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skzdarlings · 1 year

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07. sharing a bed series ; skz ; seungmin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 7/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: kim seungmin/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. sassy bad girl reader, sassy good boy seungmin. handcuffed together trope. sex toys, blow jobs, strap-on blow jobs, handjobs, dick piercings, fake sex. lots of bickering, lots of moaning, lots of evil smirking hehe.

It takes about ten minutes to get through the doorway because neither you or Seungmin will concede ground. With your right hand handcuffed to his left hand, your shoulder-to-shoulder breadth is too big for the doorframe.

After some arguing, you face each other. You are glaring the entire time but you manage to force your way into the bedroom.

You can’t change clothes with the handcuffs so you head straight for the bed where you proceed to stumble around clumsily. With some cussing and your failed attempt to put him in a headlock, you and Seungmin manage to get in bed.

You lay on your backs with your handcuffed hands between you.

There is a minute of silence. Everyone else went to bed hours ago so the vacation house is silent. It’s just you and the most annoying man on earth, forcibly handcuffed together, stuck in the same bed.

“My life is a joke,” you say.

“Yeah,” Seungmin says. “Your life is a joke. Ow!”

He slaps your hand when you pinch his thigh and you smack his chin only for him to chomp at your fingers. You both roll your eyes and look away from each other for all of ten seconds, then you glare at him and he gives you a judgemental stare.

“How are you going to sleep like that?” he asks.

You raise your joined hands, the chain jingling.

“Wow, Seungmin, whatever do you mean?” you say dryly.

“Wow, Seungmin, meh-meh-beh-beh,” he mocks your tone then uses his free hand to smack your arm. It makes a crinkling sound when it collides with the leather jacket you can’t remove. “I’m talking about the skinned cow on the cow.”

“Funny.”

“The skinned cow is the leather jacket.”

“I know that.”

“And you’re the other cow.”

“I got it, Seungmin.”

“Just checking,” he says with that blithe, shit-eating grin of his. “You’re just not very smart so I wanted to be nice and check.”

This fucking guy.

Kim Seungmin is the mouthiest smartass you have ever met. A friend of your friends, the acquaintanceship has been forced on you for the sake of the overall friend group. You two are like oil and water, completely incompatible in every way. You are the denim-and-leather bad girl and he is the blazer-and-tie good boy. Equally sassy, but astronomically apart in lifestyle. You clashed from your first introduction.

You can usually manage an hour or two of civility, especially if you stay out of each other’s way, but this vacation has pushed that strained dynamic to its breaking point.

Changbin’s family owns a vacation house near a ski resort so your whole friend group is spending the winter holidays at the luxury cabin. This means you and Seungmin have been forced to interact for much longer than a few hours.

You expected some annoyance but Seungmin is an even bigger brat than you remembered. You have already spent three days at each other’s throats. Tonight you went to a party at the resort and the few hours away from him did wonders, but it only took one stupid remark for you start fighting all over again.

You didn’t even have time to remove your boots or jacket. With Seungmin, it was on sight.

Fed-up, Minho leapt off the couch and disappeared into his bedroom. The others were just groaning or slouched in their seats, shaking their heads at you and Seungmin. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to, every dry remark needing a comeback, every insult escalating.

Then Minho returned. He yanked Seungmin out of his seat and practically threw him at you. You should have let his stupid face hit the ground but your reflexes kicked in and you caught him in his flail. There were a few seconds of confusion before Minho clasped the handcuffs around you. The whole room went silent, you and Seungmin staring at the cuffs then looking at Minho.

Minho dangled the keys in your face.

“I will let you out of the handcuffs,” he spoke as if speaking to particularly stupid children, “when you overcome your differences and decide to stop ruining the holiday.”

You and Seungmin both sputtered in protest, but neither of you were brave enough to physically fight Minho for the keys. That kitty has claws, mean ones. Not even you mess with Lee Minho.

Now you and Seungmin are stuck sharing a bed. You are still fully dressed, in jeans, shirt, and leather jacket, whereas he was already dressed down in pyjama pants and a t-shirt. All he has to do is remove his glasses and he’s fine to sleep.

You, however, are dressed for a whole different kind of evening.

“Trust me,” you say with an aggrieved sigh, “the jacket is not the most uncomfortable thing I’m wearing.”

He pinches his glasses at the stem, wiggling them up-and-down like it will help him see better.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “Wait, you’re a freak, right? Is it something kinky?”

He asks it mockingly but you smile and turn your face to him, lifting an eyebrow. You get some satisfaction from the way his face contorts with realization.

“Wait, really?” he asks. “What the hell. Why? What is it?”

“You sound curious.”

You really can’t help but tease him, anticipating he will snap back with equal verve. You are surprised when his remark gets tangled on his tongue, his mouth open with no reply. The tips of his ears are faintly red.

“Oh, you are curious,” you say.

“Gross, no way.” He comes back to himself and scrunches his whole face with revulsion. “Keep it to yourself. Pervert.”

“Proudly.”

“Wow.”

You feel satisfied with the silence that follows, feeling like you finally won a conversation and sent him into a mute stupor. But then he looks at you and you brace yourself for the incoming wave of irritation.

“It’s not gonna suddenly go off or something, is it?” he asks. “I don’t want to wake up to you thrashing around like a fish on a boat deck.”

“It’s a hard packer. You know, a strap-on for wearing out? A ready-to-go, signed-sealed-and-delivered dick?” You list everything with the same pleasant smile. “Big one too.”

His face is perpetually frozen in a state of prepared ridicule so he still looks marginally judgemental, but more confused than repulsed.

“Right now?” he says. His eyes drift down to your jeans. “You wore… you wore it out?”

“Brave new world, Seungminnie,” you say, the nickname making his eye twitch despite the sarcasm in it.

“You’re lying,” he says. He doesn’t wait for you to argue; he reaches with his cuffed hand to feel for extra weight between your legs. It drags your own hand along with it, too surprised to react fast enough to stop him. He finds what he was looking for, his brow furrowing when he closes his fist over the hard bulge under your fly. “Whoa, wait, seriously?”

“Dude!” You pry his hand off, though he doesn’t go without a fight, patting it like it’s puppy. “What the hell, man. You can’t just grab someone’s dick like that.”

“Why not? It’s not real.”

“It is in a way! I can still feel it!”

“You can?” He pokes it.

“Yes.” You swat him away. “Depending on position.”

“And you wore it to the party?” he says, then whistles low and shakes his head. “Wow. You have a high opinion of yourself. Thought you were gonna get lucky?”

“I did very well for myself, thanks.”

He holds up your cuffed hands with a sarcastic look of his own.

“Not that well,” he says. “Or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t tend to stay the night,” you say.

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em,” he says. “I should have known.” He sighs as if disappointed in you.

You barely register his retort, your brain jumping ahead a few paces.

Walking around with ready-to-play silicone in your pants does have a tendency to leave you teetering on the side of horny, so maybe that’s why your brain is incapable of supplying another type of plan, but a plan begins to form nonetheless.

“I have an idea,” you say.

“Breaking your wrist so you can slide out of the handcuffs?”

“Kim Seungmin, I’ll let you know that while I might have one hand out of commission, I am still capable of shoving your slipper in your mouth.”

“Kim Seungmin, meh-meh-meh, beh-beh-beh.”

“Why do I even bother?” You sigh. “Do you wanna get out of these handcuffs or not?”

“Fine.” He fiddles with his glasses and glares at you. “I’m going to regret asking this, but what’s your idea?”

You sit up and nod your head towards the wall behind the headboard.

“Minho’s room is on the other side of this wall, isn’t it?” you ask.

“Yes,” he replies, warily. “Why?”

“Let’s pretend to have noisy sex.”

“What!” He sits upright too, the cuffs jingling again.

“We can bang the headboard against the wall,” you add.

“What the hell is that supposed to accomplish, you idiot?”

“Two things,” you say. “One: that we have clearly resolved our differences through the release of sexual tension. And two: if we are exceptionally noisy about it, it will piss him off enough to want to separate us again.”

“That is a terrible plan,” he says, which is not a rejection. “Besides there’s no sexual tension between us. There’s no way he’d believe it.”

“Well then,” you say, leaning closer to his face, “you better put on a believable performance to make up for it, hm?”

You expected him to lean back but he didn’t move, so you find yourself nose-to-nose and locked in a staring contest. It is so quiet that you can hear every intake of breath. His gaze goes from your eyes to your lap and back again, jaw clenching.

“Fine,” he says. “I’m only willing to try because I’d rather chew off my hand than spend the night with you—”

“I mean, you can try that too,” you say.

“Shut up.” He grabs the collar of your jacket and jerks you around. “Just get down.”

“Uh, get down?” You push when you realize he is trying to wrestle you onto your back. You lift your joined hands off the bed so he loses his balance. “You get down. I’m on top.”

“Can you relax?” he says, scrambling back upright. “We’re not actually having sex, you uptight weirdo.”

“Yeah, but do you think those skinny arms can push this headboard against the wall?”

“I think these skinny arms can push you off the bed.”

“I think those skinny arms will find themselves following.”

You tussle for a good minute, pushing at each other’s faces and tugging each other’s shirts. Your physical strength overpowers his but he isn’t hindered by a stupid leather jacket. Already a bit sweaty and exhausted, you surrender with an aggravated huff.

“Fine, try it then,” you say, flopping on your back. You stubbornly cross your arms, trapping his cuffed hand in your arm.

“Let me go,” he says, trying to wrest his arm back.

“I’m not doing anything. Ahh, stop that!”

He tires to lick you. Tongue out, he dives at your head. He only stops when you snatch his glasses off his face, at which point he climbs on top of you to try and grab them back.

“Stop it. This is so immature,” he says, stretching to reach your own outstretched arm.

“Immature?” you ask, aghast. “You were trying to lick me!”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because you suck,” he says.

He manages to get his glasses back. He sticks out his tongue as he puts them on his face.

You tussle a little more, shuffling around and swiping at each other. Eventually you get to the middle of the bed with him still straddling your hips. Your cuffed arm lifts when he grips the headboard with both hands. He strains for one pitiful push. His hair bounces but the headboard barely hits the wall.

You lift an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he says.

“I didn’t say anything,” you reply.

“I can hear your ugly face.”

“That’s a you problem.”

He ignores you and braces himself to push on the headboard again. All the beds are extravagantly woodworked pieces, the headboards dense and heavy. Despite the proximity to the wall, you are not surprised it takes effort to actually make the bed bounce.

Seungmin, to his credit, does not give up easily. He braces his shoulders, but this time when he pushes he rocks with his whole body.

Unfortunately, this does drag almost all his weight against the toy in your pants. You are wearing the kind of underwear designed to support a toy, the base of it separated from your clit by only a strip of fabric. When he rocks against you, it grinds there, and your hands instinctively fly to grab his hips.

It knocks him a bit off balance because your cuffed hand drags his down too. He puts that hand over yours, cupped around his hip, and glares down at you.

“What the hell was that?” he asks.

You let go of his hips immediately.

“Nothing,” you say.

He looks at you with a scrutinizing eye, then looks down, then up again. You hold his gaze unflinchingly, at least until he rocks again and a little spark of heat goes off inside you.

“Can you feel that?” he asks. He asks it matter-of-factly, peering down at you from behind his big round glasses, sitting comfortably in his stupid pyjamas.

“Yes,” you speak in as steady a voice as you can, because you will not show weakness first. “There are only a couple positions where I can feel it strongly. This… is… one of them.”

“Wow,” he says. He looks genuinely reflective for a minute, then he grins one of his evil grins. “So… you can feel when I do this?” He puts his free hand on the middle of your chest and leans forward so he grinds against you at a different angle, his own bulge pushing against yours.

“Ohmyff—” You grab his hips again, freezing him while he snickers above you. “Dude.”

“Just checking,” he says. He grabs the headboard and pushes again. The thud is a soft one.

You clench your jaw, annoyed and wound up. You grab his waist and roll over in one fluid motion, knocking some wind out of him when you thump him on his back. His thighs clench instinctively to hold onto your hips, his legs still around your waist when you grab the headboard and shove it several times in a row.

His cuffed arm is above his head, hand dangling under your grip on the headboard. His glasses are askew from the flip, his legs still open around yours. He stares at you, however crookedly through the tilted glasses. Your breathing is heavy in the quiet room. He swallows.

You break the silence with a pointed, “Well?”

“Well, what?” he asks just as roughly.

“Moan or yell or something. Whatever you normally do in bed.”

“I’m normally quiet.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you say dryly. “Since that mouth never stops.”

“Why don’t you moan?”

“Because I’m in charge of bed pushing.” To make your point, you rock the bed some more, pushing slightly against him with the motion. The headboard hits the wall for a few rhythmic thumps.

He fixes his glasses with his free hand, still frowning at you. That hand freezes on his glasses when you shrug your coat off your free arm, too hot to keep wearing it. It will only get caught on the handcuffs if you push it down the other arm so you leave it hanging off your shoulder. You put your hand back on the headboard, muscles flexing with the next shove. His eyes go to your arm.

“Well?” you say.

He looks at you. It’s a cold, unfeeling stare, followed by an annoyed puff of a breath.

Then he makes a sound, a small, rough moan in the back of his throat. You are certain only you can hear it. He looks right at you while doing it, legs still accommodating your shape, on his back with an open mouth while glaring at you despite the noises.

It is, in a word, hot. Hot as fucking hell. Oh god. You are not getting turned on by Kim Seungmin. Absolutely not.

He moans again, closing his eyes and shifting with the next push, as if he can really feel it. He cants his hips and falls back again. He moans one more time.

Ah, you think. Fuck.

You stop shoving the bed for a second, breathless and not from exertion.

You clear your throat. Seungmin is still staring at you. You stare back, then your gaze drifts. The leather jacket starts to slip down your shoulder so you tug it back up. You gulp.

“You’re hard,” you say, a very basic observation. His soft pyjama pants leave little to the imagination.

He drops his legs from around your waist, but you are between his thighs so he can’t quite close them. He plants his feet on the bed and glares up at you.

“So are you,” he says.

“Mine’s not real,” you say.

“Ohh, so now it’s not real?” He rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I can’t keep up with Schrodinger’s dick.”

“You know what I mean, smartass.”

“If anything yours is more real,” he says. “Your dick is more deliberate than mine. I can’t control my hard-on but you put one there on purpose.”

That logic is a weirdly difficult to argue. You try to think of a witty comeback but your brain is more than a little fried.

“So,” is all you say, at a loss.

He stares up at you for another second, then pushes himself upright. You let his cuffed hand lead yours, at least until you realize he is bringing his hands to the button of your jeans. You seize his cuffed hand and tug it away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks contemptuously. He even snarls.

Despite the viciousness, he dives in without waiting for an answer. He uses his free hand as a guide, but otherwise he leans forward and clamps his teeth around the button. He works it open quickly, then takes the zipper in his mouth and yanks it down.

You let go of his hand, surprised. He uses both hands to fish the toy out of your pants.

He balks at it.

“You walked around with this all night?” he asks, looking up at you.

Fuck. It is literally right by his face. It looks obscene. Your figures twitch with the urge to cup his chin.

“Yes,” you answer in a low voice. “It’s my preferred method of, uh, action.”

“Action,” he repeats, smiling like the word is a hilarious punchline. He even cackles a little. “Action,” he repeats. “Not ‘making love?’” His tone is drole.

“Not really the making love type,” you say.

“Wow,” he says. His eyes flick to your toy dick, just millimeters from his face. He pushes his glasses up his nose. He glances up at you with that evil smile. “Same,” he says.

Then suddenly he has his mouth wrapped around the end of it, looking up at you as he sucks on it.

For a second, you think you have gone completely insane, because you swear you can feel it. Your clit and pussy and every other body part rears to life with sudden, unbidden arousal.

“Jesus fucking—” you start.

He pops off your dick with a wet sound. He licks his lips.

“Hmm,” he says, eying it thoughtfully. “Tastes funny. Could you feel that?”

“Kinda,” you squeak. “In a way.”

“Got it.”

Is this even turning him on? His dick is filling out his pyjama pants so you think so, but he is also approaching the entire thing like it can be hacked through a scientific algorithm. He studies the toy with a lot of scrutiny, as if he is calculating the mechanics of it.

“You don’t have to—” you start, but then suddenly his mouth is back on the end of it, his free hand is in the middle of it, and he is pushing it back against you, clearly having figured out you can feel the part against your clit. He grinds it there, up and down, bobbing his head and staring up at you.

It is usually fairly difficult to reach orgasm this way but he takes you the edge in an almost terrifying speed run, then abruptly stops. He takes in a deep breath, a huge wad of spit connecting his lips to the end of the toy.

“Did that do something?” he asks, wiping his mouth.

Your jacket slips down your arm and catches on the handcuffs. You stare at him.

“Uhhh…” you say, voice guttural. “Yes.”

He grins, looking immensely satisfied with himself.

“That wasn’t so hard,” he says. “I thought it would be more complicated. I’m guessing gravity works in your favour when someone sits on it?”

Yes, that is your brain spilling out of your ear in a big, mushy goop.

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “Yeah.” What the fuck else are you supposed to say?

He suddenly narrows his eyes at you, his regard suspicious even while he starts jerking the toy with his free hand.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

You show him the only way that makes sense, leading his cuffed hand to your pants and nudging the toy aside so he can slip his fingers past it. He freezes completely when he feels how turned on you are, looking up at you as he returns his now wet fingers to himself.

“Oh,” he says. He looks at his fingertips. “I see.”

Then he grins at you and puts his fingers in his mouth.

“Right,” you say. “Got it.”

You grab him and put him on his back again, reaching immediately for his waistband. You have barely grasped the material when you are suddenly shoved back, his foot planted squarely in the middle of your chest.

“Slippers first,” he says.

He is just being difficult. You know that, but you indulge the little brat anyway, glaring at him while removing his stupid slipper. You toss it behind you and he switches feet, shoving his other one in the same spot. He smiles at you, leaning back on his elbows at tapping his slippered toes against your heart. You shake your head but remove that one too. Before he can try any more funny business, you grab him under the knee and push his knees back to his chest. His glasses slip a little again. His cuffed hand can’t leave yours, hooked under his knee, so his free hand awkwardly reaches up to fix them.

“Careful,” he says, like you’ve been the unreasonable one in any way, shape, or form.

“I’ll try,” you say dryly, then reach for his waistband.

You get the material barely shuffled past his hips when your jaw falls open.

“Hold on,” you say, fingers reaching for his twitching dick. “No way. No way.”

Kim Seungmin. Blazer-and-tie good boy. Pristine socialite. Arrogant snob. High society darling. Spoiled brat. Good boy. Good boy. Good boy.

He has a classically beautiful piercing on the head of his dick.

He opens his mouth to speak, his expression revealing it is about to be some mouthy retort, but it turns into a gasp when you run your thumb up and over, teasing at it, gathering a not-inconsiderable amount of precum and stroking the whole length of him.

“Aren’t you pretty,” you say, circling the most sensitive cluster of nerves with your thumb. It makes his thighs twitch and his shoulders shake.

“S-surprised?” he asks.

“Honestly, yeah,” you admit.

He looks very satisfied with that, grinning at you. That evil smile drives you crazy so you flash a grin of your own then dive down.

His fake moans were pretty close to his real ones, but his real ones are louder as you expected. He has to bite his fist to keep the sound down. You rise, wiping at your mouth and glaring at him.

“Louder,” you say. “Remember?”

“Oh, right.” He drops his hand. “Your stupid plan. Okay. Continue.” He waves you onward like a prince, thumping his head back on the pillows.

He is so annoying. He really does have a pretty dick, though. Drawing real moans out of him is more fun than arguing over fake ones, and he makes some exceptionally lovely sounds when you put your mouth on him. He starts gasping when he gets close, his face scrunching up, but he grabs your head and stops before he gets there fully.

You look at him with a questioning eyebrow lift but move when he nudges you. He gets on his knees so you are kneeling in front of each other, then he guides your hand back to his dick at the same time he curls his fingers around the base of your toy.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded and your mouths are close together but not touching. It feels like another contest, to see who will give in and kiss the other person first, even while your hands are way past that stage.

Fuck it, you think when he gets a bit whiny, breathing hard against your lips. You clasp your free hand around his neck and drag him close for a kiss. It makes him come, his back locking and mouth opening under yours. He wouldn’t be Seungmin if he didn’t try and turn a kiss into a fight, licking at you with messy intensity. The rapid back-and-forth of his tongue coupled with his skilled hand takes you over the edge too.

You get a bit euphorically giggly when you come, smiling against his mouth.

Seungmin turns unexpectedly clingy, putting his free arm around your neck and burying his face in your shoulder. He holds so tightly that you fall, flopping onto the bed with him still nestled against you.

You lay there for a bit, him still hiding, your heavy breathing slowing to a more normal cadence. Eventually he lifts his head and exhales. He adjusts his crooked glasses then grins.

“I won,” he says.

“You can’t win at sex,” you reply.

“Yes you can, and I just did. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“Oh my god.”

Your exchange passes with far less animosity than usual. You still side-eye each other while dealing with your respective dicks. It’s a little easier for him to pull up his pants one-handed than it is for you to wrestle a toy out of an O-ring, but you do succeed. You let it roll off the edge of the bed, watching and listening as it thumps onto the floor.

You look over Seungmin who was watching too. When you make eye contact, you both start laughing. It turns the whole scene into an unusually affectionate one. Figuring you might as well commit, you hold his cuffed hand in your own. He rolls closer, eying you with those perpetually mischievous eyes.

Then suddenly the bedroom door flies open. It smashes into the wall, startling both of you.

Minho walks up to the bed and chucks the keys at you, glares, then turns and leaves the room. He slams the door shut behind him.

You and Seungmin look at each other then down at the keys.

“Told you,” you say.

“Don’t rub it in.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

He licks your cheek unprompted, then unlocks the cuffs while you complain and wipe your face. It has you so distracted that you are a second too late realizing he has another dastardly plan in mind.

Your wrist is still cuffed. He takes the now empty half and clasps it around one of the intricate loops in the headboard. You tug on it then look at him.

“Kim Seungmin,” you say.

“Kim Seungmin,” he repeats in that mocking voice, grinning as he climbs up over you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask, trying not to smile at his wicked grin as he starts kissing under your chin and down your chest.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks. “I’m winning.”

You decide not to argue for once. It goes without saying you both won this round.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin x reader #skz x reader #seungmin x reader

2K notes · View notes

presleyanswrites · 5 months

Text

RAFE CAMERON AS YOUR FIANCE

➢ 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑺 ♡

➢ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 mdni 18+

➢ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ★ // 𝒋𝒐𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

★ he buys you a new charm every year for the bracelet he gave you

★he loves to be the little spoon when he is upset

★he loves letting you wear his big sweaty shirts after work

★he gets furiated when you downplay getting spoiled

★you are not allowed to masturbate, that is strictly his work.

★he won’t quit fucking until you cummed and are ready for your aftercare.

★he gives you so much money for shopping you don’t know what to do with it half the time

★date nights are always classy unless you would rather stay at home and eat a pint of ben and jerry’s

★he gets really jealous when you’re around any other guys

★he loves all colors on you but especially the color blue.

★he gets very worried when you don’t pick up calls

★he would kill anyone to see you smile

★he sends you dad memes

★he loves to play with the straps of your dresses

★he memorized all your favorite starbucks orders

★he takes care of you when you feel unwell

★you have secret handshakes with each other

★you have matching rings

★he only calls you nicknames

★”my girl”, “pretty girl,” “my baby.”

★he has a tattoo of your name across his dick

★he takes you dancing at parties

★wheezie is crestfallen every time you come over

★he loves when you wear your pearl necklace

★he holds you in place with his strong arms

★he lets you wear his lucky boxers after good sex

★he gives you an enormous amount of forehead kisses

★he rests his chin on your head after a long day at work

★he is dominant over you

★he takes for lots of long night car drives

★he practices kissing your belly

★ward and rose treat you like family

★he buys you a lot of weighted blankets and chocolate on your period

★you’ve watched the same netflix series together a thousand times

★you take double shots on the daily

★he loves to let you sit in his lap when he is gaming.

★he takes extra special care of you when you’re sore from a hookup.

★he draws shapes on your shoulders when he feels clingy

★he hates when you cry

★he caresses your thighs

★he assures you the rock on your finger was nothing compared to how priceless you are.

★he loves to put his backward hats on you

★he holds your waist when he’s driving the boat

★you rip it up on jet skis with him every weekend

★he loves to make you food

★he beat someone to death and then shot them for you once, and you had to pay to get him out of jail

★….after that he gave you his credit card for two months.

★he always wraps his arm around you to let other boys know that you are his only.

★he lets you wear his shoes outside

★he loves you so much he gets angry with himself often that he's not good enough for you but he fills out all four love languages every day.

★he snorts when he laughs with you

★you share sunglasses and that makes you giggle when he puts yours on.

★he has swim trunks that have your face all over them

★he slaps your ass a lot

★swings your arm back and forth while holding your hand

★he strokes your hair while cuddling

★he runs you baths

★he smothers you in kisses all over your face

★his friends say he talks about you a lot

★he fingers you on days where your clit is sore

★he picks you up like a feather because he doesn’t want you to walk.

★he randomly venmo’s you.

★he hearts every text you send him

★he gives you hickeys and then buys you the most expensive makeup.

★he has a scar on his back in the shape of your initial

★he overthinks the hell out of himself when you forget to say “love you too.”

★he always buys you flowers and sweets

➢ tags/idols @chachachannah reblogs appreciated

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birchkillchronicles · 1 year

Text

Getting to Marigold

Chapter Two

Grass-Green, Black, Ultramarine

Jeanie wasn’t signing up for yoga or Pilates classes anymore. Which was because—for some reason—her classmates seemed far less friendly without Sylvie around. But, then again, a brisk walk in the open air had always been Jeanie’s exercise of choice.

Today, however, as she crashed out of her house to stride down the Avenue, the late morning heat and the weight of her folding chair served to slow her usual headlong pace. And, by the time she’d made it over the Rideau Canal bridge and into the more citified Glebe, the physical effort had calmed her down.

But Jeanie still wasn’t back to her preferred buoyant disposition—and that vexed her immeasurably…

Cheer up, Jeanie! she chided herself. As my mother would say—‘The world’s not against you!’

She hadn’t stopped for a coffee or a delicious wood-fired bagel after all. Those treats had been irrevocably connected to this morning’s disappointment and rage. But—priding herself upon her practicality—she knew that her Solo Day Out would be spoiled if she neglected her growling tummy.

A further five-minute walk up Bank Street, the Glebe grocer sold healthy take-out salads and sandwiches. There, Jeanie selected a likely looking item from the ready-to-eat food cooler, as well as a bottle of sweet tea, and got in line for the twelve-items-or-less cashier.

They should call it the candy lane, Jeanie thought, as she tugged her folding chair strap further up on her shoulder so she could juggle her debit card holder out of her tote bag. I wonder how many useless calories every checkout line gloms onto gullible people’s waists?

Still, she selected a plain bar of chocolate from the banked treats and threw it on top of her salad container.

That’ll balance the vitamins in the broccoli, kale and quinoa, she told herself, tucking a free wooden fork and a small wad of napkins in her tote bag. And my temper sure could use a bit of a sweetener…

After paying for her take-out meal, Jeanie crossed Bank Street and continued several blocks north until she reached the stone steps leading down into the park.

