#resolved in one day in one way or another makes you physically feel sick because that means you could've really done it months ago
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serendipitous
summary: you have undeniable, unrequited feelings for joel miller, yet you keep denying them. when you run into joel one night while out with someone you don't even like, conflict ensues.
warnings: jackson!era, a few swears, grumpy joel, stubborn joel, reader goes on a date with an asshole, brief!!! mention of an (unspecified) age gap between reader and joel, angsty angst but quickly resolved i promise :)
masterlist here
The creak of the door closing behind you lets you know there’s no turning back. Feeling overwhelmed already with the buzzing sound of chattering folks all around you, you make your way further into the Tipsy Bison to look for your company for the evening - a guy named Trevor, who you met a few weeks ago when you got put on the same patrol shift together.
All the other times you’ve been on patrol, your partner has been Joel Miller, and you’ve had absolutely no complaints - other than the fact that the man barely spoke a word to you the first time you met him five years ago. Naturally, though, the longer you spent with him, the more you both opened up to each other, making for a fun, new, budding friendship for you within the Jackson walls. What you haven’t opened up to Joel about, however, though, are your true feelings towards him.
Joel Miller is perfect in every way. He’s quite literally the only man you feel one hundred percent safe around, and he’s the only person here in Jackson you’ve really connected with. Every day you spend with him, you wish you were bold enough to make a move.
You know your feelings toward Joel won't stop any time soon, and you don’t even know why you agreed to go out with Trevor. He’s cocky and arrogant, yet cowardly and selfish, and definitely is just not your type; Joel is everything Trevor isn’t.
Much to your dismay, however, you know nothing can come of you and Joel, even if he was interested in you. Although the tension between the two of you is thick, you’ve convinced yourself it’s one sided. Surely his gruff, protective, and sometimes even flirtatious manners are just part of who he is. You’re positive he sees you as nothing more than a friend, or worse - some helpless woman he feels obligated to protect because she’s younger and weaker than him.
As you scan the busy room, you hear your name called from a relatively familiar voice. And when you look in the direction of the call, your eyes fall on your date, and your stomach drops.
You’d much rather be looking for Joel tonight.
It seems like forever before you realize you need a break from listening to Trevor drawl on about himself. You’ve zoned out and resorted to a fake smile and insincere nods, feigning interest in his obvious self-obsession.
But eventually, he asks a question that pulls you from your boredom like no other.
“Do you wanna get out of here?”
“What?” you ask, wondering if you’ve heard him correctly.
He cannot be serious. Does he really think talking about himself for an hour straight and not bothering to ask a single thing about you has convinced you to go home with him?
“You heard what I said. Let’s get outta here,” he smirks, and you have to bite your tongue to hold back from laughing.
“Trevor, we just met a few weeks ago.” you chuckle awkwardly, surprised at how forward he’s being.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t show you a good time,” he winks, and you have to stifle back a physical cringe at his failed attempt to be suave.
You smile uncomfortably, then stand up from your seat. “I’m gonna grab a refill” you tell him, making your way over to the bar.
Once away from your jackass of a date, you feel like you can finally breathe.
“Can I just get another water, please?” you ask the bartender behind the counter, but instead of hearing their response, you feel a sense of relief when you hear a familiar voice speak your name, instead.
However, that feeling of relief doesn’t last long, once your eyes fall on a sight that makes you sick to your stomach.
Joel is seated at the bar down a little ways, but with a woman beside him, her hand on his arm as she clearly tries to woo him. And not only that, but she’s gorgeous: flowing locks of dirty blonde hair frame her face perfectly, her plump, pink lips whisper little flirtations, and her pair of sparkling blue eyes are just beckoning him to her bedroom. Of course, you’re too distracted by her beauty and your jealousy to realize how uninterested Joel is in her advances.
“(Y/n), hi,” he repeats, and when you turn to meet Joel, the woman beside him seems to give up on her flirting as she gets up and walks away for the time being.
“Joel, what are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing,” he replies lowly with a tilt of his head.
“Just… getting drinks with someone,” you shrug.
“Yeah?” he questions, not fully convinced. “Everything okay over there?”
“Yeah, why?” you feel the need to defend yourself, as if you need to convince Joel you’re doing okay, although you know that you’d much rather be with him for the night.
“You sure? He doesn’t strike me as the kind you’d hang around, Darlin’,” Joel replies, honestly meaning no harm.
“And you’d know that how?” you reply sarcastically, trying to cover up the fact that the nickname he calls you gives you the biggest rush of butterflies. “It’s just a date, Joel. It doesn’t mean anything,” you roll your eyes.
“I know it’s just… I saw you when I walked in. You just seem kind of uncomfortable. Wanna make sure you’re okay,” he reasons.
“I’m fine,” you snap back, suddenly feeling angry at Joel for some reason, although you know his intentions are good. But even briefly seeing Joel in the company of another woman sets you off, especially now that he’s trying to make it seem like he cares about you, when you know he doesn't think of you as anything other than a friend, at best.
“Darlin’,” he starts, but you interrupt him.
“Joel, I don’t need you watching over me like I’m some teenager out past curfew. I can hold my own,” you shake your head disapprovingly before grabbing your water from the bar, then brushing past him to return to Trevor.
“I didn't mean... M’sorry,” he mumbles in return, almost too late for you to hear as you walk away. But you catch it. And the sadness in his tone sticks with you for the rest of the night.
Joel’s heart breaks right then and there. All he wants is to help you and protect you - it’s just his nature. But seeing you with another guy, and one that he knows could never satisfy or take care of you the way he could - if he would ever buck up the courage to express to you how he feels - fills him with such an unbridled, unjustified rage.
He makes it his mission to keep a close eye on him for the rest of the night, although he feels guilty for invading your privacy. Then again, you’re in a public space, and Joel just has a feeling it’s the right thing to do. He knows that kid well enough to know he’s nothing but bad news.
Another half hour passes, and Joel’s female friend hasn’t returned to him, much to his content, - and yours, if you could only swallow your pride to look over at him to see that. Instead, he’s kept himself busy with listening in on your conversation and peering over every now and again, where he notices Trevor’s slight advances towards you, which are clearly unwanted.
He knows you’re a strong, independent woman, and he doesn’t want to overstep. But his instincts - and his anger - take over the second he sees the asshole’s hand slip from the table to your thigh and your face drops, a tell-tale sign you’re extremely uncomfortable. He can’t stand to see you in this situation.
“(Y/n),” he calls your name as he makes quick strides over to meet you, and your head spins in the direction of his voice for the second time tonight.
“Joel?” you reply breathily, both shocked by his presence but also grateful that it has seemingly scared Trevor’s hand off your thigh.
“Front door lock still giving you trouble?” he asks with a tilt of his head, hinting to you subtly he wants to talk in private. And though he knows the excuse is quick and not the best, he hopes you’ll catch on.
“What?” you stand up from the table, making your way out of earshot from Trevor, while ushering Joel back with a hand on his chest - and trying your best to ignore the way his rugged muscles feel beneath your palm.
“Do you need help?” he asks quietly, once the two of you are far enough away.
And even though your heart swells at the thought of Joel being so protective over you, it angers you for the same reason. Your hand falls from his chest and you shake both hands down at your sides.
“N-no,” you stammer feebly.
“You sure?” Joel asks like he did earlier, and for some reason, the genuine care and concern in his voice makes you even angrier.
“Yes,” you snap back, then swallow nervously as you grab your jacket from the back of your chair. “I was just leaving.”
Leaving both of the men behind you as you book it for the door, Joel’s heart aches at the sight of you walking out, knowing he’s just blown it with you.
“How you doin’, man?” Trevor slurs, clearly well past his limit, which could partially explain why he had been so bold towards you.
“Fuck off,” comes Joel’s grumble of a reply, heading out the doors, too.
But instead of following you out, like his instincts tell him to, he heads straight for his own house, where he sulks up to his bedroom and overthinks every moment of tonight.
Joel doesn’t sleep a wink that night.
Or the next night.
Or the night after that.
Three days pass before he anticipates seeing you again, when you’re scheduled to be on patrol together, and he’s a nervous wreck from the minute he gets up at four-thirty that morning to meet you by the post at five.
The sun is barely up by the time he gets there, where Tommy is waiting for him, but you’re nowhere to be found, which makes Joel’s already nervous heart sink to the ground.
His mind goes to the worst thoughts. Are you still on the schedule? Did you ask to be switched off after the night at the bar? Do you hate him now?
“Morning,” Tommy greets with a yawn.
“Morning,” Joel grumbles back. “What time is it?”
“Ten to. Why? Got somewhere else to be?” Tommy snarks back.
“No. Where’s (Y/n)?”
“How should I know?”
“Well, ain’t she my partner today? She’s normally here by now,” Joel explains gruffly.
“Maybe she’s on her way. Don’t matter, though. I’ll go out with you if she doesn’t show in time,” Tommy reasons, which is not what Joel wants to hear.
Luckily for Joel, you show up just one minute till five, and Joel is right; that is much later than you normally show up. But you sulked just as much as Joel did on the way here at the thought of seeing him again after your little dispute.
You’re embarrassed, but also eager to see him again; you want nothing but to apologize and make up, but also to stand your ground and stay angry at him. It’s all so confusing.
Shortly after Tommy gives you the radios, supplies, and a quick update, you and Joel head out on patrol, but not before you receive some extra ridiculing from Tommy about “someone needing her beauty sleep”. What Tommy doesn’t know is that you got just as much sleep as Joel had these past few nights, instead laying anxiously in bed thinking about seeing the man again.
Joel takes the lead as the two of you head off, neither of you saying a word for the fifteen minute trip out, and for the first ten minutes at the first lookout post.
“Morning,” Joel finally speaks up with his back to you as you look out on opposite sides of the vast landscape surrounding Jackson’s walls, long after you thought the entire patrol shift would be endless hours of silent agony and tension between the two of you.
“Good morning,” you reply cordially, but with no real emotion behind your words.
You’re not sure where you stand with Joel now after the situation at the bar just a few nights ago, and that hurts more than you can say. You’re mad at him but you’re also dying for his attention and affection more than usual. But you doubt he wants to talk to you after you snapped at him for simply trying to help you.
For so long, ever since you’d come to Jackson nearly five years ago, Joel was a safe place and your friend, above all else. But as soon as your little crush developed into something more, you knew it was something you would struggle with, especially with the way Joel treats you with such kindness and gentleness. You just couldn’t help falling for him the way that you did.
Another beat of silence passes; the only sounds to be heard are the quiet rustling of leaves and the chirping of the early morning birds. The beginning of the sunrise around you casts a golden hue on Joel’s stunning hazel eyes, and you’re almost too mesmerized by their beauty that you nearly miss when he starts to speak up again.
“Listen, I’m really sorry… About the other night,” Joel says after another few moments.
“It’s fine,” you shrug, feeling your heart beat nearly triple in speed at the pending conversation. You could not be more grateful that he initiated it, because you wouldn’t have known where to start. “I really do appreciate you helping me out of that. I’m, uh… I’m really sorry for being so rude.”
“I interrupted your date, Darlin’. You had every right to be rude,” he says softly, turning around to face you, and you mirror his actions at the same time. “I just worry about you, y'know?”
Your heart aches hearing those words leave his lips, but those feelings from that night are coming back to you now, and you’re starting to grow upset again. The whole situation has your brain muddled into a mess like no other.
“It wasn’t a date,” you turn away from him again as you mutter falsely in frustration both at yourself for even agreeing to go out with him, and at Joel’s stubbornly caring personality.
“I thought you said it was… just a date,” he returns with the echo of your own words from that night, clearly confused.
“I… I mean, it was a date. But not in that way,” you try to explain.
“Not in what way?”
“I don’t… Joel, I'm not interested in Trevor,” you sigh, turning around to face him for a second time.
“Why’d you go out with him, then?” he pushes further, and though his tone is soft, it comes off a lot more accusatory than he means for it to.
“I–” you start, but realize just how upset he’s making you. “I don’t have to answer that. Why should you care, anyways? You have… Blondie, don’t you?” you bark back, and it upsets you how immature you sound, like a jealous teenage girl.
“Blond… Huh?” Joel shakes his head as he struggles to understand you. “(Y/n), what in the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“I mean, that girl with you the other night couldn’t keep her hands off of you. You’ve got her, so why do you care about who I’m seeing?”
“What? (Y/n), that was just one of Maria’s... friends, I think. I didn’t even get her name. She was just very drunk. We are definitely not together.”
“Well, maybe you should tell her that. She was all over you, so I really don’t think you had the right to come up to me as if I was doing something wrong,” you spew out your anger through a sentence that doesn’t really even make sense.
“You weren’t doing anything wrong,” he shakes his head sincerely, try to understand what you've said while taking a hesitant step towards you. “I was just tryin' to help you. M'sorry.”
“But why do you even care? Pretending like you care! Pretending like I mean something to you when I know you don't see me as anything other than someone you have to look out for, out of obligation, and I know you have no intentions of being anything more!” you exclaim back, completely disregarding the twinge of pain in Joel’s voice he’d just let slip out as you place both of your hands on his chest and give him a good shove away from you.
“(Y/n), I like you!” he finally shouts, still staggering backwards from the force of your little push.
But the second those words blurt from his lips, Joel wishes he would have just stayed in bed this morning.
Nothing Tommy would have yelled at him for sleeping in and missing a shift would even begin to compare to the embarrassment of what he’s feeling right now.
He wants the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole so that you never have to see his face ever again.
“What?” you speak back breathlessly after a moment’s pause, needing to hear him again because you’re not even sure if you heard him correctly. Surely you must be hallucinating.
“Please don’t make me say it again,” he sighs shakily, turning away from you and indirectly confirming what you’d hoped he’d said.
“Joel,” you whisper, finding the courage to reach out and place a gentle, trembling hand on his broad shoulder, quite the opposite of how you’d pushed him away just seconds before.
He only responds with a quiet, reluctant hum.
“Please look at me,” your voice can barely be heard.
And he fulfills your gentle request, turning back around to you, cheeks red with embarrassment.
“M’so sorry,” he rasps, shaking his hung head.
“You have no reason to be sorry,” you say softly, then swallow nervously before continuing. “I… I like you, too, Joel,” you admit, and he looks up at you again, a small, barely-there smile drags onto his lips at your confession.
“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better,” he scoffs lightly, using the tip of his boot to nervously scuff up some dirt from the ground.
“I’m not,” you insist. “Can’t you just accept someone’s affections?”
“Not when they're yours,” he smiles sadly and gives his head a slow shake.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” your voice breaks, hating how you feel cared for but also rejected by him, all at once.
“You’re… We can’t… Darlin’, I—” he stammers, but you boldly interrupt him.
“Joel, just say it!” you exclaim almost hysterically.
“Alright!” he shouts back, clearly struggling with the vulnerability of the situation. “I just… You’re just enough younger than I am that I never would have thought you’d find me attractive,” he states nervously.
"Well, first, believe me, I find you attractive, Joel," you let out a quiet, shy laugh.
“Still grapplin' with that," he shakes his head and lets out a short chuckle of his own.
"And second, I’m very much an adult, Joel. We both are. The years between us mean little to nothing when the whole goddamn world is falling apart anyways,” you state with a small laugh. "Besides, I don't think anyone here in Jackson has the right to judge anyone else for what they're doing with their life. Have you seen some of the idiots that managed to settle here?"
"I suppose you're right," he laughs. "But then I guess I just thought, even on the off chance that you did reciprocate my feelings... Well, I was worried about what everyone ‘round here would say if we were together.”
“What do you mean?” you ask hesitantly, and he sighs reluctantly in response.
“Darlin', we're complete opposites. I’m the... lone wolf. You’re a social butterfly. Some folks here still hate me for what they’ve heard about me, and rightfully so. But you...” he then scoffs softly just to himself. “Darlin', Everyone adores you. I don’t think there’s a single person who could have one bad thing to say about’cha. We couldn't be more different if we tried.”
“Again," you start with a laugh. "I don't think anyone in Jackson has the right to judge us, Joel. And, so what if we’re different? Opposites attract, y’know,” you playfully nudge him.
“Clearly,” he chuckles softly, putting a smile on your face. "I guess I was just too stubborn to even let myself entertain the thought of askin' you out."
"I wish you would've," you giggle. "I've been doing it for too long, myself. Every time I see you, I have to hold myself back from making a reckless move. I was afraid I was nothing more than some annoying, inexperienced patrol partner you have to look out for."
“You're so much more than that, Darlin'. C’mere,” he then mumbles as he sets his gun down and takes yours from you, too, leaning them both up against the railing of the edge.
Then, he’s opening his arms as an invitation for you to enter them, and when you do, it’s the best sensation you’ve ever felt.
Joel Miller is a broad, sturdy man, but he’s somehow simultaneously so unbelievably soft, and you feel so safe in his arms, despite the literal threats of the world around you that you’re supposed to be looking out for at present.
“M’sorry for all this,” he chuckles, squeezing you tighter. “F’I hadn’t been such a stubborn old man, as Ellie says, I'm sure we could’ve avoided months of this confusion.”
“I agree with Ellie,” you laugh, pulling your head off his chest only to look up at him, admiring the way the orange highlights of the early sunrise make his eyes sparkle. “But if we had skipped all those months, then I wouldn’t have gotten this incredible hug, right now,” you tease with a laugh.
“Oh, Darlin’, you would’ve gotten a lot more than a hug by now,” he taunts you right back. “And I’d love to show you how much we’ve missed out on, but if Tommy finds out we were doin’ all this… canoodlin’... I’m afraid he’d never let us go out on patrol together again,” Joel laughs softly, then lets you go, handing you back your gun.
“It’d be worth it, though,” you say with a smile, then lean up onto the tips of your toes to press a dainty kiss to his scruffy cheek before heading down from the post to start on the patrol route before Joel can even register what you’ve done.
Pausing in your tracks then turning to look behind you when you don’t hear footsteps following you, you catch a glimpse of the man; hand just brushing over the spot on his cheek where your lips were, sporting a cherry red complexion in stark contrast to his silvery locks of hair and lush beard framing his face.
“Hey, old man,” you tease, placing a hand on your hip. "You comin' or what?"
“Right behind ya, Darlin’,” he shakes his head and scoffs at you as he slings his gun back over his shoulder where it belongs.
For as bold as he was just moments earlier, mentioning all the other things you could have done besides hugging, you know deep down, he's painfully shy, and such a softie. And you wouldn't have it any other way.
a/n: i love a good angst to fluff/kinda enemies to lovers trope lol dividers by @inklore !! thank you so much for reading! reblogs and feedback are so greatly appreciated and help out your fave writers more than you know 💘
Joel / Pedro taglist below, link in pinned post to be added :)
@pedropascalmylove @caplanbuckybarnes @auberosier @shesaidashamed @midgardianminx @hungrhay @mashomasho @fanofverymanythings @laufeyzlut @gvfslayallday @pastelnap @blub-senpai @alwaysdjarin @jesslove23-blog @balekanemohafe @alexxavicry @cilliansangel @spideysimpossiblegirl @anony-muse @darleneslane @nsuiswitch @joeldjarin @taz-97
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I Wanna Be Yours (Part 3) (Joseph x Reader)
Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Warnings: Dirty talk, masturbation (both female and male), phone sex? If I missed anything, let me know.
Sorry if there are any spelling or grammar errors. Did not proof-read heavily.
Read part one here, read part two here.
@josephs-quinns
The plane ride back home was both physically and mentally exhausting. Leaving the airport and preparing to go through your terminal, you felt the tears pooling in your eyes. At any moment you were afraid you’d falter, allowing yourself to break down. Somehow, you managed to pull through, even managing to look back to wave to Joe, however, when you did—he was already gone much to your bewilderment, almost sending you over the edge.
You sniffled as you boarded the plane, taking a seat beside Amanda.
“Said goodbye to your British lover?”
You shot her a death glare.
“Right, sorry. I know it’s hard for you.”, she resolved, giving you a reassuring touch on the shoulder.
You sighed, feeling heavy in your chest. “I just—am I ever gonna see him again?”
Amanda sighed. “If he truly cares about you, Y/N, he’ll make a way. Just the same as you will.”
You nodded, trying your best to remain positive. Your phone dinged.
-I know this sounds dumb, but I miss you already.
A smile curved into your lips, feeling some sort of relief. You stared at your phone screen for a moment before responding.
-Not dumb at all because I already miss you too. Getting ready to take off. I’ll text you when I get to my next stop.
Another ding.
-Okay, love. Call me when you get home. No matter what time it is, okay?
Your fingers typed back quickly.
-I promise I will. Can’t wait.
After landing at the airport near your home, you said goodbye to Amanda and Christine. You had left your car at the airport. Loading your luggage felt daunting, your drive home only about twenty minutes at best. It was late, one in the morning. It was near six in the morning in London. You turned the radio on, anything to keep you awake. The jet lag was beginning to get to you, your mind beginning to wander. What were you doing?
Arriving at home, you shut your car off. You decided to forego unloading your luggage, feeling too exhausted. Unlocking the door, the familiar scent of home hit your nose. You had a scent plug-in infusing, the scent of coconut filling your nose. You wasted no time in kicking off your shoes, your house quiet. It had been several nights since you had spent a night alone. You went upstairs, undressing and changing into your short night gown.
While brushing your teeth, your phone buzzed. You picked it up.
-Made it home yet, love? Just checking in on you. I’m worried sick.
