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weasleylangs · 3 years

Text

lightweight - g.w

Pairing: George x Fem!Reader Summary: Y/N’s never been the best at holding her alcohol. Luckily, George is always there to help her. Warnings: Alcohol, a drunk confession, fluff, brief mentions of underage drinking, one line about throwing up. Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Short Georgie fic today! I have work so I didn’t want to commit to any of my super long ideas but I still want to keep writing! Also, I’m not promoting excessive drinking whatsoever. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated and requests are open!

This is also being posted while I’m asleep because I’m stuck on the other side of the world to the rest of you. Any asks will be replied too when I’m up!

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George stands in a corner of the Leaky Cauldron, firewhiskey in hand as he looks at the crowd. Their yearly reunion has been going on for a few hours now, and George has finally started to feel the alcohol buzzing around his head. Despite having already downed quite a few whiskeys, he’s barely been feeling it all night considering he’s always been a heavyweight, given his large stature.

The same can’t be said for the girl George’s eyes are trained on. Y/N Y/L/N. She’s currently dancing with Angelina Johnson, the rosiness in her cheeks evident from both the exertion from dancing for hours on end and the alcohol in her system. George has fond memories of Gryffindor parties, when Fred, Lee and himself would flirt their way into buying alcohol from Madam Rosmerta to sneak into parties that would eventually end with the girl he’s watching dancing her heart out.

“Babysitting already, mate?” Lee asks as he takes a swig of his beer and George chuckles, shaking his head. “No, not quite yet. I probably will be in, say…” He checks his watch and the time reads 1am, “... half an hour.”

George developed a habit when they were sixteen, of looking after Y/N at parties. The girl never seemed to learn her own limits and more often than not, drank herself stupid at parties. Y/N was one of George’s best friends, and he’d never forgive himself if he ever let her get hurt at a party, so he happily settled for basking in the party atmosphere while keeping a close eye on Y/N. And then, in the morning he’d tease her while she threw up the contents of her stomach and she’d apologise profusely before they’d walk to breakfast together.

It’s been 10 years and they’re still dancing and drinking and George is still looking after her, but instead of walking her up to her dorm, George drags her back to his apartment above Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and tucks her into his bed while he takes the couch. Granted, Y/N’s has developed some better limits than when she was sixteen years old, but it’s a force of habit at this point, and besides, George rather looks forward to it nowadays and his night would feel incomplete without knowing Y/N is 100% safe and sound 100 meters away from him.

Fred approaches them, and they aimlessly stand around and chat. Mostly about quidditch, very rarely about work. These days, the hot topic of conversation is about how Lee’s been splitting his time between London helping the twins out with the shop and Romania, where his dragon trainer girlfriend lives. Sometimes, a few people approach them and ask the question if they’re the ‘famous Ginny Weasley’s twin brothers’ which always causes them to laugh and their chests swell in pride for their little sister.

It’s probably only twenty minutes later when he hears a squeal come from the dance floor as some muggle band’s song comes on. George thinks Y/N probably convinced Tom to let her hijack the music and he vaguely recognises the song as one she’s played before. He searches the dance floor for her, and when their eyes meet she winks at him and quickly spins around to dance with Angelina again.

“I can’t believe she’s not even your girlfriend and you practically babysit her, mate. We’re 26, when are you making a move?” Fred teases but George ignores him. He notices Y/N catch his eye again and when she goes to wave him over, he sees her wobble slightly and her eyes widen out of fear of losing her balance.

Truthfully, George is too scared to admit his feelings for Y/N. While he knows their friendship entails more than what a normal one does, George has never been the best at reading signs when people are romantically interested in him so he well and truly does not know where he stands with Y/N. He never wants to make people feel uncomfortable, so he lives blissfully unaware until someone yells in his face they’re interested in him.

“Piss off, Fred. Like you can talk about me not making a move. You’ve liked Angelina since what? Sixth year?” He pushes Fred slightly at the shoulders as he scowls and slowly makes his way over the tiny girl in his sights.

“Hi Georgie,” she slurs as he finally makes his way over to her and she’s quick to slot herself into his side. George is well aware Y/N is both a sleepy and clumsy drunk the second she stops dancing, and as George checks the time on his watch again, it now reads 1:30am and it’s well past intoxicated Y/N’s bedtime.

“Hi, love,” he can’t help but use the nickname for her, especially when her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red when he uses it, “time to get you to bed?”

She pretends to think for a second but George knows she’s all danced out when she sighs and tucks her head into his neck. He spots Lee and Fred, who are now imitating whips at him, and shakes his head as he waves goodbye. He makes sure to tell Angelina, Katie and Alicia they’re leaving as well so they don’t worry, and George pretends to miss the giggles and winks they give Y/N as he holds onto her.

Thankfully, the Leaky Cauldron isn’t far from 93 Diagon Alley and soon enough George is placing Y/N in his bed and finding a change of clothes for her. It’s the middle of November, so he grabs a random old sweater his mum knitted him a few years back and while he looks for the pair of leggings she left here last time, he hears her soft gasp.

When he turns to look at her, her eyes are fixated on the sweater in his hand. “That one’s my favourite.”

George has a million sweaters, enough to fill a whole drawer full of them all in different colours, so he’s confused how Y/N knows which one this even is.

“It’s the one with the frayed hand-holes, right?” George laughs at her usage of ‘hand-holes’ and unfolds the sweater to take a look at the sleeves, and sure enough, right where your hands pop out, the sleeves is fraying.

“Why is this one your favourite, darling?” He questions, passing her the sweater. He turns his back to her, giving her some privacy as she takes her top off and she hums happily as the scent of George engulfs her senses. “It’s one of your oldest ones. So the Georgie-scent is the strongest.”

George feels his cheeks heat up as Y/N slips the leggings up under her skirt and then struggles to undo her buttons. “Georgie-scent?”

She hums in agreement as she finally gets the skirt off and drops it on the floor next to her. She’s curling herself up under the blankets when she looks at George and before her sober thoughts can catch them, drunk words are tumbling out of her mouth, “Reminds me the most of my Amortentia.”

George pauses and stares at her, processing the words she just said. George only received three O.W.L’s during his time at Hogwarts and none of them were potions, but of course, he’s well aware what Amortentia is. He sells them at work, after all.

The most powerful love potion in the world.

“Firework smoke, Molly’s home-cooked meals and… Alcohol.” She mumbles when George doesn’t speak and she looks like she’s fallen asleep but George knows she isn’t.

“Sure it isn’t Fred, love?” He laughs as he asks but his insecurities are there, shoved way down into the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill out. Firework smoke and his mum’s home-cooked meals scream both of them without a doubt, and George can’t help but convince himself that Fred could definitely have an explanation for the alcohol.

Now she’s realised what she’s said, and she takes one look at George and she shoves her head into the pillow. “God, this isn’t how I was planning to tell you.” She’d actually never planned on telling him, convinced someone as perfect as George Weasley would ever love her back, but her brain had other plans.

“Tell me that you like my brother?” He jokingly questions, the insecurities fading but still feeling the need to tease her. When she laughs and rolls her eyes, George knows he’s calmed her down from a perch she didn’t realise she was on. She sits up quickly and her face looks a little green at first for how quick she moves. “Who looks after me when I’m drunk, George? I don’t see Fred anywhere.” She’s smirking now and George has to resist the urge to crawl into bed with her and kiss her senseless.

“My Amortentia smells like you as well, by the way.” The smile Y/N gives him is bright enough it could light up the City of London. “Really?” she questions, and the way she sways in bed George can tell she’s still intoxicated and he can only hope she remembers this conversation in the morning because he knows he won’t be brave enough to initiate it again.

“Really. Sunflowers, chocolate and…” He hesitates, laughing at how dumb they both are, “Firewhiskey.”

She screeches in embarrassment and before he knows it, Y/N’s dragging him into his bed and she’s giggling. “That’s so embarrassing!” she exclaims, “But so expected.”

They roll around in the sheets for a few seconds, trying to grab at each other and laughing at the coincidences before George gets up and changes. Y/N watches him intently, trying her best not to objectify him in her mind but he’s just so damn gorgeous she can’t help it. She wants to kiss every inch of his skin and let everyone know the wonderful man standing in front of her is her's.

And when he goes to slip out of the room, thinking she’s fallen asleep, she pouts and clears her throat, causing him to turn and face her.

“You. Me. Bed. Cuddling. Now.” She says, nay demands and he has no choice. He slips into bed beside her and once again, for the second time that night, she’s slotted herself next to him.

“I really do love you, you know.” She mutters against his neck and she feels his breath hitch. “I’m not just saying it because I was drunk. I mean, like I said it because I was drunk, but it’s true.”

George pauses, not wanting to upset her with what he says next, “Are you going to remember in the morning?” He’s trying not to let his fear be known, but with how close Y/N is, he knows she felt his body react subconsciously. Y/N’s had nights when she doesn’t remember anything she’s said- not because she’s drunk too much, but she’s naturally a forgetful person and the alcohol doesn’t help.

“Of course, and if I don’t because I don’t remember tonight… I’d hope you’d tell me.” She reassures him, looking up at him and pressing a soft kiss to his chin from her position in his arms.

George lets out a breath and looks at the girl in his arms and decides that he can’t keep it to himself anymore and that he’d shout it from every rooftop that he’s in love with Y/N Y/L/N. So he presses a kiss to her forehead, next, her nose, then her cheeks and lastly, a soft kiss on her lips.

“I promise I will. You and me forever.”

#george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley one shot #george weasley x reader

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winterscaptain · 4 years

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priorities.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral AFAB!Reader

a/n: a lil bitty outtake from the end of faith! requires absolutely no ajf context and is just some good stuff for the grown-ups! I included the end of faith, just for a little setup.

words: 1.5 warnings: smut (fingering, cockwarming [we’re finally trying it!], desk sex, chair sex, penetrative sex w/out a condom), Aaron Hotchner Being Sweet™, Aaron Hotchner Being a Lawyer™

summary: apparently, a supreme court decision is more important than you.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

He looks over his reading glasses, and his eyes light up. “Welcome home.”

You offer him a warm smile as you cross his office and round his desk. “Hi.”

Aaron drops his pen and pulls you close by your hips, and you lean on the side of his chair. “How was the case?”

“I would hate to spoil Emily’s report that will inevitably be about three hours late getting to your desk on Tuesday.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I see.” His hand drops down to the outside of your thigh, and you swing a leg over his chair to straddle him, getting situated on his lap. “You know, I still have work to do.”

“What? Is this Supreme Court decision more interesting than me?”

He shrugs, leaning forward again and picking up his file. His chin hooks over your shoulder, and you settle against his chest as he continues to read. With a sigh, he says, “You’re wearing an awful lot of clothes for someone who wants something specific.”

You huff. “Oh, c’mon. It’s not like I’m getting any in here.”

“You don’t know that.” His voice is even, almost distracted, but when you shift over him you can tell he’s affected. “Something might surprise you.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

He takes another breath and, just like he’s done so many times before, says, “Sweetheart, I’m not suggesting anything.”

You smile against his shoulder and slide off of him, removing your slacks and undergarments in one fell swoop. Bare before him, you straddle him again, feeling the soft fabric of his sweats against your sex.

He’s hardly moved, only leaning back to let you go and resuming his position once you’ve returned, the law review still in his hands.

“What did you have in mind, Chief Hotchner?”

A hand leaves his desk and trails over your hip and lower back. “I came across this...thing and figured I’d ask if you wanted to try it.”

You raise your eyebrows, though he can’t see your face at the moment. “Oh?”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “What if...I gave you what you want -“ In case it was unclear, he thrusts his hips up just a touch, his hardness pressing into you. You tighten your thighs around him. “- but you don’t get to move until I’m done with my reading.”

You lean back. “Really?”

“From what I’ve read, it’s something people like. Want to try it?”

“What happens if I move?”

He’s still not looking at you, even though you’ve leaned back to meet his eyes - the law review has just increased altitude so he can still see it over your shoulder. “Traditionally, there’s some kind of punishment involved in these dynamics, but I don’t think you need punishing.” The offhand delivery of his observation makes a rush of heat flow through you, and you just know you’re even wetter than you were before. “I think we just see how long we can stand it and then I’ll spread you out over this desk when I’ve had enough.”

All the breath leaves you in a shaky exhale, and you loop your arms over his shoulders, playing with the hair on the back of his neck. “Okay.”

He drops a hand between you, purposefully brushing over your clit as he undoes the button fly on his pants. He frees himself, and it takes everything in you not to move as he coats his cock with your wetness, two fingers, then three, pushing into you. The sound of his fingers moving in your soaked pussy informs you he’ll have no problem slipping into you to the hilt. Nevertheless, he reaches into a drawer for a bit of lube, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slicks himself up for you. Your mouth drops open, completely floored by his forethought.

How long has he been planning this?

You lift up and his eyes never leave yours as he guides himself into you. Both of you let out deeply affected breath, and a whimper chases your sighs. He’s deep - bottoming out and then some as you sink all the way down until your thighs are flush with his lap.

The muscles of your abdomen jump, seeking any kind of movement. He shushes you, pressing a hand to your lower back and l tilting your hips just so. The change in angle forces your lips between your teeth. You can feel him everywhere.

“Relax, baby.” His low murmur reminds you to breathe, and you do your best to let your body drop into him, your clothed chests melting together as if you were built for each other.

He continues to read, but his cock twitches and flexes within you every once in a while. You inadvertently pulse in response, fluttering around him. Each time, a hiss leaves him from between his teeth. The effect you have on him is insanely hot, and you know he can feel how wet you are, even with his lack of movement.

The hand on your back begins a slow circuit, traveling from your lower back, to your shoulders, down your ribs, over your hips, and back again. You remind yourself to relax, resisting the urge to roll your hips in time with his hand.

After about fifteen minutes (an era, really), his hips start to move the smallest amount, pushing up just enough to make hot sparks of pleasure fly up and down your body. You tighten your arms around his shoulders and relax your legs. The feeling is ineffable - you’ve never been split so deep in your life.

Don’t move. Don’t move.

His breathing gets a little heavier in your ear as he swivels his hips in a miniscule version of that twist that always brings you close to the edge in seconds.

“Aaron…” You press his name into his neck, and he huffs something that sounds like a laugh.

“Not done, yet, my love. Be patient.”

You’ve always known his stamina is incredible, but you’re almost in awe of how rock hard he still is inside you, how he’s been buried to the hilt in your tight, wet, heat for close to twenty minutes without breaking a sweat.

In fairness, he’s outlasted you every single time, never once leaving you bereft or wanting (unless it was on purpose). His size and skill, both impressive metrics outlining his prowess in bed, both pale in comparison to his control.

You do your best not to whine, but you’re reaching a breaking point. Your patience is rewarded when, only a few minutes later, he flips the pages back to the beginning and sets them aside. You can feel one foot, then the other, search for the wheel locks of his desk chair (a necessity, you figured out very early on) and engage them.

He presses kisses to your neck, still moving just the smallest amount inside you. Your legs are already shaking, your body a bowstring - wound and aching for release. You lean back to give him access to your mouth, and he laves you in soft kisses, his tongue sliding against yours. He holds you close to his chest, his hands sliding down your back and around your hips.

You move under the guidance of his hands, rolling over him, your thighs still flush against his lap. He’s thrusting up into you for real now, knowing exactly what you like. With a hand braced on his shoulder, you drop a hand down to your clit, already impossibly close.

“I’m gonna come really fast if you keep doing that,” you say through a laugh.

He lets out a laugh that’s a little bit of a snarl, and only increases his pace, helping you meet him thrust for thrust. “That’s alright, love. Take what you need.” He kisses your throat. “I missed you.”

You gasp at his words and he drops his head to your chest, solely focused on you. As promised, only moments later, your orgasm crests over you and you pull your pleasure from him, your hips setting a bruising pace against him. His name falls from your mouth, and one of his hands crawls up the back of your shirt, cradling you close. His breath is hot on your neck and he covers you in sweet, reverent kisses.

As you’re coming down, he rises, setting you on his desk. You let your legs fall open, showing off for him as he looks down at you.

His brow crumples as he watches you, ravaged and fallen apart before him. “I love how you feel,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. His eyes close and he slows his pace, savoring you with his hands on your thighs. You clench around him, reaching out with your fingertips. With his current position, you’re just able to brush the skin below his navel, feeling the coarse hair there.

He takes you slowly, and you find most of your enjoyment watching him fall into you. Eyes closed, his hands reach for yours and lace your fingers together. Leaning over you, he brings your joined hands above your head, pressing kisses to your neck and collarbones.

When his peak washes over him, the sweetest sound of relief leaves his chest. His hands leave your grasp and glide down your arms, your sides, your hips. From there, his hands assist you as you sit up, his fingers splayed over your shoulders and spine.

Your arms settle around his shoulders, and you press your face into his neck with a satisfied hum. “That was really fun.”

He chuckles. “Loathsome in theory, but definitely fun in practice.” A kiss is pressed to your temple, and he lifts you from the desk, still inside you.

You know you’re both creating a trail of nefarious substances on the floor as he walks down the hall to your bedroom, but knowing Aaron, he’ll deal with it before he settles into bed.

You’re loved. You know it.

+++

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#shut up tali #text #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #aaron hotchner smut #a joyful future fanfic

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ofstarsandvibranium · 4 years

Text

Traditions of the Court

Fandom: Criminal Minds (Royalty AU)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Summary: You grew up around Spencer, since his mom was your teacher growing up. You two grow up together and he ends up taking his mother’s place, while you become ready to become Queen. But what’s to happen when you and he realize that you have feelings for each other?

A/N: this is like 3.5k words because I didn’t feel like breaking it up into chapters. Anyway, sit back, relax, and enjoy!

“But mother-”

“No, Y/N. You need to attend your classes like everyone else. Just because you’re the princess, doesn’t mean you can’t get an education like the other children in the court.”

You groan as you drag yourself into the library where several other children of royal court members are. Mrs. Reid’s face lightens up when she sees you, “Y/N, dear! Wonderful! We’re just about to start! Take any available seat and we’ll get started.”

You sigh as you trudge over to an empty seat near the back next to a boy who doesn’t look like a he’d be a child of the court, “Who’re you?” the young boy is startled when you address him and pushes his glasses up his nose, “I’m, um, Spencer. Spencer Reid. My mom’s the teacher.”

“Are you even allowed to be here?”

He nodded, “Yes, uh, the Queen, your mother, said it was alright. Do-Do you want me to move, Princess Y/N?”

You sigh and shake your head, “No, it’s okay. And you can just call me, Y/N.”

“Oh, okay, Y/N.” Spencer mumbles and goes to pay attention to his mother’s instructions. Throughout class, he sees you looking sad, dejected. So while his mother is helping another student, he leans over, “Are you okay?”

You shrug, “Not really fond of going to class.”

“How come?”

“I don’t think it’s very interesting. I’d rather be learning how to defend myself with my father and the Royal Guards.”

“Well, if you’re going to be queen someday, it’s important for you to know this stuff. The geography of our kingdoms and surrounding kingdoms, the history of our country and your family, how to speak publically, appear proper, all of that stuff.”

You look at him a little confused, “You’re not even a court member’s child. Why are you here? It’s not important for you.”

He shrugged, “I like to learn new things, plus, I’ll be taking over teaching when my mom gets too old. So it’s better to learn stuff now rather than later. I remember all kinds of stuff.”

You hummed, looking down at the books in front of you, “Think you can help me then? Since all of this isn’t my kind of thing?”

“S-Sure.”

It was during class and the extra tutoring on the side that you and Spencer ended up getting close. From when you were seven year olds up to when you were eighteen, he’d been by your side. He’d read while you attended your fencing and archery lessons. He’d wait for you while you shadowed your parents during court meetings. He was there when your father died due to an unknowing heart attack. He was there for it all until...

“You’re leaving me?” you looked at him with saddened eyes.

“It’ll only be for a few years. I want to travel around and learn as much as I can before I come back and take my mother’s place as the court’s educator.” his hands rest on your shoulders and you look down in solemn, “It’s not forever, Y/N.”

“But we’re always together, Spence. You’ve been there for everything and-and-”

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks softly. You look up at him and he asks again, “Y/N, do you want me to stay? If you do, then I’ll stay.” you search his eyes and see that he’s completely serious. But you also see the yearning in his eyes, the need to explore and learn more.

“I do, but I won’t ask you to say. I can’t be selfish with you, Spencer.” you sigh and choke back a sob, “You’ll write to me, right?”

“Every chance I get,” he says with a smile and he pulls you into a hug, “I’ll miss you, Y/N.”

You hug him back with a sigh, “I’ll miss you too, Spencer.”

3 Years Later

Spencer leans against the carriage watching landscape and farmlands pass by. It’s been seen he’s left his home. In the three years he’s earned higher levels of education, learned so many new things, met so many new people. And then when his three years was up, he was going back home.

He was so anxious to be home again. In a good way and a bad way. Good because he gets to see his mother again, bad because, well, he’ll be seeing you again.

Within his first year abroad, you and Spencer exchanged letters. When the second year rolled around, the letters lessened. Eventually, the third year, he received no word from you. He didn’t know if something happened or if you just no longer wanted to keep contact. Either way, he didn’t send a letter back to you, not wanting to be a nuisance.

Growing up by your side, a love blossomed within Spencer. A love for you. Yes, you struggled with your lessons, but the more Spencer helped, the more you were able to get it. Eventually, you didn’t need him to tutor you anymore, but you still wanted him around. You two played with each other, read in the library. You tried to teach him fencing, but that didn’t go well. Despite your differences, you found friendship within one another. And for Spencer, he found love.

He was fourteen when he realized he loved you. You and he were in the gardens. He sat under a tree reading while you went around collecting flowers. He didn’t look up until he heard you giggling.

He saw the mischievous look in your eyes, “What are you up to?”

“Nothing. I have a gift for you.”

“What is it?” from behind your back, you pulled out a flower crown you’ve woven together of branches and flowers, “That’s for me?”

“Yup!” you bend down to rest it on his head, “There. You’re the king of the gardens now!” you giggled, sitting beside him and resting along the trunk of the tree.

Spencer looks to you and he feels his breath hitch when he sees that soft smile on your lips. You looked so pretty, so happy. He imagined leaning in and kissing you, but that wasn’t right. You’re the princess and he’s just the son of your teacher. You could never be.

From then on, despite his ever growing love for you, he kept his feelings hidden. And it broke his heart when he told you that he was leaving. It broke his heart even more when you stopped exchanging letters with him.

But all of that must be pushed aside. He has a job to do now.

__________

“This is so unnecessary,” you groan at the big poofy dress you were currently trying on. Your friends, Emily and Jennifer, or as she liked to be referred to as JJ, both snicker at you, “Tradition is tradition,” Emily jests and you roll your eyes.

“Once I’m queen, to Hell with tradition,” you grumble, causing your friends to snicker more, “No more poofy dressed or corsets forced upon me or any lady of the court!” Your bedroom doors swing open and you dive behind the changing screen with a yelp. You peek from behind and see Penelope rushing in.

“Oh, it’s you, Penelope,” you step out from behind the changing screen.

Penelope practically stumbles over to you, slightly out of breath, “I-I-You-You need to-” she stops, clutching her sides, “Hold on,” you, Emily, and JJ smirk at each other in amusement and Penelope straightens up, “You will not believe who I saw!”

“Do tell, my analyst friend.”

“Spencer Reid!” she exclaimed with a squeal.

Emily and JJ sat up, “Spencer Reid? As in our teacher’s son?” JJ asked.

“The Spencer who attended lessons with us and the one that Y/N was sooo in love with when we were children?”

You scowled at your friends, marching over to your bed and whacking them with your pillow, “I wasn’t in love with him!”

“Yes, you were!” the three women, proceeding to giggle at your frown.

“Whatever! We haven’t exchanged letters within a year and a half. I don’t owe him my presence and I don’t expect him wanting to see me.”

Your door begins to open again and, with another yelp, you dive back behind the changing screen.

You hear your mother’s voice as she greets the three ladies in your room and then she addresses you, “How does the gown fit, Y/N?”

You frown when you come out from behind the screen once more, “I hate it.”

“As did I when I was your age.”

“So why do I have to wear it?!”

Your mother sighs and shakes her head, “Y/N, this dress has been passed down for decades. Many women from the royal family wore this dress on their twenty-first birthday. It has a special significance in this family. And since you’re part of this family, you’re wearing it.”

You mumble out a, “Fine,” and your mother nods, “Perfect. Now change out of that and hang it. Also, someone would like to see you in the gardens. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Your mother leaves and once she’s gone, Emily, JJ, and Penelope help you out of your gown and corset.

