#again posting late on tumbl :) and again pretend you have never seen this before and it is brand new wow what a great piece of new art clay

[theclaygolem]

Bepo *smiles wide*

[captainsophiestark]

Seasons of Love

Dick Grayson x Reader

Materlist - Taglist

Written for my Year of Olympians and part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023​ which features a ton of awesome creators and runs all year! Go check it out, and please pretend I actually posted this in April and not a month late lmao! Final semester of college is a hell of a time

Fandom: DC

Prompt: Demeter; The Seasons, Pigs, Cornucopia, Nature, Poppies

Summary: A LaLaLand-style series of glimpses into the lives of Dick Grayson and Y/N (without the LaLaLand angst).

Word Count: 4,678

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: This is my first time writing any DC, Dick Grayson included, so hopefully it’s good and true to character! He’s been one of my absolute faves for a long time, but I’ve just recently gotten the courage to write for him :)

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

LATE SUMMER

I smiled at the kids running around the various animal pens at the fair, smiles on their faces as they got up close and personal with all kinds of different creatures they'd never seen before. Working at the fair outside of Gotham every August was never a walk in the park–and usually included more than one instance of vomit-cleanup–but moments like this made it worth it.

Of course, my coworkers and I were keeping a close eye on everything to make sure the animals and kids were both safe. I was in the pen with the goats helping the kids feed them alfalfa, one of my favorite posts of all time. My reprieve in paradise was interrupted, however, when I heard someone frantically shouting my name.

I turned around to find one of my coworkers coming towards me, waving his hands in the air. He'd originally signed up to be on ticket duty, but had gotten moved to working with the animals thanks to some short-staffing issues. He'd made it clear multiple times he was well outside of his comfort zone, and although he'd been doing a fair job of rising to the occasion, this wasn't the first time he'd come running over in a panic.

I made eye contact and nodded at another coworker who came over to monitor the kids (both goats and humans), then stepped out of the pen to meet Andrew, panic still written all over his face. I took a deep breath and prepared to give him a calming speech, but he spoke again before I could.

"The Wayne kids just let the pigs out of the pen!" he cried.

I just stared at him blankly, trying to process, blinking stupidly.

"The who did what?"

"The Wayne kids!" he continued, still a little breathless. "Well, one or two of them at least. I was standing by the pen with the piglets that are racing in twenty minutes, and the little one managed to let them all out! I didn't notice until it was too late!"

"Okay, uh... I guess stay here."

With that, I started marching towards the pig pen, keeping an eye out for any sign of rampaging piglets. My brain screamed at me to process the "Wayne" part of Andrew's story, but I refused to let it. I needed to deal with the piglets first, regardless of whether the ones who'd let them out were part of the famous billionaire Gotham family.

When I got to the piglet pen, which was nestled just behind the bleachers where people would be able to watch the piglets run around a dirt track later, I found chaos. People were running and shouting all over the place, but the piglets were nowhere to be seen.

"Dami, you go around the left and I'll circle this way-"

"I am not helping you recapture them, Grayson."

"Dami-"

I started to turn to see who was shouting at the same time the shouting cut off, because the shouter ran straight into me like a freight train. We went tumbling to the ground in a heap, and suddenly I found myself staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Gotham's golden boy, Dick Grayson. He smiled at me, and I scowled in response.

"What were you thinking?" I demanded, rolling over and pushing him off me as I moved to stand up. He leapt to his feet and held a hand out to help me, but I ignored it. "Why on Earth would you let the piglets out?"

"I didn't!" he insisted, holding his hands up and looking at me with wide eyes. "My little brother saw them sitting in their pen and decided they needed to be liberated. I've never seen anyone successfully stand in the way of him helping an animal before."

I huffed, continuing to ignore Grayson's gorgeous, charming, easy smile.

"I know you probably don't have a lot of experience with it, but those pigs are treated perfectly well, and they were safe in their pen. Letting them out to run amok in the crowd is putting their well being at risk more than anything else in their lives."

"Tt."

I turned at the sound of an angry, disapproving noise from behind me, then had to do a double-take when I didn't immediately see the person responsible for it. Then, I looked down, and found the youngest Wayne child staring at me with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

"Father has spent enough time working to end the poor treatment of horses at race tracks for me to be unaware of how animals to be raced are treated."

I blinked a few times, honestly not sure how to react to this ten year old staring me down. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Dick Grayson step closer to stand next to me, but I ignored him. Instead, I crouched down to make myself eye level with Damian, the younger one.

"You're right," I said simply. He harrumphed in triumph, but then I continued. "About the horses, I mean. The way they're treated... it's unforgivable. My family and I have rescued any and all of them that we can, and the ones we've managed to save are actually over by the barn right now, being fed all the apples and oats they can eat by the adoring fairgoers."

Damian Wayne's left eyebrow ticked up, the only sign of surprise or approval at my words.

"These piglets, on the other hand, I can promise you are treated perfectly well. They only 'race' at the fair so people can cheer for cute animals. All they know is they're going for a run and then getting all kinds of food and treats afterwards. And honestly, letting them out in the middle of an inexperienced crowd of people is putting them in more danger than anything else in their normal, daily life."

Damian frowned a little, and he opened his mouth and closed it again a few times before finally speaking.

"I... did not intend for them to be in danger. I will return them to their pen."

"It's alright. You were trying to do a good thing for some animals, I could never fault you for that. C'mon, I'll help you get them back."

He nodded, then turned sharply on his heel and set off with purpose in the direction of commotion from fairgoers. I paused to straighten and smiled after him.

"That was really sweet, how you handled that." I turned to see Dick Grayson looking at me, the first serious expression I'd seen from him on his face. "Dami's a good kid, but he's hard on himself about mistakes. Thank you for handling that the way you did."

I gave him a small smile. "Of course. Any animal lover is a friend of mine. I know I literally just met him, but... I could tell he's a good kid."

We shared a smile at that, a more honest and genuine one than the million-watt grin I'd seen from him before. I held his gaze for a second, then sighed and turned back to look at the rest of the fair.

"Alright, enough talking. Let's go catch some piglets."

To my surprise, Grayson actually wasn't half bad at wrangling piglets. He, Damian, and I managed to work well as a team to get each of the little escapees safely back into their pens, and once the task was complete, I left Damian in charge of giving the piglets some treats for their ordeals.

"That was harder than I thought it was going to be," said Dick, coming to stand beside me at the edge of the pen as we watched Damian and the piglets together.

"Yeah, they're quick little buggers. Makes them good racers though."

Dick shot me a smile, and this time, I couldn't help another one spreading across my face too.

"So... this is kind of a subject change, but what are the odds you'd say yes if I asked you to dinner sometime?"

I turned to face him fully now, eyebrows raised. He just grinned back at me.

"You're asking me on a date?"

"Sure am."

"...Alright, sure. You owe me dinner anyway after showing up at my fair and releasing all my piglets."

He laughed. "Fair enough. How does seven o'clock the first night after the end of the fair sound?"

I smiled. "Sounds perfect."

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

FALL

"You okay? You look like you're about to have a heart attack."

I snapped myself out of my death stare with the cornucopia in the center of the table to face my boyfriend with a vague smile.

"I'm fine," I insisted, waving off his concerns. Dick and I had been dating for a few months now, after meeting at the county fair. It had been absolutely amazing, and I'd gotten to meet a few more of his family members besides Damian since then, all of whom had been just as lovely. Now, however, we were sitting at the dinner table in Wayne Manor for Thanksgiving, and any minute now I'd be thrown into the full Wayne family craziness for the first time.

To say I was nervous would be the understatement of the century.

"Don't worry," said Dick, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "They're going to love you."

I didn't respond, instead taking a second for a deep breath and a last attempt at calming my nerves. Then, the door to the dining room flew open, and the room devolved into chaos.

I got momentarily swept under in the sudden noise, excitement, and energy as the rest of the Wayne kids moved into the room. A second later, Alfred bustled in carrying armfuls of dishes. A few of the kids moved to help him carry in the rest, but only Cassandra and Duke, neither of whom I'd gotten to know very well yet, were actually trusted and allowed to go help in the kitchen.

Dick gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze as he sank into the seat beside mine. I turned to smile at him, but a sudden commotion to my left ripped my attention away.

"Jason, I'M sitting next to her, you already know her well enough!"

"Too late Brown, I'm already sitting."

"Then move-"

Stephanie, who I'd only met briefly a few times in passing, tried to bodily shove Jason out of the chair next to me, but he refused to budge.

"Why are you so heavy Todd-"

"It's called muscle."

"Or it's called-"

"Stephanie, here, why don't you sit across from me?" I suggested, jumping in before things could really escalate. "It'll be easier to eat and talk to you at the same time from there anyway, which means we can keep up our conversation with fewer interruptions."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly aware of what I was doing, but I just kept looking at her with a beaming smile on my face (and thankfully Jason didn't interject). After a second, she huffed a dramatic sigh and started to move around the table.

"Fine. But only because Alfred would be upset if I tipped Jason backwards out of his chair before Thanksgiving dinner even started."

I grinned at her, quickly passing some food over to Jason, too, so he wouldn't take the opportunity to rub in his victory. Once we were safely out of the danger zone, Dick leaned over to whisper in my ear and give me a sly high five.

"Impressive," he said. "If you can pull that off, you'll be fine for the rest of the night."

I turned to give him a more forced smile than I'd given Stephanie. I appreciated the vote of confidence, but nothing that had happened over the past few minutes had done much to calm my nerves.

"Alright, is that all the food?" asked Bruce, clapping his hands and surveying the table as everyone at last settled into their seats. We'd almost had another disaster when Dami tried to bump Jason out of the seat next to me after Stephanie failed, but thankfully we'd managed to avert that crisis, too, with a promised trip to my family's farm tomorrow, just me, him, and Dick.

"Yeah, I think that's everything B," said Dick, looking over the table the same way his dad did. Bruce sighed, then sank into his seat and clapped his hands.

"Alright, then let's eat," he said.

"Don't forget, Master Bruce," started Alfred, at last sinking into his seat at the opposite head of the table from Bruce. "We still need to say the things we're thankful for."

"You're right, Alfred. Thank you for reminding me." He finished scooping a serving of stuffing onto his plate, then looked up. "I'll start.

"I'm thankful for all of you, safe and sitting around the table for dinner. And I'm also thankful that Y/N could join us. I think we're all looking forward to getting to know her better."

He gave me a kind smile and tipped his wine glass in my direction, and I tried to smile back despite the fact that my heart was pounding in my chest. I'd met Bruce a few times before, but he was still my boyfriend's dad AND Gotham's favorite son (other than maybe Dick). I couldn't help being nervous, since his approval was one of the ones that mattered most to me.

"Alright, that's great," said Jason, bowling right through the moment of silence that hung after Bruce's words–my hero. "I'm thankful for Alfred's cooking."

Every single one of us around the table cheered our agreement at that, and Alfred smiled. The turns moved quickly around the table after that. I had a brief moment of panic when it became my turn, but thankfully, it only lasted for a second before I managed to pull it together.

"I'm thankful for Dick, and for all of you letting me join your family holiday celebrations. I can't wait to get to know you guys better."

Everyone smiled at my answer, and as soon as the spotlight was off me, Dick took my hand under the table to give me a little reassurance. The conversation moved on from Thanksgiving gratitudes, and slowly, I gained confidnence and comfort participating as a member of the group.

I asked Dami about his pets and was honestly happy to listen for the better part of an hour. Jason and I ranted like the biggest nerds on the planet over our favorite books and our TBR piles, and Tim and I connected over a mutual childhood love of Nancy Drew computer games. Duke was the easiest person in the world to talk to, and he made a point of including me in conversations when I started to feel a little lost. Stephanie was so bubbly and friendly, even when she was not-so-subtly grilling me on my entire life, and although Cassandra seemed a little less eager to loudly jump into conversations with me, Stephanie helped bridge the gap and we got along wonderfully. Although they made me a little more nervous, Bruce and Alfred were also nothing but welcoming and kind. It wasn't too long before I was completely at ease, laughing and joking along with the whole table without a doubt about whether I belonged there.

Even when it came to the most ridiculous debates I'd ever been a part of.

"I'm just saying, capes look cheesy," said Jason. "It's fine for a little kid, but grown adults running around in capes look ridiculous."

Stephanie scowled like he'd just insulted her mother. "Oh yeah, because all the vigilantes running around in vests look so incredibly cool."

"No kidding," Tim jumped in. "Red Hood, for example. We all remember that terrible red pill helmet he wore when he first showed up. Or Nightwing's Discowing suit?"

Stephanie snorted into her drink, and Dick's mouth dropped open in shock. Jason started going a little red in the face.

"Brown and Drake are right," said Dami, his tone conveying he meant for this to be the final word on the matter. "The capes can serve a number of different purposes, and would be ridiculous to remove."

He turned to give Dick a pointed look, but I decided not to try to decipher it. I had more important things on-hand.

"Honestly, I say this with nothing but love for the three of you, but I have to agree with Jason," I started, finally jumping in. Everyone perked up at that, turning their attention to me, but I didn't let it deter me. "I mean, haven't any of you seen The Incredibles? No capes! There's like a whole minute-long thing on why capes are generally a bad idea for superheroes.

"And granted, we haven't seen anything like that happen in real life, at least as far as I know," I continued. "And maybe it doesn't matter as much for the indestructible heroes–Superman could probably get chewed up by a jet and survive, I guess. But other heroes, I don't know what they're doing! Somebody really outta show Batman that clip, make sure he knows the danger he and his Robins and everybody might be in."

Everybody stared at me for a second, faces blank, and I started to sweat thinking I'd said something wrong. Then, people broke out into variations of grins, laughs, and agreement with my point that Batman really needed to be more aware.

"I don't know if I remember that clip very well," mused Dick, grinning at Bruce and then the rest of the table as he slid an arm around my shoulder. "Could you pull it up?"

"Sure!"

"Hey Dick?" called Stephanie across the table, her voice dancing with laughter as I searched for the video. "I think I speak for all of us when I say, I love her."

Murmurs of agreement sounded around the table, and my face warmed. I glanced up to give an appreciative smile before going back to my video hunt.

"You better marry her, or we'll have to make Todd do it to keep her in the family," Stephanie continued.

My heart stopped dead in my chest for a second at the idea of marriage as everyone around the table laughed or agreed with her. Then, I couldn't help smiling and laughing too, especially as Jason faked a yawn and stretched his arm around my shoulders before having it playfully smacked away by Dick. My boyfriend pulled me a little closer into his side and gave me a soft smile.

"Alright, let's see this clip," he said, addressing the group as they kept snickering together. "B, lean in here, I think you'll really like this one."

Bruce sighed heavily, but leaned in anyway as the rest of the group shifted too. Edna Mode launched into her speech as I held out my phone screen, Dick and his family gathered around me, and my heart absolutely swelled with love for every one of them. Dick and I really hadn't been dating long enough to be seriously thinking about marriage, but still- in this moment, I could start to picture it.

And I really liked the picture.

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

WINTER

Whap!

Dick, my boyfriend of a little over two years, whirled around with a betrayed look on his face after I nailed him in the back with a snowball.

"Babe," he whined, his tone wounded. I just shrugged.

"It's training. You need to be aware of your surroundings. CONSTANT VIGILANCE and all that."

Dick raised his eyebrows and took a step towards me as a mischievous grin took over my face. A few months ago, when Dick and I had first seriously started talking about the possibility of marriage being the result of our relationship, he'd finally let me in on the Wayne family secret: not only was I dating the famous Dick Grayson, I was also dating Nightwing the vigilante. The Wayne family was one in the same as Batman and his extended vigilante posse. The few conspiracy weirdos on the internet insisting Bruce Wayne Is The Batman were right.

When he'd started to tell me, I'd first thought he was proposing. He'd been so serious and dramatic, and he'd done it at the end of a romantic, candlelit dinner we'd made together in my apartment. Then, once I realized what he was actually saying, my second thought had been oh, so that's why everyone loses their minds whenever I voice an opinion on a superhero.

At first, it had been a little hard to cope with the new worry that came with knowing my boyfriend put his life on the line every single night. News reports about the Bats and their enemies raised my anxiety WAY more than they ever had before. But Dick had been wonderful, reassuring me and helping me understand all the ways he'd found to stay safe and come back to me. And when that wasn't quite enough, the rest of his family stepped up to support me like one of their own.

Now, a few months after learning their secret, Dick and I were taking a rare full weekend for ourselves. We'd headed up to the mountains for some skiing, hot chocolate, and cuddling by the fire at his family's cabin, just the two of us. After a morning on the slopes and a delicious lunch, we'd decided to go on some of our favorite snowy hiking trails to take in the fresh mountain air.

Hence, my start of the snowball fight.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be training you," said Dick, closing the distance between us further. He and his family had been giving me self-defense training at my request, but we'd decided to take a break for the weekend.

"Mmm I'm not sure," I said, shifting backwards a bit to get out of Dick's reach. "I think I'm right."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Then you probably have the better reflexes out of the two of us, right?"

I knew exactly where this was going. I grinned and tried to get my head in the zone before I answered, overconfident to the last.

"Definitely."

"Hm." Dick smiled at me, and then the next thing I knew, he'd wrapped his arms tightly around my waist before I had a second to react. I half-heartedly tried to wiggle free, but before I could, Dick picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. I held on to him as tightly as I could, ready for him to dump me in a snow bank and ready to drag him down with me when he did. But the flip into the snow never came. Instead, Dick started walking with me still slung over his shoulder.

"Babe? What are you doing?" I asked, trying to push myself up enough to see where we were going. "I was all ready to wrestle you down into the snow with me."

"Just trust me," he said. Even though I couldn't see it, I could hear the smile on his face. I huffed.

"This isn't exactly comfortable, you know."

Dick just chuckled. We walked a few more steps, then at last, Dick set me down again, keeping his hands around my waist as we stood chest to chest.

"I may have lured you out into the woods under false pretenses," he said, a brilliant smile on his face. I raised an eyebrow.

"If I didn't trust you so much, I might be a little worried."

He smiled, then looked at a point over my shoulder before nodding for me to turn around. I did as his hands dropped from my waist, and I came face to face with his whole family standing around the gorgeous snowy clearing. Each of them held candles or roses in their hands, and they were absolutely beaming at me. I looked at each of them, waiting for some hint or answer about what was happening, but no one gave me anything. Then, I heard Dick's voice from behind me.

"Y/N?"

When I turned, I found my lovely, wonderful boyfriend down on one knee before me, an open ring box in his hands.

My hands flew to my mouth and I started to tear up a little as the situation sank in. Dick smiled, his own eyes a little wet as he continued.

"You are the love of my life. I had no idea when I first accidentally tackled you that you would become the most important person in the world to me, but you have. You make me a better version of myself, and every day I can hardly believe I'm really with you. You not only match me and love me, but you do the same with my family, which truly not many people can do. I can't think of a better person or partner I'd want to go through life with. So will you please do me the honor... of marrying me?"

"Baby... of course! Absolutely yes!" I cried, the tears fully flowing now as I dropped to my knees in the snow to join Dick. I threw my arms around him and held him tight, and both of us stayed like that for a few long moments before Dick pulled back, tears glistening on his cheeks and a smile on his face. He pulled me tightly to him and kissed me. I kissed back, running my hands through his hair as we got lost in each for a few moments before we pulled apart again. I held out my hand, shaking just a little, and Dick slipped the ring on my finger.

Cheers sounded from behind us, and I came back to reality as Dick's family came over to congratulate us. I wrapped each of them in my best bone-crushing hug, making sure they knew how happy I was to be joining them as family in the near future now, too.

After we'd all exchanged hugs (reluctantly or otherwise), I found Dick at my side again, wrapping his arm around my waist. I tucked into his side and it felt like I'd always belonged there.

I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life just like this.

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

LATE SPRING

I took a deep breath and stared at the double doors in front of me, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't wipe the biggest, cheesiest smile off my face, no matter how hard I tried. Today was my wedding day, and I couldn't be happier.

Steph and Cass had helped me find the perfect dress. My bouquet was filled with red poppies, my favorite flower. Dick and I had worked together to plan a dream wedding for the both of us, and now everyone we loved was gathered here to celebrate with us.

Everything was perfect.

I heard music start up, then a second later, the doors swung open. It didn't quite feel real as I took my first steps down the isle, towards Dick Grayson and the rest of my life.

It started to feel more real when I finally reached him, standing in front of so many people with eyes only for the man before me. We stood together, hand in hand and eyes locked on each other as the ceremony went on. We read our vows, said "I do", and before I knew it, we were married.

Dick swept me off my feet in a kiss as the crowd cheered. We laced our hands together and ran down the isle together, deliriously happy as our friends and family sent us off. We climbed into the waiting car as the door shut behind us, and I snuggled up against Dick's side before leaning up to give him a kiss. Finally, it felt real.

"I love you, Dick Grayson," I said, smiling up at him. "I can't wait to throw around the phrase 'my husband' until every single person we know is sick of it."

Dick laughed. "I love you too, Mrs. Grayson. And I can't wait to see who breaks first."

"My money's on Jason, unless anyone else says it's annoying first. Then I think he'll back us to mess with everyone else."

Dick laughed, then leaned in to give me a soft, tender kiss.

"I love how well you know them."

"Well... they're my family now, too."

We shared a smile, then settled into comfortable silence together, leaning against each other for support while we rested for the little bit of time we had now before the reception got into full swing. Tonight would be a long night for both of us, but I absolutely couldn't wait. I loved Dick with my whole heart, and going through every part of our futures together–good, bad, and crazy–was the best thing I could possibly think of.

[tremblingmuse]

hi! i was wondering if i could request a fic? it would be wally x reader. the prompt would be y/n having nightmares about her death and wally comforts her and talks to her and then holds her while she sleeps which stops the nightmares. if not that’s totally ok. thank you. :)

Ofcs babe it sounds so cute!

Also this one went off the rails I’m not gonna lie but I’ve been working on it on and off for days and it just needs to be posted at this point. Enjoy.

Nightmares and late swims

The sting of death is still fresh long after it’s over. It presents itself in a lot of different ways. Like anger, or humor. Or nightmares.

Y/n died in shop class, falling off a ladder. She wakes up to a sleep jerk every time she sleeps. Ghosts may not need sleep, but every so often she’s hopeful to sleep through the night.

Tonight, her hope was misplaced.

She gasped awake, disoriented and dizzy. The room was pitch black. She accidentally rolled off the couch in the teachers’ lounge, not knowing which way was up.

“Ow!” She sounded, after tumbling into the coffee table.

Her eyes adjusted to the little light in the room. Reality finally crept its way in. She’s been dead for years, why was she still scared? She can’t get hurt anymore. Well, busting her face on the coffee table hurt.

The door swung open and hit the wall. She shot up from her place on the floor.

“Y/n? You okay?” Wally huffed from the doorway. He was running.

“What? Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Y/n rubbed her face, still not totally awake.

Wally saw that she was on the floor, he walked over to help her back onto the couch.

“I heard screaming.” He whispered, brushing hair out of her face.

She sighed. Y/n never wanted to bother him with the nightmares. The past was past. She shouldn’t be having them.

“It was a nightmare, it’s nothing.” She assured, with shaking hands and washed out skin. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead.

Wally saw the state she was in. It wasn’t nothing.

He pulled her into his side, he was relieved to see her. But he was also sad. He had a few nightmares over the years. They were scary, it’s worse when you feel like you can’t talk about them.

“I get them sometimes. You don’t have to pretend to be fine.”

She looked at him with surprise. Wally gets nightmares? But he’s always so happy.

“I just feel like I’m falling. They’re not necessarily scary.” Her voice shook.

You don’t have to pretend to be fine.

It was a hard message to swallow. Because she did. Who was she to bother him with something like nightmares?

“That sounds terrifying to me.” He reassured.

She let herself break down. Tears swelled in her eyes and she finally hugged him back.

“I’m so sick of it.” She cried.

She was tired of not being able to sleep, tired of waking up in the middle of the night. It was eating away at her.

“What do you do?” She asked.

“What?” He asked, it understanding the question.

“When you have a nightmare, what do you do?” She asked again.

He took a moment to think. He had a answer.

“Well, I think about you. Takes my mind of it it.”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it.

“Why are you laughing?” He questioned.

“Of course you’d find a way to flirt with me.”

Wally was a flirt, he’d try and be slick about it. But she always saw through him. He was always trying to impress her, always saying things like that.

“I’m not- no. I’m not flirting I’m serious.” He caught her laughter.

“So, are you suggesting I think about myself when I have a nightmare or….”

“You’re cruel.” He sighed.

“Sorry. I have trouble accepting help. If you didn’t notice.” She apologized.

“It’s okay.”

Y/n had an idea.

“How about we do something else?”

“Like what?”

She was getting tired of sitting there feeling sorry for herself. So she dragged him to the pool.

“I’ve never swam at night before. Thought it would be fun!” She pulled off her shirt.

Wally turned around.

“Oh come on.” She rolled her eyes. “Never seen a bra before?”

“I just wasn’t expecting that.” He kept his gaze to the other side of the room.

“You’re being dramatic.” She pulled off her shorts. “It’s no different from a swimsuit.”

She climbed into the pool, it was cold.

“Uh, yeah it is.” He told her in a duh tone.

“Yeah? How?” She asked, happily splashing.

He stammered for an answer. Technically it wasn’t any different.

“Just cause.” He mumbled.

She laughed at him and dipped under the water. When she came up he was still standing there.

“Are you getting in?” She asked.

He rolled his eyes and peeled off his shirt. She enjoyed the view.

Wally was starting to get behind the idea of a late night swim. But then she splashed him.

He looked at her, jaw dropped with betrayal. She wore a shitfaced grin.

He had an idea.

He cannonballed right next to her, splashing her. It was on.

She grabbed a pool noodle and hit him as soon as he came up for air. “Ow! Dude!”

“You almost jumped right on top of me!” She hit him again.

“Oh what’ll happen? You’ll drown?” He dodged.

“In spirit!”

The slashing war was intense. It seemed as though y/n had the upper hand until Wally picked her up and threw her.

“That’s cheating!” She gasped, wet hair in his face.

“You have a weapon!” He motioned to the pool noodle.

“It’s a floatation device!” She argued.

[dandelionlovesyou]

Primrose Blossom

I wanted to write a story for Katniss’ birthday given that I’m barely a year into the fandom. I waited and waited for May 8 to write something, and this story went through a lot of different beginnings until I found this one that felt right. I wanted to write a senior!Peeta and senior!Katniss because I just thought of them growing old together -- like 70 or 80 years old. But this is a story for some other time. So, even though this story is a day late from May 8, cheers to you, my lovely Katniss Everdeen!

