#could also be that i only got like 4 hours of very faint and clenched '''sleep'''

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt.4

Summary: In his attempt to get to know his wife, the Darkling realizes he might be getting too close.

Warnings: angst, swearing, sexual innuendoes, slightest bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three   

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Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. Not only did she agonize over the slightest possibility of his words being true, but the lingering of his lips on hers even hours after they’ve left tormented her mind. Instead of sleeping, she sat outside in the darkness with nothing but stars to keep her company. She shuddered with the cold wind as it chilled her, even the kefta didn’t protect her as well as she thought it would.

Sighing, she smiled up at the night sky, watching the stars in their celestial dance. It’s undeniable, she’s envious of them – their freedom is undisputed, their beauty unmatched by anything earthly. No one can force a star to marriage, no one can dull its brightness.

“Are you alright?” Genya spoke up, startling Y/N into a loud gasp.

Turning around, Y/N giggles in slight panic, a hand resting on her chest. “You scared me!”

“I didn’t mean to”, she chuckles too, coming closer to Y/N who let out a relieved sigh, only to look up once again.

“I couldn’t sleep”, she explains, “So I came here to watch the stars.”

“Most people are afraid of the dark”, Genya raised an eyebrow as she fixed her gaze on Y/N instead. She studied her carefully, unsure if she should invest all her hopes and dreams in her – no matter how striking she is.

“Oh, I’m scared of the dark!” Y/N exclaims, pointing up at the sky, “But the night sky is littered with lanterns, meant to guide you home. My mom always told me to look up whenever I feel lost, because the stars will help me find answers to any worry.”

Pursing her lips, Genya frowned, “Does that mean you doubt your plan?”

“No”, Y/N replied with haste, “I am simply trying to understand some of the chess pieces I thought I had figured out.”

Looking back at the Palace, Y/N’s eyes found the window of her room in an instant. A dark figure passed by it, the candlelight revealing the figure is pacing.

“He’s not a bad man, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Holding her breath, Y/N’s eyes find amber ones, “That’s not what I’ve heard. His deeds have spoken plenty about the strength of his character.”

“He’s fighting a war, not just with the outsiders, not just your father, but those on our side as well.” Pausing, Genya steps before her, “Do you know what they call him?”

“The Darkling”, she states, “A starless saint, a demon, a shadow king.”

“So many of those names are meant to demonize him, to shun him from society simply for the power he was born with”, licking her lips, Genya reaches for Y/N’s hand. “His own people are dying simply for who they’re born as – humans, Shu, Druskelle, they’re all sharpening their swords. If he’s not feared, we’re all dead.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Y/N closed her eyes. Exhaling, she faced Genya once more.

“Does that mean I should applaud him for the way he’s treated the First army so far? How can you defend him when he’s the one who brought you here…to the emperor?”

Retracting her hand, Genya flashed a smile – one too strained to be believable. “He tried to defend me and got himself punished for it. So I’m here and I’m telling you to give him a chance.” Walking past Y/N, Genya stops just a few paces behind her, “He might surprise you.”

All the things Genya said became faint echoes inside Y/N’s head. When she returned to the room, she was ready for a new quarrel with Kirigan. Despite her readiness, he was sound asleep as she slipped her kefta off. With trembling fingers, she lifted the comforter only to stifle a laugh upon a surprising sight. Not only had there been a pillow to separate them, but three to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally roll on his side during the night. Perhaps she did smother him the night before and for once, she didn’t feel ashamed, rather satisfied. If he’s so insistent on sharing a bed, why would she make it any easier on him?

Tossing the pillows aside, she slid onto his side. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she tried to wrap an arm around his middle, but she couldn’t do it with her heart clenching wildly inside her chest. She drew back, forming tight fists at her side as she glared up at the canopy in frustration. If she’s going to play well and win, she’ll have to swallow her pride and withstand some discomfort.

Staring daggers at the back of his head, Y/N held her breath as she half climbed atop of Kirigan. Waiting to see if he’ll wake, Y/N finally released a shuddered breath. Burying her nose in the crook of his neck, she finally felt herself warm up after being outside for so long.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent – woodsy and clean as if he had just had a bath. She never realized it before, but he smelled the same way on their wedding day…and night. But also earlier when he was pressed against her, devouring her mouth. Just the thought of his arms around her, his tall frame against her and the feverish kiss they’ve shared had caused her heartbeat to quicken with no shame.

And while she drifted off, she failed to realize something else – the Darkling was very much awake.

Instead of moving away when he felt a weight atop of him, he struggled to even his breathing. She smelled like spring, like lilacs and oddly enough, he enjoyed it. Most times, he’d crinkle his nose in disgust for strong, flowery scents made him nauseous, but she didn’t have the heavy, unbearably thick air of perfume cling to her – it felt like it’s her natural scent.

Smiling, the Darkling allowed himself to relax once her breathing calmed down and while her hands and feet felt like icicles, her cold nose brought most of the discomfort. Once she warmed up, by stealing his body heat, the Darkling began to drift away too. After all, he was winning.

A single ray of sunshine came through the window, its heat tickling Y/N’s nose. Sleepily, she brushed at it then tried to turn away, but something blocked her way. She lazily opened her eyes and saw the strange bed canopy overhead. When she remembered where she was and how she fell asleep last night, she felt her face grow hot as blood rushed to her cheeks. Even her body seemed to blush. She moved her head toward the other side of the bed and looked at where her husband’s supposed to be, yet he was gone – only the pillows she could have sworn she removed remained.

There was no way of knowing it, but each morning, the Darkling opened his eyes and looked at her first. No matter if she was drooling or her hair matted on her face, he quite enjoyed his view. She seemed gentle, almost like a saint sent to remind him light can exist along with darkness he’s been shrouded in.

Disgruntled, she sat up and huffed. She wanted to wake up at the same time as he did. One, she wanted to see his reaction and laugh, two, she really wanted to discuss the kiss from before. Then again, she just wanted to see the general at his most vulnerable state – waking up disheveled, just like any human would. His perfectly styled hair unnerved her and she couldn’t help but wonder if Genya used her power on it because she had never once seen a hair out of place, not even after their kiss.

For the rest of the day, Y/N tried to catch him alone. Unfortunately, she barely saw her husband at all. A fleeting glance of acknowledgement was all she received as they passed each other in the hall, both surrounded by others.

At night, she laid awake in hopes of speaking to him before bed. The faint candlelight on the bedside table kept the darkness away, relieving her fear. Would he laugh at her if she admitted to it? After all, isn’t he the one who can create darkness out of thin air? Perhaps he’d shroud her with it and prove he truly is cruel, but she had no way of being sure. He must never know of it and she truly hoped never to see his display of power.

Lost in her thoughts, she blinked and it was morning.

Wide eyed, she sat up and looked to his side. It was unmade, the pillow dented right where his head was and yet she can’t remember hearing him arrive in the night or leave in the morning. She never does.

“Fuck”, she mutters under her breath as she slams a fist in his pillow. Grunting, she buries her face into it, muffling her frustrated scream.

“Are you done?” Genya frowned at her, waiting by the door while Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs into a pillow.

“YOU’VE GOT TO STOP SNEAKING UP ON ME!”

Scoffing, Genya rolled her eyes. “You need to be more perceptive about your surroundings.”

A knock on the door had startled them both, enough for them to both let out a strangled scream. The door opened before either of them gave the permission and once they realized who it was that entered, they didn’t need a reason as to why.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The Darkling grinned at his wife who narrowed her eyes at him immediately.

“Your voice gives me a headache”, Y/N complains.

Squinting at her, the Darkling wondered if a woman could be so infuriating without wielding some mystic power to make her so.

“I believe you agreed to ride with me.”

“Oh��, Genya smirks, “She’ll ride you –“, covering her mouth, Genya giggles as she sees Y/N’s glare is on her, “I meant, with you.”

“I’ve prepared the horses”, he waited for her to respond, to give him reason to dislike her yet she didn’t.

“I will keep my word”, Y/N stood with her formidable gaze on his. She dared not look at his lips for they brought memories and self-loathing she’d rather avoid. After all, what kind of a woman quivers for her enemies touch?

“Wonderful”, he smirks, “I’ll wait for you to dress.”

Remaining in his spot, his hands at his sides, Kirigan raised his eyebrows as both women stared at him.

“Get out”, Y/N waves him off and he clicks his tongue.

“You may not let me touch you, but I can look.”

Angry, she narrowed her eyes at him, “That didn’t stop you from pinning me to a door.”

Genya’s eyes widen, pressing her lips to stop herself from commenting on their little exchange.

Shrugging, he stepped closer. His eyes raked over her body, the nightgown leaving little to imagination. “You didn’t seem to protest”, he leans in, “Especially since you proved you could easily escape me.”

Swallowing thickly, she exhaled through her nose. She couldn’t argue with that, now could she? If she wished, she could have forced him to unhand her. She could have fought him, but she didn’t. She may have been startled when he kissed her but she barely tried to push him away and still, when she had the option to back away, she was the one leaning in for a kiss when he lifted her onto the table. He played a game with her and she lost that day and now he gets to be smug about it.

“As your husband, I promise to protect you from all others. If anyone harms you, they’ll part with their life. For that alone, I deserve an occasional view.”

Winking, he takes a step back and sends a smile in Genya’s direction before turning on his heel and walking out.

“YOU KISSED HIM?!”

Groaning, Y/N throws her head back, “Sort of. It’s more like he kissed me and I didn’t fight him on it.”

“So, does this mean you like him?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Genya squealed in excitement. “Are you bringing him on this plan of yours?”

Holding out her hand, Y/N shook her head, “No, no and no. I don’t trust him one bit and he isn’t exactly a man who’d go along with it.” Exhaling loudly, Y/N decided, “He must be removed along with the emperor.”

When she walked outside, Y/N breath was caught in her throat. The sight of the general on a horse truly felt like a fabrication. Never had she seen a man as majestic as him, as proud and aggravatingly cocky all at once. With his black kefta and the cape, he rode on a black stallion as if he were a mere extension of his will.

She wasted no more time in mounting her white mare, chasing after the Darkling who seemed to only then notice he’s not alone.

Her horse was not above average size, but she was alert and slender-limbed. Her muscles and good nature allowed Y/N to keep up a fairly good pace, never too far behind the black stallion her husband rode. The stallion was clearly riled up, competitive by nature. Anyone else on its back would be a great danger for the rider, but he clearly trusted Kirigan.

The wind blew her hair back and the cold was rather unforgiving on her skin. Passing him narrowly once they entered the woods, she didn’t look back. Instead, she gripped the reigns tighter and continued to breathe as the cold air made her mouth dry and throat scratchy.

Feeling his gaze on her, she relents, looking back at him.

“Where’s your coat?!” He shouted after her and only then did she realize it must have fallen off. Genya made it pretty for a romantic ride, not quite as practical for a race. But that’s not what truly made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. The hint of worry laced in the words of an angry general is what betrayed him and she couldn’t help but wonder – what if it’s more than just lust for him?

“It was slowing me down”, she couldn’t suppress a victorious smile just as he couldn’t suppress an annoyed grunt. Yet they both slowed down, neither of them speaking as they turned around and headed straight to the palace.

“You’re an avid rider.” The general conceded as he dismounted. Before she could blink, he was beside her, his hands on her hips as he pulled her of the horse and effectively stole her breath away.

The rosy colored cheeks left him defenseless as he stared at her too, a little too intently for it to be innocent. Taking her hands in his, he brought them up to his mouth, blowing at them. She kept her gaze at him, undoubtedly in shock as her cold hands started to tingle with the warmth of his breath.

“I’ll have to leave for a few days”, he speaks before she has a chance. “You’ll have the bed all to yourself.”

“Don’t I have to come? If it concerns my peo –“, she began, but he silenced her.

“It’s got nothing to do with the army. I’m merely doing an errand for the emperor.”

Looking at her hands still in his, she pursed her lips. “Doesn’t he have enough servants to do his bidding?”

A breathless chuckle escapes him, “Why? Will you miss me?”

Rolling her eyes, she snorts, “Why? Do you fancy yourself as someone of importance?”

He looked at her like she's the Sun, angrily squinting at every second she spent in his presence. He never looked at her other than in frustration. At least she thought so. It’s how he looked at her a month ago when they first met on a field stained with Druskelle blood. He stood there, alone and victorious as she stepped over the bodies after arriving on this side of the fold with a Sandskiff.

All of their conversations were arguments – she’d narrow her eyes and he’s squint at her, throwing jabs at each other every chance they get, but this felt different. Something changed after the wedding and she wasn’t entirely sure what.

Achingly aware of their closeness, she couldn’t help but ask. "What is this between us?"

Pausing, he looked at her with wonder. If he could put it to words, it wouldn’t make any sense. His mind could hardly fathom what exactly she meant to him other than being a nuisance, but he didn’t exactly hate her as he believed at first when he admittedly hoped she’d find herself eaten by Volcra while crossing the Shadow fold. What he hated was not having a choice. He hated how arrogant she is and how little respect she has for her superiors. He especially hated her mortality, her species and all the atrocities they’ve committed against him and his kind.

He didn’t love her, that he was sure of. He couldn’t possibly care for her either. Lust, winning this game, feeding his ego by having Zlatan’s daughter at his feet is what he longed for. So no, he didn’t love her, but a part of him feared he might love her in time. For the first time in a very, very long time, the Darkling had a fear and it carried her name.

Perhaps that’s why he reacted the way he did when she asked him if there is something between them.

"Nothing." He grabbed the back of her neck, his lips pressing against hers hard.

He was right, she realized. There was nothing between them, nothing between their lips, not even air.

Pulling away, he smirks as she inhales sharply.

"Did you feel a connection?" He looks her in the eye, his lips set in a firm line.

"Yes", she whispers shakily.

His eyes harden as an ache in his chest reminds him of his fear. Someone like him must give up anything he could possibly love for the loss and disappointment are inevitable. She’s mortal, an enemy behind his borders he can never trust. So he will shut his heart out. Love is not an option for the Darkling, he reminds himself. The last time he allowed himself to love was also the day his heart turned to stone. So, he will not love her and she will not love him. He will destroy that possibility, cut any ties that bind them. Lust is the only thing he will let fester.

Leaning in, his lips brush hers softly as he whispers against them, "That's why you're a fool." Stepping back, he heard her gulp. “The connection you feel is lust, that’s all we have and it’s all we will ever have. Accept it.”

“Is that true or are you just afraid?!” Her voice wavers and she instinctively steps toward him, asserting dominance she felt was lost.

“General”, Ivan calls out, just in case Kirigan needed an excuse to leave.

“Afraid?” The Darkling chuckles dryly, averting his gaze to Ivan who waited for him at the entrance. “I’m not afraid of anything”, he remarks as his eyes lock on her lips again, “Certainly not of my wife.”

As he stepped back, the Darkling caught the strangest look in her eyes. It looked like clarity, total and complete sobriety from the ecstasy his presence gave her. She stood proud, despite the self-loathing in her previously warm eyes that slowly turned them back to the ice she held when she first laid her eyes on him.

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Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart​

Part 5  

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan #aleksander x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling au #the darkling fanfiction #the Darkling fic

[wizkiddx]

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #hurt comfort #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #harry holland

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if...? Part 10a

Yes, it is 10a, because I said it would be 10 parts and not 11, so you will be getting the epilogue as 10b. HAH! ...Don’t look at me. T-T 

-

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Part 10a

For the first five hours after leaving the Covert, Davarax is out of it. Everyone draws a sigh of relief when his eyes open and he’s back with them again.

“Where are we going?” Din asks, frowning at the coordinates.

Davarax manages a faint smile, still sedated by pain. “Someone who can help us.” He then makes a face and presses his hand gently to the pressure bandage on his neck. “We just have to find her.”

Dulsissia realizes she doesn’t care where they go as long as that means they can get some medical supplies and patch him up properly. “Take it easy.” She uses her fingers to comb the dark locks of his hair back from his sweaty forehead. “We’ll find this person. Leave it to us.”

It takes them two days, but at least by then Davarax is able to stand up and walk a little, so when they land on some strange planet and find themselves surrounded by unfamiliar Mandalorians, he is the first to walk off the Razor Crest, hands in the air, and greets the leader. “Lady Kryze.”

He had warned them that these were Mandalorians who lived by a different Creed. Dulsissia and the children had all been surprised to hear there were Tribes out there with other rules than theirs, but mostly they are unsettled by Davarax telling them to keep Paz and Raga’s last names a secret...

A Mandalorian steps forward, removes their helmet and reveals red hair and suspicious eyes. “Davarax? Is that you?”

Exhaling a faint laugh, Davarax lowers his arms and sways a little, which makes Dulsissia and Paz dart over to grab an arm each to support him. “It’s me.”

The one called Kryze clicks her tongue and tilts her head. “I thought you guys weren’t allowed to remove your helmets?”

“We’re not.” Davarax confirms, still with a weak smile.

Another unfamiliar Mandalorian steps forward and crosses their arms. “You’re cuter than I thought.” It doesn’t sound like she means as a compliment.

Davarax nods with amusement. “Thanks.”

“Why are you here? What do you want?” Kryze cuts in.

“Safety.” Davarax replies. “I need a place to stay for a while.”

The woman doesn’t blink. “And what do I get?”

“Me.” Davarax states. “One standard year, I’ll work for you.”

Something about the woman’s eyes makes Dulsissia tense up. This Kryze person looks a little too pleased at that. A gentle, quizzical squeeze of Davarax’ arm gets no response. He just keeps locking eyes with the other Mandalorian.

Kryze is the one to break the staring contest and looks over at Dulsissia. “And this one? She’s not a Mandalorian.”

“Ner riduur.” Davarax replies.

The Mandalorian who had commented on his looks snorts a loud, surprised laugh. “You? You got married? You?”

“I fell in love.”

Dulsissia feels her face burn. Him once again confessing his feelings for her so openly makes her knees weak, but she also feels a little bad that he has to lie for her; they aren’t married yet. She fully intends to marry this man, but she prefers him to be conscious under the ceremony and Davarax has been out cold for most of the two days on the ship.

“And these are your children?” Kryze shifts her attention to Paz, then the others waiting, huddled together, on the Razor Crest’s ramp.

“Yes.” Davarax confirms without hesitation.

Kryze nods, thoughtfully, then sets her sharp stare on Davarax again. “One year.”

He nods.

“And you will follow my orders.” This is clearly not debatable. “For one year, your loyalty is mine.”

Davarax nods again.

Dulsissia feels the urge to object, fears what he is promising himself into, but what does she know? Other than to trust Davarax. So she holds her tongue and hopes she won’t regret it.

Kryze holds out an arm, pointing them towards a building. “Then, welcome home.”

-

It doesn’t take long before Dulsissia realizes that the people in this Tribe are very different from Davarax’ people. While the Covert had treated her with polite distance, the Mandalorians here eye her with open disdain and suspicion. She’s not one of them and they don’t like it.

Paz, Raga and Din all end up in vicious fights on their very first day. Corin latches himself to his mother’s arm and Barthor basically refuses to leave the room assigned to them. If not for the fact that they need medical help for Davarax and that he’s given his word to stay a year, Dulsissia would have demanded they’d leave by the third day. But, stuck in this place, temporarily, she grits her teeth and tries to make things easier for both the children and Davarax.

With a doctor and some bacta, the injury on Davarax’ neck soon turns into a scar, a reminder of how close she’d come to lose him, and he barely has time to recover before Kryze sends him out on his first mission.

After Davarax comes back, without new wounds despite the blood on his armor, Dulsissia feels such a relief that she clings to him throughout the entire night. Brushing light fingertips over his scar, she keeps her voice down so not to wake the children sleeping at the other side of the room. “Two people asked me today what I did to make you marry me. Three, yesterday. I think one of them accused me of being a Jedi and doing some mind-control-trick on you.”

Davarax shakes with mute laughter. “My little Jedi witch.”

She pokes him in the side with two fingers, making him jolt and hug her closer. Dulsissia settles again and rests her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. “How come you never married?”

“You’re the first that made me want to get married.” Davarax replies with a calm ease, as if his words doesn’t make all kind of happiness radiate through her entire body. He’s looking up at the ceiling, half-asleep. “You’re the first who not only accepted my kids, but loved them, from the very start, and that made me think… we could be one. Made me want it.”

“I do love them. And I love you.” Dulsissia finds his hand and braids their fingers together. Be one. That sounds so right. “How do Mandalorian weddings work? Who does the ceremony? The Tribe leader?”

Davarax turns his head to look at her, suddenly a little eager. “We can do them now. The vows.”

“What?” Dulsissia lifts her head to look at him as well. “Here? In the middle of the night, with no witnesses?”

“A marriage is the ultimate union in Mandalorian culture. It’s about embarking on a future together as one, of sharing everything and raising warriors together. It doesn’t matter where you take the vows, what we care about is that they are kept.”

Dulsissia considers this for a moment, has an involuntary flashback to her huge, glamorous event that had locked her to Macero, and decides she likes the idea of making it all about them instead of a ceremony designed to impress everyone else. But, there is one thing Dulsissia will insist on; “I want the kids to be a part of it. This union includes them, after all.”

Davarax smiles at her, this beautiful smile that takes her breath away for a second, then he lies back down and stares up at the ceiling again. “And this is why I want to marry you.”

Smiling as well, Dulsissia curls up close to him and feels like a giddy teenager again.

That happy feeling is nowhere to be found the next day when she stalks into their room with frustrated tears in her eyes and pressing a hand to her aching ribs. Dulsissia waves a dismissive hand to Din, Barthor and Corin, who instantly jump to their feet to run over to her. “I’m fine.”

Luckily neither Paz or Raga are there to witness this, but Davarax is and he wont be waved away. He gently but firmly persuades her to let him examine her and asks what happened.

“It’s her again.” Dulsissia snaps, cringing with pain as his hand presses gently against her ribs. “The one with the big mouth. I was partnered with her during training today and she acted like she had some kind of personal problem with me.”

Din and Corin exchange frowning looks in the background. Barthor crosses his arms.

“No broken ribs.” Davarax concludes, sounding a little relieved, then looks at her face and frowns a little himself when he sees the bruising on her jaw. He lifts his hand and lets the back of his index finger barely brush over the bruise. “You want me to deal with her?”

“No.” Dulsissia snaps, increasingly angrier. “I don’t need you to handle my problems. I’m going to get even better at this hand-to-hand combat thing and then I’m going to punch that all-helmet-no-brain Mando in her face!”

Davarax takes a gentle hold of her chin and grins. “That’s my girl.”

-

Strangely enough a foul smell emerges in one particular living quarter and as no one can determine the cause, the woman living there is forced to move. But the smell sticks to her for two weeks.

-

“They say an Imperial officer is looking for a Mandalorian and a blonde woman.” Bo-Katan states, her t-visor showing Davarax and Dulsissia’s reflections as she stands in the doorway to their room. “I take it that is why you said you needed a safe place to hide?”

Dulsissia feels her stomach clench with unease. Macero… He’d found them? No. If he had, this place would be swarming with Imperial troops. Everything would be on fire. Like Nevarro.

“Is that a problem for you?” Davarax drawls, almost challenges her.

Bo-Katan removes her helmet and looks at him with a confident smirk. “Not at all. Let him come.”

Dulsissia shakes her head. “Don’t underestimate this man, Lady Kryze. He’s-”

“I know all about Macero Valentis.” Bo-Katan cuts her off. “And I’m not afraid of him.”

“Maybe you should be.” Dulsissia warns her. “Did you hear what he did to Nevarro?”

That makes the smile on Bo-Katan’s face widen. “Nevarro did not have our blasters, canons, ships and bombs.”

Dulsissia blinks. Oh. Okay, she’s starting to understand why Davarax insisted on taking shelter with these mean people. Maybe the only way to defeat Macero is to fight fire with fire?

-

Bo-Katan sends Davarax out on mission after mission. Dulsissia sees the exhaustion return to his face. It drives Dulsissia to train harder, push herself harder, and hopes to to become less of a burden and eventually a true partner that can help him carry the weight of their family.

Entering the room one day, his hands shaking after whatever horrors he’s been through, Davarax proudly declares a shipment of durasteel has been acquired and Lady Kryze has agreed to let him bring his share to their armorer.

