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welcometojackass2022 · 2 years

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Shove It (Ryan Dunn x Sub!Reader) [Smut]

Thank you to the anonymous requester! This takes place during the first Jackass movie, and it’s the scene where Ryan shoved a toy car up his ass for a prank.

Description: Your boyfriend, Ryan Dunn, agrees to shove a toy car up his ass for a stunt for the Jackass movie. You spend the entire time laughing about it with Bam, and Ryan decides to teach you a lesson later that night; after all, good girls shouldn’t laugh at their dom.

Warnings: Female Reader, Cursing, Smut, Dom/Sub dynamics with Ryan as the dom and you as the sub, Slight Daddy Kink (you call Ryan daddy a couple times during sex), Ryan punishing you with spanking and slight orgasm denial, Praise Kink (Ryan praises you a lot while also being stern and telling you off for laughing at him), Gross descriptions of the toy car incident, there’s one moment where Steve-O asks if Ryan hits you so slight mention of physical abuse but it’s literally a passing mention with no detail

“You know, if someone had told me ten years ago that I’d one day be sitting in a room and watching my boyfriend shove a toy car up his ass, I would never have believed them. I would have left the country and joined a group of nuns or something like that.” You whispered to Bam with a look of dismay as your boyfriend, Ryan, held up a tube with the words “Anal Lube” printed on the front. The three of you (along with the cameramen, a couple of the Jackass boys, and Ed the medic) were all sitting in a hotel room; Ryan was on the bed with a toy car and a condom next to him, and you and Bam were standing near the head of the bed, Bam holding a stethoscope and wearing a singular glove on his right hand. You’d thought about bringing a fake medical device of your own just to be funny, but you were so nervous for what was about to go down that all you could do was stand next to Bam with your arms crossed.

Ryan held the condom and the little blue toy car up to the camera, showing the camera the step-by-step process of him shoving the toy car into the condom and absolutely drenching it in lube. “Now I’m lubing up the little toy car…because I’m going to put it in my butt.” Everyone burst out laughing, and you shook your head in disbelief as you watched your boyfriend put his legs up in the air to shove the toy car in, groaning in dismay as he went to put more lube on the car. Bam leaned over to put the stethoscope to Ryan’s chest, and you smirked. “Is his heart rate up?” Bam grinned, nodding his head. “Heart rate’s going up for sure.” Ryan grimaced, pushing the car in further. “It hurts like hell.” Manny walked into the room, only making the situation feel more surreal, and you and Bam found yourselves leaning against the wall from laughing hysterically at the sight of Ryan sitting there with the toy car in his ass.

Ryan glared up at you, and you tried to stifle your laughter as you smiled apologetically. “Sorry, baby, but it’s pretty fucking funny.” He mumbled something about feeling like he was going to shit the car out, and you and Bam nearly fell on top of each other from how hard you were laughing, Bam gasping for air as you pounded the floor with your fist in utter hysteria. You pulled yourself up onto the bed, wiping a stray tear from your eye as you patted your boyfriend’s shoulder in sympathy. “Don’t shit the car out, baby, we don’t need to bring that footage into existence.” Ryan rolled his eyes, moving around uncomfortably. “Glad you care so much about my well-being, babe.” You shot him a look, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. “You know I’m kidding, baby. If it really hurts I can tell them to make someone else do it…then again, that’s kind of a pussy move.” You looked over at Bam, trying not to laugh, and the two of you immediately went into hysterics again.

Ryan gave you a warning look that the rest of the guys were too distracted to notice, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. When Ryan gave you that look, it usually meant that you were gonna be in for it when the two of you got home; getting punished by Ryan certainly wasn’t something to pass up, so you mentally decided that you’d push things a little further throughout the day, just to guarantee that Ryan would punish you that night. You returned his warning look with an innocent smile, and then you got up and stood beside Bam again, whispering a joke about Ryan’s ass that sent Bam into another laughing fit and earned you another warning look from Ryan, which you once again ignored. Ryan looked like he was gonna say something, but the fact that there were so many other people in the room kept him from doing it. If it had just been Bam, Ryan wouldn’t have had any problem putting you in your place right then and there, but he was way too private about his sex life with you to mention anything even remotely sexual when Steve-O, Manny, and a few others were in the room too.

Eventually, it was time to drive Ryan down to the doctor’s office so the second part of the prank could commence. You piled into the car with the boys, sitting between Ryan and Bam, and Ryan instinctively put his hand on your upper thigh, rubbing circles on it to distract himself from the pain of having the toy car up his ass. You patted his hand sympathetically and held it, looping your fingers through his as you turned to talk to Bam. “Alright Bam, place your bets. How long do you think it’ll take Ryan to shit the car out when this is all over?” Ryan gently squeezed your hand as yet another warning, and you pointedly ignored him. Bam grinned, leaning his head against the car window in thought. “I think he won’t be able to shit it out at all. I think we’ll actually have to take him to the emergency room to get it surgically removed from his ass.” You snickered, and Ryan leaned close to you so his lips were by your ear, lowering his voice enough that only you could hear him. “Behave, princess, don’t make me tell you again.” His strict tone made you shiver.

You almost wanted to stop there so you wouldn’t disappoint him, but it had been a while since he’d given you a real punishment session, and you were absolutely dying for it, so you decided you’d keep it doing. You glanced over at him with a look of fake guilt and nodded, laying your head against his shoulder and whispering a reply. “Sorry, Ryan, I’ll behave.” He leaned over and kissed you on the top of your head. “It’s okay, baby, I’m just on edge right now. My ass fucking hurts.” He said the last part loud enough for everyone in the car to hear, and everyone laughed. The car pulled up near the doctors office that Ryan would be going into, and you started to unbuckle your seatbelt, but Bam quickly stopped you. “Don’t go in. The doctor will find it suspicious that someone dumb enough to get a car stuck up his ass actually has a girlfriend. Just let the cameraman go in with him and you can stay here with me and Steve-O.” You groaned. “I don’t wanna be stuck in here with you freaks.”

Ryan got out of the car and leaned over to give you a kiss. “It’ll be fine, babe, just stay here and if they do anything weird I’ll kick their ass later.” Bam smirked, and you held back a smile, knowing he was about to say something completely out of line. “It’ll be kind of hard to kick our asses when you’ve got a fuckin’ toy car shoved up yours.” You burst out laughing, burying your face in your hands as your shoulders shook with laughter. “You guys are such a fucking riot.” Ryan’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and he slammed the car door shut, walking off towards the doctors office. When you managed to stop laughing and looked up, Ryan was glancing back at you with a deadly look, and you grimaced. Bam elbowed you with a grin. “You’re in trouble.” You lightly kicked his leg and shrugged. “Your fault for saying that shit, you knew it would make me laugh.” Steve-O leaned over from the very back seat, looking extremely confused. “Wait, you’re in trouble? Holy shit, Ryan doesn’t like…hit you, or anything like that, does he? If I need to I can tell the guys and we can all-”

Bam cut him off with an eye roll. “No, dumbass, he doesn’t hit her. They have one of those weird sex things where he gets to punish her if she does bad shit. You know, spanking and shit like that. It’s kinky.” You elbowed him in the side, and he yelped. “God, Bam, why don’t you just tell him all of the details of our sex life while you’re at it?” Bam raised his eyebrows. “I mean, if you really want me to I can.” You shook your head, staring out the window as you watched Ryan walk up to the doctors office. “You guys are actual idiots. Oh damn, look how Ryan’s walking.” Bam and Steve-O looked out the car window, laughing when they saw Ryan limping towards the door like he had something stuck up his ass (because he quite literally did). “Wow, I’m sure no one will be able to tell he’s got an object shoved up his ass with that dorky fucking walk.” You grinned. “Give him a break, he had to shove a toy car up his own ass in front of a bunch of people and a camera, this has been a rough day for him.” Bam nodded.

“I’m sure he’ll get over it when he gets to spank you later.” Steve-O looked like he was gonna ask another question, and you shook your head. “Don’t even ask, Steve-O, I’m not gonna give any details. What I am gonna do is kick Bam’s ass if he keeps bringing it up.” You shot Bam a look, and he raised his hands defensively. “Alright, alright, I’ll drop it. Let’s talk about something else. So…do we think the doctor’s actually gonna fall for this?” Steve-O leaned over the seat again as he and Bam got into a passionate discussion about how stupid the doctor could potentially be, and you tuned them out as you stared at the doctors office, waiting for Ryan to come back out. Sure, it was funny to laugh at the situation, but you still didn’t want anything bad to happen from him having the toy car shoved up his ass. After what felt like an hour but was probably only thirty minutes, Ryan walked out looking even more uncomfortable than he had before; you watched the cameraman walk out with a massive grin on his face, and you smiled. “Looks like it went well.”

Ryan got back into the car, flashing you a pointed look, and you mentally decided you’d pushed his buttons enough for the day. You wrapped your arm around him, pulling him close to you as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “So? Did he fall for it?” Ryan laughed. “He did. Wait til you see the footage, baby, it was fucking hilarious.” The cameraman started recounting the entire experience from start to finish, and you turned to whisper to Ryan. “Does it still hurt?” He nodded. “Pretty fucking bad. As soon as we get back to that room I’m heading straight to the bathroom.” The hotel room that the toy car shoving had been filmed in was the room you and Ryan had been staying in for the last few days, so once Steve-O and Bam and the cameramen all off to their own hotel rooms, it would just be you and Ryan. By yourselves. The thought made you smile, and Ryan raised his eyebrows. “What are you all giddy about, baby? I’m guessing you and Bam made more jokes about me while I was gone?”

You shook your head, your smile widening as you thought of all the ways Ryan might punish you that night. Maybe he’d spank you, that was always fun. “No! Well…okay, maybe a few.” Bam snickered, and Ryan shot you both a disapproving look. “Real mature.” You playfully rolled your eyes and exchanged a look with Bam. “Shoving a car up your ass isn’t very mature either, but that sure didn’t stop you, did it?” Ryan started to retort, but then the car pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and he closed his mouth. As everyone got out of the car, he leaned over to you again. “I’ll deal with you later.” He pressed a kiss against the underside of your jaw and quickly got out before you could even register what he’d said. You sat there for a second, heart beating fast as you thought over the implications of that phrase. Usually, when he said something like that, it was a good sign that he was gonna be fucking you so hard that you’d be walking funny for a week.

You hurriedly unbuckled your seatbelt and headed into the hotel room, hoping Ryan would get the car out fast and everyone would leave you both alone before long. Everyone was gathered in the bathroom, watching as Ryan tried to fish the condom with the car in it out of his ass, and you watched nervously from the door, trying to resist the urge to bite your nails from anxiety. “Please be careful, babe, you’re gonna break your own ass if you make one wrong move.” Bam laughed. “Aw, don’t worry, (Y/n), your boyfriend’s probably got a lot of experience taking things in and out of his ass.” You bit your lip to stop the laughter that you could feel coming, and Ryan shot you both an annoyed look. “Not exactly the time for jokes, I’ve got my hand halfway up my ass trying to get a condom out.” This did nothing to make the situation less funny to you, and you turned and leaned your forehead against the wall, hiding your laughter so your boyfriend could concentrate.

Eventually, Ryan fished it out, throwing the condom-covered car onto the floor victoriously while simultaneously grimacing from the pain. “Fuck, I think my ass is bleeding.” The camera guy zoomed in on the nasty condom, and you made a face. “I don’t know who’s picking that up, but it’s definitely not gonna be me.” Eventually, Bam, Steve-O, and the others got bored of pointing and laughing at the dirty condom, and they high-fived Ryan and headed for the door. As he left, Bam turned to you and grinned. “Have fun getting in trouble! Let me know if he spanks you.” You rolled your eyes and shoved him towards the door. “Mind your own business or I’ll spank you, Bam.” Bam raised an eyebrow. “Wait, is that an offer or-” You slammed the door in his face with a smirk, locking the door and turning around to get Ryan, only to find him already standing a few feet away from you with a strict look on his face.

You smiled innocently, leaning back against the door. “Oh, hey baby!” Ryan shot you a look. “Don’t ‘hey, baby’ me, princess, you know you’re in trouble.” You grinned. “Yeah, I know, I know. I don’t see what the big deal is, Ryan, we were just making jokes.” Ryan sat down on the hotel bed, beckoning you over, and you obediently walked over and allowed him to pull you into his lap. “I know you were, baby, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you were laughing at me. Good girls don’t laugh at their doms, do they?” You looked away, and he gently turned your head back to him. “Well, do they?” You shook your head. “No, sir.” Ryan sat back, keeping his arms around your waist so you were seated comfortably on his lap. “I think this calls for a punishment, what do you think?” You tried to hide your smile, nodding with fake hesitance as if you weren’t actively hoping to be punished. “I think so.” Ryan thought it over for a second, deciding what your punishment would be. “Hmm…alright, princess, shirt and pants off.”

You obediently stood up, pulling off your shirt and tossing it aside as you kicked off your jeans, leaning you in just your bra and panties. Ryan looked you over appreciatively, nodding with approval. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, baby. Come here.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him, his hands roaming up and down your body as he rubbed the soft fabric of your panties between his fingers. “You can leave these on for now, they’ll make your ass look extra pretty as I’m spanking it. Lay down, baby, you know what to do.” He patted his lap, and you climbed onto the bed, crawling over his lap and laying down so your belly was pressed against his lap and your ass was facing up. You got comfortable, pressing the side of your face against the soft bedsheets as Ryan rubbed his hands over your ass. He pulled your panties up so they were farther up your asscrack, leaving your asscheeks better exposed, and rubbed his hands over your ass again. “Don’t bother counting, princess, I’ll do this until I think you’ve learned your lesson. Is that okay?”

You nodded, lifting your head up to look back at him. “Yes, daddy.” Ryan smiled slightly at the name. “Good girl. What’s the safe word?” You looked back again. “Mustard.” You both chuckled at the word, and then Ryan’s face went serious again, and he raised his hand above your ass. “Take it like a good girl and your next punishment will be nice and short.” You felt a pang of genuine excitement at the prospect of receiving a second punishment, and you wiggled your ass teasingly, trying to get him to move a little faster. Ryan took another second or two, building up anticipation, and then he steadily brought his hand down on your ass; you moaned softly, feeling your pussy clench up at the feeling of his hand smacking your ass, and he did it again, bringing his hand down slightly harder than before. “How’s that feel, princess?” You pushed your ass up against his hand eagerly, and he moved his hand down to rub at your pussy through your thin panties.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve barely spanked you and you’re already soaking wet. Maybe I need to go a little bit harder.” You nodded, smiling coyly as you looked back at him. “Maybe.” Ryan shot you a stern look. “Don’t be so eager, princess, this is a punishment. Lay your head back down.” You laid your head back down on the bed, trying and failing to hide your look of excitement, and Ryan spanked you a few more times, bringing his hand down a little harder (it didn’t hurt that much, but Ryan wasn’t the type to do something if he thought it was actually gonna hurt you anyway) and using his free hand to rub circles over your clit through your panties at the same time. You pushed your hips back, trying to get more friction from the tip of his finger against your pussy. Ryan smacked his hand against your ass again warningly. “Be patient, baby, you’re not getting any real touches until your punishment is over. I think five more spankings will be good, what do you think?”

You nodded, pushing your ass up again. “Yes, sir.” Ryan laughed. “Don’t be inconsistent, you were calling me daddy a few minutes ago. Pick one.” You smiled. “Sorry. Yes, daddy.” He pushed down on your lower back so you were laying out flat again, and he brought his hand down on your ass again five times, slipping his fingers into your panties and rubbing at your entrance for the last couple of smacks. “God, you’re dripping. I could probably slide my cock in right now, if I wanted to. I’ll be nice and give you some foreplay first, though. Stand up, princess.” You got up from the bed, and Ryan gently turned you around so he could see your ass, bright red against the soft material of your panties. “That’s a pretty view right there. You good to keep going?” He rubbed his hands over your ass soothingly and turned you around to face him, and you smiled. “I’m good!” You leaned down to kiss him on the lips, and he grinned. “Alright, good. Let’s get these off.”

Ryan helped you unhook your bra and tugged your panties down so you could kick them off, and he appreciatively ran his hands up your sides as he took in the sight of your bare breasts and exposed pussy. “Baby, I know I say this a lot, but you are so fucking gorgeous that it kills me.” You blushed, cupping his face in your hands and leaning down to kiss him again, and then he pulled away and stood up, moving to take off his shirt. You stopped him. “Can I take your clothes off for you?” He nodded, and you enthusiastically helped him peel the t-shirt off, running one of your hands up his bare chest as your other hand fumbled to unbutton his jeans and pull them down his legs. He kicked them off along with his boxers to reveal his cock, which was hard as a rock against his leg. Your legs nearly buckled just from the sight of it, and Ryan wrapped his hand around the base of it, pumping it a couple times.

“You gonna keep staring at it, princess, or do you wanna help me out with it?” You quickly dropped to your knees, eager to get your hands on it, and Ryan instinctively tangled his fingers into your hair, waiting to see what you would do. You moved his hand away and replaced it with your own, leaning your head down to lave at the head of his cock; Ryan held his breath, and you swirled your tongue around the tip, taking it into your mouth and sucking on it to get it coated with your saliva. “Perfect, princess, just like that.” He pushed your head down a little further, letting your mouth slide halfway down his shaft before he pulled you back up by your hair so that only the tip was in your mouth. One of your hands stayed wrapped around the base of his cock while the other grabbed at Ryan’s hip to keep you steady. He started to push your mouth down on his cock again, and you eagerly took it all the way into your mouth without needing to be told.

“You look so pretty with my cock down your throat like that, baby, you’re such a good girl for me.” You perked up at the praise, sucking harder on his shaft and rubbing at his balls, and then Ryan gripped your hair again and gently pulled you off of his cock with a slick ‘pop’ sound. You whined softly in disappointment, and Ryan pulled you up your feet with a stern look, helping you wipe the saliva from your chin. “Don’t whine, princess, we’re not done yet. Get comfortable on the bed for me.” You obeyed, climbing onto the bed and laying back against the pillows with your legs slightly spread. Ryan climbed on after you, situating himself between your legs and leaning down to kiss you again as he lined the tip of his cock up with your pussy. He teased your entrance with his tip, smiling to himself when you wiggled your hips impatiently, and then he slammed his hips forehead, pushing his cock inside of you.

The head of his cock stretched out your entrance, and you moaned loudly, tightening up around his cock as he pressed his forehead against yours and linked his fingers through yours. “How’s that feel, baby, you want me to go deeper?” You nodded fervently, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. “Please, daddy, I want the whole thing.” Ryan obliged, pushing his cock all the way as he grabbed at your hips, pulling you towards him so he could fuck you harder. He moved one of his hands down to finger you, rubbing circles over your clit again as he’d done earlier, and you cried out, hips squirming around as he tried to bring you closer to orgasm as quickly as possible. He ran his index finger over your clit, and you tightened up around him, feeling a hint of suspicion at how quickly he was trying to make you cum. Sure enough, right as you reached the brink of orgasm, Ryan suddenly took his hand away and pulled his cock out.

You whined in protest. “That was mean, Ryan.” Ryan smirked, kissing you on the forehead. “I told you you’d be getting another punishment, baby, I didn’t say what it would be. You’re not getting to cum that easily, you’ll have to prove that you deserve it.” You frowned. “Aw, come on, Ryan, I’ll be a good girl.” He moved his hand down to finger you again. “I know you will. Here, wanna ride me, princess?” You nodded, and he took his fingers away and switched spots with you so he was laying on his back and you were straddling his cock. “Do a good job here and I’ll let you cum afterwards, okay?” He grabbed your hips and helped you lower yourself down on his cock, and then he took his hands away to give you more control. You rested your hands on his chest to steady yourself as you pushed yourself down on his dick, his tip immediately pressing up against your g-spot as you rode his cock. Ryan grabbed at your ass, squeezing it in his hands and using his grip on it to push you even farther down.

You tightened up around his shaft, and Ryan threw his head back, a low groan leaving his mouth as he watched you fuck yourself on his cock. “Just like that, baby, you fuck yourself so good on my cock, you take it so well, you’re so good for me. I love stretching that tight little pussy out on my dick, keep going. I’m gonna paint that gorgeous body with my cum here in a minute, and then you’ll get a reward for being such a good girl.” You quickened your pace on his cock, eager to make him cum, and after a moment, he pulled you off and flipped you over so he was on top of you, shooting his massive load all over your thighs and tummy with a loud moan. He released his grip on his cock, letting it fall limply against his leg, and then he leaned down to kiss you passionately, admiring the sight of his cum all over you as he pulled away. “You look like an angel with my cum all over you, princess.”

You smiled. “I feel like an angel right now, the way you’re looking at me.” Ryan’s eyes drifted back down to your pussy, and he situated himself between your legs again, leaning down to press a kiss against the lips of your vagina. “You ready for that reward, baby?” You nodded eagerly, letting him wrap your thighs around his head, and he pushed his tongue inside you, his lips wrapping around your clit as the tip of his tongue slid up the length of your pussy. “That feels so fucking good, Ryan, holy shit.” You played with his hair, enjoying the feeling of his beard rubbing against your thighs, and you bucked your hips up against his mouth. “I’m so close, baby, please don’t stop.” Encouraged by your words, Ryan started moving his mouth a little faster, circling his tongue around your clit as he looked up to see your reaction. You bit your lip, tightening your fingers in his hair, and you threw your head back as you came against Ryan’s tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Ryan kissed your inner thighs, his mouth and chin slightly damp from your juices as he licked up your cum from your pussy, and then he leaned over to kiss you again. “You taste incredible, princess, I love seeing your face when you cum for me. Hold on, I’ll go get a towel.” He got up and walked off to the bathroom, coming back with a towel and gently cleaning you off with a look of adoration on his face. He tossed the towel into the open bathroom and crawled back into bed, pulling you into his lap and pressing his lips to your forehead as you buried your face in his chest, the two of you enjoying the warmth of each others bodies. “I’m sorry I made fun of you for the toy car thing, Bam and I thought we were being funny.” Ryan laughed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t mad, baby, don’t worry. It was funny, to be fair. My ass is fucking killing me, though.” You pulled away and grinned at him. “When do I get to see the footage from what happened in the doctors office?” Ryan playfully rolled his eyes. “Never. I don’t need you and Bam making fun of me again, you’re banned from ever watching it.” You shot him a look. “Don’t be mean, Ryan.”

#jackass #jackass imagine #jackass smut #jackass x reader #jackass fanfic #ryan dunn #ryan dunn smut #ryan dunn x reader #ryan dunn imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #bam margera

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angryinternetduck · 3 years

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yellow & blue

[not my pic] Hello and welcome to 2.7k words of pure angst! This doesn’t really have a purpose lol but it’s sad and angsty and features 2020 Brits Harry so why not!!! Have some depressed Harry, angelic reader, and yellow suits. Featuring Harry Styles x famous!reader. Inspired by Woman by Harry Styles, It Isn’t Right by the Platters, and When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars (which should give you an idea of just how angsty this is lmao).

The first time he met you, Harry was wearing a yellow suit. The first thing you said to him was a compliment about it. That suit sparked a conversation, and that conversation sparked an interest, and that interest sparked the best two years of Harry’s life.

If Harry said he hadn’t thought about that suit while preparing for the 2020 Brits, he’d be lying.

The chatter of the table he’s at isn’t boring by any means, but it’s not anywhere near captivating enough to keep Harry’s attention on the conversation and off of you. He heard about your new boyfriend, of course - who hasn’t - but this is your first public appearance together and Harry is having just a little bit of trouble breathing.

It’s been four months. Four months since you broke up, three since the news went public.

As far as the public knew, the separation was mutual. As a brand new artist, you needed to take a second to find yourself as a person. As Harry Styles, the man the myth the legend, Harry needed to focus on his next album and possible future acting career. He also supported you in your decision, and knew that the two of you would, of course, remain the best of friends.

Most of that’s true. You only just released your second album - which is doing spectacularly, of course - and Harry really does need to get this next album done. But it wasn’t mutual. Harry doesn’t think any of his break ups have been truly mutual. You broke up with him. There isn’t really any getting around it. Not that the public has to know.

The problem is that Harry understands why you broke up with him. As heartbreaking as it is, he realizes what he did. He knows that he wasn’t a good boyfriend. He doesn’t really have an excuse, either; he can explain away his faults all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re just too good for him.

Which makes it all the more depressing to watch you positively glow without him.

Part of him wants to go over and beg for your forgiveness. He wants to walk over and get on his knees and say, I love you with all my heart and I’ll never make another mistake again and I’ll love you forever and ever, please, please take me back, I’ll do anything.

Another part of him loves you too much to do that. Maybe you’re meant to be with this new guy. Maybe he’s your one, your only, the one worthy of all your love and attention. Maybe he’ll make you happy in ways Harry never did.

Because really, all Harry wants is for you to be happy. He wants you to glow like this all the time, to forget the feeling of sadness, to never cry a single tear again. He wants the only pain you ever feel to be an ache in your cheeks from all your smiling.

He just wishes he could be the one putting that smile on your face.

One thing he’s noticed is that your happiness seems to coincide directly with his. Whenever you’re happy, he’s happy. Not at the moment, actually, because you seem happy as a clam and Harry feels like his chest is caving in on itself, but whenever Harry thinks “happiness,” he thinks of moments with you. Of moments when you were happy. Moments when you were happy because of him, with him, for him.

He surprised you with a picnic one year for your birthday. He went all out, spreading a blanket down and everything, and the two of you drank wine, ate sandwiches and snacks out of a picnic basket, and talked in Harry’s back yard until after the sun came up.

Whenever Harry thinks “happiness,” that is the moment that pops into his head.

It wasn’t a loud sort of happiness, either. It wasn’t a bouncing on top of the world, adrenaline rushing through his blood, head pounding with excitement and joy and energy sort of happiness. He wasn’t breathless or wide eyed or buzzing with emotion.

No, this was a quiet happiness. It was the very definition of content. It was your head on his shoulder, your hand intertwined with his, your whispers of, “I love you,” the soft kisses exchanged as the sun set and the stars began to twinkle into the sky. It was your giggles at his jokes, your eyes brighter than the moon, softer than the wispy clouds suspended in air.

Harry’s getting a hollow ache in his chest just thinking about it. It hurts, really, because each of those memories, those days, those nights, carved a little hole in him and filled him with love and adoration and the purest happiness anyone’s ever experienced in the history of the world.

Now that you’re gone, that happiness has disappeared and all that’s left is a hollow, empty pit.

Since you’ve been gone, other memories have started creeping out of the shadows. These are different memories, memories of Harry’s failure and your disappointment and nights spent apart and tears sliding down your cheeks.

The problem with these memories is that it’s not a specific memory. It’s not one singular memory that Harry can turn over and over in his head and decide what went wrong. It’s not one thing that Harry can think about and solidify and apologize for.

It’s a whole bunch of things. It’s all the nights spent at the studio instead of with you. It’s all the last minute anniversary gifts and half hearted, distracted dinners, and all the forgetting of events and details. It’s the gradual falling away of random weeknight flowers, it’s the slow decline of hidden poems around the house he set out for you to find.

Well, maybe there is one thing. It might have been that one date night he cancelled. It was at the very end, during the knowing glances after frequent fights, after the slow, painful descent into acceptance but before the official conversation.

Dancing with the Stars had come on TV one night.

“Hey, I’m a star,” you murmured to him, curled up against him on the couch.