_____________

Spencer has never felt so unsure about himself. Despite your lack of contact, he never once stopped thinking about you, never stopped caring about you. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have requested your presence at all. He slips your birthday present back into his satchel and he’s ready to leave, but he hears your voice and it makes him freeze.

“You requested to see me, sir?”

He turns around and he’s taken back. In the three years he’s been away, you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. The day that your day gown hangs around your body, the way that the sunlight hits your skin, it creates this glow about you that makes you seem...ethereal.

“S-Spencer,” you practically whisper.

He approaches you but still keeps some distance away, “Hi, um, Y/N-Princess-Princess Y/N?”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, “Y/N is still fine, Spencer.”

“Oh. Okay, um,” he opens his satchel and digs out your present, “Happy birthday.” he holds it out and you see that it’s a book with a ribbon of your favorite color wrapped around it.

You take it, undoing the ribbon and flipping open the book. You see Spencer handwriting and your name written out - Dear Y/N...

You flip through other pages, seeing your name at the header and he proceeds to tell you what he’s done throughout his day, what he’s learned. You see little doodles, pressed leaves and flowers within the pages.

You close the book and look back at Spencer, “What is this?”

“After our letters stopped, I-I don’t know-I felt the need to continue to write to you so I started a journal. Telling you everything about my time away from home.”

“Why?”

“...Because I missed you.”

“If you missed me, you shouldn’t have stopped writing me back.”

Spencer looks at you with confusion, “I didn’t stop writing you back. You stopped writing me back!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did! I sent two or three letters within weeks of each other and I never heard a word back! You just stopped replying!”

“Princess Y/N,” you look back to see Lady Strauss looking at you with a stern gaze, “You’re needed at court.”

You clench your jaw and look back to Spencer, “I need to go,” you push the book back to Spencer and pick up your gown, walking away from him. You pass Lady Strauss with a nod and she watches you head to the court room.

Lady Strauss then turns to Spencer, “Know your place, boy. She’s a princess. You’re a teacher. You’re from two different worlds. It’s not meant to be.” with that, the older woman leaves, leaving Spencer to feel confused and dejected.

____________

“The audacity of him!” you gasp when your handmaidens pull at the strings of your corset, “He really thinks that I stopped replying to his letters? Why would I? How could I? And erase our years of friendship together? I can’t believe him!” you gasp again and your maidens apologize, “It’s alright. These things are just....horrendous,” you grumble.

It took hours to get you ready for your birthday ball, but you were ready. You waited for everyone to enter the ballroom, standing by your mother’s side. This was supposed to be a happy event, but you just felt so sad and angry.

“Smile, darling. It’s a joyous occasion,” your mother mumbles before the doors swing open for you two to enter the ballroom. You put on a fake smile and entered the room, everyone bowing as you passed them.

“Everyone, please enjoy yourselves!” your mother announced. The band started up again and you immediately went for some wine.

“Already?” you hear as you gulp down an entire glass. You turn to see JJ and Emily smirking at you.

You roll your eyes, “I’ve had a long day.”

“So...how was seeing Spencer again?” JJ asked with a smirk and you narrowed your eyes at her, “What? Word travels fast!”

You took another glass of wine, gulping that down, “I swear, Jennifer, you’ll turn out to be likes these gossiping hags,” you muttered, causing Emily to burst into laughter.

“If it wasn’t your birthday, Y/N, I would pour wine over that hideous dress.”

“Please, do.”

You smile at your best friends as you hook your arms around theirs, “Now let’s go mingle, ladies.”

______________

After dinner, your mother stood up, wine glass in hand, “Everyone. I’d like to thank you again for coming tonight to celebrate my Y/N’s twenty-first birthday. Not only does this year signify you finally becoming a woman, Y/N, it also means that this will be the year that you will find a husband.” you nervously gulp as your mother raises her glass up, everyone, including you, doing the same.

“To Princess Y/N!”

Like earlier before, you gulped down your wine, excusing yourself for some air. You move to a balcony that overlooks the kingdom. The cool air refreshes your face. The music and festivities continue inside while you’re trying to calm yourself outside.

“Are you okay?” you jump, hearing a sudden voice.

You look over your shoulder to see Spencer. He’s in a white button-up with black slacks. It’s not as luxurious as what the other men are wearing inside, but you had admit he still looks good.

You look back out to the kingdom when you ask, “What are you doing here? I don’t recall you being invited.”

“My mom was invited and I’m her plus one,” he states as he joins you at the stone railing of the balcony. He lets out a deep breath and rests his drink onto the platform, “What happened to us, Y/N?”

“You stopped-”

“I didn’t. But apparently neither did you, so it begs the question: who stopped our letters from reaching each other?”

“Princess Y/N,” you both turn around to see Lady Strauss, “You should really be mingling with your guests inside instead of this peasant boy.”

Spencer’s jaw clenches and nose flares in anger. For the second time today, Lady Strauss has interrupted you both and has insulted Spencer. Again, you excuse yourself from Spencer’s presence.

“What did I say-”

“She looked upset. I was just checking on her, that’s it,” he sneers and moves to leave, but Lady Strauss grabs him tightly by the wrist, “Stay away from her, boy. You can never be together. What do you have to offer her? A sickly mother and an annoying array of knowledge? You have nothing to provide for a princess. So whatever silly feelings you had for her growing up, get rid of them,” she sneers and let’s go of his wrist.

Spencer rubs his wrist as he goes back to his mother. How does Lady Strauss know so much about him?

________________

Spencer allowed his mother to continue teaching until the end of the month. In the meantime, he’d be refreshing up on information in another part of the library, while also doing a secret project on the side. The librarian and historical analyst, Penelope, aided him whenever he needed. Penelope had a certain set of skills that were very helpful on finding certain information.

“So what Sir Derek from the Royal Guards told me that he heard from Lady Emily that she heard from Lady JJ that she-”

“Penelope-”

“Right! So, Strauss assigned some men to interfere with your letters. According to whoever our sources may be, she didn’t like how you two got very close, thus ruining her plans of getting our dearest princess wedded to her son.”

“It was her behind this all along. That-That-That hag! Because of her, I’ve lost my friendship with Y/N and now I may never get to tell her how I really feel!”

“Well, my knowledgeable friend, our dear princess will be coming in soon to read to some of the court’s children. You can tell her then!”

Spencer liked the idea but he shook his head, “I can’t. Despite my anger towards Lady Strauss, she’s right. Y/N and I are from two different worlds. If she did return my affections and we did end up together, I’m to be king alongside her. I’m not king material, Penelope.”

The analyst shrugged, “You’re kind, loyal, caring, logical, strategic. Sounds like a king to me.”

“But I can’t protect the kingdom if need be. I never found interest in swordfighting or archery.”

“Y/N does, so that means you don’t need to worry about that.”

“But still Y/N. I’m...I’m not enough.”

“Let me decide on that,” Spencer heard your voice and looked up to see you standing there some distance away.

“Y/N!” he stood up abruptly, “I-uh-”

“Uuuuhhh coming!” Penelope cried out and scrambled away from the two of you.

You slowly approached him and he gulped, “H-How much of that did you hear?”

“Which part? The part about Lady Strauss being a scheming hag? Or the part about you having affections for me and being afraid that I won’t return the sentiment?”

“Y/N-”

“I was so heartbroken when your letters stopped coming in. I thought-I thought you no longer wanted to speak to me, that you found comfort in someone else. I loved you and I felt my heart shatter when I didn’t hear a peep from you. And now it turns out that one of my mother’s advisors was behind my heartbreak and not you. It’s...overwhelming.”

“You loved me?” Spencer asked in disbelief and you nodded, “I thought it was obvious, honestly. How I always wanted to spend time you, how I barely entertained being the presence of other boys.”

“I thought it was because we were best.”

“No, it was because I loved you. And seeing you again on my birthday, despite me being upset with you, everything came rushing back. I don’t think I ever really stopped loving you, Spencer.”

“Neither did I,” he breathed out, hands coming up to cup your face, “May I-May I kiss you?”

“Please,” you whispered, leaning in for your lips to meet his. The kiss was soft and gentle and everything you always imagined a first kiss to be.

When you both pull away for air, you’re both smiling and chuckling, relishing the feeling of being in each other’s arms.

“Marry me,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“We’ve loved each other since we were children. And I can’t promise that I will be a good king, but I’m willing to learn to be, as long as you’re by my side.”

“Do you mean it?” you ask with such elatedness.

He nods, “Yes. So, will you?”

“Yes! Oh god, yes, I will marry you!” you kiss him again, but pull back with a gasp, “What will my mother say?”

“She will say that you have her blessing,” you see your mother standing there beside a nervous Penelope.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Y/N. She was looking for you and she’s the queen and I didn’t think you two would be-well-”

You chuckle out, “It’s okay, Penelope.”

Your mother walks towards the both of you, hands clasped in front of her, “I always knew you two were meant for each other, ever since you were children. It doesn’t surprise me that you love each other and want to be with one another.” she has a fond smile on her face as she glances down at your intertwined hands.

“You really give us your blessing, mother? Even if Spencer isn’t part of the court?”

“Well, you always said that some traditions need to die out. Might as well start now,” she smiles widely and you throw your arms around her, whispering, “Thank you.”

_______________

Months later into the year, you’re standing beside Spencer wearing a beautiful red and gold dress while he stands before you wearing the most regal uniform you’ve ever seen. Your wedding, a month previous to this, was a beautiful one filled with love, tears, and kisses.

The officiant holds out the crown above you, “I now pronounce you Queen Y/N and King Spencer. Long live the king and queen!”

With crowns donning your hands, you and Spencer stand, hand in hand, while everyone proclaims, “Long live the king and queen!”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds au #royalty au

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bat-losers-inc · 3 years

Text

Song of Cassandra: Chapter 2

Warnings: Family Drama, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Baggage, and Child Neglect

Summary: What is Batman without a Robin? Everyone in the family makes jokes about the ‘dead robins club’, but Dick and Jason really do have measures set in place for the day Bruce loses sight of what’s really important. They won’t let Bruce sacrifice another Robin for the cause, even if that means separating Robin from Batman for good.

Pairings: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

_____________________________________

Half a year later saw them performing a feat of brotherly bonding he’d never imagined possible: robbing Penguin together.

They’d left the Tricorner district behind in a streak of burnt rubber and a barrage of gunfire and ditched the getaway van in Chinatown at the first available 24-hour parking facility on the other side of the bridge. It was slower going on foot, but Chinatown’s busy night scene, combined with the heavy triad presence in this district, would make Penguin’s men hesitate before going in guns blazing. That was all the time they needed to slip away unseen.

Now, as they emerged from the darkness of the parking deck, Dick yanked the balaclava off his head. He grunted something unintelligible as he shouldered his way through the cluster of pedestrians that crowded the sidewalk.

“What?” asked Jason, pulling his own half-mask down from around his neck and jogging to catch up.

“I said, you’re a real bastard. You promised me this was would be easy!”

Jason glanced at him. He wanted to be sympathetic but he just couldn’t when Dick was glaring at him with that staticky mop of hair. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice when he replied, “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t leave a paper trail! This is about as easy as stealing from Penguin’s bagman gets.”

In truth, he thought they were complaining just for the sake of complaining. After six months they both knew that pulling off this heist was less a matter of choice and more a matter of necessity. Failure meant returning to the storage locker Dick had procured outside of Port Adams and staring down their measly little bat-trust-fund: six safehouses, fifteen rolls of Kevlar fabric, a small arsenal, twenty-seven contacts typed into a Word document, and $5,025 split five ways. But what use would kevlar suits be if their siblings couldn’t afford to keep a roof over their heads? No, without the cash it was worth fuck-all.

Dick looked like he wanted to argue the point further but at that moment a convoy of police vehicles shot past them, sirens wailing and horns blaring loud enough to deafen a person. No doubt by now Penguin’s men had informed their boss about the botched exchange and pinned the blame on their nearest rivals, the Ghost Dragons. If that was the case, then Chinatown was a powder keg ready to explode into a minor gang war at any moment.

A flash of light reflected off the windows of a nearby apartment building. Jason stepped in between two parked cars to get a better look and found himself staring up at the cloud-heavy night sky illuminated in the glow of the bat signal.

He gripped the heavy duffel bag full of stolen cash closer to his chest like he expected Gotham’s dark knight to swoop down at any moment and tear it from his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dick tugged at his arm. “time to go.”

Batman was on the way and like the best of Gotham’s criminals, Jason and Dick made themselves scarce.

It took nearly forty minutes and three subway lines to make their way back to the self-storage facility. By then a pale glow had crept up from the horizon and spread across the water. Around them, the street lights began to shut off one after another. In the distance, Jason could just make out a tugboat as it pushed a barge out towards the open ocean.

By the time Dick pulled the storage locker door down behind them, they were tired-eyed and footsore.

Jason threw the duffel bag onto a table and propped himself against it as he fished one-handed under his t-shirt to undo the straps of his protective vest. He sighed in relief as the weight lifted off his shoulders. “How the hell did you stand wearing these things when you were on the force? Even with the undershirt, the chaffing is god-awful.”

“You get used to it,” Dick replied, making quick work of removing his own gear.

Jason doubted it but he was too tired to argue his point further. Instead, he found the six-pack that he’d stashed under the table earlier that day and snapped off a can.

“Heads up,” he called, as he pitched a can underhand to Dick who caught it against his chest.

Dick held it up for inspection. “Warm beer. What I’ve always wanted.”

“Oh shut up and celebrate with me, you asshole.”

He extended his arm across the table. Dick knocked beer cans with him and completely failed at hiding the shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though god bless him he tried. “Cheers.”

Jason watched him crack open the top and chuckled as he hurriedly slurped at the foam that erupted over the rim. He knew that this morally gray lifestyle didn’t come easy to Dick but he couldn’t deny that he was happy he had stuck around with him for this long. He didn’t dare to say it out loud, but they actually made good partners.

He took a long drink from his own beer can before putting it aside. “Ok, come on. The faster we count this cash the sooner we can go to bed.”

Jason upturned the duffel bags, sending stacks of cash sliding out onto the metal tabletop while Dick pulled the banknote counter from the corner and lugged the machine up next to the pile. Together they started slipping the currency bands loose and feeding the stacks of cash into the machine, watching eagerly as the sum continued to tick upwards.

“Soo…” Jason drummed his thumbs on the table as the numbers continued to flash on the small screen, “How are things going with you and Babs?”

“What?” Dick’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m a little curious about what she thinks you do when you’re out late all the time… also, I’m bored.”

“You’re weird, is what you are.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously? We’ve only spent the past six months together moonlighting as vigilante survivalists and I can’t ask one time how your love life is going.”

“No, no. Sorry, you’re right.” Dick held up a hand. “I told her I’ve been helping you out with an undercover case for a couple of months now. Said I owed you a favor.”

Jason grinned at him. “Well, that’s not a lie. Quite a few actually, but who’s counting.”

Dick punched him in the shoulder. “Actually, I should call her. Reassure her you didn’t get me killed before she calls in a search party.”

Jason chuckled and went back to the task of feeding bills into the machine as Dick rummaged through the backpack and fished out his phone.

“Hey, uhh...”

Jason glanced up and took in Dick’s furrowed expression as he stared down at his phone. He put down the stack of cash he was holding. “What’s the matter?”

“Something happened while we were out. I — shit I don’t know how to explain it but I’ve got like 15 missed messages from Barbara and Alfred. Did you bring your phone with you?”

Jason grabbed his backpack where his own phone was stashed and opened it to find a similar mass of missed calls and incoherently excited messages cluttering the screen. Some of the numbers he recognized, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred were all saved in his phone, but a few were from unknown senders. If he had to venture some guesses he’d say Cass, Duke… maybe Harper? Fuck, he never realized this many bat brats had his number. “I don’t get it… something about Tim? What about hell?”

“I’m calling Babs.”

Jason was aware of how uncomfortably loud their breathing sounded in the small storage locker as they stood around the table waiting for Dick’s call to connect.

“Dick?” Barbara’s voice asked loudly through the speaker. “Thank God! Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling you.”

“Sorry, undercover mission, remember? What’s the big emergency? I didn’t get anything from Bruce.”

“You need to get back to the manor. Bruce found Tim!”

That didn’t make any sense. “What? You mean Bruce found Tim’s remains?”

Jason smacked his arm. “His remains? Are you fucking serious? What remains could Bruce possibly find after a death like that?”

“I don’t know, bone fragments—”

Dick’s argument sounded flimsy the moment it left his mouth and they both knew it. Jason just really hated to be the one who had to say it.

“If the heat from that explosion didn’t finish him off entirely then the pounding impact of like a hundred thousand missiles definitely did in whatever remains might have been left.”

“Guys—” called Babs.

“Oh, so you’re a forensic scientist now? You don’t know that—“

“Yes, I do!” He slammed a hand down on the table, his anger flaring. He really couldn’t do this backslide back into denial with Dick again. “There’s a reason we buried an empty box. Tim is literally dust in the wind.”

“Jesus Christ!” Barbara’s voice erupted loudly through the speakerphone. “Kill it with the broody back and forth already and actually listen to me, would you? I’m not talking about bone fragments or anything like that. I’m saying Bruce found Tim. Tim! He’s alive.”

Jason met Dick’s eyes over the phone, confusion written as starkly across Dick’s face as it must have been on his own. “What? I— What?”

“I really don’t understand it all myself. But Tim said he’s been held captive by Mr. Oz in another dimension for this whole time. Can you believe it? All this time we thought he was dead and...”

Jason didn’t catch that last bit. He was too busy bent over the table as all the blood rushed to his head.

He was gonna hurl. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

They’d all given up on the hope of Tim miraculously surviving a long time ago and this sudden news felt like he was experiencing emotional whiplash. This had to be some kind of sick joke or a trick... a doppelganger sent by the newest enemy on the rise against Batman.

Dick’s thoughts were apparently spiraling in the same direction as his own for he ran a hand roughly across his mouth and asked, “You saw him yourself? You’re sure it’s him, our Tim?”

But it wasn’t a big cosmic joke. As much as Jason couldn’t believe it, it wasn’t and that was made clear with every new piece of information Babs gave them.

“Yes, he was standing right in front of me only an hour ago — crying and hugging everyone.”

Dick turned to look at Jason, but he was already rounding the table and yanking Dick into a bruising hug.

“He’s alive,” Dick cried into the shoulder of his t-shirt. His voice overflowed with the most contagiously hysterical mixture of joy. Jason laughed through his own tears. “You bet your ass he is!”

He couldn’t explain what had come over him. He and Dick had never really been close — and they definitely weren’t huggers — but the last few months had been so full of this gnawing air of anxiety — their family continuing to fracture, the resources running dry — that the full realization was starting to hit them that this plan might have been formed too late to do any real good. They could feel the clock running out and they were both expecting the other shoe to drop any day now but then out of the blue… this.

Dick pushed away from him suddenly and wiped at his eyes.

“Uh…” he tried to clear his throat. “We, uh, we should get back to the cave and go see him for ourselves. Babs, he still there, right?”

“Yeah, Bruce is debriefing him.”

And just like that, Jason’s joy seized painfully in his chest. It hurt the way a seatbelt does in a car crash, knocking the air out of your lungs and bringing you up short. He watched Dick rush around him, grabbing up his belongings in a disorganized fashion.

“Dick, I can’t come with you.”

“What?” Dick asked, breathless. He turned back from the door. “Yes, you can. C’mon, get your stuff, the money can wait till tomorrow.”

Jason shook his head. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to explain this to him without looking like the one asshole member of this family who didn’t want to visit his little brother recently brought back from the dead.

Dick paused, his hand dropping from the door handle. “What? Because of what happened between you and Bruce?”

I was a fool for ever believing in you. Even now Bruce’s words lingered at the back of his head. An invisible brand that still held its heat.

“Jason, I know what went down between you and Bruce was… heavy, to say the least, but you’re still family. You do know that, right? You’re still my family and if you want to see Tim, Bruce can do fuck-all to stop it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason could only huff a sad laugh at that because God did he want to believe that too, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Tim would always be his family, but Bruce… he’d crossed a point of no return with Bruce on the night that the fortress was destroyed. The violence of his assault had done more than break a few bones— it had finally shattered that last shred of trust he’d stupidly harbored in him that when push came to shove Bruce would value the son over the soldier. I broke his rules for the last time and now he sees me as nothing more than an unredeemable criminal that escaped Batman’s justice. One of his little soldiers gone AWOL.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… I can’t face him yet— I—” he trailed off. He’d been laying low since his return to Gotham, but even still Jason thought the only reason he’d survived this long was because Bruce was too consumed with Tim’s death to spend a spare thought on him. He wasn’t ready to walk into that cave tonight and find out what would happen now that Tim was back in the picture and Bruce’s anger focused back on him.

It felt like a horrible selfish thing to think about saving his own skin when his little brother had come back from the dead, but as his eyes lingered at the collection of items piled around the storage locker he was reminded that no one was going to do it for him. After all, that was how this plan had all started right? Someone had to be the one to craft the safety net for the next Robin to fall of Batman’s mighty pedestal.

“You should go. Tell Tim I’m glad he inherited my cockroach-like ability to not stay dead.”

“Jason…” Dick twisted the jacket he held in his hands.

“Go.” It came out sharper than he’d intended, despite his best efforts to push his emotions down. He was quick to try to smooth it over with a tight smile that he knew fooled neither of them. “I’ll stop by his apartment tomorrow once all the hype has died down. Besides, someone needs to finish up here.”

He nodded at the banknote counter.

The one thing he’d always valued about Dick, more than his caring nature, was that he knew when to stop pushing an issue.

“Alright,” Dick shifted his grip on his jacket again. His phone was chiming once more in the back pocket of his jeans. No doubt another family member asking where he was. “I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.”

“Sure.”

After the door to the storage locker fell shut, Jason let his gaze travel around the room again. So Tim was back, alive and well as far as any of them were concerned. A nagging part of Jason’s mind wondered worriedly if gaining him back would slowly undo all the plans they had made together. Would Dick continue to worry about the next crisis to befall their little family or would Tim’s return renew his neverending faith in the impossible until he eventually forgot what it was that drove him to his breaking point?

Jason picked up another stack of banknotes and slid it into the machine. As the numbers continued to rise once more he did his best to prepare himself for the idea that he would be alone in this mission once more. Another bitter pill to swallow but he couldn’t do it. It lodged itself raw and unpleasant at the back of his throat.

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smarchit · 3 years

Text

Look Around, Look around pt 2

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse

Notes: I’m so happy you all enjoyed this so far! I still have a taglist for this, please let me know if you want added!

It had been three and a half weeks since the Mandalorian dropped you off on the little planet called Sorgan.

You had been immediately taken into the fold by the villagers and by the children that ran and played through the ankle deep waters of the farms.

Omera, a friend of both Cara and the Mandalorian, took you into her home. She had provided some old dresses that she wore when she was pregnant with her daughter, Winta.

"They're a bit too big on you now," she said almost apologetically, "Give it time. You'll be safe here."

On the twenty-third day in the village, you woke with the sun and with the squawking of birds in the surrounding trees. The air was humid already and a light mist hung low on the ground in your small room.

You scrubbed yourself clean in the small basin and inspected yourself in the grimy mirror. In the past few weeks, you had gained enough weight that now you could tell you were carrying a child. Your stomach had grown with life, and while you hated the way your skin stretched, Omera was there to offer kind words of encouragement.

Right where you should be for this time, Omera had said with a fond smile a few nights ago as she watched you help with dinner. You're even getting a glow. I bet you're having a girl.

You ran a gentle hand over your rounded belly and smiled a bit in spite of the slight tingle of fear that ran in currents under your skin. It had been a challenge, getting yourself comfortable enough to let these kind people into your heart. They had opened theirs to you with no second thoughts and you often teared up at their simple gestures of kindness.

You pulled the simple shift dress over your head and tied the rope belt so it rested above the soft curve of your belly. Your morning sickness had subsided quite a bit as well, something that Omera took great pride in, as she had made you drink a simple grass tea that she said helped her.

There was a gentle knock at your bedroom door and it opened a bit to allow large brown eyes to peak through the crack.

Winta smiled at you when you greeted her and nudged the door open with her shoulder. She carried a small woven reed tray, laden with soup, bread, and a small cup of tea.

"Mommy made breakfast before she went out," she said softly.

"Thank you," you said softly, putting a hand on the top of her head.

The child beamed up at you and then bounded off to play. You heard the front door shut gently as she started her day.

Once you finished your breakfast, you swept your room and tidied the dishes in the basin. You didn't mind helping Omera, though she always insisted you didn't have to. It kept you occupied.

After you finished your self-imposed chores, you tied your hair back in a simple braid and took a large brown basket in one hand and a shearing knife in the other. You headed out to the flat marsh farm and sat down at one closest to Omera's house.