Dulsissia watches with a faint smile when she sees Paz and Raga beam with pride as they are fitted with armor. She’s highly amused when Barthor keeps making demands for adjustments to his, and extremely pleased with the delighted looks on Corin and Din’s faces when they get theirs. By the rules of Davarax’ Covert, Corin and Din both should be wearing their helmets now, like Barthor still does, something especially Din had considered a milestone for his adulthood. However, the armor seems to be an acceptable replacement for the moment.

Especially as they know there will be battle soon...

-

On board his ship, Macero grits his teeth, fury boiling in his veins, and he turns away from where the holo-message from his field-officer had been played for him. How could they be losing? He had sent more than enough troopers to deal with these cretins, so how could they be losing?

Mandalorians are a dangerous breed, he’s come to learn that after chasing them across the Galaxy in the hunt for his wife, but his troopers are highly trained soldiers with the best equipment possible. There is no way they can be losing to these dirt-dwellers!

Macero knew there was a chance this was a trap when news of a blonde woman observed with Mandalorians on this planet reached him, after not hearing a single whisper about his wife’s location for so long, but so what? He had the soldiers and firepower to deal with whatever these people tried to throw at him. Macero is not afraid of some arrogant Mandos.

The three officers in the communication room eye him nervously and Macero suddenly can’t stand their cowardly faces. “I will be in my office. Let me know if there are any more messages.”

Marching to his office, Macero hears the sound of battle on the ground and makes a silent vow that any trooper who retreats back to the ship is to be shot for cowardice. There is no way they are losing. He doesn’t care how bloody the cost will be; the Mandos will pay even more. He will wipe them from this planet.

Macero takes two steps into his office then comes to a halt. His chair is pointing the wrong way. Its back is towards the door. And he didn’t leave it like that.

The door closes behind him.

Looking back, Macero takes a startled step forward when he sees a tall, blue armor and blue helmet wearing Mandalorian standing there.

The sound of the chair turning makes Macero turn back as well and he’s surprised to see another blue armor and blue helmet wearing Mandalorian is sitting his his chair. A smaller one. “What is this?” Macero snaps angrily. “What do you want?”

“Your head on my wall, would be the honest answer.” The one in the chair replies. “But I don’t ever want to see your face again, so… I guess I’ll settle for your life.”

Macero frowns. It can’t be. It’s not possible.

The Mandalorian gets up from the chair. “I told them you were too clever to fall for a trap this obvious. They told me you were too arrogant to resist.” The blue helmet is removed and Dulsissia looks at him with a faint, mocking smile. “Knowing you and your ego, I agreed to try.”

She no longer looks like the frail girl he once knew, not the pretty decoration he wanted but a half-wild creature. Macero’s mouth tightens with disgust. “Where is my son?”

“He’s not here.” Her eyes are as cold as Antonia’s. The old hag would have been proud to witness this. She never liked Macero. “You will never see Corin again.”

“He’s my son.” Macero grits out. “And you are my wife. You two belong to me.”

Dulsissia’s soft laugh is pure mockery. “We don’t belong to you. And you are nothing to us.”

Enraged by her daring to talk to him like that, Macero casts a quick glance back at the Mandalorian blocking the door. “Because of this one? You think you can just take my son away and replace me with the first lumbering oaf tempted by you flashing your ankle?” Macero looks back at Dulsissia. “You better not be carrying his bastard child.”

“After Corin was born, I got the chip. I never was and I never am going to give you any more children to torment.”

“You think I care about you want? You think I will let a spoiled Motti girl ruin my plans?” Macero has never been this furious before. His blood is so hot it almost hurts in his veins. “Your little adventure is over, Dulcy. We’ve wasted enough time on your childish antics. You are coming home. Now.”

He backhands her across the face, hopes she feels it like he did the insult of her getting that damn chip behind his back, draws his blaster with his other hand at the same time and fires back at the Mandalorian.

-

Dulsissia is not prepared and the surprise of the impact knocks her off balance more than the pain. Still, she moves with it, uses the momentum to spin away to get some distance between them and get her helmet back on.

The HUD is still a bit confusing to her, but she knows the value of the protection the helmet offers. (Davarax had given up pieces of his own armor to have the beskar remade into helmets for them and she had cried over him having to sacrifice even more for their family.)

Davarax is forced to move in order to dodge the shots Macero fires at him and he draws his own weapon, but because of where Dulsissia is standing; he doesn’t fire back, unwilling to risk hitting her.

This buys Macero enough time to activate his communication link and demand back-up.

Dulsissia knows most of the men in her family are officers in the Imperial army because their names and fortune ensured it, but Macero had worked his way up and he is far from helpless.

He unfortunately proves it as he ducks under the punch Davarax throws at him, turns and delivers a hard kick at the side of Davarax’ knee, making him buckle. Macero keeps turning and fires his blaster at Dulsissia, forcing her to take cover behind his desk.

Davarax throws himself forward, plants his shoulder into Macero and manages to slam him into the wall, but that results in them being locked together while trying to pummel the other into submission and Dulsissia being the one not willing to shoot this time in case she’d hit Davarax.

And moments after that, the door to the office slides open to let a wave of storm troopers rush in.

It becomes chaos. And fear jolts through Dulsissia when she hears Macero call out the order for them to kill the Mandalorian but not harm her. Davarax is the best fighter she’s ever seen, but some times quality is forced to break under quantity. She stalks forward, picks up a blaster one of the now fallen troopers had lost, and she begins to fire with a weapon in each hand at every target her HUD identifies as hostile and absently marvels at the strength and agility of the man she loves as Davarax comes at the enemy with brute strength.

A warning flashes across her HUD and Dulsissia manages to side-step Macero’s attempt to slam the back of a blaster rifle at her helmet. She lifts the stolen blaster but he knocks it out of her hand instead and when she lifts her own blaster, another warning flashes across her HUD. This time she’s not fast enough to avoid it; Macero’s right hand locks around her throat and cuts off her air.

Automatically grabbing at his arm with her free hand, Dulsissia feels the ground disappear under her feet as he lifts her up and then her back slams down on his desk. Macero hovers over her with a furious expression on his face.

“You foolish girl.” He sneers with fury and disgust. “What did you think would happen? That I would give up? That you and your simpleton would live happily ever after? Stupid, stupid girl. Your blood is far too important to me. I will never let you go.  And I will find my son too. Believe me.”

She does.

The blaster shot is muffled due to the weapons muzzle pressing against its target, but Macero jolts and his eyes grow wide as he stares at her. His anger is replaced with shock and disbelief.

For a couple of heartbeats, as Dulsissia looks into Macero’s eyes, she remembers how his smile used to make her blush, how he would encourage her to talk and be the only one in her life who bothered to listen when she did, how incredibly gentle his hand was on her skin for their first kiss, and while that man never truly existed, she still says goodbye.

Macero slowly tilts to the side, his hand letting go of her throat, and he simply drops to the floor. His blood is on her armor, on her blaster and her hand. And yet, as Dulsissia draws a shivering breath, she feels free.

Her son is safe.

Sitting up, coughing, Dulsissia lifts her blaster and picks off two storm troopers aiming to fire at Davarax as he’s dealing with one of their comrades. “Dav. Let’s go.” She uses the internal communication system.

“It’s done?” His voice replies.

“It’s over.” Dulsissia deliberately does not look over at the fallen Macero. “Let’s go.”

“You got my back?”

“Always.”

Instantly barging towards the door, Davarax takes several hits to his armor, almost staggers due to the reduced efficiency of durasteel instead of beskar, but it’s not enough to stop him, and Dulsissia quickly makes her way over to cover their backs. He pushes forward for them to escape, she keeps them safe while he creates a path down the hallway.

Once they climb the stairs to the second floor of the ship, followed by troopers, Davarax makes a pleased sound when he sees the door Dulsissia had been talking about and sets course for it.

While it was the men of her family who got to be military officers, Dulsissia had spent plenty of time on imperial ships after Macero started to court her and she knows their lay out like the mansion on Seswenna. This door will lead outside, to a narrow path along the ship’s side originally meant to be used in case of repairs, but with the ship currently hovering inside the planet’s atmosphere; it is perfect as an escape route. And as more and more troopers join the ones already chasing them, they need one.

Davarax opens the door and a powerful gust of wind rushes in as they are high above ground. He looks back at her.

Dulsissia keeps firing her blaster at the stairway, forcing the storm troopers to duck down. “Go.”

Davarax nods, steps forward, vaults over the railing and disappears.

Grabbing a grenade from her belt, Dulsissia activates it and throws it down the stairs before going back to firing her blaster again. A trooper gets off a lucky shot that punches into her breastplate and while the durasteel is strong enough to prevent the shot from penetrating, it still hurts like dank farrik.

The explosion from the grenade causes enough chaos that Dulsissia dares to holster her blaster and make a run for it. She hears the troopers shouting, her HUD flashes a warning as a blaster shot goes by her head, but Dulsissia keeps running, climbs the railing in two steps and takes a leap of blind faith into the open air.

Gravity takes a hold. She falls and reaches out one hand. Despite her HUD frantically flashing that she’s in danger, Dulsissia feels no fear. Two seconds later, Davarax’ hand grabs her wrist and she instantly takes a hold of his, letting him pull her up so she can get her arms around his torso and he gets his other arm around her waist while his jetpack holds them steady and prevents them from plummeting to their deaths.

Behind them, seven storm troopers follow through the door and spread out along the pathway to aim their blasters and are about fire when twenty Mandalorians fly up from below the ship to aim their weapons back at the troopers.

“Your ground troops have already surrendered. I have Mandalorians infiltrating the ship as we speak. Do you want to follow your leader into the after life?” Bo-Katan asks them.

It doesn’t take long before the storm troopers cautiously lower their weapons and signal their surrender.

-

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay?” Bo-Katan asks as they are loading up the final items to the Razor Crest. “I appreciate a warrior like you on my team. We might even be able to hunt down some more beskar.”

“I am grateful for you letting us stay, but it is time we move on now.” Davarax replies. “I think we all yearn for a little freedom. And you have an imp ship, a bunch of new weapons and enemies to get information out of. I’m sure you won’t have time to go beskar hunting any time soon.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.” Bo-Katan declares.

Davarax nods and holds out his hand.

With a wry smile, she takes it. “At least you’re out from underground. There’s hope for you at least.”

“Careful, Lady Kryze.” Davarax says, releasing her hand. “My Covert’s determination and dedication is unmatched. Who knows, maybe one day the next Mandalor might come from there.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Bo-Katan says with mock-seriousness. She then glances over at where Dulsissia is smothering Corin, Din and Paz in a group-hug, trying to make them forgive her for refusing them to join in the fight. “She didn’t do too bad today. There might be hope for her too.”

“She’s Mandokarla.” Davarax declares with badly hidden pride.

Bo-Katan hums, clearly not entirely sold. “She talks too much.”

Laughing a little, Davarax heads over to the ship. “Goodbye, Lady Kryze.”

-

“Mom?” Standing in the cockpit of the Razor Crest as she is brought to life, Corin glances over at Dulsissia, and he looks so grown up and handsome in his armor that she wants to squeeze his face between her hands and plant kisses all over aforementioned face. “Where are we going now?”

Settling for reaching out and gingerly arranging a lock of his dark hair doing its best to poke up high enough to pick up a radio signal, Dulsissia smiles. “We’re going to visit someone.”

Din plots in the coordinates while Davarax has settled in the left passenger seat and is tinkering on his vambrace. The teen frowns as he sees what comes up and looks back at them. “Is this correct?”

Dulsissia’s smile widens. “Absolutely.”

Corin goes pale.

-

“So he’s dead?” Antonia Motti says as she enters her office. “Good. One less problem to deal with in this family.” She pauses as she sees the armored people in the room and gives one slow blink before she reaches up to her ear. “I will talk to you later.” Antonia switches off the device in her ear and lifts a dry eyebrow. “I don’t know how you lot managed to break in here, but I can assure you that you will never leave this place alive.”

Dulsissia removes her helmet and forces herself to smile. “Hello mother.”

Antonia doesn’t visibly react, merely scans her from top to toe and back up again. “You look awful.” She walks over to her desk and sits down, forcing Dulsissia to turn around to look at her. “I hear your husband is dead. I can’t say I shall mourn his absence.” “That makes two of us.” Dulsissia replies.

“Why are you here?” Antonia asks, keeping her calculating stare on her daughter and ignoring everyone else in the room. “Have you come to your senses and returned to stay? I will let your friends leave with a nice reward for bringing you home.”

Shaking her head, Dulsissia hangs on to her smile out of spite. “No. I’m not here to stay. I just stopped by to pick up some of my things before I leave for good.”

Antonia frowns a little, but she’s clearly not surprised. “You continue to disappoint me.” She sighs and shakes her head as if her daughter is a lost cause. “Where is my grandson?”

Dulsissia gestures to one of the figures.

Stepping forward, removing his helmet, Corin watches Antonia warily. “Hello.”

Antonia scans him as well and seems a little more pleased with what she sees. “No longer a timid child, but a young man. You’ve grown a lot since I saw you last, Corin.” She scans him again. “You don’t have to go with your mother, you know. If you want to, you can stay here, with me. As a Motti you will never starve, never lack for anything, and everyone will respect you.”

Corin swallows hard. “Thank you, but I’m going with them.”

Antonia makes a thoughtful hum. “That is a shame. But there is always a place for you here, Corin. Remember that.”

He nods.

Turning her attention back to Dulsissia, Antonia purses her lips with disdain. “So now what? You are going to traipse around the Galaxy looking like a half-wild woman? Dragging your innocent son with you. With these…” She waves a hand at the others. “People?”

“Yeah.” Dulsissia replies, with every bit as much arrogance as Antonia radiates. “I want him to experience what a real family feels like.” She puts her helmet back on and walks over to the door before she looks back at her mother again. “We’ll be leaving now. I suggest no one follows us.” Dulsissia hesitates before adding; “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“That’s a nice change as last time you just took off without a word.” Antonia snipes. “And don’t fool yourself, you will be back, Dulsissia. Without Macero, the lure of our world will bring you back.”

Realizing that her mother does not know her at all, Dulsissia huffs a soft laugh. “Goodbye.”

-

“Are are we landing?” Dulsissia was on her way up the ladder to the Razor Crest’s cockpit when Din appears and blocks her path. “It feels like we’re landing. Why are we landing?”

Din’s eyes flicker. “We, uh, the ship, it… “

“Repairs!” Raga shouts from above.

“Yeah!” Din latches on to it like the word is a life raft. “Repairs. We have to do some repairs.”

Dulsissia frowns. Repairs? There is nothing wrong with the ship. It was fully operational when they left Bo-Katan’s Covert and it hasn’t been in any combat or stressful situations since. 

She looks over at Barthor sitting on the seat next to the ladder, but he just shrugs and that puzzles her a little. Usually he is the first to pick up on odd stuff. But if he’s not worried, maybe she shouldn’t be either? “Okay…” Dulsissia draws out her reply, especially as Din is not budging, strategically placed so she won’t be able to get by him.

When she slowly withdraws, Din watches her with a smile so fake she could cry.

But Corin and Paz are still slouching in their seats in the cargo hold and also show no anxiousness or suspicion whatsoever, so Dulsissia reluctantly gets back in her seat.

Only then does Din disappear. But, she is willing to bet he’d pop up like a bill collector if she approaches the ladder again.

What is going on?

The Razor Crest shudders and shivers a little before they feel it touch ground and settle.

Dulsissia is first in line when the ramp starts to lower itself, doesn’t even wait for Davarax and the others to come down from the cockpit, too curious to see where they are.

The sight stuns her.

Walking down the ramp, Dulsissia studies the surroundings, overwhelmed by the beauty. And when she eventually steps off the ramp and her feet touch soft soil and carries her out among the endless ocean of flowers stretching out as far as her eyes can see, she can’t hold back a dazed laugh. It is so incredibly beautiful! Millions and millions of flowers covering the surface in every direction under the bright teal sky.

Her heart is racing, it’s almost difficult to breathe, and she can’t stop smiling. She has never seen anything like this. She didn’t know anything like this even existed.

A sound behind her reminds Dulsissia that she’s not alone and she turns around to how the others are reacting to this amazing view, but is hit by another heart-stopping sight when she sees Davarax standing there, the kids huddled together behind him, and he’s holding out both of his hands to offer her the most exquisite looking blaster she’s ever seen. 

The metal is shining silver, the design delicate and yet practical, and on the hilt is what has to be insanely expensive gem stones creating the shape of a beautiful plom bloom.

“Will you take the vows with me here?” Davarax asks, a little nervous and very hopeful.

Dulsissia has to cover her mouth with her hand for a second as her eyes well up with tears and an ugly bawl threatens to escape her lips. Once she feels she has herself back under control, despite some tears escaping as she tries to blink them away, Dulsissia nods. “Yes…”

“Yes?” Davarax dares to take a step closer.

Laughing and sobbing at the same time, Dulsissia nods. “Yes.” And she laughs and cries a little more when the kids break into loud cheers, numbly accepting the blaster and eagerly curls into the hug Davarax pulls her into.

She has to hold on to him, lean on him, for a moment or two, to once again regain some composure, but finally Dulsissia leans back and sniffles a little.

Davarax does his huff-laugh and gently wipes a tear away from her face. “You okay?”

She nods, taking a step away, wiping her face with her lower arm. “I’m fine.” Dulsissia awkwardly pats her hair and tries to shape it into something less wookiee-ish with one hand as she won’t let go of the blaster. “How do we…?”

Davarax takes her hand, makes her give up on her hair and focus on him. “You sure you want to do this? One. In this life and the next. Are you sure?”

Exhaling, grounding herself, Dulsissia meets his eyes with calm and soft happiness. “I am.”

Obviously relieved, Davarax nods. Then he has to take a breath before teaching her the words, one by one, what they mean both literally and spiritually, how they link to his Creed and what being married to a Mandalorian means.

Dulsissia listens, learns and decides this is all something she can accept and even embrace. It just feels right. She feels at peace as well as flushed with excitement that they are going to do this.

And them, amidst millions of flowers, with Corin, Din, Paz, Raga and Barthor as approving witnesses, Dulsissia and Davarax takes the vows.

Mhi solus tome. We are one together. Mhi solus dhar'tome. We are one when parted. Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. Mhi ba'juri verde. We will raise warriors.

For a moment, maybe it is just the bright sky playing tricks on her, Dulsissia could have sworn Davvarax’ eyes shimmer a little wet, but then he pulls her close and kisses her so sweetly she barely hears the kids cheering again.

They are on their fourth kiss when Dulsissia realizes the children are now running back and forth between them and the ship and a glance behind Davarax reveals they are setting up a celebration feast of sweets, cookies and other treats, carefully placed across a blanket on the ground.

She looks up at Davarax with a soft gasp. “You guys have planned this for ages!”

Davarax shrugs, trying to look guilty and failing because of the pleased smile on his lips. “I needed help to find the perfect place. And putting the blaster together. And getting the food. And… everything, really. I couldn’t have done it without them.”

Tearing up again, Dulsissia drags him down for a fifth kiss before dragging him over to the blanket. “Ooooh, this looks so nice!” She waves a finger at Barthor. “Make sure you put some aside for you, baby. Don’t make me angry on my wedding day.”

Barthor ducks his head down and makes a pleased and embarrassed huff. “Okay.”

They all settle down on the blanket. Raga slaps Paz over the fingers as he aims to grab the first cookie, declaring Dulsissia and Davarax gets to choose first. Sulking, he agrees.

Dulsissia makes sure not to touch the cookie he wanted. Davarax does the same. Which means she has to kiss him again.

“So…” Corin says, sitting on Davarax’ other side, not by his mother for once. “So now that you two are, like, married… With you married to my mom…”

Chewing on a cookie, Davarax glances over at him. “Mmh?”

“Does that mean I call you ‘Dad’ now?” Corin asks just as Davarax swallows.

Choking, coughing, wheezing, Davarax ends up grabbing a bottle of water and takes a swig from it, aware of how not only Corin, but everyone is looking at him. His spouse included. 

Lowering the bottle, Davarax gets rid of the final couple of coughs still lingering before putting the bottle down again and Davarax focuses on Corin to speak the truth. “That’s entirely up to you, Corin. If you want to call me that, I would be honoured. If you want to keep calling me ‘Davarax’, that is perfectly okay. This is your choice, not my decision, and I promise that whatever you choose is fine with me.”

Dulsissia discretely slides her hand over and takes a hold of Davarax’ hand between them.

Corin frowns as he looks down at the blanket, considering things. “I always wanted a dad. My father was… my father. I read about dads and they were not like him. Dads in the books were more like…” He glances back at Davarax. “They were like you. I would like to have a dad like you.”

“And I would be proud to have you as my son.” Davarax replies in a gentle voice.

Embarrassed but so very happy, Corin dives in and wraps his arms around Davarax.

Placing his own arm around Corin, hugging him close, Davarax then leans down and quietly murmurs: “Corin. Ni kar'tayli gai sa'ad “

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #what if #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Teenager Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #Sugar warning for the epilogue

[castieltrash1]

dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.  

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

#hawkeye smut #hawkeye x reader smut #marvel smut #avengers smut #clint barton smut #clint barton #clint barton x reader smut #clint barton x reader #hawkeye x reader #clint barton oneshot #clint barton imagine #clint barton fluff #hawkeye imagine #hawkeye oneshot #hawkeye fluff #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #the avengers smut #the avengers imagine #t: writing

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur p5

Y’all can thank @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher for how fast this came out. Brain Cell Bae, feast on the serotonin my dear 💖

Pairing: Geraskier

Warnings: canon consistent violence, blood, gore, fight scene, talk of human sacrifice, talk of child sacrifice, talk of animal sacrifice, reference to bestiality, talk of dismembering monsters, beheading monsters 

some background for y’all that don’t know: King Minos had a deal with Poseidon that he would sacrifice his prize bull to the god every year but one year Minos couldn’t do it. He was way obsessed with this fine ass bull and sacrificed the second best and Poseidon got PISSED. So, like the little shit he is, he made Minos’ wife get hot for the bull and hence we have the Minotaur. This is an extra big no no in ancient Greece bc bulls were practically worshiped and seen as holy. There’s some other fucked up shit to do with bull sex but like I’ll let you live on in blissful ignorance like I wish I could. 

also just in case y’all didn’t know the Greeks used to collect and sell gladiators sweat as perfume. Idk how that smelled good but like, as a thirsty hoe, I kinda get it. 

heres part 4!

__________

Geralt woke to screams. 

It took him a moment to realize what was happening, let alone where he was. Jaskier was curled in his arms, still sound asleep as the screams made way to sobs and the singing of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. It was time, but Geralt felt nothing.

He shook Jaskier awake and snatched the ball of twine and sword, tucking the blade into his belt and praying to Athena, Poseidon, any god that would listen that the guards wouldn’t shove it loose. Jaskier snatched the twine from his hand and stowed it in his own clothes just in time for the soldiers to reach their cell. 

They were ushered at sword point up a path to the back of the palace where dingy stone steps lead down to a massive stone door, underground by a dozen feet at least. Jaskier clung to Geralt’s hand, clenching his jaw tight and looking forward as they were lead to the doors. It took three men to open them and Geralt heard someone in their party mumble about how well and truly fucked they were. He couldn’t blame them. 

They were shoved through the arch, surprisingly without ceremony, and the doors were heaved closed behind them.

When the rumble of stone on stone finally ceased and they were left with near darkness Geralt finally felt the panic. Everyone was looking at him, he could barely make out their features, but he knew, and all he could do was stare at the door. 

Jaskier gave his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him the now glowing gold ball of twine, “Geralt?”

Something snapped into place deep in Geralt’s gut and the panic vanished. He took the twine and tied it to the door before removing the sword from his clothes and handing the dagger to Jaskier.

“Do not stray from the twine. Stay with the group.” He growled, now better able to see from the light of the yarn. Everyone was terrified, but they were his responsibility now, and if he had to scare them further to keep them safe he would. 

“What if it sneaks up on us?!” A young girl squeaked, she couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

“We’ll hear it. Now, follow me.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” 

Geralt frowned, ready to admit like before that he hadn’t a clue, but then he heard it. It was faint, and he could only hear inhales, but there was snarling breathing that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a monster.

“I do.” He turned to go before anyone asked any more questions. 

Jaskier was at his heels, one hand gripping the dagger and the other clutching at Geralt’s belt to stay close, “Geralt, do you really know where we’re going?” he whispered.

“I can hear him.” Geralt muttered. Every muscle in his body was tensed and ready to strike as he lead the way down the arched corridor, unraveling the twine as they went. 