“Got that right,” Harry hummed, and you smiled up at him, and that smile made this night one of the good memories. “It should be just us two,” you told him, watching the pairs made up of one professional dancer and one celebrity dance on screen. “No professional.”

You giggled. “Yeah, we’re too good for them anyway.”

You took to dancing around the house after that night. Your dancing always brought a smile to Harry’s face. Funny how all you had to do was twirl, laugh, smile, breathe, and Harry would want to smother you in kisses and gift you his entire heart.

Sometimes you managed to rope him into it. Often you wouldn’t. Often, Harry would wake up to soft music playing in the kitchen, and he would walk in and see you dancing. He’d sip his coffee, and you would spin around and make up fancy footwork, and Harry would grin and blow you kisses and whisper, “I love you.”

He offered to take you dancing one night. He lay next to you in bed and traced his fingertips over your cheeks, lips, nose, and told you all about the night the two of you would have. He talked about live music and warm food and twinkling stars and dancing. You closed your eyes and smiled and hummed one of his songs, and Harry kissed you.

Then he got busy at the studio on the night you decided on. He stayed long. He called you. You didn’t pick up, because you were in the shower, getting ready for you big night. And you didn’t see the voicemail until after you were ready, until after you were sitting on the couch waiting for him, and when you saw the voicemail you jumped up because you didn’t look at the time it was sent, and you thought the voicemail was him calling because he was outside to pick you up.

You weren’t crying when he arrived at home. You just had a quiet sort of disappointment in your eyes, one that was almost more painful than tears, because this look told Harry that some part of you expected this. Harry didn’t look particularly guilty because he hadn’t realized how excited you were. He thought you probably didn’t even get ready. He thought you’d say, “Aw, well,” and move on.

He didn’t think he’d find you on the sofa, dressed in the most beautiful summer dress he’d ever seen, looking like an angel with a broken wing. He never dreamed you’d be so upset, never dreamed he’d be the reason for you being so upset.

That was the night he realized he was nothing but a mortal man in the presence of an angel.

An actual, real live angel.

An actual, real live angel who was losing her glow because of him.

Harry takes a miserable sip of his drink and tries to involve himself in the conversation happening around him. It doesn’t work. The noise level in the room is almost headache inducing, but somehow Harry can still pick out your laugh through the chatter.

He thinks, for a moment, that he’d like a shot of that laughter. He’d like to bathe in your happiness just once more. Maybe that’s all the closure he needs. A gasp of fresh air after what seems like eons of suffocating loneliness.

Then Harry thinks he sounds pathetic even in his own head and he excuses himself from his table. He walks almost blindly through the halls without even a semblance of an idea as to where he’s going. It’s quiet out here, at least, and he can clear his head, and take a breath, and maybe -

"Hey.”

Harry freezes.

For a moment, he thinks he’s imagining things. Then he turns around, and as it happens, he’s not.

There you are, in all your glory, a hesitant smile on your lips. You’re wearing a lavender dress. It fits you perfectly, makes you look like you’re floating off the ground, and Harry wants to cry because it matches his bow perfectly and that wasn’t even planned and goddammit, universe, that’s just salt in a gaping wound.

“Nice suit,” you say, and now your smile looks more sad than hesitant, and Harry feels the tears building in his throat because you remember too, of course you do, and Harry opens his mouth to reply but he can’t get his words out and now he’s on the verge of tears not only because he’s sad but also because he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks,” Harry finally chokes out.

“You’re welcome.”

The corridor suddenly feels long and empty and silent.

“Heard Feather on the radio the other day,” you say.

Feather. One word, a million memories shifting through Harry’s head faster than lightning.

A gifted necklace, filled notebooks, picked out notes, hummed melodies. Murmured lyrics in ears in early mornings. Night after night in the studio, together. Rubbish takeaway food, in the studio, together. Laughter over everything and nothing. Falling over each other in the booth, soft sighs and blissful gasps replacing giggles and shrieks of amusement. Late, late nights, together. Hearing it on the radio for the first time, together, almost driving off the road because of the excitement.

Hearing it on the radio last time, alone, almost driving off the road because of the stab of grief.

Harry’s not sure what to say to that. What do you expect him to? Oh, great, me too, fantastic song, innit? So he pauses for a moment and then replies, “We should make a sequel.” That gets a laugh out of you, and the thought strikes Harry to bottle it up and wear it in a little bottle around his neck.

“That would be something, huh?” you say.

“Call me,” Harry says. “I’ll book a studio.”

You smile. “Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t forget,” Harry tells you.

“I won’t,” you say, and there’s a beat of silence. Your smile fades as you look at him, as he looks at you, and Harry looks away because your smile’s about to disappear completely and Harry doesn’t think he could stand being the cause of your smile disappearing one more time.

You clear your throat. “Alright, well… Expect that call.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you around, H,” you say.

“See ya.”

You turn around and walk away. Float away. Fly away.

Again.

Flight, Harry thinks, watching you go. That’s what the sequel would be called. Feather. Flight.

You wore a white dress the first time the two of you performed it live. It’s such a love song. It’s the sappiest shit ever written by anyone in the entire world. If anyone else had written it, Harry would’ve rolled his eyes and said, Bullshit.

But it wasn’t. The song wasn’t, the love wasn’t, nothing was. It was the complete opposite. As pure and true as love could possibly be. Which makes it all the more painful that Harry couldn’t keep his shit together enough for you.

That’s another one of the Happy Memories: that first time performing together. You in your white dress, Harry in a silver, shimmering suit. The two of you did a whole choreography; you messed up every other move and Harry tripped over his own feet quite a few times, but the effort was there. The combination of the overwhelming yet familiar excitement of being on stage and the otherworldly bliss of simply being in your presence is a feeling Harry will never forget.

The air in the hallway grows heavier and heavier with each passing second.

Harry should get back to his table.

He starts to walk. He peers up at the ceiling as he does, hands locked behind his back, deep in thought. People are cheering out in the main room. Harry listens to the noise and closes his eyes, trying to shut his brain off.

The fans, he remembers, were devastated upon hearing the news of your breakup. It was kept quiet long enough that the questions and concerns weren’t particularly invasive, but it still hurt. It hurt like hell. It was ripping off the bandaid of the first month and poking and prying at the wound until Harry cried onstage and ducked out of an interview and missed a show.

Feather was taken off the setlist.

Once, during a lull in a show, the audience began to sing it. That was kind of strange. Harry looked up at the bright lights and swaying figures and heard his song, your song, being sung back to him by hundreds of strangers. It occurred to him, then, that it was not, in reality, your song. By that point, it meant something to other people as well.

That was very strange.

Harry ended up strumming out the chords for them. He smiled when the audience grew louder.

He heard later that the exact same thing happened to you. It was a few nights later, maybe the next week, and there were some technical issues. In the quiet, the fans began to sing Feather. You joined in just a second later, adding in your bit of the choreography.

Harry tried his hardest not to watch the footage, he really did, but he couldn’t help it.

He cried a lot that night.

When he finally makes it back to the main room, you’re situated under your new boyfriend’s arm, smiling brilliantly. Harry looks away as he sits down and downs the last of his drink. He grins at whoever’s talking at his table and shuts off his brain.

At the end of the night, through an alcohol- and exhaustion-muddled haze, Harry spots you by the door. He sweeps you up and plants a big messy kiss on your cheek, which you return with giggles and a kiss of your own. Harry leaves the 2020 Brits with two lipstick prints on him.

Despite the pictures splattered everywhere the next morning, Harry feels an air of contentment.

It’s done, he thinks, taking a deep breath. It’s done, and that’s good.

Because really, nothing gold can stay.

Not even the gold of a yellow suit.

***

ummm... yeah lol. hope u liked it...? lskdjf anyway there's that.

thx for reading! a reblog and some feedback would be fantastique!!!!

masterlist | ask

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Just the Translator

Part Ten of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings: There is rough sex in this. THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS. Do NOT read if that offends you. There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet). Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN

A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***

***

Whelp. At least you’re in a good mood.

In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them. Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.

The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy. Acting a complete fool. Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point. He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.

In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison. He’s restless, though, continuing to act out. At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs. Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.

And, oh stars—his dad.

Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head. The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now. You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night. The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.

At first it was amusing. But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.

Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.

A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”

That’s all he says. And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy. The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.

“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad.

His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.

The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle. It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.

Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that. As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass. You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand. “Hard as you can.”

“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.

“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side. Short, but not unkind. “Push through. You can do it.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him. His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths. Weirdly, it works wonders for you. Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.

You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm.

“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice. “Good. You’re… hitting harder than yesterday. That’s… fuck. Good.”

“Good?” You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid. Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib. You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types. Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels. He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.

But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage.

He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you. A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.

“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth. “Keep your arm down like I told you. That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”

You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides. But then—

His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back. “That arm stays up.”

Your quick huff of air is suppressed. Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience. You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.

But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more. “Stop that! My hands are up!”

“Then why’d you let me do it?” He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest. “Stop letting me do it.”

He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment. Din steps back and hits his chest again. “Come on.”

He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again. You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick. He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today. It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.

“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare. He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much. It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.

Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him. He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl. Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.

Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick. It’s a hard uppercut.

Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself. Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone. He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—

The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring. He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.

A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit. The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.

You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking. You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.

Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this. You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should. Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears. You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—

—nope. Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly. You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach. Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.

The wind is knocked out of you regardless. You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.

“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass. It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage. Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly. You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—

Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs. You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too. Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.

Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it. You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind. You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face. You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.

“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react. “I don’t give a shit.”

Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.

And… not lick it.

After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter. He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it. Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second. But no—he’s—

“Perfect. Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way. “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”

Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be. They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight. It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery. You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.

It’s sharp. Biting. Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position. His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time. You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.

“Ngh. Take. Cock. So. Fucking. Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips. You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you. You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis. The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over. You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—

Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize. You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.

“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”

His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once. He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind.

Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is. Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.

His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.

“You like this?” You’re able to hear him grit from above you. “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this? When I just. H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”

You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do. The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—

He’s so pent up—Din cums.

Devastatingly early.

The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him. Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him. His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name.

It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you. You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.

“Shit—was that—” Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay? Do you… do you need…?”

You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission. “It was good.”

“Yeah?” He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath. “Good.”

And… it’s true. It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing. So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it. The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.

Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways. Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers. In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.

It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back. Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm. Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch. You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.

You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you. It’s fine.

***

Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time. The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.

In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body. Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings. There’s not a solid word for it, not really. If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.

The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too. Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest. There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.

Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.

“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you. “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”

He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish. “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay? If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”

Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.

“Hear that, shiny?” You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter. Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow. “Tell him what you just told me.”

The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.

It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling. “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly. “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”

The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit.

“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles. “I’m just translating.”

“Oh yeah?” He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile. More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly. “What did… What did he say I look like?”

You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short. You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost. Uncertain. It makes you take just a second in responding.

“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame. It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet. This quiet is… natural. Warm, and. Free. Fleeting, allowed to roam. In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling. “He said you have… brown eyes. And a… a strong bone structure, striking features. A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair. And, uh. He also said…”

Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless.

The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.

“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap. “That you’re an open book. Behind a metal wall. And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes. And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and. And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”

Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety. But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator. “He said that.”

You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason. “Just the translator.”

A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.

***

A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead. Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you. Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.

“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight. “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”

“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body. “The kid hasn’t eaten all day. Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”

“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat. What do you want? There’s plenty.”

“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check. “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”

Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him. You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him. So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you. You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.

“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit. “Don’t inhale it. Please.”

With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire. You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.

You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone. The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself. But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.

Today, you’re just really fucking. Happy.

You’re unbelievably happy. Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you. It fills your heart with air.

You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you. You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself. Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.

One bite for him, two bites for you. That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate. You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.

Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening. It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but. Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice. Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial. In a way. More than it’s ever felt before.

You have a little moment. It’s nice. You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come. The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.

He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough. The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.

Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute. The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either. A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile. What a softie.

You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit. They’re hypnotic, the flames. Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it. Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance. The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7. They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach. Something you can touch. Interact with. Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one. That’s where we should go next.

After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.

Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today. How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.

You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low. Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again. The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back. You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.

He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare. Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet. After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.

“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward. The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it. Embarrassment instantly floods you. “Oh. Shit. I’m so stupid. I’m sor—”

Only he’s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.

You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back. Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done. Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.

Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be. He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him. You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.

“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator. The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this. “Just need a few hours. Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”

You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days. Shit. You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether. It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold. You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.

You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks. He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon. Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.

“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”

“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you. Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately. “You’re fucking… soaked. I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head. “Why’d you lie to me abo—”

“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”

“You said it was good. It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue. “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum. You should be fucked right.”

“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants. “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”

“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit. “What I need is for you to cum. From now on, you’ll tell me. Say yes.”

“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.

“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.

“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.

“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.

You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth. “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.

He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless. He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all. Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch. He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.

Something to cum on.

Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise. His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet. At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it. The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.

But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.

You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat. His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.

“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt. “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming. Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”

His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon. Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—

—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours. The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture. Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him. You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks. His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself. “…One more.”

And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again. This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense. The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.

Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky. He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality. Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.

“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck. You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.

“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.

After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress. “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will. Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

He…

He isn’t.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars

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shmackontitan · 3 years

Text

Good Girl (Modern Au! Soft Dom Armin x Reader)

Request: @mercymester

Modern AU!

You and Armin giggled in each other’s arms while stumbling up the stairs to his apartment. You two have been out with his roommate and friends- well, your friends too. While both of you shared sober glances the whole night, trying not to laugh, Eren and Connie demolished shots one after the other.

“I can’t believe Mikasa just watched it happen-“ Armin commented, catching his breath while reaching the door to his place.

“Right? Like he literally asked if we wanted to see him do a walking handstand in a crowded bar-“ you laughed along before you two caught eachothers eyes.

You noticed that Armin was staring,

“Take a picture- itll last longer,” you smirked before trying to open the locked door.

“Haha nice try. You know I always lock the door, dumbass” Armin grabbed the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door to your second home.

Armin’s apartment definitely belonged to him. There were ceiling length bookshelves filled with books and pictures, Eren’s shit strewn about. You knew where everything was too- you could easily navigate.

“Hey-“ Armin started while grabbing onto your shoulder.

Instinctively, you turn around and get greeted by two soft hands cupping your face and soft lips against yours. You kissed back so you could taste any semblance of the singular beer Eren ordered for him. He started to toughen the kiss, his tongue thrashing against yours, teeth hitting eachother. While your hands were in his blonde hair, his hands were slipping up your skirt and grabbing at your waist as if he was holding onto you for safety.

“Bedroom-now” Armin mumbled in your ear, breathless from the kiss.

You nod as he squeezes onto your hand to practically throw you into his bedroom and lock the door. In retrospect, there was no need to lock it because Eren wasn’t there. As soon as it was secure, Armin pushed you against the door with a thud, pinning your hands above your head while biting on your ear lobe and all the way down your neck.

“What has gotten into you?” You ask in between giggles.

“Nothing-“ he responded as he put his knee between your legs, adding much wanted pressure to your crotch.

Armin lets go of your hands to get your shirt off as quick as possible.

“Bed-“ he muttered, his hands quickly finding your chest.

You obeyed- backing up to sit on the bed only for Armin to shove you down into it. While hovering above you, he reached behind your back and managed to undo your bra with one hand while both of yours’ lips were locked.

“You’re being such a good girl for me,” he smiled, lifting himself up to look at your face.

You felt your legs get warm and your stomach turn into liquid immediately as those words left his mouth. You were gonna say something but it was too late- Armin had already latched onto your breasts like it was his god given mission. While his tongue was busy on one nipple, ms made sure his hand was prodding at the other one. You couldn’t help but whine a little at the sensation. You thought you were wet then but now, it was almost uncomfortable to have underwear on. Eventually, his teeth were brought back to the mix as he started biting at your soft chest, his fingers gliding across your skin until he got to your pants, undoing the button.

“You know you can always tell me to stop-“ he mentioned, looking up from his beloved spot.

“I know, babe” you reassured him.

“Mm, that’s my good girl” he hummed as he pulled your pants off.

That’s when he glanced down and saw the obvious puddle that was forming in your underwear.

“Desperate much?” He smirked before shifting his body down to where his head was between your legs.

Your head was too fuzzy to say anything instead, you subconsciously bucked your hips into Armin’s nose causing him to chuckle to himself.

“If you want to get fucked baby, you’re going to have to listen to me” Armin spoke softly has he gripped your hips with white knuckles and holding them down onto the mattress.

“Yes-“ you mumbled, unable to speak well.

“What was that?” Armin cocked his head.

“Yes. Yes sir,” you whine, growing more desperate for touch at the second.

“Good girl,” Armin hummed as he left kisses on your stomach while his fingers were still digging into your hips.

He trailed down from your stomach to the hem of your underwear, grabbing it with his teeth and pulling it down until it fell down to your ankles. He could not stop admiring how wet you were, it was truly impressive. He made a mental note to do this more often. He decided to not tease you any longer and plant a kiss directly on your clit until sucking it. Hard.

You smacked the mattress with your hand as you were overwhelmed with the sensation. You still couldn’t move your hips as Armin still kept them planted in their spot. God this boy was good at what he does, swirling his tongue around your clit before sucking it again- his nose wet. Your moans were filling the empty apartment and if anything, this only encouraged him.

“I’m gonna cum-“ you started to announce.

He just hummed “mmhmm” while he kept doing what he was doing. He moved his face down slightly to actually fuck you with his tongue. Fuck did that feel good. Good enough that you yelled and came all over his face, leaving you to temporarily lose your vision before trying to regain regular breathing. Armin reveled in this moment- he loved getting his face wet if it meant u felt good. Letting go of your hips to reveal red hand marks, Armin took off his shirt and wiped his face. He also took off his pants to reveal his tented underwear that’s been painstakingly rubbing against the pants all day.

“You’re doing so good for me. Now you’re gonna take my cock like a good puppy, you hear?” He went on as he dropped his underwear and crawled closer to you, your ankles resting on his shoulders now.

“Yes sir-“ you answer

“Yes sir?....”

“Yes sir I want your cock,” you finish your statement through a boiling hot blush from embarrassment.

With that, Armin slammed into your already overstimulated cunt and caused you to roll your eyes to the back of your head. He took this as a sign to keep going, fucking you like a jackhammer. Your moans turned into sobs and hiccups as your voice was caught in your throat from the impact of your boyfriends dick. While your legs were up on his shoulders, he took the opportunity to smack your ass as hard as he could mid-fuck. You yelped both in pain and surprise. You weren’t complaining.

“C’mon puppy, be a good girl for me,” Armin stuttered through shaky breaths as he leaned over to wrap his fingers around your neck.

This was him telling you that he was about to cum.

“God you’re doing so well for me babe, holy fuck-“ Armin kept covering you in praises until he rammed his dick into you one more time and filled your cunt with cum.

You let your shaking legs drop off of his shoulders as you were gasping for air. In true Armin fashion, he gave you a sincere kiss on your forehead and cupped your face with one hand, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“You were great. I’m gonna go get some water and some warm cloths, okay? You can wear my clothes for tonight.” He smiled at you sweetly before he went to throw on his underwear again and get the aforementioned towels and water.

He came back, handing you a glass of water before taking a warm washcloth and wiping down your face- stealing a kiss. He wiped down your legs and eventually gently wiped your pussy, looking at you for reassurance. When he put the cloth in his hamper, he went into his closet and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a school sweatshirt. You gave him a toothy grin as you raised your arms, signaling to put the sweatshirt on you. He cheesed back at you and did as you wanted. You got up from the bed yourself to put the pants on to them throw your arms around Armin’s neck.

“I love you,” you mumble in his neck.

“And you, more” he giggles before kissing the top of your head.

#armin arlert #armin arlet smut #armin smut #armin x reader #aot smut #aot imagines #aot x reader #armin imagine

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

Text

Another Shot at Life

Rating: General Audiences, Gen

TW: Child abuse, emotional manipulation

Ao3

Hunter accidentally makes his way into the human realm and can't get back home. But he's discovering that might not be such a bad thing.

Ch 7/7: Home

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6

Vee trudged up towards the old abandoned house. She’d started checking it every single day since Hunter had been taken, hoping he’d be there.

He never was.

She pushed open the door, and stopped, dead in her tracks. “L-Luz? Red?!”

Red was shrieking like its little heart was being torn in two, fluttering around where the portal had always appeared.

Vee rushed forward, panic building in her chest. “Hey—are you okay?!”

Luz was turning a key over and over in her hands, poking at it. “I need to go back,” she said dazedly, “I need to rescue him.”

“How long have you been here?!”

“I—I don’t know. A couple of hours? I can’t… get the key to work. But I have to go back, I left Hunter behind, and Belos has him, and—” She struggled to her feet, then immediately fell.

Vee caught her, slinging one of her arms over her shoulder. “You need to go back home. You look awful.”

“But Hunter—”

Vee took the key from her. “I’ll go back for him,” she promised, and a sort of steely calm settled over her. Yes. She would figure this out, she would rescue Hunter.

“Mom will never let you—”

Vee bit her lip. Of all the things to take a leaf out of Hunter’s book for. “We won’t tell her.” She tucked the key into her hoodie pocket, half-carrying, half-dragging Luz back home. “Camila!” she called, “Come quick!”

Camila poked her head out of the kitchen, then shrieked, rushing forward and taking Luz from Vee. “Mi carina! Luz, baby, what happened?!”

“Mama,” Luz half-sobbed, “Mama, I left Hunter—he helped me get away from Belos, he—”

Vee slipped out, wandering back to the old house. Red was sitting on the floor, staring at the spot where the portal had been. Vee gently scooped up the bird. “We’ll get him back. I promise.”

Red chirped sadly, hopping back down out of her hands to sit on the ground again.

Vee tugged the training wand Hunter had given her out of her pocket. It glowed blue, and she sucked the magic out of it. She hadn’t needed it to hide from Belos. But she could use it to save Hunter.

Now there was just one more person she needed.

Xxx

Vee strode into the museum. “Hey!”

Jacob jumped. “What are you doing here?” He glanced behind her. “Your—your friend isn’t here, is he?”

Vee felt tears prick at her eyes, but she blinked them back. “He’s… not here right now. I need your help.”

“My help? Why would you need my help?”

Because you’re stupid, and loud, and prideful and the perfect distraction.

“Because you’re right. Because witches are planning an invasion of your world, and I’m a rebel against them, but I need someone to help me take down their leader, and you’re perfect.”

Jacob stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. “You’re… you’re a rebel?”

“Yes. Against the beings that want to conquer your planet.” Vee swung the key back and forth on its string. “I can get you inside the witch emperor’s castle. All you have to do is kill him. Protect your planet.”

Jacob made a grab for the key, and she swung it up, catching it and holding it tightly. “Uh-uh. I control the portal.”

“Why?”

“Because you need someone on this side to keep it open,” Vee lied, “Now, are you going to be a hero and defend your home, or do I have to find someone else?”

Jacob shook his head. “I’m coming! I’m coming.”

“Good. Meet me at the abandoned house you were watching, and I’ll open the portal. The fate of your world rests on your shoulders, Jacob.”

Vee strode purposefully out of the museum, making sure she was out of Jacob’s range of hearing before sighing. “Now I just have to figure out how to open the portal.”

She jogged back to the old house, where Red was still waiting, and held up the key. “Hey. Any chance you know how to use this?”

Red fluttered up and pecked at the eye.

“Hey! Don’t break it!” Vee examined the key. “Now how do I…” she pressed gently on the eye of the key, but nothing happened.

Vee stepped to the place where the door had been.

And was met with resistance.

“Huh?”

Vee clicked the key, and the resistance disappeared. She clicked it again. There was that strange wall again.

Or maybe not a wall. Maybe a door.

Vee put her hands on the solid area, feeling for a knob. “Come on,” she muttered, “You have to be around here somewhere!”

Red fluttered up onto her shoulder, chirping. Its eyes glowed, and suddenly, there it was.

The door.

It looked like the sketches Hunter had left behind, but instead of huge eye on the top, there was a keyhole.

Vee gasped. “Oh! You need a palisman to get in! So no one but a witch could get in from this side! That’s clever!”

She heard clanking, and turned around to see Jacob, in all of his armor. Wow, he really looked ridiculous.

“Where’s the portal?” he demanded.

Vee reached up and inserted the key into the lock, twisting it with a quiet click. A doorframe filled with a golden curtain of light appeared, the key at the top of the doorframe. She gestured to it. “The emperor wears a golden mask with deer horns. You’ll know him when you see him.”

Jacob gulped, then plunged through. Vee briefly considered that she should feel guilty about sending him in to face Belos with absolutely no idea what he was up against.

Eh.

Red tried to dive into the portal after Jacob, but Vee held a hand up, blocking the bird. “I know you want to see Hunter, but I need you to stay here and watch the portal, okay? Make sure no one comes for the key. I’ll bring him back. I promise.”

Red ruffled its feathers unhappily, but perched atop the doorframe.

Vee pulled on the magic she’d absorbed from the wand, shifting to match the look of a coven guard. Then she crept through. She could hear Jacob yelling and clanging his way down the hallway, and the sounds of other coven guards chasing after. Perfect.

Vee slipped unnoticed through the hallways, her nerves spiking. Everything about this place was just one bad memory after another. She spotted a singular guard outside of a door, and sidled up to him.

“Um—” she squeaked, “hello? I, uh. I’m a bit lost, I just transferred here. I’m… I’m supposed to go on guard duty for… the golden guard?”

The guard heaved a sigh. “Finally. I thought I would never go off-duty. It’s just so boring, you know? It’s not like he can escape.”

“Oh. Yes. T-totally.”

“Right. See ya, new guy!”

The guard waved and strode off. Vee shuddered. He seemed so… normal. Like his job wasn’t locking up and hurting innocent teens.

She waited for him to disappear down the hallway, then turned the knob of the door, pushing it open. The room was well lit, surprisingly.

Vee almost wished it weren’t.

Hunter was buried all the way up to the nose in a mountain of some kind of… slime that shifted and moved. His eyes were blank—no pupils, no irises, just eerily glowing white.

“Hunter?” she whispered.

He didn’t respond.

Vee crept forward, poking the slime with one finger.

It glowed blue, and Vee gasped. The whole thing was magic. “Hang on, Hunter, I’ll get you out of here.”

Vee wrinkled her nose and put her hands on the slime. It glowed, and she inhaled, sucking up the magic. She almost immediately gagged. There was something wrong with this magic. It tasted rotten.

But the mountain had gotten just a little bit smaller, so she braced herself, and started eating the magic again, suppressing her gag reflex.

The mountain shrank smaller and smaller, and the slime receded from Hunter’s face. He fell forward, and Vee lunged to catch him, her stomach writhing like she’d just eaten live snakes. “Hunter?”

The eerie glow faded from his eyes, replaced with his usual magenta eyes.

“Hunter!”

He just stared blankly up at her, shivering violently. Vee hefted him in her arms, glancing both ways out into the hallway before starting down the hallway. Maybe it was the huge size of the coven guard she’d shifted into, but he seemed smaller than he ever had back home.

And then there were his eyes. They were so… bleak. Hopeless. It was like he couldn’t even see her.

Vee made her way back to the room with the door, occasionally ducking into other rooms or behind statues to hide Hunter.

She heard a clank, clank, clank behind her, and Jacob came tearing back, screaming. Wow, he could run fast, even in all of that armor.

The meaning of why he would be running like that hit her, and she sprinted after him, bolting through the doors to the room.

Only for several guards to be standing in front of her way out. Jacob was nowhere in sight—they must have let him through the portal. Vee skidded to a stop. “Oh. Hey. Uhhhhhhhh…”

“We have a traitor!”

