#No I did not block the squares before putting the blanket together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sprnklersplashes · 1 month

Text

time won't fly (9/?) ao3

this was the very first page (not where the storyline ends)

Martha isn’t expecting much from today.

Which is a silly, self-pitying thought that she should push from her head and move on. She doesn’t know why she had expectations, other than she had a lovely night last week with Veronica. And yes, maybe some part of her-a very naive part of her-thought that they were going back to the old days, to Veronica-and-Martha, where every weekend was theirs, but that’s on her for not knowing better. If she refuses to let the past go, unrealistic expectations will plague her until after college.

With a heavy sigh, Martha drops her cereal bowl in the dishwasher and slams it closed. So much for not thinking about it.

The house is empty; her mom is working the early shift today so she woke up to a note on the fridge signed off with ‘I love you’. It’s times like this the house feels a lot bigger; two floors become twenty, square feet become acres. When she could simply appear on Veronica’s doorstep, it hadn’t felt quite as lonely. A safety net always existed down the block for her.

Earlier, Martha had asked Veronica during study hall, tentatively, if she wanted to do something today, but she had shaken her head, mumbling about a doctor’s appointment that morning. Which makes sense; twice now Martha has seen Veronica emerging from the bathroom, face pale and hair limp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Most of the time, Heather Duke trails after her, contempt in her dark eyes. And much as she tried, she couldn’t help feeling uneasy at the sight, a two-pronged fork poking her in the gut. One; someone was helping Veronica and it wasn’t her. And two; Veronica was staggering out of the bathroom with red-rimmed eyes and a bulimic of two years beside her. It’s awful, judgemental, to put those things together and yet she did.

Martha shakes the thought from her head, scowling. She grabs her backpack from the table and storms into the living room, floorboards creaking beneath her steps.

So, at 9 am on a Saturday, Martha curls up on the couch, flips on daytime TV, and takes out her homework. She has a short essay on The Tempest to start and while she’s been in the class and made, she couldn’t recall the plot of that play with a gun to her head.

At around halfway down the page, there’s a knock at the door. Martha’s head snaps up. It comes again, quick and dainty against the wood. It’s unfamiliar to her, and for a second she considers pretending she didn’t hear it. Then the instinct fades and she pulls herself up, and discards the blanket before she makes her way down the hall. She does her best to appear happy and welcoming but then she opens the door and she can’t quite do anything.

Because Heather Macnamara is standing on her doorstep.

Martha blinks fully expecting to wake up in her bed. In what version of reality would Heather Macnamara be on her doorstep, smiling at her like there’s nowhere else she would rather be.

“Heather,” she says, having taken far too long to find her voice. “Um, uh… hi?”

“Hi.” Heather beams at her, perfect white teeth in her perfect cheerleader’s smile. Her hair is held back in a loose bun, tucked under the same white beanie she had the last time she was here. “I was in the neighbourhood.”

“You were in the neighbourhood?” Martha repeats. She wasn’t aware their neighbourhoods existed on the same planet.

“Uh-huh,” she says. “I mean, well, I was walking Lola here and I remembered how nice your block was and I thought I’d take her down it.”

“Lola?” Martha asks. It’s then she glances down and sees that Heather is holding the lead of a very fluffy grey-and-white puppy whose tail beats a steady rhythm against the ground. “You have a dog?”

“Yeah,” Heather says. Of course she does, loads of people have dogs. That is not something to be confused about. “Normally my dad or my sister walk her, but I thought I’d take her down here for a change, and then I saw your house cause I remembered it from the last time I was here, and I thought maybe you’d want to come and walk her with me?” As if on command, Lola lets out a bark and begins sniffing around Martha’s sneakers.

Martha braces herself. Ram’s party bursts across her mind; all dimmed lights and a strong vodka smell, eyes of the world on her. Her hair rises on the back of her neck, waiting for the cheerleading squad to burst from her bushes.

Martha never used to be cynic. But now, she’s pulling away from Heather and getting ready to slam the door.

“So let me get this right,” she says. “You came all the way from your house to mine, which is at least fifteen minutes, to ask me if I want to walk your dog with you when there is a park five minutes from you?”

Heather’s face falls. It’s such a sight that Martha stops short, her breath sharp as she inhales. And then comes the guilt, cold beneath her skin, because this is why no-one likes you Dunnstock-

“I… I did not plan on you knowing all of that.”

“You live near Ram right?” comes her response. In contrast to her previous rant, this one is soft, careful, accompanied by a shift from one foot to the other. Heather nods, and doesn't meet Martha’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean it to be like that,” she says quietly. Her gaze moves up; she takes in the whole of Martha’s small house. The smile on her face is oddly subdued. Martha remembers the Heather who came to this house last week, sheepish and awkward, shivering in her long coat. “I don’t know what I meant, really. Guess I was just…” She shakes her head. “Nevermind. I’ll-I’ll see you around, Martha.” She turns on her heel, not so quick that Martha can’t see the red on her cheeks. Martha stands rooted to the ground, watching her leave. Then something emerges from the back of her throat, and without thinking she calls “Heather wait!” just before she reaches her gate.

When she turns, it’s one swift motion, pink lips parted.

Her hand tightens on the doorframe, the voice in her head whispers to stay put because she’ll end up regretting this.

“Let me get my coat,” Martha hears herself say. “I know somewhere we can go.”

The ‘somewhere’ in question is a woodland not too far from Martha’s house. Well, woodland is a little generous, it’s more a stretch of uninterrupted grass with clusters of trees round it. It’s not quite pretty enough to call woodland, and the stretch of highway in the distance ruins the image a bit. But it’s open and in the fresh air and Lola seems perfectly happy, straining against the leash as she tries to explore.

“She’s cute,” Martha says, nodding at her. “Didn’t know you had a dog.”

“I got her a few years ago,” Heather explains. “She’s a good girl. Most of the time.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “She doesn’t normally get to play like this. When my dad walks her he just takes her to whatever client he’s meeting up with that day and ties her to a railing while they walk.”

“Poor pup,” Martha sighs. Ahead of them, Lola jumps at a tree trunk, fascinated by a squirrel up in the branches. For a second, Martha laughs, caught up in this very strange moment, until she looks down.

“Oh, hey,” she cringes. “Sorry I should’ve-your shoes are covered in mud.”

“Are they?” Heather stops, seeming to panic for a second. She follows Martha’s gaze and looks down. Sure enough, the pristine white of her boots is now streaked with brown, little jagged clumps nestled in the soles. Martha hadn’t thought of it when she took her out here. Her own sneakers are wrecked too, splatters of soil across the faded rainbow stripes.

“S-sorry,” she says again. “Maybe we should’ve just-”

“It’s fine,” Heather interrupts. She shakes her head once, twice, pink lips turning upwards. “It doesn’t matter. I can clean them later.” She resumes her walk, stumbling a bit as her dog pulls her forwards. Martha picks up the pace and scrambles to her side, slightly bothered by the pain in her hips.

Steadily, she breathes out. She can handle it, at least for the next hour or so.

“So…” Heather begins. “Were you in the middle of anything important?”

“Oh, no,” she replies. “No, just uh, getting a start on that English assignment.”

“The English assignment,” Heather sighs, teeth gritted. It’s there where Martha begins to see the Heather she recognises; steel beneath the yellow satin. “Don’t remind me. I think I just wrapped my head around it.”

“Well, we’ve got time,” Martha says. “It’s not due for another few weeks.” She pokes at a leaf with her foot. “To be honest, I’m still getting to grips with it.”

“You are?” Heather asks. Martha freezes, her cheeks burning. The admission had slipped through her teeth, undetected and unintentional, and now Heather Macnamara has it in her hands. She wills herself not to look at her, and steadies herself in preparation for the onslaught that’s about to come.

Only when she does catch sight of her face, Heather’s eyes are blown wide, her mouth hangs open, pink glows in her cheeks.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that,” Heather insists. “God, I’m-I’m so sorry I did not mean it like that. I just meant that like- well you’re so smart and you get such good grades, I guess I… I didn’t think you could find stuff hard.” She swallows, stuffs her hands in her pockets. “School stuff, I mean.”

“I… I do,” she mumbles. “Sometimes.”

“I feel like I’ll never get any of it,” Heather sighs. “English isn’t… so bad. Not all of the time. Neither’s history.” She huffs, a short and bitter sound. “It’s Math that’s getting me. None of it makes sense, you know what I mean?”

“Sure,” she nods, even though she doesn’t. Math comes pretty easy to her; it’s really just a set of patterns that she can memorise, but Heather is on a roll with something and the ache in her leg is making itself known. Heather can take the reins right now.

“I mean, I know you’re in a different math class to me so I don’t know if you’re doing this right now, but we’ve been doing surface area for weeks and I’ve had it explained over and over and I still don’t get it,” she goes on. Frustration trembles in her voice. “And it’s not… like I look at the numbers and they just don’t make any sense, you know?”

“Yeah,” Martha breathes. “Yeah, I know.” And she does, a bit, but right now the steadily growing pain in her side is taking over her thought process. Before she can think to stop, her hand is pressed to her side, her breaths become shorter, quicker. Heather slows to a stop, her eyes inescapable.

Get it together, the voice in her head whispers. Stand up, you’re fine, be normal.

“Martha?” she asks. All of the anger has fled her voice, replaced with a worry that Martha would be cautious of in other circumstances. She takes a long, slow breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth.

“I think…” she begins. “I think I need to sit down somewhere.” And the admission is humiliating, shameful, she’s handing Heather all the ammunition she could ever want. Forgive her language, but she is so sure this will bite her on the ass.

“Oh…okay,” Heather says. She looks around, fist pressed to her mouth. “I think… there’s a log over there? We can sit there.”

“No.” Martha shakes her head. “I mean… I know somewhere we can go.” She takes another breath and straightens her spine. The pain is still there, but she can bear it, she will. Perhaps if she were on her own she’d collapse on a log, but she’s not about to make Heather sit on a piece of fallen tree. Another breath. “I know where we can go. It isn’t too far. It’s inside. And there’s cake.”

“Oh well, if there’s cake,” Heather replies and inexplicably, Martha grins at her. Grins. At Heather. “You’re sure you can make it?” Martha sets her shoulders. When she was a kid and having panic attacks over going to school, her mom always told her, just make it to the door. Then the car. Then the front gate. Just one step.

It’s the same thing here.

“I can make it,” she tells her. She looks down and finds Heather’s free hand half-extended to her, another crutch. Her heart pounds, matching the ‘what on earth’ ringing in her head. She declines the offer though.

Before she turns, she sees Heather’s curl inward, then slowly and limply fall to her side.

With slow and careful steps, Martha walks Heather down and along a backroad that takes them into the little park near her house. There, she leads the bemused Heather Macnamara and the still-excited Lola down a narrow path to a little white, rectangular building. The cafe’s been here since before Martha was a kid, run by a constantly changing group of local kids and college drop-outs, plus on elderly lady who’s worked here since before Martha was born. For all she knows, she probably built the place.

In the short walk here, the pain in Martha’s bone had sharpened so much that her breath is coming in short, swift gasps. Her vision blurs at the edges, a familiar heat prickles at the back of her eyes. When they enter the cafe, it takes all of Martha’s self control to not completely collapse into the chair, and if Heather’s expression is anything to go by, she’s not hiding it nearly as well as she hoped.

“I’m… I’m okay,” she pants. It’s far from true, but she grips the side of the table anyway and braces to rise. “Anyway, what do you-”

“Oh my gosh no!” Heather replies. “No. I can order, what’s your usual?”

“it’s fine, I can-”

“Martha!” Heather snaps. “Listen, the fact that you made it here in one piece is a miracle, so I am going to order you a drink and you are going to sit here and maybe play with my dog if you want to!” Heather exhales, a short puff of breath, and then she smiles. “Please. Because if you pass out I will have a nervous breakdown.”

Martha freezes. Her mouth hangs half-open. At the very least, there’s something familiar in having Heather snap at her, her heartbeat spiked out of habit, but the request is so far from expectation that she can’t even formulate a response, let alone say it.

Heather waits until she croaks out that her usual is a vanilla latte, then she smiles and flounces off to the counter. Tiny flecks of mud fall from her boots as she goes.

If this is indeed a dream, now would be the perfect time to wake up. There’s no way it can get stranger than this.

Martha runs a hand through her hair and lets out a long exhale. Around her, the few patrons in the cafe still watch her, evidently interested in whatever just happened. She wants to tell them that she doesn’t know what just happened either, only that the most popular girl in her school-who used to enjoy making her life hell-is waiting in line at the counter and her dog is rubbing her head against Martha’s leg, nuzzling and demanding pets. Martha gives them, because the motion is the only thing tethering her to Earth.

Good God, what exactly were her plans for today? They sure as hell weren’t this but as she sifts through the confusion, she finds she’s not really complaining. There’s some part of her that’s enjoyed today. If nothing else, it’s better than sitting in her house.

She leans back in the chair. The pain in her side slowly recedes, and she allows herself a smile as Lola tries to stand on her hind legs. Martha contemplates calling over to Heather and telling her to grab some dog treats from the counter, until she turns her head at the exact time and sees a familiar car round the corner.

And maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s a coincidence, but as Veronica’s mom’s car slows to a halt on the road outside, Martha feels a shiver pass through her. A glance at the clock tells her it’s a little past ten, meaning Veronica’s appointment has likely been and gone. Should she be hoping everything went okay? Should she be calling her or chasing down the car? She can see Veronica, for a minute, jumping from the car and rushing inside. She unloads all her troubles onto Martha, just like she had a hundred times before, and Martha feels whole again.

Then, the light turns green and the car is gone. Veronica didn’t even know Martha was here.

“Okay, two vanilla lattes!” Heathers slides into the chair opposite her. Martha turns back just as she slides her cup across the table. “And they even gave us little cookies too! God you were right, Martha, this place is adorable! I should come here more often. They even gave me dog treats because I told them about Lola!” She giggles, her nose scrunches, and she bends down to feed Lola. “She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

Heather looks up, blonde curls falling in front of her face. Her blue eyes are bright, sparkling, there’s a pink flush on her cheeks and Martha realises that Heather is kind of beautiful. It’s always been a fact, but it’s never felt as real as it has right now.

She is also aware that Veronica is driving down the road to her house because of a doctor’s appointment Martha doesn’t know about. And that she’s been keeping something from her for weeks. Something happened to her at the pep rally and Veronica won’t tell her what. Since September, the person she thought was her one constant has been drifting further and further away from her.

And she can’t solve that. But she can solve this.

“Martha?”

“Why are you here?” she asks her. Heather’s face falls. Slowly, she pulls herself upright, her hands rest on the table.

“What?”

“Why are you here?” she says again. “Why are you with me? You have any number of people you could hang out with today-why the hell are you hanging out with me? Are your friends busy or is this some kind of ‘let’s hang out with Dumptruck’ joke like inviting me to Ram’s party was? Because if I’m honest Heather, at least the party invite made sense. That had a punchline. And it didn’t ruin your shoes, so what’s the point this time?” She laughs and it sounds wrong. It’s cold and bitter and all the things she isn’t. “What gives, Heather?”

Now it’s Heather’s turn to be surprised. Martha doesn’t look away as she squirms. She avoids Martha’s gaze, pulls at her sleeves, looks at the floor. Maybe Martha should be uncomfortable with how it makes her feel. She is not a spiteful person and yet for a precious few seconds, she’s watching Heather Macnamara become small beneath her gaze and doesn’t dislike it.

Until Heather answers.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I don’t know why I’m here. When I went out today I did not plan on going near your house.” She looks down at her hands. Her fingers clasp and unclasp. Resigned, she heaves a sigh and slumps forward. “But when I was out… I could just feel everything and everyone. And I couldn’t stand it and next thing I knew I was on my way to your house.”

“Why?” Martha asks. Her voice is barely even a breath. “Why my house?”

Heather shrugs.

“I… I wanted to go to the last place I felt safe. And that was… that was that movie night you and Veronica.” She glances up, her eyes shining. Martha’s breath catches. “You were the last person to make me feel safe. And I don’t know why.” She shakes her head, huffs a breath. It’s almost self-deprecating.

Not almost. It is. Heather Macnamara is crying and self-deprecating right in front of her.

And she doesn’t enjoy it now. It pierces her chest, as easily as a knife would.

Wood scrapes on wood, and Heather is pushing her chair back and standing up.

“I can go. It’s fine, I can-I can go. Thank you for-for today. For everything really I-” She pauses, presses her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to treat you like I did. I didn’t mean it Martha. And I’m sorry.”

Heather goes to untie Lola’s leash, but this time Martha is faster and she grabs Heather’s hand. The contact is so sudden that Heather gasps, muscles tensing beneath Martha’s hand. Martha realises she is standing too. Her heart is pounding and pounding and pounding. Heather’s hand is beneath hers/

And Veronica is still down the block. And yes, it’s driving her crazy but Heather is right here.

Heather’s hand trembles. Martha didn’t think that was possible.

“I said there’d be cake,” she says weakly. It takes a moment for the words to register. She watches as the realisation dawns on Heather’s face. Cautiously, like she’s expecting a trap, Heather sits back down.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

They order a slice of vanilla cake and share it between them.

#heathers the musical #heathers fanfiction #heathers musical fic #martha dunnstock #heather macnamara #fic: time won't fly

4 notes · View notes

nobodieshero-main · 6 months

Text

this was mostly written as a way for me to work through my writers block but here's a little keitlas scene

Atlas’s bed smelled like dry hay and rose petals, something spicy sunk deep into the fibres of his sheets. Keika was buried happily under several heavy blankets, the material soft against his skin but woven for practicality over decoration - though the embroidered imagery of bears and leaping fish begged to differ.

He was on his front, arms tucked comfortably beneath a wheat-gold pillow, watching dappled patterns of birds and flowers move across his partner's face as the sun rose higher through the gauzy curtains.

They’d both been awake since it had first peeked over the horizon, a habit Keika was loath to be a victim of.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Atlas started, his voice soft and rumbling in the space between them. He was lying on his side, fiddling with a strand of Keika’s hair, pillow creases stamped into the skin of his cheek.

Keika hummed, encouraging but distracted by the way Atlas’s pecs had squished together. But, when his partner failed to continue, Keika arched an eyebrow and poked him in the shin with his toes. Immediately Atlas trapped his ankle beneath his leg, and Keika bit back a smile.

“Why do you carry around all of those keys?”

The keys in question were in a pile on the little side-table next to the bed, a tangled mess of sizes and shapes. Keika hummed, lifting his hips slightly to stretch out his back. He noticed that Atlas hadn’t commented (yet) about the blatant blanket thievery and could only assume it was because the other man was so deeply enamoured by the sight of him in his bed that it hadn’t occurred to him to complain.

“I just do.” He answered simply, shrugging his shoulders.

Atlas hummed, eyes all dark and thoughtful. “But what are they for?”

“All sorts of things, technically. But they’re mostly useless.”

“Then why do you keep them?”

Keika huffed through his nose, itchy about being interrogated so early. “For the memories, I guess?”

Atlas tugged gently on Keika’s hair, fingers gnarled with scar tissue that shimmered in the growing light. “Tell me about them?”

Keika snorted, shuffling onto his side so he could face Atlas properly. “Why?”

“Because I want to know more about you.” Atlas admitted, in that easy confidence of his, and Keika felt his heart stutter and stomach clench. Well, when he put it that way. He wiggled his toes in thought before rolling his eyes and sitting up.

Atlas didn’t sit up, but he did shift around until he was propped up against his pillows, watching Keika with warm eyes and a warmer smile.

Keika hooked his finger around the ring and fiddled with each of the keys, sliding them back and forth before grabbing a ridiculously flashy one and lifting it away from the others. “This is my council key. It’s meant to be able to unlock any lock in Arlet and they hand them out to everyone who joins the town council.”

It was roughly the length of his finger, silver with a bronze pin and inlaid with shards of river stone. He let it fall back down to join the others, listening to the ring of metal and moved on to the next. Small and dainty, with a heart shaped bow. It had been for a music box gifted to him by a Student heading out on their Search.

Another key, made of steel and engraved with flowers, had been found in his garden the same day he’d been given Guppy. “I was 13, and Ahuru seemed convinced I needed a friend. Her solution had been a foal she’d found stuck in a mud bank.”

“Is that where you got the name?” Atlas asked, and Keika didn’t need to look at him to know what his face was doing. All bright eyed and grinning, making fun of him without making him into a fool.

He sniffed, pointedly not answering, and sifted through the rest of the keys. Keys to his and Ahuru’s houses, both simple silver keys with square ends, keys for barns and garden sheds. Two keys for the library - one to unlock the front door, and one a complete mystery after it showed up on his key ring one day. A block of steel that unlocked the back door to Marlow’s bakery.

“The bakery?” Atlas asked. Keika nodded, digging his thumbnail under his index.

“Yeah, I used to spend a lot of time there when I was younger. Marlow figured out that letting me punch dough was better than roaming the streets like a feral cat.”

Funnily enough, the next key was a thin line of brass with a jagged bit that he’d found stomped into the road in Bruasse when he was 15. It had been wonky and chipped and covered in moss. Keika snorted at the sight of it, telling Atlas about cutting open his hand when he forgot to drop it before breaking a kid's nose.

Atlas brushed the back of his fingers against Keika’s knuckles, before lifting the hand to his mouth to kiss the tips of his fingers. Bastard.

He kissed his hand again when the next few keys were all the ones given to him by Atlas from the various markets they’d travelled through. He did a terrible job at hiding his pleased smile behind said kisses, but Keika figured he’d let it slide.

The last was entirely unremarkable, short and tarnished with a chip taken out of the bow, the bit scuffed and worn down. Keika ran his thumb over it, feeling the grooves. “This used to unlock the room at Geodies inn, where Ahuru and I lived as kids.”

Quiet settled over them, like a heavy blanket, as Keika ran his thumb back and forth over the key.

And then Atlas got up, the movement of the bed jostling Keika out of his head as he turned his head to watch Atlas start rooting through his drawers.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He didn’t respond, which was usually more Keika’s flavour than Atlas’s and his face crumpled in a mix of annoyed worry until Atlas apparently found what he had been looking for and bounced back to the bed. For such a large man, he made his movements look like a dance.

Upon returning to the bed, Atlas handed him a key. It was a rosy copper with delicate little stars carved into the collar, the bow wrapped around a glittering marble. “From my room at the Academy.” He explained.

Keika stared at him in wonder. “Why?”

“So you don’t forget me.”

Keika scoffed lightly, unclipping the metal ring to slide the newest key on and watching it settle next to Ahuru’s old house key with a gentle ache. He looked back to Atlas, reaching out to pinch his nose and gently shake his head side to side. “I could never forget this stupid face.”

Atlas grinned and then kissed him. For a moment, tucked away in the childhood bedroom of the man he loved, heart full and warm beneath his ribs, Keika could pretend that they might just live forever.

#it's a bit meh but i'll probably re-write it at some point when i actually get to this part of the book #this is set like. idk a couple weeks before the volcano?#their first morning in morielle - they end up stuck there for a few days bc of atlas's parents #snippets #keitlas

6 notes · View notes

cyberaxolotl · 2 years

Text

cuddling headcanons part AGAIN this time with more details now in order of whatever i felt like

this is chronically self indulgent

Beffloofty (wow)

Like I said last time, they’re both plus sized and can’t fit in either of their average twin beds together, so I made the statement of them cuddling mostly while sitting. I am stupid and I need to put a scene in your head.

Take these two bitches. And take the way I interpret them (a raccoon and a bunny who are both plus size) and then cover them in sand. Raccoons and bunnies sunbathe (raccoons are nocturnal and do it in treetops during the day while they sleep.) These bitches sunbathe together on a big ass towel. How did I not think of this before.

Also Beffica’s got those fucky little raccoon hand claws that give her a more scratchy touch. Give your partner a back scratch while you’re sunbathing. Hit ‘em behind the floppy ol bunny ears. Let both of you be sensitive with each other since you’re both so secluded compared to everyone else.

Lizegg

Again a ship with one of those plus sized bitches, this time being Eggabell (a round ol chinchilla) and Lizbert (a muscular, somewhat bulky walrus.) Now I need you to envision chinchilla Eggabell and I need you to realize how fuCKING FLUFFY THOSE THINGS ARE.

All i’m saying is that the fluff is plentiful. I need Lizbert to come up behind her wife like “hehe im gonna spoon my wife >:)” only to suffocate in all that fluff. Eggabell is a mass of both just generally being fat and also being bountifully fluffy.

Aaaand Liz uses her like a pillow. Wrap your arms around your Egg, get your head in the crook of her neck, and relax. She’ll hold her back and be happy hearing Liz just… purr and relax. Liz’s hold is also incredibly strong, very firm, very nice. I love these two

Snorplo

For this interpretation, Snorpy is a skinny-fat bunny, and Chandlo is a bulkily muscular walrus. By skinny-fat, I mean he’s mostly lanky, but he’s got a bit of a belly with it too for lack of better phrasing.

Now let me tell you as someone with a skinny-fat-ish body myself that being squeezed and pinched a little is honestly really comforting. I need Chandlo to do that while simultaneously doing the Walrus Grump trademark of putting his face in all that goddamn collar fluff and havin a nibble. Thanks

Wigglefunny

Okay hello. Tall, skinny, very fluffy big-chested ferret. Small, plump, scoopable mouse. She is so able to just surround him. Lean down to that man when he’s having one of the harder times, stroke his cheeks a few times, calm him down. Scoop him up, take him upstairs, there’s no blanket. Be the blanket. You are 7’7” and have no reason not to just swaddle this man.

Hold him close and hold him tight. Make him feel secure. For a while, she feels like she has someone there who trusts her wholeheartedly, who trusts her to be there and hold him. She trusts him too. She knows no matter what, he’ll support her. She holds him closer. Nothing comes between them.

Eventually grab a blanket. Her breast fluff may be plentiful but he is a mouse and those things aren’t exactly known for fur.

Filbuddy (or in my case, Filscarla)

Filbo, deer guy. Square body type, kinda scrawny, and antlers that make it impossible for him to sleep on his side. Scarla, black furred horned person. Inverted triangle body type, a little muscular, and horns that face forward and either block out the sun or send it right into their eyes.

These two cuddling is absolutely hilarious because no matter what they do they’re gonna get into a horn lock. Somehow, in some position, Scarla will get their horns stuck in the branches of Filbo’s antlers and it can’t be prevented. Think of this. A tender moment. Filbo’s been having nightmares recently because he just does and Scarla’s there to support him.

They’re stroking the side of his body, near his hip. Like most deer, he’s got a little scut, and it’s doing a happy dance because they’re here with him. They lean their head closer to his, humming, smiling. Filbo smiles too, he feels… safe.

They try to pull away because their thick fur is overheating. Filbo screams because his antlers just got rugged on. Insert the next two minutes being spent escaping a horn lock and then sleeping facing away from each other.

Lottaham

Bull with side facing horns and raptor with nothing but fluff and feathers everywhere. Both have more square body types, with Triffany leaning towards a pear, but that becomes hard to distinguish because her legs are digitigrade. She’s also got a long fuckin tail and that is important.

Wambus is generally always the big spoon, that’s the easiest way when the height difference is 7’9” on 6’8”. But that ain’t gonna stop Triffany from being a goddamn hoot, she is gonna put her tail behind them and hold him closer, kinda just. keep him there. there is no escaping your pseudo-reptilian-bird-ish wife, especially not when she’s had a rough day.

