#also this is another level of forced proximity

[coldblooded-angel]

COVID AU where Art and Tashi are forced to quarantine when the city wide lockdowns prevent them from traveling. They find a motel that would let them rent the room for as long as they need to. Thankfully, Lily is with her grandma and they’re both safe.

I want forced proximity. I want Tashi going stir crazy not having anything to do. I want Art still attempting to keep in shape until one day he’s too lazy to workout or get up out of bed. I want Art and Tashi forced to actually talk about anything other than tennis.

COVID AU where Patrick gets trapped in the lockdown. He knows he can’t stay in his car forever so he goes to the nearest motel and uses his emergency credit card to rent a room.

One day, he decides to use the amenities. He knows the motel has a pool and he’s not surprised to see other guests already there. He knows he should stay 6 feet apart. Except he recognizes that blunt short bob and that mop of blonde curls.

Yeah, Patrick Zweig just casually quarantining with the Donaldsons. It’s definitely gonna turn out fine.

(Blame @lovethelittlerthings for implanting this in my brain 😵‍💫😵‍💫)

[windrunner]

I wish it was easier for me to initiate conversations abt more than One Subject w/ people but like. idk. what is acceptable outside of Shared Interest so even if I want to branch out I’m kinda stuck

[yesimwriting]

Normalcy

A/n deadpool and wolverine drabble bc the movie was a little too good

Summary: Still reeling from the loss of your powers, you struggle to hold it together inside the TVA's void. Thankfully, you find an uncharacteristically peaceful distraction in your old friend Deadpool and in the wolverine variant who wants nothing to do with you.

Warnings/info: reader is a (former) avenger (bc i love the avengers <3), reader is described as having similar powers to wanda and having trained with her (bc i love wanda), implied beginning of an accidental love triangle if you squint ig, maybe too much lore for a drabble (?), me writing for characters for the first time so be nice 😭

----

The lines etched into your palms do not bend and twist to spell out secrets, there are no messages worth decoding pressed into your skin. Knowing this is not enough to stop you from staring at your hands like if you could just think about it hard enough...

"There you are, Peanut." The words are so warm you're briefly pulled out of your internal angst. You straighten, head lifting slightly and arms crossing in front of your chest. "Thought I lost you."

Wade continues forward until he's directly in front of you. He pauses, watching you with an unabashed openness that you'd only ever allow him to get away with. "Kidding," he tries, "I'd never lose you."

The familiarity of the casual affection eases you further, the corner of your mouth tugging itself upwards. "I was like 15 feet away from you."

"Sorry for caring." It's his go to comeback when it comes to defending the displays of affection you have the audacity to find overdramatic.

You blink, lips parting despite your lack of response. The world has felt a little slower these last few days, moving at a pace that leaves you with no choice but to reflect. Maybe it's the void.

"Hey," his voice feels a little flatter without his usual humor, "Are you okay?"

You let out a breath, shocked by this new low. Sure, you've known Wade for awhile and you've both seen each other through plenty of stages, but he's never felt the need to attempt a genuine pep talk for you. He's never struck you as the pep talk sort...for anyone. Do you really seem that off?

It's bad enough that your identity crisis has stolen the abilities that would have helped your trio pop out of the void with no real fanfare, you can't also make your insecurities everyone else's problem. "Yeah." The response doesn't feel convincing, but with Wade wearing the Deadpool mask, it's hard to be sure. "Just y'know...we're in a void and our reality might be ripped apart, so I've been better."

He's still watching you with a level of focus that's unnerving. You've gotten used to his familiarity, his lack of care for personal space or the social rules around watching people. "You're doing it again."

"Seducing you with my ability to have a heart to heart while looking this good in my suit?"

You sigh in an attempt to dismiss your slight smile. Happy or sad, superhero that once fought Thanos or regular person that can't regulate their emotions, Wade always treats you the same. "The staring thing. You said you'd stop."

"No, you said I'd stop." The correction is a return to what you're used to. He takes a step towards you, his proximity now forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to look him in the eye. "I'd never promise to look at you less."

"Comforting."

He angles his chin downwards, making the limited distance feel more significant. "I thought so." For a moment, he's quiet in a way that doesn't feel very him. "Are you sure you're...good?" His hesitance is another reminder that this is far out of his element. "I know this is your first..." Wade's rarely careful, only ever treading lightly on the one subject you never want to bring. "Outing, since..."

"I lost my powers."

Wade goes quiet again. If this conversation is as inevitable as it seems, a part of you wishes it could have come up elsewhere. Maybe in your shared apartment, definitely without the mask so you could better interpret his reactions. It's not often you keep secrets from him, but the hollowness you feel knowing the part of yourself you've lost isn't something you can just share.

It's more than just about missing your party tricks, it's about losing a part of yourself. They were all that was left of your time with the Avengers, of what Wanda taught you before Westview.

He lets out a breath. "They're not lost." You raise your eyebrows slightly, giving him a look meant to caution him against sympathetic optimism. "We don't know that."

He seems so happy to be able to tell you that there's no proof that any and all magical abilities have been flushed out of your system, you don't have it in you to remind him that that's mainly because you have no one to ask. What's left of the Avengers and your government connections either barely understand what you were or are untrustworthy.

"Educated wish?"

His mask muffles a slight gasp. You press your lips together in an attempt to resist smiling. "The last one worked out great."

Your eyebrows pull together skeptically, a reminder that the two of you are still technically in the middle of the last educated wish he attempted to speak into existence. "Didn't Wolverine stab you multiple times--"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh. "If I took getting stabbed personally, do you know where we'd be?"

In a reality where Wade holds grudges over those kinds of things, you wouldn't be anything to each other, except maybe enemies. You've never pulled a knife or sword or anything sharp on him, but when you first met he did startle you before you had a total grip on your abilities, which resulted in him getting thrown through a wall.

"I never stabbed you."

His hand finds your shoulder. You let him drag his thumb against against the fabric of your suit. "And that's how I know you really love me, Peanut."

You roll your eyes in an attempt to dislodge the warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach. The last thing Wade needs is encouragement. "I mean, I do go around stabbing everyone I like less than you."

He lets out a sound that feels like a scoff attempting to mask itself as a dry laugh. "There's the sense of humor that'd hurt me if I knew you less."

"Well--"

He squeezes your shoulder, "I know you." Okay. You'll let him have this one because maybe there's some truth to what he's saying. "I'm going to go check on the car, because a fucking Honda Odyssey would break down on us for no reason before we got to the fight."

"For no reason or because of the bitch fight you and Wolverine had in it?"

There's a beat of silence in which all you can do is try to imagine Wade's expression behind the mask. You'd like to think that he's smiling. "Oh, Pumpkin." He sighs as if you've stumbled onto saying something terribly naive. "It wasn't a bitch fight, it was awesome, and probably turned you on."

You deadpan a flat, "You caught me." He hasn't let go of your shoulder, and a part of you is oddly glad for it. "I'd offer you help with the car, but..."

You're self aware enough to acknowledge your strengths and weaknesses, car maintenance being the latter. Wade doesn't even let you get your oil changed by yourself anymore.

"I've met you." He squeezes your shoulder again, the gesture weirdly stabilizing. "Give me 15 minutes to actually look at the car and then I'm all yours."

Wade lets go of you, his arm falling to his side. "Aren't you always?"

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. "You're making me feel cheaper than my usual rate, Peanut."

You smile as he turns away. Things are always a little easier with Wade. It's more than just distraction, it's his way of making things feel a little lighter. You're not sure what to do with your 15 minutes of solitude to avoid falling back into self pity.

You originally broke away from the group of void trapped heroes under the premise of needing fresh air, but even here, with the expansive, sparsely wooded area at your disposal, the oxygen in your lungs still feels flat. If Wanda were around, you'd be able to ask if she felt the strangeness of this other plane of existence as well. At least then you'd know if your dislike of the void is only mental or an actual sign of life from your abilities.

You begin to walk forward, hoping to shed all thoughts of both your former self and the eeriness of this other world. There are other people you could talk to you. The others have been polite enough, or at the very least, passionate enough to be talked into facing Cassandra.

The trees you've been wandering through grow in their sparsity, the edge of the woods revealing a patch of grassland highlighted by a fire's warm glow. You squint past the tree line, attempting to make out the figure sitting in front of the flames. Wolverine.

Secluded from the group and staring at a campfire. Surprising. Though, you guess it's not fair to judge him too harshly, you left the group to brood as well.

He doesn't like you, doesn't know you well enough to dislike you, but it took him no time to find a way to get around that. Maybe it's your proximity to Wade. You've done your best to take his hostility as un-personally as possible. You've seen enough people you really care about go through the guilt ridden, fallen hero thing to know how deep that kind of hurt runs.

You've never known a Wolverine or Logan Howlett variant, so you have no way of knowing what he was like before. Sure, you've heard stories, but you're also overly aware of how the media can twist and turn those stories to fit their narrative. One day, a superhero is the world's greatest protector, and the next their the greatest menace. Maybe he was always a little dark, or maybe he wasn't.

"Don't just stand there." The gruffness of his voice startles you more than it should.

Heat crawls up your neck, a part of you more embarrassed than you should be. You weren't lurking, or at the very least, you weren't trying to.

You sigh as you abandon the safety of the tree line. "Sorry." He turns his head away from the fire. "I wasn't--I was just walking."

He's quiet for such a long moment you almost expect him to not respond at all. "Without your shadow?"

Wow, only a halfhearted dig at Wade. You must have caught him in a good mood. "Friend, and he's looking at the car. I'd be looking at the car with him, but I figured the odds for tomorrow are bad enough as is."

Another uneasy stretch of silence. "Yeah." There's not much, if anything, to take from the comment. "If you're here to convince me to go with you guys tomorrow--"

"I'm not." It's an honest answer. You had been walking around aimlessly and happened to stumble onto him. "I'm not into the pep talk thing." He scoffs, the sound lacking in genuine aggression. "What?"

He lifts his gaze from the fire, his eyes settling on some point past the horizon. "I thought you were an Avenger."

You're not sure what bugs you more, the fact that he's so sure he has you all figured out or the implication that the Avengers spend their days encouraging each other instead of actually doing things. What the Avengers are--or maybe were--is so much more than that.

You step forward, further separating you from the cluster of trees. "The Avengers are about a lot more than that."

His attention briefly shifts onto you before returning to the flames. If the silence is meant to be dismissive, it doesn't feel that way. There's a patience there that doesn't suit his usual brooding.

"Do you care if I sit?" The question is forced out before you can overthink it. "I promise no inspirational speeches or small talk."

After a beat, he dips his chin downwards in a nod so subtle you would have missed it if you had been watching him any less carefully. You're more relieved by his acceptance than you should be, your feet carrying you towards the campfire.

You sit at a polite distance, knees bent in front of you. His silence seems to push against the void's sluggishness. Maybe the issue has been you fighting this world's momentum.

"Why are you with him?" You're not sure if you're more shocked by the question or the break in silence. When all you can do is blink, he continues, "You seem--" He subtly clears his throat, as if struggling to admit this next part, "Nice, normal."

Oh. If you had been focused, you likely would have got what he meant without the clarification. "I know Wade's a lot--especially to you." You place a hand against your knee, thinking about that very specific safety you only feel with Wade. You don't have to try at being anything, or worry about earning your keep in any capacity. "But once you get to know him, he's a good friend."

You look away from the fire pit in time to see the skeptical look Logan throws in your direction. "I'm serious." His expression doesn't change. "He um--after I stopped being important to everyone else, he still liked me ." This isn't the conversation you wanted to stumble onto, especially not with someone who you barely know and actively dislikes you. "That sounds kind of dumb, but the point is, he's loyal."

He turns his head back towards the fire. "You always call him by his name." The observation is so stiff you'd consider it hesitant if it came from anyone else.

You've never thought much about Wade's name. Part of it is familiarity, and the rest of it is a force of habit. Even when you were with the Avengers, you preferred using actual names when off duty. It's easier to separate the mask from the person beneath it when you make an active effort to.

You shrug. "I'm not into off duty superhero names, Wolverine."

He falls silent again. You concentrate on the flames, the way they illuminate the world around you. "You can--" He cuts himself off, attention never wavering from the fire. "You can call me Logan, if you want."

An unsteady warmth roots itself in your chest. You didn't expect any sort of kinship between you and the wolverine Wade stole from some other timeline beyond him occasionally accepting your attempts at creating peace between him and Wade.

"Okay," you focus on keeping your tone measured, avoiding any emotions that might startle him, "Logan."

There's no tension in the quiet that follows. You let the minutes pass until you're certain that Wade's waiting for an interruption disguised as an attempt to help. "I should go, Wade's probably waiting for me."

You push yourself to stand. You let yourself glance at him one last time before turning towards the trees you emerged from.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Silence ✧

Plot: You, one of the nurse of the Task Force 141, take care of his injury.

A/N: Guys— I know I said I’m gonna take a break but this have been in my mind and I wanted to share it with y’all😭 so my final post until exams is gonna be abt kaiser!!

It's been another one of those brutal ops that left the boys of Task Force 141 pretty banged up as usual.

Holed up back at the safe house, you're the only nurse on duty tonight handling their medical needs post-mission.

The door to the makeshift triage bay suddenly kicks open with Lieutenant Ghost himself stalking inside with that icy unreadable vibe he always gives off.

Like he's some sorta apex predator assessing any potential prey in his vicinity even among allies.

With his usual skull baclava, he head toward a chair without a word. Then he just calmly lifts his bloodstained shirt exposing that frighteningly huge, scarred torso built like some kinda walking brick shithouse.

You can't help the nervous gulp escaping as those piercing steel-black eyes bore straight through you standing there frozen.

Sizing you up like some helpless little rabbit ready to be ripped apart by those massive bear-paw mitts clenching fistfuls of shredded fatigues.

Until your medical training finally clicks into autopilot gear catching sight of the nasty bullet graze scorched across his lower abdominal slabs.

Gnarly enough to require patching up judging by the steady trickle still seeping out between those ridges.

You give the subtlest shake snapping out of it then retrieve the first aid kit heading over.

Carefully avoiding those glacial irises still tracking you as you silently kneel before the seated Lieutenant without uttering a word.

Once situated between those tree-trunk thighs you get to work cleaning and disinfecting the jagged wound with the antiseptic wipes.

Ghost barely even flinches when the alcohol solution hits that raw patch of burger meat - dude's an absolute stoic savant when it comes to playing through pain.

At least until you hear the faintest hiss slipping past those clenched jaws when you apply slightly too much pressure against the tender injury.

Instantly you freeze then murmur a hushed apology, letting your touch turn gossamer light yet still effectively cleaning the gash while he stays utterly motionless.

Something about the close proximity between you both suddenly amplifies, like both your heartbeats are syncing up while you focus on meticulously wrapping those sterile bandages around Ghost's midsection.

Even through all that scar-tissue cratering his abdomen you can feel the searing warmth radiating off in pulsating waves.

Against your better judgment you chance a glance upwards to check if everything's still good on his end.

But the second your gaze meets that utterly primal smokey-black stare piercing straight through you, it's like every nerve ending in your body ignites simultaneously.

Those razor-sharp raptor eyes hungrily drink in every subtle shift and flex of your form positioned so vulnerably below him.

Heart thundering against your ribcage now as realization dawns about just how terrifyingly easy it would be for those titanic arms to completely overpower and snap you like a damn twig.

Yet a deeper core-level current also hums between the charged particles gathering unbearably thick in the air around you both too.

Stoking thrills of a different sort pulsing through your veins beyond just the mortal peril his presence typically broadcasts.

By the time you finish securing the gauze wrappings and carefully rise back upright, your throat's gone bone dry.

Forcing you to swallow hard glancing away while reminding him not to overexert. To diligently rest and hydrate sufficiently over the next few recovery days so you don't hafta come redress this all over again.

But the second your back's turned gathering those scattered supplies, you audibly inhale feeling Ghost's furnace-like proximity crowding up against you from behind.

Not overtly threatening yet - rather merely an intoxicatingly heady presence amplifying that strange tension crackling across your hypersensitive nerve endings exquisitely.

Those steel-cable forearms extending across both sides bracketing you in while his ragged whisper ghosts up the nape of your neck with a scorching caress.

"Much obliged, then...for always patching us up good as new, Doc..."

The words alone already skated the boundaries of impropriety.

But coupled with that dangerously carnal subtext rumbling just beneath the surface instantly flash-fried your higher cognitive processes into vapor.

You remained utterly petrified in place absorbing the infinitesimal sensations of his titanium frame pressing so tantalizingly close yet not fully against you while Ghost silently withdrew.

Leaving your entire body combusting from the inside out without another word spoken between you both...

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TEN

in which you and eddie find out just how much can happen on the roof of a parking garage. a scary criminal could show up, a phone call could interrupt important moments, a bit could go too far, and... marriage vows could be exchanged?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, one (1) use of y/n, minors dni

→ wc: 8k+

→ a/n: if this is bad don't hmu. i returned to my wordy girl roots. also shout out to @br0ck-eddie and @big-ope-vibes for beta reading this for me <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

10:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

HOUR TEN - 1:00 AM

Eddie is an erratic driver, which you should have known, but it doesn’t make you any less scared as he takes the empty curves of each street with intense speed. It doesn’t make you loosen your grip as you press into him as tightly as possible, practically molding your body to his. 

You’re just grateful he was right – you didn’t see another soul for the entirety of the five minute drive. And if you did, you would have been mortified for them to see the way you clung to him. 

His secondary location is a parking garage. If it were anyone else, if it were even so much as Eddie from ten hours before, sirens would be going off in your head and screaming for you to run as far as possible from this situation. 

You don’t. Because it’s Eddie, and it’s Eddie being kind and flirty and civil. A new version of Eddie, and a new version of you. 

You sit still and polite as he navigates the bike through a gap in the gate, the perfect size for a motorcycle to fit. 

He keeps driving in circles, nearly making you dizzy, going up up up the parking garage levels until the ceiling breaks and you catch sight of the night sky again. The stars are more visible this high up, above the buzz of the city, closer to the atmosphere in altitude. 

