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sentientcave · 4 months

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Pompeii//Good Grief

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Johnny's gone, but the sun still rises. There are still missions to go on, the world spins on. Ghost does the only thing he can ever do, and keeps going.

But nothing feels right. He wonders if it will ever feel right again.

Contains: Canon typical violence, Grief, Flashbacks, Involuntary drug use, Hospital setting, Hope, Loss, Love

(Through it all, the love is there)

~3.3k words - MDNI

“Bravo zero-seven, do you copy? Regroup at infil point— We need to get out of here.”

“Negative. I’m cut off.” Ghost waited for a pause as the soldiers at the end of the hall to ran out of bullets, and took his opportunity to fire back while they reloaded their clips. Sloppy, not covering themselves properly. Amateurish. He expected better from mercs at a top security base like this. He quickly peered around the corner and picked a target— One of the mercs not properly behind cover, and fired three times before pressing himself back behind the corner, broken bones aching sharply. Three broken ribs, left ankle, dislocated shoulder. The strangled yelp was music to his ears, a confirmed hit, if not a confirmed kill.

They didn’t advance, content to hold him in place while the timer counted down on that bomb. He could hear the shuffling of their retreat, dragging their injured comrade behind them.

“Ghost? What’s your location, we’ll come get you.” Typical Gaz. Always thinking there’s a way out. A clever work around.

Not this time.

“Negative. They’re gonna blow the base. Reckon you’ve got forty-five seconds to get clear, so you’d better move sergeant. That’s an order.”

“Ghost—”

“Now, Gaz,” he barked. “No sense anyone else dyin’ in here.”

“Shit. Try to get to cover. We’ll dig for you.”

“Yeah.”

The guns had stopped firing, the enemy soldiers retreating, figuring that the bomb would finish the work they couldn’t.

Ten seconds, give or take. He crawled into a doorway and braced for it.

3, 2, 1.

He pulled blindly at his tags, gripping the little gold cross he’d hung next to them tight. He had never been a praying kind of man, and even now, he wasn’t praying for escape. The explosion ripped through the base, the air turning hot, dust rising up so thickly that Ghost could do nothing but close his eyes against it, burning lack of oxygen tipping him into unconsciousness as the walls rumbled and shook around him.

His last thought, before black jaws swallowed him whole, was of blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, a scarred chin, soft lips and scratchy stubble, the ache of absence. At least he’d see him again.

“He’s in love with you, you know,” Aileen Mactavish says, putting the newly dried mug back in the cupboard with the rest. She has Johnny’s eyes— Or Johnny has her eyes, maybe, but they’re the same bright blue, and they sparkle the same way.

Simon rinses soap off the next cup and sets it in the drying rack. The kitchen is dark and quiet, compared to the noise in the other room. Johnny’s telling some wild story, and everyone’s laughing, caught up in that irresistible energy that Johnny carries around with him everywhere he goes.

“I know.” Simon struggles to get the words out. He’s never deserved love, never known how to accept it, how to express the depth of what it is that he feels. How can he offer someone like Johnny something as bruised and beaten and scarred up as his heart? It’s not enough. It could never be enough.

“You love him too.” She says it like it’s a simple thing, a fact, undeniable. The sky is blue, the earth is round, and Simon Riley loves Johnny Mactavish.

Throat tight, too tight to risk words, he nods.

Aileen leans toward him, puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You should tell him.”

He does, that night, while Johnny snores softly against his chest. He’s so sure that Johnny’s asleep that he lets the words sneak out, soldiers across an enemy line, stealthy and danger close.

And it strikes like an incendiary bomb, right on target, when Johnny opens his eyes a tiny bit and pulls himself closer, right into the fire.

“I love you too, Si. Now go tae sleep, ye bloody menace.”

Ghost woke with a start, coughing, ripping at the mask over his face as his lungs screamed for air. The fabric was so thick with blood and dust that breathing through it proved impossible, so he tossed it to the side, laying flat on his back while he pulled in choking, painful gulps of air.

He’d been thrown clear of the doorway, but he was still in one piece. “Johnny,” he growled into the darkness. “If you’re pullin’ some guardian angel bullshite, save it for someone who deserves it. Gaz’d be a good choice.”

As usual, there was no response. Not that he expected one.

It was some kind of fucking sick joke. He was a dead man who couldn’t seem to die. He clicked his radio, hearing only crackling static. “This is Bravo zero-seven. Does anyone copy?”

Nothing.

Well. It wasn’t the first time he’d dragged his own arse out of a grave. Probably wouldn’t be his last either.

He reached into his vest and pulled a glowstick, cracking it, lighting up the pitch dark space with sickly green light. He’d gone through the first floor into the basement, somehow not getting trapped under the rubble that had come down with him. The hallway he’d ended up in hadn’t collapsed fully, but it wasn’t in good shape either. The concrete was cracked, the weight of the ruined complex making the walls groan, broken pipes and conduits hissing distantly into the space.

He braced against the wall and forced his shoulder back into the socket, grunting at the sharp pop of pain. Next thing he needed was a splint for his bloody ankle. An inconvenient break, but fixable. The ribs would be fine, so long as they hadn’t punctured his guts. If they had, he was already dead, it just hadn’t kicked in yet.

So he had to continue under the assumption that they hadn’t. Fine. Splint.

A broken crate nearby would suffice. He crawled over and cracked it apart, sandwiching his foot between two splintery lengths of wood, tying them together with a length of para-cord, looping it around the bottom of his boot a few times to keep the joint as immovable as possible. He pushed himself up, wincing when concrete flaked off under his hand, the wall shifting from the pressure he put on it.

He started moving down the hall, the glowstick illuminating a small circle around him, revealing the gleam of water under a broken pipe, the particles of dust still hanging in the air. A tomb, but a roomier one than Ghost was used to. His ankle throbbed dully with every other step. He checked comms periodically, and got nothing but static in return.

