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you whisper. “Tell me, Mando. Whatever you want.”

“Don’t go to the party tonight,” he hums, his voice thick and dripping with desire, making heat pool in your stomach. He fixates on the strap, rubbing the satin between his index finger and thumb. “Stay here instead. Let me take this pretty thing off you. Show you just how grateful I am that you always keep me warm.”

“Okay,” you exhale a little too quickly, but he just keeps studying you, staying completely still besides the hand playing with your dress. You don’t know why he’s still holding back, not sure how much clearer you need to be for him to know you want this, but if he needs another reassurance, you’re more than willing to give it to him.

You’ll give him anything if it means he’ll finally touch you the way you both want.

You bring your hand up to cover his, stopping the rhythmic movement of his fingers as you guide his gloved fist down your arm. The strap of your dress slips off your shoulder, the neckline hanging dangerously low on your chest, and you lick your lips as you stare straight into his visor.

“I said whatever you want, didn’t I?”

And then finally, finally, he gives in, pushing you back against the wall and peeling the dress from your body. His hands run over every inch of you, his grip firm and electric on your skin, and he doesn’t stop until you’re crying his name as you come undone beneath him.

***

Hours later, you end up where you always do after a long day in the shop, curled up in bed, thinking of a certain Mandalorian.

But today wasn’t just another day in the shop. Today was Life Day.

Today was supposed to be different.

Maker, you can’t believe you let Mando ruin your Life Day plans, let him take over the one day that you were absolutely not supposed to think about him. You can’t help but feel a little pathetic thinking about how much of a grip he has on you, how you can’t manage to have a life outside of him for even one day. It’s driving you so crazy you think you won’t be able to sleep-

But then he shifts next to you, wraps an arm around your torso and pulls your back to his bare chest. He mumbles something in your ear that you don’t understand- cyar’ika, you think he says- his voice sounding so affectionate even though it’s thick with sleep.

Your heart swells as he holds you, the even breaths coming from the modulator easing the worries from your mind, and as you drift into the sweet lull of sleep, you think maybe it’s not so bad that you let Mando mess up your Life Day plans.

You’d let him mess up all your plans if it meant you could end every day like this.

#dincember #trying this again b/c it didn't show up in the tags the first time smh #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin #emi writes #if you need me i'll be in h*rny jail byE #also i didn't know tumblr tags post if you even like mention s*x and shit wtf #like this is nothing compared to some of the shit on this site lmao bye

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