Resolutely, she descended the stairway and began to scout out a likely picnic spot…

Beneath the leafy canopy of a giant oak tree, Jeanie slung out her chair on the cool grass-green lawn. Steadfastly ignoring the chime that notified her that her phone had received yet another text, she fastidiously unfolded a napkin on her knee and dug purposefully into her food and drink.

The tart, tangy salad dressing is okay, she ruled, automatically comparing it unfavourably to her own homemade recipe. But the sweet tea is almost too sickly. And overindulging in sugar is never recommended…

Virtuously, Jeanie recapped the tea and stashed it away in her summer tote with the softly melting chocolate bar. Then—with her tummy rumbles quashed and her salad container laying tidily on the grass beside her—Jeanie sat back in her chair and took stock of her surroundings.

Under the clearest of clear-blue skies, a variety of people were enjoying the park.

In a nearby patch of shade, three bronze-skinned women were seated on folding chairs, sipping coffee and snacking on muffins as they consulted their phones.

On the central pathway, a rosy-cheeked boy zipped by on a skateboard. While his head ducked up and down to watch out for dogs and strollers, he never lost a beat as he defeated the villains on his handheld game console.

A bit further in to the park—near where the stage had been set up—a Black middle-aged couple with two kids arrived on foot. They stopped to scan the site, checked their phones, set up their chairs, spread out a picnic blanket, re-checked their phones, shared out food and drink—and dove back into their mini-screens.

Just past the picnicking family, Jeanie could see a couple of high-school-age kids—one olive-skinned, one tan—in black shorts and tee shirts. They were setting down what looked like a rather solid white wooden bench on a low wooden stage. Next, they unrolled several panels of some kind of stiff-ish cloth. The fabric was painted with what seemed to be a watercolour garden scene, and, as she watched, the kids reached up to hang the panels from metal pipes installed high across the back of the raised platform. Once those panels were in place, both of the kids unpocketed their phones and wandered off, heads down, behind what Jeanie assumed was ‘the set.’

Then, in the zone where Jeanie expected the spectators would sit, another assortment of black-garbed kids began to lay out neon-yellow ropes. They caused a wee kerfuffle when the picnicking family had to pause in the scrutiny of their phones to move their blanket and chairs so that the rope-laying kids could clearly delineate what Jeanie supposed was the ‘centre aisle.’

Now the first stagehands—phones holstered—reappeared carrying a folding table which they set up behind the neon-yellow rope. A third kid soon followed hauling a large plastic bin, and all three delved into it for a ragtag collection of objects which they carefully placed in an obviously fixed arrangement. Then, the first two kids headed backstage with their phones in their hands, while the third remained scrolling through her device beside what Jeanie thought from her limited knowledge of theatre must be the ‘props table.’

At this point, the audience area began to fill in.

A number of unaccompanied thirty-ish women, some grey-haired retirees and a couple of groups of university-age kids arrived. And Jeanie couldn’t help but notice that all of their eyes seemed to be glued to the screens of their phones…

A flock of bicyclists wheeled in. They offloaded their folding chairs from their shoulders and then—even before locking their machines to a nearby rack or freeing their toddlers from their bike carriers—reached into their pockets for their phones.

Then an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair was pushed into position by his female attendant.

He wasn’t on a phone, however.

Nope. Not at all.

He was, instead, concentrating on his laptop and barely looked up when his younger companion settled him close to the outer edge of the spectator zone. And then she took out her phone and proceeded to text a message as well.

But now the three bronze-skinned women in the shade were stirring and—realizing that all of the prime audience spots were quickly disappearing—Jeanie decided she’d better get a wiggle on too. Folding her chair for portability, she tossed her salad container into the correct recycling can and loped over to a black-tee-shirted usher who was handing out programs. Jeanie took one and, after a quick survey of the best spaces that were left, decided to sit close to the back near the centre aisle.

That way, she reasoned, it’ll be easier for me to slip away quietly if the play doesn’t live up to its hype…

Settling into her chair once more, Jeanie opened her program. It appeared that the work she was about to see—a so-called ‘two-act domestic comedy’ entitled A Tale My Father Told Me—was based on an old story about a mean father who treats his daughter unkindly.

Really? Jeanie thought with surprise. Why would Lindy chose a such depressing plot for a summer show? Now, if I—

“Jeanie—?”

Interrupted mid-criticism, she glanced up to see her loopy-neighbour-from-three-doors-down, Lindy Styre—playwright and director of this afternoon’s entertainment—regarding her from the centre aisle with what was, frankly, a look of total disbelief.

Swiftly, Jeanie decided that she’d ignore the implications of Lindy’s expression and greet her—as Sylvie would have—with both warmth and confidence. “Why, hello, Lindy! What a lovely day for a matinee. Your play seems to be drawing quite a crowd!”

“Um, yes…Jeanie,” replied Lindy with an unsure smile. “Thanks for coming out. I just have to—” And, without finishing her sentence, Lindy fled.

Jeanie rolled her eyes and shook her head.

What a weird-o that woman was.

For one thing, she was absolutely scared stiff of all the local puppy dogs.

Why, just a couple of years ago she’d witnessed Lindy melt into a quivering puddle on the sidewalk when a dogwalker had let his friendly mutt bark at her just a teensy-weensy bit.

What a nut.

Of course, there was also that time when she and Sylvie—but no, Jeanie cautioned herself, don’t think about that…

Although, she now recalled, Sylvie had always been much more sympathetic to what she called Lindy’s ‘eccentricities.’ And she’d repeatedly pressed Jeanie to give the poor, lonely woman the benefit of the doubt…

But then, Jeanie sadly reflected, that old saw is true. The good often do die young…

Alarmed by the morose direction her ruminations were taking her—definitely not a good place for a woman who prided herself on her unflagging optimism!—Jeanie firmly wrenched her mind back to the topic at hand.

So, what was she thinking about—?

Oh yes. Pride, wasn’t it? House pride…

Well, for the last few years Lindy has squatted in the Styres’ old wreck of a two-storey without the slightest titch of house pride, frowned Jeanie. And that’s truly a crime.

Everyone knows that a house needs tons of Tender Loving Care!

Of course, mused Jeanie, when Lindy’s dad was alive, the Styre’s place did seem a bit less neglected. But, still, its porch and trim haven’t seen a paint brush for fifteen years…

And Lindy’s front garden—good gosh!—if you can call it that, she sniffed. Well, it’s nothing but a few sparse tulips in the spring, a tangle of ox-eye daisies and black-eyed-Susans in the summer and a raggedy show of purple asters in the fall. And she only mows her grass when it reaches jungle height…

Of course, Jeanie had to admit, Lindy couldn’t be blamed for the gangly pair of city maple trees that overshadowed her front yard. But, even with the help of that attractive older white guy who sometimes raked her autumn leaves, Lindy always seemed to be the last one on their Avenue to bag them up for the recycling truck…

I’d be mortified to let my property get so run down, Jeanie snorted to herself. If Lindy would only—

But, suddenly she was aware that the audience had hushed around her. A plump and pretty woman in black had hopped up on stage. She was welcoming everyone and asking that all of their phones and handheld devices be turned off.

Complacently, Jeanie obeyed. She really didn’t need to hear from anyone she knew for quite a while…

Now, with a musical flourish, the show began.

And, yes, it was certainly funny—Jeanie had to grant Lindy that. She was easily caught up in the waves of laughter and applause that rolled through the highly appreciative audience.

But it was all pretty foolish too.

The characters postured and mugged and hammed up their parts. The bombastic father bullied his daughter in a completely unrealistic way. And the father’s nasty sidekick played his whole role with—for gosh sake!—a live chihuahua stuck in the crook of his arm.

At least one element did meet with Jeanie’s complete approval, however.

The Roaring Twenties costumes—flapper dresses, sailor blouses and plus-fours—were authentically styled, yet sewn in striking flamingo-pink, malachite-green and carrot-orange hues.

Quite appropriate for an outdoor venue where you have to compete with plenty of visual distraction, nodded Jeanie. The costume designer, at least, deserves some applause. Not every colour range would have been so bang on

Although, Jeanie smugly reflected, appropriate colour selection had always been her forte. When it was all the rage in the mid-nineteen-eighties, she’d even considered becoming a professional Seasonal Colour Palette Consultant. But then Bernie had been born—and she’d had to drop that idea. Which was too bad, because a lot of women she’d seen around the neighbourhood could have certainly profited from her advice…

Nevertheless—colour had remained a central preoccupation for Jeanie, and she could never understand why so many folks seemed to simply overlook the fascinating nuances of tint, shade and tone.

‘Be precise!’ her Algonquin College professor had been forced to remind the duller kids in Jeanie’s ‘Colour in Décor’ class. ‘It’s not brown—it’s burnt sienna. It’s not red—it’s carmine. It’s not green—it’s jade!’

Well, as Bernie would say, ‘duh...’

Burnt sienna. Carmine. Jade.

What had been so difficult about that?

As far as Jeanie knew, only a few very unlucky people were colour blind. So, why had some of her fellow students been unable to distinguish the hues which were plainly in front of their eyes?

Well, again—duh…

And, with that less than charitable thought, Jeanie returned her critical attention to the play, searching for something else to like.

Upon reflection, she decided, also okay was the live violin and flute music. And some of the jokes were pretty funny, too. And she really couldn’t have expected a traveling outdoor theatre company to have constructed much more elaborate sets. But, still—

That plot. That idiotic plot.

It was impossible!

Why did the daughter have to involve her bossy ultramarine-haired neighbour and her father’s lawyer and his banker and his accountant and his doctor in such an elaborate ruse just to get revenge upon her dad?

Surely, in real life, Jeanie reasoned, the girl would have simply told off her domineering parent and stood up for herself when he pushed her around?

That’s what I would have done, she maintained. Stood up for myself—and told my evil father to take a long hike off a short pier!

Although, she further mused, my own father was always pretty meek and mild. Of course, with Mom being such a bossy-boots, what else could the poor man have been? In fact, when Dad came down with viral pneumonia five years ago, my brothers and I were kind of amazed that Mom had actually let Dad go ahead and die on his own say-so.

But then—if she were being perfectly honest—Jeanie had to admit that she’d never felt scared of any guy in her entire life. The only man she’d ever let raise a violent hand to her was her cancer surgeon, and it was his job to attack her with a knife.

But, whatever…

As she’d advised Bernie—on that day when her daughter had complained about being a bully’s target in middle school—if something felt wrong, simply bring it to the guy’s attention and then fix it.

Whining about being a victim wouldn’t help.

For, as Jeanie’s mother would say, ‘Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you cry alone.’

Now, if Jeanie had been insulated from the worst outrages of patriarchal abuse by her white, Protestant family’s upper-middle-class status—by her mother’s strong and forthright personality—by her father’s kind and gentle character—by Don’s distaste for uncivil behaviour—by her choice of Fine Arts and Interior Design studies at college—by her obliging female boss and agreeable female or gay male colleagues—by her safe neighbourhood and generally benign city—and by so many other extremely lucky circumstances in her life—well, that fact had never occurred to her.

And—even if Jeanie had been confronted with the truth—she probably wouldn’t have understood its implications anyway. Like a goldfish, she didn’t recognize the filtered water in which she swam. So, as the first act wore on, she continued to chide the wimpy daughter in her head.

When you come right down to it, she lectured, it’s each gal’s own responsibility not to accept that kind of baloney. And all you have to do with a mean father like yours is speak up and exercise your gosh-darn rights!

At long last, the twenty-minute intermission arrived.

While the incontinent stood in line at the portable restrooms and the extravagant snapped up the overpriced souvenir tee shirts at the refreshment stand, Jeanie sat and scanned her program. She felt it ought to provide some sort of explanation for Lindy’s ludicrous plot. But, other than learning that the actors were playing ‘in a style derived from 16th century commedia dell’arte, the theatre of the absurd, and classical farce’—“Whatever those things are supposed to be,” Jeanie grumbled aloud—she found the program irritatingly uninformative. It merely summarized the story and gave short bios of the people associated with all of this nonsense.

But watching the play seemed a better alternative than anything else Jeanie might be doing on this hot July afternoon. At the very least, the show was amusing enough to keep her from dwelling on gloomy thoughts. Such as—how on earth could any child of hers have grown up to be such a stick-in-the-mud—?

No! Don’t let negativity win! Jeanie scolded herself. As my mother would say, ‘Let a smile be your umbrella!’

That was the secret to life…

Meanwhile, most of the audience had revved up their phones so that—when a bell rang to signal that the intermission was over—the plump and pretty stage manager had to ask everyone to mute their devices again.

Jeanie didn’t need to. She’d never turned her phone back on. In fact, she’d never even checked the messages that she already knew were there…

Under the lengthening shade of the lofty catalpa trees, A Tale My Father Told Me rollicked by. And when, in the final scene, the newly rebellious daughter revealed that she and her friends were the ones behind her father’s downfall, Jeanie laughed and applauded along with the rest of the audience at his powerless rage.

No matter how dumb the story, she thought, it’s always fun to see a nasty man lose at his own game.

But why did Lindy’s plot have to be so long and winding to get to that end?

All that fuss and foofaraw!

What was the point?

During the standing ovation, Jeanie didn’t jump up with the rest of the crowd. Well, why should she when she’d found Lindy’s play so completely implausible? And, when the actors came around begging for cash, she dropped a more-than-sufficient five-bucks into the cloche hat that the ultramarine-haired actress who’d played the cunning neighbour waved her way.

“You know, Madame,” said the actress with a wicked grin, “we take credit and debit card payments too. At that table over there.” She indicated a line-up of chattering audience members in front of the table where the black-tee-shirted teens had set the props before the show.

“No thanks,” Jeanie replied with a breezy smile. “I’m good.”

“Must suck to be so poor.” The actress gave her a saucy wink before turning to accost the elderly man in the wheelchair who readily threw a couple of twenties into her hat.

Jeanie was tempted to crush the ultramarine-haired woman with a snappy rejoinder, but decided it was best not to lower herself to the actress’ level. So, she simply made a show of complacency as she folded up her chair and stuffed it into its holder. Then she fished through her coin purse for change for the bus so that she wouldn’t have to make the hot and dusty walk home. The seating area was draining very slowly, however, so, as she stood looking for a clear path, her gaze ranged around the park. And, after a moment, she noticed a very peculiar thing about her fellow audience members.

Having tossed their contributions into the hat or paid for their entertainment with plastic, most of them were busy folding up their chairs and blankets and marshalling their bicycles, kids and dogs.

But the majority of them were also focussed on their phones.

Either they were texting, or reading texts, or telling someone at the opposite end of the line about the super-duper play they’d just seen. In fact, most of them were so busy with their handheld devices—except for the elderly man in the wheelchair who sat perusing his laptop—that they weren’t even discussing the play with each other!

Jeanie, with her phone still turned off and stashed securely in her tote bag, allowed herself to be appalled.

What are all these foolish folks thinking? she scoffed. I’ve often heard that kids are addicted to their phones these days, but I didn’t realize that the adults are too! They ought to be talking to each other. Not just texting and blabbering away to folks who couldn’t even be bothered to come with them on a fun Day Out!

“So, Jeanie?” Lindy was suddenly standing at Jeanie’s elbow, regarding her with a tentative smile. “Did you enjoy the play?”

Good gravy, thought Jeanie. What should I say?

She always highly valued plain-speaking. Say what you mean, Jeanie believed, and let the chips fall where they may.

But Sylvie had often recommended that—in circumstances where being completely candid might sting—Jeanie ought to dress up her comments a little bit. Tell fewer hard truths, Sylvie had often advised, to prevent trampled feelings all ’round…

Therefore, taking a leaf out of Sylvie’s book, Jeanie decided to be gracious.

“Oh yes, Lindy,” she fibbed. “It was absolutely wonderful! Really funny. I could never write something like that.” Which was true. Because, if I wrote a play, it would make sense, Jeanie thought. But—“Where the heck do you get your ideas?” she enquired.

“Um, I sort of follow the advice that you should write what you know…kind of…” Lindy trailed off.

“Well, it was very good!” Jeanie said, brightly, picking up her tote bag and hoisting the strap of her folding chair onto her shoulder. “Maybe you should put on another one sometime?”

“Actually, um,…I already did…at last June’s Fimbria Festival, and—”

“Where? Oh well, never mind! Next time, you should really let Don and I know! Imagine! A gifted playwright living just a few doors down the Avenue!”

“Oh, I’m not that—"

“Too bad your wonderful plays can only be seen outside at a park in the summertime,” commiserated Jeanie, laying on thick what she supposed Lindy would interpret as Sylvie-like empathy. “Don and I don’t often—"

“Yes, okay,” hastily interrupted Lindy, “I’m part of a theatre company now, and we’re looking into a permanent space—”

“Oh, good for you, Lindy!” Jeanie was on a benevolence roll. “Maybe, once you’re up and running, I’ll come see another one of your funny little shows.”

Lindy gave her an odd look. “Sure, Jeanie. That would be great.”

“But I won’t keep you now. Places to go! People to see!” exclaimed Jeanie, as she swung smartly around to make her escape into the departing crowd.

But, even as she fled, she could distinctly hear the voice of the ultramarine-haired actress asking, “Sooo…who’s that bitch?”

Her spine stiffening, Jeanie didn’t hang around to catch Lindy’s reply.

#original novel #satire #summer theatre #parenting #grief/mourning

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lacontroller1991 · 3 years

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Burnt Skies (Rick Flag x Fem!Reader)

@h-hxgirl

Requested by Anon: Saw this captain boomerang fanfic where he finds she's pregnant while they're on mission, I was wondering if you could maybe do something similar for Rick

Author's Note: He would be so protective of the reader fr fr, also this is gonna be angst angst angst so just beware

Warning: Death, pregnancy, language, blood, major character death, spoilers

“Hey (Y/N), you ready to go?” Rick’s voice echoed through the room before he halted, seeing you on the floor, head in the toilet.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” you replied weakly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and flushing the toilet.

“Are you sure? Are you feeling alright?” He asked, rubbing your back as you looked up at him with a small smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you there,” nodding his head, he walked out the door with guns strapped to his body on his tac vest. Looking at your reflection, you noticed a slight greenish tint to your face. Ignoring the wave of nausea, you made your way out of the base and to the plane. Walking up the ramp, you took a seat next to Rick who looked at you with concern in his brown eyes.

“Baby, maybe you should sit this one out. You aren’t looking too hot,” he whispered in your ear as you brushed the notion off. After all, you did have a really bad gut feeling about this mission.

“I’m here. I’m going,” you stated firmly as he looked you over one more time before shrugging his shoulders, knowing it was of no use to argue with you.

----------

The plane ride was hell. With the criminals being loud and Harley’s non stop chatter accompanying your periodic bouts of nausea, you were ready to get the hell off of the plane and right into combat.

“Alright guy, get ready to drop,” Rick shouted as the cargo door opened to reveal water beneath you. Once he gave the signal, you jumped into the cool water and began to swim your way to the mainland, waiting for the rest of the team to catch up to you. After everyone, save for the Weasel, had made it to the shore, you glanced over to your boyfriend who was laying next to Harley.

“Hey guys, it’s me. I’m the guy who called you and I brought my friends,” Blackguard shouted into the open, raising his hands while ignoring the shouts coming from the rest of the team and your boyfriend, Waller’s distant cursing ringing in your ear. Next thing you know, there was gunfire in every direction and things went to chaos. You quickly sought shelter behind a rock and shot off a few rounds into the woods, hoping to take down some of the Corto Maltese soldiers. “(Y/N), watch out,” Rick shouted at you as you turned to see what he was talking about, but it was too late before a large piece of debris from one of the trees knocked you out cold.

You woke up to machines attached to your body. Feeling the bile rise in your throat, you tried to get out of the restraints and look for a place to dump the contents of your stomach. Suddenly a pan was placed in front of you and that was all you needed to release the bile. Groaning at the light, you looked around the room and was surprised to see a cleanish room which plenty of nurses occupied.

“Ah good, you’re awake,” a voice commented as a rough hand pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at one of the generals you were tasked to take out.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” You asked, squirming your body against the bed, trying to loosen some of the restraints.

“Mi amore, we are treating you. Seems you have caught a parasite,” he replied before summoning the nurse over to you, carrying a plate of food and some juice, “you’re government must really be struggling if they’re sending pregnant women into the field,” he mentioned as your blood ran cold.

“That’s impossible,” muttering to yourself, your head went fuzzy at the concept of you being pregnant. With Rick’s kid.

“On the contrary, when we brought in your friend and you, we noticed certain things,” motioning down to your stomach only brought awareness to the fact that you were practically naked in a room full of the enemy.

“Let me go,” you pleaded, pulling your arms as much as you could.

“I think not,” he replied before nodding to one of the nurses who moved to turn on a machine and attach it to your head. Screams of agony soon left your lips, blocking out the sudden spurts of gunfire in the halls.

----------

Harley laughed maniacally as she gunned down multiple soldiers, enjoying the way they were dropping to the floor. She needed to get out of there. She needed to find the others. After the last one dropped to the floor, she moved toward the door before hearing a piercing scream echo down the hallway.

“Sounds like someone’s having fun,” she ran her tongue against her teeth before skipping toward the scream. Slamming open the door, she raised the guns in her hand, ready to fire, until she saw you laying on the table surrounded by nurses.

“No one messes with Flag’s girl,” she muttered to herself before unloading the magazine in the room. All of the nurses slinked to the ground, covered in a pool of their own blood. Rushing over to you, Harley unstrapped the restraints and head piece before taking out the IV and looked for your clothes.

“Where the hell are ya clothes?” She asked, searching high and low before she found a bag filled with your bloody uniform. Helping you sit up, she noted the way you looked super frail but practically glowing at the same time.

“Harley,” you whispered out to her before passing out on her shoulder. “Awww, this would be really cute if not for the circumstances,” she stated out loud to herself, peering out of the window and seeing a guy in a helmet run across the street with Flag. Wait a minute, Flag! Running out the door, she ran around the corner before stopping in front of the two men.

“Hiya guys! What’s up?”

“We’re here to save you, is (Y/N) with you?” Rick asked with hope in his voice as Harley nodded, wrapping pale fingers around his wrist and dragging him back inside and through the pile of bodies she had claimed. At the sight of you, Rick ran to your side and hugged your limp body.

“What’s wrong with her?” He asked, fighting the tears that were beginning to surface.

“Don’t worry puddin’, she’s just asleep,” shrugging her shoulders, she left the room as you stirred, fluttering your eyes open.

“Rick?” You questioned as he rapidly nodded his head, placing kisses all along your face.

“Thank God you’re ok. I thought I lost you.”

“Rick, the doctors found something,” memories of the conversation you had moments ago replayed in your brain. You’re pregnant.

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered, mind still not comprehending the fact that you were pregnant. After all, you had been infertile most of your life. Avoiding his gaze, you waited for his response.

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to be a dad,” he whispered, causing your head to snap up and see a smile play against his face.

“You want this? I don’t know if it’ll carry to term. You know that I’m infertile.” Placing his lips against yours, he pulled you into his arms, hugging you as close as he could to his body. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed back before a throat clearing interrupted you.

“This is sweet and all, but we have a fucking monster to kill,” DuBois stated as you looked up at Rick who smiled.

“Stay here, I’ll come back and get you.”

“I’m not leaving your side,” you replied as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re pregnant. No way in living hell am I gonna allow you to do this. You’ll stay here and that’s an order,” you and he both hated when he had to pull his rank, but you realized it was necessary in cases like this.

“Just come back to me,” pulling his lips down against yours for what feels like the last time, you encoded this moment into your brain, remembering the way he tasted.

“For you? Always.”

----------

He should’ve known you were going to follow them into Jotunheim. Not only were you stubborn, but you still had that nagging feeling that something was going to happen. Sneaking past the military, you found a window and busted it open with your elbow before entering the building. Landing with a soft thud, you looked around the room and noticed Peacemaker going down a dark tunnel. Running after him, you made sure to stay hidden by the numerous pillars. Peering around the corner, you saw Ratcatcher standing next to Rick, however Peacemaker was pointing a gun at Rick.

“Nobody is saying what they did was right,” Peacemaker stated, hand unwavering.

“They experimented on children!” Rick yelled as more explosions went off in the distance.

“That information gets out and it causes an international incident. Keeping the peace is worth any price, including the life of a hero like yours, sir, so please. Don’t make me do this,” your stomach churned. You knew that Captain America wannabe was no good, and now your love might just pay the price. Suddenly, rocks collapsed all around you, obscuring your view of Rick and Peacemaker.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, picking up rocks and trying to make a hole for you to get your body through. Your efforts became faster the more you heard the two men grunting. After successfully digging a hole big enough for you, you crawled through as you heard something like porcelain shatter and choking.

“You mother fucker,” Rick stated through gritted teeth as you watched in slow motion, Peacemaker’s hand grasping a large shard.

“Rick!” You shouted out before tackling him off Christopher’s body, not getting out of the way soon enough as Peacemaker lodged the porcelain into your lower abdomen. “No!” Rick shouted as Peacemaker threw you off. In the distance somewhere, you heard a gun go off before hands wrapped around your body. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)?” Rick called to you but you couldn’t hear him, your mind venturing off.

----------

The sun lit your face through the blinds, dancing in your eyes and creating a multitude of hues, a warm body pressed against you.

“Morning sweetheart,” voice deep from slumber, Rick rubbed his eyes as he let out a yawn. Stretching in bed before your 5 year old daughter came running into the room.

“Mommy, daddy. It’s Christmas!” She squealed excitedly, waking up the baby that was next door.

“Yeah it is baby, you excited for your presents?” You asked as she rapidly nodded while Rick slid out of the bed.

“I’ll go grab little Digger,” he commented, kissing your forehead and your daughter’s head. Getting up, you went to grab a coffee before the doorbell rang. Moving to open it, you saw Harley’s painted face waiting for you with Nanaue, Cleo, Robert and Abner carrying presents.

“Merry Christmas dollface,” she exclaimed, pulling you in for a hug before running off to see her god daughter.

“Come in guys,” you motioned for them to enter as Rick rounded the corner, your 10 month old in his arms.

“So this is the little guy, huh?” Cleo asked as Sebastian waved a hand at the newborn, earning giggles from the baby.

“Yep, Digger Anthony Flag, meet your family,” Rick lifted up the baby’s arm, making him wave to everyone.

“I’m proud of you guys,” Robert commented, slapping a hand on Rick’s back as everyone shuffled into the living room, Nanaue taking up most of the space.

“Thanks man, it wouldn't have happened without you.”

“Alright, everyone ready for presents?” You asked the room with Harley by your side, Harleen in her arms. Rick placed Digger in Cleo’s arms before walking up to you and bringing you into his side.

“I love you, Mrs. Flag.”

“And I you, Mr. Flag.”

----------

Groaning, you felt an excruciating pain in your abdomen and a feeling of loss?

“(Y/N), baby, you’re awake,” his tired voice resonated in your ear as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his hand not leaving yours.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you commented as he sniffled, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to escape.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he noted, petting your hair and placing another kiss on your forehead.

“And leave our kid without a father? I don’t think...”, realization dawned on you at that moment. The sudden feeling of loss and the pain in that general area washed over you as you began crying. “Oh God, the baby is gone, isn’t it?” You asked through tears as he let a couple slip down his face, nodding and trying to smile through the pain. Choking back a sob, you turned your face away from him as tears continued to fall.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, squeezing your hand. Shaking your head, you refused to meet his hazel eyes, “(Y/N), look at me.” Turning your head, your eyes locked onto his as he continued to smooth down your hair.