You spotted Cara and waved as you set up your small work area. She stood against a fence post, legs crossed over one another, her blaster held loosely in her arms. She nodded in your direction and gave a gentle wave.

Omera was currently knee-deep in murky water, her skirt tied off around her thighs as she tended to the krill.

You liked it here. The warm weather agreed with you. It reminded you of the planet you grew up on.

The children were working alongside their parents, or working as well as children could anyways. They took turns flinging mud and rocks at one another between their parents' scoldings.

You smiled and rubbed a hand across your belly. "How 'bout it, little one?" you asked, turning your head down to talk to your growing stomach, "Think we could live here?"

A few hours passed like this, the humidity finally dying off mid morning. A gentle breeze now lifted the short hairs that framed your face and cooled the sweat under your arms as you worked the reeds in your lap into mats and the humble beginnings of baskets.

It hadn't taken you long to learn how to weave, a few days of practice and you were getting there. The older ladies in the village were grateful for the help and you enjoyed the busy work. It blistered your fingers though. They would crack and bleed at night and often keep you up until early morning. But you never felt so rested.

Shortly after the noon break, a glint above the trees on the horizon caught everyone's attention. Excited chatter soon displaced the otherwise relatively quiet workday as the vessel grew nearer.

Your heart pounded in your throat as the ship came into view. The Mandalorian had returned, and with it, so did your anxiety. Did he come to finally take you back home? Give you a few days of freedom and then take it away from you? You didn't think that Mandalorians were so cruel as to string their victims along and torture them like this.

Your stomach did flip flops as you shakily got to your feet. Resigning yourself to what was yet to come, you cleaned your hands off on your dress and stood with your head down and hands clasped, as if ashamed.

"Come on!" Winta called to you, a huge grin spread across her face, lit up with joy and wide enough to expose missing baby teeth. "He's here! Mando's back!"

Everyone seemed so excited, so why were you filled with dread?

Your thoughts turned to the way he shifted when you told him that you were pregnant. How his shoulders squared and his back stiffened. Were his people that disgusted by the mere act of childbearing? Was it vulgar to them? He wasn't disgusted by the thought of children, you figured, as he seemed to care for his own adopted little one. But then what caused him to bring you here?

"Hey," Cara murmured, startling you from your thoughts. "Everything alright in there?"

You nodded and smiled, clearing away the last of your obtrusive thoughts. If these people trusted him, could he be that bad? You trusted the farmers, so you supposed by association, you trusted him, however hesitantly.

"I can't read you," she said with a small laugh, "You're harder to read than he is even with the bucket on his head."

You gave a mirthless laugh and shook your head as you drew your arms around yourself. A soft breeze drifted through the clearing and you shivered in spite of yourself.

"You don't have to worry about him," she continued, adjusting her weight to the other foot. "He's not going to take you back. Not now, not when you have that little one. That's not who he is."

You looked up at her, teary eyed. After all this time, could it really be so simple as getting the right bounty hunter on your trail? One full of sympathy and compassion for children?

"I mean it. He may seem like he's uncaring, but he's a softy under that armor," Cara soothed. "Trust me. I've seen him shed tears over that kid of his."

"I never cried," came a familiar voice from behind you.

Cara turned and laughed as he walked over to us. "You're late."

"By a week. I got held up," he said softly. He then turned his attention to you. You couldn't see, but you knew he was giving you a once over, assessing how you looked. It made you feel small and vulnerable, but there was no negativity attached to it like there had been when your husband used to do it when he scrutinized your appearance.

"You look good," he said softly, patting your arm slightly. He hesitated for a moment and then let his arm drop to his hip. "Sorgan looks good on you."

You smiled a bit and cast your eyes down to the ground. You picked at a blister on your thumb and watched a drop of blood well up to the surface. You squeezed it, letting the dull ache distract you from the anxiety clawing away at your insides. Your stomach lurched as he reached out to touch you again and you took a step back instinctively.

He slowed his movement and instead of going for your face like you assumed he was going to, he placed a heavy, solid hand on your shoulder.

"You look healthier too," he said quietly. He kept his hand there until you shifted uncomfortably.

"Is that what he wanted?" you asked, unable to stop yourself from asking what you so desperately wanted to know. "To have me healthy for his child?"

"He doesn't know where you are," the Mandalorian said firmly. "Okay? So stop that right now. No idea."

You swallowed thickly and crossed an arm over your belly in a small act of protection.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, "Alone?" The Mandalorian glanced at Cara who took a few steps back in compliance, but kept a steady eye on you both. She didn't seem alert or on edge. She almost seemed relaxed. Her hip was cocked to one side and she lazily watched the birds fly overhead.

"I have something for you," he said quietly. He slowly reached into his bag with one hand, keeping the other where you could see it.

When he took his hand from the bag, there was a scroll tied with a purple ribbon in his fist.

You felt like throwing up. Bile rose in your throat and you took a step back from him both out of fear of what he had done and at the fear of throwing up on him.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, his voice low and even as he held up a hand, "It's okay. I want you to read it."

Hesitantly, you reached out your hand as he presented the scroll to you. With your fingers shaking so badly you could barely undo the wax seal on the scroll, you watched him warily for any sign of movement. He was watching you.

Finally, you managed to get the ribbon untied and the wax popped off in your hand. You unfurled it and skimmed the letter quickly - and then went back and read it a second, a third time.

"I... What?" you whispered, nervously looking up at him. "What is this? Is this for real?"

"It is," he said quietly. "Didn't take much for him to sign them either." He shook his head at the thought.

You read the letter again quickly to make sure it was real. Divorce papers. Signed by your now ex-husband. Maker, what did the Mandalorian do?

"Do you trust me now?" he asked, his voice a little softer.

You nodded slowly and took a step towards him. He looked a little startled if his body language was anything to go off of when you wrapped your arms around his torso.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. "Thank you so much."

He sighed softly, the sound crackling through the monitor, but he put a gentle hand on your back.

"Uh, you're welcome," he stammered. He put his hands on your shoulders and separated you before he walked away to where the others were watching from afar.

Cara shook her head. "Told you. Softie."

You smiled and watched him as he was greeted by the villagers. His armor glinted in the midday sun and to them, he must seem like a hero. You knew that to be true though.

***

That night as the bonfire ran hot through the village, you sat on an old piece of machinery, warming your toes in the low light. The Mandalorian's child, the foundling, as he had called it, rested comfortably in your lap. He seemed to like to cuddle up to your belly, as his three little fingers were bunched in the fabric of your dress over your stomach. He cooed and babbled up at you and you talked back to him as if he could understand you.

The Mandalorian eventually found his way over to where you sat, and he sat down on the ground at your feet. He leaned back against the machinery and folded his hands in his lap.

"Kid likes you," he said, angling his helmet up so he could talk to you. "I mean, he likes everyone, sometimes a little too much, but he really seems to like you."

You smiled and looked down at the now sleeping infant. You could almost picture holding your own baby like this in a few months.

"Babies are easy to care for. Love them and they love you right back," you said, stroking his ear, "No questions asked. You don't have to be perfect at it."

"You're going to make a great mother," he said softly. "I mean -- If you're... You know, planning on keeping it."

You looked down at the Mandalorian, slightly surprised. "I am going to keep it."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you."

You bit your lip and then gently lowered yourself to the ground beside him, being careful not to jostle the sleeping baby or your own stomach around too much.

He looked a little surprised as you got comfortable. He watched your bare toes dig into the grass and watched the way your hands smoothed down the baby's swaddle.

"I know," you said after a minute.

"Kids need a someone to love them," he said so softly you wondered if you had even heard him. "They depend on the people who love them."

You didn't reply to that. You didnt even know how. The silence hung heavy around you.

"Are you going to stay here?" he asked after a minute, looking back at the fire.

You shrugged. "It's nice here. But I've always wanted to go exploring. See the galaxy. Besides," you said, making a small face. "I worry I'm going to wake up one day and this kid decides that we're going to have a severe aversion to the smell of krill and mud. And then were will I be?"

The Mandalorian laughed softly and shook his head. The sound made your heart swell.

"Could always come with me," he offered, raising his one shoulder in a half shrug. "Find you a nice place to live. Set you up in a house."

"What would I do for money?" you hummed.

The Mandalorian went quiet. He reached beside him and picked up a little circle mat you had been working on.

"Heard you aren't bad at weaving," he teased, shaking the mat in your direction.

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

"Inara thinks my rows are uneven," you said. "I couldn't sell them for anything according to her."

The Mandalorian huffed. "Then you come with me anyway. Maybe we find you a master mat weaver or something."

You both laughed, though there was a part of you that wondered if he meant it. Could he really be offering to take you on a tour of the galaxy? A short tour, anyway. What star systems could you see in the short period of time before you had your own little moon revolving around you?

"Well let's go find me a master weaver," you said.

"It'll be dangerous," he said. "Do you even know how to hold a blaster?"

"By holding it, you mean to ask if I know not to look into the business end? Yes, Omera and Cara have been teaching me in the evenings."

"Any good?" he asked, leaning towards you.

"Not bad," you hummed with a noncommittal shrug. "Slightly better than my weaving."

"Then we can leave in the morning. Should get some sleep."

You nodded and handed him the baby as you struggled to get to your feet.

"You too," you said quietly as you made your way to Omera's hut. Your heart was racing as you got ready for bed. That night, you slept better than you had in months.

TAGLIST - ask to be tagged!: @miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #no use of y/n

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

Text

Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Epilogue

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 4.1k

A/N: This will be Vanessa’s pov

Masterlist // Previous chapter //

9 years later

Name: Vanessa Tran-Cavill

Subject: English

Teacher: Mrs. Allen

Grade: 100/100 — Vanessa, you are such a talented writer. You raised the bar for every other essay I’m going to read in my entire career left as an English teacher. You have such a wonderful role model in your life. Please cherish your family for the rest of your life!

The one who taught me everything - an essay about Olivia Tran-Cavill, the greatest inspiration for me.

I was raised by the toughest woman alive. I know that a lot of kids say that about their mom, but allow me to explain why Olivia Tran-Cavill is the toughest woman I know in my life.

Her boyfriend left her when she told him she was pregnant with me, her own family (meaning her parents and her two brothers) practically disowned her, and on top of that she just started a job as a freshly minted veterinarian.

If I were in her shoes, I’d be terrified, struck by multiple breakdowns on a daily basis, but not my mom. She raised me all by herself, barely having a break or a moment of her own. I was her number one priority. She told me to be kind, to be honest and polite: personality traits that provide me with the best today and for all the days to come in the future.

There was only one thing that I desperately wanted and that was a family. I wanted a dad like the kids in my class. I wanted grandparents. I wanted aunts and uncles. I wanted to have little siblings, because I knew that I would be a great big sister.

Unfortunately that wasn’t in the stars for me and my mom told me that. It takes a brave woman to say to her young child: ‘Your real dad doesn’t want you. Your grandparents kicked me out the second they found out I was pregnant with you. Your uncles never spoke to me again.’

It hurt obviously. There were people walking around here that shared DNA with me, that were family, but they made it pretty clear that they didn’t want me nor my mother. To this day they still haven’t reached out and they honestly don’t know what they are missing out on. At least, that is what my mom always tells me.

But my mom always told me that family wasn’t all about sharing DNA, it was about finding people that you want in your life. You can choose who your family is.

Despite that wonderful piece of advice that I definitely took to heart, I continued to make her a drawing every single day. My mom and I inside our house and outside there is a man with a dog, waiting to be allowed into our life.

Waiting to become a dad.

My dad.

One day my mom was on call and had to go to the clinic at night. She took me with her and that’s the day we met Henry and his dog Kal. Little did we all know that at that exact moment, our lives drastically changed.

Henry was more of a dad in the first hour that I had met him, then my real dad was in my entire life. For the first time in life, I had a dad figure. A man who cared not only about me, but also about my mom.

Being with Henry never drastically changed my mom. She was still the bad ass mom I always had, but it did softened her up. It made her relaxed. Henry gave her what she deserved all those years of raising me by herself. Letting someone take care of her too. There is only so much a six year old could give back to a powerhouse like her mom, but there is so much more a man like Henry Cavill can give her.

He provided us with a family. A grandma, a granddad and four lovely uncles.

And for that I have to thank my mom. She allowed Henry into her life, thus into my life and gave us six amazing Cavill family members, who cared about us and loved us up to this day.

Now, I admire her every single day. The way she takes care of not only me, but also my three sisters, is something I feel like I can never live up to. Whenever some of us walk into the room, her face lights up and she drops everything to give us her full attention.

And for that I am so incredibly thankful. She taught me so much. How to love, how to catch more flies with honey than with vinegar and she taught me that it is okay to be scared, but that it should never stop you from pursuing what you want to achieve.

I know my mom was scared when she got pregnant and was dropped by all the people she thought she could trust and rely on, but it never stopped her from pursuing what she wanted: to be a great mother and an excellent veterinarian. Knowing that, I’m going to try to be the best version of myself, though I know damn well that I can never be as amazing as her.

For me, my mom is the most influential person in my life and I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

≫≫≪≪

With my freshly graded essay, I walk towards my locker. This is such a great way to end the week. I worked my ass off on this essay and the fact that mrs. Allen gave me the full hundred out of hundred points is unbelievable. She never gives people higher than ninety points probably. I feel like I’m the first student in her entire career to score the highest grade possible.

‘There she is.’ I look up to see Trey walking up to me, already undoing his tie. He always tells me that he hates that thing with a passion and while I suggest he uses a clip on tie (like half the school does), he keeps on wearing the regular one. I think it’s so he can continue to bitch about it. ‘You’re going to Jimmy’s party tonight, right?’

I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, Trey, I can’t. I have plans with my family.’

‘The entire family?’ he asks, as he leans against the row of lockers besides mine.

‘Yes, the entire family.’

‘And there is absolutely no change at all that you can ditch them?’

I can’t stop my chuckle. Usually I go out on Friday, especially if Trey invites me, but right now I really can’t go. ‘It’s important,’ I say to him. I see him fake pouting, causing me to roll my eyes. ‘Come on, don’t pout. Jimmy has parties every two weeks. I’ll be at the next one.’

Trey grins. ‘I’ll hold you to that, V. Tell your mom I said hi and also say that to your dad, because I’m afraid he’ll kick my ass next time he sees me. Oh, and say hi to your sisters, will you?’

A few weeks ago Trey came over to my place, because we were going to do algebra homework together (and because we wanted to spend time together). Dad was ready to embarrass the shit out of me (I think he has been waiting for this moment since he adopted me to be honest—he seemed to well prepared), but mom swooped right in and Trey felt instantly at ease. Ever since then, he asks me how she is doing when I see him at school.

I know it’s tough for Trey. He wasn’t raised with a mother, since she passed away during his birth, but her three brothers raised him. He loves them dearly and because of that, he can handle my dad’s antics just fine. However it’s nice for him to have a motherly figure in his life, since his uncles never dated (they would get along well with my uncles) and my mom is the right person for that.

After that algebra homework moment we had, he has been coming over a lot more often and just a few days ago, I saw him giving my mom a hug. When I asked her about it, she told me that he always likes it when he is here and it turns out, that he told her all about growing up with only his uncles and how she feels like a mom figure to him. I like how he is welcomed into my family. My sisters are absolutely smitten with him and they love it when I bring him over, since they wished I was a boy, so they could have a brother.

It’s always nice to know that your sisters love you for who you are.

‘You know, you can come over too,’ I say, not wanting Trey to leave. ‘If you want to of course.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks, but he already has a telling smile on his face. ‘I just don’t want to intrude an important event.’

‘You won’t,’ I laugh. ‘It’s been ten years since my dad officially adopted me. We’re going to celebrate at my grandparents’ place. My uncles will be there, my aunt, nephews and my sisters.’

Trey smiles. ‘Well, if you invite me.’

I close my locker and say: ‘We are going to celebrate this whole weekend, but you can only stay today if you want to, so you won’t miss Jimmy’s party.’

‘I don’t really care about Jimmy’s party,’ Trey admits. ‘I only wanted to spend time with you.’

It’s obvious that we have a crush on each other, it’s just that I’m afraid of committing. He doesn’t seem to mind though, that pull my hand back when he wants to hold it and that we haven’t kissed, though we’ve been on a few dates.

‘So,’ Trey says as we walk out of the school, ‘your dad adopted you ten years ago.’

I nod. ‘Yeah, he made me an official Cavill from that day. If I’m being completely honest, I never thought I’d have a dad. I always thought that it was going to be me, my mom and my pleads for a dad. For such a long time I thought it was enough, though deep down I wanted a dad, but sometimes it’s just not meant for everyone, right?’

Trey nods. ‘Right.’

‘I still remember the day we met him and Kal,’ I say. ‘And I just knew that I wanted that man as my father. I was six and though I need saw my mom with a man, I just knew that they were meant for each other, you know. We were standing around the examination table, because Kal was sick and I thought to myself that this was the man that not only I wanted in my life, but my mom needed as well.’

Trey’s fingers brush against mine and I hold onto his hand, for the first time in the weeks that we are circling around each other.

I think back to the times where it was just my mom and I. She was so strong for all those years of raising me, telling me the painful truth about my biological dad, my grandparents and uncles from her side of the family, arranging all different sorts of shifts at the animal clinic and bringing me to work when necessary.

I admire my mother and the way she carefully picked out a man that was worthy of becoming my dad, of adopting me and giving me his last name. I had been Vanessa Tran for so many years, but becoming Vanessa Tran-Cavill, had been such a blessing and for the first time in seven years, I had a dad, someone who cared about me.

Someone who loved me.

And right now, I have seen how much he loved my mom, me and my sisters. I admired the way dad took care of us, while still having an acting career. He played in seven movies since I met him and five of those were being filmed here in the UK, since he didn’t want to leave us for too long.

He posts about us on Instagram sometimes, but always disables the comments. A lot of people know that I’m his daughter, but they mostly find out when we’ve known each other for a while.

Trey and I get out of the bus, but I stop him, before we walk off to my grandparents’ house. ‘I just want to prepare you. I have four nosey uncles and a granddad who just starts to talk, not knowing when to stop.’

‘It’s nothing I can’t handle,’ he laughs. ‘Remember, I grew up with three uncles and their friends. This will be peanuts.’

I smile. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘Trey, before we go into the backyard, I have to admit something.’

‘I like you too,’ he says. ‘And I don’t mind taking it slow.’

My eyes widen. ‘How did you know I was going to say that?’

‘You’re predictable, Tran.’ Trey smiles and I roll my eyes. ‘It’s honestly no big deal. I really like you and your family and though I feel comfortable enough to go at my pace, I don’t want to force you into stuff.’ He gives me a squeeze back in my hand. ‘Your pace and no one else’s.’ He pulls me to him and wraps me up in a tight hug. I feel his chin on top of my head and I let out a sigh, before I close my eyes, nuzzling my face in his chest. This feels nice, I could get used to this.

I pull back a little, to carefully press a kiss on his jaw. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ I say, pulling him with me to the gate at the back of the yard. Together we walk into the backyard and I see everyone is already there. Uncles Piers, Niki and Charlie are standing near the barbecue, as my nine year old sister Elodie is poking Charlie in his sides. Belle has wrapped her arms around uncle Simon’s neck, giving him tons of kisses. Belle’s two year old son Hugh is trying to kick the ball, but he misses and falls flat on his bum. He waddles over to Belle, who is currently expecting another boy in four months.

My five year old sisters Chloe and Heather are the first to notice me. ‘Vanessa!’ they scream in unison, rushing towards me and wrapping their arms around my waist. ‘We missed you.’

‘I missed you guys too,’ I chuckle.

‘And you brought Trey!’ Chloe notices, jumping in his arms. ‘You are staying here for the barbecue?’

‘Of course,’ Trey says with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, munchkin.’

Everyone looks up and gives me hugs and introduce themselves to Trey if they haven’t met him already. Grandpa Colin gives me a big hug and slips fifty pounds not only in my hand, but also in Trey’s hand. ‘So you can take her out on a date, young man,’ he tells Trey.

When we walk over to my parents, Trey says: ‘Damn, I get fifty pounds for showing up here. Should I tell your grandad when my birthday is?’

‘Don’t,’ I say sternly, pinching his side.

Kal licks my hand and I scratch him on top of his head. He is not fat anymore (as if my mother would allow that). He is also not as active as he used to be when I met him, but he is still the most loyal and biggest sweetheart in the world, always taking care of me and my sisters.

My mom holds out her arms and Trey doesn’t hesitate for a minute to be engulfed in her arms. Dad wraps his arms around my waist and bumps his nose against my cheek. Elodie, Chloe and Heather often wonder why we do that, but it’s our thing and it’ll always be our thing. ‘There you are, sunshine,’ he says.

‘It’s a special day today,’ I say. ‘You have any regrets?’

He scoffs. ‘Are you kidding me? As if I could have regrets.’

‘You still have the receipt?’

He laughs. ‘Like I would ever use that.’ He gives me a kiss on my cheek and says: ‘You brought your boyfriend with you, I see.’

Normally I’d protest against his antics, but now… I actually don’t mind. I quite like it actually. I like the idea of Trey being my boyfriend. ‘Well, yeah.’

Dad gives me a big kiss, before he places me on my feet again. Trey wipes his hands clean on his jeans, before he extends his hand to my dad. I don’t quite know what happens after that, because mom pulls me into a hug. Though I’m seventeen now and my mom is reaching the forty already, she barely aged.

It’s admirable, really. After she gave birth to Elodie and she lost that much blood, it was the scariest experience in my life. I thought, with the way everyone was looking at each other when dad called, my mom would die. It took her six months to recover and I helped out the best I could, but I knew that asking for another sibling too soon, wouldn’t help. Four years after she had Elodie, she became pregnant with twins and after that she did not want more kids. Ideally she wanted three, I remember her saying that to dad, but now she had four and though she loved it, it was enough.

‘How was school?’ mom asks.

‘It was great. I got my English essay back.’

‘Oh really? How did you do?’

‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’

Mom tilts her head when she looks at Henry and Trey, who seem to hit it off actually. ‘You chose a good one,’ she tells me. ‘So proud of you, sweetheart.’ Mom wraps her arm around my waist and gives me a kiss. ‘Oh no, mom!’ she yells to grandma Marianne. ‘Wait, don’t carry everything.’ Mom rushes off to the kitchen and I can’t hide my smile.

I’m happy that all these people are my family. From the looks of Trey, he actually is a bit nervous. I walk up to him and my dad and wrap my arm around his hips. He is tense, but wraps his arm around my shoulders. ‘You’re not bugging him, are you, dad?’

‘No, of course not,’ he says, but I cock my eyebrow, causing him to say: ‘Just asking him what he will do with that fifty pound your grandpa gave him.’

Of course my dad noticed that.

He excuses himself, walking up to the barbecue, lifting up Elodie in the process. I look up at Trey and I ask: ‘I thought you said this would be peanuts?’

‘It will be peanuts,’ he tells me. ‘Just have to warm up a bit.’ He smiles, pearly white teeth framed by his full lips. ‘This definitely helps.’

‘Okay, love birds,’ uncle Niki yells, ‘come on. We’re getting ready to eat.’

I feel a blush creep up on my cheeks, but despite that, I still chuckle. He laces his fingers through mine, as we walk to the big table in the backyard under the parasol. ‘I just want to say one thing,’ grandma Marianne says, ‘and that is that I want to thank my son for overfeeding his dog, so he met the greatest veterinarian of all times, who—together with her oldest daughter—brought so much joy and happiness into the family.’

‘Mom, it has been ten years!’ dad says. ‘Please, let it go. I’m not overfeeding Kal anymore.’

It has been an ongoing joke, every time my dad gives Kal a little snack, at least one of the entire Cavill Clan says something along the lines of that we have to hide the other snacks.

‘But anyways,’ grandma says, ‘I am so happy that now we are this big and happy family. It’s all I really wanted.’

Everyone takes a deep breath, because we all realize that it could’ve gone so differently. I clear my throat and say: ‘I got my English essay back and got myself a hundred out of a hundred points.’

‘Shut up!’ uncle Piers says. ‘You got a perfect score? When was the last time something like that happened with us?’

‘None of you boys ever got a perfect score,’ grandpa Colin says. He sometimes can’t remember how to use the remote, what my sisters or my name is, but this he knows.

‘Anyways,’ I say, ‘it does have something to do with what happened ten years ago. I mean, becoming officially a Cavill has been the greatest thing ever. I watched my life do a complete one eighty and though I have to thank my dad for that, there is one woman who absolutely changed my life and is such a wonderful role model for not only me, but also my sisters, that I decided to write my essay about my mom.’

Mom’s eyes widen, before she scrunches up her nose. ‘Why?’