“Still alive back there?” he calls out as he cuts the engine, coming to a stop in one of the darker corners of the top level. You tell yourself it’s for practicality – if any sort of security happened upon this level, the two of you would remain hidden.

“Mhm,” you hum just loud enough for him to hear you through the helmet, arms aching from how tightly you continue to hold onto him. 

If either of your hands were to slip, you’d graze against his partially exposed torso. Your fingers would make contact with his hips, would trace the expanse of curves and softness, possibly find their way to the trail of sparse hair down the center of his stomach. 

It’s enough to make you fist his shirt into both hands, just to prevent that outcome. 

“You sure?” he twists his body to look at you, and as he does, a hand comes up to rest on one of your arms. 

It’s just a hand, and it’s just an arm. It’s just skin on skin. It’s nothing to call home about; Robin has grabbed your forearm plenty of times out of unbridled excitement, Steve has held onto it to guide you through crowds without losing you countless times, even Nancy has held your arm there before. None of them ever burned you before. 

Maybe it’s not that Eddie’s touch scorns you, it’s not his palm kissed with flames. When his skin closes over yours, it only focuses your fire. That’s why it sears, that’s why it leaves your skin nothing but hot coals. 

You burn for him. 

“I’m positive,” your breath threatens to fog up the glass visor from the inside, “How do I get off this thing?” 

He chuckles, and the hand holding your arm trails down, passing each of your knuckles with the press of a fingertip, drenched in intention. There is no reason for his touch to linger. There is no reason for him to draw roadmaps over your skin – it isn’t his to mark. And yet, the ashen lines appear all the same to you. 

“Just swing off. I’ll stay sitting to balance the bike.” 

You unravel your arms from around him, leaning your chest away from his back and immediately missing the proximity. You miss it as you clutch his shoulders, you miss it as you lift off the bike, you miss it as you stumble ever so slightly with your feet planted on concrete, and his hand shoots out to your hip in an effort to balance you. 

It was an earnest effort, a casual touch, absolutely nothing but innocence in his fingertips as they wrap around your hip for a mere second before retracting. That doesn’t stop it from being gasoline on your fire. 

He stands off of the bike unaware of the effect he’s continuing to have on you, pulling the keys from the ignition and popping the kickstand with such cruel casualty it begins to drive you insane. 

“You need help with the helmet, or is it just part of your look now?” Eddie inquires as he walks around the back of the bike to stand in front of you. 

The fucking smirk and the fucking dimples and the fucking eyes and the fucking-

“I need help,” you deadpan, playing into his game of cat and mouse. You’re willing to see how far you can push this until it breaks, is he? “You put it on me – you take it off.” 

Your mind wanders to his comment, his threat, earlier. How if you didn’t get ready to come here, he’d undress you himself. 

If him taking off this helmet is the closest you will ever get to that, so be it. It’ll give you something to think about tomorrow night in the comfort of your own bed. 

Eddie shrugs happily, taking a step forward and carefully reaching out both hands to either side of the helmet. He’s slow in lifting it off, certainly just being careful and mindful of not hurting you, but it sends you hurtling even further to insanity. Inch by inch, the night’s cool air creeps up over your chin, over your cheeks, over the bridge of your nose. Your eyes flutter shut somewhere in the process.

When the helmet is fully removed, you keep your eyes shut. You wait for the shuffle of Eddie stepping back from you. You anticipate a comment on the state of your hair, your surely disastrous ‘helmet head’. 

Neither comes. Instead, a warm breath hits your now cold cheek. 

Your eyes open to find Eddie standing impossibly close to you. All downcast amber as his eyes trace over your face steadily, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips that remain slightly agape with each puffing breath. You don’t think he’s even recognized the way you had closed your eyes, nor the moment you’d opened them to catch him memorizing you up close. 

“Eddie?” your voice cracks with the questioning, his name heavy on your tongue, “Is… Is everything okay?” 

When his brown eyes meet yours, gilded honey and roasted chestnuts, they make your breath catch. 

He nods with trepidation before breathing out, “Yeah. Everything’s…” 

His words trail off, fading out into the buzz of the night surrounding you. The sounds of a city that never sleeps – distant sirens, a one-off car alarm, the random chirping of a bird, the beeping of a crosswalk signal. They all meld together into white noise, none of the singular components discernible. They’re nothing more than a background to the way Eddie is looking at you. 

He raises a hand suddenly, still leaning in at a creeping pace, and tentatively reaches out to carefully tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. As his fingers curl into the skin behind your ear, lingering for far too long, the heel of his palm brushes your cheek. 

You lean into it. Your face turns ever so slightly, eyes beginning to flutter again, desperately seeking out his touch. Enticing him to break, to cup your face fully, to give you more than you deserve in this moment. 

Because he’s looking at you as if he’s about to kiss you. His eyes are flickering to your lips as you give in to futile want and heedless need, continuing to lean into his feathered touch, and you’re sure he’s about to kiss you. And you’re sure that you’ll let him. 

His chest heaves just as painfully as yours. His pupils widen larger than yours, if possible. You watch an internal war rage behind his eyes, and you’re begging the part of him that wants you, wants this, to come out the victor. You want him to abandon all sensibility as you have. 

Fuck civility. Fuck nuclear explosions. Fuck ocean waves. Fuck forest fires. Fuck friendship. 

You’re past the point of return. All you want from him is his lips on your lips. 

“Baby,” he whispers, a sickly sweet prayer falling from his lips, not a single ounce of malice soaked into the nickname. It’s not sweetheart. It’s not uttered in the same playful cadence as when he said it as he started up the bike. It’s not him teasing you. It’s a plea, a beg – he’s begging something of you that you’re too far gone to recognize. 

But you hum in response, not knowing what he’s asking of you, opening your eyes as wide as you can manage in your moment of weakness, recognizing that his palm now fully cups your cheeks as his fingertips lazily press into your hairline. He’s closer now, leaning over you and covering you in his shadow, multiplying the darkness you reside in. 

His nose bumps against yours. The oxygen you breathe in is replaced by his breath. He’s close, so terribly close, yet still so far. You’re tempted to finish the distance, but you need him to come to you. You need him to want this as much as you do, if not more. 

You need to be the ocean this time. Because if you come to him, you’ll drown. You’ll descend to his darkest depths, and never find yourself above the surface again. Irreparable, collateral damage to yourself. All for wanting a man you’d claimed to hate ten hours prior. 

Eddie’s freehand is grazing your hip, prepared to curl around you with force this time, to pull you into him and kiss you until the two of you are left bloodied and bruised, when your phone rings. 

Both of you jump. In an instant, the closeness is lost – his hand leaves your cheek and hair, your eyes fully open, both of you stand awkwardly and flustered in the light shadows. 

“I-” you don’t know what to say, hands shaking as you reach into your pocket and wretch out your phone. 

JOHNNY BOY. 

Jonathan is calling you, and you don’t know whether you want to commit a federal crime against him or your phone. Or maybe yourself. 

You swear you can taste Eddie despite your lips never touching his. You can still feel the weight of his palm against you. 

He has to take the phone from you, this time only because you’re holding it so tightly, glaring down at it so indignantly, he’s scared you might break it. 

His thumb that once rested against your skin so gently is gliding across the screen, answering the call and putting it on speaker. “Hello?” 

“Hey! Eddie!” Jonathan’s voice happily calls out, and it does nothing to chip away at your fruitless fury. 

He was going to kiss you, and now he can’t even look you in your eyes. 

“Are you both there right now? Or is she asleep?” Jonathan continues over the line. 

You finally break your silence, “I’m here. We’re both here.” 

“Where are you dudes?” A second voice from Jonathan’s side of the call asks, and you recognize that warm tone immediately. Argyle. 

He won’t look at you. His gaze is sturdy on the phone, as if this wasn’t just a regular phone call but a video chat, as if there’s something more interesting being reflected in the screen compared to your currently desperate face. 

You want to scream at him to hang up the phone. You want to beg him to throw the damn device over the wall behind the two of you and let it fall to the street, let it shatter and let the deal be damned just so you can feel his lips on yours and taste the sweetness of his tongue. 

You just want to scream, honestly. Like a child. Stomp your foot, let out a fitful shriek, and pull the boy back into you. 

You don’t. Partially because you’re grown, and partially because he won’t look at you. 

There’s a doubt that creeps up as Eddie says something to the two boys on the line, a shadow of doubt that is darker than the night sky hanging above you two. Maybe Eddie didn’t want this. Maybe he’d just gotten lost in the moment, and now he felt ashamed. 

The scream is left in your lungs, and the blooms on your vines quiver from the insecurity its residency radiates. 

“Alright,” Eddie suddenly chuckles, pulling you back into the conversation, “So, uh, did you guys call for anything else besides playing babysitter?” 

“No, that’s… all,” there’s hesitation in Jonathan’s voice, words unspoken that finally makes Eddie look up to catch your gaze. 

Brown eyes meet yours – you burst into flames like it’s the first time. 

The shadow of doubt eviscerates in the glow of the flames, the glow of your cheeks, as you watch him take you in with careful consideration. There’s no regret in those eyes, only remarkable care. A connection, a string tying you to him, the knots first set in place that night amongst friends. 

He’s looking at you like the Eddie you thought to be dead and gone. 

“You sure about that?” his tone is teasing, but his face is set in stone, eyes never leaving yours, “Sounds like you’ve got more to say, Byers.” 

Argyle is the one who speaks up now, “It’s not that, it’s just… The photo you dudes sent is on your motorcycle. Are you even at your apartment right now?” 

“Oh, absolutely. We actually only went outside to have a photoshoot on old Nightfury here. We’re currently safely tucked into bed, don’t worry, dudes.” 

Eddie’s finally cracking a grin at you, and through it you’re transported to the past. Before you is a man of possibility, someone not yet an enemy. There’s a blank page set out before the two of you, and he’s wielding the pen like a weapon to be seen. 

Nightfury? You mouth at him. 

He blushes in response. 

Oh, you’re definitely bringing that up after this phone call. Fuck talking about the almost kiss. 

“Why do you sound so sarcastic?” Argyle questions, “Are you lying to us?” 

“Argy- Yes, he’s lying. Christ, where is she? Put her on the phone instead,” Jonathan sounds entertainingly frustrated at the moment, and you take a step forward, palm reaching out for your cell. 

Eddie doesn’t hand it over, head tilted at you, his youth breaking through the shadows that sharpen his jaw, “No can do, boss. Already tossed her body into the canals.” 

“You what-” Jonathan’s voice is shrill, and Eddie bites back his laughter as he remembers that Steve is the only one in on that inside joke amongst the three of you. 

“He’s lying,” you finally call out, taking another step closer, “I’m fine. He’s… it’s a joke. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Okay. But are you guys actually at the apartment, or not?” 

“We’re not,” your honesty has Eddie playfully scowling. 

I hope you kiss me when this is over. I hope you berate me for not playing along, and I hope you press me against the cold concrete behind us, and I hope you kiss me until I can’t breathe. 

The version of yourself from ten hours ago is practically wailing on the floor, kicking and screaming in defeat. You don’t even care. You can admit it – you want Eddie Munson to kiss you. You don’t have to say it out loud, you don’t have to voice that want quite yet. It’s enough for your beating heart to silently admit it and accept the truth. 

“Then where are you two? Jesus Christ.” 

Eddie opens his mouth to answer, but you’re shaking your head with warning, knowing he’ll only lie and make things worse, “Some parking garage. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Some parking gar- are you two fucking stupid? It’s one in the morning, go home,” Jonathan’s using a brotherly voice you’ve only had the pleasure of hearing on rare occasions – usually when you’ve joined him, Steve, and Robin out at the bars, and the latter two have drank well beyond their limits. 

“We know what time it is,” Eddie scoffs. Now that he’s set his stare on you, he’s unrelenting. He keeps you in his line of vision as if you’re a buoy in his ocean, as if he’s capable of getting lost in his own waves. 

Hopefully he is. If you can’t be an ocean to him, you hope he has to suffer in his own depths. 

“We’re being safe,” you assure the two boys over the line. If you took one more step, you would brush up against Eddie. Shoulder to shoulder, cotton sleeve against leather sleeve. You don’t, but the thought still thrills you. 

“Safe?” Jonathan is now scoffing, making Eddie twist his face in annoyance, which makes you want to laugh. He’s getting a taste of his own medicine. “Do you two even know our city’s crime levels? Eddie, I’ve seen you in fights, you cannot-”

“First of all, you’ve seen me in drunken fights,” Eddie snaps in interruption, finally looking down at the phone he holds, “I can throw a fucking punch when I haven’t drank my body weight in whiskey. Second of all, we’re fine. I’m sure if I can’t take whatever big, scary criminal that comes our way, little miss independent here can. She’s scarier than we give her credit for.” 

Silence. You almost don’t notice the way Jonathan and Argyle have gone quiet as you’re still hung up on the nickname of little miss independent. 

Eddie’s the one who steps closer this time. He glances around the empty rooftop of the parking garage, and he takes a microscopic step closer to you. It’s more of a shuffle, really, but it’s enough for your shoulders to finally brush. 

“Shit, man,” Argyle is sighing over the line, as you stare at the ground and Eddie stares at you, “Nance was right.” 

Eddie freezes. There’s a choking sound from the phone, and it sounds an awful lot like Jonathan. 

Nance was… right? 

“What was Nance right about?” you ask, looking up to Eddie quickly. You expect him to be just as confused as you are but he looks petrified.

If all his blood hadn’t drained from his expression, he’d surely be blushing. But he’s stark pale beneath the moonlight, eyes glued to the screen as if Argyle could see his death stare over the line. He looks like a man caught red-handed. You have to look over his palms, the one holding your phone as well as the one quickly being shoved awkwardly into his pocket, just to double check that the skin there isn’t painted maroon. 

“What was Nancy right about?” you repeat yourself, but the question is less directed at the phone now. You don’t care about Argyle or Jonathan’s answer – you care about Eddie’s, “What did she sa-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jonathan interrupts, “We’ve gotta go, but there’s no need for you guys to send a photo this hour. We, uh, we’re the only ones awake probably, so… consider this your official hourly check in. Please, stay safe.” 

“Talk later, my dudes!” Argyle yells in the background. 

The line goes dead. The black screen returns to flash both yours and Eddie’s face in the reflection. One looks overexposed, left out in the light for far too long, and the other looks shadowed, as if having been left behind in the dark. 

You’ve been left in the dark. Whatever just happened between the three boys, you’re clueless to it. 

You have to put your hand out for Eddie to give back the phone, still looking far more nervous than he was before the phone call. All the cocky attitude, all the hints of teasing, all the almost kisses are gone. 

Now’s a perfect opportunity to grill him on what Nancy said. He obviously knows, and if you were smart, you’d dig your heels in and force an explanation from it. You deserve answers; after an exchange of apologies and a quiet acceptance from both of you at giving this a real chance tonight, you deserve to not be left as the odd one out still. 

“Why is your bike named Nightfury?” 

Except it’s not the perfect opportunity. If you ask him now, he’ll deny knowing anything about it. You’ve learned a lot about Eddie in the last ten hours, and the major discovery has been the way in which he uncurls pieces of himself for your eyes only. He is slow and shy in being observed, and he won’t offer honesty when put on the spot like that. 

If you change the topic, if you let it slide, he might tell you on his own time. You’re praying he tells you on his own time. 

He looks taken back by your question, watching as you tuck your phone away into the pocket of his sweats that rest on your hips, “What?”

“You mentioned your bike’s name is Nightfury,” you shrug nonchalantly, “Is it some superhero reference I’m not getting? It’s fitting, but I just… I don’t know. I’m intrigued, I guess.” 

“Superhero reference? Uh, no, not quite,” he scrunches up his face, and you recall the weight of his palm on your cheek. The almost taste of his lips almost on yours, “It’s- Jesus Christ, now I wish it was a superhero reference. The truth is so lame.” 

You break a smile and bump your shoulder against his, trying to shake the racing of your heart, “Can’t be more lame than all your action figures back home.” 

“Didn’t you say they were actually cool?” 

“I actually called them creepy, if I’m recalling correctly.” 

The two of you move as a unit, gliding over to the concrete ledge that over looks the city, simultaneously leaning your full body weight onto your forearms as Eddie digs out a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket’s pocket. 

He catches you eyeballing them, and immediately shakes his head, tapping the top of the carton against the palm of his hand (the same palm that was once cradling your face so gently), “I’m not sharing my cigs. Fuck off.” 

There’s no malice, and that’s probably the only reason that, once he’s pulled his own cigarette out of the pack and discarded it onto the concrete in front of the two of you, you immediately shoot a hand out to take one. You await for him to snap at you, to smack your hand away, to repeat himself. 

He stays silent as you pull one for yourself. Offers his lighter, even, once the end of his glows cherry red. 

You wish he would just lean over and occupy your space again, cup his hand around the end of the cigarette that is dangerously close to your cheek, let the flint fueled flame flicker between you as your gasoline fueled embers sparked to life again. You wish, you wish, and you wish. And he doesn’t. He doesn’t even meet your eyes as you pass the lighter back and inhale the smoke. 

You hold it until his fingertips brush the palm of your hand, before you exhale sharply. 

“It’s from How to Train Your Dragon.” 

You have your cigarette halfway to your mouth, leaving it hovering as you side-eye him, “What?”

“Nightfury. It’s from the movie, How to Train Your Dragon. The, uh, main dragon, Toothless, is a Nightfury.” 

Oh, Jesus Christ. You already wanted to kiss him badly enough, already found your defenses drooping limply when it came to him, and then he had to go and say shit like that. 

“You named your motorcycle,” you start slowly, tilting your head in his direction, “After an animated movie? Cute, although I don’t think scary metalheads like yourself were the intended audience.”

Your words make the corners of his mouth twitch. Smoke curls out from the center of his lips, puckered in consideration as he turns his gaze to the buildings towering around you. “I’m a massive nerd who holds a weekly D&D club and collects mythical creature figurines. I am exactly their intended audience.” 

“You have a D&D club?” 