“We’re alive. We’re both alive. That’s all that matters,” he replied, crawling into the hospital bed with you and pulling you against his chest as you cried into his shirt.

“What if I never get pregnant again?”

“We will. I’ll make sure of it. I’m done with the fucking task force. Waller can find someone else to puppet. But I’m done. You’re done. We’re gonna get married and have a nice house. I’ll get a new job and we’ll figure it out. I promise.” Kissing the top of your head, he wrapped his arms around you as you calmed down.

“I love you,” you whispered against his chest as he hugged you closer.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Author’s Note: Well this was way longer than I intended it to be. But hope you enjoy!!

473 notes · View notes

jiminstonic · 3 years

Text

Apothic | pjm

pairing: yandere!zombie!jimin + g/n reader

word count: 6.1k+

genre: thriller, fluff(?), mild angst

warnings: GORE, violence, puking, obsessive thoughts, death, zombie cannibalism, is it necrophilia when it’s a zombie?? (sorry if i forgot anything)

— synopsis: Ever since the apocalypse hit, it’s been kill or be killed. So, what are you to do when a ghoul would kill for you instead of kill you?

Fuck, no more canned ravioli. Chef Boyardee will be dearly missed.

You crack a smile at your own thoughts while scanning the supermarket aisle, a flickering fluorescent overhead. Dirt and various food wrappers litter the tiled floor that you tiptoe on with sock-covered feet, shoes in hand in order to make as little sound as possible. You’ve yet to see a ghoul in this supermarket, but better to be safe than sorry.

With every item you stuff in your bag, a small sigh of relief passes through your lips. Going nomad helps a lot with your need to be alone, but also comes with many cons. Sitting at the very top of the list is being cautious. If ambushed by a group of ghouls, you must find a way out all on your own. It’s a risk you’re willing to take. But you’re not stupid enough to be noisy, whether you’re really alone or not.

Maybe you’ll get a box of cereal this time. You just hope it won’t make too much noise while in your bag.

You make the round of a few more aisles, grabbing a new toothbrush and a few pens. Some rash cream too maybe, just in case. You start to mindlessly grab items that you might need until you end up in the candy aisle.

Gummy bears. It’s the first thing to grab your attention, better with the nearly vacant shelves, and you refuse to leave without it.

Carefully, you pinch the corner of the bag, gently pulling it from the rack it hangs on. It’s a slow process, and you’re on the verge of regretting it as a scraping starts to sound when you continue to tug. Finally, the rack comes to an end and the bag slips off with no more than a split second of a crinkle. That’s when you decide that you have enough for today’s supply, not wanting to risk much more than that. With a swift spin, you turn to head out, one socked-up foot in front of the other when you’re stopped dead in your tracks.

Right at the other end of the aisle, stands a ghoul. It’s as still as a statue, save for the twitch in its fingers.

The sight makes your heart drop and the bag of gummy bears slip from your grasp. The sound that emits when it hits the floor makes the ghoul jump, oddly enough, but it still doesn’t make a single move. It just stands there, watching you.

That’s when you finally snap out of it, stumbling backward and running as fast as you can to the back exit. Even with the machete strapped to your side, you like to avoid having to kill them because, once again, noise. It’s always noise. The same thing that caused a headache for you once upon a time, but is now sometimes caused by the lack thereof.

You can’t care enough to try slipping on your shoes, too busy running for your life down the road. Rocks jab at the bottom of your feet, but you can only tighten your jaw and force yourself to bear it. A bite hurts a lot worse, you remind yourself.

The entire road is bare, same as when you came and is the reason why you even went into the supermarket. No ghouls around. ‘Clear skies’, as you like to call it. So, why was it just that one ghoul there? And how did you not notice it before?

Your pants come out in a near wheeze as you push yourself through the heavy door. Once it’s shut behind you, you fall back onto it and slide down to the floor. The thick air of the high school locker room suddenly doesn’t seem so bad when you’re gasping for breath.

With one last deep breath, you push yourself up with a huff. You sling the bag from off of your shoulder and let it drop to the ground, not very worried about its contents. With a tug on the strap around your torso, the velcro pulls apart and you place it on a metal table sticking from the brick wall, the machete only making a small thud.

Your mattress is in the deeper corner of the locker room with the rest of your stuff. The lockers in that spot hold more than you should probably keep, but you’re not very worried about anyone raiding the place. As far as you know, this town is abandoned.

Your feet drag across the tile as you make your way toward the showers, flicking on every one of the battery operated fans as you pass by. You don’t know how or why, but there’s still running water coming into the locker room. You’ve always tried not to question it, afraid of jinxing it just for the water not to work anymore. And you’re worried for when winter comes, since the water can only run cold. But you’re grateful for it. There’s no way you can’t be.

Usually, you’d pick a cd out of your stash to put into the battery operated player, but you don’t want to waste any time in washing off the sweat that sticks to your skin. With your clothes thrown to the floor at your feet, you turn the nozzle and immediately feel the cool water rush against your skin. You’re quick to grab the bar of soap, one of the many you’ve made sure to collect, and rub it against your skin.

You wake up randomly, not bothering to sit up and separate yourself from the warmth of the blanket, even if it is just a fireproof blanket. But the grumble of your stomach forces you to change your mind. Eating something before crashing on the mattress would’ve been a smart decision.

With a kick, you fling the blanket from your body, setting your feet onto the floor. As you stand, the faint breeze from the fans hit you, waking you further. You rummage through the lockers containing food, not being able to see much of anything—it’s still dark out. The moon is high in the inky sky, a tell-tale sign of the night’s peak. It casts its glowing rays through the high windows to beam down in sections on the tile.

Your hand finds a pack of crackers that you settle for; it’s only a late night snack anyways. Shutting the locker door, you practically jump out of your skin at seeing the dark figure that stands there. A shriek escapes you, feeling your heart drop far into your chest as you drop the crackers in favor of clumsily shuffling backward into the corner of the lockers. You can’t afford to take your eyes off of the figure if they’re here to hurt you, take everything you have left.

You can’t even see their face yet, the moonlight only illuminating their torso. Looking at what you’re able to actually see, you notice that they’re holding a bag, quickly recognizing the gummy bear logo. Your brow shoots up in question.

It isn’t until you shift your eyes back to their shadowed face that you realize they’re getting closer, the moonlight racing up their body. You push yourself further into the lockers pressed against your back, not thinking it was even possible to be any closer. Your breaths come out quicker, nostrils flaring as you begin to panic with every step the stranger makes toward you. Looking past them, you catch sight of your machete that sits on the table, useless on the other side of the room.

Maybe you can side step them, make a narrow escape and grab the weapon, impaling them with it before they can blink twice.

But that plan bursts into flames as you feel their presence just inches from you. They’re eerily quiet, not even the sound of breathing could be heard from them, only you. You slowly look at their face, the moonlight finally bringing it to light, and you panic further upon the sight.

They’re a ghoul. The ghoul. It’s the same one that you ran from earlier today in the store. It’s pale and delicate face, devoid of life and showcasing veins here and there, is surprisingly unscathed. It-...he must’ve been a gorgeous man when he was alive. His blue-ish violet lips stand out the most, especially with the dried blood that stains them. His eyes are the most unique you’ve seen for a ghoul. Usually, a ghoul’s irises were clouded over in a deathly white mist, but he only has one eye like that. The other is perfectly normal, it’s deep brown holding a single sparkle from the light. It’s captivating, to say the least.

Not once has his eyes drifted from you, and it’s starting to make you worry even more. You can already feel the sting of an impending bite everywhere he looked on your skin. It was torture, and he kept getting closer and closer, making you shut your eyes in fearful expectation. Yet, a bite never came. He didn’t fiercely tear away at your flesh with his teeth, making you his late night snack just as you were fearing. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Instead of a painful bite, you felt cold skin pressed against your chest. It has you feeling your own rapid heartbeat against your rib cage. Slowly, you open your eyes to look down, only to see him leaning his forehead against your chest. You’re beyond confused, but you don’t push him away in fear that it may trigger him to actually kill you. And so, you stay impossibly still as he has his...moment?

You watch as he slowly moves his head, the tip of his nose brushing against your skin until you feel his slightly parted lips do the same. He stays there with the tip of his nose and lips lightly touching you, right over your pounding heart. You have no idea what he might be thinking—if he can think. If there’s more to ghouls than what people know, then you are just as clueless.

Suddenly, you feel—as well as hear—him take a deep inhale. It makes you clench your fists that are pressed against the lockers since you’re still too afraid to squirm away from him. His exhale comes out as a small, soft whine, almost as if he were in pain, but still content. You’ve never heard anything so smooth and airy come from a ghoul before, most of them wasting what’s left of their voice boxes by incoherently yelling. He presses his free hand rather harshly against the locker next to your side, emitting a bang that has you flinching. With the same arm, he pushes himself upright to meet your eyes. Once again, he lets out a soft hum while you keep eye contact, and if he were still alive, you would’ve melted at the sweet sound.

It’s not until you feel a nudge at your hip that you look down, seeing him pushing the bag of gummy bears toward you. Hesitant, you glance back up at him, gauging his intentions only to be met with the same stare. He was waiting, wanting you to take it. So you did. With a shaking hand, you take the bag from him, and his arm immediately falls limp at his side as if he were carrying a large weight this entire time.

As he steps back, you take the only chance you have and run past him while dropping the bag, the machete being your only priority. You grab it, spinning around with it already raised high in the air and pointing at the ghoul, ready to bring it down into his chest. But you stop halfway, the sight in front of you completely catching you off guard. His eyes are wide, scared even, hands held in front of him to shield himself from your attack. They shake with the effort he puts into holding them up, and you slowly start to break at the dawning realization. Your grip on the weapon’s handle immediately disappears, the blade dropping to the floor with a resounding clang.

“What am I even doing?” You whisper, appalled by the aggression you didn’t think twice about. That’s not like you, it never was like you. Even if the one standing in front of you is a being that can rip your flesh and devour your organs in an instant, you were still disgusted with yourself.

Sure, his actions were confusing and you’ve never seen a ghoul act so...human. But that definitely doesn’t mean you should put a blade in his skull without a second thought, all because he confused you.

On the other hand, you’ve lived with the apocalypse for half of your lifetime, only ever knowing to kill or be killed. There weren’t many times you had to kill a ghoul, but when you did, there was never the satisfaction that others talked about after taking one down. You never felt victorious or powerful. Only guilty and despondent. Even if it was their fate, a fate that could’ve never been reversed.

So you stand there, tears blurring your vision as you’re unable to meet the eyes of the ghoul in front of you. All of your thoughts are like knives spearing your heart, and you’re unable to focus on anything else around you. Shutting your eyes, the tears flow freely as a sob erupts from you. Maybe this has been building up for weeks, months even. Leaving your makeshift family to go nomad, adjusting to being on your own, jumping from place to place, and never knowing where is truly safe. It was all piled up stress, and this was the peak of it, your breaking point.

Lost in those thoughts, the sudden feel of lips on your cheek make you still and blink until your vision was no longer blurred. He was kissing your tears. You can feel how the ghoul’s lips were pressed ever so gently on the salty trail, and it only made you feel worse to know that he was trying to comfort you only seconds after you tried to end his afterlife.

“I’m so sorry... I don’t deserve that...” Placing your hands against the ghoul’s cold chest, you softly push him away and make a beeline for the mattress. You were no longer worried about the possibility of him eating you alive—he would’ve done that already. He would’ve done it instead of giving you the gummy bears you had wanted today, instead of kissing your tears away. What a complex, lovely ghoul.

You curl yourself into a ball once wrapped up in the blanket and lay with your back towards him, not yet having the heart to face him any longer.

As for the ghoul, he never thought he could once again feel his motionless heart constrict so much. The sight of your tears made an indescribable feeling dwell within him.

He sits on the ground, leaning back against the lockers as he watches your balled up form. Oh, how he wants to hold you right now, feel you in his arms, even if they are still weak.

When he stumbled upon you today, he knew he had to have you. You were glowing under the flickering fluorescents and he swore he felt butterflies. But he was a coward, standing there as you sped off in fear, slipping through his fingers. For that split second, he had forgotten what he really is. How foolish.

He doesn’t remember what exactly happened to him; all he knows is that he slowly turned into what he is now. He can’t quite recall his own name, although he knows for a fact that it starts with a J. He also knows for a fact that he is /not/ like all of the other ghouls. Yet, they all limp alongside him as if they see nothing wrong, because they can’t. He’s positive that maggots have eaten half of their brains already with the way they have no communication whatsoever, or sense of direction and coordination. Unless they’re after food, then it’s a one-track mind.

And he can’t lie, he’s done his fair share of flesh chewing, but he’s only ever felt as if he was going through the motions. It wasn’t as important to him as it was to the rest of the walking dead. He’s never tried talking, so he must’ve lost his voice from never using it, which explains why he had such a hard time speaking to you. That, and his body that never really decomposed, leaving him on the fence of death. He had tried so hard to tell you something, anything, but it just didn’t work out in his favor.

You also smell amazing. Your lingering scent was what led him to you, after all. If it wasn’t for the way you caught his attention, he might’ve taken a few bites of you. No doubt the urge is still there, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He could never.

He can still feel the vibrations of your heartbeat, it’s calming sound that put him at ease. His lips still tingle with the warmth of your skin. Sure, it was a bold move on his part, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. He’d do it over and over again. Even if you ended up nearly bashing his head in for a second time.

His mind was running wild with the visions of you, your warmth that is so close now, yet still so far away. But his serenity was interrupted as a bang resounded. His head snapped in the direction it came from, sadly taking his eyes off of your now sleeping form. You must’ve cried yourself to sleep, he muses, wishing you would’ve used his shoulder to let out your pain.

He’s met with the darkness of the rest of the locker room, silence returning, but he can’t take any chances. Shakily, he pushes himself up, trying to take on a protective stance and shielding you with his body, but ultimately failing when his spine slacks under his own weight. The damn zombie body, he internally curses.

With dragging feet, he makes his way around the corner, only to be met with the silhouette of a ghoul standing in the doorway that he broke off himself in order to get to you. He must’ve been so consumed with tracking you down that he missed any sign of other ghouls around. Oh, how distracting you are to him.

It was obvious that the other can smell you, trying to make its way toward where you sleep while foolishly ignoring him. Without hesitation, he snarls, lunging at the intruding ghoul. There’s no way he’s letting it get anywhere near you. Not without ripping it to unidentifiable pieces, anyways. The anger quickly boiling up within gives him the strength to knock down the ghoul, letting the thought of you push him further, far beyond self-control.

You woke up slower than usual, the weight of the night before still heavy on your chest. He was on your mind right when your eyes opened to the morning light beaming into the locker room. Your dreams were even plagued with him—dreams that are rather compromising to have with a ghoul. You aren’t even sure if you really want to remember it. And it’s sad to say, but you didn’t feel so lonely.

Looking over to the lockers, you find the spot empty of his presence, making you jump up from the mattress. He couldn’t have just up and left, not after last night.

You nearly laugh at your own thoughts. Who are you to act that way toward a ghoul? It isn’t as if you slept with him. Not in reality, anyways; his little moment last night must’ve really gotten to you. It all makes your brow furrow, not understanding your own mind and feelings.

You walk around the corner of the lockers, picking up a foul stench that makes you immediately cover your nose and mouth. Whatever it could be, you know it isn’t good. But nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were met with at the door.

There you found him, sitting on the floor with his back turned to you, hunched over a mutilated body. Not any human body, but another ghoul, or what once was. Its head, torn off at the shoulders, lays a foot away from its body, unfortunately facing you. Its foggy eyes wide and seemingly staring into your soul. Its jaw is hanging by a thread, pulled apart with the stretched flesh hanging like strings. Whether it was always that way or not, you’d rather not know.

Both arms were ripped from its torso, one of them laying in tact, the other in pieces at each joint. Discolored blood is smeared on the floor, most likely from the gaping hole in the torso.

You try to suppress a gag—because of both the smell and sight—but it was futile. The sound alerts the other to your presence, making his head snap toward you. The same discolored blood from the floor is slathered on and around his mouth, dripping down his neck and staining his already dirty clothes. Something must’ve snapped him out of whatever mindset he was stuck in because upon seeing you standing there, visibly appalled, made his stomach churn. He pukes it all up right there, the disgusting taste of zombie organs finally registering with him.

You quickly look away, fighting off gags with your forearm pressed against your mouth. Never have you witnessed something like this. A ghoul eating another ghoul was just unheard of. It didn’t seem logical with what a ghoul’s diet really consists of: humans. He puked it all up as well, begging the question of whether he really wanted to or not. It would seem that way with how you walked up on him taking bites from the other’s intestines, but with him, you have to question everything you know.

Glancing back, you find him trying to wipe off the remnants of the other ghoul. He was struggling, even looked a little confused. So, you couldn’t help what you were about to do.

“Come on,” walking up to him, you hold your hand out toward him, “come with me.”

The look he gives you could’ve shattered your heart, his wide puppy-like eyes staring up at you coupled with the blood smeared on his face shouldn’t make you feel that way. It should make you feel disgusted, yet you only feel that way toward the mess and stench.

With a shaking, bloody hand, he takes yours, letting you lead him to wherever you were going. He wasn’t very focused on that, though. No, the sight of your hand grasping his is far too enthralling. The fact that you initiated it makes it feel even better.

Once at the showers, you pull him into the stall, making him stand just far enough to not be under the shower head. Letting go of his hand—much to his dismay—you reach past him and turn the nozzle, the sound of water smacking against the tiles echoing. You quickly take the opportunity to hold your hand under the water, washing off the blood that transferred onto your palm. You both watch as the dark substance flows on the floor and down the drain, getting stuck in creases along the way. He mimics your actions, surprising you when he skips waiting for the blood to wash off, immediately going to caress the lines of your palm.

“Why did you do it?”

Your voice is gentle to his ears, much like a soft caress. He did it for you. It was all for you. He would’ve killed anyone who walked through that door, not just a ghoul who wanted you for food. He could see no reason for anyone else to be in there anyways. He was protecting you. There’s no way he’d let anyone or anything touch you, not even come near you. He’d make sure of it even after you’re only his to keep. But he couldn’t tell you that. Not yet.

As for eating the other ghoul—that wasn’t planned. It was almost as if he blacked out. He can remember smelling you as he was ripping the limbs from the ghoul. It was too much to handle, so he bit into the ghouls thin, decaying flesh in an attempt to alleviate the hunger he felt for you.

He didn’t have the courage to confess it all to you, he didn’t want to scare you off. So, he ignored the question in favor of bringing your hand up to rest against his cheek.

“Please...”

His voice is unexpected, making you freeze completely and stare at him in shock. His eyes sparkle, staring at you pleadingly while you still try to comprehend the fact that he talked to you. There was a break in his voice that pulled at your heart, so you can’t stop yourself when you swipe your thumb across his cheek. His eyes flutter in bliss as you begin to wash the blood from his skin. The dark blood is like a waterfall on his skin, a contrast to his translucent and paling skin.

Your heart starts to beat faster as your fingers inch closer to his lips, yet they still dance across the bottom one ever so gently. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss your fingertips upon feeling them, gliding his hands up your arm to hold your wrist in place. You didn’t expect the first kiss, and you definitely don’t expect when he continues to kiss different spots on your hand. It’s almost as if he’s lost in what he’s doing, his eyes shut as he concentrates on pressing his lips to your skin over and over again. You can feel the heat that rises to the tips of your ears while you watch him.

But the moment is short lived when you gently push him back, leaving him standing under the water. Hurt flashes across his features, a look that you force yourself to ignore.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to wash up properly,” you’re unable to make eye contact with him, but you still hold your tingling hand to your chest. “...and I’ll get you my mouthwash. Must still have a bad taste in your mouth.”

He can only nod in agreement and watch you walk off, never sparing him a glance. His heart hurts, but swells simultaneously at you caring for him. You’re right, there’s still a bad taste in his mouth. And he highly doubts that you would’ve wanted his nasty throw up mouth on you. How inconsiderate of him, he scolds himself.

You do exactly as you told him you would, opening up your bag and grabbing the travel bottle of mouthwash. But you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you’re basically on autopilot. You’re well aware of your heart still going haywire in your chest. It’s a little embarrassing, a ghoul making you feel this way. Maybe if you could just get past that stigma...

No way. There’s no way you’re seriously contemplating being with a ghoul. But it’s so tempting when he’s so sweet to you, practically worshiping your body every chance he gets. It’s supposed to creep you out, scare you—you know that. Still, your thoughts are filled with what it might feel like to let yourself go to him. You just don’t think you could handle it if he went all ghoul-cannibal again.

Those thoughts come to a halt once you walk up to his stall. His bare back is turned to you, littered with dark veins that demand to be seen through his deathly skin. The dried blood in his light hair washes away as he holds his head under the water. He didn’t bother taking his pants off, something you’re not sure if you’re actually thankful for.

Stuck staring, you notice the marks on the back of his right bicep. A bite. The teeth marks are messy, but left visible holes in his skin nonetheless. That must be how he turned, you think, must be why the rest of his skin is barren of gashes and punctures. Black veins branch out from the old wound, leaving the surrounding skin dark. Though it makes you wonder...did he die alone? That possibility makes your heart fall.

“Hey...”

His voice pulls you from your melancholic reverie. It still surprises you, his small voice. It doesn’t waver this time though, most likely getting used to using his vocal chords. He’s turned to face you now, chest and stomach accentuating his lean stature. You force yourself to hand him the mouthwash before you get too lost while looking at him again.

“Hey. Here you go.”

He takes the bottle from you, trying to pull the cap off, ultimately cracking it. Bringing the rim up to his lips, he takes a swig, surprisingly not struggling to keep it all in his mouth as he swishes it around. He makes brief eye contact with you as he spits it out—well, more like letting it spill from his mouth, the minty liquid dripping from his bottom lip to flow into the drain. Eyes meeting once again, he stares at you with an almost menacing look while sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight sends a shiver through you, not knowing if it’s from fear or excitement.

Still full of surprises, he drops both the bottle and cap, letting them bounce on the tile as he reaches for you. Panic shoots through you when he grasps your hips, pulling you into him and under the flow of water. Maybe this was his breaking point. Maybe he was finally going to kill you—eat you.

But he only wraps his arms around you, securing you in a tight embrace. His face fits perfectly in the crook of your neck, a fact that leaves him as elated as feeling you against his cold skin. He can hear the breaths you take right next to his ear, a sound that comes second to your heartbeat—his favorite. The pounding muscle, especially when it speeds up, sparks excitement within him. He can just imagine the rapid beating doubled with your quick breaths, how you would say his name...

Wait. His name.

In that split second, he remembers it perfectly. All it took was the thought of you. It’s always you. You are his complete motivation; he would do anything for you. Anything at all.

“Jimin...” He huffs out into your shoulder, still having a hard time getting any words out since he already doesn’t breathe. It’s the moment you realize that he’s just a human stuck in a ghoul’s body.

By now you can’t help but ghost your hands over his arms, your fingertips going against the water droplets gliding along his skin. You’re both soaked, but it’s the least of your worries when he speaks the single name to you.

“That’s your name...isn’t it?” You can feel him nod in affirmation, his cheek brushing against your shoulder almost in a shy manner. However, his brazen actions paint him as anything but shy.

“Mine’s ____,” you whisper directly into his ear, oblivious to the true effect it has on him. Your name is something that he will commit to the little memory he still has. He’ll chant it over and over again if that’s what it takes to never forget your name. Lifting his head up, he locks eyes with you. His hair, drenched with water dripping from the ends, almost covers his contrasting orbs. You feel his arms tighten around you with his next words.

“____...”—making your breath hitch—“say it...” You stare at him in confusion, not quite sure what he means. “Say my name.”

His once soft tone is suddenly demanding, throwing you off, but reeling you in all at once. You’re captivated, completely and utterly captivated by him.

“Jimin.”

And he doesn’t waste a second in connecting your lips, his hand holding you in place on the side of your neck. It surprises you, but you’re quick to melt into his lips. His grip borders on tight, and you’d be worried if you weren’t so focused on how his lips feel. Soft and plush against your own in a delicious dance. And now, you didn’t have to wonder anymore with his lips latched to yours.

Jimin turns you until your back is pushed against the stall, all while you feel his tongue peek out to graze your bottom lip. The action has you letting out a small gasp and he takes the chance to push his tongue into your mouth, leaving you even more breathless when you feel it glide against your own. You can feel his hand massaging and gripping your waist, in turn making you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. With his body pressed against your own and his tongue feeling like heaven, your mind turns to mush. You’re putty in his icy hands.

Jimin detaches from your lips and you finally take a breath of air. His kisses move further down your neck, his tongue swirling on your skin with every few press of his addicting lips. You’re practically seeing stars already, eyes drooping in bliss. With him so close to your ear, you can hear each and every hum from him that has warmth spreading throughout your body. As his lips travel higher on your neck, you lean your head back, baring your throat to him. Jimin’s practically ravaging your skin, his kisses getting fervent, making you sigh as you card your fingers through his drenched hair.

And then suddenly, with his mouth opening wider, a searing pain sparks on your neck. Your eyes shoot open to be greeted with the molded ceiling that has you crashing back to reality. A pained sound escapes your open mouth as the realization dawns on you. Jimin is biting your neck. You can feel each and every puncture of his teeth into your skin, and he only bites down harder when you try to move. With all of the strength you can muster, you push him away harshly, finally getting him to stop sinking his teeth into you.

With foggy vision, you watch as he stumbles back, hitting the stall behind him. Your blood coats his lips and stain his teeth, and you can see it on his tongue when he licks his lips. All sound fades until there’s just a constant ringing.

Clutching your neck, you can feel the thick and slimy liquid that coats your skin. Even though you already know what it is, you can’t help but look at your shaking palm, caked and dripping with your own blood. Looking back up, you find Jimin nearing you once again. Hastily, you move backward until you’re cornered like you were before with your back against the stall. He gets closer and closer, watching you carefully, especially the blood that gushes from your neck. You sob when he brings a hand up to caress your cheek, not letting you jerk away.

“Beautiful...perfect...” And he means it. The thick red dripping along your body is a divine sight. He hates that you have to hurt for this to happen, and he’d be furious if it were anyone else that had done it, but it needed to be done. How else were you going to stay with him? Surely not as a human. Of course, he loved the beating of your heart and the warmth that you held, but he knew it would get in the way of making you his. This was inevitable.

His bite will stay there long after you’ve become undead, a fact that had him even more excited. His mark on your skin would be visible forever, a constant reminder of who you belong to—who made you. It was perfect.

Jimin watches you carefully, and it seems you’ve lost the will fight, though you never stopped glaring at him through your tears. You were already bitten, it was inescapable. But little did you know this was your fate from the moment you saw him in that abandoned store. You foolishly put hope into being with him, the deceiving ghoul that he truly is.

Your eyes start to roll back into your head, legs giving out with Jimin catching you before you can hit the hard floor. Picking you up, he leaves the running shower behind to carry you over to the mattress. Your body is limp in his arms, either passed out or already dead. After all, he picked the perfect spot to bite you. With the wound on your neck, it’ll take no time for the infection to make its way to your brain. He’ll have you quicker that way.