Belated happy birthday and happy mother’s day, my love!

….………………..

A story from the perspective of the primroses that Peeta planted in Katniss’ garden. Post-Mockingjay. Peeta and Katniss grow back together.

 P.S. Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games Trilogy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38885724 

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14078743/1/Primrose-Blossom

...............................

"You're back," the girl with dark matted hair says as she tumbles down the house, looking as if she wants to scream but coming up short.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," the boy with curly golden hair answers. This morning, he dug my family and me out of the ground, disturbing my sleep and cutting some of my side roots.

"By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone," he adds and frowns slightly at the sight of the disheveled girl.

"What are you doing?" she asks defensively. She tries to push the hair out of her eyes, but it is no use because her hair is all clumped and oily.

The boy drinks her in before answering. "I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her," he says softly. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

She studies my family and me, our roots wrapped in cloth and the soil secured by kitchen twine while we wait to be transplanted. We didn't have any say in our fate and could not protest because we had no thorns. I wished I could have drawn blood from the rough and scarred hands of the boy. Then again, he looked determined and somewhat hopeful as he was digging us out this dewy morning, and we couldn't help but relent and have him take us. He was careful and respectful, even thanking us as he wrapped us securely.

The girl doesn't say anything back after looking like she wants to viciously scream at the boy. Her face softens, and she gives him a nod, then she runs back inside the house, and I hear the door being locked. More sounds of fumbling and running upstairs follow then there is a loud smashing sound of glass. The boy winces every time he hears a thud from the house. The girl seems to be throwing things around and rearranging the furniture with haste.

I'm grateful though, that the boy continues his work and plants my family and me thoughtfully on the ground. He surrounds us with rich soil and drenches us with water, alleviating our drying roots and lifting our spirits. As I watch the boy return to his house and push his creaky wheelbarrow down the road, I fall asleep from the stress of being uprooted from the woods.

….…….

The boy waters us every morning, checking our leaves and hilling up the soil around our base to make sure we grow upright. He looks thin and pale, and there are dark circles on his face, but his eyes are like the sky in the woods -- impossibly blue and very clear.

Every morning, the girl rushes out with her bow and sheath of arrows on her back. I saw her before in the woods, she was gone for a long time, but I never forgot her face. Many years ago, she used to come with her father, then alone, then with a tall older friend. She wanders the woods a lot as if she belongs there, respectful and quiet, observing everything and drinking in the sounds.

An old lady comes to the house bringing a pot of stew every morning. I've never seen her before, but as she shakily walks towards the house with the young girl holding the edge of her skirt, I can't help but feel glad because the young girl always smiles at me. I think she wants to talk to me, but the old woman keeps her by her side all the time.

As my roots grow deeper and become stronger, I relish the quiet in this village. It's not the woods that I am used to, but it is still a serene place. The boy planted my family and me where we could receive morning sun and a shade at midday. He plucked out all the weeds around us, so we won't have any competition for nutrition. I can see everything from where I'm planted -- who goes into the house, walks by the road, where everyone lives. It's a nice shift from my usual environment, and I became more observant of my new habitat.

The boy brings two loaves of bread every morning to the girl's house, one of which always goes to the old lady and the young girl. I hear voices inside the kitchen, some friendly conversation between the boy and the old lady, but I never catch the voice of the girl with matted hair again. She seems very quiet and reserved. Nothing has changed, I suppose. She was like that too in the woods when she was much younger.

As the sky darkens, I hear a hiss on the porch behind me. I'm much too short to see above the wooden platform, but I am certain that there is a wild cat in the house. The girl with matted hair just came home, assisted by a man she calls Thom. In a few minutes, I hear the girl's raspy and sad voice.

"It was the waste of a trip. She's not here," the girl says, and I'm certain that she has gone delusional. The man Thom already left, and there was no one else in the house to talk to.

The cat hisses again then I realize that she is speaking with the scraggly feline.

"She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." There's a pause, and then she continues. "Get out! Go away! There's nothing left for you here! She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!"

It sounds like things are being thrown inside the house, and the cat hisses and meows as if hurt and abandoned.

"She's dead," I hear her say, and the sound of knees falling heavily on the floor follows. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead."

The cat wails loudly as the girl sobs with despair. It's heartbreaking hearing them both cry. Feeling and receiving their energy as it dissipates around the village makes my leaves droop heavily towards the earth. Their weeping fills the darkness of the night until exhaustion overtakes them.

….…..

"Peeta," I learned, is the name of the boy with golden hair, and "Katniss" is the girl with the matted locks. There's a gruff, old man who visits every now and then, smelling like death with the stench of alcohol that I only recognize from fermenting berries in the woods.

The girl remains silent as ever, and the boy and the old man spend their afternoon playing a board game with some small banter. Sometimes the girl waters us, looking depressed or blank on most days. Today is an exception though, and there's a slight hint of a smile on her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes, but to me, she is already very lovely.

The boy comes to her side, and he kneels on the ground, plucking some stray weeds that have grown near our roots. He smiles at her softly, squinting as the sun hits his eyes, making his corn hair eyelashes translucent. Their companionable silence is refreshing, and I watch them work together amiably from where I am rooted.

….……

I wake up to the incessant honking and guttural noises of geese coming into the yard. They've been corralled in the gruff old man's house, but somehow they had escaped today. Seven of them litter the yard and are making a mess of things. Two are relieving themselves in the brick path, three are attacking the ground, looking for food, and two are nipping at my family's leaves. Being a plant, I have no way of escaping, so I succumb to my ill fate. A lot of leaves are already half plucked on the ground, and two more geese are coming my way to dig out my roots. I brace myself for imminent death.

"Haymitch!" the girl screams from the house, and I am thankful to see her stumble towards the yard with a broomstick. The geese are protesting and fighting back, squawking and flapping their wings wildly, but they're no match to her blazing fury. "Haymitch, get your geese out right now, or I swear I will shoot every one of them with my arrows!"

The old man, who I now know the name of, comes barreling down the yard with a bag of grains on his back. He calls his "pets" (I call them pests) with his deep voice and pats the bag of grains to signal feeding time. They seem to recognize him and honk their way toward him, screaming for food and leaving the mess they created in the yard.

"Hey, what's happening?" the golden boy suddenly chimes in, and he blushes profusely at seeing the girl. I guess the girl didn't realize her delicate presentation. She's practically flashing him with her skimpy night shorts and a threadbare old shirt. She might have forgotten to wear any underwear underneath it all too.

"It's his geese! They ruined the primroses …" she cries and falls down to the ground. I never knew we mattered so much to her.

The boy gives her his flannel robe and wraps it around her body as she shivers in anger. "It's all right, Katniss. We'll fix it together. I'll help you."

The girl nods and wipes her tears, sinking into the boy's chest as she looks at our half-eaten state.

….….

In the days that follow, the girl sets up a perimeter around the garden. She also spends more time lounging on the grass, watching the house across the yard intently for its fowl (and foul!) intruders. The old man, Haymitch, says that she looks ridiculous guarding a set of primroses with her bow and arrows, but she just scowls at him and gives him a death stare. I wish I could do the same.

The boy looks amused and supports the girl, saying that is just what she does. "She fiercely protects the ones she loves," he explains confidently. I knew the boy understood the girl very much.

I wish I could produce a bloom right now just for the two of them.

The boy brings out a blanket and lays it over the grass for her to sit on. She eyes him warily, but he shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his house to get a picnic basket. Splaying bread, fruits, and cheese, he invites her to eat as he busies himself with drawing the sky. He says he's sketching the sky, but he's really rendering her on paper instead. How very sneaky of him.

….….

The air grows colder as fall comes, and the shortened daylight brings in more and more nightmares for the girl. She's screaming and shouting three to four times every night, and the boy comes running from his house to comfort her while sporting his pajamas. He should have just moved in about a month ago, but he is much too scared to do it.

"I'm so tired, Peeta," she says as he holds her in his arms by the porch. I've grown a little taller now from all the compost the boy gives me, and I can see above the porch.

"I know … It's really hard, Katniss," he coos and rubs her arms, comforting her like he does every night.

"I just want it to stop, Peeta. Even just for one night," she says -- it sounds like a plea. I see the boy's heart yearning for her as he looks far into the darkness. "Just stay with me," the girl whispers.

The boy blinks back tears, but a few escape the corners of his eyes. This is not the first time they've had this conversation before, and conflict riddles his expression.

The boy always seems scared to live with her, as if there is a monster living in the house or something.

The girl tries to be strong, and she is, except during the night when nothing is within her control. She can fight off any enemy in the daytime, but the battle in the darkness is beyond her capacity somehow, and she's wearing thin from exhaustion. I didn't understand then how difficult sleep is for human beings.

A few weeks ago, I thought they would have changed their routine as the boy was staying in her house longer and longer, only leaving in the middle of the night to catch a few hours of sleep in his own house. But one day changed everything, and it was like they were back to square one.

It was a beautiful summer day, the boy and the girl were splayed on a blanket in the yard, busying themselves with the blades of grass and wildflowers around them. I was basking in the soft sun, storing its warmth and growing my stems and leaves out while I watch them.

The girl was weaving a crown of flowers while the boy fiddled with her hair, claiming that he was practicing his knots. I'm not sure what the knots were for, but the girl allowed him to do it. The scene before me looked very romantic with her head on his lap, and they were both gently grinning at what they were doing.

"This feels very familiar," the boy said out of the blue. He looked so happy and calm, the best I had seen him in a long time. "I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever."

"You already said that to me before," she answered and tilted her head up to his direction, smiling charmingly at him. She looked content and peaceful, like the few plump robins that lingered in the apple tree in the yard.

"Yeah? I did?" he asked, looking curious and a tad bit sad. "I wish I could remember ..."

"It's okay, Peeta," she said after a pause. She then gestured for him to bring his head closer to her. He obliged naturally, their faces only a few inches from each other. I heard my family swoon at the sight of them almost kissing.

"There, you look very pretty now, Peeta," she laughed as she looked at him with the crown of flowers over his head. The boy's eyes were watery, and she cupped his cheek to pull him down for a kiss, but then something snapped, and the boy grabbed her wrist painfully. She yelped and cried out as she sat upright, her face twisting in surprise and pain.

"No!" the boys shouted, then he pushed her away so forcefully that she fell to the ground completely. Scrambling to his feet, he was able to take a few steps before he started convulsing and crouching with his head firmly planted on the ground. He was mumbling words incoherently, rocking himself back and forth and bunching his hair, almost pulling them out.

"Peeta, it's not real," the girl said unyieldingly as she ran towards him, but he held her off with his hand, gesturing for her to stay away and not to touch him. "Peeta, please …," she appeals, tears streaming down her face.

"No!" he snarled and pounded the ground with his fist. My roots felt the energy of his aggressiveness.

The girl cried and cried by the dirt path, pleading quietly to let her come close to him. She took a step towards him, but he bolted upright like an animal before stumbling again in the middle of the road. Just then, the old man, Haymitch, came out of his house with a thick, heavy blanket and covered the boy up from the bright sun. They stayed like that for a good two minutes, but it seemed like forever with how thick the anxiety was. Since then, the boy had kept his distance from the girl, only being alone with her when outside so he could run away easily if he needed to.

"I can't hurt you again, Katniss," the boy bitterly says. "I'm not well ..."

"You're just saying that," she replies strongly against his chest. "You won't hurt me. I know it."

"But I don't."

"You're hurting me more this way, Peeta," she says, then to the boy's surprise, the girl kisses him right on the lips. "Peeta, please … forgive yourself."

What could he possibly respond to that?

He kisses her temple to let her know that he's listening, but he does not give her an answer. Confusion, guilt, and anger pepper his face, but when he takes one good look at her crestfallen expression, everything dissipates, and compassion fills him again.

They stay like that for a long time, the girl embracing him while she sits on his lap and buries her head in his neck. Her right-hand goes up to the back of his head, gently caressing his hair as she begins to hum a lullaby. Everything falls silent, even the breeze comes to a standstill.

….….

She hunts, he bakes, and they write and draw on a big book together while out in the yard. They're farther out from me, staying under the shade of the crab apple tree. I see photos pasted on the paper and the boy painting faces from pure memory on parchment. One time, I saw the girl holding dried-out petals from another old book. It's familiar and looks like my own flower petals. I see strange bits of happiness in their eyes as they grow back together. It encourages my roots to grow deeper and my stems to grow stronger and more upright. I bask in the energy of their blossoming love for one another.

….….

Slowly as the harsh winter in this district comes, I begin to lose my leaves and retreat down to the soil. The boy and the girl cared for my family and me, covering us with mulch and constructing an evergreen bough over us. I'm grateful for the added protection because blizzards in this place can be devastating for a wild plant like me.

I wake up to the soft sun as winter passes and the ground warms up. I feel like stretching my leaves and stems and spreading my roots wider and deeper to feel the enlivened earth. Life is beginning again after the hard cold months, and I see that life has treated the boy and the girl well in my hibernation.

She looks radiant and well-rested, her cheeks and body have filled out some, and her hair is the most magnificent I have ever seen. Her eyes are still a stormy gray but no longer as sad and empty -- I see much hope in them now.

The boy has grown a scruff on his face, much like some of the hunters who ventured into the woods in my youth. He looks older with his light set of beard and mustache, partnered with his growing body that has served him well during winter. Every now and then, I would hear the tell-tale sound of wood being chopped and imagined it to be the golden boy preparing the house for his beloved.

"Why hello there, lovelies," he greets us with a smile that could contend with the bright sun. He no longer looks scared and has maybe found peace in himself.

The girl rolls her eyes behind him, smirking at the sight of him talking to us. I bask in the energy that they are radiating and get energized for the days ahead.

"Let's get them prepped for spring," the girl says and messes with the boy's head. Ah, they're touchy now. Winter really did them good, and I'm glad.

….….

It only takes a few weeks for my family and me to start producing flowers. With the care and love surrounding us, it's easy to fructify our tips and form flower buds. I'm sporting white flowers with a small yellow center, and my family has slight variations of purple, blue, orange, and pink. We are a mixed set growing up wild in the woods and now showcase a variety of colors for our new home.

"Okay, just one more step," the boy says to the girl as he guides her down the porch step. "Don't open your eyes, okay? We're almost there."

"Peeta, what is it that you want me to see?" she whines, and it's the cutest thing. She's wearing a light orange spring dress that reaches a few inches below her knees. Her scars have healed, and she seems more confident in her skin -- especially when around him.

"Okay, right here. Just one more step," the boy says, then he rubs her shoulders from behind, before shifting his palms over her hips. "Now, open your eyes."

"Oh my god, Peeta!" she gasps as she sees us in full bloom. I feel so grand and proud, and I hold my flowers high for her to see. She crouches down to the ground, not minding that her bare knees touch the soil. As she inhales our fresh scent, her lips quirk up, and her smile reaches her eyes fully. I admire how she is very at home with nature.

"I love them. They're so beautiful," the girl says as she touches us delicately with her slender fingers.

"As pretty and wonderful as Prim," the boy adds as he kneels beside her. "She will always be here with us through them."

"Thank you, Peeta," she whispers, then gives him a quick kiss on the lips. They settle on the grass, the girl leaning her body on his side and holding his cheek with her left hand. They just watch us and smile with the look of remembering a distant memory.

I once heard them talking about the girl's sister who had golden hair and big blue doe eyes -- how she loved to dance in front of the fireplace and feed her goat named Lady. She used to own Buttercup, the orange cat with a chipped ear that came home months ago.

Sometimes, Buttercup also comes here in front of us, curling up in the soil and rubbing his fur on our leaves. I wish I had known the girl's sister as she seemed like a really extraordinary human being.

…...

I am surprised to be cut from my stem and placed in a glass of water this spring morning. It didn't hurt when the boy did it, and it was nice moving around to a different place. My blossoms are relegated to three places -- the kitchen counter, the coffee table in front of the fireplace, and the bedroom upstairs.

It's interesting being in the kitchen, it's warmer than outside, and the smell of baking bread and simmering stew is very much new to me. The girl comes to me every now and then, taking a whiff of my scent and brushing my petals lightly. I know I keep saying this, but I just love her. She's a wood fairy from olden times.

I know that the boy bakes a lot, but I didn't grasp just how much work goes into baking bread. He seems to enjoy it though, and sometimes even hums or whistles to himself while he bakes. Today, he's baking a raisin and nut loaf with a pure glint in his eyes. Not that I have any comparison, but I never saw a man so happy to be kneading dough.

In the living room, the girl is pushing the coffee table a little farther away from the fireplace. She sweeps the floor quickly and then lays out a thick, soft carpet in front of the hearth. There's a permanent smile on her face, and she keeps touching her lips for some reason. She seems a little frazzled and excited, maybe even tingling out of her skin. I don't know what it is, but she seemed like electricity and fire combined.

The afternoon comes, and everything is quiet again. I hear the sound of the shower being turned off in the bedroom, and then the girl comes out in her robe and goes to the closet to pick out a dress. Her humming is infectious, and if I could only move, I would sway my petals along with her exquisite notes.

When she comes out of the wardrobe, she's wearing a simple all-white dress that reaches the middle of her calf. The fabric is light and flowy, following her movement elegantly like how a willow tree plays with the wind. Her hair is down, and she carefully sticks small wildflowers in her natural waves. Her lips are nude, colored slightly with the berries she picked in the backyard this morning. Like I said before, she is a wood fairy incarnate.

The living room is dimly lit with candles, and more primroses in clear drinking glasses fill the space. I see my family happily watching as the girl descends down the stairs while the boy never takes his eyes away from her face. He is beaming.

They settle before the fireplace, kneeling first and then sitting back as the only guest begins to sing. I didn't know that the old gruff, Haymitch, could hold a note, so I was pleasantly surprised to hear his low baritone as he sang a love song from old. I remember this song from a man who silences the birds in the woods a long, long time ago.

The old gruff brings out a set of gold rings from his pocket, and I'm impressed with how clean and presentable he looks tonight. He hands the rings, wrapped in a dainty white handkerchief, to the boy and then sits on the armchair by the corner of the room. He looks merry and proud.

"Katniss Everdeen, I give you my heart, my life, and my future," the boy starts while holding the girl's hands with so much devotion. "You have me fully since I was just five years old and will have my full attention until the day that I die. My mind might have forgotten you briefly, but my heart never forgot how much I love you. Thank you for loving me unconditionally, for protecting me, and for never giving up on me despite everything. I promise to cherish you, make you happy, serve you, and stay by your side for as long as I live. Always."

He shakily slides the simple gold band on her ring finger and kisses her hand after. A soft chuckle comes out of his lips, breaking his nervousness and helping him breathe. He was like an overripe strawberry.

Now it's the girl's turn.

"Peeta Mellark," she starts, and immediately her voice hitches. The boy squeezes her hand right away, fighting back tears as he looks at her endearingly. "Peeta Mellark, my boy with the bread. I give you my heart, my life, and my future. You saved my family and me on that unfortunate rainy day and have been saving me ever since. I know you said this to me before, but you also don't know the effect you have. I didn't realize that I loved you then, but now, after everything, I know surely that I love you with all my heart." The boy smiles as she says this, and tears just escape the corners of his eyes. "Thank you for being patient with me and affirming my strength. Most importantly, thank you for coming back to me from the dark depths of your mind. I have always known that you have a good heart, and I'm honored that you are giving it to me now. I promise to protect you and honor you, to love you because you deserve every ounce of happiness in this world. You have heart and my love. Always."

With sure hands, the girl slips the wedding band on his finger and places his palm over her heart for him to feel her strong heartbeat. Together, they rise from their sitting position, and their lips meet right in the middle of the hearth while kneeling.

"Ehem … mmmm …," the old gruff interjects. "You're forgetting the bread, kids. This is a toasting ..."

The boy and the girl shyly retreat from each other, settling back down on the carpet. They shoot each other a mischievous look and proceed to do their part. The boy skillfully cuts two squares from the raisin and nut loaf, and the girl skewers them at the end of two metal brochettes. Holding each other's hands, they toast the bread together in the all-consuming fire. The boy cools the bread first with his breath and places it near the girl's mouth for her to bite into. She smiles as she chews, a tear escaping her eye as she has a mesmerizing look on her face. They repeat and toast the other piece of bread, the girl keeping it in the fire longer than the boy.

"I'm the girl on fire," she says with a soft laugh. She blows out the bread with her breath, her pink lips almost touching it. She tells him to open wide, and she pops the piece easily into his mouth. He chews it with vigor, winking at her playfully. It's great to see them having fun.

They both turn to the man Haymitch who is smirking at both of them. "What are you waiting for? A go signal? Just kiss already so I can eat some cake!" the man announces, then stands up to go to the kitchen while rubbing his gray beard.

As much as he wanted to hide it, I saw the contented look on his face. He's elated for them, and his love for them is spilling out of his ears.

They eat cake and tell stories, and then the old gruff gives them a small wooden box with his gift inside it. He tells them to open it later when he's out, then proceeds to cut another slice of cake. As he leaves, he shoots them a knowing look and then picks up one of my family from a water glass, twirling it with his fingers.

"Make sure you close the windows, kids!" he shouts, then shuts the door behind him. His laughter reverberates all over the village, and he sings like a drunken man outside.

The boy kisses the girl passionately, then lifts her up in his arms and bounds for the stairs. She squeaks a little and laughs jovially while hanging on his shoulders.

"Wait, Haymitch's gift!" the girl says with glee. The boy grabs the wooden box from the couch and gives it to the girl for her to open. I wish I had seen what's inside because there's a mutual blush on their faces that rivals even the reddest of flowers.

 - The End -

[themangolorian]

Pairing: Mandalorian x Reader

Request for @the1maddest1hatter my absolute love who has been so completely and totally patient with me and understanding and i’m so glad i was able to finally finish this and post it for you finally, and i hope it’s everything you were hoping for and more. thank you so much for not giving up on me - this was so fun to write and i’m glad i finally got it to somewhere i’m happy w/ it. i love you! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Warnings: some slight violence.

You weren’t often in the habit of getting yourself involved in the business of others. But when you’d seen imperial guards chasing the cloaked and armored figure across the square, you figured you had no choice.

The fleeing culprit looked more than capable of taking care of himself, but the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So, interrupting the elaborate dance you’d been performing in the middle of the market, you twirled and flipped expertly until you were between the guards and whoever it was they’d been chasing. The distraction was enough. Still dancing and trying to suppress a smile, you saw the end of the figure’s cape disappearing around a corner.

The guards cursed violently your way but shouldered their way roughly past you in pursuit of the disappearing figure. What was more, your ruse had drawn the attention of the crowd of shoppers in the square, most of whom assuredly also had no love for the Empire. Before long, the cylinder you’d put in the square was full of credits.

But then-

Someone gripped your elbow painfully from behind, someone else your shoulder. Striking out to escape, you accidentally turned over the cylinder, spilling credits everywhere.

Loud shouts, haranguing from the crowd, assaulted the imperial guards who had returned empty-handed, the figure no doubt having escaped.

“What kind of dancer do you think I am?” You lilted sarcastically with more confidence than you deserved considering you were being detained.

“Keep your conniving trap shut, scum.” The trooper at your back rammed his baton into your lower back and you could hardly suppress the yelp of pain as you crumpled.

The protests from the crowd were easily deterred when the guards drew their high powered blasters and before you knew what was happening, you were being dragged away in durasteel binders. You cursed under your breath at the imperial guard who scooped up your hard-earned, now easily lost credits.

That was when the Madalorian had swooped in and, helped by the element of surprise, along with what was clearly immense skill, had taken out the guards - freeing you.

“What are you, a trooper gone good?” You’d joked, gesturing at his armor, though you knew it bore little resemblance to a trooper’s. He’d only grunted, focusing instead on freeing you from the binders.

But inevitably the guards had been almost instantly replaced with another unit who’d wasted no time in opening fire. The Mandalorian had dragged you along by the binders you were still trapped in. He managed to dart out of the way of every blaster shot aimed your way, hauling you with him as he went.

By the time you found yourself ensconced in the safety of his ship and as he blasted away from the planet you’d briefly called your home, your heart was beating too fast and you were laughing too hard, out of both panic and glee at the escapade, to question the new reality you found yourself in: on the ship of a stranger whose face you’d yet to see.

But that had been long ago enough by now that it was but a distant if happy memory. The Mandalorian, a man you’d thought so strange at first, had offered to drop you off on any planet of your choosing. And you’d truly meant to leave, but event after event had transpired, all revolving around the Empire’s chase for the child in the Mandalorian’s care, someone you’d also found strange but had now come to care for excessively.

You’d kept putting off leaving and then one day it had just stopped coming up. Though neither of you spoke of it, it now seemed a given that you were a staple in their strange little family.

“This is a good place to set up camp for the night,” the Mandalorian was saying, pulling you out of your reverie as you stared at the suns setting distantly in the sky past the horizon of the sea spread out beneath the cliff just beyond where you stood.

You turned absently and smiled at his visor. You had yet to see his face, even now, but by now he knew just how much you loved the seas, as few of them as you’d gotten to see in your lifetime. The choice of campsite was intentional, providing you with a breathtaking view of this particular planet’s suns-set.

Your heart stiffened painfully as you smiled sweetly his way. The man you’d gotten to know had been nothing like you’d thought he would be when you first met him, as intimidating as he’d seemed. He was gentle and generous to a fault, kinder than most souls you’d ever known.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat, breaking you from your stupor once more, but when he spoke, he too sounded emotional. “I’ll build the tent. Do you want to see how many rations we have left?”

You’s meant to answer but several things happened in succession. Din flinched then unholstered his blaster faster than you could blink. For one staggering moment of horror, you thought he was aiming it at you. But then the cold bite of metal was sharp at your throat, a strong arm coming around your middle firmly before you could react to any of it. A strangled cry left Din’s helmet.

“Where’s the target?” A raspy voice hissed at your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried to struggle, despite the idiocy of that act. Your hands shot to the man’s wrist around your neck and you threw your body back in the hopes of escape. But he was like a brick wall and did not budge, did not even react to your attempt as if you were little more than a bug beneath his shoe. It took you a long moment to process the fact that you were in danger of losing your life.

“Let her go,” Din spoke in a cold, threatening voice, “and I’ll let you live.” The blaster in his grip did not waver.