You’ve learned a lot about Eddie tonight. And yet, every new discovery you uncover continues to surprise you.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he laughs quietly into the night air, “You saw the inside of my apartment, did you really not see the whole Dungeons and Dragons bit coming?” 

You shrug, still watching him watch the city, “I… I don’t know. Contrary to belief, I really don’t know much about you. A shame, really.”

“Are you trying to say you’d like to know more about me, sweetheart?” 

Yes. “God, no. I think I’ve had my fill of Eddie Munson Jeopardy for the night, thank you very much.” 

You want to know the name of his band, you want him to ramble on about the game you know nothing about, you want him to elaborate more on his love for How to Train Your Dragon. You’re brimming with wants, overflowing your cup with curiosity. He shouldn’t intrigue you this way. It’s dangerous – you don’t know where you’ll put all this information when the night ends and you two part ways, both five hundred dollars richer and returning to the hatred that had been established. 

Was it even hatred anymore? Or had it morphed into a softened version of itself, something more akin to indifference? 

“Hey, Eddie,” you watch your cigarette burn away at itself, think of it like your insides as the flecks of ash fly off into the wind of their own accord, “What happens after tonight?” 

You’ve caught him off guard; he’s not expecting the question, and it occurs to you he’s just as unsure as you are. 

He doesn’t know where to go from here either. 

“I dunno,” he murmurs. His arm shifts, and the hand that has his cigarette tucked between the fingers is now resting beside your own, “What do you want to happen after tonight?” 

I want everything to change. I want to laugh with you again. I want to see you when we’re out with our friends and for you to smile instead of scowl. 

You just shrug, and it makes your shoulders brush again, his leather crinkling against the movement, “Nothing has to change. We can… We can pretend it was all a bad dream, if you want. Although I’m definitely referring to your motorcycle as Toothless from now on.” 

“No one will believe you,” he scoffs, ignoring your comment on nothing changing. But the curl of his lips had faded instantaneously, a subtle change that would have been missed if you weren’t watching him so closely. But you were. You noticed. You’d probably never be able to not notice. Even when he returns to scowling, even when he’s returned to the bottom of his ocean and you’re left with legs too weak to continue kicking in an effort to keep you afloat, “But… yeah. Yeah, it can all just be a…. Dream.”

Dream. Not a bad dream, just a dream. 

“It’s weird that we don’t have to take a photo, right?” you’re quick to change the subject, to avoid deep diving into his implications. 

It should give him whiplash, but he seems completely unaffected as he waves a hand around the open air in front of you two, “Not really. But we could still take one, if you want, though. Just for us.” 

Just for us. A stolen moment and a blanket of security that this night existed, that it wasn’t just a shared fever dream and that it was all real. The Eddie you first met still exists six feet under, you two managed civility, and it was real. 

“We could,” you agree, a bit too eager for your liking, “I mean, it’s a pretty view. We shouldn’t waste it.”

He doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s mentioned he comes here often, that this is a space he finds himself running to, just like the bar. He bites his tongue just as he had when you’d stolen a cigarette for yourself. A cigarette now wasted, because you hadn’t taken another drag in far too many minutes.

The hand that rested beside yours so casually inches closer, pinkies beginning to overlap. “Exactly.” 

Your hand shakes the entire time as you reach into your pocket and produce the phone, as you hover the camera to perfectly capture your two hands and the cars that are so small in comparison on the streets below. Overlapping pinkies become hooked, twisted together, and you’re not sure if it was you or Eddie that took that final step. 

You leave the flash off as two cigarettes glow orange like a sunset, like the ending to a beginning you’ve been hurtling towards at full force with Eddie this entire night. 

It’s a nice photo. 

Eddie lowly whistles as he glances over at the screen and the barely blurry photo displayed, “That’s a good one. We’ve gotta put it in the scrapbook, for sure.” 

“The scrapbook?” you giggle, still memorizing every detail of the moment frozen in time, “What are we going to call it? ‘The Night Y/N and Eddie Didn’t Hate Each Other’?” 

“The name can be a work in progress. After all, the night is still young. Maybe murder is still on the table and it can get shown on our Dateline special.” 

You snort, and he grins. Your pinkies are still interlocked. 

“Imagine the name of that episode. Just Keith Morrison narrating our greatest hits,” you muse as the breeze picks up around the two of you. It’s nice, cool and relieving from the flames that have been building and creeping up your wrist. 

Both cigarettes are wasting away now; neither of you are willing to let go of the contact long enough to properly smoke them. 

It’s as if he’s noticing it, too, as he curls his hold even tighter, a subtle squeeze you return without thinking. It’s just a small touch, a miniscule connection between the two of you, but it feels bigger than anything before. It’s larger than the almost kiss, it’s larger than his apology, it’s larger than everything. That’s what it is – it’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it’s everything to you. A rebuilding and rekindling of all the paths not taken.

Eddie pulls you from everything suddenly, not by pulling away his pinky, but by putting on his best Keith Morrison impression, “Two enemies, one apartment, an unfortunate series of city canals. Hatred is a fine line to dance, but just how far can one young woman go when a twenty-two year old man takes things too far. Tonight, on Dateline…” 

Your free hand shoves at his shoulders, and his pinky clings stiffly to yours to keep his balance, “Shut up! Why am I the one murdering you? I’m a helpless woman! If anyone’s getting murked, it’s me.” 

“Oh please, sweetheart, that’s exactly why you’d be the one to get away with it! No one suspects the sweet college girl who lives in the dorm down the hall to murder the big, bad wolf,” he cackles, returning to lean into your space tauntingly as he sets the scene, “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t throw my ass into those canals if given the chance.” 

I wouldn’t. “I’m about ten seconds away from it.”

“Yeah?” 

No. “Yeah.” 

“Well, that’s hot.” 

You remember his whimpers from the bathroom suddenly, and bloom into color. Instead of answering his banter, you bite your lip and look harshly down at your conjoined hands. Pinky in pinky, cigarettes dying down together. The burning end has neared where your fingers clench on the filter, and you tell yourself that that’s the source of the heat coursing through your body. It has to be, because it certainly can be the effect of Eddie. Eddie, touching himself. Eddie, moaning. Eddie, definitely not stubbing his toe. 

Flames and oceans, you remind yourself, flames and oceans do not mix. Can not mix. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asks with certainty, the cadence in his voice fading into something of serious discussion. The playfulness is still there, just more subdued, “And can it… not cause some big fight between us this time?” 

Well, that can’t be good. “Go for it.” 

“I told you why I hate you, so… why do you hate me?”

You understand his request immediately; it’s a loaded question, no doubt. 

Why do I hate you? 

For the life of you, you can’t pinpoint an exact moment. And unlike Eddie, you’re willing to tell him the truth, you want to reward him with honesty. The time of avoidant answers has passed for you, and you want to bare your soul to him in a peculiar sense. 

“I- Okay, I don’t know exactly why,” you begin, considering finally disconnecting your pinky from his before deciding against it, “So I’ll talk you through it, but no interruptions, okay?” 

“Okay. I’d pinky swear, but, y’know,” he raises your hands into the air ever-so-slightly, acknowledging the position he’s put you two in for the first time in the entire conversation. 

You both laugh at the sentiment before you continue on. 

“I’d like to preface this with the fact I know you won’t tell me the truth about this, even the others can’t tell me the truth about it, so don’t think of this as me seeking out answers. I’m the one offering an explanation, not you. So…just…” you take a sharp breath in and catch his eyebrows shooting up into his bangs from the corner of your eyes. You can’t look at him head on, a lingering fear of showing this type of vulnerability with him being impossible to shake, “That first night we met. You were nice, right? You were nice, we got along, and then… Then I went to the bathroom. And I came back, and suddenly, you… you weren’t nice. You weren’t quite mean, not yet, but you certainly weren’t acting the same anymore. And I don’t know why you changed, I don’t care,” An absolute lie. You cared. You cared so assiduously, far more than you should, to know why, “But after that, you were just… cold, I guess? And it all built up. I thought it was a game at first, I gave up trying to be friends and decided whatever was happening between us might be normal. You’d give short answers, so I gave short answers. You’d insult me or make fun of me, so I’d insult you or make fun of you. It was just a game. Until you got mean.” 

A siren flashes by on the street below, and you can’t even make out the sound of his breathing. Now feels like a good time to pull away your pinky, to take a final drag of your cigarette, to leave behind his burning touch. The moment you try, he completely traps your finger between his pinky and ring finger. 

He’s not letting you go without a fight. 

You’re tired of fighting him. 

“I actually think it took me a while to really hate you back, y’know? I think I was still holding onto this... this childish hope that you didn’t mean to be cruel. Or that you were just jealous of me intruding on your friend group – you told me yourself that you guys go all the way back to high school. I was this invader, and I excused your cruelty for a really long time because of it, because I told myself I understood. But then… six months ago, I stopped understanding. I had to admit defeat and hate you because you didn’t give me much of a choice.” 

“Steve’s party.” 

He says it so quietly, you almost miss it. He sounds remorseful, he sounds sad, he sounds regretful, he sounds mournful. 

“Steve’s party,” you confirm just as quietly. Your pinky is slack against his as his grip finally loosens, “That night, everything you said… It finally felt personal. From the minute I got there, you were just… awful. You knew exactly where to hit me when I was down. And it took me shattering Steve’s poor glass to realize you really do hate me. You hate me, so I hate you.” 

It’s out there, the truth – your only reason for hating Eddie Munson was because he hated you. It was based on a worthless principle. Born out of necessity, you had forced yourself to hate the man who currently has your pinky wrapped around his, who had pledged his protection over you with the same mouth that had claimed he’d never miss you if you evaporated from his life. 

The hate would always be there. It wouldn’t wash away with his waves, and it wouldn’t turn to ash from your flames. You couldn’t get your hopes up that one night could fix it all. 

“I was a dick that night. I know I’ve already said sorry but… I’m sorry,” he finds his reply in the darkness, in a hushed tone. Quiet and ridden with shame. 

His pinky falls even more slack with yours as if he’s silently offering to let you go, as if the memory of what he’d done is enough to remind him you aren’t his to keep. But you’ve already given up the fight – your pinky stays with his. 

“You were a dick,” you agree, “But I know you’re sorry now, it’s just a matter of… accepting it. Letting it go. I’ve not exactly been innocent in this. Remember Chrissy Cunningham?” 

He laughs dryly, clearly recalling the blonde you’d caught him out on a date with.

“Jesus, fuck. Yeah, I remember Chris. I never did get a second date.” 

“Because of me,” you try to tease, doing as he would and leaning your bicep into his. 

He nods, “Because of you.” 

You’d been extra spiteful that night. It was before Steve’s party, even. The moment you’d seen them in that booth, Chrissy giggling far too much at each of what had to have been Eddie’s terrible jokes, watching her perfectly manicured hand settle on his shoulder, you had been out for blood.

You’d approached them, and made Chrissy believe Eddie was already your husband. You’d even switched one of the rings on your right hand to your left ring finger. An entire debacle had been made in that diner, and Eddie looked ready to murder you when Chrissy had left and murmured something about ‘calling him later’ as you continued to credit him for being an absolute cheater. 

She never did call. You must have really sold the entire lie with your crocodile tears. 

“I was a bitch that night,” you supply as you let your cigarette finally drop from between your fingers, hitting the concrete as it begins to sizzle out, “So… I’m sorry. And we’re even.” 

Eddie steals his cigarette into his other hand and takes a final drag before he properly puts it out, “Looking back now, it’s kind of fucking funny. Seriously. Did you know I knew her in high school?”

You don’t expect his lighthearted response, but you take it in full stride with a squeeze from your pinky, “What?”

“Yup. She never gave me the time of day back then. And after our date, I found out she’d been already trying to get back with her on-again, off-again boyfriend from back then,” he shrugs, turning to glance at you, “Guess I wasn’t the cheater.” 

“Jesus, I’m sorr-”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize for her. Apologize for the fact you never even signed a prenup with me, or invited me to our wedding, wife.”

That makes you break. You both laugh so hard you have no choice but to relinquish your hold on each other, bringing your hands up to laugh freely into your palms. 

“I am so sorry, my dear husband,” you taunt, “Maybe I’ll remember to invite you to the renewal of our vows in five years time.”

“Five years?” he crinkles his nose, shaking his head harshly, nearly tearing his curls from his makeshift bun, “Fuck that. I never even got to say my vows the first time. You owe me a wedding, princess.” 

“You never bought me a ring.”

“You never bought me a ring.” 

“My bad,” you barely squeak out before you succumb to even more laughter. Eddie’s dimples shine as he joins you, looking to the ground as his shoulders shake. 

He sighs deeply once the two of you compose yourselves, turning and leaning his back onto the ledge, staring out at the empty parking lot, “Where should we have our honeymoon? I’m thinking the diner would consider hosting us, even after your fiasco.” 

“The diner?” you feign offense and mimic his position, “Fuck that,” you parrot his words right back, “You’re taking me to Paris, pretty boy.” 

It’s a deliberate choice; the nickname doesn’t slip carelessly this time. It’s said with a conviction that makes Eddie blush, that makes him look at you with dark eyes. 

“Pretty boy and sweetheart,” he mumbles, gaze flickering down your face, “We make quite the odd married couple. I don’t know how they’d feel about us in Europe.” 

“They’d certainly stop and stare at first glance,” you play along, still giggling quietly, “But I think then they’d see just how in love we obviously are and just….” you pause and let your eyes flutter shut for dramatic effect, not catching sight of the way he suddenly melts for you, “Swoon.” 

You don’t see it, but he’s looking at you like he’s about to kiss you again. 

“Here,” he suddenly says, fiddling with his fingers when you snap your eyes back open, “Allow me, Edward Munson, to vow myself to you…. Uh….” he pauses as he realizes he doesn’t know your full name, and so you jokingly lean in and whisper it to him as if you aren’t the only two up here. He repeats it back as if he’d always known it, and you’re both back to giggling, “In sickness or in health. In hatred or in murder. In…. bets and from this day forward.” 

He’s holding one of his rings, one decorated with a chunky skull, and motions for your hand. You offer it and allow him to slide the ring on with as much ease as he had slid the helmet onto you. 

It fits a bit big, but you both look down at it as if it’s the world’s greatest gift. 

“Wow,” you breathe out, your hand still cupped by his, “It’s certainly no diamond.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Allow me to just go to the twenty-four hour diamond shop and get something more to your taste, my beloved,” he goads, finally dropping your hand. 

The metal is warm on the inner ring from his skin, searing into you just as his touch does. 

“You sure know how to commit to a bit, Munson,” you murmur beneath your breath, lifting your hand to inspect the ring more closely. You’ve never paid much mind to his rings before, only ever knowing that they were there and they were a staple to his look. 

“That I do, wife,” he grins widely, boyish in his suddenly shy stance, “You’re already wearing my sweats and my shirt, why not add the ring? Complete the look?” 

“Complete the look,” you repeat and shake your head, shrugging, “Okay, fine. But just for tonight.”

Just for tonight, because after tonight, nothing changes. Your heart pangs at the thought but you don’t let your smile or joking demeanor fade with him. 

“Of course, of course,” he waves the hand that is now one ring lighter, “Just for tonight. Come morning light, everything goes back to normal. No one has to know you spent the night married to me, sweetheart.” 

“I mean, I’ve already moved in for the night,” you remark, looking up into his eyes, “We have moved quite quickly, haven’t we?” 

“We have. All that’s left is consummating the marriage, or whatever,” he shimmies a shoulder into you, turning to face the motorcycle, “Speaking of home, we should get going before any scary criminals show up and you have to beat them up for me.” 

Your cheeks are burning red, your hand is carrying his ring and flames, “Oh, I’m sorry. We are so not brushing right past the fact you know the word consummate.” 

It’s easy. Being with him is easy, on fire or not. It is easier to enjoy him and joke with him, fall into civility with him, than to force yourself to hate him. You don’t care if tonight changes nothing for him; it changes everything for you. 

“I’m brighter than I look, doll.” 

It is easy to burn for him. For tonight, and for the rest of your life, quite possibly. 

He picks the helmet up off of the seat and holds it out for you as you follow him,  immediately making you grumble in protest as you take it without a fight. 

You decide to take one last chance before the helmet separates the two of you again. One last way to tell him you don’t hate him, you don’t know if you ever hated him, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever hate him. 

“You know, I think we skipped a step,” you flip the helmet, not meeting his eyes this time, mustering all your bravery, “Usually, you have to kiss your bride, then consummate the marriage.” 

Quiet. He’s too quiet.

You’ve stunned him into silence, and you take it as a sign that you’ve gone too far. You’ve brought the almost kiss back up in the most indirect of ways, and you regret it immediately. 

“I’m sorry,” you immediately try to rectify, “I- that was dumb. Bad joke. I… I’ll leave the bits to you.” 

You don’t give him a chance to reply as you shove on the helmet, much less gracefully than he had put it on you, and wait for him to get on the bike.

No words are exchanged. You can’t see if he’s blushing through the tint of the visor. You convince yourself that he’s only tense as you climb onto the bike behind him because he’s uncomfortable now, because you’ve breached a limit you’d never even noticed.

Of course he wasn’t going to kiss you. Of course you shouldn’t have mentioned it, let alone joked about it. You’re an idiot. Even in civility, you’re an idiot. 

 He drives even faster to the apartment this time, which is dangerous considering you don’t grip him nearly as tightly. 

A game of fate you should have realized is dangerous to play. It is dangerous to burn for him, because he does not burn for you. This fire is one-sided and self-destructive, and although it is easy, you should have known better. The hating him is safer than the wanting him. The fury is safer than the yearning. The glasses shattered were safer than the moments shattered. 

You arrive back at the apartment. He parks the bike. You return the helmet to him. 

You walk up the stairs ahead of him. You don’t speak to him. You twist the ring he gave you. 

You keep your head down at the door. He rustles with his keys.

The burning is too easy. You should have known better.

But then, he says your name, keys still hanging from the lock of the door to apartment 2C. 