“That’s no traitor,” Belos’ voice hissed behind her, “That’s a dangerous creature, masquerading as one of our own.”

Vee’s veins turned to ice, and every bad memory from her time locked in the dungeon flashed through her mind at lightning speed.

She didn’t see him move, but suddenly Belos was right in her face. “I’ll be taking Hunter back, now. You don’t know what he needs.”

Xxx

“Mom—I’m okay. Really. It was just a fall off of a wall, and a little bit of light torture, and a blow to the head, and a fall from the sky—I’m fine, really.”

Camila finished applying band-aids to all of Luz’s scratches, her chest tight. “A blow to the head? I’m going to call a doctor.”

“I’m okay, Mom! Really! Hunter gave me these painkiller things, and they really worked, but I think they’ve worn off now, and I know I promised I’d stay here, I know, but we have to go back for him!”

Camila sat down next to her daughter. “Okay.”

Luz stopped, mid-rant. “Wh-what?”

“Okay. I’m going to get Hunter. You stay here and rest. How do I get there?”

“I…” Luz’s eyes teared up. “I don’t know! I couldn’t get the portal open from this side, and Mom, it would be too dangerous for you to go!”

“If it’s too dangerous for me, do you think I’d send my little girl in? I failed Hunter—I let Belos take him. So I’m going to get him back.” If we can get the portal working, if he’s even still alive. Camila shook her head, trying to chase away the niggling doubts in her head. No. She was going to rescue Hunter. No matter how far she had to go.

“He was so miserable, Mom,” Luz whispered, “But he’d just… given up.”

Camila’s heart seemed to tear itself in two. He’d gone back to protect them—and had given up on seeing them again. Camila glanced around the room. “Where’d Vee go?”

Luz clammed up.

“Luz? Do you know where she went?”

“I’m… not supposed to tell you?”

A bolt of panic shot through Camila, and she jumped to her feet. “She opened the portal, didn’t she?!”

“I don’t know—I know she was going to try.”

Camila raced for her purse, throwing a few things in. “I’m going to find her, and maybe Hunter if she’s managed to open the portal. Luz, you stay here. You’re not in any state for a rescue mission, kay? Just trust me to bring him back.”

Luz nodded. “I trust you.”

Camila ran out the door, racing up the path towards the old house.

Please be okay.

Xxx

Vee clutched Hunter tightly, his body quivering so hard she thought she might drop him. A surge of anger rushed through her. “What he needs?! He doesn’t need this!”

Belos shrugged. “He got to be too much of a hassle to keep awake. It was simpler for everyone if he just went to sleep until I needed him. Less painful for him as well—but apparently, you just want him to suffer needlessly. Now, little basilisk, give him to me and I might consider letting you go.”

Vee backed up. “No!”

“HEY!”

Vee jumped as she heard Camila’s voice. She whirled around to see her adoptive mother standing over two unconscious coven guards, holding Luz’s baseball bat. “Camila!”

Camila glared at Belos. “Get. Away. From my. Kids.”

Belos disappeared, reappearing next to Camila and plucking the baseball bat out of her hands. “Oh? How interesting. Are you going to make good on that threat to end me, little human?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Camila whipped out a can of hairspray and a lighter. “Adios, Belos.” She held the lighter up to the hairspray, and clicked them at the same time. A jet of flame shot out, lighting Belos’ robes on fire. The emperor stumbled back with a shriek, and Camila pushed past him, grabbing Vee’s arm. “Let’s go!”

Vee shot through the portal, Camila not far behind. Vee reached up and twisted the key back out of the portal. The curtain of light closed on Belos’ howl of rage.

Camila whistled. “I cannot believe I just did that!”

“That was—it was scary, but it was amazing, and…” Vee glanced down at Hunter, and the euphoria died away. He was still shaking, still blank-eyed. Red fluttered down to his shoulder, nudging his face and warbling softly. Hunter didn’t respond.

Camila put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get him home,” she said softly.

Vee trudged back up the path to her own home, struggling to squeeze through the door. She gently sat Hunter on the couch, shifting back to her usual form. Eating that cursed prison might have been disgusting, but it had given her a huge backup magic reserve—she’d be good on magic for a while yet.

“You’re back!” Luz limped down the stairs, freezing when she saw Hunter. “Oh—oh, no. Hunter?”

He didn’t respond, just kept staring ahead with those dull eyes. Camila wrapped a blanket around his shivering shoulders, taking his hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. “Oh, Hunter. What happened to you?”

“He—he looks kind of like Matholomew did when he got out of detention,” Luz said softly, “Vee, what—”

Vee twisted her hands. “I—there was this cursed mud, and it made his eyes go all creepy—maybe I shouldn’t have taken him out? Maybe it was supposed to run its course and I made it worse by taking him out early?”

Camila squeezed her shoulder. “You did what you thought was best,” she said softly, “We have him back, and that’s—that’s what matters. We can fix this. He’ll wake up.”

Vee blinked back tears. “But—what if he doesn’t?”

What if I was too late?

Xxx

“H-hey, I’m gonna… gonna put on some Stephen Universe? Hunter? Remember, you liked that?” Vee rubbed her arms. Rain had been gently pattering on the windowpane, but it was starting to pick up. “You did. We watched it together, and I liked Amethyst, and you couldn’t pick your favorite character, remember?”

Hunter still just stared forward, wrapped up in his blanket like a burrito, and Vee sat next to him with a sigh. Red hadn’t moved from his shoulder since they’d gotten him back two days ago—and Hunter himself hadn’t budged, either—he didn’t eat anything, he didn’t sleep, as far as Vee could tell, he just sat there, staring into space. Red chirped softly, nuzzling Hunter’s face, and then hopped over to Vee, giving her big, worried eyes.

Vee cupped the palisman in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “I don’t know how to get him back. I don’t know if he’s just in shock, or if this is something that the curse does, or…”

The rain was picking up, wind howling against the window. Vee slid off the couch, setting Red on the floor and digging out birdseed for the palisman. She sat back down on the floor next to the cardinal. “You’ve got to eat something, right?”

Red warbled sadly, and fluttered back up to Hunter.

“I know. I miss him, too.”

Lightning flashed, followed by a crack of thunder, and Vee yelped, putting her hands over her ears.

She heard a rustle and a little whump, and then something warm settled over her. Hunter’s chin rested on her head, his arms flopped over her shoulders so that they were sharing the blanket. Red chirped happily, and Vee froze, her heart thumping hopefully in her chest.

“Hunter? Camila! Camila, Luz, I think he’s waking up!”

Another peal of thunder crashed, and Hunter hugged her just a little tighter. Camila came thumping down, Luz not far behind. Vee didn’t move, holding her breath, worried that if she moved and disturbed him, he’d go back to the way he’d been, barely daring to hope...

xxx

Camila rushed into the living room, where Hunter was flopped over Vee, wrapping her in his blanket. He was still blank-eyed, but his brow was furrowed, like he was trying to remember something. Camila gently cupped his face in her hands.

“Hunter?” She asked softly, “Mijo?”

He blinked, hard, like he’d just woken up. “C-Camila?” His eyes filled with tears, and he fell back, letting go of Vee. The basilisk tackled him in a hug.

“Hunter!”

Camila wrapped her arms around both of them, squeezing them both tight. “Oh!”

His shoulders started to shake. “It was s-so dark,” he whispered.

Camila squeezed just a little harder. “I’ve got you,” she promised. She let the two of them go, and Vee wriggled under the blanket, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him as the thunder cracked. Luz sat down next to Camila.

“Hey,” she said softly to Hunter, “Thanks.”

He sat bolt upright, making Vee yelp. “The key! Belos!”

Vee held up the portal key. “Oh, you mean this? Don’t worry, Belos can’t get to us.”

“Vee managed to open the portal,” Luz supplied, “She went in after you!”

“And then Camila came for both of us,” Vee finished, “She lit Belos on fire, it was awesome!”

Hunter looked up at Camila, his lip quivering. “You… you fought for me?”

“Of course I did. I said I would, didn’t I?”

Tears rolled down his face, and Camila wrapped him up in a hug. “Hey. Heeey. You’re okay now.”

“I kept—I kept making him mad—and it—and I—”

Camila rocked him back and forth. “Okay. Ooookay. I’ve got you.”

“I couldn’t get out—it was all dark, and blank, and I just kept sinking, and I couldn’t do anything, and I was drowning, and—” Hunter buried his face in her shoulder.

Camila cradled his head in her hand. She could feel a lump on the back of his head, like he’d hit it, and she hadn’t failed to notice the bruises that hadn’t been there when he’d left. A tide of anger swept over her, and she started regretting leaving the Boiling Isles quite so soon. “You’re safe now, Hunter. I promise. Belos can’t hurt you anymore. And if he even thinks about it… well, I have no qualms lighting him on fire again.”

Hunter slumped against her, and she scooped him up, Red fluttering around the two of them. “Okay. You need some sleep.”

“He can take my bed,” Vee offered, “I’m too wired to go to sleep, anyway.”

Camila gave her a grateful nod and carried Hunter up the stairs. He was already asleep by the time they got to Luz’s room, his breath coming in soft little puffs. She nestled him in the bed, pulling the covers over him.

“Good night, Hunter.”

Xxx

Hunter was woken up by the sun.

The sun.

How had he slept this long?!

He bolted upright, nearly scraping his head on the ceiling. Wait. What?

Everything that had happened, came back to him in a rush, and he flopped backwards, running his hands through his hair. “Oh.”

Lying here, in the Noceda house, he could almost imagine that going back to Belos had been nothing but a bad dream.

But it hadn’t been. He had some very real bruises to prove it.

He shuddered, remembering the cold, acidic feel of Belos’ curse.

But then Red soared right into him, singing brightly, and he could almost forget it had ever happened.

Almost.

Hunter’s hand closed around the pin on his cloak. He ripped it off, tossing the cape to the floor, followed by his armor. He didn’t have to wear it anymore. Ever. Belos had no way to get back to him.

Belos had no way to get back to him.

The enormity of the statement caught up to him, and he ran his hand through his hair again. “He can’t come back for me,” he whispered, “I—I don’t ever have to see him again!”

Red chirped in agreement, and a bewildered laugh escaped Hunter’s mouth.

No more running errands for Belos.

No more worrying about what would happen to Red.

No more fear that an attack would hit, and he’d get hurt.

Just Camila and Vee and Luz.

Hunter shuffled down the stairs into the kitchen. “Good morning!”

“You’re cheerful.” Vee grinned. “Afternoon, actually.”

“Really?”

Luz nodded. “Mom said we should let you sleep. Speaking of my mom, she said something about how she shouldn’t have forced me to promise not to go back to the Isles—she doesn’t want me to keep trying to use that key, because it’s too dangerous to get into the keep, but she hasn’t outright said I can’t go back if I can find another way.” Luz glanced around. “I miiiiight ask to borrow Red at some point. If that’s okay with the two of you. I need to let Eda know I’m okay.”

“Luz, are you plotting something behind my back?” Camila came bumping down the stairs, holding a brightly wrapped parcel. “Oh, hey! You’re up!” She thrust the parcel at him. “That’s for you! I actually got it before… but that doesn’t matter, you’re here, I have it, everything’s great.”

Hunter gingerly took the package. “What… is it?”

“It’s a present,” Vee explained wisely, “It’s a surprise. You open it up.”

“Did it… come like this?”

“Nope, Camila wrapped it.”

Hunter squinted at the package. “But… now I’m just supposed to open it?”

Vee nodded. “Yep.”

“Then what was the point of wrapping it up?”

Luz nudged his shoulder. “It’s fun!” Her face dropped. “Oh my gosh, you’ve never gotten a present before, this is so sad. Okay. Just trust us, it’s fun.”

Hunter stuck his tongue out at her, and pulled gently at the paper, trying to unstick the tape.

“Rip it!” Luz demanded, “Tear it open!”

Hunter glanced back at Camila. “But you worked so hard to—”

She laughed. “You’re supposed to rip it, mijo. Go ahead.”

Hunter tore at the paper. It was… oddly exciting.

The wrapping had contained a set of clothing, jeans that actually looked his size, a t-shirt, and a hoodie that looked just a little too big—therefore, exactly the right size.

Hunter turned the fabric over in his hands, tears bubbling to his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Vee pushed him towards the stairs. “Go see if it fits!”

Hunter scooted up the stairs, closing the door behind him and switching clothes. The rest of his uniform joined the armor and cloak in a pile, and he tugged the hood of his new sweater up, retracting his hands into the sleeves. It was soft, and comfy, and he felt like he could just melt into a puddle right here.

He shuffled back downstairs, and Camila clapped her hands. “Ooo, good, it fits! Look at you!” She grabbed her keys. “Okay, Hunter, Luz, in the car, both of you are coming with me to the doctor’s office, I want both of you checked out for concussions.”

“Mooooooom,” Luz groaned, “I’m fiiiiiiine!”

Hunter let Camila shoo him into the car, stepping out into the bright sunlight (hadn’t it been raining last night?). Warmth spread all through him, banishing the last of the lingering coldness Belos had left behind.

Camila looked back at him as she turned the car on. “Everything good?”

Hunter took in a deep breath, burying his face in his new hoodie. He was back home—this time to stay. “Everything is perfect.”

#whoof almost didn't update today #anyway one happy ending as promised #now back to our previously scheduled angst #toh #the owl house #toh fanfiction #toh hunter #camila noceda #vee noceda #luz noceda #my writing

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junicai · 3 years

Text

shivers.

| order no. | 2/21

| summary | Aria suffers the consequences of her own actions when she takes it upon herself to continue filming when sick.

| word count | 1.4k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. February 2020

Music videos are an extension of the song they portray. They are designed to emphasize and carry out any underlying messages that the songwriters have embedded in the lyrics - to give them more meaning, and to make them easier to spot and understand.

Rain rooms were a common enough feature in shooting a music video; especially with the rising popularity of heartbroken ballads in the western media. These songs were typically sung by crooning women, clad scantily in sheer white fabric that clung to their figures wetly, drenched by the water that rained from the ceiling above.

Aria was no such exception.

The thin, flimsy material of the cotton dress she’d been given to wear for this shot was going to provide her little to no barrier against the frigid water that was going to be pouring down her back in a little over three minutes.

With a final pat of a large blush brush dusting over the apples of her cheeks, she was set free from the make-up chair and ushered towards the set. A singular table was set against a grey backdrop, the ceiling dry for the time being.

With her hair roots suitably shook up for volume by a stylist's nimble fingers, Aria made her way to sprawl herself as daintily as she could over the fake wood while still trying to retain a modicum of her own decency.

With her head flung back, and her eyes closed, a shutter sounded, and the skies opened.

In reality, it couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds, nothing more than to just get her used to the feeling, but Aria resurfaced gasping, sitting back up with eyes squinted closed as she had to refrain herself from wiping the water away - less she rub the mascara into her skin.

"God that felt like I was being waterboarded."

Her comment sent a wave of laughter around the room, giggles coming from the corner where the cameras were set up.

A small tremor ran down her spine, but Aria hid it quickly with a cough and a shift in her sitting position. Her now wet dress stuck uncomfortably to her legs, and she grimaced at the cool feel on her skin.

"Ok! Let's run it again." The director's call came from the opposite side of the room, where she was stood behind a monitor, watching carefully.

Aria nodded dutifully, and moved back to her sprawled position again; this time taking more care to not lie in such a way that left her face overly exposed to the downpour.

They took the clip, six, maybe seven times.

The first few were stopped midway due to positioning changes, and the next one because she coughed lightly after choking on the water when it ran into her mouth by accident.

By the time filming came to a close, Aria was cold, and wet, and miserable. She had started shaking profusely the second she'd slid herself off the table, bare feet meeting the tiled flooring and toes curling at the biting feeling.

Her lips had taken on a blue tinge beneath the red rouge that had rubbed off over the duration of the last hour, and her fingertips mirrored that colour as they moved frantically up and down her biceps to try and put some heat back into her frigid skin.

Aria was still quivering lightly in the oversized jacket when she stepped out of the van and back into the dorms, toeing off her shoes at the entrance before immediately making her way into the kitchen.

A warm cup of tea to cradle between her icy fingertips sounded perfect, exactly what she needed. But unfortunately, her plans were thwarted by a rather tall man leaning against the counter top.

Johnny took one look at Aria's now almost purple lips, and raised an eyebrow.

"So do we need to go find someone who's been wearing blue lipstick? Or is that just the latest trend that I've missed?" He teased, pushing himself to wrap Aria in a hug.

She sank willingly into his embrace, curling up against his chest in an attempt to chase the warmth that he offered. "N-no, I'm just. C-cold. That's all."

Johnny tilted his head down to look at Aria without pushing her away. "You feel like a little icicle."

"M'cold." She whined, increasing in pitch when Johnny stepped away from her. "No! Come b-back you're warm."

He chuckled at her when she pulled the collar of her jacket up to her nose to retain the whisper of body heat that he'd given her. "Two seconds, Ari. I'm just going to get Tae."

Aria's head snapped up. "Why?"

"Because we've had conversations about not speaking up when you're uncomfortable during filming before, but apparently we're going to need to have another one. And, he can make better tea than I can."

Aria winced. "C-can it not, not wait? Til, t-tomorrow maybe?"

Johnny's eyes softened when he looked at her small form. She'd pulled the hood over her ears to hide her still damp hair prior to entering the dorm, but the small beads of moisture on her forehead were telling of a growing fever that came inevitably from being doused in freezing water for an hour.

"I'll see what I can do, kiddo. No promises though."

With that, he disappeared into the hallway, and Aria wandered her way into the living room where she plopped herself onto the couch and tugged a cushion into her lap to cuddle.

Stupid body getting cold and getting her in trouble. Stupid. Should have just warmed her up again. Stupid homoeostasis, or whatever it was. It was stupid.

A hand landed on her shoulder, stroking softly. "Hey, ice baby."

Aria tilted her head back towards Yuta's gently smiling face. "M'cold." She repeated, scooching over on the couch to make room for the man to sit down.

Yuta opened his arms in invitation, and Aria went willingly, burrowing herself in his chest. She sighed lightly at the warm comfort that his hoodie material offered, and pressed her cheek against his arm.

A clink of a mug alerted to Aria that there was someone - no, two people - in the kitchen, and soon after, Taeyong emerged with a steaming mug of tea in his hands with Jaehyun trailing after him, arms laden with blankets.

"T-thank y-you," Aria's teeth were chattering at this point, and Taeyong looked on in worry. A back of a hand was placed to her forehead, and he winced.

"Hyuck, would you mind grabbing the red pill bottle from the cabinet under the sink? The one that's full, Doyoung restocked it a couple days ago."

Donghyuck moved back into the hallway with an affirmative, and Aria looked up to Taeyong. "I don't, m'not sick. Just c-cold. I'll be f-fine."

Mark slid into the open space on the other side of Aria, placing a hand on her leg. "Love you, and everything. But shut up."

He received a thin glare from Yuta for his words. "She's sick, don't be rude."

"I said I loved her!"

"And then you told her to shut up!"

"M'not sick."

Taeil emerged from the doorway waving his hands with Donghyuck following quickly behind him. "I have medication for the invalid?"

"M'not sick!"

Yuta hushed her, tucking her head back into his chest. "We know, baby. You're not sick. But you're going to drink your tea and take a fever reducer and then go to bed okay?"

"But-"

"You can sleep in my room!" Jungwoo chirped up from the oppisite couch. Honestly, Aria didn't know when he had arrived, didn't know when half of the people in the room had arrived, but all of a sudden, she was surrounded by all the members of 127.

Aria shrunk back slightly with all of their eyes on her.

"M'not sick." Her voice was weak; a final hurrah.

"Here." Doyoung handed her the mug of tea that had cooled slightly. "Drink your tea."

#*moonlight café #nct 24th member #nct #nct imagines #nct addition #nct female member #nct female addition #nct extra member #superm #nct 127 #nct scenarios #kpop #kpop addition #kpop!oc #nct female oc #wayv #nct additional member au

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bobafetts-princess · 3 years

Text

Mistakes Happen Once

Pairings: Javier Peña x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.5k (feels longer than that??)

Warnings: Javi is a fucking FLIRTTTTT, oral (f! Receiving) squirting (it’s a personal thing y’all) unprotected sex (wrap it and all that) Javi fucks sweet and passionate 🥵

A/N: This is Chapter 1 of a 6 part series I’m working on! Steve’s chapter will be out next week at the same time, let me know what you think about it!

Part Two ; Part Three

The first time you fell into bed with Javier Pena was after you after a successful mission to find one of Escobar’s drug plants.

You and Murph and Javi had gone out for a celebratory drink, which turned into a celebratory bottle before Murphy turned in. Connie needed him home, he told you both.

Javi had been giving you eyes all night long, trailing them over your exposed skin and giving you goosebumps. You knew where his head was at and honestly, that’s where yours was too. Javi was hot. Like hot hot, and judging from the screams you heard through your shared wall, he was a hell of a lover too.

You’d denied Javi before and he respected that. But he was a flirt to the core and always coming onto you, unsaid promises of how he could make you feel. But in your line of work you needed to keep your teeth, your edge. You’d never slept with a coworker before and you hadn’t ever planned to sleep with one, but another shot of tequila had you wondering what Javi would sound like murmuring things in your ear as he fucked you.

The two of you stumbled home, thankfully the bar was walking distance from the apartment complex you two shared with Steve and Connie. The two of you were talking and laughing too loud, making an absurd amount of noise and when you got in the front doors you both found that you weren’t ready to end the evening yet. He invited you in for a drink but the second you stepped foot into his apartment, the drink was long forgotten.

It was like one of those movie moments where you locked eyes with each other and then suddenly had to rip each other’s clothes off. He crushed you to the wall, foot kicking out to slam the door shut with his foot. One hand fumbled out to hit the lock, the other gripped the skin on your waist.

Javi’s lips were soft and pliant, but demanding at the same time as he descended on you kissing you with intent. The bristles of his mustache tickled your upper lip but your focus was elsewhere. Namely, the way he was stripping your shirt off your body, then following with his own. Strong, large, capable hands cupped your breasts, teasing the nipples through the cups of your bra and you let out a breathy whine at the feeling. Javi’s lips left your own, trailing down your neck and across your shoulder, deft fingers undoing your bra with one hand.

His lips wrapped around a nipple, teeth grazing lightly over one as his hand cupped the other breast, rolling your nipple between the pads of his fingers.

“So beautiful, make such pretty sounds,” he told you and it was then that you realized you’d been whining with pleasure the entire time.

Strong arms lifted you up by the backs of the thighs, carrying you down the hallway to his bedroom, kiss never breaking. Nimble fingers stripped you of your jeans, brushing along every inch of skin he could reach. You could feel the passion, the adoration of your body in the way his fingers glided over the skin. Strong lips traversed behind them, tongue tasting until he reached the apex of your thighs.

“Bet you taste so good, cariña,” his voice was a raspy whisper, fingers wrapped in the waistband of your panties as he pulled them slowly down your thighs. Large hands pushed you open, laying along your inner thighs as he stared down at your dripping core. His tongue was expert as he descended on you, circling your clit before dipping down into your core. He hit the spots that had you squirming on the bed, crying out for him. Javi knew how to make a woman scream and you were learning that firsthand.

“Javi!” You panted, his name the only thing your mushy brain could come up with. “Fuck Javi.”

“Love the way you say my name,” he told you, diving back in. One hand came up to brush at your entrance, a singular finger pressing in gently. You arched, crying out his name again and he added a second finger. You were squirming and moaning, one hand fisting in the sheets and one hand fisting in Javi’s hair. The hand that wasn’t brushing over the spot that made you scream slung across your hips to keep you in place.

“Fuck. Javi, I’m gonna come,” you warned him, hips grinding against his face. Lips came to wrap around your clit and the sensation of his mustache against you just heightened the sensation and you came, squirting on his hand.

“Dios mio, cariña,” his voice was deeper than usual, eyes trained on your center. “That’s how you come?”

“Little trick of mine,” you panted, enjoying the incredulous look on his face.

“Wanna see how many times I can make you do that,” he said, standing and retrieving a towel from the bathroom before you even realized that he was gone. He slid it underneath your hips before his fingers were inside you again, curling and hitting a spot inside you that had you arching out and crying out his name.

“Come for me again, bonita.” He instructed you and you did, deep groan leaving your chest as you created a wet spot on the towel underneath you.

“Jav-Javi, want you,” you told him, coming down from your high slowly but enough that you knew you needed him inside you. He obliged, kissing your hips before he stood to strip himself of his jeans. He wasn’t wearing any underwear so his cock sprang free immediately, thick and heavy, standing at attention for you.

He crawled up your body, cock brushing along your heated skin. His lips finally reach yours and he kisses you deeply, pulling your legs apart and brushing himself along your folds. He pulls back from the kiss, one hand lining himself up with your entrance as he asks if you’re clean. You nod frantically and he pushes in slowly, sitting back on his heels and watching you take him in. He’s thick and the burn of the stretch feels so fucking good as he works in, inch by inch.

“Feels so good, Javi. Please don’t stop,” you beg him, entranced by the look on his face.

“God never, baby.” He promises, finally bottoming out and leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. He shuffles again after a moment, strong arm wrapping around your back as he pulls you to him, spread wide over his thighs. He thrusts up experimentally, and the angle hits you somewhere deep and intense and you whine. Javi determines its a good whine though and does it again, eliciting the same reaction from you. He starts thrusting in earnest, his goal clear; to make you come again.

Your arm wraps around his shoulders, nails digging into the skin as he fucks you mercilessly, teeth nipping at every inch of skin he can reach. You’re sure there’s going to be marks when you’re both done, but you can’t even be bothered to think about that with the way Javi’s cock is hitting inside of you. He’s grunting right in your ear, telling you how good you feel and how pretty you look taking his cock.

It doesn’t take long, you’re so worked up and the angle that he’s hitting is making it hard to concentrate. So when a hand dips in between your bodies and circles your clit a few times, you break. Screams of his name come from your lips as you clench down on him and his own pace speeds up, his own release the goal now. He’s panting and whispering things in your ear in Spanish and English, praises and dirty words, arm holding your body flush against him.

His pace is frantic now but it feel so good as he pistons himself in and out of your body. Javi’s eyes roam over your body, the way your breasts bounce, the way you’re taking him in almost effortlessly, the way your head is thrown back in pleasure. He thrusts once, twice, three times before he’s groaning deeply, the sound reverberating in your bones as he comes.

You’re both panting and Javi is covering your chest and jaw with kisses as you both come down from your highs. His chest is pressed against yours, your nipples brushing against him. He’s still thrusting shallowly, pushing his come deeper inside you as he covers you in kisses.

“That was even better than I expected,” Javi chuckled as he nibbled along your jawline up to your ear. You simply laughed yourself, laying back on the bed with Javier following you, his body covering yours. “Stay?” He asked, but he really didn’t have to, you weren’t going anywhere this evening.

Somewhere in the distance you heard some yelling and a door slam, but you paid it no mind when Javi’s lips trailed further south, encompassing a nipple as he starts round two.

When you make it to work the next day you’re both in high spirits, having taken a shower together that morning.

But Steve isn’t, his face broken and angry as he pours something in his cup that shouldn’t be alcohol at 8 am.

“Connie left me last night.” He snaps when you ask if everything’s okay.

Well that explains the slamming door. You thought, plopping down next to him and working in silence.