Your blood ran cold when your captor only chuckled. “Give me the location of the child, and I promise her death will be painless.” He flicked the sharp blade at your throat and you gasped involuntarily at the pain, felt a warm trickle of blood running down your neck.

You saw Din’s grip tighten around his blaster, knew he was calculating the odds of shooting your captor without harming you. But you knew Din too well now, knew what conclusion he would reach. But if you were a lost cause, you were free to do whatever it took to ensure that Din was not. To ensure both his safety and the safety of the child.

Thoughts of the craggy, rocky surface at the bottom of the cliff just behind you nearly made you shudder; your fear of heights was almost blinding, but you fought through the distress that would have paralyzed your entire body with fear. Din and the child were, after all, more than worth it.

The standoff continued as if the world had come to a standstill though the breeze continued to blow past you, the chirping of animals continued in the jungle you’d emerged from and, distantly, the breaking of waves on the rocks below did not stop.

Just as you meant to make your move, your captor was yanking your arm back and up until- a sickly crunch sounded and you screamed in pain, trying to muffle your own hurt so Din would not be goaded, but you saw only black for several seconds and your knees almost crumpled beneath you. The slight sliver of brainpower you had left in the moment told you to propel yourself backwards. Your captor, off balance from the movement of breaking your arm, staggered back with you, now just at the edge of the cliff.

“No,” Din shouted, his voice strangled, his blaster faltering now. If he shot, he ran the risk of hitting you. And the knife was still clutched at your throat.

Your captor hissed and tightened his grip around your throat in retaliation, and you struggled to breathe for a few moments. “Move one more muscle and I’ll throw you over the ledge,” he barked at you before loosening his grip. The knife had cut into your neck again, drawing more blood.

Your eyes never left Din’s visor. You could not, of course, see his eyes behind it, but you could will your thoughts and feelings into your own gaze, directed as it was at him. In the brief second you had left, you tried to express with your eyes alone everything you’d never had the courage to tell him before.

Then- you pretended to crumple in your captor’s arms, ignoring the way the knife cut at you again in your new position. He cursed, trying to straighten you. You used the moment in which he was caught off guard to propel him backwards with all the strength you had left in your body. At the same moment, you heard the sound of a blaster.

There had been the smallest part of your brain that had been sure you might be able to catapult him off the edge without going with him. But that had been a fool’s dream.

You lost your breath as you tumbled backwards off the cliff’s edge, unable even to scream.

Your captor had already lost his grip and distantly you heard his scream behind you as he fell. Though you were falling fast to the rocky depths below, you felt suspended in the air, suspended in time, trying to cherish only the last sight you’d had of Din as he’d surged forward hoping to catch you before you fell. You closed your eyes before you hit the icy surface of the unforgiving waters below.

******

Din had seen your intent the moment it had entered your eyes and had immediately been filled with nothing but pure dread. He ran through the possibilities as quickly as he could, but it hadn’t been fast enough. He’d shot the blaster only a second too late. And though the shot had found its mark in the heart of your captor, you’d gone over the edge anyway.

Another strangled, inhuman cry left Din’s lips as he leapt forward towards the cliff’s edge. He reached the peak just as your body disappeared beneath the surface below. This time he took no time to think. He dropped his blaster and dived gracefully off the cliff’s edge, trying to use his momentum to fall into the same area of choppy water where you’d disappeared, blessedly far enough away from the rocks that would have killed you instantly.

The icy temperature of the water barely registered beyond Din’s suit as he flipped his helm’s light on. Din tried not to panic when he saw nothing but empty, rough waters. Cursing within his helmet, he propelled himself further downwards, searching desperately for the sight of you. He began to breathe unevenly as water filled his helmet and knew he would soon have to surface. He could not, he knew, surface without you and expect you to live.

That was when he saw a flash of the bright skirt you almost always wore. He could have laughed with relief that you dressed so flashily. Then he was propelling himself through the water. His heart began thundering again when he saw your face blank, your eyes closed, unconscious.

His arms came around your chest and then he was battling the rough water upwards, breaking the surface and pulling you along with him. The water immediately drained from his helmet, allowing him to breathe. The weight of his armor and the strain of holding you aloft made the journey back to the rocky surface difficult, but adrenaline at the thought of the mere possibility of losing you drove Din faster.

He pulled you along with him up onto a rock above the breaking waves. He ripped his gloves off, one hand fluttering down to check your pulse, the other at your nose to see if you were breathing. When he realized you were not, he did not hesitate-

Din wrenched off his helmet and dropped it carelessly on the rock beside him. He fought the feelings of panic wrenching through him as he leaned down, pinched your nose between his fingers and put his lips to yours. He’d dreamed so many times of your lips on his, but never like this. He cursed himself distantly for never acting on his desires before, for letting his fear dictate his feelings for you, which were clear here at the possible end of it all.

Then he was pumping his clenched hands down on the center of your chest before putting his lips back to yours, trying to breathe you back to life.

“Come on,” he was saying roughly, “come on.”

***

Suddenly, you began to cough and heave, water trickling out of your mouth; your eyes fluttered open briefly. They closed again but not before you’d seen the stranger bringing you back to life. A beautiful, chiseled face. A man with plush lips, dark stubble and a mustache. Deep soulful brown eyes.

You struggled to breathe in, struggled to hack the remaining water from your lungs as you half sat up. The stranger held his arm sturdily at your back.

“The Mandalorian,” you managed to speak through racking coughs, “is he alright? Where is he?” In your panic, you had not stopped to think who the stranger might be or how you’d arrived in his care.

The man did not respond, only clapped you on the back several times, trying to help you cough the water out.

When your eyes fluttered open again briefly, they landed on the soaking cape, hanging over the stranger’s shoulder, seemed to finally see the beskar shoulder piece. You gasped, choking briefly on the water still trapped in your throat.

“What-“ But then he was fitting the helmet swiftly back over his head. But not before you had seen the anguish in his gaze.

Immediately, you berated yourself inwardly. You should have kept your eyes closed. You should have- but you could not have known.

“Din,” you tried, but you silenced yourself, knowing he must be kicking himself.

Quiet and stoic as the day you’d met him, he lifted you into his arms, letting you hitch yours around his neck. Despite what had happened, you cherished being in his arms, curling into his chest, your head pounding from the fall, from your near death.

You were weaker than you’d realized and lost consciousness in Din’s arms again barely registering that he’d activated his jetpack.

When you awoke, you were cozy and warm and wrapped up in a swathe of blankets, your wet clothes gone. You blinked at the ship’s hull above you. You were back on the Razor Crest.

“Grogu,” you managed through your drowsiness.

“He’s alright,” Din’s voice came from the alcove just to the side of his bed, which you were now laying in.

You breathed a sigh of relief, but your breath hitched when you remembered what had occurred, what you’d seen, what Din had done.

“Din,” you breathed against your will. Likely he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, as remorseful as he no doubt was. His creed for your life? What a paltry exchange.

The thought brought tears to your eyes. As well as the thought that Din could only hate you now. How could he not?

But then he was at your side, his gloved hands hovering over you. “Are you alright?” Concern so deeply evident in his voice that it only made you want to cry harder.

“I-“ you managed, your voice choked. You grasped his hand since he held it there just at your eye level, and he sunk down to one knee, tightening his grip around your own. “Din, your creed.”

For just a single moment, he stiffened, but then took a shaking breath and relaxed. His other hand came up to stroke your forehead, then your cheek. “Don’t think about it. Just rest.” His voice was more gravelly than usual.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat, distantly noting the bandages he must have applied to the wounds you’d sustained at the hands of your captor. Your eyes fluttered closed under his touch, worried if you kept them open, he’d leave your side. But his gloved hand continued its steady stroking of your cheek.

Tears threatened to spill from behind your closed eyes anyway. At the tenderness of it all. Of Din’s ability to forgive the unforgivable. Of what your presence in his life had caused him to forsake.

“You should have let me die,” you croaked before you could stop yourself. It was far from the right thing to say, but you meant it.

His breath hitched under his helm, and his fingers froze at your jaw, his other hand clenching yours tightly. “Don’t say that,” he muttered gruffly, his voice choked. 

Din was more emotional than you’d ever heard him, but you were sure it was because of the betrayal of his creed; you could not fathom that his grief might have anything to do with the fact that you’d almost died.

You spoke through the painful tightness in your throat. “I’m not worth it- You shouldn’t have- I’m sorry I caused this-“

You stopped talking when he released your hand to cup your whole face between both his hands. You opened your teary eyes in surprise but, of course, saw only your weepy reflection in his visor.

Din’s gloved thumb rubbed just beneath your lips. “I…I couldn’t- let you die.” The words seemed a struggle and he let them out haltingly - not as if he didn’t want to say them, but as if he didn’t know how. “I…” You heard him swallow beneath the helmet as your eyes darted all around his visor, wishing you could see his current expression, wishing you’d never seen his beautiful face at all. But then- “I care…about you…more than I can-“ He cut himself off, as if fearing he’d said too much.

You merely stared, hardly able to believe your ears. He couldn’t mean… Could he feel the same… The thought was too unbelievable to truly consider.

His grip on your face loosened. “I…” He sounded suddenly uncertain. “I understand you don’t- feel…the same. I just…”

But then you were gripping his wrist before he could withdraw his touch. You heard a sharp intake of breath beneath the helmet and realized your fingers had met the skin of his wrist. Your eyes fluttered sideways, drinking in the sight of his perfect skin, scars and all, just there beneath your fingers. When you brushed his wrist with your thumb, he let out a sigh and his hand tightened around your face. Your eyes darted to his helm then back and then you were leaning sideways and pressing your lips to his wrist.

You felt his pulse jump beneath your lips as you pressed another kiss to the inside of his wrist. When you looked back up at him, his helmet was tilted as he seemingly stared down at you.

“If-“ You licked your parched lips, swallowed with difficulty. “If I close my eyes, will you- Can I-…” You’d never found yourself, chatty as you tended to be, at such a loss for words. “Can I kiss you?” You managed. He froze and you opened your lips to take it back, terrified you’d said the worst thing you could have in the moment. But when he shifted to move, you lost your breath, wondering-

He went to take off his helmet without waiting for you to close your eyes.

“Wait,” you gasped, shutting your eyes tightly, just as you heard the whoosh of air that must have meant he’d acquiesced.

“You don’t have to-…”

And it was your turn to stiffen. The modulator had always been a given, and you’d never really thought twice about what his voice might have sounded like without the digital disruption.

It was husky and crackly, soothingly deep.

You found your breathing going shallow again when his hand, now ungloved, was back at your cheek.

“My creed,” he started, his voice rumbling somewhere deep within your chest, affecting you deeply. “My creed dictates that I- protect….my clan.”

Your breath hitched again, impossibly so.

“The promises I made when I received the helmet,” you heard a heavy thunk as he apparently put the item in question down. “There is more to my creed than just the helmet. A Mandalorian who cannot keep…his clan,” Those two words again; your stomach flipped of its own accord each time he said them, at the thought of what he might be implying. “A Mandalorian who cannot keep his clan safe…is not worthy of the helm he would wear.”

You startled when his bare finger ran across your lips soothingly.

“Grogu…” he began again, slowly, as if weighing the words. “Has seen my face. Do you know why?”

“He’s your son,” you breathed against his fingers, reveling in the way your lips brushed his fingers as you spoke.

“Yes,” his voice cracked on the syllable, but only just, and when he spoke again, he’d recovered. “My family. My clan.”

You swallowed hard again through the lump in your throat, pursing your lips to speak, to deny what you thought he might next say, not because you didn’t want it to be true, but rather because it was the only thing you wanted to be true and were too afraid that it was not to even entertain the thought. But his finger hovered just over your lips once more, silencing your attempted protest.

“You didn’t make me break my creed,” he promised. “I’ve been wanting to- I’ve wanted to see your face…for so long.”

You made a noise of protest now. “You see my face all the time.” Indignant when he got what you didn’t every single day.

“Without the helmet. Not through a visor.” His voice was heavy again, emotional.

It was not until then that you realized what he’d said. He’d wanted to see your face too. He-

“You-“

“You can open your eyes,” his voice was soothing, encouraging even.

“Are- are you sure?” You managed finally.

He let out a low chuckle that set your heart to racing faster than it did even when you were dancing nonstop in city squares. “I’m sure.” It was a promise.

You opened your eyes and your sigh was involuntary. You drank in the sight of every sharp angle and soft line of his face hungrily. His eyes were tender, but as he leaned down, there was a kind of hunger in them too.

This time, when your lips met, it was a different kind of life you felt him breathe into you. 

[braunbakery]

salvation, maybe (i)

☞ reiner braun x reader [fem bodied] [chapter word count: 2.5k]

☞ sfw, angst, fluff, post-season 3 [after 4 year time jump], season 4 spoilers

☞ cross-posted on ao3 (very much ahead on ao3, just wanted to bring it to tumblr)

☞ fic plot: you have walked these streets many times before. you have passed this bench many times before. you have seen this man (lost in his thoughts, always drifting, always looking lost) many times before. but this time, this time you take a seat.

next

i. hero

the wind blows your long skirt against your legs as you make your way down the street, shoes tapping against the cobblestone of the ground. liberio is reasonably busy and you find yourself accidentally knocking shoulders with a multitude of people. the slightly chilly late morning air nips at the skin on your face and you instinctively wrap your jacket a little tighter around yourself, repeating the list of what you need to get in your head.

eventually, you reach the less populated part of the market street. you know that you don't really have any business being here - all of your necessities lie on the busier side of the street (probably all running out at this point, judging by the ever-increasing crowd.) but, you have become so accustomed to making your way to the quiet end of this street to see if he still sits on the bench in front of the broken fountain, slumped over and staring at his knees. sometimes, on sunnier days, his long off-white jacket is crumpled next to him. sometimes he is leaning back, his neck tilted back towards the sky and his arms tightly crossed across his broad chest.

but the constant remains, he is always here.

since he had returned from wherever the previous warrior mission had taken him, every morning he sat at this bench in such an obvious amount of distress that you wondered how come no one else ever said anything. did his comrades never take notice of his seemingly permanently furrowed brow, or his fists that somehow were always clenching and unclenching? or were they all also fighting their own battles, sitting on their own benches and being watched by their own strangers?

his name is reiner braun.

you know this name, everyone knows this name. everyone knows his close-cropped blonde hair, his broad build, his sullen face (you wonder if he only smiles on command). he and his comrades bring honour to liberio and offer an excuse to marley for why you and your neighbours deserve to live. you want to feel grateful and proud, but as you watch him stare mindlessly into the distance, hands absent-mindedly playing at his uniform collar, all you can feel is pity.

sometimes you feel yourself slowly gravitating towards him, your feet moving before your mind even realizes it. today is one of those days when his sorrow is contagious, radiating out of him and into you, and suddenly you really are moving. it has been almost a month since he has been coming to this bench and sitting in silence. it has been almost a month of you idly watching him, wondering if you should say anything. if there's anything you can even say. but, he is a soldier. if you don't act now, he will be whisked away to whatever new conflict marley has conveniently found themselves in. you just want to say something. anything.

and before you know it, you have somehow planted yourself a few inches away from him on the other side of the battered wooden bench. reiner shifts in his seat, but doesn't say a word. your thoughts are racing and you contemplate whether or not it's too late to back out now. whether or not you can sit in silence and pretend your feet were just tired and you needed a rest (despite the fact you have only been outside for all of fifteen minutes.) if you seemed as melancholy as he seems to you, would you want someone to offer you solace? to acknowledge your struggle? you don't know, you don't know, you don't know. and before you know it, words of no real value are tumbling out of your mouth.

"not too bad of a day, huh?" you awkwardly say, eyes flitting towards reiner quickly to see if he will acknowledge the stranger trying to making a conversation about the god damn weather. reiner shifts in his seat, his dazed stare cut short as his body slightly slowly turns towards you. he still doesn't actually look at you. but, to be fair, you still haven't actually looked at him.

"i suppose," he mumbles, looking around the street as another gust blows through liberio, sending papers flying into the air.

"it's a shame the fountain doesn't work. maybe it would've made the day a little better," you comment, your eyes glancing back at the battered fountain behind the bench. it is years old, the white stone now faded into different hues of brown and green, and vines hooking and wrapping their way all around the structure. you suspect that maybe it had never actually worked at all.

"maybe," reiner replies. his head turns towards you, watching you crane your neck behind you to see the fountain. secretly, you don't want to turn your head back and witness him probably ignore your efforts of conversation. can you blame him? he has seen war and has been through hell, from paradis to the endless conflict between the mid-east allies. why would he decide now that a fountain no one actually cares about is what peaks his attention? "but, i think we'd have a bunch of kids jumping in if it did work. so, could be for the best."

realistically, the fountain is too small for anyone bigger than a toddler to attempt to climb in. but, you still find yourself slightly smiling in relief at his response, realising that maybe you weren't completely hopeless and maybe reiner didn't truly want to be completely alone.

"i suppose," you echo his earlier response back to him, no longer craning your neck and returning to face forward with him once more. your smile grows even wider as you notice the corners of his mouth softly curling upwards. much better. your eyes meet his for a moment and you can't look away from the deep hazel, the warm welcome. he is the one to break the stare, eyes glancing off to a passerby.

"you have a thing for fountains then?" he jokes. but, as you stay looking at him, you can see that despite his attempts at some kind of humor, his gaze is still crestfallen and his fists are still clenched at his sides. you don't know what to say.

"no, just for nice days," you retort, offering another toothy smile. like reiner, it doesn't particularly reach your eyes. maybe this is a mistake. maybe you are just bothering him and tiring him out from making him have to put up some moderately pleasant facade. maybe this is just for your own gain. because you are alone. because you are lonely. you grab at the empty woven basket next to you, wondering if you should just leave.

but the truth is the truth, and you are alone and so is he. is it such a crime to maybe want to be alone together?

"are you just out getting groceries?" reiner casually inquires, shoving his balled fists into the pockets of his long jacket. he looks at you again. everytime he has ackowledged you so far, a part of you feels that maybe this is okay. that maybe the small moments where he isn't lost in his own head and instead spares looks at a stranger makes it all okay. in the end, you don't really know him, and he doesn't really know you. but do you need to know someone to want them to feel okay?

"yeah," you say, leaning foward to take a peek at the busier end of the street, "but i think i'm a bit late. everything other than maybe bread is probably gone by now," even though this is going to be an inconvenience, you don't find yourself regretting it. you're happy to sit here next to reiner, even if it means another morning of trying to wake up early and make your way through the masses.

"huh," reiner huffs out a small chuckle, eyeing your empty basket, "you should probably go grab that bread then."

you slowly stand up, slinging the basket at the crook of your arm and turn to face reiner. he looks up at you questioningly. there was no way you had waited almost a month just to have some measly conversation about nice days and a century-old fountain.

"do you want to come?" you ask, trying to feign at least a fraction of the confidence you wish you held in this particular moment, "to the bakery, i mean." obviously he knows what you mean. why would you say that? reiner slightly raises his eyebrows at your invitation, but deep down, you are adamant that this is not the last time you talk to him. you are not going to let him sit on that bench until the next time he's shipped off halfway across the world.

"which do you go to?" he asks after a pause.

"the one by the tailor's," you answer.

"i don't know...technically, i did just meet you. you might be out to kidnap me and force me into building a fountain." you roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips.

"i don't think you have anything better to be doing," again, reiner responds with another raised eyebrow, "accept the pretty girl's invitation to buy some bread with her, reiner."

reiner laughs. a real, actual laugh. and you know that you aren't going to regret the sudden burst of confidence when you get home.

"how do you know my name?" reiner asks through his smile, getting up as he dusts off his warrior uniform.

"doesn't everyone, reiner braun, warrior of marley, hero of liberio?"

"hero," he repeats after you, standing a little closer and once more gazing into the distance, "i don't know about that." you both slowly start walking back along the way you had originally come.

"how come?"

"i think heroes are supposed to be good people."

his honesty stuns you, but you try not to let your composure falter as you both make your way down the cobblestone path, maneuvering through the crowd that seems to finally be clearing away as the morning breaks into afternoon.

"well," you pause, trying to think of something that will mean anything to him. that will relax his brow a little, or soften out the stress on his face, "i don't think you're a hero." you can feel reiner freeze for a small minuscule moment, his face turning toward you.

"oh, really?" a small, teasing smirk makes its way across his face. he can't hide the confusion painted on his features. maybe he's not as taken aback or hurt or offended because you really are just a stranger. maybe's it's easier for him to be honest because you really are just a stranger. maybe he is speaking freely, with the knowledge he may never see you again, because you really are just a stranger. and, even though, deep down, a part of you wishes you were something more than a face he would eventually forget, you are grateful for the modicum of anonymity that somehow seems to evaporate an unspoken boundary between you.

"heroes die," you say, bluntly, "maybe i think there's more for you than that." and that was the truth, or as much of it as you could force yourself into saying. reiner stares at you blankly, his teasing demeanor fading away as he stops in his path. maybe you had said something wrong, or reminded him of something he wishes he could forget, but you are glad that in some weird, confusing way, you managed to express that he needed to live.

you had walked on for a few steps before realising he had stopped, and turn back to find reiner still staring at you. people walk between you and around you, but his gaze doesn't falter. his face is unreadable, but eventually, he is cut out of his moment of stillness and crosses the distance between you.

"that's a bit grim, but thanks, i guess?" he laughs, scratching at the back of his neck. you are a couple of steps ahead of him as you both turn the corner, getting closer to the bakery stall. you look back at him, watching as he strides on behind you, arms swaying by his sides and hair being lightly blown by the wind.

"you know," you start, stopping in your path again. reiner follows suit, waiting for you to continue, "that doesn't mean i don't think you're a good person."

reiner looks up at you. he doesn't look back down. you think you can feel yourself sinking into the ground.

"really?" he says, after a pause. you can hear the chatter of the bakery up ahead, the footsteps of more shoppers walking past you, the faint howling of the wind in your ears, the playful cries of children weaving through the hoards of people littered throughout the street. and you look at him. really look at him. you know, for sure, for definite, that you don't want to be just a stranger. you want him to remember your face and your words. you want him to think he deserves something more than desolation. so, you repeat.

"it doesn't mean i don't think you're a good person."

you take a few steps towards him and grab the sleeve of his jacket, gently tugging him towards you as you continue walking towards the bakery. you walk side by side, a little closer now. this time, the silence is comfortable, and when he looks down at you as you ready your basket to collect the bread of your choice, you're already looking up at him and offering a smile. as you grab the money out of your purse, you stare at reiner's hands which hang at his sides.

you don't want to be a stranger. you will see him again.

it doesn't mean i don't think you're a good person.

you hand the money to the vendor, thanking her and steadying your grip on the now filled basket. reiner silently tries to grab it from you, even though it weighs practically nothing, but you move your hand away, eyeing him threateningly.

you have nothing else to buy, but you keep walking. your hands brush accidentally on purpose (more so on purpose on your behalf.) reiner doesn't ask where else you need to go, he just keeps walking with you, and you are grateful. you grab a roll of bread from the basket and break off the end of it, dividing it into two and offering a piece to reiner. he takes it from your hand and offers you a smile. you want to see that smile again.

no, you want to see him smile because of you again.

it doesn't mean i don't think you're a good person.

it just means i want you to live.

[missaudreyhorney]

The Big Game

Modern AU where Jim Hopper is at your parent’s house for a Super Bowl party. That isn’t a plot so much as it is a very flimsy excuse for me to write out some dirty thoughts I have after seeing this photo of David Harbour looking like an absolute DILF.

Content Warnings: Rated M for age gap, kissing, over-the-clothes touching, a bit of Daddy kink, a little physical intimidation. All that good stuff. Female Reader. Slightly OOC for the sake of funsies. 1.6k words.

Tagging @t-u-m-s​. Anyone else want to be tagged when I post something new? Let me know.

“I know you said not to bring anything,” you announce as you walk into your parents’ house from the garage, “but mom told me the doctor said you should be watching your diet.” You place the tray of vegetables on the kitchen counter and turn towards the living room. “So I brought you some ve-” your words are cut off by the sight of an unfamiliar man sitting on the couch.

He’s wearing jeans, a dark grey polo shirt, and a black baseball cap that’s on backward. Just his profile alone is stunning. Thick eyebrows, an adorably pointy nose, and a strong jaw covered by a short, scruffy beard. He turns to look at you and it feels as if your heart stops.

“Hopper, you’ve met my daughter before, right?” your father says as he stands up from the chair to greet you.

“No,” the man answers coldly, eyes now fixed on the tv.

Your father comes into the kitchen and gives you a hug. “That was very nice of you, sweetie, but your mom’s been making me eat vegetables every day. This is the Super Bowl. All I want today is wings and potato skins.”

You hear his words clearly but they don’t register in your head. You’re much too distracted by this Hopper person you’ve never seen or even heard about before.

“Where’s everybody else?” you wonder aloud.

“They’re not here yet. This is just the pregame stuff,” your father clarifies.

Hopper glances at you again and you feel like you’re melting as you lean into the countertop. He’s so hot. Nothing like the boys you go to school with. Nothing like a boy at all. He is one hundred percent man.

“You wanna get a snack and join us?” your father requests in a jovial tone.

“Um, I have to, uh, put this other stuff away,” you point to the bag of groceries on the floor next to you.

“Oh, right,” your father acknowledges.

“Where’s mom?”

“Getting a couple of last-minute things for the party. She’ll be back soon.”

You roll your eyes. “I told her I would do that.”

“You know your mother, “ he says, walking back into the living room. “She never listens.”

You take a moment to admire Hopper before removing the food you’ve purchased from the bag. His arms are tantalizing, with the type of muscle not built from going to the gym, but from moving furniture, fixing cars, and other forms of manual labor. Seeing the veins in his hand as he drinks a bottle of beer makes you lick your lips. You can’t stop yourself from shooting him more glances as you finish putting the remainder of the groceries in their rightful place.

There’s no way you can sit in there with that gorgeous man and pretend to be calm or make casual conversation. Instead, you slowly and carefully make your way upstairs to your bedroom, or rather, what used to be your bedroom before you started college. Leaning against the inside of the door and taking a deep breath, you pull your phone from your pocket to distract you.

Your mother arrives about ten minutes later, with a football-shaped ice cream cake, and you admonish her appropriately. Soon after, more people show up to the party and the game starts.