You decided you would finish brushing your teeth before calling him back. After rinsing your mouth out, you slinked off to your bedroom and climbed in your king size bed, instantly feeling the cold, empty sheets meet your skin instead of the warm, welcoming arms of Joe. Just days before, he would pull you into bed and kiss you causing you to laugh until it led to you both kissing passionately, touching each other sensually, rubbing your hands up and down each other’s curves before turning into full blown, passionate sex.
By no means were you complaining, but right now you missed him so damn bad. You turned on your television lowly, giving some background noise. Taking a deep breath, you dialed Joseph’s number.
“Hello?”, Joseph’s voice answered groggily.
“Hey, Joe. It’s me.”
“Hey, love. How are you?”
“Fine, just got into bed.”
“Without me?”, Joseph teased playfully, the pout evident in his voice.
A small giggle came across the phone line. “Yeah, unfortunately without you.”
Joe sighed, his sleepy voice in full effect and sexy as ever. It was like honey, sweet as it fell on your ears. “I know, love. My bed feels so empty.”
Your stomach twisted in a knot, a sigh escaping you. “I feel so empty.”
Joe chuckled easily. “How do you mean that?”
“It can go both ways—lonely and empty without you inside of me.”
He chuckled, this time more seductively. “Mhmm tell me about. I miss you and your tight little cunt.”
You twirled your hair, lying in bed. “Are you sure you just don’t miss sex?”
Your response was cheeky, you’d admit.
Joe’s voice was softer. “I miss sex with you but I miss you so bad, love. Miss you cuddling up to me with your head on my chest….”
Your stomach twisted further in a knot, a soft sigh escaping you. “Tell me more, Joe.”
You could feel your heart begin racing while your mind began to wonder. You knew what you needed—you needed a release, you needed to cum. As taboo as it sounded, you were now debating taking care of yourself. The lack of Joe inside you was driving you crazy. It was just the jet lag, you tried to tell yourself.
“Miss waking up with you in my arms, starting to kiss you….”, Joe’s sleepy voice was turning you on even worse, the knot in your stomach tightening by the second.
“Oh yeah….”, you sighed softly.
What you didn’t know, was that on the other end of the phone the same thing was happening to Joe, feeling his cock becoming hard just at the sultry, soft sounds you were making on the other end of the phone. He was doing his best to resist the urge of palming the growing bulge underneath his sheet. It was early morning in London, but he was taking the day off. It was too hard to miss you. He needed a day to recuperate and get his thoughts straight.
“Yeah, miss rubbing my hands down your thighs, squeezing your ass…”, he continued.
“Joe….”
“Mhmm like that love?”, he groaned softly.
Joe was fighting the urge to grab his cock, beginning to stroke it. It was bad that he already woke up with a hard on, but hearing your voice was making it near impossible.
“Love it, Joe….”
“Wanna do something about it, love?”
“And what do you mean by that?”, a smirk evident in your voice, fighting your own urge to do something about the growing feeling deep in the pit of your stomach.
Joe chuckled. “Mhmm wanna take care of our problems together? Maybe talk each other through an orgasm?”
Your heart began to soar, practically beating out of your chest. Pure adrenaline was coursing through your body, your heat beginning to feel eager at his suggestion.
“And how do we do that?”
Curiosity was laced in your voice.
“Mhmm, maybe FaceTime?”
Part of you was reluctant to agree, feeling a little embarrassed. Being with Joe was one thing, he could help make you feel less awkward, helping lead the way. He made you feel comfortable.
“Is that okay, love?”, Joe repeated.
You nodded before responding. “Yes.”
“Okay, love. I’ll switch the call over to FaceTime if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”, you giggled, the nervousness melting away.
You heard Joe shift slightly before your phone alerted you that he was prompting you for a FaceTime. You wasted no time in accepting it, a clear video popping up on your phone screen. You could see your own reflection in a small rectangle at the top of the screen. Instant smiles appeared on your faces. Joe’s hair was wild, curls everywhere. It made you instantly miss waking up beside him, running your hands through his thick, curly hair.
It was obvious that he hadn’t been awake much longer than the duration of your phone call.
“Damn, you look so beautiful.”
“I look exhausted.”, you joked playfully.
He chuckled easily. “You’ve had a very long day, love.”
You felt your heart beat a little faster, feeling Joe’s eyes on you—even if it was over FaceTime. There was a moment of silence before Joe spoke up again.
“It’s been a hard day for both of us.”
“Have you slept at all?”, you asked as Joe rubbed his eyes.
“Barely.”, he admitted.
Part of you felt sorry for him since you felt partially responsible.
“Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for, love?”
“I don’t know—I feel like it’s partially my fault.”
Joe breathed easily. “It’s not, love. You had to go home. I understand.”
You smiled softly, looking down at your bedsheets. How badly you wished and wanted him there beside you in bed and really help you take care of your problem.
“Now, let me really take care of you and help you—even if we are apart.”
“You really mean that?”
“Of course, love. Why don’t you pull that gown up or off—whatever you feel comfortable with.”, his voice was becoming seductive.
“Which do you prefer?”
“Off—slid your sheets down so I can see your beautiful sexy tits.”, he breathed, closing his eyes just expelling the words.
As a smile spread across your face as you took your free hand, beginning to tug at the hem of your gown. It was as if Joe could read your mind.
“Prop your phone against the pillows, love. It’ll make it easier.”
You swore every time he opened his mouth, the knot in your stomach twisted tighter. His half awake, sleepy sexy voice was driving you crazy. Shifting in bed, you propped your phone up on some pillows while making sure he would get a full view of you. He grunted softly, all eyes on you. His eyes were hazy as you sat up in bed, pulling the gown up your thighs. You felt the soft fabric scrape your abdomen as you lifted it up and over your head, feeling a cold chill cascade over your body, causing your nipples to harden.
Joe’s breathing immediately hitched at the sight of your bare body. All that you had on was the pair of black panties you had put on before you left his house to catch your plane. The ones that caused Joe to come behind you and squeeze your ass, causing you to almost jump out of your skin while trying to brush your teeth. All he could do was devilishly smirk at you as his hands roamed further up your body as you continued to brush your teeth, laughing.
It was a scene you could get used to waking up to everyday. It might have sounded stupid, but there was something about looking at yourself in the mirror, toothpaste on your mouth and him standing behind you with a smile spread wide across his face, hands roaming up your body to your breasts before giving them a squeeze. It was always something you had desired in life. You all hadn’t exactly put a label on what you all were, but with Joe, things felt different.
“God, you’re so sexy. Wish I was there with you.”, he groaned, eyes still fully focused on you as he began to reach down, pulling his cock out of his underwear and beginning to stroke his cock,
“Wish you were too.”, you sighed softly, beginning to run your right hand up your abdomen, squeezing your right breast, wishing it was his hand instead of yours.
His was so much thicker, firmer, broader—feeling so much better than yours did. You were yearning for his touch.
“Mhm baby, wish those were my hands on your tits.”
You smirked, a soft half moan-half chuckle escaping your lips. “Wish they were too, Joe.”
You loved when he played with your breasts—squeezing them, rubbing your nipples in-between his thumb and pointer finger, pinching your nipples—you loved it all and missed it all. How long were you going to have to go without seeing him again? Feeling him again? You all hadn’t discussed when or even if you all would see each other again. Sure, he promised you at the airport he’d see you again, but did he really mean it? Was he really going to go through with it?
Trying to push the intrusive thoughts from your head, you took your nipple between your thumb and pointer finger just like he had, beginning to twist and rub it. A moan fell from your lips, the sound sweet and harmonic in Joe’s ear.
“How does it feel, love?”
“Not—not as good as your hands.”, you admitted, continuing to work on yourself.
You barely noticed that Joe had propped his phone up as well, giving you a view of him stroking his cock. Your core instantly began to ache, stomach twisting and turning.
“Is that so, love?”
“Yes.”
“Well, mine don’t feel as good as yours does when they’re wrapped around my cock.”
You giggled lightly, still propped up in bed and rubbing on your breast. You threw your head back easily, letting small moans out.
Joe chuckled. “That’s so sexy baby, watching you touch yourself.”
Baby? That was a new one.
“I can touch somewhere else.”, you smirked, tease evident in your voice.
Joe’s eyes fluttered shut, voice becoming low and raspy. “Yeah, you’d do that, love?”
“If that’s what you want.”, you breathed.
Joe chuckled again, continuing to grunt softly as he worked on himself. Your eyes wandered to his hand working up and down his length. “Don’t you want to? You deserve to get a release too.”
“Yeah, I’d like too—I just don’t feel good at it.”
There it was. Your nerves and self-doubt were beginning to get the best of you. Joe’s hand began slowing down, slowly stroking himself. You were waiting for him to call this whole thing off, telling you to forget it since you were so awkward and uncertain of yourself.
His eyes opened again, looking at your video on his screen. “Aw, come on. I’m sure you know how to pleasure yourself.”
“I haven’t done it—a whole lot.”, you admitted lowly.
“I can help you—I have a good idea of what you like.”
Your brow furrowed, lips twisting as you debated the idea. “I mean—I haven’t really done it in front of anyone.”
“It’ll be okay, love. But you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
Hearing the slight dip of disappointment in his voice caused you to immediately bring your hand down to your heat, instantly feeling the warmth.
“Need to lay down.”
“Lay down, love. Just relax, we’ll work through this together.”
You nodded, tr ying to catch your breath as you hit your mattress with a soft thud. Joe hummed as he took int he sight of your body stretched out against the length of your bed. His core ached as he continued to stroke himself, feeling like he was starting to reach his climax. Instantly, he told himself to back off stroking himself, to slow down a little bit. You both had plenty of time. All he had planned today was to mope around, take a break—maybe go hang out with Wesley.
Wesley was chomping at the bits, wanting to know all the details of your week in London that mostly consisted of time with Joe. Joe had kept quiet, keeping most of the details at bay. It was driving Wesley crazy, curiosity getting the best of him. He didn’t have to know every detail, but he would like to know about the girl who was driving his mate crazy. Even Wesley could tell a change in Joe’s mood since you had left. He wasn’t as happy or peppy.
“Alright, just start by inserting two fingers, preferably your index and middle finger, love. Don’t rush it. Start slow, slow circles.”
“Oh-okay.”
“Just show me how you touch yourself, love.”
Joe watched you with groggy eyes, drawing out his strokes. Joe’s words spurred you forward, your hand slipping between your thighs to feel exactly how soaked you were. It was obvious that the only thing that would satisfy your desire was him.You needed his touch, his kisses, his cock—you wished he could split you open again and make you forget your own name, You needed—desired him and this was the best you were going to get right now. You’d have to settle and make it work.
“Okay.”
Trying to keep your hand from shaking, you used your index and middle finger to push your pussy lips apart while you allowed a soft moan to escape. Joe was watching in awe, his cock beginning to ache as he continued to stroke himself, squeezing it tighter between his palm and fingers.
“That’s it love, fuckin’ amazing.”
It had been awhile since you had pleasured yourself. You felt a little rusty, deciding to slip a single finger inside your dripping cunt. You moaned, pressing the tip of your finger against the spongey spot deep within, your back already beginning to arch at the gratification of this simple movement,
“Joe, it’s not enough….”, you whimpered softly, feeling vulnerable and a little stupid as your thumb circled your swollen clit—without Joe instructing you.
Joe chuckled easily before his laugh resolved, making him realize he missed and yearned for your touch just as much as you did his. “I know, I’m so sorry, love. I promise I’ll make it up to you soon.”
“When is soon?”, you hissed, already feeling those knots in your stomach double over.
There was a hint of frustration in your voice.
“In a couple weeks?”, Joe suggested, groaning. “Even though it seems like a long time—I could come there or you can come over here.”
“Can’t miss work—”, you interrupted him.
“We’ll figure something out, love.”
You groaned softly. “Joe…..”
“Let’s just focus on pleasing you right now, okay? We can talk about this all you want once we’re done. Is that a deal?”
You sighed before nodding, trying to refocus your attention on your problem at hand.
“Good, love.”, he began, his voice calm, smooth, and soothing. “Now, slip another finger in there.”
You whined at the intrusion of another finger entering your heat, your warm, velvet walls clenching around both fingers now. The heat was coarsinng through your body, rising from your toes to your cheeks becoming red and hot—much like a pressure cooker whistling as it came to a boil.
“Good, love. Just nice and slow—in and out—gentle motions, okay?”,n Joe cooed on the other end of the phone.
You followed his instructions, running your fingers in and out in gentle motions, eyes tightly closing as you began chasing your own pleasure. He laid on the bed, feeling his own precum begin leaking out of the tip of his cock, running down his length. He wiped it away slightly, continuing to work on himself while coaxing you through your orgasm.
“Very good, love. Feeling okay?”
“Feels good….”, you moaned out.
“Perfect, now can you add another finger for me?”
“Another?”, you squeaked, wondering how in the world you were going to make this work.
He hadn’t even used his third finger when he fingered you.
He nodded. “It’ll—make you—feel fuller, baby.”, he grunted.
Once again taking his instruction, you added a third finger causing you to start choking on your own lustful sobs stuck in your throat. You felt yourself pressing your body further into your mattress to get any sort of relief. Your eyes shot open, hazy with desire and lust as you noticed his cock on the other end of the screen, continuing to leak precum. It was practically causing you to go dizzy. His eyes were closed momentarily, struggling to keep himself from cumming.
“Joe—are you close?”, you whimpered.
Hearing his name roll off your tongue caused his eyes to shoot open. “Um—mhmm, getting really hard to hold it back, love.”, he admitted.
You took your own free hand, pressing down on your abdomen as you own fingers continued to work inside your cunt, both causing the sensation to heighten almost instantly. “Shit, Joe—so close.”
“Cum for me, baby. Wanna see how coated those fingers are with your juices after you’re done.”
“Cum with me?”, you pleaded, feeling your orgasm begin climbing deep inside you.
It felt like a roller coaster—where the car climbed the track at a steep angle, the anticipation building inside you.
“Don’t you want to watch me cum?”
You groaned softly. “We—can—watch—each other.”
You were almost reaching the top before you’d take the plunge—the car feeling like it was going to come off the track. That was the best way to describe how an orgasm felt. You turned your head to face your phone, letting him see your face as you continued to pleasure yourself. He smiled at the sight, softly chuckling to himself as he copied your motion. His cock was standing fully at attention, twitching and pulsing as he stroked his cock—doing his best not to cum before you but it was becoming very difficult.
“Joe….”
“Yes, love?”
“Gonna—gonna cum—ri—right now.”, your words were staggered, drawn out as you felt the feeling in your abdomen swell before instantly resolving.
You felt your muscles contract around your fingers, juices instantly beginning to spill over your hand. The moan released from you as you felt complete and utter pleasure washing over you was all it took to send Joe over the edge. He groaned as he felt himself release—his cock beginning to pulse as his cum began to spurt out as his cock pulsed and twitch, the thick, white ropes of his cum going all over his hand. He didn’t seem to mind, riding out his orgasm.
“Fuck, Joe.”, you whispered softly, a smile spreading across your face, bringing your fingers up for him to see, surprised at how wet you were.
He was out of breath, smiling. “What is it, love?”
“That was amazing—even if we are apart.”
His chest was heaving as he cleaned his hand off. “You like that? Would you want to do it more often?”
“Yeah, that would be amazing until we see each other again….is it going to be a long time?”, you asked softly, pulling your sheet up over your nude body.
Joe sighed softly. “I don’t want it to be.”
He grabbed his own sheet, pulling it back over him for a moment.
“Is this going to work, Joe?”, you asked quietly.
Joe felt his heart start racing, he didn’t want to imagine life without you—now that he knew you. He had felt empty for some time, even if he did have his friends and fame. It wasn’t enough. He desired companionship and now he had found it, he didn’t want to let it go. Things with you felt easy.
“We will make it work. I’ll figure something out. Let me see what my schedule looks like over the next couple of weeks, okay?”
“Okay.”, you smiled softly, a yawn escaping your lips.
“Get some sleep, love. I’m gonna get up and get started for the day now that I’ve talked to you.”
“Okay, goodnight Joe.”
“Good morning, love.”
You both ended the call, your eyes closing. Your body was finally going to give into its exhaustion. You felt like you were living in a dream. Everything was going perfect, you were waiting on the other shoe to fall. How could he be the perfect guy? He was everything you had dreamed of, however, you didn’t imagine you would have found him on an entire different continent. But you were glad you did.
Back in London, Joe sat up on the side of his bed. His pillows and sheets still smelled like you, only making him miss you worse. He sighed before getting up out of bed and heading for his bathroom, getting ready to head over to Wesley’s. He looked at the corner of his bedroom where you had kept your suitcase, the spot now empty. He was trying to not think about it but it was impossible.
-Coming over today?
Joe unlocked his phone, beginning to brush his teeth after washing his face.
-Yeah, be there in a little while.
Joe laid his phone down, turning on some music to help distract him from his very quiet house. He almost needed to be anywhere but his house today. Hanging out with Wesley would help distract him. Joe finished freshening up, throwing on some jeans, a black t-shirt, and his baseball cap. He grabbed one of his jackets before heading out, the wind instantly chilling him. Just a few nights ago, he was walking down these same streets with you. He shook his head easily, everything reminding him of you.
It wasn’t a very long walk to Wesley’s apartment. As soon as Wesley welcomed Joe into his apartment, he eyed his best mate, realizing he was still down in the dumps.
“Are you okay?”, Wesley asked easily, face scrunched up in apprehension.
He hoped he didn’t set Joe off, sending him into a spiral about you.
“Just tired.”, Joe sighed, rubbing his face.
Wesley rolled his eyes playfully behind Joe before coming over to sit on the couch opposite of him. Wesley knew his best mate and he knew when he was not telling the entire truth.
“You miss her.”, Wesley stated directly.
Joe glanced up at him, brows furrowed easily. “That obvious?”
“You’ve not been the same since she left.”
There was silence between them for a moment before Joe sighed. “Yeah, I do. She’s only been gone a day and it feels like so much longer…..”
Wesley smirked easily, looking down at his cup of coffee. “Have you talked to her about seeing her again?”
“Yeah, we just don’t know when.”
“Do you think you both can make this work?”
Joe sighed, falling back against the loveseat while almost looking defeated before blowing air. “I don’t know—I want to.”
Wesley nodded, sipping his coffee. “I mean, someone is going to have to move—if things grow more serious.”
Joe glared at Wesley. “You don’t think I know that?”
Wesley shrugged easily. “Just saying. And I don’t see you leaving London permanently.”
Joe sighed again. “I know, I know. But I am just thinking about seeing her again and we’re still seeing where this goes. It’s still very new, Wes.”
Wesley scoffed playfully, a smirk growing across his lips. “I feel like you’re already very head over heels for her. I just want the best for you.”
Joe sighed, looking out the window. This was going to be a long few weeks.
The next few weeks felt like they drug on forever. You were at work, scheduling appointments and answering the phone. You stayed busy as a receptionist in a doctor’s office. It was three p.m, much later in London. You and Joe talked as often as you could with your differing schedules. It was hard seeing as you both lived on different continents, but you were making it work. Either you stayed up late or he got up early, alternating it out.
Joe had kept his word, his flight to the United States scheduled for a week form now. Remember how you were waiting for the other shoe to fall? Well, that was about to happen. Your phone dinged easily, a small lull in your busy evening at the doctor’s office. You picked up your phone, face immediately scrunching in confusion as you read the text from your best friend.
-Hey. Have you seen this?
A link appeared below the text, you clicking it. Your heart dropped as your read the title and noticed your picture. It was you and Joe from the back while walking down the street, but it still made your heart drop into your stomach.
Joe Quinn’s Mystery Girl? The Stranger Things actor was spotted with a mysterious new girl a few weeks ago in London. No details on who his mystery girl may be, but rumors are flying. Many reports say he is dating casually, not looking for anything serious. An anonymous source submitted the photo.
Your blood ran cold. Joe had warned you this was a possibility, but you wanted to be naive and not believe it could happen. But it had. You instantly excused yourself to the bathroom, dialing his number.
“Hey, love. Did you get off work early—”
“Have you seen this post? About us?”, you interrupted him.
Panic was evident in your voice as the phone line went silent. “Um, no. What’s going on?”
You sighed, feeling like you might break down at any second. You rubbed your face, wondering if you could truly handle this lifestyle.
“There’s an article about us. I’m your mystery girl. My friend Amanda sent it to me just now.”
Joe sighed. “Don’t worry about it too much. These sites are rumor mills, they’re trying to get under our skin.”
“People will hate me, Joe. They’ll find out who I am.”, your voice rose an octave.
Another sigh from Joe. “No, they won’t. You’re not famous, that’s something you have going for you.”
You groaned, sliding down the wall in the bathroom.
“Joe….I don’t know if I can do this.”
His heart skipped a beat, his biggest fear coming alive. “What—do you mean?”
“I mean, this is hard. It’s hard to be away from you. It’s hard getting published all over the internet. I’m scared to even see what people are saying about us.”
“Woah, woah—just calm down, love. It’s going to be alright.”
“How do you know?”, you shot back, instantly regretting your sharp tone.
“I just know. And so what if they do? If we become more serious, people are going to know who you are. To be far, I warned you this was a possibility that night.”
You narrowed your eyes, feeling slightly pissed off. “I didn’t know this is what you meant—exactly.”
Joe sighed, trying to regain his own composure. How was he going to talk you off this ledge? He didn’t want this to be how things ended. He hated when his fame got in the way of things, especially something good like this. He couldn’t count on his hands the times he had something go wrong like this.
“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t know. I tried to look out for people watching us. Guess I didn’t do a very good job.”, he sighed, defeat in his voice.
You took a deep breath, instantly regretting even getting upset. It wasn’t his fault that the picture got published.