Accept it. Put those hands around her, squeeze that little bit of fat that people have between their hips and the bottom of their abdomen that i can’t remember the name of right now, and enjoy the night. You are cuddling so fucking well.

it is literally three in the fucking morning why is it always 3am when i make cuddle posts. GOODNIGHT

#bugsnax #beffloofty #lizegg #snorplo #wigglefunny #lottaham #filbuddy #beffica winklesnoot #floofty fizzlebean #eggabell batternugget #lizbert megafig #snorpy fizzlebean #chandlo funkbun #wiggle wigglebottom #gramble gigglefunny #triffany lottablog #wambus troubleham #filbo fiddlepie

18 notes · View notes

plaidbooks · 2 years

Text

Homegrown chapter 4

A/N: The next few chapters are going to be just snippets of life at Sept Tours. So, enjoy these little looks into Lyra and Gallowglass coming together.

This also covers the “Can you warm me up? I’m cold” square in @adarafaelbarba bingo!

Tags: none

Words: 901

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @adowbaldwin

Summer was ending quickly, which meant the nights were getting colder. It had been warm when Lyra left her cottage, so she never thought to pack any warm clothing—she figured she’d talk to Diana then head home. But there had been no sign of her return, and Lyra’s sundresses and overalls did little to keep her warm.

The first frozen night, Lyra found herself shivering in her room. She remembered the massive fireplace that was in one of the main setting rooms within Sept Tours, and she climbed out of bed. Even the evening gown that Marthe had given her—soft, off-white, and billowy—didn’t block out the cool evening air.

She made her way to the room with the fireplace, arms wrapped around herself, only to find it sitting empty. No logs, no fire—just a cold, empty space.

“Lyra?”

She jumped, turning to look at the couch; she had been so focused on the fireplace that she didn’t even notice Gallowglass sitting there. His brow was furrowed as he looked at her, and she shivered under his cold gaze.

“C—can you warm me up-p-p? I’m co-co-cold,” she asked, teeth chattering.

As a vampire, Gallowglass had never had someone ask him to warm them before—usually the opposite. Nevertheless, he was off the couch in a moment. By the time Lyra waddled over to the couch, he was back, a heavy jacket, fuzzy blanket, and soft slippers in his hands.

He held the jacket open so she could slide it on, then wrapped her in the blanket. While she slipped her feet into the slippers, Gallowglass knelt by the fireplace. He put a few logs of wood inside, then lit it. The kindling caught quickly, and soon enough, a fire was blazing in the fireplace.

Gallowglass sat back on the couch by Lyra, but he knew his body was cold, so he kept space between them. “How’s that?” he asked softly.

The warmth was already seeping into her, and she snuggled deeper into the blanket. “Better.”

They sat in silence for a moment, just basking in the warmth entering the room, until Gallowglass’s back pocket pinged. He pulled out a little black rectangle and tapped it with his thumbs.

“What’s that?” Lyra asked from within the depths of fabric.

Gallowglass glanced from his rectangle to her eyes. “It’s a cell phone…I guess that means nothing to ya, huh?” When Lyra shook her head, he continued. “It’s a way to communicate instantly with anyone around the world. You could also use it to look up information, pictures, videos—��

“Is this some sort of witch’s tool? It sounds magical,” she breathed, eyes latched to the phone.

Gallowglass chuckled. “I think this is a daemon creation, actually, but almost everyone—creatures and humans alike—have one.”

“Wow.”

He motioned with his head. “Come here, I want to show ya something.”

Lyra squirmed her way over to him, leaning fully against his side. He touched the rectangle, and a plain blue background with the time showed up.

Gallowglass unlocked his phone, pulling up the internet and going to google images. He typed in “ocean,” then tilted the screen towards Lyra. She audibly gasped when she could see the pictures, her eyes widening. He scrolled through a few pictures, then changed to videos.

He found a 10 hour, calming beach noises video, complete with waves crashing on the beach, and clicked it. He handed the phone to Lyra, who held it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Her eyes were glued to the screen, unblinking, and he smiled at her childlike wonder.

“Don’t forget to blink…or breathe,” he chuckled, and she took a shuddering breath.

“It’s…beautiful….”

“It really is. Maybe one day, you can see it for real, touch the water with your hand and feel the sand underneath your feet.”

Finally, she ripped her eyes from the phone, looking at him. “I want to, Eric, so badly. Would you show it to me?”

His heart thudded in his chest. She was so sincere, wanting to experience that with him of all people. How could he ever say no?... As if he wanted to.

“If we figure all this stuff out with Diana and the Congregation, then I’ll happily take ya to the ocean. Hell, I’ll take ya out on one of my boats, let ya be surrounded by the ocean, as far as the eye can see,” he promised.

She smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek softly in thanks. Then she settled against him, looking at the phone. “Can we see forests? Or flowers?” she asked innocently.

But Gallowglass was frozen, head fuzzy. He could feel where her lips had touched his cheek, could feel the heat of her body against his. His throat constricted and expanded, words dying on his tongue before he could voice them.

“Eric? Are you okay?” Lyra asked, but she sounded so far away. “Eric?”

Finally, her voice calling his name broke through to him, and he started. “I’m sorry, did ya say something?”

“Oh, I was wondering if we could look at plants on your cell phone?”

“Right, yeah, sorry. Anything in particular?”

They spent hours there, scouring the internet for anything Lyra asked for. And if she didn’t fall asleep against him, he was sure they’d be up all night. But he found himself not minding that at all.

#gallowglass x oc #gallowglass de clermont x oc #adow fanfic #adow #fanfic #my writing #homegrown #adarafaelbarbatrickortreatbingo

20 notes · View notes

keigosbirdie · 4 years

Text

FEMALE READER VERSION

Of all Hawks’ secrets, you are the most well-kept.

Version: Female Reader version | Male Reader Version Links: Gifset (art only) | Mood Music

NIGHTHAWK Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 13k | Art: 14 animations, 2 stills (Technically no spoilers, but if you aren’t caught up on the events of the manga you’ll be missing important context. The fic takes place after Hawks’ meeting with the commission.) Synopsis: Casual was the word you used when you first agreed to sleep together. As weeks turned into months turned into a year, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. Warnings: Dom!Hawks, Nurse!Reader, animalistic behavior, rough sex, quirk/feather play, light bondage, biting, praise kink, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, talk of past lovers, mentions of death, panic attacks, PTSD, mention of a past, non-canon event. Spicy, then bitter, then sweet.

There was nothing exceptional about your life from an outsider’s perspective. You lived in an apartment on the outskirts of Jaku City, unmarried and childless. During the day you attended medical school where you studied for your doctorate. During the evening you worked as a nurse in the intensive care unit. Then, when you were home, you sat alone for dinner at a kitchen table meant for two.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

For the past year, however, an occasional tap at your sixteenth-story window would break up the lonely monotony. The tap was quite a scandalous secret, not that anyone would believe you if you let it slip. Even you still had a hard time accepting the bizarre reality of the situation; but it was real. Just as real his voice, which you could hear echoing faintly through your apartment.

You glanced up from your lukewarm dinner and dropped your fork. For a long moment, you sat in silence, listening intently until you heard it again. It was him; it was his voice. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you shoved out of your chair and jogged to the window. The part between your curtains opened, but when you peeked through you saw only the glow of city lights below a blanket of darkness.

A frown found your face, and a sigh spilled past your lips. You heard his voice; you would never mistake it for another. It echoed casually against your dim walls again, and you turned your head towards the sweet sound. The television was on in the living room. Your heart dropped at the realization. The little square thing sat on your end table and taunted you with his image.

There he was. Hawks, the winged hero, being interviewed by a woman in a pantsuit. It wasn’t often he did interviews, so you left your dinner to go cold in favor of watching the program.

He was dressed in his hero costume, his visor lifted to rest atop his blond, wind-whipped hair, and his scarlet wings folded politely against his back. A wide grin graced his face as he exchanged charming banter with the woman. She seemed enamored with his expression, but she didn't know him like you knew him. He was smiling, yes, but the edges of his eyes were crinkled with tension. When he chuckled, his wings folded a little harder against his back. His beats of laughter were calculated. Uncomfortable, that's what he was.

He’d been that way a lot lately.

"So, I'm sorry, I have to ask- Every bachelorette in the country is wondering, is there any special lady in your life?" the interviewer asked. It was airy and friendly in intent, but your lip twitched with faint annoyance anyway. Your face fell slack and you leaned back into your chair.

"Well, I don't know about every bachelorette," he quipped. His face was a little grainy on your old TV screen, but you could see the slight pink in his cheeks. He was cute. So, very cute. It made you miss him that much more. "But my personal life, well, how alluring would I be if I didn't keep a few things a mystery?"

And a mystery it was, to everyone but you.

Thankfully, the woman interviewing him had enough tact to know when to move on. Their conversation mercifully veered away from his sex life—your sex life—and towards his agency. The television was a wondrous thing. His voice rang through your home despite his absence. It brought sadness, but also a bittersweet comfort. Viewing him live stung your soul. You watched until his interview ended with a commercial break, and then decided not to wait up for him again. That would only lead to another sleepless night.

Still, the window remained unlocked for him as you called it a night. The yellow glow of your desk lamp died with a click, and you climbed into your bed. Sleep was always difficult. Many nights you laid awake as you thought about your ICU patients. The things you saw in the ward were enough to scar anyone. But if it wasn’t work that plagued your mind, it was him.

Casual was the word you’d used when you’d first agreed to sleep together. It was easy to swallow when he only snuck into your apartment at night for sex. For the first few months, that was it. He’d steal into your home through the cover of darkness and you’d share a violently passionate night. Then, he would vanish out your window until he craved you again. Which, thankfully, was often.

As weeks turned into months turned into a year, however, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. You realized you were in too deep when it became difficult to be unbothered by the casual daydreaming of others. His face was clipped to girls’ backpacks long before you knew him, but others, covered so openly in his merchandise, began to make you a touch bitter. His sex life had been speculated about in tabloids since his debut, but to keep your mouth shut while your friends contemplated the size of his penis became hurtful and emotionally taxing.

The only one you could confide those pains in was the man who unintentionally caused them, but Hawks was too sweet. If he knew just how much it tore you up, he’d surely break things off to spare you the misery.

You cursed yourself for getting lost in thoughts of him. Bemoaning the casual chatter of others as he gracefully balanced the weight of the world on his shoulders made you feel weak. You allowed your eyes to close, your breathing slowed, and your body relaxed into your mattress. By the mercy of whatever god watched over you, sleep slowly overtook all your other thoughts.

At least until a shuffle and a squeak made you toss in your sheets. A faint light spilled into your room from the window, and a coolness settled into your bed. You shivered. It was the fresh winter air from outside. The cold wasn't the only intruder. It was him.

The light was dim, but a dark silhouette of flared wings blocked out the moonbeams. Your heart lurched in your chest at the dominant display. It was a habit of the bird in him to fluff up when his blood was hot. His predatory energy kept you submissively silent rather than greet him.

Floorboards creaked beneath his shoes. The pulls of their zippers clicked with the movement. His breath was heavy as he moved to your bed. You caught a vision of your lover’s face. Little flecks of snow followed in. They danced around the brilliance of his wings and settled into his hair. In the blue light of winter’s night, his gold eyes looked dazzling. They also harbored a glint of violence akin to the blown-out eyes of a predator in pursuit of prey.

It was a familiar look from the strange animal. He’d seemed so open and friendly when he’d first snuck into your hospital room to talk, but he shrugged away at hugs and only laughed awkwardly when you told him he was your best friend. He didn't understand that kind of closeness.

You’d learned how deep his discomfort ran through him when the relationship became sexual. His inept understanding of touch translated to violence in the bedroom. Sex was most comfortable for him when he thought of it as a battle. He'd hold you down and force you open. You'd dig teeth into his arms and rip out feathers with your fists. To submit to his pounding was capture, but to overstimulate him until he was too weak to hold you down was victory. Extreme? Perhaps to those who didn’t understand your trust in one another.

He'd at least offer a sappy hello before he pulled his dick out, though. Not tonight. He eyed you as if expecting you to run, as if he'd give chase if you decided to. Fuck, it caused the warmest tingle between your thighs. You’d missed him too badly to try to put up a fight.

He left his jacket abandoned on the floor, which offered a much better view of his slim body wrapped in his black bodysuit. His canines dug into the leather of his glove before he yanked his hand free with his teeth. You laid silent and already breathless. It'd been far too long since you last felt him. Your body was hot with need at the sight of his rigid wings alone. His eyes swept over you as he toyed with the front of his tan jeans. He didn't come very often in uniform. To watch him fondle himself through his costume was- god, was there a stronger word than ecstasy?

“I want you,” he said from your bedside.

"You can have me..." You breathed out. It was intended to sound sultry, but your tone was more akin to a pleading whisper. Your body ached for him before your heart did, after all. Old habits were hard to break.

"You've been waiting for me, like a good girl, haven’t you?" he cooed. Cooed, quite literally. A low and rumbling song reverberated from somewhere deep in his throat. Not a bit of you was avian, but your body reacted instinctively when you heard your mate's call.

"I should reward you."

His visor glinted in the dim light as he pulled it off his face and let it land on the floor. His earmuffs, too.

You bit down your grin as the weight of your mattress shifted under his knee. His ungloved hand neglected the bulge in his jeans to tend to you instead. Warm fingertips slipped beneath your covers and found the skin of your thigh. A small sigh spilled from his lips, and your body trembled.

"You missed my hands on you, didn't you?"

You only managed a nod as his fingers slid up and beneath your pajama top.

Your body sank deeper into your covers when he moved over you. One knee landed on either side of your hips. His bare hand played with your breast while the still gloved one ran through your hair. The leather of the glove was frigid from the cold, but his body radiated warmth. The sweetness of his cologne mingled with the harsh musk of sweat. The smell of him fogged your mind.

The pads of his fingers pinched and tugged at the pink bud he discovered on your chest, which earned him a harsh gasp.

"That's it. I love it when you sing like that," he chimed. His hot breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. Wefts of his hair brushed against your face as his teeth nibbled at your throat. You were trapped beneath the cage his body made.

"These cute little tits of yours- god."

He wasn't usually so chatty when he was about to mount you, but every grumble that reverberated in his throat added to the tingle between your thighs. He could devour you whole and you would thank him for the honor.

Your hands slid up the sides of his tight bodysuit. The inky black fabric was harsh beneath your fingertips. You traced the patterns of its gold accents around to his back and up towards his wings. He stiffened when he felt you slide nearer to them. Between the plush feathers at the base of a wing, you wiggled a finger until you found the skin beneath. Then you gave the joint a brutal squeeze.

Instinctively, that glorious wing of his outstretched and shivered. The stems of his plumes flexed against your hand as they puffed twice their usual size. The longest of them brushed against the ceiling of your room, dwarfing your bodies beneath it.

You were always in awe of the sheer size and beauty of them.

"F-fuck. Not fair," he growled, and then his teeth sunk hard into your neck in vengeance. The harsh bite only made you desperate for more, so you fisted his feathers in your hand and gave a sharp yank. He gasped a hot breath into the nape of your neck. Fuck. You couldn't take the teasing anymore.

Your hands relieved him of their cruelty to pull off your shirt. He faltered when your bare breasts were exposed. His golden irises became thin rings as the darkness of his pupils devoured them. The tip of his glistening tongue wetted his lips.

It was your turn to stare with sharp desire as you heard the click of his belt, then the pull of a zipper. You pushed yourself up to get a good view of him working his dick out of his bodysuit. The throbbing muscle hit him in the stomach. The sensation made him hiss between his teeth, and you whimpered in reply.

"Hhm, you must be really hungry, the way you're staring at it," he mused before he spat into his palm and ran the wetness along the shaft. He quivered at the sensation. You quivered, too.

"Please." Your cheeks were flushed, and your chest quaked with desire. "I want to feel it, please."

"Oh, don't worry. You’re gonna have all of this. Gotta get that pretty little pussy ready for my cock, though, don't we?" he hummed.

He reached into his plumage and pulled out a long, red feather. The thing wriggled between his pinched fingers as he presented it to you. The way it moved was unnatural, but you timidly took it in your grasp. The look on your face must have been telling of your confusion because he chuckled at your expression. He gave no direction. Instead, he watched with a mischievous curiosity as you turned it in your palm. The barbs vibrated independently of one another against your skin.

Your breath heaved when you realized why he had given it to you. His hands slid down your stomach as a pair of red feathers brushed against your sides. They dipped into the hem of your shorts, then pulled the fabric, sliding them down your legs until you were deprived of them. The cold from the open window seeped into your most sensitive places as his hands caressed your hips.

His fingertips stopped over a series of divots and deformities in your flesh. They were painful mementos of the night you met, and reminders of the sacrifice you had made for him a couple of years prior. He was a stranger when you chose to forgo your own survival to shield him from death. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth as he relived the agony with you, but placed kisses all over the scars. It felt like a plea for forgiveness, so you ran a loving hand through his hair.

A soft sound spilled from him, and then his head dipped down to drink in the sight of your bare body. You were naked beneath your shorts, so he hummed through gritted teeth when he teased your legs apart. He'd seen it all many, many times before, but the sight of your glistening pink sex brought about his cooing again. The sound was a deep and beautiful melody unlike anything you'd ever heard, but also purely sexual. It was his body's call to yours. It beckoned you like a siren.

“No panties, huh?” he murmured. His breath hitched and vibrated with his lustful song. “You’re already so wet, my god… how about you put that feather of mine to use?”

He sat back on his haunches. Those narrow eyes bore holes into your exposed body as he spat another thick glob of saliva onto his palm. His hand found his cock. His eyelids fluttered at the contact and he groaned softly as he pumped around it. His eyes drank your every movement.

You spread your legs for his gaze and then brought the pulsing feather between your thighs. He could feel through them, in a sense. The thought alone caused you to exhale a soft moan, but it was anything but soft when the vibration teased your sex. He groaned, too, at the contact.

Your body flexed and wiggled when you pressed it hard against your clit. The sensation made your eyes roll back. Your slickness dampened its vanes despite its semi-hard state, and your hips ground into the pleasure. He observed. His hand pumped faster with each desperate whimper his feather worked out of you.

It wasn't long before he couldn't take simply watching anymore.

The roughness of his stubble dragged along your breast as he closed his teeth around one of your pink buds. He suckled, and your fingers tangled in his hair as his feather jolted from your grasp. It worked your clit without your help, and hot air blew from his nose as he jerked himself off. You used the distraction to sneak a hand between your bodies. You wanted the hot skin of his cock against you. You wanted to touch and play; to taste and feel. A thick whimper spilled out of him when you ensnared his throbbing dick in your palm and squeezed.

His feather stopped pleasing you.

"I didn’t give you permission to touch, did I?" His wings flexed. The feathered limbs grew massive as their quills stood on end in a frightening display. They were beautiful and plush, but deadly weapons all the same. “Testing me, huh? You're that desperate for my cock?”

Yes, fuck yes you were. You opened your mouth to reply, but your voice cut out when he grabbed you by the wrist. He jerked your hand away from his sex, and you whined. Usually, you were a bit of a hardass. It wasn’t easy to make you crumble, so he looked so devilishly proud of himself when you’d submit beneath the weight of him.

His teeth bared in a deliciously appealing smirk. "I’m gonna have to do something with these hands of yours if you’re gonna grab at shit without permission, yeah?"

You nodded a little too eagerly. His voice was heavy and deep with a depraved need to dominate you. To sully your skin with his desire. You weren’t going to stop him.

A cluster of feathers gathered in the air around you. You had nothing to fear, but watching them circle like small predators overhead made your heart pound against your ribs like a drum. They swarmed you and ensnared your wrists. The strength of his quirk easily had you overpowered. Your hands slammed into the headboard, pinned down by his feathers which trembled with excitement. You were now at his mercy.

“You’ll get your hands back when you’ve earned them,” he informed you through gritted teeth, but you were so mesmerized by the features of his face you hardly heard his words. Beautiful, that's what he was. You'd never told him how his appearance left you breathless. It could scare him away if you said such sweet things too often, but you’d held your heart back for so long it only felt fair to let it beat this once.

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered.

He trembled. His eyes widened in startled confusion, and then his cheeks dusted the faintest shade of red. God, that only made your heart thump harder. His did, too; you could feel it rattle through his chest and against your stomach.

"What was that?"

You bit your lip, embarrassed, but echoed the statement a bit more sheepishly. "I said… you're gorgeous."

Your mattress groaned as he folded back onto his knees. The flaming red limbs on his back lowered until they rested against your sheets. Something about that sweet little compliment tore into him like nothing you had ever said before. That desire that flickered behind his eyes blazed out of control. His kisses landed on your knees before he placed a gentle caress of his lips on the innermost part of your thigh. So close to your pussy that the heat of his breath made you slick.

His other glove was abandoned somewhere on the floor, which rendered both his hands bare. A low groan spilled from him as he pressed his thumbs into either side of your heat. His jaw went slack and his breath erratic as he spread you open.

"So are you," he said, but it was muttered so softly you almost didn't hear.

His head dipped down. The tendrils that framed his forehead fell over your midriff as his tongue caressed your twitching flesh. The hot, wet muscle lapped hungrily between your folds. It flicked at your clit, and your legs trembled on either side of his head. His mouth working you open like that was enough to fog your mind entirely.

“You like that?” he cooed between the slurps of his mouth against you. "Oh, I bet you fucking do."

You replied with only a strangled whimper as you tugged uselessly at the feathers that bound you. You were desperate to comb your fingers through his downy hair, to fist it in your hands and press his face hard into you. A low chuckle flowed from his open mouth and tickled your flinching flesh. Another cry tore from your throat.

“My poor baby, so desperate,” he sighed after placing a kiss against your clit.

His poor baby. He hummed that phrase with such possessive intensity. He was right. Even if it was unspoken, you and your body belonged to him and him alone.

The warmth of his palms traveled back up your stomach and squeezed your breasts roughly. “Forcing you to wait so long for me, did I neglect my sweet little Chickpea? Hmm, I better make up for it, huh?"

God, the way his husky voice reverberated against your flesh was the most delicious form of torture. You bit your lip and nodded, and he rewarded you with a finger. It slid carefully into you, and his hand caressed your insides. You cried a loud, indecipherable string of mangled words. All grasp on language left you as he curled his fingers up and flicked his wrist.

“Aw, what are you trying to say, Sweetheart?” he huffed. All the little nicknames only pushed you further into your need for him. “You wanna feel my fat cock push into that pretty little pussy?”

A sharp inhale burned your throat.

“P-please!” you choked. Your voice was cracked and pitiful when it finally tore from you, and a wonderfully wonton sound fell from him.

“Please what, huh? Please what?” he gasped.

“Fuck me! I want it- I want your cock- PLEASE.”

“Ohhhhh, that sounds so pretty comin’ outta your mouth,” came his long, low growl. As a reward for your begging, he dragged the wetness of his tongue along the length of your little pink slit.

The rough material of his jeans slid down your inner thighs as he mounted you. The shaft of his hot, bare cock pressed flush against your sex. Clusters of his feathers bunched behind the bends in your knees and forced them back, which splayed you helplessly open. You watched as he bit into his lip and rubbed himself against your wetness. You couldn't look away as the most intimate part of his body sheathed itself in yours.

The most delicious pressure overwhelmed your aching senses. Fuck. FUCK. He moved slowly. It may have been meant as mercy, but to your sex-starved body, it felt torturous. The ridges of his dick caught at your swollen walls before the tip of it pressed agonizingly slow into the bottom of you.

“Hawks! Oh my god, I can’t fucking take this!” your throat jerked and trembled just like your aching thighs. Your hips pumped in desperation for friction where your bodies connected. “Give it to me, give it- I swear to god- FUCK!”

Once you gave him control of your body, he lost control of his own. The mattress groaned when he slammed into you. His teeth dug into your throat, laying his claim on you as he panted for breath. His loose belt buckle beat at your outer thighs, and your bed frame groaned in protest with each merciless thrust. His hands dug into your flesh and locked you into his jarring pumps. He pinned you down as if he expected you to play the fighting game, but you didn't resist his cock this time. You didn't want a battle. You wanted your lover. Your moaning whimpers broke and cracked as his jerking hips rocked the wind from you.

He pounded into you too fast for your mind to keep up. Your scarred body buckled and stung under his animalistic need, but the shockwaves of pleasure that rolled through your core kept you begging him for more. More. More.

His mind was so fogged that he lost his focus on his feathers. The clusters binding you down came loose without his influence, and you easily pulled out of them to throw your arms around his neck. His wings spread out and bristled until they were pressed against the walls, puffed and massive. His forehead was against yours. His hot breath puffed in your face, and his beautiful body was pleasured with yours.

"Fuck, fuck! Please- Let me come inside you," he pleaded. His eyes were hazy and fogged, his mouth was slack and face a deep red. His body’s cooing song was so loud you could feel it in your own chest. The familiar smell of his cologne intermingled with the musk of sex and blurred your mind. You wanted every piece of him he'd give you.

"Y-yes, please, please," you begged between the hard smacks of his skin against yours.

Your eyes shot open as his pace quickened. His wings… they were falling apart. Those beautiful eyes of his lulled further into the back of his head with each bone shivering slap of flesh. His teeth bared and his lips twitched as he pressed your bodies roughly together. Shivers rolled through his muscles, and those fierce wings of his were reduced to twitching little nubs on his back as he came.

You ran your hands between his shoulder blades as you marveled at his feathers. They littered the air as they weaved feverishly around one another. The gentle touch of your hands brought Hawks down from his high, and his feathers slowed until they lazily spun like autumn leaves. You pulled him down into a tight embrace and buried your face into his hair. He heaved into your chest, and you watched all the little pieces of him flutter around your room in the light of the moon.

He often lost control of his wings when you made love. They'd fluff up and flap wildly when he came, which often knocked shelves from your walls and your lamp from your bedside table. That was the first time he shed his feathers, and you were in awe.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was gravely and shuttered between labored breaths.

“Yeah, I’m just... admiring," you said as you stared over his shoulder. He glanced behind him, and his cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink when he realized the pitiful state of his wings. The little red feathers spread all around your room stilled in the air and swarmed to his back, returning his iconic limbs to their full glory.

“Er, you managed to pluck me. How embarrassing,” he quipped. You were so sore and exhausted from his sex all you could manage was a little laugh. You were a gasping mess, though, when he finally pulled out of you. The loss of pressure was a relief, but it also left you feeling empty. You laid quiet and trembling as he leaned back to marvel over the mess he made of you. His thumbs spread you open again, and he let out a breathless moan as you felt his come leak from you. His head dipped between your thighs. That beautiful tongue of his flicked out and lapped at the mess on your pussy. The warm wriggling of the muscle shocked your swollen clit and made you cry out, but you couldn't bear to ask him to stop. It satisfied something in you to watch as he licked you clean of your slick and his own come.

When he was content that he'd cleaned you thoroughly, he laid his body carefully beside you in your bed. His fingers tangled in your hair as he locked you into a kiss. You could taste the sex he licked from you on his tongue.

The sex was always feverish and ravishing, but the afterglow was your addiction. In the beginning, it was rare. To kiss and caress crossed the line into his discomfort, but the more he learned to trust you the more of his affection you earned. The man who feared human touch began to ask for hugs every visit. Kisses became frequent and pleasant the more he let you do it. Then came sex that felt less like vicious wars and more like making love. Yes, after everything you did to earn his intimacy, nothing felt as lovely as lying naked beneath his plush plumage.

His feathers caressed every inch of your aching body. His warm mouth, still wet from the sex, pressed gentle kisses onto your face. Your head rested against his arm as your breath slowly steadied. His wing flexed and rested on your shoulder as if tucking you in beneath a plush comforter.

“Mm. You like that?” he pondered breathlessly. His fingers trailed up your scarred side until they combed through your hair. There was a ginger softness to the touch that made your heart quiver. He smiled at you, those yellow eyes pierced through the dim light and into your soul. as you reached your hand out to run your fingers under his jaw.