He sets your body on the mattress, blood quickly pooling on the fabric. Already, he can see the bite mark start to take effect, slowly starting to look just like his. It’s a gorgeous sight to him, and he can’t wait until you finally awaken. Then, he’ll be able to keep you forever.

tag list: @jikooksgirl19 @sicnesa @buzzyourgirlfriendwoof @deepdarkdelights @iamnamjoonsbxtch @4evahevah @moon8child

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Popping Pearls and Purple Skies (Din Djarin x f!reader)

Summary: While in your home system, Din takes you to your home planet for your favorite treat.

W/C: 3.6k

Warnings: food mention, Star Wars cursing lol, mentions of physical fighting, mentions of trauma

A/N: okay. this was inspired by me thinking Grogu would love popping boba bc he loved the frog lady’s eggs so much!! I hope I did it okay :) Siruus, reader’s home planet, is supposed to be a mishmash of cultures, none specifically, I just picked cool elements from a variety of cultures!

One of the delights you missed most from your home planet was, you discovered, practically unattainable on any other planet. You’d scoured far and wide, hoping maybe you’d cross paths with another Siruusian or an admirer of the culture, but found nothing. It was only on Siruus that you could find your favorite drink: a milky tea with popping pearls.

Din knows you miss your home. Late at night, in the hull of the ship, he’d confide that he missed his home planet too. He told you tales of growing up in Aq Vetina, the feather-light and velvety robes that he wore every day, the spicy foods his mother would cook- which later made him a great Mandalorian.

Did you know that the Mandos love spicy food, cyare? We have a whole vocabulary to describe the heat of a dish. It’s traditional. I was raised on it, and the comfort of a burning mouth was a universal sensation: one that reminded me of my real parents and my adoptive clan.

Rarely did the Mandalorian man let his guard down, but never had he completely done so like he has with you. From the moment he hired you to care for his little green son, he’d been entranced by your laughter, the smooth sound of your voice in the language you’d been raised speaking. He caught you teaching the kid some vocabulary, and he’d quiz him on it when you weren’t around. The kid couldn’t speak yet, but he could point and match words to images or objects, which he attributed entirely to you. You were the child’s primary caretaker and kindergarten teacher in one, and Din admired your care and commitment.

Something about you spoke to him, and over time he thinks he came to realize it was the fact that, though you’d never heard of The Way before meeting Din, you were the holistic ideal of a Mandalorian. You valued knowledge and valor, and though you didn’t work in the traditional Mando fields of bounty hunting or working as a warrior, you embodied another aspect: that care for children.

Watching you with the kid was what made him realize he was in love with you. He’d told you everything. When you looked over your shoulder and laughed, the baby watching you too, the gaze was a love Din has never felt but immediately recognized. It hit him and his whole body shuddered, harder than it had when the Maldo Kreis cold had seeped into his bones, even through the beskar. At the same time, he felt too warm in his own skin, like the fever he’d had as a toddler that threatened his life- he’d told you that story too. Dank Farrik. This was not in the plan.

You had told Din all about your home planet too. You told him of the bright flowers that bloomed in the cold of winter, that released a pollen that made the birds in the area start laying their eggs. He listened intently every time, clinging to every word he told you like he’d never hear that beautiful voice again. He’d hear you singing Siruusian lullabies to the baby, and on nights you missed home.

He’d offered to take you back many times. Any time you were near, there was a standing offer to pop in for a visit. But you’ve always declined; the child and Mando would bring too much attention to your quiet little planet, you explained. That was only partially true, so you didn’t feel as bad lying by omission to Din. You’d neglected to mention, every time, that this was your life now, and more specifically that you never want to leave his side again.

Din really is something. You’d never even heard of Mandalorians before he swept you off your planet, never understood the intricate Creed and their strong beliefs. It didn’t matter to you, that you couldn’t see his face; at least at first. Of course you’d respect the slightly terrifying man’s customs.

But over time you’ve fallen for him, and that’s made everything just a little harder. The man seemingly made of steel was warm and gentle beneath it, with you and the child. He’d wrangle a bounty into the carbonite freezer then tenderly tuck a flower he found behind your ear, calling you sweet names in Mando’a that you didn’t understand. The juxtaposition of the man’s very being- covered in impenetrable, freezing metal to hide an ooey-gooey center like that of a warm pastry- was exciting and beautiful to you.

How could you not fall in love? The three of you became a little family, even as you joined Din on the quest of returning your little green son to his people. You’d treated the baby as your own son, the way Din did too. You’d tried to shepherd him away from the Frog woman’s eggs, only to find him munching on them moments later, scolded him with love and promptly hidden the container.

That day made you miss home even more. The eggs reminded you of the popping pearls you loved so much- no wonder the kid loved them. You’d never eat the Frog’s eggs, of course, but you’d sung the baby to sleep that night in the hull of the ship, another lullaby from your youth. Maybe next time you’d take Din’s offer to visit home seriously. Maybe. There was still another reason you didn’t want to return: if you came home, you weren’t sure you could leave again.

Now you’re in hyperspace, nestled into the small bunk, your child snoozing softly above you with gentle grunts and snorts of sleep. Din is up in the cockpit and you can’t sleep. You wonder if he’s awake too. Maybe you’ll go check.

Sliding on warm slippers to pad your bare feet from the cold metal of the floor, you climb the ladder to the cockpit and see Din sitting in the captain’s chair. You’re unsure if he’s awake or not; it’s hard to tell through the beskar. His shoulders shift a little as he hears you moving and you can tell he’s awake. “Hi. Couldn’t sleep,” you admit as you assume your regular position. The chairs move with the pull of a lever, and you scoot yours closer to Din and prop your feet on his arm rest.

Din nods, resting against the chair. “Me neither. The kid?”

“Asleep,” you confirm and nod, slumping down in your seat.

It’s nice and quiet between the two of you, a relaxed silence as the stars fly past and the Crest hums its low rumble of engines and filters. Just being in his presence soothes you more than being alone in that coffin of a bunk. If you think this is calming, you ponder, just his presence, imagine his arms around you while you sleep. Imagine his warm skin beneath the beskar surrounding you and radiating heat.

He’s thinking the same thing. You look impossibly soft and warm. Your plush skin prickles with the cold of the cockpit and Din wants to put an ungloved hand over it and let the heat of his flushed body sink into yours. He doesn’t. He just stares off at the stars. “We’re approaching your home system,” he murmurs softly. “Would you like to visit?”

Well damn. You hadn’t expected to be confronted with the question so soon, and you’re not quite sure how to answer. “I don’t know.”

It’s quiet again. Din’s silence invites you to speak your inner monologue, to throw your tangled thoughts into the open so he can help unknot them with his nimble mind. In response to his lack of words, which say as much as any sentence, you respond. “I haven’t been there in so long. I don’t know if I want to go back. I like my life now, and I’m scared I’ll want to stay if we visit.”

Din nods as you speak, processing the meanings of your words. “Well,” he begins, “what if I rephrase it like this: would you like us to visit?”

Us. What the kriff does that entail? The three of you, your little family, perhaps? You and Din as friends, as coworkers? Or as something more… your mind spins and you can’t make sense of it, so you give it up. “What does that mean?”

Din turns his chair to face you, moving your legs to drape across his lap. Even through the gloves, he holds back a shiver as he rests his hands atop your shins. “We’ll go, all three of us. If you like your life now, we’ll be your reminders of it.”

Your mouth curves into a warm smile, your body feeling soft and fuzzy all over. “How kind.”

“I’ll even buy you that tea you ramble about,” he offers.

Gasping in excitement, you clap your hands together. “Will you try it? Oh, Din, you’ll love it, it’s the most delicious thing in the galaxy.”

“We’ll see about that,” he chuckles through the modulator, a sound you wish you could hear without the mechanical suppressor.

Popping up, you kiss the top of his beskar-clad head in excitement before you can stop yourself. “Thank you, Din.”

“Anything for you, cyare,” he says with a certain warmth to his voice, a large hand finding your waist. “Go get some rest, lie down. We’ll be there in about half a day.”

“Only if you rest too,” you tell him and your hand rests over his. It’s the most he’s ever touched you purposefully, and now all you want is for him to slide that hand back until he’s wrapping you in his muscular arms. Din nods and you pat his forearm. “Sweet dreams.”

The ramp comes down and your mouth forms a soft ring in excitement. It’s a beautiful day, the nearest sun making the atmosphere the beautiful purple you grew up under. The oranges and yellows of the architecture surround you, and you instinctively clutch the Mandalorian’s hand. “Welcome to my home,” you tell him with a grin and lead him down.

Your little green child is strapped to your chest in a baby carrier, a birikad in Mando’a, and he looks around in wonder, squealing excitedly. As you walk through the streets of the small city, vendors call in Siruusian, a language Din is slowly learning from you. He thinks he recognizes a few words here or there.

Venturing to the side, a stall sells small animals made of a gorgeously embroidered fabric. You had many of these as a child; your favorite was a blue and silver bantha, an exotic animal you’d never seen before your adventures with Din. The child coos at the menagerie in front of him and you squat so he can look at them.

“Toata,” you coo in Siruusian, a word to mean little one, “can you pick the frog?”

That’s one of the words you worked on with him. A tiny, green, three-fingered hand grabs a gorgeous yellowy-brown frog and holds it up in triumph. “Good job, cutie! Aren’t you a smart little thing?” you grin and kiss his forehead. “Is that the one you want?”

Din watches from a few meters back, grinning beneath the helmet. When the child nods excitedly and squeals, he almost laughs softly at the beautiful sight. You pay for the frog and Din meanders over, the baby already chewing on a long leg of the plush.

He wants to see you like that for the rest of his life: glowing with excitement, the little kid strapped to your chest, absolutely at ease and relaxed in the place you used to call home. “You want one too?” you ask.

He shakes his head at first, but after a little haggling, Din purchases himself a copper and yellow blurrg and a mudhorn made of silver for you. The symbolism of the mudhorn, of Clan Djarin, is not lost on you. It makes your heart flit nervously around your ribcage as you wander through the market, making your little mudhorn and the baby’s frog pretend to fight. As always, the littlest member of Clan Djarin triumphs over the mighty mudhorn.

An aromatic smell wafts through the air and your face lights up to see a stand selling your favorite beverage. Din spots it too and makes his way over, getting in the line, his hand holding yours once again. This time, he initiated it. You like that. It makes you giggle and squeeze his fingers softly.

“What do you usually order?” he asks you.

You frown and scan the menu. You explain your drink to him, an orange-colored, sweet and herbal milk tea with your favorite citrusy popping pearls in the bottom. He asks what you think he’d like and you pick a drink for him: a blue, warmly-spiced milk tea with the same pearls. “It’s not the proper drink without it,” you explain.

Picking the baby from his carrier to face you, you ask him questions by the process of elimination. “Okay, toata, do you like… mushfruit?” He makes a noise of disproval. You knew he hated that one; you wanted to ensure he was listening. “No? How about…” you pretend to ponder it. “How about panga?”

The baby squeals in excitement. The green fruit has always been his favorite when you and Din require him to eat his fruit. “Wonderful, and a panga milk tea with you. Do you remember froggie’s eggs?” You ask him, pointing to the frog toy he holds. He tilts his head in confusion.

“The snackies I said no?” That clue does it. He nods, cooing and giggling. “These taste like those! You’ll love it.”

The rest of the time in the line is quiet, shuffling forward slowly to reach the stand. “Is it what you’d hoped?” Din asks after a while.

You nod and smile. “As soon as I get my tea, it will be.”

“And you… you don’t want to stay?”

“Nope,” you agree, popping the p with your lips.

He doesn’t know quite what to say. He’s not the wordsmith you are. “Well. I’m glad. I, uh. I’d miss you if you left.”

The words are simple but they warm your heart. “I’d miss the two of you far too much to leave,” you assure him. “For different reasons, respectively.”

Your flirtation is more than mild, but it hangs in Din’s mouth like a spicy Mandalorian food. He knows what you imply, and the thought that you could feel the same practically sends him into orbit, above Siruus’s atmosphere and next to one of its 4 moons. He can’t respond. He just tightens his grip on your hand.

Once you’ve acquired the drinks, Din holding his and the child’s, the three of you make your way back to the Razor Crest so Din can enjoy the drink too. Walking up the ramp, you sigh as the air-controlled atmosphere warms your slightly-chilled skin from being outside for so long in the Siruusian spring.

You unpack the kid from his carrier, and grin as he toddles to his father, making grabby hands for his green drink. “Oh my, toata,” you tease. “Your drink is the same color as you!”

Din laughs softly, and sets the drink on the floor for him. The baby tries to hold it and walk but the cup is too tall to move with his tiny body. You lift it for him and move it so he can sit in a circle with you and Din, cross-legged on the floor.

The baby plops down in front of his drink then realizes it’s too tall for him to sip from the thick straw while seated. The baby makes a little whine of frustration and you scoop up the kid, putting him in your lap. You hold the cup for him, and his two tiny hands grab the straw to drink from. The baby squeaks as he pops a pearl in his mouth. It’s just like the froggy eggs, and he couldn’t be more excited.

Your free hand holds your drink, and you close your eyes in happiness when the first sip of your tea reaches your tongue. You make a content little moan at the flavor, then open your eyes to see the child vigorously slurping up the drink. “Woah, little man. Slow down.”

Din just watches the two of you, smiling to himself. When your eyes return to him, he lifts his drink. “I’m not really supposed to do this,” he admits as he grabs the edge of his helmet. Both you and the child watch in bewilderment as he lifts his helmet just enough to expose the bottom of his nose, his lips and chin.

You’d never really processed that Din would be… well, so human. The strip of his face, exposed, reveals warm skin, dark stubble, and lips that look ridiculously soft. It’s a sight to see, a Mandalorian cross-legged on the floor and sipping tea with popping pearls. It makes you grin, and both you and the baby lean in closer to try and look under the helmet further.

“That’s as much as you get,” Din teases as he lowers the helmet, once more covering his entire face.

You frown, but the excitement of Din trying your favorite treat overwhelms it for now. “What do you think?” You ask.

Din tilts his head and does exactly that: thinks. “It’s very good,” he nods as he looks at the child, nearly halfway done with his green milk-tea. “I really like it. That’s delicious.”

“Yay,” you smile and sip your own drink again, sighing. The three of you continue like that for a while, sitting together and drinking your tea. Every time he lifts his helmet, you consider those plush lips, the scruff coating his defined jaw and chin. When his tea is gone, you frown to realize the moment of intimacy, of seeing just a little of his face, is over.

The kid is tuckered out from his day. You put the baby to bed in his hammock over the bunk, kissing him goodnight and singing him a lullaby as you rock the knit cradle. He falls asleep quickly, tummy full of a delicious treat very similar to his favorite snack. While you put the child to bed, Din pilots you safely out of the sky harbor and away from Siruus, out of the purple-tinted sky and back into the darkness of space followed by hyperdrive.

You climb up to the cockpit, entering and standing behind Din’s captain chair. “I had a wonderful time today. Thank you.” You put your hands on his pauldron-covered shoulders.

“Thank you,” he insists. “I’d never go there for any other reason. The drink was wonderful and the kid absolutely loved everything about it.” “Maybe we’ll have to vacation there sometime,” you chuckle, spotting Din’s little toy blurrg peeking out from a pocket on his utility belt.

Din turns and stands from his chair, looking at you through that black t-visor. You’re not sure why he does it; in all honesty, he isn’t either. You stare into the helmet, where you suspect and hope his eyes are. “You’re very handsome under there,” you tell him, putting a hand on the divot of his helmet, where the beskar caves inward over his cheeks.

“I’m nothing special,” he shakes his head, a hand covering yours. “Nowhere as special or as beautiful as you.”

Heat rises in your skin, blood flowing closer to the surface. “That’s not true, Din.”

“It is. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve seen in the galaxy,” he murmurs, his other hand cupping your cheek through leather gloves.

“Well, thank you,” you laugh softly, almost nervously, “but I meant you’re very special. I haven’t even seen all of your face and I know you’re absolutely gorgeous beneath that helmet.” You pause, tracing the curves of the beskar. “What color eyes do you have? I want to finish the mental picture.”

“Brown,” Din breathes out, barely able to control himself with you this close.

“Din?”

“Mesh’la.”

“Can… can you do what you did with your helmet to drink the tea?”

He lifts it just enough, just exposing those goddamn taunting lips and the scruffy jaw. “Like this?”

“Exactly,” you exhale before cupping his soft jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your palms as you press your lips to his. Those lips are a little dry but warm and strong, just like you’d assume the rest of him is. He puts a hand on your waist and pulls you in close, kissing you back deeply.

The beskar right above his lips makes it more difficult but not impossible. He lifts the helmet a little higher so he can tilt his head to the side, can kiss you with the energy and passion you’re putting into it. Mentally, he adds this to his lists of favorite tastes: spicy Mandalorian cuisine, your favorite tea with popping pearls, and you.

It lasts a while before you break away and Din lowers his helmet all the way once more. You breathe heavily from the fervor of the kiss, lips swollen and damp. Maker, he wishes this visor had a photo capability to take a picture of the way you look. “Come rest with me. Please, Din.”

Din can’t say no to that. He retreats downstairs with you, strips himself of the beskar save for the helmet, and snuggles into your side. Your wish comes true then and there, when you learn that he’s as good of a cuddler as you’d hoped. “Goodnight, Din. Thank you,” you murmur.

“Goodnight, mesh’la. Thank you more.”

The baby above you gives a little snort in his sleep. That’s the last thing you remember before falling asleep in his arms.

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wicked-mind · 3 years

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Betrayed: Chapter Three

Summary: Everybody thought Steve’s sister had passed away decades ago. But when you show up at the facility and try to attack Bucky, there are questions to be answered.

Word count: 5.2k

Warning: A bit of violence, talk of kidnapping and torture, talk of surgery, a hint of PTSD

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NOTE: I would like to thank everybody for your support. As I previously said, this is the first time posting any sort of creative writing on any platform. As a thank you, I'll be releasing two chapters today (3/19/21). Again, any feedback is appreciated. Enjoy (:

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CHAPTER THREE- The Truth

It had been about 6 months since Y/N arrived at at the facility. She liked it here. She was able to get to know who her brother was now, hearing about his stories. He was careful to try and leave Bucky out of it as much as possible, but sometimes he would come up. The more Steve talked about Bucky, the less Y/N would flinch at his name. It’s like Steve was replacing that bad memory of him taking her with new ones about how Bucky had redeemed himself, sacrificing everything to help protect the universe from Thanos.

“I always imagined you like this, Steve.” Y/N had said to him one day, gesturing at him as she listened to his stories, “Even though you were five foot, four inches and weighed nothing, I always knew this was the real you.” She smiled, at him, to which Steve laughed and replied, “I’m glad someone saw passed my height.”

Y/N trained with Clint and Wanda. Although Y/N and Clint had a bit of a rough start with the arrow thing as well as calling her a vampire, they became friends quickly. Joking at one another often, especially during training. He had nicknamed her ‘Little Vampire’. Her abilities began to hone in, and she hadn’t had an outburst of violence since the night she arrived. Besides her brother, Wanda was the person Y/N was closest with. They even shared a bedroom now, and others in the neighboring bedrooms often heard laughing throughout the night coming from the bedroom. They did almost everything together. Train, eat, watch movies, occasionally go shopping. Wanda even taught Y/N how to drive, testing out the fast cars on the long stretch of road leading to the facility.

There was still one problem though. Bucky. Y/N couldn’t be in the same room as Bucky, which everybody noticed. For the first few months, when Bucky entered a room that Y/N was in or vice versa, the room would get quiet. It was like there was a stare down between the two. Y/N would tense up, her red eyes locking on Bucky. Out of respect and guilt, Bucky always left the room, even if he was there first. He caused her enough pain for a lifetime, he didn’t want to be a constant reminder of the worst time of her life. He owed her that much. At least he could hear her laugh with Wanda. Sometimes he would stay awake at night, either laying in his bed or standing outside her door and listening to her laugh. He missed Y/N’s laugh so much. He used to hear it almost everyday growing up, watching her smile. Her joy was always infections to others, especially him. He often wondered when the last time she laughed was. He was sure she didn’t laugh until she came here and met Wanda. The first time he heard her laugh while Y/N has been here, he smiled, standing around a corner as he listened to Wanda and Y/N watch the cheesy Captain America movie. Bucky wished more than anything he could join in the laughter. He wanted to feel the warmth that Y/N always brought him, but knew he wasn’t what she needed or wanted right now.

After about 4 months, they were able to be in the same room. Bucky had been sitting at the kitchen bar, talking to Steve about how he could fix things and help Y/N. When speak of the devil, she walked in alone. Usually her and Wanda were always together, but this time she was alone. She paused when she entered, staring at Bucky who was looking back to her. She then moved to the fridge, grabbing out some grape juice. Her favorite. Wanda made sure it was on the list every week just for her, and if she forgot to put it on the list, Bucky would scribble it down. She grabbed a glass out of a cupboard. She was facing Bucky, but not looking at him. She was focused on her task of getting juice. As she poured, her eyes flicker to meet his gaze. She quickly looked back down until her glass was full. She put the grape juice back in its spot in the fridge, picking up her glass. Her eyes flickered between Steve and Bucky. She gave a soft smile but it faded quickly as she left back the way she came, returning to her room.

Once Steve was sure she was out of earshot, he turned to Bucky, raising his eyebrows, “Progress.” He said with a smile. It was nothing compared to how much Bucky was grinning. This was the first time he had been able to get her to actually look at him, not stare him down or glare like he was her enemy. She even smiled a little bit, probably at Steve, but Bucky was taking it as a win. For the first time in the last four months, he felt hope in being able to be Y/N’s friend again. But he wouldn’t push it, he would wait for her.

Two months later, present time, it was time to answer the hard questions. Steve sat down on his sister’s bed beside her. Wanda had some idea of what happened, as Y/N talked about the trauma to her most. That and the fact Wanda could see inside her head, but only ever did it with Y/N’s permission.

“Y/N, tell us everything you remember.” Steve said, looking at his sister. He needed to know what was done to her, where, and if there were any remaining Hydra agents. He needed to know if there were anymore enhanced humans Hydra could have made.

Y/N looked at her brother, then to Wanda, then to the floor letting out a sigh. She had been dreading. She put her face in her hands, then slowly ran them up through her blonde hair. She hated talking about it, but knew Steve had given her enough time to process her new home.

“Bucky sent me a letter, saying he was coming home from deployment. He set up a date and where to meet. I was so excited to keep our promise.” Y/N swallowed hard, “When we met, he greeted me. He smiled, but there was no emotion in his eyes. I figured it was from the war, you know, needing to adjust. I was just happy he was safe. We talked for a moment, before walking down the street. It was dark, the street lamps were out which I thought was odd. Then suddenly, he grabbed me, pulling me into the trunk of a car. I was in that trunk for what felt like days,” She paused, pushing past the pain it was causing her, “Then, we were outside this bunker. It was snowing, cold. I didn’t know where we were. He took my hood off, holding my arm as he lead me through the doors. I was watched by all these men, wearing a red octopus with a skull on their uniforms. He handed me to them, practically throwing me into their grasp. I looked back at him, pleading for help. He ignored me and followed as the men took me to this medical chamber and strapped me down on a cold table. I could see the medical instruments on a tray. They had these syringes filled with red liquid. I screamed for Bucky to help me, for anybody to help me. Nobody did.. They gagged me and began. I couldn’t tell you what they did, I closed my eyes until I passed out from pain, after seeing Bucky leave the room. I do remember though before I passed out, up in the gallery that overlooked the room, red eyes staring at me.” Y/N said softly, looking at Steve.

“The rest of it is a little blurry. I think I’ve blocked it out of my mind after I was made into this, knowing I wouldn’t want to remember. Then, after a few years, something happened. I remember I was called back to that bunker. There were two others with red eyes. They put us in these steel coffin type things.” Y/N paused, before chuckling a little bit which shocked Steve, “Don’t tell Clint that, it’ll just make the vampire thing a little too real for him.” She joked for a moment, but not hearing any laughter she sighed and continued, “They put us to sleep. When I woke up, seven months ago, it took days of punching that steel coffin until I was able to get it open.” She traced the silver scars on her knuckles, remembering blood, although there wasn’t much pain, “But that wasn’t the end of the it. Wherever they put me, I was buried. I had to claw my way through dirt, grass, and two feet of snow until I saw grey skies. It was snowing. I fled to the nearest city, hiding in an abandoned building. I could feel something in my brain, trying to tell me to go back and sleep. I itched at the spot until I could feel my skull and stole a drill from a nearby family. I drilled out the spot of my skull, then pried the chip out with my fingers. I left it in that building.” Y/N was now staring at the wall as she spoke, her face emotionless. She knew Wanda was watching her memories vividly, wincing as she watched the process of taking the chip out, “It didn’t take long after that for me to see your face everywhere, and the face of the Avengers. I had to find you and I did. You know the rest from there.”

It was silent in the room for a minute. Steve was holding back some tears hearing about his sister’s torture with Hydra, not wanting her to see. Wanda had the saddest look on her face, feeling like she was there herself through Y/N’s memories. Steve broke the silence, “Thank you for telling me,” He said, putting a hand on his sister’s back. He didn’t want to make her relive this, but he got the information him and the team needed. There were more of these red-eyes buried somewhere, just waiting to escape.

What they didn’t know, is Bucky was outside the door, listening to every word Y/N said. He felt nauseous hearing her stories. The sweet woman he knew.. She had been taken and forced into this traumatic life. Taken by his own hand. A tear ran down his cheek which he quickly wiped away. When she was done talking, he stood up and went back to his own room before they could catch him eavesdropping. He felt full of rage at Hydra but more importantly at himself. No wonder she tried to kill him. Half of him wishes she did, he deserved it and maybe it would’ve brought her more peace. But the other half of him was glad she did save him, wanting to prove himself to her that he wasn’t that person and that he was the same Bucky Y/N remembered from watching their sunrise.

After Steve had shared the information for the team, they decided to mobilize and search out this base. It would be at most a week they were gone. Everybody was going, besides Y/N, Bucky, and Clint who had promised his family not to go into any more dangerous missions unless absolutely necessary. Y/N pleaded with Steve not to go, or at least leave Wanda behind with her. But Steve had told his sister they needed to go, make sure everything was safe, and Wanda needed to go as well as she had seen the bunker and its layout in her head. Reluctantly, Y/N agreed.

Two days into the longest week of her life since she had been back, Y/N sat on her bed, missing her friends and her brother. She had skipped training with Clint, mostly staying in her room and listening to music Wanda had showed her. It made her happy listening to music. Sometimes Wanda and Y/N would blast the music in their room, dancing together and laughing. They were some of her happiest moments since she’s been at the facility.

On the third night, Y/N went out into the kitchen to have herself some leftover soup. She waited as it heated in the microwave, freezing when she heard another person enter the room. She slowly turned, only to lock eyes with blue eyes she had hated for so long. Bucky stopped and looked at her, before speaking softly to break the silence, “Sorry.. I’ll come back later.” He said, turning to leave, breaking their eye contact. Then a miracle happened.

“It’s fine, I’m almost done..” Y/N said softly, turning back to watch the timer on the microwave. Bucky stood there staring at her. This is the first thing she had said to him since she healed the bite on his neck. His heart leaped in his chest, hearing her acknowledge him. It was just adding to the hope that one day they could be back to friends again. Her voice was like soft music to his ears, so sweet. He didn’t approach her, just took a seat. He didn’t want to get too close to her and make her uncomfortable and take back this progress of her speaking to him. He thought of her like a scared animal. If he moved the progress too fast then she would run. He watched as she grabbed the bowl from the microwave, a spoon, and a napkin. Then Y/N retreated back to her room, not saying another word. She shut the door behind her.