“That’s why you kept looking around that night?”
He nodded, even if you couldn’t see it. “Yes.”
“Joe.”
“Look, if you want to end things I understand. It’s hard dating a celebrity and my fame always seems to fuck up personal—”
“Joe, I’m not ending things. I just—I’m not used to this.”, you sighed, your turn to calm him down.
You heard him breath a sigh of relief. “I know, love. How do you think I felt when I practically got famous over night? I didn’t know how to cope or handle it. If it hadn’t been for my family and my friends—I’m not sure how I would have gotten through it.”
You rubbed the lace on your top. “I know. I’m sorry for being so selfish. At least I do have you to help me—navigate this.”
“I’ll always be there for you, love. We will get through this, I promise.”
You smiled. “Thank you, Joe. Well, I guess I better get back to work.”
“Okay, love. I’ll call you after work. I can’t wait to see you in a week.”
Your smile widened across your lips, admitting that you couldn’t wait to see him either. Everything was going to be fine. Little did you know, this was only the tip of the iceberg.
#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn imagine#joseph x reader#joseph quinn#eddie stranger things#eddie imagines#eddie munson
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fevered forehead kiss or shoulder kiss for jessica/leto 👀?
Mid-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.
If anything happens, they will blame her.
Never mind that this could not in any way be her fault, never mind that her lover’s current physical condition is more explainable than that, just a known virus going around the court, never mind-
Jessica knows she has no real reason to worry right now. She does anyways.
She keeps vigil because someone has to, because the fear of it all even though the odds are good, because she knows how to manipulate appearances and she is not above it even under such circumstances. It will make her look better if she is known to have watched over her partner in his sickness, to have not left his side until it breaks. The household can function without her, she’s delegated what she needs to, and she can’t-
She can’t-
She is not the worrier of the two of them, she has learned this over the past decade. She runs too practical for that kind of petty fear, instead resting in the comfort she has found, refusing to overthink anything she can avoid. She is not used to being the panicked one, and this temporary change of dynamics is unpleasant, and-
There is nothing she can do, she was told. Her presence is unnecessary. If she were to retreat to her end of the hallway for a few days, no one would fault her.
But she stays, because too much of her life is tangled up in this man, because she needs him to survive and she cannot imagine a life without him. She is still young enough that she would be placed elsewhere if the worst happened, separated from her son, separated from this place that has become home, and she has no desire to start over in inevitably more hostile circumstances and-
She takes on the mundane because it is all she has. Hands on skin, on pressure points, helping her lover rest, taking his pain as she can. Waiting. Watching. Worrying.
Her body rests beside his on the far side of the bed, their positions reversed until this passes, her normal side is always colder and she would sacrifice worse, she would-
Eyes flutter open and even in this state the delight of first sight, hands reaching for hers, habits they will never undo. Adoration so deep and powerful and-
“Jess-“
She wants to tell him not to speak, to save his voice. Today should be the worst, she was told; tomorrow they will know how it will pass, but for now-
“I’m here,” she murmurs instead.
She shouldn’t be, she knows. Beyond how vaguely unhelpful she is, there is a world outside their bedroom that needs to be reminded that their family is strong and a child who may not quite understand-
She will slip away and resolve that detail later, she decides. She is not suited to comfort, and she would like some form of clarity before that conversation, before-
Her partner’s fingers tangle with hers and she loves him so much, beyond words, beyond-
“Do you need-“
“Stay.”
Even in unfortunate condition, all he ever asks her for. She had been taught once that she would have to do more, be more, but instead a lover who delights in her presence, who restrains most of his desires and has allowed her to bloom and-
The unspoken is still real, and she acts on it in the shadows, but she is more than the red right hand she could have become if he had been less pleased by her body. She would’ve made herself useful here one way or another, as is her way, but-
She untangles one of her hands from his and runs it through his hair. She is not tactile as he is, even now, not the same desire to touch at all times, but she knows the movements of her fingertips can be calming even without clear intent and she-
“Do not leave me, my love,” she breathes. “Do not make me feel the loss of you.”
“You fear too much, my storm.”
As if such a thing is possible, she wants to say and won’t. As if this fragile heart of hers could ever do so much, limited and vulnerable as it is, as if-
This will pass, she was told. It will pass in a day or two and all will be alright. Right now it has not, right now it is not.
She leans down to kiss his forehead and his skin feels wrong to her lips, too warm to touch, and she knows this is a sign of how strong he is but still-
Jessica does not show her own weakness easily and she is unsure if she ought to do it now, but a few tears fall from her eyes beyond her control anyways and she can’t-
She can’t-
Damn him for making her vulnerable. Damn him for offering his heart like a nest to her, years ago, and affirming her place in it every day since.
In the morning, or whenever this passes, they will revert to their normal dynamic. She will know the worst is over when he makes a comment about how distressed she looks – not and never unkind, that is not their way, but the current state of her spiral bun goes against the image she usually presents to the outside world – or perhaps-
“What is not to fear?” she breathes, still too close. “You are-“
“Have they said anything to you that they have not to me?”
As if that would happen, she’d say in a different mood. She is not trusted to that point – tolerated, perhaps, but not enough to-
“No.”
“Then listen. Trust this.”
Someday, she thinks, someday they are going to have a talk about her paranoia, but-
Not now. Not while her partner is in no condition for one of their fights or the intimacies that usually come after.
For now, she moves around him, back to previous position with her fingertips on his wrists, back to-
“Do you want me to-“
“Please.”
This will pass, Jessica thinks as she presses her fingernails into her partner’s skin and feels him relax under her. This will pass, and come morning they will both be alright, and-
She presses her lips to his eyelids, and for a moment all of her vulnerability feels safe enough. It is alright to fear. It is alright to want. It is alright to-
She lets go and lets herself lie down. When it passes, and it will pass, the balance of worry will return to its normal place and she’d rather not have comments about how tired she looks and-
Please, please let this be enough.
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Hello, I adore your writing! I was wondering if you could do sick or injured TK but he’s hiding bc he just feels like he doesn’t deserve to take time off or look after himself and he maybe collapses and Judd is super big brotherly, protective, sweet and bandages him up or takes him home to look after him? If it doesn’t inspire you it’s absolutely no problem, keep up the amazing work you and writers like you are so appreciated more than you know!
if you're still here, anon, hi! and thank you so much for this prompt! i'm sorry it took me forever to get to :(
in the week running up to christmas, i am going to try to post a prompt fill every day, but i can't promise. maybe i'll only get this one out lmao. we shall see. either way, hope you enjoy!
ao3 | 1.2k
There’s some sort of irony, he thinks, that in the same year he almost freezes to death, he might actually die of heat. Summer in Texas is no joke, but there’s no way TK is going to admit to struggling to anyone, not when he knows all the jokes they’d undoubtedly make. Besides, he’s sick of being, well, sick, and he doesn’t want to see the inside of any kind of medical facility for the rest of the year unless it’s to do with his job. In which case he sees one nearly every day, but details.
And it’s just… After January, TK had to take months off while his body recovered from the accident, while he gained his strength back and learned to live with the side effects he seems to be stuck with now. One of those being migraines, which is why he doesn’t think much of it when his head starts pounding and he can’t really move his head without feeling an overwhelming dizziness and nausea. He’s been told countless times by Tommy to take time off if he needs it and TK knows that’s the sensible option, but he feels like he’s wasted half of this year at home and he hates these new limits that have been forced on him. If he is physically able to get through this, then he will.
Still, as the day goes on, he’s becoming less and less sure that he can. It’s like someone is running a drill right between his eyes without pause, but TK knows from experience that there’s no stopping a migraine once it’s begun. The best thing to do is ride it out, but today’s is worse than any he’s experienced before. The sun is unrelenting in its intensity and neither team has had much time for rest today, which means no time under any sort of shelter or even a minute to take a sip of water.
But he just pulled the rig back into the station, a blessed wave of cool air hitting them as they exit, and TK plans on making the most of the reprieve, however brief. He makes a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing a towel and running it under the faucet, then takes his water bottle from the fridge and heads up to the bunk room.
Once in bed, he pulls the sheets up so they cover his eyes and lies as still as possible, resolved not to move until another call comes in.
It works for about five minutes until TK is sweating through the covers and he throws them off, panting as a sudden breathlessness overtakes him. There’s a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knows means nothing good, but he’s afraid to move – things will only go one way from here, but TK would really, really like to believe that for once it won’t.
But, of course, it does.
The churning in his stomach increases with his heart rate, and TK eventually has to throw himself out of bed and stumble to the bathroom, cursing his bed being furthest away from the hall. He barely makes it in time, the first heave taking over his body no sooner than he drops to his knees by the toilet.
And, because his body hates him, it fights against what it so clearly wants to do. Strings of bile dangle from his mouth as he heaves, his abdomen cramping painfully and his breath coming in short, sporadic gasps.
It takes a long time and several rounds of throwing up in the bowl for the nausea to subside, and with it, it takes all of his remaining energy. The smell coming from the toilet is awful and it threatens to turn his stomach again, but reaching up to flush is too much for him. TK sits in a heap on the bathroom floor, head slumped at an angle that’s sure to hurt if he stays here long enough, but he can’t care. He doesn’t have the energy; his limbs are all so heavy and his eyelids just want to droop closed, but he’s still on shift, he needs to be alert, he needs—
“Strand!”
TK’s head jerks up from where it’s dropped to his shoulder and the pain in his head strikes a new peak. He just wants to curl into a ball and die, but whoever called his attention won’t let him; he’s grabbed by the shoulders and shaken like a ragdoll, as much as he tries to get his body under some sort of control.
Something is held to his lips and when the water hits his throat, he greedily gulps it down, only to immediately have to force himself above the toilet as it comes straight back up again. When he comes back to himself, he registers a touch on his back, and TK manages to moan and twist in their grip until their face swims into view.
“Judd?” he slurs.
“Yeah.” Judd squints at him, then sighs and shakes his head. “Tommy sent me to check on you before she left; EMS crew got sent on a call ten minutes ago.”
“What?” TK scrambles to push himself to his feet, but his limbs betray him and if not for Judd catching him, he would have collapsed back down.
“Man, you’re a stubborn bastard, Strand,” he huffs, not letting TK go so as to keep him in place. “And you’re a damn fool if you think she didn’t know something wasn’t up. She had her suspicions too, and I think we’ve just confirmed them.”
TK rolls his head in an approximation of a shake. “It’s just a migraine. Get them all the time now. Fucking ice.”
Judd snorts. “That’s one way of putting it. But this ain’t no migraine, it’s just a nasty bit of heat exhaustion. Though, you’re lucky we figured it out because if we’d waited for you to tell us you’d be heading straight to the hospital.”
The word hospital filters through the mush that’s become TK’s brain and his eyes widen, locking with Judd’s. “No,” he says. “No hospital. I don’t… I can’t.”
“Hey, relax.” Judd rubs his arm and then, making sure TK isn’t just going to crumple, lets go and eases himself down to sit next to him. “You’re not going to the hospital, but only if you’ll let Gracie take you back to our house while this thing runs its course.”
“Can’t…”
“Can. Grace is downstairs now and she’s told me that if I don’t bring you out, she’s going to come up herself and make sure she doesn’t leave without you.”
“I’ll throw up if I get into a car.”
Judd shrugs. “I mean, take a sick bag, please, but I got a baby daughter. That car’s seen worse.”
TK sighs and squints up at Judd. “You’re not letting this go, are you?” he asks, though, in truth, he doesn’t really want him to. He can admit it now; he feels like shit, and having someone take care of him is kind of exactly what he wants and needs right now.
“Nope.” Judd grins as he stands to help TK up. “This is how we do.”
TK wouldn’t change it for the world.
#911 lone star#911 lone star fic#tk strand#judd ryder#lone star#911ls#fanfiction#my fanfiction#writing#my writing
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Me: Alright, everything's quiet, my physical needs have been taken care of, I want to write, and brain rot about my OCs isn't in the way. Let's get to work!
ADHD toddler that lives in my head: Give me five good reasons why we should work on the work in progress
Me: 1. We get positive feedback when we update this story, which really benefits our mental health, self esteem, and motivation to write other things
2. We ended the WIP on a cliffhanger last time we updated it and it needs to be resolved
3. There is no reason not to work on the WIP
4. Autism- *points at the Autistic hermit sitting next to me*
Autistic hermit: *waves while reading a Sanders Sides transcript, a book about dolphins, and an article about clementines*
Me: - needs a routine to function, and this is a big part of that
And 5. We are fortunate enough to have parents willing to support us so that we can make writing our full time career. If we don't actually write, those two- *points at Anxiety and Depression*
Anxiety: *pacing around with a list of problems to resolve in our projects and muttering about our lack of productivity lately even though we've been productive just in other ways*
Depression: *sleeping and not bothering us because we have enough dopamine from earlier mentioned comments and interactions on Tumblr to keep them at bay for the most part*
Me: - will make life harder for us by making me feel bad for wasting that support.
ADHD Toddler: 1. Yes, that's true, but if we keep writing the WIP I'll get sick of it and want nothing to do with it anymore
Me: But we're almost done, we only have a few chapters left.
ADHD Toddler: 2. We updated that, like, two days ago? Three days? Idk how time works. Days have just felt like weeks lately for some reason so it just feels like a long time when it isn't. They can wait. Also- *gets distracted by a squirrel*
Me: Are you done?
ADHD Toddler: Huh? Oh, right...
Me: ...
ADHD Toddler: ...
Me: Well?
ADHD Toddler: What was I saying?
Me: You said people can wait for a cliffhanger, then had another point.
ADHD Toddler: Oh, right. So, these people watch Sanders Sides, right? They're used to waiting like six months or lately more than a year for the next important chapter.
Autistic Hermit: Huh...
ADHD Toddler: 3. I gave you a reason when addressing your first point, we'll get sick of it if we don't work on other things too.
Autistic Hermit: They're... Actually using really good logic...
Me: I know, it's terrifying
ADHD Toddler: 4. Routine smoutine. I'd rather have poutine.
Autistic Hermit: There it is
Me: Yep...
ADHD Toddler: And, finally... *gets distracted by a lightbulb*
Anxiety: Whelp that's it we've spent an entire hour doing absolutely nothing, we're clearly not getting any work done tonight
Me: *sighs* ADHD, if I let you say your last point, will you let me work?
ADHD Toddler: Huh? What last point?
Me: Never mind. We're going to write a really cool story now, okay?
ADHD Toddler: Okay!
Me: *gets my IPad*
ADHD Toddler: This was fun, you should post it on Tumblr.
Me: Oh yeah sure!
ADHD Toddler: Oh, right! I remembered! 5. I don't see why you think you've wasted their support by not writing all the time. Last year you wrote, edited, designed a cover for, and self published a novel of your own in one year. While doing that, you also balanced friendships, worked on your mental health, wrote like, what, three full fan novels and are about to finish another one? Not to mention all the unfinished fan fics you have that made people happy, and all the role plays which might as well be novels. Just because you're not making money yet, and you're not writing every day, doesn't mean you're wasting the support you were given.
Me: ...
Autistic Hermit: Who the hell have you been talking to? Where has all this logic come from?
ADHD Toddler: We're hyper fixated on Sanders Sides
Autistic Hermit: Fair enough
ADHD Toddler: *gasps* What if we like, made our own you tube series but like, instead of aspects of the personality like Sanders Sides it's our different disabilities?
Autistic Hermit: You thought about that before
Anxiety: We don't have the same resources Thomas Sanders has to make it professional
Autistic Hermit: Like a *shudders* team of people to work with
Anxiety: *also shudders* Or space of our own to film in
Depression: *murmurs* Or the motivation to keep dedicated to that for long...
Autistic Hermit: Or the cameras, lighting, sound equipment, video editing skills, ability to make a polished costume,
Anxiety: we can't mask Autism's traits long enough to get a good recording
Depression: *murmurs* And we don't fit conventional beauty standards enough to do well in a video based algorithm...
ADHD Toddler: I guess we'll just have to find another way to make a series that gets us a fandom one day... You know, since the book we wrote didn't get immediate results so now I'm being petty.
Autistic Hermit: Our book series is a long term project. It will get more recognition as we continue to publish the series.
Anxiety: It would get more recognition if we made more adds
ADHD Toddler: But why make Tik Toks no one interacts with but two hundred people see when we could make Tumblr posts that no one sees but two people interact a lot with?
Me: *sighs* This is getting us no where
Anxiety: Stop typing on Tumblr and get to work or we might lose our ability to work forever
Autistic Hermit: But that doesn't make sense. We've gone a long time without writing before
Depression: *murmurs* We did get a lot worse at writing after that though...
Me: I think that's more because ADHD got worse during that time so writing became harder
ADHD Toddler: Yeah
Anxiety: *scoffs* At least they admit it
Me: Anywho, I'm tagging this now, clicking post, and then we will work on our WIP. My apologies mutuals for the long post.
#sanders sides#disability#autistic#adhd#writer#nerodiversity#anxiety#depression#adhd writer#writer problems#fan fic#creator#creative mind#long post
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ok so. in my college au, theres no supernatural elements, yes? so ive been thinking abt ava n how in the shadow her being paralysed, alone, an orphan with poor caregivers is an integral part of her character. and i dont know how to incorporate smth similar in this au.
i’ve read abt conversion disorder. you can google it n have a better understanding but basically “Conversion disorder is a mental condition in which a person has blindness, paralysis, or other nervous system (neurologic) symptoms that cannot be explained by medical evaluation.”
“conversion disorder happens as a way for your brain to deal with emotional stress. It’s almost always triggered by upsetting situations and other mental disorders.” and “It also happens more often to people who have a history of emotional stress or who have a hard time talking about their feelings.”
the most common symptom is “the loss of one or more bodily functions. Examples include: Weakness or paralysis. Loss of balance or difficulty walking.” also: movements that you can’t control, tunnel vision or blindness, loss of smell or speech, numbness.
(this got long but this is useful for me n shit so yeah)
common signs: a debilitating symptom that begins suddenly, history of a psychological problem that gets better after the symptom appears, lack of concern that usually occurs with a severe symptom, they affect your movement or senses, and you can’t control them, hey can’t be explained by any other condition, medication, or behavior, they aren’t caused by another mental health problem, they cause stress in social and work settings.
“The physical symptoms are thought to be an attempt to resolve the conflict the person feels inside.”
here’s some examples (which i need a lot of cuz its kinda hard to understand all those medical terms n shit, from all the sites i’ve read on it): “For example, a woman who believes it is not acceptable to have violent feelings may suddenly feel numbness in her arms after becoming so angry that she wanted to hit someone. Instead of allowing herself to have violent thoughts about hitting someone, she experiences the physical symptom of numbness in her arms.” “For example, imagine taking a hard fall off your bike and then not being able to move your arm. But your arm isn’t injured. Neither is any other part of your body.Your body converted the emotional and psychological stress of your fall into the physical response of a paralyzed arm.” “Physical symptoms can sometimes help with an internal conflict. For example, if you’re struggling with the desire to hurt someone, conversion disorder may cause you to become paralyzed, making it impossible to act on that desire.”
now back to ava. it started to happen after the car accident that took her mom. because of how stressful it was, for weeks, ava was paralysed n doctors were confused cuz every test didnt show how the fuck that can happen. some episodes last days but sometimes its weeks, n they might be gone just as soon as they appeared.
lil 7 year old ava was terrified n it just kept being amplified everytime she thought it was getting better. her mom was dead. the doctors told her her dad wasn’t coming to pick her up which shocked her cuz she thought he was dead (very awkward for the doctors). both parents only children so no help there, grandparents either dead or in care homes.
then she gets send to the orphanage, all alone and confused since they were in Spain on vacation n now she doesnt understand anything. most workers n kids dont even speaking spanish since the orphanage specializes in misplaced children, so now shes learning english, n spanish, and she thinks shes still paralysed for weeks, months UNTIL. she makes a friend, a kid in another room who found out abt her n befriended her.
and ava only starts feeling better when this friend, diego, who’s such a sweet boy, but so sick he’s not gonna live that much longer, and he knows it, says “jsut because you cant move doesnt mean ur not fun!! i think ur cool, ava silva.” n ava moves. its a miracle, diego is an angel, ava is saved n all the kids are ecstatic, ava is crying in pure relief but also confusion because what???
doctors label it as a freak accident n dont want to think much of it since what does it matter, ava is just a girl. but the childcare workers now label ava as the attention seeker n never trust her abt anything. some older kids do it too, but most of them are agaisnt the ladies there out of principle n spite. still, it sucked, n now ava cant trust any adult to save her life n cant even trust her own body to work how its supposed to.
as she gets older she both gets better and worse? she definitely knows when and how to calm down, n the episodes go away if the main source of stress gets resolved, except for any stress caused by ptsd, which ava definitely has from yknow the fucking accident n her moms death. she also, however, has a very yolo mentality, n will get in trouble n in stressful situations most of the time. she’s a menace to herself, n it normally results in one or more limbs to go numb or paralyzed.
she was homeschooled tho, since it two maybe 2 years of her being bullied, picked on, critiqued, n having the overall stressful n horrible experience that is being a new kid in a new school after ur mom died, for the teachers to beg the childcare workers to keep her at home and safe so she stops showing all these upsetting symptoms. its freaking everyone out and it disrupts the class. so yh, ava was struggling.
when she turns 18 n ages out of the orphanage, she scrambles to find a job n a home n shit. father vincent, a local priest, helps her and shelters her. she shows her the beauty of religion n its practices n the glory of god, but ava is more fascinated by the art there. like sure shes seen movies n read things, but shes never stepped foot in a museum. in fact she didnt go out much just out of precaution n also cuz the ladies most of the time forbade her (if she got hurt they could come under fire n they didnt want that with her symptoms n their unpredictability)
vincent tries to teach ava all abt religion, meanwhile she’s studying the architecture, the paintings, the sculptures. vincent wanted a student, but he didnt have that in ava. so he decided to embrace that n help ava with this calling. its also vincent who tells ava to go to therapy n research abt her symptoms n possible disorder. ava does it more out of the fear vincent would get fed up with her not following his rules n getting kicked out for it. it actually helped tho, and she wont admit it to no one ever.
i rly like this hc for this au, since it stays true to the character while remaining realistic to our universe n world n shit. HOWEVER. if anyone who has this disorder wants to criticize anything ive written, pls dm me, ask me, whatever. im open for constructive criticism always!!
also this got long apologies
#warrior nun#warrior nun au#warrior nun college au#ava silva#oh hey im writing#i think its nice to have one of the main characters if not THE main character have a disorder like this#it impacts her life n her body but shes still positive n keeps on living. its also not the main focus of the story#but it is there n it is relevant to this version of this character so. yeah.