The hallway ended with a pile of rubble. Dead end.

Had be been moving the wrong way? Or had there been multiple charges on the base? It was hard to say— He was pretty sure the cut on his head had been superficial, but maybe he was concussed, disoriented, wandering blindly.

He heard snarling. Distant. Swearing? Someone else was alive down here.

Ghost pivoted and headed back down the hallway to the last intersection— He’d stayed in the main hall because it looked more structurally sound, but the near-inhuman growling was coming from this smaller corridor. Probably an enemy, but maybe they’d have working comms.

He shouldered his rifle and hugged the wall as he moved towards the sound.

The swearing stopped, the hall turning eerily quiet, just the dripping of distant water and the sound of Ghost’s ragged breathing, the reliable thump of his heart. He stopped where he was.

“Oi! Whoever tha fuck ye are, get yer arse over here,” a voice snapped. A familiar voice.

No. No, he was just hearing things. Just a Scottish accent, and he was imagining the familiarity. The voice was a little deeper, a little rougher anyway.

“Hey! Dinnae jest stand there ye dobber. Ah can see you.”

Ghost took a breath to steel himself, and moved closer, gun at the ready. His circle of light illuminated black liquid (blood?) and eyes that gleamed at him from the darkness like an animals. The greenish light illuminated a face a moment later, the lower half covered with a muzzle-like respirator, but the upper half— “Johnny?” he asked hoarsely.

But the eyes didn’t soften with recognition. They were rendered colourless and glassy in the green light, not the sharp, laughing blues he remembered. New scars too, a slash over one eye, and the healed over wound where the bullet had gone through his head.

The bullet that had killed him.

“Somethin’ wrong with ye?” Johnny snapped, shoving at the hunk of concrete that had his lower half pinned to the floor. “I’m no’ yer Johnny. Now gie this fuckin’ rock offa me.”

Simon couldn’t get himself together, he dropped to his knees beside the man, confusion blooming through his head, clouding the mission. He usually knew what to do. But this? “Johnny— 'ow the fuck are you alive?”

“I’m no’ Johnny.” A hand shot out and grabbed Ghost by the strap of his tac vest, hauling him in closer. “Git yer shite together, English.”

Simon flinched. Even with the strange shadows, the unfamiliar snarl, Simon knew that face. Knew his Johnny. “What the fuck did they do to you?” he asked. “They said you were dead!”

“Listen, English, I dinnae know ye. Now, can ye shift this shite or no’?”

Simon shook himself, and stood, checking out the rubble that had Johnny pinned, lifting the glowstick to illuminate the ceiling where it caved in. The pile of debris on top of Johnny was holding up the whole section. “No. The tunnel’s gonna collapse if I do. You’re stuck.”

“Ah, shite.”

Simon carefully lowered himself back to the floor, grunting. “My team’s lookin’ for me. You injured? Got workin’ comms?”

Johnny let his head thump back to the ground. “Fuck. No, no’ injured, best I can tell. No comms either. Blast fried my kit. EMP in it, probably ta wipe the computers on base. I go’ a hard-drive, hopefully it’s no’ crushed under this big feckin’ rock!” He gestures rudely at the concrete.

“Who’d’you work for?” Simon asked. “M16? CIA?”

“None of your bloody business, English. If you dinnae know me, it’s above yer clearance.”

“Doubt it. I’m SAS. Taskforce 141.” It was so strange to tell him information that he was supposed to know. “Lieutenant Simon Riley. Besides, I do know you.”

“Oh, are ye?” Johnny studied him for a long moment. “I thought Riley wore a stupid skull mask all the time. No pictures on file. They call him Ghost, which is a bloody stupid name.”

“That’s me. Your name’s worse. We call you Soap.”

“Listen, English, ye dinnae know me! I’m no’ your sudsy Johnny or whatever.”

“Yes. You are.” Simon took off his gloves and reached into a pocket to pull out the photo he liked to keep on him, a picture of the two of them in Glasgow, in front of the big stone arches leading into one of the parks. Arms around each other, Johnny’s smile brighter than the sunny day. He’d had someone take his phone and snap the picture for them, talking up a storm. Simon had it printed— Had printed most of the good pictures of Johnny— and made an album. This one was a favourite, though. He could see the happiness in his own eyes.

Happiness had died with Johnny. But seeing him again had a little flicker of it coming back to life, even if he did look at him like he was a stranger.

He handed the picture and the glowstick to Johnny, watched the wrinkle of confusion grow between his eyebrows. “I dinnae remember this.”

“Bullet probably damaged your memory.” Ghost shifted closer and brushed his fingers over the healed injury. “Or maybe they did somethin' to you. What’s with the muzzle? You were always a dog, but this looks different.”

“Canister cracked, but it’s for aerosolized— They told me I had a wife. Tha’ she’d died, an’ Ah’d volunteered for this.” Johnny’s thumb brushed over his own face.

“Who’s they?”

"Doctors. God, there was so much missin' I didnae ask the right questions." He sighed. "CIA, maybe. Some of them were Americans. Watcher's American."

"Watcher? Kate?"

"Aye, tha's her name. Laswell."

Simon's hands curled into fists. He didn't much care for the idea that Kate knew that Johnny was alive, and had let him think he was dead this whole time. "What did they say your name is?" He asked.

"Nautilus."

"What, you think that's what your mum named you?"

"Well. Guess no'. Didnae really think about it." Johnny looked at him, something sheepish in his eyes. "Sounds daft now."

"Can't know what you don't know."

"Weel, maybe, but everythin' from before is just a big fuck-off black hole. It shoulda bothered me more."

"What's the cracked canister?" Simon asked. "The shite all over the floor yeah?"

"Aye. Makes me stronger, faster, heal better. Guess it might make me stupid too." He chuckles, tugging the respirator down off his face. "Johnny. Riley?"