This is such a typical reaction from her, so I cannot stop my laugh. ‘Because mom, you are amazing. Everything that I have, started with you. Everything I understand, I do, I think about, is because of the way you took care of me and raised me. I know that I tell you this a lot, but mom, I love you so so much and everything you did for me, it’s so admirable. I owe so much to you.’

Mom clears her throat. ‘Oh sweetie,’ she mumbles. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

‘You did so well, mom,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so lucky to have been raised by you.’

She grabs my hand and gives me a loving squeeze. ‘Sweetheart, could you come with me for a second?’

The two of us walk inside of the house, as we hear conversation strike up behind us. The second we are out of sight, she wraps her arms around me. This is what she always does, not wanting to cry in front of the other Cavills, always going to a secluded place. ‘I love you, Vanessa,’ she whispers. ‘I think I’ve done a pretty good job with you.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘You did an excellent job, mom. You are honestly the biggest power house I’ve ever met.’

‘Could you imagine what would’ve happened if Belle was able to baby sit you?’ mom asks. ‘Because you, my love, charmed yourself a way into your father’s heart.’

I chuckle. ‘I kinda did, didn’t I?’

Mom smiles, as she holds tightly onto my hands. ‘I know you always thank me for giving you the family you always wanted, but remember: if you weren’t so instantly in love with your dad, I don’t know if I had given it a shot to be honest.’

That is such a weird thought, I think to myself. I always stop myself when I want to think about the ‘what ifs’ and my entire family never really brought it up. Maybe when I was younger, but never with me. But what if indeed I were to stay over at Belle’s place, I would’ve never known that Henry was there probably. Imagine the life that we would’ve had. Maybe I had given my biological father Wesley a chance and then I didn’t have my three wonderful sisters.

‘What are you two doing here? Poor Trey is being questioned by Niki, Charlie and grandpa and the old man is not holding back.’ My dad walks in and though he has reached the ripe age of forty eight, he is still the tall and bulked up man that I met in the examination room. He is still the man that loved me like I was his own.

‘Just thanking my daughter for being such a lovely girl, who charmed her way into your heart.’

‘Oh, you sure did,’ dad says with a smile. ‘My lovely sunshine, I love you so much and I can’t believe it’s been more than ten years since I met you and your mom.’ He wraps his arms around us and says: ‘Though I still feel the fear of Kal vomiting on the carpet with blood, I am so grateful that you picked up and the other clinics didn’t.’ He presses a kiss on my mom’s forehead.

‘Dad, when did you realize you were in love with mom?’

‘Well, I told myself that I shouldn’t have a crush on someone that I barely knew,’ dad says, ‘but I can tell you that deep down in my heart I knew that this beautiful woman stole my heart the second she said the seven words that I’ll never forget. Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat.’

≫≫≪≪

Bonus instagram posts:

Elodie and Vanessa

Elodie with Olivia

Pregnant with twins!

Pre teen Vanessa showing Henry that he is an actual boomer

Chloe and Heather

Vanessa as a teenager

Elodie as a teenager

Chloe and Heather as teenagers

A/N: soooo this is the end of this wonderful story, though I wish this would go on forever. Thank you so much to all the people who have been reading this, leaving lovely comments. Thanks to this story I gained so many new followers. I never expected it to blow up like this haha. Not to self promote but will do anyway, but please check out my other works if you haven’t already (and if you want to of course, I’m not going to force you to read my other fics) and of course I’ll be back with other fun projects, that I obviously will announce like usual 🤗

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #mister cavill your dog is kinda fat #henry cavill x Olivia Tran

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Marital Discord

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (rough sex, toy, fingering).

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader finds her marriage falling apart; Bucky’s never home and when he is, he’s not really there, but he’s not as aloof as he seems to be.

Note: Alright, we finished Summertime Sadness, I gotta figure out HSB and my other few series that need to be tied up. Hopefully by my one year mark we have some new ones in swing. Thank you. Love you guys!

Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

The front door clicked and you lifted your head. You scrolled up quickly on the tablet and hit sign out. You locked it and pushed it against the wall in hopes it would go unnoticed. You grabbed the oven mitt and rushed over to the stove. You opened it and pretended to check on the roast inside, lifting the lid of the pan to glance over the darkening meat.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice was dull as you heard him enter the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Thanks,” You stood and removed the glove and tossed it on the counter. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He narrowed his eyes but the tension quickly left his face. “Skipped training,” He shrugged. “Just wanted to… relax.”

“Oh,” You nodded.

Relax. Alone. He didn’t need to say it. That was just how things were these days. He was monotone, bored. So were you. He came home late most nights. You were already in bed. He didn’t bother to wake you. Didn’t think to. And when you were awake, he barely spoke to you. Even when he was right beside you, it was as if he wasn’t there. How had it come to this?

Three years of marriage and the ring chafed on your finger. Your relationship had begun when he started talking and it would look to end as his words turned again to silence. He no longer told you about his day, just grumbled when you asked about it. He kissed your cheek diligently but not out of love. And he hadn’t fucked you in months.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. You were sweet to him. Tried to be. But he echoed your ‘love yous’ like a child reciting their homework. And he bristled when you touched him. And so you stopped. You let him be. Small talk and tense silences. That was all that remained between you.

“Hungry?” You asked.

You leaned on the island between you as your thighs rubbed together. You were wet. You had been halfway through a particularly fiery fic when he arrived. You hoped you could find it again later.

“Sure,” He said. “Is it almost ready?”

“Twenty minutes or so,” You replied.

“Ok,” He stretched his shoulders. “Let me know.”

“Of course, babe,” You smiled. He didn’t.

You watched him disappear into the living room and the tv flicked on. Baseball commentators sounded over the drone of the crowd. You sighed and turned back to the counter. He’d eat his dinner in front of the screen again. His eyes would cling to it as if you weren’t even there. You took out two plates and some cutler. You looked to the stove timer and the seconds ticked by slowly.

You reached for the tablet again. You peeked at the door though you knew he wouldn’t appear again. You punched in your code and reopened the app. You signed in and scrolled through your dashboard until you found it again. You found your spot and leaned in the crook of the counter as you began to read.

‘He held her. No, clung to her. She was everything he needed and his love was laced with that inherent fear, the knowing, that one day, she would be gone. He kissed her like it was their first, like it was their last. Her touch left fire across his skin as she traced the line of hair that led to his--”

The fridge opened and you looked up with wide eyes. You hit lock on the tablet and set it down softly as you turned to watch Bucky pull a beer out from the fridge. He popped the cap off with his vibranium thumb and tossed it in the bin. He barely looked at you but his eyes didn’t miss the tablet face down beside you. You turned before he could see your guilt.

You listened to him retreat back to the living room. You shook your head; at him, at yourself. Why should you feel guilty? He was neglecting you. You weren’t his wife anymore, you were a burden. So why shouldn’t you find solace in words? That’s all they were. Why shouldn’t you pull out that buzzing toy when he was gone and grasp at that fleeting release? Why should you try when he wouldn’t?

The timer beeped three times and you shoved the tablet back against the wall. You turned off the oven and opened it up. You lifted out the large roasting pan and set it on the stove. You focused on the aroma. You were suddenly very hungry. You took a carving knife and set to work.

Just another night alone.

💍

Bucky knew she was lonely. He was too. And he tried to try but he couldn’t. Not since that night. Not since…

He didn’t even want to think about it. It was the last time he touched her on his own accord. He was too embarrassed to try again. He could blame it on the stress, on the lingering scars of the past, on all that he felt mounted on his shoulders, but he couldn’t help but feel it was just him. His own inadequacy. The fear that he could never truly make her happy. That he could never truly be happy.

She had said goodnight twenty minutes ago. He echoed her words and glanced over at her briefly. She had her phone in her hand, the screen black, though she held it tightly. He waited for her to kiss his cheek as she did every night. She didn’t. He watched her go and his chest tightened. It was over. It was really over.

He flipped through the channels absently as his mind returned to that night. They were on the very couch he sat on. She was atop him, her mouth on his, her hips rocked as she teased him through his jeans. A whole hour of fooling around like teenagers and he was still soft. He wanted her but his body just wouldn’t respond.

When she tried to undo his fly, he pushed her away. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt but he also didn’t know how to say it. It’s not you, it’s me. He hated that empty cliche. He apologized but was otherwise speechless. He’d left her there and waited until she went to bed to come out of hiding. He slept in the recliner.

He sat forward and held his head as he thought back on it He just couldn’t find the courage to talk to her about it. To fix this thing. He was a coward. And he let her down just like he had everyone else.

He slid his metal fingers along his bottom lip as he thought. He closed his eyes and saw that peculiar expression on her face. The way she had looked at him in the kitchen earlier. He knew guilt when he saw it. Recognized the shame he felt so deeply. And more. She had a secret. She’d never had secrets before.

His mind strayed to the tablet, to the phone gripped in her fingers. That had to be it. She was talking to someone else. Could he blame her? Well, yeah. She was his wife, his love, but hadn’t he pushed her to it? It didn’t matter. She was his.

His blood boiled and he sat up as he thought about it. About this other faceless guy. The man taking her from him. His own shame, his own regret, slaked away and he was overwhelmed by his anger. He let out a growl and stood.

He went to the kitchen. The tablet was gone but she hadn’t had it with her. Maybe she’d already put it in the bedroom. He shook his head and paced the tiled floor. He returned to the living room but couldn’t sit. Well, maybe she was already asleep. He could sneak in and grab it.

He went to the hallway and listened. He didn’t hear anything. His eyes were drawn to a cord as he slowly began across the carpet. Her tablet was on the side table charging. He should’ve remembered. She always kept it there at night. She’d wake and take it with her on her way to the kitchen. She’d pore over the news as she drank her morning coffee. It had been a long time since he’d shared it with her.

His fingers grazed over the screen. He held his breath as he peeked over at the bedroom door. It was closed. He hesitated before he picked it up. He exhaled slowly and turned to stand with his back against the wall. He hit the button and the screen lit up. He typed in the four digit code; she hadn’t changed it. Was it careless or was it a sign of her innocence?

He looked down the hall again before he began to swipe through the apps. Her messenger was almost dead; a conversation with her mother, several with her friends, but nothing recent or suspicious. He opened the browser and checked the history; a few recipes, some articles, but again, nothing untoward.

Then a notification popped up. ‘We found something you might like, sugar-plum-17.’ That was what he called her; sugar plum. She always cringed at the pet name but he adored that crinkle in her forehead. He blinked and hit the bubble before it could disappear.

He frowned as he scrolled through the post that came up. It was some story or another. He hit the back arrow and found her page. He dragged his finger up the screen. He read the comment she’d left on her last reblog.

‘This was so hot. I’d love a rough ride, if you know what I mean? Can’t wait to see how dark this gets.’

His heart was racing. He swiped back up and hit keep reading on the original post. His eyes glossed over until they caught on a particular passage.

‘This stranger knew her and yet she knew nothing of him. Not his face, not his voice, not his scent, only his touch. Rough and demanding. He held her hands in one of his as he pinned her beneath him. The mask hid all but a pair of bright blue eyes. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and moved up her body to keep her arms in place. He wrapped the black fabric around her eyes.’

He stopped and looked up at the wall. The words were burned into his mind. He was stunned. She liked this? He looked back to the tablet and continued to read. The scene was graphic and he found the heat crawling up his spine and into his cheeks. When he got to the end, he was hard. And shocked.

He hadn’t had an erection since before that last time. He had tried anything and everything but nothing. And now he was so hard it hurt. He wanted her. Too bad, she didn’t want him.

He closed out of the app and set the tablet back down. He braced himself as he walked down the hall. Maybe he could apologize. He’d wake her up and explain it all. His fear, his embarrassment, his stupidity. He stopped by the door and leaned against it, his hand on the knob. He couldn’t turn it as a noise from the other side held him in place.

There was a low buzz mingled with her heady breaths. Soft moans muffled and strained. He knew what she was doing. His cock twitched and he pressed his hand to the front of his jeans. He listened intently through the wood. She was getting close. He rubbed himself through the denim and she squeaked and gasped. She had cum but he couldn’t. No, he had to wait.

He drew away from the door as the buzzing stopped and quickly retreated down the hall. He went to the living room and grasped the back of the couch as he hung his head and thought. This had to end. This interminable stalemate. And he knew just how to draw out a truce.

💍

The house was terribly empty. Having Bucky home, even as a shell, was preferable to not at all. He texted you earlier to tell you he would be away for a couple days. Last minute mission in Prague. There wasn’t much you could say. It was a good excuse for him not to face you. His work was always a convenient out.

You made sure to lock up the house before you settled down in bed. The usual; alone, snuggled up with your pillow against the headboard as you scrolled through your dashboard. A good fic and you’d be ready to sleep. Your bedtime work-out made sure of that.

You clicked on the newest fic by your favourite author. Another part in her twisted tale of a robber and his mark. The way her antagonist taunted her main character was chilling but delectable. The man behind the mask stalked her towards the line of insanity. His desires were more than monetary and entirely arousing.

You reached for the toy nestled against your leg atop the blanket. You were getting to the good part. You bit your lip and your thumb hovered over the button. You kept yourself from clicking it as you heard a creak. You sat up and set your phone aside, the vibe clutched in your hand. You listened; silence.

You laid back and reached for your phone. As you picked it up, you heard the familiar groan of the floorboard near the front door. You shot up and hit the phone icon. No signal, no wifi. You tried to reconnect, checked that you hadn’t hit airplane mode unknowingly, but nothing. It had been working a minute ago.

You didn’t hear anything else. You hung your legs over the edge of the bed and assured yourself it was all in your head. You stood and neared the door. You’d go out and confirm your paranoia then sleep before it got the best of you.

You stepped out into the hall. You peered down the living room than to the bathroom. You slowly made your way to the former and looked around. Just the shadows of furniture and dim glare of street lights through the window. You shook your head at yourself and turned back.

As you did, a darkness suddenly enshrouded you from behind. You barely had time to react as strong arms surrounded you. You thrashed out and yelped as you were dragged backwards. Your phone slipped from your hand and the vibe clicked on in your panic. You kicked and flailed as you struggled to escape the intruder.

His hand wrapped around yours as his arm tightened around your waist. He turned you with him and dragged you around the couch. He pried your fingers from the toy and took it in his own. He chuckled and spun you away from him. He shoved you roughly and you fell onto the cushions.

“Please--” You begged. Was this your karma? Maybe a nightmare all too vivid to escape? It couldn’t be… real.

“Shut up,” His voice was gristly beneath his mask. “This what you like?”

He held up the you, still buzzing, and you tried to stand. He caught your shoulder and pushed you back down. His hand slid to your throat and he bent over you, his breath seeped through his mask and against your temple.

“Stay.” He snarled. “Or I’ll hogtie you with your own panties.”

You whimpered and his other hand pressed the vibe along your chest and rolled it down your stomach. He slid his fingers beneath the elastic of your pajamas and forced his hand between your legs. The toy glided too easily between your folds. You gasped.

“Ah…” He snickered at your lack of underwear. “Well, I can always figure something out.”

“What do you want?” You breathed.

“What do you want?” He countered as he angled the vibe against your clit. “I think I can guess actually.”

“There’s a safe--”

“We’ll get to that… once I’ve had my fun,” He snarled. “Doesn’t seem like you need much help.”

The toy was slippery in his gloved hand and you trembled as his fingers squeezed your throat and he pushed you harder against the couch. He cradled the toy with his palm and slipped a finger inside you. You squeaked and he shoved another past your entrance. He moved his hand steadily as he pressed his masked cheek to yours.

“That’s it,” He purred. “You like that?”

You tried to shake your head and sobbed. You did. To your disgust, you did.

“Where’s your husband, hmm?” He asked. “Leaving a thing like you all alone.”

“My husband?” You wisped.

“A lot of shoes for one man.” He remarked. “Lined so neatly by the door. Was that you? Such a sweet little housewife.”

You nodded and gulped. Your thighs were tingling and your core glowing. You thoughtlessly grabbed the wrist of the hand at your throat and tilted your hips. You panted. His touch felt familiar and strange all at once. It had been so long that even the roughest touch could make you shudder.

“Cum for me,” He growled against your cheek. “You can try to fight it but we both know… you can’t.”

Your thighs closed around his hand and you spasmed. Your moan was strangled by his hand. You slapped at his shoulder as you orgasmed and pushed against the cushion behind you. He released you suddenly and you sank into the couch as he pulled his hand away.

“So…” He undid his fly. “You gonna play along or do I need to go find one of your husband’s belts? Wouldn’t that be hot?”

You shook and hung your head. He pushed his fly apart. “Get undressed.” He ordered.

You sniffed and stood carefully, afraid to provoke him. You pulled your tank top over your head and shimmied out of your pajama pants, the remnants of your arousal dampened the fabric. You gulped as you looked up at the stranger. His hand was in his pants, stroking himself.

“Turn around,” He sneered. “Up on the couch… on your knees.” You glanced around and he stepped closer. “Try it.” He challenged.

You blanched at him and turned reluctantly. You neared the couch and climbed up. You braced the back of it and closed your eyes. You sensed him behind you. His gloved hand caressed your neck and tickled along your shoulder. He trailed down your back and his fingers hooked around your hip. He pulled you back until your knees were at the edge of the couch and you were slightly bent.

He slapped your ass and pinched it sharply. You cried out. “Shut up!” He growled. “You don’t want the neighbours to hear, do you?” He spanked you again. “Gossip travels quickly.”

You gritted your teeth and hissed. His cock touched your ass and he rubbed it along your skin. A line of precum left across your cheek. You dug your nails into the couch as he guided his tip lower and squeezed your hip until you arched your back. He slickened himself with your juices and lingered at your entrance.

He bent over you as his hand slipped from your hip and he felt around for your clit. As he teased you with his fingertips, he sank into you, his stomach firm against your back. You moaned and slapped your hand over your mouth. He hummed.

“That’s right. Nice and quiet,” He nuzzled your hair as he began to thrust. “Fuck…”

He groaned and continued to play with your bud. The sharp teeth of his zipper dug unto you with each thrust. Your breath hitched and you moved your body in tandem with his. You didn’t realize you were doing it until you were biting down on your knuckles and the sounds of fucking filled your ears.

His other hand returned to your throat. He stood and pulled you back. You grasped at his hand as he sped up. He jolted your whole body as you balanced precariously on your knees. His grunts swirled around you and your moans were barely stifled by your own hand.

You were carried away by the sheer pleasure. It was as if your body couldn’t handle it. Your mind was smokey and your vision a blur. The snarls sounded more and more familiar as they grew louder. You reached back and gripped the man’s thigh as you met your peak suddenly. You swallowed back the whine and your walls twitched around him.

“That’s it,” He purred.

He pushed you up against the back of the couch and climbed up behind you, his knees between yours. He pounded into you and his hand left your clit as he reached up. He didn’t waver as he pulled off his mask and held it out before you. He swore as the gristle left his voice and he came in you.

He leaned against you as he stilled and nibbled at your ear. He kissed your cheek and his hand fell from your throat. He dragged his nose along your temple and chuckled.

“Is that what you like, sugar plum?” Bucky’s voice cut through the haze of your thoughts.

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!fic #dark fic #fic #one shot #mcu #marvel #au #captain america

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chaoticallysapphic · 4 years

Text

the great divide epilogue

summary: Who knew that eight words would be your undoing. If you had known then what you know now you wouldn't have signed up for Suyin's dance troupe, you probably would have left Zaofu just to be safe. But you didn't and fate had branded you with a path that chained you to someone who would break your heart.

a/n: can this even be counted as an epilogue with a sequel on it’s way? It’s been a while since I’ve read a physical book and can’t remember if epilogues are reserved for the very end of a series or can be used at the end of any book. Eh, who cares? As always thank you to @medeliadracon for beta reading this!

word count: 2k

The end of her rule is anticlimactic. It doesn’t end with a victory but instead, with you, limp in her arms with blood all around the two of you. It ends with Suyin ordering some of her men to cuff Kuvira’s soldiers so they can be transported to a prison where they will serve the next two years of their lives. It ends with her defeat as she watches all her hard work wash away like it meant nothing.

Eighty people, the rebels, come up to Korra to admit you helped free them and how they were fighting on the Avatar’s side the whole time so she spares them. Kuvira looks down at your sleeping form to avoid the varying expressions of her former soldiers, ranging from angry to disappointed.

A few hours later someone closes the trunk and drives them back to Zaofu so you can be admitted to the hospital there. All of Korra’s men head to Zaofu on sky bison. Kuvira sits in the back of the jeep with you, she can’t hold you with her cuffed hands but before they cuffed her she gently placed your head onto her lap.

Everyone had watched the way Kuvira cared for you with eyes full of shock. She doesn’t care, not anymore. She almost lost you, the idea of appearance and image escaped her mind as all she thinks about is holding you in some way so she knows you're safe. When they pull up to the tram it takes multiple people to help both you and Kuvira out of the trunk. It’s still a bit slippery from your blood and with her cuffed hands she needs someone to help her get down.

The avatar holds you for her as they enter the tram, she wants to break out of these stupid cuffs and rip you out of her arms but she knows she can’t, not if she wants a future with you. So instead Kuvira inches closer so she can at least hold your hand. When it stops in the main dome she sees her men being escorted out by the Zaofu guard. They step out and her eyes find your mom who is decked out in her grand armor, commanding the men below her on where to take Kuvira’s former soldiers.

When her eyes flicker to the avatar and she sees you limp in her arms she forgets her job and races forward, dropping the staff in her hands. Korra slowly walks down the stairs from the platform so she can take you to the hospital but your mom is waiting at the bottom of the stairs as she holds back a sob.

“She’s alive,” Kuvira says softly, a little bit of the tension in her leaves, Kuvira’s words comforting her just the slightest. Once Korra is in front of your mom she takes you out of her arms, choking out “Oh baby.”

“We need to get her to the hospital. She’ll live but she needs to be monitored and will need a few more healing sessions before she can leave,” Korra says. Your mom nods as she begins walking towards the large hospital that’s situated not too far from here.

Kuvira follows, keeping in step with her so she can at least remain close to you. Once inside Kuvira catches the attention of a nurse who brings out a stretcher for you and carts you off to a room to be further examined, both Kuvira and your mom sit in the waiting room.

It’s quiet for a while, neither of them talking before finally, your mom asks “what happened?”

Kuvira’s brows furrow as she tries to make sense of the last few hours, it’s all so blurry and loud in her mind. She just remembers the warmth of your blood on her hands and her screaming out for help, the way her words scratched up her throat as desperation filled her senses.

“I…” Kuvira starts. “We were talking and the fight started and she tried to show me how I could help by ending it” Kuvira’s hand comes up to her mouth as she begins to cry. Your mother doesn’t move to comfort her, waiting for Kuvira to continue. “It was meant for me, she pushed me out of the way so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

Your mother's fists clench and she lets out a deep sigh, trying to control her emotions. “What happened next?” Kuvira looks over at her with a painful expression as she recalls the way you tried to cling to her when she set you down to drive.

“I drove us to Korra, she had waterbenders so I knew one of them had to be a healer.”

Your mother nods as she stands up, tears glisten in her eyes as she says “I need to call her father,” before walking away. She’s gone for roughly an hour, Kuvira thinks. In that timespan, she stares down at her hands now caked in dried blood as she tries to make sense of the last twenty-four hours. When you finally wake up, which you will, Kuvira reminds herself, she’ll go wherever you want even if that’s the frigid cold of the south pole.

Finally, your mother returns with your father in tow who pulls both women in a hug. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says, mostly for himself. When he pulls away his face is red as tears race down his chubby cheeks, your mother reaches up to wipe them away for him even though she’s crying as well.

A nurse walks into the waiting room that only houses the three of them and clears her throat. Everyone twists around to look at her, your father is the one to ask “can we see her?”

The nurse nods, eyeing them, her eyes narrow when they land on Kuvira before drifting back over to your parents. “Yes, she’s awake but very tired so you’ll probably only get a bit of time with her before she’s asleep again.”

Your father lets out an excited, wet laugh as he nods vigorously, “Thank you, can you show us to her?” The nurse nods and begins leading everyone up a set of stairs and to the left down a hall lined with doors. The hospital is so white and pristine, Kuvira feels so out of place and looks behind her to make sure she’s not tracking mud around the place.

When the nurse stops in front of a door labeled 203 that has your name in the place card Kuvira feels her heart speed up, “I’ll wait out here and let you guys have some time alone with her.” Your mother sends her a grateful look before she opens the door, they leave the door open so Kuvira takes a seat next to it so she can at least hear your voice.

“Hi” she hears you croak out, your voice is raspy and low, you sound so tired. Your father lets out a sob as she hears his feet skid across the floor and a quiet “oof” escapes you.