Tags: @tibbietibbs @keeper-of-the-sarlacc-pit @jedi-and-clones @sammiesweet @auty-ren @ahoeformando

If you want to be added to my tag list lemme know!

#thesirenshitposts #the siren writes #Javier Pena smut #Javi Pena smut #Javier x reader #Javier x you #narcos fic #narcos fanfic #narcos smut

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annabethy · 3 years

Note

I have an idea and never do that again (Honestly, any world other than tik tok...) <3

in which annabeth is pregnant and likes doing squats,, percabeth (also 😒)

Annabeth has to admit that her and pregnancy do not go hand in hand in the slightest. It pretty much has her with mood swings left and right. Tears turn into laughter and vice vera. Percy says that it’s definitely a sight to see.

The good news is that her husband seems to take it all in stride.

His eyes are on her, amused, as she stands behind the kitchen counter. There’s a spatula in her hand that she’s waving threateningly in his face. Percy only laughs, and she pretends that her main objective was definitely not to make him cower in fear because it’s definitely not working. Instead, she settles on doing a little dance when he slides her a cupcake that he must have brought home from work.

“Having fun?” Percy asks, lips turning up into a smile as he pulls a seat from the kitchen island to sit.

“Not at all,” she says brightly, handing him the spatula. The second she walks around the counter, simultaneously peeling the cupcake, his arm shoots out to wrap around her waist and pull her in close.

He watches as she takes a bite, a bit of the frosting getting on the tip of her nose. He kisses it off. “Yummy?”

“Mh-hm.”

Percy’s hand starts sliding down her waist, and she shoots him a look when he starts to palm the smooth skin. She’s wearing his oversized t-shirt that reaches just low enough to cover ass and not much else, and she’s about to chastise him before he moves back up to circle her bump.

At thirty-nine weeks pregnant, it’s definitely in the way all too often, and she finds that she quite hates it. Well, she loves it because this is their baby but it’s also very annoying because it keeps bumping into things such as her own husband.

“How was your day?”

She blinks at him as she takes another bite of her cupcake. Percy helps her slide into his lap as she continues munching down, and she giggles as his lips tickle down her neck.

“Today sucked,” she exclaims, waving her arms.

“Aw,” Percy says, amused. “What happened?”

“The baby is dropping low. I rather dislike it.”

“You don’t like our child?”

“I don’t like when it feels like she’s about to fall out of my uterus. Just plop to the ground.”

Percy nips her ear. “Any day now.”

“I’m going to go into labor when you’re at the hospital,” she says, tugging on the rim of his shirt. “I’ll just stroll in like what’s up, and you’ll be like why are you leaking?”

“That’s a great idea if you want me to have a heart attack.”

“I think I’m going to do some squats.”

Percy chokes and moves her away from him slightly. “What?”

“I’m going to squat to… pop?”

“Let’s not do that,” he says, shaking his head fondly.

“Because the baby will pop out onto the floor and be flat?”

“Because you’ll fall over and I might not be here to help you,” he warns.

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “You have no faith in me.” With that, she slides back off his lap, handing him the cupcake. He raises an eyebrow in question but doesn’t actually comment until she takes a stance.

“Oh no,” he says.

Annabeth does a singular squat and nearly falls on the spot. Percy just watches her.

“See? That’s what you get.”

“It’s because your pull-out game is so fucking weak,” she insults, turning in a circle as though that will help her balance. “I have an idea.”

“Do tell me, dear wife,” he deadpans, setting the cupcake down so he can give her his full attention.

“I just need to hold onto something.” Her hands curl around the edge of the kitchen counter and she leans over, testing her balance. She does a hesitant squat and stands back up, hands up in the air in a victory symbol. “I did it.”

Percy blinks. “That was not a squat.” “What? Yes it was.” She turns around and does it again.

“Well, now I can see your butt,” he comments, suppressing laughter.

“Stop looking, then.”

“You told me to watch, and also, I like it.”

Annabeth snorts.

“My wife is so pretty and hot.” She squats again, winking at him from over her shoulder. Percy blinks, a mix of alarm and amusement. “Okay, but never do that again.”

“I thought you liked it?” she pouts.

“You’re going to fall if you keep doing that,” he warns.

“Anything to get me in labor. That was we can spend some quality time together.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Would you prefer that I take a shot of castor oil?”

He shakes his head at her in disbelief.

Annabeth goes back to Percy’s side, kissing his jaw. He rubs at her back soothingly, nudging her chin with his nose so that she can give him a proper kiss.

Pregnancy really isn’t her favorite thing in the world, but the way that he makes her feel most definitely is. When she’s feeling at her worst, he just wraps her up in his arms and peppers kisses all over his face like she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. He tells her that too, every single night before they go to bed, and every morning when he holds her as she wakes up.

“I love you,” she mutters against his lips.

Percy smiles into the kiss. “I love you more.”

And when she settles her head on his shoulder, Percy kisses the side of her head. “I want you to stay home all day tomorrow. No going into work for emergencies. I am your emergency.”

“Yeah?”

“Mh-hm,” she says, breathing against his neck. “And we could watch movies and do squats together.”

Percy ‘s body shakes in a subtle laugh. “No more squats, baby.”

“I want this baby out of me,” she complains.

His grip tightens on her. “Squats are not the way to go. Castor oil isn’t either.”

“You’re a doctor. Tell me what to do.”

“Wait another week?” “Or…?”

Percy thinks for a second, and then a smile slides across his face. “I have an idea.”

“You sound too excited.”

Percy catches her lips again in a much deeper kiss. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

“What is it?”

He just bites his lower lip in a grin.

And she suddenly thinks that she knows where this is about to go. She giggles and shoves him off when he presses a wet kiss to her neck. When he grabs her in his arms, she feels safe and at home.

She supposes that every annoying part of pregnancy is worth it because it means starting a family with him. He loves her so much, and she loves him, and she is exactly where she is supposed to be, bothering him with squats and kisses and everything in between.

#percabeth #percy jackson #pjo #annabeth chase #percy jackson and the olympians #my writing #anon #asks

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starksweasley · 4 years

Text

the art of being afraid

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader, pogues x platonic!reader

summary: the three times jj told you he loved you, and the one time you said it back.

note: this was inspired by the song “she’s not afraid” by one direction! also, send requests/messages/criticism/anything to my inbox; i’m open to pretty much anything :)

warning: angst, swearing, tears, underaged drinking, fluff

word count: 4.9k+

The full moon illuminated your room as you rushed to get ready for tonight’s rooftop party. You hummed as your hands delicately brushed blush onto the apples of your cheeks. Under the moonlight, you could have been mistaken for a greek goddess. You were swiping on a layer of dark red lipstick when the sound of a knock against your window startled you. You whipped around to see a golden-haired boy with a cheeky grin plastered onto his face as he balanced his body over the edge of your balcony.

“JJ!” In your haste, you struggled to unlatch the lock on the window. The moment it was open, JJ hopped into your room with his hands behind his back. “Hey, baby,” he greeted as you hurried to close your bedroom window before anyone in Figure Eight noticed something strange and decided to spread rumors about you.

“How the hell did you get up here? My room’s on the third floor!” You exclaimed.

JJ shrugged. “I climbed. Easy.”

You stood with your mouth open and a hundred scenarios ran through your head, all revolving around what could have happened if he had fallen from the third story of your house. JJ, well versed with the look in your eye, immediately decided to change the subject. He brought out his hands from behind his back and showed you a singular rose that looked like it had been plucked from your yard. “I came to give this to you.”

You gently plucked the flower from his hand. A thorn pricked your thumb but you didn’t mind. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know. It reminded me of you,” JJ responded without missing a beat, causing heat to creep up your neck. The boy’s hands lingered near yours and you leaned closer, desperately wanting to feel his skin against yours.

“Would you zip up my dress?” The black dress you were wearing hugged your body exquisitely. The top was cut a little low, just enough to tease the golden-haired boy beside you. You turned so JJ could pull up the zipper you couldn’t reach no matter how much you stretched. The boy sharply inhaled when he saw your bare back. His fingers danced on your soft skin and a shiver ran through your body, causing JJ to chuckle. “I didn’t know I had that effect on you, L/N.”

You huffed. “Shut up and pull the zipper, Maybank.” Your words came out annoyed but they didn’t phase JJ in the slightest. He simply pulled up your zipper and moved his hands so they rested on your hips. You hummed at the contact.

JJ began to slowly sway and you followed, your hands shooting up to hold his to your body. The two of you blissfully danced to the music in your heads and you closed your eyes, letting your body feel every small movement. JJ’s lips pressed a kiss under your ear. “You know,” he whispered, “we could dance like this all night at the party if we told everyone about us.”

Your body froze under his hands. “J, you know we can’t do that.” You turned just in time to see your favorite boy’s face drop at your words. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

JJ’s hands dropped from your hips and your body felt cold without his touch. His gaze fixed itself on your neck, refusing to meet your face. With a sigh, you brought your hands up to gently cup his cheeks. “Baby, look at me.”

JJ’s cerulean eyes finally met your Y/E/C ones. “I want to tell people, J, you know I do. But if the wrong people find out, we wouldn’t be able to be us anymore. You understand that, don’t you?” JJ nodded but his eyes had left yours again. “Well, uh, I gotta go,” JJ muttered before removing himself from your grasp. “See you at the party?”

He was already climbing out the window when you answered, “I’ll be there in ten.” The golden-haired boy sent you one last smile before disappearing into the night. You stared at the spot you had last seen him and couldn’t help but think his smile had been a little less bright than usual. After a moment, you decided that you were probably just imagining it. You hurried to put on your heels and check your appearance in the mirror one last time before noticing the rose that lay forgotten on your bed. On impulse, you picked it up and tenderly tucked it into your hair.

You snuck past the service entrance at the back of your house and moments later, your feet were padding through the warm night sand next to the pool. The party was down the street on the terrace of Sarah Cameron’s house and you walked absentmindedly, the route to her house engraved in your brain because of the hundreds of times you had gone there over the years.

Sarah was a Kook princess, but you were the Kook princess. You never meant to draw attention to yourself, it just seemed to naturally fall upon you. The Kook lifestyle was everything to you until you met JJ Maybank. He was wild and so beautifully chaotic: everything you ever yearned to be. The golden-haired boy had pulled you into his world and before you knew it, the galas and the boats didn’t matter so much anymore. You had a foot in both worlds, longing to jump into the deep end with the Pogues but unable to break the chains of Kook pressure.

The moment you stepped onto the terrace, you felt every eye in the room trace your movements. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary so you simply tilted your chin up higher and looked for a familiar mop of blonde hair. You spotted the Pogues in a corner with Sarah and smiled with relief, about to head their way when a hand closed around your arm. You looked behind you to see Rafe Cameron grinning down at you and suppressed the urge to roll your eyes.

“You look gorgeous tonight, darling.”

You yanked your arm from the tall boy’s grip and took a couple of steps back for good measure. “I don’t want any coke, Rafe,” you seethed through clenched teeth. “I suggest you go find a touron to hassle and leave me alone.”

You turned away, thinking he would leave you alone but Rafe Cameron was no quitter. “C’mon, darling,” he urged, “Don’t be like that. Just one drink.”

“I said no.”

Rafe was getting irritated now. “What, are you fucking some dirty pogue down at The Cut? You know I could make you feel so much better.” His hands were on your arms again and you felt your heartbeat speed up. His grip tightened and you were about the scream to cause a scene when an arm wrapped around you from behind and wrenched you away from the Cameron boy.

“She said no, Cameron.” JJ’s sea breeze scent invaded your senses and you immediately relaxed with his touch. Rafe’s eyes moved from your face to the point where JJ’s body was linked with your own and something shifted behind his eyes. “Maybank? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Y/N.”

You sharply inhaled at Rafe’s accusation. If he knew, it was only a matter of time before everyone else connected the dots. You swiftly untangled yourself from JJ’s arms and lightly shoved him away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The moment those words left your lips, you hurried away from the pair and immersed yourself in the mess of party-goers dancing in the middle of the terrace.

No matter how many tequila shots you drowned, the dejected look on JJ’s face from when you pushed him away in front of Rafe continuously popped up in your head. The alcohol in your bloodstream slowly unraveled the tension on your mind and you found yourself swaying your hips with a bottle of cold beer clutched in your hand. In the middle of the crowd, you felt hands all over your figure but you really couldn’t care less. The feeling of sweaty bodies pressing against yours in the dark only exaggerated your intoxicated state and you began to lose yourself in the music. However, your bliss only lasted for a few minutes before the bottle of beer in your hands was suddenly snatched away.

“Hey!” You slurred. A scowl formed on your lips when you noticed JJ frowning down at you with the nearly empty bottle in his hands. You quickly reached for it but he moved faster, downing the last bit of alcohol in it and tossing the bottle into the nearest trash can.

“That was mine, asshole!” You drunkenly exclaimed but JJ ignored you. “Shut up and dance with me.”

JJ’s hands comfortably found your waist and you interlocked your hands behind his neck. Even in the blackness of the night sky, looking into his striking eyes was like being splashed with a bucket of cold water. Suddenly, you didn’t feel so drunk anymore. Your hands began to loosen from around his neck but the boy tugged you even closer to him.

“J, we shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered. “Not here.”

“We’re just dancing, baby. People dance at parties,” he calmly responded but you shook your head. “Someone’s going to notice something. We can’t risk it. Not now; not after everything we’ve been through.”

JJ’s eyes turned stormy as his heart wrenched in his chest. “All these other guys, they can’t tear their eyes away from you, Y/N!” The frustration in his tone almost made you flinch. “Why don’t you want everyone to know that I’m the only one that gets to take you home?”

It was too dark to see if anyone was watching but only a few inches away from JJ’s face, you noticed a single tear roll down his flushed cheeks. Your hands gently cupped the golden boy’s face for the second time that night. “I want to tell everyone, J. I swear I do. I just can’t. But baby, that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.” You paused, waiting for him to respond but he stood with his lips pursed tightly. Your hands dropped to your sides. “JJ, if my parents found out- fuck, my life would be over. And the rest of the Kooks, they wouldn’t take to us lightly either. You saw how Rafe acted tonight-and he didn’t even know anything!”

JJ had heard enough. “Why do you care what they think?” His hands furiously tugged through his golden locks as he found the right words to voice. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone on this damn island says about us Y/N, because I love you.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat. Before you could even think about his words, JJ’s mouth was crushed on yours. Shrouded by the darkness of the night, you felt your stomach twist into knots at the feeling of his soft lips on your own. The urge to draw his body impossibly close to yours filled your muscles; you wanted to hold your boy there and never let him go but you couldn’t. He had said that he loved you. Someone in this screwed up world loved you. For some reason, you couldn’t wrap your mind around the thought. It wasn’t real. Something in your heart told you it couldn’t be real. The realization hit you like a flash of lightning and you suddenly pushed away from the boy in front of you.

JJ’s lipstick-stained lips pouted in a frown and his hair was unruly from where you had run your fingers through it. You desperately wanted to push the stray locks from his forehead but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch him again. “I-I have to go,” you stuttered.

“What? Y/N, what’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong, baby-”

“I said I have to go, JJ!” You roughly pushed away the hand he had reached out to you and turned on your heel. JJ’s voice echoed after you, calling out your name, but you couldn’t bear to turn around. Seeing his face might have convinced you to actually believe him.

That’s how you left him that night: lips swollen, mascara smudged, and heart racing in a million different directions.

. . .

The Pogues could tell something was wrong. You and JJ were usually attached at the hip and the whole town knew it, but now you seemed to be avoiding JJ like the plague. If the blonde boy was going to be somewhere, you refused to go. Your friend circle had grown limited over the years, and avoiding the only people you could call family wasn’t good for your health. Every time Kie and John B. showed up at your doorstep to haul you to the beach, they found you with an (almost always) empty bottle of tequila clutched to your chest.

JJ wasn’t much better off. He still surfed daily and showed up for his shift at work with Pope, but the light behind his eyes was dimmed. No matter how much Kie pestered JJ to tell her what had happened or Pope tried to pull you out of your bed, neither of you relented.

Although the pogues couldn’t pull you out of your head, Sarah Cameron had other plans. On a hot Thursday night, she barged into your room with an enormous bowl of popcorn and Kie in tow. “Y/N!”

You were laying in bed with your eyes closed and music blaring into your ears. Rolling her eyes, Sarah yanked out your headphones. Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion. “Sarah, what the-” But Sarah wasn’t having any of it. “You can get up yourself or I’m going to haul your ass up. Your choice.”

You looked at Kie with a “is she kidding right now” look but Kiara simply shrugged; everyone knew the Cameron girl wasn’t accustomed to the word “no.” It must run in the family.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up and made room for the other two on your bed. They settled in on either side of you and Sarah plopped the popcorn on your lap. You greedily scooped a handful in your hands; you couldn’t remember the last time you had eaten a full meal. Kie uncomfortably cleared her throat. “Y/N, what happened between you and JJ?”

You didn’t answer, licking butter off your fingers and flipping through your favorite movies on Netflix. Kie exchanged a concerned glance with Sarah and the two proceeded to frown at you. “JJ hasn’t been, well, JJ this week,” Kiara cautiously continued. “He smiles but his laughs sound hollow. His eyes don’t shine anymore, Y/N. He needs you.”

You didn’t realize you had been crying until you felt the moisture on your cheeks. You hastily wiped it away. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Can we just watch the movie now?”

The minutes passed by slowly. You tried to focus on the movie playing on your TV but all you could see were your friends’ concerned faces. You were just about to kick them out and call it a night when a frantic knock on your window drew you out of your haze.

“What the hell?” Kie and Sarah chorused together. “Who’s at your window?” Your chest tightened. You didn’t need to open the window to know who was behind the glass. You slowly undid the latch on the window to reveal JJ, his face covered in the moon’s shadow. The two of you stared at each other. Your mouth opened but immediately snapped shut when you realized you didn’t know what to say to the boy in front of you.

Sarah peered around your shoulder and a slight gasp escaped her lips. “Oh.” She backed away from you, grabbing Kiara’s hand and leading her out of the room. “Let’s go, Kie. We have to, uh-” She tripped over her words but her voice had already drifted out of your mind. The only thing you could hear was the heavy rise and fall of JJ’s breath, slightly out of rhythm after the three-story climb to your room.

“Can I come in?” JJ’s voice sounded small, almost broken. You didn’t respond, simply opening the window wider. The golden-haired boy hopped into your room and you thought you heard him utter a small groan when his feet slammed onto the floor. When JJ moved into the light, you sharply inhaled. Dark bruises scattered his face and neck. Even though it looked like it was cleaned, the cut on his lip burned a bright red. JJ’s lip trembled and you didn’t stop to ask questions before throwing your arms around him. You tried to be gentle so as to not hurt him but his grip on you tightened, leaving not even an inch between your bodies.

Warm tears fell down JJ’s cheeks and onto your shoulder. “My dad, he-he-damn it I can’t Y/N-” The golden boy sniffled and you felt tears pool in your own eyes. JJ always crashed at your place or the Chateau on nights the whole gang kept John B company. You never asked why but you knew something at home bothered him. Now you knew. It was his dad. His dad abused him. The whole time you had known JJ, you wanted nothing more than to protect him and now you felt like you had failed miserably. If JJ had been at your place, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Maybe he would have been just a little less broken.

JJ’s sobs grew louder and tears were shamelessly falling down your cheeks. You softly pressed your lips under his ear. “Shhh, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” JJ nodded against your neck as you soothingly combed through his hair. “C’mon, J, let’s go to bed.” You supported the boy’s weight as he stumbled over his feet and landed on the bed with a quiet thump. You furiously wiped away the wetness on your cheeks before he noticed.

JJ rested his head on your pillow, breathing in your scent and sighing in content. You delicately immersed yourself in the covers next to him, careful not to irritate any of the boy’s wounds any further. The two of you laid like that in silence while JJ’s breathing returned to normal. His hand slowly itched towards yours and the slightest brush of fingertips sent sparks flying up your body.

“Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

“Can you hold me?” JJ’s voice broke.

You turned your head to look at the defeated boy. “I don’t want to hurt you, J.”

“You could never hurt me.”

“Ok.” Your voice was almost as small as his. You gently pulled his head onto your chest and wrapped an arm around his middle. One hand lightly pulled at his hair and the other traced shapes on his abdomen under his grey tank. He didn’t say anything for a couple minutes so you assumed he had fallen asleep, but his head shifted on your chest. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, JJ?”

He retreated back to silence. You weren’t sure if he really had dozed off this time or he just didn’t want to say what he was about to say. After several moments, the golden-haired boy took in a rattling breath and a small smile graced his features. “I love you.”

For reasons you couldn’t quite put your finger on, you felt your heart begin to sink cowardly. JJ wanted to love. He wanted to be loved. But he couldn’t love you. You had never been loved by anyone. How could this perfect boy change that? You gently shook your head against the smushed pillow. “It’s not real, JJ.”

JJ’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What’s not real?”

“You don’t love me. You just think you love me because you want someone to love. It’s not real. It can’t be,” you whispered in the dark.

JJ wanted to argue. He wanted to grab your shoulders and shake you until you realized how damn much his heartbeat for you. Hell, sometimes he thought it beat only for you. But the night’s events had taken a toll on his mind and body and he couldn’t do anything but softly hum, “You’re wrong, Y/N. You’re just scared. Why are you so afraid to fall in love?”

Perhaps JJ had fallen asleep that instant, or maybe he waited as long as he could to hear your answer. Eventually, he succumbed to his fatigue. Still, as you held the sleeping boy in your arms, no answer appeared in your mind. You spent the whole night trying to find it, but the sun came up and you were still as oblivious to your heart as you had been under the light of the moon.

. . .

As far as the Pogues could tell, everything was back to normal. You inserted yourself back into your social life, regularly surfing with the boys and crashing Kook parties with Kie and Sarah. JJ wore long sleeve shirts in an effort to cover up the battle scars only you’d seen, but the twinkle behind his eyes was back. On the outside, it seemed as if you and JJ had mended whatever it was you had broken in the first place. On the HMS Pogue, he laid his head on your lap like he always did. During late nights at the Chateau, you two shared a can of beer while your legs intertwined on the recliner as they always did.

But you knew that nothing was the same. JJ stopped coming to your house. The sheets on your bed felt cold and uninviting without the golden-haired boy’s saltwater scent all over them. At night, you longed for his sweet kisses but when you turned you were met with nothing more than an empty pillow. He hadn’t come out and said it, but you could tell that he didn’t want to do it anymore. JJ was always around you, but you weren’t Y/N and JJ anymore. You were just Y/N, and he was just JJ. Nevertheless, the ache in your heart dulled as you learned to push it away from your mind. For now, ignoring the problem felt like the best way to face it.

The summer sky boasted a brilliant orange and a calm breeze settled over the coast for the night. You found yourself laying against JJ’s chest on a hammock as the sun slowly descended into the ground. Sarah was sprawled over John B and Kie held Pope’s head on her stomach as their hammock rocked back and forth in the wind. No one said a word; it was hard to rip your eyes away from the changing colors of the clouds.

As the sun sunk down and the stars emerged, the Pogues one by one made their way back into the Chateau, leaving only you and JJ gently swinging in the breeze. His hand was tangled in your hair and you intertwined your fingers with his, wanting to sustain his warmth against your skin. You signed in content. “I miss you,” you whispered.

JJ sharply inhaled. In a flash, his hands left your body and he was ungracefully pulling himself from the hammock. “Hey! Where are you going?” You questioned as you hauled yourself up into a sitting position. The boy's hands hastily ran through his hair, something you noticed he did when he was upset. “I can’t do this anymore, Y/N!”

Your stomach dropped at his confession. You knew what was coming but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do what, J?”

His eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe you were asking the question. “This, Y/N. Us! I can’t keep pretending like we aren’t broken, like everything’s fine.”

“We are fine,” your voice cracked but you don’t think JJ noticed. He stepped forward so aggressively you flinched, but all he did was bring his palms up to hold your face. “Do you know what I’m doing right now?” His thumbs swept over your cheekbones. “I’m holding my entire world in my hands. You. That’s it. That’s all I need because I love you.”

Your lip trembled. “JJ-” You softly started but he wasn’t finished yet.

“But I can’t go on like this anymore, Y/N. I can’t keep holding you like this, no matter how bad I want to, if you don’t tell me how you feel.” He paused and took a deep breath, as if it was physically hurting him to say these words. “You keep saying it’s not real, and maybe it’s not. I’ve already learned throughout my life that I’m not capable of love. But you’re just as messed up as I am.” JJ’s hands tightened around your face. “You’re not afraid of scary movies, and you’re not afraid of all the attention. You’re not afraid of running wild with me, but you’re so damn afraid of being who you’re meant to be in this world. You’re afraid of falling in love.”

You wanted to open your mouth to argue. To yell at him for causing the pit in your stomach to widen. But you couldn’t, because you knew he was right. A whimper escaped your lips at the realization. “JJ, I don’t want to be broken,” you breathed.

A small smile appeared on JJ’s lips. “It’s ok to be a little screwed up, baby, because who isn’t?” The boy in front of you took a deep breath as his smile faltered. “But I can’t be with you. Not like this. It hurts a little too much.” His hands dropped from your face and your skin tingled from the loss of warmth. “Goodbye, Y/N.” JJ pressed a kiss on your forehead that was so light you barely felt it. And then he was gone.

You sat in shock for several seconds. You knew this was coming, so why did it hurt so much when it finally hit you? “JJ?” But the blonde wasn’t anywhere in sight. That’s when your throat wrenched out a sob, a sound so absolutely heartbreaking you could practically feel a piece of you wither and die. You regretted it. All of it. How could you ever feel the same way again?

JJ’s blue eyes were the only ones with oceans deep enough to captivate you for hours on end. Every time his fingers found your skin, it felt like tiny fires erupted in every place he touched. When his lips pressed on yours, the whole world stopped spinning and god, you could have stayed that way forever. And his heart. Oh, his ever fragile heart. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever gotten to know on this planet. And now it wasn’t yours anymore. Fuck. You had screwed up big time.

You thought about what the blonde boy had said before he left. You were scared. Scratch that, you were fucking terrified. Terrified to admit how your heart had grown to beat in rhythm with another’s. You and JJ were both broken pieces that fit together magnificently; that’s how the universe had willed it to be. In that moment, you knew exactly how you felt.

You leaped off the cold hammock and ran. Where would JJ be? His house? No, he wouldn’t have gone to face his father. The Chateau? No, he would want to be alone. The beach. He had to be at the beach. You sprinted until your feet were on fire and even when your muscles burst into flames, you kept going. Your feet whistled through the sand until you saw him. His back was to you, and he was watching the reckless waves with a beer can in his hands. You were sprinting but you couldn’t get there fast enough. “JJ!” Your breathless voice carried in the wind and JJ’s head jerked around. “Y/N?” His eyes were red. Had he been crying?

He stood up and your feet flew past the last couple yards before you slammed into him. A small grunt left his lips but he didn’t complain. Instead, his arms wrapped around your shaking form tighter than they had ever held you before. Your arms wound around his torso and you pulled away slightly to see his face. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose was red but he looked like the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. One of your hands flew to cup his jaw and the other wound itself in his unkempt golden locks. You looked right into his cerulean eyes before whispering, “I love you.”

JJ’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“JJ Maybank, you are capable of love. You know how I know that?” You laughed as he shook his head. “Because I fucking love you. And-” But JJ’s lips crashed against yours and the words immediately died on your tongue. You moved against his body, holding him as close as humanly possible as a million butterflies exploded in your stomach. JJ tasted like saltwater and strawberries from the tears that covered both your faces and the flavor of your chapstick.