They walked on for what felt like forever, the hall twisted and turned, even went up a flight of stairs, but nothing about it seemed very maze-like. Jaskier kept quiet, but Geralt could feel his hand at his back trembling. Others in the group were whispering, They say it has a battle ax and Maybe it'll kill us quickly. 

Geralt held a hand up upon coming to their first T, “Everyone hush.” He closed his eyes, doing his best to listen past the panicked panting of the group. It was there, just barely, but the deep breathing of something much bigger than him was coming from the left. 

This continued for hours, or maybe it was only minutes, Geralt couldn’t tell,  until everyone could hear the beast’s steady breath and see a faint orange glow around a corner. 

Geralt stopped, turning to face the terrified group of teenagers, “Stay here and stay quiet.” he instructed. Then, handing off the glowing twine and whispering to Jaskier, “If I die you have to run. Sprint back to the doors, all of you should be able to open them. I’d tell you to go now if I weren’t afraid of waking it.” 

Jaskier had the gal to look offended, “If you think for one second I’m letting you go in there alone-”

“You will. The ship we came in on will be leaving in the morning with or without us. Be on it.” Geralt was getting jumpy, being a little more aggressive than he needed to, but the thought of Jaskier being left to die in this labyrinth without him was overwhelming and he’d never had more adrenaline coursing through him before. 

Jaskier held Geralt’s face between his hands and drew him in for a lip bruising kiss. Geralt’s unoccupied arm looped around his waist and pulled him close as his whole body screamed at him to run away with him. Nothing sounded better right then than sneaking out of the labyrinth and sailing off to some other island where they could live their lives in peace. No responsibility, no destiny, no monsters. 

Someone cleared their throat and Geralt pulled back, blushing furiously as he switched his sword back and forth between his hands, “That was one hell of a goodbye kiss.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “Good luck, not goodbye. You’ll be fine.”

Geralt nodded and peeked around the corner, catching a glimpse of a large open hall with a fire burning at its center and what one might have mistaken for a pile of furs and pillows laying in front of it. He ducked back into the corridor, pressing his back against the wall and doing his best to take a deep breath that wasn’t a panicked gasp. His limbs felt like goatskins full of water and his palms were already starting to sweat. He barely kept his face under control as he tried to work up the nerve to move. 

Jaskier held his free hand, gently massaging at the tendons, “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“It’s huge, Jask,” Geralt whispered, mortified that he’d made it all this way, and now when it mattered he couldn’t stifle the panic. 

“You threw a man twice my size halfway across the deck on our way here. You are strong and brave and deceptively intelligent.” Geralt raised an eyebrow at his words but let him continue, needed him to continue, “The blood of the gods runs through your veins and you’ve been blessed by the goddess of strategy and wit herself. You can do this.”

“Athena sending my mother to the sea is hardly a blessing.” Geralt argued, pushing off the wall and squeezing Jaskier’s hand before letting go. 

Jaskier pursed his lips, eyes somber despite his annoyed expression, “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

Geralt nodded and, though his limbs were still shaking, he stepped out into the hall of the Minotaur. 

He ran over all the advice he could remember from every soldier he’d spoken with as he crept toward the sleeping beast. As he got closer to the fire he saw the bones of previous sacrifices, some no bigger than a child’s, and the remnants of animal carcasses that were far fresher. The stench was getting progressively worse as he approached, so much so that he wondered if he might vomit before he could attack. He wanted to look back, he wanted to run back, but he kept his eyes trained on the beast before him. It was at least twice his size, covered in a strange coat of hair with a tail to match. Horns protruded from it’s forehead, long and sweeping forward in dramatic curves. He couldn’t see it’s face and prayed he wouldn’t have to while it was still alive.

When he was within feet of the Minotaur he raised his sword, gripping it in both hands and set his feet, readying to stab it in the neck. It was laying on its side, half curled into a fetal position as it slept. He felt a pang of sympathy for the creature. It wasn’t given a chance, wasn't guilty of the sin its mother committed or the offence her husband had committed against Poseidon. With it sleeping so still and so vulnerable he almost forgot the horror stories he’d heard from before they caged it here. He paused a moment too long.

As he brought down the blade the creature shifted and his sword cut deep across its back rather than a fatal blow at the neck. 

The roaring scream it let loose was disorienting, it rattled Geralt’s bones and had him shuffling backwards. It rolled to its hands and knees, or what functioned as knees, and Geralt slashed at it’s arm, slicing through thick ropy muscle as if it weren’t there. He thanked the gods the sword Triss had given him was sharp as he jumped out of the way of the Minotaur’s other arm swinging at him. He brought his sword down where he had just been standing, barely missing the monster’s forearm, but exposing his side, just like Eskel had warned not to. The Minotaur, now standing upright and towering over Geralt, kicked him in the ribs, sending him tumbling across the floor. He barely kept hold of his sword as he rolled to a stop, gasping for breath. 

It snarled at him, stomping closer on cloven hooves but holding one arm close to its middle. Geralt waited, kept gasping for breath long after he’d regained the ability to breathe properly and let the thing get closer. When it was within reach, raising it’s good arm in preparation to pummel Geralt into the stone, he lashed out again with his sword. This time the metal swiped clean through the canon of its left leg, severing the hoof from the leg completely. The Minotaur fell forward, nearly pinning Geralt to the ground as he scrambled out of the way. It struggled to push itself up on its one good arm but Geralt kneeled on its back, knee digging into the wound across it’s shoulders. He barely registered the screams of pain and outrage over the thrumming of his own pulse as he grabbed one of its horns with one hand and dragged his sword across its throat with the other. 

The screaming stopped, replaced by a stomach churning gurgle and trickle of blood. A deep, nearly black red liquid oozed out in every direction from the beast’s wounds as it struggled and twitched. Geralt didn’t want to take any chances. Cursed beasts had magical properties and he’d be damned if he left the thing alive enough to heal. Before the corpse began to cool he hacked and slashed until the head was completely severed from the body. 

Only then did he feel the pain radiating from his side all the way down his leg and into his toes. He threw the Minotaur’s head toward the corridor he’d entered from and collapsed on this good side, barely missing the rapidly expanding pool of blood. He grunted out a labored “Fuck.” before he heard shuffling feet and felt hands under his arms.  

Jaskier and the girl with all the questions were hauling him toward the fire. 

When they set him down Jaskier’s hands were flitting over his body searching for injuries, “I told you you’d be fine.” he teased, an undercurrent of fear cutting through his tone.

“Not fine,” Geralt huffed as Jaskier prodded his side and he tried to sit up, “Alive.”

“You probably broke a rib, go slowly.” Jaskier warned, helping Geralt up.

“You’re a doctor now?” Geralt teased, wincing as he straightened to full height.

Jaskier patted Geralt’s chest, “I’ve been kicked by a cow or two.”

He pulled Geralt close and kissed him softly, sighing like the world had been lifted from his shoulders. 

When he released the prince he rearranged the soft grey fabric and whispered so only Geralt could hear, “I could sell your sweat for a fortune right now.”

Geralt laughed and rolled his eyes, beginning to limp back to the other Athenians and scooping up the Minotaur’s head by the horns, “Lets go, I need a bath.” 

____________________

Next part here!

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jullian alfred pankratz #the witcher greek au #the witcher greek mythology au #geralt of rivia greek mythology au #geraskier #geraskier greeky mythology au #geraskier fan fic #geraskier fic #the witcher fan fic #the witcher fic #geralt of rivia fic #jaskier fic #geralt of rivia fanfic #jaskier fan fic #regan writes

[moskaisley]

migraine pt. 6 | vertigo

rating: NC-17 kinda

word count: 7k........

warnings: a smidge of smut, angst, canon-typical violence (someone’s arm gets bROKE), cursing, REAL SOFT SHIT, a lil homage to filipino lolas everywhere

a/n:

i know..this is v late so i’ll just cut to the chase.... she’s finally here and i’m finally happy with it so that’s all that matters. thank you all for being incredibly patient ily 🥺💘

summary:

“You never liked being angry with him and now you understood why; it always took so much energy. It kept your heart in a perpetual state of tension, and you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to cry or scream. It has you wondering, how did you keep that up for three damn years? “

Where it converges and collides and slowly comes back together, little by little.

parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

ao3 link / masterlist

“I’m gonna fucking die.”

“Quit being dramatic.”

“It’s hot.”

“I know.”

“Mando?”

“What.”

“We’re lost.”

Din’s jaw clenches, and he briefly looks over his shoulder to shoot you a cold glare. You two had been hiking all day, getting lost in twisting canyons in the high desert heat and bickering with each other about which way was north. Din insisted this was a faster way through and it would be easier to catch the bounty off guard on the other side. You, however, were adamant on the fact that the old woman in the cantina warned you of the thick forest nested in the valley, and that many had gotten lost trying to travel to the other side. He ultimately got his way, but the further you two crept into the chasm, the more disoriented you became. That, combined with the blazing heat on your skin, made for a very bitter argument in which you both came to a steely silence for a few miles.

A few hours later, the sky had just begun to dip below the horizon, and you stopped in your tracks at a faint crashing sound in the distance. 

“Hey, do you hear that?” Startled at the sudden call of your voice, he whipped to you and tilted his head curiously. Din stills and watches as you crane your neck to hear where the noise is coming from. You completely ignore his calls to you when you shuffle off path into a thicket of trees and rocks.  Din huffs in frustration and begrudgingly follows behind you, cursing under his breath at the fact that the bounty is probably long gone by now and that he’s gonna chew your ear off for wasting more time.

But the words die on his tongue when he sees you in awe of a towering, roaring waterfall cascading into a crystal clear pool at your feet. Trees surround the small shore, and wild grass and weeds sprout in patches along the smooth sand. The air was cool and crisp, and if he strained his ears, Din could hear birds fluttering amongst the treetops.

It was an oasis, probably untouched for decades, and you’d inadvertently found it by getting lost.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

A tender feeling bloomed in his chest when you turned and gave him an excited smile. In an instant, all of the arguing and nonsense from earlier had melted away. It was an image he’d commit to memory: the sight of you smiling beautifully in this hidden desert paradise. 

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, it is.”

It was also the perfect place to set up camp. Seeing as you could barely navigate the forest in the day, you both knew you couldn’t continue your trek through the night, so you settled down in a clearing beneath a few trees and right off the side of the shore. Dusk had started to fall by the time you were all set up. As Din stoked the flames of the small fire, he caught you casually stripping in the corner of his eye, breath hitching at the sight of your bare skin.

“What are you doing?” He asks dumbly.

“Washing off,” you say “Why? Wanna join me?”

You neatly fold your pants and put them on a mossy rock, leaving you only in your underwear and bandeau.

“Tempting, but I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

Din continues uselessly poking at the fire as he tries his best not to stare. Even if he’s had sex with you and seen you naked on multiple occasions, it’s instinct to respect your privacy. But he’ll still catch glimpses of you splashing around in his peripheral. The curve of your ass, your hair, the contours of your stomach...Maker, you were so fucking pretty. 

“Having fun there, Mando?”

Din scoffs and stands up, striding over to the edge of the water. 

“I’m fine, you?”

“It’s nice. You should come in with me.” 

“Not in this, I can’t,” he gestures to his beskar.

“C'mon,” you croon. A devilish smile spreads across your lips as you bend down and lightly splash him with a little bit of water. 

“Don’t start.”

You don’t listen, sending another splash at his legs.

“Y/N.”

Another splash, and he’s suddenly wading through the pool to get to you. You squeal as Din scoops you up into his arms and holds you close to him.

“You gonna behave for me now, mesh’la?”

You giggle against him as you say, “No.”

“Wrong answer.” He all but throws you back into the water like a damn fish.

But you emerge laughing happily, wading back to the shore with a goofy look on your face. 

Back at the camp, you’re both by the fire, basking in each other’s company. While you lay spread out on your side, propped up on your elbow on top of his cape, Din is sat up against a boulder. He listens to the sounds of the canyon–the waterfall roaring in the back, the crack of the fire, the rustle of the wind in the trees– and nearly dozes off until you say,

“We should just stay here. Screw the bounty, let’s just be desert hermits.”

“And what? Live off bugs and tiny fish?”

“I mean...yeah. That sounds perfect.” 

You look at him fondly from your place on the ground, and he taps your nose. You don’t know it, but he’s giving you that same lovestruck look. It does sound perfect, running off into the woods with you. Stupid, but perfect.

Your expression suddenly turns remorseful; with your free hand, you grab his on his lap.

“Hey um– I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be angry with you.”

In all honesty, he’d completely forgotten that you’d fought at all. Din intertwined his fingers with yours, and held it reassuringly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he apologizes, “I’m sorry, too. It was my fault we got lost in the first place.”

“Yeah, but look what we found,” you gesture to the oasis around you, “This is worth something, right?”

He nods and you grace him with another sweet smile.

“I don’t like being mad at you… Din.”

He knows that his name still feels unfamiliar on your tongue, but his heart still skips a beat whenever you say it.

“I don’t either.”

You sit up from your place on his cloak, and he flushes with heat as you crawl onto his lap and straddle his legs, hand still in yours. “Then, let’s just–let’s try not to destroy each other, okay?

“Okay.”

--

The fire had already died down, embers dusting bright against the black wood. Night had settled over the canyon, the only light now being the glow of the stars and moon above. Your soft, heady moans echo off the cavern walls as he guides your hips up and down his cock. You bury your face into his neck and nip at the small sliver of skin just below his jaw. Din grunts and grinds into you, dizzy at good you feel against him, and then he hears you mumble something into his shoulder.

“What did you say?”

It was hard to hear you over the sound of rushing water. You pull yourself away and meet him with a nervous stare, gazing at him directly in the eye through his visor. Din straightens himself up, gripping your waist tighter in worry.

“Hey, what’s wro–”

“I want to see you, Din.”

His stomach flips. Panic starts to settle in and he shifts under you. Your hands caress the sides of his helmet and his arms quickly go to your wrists out of instinct, but you don’t move any further.

“Relax, it doesn’t have to be now,” you assure him, but he still remains tense, “Or tomorrow, or three years down the road...Or… Or ever.”

You pause for a moment, and Din looks at you in awe. 

“I know it’s too much to ask, but I need you to know that I want to. One day. If you’d let me.”

He would. When that day would come, who knows. 

But he would. You kiss the forehead of his helmet and his eyes fall shut, holding you closer.

--

 So... forever, huh?

The word bounced and echoed in his ears. You thought you’d know him forever. A life where he’d see you every single day until you returned to the earth you stood upon…. And he took that away from you.

Din was stunned into silence, the weight of your honesty pulling at his chest. You watch him with bleary eyes, expectant for his response.

“Was I stupid enough to think you wanted it too?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“No, absolutely not.”

His hand gingerly travels from your shoulder down to yours, taking a loose hold of your palm. He expects you to pull away, but you don’t. To his surprise, you grip ever so slightly tighter.

“So why did we let it fall apart?”

“Don’t think for a second that any of this is your fault.”

“Then what was it?” 

He doesn’t respond and you scoff, irritation pulling at your features.

“Mando, you’ve gotta give me something. I’m trying to be fair but–”

“I screwed it all up with you,” he interrupts, “Let you go when I shouldn’t have. I–”

Din stills, once again paralyzed at the thought of spilling out his heart to you. The words swell in his throat and sit heavy behind his teeth. He squeezes your hand, telling himself to be brave and just spit it out already because if he doesn’t do it now, he probably never will.

He pulls and you follow, sitting yourselves down on a rock next to the still water. He keeps your hand in his, and takes a deep breath. 

“I don’t remember what my family looks like,” he begins, “I remember being with them. I remember what it was like to go to markets, to be in our house, but every time I try to picture their faces, I can’t seem to piece it all together.”

You don’t say anything, now listening intently. It’s strange– damn near uncomfortable– to have this conversation in the daylight, considering these kinds of talks have only existed in the safety and darkness of the Crest.

Din continues.

“When I was taken in as a foundling, I didn’t want a new family. I thought I didn’t need one, and I denied myself from one for a long, long time. But when you talked about leaving it all behind and starting your own, I–uh–I couldn’t help wanting to be the one you did it with.” You shuffle in your spot, heat rising to your cheeks. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I suddenly had something to lose. That it would be easier to let the dream go before I lost it all over again.” You furrow your brows and ask, “So you left?”

He bites his lip and nods.

“It was selfish–I was selfish. I convinced myself it was easier this way, that you’d be better off with someone who could give you what you wanted.”

“And you couldn’t?”

“At the time, no.” You nod slowly, soaking up his words. Your gaze travels down to your intertwined hands, and you don’t look at him when you ask, “Why’d you pull a blaster on me? Sure, you wanted to push me away but why’d it have to be like...that?”

Din clenches around your fingers, swallowing hard and answering earnestly.

“It’d be easier if you hated me.”

Your eyes shut tight and he can tell you’re struggling to keep your composure.

“That’s stupid,” you say sardonically, “And it obviously didn’t work. You just broke my heart.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. For everything. For me.”

Din has said the words more times than he can count in the past few days, but it’s only now that he feels them carry any real weight.  He watches you stew over his words, taking long heavy sighs and brushing your fingertips over your temples. Your face remained as still as it could, hiding your true feelings under the mask of heavy concentration. A trick I picked up from you, actually, you once said.

When you finally speak, your eyes meet his visor once again.

“So what now?”

Din tilts his head, confused.

“You said ‘at the time,’ you couldn’t give me what I wanted,” you explain, “But what about now? Where do we go after this?”

He ponders over the question, looking off into the distance where he sees the child splashing along the lakefront. Then, he remembers something you said a few days ago.

“It’s always going to be about us.”

You were right. It was always the two of you against the universe, fitting so perfectly together and falling so easily on one another for support. In another life, where you fully embraced those feelings and spoke them aloud, maybe it would’ve been easier for you to follow each other to the tailends of the galaxy. But years have carved a canyon between you, and now? Things were different. He wasn’t as young and you weren’t as kind. You both needed time to heal your wounds and explore the space in between. 

He looks back to you, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.

“Wherever you want,” he says, as if it were the most simple solution in the world, “It wasn’t fair of me to ask so much of you and I should’ve just been honest. But know that I’ll be here when you need me.”

You’re pursing your lips, face tight and unreadable.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

His heart clenches and he braces for the worst.

“I understand. I don’t expect you to.” 

“And I don’t think I can stay around you either. At least, not right now...”

He hangs onto that last part, hope shamelessly building inside him. He watches you brush a tear from the corner of your eye.

“...but thank you. I really needed to hear this.”

You’re the first one to break away, standing up and letting go of his hand. Din follows suit, turning to head back to your campsite. But you surprise him. You always do. He feels a tug on his sleeve and your arms around his neck. He allows himself to be stunned for a beat before holding your waist and pulling you in close, breathing you in while he can. The words tumble from his lips, wet and sad.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I know.”

--

You reach the village by dusk, weary and tired from walking all day with little to no break. It finally came time to find new parts for the Crest, as there was only so much you could do with the scrap that Mando kept onboard. The hike had been mostly quiet, save for the occasional fussy cry from the child. You were still raw and tender from this morning’s talk, and though things still remained uncertain between you, things felt a lot… lighter, like the air was easier to breathe. You never liked being angry with him and now you understood why; it always took so much energy. It kept your heart in a perpetual state of tension, and you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to cry or scream. It has you wondering, how did you keep that up for three damn years?

The town was relatively small, most likely acting as a trading post for travelers on the main roads. When you cross through the main square, the vendors are already breaking down and turning in for the night. You and Mando agreed to find a place to stay for the night and pick up parts first thing in the morning. 

“Back for more, little one?” 

You smile at the sound of Amir’s voice calling from one of the stands, and you walk over to greet him with a shake of your hand.

“Just the man I wanted to see.”

“I’m glad to see you again so soon,” he says fondly. 

You turn to your partner, “Mando, this is Amir. I helped him with his wagon this morning.”

He nods at the old man in greeting, “Thank you for the food. You’re very kind.”

“So, you’re Mandalorian I’ve heard all about?” Amir asks with a cheeky smirk, “I’ve been told you’ve been causing quite a lot of trouble.”

You snort lightly when Mando stiffens next to you, letting him wallow in embarrassment before coming to his rescue. 

“We’re looking for parts because our ship needs to be repaired right away,” you tell the old man, “Is there a place around here we could stay? It will only be for one night.” “Of course! My sister has a spare room. You can eat and rest there, and continue your journey tomorrow.”

You help Amir pack the rest of his produce stand and follow him to a dwelling at the end of the street. The outside of the home is covered in overgrowth, ivy climbing up the concrete walls and wild flowers decorating the front porch. Windchimes and stained transparisteel dangle over the doorway, and you could see propagated plants in clear bottles along the windowsill. When Amir opens the door, the smell of eucalyptus and broth immediately overwhelms your nostrils.

“Igme! We have guests!”

 You hear the clanging of pots and shuffling from the far end of the hall. She was a shorter, stout woman with tan skin and crooked teeth. Adjusting her thick glasses, she squints and you and your partner.

“What kind of trouble have you gotten into this time, brother?”

Amir scoffs, “Trouble? I’m no trouble. This is the girl that helped me this morning! The one with the Mando.”

“Ah, so you’ve dragged them all the way here, have you?”

The siblings bicker for a moment before she beckons you all to come inside, barking at you to sit down. When you all flood into her kitchen, she looks curiously upon the excited child in his floating pram.

“Oh? And who might you be?” She asks him with a toothy grin. 

When the baby only gurgles in response, she looks at you and Mando, “You two are quite the odd couple.”

You both panic, speaking over each other as you quickly say something along the lines of, “We’re not–It’s not like that–” But the old woman only laughs, waving you off as if to say, yeah, okay, sure. 

Igme is much more of a firecracker than her brother: Overbearing in the best way possible, but she is kind and welcoming all the same, serving each of you a helping of food before you even have a chance to introduce yourselves. You immediately tuck in, not realizing how hungry you were until you caught a whiff of whatever she had on the stove. Mando, on the other hand, sits awkwardly in his seat.

The old woman asks him pointedly, “Are you not going to eat, Mandalorian?”

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish under her intense stare.

“Igme, he can’t take the helmet off. It’s part of his religion,” Amir butts in. 

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?” She places her utensils on the table, quickly standing and shuffling over to her pantry. She pulls out a tray and starts putting Mando’s dinner on it before handing it to him. 

“Please, ma’am, it’s okay. I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” he tries to say, but Igme is relentless, pointing a bony finger in his face.

“You’ll give me trouble if you don’t eat. It’s disrespectful to deny food,” she scolds, “Go upstairs, and I better not see any leftovers! You’re too skinny; you need to grow.”

Mando stands stiffly in the doorway with his tray, and you shoot him an amused smile. 

Bowing his head at the elders, he says, “Thank you both. We’re very grateful.”

“Eat!”

--

“So, it seems you’ve patched things up with him.”

You swallow, shifting in your seat shyfully. You don’t look at Amir, instead focusing on feeding the child in front of you.

“Somewhat. I thought a lot about what you said, and it really helped when I talked to him this morning.”

“Oh good,” he muses, “So you told him you loved him then?”

Your hand slips and the spoon clatters loudly to the ground. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, and you hope to Maker that the walls are thick enough that Mando can’t hear you from upstairs. Amir slaps his knees, his laugh bellowing throughout the kitchen while you clean up the mess you made. 

“Igme, these kids are going to kill me.”

--

After helping clear the table and washing the dishes, you thank your hosts profusely before bidding them a goodnight. You knock on the door gently, and hear a muffled “hold on” followed by footsteps. Mando emerges in the doorway, clad in only his clothes and helmet. 

“We have a problem,” he says and you furrow your brows. 

He steps aside and you push through. The room is fairly small, containing only a few pieces of furniture along the walls: a rocking chair, an overcrowded bookshelf, a dresser, and one bed.

Not two, one. 

“It’s fine,” you huff, chewing on your bottom lip, “It’s not like we haven’t shared one before.” “Yeah, but–” he cuts himself off, “Look, I’ll just sleep in the chair.” You give him a suspicious look and cock an eyebrow.

“Don’t be weird. What you were going to say?”

“I was gonna say the last time we did, things were a lot...different.”

Your cheeks burn. He was right, of course. The last time you shared a bed with him, you weren’t in the midst of a dramatic falling out and there were a lot less clothes involved.

“That... was a long time ago,” you reason, trying to keep your tone even, “It’s just one night, a–and we’re both adults. We can handle it.”