Simon snorted. "Mactavish. We weren't married."

Johnny flexed his jaw, working it side to side. "But we were… Together, aye?"

"Yeah. I'm real familiar with the Scotland Forever tattoo on your lower back."

"Away and bile yer heid. Go' it oan a dare, when Ah was a…" He trailed off, realization colouring his expression. "Recruit. Didnae know tha'."

"Between Price and Gaz'n me, we can probably fill in some'f the blanks for you."

"What else do you know about me?"

"Just about everythin'. Got three older sisters. Born and raised in Glasgow. Right pain in the arse. Rangers fan. Cousin in the air force. You're an artist, got sketches that make even me look 'andsome." Simon grinned, brushing a hand through Johnny's mohawk. "Glad you kept the stupid 'aircut."

"Oh fuck off," Johnny said, grinning back, thumping his fist against Simon's chest. The tags spilled over the edge of his vest, the cross catching the eerie light. Johnny stared at it. "That's mine?" he asked. "An' you wear it, all the time?"

"Yeah. You recognize it?"

"Kinda. I guess, yeah."

"Gave your tags to your mum. She said I could keep this."

"I don't remember her. Or you. Or much of anythin' really. Thought I remembered he wife, but I guess I was just tryin' to make sense of what they told me." Johnny hummed. "Didn't do so badly for myself though, did I? You're a big handsome feller." He tried to hand back the picture, but there was reluctance to it, like he didn’t really want to let it go.

Simon knew the feeling. “You keep that. I can print a new one. Show you the rest when we get out of here. See if we can shake loose any other memories.”

Johnny tucked the photo into his vest, letting his arm fall to his side, into the narrow space between them. “Aye, that sounds nice.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Simon wrapped his hand around Johnny’s, slotting together perfectly, just like they were supposed to. Johnny lifted his hand, fingers tightening in case Simon tried to pull away. He studied their interlocked hands for a long moment.

Simon opened his mouth, but he changed his mind about what he was going to say when he heard the distant scuff of footsteps, his busted radio buzzing with static. A rescue already? It seemed soon, but then again, he didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious before he’d started moving.

He clicked through the radio frequencies, trying to get a clear channel, but nothing that came through was intelligible. He picked up his rifle, surging to his feet, ignoring his ankle. “Hey!” he shouted. “Over ‘ere! Got someone trapped.”

The distant footsteps turned into a stampede, so much noise, voices (English, American) talking over each other, the static of radio. They had flashlights— Too bright after all that time with just the glowstick. Simon blinked, trying to adjust as people crowded into the space, separating him from Johnny, hands pulling his gun from his hands.

“Easy, Lieutenant,” a voice said from behind one of those too-bright lights when he tried to hold on to his rifle. “We’ll get you both out of here. Are you injured?”

“I— Yes, but—”

“Nautilus secured,” someone said.

“Oi, get yer hands off me, let me see him—”

This wasn’t right. “No, no! Johnny— Get the ‘ell off me— Johnny!” He tried to push past the hands, to see past the lights, but they pushed back. Something pinched at his neck, and everything turned upside down, his vision warping, ears ringing. “No!”

The world turned white, rather than black.

There are flashes of colour and sound, reality bleeding in around the edges of the noise. The blue sky, Price’s face, Gaz’s arm pulling him up, more bright lights. They try to get him on a stretcher, but that’s the wrong way— He needs to get back to Johnny.

Price says something, but the words don’t make any sense. Simon grabs his collar, tries to explain, but there’s no understanding in Price’s eyes.

Noise from a helo. Nik’s voice. Blue gloved hands and more lights.

No Johnny.

He stared at a white grid of ceiling tiles, confused, body heavy as lead. He looked to one side, at Price snoring in the chair, then at the beeping monitor on the other side.

“Price,” he rasped.

Price jerked awake in an instant. “Shit, Simon, you gave us a scare.”

“What ‘appened?”

“You dug your way out— Gaz and I found you passed out above ground. Don’t know how you did it, they said you were exposed to gas fumes, lack of oxygen for god knows how long. You were hallucinatin’ when you came to.”

“No. No, I wasn’t. Price, I saw Johnny down there.”

Price’s eyes pinch with concern. “Simon… Johnny’s dead.”

Simon shook his head vehemently. “No! No, ‘e’s alive, Skipper. I saw ‘im. ‘E didn’t know me. They did somethin’ to ‘im, made ‘im different. Someone came to get ‘im, they must’ve left me above ground.” He scowled. “They took ‘im from me, Price. Again!” He flexed his hands, remembering the feel of Johnny’s hand in his.

That was no hallucination.

“Simon…”

“No. Look at my ‘ands, Price. If I’d dug myself out they’d be bloody scraped up.” He held out his palms, calloused, but unmarred. “I know I’m mad, Price, but I swear. I saw ‘im.”

Price frowned. The evidence didn’t add up, but he didn’t believe him either. If their positions had been reversed, Simon might not have believed him either. They’d seen Johnny go cold. Carried the ashes back to Scotland. He’d told Aileen and the girls what had happened, cried with them.

But it didn’t matter. That was all a bad dream now. Simon knew what he’d seen. Johnny was alive, and he’d find him. And he’d never let anyone get between them again.

Undeniable fact. The sky was blue, the earth was round, and Simon Riley would see Johnny Mactavish again.

In a spartan, concrete room, a man that might have once been named Johnny stares at Simon’s half-covered, half-familiar face in a photograph, standing next to a mirror image of himself, younger and smiling. Happy.

In love.

He wonders what that feels like. Does it feel like the squeeze around his heart when Simon wrapped his big, scarred hand around his? Calloused palm to palm, bare skin that burned like holy fire where they touched, dark eyes that looked at him with some indescribable emotion? Did it feel like light after an eternity in darkness?