With increasing frequency, your eyes drift over to the handsome stranger still on the couch, and within time, his begin to drift towards you as well. You try to keep busy by topping off people’s drinks, refilling the chip bowls, and putting more snacks in the oven but it’s ultimately no use. You can’t avert your gaze for longer than 5 minutes at the most.

Every time you catch him looking at you, heat rises in your chest and radiates out through your limbs. Under normal circumstances, you would welcome this feeling, but with so many sets of eyes surrounding you, the feeling is almost embarrassing. You don’t know how much more of it you can take and you have to get out of there. Not necessarily out of the house, but just away from Hopper.

During a detergent commercial, you try to sneak back upstairs. When your mother asks where you’re going, you tell her that you’re not feeling well and you need to lie down. It is at least partially the truth.

Sitting down on the small bed, you begin to scroll through Instagram to get your mind off of him and you quickly lose track of time. A while later, you hear someone ascending the staircase. Standing in the doorway of your room and looking down the hall, you see Hopper’s impossibly long legs lumbering up the steps.

“What are you doing up here?” you question quietly.

“It’s halftime,” he declares as he closes the space in between your bodies. His scent is so manly, like tobacco and aftershave.

You take a step back. “Don’t you want to see...whoever it is that’s performing?”

“No,” he answers, entering the room. “I want to see you.” His voice is low and deep, causing your thighs to gently quiver.

“H-Hopper, right?” you stammer, breath getting caught in your throat.

“You can call me Jim,” he offers. It's not until you're this close up to him that you see how incredible his eyes are. They're such an unusually dark shade of blue.

“Okay...Jim.” You can feel your cheeks flush as you utter his name.

He looks around and takes a sip of his beer. “Is this your old room?”

“Yeah,” you answer, “haven’t lived here in years though.”

“Who’s Troy?” he asks you with a slight chuckle.

You give him a confused expression, completely unaware of who or what he’s referring to. He points to the wall behind you and you turn your head to look.

“Oh,” you laugh nervously, seeing your old Troy Bolton poster. “It’s Zac Efron. I used to have a crush on him.”

He nods his head in recognition.

“My tastes have…matured since then though.”

“Have they?” he asks with his curiosity piqued.

You nod vigorously as he approaches you like a lion stalking a young gazelle. Attempting to be coy, you back away, until your legs hit the bed and there’s nowhere else to go.

He puts his beer bottle on the nightstand. “What’s your taste in men like now?”

“Older,” you admit, looking up into his beautiful eyes.

“How much older?” His hands clasp around either side of your waist.

“I don’t know,” you answer breathlessly as your hands move up to his shoulders. “About 20 years?”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his lips are on yours in a fiery kiss. Something about this feels wrong, but at the same time, oh so right. You do have a genuine preference for older men, but one that’s friends with your father is really pushing it. As much as you hate to admit it, part of that excites you. It turns you on that he’s in his 40’s and there are a dozen or so people downstairs who could catch you two together at any moment.

Your mouth gasps against his when he shoves you backward and you both fall onto the twin-sized bed. He tastes like beer, a flavor you’re not fond of, but the absolute last thing you want to do right now is to stop. Suddenly, his left hand pulls your hair, yanking your head to the side to give his mouth better access to your neck. He kisses and sucks your sensitive skin there, making you squirm with equal parts pleasure and arousal.

“Oh, Daddy,” you breathe as he nibbles on your earlobe.

“Did you just call me Daddy?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you confess. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I liked it.”

You moan as his teeth graze your skin. The way he’s biting and sucking on you, it feels like he’s going to leave a mark, and at this point, you don’t even care. You don’t care about anything at all other than the way your body feels underneath him and his wanton mouth.

Another moan tumbles from your lips as run your fingers up his hairy forearms and grasp onto his biceps.

“Not so loud, huh? They’re gonna hear us.”

“You should have shut the door,” you reprimand halfheartedly. The sensation of his beard scratching the flesh over your collarbone has you pushing your hips into him.

“Too late for that now,“ he dismisses as his palm presses just below the zipper on your jeans.

Again you let out a moan, this one strained as you try and fail to be quiet.

“Why haven’t I seen you here before?” he inquires, his fingers now massaging against the denim.

“I’ve been at school,” you pant out.

“Well, you’re just going to have to come over here more often, aren’t you?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy!” you moan as the fingers of his free hand start to slide up the back of your t-shirt towards your bra.

“Hey, Hopper. You up there?” your father calls from downstairs.

Slapping a hand down on his head to keep his hat in place, Hopper jumps up from the bed and sprints to the door. “Yeah, I’m, uh, just looking for the bathroom.”

In a daze, you close your eyes and stay on the bed. It’s not until now that you notice how much your blood is pumping and your heart is pounding. With a resigned whimper, you realize that you’re aching with an overwhelming need left by his immense hand rubbing you through your jeans.

“Hurry up. The game is about to start again.” The sound of your father’s voice is a massive buzzkill.

“I’ll see you later, alright?” Hopper suggests to you as he stands in the doorway.

You don’t know what that means exactly but you’re looking forward to finding out. “Alright,” you sigh.

READ PART 2 HERE!

[my-writings-and-musings]

hello!! i am really really sorry if this sounds pushy or somethin but, will you ever publicly release that post swearth drabble you made?? i just curious

Today is actually the scheduled day, and on my partner's birthday no less, how fitting! Originally posted to my kofi for early access to supporters, now it's here for everyone!

Synopsis: Swerve and a human reader share a talk when he awakens after Swearth.

You were the first thing he thought about when he woke up, or so he would tell you later. Moments after he'd confessed how it was your touch, your tiny body clinging so tightly to him, that had welcomed him back to the land of the living. Apparently that had been the clue he needed to realize he wasn't dead.

It had been just you and him in the medical bay for hours following the... Swearth Incident, save for brief check ups from Velocity. The crew had given the two of you ample space and alone time once it was confirmed Swerve would soon awaken, both out of respect and to avoid the talk that would doubtless be needed between the two of you. There had been more than one occasion where you'd drifted off in the eternity it had taken for him to completely return to consciousness, your much smaller body protectively clinging to his beneath a blanket some unknown visitor had been kind enough to lay over you.

It seemed silly now, but you'd actually been angry when he'd come to so casually, yawning and rubbing his visor as if he was just waking from a nap. There'd been happiness as well, obviously, but you were still struggling too deeply to pretend everything was okay. Quite frankly, things had never been less okay between the two of you. 

Had you not been able to project down onto his fantasy world, joining the rescue party despite the copious limits of your biology, who was to say you'd have ever seen him awake again? He'd been hiding away in his room for months, dissuading you from visiting him by claiming there was "a huge mess that I'm too lazy to clean up"... Knowing that you weren't sure which hug had last been with his real self hurt more than you were ready to accept.

"Y/N...?"

Anger was briefly swallowed by a tsunami of relief when he sleepily murmured your name, his helm turning to let your face reflect on the newly polished surface of his visor, where your tear slicked expression dissapeared as you hugged him as securely as his broad shoulders allowed. 

"I thought I'd lost you..."

A knot in your throat prevented any further words from tumbling out, but the sobs that started to shake your whole body conveyed your thoughts just as well, sending a surge of hot tears splashing against his chest. Arms thicker than you wrapped gently about your smaller body, as calmly as if he were comforting you after a nightmare. A slight tremble in his grip made you hiccup in despair, your experience with his rather frequent hugs telling you the exhaustion from his still recent brush with death was still weighing him down, as ordinarily he would hold you like a lifeline for even the most casual embrace. Too many terrible things were finally registering as real far too quickly for you to process them all.

"I thought... when they called me into the medical bay..." You lost the tirade you'd been saving up to a storm of long buried grief. The memory of that call would forever haunt you, and now it was so recent the words were still burning in your ears, even though they'd been delivered so carefully... Agony from the sight of a familiar body lying broken on a medical slab made you nauseous, enough that only his increasingly desperate hug kept you grounded enough not to puke. Words poured forth in a cracked whisper, all the fear you'd been holding back for his sake rushing out of you without restraint, and interrupted only by an occasional hiccup or sob. "First Aid said you had days... That we'd been talking to a hologram for months, while you... you..."

The servos holding you tight maneuvered you to look him in the visor, keeping you in a loose hug while he put on what was probably intended to be a reassuring smile, though it failed to convince. "Hey, it was no big deal! Just my old shoulder wound playing up!"

"No big deal?" you repeated incredulously. A full body wince beneath you made it seem as if the words had physically hurt him, and while your heart ached as it always did when he was in pain, your other feelings could no longer be contained. He needed help for the suffering he'd endured in private, but in doing what he'd done you had nearly lost the one you cherished more than anything in the galaxy. You couldn't be expected to just let that go. 

"You nearly died! You were dying for months!" you said, disbelief still strong at the very idea. The bot you'd adored had been dying in secret with no symptoms, making it impossible to truly believe he was okay in this moment either. It seemed as if he might crumble beneath you at the slightest movement, but you kept talking, refusing to be quiet. "No one knew, not even me, that you were wasting away while we thought everything was fine! I didn't know! How many times did you hold me, or tell me you wanted to be together forever, while you..."

Sobs made it impossible to breathe, and therefore impossible to talk. 

"Y/N, I'm sorry..." Swerve said, softer than he'd ever been before. Careful servos pulled in your crying body against his and stroked your shaking shoulders, allowing you to vent everything you'd been enduring. Whether it took moments or hours before you were mostly quiet, he didn't interrupt you for anything, and he was silent until you were and he spoke again. "I never wanted to hurt anyone... I never wanted to hurt you... I... I didn't even know how bad of shape I was in."

"But you knew you were lying." you said, getting back to the core of the problem. Awareness of his condition mattered far less in the face of what he'd known and kept on doing. Though he did flinch yet again, Swerve didn't deflect this point, and instead nodded glumly in agreement. 

"That... yeah, I did."

"To everyone." you emphasized, pushing for an answer in regards to why. Not a single soul on the ship had known what was happening, until it was almost too late. Had Skids not acted so quickly and carried his friend to the medical bay directly... You made a mental note to thank him later, then returned to the present when the minibot in question finally looked ready to really talk. 

Taking more than a few starting vents, he finally got his thoughts gathered and his nerves primed, but every single word was unnaturally heavy. "It... it really didn't seem like a big deal. You were the only one who ever wanted to see me, in my own place, but it felt like I was doing you a favor..." Swallowing hard, he managed something like a smile and tried to sound reassuring, even if only to himself. "We still got to talk and everything else!"

There was too much to sort through in his partial explanation, thus you only stared. You'd always known he had issues when it came to self worth, but to hear him say teetering on the edge of death was no big deal? That by ridding you of himself he was doing you a favor? It wasn't something you could really wrap your brain around, but you supposed that wasn't important at the moment, not compared to what still needed to be done. There were more questions to be asked.

"You're hurting, and that's... I know you'd never try to hurt me, but you did. I want you to feel better, and I'll help, but I have to ask..." you said softly, finding the strength only as you came to each individual word to continue. Swerve showed in his braced expression that he anticipated something heavy was coming, a question he really didn't want to answer, but he didn't do anything to stop you.

"Y/N..."

Trying not to cry but still hiccuping, you forced yourself to keep looking in his visor. This wasn't supposed to be easy, after all, you repeated in your head as you finally croaked out the question. "Did you think about me at all? What this would do to me? Did you really think I wouldn't care?"

Something within him, something physical, seemed to break quickly and painfully. You felt it in how he flinched his much larger body as you lay curled over him. The unique way his visor light sputtered when he was hit with deep emotion told you he was reeling, and in that moment you forgot all about the complexities of the situation.

"I... I didn't-" he choked out on a sob, vents pulling air back and forth quickly in the Cybertronian equivalent of breathless crying. Heart breaking, you registered in some deep part of your brain that a dam he'd been relying on had just cracked.  Embracing his helm against your chest, you gently stroked his cheek, whispering his nickname to try and convey your support.

"Swervy..."

Clipped by sobs, his words tumbled out mostly coherently, and you held him as they did. "I r-really thought you could... could do better. I'm just h-holding you back and... and if I wasn't there... but I couldn't make myself stop seeing you!" A few hard sobs stopped him for a good minute, at which point your shirt began to dampen with his tears. What you were hearing had been simmering for ages, and as much as it hurt to hear, you knew just letting it out was progress. That didn't make it any easier to listen as he continued... 

"The holo... it was s-slow and made it like... like I was saving us both from hurt by slipping away. I didn't have to end things, we could pull back bit by bit and then... then you'd find someone better... but I didn't pull back at all, did I? I even made a second you, because I'm too selfish-"

You couldn't let him finish that thought. "Stop. No more of that."

Swerve looked surprised at your firmness, and admittedly had reason to feel as such. Swearth had included a holomatter of you already, albeit one that lived completely separate from his split personas... It had been you in the simplest, happiest of ways, living your dream life on his fictional escape from reality. Clearly he expected you to still be furious at what had only made you sad.

"B-but I ruined everyt-thing! If I'd just been brave enough to break up with you before-" 

"I don't want you to break up with me!" you cried, lifting your upper body to look down at him. Emotions raged inside you with enough ferocity to make you tremble, and for an instant you had to gather yourself. You'd known he was suffering, that he struggled with inadequacy, but for it to have gotten so bad? How had you not known he felt like this? 

Swerve looked absolutely baffled at your words, as if he'd heard you wrong or misunderstood. "But... I-"

"I love you! Even if there's some voice in your head that won't let you believe it, it's true! I want to be with you, and even after all this I still do!" you insisted, holding onto him as if he might vanish in a flash like before. Unable to stop yourself from crying at the raw emotions you didn't have the ability to handle, you wiped away the tears on the back of your arm, fighting to keep talking despite the pain. He had to know how you really felt, and if this moment was the only one you could break through to him you were going to use it. His cheeks were hot in your hands as you cupped his face. "I just need you to work on getting better! No more hiding, or lying, or any of that, I want you to be with me as you, because that's who I fell in love with!"

Swerve was totally silent, his little dentae gap showing between his slightly parted lips as he stared at you. His feelings were beyond guessing, but you were growing exhausted, too much to even hope you could keep this up. Sniffling, you laid back down over him. The frame beneath you was warm and alive, but just that morning it had been... he'd been so close to leaving you. Then again, he'd felt fine all the times you'd held him in the prior months, how did you know this was any different?

"I want to be with you. The real you. I don't know how to be sure this you is real either..." 

Exhaustion dragged you down against him, and you lost the ability to even lift your head as it all seemed to sink in. You hadn't wanted to make this about yourself, but your pain was just too intense to shove aside. Tears, more than you knew you had, continued to fall onto his chest. As they dripped onto the newly cleaned armor, you felt him suddenly shift beneath you. Curling up partway, he scooped you up completely in his arms and hugged you close.

"It's me this time, babe. A hundred percent. I k-know it's hard to believe that, but I... I want to help you trust me." he said, shaky but firm as he made his promise. For all the hours you'd spent listening to him you'd never once heard him use such a tone. There was conviction in the depths of his visor as he held you close, tapping his forehead against your forehelm. While you could also see pain, there was a desire to fight it now. His request for help came on a quiet murmur. "I don't know how to do that, but I don't wanna hurt anymore..."

"I can help with that. Not all by myself, but I'll be here for you as long as you try." you vowed, stumbling over your words as you found them. There was a strange solace in the idea, as if planning your recovery together was healing in and of itself. Too relieved to care, you pressed your face into his cheek. The faintest hint of his usual scent; sweet energon blends and brews, was still apparent beneath the sterile medical air. It soothed you as you allowed yourself to rest on top of him. "From now on, no more hiding this stuff. We're gonna get you feeling better, I promise."

"I love you..." Swerve whispered, hopefully but tentatively. A lifetime of doubt wouldn't just dissapear after one massive event, you knew that, but the start was good enough for you. Kissing his tear stained cheek, you held him close, hoping your unconditional love was clear in every word. It would be a journey, but you hoped someday he'd understand how much you meant it.

"I love you too, Swervey. Always will."

[carriagelamp]

Since it’s Pride Month, I decided this year I wanted to raid the library for a bunch of different queer books to read. Mostly graphic novels in this case, because I’ve had a hard time settling into much reading lately... thought hopefully now that it’s summer and I finally have my second shot I’ll be able to relax a bit more and dig into some heavier novels again. For now, enjoy some light, queer reads that I indulged in this June.

A Wolf Called Wander

A beautiful novel I had been hearing lots about. This story follows the young wolf Swift, who grows up knowing that he and his pack are the mountains, and the mountains are them. It’s in those mountains that he grows and learns and loves… until disaster strikes and he finds himself viciously torn apart from his family and forced out of the mountains that have always meant home to him. Forced to survive on his own. Swift then begins a gruelling journey that makes him face injury, starvation, and the everpresent danger of humans as he seeks a new place he can call home, and new people with whom he can form a pack.

This is all based on the true story of a tagged wolf known as OR-7, following the unbelievable route he took through Oregon and northern California! It was a very neat read, and I’d definitely recommend it if you enjoy stories told from an animal’s perspective because this book is a master class in it.

Bloom

I decided for June to try to read a handful of different queer books, and this was one of the first graphic novels I picked up. It is a super sweet story and the art is lovely. It’s about Ari, a boy who has just graduated high school and is now desperate to move away from his small town and his family’s struggling bakery, to join his band in the city where they hope to make it big. An agreement is finally reached: Ari’s father will let him leave, if he can find someone who can replace him in the bakery, which is how Ari meets Hector, someone who sees artistry and peace in baking. For anyone that’s read Check, Please, it gives off those types of vibes!

Boule et Bill: Bill est Maboul

Another book of Dupuis comics, because I can’t get enough of them! This one I just stumbled across and ended up reading on a whim but it was very cute. Geared younger than the others I’ve read, but still quite funny. It’s the charming hijinks of a young boy, his dog, and the family they live with. Each page or so is a different stand alone joke, a bit like Calvin and Hobbes except expanded beyond a single strip.

Chicken Run: Chicken Pies for the Soul

This was a ridiculous urge I got and had to follow. I recently rewatched Chicken Run (which is, of course, one of the best movies ever made) and felt the need to see if it had ever been novelized. Well, I found something better than a novelization! This is a chapter book with “advice” and stories written by the various characters, post-movie. It really does a good job with grasping the different characters’ voices and making something simple and funny out of it. It was very cute (and available on The Internet Archive if anyone else feels like reading something ridiculous!)

Doodleville

I picked this up on a whim and honestly, I shouldn’t have bothered. It was not very impressive. Very mediocre, awkward feeling artwork, and a story that only slightly manages to redeem it. The concept was kind of neat, and I did like how the ending came about, the rest was rather… plodding. I did not like the main character at all, her friends felt very Intentionally Quirky Aren’t We Cute :3 in a way that just tries too hard, and… yeah. Meh. It technically gets the “queer graphic novel flag” but it’s so in-passing that it feels rather excessive to give it that.

If you are interested, it’s about a world were doodles actually exist as living creatures that can be drawn into existence (the rather unsettling implications of which is never fully explored). This is all well and good, until the main character draws a monster and takes it with her to her art club... where it begins ravanging not only her doodles, but those of her friends. Together they need to work together to figure out how to stop this menace.

FRNCK v4

Phenomenal. I adore the FRNCK series, and book four wrapped up the first “cycle”, revealing several of the big secrets dogging the series so far, and changing how things are going to be able to run in the future.

If you haven’t seen me talk about it before, FRNCK is a graphic novel (a franco-belgian bande dessinée) about a young orphan, Franck, who’s chafing under the constant parade of uninterested foster parents that visit the orphanage he lives in. Determined to learn about his mysterious abandonment instead, he flees the orphanage… but finds himself tumbling through time, landing among a family of cave-people who rather reluctantly take him in and ensure this modern boy doesn’t die in the strange, dangerous new surroundings he finds himself in. You can get these ones in English as e-books, so if you want a really kickass graphic novel series to read please try these.

Haikyu!!

I’ve heard so much about Haikyu!! that I finally gave in and picked up the first book from the library. And I gotta say, it’s well worth the hype! This series really does capture the best parts of a good sports manga -- which is to say the team is filled with interesting, enjoyable character who all need to learn to pull together, boost each other’s strengths, and cover for each other’s weaknesses. Love me some found family tropes and this series oozes it in the best possible way. And then you also get some very cool action scenes as it makes high school volleyball seem like the most intense thing on earth. I can’t wait to continue it

Queer Eye

I haven’t been keeping up with Queer Eye but I was watching it ravenously when it first came out, and this seemed like a very cathartic book to read… and it really was. It had the same gentle, loving encouragement as the show. It doesn’t expect you to change your entire life, but to learn to embrace who you are, and take small steps to enhance those things. There a segment written (presumably) by each member of the Fab Five, explaining the mentality behind what they do on the show and how you can grow in those areas too. It’s very zen.

Spinning

I got this graphic novel out at the same time as Bloom, but it was the one that interested me less of the two... though that’s just because I have less interest in “real world” slice of life as a genre and this one is meant to be autobiographical. If you’re into that, you’ll probably love this because it really is stunning. Very pretty, and the format and pacing is all really well done. It’s a coming of age story for Tillie as she grows up dealing with a crosscountry move, complicated friendships, a burgeoning attraction to girls, and attending competitive figure skating classes.

This Place: 150 Years Retold

A stunning and heart-wrenching graphic novel told by a collection of different First Nation’s authors/artists, recounting oral histories about the 150 years since the colonialist formation of the country known as “Canada”. In other words, this is a post-apocalypse story, but one that really happened and that entire peoples are still fighting to survive. It’s very eye opening and beautifully told. Very strongly recommend the read, especially if you’re at all interested in history.

Torchwood: Serenity

Whoops, not technically a book. I had thought these were technically audiobooks at first, but rather they’re audio dramas that were played on the radio. Still, I decided to include one because I’ve been listening to them like a person possessed and they’re too fun not to at least mention. Let me indulge in my obsessions.

If you don’t know Torchwood, it’s a BBC series that spins-off from Doctor Who, focusing on the enigmatic and flirtatious Captain Jack Harkness, who is running the covert organization known as Torchwood, which is tasked to protect humanity from and prepare them for alien contact. It’s goofy and campy but also more adult and heavy than Doctor Who tends to get, so it is (in my opinion) a really fascinating series. Though it also has content warnings coming out the wazoo so maybe make sure it’s for you before delving in.

Serenity specifically is possibly one of the best Torchwood stories I’ve ever experienced. The Torchwood team concludes that there’s an undercover alien hiding in the idyllic gated community Serenity Plaza, and so that means it’s up to Jack and Ianto to go undercover as a happily married couple and flush out the alien without being discovered first. Even if it means being sickly sweet together, pretending to care about the local neighbourhood barbecues, and actually caring a bit too much about the Best Front Lawn competition. What is truly magical about this one, is that it manages to make it a Fake Dating AU despite the fact that Jack and Ianto are actually dating in canon. But they’re both used to dating as a pair of alien hunters with insanely dysfunctional lives, and who now need to figure out how to deal with domesticity. It is marvellous.

Wilderlore: The Accidental Apprentice

A middle grade novel that felt a bit like a cross between Harry Potter and Pokemon. It’s about orphan Barclay Thorne who wants nothing more than to be accepted in the rule-bound village of Dullshire, and live up to his apprenticeship as a mushroom farmer. He certainly wants nothing to do with the fearsome Beasts who live beyond the village, deep in the Woods or the sinister Lorekeepers that bond with them. It was, after all, a Beast that had killed his parents all those years ago. But when he finds himself at the very edge of the forest, hunting for an elusive mushroom, he is suddenly unable to avoid any of that. Not when a wild girl and her bonded dragon appear to summon a horrible Beast and end up getting Barclay bonded to it instead. Now, if Barclay ever wants to be welcomed back into his home, he has no choice but to venture into the Woods and find a way to sever the bond imprisoning him to the massive, monstrous wolf now imprinted on his body as a living tattoo.

I honestly can’t decide how I felt about this one. I feel like it’d be a really fun read for maybe a grade 5 to 7 student? I was a bit more meh about it. It was fine, but it was very hard not to draw unfavourable parallels to Harry Potter. But for a kid who’s never read Harry Potter? Or even an adult that has but is looking for something different to scratch that itch, this might be a good book to try. I’ll probably try reading the second book when it comes out.

[catzula]

Confessions.

A\N: is this self-indulgent? Yes, yes it is. And did I cry writing this? Positive. Okay, the thing is, this is something I've been wanting to publish for so long, but I didn't have the courage to do so. But recently, I told someone about the whole ordeal and the reaction I got was so different than I expected, so I thought why not write this? Even if one person sees it and relates, or maybe even encourages them to talk to anyone about it, (even if you don't have anybody please I beg you come to me I'll always listen to anything you want to say), I would be so happy. Please don't think this is because I'm trying to get sympathy points, it's not. I don't want anything like that, just to actually help anyone who was in my situation. This fic (rant more like it) isn't fully based on my situation, mine is different, but I didn't feel comfortable talking about that, oh and this isn't edited, I didn't really want to read it over and over again so idk. So, anyway, I'll be posting one of the requests today too, it's fluff yay and my first aizawa attempt, so... Yeah. A/n is longer than the fic itself, seems like it.

Warnings: delicate subject, mentions of sexual harrasment, reader isn't in a good mental state, guys if it's triggering don't read it please I have no idea if there's any other things that could be triggering

Genre: angst, some fluff in the end

Pairing: bakugou x reader

W.c: 1,6k

You felt weak.

You have never felt this weak before, so helpless and unsafe.

You felt like you weren't supposed to talk about this with anyone. It was like if you told anyone, they would shame you, like they wouldn't believe you, or maybe even tell you it was your fault.

It didn't make any sense, why would anyone think that your logical part asked. But your insecurities wouldn't let you tell anything to anyone, making you feel sick when you tried to even hint it.

So you decided it was the best not to say anything, hide it forever even. Though you thought that was for the best for everyone, it was the hardest thing you probably ever did.

Your friends were aware of how jumpy you were late, how whenever someone touched you for anything, or even brushed you slightly, you froze with fear. But when they asked about it, you would brush it off as nothing.

They noticed how moody you were too, how frustrated you were with everything, crying, or getting mad at random, small things.

How you distanced yourself from people, hid for them, isolating yourself.

It was hard for them to see you like this -you were trying your hardest to smile and laugh like you always did, but they could see how much it hurt you to pretend- but it was especially hard for one certain angry boy. Bakugou was going insane, not knowing what was hurting you so and not being able to do anything about it.