The golden boy pulled away, lips swollen but curved into a breathtaking grin. His arms were still wrapped snugly around you and you leaned closer, kissing away the tears that lingered on his cheeks. “Let’s tell everyone, J. I’m not afraid of what they might say anymore. When it comes to us, you’re the only thing that matters.” JJ softly breathed in; he wasn’t used to someone loving him this way. He gently grabbed your chin and pulled your face up so his eyes were on yours once again. “This is all I ever wanted. I’m holding the entire world in my arms.”

You smiled and JJ swore your face was brighter than every star in the sky. “Well, I’m holding the entire universe. And I’m never letting it go.”

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sseizonsha · 3 years

Text

Biohazard: Infinite Darkness

At First Glance

Good morning to everyone. It’s been a long time since we’ve had new content for Leon Kennedy-related material, and I have risen from the ashes to observe, to poke and prod and lay flat this soft, tender meat beneath the microscope.

Netflix’s Infinite Darkness officially dropped a trailer, and while of course the series doesn’t focus on one character, I will be approaching its content as it pertains to Leon Kennedy and his experience alone.

Do be warned: I tend to be long-winded. It’s my recommendation that you sit down with some Jim Beam, a mimosa, or some strong coffee (all of Leon’s favorites) and get comfortable.

With this in mind, let us begin.

The Interrogation

We open the tailer on an interrogation, the man in question sitting on the left, sweaty, compromised. Leon stands the one in power and in control--ever the good cop so to speak--as he asks gently, “Wanna talk about it?”

When we fade to black, we hear a voice say, “Every night I have the same nightmare.”

The soldier is a man named Jason. He details his nightmare and we see his memory in action as it happened, before the trauma and the events which led him to this moment. When we return to the interrogation, Jason’s position is shot on the right side of the screen. Leon sits on the left, having taken the position of confession, of vulnerability.

“I remember...people screaming.”

The difference between Leon’s experience and Jason’s? Leon’s nightmare never truly ends. We know this based on external sources, true, but as Leon details his nightmare, we are given the series’ current events as they happen AND as they directly relate to Leon’s details: The Capitol Building, the power outage, the infected undead opening its eyes and another rising to sit up.

“We watch it spread. And spread.”

We watch Leon through the darkened halls of an unknown labyrinth, an unnamed facility. It matters not, really, the details of the time or place. Both Leon and the soldier alternate between telling the same story, the same experience, but it is Leon who is there to witness, to fight, to survive.

“It’s terrifying.”

We drop into black.

(This scene also supports the meta post in which I detail the way Leon hears the confessions of the inevitable dead before they move on. He is entrusted with secrets in ways few others are, and he carries the entire weight of them on his shoulders. This interrogation is yet another confession. I suspect Jason will not live.)

Later in the trailer, we see Leon and a man whose profile strongly resembles Jason’s. This time, the other man sits to the right, not standing but slightly elevated in a position of confidence and power. He is surrounded by weapons and his hand creeps closer to a firearm. Leon sits at the left side of the screen, and the camera angle leads us to believe that he is looking up, that he is not in the position of advantage here.

Viewing Leon in Shades of Grey

I have never made the time to write a full essay on my belief that Leon works with the government not for the government. He receives orders but often ignores them for what he believes is best for the situation and all parties involved. Leon operates largely out of his own moral principles and sense of obligation--and this is plainly evidenced throughout Leon’s career.

“We cannot allow anyone to interfere with peace and prosperity.”

As the government gives a press release regarding threats to the United States, the person splayed dead center of the screen during this line is Leon Kennedy. He wears a suit, its color scheme monochromatic. He is, at his core, good (white shirt), but always surrounded by and cloaked in the government’s corruption, in corporate greed (the black jacket).

He wades through a place enveloped in darkness but stands surprised and enlightened. As the look of recognition, perhaps, or understanding, breaks across his face, so too does light beam into the picture from out of frame.

“What are you here for?” “That’s classified.”

Leon has forgone the suit and tie and sits in a leather jacket, all black. The room he occupies is dark, dank, full of smoke and guns and tension. He faces a threat of a man head-on.

The unnamed woman lingers out of sight, she is wrapped almost entirely in shadow. Like Leon, she appears to be wearing all black. In direct juxtaposition to Leon, who faces his threat in full view and full danger, she has her back turned to the scene but is no less aware, no less in control. We assume that this is Leon’s ally going forward.

Speaking of allies....

Claire Redfield

There is something significant to be said for Claire Redfield’s introduction. We are trapped in a claustrophobic facility and pursued by the undead when the image of Leon falls into obscurity. The singular piece that pulls him--and us, the viewer--out of total darkness is the sound of her voice.

The following scene is full of light: Claire Redfield smiling, swathed in warm shades of brown and red unlike the harsh, cold Emergency floodlights of the previous imagery.

She is both safe, and a safe place for Leon.

Claire is only ever open and truthful and honest with him. She tells him as much as she can in the short time we are given, and Leon, the agent privy to secrets and classified resources he cannot--by law and by duty--share with the one person he cares about most, merely says, “I gotta go.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” (I will later write a headcanon on Claire and Leon and their habit of parting ways. Someone shoot me a reminder.) He doesn’t tell her to stand aside and do nothing---Leon respects her far too much and knows her far too well to ask that of her. He merely reminds her not to be reckless and leaves her with his blessing.

“Do you know where the root of terror comes from? It starts with fear.”

The trailer climaxes with this quote, depicts Leon running toward Claire, hands reaching out. It starts with fear. As it did with Raccoon. With the outbreak 7 years later. The Rockford Island Incident.

It starts with fear, yet once again, Claire and Leon find themselves at the end of it.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil infinite darkness #infinite darkness #claire redfield #meta.#biohazard commentary | ooc.

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bluegarners · 3 years

Text

“Dick has an overdose at a gala, hurt/comfort” ~ anon

~oOo~

He forgot to take his meds this morning.

Dick blows out a frustrated breath because that means he’s going to have to rearrange his entire cycle in order to not double dose. He always takes Zoloft in the morning with his breakfast and protein shake, and then the rest of the day goes smoothly and he can go to bed without the lingering worry of whether or not he remembered to do something. It’s an ingrained part of his routine and Dick is kicking himself for having forgotten to do it today.

The little yellow-tinted pill in his hand mocks him of his absent mindedness. The entire day had thrown him off of his usual planning, the not so gentle reminder of tonight’s charity gala for leukemia causing him to flit about in an attempt at getting his very much not used suit dry cleaned for the evening. Alfred would probably feel the need to strangle his first grandchild if Dick showed up with a wrinkled suit smelling of dust and disuse.

That wrench thrown into his day leads him to where he is now, staring down the pill in his hand and holding a glass of water in the other. He could always take his meds tomorrow so his routine wouldn’t be thrown off so drastically, but even the thought of doing so makes his hands feel clammy for skipping an entire day. He promised his psychiatrist he was going to take these things more seriously and he wanted to at least start that off by regularly taking his prescription. It had been working, so far, and Dick really didn’t want to fall into the bad habit of “skip-days”, so with one fluid motion, he was swallowing the pill and gulping down water.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. Even with his flighty day and the hassle it was doing things he should’ve done the previous week, Dick was excited to go to a gala for once. It was one of the rare occasions where Bruce had managed to convince all of his wayward children to go, and it had been far too long since Dick had spent some time with all of his siblings. He saw Damian at least once a week, Tim as well, but Jason had been a struggle to get a hold of and Cass and Duke were always busy with their own responsibilities. Not that Dick wasn’t busy as well, but in his book, there was always time for family.

Dick walks out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more pleased with himself for following through with his promise, and quickly walks to the garage where most of the family had already gathered. Had it not been for the fact that Cass and Duke happened to be staying at the Manor that week, Dick would have driven by himself to the banquet hall, but as it were, he was going to make every effort possible to squeeze in as much time as he could to be with his brothers and sister.

A slight problem arose though, as fitting eight total people into one car, driver included, was a tight fit. However, living with a billionaire had numerous perks, one of which being that they could choose from a variety of overly expensive cars and limousines and tonight, Alfred had chosen a classy black limo with leather seats and a cooler filled with bite-size cucumber sandwiches and bottled waters because, “In all of the many years of hosting galas, the Bestout family has yet to figure out how to properly serve a banquet.”

Slipping into the passenger seats, Dick was slightly giddy at the sight of both Damian and Duke already munching on a few of the snacks Alfred had prepared, Tim typing away on his phone and Cass curiously peering over his shoulder. They all looked dashing in their respective suits, and Dick reached out to lightly pat the head of the youngest, careful as to not disturb the neatly gelled locks of hair.

“Richard,” Damian acknowledges, a stray piece of bread clinging firmly to the side of his mouth. Adorable. “Where is Todd and Father?”

Before Dick has a chance to reply, Bruce and Jason step into the garage, Bruce’s hand latched firmly onto the third oldest’s shoulder. Dick can hardly hide his grin as Jason huffily plops down into the seat next to him, obviously still miffed at being forced to go to the gala. Bruce follows shortly after, taking his place besides Cass and in front of Dick, reaching into the cooler as well to retrieve a sandwich.

“Shall we proceed, sir?” Alfred calls from the front, the small window dividing the driver from the passengers a perfect view of the butler’s unimpressed eyebrows. “Or should we wait until the gala has ended to arrive?”

“Yes please. Sorry, Alfred.”

With that, they roll out of the Wayne Manor grounds and begin the short drive to the Bestout Charity Auction. Dick, personally, had no money to bid with and no intention to do so at all, but Bruce’s pockets went deep and they had already planned on what pieces to bid on and who to out-bid. Tim had made the bet that their “rivals” would attempt to out-bid the Waynes this year, and Tim was nothing but prideful on keeping the Wayne name free of that sort of blasphemy. He had done the math, was probably reviewing it on his phone at the moment, and had estimated that they could easily bid away about seven million dollars on a singular piece tonight if things went according to plan.

Money. Old money at that.

He feels a small tap on his shin then, and looks over to where Cass is gazing at him. She quirks her eyebrow, holding out her right palm and twisting her left middle finger against it. He nods, giving her two thumbs up and saying, “I remembered, don’t worry.”

She smiles, satisfied, before going back over to whatever Tim was doing on his phone. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, Dick basking in the presence of his family, until they finally pull up to the entrance. They are precisely thirty minutes late, fashionably so, and Jason is the first one to exit, followed then by Bruce, Cass, Tim, Duke, Damian, and lastly Dick.

Immediately, they are met with the flashing of numerous cameras, a couple shouting out questions or beckoning them to look their way for a good shot. Bruce indulges in a few of the requests, stopping for a few seconds, before hurrying up the steps, his many children following just as quickly behind. Entering, they are greeted with a high vaulted ceiling with a singular ornate chandelier hanging down as the centerpiece and a few other light fixtures to highlight the entrance.

Despite the initial grandeur, the charity gala is relaxed. Formal casual wear was allowed and encouraged upon, which basically meant one didn’t need to come dressed like they were meeting the Queen of England and could come in simple slacks and dress shirt, and for this reason and this reason alone is how Bruce managed to convince six of his children to attend. No one liked galas. Well, no one except Duke who was highly fascinated with how the rich and prim lived compared to the grittiness of Wayne Manor.

As Alfred had lamented about, the Wayne family was late, perhaps an hour or so from the initial invitation arrival time, and all eyes were on them as they entered the banquet hall. Cocktail hour had just begun, and it was a matter of moments before a chorus of simpering, “Brucie! Over here!” began and Jason and Duke disappeared to look for the bar. Tim meandered off to find a few familiar faces, and Dick, Damian, and Cass were left standing near the entrance.

For a second, Dick regrets his decision not to force himself to eat one of the cucumber sandwiches Alfred had prepared as his stomach rolled around unpleasantly. His medication didn’t require a meal to be eaten with it, but again, he had been thrown off his normal routine and that usually included some food.

He feels a nudge into his side and glances over to where Cass is smirking at him.

“I know, I know,” Dick groans, slumping slightly. “Alfred warned us, but you know I don’t like cucumbers. I’m just- yeah, I’m just going to go find something that doesn’t look like old cheese. Either of you coming with me?”

He extends a hand pleasantly, bowing over and winking at both of his youngest brother and sister.

“Unlike you,” Damian drawls, absently checking his fingernails, “I took sound advice when it was given.” He glances upwards, eyes narrowing as he finds his target. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it would appear that Father is in need of assistance.”

Dick watches the youngest Wayne march astutely towards a struggling Bruce Wayne, broadcasting a small amount of distress as yet another slightly drunk (already?) woman leers at him through false lashes.

“Cass?” Dick asks hopefully, turning back towards her. “My most wonderful and elegant sister, will you come with me?” In truth, Dick was the tiniest bit hesitant to go over to the buffet style table by himself, no doubt going to be swarmed by the Gotham elite youth once he was alone and miserable once he took in the shallow presentation of foods.

But his dear sister is nothing but sweet and ruthless, smiling prettily at him before walking off in the other direction, most likely to find Jason and Duke at the bar. Cass didn’t like alcohol, but she knew how to order a Shirley Temple all the same.

With a sigh, Dick begins the trudge over to the long horderves table, snagging a flute of strong smelling champagne on the way. He didn’t really like champagne truthfully, more of a white wine kind of guy himself, but it gave off the impression that he was relaxed and confident even if he was mentally preparing himself for food disappointment. He’s right, well, Alfred is right, as his gaze travels mournfully over the plain and overly dressed finger foods. Was it really just that impossible to serve a nice plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit? What in the world was foie gras entier anyway?

A hand slides smoothly over his shoulder as Dick contemplates if the horderve is an organ or not, and he steadily turns his head to meet artfully decorated brown eyes.

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Richard Grayson,” the woman says, letting her hand fall from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.”

Another hand brushes against his shoulder, and he turns his head the other way to meet the eyes of the exact same woman on his other arm.

“Tristy is right,” the other, same?, woman coos. “It’s been too long, Richard. Tell me, where have you been? You haven’t been avoiding us, right?”

It finally clicks into place as Dick looks back and forth between the identical women. The Thoreau sisters. Identical twins. Heiresses to the Thoreau Parts manufacturing company. Their entire net worth was close to five hundred million and the sisters were notorious, perhaps even more so than “Brucie Wanye”, for bringing home exploits and one night stands.

“Good evening ladies,” Dick says simply, dialing back the charm he usually reserved for the elderly elite of Gotham. “It’s been awhile since I last came to one of these auctions, but tonight is for a good cause. Of course I would come.”

The two sisters titter lightly, hands flying up to cover their arched grins. “Oh yes,” maybe Tristy says. “The auction is surely going to be a smashing success. At least with a man like your father bidding tonight, and that man is nothing but generous.”

The sudden innuendos leave Dick feeling slightly off footed. It truly has been too long since he attended one of these galas, and he’s out of practice at maneuvering around seduction attempts such as these.

“Oh hush,” the other sister snaps, tapping Dick’s bicep twice to get his attention back to her. “Do you plan on bidding at all?” she asks charmingly. “My sister and I have our eyes on a sculpture by Vasconcelos and it would break our hearts if your father also had plans to bid for it.”

Dick shakes his head, bringing his flute of champagne upwards to take a sip. He decides he does not like the taste of carbonation. “No, I can’t say I have plans to bid on any one particular item tonight. However, I can promise you that Bruce has no plans to bid on any sculptures, so you will find no grievances with him I hope.”

“How gracious,” possibly Tristy practically moans, leaning into Dick’s side. “You know,” she whispers, eyes flicking back and forth in mirth, “If you’re not planning on bidding at all, there’s a private study somewhere. Once the bidding begins, we can just,” she leans in closer, practically licking Dick’s ear, “get out of here.”

A cold feeling begins to settle in Dick’s gut, his composure quickly melting away as he struggles to keep on a pleasant smile. Has it always been like this? When was the last time he actually attended a gala? He can’t remember being harassed like this, much less so soon. They just arrived and already someone’s trying to take him to bed. Is that all he looks good for? Why is it so hard to just have a normal conversation? This is supposed to be a family day, and yet here he is, separating himself from them all because he can’t control his cravings and really this harassment should’ve been expected because Gotham didn’t call Richard Grayson Bruce’s imprint because he had to get the “playboy” tendencies from somewhere if not genetics, so really he’s fine and just making a big deal out of nothing.

This was normal. Right.

Lost in his head, Dick realizes too late that it’s been far too long since he’s said something aloud. Tristy, or whoever it is that’s to his right, is frowning at him, a mean looking sneer adorning red lips. The other sister, he just doesn’t know her, is looking at him with something akin to disgust as well though slightly better hidden.

He clears his throat. Clears it again. His throat feels funny. “Look, ladies,” Dick says, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m sure you’re both lovely, but I think I’m going to… yeah, I’m just going to go find Bruce. You know how he gets when he’s had more than a couple glasses,” he tries to chuckle, tapering off when neither of the women join in. “Have a good evening.”

Extracting himself from their manicured hands is more difficult than he thought it would be, their insistence at keeping him cornered to the table making him more nervous. The ice in his stomach pinches unpleasantly, and Dick finishes off the champagne to place the little flute on a passing waiter’s stand.

The lingering stench of overpriced perfume has him feeling nauseous, and Dick looks around for one of his family members. He spots Jason and Duke still at the bar, seemingly content at just sipping and observing, and Dick makes the move to walk towards them when the room tilts slightly. He stumbles, hardly even that, and rights himself in less than a second. He looks down, frowning when he sees nothing that might’ve tripped him up.

“Richard,” a voice calls out, and Dick turns to see Damian making his way towards him, Bruce trailing slightly behind.

“Hey, Dami!” Dick gushes, his unease melting away at the familiar faces. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms. “If by interesting you mean intelligent, then no. Not a single person here is capable of holding a conversation before spouting some nonsense. It should be considered cruel.”

“I hear you there,” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Is it just him, or is the banquet hall extremely bright? The Bestout’s should consider investing less in chandeliers and more in good food. “Did any of the art pieces catch your interest?”

Another huff. “No,” Damian replies. “Modern art holds no value. I find nothing special about three dots in the center of a large canvas. If anything, it is a waste of material.”

“Bruce?” Dick asks. “What about you? I just ran into the Thoreau sisters; they said they were going to bid on that, uh, what was their name again… the Vasconcelos sculpture.”

Bruce grimaces at the company name, looking more closely at Dick. “No, nothing was to my taste. Alfred has asked me to bid on a tea set supposedly owned by Queen Anne. It is… vintage?”

Dick nods, willing himself not to laugh at Bruce’s idea of something vintage. “Nice. I’m sure Alfred will be excited to add it to his collection. Have, uh, any of you guys seen Tim or Cass at all?”

“Cain left,” Damian says simply. “Brown invaded the gala about ten minutes ago and coerced her into ditching. Drake is most likely stuffing himself into a corner.”

“Oh.”

A waiter walks by just then and Dick snags another champagne glass. He takes two sips, feeling some of his anxiety from earlier rise up again. Tonight was supposed to be a family night, or at least one as close to it as it could get, and already Cass had left? He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be with Steph, he remembers how infatuated he was in his first relationship, but he already felt the tell-tale tug in his heart that told him he was lonely.

“I’m going to go find Tim,” he announces, patting the top of Damian’s head and giving a squeeze to Bruce’s left shoulder. “Have fun you two.”

They wave him off with little else, and Dick looks around the hall for the middle child. As his gaze travels from table to table, he can’t help but feel as if all eyes are on him, catching his gaze with each flicker. Taking deep breaths, Dick takes another sip, meandering slowly around the perimeters of the already established social groups. He catches bits and pieces of conversations, most if not all having nothing to do with tonight’s auction, and Dick begins to tap his fingers restlessly against his outer thigh. Why does he feel so anxious?

Someone bumps into him rather rudely, causing Dick to stumble again, but when he turns around to semi-glare, there is no one around him. The lights in the hall are blinding and Dick can feel a headache begin to form at the front of his skull. His breaths are suddenly very loud and Dick becomes all too aware of just how many people there are. At least two hundred and all of them seemed to be staring at Dick.

Someone else brushes up behind him, and Dick quickly turns around to confront them, because come on, that’s not a nice thing to do. There is no one there though. No one was even near enough to touch him and Dick feels sweat begin to trickle down the back of his suit.

What was he doing again? Right, right, searching for Tim. Tim was always calm, he’s sure he’s got to be around here somewhere.

“Richard,” a voice sing-songs to him. “Oh, Kathy, he’s right over here. My, my, thought you could give us the slip, hm?”

His grip on the glass of champagne tightens slightly as one of the Thoreau sisters slithers her way in front of him. He didn’t want to talk to them. He wasn’t feeling well. They didn’t make him feel comfortable and Dick really needed to find Tim.

“You don’t look so good, Richy,” Tristy, Kathy, whoever, whispered. “Are you feeling alright? Had one too many to drink it looks like.”

The other sister laughs. “We only left you for twenty minutes. Missed us that terribly? How sweet.”

One of them grips his bicep again. Turns his chin so he’s facing her head on. The other one falls out of his line of sight. He thinks he’s seeing triple though because the twin in front of him is slowly separating into two, faces flickering back and forth and failing to align with the center.

“Maybe he’s tired,” she says, voice distorted and far away. “Finish that off and we’ll all go find somewhere to lay down, hm? Somewhere… private.”

The flute of alcohol is pressed gently into his lips and Dick automatically begins to drink from it, the liquid sliding down easily. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and huh, that’s weird. It didn’t taste like that before. He really does hate the taste of carbonation.

Hands on either side of him push him forward, his feet dragging and shoes all of a sudden much too big for his feet. The glass is taken from his trembling grip, a whisper of “Wouldn’t want you to drop that,” letting his decisions elude him. The smell of sharp chemicals assault his nose and Dick feels his stomach roll. He thinks he might vomit.

Even though he keeps his face to the floor, the bodies beside him guiding the way, Dick can feel the stares, the eyes, that bore into him. The pressure leaves his chest heavy, feeling as though he’s slowly sinking into the red carpet below. The red shifts and melts like wax beneath his polished shoes, pooling and coiling around his shoelaces and reaching towards his ankles.

It smells like blood.

The red turns into a dark gray suddenly, fuzz turning into slick tile and the hands that gripped onto his biceps earlier now trail towards the hemline of his pants. He jerks, neck craning upwards and hands fumbling to push the invasion away. He’s simply shushed though, hands restraining his own and Dick feels like he’s been shot when he realizes he can’t get his legs to move properly.

He’s shoved towards an open door way, tripping and falling over himself as any semblance of coordination leaves him. It’s brighter in this room but everything keeps swirling together. Vertigo slowly weaves its way around his head and soon, there is no difference from up and down, left and right, sister and sister.

Nails dig into the sides of his cheeks in a harsh and fervent grip, and Dick feels like throwing up when he sees nothing but the swirling vortex of a flesh colored void. It spins faster and faster and Dick has to look away, but the sight of himself in a mirror is no better because that has to be him that’s standing there pressed into a stone counter but at the same time it can’t because he left that all behind.

He left Spyral behind. He escaped. He was home. They couldn’t control him anymore and yet- and yet.

Another blank flesh void stares back at his turned head. No visible features to recognize himself by. A smooth canvas that twists and churns and leaves him faceless. He is nothing once more.

Something breaks inside of him and Dick feels a sob erupt from out of his chest. He’s just so confused and scared and lost and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to Spyral. His mission was completed, he had done everything Bruce asked of him and even after enduring throughout all of that, Dick feels that desperate yearning for his father.

He wants Bruce. He’s so scared. His head hurts. He can’t feel his legs anymore. Everything keeps colliding into everything and he can’t even recognize his own cries because even that sounds like it’s a lifetime away, all the way back in Gotham, but instead he’s stuck here and he doesn’t even know where here is anymore because Agent 37 isn’t allowed to ask questions, that’s not his place, that’s not his place, he’s not allowed-

“Wow,” a voice breathes into his ear, “you’re even pretty when you cry.”

And Dick doesn’t really know when it started raining, but his face is wet and the person is right, he is crying and it’s raining so hard and he doesn’t completely understand why or how but he does know he doesn’t like the hands that keep fumbling with his belt. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want her. He should say something. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move and he just lays there and takes it because that’s all he’s good for right? That’s why Barbara didn’t want to see him anymore because he’s just an awful person that just takes it and please, please, please stop.

“Are you afraid of spiders, Richard?”

Of course he’s afraid. He’s terrified. He’s even more afraid of the dark and the dark contains many, many scary things. Things like a calloused hand reaching out to smother him, to choke him, to kill him. Things like a bright red pill shoved into his mouth, things like a bomb attached to his heart, things like the heat of the metal on his back as the chaos consumed him, destined to watch, destined to die, destined to be smothered over and over again. Bright red pill. Rough hands. Bright red lips. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Dick vomits.

~oOo~

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looks up from his phone, a smartly dressed waitress staring at him. “Yes?”

She holds out a folded napkin to him and Bruce takes it from her hesitantly. He stares at it before glancing back up. “I don’t understand.”

The woman gives him a half-hearted shrug. “I was only told to give it to you, sir. I don’t know what it is. Excuse me.”

With that, the waitress turns back around into the throng of people that wave her over for drinks. Bruce looks down at the napkin, putting away his phone quickly as he unfolds it. It’s a note, hastily written in smudged black, similar to a crayon. Perhaps some sort of makeup applicator. Bruce doesn’t give it much thought though as he reads,

Find your son.

And isn’t that a great way to get his heart to stop? His first instinct is to look wildly about and start dashing around in search of his, holy shit, five sons he brought along to the gala. Bruce stops though, forces himself to take three deep breaths and count to five, before calmly beginning to make his way to the entrance of the banquet hall. It was easier to see everyone from that position and it was crowded enough so that he wouldn’t immediately be singled out once again.

As he walks, he stares at the napkin note, trying to decipher who exactly sent it. It was a woman’s hand writing, he’s sure of it, but the intentions behind it could be anything. Ransom? A threat? A simple warning that one of his sons was much too drunk to care about public decency? Either way, being passed an anonymous note wasn’t good and Bruce felt his gut clench in apprehension. He tries to think of everything that’s happened throughout the night so far.

Damian had remained mostly by his side, a good defense to have on hand whenever one of the socialites got a bit too grabby. Jason and Duke had remained a pair by the bar from what he'd heard, challenging other young adults into dart games and shot pyramids. Tim had steadily been making his way through old friends, chatting with a few and periodically texting Bruce to ask what the bidding was at.

(Alfred will be happy to know that he now had one more tea set to add to his collection)

And Dick… well, Bruce honestly hadn’t been keeping secure tabs on him. He’s trying to be a better father to adult Dick Grayson. Privacy and space had been something Dick had last emphasized on, the “mother-henning” as Dick liked to call it, overbearing and un-welcomed. When his eldest had mentioned his run in with the Thoreau sisters, Bruce had been concerned and looked for signs that his son was uncomfortable or something worse. As usual though, Dick had merely grinned and carried on like it was nothing and perhaps that was all it had been at the time but now with this note, this damn napkin note in his hands, Bruce could feel the suspicion slide into him like water.

“Father?”

A hand tugs on his right sleeve and Bruce finds himself sighing in relief as his youngest appears in front of him. Scrutinizing his son, Bruce finds nothing obviously wrong with him, hair still perfectly in place and a permanent frown etched upon his brow. His suit is still stain, spill, and wrinkle free and Bruce clasps a heavy hand onto Damian’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping eye contact.