He thinks it must feel like coming home. Like belonging somewhere warm and familiar, in someone’s arms, not this cold, sterile room that now feels only a step above a cell.

He presses a kiss to Simon’s image, and holds it to his chest, and wonders if somewhere Simon is thinking of him too.

(He is.)

I've been thinking about writing something like this this since I first saw the new Nautilus skin for Soap. The idea that they were going to Winter Soldier our boy has stuck with me, and when I was listening to these two songs, the idea solidified into something actionable. Sorry it's not a happier ending! But I think it's still a hopeful one.

Thanks for reading!

Image Credits: Basement - Smoke

Pompeii, Good Grief - Bastille

#Cave writing #cod mw fanfiction #GhostSoap #SoapGhost #MW3 happened (booo)#Grieving #I'd apologize but I don't want to #SFW #MDNI #Post 1 down for Pride Month baybeeeee

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frienderbee · 1 year

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I've always had the idea that jonatello wouldn't immediately tell the family about them, mostly due to Donnies fear of their reaction, partially cause Casey kind of likes sneaking around. Now imagine Donnie didn't come back at the end of The Power Inside Her.

Everyone's mourning, struggling to even process it. Everyone's mourning but no one knows how much Casey loved him. No one knows how badly he wanted to scream until his throat was raw, how he didn't even know what he'd do anymore.

Raph pushes him away, tells him he wouldn't get it. No one thinks to check on him cause they were never that close, cause they're all so caught up in their own grief to notice and Casey can't even blame them.

April knew, but she can't even look at him. She can't look at anyone because she blames herself and she just lost her best friend to her own hand.

Leo and Mikey don't pay him any attention, Splinter focuses on his sons. The whole family is falling apart and they're all trying to hold eachother up. Mikey tries to keep the others positive, filling in gaps of silence with memories of Donnie. Leo tries to stay strong, to not feel like a failure or focus on his own feelings cause his brothers need him. Raph is angry, he wants someone to blame- someone to yell at. Za-Narons dead and as much as he wants to point his finger at April he can't cause she clearly already blames herself. A part of him is mad at Donnie, for being so stupid to get himself killed.

April doesn't talk, not to any of them, but she doesn't leave the lair either. She haunts the lab, leaving everytime someone else enters but returning the moment they've left. She refuses to make eye contact, fearing what she'd see. Unable to look the damage she caused in the face.

No one expected Casey to grieve. So he didn't. Not in front of them at least. They needed someone to keep their family from falling to pieces, someone who could be there for them. Someone they didn't have to worry about.

So he held it together; helping Mikeys attempts at lifting the atmosphere by laughing as loudly as always each time he told a story; offering to spar Raph to give him a chance to vent his frustrations enough to truly feel the grief he was avoiding; giving Leo a break from being the strong one and letting him cry on his shoulder when they were alone.

April was more difficult but he persisted, bringing her food and keeping in contact with her Dad as she never came home anymore. She didn't want his help like the others, she could see through his mask into the poorly hidden grief. But she was in no state to help him.

And if he went to bed each night, holding the tattered bandana that had floated down the night Donnie died. No one noticed. If he cried so hard he couldn't blink properly in the mornings, the family didn't have the energy to question it.

Eventually he'll break and everything will come crashing down on him. It will finally hit him that this isn't just a bad dream and it isn't just the turtles that were effected by if.

But for now, he'll be there for them and hopefully he'll be able to hold off till they're stable enough to help him in return.

#help i made myself sad #2012 tmnt #2012 donnie #teenage mutant ninja turtles #2012 casey jones #jonatello #caseytello

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ayosdesignz-blog · 2 months

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Real quick 3 things!

1) I know the "Lyoko Warriors" were all hella committed to the group and the missions but from what I remember and am witnessing in my slow rewatch...Ulrich was the realist. Like...is his dedication even properly appreciated? Aside from all of them risking life and limb... So far as I've seen (and remembered) Ulrich in particular has: leveled with and helped Jeremy from day 1 with like no fuss; found a trustworthy member for their group(Yumi); continues his karate training with extra combat classes to continue performing his best in Lyoko; will put his stoic reserved self out there and suffer public embarrassment for even the chance of helping "the mission"; will make deals he detests with even Sissi to help his friends; has actually found his way to his friends to help them in Lyoko while suffering memory loss; has faked an injury in an important game he needed to win to gain approval from his (fanon theorized abusive) dad; had memorized an unclaimed winning lottery inorder to help his financially struggling friend inorder to keep the group as a whole, together; and of course the way he's just sorta always there for any of them and being encouraging even if he's feeling snarky.

I'd honestly like to see the UlrichxEmily timeline. Bro don't deserve the grief Yumi insists on giving him. Like I used to ship them fully despite how frustrating they were but Yumi was lowkey messy💅🏽

She literally strung him along in her confusion (and bcuz I think she liked that he liked her) and refused to talk feelings despite his confessions and efforts and the mixed signals she'd give. But anytime she's jealous over him seeming close to another girl she acts like an angry entitled girlfriend. Yet as I recall, had the nerve to be upset when he acted similar about William. Requiring Ulrich to gain forgiveness as YET when things are reversed its still Ulrich who has to gain forgiveness and explain himself.

I'm not caught up to William's time yet tho so maybe it's different from what I remember 🤔

Regardless it's made me more frustrated with Yumi because I don't think the fandom appreciates the emotional damage she's doing to this boy. Growing up I was frustrated with both but most others thought Ulrich was the problem from the start.

Like...No? Actually.

Ulrich, when tricked by Sissi, thought Yumi liked and confessed to him 1st. He was confused and concerned and ultimately a gentleman about it and took it seriously. Our boy actually took the time to REALLY think over his feelings and determination to proceed with something more with Yumi, someone he'd apparently hadn't really viewed that way before until he believed he was confronted by Yumi's "true feelings" from the girl herself.