--

You lay tense on your side, facing outwards toward the wall and hyper aware of the emptiness behind you. The lights were off already, moonlight illuminating the room in soft blues. Mando was taking an awfully long time getting the baby settled, and your stomach flipped when you heard the carrier doors close shut.

“You sure this is okay with you?” “Just get in the damn bed, Mando.”

He sighs another modulated sigh, and you feel the weight of the mattress dip and he settles into a position much similar to yours. The silence of the universe descends once more, and you’re suddenly confronted with the chasm of space between you. You swear you’re exhausted, but despite it all, you’re kept conscious by the presence of the man a few inches away.

“Are you awake?” You don’t mean to say it, but it comes out anyway.

“Yeah.”

You pull at the knitted quilt, clutching it closer to your shoulder. 

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“You’re pulling the blanket.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

You loosen your grip on the sheet, and you feel it move as Mando adjusts it on his side. Another beat of silence passes by. And then,

“They’re nice people,” he says, “Igme and Amir.”

“Yeah. They are,” You say and smile fondly, “They have such great personalities to them.”

“I know. I’m damn near forty and Igme thinks I still need to grow. I was afraid she’d kill me if I didn’t eat.”

You chuckle lightly; watching him get chewed out by a woman half his size was entertaining.

“Amir’s quite nosy, y’know? Kept asking all kinds of questions about us.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

“Oh, you know. This and that,” You hesitate, pulling nervously at a thread on your pillow. The bed jostles lightly, and you could only assume that Mando had shifted places.

“And what does that mean?”

You will yourself to turn around, and you’re met with the slick black of his visor. Your heart skips a beat and you can’t control yourself when you whisper,

“He asked if I loved you.”

A crackle of static cuts through the heavy air, and you see his chest heave.

“And?”

“I said I was angry with you.”

“But do you?”

You blink at him a few times, dizzy and drunk on fatigue. At this point, you wonder if you’re dreaming, that you’re not really awake and these kinds of confessions exist only in your head. In the morning, you will be facing the wall, and soon, you will fix the Razor Crest and then jet off in your own ship, parting and going your separate ways. And this late night exchange of secrets would’ve never happened because there’s still an angry, ugly part of you that wants to launch him into dead space. 

Right?

You hold your breath and tenderly reach over, looping your pinky finger in his and pulling your hands between your bodies as you utter a single word.

“Maybe.”

You’re silent for a moment, but you acquiesce, 

“Yes.”

Because in the morning, you’ll wake up like this, intertwined with him in the most gentle way possible, and you’ll savor every fleeting moment with him while you can. You’ll still split up, go your own way because something in the universe is signaling that it isn’t time for you yet. And you’ll mourn over him every second he’s away because things have gotten so complicated, and the gravity of all your lost potential will always wash over you.  Everything that ever is and was and everything that could’ve been– you could drown in it if you weren’t careful. Because even though he didn’t deserve you, he had you. He always did.

Din is quiet for a while, letting your honesty sink in. Your heart slams against your chest and you think you’re on the verge of tears because you’ve said too much and you don’t think you can handle it.

And then he asks,

“Do you remember when we got stuck in that canyon?” 

“The one with the waterfall?”

“Yeah, that one.  What if we stayed there? Became hermits like you said?”

“Does it even matter now?”

You don’t mean to sound so cynical, so you backtrack.

“We’d probably be happier. Or dead.”

You don’t see it, but you know he’s smiling.

“We should’ve gotten it right the first time,” he murmurs, “But it’s too late now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

--

You’re not sure how much time passes. You don’t even remember falling asleep, but the next thing you know, your eyes flutter open to meet that familiar beskar helmet, and there’s a soft whine coming from the other side of the room. In your sleepy state, it takes you a second to realize that it’s just the baby and ghosts aren’t real.

Pulling yourself out of bed and padding over to his pram, you pick up Mando’s vambrace and fiddle with the buttons until the carrier doors open. The little green bean gawks at you with wet eyes, whimpering and sniffling against his blankets.

Scooping him up into your arms, you whisper to him.

“Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. Did you have a nightmare?”

He digs himself into your chest, and his cries get louder. You panic when you see Mando stir from his place on the bed, so you bounce the child lightly in your arms. “Ssshhh, it’s alright. I’m here,” you assure him, “Your dad is asleep. I don’t want to wake him up. Maker knows he needs his rest.”

The kid begins to settle down after some time, relaxing in your arms while his eyes droop trying to stay awake. You breathe a sigh of relief and settle down into the rocking chair, swaying slowly and lulling the child back to sleep. 

“He gets them too, you know? The nightmares,” you tell him, “Must run in the family.”

He yawns, slipping back into unconsciousness slowly and surely. You glance at Mando’s peaceful sleeping form on the bed and continue to ramble to the child in your arms.

“That man… He’s infuriating. Things can never just be easy with him. ” He’s fully asleep now, snoring softly just like his father. You gaze out the window and notice that dawn has just started to settle over the horizon, a bright pink dusting the indigo skies. You’re overtaken by this incredible sense of calm, meditating in the quietness of the early morning. Selfishly, you think about how you could get used to this. 

“What was that word? The one he uses for children?”

Sleep begins to pull at you, too, the motions of the rocking chair settling you further into exhaustion. But you still wrack your tired brain for the word, your already limited Mando’a out of practice after not using it for so long. Adiik? A’den? Ad’eta?

“Ad’ika.”

--

It feels like a shot to the chest when Din wakes up and you’re not next to him because now he can’t tell if last night was a dream–if you really took his hand and said you loved him.  Neither of you had ever explicitly said the words out loud, and last night was about as much as he would ever get. When he shifts to the other side, his vision is still adjusting to the bright sun of the morning, and his heart sinks when he sees your blurry form asleep in the chair. 

Did you regret it? Pushing himself off the bed with a groan, he walks across the room and suddenly, all the doubts die in his mind when he finally gets a clear look at you. The child is asleep in your arms, tucked against your chest while you snooze with your head slumped against the headrest. Din could watch this forever, and he can’t help but wish that this was his normal. Intimate nights, calm mornings and a loving family within reach. 

Din’s heart twists when he realizes he could’ve but he stupidly let it go along with you. 

So he indulges in the fantasy just a little longer, taking his sweet time to get himself ready and stealing glances at you every time he could. And when it was time for it to end, he slips into the refresher, shutting the door loudly.

--

Igme and Amir wouldn’t accept your money even as you both bickered with them on giving at least something as a token of your appreciation. The only thing they’d accept was your help in setting up Amir’s produce stand in the market before you went, and so you did. Mando and Amir pitched the shade, and you laid out all of his stock on wooden tables while the child watched from his pram, happily eating some berries. Though the morning had been relatively easygoing, the air had been deeply awkward between you and your partner. You’d barely spoken aside from the occasional “sorry” for when you briefly brushed too close. But you still steal quick glances and stare at each other’s backs when the other isn’t looking, wondering when someone’s going to talk about the blurrg in the room or not.

Tearing yourself out of your thoughts, you look back at the baby, who’s thoroughly made a mess of himself with his breakfast feast.

“Oh Maker, look at you!” 

He giggles happily and you laugh with him, purple fruit juice all over his face and jacket. Crouching down, you pull at your sleeve and proceed to wipe it from his lips.

“It’s gonna stain,” Mando’s voice suddenly complains behind you. 

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the tension between you.

“Maybe you can find some new clothes for him here,” you suggest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You smile at Mando warmly for just a moment before turning back to the child. After fruitlessly trying to rub off the juice from his shirt with your sleeve (and Mando prodding you with “quit it, it’s not going to work), you notice something missing from his carrier.

“His silver ball is gone.”

Mando tilts his head and digs through his blankets only to turn up empty.

“It must’ve fallen in the room.” Amir, who had stayed entertained from afar, came up to you two in your confusion.

“Did you lose something?”

“Yes,” you say, “The baby left his toy and I’d hate to leave it here.” “Igme should still be home. Go ahead and grab it.”

“Thank you so much.” You turn to Mando and gently place a hand on his arm. “Go ahead without me. I’ll catch up with you.”

-- 

Walking up to the house, a Pantoran and a man stand at the porch. Igme stands proud and tall at the doorway, hands propped against the frame to act as a steel wall between them and her home. Even with her loud, scathing voice, you don’t hear much of the conversation aside from “I don’t know who you’re talking about” and “there’s no one here.” You stride closer, hand itching to your blaster’s holster when Igme catches your gaze.

The men turn around and your heart drops when you see how heavily armed they are. They’re dressed in sleek black, clothes oddly pressed and neat. You narrow your eyes at them, and you don’t know how, but you swore you’ve seen them before.

“I thought you said there was no one here,” one of them says.

She answers quickly before you can respond. “That’s my niece, Tala.” 

With their backs turned, they don’t see Igme give you a pressing look, nodding her head and encouraging you to keep up the act. 

“Doesn’t look like she’s from around here, grandma.”

“What’s it to you?” you ask, keeping your face stern.

“You tell me, darling.”

Your gaze darts from the men and then to Igme.

“I’m visiting my family,” you lie, “Is it a crime?”

The two thugs tilt their head at you suspiciously.

“We’re looking for someone, and we have reason to believe that they stayed in your aunt’s house last night.”

“And who might that be?”

“A Mandalorian, a child, and…” 

The Pantoran takes a step closer, golden eyes boring into yours. He’s menacing and at least a head taller but you stay indignant, feet planted firmly on the ground. He takes a lock of your hair in his forefinger and your stomach turns.

“...A pretty little thing like you.”

You roughly smack his hand away and push past him, standing with Igme at the door. 

“Sorry boys, but you’ve got the wrong house. Your chances of finding a Mandalorian here are slim to none. I’m here on a family vacation, nothing else.”

The two hunters exchange looks, deliberating over their next action. You shift slowly, hand creeping towards your blaster before they turn back to you and Igme with sinister smiles.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Igme ushers you inside, slams the door shut, and pulls the curtains on her windows. You let out a huge sigh of relief, heart slamming in your chest and sweat beading at your brow. Out of the corner of your eye, Igme stands still, staring at a picture hung on her wall. Her hands shake ever so slightly, scratching the wrinkly skin on her forearms.

“You need to find your Mandalorian and get out of here. It isn’t safe for you,” she instructs, “Take the back door and make sure you aren’t seen.”

“What about you?” “We can handle ourselves. Hasn’t been the first time.”

You nod, and say nothing more. You rush upstairs, taking the child’s ball and slipping it into your pocket. You take one last look at the small cozy room and it breaks your heart a little; Igme and Amir had been the first genuinely kind faces you’d seen in a very long time. Even if you’d only been here a day, it was easy to feel like this place was home.

Walking down the stairs, you see Igme still gazing longingly at a photo, unmoving.

“You remind us of her, you know? We were devastated when we heard the news.”

It takes a second, but then it dawns on you.

“Tala was Amir’s daughter, wasn’t she? The one in the Rebellion?”

She nods slowly, breaking her gaze from the wall to turn to you. 

“I told her to go. To never stop fighting. Amir was furious with me, but eventually, he came around. She was a hero,” She says, with a shaky breath. Circling back to you, Igme takes your face in her bony hands.

“I don’t know who those men are or why they’re here, but I know that you’re good kids. You be careful out there, okay?”

You’re speechless, heart blooming with adoration. “Igme, I can’t thank you enough for everything you and Amir have done.”

The old woman pulls you in for a warm, loving embrace, and it takes everything in you to not cry your eyes out. 

“Then don’t. Just stay alive, that would be enough.”

--

You do exactly as Igme says, stalking behind buildings and hidden streets around the bazaar to find Mando. From the end of an alley, you see a glint of beskar and your heart leaps. But as you make your way down the small road, you’re stopped by a sharp, painful tug on your hair and the barrel of a weapon pressed at your back.

“What did you say about slim chances, darling?”

Cursing under your breath, you raise your hands in begrudging surrender. The Pantoran’s hand moves from your hair to grip the back of your neck, turning you around and shoving you away from the main street. He guides you a few paces down the abandoned back road, pushing past cargo crates and trash cans that litter the way. In an alley up ahead, the sounds of struggle echo off the concrete walls and the grip on your neck tightens as your captor aims the blaster past your face in defense. 

Mando tumbles onto the ground in front of you, the other hunter stalking in tow. You act quick, slamming a hard elbow into the Pantoran’s stomach and seizing his arm, taking aim with the blaster. In his panic, he fires and the shot lands on his partner’s ribs, knocking him back into a stack of cargo crates and giving Mando a chance to get back on his feet. With your captor’s arm still in your hold, you throw him onto his back and fall to your knee. Bringing it flush against your leg, you tug with all your strength, a nasty crack resounding in your ears. He wails in pain and his blaster falls to the floor. 

“You bitch!” He seethes. His uninjured hand reaches toward his belt and whips out a vibroblade, but it’s swiftly kicked out of his hands, clattering onto the dirt as Mando stalks to your side. 

“Don’t try it.”

He aims his blaster at the writhing hunter, who squeezes his eyes shut at the sound of the gun cocking.  But something about these men itch in your consciousness–something that wasn’t right. Sure, every bounty hunter and their mother was after Mando right now, but this felt different. These two weren’t some rugged, run-of-the-mill mercs who were hired in a seedy cantina; they were trained, calculated, and damning of all, they were familiar. They knew exactly who you were at Igme’s, and if they wanted to take you in or kill you, why didn’t they do it right then and there? Unless they were explicitly told not to cause a scene.

“Wait.”

Mando’s arm relaxes only slightly, looking to you for explanation. Rising to your feet, you take a good look at the Pantoran, studying his features intently and trying to figure out where have you seen him before?

“Who do you work for?” 

He spits at your feet, “Like I’d fuckin’ tell you.”

You don’t react, steely gaze darting to his limp broken arm. Tilting up your foot, you hover over his swollen elbow, brushing it with the sole of your boot. His golden eyes go wild in panic.

“Let’s try again, darling,” you sneer, “Who. Do. You. Work. For?”

Every word was punctuated with added pressure on his injured limb. He thrashes under your hold in agony, desperately trying to pull himself from under you as curses fly from his lips. But your stance remains strong and you don’t move a muscle.

“F–f–fuck! You kriffing bitch!” “You want me to break the other one? Start talking!”

You slam your foot against his arm and he wails. Out of the corner of your eye, Mando tilts his head in what can only be worry. 

“Alright! I’ll talk!” he relents, “I’ll talk.”

Your hold loosens ever so slightly and you let him speak.

“Ever since his arrest, people have been fighting for Khan’s spot at the top. In the end, it was his cousin Kirnall Myn who took over. Once he found out the price on the Mandalorian’s head, his first order was to send us after you.”

The name made your blood run hot. You read his file on the Crest and it made you sick to your stomach. Though Khan was the main face of his ring, you learned that Kirnall was the one who kept it running like a well oiled machine. He’s the reason it expanded across the Rims; he moved the money, pulled in the most expensive clients, and had deliberately placed set-ups on planets with loose laws. With him in charge, things could get a lot worse.

And these clowns must’ve been his trusted hitmen. You let out a frustrated huff, stepping off the Pantoran’s arm and lifting his neglected gun from the ground. He’s weak, groaning in pain and slowly slipping into unconsciousness. But before he can go under, you point and send a shot through his legs. He cries out in agony again, and you’re back on your knees, pulling him by the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not going to kill you today,” you seethe, “because you’re going to go to your little hitman friends and tell them to back off. And then you’re going to tell Kirnall Myn that I’m coming for his head.”

--

taglist

@bella-ciaao @tiffdawg @peggers-n-beggers @sinnamon-bunn​ @adlerorzel-blog​ @theocatkov​  @paryl​ @fruitsaladtree​ @allisondavis236​ @roxypeanut @benedrylcumbersnatch @skylerrae-solo @weirdowithnobeardo @gabbygurrl @cheesybadgers @nopeforyou @dartheldur @altarsw

thx loves 💘

#migraine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #shes HERE FINALLY #star wars #the mandalorian fic #by homage to lolas i mean my lola bc she heavily inspired igme

[chipsfics]

Part 1 - Introduction/Invitation

Part one of my currently-unnamed Inanimate Insanity fanfiction :)! Feat. Tissues and Yinyang. Some shipping but not a whole lot ;)

Rated: PG (A few heavy themes)

Hope you enjoy and much more to come !! :D

~~~~

Unlike Tissues, Yinyang knew he was going to be eliminated. Yin did, at least. He figured after a certain amount of time, the viewers just saw him as... Annoying. He had used up his entertainment value- Inanimate Insanity had packaged and squeezed dry his "quirks" of any and all comedy until they were just problems again. He was sure his other half knew elimination was at least a possibility- He was probably too preoccupied with his own thoughts, which sometimes blended together with Yin's. A lot of... "Everyone here hates me," and "I hate everyone here." Seemed like the situation was stressing them both out.

Weeks later, After they were all freed from the closet, Yinyang watched the episode where he was eliminated. Yinyang cried, not because he lost, but something kind of got tangled in his brain watching the way he acted. He was grinding his teeth watching the playback, Yang holding back tears and Yin letting them flow freely. If only, if only, if only. Needless to say, he didn't really remember a lot about what happened cooped up in that tiny closet. He mostly hid in the corner and tried not to grind his teeth down to his gums. Tissues, on the other hand, barely knew what was going on. One place to another, off a plane, rushing from iceberg to dodgeball court, grass field to bleachers- Next thing he knew he sneezed himself through a portal and ended up cooped up in a closet. Once the dizzy feeling cleared and he ended up face down, alone, in an empty closet with a locked door- One thing was abundantly clear: He lost. As usual. When another contestant stepped through the portal, the relief he felt was overwhelming- and as the closet filled up with eliminated contestants, the sense of relief he felt was replaced by self loathing and shame- Everyone else pretty much all hated him. As usual.

When they finally got a breath of fresh air, space to move around, personal rooms and even a breakfast juice bar- After everyone who came in contact with him was thoroughly sprayed down by Soap, nobody hated him anymore. They just didn't talk to him. Although, when he walked in the hallway, Soap would follow a safe distance behind him and clean where he last stepped with disinfectant. That didn't really help his self-esteem.

One quiet afternoon, everyone was still trying to settle into their new (but much nicer) living situations, Tissues got paired with the roommate who hated him the most. One Trophy horseplay, who was the one who stomped his face in more than a couple times while stuck in the closet. Of course, due to the technological advancements of melife, Mephone brought him back immediately after he got the death notification- bzz-ding, Tissues died again, to Trophy's frustration. Living with Trophy, he tried to keep all of his stuff in one corner- And he was kind of being shoved over by Trophy's ever-growing collection of sports equipment. Apparently he had nowhere to put it except for cluttering up their shared bedroom. He didn't have much things anyway- and he spent most of his time in the front game room. Tissues, Yinyang, and a few wanderers in and out every day in that same room, that same dinky game system, the same 4 outdated platforming games. He didn't remember the names of those old things, and he wasn't great at them anyway- It'd surprise you, but he didn't have the best hand-eye-coordination. 

Yinyang was also bad at them. He'd argue and curse and throw the controller and tug at the wires, Tissues would follow slowly behind him in co-op play. It was fun to play with someone who had the same skill level as he did, and it seemed like Yinyang had mellowed out a little from his appearance on the show- Having a bit more freedom and alone time seemed to make Yang calm down and Yin become cheerier and more friendly. If Tissues could say one Inanimate Insanity contestant was his friend- It was Yinyang. They had something big and terrifying in common- They were both freaks. The unlovable tend to find a way to love each other.

~~~~

Yaaaawn. Tissues stretched and looked at the clock- 11:30, about 3 hours earlier than when he usually woke up. He wiped the drool off his face, got up and feverishly brushed his teeth. He realized the breakfast bar was still open for another 30 minutes- More like 25 now that he'd dragged himself out of bed. OJ wasn't the world's most attentive hotel owner, but the breakfast bar seemed like something he was passionate about. There were rumors that he refilled the cereal dispensers by himself and doesn't let anyone else do it. Soap always threw a fit when someone else did the chores for her, although she seemed to have a quiet respect for OJ's breakfast bar. Tissues took the elevator down- He didn't trust himself to go down the stairs because of his vertigo. Lo and behold, someone else bumped into his hand reaching for the down arrow. It was Yinyang! 

"O-oh, go ahead, you first," Tissues said bashfully. 

"No, you first!" Yin chirped. "I assume we're both going down?" 

"Yeah, I'm gonna try and catch the last wave of breakfast, guyse. I'm not usually up this... SNIFF. Early," Tissues said, and jammed his finger into the down button, which started to glow a faint yellow.

"Wait, is the free breakfast thing still open?" Yinyang said, "The one where you can make waffles with the little do-it-yourself waffle iron?" 

"Is that what that is? I thought it was just a weird smoothie dispenser. I thought the stuff that came out of it tasted like waffle batter," He sniffed.

Yinyang laughed. Tissues would have been peeved, but it didn't seem like Yinyang was laughing AT him. That, or just the fact that his laugh was crisp and clear as a ringing bell. Tissues didn't think he heard him genuinely laugh a whole ton of times. It was nice. 

As they waited for the elevator to come up, Tissues noticed one of Yinyang's eyes blinking and drooping. Yang's side seemed to be sleepier than Yin's- His body lagging to one side until he had to jerk back into a standing position. Was it possible for one half to fall asleep and the other half to stay awake? DING. Tissues' train of thoughts was interrupted by the elevator door sliding open. They stepped in, and for the entire ride down Tissues fought as hard as he could not to sneeze- In a closed place like an elevator, that could be very annoying. More annoying than usual. The elevator ride was mostly silent and awkward- It seemed that Yang almost tried to fight on what button to press, but he was too tired and hungry to cause any trouble this early. It was a Saturday after all, the slowest days in the hotel, and once they made it downstairs to the breakfast bar, there didn't seem to be many contestants looking for something to eat so late. Tissues grabbed a paper plate and put a blueberry muffin on it, and got a small paper cup of orange juice. He noticed Yin and Yang were having some sort of quiet argument about what to get for a drink. Tissues couldn't help but overhear-

"Coffee." Yang spoke in a harsh whisper. "Not today, Water." Yin replied. "Coffee." "Juice, then." "Ok, Fine." "Apple juice." "I want orange." "Not today. Apple Juice feels more..." "Pure?" "Yeah." "Bull." "Let's just get our food, I'm too tired to argue." "..." "..." "Me too." 

Tissues seemed distracted, until Yinyang moved down the line and bumped him further down. He looked away, face flushed, and moved to the couch, flicking on the TV- He felt like he had just intruded on Yinyang's privacy, but Yinyang didn't seem to care. He'd grabbed apple juice and a pastry of some kind, filled with cream cheese. Yinyang and Tissues ate together, Tissues sitting on the carpet and Yinyang on the couch close by, both staring at the gameshow program that was playing on TV- something that aired often, it was starting to get old. That and the fact that the episodes are hard to tell apart. Same host every time, same backdrop, same formula. Because of this, Tissues' mind couldn't help but wander, and so did his eyes. Yinyang was focused intently on the tv, one hand, Yin's, tapping the sides of the paper cup and the other, Yang's, lifting the pastry to his mouth and taking a bite. They seemed to have figured out a good way to eat without arguing. 

"So," Tissues said, breaking the silence.

"Yes?" Yin said politely. 

"Can i sit next to you guyse?" Tissues asked. Yinyang looked a bit puzzled.

"Sure. Why not?" Yinyang said, "Just try not to get any of your germs on me." Yang grumbled. Yin pinched his arm. "Don't be rude," Yang growled, but once Tissues got up and hopped up onto the couch cushion next to him, Yang seemed to have forgotten about it. Tissues was so short he had to put in a lot of effort to get onto the couch- It was almost comical. Because of that, he preferred to sit on the ground. People seemed to prefer him down there anyway. It was kind of nice, up there, though, and honestly the only thing he felt different was... More comfortable, and taller. It was nice. He hadn't even noticed the TV program changing from the game show to an ad break- some kind of infomercial on chairs. 

"Sooo.... Do you want to go and check out the pool today? I've heard that there's like, complimentary towels. I haven't actually been there yet," Tissues said.

"Are you... asking us to hang out with you?" Yinyang said curiously. 

"Well sure," Tissues smiled. "We're friends, right?"

"Umm..." Yinyang's face flushed a bright red. "Of course!" Yin chimed. 

"Whatever." Yang added, clenching his jaw and slightly baring his sharp teeth.