You look up at him, and wonder if he sees your embers, clear as day. You wonder if he’s about to tell you to collect your things and inform the others that the bet is off, that the two of you will scrounge together the money you owe them and forget the night ever happened. 

“Tonight changes nothing, right?” he questions once he has your full attention. You can only nod, ignoring the sharp pain of reality, “Nothing that happens tonight has to matter, right?”

You swallow hard. “Right.” 

He’s the one nodding now, seemingly lost in thought.

This is it. This is the part it all ends. 

“Great,” he finally concedes, voice raspy. You’re about to parrot back the sentiment when his hands are suddenly back in your hair, and his breath is back against your cheek, "Then fuck it."

This time, almosts don’t cut it. He kisses you, and he tastes like salt water as he meets your ash.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[soxcietyy]

Cat and Dog

Yuta x fem reader

Yuta finally decides to let you top him for once and you don’t seem to phase his at all. So he decides to be polite and show you how you truly dominate a person and have them submit to you.

tw:sucking, slapping?, degrading, dirt talk, bitting, overstimulation, pounding, humiliation

This was the first time Yuta has agreed to let you be dominate in bed. It was something you’ve been asking for for a while now and he simply said no. Something about it making him feel less masculine and hurting his ego. He only agreed because you told him you would stop bugging him if he did.

So now you had him in bed in a cute puppy head band and collar. He looked at you in disbelief when you approached him with such thing but let you put it on him. To make him feel less embarrassed you put on some cat ears. When he asked you why the silly costumes you patted him on the head and simply said Halloween.

"Your worrying for no reason Yuta it’s not a big deal." You said as you sat on his crotch making him grunt.

"I’m not worried, I just know your not going to get much of a reaction from me."

You quirk your brow, leaning over him. "Is that so Okkotsu?" You smile.

The both of you were already undressed so you decided to get right into it. Smashing your lips over his, you kiss him. His soft lips touching yours and his hands caressing your body. As he open his mouth your tongue slipped in just like he would do to you. He tasted like the chocolate ice cream he was eating not too long ago. His hands explored your body, rubbing his hands on anything he could reach. He loved doing this especially on cold nights where he needed to "warm up" his hands. Though what he wanted didn't matter tonight, this was all about you and what you wanted. He was supposed to be an obedient dog after all. Pushing his hands down gently you continue to savor him until you needed air.

Leaving his proximity you rest your back on the back bored. Sitting on the opposite side of you he waited for your instructions. You lift your hand up and curl your finger directing him to come to you. He does so but relatively slow. Obviously he wasn’t that into this play but maybe he’ll learn to like it.

Sitting In front of you he watched as you grab him member. Running your hands all over his cock and balls. You pump him member up and down and you couldn’t help but notice how soft it still was. You continue for a good few minutes trying to get him a hard on but nothing seemed to work. You groan internally, maybe you weren’t good at this.

"Yuta your not hard." You said looking at him.

He slowly averted his eyes away from you, suddenly finding the wall more interesting than the situation right now. "Maybe it takes a bit more to turn me on." He says with an almost panicked expression.

Grabbing him by the collar you yanked him till he was eye level with your crotch.

"Bark."

"Excuse me?!" He says once again baffled.

"You heard me bark if you want the treat in front of you."

"…….woof….." he said with the most straight face.

You let out another loud sigh as you let go of him. You couldn’t force your boyfriend to continue when he was clearly not into it. He slowly sat up and put his hand on your leg for comfort.

"Your just not made for it, your not that intimidating nor well you get it. You wanna see how it’s really done?" He asks.

You gave him a shrug as you sit up from your slouching position. Taking his collar off he puts it on you. He liked how it looked so much better on you than on him. Standing up he stretched his arms up before getting started.

Standing next to the bed he directed you to lay on your stomach with your head on give edge of the bed. You do so and have him towering over you like he usually does.

"Now we can role play as a puppy bullying a kitten. Also when you lick my balls you better do like a cat. Now meow for the treat in front of you." He said as he wiggled his dick in front of you.

Okay now you could see why he was awkward about barking.

"Yuta that embarra-" before you could finish your sentence you felt something hard smack your across your face. Blinking blankly you turn back to see it was his dick that smacked you. Opening your mouth to say the same sentence again you get stopped at the same syllables by the smacked with his cock.

Clearly this was payback and clearly he was going to continue this until you meowed at him. Taking a deep breath you look at him and let out a quiet meow.

"Such a good obedient kitty." He said as he lifted his dick up to shove his balls in your face. Hesitantly you stick your tongue out and lick his balls. Looking up at him for feed back, he gave you a smile of approval. You continue doing so and suck on it a few times. Playing with the sack in your mouth. You could hear some satisfying huffs coming from him until he decided to switch things up and put the tip of his cock in between your juicy lips.

"Beg for your treat"

You gulp the last of your integrity you had in you.

"Can I please have your fat cock in my mouth? I need it more than you think. I want it so ba-" not letting you finish another sentence he shoved it in. It seemed like today he was impatient. Moaning with your mouth full you hallow your cheeks while taking him. Slobbering all over his cock until it was wet. He gripped your hair pushing your head in and out of his cock. Groaning every time he pushed you all the way down to his base. The gagging and choking noises made him want to torture you more but he decided he wanted to fuck you fully aware and not air headed. Letting you go your head falls over the edge of the bed as you catch your breath.

Pushing your back on the bed fully, he wiped the drool off your face and wiped it on your soaking cunt.

"Does this kitty want to be dicked down?"

You nod as you sat back up.

"Then why doesn’t this kitty show this puppy how a cat looks like when it’s in heat?"

You mentally groan of embarrassment as you position yourself. Your knees together, your ass up in the air and your waist arching. Wiggling your behind to him, flushing of embarrassment.

You can hear him chuckle causing you to roll your eyes. He clearly saw this as a joke but didn’t care to end it.

"Alright alright I get it, you must excuse this poor puppy though because he doesn’t know how to stop when he’s told." He said as he spreads your folds.

He knew very well how to stop but he was just trying to play it off as role play.

You felt as something warm and moist slipped in you. How it moved in and out of your trembling body. How his fingers rubbed against your clit. You groaned finally being able to feel a bit of pleasure from this whole situation. You grind onto his face wanting more of the pleasure. God why was he so good with his tongue. He was going all in with the slurping, tongue fucking and clit rubbing.

You whined as you felt yourself getting closer. He knew exactly what those noises meant too so he stoped.

Standing up he put his dick in your entrance and leaned forward to look at you by pulling your hair back.

"Look at this dumb little pussy getting taunted by a puppy. Are you going to fight back or give in to me? Though I think I already knows the answer to that." He said as he smacked your went cunt. You jolt at the sudden touch.

"Okay I get it Yuta please, I can’t take your little game anymore." You say breathing heavily.

"Game? Im just trying to show you that your all mine and I’ll always be the dominant one in our relationship. I’ll do all the work and you just worry about looking pretty for me. Cant wait to fuck this kitty dumb."

He slides into you slowly stretching you out.

"Such a helpless little kitty, so dumb for agreeing to letting a puppy show you dominance. You wanna know how dogs show dominance? They ignore commands and they bite with there sharp teeth." He said fully slamming into you as he pushed your head onto the mattes.

"Iv been waiting to fuck the shit out of you since forever." He said running his hands through his hair as he went in and out of you.

You moan as he quickened his pace. Have you been riling him up unknowingly? What made him all of a sudden go off on you like that? Why was he hitting your sweet spot over and over again all of a sudden?

His dick hit deep inside of you repeatedly. The lack of air you were getting was making you light headed and the pleasure was crazy. The sloppy smacking, his groans and moans. The way he has you pinned down and the way he spoke to you had you speechless.

"Yuta slow down please it’s too much." You cry as he rammed into you. And just like that he bit into your shoulder. Not enough for it to hurt bad but enough to leave a mark and get a reaction out of you.

You let out a half cry and half moan as he dug his teeth in. He continued to drill your insides even if you attempted to crawl away. grabbing your arms he pulled it back and held your fist that had balled up the covers and continued pounding you until you saw starts.

Your mind went blank and you couldn’t figure out what was happening. All you knew was that he wasnt going to stop anytime soon and all you could do was let out a loud moans as your body twitched on its own. He still had his teeth in your skin and held you tight as if he was afraid something might take what is his. He kept penetrating you bruising your cervix. At some point it all became to much for you that you blacked out.

Next thing you knew you were waking up with Maki putting her hand over your head. There was no way that was all a dream. Looking around everything looked neat and organized. Yuta sat on the bed looking at you.

"You okay? You apparently passed out all of a sudden." Maki said looking at you concerned.

Turning around to look at Yuta, you see him looking at you with the most guilty look ever. Maybe it wasn’t a dream after all.

[theghoulgirl]

Twilight/Reader Head-cannons and Thought Ideas (Part I)

This is a quick thought idea and head-cannons that I whipped up. This has a main focus on the Linked Universe Twilight, but can also be read as Twilight Princess Link.

Absolutely did not edit it since I don’t have time, so I apologize for any errors.

If you enjoy, please leave a comment and let me know if you’d like to see something else!

Twilight loooves to take care of you. His love language is most definitely acts of service. 

Having a generally bad day? He will wrap you up in the coziest blanket, make you a warm beverage, and offer to read the cheesiest romance book out loud to you. 

Working or studying long hours? No worries. He will cook dinner and make sure there are leftovers for you tomorrow. 

If he sees you cooking, he would come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist and give you a little peck on the cheek. 

The others would tease him whenever he watches you interact with children. He looks so starstruck and in awe at the sight of you laughing and playing. 

Would absolutely be daydreaming about a life with you.

If you don’t want children? He would be heartbroken, but ultimately respects your decision. After all, if you don’t want to be a parent then why would he force you. 

He could have also had a change of heart after his adventure with Midna, and potentially could have more duties in the castle due to being the Hero. 

Twilight absolutely engages in tickle fights with you, just because he loves to hear you laugh. It’s his favorite sound in the world. 

He also would love to chase you through the woods in a game of one sided tag. 

This has nothing to do with him transforming into a wolf. He just loves to hear you giggle out of nervousness and it gives him a chance to show off his pursuit skills. 

While traveling with the chain, Twilight would offer to share his bedroll with you and cuddle with you to stay warm. 

He would also constantly be asking you if you are alright. Are you hurt? Uncomfortable? Feet in pain from walking? You can ride on Epona for a while. 

If you’ve never learned to ride a horse, he would jump at the opportunity to show you. 

You’re in close proximity with one another and his chest would be up against your back. What else do I need to say?

If you’re an avid reader, this man would build you an entire bookshelf to expand his collection of books so you could add yours as well. But he would only do this if he’s heavily considering asking you for your hand in marriage. 

Merging bookshelves is practically a marriage proposal anyways. 

If you are not from his Hyrule but rather from our dimension, he would try to learn English to the best of his ability considering his Hylian is relatively close in the alphabet. . 

Could see a strong bonding activity between the two of you being renting children books from local libraries so the two of you could learn each others language. 

Twilight, being the gentleman he is, would open doors for you and gently guide you through it by resting his hand on your lower back. He would also walk behind you on stairs and help you dismount from Epona. 

If he senses that you are uncomfortable in a situation, he would whisper in your ear and ask if you would want to escape from it. If you answer yes, he would create an excuse without involving you and lead you away from it.

If you have anxiety, he would ask more frequently to make sure your anxiety isn’t acting up too much. But he would also encourage you to engage in these situations since avoiding social situations/the stressor feeds the anxiety monster. But, if it becomes too much or you ask, he will lead you away. 

He is the type of person to, in private, get to a Sky level of affections. Loves nuzzling you, kissing you periodically and randomly, resting a hand on you. This man is stuck to you like glue in private. 

Contrastingly though, in public he is more reserved. He will still want to hold your hand or rest his hand on your back. But refrains from more intimate signs of affection, such as kissing you on the lips. 

But despite his control over his emotions, he does have the tendency to get jealous. And oh boy when he does get jealous, he will be all over you. Resting his face against your head while you talk, arms wrapped around your waist, and giving the darkest glare to whomever is gaining your attention. 

[chucksfavouriteprophet]

Heal - I

Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader (female)

MASTERLIST

🦅 Summary: As a nightmare doesn’t ease up, you have no choice but to take the plunge and try to wake Bucky.

Warnings: Descriptions of sexual assault, violence, forced knotting and claiming/marking, trauma, bond breaking, angst, injured reader, near death experience, lots of emotions, smut

Word count: 1,725

You were well accustomed to Bucky's screams in the night. Although they were a regular occurrence, they still made your bones shiver and forced you to clamp your hands over your ears to try and block them out. You usually held your breath until you heard Steve barge into his room to calm him down, but you still found yourself sleepless in the hours remaining until dawn.

Part of you wanted to run for the hills. Part of you wanted to slide into his bed and wrap your arms around him, pulling him against your chest and whisper sweet nothings into his messy hair. That part was bigger, but it was also more terrifying. Because even though every part of your anatomy gagged for the only alpha you had only truly wanted, you were also shit scared of him. Not of the Winter Solider, which most people were, but of him. Of Bucky. Of the rejection you'd know you'd have to face if he knew how you felt. Because even though you knew he wasn't actually your alpha, and you knew he would never be interested, you weren't sure you could survive actually hearing him say it. Which was the reason why you kept your distance and protected your sanity.

But tonight was different. Steve was on a mission, accompanied by Sam, Natasha and Tony. That meant only you and Bucky were sleeping on your floor of the compound, with Bruce and Clint a level below and Thor away in Asgard. So when those petrifying sounds ricocheted through your skull, you knew you were the only one to hear them. Which meant you had no choice. You had to go to him.

Your legs were trembling beneath you as you inched towards your bedroom door, opening it as quietly as possible and shuffling through without lifting your socked feet off the floor. Your chest felt like it was about to explode as your heart boomed with such ferocity and you had to keep reminding yourself to breathe as you fumbled your way towards his room. You chewed on your lip as you rested a hand on the doorknob, bracing yourself what you might be about to enter into. You knew that sometimes Bruce had to come and sedate him, and there were even times when both Steve and Bucky had emerged the next morning with busted up faces from having a physical fight. Sure, you were a well trained agent who never usually shied away from a fight, but this was different. You knew you'd never be able to hurt Bucky, even if he was the Winter Solider. Put in that situation, in the situation you were in now, you were just a vulnerable omega who couldn't even stand her own ground.

Another shrieking cry jolted you out of your thoughts and you whimpered involuntarily. This was not the cry of a violent man, but that of someone in extreme pain. Without hesitation, you flung the door open and ran in, taking barely a second to survey the layout of the foreign room before you were at the beside. Bucky was still asleep, his eyes screwed shut as he grimaced and panted. Sweat coated his forehead, his hair sticking to it as well as the pillow that had started to slide up against the headboard as he tossed and turned.

"Bucky-" you could barely hear yourself over the sound of the blood coursing through your veins, which meant he certainly hadn't. You cleared your throat, barely trusting yourself to try again, before speaking up. "Bucky!" This time you leant forward, shaking his damp shoulders to try and bring him back to reality. "Bucky its okay, you're okay. C'mon, wake up for me, you're okay", you brushed the hair from his face, cupping his cheek. You were pushing back the panic that was forming at the proximity you were to him and you instead used it to your advantage, touching him in the ways you had only dreamed in order to bring him out of his own.

Just as you were about to consider that this was a losing battle, Bucky froze. His eyes flew open and you let go of his face, stumbling backwards in shock. "Bucky, I-". Suddenly you were back where you started, a trembling mess whose instinct was to drop to her knees and submit to her alpha. He sat up straight, staring straight at you as his chest heaved with uneven breaths.

"Y/N?" He tilted his head slightly and squinted in the darkness as you tried to sustain a whimper. Your stomach was churning and you clamped your legs together as you willed the slick to retract.

"Are you okay?" you whispered with a gulp. He nodded, relaxing slightly as he ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Yeah. Thank you."

You nodded and started to glance around the room, unable to look at him any longer. You had awoken your alpha from his precious slumber without his permission, and although you knew that was the right thing to have done, your hormones were saying otherwise.

"Are you okay?" You were surprised to hear the words come out of Bucky's own mouth, but as you glanced over at him and noticed his flaring nostrils, you hung your head in shame. He could clearly smell the panic that was overtaking your body and you probably reeked of omega right now. Sure, you'd never explicitly hidden your status from your colleagues, but you kept it private, dealing with your heats yourself and using your suppressants discreetly. You chewed on your lip once again, this time tasting blood as you nodded and tried to compose yourself. With a sigh, Bucky pulled back the bedsheets and beckoned for you to come forward.

"C'mon, you can't just stand there. I feel terrible and you need to relax. Hell, so do I. Come here, will you."

You were frozen on the spot, not entirely sure what he was asking. He sensed that, closing his eyes for a second as he snorted under his breath.

"Omega. Come and sit with me."

Well now you had no choice. You practically flew off the floor and under the covers, welcoming Bucky's flesh arm as it snaked around your back and you curled up into his shoulder.

"Sorry," you mumbled without looking up.

"Don't be," you felt Bucky's stubble brush against your cheek as he shook his head. "I forgot how scary a tormented alpha can be. Let alone a tormented alpha who used to be a brainwashed assassin. You should have just let me ride it out."

"I couldn't do that," you rushed out, already starting to relax and feel more comforted than you had in a long time. His scent was intoxicating, and although he still smelt of fearful memories, it was still comforting to you because it was distinctly him.

You lay like that in silence for a while longer until at some point, you drifted into oblivion. It was a dreamless sleep, wrapped in your alpha like you'd always wanted.

Until it wasn't. While you might have been calmed, Bucky was not. He hadn't fully come out of the nightmare, and he had hoped that having you against him would help that. Admittedly he was ashamed the omega he'd been pinning for since coming to live at the compound had to see him in that state, but he couldn't pretend that having her in his bed was a completely knew kind of comfort. Except Bucky hadn't shared a bed with another in over 40 years, so when he inevitably slipped back into that same nightmare, the feeling of a warm body against his disorientated him. It was strange and it was not supposed to be there. The only reason it could be there was if it was going to harm him.