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The Definitive Guide to Depression: How effective are antidepressants?
Being depressed may create you really feel hopeless. It are going to take a lot much longer than you assume because the only way to take care of that trouble is to quit worrying about how it is taking place and not worrying concerning how badly it is impacting everyone. But I know there are actually folks who make an effort to make use of this analogy that it's an much easier complication to resolve and after that they make use of the "I don't care how I am experiencing" collection to create themselves much less satisfied or upset. It's not truly about the point.
Along along with treatment and often medicine, there's a whole lot you can perform on your personal to fight back. Right here are some personal pointers that might be helpful in finding a brand new procedure for PTSD/Post Traumatic Stress Ailment/Taking a trip Down a Pathway to Recovery: Obtain Physical If you're currently a bit hurt, there's nothing simple concerning walking, but exercise can assist you locate some popular sense.
Transforming your actions -- your physical activity, way of life, and also your method of thinking -- are all all-natural anxiety treatments. But merely to be sure that what is revealed is all there is actually a little even more relevant information about what makes up genuine anxiety at work and at property. Thus while these treatments might not appear like it at very first blush, they may possess far-reaching perks. Right here are some suggestions to aid you be extra persistent and allowing in the method of handling your emotions of clinical depression.
These suggestions can easily aid you experience much better -- beginning right currently. When Do I Write My E-mail? What can I take care of when I'm writing my e-mail? When you write a character, be eager to work along with a great deal of private emails. Some people merely will certainlyn't reviewed any longer. And you may be writing them as well quickly, or you could possess a routine of presuming you'll merely obtain it through scrolling through your e-mail.
If you’re depressed, you need a schedule, mentions Ian Cook, MD. He has investigated the perks of mindfulness reflection for over five years. In one study, Cook located that one week reflection is linked along with a 1% increased risk for mental deterioration, cancer cells, movement, anxiety and anxiety-related intellectual issue. More research study is needed to confirm this. It isn't merely reflection that's excellent. This is yet another way to get the body system to adapt as you go along.
He's a psychoanalyst and director of the Depression Research and Clinic Program at UCLA. He has been a licensed medical psycho therapist for the final seven years. The following opportunity your mind roam via your health care past, state it again. It's never ever as well overdue to seek assistance out. 1. Acquire an e-mail alert whenever your health conditions worsen. Some clients are more interested regarding what's in their upcoming prescription than others regarding whether there's anything wrong.
Clinical depression can easily remove away the framework coming from your life. This has actually to occur for you, not for me. The method you handle this is important. Many social anxiousness is induced because of the psychological response to stress, not because of any particular level. Some anxiety is caused by being so mentally overloaded you simply experience the anxiety. Some clinical depression may be resulted in by that psychological overload. Others can be the end result of psychological sickness. All three are cause for problem.
One time melts into the next. The next day's it damage in to fifty percent. But after one or two weeks, the following time is an illusion. It is not the 2nd, third, or fourth time of the final time. Read More Here is not half the initial and the 3rd time after that. It is not the tenth, tenth, or the twentieth time of opportunity. It is half the 6th and the eighth time after that.
Preparing a mild daily routine can aid you acquire back on monitor. The upcoming step is to start performing physical exercise at evening and at that point carrying out them a couple of opportunities a week eventually. Physical exercise also ends up being a lot more significant the extra you get done each time. 2. Receive your thoughts out of the practice and begin putting right into workouts. Job is what makes the the majority of feeling to you, I'm not mentioning there is nothing like performing that in your everyday life. Just put your mind in the instruction.
When you're depressed, you may really feel like you can't perform anything. But you're not alone. You'll be satisfied to hear coming from a good friend who's in fact been depressed, even if you're straining because of the judgment affixed to it, or really feeling that it's poor. Some clinical depression can easily entail physical indicators that possess no other symptoms, such as anxiety, anxiety, state of mind swings, post-traumatic stress, PTSD, state of mind alterations, or various other mental conditions.
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Must-buy: Decompression toys for adults, the first one is so cool!
It has to be said that adults are under increasing pressure these days. Not only have to face the burden of life, but also to overcome the unsatisfactory work.
We must remind everyone that if the stress cannot be resolved in time, both mentally and physically, it will be very easy to get sick!
At this time, we need to relieve anxiety and find a suitable way to relieve stress. Today, the author has arranged a series of decompression toys for adults! Let everyone relax from the physical and spiritual aspects~
01 Decompress the bubble wrap
Not a single bubble is innocent when I'm in a very fidgety mood.
Speaking of "decompression artifact", bubble paper can also be regarded as one of the "originators". How can it be enough to just rely on the few sheets in the daily express delivery?
Just enough to pinch! This paper-pulling bubble paper, take one sheet at a time, and pinching it can relieve boredom and relieve stress when you are bored. Listening to the sound of the bubbles being squeezed, I felt a lot of relief in an instant.
It is strongly recommended that friends who have a habit of pinching bubble paper start with one, which is good for taking care of physical and mental health!
02 Decompression Dice
This is a relatively special Rubik's Cube, with different little habits designed on 6 faces, such as game joystick, pinch bubble button, rotating wheel, round dial, etc. It can relieve stress and relieve stress very well. Tension.
What the author likes most is that the two positions of the switch key and the sound password lock are particularly decompressed when pressed.
Moreover, this Rubik's Cube is small and easy to carry, no matter where you are, you can take it out and press it anytime, anywhere, and the sound will not be too loud to affect other people.
03 Beating and screaming villain
The look of this doll makes me want to be beaten. When you're in a bad mood, come and give it a few punches.
Don't worry about it flying after a dozen, and you have to pick it up yourself. It has four suction cups and sticks pretty well on non-wooden tables. With one punch, you thought it was about to fall, but instead it swayed up and provoked you frantically.
In addition, it can also emit various screams, which can match your performance. (You scream, no one will come to save you if you scream!)
04 Oversized Enter key
The oversized enter key is definitely a decompression artifact for working workers. Seeing the message that I wanted to read but couldn't read, I typed "Okay, I got it!" with a smile, and slammed the Enter key pad very fiercely to send the message.
Because it is a sponge texture, there is no need to worry about being smashed. It feels very comfortable to knock on, and it can even be used as a pillow during a lunch break.
But be careful, if the boss is sitting not far from you, use it with caution.
05 Magic Space Sand
I believe that many people have seen the picture of sand cutting like this on Douyin. The rustling sound of cutting, coupled with the neat cutting technique, is completely the favorite of obsessive-compulsive disorder!
The space sand has good fluidity and strong plasticity, and can be shaped into various shapes. It is not loose or sticky, and it feels delicate and smooth to the touch. The material is safe and non-toxic, and even children can play.
Written at the end: In the adult world, there are always pressures of one kind or another. Stress may be unavoidable, but we can take a good breath of air by having some fun and move on!
https://www.voning.com/article-item-1.html
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:/ why can't i sleep when im supposed to
#sometimes I think I really should go and like talk to someone or something#nowe talks#don't reblog#im so sorry for the rant i will delete this in the morning i promise aldjskd i will be fine#but then i realize that the therapist would literally just be like '?? so like…not doing this thing makes you hate yourself on top of making#you anxious. every time you remember that you're not doing this thing you grow more sure you're irredeemably horrible as a person. the only#way you cope with this is avoid thinkinng about it which kinda works for now but only makes everything gradually worse and makes it feel#like getting hit by a truck every time you remember it. you could just do it. you have the resources to do the task. but it's been so long#that now you're too ashamed to do it because you think people will be mad at you because you didn't do it earlier (which is the reason you#didnt do it earlier) but also not doing it earlier kills you. what? and because you've been not doing it for so long the thought of it being#resolved in one day in one way or another makes you physically feel sick because that means you could've really done it months ago#if you weren't such a selfish coward? ok. yeah i think i have had enough of you lol peace and love <3'#like dude you have had this same anxiety fit AT LEAST once a month for AT LEAST five years#and you atill haven't done it despite it being literally one phone call and one driving trip away? ok 😐
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Heartbreak Ave.
When they’re in love with you but you have feelings for a different member (Hyung line)
→ tags/warnings: SFW, angstyyyyy (like, I’m sorry but at the same time I wanted to write something sad), no, there’s not a happy ending really idk so read at your own heart’s risk, but like really. I was listening to “Manos de Tijera” while writing this so it’s a wee bit heartbreaking
→ a/n: I don’t really write reactions very often but this seemed fun when @sierra-fics brought it up! I actually have one of your suggestions in my drafts, just haven’t finished it up yet. Thanks for the push, though! I love exploring different styles!
read the maknae line version here!
Kim Seokjin
he’s not surprised
it’s probably the worst part for him, the fact that he’s not surprised when your eyes light up as Taehyung waltzes in the room.
he had been in the middle of plucking up the courage to invite you to try out that new Thai restaurant you’d been chattering about when Tae walked in
and you tried - you really did - to pay attention to what Jin had been saying, but you faltered a bit as Tae greeted you warmly and plopped down beside Jin
and Jin just watched, not surprised.
although what does surprise him is how much it hurts
that pain where your heart literally, physically hurts? it’s an exquisite pain, one that takes his breath away
and it doesn’t go away
it doesn’t fade
so he ends up in Namjoon’s studio later that night, and Namjoon knows to wait for him to open up
Jin just stares for a while, blankly at the wall
“Does Tae like her?”
Namjoon already knows who he’s referring to. He’s known about Jin’s helpless crush on you for ages, he knew before Jin himself figured it out
but it’s the way that Jin asks the question so softly, so carefully, that Namjoon realizes with a start that this is so much more than a crush
and Jin looks at him, misery clear in his eyes but also clear resolve visible even as unshed tears glimmer
“Would you really let her go?” Namjoon counters gently. Because he knows. He knows that if Tae got the green light, you'd be swept up in a matter of seconds.
and it’s the way that Jin stares down at his feet, and the tears begin rolling down his cheeks, that has Namjoon sick to his stomach
Jin nods, and when he speaks, his voice shakes but he sounds so earnest that it breaks Namjoon’s heart
“I’d do anything for her.”
no words are exchanged after that for a long, heart-wrenching moment. it’s just Jin, staring down at his feet and quietly sobbing, and Namjoon, pulling him into an embrace.
“I’m sorry, hyung.”
it’s surprising to Jin, just how much that soft phrase cuts through him. It sounds so final.
because at the end of the day, it’s the only solace that can be offered to him.
he lost.
he loved, and he lost.
Min Yoongi
you’re sitting beside him in his studio when the realization hits him like a freight train
sprawled sideways in your designated swivel chair while you stifle a yawn and rub your eyes, Yoongi wonders when he let his emotions get so out of hand
because you’re offering him a shy smile and asking him a question that he numbly answers, but on the inside he’s a total clueless mess
when did he fall in love with you?
it’s something that will haunt him long after you leave that night, rushing out when you get a call from Hobi
for the second time that night, he’s hit with another realization
he’s still reeling from the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you, so when you gasp and grin when your phone light up with a call, he falters
it’s like being doused with a bucket of ice water, the way you whisper, “oh, it’s Hobi!” and politely ask if you can take the call before rushing out into the hallway
“oh,” he mumbles to himself as the door closes. “it’s Hobi.”
and he laughs.
quietly, darkly. he laughs to himself, at himself, whatever.
because of course it’s Hobi. his best friend, his vitamin. you two deserve each other. of that much he’s certain.
he doesn’t waste too much time feeling sorry for himself; he’s logical enough to see that you two are probably a better match. it’s nothing personal.
so why does he stay in his studio all night, ignoring any calls or messages sent his way?
he’s not sure when he fell asleep, but next thing he knows he’s sprawled out on his little couch and you’re gently shaking him awake
“Yoongo? Did you stay here last night?”
his eyes crack open at the sound of your voice, just enough to be met with your sweet smile
and he, in his half-asleep state, smiles back. he reaches one hand up to gently brush back a strand of your hair, and he swears you lean into his touch
and when you mumble something about Hobi bringing breakfast up, Yoongi is hit with the third realization in less that twenty-four hours.
it’s startlingly simple:
he wants to cry.
so he excuses himself to the bathroom, and cries. sets a five minute timer so nobody gets worried and comes looking for him, and allows himself that time to cry.
then, with machine-like precision, he washes his face and puts some eyedrops in, and goes back out to pretend like everything is fine.
and whenever Jin or Taehyung bring up acting, Yoongi knows. He knows, deep down, that he’s the best actor of all.
because he still loves you
and you will never know.
Jung Hoseok
hobi has never been the most forthcoming with his emotions
he keeps them on lockdown
monitors them with military-like focus
so he knows the exact moment he begins developing feelings for you
(it’s when you brought Bang PD a bouquet for valentine’s day, just to make him blush)
and he knows the exact second when he fell in love
(it was when, after a grueling day at work, you silently walked through his door with his favorite goodies and left without a single word)
(you were wearing a yellow cardigan that day)
(he’s never looked at the color yellow the same way)
if he’s completely honest, he’s sometimes trying so hard to stay on top of his own feelings that he forgets to watch out for where your attention may be drifting
to be fair, you kept your own little crush on Jimin a secret
so when Hobi decides to get over himself and just shoot his shot, he decides he’s all in
and when you arrive at his apartment that night for a movie, you’re shocked to see a bouquet of yellow flowers in Hobi’s shaking hands
“hey” he breathes
you stare at the flowers, then at him
“hello...?” then, with a sinking felling, you point at the flowers. “are those for me?”
hobi smiles broadly. “yeah, they are.” and he hands them to you, allowing his fingers to brush up against yours
it’s electrifying, that small touch
and again, he’s so focused on how electrifying it is that he misses the way you look like you might be sick
pale face, concerned expression
he misses it all, because he’s so nervous but so stupidly in love that he’s just barreling ahead.
gotta get this out of the way
ugh, feelings
and so when he leads you to sit with him out on the balcony, he takes a deep breath and looks at you with wonder in his eyes
and that’s when he notices the way you’re fiddling with your bracelet
not a problem, except for the fact that it’s the one he saw Jimin carefully choosing from an online collection
so when you keep fiddling with the bracelet and avoiding Hobi’s eye contact, he gets it
he takes a long look at all those emotions he keeps in check, and allows himself a moment of self-pity before reaching out and laying a hand atop your own
you immediately stop fidgeting and look at him with wide eyes. he can see with a pang how you’re trying to come up with the best way to let him down easy
so he does the job for you
“I just wanted to say thank you for the other day,” he says, forcing a light tone. “when you brought me those goodies after work. It really meant a lot.”
you blink, confused. “Oh. uh, you’re welcome.”
“and,” he drawls, a well-rehearsed smile clawing its way onto his face, “I wanted to snoop and get the inside scoop about Jiminie. I know he got you that bracelet. did he finally cave and confess to you?”
you look shocked, but you burst out into relieved laughter. “how did you know?”
he didn’t. “how could I not? he’s absolutely whipped.”
and you blush under the stars and begin to ramble, lost in your excitement and joy.
and Hobi watches. smiling. supportive. laughing at the right spots and asking all the right questions.
later, when you give him a tight hug and thank him for the fun night, he lets the words sting as you call him “such a great friend.” he lets them sting, relishing in the pain.
he reminds you to take your flowers home, and you begrudgingly admit that they’re your favorite type of flower.
he didn’t know. but that hurts, too. the fact that he got it right.
Hobi never looks at the color yellow the same way again.
Kim Namjoon
he’s told you he loves you a million times now
every night, in every dream, he tells you how much he loves you
adores you with everything he is
you manage to find your way into his music, his musings, every piece of artwork he comes across
he's never been like this before
never, he’s sure of it
and everyone knows, except for you.
it becomes a strange game for the boys to play, dropping hints at every opportunity, laughing at your confused expression
Jungkook and Taehyung especially enjoy the chaos that they create, making Namjoon groan and grow embarrassed
but you have no idea
or are you just willfully ignorant?
all Namjoon knows is that he’s swimming in his feelings for you, completely lost and on the verge of drowning
but, oh, what a way to die
he’s never been able to stop himself when it comes to you
and he considers himself rather disciplined, but the way you make him feel he could throw caution to the wind and give it all up
so when you end up staying late one night at the apartment, the boys manage to convince you to stay
“there’s plenty of room” Jungkook muses, feigning deep thought. “besides, it’s too late for you to drive back tonight. just stay.”
and while Namjoon wants to kill them all for the way they offer up his bed to you, he thinks he might actually die when you reluctantly agree with a yawn
he knows he should offer to take the couch, but something stops him
it’s like he physically can’t
“I don’t mind sharing the bed” you state, squinting at him while wearing his basketball shorts and oversized t-shirt.
you look adorable. he’s unsure of how he’s even functioning right now, to be honest. he’s melting.
“just keep your snoring in check, loser”
and he’s back to laughing, turning off the light and hopping into bed
you’re so far away
why are you so far away?
“hey” he whispers, the sound so loud in the quiet. the only other sound is the muffled voices of the other members, no doubt down in the kitchen gossiping about the events of the night
“hey yourself” you whisper back, turning to face him
he can see you in the moonlight, his eyes having adjusted just enough.
and he wants to kiss you so badly
so he smiles, heart leaping when you smile back
and he reaches out, gently tracing your jawline.
you say nothing, heart thundering in your chest
because to be honest, you’re confused
why is he looking at you like that?
but you don’t ask as Namjoon takes a deep breath, steadying himself before propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at you with an adoring expression
your eyes flutter closed as he brushes his thumb against your cheek, and he can feel your heartbeat racing
your reaction gives him all the courage he needs as he leans down, lips capturing your own in a long, sweet kiss
and he’s going out of his mind because he finally kissed you, didn’t he?! finally!!
but those are your hands on his chest, and instead of pulling him in closer you’re gently pushing him away
“namjoon.”
he’s never hated his name so much.
“I’m so sorry- I- I thought that maybe-” he stutters, pulling himself upright as you do the same, and he launches out of bed, hands in his hair “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”
“Namjoon.” you repeat, and he notices now how utterly distraught you look.
because you’re still confused, but there’s one name rolling around in your head even as you can still taste namjoon on your lips.
“I...” you shake your head, unsure of what to say. “It’s just...”
and he’s looking at you with big eyes, taking in every single word you say. and you want to take it all back, want to let him kiss you until you’re breathless, but your heart won’t let you.
“Just what?” he asks quietly, afraid of the answer. so afraid
“...Jungkook.”
two syllables, and his world comes crashing down around him.
namjoon is silent, avoiding your gaze as he grabs one of the pillows off of the bed and a spare blanket, heading toward the door.
“I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m sorry.”
and he’s gone before you can utter another word.
sure enough, the boys are still downstairs, and they all fall silent as Namjoon appears, throwing the pillow down on the couch.
“Hyung!” Jungkook asks, scrambling over. “Hyung, what happened? What are you doing down here?”
Namjoon can’t bring himself to look at the maknae, not when he can still picture how it felt to kiss you. not when those few seconds of paradise are still on his lips.
“Didn’t wanna wake her up with my snoring.”
because how could he ever be angry at the boy that looks at him like he’s his savior?
--
m.list || buy me an orange juice?
thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so other people can read it! 💖
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#bts reactions#namjoon reaction#jin reaction#yoongi reaction#suga reaction#hobi reaction#bts hyung line#bts angst#bts maknae line#bts x reader#this is seriously a bummer of a post lol#bts fanfic#bts scenarios
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The Catalyst
Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: sexual tension, mention of Cara Dune is its own warning
Rating: T
Summary: You don't know why you thought you could make it one day without fighting with Mando. The tension has been building for a while and it looks like you're about to reach the conclusion of it.
A/N: I originally sent this in as a thot as an anon hoping I would finally stop thinking about it, but alas I couldn’t so here we are. I originally uploaded this on AO3 a week ago and realized that I never put it on here.
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The cheers of the villagers are a complete contrast to the earlier events filled with screams, flesh tearing, and blasters firing. The threat of the raiders is over. Mando and you have made it out alive with zero casualties. The only acknowledgement between the two of you after Cara and him solved the problem of the AT-ST is a stiff nod. Anything more than that would reveal your hidden feelings; you're not ready to unpack that one just yet. The adrenaline of the ordeal is shifting into a state of exhaustion. The familiar ache seeping into your joints and muscles that usually follows post-battle.