“Do you need to ask?” you hummed. Your cheeks were still red and your chest quaked as you slowly came down from the high.

He laughed. What a lovely, airy sound. You hummed in the glory of the moment. And, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you could breathe again. Typically, he’d spend his days off kicked back on your living room couch with a tall bottle of something hard in his hand. You’d go a week or so without seeing him when things got tense in the hero world, of course, but in the last two months, you’d had him for only a handful of nights. It was concerning, but you knew better than to ask. No matter how close the two of you had become he would never talk to you about work.

“It's been a while since you last flew in,” you noted as you got comfortable beneath his plumage. His body beside yours was the definition of comfort. Your mind could only be at peace when he was safe in your bed. “It’s nice to see you again, I was worried.”

“I know, it’s been too long. No need to worry, though, Chickpea, I’m right here,” he replied. His slow exhale tangled in your hair, and his hand's gentle touch found your cheek. He offered no explanation for his lengthy absences, but he and his crimson wing caressed you with apologies.

You relaxed to the sound of his steady breath through the dim blue light of your bedroom. The wing he draped over you was so plush and warm you could easily fall asleep. You might have, if not for the fear of waking up without him. You scooted closer to wind your arms around his chest and bury your face in his neck.

"I really wish you could stay," you whispered.

To let your love get in his way was the last thing you wanted, but it was the utterance of a moment of weakness. It was uncharacteristic of you, the pathetic way it sounded, and you felt him stiffen under your arm as he soaked in your request. While there was never a confession of love, you'd tamed the wild bird with years of patience and earnest affection. He was loyal to you. It was cruel of you to ask for something you knew he couldn't give.

“Ah… I would if I could help it, you know that,” he sighed into your forehead, “but I can try to stay until morning.”

“Please. I’d like that.” It came out like the voice of a frightened child, but it was difficult to hide your need for him anymore.

If you dwelled any further on the possibility of him vanishing, your emotions were going to get the better of you. You played with the feathers draped over your shoulder to calm yourself. A small one by your face was pinched between your fingers as you rolled the barbs around.

"Your wings are filthy," you mused. Dirt particles littered the poor things. You were sure, with some rooting, you'd find a few bugs he’d picked up in the air, too. "Actually, all of you is filthy. You got dirt all in my sheets, bird brain."

"Oh. Shit, my bad," he murmured as he sat upright. You shivered when the warmth of his wing left you.

"Hm, it's fine. Throw your clothes in the wash and I'll get a shower ready for you, sound good?"

“Sounds good.”

The bed creaked in relief when he stood. His frame was slender and small, but his wings at least doubled the weight of him. That was evident with how smothering being beneath him could feel. He kicked off his pants, though his body was still covered by the black and gold bodysuit he wore beneath them. It warmed your heart to see him carry his uniform out of your room and hear him tinker with the washer on the other side of the wall. The sound of the cloth being tossed inside followed by the creak of an opening cabinet seeped through the drywall, followed by the pop of the detergent lid coming off.

He was intimately familiar with your tiny abode. You’d made sure things stayed in the same place so he'd know where everything was the next time he'd visit. You'd been especially anal about it since he'd often be gone for such long periods at a time. When he returned, you wanted your home to feel like it belonged to him, too.

A sensation overcame you as you laid alone in your bed. The sheets were warm from the love you’d just made. Despite his tongue cleaning you off, you could still feel the faint warmth of him inside of you. His contented sigh found you through the wall and your heart burst.

To the rest of the world, he was a hero, but he was so much more to you. You'd give anything to have him completely. For his voice to echo, groggy and sheepish, against your walls every morning. To get to kiss him goodbye before the sun rose, and to welcome him home every afternoon with a warm embrace. For a ring on your finger; a crib in the bedroom. That wasn’t the kind of life that was meant for him, though. As long as he was afraid of you being hurt, those secret nights were all you’d ever have. It made sense. He had enemies, and you could only imagine how your quiet life would turn upside down if you ended up in the pages of a tabloid.

You only spent time together in the privacy of your apartment. Even after two years of being close to him, there was so little you knew about his life separate from you. What little you did know only made you frustrated on his behalf. You held out hope that it could eventually change, for your sake and his.

Preening Hawks was your favorite thing to do with him. There was something special about being across from one another in the shower, naked, warm water rushing over your bodies as your fingers smoothed and placed his dampened feathers. It took the first year of your friendship for him to allow you to touch them at all, so it was an obvious display of his trust in you. Which was understandable. His wings were an integral part of his identity. You watched as he ran his hands over his face and into his hair. His expression was in a relaxed state of bliss as your fingers picked through his plumage.

With his massive wings on either side of you like plush, padded walls, it felt like nothing in the world could get you. His laughter echoed around the small room as he told jokes and stories. It was okay if you didn't have anything to say, or if you just wanted to listen. He would talk for you when you fell short, and that's usually what got you laughing.

Through the gentle moment, though, you couldn't help but let your emotions get the better of you. During times like those, when his visits were few and far between, your mind danced around the question of why. The possibilities bounced between him either being in danger or losing interest in you. Both were scary thoughts since he had become such an integral part of your life.

"Would you mind if I ask something?" you pondered, which accidentally interrupted a story he'd been telling about an intern of his.

"Depends what it is.”

"Well… there are a million girls out there who'd gladly do this with you," you mused, and it was true, even if it stung a little to remember. "Did you decide to do this with me because it was convenient?"

That had been your reason, initially. Hawks spent a lot of time hanging around your apartment and he just happened to be wildly attractive. There were no feelings when he’d first asked if he could fuck you. That didn't come until later.

He laughed, and you glared at him.

“Self-doubt, huh? That isn’t like you. Me being away a lot’s really shaken you up, huh?”

"It's not self-doubt, I'm just genuinely curious," you quipped as you pulled a feather from his wing. They'd moult if they hung around too long, so pulling out the loose ones was a help to him.

"Well… what we have going on is far from convenient," he said. "If that's what I was going for, I'd go after a pro that could keep a secret. It ain't easy to sneak away like this, you know."

So even a pro hero would have to be a secret for him? Did Hawks have any chance at all for a normal life?

“I wanted you, and if I want something, I go for it.”

You swallowed down a breath you’d been holding, but you didn’t say anything else as you watched his eyes dance around the bathroom in thought.

"And I wanted you because… well, there were a lot of reasons. The night we met was a big one, I guess.”

You looked away. That night felt taboo to mention, considering all the guilt you knew he harbored. Your scars weren’t his fault. Several villains were on a rampage, and your hospital was in the destructive path. You were just another civilian, caught in the crossfire. His feathers tried, but they couldn’t get you out of the building. You’d been partially crushed beneath the rubble.

“I was sure it was the end of the road for me. It would have been if you and your quirk hadn’t been trapped inside with me. You have a forcefield. You could have used it to protect yourself, but you bubbled me instead. You were gonna die. I was so sure you were gonna die and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.”

Still, your lips wouldn’t move. You’d spent ten months in an ICU after you were crushed beneath the weight of two stories of concrete. If not for the healing quirks of EMTs, you wouldn’t have survived at all. If not for your sacrifice, Hawks wouldn’t have, either. Still, it wasn’t his fault.

“Still hurts to know I couldn’t help you when you needed me most, but when I looked in your eyes, there wasn't a hint of fear. All I saw was determination. I never met someone who was so sure of their choices, even in the face of death," he recalled. Your emotions skirted between sadness and flattery as you heard his thoughts. If only you could live up to that selfless picture of you, now. “I know a lot of pros who could only hope to have that kind of resolve.”

“Damn, when you tell it you make me sound like a badass,” you quipped, and your laughter bounced around the shower stall.

“I mean, what are the requirements to be donned with the title of badass? I’m sure you’re overqualified. Either that or you’re fucking crazy, which is also a possibility.”

You snorted.

“I'm not crazy. My job is to help people after they've been hurt. If I bubbled you instead, I’d be saving every person you’d live to protect. Before they would need a nurse like me. It’s just what made sense.”

He was silent for a moment as he absorbed your reasoning. You tended to be rational, even in the most emotional of situations. But that borderline-robotic way of thinking was a by-product of your own miseries.

You were a nurse in a world overcome by demigods and treachery. Some of the things you'd seen in the OR would haunt you for the rest of your life. And, sometimes, those ghosts came to torment you in your dreams. That made it hard the first time Hawks slept in your bed. You would sometimes wake with tears in your eyes as your voice quivered out sobs. Your past lovers didn't understand that part of you. The broken part. The part that had been poisoned by the darker side of this superpowered world.

That's what fostered your love for Hawks. When he had awoken early that morning to you crying beside him, he’d only reacted with a patient embrace. He adored the bright parts of you, but he also had a solemn understanding and respect for your darkness. Having that connection through your mutual suffering was a kind of bond you’d never had before him. And now that you had it, you couldn't imagine life without.

You went back to preening. You pressed up on your knees to reach a bit higher on his wing, and he watched intently. His voice died into silence as his gaze swept over your naked form, which dripped from the steam of the shower. It wasn't a surprise. Often, he would get lost in himself as he observed you, like a curious bird. It felt like a wordless compliment, so you silently allowed his eyes to explore you. Not that his hands and mouth and cock hadn't already drawn a map of you in his mind.

"Whatcha thinking about?" you teased playfully, and he hummed in response.

"How you look at my wings… I like it."

"Everybody looks at your wings," you said dismissively. A half-smile graced your face.

"You’re right. They do. People admire me because of what they’re capable of. It's what people think of first when they think of me, and rightfully so. They're hard to ignore. But when you look at me, you look at my face first, my wings second. It's like you admire them because they're a part of me, not because of what they can do. I appreciate that."

Your fingers in said feathers slowed to a stop as he spoke. You smiled a little to yourself as you brushed them against a feather. He shivered. "Your quirk is a part of who you are. That's why I like cleaning them for you. It feels like I get to give you something special, but wings or not, I'd still want you."

Falling in love with Hawks was the best and worst thing you’d ever experienced. The pleasure of those beautiful moments seeped into your soul like a warm cup of tea. But the anguish that followed after he flew out your window… there wasn't a simile that could correctly describe the immeasurable pain.

Your response must have triggered a long series of difficult thoughts for the bird. His head tilted slightly, his eyes hardened in expression and his brows furrowed as he soaked in your confession.

"In the year we've been doing this… has there ever been another man?" he pondered. The question jarred you. Occasionally, he'd get a touch possessive of his time with you. He’d asked a time or two who you were texting. You knew him well enough to pick up the hint of jealousy despite his light tone, but he never asked anything so outright.

“Well, look who's got self-doubt now. You sure are eager for a lot of questions and confessions tonight. What’s gotten into you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You asked a question, so it's my turn now. Besides, we’ve been close for a couple of years. We've been intimate for half of that. just seems a little silly to keep up the fuck buddies act. Or is it just me?”

Fuck buddies act? You bit your lip. Hard. When he was with you he was so relaxed. This seriousness was unusual, and it made your wet skin rough with goosebumps.

"It's not just you," you confessed.

For a short while, the bathroom was filled with only the sound of the running shower as you collected your confession.

"There hasn't been another man since you. I mean… I've gone on dates a few times, but it never got that far," you replied. The moment another man kissed you… Well, kisses felt dirty if they were with anyone other than Hawks. "I know this thing you and I have going on was meant to be a no strings attached kind of affair, but… Well, if I’m being honest with you, it feels wrong trying to sleep with anyone but you. I like what we have, and I've always got the impression that you really do, too."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure whether or not that was what he wanted to hear.

"Have you?" you asked. "Been with anyone else?"

You’d never asked before. At first, it was because it didn't feel like your business. Then, when the thought eventually made your heart ache, you didn't ask because you didn't want to know. But now that you had come clean, it only felt fair that he did, too.

Air left his nose and his head bobbed back until his wet hair pressed against the shower stall.

"Once,” he confessed, and he sounded ashamed now that he knew you never did. “I used to have this on again, off again thing, before I knew you. I messed with her a few weeks after you and I first… well, you know. But only once, then never again.”

You’d thought it would crush you to learn he’d been with someone else, but it didn’t sting like you thought it would. Probably because you didn't know specifics. If you knew what woman had her hands on him, if you could see it, it probably would destroy you. But the apologetic way he said it put your heart at ease. He mumbled like he knew it would hurt you, and he didn’t want it to. But you weren’t wounded, and your feelings weren’t perturbed. He never promised you anything, just as you’d never made promises to him.

“Why’d you stop seeing her?” you asked as you scooted closer to smooth shampoo suds down in his hair. He only shrugged at first, then sighed in contemplation when your fingers combed along his scalp.

“I’ve never had a place I could go to, you know?” he said. “I’ve never had somewhere like this, where I can lay my head for a little while and just be…”

“Pampered?” you suggested as your hands moved to massage his shoulder blades between his wings.

He breathed out a little laugh, but shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was thinkin’.”

“Out with it then,” you teased.

“Well… I’ve never had somewhere I’ve felt safe and... cared about?” he said, though his eyes were distant and lost when he said it, as if he wasn’t sure he should have.

“I gotta always be looking over my shoulder. Gotta always have a mask on and hope no one ever sees through it. But here, everything’s relaxed. You couldn’t care less what my ranking on some chart is or how much money is in my pocket. You don't give a shit about heroing or the tabloids. You’re the only person in my life who asks for nothing other than my company. I feel human here. I didn’t want to jeopardize that, or what I had with you. That’s why I stopped seeing her.”

Your mouth went dry. While your nights were long and passionate, you’d never whispered sweet nothings. You’d never told him how much he and his company meant to you because you felt he wouldn’t want to hear it, but he kept coming back. For a year he had clung wordlessly to what little affection you gave him. If he’d told you this a year prior, you would have given him so much more love.

“So you do have deeper feelings for me. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He was silent, as you’d expected him to be. He both craved and feared the closeness he’d formed with you. At times he’d drown you in sweet little bits of affection, but, when things got too deep, he would shut down. Through the last couple of years, you’d broken through a lot of his walls, but the cold influence of the commission would always be with him. Even if he was in love with you, he’d never understand how to tell you.

"Because of who I am when I fly out your window,” he began. The reverb of his voice against the shower stall took you off guard. You didn’t expect him to answer. "There are things I know you want from me… things that I can’t give you right now, and you deserve more than that. That’s why I never planned on telling you… Fuck. It was never supposed to be like this…”

He spoke more to himself than he did to you at that moment. There was an internal battle going on in his mind; one you'd never really be able to understand, but you wanted to try.

"You mean you never meant to get attached?"

His silence was telling.

"It's okay," you said. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to." You took a hold of his hand, but he flinched away from you. He was regressing back into old habits. It had been months since he’d last recoiled to your affection. Something was terribly wrong. The recoil was fine. It was okay. Whatever he needed to feel comfortable. "I'm sorry-"

"No, I'm sorry," he interrupted. He rubbed the wrist you had touched as if you'd burned him. His brow was knit and his mouth became a harsh line. "Sometimes it feels easy and other times it doesn't, but I'm trying."

"I know you are. Like I said, we don't have to talk about feelings."

He stared at you, and the longer his gaze rested on your face, the softer it became, "I want to try."

You nodded and wrapped your arms around your naked knees. The shower had been turned off long ago by a cluster of his feathers, but the soothing steam still lingered around you.

“It's just… this is difficult. One day someone may shoot me out of the sky. The thought of you still being right here, waiting for me, when I can never come back… It... kills me." He paused, his eyes hazed over as he swallowed his emotion down. The rawness in his voice struck such an unpleasant chord that your own eyes pricked with bitter water. "That's why I didn’t want attachments like this. But I didn't mean for all this between you and me. You snuck into me slowly, I didn't even notice until it was too late."

"Is this supposed to be flattering? It sounds like you're likening me to a parasite or something- heartworm," you quipped in an effort to dispel the heavy tension. He smiled, but only for a moment before he rolled his eyes at you.

"Just… listen to me," he said, and your eyes trained on his as your mouth closed. "If that ever happens… If there comes a day you've been waiting for me, only to find out I'm never coming back, please know that I cared for you."

He didn't use the word love, but that's very much what he was trying to convey. In a way, you’d kind of always knew. It was why he’d said it, how he’d said it, that made your eyes prick with tears at their corners. The thought of what he was implying petrified you. Hawks was so skilled, so powerful, so almighty. Despite all his power, though, he was human, just like you. The night you’d met proved how possible death was for him. Nothing could keep him safe forever, not even your forcefields.

But he’d never talked like this before. He was always so light-hearted and relaxed. His work and the dangers associated with it was off the menu of conversion topics. What had happened to bring all this darkness up now?

"You talk like you’re preparing for death."

Again, he didn’t reply. His silence was more terrifying than anything he could have said, but trying to pry him open would only break him, it seemed. So you didn’t.

“May I kiss you?” you asked instead.

He nodded.

You leaned forward and breathed into his ear. He shivered when you placed a gentle kiss on the shell of it. His earring pressed against your lip was a gentle and familiar feeling, but after you heard all he had to say it also felt fleeting. He always had some ulterior motive or hidden reason for every little thing he did. It's as if he said all this because tomorrow would be the day he was gone.

“I’m not preparing to die.” Your kiss gave him the courage to speak. "I have too much to live for. It’s just always a possibility- for anybody, really. But heroes especially. I just wanted it off my chest is all."

He smiled at you, but you’d seen every smile in his repertoire, and this one was faker than your stick-on-backsplash. The air never felt so tense between you. Not even the night you met, dying feet away from each other. It all felt so… heavy. The weight of it pressed hard into your chest.

“Er, this reminds me, while we're on topic, I got some things going on at the agency. I hate to say it, but you won't see me again for a little while. I don’t know how long. It could be a couple of months.” His disposition remained fake casual. His shoulders and face were relaxed as he enjoyed the steam of the shower, but his wings tensed. You felt it in your palms as you preened him.

"You're in trouble," you said. Your mouth went dry as the realization drained the color from your face.

"Trouble? Me? Nah. Just work stuff."

He spoke with a relaxed air about him, but he couldn’t lie to you.

"No. You've been acting off all night. You’ve been making all these confessions. Talking about death, telling me you're going away for a while. I know you better than you think I do; something big happened and you're trying to tie up loose ends in case you don't get out of it okay," you rambled, and the more you talked the higher your voice became. It trembled and wavered with building fear.

He stared at you. That silly face of his melted into a thin line and sharp, angular eyes. Those tricks worked when no one was close enough to see through them, but you knew his genuine smile like the back of your hand. You saw right through his facade, and he was annoyed by the very determination he just prided you for.

"Can't get anything past you, can I?"

You didn't whimper, but your eyes became glossy with emotion. It was a strange mixture of panic, sorrow, and rage. You had no idea what he'd gotten into, but you also knew he would never tell. He placed preserving missions above all else, which made sense but was frustrating.

"I don't know what's going on, but you need to get out of it if you're thinking it's something you may not come back from."

"Things aren't that simple. I chose this life, I gotta follow through."

"No, I chose to be a nurse when I was sixteen and understood the implications of what I'd have to go through. You were fucking six when the commission took you, and they spent all that time gaslighting and taking advantage of you-"

"We aren’t talking about that right now, don't use it against me.”

"Use it- what? I'm not using anything against you! You’re the one alluding to death! There’s nothing wrong at the agency, there’s something else- something terrible-"

"Drop it.”

“How can I?!”

"Because I said so." His eyes were narrow and mouth a tight, thin line. You could read him so well. He was regretting this. All of this, because now you were onto whatever suicide mission he was embarking on. But, as his lover, how could you just sit back and silently watch him throw himself into a danger that had even him shaken?

You got louder, and he got louder. You tossed bitter, confused words back and forth until he was screaming. Until you were screaming back at him. Your calm, laid back demeanor slipped through your fingers the moment you realized he could be in over his head. That, if you let him leave, this could be the last night you’d ever spend with him. Your anger was driven by your fear for his life, and his was driven by your inability to let it go.

He was still screaming. You were still screaming. You were fighting him. He just told you you were the most important person in his life, and you were spitting venom.

You stopped.

He stopped.

Your hand came to your bare chest as it heaved in an attempt to steady your breath. The other came up to wipe the tears budding in your eyes. He looked away from you, his brow tugged heavily downward, his jaw clenched together in shame.

"Let’s just breathe, okay?" you pleaded.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," you whimpered into your hand. "Out of everyone in the world, you're the last who needs to say sorry, so don't. It's just- it's not right, okay? You're too… I don't know, selfless? I watch all the time as that gets taken advantage of. Doesn’t it get tiring? Even your name is some dirty secret. I've been sleeping with you for a year and I don't even know what it is-"

"Yes, you do," he argued, his lip wavered with weakness for one vulnerable moment. "You know me- you know my name."

Desperation laced between his words and strung the sentence together. It wasn't easy to see your lover look at you that way, just begging for you to let pieces of him go. It was hard to accept it, but whatever name he went by prior to heroism didn't exist anymore. Neither did the once innocent child it belonged to. You tried to respect that, but it was unfair he was denied a basic human right: to have a name.

"You're Hawks, I know, I'm sorry… it's just… how much is left of yourself that actually belongs to you? How long until there’s nothing left to give? People have taken so much from you that you’ve become numb to it; do you even know what you're missing out on? Do you even know how lonely you are? When’s the last time anybody even asked if you were okay?"

He realized, then, that you weren't angry at him.

You were angry for him.

His eyes shifted to yours, and he nibbled at his bottom lip before he muttered with the quirk of his mouth: “Well, you ask me that pretty much every time you see me.”

There it was. The crack in your voice. The crinkle of your nose and the tremble of your lip. You cried, and he sat there across from you, still bare as his wings lowered to either side of you. His expression didn't change, and, for once, you couldn't read it. You didn't want to be so upset, but knowing he was in some kind of dangerous trouble that shook even him was too much for you to bear.

"I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just… Do you have any idea how many heroes I've wheeled into the morgue? People die on my table all of the time. Every time is just as hard as the last, but the heroes- those are the ones that destroy me. Because every time someone in a cape lands on the table I know their families are waiting for them at home, just like I wait here for you.

"I saved you once, but you're so far away from me, too far for my forcefields to reach you. Hearing you say you’re going away- all I can think of is coming into work one day and finding you c-... covered in a sheet."

His wings moved up from the shower floor. The feathers were dark with dampness as their joints pressed into your back. You sat there like that as he let you cry. Really, what else could he have done? What else could you have done? Of course you were angry. You would be for the rest of your life over how his panned out. His childhood was taken from him, his understanding of human affection was still stunted, even after all the time you spent gently undoing what damage had been done. Now he talked like one wrong move would end it all.

"It's… difficult," he began, though he couldn't make eye contact with you. He usually couldn't when you had discussions like this. "Being a hero isn’t what I imagined I would be when I was a kid. And sometimes I do ask myself: 'what is this all for? There's always going to be a new bad guy. Why does it matter?' And then I think about you…"

He went silent for a moment; you could see the little battle behind his eyes. The battle between his affection deprived confusion and his need to be closer to you. To explain himself.

"I think about you and it reminds me there are good people who are worth fighting for. As long as you are here and there are bad people out there that could hurt you, I have to be out there, too. And, yeah, sometimes I get afraid. But as long as I have these wings, I'm going to use them to keep this world safe for you."

He’d never felt so close to you, and yet so far away. He thought even more of you than you anticipated. A part of you felt touched you'd become a cornerstone for his sanity in such a hostile world, but the other part felt sick. If he wanted to fight for you, that was fine.

But to die for you; that would be unforgivable.

The urge to argue the worth of his life weighed heavy on your heart. If you did, he would call you hypocritical, considering your own history of self-sacrifice. It wasn’t the same, though. His self-worth depended on his usefulness to others and little else, and you feared the day that usefulness ran out. What would Hawks be, if not a hero? It should have such a simple answer, like what you would be if not a nurse. But it didn't. It never would.

You leaned forward to pull him into a tight hug. Perhaps when he was anywhere else you were unable to protect him, but right there, in your arms, you'd use whatever you could to keep him safe. Your bubbles, your kind words, anything.

"I understand," you said, because you knew there were no words that could keep him away from the hero path. It wasn't just a part of his identity; it was all he'd ever known. "Just… don't forget when the heroing is said and done, you'll always have a place here if you need it."

He hummed a small, contented coo at your kindness. Of course, you didn't have to tell him that. He already knew. Why else would he spend so much of his precious little free time cuddled up to you?

"I'll remember," he promised as his arms and damp wings curled in to squeeze you against him.

You and Hawks bathed in the comforting darkness of your bedroom. Your window was frosted from the bitter cold outside, but his body heat kept you warm in the safety of your bed. Or nest, rather, as Hawks tended to construct mounds of tangled comforters and wadded up bedsheets to hide in as he got comfortable. You were buried beneath the mass of cloth and the cocoon of his wings as you tried to fall asleep. It was a difficult undertaking since you didn’t know when you’d see him again. You were so tired, but you wanted to be awake to hold him for what little time you had left.

You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, anyway.

Often when Hawks slept in your bed you'd awaken at strange hours. Sometimes this was due to your own nightmares. The subject bounced between the traumatic things you’d seen at the hospital and the night you’d met. You'd wake to find that you’d encased your bed in your protective bubble during your sleep, and Hawks' wings squeezed you gently against his chest. Other nights, it was Hawks' anxiety that would keep you awake.

During the day, his guard was discreetly up. He carried carefree conversations as if unbothered, but those well-trained feathers of his were on constant guard. Really, he never had a moment to breathe. This was something you never would have understood the depths of if you weren't woken by his anxiety in the midst of the night. The anxiety he kept bottled during the day often let itself out in the form of night terrors. He'd mumble. Roll. His wings would twitch over you. His face would morph into an agonized expression, and he chirped in distress. A good, gentle shake was usually all it took to pull him out of the bad dream.

That night his nerves reared their head, though in an unorthodox way. Apparently, you did fall asleep, because you awoke with a small grumble when you felt the mattress groan, followed by a heavy weight draping over your body. You let out a long whine of displeasure, but the weight just got heavier. You turned your head and opened your eyes to find Hawks, but he wasn't gasping in his sleep. He laid over you, wings puffed but flat on either side of your bed as he stared at the bedroom door.

"Hawks? You're squishing me."

He didn't answer or turn to look at you. Those sharp eyes of his danced around in panic, his feathers raised as they sensed every small movement in your apartment. You dropped your head back onto your pillow with a sigh.

"What's the matter?" you pondered.

"Shh," he hummed. "I felt something…"

You laid and listened for a short while, but all you could hear was the lady in the apartment above you walking across her floor.

"It's my neighbor."

"What if it's not?"

Whether the display was the primal instruction from the bird in him to protect his mate or if it was a by-product of the harsh reality of the life he lived, you weren't sure. Either way, his calm and almost lazy facade cracked. When the world was quiet and his feathers could sense every mundane movement in your apartment, his anxiety that those small bumps in the night might be something that could hurt you overwhelmed him.

The little display was an annoyance to your sleep-deprived brain, but his first thought in the midst of his worry was to protect you. That spared him from your groggy wrath.

"Lay down, McNugget. There's no one there," you grumbled, but he didn't turn his head away from the door.

Feeling your hand on his face seemed to snap him back into the moment, even if just a little. He leaned into you and encased you in his wings. It felt like a protective gesture, but the warmth you found beneath them made you hum pleasantly. The fluffy white cloth of his hoodie rubbed your cheeks as he cuddled into you. Well, actually, it was your hoodie.