Though he could never admit it, he had a crush on you. The worst kind, at that, or so he thought. He didn't like this feeling, of liking someone so much that you were constantly on his mind, his mood changing according to yours, laughing when you laughed, getting furious when you cried.

And lately, it was killing him. He knew you had feelings for him too, he knew how much you tried to look happy when he was around but it was just hurting you and that was even worse.

It was only until that one day he heard your soft voice, trembling with sadness as you explained what was going on to your best friend, Kirishima.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but it was impossible for him to just leave when you were crying so.

"I'm sorry." You told Kirishima between your tears. "I'm so sorry."

***

You knew you had to tell him some time. You just hoped it would be later. But there was no running away when Kirishima pulled you to the roof, making you sit and waiting for you to speak.

"You have to tell me." He told you as you squirmed to get away. "I need you to speak to me, Yn. I need to know so I can help you, you're my best friend and I can't keep pretending nothings going on."

"I can't either." You answered, whispering without even noticing.

"I can't lie anymore, I'm tired." You sighed and hid your face in your hands. "Eiji, you have to promise me you'll listen to me until the end, and don't do anything I tell you not to do."

"Of course." He promised.

"This is about my professor." You finally admitted.

"The one you get along very well with?" He asked cautiously, afraid that wrong words were going to make you stop.

"Uh, yeah." You answered with a dry, humorless chuckle. "Apparently, we weren't getting along for the right reasons." At this, his head snapped up, his eyes locked with yours. "What?!"

"He-he tries to touch me." You mumbled in your hands. "Y/N, what the fuck does that mean?" He tried to stay calm, but how could someone stay calm over that?

Your insecurities infecting you, you felt like he was questioning you, not believing you and you swallowed hardly. "You know what? I-it's really not that important, I exaggerated." You told him, feeling uneasy all of a sudden. But he wasn't having it. He scooted near you, taking your hand in his. "No, Y/N, we have to talk about this! What do you mean by- by trying to touch you?" Your heart hammering in your chest you decided to rip the band-aid off.

"He touches me." You repeated, a lump in your throat, not allowing you to speak more than a whisper. "And he always has that- that smile... that smile that shows he knows what he's doing, and he knows how weak I am, how I can never do anything about it." You went on, feeling the hot tears tumbling down your cheeks. You shuddered with the unwanted memories.

"Did he-" Kirishima stopped talking, wide eyes watching you. "Did he ever..." Although he couldn't finish his sentence, you knew what he meant. "No." You told him. "He never went all the way, it's more like he's toying with me."

"How did this happen?" He asked, words so silent, you almost didn't hear them. 

You shrugged. "It started small." Your voice faltering with tears. "At first I thought it wasn't on purpose." You told him as you relived the memories. "His hand sometimes brushed my breasts and my skirt... He would also press his body against mine when he was walking in the hallways..."

Oh my God, this was terrible. Just talking about it made you feel so weak. Why couldn't you just say something, do anything? Why did you always freeze with fear instead of fighting? Maybe some people just didn't have it. Did this make you unworthy?

"Then it just started to get worse. He would full-on grab me when he 'helped' me with my questions, would always come so- so close to me that I could feel him. He started to corner me, made me stay after class, and just always tried to catch me alone." 

"Oh my God," Kirishima mumbled, unable to say anything else. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

Yes. Why didn't you? 

"I was scared." You whispered. "I was scared of- of you thinking I was lying, that I was saying this for attention, that I was exaggerating, that this wasn't important that this was my fault."

Was it your fault? Maybe you could have worn pants instead of skirts. Or maybe you smiled at him too much, did you give him the wrong impressions? Was it really your fault?

His head snapped up, angrier than you had ever seen him. "How could you think all that?" He asked voice laced with anger. "He is a... a well-loved person, Eijirou. Everybody likes him, trusts him and he just looks so nice... Why would anyone believe me when-" You stopped talking when he hugged you once again, tighter than ever before. "I would always believe you."

I would always believe you. Words you longed to hear so damn much, making you cry uncontrollably.

"I feel so weak, Eiji." You said once again, the nickname you had given him falling off your lips for the first time in a while. "I can't even say anything to him... I'm weak... I'm afraid of people judging me, and I just can't feel safe anymore. I can't even trust myself." 

"I'm so sorry." He told you between the sniffs he was trying to hide, you thought it was ironic that he was the one apologizing. "I'm so sorry Y/N." 

Both of you weren't aware of the angry boy listening to you, shaking with anger and sadness. He couldn't believe there was someone out there making you feel like this when he himself couldn't even dare to tell you his feelings, let alone touch you.

***

"Where are you taking me?" You asked at the boy tugging at your wrists, pulling you somewhere.

Bakugou came to your door the next day he heard your conversation with Kirishima, a plan in his mind to help you, at least a little bit.

"Okay, we're here." He told you. He had brought you on a small field, surrounded by trees and flowers, an empty space in the middle. Your heart beat fastened in your chest, but how could it not when he looked this way to you?

"I will teach you self defense." He told you.

"What?" Wasn't that a little too random? "You heard me." He answered gruffly. "I'll teach you how to defend yourself."

"I- I mean- thank you!" You said, laughing a little. "But I don't understand..."

Oh no.

"Why?" You wanted- needed his answer to be something, anything other than what you had in mind. But it was obvious that it wasn't, when he stayed quiet.

"You heard us." You whispered, hand trembling with fear. The boy you liked, the one you had the biggest crush on, had heard how pathetic you were, how you didn't even have the courage to speak, to push this man's hand and confront him.

"No-" you choked. "It's not what you think." You said as you thought about what you could say, but your mind went blank when his hand caressed your cheek. "Don't." He told you. "Don't lie to me, you don't need to. You don't have to talk about it either, but I'll be here, always here for you to speak, to seek help, and now I will teach you self defense. You said you didn't feel safe, you felt weak. I'll be your safe place if you need me to, but I want you to feel safe yourself too."

You opened your mouth to say something but he didn't let you.

"Look, this isn't because I'm pitying you, or because I think you're not capable of defending yourself. I just- I want to help you, be with you, and this is the only thing I can do."

"Thank you." You whispered and without giving any warnings, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "You have no idea how much this helps."

A long silence went between you, allowing you to ask that one question.

"But why are you doing all this for me, Bakugou?"

He pulled back with your question, though so slightly that your noses almost touched each other. "It's because-" he stopped, fear clawing in him. What if you didn't feel the same way? He knew you did, but what if you didn't?

He gulped and took a deep breath. You have been acting so brave for the longest time, he couldn't even understand what you had went through- even though you couldn't see how brave you were yourself. So he decided it was his turn to be brave now.

"It's because I'm in love with you." Your breath stuck in you, eyes wide but a smile of relief on your lips. "Bakugou..." You whispered as he leaned in a little more.

"I love you too."

[fandom-collective-writers]

Stupid (Shaw x MC)

Fandom: Mr. Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Shaw x MC

Prompt: lost in the woods, ghost stories

Warning: Smut!!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 5,227

Requested by: anonymous

Written by: @lordsister​/@lordsisterxotome (Click here to support me on ko-fi!<3)

Disclaimer: I do not own Mr. Love Queen’s Choice or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

Other notes: I meant to post this a few days ago, buuuttt life happens. I got caught up doing all the major work for a group project and then I was too exhausted to write at night. 

       “Stupid Shaw with his stupid ghost stories and stupid voice and stupid handsome face and-” Streams of confused insults muttered past her lips as MC continued to stomp down the trail, a mantra to ward off the instinctual anxiety rising in her chest. Why had she ever agreed to come up here with him? Oh yeah, because she was weak for that voice he used when he teased her. She could see him in her mind’s eye right now, that smirk and those glittering golden eyes as he accused her of being too scared to go up the haunted mountain in the middle of the night. Why, oh why, did she have to be so easily persuaded? 

       Shaking her head, MC wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the light coat she had decided to wear. She’d chosen it in favor of looking cute rather than taking a more practical coat for the chilly autumn night, pairing it with a button-up, skirt, and thick leggings. Yet another stupid decision on her part. Always so, so stupid when it came to him. Shaw hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing, only rolling his eyes and complaining about her being late

       Now she just wanted to go home and wrap herself up in a blanket burrito, smothering all the pain and heartache away with fleecy softness and too much ice cream. If only she could find the end of the trail then it wouldn’t be far to the bus stop at the foot of the mountain, and then she could start to pretend that she hadn’t left her heart further up the mountain, in the hands of a boy who cared nothing for it except as a toy to amuse himself with for a time.

       A gasp escaped her lips as her foot skidded on a slippery part of the trail, the sound too loud in the eerie stillness of the forest. Thus far, she’d managed to keep her fear at bay, held back by the anger burning in her chest and the uncomfortable heat prickling at the corners of her eyes. It was easy to ignore the tales of tragedy and bloodshed that Shaw had told her made this mountain famous when she felt she could have wrestled a bear and won through sheer fury. Now though that energy was starting to wear off, the back of her neck prickling and her mind confusing the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears for the rustle of things lurking in the bushes.

       Taking deep breaths and forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, MC tried to reason with herself. Ghosts weren’t real, she and Shaw were the only ones on the mountain, and the bus stop wasn’t far. But she had seen too many crime cases from late night crime shows to feel at ease in the woods in the middle of the night. Not when she was basically setting herself up to be shanked or kidnapped or any number of horrible things. It was different when she was with Shaw; he had his evol to protect them, but she didn’t have anything to defend herself with, hadn’t even thought about it when she had stormed away from him and left him at the top of the mountain to do god knows what.

       It didn’t help that it seemed the weather was taking a turn for the worse. When they had arrived, it had been a clear night, the light of the moon and stars plenty to see by, but storm clouds had started rolling in soon after their fight, the rumbles of thunder increasing with each passing minute and threatening to open up on her.

       It seemed like she was making nothing but bad decisions tonight. Great.

       Another few minutes of walking and the anxiety in MC’s chest only grew. She should have reached the end of the trail by now. Had she managed to take a wrong fork in the path somewhere? Followed another trail she hadn’t noticed when they were walking up the mountain?

       A knot was rising in her throat, but she swallowed, forcing her panic back down even as her steps quickened. She hated that she had put herself in this situation, that she’d been dumb enough to get lost, but more than that she hated herself for wanting Shaw in this moment. Deep in her heart, all she wanted was his bold, smirking presence at her side, guiding her along with playful words that sent sparks through her chest and made her smile despite herself. She wanted the feeling of safety he brought when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, when he looked at her like they had some shared secret only they knew.

       Maybe she regretted yelling at him a little bit, but it was nothing he didn’t deserve after the non-stop teasing and mocking she’d received since the start of the evening. Usually MC could handle his snark, but something in her had snapped tonight, overwhelmed and embarrassed at having her feelings made a joke by this man. It made her feel foolish for ever letting herself be intrigued by him in the first place. She wanted to think she had better self-preservation than that when Shaw’s entire demeanor screamed bad boy trouble.

       ‘Forget it! It’s over; I hate you!’ The look on his face when she’d said those words though-

       Wait.

       Her steps stopped abruptly, sending a slight scattering of loose dirt and stones down the slope of the trail.

       She’d broken up with him? Vaguely the words cycled through her mind, the argument sparked by a jab too far from Shaw replaying in hurtful loops. In her angered haze, she hadn’t realized she’d said those words and now she was paying the price, her hand reaching to grip her shirt above her aching heart, heavy with fresh pain. Panic choked her soft whisper of his name, the tears rising so suddenly that a couple slipped down her cheeks. Squeezing her eyes shut, MC took deep breaths, shaking away the momentary hysteria and biting back the sobs and whimpers that threatened to escape.

       As much as she hated to consider it...maybe it was for the best. Whatever Shaw felt for her, it wasn’t nearly what she felt for him. Once upon a time, she had been attracted to that nonchalant, sassy attitude; it had been refreshing, heart-pounding. Now it only served to make her doubt herself, planting insecurities in her mind about things she’d once felt confident about and making her wonder if she wasn’t worth the effort of a real relationship. 

       Maybe this was a good thing, a signal that she needed to take a step back and take a look at herself and the person she’d become by committing to this relationship. Would she like that person? Or would she realize just what a mistake it had been to follow the boy with lavender hair and smelled of storms and faint cigarette smoke? Could she return to the person she had been before him?

       As great as it was to be coming to these realizations in the woods in the middle of the night, a sudden snap from nearby reminded her that she could soul-search just as well from the safety of her apartment where there were locked doors. She startled, breath catching in her chest as a cold sweat broke out on her back. Every instinct was telling her to run and stay put at the same time, heart pounding in her ears even as she listened for movement, wide eyes straining through the gloom in vain.

       What was probably only a few seconds felt like hours as she waited for something to jump out at her. Maybe it was just an animal? Yeah, an animal would make sense. Please, please, please just be an animal.

       The rustling came again, louder this time, and MC decided she didn’t want to stick around to find out if it really was an animal or not. Her feet slid over the loose dirt and rocks as she flew down the trail, fueled by fear and adrenaline. Rushing and thumping filled her ears, creating unseen, unheard pursuers in her mind as she ran faster, nearly tripping on exposed tree roots and tumbling down the path in her haste. 

       A face appeared in her mind’s eye, a familiar sharp chin, smirking lips, and teasing eyes making her heart and soul cry out for the one person she wished was here right now. What if she never saw him again? Never sorted things out? Had he ever cared for her as she cared for him? 

       She could feel the presence closing in at her back now, legs pumping harder despite the burn in her muscles. One name came to her, waiting to be screamed as she opened her mouth. A hand wrapped around her wrist, her feet scrabbling as she was pulled back abruptly, and her shriek of her lover’s name echoed through the trees, clawing at her attacker with her free hand as she struggled. Every nerve in her body was alight with fear, not even bothering to take a look at her pursuer as she aimed for eyes, throat, ears, anywhere that might distract them enough to release her and give her enough time to escape.

       “MC!!” 

       She froze at the sound of her name spoken in her ear, trembling as she finally opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed and looked up into the face of the man holding her.

       “It’s me. Just me. Relax.” 

       Even in the dark, he was so close she could make out his wide eyes, shining with an emotion she couldn’t place, at least on his face. The warmth of his body radiated against hers as he tugged her closer, a familiar mix of ozone and smoke filling her nose.

       “S-Shaw?” she whispered shakily, legs beginning to tremble. Her heart was still pounding too fast in her chest, but the panic was already starting to dissipate, leaving relief in its wake.

       “Yeah, it’s me, baby. Shh, I’ve got you now.”

       She let him pull her shaking form into his arms, sagging against his chest as he tucked her head under his jaw. “Shaw.” His name was all she could think to say, her mind scrambled as her fingers reached to curl into the soft leather of his jacket. “Shaw!”

       “I know,” he sighed, and she thought she could feel him trembling a little too, but he pulled away before she could be sure. He frowned as he looked at her, a strange, wavering annoyance written across his face. “Are you okay?”

       She nodded, not trusting herself not to sob if she opened her mouth.

       “Good.” His grip on her shoulders tightened and a second later he was shouting, shaking her. “What were you thinking, dumbass?! Running away from me in the middle of the night! How stupid can you get?!”

       She flinched, stuttering his name before he cut her off with a, “Shut up!” 

       “Did you ever think about what could have happened if I hadn’t found you? Huh?!”

       “N-No, but-”

       “Of course you didn’t! You never think about the danger you put yourself in! You just waltz right in and cause trouble for everyone else in the process!”

       Gritting her teeth, MC began to struggle in his hold, his fingers digging too tight into her arms. The relief she had felt at his arrival disappeared under a wave of anger rising from the pit of her stomach, bringing enraged tears to her eyes as she placed her hands against his chest and pushed. “Let go of me, Shaw!”

       “Why?” he scoffed at her attempts to break his hold. “So you can go tumbling down the mountain and break your neck? So you can fall right into some pervert’s campsite?”

       “So what?!” She struggled harder, cursing the way her bottom lip trembled and her voice broke. Glaring him in the eye, she spat, “Like you would even care!” 

       Above, lightning cracked across the sky, followed a second later by booming thunder.

       With a snarl, Shaw dove down to catch her lips in a hard kiss, a shiver traveling down her spine as his breath fanned across her face. He was so close now she could see in his eyes all the emotion he’d tried so desperately to hide, all his pain and fear clear in their amber depths. 

       “How dare you act like I wouldn’t,” he breathed against her lips, and even though he wasn’t shouting anymore, the intensity and sincerity with which the words were spoken was enough to rattle everything she had believed he’d felt about her. 

       “Never, ever run away from me like that again.” His hand traveled up her arm, rough as it smoothed across her shoulder and up her neck before cradling her cheek in his palm. “Never say those words to me again.” His voice was tight, choked, and she winced when his forehead knocked against hers. “You have no idea how I felt.”

       “Shaw?” She licked her lips, not missing the way his eyes dropped to the movement. “Were you-?”

       “No!” he answered, too quickly, too harshly, catching his lip between his teeth as he half-glared at her, relief and need eroding the anger and exasperation he was desperately trying to hold on to. “Shut up!” His mouth slammed against hers again, his tongue diving between her parted lips to dominate her mouth.

       MC could barely keep up as he backed her against a tree, a flurry of teeth and tongue and hands. Automatically, she tried to kiss him back, but she was so conflicted right now she could barely manage to slant her lips against his properly, her gasps of his name cut off in his unrelenting assault on her mouth.

       His knee moved between her legs, parting them, and she gasped, jerking, when his fingers reached under her skirt and stroked her through the crotch of the thick tights she was wearing. Her body thrilled at the unfamiliar touch, arousal beginning to dampen her panties, but disquiet still gnawed at the back of her mind, making her reluctant to give in to his ministrations. Instinctively, she tried to shy away from the touch, but Shaw’s arm around her waist held her pinned against him, unable to do much more than squirm as his strokes turned harder, more insistent.

       They had never been physical before. Sure, he’d teased her, making her blush with his implied indecencies, but they had never gone farther than kissing and the occasional grope from Shaw at inappropriate moments. He had never done anything that pushed her to sleep with him or made her feel uncomfortable, and she’d appreciated him for that as she herself didn’t have anywhere near the experience he undoubtedly did, but it was all too easy to let feelings of being unwanted, of being unattractive, grow and wrap their sharp thorns around her heart and mind whenever she saw him flirting with other women, his hands on their waists or too close to the short hems of their dresses. It made her doubt whether they were ever really a couple to begin with or if it was just her own innocence and foolishness making her get ahead of herself.

       For so long, she’d thought he hadn’t wanted her, hadn’t cared for her, and those negative feelings had overflown tonight, but now she didn’t know what to think. 

       Grabbing the hand that had left her covered core in favor of slipping beneath her blouse, she managed to say, “Shaw, wait, what are you-?”

       “I need to feel you,” he actually pleaded, surprising her with the desperation in his tone. Releasing his jacket, MC took his face in her hands, making him look at her as she brushed his hair out of his eyes. Those gorgeous golden pools that had entranced her so many times shone suspiciously now as he looked at her like it would be the last time he ever saw her, drinking in her features with an intensity that took her breath away. “Please,” he whispered. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out as she watched the panic flare openly in his gaze, his breath catching in a small gasp.

       It shook her more than anything to see the boy she loved like this, her heart wanting nothing more than to wrap herself around him and take back all of her harsh words, to promise to never run from him again and give him everything he wanted, even though her mind was more reluctant.

       Biting her lip, she nodded. She couldn’t kid herself that she hadn’t wanted him. Whatever happened after this, whatever they were after this, she would deal with it and try not to regret it in the long run. 

       Shaw’s eyes closed and his head dropped to her shoulder as he sighed, “Thank you.” Her hands reached to comb soothing fingers through his hair, but she yelped, her grip tightening on the locks, when his teeth suddenly sunk into the side of her neck, abusing and sucking the skin as his grip around her waist tightened. 

       Calloused fingers made her shiver as they brushed the soft skin of her stomach, traveling up her ribcage and leaving goosebumps in their wake. A second later the appendages found the edge of her bra and slipped beneath without an ounce of hesitation to fondle the soft flesh of her breast, teasing the nipple with cold fingers. Mewling, she squirmed and arched into him as his touch sent pangs of heat straight to her core, trying and failing to close her legs around his knee.

       “Does that feel good, baby?” Shaw whispered hotly against the soft spot beneath her ear, his tongue dragging against the edge of her jaw. The soft, scared boy that had clung to her a moment ago had disappeared, buried beneath lust and need and a fighting attitude, and the change startled MC for a heartbeat before she realized it just made her want to embrace him more, take in both the vulnerable Shaw and the egotistical Shaw.

       “Yes!” she admitted, whimpering when his hand left her breast only to screech a moment later his hands gripped the edges of her blouse and tore it apart, buttons landing somewhere in the grass. “Shaw!”

       “I’ll buy you a new one,” he said offhandedly, before hooking his thumb under the center of her bra and tugging it up over her breasts. She gasped as they spilled into the cool night air, nipples hardening immediately, and moved to cover herself, but one of Shaw’s hands grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. 

       “Don’t hide from me,” he chided, glinting eyes sinful as they peered up at her from her heaving breasts. “Your body is going to know me and me alone by the time I’m finished.”

       A cry left her lips, too loud in the quiet of the forest, as his hot mouth encased a nipple, his free hand busying itself with its twin as he moaned and sucked and rolled the bud between his teeth and tongue. She had never felt anything like it before, the sensation heady and addictive, and she bucked against his knee when it moved up to make contact with her crotch. The heat growing in the pit of her stomach made her long for him and she wanted more.

       “Mmm, you’re so responsive to me,” Shaw hummed against her breast, now wet with his saliva. She squeaked when his hand gave the opposite breast a harsh squeeze, glaring down at him as he chuckled, “So cute.”

       Whining his name, she ground against his knee as he moved it over her clothed core again, desperate for some kind of friction no matter how muffled. She had already soaked through her panties, leaving the cotton to rub against her sensitive folds uncomfortably with each drag of his knee. 

       “Shaw, please!” she urged, tugging him up by his lapels for a messy kiss. 

       He smirked against her lips, more of his usual cockiness returning. “Please what?” he asked too innocently, punctuating his words with a nip to her bottom lip. “What do you want me to do to you?”

       Half-pouting, half-glaring, she bit her lip, little tears of pleasure beaded at the corners of her eyes. He seemed taken aback a little, eyes widening as he looked away from her and clicked his tongue. She couldn’t make out the pink spreading across his cheeks in the dark. “Fine! I’ll take pity on you tonight, but don’t expect mercy from me next time,” he grumbled. 

       MC blinked. There was going to be a next time? She didn’t have time to dwell on that little note any longer as his hand released her wrists and moved to the crotch of her tights. A low whistle reached her ears as he took in the mess she’d made on his pant leg, a wet patch on the dark material.

       “Shit,” he cursed lowly, feeling his cock jump within the confines of his pants. “You’re so fucking wet and I’ve barely touched you yet.”

       “D-Don’t - SHAW!” she screamed as he tore her tights open, outraged that he’d ruined yet another piece of her clothing in the same night. “Why do you keep ruining my clothes?!”

       “You don’t need them right now,” he shrugged, licking his lips. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll make sure to take your mind off it.” 

       “But - hah!” Her protests cut off when he tugged her panties aside to stroke two fingers through her wet folds. Throwing her head back at the contact, she ground her hips into his hand, clapping a hand over her mouth to contain the embarrassing noises that threatened to escape.

       “It’s so dark, but I can see you glistening,” Shaw murmured, his voice awed and teasing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance up at her, shocked by the raw hunger and lust in his gaze. “Go ahead and try to stay quiet, I dare you. I’m going to make you scream for me.”

       She cried into her palm as a digit sunk inside of her, the sensation foreign and strange but not entirely unpleasant. Her velvet walls clenched around the intrusion, the calloused pad reaching deeper than her own fingers ever could. Despite the strangeness of it, it did little to quell the need suffusing her body, only succeeding in fanning the flames of her longing for more of him.

       “So tight around just one finger,” he hummed, letting her bury her free hand in his disheveled hair as he started to thrust the digit in and out of her. “Too tight...Don’t tell me you’re still a virgin?”

       Her eyes widened, jaw opening and closing a couple of times in broken answers before she huffed and looked away from the lengthening smirk on his face, her cheeks hot. 

       “You want me to take your first time out here in the middle of the woods?” She didn’t dare look at him for fear her heart might give out at the sheer sin painted across his face. His grip on her thigh tightened, another finger joining the first and making her shudder. “You want to lose your innocence to someone like me?”

       “Shaw, please-!” she whimpered, voice trembling as it became ever harder to stay quiet.

       “Answer me, love. How many times have you thought of me taking you like this, fucking you on my fingers?”

       “I...mm...I don’t know!”

       “Do you want my cock? Want me to make you come apart on my dick?”

       “Yes! God, yes!” Her hand dropped away from her mouth in favor of joining the other already tangled in his hair, forcing him to look up at her as she pleaded, “Please, Shaw! Please, please fuck me!”

       Surging up, he captured her lips in a heady kiss, passionate and needing but not without a surprising edge of tenderness. Thus far, his affections had been wild, frantic, almost as if he was afraid she would change her mind and push him away. Now, MC realized how wanted she felt, heart warm in her chest.

       She peeked down curiously as she felt him shuffle against her, a shiver of excitement traveling down her spine as she heard the jingle of his belt being undone. It was hard to see in the dark and with his mouth still hungrily devouring hers, but she felt the weight of his erection spring up against her hip, another wave of arousal soaking her folds as her lover moaned at the friction and ground against her.

       They broke away from the kiss panting, a string of saliva connecting swollen lips, and she watched through half-lidded eyes as he slipped a condom out of his pocket. He wasted no time in tearing the package open and rolling the rubber over his straining length, ignoring her wide, questioning gaze as he straightened and hoisted her leg over his hip. She squeaked at the feeling of his cock sliding through her wet folds, hot and hard as the tip caught on her neglected clit. The pleasure it sent through her was intense, nearly sending her into a mini-climax as she whined and clawed at him.

       “Are you ready?” he murmured, mouthing at the marks he’d left on her neck to distract her from the press of the engorged head at her entrance. 

       Swallowing, she nodded. “Yes.”

       She felt him take a deep breath and a heartbeat later she gasped as the head of his cock burrowed inside of her, her body tensing at size of the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers. Shaw groaned into the crook of her neck, fingers digging into her hips to resist the urge to simply hilt himself roughly inside of her. “You have to relax, baby girl.”

       “Trying-!” she squeaked, burying her face deeper into his shoulder. 