Bucky smiled to himself, “Progress.” He said softly, making himself a sandwich and heading back to his room. He felt accomplished. She had actually spoken to him, directly to him. Alone. She didn’t run, or attack him. Bucky viewed this as a big step towards reaching his goal of having Y/N trust him again.

In the early morning hours, Y/N had a nightmare. A bad one. She was seeing the faces of those she hurt, those she killed. Then it changed to her punching herself out of that metal coffin, screaming to be free, digging through the rough earth trying to find air. She tossed and turned, sweating, before letting out a scream. The scream woke Clint and Bucky up, who now stood outside her door in the hallway looking at each other as they heard her whimpering and screaming from the other side.

“Okay, you go in.” Clint said, looking at Bucky.

Bucky looked at Clint in disbelief, “Are you kidding? She hates me. Well, I think we are one level down from hate because she talked to me, but still. At least she likes you, you go in.” He countered

Clint shook his head, “Nope. Nu-uh. After hearing about the coffin thing, I’m still not convinced she isn’t a vampire.” He whispered softly, “Vampire beats human every time. You got the superhuman stuff, if she bites you at least we know what happens. If she bites me, I may die quicker than she’s willing to give me her blood.” He said, “Plus you're stronger and she scares me a little.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by another muffled scream. He glared at Clint before opening the door. If this took back the new progress he had just made with Y/N, he wouldn’t know what to do. He peeked in her room, seeing Y/N laying on the bed, clutching her pillow so hard that it starting spitting feathers out of the seams. It pained him to see her like this. He could see tears down her visible cheek, the pain on her face.

“Y/N?” He asked softly, not wanting to touch her yet, just wanting to wake her gently. It didn’t work though, she didn’t wake. Bucky slowly moved to the side of her bed, sitting at the edge next to her. He slowly reached his hand out to touch her and paused, wondering if he should. But then he heard Y/N whimper again, letting out a half sob half scream. His instincts took over and he grabbed her quickly, pulling her into his chest and holding her tight. She gripped onto his shirt, her nails ripping through and digging into his chest. Bucky winced, but it was worth it to hold her, trying to calm her, “I got you, Y/N. You’re safe… It’s all over, I got you.” He whispered towards her ear, noting the scar behind her left ear. He knew exactly what it was from. The sobbing stopped, as did the screaming. He looked down at her face to see the red eyes staring at him. He paused, wondering what was going to happen. Would she attack him? Push him away? He wouldn’t blame her for either of those options. He just wanted to be there for Y/N, let her know she was safe.

Y/N stayed silent for quite a while, just staring at Bucky’s eyes. The way he looked at her was familiar. His eyes weren’t emotionless. She saw his sadness, worry, guilt.

“Bucky..” She whispered finally, breaking the silence.

Bucky’s heart melted, listening to her say his name without rage in her voice. She said his name like she did before he left for deployment, but with a little more sadness in her voice. Then she curled into him more, which made his heart melt again. He willingly pulled her closer, “I got you, Doll,” He said as he ran his hand through her hair, “You’re safe. You never have to do those things again.” He knew exactly what she was dreaming about when it came to the faces. He had the same nightmares for a long time, unable to sleep for months because of it. He held her until she was asleep, gently placing her back into bed and pulling the covers over her body. He sat on Wanda’s bed, watching her all night. Every couple hours, Y/N would wake up and look over at him as if to make sure Bucky was still there, before going back to sleep, pressing her face into her pillow.

In the morning, Clint called Bucky into the briefing room to get an update from the rest of the team. They had to break down the steel doors to the bunker to get in, but didn’t find any evidence of any survivors or the remaining red-eyes. They were going to search the area a little more before heading back home. They also wanted to try and find the chip that Y/N had clawed out of her brain seven months ago to try and see if they could get any information off that.

As the sun hit her face, Y/N’s eyes opened slowly, looking around the room. She was alone. She started to wonder if it was all just a dream that Bucky was there, holding her, keeping an eye on her. It had felt too real to be a dream. She sat up slowly, noticing the feathers on her sheets. Definitely not a dream, she concluded. She dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the bathroom to shower.

Y/N stood still as the warm water hit her back. Her mind racing a million miles per hour as she thought about last night with Bucky. He came in to help her, and she accepted it. She shook her head, bringing her hands to her face. She couldn’t believe she did that. She let him in, giving him a chance. Her traumatic time with Hydra had made her hate him. But Y/N knew that somewhere, inside herself, she knew the truth that he was still the Bucky she remembered. She didn’t want to trust him, to let him in. It was easier if she didn’t because then he couldn’t betray her trust again. She sunk to the floor of the shower, pushing her back against the tile wall, and cried.

After about a half hour of crying in the shower, she finished washing her hair and herself and finally stepped out, wrapping the towel around herself. She stared at herself in the mirror as she ran the brush through her hair. Looking around the bathroom, she cursed under her breath as she realized she forgot a change of clothes. She would have to scurry back to her room with the towel wrapped around her.

She opened the door and started to walk back to her room, but stopped as she saw Bucky at the end of the hallway, looking at her with those damn blue eyes. Y/N looked down, turning and disappearing into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Bucky stood there, he had looked her over as she stood frozen for a moment. Noting all the small silver scars across her pale body that he could see. She had many on her shoulders and legs. Some of them looked like scars of bites, like someone had bit her over and over again. They were along her shoulders also ran up her legs until they disappeared under the towel secured around her body. It made him sad to see her like that. He remembered she only had a few scars when they were younger, from dumb instances like falling off a bike or falling when she ran to keep up with him. But now, she was covered in scars. He sighed as she left without a sound to him, wondering if the progress they had made disappeared.

The next few days, Y/N stayed in her room, only coming out to train with Clint and get food. The rest of the time she sat on her bed, reading or listening to music. The team were supposed to be back tomorrow and Y/N couldn’t wait to see Wanda and her brother. It felt like she hadn’t seen them in months. She had gotten so used to them being around all the time that she didn’t know she would miss them this much when they were gone on a mission. There weren’t many phone calls, just quick check-ins with Clint.

She finally pulled herself out of bed, throwing on some black leggings and a dark blue shirt. She brushed her hair and teeth in the bathroom, before making her way to the kitchen. She grabbed herself a bowl of cereal and moved to the living room, turning on the tv to watch some dumb reality show that filled the silence around her. She noticed Bucky and Clint walk into the kitchen, they must’ve been training. They were both discussing who won their sparring as they grabbed water bottles out of the fridge.

“I see you...”

The sound made Y/N jump. It sounded like it was right in her ear. She looked around, looked behind her to see Bucky and Clint still talking. She put her bowl on the coffee table, turning off the tv. She stood, looking around slowly, her forehead wrinkles in frustration and focus as she tried to figure out where the voice came from. She wondered around, looking down hallways.

“Y/N...”

The voice came again, singing her name in a soft whisper. Y/N jumped and turned, but nobody was there. She didn’t even notice Bucky and Clint were now watching her, confused by her movements.

The voice softly started humming, the sound felt like someone was right in her ears.

“Little Vampy, you okay?” Clint called from the kitchen, his brow furrowed as he watched what was unfolding. Both Clint and Bucky had started moving towards her.

“Little Vampy, huh?” The voice came again, whispering right in her ear. It was deep, a male’s voice. It almost sounded like it was teasing her, “Idiot.” It chuckled and resumed humming.

Y/N turned quickly again at the whisper only to find nobody standing there, her eyes confused but also panicked. She listened to the humming, slowly walking passed Bucky and Clint. She pushed passed Bucky, her arm brushing against his but she didn’t seem to notice. She stopped at a window, staring out it as the humming continued.

“Y/N.” Bucky said, breaking the silence, curious and concerned of what was going on with her. It was like she was almost in a trance.

Y/N silently looked out the window for a moment, the voice that was humming slowly disappearing. She turned and looked at Bucky, her red eyes panicked, “Somethings here..” She said softly, almost a whisper.

Bucky and Clint immediately went on the defense, pulling up motion trackers of the facility but finding nothing except themselves. They searched the whole facility, every nook and cranny, but found nothing. Y/N hid in her room, the curtains shut. The humming had gone away, and she was left with her own thoughts. She sat silently in the room, curled up in one of the corners behind a chair. It was like she was hiding from whatever she was hearing even though it was now gone.

Bucky and Clint entered her room, confused seeing nothing at first which made them panic a little. Bucky scanned the room, tense. Where had she gone? Was she taken? He shouldn’t have left her alone.. But then he saw the red eyes peer out from behind the chair at him and gave a sigh of relief.

“We couldn’t find anything, Y/N.” Clint said, folding his arms, “Why would you think something is here?” He questioned, confused on why him and Bucky just went on an empty scavenger hunt.

Y/N’s eyes flickered from Bucky to Clint as he spoke, not leaving the safety of the corner on the floor, “I heard him. He’s here.. somewhere.”

“Heard him? Heard who?” Bucky asks, moving to sit on the edge of Y/N’s bed, trying to make her more comfortable by letting her know he was here for her.

“I don’t know who.” She said, staring Bucky in the eyes, “It was familiar, his voice. He said my name, was listening to your conversation in the kitchen. He knew where we were and what we were doing. He was right in my ears…” Y/N moved her hands back to grip the sides of her head, “Whispering…” She mutters, then looked up at Clint, “He called you an idiot.”

“Well, I already don’t like him.” He said, folding his arms, “We will keep an eye on the motion sensors, do checks of the facility throughout the day just to be sure. I’ll send an update to the rest of the team. They should be back soon with the chip.” Clint informed, leaving the room promptly.

Bucky stayed in the room, sitting there silently. He wanted to ask Y/N if there was anything she needed, but he was cautious. He didn’t want to get too close. He didn’t want to push Y/N. They sat there in silence for what felt like hours, but was really only one. Y/N picked herself up off the floor, looking at Bucky, then looking around the room as if to make sure it was safe. She could feel Bucky’s eyes on her, watching her closely to try and get a read on how she was doing.

“I’m fine, Bucky..” Y/N finally said, her eyes eyes locking with his, before exiting her own bedroom. She went back to grab her bowl of now soggy cereal from the coffee table. She took it to the sink, pouring it down the drain and turning the disposal on for a moment to shred the cereal. She washed her bowl and spoon, then set them on a towel to dry. Y/N placed her hands on the edge of the counter, staring at the granite. What was she hearing inside her head? Who was it and why did it sound so familiar? She had clawed that chip out of her brain over half a year ago, she shouldn’t be hearing the voices. She wondered if she was slowly going insane, if it was the voices of those she killed catching up to her.

“Y/N,” It was Bucky’s voice behind her, but she didn’t move from where she stood, still staring at the granite, “I know you would prefer to talk to Wanda or Steve…. but you can talk to me while they’re not here…” He said softly, wanting to understand what was going on in her head. He wanted to help her.

“I feel like I’m going insane…” Y/N said, eyes still studying the granite as she kept her back to him, “Or being haunted. I feel like my mind isn’t safe.”

Bucky nodded slowly, “It’s the guilt, Y/N. You were forced to do terrible things to people. It wasn’t you. You’d never do that.” He said, moving closer to her.

Y/N shook her head, scoffing at his words, “I would do that. I bit you. I threw Steve. I am capable of violence, I was trained for it.” Her hands gripped the edge of the counter harder, it was starting to crack under her strength. Pieces of fractured granite pierced into her palms, causing droplets of her blood to run down the cupboards to the floor.

Bucky quickly moved when he heard the splintering granite and seeing the blood, pulling Y/N away from the counter, forcing her to look him in the face as his arms held hers, “Y/N. You were trained, yes. You did awful things, yes. But it wasn’t you. You are Y/N Rogers. The girl who loves dancing, adores sunflowers, and hates coffee.” He reminded, “You are letting yourself feel the guilt for something you had no control over. You wouldn’t have done those things if you had a choice. You need to take all that sadness, frustration, and guilt and let it go.” He urged. He knew what she was going through. He dealt with the emotions for a long time, his ghosts haunting him ruthlessly. But he had come to accept the things he couldn’t change, and work to make up for his mistakes everyday.

Y/N stared at him, allowing him to hold her arms, listening to his words. He was the only one who knew what it was like to do the things she had done without having control of yourself. She finally spoke, sadness in her eyes, “I may still love the same things, but I don’t feel like the same person.” She told him, moving away from his grasp and retreating back to her bedroom.

Bucky cleaned up the blood and the splinters of granite on the floor for her after she was gone. He was hoping she would think about his words, accepting them eventually. She couldn’t keep torturing herself and needed to come to terms with what happened to her. She needed to accept and move on into a better life like he had. He had faith she could do it.

TAGLIST: @vicmc624 @the-ayo-lit @daddysfavoritesexkitten @springsoulofengland @tcc-gizmachine @taina-eny @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable

If I left out anybody on the taglist, I’m sorry. Just send me a quick reminder and I’ll add you right away (:

#bucky x reader #bucky barns x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #the avengers x reader #avergers x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

winter break/skiing au with eren

↯ pairing: eren jaeger x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: modern au (college), fluff, eren is an idiot but we all knew that, and yes i do think he’d probably be a good snowboarder or athlete in general tbh

↯ word count: 2.7k lol and it’s not even written out like a fic

↯ notes: this is based off of a request i got for meeting eren at a ski lodge. heads up i know next to nothing about skiing or any related sport, so bear with me on this. also this formatting is... headcanonish but also fic like?? in an alternate timeline, i could write this out as a fic, but my lack of knowledge about the subject + me wanting to try this format out resulted in this!

If he’s being completely honest, Eren wasn’t ecstatic to be going on this skiing trip with his friends in the first place, but he didn’t have much choice, seeing as he didn’t want to be the only one left behind for winter break.

Not to mention he’s a shit skier. He’s fine with a snowboard, so he wouldn’t be stuck on the bunny hills for a week, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. After all, he was pushing to go somewhere warm for break. You know, since it was already freezing cold at home.

Nevertheless, he sucks it up for the sake of his friends’ happiness (and because he was severely outnumbered. Also because Armin had never been skiing and Eren really wanted to record him falling face first into the snow at some point).

As expected, it’s fucking freezing by the time they make it to the lodge, but at least Jean—resident organizer of this trip—had gotten them a pretty nice cabin with central heating, and a fireplace. It’s more of a house that they’re renting really, with enough rooms for the six of them.

Unfortunately the rooms were not soundproof so he was subject to hearing Jean and Connie staying up until the crack of dawn, and Mikasa throwing pillows at Sasha telling her to shut the fuck up. But at least he got to room with Armin, so it wasn’t all bad.

Eren spends the first day just chilling around, still warming up to the idea of the trip (and warming up physically, because fuck is it cold here). The lodge itself has main, communal buildings with indoor activities—a game room, indoor pools, hot tubs, a buffet, the whole nine yards—that he spends time exploring.

He’s heading down to the indoor pool with Armin and Jean in tow, the rest of his friends opting to head upstairs for dinner first after their day of skiing; and that’s where he sees you. And, not to sound like a lovestruck idiot, but Eren thinks you might be the prettiest person he’s ever seen in his life.

In a cliche moment, he catches you as your head reemerges from out of the water, face dripping wet with pool water as you tread in your spot. Eren looks stupid—big, green eyes wide as hell and a little bit of a gap between his lips.

Jean has to smack him upside the head to get him walking again, mumbling about how Eren looks like the literal heart eyes emoji to which Eren simply pushes the taller boy into the water.

He looks back to spot you again (in a non-creepy manner of course), when a voice calls out your name—he’s presuming, by the way your turn your head.

“You’ll turn into a prune if you stay in any longer,” a short man with dark hair calls to you, a towel around his shoulder his mostly dry body, save for his swimming shorts that are still damp, “Come on, I don’t want get the shit end of the stick at the buffet.”

The short man’s words seem to make you chuckle, and a little reluctantly, you swim to the edge of the pool, taking his hand to get out of the water. Eren frowns a bit watching the interaction. You and the short man seem close—there go his chances of… well, he’s not sure exactly… uh… talking to you, maybe?

Whatever it was, you might already have a boyfriend, and from the way the rest of, who Eren is again presuming to be, your friends walk with you to the exit, it doesn’t seem like he’d ever find you alone again.

Oh well. He sighs, trying not to think much of it, and enjoy his time in the pool. (He fucking doesn’t because Jean gets his revenge and pushes him in the deep and even Armin his him with a pool noodle. Traitor).

Day two he’s finally going to to the slopes. On his way up in the lift, he can see Sasha and Connie stumbling down the hill while Jean laughs behind them, and Eren only shakes his head.

Yeah, maybe they shouldn’t have taken Sasha, Connie, and Armin with them on the advanced hills, but it was so much more fun this way. Although, to his credit, Armin was catching on quickly (no thanks to Eren or Jean; that was all Mikasa’s teachings).

Eren lets Mikasa work her magic with Armin. He straps on his helmet and goggles, and heads down first. It’s been a while since he’s snowboarded, but he’s still pretty damn good if he does say so himself. He even tries out a few old tricks and—not to brag—but sticks his landing every time.

Halfway down the slope, he can feel someone else boarding beside him—and he doesn’t think much of it, until they replicate his previous flip, landing a just a little in front of him.

Eren can’t see the person through their goggles, but from the way they look back at him before pushing forward, he can tell that they wanted a challenge. And who is Eren to turn down a little friendly competition?

The descent continues on with Eren and his mystery partner not-so-subtly flexing their own skills. Eren copies their flips and turns, and is amazed as he watches them copy his in return.

He decides to kick it up a notch, swerving over to a small snow rap, to use the height it gives him to pull off his signature move—yes it’s called the Jaegerbomb, yes he did come up with it when he was eleven, and no he doesn’t regret because it’s still sick as fuck, shutup Zeke.

He sticks his landing, perfectly timed with the end of the slope, pushing his board forward to completely stop himself. He turns around, lifting his goggles, to give his copycat a smug look, when, to his surprise, he sees them pulling off something almost equally as impressive, and probably more complex before they land.

Eren’s got the same stupid, starstruck look on his face as he did in the pool, as he watching their momentum come to a stop a little ways downhill from him, because, fuck if that wasn’t the coolest thing he’s ever seen.

Immediately, they’re surrounded by two other bodies, both of which sing their praises, probably for that last move. Eren knows he would. It’s only after your goggles are pushed up over your helmet and your turn around that Eren realizes its you! The girl from the pool.

If he was awestruck before, it’s nothing compared how he’s feeling now. No way you were the same person! But, he has to admit, if we were gonna get crushed by anybody on the slopes, he’s glad it was a pretty girl.

To his surprise, you make your way over to him after unbuckling from your board, and Eren has to quickly shake the stupid look off of his face.

“I guess I lost our race back there,” you say with a smile, cloudy air falling from your lips from the cold, “But I just wanted to tell you that your last flip was really cool! It must have taken you forever to master that.”

For the first time since arriving, Eren’s glad it’s cold as shit, because now at least he has a coverup for the redness creeping onto his cheeks. With a nervous chuckle, he finally responds, “Yeah, I’ve, uh, kinda been working on it since I was eleven.”

“Well it definitely payed off, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you cheer, and Eren is really considering passing out right now, but that would not be cool. Very uncool. So he doesn’t. “Have you been boarding that long?”

“Yeah! I mean, well, I’m only 21, so I guess not that long,” Eren says with a nervous chuckle, “Well—uh, I guess, like, ten years is a long time, but I—I used to snowboard more often when I was little with my family, then, um, you know college got in the way in stuff… haha… yeah.”

Okay, fine, Eren has never been the smoothest guy in the world, but he’s usually not this awkward either. But can you really blame him?—between your looks, and your skills, and the fact that you actually came over to initiate and carry out a conversation with him, he was a goner from the start.

“I’m Eren, by the way,” he continues, hoping to cover up his awkward stuttering, “And, uh, you must have been doing this for a while too? Your last move was sick, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“(Y/N),” you respond with a smile. Luckily for him, you don’t seem completely turned off by his awkward demeanor, still as bubbly as ever. “Not really… well, kind of? Maybe a few years at this point, but my teacher’s been a real hardass, so I learned to pick up on things pretty quick unless I wanted to get turned into a human snowball,” you tell him, turning your shoulder a bit to point back at your friends, “If you think what I did was good, you gotta see Levi—he’s the short one yelling at the one with the pigtails. He taught me everything I know.”

Eren recognizes Levi as the shorter man who helped you out of the pool yesterday. He deflates a little—he’d kind of forgotten about him, and he isn’t too happy to be reminded of him again.

“Oh, I see,” Eren nods, glancing over at Levi once more, “He must be a pretty good teacher.”

“When he’s not throwing snowballs as a learning tool, yeah he is,” you laugh, “Anyways, I actually wanted to ask if you wanted to go at it again sometime. I don’t know how long you’re, uh, staying or anything, but racing with you was fun. Even if you did get a bit of a head start.”

“I’m here for the week, actually,” Eren’s eyes practically shine at the hint of competitiveness in your voice. He loves to be challenged, after all. “But I don’t mind giving it a go right now, if you’re going up again?”

Eren has to stop himself from grinning like an idiot when you accept his invitation. He thinks he’s finally in the clear when he hears the short man—Levi—call out your name again.

To his surprise, you beckon Eren along with you, and you introduce him to Levi formally. Levi has to look up to look at Eren, but Eren’s the one who shrinks under his gaze; an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. Damn, your teacher (friend, too? not boyfriend, apparently, though?) is intimidating as hell, how on Earth do you take lessons from him without buckling in fear??

You point to your other friends—Isabel and Farlan—who are standing a little further away. The former of whom is attempting to make a snow angel while the blonde is enthusiastically recording and taking pictures of the events.

After introducing the two, you ask Levi if he wants to up the hill with the both you again (and no, Eren doesn’t pout when you extend the offer to him—he’s really working on this keeping his feelings in check and being a rational thinker and all that and if you ask him it’s paying off), to which Levi declines (thank god).

Not even because Eren would be bummed if you didn’t get that he wanted to spend some more time alone with you not just to snowboard, but also because he knows he’d fall flat on his face in front of Levi, and then he’d probably have to hide in shame for the rest of his trip.

“Looks like it’s just us then,” you smile at him, “Okay, we can head back up—I’m just gonna ask Isabel to trade gloves with me real quick, yeah? And steal a heat pack from her.”

Eren doesn’t know if he should follow you over to Isabel, so he kind of shuffles around where he’s standing, a few feet next to Levi. (And damn, is it just Eren or is it suddenly 50 degrees colder next to this man).

Eren’s avoiding eye contact and small talk—and subsequently avoiding any bubbling feelings or irrational false suspicions about Levi. Also, he sucks at small talk.

It’s Levi who lets out an exasperated sigh first, not even bothering to turn to face Eren before bluntly saying, “She’s single.”

Eren’s eyes go wide and he’s sputtering in embarrassment—also because Levi said it so loudly, what if you heard??—but he’s cut off again before he can even speak: “Don’t even try it, Farlan and I saw you drooling over her at the pool, too.”

Well, now Eren’s certain that the blush on his face and neck are not from the cold, but from his complete and utter humiliation. “Well, I, uh, I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t seem to be too great at this, so I’ll take pity on you and tell you she likes you, too. Or likes you enough, at least,” Levi continues.

“I—she does?” Eren blurts. Okay, now he’s probably being too loud.

“She talked to you didn’t she,” Levi says, but the question comes out as more of a deadpan observation, “Look if she asks you about anything while you’re up there—or better yet, asks you to teach her anything, just take it as an opening, alright kid? Trust me, there’s nothing you can do that she can’t.”

Ouch. Eren reasons that Levi is probably right, he’s only seen you board once but you’re pretty incredibly but, still.

Wait does that mean you really were flirting with him before?? You’re actually interested in him???

He hears you calling out to him, and sees you waving, gesturing towards the lifts with a new pair of bright blue mittens on, and Eren barely has the coherency to wave back (stupidly, slowly, lovestruck, like an idiot).

Levi watches the exchange with a bored look on his face. He sighs audibly this time, untucking his arms from where they were crossed over his chest to pick up the snowboard at his feet. “Cabin 24C, east wing. Bring her back after dinner,” he says, hoisting the board under his arm before walking towards Farlan and Isbael.

Eren doesn’t even have time to ask him anymore questions—plus you’ve started walking towards the lifts and he’s obviously not going to leave you hanging.

He doesn’t and your little ski-lift, snowboarding kind of date goes well, even if he’s positive you did take it easy on him.

You’re the one to ask him to go up one more time, when Eren remembers Levi’s advice and finally musters up the courage to ask: “Actually, I’m a little hungry—do you, uh, maybe wanna head inside for dinner? If you’re still up to, we can come back later.”

And when the evening is over and Eren’s gotten your number, he does in fact walk you back to your lodge with your friends, and he thinks that even Levi gave him a look of approval before slamming the door in his face.

(It wasn’t really approval, so much as he’s impressed Eren had the balls and critical thinking skills to actually ask you out in the end. But it’s fine because Farlan and Isabel both loudly told him how happy they were to see you’d scored a date with ‘emerald eyes from the pool’).

Mikasa and Armin are less than impressed when Eren comes back to his own lodge at damn near midnight after having not answered any of their calls all day, but Eren thinks it was worth it, even if he does have a bruise from Armin poking him in the side with his ski poles.

Eren meets you at the slopes every day for the rest of the week, ignoring Jean and Connie’s claims about him being a simp. So what if he is? He’s the one snowboarding and sipping hot chocolate with the pretty girl from pool at the end of the day isn’t he?

He learns that the both of you attend the same university, but are in almost opposite programs. That makes sense, Eren thinks, because he surely would have remembered seeing you on campus before.

You even get along with his friends really well, even if you only get the opportunity to meet them once at the lodge. Eren is more than impressed, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Mikasa warm up to someone so quickly.

He thinks he’s pretty successful at meeting your friends, too. Isabel and Farlan continually reassure him that you do in fact have a crush on him (and maybe even persuade him try and kiss you before the week is over. Spoiler: he does, while it’s snowing and everything and it’s pretty damn great).

On the last day of his trip, Eren takes you to the top of the hill with all his friends, and when you completely demolish Jean and leave him eating your dust, Eren thinks he might just be halfway in love with you already.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren x you #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren smut #eren fluff #levi x reader #levi ackerman best wingman obviously #not really he just couldnt bear to see the both you be so painfully awkward with eachother bye #but hey he helped at the end of the day

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falling-pages · 3 years

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Until the Stars Collapse: Tamaki x Kyoya

I know I haven't talked about them in a while, but they take up the entire portion of my frontal lobe.

Tamaki Suoh x Kyoya Ootori

Genre: Fluff

What to expect: Height difference (Kyoya is a couple of inches taller than Tamaki), jealousy, reassurance, comfort, established relationship.

"I will love you until the stars collapse, and after that I will search for you in the remnant of the skies."

Warnings: It gets a little spicy at the end, but this is a SFW fic. Just some neck kisses and a promise.

“Mon beau ombre?”

Kyoya looked up from his paperwork, peering at his boyfriend over the rim of his glasses. Tamaki’s back was to him as he stirred something, the smell of vanilla and spice rising from the oven. It had been a lovely spring morning, even more so since Tamaki had the day off. Kyoya had elected to sit and work on the kitchen table instead of his office while the excitable blond baked, both enjoying the sunshine and breezes from the open window.