Only for her to ignore his reciprocal confession with the reveal that she had never written him a written confession. Mortifying enough but the interaction happened in public where he was also loudly mocked by onlookers(and the culprit Sissi) which...woof. I currently have no words for how AWFUL it must feel.

And while Yumi vocalizes maintaining their friendship she never rejects him and gives him signs both subtle and nit that she's interested but anytime he tries to get an answer, attempts to communicate (despite the clear awkwardness and hesitation he has likely from that 1st confession) she tends to: ignore him, blow up at him, or pleads with him to drop the topic and for both of them to never speak of it if not try to forget it happened.

And I find it astounding how much of it I apparently don't remember because all I recalled b4 the rewatch is Ulrich confessing from a misunderstanding and getting turned down only for Yumi to start liking him back and not want to admit it. And Yumi being really damn weird jealous about Emily to then still not be with Ulrich after almost kissing him. AND HE STILL RESPECTS HER REQUESTS AND GOES AT HER SPEED DESPITE HIS INSECURITIES ON HOW SHE GOES ABOUT IT.

Clearly, kid me had good tastes when deciding he was my favorite.

~Anywho~

2) Sissi is pretty great as a character. Like other than the absolute savagery she'll display when choosing violence (as I've mentioned in a previous post) that girl shamelessly proclaims to all that she is not only an icon but also 🤌✨️ The Drama💅🏽✨️

It actually kinda took me until this moment:

to realize that maybe there was legit reasons for why it kept being implied and outright stated that she’s pretty much the most popular girl and considered one of the prettiest there. Pretty and popular enough to warrant her own fanclub somehow too.

And realizing all the bits of info they give of her makes it clear to me that Sissi is actually an interesting character. Unlike other popular mean girls the main cast doesn't like that I could name coughcoughMandyfromcoughTotallySpiescough

I mean they show she's not academically inclined but she's clearly capable of getting the necessary grades, she's a people person/social butterfly who knows how to persuade or even manipulate others, she has wit and some athleticism, and despite her blunt abrasiveness can actually be nice, helpful and caring. She's also a girl of her word.

So far as I can tell every time she makes a deal, even nasty ones she orchestrated, she keeps her word. Whether that's talking to her dad the principal on another's behalf, providing a role in a play to a girl she doesn't like inorder to help with her parental problems (Yumi), or being a distraction.

When someone is really hurt she's willing and wanting to help.

She got two weird little self professed fanboys wanting to follow her around and she actually gave them a chance to explain themselves (shown to be due to her vanity) and at some point actually befriended them to where she willingly hangs out with them in public and private, knows personal things about them and their interests/insecurities.

She's also pretty observant. And a little silly just cuz she can be.

It's a shame they didn't keep Theo in the time line where he was fast tracking to be Sissi's boyfriend.

How awesome would it be to have Sissi mellow out quicker, gain less and less interest in Ulrich romantically, and manage to keep the tentative almost friendship she wants to form with Ulrich and his group.

And before I forget, if She's the school cheerleader where are the other members??? There should be a squad.

And now 3!

Jim is kinda strange as a faculty member and teacher. Like he's obsessed with rules and quick to think the worst of the Lyoko gang for...what reason?

No seriously I don't get it. Especially when we're in the timeline where he caught Jeremy and Ulrich spray painting him as awesome royalty on a school wall.

Like most of the things they'd be in trouble for are reversed with time travel anyway so the amount of times they're seen sneaking or hanging out would be a fraction of the amount it actually is. Infact there were several moments of one of the kids being stopped by or observed by a overly suspicious teacher (typically Jim) when they aren't actually doing anything to cause alarm bells.

Like Yumi rushing from point A to an unknown point B with a book.

Or Jeremy reporting a trashed area and clearly upset by the shock.

Or Odd being accused of stealing a laptop when he could have just as easily been looking to use it while in the room-maybe sit on the floor since yknow you can DO that kinda thing with a laptop.

Or the group hanging out in the dorms outside of classes, even if its nice outside that isn't weird.

And all the kids have a decent to great reputation from their peers to their academics so why they get those looks and assumptions

at inappropriate times is just weird as hell to me.

#yeah I know it wasn't quick so what?#code lyoko #Sissi might be my new favorite lmao #Ulrich Stern is best boi #rewatching the series slowly still #things are funny #some things are a lil confusing to me #Yumi Ishiyama is lowkey giving toxic and I don't like that for her #lyoko warriors #the teachers are kinda weird #my thoughts #ranting ngl #lowkey venting #this is a good show still #sissi is savage and honestly hilarious #i enjoy observing these characters #so much personality #just some thoughts I had

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queen-ofsunflowers · 1 year

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Yasahiro Fukuhara had been on a hunting trip with his father and younger sister, Megumi, when a demon slaughtered their village. Because they were away at the time, they were the only survivors of the massacre. The rest of Yasahiro's siblings, his mother, and his grandparents were among the slaughter.

Eventually, Yasahiro caught wind of the Demon Slayer Corps. Wanting to prevent what happened to his family from happening to anyone else, he sought out a swordsman to train under, eventually finding one in the former Thunder Hashira -- the same one who would eventually become Zentisu's master.

While Yasahiro was able to master basic sword skills easily, he struggled with Thunder Breathing. No matter what he did, he was unable to do the technique properly. It frustrated him to no end. Things only got worse when he received word from Megumi that their father had fallen sick and passed away.

Yasahiro... spiraled a little bit. His swordsmanship became incredibly sloppy from frustration and grief to the point where he nearly hurt himself. As a result, he was given strict orders by his master to rest and get his shit together.

Didn't work out as expected as Yasahiro is... well, Yasahiro. So, he set out to try and take a short walk to clear his head. Unfortunately, the skies weren't so clear when he left. Before he realized it, Yasahiro got himself caught in a storm and got himself completely and totally... well, LOST with nothing but his sword and eventually a few bruises and cuts.