       “Look at me, love,” he murmured into her ear after a second. Tilting her head back against the tree trunk, she felt her heart stutter at the raw look in his eyes, more love and wild protectiveness there than she had ever thought possible for him. “I’m going to imprint myself inside of you,” he promised, tone too sweet for the filth of his words. “Going to drill into this tight little pussy until no other man can ever satisfy you.”

       His lips fell upon hers, swallowing her pained whimper as he finally pushed passed her maidenhead and forced his way deeper into her tight heat until he had bottomed out. Shaw kissed away the few tears that escaped her tightly shut eyes, staying perfectly still despite the raging urge in his lower gut to fuck her raw until she was ruined for all other men.

       The pain of having her hymen broken and the stretch of his impressive girth inside her created a throbbing burn deep in her stomach, nearly enough to make her push him away, but she endured it in favor of the underlying pleasure she could sense beneath the discomfort, a bubble rapidly expanding as her body accepted him.

       “So fucking tight,” he hissed, panting. “I’m going to lose control sooner than you’re ready for if you keep squeezing me like that.”

       “Please…!” The leg over his hip pulled him closer, her hands clutching him tighter. The pain had all but disappeared now, leaving sheer need for him in its place. “Please, move!”

       Shaw didn’t need any further encouragement, nor did he start out slow. Pulling back until only the tip was left inside of her, he slammed back in hard, drawing a scream from her as electric pleasure raced throughout her body, suffusing each cell. Her hips moved to meet his thrusts, trying to reciprocate, but he shoved her back against the tree, leaving her helpless to do much more than writhe against him as he continued to pound into her.

       The grunts and growls that fell from his lips warmed her skin as he panted into her neck, making her weak and threatening to send her crumpling between him and the tree trunk. Before she could though, his hand wrapped around her other thigh, hoisting both legs around his waist now. His thrusts intensified, turning feral as her fingers clawed at him through the thick fabric of his jacket and he hit deeper, dragging against her walls with each ferocious drive into her dripping core. 

       His lips captured hers in a messy kiss, swallowing her mewls and cries as he pressed closer, working his cock even deeper inside of her. “Don’t go,” he panted, moving to kiss her again. That uncharacteristic vulnerability was back, making his voice raw, hoarse, and it gave her pause in the throes of her pleasure, shaky fingers moving to brush his cheeks. “You can’t go.”

       She opened her mouth to respond, but a hard grind to her clit left her incoherent, unable to form the words to reply on her tongue. Her mind was beginning to fuzz over, turning white at the edges.

       “Promise!” he cried, demanding and pleading all at once as his grip on her tightened. “Promise you won’t go!”

       “I-I promise! Ahh!! Oh god, Shaw! I’m-!” She screamed his name as her orgasm washed over her, enveloping her in mind-numbing pleasure as she spasmed around his plunging cock. The intensity had her scrabbling her purchase, legs wrapping tighter around him for some kind of stability. 

       He wasn’t far behind. With a few more frantic thrusts into her, Shaw groaned, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple as his body shuddered and he released into the condom. Still entwined, they sank to the ground together, mixed up in each other’s climax and unable to let go even if they wanted to.

       MC didn’t know what to say now, how to put the feeling of how full her heart felt into words. So instead she took to caressing the porcelain skin of his face in her hands, kissing his closed eyes, the corners of his lips. She was surprised when the stroke of her thumbs across his cheek bones came away damp.

       Heartbeats passed and he pulled back, flaccid cock slipping out of her. She stared at him as he shuffled, disposing of the condom and tucking himself back into his pants. What happened now? 

       “Come on,” he grunted, offering her a hand up on shaky legs. He pulled her along a few steps, stumbling after him, before kneeling and grabbing her by the backs of her knees, pulling her onto his back.

       “Where are we going?” she whispered, afraid to break this sense of intimacy that remained even despite the growing awkwardness of the situation. 

       “I’m taking you back to my place so we can do it again,” he said, turning to look at her from the corner of one amber eye. “You deserved better than to have had your virginity taken in the middle of the woods.”

       Biting back the idiotical wide grin that threatened to take over her face, MC buried her face against his shoulder and nodded. Maybe all the decisions she’d made concerning him weren’t so stupid after all because she knew that she would move heaven and earth for this boy, no matter what came between them.

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.20

A King’s Cottage

12/20/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,881

Warnings: fluff, cute Peter Parker, smut, subtle trauma flashbacks

A/N: A lot has happened since I last posted a chapter. I lost my desire to write ever again for a bit and it was hard to come back from that. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. It was really very difficult to finish it but once I pushed through it all just came tumbling out. Thank you for being so patient with me. It means a lot to me. All of you mean so much to me and I hope that I haven’t disappointed y’all too much.

“Have you got everything?” Nat is fussing. She’s unpacked your trunks several times, checking them over again and again.

Three formal gowns, just in case. Almost ten casual gowns. Soft and free flowing like the white one you tend to favor. All of them had been newly commissioned for you. Two tiaras were put in a smaller locked chest, again, just in case.

You liked the more casual dresses. You didn’t want this time alone with Steve to be all formality and duty.

Your marriage may have begun as such, but you hope that truly, your marriage is one of love now. You want to know him the best. Knowing you the best is something you hope he wants too.

It feels as if a new chapter has begun in your life and you cannot be more grateful.

“Nat,” You sigh, watching her unpack your gowns for the fourth time.

“Should I get you more nightdresses?” She asks herself quietly.

“Nat!” You call a little louder.

She looks at you, her emerald eyes far away in thought.

“What?” She asks, finally focusing on you.

“You don’t have to worry. I have everything I need.” You promise her, but she frowns at you.

“What if something happens?”

“Let her go.” Grandmother’s stern voice cuts in from behind you, sitting by the window in one of your tea table cushioned seats. “It’s time they reconnected.”

“Yes, but…with her Majesty’s pregnancy-”

“She will be in safe hands. As you very well know. His Majesty the King is not one to cross and is more than capable of protecting his beloved wife.” The old woman argues, her gravelly voice somehow strong despite her age. “The Queen’s cottage is in King’s Peace. No one would dare disturb them there.”

Nat frowns and you know that she’s thinking about Hydra and their lack of worry with upholding rules of honor.

Hydra won’t care that the cottage is in King’s Peace. They’ll invade if they so please and if you’re honest, you’re terrified. You know that Steve is strong. He’s large and his muscles are hard, his body built out of marble…but he’s only a man. He couldn’t take on six men if they stormed the cottage.

What if it were nine men? Thirteen? He’d die trying to protect you and your child.

“Maybe-?” You begin, worry turning you blood to ice.

“Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours, my dear.” Grandmother orders, getting up and wagging her finger at you. “Take your tonic at the end of the night. Eat a hearty breakfast. If you are tired, sleep. If you are hungry, eat. And if his Majesty should give you a command, obey should it concern your safety. Your priority is that baby you’ve got growing in your belly. Are we clear?”

You consider the old woman for a long moment, weighing your life against Steve’s and you know that if you had to choose it would always be Steve. You’d save him if you could.

With the little one in your tummy however, you know that you’d run and leave him to be slaughtered if Steve ordered you to do so.

Sadly, you nod.

“Don’t worry, my dear.” Grandmother closes the space between you and gently caresses your cheek. “Nothing shall happen. You will go, spend a month with his Majesty, and be back before you know it. Back to duty and regulation.”

Well, that doesn’t sound nice at all.

You frown. Grandmother cackles.

“Farewell, my dear. Safe travels. And do yourself a favor, enjoy yourself. Not everyone can marry his Majesty Steve Rogers.” She winks at you.

“Grandmother,” You gasp, mouth dropping open at her playfully suggestive words.

She moves from the room, chuckling happily. “Come along, Lady Romanoff. His Majesty will not tarry for much longer.”

Natasha moves to grab one of your trunks. “Peter?”

“I’m coming.” Peter declares, running in and easily grabbing the two other trunks then moving with them towards the door.

“I wish I were coming with you.” Nat laments.

“You will be. Just two weeks behind.” Steve wouldn’t deprive you of Nat for too long but he is adamant on spending some alone time with you and, if you’re honest? You want it to be just the two of you as well.

“Who will dress you? Who will make your baths? Who will hold your hair up when you get sick?” She worries.

“Nat,” You begin, chuckling slightly. “I grew up in a village where I had to hunt my own food. Preparing my own bath will not kill me, nor will dressing myself. As for tending to me when I’m sick-"

“That’s what I’m there for.”

The familiar deep tone comes from the doorway and both you and Nat turn to look.

Steve stands, dressed in dark trousers, his navy tunic over his usual white linen shirt. Through his arm he has two cloaks, one deep almost blood red with silver stitching along the hem. The other a chocolate brown with gilded thread for embellishment.

What catches you off guard is the bright face that stares at you. The trimmed hair is so short. Just enough to put your hands through, golden tresses that shorter glisten in the light from your window.

His beard, rough and thick, is gone.

Without it, Steve looks years younger. Happier. Lovelier. Though you miss the gruff sight of his facial hair, this soft cheek and sharp jawline is to die for.

“There you are.” Nat says, a slow smile creeping into her face. “I’d wondered where our Steve Rogers was hiding.”

Steve pushes away from the doorframe and reaches up to stroke his chin and cheeks.

“It was time.” He says, sounding slightly ashamed.

“Long past.” Nat tells him, not chastising but stern.

“Yes.” Steve agrees, then with a shyness you’re unfamiliar with, he peeks at you from behind those impossibly long blonde lashes.

Cheeks flushed; he smiles softly.

“Perhaps my love doesn’t like it?” He checks, concern crinkling his brow.

You realize that you’ve been standing with your mouth agape, overwhelmed by your husband’s beauty.

Shutting it, you feel your own neck burn.

“Like it?” You sputter. “I love it, Steve. You look…I can see your face.”

Finally, you smile. Steve does too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next twenty-four hours are rough. For you especially.

You wish that your voyage had been one of ease and comfort. Steve had been hoping for a lovely trip and you’d wanted it to be perfect too, but the entire first day of your journey was lengthened by your constant need to stop.

This trip, the rocking carriage, the bumps and the trembling wooden wheels do not agree with your pregnant state.

Your early morning sickness had improved as of late but something about the swaying and jostling seems to have disagreed with your poor little one. Nothing has been quite so terrible as grabbing your skirts and hoisting them back out of your way as you haphazardly tumble from the carriage to puke into the nearest bush.

True to his word however, Steve has rushed after you, making small declarations of, “Watch your step, my flower.” and “Y/N, wait. Hold my hand as you alight.” and “Does that feel good? When I rub your back?” and “I’m sorry, my petal. I didn’t think about how the journey would make you feel.”

As you straighten, you assure him that you’re fine. You half force a smile, he hands you a water flask, and you clean your mouth as best you can.

“You don’t have to pretend to be fine. You can be comfortable with me, Y/N.” He shifts on his feet, stepping closer by inches and it makes his newly cropped hair bounce a little. It falls forward onto his forehead where it twitches in the late winter breeze.

It’s brisk and normally you’d be shivering, but your thick linen dress and the red cloak that Steve had bought for you keep you mostly warm. You’ll need a thicker cloak soon if the weather gets worse.

With a tentative hand, you reach up to push the strands away from his face and he freezes. Visibly, he’s immobile and it takes every ounce of strength you have left to keep from laughing as he cheeks are painted crimson.

His blush is pleasing and it fills you with pride that you really do seem to have this effect on him.

Instead of laughing you smile wryly, your cheeks aching from the urge to chuckle.

“I wish I could.” You admit, exhaling forlornly while maintaining your now slightly sad smile. “But it will take some time. You were very compelling in your hatred for me. Your sudden kindness has me quite thrown.”

Steve’s face saddens, but you don’t feel bad about his expression. This is the new beginning for both of you, but it doesn’t wipe away what happened before. These are the facts of your marriage and pretending they didn’t happen would be unwise.

“I never really hated you.” Steve says. “Not really. I hated that I had no choice.”

You nod slowly, seeing it all from his side of things and knowing now with how important his people are to him that he must have seen this marriage as unavoidable. An intrusion to his mourning.

There was never an option.

It was marry you or relinquish the Kingdom and for Steve there was only one choice.

Resting your hand against his cheek, you nod for him. You hear him. You want him to know that.

“I know. But it’ll take time. I can’t just pretend it never happened.” You explain.

“I guess that’s reasonable.” He grumbles, then gets distracted and places his hands on your stomach flipping his hands underneath your cloak to feel you over your dress. “Are you well enough to get moving again? We still have a half day’s journey to go.”

The way he cups your teeny barely formed bump makes your heart erupt into flutters. He places his other hand on your lower back and slowly strokes the aching muscle.

“Should we just turn back and go home?” He wonders.

“No!” You answer, a bit too quickly. “No. I want to go. I just need a minute.”

“Have an hour.” Steve quickly offers, moving a little closer so that your left side is pressed against his chest.

This time you don’t try and stop yourself. You laugh.

“I don’t need an hour. Just a few moments will suffice.” You assure him.

“I wish I could take the sickness from you.” He frets.

A sudden thought occurs to you and because you have no damn filter, you speak it before you can stop yourself.

“Margaret didn’t have sickness in her first few months with child?”

There’s a very thick pause and though it feels as if it lasts hours, it really is just a moment.

“Now that I think about it, she did wake up a few mornings feeling ill. We attributed it to rotten food or an outbreak of the sweating sickness. It passed after a few weeks so we…didn’t think…” He trails off, thinking back, his mind trapped in the past.

“I’m sorry.” You bite your lip hard, regretting your train of thought. You avert your eyes, down to his chest to avoid the look of sorrow you know you’ll find in those sea storm blues. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Heat lines your jaw as Steve reaches up to cup the side of your face and with his thumb he smooths your lip, preventing you from biting it any longer.

“It was a fair question. I would want to know too. We should have picked up on the signs, but we weren’t trying to start a family although the Kingdom and the council expected it. Because of what we did-”

“Fighting the evils? Like Hydra?”

“Yes. Because of that, we didn’t want to start a family right away which wasn’t normal for my position especially. It was a surprise when I found out that she was carrying what would have been our first child.” The yearning in his voice is heartbreaking.

You aren’t jealous in this moment, but truly sorry. Margaret and Steve seemed to have really loved each other. To have had a child coming and lost it…

Reaching down you curl your hand around your own little swell but find Steve’s hand still pressed to it, his hand a bit firmer but just as careful as before.

“I’m so grateful to you for telling me. For showing me that I could live again. For letting me love you and our future heir.” Steve gushes so suddenly that your heart flips and dips, making you gasp in surprise. “I won’t make the same mistakes. I will cherish every moment we have together.”

“Steve…” You whisper, overcome with awe in how he can make you melt so easily.

Without warning, he dips his head and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a soft kiss, wanting but gentle. Your knees buckle and he catches you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

He chuckles, soft bubbles of air through your kiss. When he pulls back, he’s still chuckling.

There’s beauty in the way he smiles. The happiness in his face. The love in his eyes. It’s gorgeous but not in the way that attracts a person to another. His bliss is pure and radiant, and it fills you with hope.

You feel lucky to love him, but even if you could only see this happiness from the outside, you would be just as pleased. How amazing that you get to be one of the reasons he smiles like this.

“We should get going, your Majesties. This part of the Kingdom gets cold very fast and with night upon is, it will be too cold to stop again.” Peter looks down at the pair of you from the front of the carriage where he sits beside the coachman.

“Don’t you think you’re taking your duties a little too seriously? I’m here after all.” Steve rants, turning to look up at Peter with a look of tempered annoyance.

Peter smiles. “You told me to protect the Queen. I will do as commanded. Hurry up, please.”

Your turn to chuckle. “Do all of your friends talk to you like that?”

Steve sighs. “Just the ones that know me too well. He is right though. It will get very cold soon. Come. Will you be okay?”

“I think the worst is over.” You nod. “I’m ready.”

“Don’t worry, my blossom. I’ll keep you warm.” He whispers then helps you back in as the wind whistles and thrashes the moss green forest around you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Frost bites at your nose, the winter air like pinpricks against the exposed skin of your neck and cheeks.

“Here, bundle up.” Steve says, rushing to pull your cloak’s hood over your head.

In awe you stare at the so-called cottage before you, speckled with random dashes of quick melting snow.

“Steve…” You whisper, and he chuckles, leaning down to bury his nose against your temple.

“I love the way you say my name.” He whispers huskily, body shifting around yours and providing you with more of that delicious heat that you’d cuddled up against in the carriage for the length of your journey.

“I thought you said we were going to spend some time at your cottage?” You gasp.

Steve pulls back, sliding his hand along your forearm until he slips it into your hand and gently gives it a squeeze.

“We are. This was my mother’s favorite place. Empire Cottage. We spent every winter of my youth here.” Steve explains and pulls you forward. “Would you like a tour?”

He seems so happy that you don’t have the heart to tell him how much this is not a cottage. This is a castle. A small one, only about fifteen or so bedrooms probably but it still has towers—two of them with dark slate pointed roofs and parapets—and it still probably has two large halls for feasts and balls. There are extensive gardens lining the gravel drive up towards an arched stone canopy before the front doors for boarding carriages in the rain.

If the pale gray color is anything to go by, it’s a new addition. The rest of the stonework of the cottage is dark and weathered. Aged. This place has stood for many years.

“When our Kingdom was in its infancy, this was our castle. There are a few villages still standing a few hours’ ride out and you’ll find the ruins of the ones that gave up and chose to move closer to the new one. That one has only been around for-”

“Two hundred years?” You offer, freshly versed in the histories of Broklin.

“Yes.” Steve nods, shining with smiles for you before he pulls you along the curving drive.

You glance behind you, watching Peter and the coachman disappear into what must be a stable.

As the rocks crunch beneath your feet, Steve releases your hand in order to jog towards the small slope on either side of the drive where soft green grass grows peppered with bunches of what you recognize as freesias. Pale blue to contrast against the dark and light grays of the cottage behind them.

“My mother planted these. All of them. By hand.” Steve brags, and you can’t help but smile at his childlike excitement.

It feels almost out of place what with him and his big body and the brooding man you’d come to know, love, and fear.

Those storm blue eyes however are three shades lighter as they gleam with wistful but pleasant memories.

“They’re beautiful, Steve.” You move towards him and he holds out his hand for you.

Taking it, you let him lead you forward away from the trembling blossoms.

“I think it’ll probably snow tonight. One last freeze before Spring comes.” Steve tells you, just chit chat.

It’s so out of the norm, you’re not sure how to respond. So, you nod. “Mm.”

“Bucky jumped off of that boulder.” He tells you, pointing across the circular lawn between the curving drive. “Broke his ankle.”

He laughs just once, then looks at you just as you shiver.

“Oh, you’re cold.” He fusses. “Let’s get you inside.”

“No, I’m okay. Show me more.” You argue.

“We can see more later.” He insists and gives you no room to resist as he tucks your arm underneath his and walks you towards the front doors.

Inside you find dark, rich, very well-kept wooden walls and tan stone floors. Your eyes scan the vaulted ceilings, rafters exposed as he leads you through the cottage, up a set of pale wooden stairs lined with braziers along the stone walls that shift back into chocolate wood as the two of you reach the second-floor landing.

There are small coves in which the braziers sit and long, colorful tapestries adorn the spaces on the left and right.

The same insignia from your necklace stitched at the center.

Absentmindedly, you reach up to trace the shape.

Now that you see it so large…it looks like a shield. And really familiar…

“We’re here at the end.” Steve points, showing you the way.

“We are?” You wonder stupidly, still lost in the beautifully aged castle around you. It feels darker and drafty compared to home, but this place is cozy.

You’re beginning to understand why Kings of past have called this a cottage compared to the massive halls you’d left yesterday morning.

Steve stops, turning to look at you as the two of you reach a set of pale wooden doors. Made of driftwood?

You reach for it, fingers eager to feel the silken grain.

“Would you prefer to sleep by yourself?” He asks, and it’s the hurt…the disappointment that makes you look at him.

Despite the emotion you’re sure you just heard, he smiles, soft and kind. A smidge of tightness around his eyes is all that keeps the façade from ringing true.

“No.” You hurry to tell him, grabbing onto his hand more tightly. “No, of course not. I want you with me. I’m sorry, I just…for a moment I didn’t understand what you meant.”

The tension fades from his body.

You relax too. He slides his hand out of yours and you feel the gentle graze of his fingertips as he wraps his left arm around you, trailing that strange slightly warmer than normal heat down along the length of your spine to the small of your back.

He lays his hand flat, stealing your breath as it curves to your body and then he reaches for the handle of the door and pushes it open, still staring at you smiling as if you are the only thing in the world he can see.

For a moment, he’s all that matters. You’re not sure what has shifted between the two of you.

Yes, you’re pregnant. Yes, he knows that now and it’s why he was fussing over you the entire way here. Yes, he’s trying to make amends. Especially after the ridiculousness that happened with Sharon.

Your blood still boils when you think about it and the way she seemed not to care when you’d confronted her.

All of this, you know. What you most definitely know is that something has changed. Something large and permanent. You feel it in your bones as it carves Steve’s name within them and splinters you with his own altered bones.

Steve Rogers is different. You are different. Finally, as Steve leads you over the threshold into a large bedroom decorated in pale blue luxurious silks, linen, carpets, dark pine trunks, a vanity, a table large enough for four people to eat, and a roaring fire already filling the space with heat—finally, your marriage can start.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry.” Steve sighs, hovering over you with his hands on the arms of your armchair.

He’s got his weight completely settled there where he’s holding your seat, looking down into your sleepy eyes as you blink them awake slowly and set aside the shirt you’d been working on.

It’s a normal shirt, one of Steve’s, dark red. You’ve been working in a pattern of dark blue and real silver threads. Expensive but pretty. Even with a tunic on, with the pattern worked only into the wrist and neckline, it will be visible and dress up any old tunic he chooses to wear with it.

“Don’t be.” You smile at him, trying to clear the fog of sleep from your mind.

“I am.” Steve insists. “This is supposed to be our time alone together and I’ve spent the first three days in council.”

“Hydra is attacking our people, Steve. I don’t begrudge you your duties. I only wish I could help more instead of sitting here stitching. Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do?” You reach up and stifle a yawn, Steve’s eyes sparkle with delight—at what you just said? He has the strangest reactions to some of the things you say.

At times you’re only making an observation or speaking your mind and more often than not, he pulls you to him and kisses you. Lately, those kisses have gotten slow, languid, like molten iron flowing slow and hot.

He does it this time too.

He hooks his hand behind your neck and draws your lips to his. With a slightly opened mouth, he takes your bottom lip between his and pulls a little before kissing you again, driving your sleep away.

With your mind in a flurry, he pulls back to look at your face, lips still puckered after his are gone.

He chuckles, just a quick bubble of air expelled as he brings his hand forward to stroke your cheek.

“What was that for?” You wonder, finally finding your voice through the swoon.

“For being my Queen.” He explains. “Because you deserve to be.”

“Even if I’m not high-born?” You whisper so that only he might hear. Just in case there are listening ears.

“Especially because you are not high-born.” He promises and places his hand back onto the seat.

You smile, at ease, and finally comfortable with him.

Over the past three days, Steve has spent a total of a few hours in your company.

He’s gone before you wake—"I’ve got to go. Sam and Bucky have come to deliver more news on the attacks to our smaller villages.” He kisses you slow but pulls away before you have chance to wrap your arm around his shoulder and he slides away as your hand slides along his arm until he’s out of reach—and he’s in bed long after you’ve gone to sleep.

He curls up behind you, warming you up with his heat, nuzzling into the back of your neck, wrapping you up so tight that you groan in slight protest because you can’t breathe but he’s only giving you a long squeeze.

When he releases you, you turn to look blink at him still asleep. He kisses your lips and you pucker your own but fall asleep before you’ve finished.

Despite this short time that you spend with him, things feel settled. This is who the two of you are. Both searching for a connection and finally having found it.

Slowly, he squats down hands still holding your chair as you adjust to look down at his beautiful blue eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak but the wind outside suddenly whistles. It seeps through the cracks in the old stone walls and the blaze set to warm the room crackles loudly, the cold wind finding a way to force it to dance.

You look behind you, staring at the window as a sudden fall of white begins.

“It’s snowing?” You gasp, slightly excited.

“Looks like it.” Steve says, then stands and moves to the window. “The ground will be covered by nightfall. It will be impossible to go anywhere in the morning.”

“Bucky and Sam?” You gasp, worried for their safety. “Are they staying?”

“They already left, my petal. Don’t worry.” Steve assures you and throws you a smile. “It’s just us now.”

“And Peter.” You remind him.

“Peter is in the small manor behind the castle, along with almost all of the staff.” He moves towards you, slow deliberate steps. His boots echo with a gentle tap until he stops before you. “We’re finally alone, my flower.”

Your heart seizes up, nervous flutters fill your tummy. You’re wrapped up in a thick woolen shawl, settled over the long and relaxed gray dress you’d chosen to wear while you lounge indoors. It sits off your shoulders in a pattern of dark gray lace.

Steve offers you his hand and you wonder if you’re ready. If this time will be the right time. You’re eager. But you’re scared. Everything that’s happened before rings fresh in your mind as you take his hand and he pulls you to your feet.

Letting you go, he slips his hands underneath your shawl, his calloused fingers stroking the soft skin of your shoulders as he pushes the shawl away and it falls onto the seat you’d just been sitting on.

You can’t breathe. You’re so nervous it’s like your wedding night all over again.

Fear begins to grow as you remember the pleading. The begging. The pain.

“Steve…?” You whisper, looking up to find him watching you carefully.

He suddenly dips down, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. While you wrap your arms around his neck timidly, he lifts you easily, your feet dangling as he carries you towards the end of the bed.

“I have so much to make up for.” He tells you, his voice pained, hurt. As if it physical ails him to remember what you’re remembering too.

“Steve…” You lament with him, trying to move past the rough images that fill your mind.

“Forgive me, my sweet. My love.” He grieves.

“Steve…” Is all you seem to be able to say.

He puts you down on the bed and before you can catch your breath, he’s kissing you again. With his knee on the edge, his hand holding the back of your head to keep your kiss pressed, he slides his hand down along your leg until he can flip his hand underneath your long skirts.

As his skin grazes your ankle, you gasp and pull out of the kiss to watch him.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his hand now locked around your ankle.

Every other part of him but the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes deep and labored, freezes. He is a statue, waiting for your word.

But you have no voice.