"I just didn't wanna show up alone. Can you swim?" He asked. Yinyang looked away.

"Not really," He said, embarrassed. "It takes a lot of coordination, and Yin hates listening." Yang said aggresively. Yin glared at his other half. 

"Ohhh thats cool. I can't either," Tissues replied. "I was just planning on sitting by the side. Maybe putting my feet in- Its just nice to have like... uhh. SNIFF. Change of scenery... I like the chlorine smell." 

"Well that sounds nice!" Yinyang said. "But we need to go back to our room first, Right?" Yang sounded like he was directing the question less towards Tissues and more towards Yin. 

"Oh. Well that's ok. I'm here all day," Tissues said, pulling his mouth into a goofy half-smile. Yinyang finished off his apple juice and got up, silently turned and smiled towards Tissues, and walked away. Tissues wondered what he was thinking about. 

~~~~

#inanimate insanity #fanfiction #ii #ii2 #fanfic #yinyang #tissues #tissyang #tissuyang #yissues

[johnkrrasinski]

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 4: Leaving Out the Side Door

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers (in future chapters) x Reader

Word Count: 2,325

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+)

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry​​​ who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated every day.

You were on your knees with your hands tied behind your back as he vigorously thrust into you. Your heartbeat pounded in your rib cage and you began to feel numb from the hours he had fucked you. Steve was relentless when he was chasing his own climax, greedily used you as a tool; giving zero fucks about your pleasure or your discomfort, to dump his load in.

Steve didn’t need to see your face or hear your consent. He could go on and on for hours and still not feel satisfied. One thing that you had learned from this being in this dead-end friends with benefits thing with Steve Rogers is that his stamina was relentless. And he wouldn’t think twice about getting what he needed whenever he needed it.

Steve impaled you as your face was squeezed into the pillow, you could hear the squelching noises from the ceaseless cycle of disposing his semen in you and then pushed it back in when he was ready for the next round. Your head began to feel dizzy and your visions turned hazy. You’d tell him to stop because you couldn’t take it anymore, but you knew you didn’t have any strength left in your body to do so.

So you ascended from your body and let him take the wheel; allowing him to go as fast as he wished. He kept hammering until he felt your cunt clenching around him and his cock pulsated, then the line blurred as the coil inside you burst, withering every nerve in your body.

“Ah, fuck.” He grunted. He stayed still inside you until he felt himself softening and then he retreated.

Steve unbound your wrists and he threw himself on the other side of the bed. You knew better than turning to his side and cuddle on his chest unwarranted. He always expected you to get up and get out of his house instantly because he either had another place to attend and didn’t want to see you still here when he comes home or he was ready for another hookup.

Every now and then, you’d let him use you to fulfil his needs and you’d volunteer in cleaning his apartment afterwards. Even after those countless nights where you weren’t the one who made a mess of his sheets.

Ever since that night in your dorm; the first time you were reborn into a blossomed woman and the first time Steve paved the way of traversing to the electric piquancy of venereal act for you, you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop letting him through your door or drive to his place at three in the morning just so he could let off some steam.

Every time you try to say no, he’d always pay you a visit unannounced. He’d paralyze you with his words and freeze you with his unchaste touches. “Shh, let me make you feel good, baby. You just gotta surrender yourself to me.”

You’d try to push him away but your brittle tenacity was unavailing. Fast forward to five years later, when you finally got your degree and life vagabondized to unexpected places, your sex life was still staying still in one spot.

You were recruited by National Institute of Mental Health as their project manager. You were possibly the youngest candidate to occupy this position but they were very impressed by your resume and your interview that they didn’t have any better choice than giving you the job.

You loved it, you excelled at what you do. Helping people and tending for their mental health was the aim of your life. You had a clear vision of how you were going to initiate a concept, plan a strategy and execute the plan. You respected your colleagues and vice versa. It was a suitable environment for you to work in and you enjoyed every minute of it.

Your best friend aka your former roommate, Natasha was your rock. You still talked to her everyday and she’d always text you in case she couldn’t call. You’d exchange stories about how your days went and she’d always send you pictures or videos of her adorable cat, Liho. It always carved a smile on your face.

The same goes for Wanda, although with her busy schedule of graduate school and supervised experience made things a little difficult for you to stay in touch, she still updated every nugatory detail of her life. You loved her and you missed her excruciatingly. You had driven to New Haven during some weekends to see her and spend time with her, but when the weekend was over, you had to return to New York because your job was waiting for you.

They were your two most endeared girls and you couldn’t wait for the day you finally introduce them to each other. Natasha and Wanda had said hi to each other a few times back when you were still living in the same dorm but, you really wanted to spend time with the two of them at the same time. They would totally click.

But if anyone asks you about your love life? Well, how could you explain something that was nonexistent?

Unless “friends” with benefit counts for something…

A bell on your apartment dinged and you reached for the door. A man in black with purple nuances uniform showed up with a package in his hands. “Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Here’s your delivery. Sign here please.” He handed you a piece of paper to draw your signature on and you accepted it without question, knowing full well it was another extravagant gift from Steve. Yep, that Steve.

The Steve Rogers.

A Brooklyn-born movie star of various blockbuster films, a remarkable singer and the face of Calvin Klein’s campaign this year… and Gucci Guilty’s last year.

The notorious womanizer but it was all good because he was the man. When you had starred alongside Leonardo DiCaprio and posed next to Oprah, who would give a shit if you never stopped playing the field, right?

And because he was The Steve Rogers, he could’ve spent his money on any lavish item and he could’ve put his dick wherever he wanted it. That included you, being the object of his wealthiness and his manliness.

How many times had you tried to reason with him when he constrained you to come over after a drunken hookup with a twenty-something model to clean up the mess and take out the trash? Perhaps just a few numbers exceeding the number of times he’d play the most charming man in the world only to forget your existence until he wanted you again.

So your feet innately transported you to your car, wearing the brand-new crimson red, bodycon dress with deep V-neck that displayed your cleavage, spaghetti straps baring your arms and a backless design that made you shiver due to the crisp air and drove to a place you had grown so accustomed to.

And this was the God knows how many times you were corrupted on his bed again. You had been so busy with your upcoming project that NIMH was ready to announce but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to resist the urge to come over to his place.

You stood on your wobbly feet, cleaned yourself up and see yourself out. Wouldn’t want to keep another mistress waiting in line…

Three weeks have passed since you last slept with Steve Rogers. Whispers on the streets chirped that he had been occupied with shooting a new film, erotic thriller slash mystery genre. Seems appropriate.

You yourself had been snowed under your work. The fundraiser event that NIMH was holding had been wearing you down but it was all worth it when the show was on. Negotiating with sponsorships, seeking donations and managing ticket sales were not easy, and it was all part of your responsibility because you were the boss, but you aced it anyway.

You were also responsible to hire professional entertainers and well, knowing that you got some connections to a well-known actor, of course, he was the first name on your list. But due to schedule conflicts, he couldn’t make it. It wasn’t a problem though, you still had a long list of names; film stars, movie producers, musicians, directors, moguls, etc.

You stood in your black sequin dress at the corner of the venue, inhaling all the sedulity and gumption you had invested in this event for the past couple of months. A part of you was secretly hoping that Steve would be here to see it, but you quickly eliminated those thoughts away.

9th-grade summer break. Upon the verdant hills overlooking the tranquil lake below; the moon’s faint glow ricochets on the water.

“What do you wanna be when you grow up, y/n?” his head reclined on his the palms of his hand, arms sprawled out like a butterfly’s wings.

“I wanna… Help people. My mom is a nurse and my whole life I watched her taking care of people she’d never met and I wanna have her big heart. I wanna do something that saves people.” you beheld the twinkling stars in the crepuscular sky, privily prayed that every word would come true.  

“You wanna be a nurse like her too?” His eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know… Maybe I’ll host a charity event or something and then I’ll use all the money for those who need it. It looks cool in the movies.”

“When I make it, I’ll come to your event and help raise the money too! People would be interested in giving money to celebrities, right?” the credence glinted in his eyes.

“But the money will not be for you, doofus.”

“Yeah, I know!” he chided. “I wouldn’t take a single cent even if I could. My mom taught me that if I were given the chance to put others first before me… I should and I will respect her legacy.”

You watched the host and your project leader, Tony Stark stood behind the acrylic podium and he greeted the crowd a good evening. He opened his speech, cajoling the guests with his words to share a little bit of their wealth as many as possible and closed it with a cordial adieu.

You made your way to one of the most respected guests; Benjamin Woods was sitting on the fifth table. Two times Oscar nominee and you were jittery to talk to him, but in this line of work, you were trained to be confident and act like one of the elites. So you weren’t going to freak out like an obsessive fan, you gotta keep it cool and classy. Plus, during the briefing, you were told to fraternize with as many of the guest as possible, persuade them to help us reach the goal.

You had your eyes set on the target until you bumped on a six-foot man, spilling the martini in his hand all over your dress. It caused a few heads turning but that was the last thing you cared about right now. “Shit!” you squawked.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry miss.” a British accent was hinted.

You grabbed a napkin from the nearest table to wipe away the stain but of course, it was futile. He offered a hand by saying “here, let me help.”

“No, no it’s fine, I’ll-” you looked up to see a handsome man with a pair of grey, slightly blue and green fused at the core. His dark brown hair matched the stubble covering his entire jaw and you were captivated by the work of art that was his face. Man, what a gorgeous creature. “…Manage.”

“I’m truly sorry, I must really stop reading through my emails while walking.”

“Don’t worry about it, sir. It happens.”

“Can I at least get you a drink? I’d feel really bad if I don’t do anything to compensate for my error.”

You averted your gaze from him to the person you really wanted to talk to but that could wait. You still got a few more hours to properly introduce yourself. “Yeah, why not?”

“Splendid.” You both walked toward the bar and sat on the stools. The next thing you knew, you had spent the last one hour talking and acquainting with this man. Apparently, he was the executive director of Filmmakers Without Borders where funding films and new media projects that aligned with themes of social justice, empowerment and cultural exchange was the prime focus of his job. He believed that if he could support ideas that would make the world a better place, he’d do it without a second thought.

He was also a big traveler. He loved seeing magical places in foreign countries, he was keen on exploring new cultures and learning new languages even if he could only recollect a few basic words. He claimed that he had traveled to nine countries in Asia and he planned to travel across Europe, his so-called home, once he had conquered the omnifarious continent.

And what enthralled your heart the most about him was that he was a proud father of two adorable dogs; a greyhound and a pomeranian and a benign Siberian cat. He spoke about them so fondly. He showed you pictures of them and he said that he’d love for you to meet them. Oh man, was that a subtle invitation to come over to his place soon in the future?

He was a real gentleman, courtesy and multifaceted were the proper words to describe this man, and you had only known him for one hour. Eventually, duty calls and you still had a role to play in this event, but before you could hop off the stool, he had asked you for your number and you gladly gave it to him. You had a feeling that this wasn’t farewell but rather, an incipience. The question is… What could it be of?

#steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers angst #steve rogers series #dark!steve rogers series #dark!steve rogers au #dark!steve rogers smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #chris evans imagine #chris evans smut #chris evans angst #chris evans series #chris evans fic

[skullrock]

the parents - Steve x Reader

pairing - Steve x Reader

request - Hi! If possible could you write a something where the reader meets Steve parents for the first time (after being cancelled on so many times) and they’re not the greatest which results in the reader standing up for Steve!

word count - 1.7k

warnings - swearin’

a/n: this was CATHARTIC I hope you enjoy <3

===

Steve’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight that you’re worried he’s going to break his knuckles.

“Hey,” you say calmly, resting your hand on his thigh. “It’s just a dinner.”

“It’s not just a dinner.” He rakes his hand through his hair and clenches his jaw. “It’s a dinner with my… my shitty dad.”

You lean back in your seat with a sigh. Steve had cancelled, and cancelled, and cancelled on his parents. They finally tricked him into coming by with you, and he was not happy. Actually, he was really pissed off.

“Please unclench your jaw. You’re going to break it and you’re too pretty for that.”

He relaxes slightly, a faint smile on his lips. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course I think you’re pretty.”

He takes a hand off the steering wheel and laces his fingers through yours, squeezing tightly. “I apologize in advance for whatever they have to say. And whatever they do.”

You roll your eyes at him. “It can’t be that bad.”

===

Turns out, it can be that bad.

Steve’s dad is a literal Bond villain. He smokes a cigar around the house and never takes it out. He has a painful handshake and pointed eyes. He just looks angry, even when he is happy. You’re very nervous around him, but you understand where Steve gets his looks.

His mother is beautiful and meek, compared to her husband. She is very doting on Steve, but has some passive aggressive comments. She hugs you, and she smells like perfume that costs too much for what it is. Steve has her brown eyes.

The atmosphere is tense and hangs over the room like smoke, suffocating and thick. You clear your throat and ask questions in an attempt to stop his father from glaring and his mother from wringing her hands, decorated with diamonds and jewels.

“What was Steve like when he was a kid?” you ask, smiling. You bump into him beside you. “Probably a menace.”

“You can say that again,” his father says, his cigar still hanging from his lips. Steve stiffens beside you and you attempt to quell his anger by rubbing your thumb over his, but it doesn’t do much.

“Awe, Steve wasn’t that bad,” his mom says. Her eyes shine. “He was a little troublemaker, but he was a cutetroublemaker.”

“Mom,” Steve hisses, and you laugh genuinely.  

“He liked to get in trouble with the girls, that’s for sure,” his father mumbles. “And how many times have you gotten your ass kicked?”

Steve’s mom slaps his father’s arm, glaring, and you tense up, too, in shock. Your brows furrow and you open and close your mouth. You want to say something, but you can’t. You know it’s probably not a great idea to confront your boyfriend’s father. You can practically hear Steve’s teeth cracking as his jaw clenches again. Your heart aches – there’s nothing you can do to make him feel better except get him out of that house as soon as possible.

“Dinner ready?” you ask, looking directly at his mother, who nods eagerly and jumps up. You follow her to a dining table, decorated with porcelain that must have been imported. She goes to the kitchen to get the food, which leaves you, Steve, and his dad sitting at the table in an awkward silence. You bump your feet into Steve’s repeatedly as a way of silently telling him that you’re here and he’s okay. His mom comes out a second later with a pan, then some pots, and then a pitcher of water infused with fruit.

You feel like you’re at a five-star hotel, if it were run by a Bond villain and a mouse.

Perhaps the worst part of the visit is how everyone sits in complete silence while they eat; or, more accurately, push their food around. You cannot believe this is their actual chemistry with each other; and although Steve is moved out now, you feel horrible that he had to live like this for twenty years. Every night he had to sit at a huge table that could easily sit 8 but is set for 4, watching his father smoke a cigar and read the paper, as his mother desperately tried to get his approval and attention. The thought of it spikes irritation in you, only fueled by the sickly smell of the cigar smoke.

“Like your cigars, huh?” you ask his father, eyes narrowed.

“Imported from Cuba,” he says, as if it’s something to be proud of.

“So, do you smoke while you eat, or?”

Steve chokes on his water beside you and kicks your leg, silently begging you to shut up. You glance at him and smirk – you think it’s kind of funny. His father glares again and slowly sets it on a nearby ashtray, the sizzling of it going out the only sound in the room, aside from forks pushing meat on the china.

“Thanks,” you say sweetly, a shoulder cocking up and back down.

“I like this one,” his father says, pointing a finger at you and smiling. “Does she push you around too, Steve?”

“Sometimes,” you answer for him, forcing a smile.

Steve knows this will simply not be ending well for anyone, and he wants to scream and run out of the room, leaving a Steve-shaped hole in the wall in his wake. He’s nauseous and anxious, bouncing his knee up and down erratically. It makes the table shake, but his folks don’t seem to notice. They’re used to it.

“Steve needs someone to push him around,” his father continues. “He needs someone to give him some motivation.”

You bite your cheek, contemplating if you want to respond or bite back.

You bite back.

“That’s not true. I think Steve needs someone who doesn’t hound him at all hours of the day.”

Steve wants to die.

Steve’s mom wants to die.

“Anybody want dessert?” she asks weakly.

“Well, hounding him all day every day didn’t do much,” his father replies.

“Yeah? I wonder why.”

Steve kicks you under the table again, hissing your name under his breath. He pointedly avoids eye contact with his father.

“Steve must be different around you,” his father says, smiling bitterly. “When he lived here, we couldn’t get him to do anything. It was like he wasn’t capable. Ain’t that right, honey?”

His mother shields her face.

“Steve’s more than capable.” It comes out without thought, and you want so desperately to swallow the anger that rises and sits at the base of your throat, but it comes out in a rush. “Steve’s smart, and caring, and a hard worker.”

His father laughs and your fists clench.

“Maybe Steve didn’t thrive around you because it’s hard to have an asshole as a dad.”

“Y/N,” he hisses, clutching your forearm.

“You know, they always say it’s like father like son. So how many times did you get your ass beat, Mr. Harrington?”

“Too many to count,” Steve’s mom responds, and you stifle a laugh.

“Enough,” Steve and his father say simultaneously, and while his mother slinks back, you sit straight, chin up.

“Don’t like being hounded much yourself, huh?” you ask, and his father’s pupils flare, but he stays quiet.

“Think we better get going,” Steve says, standing up, but you pull him back down.

“I thought your mom said something about dessert. It would be rude to leave now, wouldn’t it?”

Steve is conflicted. On one hand, he hates that you’re talking back to his dad, because he knows more than anyone how it ends. On the other hand, it’s really amazing to have someone see his worth and verbalize it to his biggest critic’s face.

So he decides to sit back down, relaxing at your touch as your fingers swirl circles on his wrist.

“I’ve got a pie in the kitchen –“ his mother starts.

“Let me help you with that!” you say quickly, folding your napkin and sitting it on the table. Steve excuses himself to the bathroom – no way in hell is he going to sit at the table alone with his dad – and you follow his mother to the kitchen while his father follows with his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you start as soon as you get to the kitchen. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable –“

“My husband needs to be told off,” she says, hushed. “And Steve needs someone to tell him he’s worth it.” She grabs your hand and squeezes it, and you swear her eyes are welling with tears. “You’re perfect.”

Over pie, you talk to his mother about Steve, making a point to tell his parents about all the good things he does and everything he is good at. You tell him about how protective he is, how he defended a child from a teenage bully – leaving out the part where he almost got beat to death for it – how kind, caring, thoughtful, courageous he is. Steve blushes the entire time, but he radiates with happiness. For the first time, he feels loved for all he is.

You leave by giving his mother a hug and shaking his father’s hand again, your grip matching his, and while it hurts, it feels good. You smile at him and he frowns. You enjoy his confusion at your behavior. You also enjoy how he hasn’t said a word since you spoke up.

Steve pulls you into a long, tight hug once the front door shuts. It’s so tight that you can hardly breathe. He leans down and kisses you deeply, pulled close to him. Resting his forehead on yours, he whispers, “Thank you.”

“Wasn’t so bad,” you say cheekily. “And I even have something to celebrate with.”

Steve’s brows furrow and you smile before reaching into your jacket and pulling out a box of his father’s beloved Cuban cigars. Steve’s eyes widen and then he laughs – hearty, fully, happily.

“Let’s go home and trash them,” he suggests.

You stand on your tip toes and kiss him again. “That’s just what I was thinking.”

===

taglist (join here!) - @harrington-ofhawkins @comedy-witch @gothackedalready @wolfish-willow @sassisaluxury @willowrose99 @harringtown @m-blasterrr @whimsicalwoodlands @anerroroccurrrrred @marvels-gurl @the-almond-dinger @ssanjuniperoo @darth-el @sourapplebaby @yall-wildin-like-siriusly

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington oneshot #my fics #I could NEVER I would simply just leave if my bfs dad was being a dick #reader... u go girl

[blue-lions-baby]

Operation Confession (Dimitri x Reader) [Ch. 1]

hi!! so sorry for the inactivity! i’ve been super busy preparing for college n stuff, so i didn’t really have time to write anything... but like i also didn’t want to go *another* week of not posting anything so lol

i’ve been working on this fic for almost a month now and as i was approaching the 5000 words mark, i figured it would probably be best to chop it up into more.... manageable sections ^^’ please enjoy~

spoiler-free and pre-timeskip fluff!

~*~

Oh, this was perfect.

Sylvain watched in pure amusement at the scene playing out before his very eyes. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, reduced to nothing more than a blushing schoolboy antsy with the love bugs and raging hormones. He weakly disguised his chuckle with a cough when he saw yet another quill snap in the blonde’s hand, most likely in reaction to that adorable pouting face you had put up. You had absolutely no idea what type of effect and the severity of said effect you had on the prince.

Which made it all the more entertaining.

You didn’t mean to-- in fact, you weren’t even aware of the raging feelings Dimitri held towards you.

But Sylvain knew.

And you could bet your ass he was gonna do everything in his power to help his longtime friend man up and confess to the girl of his dreams.

Dimitri’s cheeks, once dusted with only a faint pink, suddenly became a hodgepodge of every shade of red when he realized that was the third quill he broke in this hour alone. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, helplessly looking to his teacher for help.

“Your Highness... Have you broken another quill?” Dedue murmured beside him, concern eminent in his voice. Dimitri looked down at the large splinter running down its side and mentally banged his head against the desk.

“It appears so... I will request a replacement from the Professor.” He muttered back, silently rising to his feet and making his way to the desk up front. He was suddenly stopped on his 4-step journey when Byleth (with a crinkle in their nose and a sigh) redirected their frazzled student to a whole box of spare quills behind the blackboard. Dimitri-- very much aware that this box filled with ludicrous amounts of quills were entirely for him-- bowed deeply to the professor, picked up the feathery thing, and hurried back to his desk.

You looked up from your work to give your eyes a break from their swimming lessons and accidentally made eye contact with the returning prince. You both paused for a split second before you flashed him a heartfelt smile; a gentle warmth kissed the surface of your cheeks and you averted your eyes back to your studies.

A resounding snap reverberated throughout the quiet classroom.

“Dimitri?”

“Y-Yes, Professor?”

“See me after class.”

“Yes, Professor...”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

While the rest of the class huddled outside the door and watched their house leader write “I will not break another quill” line after line on the blackboard, Sylvain looped an arm around your waist and winked.

“Hey, (F/N). Mind if I steal you for a bit?”

“Um... Sure.” Wary of his skirt-chasing tendencies, you were reluctantly led away from your classmates and into a more secluded part of the monastery.

“This better not be one of your tricks again, Sylvain... I already told you, I don’t like you in that way.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” Sylvain’s lips formed into an exaggerated pout and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Nah, this ain’t about me for once. It’s about a certain... someone.” He continued rather vaguely.

“A certain someone? Sylvain, are you sure this isn’t about you?”

“It’s really not, I swear.” He put his hands up in surrender and seeing him genuine for once, you decided to believe him.

“Well, before I continue, I just wanna know if you... y’know.” Sylvain’s eyebrows wriggled very suggestively and a teasing smirk splayed his features. Your heart thundered in your ear, already knowing where this was going.

“If I...?” You whispered, taut fingers knotting the fabric of your uniform.

“Like, like-like anyone?”

Sylvain wished with all his heart that he had some way to capture the look and flood of colors that quickly took hold of your face. He watched in silent amazement as your face shifted from a barely-there pink to strawberry red in a matter of seconds. Gotcha.

“W-Well, I mean--” You took a shaky step backwards and your jaw clenched so tightly you were certain you were gonna chip a tooth. “There is this guy... Wait, why am I telling you this?! It’s none of your business!”

You rammed past the tall male with enough force to almost knock him over as you promptly made your way back to where the rest of your classmates were.

Satisfied with the laughable drop in quality in Dimitri’s penmanship, Byleth finally let the poor male join his classmates outside. His fingers twitched in an unsightly fashion and his wrist throbbed and cricked with every motion he made. He let out a guttural groan, making small, crackling adjustments to his neck and shoulder. The only thing he had left to do today was train, but he’d probably just go ahead and retire to his bed, at least for a little while...