“Honey, don’t suffocate her, we just got her back,” your mother says in a half-joking manner. The rustling of sheets can be heard as Kuvira can only assume she's hugging you as well.

“We’re just so relieved you're okay.”

“I’m okay, just a little banged up,” you say in a reassuring tone.

There’s sniffling and hushed whispers of “we love you” as all three of them cries. Kuvira feels like she’s intruding on a private moment but her feet seem stuck to the floor.

Your dad is the one that asks the question burning within her, “You're gonna stay here right? We’ve missed you so much.”

“Well I don’t know, I haven’t talked to Kuvira yet. I’d like to though.” Kuvira’s heart skips a beat at her name leaving your lips. Spirits for a moment there, back on the jeep, she thought she’d never hear you say it again. “Well she better be okay with it, I mean after all the years spent following her around the earth kingdom one would think you’d get to cho-”

“Honey,” your father interrupts your mother. She threads her fingers together and squeezes tightly, will she ever gain the respect your mother once had for her back? “Sorry I just… I’ll support you no matter what I’m just a little… peeved.”

“Is she here?” You say hesitantly, you sound so unsure of yourself that Kuvira wants to take the two steps it’d take to reveal herself. “Suyin didn’t arrest her yet, right?”

“No, don’t worry she hasn’t been taken away, she just wanted to give us some time alone with you.” A sigh escapes you at your mother's words, “Do you want to see her?”

Not even a second later you reply “yes.” The shuffling of feet can be heard as they both say their goodbyes and “I love you”’s once more before walking towards the door. Kuvira moves down a seat so it doesn’t look like she was eavesdropping and looks at the platinum cuffs locked tightly over her wrists.

“She wants to see you,” your father says, Kuvira looks up at him and thickly swallows, slowly nodding. “We’re gonna get her some clean clothes, maybe some food. Are you hungry?” By now the sun is starting to go down, that piece of bread and apple didn’t last too long, as Kuvira is about to say no because she doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. He speaks for her “I’m sure you are, we’ll get you something too.”

Kuvira opens her mouth to decline but your parents are already walking away arm in arm. She sighs, shoulders slumping. Her wrists are already starting to hurt and she feels anxiety twist around within her as she realizes you’re waiting for her. You're awake and waiting for her and who knows what you’ll say.

She lets out a deep, shuddering sigh and walks through the door, you look up as you hear her enter and bite your lip. Your cheeks and neck are stained red, it looks like someone wiped away the handprints which is a relief, but your hair is a bit matted with it and your arms are tinted red as well. You look so pale.

You eye her, your shoulders tensing at the disheveled sight of her. “That’s a lot of… red.”

She looks down and sees how her clothes are practically coated in it. “Oh yeah, you bled out a lot.” She clears her throat and looks back up, your shoulders sag a bit, “so none of it’s yours?” Kuvira shakes her head and suddenly you look so relieved.

She takes a step closer and then another and another when you don’t stop her. You offer her a weak smile as she slowly picks up one of your hands and holds it between hers. “You almost died,” she whispers, scared that if she says it loud enough she’ll speak into existence.

“But I didn’t,” is your reply. Kuvira scoffs, having to look away as images of you bleeding out all over the trunk resurface. “Hey,” you gently tug on her hand until she looks into your eyes. “I’m alive, thanks to you.”

“You almost died, thanks to me.” Her voice cracks and she squeezes her eyes shut as tears escape her. “Why would you do that? Why would you take the hit for me?”

You give her a look of disbelief as you softly reply with a voice full of love that has an edge to it “because I love you, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Promise me you won’t, please,” her bottom lip trembles, suddenly her hands feel warm and slick with your blood again. She feels like her legs may give out. “Please.”

You shake your head ever so slowly, “I can’t promise you something I won’t keep.” She lets a groan of frustration so you tug her closer until she’s sitting on the edge of your bed, facing you. “If you ever die and there was a way I could have prevented it I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself. So just… stop putting yourself in danger if you don’t want me to get hurt again.”

Kuvira is about to offer some kind of retort about how she won’t be in any kind of danger for the foreseeable future due to her house arrest but you squash it by pulling her closer and softly pressing your lips against her own. Kuvira gasps, you slip your tongue in her mouth and caress her tongue before pulling away, you give her a peck on the lips as you're pulling away.

“If I ask you to stay here in Zaofu, would you?” It’s silent for a few moments as she processes your request. Part of her wants to leave this place and never return, but she knows Zaofu like the back of her hand, she knows where the good tea is, which store has the best produce, which shops rip you off, and where to go to eat for any occasion.

She thinks of your parents, of how much they missed you and how much you missed them. How she might not have anything that makes her want to stay here, but you do. So she nods and wets her lips before saying, “yes, I will.”

And for a moment that great divide between the two of you seems to cave in as your beautiful face breaks out into a glorious grin.

#the great divide #kuvira #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira fanfic #lok #lok fanfic #legend of korra

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wonwooslibrary · 3 years

Text

high school sweethearts

member: joshua x female reader

genre: fluff, comedy, high school AU, non-idol AU

word count: 1778

warnings: alcohol / drunk seungcheol

inspiration: the audio for the hallway scene was inspired by this video

summary: you and your husband, joshua flash back to the night of your prom ten years ago.

author’s note: idk why I decided to do this lmao but happy birthday shua! please enjoy this small piece I wrote in like ten minutes. this is so bad I am so sorry

Neither you or your husband were fancy restaurant people. Both you and Joshua spent little to no time at home besides sleeping. After years of many dates of trying to dress up and go out, you both decided that going out was not your thing. So, for your five year wedding anniversary, you decided it would be best to just stay home.

The time spent sitting on the couch in the living room, a bag of chips and a jar of dip between you while a cliché hallmark Christmas movie was playing on the TV was more than wither of you could ask for.

Suddenly, Joshua looked over at you and moved his hand to brush a strand of your hair out of your eyes. When you looked at him, he smiled, a look of pure love taking over his face.

“Do you remember prom?” he asked you, his eyes glossing over a bit.

“I remember Jeonghan spiking the punch, Seungcheol getting drunk and, uh, the rooftop.”

When Joshua asked a seventeen year old you to go to prom with him, you were freaking out.

“It’s Joshua Hong!” you exclaimed to your friend, “I am not going to survive this night.”

“Y/n! you’ve been best friends with him for how long? Almost what, nine years?”

“Almost seven.” you corrected.

“Whatever! you’re insane if you can’t clearly see that he has the same feelings for you that you have for him!”

“Mhm, yeah, right.” you replied sarcastically.

“What did you tell him when he asked?” your friend questioned you, her hands on your shoulders shaking you.

“I said maybe.” you responded in a quiet voice.

“Maybe? Nu-uh. No way. You’re going to call him and tell him you’re going to prom with him!”

Three days after that phone call, your friend took you out to buy a dress and get your nails done. You didn’t see why you had to get your nails done and you definitely didn’t see why all of this was coming out of your wallet. but of course, as your friend, she spent the whole trip obsessing over the fact that you were going to prom with Joshua Hong. “You have to look perfect!” she’d exclaim.

The night of the event wasn’t nearly as grand as everyone would expect it to be. A high school prom being held in the gym that smelled like dirty socks and disappointment. Of course, you did have one of the prettiest dresses at the event, though unless you wanted to spend another hundred dollars, it needed to be returned to the boutique by three in the afternoon the following day. You kept stumbling in the heels that were definitely too high for you to walk in, and you decided that if it wasn’t for you holding on to Joshua’s arm with dear life, you would have faceplanted into the gym floor at least ten times by now.

By the time the event actually started, you had given up on all hope of enjoying the night. It was loud, and the teacher chaperones were being to controlling over the room of teenagers. You didn’t fail to notice that a teacher had to come up to Soonyoung and tell him that he can’t take the whole dance floor for himself almost five times throughout the night.

Though the chaperones were being controlling, they clearly didn’t check people’s bags and IDs when entering the building. And they clearly didn’t notice the bottle of vodka Jeonghan pulled out of his bag and dumped into the punch bowl.

Now if the room wasn’t loud enough, it was about to get a lot worse.

You and Joshua sat on the floor of hallway right outside the gym. The closed doors made the hallway much quieter with only muffled sound of the music able to be heard. You glanced around the empty hallway, until Joshua began talking.

“Being in school after school hours and on weekends always seems so surreal, doesn’t it?” He questioned you, loosening the black tie that was around his neck.

“It does. Especially with us being dressed up and the teachers not.” you replied.

The hallway became quiet once more. Though this didn’t last long until two loud voices were heard while the doors to the gym were shoved open.

Running out the door was a very drunk Seungcheol, with three teachers running after him through the rest of the school. Also exiting the gym were two of your friends, Jimin and Taehyung, that both happened to be in your class. Though instead of running, the two males pushed the door slightly open and called out to you and Shua.

“The teachers found Jeonghan’s empty bottle of vodka.” Taehyung started. “I don’t think Cheol is going to last for any longer before he trips and gets caught.”

You and Joshua looked at each other and began laughing. Of course your best friends would do something this stupid on prom night. Joshua stood up, brushing off his slacks before offering his hand to you in order to help you up from the floor. You took his hand and quietly thanked him.

“We’ll be back in the gym in a little bit, guys�� Joshua told Jimin and Taehyung, who both simply nodded and went back into the gym.

Your best friend offered you his arm, and you began walking in the opposite direction that Seungcheol ran.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed suddenly. You looked over at him curiously.

“What?”

“I owe Jeonghan twenty bucks now.”

“What did you and Han bet on this time?”

“Who would get drunk first. I bet on Soonyoung, and Han bet on Seungcheol.”

You rolled your eyes. “Soonyoung. I’m kind of surprised he didn’t get drunk first.”

Your walk became quiet once again. Joshua brought you to the stairs of the school that led to the roof.

“Have you ever been to the roof?” he asked, pulling a key out of his pocket and putting it into the keyhole.

“I’ve been to the door, but I’ve never been outside. How’d you get a key?”

“I know a few people.” you giggled at his answer.

When you both got outside, there was two lawn chairs and a table waiting for you.

“Sit with me?” Shua looked at you and tilted his head towards the chairs.

You quickly agreed. Once you both sat in the chairs, Joshua started a conversation.

“You know,” he started, “Now that prom is almost over, we only have a few weeks left before we graduate.”

“Yeah, I know. I am going to miss it here, no matter how much I hated it some days.”

“Do you think we’ll ever see each other after we graduate?” Joshua questioned, turning his head to face you and brushing a small strand of hair out of your eyes and putting it behind your ear.

“I haven’t thought about it, but I hope so. I want to be able to see everyone again.”

“Me too.”

“I wonder if Soonyoung got kicked out for kicking people off the dance floor yet. and I wonder if the teachers found out the vodka was Jeonghan’s.”

“oh Jeonghan, as much as he is a brother to me, he is an idiot.”

You laughed at Joshua’s words, when suddenly an idea came to your head.

“Shua! we haven’t danced yet!” you said, standing up out of the chair and grabbing your phone off of the table. You began playing one of your favorite slow songs and turned the volume on your phone all the way up. “Dance with me?” you asked him, holding your hand out for him to grab.

He took your hand and pulled you close to him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and began to move you with him.

You placed your head on his chest, your eyes falling shut to the soft sound of the music and his heartbeat. Joshua placed his chin on your head, breathing in the sent of your vanilla shampoo.

“Y/n-ie,” Shua started.

“Hmm?” you softly questioned, seemingly half asleep.

“I love you.”

You smiled and moved to face him.

“R-really?” you stuttered your way through your reply.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he replied, putting a finger under your chin. He leaned forward and placed his lips on top of yours. The kiss lasted mere seconds, and then he pulled away.

“Let’s get you home.” Shua stated as he took your hand in his and pulled you towards the door.

You got outside (and on the ground) fairly quickly, Joshua shedding off his jacket and putting it over your shoulders, only for you to put it on. All of a sudden, he took off running out of the parking lot and down the street.

“Shua! wait for me!” Joshua was running down the sidewalk as fast as he could, leaving you behind in the dust.

“Ditch the shoes and start running then!” he called out to you, already at the end of the street.

You sighed. “Fine!” you bent down to undo the buckle on your heels, right first, then left. When you glanced back up, Joshua was waiting for you, his shoulder leaning against the stop sign that was significantly taller than him.

You looked at him, admiring his outfit, without realizing that he is doing the same to you. He was dressed nicely, the white button down he is wearing now wrinkled and the black slacks tight around his thighs. His tie is more loose than it was in the hallway. When you looked at his face, you noticed him looking at you. He smiled and waved his hand, motioning for you to run and catch up with him.

You picked your heels up off of the ground and laced your fingers around the straps. You used your free hand (and the fingers that were not carrying your shoes) to lift up your long dress. You began jogging to catch up to him, your hair quickly falling out of the fancy up do it was in.

When you got to the stop and stood next to Joshua, he took your hand again and began walking towards your house.

“Damn I kind of forgot about Jimin and Taehyung. We didn’t even meet them back in the gym like we said we would.” Joshua laughed.

“We weren’t the smartest back then, were we?”

“We were just two stupid teenagers in love.” Joshua put his arm around you and pulled you close to him, the bag of chips quickly falling to the floor.

You cuddled up to him and put your head on his chest.

“I love you, Shua.” you whispered.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

#seventeen #seventeenfanfiction #hong jisoo #joshua #joshua hong #drabble #seventeen drabbles #happy joshua day

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ghostnebula · 4 years

Text

Sincere and Dignified

“Eddie's twenty-first birthday + The entire Losers' Club + Las Vegas + Being in love with your best friend = Well, exactly what you'd expect.”

[read it on Ao3]

(or here)

Eddie’s birthday is in November. Which makes him the youngest member of the Losers’ Club. Which makes him the last Loser to turn twenty-one.

Which means they go all-out to celebrate, since it’s the first time they can all (legally) celebrate together. And because they’ve kind of forgone “proper” twenty-first birthday festivities for everyone else, so no one would ever feel left out. Finally, no one needs to be left out of it.

They’ve all been living together for over three years now, they’re all getting close to graduating from college, and they all saved up for this one, because this is pretty much it. The last big, fun, tangible milestone in their young lives. The last “new” thing they’re earning the right to do (legally) after driving and voting. You bet your ass they go ham on Eddie’s birthday plans.

That’s how they end up in Vegas. Several long weeks of planning, lots of money they scraped together into jars over the last few years ready to be spent, checking and double-checking every class syllabus to make sure no one misses anything important on Friday (they have to be at their hotel in time for check-in or, between Stan and Eddie, someone will pitch a fit). Then they’re all piling into Ben’s station wagon with as little luggage as they could manage to bring for a weekend trip (the station wagon is “spacious”; it is not a fucking miracle vehicle).

Roughly ten hours later (five hours for driving, two for check-in plus cramming all their crap into the motel room and then attempting to organize it, one for figuring out and agreeing on where to even start with the partying, two more for getting ready) Eddie Kaspbrak has his first legal drink as a proper twenty-one year old, on this night of November third, and there’s no aftertaste of guilt like usual. He’s got Richie pushing shots into his hands, Mike making sure he’s eating some snacks once in a while so he doesn’t get too trashed too fast, Bev directing bartenders to make the most delicious fucking drinks he thinks he’ll ever taste in his life (Porn Stars, or something else inappropriate like that).

He has Bill, the oldest, practically under oath to stay sober (at least for tonight) so there’s one semi-coherent Loser present to keep the rest of them safe and sane until he can drag them all back to the motel.

He has a wad of cash in his pocket, a chunk of his savings from the past year, ready to blow on booze and gambling and whatever the fuck he wants, because it’s his birthday, so he’s allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants.

It’s safe, and more importantly, it’s legal, and most importantly, it’s Vegas. He never thought he’d ever have the balls to set foot in a place like this -- the kind of place his mother would demonize when he was a kid. Drinking, before he left Derry and his mom and the vice grip she had on his life, was completely out of the question, let alone getting hammered in a casino in Sin City, of all fucking places, under the care of the “evil little shits” he calls his best friends.

He more than lets loose. He lets twenty-one years of virtually non-stop anxiety unwind in one night.

When he wakes up the next morning, hung over for the first time in his life, it’s almost worth it. Bill’s the only motherfucker awake already, being that he’s the only one who doesn’t have several bottles of vodka et al. to sleep off, and he’s draped across the ratty arm chair in their ratty motel room, channel-surfing with the television volume as low as it can get. The light burns Eddie’s eyes, still, when he lifts his head and -- instead of turning, his head just kind of lolls on his shoulders until he can look at Bill properly.

He wants to ask him to end his suffering, which he can only assume he has yet to see the worst of. Suddenly he understands why aspirin exists. He wants Bill to pump him full of painkillers until he stops feeling like he’s made of electrified cotton. Instead, he says, articulately, “Guh.”

Bill turns his attention from Scooby-Doo to where Eddie is half-lying, trapped under the weight of Richie’s arm and half his chest. Richie is snoring away, glasses askew on his face, a cooling puddle of drool soaking Eddie’s shoulder. It’s gross, but he can’t really complain at this point. He’s accustomed to it by now.

“Ah, he lives.”

“Ugh,” says Eddie.

“I bet,” says Bill. “So, do you want a recap of the events of last night, or did you keep your promise and remember every life-altering decision you chose to make?”

Bill’s voice, which he’s hardly putting much effort into keeping down -- owing to the fact that all his effort is being channeled into trying not to laugh, and Eddie can’t even begin to fathom what’s so funny -- is causing the other Losers to stir. His splitting headache doesn’t want him to try to figure out what’s funny. He must have fried a metric shitload of braincells with all those Porn Stars last night, or whatever the fuck sugary booze Bev was pouring down his throat before everything went hazy.

“Life-altering?” he repeats after a few moments, as Richie’s arm finally stops crushing him. It’s the only word that really stands out to him in the jumbled mess of hangover discomfort his brain is fighting, and it should cause him anxiety but he’s more worried, right now, about drinking some water. Richie sits up beside him, yawning.

Bill hums. He looks terribly pleased with himself, which can be good or bad depending which side of the story you’re on, and Eddie’s got this sneaking suspicion he’s on the wrong side, here. “Yeah, that life-altering thing I tried to talk you two dipshits out of for longer than the actual ceremony took?”

“Ceremony?” Eddie asks, trying to feel back through his poor, poor brain to remember anything after slot machines and vibrant chatter and deceptively sweet beverages being passed to him. Richie’s head drops onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist. “Guh,” he says into the fabric of Eddie’s rumpled shirt. Habitually, Eddie reaches up to pat him consolingly on the head. Richie’s not one for mornings.

“Why don’t you take a look at your ring finger, birthday boy?” Bill says, but Eddie’s already frozen, because there was a flash when he raised his hand and he’s not entirely sure he’s believing what he’s seeing, and where the fuck did he even get the ring anyway, let alone a ring as nice as this? “Or, sorry, I should say: Mr. Tozier?”

Eddie... mostly ignores him, in favour of smacking Richie a few times on the skull to get his attention, hangovers be damned. “Richie,” he hisses, heart going a mile a minute. “The fuck did I do?”

Richie grumbles some kind of complaint, lifting his head from its safe space on Eddie’s shoulder, and when he follows Eddie’s gaze he lets out a kind of... laugh? More of a squawk, really. His left arm jerks off of Eddie’s waist lightning-quick, and then he’s holding up his own hand beside Eddie’s to show off their matching rings. “Oh my god,” he says, quiet (for Richie). A little bit of tension melts out of him. Then, “I think you mean, ‘the fuck did we do?’”

“Oh my god,” Eddie squeaks, and Bill loses his battle and dissolves into peals of laughter, remote slipping out of his hands and landing somewhere on the floor. “Bill, you were supposed to be babysitting.”

It takes a while, but Bill manages to regain his composure long enough to say, “Well forgive me, but you were a man on a mission. I distinctly remember a lot of, ‘we’re practically dating anyway’ and ‘no time like the present’ and ‘Bill, if you don’t step the fuck off I’m gonna shove this ring so far up your nostril you’ll be sneezing gold until you’re ninety.’ What was I gonna do about it?”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says again, red-faced, mortified, heart still going-going-going. They aren’t dating, though, is the problem, and yeah, he’s always had this stupid little idea in his stupid little head that they might as well be, but he’s never asked, because he wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure if it was safe. Wasn’t sure if Richie wanted something proper or to just stay very, very close friends until the grave. They weren’t dating, and now they’re married, and ohJesusMaryandJoseph why did he let himself get so drunk last night?

He doesn’t expect Richie to be resentful or anything, but he’s also an anxious mess by default, and post-drunken-haze Eddie is a different, apparently less chill person than mid-drunken-haze Eddie, because he doesn’t remember having this freakout last night.

He doesn’t think that Richie will be pissed about it, necessarily, but he’s terrified that Richie’s going to want to... undo this, somehow.

He expects regret.

He doesn’t expect Richie to slide his hand against Eddie’s so that their rings clack together, letting out a soft little, “Aw,” as he does so, or to press his scratchy, stubbly face against Eddie’s cheek to plant a kiss there, or to say, just as quiet and soft as ever, “We’re married, Eds.”

“Is that okay?” Eddie asks, heart in his throat, wondering if he somehow forced Richie into this when he wasn’t in full control of his faculties.

“More than okay,” Richie says. “Is it okay with you?”

Eddie nods dumbly, staring at their rings again, wondering what the fuck possessed them to make such a rash, life-altering decision like this, yet understanding all too well that his love for Richie is too big to contain and it has to spill out in little doses like this, or it’ll probably kill him, or make him go crazy. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding perhaps too fast. “Yeah, Richie, it’s more than okay.”

He turns in Richie’s arms to kiss him properly, apparently not for the first time, and just the action brings a couple snippets of last night’s escapades abruptly to the surface.

“$25 Weddings,” a pink neon sign outside a squat white chapel proclaims, “Sincere and Dignified.” And below that, in smaller, baby blue lettering: “Can provide: Flowers, Rings, Witnesses, Transportation, Attire...” The list goes on. It’s a wonder Eddie is coherent enough to read it, let alone comprehend it, but he’s rounding on Richie, whose arm he’s hanging off of, with the best fucking idea already leaping from his lips.

“Ffffffuck Kaspbrak,” Eddie slurs as a reluctant Bill helps him slip on a suit jacket, fiddling with the purple clip-on bowtie Richie threw over the divider at him. “Fuck Kaspbrak, right, Rich?”

“Right,” Richie says enthusiastically -- probably too enthusiastically -- from the other side of the thin wooden divider that separates their “changing rooms.”

“Fuck that name,” Eddie decides, nodding to himself. Bill takes the bowtie out of his hands with a sigh, and Eddie lifts his chin to let Bill fasten it to his shirt, grumbling all the while about how stupid they both are. “And fuck my mom.”

“Fuck your mom!” Richie shouts. There’s a beat of relative quiet, then, “Not, like, fuck your mom, obviously. Fuck... you, maybe?” And then Bev’s raucous laughter echoes through the whole room.

Eddie can’t help laughing with her, even though Bill’s insisting he stay still “so you can at least look semi-presentable for your pictures, c’mon, Eddie, this is a big moment for me, too.”

“How are you the bridezilla, here, Bill?”

“Could you please just work with me here, I swear to-- agh!” (More laughter from Bev. Stan saying something incomprehensible but loud and boisterous. Mike trying to shush them.) “I’m just trying to make sure this is actually special since you absolute buffoons refuse to just wait and do this right.” Is Bill fucking crying?

Richie’s tongue down Eddie’s throat, over and over and over: in the chapel; in a bar; in front of the bar; just before Bill drags them away from the casino they’re trying to sneak back into and instead towards the station wagon he’s doing his best to herd the Losers to; in the station wagon; in front of the motel.

Bill prying them apart with minimal assistance from a piss-drunk Ben who insists he’s “helping,” telling them once again that they are not allowed to consummate their fucking marriage in public, and especially not allowed to do it in the motel room all seven of them have to sleep in--

He hears Bev’s little “aww” behind him somewhere as he and Richie break apart, and Stan’s grief about how fucking early it is “for this shit.” Eddie can hear something like a smile in his voice, if not just plain old amusement.

“We’re married, Rich,” Eddie repeats incredulously, and Bill is saying something about their marriage license in his wallet because neither of them can be trusted, but Eddie couldn’t care less about licenses or whatever, because Richie’s smiling down at him in that way that makes his heart feel too full. And he doesn’t mean to, but a choked noise bubbles up out of him, almost a sob, maybe a laugh. Tears burn in his eyes.

But that’s alright, because Richie’s crying already, and he wraps himself bodily around Eddie, rolling them over so he’s squishing him into the mattress while he kisses all over his face and his throat until Eddie’s squealing with laughter despite his agonizing hangover. He almost feels too good to care about it now, but he’s definitely getting some water and painkillers into his system the second the weird high he’s feeling subsides.