“Yes, Tamaki?”

Kyoya looked back down at his work, smirking as he guessed what Tamaki’s reaction would be. He preferred pet names, mon amour, darling, occasionally, King. Kyoya, too was partial to "mon beau ombre," or, "my handsome shadow," as much as he would never admit it.

But Tamaki barely noticed, wearing an expression Kyoya couldn't quite place as he turned around. He dusted his hands, powdered sugar floating and catching on his striped apron. He flounced over to Kyoya, who sat unamused with his chin in his hand.

He snatched the calculator from beneath Kyoya’s fingertips, prompting an eye roll. “Give it back.”

“Nope. I have something to ask you.”

Kyoya grit his teeth. “Then ask.”

Tamaki’s eyes sparkled, amethysts in sunlight. He took the waiting hand and tugged the other man up from his seat. Kyoya knew that look--the way Tamaki bit his lip, fluttered his lashes, slowly took in every inch of his face--that was how he snatched his prey in high school. Back then Kyoya was a snob to his antics, but now, having that lustful gaze pinned solely on him, as his knees suddenly felt weak, he understood the King’s acclaim.

Tamaki dragged his hand up Kyoya’s back, long fingers settling in the arches and wrinkles of his shirt. It was always odd seeing his lover like this, in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He often wondered if the heir came out of the womb in a suit and scowl. But here, at 10 a.m. on a breezy Tuesday, he was quiet, pleasant, tame. He had trained a panther into a domestic lap cat.

And with the look in Kyoya’s eyes, Tamaki knew he was too happy to bother fighting it.

“My darling,” Tamaki drawled, reaching up to pluck off Kyoya’s glasses.

Kyoya huffed in annoyance but let him do as he wished. He gently held the swaying blond by the waist, both out of affection and the need for an anchor in his blindness.

When Tamaki set the glasses down, he turned back and bumped noses. He could smell the hazelnut coffee on Kyoya’s breath. He settled his eyes on those pretty lips and whispered.

“Kiss me like you will on our wedding day.”

Kyoya knew that voice. He knew it well from the number of girls who had swooned over it. He knew it from the hours of practice with Tamaki, which turned into makeout sessions after hours because it worked so damn well. He knew it, that’s how Tamaki put someone in the mood, a slippery slope into his trap of bold hands and unrelenting stares.

Now that they were older, voices deeper after a long-forgotten puberty, the trick worked just as well.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, meeting Tamaki’s eagerness with a quick peck. Partly as a tease, mostly because he had work to do and the morning was slipping away.

Tamaki frowned and gently tugged his arms around Kyoya’s neck, a whine purring from his throat. “Kyooooooo, that’s not what I wanted.”

Kyoya arched his eyebrow. Amusement danced in his cold stare. “Then tell me.”

“I already did,” Tamaki mumbled. “I said I want you to kiss me like you will on our wedding day.”

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise for Kyoya. They had discussed marriage for a long time, promising themselves to each other in college even when they had no rings to prove it. Kyoya himself had known that Tamaki was it for him for years. They would get married, they would--but only when the time was right.

“You know I’m not one for public displays of affection.”

“Then kiss me like we’ve gotten engaged!” Tamaki pouted. He yanked his lover closer. “Like there’s no one else in the world, like I’m the only one who matters. Like I’m the only one who will ever matter.”

Kyoya’s heartbeat slowed at the possessiveness laced in his tone. Tamaki’s eyes glinted, head cocked to the side as if to challenge him. Did something happen? Was he jealous?

Usually, it was Kyoya with the jealous heart, but he hid it well. He knew he wasn’t Tamaki’s first, that he had kissed and dated girls back in France, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered now was the ring in his back pocket waiting to be slipped onto the finger of the man in front of him, perched on his tip-toes, ready and willing and dying for that reassurance.

With a brief smirk, Kyoya caught Tamaki’s chin and tipped his face up to meet his eyes. “Tamaki, mon amour,” he started, his voice low, “these lips are yours, and only yours, as is my heart. I will love you until the stars collapse, and after that I will search for you in the remnant of the skies.”

The crystalline tears gathering in the young man's eyes were confirmation of that reassurance, signaling Kyoya to press his lips against the other’s warm ones. Tamaki moved to cup Kyoya’s cheeks, his insides melting as he hugged him tightly, firmly, chest to chest with no room to breathe. They tasted the cinnamon from breakfast exchanged on tongues, the promise of marriage and a life together passed from mouth to mouth.

Kyoya pushed Tamaki against the dishwasher, lifting him up to sit on the counter. Tamaki gasped, wide-eyed, as Kyoya fumbled with the apron straps around his neck.

“Greedy,” he warned, but the mewl that escaped softened the sting.

Kyoya paused from sucking a mark onto his neck, a reminder, a placeholder. He looked up, daring, determined, and whispered.

“It’s not greedy if I’m taking what’s already mine.”

#ouran high school host club #tamakyo #tamaki x kyoya #tamaki suoh #kyoya ootori #kyotama #ohshc

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speirstookmysoul · 3 years

Text

love songs to a stranger - eugene roe x fem!reader

Hello darlings! You are all looking gorgeous today!

We have a Gene Roe fic today. I am surprised at how productive I have been. Two fics on the same weekend? Wild.

Rating: NC-18.

Word Count: 3.6k

Content Warning: 18+ Content below the cut. Minors please do no interact.

All depictions are based on the actors’ portrayals as shown in the 2001 HBO miniseries. No disrespect is meant to the real people who served during World War II that these portrayals are based upon.

These men (and women) are truly the greatest heroes ever known. I thank each and every one of them for their service and their bravery.

Paris was a beautiful city. His sisters would be jealous that he’d seen Paris before them and would likely badger him for details if he ever wrote home about it.

‘The City of Love’, they had once sighed over a book with pictures of the city that their grandmère had bought for them with thoughts of marriage and a romantic honeymoon to France in their heads when Eugene came home for lunch. His parents had exchanged fond looks with each other, his brothers had gagged, and Eugene had simply shook his head at his sisters, taking his simple bread and cheese sandwich and leaving to go back to work.

He arrived in Paris with a group of three more from Easy on a 48-hour weekend pass and went his own way while they wandered off after they had secured hotel rooms. Eugene wandered through the streets of Paris for hours, taking everything in from the hustle and bustle of the cafes to people wandering the streets. Whenever he came across street performers or beggars, Eugene gave them money. He spent the day like that, wandering to and fro through the city as the cloudy skies and daylight gave way to dusk and street lamps unlit from blackout orders.

He was walking along the path, looking at the shadow of Notre-Dame across the canal when he bumped into someone. His hands shot out to steady who he had run into, and he heard a something clatter to the ground. Eugene met your surprised face with his own and looked down at his feet the same time you did, seeing a handbag on the ground.

“I’m terribly sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” You were saying as you regained your balance, stooping down to pick up your bag. Eugene found himself doing the same; your hand ghosted over his when he had your bag in his hand.

He offered it to you with a smile. “Pardon. I was not looking where I was goin’.”

You smiled, shoulders shaking with a laugh as you both stood up. You took back your handbag, hanging the strap on your elbow. You wore a grey-blue skirt and jacket, a garrison cap placed neatly on your head in between carefully pinned curls. The red cross on the cap and the patch on your left shoulder told him you were in the Red Cross’s Motor Corps.

He realized he was being impolite by staring and decided to give you his name. “Eugene Roe.” He said, offering to shake your hand. You smiled accepting his offer. You smiled like you knew how and when the world was going to end and gave him your name.

He wasn’t sure what happened, or why, but something in his mind clicked as he talked to you and Eugene found himself sitting with you on that stone ledge with Notre-Dame de Paris looming across the canal. Eugene found himself smiling and laughing more than he had in a long time. It was easy to talk to you; your eyes invited him in to speak without fail about anything and everything that came across his mind in a way that hadn’t happened since before Camp Toccoa and the smile you gave him a pulse of excitement.

When the skies turned black, Eugene offered to escort you back to your hotel. On the way back, still you two talked, never running out of things to talk about. The trees, the birds, the water, the streets. It was when you arrived at your hotel that he realized it was the same one he was staying in too. He walked up the stairs with you, smiling and laughing until you reached your room on the floor below his. He stood a respectful distance back as you unlocked the door.

Eugene exchanged goodbyes with you, a heaviness in his heart that he recognized. He was four steps away when you called out to him. With your door halfway open, you stood in the doorway looking down the hall at him. You invited him inside for a nightcap. The bite you took of your lip told him that it wasn’t about a drink before bedtime.

Gene went into your room with you, the door closing behind you before you went about pouring two glasses of brandy. His hand grazed over your fingers when you handed him the second glass. Maybe it was the brandy, maybe it was what he had been feeling all night. Whatever it was, it led Gene to pressing his lips to your gently, the taste of brandy on your mouth. The glasses were set down on the dresser, and you kissed him again, deeper and longer than the small peck on the lips Gene had dared.

It was a slow heat burning between you. You kissed him so sweetly, so gently. Your hands pulled at his tie, loosening it slowly as you played with the buttons of his shirt. Eugene had been slowly gathering your skirt up, exposing your legs slowly. His fingers occasionally brushed against your stockings, and the elastic suspenders on your thighs. When he felt the smooth sensation of your skin, he drew back, finding your lipstick smeared from his kisses.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked.

Eugene smiled, shaking his head. “No. No. I want to continue.” He emphasised this by pulling you against his hips, where his cock was starting to press against his pants. You let out a shaky breath, head falling against his shoulder as you rocked into him. Eugene bit his lip. “I need to go back to my room for a condom.”

You nodded. You kissed him again, chastely. Eugene lingered, kissing you again. You laughed against his mouth, shoving at his shoulders. “Go!”

You walked him to the door while biting your lip. Your lipstick left red stains on your teeth. Eugene was sure his mouth was stained similarly. He gave a mock salute as he went out the door and proceeded to hurry to his room on the floor above yours. He managed to avoid anyone going into his room, retrieving the tin that was issued to every soldier. He slipped it into his pocket and hurried back to your room. He counted his blessings when he stepped onto your floor again; he had run into no one on his way down or on his way back to your door.

Eugene knocked on the door, shifting uncomfortably. The door opened, your head peeking around it. Your hair was unpinned and freshly brushed out; it was longer than the pinned curls had let on, falling past your shoulder and you’d removed your lipstick.

You smiled when you saw him, opening the door for him to step through. He saw your dress hanging up on the door to the bathroom with your bra and knickers draped over the top of the door beside it, and your shoes set out by the bed. He took off his jacket, draping it over the lone chair in the room. He turned and found you standing by the closed door in just your slip. Eugene held his hand out to you and you practically skipped towards him, taking his hand in yours. He tugged you towards him, catching you when you lost your balance for a moment. You were laughing and smiling, and Eugene had to smile too.

He peppered kisses to your face, light feather touches that made both of you smile when you tried to return his kisses, only for him to kiss another spot. He noticed a silver cross hanging from your neck on a delicate silver chain. Eugene ran his finger over the cross, feeling the outline with his fingertip. You took his hand in yours, your nails tracing a relaxing pattern into his palm as you smiled up at him. You kissed the palm of his left hand, and then kissed his finger tips. Heat curled through Eugene as he felt himself melt into you. He pressed a kiss to where your pulse beat against your neck, listened to your sigh and felt your nails gently scratch at his scalp. He groaned, eyelids fluttering as he kissed up your neck to capture your lips into another kiss.

His hands wound through your hair, fingers curling as he tilted your head back. You leaned against him, relying on him to keep you on your feet as you swayed. He swayed with you, a hand leaving your hair to grasp your hip. You sighed breaking away for air, but didn’t go far. He felt the heat of your breath against his face. Eugene turned his head to kiss you again, enticing you into a deeper kiss of dancing tongues and wet gasps for air.

He felt you loosening the knot on his tie, using it to pull him closer to your height.

You still swayed, like you were dancing to the rhythm of unheard music. Or maybe it was blood rushing, hearting pounding that you swayed to. That had it be it, Eugene decided, when he fell into swaying with you, letting you lead him in a near dance as he stepped back and you stepped forward; the rhythm matched that of his heart and the blood rushing veins as he slowly pulled your slip up and over your head letting the silk fall to the floor as he felt the edge of your bed on the backs his knees. Eugene sat down, pulling you to stand between his legs.

He pressed a kiss to your belly, sighing as he felt your hands run through his hair. Eugene looked up at you, pulling you further until you sat astride his lap. He kissed you again, a warmth settling into his bones as you rocked your hips, sighing into your mouth. He gathered your slip in his hands, the silk feeling like water as he raised it slowly exposing more of your skin. The silk went over your head, your hair tickling his face and Eugene pressed a kiss to the top of each breast.

You moaned, clutching the back of his head as he licked the curve of your breast. You pulled his shirt from his trousers, reaching where your body was pressed against his to get the last of the buttons undone. His shirt joined your slip on the floor. Gene laid back with you over him, hands drifting from your hips to squeeze your thighs. You shifted to balance your weight above him on an elbow, your hand drifting down to touch him through his trousers.

Eugene couldn’t help the moan that left his throat at the feeling of your fingers tracing him. You kissed him and his hand tangled in your hair, turning messy. You sighed, pulling at his belt buckle and then making a frustrated noise, pulling away to sit on his thighs. Eugene watched through hazy eyes as you undid the buckle and worked at the buttons on his trousers. It didn’t sit right with him, that you were doing the work of undressing him, so Eugene sat up. He wrapped an arm around your waist when you nearly lost your balance. He kissed you again, rolling so you laid on your back next to him. Eugene’s feet touched the floor as he pulled off his pants.

He caught the movement of your thighs parting, and he watched, trailing his up from your calf to the dense curls that laid between your legs. He shifted to his side, curling a hand under your thigh and looking up at you, licking his lip. You bit yours, breath rushing out as you realized what he wanted to do. At your nod, Eugene pressed a kiss to your stomach, sliding off the bed and onto his knees, kissing up your thigh. When your legs opened to accommodate his presence there, he traced a finger over your sex, feeling the wetness of your curls.

Eugene groaned, pressing past the hair and touching your sex properly. You breathed out a sigh, legs spreading more as he touched you carefully, pressing kisses to your thigh as he got shuffled closer. You let out a low moan when his tongue first touched you. His hand trailed up your thigh, over your hip, drawing circling patterns similar to what his tongue did. As you got closer, and more vocal, your hand took his. Eugene eased you into your orgasm, licking you gently and leaving your sex with a parting kiss.

He didn’t rejoin you on the bed, instead dug into the pocket of his trousers for the tin of condoms. He grunted as he rolled the protection on, unable to help the buck of his hips into his own hand.

“Eugene.” He turned to look at you, finding you smiling at him with your legs still spread. You crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”

Eugene took the invitation, crawling over you as you adjusted so you were lying back against the pillow and settling himself between your legs. One curled around his, your heel hooking on his calf. You pulled him down into a kiss, mewling at the taste of yourself on his lips and the wetness that was drying on his face. Your fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck and Gene moaned into your mouth, slipping his hand between the two of you, gripping his cock as he sought to catch against you. He eased himself in, shoulders shaking as you sighed, head falling back and your lips leaving his.

It was like the rocking of a ship on a calm sea, a slow epp and flow of hips rocking to and fro. You mewled, unable to decide where to place your hands. You touched his hair, his shoulders, his arms as you panted with him. You were warm and so soft, the world outside this hotel room was gone from his mind. He didn’t think of the war, his only thought was you and how you felt, how you reacted when he licked at the skin below your jaw. Electrifying tingles and warm buzzes spread through Gene’s body as he rocked gently into you.

Eugene pressed a kiss to your shoulder, moaning against your skin. You breathed out an airy moan, hands running through his hair as your head pressed back into the pillow, back arching. He rubbed circles into your hips with his thumbs, kissing across your chest. A keen came out of you as you slumped into the bed, letting out little sighs as Eugene kept going, seeking out his own pleasure. He increased his pace, pulling up your leg by the knee to give himself more room. When Eugene came, he pressed his face between your neck and the pillow, muffling his moan, open mouthed and teeth dragging on your skin. He shook as he pumped his hips against you, barely catching himself from collapsing on top of you.

You sighed, smoothing back his hair and running a hand up and down his sweat-slicked back. Eugene shifted, his arm going numb from how he had it pressed into the bed. You moaned in protest, burying your face against his neck. He smiled, kissing the top of your head as he shifted off of you, settling on his side. Gene took off the condom, grunting as he dropped it into the wastebin beside the bed.

He watched as you got up, stretching as you went. Eugene took you in from the only mirror in the room. He couldn’t see much in the dark cast of the room, only seeing the shadowed figure of you in the mirror. You came back to lay down beside him and Eugene rolled onto his side, wrapping an arm around you. He sighed as you settled into a comfortable position. You were tracing patterns on his back as he fell asleep.

He woke up the next morning to the sound of running water and violins playing down in the streets. Sunlight was coming through the curtains and the sheets were drawn up to his chest; he’d been tucked in. Eugene blinked, rubbing his eyes as he swung his legs over the side, sitting on the edge of the bed with the bedsheet around his waist. His clothes had been folded and placed neatly on a chair with his boots next to it. Eugene blinked, remembering what happened last night and flushing. The bathroom door opened and you came out, wearing your slip and underthings, drying your hair with a towel. You stopped in the doorway, smiling at him.

“You’re awake.” Eugene nodded. “I’ve got the water running if you want a bath.”

He did. He stood up, stretching, discarding the sheet. You bit your lip as he walked past with his stack of clothes in hand, stopping him to press a kiss to his cheek. Eugene took a moment to breathe in the smell of soup and what must have been your perfume.

When Eugene came out from his bath dressed and his hair combed, you had pinned up your hair and were dressed with your shoes on. You were struggling with the clasp of your necklace.

“Let me.” He stepped up behind you, carefully taking the necklace from you. It was an old-style clasp, shaped like a fish-hook on one end. You moved your hair out of the way as he secured the necklace around your neck. Eugene rested his hands on your shoulders. “There.”

You turned, looking up at him through your lashes. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

You both went about finishing dressing. He had finished putting on his service jacket and cleared his throat to get your attention. Gene smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “About last night,” he said, “my father said that I should buy a lady dinner first.”

“I think we’re well past that point, Mr. Roe.” You teased, placing your cap on your head neatly.

Eugene grinned, offering you his arm. “How does breakfast sound then?”

“Lead the way.” You hook your hand on his elbow.

After having breakfast at a cafe, Gene again found himself spending time with you. He walked through Paris with your hand on his elbow and you pressed into his side. From the outside looking out, the pair of you must have given off the appearance of long-time sweethearts instead of two people who had just met the previous day.

He spent the whole day with you, and the whole night again too, once he went back to his room for a moment. There was no sex this time, when he laid in the too small bed that was meant for one person with you, your legs entangled with his. He pressed kisses to your face and hands, smiling back at you until you both fell asleep.

You had a small bag with you; he’d watched you pack it last night before he’d left to collect his things. Eugene carried your bag and his down to the train station. He waited with you until your train arrived and began accepting passengers. You hesitated next to him, pulling a notebook out of your pocket and a pencil, scribbling something down. You tore the page out, folding it up and offering it to him as he handed over your bag.

“In case you want to write.” You smiled softly. There was a fond look on your face, and Eugene was sure he had the same expression.

He took the paper, taking your hand. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles and grinned when you did. Eugene stood there as you boarded and still stood there until the train rolled away. He saw you waving out of a window and waved back.

“Hey Doc! Where’ve you been? Ain’t seen you since we arrived in Paris!”

“You get distracted by a dame?” They teased.

Eugene didn’t answer, simply smiling to himself while they talked amongst themselves, trying to guess where he’d been for the past two days. Eugene looked at the paper you’d given him; it had your rank, your first, middle, and last name, and where you were stationed. He wrote a letter to you, following the trend from the previous two days. He wrote about everything and nothing.

After finishing that letter, Eugene then found himself writing a letter to his mother. That he’d met a girl in Europe and thought he’d fallen in love. His mother would be over the moon, he knew, sharing it with her friends from church. His sisters would no doubt write several letters to him demanding details, both being romantics at heart, one in her early twenties with a baby and the other a seventeen year old. Eugene didn’t get to read any letters from his family or see if there was a reply from you when the next round of mail came through; he was living day to day, moment by moment in the frozen hell of Bastogne.

In Foy, when the ambulances and jeeps were able to make it out to the line to transport the wounded, he heard a familiar voice; one he didn’t know he’d missed hearing until then.

“Need a lift?”

He turned and saw a familiar face hopping out of the driver’s seat of an ambulance; there was a smile that seemed to know how the world would end. Eugene couldn’t help himself; in the cold, in the aftermath of violence outside Foy, he laughed and grinned.

“It’d be kind of yo’, ma’am.” He smiled.

You grinned, eyes glittering. “Climb in and hang tight. I tend to go fast.”

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

tagging: @tvserie-s-world, @i-reblog-fics-i-like, @lightsabove, @saritanotserena, @desertblessingoceancurse25

#eugene roe #eugene doc roe #eugene roe x reader #eugene doc roe x reader #gene roe #gene roe x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader #hbo war

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hanmajoerin · 3 years

Text

A/N: Thank you to my good friend for sharing her dream journal entry and inspiring the feel for this one shot because every day InuYasha spent without Kagome must have been an unending dream.

Summary: There were others who loved and needed Kagome even though InuYasha was meant to be with her. He knew this, but gods, the cost of it. He thought he paid it in full by hardly fighting the Bone Eater’s Well, but now there were others who missed her too.

** Nominated for the 2021 2nd Quarterly Inuyasha Fandom Awards for Best One Shot 🥺💖

**Third Place Winner for the Best One Shot of the 2021 2nd Quarterly Inuyasha Fandom Awards. Thank you to everyone who voted for this story! I love you all ❤️ ~

II AO3 II FanFiction.Net II

Things to Keep

InuYasha lounged under the shade of one of many trees lining the river near Kaede’s village. Miroku washed his family’s night robes with Gyokuto strapped to his back while Sango burped Kin’u. It’d been over a year since the well sealed. InuYasha still thought about the surprised look on Kagome’s face when he was pulled back, but he prefered to remember her safe in her mother’s arms. It was difficult to do.

Kin’u burped and, within seconds, Sango had the newborn secured to her back again. When she kneeled by Miroku and told him she’d take over, InuYasha’s ear flicked. Despite catching their soft commentary more often, Sango’s tone was much gentler than the half-demon was used to hearing. Miroku made room for her effortlessly, choosing to help by trading clean pieces of laundry with dirty ones.

This was how they all lived now, resting by the greenery and exchanging cloth instead of sutras and oversized boomerangs. He wondered if Kagome’s days were boring like his; she always seemed frantic when he came to pick her up. Maybe she didn’t have time to think about them anymore. It would be easier for her that way.

Miroku shifted, putting InuYasha in Gyokuto’s line of vision. The newborn extended her arm out to him, and he was fascinated by the way her fingers flexed. There was more space between them now than there was last month. InuYasha had never really been around human babies before and it felt weird to compare the lethargic emptiness Kagome left in her wake to the enthusiastic growth of infants. InuYasha offered Kin’u a passing glance. He wasn’t going to tell her mother that an icicle of drool would fall onto her back soon.

The spring sun warmed people in its path and InuYasha’s legs didn’t understand the chill lingering on his torso because of it. Kin’u was gurgling now, gnawing on her fist. Miroku once told InuYasha how remarkable it was for him to tell the twins apart as quickly as he did, but the monk must’ve forgotten his nose. The girls looked the same, but their scents were unique. It was kind of like Kikyo and Kagome’s: similar but only on the first sniff.

The afternoons were getting longer again.

InuYasha opened one eye at the exact moment Sango began shaking out a small, fibrous white towel with blue polka dots. As if possessed by a demon, InuYasha was there. Standing by the river, standing before Sango. The towel never broke the water’s surface.

“What’s that?” InuYasha asked, arms folded over his chest. Sango quickly pulled the towel to her heart. The polka dots contorted in the slayer’s grasp, and her brown eyes widened with the tiniest hint of fear. It was as if she believed InuYasha’s claw tipped fingers would swipe it from her forever. As if. He wasn’t a jerk. Sango glowered at him anyway, firm. She knew what it meant for him to see this, and she wouldn’t let it go just to ease his heartache when it would worsen hers.

The two never spoke about Kagome and he didn’t want that to change. He should have wanted it to, but he didn’t. It hardly made sense, but he’d been struggling to make sense of a lot over the past year. His throat closed up when he tried talking about Kagome. The words refused to leave him.

InuYasha leaned forward, far from Sango but close enough to learn that this wasn’t the item’s first trip to the river. It still smelled like her. Bergamot and lilies and early summer mornings; half blue and half pink skies that fog never touched. “That’s Kagome’s.”

Without meaning to, he committed the thing to memory which explained why he placed it so easily. Kagome asked if he wanted to use it after him and Miroku’s run-in with the moth demon, Gatenmaru. The blood of that bastard’s human lackeys sank into InuYasha’s skin long before his humanity rose to the surface. The towel couldn’t have helped him any, and if he tried hard enough, InuYasha’d probably still catch scent of their blood like phantoms on the wind. The half-demon reached, finally accepting the school girl’s gesture, but Sango turned away. “Where’d you get that?” He asked.

“From Kagome’s bag; it wasn’t the only one in there,” Sango replied, submerging it into the river and forcing more distance between them. InuYasha’s brow twitched, but he doubted the demon slayer cared.

Brown eyes. Bergamot. Unwavering resilience. All of that flowed downstream now. He hated it.

“We–”

“Keh, it’s none of my business,” InuYasha spat, spinning on his heel. The towel was still his business. His arm felt like it was shaking even though InuYasha could clearly see it wasn’t. The plush towel sat behind his closed eyelids, opposite ends fluttering against the side of Sango’s hands as she held it in place. The polka dots grew and shrunk in a rhythm set by the rushing water. A budding mental itch grew to push Sango onto the grass so he could pluck Kagome’s towel out and run far, far away with it.

InuYasha swallowed hard, flicking an ear casually. Kin’u was there and he’d never shove Sango. If he grit his teeth, InuYasha could do it. He could continue letting the demon slayer turn what little he had left of Kagome into meaningless things to keep.

“With the birth of the twins, we felt it was necessary,” Miroku confessed as InuYasha continued walking away. If he stayed, he’d make an ass of himself.

There were others who loved and needed Kagome even though InuYasha was meant to be with her. He knew this, but gods, the cost of it. He thought he paid it in full by hardly fighting the Bone Eater’s Well, but now there were others who missed her too. Listening to Sango ring out the towel, InuYasha knew he was still paying his price. She wouldn’t miss Kagome’s scent like him, but knowing that another part of Kagome was leaving curdled his thoughts, ate at the same damn spot on his chest.

“Whatever.”

InuYasha heard Kagome calling out his name as he settled back against the trunk of a tree further from his initial spot. Like Miroku and Sango gave a shit. The sound of his name–the sound of her saying his name–lingered. Nostalgic.

The slayer handed her washed towel to Miroku, prompting an unwarranted pensive glance to be aimed in his direction. “Keh,” InuYasha huffed, turning his nose away from the monk. He turned it back in time to watch Miroku offer the towel a tender stare. Deep violet eyes looked as if stroking the fabric was a gesture that could be felt across time. If he hadn’t done the same sort of things, InuYasha would have scoffed.