Your eyes flew open the second the cold metal squeezed your windpipe. You wanted to call for Bucky, but it was no use; the creature hovering above you was not him. Yes, it was his body, but his mind was asleep, and the pieces that still remained of the Winter Soldier had pushed forward to the surface. You tried to claw at his hands, at his face, at anything but it was no use. He was a pent-up alpha assassin, fuelled by an artificial super serum. You were no match.

As you wined through his grasp, the nightmare-frenzied Bucky started to take in the girl beneath him. The omega beneath him. She wasn't here to murder him; she was here to test him. Maybe she was a gift, or maybe she was a slave. Either way, she smelt amazing, and his body was yearning for her. His toes curled as he reached down and freed his throbbing penis, letting it rub against her bare legs.

You cried out as you suddenly realised what was going on. He wanted you. Not in the way that you wanted him, but he wanted to take you. To have you. To violate you. You tried to break free as much as possible, weakly kicking against him and pulling at his hair, but it was no use. Although he was no longer choking you, his metal hand remained stern around your neck to hold you in place, applying just enough pressure to halt any cries that tried to escape. His flesh hand meanwhile was pawing at you, squeezing your nipples hard before fisting your vagina. What only hours ago had been crying out for him was now locked up and trying desperately to reject his efforts, which only made him try harder.

"Bucky, please" you mumbled but it was no use - he was gone. This was not your Bucky. Your Bucky would hate himself for this. Your Bucky would certainly never want to look at you again after this. Just as you started to drift away, to blur out what was going on and sink into nothingness, you felt the full force of his penis lurch into you and you had no choice but to succumb to his thrusts. It wasn't until after he had ridden you so hard you bled that he let his knot pop and he sunk his teeth into the tear-soaked gland just below your jawline. Only then did you fully collapse into the darkness.

🫀Part II

To be added to my Bucky taglist, comment below

[taoriyu]

Not Alone [Mizu x Reader]

============ Rating: G Pairing: Mizu x Reader Description: After a close encounter in battle where you narrowly avoided a fatal blow, Mizu is now tending to your wounds with utmost care. No warnings here. Just Mizu being sweet and kind to reader.

Also: The wakizashi is a shorter sword, often paired with the katana. Together, they are referred to as the daishō, which means "big-little" (pair). That sword was usually used for battles in narrow spaces and also could be used by archers to defend themselves.

Kyudo is one of these traditional martial arts that was both a practical skill and a spiritual discipline during the Edo period.

Yugake is a glove that was used to protect archer’s hand and aid in releasing the string.

Let's gooooooo

============

This is it, you thought, unsheathing your wakizashi and pointing it toward the samurai before you. Distant sounds of battle echoed down the hill, where Mizu and Tigen were fighting fiercely. If you want to win this battle, cut off their support, which is you.

Collect yourself, daughter of a samurai, you commanded silently, assessing the situation. Your wakizashi was at a disadvantage against his katana in the open field. His longer reach and powerful strikes posed a significant threat. Possible strategies: close the distance quickly, parry, and counterattack with speed. As your father's daughter, you were taught not only to dance and cook but also the warrior arts: sword fighting and kyudo. It was unusual for a girl to be trained as a warrior, but your family's proximity to the shogunate and their unique status afforded you rare opportunities.

“Argh!” The samurai leaped towards you with a loud growl, his katana aimed at chest level. You stepped to his right, where his leverage for a strike was weaker, narrowly avoiding the blade and making a swift cut, only to graze his skin as he dodged.

He feinted left and swung his katana in a brutal horizontal slash. You ducked, feeling the air whoosh above your head, and immediately countered with an upward slice aimed at his exposed side. The samurai twisted away, but not before your blade bit into his flesh, drawing a line of crimson across his ribs.

He growled in pain and rage, lunging forward with a series of rapid strikes. You parried desperately, each clash of steel sending vibrations up your arm. Your wakizashi felt like an extension of your body, moving instinctively to block and counter. Sweat dripped into your eyes, stinging and blurring your vision.

You saw an opening and thrust your wakizashi toward his chest, but he deflected it with a swift twist of his wrist. The force of his parry threw you off balance, and you stumbled back, barely keeping your footing. He pressed his advantage, raining down blows that you could barely deflect.

He's quick, but I must be quicker, you thought, controlling your breath. He prepared for another leap.

—

A sickening sound of choking on his own blood marked the last foe's fall. The battle for Mizu and Tigen ended, surprisingly without injury. Mizu sheathed her sword, a sudden realization striking her mind. She looked at Tigen, seeing the same concern mirrored on his face.

“How long has she stopped shooting?” she asked, sprinting toward the hill without waiting for an answer. Tigen followed closely behind.

—

A wild swing from the samurai left him momentarily off-balance. This is my chance, you thought. Seizing the moment, you stepped inside his guard, aiming your wakizashi at his guts. Just as your sword was about to cut the flesh, a sharp pain erupted in your thigh. You screamed and stumbled, your vision blurring momentarily.

The samurai's katana descended in a lethal arc. You raised your wakizashi to block, but his strength was overwhelming. The force of his strike sent shocks through your arm, and his blade bit into your shoulder. Pain exploded through you, a searing heat that made you growl in agony. You felt the katana pressing against your collarbone, threatening to break it.

Desperation fueled your movements as you pushed back with all your might, trying to keep the blade at bay. Your vision tunneled, focusing on the deadly edge just inches from your neck. You could feel your strength waning, every muscle trembling with effort.

Suddenly, a metallic clink rang out. The pressure on your shoulder lessened, and the samurai's weight shifted. He collapsed to his knees, his grip on the katana loosening. Behind him stood Mizu and Tigen, their expressions fierce and determined.

Relief washed over you as you pushed the katana away and fell back, cradling your injured shoulder. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, but you knew you were safe. Tigen quickly knelt beside you, lifting you gently from the ground.

“Let’s get you back and stitch you up,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s faster this way,” he added, moving swiftly towards your camp. Mizu followed, carrying your bow and a yugake, her eyes never leaving your wounded form.

—

Your camp was set on the edge of a small forest. By a stroke of luck, an abandoned warrior's tent had been left behind, serving your purposes perfectly. As darkness began to creep across the sky, the glow of the campfire and the lamp inside the tent grew brighter. Mizu sat close to the fire, frowning, idly fingering a blade of grass as she waited for Tigen, who had volunteered to gather more wood for the fire. She glanced through her tinted glasses towards the tent, where Ringo was tending to your wounds. A slight pout appeared on her face, accentuating her fatigue and adding a hint of compassion to her eyes. She stood and approached the tent.

“Ringo, it’s me. May I come in?” Mizu’s voice was soft, filled with concern.

“Sure, master,” Ringo responded, glancing up briefly. “I just finished with the leg cut, but I still need to stitch the shoulder.”

Mizu entered the tent quietly. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and salves. You lay on a makeshift bed, your face pale from pain and exhaustion. Ringo worked methodically, his hands steady as he cleaned and dressed your leg wound. Mizu’s presence calm and soothing. She knelt beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

“Let me do the shoulder. Meanwhile, you could organize some dinner for us,” she reasoned, her eyes meeting yours with a reassuring warmth. “We need to keep our strength up.”

“Yes, master. He knows how to stitch, so don’t worry,” Ringo assured you, propping your leg on the mattress. He then bowed and left to prepare the meal.

Mizu took Ringo's place, her touch gentle yet firm as she shifted the edge of your kosode and examined your shoulder wound. “You’ve been so brave,” she murmured, reaching for a needle and thread. “This might sting a little, but I promise I’ll be quick. I’ll guide your breath. Inhale. Exhale slowly.”

As she began to stitch, her hands moved with practiced precision. She spoke softly, her words a balm to your frayed nerves. “Remember the time you and Ringo tried to cook that enormous fish we caught? Exhale. It was so big, we could barely lift it.”

You winced as the needle pierced your skin, but Mizu's voice kept you grounded. “You insisted we could do it ourselves, even though the fish was almost as long as you were tall. Exhale. Ringo dropped it twice, and you almost fell into the river trying to save it. Exhale. And when we finally got it on the fire, it flopped off and we had to chase it down the hill.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pain. “We ended up with fish stew instead of grilled fish,” you said, your voice weak but amused.

Mizu laughed softly. “Exhale. Yes, and it was the best fish stew we ever had, because we made it together. Just like we’ll get through this together. And when we do, I’ll make sure you have the finest tea and sweets to celebrate.”

With the final stitch in place, she carefully bandaged your shoulder. “There, all done,” she said, smoothing the bandage with a tender touch. “Now rest. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of.”

She stayed by your side, her presence a comforting anchor in the dim light of the tent. Outside, the sounds of the camp settling in for the night mixed with the crackling of the fire and chattering of your friends, a reminder that despite the hardships, you were not alone.

[bro-atz]

calm down [bro's 500 — yunho]

[forced proximity, suggestive, ceo!au, ceo!yunho/gn!reader]

requested by: 🥐

word count: 2k

content: suggestive, drunk!teez (except for yunho), tension oh the tension, yunho forces the proximity oop, singular kiss, completely consensual!

Somehow, one thing led to another, and you ended up being the one to escort the CEO of your company to the international team meeting. You weren’t his secretary or his assistant or even the receptionist— you were some menial employee who worked on one of the bottom floors of the company just inputting numbers all the live-long day, and yet, you were supposed to be side by side with the CEO as you attended a meeting you had no business attending? Unreal.

What was more surprising to you was that it wasn’t a mere coincidence or anything that brought you to this moment— the CEO had apparently asked for you by name. You didn’t think that he even knew of your existence, so why the hell was he specifically asking for you?

You checked your reflection in the hotel mirror once more, making sure your attire was crisp and sharp. You didn’t want to look shabby standing next to the CEO, and you couldn’t exactly afford high-end clothing just yet with your entry-level salary, so you had to make do with what you had. After one final glance over, you took off for the meeting.

“Y/N?” the CEO asked immediately upon seeing you, his eyebrow arched in slightly surprised.

You forgot to breathe. You had seen pictures of the CEO online, and you sometimes got a brief glimpse of him as he walked into the building or stopped to visit your floor, but you had never seen him up close in your entire time working for his company. You were amazed at the length of his legs and how he could even find pants that were long enough and also snug enough at the waist to keep from falling— he probably got them tailored, you justified to yourself, since he’s filthy rich— and he was wearing a loose-fitted jacket on top of his button up (which you thanked your lucky stars for because if you saw him with his sleeves rolled up, you probably would have fallen over).

“Yes, sir. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Jeong,” you nearly choked while responding and bowing.

“Please. Call me Yunho. I only go by Mr. Jeong with strangers.”

Strangers? Other than you working for the man, Mr. Jeong—Yunho— was still technically a stranger. Nevertheless, you nodded in acceptance before leading the way. You couldn’t help but feel more and more insecure about, well, everything as you took each step towards the conference room. You could feel the CEO’s intense gaze nearly burning a hole through your shoulder blades as the trek to the conference room persisted, and you were only able to breathe peacefully when you finally entered the room. Well, first, he brushed past you, making your entire body jolt with excitement, then you were able to breathe.

“W-what would you like me to do, s-sir— I mean, Y-y-yunho,” you quickly caught yourself yet still struggled to let his name roll off your tongue.

“Take notes, yada, yada, yada— It’s just a normal meeting, Y/N. Don’t overthink it.”

Yet, that’s all you could do; easier said than done. You took the most meticulous notes you had in years, and you paid close attention to the presentation being given. Granted, Yunho was right. It was a normal meeting, but you were just on edge due to everything: the location, the fact that the CEO invited you, the fact that you were sitting in a room filled with ridiculously attractive men, and Yunho telling you not to overthink it really just made you overthink to the point where you braincells felt like they were flying out of your ears.

“Any questions?” the presenter asked.

“The margins aren’t making any sense—”

“Save it, Wooyoung,” the presenter immediately interrupted. “You’re just trying to mess with me.”

“No, Yeosang, seriously. The margins are off,” another man sitting next to Wooyoung added.

“What? Really?” Yeosang turned around to check the margins, only for the man and Wooyoung to start giggling. “Jung Wooyoung and Choi San, I swear to God—”

“Alright, what else is there,” a very charismatic man slapped his hand on the table several times. “Let’s get to it.”

“Thank you, Jongho,” Yeosang sent a weary smile his way.

“I’m liking how everything looks…” Yunho spoke up. “Hmm… Y/N, what do you think?”

You, meanwhile, were taking a sip of your water and nearly spat it out at the man across the table— Jongho. Wiping your lips with the back of your hand discreetly, you looked at the board and said, “The margins are favorable, but I think you forgot to take into account some of the amounts that you brought up earlier.”

“I did?”

“See, we told you the margins weren’t making sense!” Wooyoung pointed and laughed at Yeosang.

“Jung Wooyoung—”

“Y/N’s right. The margins are slightly off, but it’s not to a horrible degree. Fix it before we take this to the pitch, though,” Yunho said, keeping the two men from fighting. His eyes flitted to you briefly before returning to the presenter and saying, “I think everything else looks good. Team?”

A weak chorus of agreement sounded from the team. Yunho stood up and clapped his hands together before saying, “Alright, meeting dismissed. Take the rest of the day off, but be at the restaurant for dinner.”

“Do we have to?” a member you hadn’t heard from started complaining.

“I’m giving you a free dinner out of the kindness of my heart, Mingi. You better bring your ass there.”

“Yeah! Don’t say no to free food, Mango!” San cheered.

On that note, the men filtered out of the room. You decided to take your sweet time thinking that everyone would have disappeared, giving you a moment to clear your head and restore your sanity. That happened for about two seconds until you felt someone approach you from behind.

“Nice catch, by the way,” Yunho said in a soft voice. “I didn’t even see it until you brought it up.”

You were clutching your chest— the man nearly gave you a heart attack, geez— and bowed your head while uttering a thanks.

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight, okay?”

“Yes, sir— I mean Mr. Jeong— I mean Yunho!”

Yunho chuckled before waving and laughing and leaving the room as you stood in spot with your face flushed bright red just thinking about how much more embarrassing and awkward you could get around your CEO.

Dinner was definitely not what you were expecting it to be. You knew that the team would drink, but you did not in your wildest dreams think they would get completely shit-faced. One of the oldest members of the team— Hongjoong— got so drunk he nearly face-planted into his bowl of soup, sending the other oldest member— Seonghwa— into a fit of giggles.

You were watching the team unfold before your very eyes while taking timid sips of your own drink. You were so busy watching them, in fact, that you didn’t realize that there was a pair of eyes locked on you with sweet intensity. The eyes kept following you even as you got up to use the restroom.

Upon exiting the restroom, you decided to take a step outside the restaurant for a breather. You felt like you were on high alert ever since you were invited— more like summoned— on this work trip, and you finally had a moment to yourself where you could just relax. That moment disappeared as soon as you heard a door behind you open and shut, Yunho walking through the door and into the night to stand on your side.

“You okay, Y/N? You didn’t come back to the table,” Yunho checked in with you.

“Yeah,” you breathed out while trying your best not to hiccup— Yunho truly startled the shit out of you. “I just needed a second.”

“Yeah, the guys can be overwhelming.”

There was a silence that lingered in the air. You looked at Yunho from the corner of your eye and saw that he was no longer wearing his suit jacket. It was just him, his button-up, and his beautiful pants that made every aspect of his legs look stunning. You had to quickly snap your attention back to the view in front of you when you saw Yunho begin to look in your direction, your face heating up slightly as you felt his presence near you even more. Then, you flinched, but that was because you heard something loud crash inside the restaurant.

“Do you want to head back to the restaurant? I think we should collect the drunk children and leave for the hotel soon,” Yunho said with a slight chuckle. “Otherwise my bill will be way more than I want it to be.”

“Yeah, good idea,” you quickly agreed before shuffling back into the restaurant.

Yunho wasn’t kidding when he said collect the drunk children. Mingi, Hongjoong, and San were all passed out on the ground, and while you could handle Hongjoong, San and Mingi were definitely impossible. You watched Yunho lift them with ease, Mingi slung over his shoulder and San’s waist tightly in his grasp. Your eyes wandered as you looked at the man— he had rolled up his sleeves, and his arms were flexed as he carried the two men, the sight of his veins nearly making your legs buckle. Luckily, drunk Hongjoong was enough of a distraction because if you spent one more second ogling the CEO, you would have for sure lost your mind.

Within half an hour, you and Yunho had herded the sheep back to their rooms, and just as you were about to bid adieu to the man to retire to your own room, he caught your hand and silently invited you to his presidential suite for a nightcap.

“I have a question,” you told the man.

The two of you were sitting in the couches— he was in the one across from you. You felt the buzz of the wine slowly start to creep through your veins and make your body warmer, making you a lot more bold in front of him.

“What is it?”

“Why am I here?”

“It’s a business trip, Y/N. I thought that was obvious,” Yunho couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes, but why me? There are thousands of employees, and honestly, I didn’t even think you knew me, so I’ve been… I’m really confused.”

You shoulders hunched as you admitted your feelings to your CEO. Sensing your insecurity building at an exponential rate, Yunho moved to your side and placed a reassuring hand on your kneecap. It wasn’t sensual in the slightest, but that didn’t stop your body from getting hotter.

“You know,” Yunho started. “I handpick my employees.”

“Y-you do?” you were surprised. “All of them?”

“Yep. I make the final call in each person that works for my company. So, I know everyone that works for me, and yes, I do know you, Y/N.”

His hand took the wine glass you were cradling out of your hand and set it on the table before slipping into yours. His large hand and warm palm made your fingers tingle, and the action itself made you snap your head up to look at him and gaze right into his serious eyes.

“That’s…” you breathed out. “That’s really cool. I’ve never met an executive who cares so much.”

“I care way more than you think.” His fingers laced with yours. He set aside his own glass of wine and cupped your cheek with his newly freed hand before continuing in a softer voice, “You know… I stop by your floor all the time to just get a look at you.”

You were speechless— the CEO came to your floor to see you? Impossible.