“Okay, okay,” says Stan, standing above them suddenly, swatting at Richie’s shoulders. “You’ve had your fun. Noisy assholes. We were too drunk for proper congratulations last night. Move over.”

All the Losers squeeze themselves onto the queen bed, somehow, and water bottles and aspirin get passed around. At some point Bill gets up to start the coffeemaker and comes back with (good fucking lord) their “wedding photos” in a crisp manila envelope. They’re just as gaudy as he expected. Leave it to Richie to find the ugliest possible outfit for his literal wedding.

Eddie gets hugs and shoulder-squeezes and cheek-kisses from everyone, over and over, and Bev actually cries for about ten full minutes while she holds him, then at least ten more while she holds Richie, and then Ben cries, and... well, they all end up crying all over each other, but it’s awash with joy. “We’re happy for you,” they keep saying, and Eddie’s happy for them, too. He didn’t expect to accidentally do things this way, but he has to be glad it happened.

“God,” he says a while later, shaking his head as he sips sugary coffee from the mug he and Richie are sharing (this room is meant for four people, max, not seven, and is equipped accordingly). He’s still examining a picture of Richie attempting to give him a piggy-back ride out of the chapel. Bill is visible in the background, eyes red and puffy, a wad of tissues clenched in his hand while Mike tries to console him. Eddie has been making fun of him for about half an hour now. “My mom would flip if I told her about this.” But the thought doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t get scared of her anymore. Not like he used to. Not when he’s so far away and he feels so safe with these six idiots who bring so much joy to his life.

Richie’s thumb rubs over the skin of his lower back where his hand has crept up Eddie’s shirt. “Good thing you don’t have to,” he says, and that familiar mantra of “You never have to see her again,” bleeds through, plain as ever.

Eddie hums. Passes the coffee back to him. “I know. But... I kinda want to. Just to watch her head explode,” he says with a shrug and a grin, earning a chorus of easy laughter from his friends. He stares at the ring on Richie’s finger as Richie throws back the rest of their coffee, something warm and familiar blooming brighter in his chest.

#reddie #my writing #oh look i actually found time in the chaos of my life to post this #a miracle #also a fic short enough to just post the whole thing on tumblr???#a second miracle #the losers club #cw alcohol #cw gambling #vegas wedding babey

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eleanorbloom · 4 years

Text

Insomnia (Bryce Lahela x F!MC)

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F! MC (Eleanor Bloom)

Warnings: N.S.F.W. Cursing.

Prompt: Day 7. Booty Call | Sex Toys | Nipple Play (Sorrry I’m late!!!!)

A/N: Hello! Welcome to my second fic for Kinktober! It’s a lot more simplier than the first, because I had a lot of breakdowns writing it, probably because all the smut I have written between them has been kinda passionate, and here they are just horny 😂 but I decided to post it anyway.

I hope you enjoy it!

Insomnia.

Eleanor woke up like she had slept ten hours, but it was too dark to be time to get up. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand and checked the time. 01.27 am. She sighed in frustration as she had four more hours to sleep. She locked the screen and closed her eyes trying to get back to sleep.

Five minutes after tossing and turning, she took her phone again and opened Pictragram. After a few minutes scrolling, she saw Bryce had liked a photo of a mutual account that was uploaded just a few minutes ago, so she went straight to his chat and typed:

Ellie 🌻: “Hey, why you up so late? 👀”

Bryce L. 👨🏽⚕️: “Back at you”

Ellie 🌻: “Can’t sleep. You?”

Bryce L. 👨🏽⚕️: “I have the best cure for sleep deprivation.”

Ellie 🌻: “Oh, yeah?”

Bryce L. 👨🏽⚕️: “Magic hands🤟🏽”

Ellie 🌻: “Where are you?”

Bryce L. 👨🏽⚕️: “At home”

Ellie 🌻: “Can I come over? 😏”

Bryce L. 👨🏽⚕️: “I was hoping you would say that 🤭”

Ellie 🌻: “I’ll be in twenty.”

She replied before getting up from her bed and take a quick shower.

Once she was back in her room, she took the bag with the lingerie she had shopped that afternoon on her trip to the mall with Sienna. She looked at the three lacey lingerie sets, trying to choose a color: navy blue, emerald green, and garnet red. She discarded the first one because she wasn’t really feeling the blue vibes that night, and the last one because even if she was already excited about meeting up with Bryce, that wasn’t an occasion to wear red, so she took the emerald lacey lingerie and put it on.

She looked at the mirror really pleased with herself. The color looked fantastic in her bronze skin, and it made her realize what was the perfect dress to complement her sexy attire for the night. A long blue floral wrap dress with a slit in the middle of her right thigh. It exposed the lacey in her cleavage the right amount and fitted so perfectly around her body, that it made her waist look thinner than it was.

Once all dressed up, she applied a bit of makeup, just red lipstick, and mascara, and then she requested a uber, which arrived in a few minutes.

Ellie 🌻: “On my way 👄”—She texted him from the car.

Bryce L. 👨🏽⚕️: “Finally 🥵”

After a ten-minute ride, she knocked on the door of his apartment with the anticipation about to come out of her mouth. She had been stressed for days since Dr. Ramsey had elected her as the number one in the competition for the Junior Fellow position, and a good bang was the only thing that could ease her from the frustration she had been feeling since that day.

“Hey”—Bryce greeted as he opened the door, grinning broadly at the very sight of her. He was wearing a blue and pink Hawaiian shirt and dark blue jeans. —"I didn’t see you today”

“I had 24 hours shift yesterday”—She replied getting inside.

“Oh, that explains a lot.”

“You missed me?”—She murmured in a sultry voice, leaning close to see him directly in his amber eyes.

“Maybe”

Eleanor discarded her purse on the entry table at one side of the door.

“You were hoping you would find me scrolling at this time of the night, mmh?”

“Were you?”

“Maybe”

Bryce looked down her body. She was wearing a black leather jacket and under that, the reason his bulge grew painfully under his pants, making him groan.

“Hot damn.”

Eleanor, completely aroused by the way he was inspecting her body, kissed him hard and wet. He pulled the jacket out in response, tossing it on the floor, and embraced her by the small of her back, his warm hands roaming over the fabric of her dress.

Her perfume intoxicated him all of a sudden. The musk, vanilla, and popcorn reached him like a hurricane of sensations that forced him to go down her neck and chest and obtain every bit of her smell and drink every inch of her sweetened skin, like a craving man.

“You smell so good, Elle”—He sighed.

Then, Eleanor took his hand and brought it to the tie of her dress, inviting him to undo it.

Bryce gave her an intense look, gulping at the very thought of what he would find under the fabric of her dress. She smirked, raising a brow at his hesitation… or contemplation? After a few moments, he pulled the tie down and the fabric slowly began to slide to each side of her body, exposing the emerald lingerie.

“Holy shit” —He breathed, chewing his lower lip as he roamed his eyes over the lacey and sating lingerie perfectly framing the curves of her waist, hips, and thighs.

“Like what you see?”

Bryce slid his hands over her shoulders, throwing her dress to the floor, leaving her body now only adorned with her lacey underwear.

“Like is an understatement.”

“Smooth”

“I am not always?”

His soft hands traveled over her generous cleavage, and then he placed them over her breast, cupping them perfectly, earning a shiver and a whimper from her mouth.

“If this is my reward for every day I don’t have the chance to see you…”—She stopped him mid-sentence kissing him again and pushing him toward the wall, a sharp sigh coming out of his throat. He looked down at her unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his taut muscles with every button undone until she tugged it down to the floor, impatiently.

The moment his skin was exposed, she brought her lips to his collarbone, and went down to his chest, massaging his pecs with both hands and kissing him all over his skin. The firmness of his muscles turned her on even more, imagining his arms picking her up, her legs around his waist, his bulge pressing her core, his hands touching every sensitive spot of her body just as she liked.

Her folds were growing swollen between her legs, sensing how close she was to feel him inside of her again. His hands roamed her back until he reached her bum, taking it with both hands before sliding both under her underwear, now gripping it tightly.

Eleanor in the meantime started unfastening his pants, and Bryce growled against her mouth when she sank her hand under his boxers, and stroke his throbbing dick waiting for some kind of relief.

He slid his hand up, unclasping her bra, bending down to suck her nipples. Eleanor breathed heavily at the pleasant sensation of his soft hands and his hot breath against her sensitive skin, making her moan when his tongue started to lick her hard nipples.

After a few moments, she pulled his silky brown hair to make him face her. Bryce looked at her agape and confused, her lips plumped and wet.

“Fuck me. Fuck me now”—She demanded, almost out of breath.

“Fuck, yes, of course”

Eleanor took a step closer to the entry table, opened her purse, and grabbed a condom out of a box, and handed it to Bryce.

He received the condom and opened the wrapper instantly, while she was pulling out her panties. Once completely naked, she leaned against the table, lifting her butt so Bryce could take her from behind.

She felt his pulsing cock between her butt cheeks, and his hand gripping her hips. Then, one hand roamed towards her folds, checking how lubed she was before entering her.

“Holy shit, you’re almost dripping down there”

“That’s for you.”—She sighed—"Now, please.”

“Of course”

Bryce pushed himself against her in one swift and precise movement, stealing a yelp from her. He moved slowly at first, feeling her folds enveloping him, breathing in when he was entering, breathing out when he pulled out of her until he began to take speed gradually.

“More”—She sighed.

Bryce obeyed and started to move against her at a quick speed, the flesh colliding, his hands gripping in ass firmly.

“Yes… Come on.”

“You want harder?”

“Please”—She begged in a tiny voice, and she felt how Bryce buried his finger on her skin, almost pinching it as his thrusts reached a senseless speed.

Eleanor cried out the moment he picked up the speed she desired.

“Shit, Elle, you feel so fucking good”

“Fuck yes, keep it going, Bryce.”

Bryce focused on trying to delay his orgasm, but it was difficult with the speed and how much he loved hearing Eleanor crying out his name.

He took her by the shoulder and pressed her body to his, still rocking against her, but at a slow pace. His arms encircled her body, touching her breast with one hand, and fingering her clit the other.

“Oh god, fuck”

“You like it?”

“Please don’t stop”—Her begging whimper drove him crazy.

“Okay”

His fingers picked up speed until he heard her squealing in his ear as she arched her back against him, leaning the nape of her neck on his shoulder. Her legs were trembling and her moans erratic. Without waiting, he pushed her against the table, this time to thrust her until reaching his peak of pleasure and her second. Their bodies crashing invaded the room with obscene echoes, denoting the impossible pace he had picked up. Eleanor was out of breath, her raspy voice barely a groaning, her pleasure losing in her throat.

“You’re fucking amazing, yes. —She whispered until she found the last drop of energy to cry out the moment she reached her second climax.

Bryce kept moving until he let himself release, cumming inside her with a deep groan.

“Fuck, Eleanor!”

He leaned over her warm and sweaty back, while Eleanor was completely motionless over the table, gasping for air. After a few moments, he took her hand and drew her to the couch, where both laid with legs intertwined, her head resting over his chest, and Bryce wrapping her with her strong arms.

Even if the orgasm had killed a great part of her tension, the feeling of his warmth and skin against her seemed to do the rest.

“How’s that insomnia?”

“Worse, I can’t go to sleep if I know I can be fucked again the same way.”

“Or better.”

“Better would mean not be able to walk tomorrow, and I’m not sure if I want that. Besides, you would mess with me for a week for that.”

“No way, a month, at least. And it wouldn’t be because I wanna mess with you, but because I want you to remember how good I did you tonight. Can you blame me?"

"Not at all. And you, ready to go to sleep?”

"Hell no, I didn't make you come over here just for one round."

“Good, because I know exactly what I want for the second round.”

____

Taglist: @romewritingshop @utterlyinevitable @starrystarrytrouble @lahellacute @kiteplayschoices @lahamseiroshoe @lucas-koh @fuseboxmusebox @princesslahela @mckenzie-bae @choicesficwriterscreations @lucy-268 @interobanginyourmom

Let me know if oyu wanna be added or removed from my Kinktober taglist!

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #oh choices #oh fanfic #bryce x casey #pixelberry #cfwc kinktober

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darthspideys · 3 years

Text

antithesis // four

din djarin x jedi! reader

summary: You expected to find another of yoda’s species, much less under the protection of a particularly stubborn mandalorian. Little do you know its that discovery that will change life as you know it, and put all three of you in danger you never saw coming.

words: ~2k

a/n: so I had to repost this because I deleted the orginal version which prevents you from reading any of the other versions I relogged.. I’m an idiot

disclaimer: I h8 baby yoda and it

You really don’t know whether to be offended by him calling you a hurricane or not. Very easily you could push him onto the ground, put your foot on his chest for the third time today and show him who’s boss, show him that he shouldn’t doubt you or mess with you just like you do everyone else. Only you don’t, you let it breeze past you, and you don’t overthink it. You can’t quite explain why but you think it has something to do with the fact that you might be getting through that thick helmet finally.

He doesn’t know what he means by it either. As he looks at you, really takes a good look for the first time in the whirlwind of a day, he doesn’t know what to make of you. It’s a new feeling since he is very good at judging people at least he thinks, or at the very least he forms opinions on people within seconds of meeting them and it usually stays that way. It hasn’t stayed that way with you, he thought something about you that he doesn’t want to repeat at the beginning of the day but it’s been changing ever since then. You’ve gone from enemy, to menace, to women who took out twenty stormtroopers single handedly, who can cut through anything with that lightsaber who might just be a real life jedi, to know when you're something else entirely.

When he looks at you, you're closer to earth. You’re grounded as you stand in front of him, like you’ve settled down the dust is beginning to clear and he thinks that maybe the real you is shining through. For the first time he wants to know you, really know you, you're a mystery that he’s desperate to solve and that scares him a little. Not as much as you scare him, because you’ve had him on the ground unable to move twice today which is more than anyone else has.

“You’re staring,” You say, trying to cut through the silence.

“I’m not,” He shoots back, “Just happened to be looking in your direction, you don’t know what I was looking at.”

“Whatever you say, Mando,” You start to think about leaving but you don’t. Something makes you want to stay put, you just want to sit there and be next to him for as long as you can which is something that you don’t want to get into. “Can I ask where we’re going, then?”

“No,” He says.

You cross your arms, “This feels a bit like kidnapping then.”

He sighs, so verbally that you can hear it through the helmet, “Not if you willingly got into the ship.”

“When I did it was because I didn’t want to be captured by the empire,” You narrow your eyes, “Maybe not kidnapping but definitely entrapment.”

“Do you always talk this much?”

“Yes,” You don’t miss a beat. “Is it annoying? Do you think I’m MirchiKyramud?” You tease, hoping to maybe annoy him into submission. “There’s a very easy solution, just drop me off with the child and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He turns to you, “You think you’re so smart don’t you?”

“I know I am, but thank you for the compliment.”

“It’s not a-” He stops, realizing that it's a battle he’s not going to win.

You tap your fingers against the console, half to break the tension filled silence and half because you're trying to think of what to do. The adrenaline of fighting off about twenty stormtroopers and not dying when presented with the darksaber has yet to wear off, and your brain is running at a speed where it's hard to comprehend anything. There are other people, people you know who would be able to come up with a plan in this situation and execute the plan to perfection. You on the other hand are scuffed around the edges and your first instinct is to fight your way out of it, which is impossible here because the cockpit is very small. That and the kind of fighting you want to do would destroy the console, which would most likely end in all three of your deaths which would defeat the purpose.

That’s the conundrum.

A conundrum which is compounded by the fact that the Mandalorian is staring at you again.

“Yes?” You ask, “You look like you have a question.”

“I don’t look like anything,” He shoots back.

You take a deep breath, “Just ask me, whatever it is.”

“You understood what I said when I-”

“Insulted me?”

“It’s not an insult,” He says, like he’s already got his answer.

You sigh, “It’s insulting to me for you to act surprised that I’m still alive when you left me to the empire.” He’s surprised at that, you can tell. “But you're wondering how I know that, and the answer is it’s none of your business seeing as I’m not even supposed to be here.”

He grumbles something under his breath, something that you can’t hear this time and you sigh in reply. Suddenly a planet comes into view, “What is that?”

“Nevarro,” He replies.

“Why would you go there?”

“To meet with some friends.”

“That is unnecessarily ominous.”

Nevarro isn’t any better than Tatooine. It’s still dry, sandy which reminds you that there’s still sand in your hair. The wind blows through the city square you walk through, and you cross your arms over your chest huffing out a frustrated breath. The mandalorian shut down all of the other questions you asked him once you got into orbit leaving you mildly confused. You follow him anyway because he’s your only way off this dust bowl and you still need the child he’s so very protective of. Though you're beginning to wonder if the little thing is more trouble than he’s worth.

You trudge close behind the Mandalorian through the sand, trying to keep yourself from accidentally making eye contact with anyone else. You would never admit it, but you’re a little out of your element. You’ve never been someone who’s used to being in the city even after the war you still feel removed from places like this, like a fish out of water.

The Mandalorian is on edge just like you are. You can tell from his body language, and from the way he’s been carrying himself since your time in the cockpit. For someone whose face is concealed he gives off a lot of hints about his feelings in his body language. The run in with the empire has rattled him more than he wants anyone to know, and he’s scared of the dark saber more than he wants you to know.

“Can I ask why you would meet with known associates with the empire on your tail? I didn’t kill all of the stormtroopers, I killed some of them but I definitely didn’t kill Gideon and if he’s come after you twice he’s going to go for lucky number three.” He quickens his pace and you keep up with ease. “Seems like you're walking into a trap, unless you want another confrontation with them?”

“I want to warn them,” He stops and turns to you, “The empire is after them too.”

“You care about them enough to put yourself at risk,” You narrow your eyes, “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” He repeats like a question. He wonders what you're trying to get at, but you don’t say anything else so he just keeps walking.

You meet his friends for all of five minutes before you’ve got your lightsaber at the throat of someone outside the crowded Cantina. People pass by but they don’t notice, which makes your skin crawl. You turn your attention back to the man in front of you, “How did you find him?” You growl.

He smiles a sick smile, “We have eyes everywhere.”

“Do you?” Suddenly you feel the Mandalorians presence behind your back, but you don’t pay him any attention. “In case you weren’t aware, you lost the war. The empire is dead.”

“You think you won Jedi? You're more of a fool than I thought. The empire can’t be destroyed, we’ll always be there in the shadows, waiting until your republic is weak.” You can’t quite explain why but that shakes you to your core.

You drop him to the ground and he runs off. You turn back to the Mandalorian, unsure. He grabs your hand, “We have to go.”

But when you turn around you see that the crowds that had been walking through the market have cleared, and standing in the middle of the plaza is a woman with a jet black cloak covering everything but her face. Not a good sign. The Mandalorian steps forward, but you hold out your hand against his chest and stop him from moving forward. “Hukaat'kama,” You say and he nods.

The figure stands in the middle of the plaza, and when you step forward she pulls down her hood to reveal her face. She pulls down the hood to reveal her brown skin, and dark black hair braided back in small braids she undoes the cloak all together and lets it fly off in the wind. You recognise her, and you freeze.

Seeing her sends you back into a memory you thought that you would be able to forget. You can smell the smoke from the village, and see the fire overtaking the homes, and her standing in the middle of all of it, reveling in the destruction she inflicted. There’s someone else too, standing off to the side out of sight. He stands and surveys the wreckage with a look on his face that you can’t forget.

The Mandalorian calls out your name from behind you which shakes you back into the present. This is a different town, with the same woman, only you're here now and you can protect it.You take an offensive stance, and unsheath your own lightsaber, ready to strike if she moves towards you. In response, she unsheathes her own and ignites it, the red blade sticking out against the yellow of the sun and the landscape. You were right on that one too. It’s the second time in less than a day that you’re going to have to do lightsaber combat which is more than you’ve done in a long time. But you’ve convinced yourself that you're ready for this, and you have people to protect so there’s no room for error.

She lunges at your first, which doesn’t surprise you and you jump back and she misses the strike at you. At first, it doesn’t look like she has an abundance of skills, and you’re trying to gauge how good she is with the hopes of knowing who she is and where she comes from. You try not to panic at the possibility of more sith hiding in the shadows and focus on winning this battle. You go on the offensive, moving forward and swinging at her rapidly but controlled so that she can’t think of a counter offensive.

She pushes back on you, aiming at your head which you block and then going lower which you also block. You take a couple of steps back and break into a run, pushing her back using a combination of physical strength and the force, which sends her flying back through the air about ten feet. You think it’s over, but soon enough she comes back into the plaza, a light film of debris covering her upper body. So she doesn’t give up easily, you note that.

Before you can even think of something she comes at you at a speed you’ve never seen and pins you up against the wall surrounding the plaza. She holds the lightsaber to your neck dangerously close to slitting your throat. She looks at you with not an ounce of feeling in her eyes, she just looks in disgust. “Jedi,” She sneers, “You’ve become stronger than the last time I saw you.”

“Strong enough to kill you,” You respond.

Then she smiles, “You’re father thought the same, and where did that leave him?”

Suddenly you kick her right in the stomach, sending her back clutching it. “It left you with an enemy,” You kick again and her lightsaber falls out of her hands as she stumbles back. Then you punch, knowing that she won’t be able to block all of them and put the lightsaber to the side as you use your normal combat skills. You take your own lightsaber and point it at her throat, as you throw hers through the nearest wall so she can’t use it.

“Now-“ You start, “Where’s the empire?”

She spits, “I don’t work for them.”

“Liar,” You reply, “Scum like you are always working for one master or another. Who is it?”

Suddenly something slices over your head, and her lightsaber is in her hands, but instead of facing off against you, she runs. You don’t even think about following because you're a little out of breath, and the idea of facing off against her again is not appealing. You fall to the ground and try not to let the tears pricking your eyes fall onto your face. If you weren’t in the middle of a public place, you��d probably let out a deep guttural scream.

The Mandalorian appears at your side. “What the hell just happened?”

You don’t even register what he says, you don’t even look at him. “I thought I killed her.” You don’t even notice him there, you're too consumed with your own failure. “I was supposed to kill her!” You say loudly, and the stones of the town square crack at the force of your anger.

taglist:

@mjlok // @abysshaven // @itsafreakingtouque // @carrietrekkie

#posting scheudle?? idk her honestly #I post when I want #antithesis series #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x you #din dijarin x y/n #din djarin series #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine

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omniswords · 4 years

Note

#24 for felinette!!!!!!!! 🗣

24. Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer.

leave me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a kiss!

ma’am i stayed up until 4am writing this nonsense, you’re WELCOME.

still connected to #12 and #16 because we love fake not-dating-shenanigans 😏

He’s really got to stop ending up at functions like this. And this one has to be even worse than the New Year’s Eve party.

Félix has never been one for anniversaries—never really saw the significance of them. So you’ve gone around the sun with someone twenty-five goddamn times. Or without someone for six. So what? No reason to commemorate it with the nonsense of balloons and music and food and… other people.

He wouldn’t say he’s spent the majority of the Bourgeois’ 25th anniversary party sulking, although he’s pretty sure it’s the word other people might use to describe him. Especially Mr. and Mrs. Bourgeois themselves, who are apparently bickering over the placement of the baby grand piano as though something like that can be fixed in the middle of an event. And especially Chloé, who—perfectly on brand, even at age twenty—is fawning over her mother and staring at him as if to say, don’t ruin this for me.

As though this is her thing to have ruined.

Besides. He’s not sulking. He’s just very much preferring to be literally anywhere else, the way anyone else with a brain might feel. In fact, the only part of this whole affair that’s been even remotely palatable is the fact that the Dupain-Cheng family is catering. And it’s not because of the food.

Well.

Not necessarily.

It’s because Marinette’s helping. And as much as he needs to keep the opinion to himself, she’s very much a sight for sore eyes in the Grand Paris. Dressed in a black-and-white dress she mentioned making herself, and with her hair in a high ponytail, she pays more attention to her parents and the platters on the table in front of her than to the overly dignified laughter around her.

Admittedly, they haven’t been able to interact much; they agreed on that much as recently as the night before, along with a promise to make up the lost quality time later. This is her summer job, after all, and she says that means something to her. Besides, he has to make himself a certain percent sociable—with the Bourgeois family, with the Tsurugis, even with the Rossis—so everyone and their cousin doesn’t write him off as the Fitzwilliam Darcy of the Agreste/Graham de Vanily family.

(He doesn’t see what the big deal of that is, though. In fact, Marinette would probably agree with him, with that silly little giggle of hers hiding behind her sketchbook, and he’d think, perhaps, that she’d make the perfect Elizabeth.)