Past the sea of heads crowding around him, he saw a flash of (H/C) streak across his vision, followed shortly afterwards by a head of shaggy red. (F/N)...? What were you doing with Sylvain?

Crippling exhaustion transfigured into searing jealousy and his eyes narrowed at his childhood friend with cold suspicion. Sylvain could easily feel the scorned prince’s hard stare like a knife in the back.

Was he at all fazed? Not in the slightest.

In fact, thought Sylvain as he sidled right up next to you, he wanted to toy with Dimitri’s heart just a little bit more...  

“Excuse me everyone, but I must speak to Sylvain immediately.” He emphasized the last word sharply, gently pushing his way through the crowd. While he brushed shoulders with Ashe and waltzed around Ingrid, he spun around and ended up face-to-face with... Oh Goddess, his legs were turning into jelly.

“Dimitri...? Is something wrong?” You breathed, fumbling with your clammy digits.

“O-Oh!” Said male rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Nothing, Belov-- (F/N). Please excuse me, but it is imperative that I have a little... talk, with Sylvain.”

He left you no room for response as he quickly latched onto the toothy-grinned noble and practically dragged him away on his heels.

“What seems to be the problem, Your Highness?”

“Let us discuss the issue in my quarters.”

“Your quarters? Oh ho ho.~”

“Stop it, Sylvain. ... We’re here now.”

Dimitri watched Sylvain plop on the edge of his bed, his lips upturned in a carefree fashion. Dimitri lowered himself on his uncomfortable desk chair, his hands anxiously squeezing his kneecaps.

“So what would you like to talk about, Your Highness?”

“It’s about (F/N).” Dimitri spoke resolutely. “Sylvain... I know this will sound nothing short of mad, but--”

“Let me guess. You like (F/N).”

Dimitri’s bodily organs ceased to function; every ounce of blood in his body mutated into sharp, prickling icicles that seized his heart in a snare of terror and dread.

“I-- Wait, how--?”

“Your Highness. No offense, but pretty much everyone knows how you feel about her. You’re not exactly... subtle.”

Dimitri? Not subtle? Even after the extraordinary lengths he went through to make sure you remained ignorant of his true feelings for you? His brain filed through each and every interaction he’s had with you, combing through each word and shaky glance and awkward blush exchanged between either of you. Well, sure, he’s no master of disguise, but he wasn’t that bad... right?

While Dimitri’s thoughts remained in utter chaos, Sylvain coolly continued.

“Hey, about that lil’ act earlier... I was just messin’ with you, Your Highness. (F/N)’s a serious cutie, but I’m really not after her. I swear.” Sylvain winked. “Plus, she doesn’t even like me. She actually told me she likes--”

“WHO?!” Before Sylvain even had time to process-- well, anything-- Dimitri was on his feet rattling the poor noble to and fro, completely forgetting the crippling strength his Crest bestowed him.

“Gah! Stop it! That hurts!” Sylvain cried, trying with all his might to pry Dimitri’s iron grip from his shoulders.

Coherency finally returning, Dimitri immediately unclasped his digits from Sylvain. An expression of apologetic horror shot through his eyes as he stumbled back, back, back against his desk. The chest of both men heaved violently; raspy and hasty apologies slipped out of Dimitri’s lips while pain-stricken groans and a few obscenities raced out of Sylvain’s.  

“I’m so-... I’m so sorry, Sylvain, I-- I’m so, so sorry--”

“Augh, Goddess... You’ve got quite a grip there, Your Highness...” Sylvain chuckled weakly, feeling his skin swell and bruise.

“Allow me to fetch a healer for you!”

“N-No worries... Ugh... Just, I need to talk to you.”

“Sylvain--”

“Please. Seeing you skirt about this issue is far more painful than any bruise you could give me... But I’m not gonna lie, this one comes pretty close.”

Dimitri drew in a deep breath and settled in his desk chair, its wooden legs creaking slightly from his weight. He planted his elbows firmly by his kneecaps and rested his chin on folded hands.

“Lemme ask you a question, Your Highness. Do you truly love (F/N)?”

“Yes.” Dimitri answered unfazed, but suddenly realized the gravity of his response and drooped his eyes towards the floor.

“Then tell her!”

“I... I can’t. I’m afraid I lack the confidence to waltz up to a girl and profess my feelings to her. Especially with what happened to...” Dimitri shivered at the awkwardly painful memory and continued. “Sylvain, what if she doesn’t like me in that way? Then I’d have made a fool of myself in front of everybody. But most importantly, her...”

“Well, since she didn’t tell me exactly who she liked, there’s no surefire way to know...” Sylvain acquiesced. “But I’ve got a real good feeling about this. Trust me! If there’s one thing in the world that I can help you with, it would be something like this.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right...” Dimitri pondered, sighing in defeat. “But regardless of whether she likes me or not, I am unable to simply walk up to her and tell her my feelings. That’s...”

Dimitri trailed off, dejection glossing his pastel blues.

“I don’t deserve someone like her.” He breathed out just above a whisper. Poignancy took hold of Sylvain’s heart after hearing the sincerity in Dimitri’s voice. One look at the despondent royal was enough to tell him how much he believed those words-- how much Dimitri believed that he, a beast stained by blood and vengeance, could never have a beauty as tender and loving as you.

“Hey, come on Your Highness... It’s not fair on your part to be giving yourself so little credit.”

“Sylvain, look at me.” Dimitri cupped his throbbing head in his hands and he growled. “I am a monster. I can not drag someone as pure, lovely, and beautiful as (F/N) into...”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“She deserves someone else-- someone who can bring her true happiness. Someone who’s... not me.”

Sylvain gritted his teeth from the dark and pulverizing atmosphere. Dimitri was spiraling. Further, faster into the void.

“Cheer up, Your Highness!” Sylvain bubbled half-heartedly, desperately trying to reel his friend from the abyss. “You’re a great guy! Hey. Remember when we went out to cull some bandits outta that one village? And some bad guy almost got (F/N)? You managed to swoop in just before that happened! You saved her, Deems. The look of pure adoration and gratitude in her eyes after the battle... It felt good, right?”

“I... suppose.”

“Oh! And remember when (F/N) was having a hard time grasping the concept of that battle formation the other day? Who came in, and spent the rest of their afternoon tutoring her until she could explain why you needed to send the flyers in first?”

“... I did.”

“Yup! And who’s the chivalrous, hard-working leader of the Blue Lions that everyone looks up to?”

“I am.”

“Atta boy, Your Highness! See? You’re a great guy! And the fact that you’re a prince doesn’t hurt your chances either.” Sylvain’s eyebrows danced smugly.

Dimitri’s chest rose and fell in laughter; Sylvain’s eyes lit up like a star. He managed to save him-- at least for now.

“Thank you, Sylvain. I really needed that encouragement. I... I apologize for--”

“No worries, Your Highness. ... I’m just glad I was able to help.” Sylvain clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Um, Sylvain...”

“Hm?”

“How do I confess to her? Properly?”

Sylvain clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ve got a plan.”

#fire emblem #dimitri fire emblem #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe3h dimitri #dimitri x reader #x reader #x reader insert #x reader fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #part 2 coming soon!! #sylvain would make the best wingman ngl

[we-always-hit-our-ass]

Dance Freely, Love (Joe Toye x Reader)

a/n- another one of my random ideas, thanks @radiantcade​ for motivating me to do this, what would i do without you??

once again, im procrastinating on the long fanfic by writing shorter ones. oops

Description- You wake up to see a note that your long-time boyfriend has left for you on a drawer. After reading it, it’s contents leave you heartbroken. Time passes by and word gets by of your boyfriend in the hospital. You decide to visit him. Tears and fufilled promises ensue.

Words- 4.9k (i was intending for it to be short but... i got carried away??)

Warnings- angst, angst, angst, but there’s fluff tho 

Angst with happy ending, love those-

btw listen to these songs while reading this:

The End of the Word- https://youtu.be/xHa6a3FtPJg

It’s Been a Long, Long Time- https://youtu.be/iP0tHmoc1rs

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

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

The sun beams peek through the gap of your white curtains, shielding your (E/C) from their brightness. That was what you found strange. 

Usually Joe would wake up earlier than you and he’d open the curtains right after he woke up and got up from your comfy bed. So when you’d open your eyes, the light would just be as gleaming and bright as Joe’s smile. 

Maybe finally he listened to you and decided to give your eyes a rest. You groggily stretched your body, the blankets falling off your shoulders dropping slowly towards your lap. 

Stiff arms raise up and a content groan leaves your lips as you stretch them out. Those tired arms then reach up to rub at your eyes and you feel a yawn creeping by.

You then make your way off the bed, slightly disappointed by the loss of warmth those covers provided you with. After your eyesight was clear, you hobbled your way around the room while putting on your slippers.

You walked up to a small table with a record player, something you and Joe were lucky to have. You pulled out a disc and set the record player up. Soon enough, you and Joe’s favorite music to slow dance to plays. 

It soothed your muscles and you could almost fall asleep again if you tried hard enough. You bopped your head up and down and hummed softly to the melody. There was a slight bounce in your step as the song kept playing and a tiny grin was on your face.

After a few moments of swaying along to the music you noticed the absence of the handsome, dark-haired man you called your boyfriend.

“Joe…”

Your tired, breathy voice rang throughout your shared bedroom, but no voice rang back.

You assumed it might’ve been one of those rare days where Joe went the extra mile to make breakfast. 

But once again, there was no waft of food or smoke reaching your nose.

“...Joe…?” 

The question was asked louder, but no response. The tweeting of the birds felt deafening in the quiet house, and the soothing voice of your lover wasn’t heard at all. You still stood at the foot of your bed, slightly dazed and confused as to where Joe was.

You opened the door to your bedroom and quickly made your way throughout the house to look for him. You fail to see the crisp, white note laying quietly on your dresser and waiting to be read. 

The faint thumping your footsteps echoed throughout the house, and he was nowhere to be found. 

You even went as far to go to the attic(which you absolutely hated going into ever since Joe said that it was haunted). You rushed through each room, opening the door roughly before slamming it back shut once you saw that he wasn’t there.

You sped along, your speed rivaling that of light’s. You even caught yourself lifting up one of the cushions of the sofa.

When you returned to the room you were a panting mess, and you were sure that you checked every inch of the house at least 7 times while calling out his name and telling him to cut the joke.

Your search was futile and you walked groggily up the wooden stairs so you can lie down on your bed. (S/C) hands gingerly turn the doorknob and you amble your way slowly to the comfy bed. 

You heave a sigh as you plop yourself into the mattress, your head nestled between the pillows and the still-tousled blanket. Your head turns and your eyes land on the piece of paper resting flat against the wooden surface of the dresser.

You were suddenly alert and your body shot up in the blink of an eye. You swear that you hadn’t seen this note before. For someone who apparently checked the house from top-to-bottom, you were sure pretty blind.

You put your legs up on the bed, and you leaned over to reach the mysterious note. You leaned back and scooted up until your back was flush against the fluffy pillows. 

The folded paper was opened to reveal the familiar and neat handwriting of your love. Your eyes lit up in recognition. Your eyes skimmed over the word-filled page before actually deciding to read it the ink.

“Dear (Y/N),

I hope you read this letter with a clear mind and heart, for I am truly sorry for doing this to you. (Y/N), I am so sorry for leaving you like this.

 I planned to tell you the night before, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the news after seeing you so happy last night. I couldn’t do that to myself, and especially you. 

Before you can say that I should have told you, please try to understand that this way is the best way. It’s the best option and I think it would also be the one that hurt you the less.

 (Y/N), please know that I have good intentions and that I really don’t mean to bring you harm in any way, shape, or form.

Your tear-stained face would’ve broken me and I am slightly glad that I would not be there to see your reaction. I couldn’t live with that. 

(Y/N), I promise you only a few things:

1. I will return to you, no matter how injured I am.

2. When I do return, the first thing I will do is to scoop you up into my arms.

3. I will give you the best kisses that you’ve ever dreamed of.

4. I will make the best goddamn dinner that has ever existed.

5. We will dance, and dance to that record we always play until the night slowly fades into day, and I promise you, that I still wouldn’t be stopping.

6. I will always, and forever love you.

(Y/N), please know that this would've happened someday, and that again, this is the best option for both of us. After this war, I SWEAR, that I will do everything I put on that list of promises. 

You have my word and heart, (Y/N). I love you. I love you very much…  Please let me see your face when I return.

Love,

Your ever loving boyfriend, Joe”

Streams of salty tears were unknowingly rushing out of your eyes like mini waterfalls. You only started to feel them when you slowly brought your fingers to your face. 

The wet sensation against your fingertips brought you back to reality, and you only started sobbing louder. You talked to him about it, of course, but you just thought…You just thought that maybe, just maybe, he would’ve given you a head’s up.

Of course you knew he was going to fight the war, but not like this. This would be the last thing you expected. Sobs, whimpers, and whispers of his name fell out of your lips. The trembling never stopping.

You quickly put your lip between your teeth to stop any more sounds from coming out, but the action was futile. Your fists clenched the now flimsy piece of paper, crumpling the edges and almost ripping the sides of the papers off.

The sounds of your tears plopping against the paper didn’t bring you back from your tear-filled stupor. The whimpering didn’t stop and you looked down to your lap to read the paper once again, just to make sure that you weren’t, in fact, dreaming.

Your red and already swollen (E/C) eyes glance down at the paper only to see that your tears have smudged and already washed some of the words. The once legible words were  reduced to only a small puddle of black ink. 

The tears in your eyes stopped for a brief moment before they started streaming down your red cheeks and down your throat. A small, wet stain formed at top of your blouse, the never-ending river of your woe soaking it more and more.

You were still as you could be, only light tremors shook your body as you sniffed and whimpered some more. Your throat ached, your mouth was parched, and your eyes lost tears to cry a long time ago.

The aching of your legs made your whole lower body feel numb and you soon felt how sore your face felt. Your fingers begged to be unfurled, the joints already crying out in mercy, but you couldn’t care less. 

Crescent moon shapes were indented against the soft skin of your palm, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Hiccups now filled the air, but you were still glued to that very same spot you had ages ago. 

Your tired body slowly leaned forward until your forehead and wet cheeks touched the cold sheets of your bed.  Soft whimpers were muffled and your hand clutched and pulled the once neat and pristine piece of paper towards your chest. 

Wet ink was transferred onto your blouse, and the damp fabric stuck to your feverish skin without a hitch. Everything hurt. Eyes, nose, throat, back, fingers, thighs, toes, and your heart. 

Oh, especially your heart. It felt like it’s been cut, torn, and smashed into oblivion. Like it was whipped and the wounds had salt poured on them. Then it was burned, chewed up, and run over by 4 dozen cars. Then the whole process repeated again and again.

The pain was agonizing, and you would do anything to make it stop for even just a second. That was all you could focus on. You still didn’t get it. 

Nothing made sense to you at the moment and you had the overwhelming urge to destroy everything around you. To rip that damned piece of paper that brought you this pain in the first place. 

As anger and many more emotions coursed through you, you stopped to look at the piece of paper for the tenth time this hour. Your hardened glare turned into a loving look after your (E/C) eyes looked at the words ‘I love you’.

Tears threatened to burst through your sensitive eyes but your ability to produce tears ran out forever ago. So instead, you raised your fist to pound it against the mattress. 

You tried to let out a scream but no sound came out. The dull sound consumed your head and you stopped shortly. You felt so vulnerable. So utterly helpless without him.

You never even got to say goodbye. To kiss him lovingly, to hug him with all your strength, and to say infinite declarations of love. If you'd known that last night was the final night that you would see him, you would’ve never have let him go and never stopped saying your adoration in his ear.

If you missed him this much already, how were you to act without him for years? How were you to react if he never came back? You forcefully diverted yourself from thinking that, you would be better if you don’t think of that.

Just when you thought you can now fully function, scenes of Joe bleeding out from a shot or shrapnel wound prevented you from doing so. Your parted lips stretched to a frown and you gripped your head between your hands, your fingers digging themselves deep into your scalp.

What have you done to deserve this? Why was this happening to you?

Why you? 

Why Joe?

Painful questions mixed with past memories of happy times between you and Joe swirled around in your head. You thought that focusing on the joyful memories you had together but that made things worse, for they reminded you of the things you will surely miss.

Exhaustion and fatigue glide over you and you start to realize the ache of every muscle in your body. For now, all you desired was to close you red and swollen (E/C) and to float away to dreamland.

You didn’t care if it was only the afternoon, the day’s previous events left you spent and wanting to rest.You prayed that you didn’t have any dreams of him, your fragile heart couldn’t take anymore. It had enough in just a few hours.

Your sore and weak body raised itself up from it’s bent position, some of your backbones cracking at the action. You released a shaky sigh as your back hit the mattress, your throbbing head feeling only just a tiny bit relaxed as it hit the cloud-like pillows. 

The lingering scent of his shampoo and soap on the pillow covers and blankets hugged you tightly, almost suffocating you. It was overwhelming, but you decided to relish one of the few things he actually left behind.

The bedroom blurred around you, black spots appearing in your vision as your eyelids drooped down.You curled up into a fetal position, face almost buried in the pillows. Your nose was clogged and almost silent sniffles were all you could offer.

The faint sound of the record player lulling you to sleep by the second as you let it play its tune.

You clutched the letter in your hand towards your chest like earlier. You were holding on to it like your life depended on it(your life didn’t but your heart sure did).

Before blacking out you wished that maybe this dream would provide temporary comfort, that maybe you’d forget about Joe and his leave. Perhaps, you might get it all of your head in just one sleep. But you knew it didn’t work like that.

Nothing did.

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You really didn’t know how you continued to live your life without Joe by your side. How you missed his jokes, gentle touch, tender kisses, and bone-crushing yet loving hugs throughout the day.

Sometimes you could still hear his voice calling out so sweetly to you. The way your name rolled so right on his tongue. It really drove you wild. On other days, you would open your mouth to respond to him but the reality falls down on you like a pile of bricks. You would hurriedly shut your mouth and a deep frown etches itself on your face.

It’s been years since he left for the army without a word. The only thing he left for you was that letter. The now crumpled piece of paper containing Joe’s words was placed on top of the dresser, where it previously was. 

Even though you couldn’t read the words anymore, you cherished and hated it all at the same time. The day after you cried and sobbed your heart out, you decided to send him letters.

Letters saying how you felt, how life was without him, and letters pleading for him to come back to you. Each letter had bucketfuls of your love and care put into them.

You’d even go as far as to buy the now rare chocolate candies. You saved every penny just to buy a piece. Then you’d carefully wrap them in small squares of parchment paper and taping the ends to make a little make-shift present.

You’d carefully press the paper and tuck it carefully into the envelope, sealing it when you were done.Then your eyes would well up as you held it in your shaking, (S/C) hands. 

Tender kisses were pressed into every surface of the envelope before you’d send it away. You never really got anything back though.  Hours were spent looking outside your window or going out to check your mailbox.

There was nothing, but you never gave up.

So you kept sending him letters, assuring yourself that he’ll reply to at least one of them. You grew tired of waiting, but you were ever so hopeful, thinking that this would be the day he’d respond.

Or maybe the next, or the day after that. Perhaps maybe a week after that one. Wishful thinking never got you anywhere, but it sure helped you in your broken state. 

The clanging sound of the metal mailbox outside your home shutting grew redundant. But you still waited for something. Your cheerful smiles faded by the day and you were again reminded of how he just left you.

It even got to the point where even your neighbors started noticing and taking notice of your melancholy behavior. It has been weeks since you sent out your most recent letter and, once again, no response or word of your boyfriend.

You were completely left in the dark as to how he was doing. At this point, you didn’t even know if he was alive or not. You stopped sending him letters after the 12th or 13th one.  You knew it was a lost cause and you gave up on it.

There would be moments where rage and bitterness bubbled inside you, but that was washed away by feelings of sadness, regret, and guilt. Sometimes you would find yourself crying in the middle of the hallway, but you would have no recollection whatsoever of you tearing up.

The sobbing just found its way to you, no matter what you were doing. You would be fine and the next moment you would clutch your head while seated on the tiled, kitchen floor with your back against the wooden cupboards, the river slowly streaming again.

You thought you could live without him, that you would be better off anyway. You were wrong. Very wrong. How many times have you wailed his name loudly during the night?

How many times have you clutched the ruined letter against your palms and chest? Just how many? Frustration welled within every part of your being and it grew tiring. You hated it.

You hated everything in this situation.

Why couldn’t Joe just tell you ahead of time? Anything would’ve been better than this. You didn’t know how his mind worked when he wrote you that letter, when it said that this was the best way.

It was anything but.

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

The deep pit of your stomach fell instantaneously when the name of your boyfriend fell from your neighbor’s lips. Your mind was blank, still trying to comprehend their words.

Sputters and incomplete sentences left your mouth as you questioned them for more details. You didn't know how you felt after one of your neighbors had told you the news of Joe being in a hospital.

How come they knew before you did?

Your fists clenched at your sides before they gripped the hem of your skirt, the loose fabric soon feeling uncomfortable in your (S/C) hands. It all felt like a fever dream and you just assumed that none of this was even happening. It couldn’t be.

Wide, (E/C) eyes stared into the distance, not really focusing on the words and presence of your neighbor. A loud voice called out of your name and your dazed eyes and head snapped to your neighbor, a worried expression plastered on their face.

Your feet were glued to the ground and you switched between looking at the ground and your neighbor’s face. The sounds of your heavy breathing were all you could hear. You could see the shadow of your neighbor inching closer towards your still body.

“(Y/N)... Are you alright, dear?”

“I- I’m… I’m fine. Just…” A stagnant pause rang throughout the air, and you were brought back by a steady hand resting on your shoulder.

“Surprised?” Your neighbor completed your thought for you, a questioning and worried tone lacing their voice.

“A little more than that.”

A dry chuckle left your lips as a feeble attempt to loosen the tense atmosphere.  Questions like the ones that appeared on the day he left arose, making an unwelcome cameo in your brain.

The feeling of shock rushed through like a bolt of literal lightning. Fire burned your nerves and you were you looked stupid with your mouth gaping so big.

You had no words except a thanks to your neighbor before rushing back to your house, quickly opening the door and locking it before slowly walking over to the nearest seat.

You fell onto the cushion immediately, leaning forward with your head in the clutches of your hands. You were very relieved. You finally got to know how he was doing. You finally got to know that he was actually alive and not another body resting on the open field.

What you were experiencing was indescribable. It was a mysterious amalgamation of intense and soft emotions, all rolled up into one. But Joe’s alive…That was all you were thankful for.

He’s alive and you were going to pay him a visit.

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

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

So that’s where you found yourself…Standing in front of the pale white door that served as a temporary barrier between you and the man you still loved after all of these years. You fumbled with your skirt, bunching up the fabric in your hands and causing them to wrinkle.

A few good minutes were spent in the hallway as you mouthed the words you were going to say to him. Another couple of minutes were spent mentally preparing yourself. 

You rubbed your temples raw and rubbed your forearms at least 20 times in only just a few seconds.Your knuckles gently yet firmly tapped against the wood, the thumping sound of your skin hitting wood was brief and slightly muffled. 

Your breathing stopped and you definitely knew that your breath was caught in your throat. Seconds felt like forever in this situation and you slowly let your raised arm drop to your sides.  Your body was practically tense and stiff, almost resembling the door in front of you.

“Come in…”

As if time stopped itself, you found yourself staying still once again. Your palms flew to your lips to stop you from crying right then and there. You collected yourself before it all hit you. He sounded so broken… It wasn’t like him at all.

There were no signs of the man you once knew. It reminded you of yourself when you broke down after reading his little note. Who would've known that a tiny piece of paper could ruin your life…

Shaking fingers reached for the brass doorknob and you turned it slowly. Anticipation was everywhere and you opened the door to enter his room. Lo and behold, there he was.

Joe Toye.

You haven’t seen him for four and a half years. It’s been so long since you actually saw him in person. Your (E/C) eyes ran over his body. He still looked the same- Soft and dark locks of hair were the same.

His wide dark brown eyes held surprise and love in them drew you in. His skin was paler than you remember, plus the addition of a few scars and wounds. Your eyes zoomed back to his face, and he looked just as surprised as you. 

“(Y/N)...?”

“Who else would it be, Joe?”

“I don’t get it, why are you here…? All of the sudden and out of the blue…” 