Mando is tired too. You can see it in the way he slumps his shoulders and his slower than normal strides with Cara. You walk to your temporary living situation and don't even bother to remove your clothes that more than likely have blood on it. You'll deal with your dirty sheets in the morning. You sit down on the edge of your cot and your boots are mocking you. Why did you have to pick shoe wear that involves you bending to untie them? Your muscles are screaming at you to relieve the tension building. There aren't that many comforts in the galaxy, but even the cot felt like a 5 star hotel bed when you feel like this. Mando comes into the hut shortly after though he never removes his armor. You respect his creed, but there wasn't a threat anymore. It can't be comfortable sleeping like that, but telling him would make it seem like you care. You don't, of course.
You don't usually feel the need to fill the silence, but you find yourself filling it. Goodnight. There's a pause from the other side of the hut and your mind starts running that you crossed an unspoken invisible line that the two of you created. Then you hear it. Goodnight.
There's warmth from the sun rays spilling onto your features when the sun starts to rise. You can see children running around off in the distance and you can't help the smile forming on your face hearing their laughter. They more than likely haven't known peace since the raiders started their wrath. It felt good to have played a role in that.
The stretch you do lying in the cot feels wonderful on your back. Out of the corner of your eye you see Mando in a similar state of relaxation. His hands are folded behind his head and his ankles crossed. He must have noticed you were awake, because he immediately breaks the moment by leaving. Does he ever stay still? You can't help the drawn out sigh that falls from your lips and close your eyes to take in the sounds surrounding you.
The sound of heavy footsteps cause you to open your eyes along with the feeling of something being placed on your on the edge of your cot. Breakfast. He brought you breakfast. Good morning, thanks. Morning. He says with a grunt at your appreciation of bringing you food. You lift yourself up with a groan to a seated position and enjoy the moment. It was too quiet.
You’re not even sure how you got here. The reason for your argument in the first place was drowned out by your inner need for dominance. You were at a slight disadvantage due to the towering presence of beskar, but what you did have going for you was your stubbornness and smart retort to his intimidation tactics. You’re both vibrating with unresolved tension with no chance of release; nothing to redirect what you’re feeling so resorting to your usual vices which is screaming at each other.
It wasn’t always like this. You used to make him laugh underneath that tin can sometimes. Sometime between being just a crew member to whatever it was that was beginning to develop between the two of you that was when the fights started. It was easier than dealing with the latter. The galaxy was too harsh for allowing anyone to feel love without anguish following closely behind. The only communication you seemed to agree on was silence, yelling, and sarcasm. It was easier that way.
You’re in Sorgan and it’s pouring outside. He’s trying to get you to go inside, but you’re so damn stubborn you refuse just out of spite. It doesn’t even matter that your clothes are soaked causing your body’s response to the freezing temperature. He can probably hear your teeth chattering from where he’s standing. The thunder and lightning isn’t helping. It adds another layer of the already volatile situation you’ve both found yourselves in. Why is it so fucking cold?
Dammit you’ll get sick. You’re not useful to me if you’re bedridden.
That’s it. That’s the catalyst. You're not sure if he can even see the glare you're giving him in the darkness, but you hope he does. You can’t stand to be in the same room with him anymore. Even just the thought of hearing him breathe at this point is a nuisance. It’s almost too much. It will kill you, you’re sure of it. I’m bunking with Cara. He’s lost his patience. You can tell from the heaving of his chest, but you can’t find it in you to care. You don’t need to see his face to know there is a scowl under there. You’re surprised you can’t see smoke coming out of that helmet. Why isn’t he saying anything? His body is so rigid and tense. You might have gone too far this t-
What are you doing?!
He’s thrown you over his shoulders to carry you back to the hut you share. It’s like you don’t even weigh anything even with the extra weight your soaked clothes add. You would be impressed with his strength if you weren’t supposed to pretend how much you hated it so you thrash your legs in protest. You liked the screaming better. Now you feel like he’s treating you like a petulant child by giving you the silent treatment. He’s trying to make you look like the one with the temper tantrum because there might be witnesses. You’d be surprised if you didn’t wake up the whole village. He can probably feel how freezing you are and puts you down. Without saying another word he kneels down in front of the fireplace to create warmth in the room. The only sounds filling the room are the crackle of the fire and your own shallow breaths.
Your clothes. Take it off or I will.
You know you can’t keep your clothes on. You know you need to change into something dry, but you refuse again just to establish you’re the one in control. You’re in control. Not him. Realistically you’re aware you could get sick and you would probably need to stay in bed. Then you briefly wonder if he has a filter in that helmet because you’d definitely sneeze in his face if he didn’t. How can you change when he’s made no move to even turn around?
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.
What?
You had argued about god knows what and you left to blow off steam the day before. By the time you made it back the hue in the hut changed from that orange soft glow that golden hour usually brings to a soft blue. It would have been pretty if you weren’t so damn annoyed still. Mando was asleep thankfully so no awkward dance of trying to ignore the other in close quarters. You watched the soft rise and fall of his chest signaling he was indeed asleep. He was almost tolerable when he was sleeping even with the snoring. Almost cute. Almost. It didn’t matter that you never saw what was under the helmet, but you would never give him any indication of that. You were so tired. You were physically drained from the day so you took off your clothes haphazardly and changed into a nightshirt to sleep your frustrations away. Tomorrow will be better.
You were awake the whole time and didn’t say anything? You seethed.
You seemed to be having trouble and I didn’t want to hear your complaining when you inevitably tripped.
He’s challenging you. You’re both very well aware the dam could break based on your next move and he’s not going to lay out all his cards. Would the fighting even stop? Even with the resolve of all your combined tension? You’re taking too long and he’s staring. It’s hard to tell when all you see is a black abyss in place for eyes, but you can feel them boring into yours with loathing or is it desire?
You’re going to get sick if you don’t change.
He cares, but he would never give you any indication of that. He takes a step towards you to let you know he wasn’t lying about his earlier statement. If you’re going to do this you’re going to make a fuss about it. It’s childish, yes, but you don’t have it in you to care. It’s better than laying out all your cards. He can’t enjoy this if you’re glaring at him. I hate you. No, you don’t.
Never losing eye contact you start untying your boots. Glare. The cool air is doing nothing to calm your heated skin after your shirt is removed, but you can’t decide if the temperature is rising from anger or something else. Don’t enjoy this. Too late. The rain is still roaring outside and there’s almost an electric charge in the room waiting to spark. It’s too quiet. Then he says,
Glare all you want but this is doing something for me.
#din djarin#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x f!reader#din djarin x f!reader#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian fanfic#javierpinme fanfiction#javierpinme fanfic#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction
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hello!! i was wondering if i could request yanderes light and L fighting over the same person?
L and Light Fighting Over the Same Person
a/n: THANK YOU FINALLY SOME DEATH NOTE REQUESTS YES— also side note, sorry if you saw me accidentally post this and then edit it. Didn’t mean to press the post option so early, stupid laptop. This is also unedited as of right now.
-it could go many ways, and I could see different scenarios taking place depending on where they’re at in the story, and where you are at in their lives.
-let’s say for instance, you somehow are working around both of them.
-maybe working on the case, and have no prior relationship with either of them (just to make it more neutral).
-Light would be the first one to notice his feelings towards you
-He finds you beautiful, charming, and overall very much perfect, he wouldn’t go for anything less, cause he is a ‘God’.
-Light would try to naturally swoon you, as he has done in the past to other woman. He thinks at first that he just wants to somehow use you to his advantage, but the more you reject his offers, brush him off, and kind of ‘toy’ with him, his feelings begin to show. He just likes you.
-Yandere tendencies show out when he noticed later on, that L feels the same.
-Maybe it’s the way you always offer L your food, or how you’ve bought him cake a few times. But now any time he sees you, for the first time in his life, he feels genuinely nervous and love-sick by someone.
-He first shows his affections to you, by making someone bring you noodles after you complained about feeling hungry out loud. Light noticed how out of character it was for him to do something like that for another person. Especially to remember exactly how you preferred your ramen (of course he remembers your ramen order too, it’s L we’re talking about.)
-Light begins to up his antics even more, and it becomes a test of sorts.
-He plays into your toying, he offers you gifts and tries to mold himself into a version of him that you might find appealing.
-Sometimes he becomes too touchy, but it’s almost become normal at this point. He makes sure to do it right in front of everyone, while glaring straight into the eyes of L. Trying to assert his dominance, which doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone.
-Light begins to have Ryuk stalk you, and watch over you. Making a deal that he has to do anything to protect you. He also begins to watch you as you go about your life from afar, whenever he can really.
-He wants to see what you respond best to, and what works best for L to leave you alone, because how dare anyone else try to steal what it his.
-Meanwhile, L is quick to catch on to Light’s plans, and his possessive nature begins to go full swing. He feels upset, betrayed almost. That you would even want to be around someone as evil, and impure as Light.
-L tries often to get you alone, and has you go over plans, ideas, notes etc. more just so he can be around you. He’s very awkward in the love, and affection department, so he’s just content with being close to you, and watching you. It’s a bit off putting but, it’s not anything you’re not used to.
-L wants so badly to touch you, to feel you touch him. To keep you locked alone with him forever, so you never have to face the true evil of the world ever again.
-He really loves watching you, so he somehow manages to place cameras in your home. In every room, and every corner. He falls in love with your natural ways. From the way you sleep, to how you snuggle up on the couch, or how you hum a tune while doing chores.
-Something in him snaps a bit when he watched you shower for the first time.
-He cares, so much.
-You notice their tension, and the way they’re becoming increasingly more possessive over you. There’s no room to breathe anymore.
-It all kicks off one day, when the three of you were alone in L’s room. Light decided to push L more, and upset him by walking up behind you, and gently placing his hand on your waist, almost in a side hug as he looked at the notes you were overlooking. Pulling your plush body against his own, and once again staring into the eyes of the now angered man across the table.
-Light looks away for a brief moment, looking down at you with a sinister, and lust intented gaze. Brushing the fallen strands of hair away from the sides of your face.
-In that moment you tense, your cheeks burning hot and you turn to look at him. His nible fingers running gently against the your warm cheeks, he chuckles darkly, and says aloud.
-“You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”
-L on the other side of the table grumbles, and for once, you see the look on his face turn sour. He snaps with a quick sentence.
-“That’s enough Light.”
-“What’s wrong? Are you feeling a bit lonely there L?”
-“N-No, it’s inappropriate behavior. Stop touching them.”
-“They don’t seem to mind it much— isnt that right, sweetheart?-“ L shoots up from his spot, as Light dips his head closer to you.
-“I said enough.”
-Light chuckles, pushing you away from his side. You stumble for a second, catching yourself before you fall to the ground.
-“You’re so obvious, L. So painfully obvious. You’re practically burning with jealousy, but it’s not my problem you’re socially awkward. They are mine. Look at my poor Y/n, all scared because of you.”
-“They. Are. Not. Yours.”
-“I was right! You are jealous!” Light says with an obnoxious chuckle, his face darkening with malice. L’s eyes grow darker as the seconds pass.
-Both boys began to argue, L somehow remaining physically, and verbally calm. Despite how angered, and betrayed he felt inside. Light didn’t mind one bit letting the crazy side of himself come out.
-They both acted like you weren’t in the room as they went at it.
-That is until Light pulled you to him again, and you whimpered at his harsh tugging. L finally showed some emotion, and growled, pulling your other arm to him.
-“Light, stop it. You’re hurting them.”
-Which left you to be in a tug of war between the two of them, bickering as they both tried to snatch you away. Your heart was beating out of your chest at the sudden realization that they both had gone mad over you.
-Both admitting they had tried everything to win you over, and that if either one happened to ‘win’, you’d never see the other again. Obsessive admissions came out, the stalking? their thoughts— everything was brought to life that night. Tears began to prick your eyes, and the room soon became quiet. Nothing but breathing, and broken choked sobs filling the atmosphere.
-“Well if they won’t choose either of us, I guess we’re going to have to make them choose both of us. Isn’t that right?” Light cooed, smiling at your broken expression. Hand forcefully grabbing the side of your face so you couldn’t look away.
-“I guess you’re correct, for once. We will just have to share.” L said in reply. His shaky digits petting over your soft hair.
-The fight had to be resolved somehow, right?
#death note#light yagami#light yagami x reader#yandere light#yandere light yagami#yandere light x reader#l death note#l yandere#yandere l#lawliet x reader#yandere lawliet x reader#death note fanfiction
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Part 5 of Wonderful! Au. *boyband voice* banter’s back alright!
Also on AO3
~*~
Jon: Hello everyone, and welcome back to our regular format. If my husband being horribly soppy-
Martin:-hey!-
Jon: -turned you off the how, this should be a refreshing return to formula, though I can’t guarantee there won’t be further horrible soppiness-
Martin, performatively under his breath: -most people thought it was charming-
Jon: -as that tends to happen when one is recording with the love of their life. If last week’s episode is the only one that you like, too bad, I’m back in full form, and should be at least through the rest of the season.
Martin: This show doesn’t have seasons? Due to the whole lack of a narrative thing?
Jon: I was referring to spring.
Martin: Oh, right.
[A beat passes.]
Martin, flatly: Oh. Great goof hon.
Jon, smug: Thank you.
Jon, sincere: Also, before we get properly started, I did want to actually thank everyone who sent well wishes.
M artin: Yes! We got positively inundated with lovely messages, it definitely brightened both of our days. I would even say it was wonderful.
[Jon groans.]
Jon: I am..not proud of the energy we’ve created for this episode so far, and we haven’t even hit the small wonders. Speaking of, do you have a small wonder this week?
Martin: Mine’s bad action movies.
Jon: Really? I had no idea you even liked them, let alone consider them wonderful.
Martin: Okay, so, saying I like them is a bit of a misnomer? It’s more that I like what they can do more than the movies themselves?
Jon: Elaborate?
Martin: It probably comes as a surprise to no one that I’ve tried my hand at a fair amount of mindfulness and mediation techniques. I’ve found poetry and journaling have been helpful for actually processing life events and whatnot, but when it comes to giving your brain a hard wipe and reset, nothing is half as quick and effective as a shitty shoot-em-up. Somethings about 2 hours of cartoonish, pg-13 violence held together with the absolute loosest of plots brings me to a state of mental blankness that would make a monk jealous.
Jon: How have I never witnessed you doing this? When are you sneaking off to go see Micheal Tarantino or who ever films?
M artin: That’s definitely not the right name.
Jon: Martin, dear, I don’t care. And you’re dodging the question.
Martin, fond: I’m not dodging anything. Since apparently we’re getting into it, you haven’t caught me cavorting with a movie involving more explosions than character development lately because I haven’t been. Haven’t needed it, in recent years. Turns out when you’re not crushingly lonely and working a literal nightmare of job, there’s less of a drive to try and escape your own thoughts. Shocker, I know. Still, to anyone out there that feels like their brain is on fire, go try watching a fast and furious. Any of ‘em, it doesn’t matter. Or even better, Chronicles of Riddick. I can’t remember a single goddamn detail of that movie, which makes it perfect for what I’m talking about.
Jon: I have the strong feeling that th is is a “mileage may vary” scenario.
Martin: Well, yeah, that’s this whole podcast. Plus, I imagine that movies like this would cause more stress to someone who cares about, say, world-building or rules consistency.
Jon: I wonder who you could possibly be referring to.
Martin: It’s a purely hypothetical person, love, don’t worry about it. Any small wonders?
Jon: Yes! Particularly relevant to the last week, my small wonder is stripping the sheets from your bed when it’s been too long between washes.
Martin: How very specific. M ost people would just say ‘clean sheets’.
Jon: Well, for one, I’m fairly certain that we’ve already covered clean sheets-
Martin: Shit, have we? Thank god other people keep track of this, otherwise this show would be unbearably repetitive.
Jon: Christ, yes. I typically check the website a good three times while prepping, and every about one out of those three times I find I’m trying to do an topic we did 30 episodes again. Anyway, um, it’s just nice, I think. When you’ve been too busy or sick or away for awhile, tossing the sheets in the wash makes a room instantly seem nicer. Of all the chores out there, this one, at least for me, has the highest reward to effort ratio.
Martin: Hard agree. Especially when the y have that slight funk of having been around to long, getting rid of that is such a relief. Speaking of, we need to change our sheets soon.
Jon: We can do it after the episode. Who goes first this week?
Martin: Considering last week was only me talking, I’m gonna say it’s you.
Jon: Alright, then. My first thing this week is Martin K. Blackwood.
Martin: Absolutely not!
Jon: Oh, you can do a whole episode on me, but I can’t do one little segment on my husband, whom I love very dearly?
Martin: Not while I’m sat here, no!
Jon: So you’re saying you don’t want me to tell the internet that your resolve to be kind even in the face of indescribable cruelty is one of the mot breathtaking things I’ve ever witnessed, or how I find it incredibly endearing when you get so emotional that your voice comes out as a squeak, or even that, on a more base level, you’re very physically attractive, and I could lose entire days thinking about your arms alone?
Martin, audibly blushing, voice the aforementioned squeak: Oh my god, Jon!
Jon, laughing: Then it’s probably for the best that my actual first thing is best friends.
Martin, peaking the audio levels: Oh you absolute bastard! Do you enjoy this? Do you get some sort of perverse sense of entertainment from riling me up?
Jon: Oh, don’t you start. As if you’re not as bad as I am. Maybe even worse.
Martin: That’s not…
Jon: Yes?
Martin: Okay. Maybe it’s slightly true. Really, what is romance for if not flustering your partner with compliments?
Jon, teasing: I certainly can’t think of anything.
Martin: Hush, you.
Jon: No, I don’t think I will.
Martin: Fine. I suppose you can tell our delightful audience about the power of friendship or whatever.
Jon: I would’ve assumed more enthusiasm, considering this segment is still, indirectly, about you.
Martin: In what way?
Jon: In the way that, to the shock of all, you’re my best friend.
Martin, pleased: Oh, is that what I am?
Jon, exasperated: Yes, dearest husband, I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. Though, upon reflection, I knew you were my best friend before I knew I held romantic feelings for you.
Martin: When was that?
Jon, letting out a breath that vibrates his lips: God it was...2016? I think it might’ve literally been the day after you told me about your CV.
Martin: That early? Huh. I wonder if that’s what people were picking up when they said they we were close.
Jon: What people?
Martin: I don’t know specifically, that’s just what Daisy told me.
Jon: Daisy? When the hell-?
Martin: It...was when she was interrogating me? And, because sometimes I have to be a parody of myself, pretty much my only take away from that interrogation was “people think me and Jon are close”.
Jon: Well then. It’s not like they were wrong.
Martin, smug: No, no they weren’t.
Martin, sincere: And you’re my best friend, too.
Jon: I was certainly hoping that you’re in this relationship for more than my good looks and incredible fortune, both in the monetary and luck sense.
Martin: You say that as if you aren’t good looking, which we all know is patently untrue.
Jon: You’re biased. You’d say I was good looking if I were nothing more than some primordial ooze with thoughts about its station.
Martin: I’m being completely objective. If you were primordial ooze with thoughts above its station, you’d be the cutest ooze of them all. That’s just scientific fact.
Jon: I’m starting to think we might be insufferable.
Martin: Starting to? Might be?
Jon:…
[Jon clears his throat]
Jon: What I find wonderful about the concept of best friends is, to me, they’re the closest thing real life has to soulmates. I don’t personally believe that there’s some..grand mystic force that drives people to be tied together in the manner that narrative typical soulmates are, and if there was I don’t think it would necessarily be the kind of emotional, heartfelt bond one would hope for, but I do believe that there’s individuals that get to know one another, and because of that knowledge, they chose to stick with one another. It doesn’t have to be a romantic, which is why I say best friend rather than specifically ‘spouse’, but I would argue that the basis of a strong romance like you and I have, is very much rooted in that connection. A true best friendship is an equal partnership, and there’s a sense of..matched sensibilities and understanding that can be utterly incandescent when it happens.
I also think that having one or more best friends makes living life on a day to day basis both better and just flat easier. The dark times aren’t as dark, and the bright times shine even more. I know from my own personal experience there are events that I..that I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you. Hell, last week my..recovery period would’ve taken much longer if you hadn’t been there.
It’s an amazing thing to have someone to share things with, both triumphs and burdens. Um, also, according to Dictionary.com, the term best friends in English has been around since the 1200s. Something about that delights me, like, yes, we’ve had this casual way of referring to a Favorite Person for roughly 800 years. That makes it a hold-out from early Middle English. I dunno, it’s one of those things that make me feel overall very charmed by humanity.
Martin, audibly smiling: No, yeah, hard agree.
Jon: What’s that look for?
Martin: Nothing. Just. I love you a whole lot, you know that?
Jon, voice soft: I may have heard you say that once or twice. Per hour.
Martin: Only that often? I really need to be more diligent about that.
[There’s a bet of silence, presumably where they’re making doe eyes at each other.]
Jon: What’s your first thing?
Martin: Oh, um, right. Rats!
Jon: The expression or the animal?
Martin: Jon, have you ever once heard me say “rats” as an expression? Obviously I’m referring to the animal.
Jon: Ah. Should’ve known, considering that what, a third?, of all your segments have been on animals.
Martin: Yeah? And? You got a problem with critters? With creatures? With lil guys?
Jon, laughing: No, no, it’s very sweet. I’m just surprised you never became a vet.
Martin: Oh believe me, I wanted to. But then I learned that it was not, in fact, a job composed entirely of getting paid to play with other people’s pets.
Jon: You had that job, though, didn’t you? I thought I remembered you mentioning a month long stint at a doggie day care.
Martin, sighing dreamily: Best job I ever had. Too bad that place was shut down after it was revealed to be a money laundering front.
Jon: Good lord.
Jon: Martin did you...did you know it was a money laundering front at the time?