At one time it was just some old thing you'd snagged from a thrift store on a chilly day. It was much too large for you, though. When Hawks came into your life later on, you'd cut holes out of the back and hemmed it up. That way he'd have a little something to throw on when it got chilly at your place. He never said it out loud, but he loved the thing. He'd go looking for it if you didn't leave it laying out in the living room.

"I know you usually have a lot to be afraid of, but you don't have to worry about protecting me. I'm a badass, remember?" you whispered into the shell of his ear. His shoulders relaxed just a bit, and he puffed out a little chuckle.

"Yeah, I know. I just… I want you to be safe. That's all."

Your gaze softened, though he couldn't see it in the darkness. You didn't need Hawks to protect you. You didn't need a hero. You needed a best friend; a lover. Between the both of you, he was the one in most need of saving.

"Shh," you hummed gently. Your hair lifted from your pillow and danced slowly around your face as if gravity was lost to you. He scrunched his nose as your locks brushed his cheeks, and his wings settled flat as a ring rose from the floor around your bed. The translucent wall came together above your bodies to form a hard, bubble shell.

"You've been the hero long enough. Let me be the protector tonight,” you said. His throat bobbed against your shoulder as his arms wound around you. He settled, but you still felt his unease.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me,” he said. His voice was muffled since his mouth was pressed into your skin, but you still heard the sadness in it. “I should be taking care of you.”

You blinked as you soaked in his words. For a year you pined for such romantic things to come out of his mouth. Of course he’d wait for a night like that night to say such sickeningly sweet things. The future that used to feel so full of mystery and excitement had become dangerous, uncertain, and disappointing.

“You don’t have to be the hero every time,” you replied.

“But if I’m not a hero, what am I?”

His question was an echo of your fears. The ambient light from your window filtered dimly into your forcefield, but your eyes couldn’t adjust with tears in them.

“I don't know if I have the answer you're looking for, but... Do you remember when I was in the hospital?" you asked. "When you first came to see me you brought a twenty-piece box of chicken nuggets, and while I was trying to eat one you laughed until you were crying because it looked vaguely like a penis.”

“Vaguely? It had balls and everything,” he recalled, and you rolled your watering eyes.

“Whatever. It was stupid, but it was the first time I laughed since I was trapped in that hospital. And, well… when they said I’d never walk again you helped me out of bed. I cried myself to sleep some nights, but you were there, still trying to save me. You were trying to be a hero then, too, but you became my best friend. If nothing else, that's what you’ll always be to me.”

A sound came out of him akin to laughter. You shot him a look, then hooked your finger under his chin. You wanted to see his dumb grin when you berated him for poking fun at you. When his eyes met yours, though, they weren’t crinkled with laughter. They were red and watering.

“Oh, Hawks,” you breathed, and he tucked his face back into your arm to hide his vulnerability. He never cried before. At least not in front of you. He was always the immovable one, virtuous and strong. Moments like this reminded you just how human he was beneath it all.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you,” you assured him in a whisper. Gentle promises spilled from your lips like lullabies, and he clung to every word with heart-breaking desperation. You whispered every sweet nothing you could think of to ease his pain, but you didn’t have that kind of power.

You had no power at all.

His world always seemed scary to you. You feared for his life every day, but the thought of him being ripped from your arms overwhelmed you that night more than it ever had before. The protective bubble that encased your bed would keep him safe for as long as you could fight sleep, but what of the morning? You’d be safe at home, and he’d be lost somewhere in the dangerous fray of his duties. Far away from your warmth and the apartment he found so much comfort in.

This would not be the last time you held him. You had to believe that, but what if it was? What if this sleepless night was your last together?

Tell him you love him, you thought to yourself. Tell him before you never get the chance again.

You bit your lip as you felt his trembling breaths on your collar. You prepared your lips for the taste of the confession, but he was so vulnerable, more so than he may have ever been before. He didn’t need you to tell him about your affections, he needed you to use them.

You placed a reassuring crown of kisses along his forehead, and he gripped you so hard his knuckles were surely white.

When you’d cried as a child, your mother would lay in your bed and sing lullabies until you fell asleep. Your voice was untrained and awkward compared to hers, but you tried your best to use it. Your off-key tune echoed back to you in the dome of your forcefield, and your cheeks pinkened with how childlike it sounded. Your embarrassment interrupted your lullaby. He stirred against your chest.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Please, sing to me.”

You cleared your throat as you gathered the courage to start again. His eyes fell closed as your song settled into the safety of your shield. His feathers relaxed, and his face went slack as sleep slowly overtook him. You sang until his tears stopped flowing. You sang until he was asleep in your arms. For as long as you could, you laid awake. If you succumbed to sleep, so would your forcefield. So would your promise to keep him protected through the night. As time moved slowly forward, sleep inevitably began to settle into you, too. It was as terrifying and as peaceful as death.

“I love you,” you whimpered as you felt your eyes grow too heavy to fight back open. “Please… stay safe.”

Credits:

A massive thank you to my wonderful friend and editor, @fuwafuwagem! If you thought the fic looked especially polished, it’s thanks to her efforts!

Also a big thank you to my buddies and beta readers: @dendriticheep and @narcolepticroses! Thanks you guys for being such sweet friends to me ;u;

And a huge thanks to YOU, for reading !

Authors Note:

I’d love to do a lot more fanfictions like these! If you have any suggestions or requests for animations or animated stories like this one feel free to submit it to me!

7K notes · View notes

libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Note

buck x fem reader work together / secretly dating but they act like they hate each other and the team doesn’t know. reader is also bobby’s daughter (or niece up to you) and scared of his reaction (prompts 17, 37, 42, 81)

Unconventional

Evan Buckley x Reader

Prompts: #17: “We shouldn’t be doing this”, #37: “Uh why is your shirt inside out?”, #42: “I love you”, #81: “I can explain”

Warnings: fem!reader, worrying, vulgar/suggestive comments (kinda but not really ?), suggested sexual content, a few swear words, kissing, mentions of hospitals, surgery and injuries.

Category: fluff with a lil angst

Word Count: 4.4k

Author's Note: I wrote it as bobby’s niece, it just made more sense :) hope you liked it!!

----

Evan Buckley was a pain in your ass.

He had been since the day you met him. His annoyingly attractive face, his stupid pretty blue eyes and his smile, not to mention how sweet he was. You couldn't help but hate him. Not in the typical “I hate your guts and hope you fall down a flight of stairs” way but in the “god you’re gorgeous and I want to marry you” way.

Did you plan on liking the ridiculously attractive firefighter ? Most definitely not.

Were you also planning on dating him in secret ? Also a no.

Hence why you were sitting in his jeep on a Saturday at 3 in the morning. The two of you had gone on a date to this little restaurant outside of the city but everything that could go wrong kind of did go wrong.

Buck’s shift was supposed to end at 6 but they got a call last minute so he didn’t get home until 7:30. You called to push the reservation back and when he did pick you up, you got stuck in traffic. By the time the two of you got to the restaurant, it was 8:30 and the woman said she called to see if the two of you still needed the reservation but there was no answer (she didn’t call but neither of you were in the mood to argue) - Now it's 9 pm and the two of you still haven't had dinner. Venturing down the block, there was nowhere that seemed appealing. The night really began at some random mom and pop dinner you spotted by the beach. Deciding to have your own little dinner date on the beach, it was now 9:30. Buck had a blanket in the trunk (you didn’t ask why nor did you really wanna know) and you sat on the beach and had dinner. Time flew by, it was around 1 when the two of you began wondering what time it was.

The date was now prolonged by Buck’s craving for something sweet so once again, the two of you were on a hunt but for somewhere to go. He googled the closest ice cream parlour but most places were closed, he searched until he finally found a place that was 20 minutes away. It was totally worth the drive considering it was some of the best ice cream you've had in your life. Which now brought you to 2:20 in the morning, the two of you were still sitting on the hood on his jeep, a container of half eaten ice cream between you.

Buck looked over at you, a smile on his face. “Did you have fun ? despite, you know, all the shit that went wrong ?” you chuckled, “I did.” Buck had a shift at 11 so it was time for the night to come to an end. One of his hands held yours and the other on the wheel, you were staring out the window as the breeze blew by.

“Something on your mind babe?” Buck asked you, glancing over at you as you turned towards him.

“We shouldn’t be doing this” you mumbled, you didn’t want to end things with him but that didn’t mean that you didn’t have doubts about where this relationship was going. “What do you mean ?” he asks, his eyes on the road. “I mean how long are we going to hide this from everyone ?” your eyes back out the window, Buck sighed and the conversation dropped. There were a few minutes of silence and the tension filled the car, Buck finally spoke up “you were the one that didn’t want to say anything.” his voice came off a bit harsher than you expected, letting go of his hand, your body shifted towards the door and way from him. He noticed your change in emotion and seating.

“Babe, I'm sorry. It's just that you didn’t want to say anything and it’s entirely your choice. I get it but we can figure it out. One step at a time, okay ?” Buck looks over at you when he pulls into the parking lot. “Yeah, I know. It’s fine.” leaning over the console to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good night Buck, thank you for tonight” you give him a smile and get out of the jeep. Buck follows you, “let me walk you up,” he grabs your wrist, the two of you stopped in the middle of the parking lot. “That’s fine, I'll text you so you know I’m okay. You need to get home anyways, you have a shift and you need your sleep” shaking your head, you pull your hand away from him and head inside before he can ask again.

He was right, it was your choice not to say anything but you weren't sure how your uncle would react. This relationship wouldn't just affect your relationship with him but also his relationship with Buck. You didn’t- couldn't let Buck jeopardize his work life for his love life.

Shutting the door once you get into your apartment, you send a text to your boyfriend.

To Lover Boy Buck: I’m home, text me when you get home. Sleep well <3

From Lover Boy Buck: Just pulled in, goodnight babe

----

Athena’s birthday was on Saturday and Bobby had planned a surprise party for her. With a little help from May, things were in place.

Bobby had taken Athena out for lunch at some fancy cafe that was impossible to get into and then to see a play. While they were out, you headed over to their place to help May set up. Upon arriving, you saw that Hen was already there as was Buck.

“Good afternoon my loves!” you shout as you walk over to the kitchen. “I come with coffee” you hand a cup to May and the other to Hen, the two are thankful for the coffee as you had a shit ton of decorating to do and only a few hours to get it done. Buck leant against the wall by the kitchen entryway, “where's mine?” he asked which made you roll your eyes. “Didn’t know that you were gonna be here, no one invited you anyways.” you reply, sorting through the packages of balloons on the table, you toss one and it hits him square in the face.

“Ow!” he shouts, rubbing his cheek.

“Oh did I hurt you ?” you ask, pouting at him mockingly.

Considering the weird note that the two of you left on during your last date, plus not being able to see each other that week left things in a bit of a mess.

May and Hen exchange glances, “Buck, how about you help put up the banner in the backyard ?” she practically dragged Buck by the arm and into the yard. May was in the kitchen icing some cupcakes that she and Harry had made the night before when she called for you.

“Why don't you get along with Buck ? I don't know him all the well but he seems like a good guy” May pleads his case unintentionally.

He is a good guy

“Ever meet someone and you just don’t like them ?” you ask, she hums. “That’s me with Buck” is what came out instead.

“I get it.” she nodded, she began telling you about a guy in her chemistry class that just got on her nerves all the time. You excused yourself when the doorbell rang. Chim and Maddie had arrived right as Karen pulled into the driveway with Denny and Nia. You let everyone in and they began helping too. About an hour later, Eddie arrives with Chris and the cake. You take the cake from him so he can help Chris with his jacket.

“Buck!” you shout

“Yeah ba- yeah ?” he corrects himself last second. Your eyes widen at the word that almost slipped out of his mouth. No one seem to catch it except for Chim who gave you a weird look but you just brush it off.

“Take this, I need to change.” you hand the cake off to him and head to the bathroom to change into your dress. A few moments later, there was a knock on the bathroom door and then it opened.

“Hey! I'm chang- oh it’s just you” you mumble as he shuts the door. Buck’s back pressed up against the door. “Are you just gonna watch me or are you going to help me?” you turn, your back towards him now. Pulling your hair over your shoulder, you feel one of Buck’s hands on your waist and then the tug of the zipper.

“Must you always fight with me, y/n ?” he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Must you always get on my nerves, Evan ?” you were looking back at him in the mirror, he flashed you a smile and nodded, a rather amused look on his face. “Yeah, it's kind of my job to irritate you” his arms loosen as you turn around to face him now, leaning back against the counter. “Well I guess then I have to fight with you” running your hand through his hair, he leans into you, his forehead against yours.

“You know, they say make love, not war” he whispers, his lips almost touching yours. A little chuckle slips past your lips, “is this your way of saying that we should stop fighting ?” you mumble as you press a kiss to his lips. Buck pulls you closer to him - which you didn’t even think was possible, “no, it’s my way of saying we should make love” he smiles against your lips as he lifts you up onto the counter and you let out an obnoxiously loud laugh. “Oops” a hand comes up to cover your mouth. Buck can't help but smile, you were adorable and all he wanted was to go out there and tell everyone that he’s in love with you, something he hadn't even told you yet, but at last, he could not.

“You’re cheesy, you know that right ?” looking up at him whilst you fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “If you want to fuck me, just say so” he tells you to which you reply “you're so vulgar Evan” while rolling your eyes.

“Oh I'll show you vulgar” he chuckles and pulls off his shirt, his hand reaching behind you to unzip your dress.

Buck left the bathroom first, the house had filled up within the 20 minutes the two of you were in the bathroom. He ran his hand through his hair in hopes to fix it from the tugging that just happened. As he stepped out into the backyard, his sister’s voice called out to him.

“Buck!” she walked over, “you’ve been so busy I haven't gotten a chance to say hi yet” she pulls her brother into a hug. Maddie’s face screws into a confused look. “Did you try a new body wash or something ?” she looks up at Buck, his brows furrow but he shakes his head. “Why?” he asks, “you smell like mint” she informs him.

You step out into the backyard, a tube of mint chapstick between your fingers, being applied to your lips. Buck’s eyes were on you, watching as the tube rubbed across your lips, his mind back to those lips were moments ago. Chimney’s voice caused him to pull his eyes away from you and onto him.

“Uh why is your shirt inside out?” Chim asks him, brows raised. Buck looks down and his shirt is on inside out, “uh, I- uh I had to change.” he says, hoping they’d believe him.

“You had that shirt on when we got here.” Chim had a puzzled look on his face.

“Oh Christopher is calling for me, excuse me” Buck walks off before they could say anything. He did indeed make his way over to Eddie and Chris, you were on the other side of the backyard when your phone chimed.

From Lover Boy Buck: Couldn't you have told me my shirt was on inside out?

To Lover Boy Buck: And how was I supposed to know that ? I didn’t have time to look at you

From Lover Boy Buck: Oh really ? You had plenty of time a few minutes ago

To Lover Boy Buck: Behave.

From Lover Boy Buck: Make me.

You roll your eyes at his comment, May coming out and shouting that they just pulled in. Everyone stood by the backdoors, waiting for Athena and Bobby to come in.

Athena had a blindfold on as Bobby led her down the stairs to the backyard. “I swear if you did somethin-” he undoes the blindfold mid sentence.

“Surprise!!” everyone shouts, Athena had a huge smile on her face. She turns to Bobby, “you did all this ?” he smiles but shakes his head, “I had some help” nodding towards May, Athena walked over to her daughter to give her a hug. Bobby and Athena went around to say hello to everyone, Bobby coming over to you and Eddie, Buck and Chris were sitting beside each other. “Hey” Bobby smiled at the two of you, “hey” you smiled back before you gave him a hug.

“What do I own you for today ?” he asks you

“Nothing at all, I'm glad I could help.”

“Are you sure kid ?”

“Yeah, I'm good. I’ll let you know if I need something uncle Bobby”

He smiles and goes off to talk to Chim and Maddie. Eddie switches places with Buck, Christopher showing his father the trick that Buck just showed him. “You’re good with kids” you tell him, “yeah, I know” he replies. “You're also an arrogant asshole but perspective I suppose.” Buck chuckled at your comment, watching as you walked away.

It was a while before you sat down for dinner, you were in the house with Bobby, helping him bring stuff out while everyone got seated. When you returned, there were two seats left. One at the head of the table, which was where your uncle was currently headed, leaving you no choice but to sit beside Buck. “Pass me the green bowl ?” he asks you, “no thanks” you reply nonchalantly. Bobby gives you a look, “y/n, pass him the bowl” you sighed and handed the bowl to Buck who was snickering. It took all of you not to smack this man in front of everyone.

A hand on your upper thigh startled you, you coughed and Eddie looked at you from across the table, his brows furrowed. Your hand comes down to rest on top of Buck’s. Chris followed his father’s look over to you, “are you okay y/n?” he asked you sweetly, you smiled at him. “I’m okay buddy, thank you for asking” Buck bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a smile. Oh how he wanted to kiss you right now, but again, he couldn't really do that, could he? He settled for holding your hand under the table like teenagers for now.

----

8 o'clock and you were supposed to be there 20 minutes ago. Bobby was probably there wondering where you were. You were supposed to be having dinner with your uncle tonight to tell him about you and Buck. Buck offered to tell him but you felt like it was only right for you to tell him.

You dialled the number but it rang out. You assumed he was still driving or maybe he was ruining late too. The phone rang while you searched for something to wear. It was Bobby.

“Hey!” you answer, “I'm gonna be a little late”

“Y/n, we’re gonna have to take a rain check on dinner.” Something was wrong, you could tell from the way he answered.

“Everything okay ? Are you still at work ?”

“I’m at the hospital.”

“What? Why? Are you okay ? Is it Athena ?”

“Athena and I are fine. It’s Buck, he’s in surgery right now. I don't think I'll be leaving anything soon. I’m sorry about dinner.”

Your heart dropped when he said it was Buck.

“Did anyone tell Maddie ? Do you want me to pick her up ?”

“It's alright, Chim went and got her. You don't have to come, we’re ok-”

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes”

Grabbing the keys, you’ve never run down the stairs so fast in your life. The whole drive over, it felt like the world was moving in slow motion. He’d still be in surgery when you arrived but you needed to know what happened.

I love you Evan Buckley.

The 5 words replaying in your head over and over again. The 5 words you hadn’t gotten the chance to say to him. The team plus Maddie and Athena were in the waiting room. Bobby came over and gave you a hug, “is he okay ? Did you guys hear anything ?” you ask as you sit beside Maddie. “Not yet” Bobby returns to his seat.

“Mads, I'm sorry” you gave her a hug, she gave you a small smile. “It’s okay. Buck’ll pull through. He always does.”

3 hours later and still nothing, he had been in surgery 2 hours prior to you arriving, bringing it to a total of 5 hours. Athena and Bobby left for a few minutes to see if they could get an update on him. You looked around the room, Eddie was leant against the wall, his legs on the chairs in front of him, Hen stood by the window on the phone with who you assumed was Karen. Chim’s arm was wrapped around Maddie, her head resting on his shoulder.

Bobby and Athena returned telling everyone that there was no update other than he was still in surgery. Your leg bounced as you waited, Bobby rested a hand on your knee when he sat back down.

“You okay kid ?”

“Mhm hm why ?”

“You only bounce your leg when you’re nervous. You’re sure you’re okay ?”

“Yeah, I'm gonna go get some coffee” you announce as you get up. If you spent another minute in that room, you were going to combust, you couldn't take it. “Does anyone want anything ?” there were a few mumbles of no but Eddie gets up and says he’ll come with you. The two of you walk down the hallway to the other end. Slipping a bill into the machine, it buzzes and then nothing. Eddie watches as you push the button a few times. Frustrated and tired, your hand smacks against the machine. A few nurses glare in your direction.

“Hey, go get some air okay ? I’ll get the coffee and meet you outside” Eddie’s hand on your back, leading you to the doors.

“Eddie, I'm fine”

“Y/n, go. You’ve been in here for a while and honestly, I could use the air too.”

Not in the mood to protest, you step outside. It was a little past 11 now, it was dark and cold out. Your back pressed up against the brick wall, the coldness seeping through your shirt. A hand running over your face in an attempt to wake you up, you sigh as the door opens.

“Here” Eddie handed you a mug that didn’t look like it came from a machine. The mug read “#1 nurse” on it and his says “world’s best mom” your brows furrow, looking at the man standing beside you. “I sweet talked one of the nurses, it's fine. I promised to return the mugs when we're done.” he says casually, making you smile. You had always enjoyed Eddie’s company, he didn’t ask questions or poke around in your life, he just lived in the moment.

“Cute shirt” he chuckles, looking down at the blue t-shirt you had on. You hadn't realized that you left wearing it. “Oh thanks” you mumble, taking a sip of coffee. “It’s Buck’s, isn't it?” he asks, you almost choked on the coffee.

“Wha- why would you ask me that ?”

“It reeks of his cologne,” Eddie chucked. “I’ve known for months, y/n. The two of you aren't as slick as you think.”

“Who else knows ?”

“No one that I know of, Chim has an idea but he hasn't said anything”

You hummed, looking out at the parking lot in front of you. “Does Bobby know ?” Eddie’s eyes practically burn into your side.

“I was going to tell him tonight.”

Eddie’s phone buzzed before he could say anything else. “Let’s go in, the doctors are out.” Eddie followed you into the building and back into the waiting room. The doctor has just stepped in, she glanced back at you and Eddie, “Are you here for Buckley as well ?”

“Yeah, how is he?” Eddie asks, the two of you step further into the room. “He’s stable as of now, we managed to stop the bleeding. He’s asleep but he’s got a long road ahead of him.” the doctor inform everyone, you watch as Maddie lets out a sigh, her hand squeezing Chim’s. “I can take someone in, if they’d like to go in” Chim let go of Maddie’s hand as she went to follow the doctor down the hall. Eddie could sense the change in body language, you were relaxed until Maddie stepped out with the doctor. His hand rests on your back again, “let’s sit down. You can go in after” he whispered to you. To anyone else in the room, it would look like something was happening between you and Eddie but he was just comforting you. There was nothing happening.

The person you were in love with was laying in a hospital bed at the other end of the hallway.

One by one, everyone went in to see him. Chim went in first, meeting Maddie in his room. When they return, they let everyone know he’s awake. Bobby and Athena are next, they go in for a few minutes. Hen was after them, you could hear them laughing from the other end of the hallway.

It was so good to hear him laugh.

You and Eddie went in last. Eddie sat beside his bed on the chair, he and Buck having a conversation. Eddie looked over at you, you were standing by the door. “I think I'll go call Chris and let him know you’re alright” Eddie pats Buck’s shoulder before stepping out the room.

Buck’s attention was now on you. “hey you” he mumbles, trying to shift into a sitting position. “Don’t move, you’ll rip your stitches.” you take a seat where Eddie was a few moments ago. Buck’s hand reaches for yours, although he was awake, his hand felt cold. Your hand rubbed against his, his eyes on you. Neither of you say anything to the other.

“I thought I lost you for a minute there.”

“You’ll never lose me, y/n” Buck’s hand squeezes yours.

“But I almost did and I hated every minute of it.” the tears welling up by your eyes, you blink a few times to get rid of them but instead a few slip down. Buck reaches up to wipe your tears, his hand cupping your cheek.

“All of this for me ?” he teases, “there was no need to worry, you know that, right?”

“You scared me you ass, don't do that” you sniffle, your hand wrapping around his wrist.

“Y/n, I need to tell you something” his eyes were on yours, now you were worried again. “Okay, what is-”

“I love you” he blurts out.

“Oh Buck” you breathe, the soft expression on his face changes to a worried one. “Oh god, I'm sor-” your hand comes up and covers his mouth.

“I love you too” you smile at him, you can feel him smile against your hand. Moving your hand to his cheek, “you do ?” he asks, you nod. “How can I not ?” Leaning out of the chair, your lips meet his. Your hand is still cupping his face and his hand lifting off the bed to meet your waist. Shifting from the chair to the bed, you sat beside Buck, your lips still on his.

“Excuse me?” someone clears their throat, Buck pulls away to look at who's by the door. Bobby stood in the doorway, his arms folded in front of him and a rather amused Athena beside him. Buck’s eyes widen, you look over your shoulder to see your uncle standing there.

“I can explain. Bobby I-” Buck starts, but Bobby cuts him off. “It’s okay Buck, I know.” he steps into the room.

“You do?” the two of you say at the same time, both of you looking at him. Bobby nods, “I might be old - well older than you two but I’m not dumb” he chuckles, “if anything, you two are the dumb ones for thinking I wouldn't know.” he says

“I was going to tell you at dinner”

“I figured as much, I also figured you’d want to be here when Buck woke up”

“Thank you for calling” you smile at him, he gives you a nod. “Everyone is heading home, are you going to stay with him ?”

You hum, your attention back on Buck. You could hear Athena and Bobby whispering in the back and then the door shuts. Buck shifts slightly on the bed, making space for you. Laying on your side, beside him, your finger traces over the words tattooed on his forearm. The world had come to a pause finally, the things around you didn’t matter right now. Everything you cared about was beside you, the hospital wasn't the ideal place but all you cared about that he was okay.

“Tell me again” you whisper, your head on his shoulder. Buck turns his head to look at you.

“I love you y/n l/n”

“I love you Evan Buckley”

Turns out you did get to say those 5 words after all.

---

Taglist: @reiidsbby @ssa-volturi @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover @venusrosepetal @mikaelson-emma @beth-winchester21 @averyhotchner

1K notes · View notes

firefly-in-darkness · 3 years

Text

Separation, Connection - [1/2]

Pairing →Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters → Marvel Characters

Summary → Your friendship with Bucky deterioates when you catch him in a compromising position with a fellow agent.

Word Count → 2.3k

SSB2021 Square Fill → “God I hate you” - @star-spangled-bingo

AFG Square Fill → “What the fuck am I seeing?” @anyfandomgoesbingo

Warnings → 18+. Angst, Heartbreak, Jealousy, Swearing

Betas → @kalesrebellion // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → This one was sitting in my WIPs folder for ages, and after brainstorming with @writethelifeyouwant, this 2 parter was finished! Ps. I know I haven’t updated Worst Idea Ever in a while and I’m sorry - I’m just very stuck with it atm, the plot and majority of the story is planned out, I just can’t seem to fill in the blanks.

Firefly’s Masterlist

You and Bucky were close, and there was that little thin line between friendship and something more. Nothing had happened but, god, you had wanted it to. The secret crush you harboured for your teammate, your friend, had only grown over the years. Everyone thought you would be good together, commenting on how well you got along, that friendship was an important part of a relationship. Both of you rolling your eyes and laughing at their comments.

When you finally gathered the courage to tell him how you felt, you saw him with someone else. They were at the back of the training facility; the team were in a simulation of a terrorist attack on Paris and once the time on the training session was called, you stumbled across them.

They were just out of sight, hidden in a dark corner. And it wasn’t just a casual embrace. They were having sex, he was fucking her, hard, up against a wall. You froze at the sight of his bare bottom clenching with each thrust and the blissed-out look on her face. What the fuck am I seeing?! Heart shattered, you fled from the room without a sound, not wanting to disturb them or for anyone to see you crying.

It hurt too much to be as close to him after that, you consciously decided to withdraw from the friendship. Not going straight to him when entering a room or staying in bed instead of heading to the rooftop where you’d usually wander at five in the morning to talk with Bucky, putting the world to right.

And of course, Bucky noticed. It had been a week since you had joined him for a midnight chat in the kitchen. He was missing his best friend. He wanted to share his life with her, and she was nowhere to be seen unless someone else was in the room.

Bucky knew it was a bad sign when you chose to sit next to Wanda, not sandwiched between him and Nat, on movie night. He felt alone in a room full of friends, as they watched a film about a love triangle set in England. It was supposed to be funny, but Bucky didn’t hear the jokes, let alone the punchlines.