But you could tell that as soon as he saw you, his tone of voice got quieter. More gentle. And more loving.

The soft sounds of your footsteps against the polished wooden floors were loud and replaced the silence that ensued. You sat, the mattress dipping from your weight.

Tears suddenly erupted from your eyes, the feeling already too familiar with you. Joe immediately sprang up to wrap his arms around you. As he sat up, you failed to notice the slight wince he let out. Words left his lips to console you.

“(Y/N)- Babe… It’s alright, i’m here now.”

Sobs wracked your whole body, and you would shake in his embrace.

“Why Joe? Why did you do that to me? It’s been years Joe… Years. Can you believe that.”

Joe ran his hands up and down the small of your back, offering you slight comfort as you wailed words into his neck.

“I- I just couldn’t let myself see your face if I told you… You have to understand that it’d be worse if I actually told you-”

“But it hurt more, Joe… It hurt so much more…” 

The soft rubbing on your back slowed and stopped after a few moments. Joe let your words sink slowly into him, the way you said it embedding itself into his mind, and his brain played it over and over again.

His brown eyes were close to tears, feeling too watery. Joe turns his head to look at your face. How he missed you so. If only he knew how much pain he caused you.

A comfortable silence covered the room, and you two remained in each other’s arms, an occasional sniffle or word would be heard. Joe’s fingers twirled locks of your hair, and regret pooled in his stomach as he imagined your tear-stricken face after reading the letter.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry (Y/N).”

He dove down to bury his face in the side of your neck, his tears leaving a cool feeling against your skin. It was your turn to comfort him, and you wrapped your arms around him tighter, trying to make him feel more secure.

“How could you ever forgive me… How could- How could you ever forgive me for this… For what I did to you..”

“Joe… I already have.”

His shut eyes opened and he pulled away from the tender embrace you both shared. His eyes locked onto yours and his lips parted in shock.

“Why…? After all this?”

“Because I love you, Joe… I love you so much…”

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

Your eyes were still locked, and you could see how his eyes would quickly drift over to your lips. A soft smile blossomed on your face as you sniffled. Your smile fell as you remembered the nurse’s words.

“I heard about what happened, Joe… To your leg… I’m so sorry…”

“(Y/N), hey… I’m fine now remember. I’m alive.”

“But Joe-”

“And don’t apologize… It wasn’t your fault.”

You quieted down, and the comfortable silence took over once again. The sun was slowly setting as you could see from the windows. The mellow atmosphere calmed both you and Joe significantly.

Joe suddenly pulled you against his chest, and he hummed a song into your ear. The familiar tune of your favorite song greeted you, and your eyes lit up in response. Joe rubbed your upper arms slowly as you two swayed slowly to the tune.

You found yourself humming along slowly, your humming complimenting his. The end of the song came and you hummed the final note while looking into his eyes.

“(Y/N)?”

“Mm?”

“Do you still remember those promises I wrote to you?”

“Of course, how could I forget? What about them?”

“I intend on fulfilling at least one today…”

Joe’s eyes scanned and looked deeply into your eyes for approval. You consented with a slight nod of your head and that was all it took for him to kiss you. You have waited for so long, but his kiss made all  of it worth it. The two of you did anything to deepen the kiss just a bit more. It was passionate and so full of want. 

It completely encapsulated what both of you wanted ever since the war started. Fleeting touches exchanged during the kiss were replaced with intense ones. Your fists grabbing at his hair and him doing the same.

One of your hands reaches over to push him more against you and one of his grabs the collar of your blouse to pull you towards him.You were left breathless after the kiss, your hair was slightly disheveled and both of your faces flushed and feeling warm. 

Joe was gasping for air and he couldn’t get enough as your swollen lips were practically calling out to be kissed again. After a few moments of kissing and fond touches, you leaned your head on his broad shoulder, hand stroking his chest.

Your eyes drifted down to his blanket covered lower half and you stared at where his leg used to be. His eyes soften as he catches you looking. Joe’s mouth opens to ask you something but you beat him to it.

"So I guess we're not having that dance, huh?"

That was the first thing that came to your mind. 

There was undoubtedly a hint of sadness as you thought of what could have been. You were slightly disappointed and sad, but you couldn’t have been more glad to have Joe right here with you right now.

Melancholy thoughts were interrupted by Joe’s hearty chuckle. He pulls you into his lap, making you straddle him. Joe’s hands brush any stray hairs in the way of your face and his fingers gently brush a few locks of your (H/C) hair behind your ear.

A soft peck was placed on your lips, and a smile was brought back on your face, a flush also deciding to make an appearance. Joe’s warm eyes examine your features and he places his much bigger hands on your hips to keep you steady.

Another tender peck was felt, now on your cheek. Joe pulls away, his eyes cherishing the very sight of you. Joe flashes you bright, gleaming smile and it was accompanied by a few of his chuckles before he responded.

“Bullshit... Of course we're still having that dance."

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ahhhh im finally finished with one of my fics-

hope you enjoy this one loves 💕💕💕💕

btw loves, its like 1 am here and im woa-

btw sorry for any mistakes i was tired-

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers imagine #joe toye #joseph toye #joe toye fic #joe toye fanfic #joe toye fanfiction #joe toye imagine #joe toye drabble #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #hbo war imagine #hbo war request #band of brothers x reader #joe toye x reader #joseph toye x reader

[trassellynn]

THE HAUNTING OF KREE MANOR (Chapter 4)

Fandom: Six of Crows  Rating: Mature Warnings: Horror, Blood and canon typical violence, Haunted House!AU Ao3 link here. Chapter undercut.

CHAPTER 4

WYLAN. The poltergeist (Part 1) I hadn't ever been in that house. And yet, I felt like I already knew it well, when we arrived. It wasn't because of the map I had studied those days: somehow, I remembered in details the  description Uncle Karl gave of it, that single time we met. I didn't know how it was possible, since I was only a child, at that time. I didn't even remember well my uncle's face, but every single words he told me about the house was perfectly stuck in my mind. When I found myself in front of that immense manor, I instinctively smiled. “Hi,” I thought. “We finally meet, then. Face to face.” A sudden, weird feeling filled my chest. I don't know how but... I felt... I felt like the house didn't greet me back. In the same moment, Trassel started growling and a tiny voice in my head told me it didn't matter I was a Van Eck, it didn't matter my name was on the property contract. I wasn't welcome there. “You told us almost every room has a story...” Matthias had just taken Aenya's cradle in his and Nina's room, with little to no effort. He placed it next to the huge bed and fixed the little sheet and pillow. “Yes, that's what my uncle told me” I replied, holding the little girl in my arms and checking if the room was clean and tidy. People who worked for my uncle left quite quickly after his death, but they had done a good job. After days, there was almost no dust on the floor and furnitures. Matthias straightened his back, smiling. He wore the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, baring his huge forearms. “I wonder if there's a story also for this one” he said. “Oh, yes, there is!” I answered, approaching him, as Aenya started playing with my bow tie, undoing it. “It was the room of a Khaelish lady, over a century ago. She almost never went out of it. I don't know if she was willing to stay inside or if her family kept her locked.” “The second option would be atrocious” the Fjerdan commented, approaching us. Seeing him, Aenya's mouth curved in a wide smile and she immediately stretched her little arms towards him, joyfully shrieking. “Yes, love!” Matthias replied with a squeaky voice, as I let him take the baby girl in his arms. “Come to papa, love!” His blue eyes were filled with adoration, as she started touching his beard, laughing. “I'll go to check the others' rooms” I smiled, kissing Aenya's plump cheek, before walking out of the bedroom. I almost reached the staircase, when a sudden, loud thud made me gasp. I turned around: one of the paintings on the wall had just fallen. “Wylan?” Matthias's giant figure appeared in the aisle: “Is everything okay?” “Yes,” I answered, approaching the fallen painting and carefully kneeling. “This painting has fallen. It made me loose years of life...” “Be careful,” the giant said, as Aenya started to playfully bite his jaw. “Are there many splinters?” I checked the glass that protected the accurate representation of the manor. “Actually... no. Not even a scratch.” I placed the painting at its place, staring at it for a while. The glass had to be extremely resistant, to survive to such a fall. “Well... that's good,” I commented. “We won't risk to get hurt.” “Definitely.” the Fjerdan replied, kissing his daughter's forehead. I felt his concern: those days, Aenya had learnt to crawl on the floor. If the glass had broken, she would have risked to injury herself far worse than all of us. I gave her and Matthias a smile, then I reached the staircase again. Suddenly, when I placed my hand on the handrail, I felt a thrill running down my back. But it was only for a moment. I couldn't sleep, that night. The bed was quite cosy, the room was large and elegant and there wasn't any noise that could bother my sleep, from the outside And yet, I laid awake, on my side, with my eyes open and Jesper's arm around my waist. I couldn't help but stare at the closed door, as I was expecting to see it opening by moments. Suddenly, some weird, faint but clear noises started to tickle my ears. I gasped, clenching Jesper's wrist and shaking it. “Jes...” I whispered. “Jes... do you hear this?” My boyfriend grumbled, slowly moving his legs: “Mmh... what?” “These... noises...” I replied, anxiety raising into my chest. “Don't you hear them too? What can they be?” “Nina and Matthias, probably.” “No, Jes... it's not that kind of noises... it's more like... steps... furnitures dragged on the floor... voices...” Before I could finish my sentence, the portrait next to the door, that represented uncle Karl during his youth, fell, in the same way of the painting outside of Nina and Matthias' bedroom. Jes winced, as I swore behind my teeth. “What the...” he murmured. “Stupid portrait...” “It happened this morning too, shortly after we arrived,” I explained. “There's... there's something weird in this house...” “Well, it's quite old, I would be surprise it hadn't any problem... do you want me to put the portrait back at its place?” “No, no... I'll do it.” Maybe I had just been paranoic. Maybe my constant fear to be unworthy of my family's name made me imagine everything, even that a house was telling me I was unwelcome. I approached the fallen portrait, feeling incredibly naive and stupid. “I'm probably a bit nervous,” I commented, hanging the picture on the wall. As I expected, the glass was perfectly intact: uncle Karl or the ones who lived there before him had obviously found a very good artisan. I stared at uncle Karl's portrait for a while: I didn't remember him well, since the only time I saw him I was only a child, but I had a memory of a tall, skinny man, whose red hair were turning grey. I couldn't help but notice his younger self looked a lot like me: his big, blue eyes, his soft auburn locks, the freckles on his nose... Yes... we looked much alike... “Wy?” A hand on my shoulder made me wince, like I had just woken up from a long, deep dream. “J-Jes?” I murmured. “You scared me...” “Oh, you have no idea how much you scared me, merchling,” he replied. “I did... what?” Jesper frowned: “I fell asleep again, while you were fixing the portrait. When I woke up, you were still standing in front of it.” I blinked confusedly: “I... I have just put it at his place...” “No, Wy. It was about one o'clock when you went out of the bed. You have been standing there for an hour...” I looked at the round clock on the wall: five minutes past two. I froze: “How... how is it possible? I thought...” Did I feel asleep in front of the portrait, managing somehow to stand on my feet? “I cannot understand...” I murmured. Jesper placed the inners side of his wrist on my forehead, checking my temperature: “You're so pale... do you feel sick?” “No, no... I'm just... confused...” I shrugged. “Maybe I'm just a bit stressed. I feel the project on this house as a huge responsibility...” “We're here to help you,” my boyfriend smiled, kissing the tip of my nose. “Come back to bed, merchling. You need to rest, we've got a lot of things to do, this weeks.” I didn't feel well rested at all, the next morning. Jes had to call me twice to wake me up and, when we went to the kitchen, almost all our friends were already there, except for Inej and Nina. “Good morning!” Kuwei smiled. He and Inga were in front of the stove, both wearing an apron. A delicious smell of coffee, tea and pancakes was filling the room. “Tea or coffee?” the little girl asked. I let myself fall on a chair. In front of me, Matthias gave me a little smile: he was feeding Aenya, who was sat on his lap, with some fruit yogurt. “Coffee,” I murmured, rubbing my hands on my face. “Double coffee, maybe.” “You've got horrible eyebags, Wylan,” Kaz said, giving me a quick glance over the newspaper he was reading. “Did you stay awake, last night?” “I... I had a strange night... I heard...” “Noises?” Matthias asked, raising his blue eyes on me. He stopped the hand that was holding the teaspoon with yogurt in mid air and Aenya immediately grabbed his wrist, protesting with a little shriek. He smiled, approaching the little spoon to her mouth. “Sorry, love... what were you saying, Wylan?” “I heard noises. Do you hear them too?” The Fjerdan nodded: “I woke up more than once because of weird noises. I also tried to check where they come from, but I found nothing.” “Inej saw someone in her bedroom, tonight” Kaz added, making all of us wince. “But we found no one.” “This house is quite old,” Kuwei suggested, placing a plate full of pancakes on the table. “It's not so unusual to old houses to make weird noises, I heard some too, last night. Not to mention the design here is somewhat... spooky. I think it's easier to let scary thoughts influence us.” “You're probably right” I sighed, thanking Inga with a smile when she took me a large cup of coffee. I frowned a bit seeing she was looking at someone behind my back, a little smirk on her lips. “Are you okay, Inga?” I asked, turning around. She widened her smile: “Oh... oh, yes.” She seemed to be about to add something, when Inej and Nina entered the kitchen, with Trass by their side. “Good morning, ladies!” Jes greeted them. “How are you?” “Kaz told us you didn't sleep well too, Inej,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. The young woman shrugged, taking place between Kaz and Jes: “I... I think I was just tired.” She actually looked much more nervous than she wanted to show, but I decided not to force her to share her thoughts. Once we finished our breakfast, I went back to my and Jes' bedroom, to pick my painting set. That morning I had to repaint the walls of the bathrooms at the first two floors and I was quite excited, but I soon realized there was something wrong. Before going downstairs to have breakfast, I had left the painting set on the bedroom but, once I entered the room, it wasn't there any more. “What the...” I murmured, starting to frantically looking around. “Jes! I called. “Jes, do you...” I got no answer, but I didn't need it: my painting set box was on the top of the large wardrobe that faced our bed. I frowned: how did it end up over there? Maybe Jes just played me a prank... “That's so funny...” I commented, grabbing a chair and placing it next to the wardrobe. I mounted on the chair, stretching my arms to grab the box, but I soon realized I also had to raise on my toes. I suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable, in a precarious balance. And then... that sensation again, the sensation there was something behind my back. Something that was slowly approaching me. I froze, completely unable to turn around. My limbs stilled, I had the impression to be trapped into a block of ice. I could barely breathe. Light steps behind me. Rustles. My uncle's portrait fell again. And then, something cold, two cold, scrawny hands, grabbed my bare ankles, making me scream. I lost my balance and fell backwards, stiffening my muscles, expecting the painful impact with the ground. But instead, I landed into familiar arms, hitting my back against someone's chest. “Merchling!” I turned my head, so I could look into Jes' eyes. My whole body was trembling. “J-Jes...” I whispered. “There... there was...” “What, in the good name of Aunt Eva, were you doing?” “I...” I looked around, expecting to see my mysterious attacker, but there was no one in the room, except for us. And, what was even weirder, Uncle Karl's portrait was still on the wall. Was it possible Ihad  imagined everything? “I needed my painting set. Did you put it over there?” Jesper frowned, his eyes going from me, to the box on the wardrobe: “No, I didn't. Wait, I'll take it down for you. Are you okay?” I took a deep breath, nodding: “Yes, I'm fine.” The double coffee effect hadn't probably started working yet. I told myself that frightful experience had to be a consequences of the previous night. But there was something I still couldn't explain: who put my painting set on the top of the wardrobe? My suspects grew deeper in my mind the following days. And it wasn't because of the objects that kept on disappearing and reappearing in wrong places:  all my friends had started to act weirdly, they looked nervous, restless, the moved around the house like they expected to be attacked by moments. Jes was not excluded. From the second night, I noticed there was something different in his glance, I could read a pinch of anxiety in his greenish-grey eyes, especially when he found himself in front of a mirror. It was about midnight when I laid on the bed, physically exhausted but, for some reasons, not sleepy as I expected. “Are you okay, Jes?” My boyfriend, who was sitting on the mattress, his back rested against the headboard of the bed, nodded in a distract manned, his eyes fixed ahead. He didn't seem to be okay at all. I propped up on my left elbow, giving him a worried glance: “Are you sure?” Jesper shook his head, blinking: “Yes, yes, I was just thinking...” “Thinking of...?” He gave a quick nod at the mirror that had been fixed next to the wardrobe, on the left. From my perspective I could see my bedside table reflected on its surface. “Thinking of... the mirror?” “I find it creepy...” “Creepy?” I frowned waiting for an answer, but Jes shrugged, laying down: “Just an impression. Better trying to sleep, we've got so much things to do these days. Goodnight, merchling.” “Goodnight...” It wasn't typical of Jes, being so elusive, there was clearly something more about his impressions on the “creepiness” of the mirror. But, at the moment, I didn't try to investigate, Maybe I didn't want to do it because... because I was afraid. Afraid of being forced to admit that his impressions were so much similar to my impressions. And if we both felt there was something weird, something bad in that house... maybe... maybe we were right. Maybe it wasn't just an impression. Those thoughts were scary, too scary. That's why I made a terrible mistake, deciding to suppress them. I managed to sleep for about four hours, then, out of nothing, I woke up, feeling terribly thirsty. I took a look at the bedside table, swearing behind my teeth when I noticed I forgot to bring a bottle of water. Snorting, I slowly got up, rubbing my eyes and paying attention not to wake Jes, then, barefoot, I walked out of the room, going downstairs to the kitchen. The unnatural silence that surrounded me made several thrills run down my back, but I kept on repeating myself to not get impressed. It was just a house. Just a house. I reached the kitchen with no troubles and, for a while, I almost felt relieved, so relieved I didn't even feel the necessity to turn the light on. I took a small bottle of water out of the fridge and I opened it, taking a few sips. It was in that moment I heard a noise behind me. My fingers clenched the bottle so hard my knuckles almost went white. I slowly turned around. There was no one in the room... no one I could see. But I felt that presence... I felt it clearly. “Who is it?” I asked, my voice trembling. I got no answer for a while. Then, the table started to move. At its own will. I widened my eyes, almost forgetting to breathe. Yes, the table was moving. It made little movements, little sprints, hitting some of the chairs around it. Little sprints towards me. At the same moment, the clock hands started to spin, faster and faster, and the sink trembled, spitting a disgusting flush of dark water. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out of it. The table moved faster, reaching me, hitting me on the stomach and taking my breath away. I lost the grip on the bottle, that fell to the floor, crashing, and, soon after, my knees were on the glass chippings. Tears ran down my cheek, my arms were wrapped around my aching stomach and the skin of my legs was filled with small, painful injuries. Before I could do anything, I felt a hand grabbing my hair, fiercely tugging them. It was in that moment I found the strength to scream. The light turned on and somehow... somehow I realized I was still standing on my feet, with the intact bottle in my hand. “Hey!” Kuwei entered the kitchen, giving me a little smile and approaching the fridge: “Are you hungry too?” I blinked confusedly, looking around: the table and the chairs were at their place and the clock hands diligently indicated it was seven minutes past four in the morning. No traces of blood on my pants, no stomach pains... “Wylan?” I shook my head, awakening from my thoughts: “I... I just went to take a sip... I should keep a bottle on the bedside table, at night...” “Yeah, the weather is so hot,” my friend commented, picking a small strawberry pastry. A doubt started to torment my mind. “Kuwei... didn't you hear anything weird, tonight?” The Inferni shook his head, swallowing the first bite of his pastry: “No, why?” How was it possible? Didn't he hear the table moving? Didn't he hear me scream? I looked at the bottle in my hand. There was no explanation on what I lived just a few moments before. “Nothing. It doesn't matter. Goodnight, Kuwei.” I went back to my bedroom, trying to repeat myself again that I had imagined everything, that my mind had played me a cruel trick, that it was just an impression. But, deep in my soul, I had already started to doubt about those words.

#Six of Crows #SoC AU #The Haunting of Kree Manor #Kaz Brekker #Inej Ghafa #Jesper Fahey #Nina Zenik #Wylan Van Eck #Matthias Helvar #Kuwei Yul-Bo #Trassel #Kanej #Kaz x Inej #Wesper #Jesper x Wylan #Helnik #Nina x Matthias #Then Haunting of Kree Manor - Chapter 4 #Ao3 #lynnforsterblog

[grasslandgirl]

oooo i sent it more as a fix prompt but also from one adhdhead to another i’m glad we agree!! thinking about sam and peter study dates

ahhhh fvbjsjvkbjf im so dumb i’m sorry i saw “adhd sam” and my brain just yelled YEAH. RADICAL. and that was it kjdvskfj 

that being said i’ve been haunted by ricky montgomery’s Line Without a Hook + eldonado since yesterday so........ hmmm.... (oh no this got wildly out of hand)

-----------

Peter threw himself wholeheartedly into anything he worked on. It was just how he was built. Peter was either on or he was off, and it was hard to get him to change course once he was en route. Head down, eyes narrowed, his whole body angled down at his computer like if he got his face close enough to the screen, it would start streaming information right to and from his brain. His hair would flop, unnoticed, into his eyes and he would shove his glasses so far up his nose that Sam would worry he was going to bruise his nose. 

All this to say, of course, that study dates were something of an occupational hazard when you were best friends with Peter Maldonado.

And also secretly in love with him.

Well, mostly-secretly. Secretly to Peter, and probably only Peter, because Sam was 90% sure everyone else was in on the secret and knew how hopelessly gone Sam was for his oblivious best friend. Gabi was the only one who ever said anything to him about it, though. So, little victories. 

Finals were looming over their heads like a dark storm cloud. Looming on the horizon, fucking with barometric pressure just enough to make everyone jumpy and nervous. Peter worked well under pressure- which was a good thing, because Sam knew Peter put more pressure on himself than anyone else did- but he would always show up the night before a big exam and demand that Sam help him study. It was so commonplace after seven years of friendship that Sam didn’t question it anymore. Mostly.

There was always that small, hopeful, and nervous voice in the back of his head asking why Peter always studied with Sam when he studied just as well on his own. The only answer he could think of was that Peter knew Sam studied better with him there. But that wasn’t- that couldn’t- Sam always shut that annoying little voice down before it spiraled any further.

It didn’t do anyone any good to overcomplicate things that were objectively very simple. Peter liked routine, they were best friends, Sam was the only one who could talk Peter down from an academics-induced panic attack at 2 in the morning the night before a final exam. 2 + 2 = 4. Simple math. 

Sam was slumped on his back, halfway falling off his bed with his head and shoulders draped over the side of his mattress. The notebook he was supposed to be reviewing was abandoned, sitting on his stomach. Peter was sitting at Sam’s desk, leaned over and scowling at his laptop. 

It was unfair, really, how pretty Peter looked illuminated by the blue-white light of his notes document. Sam had the perfect view of Peter’s upside down profile, all furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw and dark hair that’d had hands run through it too many times. It was late and Sam’s brain was wrung out and exhausted, only able to focus on Peter’s expression as he mouthed whatever obsolete moment in history he was trying to commit to memory, and the looping chorus of a Carly Rae Jepsen song he’d had stuck in his head for the last two hours. 

A big part of being friends with Peter Maldonado was knowing when to draw the line. 

“Pete, dude.” Peter looked up, blinking away the lines of notes Sam could almost see in his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Either we know it or we don’t at this point.”

“You think we should cut our losses?”

“I know you can survive on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, dude, but I can’t.” Sam tapped himself on the forehead. “This baby needs r&r or I can’t fucking function.”

“Right, right. What time is it?”

Sam sat up- an impressive showcase of his abs that Peter didn’t notice, of course- and dug around in his rumpled comforter for his phone. “12:30.”

Peter sighed heavily, tipping his head back against the headrest of Sam’s computer chair. “I should go home.”

“Dude. Just-” Sam was his own worst enemy sometimes- “just spend the night.”

“Yeah? Your moms won’t mind?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they assumed that’s what was happening when you showed up after dinner.”

It was probably just a weird reflection from the computer light on one of Sam’s posters onto Peter’s face. There was no way that Peter was blushing. 

“Anyway,” he continued, shoving his textbook and notes off of his bed instead of looking at Peter, “I’m gonna drive you tomorrow anyway, right? Saves me a trip.”

Peter closed his laptop with a soft click. “Yeah, sure, if it’s not-”

“It’s cool, dude, don’t be weird. Just two bros-”

“Chilling in a hot tub?”

Sam prayed Peter couldn’t see the hot blush he felt rising to his cheeks. Five feet apart cause they’re not gay. “Whatever you want, dude.”

Peter knew Sam was gay. He was the first person Sam had come out to- followed closely by Gabi and his moms. But there was a difference, Sam was sure, to having your best friend be gay versus having your best friend be gay and in love with you. An invisible line in the sand that would shift their relationship forever. Sam didn’t want to test how that shift would happen. Didn’t want to risk losing his best friend on the off chance that he wasn’t alone. 

“Right.” Peter repeated. 

They went to bed in pieces: Sam pulling on an old pair of sweatpants and throwing one to Peter, Peter neatly stacking all his notes on one corner of Sam’s desk, Sam kicking all his schoolwork to the edges of his bedroom floor as opposed to the middle of it, Peter brushing his teeth with the same toothbrush he’d kept in the Ecklund house since they were ten, Sam turning off all the lights, Peter wandering back into his bedroom, Peter’s hair turning to gold and ink in the faint streetlight coming in from the window, the two of them curling up back to back in Sam’s bed just like they always did.