Martin:
Martin: Would it make you feel better if I said no?
Jon: Martin!
Martin: I figured it out like a week in, but, like, who cares? The pay was decent and the floor was super easy to clean, which is very much a plus for even a front of a doggie day care.
Jon: That’s...rather a lot. How about instead of getting into that any further, you tell me about rodents.
Martin: I would love to. But first, we have a shoutout!
Jon: Ooo, a shoutout. Does it specify who should read?
Martin: Let me check. It...does...not…..
...
Jon: Martin?
[A beat.]
Martin: Right! Sorry, um. This week’s shoutout is from Tim, to Danny. It says, “Danny! My favorite person who shares genetic material with me! I wanted to say thank you for your podcast obsession from 4 months ago, and specifically for telling me about these marrieds. They’ve gotten me through many a dull hour at the publishing house. Also, with this shoutout, I’ve officially gotten ahead on the Superior [Last Name Redacted] Brother scoreboard, so suck it. Love you lots, and looking forward to your visit next month, Tim.”
Jon: Oh.
Jon: Um. That’s very..sweet? I think? Mostly?
Martin: Yeah, I’d say so. Uh. We have to take a quick break because, uh, someone is..at our front door! Be back with you all in, from your side of things, just a moment.
#wonderful! au#jonmartin#jon sims#martin blackwood#>:3#shoutouts are their versions of jumbotrons btw
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Forgive me if this is too specific!
Could I maybe ask for Ayato and a male reader? (gender neutral is fine to if your work is better suited for it) Where the reader, who was his main partner and go-to person in basketball is sick? And it’s just not the same without them there, so Ayato /makes an attempt/ to take care of them? :O
A Scenario or just general headcanons are fine!! whichever you feel like writing in the moment! I loved the piece you did with Kanato, so I’m excited to see how you write for Ayato! :D
hey! thank you so much for requesting, i hope you enjoy ~
—
over 1k words
ayato x reader (gender neutral, i used the second person)
hurt comfort, i suppose
headcannons and fanfic
—
He tried to convince himself that he had been patient. At this point his nausea was palpable to the pitiable wretch sitting next to him. The hyperactivity of his mind mimicked the convulsing atmosphere around him. He wondered if anyone could feel the walls pulsing like he had. He felt the ticking of the clock under the skin behind his neck, his nails biting into his palms, and the bouncing of his leg both tapping the floor and hitting the underbelly of his desk.
Ayato’s favorite little thing was absent, and had been absent, for too fucking long. Of course, this shouldn’t have been a problem. And that was the issue: it was a big fuckimg deal.
- Ayato would not handle absence well (shocker)
- I think he would try and cope for the first day or so as to not look weak, but his resolve is much weaker than his comrades
- The worst part is that you were his teammate with a match coming up
- That meant staring at your empty spot 24/7 and just feeling the empty space create a hole in his atmosphere. It was breathtaking (in the tuberculosis way, not the sexy way rip)
- Ayato would have to search for you around, which would be him (not so subtly) encroaching himself in places with your friends and eventually getting out of them where you live
- He’s never hated humans more: you left him to die all by his lonesome because of sickness?? The betrayal.
- After another sleepless day and you not being back in class he would break and go to your place
The first thing that hit Ayato was the smell. Even from the doorway he could just feel you permeate from the surroundings. The walls were caked in you. The front door had the oils from your hand stained deep into the wood. The welcome mat (reading,“Get Out, Bitch) had the dirt of your shoes, where you sweat so much from after practice, deep set into its surface.
His throat dried immediately. After not feeling you for so long this was intoxicating and too much. Without even realizing it, he almost lurched forward and knocked (banged) on your door. With a prompt five seconds of waiting, he started pounding frantically. His eyes caught onto the doorbell and he stumbled and forced his palm onto the device.
Finally, the door unlocked and opened.
If you had to be honest, seeing one of your friends look like they were about to piss themselves on your front doorstep would usually be very funny, but seeing his frantic breathing and white knuckles gripping the side of your doorframe made you reconsider.
“Where the hell have you been?” Ayato barked it out, but it was breathy and strained. You wondered if he was about to cry.
Gesturing to yourself to make it more obvious, “Been sick, do you not have eyes?”
“Shut it, get inside then.”
- He led you indoors
- The strangest part was that he was so distant, emotionally and physically. His eyes glossed over and he just gazed at all of the decorations in your kitchen. Climbing back onto the counter, you started finishing your soup as you peered back onto him. Ayato was practically glued to the opposite wall, his eyes staring down the photo framed of you and your other teammate. You had met him before Ayato, but that didn’t matter to him. You had nothing of him in your house, and that was going to be a problem
- While he had no fucking idea how to tale care of humans, the best way to imprint yourself in a person’s life (the first step, rather) is to keep them alive. That’s rule number one of people doing (unless you’re Kanato, but I think Ayato would argue his “personhood”)
- After that, he would imprint himself into something much more personal than a picture. No, next up was you.
- As if hearing his name called, his eyes snapped up to you. Shit, you looked pretty when sick. Red nose, watery eyes, soft clothes, half lidded gaze. Within an instant he was tearing you down from the counter and placing the empty bowl into the sink. If you had felt any better you would have had the clarity to see that that was inhuman.
- You were sick though, and just blamed it on brain fog
- His grip went under your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder. The coldness of his hands would have felt so good for the fever if only his claws would just stop digging in. You could have believed that he would have left marks into your skin
- The other hand wandered down your back before returning upwards towards the back of your neck and pressed you deeper into him
- He didn’t say a word as he led you to your bedroom and shoved you onto the bed
- Fuck, if he thought the front door smelt like you…
- He dragged the covers over you (“Stay down” “I’m not tired” “And I don’t give a shit. Down, now.”)
- He closed the curtain
The softness of the sheets made your head feel just a bit better, but even if you weren’t nauseous before the sight of Ayato grinding his teeth, gripping the desk for support, and staring you down like a damn predator you sure were now.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why did you get sick?”
That felt accusatory, but you let it slide. “Just ‘appens sometimes. Everyone gets sick.”
“Only weak bitches like you.”
“I must say, this is some five star health care. Where were you taught? Christian mingle?”
“Isn’t that some couple shit?”
“With the way you’re looking at me it feels like we’re at third base, hunny-bun.”
His eyes snapped down from that, “If you ever fucking call me that again I’ll kill you my damn self and make it look like an accident you son of a—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you stop talking? My head aches right now.”
Another flash moment with him by your side. The coldness of his palm pressed against your forehead. Concern laced with panic was in his gaze. His hand trailed down to your sternum, “Move over. I’m staying with you tonight.”
You obliged.
#ayato sakamaki#ayato x reader#diabolik lovers x reader#diabolik lovers scenarios#diabolik lovers#dialovers#diabolik lovers imagine#diabolik lovers fanfic#diabolik lovers headcanons#x reader#ask#dl#vampire#my writing#sakamaki#hurt comfort
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A Traitor In Our Midst
PART III OF III
PART I
PART II
PART III
And it’s done! What a wait! And for that we are very sorry. For a long time we just couldn’t finish this closing chapter in a way that felt right or akin to the characters and their little story so it has undergone several re-writes. This final part isn’t as long as those previous, or as technical, but we hope you enjoy! There’s fluff, so hopefully that makes up for it! Thank you everyone who has supported this little series! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!
Summary: Cal Kestis x ex-Galactic Empire!OC, but can be treated like an x reader, ugly secrets from her past are resurfaced. In light of the truth Cal and crew no longer feel as if they can trust the newest member to the trio. Tempers flare, sacrifices are made, and the truth finally comes out.
Warnings: Torture is featured/referenced in this chapter so be warned. Angst, Blood, Violence, Swearing, Torture, Interrogation tactics, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Trauma
“...just to protect those who would never do the same for you?”
It had been two weeks since Aylin and BD had been trapped on the Star Destroyer, Cal and crew in the middle of negotiating with Saw Gerrera to organise a rescue mission, the stubborn man finally agreeing once it had been revealed BD had failed to return, the ship the duo had commandeered having been seized by the Empire. Cal, Cere and Greez huddled around the small monitor in the centre of the hull, deathly quiet as they listened to the conversation taking place between Second Sister and their former crewmate. On their rounds of the ship, BD had managed to return just in time to spot Trilla entering the prison cell, and now they waited anxiously, hidden under a series of shelves in the outward corridor. All three members of the crew looked positively sick, Cal in particular turning a ghastly pale as he held his breath, dreading the events to unfold.
“Oh isn't that just sweet.” Trilla’s shrill voice mocked lowly, eerily echoing down the corridor. “You really did care about them didn't you? Isn’t it a pity how they’ve left you here to die?”
“Fuck you.” Cal had to strain to hear Aylin’s response. She sounded weak, worryingly so, the venom in her words sounding as if it pained her to push it past her lips.
“You’re not denying it.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“That pretty red-head might have come to save you once, even I can tell you were very important to him-”
Cal involuntarily lurched at his mention, his muscles twitching so as to distance himself from the screen, an icy grip encasing his heart.
“Not anymore.”
Cal physically felt his heart whither in his chest, his knuckles turning white.
“Not anymore.” The sick woman almost sounded joyful. “All because you were born on the wrong side of the war. How ironic, an unforgiving Jedi.”
‘oh force...’ Cal withdrew, his heart plummeting to his stomach as the words echoed around his skull. Greez’s clawed hand landed on his elbow in comfort but the redhead payed him no mind. ‘please say something’ he silently begged, desperate to know that Aylin didn’t really think the same of him.
She never responded.
“I can’t watch this.” The red-head made an effort to move away from the screen, fully intent on hiding in the shadows of the cockpit. The entire conversation felt like a knife to his heart, and it only became worse when he realised anything could have been happening behind those closed doors, and he was powerless.
“And Cere, she wouldn’t even come to save me.” - A muffled ugly gasp - “Why are you protecting those who would sell you to the order for far less?”
Silence followed, and the trio held their breaths. A strangled cry abruptly cut-off, Cal very nearly almost throwing up as a strangled chocking gasp broke the silence, the sounds of boots scraping and struggling against a metallic surface drowning out the conversation.
A sickening thud.
Murmurs.
Screams.
Another bang.
“No- PLEASE!” Shrill blood-curdling screams assaulted their senses, Cal flinching away from the screen. The trio waited a moment, Cal’s hands covering his mouth, agape with horror - the begging screams didn’t stop.
“We have to do something!” Cal burst, a red hue overtaking his sickly complexion, flinching again at a particularly desperate yell.
“What do you suppose?” Cere bit back harshly, the stress and helplessness of the situation fraying all of their nerves.
“Something! - Anything!” Cal racked his brain for a solution, the echoing screams resonating from the monitor throwing his thoughts into a frenzy. “We need to get Trilla out of the room. We need to get her away from her!”
“And how are we-”
“BD!” Cal lurches towards the screen, shaking hands frantically typing a message to the small BD-unit. “If we can just get her into the main hull of the ship, it would be perfectly reasonable for the trooper who requested her presence to have moved to a different location in the ship.”
“Cal, think about this-”
His hand hovers over the ‘enter’ button on the holopad. His wide bloodshot eyes searing a hole directly into Cere’s skull.
“What is there to think about?” As if on queue, another scream wafted through the monitor. That solidified his resolve, hitting the key before Cere or Greez could even blink, BD immediately setting into motion.
The cell doors opened with a resounding hiss as BD finished inputting the code, the little droid rolling to the side to enter the cell. The sight that greeted the crew was worse than they could have possibly imagined. The young woman strapped to the table in the centre of the room resembled a corpse more so than the confident and head-strong blonde that had departed from their ship only two weeks prior. Her imperial jacket barely hung to her beaten and bloodied frame, the torn and tattered fabric had been roughly tugged from her torso, wound into a crumpled heap around her waist and elbows, bony shoulders jutting up through the ruins of a once white tank top, now stained crimson. With every breath her ribcage shuddered, ribs pressing against her beaten and sullied skin, protruding almost painfully with every twist and struggle, skin taught. Any part of her not covered in crimson was mottled in varying shades of black and purple, the angry discolouration winding around her ribs and disappearing behind the remnants of her undershirt.
Cal felt positively sick. Anger bloomed in his chest as despair gnawed at his stomach, bloodshot eyes transfixed on the image before him, the sound of blood rushing through his ears, and Aylin’s screams echoing through his mind drowning out the conversation taking place. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table ledge with all the might his exhausted muscles would allow, his breath clogging his throat and chest as he forgets himself, his one and only concern the one person in the entire galaxy who he couldn't reach.
Trilla hovers over her diminished frame, elbow harshly dug into the blonde’s exposed ribs, gloved hand wrapped languidly around a blade buried to its hilt, fresh crimson pooling along Aylin’s collarbone, spilling onto the table and then onto the cement floor, glistening sickeningly in the overhead lighting. Noteful of BD’s presence, his frantic panicked beeps finally reaching her ears amongst the screams, Trilla leans back, still leant heavily on Aylin as her cold amber gaze lands on the small BB unit, anger and frustration etched across her face. A sickening thud echoes around the metallic room as the blonde’s head falls back pathetically, unaware of the cause of the interruption. She looked barely conscious, beginning to dance across the line of life to death, who’s arms were already open and willing to hold her in their cold embrace.
With all the languidity of a senator, Trilla leisurely pulls the blade from Aylin’s exposed shoulder, leisurely wiping the blood covered blade on her tattered jacket, a cruel smile adorning her features all the while. Aylin barely moves, eyes half lidded and body slack, the only indication of life the erratic yet shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Her head tilts to expose more of her hollowed features, Cal’s horrified gaze locking onto her own, the breath he had been holding escaping his lungs and his shoulders falling with the guilt that clawed its way up from his stomach, a tangible trepidation reverberating throughout the force. What little fat she had possessed had surely withered away, her cheekbones appearing almost sharp underneath her taught and sunken complexion, ivory skin now pale and shining a ghastly yellow under the blaring overhead lights, a stark contrast to the maroon-dried blood coating her temple and jaw. Her bloodshot and sunken eyes blearily gaze towards the ceiling, no sign of the life that had once illuminated their honeyed depths, the life that had spilled from her being in abundance no longer to be found.
Cal’s focus finally turns back to the conversation at hand, breaths shallow, BD beckoned from the room with an indignant “Droid.”, the tall figure of the second sister glowering at them from the entrance of the cell, evidently annoyed at the intrusion. With one final glance BD reluctantly turns to leave the room, following the second sister dutifully in their search for the non-existent trooper in the main hanger.
Cal collapses onto a sofa across the room from the monitor, the horrific image of Aylin strapped to a metal table, looking closer to death than life, and drenched in her own blood, permanently burnt into his retinas. A sight to haunt him for a lifetime.
“Fuck Saw, we’re getting them both, tomorrow.”
----------
With little convincing Greez had quickly succumbed to Cal’s persuasion, the two men - after much deliberation and heated debate - had also successfully convinced Cere of their plan. Truthfully, Cal had been conjuring ways to coordination a rescue ever since Aylin and BD had been captured on the Star Dreadnaught, and as he prepared for the events of the day, no doubt entered his mind that their two companions would be with the crew by the end of the day. Companion - Cal almost scoffed to himself - the two were far more than that: BD, in many ways, had become a best friend to Cal in the past few years, the companionable little droid with a taste for adventure never failing to offer a sense of comfort and joy, even in some of Cal’s darkest times, in many ways resembling a younger sibling Cal had never before had the pleasure of having. Aylin, on the other hand, in the time the pair had known one another, had somehow wormed her way into the isolated Jedi’s heart, always offering her support in his times of need, encouraging him with his training through her self-proclaimed ‘tough-love’, becoming a source of confident resolve and rationality - a sense of stability in the ever changing galaxy.
Cal remembered their many nights spent on some unknown planet, the pair sat beneath the many stars and moons of the galaxy, sharing tales long into the night. Cal had never had a relationship with anyone like the relationship he had formed with the stubborn blonde: heatedly sparring before patching one another’s wounds from the scuffle; longing glances spared with every tranquil moment, hidden behind excuses of exhaustion or a poorly constructed insult; grins and soft smiles shared over meal time or upon their own hidden adventures exploring new planets; a hand reaching out for the others in a busied market or times of comfort; an eye searching for the other in a crowded room; simply basking in one another's presence in the quiet hours of the morning, relishing every moment where they could just be. Cal knew he was a fool, a disgrace to the Jedi code he had spent his entire youth obeying like a holy script, he knew he was a fool the first time the enigmatic blonde had saved his life in her third month of joining the crew, standing over his tired and weary frame with a cocky smirk and a calloused hand outstretched, making some smart-arsed comment as she hauled him to his feet.
Attachments were forbidden, Jedi were trained from birth to let go of everything they were afraid to lose. And Cal? He was terrified to lose her - he had already broken his sacred vows, he had become attached, and he would be damned before he sacrificed one of the only things he was afraid to lose. He would never be a Jedi, yet perhaps that was okay, perhaps there was something more to this world that he had only realised upon stumbling across the Mantis and her crew.
He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.
The point seemed ever more poignant as his cerulean eyes stared conflictingly at the reflection in his mirror. No longer did he adorn the trusty combat trousers, baggy shirt, chest brace, not even his trusting poncho that seemed to make up his daily attire. Instead, a version of himself he had spent endless nights battling against stared back at him, the ironed and pressed midnight coloured uniform clinging to his lean frame. After a pit stop or two he had successfully acquired a knock-off Imperial General’s uniform, a notable fake with the lack of an aura emitting from the otherwise haunting apparel. Tugging harshly at the collar that bit into the skin of his neck, a habit he had seen Aylin recount numerous times in her preparation for the mission, his tired eyes trail over his figure, hoping to all of the stars and force wielders in the galaxy that his Master couldn’t see him now.
He clears his throat to relieve some of the tightness that had gathered in his chest before he leaves his sleeping quarters, rolling his stiff shoulders as he makes his way into the main hull, lightsaber already hidden beneath his newly acquired jacket.
“So,” The red-head steps before Greez and Cere - already equipped in her own better-fitting storm trooper armour - who had been typing away to BD on the small holopad in the main hull. “How do I look?”
The pair glance up at the young man, Greez’s beady little eyes widening considerably, a good natured grin enveloping his face.
“Kid-” Humour laced his tone, his dark eyes taking in the sight before him. “Let’s just hope you won’t be on that ship for too long.” In comparison to how Aylin’s uniform had fit her frame, Cal’s uniform may have well as swamped him, the thick fabric creasing at his waist, his belt fastened at the smallest capacity and yet somehow still too big, sitting notably lower on his waist than it should have, polished and barely scuffed boots a size too large, the one thing that actually fit being the pair of leather gloves over his shaking hands.
Everything just seemed slightly wrong, just a little bit askew, just a little bit... fake.
By all respects, Cal had certainly gone to the effort of impersonating an Imperial soldier, skin scrubbed clean of the dirt and grime of the galaxy, hair slicked back under a hat slightly too large for his head, he had even cracked into Aylin’s limited makeup supply and attempted to conceal the many scars he had gained through his years, as well as the stress-induced darkening bags under his eyes. The Empire wasn't him, and it was painfully obvious to all who spared him a second glance.
“Say all you want, old man.” Cal jibes light heatedly, beginning to head towards the cockpit. “Have you forgotten your own disguise?” The redhead sends a pointed look in the direction of the shell of a modified astromech droid, the humour in Greez’s eyes quickly dying as his gaze lands on his ingenious costume.
“If I have to come and rescue you all in that thing.” Greez stares uneasily at his heavy, small costume. “You owe me a spa day.”
----------
After commandeering a small transport shuttle from a neighbouring planet with a rather small Imperial presence, Cal and Cere bid farewell to Greez, who was to remain with the Mantis and communicate with them through BD and the data pad.
“Be careful.” Cere warns, arms wrapped around herself as she watches Greez fiddle with some mechanisms on the inside of the ship with dull eyes. “We won’t be able to come and rescue you if you get caught.”
He waves her concern off with dismissal.
Cal appears next to her, materialising from the bowls of the Mantis, smoothing his jacket out once again. The older woman turns to the young man, barely out of adolescence, and feels the corners of her mouth tug down. This could go wrong, this could go horribly, horrendously, atrociously wrong, and with Cal’s loosening grip on his emotions, his anxiety rolling from him in waves through the force, chances of failure were ever high. Cal was only young, having grown up during some of the darkest known times of the galaxy, his future destroyed by a war begun before his birth, and now he was to be thrust into the heart of the conflict, into the home of those responsible for all of his suffering. Cal was a victim, just like all those who had lived during the raising of the Empire, his body and mind more marred and scarred than most, but he was a survivor, scorning and mocking the Empire with every day lived. Cere hoped he continued to be a survivor, one of the few specks of light in an ever darkening galaxy, yet this rescue mission threatened to snuff his light out for good.
Her mind wondered at the cause of the young man’s anxiety as she watched his hands tremble as he straightened his leather belt, surveying the pasty sheen of his skin and the poorly-concealed bags under his flitting eyes. As harsh as she had been on Aylin when her past had been revealed, it was undeniable that the two women had held a close bond, and secretly, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Cere had missed the girl terribly, her own guilty conscious gnawing away at the edges of her conscious whenever she tried to rest. Last night had been particularly bad after the events that she had witnessed unfold on the small data pad yesterday afternoon, the image of her companion, beaten and bloody, a mere fragment of how she remembered the blonde girl on her departure. The image haunted her whenever her eyes had finally agreed to close - as obviously was the case with the redhead stood next to her, exhaustion palpable on his features underneath the mounting anxiety and adrenaline - the added guilt, knowing similar treatment would have faced Trilla due to her own selfishness, depriving her mind of rest, gnawing at her innards and haunting every fibre of her being.