You nod.

He comes rushing back up to meet your lips, collapsing on top of you, the full force of his body pressing you into the mattress as he lays you back. His tongue slides along your lips and you open for him as he explores the taste of your raspberry flavored lips.

Kissing him is easy. You love this. But as his body presses into yours, crushing you against the soft bed, a panic begins to grow in your chest.

It’s a fledgling of a feeling, and suddenly, his body is gone. You gasp as he releases you, searching for him in a frenzy to keep him in view.

But you don’t see him. You expected him to stand up, remove his shirt to expose for you the perfection of his body.

Instead you see the fabric of your skirts rise and then fall again.

Pushing yourself up, you rest on your elbows to get a good look and finally feel Steve’s hands find your legs again.

You can’t see him, hidden as he is beneath your dress, but his hands pull your legs wider and you don’t have the strength to resist. You don’t want to resist.

You’re scared…but you trust him.

He pulls off your shoes and the clatter against the floor. His lips are pressed to the inside of your right ankle, the tip of his tongue trails up along your calf then back down to press another kiss. He repeats this move on your left leg and you try not to hyperventilate.

You don’t want to faint now.

He takes his time, repeats the same movements until your skin is pimpled and your heart begins to slow.

Placing his hands flat against the sides of your knees, he traces them up along your thighs, the rough skin of his hands renewing the stutter in your heart.

Heat puddles between your legs and you’re suddenly very embarrassed.

You try to shut them but he’s right there, already kissing the inside of your thighs. He nips at them, biting down on the soft fleshy bits before kissing and licking at the offended skin.

You’re gushing, too nervous to realize that you’re actually enjoying yourself. His touch feels good. Better than good.

It feels just as you’d wished it had from the beginning.

He pushes your legs apart further, grabbing behind your knees to push them up and over his shoulders.

“Steve…” You whimper, voice high and wheezing.

Hot air floods against your bare cunt as he breathes on you, “Hhhaaaaaaaaa….” It’s an audible breath, muffled only by the layers of fabric still keeping him from view.

He presses his nose to your clit, and instinctively you reach down to place your hands on the bulge that is his head. You don’t push but instinct is telling you to. This is embarrassing.

He’s smelling you. He’ll know your scent…What you smell like in your most intimate of places.

A sudden and very slow flick of tongue spreads your folds and you whimper with shock.

Falling onto you back, you find a spot on the pale blue canopy of your bed to stare at.

“You’re gushing, my sweet…” Steve tells you, and you try to close your legs again but he’s already there and he dives in.

The sound is lurid, a soft slur and squelch as he opens his mouth and suckles on as much of your pussy as he can. His tongue explores your insides, finding your entrance to tickle and savor.

You moan, toes curling against his back as he scoots closer and hooks his hands around your hips.

As he finds your clit and laps at it with a passionate almost hungry fervor, you reach down to pull your skirts up over his head.

You want to see him. This is everything you’ve wanted. Maybe not specifically this, but Steve with you…enjoying your body.

His blonde hair peeks out first but as your skirts fall away to expose his half-hidden face, he looks at you and meets your gaze.

His eyes are dark, blown out from lust as he becomes more aggressive and latches to your clit to suck.

Your hips quake, stuttering as the pleasure begins to press along your cunt.

He breaks away, catching his breath but hurries up to rest over your body once more and kiss you soft.

You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he explores the hollow of your open mouth.

“You taste like sugar, my sweet.”  He whispers, voice deep and husky.

“Steve…” You moan, and he slides back down to spread your folds with two fingers before tasting you again.

He settles over your clit, tongue flicking at the nub with want and speed. He suckles on it, pressing his tongue flat against the bud.

You whimper more loudly as the pressure catches you by surprise.

“Steve!” You moan, shocked by the rush of it.

“Mmmph.” He moans, shaking his head almost violently. Running his tongue fast against your clit.

It pushes you over and your body is suddenly floating. It’s unreal. It doesn’t exist for this one moment in time.

A wave of numbness flows from your cunt down into your legs, to your toes and feet where they go limp against Steve’s back.

Your hands, curled into his hair, go slack as your body melts into the mattress.

Steve is still there, licking and nipping at your cunt, making you twitch.

You’re wrapped up in bliss and you don’t know which way is up or down, only that Steve is still there, making you want more.

Your hands tighten once more as the moments pass and you try to tug his head up from between your legs.

“Steve…oh, Steve…” You sigh, satisfied and happy. “Kiss me…”

He smiles at you, eyes curling at the corners with the brightness of his own happiness, but he shakes his head.

“Why?” You ask, as he laps at you some more.

When he stops, you can see his chin drizzled with your slick. He licks his lips and a fresh wave of arousal floods between your legs.

“One down.” He says, then hooks his hand into the fold of your thighs and hips to pull you down towards the edge of the bed again. “One-hundred and eighty-one to go.”

“Wha-?” You begin to ask, confused by the number, but then he’s back on your cunt, his tongue working its magic and setting your skin on fire.

[nethandrake]

let’s fall from the stars.

stevetony. mcu. rated t. post-avengers (2012). 3.9k words.

also on ao3.

buy me a ko-fi.

*****

From the moment they met, Friday nights have always been reserved for Steve. It doesn't matter if Tony has business overseas or a mountain of paperwork awaiting him in his office. He'll always make time for Steve. And somehow, Steve always has time for Tony.

But tonight might be the first time he'll get a 'no', get a, Sorry, I can't do this anymore.

And that's fine. Totally fine. It's a long time coming, after all.

Wear a suit. I’ll meet you down in the lobby at seven, Tony texts before tossing his phone behind him, uncaring of where it lands.

It’s midnight when they first meet.

Tony doesn’t notice him at first. Not at all. He’s too busy staring down the bottom of his glass, too busy wallowing in his loneliness and misery to notice the world swirling around him.

But then he hears a quiet baritone next to him and then suddenly, he’s seized with the need to hear, see, know.

A stranger – tall, blond, and beautiful – sits next to him, dressed in a button-down and khakis with the softest smile he's ever laid his eyes upon.

Tony's breath hitches.

“Hi,” Tall, Blond, and Beautiful says, their bright blue eyes twinkling under the dingy lights.

Time doesn’t stop. Tony wishes it did, wishes he could bottle this man up in his mind because he's just so goddamn ethereal.

“Hey,” he replies and just like that, he knows things wouldn’t be the same.

***** 

 Steve’s standing in the lobby downstairs, dressed in a navy two-piece. It's an outfit Tony’s seen him in one too many times. And yet every time he lays his eyes on Steve, it feels like the first time.

Steve pauses, his fingers curled around his tie, his lips parting as his blue, blue eyes rove.

“Tony,” he says, sounding a little shy. “Hi.”

Tony swallows his nerves and stills his hands from wringing them. “Hey. You look nice.”

“So do you.” Steve pauses, his eyes drifting down to the ground. “I like your shoes.”

“Thanks. I got them last week from Pep.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Yup. It was.”

An awkward silence fills the air. Tony has never felt so out of his depth in forever.

Because this is Steve Rogers he’s talking to. Steve Rogers, one of the very few people he can be himself with. Steve Rogers, who’s one of his best friends. Steve Rogers, who he’s in love with.

Steve Rogers who’s Captain America.

I didn’t think you’d show up, he wants to say. I thought you hate me. Why are you here? Why are you here if you hate me?

“We should get going,” Tony says instead, his mouth tasting like ash. “Don’t wanna be late.”

He spins on his heel, heading for the door and not bothering to wait for Steve to catch up.

If Tony knows Steve, if he knows Captain America, he will follow.

Captain America always does.

 *****

 Tony learns Tall, Blond, and Beautiful has a name – Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers is a ball to be around with. He talks and laughs and listens and spins intricate tales about the life he once had and the life he has now. Even when Tony laughs a little too loudly or makes a joke that falls flat, Steve just grins and looks at him like he isn’t Tony Stark, billionaire, genius, monster.

It’s nice. He’s nice. Everything is just so fucking nice.

Tony Stark never gets nice things.

So when they come to a stop in front of the tower, Tony braces himself for the other shoe to drop. It always does.

“It was nice talking to you,” Steve begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had a great time.”

“Same here,” Tony replies and then squares his shoulders. “Maybe we should do it again. Sometime soon. If you like.”

The smile he receives is as bright as a thousand suns. This is how Tony loses the war called love.

 *****

Tonight's dinner is at a place Pepper has been gushing about for weeks – a fancy Italian place in the heart of Upper East Side.

It’s grand and bold, with gold adorning the walls and mulberry silk for tablecloth. Their fellow patrons are decked in their finest and eating lobsters and scallops and drinking forty-year-old wine while Beethoven quietly plays in the background.

Tony should feel at home here, surrounded by the riches he grew up with. But watching Steve squirm in his seat, watching Steve stare down his cutlery like it’s going to stab him in the eye, makes him feel so goddamn uncomfortable.

It’s times like these that Tony wishes he wasn’t born into this life, a life that neither Steve nor Captain America would never, ever see himself in.

Tony should’ve known better than to dream.

He sets the wine glass he’s been swirling around for minutes. “Wanna get out of here?”

At that, all the tension Steve has been radiating dissipates. He exhales, slumping further in his chair. “God. Fuck. Yes, please.”

A quiet snort tumbles out of Tony’s lips before he can stop himself.

Steve cocks an eyebrow wryly. For a moment, Tony forgets everything that’s happened this past week.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” Tony replies. “Just… Just didn’t expect you to swear, is all.”

Something crosses Steve’s face but it’s gone before Tony could dwell on what it is. But even with a glimpse, he has his suspicions. He hates himself for making it surface.

They take their leave with their jackets in hand, not before Tony leaving a hundred dollar tip. Next to him, Steve breaks into a smile that looks surprisingly fond.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” he says, shrugging his blazer on. “Just thought that’s nice of you. To do that.”

“I do that all the time.”

“I know.”

There’s something behind his eyes that shakes Tony’s insides. But he turns away and makes a move to his car because he can't, he really can't—

A hand on his shoulder stops him short.

“We should walk,” Steve murmurs, his eyes drifting up to the night sky. “It’s a nice night out.”

“Where are we even going?”

Steve gives his shoulder a light squeeze. “Wherever the night takes us.”

Tony scoffs as he watches Steve walk off.

“That’s so corny,” he says, striding to catch up.

“I know.”

They’re quiet as they navigate the streets and the crowds. New York City has always been a place Tony has both loved and despised, full of shadows and ghosts. But he won’t deny that it’s a place where he can just be. Be swallowed up by the honking and the shouting, the cold, by the nameless bodies and neon lights. Swept up in the moment like he’s the nobody he always wishes to be.

Not for the first time, he lets himself pretend, lets himself be the man he could be for Steve, lets himself pretend that he deserves the warmth radiating from his side, the brush of fingers against his own.

“Tony,” Steve starts in that tone that Tony both loves and hates, the one that makes him weak in the knees and his chest stir because fuck. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

He hears Steve sigh. “You know what.”

Tony knows. Oh, he definitely does. But he’s not ready. Not yet. Not now. Not ever.

“Later,” he says, pulling away. “I need food in me. Can’t think on an empty stomach, you know?”

Steve frowns but doesn’t pursue it, shoving his hands in his pockets as the hundredth crowd spits them out.

Tony never thought the May air could feel this frigid.

 ***** 

One outing turns to two to three and then Tony could barely keep count because all the days somehow bleed together when he’s with Steve Rogers.

They go to many places – diners at the break of dawn, art galleries on quiet weekdays, parks on noisy weekends. Tony’s favorite outings, however, are when they roam the streets aimlessly on nights.

Sometimes, they’d head to a bar and drink until they’re pink in the face. Other times, they’d go to a diner or a hole-in-a-wall. Both times, they’d talk about everything and nothing before Steve would fight him for the bill and offer to join him on his walk to nowhere.

Steve who’s a comic book artist from Brooklyn. Steve who loves Tolkien’s shitty books and hates the cold. Steve who’s kind and witty and beautiful and everything Tony doesn’t deserve.

And since Tony doesn’t deserve, he doesn’t ask.

*****

read the rest on ao3.

[iamnightduchess]

Hey Queen, so I was rewatching season 2 of AOT, and obviously, I saw the amazing Reiner and Bertholdt betrayal scene. I couldn’t help but imagine how that scene would play out in the Twilight Blue universe. May I ask for your headcanons of the Twilight Blue universe? I’m also really curious if Mikasa and Reiner would get back together since they teamed up in the manga to defeat Eren. Thanks!

Hello my dear. Thank you so much for the wonderful Ask! Here’s hoping that your weekend has started out great so far. The S2E6 scene is legendary on its own through the nonchalant way Reiner revealed his & Bertolt’s true identity to the Islanders. In the Twilight Blue Universe, it would be a lot more impactful on both Mikasa & Reiner emotionally. The following (super long) headcanon would be what I envision had happened & also, the possibility of them getting back together again in current canon timeline of the manga.

Read on more for your reading pleasure!

ReiKasa Fic AU Headcanon #4

Universe: Twilight Blue (Note: for this headcanon, the epilogue never took place & the only person who is aware of ReiKasa’s secret relationship would be Bertolt. There's some BeruKasa moments too.) Rhythmic muse included in the links below!

Pre-Reveal

* After the end of Twilight Blue, Reiner & Mikasa had been seeing each other in secrecy. Bertolt would frequently and naturally be the one who provides an excuse for Reiner’s occasional disappearances and he’d also be the one who actually help to switch Reiner’s kitchen or laundry duties so they would coincide with Mikasa’s turn making it easier for the couple to sneak in more alone time together.

* Their relationship continues even when they both enlisted with the Survey Corps.

* Mikasa & Reiner have several secret rendezvous spot(s) : i) the library, right at the secluded area of the fitness books section, ii) the nearby forest for an early morning run, iii) the kitchen storage room. When they've been reassigned to the SC's old headquarters, they frequently snuck into an old attic up in one of the older towers.

* Mikasa can be seen staying longer whenever Eren & Armin hung out with Reiner & Bertolt. It never escaped Armin's perceptive observation that Mikasa seemed to be more sociable only around boys like Reiner & Bertolt.

* During one of their secret trysts, Reiner promised to Mikasa that he'd bring her back to his home in the future to introduce her to his family. He even mentioned this in secret to Bertolt, which the latter protested immediately, arguing that Mikasa would have a horrible future in Marley if they ever take her back with the Founder. She would become their POW or worst, a breeder for the military due to her Ackerman blood. Bertolt reminded him that there are no possible future for them together.

* Since they've been keeping their relationship a secret, Reiner still is flirtatious around the other girls, much to Mikasa's envy. But she wasn't openly expressive of her feelings, therefore only Bertolt was able to tell when Mikasa is bothered by Reiner's behavior around the other female cadets.

* Bertolt would be the one to remind Reiner that he's being overboard but when his best friend apparently 'forgotten' that he's dating the top cadet, Bertolt eventually became the person that offers Mikasa the voice of reasoning.

* Reiner's apparent crush on Krista wasn't taken well by Mikasa. Reiner told her that it was all an act so no one would find out about their relationship. But it didn't hurt Mikasa less everytime he tries to flirt with the petite, beautiful girl right in front of her. It also didn't help that all the other cadets had been gossiping about how Reiner & Krista make a perfect couple, much to Ymir's annoyance as well.

* Bertolt began to spend more time with Mikasa alone, where he also shared with her of his secret feelings for Annie. They both bonded over having to keep their true feelings to themselves. At this point, Mikasa had already see Bertolt as a brother figure, just like Eren and Armin. The other cadets, however, began to suspect the nature of Bertolt & Mikasa’s relationship.

* Connie was the one who suggested that Bertolt & Mikasa had been 'tumbling in the hay' during dinner, when they were running late that one time from cleaning the stables. The way they both blushed & kept quiet only stirred up more rumors, much to Jean & Reiner's annoyance. That same night, after their evening roll call, inside that tiny attic space, Reiner, once again, reminded her on why there would be no other men that could make Mikasa feels the way he does. Part of him was being possessive, part of him was jealous.

* One incident where Mikasa fell off a tree and twisted her ankle to help a stray cat, actually almost caused a rift between Reiner & Bertolt. Reiner only then realized that he had hurt Mikasa's feelings the instant he felt envious when he saw Bertolt carrying the injured Mikasa in his arms. Bertolt asked him, "Why would you care about her?", causing Reiner to recognize that he hasn't been fair towards Mikasa ever since they began dating.

* Bertolt had to remind Reiner that they were not supposed to be attached to anyone on that island but they both know that it was already a line they had crossed.

Reveal & RtS “Say Something”

* The day before the emergency discreet meeting with the top SC officers had also been the last time Reiner & Mikasa had been intimate with each other.

* The night Hange revealed the SC's suspicions of the duo's true identity, Mikasa found it difficult to accept & she had secretly been hoping that their suspicions were untrue.

* When their squad arrives in time to rescue Reiner, Bertolt & the others in Utgard Castle, Mikasa had been worried about Reiner's injury but the way Reiner & Bertolt had been avoiding her gaze somehow confirms her worst fear.

* On top of Wall Rose, Mikasa had been dreading the moment that they're waiting to apprehend the two of them but Reiner's sudden mental breakdown pushed them all to the point of no return. Her hands had been shaking & she hesitated. Their objective was to apprehend them both for questioning, partly because she desperately wanted to talk to Reiner & to get his explanation.

* To say that Mikasa was disappointed that their suspicions were proven true would be an understatement. She was beyond devastated.

* Mikasa actually only wanted to hold Bertolt down so they could apprehend him. But Reiner pushed her off the wall, and this is because Reiner knew that Bertolt & him had to shift and he didn't want her to be caught in the transformation blast.

* The moment Reiner's psyche reinstates back to his Warrior alter, he had temporarily compartmentalized his existing feelings for Mikasa but his heart wouldn't allow him to do so.

* When the SC were chasing after Reiner, Bertolt & Eren, Reiner's heart ultimately broke the moment he heard Mikasa called him a plague of humanity in vain. His heart bled when he'd heard a Titan grabbed Mikasa & he'd heard her screaming in pain but he had to pretend that he felt nothing when it happened.

* Their relationship was as good as dead at that point and the end of the road for both of them, which was a premature, unspoken decision on both sides.

* The whole time when the SC were present during Hange’s introduction & briefing of the Thunder Spears, Mikasa’s brain had been thinking about Reiner the whole time & her feelings were hurt even worst than before.

* She knew they had no choice but to kill them & it didn’t make it even easier for her. It still hurts her to have to use that last Thunder Spear on him. She was still angry at him the whole time Hange was threatening him to explain about the place he came from, their mission & that mysterious letter for Historia. Never she’d expected that it would be the last time she’d ever see his face.

Post-Reveal  “It’s Not Goodbye”

* During her imprisonment for insubordination, Mikasa became depressed not only for the fact she now knew that both Eren & Armin have limited years left of living due to the Curse of Ymir, but it was also because of her guilt towards having to watch Bertolt being eaten alive by Armin’s raw titan form and also for a fact that Reiner would also be dying before Eren does.

* When Eren & Armin went to Reiner & Bertolt’s old room to clear their remaining possessions, it was Armin who told Mikasa that he’d kept them in the old attic instead of throwing them away. Mikasa kept Reiner’s old shirt that still has his scent on it from the storage & actually hid it under her pillow. It helped her through her difficult nights.

Time-Skip (Current Canon Timeline) “Love Story”  | “Tainted”

* Within that four years, they both had never stopped thinking about the other. It hurts Reiner so badly that he couldn’t allow himself to reminisce all of the beautiful moments he had with Mikasa and could only subconsciously thought of the last moment he’d ever saw her face; her sending an explosive projectile down his Titan’s throat.

* Mikasa had not talked to anyone about Reiner or even once mention his name within that four years. No one knew why she would seclude herself in the attic of one of the headquarters towers every other Saturday.

* Only Sasha knew of Mikasa’s secret relationship years later by accident as during one night, she had overheard Mikasa tossed and turned around in her sleep, calling out for Reiner’s name, her asking why and how could you in her sleep. Mikasa would later wakes up from her nightmare & hides herself in their shared bathroom, crying in the shower.

* The first time she sees Reiner’s Armored Titan again in Liberio, she couldn’t hide the disappointment on her face. She couldn’t even look at Reiner’s direction at all & she realizes that seeing him again still hurts her.

* She was genuinely concerned of Reiner’s safety after the Rumbling was initiated by Eren. Later on, when they were reunited through the Marley-Paradis alliance, all those old memories came flooding back. They both had grown physically & mentally older but the love, it has always been there. The moment she saw his sleeping figure, by gods, she had never known how much she’s been missing him.

* It pained her so much when she saw him being pummeled by Jean because of Marco’s death. Not even once he retaliated or defended himself. She’d never stopped worrying for him the moment he saw him immobilized inside his Titan form at the docks in their confrontation with the Jeagerists. Yet, not even once had she spoken to him directly ever since they were reunited.

* The first time they’ve ever spoken to each other was on the Hizuru steamer en route to Odiha. While Connie was busy tending to the injured Armin in the Medical Bay inside the ship, she helped clean Annie & Reiner’s wounds. “I miss you so damn much.” Were the first words he’d ever spoken to her after four and a half years. She pretended that she didn’t hear him at all.

* She avoided him on the steamer and even when they’re all gathered in the communal area to strategize, she’d spoken to everyone directly, even Annie & Pieck except him. Reiner also saw her observing the conversation Armin was having with Annie on the decks from afar and pulled her into one of secluded hallways to talk & to break the cold silence between them.

* She pushed him away and locked herself inside one of the unoccupied rooms as Reiner knocked on the door from the other side, kneeling and begging for her forgiveness, begging her not to shut him out. Mikasa hated herself even more with every tears that she had shed for both Eren and Reiner.

* Later that night, once they’ve docked in Odiha, Reiner knocked on her door once again to tell her that if tonight is the last night he’d have alive, he just wanted to apologize to her & he just didn’t want to have anymore regrets. 

* He begged and he pleaded, “I just wanted to be able to look at you in your eyes and tell you how very sorry I am for all the hurt I’ve caused you and there hasn’t been a day that went by without you on my mind. A part of me died a little bit each day since the day I left Paradis.”

* It took several swings of her fist against his chest, a slap on his cheek and a whispered, “I hate you” from her lips before it met his in a reawakened hunger. Old feelings and sparks reignited between the two former lovers. Inside a tiny bunker room on the Hizuru steam ship, two separated hearts reunited as one once again, so as their bodies.

* Now that Marley is in ruins & her mother is most probably dead, Reiner believes that he no longer has a home to return to. Mikasa disagrees & argues that he still has Gabi and he’d always have a home in her heart. Reiner realizes that if he ever survives their last stand against the Founder in Fort Salta the next day, he’d only wanted to spend the remaining time that he’d still had left alive with Mikasa, raising Gabi & Falco together.

* Right before they both dropped off from the plane to take down Eren’s Founding Titan, Reiner made one last promise to her: he’ll never leave her again & they will both return home together.

---------

I hope you’ve enjoyed the above & thanks again for sending in this fun Ask, @xrocketmanx! Take care & stay safe.

xoxo,

NightD

[malopascal]

Misery

Warning(s): crying, language, mention of alchol

A/N: This was inspired by this post

No words left Pedro’s parted lips as he softly panted, his eyes still staring down at the picture displaying on his phone. The gut-wrenching pain that he felt swell up in his chest was indescribable. He could barely feel his heart beating while tears slowly blurred his vision.

He knew very well that you were faking a smile, but the fact that you had decided to hurt him by going out with your ex and being photographed was more than enough to put the Chilean actor in a state of shock, pain, jealousy and anger.

He finally was able to blink and lock his phone, the image already burned in his brain. His phone was tossed onto the couch without a care while he slowly stood up from the couch and proceeded into pacing up and down his living room. His hands ran roughly through his delicate and silk hair before gripping the ends tightly, the stress and pain killing him.

He had so many questions.

Were you really considering getting back together with your ex while the two of you were on a break?

 Did you reach out to him first?

 Was Pedro nothing but a backup plan until your ex had his shit figured out?

The poor actor let out a frustrated groan as he stilled in the middle of the room, his breath shaky and the tears finally cascading down his handsome face. He couldn’t believe what was happening, the betrayal broke his heart.

When you had demanded a break from your relationship due to the constant fighting, he thought that you’d use the time to sit back and clear your mind. None of you could explain why the two of you couldn’t have a normal conversation without turning it into a screaming match. The reason why was because you were so focused on yelling and provoking each other that you didn’t bother to get to the bottom of your issues.

You didn’t give each other enough space and time to process every single disagreement through. Your work and inner pressure of having to be perfect had gotten the best of you, which resulted in the two of you becoming each other’s emotional punching bag. What had been a beautiful three-year relationship had now turned into bad one really quick. The love was still there though, it was just when the two of you were angry at each other, the whole world had to crash and burn to ashes.

If you hadn’t demanded a break, Pedro would’ve asked for it. You were the love of his life, but the two of you needed to fix your personal issues by yourselves. Not by constantly lashing out on each other. He wanted to marry you, expand your family of two with kids and spend the rest of his life with you.

But never would he have thought that two months into your break, you’d go back to your ex and humiliate him in front of the whole world. He didn’t know how you were doing as you refused to answer his texts and calls, which quickly resulted in him drinking his pain away. His friends and family had found him plenty of times passed out cold on the floor or in his bathtub with a bottle of Whisky or a dozen cans of beer in his grasp.

Their hearts were breaking for him.

The picture he just had seen was a few days old. Pedro was never a slave to his smartphone and caught onto the news way too late. If he hadn’t been bombarded with all the urgent texts from his siblings, he never would’ve opened the Instagram app and tumble upon the pictures of you and your ex.

How could someone be so cruel?

He thought that you loved him just as much as he loved you. Not ever did you shut him down when he talked about your future as a couple, hell, you even gave him the most beautiful smiles and answers whenever he jokingly called you Mrs. Pascal. The endless hours where the two of you gave your all into making your relationship work, all the hugs and kisses you shared…All the times you made sweet, passionate or rough love to each other… now felt like it was being flushed down the toilet.

Pedro felt his stomach churn in great stress and discomfort. He bent down and placed his hands on his knees for support as he really thought that he was about to throw up the few drinks and small dinner he had. Tonight, was actually the only night he was able to keep the alcoholic drinks to a minimum and consume some food without his stomach being in tight knots. He really thought that tonight was actually a decent night as he also had showered and changed into a fresh pair of sweats and his favorite t-shirt, his skin and hair moisturized and smelling great.