He must've been wandering around through the trees for days. Luck was still not on his side as he came across a demon that had smelled his blood. Without the proper sword or technique, Yasahiro was outmatched and nearly killed. Until a girl showed up from the shadows and took out the demon with a wisteria-laced knife she had been carrying.

As the girl took him back to her home, she berated him the entire time for being so damn STUPID. Yasahiro was just grateful to be alive.

The girl's parents tended to Yasahiro's injuries and allowed him to stay there with them while he recuperated. While there, he learned a bit about the girl and the family that he was staying with. The man of the house was a Demon Slayer, and his wife was a former Kunoichi. Unable to have children of their own, they adopted their daughter, whom they introduced as Naoko Maruyama. Naoko was the survivor of a massacre in her own right, only making it through with one other person due to wisteria hanging in their windows and door. It's unknown what happened to the other person. However, when her parents offered to train Naoko in the art of the sword, she agreed on the grounds that they allowed her to become a demon slayer.

So once Yasahiro's injuries healed up enough, he watched her train and eventually joined in with her to help his body recover. Her fighting style was... unique, to say the least, thanks to her mother's influence.

Once he recovered enough, he was given directions back to his master -- whom Naoko's father had thankfully contacted to tell him what happened -- and was sent on his way. As his luck would have it, another storm hit on his journey. This time, though, he was able to seek out shelter.

Yasahiro watched the storm, recalling what happened to land him in this situation in the first place. He sat outside on the veranda, under the awning's cover, watching the rain and the lightning... listening to the wind and the thunder. While out there, he tried to practice Thunder Breathing. Even after all he went through, he couldn't get it to work properly. But unlike before, he didn't get frustrated. Instead, he remembered what he learned from the family he stayed with. Overcome and adapt. Turn your weakness into strength.

So Yasahiro drew his sword and began to adapt, swinging his blade, and synchronizing his breathing with the rain and wind.

By the time he returned to his master, he had his breathing technique in the works: Storm Breathing.

A few more years went by, and by the time Yasahiro mastered his style, he had a kohai that looked up to him, another that disrespected him and was ready for Final Selection.

To say that he was scared upon arriving at Mount Fujikasane would be an understatement. He was shaking and terrified. He wasn't exactly sure if he was capable of surviving. That thought was nearly proven true when his sword was flung from his hand while locked in combat with a demon. He braced himself for death... only for the demon's head to be severed from behind.

It was Naoko, the same girl who had saved him years before. He thanked her profusely for coming to his aid again. Her response?

"How stupid do you have to be to let a demon nearly kill you twice?"

She was deadpan about it and it kind of caught Yasahiro off-guard. But still, he wanted to show his thanks to her for not only saving him just now but also for saving him before. Despite her protests, he proved his usefulness about a day or two later. By teaming up, they could not only take turns resting during the day just in case they were attacked, but could also cover the others' weaker points and blind spots in the fights against demons.

As a result, both Yasahiro Fukuhara and Naoko Maruyama survived Final Selection and became Demon Slayers.

It was only a few missions into their careers that they decided to start working and travelling together. To Yasahiro's surprise, it was Naoko who made the suggestion. She stated that the reason was the way they fought together in combat was much better and increased their rate of survival.

Yasahiro teased her a little after accepting the offer, believing that she actually made it because she was getting lonely. Naoko repeatedly denies this.

Fast forward to when the pair are both twenty years old. Yasahiro recieves word from the village his sister is currently living in that she is one of many girls that had gone missing recently. He pleads with Naoko to go and investigate. She agrees without hesitation.

Neither of them realizes that a new member of the Corps had already been dispatched. And this leads to them meeting Tanjiro and Nezuko Kamado, as well as getting into the story proper.

#demon slayer #demon slayer oc #kimitsu no yaiba #oc: yasahiro fukuhara #oc: naoko maruyama #queen's ocs #LORE TIME #of shadow and storm

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merakiaes · 4 years

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In The Heat Of The Moment - Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Requested: By @forgottenword

Prompts: #3 from the common trope-list.

Warnings/notes: Unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, kids. I’m extremely bad at writing smut so I apologize in advance for the shitty quality😩 I want to stress that my smut requests are CLOSED, this was an only exception because I liked the concept, so please don’t send in smut requests because hey will be deleted. This turned out a lot longer than I planned but oh well. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. Thank you <3 NOT PROOFREAD

Wordcount: 7175

Summary: When having a fever and being caught in the rain, you’re bound to be freezing and in need of heat. And what better way to get warmed up than by sharing a bed with your boss?

You and Aaron Hotchner had never gotten along as well as co-workers should in your line of work. You were great agents, great people, when you were separated. But when you were together… Well, let’s just say that it was never a pretty sight.

You had joined the BAU around the same time and despite only being beginners back then, you were both great at what you did. But putting you together on your first job was everything but a match made in heaven.

You were a bit younger than him and you were used to being criticized by men your entire life, so when working with Hotch turned out to be no different, you became competitive and determined to show your worth to him and your fellow agents.

You could easily just shoot your enemy if you ever felt threatened in the field, but when it came to Hotch, your co-worker, your only line of defense was your quick-witted sarcasm.

In Hotch’s eyes, you behaved like a child from the start and he wanted nothing more than to just have you transferred, but the longer you worked together, the more used to it he got.

He still didn’t like it though, not one bit, but it was bearable back when you’d had Gideon to step in and calmly settle your differences whenever those popped up. Which, let’s be honest, was often.

But now he was gone and Hotch had stepped up to take the leading position, and even though you hadn’t been interested in that position, yourself, you hated that he now had the higher ground and the perfect shot to make your life a living hell just like you had, knowingly, made his.