Nat had realised something was wrong too. She saw the dark circles under your eyes when you drained the coffee from the cup in the morning and the puffy redness from crying in the middle of the day. She had detested the way you and Bucky were before, it was like a pair of magnets drawn together, a connected ribbon, a gravitational pull. But now? Well, you were repelling within a few meters of one another, and she hated that even more.

“What did you do, Barnes?” Nat whispered harshly, eyes still on the film.

“Nothing.” Bucky looked over to you, sleeping with your head resting on Wanda’s lap.

“So why is Wanda looking at you like that?” She raised an eyebrow.

Bucky lifted his gaze, saw the fiery red eyes staring back at him as she stroked your hair, a soft red mist falling over you. He frowned at the Sokovian and tried to talk telepathically but she shook her head and looked back at the television.

On autopilot, you ran from your room to his bedroom door, knocking until the screams died down. Long ago, you’d learnt to not enter the room until he’d settled down, had the bruises to your neck and dealt with the guilt-ridden expression on Bucky’s face for weeks.

Pressing your ear to the door, you could hear Bucky moving about and slowly pushed it open so as not to startle him. A soft glow from the lamp at his bedside welcomed you in, he'd stacked his pillows against the headboard with his knees drawn up and resting his head in his hands.

“Hi, Buck. It’s me.” You spoke softly, his head and eyes shot up to meet yours.

You walked over and sat at the end of the bed, averting your eyes to the floor and fingers fiddling with the edge of a blanket, waiting for him to respond.

“What did I do doll?” He croaked, fingers running through his hair, his knees dropping down.

Your heart raced and you were certain he could hear the harsh thumps, but your voice remained steady, “It's nothing, just need a little time to process some things.”

“You normally come to me. What's different?” His voice was strained, thick with distress.

Standing up, you walked towards the window, arms wrapped tightly around your torso. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, but you remained focused on the navy sky fading to blues and oranges with the sunrise.

“I can't this time Buck, I need space. I need space from you.” With each word, your heart fractured along the lines you’d attempted to piece together with being away from him.

“Get out then, just leave me alone.” His tone was now harsh, stronger than before.

“God, I hate you.” Without a final glance, you left the room. Your heart in tatters once more.

Once in the safety of your room, the sob heaved out of you. Bucky had disregarded you so easily, he let you go without a second thought. And you didn’t know what was worse; what you saw a week ago or what he just said.

Bucky finished his 76th lap when someone caught his eye. It was you. His best friend. The one he stupidly let go of. It had been three months since he'd told you to leave, and you hadn't gone back on his word.

Of course, Bucky was just as stubborn and hadn't approached you unless it was work-related. But there was something different about you. His eyes focused on the man you were standing with, and how you glowed, and Bucky just couldn't stand that you were feeling that way about a random recruit and not him.

“She used to look at you that way.” Wanda’s voice echoed in his head.

He scanned the field and found her figure leaning against a tree, shading herself from the summer sun and a book in hand. Bucky grabbed the small towel and wiped away the sweat, swigging his water bottle, then joined her on the grass.

“What are you talking about? She’s never looked at me like that.” He gestured towards you and the agent.

Wanda chuckled and shook her head, “You're not blind, or stupid, Bucky, she adored you. Still does, even though I wish she would get over you.”

His brow creased. “She wanted space, ended our friendship.”

Wanda’s eyes flashed red, “And you broke her heart.”

“Show me.” Bucky held out his hand, pleading with her, “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“I can’t Bucky. It's private, she would never forgive me.” Wanda shook her head and placed her book in her lap, “I've seen what she's done to you, I'm not going to lose her too.”

Bucky sprang to his feet and kicked at the grass. “Then just tell me what you know. Just something?” He turned to face you, hands on his hips as he tried to think of what he’d done.

“Paris terrorist simulation,” Wanda stated without emotion.

Bucky turned around, seeing nothing but a neutral expression on her face. The simulation had been a success, the whole team had done well but he hadn’t seen you at the debriefing. Steve said you were exhausted and needed to rest.

“What about it?” asked Bucky.

“Don't deny it. I saw it, I felt it. She had no chance of blocking me from that pain.” Wanda stood up, eyes flickering red, “you and that agent. I thought you were better than that Bucky.”

“Shit.”

Bucky knew exactly what Wanda had meant before she explained. Shame coursed through him; he'd broken your trust by not telling you about the agent he’d been hooking up with. Honestly, he didn't want you to know, didn't want you to judge him for the flings he had. Subconsciously, he knew that was what your distancing was about because he hadn't seen her again or hooked up with anyone since.

All he wanted was you back in his life; he was going to make it happen.

Wanda smirked, shaking her head before walking ahead of him, “Best get a move on Barnes, she’s not thinking of him in a platonic way.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he strutted towards you, determined to get you back.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder and he could only hope you still felt the same way.

You couldn’t believe Bucky dared to pull rank on you in front of another agent. That he had the gall to do such a thing after he told you to leave him alone, how he betrayed your trust as a friend and unknowingly broke your heart.

You stormed down the blurry corridors as anger took the form of tears. Your whole body tense and determined to get away from the assassin on your tail. People parted like the sea as they saw your strut and scowl, you scoffed at their reaction and thought, this must be what it’s like to be Bucky on a mission. Using it to your advantage, you managed to pull someone by the arm and into the path of the Winter Soldier.

While you sprinted away, you glanced back and spotted Bucky helping the woman to her feet, apologising profusely and then realising it was the agent you had caught him with. Your blood boiled as you pushed through the door to the stairwell, it slammed against the wall and probably damaged it, but you didn’t care anymore.

It wasn’t until the breeze hit your face that you realised where you were. You’d come to the rooftop, the exact spot that you’d air all your worries with Bucky. It was the place you’d first bonded outside of the team.

A hand dragged down your face and your shoulders slumped. You spun on your heel, ready to escape when you stopped short. There he was, blocking the doorway. You groaned, of course, he knew exactly where you’d go even before you did.

“I just want to talk.” Bucky quietly spoke, a hint of a question in his tone but a statement all the same.

“I’ll scale down the side of this building if I have to.” You stepped back towards the edge.

Bucky growled and walked towards you, “would you quit being so stubborn and dramatic for one second?”

“Just leave me alone.” You threw his own words back at him, stopping him in his tracks.

At that moment, you could see that Bucky realised how hurtful those words were, but you weren’t going to console him anytime soon. He should suffer for how he spoke to you and for never attempting to speak to you until now.

Bucky slowly circled you towards the edge, his eyes focused on you while you turned in tandem following his moves. He reached the railing then settled down into a seated position, legs hanging over the side, his chest against the metal pole.

“Are you going to join me?” Bucky’s gaze now on the horizon.

With a roll of your eyes, you sat beside him, but at least a metre apart, you couldn’t get that close to him. He was too intoxicating, and your emotions were incredibly high, even if they were full of anger and hurt, and you didn’t trust yourself not to succumb to his charm.

“Are you going to talk then?” You sassed back at him.

“I’m sorry for what you saw. You shouldn’t have seen that.” Bucky didn’t hold back, “I was going to tell you, I just thought you’d judge me.”

“I’d judge you. For sleeping with a colleague. In the middle of a training simulation?” You scoffed, “You didn’t tell me about her. Or anyone else for that matter. Natasha filled me in on all your little late night rendezvous when I was on missions.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Bucky knew he’d not win this conversation and scrambled to bring it back onto his side, “you were away, and I needed something, someone.”

“So, you used them and used me too?” You glared at him.

“That’s not what I said,” Bucky seethed, annoyed at the way you were twisting his words but not surprised with the pain you felt.

You continued, ignoring his comment, unable to stop the words falling from your lips, “I gave you emotional support. Watched you cry yourself to sleep after a nightmare, held your hand when you had a panic attack during a mission.” You shook your head at him, “I just wasn’t good enough for the sex part.”

Bucky held your chin and pulled your face to look at him, “You mean more to me than that. I just didn’t know how you felt. If I’d had known-”

You jerked away from his touch, it felt too nice, it felt like home, but you weren’t ready to fall back into this friendship. He knew how you felt, and you weren’t ready for his rejection. You still needed your space.

Swiftly, you returned to your feet, brushing down your trousers and hands, “Thank you for your apology, but I can’t forgive you.”

Bucky stood up and watched you begin to leave, “I’ll do my best to make you see how much you mean to me.”

You paused in the doorway, but you had to be strong, to carry on walking away, you couldn’t let him hurt you again. It was time to move on.

Continue Here...

Everything Tag List: @kitkatd7 / @fandomfic-galore / @writerwrites / @thefridgeismybestie / @wedonttalkaboutitenough / @courtneychicken / @persephonesinfernos / @miraclesoflove

Marvel Tag List: @natasha-danvers / @little-baby-vixen / @stuckonjbbarnes / @starlightcrystalline / @nekoannie-chan / @hailhydra920 / @vollzeitliebe / @fitzsimmons-is-forever / @ladyacrasia / @emmabarnes / @selfsun

strike through - unable to tag.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes Fic #Bucky Barnes Angst #Bucky Barnes Fanfic #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction

982 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

Hello friends! Here is my contribution to the Bakugou Birthday Bash! The master link will be linked here ! Please enjoy my bit of an angsty fic! And all of the other art and works that are on the master list! Enjoy the big bakugou blow out and remember to leave a comment on your favorite pieces! Happy birthday ya shitty man! (Lowkey become 3d please)

Warning: he's 28 btw 😂 (my fic says so also)

It shouldn't be this fucking hard to get groceries and booze. It's a quick and easy errand. Everything already pre-ordered for an important birthday that just needed to be picked up. And yet here you were crying in your car trying to get it together before the attendant asked for the order name. Honestly you had texted out "I can't do this today. Sorry." Several times before deleting it, telling yourself not to hit send. But you would have to be having the worst mental day of your life wouldn't you? Today of all days, how fucking selfish of you.

Especially with the amount of time and effort you and Kirishima had put into this idea. Since New Year's actually, months and months of planning after the two of you had gotten shit faced at Denki and Mina's new years party, creating the brain child. All after bonding over switching patrol partners six months before, you had gotten Bakugou and he had gotten Ashido. Kirishima and yourself giggle over stupid things to the side of the party, people watching as you took shots. Kirishima points towards a normally grumpy blonde.

"Wow I think he's actually having fun." You snort, as you watch Bakugou hide his rare cat smile behind a sip of his beer as Mina makes Denki the butt of a joke.

"He actually loves parties. He never says it so people just think he's a wet blanket." Kirishima laughs, pouring the two of you another shot. Bakugou lets out a particularly loud laugh after 'Dunce Face' proves Mina's point. I guess that would be the time that it started.

When you started to fall. His laugh makes your cheeks deepen in hue and burn, to want to hear it again, to watch it again and learn all of the other sides of your patrol partner that he obviously only reserved for his closest friends.

"Let's throw him a great birthday party." You say, holding up your shot as a devilish smile spreads over sharp teeth. The mountainous man clinks your shot glass before he adds.

"Let's." In unison the two of you down the burning liquid as the plan comes into fruition.

Four months, four months and nineteen days of you thinking of nothing but your patrol partner with whom you got extremely close with since New Year's. So why? Why today of all days were you struggling? Why would normal everyday tasks feel more as if you were wading through mud than the breeze they should have been? You flip down the visor, looking yourself in the eye through little square mirror as you grit your teeth hissing

"Get your shit together."

Your little pep talk helps you get the several cakes and the cart full of booze that everyone requested, planning to make this the best birthday ever. Helping Kirishima set his house up with decorations, setting out the snacks, catering and even pouring some drinks as guests began to arrive to set down their gifts and help with the last minute touches before hiding. Masking through the pit in your stomach as you smiled at all of your friends as they poured in through Kirishima's door. Through the weighted emptiness you felt as each one wrapped you into a tight hug, already praising you and Kirishima for the amazing effort, that Bakugou would be so surprised when it was more than just you and Kirishima here. . Finally you had to go and get the guest of honor just before sundown to catch him before he went to bed. A much needed breather from the constant smiling and forcing a laugh that everyone thought sounded genuine.

Enjoying the silence of the evening train as it pulled you across town to the unsuspecting blonde. And maybe you could have made it through the night from your shitty pep talk or at least through getting the freshly 28 year old to his party but instead you catch your reflection in the window. Your facial features weighted with exhaustion, shoulders hunched allowing your body to continue to produce cortisol. Tears prick your eyes as you deep low, too low. Remembering everything and nothing all at once, steeping in guilt as you beg yourself for just a few more hours. That the depression episode can happen when you're home and alone, after the party goes off without a hitch. Tears fall anyway and they do all the way to Bakugou's until you finally get enough control to step out of yourself for a moment. Ringing the doorbell several times as a smile is plastered on your face, the door swings open. Bakugou's eyes narrow as they take you in, he notices that something is off. Your smile is a little too wide, your eyes rimmed red but he says nothing about it. Instead he lets his initial anger come forth.

"Oi! I told you to fuckin' text me when you were on the train so I could meet you at the station!" He growls, slamming his door shut and pocketing his keys. Deadly and sweaty hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket as his palms itch to hold onto something else. Garnet eyes track your own hands as you reach over your head stretching.

"Yea yea, I hear you Dad." You tease giving him a look, "I still made it okay."

"Kirishima should have come instead of you that fuckin hair for brains." He snarls keeping pace with you as he always does on patrol.

"I know Dad must be sad cause his favorite didn't come to pick him up." You try not to sound dejected, nudging him in the ribs to distract from the crack in your voice, "Happy birthday ya big lug."

Bakugou cuts you a glare, mind racing before his barks out a "Thanks."

Comfortable silence stretches between the two of you before you two hit the train station, passing a corner store.

"Was shitty hair burning dinner? Do I need to stop for back up?" His thumb hooks over his shoulder towards the neon as he stands idle waiting for you to jog your memory. Kirishima had burned the last friend's dinner making Bakugou so angry he walked six blocks to make something that was 'FUCKIN EDIBLE!' while you tried to air out his apartment. You laugh loudly, genuinely for the first time that day causing Bakugou's shoulders to sag with relief. In the ten months he had been working with you he had only seen you faking a smile or laugh once or twice. Then the time after that you were absent from work the next day or two forcing him to patrol with Denki but worse yet...making him worry.

"Guess I'll grab something just in case." He gave you his back so you wouldn't see his face or the faint blush that dusted his cheeks.

"No, no! I ordered out this time. From that famous chef you like." Bakugou glares your way, digging in his back pocket for his wallet.

"How much." He demands through gritted teeth while you show him the palms of your hands in surrender.

"Woah woah! It's your birthday gift! You can't pay me back for dinner! I'd sooner burn the money before I'd accept it from you!" Your watch dings with a message from Kirishima asking for an ETA. You grab onto Bakugou's hand pulling him along into a run as you shout over your shoulder.

"We're gonna be late!"

Oh how Bakugou wished you hadn't done that, he was already struggling to keep his heart beat even when you were around and now to grab onto him. To pull him along in a hurry like those cheesy insta posts that couples did on their "grand adventure" together. He swallows the lump in his throat as he reminds himself that you are nothing more than his patrol partner. His friend at best.

Even though the train was mostly empty Bakugou stood closely by you, as he always did when the two of you were in a crowded space. He had seen how most men took advantage of the situation and he hated the idea of that happening to you although he knew you were more than capable of handling it on your own. Hell you could kick even his ass but he would die before ever admitting that. Instead he watches you talk about what you ordered for dinner and how you got the cake from that bakery Sato works part time at, the same one he got your birthday cake from but he doesn't hear a word. Instead all he can see is the golden light from the setting sun worshiping you. Kissing your skin to make it glow, giving your eyes a hue that makes his heart fall into his stomach and illuminating you in a true light. A radiant ethereal thing is what you were and Bakugou was just lucky enough to be standing by you. So out of it he doesn't realize the two of you are at your stop.

"Uh Suki?" Your voice is soft paired with the setting sun has him acting weird. He leans closer to you, pulled by some invisible force before he stops himself as he watches you look up at him beneath long lashes.

"You okay?" You ask almost nervously from his proximity, the smell of spice and caramel wrap around you making you feel warm and fuzzy. Temporarily making you forget that you were trying to act on the train, making you relax as you just talked to Bakugou. He sucks his teeth as he picks up your bag to sling over his shoulder.

"Yea but you were gonna forget your whole damn purse like you always do." He huffs, this time he was the one pulling at your hand in a rush before the doors closed to trap you two on the train. His hand feels warm in yours, his grip tight as he drags you along before pulling you within his sight, another habit of his you happened to notice. Almost reluctantly he lets go of you hand as Kirishima's house comes into view.

"We better have a good time tonight patrol Princess or you owe me a special birthday gift." He laughs causing you to roll your eyes at his stupid nickname that stuck after your first day with him, adamant that the two of you take your route instead of his it was a huge argument. But it was a good thing he listened to the "princess", it put the two of you smack dab in the middle of a robbery. You stick out your tongue.

"Trust me. You're gonna have a good time!" You push him up the steps as he bats away your hands. Opening the front door before everyone jumps out of various and bad hiding spots.

"SURPRISE!!" All of the alumni of class A and some of B shout, a select few already slurring their words. Bakugou's scowl turns into a smirk before he looks over his shoulder at you.

"Aw you did this to me?" His voice is teasing but his eyes almost sparkle, you nod encouraging him to go deeper into the party. As he does people flock to him laughing and yelling out happy birthday until he's sick of hearing it. All the while your smile wanes with the night. Until an hour in that heavy episode hits you full force. Numbness setting in where happiness should be, rotting as it turns to shame and guilt as you watch your friend, your crush, enjoy his night. Bringing a glass bottle to his lips as he talks with Kirishima, who then presses a shot into his hands. Bodies dancing to the house music that beat out of the speakers competing with chatter and laughter.

It felt weird to watch everyone truly enjoying themselves while you felt low. It felt more as if you were standing outside of the house, looking in through the window to see everyone enjoying themselves, no one even knowing who you were as you stared in.

You felt distant, alone. What a shitty way to feel in a room full of people, none of it being their fault and so the guilt pressed harder. Eyes watering as they lingered on the blonde who deserved this celebration and more. Making you decide to give the best birthday gift of them all.

To slip away upstairs and onto the roof, to give the room space to breathe when you felt like suffocating.

Crying to no one but the moon.

And no one noticed. Two hours slip by before Kirishima insists that Bakugou make a wish and eat cake before everyone gets too drunk too. The entire house drunkenly sings happy birthday but Bakugou notices a voice missing. Yours that's just a touch off key, not to mention he didn't hear you say the stupid nickname 'Suki' where his name should be in the song. Plus you weren't one to miss out on dessert. For as long as Bakugou has been working with you, you never turned down the opportunity for sweets. Whether that was taking the long way back to the agency to try to catch a certain street vendor or to hover by the deserts at a party to pick the very best treat.

And if it was a birthday party, you never could shut up that y'all could not leave until after they blew out the candles and made a wish.

His eyes linger for a second longer, making sure he didn't miss you before his heart sinks. He takes in a sharp inhale, thinks on his wish and blows out the candles.

Meanwhile you hear the cheers of everyone down stairs and sob into your knees. You missed your favorite part of birthdays. Of hoping they make a wish that comes true, of watching their face as they think of something quickly or how some people tear up when they finally realize just how loved they are on their birthday.

It isn't long after that do you hear the sound of combat boots on shingles. Whipping your head up in the direction of the sound. Stomach clenching with guilt as you watch Bakugou walking towards you with a slice of cake.

"Brought ya some cake, since I didn't hear you sing off key to me." He says sinking down beside you as you furiously wipe at your tears.

"I'm-um."

"You don't gotta explain yourself to me." He snarls as you stare dumbly at your cake, "You know that."

"I know…" Silence passes slowly, the moon shines overhead and the party carries on below.

"Well, I'm waiting!" Bakugou says dramatically, "You gonna sing or am I gonna have to sing to myself?"

"Oh." It makes you giggle a bit before you blush, realizing he is serious. You take a deep breath before singing "just off key" when you don't, to him.

"Sukiiiiii!" Relief washes over his features when he hears the dumb ass name, "Happy birthday to youuuuuu!"

"Okay, now you can eat the damn cake." He grunts, his smile never wavering as he looks to the empty street below. You follow his eyes, chewing the inside of your lip, setting the cake down.

"What'd you wish for…" Curiosity gets the better of you and earns his intense gaze. He smirks, scoffing at the end.

"You always say you shouldn't tell or it won't come true." He laughs at your pout, before he finally admits "I wished for courage."

With a furrowed brow you give him a puzzled look, he just holds your gaze.

"Why? You're like the bravest hero I know!" Bakugou can hear the truth in your voice, you aren't saying it just to fucking stroke his ego.

You actually meant it, making this conversation that much harder.

"Yea except when it comes to this one thing I want to do. Its fuckin easy and I've done it hundreds of times just as I'm about to do it I fucking back down cause I'm probably fuckin reading into things too much." He leans in closer, again his smell mesmerizes you, causing your body to visibly relax, "Too much of a fuckin bitch, thinking she doesn't want me like I want her. So I wished for the courage to follow through. To fuckin' just do it."

Your heart is racing out of your chest before one of his hands finds the nape of your neck pulling you into a feverish kiss. Teeth gnashing from the passion, lips perfectly modeling to the other before tongues lightly dance around one another. Lengthening seconds into hours with just a few head tilts and plush lips. You moan into his mouth, he pulls away, eyes clouded with lust as a string of spit connects your tongues. He pants, face flushed and his hand warm, almost burning at the nape of your neck, the shingle by his hand charred from restraint as he pants out.

"I wished for you."

#bakugou x reader #bakugou birthday bash #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha au #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bnha imagine #bakugou birthday

619 notes · View notes

anthrofreshtodeath · 2 years

Text

The Triumph Of Religion

It's still Valentine's Day somewhere, right?

It is Valentine’s Day, and Maura paces her kitchen floor.

It is eight pm and Maura has never paced on Valentine’s Day before, has never cared enough about the holiday to notice its passing beyond the perfunctory dozens of roses and boxes of chocolates that men would send to her. But now…

Now she stares at the roses and the pound of assorted truffles she purchased from Beacon Hill Chocolatiers, just a few blocks away from her home, and shakes her head: had she been foolish? Mistaken?

Had she merely assumed that she would see Jane after work? The evening prior had gone so well that she anticipated today with glee, both for the chance to do the buying for once, and to finally start whatever bubbled between them. But, with the hours dragging on and not so much as a text from Jane, she begins to doubt.

She smoothes her black dress, the one with the deep cut at the neckline that showcases her breasts, and thinks. Replays every moment for the exact derailment, the exact misunderstanding that has landed her here.

____

“I was so sick it felt like I was swallowin’ razor blades,” Jane continued her story about the worst case of strep throat she’d ever had, all on the night before she was supposed to lose her virginity to Gianni Primavera. She, still in work clothes and with her boots on her feet, chugged some beer. “So I guess God was lookin’ out for me because Gianni ended up with three kids by the time he was 20.”

Maura put her hand to her chest as her laughter died down. She burrowed her feet further under the blanket across her lap, and sipped her wine before she spoke again. “Well, did you know that there was actually a study performed on the effects of stomach acid on razor blades? After being in simulated gastric juice for about fifteen hours, the double-edged blades could be broken by a snare.”

Jane looked down at the brown bottle in her lap as she scraped the label off with her nail. “You could be your very own library, you know that?” she asked, just before looking up and holding Maura’s eyes with her own.

Maura saw waves of brown beneath wetness, and she sensed the vulnerability there, even though Jane’s hair was still wild, untameable, and her shoulders still cocked back, unruly. She suddenly grew warm in her pajamas despite the mid-February snow outside. “I used to love going to the library when I was a child. I could spend hours there.”

“BPL in Copley Square?” Jane asked, inching closer, putting her beer on a coaster.

Maura turned her body to accept the gentle invasion. “Yes. When we were in town, of course. My parents always had lots of engagements, in addition to their teaching jobs, when we were in Boston. That left me a lot of free time unsupervised. I lost my card when I moved to France and never renewed it, but I loved my days there.”

“I’d take my bike straight to the library after school,” Jane replied, “The two and a half miles, and stay until closin’. Books were like…”

“My only friends,” Maura finished. Jane merely nodded. “Or, at least, the most constant ones. I longed to read everything there.”

Jane sighed, her breath rickety with emotion. Her brows knitted together and her mouth frowned. “What if uh, what if we were both there, for hours, and we had no idea?”

“It’s entirely plausible,” Maura answered honestly. She put her wine glass down, too, and reached for Jane’s face. Jane was close enough that Maura could put palms to her cheeks and pull her close. “Why do you look sad?”

“‘Cause I am,” Jane said. “What about all that wasted time?”

“Wasted time? What do you mean?” Maura asked quietly, suspecting she already knew.

“We just… we’re always ships passin’ each other in the night,” responded Jane, still in Maura’s hands. She inhaled the perfume on one wrist. “I don’t wanna do that anymore.”

Maura nodded, and let Jane kiss that wrist, slowly, all the way up to her elbow before leaning up and into her lips. The kiss tasted like hops and the gum Jane no doubt chewed on the drive over. The kiss also tasted like everything that belonged in Maura’s life: safety, affection, and wet, wet sexuality. She groaned into it when she got to that part. The part where Jane’s tongue slid around her own, flat and heavy against it. “You really, really don’t want to do that anymore,” she teased when Jane pulled away, even though her body begged her to pull Jane close again.

“Told ya,” Jane whispered into Maura’s mouth. Then she looked at her watch and sighed. “It’s late, Maura.”

“So? Stay here,” Maura reasoned, hands now on Jane’s shoulders, then to her lapels. She tugged and Jane granted her one more kiss.

“That’s not really how I… listen. Today is the 13th. Tomorrow is-”

“Valentine’s Day,” Maura realized aloud.

“Yeah. And I’ll see you, alright? We’ll see each other tomorrow,” Jane said, rather cryptically.

Maura’s heart thumped and sputtered with the implications. “Well, of course we will. Tomorrow’s Wednesday and we have-”

“Shh,” Jane silenced Maura with a finger to the plump lips hers had just been pressing against.

Maura kissed that finger to remind Jane of what she was about to give up for chivalry. “Tomorrow then,” Maura revised.

“Tomorrow,” Jane echoed. “Now come walk me out?”

Maura did eventually, though they spent twenty minutes exploring each other with her back against the front door.

___

And, just when she decides to gather her gifts and find Jane herself, the doorbell rings. She opens it, about to tell whoever it is that she has no time and they’ll have to return later, but then, she sees Jane.

Jane is smiling and pursing her lips at the things in Maura’s hand. “A few hours without a call and you already found another date, huh? Can’t say I blame you. You’re, well, you, and I shop off the rack.”

Maura blushes. “These are for you, actually. I was so convinced that you were going to take me on a date tonight that I wanted to be prepared. It was my fault for assuming.”

“You gotta give yourself more credit. What do ya think I’m here for?” Jane says. “But I’ll take those. I’m more of a sucker for the traditional stuff than you are, I know.” She sniffs the bouquet offered to her and then exhales with pleasure.

“We are going on a date?” Maura says, giving over the chocolates next. “Together? Now?”

“Together and now,” Jane confirms, staring impressively at the fancy candy. “Grab your purse.”

Maura trots over to the kitchen island and takes her bag. “Where are we going?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jane teases. “It’s a five minute drive, so keep your panties on.”