Miroku placed the towel in the straw basket with everything else.

One leg breached past the leaves’ shade and a pair of amber eyes seemed to glow, overseeing a family that perpetuated the same cycle: Hand the husband something clean, one baby coos, put it in the basket, give the wife something dirty, the other baby coos, scrub.

InuYasha cupped his hands together before placing them behind his head. He closed his eyes once more, resting, picturing her running across the plush grass. Kagome waved to him and her hand practically skimmed the clouds. Her shoes never crunched down onto the ground like their friends’ straw sandals did. She was a familiar combination of green and white and black with a dash of red. She had a warmth that pierced through the arrow Kikyo used to seal him, every punch Sesshomaru landed, his own demonic blood, and now the loss of her.

An incessant jangling sprinkled like rain in his mind, wiping away at the sunlight and clouds that Kagome always reached. InuYasha blinked a few times, adjusting to this world with only Miroku, Sango, and the twins. “‘Bout time you finished,” he grumbled, standing fully in the shade.

“You know, an extra set of hands would be helpful next time,” Miroku suggested with a predictable waggle of his brows. InuYasha felt his own brows being dragged down; Kagome should’ve let the monk steal her iron cart and cycle away from them permanently back when they first met.

“No thanks.”

The days really were getting longer. The sun hadn’t budged, poised exactly where he last saw it. Sango snickered and InuYasha brushed past her, grabbing the basket of wet laundry and stomping from the grassy knoll to the main path. A stupid decision, really. The slayer’s eyes could have burnt holes through him if she’d been the right kind of demon. Even though she was a human, this type of stare would–

“Hey, InuYasha,” Sango began, and the half-demon let out an exasperated sigh. He fixed his focus to the huts ahead. Dark wood and reed mats and crackling fires.

“What?” Occasionally, a fractured piece of rock got stuck to the balls of his feet, and InuYasha was half tempted to kick one up to chuck at the trees.

“You can talk to us. You know that, right?”

“Keh.” And there it was, the block in his throat. How could he speak about Kagome like this? There wasn’t any room for the words.

“Is that all you have to say?” Sango snarled as the half-demon continued standing quietly, his expression unchanged. “Ever since the well reappeared, you’ve been acting like Kagome was never here! Don’t you miss her? Isn’t there any–”

“You don’t know a damn thing,” InuYasha ground out, closing the distance between them before the slayer could even finish. He stared down at her, but Sango met his glare relentlessly. She was the one who took Kagome’s towel without a second thought, Sango went through the bag Kagome packed right before their last battle together, and she was the person responsible for carelessly washing away the bergamot and lilies. “Kagome is safe and that’s it,” he finished and he meant it.

Sango grimaced, stomping her foot. InuYasha caught Kin’u watching them, thin brows scrunching just like her mother’s. “Oh, InuYasha, you’re absolutely insufferable!”

InuYasha placed a hand to his hip, yearning to step on a pebble. He scowled at Sango and gave the basket an extra sniff to remind himself how the scent of Kagome barely wrapped around Miroku and Sango’s. His body felt like a chattering leaf. “Did you expect me to cry or something?”

Sango sighed, walking past him and taking back her laundry. “No,” she mumbled, walking ahead of him.

Miroku stopped, clapping a hand to the half-demon’s shoulders. “Try not get too mad, she means well.”

“I know that,” InuYasha huffed, allowing the monk to step ahead. He watched the family, arms crossed over his chest, before picking up the rear. The five continued, a squeamish silence settling over them that left the twins lightly whimpering every now and again.

In a stroke of luck, InuYasha stepped on a rock. Kicking it up to his hands, he contemplated where to throw it. He tossed it in the air a few times. The silver ears atop his head swiveled, and a large grin spread across his features as he honed in on the unmistakable scent of a rabbit in the bushes. Wouldn’t hurt to spook the thing, InuYasha thought to himself, eyes on the forest. Just as he reeled his hand back, he lowered it, turning sharply to face Sango. She was pilfering through the laundry basket like a deranged woman. Ah, she finally snapped, InuYasha noted. “Isn’t there something of Kagome’s that you hold onto too!?” the slayer nearly screamed, thrusting that white and blue dotted piece of cloth like a trophy above her head.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” the half-demon retorted, tucking the rock in his robe. His hand glided past a smooth surface, something foreign to his clothes but close to him nonetheless. His fingers grasped at its binding. Miroku chuckled, much to InuYasha and Sango’s dismay. “What’s so funny, Bozo?”

“It’s just that there is a piece of Lady Kagome that you could never be rid of.” The half-demon squinted, his steeped ire pacified but not peacefully. Miroku inhaled theatrically, placing one hand on his hip and pointing his shakujo in an accusatory manner. InuYasha stepped back, eyes widening. Miroku leaned forward, revealing Gyokuto’s black hair from over his shoulder. “InuYasha, sit!”

“Ah!” InuYasha was instantly squashing his ears at the command, waiting to be slammed into the dirt. He never fell. A shiver sprinted up and down his spine all while Miroku laughed hysterically at his expense. The monk was doubled over, hands holding tightly to his dumb knees. “You bastard!” InuYasha roared, his fist already in the perfect position to whack some sense into that cheap excuse of a holy man. But then two big, brown eyes and cheeks that were way too round filled his vision and InuYasha stopped. Stupid monk with his stupid children and his stupid wife.

InuYasha was grumbling, sounds not forming words; thoughts running into dead ends. And then those thoughts were drowned out, consumed by the sound of his pulse, and InuYasha decided to share it. “I keep this!” He closed his eyes and held out a yellow book that read High School Mathematics: Quick Solutions to All Problems.

“Oh, so you did steal something of Lady Kagome’s,” Miroku responded, walking up to inspect the item.

“Uh, yeah. Wait, I didn’t steal it from her bag, I borrowed it from her house way before we met you lot.”

“Is that one of her school things?” Sango inquired, already mere centimeters from InuYasha. He didn’t remember her being that fast.

InuYasha shrugged. “Dunno, Myoga thought it had spells in it.”

“And you never gave it back?” Miroku asked, a whimsical smirk settling into place. InuYasha wanted to gag. “That would make it a stolen good.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s it to you?”

Miroku took the book from InuYasha, flipping through its pages. Some of them turned in chunks, demon guts and rainy weather having seeped through his robe at some point or another. “It’s weathered; surely Lady Kagome wouldn’t treat her belongings this way.”

“Hey, give that back!” InuYasha objected, attempting to swipe it. Miroku swerved, continuing to review the material like he knew exactly how it read. “I just forgot about it is all.” He was lying.

“I hope it wasn’t important. You know how upset Kagome gets about school,” Sango commented, her shoulders bouncing Kin’u lightly.

“She never said nothing to me about it,” InuYasha brushed off with a shrug, an odd pining for Kagome’s shrill nagging manifesting itself as plain as day. Miroku showed the book to Gyokuto, and she lifted a chubby arm out, her moist palm slamming onto one of the pages. “H-hey! Don’t let your kid touch that, it’s mine!”

Miroku ignored InuYasha completely, a warm expression gracing his features as he let his daughter continue her smacking. “Gyokuto, one day Papa will teach you how to read and maybe you’ll understand this.”

“Good luck, even I can’t make heads or tails of it,” InuYasha said, reaching out and successfully getting it back. The abrupt motion must have surprised Gyokuto because she began crying, and it didn’t take long for Kin’u to join in, and InuYasha let out another groan. This was all too much.

“Aw, I’m sorry, girls. Did the big dog startle you?”

“Whatever, let’s go,” InuYasha grunted, stomping ahead of the family once more.

The red of his robe leaked through to his vision and singed his cheeks. This conversation should never have happened; he shouldn’t have acknowledged that towel and he shouldn’t have gotten so worked up over the sit.

“InuYasha, slow down!” He ignored the request, feeling as if steam shot from his nostrils. He had half a mind to make a break for it, already far past his limit. “Come on,” Miroku all but pleaded.

“What!? What is it that you want now?” The half-demon barked, shoving Kagome’s book back into his robes.

InuYasha couldn’t explain why he’d waited for the two. Miroku’s expression was squared into a place that InuYasha wanted to keep his distance from. It looked like he was about to spout shit straight from the Buddha. “My friend, please understand.”

“Understand what, exactly?”

Piercing deep indigo clashed against flurrying amber.

“That we inhale and must consequently exhale, never experiencing the same breath twice. This is also true for those we meet on our path to enlightenment. They too must leave without returning, but the life they’ve given us can be appreciated long after we’ve breathed anew.” A single bushy brow rose at the analogy. Miroku cleared his throat, continuing, “Lady Kagome may be in her world, but she has managed to keep a part of herself here nonetheless. Through towels or books, my friend, she is with us and we should value that.” He patted InuYasha, right where Kagome’s book lay underneath layers of fire rat.

-X-

• “i know better, but I still feel you all around. i know better, but you’re still around.” -taylor swift, “marjorie” •

#hanmajo writes #about InuYasha!#and his family #some in the past and others in the future #sometimes it be like that #InuYasha #InuYasha fanfiction #InuKag #Kagome #Kagome Higurashi #MirSan #Miroku #Sango #Kin’u #Gyokuto #Three Year Seperation

77 notes · View notes

tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

"Doppelganger" *Part 5*

See ya'll i'm so sorry this took so long!!!! Warning for this chapter is SMUT, and it's....I mean, really technically Rafael? Also no I didn't go the "full" rape route, the trauma is gonna happen in the next chapter.

Oh yeah also warning this is gonna get darker before it gets happier. Be prepared.

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Part 4

Part 6

------

Rafael paced in front of the student theater, dialing your number over and over again. He could hear it ringing over the phone, but-- was that your ringtone?

He stared at the doorway to the lobby where Javi and Gabi were still standing, Gabi’s purse was lit up. She finally noticed it and picked it out of her purse. Her eyes grew wide with shock and as she looked up to see Rafael had caught her, they went wide with fear.

“We gotta go,” Gabi grabbed Javi by the sleeve. “NOW,”

Rafael ran around the side of the building as fast as he could. He may have been getting up there in age, but when he was determined he could do anything. And he was determined to find out why Gabi had your phone. He met them at the side door as they were coming out.

“WHY do you have Y/N’s phone? Is she--is she even in there?” His face grew white as he slowly put together what was happening.

“I...Um...Well--” Gabi was shit at lying.

“DON’T give me that bullshit, ‘Gabi’,,” Rafael scoffed. “I KNEW you were trouble, god dammit I KNEW it!!” He made fists like he wanted to strangle her.

“Yeah well luckily your girl isn’t as intuitive,” Gabi chuckled.

“You stupid--” He lunged for her, he didn’t care if she was a woman she had you somewhere-- she had you TAKEN somewhere.

“Whoa whoa whoa there abogado, take it easy,” Javi stepped in between the two of them to protect Gabi. “Your girl is in no danger, I promise you that,”

“...Yet,” Gabi muttered with a smile.

“I swear to GOD--” Rafael tried for her again. “If anything happens to her I’ll--”

“You'll what?” Javi was now smirking. “Please, tell me you big bad abogado, tell me what you and your snarky words are gonna do against Nevada’s men and guns?”

“Nevada?” Rafael fell backwards, he felt sick to his stomach. Nevada had you; the most dangerous, notorious, ruthless Drug Kingpin in New York had YOU.

“What does Nevada want with my fiancé?!”

“Obviously to get you to do something, cabron,” Javi pointed out.

“Do what?! I have absolutely nothing he needs!” Rafael shook his hands.

“Let’s just say you and him have a common denominator that he just discovered, and he’d like to exploit that,” Javi smirked.

“Damn Javi, turning me on with that book speak,” Gabi licked her lips seductively.

“I go to night school,” He grinned at her.

“Yeah I’m sure, to mop the hallways,” Rafael rolled his eyes, making Javi punch him in the gut.

“All you need to know is that Nevada has your girl, and if you go to ANY of your cop friends, he’ll know. And he’ll kill her, right on the spot. Trust me Nevada has zero patience cabron, I wouldn’t test him,” He warned Rafael while he was doubled over in pain.

“....And then what?” He stood up, rubbing his stomach.

“And wait for a call from him. I’m sure it’ll be soon,” Javi assured Rafael.

“Yeah after he’s done with her,” Gabi smirked.

“Oh my-- NO. NO You can’t let him--” Rafael began to panic, begging them not to let anything...traumatic happen to you.

“Don’t worry abogado, I’m sure Nevada will take good care of her,” Javi smirked as he punched Rafael in the stomach one last time, leaving him gasping for breath as they made a getaway.

-------

Meanwhile

The limo pulled up in front of the Ritz Carlton. “Rafael” got out first and then took your hand and helped you out of the car. You just stared wide and starry eyed as you walked into the lobby. You had never seen a place so beautiful, so elegant. You never had money to travel ANYWHERE-- you knew your small town in Jersey, and New York City. That’s it. And you’d never stayed in a hotel, let alone a luxurious one.

“Rafa….Wha…Why are we here?” You looked at him with starry eyes.

“....I just thought we’d celebrate the end of your semester, mi amor,” “Rafael” smiled, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“You’re too good to me,” You kissed him, and he once again took it to a whole other level. You’d never seen him this aggressive, you’d never kissed him like this. It was...off.

“Never, carino,” He shook his head as he broke the kiss and took your hand in his as he led you to the front desk.

-----

After checking in, you found yourself walking into the Penthouse Suite of the Ritz Carlton, something you’d never thought you’d be able to say.

“Oh my god, it’s so beautiful!!!” You clapped your hands together and bounced up and down as you immediately started to explore the room.

“Rafael” had to admit, he was a little amused by your excitement over things he’d gotten used to. But this was no pleasure trip, it was strictly business. He needed leverage on that abogado and you were going to give it to him. He marched over to you before you could head into the bathroom to check out the spa. He grabbed you and threw you on the bed aggressively, lust in his eyes.

“Well, somebody wants to get down to business,” You growled seductively.

“You read my mind, Carino,” “Rafael” smirked. “Ah but… first,” He walked over to the overnight bag he had brought and pulled out handcuffs, and a blindfold.

“Um, Raffi--” You nervously giggled. “We’ve um, you’ve never--”

“I thought we might try something a little different tonight, carino,” He licked his lips as he inched towards you, like a cheetah stalking its prey.

“Well, I-- I guess--” You stammered, staring at the objects in his hand. You had never been so...adventurous with anyone, let alone Rafael. “Rafael” could tell you were more than a little nervous, but he needed to get that blindfold on you. He may have Rafael’s face, but their bodies were more than a tad different. “Rafael” had tattoos on his wrists, and more than a few scars from various assentation attempts and fights. He needed to turn this up.

“Please,” He gave you his sweetest puppy dog pout eyes, before beginning to nibble on your earlobe. He had never done that before, but you were quickly learning it might be your new favorite spot. Time stopped moving, your mind turned off, all you could feel was pleasure as you felt his tongue in your ear, his teeth on the lobe.

“Whatever you want,” You sighed, not knowing what you were allowing.

“That’s exactly what I’d hoped you would say…” He growled as he tied the sash blindfold around your face, pulling it tight. You couldn’t see anything, you were completely at his mercy.

“Rafa….?” You called out to make sure he was still there, as if he would have just blindfolded you and ran out of the room.

“Yes, amante?” You heard his husky voice behind you as you felt your arms being fastened to either side of the headboard.

“Rafael I don’t know about this--” You bit your lip nervously.

“Shut up and let me work,” He barked, making you wince.

“...What?” You could swear that the voice was different from normal, something about it was more...dark.

“I mean, I thought we’d try...role playing, y’know where I’m a dominant asshole, and you’re my prisoner,” His tone suddenly went back to loving and soft, as he laid a tender hand on your bare stomach,

“Oh I-- I didn’t know you were into that,” You nervously replied.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Y/N,” You heard the husk again. “But you’ll learn tonight,”

You could hear him getting undressed, and then undressing you. Something about it seemed so...wrong. And real.

“Rafa--”

“DON’T call me that,” He growled. “I’m not Rafa anymore, I’m Vada,”

“....Vada?”

“Uh yeah, like-- like Darth Vada,” He joked, making a thick New York Accent saying “Vader”.

“Um, ok ‘Vada’, I don’t think I like--” Before you could protest anymore, Vada’s mouth was on yours in a hungry animalistic kiss. His hands began exploring your body, pulling and prodding every inch of you. Everything was heightened by the darkness of the blindfold, and it was exquisite. His mouth travelled south, biting and kissing every inch of you on the way down. You writhed in pleasure while strapped to the bed, you knew your arms were going to be sore tomorrow.

“Now, be a good little whore and don’t make a SOUND while daddy works, or you’re going to get punished,” You heard the husky voice commanding you.

“A good little what now?” You asked defensively, he had never talked to you this way-- and you weren’t sure you liked it. No matter who he “was.”

“I said QUIET,” The voice grew more cruel, but two fingers went inside you giving you instant absolute pleasure it was impossible to be mad. His digits roamed around inside you like he was digging for treasure. He hit every inch of your walls, flicking your clit harder and harder until you were practically vibrating off the bed. You began to scream, but you felt his mouth over yours before you could.

“WHAT did I say, puta?” The voice barked. “Not a SOUND,”

You usually loved hearing spanish coming out of his mouth, but ‘puta’ didn’t sound like a term of endearment.

“S-Sorry,” You stammered, as he continued to work. He slipped his fingers out and replaced them with his mouth. His oral skills had improved massively in a surprising amount of time, but you weren’t exactly wondering why. His tongue lapped you up like a dog drinking water, he sucked on your clit like it was a lollipop You bucked and spasmed under his mouth, this time biting back screams like hell, it was almost painful.

“Now, mi puta, are you going to come for me?”

“Y-Y-es,”

“NO! You’re NOT,” suddenly everything stopped. There were no more fingers, tongues, nothing going on downstairs, except for a now exceedingly excruciating pain throbbing from your clit-- is this what blue balling felt like?

“Please,” You whimpered, the pain was tormenting. Little did you know, Vada was enjoying every second of your suffering. It was one of his favorite things, watching powerless victims writhe in pain under his god like tongue.

“No, you’re gonna wait for ME,” All of a sudden you felt his dick inside you, pounding you like a rock. He wasn’t his usual, gentle self. He was pulling in and out of you like a jackhammer, and you loved every second of it.

“Now, mi vida,” He whispered as he continued to thrust in and out of you. “Now, you may scream my name,”

“RAFAAEELLLLLL!!!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had in your entire life came crashing over you like a tsunami. Suddenly you felt a slap to the side of your face.

“That’s NOT my name!!!” He yelled while he slapped you across the face as he violently shook inside you, the rage seemed to send him over the edge. He pulled out of you and sprayed his white manhood all over your face.

Everything was still and silent for a moment, both of you recovering from the events. It took you several minutes for you to drift back into your body, but when you did-- you realized what he had said. And you also realized you were covered in sticky white cum.

“Ew, Rafa why--” You made a face, trying to shake it off.

“I wanna see you lick it off. Lick off your face like a dirty whore,” The husky voice commanded you.

“Okay it was fun and all, and probably the best sex we’ve ever had, but enough’s enough,” You were starting to get annoyed with the whole “dominatrix” thing.

“....What did you just say?”

“...Yes, fine, okay I guess I’m kinkier than I thought. Because baby that was THE best sex we’ve ever had...maybe in my life,” You giggled.

“Oh,” You could hear a dark, evil chuckle. “Oh carino, you have no idea how happy that makes me to hear you say that,”

“...Why?” You were starting to get really freaked out. You felt the blindfold come off, but you were still bound to the bed. Your eyes took a minute to get used to the light, but when your vision finally focused you saw Rafael--- with arm tattoos?

“....Because I’m not Rafael,” He grinned wickedly.

#rafael barba x reader smut #rafael barba smut #rafael barba x you smut #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #nevada ramirez fanfiction #nevada ramirez x you #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez smut #trouble in the heights #law and order svu smut #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order svu #doppelganger

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sunlit-squid · 3 years

Note

How about “Holy crap, I thought you were dead! Never do that to me again!” for the prompt?

For those who don’t know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I’ll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰

i’m back on my bullshit. if you wanna read this ficlet on ao3, the link is here. otherwise, ficlet under the cut!

also tagging @wowthwtslame, who requested the same prompt a while ago. thank you!

In the dead of night, while everyone was asleep, winter descended on Bikini Bottom.

By the time Squidward woke up and peered out the window, Conch Street was completely covered in glittering white snow. In fact, the wintry landscape stretched so far, there was hardly a speckle of sand left -- just deep, undisturbed snow for miles on end.

Squidward vaguely remembered falling asleep to the late night news, in the middle of a special weather report. What was it Perch Perkins said? “6 to 7 inches of snow overnight?” Fishpaste. That was going to be a lot of snow to clear up before work Monday morning.

But for now … it was Sunday. And Sunday meant no Krusty Krab, no rowdy customers, and -- perhaps best of all -- no Spongebob. Squidward sighed dreamily. Yes. Today, he would stay in, and tomorrow, he would worry about the snow.

-0-

The setup was perfect: soothing herbal tea, a box full of bonbons, and a romantic drama on the television. Squidward had donned his softest, silkiest robe for the occasion, and was just settling onto the couch -- when there was a loud, forceful knock at the door. The octopus groaned. There was only one person who would be willing to come over in this weather…

Sure enough, a few moments later, Spongebob’s high-pitched voice echoed all throughout the once-serene moai: “Heeeeey, Squidwaaaard!” The loud, forceful knocking began anew, drowning out Squidward’s TV entirely.

Annoyed, the octopus pressed pause on his romantic drama, and trudged angrily over to the door. Flinging it open with all the force he could muster, Squidward readied himself for a scream -- but was instead startled by the faces on his doorstep.

Spongebob was there, of course -- but he was accompanied by Patrick and Sandy, too. All three of them were dressed in wintry ski gear, looking bright and chipper as ever. Spongebob, however, looked oddly flushed, a soft shade of red dusting his yellow cheeks. Perhaps he was cold.

“Howdy, Squidward!” greeted Sandy, waving her gloved hand enthusiastically. “We were just about to head to Sand Mountain for some skiin’, and thought ya might want to tag along.”

“Yeah, come with us, Squidward!” Patrick chimed in. “Spongebob reeeaaaaally wants you to -- oof!”

There was some indiscernible movement behind Spongebob, which made Patrick double over in pain. Sandy, however, continued to smile, a bit forcefully now. Pushing Spongebob forward, the squirrel continued, “Anyway, whaddaya say, Squidward?”

Squidward blinked. This was weird. For one, the trio at his doorstep seemed oddly tense. And for two, Squidward was not a good skier. Or a skier at all, really. The last time he skied at Sand Mountain, nearly a year ago, had been an accident -- Spongebob lost control of his skis, and barreled directly into Squidward (who, mind you, wasn’t even skiing, just spectating). The force of the collision carried both of them across the mountain, and into the icy waters beyond.

After that incident, they both got a nasty cold, which lasted for nearly two weeks. During that time, Spongebob insisted on coming over frequently, just to hang out. I’m so sick, I can’t hang out with anyone else! the sponge explained. But you’re sick too, Squidward, so let’s get better together, okay?

It was the worst two weeks of Squidward’s life -- never mind that Spongebob cooked good meals and watched the same shows and looked really cute in his sleep…

Wait. No. No.

“No,” snapped Squidward, moving to close his door. “Absolutely not.”

Before the door could close completely, however, Spongebob stepped forward, wedging himself in the doorway. “But Squiiidward,” the sponge whined, pouting beautifully. His brilliant blue eyes shimmered in the mid-morning sun. “I wanna hang out with you today!”

The octopus froze, heat rising to his cheeks. With a deep breath, Squidward yelled, “I am not going, and that is final!” before slamming the door in their faces.

-0-

Somehow, some way -- Squidward wound up in the backseat of Sandy’s newly-invented wintermobile, trudging through the snow-packed streets of Bikini Bottom. Spongebob was seated right next to him, singing along to a cheery Christmas song on the radio. Patrick, in the passenger seat, was singing too, but it was clear he didn’t know the words at all.

The octopus scowled. How did this happen?

It was Spongebob’s fault, no doubt. One moment, Squidward was lounging on the couch -- and the next, he was rummaging around the closet, searching for his winter gear. Something about Spongebob’s words -- I wanna hang out with you today! -- made the octopus feel stupid, loopy, and warm.

Squidward was no stranger to loneliness. It was his oldest friend, his most constant companion, and the octopus was … okay with that. Content, even. But Spongebob Squarepants, with his stupid smile and pretty blue eyes and cute face, just had to go and ruin it, every time. Squidward, you wanna watch a movie? Squidward, you wanna go to the park? Squidward, you wanna try out this new cookie recipe? And despite Squidward’s better judgment … whether due to loneliness, or boredom, or what have you … he would say yes, every time.

This was one of those times.

“Hey, hey,” Spongebob whispered, interrupting Squidward’s thoughts. “I’m glad you changed your mind. I always have more fun with you around, Squidward.”

Squidward blushed furiously, folding his arms across his chest. “Don’t read into it. I just thought it would be good to get out of the house.”

“Oh, it will be! And I practiced some cool tricks,” said the sponge, waving his arms around erratically. “I wanna show them to you, okay?”

Squidward smirked. “If you get hurt, I’ll just point and laugh.”

Spongebob stuck out his bottom lip, in an adorable pout. “I won’t get hurt. I’m an expert!”

“Uh-huh,” said Squidward dryly. “I bet you are.”

Spongebob ignored that snarky remark, and instead moved on to talk about the different tricks he had learned. All the while, Squidward’s gaze lingered on the poriferan’s face: the way it lit up, the way it radiated warmth. On occasion, the octopus would glance up to find Patrick and Sandy eyeing them through the rearview mirror. Whenever they were caught, however, the starfish and the squirrel would immediately look away, whistling awkwardly.

What was up with them?

-0-

When they finally got to Sand Mountain, it was apparent they weren’t the only ones who thought of skiing that day. A decent crowd of Bikini Bottomites had gathered at the mountain, either skiing or talking or drinking hot cocoa from a nearby stand. Some children had even gathered at the base of the mountain, caught up in an intense snowball fight. In all, there was a joyous vibe in the air, the unique, special sort that only comes with very heavy snowfall.

Hurriedly, the four of them piled out of Sandy’s wintermobile, and headed for the slopes. After getting their gear and equipment all squared away, Patrick and Sandy turned to Spongebob and Squidward, with strained, too-wide smiles.

“Well, uh -- Patrick and I are gonna test out the new challenge course on the other side o’ the mountain,” said Sandy, nervously readjusting her ski goggles, which for some reason were strapped around her helmet. “So, uh -- we’ll meet up with y’all in a bit, alright?”

Squidward blinked in confusion. “Why can’t we just go with you -- ?”

“Uh, bye, Spongeward! I mean, Squidbob! I mean … uh …,” sputtered Patrick, as Sandy hurriedly dragged him away -- in the wrong direction, Squidward noted.

“What’s up with them?” asked the octopus, vaguely gesturing to Sandy and Patrick, who were slowly disappearing from sight.

Spongebob laughed, a little too loudly. “Oh, don’t worry about them -- it’s -- uh. They’re, uh. Dating,” stammered the sponge, awkwardly. “They’re just, like, super shy about it.”