“Of course,” is Damian’s curt reply. “What happened?”

Wordlessly, Bruce hands over the napkin to him, watching as his son’s frown deepens. “I shall gather Todd and Thomas. I will return shortly.”

Damian’s small figure disappears into the crowd easily, leaving Bruce standing by himself at the front of the hall. Pulling out his phone again, he quickly types out, Come to the front of the hall. Urgent, and sends it to Tim. He types out the same message and sends it to Dick as well and contends himself for the wait by tapping his foot against the red carpet.

A minute barely passes before he spots Jason’s broad figure moving through the crowd, and the tension in his gut only increases as he counts the heads moving towards him. One, two, three, four…

“What’s going on?” Duke asks as the four boys gather closely. “Are we, uh, needed?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Damian showed you the note?”

“What note?” Tim demands. “Bruce, what’s going on? Is something- oh,” he trails off, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as he reads the scribbled napkin. Tim turns his gaze to begin counting, and the same realization dawns upon him as he finally looks at Bruce’s grim face. “Where’s Dick?”

“I’ll call him,” Jason is quick to offer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials and holds it to his ear as the rest of the family watches. “Voicemail,” he grimaces, staring down at the device as if it had personally offended him.

“We’ll split up. Jason, you’re with me. Duke, Tim, Damian, you three will go towards the east end, Jason and I will take west. Keep your phones on,” Bruce orders, checking his own ringer as he does so. “Ask around to see if anyone has seen Dick. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so remain cautious. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes” is the motivator for the split and like liquid, they flow back into the crowd seamlessly.

~oOo~

He’s alone.

Or, Dick thinks he is. Well, now that he’s thought about it, Agent 37 is never alone. There’s always someone there, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But Nightwing works alone in Bludhaven. He’s discovered that he doesn’t like team ups much. Partnerships always end in the rain and he doesn’t like the rain. He doesn’t mind it so much when Batman’s cape is shielding his face but the rain is still pelting his cheeks and it smells like acid.

It smells like acid and metal. It sounds like endless whirring too, constant noise when all he wants right now is quiet. He wants to reach out and smother whatever it is that’s making the noise but his limbs are gone, he can’t move, he’s been restrained once again and that damn red pill, or maybe it’s tinted yellow this time, he can’t be sure, there are just so many pills, so many pills, it’s all keeping him down and dead.

He feels his stomach convulsing again and he gags, unsure if anything actually comes out. There’s red on the floor, it always comes back to red, why red, and it gathers around in his vision, slick along the white void below him. A part of Dick is glad he can’t move because he fears that if he were to even breathe, the void below would capture him and turn him white and twist his nothingness into something even less than all of it.

His lungs stutter and his eyes roll back into his head for a moment. For a brief second, he is gone in the bliss of blackness. It’s not for long though because the need to cough erupts out of him and he has to open his eyes and see what plague is clawing its way from his mouth. His jerking disturbs the void and Dick can feel the blood in his veins freeze because he’s not supposed to move. He’s not supposed to make a single sound or else it would get him but he’s just so dumb, he’s just so incompetent, and now the void knows he’s here, now the void is going to get him and he’s so scared.

He blinks four times. He counts in his head. Two, five, one, two. Dick doesn’t think that’s right. He isn’t sure.

The void is angry though. He can tell in the way the ground shakes and the colors scream at him. He wants to move away and cover his ears but his arms don’t exist anymore, how could he forget, how could he forget, and he feels his eyes burning like he’s on fire and his brain is also screaming at him now and there are hands on his shoulders and no, no, stop, please stop, he doesn’t want this, he never wanted any of this. He’s sorry. He’s sorry.

The void grasps him and pulls at him and Dick’s eyes are wide open and he wants to scream at the void’s face because he doesn’t know who they are, he doesn’t know where he is, and there’s no comfort in the cold, there’s no love or warmth in it’s embrace and he’s so tired and his chest hurts and he’s having trouble actually seeing anything now because he’s just scared of the dark and everything is getting quieter and doesn’t anyone have a nightlight he can use so he can fall asleep a little less scared?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when that waitress handed him a napkin. He doesn’t really know what he wanted to happen when he asked his children to split up and search for the lost one. Of course, the goal was to find the eldest, find Dick Grayson safe and sound and just doing something silly like back flips off a stairwell so Bruce could come and save him from embarrassing himself further. Okay, yes, Bruce knows exactly what he wanted to happen.

But this wasn’t it.

It wasn’t Mister Dower slyly implying that Bruce’s eldest son was a clone of “Brucie Wayne’s” habits. It wasn’t the news that the Thoreau sisters had left in a hurry. It wasn’t a bellboy directing him to a private room that had been left ajar. And it wasn’t walking into a pitch black study only to hear wet retching and rattling from the adjoining bathroom.

He’s bursting through the door before he’s had the time to process it all and he feels as if all the wind in his lungs have been knocked out because there he is. Here is Dick Grayson, his son, his eldest, convulsing, bleeding, vomiting, shaking, dying, alone.

It’s second nature, done without a thought, and Bruce is kneeling down, stripping himself of his jacket and folding it, taking Dick by the shoulders and turning him on his side and placing the folded jacket beneath his head. Dick’s eyes are rolling, unseeing, and his face twitches and jerks and it’s terrifying, and Bruce looks away to stare at his watch and counts and counts and counts.

It’s scarcely thirty seconds before the jerking stops and Dick goes stiff, like every single muscle in his body is clenched in anticipation.

“Bruce,” Jason begins, and he sounds unsure and out of place and Bruce curses at himself for having momentarily forgotten about him, “Holy shit.”

Bruce says nothing and continues to stare at his watch because he knows the seizure isn’t over, he prays it is but he knows it’s not, and Dick begins to convulse again and Bruce’s heart is beating so fast he isn’t sure if he can feel it anymore.

“The others are on their way,” Jason speaks up again. “I’m calling 911. What should I tell them?”

And usually Bruce is faster than this, better at processing, but it’s all so sudden and this is his son that’s laying in front of him, shaking and heaving in front of him, that it takes him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Tell them,” he tries, mouth dry and god how much longer is this going to last? “Tell them that we need police and an ambulance for,” Bruce clears his throat; two minutes now, five becomes dangerous, “A possible assault and drug overdose.”

There’s lipstick smeared on Dick’s collar, his tie is undone, his belt buckle unclasped, pink indents on the sides of his jaw, lips tinted blue, and a mess of vomit splattered down his shirt. It smells sour and pungent and it’s the color of old brandy. Blood weeps from Dick’s hairline and Bruce startles himself with the thought that, had it not been for the note, Dick could’ve died and no one would have known.

No one would have known.

Finally the seizure stops and Bruce can feel his fingers trembling as he cradles his son’s head to fully rest against the tile flooring. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Too close. Too close.

“Move! I demand to see Richard!”

“You can’t, not right now. Bruce is helping him but you have to stay out here.”

“Jason, what the hell happened to Dick?”

“Bruce thinks he got roofied. Whatever was given to him was too much.”

“Did… did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Todd, I swear to you, if you do not move this instant-”

Bruce can’t focus on their conversation anymore, too entranced by the way his son breathes. They’re short, shallow gasps, like he’s panting through a straw, and Bruce reaches out a hand to rub his eldest’s upper back. He doesn’t move from his position, kneeled firmly as if in prayer, and maybe it is like a prayer because he needs a miracle right now. Bruce needs some guidance, some reassurance, and he hasn’t prayed since his parents died, but a little part of him is sighing and repeating those long forgotten words over and over again.

Abraham, Issac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebekkah, Leah, and Rachel.

Dick does not stir from where he lays, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Bruce thinks he’s conscious, the flighty rhythm of his heart giving his blankness away, but the stillness in which his son lays allows a vine of terror to eclipse around his heart.

Grant him a r’fu-ah sh’lei-mah, a complete recovery.

His mother used to whisper prayers into his ear when he was younger and sick, fever-ridden constantly and just so tired. She would sit by his bedside, hold his hand, and pray for him in the silence of his room. Bruce was too young to understand what it meant. Too young to really grasp the concept of salvation, of hope found in religion. Now that he’s gone so long without it, Bruce thinks he still doesn’t grasp its weight, but the familiar words roll around in his head and leave the tightness in his chest with company.

But the comfort is like a blanket draped over your head when you were a child, on some level convinced it could protect you from the monsters in your closet and the kidnappers that surely tap on your window. The monsters are real though, the kidnappers are grabbing at your feet, and Bruce can feel his heart pounding away with the realization that he truly could have lost Dick. That Bruce had been in the exact same room, in the same vicinity as his eldest when he was drugged. When he was… assaulted. Possibly. Maybe. Bruce clings to those uncertainties.

And he’s got ideas. Theories. Conclusions. A list of suspects.

With those, Bruce also has punishments in mind. Vengeance. Retribution. But the situation at hand is more pressing than the thoughts that bang against his skull.

Dick’s eyes fly open, a cough that sounds more like a gag jerking his body. His arms stagger against his sides, feet kicking out with the force of his hacking, and Bruce merely lets his hands hover. He wants to touch him, to ground Dick, but the hesitation in his actions leave him barren of any sort of presence. Dick keeps coughing, getting louder and more forceful with each measly breath he manages to suck in, and his lips are beginning to turn blue and his face a bright red and Bruce doesn’t know what to do right now, doesn’t know how to help because he’s so afraid to touch him, to help him, when all he’s done tonight is ignore him and let this whole thing happen because he’s a horrible father-

“Richard, stop it!”

And then Damian is falling to his knees beside Dick’s heaving body, also fumbling for an answer and scared and all the things Bruce feels right now.

“Stop it, Richard! Stop it right now!” Damian demands, but his orders fall on deaf ears because Dick won’t stop coughing and gasping and shaking and he’s not having another seizure but that’s what it looks like and then finally, Bruce reaches out a hand and holds his eldest still, willing for something, anything, to happen to get Dick to stop.

“Son,” he implores, practically begging, “Dick, you need to calm down, okay? I know you’re scared and confused right now, but everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Take a deep breath, Dick. Breathe.”

Finally, something seems to register for Dick because he’s craning his neck around, eyes wide and searching even as he continues to retch out his lungs. Bright blue eyes, beautiful and robin egg blue, catch Damian’s and Bruce can see recognition light up onto his face. The relief that Bruce had felt blossoming in his chest at the sight is quickly smothered when tears gather in Dick’s eyes, a weak sob wrenching its way in between coughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick moans, delirious and broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Richard, breathe,” is all Damian says, reaching out to grab at one of Dick’s flailing hands. “Please.”

Bruce doesn’t know if Dick actually understood what Damian was saying, or if he even recognized any one of his brothers that stood around him, but one moment, Dick is retching up a lung, and the next, he’s silent and holding his breath. The coughing stops but Dick is going slightly purple in the face and before Bruce, Damian, anyone can do anything to get him to open his mouth again, Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he drifts.

His head thuds softly onto the white tile just as the paramedics arrive and Bruce thinks he might need an ambulance too with how quickly his heart beats and how hot the blood in his veins feel.

The rest is a blur.

~oOo~

Many things happen in the few hours that follow.

Dick is promptly swept away on a stretcher, paramedics checking pulse count, setting up an IV, and other things that anyone hardly has the mind to pay attention to. By then, the entire banquet knew something was wrong, along with a few reporters that whipped out their cameras and began snapping pictures in earnest.

In a move that is sure to get him on the front pages, Bruce snarls at a few of the reporters, threatening them in mannerisms that suggested he might just break their obnoxious cameras. Jason follows a similar pattern, actually reaching over and knocking away one of the invasive reporters when they got too close to the ambulance, and the youngest is not far off in doing the same before he is ushered away and into a waiting private car that would escort them to the hospital Dick was being taken to.

Only Bruce had been allowed to ride in the ambulance on the way over, and the four brothers had sat in tense silence during the ten minute drive. Tim had been almost absurdly quiet during the entire ordeal, typing away at his phone and absently chewing on one of his fingernails. No one comments on the bad habit, all of them guilty of doing something in a similar fashion, and when they arrive at the entrance, Bruce meets them there where he tells them that, for now, Dick appears to be mostly fine.

His vomit and blood were being tested at the moment for a tox-screening, a toxicologist named Dr.Ruth informing them that Dick wasn’t in life-threatening danger anymore. The “anymore” bit startles them all and it is explained to them that, because Dick appeared to have eaten nothing that night and drank nothing but champagne, there was little else in his system to digest whatever drug was given to him. It all went straight into his nervous system, which is what caused the seizure.

Bruce manages to secure a larger medical room for all five of them to squeeze into and forty minutes later, Dr.Ruth returns with a clipboard in tow. Results are in.

“Mister Wayne,” she begins, making sure to keep an even gaze with the older man, “You said you believed that Richard may have been purposely drugged tonight?”

Bruce nods.

“Is Richard taking any drugs right now? Recreational or otherwise?”

The implication sends a strange stab of anger through Bruce, rising up from his seat to challenge the doctor about her accusations. “Richard has never-”

“Actually,” Tim interrupts, finally speaking, “he does.”

Bruce looks over, shock peppering his face through the way his mouth twitches and his jaw clenches.

Tim rushes to defend himself. “No, wait, what I mean is that Richard takes a prescription. He’s not doing, like, hard crack or something like that.” He holds up his phone as if it contains every single answer to life. “Cass- our sister- told me that Richard didn’t take his anxiety medication this morning. He took it before going to the banquet tonight.”

“Do you know what he was prescribed?” Dr.Ruth asks, scanning through something on one of the papers.

Tim checks his phone again. “Uh, Zoloft. 40 milligrams once a day.”

“Okay,” she hums to herself, satisfied with the answer. “That explains it then.”

She clicks her pen, setting down her clipboard and turning to face all five of them in the room. “Richard’s screening came back just a few minutes ago, but there were a few discrepancies that didn’t match up exactly. From what the labs tested, Richard was given a dosage of about 250 milligrams of ketamine, on which he overdosed, but an additional drug was also found in his blood and from what you said, young man, it would appear to be Zoloft. That medication, in addition to not eating anything and consuming some alcohol, was what caused such a bad reaction.”

She glances behind her again, checking her clipboard. “Now, Mister Wayne,” she addresses Bruce, “In your witness statement, you said that Richard appeared to be having hallucinations?”

“I don’t believe he knew we were there with him.”

Dr.Ruth nods. “Victims of large overdoses on ketamine typically experience hallucinations, similar to a bad LSD trip or otherwise. Sight and sound become warped and the person under the influence often doesn’t understand what’s going on around them.”

“What about,” Duke begins, nervous and quiet, “What about the, um, the other test? Did- Is Dick okay?”

The doctor smiles, happy to give fortunate news. “Yes, the test results came back negative. Other than a few scratch marks on his face which have been cleaned, Richard is fine.”

A collective breath releases over the room. Dick was going to be okay.

“Once the nurses have finished checking your son over, you’re free to take him home,” Dr.Ruth finishes, collecting her things. “Someone will be with you shortly to escort you to him.”

“Wait,” Jason calls out, “That’s it? You’re just going to send him away?”

The doctor looks back at him, sympathy lining her sad smile. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and try to give Richard some dry foods. If anything happens or Richard’s condition worsens at all, please bring him back and we’ll do what we can.”

And with that, Dr.Ruth opens the door and leaves.

~oOo~

The nurses tell them that Dick needs to stay for an additional hour or so, just until he’s coherent enough to answer some well-being questions and to finish the IV bags they’ve given him. All five of them have managed to cram themselves into Dick’s small room, the man in question awake but quiet. He’s coherent enough that he seems to recognize them all individually, and no longer seems to be hallucinating, but he wears a grimace that tells of discomfort. Dick has yet to say anything since waking up.

His eyes are distant, staring listlessly towards the ceiling and trailing from light to light. Bruce is sure the action is somewhat painful, but he doesn’t make a move to distract his son from whatever he’s thinking.

It’s been a long night, for all of them really, but none as long as the night Dick Grayson has had. Bruce is told that Dick spoke in private with one of the nurses and an assisting officer about some of the things that happened during the banquet. Bruce doesn’t pry though. He knows better than to go sticking his nose into something so fresh, something so invasive. He trusts that Dick will speak when he’s ready.

Whenever that is.

There’s a knock at the door before Dr.Ruth walks in again, hands folded neatly in front of her as she enters. There’s no clipboard with her and a lightness in her posture is telling of good news.

“You’re all clear,” she says warmly, stepping up closely to Dick’s cot. “I just need you to sign some release forms and you’ll be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?”

She directs the question towards Dick, whose gaze travels slowly over to the doctor. He licks his lips twice before asking, “What do I need to do after I leave?”

“Hydrate,” she answers, mentally going through a checklist. “Lots of fluids. The charcoal is going to absorb a fair amount of liquid in your system, so keep an eye out for water consumption and bowel movements.”

“What… what about medication?”

She frowns at that, lips pulling down slightly. “Well,” she starts, “I would suggest keeping away from them for the next twenty-four hours. Are you in pain? Do you feel like you need something for it?”

Dick is quick to shake his head. It jostles him and he closes his eyes briefly, be it from pain or disorientation is something indiscernible. “No, no. Not hurt or anything. I take some, uh, prescriptions though. From my psychiatrist. Everyday.”

“I see.” Dr.Ruth is quiet for a moment before, “Try to wait as long as possible. If you absolutely need to, go ahead and take them but be careful. You won’t be in any serious danger but it’s always better to be cautious after an overdose.” She turns to Bruce then. “He’ll need to be somewhat monitored over the next few days. It’s not very common, but symptoms can linger.”

After another pause in which no one speaks up, Dr.Ruth smiles and bows her head slightly. “I’ll have someone bring those papers by soon. Tell one of the nurses if you’re having trouble walking, Richard, and we can get a wheelchair brought to you. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

No one continues to make a sound as Bruce fills out the paperwork, insisting that a wheelchair be brought when Dick only manages to take a few steps before his legs begin to shake. Dick makes no comment on it, only half-heartedly glaring at Bruce as he sat down heavily into the plastic seat. The walk out of the hospital is quiet too, Duke along the way muttering that he was going back to his cousin’s place for the night. Alfred meets the remaining boys at the front, leaning forwards to bring Dick into a small hug before releasing him and helping Dick get into the car he brought.

When Damian hands Dick a water bottle, Dick accepts it silently, lightly patting his little brother’s hand before taking a singular sip from the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it again.

When they arrive at the Manor, Jason is the first one moving and is quick to pull out the ramp they have for when Barbara visits. Dick is tense as they roll him into the Manor, finally putting his foot down when Bruce suggests that one of them carry him up to his bedroom. It’s a slow process and it twists Bruce’s heart in a way he can’t quite describe as he watches his eldest struggle up the flight of stairs, using both the railing and Damian as meager supports.

Dick pushes open the door to his dark room and makes no comment when everyone follows him in. He all but collapses onto his bed, exhausted. They all just simply breathe for a minute, taking the time to truly process everything that’s happened that night. Somewhere in the Manor, a bell tolls and the electric clock on Dick’s nightstand reads two in the morning. They’re all still in their suits, still in their tight dress shoes, and nothing seems quite real yet. The black out curtains are clasped together tightly, as if their belief in maintaining the illusion and reality of darkness is all that’s keeping the peace.

Damian is the first one to move this time, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes to sit beside Dick’s sprawled form. They don’t exchange words, but Dick shifts and allows Damian to get closer, a hand reaching up to finally destroy the carefully combed locks of hair, stiff with gel and pomade. Dick sighs and this release is what prompts the others to move as well, Jason plopping himself at the foot of the bed to lean against one of the banisters, Tim choosing to sit on the floor and rest his head against the side of the bed frame, and Bruce pulling a chair closer to be within reaching distance of Dick.

It’s quiet, calm, and the proximity is just enough to be reassuring. Comforting in a way that doesn’t demand physical touch but soothing enough to provide warmth. It’s nice.

Dick speaks first. It’s an apology.

“I wanted this to be a family night, you know?” he confesses into the stillness. “I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen.”

“We know, Dick,” Tim says, equally as quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There is no response to that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asks, voice gruff but kind. Gentle in a way that betrays his outward appearance.

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” is all Jason responds, easy and light. The dark hides many secrets. He will not be the one to unearth them.

It goes back to silence after that and soon enough, Dick’s breaths are even and his eyes are closed. Slowly, the boys disappear one by one back to their rooms, allowing themselves to recover as well from the experience. Damian falls asleep by Dick’s side and Bruce tenderly picks him up, cradling the boy’s head onto his shoulder, and carrying him to his own room.

When Bruce returns, Dick is sitting up and staring at him. He’s nervous. Bruce takes a deep breath in for his own nerves and sits back down into the seat. They stare at each other for a long time, the eye contact neither uncomfortable nor helpful. It’s a waiting game, one that doesn’t need to happen, and Bruce breathes in again.

“How are you, son?” he asks, gaze heavy as he takes in Dick’s haggard appearance. The hospital had given him a scrub shirt to replace the one he had thrown up on and the texture crinkles as Dick shifts in place. His eyes go back to wandering around, drifting from Bruce’s face to the comforter around his legs.

“I’m tired,” Dick whispers, hands flexing and clenching. “And a little freaked out,” he adds, eyes flickering to Bruce’s and then darting away again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful. I… I messed up.”

Bruce sighs, slowly and deliberately telegraphing his movements as he reaches out to place a hand over Dick’s fidgeting one. Dick is still tense, hand clenching into a fist as Bruce just lets the warmth of his palm linger.

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce begins. Pauses. Backtracks. “Everything that happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Whoever did this… that’s their fault. That’s their doing. Not yours. Never yours.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asks, deflecting. He’s always been good at that.

“I was given a note.” The napkin had been taken away as evidence earlier. The phantom hot weight of it still burns a hole in Bruce’s coat pocket. “It told me to find you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Pause. “I’m glad they did though. I was… worried. Worried of what had happened to you. Dick, look at me please.”

Instantly, Dick’s eyes snap to his and again, Bruce’s heart twists in a way he can’t describe. Sadness? Resentment? Melancholy? Regret? He doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry I let that happen to you,” he says firmly, reaching out with both hands to grasp at Dick’s. He grips them tightly, holding them together like they’re praying. This is now twice in over a decade. “I am so sorry, Dick. I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better father to you, son. You mean more to me than you will ever know and the thought of losing you scares me.”

Dick nods sharply, once, twice, and his face falls into apathy as he processes what Bruce has said. He doesn’t reach out to hold Bruce’s hands as well, but the fact that he hasn’t removed them is enough to reassure Bruce that he’s doing at least one thing right.

“It,” Dick says, voice barely a whisper, “It scares me too. Losing you. Losing anyone. Dying.”

He swallows audibly and sweat trickles down his brow. Bruce wants to insist that Dick go back to sleep or at least drink some more water, but he refrains from doing so, too afraid to remove his hands lest he lose Dick all over again.

“When I was...” Dick trails off, swallowing again. “While I was hallucinating,” he restarts, “I saw, no, uh, I thought I saw a lot of things.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, buddy,” Bruce reminds him, tapping his index across Dick’s knuckles. “It can wait.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” His voice cracks slightly as he says that. Bruce ignores it and Dick seems grateful.

“I thought I was dying again,” he rushes out, as if to force the words before he can take it back. “All these bad things, things from the past that I didn’t want to remember, were suddenly all happening again and I-I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening, who I was with half the time, and I couldn’t move, Bruce. I couldn’t move and it all just happened.

They wouldn’t stop touching me and it scared me. I was terrified and then suddenly I was alone and I really thought I had died. I thought that I had died and then Damian was there and-and I thought he had died again and I couldn’t, couldn’t handle that, Bruce.”

“Dick, breathe. Breathe. Damian is safe. You’re safe. Breathe in for me, buddy, that’s it. You’re okay. I promise.”

Dick nods again as if trying to convince himself that he’s safe now. That he’s home and everything is okay and there are no ghostly hands that cover and touch him. He tries, but he’s tired. The fear rests idle and Dick can feel it scratching at his throat. It’s been six hours hours since everything happened. Only six.

“I think the worst part,” Dick admits, strained and hushed, “was that I was alone.”

Bruce squeezes his son’s hands together, the pressure meant to be grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it with everything he has.

Dick only shrugs his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping him. He looks at his father’s hands, the gnarled knuckles and thin white scars that grasp his own destroyed fingers. The contrast of the touch compared to the appearance is comforting in a way that reminds Dick of their early days as Batman and Robin. Before Nightwing. Before Agent 37. Before everything else. It is a testament to their struggles, their crooked fingers and half formed nails from broken bones and relentless pursuit. Their hands hold the weight of a thousand punishments, twice more punches, and countless conflicts and battles.

Their hands are the evidence of their survival though. Their victories against death.

Two thin stitches that hold together the cut just below his hairline are another piece of the evidence. Another testimony to Dick’s endeavor for endurance against the odds. There will be a pink scar to commemorate tonight, and in a year or so, there will be nothing left but a faint white line.

Tomorrow, Dick will wake up, eat breakfast, and carry on about his day. It will be normal because it has to be. There is no other way to move forward, and Dick will swallow his pills with the same grimace and remembrance of hot metal and red lips. Maybe in a week, he’ll tell his therapist about tonight and they’ll suggest another coping strategy that Dick’s already tried but he’ll try again because he has to.

For now though, in the silence of his childhood room, decorated with pictures of the circus and framed photos of his found family, with black out curtains that never move to let the light of day peer through and a noisy vent that sometimes drips from condensation; for now, Dick can indulge in his fears and his worries as Bruce holds his hands.

There will be police reports, prosecutions, scandals, interviews, testimonies, and so much more later. Right now though. Right now, Dick lets himself breathe and accept the fact that things aren’t fine and that he needs help. Dick lets himself squeeze his father’s hands and blink away tears, finding relief in their hold.

He’s not okay, but tomorrow he will be. He has to be.

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 years

Text

Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 16 of 16

Welp, this is it I guess. I’ve never finished a story of this size before, so ngl, I’m proud of myself. This story was originally gonna be a short possibly two parter imagine, I never intended for this to be 16 chapters long lmao. AND, I didn’t do much pre planning either. I kinda just made things up as I wrote, which is why this story is such a shit show. But a big thank you to the supporters of this shit show, it means a whole fucking lot. Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming...