And then it was dark and quiet and all Sam could hear was the faint sound of Peter’s breathing beside him. The warmth from Peter’s back mere inches from Sam’s. They’d fallen asleep next to each other a million times, but Sam still felt electric with the proximity. How easy it would be to just- stretch his legs out and wind his feet with Peter’s, to flip over and press his nose into the soft place where his hairline met the back of his neck, to whisper something hopeful and mortifying into the still night air and hear Peter’s breath catch in silent response.

Sam stayed still, held himself perfectly motionless lest he finally show his hand. And eventually, they both fell asleep.

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

Peter woke up surrounded by Sam. The pillow he’d pressed his face into smelled like Sam’s hair and the sheets on his bed were the same tacky Star Wars ones he’d been so proud of in the seventh grade and the bed was warm with Sam’s body next to him. For an instant, Peter let himself consider it: waking up next to Sam like this every day. Falling asleep with his arms wrapped around Sam and waking up with his head on his chest. 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the glaring dawn light, and against the daydream that quickly threatened to spin out of control. He could still hear Sam’s sleep heavy breathing behind him.

Slowly, Peter sat up in bed, pushing his hair out of his face and scrounging the nightstand as quietly as he could for his glasses. He allowed himself a single glance at Sam- sleep soft and sprawled out on the bed, his hand inches from where Peter’s shoulder had been, like he’d been reaching out in his sleep- before standing up and grabbing his phone from where he’d left it charging on the desk.

“Sam.” Peter poked his shoulder. “Sam.”

He groaned incoherently, but rolled over, which was a good sign. 

“You have to get up, dude.”

“Breakfast?” Sam mumbled.

“Yeah,” Peter laughed a little, “I’m sure your mom’s making breakfast.”

“Urrgghhh.”

Peter grabbed the clothes he’d left in the corner the night before and pulled an old t shirt out of Sam’s closet. “I’m stealing a shirt.”

“Oh,” Sam said, half sitting up and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah- good, okay.”

“I’m gonna go-” Peter gestured weakly towards the door, and beyond it, the bathroom. Sam peered up at him, the light from the window hitting his face in a single pane, like something out of a sun-soaked French movie. Like this was the moment where one of them broke the uncertainty, the silence. Peter could see the scene unfolding in his mind’s eye, like he’d seen it a hundred times. He’d say something like, did you sleep well? And Sam would answer, better with you here, and Peter would oh-so-slowly close the distance and drop his jeans to the floor and Sam would arch up and meet him halfway and the camera would pan away, leaving them both washed in the golden early-morning light. “Bathroom. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Peter said, and closed the bedroom door behind him. 

He splashed water on his face and combed through his hair with his fingers, throwing on yesterday’s jeans and Sam’s t shirt under his sweatshirt and hoping it wasn’t obvious to anyone else how badly Peter wished every morning could be like this. 

He left the bathroom quickly and perched on the edge of Sam’s bed, scrolling through twitter while Sam did his hair in the bathroom. 

Breakfast was quiet and normal and filled with the usual mini-dramas in the Ecklund house. Kara didn’t want PB&J for lunch and one of Sam’s moms left the flat iron on in their bathroom and Leah almost burned the eggs and Sam spent half of breakfast finishing the math homework he’d almost forgotten he had. 

Sam drove them both to school early for the Morning Show, laughing and singing along to his “perfectly composed drive to school playlist,” and the rest of the day went on normally. He took his history test and saw Sam in math class and they sat with Ming and Randall and Phil at lunch. 

But all the while, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. He’d had... feelings for Sam for a while, unquantifiable and nebulous. He’d categorized them all: the way his stomach twisted when Sam smiled at him crookedly, the skipped beat of his heart when Sam slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders, how his hands got clammy when he caught Sam watching him out of the corner of his eye, how he always found ways to hangout during and after school. But he’d never dared to name the feeling. Defining it meant- meant he should do something about it. Made it real. 

But that morning, waking up next to Sam, borrowing his t shirt to wear to school, falling asleep next to each other- they were all things they’d done a million times before. Peter’s chest ached with the normalcy, the domesticity of it. 

Peter’s fingers itched to try and piece it all together, his feelings and Sam’s and their history together. String it all together on a corkboard until it made sense. But Peter knew it wouldn’t work. Not without Sam there to see the bigger picture in the first place. It’s why they worked so well together; Peter would gather and organize all the information, but Sam was the one that knew how to put it together, knew how to see the forest from the trees in a way Peter never could on his own. Even if he tried to map out the snarl of feelings in his chest, Peter knew he’d be left with a labyrinth of post-its and red string without Sam there to untangle it for him.

Dramatic irony, he supposed.

Peter caught the bus home, Sam had something for theatre after school, and spent the entire ride with his music turned as high as it would go, trying not to think about Sam as he stared out the window. 

The problem, Peter realized, with being a self-professed movie lover, is that your brain starts to treat life like a movie. He could imagine a dozen different ways his life could spiral out from this moment, a dozen different movie time-lines he could find himself in. The tragedy, where he never tells Sam and lives his entire life in uncertainty. The drama, where he tells Sam and it tears their friendship apart. The tragic love story, where he and Sam are together and happy until they’re not. The comedy, where Sam laughs him off and they go back to their friendship with a tiny crack between them, spackled over with laughter that’s just a little strained. 

The romantic comedy, where everything goes perfect and they ride out into the sunset. 

Life wasn’t like the movies, though, nothing ever went as simple or as straightforward or as cinematic. There isn’t a director behind the camera who can call cut and change the scene halfway through. There aren’t any sweeping cinematic shots with atmospheric indie pop playing in the background.

It was just Peter, and Sam, and the creeping uncertainty hanging between them. 

Right before dinner that night, Peter got a text from Sam.

sam: thanks for the study help last night, felt good about the test today

sam: don’t stress i know youre freaking out about it too

sam: you did great on the test pete i know it

Peter blinked at his phone, at the unspoken I know you hidden inbetween the lines. Sam knew him better than anyone, knew his habits and his worries and his annoying little tendencies. And he was still there. 

And that, Peter realized, said more than anything else.

Love wasn’t a panoramic of a passionate kiss at sunset. It was knowing someone, learning them backwards and forwards, all the good and the bad pieces of them. It was staying, not despite everything, but because of it.

Peter loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

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

The doorbell rang at the end of dinner. Sam rushed to get to the door before his sisters- if he was lucky, it was their batty old neighbor Mrs Gorschtt and she would prattle on for fifteen minutes about her cat, shove a cake into Sam’s hands, and get him out of having to help clean the kitchen.

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Mrs Gorschtt standing on the front porch, it was Peter. 

“Hey, dude, what’s up? We don’t have like a math test tomorrow I blanked on, do we?”

“Huh?” Peter blinked at him, “No, no.”

“So, what’s up?” Sam stepped out onto the porch beside Peter, closing the front door behind him. Maybe he could still get out of washing the dinner dishes. 

“Uh- so, the thing is-” Peter muttered, twisting one of the strings from his hoodie between his fingers. Sam’s stomach dropped; something was wrong. Peter was nervous, uncertain about something. He wasn’t looking Sam in the eye, and he had one arm wrapped around his stomach like a shield. His head started spinning with a million different things Peter could be upset about, but the thing Sam kept coming back to- he knew.

Somehow, Peter had finally figured him out. And he was coming to tell Sam- what? That they couldn’t be friends anymore? That Sam had made it weird? 

“Pete-” Sam started, trying to cover his bases, trying to fix this before his best friendship in the world went up in flames.

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” Peter interrupted, finally looking at Sam.

“What?”

“Pete. You’re the only one.”

“I- we’re friends, dude, I’m allowed to have nicknames.” Sam tried to laugh, but it sounded forced, even to his ears.

“I- I know,” Peter’s eyebrows were furrowed, and he was staring at Sam like he was a page of history notes he was trying to memorize. “I got your text.”

“Oh, uh okay.”

“Sammy, I uh, I have to say something, and I want you to promise you’ll let me finish.”

Sam’s stomach dropped even further. Here it was. The end of everything. “Right,” he tried to smile at Peter, “sure dude, whatever you need.”

Peter nodded. “You’ve been my best friend since the fifth grade. You know all of my secrets, all the bad things that I don’t tell anyone else. You know that I don’t like orange-flavored things because I had too much orange-flavored medicine as a child and that I stay up too late studying the night before a test and I panic after I finish taking it. You watch movies I recommend, even though you think High School Musical 2 is the best movie ever made, you- god-” Peter scrubs his hands through his hair, clenching his eyes closed briefly- “this would be so much easier if I could just- you can see the big picture. Like with this you could just- take the words, the discrete pieces of data and put them together. Make it cohesive, coherent. I’m not making sense,” he muttered.

“Pete-”

“I don’t want to just spend the night after study dates.” Peter blurted out abruptly. His face froze, like he wasn’t sure what he just said, like he was terrified Sam was going to misunderstand. “I- I mean. I want to do real dates. With you. And spend the night and wear your clothes and have my hoodies smell like you and watch you spin around in the morning show chairs without having to worry about you catching me and I want to see you without gel in your hair and I want to lean against you when we have movie nights and-”

“Pete.”

“Sammy,” Peter said, kind of breathless. “Go on a date with me.”

“Like a study date?” Sam said, also kind of breathless.

“Like a date-date. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, just- come here-” and then Sam’s hands were on either side of Peter’s face and his fingers were in his hair and Peter’s hands were caught in Sam’s sweater and then-

Peter kissed like he didn’t know all the answers, for once, and he was okay with it. Peter kissed like he was memorizing everything about the moment. Peter kissed like he was planning on replaying it like an old video tape, over and over until the tape wore thin and tore. Peter kissed like he could hear the orchestra playing behind them, like they were in some cheesy made for tv rom com and were about to get their happy ending.

Peter kissed like Sam was his happy ending.

Finally, they broke apart- more to catch their breath than anything else. 

“Hell of a study date,” Sam breathed, unable to stop smiling.

“Shut up.” Peter was smiling, too.

And, leaning back in, Sam did.

[tsipasce]

Same Difference Ch.16

Her back ached as she hunched over her keyboard, only moving to grab the odd paper and examine it. Straightening up for the first time in hours she glanced at the clock on the wall that read 10:45pm, realizing she'd neglected two out of three meals today. Once Overhaul had left, she decided to catch up on paperwork and hadn't gotten up since, except to go to the bathroom and grab a glass of water. On her visit to the fridge, she was unsurprised to find nothing but water and condiments. Of all the ways to be a normal bachelor, he chooses this one… she bemoaned, trying to formulate a dinner strategy while on house arrest. After a beat, she made a couple calls,confident she'd found a loophole.

An hour or so later, the smell of lemon and herbs filled the kitchen as she checked between dishes. After going through her mental list of recipes, she decided chicken picatta with a side of rice would be easiest while also sating her growing hunger. Smelling the sauce, she grabbed a spoon to gauge if the seasoning was up to snuff. Closing her eyes, she considered the flavor.

"What are you doing?"

"Aggh!" She clutched her chest, almost choking on the sauce. Catching her breath, she shot him a ghastly look before continuing, "I know this is your house and all, but could you please not use the ~hitman stealth~ walk while I'm here?"

"No. You should just be more alert. Now answer my question: what are you doing?"

"Ah, well I know by your sad fridge you may not be familiar with the concept, but this is called 'cooking'." She piped in her best kindergarten teacher voice.

"Do not start with me tonight." He looked genuinely angry as he took a step forward, "Where did you get the ingredients? I specifically asked you not to leave and yo—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Chill out, Joe Goldberg, I stayed in the box. "

"What?"

"Ugh, if you watched TV like a normal person that would have been a great joke—anyway, what I'm saying is I didn't leave."

"Elaborate."

"Well it's this show about a guy who traps a gi—"

"Dammit I mean about how you got the ingredients without leaving."

"Oh yes, well I texted Kurono to call one of the guys who then called another dude who ordered it on Mostpates who then went back through the chain of communication until it was delivered to the door by one of your subordinates—with whom I had zero contact with—and now here I am. Still very much isolated from the outside world. Happy?"

He paused, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he towered over her. She deadpanned back until he relented, rolling his eyes and sighing; irritated with her consistent sass, but relieved Nanami was safe. Relieved a valuable ally was uncompromised, he sternly corrected as though to convince himself. Try as he may, the frequency of his little "unprofessional slips" when it came to her kept increasing. He reasoned that introducing her to Pop—the Boss, was simply strategic and necessary as she became more involved in their organization. These faux pas where he'd praise her behind her back to the Boss during their weekly dinners or lapse into these fantasies, he wouldn't dare speak aloud were merely obstacles he'd need to overcome. At some point. She's just an ally. He lied to himself yet again, before addressing her, "Don't do that without informing me first next time."

"Yes s— I mean, you bet." She said nervously clearing her throat before turning back to the stove. She would've continued indulging in her favorite pastime of getting on his nerves, but decided not to after getting a good look at him in the light. He looked tired and her sympathy won out over her need to continue poking the bear. Deciding it would be more sensible to make nice with her new roommate, she took a chance. "You know, I made a lot more than I was expecting if you wan—"

"I don't need anything from you," he reflexively shot back.

"Fine. Suit yourself." she shrugged turning back to the stove. One step forward, fifteen steps back. What do I even expect?

*grooowwwlll*

Her head slowly swiveled to him; her brows raised. She took the sauce off the heat, drizzling the aromatic cream over the steaming rice and herb-crusted chicken. She confidently maintained eye contact for dramatic effect, though she was quite surprised she didn't spill anything. A staring contest ensued, though they both knew the winner was the one who already possessed the literal chicken dinner. "Care to rethink your answer?"

"… If I get food poisoning it'll be your end." He acquiesced.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's just hurry before it gets cold."

They sat down at the table across from each other, setting their places. Forgetting to get utensils, Nanami got back up and headed to the kitchen to retrieve them. "You can start without me, I forgot something," she said with her back turned as she found the drawer she was looking for. Looking at the pans, she decided it would be much less of a pain to put them in the sink now instead of after her self-induced food coma. As she reached for the pan, she heard a faint rustling and a hushed "Thanks for the food" coming from the table. She went wide-eyed for a split second at the realization, Well, guess you can't eat through a mask… gulping at the thought of finally seeing his face, she shooed the feelings away as mere curiosity, to no avail. Suddenly it felt too nerve-wracking to turn around as she continued to overthink, her utensils having been found long ago.

"If you leave your plate out any longer, I'm going to throw it away."

"What? That makes zero sen—" she turned to reflexively bicker but stopped short. After seeing someone masked for so long it felt strangely intimate to see his face. He was still facing forward, calmly devouring the meal as she studied his profile, his features catching the warm light above the dining table. Nanami hadn't known what she'd expected to see, but it wasn't this. It might have been less surprising if he had some maniacal countenance or monstrous face, but he just looked… Normal… Normal…and really fucking cute. Shit. Her conflicted look of disgust with herself and fascination with him was promptly misinterpreted as he turned to see why she'd stopped grimaced back at her as she continued her appraisal, finding his full expressions, instead of just eyes, to still be a jarring sight.

"Do you have something to say?"

"N-No, just getting some eating sticks! I mean utensils. Eating. Utensils." She cleared her throat, exuding awkwardness.

"…Right."

Exhaling, she hurriedly made her way back to the table, trying to carry on normally. She began eating, her hunger taking her mind off the previous blunder. Looking up to grab the pitcher of water to refill her glass, she inadvertently caught his gaze. Certain this would be a rare occurrence, she decided if she wanted to gawk, it would have to be now. Today she'd gotten a face and a name, and suddenly he seemed a lot more… human.

"You have a staring problem, and I'm going to fix it in a very unpleasant way if you don't stop."

Nevermind. "Says the guy that's blinked all of 3 times in the past 4 months." She scoffed," I don't have a 'staring problem,' I was just… surprised to see your face is all."

He paused before continuing eating, but she could tell he was still thinking, "… what's surprising about it?"

Now able to fully evaluate his expressions, Nanami could tell he was a mixture of indignant, but curious. I can work with that. "Hm? Oh nothing, nothing at all… Except…" she leaned forward across the table, her eyes heavy-lidded as they travelled from his eyes to his mouth, committing the pleasant features to memory.

He was focused now. "Except?" the word came out softer than intended, as she was close enough for him to catch the scent of lavender, the t-shirt she wore forming an almost dangerously revealing dip as she leaned forward. His jaw clenched as he fought to maintain eye contact, trying not to blatantly appreciate her suggestive positioning. The walls of the room felt as though they were shifting closer together as he waited with bated breath for her answer, or action.

"Except…You have rice on it," she tapped on her own face to show him where, grinning at his look of exasperation as she plopped back down to finish her last bite of food, missing how he briefly deflated. "So, how was it?"

"I don't feel any early signs of food poisoning," he began "but we'll see how the rest of the night goes."

Now feeling the sleepiness beginning to take over, she was too tired to give a quality retort. Sighing, she got up, grabbing her dish as she made her way back to the kitchen to clean up, the day finally catching up to her. She placed her dish in the sink and began searching for the gloves to start washing. Before she could locate them, she heard footsteps behind her.

"Move."

"Really? I share my food and then you insult it—surprise, surprise—and now I can't even clean up in peace" She began, but stopped as she turned to see him, his hands already clad in the yellow latex. His face was expressionless as he moved in her place and began tidying up. Taking it as her cue to leave, she dragged herself to her room to get ready for bed before he called back to her.

"Thank you for the food. It wasn't bad at all." He said, his back still turned as he continued cleaning.

She stopped, a half-smile appearing on her face as she could see he was trying to make nice, though he was obviously still not used to it, "…You're welcome. Hey, Overhaul?"

"Yes?"

"You should get some rest."

"Don't need it. Per our conversation earlier, I have unlimited stamina."

"Sure, but you can't overhaul your mind, now can you?"

"Ok, Dr. Phil." He mocked and her eyes shot wide. Before she could respond he continued, "And no, I will not answer further questions about that reference or how I know it. Goodnight."

Stifling a laugh, she turned to walk back to her room, "Goodnight."

The next week went by without incident and they began to form a routine. At 5:30 they'd get up to get ready for their jog. Nanami could tell she was on schedule by the sound of footsteps and water running next door that mirrored her own. Once finished, they'd convene in the front room, put on their shoes and head outside to stretch. Very few words if any were spoken, but Nanami enjoyed the comfortable silence. At work it was always expected that she'd be overtly personable and chatty, but she knew he had no such expectations. She could zone out and just exist and that was alrigh—

"Ahem", he cleared his throat as he waited expectantly for her to start their morning run. His hands bare for the first time in ages as one of his subordinates ordered the wrong brand, and he swore he'd break into hives if he used them. Both of them were sure they wouldn't need to touch any public surfaces on their run so the rarity of the occasion was dismissed.

"Oops, coming."

Without another word they began, Nanami putting her headphones in. After their third run, he was satisfied that he could handle an ambush as they gathered more intel about the Okamura, and she could indulge in her music while they ran. One of her favorite songs came on and she began stepping to the rhythm as her shoulders started to roll and her head bobbed to the beat, soon after she began mouthing the words.

"Every time I comb my hair

Thoughts of you get in my eyes

You're a sinner, I don't care

I just want your creamy thighs"

All the while she didn't realize her erratic movements and lip-syncing had caught Overhaul's attention as he watched from the corner of his eye. A few months ago, he wouldn't have been able to stomach the thought of sharing his home and free time with someone else without breaking out in hives, but now it felt… comfortable. It was comforting to come home to someone, to work with them and not be annoyed to the point of homicide (for him it was more rare than most), it was comforting knowing that someone was her.

She looked so carefree, so happy in the midst of everything while he felt the weight of the world had made permanent indentions on his shoulders. She didn't fit in this world; she didn't belong here. Or to anyone. The thought crossing his mind bitterly as his inner monologue took a familiar, pessimistic turn. Just looking at her brought that sickening warmth to his chest he coveted but didn't recognize as something he was capable of… that is until a couple of months ago. Now he found it showing up more and more, clouding his judgment. It was distracting. He had an objective and she was an important variable in achieving said objective—nothing more. How dare she make him... feel or even question if he was able to. It was disgusting.

Now able to recognize the feeling of being silently judged by him, Nanami looked up to meet his gaze. "Weren't you just lecturing me the other day about having a 'staring problem'?"

"I'm not staring, I'm just wondering why you're carrying on like this in public."

"Pssh, enjoying music—the great music of the illustrious Prince, nonetheless—is totally grounds for 'carrying on in public.' Being carefree every now and again isn't a sin, you know."

"There are enough frivolous people in the world. Why should I have to indulge them?"

"You call it frivolous; I call it taking happy moments when they come. You should just let people enjoy things and stop being such a stick in the mud. You never know, maybe you'll do something ~*wild*~ like enjoy yourself for once."

"Not all of us have the luxury of being empty-headed and self-indulgent."

At this she stopped running, the words sounding more like a personal attack than broad commentary. "What, so I'm a careless idiot just because I don't brood about my self-induced problems all the time?"

Their similarities began to surface as he took her comment in like fashion, both of them now offended at scenarios they'd created in their own heads. "'Self-induced'? You know nothing about my perceived 'problems' or how they came about. Nothing." His irritation quickly morphed into anger the more he thought about the implication that he'd chosen this life.

"And you don't know anything about my problems either. Just because I choose to be happy every blue moon and my issues usually don't involve me snuffing people out on the regular doesn't mean they aren't also really shitty."

"Oh, so you accidently blow up one kid and now it's a trauma you get to use as a crutch?"

Upon saying this, her posture straightened, and she looked at him evenly, a cold rage emanating from her. "So, you think that's all there is to me? I'm just some spoiled brat who's always had her way and now that I'm exposed to your big, scary reality, my little traumas don't compare? My tender little world is being shattered by the brutality and violence of your 'real' one? If anything is self-indulgent it's your narcissistic assumption that you're sob story is somehow worse than everyone else's" she said, venom dripping from her words.

He hadn't seen her like this before. They say when telling a person's age, that wrinkles and proportions are the best tells. In truth, there's a certain "look" that begins to form over time, one's experiences flash behind their eyes, an amalgamation of memories; they've seen things, their innocence eroding with every visage adding years to even the most verdant skin. As Nanami spoke, he saw an age in her eyes that didn't match her face. There was a certainty in her gaze that only came from seeing the grotesque with one's own eyes and deciding to keep looking. Her words were telling, but her stare was what filled the pages of the novel being written between them. Ever obsessed with purity, he assumed he'd be repulsed by the revelation, but it only made her seem closer. Her presumed naivety that he thought separated them was being chipped away. He wanted to know more, to become closer.

He was entranced as she seemingly riled herself up, "I've been through more than you could ev—" She stopped short, shaking her head as she bit her lip, looking off into the distance at something only she could see.

"What do you mean?" He coaxed her to finish her thought, now hopeful.

"No. I think I've told you enough. You've made your judgment and I'll have to live with the fact that I made a mistake, as will you."

"What? This conversation isn't ov—"

"You don't get to decide that," she snapped. "I'm heading back, and I suggest you take the long way around."

A grave look came across his face at being commanded, "That's not how this works, and you will not cut me off again, or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" She was back in his face, a familiar defiance in her eyes. If she was poking the bear before, this was an entire stabbing.

"You don't want this." He warned.

"You have no idea what I want."

As things boiled over, they were much too close, a static in the air building between them, fingers pointed as they continued to argue. They were ultimately too close, for no more than a millisecond, but that small error was all it took for the reaction that followed. In that brief moment, they made contact, a blast followed that sent them both flying in opposite directions. Nanami hit one of the walls that lined the streets with a sickening thud. She slumped, unconscious, a stream of red dying her silver hair.

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