The other days, his sister and brother had to force him to down a few bites of the food they had brought or cooked for him while trying to keep him away from the alcohol, their remarks of his unpleasant body odor didn’t even make him blink as he didn’t care about how he looked or smelled.

He was finally getting back on his feet again but then this shitshow had to happen.

“I-I can’t take this anymore” Pedro hissed to himself, the anger and jealousy bubbling up in his stomach. All he could think about was you, he needed clear answers, needed to know your motives and whether the two of you were officially broken up or not.

So without a further thought, he regained his posture and snatched his car keys from the small coffee table before stomping his way out of his house.

 ~~~

 A loud sigh left your lips as you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom. It was one a.m. but you still couldn’t sleep, the guilt of your recent actions leaving you with temporary insomnia. “Fuck” you groaned out loud and sat up in your bed, your eyes clenching shut for a few seconds as you felt absolutely disgusted with yourself.

Just an hour ago, you had blocked your ex on your phone and social media. Yes, the ex you had gone out with a few days ago. It was just for lunch but it was awkward as hell and you a got fresh reminder of why you had broken up with him in the first place. But you just had been sick and tired of hurting and being in suspense of whether Pedro still wanted to be with you or not that you had decided to let your pettiness and insecurities get the best of you.

You knew that it would only take a few days for him to see the pictures and hopefully feel as miserable as you were.

“Shit!” you hissed out and jumped out of bed, being hit with a wave or reality; Why in the hell did you even go out of your way to put up this stupid act when you refused to even let Pedro know how you were doing?

That man loved you to the core but instead of owning up to your past mistakes and contribution to the toxic circle your relationship ended up turning in to, you thought that being childish would solve everything and put you out of your misery.

Boy, were you wrong.

Tears filled your eyes as you felt so ashamed and disgusted by yourself. You had turned yourself into a monster and now the whole world had seen you make a fool out of yourself. You didn’t have to grab your phone and go on Instagram to know that people already were calling you a slut for jumping from Pedro right back into the arms of your ex.

You wished that you could go back in time and prevent yourself from sending your ex a text message that resulted in the two of you going out for lunch. The lunch itself was just bad and awkward, the narcissistic bastard happily voiced how he knew that “you’d run back to him” once realizing that “you needed him”.

Your stomach was in tight knots and you could barely swallow down the food while having to listen to him brag about all the other people he’s dated, even adding that you were “nothing compared to them”. Your stupid pride however prevented you from standing up, giving him the smack of a lifetime (something he really deserved) and leaving the place with the tiny bits and pieces of what were left of it.

Instead, you made yourself look like a bigger clown and pretended to enjoy the insults and useless information your ears were polluted with. You left the restaurant with the biggest, fakest grin on your face while holding onto your ex’s shoulders, trying to get to your car as quickly as possible. The second you hopped in it, you had noticed the paparazzis and knew that your idiotic plan had succeeded.

Ever since arriving home, the guilt started to eat you alive and resulted in you lying down in your bed since the late afternoon. Your stupid ex had the nerve to text you to let you know that he was horny and wanted some sexy pics of you. That text alone got him permanently blocked from your phone, social media accounts and life.

“I’m such an idiot” you cried to yourself, the room filling up with your sobs as you plopped back down at the edge of your bed. You knew that Pedro was somewhere hurting because of you, the mere thought of him in pain causing your heart to painfully clench in your chest.

You tried to calm down, even your breath while wiping the thick tears off your face. You needed to redeem yourself, let Pedro know that you loved him and hoped that he’d be able to forgive your petty and childish behavior.

“[Y/N!]”.

The loud call of your name startled you as your heart skipped several beats before pounding loudly against your ribcage. “Pedro” you whispered to yourself before slowly standing up and staring at the door.

The loud stomping of his footsteps approached your bedroom and you couldn’t help but freeze on the spot. You didn’t know what to do, you hadn’t prepared for this, but a part of you was excited that you’d get to see the man you loved so much again.

When the door to your bedroom finally opened and the love of your life was standing a few feet away from you, fresh tears cascaded down your cheeks again. He looked as handsome as always, but the stress and pain radiating off him was also instantly caught your eyes. His hair was a tousled mess and he was panting loudly while staring right back at you. His eyes penetrating yours so intensely, you started to feel shy under his gaze.

Seconds went by while the tension thickened in the room. A talk was overdue and you didn’t have the courage so initiate it.

“Why, [Y/N]?” Pedro finally asked, his voice calm but the anger still shadowing in the back. He swallowed hard while you slowly parted your lips.

“I-I-“

“Why?!” your boyfriend repeated louder, making you jump in surprise but also making you come to your senses.

“Because I wanted to make you feel as miserable as I am” you finally confessed, seeing him shake his head in pure disappointment. “So” he began and approached you, “You thought that hurting and humiliating me in front of the whole world would seal the deal?”.

Your stomach churned in shame and guilt as you avoided his now angered and pained glare. Your toes were suddenly very interesting to look at as you were being confronted.

“I-I didn’t know what to do…I was afraid and anxious that you didn’t want me anymore…That this break would make you realize that you didn’t wanted to stay with me…” soft sniffles left your nose.

You swallowed the last pieces of your pride and lifted your head, looking straight into Pedro’s eyes. “And instead of actually answering my texts and calls, you just jumped to that conclusion huh?”.

His words were cold like ice, his jaw was tensed as he waited for your response. “I-I’m sorry” you whispered weakly, exhausted and so over the thick cloud of pain and stress that was settled deep in your chest. Words couldn’t describe how sorry you were for having changed into this anger driven person that only sought out to seek revenge, focusing on the negative feelings instead of the positive ones.

“You hurt me” Pedro sighed, his expression changing from angered to pained and tired. You saw the dark rings he had under his eyes, silently concluding that he wasn’t sleeping well.

“

Scream how much I love you but also how much you’ve hurt me, [Y/N]”. Your heart painfully clenched in your chest as you threw your arms around his shoulders and buried your head in the crook of his neck, his delicate scent filling up your nostrils and making you realize how much you actually missed your boyfriend.

It took him a few seconds to hug you back as his brain was processing your touch. He had gone two months without it and had craved it so much to the point where he almost forgot how pleasant and soothing it was to feel you so close to him. When his arms finally wrapped themselves around your waist, you let out another sniffle before clearing your throat.

“I can’t explain how sorry I am Pedro, we were in a bad place and I am also to blame for it. Instead of telling you how I felt, I kept everything inside and just used every opportunity to lash out on you…

Your words and actions hurt me but I had to communicate correctly with you and try to get you to stop the madness and find a solution. Not turn into a petty child”. You could feel the pain slowly become lighter with every word that left your mouth.Why did you make the two of you suffer so much?

Pedro sighed and clenched his eyes shut, the tears rolling down his cheeks as he held you closer. “And I am so sorry for doing the same thing, getting angry instead of taking a breather and gently explaining the chaos going in my mind. Please forgive me, mi amor”.

“I forgive you. I forgave you a little while ago. I need you to forgive me too, my stupid actions and everything else…I don’t like him, never really did”. The room then was silent as you let your words process in your minds. Your boyfriend forgave you in a heartbeat, but knew that it would take some time for him to forget what you had done.

The sniffles slowly subsided, the tension lighter.

“I love you” Pedro whispered, his head nuzzling in the crook of your neck. His soft lips and beard tickling the sensitive skin there. “I love you” you instantly whispered back, your heart body and soul at peace again. He was the love of your life, no one could make you feel so secure and protected and at home. Both of you had some work to do as individuals but you knew that your love had only grown stronger for each other and would be able to survive other challenges life would throw at you.

~~~

Tag list: @pascalisthepunkest​ @thickemadame​ @talesfromtheguild​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​

Thanks for reading!

[himbowelsh]

18 with winnix for the kiss prompts please!

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy  💋 (accepting!) 18.   kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

this definitely...  escalated far past where you wanted/needed it to go, and turned into more of an exploration of their post-war relationship, when winters joins nix in new jersey...   i had fun with it, but oof, did it ever kinda spiral.  there’s definitely kissing towards the end, though, so i hope you enjoy!!

To be fair, Nix never promised him an enjoyable night.

His first pitch was “a party”. Dick, who’s had enough experience with the sort of parties that go on in Nixon, New Jersey, replied that he had paperwork to catch up on. It was a good excuse because it wasn’t a lie. Nix brooded for a solid thirty seconds before popping back up, smile bright, to declare, “an evening affair, then, and you’re my date. You have to be, since I need one, and I haven’t got anyone else.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “What about that girl, the one with the — the red hair —?”

“Hah,” replied Nix, in a flat tone that suggested his redheaded girlfriend was ancient history.

“One of the lobby girls, then.”

“Hah.”

“Blanche?”

“Hah!”

“I’m sure your mother would be honored to go with you.”

Nix had to grip the edge of the table to keep from falling down, laughing.

By the time he regained his composure, Dick was pretty much resigned to accompanying him for the evening. He’s never been able to say no to Nix anyways, even during the war. Being home — Nix’s home — and seeing him in his element — for better or worse — just makes it harder. Something about Nix in the bustling atmosphere of the New Jersey social scene is beguiling, electric, and a bit haunted. Like watching a film noir, Dick can never look away.

He doesn’t expect to have a good time. Nix’s parties are not designed to be good times for people who don’t smoke, drink, or gamble. Nix was kind enough not to remark on the novel tucked into the inside pocket of Dick’s suit jacket as they strode up the walkway towards the roaring party. Loud music blared from open windows; lights and laughter twinkled from beyond the spacious French doorways. It was only nine o’clock, but Dick could feel exhaustion creeping up on him already.

“Come on,” Nix encouraged, guiding him into the townhouse with a proud hand on his elbow. “Let’s set you up on a nice sofa and find a Shirley Temple. Extra cherries, just for you.”

The one thing Dick will credit Lewis Nixon’s parties for — they’re never stingy with the cherries.

Now, three hours into the affair, he sets aside his most recent soda and scans the crowd. As the hours wind away, the raucous group has started to thin out. Either the partiers are headed somewhere else, or all have appointments to keep in the morning, because they show no signs of lingering into the early hours. Dick can be grateful for that much, at least. Those types of parties typically end with him dozing on a stranger’s sofa until he has to steer a very drunk Nix into the back of the waiting car at 3am. Dick has suffered through enough late evenings to never want to see another one again — though, time after time, he ends up coming out for Nix.

It seems like a quiet one tonight, though, thank goodness. The music has faded to a lull, someone thrumming out a thoughtful tune on the piano. The rowdiest partiers have taken leave, and all that’s left are Nix’s regular companions— the home’s owner, another Ivy League man Nix knows well, along with several of his mistresses; a few other Nixon Nitration folks Dick vaguely recognizes, and their dates; Nix’s sister Blanche, leaning languidly over the piano in a shimmering silver dress; and Nix, sprawled in a chair, top buttons of his shirt undone and hair disheveled.

He looks utterly debauched, and something about it thrills Dick. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, of course, but Nix in his sanguine element is magnetic. He’s like a panther — sleek and relaxed, dangerous under a veneer of nobility. No matter how much he’s had to drink, Nix’s dark gaze is always piercing; he always seems to know something the rest of the room doesn’t, and sometimes it plays on his lips like a hidden treasure.

He’s smirking like that now, and the smirk’s trained directly on Dick… and he can’t look away. It’s impossible. Even if he wanted to, Nix reels him in with that penetrating gaze. It’s all Dick can do to sit up straighter, pretending he is comfortable in this rakish crowd, the only one sober and the only one out of place.

“Speaking of saints,” Nix says at once — loud enough to cut in on whatever theological ramble his Yale buddy was in the middle of, “here’s one now. Sitting in front of us. Dick, come here. Show these fellows what a true Saint Augustine looks like.”

Dick would rather do anything else… but he’d cross a mountain for Lewis Nixon. Crossing the length of a trashed ballroom is only a bit more challenging. He comes to stand at Nix’s side, clearly uncomfortable, while Nix’s friends take him in as though seeing him for the first time this evening.

“You know I’m not Catholic, Lew,” he tries to quip, to break the tense mood. Nix’s hand catches his, squeezing lightly, and Dick’s own unease only grows.

“Neither am I, but we’re pretending for tonight. Gives all the sinning a bit more zest, you know?”

“Sure.” Dick’s hand comes to rest on the back of Nix’s chair, unconsciously craving something to do. One of the host’s mistresses, with bright red lips and sharp eyes, doesn’t miss it.

“Ohh,” she hums, like the word is a wave she must ride to the shore. “Don't say it, Lewis. This is your handsome date?”

Something about the way she says it has Dick’s shoulders tensing in instinctual alarm. Maybe Nix has had far too much to drink, or can read this crowd too well; he doesn’t even flinch at the implication.

“Afraid so,” he replies, a hand creeping up Dick’s sleeve. “Nice enough to hang around all night, even though he’d rather be back home pouring over...  productivity reports. Employee reviews? Staff... surveys?”

“Something like that,” Dick says.

“Something like that.” Nix’s hand runs up and down Dick’s arm, blatantly fond. It takes everything in Dick’s power not to tense up.

None of the assembled crowd seems bothered by such a display, however. Nix’s friends exchange knowing looks, smirking around lit cigarettes or crystal glasses. One woman languidly kicks her heels onto her date’s laugh, shaking her head. From the piano, Blanche runs a hand over her glossy hair, gaze sharp on her brother and his companion. “He’s out of your league, Lewis,” she chimes. Her smirk is catlike, voice like molasses dripping onto spring grass. At times, she looks dangerously like her brother, and Dick isn’t sure how to handle either of them.

Nix’s grip settles around Dick’s upper arm. “Isn’t that the truth?”

When Dick looks down, Nix is looking up. Something about his whiskey-bright gaze knocks the breath from his lungs. It’s too… soft, too tender. Too intimate for this party, to exist among strangers. Nix’s grip on his bicep is firm, and Dick has no desire to pull away. He doesn’t get the chance to question — not even a flicker of uncertainty, a breathless what's he doing — before Nix gives a tug, and Dick all but tumbles into his lap.

He regains his balance like a newborn colt, to the bubbling laughter of Nix’s audience. His cheeks flare, bright red; Nix’s touches, usually so welcome, now linger on his skin like a hot iron. He’s straddling his best friend’s knees, Nix’s arm wrapped around his to steady him, and it’s all Dick can do not to leap back to his feet to salvage whatever slim slice of dignity remains.

“Nix,” he says, voice low in warning.

“Relax, Dick,” he answers, equally softspoken. “It’s all a game. Don’t you see? None of it really matters.”

It matters to me, he wants to say...  because Nix has never held him without it mattering, has never caressed him without every sensation engraving itself permanently into Dick’s memory. Nix has never… not mattered to him. Some part of Dick, an small yet insidious murmur, wonders when he became insignificant to him.

The way Nix caresses his face is anything but meaningless, though… as is the way his dark gaze lingers on his lips, simmering for so long that Dick can feel its heat. Nix’s thumb grazes the corner of his mouth, and instinctively Dick draws back.

Something hurt flashes in Nix’s eyes. Dick cannot feel guilty. He doesn’t want this — can’t Nix understand that? Not here, not now, not putting on a show for an audience. Not when Nix is whiskey-soaked and careless, so far gone that Dick could get drunk off the taste of him. If this is a game, Dick doesn’t want to play.

“Father isn’t around for you to give a coronary, Lewis.” Blanche’s voice echoes as though from the other side of a tunnel, practically bored. “Save it for the next family dinner, at least.”

Gradually, Nix’s grip on Dick’s waist loosens. His touch pulls away from his face, finding Dick’s hand instead. He raises it to his mouth and lets it linger there — a sweet mockery of a kiss — before releasing Dick entirely. 

Dick pulls away, regaining his posture and his dignity. The eyes of the room are all on him now, as surely as they were on the jazz singer earlier in the night. He can’t take their weight, or their curiosity. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead, he brushes himself down and murmurs an excuse to Nix. “Just going to get some air.”

Nix doesn’t try to stop him.

Stepping out into the cool night is like being released from prison. Dick braces himself against the stone railing of the townhouse’s balcony, gazing at the gravel drive only a few feet below. He could jump it, if he really wanted to — easier that than going back inside and leaving out the front door, wrangling Nix away from his clan. They’re not so far from home — he could walk it, in an hour or so. The fresh air would do his head good. At least in the dark, no one would be able to see him, to wonder and scrutinize…

His mind has gone to a strange place now, and is twisting itself in tangles. Recognizing his own impossible daydream, Dick sighs, slumping forward. A hand finds his hair, rumbling it. For a long moment, he only breathes, focusing on the autumn air filling his lungs and the crickets chirping in the night, to drown out the storm raging inside.

His nerves are too taut not to notice when someone comes up behind him… but the scent of perfume is familiar, so he doesn’t jump. She sidles up alongside him, inhaling softly in the night air; she blows out the same way Nix does, from deep within her chest. When Dick raises his head, Blanche is not focused on him at all, but looking ahead down the driveway.

“Planning your escape?” she asks lightly. Her mulberry lips curl upwards, without the chore of looking at him. “I don’t blame you. That was painful, in there.”

Dick arches an eyebrow. “You felt it too?”

She has a drink in her hand, but the glass is empty. As Blanche’s attention drifts to it, she seized upon the olive, still speared and languishing inside the glass. With delicate, manicured fingers, she plucks it out and scrutinizes the tiny fruit.

“You can’t let him bully you, Dick,” she says after a moment. The scent of wine may be heavy on her breath, but her words are perfectly sober. “He doesn’t mean to, but it’s instinct around these people. They all like to show off, and he’s proud of you.”

Dick’s brows furrow. He’s not some brand new car, or a gold-plated watch. “Why?”

“Because you’re nothing like them.” Blanche’s dark gaze flickers up to him; for the first time tonight, Dick feels entirely seen. Her lips purse, like she’s fighting back a smile, but something in her eyes reminds him of loneliness. “You don’t belong in this set… and that’s nothing against you, darling, only what you know as well as us. My brother prizes you so highly; he’s proud that you’re here, that you’re with him, that you give him your time and agree to accompany him to these parties, even though you’d much rather be doing anything else.”

Dick’s lips purse. Blanche waits a moment, as though expecting him to protest… but he has nothing to say.

“Rich little boys love their toys. You need to remind him that you aren’t one.” Her fingers drum against the rim of her glass; each clink-clink-clink pierces Dick’s nerves like shrapnel wounds.

“He doesn’t mean anything wrong by it,” he protests, because he knows Nix well enough to understand that. 

“Of course not. If he didn’t care about you…” Blanche’s words trail off, along with her gaze. She drifts back out to the driveway, painted lips pursing like she’s considering something far away. After another silent moment, she glances at Dick once more. “Last chance to run.”

Dick smirks. “I’m considering it.”

Blanche sighs into the night, pushing her folded arms off the railing and stepping back. Dick no longer feels inclined to stand out in the darkness, alone. As she steps back into the well-lit hallway, he follows her.

When they reenter the lounge, Nix is holding court, in the middle of an animated story Dick’s heard before. “— of course, I couldn’t have known there was a cat involved, otherwise I’d never have set foot in the apartment. So I sit down on the couch and the damned thing launches at me, yowling like a bat out of hell —“ He cuts off, mid-flail, gaze landing on his sister and companion. “Ah. Was wondering where you too made off to.”

“Nothing untoward,” Blanche drawls, slinking back towards the bar. “I offered, but Dick’s too upstanding.”

Nix locks onto Dick, and again, his gaze is painfully warm. Dick feels the same way, like a furnace is burning under his collar. Uneasily, he lowers himself onto a settee at the far edge of the room, back to the door so he won’t be tempted. So long as he’s in Nix’s sightline, his presence counts… but he doesn’t have to make himself the object of a crowd’s fascination again.

Nix understands, in that easy way of his. His lips curl up in the slightest smile, before he turns back to his audience. “As I was saying…”

His story winds on for a little while longer, before he grows bored with it. By then, the crowd has grown equally bored with its malingering, but still too languid to get up and do something about it. One of the women slips behind the piano and tries to start up a dancing tune, but no one bites. Her song devolves into something slower, more thoughtful. The host pours himself another drink from the bar, and doesn’t offer to serve anyone else; his mistresses chatter in an undertone, lipstick stained crystal glasses sitting beside them. Nix reclines back in his chair, perfectly debauched. His hair is a ruffled mess, bow-tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. The top of his shirt is still open, carelessly displaying his collarbones and a flash of dark hair across his chest. 

You’ll catch a chill, a voice in Dick’s head that sounds too much like his mother chides. He’s seized briefly with the inexplicable, intense urge to cross the room and lean over Nix to close the shirt himself. It passes, of course, and he politely averts his gaze.

Perhaps he’s doing too good of a job not looking at him. “Dick,” Nix finally says, from right behind him. “Ready to go?”

A wave of relief washes over him. He hasn’t wanted anything so badly since his discharge papers. “Let’s go,” he replies, rising to his feet.

They pay polite goodbyes to their host; Blanche waves them off with an eyeroll for Nix and a blown kiss for Dick. Then, finally, they leave through the front door, and slip into the night.

While they drove here themselves, Nix is in no state to command the car. Dick is already prepared to take the wheel, when the valet steps up with keys in hand. “Do you require a ride home, Mr. Nixon?”

Dick’s surprised gaze swivels towards Nix, as if to ask do we? (He’s still so unused to the world of chauffeurs and butlers, and every encounter leaves a foreign, coppery taste in his mouth.) Nix dwells on the offer for a moment with lazy-eyed disinterest, before shrugging and gesturing the valet towards his car. “Why not? Roy likes to be generous. Let him do us a favor for once, huh?”

Dick, who has never personally done Nix’s friend Roy a single favor, just nods.

Nix’s car is sleek and expensive, a top of the line Plymouth Deluxe in glossy black paint and felt seating. Dick has sat in the passenger’s seat enough times that sliding into the back feels like a mistake, something to double back and correct before he manages to embarrass himself. Nix slides in right behind him, not giving him the chance. The scent of car freshener can’t disguise the stuffy air in the back of the car; there’s not much separating the back from the front, but the forward row of seats stretch up, practically creating a barrier to separate both ends of the car in half. Dick hears the driver slide in up front, but in the darkness, it’s hard to see.

“Turn on the radio, will you?” Nix requests as the car stirs to life. Obligingly, the driver turns a few knobs; what threatens to become an awkward silence immediately finds itself drowned out by a staticky love ballad.

“And when I kissed you, darling It was more than just a thrill for me It was the promise, darling Of the things that fate had willed for me…”

The timing is astonishingly poor. Dick slumps back against the seat, all but defeated. At his side, Nix chuckles.

When Dick looks over, it's impossible to catch his eye. The night is too dark, and these roads aren’t well-lit; shrouded by shadows, Nix’s eyes are two black holes, drawing all trace of light into them and holding it hostage. Dick catches a flash of something pearly, which must be the jagged cut of Nix’s smile; the silhouetted shoulders rise up and down, in what isn’t quite laughter.

After a moment, Nix goes still. Dick can’t see, but he knows he’s being watched.

“Well?” Nix finally says. “When are you going to tell me what an idiot I am?”

Dick turns his head, looking out the window nearest to him. “Never occurred to me, Nix.”

“Maybe not to say it, but you were thinking it. Come on, Dick.” A smooth-palmed hand finds his in the darkness. Dick allows it. “I knew I screwed up the moment you pulled away. Knew it as soon as I saw your face, really, but damn me if I know how to stop… come on, that’s what I bring you to these things for. To keep a leash on me.”

Dick thinks Nix’s social circle picked up on that, at least.

He doesn’t realize how tense he’s gone until Nix’s thumb strokes along the back of his knuckles; his hand, Dick realizes, has gone stiff as a corpse’s, gnarled with tension. When he looks down, he’s suddenly ashamed. He tries to pull away, but Nix holds fast.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sudden and sincere.

“You didn’t do anything,” Dick replies. “If I didn’t want to be there —“

“You don’t want to be there. You come to these awful things for me, even though you can’t stand it, and you’re a fish out of water the whole time. I’m being cruel to you. Downright uncharitable! And you know the reason why.”

Dick’s gaze is drawn back to him again. This time, as a flash of light passes through the car, he glimpses Nix’s face — eyes bright with drink, devastatingly earnest, his lips curled downwards and jaw tense. He’s handsome without trying… and cruel, too. More careless than he realizes.

Blanche’s words echo in his ears: rich little boys love their toys.

“It might be a game to you, Nix,” Dick says softly, “but it isn’t to me. Whatever show you were putting on in there… I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”

Nix is silent for a long moment. The air between them is thick as curdled cream. “I understand,” he finally says. “I… I get it, Dick, christ. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Of course he knows. Doesn’t Nix realize he doesn’t have to put on a show for anyone, just do Dick will stand by his side? Doesn’t he realize the whole reason Dick goes to these parties, time and time again, is for him? Because he’d shatter the entire world and piece it back together, fragment by microscopic fragment, just to make Lewis Nixon happy?

“It’s never been a game to me, Nix,” he says softly.

In the darkness, Nix’s hand finds his again. This time, Dick squeezes tight.

He doesn’t know exactly how they come together, what magnetism pulls them or the way their bodies fit together. His shoulder presses up against Nix’s; his fingers find the threads of Nix’s hair; Nix’s thigh is a solid weight as it drapes over his own, his skin is warm, and suddenly Nix is practically in his lap.

It felt better this way. Dick likes the cover of darkness, is painfully grateful for it, just as he is of the way his hand fits over Nix’s hip. He likes holding him so much more than he likes being held… and something in the sigh Nix breathes against his lips suggests he likes it this way too.

“It’s not a game to me either, Dick,” he murmurs. “You matter too damn much”

The distance between them closes on its own will. Nix tastes like whiskey and coffee and August twilight; his lips are smooth, gliding over Dick’s own as though he’s wet them a dozen times since their conversation began. Their embrace is tender, but the hand gripping Dick’s shoulder is desperate. When Dick sighs against Nix’s lips, he utters a soft noise, almost like a whine. Dick’s fingers run along his scalp, soothing the dissatisfaction away.

“I much prefer this,” Dick mutters. “It suits us both better… privacy.”

“If it suits you,” Nix replies, “that’s all I need to know.”

It’s not perfect, and it’s not quite laid to rest… but they make it home at a reasonable hour, and Dick holds Nix in the privacy of their own home. He couldn’t ask for anything more.