TW: Page 250

I keep forgetting to tag, fucking hell: @multifandom-fangirl4 @dxllysoutsider @gladerscake

~~~~~~~~~~

( not my gif )

Shakily changing into a stolen guard’s uniform, you found yourself more nervous than you probably should’ve been.

You just dreaded going back, now with the threat of everyone you care about dying.

Before, when it was just you risking your life, it was easier. You didn’t really care if you died if you could save someone else, and you knew that mentality was not the healthiest. But compared to Gally, Thomas, or even Brenda, you didn’t feel like you mattered as much.

What could you possibly have to offer that would be greater than anyone else’s contribution?

“You ready?” Gally smiled at you.

Ah, but being able to be with Gally overpowered those feelings.

“Yup. How do I look?” You teased, jokingly twirling around to show off the heavy uniform.

“Pretty damn good, I gotta say.”

You brushed off the butterflies in your stomach with a scoff. “Well, a good uniform can make anyone look good, I think.”

“I mean, sure. But damn, you really pull it off.”

Your lighthearted conversation was cut short by a sharp cough, looking over to see Newt with an annoyed look on his face. “You guys are bloody disgusting, excuse me while I go vomit.”

“Oh, come on, man. Look at her and tell me she doesn’t look nice.” Gally pointed to you.

“Jesus, keep it in your pants, mate.”

You stifled a laugh as Gally turned a light shade of red, ignoring the suggestive comment with an eye roll. “I’m just sayin’.”

Newt walked away from the amusing exchange, still stifling a few coughs. You couldn’t help but worry. “Does he seem a bit off to you?” You asked. Gally looked to Newt then back to you, the sad look on his face giving you a guarantee that something was wrong.

You would’ve prodded further if it weren’t for Thomas giving the signal that it was time to start infiltrating the W.C.K.D. building.

The way it was planned, Thomas and Teresa would walk in the front together, meeting up with Newt, soon you and Gally would find them, making sure to keep a natural distance away. Brenda’s job seemed the easiest, to you at least, all she had to do was steal a bus. You prayed that Frypan didn’t fall to his death, and that Jorge would get back in time with the Berg.

“You’re worrying.”

You rolled your eyes at Gally’s tone. “Yeah, of course I’m worrying. When do I not worry?”

“Not as much as you’d think.”

Your felt your heavy breaths waft back into your face from the helmet you were wearing not allowing much to circulate. Seriously, how could people do this all day for a job? You ignored the queasy feeling in your gut as you found Teresa with the other two “guards.”

Entering into a stairwell, Gally suddenly stopped the group. “Hold on, hold on.” He said, looking over some sort of electric box. “I can get in here.”

“Kay, throw me the walkie.” Thomas ordered, motioning for you to follow with him to clear the area.

You heard Newt cough heavily as you descended down the stairs with your gun, right behind Thomas. “How long has Newt been like this?” You whispered.

“Now’s not the time, Y/N.” Thomas said, scanning next floor to see that it was clear.

“Thomas.” You pleaded.

Thomas huffed, an annoyed yet mournful face overtaking his features. You knew his answer wouldn’t be good, and you found yourself dreading what he would say. “He’s got the Flare...he’s been like this for awhile now. I just found out myself.” He frowned.

You cast your gaze downwards, tears already welling up in your eyes as you realized what this meant. Thomas didn’t give you a chance to respond as he quickly ascended the stairs back to the others, holding up the radio. “Frypan, we’re in. How you doing?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there.” Fry voiced. “Tell Minho hi for me.”

“Hang in there, buddy.”

Gally soon got into the box, quickly looking through the various labels until finding the right one. “This’ll work.” He assured.

“Okay, Brenda, what’s your status?” Thomas spoke through the radio.

“Working on it.” She answered.

“Copy. Just make sure you’re ready on your end.”

“Don’t worry, you know I’m gonna be there.”

Gally quickly set up the hacking signal up to the correct wires, shutting the box door with a grin. “Alright, let’s go.” Everyone quickly bounded down the stairs, stopping at the door at the bottom. “Lawrence, we’re in position.” Gally radioed, only to be greeted with silence. “Lawrence?”

“If he doesn’t turn those bloody cameras off, then we’re gonna be in big trouble.” Newt expressed everyone’s thoughts.

Gally looked nervous, but peeking though the little window in the door, he huffed. “He’ll do his part.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily before readjusting the mask part of the helmet over your face. “Let’s get this over with.”

Teresa reluctantly placed her thumb over the ID scanner, and Gally quickly encouraged everyone through the door to cautiously speed through the halls to get to where Minho was being held.

It didn’t take long to find the holding bay with Teresa leading the group, but you didn’t know if getting in would be easy with a bunch of guards inside.

“Teresa, stay back.” You ordered, gently pushing her behind you. The last thing you guys needed was for her getting in the crossfire.

“Ready?” Gally looked to everyone, they all nodded, clutching their weapons tightly.

As soon as the door opened, shots rang out from your side, making work of all the guards in no time. The element of surprise probably helped. “Huh, that was surprisingly easy.” You chuckled breathlessly, almost proud of yourself for getting some decent shots in, the recoil packed a punch though.

“Yeah? Don’t let it go to your head.” Newt sassed.

Seeing all the kids exit their holding cells with looks of hopefulness, almost made you tear up. What could’ve these poor innocent souls had to endure by the hands of W.C.K.D. You risked a glace at your cousin, and you couldn’t tell how she felt. Did she feel joy that these kids were finally getting rescued? Or all that she saw in those kids was possible cure, dehumanizing them for the sake of her morality?

You didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“The vault. How do I get in?” Gally’s voice caught your attention. The person he was holding a gun to simply said that he couldn’t. “Guys, this might take some time.” He voiced after looking over the heavy vault door.

You looked around and furrowed your brows when you saw one key person missing. “Where’s Minho? He’s supposed to be here.”

Thomas scowled, storming up to Teresa. “Where is he?”

Teresa quickly went to the computers, looking up his file. “Someone’s moved him up to the medical wing. Thomas, that’s on the other side of the building.”

Thomas sighed. “Okay, take me to him, right now.”

“Alright, I’m coming with you.” You and Newt both stepped up.

“No. No, you guys have to wait with Gally for the serum.”

“You can’t do this on your own.” Newt argued. “And Minho comes first, remember?”

“Just go, we’re wasting time!” Gally called out. “I’ll get the serum, we’ll meet you out back.”

Thomas nodded to Newt, but turned to you with a remorseful look on his face. “No, no, you’re not making me stay.” You expressed. “I’m part of this as much as he is.”

“Y/N, you’ve done so much for us already. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“I’m offering.”

“No, please. Stay here. We’ll be okay.”

You scowled, exhaling sharply. “Fine. Keep an eye on Newt.” You whispered, Thomas nodding then running out with Newt and Teresa. “Please, be careful.”

“They’ll be fine, just watch my six and the kids.” Gally said, starting to saw into the door.

You stood guard at the door, impatiently tapping your foot as you worried about your friends, especially Newt. You wished he had stayed with you and Gally so you could give him the serum as soon as the vault opened. You knew it wouldn’t cure him, but it would give him time, and that’s what he needed right now.

You heard Gally’s saw stop, smiling ear to ear when the vault door finally opened. You went inside to help Gally load up all the vials, the whole room glowing blue from the color of the serum. “Come on, we need to hurry.”

The room was almost empty of its contents, but staring at one of the only vials left, you debated. Emotion overtook logic as you grabbed a singular vial of the serum, gathering courage and turning around, only to be stopped by Gally. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I have to find Newt.”

Gally looked at the serum clutched tight in your hand, putting the pieces together quickly. “No, no way.”

“Who know how much time he had left? This can help him.”

“It’s too dangerous.” He said slowly.

“I can’t do nothing while I know I can help him.”

“You’re not doing nothing. You’re gonna help these kids get to Brenda. I’m not letting you.”

“I wasn’t asking.” You said bluntly, a determined look in your eyes that made Gally speechless. He had seen that look before, and he finally realized he wouldn’t be able to convince you to stay with him.

Gally quickly pulled you into a hug with his free arm, placing a rough kiss to the top of your head. “You better come back to me.”

You smiled softly. “I will.”

And with that, you took off without a glance behind you, determined to save your friend from a terrible fate. Of course, if you had glanced behind you to see Gally’s face, you probably wouldn’t been complied to stay. But you had to help Newt, he couldn’t become one of those things. You couldn’t save Gally all those months ago, couldn’t save Jeff...or Chuck. You didn’t want history to repeat itself.

You followed the signs that led you toward where the medical bay would be, making sure to avoid being sighted at all costs. You felt silly hiding in small confined places that made your legs cramp up and wish you had more flexibility or stamina at least. It definitely didn’t help that alarms were blaring all around you, making you believe you actually did get caught. But hearing a few guards talk loudly about how intruders were heading to the medical bay, you realized it was just Thomas who must’ve fucked up, or worse Teresa.

This was going to get a lot harder...

All the guards seemed to rally to the medical bay to capture Thomas and Newt, it wasn’t too difficult to blend in with everyone else distracted from the chaos of it all.

You heard gunshots and glass smashing down the halls of the medical wing. Those boys sure were making it obvious, weren’t they?

You clutched you gun to your chest, not feeling very confident about taking on the guards by yourself, but when you saw your friends with a newly escaped Minho struggling to avoid the guards, you knew you had to do something.

You saying a silent prayer, even though you didn’t know if there was any being out there that heard it, gave you some sort of comfort enough to charge the guards that were gaining on your friends. Shooting at will, not even sure you were hitting any guards, you heard a few men fall to the floor with pained groans.

You didn’t have time to be proud of yourself before you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head, immediately falling to the floor yourself with a yelp.

You looked up to see the annoyed face of Jensen, him leaning down and roughly grabbing onto you and hoisting you up to stand. “You’re a real pain the arse, aren’t you, youngblood?”

Teresa jumped when she heard the doors slam opened, gasping when she saw you on the floor with a bloodied face in front of Jensen. “What the hell, Jensen?”

“Look who I found at the med wing, taking out guards left and right.” Jensen sneered.

“I said alive, Jensen!” Teresa fumed, looking at your almost unconscious form.

“I know what you said, Teresa. She’s breathing, isn’t she?”

Teresa scowled at the man before leaning down to delicately lift you to your feet, ungracefully dragging you to a gurney from the lack of help with your dead weight. “Get out. Thomas is still out there.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady.” Jensen bowed sarcastically, turning on his heel to walk out of the room.

Teresa turned her attention back to you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” She whispered, quickly fixing up a wet cloth to wipe away at the blood leaking from your nose and mouth.

You groaned at the pained pressure of the cloth, weakly pushing Teresa’s hand away from your face. “Hurts...” You mumbled.

“I thought you were supposed to stay with Gally.” Teresa fussed, ignoring your discomfort to clean your face. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“I needed to help Newt...” You frowned, holding up the serum that was once safely in your pocket.

Teresa sighed sadly. “It wouldn’t have saved him.”

“But it would’ve given him time.”

Teresa stayed silent for a moment, deciding what to do with you. You furrowed your brows when you felt her strap you to the gurney tightly. “What’re you...?”

“I can’t have you wondering off, plus, you might have a concussion.” Teresa said, inserting a needle into your arm, pulling blood from your veins.

“You need my blood to keep me from wondering off?” You glared. Teresa avoiding your eyes as she readied another needle. “You’re still looking for a cure...even though there is none.”

“I’m just going to run some tests.” She answered simply.

You bit your lip when you felt tears well up in your eyes, gently banging your head down onto the gurney in frustration. How the hell were you gonna escape now?

Gally could’ve sworn his heart almost stopped when he saw his friends jump out of that window. Did these guys have a death wish? But what scared him even more if that there were only three, not four. Please, tell me she made it... “Where’s Y/N?” Gally tried not to shout.

Thomas eyes widened. “What do you mean? We left her with you!”

“She went to find you guys, to give that shank the serum.” Gally pointed to Newt.

Thomas clenched his fists, feeling anger well up in his gut. “Teresa wouldn’t let her get hurt. If anything, she needs her. We’ll get her back, Gally.”

“I know, cause I’m not leaving without her.”

It felt like hours before you talked to Teresa again, her being so fixated on her tests tubes and microscopes. “Any luck in finding your make believe cure?” You teased mockingly. Teresa stayed silent, watching through her scientific equipment for any sign that her cousin blood did anything to get rid of the Flare virus. Teresa slammed her hands on the table when the blood wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. “Guess I’m not the one, huh?”

Teresa glared at you, not appreciating your irritating commentary. She chose to move on to Thomas’ blood that she took back in the church, and her eyes widened when she saw his blood destroying the Flare virus.

Just when she finished making the first serum that she knew would work, the whole building shook as a boom echoed around the whole city.

You strained your neck to look behind you, seeing an almost mushroom cloud of fire at the wall that protected the city. “What the hell...?” Your eyes widened even more when you could faintly see a swarm of people charging through the gap in the wall, quickly realizing that the people were fighting and destroying everything. “Teresa, we have to get out of here.” You said, noticing everyone outside the lab room where thinking the same thing and trying to making a quick escape.

Teresa frowned, storming over to you and removing your restraints, and quickly going back to her experiments. “I can’t.”

You quickly removed yourself from the gurney. “What do you mean? The city’s getting raided. They’ll burn this place down, with us in it.”

“Thomas is the cure, Y/N!” She yelled, making you speechless. “His blood is destroying the virus! He can save us all. I need him.”

“Teresa...if all went as planned, he’s long gone by now.”

“No, he can’t be. Newt is dying and Thomas won’t abandon him, you know that. He’ll be slowing them down. I have to get through to him.” Teresa exhaled shakily. “You can go if you want, I’m staying. I have to.”

You looked to the exit then back to Teresa, your cousin, your only family. In the past, most choices you made were clearly the right ones. But now...you had no idea what to do.

You wanted to choose Teresa...you really did. But you still had the temporary serum, you still had the chance to help Newt. “I’m sorry, Teresa.” You voiced, gaining her attention. “I want to stay with you. But I need to find our friends.”

Teresa’s face fell, frowning. “I understand.”

“I’ll come back for you.” Your voice wavered, feeling intense emotion wash over you, suddenly getting the feeling to tell her you loved her. But you cut the goodbye short, running out of the room and rushed to leave the building.

Thankfully, everyone was so focused on packing up to leave, you had no trouble escaping. But you almost didn’t want to leave the building when you saw the hell on earth that was just outside. But you pushed on, making sure you kept the hold on the vial safely in your hand.

You almost jumped when you heard your cousin’s voice echo around the city’s speakers.

“Thomas? Can you hear me? I need you to listen to me. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I need you to come back. Thomas, you can save Newt. There’s still time for him. There’s a reason Brenda isn’t sick anymore. It’s your blood, do you understand? She isn’t sick because...you cured her. She doesn’t have to be the only one. You just need to come back, and this will all finally be over. Please, just come back to me. I know you’ll-”

The speakers suddenly cut out, as almost all power in the city was down.

You suddenly felt dread wash over you, you had to find Thomas.

Running through the city as fast as you could, you wished you were a Runner, then maybe your legs wouldn’t cramp up every time you exerted yourself. You felt the heat of fires and explosions as you sprinted, dodging multiple guards and people fighting each other. This wasn’t supposed to happen...

Finally getting to a clearing, you stopped to cease the wheezing in your heavy breaths, until you heard screaming. You quickly rounded the corner to see Thomas and Newt...fighting each other.

No...you were too late...

You ran to them, quickly trying to pull Newt off of Thomas, only for his attention to turn to you and tackle you to the ground. “Newt!” You yelled, tearing up quickly at the sight of his dead eyes and Flared up face. “Newt...”

Thomas pushed Newt off of you, giving you the chance to take the vial out of your pocket, but the new Crank got free of Thomas’ hold and attacked you again, the vial violently being thrown from your hand. You internally cringed when you heard a shatter. Fuck...

You felt your vision get blurry when Newt smashed your head against the pavement, the pain resonating throughout your skull and making you feel lightheaded.

You didn’t know what happened after that, you just woke up and Newt wasn’t attacking you anymore. You didn’t hear the sound of struggle anymore. You looked to your left to see Brenda, a look of pained shock on her face. Then you realized, Thomas was sitting next to Newt.

“No...” You whispered.

You crawled over to Thomas, looking down at Newt’s body. You could barely see anything due to the tears that welled up in your eyes, making the world around you blurry. You couldn’t do anything but stare numbly at your fallen friend, unaware that Thomas had left.

“Y/N.”

You knew that voice belonged to Gally, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Or do anything when Frypan wrapped his arms around you to give you some sort of comfort, him feeling the same grief as you, if not worse.

Gally felt the pain of the loss too, but seeing everything being burned down too quickly, he had to speak up. “This place is gonna take us down with it if we don’t get outta here...”

Fry gently pulled you away from Newt’s body, reluctantly motioning for Minho to follow. “Come on.” Fry rubbed your shoulder.

You were basically on autopilot on the way to the Berg, where Jorge, Vince, and the kids were waiting to take off. “We have to find Thomas. He went back to the holding facility.” Brenda voiced worryingly.

“That damn kid.” Vince huffed.

The numbness went away enough to remember that you told Teresa that you’d be back for her. You had to find her again, but the Berg was already being lifted up into the air. In your heart, you knew wherever Thomas was, Teresa was most likely with him. That’s something you could rely on, at least.

“Hey...” Gally sat next to you, gently holding your hand. You could faintly see tear marks down his face, his eyes a shade of red and watery. “We’ll find them.”

You wished you believed that, but after everything that’s happened, you felt having hope was childish. You couldn’t bear to hope just for things to end terribly.

“I think I got him!” You heard Jorge shout, everyone, including you, rallying to the front to look out the Berg’s window.

“Yeah, that’s him. I got the hatch.” Brenda said, quickly springing into action.

“Alright, I got him. I got him.” Jorge said, proceeding to carefully turn the Berg around so the now open hatch was facing the burning building roof. “I can’t get any closer!”

Everyone crowded the hatch, calling out for Thomas and Teresa on the roof, reaching out their hands to grab them. Quickly noticing that he was injured badly, you started to reach out as well. “Thomas! Teresa! Come on!”

“Get closer!” Teresa called out.

“Jump!” Vince yelled, his body almost half out of the aircraft trying to reach.

“We gotta get closer!” Gally yelled to Jorge.

“Come on, reach!”

The Berg finally got close enough to where Teresa could help Thomas onto the hatch, everyone quickly pulling him inside. You looked back to Teresa, holding out your hand as far as you could. “Your turn, jump!” You called out. You furrowed your brows in confusion when Teresa made no effort to move, not even to reach out for you. You could see the debate in her eyes, wondering if she actually deserved to live or not. “Don’t leave me!”

Teresa’s eyes softened, almost bringing her to tears upon hearing that short but impactful sentence. In a matter of a few seconds, the next building over was destroyed, large chunks of debris falling, making the roof collapse into itself, taking your cousin with it.

“No!” You sobbed loudly, ripping apart your vocal cords and feeling your heart break in two.

The Berg quickly left the destroyed area, bringing you all back to their base to pack up and finally go to a place called the “Safe Haven.”

You fell back, feeling grief and guilt weigh you down. I shouldn’t have left her...she would be here if I had just stayed...

You looked to see that Thomas passed out, but he was alive. Brenda and Gally quickly patched him up, but he would have to be better treated when the Berg arrived.

Gally just sat next to you the whole ride, not saying anything, not even attempting to give you comforting touches in fear that it would just make things worse, he just sat there to let you know he was there for you.

Everything felt like it was moving too fast, like time sped up without warning or giving you time to adjust. It made you feel nauseous, but you had nothing in your stomach to throw up, besides bile, you which you did upchuck. You huffed at the burning feeling in your throat. “Damn it...”

Gally was right by your side, rubbing your back and telling you everything would be okay. But it wouldn’t be okay. You lost your close friend, and then you lost your only family that you had left. You couldn’t help the new flow of tears, Gally quickly pulling you close to lean on his chest. “It’s okay. Let it out...” He said softly.

“I could’ve...I could’ve...” You hiccupped.

“There’s nothing you could’ve done, sweetheart.” Gally hugged you tighter, feeling your body rack with heavy cries.

Hours later, you finally calmed down, the tears ran out a long time ago. But you noticed the machine hum of the Berg stopped. “We’re here!” Jorge called out, making you flinch at the sudden shout.

“Come on, help me get Thomas situated.” Vince called out, gathering the group to carry him, including Gally.

You stepped out of the Berg to immediately smell a slight salty scent, you never smelled anything like it. And you heard an unfamiliar sound, almost like white noise. It was just after sunset, but it was still a little light out. But you instantly recognized the light tan sandy ground, the water the stretched out for miles and miles to the horizon.

You’d never seen a beach before, not even before your memory wipe before the Maze. It was beautiful, but you would appreciate it better without the rotting feeling of grief weighing on your shoulders.

You walked to where you saw Vince take Thomas, stopping right outside the entrance of the wooden hut. “Is he okay?” You asked softly.

“He’ll be okay.” Vince answered. “He should wake up soon, but I have to go and make sure things have been taken care of while I’ve been gone.” And with that, Vince walked away with a fast pace.

Minho then exited the hut, meeting you with wide eyes. “Hey...” He said awkwardly, making you give a tight lipped smile. “I’m...sorry, about Teresa. I know how important she was to you.”

You didn’t want to cry anymore, you were sick of crying and the thought alone made you exhausted. “I’m sorry about Newt. He...he was a good guy.”

Minho’s lip quivered slightly, but quickly covered it up with a sigh. “We all lost him.”

You brought him into a hug, not knowing what else to do. It was weird at first, you two weren’t the type to show physical affection to each other, but you felt the situation called for it. Minho hugged you back tightly, trying not to cry at the thought of never being able to hug his best friend again.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.” You sighed.

“Yeah, I think everyone is. It would be weird if they weren’t.” Minho looked past you and smiled to himself weakly. “I think I should get some sleep. I’ll see you later.” You turned to watch Minho walk off, giving Gally a slight nod as he passed him.

Gally walked up to you with a small smile. “I would ask if you’re okay, but I feel like that question is pretty obvious.”

“Yeah...” You whispered. “I’m just fucking exhausted.”

Gally frowned, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Vince already has some beds set up for us. Shall we go?”

You nodded. “That sounds nice.”

You and Gally set up your beds next to each other, at your insistent request. To be fair, in a new environment, you didn’t feel safe at all. Ironic in the “Safe Haven.”

You didn’t get a lot of sleep, constantly worrying about how Thomas was doing. Gally seemed to sense your worry. “He’ll be fine. He’s a stubborn kid.” He said, bringing you closer to him. It did seem to relax you as you fell asleep soon after, but that didn’t stop the influx of nightmares to plague your subconscious.

The next morning, everyone was up and atom, but you and your friends seemed to have been allowed to sleep in. “Who knew waking up beside you would be so nice?” You opened your eyes to see Gally smiling softly at you. You tried not to blush, temporarily forgetting the events that happened last night.

“You guys are disgusting.” Fry suddenly voiced loudly.

“You jealous, Fry?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am.”

You chuckled weakly at the interaction, but you sat up and stretched, looking around to see the beach lit up in its full glory. “Wow...” You whispered.

Waking up to such a beautiful sight, it did bring a small smile to your face. You wished so badly that Newt and Teresa were there to share it with everyone too, but you tried to shake those thoughts away.

Later that day, you sat beside Minho and Jorge, watching Gally help build something from afar. “He’s lucky to have you.” Minho smirked, picking at the fruit in his hand.

You smiled slightly, not truly believing it. “It’s the other way around really.”

“Well, whatever. You two are good for each other.” Minho rolled his eyes, making you chuckle. “Thomas...” You heard Minho suddenly whisper, and you looked in the same direction he was, seeing that Thomas was indeed walking through the new area.

You and Minho quickly stood up, slowly walking towards Thomas, along with everyone else behind you guys. Thomas’ eyes were tired, just like the rest of yours probably were. He didn’t smile, you couldn’t blame him. There was nothing to say, so Minho brought Thomas into a hug. You were in so much pain from the loss of your cousin, but Thomas was in love with her, you couldn’t imagine how he felt. He lost two of the most important people to him.

You hugged Thomas too, silently communicating each other’s condolences through the gesture.

That night, you and Gally sat next to each other as everyone else gathered to hear Vince speak at the bonfire that was set up, a celebration of sorts of surviving.

“We have come a long way together.” Vince started. “So many have sacrificed so much to make this place possible. Your friends, and your family. So here's to the ones who couldn't be here, here's to the friends we lost. This place is for you. It's for all of us, but this,” He held up a knife, pointing it to the large stone pillar in front of the crowd, “this is for them. So in your own time, in your own way, come make your peace. And welcome to the Safe Haven!” He cheered, the crowd following suit.

You forced yourself to smile as you held up the drink in your hand, following along with the rest of the crowd that were actually happy to be there. You were too, but it was hard to convey those feelings. Celebrating didn’t feel right, not this soon anyway.

You watched as multiple people lined up to carve their fallen friend’s or family’s names onto the pillar. You knew who’s name Minho would carve, it was obvious. But you didn’t expect Gally to get up and carve a name. Of course you were curious, but it seemed like it would be personal.

You had a name in mind, but you looked over to Thomas who was frowning while reading something. You knew Teresa meant something to him too, they were close, almost as close you and her had been when you were kids. But you two were kids, you two grew apart. You didn’t know her in the end, not truly. You knew you didn’t deserve to be the one to carve her name. You would let Thomas be the one.

You thought back to your past, having more names pop up in your head, only one truly sticking out.

You stood up after the crowd cleared, walking to the stone pillar with the knife in hand. You found the place for the name, thankful that the light from the fire still reached. You held up the knife and started carving the name.

You smiled fondly when it was done.

“Who’s that?” Gally walked up behind you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You took a deep breath. “My baby sister...”

“You had a sister?”

“Yeah, my parents wanted me to choose the name, but she got the Flare along with them before I could give her one. It was only a week later that I finally gave her a name...even if she was dead.”

“How old was she?”

You frowned. “...three days old.”

“Y/N...I’m so sorry.”

You turned around to see Gally’s solemn face, but you smiled weakly. “I just have to believe she would’ve been better off, or in a better place.”

Gally only nodded, taking his hands in yours and leading you away to walk along the shore. “Things will be better here.”

“You really think so?” You asked, not sounding very hopeful.

“It have to be. We fought so hard for this.”

“I hope your right, Gally. What’ll life be like here though?” You wondered aloud.

Gally suddenly smiled giddily. “We’ll build our own city.” He nodded confidently, making you scoff.

“Oh really?” You raised your eyebrows skeptically, but a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah! And we’ll have parties and bonfires every night.”

You couldn’t help but laugh loudly. “Easy there, tiger. We’ve only been here one day. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Come on, dare to dream, Y/N.” He grinned.

“I’ll leave the dreaming up to you, Captain.”

You and Gally stopped and sat on a little incline of the shore to take a break from walking, just watching the sun come up.

Gally was sitting behind you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and you leaning into him comfortably. You basked in his body heat, shielding you from the slightly chilly air from the ocean tides. It felt nice, the nicest feeling you’ve felt in the past few days.

You looked up to see Gally’s eyes entranced in watching the waves, his lips naturally upturned in a slight smile.

You leaned up and placed a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw, seeing his eyes briefly close at the feeling and his smile growing into a shy grin. He turned his head and leaned down to place a kiss to your lips. “I love you, you know.”

You grinned. “Yeah, I know. I love you too...so much.”

Looking back to the ocean, you knew you guys were going to be okay now.

~~~~~~~~~~

Welp, yeah...I’m having trouble liking the ending, but I hope y’all do at least. BUT SIKE, this ain’t the end(technically). I’m planning on releasing a bonus chapter reallll soon, for all those heathens that wanted smut ;)

But for those not into that sorta thing, don’t worry! It’s not gonna forward the plot in any way, this chapter is the end of the main story, so you won’t miss anything. Just fluff and smut

#sweet pandemonium series #the maze runner #tmr gally #gally x reader #gally

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captainrexforever · 3 years

Text

Trials and Tribulations 2/2

Rating: T

Word count: ~6k

Summary: The reader discovers that she has formed a force bond with her Mandalorian companion. This has some unforeseen complications during the events at the Imperial refinery on Morak.

Warnings: angst, fluff, canon typical violence, more Dad! Fett, awkward! Din, use of in-universe curse words

Note: Part 2 at last! There are quite a few pov. changes, so I hope that they don’t interrupt the flow of the story too much. Happy reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Pt. 1

After settling into the cockpit alongside Fett, the only thing you can do is wait for Fennec’s signal, but that doesn’t mean you have to be bored.

“Is it too much to ask for a tour of the flight controls?”