Still, it doesn’t sit with him particularly well to ignore her or otherwise treat her just like “the help”—if there’s anything his parents taught him besides their version of love, it’s to thank and remember the names of every person regardless of position. And on top of that, she’s been stealing more than her fair share of glances over at him, as if to invite him over. As if, for a moment or two, she might need some reprieve of her own.

He won’t tell anyone what a sucker he is for the blue in her eyes. He’ll take that to his grave.

It’s just as Félix is getting to his feet and making his way to her table, though, that Lila Rossi decides to try and make herself known. Again. He sighs; he really thought she would have gotten the hint by now. But apparently Lila is nothing if not persistent, even years later, and the way she greets him and all but latches onto his arm is so disgustingly syrupy that he feels the sudden urge to run upstairs and brush his teeth. “Isn’t it lovely?” she says, her fingers curling impossibly tight into the sleeve of his button-up shirt. “Twenty-five years. Can you imagine being invested in someone for so long? It must be beautiful…”

Félix declines to answer, feels his own eyes going dark, and finds a strange solace in the way Marinette, out of the corner of his eye, stiffens and clenches her fist at her side.

“Can’t you picture it?” Lila’s going on as they approach the catering table—doesn’t she ever get tired of hearing herself talk?—and she attempts to slip her hand into his. Smoothly and without missing a beat, he swipes his hand away, sticking it in his pocket with a pointed look. Manners be damned; he’d rather choke on a macaron than hold Lila Rossi’s hand. A cloud passes over her face, subtle and on the edges of manipulative where Chloé would burst out, but otherwise she doesn’t seem fazed. She’s probably developed more resolve, or perhaps more poison, ever since Adrien made it more than clear to her that his interests lay elsewhere. “Haven’t you considered it, Félix? My family’s done some lovely work in England—they’re Italian ambassadors, did you know?”

“Yes,” Félix manages to deadpan, acutely aware of how Marinette turns away from them to unpack another box of ridiculous paper straws. “In fact, Miss Rossi, you’ve told me so frequently that I may very well develop that tinnitus you so often complained about before.” He tilts his head, deeply feels the shift in Marinette’s energy and how hard she must be trying to stifle her own laughter. “Remind me, have you gotten that checked out?”

Marinette has to dip behind the table; he has to try not to smile. If he can’t talk to her directly, he might as well amuse her.

“Oh!” Lila says. “You remembered. Yes, yes, of course I did. It took some extensive treatment, but the doctors say I should be cured by now. It’s miraculous, isn’t it?” She gives her hair a flip. “But really, Félix, you’ll consider what I’ve told you, won’t you? I hear your family’s in the film business, and—wouldn’t you know it, I’ve done quite a few photoshoots with your cousin. I’m sure he could put in a good word for me with your mother. Think about it, us starring opposite each other—”

Félix suppresses a sigh, honestly about to tell her that if she had any sense of his family, he would have known that his aunt was the actress. But before he can so much as open his mouth, Marinette clears her throat to get their attention. Her expression is sour, and her arms are folded. “If you’re not going to take any refreshments,” she chides, “I’m going to ask you make way for those who are. And by the way, it might help you to know that merit and tact get you much farther in life than empty flattery.” She clicks her tongue, tightens the apron at her waist, and turns on her heel. “You should try it sometime, Miss Rossi.”

He knows that expression. The Customer Service Smile, she branded it. It’s half-terrifying, seeing her actually unleash it. Half-terrifying, and half-vindicating.

From the corner of the hotel lobby, Chloé’s mouth falls open in elated shock. Adrien and Kagami pause their hushed conversation to look their way. And Lila turns a deep, angry scarlet. (Oh, Marinette’s gotten so good at getting to her. Perfect, perfect Elizabeth.) In seconds, she’s composed herself, thankfully all but unraveled herself from Félix, and she approaches Marinette’s parents—who are honestly lovely people, and don’t deserve whatever’s about to come to them. (Especially Mrs. Cheng. She’s snuck him into the house too many times.)

They don’t get it. Whatever words Lila’s gathering, whatever excuse me she’s trying to preface it with, Félix doesn’t let it out, and it’s certainly not for her sake or for the Bourgeois family. “Thank you,” he cuts in with a cordial smile, careful not to shake Mrs. Cheng’s hand while she’s handling food. “You’ve been doing wonderful work for this event. Might you permit Miss Dupain-Cheng a short break? I’m sure she could use one.”

It’s practically textbook. Compliment. Persuade. Twist the knife with a little kindness. Perhaps Lila Rossi hasn’t learned all the tricks just yet.

And he certainly won’t let her.

Marinette’s parents look to her, and she looks to Félix, and he raises an eyebrow, as if to say, You gave me an out. Now it’s my turn. She hesitates a moment, then gathers herself. “Actually,” she says, as if finding a second wind, “a break would be really nice. Papa, could you text me when you need me back?”

Her father lets her go—he’s always been good about giving her the things she needs, which is sometimes more than he could say about his own. None too quickly, she undoes her apron, takes a deep breath to center herself, and disappears into the carpeted corridor by the elevators. And Félix, with that twist-the-knife bow and a macaron in hand, dismisses himself from Lila Rossi and finds a new corner to occupy.

There. Now no one can say he doesn’t talk to anyone. And no one can say he sulks.

———

He makes it about three-fourths of the way through the macaron before he finds his out to the corridor. It’s fine; he knows he won’t be missed, and he made sure Lila was properly occupied when he slipped away. She can’t follow him if she doesn’t know where he’s going, after all.

Almost predictably, Marinette is still outside the elevators, pacing back and forth in front of them and only making way for the people coming out. She catches his eye and pauses mid-step, and then collapses by one of the carpeted staircases with her head in her hands. “That was stupid,” she mumbles. “I was stupid.”

Félix doesn’t give her what she’s probably looking for. Instead, he holds his hand out to her and says, “Come with me. It’s suffocating, being in there.”

To his relief, Marinette takes the out. Her hand feels so small and so soft in his as he helps her up, and they slip into one of the elevators; all at once, he’s grateful for the hotel room that accompanied his invitation. They don’t say much, don’t do much even though they finally have the privacy for it. In fact, Marinette doesn’t crack until the elevator door closes behind them and they’ve begun to stroll down the blissfully quiet hallway. “I was working,” she sighs. “And I get it, it wasn’t professional of me to say something like that on the job. Especially during someone’s entire anniversary.”

“On the contrary,” he says, his hand finding a home at the small of her back; he’s relieved that she doesn’t protest, and instead leans into the touch for comfort. “I’ve never heard someone vocalize a middle finger quite as subtly and as eloquently as you.”

“It was hypocritical, Fé,” she points out. “You know I used my connections to get into university, too.”

Félix gives her the type of look that he hopes says, are you kidding me. “You asked for letters of recommendation. Which, as you may recall, is standard for university applications?”

Marinette looks like she wants to find other points to argue, like she’s really racking her brain for it. Eventually she stops, and sighs, and unties and reties her hair. Which is killing him on the inside, but he doesn’t dare say so just yet. Not when she’s still got steam to blow. “I’m sorry,” she finally says. “I should have let you handle it. You can hold your own.”

“Oh, please. To me, she’s a nuisance at best. A sycophant and a sour taste in my mouth. To you, she’s been a terror.” He tosses her a smirk. “I’m impressed that you have the capacity to dislike someone so deeply and so honorably. I should’ve expected something like that from you.” He glances behind them, just to make sure they’re truly alone, before he slips an arm around her waist, pulls her close and murmurs against the shell of her ear. “Were you jealous, love?”

It works. He can practically feel out her goosebumps, the way her muscles relax, with every sense he has. “Félix…”

“Well?” He hardly moves away from her, noses right into the flyaway hairs her elastic didn’t catch, into the sugar-and-almond scent she’s been carrying all day. “Were you?”

Marinette doesn’t bother to look his way. She stares straight ahead, and folds her arms across her chest. “Why should I be jealous?” she says. “You’re mine.”

Dear God. If he wasn’t attracted to her before, he certainly is now. He can feel the flare of it in the pit of his stomach, and before even he knows it he’s kissing the comebacks off of her tongue, pressing her against the wall just a few doors down from his room. He sighs, all but covering her mouth with his, and his hands catch on her dress on the way to tugging her hair tie out and securing it around his wrist for safekeeping. He always knew that sleight of hand would prove useful someday. “Yours, huh?” he hums in between kisses. “Is that how you feel?”

“I’m not wrong,” Marinette argues back, tugging him back in by the lapels of his jacket, and he’s far too busy tangling his fingers in her hair and mouthing down her neck to dispute it. And even if he weren’t busy, he certainly wouldn’t want to. Not when she sounds like that.

He pauses to laugh into her ear, her hair spilling over her shoulders as his hands find a home at her waist. “Don’t you have guests to cater to?”

Her lips are as red as her cheeks, and as far as he’s concerned her eyes are hooded beyond redemption. “Don’t you have a couple to congratulate?”

“Why should I? I’ve got something worth celebrating right here.” He grins faintly, steals another searing kiss, runs his hands up and down her sides and jumps at the opportunity to slip tongue when she gasps. “And she looks so good in wrinkles and a peter pan collar.”

Marinette’s breath hitches.

Bingo. And here she probably thought he didn’t pay attention to her fashion rambles.

Her eyes are sparkling by the time he pulls back enough to look at her. She looks him up and down, stops his hands, gives them a squeeze.

“Where’s your room?”

#miraculous ladybug #felinette #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #fake not dating au #kiss meme #listen we're just all going to be okay with the fact that i wrote 2.5k for this request #and be done with it #SMASH THAT REBLOG BUTTON BABIES #jadysal #answers

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zelenacat · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4- When We Were Young- An Obitine Story

Slowly, Satine felt like her life was coming back together. As much as she missed Tyra, who’d she’d begun to write daily letters to, letters she would never send, the Duchess’ duties took up much of her time. Then, there was Korkie. He was the light of her life, always giggling and happy, his first word was “dabb” which is Mandalorian for up. Satine had laughed when he raised his arms and bounced on his toes. She loved her son, even if she couldn’t claim him as hers. The nanny they’d hired was very kind to Korkie, and Satine was grateful, as much as she was to Khaami and Fesma who’d helped her through so much. Soon, the Duchess was thin enough that she didn’t need to wear corsets or girdles to hide her weight, and she felt much freer than before.

However, this strange bliss didn’t last forever, because one day, while Satine was dressing, her comm went off.

“Satine.” his voice was hurt and shocked, it was almost blasphemous to hear him this way.

“Obi?”

“Master Qui-Gon’s dead.”

Satine gaped, it had been a year since the man came to bring Tyra to the temple. God, she was grateful to him.

“H-how?” she stuttered.

“A sith lord,” she could hear Obi-Wan’s voice quiver, “and now I have to train his new padawan.”

“What-”

“I’ll explain when I get there,” Obi-Wan stated, determined, “the council gave me a week off to recuperate.”

Satine wasn’t sure what to feel, “I can’t wait to see you, Ben.”

As soon as their call was over, Satine rang for Fesma and Khaami.

“Satine?”

“Tell the guards I’m having a visitor today,” Satine swallowed, “here is his ship number.”

Fesma raised an eyebrow, “His?”

“Please, Fesma,” tears pricked at Satine’s eyes, “just go.”

When Khaami arrived, breakfast tray in hand, the Duchess full-blown sobbing.

“Satine,” the lady set down the tray, “what’s wrong?”

“He’s coming,” the Duchess gasped, “just like he left me!”

“Satine-”

“I thought I was okay, Khaami,” Satine sniffled, “I thought I was better.”

Khaami knelt down, “Who?”

“Their father.” Satine answered, shivering at the word.

The lady was silent for a moment, “When is he arriving?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Satine,” Khaami breathed, “look at me.”

The Duchess raised her head.

“You can do this, okay.”

“I can do this,” Satine repeated, breathing heavily, “I can do this.”

The Duchess hadn’t heard Fesma return until she asked, “What would you like to wear, Your Grace?”

Satine steeled herself, she would face this battle head on.

“A casual day dress with my house colors, no headdress.”

Fesma curtsied, “Yes, Your Grace.”

Khaami urged Satine to eat a little something, but the Duchess only managed a piece of butter-less toast.

“Satine-”

“I still love him, Khaami,” Satine confessed, ashamed of herself, “even after everything we’ve been through.”

“Then tell him that.” Khaami urged.

“I can’t,” Satine stood, “he could never be my consort, Mandalore’s peace is too fragile, there would be an uproar.”

Khaami looked as crestfallen as Satine felt, buut Fesma returned silently and helped her lady dress.

“I don’t want him to see Korkie,” the Duchess added, “he looks so much like him, he’d know immediately.”

“I’ll make sure Korkie takes his walk in the south garden today, Satine.” Fesma stated.

“Thank you.”

Satine spent twenty minutes pacing the landing platform before a ship arrived. It was clean cut and gleaned in the sunlight, Obi-Wan did not. His ginger hair was plastered to his head at strange angles, his skin was sullen and bruised, but his eyes hurt her the most. Those crystal orbs that could see into her soul were sunken and red-rimmed.

“Oh, Obi-”

Shaking slightly, Obi-Wan returned Satine’s embrace. It was a friendly hug, with Obi-Wan only lightly touching her after a hesitant moment.

“Please come inside,” the Duchess gestured when they separated, “we’ll have some tea.”

Satine remembered how Obi-Wan loved green tea, so when she guided him to her personal parlor, only after listening hard for Korkie’s wails and finding none, she told Fesma to fetch some green tea.

“Or whatever you have is fine,” Obi-Wan’s voice quivered, “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Fesma’s eyebrows almost flew off her head.

“Green tea.” Satine repeated.

The lady curtsied, “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Khaami,” Satine turned, “please bring some tea snacks.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

As Khaami left, Satine took Obi-Wan’s hands in hers, surprised at first that he tried to pull away.

“Obi, it’s just me,” Satine said soothingly, “you know I could never hurt you.”

“That’s not it.” Obi-Wan frowned.

Satine tried to read him, but found she couldn’t. Curse her Jedi and his skill at hiding his emotions!

“Then what is.” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“I lost someone I loved,” Obi-Wan paused, “I mean, someone who I cared for deeply, and I can’t let that happen again.”

“It won’t,” Satine promised earnestly, “it won’t.”

“But how do you know that?” Obi-Wan begged.

“Because,” Satine swallowed, “if you still care for me, no one knows about that.”

“Not even your ladies?” asked the Jedi.

“Not the whole story, no,” Satine shook her head and smiled sadly, “there are some memories of you I just want for myself.”

The corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched. The door creaked open.

“Tea and cakes, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Satine nodded at both her ladies, “I’ll ring for you later.”

Curtsying, Fesma and Khaami left.

“Satine, I-”

The Duchess turned.

“I don’t know what to say.” Satine’s features clouded with worry, “What do you mean?”

“Master Qui-Gon’s gone.”

“You need time to mourn,” Satine tenderly caressed Obi-Wan’s cheek like she had when he took a shot for her on Draboon, “I’ll have a room set up for you in the guest hall, you can stay as long as you like.”

“I have a week, Satine,” Obi-Wan sighed, “one week.”

The first three days of his visit, Obi-Wan kept mostly to himself. He ate in his room, he meditated in his room, and Satine hoped he slept in there, but she wasn’t so sure. The fourth evening, after Satine had a full day of ruling Mandalore, Khaami and Fesma were helping Satine into her nightdress.

“He seems so moody.”

“He’s grieving,” Satine answered, leveling Fesma a look, “this is very hard for him.”

Nodding, Fesma threw Satine’s clothes down the laundry chute.

“Hey, you!”

Satine turned.

“What is your purpose?”

Running to the door and yanking it open, Satine startled the two guards at her door, but she looked past them, to Obi-Wan.

“Ah, there you are,” Satine smiled, “I was expecting you.”

The guards were more than surprised.

“Fesma,” Satine ordered without turning around, “fetch some tea for Obi-Wan and myself.”

Khaami followed obediently after Fesma, who squeezed around Satine and through the guards.

Satine forced a smile, “Come to my parlor, Obi-Wan, we have much to discuss.”

Obi-Wan practically ran through the door, and Satine slammed the door behind him shut so hard she swore one of the guards cursed. Still, the Duchess took Obi-Wan by the hand and led him into her parlor. She sat on the couch, he sat next to her.

“I want to say-”

“Before I start-”

Satine closed her mouth and blushed, they hadn’t been this awkward since the beginning of their physical attraction.

Obi-Wan sighed, “I despised leaving you.”

“Despised it?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan met Satine’s eyes for the first time in a long time, “and I really want to spend time with you again, but-”

“But?” Satine asked tentatively.

Obi-Wan’s cheeks burned, he was ashamed, “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

Satine sighed, “Oh, Ben-”

“It’s okay if you want to protect yourself too,” the Jedi lowered his eyes, “I can leave tonight and never come back.”

Satine scoffed, tears welled in her eyes, “Do you really think our love was that fickle?”

“No, Satine, I-”

“Obi,” Satine crossed her arms, “this will hurt just as bad as last time, but I’ll be damned if I throw away a chance to be with you.”

“Satine-”

Quickly, before she regretted it, Satine threw herself onto Obi-Wan, caching his head just before it hit the arm rest.

“Don’t back away from me, Ben,” she said, lowering herself onto his chest, “that would hurt me more.”

Satine felt Obi-Wan wrap his arms firmly around her waist, “Then I won’t.”

They stayed like that for a while, until a knock gently rapped against the door. The couple looked at each other, and begrudgingly separated.

“Come in.” Satine called, trying to keep her voice even.

“Tea and oranges, Your Grace.”

Fesma and Khaami placed down their trays and curtsied.

“Thank you,” Satine gave her maids a look, “you may turn in for the night.”

Once the door was closed, Satine felt Obi-Wan’s lips graze her collarbone. Turning, Satine wrapped her arms around her Jedi’s neck and let his kisses trail along her jaw.

“Just kiss me, Ben.” Satine breathed.

Obi-Wan did, a sweet and soft one like they used to share when Master Qui-Gon wasn't looking. Though this time, he wasn’t as shy.

“Ben,” Satine smiled, pressing her hips against Obi-Wan’s, “Ben.”

Satine felt Obi-Wan’s hand linger on the buttons that undid her ivory nightdress, and to show him that it was okay to undo them, Satine dragged her hand down from Obi-Wan’s neck, across his chest, and to his trouser strings.

“We should move.” he mumbled into her neck.

“You can always erase the guards’ memories,” Satine asked, “right?”

Obi-Wan grinned cheekily, “If that’s what Her Grace wishes.”

It wasn’t funny, but Satine giggled anyway.

“You know what else the Duchess would like?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, “What?”

Satine’s eyes glimmered, “To be reminded of that cold night on Draboon.”

“Not the venemites?” Obi-Wan teased.

“Ben.” Satine whined.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan sat up, yanking Satine with him, “the bed will be more comfortable.”

Satine felt a rush at his words and her cheeks turned pink, though her stomach fluttered with anticipation.

“Anything in particular you’d like?” Obi-Wan asked, pulling Satine towards him.

The Duchess grinned and traced the Jedi’s jaw, “Surprise me.”

After a full night of groaning and giggling, Satine felt Obi-Wan sneak out at the crack of dawn.

“Ben-”

“I’ll see you later, love,” he said, kissing her head, “I’ll come back to you.”

Satine went back to sleep, but when Fesma shook her awake, she couldn’t stop smiling.

She heard Khaami wrinkle her nose. “Ew.”

Covering herself, Satine sat up to face her ladies, grinning like a fool.

“You look like how a child feels on Giving-Day morning.” Fesma remarked.

Satine leaned back against her pillows, “Mm, happy.”

Fesma snorted, Khaami pretended to throw up.

“Shall we get you dressed, Your Grace?” said Fesma, changing the subject.

“Yes, please.” Satine smiled.

Khaami raised her eyebrows.

“If she’s gonna be like this all day, I really will barf.”

Fesma’s laugh echoed from the closet.

“I mean really though,” Khaami continued, “you literally have a knight in shining armor.”

Satine giggled, covering her mouth slightly.

“Come on, Your Grace,” Fesma tossed Satine her underwear, “let’s get you dressed.”

Once she was clothed, Satine’s ladies began the difficult task of combing her hair.

“My God.” Fesma sighed.

“Headdress?” Khaami asked.

“Headdress.” Satine agreed.

The Duchess had meetings all morning, and wasn’t able to see Obi-Wan until lunch, which they took in her parlor.

“You must be very busy.” Obi-Wan commented, smiling like an idiot.

Satine tilted her head, “And what would you know of what I do, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan clicked his tongue, eyes glowing, “A thing or two.”

Satine laughed and tossed a leftover orange slice into her mouth.

“Seriously though,” Obi-Wan continued, “what do you do all day?”

“Boring meetings and planning public appearances,” Satine answered, “your adventures all over the galaxy must be more fun.”

Obi-Wan’s smile flattered.

“Oh, Ben,” Satine gasped, “forgive me!” “No, no,” Obi-Wan shook his head, “it’s alright.”

The Duchess was silent for a minute.

“Tell me how it happened.” she said finally, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes.

So Obi-Wan recounted the tale of the phantom menace who’d eluded them on Tatooine and Naboo, only to kill his master and leave him dying in Obi-Wan’s arms.

“Oh, Ben.” Satine reached her hand out.

“I’m going to train the boy he wanted to,” Obi-Wan admitted, “he’s called Anakin.”

“Anakin?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan nodded, “he’s a little older than when most start their training, but-”

“Your Grace?”

The couple froze as the door opened. The Prime Minister, Jaru Djarin, entered and bowed.

“I am sorry to interrupt, Your Grace,” the Prime Minister kept her eyes on the Duchess, “but a few urgent documents have come in that require your signature.”

“Of course,” Satine stood and turned to Obi-Wan, “please excuse me.”

They were new tariffs that parliament had passed, all they required was her signature.

“Naboo won’t like this,” Satine frowned, “and Cerea won’t be pleased.”

“I agree with you, Your Grace,” Prime Minister Djarin nodded, “but unfortunately, I was out voted.”

So Satine signed the trade tariffs and went back to Obi-Wan.

“You look troubled.” he observed.

“Interesting new tariffs,” Satine frowned, “but I’d really rather not talk about that when I have time with you.” Obi-Wan grinned and leaned back on the couch, “Then what do we do?”

Satine tried not to smile, “I have no idea.”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan became serious, “Remind me why most Mandalorians still still don’t like the Jedi?”

“Well,” Satine hesitated, the New Mandalorians believe they are too violent, and the Old Mandalorians are still angry about the whole historical enemies thing.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, “So, you have political rivals?”

“Unfortunately,” Satine confessed, “they’re not so much rivals as dissidents who spy and try to bring me down.”

“What do you mean?”

Satine’s throat closed at the concern in Obi-Wan’s voice.

“It’s nothing really,” Satine shifted, uncomfortable, “they want to make an example out of me, that I’m weak and stupid.”

“You’re none of those things,” Obi-Wan reached out gently, “you’re strong, and beautiful, and the smartest person I know.”

Satine looked up, “Really?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan smiled, “remember the time you outwitted Master Qui-Gon and saved all our lives?”

“That was,” Satine hesitated, “a plan that was laid as everything happened.”

“It still worked.” Obi-Wan countered.

Satine looked up at her shining Jedi knight, his gleaming crystal blue eyes, his bright orange hair, maybe one day Korkie would look like him.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, “What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

Satine was surprised at how easily the lie came.

Grinning like a schoolboy, Obi-Wan wrapped Satine in his arms, “I think of you a lot too, way too much for my own good, in fact.”

“So do I.” Satine agreed.

They stayed like that for a while, after which Satine had to go to more official duties, so she didn’t see Obi-Wan until dinner time, which was also taken in her parlor.

“Satine,” Fesma whispered, “the servants are starting to talk.”

“Let them,” Satine gestured, “it’s just gossip.”

“But if it gets out of the palace,” Fesma continued, “people will ask questions.”

Satine frowned, “What are they saying?”

Fesma hesitated, “They think you’re having an affair with the Jedi.”

“What?”

Fesma raised an eyebrow, “Aren’t you?”

“He’s the father, Fesma,” Satine lowered her voice, “what am I going to do, not love him?”

Fesma sighed.

“Obi-Wan,” Satine turned, “let’s have dinner on the balcony.”

Obi-Wan looked like he was warring with himself, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Satine looked at Fesma, “Yes, just for tonight.”

As they sat overlooking the gardens, Satine pointed out her favorite spots.

“Those are lilies from the Old World,” she said, gesturing with her fork, “they used to come in a multitude of colors, but now we only have white ones.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan smiled.