She hoped desperately for her crew to return, all of them safe, once again, in their home, the Mantis.
“Cal,” She turns to the tall red-head, hands gripping her arms more firmly, “I know what your goal is, I know how badly you want to bring her home.” The red-head watches her with steady eyes, shoulders raising in defence. “I want them home too, but- but please remember yourself. I can’t loose all of you.”
The sounds of the local wildlife and fauna fill the steady silence as Cal mulled over her words, hand running over the saber tucked into his side.
“Don’t worry Cere,” Cal begins heading down the ramp, taking long purposeful strides towards the Imperial ship, Cere’s more tentative steps following in his wake. “I’m going to make it back, and I’m bringing everyone with me.”
Cal didn’t know where the certainty had come from, his voice didn’t waver and his steps didn’t falter. He would do this. He would bring his two best friends back home, and one day he would make the Empire pay.
----------
“We’re here.” Cere slips out of the pilot seat, allowing for Cal to take her place, grasping her blaster in a vice-like grip as she sits stiffly towards the back of the shuttle. She watches as Cal heads to the front of the ship, manning the controls for their landing, frown deepening behind her helmet as the star destroyer encroaches, fear clawing at her throat with every memory resurfaced from the devastation following Order 66.
“We head out the Western exit of the docking bay when we land.” Cal rattles off, flipping some switches as their small vessel is pulled towards the star destroyer. “BD should meet us somewhere in one of the closest corridors and we follow them to the cell, remember to stay behind me, if you don’t they’ll know something’s wrong straight away.”
Cere watches as Cal’s grip tightens around the steering controls, leather gloves straining taught over his knuckles, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes stare unblinking towards the star destroyer.
“Are you ready?” Her voice is stern - shocking her with how it echoes back to her within the suffocating helmet - echoing around the small hull, yet Cal nearly doesn’t hear her, distracted with the storm brewing in his mind, consumed by a rising tidal wave of anxiety, determination and fear.
His eyes finally dart away from the destroyer, turning to glance at his companion over his shoulder, his blue irises red-rimmed and owlish in the overhead lights. The uncanny figure of a storm-trooper greats him, black visor reflecting his own distorted expression back to him from an impenetrable mask of white.
He nods lightly, determination sparking in his weary eyes, the collar of his jacket rubbing uncomfortably against his nape. There was no going back now, he couldn't go back.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
----------
Cal squints as he exist the transport shuttle, the overbearing overhead lights bearing down on his frigid frame, the jelled hair peaking form underneath his hat shining with every tilt of his head. The first foot fall on the metal floor seems to resonate throughout the entire hanger, vibrations wracking the bones in his leg, tremors coursing throughout his body and echoing in his ears as several troopers’ heads turn towards the new arrival. His breath catches in his throat and the courage in his stomach withers as he takes another feigned purposeful stride away from the comfort and security of the shuttle, and in towards those waging a war on the galaxy. With every feigned purposeful step shockwaves scatter throughout his tense body, the tension in the air threatening to suffocate him, his heart hammering restlessly against his ribcage and lungs struggling for breath as if he had just ran through the last twelve parsecs. His cerulean eyes lock on his exit from the hanger, offering him a brief solace from the white masks that consumed every corner of his vision, Cere’s steady footsteps behind him offering a further sense of comfort.
By the time the pair finally exit the hanger Cal can practically feel the sweat that had broken out across his body, swiping his forehead to rid of any precipitation that had gathered. His shoulders and spine ached with the effort he had put into maintaining his posture - much in the way he had watched Aylin enter the hanger only several weeks prior - and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. Although on the outside he may have appeared like ay other Imperial General, cold, unpleasant, perhaps even bored or apathetic to all events that seemed to have been happening around him, inside he had never felt so rattled, his mind a muddled mess, his blood coursing with fear and anxiety which only seemed to mount with every passing second. The panic within thinly veiled with calculated disgust.
Almost as soon as Cal and Cere enter an adjacent corridor to the main hanger, BD comes scuttling around the corner, the pair not recognising the droid in its new round body - Cere’s gloved fingers wrapping dangerously around the hilt of her blaster - until its excited little beeps reach their ears.
“Buddy!” Cal’s facade cracks, grinning down at the little droid as he fights the urge to reach down and give them a hug, worried incase someone should see. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
The little droid, on the other hand, is positively ecstatic, practically vibrating on the spot in both glee at being rescued and frustration that they couldn’t jump straight into Cal’s arms. Truth be told BD had deeply missed their old body during their time stranded on the Dreadnaught. Not waisting any time the little droid rolls behind Cal’s trouser clad legs, ramming into his calves in an attempt to nudge him in the direction of Aylin’s cell and whirring heatedly.
“I know, I know.” Cal steps forward, resolute stature returning to his pale features as he prepares to round another corner. “We’re all going home.”
----------
Within minutes that felt like an eternity the three rebels found themselves amongst the holding cells, BD finally taking the lead to guide them to Aylin’s cell, his happy chirps long silenced as the three grew nearer, all three dreading the sight to await them. Much like when they first arrived, Cal felt suffocated by the pristine atmosphere that seemed to cling to his clothes and hair, dirtying his skin and clogging his throat. It felt fake... the whites and slanted greys, the cleanliness and order, the peace and harmony. The presented image of purity and order, worked into the very steel framework itself, felt so wrong and dirty with the suffering taking place throughout the galaxy at the hands of those that inhabited the ship. Cal could feel the misery and terror that emanated from the dreadnaught itself, seeping into him through the walls and floors, mixed into a terrible concoction with the pride and honour from the officials that walked those very corridors.
It was beloathed, and yet prideful.
Uncomfortably, it reminded him of Aylin.
The red-head tugged at the collar of his jacket as BD came to an abrupt halt at a large durasteel cell door, his mind thrust back to the present. His breath catches in his throat as BD scuttles forward to open the cell door, gloved hand wrapping around the hidden saber at his hip, listening for any approaching footsteps down the corridor. Truthfully, he felt a nervous wreck, the beads of sweat forming along his brow and his greying pallor more so linked to his worry for Aylin than anything else. He could fight if they were caught, and chances are, with both himself and Cere combined, they could easily commandeer an escape shuttle, but he wasn’t certain if he could recover Aylin from the state he had seen her in on the small holopad. At the very moment he couldn’t be sure, and a part of him, a cowardly disdainful part of his conscience, feared opening the cell door to confirm his worry, feared being faced with the broken shell of a woman he couldn’t save. Another person he had failed, a person who had saved him more times than he could count.
Perhaps it was love - his worry at knowing the truth, his fear of seeing the situation first-hand. Cal was ashamed to think such a way.
The cell door hisses open, cool air caressing his feverish skin as he steps through the threshold, the overpowering scent of antiseptic hitting him full force, yet the familiar metallic stench of blood followed. His breath remains in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Bright eyes widening as they flit about the empty room, landing uneasily on Aylin’s still figure. Cal holds his breath, silently begging her to move, for her head to tilt in his direction, for her closed eyes to open, begging her to do anything at all.
“Aylin?” The word echoes around the room, Cal’s voice shaky and cracking around the word, his mouth parched like the deserts of Tatooine. Somehow his palms become even more clammy, and he tosses his gloves to the side without a second thought, small crescents visible in the palms of his hands from how he had clenched them on their short journey. He takes a small step closer.
She doesn’t move.
Cere watches him carefully from behind her helmet as he calls Aylin’s name again and steps further into the room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. BD, clearly unsure of what to do, hovers around Cere’s ankles, little camera flickering between Cal and Aylin, a barely audible humming even sting from the little droid. She turns to the closed cell door, blaster gripped tightly to her chest, wary of an intrusion.
Things had barely changed from the last time Cal had seen the room through BD’s holopad projection and he was thankful to note that it didn’t look as if Aylin had sustained any more injuries from the day prior, however, that was hard to determine with the crimson that coated her body, undoubtedly hiding wounds from view. Cal stops next to the metal table, peering down at her sullen features, her sunken maroon-bagged eyes closed to the world, chapped lips barely parted. The holopad had failed to pick up many of the finer details, and Cal was horrified to see the blossoms of purple and magenta that littered her face and neck, a particularly worrisome lashing of purple winding around her throat - Cal noting with disgust it’s resemblance to a handprint. Her blonde hair appeared dull and lifeless, slicked back from her face and coated in sweat and blood, a small lesion at her temple and brow trickling into her hairline, pooling in the rivets of her angular features. Blood - darker, older - had been smeared across her cheeks and jaw, cracking along the lines of her face and flaking from her skin, leaving it stained red underneath.
“What did they do to you?” Cal questions softly, not expecting an answer. Gingerly he places his hand on her shoulder, careful to avoid any hidden wounds.
His heart almost lurches from his chest when she flinches from his touch.
“Aylin!” He almost cheers, glee coating his voice as he leans closer, a smile cracking his features. Slowly, weakly, her eyes flutter open, familiar hazel eyes squinting up at him through all the blood and gore. She looked exhausted, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, her left eye only partially open. “Aylin, oh my force, it’s me. It’s Cal.” Lost in his own elation Cal fails to spot the weariness to her features, nor the way her gaze turns to the ceiling, vacant and unseeing. He reaches for the cuff around her wrist, but her hand jerks away from his touch. He pauses, forehead creasing. “Aylin, come on, its me, and Cere, we’re getting you home.”
Her eyes flicker to his for the briefest of moments, brightened under the harsh lighting. “Trilla,” Her voice is hoarse and weak, a husky whisper of what it once was, lined with guilt and exhaustion. She tilts her head away from the red-heads confused gaze, something awful gnawing at her stomach. “leave me alone.”
Silence consumes the room, Cal’s gaze landing on Cere who simply shrugs her shoulders in response. He reaches for her again, swiping a strand of hair from her face, hand retreating just as quickly when her eyes snap open in alarm.
“Aylin, its me, come on-”
“You’re not here.” She was trying to convince herself, not daring to allow her hopes to rise. She was in pain, she was beyond exhausted, and she was dangerously close to giving up, hoping for death as some sort of escape. “You’re not real.” She glances down to his hand that rests against her exposed forearm, mind barely registering the warm pads of his fingers pressing against her pulse. “Trilla, we’ve done this before. You’re a cruel woman.”
She glances away as pity overtakes his features, staring blankly at the ceiling, body slack against the tabletop. ‘We’ve done this before.’ Had Trilla done this before? How many times had versions of himself and the crew attempted to rescue her? How guarded had she had to be, not even trusting her own dreams for fear of revealing what she had tried to keep from those who sought to harm them. He was furious - the anger that had lapped up his throat all week rising like a tidal wave - and he would make them pay, but first he had to get everyone back.
“No, no, it’s us, it’s me. I promise it’s me.” He tries, attempting to scrub the makeup from his face, scars glossy under the harsh white light. He catches BD out of the corner of his eye. “Look!- We’ve got BD, we’re all going home.”
Finally she picks her head up, wincing at the effort. Her wide eyes land on the little droid across the room, mouth agape as the air leaves her lungs and her shoulder slump. Terror and disappointment gnaw away at her conscience, the familiar feeling of helplessness returning full force. “They found BD.” She mutters to herself, defeats palpable in her voice as she allows her head to fall back against the table, eyes glossy with unshed tears.
Cal, in a stressed panic, and unsure of what to do, reaches out through the force, attempting to project his memories, something no one else could possess. But, as he pressed forward a force stops him in his tracks, Aylin’s body tensing at a presence surrounding her mind. “I can show you, just let me- let me in.”
“No! No, no, no-” Cal had never seen so much fear in her eyes, and he withdraws, hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay, I won’t, I won’t.” He quickly retreats as her panic rises, cuffs clanking against the table as she feebly squirms, force signature returning to his own aura, yet outstretched and welcoming, more than willing for Aylin to make the first move. He wracks his tired and frantic brain for a solution, her panic feeding into his own, not expecting her to have such doubts. They needed to be quick, he knew, but there was no way they could coax her out of the room in the state she was in. “I know you. I know things about you the Empire- that Trilla would never know. Do you remember that time on Hoth when I ripped a glove and almost caught frostbite, I’ve only still got ten fingers because you managed to skin that little creature. What about that time I accidentally singed some of your hair off with my saber when I tried to use it as a torch, I had to pay for you’re haircut afterwards and you got the most expensive treatment just to prove a point. I know you have two sugars in your tea but only every other day; I know you always insist on playing with your knives no matter how many times I ask you to stop; I know that you’re favourite game to play is blackjack because you can count cards and know how to cheat, like that time you scammed me for half a brownie.” He was getting emotional now, the stress and turmoil of the past few days causing unshed tears to gather, his knuckles turning white as he wrings his hands together. “I promise you it’s me.”
They’re in you head. Her conscience echoes, the blonde fighting back tears at her own failure. They know, they know everything. Trilla’s playing, she’s already got what she wants.
“You can’t be here.” He voice cracks and wavers, throat scratchy from misuse, her mounting emotions not helping. She wished he was here, with every fibre of her being she wished Cal actually stood before her, frown on his face and eyebrows knitted together in concern. It couldn’t be true. If he was truly here she might’ve cried, and if this was all another elaborate hallucination created by Trilla then she’d probably cry even harder. She so desperately wanted to go home.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to do anything.” Cal reaches again for the cuffs binding her hands to the table, one hand reaching for the saber at his hip. “But please let me help you.”
She doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps around her thin wrist, saber igniting and casting blue light across the room. Within seconds both cuffs are cut from her wrist, falling against the table with a thud. She rubs her wrists gingerly, wincing at the cuts she has sustained during her stay. Grasping her forearm in a delicate grip, other hand sliding behind her shoulder blade, Cal eases her up, wincing at every gasp that leaves her lips. A jaw in his muscle ticks with every sound from her mouth, pity and fury blooming in his chest.
“Agh-” She grimaces at the pain enveloping her side, ribs protesting against the movement, healing wounds reopening with every twist of her muscle.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Cal urges her on, arm sliding underneath her legs and behind her back, drawing her to his chest as he rises to his full height. Aylin’s head lolls against his shoulder, scared to hope any of this was real but revelling in the familiar warm comfort seeping from the redheads chest.
With a nod shared between `Cal and Cere they depart, deadly silent as they leave the cell, not a trace of their presence left behind. Cal glances down at the woman in his arms, beyond grateful to have her back within arms reach, satisfied with the knowledge no one would be able to harm her now. He had her and he wasn’t letting go.
Cere freezes in front of him, BD rolling into the back of her legs, and Cal’s heart stops in his chest. She urges him back, but as they’re retreating two troops round the corner, halting in surprise. Both troops helmets slowly turn towards the blonde nestled in Cal’s arms, and their blasters raise, shouting commands. Cal ducks as Cere fires, shielding Aylin as well as he could, BD taking refuge behind Cere’s legs.
Within moments the corridor plunges into silence again, two dead troops lain before the four rebels. Cere glances back to Cal, charging her blaster.
“Tell me if you need me to slow down.” And she runs, sprinting in the direction of the escape shuttles - just to the left of the hanger - with BD trailing behind, Cal sprinting to keep up. Rounding another corner he almost crashes into Cere who doubles back, the pair just managing to dodge out of the way of oncoming blaster fire as they disappear around another corner, the slap of their boots against the metal floor drowned out by the shouts of troops on their tail.
“We’re not far.’ Cere calls, throwing her helmet to the side as she gaps for breath, Cal only a few paces behind her. The pair, plus BD, emerge in a small hanger, smaller, more compact escape shuttles lined on either wall, a squad of five stormtroopers ready and waiting.
Cal’s eyes widen as he watches all five troops raise their weapons, heart plummeting to his stomach. There was nothing he could do, he just hoped they granted them death instead of subjecting them to the fate Aylin had been forced to endure. Cere reaches back deftly and grasps his saber from his belt, igniting the blade mere moments before the first blaster fires. She works in a blur, deflecting shot after shot, blue light cast across her features as she steps closer to the enemy, Cal and BD close behind. It wasn’t often the redhead was able to see Cere in combat, usually taking missions with the girl in his arms, and the skill she displayed, surely a product of the wisdom she had amassed over her years, was awe-inspiring. Every movement is precise, each twist and flick of her wrist purposeful, the weight of the saber in her hand appearing little more than a feather with the ease she displays. She deflects and a troop falls, killed by their own shot.
Slowly but surely the trio make their way towards the closest shuttle, Cal and BD baking away into the ship whilst Cere remains on the defensive, deflecting shot after shot, a bead of sweat running from her brow. Cal places Aylin down on a small cot in the corner of the cramped shuttle, instructing BD to stay behind whilst he collects Cere, running to the boarding ramp, the sounds of blaster shots once again reaching his ears.
“Cere!” He shouts, hanging out of the shuttles door, unable to do much without a weapon. “Cere!”
The older woman retreats slowly, continuing to deflect as she backs up the ramp, the red-head scuttling to the front of the shuttle and switching the engines on, awaiting the sound of the door hissing shut before doing anything drastic.
“Go!” Cere calls and he immediately sets into action, flicking a switch to his right and grasping the steering in both hands, sighing in relief as the shuttle lifts from the floor, paying no mind to the blaster shots that ricocheted off the steelwork around him. Cere appears, clambering into the co-pilots seat, saber grasped tightly in her hand as the ship lurches forward, charging full speed out of the small hanger, Cal frantically inputting the necessary codes for hyperspace, hands flitting about the dashboard in a blur.
With one final lurch the shuttle departs, the red head sighing and collapsing back into the pilots seat, chest rising and falling as he revels in the safety of hyperspace, stars dancing across his vision and illuminating his weary features, the stresses of the day lifting from his shoulders as he watches galaxies stream past. But the day was far from over, and in moments he’s clambering out of his seat, mind once again consumed by the blonde that hadn’t left his thoughts for an eternity.
Leaving Cere in control of their heading Cal retreats into the cramped hull, making a beeline for the blonde huddled atop a thin casket, BD dutifully waiting by her side, camera trained on her intensely, and rolling anxiously from side to side. Cere stares after him, wanting to offer her services, but ultimately deciding to remain in the cockpit, radioing Greez back on the Mantis, knowing that the redhead needed some time with Aylin, alone.
“I’m back.” Cal announces, sitting on the edge of the small cot, dropping a small medkit onto his lap the he had found in a compartment. His eyes land on the blonde’s pale face, eyes softening at the worry etched across her features, eyebrows knitted together in both pain and concern. He opens his mouth to speak, protruding a set of stims from the cluttered medkit. “I’m going to patch you up and then we’re going home. You’re safe, Trilla can’t get to you anymore.”
Aylin hums, head tilting to the side as she finally makes eye contact with the red head, looking as if she was only truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widen and her chapped lips part, a shaking hand reaching out to rest against his own, testing her own reality. Cal smiles softly as she watches him with curious eyes, shallow breaths parting her lips.
“Cal?”
“Yes,” his voice breaks as she finally looks at him, truly looks at him, hazel eyes brightening with every second, fighting back against heavy lids. “yes it’s Cal. We’re going home.”
A small smile fights its way onto her lips, although the joyous moment is broken abruptly, the smile quickly twisting into a grimace as her body finally begins to acknowledge the trauma it had endured, old and new wounds reopened in the frenzy to escape. Her eyes flicker, hand beginning to feel slack against his own. Cal pales, hurriedly uncapping the stim in his grasp.
“You stay awake, you hear?” He jabs the stim into her bicep, preparing the other one in his grasp. He had her, he couldn’t lose her now.
“It hurts.” Her voice is strained, a pathetic replica of her true nature.
“I know, I know it does. I’m going to make it stop, I just need you to stay here, stay with me.” Her eyes flutter again, and Cal is grasping at straws, digging through the medkit for something, anything that could work. The stims hadn't worked as he hoped and now he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Hey- hey! You keep those eyes open. Don’t you dare-” Fear grips him like a vice. His blood running cold as he leans closer, both hands grasping her shoulders, uncaring for the blood that caked them. He felt helpless, utterly, hopelessly helpless. It had been bad when he had been forced to endure being trapped behind a screen, but oh, this was so much worse. She was right here, he could touch her, talk to her, feel her weak heart beating underneath his very own fingertips, and yet he couldn't do anything. “Look at me. Look. At. Me. I want to see your eyes. Come on.”
Try as she might, her body was beginning to fail and with every passing moment the darkness that had clouded her peripheral for the past few days encroached, the lights in the hull dimming and dimming, until all she could see was Cal’s hazy face staring down at her, his hands clasping either side of her face. “Please.” She couldn’t, her walls finally falling and mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.
“Cere-!”
He sounded desperate. He sounded scared. And for the briefest of moments, Aylin felt guilty.
And then the darkness consumed her.
----------
Cal drifts in and out of sleep, dozing comfortably with his head propped atop a familiar cot in a familiar ship, hand delicately grasping another's with his legs curled under the old chair he had stolen, the hazy figure of Aylin comforting him in his peripheral. It had been a few hours since himself, Cere and BD had returned to the Mantis, patching up Aylin to the best of their ability before tucking her away in her room, on course to the rebel base in order to take up Saw’s offer of medical assistance once word had reached him of their rescue mission. Although Cal had arrived back to the Mantis full of energy, spurred on by his panic and worry for the girl who had practically collapsed in his arms, the hours and hours of stress had worn him down, the young red-head finally agreeing to catch some rest, but refusing to allow Aylin to leave his sight.