Maura locks up for the both of them and chuckles. “Don’t think it’s so easy to get them off,” she retorts, shrugging her coat on. They walk to Jane’s unmarked, illegally parked, and of course, the door is opened for her. It is much too cold for walkers this late in the evening, and the street lamps shine attractively on the piles of snow on the sidewalk. They are alone and the night is picturesque. Maura wonders if she has just lied about the ease of removal of her underwear when she stares at Jane in the driver’s seat, from her angular face eclipsed in shadow to the vascularity in the hand that put the car into drive.

Expert fingers steer them from Commonwealth Avenue all the way to a very familiar building.

The Boston Public Library.

“Jane,” Maura breathes out, a hand reaching for Jane’s as they park right outside.

“Maura,” Jane jokes. Then, she grows serious. “I listen, you know.”

“You do. It’s why I enjoy talking to you so much. I know you’re always listening,” Maura says. Though she has no idea what they are about to do, this is the best Valentine’s Day she’s ever had.

Jane steps out of the driver’s side and slams her door, and Maura waits for her door to open. Jane leans in. “Everything you’ve got to say is the smartest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says. “It would be stupid of me not to hang on every word.”

“Help me out,” Maura orders so that she does not cry. Jane holds out her hand and pulls Maura into the night.

Maura falls into Jane, palms against her chest, on purpose. “Now can you tell me what we’re doing?”

“First we gotta visit Julia. She’s on overtime at the circulation desk for me,” Jane says. She entwines Maura’s fingers with her own, and leads her to the front entrance, just under the bust of Athena.

“Free for all,” Maura says, just as they pass under that phrase.

“She always reminds me of ‘The Raven’,” Jane comments. She pushes through an iron and glass door, and then they enter the lobby, with its vaulted, mosaic ceilings, and its marble floors. Just to their left, a woman in business attire and glasses waves.

“The bust of Pallas,” Maura says, pleased. “You did spend a lot of time here.”

“Lotta people don’t know that Poe was a masshole, in a way,” Jane replies, in her very Jane way. The one that sees Maura for all that she is, but doesn’t change to copy her. Simply knows her and promises to remain the same for her. “Hey, Julia. This is Doctor Isles.”

“Hi, Jane,” Julia says, with kind eyes for Jane and a professional smile for Maura. “Doctor Isles, I hear that we need to get you a new library card.”

Maura snaps her head to Jane, who only winks. “You didn’t.”

“Sure did,” Jane says. “But like I said, Julia’s doin’ this as a favor after hours, so let’s make it quick.”

“I’m happy to do it,” Julia cuts in. “Jane investigated my cousin’s murder a few years ago,” she explains. “I owe her a lot.”

“You don’t owe me anything, but I appreciate this,” Jane responds. “Show her your license, yeah?” she asks Maura.

Maura takes her driver’s license out with a shaky grip. Her voice is wet when she says, “here you go, Julia.”

“Thank you,” Julia replies with a smirk when she glances between the two of them. “This will only take a couple of minutes.”

Jane places a hand on the small of Maura’s back, realizes that their coats are on in the heated air, and then she peels Maura’s away from her shoulders.

True to her word, Julia returns from a printer with a brand new Boston Public Library card with Maura’s name on it. “You’re all set.”

“Th-thank you,” Maura sputtered as she put it away.

“You’re welcome. Now, enjoy your stay. Robbie’s here for an hour if you have any questions,” Julia replies with both hospitality and a gentle reminder about their time constraints.

“Our stay?” Maura turns, confused again.

Jane shrugs. “My real deal is with Robbie, the night security guard. He’s letting us poke around for an hour because I’m helpin’ him study for the entrance exam at the academy.”

Maura tugs Jane’s hand, the one not holding their coats, in immediate need for some privacy. “Let’s take the stairs,” she says.

Jane chuckles, but obeys. “The lions it is,” she quips as they stand in between each side of the staircase, a marble lion to their left and their right.

“Did you know that originally the sculptor didn’t have time to polish them? But the Civil War volunteers to whom they were dedicated actually liked them better that way, so they have stayed unpolished all this time,” Maura says when she holds Jane’s arm close to her.

Jane looks down to see her upper arm graze Maura’s chest, and she gulps. “No, I didn’t. See, they should just replace the brick and mortar with you.”

“But then we wouldn’t get to come here together,” Maura responds. “On a date.”

Jane smiles. “True.”

“Should we go to the abbey room first?” asks Maura, memories flooding her.

“Let’s do it on our way back down. I thought we could start at the Sargent Gallery,” Jane answers.

Maura nods, and says no more. Jane leads them up the stairs to a smaller, walled-in staircase, completely dark save for two mounted lamps. They emerge from the top step into an ornate hall adorned with Sargent’s greatest work: The Triumph of Religion.

Neither had seen it this way before, only by dim lamplight, with all doors closed and locked. The figures, once light and dark in concert with one another, now all seemed sinister, especially the pietá at the close end of the murals. Mary, with Jesus between her feet, and now, with Jane looking up at them.

Maura looks from the painting to Jane, in strokes of black, flesh red, and yellow, just like the figures depicted above them. She leans forward, unable to resist kissing Jane’s cheek, thinking only of wanting to taste her since she cannot taste the art above them.

“This is my favorite,” Jane says instead of turning and kissing back.

Of course it is, Maura thinks. It is about sacrifice and sadness and family and all the things that make a Rizzoli a Rizzoli.

The truly miraculous thing is, however, that it is Maura’s favorite, too. Always has been. “How did you know I would come up here, just to stare at this work?”

“Because I used to, too,” says Jane, and then she does turn. “And I think, after our conversation last night, I realized that we are so much more the same than we are different.”

Maura shifts from one heel to another when she holds Jane’s hands in her own between their bodies. “This has been…” she pauses as she searches for the right words, “sublime. In the darkest way possible. A lot like you. But I think we really should finish up soon.”

Jane raises her left eyebrow. “You’re not enjoying yourself?”

“On the contrary,” Maura replies, stepping close enough for their lips to brush. “But apparently I underestimated you, because I very much want you to take my panties off. As soon as possible.”

Jane avoids choking only just barely. “You lasted all of twenty minutes,” she teases instead. “But yeah? You wanna give ‘em to me?” She closes her eyes, crosses her hands behind her back, intent on wowing Maura with just her tongue, which she does. Maura whimpers, and then she moans, and her body is writhing with what Jane thinks is stifled pleasure. But, when Jane opens her eyes, she realizes the actual reason Maura had slow-danced across from her.

Maura places a tiny, sheer, black lace thong in the pocket of Jane’s navy blue blazer. “You already have them,” she smirks, smug and flushed, and watches Jane melt from the inside out.

They can always return in the daytime.

#lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #what even is this #I think I just want to look at the Sargent gallery at night #idk if this is even romantic #but it was fun to write as I procrastinate on the two other things I'm apparently writing

41 notes · View notes

alwaysachorusgirl · 3 years

Text

Of Wolves and Witches

Pairing: Werewolf!Bishop Losa x Witch!Reader

Word Count: 3088

For: covers the monster square for @adarafaelbarba 's moodboard fall bingo

TW: violence and accidental death via a nightmare/flashback sequence, brief mentions of mental, emotion, and physical abuse, PTSD, and covering up a crime scene

Author's Notes: The Mayans Werewolf AU that no one asked for, but i wrote it anyway. It starts out dark, but ends with fluff, I promise. This is my first time writing for Bishop, so please go easy on me... a big thank you to @itsjustmyfantasyroom for letting me run this idea by her and reassuring me that it wasn't crazy, and for encouraging me to write it.

Tags: @madamsnape921; @prurientpuddlejumper; @thatesqcrush; @welcometothemxdhouse; @raulesparza4eva; @teamsladsandgents; @rosequcrtz

He stormed into your living room, rage storming in his eyes. His aura was a swirling void of red and black. He shouldn’t have been able to break the locks on your front door, he shouldn’t have been able to walk right through your magical wards, but here he was. You straightened your posture and stood your ground, determined to not let him see how terrified you were.

“How did you get in here?”

“Really?” He pulled a glowing amulet from out of his shirt. “Not that hard when you have a little help. Benefits of having hunters for friends.”

Your eyes went wide as you realized what you were looking at. It was an enchanted amulet, one strong enough to get through your warding. You could only hope that it wasn’t strong enough to dampen your powers.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he smirked. “I know what you are. Makes me a wonder what else you haven’t been telling me.”

“Alex, get out! I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

“You little bitch!” he spat back. “You think you can just break up me? You think you can just walk away?

“I can and I did. We’re done, Alex, it’s over. You don’t get to hurt me anymore. It’s not my fault that your fragile, insecure male ego can’t take a fucking hint.”

“Bitch, I’ll fucking hurt you whenever I fucking want to! And I don’t see your little biker friends here to protect you.…”

Then he charged, and suddenly you were on the ground with his hands around your throat.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!”

You could feel the murderous intent radiating off him, and put your hands on his chest, trying to push him off you, but then you felt the release of kinetic energy through your palms, and Alex was flying across the room. He hit the wall, and you prayed to whatever goddess was listening that the sickening crack you heard was just the drywall breaking behind him. But then his eyes rolled back in his head, and his head lolled to one side, at what could only be described as an “unhealthy looking” angle. His lower body twitched a few times before going limp. He hung there for a moment, suspended in the air, pinned to the wall by your invisible force. Still shaking in terror, you finally lowered your hands, and Alex’s lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud.

*********************

“No!” you cried out, sitting bolt upright on your couch. You were covered in a cold sweat and your whole body was shaking. Your lungs gasped for air and your eyes darted around the room, searching for Alex, but he wasn’t there. You weren’t even in your old house anymore. You held your hand in your hands and took deep breaths. You were in your apartment, in Santo Padre, Alex was dead, and you were safe. The Saturday afternoon sun streamed in through the window, and the TV was still on, a marathon of Guy’s Grocery Games playing at a low volume.

“I must have fallen asleep,” you said softly to yourself, “it was only a nightmare.”

You grabbed your phone off the coffee table and checked the time. It was only 3:30, plenty of time to shower and freshen up before Bishop would pick you up at 6. You stood, and after checking your locks and wards, made your way to the bathroom.

***********************

Despite your best efforts to push them down, the memories of what happened next came flooding back as you stood under the warm shower spray. You had been in shock, understandably so, but you were now exposed as a witch, and had to protect yourself. The logical side of your brain kicked in and you got to work. After verifying that Alex was dead, you had used your telekinetic abilities to rip the amulet off his neck. A quick examination verified that it had only been enchanted enough to allow Alex to breach your magical wards without getting zapped, but not enough to block your own powers. The enchantment was also crude and amateurish, probably done in haste by someone with limited knowledge of witchcraft. He had mentioned having hunters for friends, and you cursed yourself for not sensing that sooner. He hadn’t been one himself. You would have read that in his aura the moment you met him, but you also hadn’t sensed his dark side. The mentally and emotionally abusive and manipulative side, the one that turned violent during an argument when you had tried to call him out on his bullshit and break up with him the first time. You had ended up in the hospital, and when you confronted him the second time, you had friends with you to back you up. And after destroying the amulet, those were the friends you called on for help with your predicament.

The Blood Moon Motorcycle Club was a found family werewolf pack, led by Jack Reynard, a fearsome and intimidating Alpha. But Jack was fiercely protective of his friends and allies and didn’t hesitate to show up with four of his most trusted lieutenants when you called and tearfully explained your situation. They got to work cleaning up the scene and going through Alex’s phone and wallet. They found a business card for an elite and dangerous organization of hunters, and the contact’s name and number on the card matched up with one of the contacts in Alex’s phone. Jack told you to start packing your bags and to make sure that you included any magical artifacts that you had. You would spend the night at their clubhouse under round-the-clock security, and in the morning, they would get you out of town. Anything that couldn’t be packed that night would be shipped to you once you were settled elsewhere. They would dispose of the body; it wasn’t the first time they’d had to do so.

Jack had called Bishop Losa, president of the Mayans Motorcycle Club in Santo Padre, California. Jack and Bishop had served together in the Marines in their younger days, and the Mayans and the Blood Moons were allies as a result of that friendship. The Mayans were another found family werewolf pack and protected Santo Padre alongside the Galindo Pack. The town was a safe haven for all supernatural beings and the humans who lived there were none the wiser.

And now you had been here for six months. You worked in a bookshop owned by another a witch, Matilda, and lived in the apartment above it. In addition to the books, you also sold your homemade herbal teas and did Tarot card readings in the shop. 2-3 times a week you would bake cookies and muffins and sell those in the shop. Your teas were so popular that you now did tea making demonstrations on Saturday mornings. You were thriving but were still plagued by nightmares and PTSD and attended therapy once a week to help you work through your struggles.

And then there was Bishop. At first, the Mayan president and Alpha had been your friend and protector. You had been too traumatized to even think about pursuing a relationship, and so you both denied the unquestionable and inexplicable attraction. The more you got to know each other, the more you were drawn to each other. Two months ago, he finally made a move while the two of you had been outside getting some air at a party at the Mayans clubhouse, asking if he could kiss you. You’d been a couple ever since.

*********************

You had just finished lacing up your boots when you heard the sound of a familiar motorcycle pull up to your building. You ran to the window and looked down to the street. You saw Bishop getting off his bike and removing his helmet. You exited your apartment and ran down the stairs, meeting him at the entrance at the side of the building. You threw your arms around his neck and kissed his lips. His arms encircled your waist and pulled you close.

“Hola Querida, you look beautiful.”

“Thanks, you’re not too bad, yourself, handsome.”

That got a chuckle from the Alpha. He removed one of his arms from around your back, revealing the bouquet of roses in his hand. “These are for you.”

“Bish, they’re gorgeous, thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“And pass up the opportunity to surprise you? Not a chance.”

“Come on up. I’ll put these in water, grab a few things, then I’ll be ready to go.”

Bishop nodded and held onto your hand as he followed you up the stairs.

************************

You held onto Bishop as the two of you went speeding down the back roads, away from Santo Padre. You loved dates like this: just you and Bishop on the bike, heading somewhere unknown, away from all the stress and bullshit of the day-to-day. His torso felt warm, sturdy, and safe. You could feel the vibrations from bike rattling through your body as you watched the scenery fly by. You’d been on the road for at least half an hour now.

“Almost there, Querida,” Bishop called back. “You’re gonna love this spot, I promise.”

After a few more minutes he pulled off the road and the motorcycle slowed to a stop. Bishop turned off the engine and stored the keys in his pocket. You both got off and removed your helmets. You looked around at the small, wooded area and smiled, breathing in the fresh air.

“This is nice, babe.”

“Oh, this isn’t the spot, “he told you, unlatching the soft fleece blanket and cooler from the back of his bike. He handed you the blanket. He took the cooler in one hand and grabbed your free hand with his other, interlacing his fingers with yours. “It’s this way.”

You walked for a few minutes down a short path before finally arriving at a grassy clearing. The view was breathtaking. You could see everything from your elevated perched; Santo Padre, the valley, green leafy trees swaying in the breeze, fields of wildflowers. A sense of calm settled over you that you hadn’t felt in months. You didn’t jump when Bishop came up behind you and slid his arms around your mid-section, instead relaxing into his touch and leaning against his sturdy frame. Bishop softly kissed your shoulder.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “this is perfect, this place in perfect. The energy here is so peaceful, and so alive. I love it.”

“I’m glad. I was thinking we could eat dinner, watch the sunset? And wait until the stars come out…You can show me all the constellations?”

You turned and slid your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his.

“You would have thought that you were such a romantic?”

“Just don’t tell anyone, okay? Gotta maintain my tough guy image, you know?”

“Mmm…your secret is safe with me.” You pecked his lips once, twice, three times, each kiss lasting a bit longer than the rest. When you finally pulled your head away you noticed that the blanket was laid out on the ground with cooler sitting on top.

“Come on,” said Bishop, directing you over to it. You both sat down, and Bishop opened the cooler and started setting out its contents: sandwiches from the local deli, fresh strawberries from the farmer’s market, giant cupcakes from the gourmet bakery, a bottle of beer for each of you, and bottled water. He popped the caps off the beer bottles and handed you one. “Cheers.”

The two of you sat and ate, completely at ease with each other, and the conversation flowed easily. Bishop told you about the day’s antics down at the scrapyard, and you told him about the business plan you and Matilda were working on to expand the bookshop into the empty café next door.

“The theory is, that having a space to sell food and drinks will drum up more business. I can sell my tea and baked goods and do my demonstrations there. We would obviously need to hire some extra people to help, but I think we can make it work. We can’t tear down the wall between the buildings and expand without the proper permits.”

“I’m sure the town will approve whatever permits you need. They’re not going to say to ‘no’ to something that will bring more business into Santo Padre.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the sunsets,” you said, gazing at the red, orange, and purple hues of the evening sky. “How did you find this place?”

Bishop laid down on the blanket and you stretched out next him, placing your head on his chest.

“Me and the guys had just come back from a run,” he began, “Things didn’t go so well, and I was pissed, needed to blow off some steam so I just rode around for a while. Next thing I knew, I was here. I shifted, ran around for a while until my head was clear. I come back whenever I need to get away from everything.”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “Thank you for bringing me here. I needed this.”

Bishop caressed your cheek with his fingers. “You’re welcome, Querida. I’ll bring you up here whenever you want.”

“Bish, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course, Querida, you can ask me anything,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Can I see you in your wolf form sometime? There’s no pressure, only if you want to…”

Bishop mulled the question over in his head. You had caught him off guard with the query. None of the women he’d ever been with had asked to see his wolf form, not even his ex-wife. These days, he only shifted when it was absolutely necessary. There were advantages to being an older and more experienced wolf. He could shift at will and didn’t have to worry about losing control. But what if you didn’t like what you saw? What if he scared you away? He’d never forgive himself if that happened. Your soft, sweet voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Bish, I’m sorry, forget I said anything- “

“No, it’s okay,” he kissed your forehead, “I just wasn’t expecting that question. I’ll do it if you want me to, but just be prepared, okay? I promise I won’t hurt you, but it might not be what you’re expecting.”

“I trust you completely, and I promise, I won’t be scared.” You looked at his aura and saw the hesitancy there. He was scared. “You’re not going to lose me.”

He cupped your face with his hand and his lips found purchase with yours. He had a way of kissing you that made your mind go blank and get lost in the moment, and you loved every minute of it. You kissed him back with equal fervor, hoping that somehow you were able to convey the trust and faith you had in him. The smile on his face when you broke away seemed to indicate that you’d been successful.

Bishop rose and walked a few feet away.

“What are you doing?” you asked, confused by his actions.

“Shifting is a lot easier without clothes on,” he replied with a wink, beginning to undress.

“I’ll close my eyes and give you some privacy then,” you giggled, shutting your eyes, but occasionally cracking one open to steal glimpses of his increasingly naked form; and damn if you didn’t like what you saw!

Bishop finished disrobing and crouched down on the soft grass. He breathed deeply and cleared his mind, focusing his intention. He felt his muscle start to ripple and his joints and bones shift. It didn’t hurt at his age; it was just slightly uncomfortable. All his senses sharpened. Body hair became fur, his hands and feet morphed into oversize paws with razor sharp claws. Even his teeth changed shaped, becoming longer and more pointed. A few moments later, he stretched and shook out his fur. He looked over towards you, still sitting there with your eyes closed, and cautiously padded toward you.

************************

You could hear the footfalls of his paws, and then felt his large wet nose nudging your arm. You opened your eyes and saw a massive wolf standing before you. His fur was brown and black, with specks of gray in various places. His legs were strong, and his paws appeared large enough to take out a person with one blow. But his eyes, his eyes were gentle, and you would know them anywhere.

“Oh, Bishop, you’re beautiful!”

He sat and cocked his head to one side, appearing confused.

“Yes, you heard me correctly. May I?” You held out your arms to him. Bishop bowed his head and leaned forward, allowing you to embrace him and bury your face in his fur. “Your fur is so soft!”

He put his head on your shoulder and let out a contented groan when your fingers began to massage the spot right between his ears. You giggled at that. “I take it you like that, huh?” Bishop lifted his head and licked your face in response, making you laugh even harder. You massaged his head for a little while longer before resting your forehead against his. “Thank you for letting me see you like this. I love you, Bishop.”

There was suddenly a very naked, human man in your arms. Bishop’s hands cupped your face, his eyes scanning it for any indication that he might have misheard you.

“Bish- “

“Say that again, Querida.”

“I said, I love you, Obispo Losa.”

Bishop pulled you into his lap and pressed his lips to yours, kissing you with more intensity and tenderness than he ever had before. Any doubts that you may have had about him not feeling the same quickly melted away. It went on for what felt like forever before the two of you had to pull away and come up for air.

“I love you, too, mi reina.”

You held onto one another like that for while before Bishop got dressed and rejoined you on the blanket. You spent the rest of the evening wrapped in each other’s arms and gazing at the night sky. And when a shooting star passed overhead, you made a wish that you could stay this way forever. No more looking over your shoulder, no more nightmares; just you and Bishop, ready to take on whatever the future might hold.

#adarafaelbarbaseptmeberbingo #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa #mayans #mayans mc #mayans fandom #mayans fanfic #bishop losa imagines #werewolf au #my writing

80 notes · View notes

mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 3

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Javier being kind of an asshole, allusions to sex, a ~moment~ in the bathtub, mention of PTSD and trauma, food mention, drink mention, ...feelings?

Word count: 4200

Author’s Note: It’s been so long! I’m sorry. It’s been pretty hectic and I’ve been doing my best to wrap up my other series’ and complete requests. I appreciate you all for sticking around and asking for updates on this chapter. I’ve mentioned it a few times, but PIFTL is very difficult to write. It deals with very sensitive issues and so not only can it be mentally draining to write, it takes a lot of time to research and edit. I won’t give up on this series though. I adore this story and can’t wait to share it all with you.

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

* Reblogs appreciated and my ko-fi is linked in my bio if you wish to support my writing!

Nina pushed off Javi quicker than a bullet leaving a gun, grabbing a blanket from her bed and wrapping it around her naked body. “What the fuck Javier?” she spat.

Jesus Christ -- Javier had never made that mistake before. Moaning someone else’s name? He was better than that. It took him a moment to just process what happened, Nina’s yelling and accusations only a blur in the background. “Who is she, Javier?” Nina questioned, her tone venomous. That was enough to snap the agent out of his thoughts. Her cold eyes burned like wildfire as she glared at him. “Who. Is. She?”

“Uh…” Javier racked his brains to try and figure out a way he’d be able to save this situation. But the longer he took to answer Nina’s question, the more infuriated she got. “Informant.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. You’d agreed to help him. But whether or not you’d actually be able to provide Javier with any relevant information was a different ordeal in itself.

“You’re still sleeping with your informants?” Nina gasped a little, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in disappointment. “Why am I not surprised?”

Javier sighed and rolled his eyes, pulling himself off Nina’s bed and grabbing his denim jeans that had been previously discarded on the floor. “C’mon Ni, don’t get jealous now. We haven’t been together for like, a year.” Javier hummed, zipping up his pants. His eyes darted around the room as he tried to locate his shirt. Maybe there was no fixing this. For a split second, he’d forgotten why things had ended with Nina, but now it was becoming clear again. He just had to get outta there. He needed air, and a smoke.

“I let you cum inside of me and you moan out another woman’s name!” Nina exclaimed, shaking her fists in the air. “Javier Peña I fucking hate you!”

Javier offered Nina a small shrug of his shoulders before finding his shirt and buttoning it up. “I’ll see you around Ni.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Called him seventeen times Con, he’s taking the piss.” Steve grimaced, aggressively flicking to the next page of the Bogotá local newspaper.

“Will you just calm down? He’s our friend. We’re doing him a favour. He'll be back soon,” Connie sighed, glancing back over to you, where you had been sleeping on the sofa for the past two and a half hours. “She sleeps better than our Liv,” Connie noted. “Wish we could sleep as well as that.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “I’ll go check on Liv.” He announced at the mention of his daughter. He’d put her down for a nap about an hour ago in Javier’s bedroom.

“No honey, I’ll go. You keep working on your crossword,” Connie giggled before pointing her index finger into one of the blank squares. “Fourteen down: Los huevos revueltos.”

“I would’ve got that,” Steve huffed, scrambling to write the answer down. He definitely would not have. The Spanish puzzle was made for infants and yet he was still struggling.

“Whatever Murph.” Connie rolled her eyes, leaving the table where they were both sitting at.

The second she left the room, you woke up in a cold sweat, feeling dizzy and shaking from a nightmare you didn’t want to remember. Your cheeks were wet, tear stained and goose pimples pricked at your arms. You checked your surroundings in a fluster, not recognising the brown leather couch you were laying on, or the oak wood coffee table in front of you, or even the television pushed against the cream coloured walls. A man with blonde hair and mustache raced over to you, and dropped to his knees, holding you by your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” The man quizzed, his blue eyes searching to meet yours. You were horrified, the feeling of an unfamiliar man grabbing you like this. You screamed in terror, and defensively dug your fingernails into his skin. The man yelped out and stumbled back from you, hitting the coffee table in the process. “Fuck-- shit-- ow--” He gasped. “Connie!” he called. “Connie, she's awake!”

The way he yelled and screamed your name... it was like you were some kind of monster. You hated it.

The sound of footsteps padding into the living room alerted you, and a woman, not much older than you, knelt down in front of you. But unlike the man, she knew well enough to keep her distance. “Hi sweetheart, are you alright? I’m Connie, don’t be afraid. You’re okay.” she assured you, her voice sweet like honey.

“Where am I?” you choked out, tears filling your eyes.

Connie hesitated for a moment. “She doesn’t remember where she is?” Steve asked Connie with concern, scratching the back of his neck as he pulled himself together and shuffled over to you. Taking a note out of Connie’s book, he kept his distance. Connie briefly explained to her husband how your behaviour right now actually made a lot of sense, and how victims of PTSD can often have ‘memory blanks’.

“Darling, I’m Connie Murphy. I’m a nurse. And this is my husband Steve. Steve is DEA. He’s friends with Javier Peña. You know that name, right? Javier Peña.” She repeated his name slow and steady, allowing you to take your time to process the words. Javier Peña. Just like that, a wave of calmness washed over you. His name felt like home. It felt like safety.

“I know Javi.” you whispered in admittance, shuffling around on the sofa. You could feel your lips trembling. It was strange. You were new to Bogotá, and you didn’t really have any friends, other than the late Rosa. And well, Javier too. He was a client, sure, but he was always kind and gentle with you, unlike your other customers. You’d like to think of him as a friend. Right now, he was the only person you had.

“This is Javier’s place. He’s going to watch over you for a little while, okay?” Connie explained. “We are your friends and we’re not going to hurt you. I promise,” the lady soothed. She turned to Steve. “Bring over Olivia.”

“What-- why?” Steve quizzed, his eyebrows furrowing together in bewilderment.

“She needs to know she can trust us. Bring over Olivia,” Begrudgingly following his wife’s instruction, a wary Steve stood up and padded into Javier’s bedroom where Olivia had been left to sleep in a small, transportable crib. He picked up his daughter and carried her into the living room. “This is my daughter Olivia,” Connie told you quietly, smoothing out Olivia’s black hair. “She’s one year old. Would you like to hold her?”

“Connie are you fucking crazy?” Steve snapped.

“I’m a fucking nurse Steve, I know what I’m doing.” Connie hissed back, taking Olivia from her father. She looked back over to you and her deep frown turned into a comforting smile as she slowly handed you the baby. Connie’s hands never left Olivia, and she made an effort to support her head as you cradled the sleeping baby in your arms.

Holding Olivia Murphy gave you a feeling of responsibility. If Steve and Connie were dangerous, they would never have shown you their daughter, let alone allow you to hold her in your arms. You contemplated everything and although it was hard, you decided that you probably could trust them. Still, it raised the question: “Where is Javi?”