Squidward did not believe that for one single second. “Spongebob, what is going on?”

Before Spongebob could reply, the poriferan was swept up by two strong, muscly red arms, tossing him in the air and catching him again. “Spongebob Squarepants!” exclaimed Larry, towering over Squidward in that intimidating way of his. “Buddy, you ready to hit those slopes?”

Spongebob giggled as he was tossed in the air. “I sure am!”

When Larry finally caught sight of Squidward standing there, the lobster laughed loudly. “Oh, Squidward’s here! Good!” said Larry, with a huge grin on his face. “You know, Spongebob has some real cool tricks up his sleeve. He’s been practicing a lot just to impress --”

“AAAH!” yelled Spongebob, for seemingly no reason, startling both Squidward and Larry. After a few seconds, the poriferan laughed nervously, and sputtered, “Oh, uh, sorry, just -- getting all my screams out now, while I can. What were you saying, Larry?”

Larry blinked in confusion. “Well, I was saying, that you’ve been practicing real hard to impress --”

“AAAAH!” screamed Spongebob, louder this time.

“To impress --”

“AAAAAAAAH!” yelled the sponge, once more. This time, the scream was so loud, a pile of snow came rolling off the peak of Sand Mountain, and onto some Bikini Bottomites down below. In the distance, someone screamed something about a leg.

Larry stopped talking. Sighing, he put Spongebob down and said, “Look, why don’t we just … head to the slope, alright?”

Spongebob nodded, seemingly all out of screams. “Okie-doke!”

Quietly, the lobster and the sponge began making their way over to Mariana Course, notably the hardest slope at Sand Mountain. Squidward followed close behind them, thoroughly baffled. Sure, Spongebob was hyperactive, energetic, and borderline insane, but this … this was something entirely different. Spongebob seemed nervous, to the point of genuine distress, and Squidward for the life of him couldn’t figure out why.

Impulsively, the octopus reached out to pull Spongebob back, so they were both walking a few paces behind Larry. “You know, you don’t have to do this course if you’re nervous about it,” the octopus mumbled, keeping his voice low so the lobster wouldn’t overhear. “I mean, it’s not like I care or anything, in fact it would be funny if you, uh, got hurt or whatever, but … the Mariana Course is kind of … questionable, you know?”

By ‘questionable’, Squidward meant damn near fatal. The Mariana Course wasn’t even an official part of Sand Mountain, until the Drasticals broke it in by force. Its rocky, hazardous terrain practically financed the new wing of the Bikini Bottom General Hospital.

Spongebob, however, seemed determined. “Trust me, Squidward, I’ve got it all under control!” he chirped. Then, with a small, cute chuckle, the sponge asked, “Why? Are you worried about me?”

Squidward felt hot, all of a sudden. The octopus stormed ahead, warmth clinging to his cheeks. “Let’s just get this over with!”

Behind him, Spongebob giggled. “Whatever you say, Squiddy.”

-0-

Squidward had to admit, Spongebob had definitely been practicing. From his spot on the observer’s loft, the octopus could see everything on the Mariana Course: from the brambling bushes to the sharp, jagged rocks, to the slippery snow drifts down below. One by one, Spongebob maneuvered through them all, with grace, aplomb -- even a touch of arrogance.

Spongebob’s tricks were plentiful, and occasionally scary: at one point, the sponge was suspended high in the air, doing crazy flips and turns, all while his skis raced ahead of him. Squidward was worried, for a moment, that the skis would outpace Spongebob -- but somehow, the poriferan managed to land perfectly, right atop both of them, once again.

Squidward found himself sighing, dreamily. Sure, Spongebob was annoying ninety percent of the time, but the boy was also weirdly athletic … which had a certain, insufferable charm to it.

“Hey, Squidward,” came Larry’s voice. Squidward jumped slightly -- he’d honestly forgotten the lobster was still around. When Squidward turned, Larry was approaching with two mugs of hot cocoa in both claws. Gently, he handed one to Squidward, who accepted it gratefully. “Drink while it’s hot.”

“Thanks,” said Squidward. The warmth of the mug felt lovely, especially in the bitter cold.

Larry and Squidward sat in silence, watching Spongebob traverse the Mariana Course, for a while -- sipping their cocoa and occasionally gasping at the sponge’s antics. The cocoa was delicious, the perfect soothing drink for a day on the slopes. After a lengthy, peaceful silence, Larry finally spoke up.

“Spongebob really likes you, you know,” said the lobster, finishing the last of his cocoa.

Squidward froze -- and it had nothing to do with the cold temperatures. Wrapping his tentacles around the mug, Squidward sifted around his brain for a good reply. Coming up empty, the octopus simply said, “Yeah. He’s made that pretty clear.”

Larry shifted, leaning on the railing in front of them. “You know, he … asked me to teach him some of those tricks. To cheer you up.”

Squidward turned now, eyes fixed on Larry. “What?” he said, stupidly.

The lobster shrugged. “I don’t really know the details,” Larry sighed. “All I know is, Spongebob thought you seemed sadder lately. And he wanted to try and make you feel better.”

Squidward felt both hot and cold, all of a sudden. In truth … he had fallen into a bit of a depression lately. Over the course of one month, Squidward’s creative pursuits hit a new, staggering low: another one of his scripts had been rejected by the Bikini Bottom Art Society; he was laughed out of the auditions for the Bikini Bottom Philharmonic; and, to top it all off, Squilliam had just premiered a groundbreaking musical in New Kelp City.

Already, the reviews were in: once more, Squilliam was rocking the oceanic world … and Squidward was still just a cashier.

Squidward thought that because he was usually depressed anyway, no one would notice if he was … slightly-more-depressed than usual. But apparently, someone had. And apparently …

“Dear Neptune!” Larry’s sudden, loud voice rocketed Squidward out of his thoughts.

“What? What’s going on?” asked Squidward, looking around frantically -- until he saw it. A tiny yellow body, near the edge of the Mariana Course, lying still, so perfectly still.

-0-

Quickly, Larry and Squidward stole a snowmobile from the mountain staff, and hurriedly rushed towards Spongebob’s tiny, unmoving body. On the way, the lobster explained what happened: Spongebob had been in the middle of one of his stunts. Everything was going perfectly fine, until he had to land on his skis again. The back of Spongebob’s coat got stuck on a kelp branch, which flung him to the edge of the Mariana Course. He landed on sharp, jagged rocks, and from then on, did not move.

Squidward felt a pit opening up inside his stomach. Dear, blessed Neptune and Poseidon. Let him be okay.

When they finally reached the cluster of sharp, jagged rocks, Squidward could hardly believe his eyes. Lying perfectly still, eyes closed, barely breathing, was Spongebob Squarepants, a massive, sharp rock jutted straight through his chest. Behind him, Larry threw up in the woods.

After he recovered, Larry sputtered out, “We should -- we should try to move him … I don’t know a lot about sponge anatomy, but if he stays like that, he’ll regenerate around it … and that’ll make things complicated for the docs … ”

Squidward was already moving. The octopus used his tentacles to carefully maneuver his way around the sharp crevices. When he finally reached Spongebob, the cephalopod shivered with fright. It was bad. The sharp rock wasn’t very long, but it was long enough to look horrific, especially embedded inside of Spongebob’s tiny body.

“Sponge … Spongebob?” croaked Squidward, a flood of anxiety washing over him.

There was no response -- only silence, terrible silence, where Spongebob’s sharp, jittering laugh should be. Squidward felt cold. He did this for me. To make me happy. Me.

“Damn it,” muttered Squidward. Before he knew it, he was crying, large globs of tears streaming down his face. “Why? Why are you like this? Just to make me happy … are you an idiot?”

Suddenly, there was a claw on Squidward’s shoulder. Looking up, he saw that Larry was there, quiet yet firm. Carefully, the lobster latched onto Spongebob, and gently pulled the boy off of the jagged edge. Squidward’s eyes were locked on the rock where Spongebob once was for a moment too long. Then, he carefully made his way out of the jagged rock pile.

Larry had laid Spongebob down in the snow, just beyond the pit of rocks. The gaping hole left in the sponge’s body was terrifying to look at, so open and hollow and wide.

“Medics are coming,” said Larry, with a cough. “But since it’s a sponge, they might take longer … you know, because they --”

“Regenerate,” finished Squidward, kneeling down next to Spongebob’s cold, still form. “He’s not regenerating right now … is that bad?”

“Give it a moment,” breathed Larry, going to grab a blanket from off of the snowmobile. “Kid fell hard. It might be a while.”

Larry returned, blanket in tow, and wrapped it all over Spongebob’s body. Then, he stood, and they all made their way back to the nearby lodge, quiet as can be.

-0-

When they got back to the warmth of the lodge, they laid Spongebob down on a couch in the lobby. Larry draped the blanket over Spongebob once again, to try and hide his wounds as he recovered. Now, only the top of him was visible, his yellow nose just barely peeking out.

This way, Squidward could almost trick himself into thinking the sponge was asleep. With that soft, cute smile, those fluttering eyelashes … yes. Spongebob was just sleeping, and soon, he would wake up, and laugh, and all would be right with the world.

As time passed, several Bikini Bottomites came through, to ask what happened. Larry explained carefully, since Squidward could hardly bring himself to speak. At some point, Patrick and Sandy showed up too, looking equally devastated, Sandy muttering something about I knew this idea was plumb awful, why didn’t I trust my gut …

All the while, Squidward held Spongebob’s squeaky little hand, and did not let go for a second -- even when the medics finally arrived. By then, things looked good: Spongebob was regenerating normally. But he still hadn’t woken up yet.

When the medics left, Squidward almost fell asleep holding onto Spongebob’s hand. That’s when Sandy showed up, right beside him.

“Hey,” she said. Her tone was friendly, but her concern was clear.

“Hey,” said Squidward, giving Spongebob’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Sandy hesitated for a while. Then, with blunt simplicity, she said, “I think he could make ya happy, Squidward. If ya let him.”

A funny feeling settled in the pit of Squidward’s stomach. Looking down at Spongebob’s resting, peaceful face, the octopus replied, “But what if I hurt him?”

The squirrel shrugged. “If you’re already worried about it, I’d say that ain’t gonna happen.”

Squidward found himself smiling, despite himself. “Thanks, Sandy.”

She shook her head, laughing to herself. “Don’t mention it,” she said. “Just tired o’ watching y’all play hard to get, is all.”

-0-

At some point, Larry, Patrick, and Sandy went to grab food, in case Spongebob woke up and needed sustenance … leaving Squidward to man the helm. Come nightfall, the sponge finally stirred.

Immediately, Squidward sat up -- just as Spongebob sat up, too, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. Then, he laughed -- thank Neptune for that laugh -- and turned to face Squidward, enthusiastically.

“Did you see that cool trick I did --” the sponge began, but was interrupted by Squidward, enveloping him in a huge, crushing hug.

“Holy crap, I thought you were dead! Never do that to me again!” cried the octopus, shaking and shuddering with tears. “You absolute idiot.”

Spongebob, caught off guard, simply held Squidward closer. “You know I regenerate,” said the sponge, slightly muffled by Squidward’s shoulder.

“You were impaled, Spongebob --”

“I was? That’s crazy --”

“Spongebob,” said Squidward, firmly, pulling away from the embrace. Awkwardly, the octopus looked down, sighing heavily. “Look, you … you don’t have to go to extreme lengths just to make me happy.”

Spongebob blinked, then blushed. “Who told you --”

“It doesn’t matter,” interrupted Squidward, whose face had erupted in bright splotches of red. “Just -- just be around me, alright? That’s all you gotta do, is be around me, and suddenly I’m all … stupid, and happy or whatever. Whatever! Alright? You don’t have to do … all of this.” Squidward gestured vaguely to the lodge, and the ski courses beyond.

It was Spongebob’s turn to be red in the face. “That’s … it? That’s all I have to do?”

Squidward sighed, and before he knew what he was doing, pressed a soft, chaste kiss atop Spongebob’s head. “That’s all you’ve ever had to do.”

“Aww,” came a loud voice from directly behind them. When they turned, they found Patrick, Larry, and Sandy in the doorway, holding a bunch of bags from the Barg’N Mart. Patrick was clapping, and in the process dropped the majority of his grocery bags. “Great job, buddy! Mission accomplished!” shouted the seastar, proudly.

Squidward dropped his head into his tentacles. “I hate all of you,” he muttered, despite the small smile curling across his lips.

#squidbob #sbsp #spongebob squarepants #squidward tentacles #spongebob #squidward #my fics #sunlit-squid

37 notes · View notes

blouisparadise · 4 years

Photo

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of August. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Move Out | Explicit | 1525 words

Harry and Louis are moving in together, so they might as well make the most of Harry's apartment.

2) Take Off Your Business Suit | Explicit | 3082 words

“Yes, let me get another chair.” Louis said, leaning up off of the desk. He stood up but before he could leave the office to get another chair, Harry was grabbing his hand.

The words that came out of Harry’s mouth made Louis’ knees weak and heart beat quicken. “Just sit on my lap.” Harry said. Whatever he said afterwards didn’t make it into Louis’ ears as he was moving quickly over to Harry and placing himself on Harry’s lap.Louis would take anything Harry wanted to give him; hand touching, lap sitting, all of it.

Louis hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a quiet sigh. “Okay so th-this one will be slightly different right?” He asked as he pointed at the sheet of paper in front of him.

3) So Good, It's Making Me Drool | Explicit | 3364 words

He kept his back turned to Harry, whispering the few words he knew that would make Harry go absolutely wild. “If I’m only yours, maybe you should take me to bed and teach me who I belong to.”

4) What I Like | Explicit | 4245 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Harry gets tired of the "older women" jokes and the incessant teasing from Louis.

5) ll Belong To Your Creation | General Audiences | 4349words

Louis had always thought it was impossible to do so. Thankfully, upon doing research he learned that he still can as long as there are no complications throughout the whole pregnancy. He also stumble upon a birth vlog where a mum was able to give birth naturally even after going through c-section with her first and second pregnancy.

6) An Axolotl and the Fake Date | Explicit | 5976 words

Harry runs a stall at a farmers market every weekend and Louis comes by one day with an odd request.

7) Feels So Right | Explicit | 8804 words

The one where Louis is Troy, Harry is Gabriella, and we find out what really happened after karaoke at that ski resort...

8) Giallo! | Mature | 9776 words

Louis was a mess. A stuttery mess of weak knees and grass stains on his fresh linen clothes, his cheeks blooming a natural pink that matched his sunburnt nose. Upon his return from University, his family abandon the bustling city of London to bask in the comfort of their summer villa. With such a property came maintenance, Louis' father hired a strapping young fellow with tanned skin littered with ink and a charming smile aided by dimples in both his cheeks. Between reading, baking and painting, Louis stares at Harry, he couldn't help it. They grow close under the sun of Greece in 1989.

9) Interlude: One Night in March | Explicit | 10671 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Harry let his hands roam over Louis’s bare back, his muscles rippling with that same frenetic energy he always had, swirling just beneath the skin, just beneath Harry’s fingers. “May come a time I’ll have to carry you again.”

Cupping the back of his head and burying his fingers in Louis’s hair, he pulled Louis back into another deep kiss, moaned a bit when Louis squeezed his chest again, harder this time, like he wanted the shirt off. But instead he drew his hand down Harry’s side and tugged at the hem, as though to say best keep this on, before he licked into Harry’s mouth, drew Harry’s tongue out to play only to pull back enough to speak.

“May come a time I’ll actually fucking let you.”

10) Hate To Smoke (Without Me) | Mature | 12164 words

Sleep. Harry just wants one good night of sleep. However, his neighbour has a thing for headboard-banging-against-the-wall-sex every night. After a secret set-up and a bet, Harry may finally get the sleep he so much desires.

11) Call You Mine | Explicit | 12755 words

“I have a request.”

That’s what Louis Tomlinson says to Harry when he opens the front door a bit too aggressively. The latter feels justified after a round of annoyingly incessant knocking that was much too loud in the drowsy sludge of early Saturday morning.

“Zayn’s asleep,” is Harry’s tired, hoarse reply, irritation prickling at his skin. Less than a minute ago he was in bed, feeling perfectly content sprawled out on the mattress with the chilled air from the fan cool against his bare skin. And now he’s leaning up against the wooden door frame in nothing but his briefs because Zayn’s best mate decided that showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning was a brilliant idea.

“I’m not here for him,” says Louis curtly.

12) A Vivid And Wistful Melody | Explicit | 13128 words

"Slowly, he takes his violin out of its case, listens for a few more minutes to Louis’ flute, before joining him as best as he could. The flute stops for a few seconds, and Harry imagines Louis blinking cutely, taken aback, before huffing with a smile, and starting to play again, on a suddenly far happier tune. Harry closes his eyes as he twirls around the living room, violin in hand and music filling the air. He pictures Louis doing the same in his own flat while being careful as to not step on his cat.

Somehow, even with heavy eyes and tired limbs, this is the happiest Harry has ever felt in years."

In which they are neighbours stuck at home and they happen to start talking through a wall with a piano, a violin, and a flute. They end up writing the soundtrack of their own love story.

13) Until This Blood Runs Cold | Explicit | 13685 words

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

14) A Road To Hope | Explicit | 18280 words

Note: There is no explicit smut but its implied BL.

“We’re far from the people and their issues, don’t hold back. Please.”

It’s true. They are far away from anything that could stop them, the middle of nowhere being the safest place on Earth for them to fall in love. The sacred land where sacred love is created. However, Louis is certain that even if they weren’t safe, he wouldn’t resist the sight of Harry, his pleading eyes, his warm skin beneath his touch.

15) Your Eyes Of Blue, Your Kisses Too | Explicit | 21785 words

When they get out onto the streets away from the crowds Niall turns to walk backwards, “So did you get any leads?”

“Well- uh.”

Niall shakes his head, “Too busy kissing that pretty boy onstage, I see. Gonna blow the whole case for a piece of ass?”

16) Thinking About Peaches | Explicit | 23724 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #18 on this list.

Eight smutty drabbles following the events of bruise you like a peach.

17) Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds | Mature | 38065 words

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

18) Bruise You Like A Peach | Explicit | 40694 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #16 on this list.

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

19) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

Or could Grimshaw be looking for a new face?

20) Secretly Dating | Mature | 43615 words

Lottie groaned, looming over Louis with a glare. “If we’re late, Mum and Dad will never let Harry see me – ie. see you.”

It was the first time they openly addressed the fact that Harry saw more of Louis than Lottie on their supposed ‘dates.’ He supposed he knew as much, but it still startled him. “You’ve been setting us up!”

Lottie snorted, cocking out her hip and brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Honestly, Harry. You’re so dense. To be fair, it was at Louis’ request.”

Louis’ mouth gaped like a fish as he jumped to standing position, wobbling only slightly. “Don’t sell me out!”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Come on lovebirds.”

21) You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) | Mature | 95417 words

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

22) The Healing Song | Mature | 111851 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

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ilonga · 3 years

Text

new chapter of Master Krell!

ao3

Anakin's second introduction to the Jedi Temple is nearly as strange as the first.

Sure, the first time it'd been completely overwhelming—his first time off planet, and suddenly he was on Coruscant, the capital, in the heart of the Jedi and already being presented to the Jedi Council. But now he's returning, and in the meantime he's seen a Jedi die, a planet nearly collapse under siege, and blown up an entire droid control ship from the inside out.

And he's returning not as a terrified to-be reject, but as a Jedi padawan.

None of this feels real.

Obi-wan had cut his hair, back on Naboo, and arranged his new Padawan's braid; apparently it was tradition for the Jedi Master to do it, but after correspondence with the Jedi Council and Master Krell it had been decided that in the interests of smoothing out his transition, Anakin would be skipping out on most of the formalities and ceremony.

Anakin's not quite sure how he feels about that, yet. Maybe the formalities would have made it feel less like the ground was falling out from under his feet but, then again, maybe they would have made it even worse.

He'd said his goodbyes back on Naboo—to Jar Jar, the clumsy but kind and good-hearted Gungan, to R2, that crazy daredevil of an astromech, and to Padme, the brave and brilliant Queen (he still can't believe she had been the Queen all along, that he knows the Queen of a planet). He'll miss them, he thinks, though of course not nearly as much as everyone he'd left behind on Tatooine; his heart aches for his mother, for Kitster, and the rest.

What does your heart tell you?

His heart says he'll meet them all again someday—the Naboo and the Tatooinians. So it must be true.

"Nearing the atmosphere," the pilot says, and Anakin looks up only to meet Obi-wan's uneasy gaze.

"Best strap in," he says, though it looks like there's something else at the tip of his tongue. "Just a few more minutes now, and you'll meet Master Krell for the first time. He'll be waiting at the Temple."

"Okay," Anakin says, though what he really wants to say is I know. Obi-wan's repeated himself enough on this trip that Anakin's practically got his words memorized.

Obi-wan watches him for another moment before turning away.

"Landing sequence activated," the pilot says. Anakin cranes his neck around the safety restraints to get a look at the planet's surface. The last time they'd come here, he'd been both too nervous and too far from any viewports to get a good look.

It's. . . incredible.

Seeing Coruscant from afar had been nothing compared to this.

The entire surface is covered in glittering, distorted metal structures as far as the eye can see, shooting up for the skies with fervent vigor. As they get closer, he can see what looks like hundreds and thousands of ships and speeders, descending from the skies and rising from below and twisting and weaving between buildings and streetlights. His eyes catch on a strangely shaped metal dome to the side, rising out of the masses like Gardulla's palace in its glory days.

"Uh," he says quietly, tugging at Obi-wan's sleeve before he can think the better of it. "What's that over there?"

"Hm?" Obi-wan says, startled at the contact, but then follows his gaze and sees what he's pointing at. "Ah. That's the Senate Rotunda—it's where all the galactic governmental duties are carried out. It's where Queen Amidala went before, to request aid against the Federation's blockade."

His gaze catches on something else and he gestures to Anakin. "If you look over there," he says, pointing ahead, "you can see the Temple in the distance. We're very close now."

Anakin follows his line of sight. All he can see are the spires, really, and the hint of the rectangular form below. Their first visit had been rather rushed; he doesn't remember much but high ceilings and long hallways, and the endlessly intimidating Council Room. Hopefully they can skip out on that part this time. He's been accepted for certain, right? No need to go through the tests again?

Obi-wan coughs delicately and Anakin realizes with a start that he'll be living at the Temple now. If all goes well, for maybe even the rest of his life.

The thought settles strangely against his chest and he jams his hands under his seat to stop them from shaking.

"Just a few minutes now," the pilot says.

They pull ever closer.

They land without much fanfare.

If he had been just a little bit less nervous, Anakin would have begged to watch the landing sequence from the cockpit—the Naboo pilots had been so nice to him, and this ship has got to be one of the most beautiful he's ever been on in his life—but as it is, he stays glued to his seat instead.

Obi-wan is the first to get up, and gestures for Anakin to follow him with a jerk of his head. On the landing pad, he recognizes Master Yoda and Master Windu. Behind them, there's a tall alien whose species he's never encountered before and a few other figures he remembers from the Council Room.

"Knight Kenobi," Master Windu says gravely. Suddenly Master Qui-gon's absence feels like a gaping hole—everyone keeps shifting as if to accommodate someone who isn't actually there. Obi-wan glances to the side and meets Anakin's eyes instead; he purses his lips and quickly looks away.

"Commend you, for the feat you have achieved in defeating the Sith, we do," Master Yoda says. "A great deed you have done, young Kenobi."

Obi-wan blinks. He looks to the side again. "I only did my duty," he finally says.

Master Yoda speaks again, but this time, Anakin doesn't catch what he says. He's trying to take in as much of his surroundings as possible without being too obvious.

There are about six others with him and Obi-wan right now—Master Yoda, who's still speaking, Master Windu, three others he remembers from the Council, and the imposing reptilian figure who has both sets of his arms crossed. Could this be the Master Krell Obi-wan had mentioned before? The one who Obi-wan had said would take over Anakin's training?

The figure huffs and trains his gaze on Anakin, and Anakin quickly looks away.

The rest of the hangar is a cavernous, elegant space; transports and shuttles of various builds line the walls, with Jedi (mechanics? Mechanic Jedi?) dotting the walls here and there, busying themselves with repair work. The floor below them has its tiles arranged in a bright, colorful pattern, almost reminiscent of Naboo's palace though not nearly as ostentatious.

A passing mechanic (Jedi?) looks up and meets his eyes. She's a blue Twi'lek, probably just a few years older than Anakin himself. She grins and waves.

Hesitantly, Anakin waves back.

"We've bored you two enough for now, I should think," One of the Masters from the Council says, and Anakin snaps his attention back to them. "Shall we move on to a more pressing order of business?"

"Ah - yes. Yes, of course." Obi-wan says. He turns to Master Yoda. "If you would - "

The reptilian figure steps forward and speaks, cutting through Obi-wan's hesitant stutters. "That is more than enough, Knight Kenobi."

"Master Krell - " The same Jedi from before says - Master Billaba, Anakin remembers now. She'd been in the Council Room during his original examination, but had barely spoken at all. Her voice is nice, Anakin decides. Soothing. "Perhaps we should take it with a bit more . . . patience?"

Master Krell - so Anakin was right, he was the mysterious Master Krell - concedes and steps back. "My apologies, Master Billaba. I am . . . eager to begin."

"Understandable." Master Billaba says lightly, but her gaze continues to rest on him. Is there something Anakin's missing, here? Some friction between the two of them? Master Billaba hadn't spoken for or against him during the examination - but maybe she was one of the ones that didn't want him trained, and even Master Krell's appointment didn't change his mind. Maybe he'll need to be on his best behavior to impress her. Or maybe it'll be better to avoid her entirely. Out of the corner of his eyes Anakin sees Obi-wan fold his arms into his sleeves.

"Then, if I may?" Master Krell says, beginning to move away from the group. The surrounding Masters nod their consent, followed by Obi-wan with a few seconds' delay. Vaguely Anakin wonders how Master Qui-gon would react to all of this, if he could see it now. Would he be happy Anakin was being trained? Upset, that he had been replaced by a different Master? Would he have changed his mind entirely, decided that Anakin should have been left behind after all? "Come with me, Skywalker."

Anakin can do nothing else but follow.

They walk down the long, winding hallways for what seems like forever before Master Krell finally decides to speak.

"Young Skywalker," he says. "You have heard by now that you are to be my Padawan, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Anakin says quickly. He wonders when Master Krell found out. Had he volunteered? Been forcibly assigned to him? Had he just found out before they landed in the hangar, or known days in advance?

"Good." Master Krell says, keeping his gaze trained on the hallway ahead. "This means, of course, that for the next decade or so until you become a Knight, you are under my authority as my Jedi Padawan. I will teach you, direct you, and train you every day until you meet and surpass the qualifications necessary for Knighting. I can make you into the greatest of the Jedi, as befitting of your title of prophecy - but only if you listen, and obey. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," Anakin says again.

"Excellent." Krell says, leading them further down the hallway. Maybe any moment now, they'll be coming up on Anakin's new rooms. His own rooms - he can hardly believe it.

"You will be the very best of us, Skywalker," Krell says, sounding rather less like he means it as a compliment and more like he means it as an order. "The very best."

Anakin doesn't know how to respond to that, but he's saved from the efforts by Master Krell's satisfied huff.

It rather seems like his new Master prefers the silence.

#my writing #star wars au #star wars fanfiction #star wars #master krell au #pong krell #anakin skywalker

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