“You always look stunning when you’re focused on work, and I wanted to bring you here to see that look even closer… It was so worth it. You were so worth it.”

“Yunho…” this time, his name slipped off your tongue with ease, but your voice still faltered as it was overwhelmed with his unbridled honesty. “I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything,” he murmured while leaning in until your foreheads touched. “Just feel.”

With that, he closed the distance between the two of you, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly as he captured your lips in a tender yet fiery kiss.

bro's 500 event | bro's 500 event masterlist

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apply for the taglist here!

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Okay so consider!!!

Yandere platonic Geralt!! Generally very cool!! Very nice!! But if you fuck up you have to deal with (what you have dubbed) the get along cuff. Which is literally him just making you sleep next to him and tying your leg to his with a bit of leather cord. It’s thin so he can easily snap it if there’s a danger, but he’ll wake up if you move it.

Also Jaskier being completely fine and okay with this would be hilarious, I would love to see you write a scenerio!! (Idk why but I picture a modern reader, like one who got dropped in the Witcher from the modern world)

I love this ask!! I also love the trope of a modern character in a medieval setting, I think it was all the ‘Modern Girl IN Middle Earth’ fanfics I read (an actual tag on ao3) so I have a weakness for it!! Also Jaskier just going ‘eh’ is so funny to me.

Warnings: forced proximity, captivity, kidnapping, some level of being infantalized, being tied to another person as a form of being restrained, future Stockholm syndrome. Jaskier is complicit, up to you whether he is also a yandere or not. Also the fact Geralt can smell emotions

“You know this could be like, an actual danger?”

You try and reason your way out of your situation, like reason has ever worked on Geralt before. He ignores you, mostly, concentrating on tying the knot around your wrist in a manner that you cannot undo the knot but it also didn’t cut off your circulation. He slips a finger under the cord, testing the knot and the cords strength, and you hear him make a satisfied rumble. You were still getting used to that, to the various sounds the Witcher made to express emotion.

“No it’s not. The cord’s thin, and if I have to fight I can snap it easily. Plus this area doesn’t normally have monsters, not this time of year.”

He stands, towering over you from you spot on the ground, near the fire, and you tilt your face up. The yellow light throws his features into a harsh countenance, makes his face all angles and scars, golden eyes reflecting the light the way a predators would as he glared down at you, scowling. You tighten your fingers in the wool cloak he had given you, so long ago, the fibers catching in your nails.

He must see something in your gaze, or maybe it’s the way you know you probably reek of anxiety right now, but his stance softens, the scowl melting away into something softer, not a smile because you knew he was still very, very upset with you, but not a harsh frown that made you feel small and stupid and like all the things he thought about you were true.

He crouches, making himself smaller next to you, and you feel your shoulders start to unwind. It was strange, being around someone who was so perceptive to your emotions, but seemingly had no clue how to address or handle them, beyond his own instincts as a Witcher and his limited interpersonal skills. His very limited interpersonal skills.

Seriously. You were pretty sure the guy only had two friends.

“You’re going to try and run again. Maybe not tonight, but I clearly can’t trust you to behave without me keeping my eye on you at all times. Since I can’t do that while I’m asleep, this is the solution.”

He motions to the thin leather cord, and you scowl, face twisting into something you know is ugly but doing it anyways. He wouldn’t be intimidated, you knew, he seemed to view you as some helpless kid, even though you were a fully grown adult who had been attending college.

“You wouldn’t have to watch me if you just let me go, Geralt. You can’t… you can’t just not let someone go home, that’s not right.”

You snap, fingers burying further into the cloak to stave off the chill that was only getting colder, creeping up your arms and legs to your torso and making you shiver. It had just gotten dark, the little fire Geralt built crackling away and too small to provide much warmth but rapidly gaining strength, and you shiver, leaning toward the fire and away from the Witcher.

“We’re not having this conversation again. You can’t survive out there on your own.”

Your face flushes, angry, and you bury your face further into the cloak. He had a point, to some extent. You weren’t used to the world of the Witcher, with its monsters and it’s hardships, weren’t used to the roughness of medieval life and all of its struggles. You were used to the modern world, where distances could be travelled by car, not horse, and you didn’t have to endure biting cold in the winter and blazing heat in the summer.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t at least try, Geralt. What kinda person would I be if I didn’t at least try to get home?” You protest, and there’s the sound of rustling, a muttered curse. Looks like Jaskier was back with wood.

“Ah. Seems I walked into a horribly tense situation.”

Jaskier remarks, but his voice is light, not taking your predicament seriously, even as his eyes land on the tether around your wrist and Geralt’s as he feeds wood into the fire, which licks up the logs and sticks eagerly, hungry for fuel. You scowl, face buried in the cloak to hide your sour mood as much as possible. Geralt didn’t care if you were pisses off or not, he cared when you were afraid not when you were mad, but Jaskier would do everything in his power to pull you out of your bad mood. From telling stories to playing little tavern songs, he would be relentless in making sure you cracked a smile at least once, and you didn’t feel like having to endure the bards attempts to cheer you up right now.

“Is tying them to you really necessary though, Geralt? They look like a kicked pup, can’t you be a bit more lenient?”

Jaskier wheedles, and wow, he might actually be your favorite person right now. You peek up from the fold of the cloak, and he’s got a hand on a hip, shifting his weight with a concerned frown. He looks entirely disapproving of the whole thing, which makes your heart soar. Maybe he would actually be able to get Geralt to listen to him.

“They’re lucky I don’t tie them on Roach all day.” Geralt grumbles, setting up the bed rolls. You could feel every small movement he made, the motion tugging gently on the thin tether.

“Oh you grump. Stop being so rude.” Jaskier huffs, sitting next to you, and you quietly despair how easily he gave in, how quickly he yielded to what Geralt wanted to do. You tuck your face back into the cloak, dejected.

“Hey now, it isn’t all bad. There are worse places to sleep. I can recall a few of them myself.”

Jaskier’s hand lands on your shoulder, and you glare, annoyed. You didn’t want company, or comfort, or any of it. You wanted one thing, and it was something that the both of them were denying you.

Jaskier, because he was Jaskier, seemingly didn’t notice. Which wasn’t the greatest.

“Yeah, sure, I guess. Never slept tied to somebody, though.” You say pointedly, and the annoyed rumble Geralt gives is almost worth it. Sharp gold eyes narrow at you slightly, before Geralt huffs, turning back to his task.

“I have! Well, it was more I had been knocked unconscious, but it still applies, I think! And those ropes were rather coarse, my wrists were aching for days!” Jaskier recalls. “Geralt had to rescue me, it was quite the adventure. I wrote a song about it, at some point, although I never published it. I really should rework that song, actually, come to think of it.”

He rambles, his voice filling the tense silence between you and Geralt, and you feel your shoulders start to relax. He was good at that, chattering to fill the silence that would drag on for hours between the two of you if it wasn’t for him. You sigh quietly, leaning into the warm hand clasped on your shoulders as the fire grows in strength, the bedrolls almost fully prepared.

“Alright. Jaskier, you take first watch, and I’ll take over in an hour or so.” There must not be many monsters around, you think, for Geralt to be so comfortable letting Jaskier take watch. Jaskier nods, slipping away your side as Geralt approaches.

“Not a problem! I was feeling wired tonight anyways, a few more hours though and I should be able to sleep well enough.” Jaskier agrees amicably. “Although I am a bit surprised, you normally insist on first watch.”

“Wanna get (Y/N) down.” Geralt huffs, and Jaskier nods.

“Fair enough, I suppose. They are criminally lacking in the sleep department, they’re beginning to get bags, poor thing.”

You scowl at Jaskier, annoyed.

“I’ve had these since middle school, first of all, not my fault I have insomnia.” You scowl, and jerk when Geralt all but drags you to the bed roll, barely waiting for you to finish talking.

“Hey!” You protests, annoyed, but he’s too busy ‘getting you settled’ as he liked to call it. Fussing over the blankets and the best roll, making sure your body was protected from the harsh winds that even the fire couldn’t stave off.

“Jaskier, stop keeping them up.” Geralt grumbles, sounding more tired than annoyed. He drags you closer, and it must be a Witcher thing to radiate heat like a furnace, because he was chasing off the cold without even trying, the same arm that you were tied to securing you against his chest.

“Pretty sure I can sleep on my own.”

You snark, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

“Not for the next week you aren’t, if that. Now go to bed.”

You scowl, glaring up at him. With the blanket over you, the fire, and the heat radiating off his body, you were tired, sure. But not tired enough not to say something, not when you were being treated like an idiot who couldn’t do anything for themselves.

“You can’t just- Geralt this isn’t right, and you know it. You can’t just- keep me here!”

You protest. Arguing with Geralt was much like arguing with a wall, honestly. Stubborn and just as likely to listen to you as the bricks that made up the walls of your old college.

But walls could come down. You just had to get through to him, make him realize that what was doing wasn’t going to work. You weren’t strong enough or fast enough to escape him, not without some clever plan or tricks up your sleeve, and you were pretty sure that an Olympic level athlete would still have issues trying to outpace him. So your only hope was getting him to listen.

It was a fragile hope, but it was the only hope you had.

“We’re not talking about this right now. Go to sleep.”

Geralt grumbles, and you open your mouth again. The warning rumble in his chest cuts you off, and you swallow.

The sound was exactly that. A warning. Geralt had never hurt you before, not really, but whenever he got mad things were miserable. Jaskier would be irritated with you for ‘putting Geralt in a mood’ as he put it, and you would be without the bard’s chattering to fill the heavy silent between you and Geralt. Not to mention the awkwardness of being forced to ride atop Roach with Geralt, the silence thick with tension between the two of you, or the way you would hope desperately for the day to end so you could go to sleep.

No, it was better to keep the Witcher happy. For all parties.

“Alright. Good night.” You finally mutter, and he sighs, the tension leaving his body. You feel his torso loosen, relaxing behind you, and you feel your hand shaking, just slightly. Or a little more than slightly. Your stomach twists, and Geralt sighs.

“I know you don’t understand. But you’ll realize this is what’s best for you.” He says it like it’s supposed to be an assurance, smoothing a hand over your hair like you’re a particularly fussy child, and you consider, for a second, twisting and biting that hand. Driving your teeth deep enough to draw blood and make him listen to you, for once.

You don’t, mainly because you know he would just move it fast enough your teeth would just snap at empty air.

You close your eyes. With the almost stifling heat behind you, and the too-heavy weight of the cord on your wrist that logically shouldn’t feel as heavy as it did, sleep does not come easy. Eventually, though, you feel your consciousness slip away into oblivion.

[wulfhalls]

can you imagine all the insane outfits they'll give to flo in messiah? the level of cuntery will be unmatched ALSO i agree with you the dynamic "we're forced to marry but we kinda hate each other and can't trust each other but forced proximity turns to respect and maybe to something more but that can never happen because I promised myself to another and I'd never do anything to hurt her but still there's something there and if things would have been different maybe..." that's too saucy I need denis at work asap

we are cooking with fire here. this is rotating in my brain at the speed of light. the scale of possibilities at play here with the ending being what it is.......... also the throne room suggesting deep levels of empathy for chani. her terror/awe at paul throughout. even if chani stayed I can't really see her going thru with the whole poisoning my husbands lover and try to stop them from conceiving plotery in film!canon. which. where even does that leave us? feel like im vibrating out of my skin this is so much more than I ever dared to hope for wtf. if we keep the 12 year time skip....... 12 years of co ruling of genocide. damn :/ recording sessions of ruling counsels of cordiality slowly turning into something deeper................ how am I allowed to win this hugely hoemygodddddddd

[insomniumstella]

over the water & down below (3) | bucky x avenger!reader

summary: Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other.

warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, explicit language, alcohol consumption, sarcastic!bucky

word count: 3,385

taglist is down below (please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list!)

WHERE DREAMS GO TO DIE masterlist

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The temperature was scorching hot by the time they stepped foot on the yacht at barely past twelve in the afternoon. The bouncer at the dock had asked for IDs, meticulously searching through the guest list, and y/n had nearly patted herself on the shoulder for stuffing Amelie Barnes’s ID into the back pocket of her denim shorts before they had left.

The boat had two levels, the upper she assumed to be a luxurious master cabin and the lower floor for leisure, with a large wooden deck, a shaded area for relaxation and cooking, and a ritzy bar.

The two drowned in tense silence as they observed the other guests on Elijah’s rented yacht. People crowded most areas on the lower level, especially the hammock floor near the boat’s bow. Elijah and Nancy know how to throw a party, y/n noted, messing with the loose strings on the hem of her shorts, it's a shame James would drown me if I let loose.

James had peculiarly chosen the couch last night, and the conversation about sleeping arrangements had gone down without too much of a fight if one ignored the scrimmage over pillows. The woman had won, taking both the better pillows and the comforter out of pettiness, regretting it when James got ahold of the suite’s AC remote and turned it into a living hell. The first night in the Lovers’ Suite had been as sweltering as it had been sleepless, and as she stood there on the boat, the last drop of hope for the day to outplay the night slowly vanished.

“James! Amelie!” Elijah’s voice boomed out across the yacht. The politician resided on the deck, sprawled on a lounge chair. “The guests of the hour!” He gestured between the three men beside him, the drink in his hand almost spilling over. “I cannot believe the Winter Soldier is here.” Elijah smiled at them as Nancy settled into his lap. “Come over here.”

The Winter Soldier is here, she cocked her head to the side, what a bizarre choice of words. It’d be reasonable for him to be interested in James, but Elijah Williamson was abnormally engrossed by the Winter Soldier for a Secretary of Defense. She found herself reflecting on last night’s dinner. Elijah had appeared attentive to most of Bucky’s domestic stories, especially the pesto eggs recipe, she thought, but he had also questioned James about weapons, former missions, and Steve? Why would Elijah inquire about Steve? 

“Amelie,” Nancy raked her eyes over y/n’s covered form when they had reached the group, “I sure hope there is a bikini underneath the clothing.” She herself had only a bathing suit on, her skin silky smooth underneath the scorching sunlight.

“There is.” She flashed a sheepish grin without making an effort to remove neither the shorts nor the tank top, her body frozen in place. 

She had never been an insecure woman or someone who’d shy away from tight dresses and mini skirts, but she’d rather choose the option of keeping the tiny red bikini covered than having James see it. Enduring a ‘things were much different back in my day’ monologue had not been on y/n’s to-do list. 

“Good!” Nancy nodded in delight. “Strip down, the two of you. This is a party, not a business meeting.”

In some ways, it was. 

James awkwardly shifted from one foot to another, “it’s for the best the shirt stays on,” a weak chuckle slipped past his lips. “It can be quite jarring.”

The Winter Soldier had always been a faded scar, and Bucky had always been Steve’s best pal from the forties, but James Buchanan Barnes was a blank spot she had never attached meaning to. James was an entirely empty canvas. If she’d recall memories of the field, she’d see a strict sergeant, if she’d recall memories of life back at the compound, she’d see an annoying prick who’d push her in training until she’d break and snitch to Tony whenever she’d use his luxury cars. If she recalled memories of James, as he was, and without barriers between them, she’d see nothing, except a faint shadow of a man who had always been too close yet too far for a meaningful relationship. She had nothing of substance until this moment — James was an insecure man, perfectly hiding behind a wall of forced toughness. 

She placed a tender hand on his arm, pity clawing at her bones, “I think scars tell the stories of who we are,” the ghost of a touch lingered on his skin for a moment too long, “the good, the bad, and the space in between”, a gentle smile etched itself onto her lips, “my handsome, handsome husband." 

He was not her husband, but the painting of scars on his shoulder had never taken away from his beauty; that she could grudgingly admit. 

It was all for show, James understood, yet he foolishly allowed himself to get lost in her softened expression and gracious words. I think scars tell the stories of who we are, he recalled y/n’s words, and though his story had been nothing, but rotten for seventy years, the latter part of his protracted life, had been spent on courageous actions, he’d like to believe. Good, bad, and somewhere in between.

It was abrupt, yet it happened. James neatly folded the t-shirt before hanging it over the lounge chair’s backrest and took a seat, leaning back with his palms firmly pressed against it. She had only ever seen him shirtless once, and the accident had been wiped clean from her memories, whether subconsciously or otherwise, but witnessing James in just a pair of swim trunks painted him in a different light. She had to find a way to extinguish this light, this newfound fire, inside her and do it quick. Did James always have bulging muscles, or a defined Adonis belt, or—

No, she stopped herself, horror burning beneath her skin, James is not attractive.

“Amelie?” A simple word carried heavy meaning. Too much of it. 

The woman had been busted for checking James out, and if she trusted the universe after the ‘James replaced Steve on a vacation in Hawaii’ stunt, she’d ask for the earth, or the ocean below them, to swallow her whole. Except she didn’t, and the only way out was to flash the group a sheepish grin.

“Sometimes it takes a while,” James narrowed his eyes in amusement, “let me help you,” his hands were unbuttoning y/n’s denim shorts before she could protest.

She was grateful he abstained from speaking of her longing gazes on his exposed body in the moment, but y/n was almost certain he’d tease her all about it as soon as they stepped foot off the yacht. If there was to come a day where James would need y/n to do something she would absolutely protest against, a time bound to inevitably arrive, he had gotten enough blackmail to pressure her into acting upon unspeakable actions. The woman's newfound family, the Avengers, would certainly believe she had lusted over James more than James partaking in praise kink activities. His icy demeanor would make it impossible for others to consider him ever calling y/n a good girl. Shit, she thought, shit, the curse word bounced around in her mind for a second time, universe, if you’d like to apologize, this would be the perfect opportunity to split the ocean underneath my feet. 

Heat drenched her cheeks as he nonchalantly slid the material down her legs and then later helped y/n step out of it. She reached for her shirt, hastily removing it because she couldn’t possibly handle the contrast of cool metal and sizzling touch on her exposed skin any longer.

“Sit on my lap,” James insisted. It’s all for show, the glimmer in his eyes read, and she could feel all pity for the man vanishing. 