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” He speaks honestly.

You can only chuckle in response and shrug. “What can I say, I’m not used to holding a conversation with my crewmate.”

“I take it Mando doesn’t talk much.”

His eyes search your face, and although you attempt to hold his gaze, your eyes fall to the floor as you answer. “No, he doesn’t.”

Fett only nods in response, and you have a sudden urge to change the subject. “So, I noticed that you wear your helmet while flying, even though all the screens are displayed on the console.”

He must note the change in topic, but he doesn’t bring it up. “Yes, I tied all the tracking technology into the visor of my helmet. That way if I have to aim at something while in flight, I can observe it through the viewport and follow the object with my eyes, as if aiming a real blaster.”

“Woah, that’s really cool.”

“Indeed. It’s an idea my father often shared with me, although he didn’t get the chance to implement the changes. I was finally able to make the alterations myself.” There’s a little bit of nostalgia in his voice, and you wonder if you should feel bad for bringing up a potentially sensitive topic. “Perhaps I can let you try it on the retrieval run.” Boba continues.

“Oh, no, no, no, maybe later, thank you. I don’t want to jeopardize the mission with my novice flying skills.”

“Is that so? You project the aura of a competent pilot.”

“Yes, but it’s been a while since I’ve sat behind the controls of a ship.”

Fett raises a hand to his chin, as if stroking a non-existent beard. “So you didn’t fly Mando’s ship?” It’s definitely a question, but it comes off more like a statement.

“Well, I...I usually left that to Mando, I felt like it was almost a form of relaxation for him and I didn’t want to take that away.”

“Can I give you some advice?”

That throws you off a little.

“Sure.”

“A Mandalorian’s ship is a precious possession, not as important to them as beskar or their code, but still. A ship represents a Mandalorian’s freedom and individuality. If you were allowed to live within that ship for what I estimate to be several months, there was something else going on.”

It feels like someone lodged their fist into your chest and squeezed all the air out of your lungs. Surely he couldn’t mean...“What, what do you mean? Are you saying he was desperate for help no matter the cost?”

Fett wants to bang his head on the console, then bang it against your head to knock some sense into you. No wonder you and the Mandalorian get along so well, you’re both absolutely clueless.

“Do you know that he carried you up the ramp of this ship last week when you were on death’s door, demanding medical attention from me?” Your eyes widen in response. “When we eventually realized you were losing too much blood, his first instinct was to infiltrate a medical station to obtain the necessary blood samples for a transfusion. Lucky for him, I had some sequencing instruments aboard, and we were able to identify your blood type. By some miracle, you and he happen to possess the same blood.” The atmosphere is becoming more tense by the second, and you can only sit there as Fett recounts the events surrounding your recent injuries. “He stayed by your side during the entire two day flight to Nevarro, refusing to eat or sleep. With the amount of time he spent providing blood to the transfusion system, I was sure he would pass out from blood loss before we arrived.” A choked sound leaves your throat. “The second we landed, he was on his feet, clutching onto your body as he carried you to the Marshal’s office.”

He lets his words sink in for a moment as he pins you underneath his gaze once again. “I have fought countless battles, lost many comrades, and seen fellow warriors suffer horrible injuries. But I have never seen a man so stricken with grief and despair at the thought of losing a fellow comrade-in-arms. It’s obvious you mean much more to him than either of you realize.”

He notices that you’re in shock after taking in all of that information, and he opens his mouth to say one last thing. “If you want to take a seat in the hold and let yourself process all of that, I’ll let you know when I receive the cue to take off.”

The sentence is uttered with kindness, and you can only nod, thankful for his understanding. In a second you’re slipping down the ladder to the main hold of the ship.

Kriff.

Tears bite at the corners of your eyes as you suppress a sniffle with your forearm. That damned Mandalorian has been holding out on you. It all makes sense now. The affection you sensed earlier, the brief moments where you often notice his gaze linger for a millisecond too long. He cares about you. The thought has you releasing a muffled sob into your palms, why has he never told you? You would have welcomed his affection and returned it a thousand fold, if he had ever offered you the chance.

A spike of fear races up your spine suddenly, and you tense in response. There is a familiar tickling sensation in the back of your mind, and you realize that Din is unintentionally projecting on you. After what happened earlier, you’re sure that you are the last person he wants to communicate with. His fear washes over you again, this time accompanied by panic, and you know that something has gone terribly wrong. Feelings be damned, you need to know what is going on down there. A firm nudge against his thought process grants your mind access to his, and the singular pulsing thought that envelops your brain gives you an immediate headache.

“This is for the kid. The kid needs me, I can do this for him. I can do this for the kid.”

“Din, what’s going on?”

“You need to leave right now.”

“Din, what’s going on, let me help.”

There is no response. You’re so frustrated right now that you want to punch him, and you must be projecting because he allows you to see one more thought.

You gasp in disbelief and shock.

“Din...no. You can’t take your helmet off.”

“This is for the kid, Y/n. There is no other way.”

“Your creed, your way. What will you do after you take it off?”

“I...I don’t know. This is the only way I can save him.”

A tear rolls down your cheek.

“I understand.” Then you pull yourself from his mind.

Even faced with death, while you cried over his limp body, he had refused to remove his helmet.

No, you don’t understand at all.

By the time Mayfeld and Mando board the ship, you’re seated in the cockpit once again, desperately trying to keep a firm hold on your emotions. The ship rocks with the force of an explosion as Boba makes a hasty retreat.

“We got company. Hang on.” He announces.

The ship swerves to the side as he maneuvers away from the blasts of two tie fighters, and you watch in fascination as the scope on his helmet automatically drops into place in front of his visor.

“These Imperial pilots can’t hit a damn thing.” He complains to you.

“Isn’t that a good thing for us?” You ask.

“I suppose. It isn’t much fun though.”

Wow. Maybe he and Din aren’t so different after all, or perhaps all Mandalorians are just crazy.

“You wanted to learn about the controls, right? Flip that gold switch I’m pointing to.” He requests.

After grasping a hold of the pilot seat to keep yourself upright, you reach for the control panel and flip the switch.

“Excellent, now take my helmet.” He removes it and holds it out to you. “Let me know when the two fighters are within 80 meters of each other.”

You take the helmet eagerly, desperate for some type of combat action to block out your overwhelming emotions. The visor remains dark until the helmet thunks into place around your head, then it bursts into life. There are so many readings on the display that you are overwhelmed for a moment.

“Look at the top right corner of the HUD, it’ll show you the close-range scans and a distance measurement for the two targets.”

“Got it. The display measures the distance at 100 meters.”

“Alright, just wait a second. Standard flight path protocol will have them grouping up soon.”

Sure enough, the number plunges down to 90, then 85, then 82. Just a little bit closer…“Now!”

A light flashes somewhere on the HUD as a click filters through the helmet’s speakers. A glance at the top right corner of the display reveals a projectile moving towards the two tie fighters, and you grin at the resulting explosion. There is still a satisfied smile on your face when you hand the helmet back to Fett.

“Nice shot. And thank you.” You hope that he understands your referring both to the advice he shared earlier, as well as his recent actions.

He nods. “Any time, vod.”

“Vod?”

“It’s Mando’a, the closest term in Basic is ‘comrade’.”

That spikes your interest and there is a burning question on the tip of your tongue, but you leave it for later.

“I’m gonna set the ship down, you might want to take a seat.” Fett breaks the silence.

You scramble to follow his advice, and once the landing cycle is complete he rises from his chair. “Just a moment.” He elaborates, as he descends down the ladder.

His absence leaves you with a quiet moment to reflect, and you hold your fisted hands out so you can list some facts and organize your frazzled thoughts. Ok, you tell yourself as you take a deep breath.

One, Din cares about you.

Two, you care about Din.

Three, he cares for the child like a son.

Four...what’s another fact? Dank farrik!

Four, you repeat as you rack your brain. Ah yes, Din’s Creed forbids him from revealing his face to another being.

Five, Din obviously knew he had no choice but to risk breaking his code. The choice was to either reveal his face, or abandon the child to a fate that could be worse than death.

Six. Well, now that you think about it, you are being a little bit petty. You would also be willing to risk anything, if it was the only way to save the kid. Now that you’ve gone and said it, you feel a little ashamed. Poor Din doesn’t deserve to deal with the loss of his child and your foul mood at the same time.

You decide to continue your list.

Seven, Boba Fett’s ship is cool as hell.

Eight, Din is kinda hot. Wait, what?! Hold on a second.

Eight, Din is...alright fine. He’s pretty hot.

Nine, He does have very nice thighs.

Ten, He’s really attractive when he’s fighting.

Eleven, He’s...Wait, you only have ten fingers!

You really need to get yourself under control, this is completely out of line.

“Let’s hold tight up here for a moment, Mando’s putting on his kit.”

You let out an undignified squeak, caught entirely by surprise. What you said earlier was becoming more and more true by the second, Mando and Boba weren’t so different after all.

Meanwhile in the small fresher, Mando is in the process of attaching his beskar chestplate when you start projectingly very loudly. A blush rises to his cheeks as you approach the end of your mental list. He has always hoped that you felt some semblance of affection towards him, but the thoughts you are currently entertaining are on a whole new level.

After the events in the refinery, he’s still a little shaken, but he feels he owes you an explanation for his recent behavior. Once the last piece of Beskar is attached to his figure, he prepares to ascend the ladder to the cockpit. But, when he approaches, he can distinctly make out your voice, as well as Fett’s.

“There are two words that I sometimes hear Mando use, and I think that they are from Mando’a. Would you mind translating them?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I did once. He didn’t answer.”

“What are they?”

“‘Verd’ and ‘ika’.”

“Interesting.” He strokes at his chin again. “It’s actually one word, verd’ika.” (Little warrior)

“Oh. What does it mean?”

“It means…”

Oh no, Din thinks. I need to break this up right now.

“What’s the status on Cara and Fennec?” He blurts out. Affection and amusement fill him when he notices you jump slightly in your seat at his sudden appearance.

“They should be approaching our position at any moment now.”

Din nods. He realizes he’s awkwardly lingering at the base of the ladder now, but he can’t let Fett share that translation with you. Not yet. Not until he is able to explain himself.

“Fett, could you provide me with the materials to replace the cooling core in my blaster? All my spare parts and tools were on my ship.”

Boba stares him down. He knows exactly what Din is trying to do. Din sighs, he is far too fatigued, mentally and emotionally, to deal with this right now. He’s just about to give up when Fett gives him a sharp nod, plops his helmet over his head, and rises from his chair before descending into the hull. Din notices him shoot you an apologetic look, which you respond to with a tight-lipped smile.

Now that at least one disaster has been avoided, Din turns to follow through with his made-up task. A voice crackles through the speakers in his helmet, and he startles when he recognizes Fett’s voice. He hasn’t heard a fellow Mandalorian’s voice transmit through his helmet’s audio channel since the destruction of the covert.

“I know what you did back there.” Fett states.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I meant in the refinery.” Fett clarifies.

Din tenses in response and whirls around to face Fett again. How could he know?

“I was monitoring all Imperial communications from inside the refinery as a precaution, just in case there was a complication. The Imperial terminal in the base uploaded a facial scan that wasn’t registered to the computer’s database right after you two arrived.”

Din’s hands clench into fists, if Fett saw the scan…

“Don’t worry Mando, I never saw the image. But, I did have to perform a fair bit of technological jargon to approve the scan. And, I made sure the image was deleted from the Imperial database immediately after the files were downloaded.”

Din’s figure visibly relaxes, those were just two more favors he owed Fett.

“You know, you owe your companion a lot of explanations. Or should I say, gar verd’ika.” (Your little warrior)

If Din didn’t feel so exhausted he would put up a bigger fight, but he can’t help the way he immediately gives in to Fett’s unspoken inquiry.

“She is...important to me, I just don’t know how to tell her.”

“Well you’re going to have to do better than that. Think about it, then come talk to me. We will figure it out, as brothers.”

Din nods his approval.

“Are you two done staring into each other’s eyes? Because you’re kind of freaking me out.”

Mayfeld.

“Shut up Mayfeld.” Boba and Din huff in unison as they shoot him two identical helmeted glares.

Later, after Mayfeld is relieved from the crew, Boba and Din agree that they should fly to the nearest friendly planet so that they can restock their food stores and ammunition. While the ship is in hyperspace, Din takes a seat to prepare the message he plans to transmit to Moff Gideon. It only takes him a moment to agree on the wording. He decides to repeat the same lines that Moff Gideon arrogantly delivered on Nevarro several months ago, with a couple key differences. The message will serve as a warning, an omen of what is to come.

The last line of the speech suddenly gives him an idea. Perhaps he knows what to say to you after all.

Now that Mayfeld is gone, (you don’t even bother to ask why you are leaving him behind) you are free to sit down in the hold once again. But, after spending so much time in the cockpit, you find yourself wanting to stay. Boba Fett still sits in the pilot seat, wearing his helmet as he pilots the ship. Mando sits in the furthest corner of the hold, facing the clear viewport, as he and Cara discuss their next steps towards retrieving the child. You assume that Fennec is also down below, most likely passing the time by polishing her beloved rifle.

Fett breaks the comfortable silence that reigns over the cockpit. “As I recall, I promised you a chance to fly. Even though we’re in hyperspace right now, it’s good practice to just sit in front of the controls and familiarize yourself.”

“Are you sure?” You’re secretly jumping up and down with excitement, but you don’t want to annoy Fett right as he’s offering you the opportunity to fly his ship.

“I’m quite certain.” He stands up, offering you the seat.

You sit down immediately, running your fingers lovingly over the controls. It’s been a long time since you’ve been behind the console of a ship as unique as this one. After you’re done gawking, you look over to Fett, only to notice that he’s staring off into space. At least, you assume he’s staring off into space, you can’t really tell while he is wearing the helmet. He looks over to you after a second and removes his helmet, offering it to you for the second time that day.

“Are you sure I need the helmet?” Please say yes.

“Go ahead, you might as well be familiar with all the aspects of the in-flight instruments.”

You offer him a beaming smile before settling the beskar over your head. “I’ll be right back.” You hear him say, along with the sounds of him descending the ladder. Odd, you think, he seemed to be in quite a hurry.

As Din discusses his plan with Cara, he hears Fett’s voice crackle through the speaker in his helmet. “You ready to have that discussion? Your companion just announced she’s heading to the fresher, so we have time for a brief chat in the cockpit.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” Din responds.

Din continues his conversation with Cara, and when he notices a blur make its way down the ladder from the cockpit, he politely excuses himself.

He makes his way towards the ladder, the echo of his feet meeting the rungs causing nerves to bubble to life in his chest. One foot meets the durasteel flooring of the cockpit, then the other follows. He stands there awkwardly for a second, the back of the pilot chair and Fett’s helmet in clear view, then abruptly spills his thoughts.

“I know what to say.” He clears his throat as his voice cracks a little.

Fennec stands from her seat, affectionately patting her rifle as she props it against the side of the chair. As she passes by the supply closet on her way to the refresher, she notices Fett warily peering out from the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Boba Fett, the famed Boba Fett, actually jumps at her words, hushing her as he continues to peer in the direction of the cockpit. She wrinkles her brow in confusion and glances towards the cockpit as well, wondering what exactly she should be watching for.

A few moments later, Cara notices that there is not a soul in sight, and she rises to her feet, determined to figure out where everyone has disappeared to. A quick sweep of the hull doesn’t reveal a sign of Mando or Fennec, so she decides to check the hallway on the other side of the hold. As she rounds the corner she notices both Fennec and Fett peering out of the doorway of what appears to be a supply closet.

Her eyes narrow as she stares them down. “What---”

Both Fennec and Fett shush her immediately, their gaze fixed upon the cockpit. Thoroughly bewildered, she too looks towards the cockpit, worried that something has gone awry.

Meanwhile, you are sitting in the cockpit, trying to scrape your jaw off of the floor as you examine each of the control panels. This really is one unique ship. Just as you are taking a closer look at the targeting instruments, a voice breaks through your thoughts.

“I know what to say to her now, Fett. I will tell her that she means everything to me, that she means more to me than I can ever put into words.”

You are completely dumbfounded. Does Mando know who he just said that to?

Fett...that sneaky little bastard...he set you two up, didn’t he.

Well, you are not one to look a gift taun-taun in the mouth, so you take off the helmet, stand up, turn around, and level your gaze with Mando’s.

“The feeling’s mutual, vod.” (Comrade)

He panics, because one second he’s standing in the cockpit, and the next he’s disappeared from sight. The clang of beskar meeting durasteel, along with a grunt of pain, echoes through the hold as you drop the helmet and scramble into motion.

You rush to the top of the ladder, staring down at Din’s splayed out form in shock. A snicker breaks the silence and your gaze flies to the hallway where your other three companions are smothering laughter into the palms of their hands. You can’t help yourself, the ridiculous sight has you falling into a fit of giggles as well.

“This is not funny!” Din’s voice echoes through your head.

The abruptness of his statement startles you, and one second you’re standing on firm durasteel, the next you’re falling through the air as you too plummet towards the flooring at the base of the ladder. Except you don’t hit the floor. You hit two warm arms that absorb most of your fall, then a beskar-clad chest.

A pained grunt escapes Din’s helmet.

“You’re heavy.”

“Yeah? Well you are busted, Mando.”

“Busted?” It sounds like he is still straining for breath.

“Busted.”

More laughter peals through the recycled air of the hold, and you and Din turn simultaneously to fix all three of your crewmates with a glare.

“You see what you’ve done.”

“It’s not my fault you're clumsy, Din.”

“Clumsy? You’re the one who fell on top of me!”

“You shouldn’t scare me all the time!”

“Are you two gonna get up, or are you just gonna lay there on the floor?”

“Cara!” You exclaim, your cheeks bursting into flames.

“I can’t wait till this mission is over, you all need some serious help.” Fennec grumbles, but she’s hiding a grin as she stomps to her chair, retrieves her rifle-just a precaution, she mumbles-then enters the fresher.

As for Fett, he has a shit-eating grin on his face, and you can’t help but notice that he looks like a proud father.

“Well, Mando, I think we solved your problem.” His grin falters a little. “Or, at least, one of your problems.”

Fett shoots you a wink as he steps over your prone form and ascends the ladder. “Good luck with that one, you’re gonna need it.”

Cara also walks past your sprawled out bodies, taking a seat as she pointedly looks away from you and out the viewport.

You look down at Mando, a soft smile overcoming your features when you notice he’s been staring at you. One of the hands that was used to brace your fall is now settled on the small of your back and it holds you firmly to his chest. The other hovers in the air beside your left ear, hesitating, and you give it a glance out of the corner of your eye. You so desperately want him to touch you with that hand, just like you’ve always imagined. So you give him a little nudge.

“Could you brush that piece of hair out of my eye for me?” It’s practically a whisper as you refrain from shattering this tender moment.

A shaky exhale rattles from beneath his helmet, and then his hand moves slowly to fulfill your request. Seconds drag by like hours...and then his touch finally greets your skin. With a tenderness that is so shocking it hurts (has he thought about this too?) the tips of four fingers meet your forehead, sliding down your temple oh so slowly until they glide through your hair, finally curling around the shell of your ear as any stray strands are tucked away.

You shut your eyes for a moment, every nerve ending fizzling out in complete bliss as you bask in the warmth of his touch. Neither of you move for a long while, and you would think he’d fallen asleep if not for the incessant chatter that hums through your mind.

“You’re smiling.” His voice surfaces through the haze of thoughts.

“I know. I can feel you, your voice, your thoughts...I thought you shut me out.”

“Never.”

You open your eyes and he is still in the same position as before. His hand curled behind your left ear, his visor staring up into your face, and the hand on your back still radiating the same warmth. After another shaky breath, he drags his hand down the side of your face, curls it around the back of your neck, then slides it upward over the base of your skull. Each movement is drawn out, as if he’s moving in slow motion. You both know that he’s only trying to prolong this moment, along with each gesture, for as long as he possibly can.

It’s your turn to sigh when he bends your head down, closing the distance between your faces so that your forehead rests against the top of his helmet. Your palms, that had previously been supporting your weight, abandon the floor to splay themselves over Din’s beskar chestplate instead. The closeness is suffocating in the most beautiful way, and you’re sure that if he wasn’t wearing a helmet you would be begging for a kiss by now.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

His voice has you blushing, but you can’t bring yourself to feel ashamed.

“I can’t help it. You’re just too damn hot to handle.” It’s meant to tease him, but the response you receive is the complete opposite of what you expect.

“Yeah, especially when I’m fighting, am I right?”

There is a dramatic pause while your brain stalls to a grinding halt. “Were you listening earlier, Din? Why the nerve--”

He backpedals immediately, trying to reconcile his previous statement before you decide to jump up and clock him in the head. “Do you know that we’ve been kissing this whole time.”

Huh? Kissing? Your lips haven’t even touched! He must have hit his head harder than you thought.

“Are you coherent right now?”

He chuckles fondly, the sound echoing through your mind, and you’re sure it's the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. “This gesture, our foreheads touching...it’s called a keldabe kiss. Since my people do not remove their helmets, that is how we show affection to our loved ones.”

“Oh.” You can feel his nerves pulsing through your mind. “It’s perfect.” A searing warmth blossoms throughout your whole body, and you know it is the result of his happiness. “Will you tell me--”

Fennec emerges from the fresher and shocks you two out of your stupor. “Are you two going to stop gazing into each other’s eyes and take a seat?”

Fennec and Cara both share a chuckle at the way you and Din jump at the sudden intrusion. You are too immersed in your lovey-dovey emotions to even glare at them so you just huff in response. A glance towards Din’s helmet doesn’t reveal much about his current thought process, so you rely on your bond and just let yourself feel.

The emotions he possesses are so powerful they are blinding, so you guide yourself to his loudest most current thoughts.

“...how’d I get so lucky? I wonder if she will let me kiss her again.”

You just shake your head fondly. “Come on Romeo, let’s go sit down.” You offer a hand once you are standing, and he grumbles, eventually taking it even though you both know he requires zero assistance to lift himself from the floor. He doesn’t release you though, even when he reaches his seat and settles into the chair. Just as you’re about to turn and return to your own seat, he tugs on that hand and sends you barreling into his lap. A wide-eyed look of shock is the only expression you can manage as you fumble to keep yourself on his lap without tumbling to the floor.

And now he’s laughing into your bond again...great.

“Stop laughing and help me, you buffoon!”

Din quells his chuckling and finally moves to help you right your figure. His hands attempt to settle you into his embrace, but he can’t help but notice that you still seem uncomfortable. He looks to Cara for help, only to realize that her gaze is still directed out the viewport. Instead, he looks to Fennec, and the gaze that she eventually gives him screams you’ve got to be kidding me. He glares at her from beneath the helmet, raising a hand in desperation as he gestures towards you. Fennec glares back, and then mimics the pose of a droid, with her arms out, legs limp, and an impassive gaze on her face. Then she gestures back towards him. He gets the hint immediately, blushing red beneath the helmet, and nods his thanks. She just waves him off and continues to polish her rifle.

For the first time in his adult life, the Mandalorian slouches in his seat. His spine rounds as he curls himself around your form, providing a protective shell around your body. Both hands guide you into a sideways position, similar to a wedding carry-he blushes even harder at that realization-and then he tucks your head into the crook between his helmet and chestplate, where his cloak will cushion your head. You give him a sleepy smile and snuggle closer to his armored chest, looping an arm around his neck as you get comfortable.

“So will you tell me what it means?” You attempt again.

“What does what mean?”

“Verd’ika.”

“It means ‘little warrior’.”

The smile that overtakes your face is almost blinding. You fall asleep with the echo of that thought in your head, and wake up to the gentle snores of a certain Mandalorian. There’s an incessant needling in the back of your sleep-addled brain. There’s no way Din would have fallen asleep with the rest of the crew watching. You blink your eyes open, and panic a little bit when you realize that hold is quite a bit darker than earlier. There are a couple blinking lights from the cockpit that shed some light on the room. And after a second, you scan the area only to realize that there is no one else in sight.

Abruptly, your back twitches in pain and you realize that Mando’s vambrace is digging into your back. You shift slightly, trying to adjust your position without leaving your warm perch. Din mumbles in his sleep, shifting a little bit at your movements, and it causes the hand you slung behind his neck earlier to thwack him rather violently in the back of the head. He shoots to a standing position immediately, and you squeak, clutching onto him like a koala as he nearly sends you hurtling towards the ground.

His blaster is drawn in a second, and your sluggish mind struggles to connect with him through your bond in order to calm his frantic motions. He must break out of his trance before you are able to form a connection, because he suddenly settles back down into the chair with a tired exhale.

“Sorry, you startled me.” He apologizes.

“It’s ok.”

He adjusts you into a more comfortable position, fussing as he tucks you back into his chest. You just hum against his neck, basking in the warmth that he produces. Surprisingly, the beskar itself is also warm, and you note that it must maintain the same temperature as his body.

“We landed a little while ago. The others left to enjoy a night on the town, they won’t be back for several hours.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you even awake?”

“Yes.” You respond as you peel an eye open. The adorable way Din is tilting his helmet to look at your face sends a wave of affection blossoming through your chest. But, as cute as he looks right now, you really want to be asleep.

“Since we have a moment, I want to talk about what happened today.”

That has your attention, and you’re fully awake in seconds.

“I know that we disagreed on a couple things today. And, we have both made implications about our feelings, but I want to lay everything out on the table so it is one hundred percent clear.”

You nod in agreement.

“You and the child will always be the first priority to me. No matter what. Mandalorians value their clan, their family, above all else. You and the kid are my family.” He cuts himself off, voice cracking a little as he tries to continue.

You rush to fill the silence, eager to reassure him of your own feelings. “You and the kid are my family too Din, and I would not have it any other way. I know that you didn’t give me the mission earlier because you were worried about me. And, I know that you had to remove your helmet because there was no other way to locate the little one. I am sorry I didn’t support your decisions. I was bitter and hurt, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

A sound, like that of a choked sob, escapes Din and your heart squeezes in pain. Before you can finish, he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) I am so sorry, I didn’t even think about how you would feel.”

“No! Don’t apologize, I am the one apologizing to you.”

You are both laughing through your tears, and you clutch at his hands with both of yours.

“I love you Din, I love you so much, and I will always support any decision you make.”

“Ner verd’ika, ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. (My little warrior, I love you) You hold my heart in your hands.”

At that admission, you feel a burning desire to kiss him, but you settle for resting your forehead against his helmet instead.

“I seem to recall that you promised to ‘kick my ass’ once we landed.”

“Stop it, you’re ruining the moment.” You rebuke him as you shove half-heartedly at his chest.

“I think you’re wimping out, ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) You don’t think you can beat me anymore?”

How dare he tease you. The nerve of this man.

“No, I’ll still kick your ass anyways. I hope you won’t be too embarrassed when I school you in front of everyone else tomorrow.” A smug smirk stretches across your face as you finish speaking.

“You’re quite feisty, my dear.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

He grumbles beneath the helmet, neither denying nor acknowledging your statement.

“I never realized you had such a dirty mouth.” The words are directed through your bond, and you can’t help but notice that the tone is a little suggestive. His words have your face erupting into flames.

Your Mandalorian has some real nerve.

Ending Notes: I am actually really happy with how this turned out. Multi-chapter stories are a little intimidating and I admire all of you writers that can juggle several multi-chapter stories at once. I hope that this did the whole un-masking/face reveal thing justice while still staying as true to Din’s character as possible. ALSO, if I messed up any of the Mandalorian culture/lore stuff, please let me know.

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