Steve shook his head incredulously and stood up, grabbing the phone from one of the side tables and dialling his partner’s number again. You didn’t know what was wrong with the blonde haired agent, but you got the impression that he did not want to be here.

“Steve is going to call him, again. He went to get groceries. I’m sure he won’t be long.” Connie informed softly, and you nodded your head.

“Your baby is adorable,” you announced quietly and Connie smiled, thankful you were beginning to talk a little more. Seemingly, you’d calmed down, which meant Connie’s comforting approach had worked.

“She’s a real gem, isn’t she?”

Javier was just a couple of blocks away when his carphone began to ring. He eyed up the display and read the ‘17 missed calls’, cursing under his breath. He clicked the accept button and continued to drive.

“Javier Peña. You prick.”

“Hi bestie.” Javier grinned, shaking his head at Steve’s introduction. Typical.

“You left us here for three fucking hours with some random girl -- who, by the way, is incredibly unstable, Javier. I don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, but I’m not here for it. Where the fuck have you been? No, forget that. You better be home in the next ten minutes and you better have the ingredients for my fucking paella.” Steve growled before angrily slamming the phone down on the hook.

Javier couldn’t help but chuckle. Steve Murphy was ever the drama queen.

As he drove down the street, he made one final attempt to shrug off what had happened with Nina. Okay, yeah, saying your name was a little uncalled for. But she always got so needy and possessive -- even when she had no reason to be. Nina and Javier weren’t exclusive and hadn’t been for a long time, so, what was her deal?

What was even more concerning to Javi, was the fact he said your name in the first place. Nina looked rather similar to you. Not identical, but from a distance, there was a chance she could’ve been mistaken. Only, when he was pounding into her from behind, he wasn’t at a distance. In fact he couldn’t have been any closer, and yet he still said your name. He was really struggling to justify it.

Sure, he’d been thinking about you when he was inside of her. But was that really so bad? You were clearly on his mind, and Javier just pinned that down to the fact he’d been out all day investigating the crime scene at the brothel. He’d been with you, he’d held you and comforted you. Fuck, even before noon he had been fucking your mouth. It wasn’t exactly unreasonable…

But moaning out your name… shit, could Javier really get past that? Was there any way to justify that -- other than the blatant and glaring honest reason that Javier refused to admit. He wouldn’t even let his mind go there. Whatever, it was fine. He was home now. The end of a long day.

Javier grabbed the groceries from the back of his car and buzzed himself into the DEA apartment block where he and Steve were living. Making his way over to his apartment, he opened the front door and set the brown paper bag of ingredients down on the kitchen counter. When he got home, Connie was just finishing up painting your nails a beautiful sea blue gel colour. She turned around and she looked up at Javier. Your eyes, however, were already fixated on him the second he entered the room.

“Where’s Steve?” Javier asked, diverting his gaze from the two women and continuing to unpack the food.

“He went home. He’s pissed, Javi.” Connie admitted, shaking her head in annoyance and placing the pot of nail polish on the coffee table. She walked into the open space kitchen and nudged the agent.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Javier muttered, stacking the canned goods into a cupboard.

“I’m going home, but don’t think we’ve forgotten about the paella. Steve wants that fucking paella,” Connie chastised. Javier nodded his head but remained silent as he emptied his bag of shopping. “Unbelievable.” Connie scoffed incredulously, and opened the front door before slamming it behind her.

“Thanks Con!” Javier called, but there was no telling if she even heard.

Javier was half way through putting his shopping away when he heard your meek and softly spoken voice call his name in a questioning tone. His dark eyes looked over at you. You were sitting upright on the sofa and his face softened. Stopping what he was doing, he neglected the bag of groceries and padded into the living room to sit down next to you.

“Hi.” Javier murmured, crossing his legs and adjusting the crochet blanket that was covering your lap.

“Hi.” you replied, feeling somewhat shy and slightly nervous, for a reason you couldn’t quite place.

“How are you feeling?” Javier asked, bringing himself to look at you.

“Um,” you fumbled at the blanket and thought for a moment. It was a loaded question. Other than the overwhelming feeling of distress and helplessness, you decided to give the agent a simple answer. “Well rested. A little thirsty.”

Javier nodded. “How would you feel about taking a bath?”

You swallowed back a knot in your throat that you hadn’t even realised was there in the first place. “...Do I smell?” you asked, You stretched out and gave your underarms a sniff, prompting Javier to burst out into laughter. Shit, had you always been that adorable? Your nose scrunched up at the distinct smell of dried up blood on your clothes and your shoulders slumped sadly. Javi, noticing your change in demeanor, gently lifted up the blanket and wrapped it around your body.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he cooed. “Believe me, I get stinky too. It happens. Let me help you take a bath. Come with me.”

Taking his hand, Javier navigated you towards the bathroom. It was a small boxy room with barely any space to move around, and yet, to your surprise, it fit a bathtub. Javier twisted the faucet, and the tap began to run warm water. He picked up a bottle of bubble bath and a tub of salts. “I have a bad back,” Javier told you. “These salts really help me relax. And the bubbles are nice too.”

You nodded with a smile. As he emptied the contents into the tub, you watched the products swirl into a colourful abyss. “It smells like you.” you uttered, without really thinking about the weight of your words. Javier said nothing, and you both sat by the side of the tub in comfortable silence, watching as it filled up. He occasionally dipped his hand in the water, checking the temperature.

“Will you be okay?” Javier asked you, taking out a towel and folding it up on top of the toilet seat.

You weren’t really sure, but you nodded your head anyway. Just as he was about to leave, you spoke up again. “Actually, Javi, could you stay?”

Javier fumbled a little but smiled. “Yeah, of course.”

Javier had seen you naked countless times due to the nature of your job but for some reason, this time, it felt different. He’d never had a woman use his bathtub before, let alone be requested to stay in her presence as she got undressed and stepped inside. You slipped out of your sultry, blood stained dress and let it pool to the floor. Javi’s mouth parted as he took in your naked form under the amber tinted bathroom lights.

You stepped inside the tub and almost slipped over, but Javier, as quick as lightning, grabbed your arm and steadied you. “Sorry,” he muttered, and your hand slid into his. As your fingers interlocked, you felt something. It was like a bolt of electricity, running up your arm, and judging by Javier’s reaction, he could feel it too. “I should’ve warned you. It can be a little slippery.”

You giggled and tried to tear yourself from Javi’s grip, but he didn’t let go of you once. Instead, he helped you sit down comfortably amongst the bubbles and aromatic hot water. You moaned, feeling your body become indulged and your muscles soften. You smiled and laid back, the bubbles fizzing around your neck and chin, and Javier felt his heart swell in his chest as he noticed your lips curl into a smile. It was the smile he would kill to see, and he hadn’t even realised how much he missed it.

“Just relax,” Javier soothed. “I’ll be back faster than you can count to ten.”

Javier ran into the kitchen and took a glass from one of the cupboards before racing back to the bathroom. Kneeling down by the side of the tub, he dipped the glass into the water, filling it up, and gently emptied it down your hair.

“Close your eyes,” he requested, continuing to wet your hair ample enough until it was ready to be shampooed. Taking the bottle of his musky scented shampoo, Javier squirted the thick liquid into your scalp and began to massage it in. You couldn’t believe how gentle he was, and how he was taking his time with you. You’d never in a million years imagine Javier Peña being like this, or acting this intimate, with any woman -- especially not you. To be honest, his own behaviours were even coming to shock Javier. But he just let his instincts take over. He wanted to protect you and make sure you knew just how safe you were. That was the most important thing on his mind.

Once he rinsed your hair, he grabbed some soap and a sponge, handing them to you. “Do you uh-- uh-- do you think you can wash your own body?” He asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “If not, that’s okay. I can help. But--”

You smiled and rested a wet hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay Javi. I’ll be fine.” you promised, taking the sponge from him.

“I’m going to find you some clothes to change into.” He told you. “Shout if you need me. I won’t be long.”

And he stuck by his word. Javier raked through his drawers and picked out a pale yellow button down shirt that he hadn’t worn in a few years and a pair of boxer shorts. Padding back into the bathroom, he presented you with them. “It’s not much but it’s all I have,” he told you. “I’m sure Con will take you out shopping at some point. Or we can hop on back to your place tomorrow to grab some of your stuff,” You smiled and stood up, making sure to be careful not to slip this time. Javier held out the towel for you and wrapped you in it. “I’ll leave you to get dried.”

When Javier went back into the kitchen, he figured he should put the rest of the groceries away, only to notice that the once frozen paella ingredients had become defrosted and been rendered completely useless. “Shit.” Javier cursed, pushing them to one side and running a hand through his hair. Looks like after all of this, he couldn’t make paella tonight. He knew he was about to get an earful from Steve at work tomorrow.

“Do you like pizza?” Javier called, rummaging around for a take-out menu and grabbing his phone from the counter.

“I do!” you called back, buttoning up Javier’s shirt and wrapping a towel around your head.

When you padded into the kitchen, dressed in Javi’s clothes, the agent felt his throat dry up. You were a sight to behold. You smelt distinctly like him, but you already looked one thousand times better now that you were clean and comfortable. You felt better, too. It was amazing what a bath could do to you. You shimmied onto one of the bar stools Javier kept by the counter and rest your elbows against the laminate. Javier passed you the menu so you could look over the dishes.

You agreed on a simple chilli pizza, which was one of Javier’s favourites anyway. Javi called the deli and asked for a large, planning on sharing it with you. Remembering that you’d mentioned you were thirsty, he poured you a glass of water and handed it your way.

“Steve is gonna be so mad at me tomorrow,” Javier chuckled, rubbing his temple. You peeked up from the glass that you nursed and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I promised him paella and I’m not gonna be able to make it tonight. Not only that but he’s gonna ask me where I’ve been. He’ll know I wasn’t out getting groceries for three hours.”

You furrowed your eyebrows together and tilted your head. “Three hours? Where were you?”

Javier paused and absent-mindedly brushed a finger along his mustache. “I bumped into an ex at the store. Went back to her place and-- you know.”

Your eyes fell back into your glass of water. “Oh.”

Javier picked at his short fingernails and another sigh left his lips. “Shit, I just--” he shook his head. “Made a mistake. A very big mistake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yeah, that would probably be for the best but how could he even begin to tell you what happened, when you were part of the problem? Javier figured it might even scare you away. “It doesn’t matter… she’s just…” Javier scratched his head. “She’s fine. It’s a ‘me’ problem, I think.”

The doorbell rang and Javier was grateful for the interruption. He paid the pizza delivery guy and sent the stone bake on the table.

“It looks good,” you smiled. “I’ve never had Colombian pizza.”

Javier’s jaw dropped. “You--?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Dulzura, how long have you lived here?”

“A month,” you grinned, with a mouthful of pizza. “Tastes good.”

After you’d finished eating, it had gotten pretty late. You and Javier exchanged small talk, learning little things about each other. You liked it a lot. He had always been an enigma to you, and even though he offered little information, it was still something, and you appreciated that a lot.

“It’s been a difficult day,” Javier noted, folding the pizza box and throwing it away to be recycled. “You should take my bed.”

“No,” you insisted. “I’m fine on the sofa. Honestly.”

Javier sighed. “I’m not going to let you sleep on the sofa any longer. You’ll get back ache.”

“Then I’ll just use your bath salts.” You smirked in retaliation. Javier laughed and you relished the way small crinkles appeared in the corner of his honey coloured eyes.

“Please, take my bed.” Javier said, staring at you pointedly. His eyebrows were raised and his strong arms were crossed over his chest.

You were about to argue further but truthfully, sleeping in a bed tonight sounded like exactly what you needed. You took a few steps closer to Javier, a pool of butterflies swirling in your stomach as you broke any distance between you both. You wanted to kiss his lips so desperately, taste him once again. It was only earlier today you’d had your lips wrapped around his cock, and yet, so much had happened in between then and now. You wondered if Javier was thinking about it too.

“Get some sleep, hermosa.”

Your eyes were completely trained on his soft pink lips. You wanted to kiss-- you just wanted to kiss him. Just one kiss. Just one-- you leaned in and shut your eyes, and neared him, closer and closer... but Javier stepped away.

And you felt your heart shatter in your chest.

“Nothing personal,” he told you. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Nothing personal? How were you meant to accept that? You had literally sucked him off just a few hours ago and now he wouldn’t even grace you with a kiss? Maybe Rosa was right; you shouldn’t form crushes on clients. Especially not Javier Peña. You’d only get hurt. You tugged on the sleeves of his button down shirt and balled your fingers into a fist, trying to ignore the pain in your chest.

Without uttering a word, not even a ‘goodnight’, you sulked away and into his bedroom.

Javier wanted to shout out. He didn’t want you to be mad at him, or even upset. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. It took him all the strength he could muster to deny you of that kiss. Your perfect lips looked so soft and delicate and if Javier could have it his way, he would’ve taken you in that very moment.

But you were more than just a sex worker now. You were a compliance in the hunt to catch Escobar -- and he had to be careful. No matter what, he couldn’t risk losing track of the bigger picture.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal ��@kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics @jade10077 @dodgerandevans

PIFTL taglist in replies! Let me know if you wish to be added to either taglist Xx

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javi pena #javi pena x reader #javier pena smut #pedro pascal smut #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #narcos

200 notes · View notes

monsterfloofs · 3 years

Text

Demon (Oren) x Anonymous Reader Part II (Sfw)

(AHHHH Here we are, part two is finally here! I hope you enjoy it and thank you for all your kind words on part one and your patience! (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

Oren takes a sip from his teacup, peeking at his brother Wyrn who was sitting across the table stirring his tea. It was normal for them to meet every once a week and enjoy tea together. The two youngest siblings had always been very close. “Is there. . . Something on your mind?” Oren asks sweetly. Wyrn was usually a quiet creature by nature, and a day dreamer. He was always lost in thought thinking about something, but today he was more distracted than usual. Wyrn blinks and looks up, frowning lightly. "You haven't told them yet have you?" He asks, the point blank assumption making Oren wince as if stung.

Oren's face turns pink as he flusters, "N-no! I have not." He looks away, fussing with his vest and bow time. “I didn’t think it would be the r-right time-- m-maybe I shouldn't. . ." He rambles nervously as Wyrn tilts his head, the star trinkets that decorate his horns tinkling as they bump into each other. "And why not?" the older sibling prompts gently. Oren fidgets, "Why? B-because--" He huffs cutely, his mouth wavering, "Because," Wyrn finishes the sentence without batting an eye. "They're human?"

"I don't see why you're so worried." Wyrn muses, his eyelids drooping as he raises his cup to his lips. "It is obvious they like you, and plain enough to see, that you like them as well. It wouldn’t hurt to invite them to go on an outing with you, perhaps go to the festival together. Go and enjoy it when all the work is finished." Oren turns his cup in his hands, his pink and yellow eyes drooping. "It’s not that easy you know. I d-don’t have that kind of confidence and I have my worries. . . o-of course. What if I deeply embarrass them? Who would want to, I mean, be with someone like. . ." He trails off and Wyrn raises an eyebrow.

". . .You're afraid of hurting them accidentally, or something to that effect?"

Oren slowly nods, his eyes wandering around the room refusing to look across the table. "Humans are fragile, a-and I don't wish to hurt anyone," He whispers fearfully. "Let alone-- I. . . I could never forgive myself i-if--" Oren his shoulders shrugging up as he stares transfixed into space. His hands shake as he continues to turn the cup in his hands.

"I think you're worrying too much,” Wyrn says with a soft sigh, “You are not one to be careless, and as your brother, who has known you for almost five hundred years now. I can assure you, you will treat them as if they are royalty,” Oren fidgets more, his cheeks turning pinker and pinker from his brother's words. “I wish I could be more like you,” Oren laughs weakly, “You are rarely bothered by such worries.” Wyrn’s eyes soften, and he gives a light smile. “Ah. . . but there you are wrong, I most certainly am. I am just very good at hiding it.” Oren perks up before giving a wobbly smile, “I say this is the perfect opportunity to ask them to go with you and see the flowers,” Wyrn advises, “Both of you have been working hard, so it is only natural you both should go see what you have been working so hard to create.”

Oren was still busy with his brother while you were running about doing your usual chores. Still planning for the festival meant that you had been very busy. You had help of course, and Oren had been more than accommodating as the two of you had tried to puzzle out the staffing, vendors and all the little problems that had cropped up along the way.

It had been four months since you first had begun to discuss preparations for a festival with Oren. The floral festival was almost upon you, there were a few last ends to tie up, but soon the main street will be bursting with vendors. The streets soon to be lined with the colorful flowers that had been so carefully grown. You gave a soft sigh of relief, not that you hadn’t anticipated all this work, but you would be happy when it would finally take place and you could go back to your lighter routine. You pause in the doorway, your eyes flitting over the contents of his library, papers scattered all over the table. A slow breath aching out of your lungs as you stoop to gather a fallen piece of paper.

There was one thing you would miss when this was over though, despite how hectic things had been. You felt you had gotten really close to him as you had been working on a project together. This was the first time you felt he had slowly started to become less nervous around you. There was always this underlying sense of caution in the way he did little things. Stepping around you and keeping a polite distance, but you had seen this demeanor start to melt over these past weeks. Even if it was just a little glimpse, it was something you really had welcomed with open arms.

You reached up and slipped the papers up onto the table, lost in your thoughts. You weren’t really sure how you felt exactly. It was a warm feeling that was hard to describe, whenever you thought your mind could get a grasp on it, it would slip from your fingers. Perhaps, you just wanted him to be happy, and not be so nervous. As you walk around you spot a rumpled blanket set on one of the couches and you realize that there is a soft smile that slowly spreads across your face.

He must have stayed up late going over the last little details papers. Your eyes turn quickly away and you laugh awkwardly to yourself. Running a hand through your hair, trying to focus on cleaning and less on your thoughts. You spot one of his large books, looking it over before you square your shoulders. He would be upset if he knew you were trying to lift it, but it’s place on the shelf was only a short walk away and at your height. You huff shuffling over to the shelf with the book in tow, lifting it up and carefully sliding it into place. You grin triumphantly and dust your hands before you pause your expression faltering. A large shadow blocking out an intimidating shape around you.

“Well, hello there.”

That wasn’t a familiar voice, and so you quickly turn around. Your head and eyes slowly travel upwards over the large demon towering over you. He had dark slate colored skin, and huge ribbed horns. Luminous purple eyes bored down on you. Your mouth opening but no words coming out. You knew what the other district leaders looked like, as you would see them every once in a blue moon. . . but you’ve never seen anyone like him before, he was hulking, easily bigger than Oren. . . And since there were no other giant demons you knew of, that could only mean. . . this must be Deimos. The oldest brother of the five, the one who was vicious and who was supposedly locked away.

There were so many rumors abound since no one had ever seen him, apart from his brothers. And here you were, feeling your very bones quavering underneath your skin. Trying not to tremble as you stared up at him wide eyed. “H-H-Hello--” You managed to mumble.

He grins widely at you in amusement, stooping on one knee, to kneel in front of you, “I didn’t know my brother had any humans on his staff. . . let me get a good look at you.”

You were close enough to see his pupils dilate and you take a nervous step backwards, your breath catching in your throat. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” His grins at you. You can vaguely hear Oren’s voice unusually high as he calls your name. You blink your eyes, snapping out of your trance and turning your head, to see Oren, hurry to your side. “D-D-Deimos! I-I- What brings you here?” Deimos voice rumbles with a deep chuckle, and it makes your hair stand on end. “Can’t I see my youngest brother?” Oren very carefully scoots you behind him as he gives a weak smile. Deimos’ clawed hand lands between Oren’s horns, teasingly wobbling Oren's head back and forth. You don’t have to see Oren’s expression to know that he’s extremely nervous. Deimos grins wickedly and rolls his eyes, “Jus’ checking up on my favorite little brother! You haven’t visited me in a while! So I thought I might as well get some air! It ain’t like I’m locked up in there,” His grins wider thumbing the thick metal collar around his neck teasingly. “And what have we got here? No one told me you got a new assistant! I’ve been out of the loop for so long!” Oren stiffens, “Ah y-yes. . .” He begins to wring his hands nervously. “I th-thought it w-would be helpful for multiple r-reasons.” Deimos raises his eyebrows, and Oren quickly looks down, bumbling awkwardly over his words.

Deimos snorts, shaking his head in amusement. "You don't have to explain, just curious is all." Oren swallows hard and nods shakily, not meeting the eyes of the taller demon. Deimos smirks, looking over his brother before his eyes shift to stare intently at you. His grin widening. "Well. . . I can see you two must be busy~ But dear brother, you must come visit me soon, it gets so lonely being so far away from my siblings." He purrs and chuckles darkly. "I do hope you bring the little one with you. I am eager to know all about this new arrangement. . ."

Oren stiffens as a tremble goes through him, but he keeps his eyes down. His face turning red and blotchy. He stays frozen until he is sure Deimos has left, then he visibly droops. Putting a hand over his heart and giving a shaky sigh.

“That was. . . Deimos. . . ?” Your voice came out softer than you had expected. Oren flusters giving a little wince. “Ah, y-yes. . . That w-was certainly unexpected w-wasn’t it?” He gives a sweet wobbly smile, “He can be a l-little intense, honestly if I had known he was going to visit. . . I would have let you go home.” He rubs his shoulder, shrugging up nervously. “That was v-very strange, I would have expected some s-sort of summons. . .” You nod, biting your lip, “But d-don’t worry!” Oren squeaks quickly, “H-He d-doesn’t s-stop b-by often-- I-it s-surprised me t-too.”

He didn't mention the last thing Deimos had said before he left. . . but you were all too happy to forget about it. Those violet eyes boring into you made your skin crawl. “Would you like me to make you some tea. . . ?” Oren blinks a couple of times, tugging out a handkercheif and mopping his face. “Th-th-that s-s-sounds quite l-lovely actually-- Ahhhh-- what am I saying!” He closes his eyes shut and shakes his head, “I’m n-not going to have you go th-through that t-trouble for m-m-me!” A determined look crosses your face, and you turn on your heels. “It’s not trouble at all!” You call over your shoulder, “I’ll be right back!” Oren twitches, his tail looping nervously around his ankle.

"B-b-but-- Ahhhh-- Th-They’re gone already--” He presses his hands to his face in utter embarrassment, he is literally the bigger person here-- he should have done it ahhhhhhhhh!

You were all too happy to give yourself something else to do. Giving a small sigh as you wait for the kettle to boil. “Jeeze. . ." You mumble to yourself, "That poor boy looked like he was about to fall apart. That must be one intimidating sibling." At least you can make him some tea. That always seemed to help calm his nerves, well that and his terrible addiction to sweets. You laugh quietly, there it is-- that feeling again. You rest a hand to your cheek, “One way or another he is going to have to learn to accept my help,” You say out loud. “After all, we. . . we’re a team.” You shift, crossing your arms and you can feel your cheeks raise with warmth. Thinking quietly to yourself until you hear the water start to boil.

You are careful to take the kettle back to the library, holding onto it with two hands wrapped in oven mitts. “I’m back!” You call out, finding Oren sitting at the table looking nervous, he is quick to stand up and take the kettle from you. Hurrying to pour the hot water into two cups and busy himself with preparing the tea. “I’m so sorry--” He repeats shakily,

“For what?” You ask, scrambling to your seat and beaming. “It wasn’t a big deal! Besides I offered! I can’t have you doing my work! I’m your assistant after all!” You stretch your arms over your head, before letting your hands sink onto the table. “You are so self sufficiant, there’s not much I can do for you--” You cut yourself off quickly, “Ah shoot-- I’m s-sorry me and my big mouth.” Oren looks at you sadly before he looks down. “Really I didn’t mean,” You try to say quickly but he cuts you off, “I-it’s alright.” His eyes glance around the room before he smiles gently, “I- er. . . know. . . I just. . . I just.” He breathes deeply, “I do not want to be a bother to you.” The corner of your mouth curls up into a lopsided smile, “But sir, that’s my job? I mean other than fetching papers or little tasks, I sincerely want to help you.” You watch his eyebrows lift sadly, expecting another apology.

Oren takes a few deep shakey breaths, “Ah-- Well I--" He nervously burbles, "Th-There has been something I have been meaning t-to ask. . .”

You stand overlooking the festival, a cool wind touselling your hair. You lift your face up into the breeze and enjoy the peaceful moment. Wearing your best outfit for the festival, your hands tentatively picking at your clothes to make sure they were pristine. You hear Oren stutter your name and you turn around. “Y-y-you look lovely,” He stammers shyly. You smile at him and hold out your hand, “Ready to go look around?”

His hand pauses mid-motion, before his clawed fingers carefully fold over your hand.

Orens face turns bright red but he laughs in spite of himself. "I-is. . . is this alright? I mean-- I-- you're not--?" You smile up at him and shake your head. Oren squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before his pink eyes slowly open. His mouth wobbles as he carefully fixes the silk flower on his blazer with his free hand. The two of you walk down the steps of his library into the city street.

It was beautiful, a rainbow of colors as far as the eye can see. You smile, watching the faces of the people as they stop to take in the sights. Children holding hands and pointing out the carefully sculpted arrangement of fragile yellow stars that adorned the fountain in the center of town.

As the two of you traverse the grounds there is a softly swishing tail from a figure in the distance. Wyrn smiles warmly as he watches the two of you, holding a bouquet of blue and white flowers carefully nestled against his shoulder. “Getting along well I see,” He muses, “Good, good.” He casts one last smile over his shoulder as he pays for the bouquet. Giving the shopkeeper a gentle nod before making his way out of town square.

Part 1

#monster x human #monster x reader #exophilia #fluff #sfw #demon x reader #demon x human

95 notes · View notes

miraculousluvbug · 2 years

Text

WINGLESS | Ch. 11

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: So the cat's out of the bag and the milk's been spilled and it kind of feels like the sky is falling, but at least these three doofuses have each other.

Murder was the only thing on Alya’s mind after Chat Noir’s detransformation left behind one Adrien Agreste. In fact, she had never wanted to murder anyone so badly. Not even Chloe.

But the “Guardian” Marinette spoke of? The one who chose two kids from the same school and forced them to keep secrets from everyone they loved and who loved them? The one who pressured them into being child soldiers before their brains were fully developed with crap about being “chosen?” Who put the fate of Paris in the hands of two adolescents not even allowed inside the R-rated section at a movie rental but were apparently allowed to fight until they were bruised, battered, and traumatized?

Yeah, she was willing to go to jail for manslaughter.

Her heart broke for Marinette, whose biggest problem should have been whether she completed her history report on time or if she was going to be able to parallel park for her driver’s test without bumping an unsuspecting car, not if her choice to love and be loved led to the apocalypse.

“I cannot wait to strangle that Hawaiian-shirt-loving Master of Unnecessary Manipulation.”

On the other side of the camera, Adrien was sweating buckets. Alya just saw him detransform! Not even one person was supposed to know, but now two people knew?! And why did she want to strangle a Hawaiian-shirt-loving Master--

“Wait--” Adrien said, eyebrows furrowed as his single brain cell tried to fit a square block in the circle slot of a shape puzzle. He only knew one Hawaiian-shirt-loving Master, but he didn’t think Alya should know about him.

Having recovered from his shock and utterly lacking the ability to read the room, Nino clapped a hand on Adrien’s shoulder and squeezed. “Dude, this is so cool! I can’t believe we’ve been fighting crime together this whole time!”

“NINO!” Alya protested to deaf ears from the laptop.

Adrien gulped. “We?” He surveyed Nino from head to toe once more, taking in his Rena Rouge pajamas with fresh eyes. The Rena Rouge posters plastering his walls were suddenly searing into his retinas. Can the Miraculous change your gender? he pondered.