In his half-conscious state, he fails to notice the way the blonde’s lips twitch and eyelids flutter, barely registering the way her fingers flex against his own as the darkness finally releases her, mind and body returning. Aylin stirs quietly, every muscle and joint aching, the soft fabric against her skin a welcome change from the metal table she had called home for force-knows how long. With every passing second her mind returns, cogs turning as the days events come back to her full force, the sight of Cal’s worried gaze seared into the back of her eyelids, her lips parting in a gasp and her body lurching up out of slumber. Her eyes snap open, crazed and panicked as they dart around the dimly lit room, a groan parting her lips as her ribs protest, the gaping wound at her side, now haphazardly wound in fresh bandages, protesting heavily agains the sudden movement.
Cal is startled awake, almost falling from his chair at Aylin’s abrupt movement hazy eyes fighting for clarity amongst his foggy thoughts. “Hey,” He mutters groggily, mind desperately fighting against the sleep that had consumed him only moment before, hands reaching out to grab Aylin’s shoulders. “hey, hey, hey. It’s me, Aylin it’s me.” Finally, the frantic woman’s eyes meet his own, her body relaxing into his touch as he gently guides her back down, the pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of her shoulders. “It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” She takes in a shuddering breath as Cal gently sweeps her messy bangs from her eyes, palm resting against her forehead a moment too long, simply savouring that she was here, she was back, she was safe.
Cal sits back in his chair once he makes sure she was okay and settled, fretting like a mother and readjusting her pillows and pulling the thin sheets back up to her chest, fingers smoothing out the white tank top she had been changed into. His cerulean eyes, still slightly blurry with sleep, never leave her figure.
“What happened?” Her voice was quiet, a mere murmer whisked away on the wind. She runs a hand along the bandages freshly wrapped around her shoulder, noting the wraps of gauze around each of her wrists.
“We got you. Cere and I, we went and got you. You were pretty beat up.” His voice cracks and he quickly clears his throat. Aylin pays it no mind, wide owlish eyes staring at him from underneath a pair of heavy lids. “We’ve fixed you up the best we could, Saw’s offered some rebel facilities if we need them.” The small room plunges into silence, neither of them glancing away, Cal’s thumb unknowingly rubbing circles into the back of Aylin’s hand. As an after thought he adds. “We’re at the other end of the galaxy, there’s no way they can find us here. You’re safe, you can get some rest.”
As if she had suddenly remembered, Aylin reveals her force signature, the walls that she had held around her mind - and that she had habitually rebuilt when she awakened - coming crumbling down. Cal watches her shoulders visibly relax as the final remnants of tension leave her body, allowing his own force signature to branch out, enticed yet apprehensive of the new presence.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She mutters, eyes falling from his gaze.
“I get it.” He smiles softly, thumb continuing to run soothing circles on the back of her hand. As much as he may have been hurt that she hadn’t told him, he couldn’t deny that he understood why, the events of the last two weeks evidence enough of the consequences. “We can talk about it later, you need some rest.”
Silence envelopes the room, the pair simply content with one another's presence. Cal rests his head on the palm of his hand, eyes beginning to close once again, happy that they had a second chance. Undoubtedly the pair had much to talk about, the crew had to figure out how to move forward, but at least they had that chance. For a long time Cal had feared he would never get that chance and now that he had it, he was not going to let it go to waste.
Things weren’t perfect, not by any stretch of the word, but the universe had given them the opportunity to try and make things right.
Suddenly, Aylin stirs again, wincing as she attempts to sit up, eyes wide and unblinking as they flit about the room. Cal’s hands shoot out again to stop her. “Where’s BD?” The urgency to her voice was hard to miss, resembling its older self. “Is he alright? Did you find him? I saw-”
“It’s okay, we’re all back. BD’ll be over the moon to know you’re awake, they’ve been peaking into your room every chance they get.” Cal coaxes her back down, more concerned with her reopening any of the wounds the crew had spent a painstaking amount of time trying to patch up than anything else. “And we managed to extract the information you both collected. It’s really going to make a difference.” He pauses, unsure of his next words, wondering how inappropriate they might be, unsure of how the blonde felt about him after her departure. “Thank you.”
Aylin smiles fondly at his worry, allowing him to secure her back in place, delighted that her earlier assumptions hadn’t been true, that Trilla wasn’t just playing some sick mind game, that BD was safe and sound, on the Mantis where they belonged. Then, the words fully register, and her forehead creases in confusion. “For what?”
Cal leans back in his chair, hands running through his disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes more visible with the guilt festering in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve let anyone go and collect the data, and anyone else probably wouldn’t have been in the same danger as you.” His bright eyes drift to the bandages wrapped around her shoulder, flitting across the many bruises visible just from her neck up. “But you did and I- thank you. Thank you for doing this and I know-” He was rambling now, his hands running through his hair as Aylin watches him, a small smile tugging at her chapped lips. “I know I acted like a bit of an ass before you left- and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hesitates again, reaching forward to intertwine their hands, seeking comfort in knowing she was here, that he hadn’t failed her as he had done his master all those years ago. “I heard some of the things Trilla said to you, and I’m sorry you ever thought I wouldn’t come to get you. It was all I could think about since they caught you. Truthfully I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t gotten you back.”
The room plunges into silence once again, uncomfortable and stifling, Cal feeling overwhelmed at the emotions that echoed around him through the force, not daring to reach out to the blonde before him, fearful of what he might discover, fearful of heartbreak. Aylin gazes at the red head from under heavy lashes, weary eyes begging to close. The poor boy looked as exhausted as she felt, deep dark bags under his eyes, skin as pale as snow causing his scars to look red and glossy, highlighting the greyness to his pallor, his hair a dishevelled mess atop his head, tufts sticking out in every direction from the endless amount of times he had ran his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the roots in frustration. He had changed since she last saw him, donning a pair of cargo trousers and a comfortable sweater she had suggested he buy form a marker stall once, the navy material bunched up to his elbows, creased and crinkled from the stresses of the day. As tired as he looked and as rough as she felt, she doubted she had ever before been so ecstatic to see him, to see that he cared, even despite the truth of her history. Warmth spread from everywhere he touched, his soft touches and gentle caresses a stark contrast to anything she had felt before; it was everything she had hoped it could be.
“I remember seeing you in that uniform.” Aylin whispers, daring to break the silence, exhausted yet hopeful eyes boring into Cal’s own. “I’m surprised they didn’t realise you weren't one of them sooner.”
He was taken aback at the abrupt shift in conversation, cerulean eyes boring into Aylin’s own hazel pair with curiosity, his mind reeling at the exhaustingly dazzling smile she sent his way.
“And why’s that?” He questions softly, thumb unknowingly continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of her hand.
“Your eyes.” Cal’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, beginning to wonder if she had been able to understand his words in her drugged state. “They’re too kind.”
A moments pause. Cal could feel the familiar bloom of heat along his cheeks spreading to his ears, he dreaded to think how flushed he must look.
“They didn’t match the uniform at all.”
“You’re obviously delirious,” he deflects jokingly, voice just as soft, warmth spreading through his cheeks and neck. “the uniform didn’t even fit-”
“The eyes are the window to the soul.” She mutters defiantly, determined even despite her dazed and exhausted state. “I’ve seen the eyes of some of the cruelest men and women in the galaxy. You’re too good for them Cal, you’re too good for us, you’re too good for me. I don’t know why you came to save me, but I can’t thank you enough. I never thought I would get to see your eyes again.”
Because I love you. He wanted to say, yet his mind wouldn’t let him, forcing partial truth from his lips.
“I was worried I’d never get to see you again.” Cal admits, leaning forward in his chair. “You have no idea how worried I was. You’ll be the death of me one day.”
His eyes study her face; the softness of her cheeks, the angularity of her jaw, the curve of her lips. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips and then back again, watching a small smile carve its way across her small lips. He felt like a boy again, unsure and uncertain, inexperienced and insecure. He had felt like this many times around the blonde, but this time, he wouldn’t shy away. She was a shining star in an ever darkening galaxy, and he’d be dead before he let her fall from his grasp again. Mustering all the courage in the galaxy, his lips part. “I was worried I’d never get to do this.”
Some part of him, the part that remembered his time with the Jedi before the end to it all, the end of an era, stirred fear in his heart; fear of attachments, fear of loss, fear of love. A life of solitude and harmony he had practiced like a mantra, and that in every step of the way, when it came to the blonde in front of him, he had failed, time and time again. He remembers how he had felt when she had been captured, the way his heart had seized and his world had stopped, how his life since than had been nothing but worry and hurt, nothing but pain for what could have been and what might never be, the pain of loving someone and not being able to do anything about it, not being able to protect those he cares for more than anything else in the galaxy.
He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.
He leans closer, impossibly so, watching the grin grow on Aylin’s face as her eyes flutter shut. His lips connect with her own, melding together in an innocent affair, a hand coming up to cradle the side of her jaw, the other tightening its grip on her hand. He presses forward, heart hammering out of his chest and blood rushing through his ears as she kisses back, her free hand coming up to tentatively grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down to her; the girl he had been so close to losing, the boy she had been so close to forgetting. It was brief and uncertain, testing new waters both had been too scared to explore, but every emotion they had kept bottled for so long came bubbling to the surface; the hurt, the pain, the helplessness, the love. In moments that felt like an eternity Cal pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wide uncertain eyes locked with her own with haggard breaths falling from his lips.
“Took you long enough.” She grins from underneath the sheets, her own heart ready to explode from her chest.
“Get some rest.” He mutters behind a laugh, pulling back to sit back in his chair, arms crossing to prop his head on the corner of the bed, one hand outstretched to hold her own in his strong grip. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
#whump#whump trope#whump reader#whump oc#whump oneshot#Star Wars whump#injured reader#injured oc#cal kestis#cal kestis fanfic#cal kestis x reader#cal kestis x oc#cal kestis oneshot#BD1#BD-1#Star Wars oneshot#Star Wars fanfic#Star Wars x reader#video games#angst#fanfiction#Star Wars Jedi the fallen order#jedi#jedi fallen order#jedi fallen order oneshot#greez#Greez ditrus#cere#cere junda#Cameron monaghan
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(dont) take this the wrong way (5)
warnings: injury, blood mentions, past psychological&emotional&physical abuse, ptsd, sickness
-
Virgil woke up, which was only unsurprising for the few moments it took him to 1. realize that his head was pounding and 2. remember the two very large reasons why.
His eyes flew open, and he found himself half-submerged in a shallow pool of cool water, surrounded by flat ledges of dry rock. The sound of ocean waves lapping against the cliffside echoed around the cavern, which was dimly lit by overhead cracks in the ceiling.
In one of these beams of paltry light, Logan was slumped over on his side, glasses askew. Virgil’s relief at seeing him was instantly overshadowed by terror at what could have happened to the human after Virgil had gone and gotten his skull knocked against rock.
His headache worsened, and he lifted a hand to press against the sore spot, pausing when he found more of those stiff bandage strips wrapped around his head.
The soft sloshing of water seemed to be enough to startle Logan into wakefulness, and the human brightened slightly at the sight of him. “Virgil. It’s good to see you awake. Are you feeling any pain or nausea?”
“What happened?” Virgil replied in lieu of the real answer, which was ‘everything hurts’. “Where are we, I thought we were dead for sure—!”
“Take a few deep breaths,” Logan advised, shuffling closer to the pool and offering a hand. Virgil took it gratefully. “We’re not currently in any danger. I believe we’re at the home of the seal-hybrid mer, if—“
“We’re what?!” Virgil’s voice dropped to a horrified double pitch, his grip on Logan’s hand instantly turning crushing.
“Ow,” Logan said in a pointed monotone. Virgil eased up before his claws could turn the human’s palm into bloody ribbons. “Let me finish, please. I’ve managed to work out a rudimentary method of communication, and as far as I know, we’re not currently at risk.”
“From the giant mer-eating monsters that literally kidnapped us, you mean?”
“Yes, that was the potential risk I was referring to.” Logan pulled Virgil further upright, reaching out with his free hand. “More importantly, you’ve been out for some time. Will you allow me to take a look at your injury?”
Virgil shuffled a little closer, allowing the hand to make contact with him. He had traversed currents of all temperatures, but in chilled still waters like this, Logan’s warmth was more than welcome. “I dunno how that’s more important than our inevitable, rapidly-approaching deaths, but sure, fine. Knock yourself out.”
“I will not? You are already dealing with a likely concussion, I see no reason to double that number.” Logan squinted at him like he was concerned that the head wound had taken a worse toll than he’d thought.
“No, it’s-- it’s just an expression. Don’t actually pass out, or I’ll freak out.”
“Ah,” Logan acknowledged, his hand twitching like he wanted to grab something before returning to carefully peeling the bandages away. “My apologies. Colloquialisms are not my strong suit.”
Virgil blinked back at him, because five syllable words were a little much even when he wasn’t concussed. “No worries?”
Logan continued to gently probe the back of his head. A sharp pang made him jerk away with a muted hiss, his vision blurring with pain as the sharp motion only agitated all his other cuts. He waved off Logan’s apology before it was fully formed. “S’fine. What’s the damage?”
“The bleeding has stopped, which is a good sign. It’s swelled significantly, but the cool water is hopefully helping reduce that as well. The best course of action now is for you to rest and recover in a dark, quiet place, ideally for at least two full days.”
“Yeah, but that’s not happening unless we get away first,” Virgil shot back, irritably twitching his fins down as Logan rewrapped the injury. The human let out a slow breath.
“Virgil. I believe the situation isn’t as dire as you think.” He settled back on his heels, back stiff as he spoke. “Our captors have shown no signs of aggression or hunger, even with the significant bleeding from your head wound. It’s possible--”
“It’s not possible!” Virgil cut him off, scowling fiercely. “That doesn’t mean anything. They’re playing some kind of sick game the way they always do, and if you let them trick you, you’re going to lose!”
Logan looked back at him inquisitively, still not getting it. “What evidence are you basing this off of? I was under the impression that you’ve spent only marginally more time in their company than me. Have they attempted to trick you in the past?”
“Yes, no, I mean--,” Virgil groaned, pulling at his bangs. “They don’t have to say it. That’s just how giants like them operate. We’re smaller, they can do what they want to us, we don’t get a say in it. You escape or you die.”
“Yet, we’ve been in their admittedly less-than-ideal care for over 24 hours, and they haven’t hurt us or made any indications they intend to hurt us.” Logan gestured expansively, his hand a bit wobbly. “That’s a rather long time to pretend, and for what purpose? If it was what they desired, we have been easy targets for a meal from the moment they relocated us.”
A rather long time to pretend. Virgil swallowed down a hysterical laugh, feeling dizzy. If a day of false niceties was all it took to buy his trust, he’d have never gotten away from his first encounter with a giant mer. “You’re— you’re human. You don’t know anything about this.”
Logan frowned. “I may be human, but that does not make me an idiot. Even with a language barrier, body language and expression are invaluable tools for communication, and I’ve been doing very little but observe them while you were unconscious. Virgil, if you just tried talking to them—“
“No!” he snapped, curling in even as his fins flared wide and threatening. He wouldn’t do this again, wouldn’t be subjected to the world’s most torturous game of catch and release, wouldn’t be lured back into too-tight hands by false promises and meaningless apologies. He couldn’t do that again.
Measured, rhythmic tapping on the back of his hand slowly brought him back to the present, cool air and Logan’s steady voice by his side. His throat was closed-up-too-tight, his gills too far out of the water to switch lungs— but the rhythm was counted out over and over, breathe in, hold, and out.
“There you go,” Logan said as Virgil took in another long, shuddering drag of air. “Well done.”
The air smelled like iron. He realized that somewhere in the past few minutes, he’d dug his claws into the soft sides of the human’s hand, drawing blood. He pulled away as though he’d been burned.
Logan didn’t even twitch, still searching his gaze intently. “Are you with me?”
Virgil nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I— fuck, I’m sorry.”
“No, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I didn’t realize— but I should have.” A deep, resolved breath. “It’s okay. I’ll find you a way out that doesn’t involve interacting with them.” Logan’s gaze went distant and hazy with thought, and Virgil hesitantly drew closer, pulling a bandage free to wrap around his bleeding hand.
… He was really warm. Clammy, too, and he’d been sitting in a cold, wet cave for hours, hadn’t he? Had been completely drenched for even longer.
“You’re sick,” Virgil said, and Logan took a moment too long to refocus on him. How had it taken him so long to notice? “That’s why you need me to talk to them. You need to get home.”
“My illness is no more severe than your injuries,” he deflected, adjusting his glasses clumsily. “Right now, the priority is getting you away from triggering circumstances. If my suspicions are correct, I will be fine regardless.”
Right. His suspicions, based on his willingness to trust his own abductors. He’d trusted Virgil, too, back in those tunnels. He’d known that he might be abandoned and he’d freed Virgil anyways, taken his hand anyways. Gotten hurt for his trouble.
He’d get hurt worse if Virgil left him here.
“... Yeah,” Virgil said, tucking the edge of the bandage in carefully. “But you should sleep for now. We both should. You said they haven’t done anything yet, right?”
“Yes, but…,” Logan’s brow was furrowed slightly, as though he knew something was off, but wasn’t quite sure what. “I mean, you do need rest. If… If you’re sure.”
“I am,” Virgil replied, curling against the edge of the pool and pillowing his head on his arms to hide their shaking. “Get some sleep, Specs.”
—
It was early morning when Patton woke to the splash of something small dropping into the water from his air room.
The room wasn’t overly large, being designed only for occasional use when he needed some extra oxygen in his system. It was also quite a few caves up above his sleeping den, but with two delicate little guests staying over, his senses were on high alert. He disentangled from Roman, who had been clinging to him for extra warmth, waking the shark mer in the process.
“Mwha’huh?” he asked groggily, and Patton chuckled at the way one side of his hair had been pressed into a tangled bundle.
“I think they may be awake!” he reported quietly, and Roman perked right up. They had originally hovered in the room over the two of them, only leaving after the human-- busy tending to the tiny mer’s wounds-- had gotten too fed up and used charades to shoo them away, leaving them with nothing to do but sit around and think about how badly they’d messed up. As such, they were both more than eager to start fixing things.
Upon popping up into the air room, however, they found only the human, lying completely still apart from the slow rise and fall of his chest. Deep in sleep, with an empty pool at his side.
Roman and Patton exchanged a panicked look, and ducked back underwater to search through his home and see where, exactly, the injured mer had gone.
It didn’t take long to spot him. The mer had practically every fin and frill puffed out, even the ones that were still injured. The threat display as eye-catching as they got.
He was hovering in the opening of a vent crevice, one that helped circulate seawater through the caves. It was small enough that if he vanished through it, they wouldn’t be able to stop him or see where he was headed. He knew it, too, staring them down with sharp defiance rather than absolute terror.
“Don’t move,” he said, as though they hadn’t both frozen at the sight of him. “I’m going to-- to make a deal with you.”
“A deal?” Roman asked, and received a sharp, wild-eyed glare for his troubles.
“Yeah, a deal. The other one is sick,” a slight jerk of the head toward the air room, “so he won’t last long here. Probably already too far gone to even play a single game.”
Patton was torn between concern (the human was sick?) and confusion. Game?
“But I’m fine. I’ve had much worse than this.” The mer drifted back slightly, closer to the crevice. “If I leave now, you’ll never find me, and then Lo-- the human will die, and you won’t have anything to play with.”
A creeping sense of dread overcame Patton. He still didn’t know what was going on, but it was sounding more and more like something was seriously wrong here.
“So, a deal. You take the human back to where you found him, and I’ll stay-- I’ll stay here,” his voice cracked painfully, but he ignored it, staring at them with a desperate sort of intensity. “With you. I won’t try to get away or anything. I-- I swear.”
“Get away?” Roman asked, his voice going high with the same sort of horror that currently swamping Patton. The mer ducked back at the sound, gaze flitting between them, some of that terror returning.
“I will! I’ll leave, if you-- you can either have one or none, that’s the deal, I’m not kidding. I’m not!” His fins flared wider, blood beginning to leak from some of them. “He’s human anyways, he can barely even swim, you don’t want him--”
“Kiddo,” Patton cut in urgently, raising his hands peacefully and trying not to wince when the mer flinched, “if he’s sick, of course we’ll take him back to where he can get help. No deals necessary, okay?”
The little guy didn’t look reassured at all. “I want to watch. I have to see you put him back, where other humans will find him, or else the deal’s off.”
He didn't believe them. Patton exchanged a helpless look with Roman, who finally nodded.
“Of course,” the shark mer said, “You are more than welcome to accompany us back to the mainland where Patton found him, provided that you’re not exacerbating your injuries.”
The mer hissed at him, a tiny, reedy sound. “And whose fault is that?”
“Irresponsible human fishing vessels?” Roman tried, and then wilted under both Patton and the mer’s looks when the joke fell flat. He cleared his throat. “It is, of course, mine. I wanted to apologize for the way I manhandled you before. Regardless of my intentions, it was unbefitting behavior, and it hurt you. I am truly sorry.”
He bowed with a little flourish, moving slower than normal. The mer stared at his bowed head apprehensively, and then covered the look up with a distrustful scowl.
“If you’re sorry, get Logan out of this place before he gets any worse,” he finally replied, and Patton nodded and went to retrieve the human-- Logan, presumably.
Glancing over his shoulder as he left, he could see the way the tiny mer’s fins had settled just slightly, not quite as frantically overextended as before.
It was a start.
#sanders sides#ts virgil#ts logan#ts patton#ts roman#mermaid au#my writing#dont take this the wrong way#dtttww#writing#g/t#virgil sweetie what the fuck#- logan next chapter
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