If you wanted to go to the crime scene, he sent you to question potential witnesses. If you wanted to question potential witnesses, he sent you to the crime scene. If you specifically asked to do something, he made you do the exact opposite and if you specifically asked not to do something, that’s exactly what he forced you to do. And now that he was your superior rather than your equal, you were in no place to argue, no matter how much you wanted to.

You wouldn’t go as far as to say you hated each other; you respected him and he respected you, but you just couldn’t stand each other and the way the two of you always seemed to criticize the other’s capability of getting the job done.

He always underestimated you and condescendingly shook his head at your every move, and you just couldn’t help but run your mouth about how he did everything wrong when you were with him.

It could be amusing to see you bicker, to say the least, but eventually, the team was starting to get tired of the way your disagreements and inability to work together was constantly threatening to ruin the case, so they were more than relieved when, finally, the two of you were beginning to settle down.

When Haley filed for a divorce, you were the only one on the team who didn’t change your entire persona. While the others walked on eggshells around him, always afraid to say the wrong thing and make him snap, you remained your usual big-mouthed, snarky self, never letting him catch a break.

Up until then, you had never been anything other than a major pain in his ass, but under these circumstances, the fact that you didn’t go out of your way to feel sorry for him provided a kind of security for him.

You approached him about it once after a case on which he had shown himself more agitated and reckless than usual, telling him that he could talk to you if he wanted to, but after that, you just left him alone to deal with everything the way he wanted to.

Knowing he had the support but also being given the choice to choose on his own rather than having the support forced upon him was just what he needed and in your own, dysfunctional way, you grew closer because of it.

He started to willingly take you along during cases while he sent the others to deal with other aspects, as opposed to the past where the last thing he wanted was to be stuck with just you, knowing you’d find some way to go against his wishes just to spite him.

He’d always known that you were a great person and an even greater agent and profiler, even though he would never admit it out loud, but it was only after his divorce that he really came to see you in a different light.

However, despite his newfound fondness of you, there were still rules to be followed; ones he, as a leader, could not look past if broken.

One of the most important rules were that you couldn’t get attached or emotionally involved in a case. Being able to remain objective was of the utmost importance in order to not risk jeopardizing the entire investigation and this specifically, you’d never had a problem with.

You felt for the families and victims of course, but you knew that in order to do your job, you had to close yourself off to the grief they were feeling. Struggling with this was more common for the others on the team, but you did alright.

But then there was the rule that emphasized the importance of staying at home or at least in the office if you ever happened to get sick, and the most important rule, at least for you, not to lie or go against your boss’s orders. And you had broken both of them.

It had started out with a light cough and a runny nose; nothing too alarming seeing as it could easily pass for allergies, which just so happened to be the excuse you used when confronted about it.

Eventually the cough disappeared and your nose dried up, leading you to believe that the excuse you had been telling everyone for three days straight could actually be the truth, but then came the fever, out of nowhere in the middle of the night.

You laid awake trembling and sweating through your sheets both at the same time, and yet, you pulled your ass out of bed the next morning and got to work, completely ignoring the fact that you were obviously not well.

And as was only natural, the light fever got worse and brought several other complications with it as you kept pushing yourself in the field. You became short of breath easier and your ears started hurting, bringing back the terrible memories from your childhood back when you’d get the worst ear infections on a frequent basis for years.

But you’d just been invited into a new case, one that took longer than they usually did and one that you just so happened to get attached to, against your better judgement. You kept getting sicker and you tried your hardest to hide it, because you just couldn’t leave your team in those desperate times.

You were also, as you always had been, too stubborn to admit the fact that you needed help and rest, and so you sucked it up and pretended that you were fine, something that seemed to go unnoticed as the others were just as caught up in the job and determined to get to the bottom of the case as you were.

And you did, get to the bottom of it, as you always did. You solved the case, identified and tracked down the unsub and went in for the arrest.

Hotch and Prentiss went around the back and you and Reid went in through the house while Morgan and Rossi stood by the police cars, waiting for Hotch’s orders to come in.

You and Reid were the ones to find the man first, catching him off-guard and holding him at gunpoint until Hotch and Prentiss appeared from the back and handcuffed him.

You were able to complete the arrest and save the hostage before anything could happen to her, and luckily, the state you were in hadn’t affected the case nor your ability to work.

But once everything was safe, you subconsciously let down the façade you had been putting on for the past few days and as you walked out of the house, a sudden wave of dizziness hit you and sent you falling to the ground before you had even reached the cars.

Morgan, having had his eyes on you when you walked out, was the first one to witness it and rushed to your side, alerting your fellow team members. By then, you were knocked out cold from the exhaustion and as the medics at the scene rushed up, they noted aloud that you had a very high fever and had to get to the hospital.

You were rushed there in the ambulance that had originally been for the hostage should she have needed to be treated, and as you laid unconscious, Hotch sat by your side, glaring at you despite the fact that you couldn’t even see it.

Luckily, your carelessness hadn’t come in the way of the case as you hadn’t hit rock bottom until it was all over, but in a worst case scenario it could��ve affected your ability to properly do your job which was exactly why the rules said you couldn’t work when sick.

But despite the fact that everything had worked out, you had gone against the rules by hiding your sickness and working despite it, which was the sole reason of your sudden collapse and also the reason that Hotch was now forced to drive all the way back to Quantico as the doctor hadn’t cleared you for flying with your ear infection, and it was safe to say that he was not happy about it.

“You put the entire team in danger today.” He spoke for the first time since you had sat down in the car, in which you had been seated for the past forty minutes.

Forty, painfully slow minutes of thick and tense silence, both of you just waiting in dread for the argument that was sure to come.

But even then, now that the silence had been broken, you didn’t feel any better.

“I know.” You replied simply from where you sat beside him in the passenger seat.

You stared out the window lazily, slumped in your seat and breathing slowly, each breath fogging up the glass and dimming the view of the darkening sky outside.