The devil worked hard, but his one brain cell worked harder.

“Oh, right. I forgot Chat doesn’t know. I’m Carapace, dude!”

Adrien whipped his head so fast he felt faint. Nino grinned at him dopily from beneath the spots in his vision, not a single hint of regret at revealing his secret marring his features. On the contrary, he seemed extremely pleased with himself.

“Y-you’re Carapace?” Adrien’s eyes were blown so wide Alya wondered if they could get any bigger, and that was saying something from the other side of a screen.

While Adrien was stunned speechless by the news, the effects of sharing such intimate secrets among his closest friends settled over him like a comfort blanket until the shock melted into a sweet contentedness, one as velvety and rich as a dark chocolate ganache.

“You’re Carapace,” Adrien sighed, crushing Nino in a hug.

“And you’re that flirty cat throwing himself into danger all the time,” Nino quipped. ��Here, I thought you were an innocent duckling. My little baby’s got game!” As the two chuckled, Adrien caught a glimpse of an agitated Alya from over Nino’s shoulder.

Is she disappointed that one of her heroes is just me? he asked himself, his smile giving way to a frown.

Wait.

Alya didn’t look at all surprised by the news that her own boyfriend was a superhero.

Had she already known?

Images of a turtle and fox hero snuggling up to each other once or twice when they thought no one was looking played in his mind like a film reel. Adrien released Nino, not quite taking his eyes off the redhead. “You know, I always thought Carapace and Rena Rouge had a thing going on, but that’s not possible because you and Alya--”

As Adrien stared at Alya, her agitation resolving to worry in the creasing of her brow and pursing of her lips, the recognition bumbled into place, so much slower and clumsier than it had with Nino’s clean confession. His brain had to fight the barrier of the Miraculous magic and--he wasn’t gonna lie--it kind of hurt what with the way his synapses fired and his eyes strained to mentally peel away a magical mask from the image of Rena Rouge in his mind. Rena’s hair was a much more vivid red-orange, her hairstyle way more intricate than Alya’s everyday curls, and Adrien even had to wonder if her lips changed colors when transformed, but . . .

Well, true as the sky was blue, so too was the fact that the girl staring back at him from the computer screen was his other teammate.

“You’re Rena Rouge.”

Alya rubbed the temples of her forehead in an attempt to dissuade the oncoming tension headache. She was counting her lucky ladybugs that Marinette was out of the house, not even wanting to imagine how different this conversation could have gone had she been there. Perhaps she’d serve a plate full of supernova-level panic attacks with a side of catastrophizing and a sprig of heroic guilt for good measure.

“Nino,” she sighed. “The point of a secret identity is to keep it secret. Because, you know--” she waved her hands around wildly and scrunched her nose, reminding Adrien of someone else he knew “--Shadow Moth!”

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t about to lie to my best bud after he shared his alter ego with me.”

“You’re Rena Rouge,” Adrien whispered dazedly, pointing at Alya first, then Nino, “and you’re Carapace.” He looked his friend up and down again, recalling his own cache of Ladybug-themed nightwear hiding in his armoire. “Well, that explains the pajamas. You know each other’s identities. You’re dating and you know each other’s identities.”

He felt like his legs were going to stop working any second then. He backed away until his calves hit Nino’s bed board and promptly fell back onto the mattress.

“Ladybug let you know each other’s identities.”

Plagg, who had stayed out of sight for the duration of this conversation, drifted to Adrien’s lap and curled up on his thigh. Adrien absentmindedly stroked his kwami to calm himself, but he abruptly stopped when another realization crashed down on him with the full force of an akumatized Tom Dupain-Cheng.

“If you’re Rena Rouge, then you know who Ladybug is,” Adrien said, his voice sounding far away even to himself.

Nino’s eyes bulged out of his sockets. “You know Ladybug’s identity?!” he shouted before clapping his hands over his mouth, praying to Allah that none of his neighbors heard his outburst.

Alya could not pick up her jaw from the floor even if she had tried. The volume inside of this bus was astronomical. Secrets. Secrets spilled everywhere. This was The Office now, and her chili pot had spilled all over the floor. How could she even begin to salvage this situation? Was Bunnyx going to pop out of her burrow hole any time soon? Was this going to lead to Chat Blanc again somehow? Right in front of her salad?!

With a start, Alya noticed both boys had been staring at her and she had yet to answer them. Her head was spinning. She tried to swallow her nervousness and silently wished the Earth would swallow her instead. “Yes,” she eventually confirmed, voice low. She spoke slowly, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. “I do, and it’s not my secret to share.”

Adrien bore a pained expression, and yet again, Alya wanted to commit murder.

Suddenly, the blonde boy jumped to his feet and approached the computer screen in three short strides before placing his hands firmly on the desk and inspecting Alya’s background. “Wait, Alya, you’re in Marinette’s room.”

Alya wanted to die.

“Is Marinette there?” Adrien asked her. “Did she hear everything? Does she know I’m Chat Noir?”

Alya opened her mouth to respond but paused long enough to observe the speck of desire in his eyes. If she could sense his affection for Marinette from the other side of this screen, she speculated what she might have been able to pick up on had they been having this conversation in person. And, well, if there were dials in her brain labeled “Supportive Friend” and “Meddling Friend,” she imagined a mini Alya in her cranial cavity cranking the latter up a couple hundred notches.

She leaned forward, a smirk on her lips and her eyes hooded just a tad. “Why? Do you want her to know you’re Chat Noir, balcony boy?” Alya couldn’t help retorting, waggling her eyebrows. His reaction was immediate.

So he’s not as dense as I thought.

He blushed and tried to hide his cheeks in the collar of his shirt. Alya stifled a laugh. “Oh, yeah. She told me all about your candlelit balcony meant for Ladybug.”

“Smooth,” Nino complimented.

The praise would have boosted Adrien’s ego had it not been for one microscopic, little detail. “It didn’t work,” Adrien muttered, making Alya want to strangle Master Fu once more. For the love of all that was Holy, these two were pining after each other and she wanted to frickin’ yeet herself off a building.

She sighed. “To answer your question: no. My girl’s not here.”

Adrien tried to hide his disappointment, but Alya saw right through him.

They all sat in silence, each member of the team working through their own feelings about the revelations thrust upon them that night.

Adrien turned his back and headed for the door. “Plagg, claws out.”

“Wait, bro, you’re leaving?”

“I came here to tell you I’m Chat Noir. I did that. I wasn’t expecting Alya to know, too. I wasn’t expecting you to be Carapace. I wasn’t expecting Alya to be the person Ladybug trusted with her identity over me. And honestly?” He spared a glance at her over his shoulder. He could feel the sympathy coming off her in waves through the screen. He offered her a smile, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes or touch his heart, but it would have to be enough for now. “I don’t even know if I have the energy to be jealous over that because Alya’s a great friend.”

Thanks, sunshine. You’ll think I’m a superb friend after I’m done working my magic, Alya promised him with the resolve of a vengeful Best Friend (which is a very strong resolve indeed).

“Anyways, I’m pretty exhausted. I just hope Lila’s off the premises by the time I get home.”

Alya’s feathers ruffled. “Lila?”

Chat Noir grimaced. “Yeah. She was chatting up Father when I got home and . . . suffice it to say, the sight made me sick.”

“It’d make me sick, too,” Alya agreed. “Anti-Lila club, anyone?” Both boys tilted their heads at her like two Golden Retrievers. This was the first time either of them had ever heard Alya express distaste toward Lila.

“Wait, I thought you liked Lila. Marinette seemed to be the only one who saw through her lies.”

Alya cringed at that. “Well, some new information came my way that made me see the light, I guess. Like, say, she couldn’t possibly be best friends with Ladybug.”

“Tell me about it. Ladybug loathes her,” Chat Noir chuckled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Absolutely despises her.”

Nino felt like he was missing a large piece of this puzzle.

“You know, when Lila first came to town, she tried to tell me she was the owner of the fox Miraculous. She had a fake from the Gabriel line and everything. That was when Ladybug swooped in and told me she had been lying about their ‘friendship.’”

Nino still wasn’t following. “Lila was trying to impress Chat Noir?”

“Well, actually, I was Adrien me when that happened,” Chat replied, rubbing his neck in the same fashion he would have as the timid boy beneath the mask. Alya blinked. No wonder Marinette hadn’t pieced together his identity. It was bizarre seeing Chat Noir do that.

“So Ladybug didn’t want Lila impressing Adrien,” Nino surmised, nodding in approval. “Nice. Good for you, man.”

Chat Noir spluttered. “I don’t think it was like that at all. She just hates liars.”

“She must really hate being Ladybug then,” Nino mused aloud.

“Yeah . . .” Chat Noir trailed off, recalling his last meeting with Ladybug just a little under five hours ago.

“All of the secrets were too much. I think--I think I was depressed. I went to bed sad and woke up sad. Akumas were coming for me left and right. So I made the decision to tell Rena.”

Chat Noir had been so focused on the fact that Ladybug had shared her identity with someone other than him that he hadn’t really processed the why. Even as she told him that she trusted him, it didn’t line up with what he knew to be true: she had a habit of withholding information from him. And he couldn’t fathom why her default decision was always to leave him out of the loop. Would Ladybug have ever even told him that Rena knew had Alya not slipped up?

Unfortunately, he had no way of knowing since what was done was done. C’est la vie and all that. Yet, somehow, it always came back to that one fundamental difference between Adrien and Ladybug. Adrien adored his role as Chat Noir. His alter ego was the only freedom he had from his otherwise suffocating life. Ladybug was his only friend to know him without all the bells and whistles that followed the Agreste name. But did the girl behind the spots not feel the same way as him? Could she actually hate being Ladybug?

He supposed he would have to ask her.

When Chat Noir lifted his gaze from the floor, he discovered both of his friends watching him, patiently waiting. He half expected them to chastise him for wasting their time, but he had to remind himself that they weren’t Father and let the subsequent sorry dissolve on his tongue. Catching the hint that Chat was ready to depart, Nino escorted him to the balcony.

As Chat fiddled with the sliding glass door lock (clawed gloves really didn’t help with such coordinated tasks), Nino pulled him into a bear hug.

“Thanks for telling me, bro. I’m here for you, you know that.”

After a moment, Chat returned the embrace.

“I know.”

Reaching past Chat, Nino easily unlocked the sliding glass door for his best friend and watched with a proud smile as the Black Cat of Paris vaulted away into the night. The chilly night air sent shivers down Nino’s spine, so he was quick to close the door and robotically meandered back to his room, his girlfriend waiting for him on the screen. He sank into his computer chair and slid his hat over his face, allowing himself to simmer beneath its darkness for a beat or two.

“Sorry, Alya, but I’m a LadyNoir shipper now.”

Alya couldn’t have stopped the snort that came out of her even if she’d tried. “And what makes you say that?”

“Marinette’s my friend and all, but my boy has his sights set on the bug. I’ve gotta support him, you know? Bros before--” the unamused glare Alya had pinned on him burned a hole through his hat “--not bros.”

“Right. Well, don’t count my girl out yet. Why don’t you just get back to writing your script?”

And so he did. For the rest of their Skype call, the two heard from neither Marinette nor Adrien. Alya worked on a blog piece while Nino brainstormed his film idea, and all was relatively peaceful (well, as peaceful as it could be after finding out your best friend was a spandex-wearing cat boy).

That is, until Nino received a Discord message from Adrien.

22:47

adrienagreste

You’ll never believe who I just bumped into at the park

All alone

Talking to a Chat Noir doll

Nino cocked a brow. Wasn’t Adrien supposed to have gone straight home? Also, hadn’t Alya mentioned something about Marinette going to the park? In fact, he was in the middle of typing Marinette’s name when Adrien’s next text came in. And all this text contained was a single emoji . . .

Just now

adrienagreste

🐞

Who knew an emoji would be all it took?

“So you weren’t gonna tell me being an Adrienette shipper is being a LadyNoir shipper?” Nino spun to face Alya with the smuggest smirk on his lips and his arms folded pompously over his Rena Rouge pajama shirt.

Alya froze. Slowly, she craned her head toward the camera, abandoning her article completely. The two of them stared at each other as well as one could through a screen, sizing the other up, waiting to see who would make the first move. Nino already started the game, but now it was Alya’s choice how to play.

Knowing Nino, however, she knew that hubris in his shoulders and that gleam in his eye meant her efforts would be futile. The mask already slipped off Ladybug in his mind, and there was literally no possible way for her to tie it back on. She slumped.

“How did you figure it out?”

Nino whooped and spun himself around in his rolly chair. “These two idiots have got it so bad for each other and they don’t even know it! This is awesome. It’s like a--a love triangle! No, wait . . . A love square!”

Suddenly, he slammed his hand on his desk. The chair immediately stopped spinning. “Alya, it’s a love square.”

“I know.”

Nino dropped his head onto his table like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Oh, this ain’t it, chief. They could’ve known each other this whole friggin’ time, Alya. Whoever did this is a monster, straight up. Who’d do this to ’em? To our sweet, little hopeless romantic ducklings? Only a monster!” he wailed.

“There, there,” Alya offered, aware that Nino must be cycling through the same realizations she had just thirty minutes ago after learning Adrien was Chat Noir. She would have been patting his back had they been in the same room.

“Wait. Why don’t we just tell them?” Nino sat up, and Alya was surprised to find actual wetness on his cheeks. Upon seeing the look on Alya’s face, he continued, “We could do it. We could just tell them!”

Alya shook her head. “They’re fighting a guy who infects your mind and manipulates you. Chat Noir throws himself in the line of fire all the time, and he’s even been mind controlled to fight her. Marinette says if either one of them knew who the other was and Shadow Moth akumatized them, he would be able to get both their Miraculous.”

She considered telling Nino about Chat Blanc, but that experience was traumatizing enough for Marinette. The least her best friend deserved was control over who knew about it. Besides, the story wasn’t really Alya’s to tell. After a moment, she added, “And no one even knows what he plans to do with them.”

“Something evil, I bet.”

“Probably.” Alya sighed.

“But, Alya . . . now we know both their identities.”

Nino didn’t finish his question, but the implication hung heavy in the air, nonetheless. So what if we get akumatized?

Alya smirked, a deadly thing when cast in his direction. “I’ve broken out of an akuma’s control before.”

Nino’s jaw dropped to the floor. “You have?!”

“Mhm. Shadow Moo has nothing on your girl,” Alya contended, puffing out her chest in a superhero pose. The stars in Nino’s eyes that were placed there by the sheer awesomeness of his girlfriend sparkled.

“You must teach me your ways, Master Alya.”

They both chuckled and settled back into their chairs, letting a comfortable silence wash over them. When Nino spoke again, his voice was small, tentative.

“Still . . . I wish we could tell them.”

Alya silently watched her boyfriend pause to compose himself as if he were taking a bomb that could blow up the entire world and carefully placing it into a microwave to prevent an explosion. It would always be there, the bomb, reminding him to watch where he stepped lest he knock the microwave over and bring his friends down with him, but now? Now, it was manageable. Languidly, he returned to his script.

Alya followed his example, turning her attention back to her abandoned article but not before she confided, “Me, too, Nino.”

Although she hadn’t meant to learn Chat Noir’s secret identity, she didn’t have it in her to regret her slow fingers, to regret the spilling of their chili pot. Like fate, it had led to this, to her and her boyfriend sharing in the weight that Marinette and Adrien had been carrying on their shoulders alone for so long now. And even if they didn’t know they weren’t alone anymore, even if Alya and Nino were just supporting them from behind like little weight-spotter fairies . . .

Alya didn’t regret it, not one little bit.

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

23:14

ladyblogger

So u wanna 🔪 who did this to them??

DJLahiffe

ADSHF

WAIT

hol up

u kno eho made them keep their identities secret??? 👀

who*

ladyblogger

black_lady_chewing_with_knife.gif

Eye do

DJLahiffe

kombucha_girl.gif

i’m listening, babe

ladyblogger

Mhmm

And how do i kno u have it in u?

It’s an old man

Whose entire wardrobe is Hawaiian button-ups

DJLahiffe

say less

i’ll hide the body

🧍🏽‍♂️

—–

Heya! Wow! Two chapters in one day :D Only for you, dear reader ❤ Check out my Instagram for Wingless updates. I’m also posting pieces of a Wingless cover with each chapter update! We’re so close to finishing.

(11/?) Previous | Next

30 notes · View notes

littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 7

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Maybe you should have tried harder, or held onto him tighter. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling this gaping hole in your chest where your heart used to beat.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,297

Warnings: Description of a dead body, major character death (but technically you already know it happened, just not how it did...so...), heartbreak, major angst, a bit of fluff at the end, a couple familiar faces may or may not show up

Author Note: Seriously, you all are the best readers I could ever hope to have. The response to Part 6 was unbelievable and I can’t thank everyone enough for the support, especially when I continue to be evil and end the segments with such horrible cliffhangers.

Links to Part 1 and Part 6 and Part 8

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Maker, your head hurts.

It throbs angrily as if a mudhorn has impaled your brain on its horn. In fact, your whole body feels like one giant bruise. Grimacing, you take a deep breath, only to enter a coughing fit when you inhale a lungful of smoke.

Cracking an eye open, panic seizes you when all you see is smoke. Ash gray and thick, it obscures your immediate surroundings from view. You can’t even tell if it’s night or day.

What the kriff is going on?

Swallowing against the dryness of your throat, you slowly sit up and feel pieces of grit and rubble dig into the tender flesh of your palms. A quick look shows no blood, soulmate mark unaffected, and you sigh a quiet breath of relief. But then worry starts to sink in when you realize you can’t remember where you are or what knocked you unconscious. Before you can spiral into a panic attack, the ground beneath you starts to tremble, causing the tiny fragments of gravel to wildly bounce around.

A shrill metallic screech pierces your ears followed immediately by a massive burst of vibrant orange flames erupting in the distance. You yelp, hastily pushing yourself onto your feet and start to run in the opposite direction, ignoring the howl of protest from your aching body.

You can’t even see two steps in front of you, effectively ruining your attempt at a quick escape as you clumsily skirt around piles of debris that appear out of the smoke and threaten to block your way. Every breath is a wheeze, lungs making it painfully clear they cannot draw in enough oxygen from the smoky atmosphere to support your chosen pace. But the mere thought of dying here in this nightmarish inferno is enough to urge you to keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other, even as it simultaneously creates a tight, anxious knot in your stomach.

Another explosion detonates behind you. The ground quakes and groans, cracks appearing at an alarming rate as if the planet itself is being torn apart by the chaos. Your foot catches on one of the rifts, eliciting a cry of shock to tear itself out of your throat when you’re unable to reclaim your balance and plummet forward.

Except it’s not the ground that rises up to meet you.

No.

It’s a body.

A dead body, to be precise. Burnt to a blackened crisp, as if the person had been dropped directly into a sun. Their skeletal features are frozen in an expression of torture, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. The stench of their seared flesh overwhelms your nostrils and ingrains itself in your brain, ensuring you’ll never forget the horrific smell for the rest of your lifetime.

Whimpering, you scramble backwards, curling your legs tight against your heaving chest. You look around, bile rising in your throat when you glimpse through the sea of smoke more charred corpses surrounding you. It’s as if you’ve stumbled upon a mass grave, and again the thought crosses your mind: what the kriff is going on?

You stand up, not wanting to linger another second in their presence, and continue moving forward, each footstep slow and careful as you maneuver around the bodies. The smoke is marginally thinner the further away you move from the fiery blasts, just enough for you to make out the faint outlines of collapsed buildings on either side of you, homes of families destroyed for reasons you don’t understand. Gut instinct keeps insisting that everything you’re seeing is wrong, that none of this destruction and carnage should have ever happened.

Again, you attempt to string together your memories, forcing your brain to comply despite the pounding ache it produces in your temples. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you had a concussion.

Details slowly start coming to mind, little and meaningless by themselves, but when put together form a grander picture. You came here to visit your best friend. ‘Here’ being a Mid-Rim planet with a ridiculously long and multisyllabic name you couldn’t pronounce then, and your poor head certainly can’t identify now. The transport flight had been long and you’d arrived later than anticipated, verging on late afternoon when you’d stepped off the craft.

On your way to your friend’s house, the sun had abruptly gone dark. Everyone had stopped to look to the sky, yourself included. A light cruiser, kite-shaped and unmistakable, hovered directly overhead. Its presence was ominous, evoking the crowd of civilian spectators to murmur amongst themselves.

Then its weapons unleashed a storm of hellfire.

Oh, Maker. How could you have ever forgotten the screams?

You’re pulled out of your dismal thoughts by the appearance of a dark shape ahead of you, its outline standing out as noticeably different than the surrounding rubble. Gradually, your brain starts to distinguish human features: a head, broad shoulders and limbs.

It also occurs to you that they’re coming straight at you.

Before you can decide whether to flee or fight or do anything remotely conducive to increasing your odds of survival, the human-shaped blur barrels straight into you, hitting you with such force you instinctively grip onto their coat, just above their wrists, to keep from falling backwards. The feather-light grazing of the edge of your palm against their skin elicits a buzz of shocking warmth, as if you’ve touched a live wire instead of flesh.

It’s you, the thought pops into your head unprompted, like a fact you’ve always known since you were born. The feeling is breathtaking and electric, a lightning bolt striking the center of your heart. Every cell in your body is radiating exuberance and cheering: it’s you, it’s you, it’s you! The one I’ve been waiting for!

You’re pushed sideways, a small cry of surprise escaping your lips.

“Get out of my way.” It’s a masculine voice, sharp with impatience yet it wraps itself around your heart all the same. He doesn’t spare you a second glance as he continues heading in the direction you’ve been coming from.

“Wait,” you protest, because it’s not supposed to be like this. You’ve started shaking, from adrenaline or the shock of his dismissal, you’re not sure.

The man pauses, keeping his back facing you. His dark clothes are conspicuously clean, and you can’t help comparing them to your own which are sooty and torn in places. For the second time, your gut instinct is telling you something is wrong, but this time you ignore it in favor of listening to the screaming of your heart urging you to never let this man out of your sight.

“We’re soulmates,” you say, desperate for him to stay.

His fingers curl into fists, the only forewarning you have before he snaps your heart in half as he mutters, “You could never be my soulmate.”

And then you’re watching as he disappears into the smoke, not once looking back to gauge the aftermath of his rejection. You had always been a hopeless romantic, dreaming that you and your soulmate would meet and live a long, happy life together until Death came to reap your souls. In less than thirty seconds, your soulmate had just cruelly crushed those dreams without either of you exchanging names or seeing each other’s faces.

Maybe you should have tried harder, or held onto him tighter. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling this gaping hole in your chest where your heart used to beat.

Acting on impulse, you start running after him. If you can just have a second chance to make a better impression, maybe you can change his mind. Maybe you can convince him to accept you as his soulmate, agree to take your hand and never let go. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll fall in love with you, deeply and profoundly, just like every soulmate pairing you’ve heard about.

With a head full of maybes, you don’t even hear the bomb drop.

It hits the ground with a resounding thud, and then your world is an explosion of red and orange heat, consuming you whole without leaving behind any evidence you’d ever existed at all. Your vision shifts and blurs, memories of your lifetime flashing by too quickly to recognize each one, but through it all you hear a voice, his voice, echoing those dreadful words over and over again.

You could never be my soulmate. Never. Never. Never.

~~~

You wake up with a jolt, throat raw as if you really had been inhaling smoke. You’re drenched in sweat and you push away the heavy blanket covering you before realizing it is definitely not your blanket nor are you currently in your own bed. Looking around, panic begins to prickle along your nerve endings when you fail to recognize anything familiar about your location.

You’re in someone’s home, that much is obvious from the furnishings. The ceiling overhead is made of overlapping metal and is slightly rounded, reminding you of a cave or burrow. There is a lantern hanging on a nearby hook, but the light it emanates is dim compared to the sunshine pouring in from the four small, square-shaped windows cut into the wall behind you above the bed. The view through the windows is slightly blurry, but you can make out the blue sky and what you think is a corral of some kind.

Rubbing a hand over your face to wipe away the lingering exhaustion, you’re surprised when your hand encounters something rough covering the side of your forehead. A bandage. Strange, you must have hit your head somewhere—

The past comes back in flashes: Din confessing his feelings, touching his hand, the spark of warmth, falling unconscious on the floor.

Where is Din?

“You are awake.”

The voice is expressionless and mechanical in tone, stating the obvious. Even so, you jump, not having noticed the droid sitting in the far corner of the room during your initial survey. Its red sensors and dark colored plating would make it look menacing if not for the tray it clutches in its hands, balancing cups and a pitcher.

“I am IG-11,” the droid says as it approaches.

“IG?” you echo hoarsely, sitting up with alarm. “As in one of those assassin droids?”

“I have been reprogrammed as a nurse.” It considers you for a moment, internal mechanisms whirring, and then the tray is held out closer for you to reach. “Tea?”

Hesitantly, you pour yourself some and hold the cup with both hands as you take a sip. The tea is warm as it slides down your throat, flavorful and far more exotic than the kind you’ve tasted back home in Umbriel.

“Where am I?” you ask after you’ve swallowed two more gulps.

“Arvala-7.”

You blink, barely familiar with the name which only intensifies your worry about Din’s absence.

“Okay, but like, where exactly on Arvala-7?” you press, gesturing around the room. “How did I even get here?”

“Your current location is a moisture farm owned and operated by Kuiil,” IG-11 says, moving away to set the tray on a nearby table, though its head remains facing your direction. “Death brought you here unconscious with an injury to your central processing unit.”

“My central…” you trail off, squinting. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Yes. It was meant to put you at ease.”

“Right.” You nod to yourself, reaching a decision. Downing the last of your drink, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and make a move to stand. “This has been great, but I’ve really got to go find Death so—”

A wave of dizziness washes over you, forcing you to sit back down. Kriff, you think, closing your eyes until you’re certain you won’t be seeing double anymore.

“You won’t find Death here.” A new voice, crackling with age, informs you. His words are ominous, but his tone isn’t one of malice or ill-intent.

Turning, you see an Ugnaught approaching from the entrance of the house. He stops beside IG-11, green eyes peering at you from beneath bushy white eyebrows, but you don’t feel threatened by his nearness.

“I am Kuiil. Death entrusted me with looking after you until his return from Nevarro,” he says, sitting down upon a stool with his arms braced upon his knees. “You must continue to rest until you are well. I have spoken.”

You press a hand to your chest, feeling a pang of hurt at Din’s decision. “He left?”

“Death is bound by creed to the universe to reap the dead. Nothing, not even his soulmate, can be put before it.”

You choke on your spit. “Soulmate? We’re not—”

“Even if he had not told me,” Kuiil interrupts, unwilling to hear your dissuading opinion when he is certain of his own. “I would have known it from how he stubbornly stayed at your side and by how loathsome he was to leave you behind. In all my years, I have not seen him behave in such a twitterpated manner.”

“He…” Your voice wavers, torn between hopefulness and disbelief. “He really told you we’re soulmates?”

Kuiil, reaching towards the table for the pitcher of tea, pauses and slowly turns back to look at you. “You were unaware of your matched connection with Death? Did you two not touch hands as most fated pairs often do?”

Any reply you might have said falters when you look down at your hands in your lap. More specifically, your left hand. The one Din had grasped. The one that in your past life had brushed against your soulmate minutes before you died.

Right there in the middle of your palm, innocently gleaming like it’s always been there and therefore isn’t at all responsible for the rapid increase of your heartbeat, is a soulmate marking.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster

#my fic #death and an angel #din x you #din djarin x you #din x reader #Din Djarin #mandalorian x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #soulmate au #my writing

299 notes · View notes