Satine sighed, ��Well if you don’t want to hear about the secret passageways in the maze-”

“Oh, no, no,” Obi-Wan gestured with a wink, “I would love to hear about the maze’s secret passageways.”

Satine pointed at the mass of green hedges, “It leads to the center where there’s an Ancient Mandalorian pavilion with a statue of the goddess of war.”

“Goddess of war?” Obi-Wan asked.

Satine shrugged, “Mandalorians, what can you do?”

Obi-Wan laughed, a sound that made Satine smile.

“I wish you would never have to leave.” she confessed.

Obi-Wan looked down, “So do I.”

At this point, Satine was hovering dangerously close to telling him about the children.

“How about we go for a walk?” Satine stood.

Obi-Wan did the same and held out his arm, “Why don’t we?”

Five minutes later, the Duchess and her Jedi were running through the maze, trying to lose the guards that were loosely trailing them.

“Through here.” Satine whispered.

Obi-Wan smiled as Satine closed the hedge door behind them.

“Is this the-”

“Sh!”

Footsteps approached and the guards began speaking in low voices.

“You really think she’s kriffing the Jedi?” one asked.

“Do you remember anything about that night guarding her room?”

“No.”

“It’s because he erased our memories,” the second guard was likely wiggling his eyebrows, “whatever they’re doing, they don’t want us to know.”

Satine went red, Obi-Wan was trying not to laugh.

“Come, they're probably around the corner.”

As the footsteps grew quieter, Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around Satine’s waist.

“They’re onto us, my love.”

Satine sighed, “What are we ever going to do?”

Obi-Wan snorted, “Get better at sneaking around.”

Unfortunately for Satine, that meant that she and Obi-Wan had to have their remaining breakfasts in the dining room with her ladies in attendance, but worst of all, Obi-Wan had been sneaking out earlier and earlier each night.

“Ben-”

“Don’t worry, love,” Obi-Wan whispered, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow’s your last night.” Satine mumbled into the pillow.

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, “Then I guess we’ll have to make it count.”

At breakfast that morning, Satine noticed her Jedi felt unusually reserved, but she didn’t get a chance to ask him about it until lunch.

“Something’s troubling you.’ she stated.

It was a fact, not a question.

“This whole week has been a dream,” Obi-Wan recounted, “I hate that it has to end.”

Satine frowned, “I wish you could stay as well.”

Obi-Wan looked up, “Why can’t I?”

Satine gaped for a second.

“Well,” she hesitated, “your code forbids-”

“Kriff the code!”

Satine was shocked, they were dining in her room, but she was sure the entire palace had heard.

“Ben-”

“If you can give me a good reason,” Obi-Wan crossed his arms, “then I’ll be satisfied!”

“Well, a former Jedi then, the system would have reason to revolt again, and the civil war just ended-”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, “So you think I would cause civil war?”

Satine was shocked, she hated this Obi-Wan Kenobi, the argumentative juror of reason. The Kenobi that always won arguments, like this, he wasn’t her Ben.

Tears welled in Satine’s eyes, “You don’t know how much I want to be with you, Ben.”

The Jedi stood up, “Well it’s clearly not enough!”

“Ben-”

Obi-Wan bowed, “Good day, Duchess.”

Satine cried her eyes out for hours, screaming into her pillow with legs flailing through the air. Then she threw her headdress against the wall and punched the wall, which hurt.

“Your Grace?” asked a tentative voice outside her door.

“Send for my ladies!” Satine yelled.

Fesma and Khaami came quickly, too quickly.

“They say you’ve had a fight.” Fesma’s features drooped.

“I don’t care what they say,” Satine huffed, crossing arms, “but yes, we had a fight.”

“Oh, Satine.” Khaami embraced her lady.

“I love him, Fesma,” Satine swallowed, “I love him!”

Fesma sat on Satine’s other side, “I know, Satine, I know.”

The Duchess straightened.

“I have to see Korkie.”

The ladies looked at each other, “Satine-”

“I need to see my son.” the Duchess repeated.

The nurse wasn’t surprised when Satine burst in, she only looked up from the rocking chair where she was coddling Korkie.

The nurse gave Satine a quizzical look, “I was worried the argument might disturb him, but your nephew sleeps well, Duchess.”

Some tension seeped from Satine’s shoulders as she stared at her sleeping son, and she stepped closer. The nurse, understanding completely, stood up and gently handed Satine the baby, or perhaps he was even a toddler now.

“I may be old, Your Grace,” the nurse whispered, “but I am not blind, that man is your son’s father.”

Satine swallowed, hard.

“I shall not tell,” the nurse continued, “it would be cruel of me to do so.”

Obi-Wan did not come to dinner, and for an hour afterwards Satine wore her carpet thin from pacing. Then, after a stroke of bravery, she threw on her robe and opened the door.

“I shall return soon.” she told her guards.

Obi-Wan was in the guest wing, a floor below Satine’s. She knew which room he was in because outside sat an empty tray. She knocked on the door. No one answered. Then she knocked again, and again. Finally, when the door flew open, and Obi-Wan stood bedraggled in front of her, the words came.

“It can’t end like this, Ben,” Satine’s heart was in her words, “and if I can’t be with you my whole life, one last time will have to suit me.”

Obi-Wan stared at her.

“Ben, please-”

“I love you, Satine,” Obi-Wan growled low, “more than I ever thought it possible to love someone.”

“Please, Ben.” Satine begged.

It was glorious, the feel of his skin on hers again, and this time, Satine felt she could feel Obi-Wan’s adoration and love for her when he touched her. She would feel terrible in the morning when this was all over.

#satine kryze #duchess satine #satine x obiwan #satine #obi wan kenobi #obiwan #korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #fanfic #not a smut writer but I tried #fanfiction

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kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

Keeping a Secret (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Hoseok / Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: oral (male), Hoseok calls the reader princess, dirty talk, blow job kind of over boxers?, semi-rough sex

Genre: New Relationship!AU

Synopsis: You and Hoseok have been hooking up for a few weeks now. No one in your friend group knows. What happens then, when he shows up at movie night looking better than anticipated?

Word Count: 3,743

[ cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

It has been three weeks, two days and twenty hours (give or take) since Jung Hoseok first kissed you.

If you were classifying moments, you would not call it a romantic gesture. You were in the middle of a long speech about climate change and how the world was sinking into the sea, the ice caps were melting and soon enough, there would only be brown-fur polar bears because their white fur would be all muddied and gross.

That was when Jung Hoseok turned on the couch, said, “Screw it,” and kissed you. Hard. When he finally broke for air several seconds later, he blurted, “I needed to shut you up somehow. Also, apparently the world is ending, so why not?”

You stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Good enough for me.”

Then, you kissed him again.

You did not have sex that night, but you did the night after. And after that, and after that, and – well, you get the picture. Except for tonight, of course. Tonight is movie night with all your friends, and you are seated purposefully on one couch and Hoseok, across the room on the other.

None of your friends know that you two are hooking up. None of them know, because there is nothing to tell. You and Hoseok have been friends for so long, you did not really plan the hook-up, so much as you slipped into it. Once you were there, you did not want to scare it away by giving it a label.

It is not as though your friends would be opposed to you dating – exactly the opposite. They would make a big deal, put you two under a microscope and right now, you are trying to figure this out for yourselves. Time alone is warranted.

Crossing both arms over your chest, you glance at Hoseok, then the TV. Then back to him. Shoving your toes into the carpet, you exhale though your nostrils and try not to look pissed.

He just looks so fucking good tonight.

I mean, on most nights he looks amazing. That is what you first noticed about him, after all. When you first met, Hoseok was just Jimin’s friend from back home. Jimin was Taehyung’s roommate at the time, who was dating your roommate, Olivia. You began to hang out and after a while, Hoseok became a staple. You knew him for his outfits at first, more than anything else. He always wore loud patterns paired with the most hideous sneakers you have ever seen.

But then you noticed other things about him. The adorable slope of his nose when he turned. The way he ruffled his hair when he was happy. Or upset. The way he took care of Jimin freshman year when he got super homesick, taking him under his wing in the simplest of ways.

You saw all this and slowly but surely, a massive crush developed on Jung Hoseok. That was all, though – a crush. You thought you could handle it. Indeed, you were handling it. Until he kissed you and everything went to hell.

Lacing your hands in your lap, you discourage their wandering anywhere else. True, Hoseok is sitting across the room but that is no guarantee of good behavior. Hoseok decided to wear his black hoodie tonight. He also decided to style his hair, dark and tousled away from his face. You scowl in his direction, thoroughly put out.

Hoseok stares at the TV, blue light flickering over his features. Beside him sits Jimin, chatting quietly with Jungkook on the floor. Namjoon at the back of the room, thoroughly engrossed in the events of the movie. On his other side is Yoongi, ensconced in the lone armchair. Ari and Seokjin are with you on the couch, with Olivia firmly locked in Taehyung’s embrace on the floor.

As though able to sense the pull of your gaze, Hoseok looks up.

He stares for only a moment, eyes narrowed before he glances back down. His fingers wrap around his cell phone, typing something in and a second later, your own buzzes to life. Seokjin shifts beside you and, careful not to disturb him, you unlock the text.

Hoseok: stop staring at me [10:08 PM]

Y/N: maybe if you didn’t look like that, I wouldn’t have to stare [10:08 PM]

Hoseok: didn’t look like what [10:09 PM]

Y/N: I mean, have you always been this goddamn hot? [10:09 PM]

Y/N: can’t look at you without wanting your dick in my mouth [10:10 PM]

Glancing up, you watch him as he reads. Hoseok inhales, typing quickly and your phone vibrates with a response.

Hoseok: holy fuck y/n [10:11 PM]

Your lips curl into a smile.

Y/N: have I told you how much I like your cock [10:12 PM]

Y/N: so much [10:12 PM]

Y/N: it’s the perfect size [10:12 PM]

Y/N: enough to make me choke [10:13 PM]

Y/N: hits so deep [10:13 PM]

Y/N: tastes so good when you cum down my throat [10:14 PM]

Continuing to smile, you glance up to watch Hoseok read. Frowning, you realize the couch across from you is empty. Only Jimin sits on the sofa. As soon as you think this, your phone buzzes again. Glancing down, you see no words on the screen. Only the sender.

Hoseok.

Slowly, you swipe to unlock.

“Fuck,” you mutter, under your breath.

“What?” Seokjin does not look away from the screen.

Hurriedly, you tilt your phone away. “Uh, nothing.” Twisting on the couch, you glance at the image again.

Fuck, is right. Hoseok must be in the bathroom. That much is obvious by the neat rows of Taehyung’s face products behind him. That is not the most defining part of the picture, though. The most defining part is Hoseok’s lower half, one hand lewdly grasping his package. The image makes you swallow, throat suddenly dry.

His underwear is still on – grey boxer-briefs you bought with him in Target one lazy summer afternoon. You were with him then and okay, maybe you imagined him wearing them. Maybe you thought once or twice about him over the course of your friendship.

Glancing once more at the photo, you nearly groan out loud. Hoseok’s hands are veiny, gripping his length over the material of his boxers. He is semi-hard, that much is obvious. Realizing he wants you makes your legs clench together. Honestly, that is a turn-on in itself. No other guy has been quite as vocal with you about his desires before.

Abruptly, you stand. “Have to pee,” you inform Seokjin.

He makes a face. “Alright,” he mumbles. “Go off, I guess.”

Turning around, you dart from the living room. Taehyung’s kitchen is dark, every light turned off to better enjoy the movie. His bathroom is down the hall, just before his bedroom. You pause outside the door when – it opens fast, a hand reaching out to seize your arm.

“Hey,” Hoseok grins, pulling you in and shutting the door.

You are disappointed to find he is fully dressed. The evidence of the photo is still present, though. His shirt is untucked, belt buckled over unzippered jeans. The dark strands of his hair are a mess, as though he pushed his hands through it several times.

Your heart stutters at the endearing image. “That was some photo,” you grin.

Hoseok shakes his head. “No time,” he demands, shoving you against the door.

You inhale, hands winding greedily about his neck when he kisses you. Moving against you, Hoseok’s frame molds to yours. His knee pushes between your thighs, providing much-needed friction. His hands – expert in everything – deftly slide to undo your bra. Once this is accomplished, Hoseok yanks up your shirt and cups your breasts with both hands.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your lips.

Deftly, his thumbs trace your nipples. Whimpering, you clamp your thighs around Hoseok’s. He pulls back, smirking when his thumbs start to flick. He knows how sensitive you are and will use this to his advantage. Honestly, you could probably come like this but not here. Not now, when time is of the essence.

Lifting a hand to your cheek, Hoseok’s thumb strokes your lips until you open.

“Suck,” he commands, voice low.

You obey, lips closing around him to headily suck. Teasing him with your tongue, you drag this up the underside like you would his cock. Hoseok’s gaze hardens, breath hitching; he squeezes your breast roughly before he releases.

“You wanna suck me off, is that it?”

He asks you this calmly, taking a step backwards. There is not much room in the bathroom, so his legs nearly hit the edge of the tub. Nodding eagerly, you already miss the feel of his thigh on your heat.

Hoseok arches a brow, beginning to unbuckle his belt. “Well, princess?”

Nodding, you step forward and lower yourself to your knees. The linoleum is hard, biting but you find that you like it.

“Yes, Hobi.”

He smirks, a teasing glint to his eyes. Even when serious, Hoseok maintains this demeanor. Even when tying you up on the bed and fucking you senseless, there is always this humor beyond a hardened exterior. You have complete confidence that, should you at any point wish to stop, Hoseok will oblige. No questions asked. He only gets off on something if you do, too.

Staring at him, you lick your lips.

Shoving his pants past his ass, Hoseok exposes the grey of his boxers. He is more than semi-hard, you note with some longing. Shuffling forward, you reach for his cock.

Hoseok slowly shakes a finger. “Nuh-uh,” he teases. “Not yet.”

Pouting, your hands fall to your sides.

“Over the boxers, first.”

Heart thudding, you slowly nod and move closer. Continuing to make eye contact, you bend and smooth your hands around his hips. Pulling the fabric taut, you see the clear outline of his cock. Without breaking your gaze, you lick a trail up the side. Hoseok exhales through his nose when you begin mouthing his dick, leaving wet imprints on the grey of his boxers.

One of your hands cups his balls, massaging gently while you suck on the tip. Before you know it, Hoseok is shoving his boxers down to his knees.

“Fuck,” he says, grasping your hair. “I need your mouth now, princess.”

You nod, barely having a choice in the matter when he guides his cock to your lips. Sitting back on your heels, you let the weight of his cock fall on your tongue. You relish in that for a moment – the salty taste of his pre-cum, the velvet smoothness of his length before you close your lips around him and suck. Hard.

Swearing, Hoseok’s hips jolt forward and you do not stop. Sucking harder, you trail your tongue up his frenulum before pulling back. Hoseok continues to hold you like that, thrusting his hips and using your body. For a few seconds, it is like that – hot and messy while he fucks into your mouth.

You like it like this, though. You like to watch hair fall into his gaze, darkened with lust while his thrusts become increasingly sloppy. You like to grip his thighs tightly, feeling the moment when he tenses for release. When you choke on his cock, spit dribbling out, Hoseok groans and pulls back.

“Baby,” he coos, wiping this with a finger. Pulling you up from the floor, he cradles your ass with both hands. “Princess, you’re so good to me. You know that?”

Nodding, you smirk because yes, you do know. Having known Hoseok for so long, you know exactly what he likes and exactly how to do it. The benefit of being friends first is you heard his hook-up stories first-hand. So-and-so did not know he has a ticklish collarbone. Another girl never once touched his balls, and Hoseok loves when girls do that.

With these tidbits of knowledge, you are well-equipped to ensure Hoseok turns ravenous. It is with absolute certainty you can say that only Hoseok has made you come half as hard. No one has ever tried half as hard either, but that is an entirely different matter.

Spinning you around to face the mirror, Hoseok rests your hands on the sink. “I have a condom,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “Is that good?”

You nod, staring at your reflection. Hair falls about your face, breathing ragged, and shirt pushed past your breasts. Hoseok fishes a condom from his jeans, standing up to undo the package. Rubber snaps against skin and then Hoseok’s length is there, pressed to your ass. Hand sliding over your hip, he locates your zipper.

“Your jeans need to go,” he says, low as he drags them down to your knees. “No time for more, I’m afraid.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes when you feel Hoseok’s hand at you core. Sliding up and down the center of your panties, he feels your wetness. “Hobi,” you whine.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, rubbing your clit. You mewl in response. “You’re just so wet, princess. All that from sucking my cock?”

“Before.” You groan when he pulls on your panties. “Been this wet since I saw you.”

Teasing your folds, Hoseok pushes your panties aside, re-gripping his cock. You whimper, bent to the counter and clenching hard around nothing.

“Come on, baby,” you moan, pushing backwards. “Fill me up. Please – please, Hobi. I need to feel you inside me. Need your cock in my pussy.”

“Fu-ck,” Hoseok mutters, sounding tortured.

Barely half a second passes before he thrusts forward, sheathing himself in your pussy.

“Fuck!” you gasp, knees hitting the counter.

Hoseok clasps a hand over your mouth, staring at you wide-eyed in the mirror. You both are quiet for a moment, listening to see if anyone heard. Nothing happens though and eventually, he brushes a thumb over your lips.

“Gotta be quiet, princess.” Hoseok murmurs.

“I know,” you say, shutting your eyes. His hot, throbbing cock is still inside you and honestly, you cannot think of anything else. “I just…”

“I know,” Hoseok whispers, withdrawing.

You whimper, hand reaching out to grab onto his hips but then he thrusts back in, making your hips smack to the counter.

“Oh!” you groan, eyes flying open.

Grasping the sink, you stare at him, dazed when he pulls out again. Hoseok sinks into you slowly, making you feel every inch. It makes your legs wobble, feet sliding apart to get him even deeper. Hoseok’s hand grabs your hips, pulling them backwards and with the other, he forces your chest down.

“Take it like that,” he murmurs, turning your head to rest on the sink. “Stick your ass up a bit more.”

“Ah,” you moan when you obey, feeling him slide even deeper.

“That’s it, princess,” Hoseok purrs, playing with your tits as his hands slide up your body. “Now, do you want me to go harder?”

Staring at the wall, you eagerly nod.

Hoseok tsks beneath his breath, hands traveling back down your body. “Are you sure you can keep quiet, though?”

“Yes,” you exhale.

“You sure you can take it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure…” Hoseok thrusts his hips forward. “Sure this cute little pussy can take being fucked like I wanna?”

“Yes,” you whine, pushing backwards. “Please, Hobi – please.”

“Alright.” He chuckles, grasping your hips. “Then, take it.”

Rearing back, Hoseok slams into you with enough force that you swear. Barely, do you have the chance to recover before he does it again – hitting so deep, you feel the need to bite down on your lip in order to keep you from screaming. The entire bathroom is full of the rough sounds of his cock entering your pussy and fuck, do you love it. It sounds so sinful, echoing off Taehyung’s tile walls.

Hoseok fucks you fast, hard in a way that you can only lie there and take it. His hips pound your ass, hard enough to bruise and you hope that they do. You hope he leaves a mark, so that each time you sit down this week, you remember just how well he fucked you.

“Fuck, princess,” Hoseok grunts. “You’re so wet.”

He is not wrong – you can feel your arousal on the inside of your thighs, dripping into your folds and making your clit extra tender. As soon as you think this, Hoseok lets go of your waist to slide a hand between your legs.

“Fuck,” you moan, head thrown back as he teases your mound.

“That’s it,” Hoseok exhales, over your shoulder. He stares at you in the mirror. “Look how fucked out you are. All needy, split by my cock. Wanna cum on my dick?”

“Mmm,” you agree as he begins circling your clit. Instantly, your walls tighten around him. It is embarrassing, how readily your body responds to his commands. Already, you can feel the pulse of blood in your ears, the pleasure reaching a fever-pitch and needing release.

“That’s it,” Hoseok murmurs. He presses a kiss to your cheek in an almost-sweet gesture. Meanwhile, his cock continues hammering your pussy. “Come for me.”

You do – breaking apart, sobbing his name as you grip onto the counter. Everything shakes, vision blurred while your orgasm rips through you. Hoseok continues to thrust, pushing you through pleasure until it borders on pain. When you look up at him in the mirror, he gasps out your name.

“Y/N,” he blurts, sounding tortured. “I wanna come on your ass.”

“Do it,” you agree, wriggling the feature. “Hobi, do it.”

“Alright,” he gasps.

Immediately, Hoseok pulls out. Yanking off his condom, he pumps himself into one fist. Staring at your cunt, spread and messy before him, it only takes a few strokes before he is coming undone.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, hand grabbing yours on the counter. You cannot see but feel when his cum hits your ass. It paints a hot, messy picture dripping in between folds. Drops continue to land while Hoseok rubs himself out.

Head lowering, he gently kisses your neck. Keening into his praise, you smile, catching your breath as he pulls himself upwards.

“Fuck,” Hoseok says, pushing a hand through his hair. His eyes are sparkling, making you laugh.

“What?” you ask.

Hoseok shrugs and steps forward. “You,” he offers, cupping your face with both hands.

When he kisses you, you find yourself getting lost in the moment. There is still cum on your ass and you really need to clean but for now, you want to kiss Hoseok. It seems more important.

Finally, he withdraws and you open your eyes. “You go first,” you say, nodding at the door. Your voice has dropped back to a whisper, as though someone might hear you. “I have to pee.”

Hoseok snorts, reaching down to pull up his pants. Nodding, he sneaks another quick kiss before pushing open the door. Glancing each way down the hall, he slips into the kitchen. Once he is gone, you ready yourself in the bathroom and fully clean and fully clothed, you leave the bathroom as well.

The kitchen lights are still off, dark when you enter the living room. The final scene of the movie plays on the screen – a rising crescendo of music while the main boy and girl realize they like each other. Sneaking a glance at Hoseok, you see him back on his sofa.

Turning around, you plop down beside Seokjin.

Jungkook stirs, speaking up from the floor. “Why don’t you sit next to Hobi?” he asks, shoving more popcorn into his mouth. “I’m sure Jimin would move for you.”

Freezing in place, your gaze darts to Jungkook. Everyone else in the room has frozen as well, looking everywhere except for at you and Hoseok. “I – what?” you squeak. “Why… why would I sit next to Hoseok?”

Jungkook lowers his popcorn, realizing everyone is staring. “I – uh, well…”

“Because you two are fucking,” says Namjoon from the sofa. His gaze is still locked on the screen. “Obviously.”

Olivia lets out a quiet laugh from Taehyung’s arms. “Come on, Y/N. It’s totally obvious.”

“I – what?” you blurt, lowering your face to your palms. “How long has everyone known?”

When you peek out from between fingers, you see Hoseok glaring at Jimin. “You were home the other night, weren’t you?” he states accusatorially. “You said that you weren’t! That you were crashing at Jungkook’s!”

Jimin flashes Hoseok a grin. “Guilty.”

“Oh, no,” you groan, sinking low on the couch. Last weekend, Hoseok assured you Jimin was gone for the night. As a result, the two of you had intense sex on top of his kitchen table. Loudly.

Before you can sink any further, you see Hoseok stand from the couch. He crosses the room, chuckling when his hands wrap around yours. “Come on, Y/N,” he sighs, pulling you upwards to stand. “They’re right. Might as well sit together if everyone knows we’re dating.”

Paused mid-step, you stare at him wide-eyed.

Jungkook’s mouth drops. Namjoon looks up from the movie. Olivia and Taehyung stop talking – even Seokjin reaches out and presses pause on the remote.

“Dating?” Jimin blinks.

Hoseok has an expression on his face you have only seen once. It was when he woke up forty minutes late the day of his Calculus II exam and realized he just might fail the whole class. Slowly, he turns to look at you. His expression is so helpless, you almost want to laugh. The look he gives you is of such whipped, unadulterated adoration that you practically melt.

Closing the distance, you kiss him soft on the lips. “Yeah, dating,” you mumble.

Hoseok smiles, his arms wrapping tighter around you.

Taehyung whoops, breaking the moment. “Wow!” he exclaims when you finally break apart. “We didn’t know you were dating! We just thought you were fucking. Guys!”

“I…” Hoseok exhales, smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. We’re dating.”

The tentativeness to his words makes you smile. Looking at him, you nod.

“Okay.” Namjoon leans forward, attempting to see the screen. “That’s awesome and all, but can you sit the fuck down? There’s only a few minutes left in this movie and I want to see how it ends.”

“I’ll tell you how it ends,” Hoseok grumbles, throwing up the middle finger as you move towards the couch.

You push this down, climbing into his lap when he sits and threading your hands through his hair. Smiling happily, you kiss the side of his neck. Finally, you have everything you wanted. No more secrets.

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