“Would it get me a good girl?” The words slipped out before she could catch them. Elijah chuckled, the sparkle of merriment in his eyes urging y/n for an explanation. “James has a thing for good girls in the bedroom.”

“Young and in love, right?” The carefree strokes of his stare melted when he had scanned over the group’s faces and returned to glare at her. “Besides, you enjoy it.”

And she did, not with Bucky, for that would be disgusting, but certain men had previously called her a good girl in the bedroom, and she had shamelessly basked in the affection.

Nonetheless, y/n bit her tongue and allowed James to bring her into his lap. A weak cough escaped past his parted lips once their bodies made contact. Alike y/n, fuck, he mentally cussed, but it was for an utterly different reason than blackmail. The soldier's body had betrayed him. 

“I’m Mickey,” one of the men began speaking, and, “Hansen,” promptly disappointed y/n with his last name.

Mickey Mouse would be a better fit, she thought as the waiter brought a round of drinks.

The woman’s attentiveness in the group’s conversation had gotten lost after the second Moscow mule and, to her revulsion, the bearded man sitting left to Elijah had only been half the reason.

The other half kept her back pressed against his muscled chest — she could feel him, all of him, clenching around nothing when he’d adjust positions. Never had she been this close to James, skin against skin, the weight of her thighs resting against his own; even the worst of nightmares she had experienced didn’t compare. And yet she found herself frozen in his lap, subconsciously, or perchance consciously, wanting to stay in the most unlikely of places, with his arm draped across her waist.

James had not made a move to rid of y/n either, his fingers dancing against the skin of her pleasantly warm, sun-kissed thighs.

“You are not as subtle as you may believe.” His voice was gruff as he whispered into the crook of her neck.

The soldier was correct, she had not been entirely subtle about the traitorous fire within the pit of her stomach, but neither had the bearded man about his line of work. It was a party, to most of the people on the yacht, and he had gotten comfortable, slipping in his wording on several occasions.

It was Steve who had taught y/n the importance of trusting one’s instincts. In the field, a split-second decision could either save—or destroy—it all, and if her suspicions were to be true, she would’ve been speaking to a former HYDRA operative for the last hour without blinking an eye.

“Mark,” Elijah turned to the bearded man, and she made a mental note of his name, “is excellent at snorkeling.”

One of the other men laughed, the sound of it droll and booming, “everyone is great at snorkeling.”

“I’d disagree,” she chimed in, “fish tend to be vigilant around James,” y/n teased, voice laced with faux amusement, “as soon as he steps a foot into the ocean, it becomes vacant.”  

A dry chuckle slipped past his lips, “only because I do not feed them,” he leaned down to place his empty cup on the table, inadvertently thrusting up and into her. It was a good thing they couldn’t see each other’s faces. “This one always brings a bag of bread.”

The answer was a hint, that he did not, get her hint. C’moooon, fish tend to be vigilant around James, James. Perhaps she could’ve been less indirect.

“No!” She shook her head, the reaction earning a genuine laugh from Nancy. “Fish are smart, and can sense that your favorite dish is salmon.”

Is he stupid or am I? She had never thought she would ever have the thought manifest itself in her mind, but James and I desperately need to talk and redefine our game plan.

Her theory could be quite preposterous and quite false, but the case had been closed, Elijah Williamson had been proclaimed as an innocent man, so if it led the two agents to nowhere, the worst-case scenario would be disappointment. The best scenario? The ridiculous theory could lead to a path of Elijah Williamson and Mark Basso working together. Perhaps James had been wrong, and the court had been right — HYDRA was destroyed, except for a few independent members, who had not been prosecuted.

She has always had a difficult time with names, in fact, it had taken Elijah’s snorkeling comment to recall Mark’s, but she would never forget a face. She had his thick graying beard, deep-set eyes, and pointy nose burned and then later buried in her memories from when she had accompanied Steve to a mission, staying behind to monitor security cameras. It had been at a foreign gala, with Mark Basso managing to stay out of Steve’s sight, but not y/n’s. They had not been in Germany for Mark, at the time, but she had observed him, both out of boredom and curiosity, for hours, before the captain needed help and she had switched into a vigilant agent once more.

“I do not like salmon,” James scoffed, and she elbowed him in the ribs before he had the chance to say anything else.

“Yes, you do.”

The sharp edge of her tone had him confused, but he refrained from questioning. “Only when she makes it,” he declared instead, “pesto makes it mouthwateringly good.”

James would end up drowned in the ocean if he mentioned pesto again, she decided. Perhaps suffocated by the superior pillows she had taken without an ounce of guilt, or perhaps he’d go mysteriously missing in Hawaii, and she’d return to New York dishonestly shaken from the disaster of it all.  

It wasn’t y/n’s lucky day as Nancy stood up, gazing at her. “How’d you feel about another drink and some lady talk?”

She’d feel great, but it’d be nowhere close to the pleasure of a missing Bucky Barnes and an absence of training sessions. She abandoned his lap nonetheless, trailing after the woman. “If it’d be margaritas, count me in.”

They met at the stairs leading to the master cabin. She sincerely hoped James had done any form of investigation because she had wasted the last half hour gossiping with Nancy.

Though she was not a vast gossiper, she had enjoyed chatting with the woman, especially when the conversation had steered away from aimless rumors and towards her role as a human rights lawyer. Nancy was an incredibly intelligent person, with arguably great wit and judgment. If her theory was to prove true, she’d desire nothing more than for Nancy to have excluded herself from Elijah’s treacherous actions. Perchance some desires were not meant to be granted.

“I fucked up,” was not a sentence she wanted to hear from James.

“As long as it’s not another anniversary dinner,” the woman sighed, glancing around the yacht, and was glad nobody batted an eye in their direction.

“It could potentially be worse,” he scanned over Elijah’s guests, as well, before his eyes found hers, “alright, it’s significantly worse.” 

She had never witnessed James as flustered as he stood in front of her that very moment, if flustered was even the word to describe him. Hues of pink had glazed over his cheeks, and though the sun was scorching, she had an idea it had nothing to do with his frazzled expression and reddened skin. Significantly worse could indicate plenty of things — dance lessons, for she wanted to keep her toes unbruised, or a photoshoot, for she needed zero evidence of forced romance and a false honeymoon.

The woman raised an eyebrow as if demanding the answer of what could be significantly worse than spending a, quite unromantic, if she said so herself, and she would, dinner together.

If Elijah had not shown up, perhaps they would have gone down a path of brief conversations and tense silences as they each devoured massive bowls of shrimp pasta. That would’ve been fine, but the politician had to celebrate his anniversary at The Maui Resort, pressuring the pair to stage a plausible performance of husband and wife, which consisted of fabricated loving glances and unsettling touches. Elijah had to conclude the two as a legitimate, endlessly in love married couple, and Elijah just had to invite them to a yacht party, where James had burned with lust for the woman he despised, almost hoping she had returned his concerns. 

“I’ve agreed to join Elijah and Nancy for a couples massage.”

Oh.

“That is not worse than the dinner,” she grinned, “though I’d doubt they have a room suitable for a throuple.”

James was less than amused. “A couples massage, as in they get a room, we get a different room, and meet at the lobby for tea after the fiasco.”

Shit.

Perhaps James had not read the joyous pamphlet of Passionate Honeymoon Activities at The Maui Resort, but she had. She had read through it all, and to say that the couples massage, which was not, heartbreakingly, separate massages, sounded like an absolute hell, would be an understatement.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the words dripped with poison, “what the fuck possessed you to agree to a couples fucking massage?!” If she had been any louder, heads would’ve turned toward the two.

“We need to get Elijah alone,” was all James could offer, “he doesn’t speak much of HYDRA with people around.”

HYDRA doesn’t exist, she thought, abstaining from voicing her inner voice. Forget James, she had to get in touch with Steve and quickly. If Mark Basso was, as she had previously assumed, a former HYDRA operative, the two were in far deeper trouble than both had estimated. Unless, of course, he just happened to frequent galas in Germany where heaps of criminals would gather for less-than-honorable endeavors.

“James,” there fell his name again, “are you aware of the hotel’s version of a couples massage?” She questioned, narrowing her eyes.

He refused to back down, holding eye contact. “Yes.” It was an obvious lie. 

She chuckled dryly, “if you wanted to slather my body in coconut oil, you could’ve just asked. Besides, his wife will be there, so you won’t have Elijah entirely alone and Nancy Williamson is innocent as it stands. In fact, so is he.” She sincerely wished Nancy was blameless despite meager chances. Bucky stayed silent, which prompted a corner of y/n’s mouth to curl up into a snarky smile, “the slathering my body in coconut oil part wasn’t an actual invitation.”

“Tell me doll,” he leaned against the guard rail, sarcasm clinging to his tone, “why would I ever take it as such? Unless,” James glanced at the broad horizon before his eyes found hers again, “we have spent five years maliciously clashing without a solid cause, so we should stop pretending and kiss.” His voice retained less mockery than she was comfortable with. 

The woman had no desire for James to kiss her, but the deeper into her memories she dug, the fewer reasons for their hostile relationship she could think of. Yes, he had been an asshole, and he had become inhospitable first, but if anyone else had realized why, they had failed to inform her. 

Steve, she thought, I have to call Steve.

Captain America was an objectively unbiased man, but he and Bucky Barnes were best of pals, brothers since childhood who had been miraculously reunited after seventy years. The hardships of the past and the future had only gotten them closer. Though he would never blatantly display favoritism amongst the people who worked at the compound, it was clear he had a favorite of a single James Buchanan Barnes. She had zero clue if James had been planning to inform Steve of Elijah or not, but she had to get in contact with the captain first because he’d, presumably, believe Bucky over y/n as unfair as it was.

Mark Basso was not a fight she could win alone — she needed Steve’s help and advice on more matters than she had once considered. 

TAGS:

@legohe4rts @missvelvetsstuff @browneyedgirl22 @gr33nleo @thatrandomcatoverthere @fiftywhore1 @buggy14 @nt-multi-fandom @physically-im-fine @marygoddessofmischief @fuckthealarm @nyutasgirl @cjand10 @stokzr @jesterstrange @youtubersshipper @oneshotofvodkaa @emily-roberts @desert-fern @itsyellow @love-of-less

[aboutcustardcreams]

Not so subtle

I lost count of all the times I've changed this chapter, and this is the final result, sort of. Might add another if you guys are up to. Lemme know what you think <3

It doesn’t go unnoticed, your fidgeting. A small sigh slips from Missy at the sight of you, the restless bouncing of your leg stands out the most, however, she also grasps a cloud of worry veiling your eyes. 

“Hey,” you say first, offering her a hint of a smile. 

“Hiya,” she waves, her voice softer than earlier, but still devoid of her usual cheerfulness. You glance at the Doctor for a second, a humming sound comes out of him, and then, an awkward moment of silence follows, in which you wonder who’s going to break the ice first. 

Missy stalls for a second, before reaching out to you. You can’t quite figure out what she is thinking about as she does. You gwan at your bottom lip, basking in those beautiful eyes of hers, unable to look away. The Doctor steps aside, believing Missy earned her turn to check up on you. You remain in reverent silence as she crunches down at your eye-level. 

“Let me see,” she hums under her breath and deep in thought. 

With a finger above your chin, she guides you from side to side, and you let her. Later, she grazes her thumb over your cheek and a breathed whimper slips from your lips, when she lingers over your swollen lip, still marked red, but no longer bleeding as before. You hiss, when she pokes at it, and her eyes widen in response to the way you jerk from her. 

“Sorry,” your apology makes no sense to her, you see by the way she scrunches up her face. A warm feeling rises in your chest when you spot her tongue swipe over her lips. You find yourself staring, making the Time Lady’s hearts thump accordingly. 

“Hurts a lot?” she asks you. The Doctor sees how much she tries to hide the emotion filling her voice. 

You look up at her, softly shaking your head, “Not so much. Just sore,” you say but she doesn’t appear convinced. 

She raises an eyebrow in fact, before pointing out, in a rather sing-song tone, “Same thing to me.”

You lightly roll your eyes, then decide to give a different turn to the conversation, “I was worried, you know–” 

She frowns confusedly, trying to understand what you’re referring to. Worried about what, exactly? She had been worried, and rightfully so. But you? What for? 

“About?”, she urges. 

You snort, fully believing she knew already.  “Santa Claus,” you joke slightly. 

She grasps the irony in your response, and decides to play along with it, “Oh, I’d be too, poppet. You’ve been very very naughty. Not sure you’ll receive a present this year,” she deadpans, and she appears so serious to make you actually feel like you’re not going to receive anything next Christmas, which is silly all things considered. 

Her grin grows wider at that point, the look on your face is irresistible to her. She could quite literally nibble at your skin if she lingered too long. But she would hardly admit that, not to herself, even less to you. 

“I still have a couple of months to make up with him,” you respond, chin up. 

She clicks her lips and places both hands upon your thighs. You don’t miss the way her thumbs linger on your skin, before she forces herself up again on her feet. You can’t hide the slight disappointment, when she starts walking towards the TARDIS’ panel, missing her proximity already. Her perfume, her aura, her body shielding yours like only she can do. 

The Doctor carefully makes his way to her side, bowing his head to take in her features. He knows her better than anyone else. She can try and hide from you but not from him. There is a storm in her eyes, it’s like both wind and rain dancing together and turning her orbs almost gray. He gives her a look, to which she responds with a silly grimace of hers and a blatant ‘what?’. He sighs and arches an eyebrow, ‘you know, what’. For a moment you think they are communicating in their own way, telepathically or something like that. To which you frown, cause obviously you’re no Time Lord and you can’t be included in whatever they are chattering about. 

“Is everything alright?”, you ask, a bit annoyed to be left out, “I’m still here, ya know,” the Doc turns to face you, but it’s Missy to answer before he can. 

“Just mulling over the fact that your savior syndrome will get you killed one of these days,” she gives you the fakest smile. 

You cross your arms over your chest, “I don’t have the savior syndrome,” you argue back, your nose slightly scrunching up as you speak. Missy can’t help but find your attempt to disagree with her dumbly cute . 

“But poppet, it’s not nice to argue with mommy,” you know she is only teasing you but it’s so hard to keep at bay the sudden blushing of your cheeks. 

“It is when mommy says nonsense–”, you snort out a chuckle and her lips curve into the most genuine grin ever. She couldn’t avoid the fact that you pronouncing that word elicited a pleasant tingle inside her chest. Your voice had something magic, she believed. Working as a soothing balm, but also like an exciting tickle. For so long, she had been mesmerized by the sound of those screaming in terror and pain. Desperate muffled voices with no hope for their present, even less for a future. Life’s so strange sometimes. For so long you can go without something, until you cross paths with what you thought you never needed, only to realize it’s what you always wanted. 

“What a bad, bad poppet you are,” she pouts. 

“And just so I know, why am I bad?”, you inquire, rather curios. 

“Because you seem to be risking your life wherever we go. I should put you on the leash,” you know she isn’t serious, she cannot be serious, more like it. You scoff, and see the Doctor tiredly pinching the root of his nose and muttering something under his breath. 

You tsks, “In your wildest dreams, maybe.” 

A small, low chuckle escaped her lips, and when she turns to look at your eyes, you spot a hidden meaning behind her words. She had been worried about you, you were certain of that. You walk up closer to her, eyes filled with fondness as you do so, “You know–”, you trail off, and she locks eyes with you, “you could as well have said, ‘I’m glad you’re fine”–

As she goes to respond to that, you shush her, placing your finger in between her lips, mesmerized by how plump and soft they feel against your skin. “But no worries, it takes a lot more than a punch to my face to cut me out of your life.” 

She holds your wrist, gently, so gently, and guides it out of her face. “Not done driving me crazy yet, are ya?”, a little smirk plays out on her face, as you proudly shake your head no. 

“I don’t think it’s ever gonna happen,” you continue, tongue peeping through your teeth as you grin.  

“Sad,” she lies, and you know. Your wrist is still in her grasp, and you dart your eyes there, waiting for her to let go, or rather not let go, but she does, eventually. 

“By the way, I’m about to be annoying now,” you trail off, in a sing-song tone, voice rising a couple of octaves. 

Missy pretends to be horrified, “Oh please, spare me.”

You flap at her arm, your mind going back to the way she acted out there. She looks at you like you’ve just gone mad, “Ouch!” , she clearly exaggerated in her reaction, considering you didn’t hit that hard. “What was that for?” 

You’re quick to explain yourself. “Don’t you think I forgot what happened out there, Mis,” you point a finger to her chest. 

She rolls her eyes and snorts, “Shoot me now,” she mutters to the Doctor. 

“Nobody is shooting nobody,” you place both hands over your hips, with no intention to drop the topic just yet. “Dare to explain what that was?” 

She walks backwards, without taking her eyes off of you as if you were going to jump at her, if she lowered her attention. 

“She’s not a weeping angel, Missy,” the Doctor grumbles, amusedly. 

“You’re right, she is much worse,” she whisper-yells. 

You don’t even know what a weeping angel is, but you don’t have time to ask that. “Missy, come on– ”

“Fine! I’m sorry if I was a little harsh with you. But it’s not my fault if you can’t follow a simple order without acting up first.”

“You threatened to kill the man,” you scoff, in disbelief. She was blaming you, as per usual, but at least she muttered out some kind of apology. That was still something. 

“To frighten him,” she points out slowly. She sighs softly when your shoulders relax, as if a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulders. “I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t. Not with a puppy life face like yours reminding me that was wrong.” 

The smile you were giving her right now was too much for her to bear. It was as bright as all the stars she had seen dying. It was a spectacle her eyes will probably never get used to. 

“Oh, don’t give yourself too many pats on the back,” you giggle at that. “I still did something.”

Your brows knit in a frown as you wait for her to continue, almost holding your breath. 

The Doctor gave her a knowing look, “you erased all his memories, didn’t you?”

She claps her hands, cheering him, “And we have a winner! Anyway, he is like an empty shell and will need to recreate himself from scratch. I think it’s a fair punishment for the things he’s done, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” you say a tad hesitantly. It was always better than having him dead, you mentally reasoned. “But you didn’t need to push me and the Doc away to do this,” you shrug, still feeling a bit offended by that and by the harsh looks received. 

She exhales softly, by the look on her face she seems genuinely sorry, “No, I know. But I do have a reputation to uphold.” 

“No one believes that anymore, my dear friend,” says the Doctor with a smile. 

You gwan at your bottom lip, feeling a little guilty to have doubted her, “I might have for a second,” you confess, voice filled with regret, “but I never really thought you’d kill him in the end. So, you know, hope wins, again. ” 

“Aahw, shame-.” she whines, her antics make her look like the big child she’s always been. “Always doubt me. Always question me and my decisions. It sends me a tingle,” she rushes to you, dramatically clinging to your shoulders. 

You let out a soft chuckle, “I wouldn’t dream to stop pleasing you.”

“Anyway, I’m still cross with you, poppet. I specifically told you to be careful and what do you do instead? The exact opposite.”

“I was careful,” you stutter and blush awkwardly. “Plus, I kicked him quite hard on the knee,” you add, as if it was a valuable point in your favor.  

“Says the girl with a swollen lip,” she deadpans. 

“It’s not that bad”, you trail off, trying to downplay it, “is it?”, raising your fingers towards your mouth and gently tapping at it, you’re suddenly not too sure anymore. You haven’t given yourself a proper look yet, after all. 

Missy’s eyes soften for a moment, and spotting the worry in your eyes, she decides to bury the hatchet… for now. The truth? No mark, or scratch could have made you appear less prettier. To her eyes, you were absolutely breathtaking, and that unnerved her as much as it pleased her. 

“Nah, it looks quite sexy on you, if I’m honest.”

You grin, “are you flirting with me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, poppet—”, she trails off, before winking at you and whispering to your ear, “only if it works,” her voice is as soft as velvet as it crashes against your skin, gently raising goosebumps over the nape of your neck. 

The Doctor feigns a spam of vomit, “do you two want to be alone?” 

You chuckle, slightly shaking your head. 

You’re about to respond that you’re not gonna leave the TARDIS, all you want is just to close your eyes for a while in your room on the spaceship, but before you can explain yourself, the Doctor shoves Missy to the side, taking her place to check up on you. The glare she reserved for him is quite funny, you can’t help your eyes from smiling. 

“Is everything okay? Are you feeling unwell?”, he scans you with the sonic as he speaks. You sigh, when it beeps, knowing way too well it wasn’t going to show him anything out of the ordinary, other than a slight headache, maybe. 

“I’m fine,” you say softly, to both of them, “I was just hoping to close my eyes a bit, that’s all.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but only a silly ‘oh’ comes out. It was reasonable, he thought to himself. You’re human and humans need rest. He clears his throat, feeling a bit silly for not having thought of that himself. “Right, you should totally go.” 

“That’s what I was trying to do,” you can’t help but find him cute. 

Missy claps her hands together, announcing out of nowhere, “I come with you.”

You’re surprised to say the least. “Sweet, really. But I don’t need you babysitting me.” 

“Who said anything about babysitting?”, she looks almost offended by your response, and you feel stupid for having let your mouth speak before connecting it with your brain. Maybe she was just trying to be kind. “I just want to be sure you don’t get lost in the TARDIS, you ape brain.”

You  grin from ear to ear. That’s your Missy. 

You give in, prompting her to come closer with a wave of your hand. She trots towards you in such a funny way you can’t help but stifle a laugh. When she drapes an arm around you, you find yourself leaning a bit to her side. Being a few inches shorter than her allowed you to hear the thumping of her heartbeats, and a smile curves your lips. It was soothing, like a lullaby. 

She stalls for a moment, glad you’re not looking at her. You’d see how her cheeks had reddened, otherwise. 

“Make sure she rests,” the Doc warns her, with nothing but fondness in his tone. She nods, wordlessly, when you let out the cutest yawn. She leans closer to your ear, “do I have to carry you perhaps?” It was meant to sound as a joke, but when you wrap your hands around her waist, and bury your face deeper in her chest, mumbling something inaudible, she gets her answer. 

“Do you want me to?” The Doctor asks her, but Missy is quick to shake her head, and lifts you with ease, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the whole world.

[just-queue]

Final thoughts on Five x Lila situation

I get it. But I don’t want it.

I get it because of the following:

- Five deserved a piece of happiness after his long sad lonely life

- Five also acted totally in character the whole time. He retired and found connection with someone. Of course he didn’t want to leave. But also of course he eventually revealed he found a way home, because he knows it’s right.

- Lila was struggling with suburban life, and allowed herself to fall into this fantasy of living off the grid with someone who treasures her. The SECOND home was found, the fantasy broke and she didn’t run from it.

- Lila didn’t “trade suburban housewife with being a cottagecore wife”. Her life with Diego involved a pessimistic husband, organizing loud children’s birthday parties at arcades, living with family, balancing children schedules, etc. The time in the greenhouse involved survival, which is more “adventurous” than suburban life. It’s also paradoxically more peaceful.

- The mental vs physical age thing and age gap isn’t a big deal in canon for these characters based off their previous work fucking with time

- I did love seeing two hard-ass stressed badass characters be soft for one another.

- After six years, the growing hopelessness and realization they may never go back home, you’re going to intimately connect to each other in ways no one will ever be able to match, regardless of your past experiences with them. This is a very common troupe in fiction.

- Technically it was cheating, but I think the post-apocalyptic space-time forced proximity desperation is a very valid excuse and shouldn’t be seen as cheating, ESPECIALLY when she went back home the second she knew she could.

- Aidan as an adult gave consent to the scenes. We need to realize he isn’t a kid anymore, he can decide what he wants to do and we should respect it.

I don’t want because of the following

- I still feel icky that Lila knew Five with a child body, and now has romantic feelings for him? THATS the taboo troupe I personally can’t get behind. Age difference? Weird but fine. Knowing them as a child? Nope. But I also get this is a personal preference/feeling/reaction with the fiction I consume. And I know I said before their previous professions shows they know different mind/body age, but that doesn’t change the fact he had a child body when they met and she watched him grow up.

- It also feels icky the importance the writers put on Five having a romantic subplot RIGHT when Aidan was of age. Especially cause Five / Aidan are so sexualized. It’s not necessarily WRONG, I just feel icky about it.

- It was shortened because the season was short, so it didn’t land as well as it could.

Here’s the main reason I didn’t want it.

IT DIDNT NEED TO BE ROMANTIC LOVE.

I am aroace. I understand that deep intimate connections can be made without romance. Similar to how everyone says Frodo and Sam were gay lovers when in reality strong platonic bonds can reach that level of devotion and intimacy. Not every character needs a romantic partner, and Five never displayed any romantic or sexual affection for ANYONE until this.

(Before you say anything, YES he did have Delores, but that was also just a need for connection when alone for decades. That doesn’t change the fact she’s not a real person, and he would very unlikely be attracted to her without the traumatic apocalypse world.)

ROMANCE. ISNT. NEEDED. FOR. DEEP. CONNECTIONS. we could have had two platonic soulmates living a happy life together, with kisses on the top of their heads, sitting shoulder to shoulder reading books, holding hands while looking for scrape metal. BUT NO. IT HAD TO BE ROMANTIC. UGH.

Like the stuff post-subway could have been similar still without a dumb love triangle. Five could have been Lila’s person, like Meredith and Christina in Greys Anatomy. And when Five sees Diego and knows Lila’s feelings about their marriage and such, he would go into protective mode.

I will admit I’m bitter about media putting romance on a pedestal. And I’m also not saying Five should be canonically aromantic and/or asexual. I just feel the weird parts of the situation would have been “fixed” if it wasn’t romantic, just a true platonic bond.

[outercrasis]

The Distance - Ch 12

Pairing: Din Djarin x Pilot F!Reader (reader is petite/no other descriptors)

Word Count/Rating: 2.1k / T (will become M/E in later chapters)

Summary: Surprises rock the Chimera.

Warnings: Din puts his foot in his mouth<3

Previous || Series Masterlist || Next

Alarms are blaring throughout the Chimera. Lights flash everywhere as you frantically flip switches and press buttons on the main console. The control stick trembles in your hand, unaccustomed to this level of speed and agility. She's a good ship but she's not made for these kinds of maneuvers.

You hear Din running into the cockpit only for you to yell, "I don't need you up here! Get into the gun well and start blasting at some of these rocks!"

Another asteroid nears the left side of the Chimera, forcing you into a tight turn that nearly throws him off his feet. You're thankful that he doesn't complain.

It's a mystery where this asteroid belt came from. It's not on any of your maps. You would have never dropped to sublight in this quadrant if it had. Your only stroke of luck is that the belt is relatively small, which greatly increases your chance of getting out alive.

Blaster fire reverberates from below you, turning some of the debris into dust. Not for the first time you’re thankful to have a Mandalorian with you. You’re not sure what you would have done alone or with someone who couldn’t couldn’t hit the broad side of a bantha.

The way out becomes easier with Din clearing a path. Rather than simply reacting, you’re able to press forward through the belt. Still, the Chimera shakes with the effort it’s taking to get through in one piece. Tex beeps wildly back at the center console, adding to the litany of noise going on inside the ship.

“I know buddy, I can see it,” you yell back. A massive asteroid is drawing nearer to the ship, an impossible to miss flash on the radar. 

You’re about to call out to Din when you hear him over the comm. “I’m on it.”

The blasterfire focuses to the right, firing faster than you knew the Chimera’s guns could. The asteroid starts breaking into pieces. Through the rubble a clear path out of the belt finally makes itself apparent. 

“Hold on!” you yell, wildly maneuvering the ship. Somehow, thankfully, Din also sees the path you’re taking and focuses his fire on keeping it clear. With one final hard turn to the right, the Chimera breaks free of the deadly field. 

You slam the controls and launch into hyperspace. There’s no set destination, but anywhere is better than the asteroids. You go over to the main computer, searching for any nearby planets with fully outfitted mechanics. There’s no temporary repairs that will fix the damage both the Chimera and N1 just sustained. Din comes up behind you, peering at the computer screen.

“How’s the ship?” he asks.

“Bad. Main functions are online, but we need to find the nearest spaceport or repair bay.”

"There," Din says, pointing at the map. His finger has landed on some nearby dustbowl planet in the Outer Rim. You look up at him, questioning.

It's only now that you register how close he is to you. You have to practically look straight up make eye contact with the black of his helmet, the chin of which is nearly bumping his chest. Warmth is radiating from his body and you're not sure if that's the vestiges of sleep clinging to him or adrenaline still coursing through his veins. You have no idea if this level of proximity was intentional.

"I have some friends there, one's a mechanic."

Good enough reason for you. "You heard him Tex, set course for Tatooine."

There isn’t much time to prepare for landing. It’s nice to have a secure place to land on a nearby planet, but you have no idea what to expect. Din hadn't really elaborated on his friends.

Discovering that Din has someone that he would even consider a friend, let alone multiple on the same planet, was shocking in and of itself. Could they be Mandalorians? Distant family? Friends in arms? Past lovers? The possibilities make your head swirl.

The descent is relatively easy into Hangar 3-5. At the very least nothing falls off your ship, so things can't be too bad. Grogu also seems to grow in excitement, making you wonder just how much time Din has spent here for the small fry to recognize it.

Even more surprising is the loud and fierce voice that floats into the Chimera. "What did you do to my ship, Mando? She's one-of-a-kind, you can't go smashing her up!"

Stepping down the ramp, you're greeted by a small, wiry haired mechanic bearing down on Din like she's his mother. It's the closest you've ever seen Din come to being cowed by someone. 

"Don't go too hard on him. We were surprised by an unmarked asteroid belt," you call down.

The mechanic's sharp eyes turn toward you, analyzing you in half a second. A wide grin splits across her face. “Got yourself a girlfriend, Mando? Didn’t take you for the type.” You can feel your cheeks burn. 

There's a pause before Din speaks. “No, she’s… she’s just a pilot.” His words feel like knives. You don't let it show.

You step past Din and offer your hand out to her to shake. “And mechanic, occasional babysitter and medic. He forgot those.”

"Sounds about right. Peli Motto." Peli has barely dropped your hand before she's yelling out for her pit droids to start scanning the ships.

Before anything else can be said, you stride back over to the Chimera and start taking in the damage for yourself. At least, that's half of what you're doing. You refuse to let your emotions show before a woman you've just met and a man who apparently thinks of you as just a pilot.

You feel foolish, having heard him brush you off so easily. You thought there had been a change between the two of you. More fleeting touches, more shared looks that lasted just a bit too long, enough that at some point you stopped denying that they happened in the first place. You didn’t consider yourself his girlfriend, the label didn’t feel appropriate, but you were more than just a pilot. Or so you thought.

Peli walks up beside you, Grogu tucked into the crook of her arm. "Let my pit droids worry about this. I'll share their work-up with you."

You appreciate the gesture. There’s no doubt her sharp eyes have already taken note of the Chimera's many modifications. She's clearly a woman who understands the bond between a pilot and their ship. 

She nods her head at you and Din, walking towards the interior of the hangar with the clear implication for you to follow. Din’s long legs allow him to catch up to you quickly and his gloved hand brushes the back of yours as you walk. A couple hours ago a touch like that would have set you aflame, but now it makes your blood run cold. You ignore it, moving your hand away from his. 

Getting to the back of the hangar, you purposely sit across the table from Din. You don’t feel like dealing with any more accidental touches at the moment. Part of you feels childish for it, but your wounded pride is currently in the driver's seat. Just a pilot, what utter banthashit that is.

"Here you go." Peli places a glass of water in front of you and turns to Din. "I'd offer you some, but I know you won't drink it with your Creed and all that."

Din doesn't say anything and you thank her for the drink. You can feel the sweltering heat of the planet even in the shade. Sweat is already causing your clothes to stick to your skin. 

Grogu climbs out of Peli’s arms and sits on top of the table between you and Din. You wonder if he can feel the awkward energy radiating between the two of you. Peli seems oblivious to it, launching into a discussion with Din about current dealings on Tatooine. You tune them out. It’s not that the discussion bores you, normally you would listen with rapt attention to learn anything you can about the world you’ve landed on, but your thoughts are otherwise occupied. 

Why did he touch your hand just then? First he dismisses you, barely even acknowledging the sort of relationship that's built between you over the months, and then he moves for contact? Those aren't games you ever expected him to play. You aren't even asking for all that much, just a genuine acknowledgment of your role. Just a pilot, how dismissive. Even being called a crewmate would have been better than that.

A pit droid walking up distracts you from your sullen thoughts. He speaks to Peli and then immediately turns around, going back to the Chimera.

"Good news and bad news," Peli says. "Bad news for you, these repairs are going to take a few days. Good news, you can pay me to fix it."

"How is that good news?" Din asks.

"Good news for me." Peli stands and walks off, yelling directions at her droids, not giving Din a chance to argue. 

You're not sure what this means for you. Remarkably, you haven’t been fully grounded anywhere in years. There were a handful of close calls, but you always managed to make something work to get the Chimera back off the ground. This is unprecedented. The Chimera grounded and Din with no bounty to chase. What are you going to do?

Din gets up from the table and goes to follow Peli, presumably to talk about the timeline for repairs. You'll talk with her later about what actually needs to be done to your ship. You stay with Grogu at the table, only catching snippets of their conversation from afar.

"-too much."

"Do you know what it costs to-"

"-pay extra credits."

After some more back and forth, Din returns to the small table. Grogu turns his attention from you to his father. He grabs hold of one of Din's fingers and shakes it around a bit, which if the kid's reaction is anything to go off of, is a fascinating thing to do.

"What's our plan?" you ask Din.

"What do you mean?" He keeps his focus on Grogu as he replies, wiggling his other fingers for the child.

"I mean we're stuck here for a few days with nothing on the agenda, so what are we going to do?"

"We can go sightsee." 

Din puts the idea out there so simply and honestly it takes you aback. Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, sightseeing? You thought he was going to say something about finding a bounty, not sound like he was some mudscuffer on vacation in Coruscant. Is there even anything to go sightsee on this dustbowl planet?

"Sorry, what?" you ask.

"There's a little town to the north, Mos Pelgo. We can go there." Din sounds serious. The idea of sightseeing isn't some elaborate joke from him, he actually wants to go.

Peli reappears and must have heard Din mention the northern city because she asks, “Why would you go back out there?”

“There’s someone out there I’d like to check in on," Din says.

Interesting. This must be that other friend Din obliquely mentioned before. Someone close enough that they're worth visiting with your few days to kill. Maybe some paramour from his past? You've never considered that he could have previous romantic interests hidden around the galaxy. It would explain his rude and casual brush off of your relationship earlier if one is here on Tatooine. You try to ignore the pit in your stomach you feel forming while you consider the existence of some lover in Mos Pelgo, waiting for Din's return.

"You're in luck then, I fixed up a speeder bike while you were gone. Piece of junk like the other one you busted, but it should get you there," Peli offers.

Before Din can say anything, you cut in. "Just the one?"

"You’re lucky I fixed up that one."

“There isn’t another bike? Or a landspeeder?” This has to be some kind of cruel joke the galaxy is playing on you. Somehow, in all the piles of scrap Peli had lying around the hangar, she only has one speeder? And it's just a bike? Maker, your luck is terrible.

“Nope.”

“You’re sure you can’t scrounge up another?” you press further.

“Look girlie, I like you but not that much. The one bike is all I’ve got,” Peli says, throwing her hands into the air.

“It’s fine,” Din’s gruff voice breaks up the small debate. “The one bike is fine.”

Din stands up from the table. "Peli, can you look after the kid?"

Peli looks a little shocked to be asked but scrambles to say yes. She picks Grogu up and holds him on her hip, as though she suspects Din might change his mind and take Grogu back. It's settled then. You're heading to Mos Pelgo.

A/N: Long time no see! I'm not going to pretend like I'll be updating with any real consistency, but know that it'll continue to happen lol. Also, I'm ditching my taglist bc it's too much work. BUT you can always find this fic on AO3 and subscribe if you want alerts when I update :)