Your ears picked up on the sound of crunching leather, no doubt being caused by Hotch’s grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Is that all you have to say?” He asked bitterly. Annoyance was radiating off of him and the tone in his voice only made its existence more evident.

An unintentional sigh of exhaustion left your lips and for the first time, you dared to turn your head to look at him. “What do you want me to do?” You asked. “I made a mistake and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” He wasted no time in answering, not even bothering to look at you, and this time you could see with your own eyes how his grip on the wheel hardened, his knuckles turning white.

You turned your attention back to the window and let out another long breath through your nose, but Hotch was nowhere near finished.

“What if your fever had caused you to black out in the middle of the arrest? You could’ve been ambushed from behind, too weak to fight back, and died. Reid would’ve been on his own, without backup, and could’ve died.”

Once again you turned your head to look at him, your face wiped free of emotion as you stared into his side profile.

“It’s of the utmost importance that we’re always on top of our game. We can not afford to take chances like these. You can’t-“ He sighed, sparing you the briefest of glances. “You can’t lie to me, to us, about the state of your health. By doing so, not only are you endangering yourself, but you’re endangering us all. The team, and the hostages. I won’t be able to look past this, my hands will be tied of it comes down to an evaluation.”

He wanted you to feel guilty and you understood, because you knew that you had been stupid and reckless and that you had behaved inappropriately and done what you just couldn’t do in this line of work. But no matter how deep and thick the guilt settled in the pit of your stomach, you knew his threats of ‘not being able to look past it’ were empty.

After all, he had done the exact same thing on more than one occasion since the divorce; gotten so indulged in the case at hand that he had recklessly and inappropriately broken protocol, because of which he had taken a lot of heat lately.

But still, the string you were still holding on to, the string of getting to keep your job, was short and weak, and the only thing keeping you quiet, something Hotch was taking full advantage of.

He kept scolding you for at least five more minutes, but you weren’t listening to any of it, too distracted by the painful pressure in your ears and completely out of it, barely even able to hang on to reality in your disoriented and feverish state.

The heat in the car was cranked up to the max, and yet you were shivering in your seat, shrinking back into your thin sweater as far as you could in a desperate attempt to preserve your bodily heat.

But no matter how hot your skin was to the touch, you were freezing, and it wasn’t until the weather outside took a complete three-sixty turn, forcing Hotch to put his disapproving scolding on hold in order to concentrate on not driving you into a ditch in the blinding rain, that he took the time to take note of your state.

In any other case you would’ve been all too aware of his eyes on you, but right now, you could barely even stay awake.

The pain in your ears was for the most part gone for the moment, but the fever only seemed to have gotten worse, and it showed in more ways than one. And it was in the way you had barely said a word to him, which was a near never-occurring thing, that Hotch realized that you really weren’t well.

An unsure silence fell as a blanket over the car for a moment as his eyes kept flickering back and forth between the road and you, where you were barely able to keep your own eyes open.

“Are you alright?” He finally questioned and he waited for a long moment for you to answer, and when he got none, he cautiously moved his hand out to touch your knee. “(Y/N).”

Your eyes shot open and your head whipped around to face him at the sound of your name and the feeling of his hand on your leg. “Hm?” You asked in an absent manner, instantly regretting your hasty movements when your head started throbbing.

“Are you alright?” He repeated, eyebrows creasing in worry when you raised your hand to your forehead and closed your eyes.

You took a steady breath, trying to calm your spinning head, before carefully shaking it. “No.”

“Are you ears hurting?”

“My head.” You took another breath, squeezing your eyes shut at the painful jabbing at the side of your head, feeling them sting like they would when you’d spent hours upon hours crying.

Hotch watched from the side as you rubbed your forehead and temples, taking note of how hard you were squeezing your eyes shut and how badly you were shivering. Slowly but surely, he felt the anger he had previously been feeling melting off.

He said nothing else, giving your sullen face a last glance before turning his attention back to the road in front of him. But his hand didn’t move, remaining at your knee where his thumb rubbed soft, absentminded circles as an attempt to offer you some comfort.

For a second it made your heart flutter like never before, but soon enough, you’d forgotten all about it, only being able to focus on how incredibly shitty you were feeling. Not only physically, but mentally too, because Hotch had been right about everything he had said.

You were sweating like crazy, feeling trapped in the car where you couldn’t escape your thoughts and the guilt that was getting bigger by the minute, and you wanted nothing more than to get out and breathe some fresh air.

So when Hotch stopped at a gas station to fill up the tank and get some water and painkillers for your head, you did just that, not even being able to process the fact that the rain was still pouring down until it was too late.

You stood with your back leaned against the car, hugging yourself tightly and shivering even more than before as your clothes were now soaked, but the crisp air felt nice and was a blessing for your aching head.

Hotch came out of the gas station three minutes later and spotted you immediately, wasting no time in breaking into a run in your direction.

“What are you doing?! You’re already sick!” He yelled over the sound of rain harshly colliding into the exterior of the car.

You didn’t have the energy to fight back, simply continuing to rub your forehead. “I’m sorry, it was so stuffed in there, I needed to get out.” You mumbled silently, and he sighed, walking around you to open your car door.

“Get back in the car.” He ordered, and you did as told, allowing him to help you inside and waiting for him to close the door behind you before leaning against it.

He quickly got in in the driver’s seat and wasted no time in starting the car and cranking the heat up the little way further that was possible, throwing the bottle of water and packet of painkillers into the backseat.

“You’re shaking, we need to get you dry and warm.” He said as he fuzzed over you, silently urging you to take off your outer layer and helping you do so.

He drove out of the gas station once you were properly situated again, holding your hands in his in an attempt to warm them up.

You drove for a while longer and soon enough, Hotch took a right and parked the car. But you were half asleep and completely out of it, barely even able to process that he’d left you until the door you were leaning against opened, causing you to fall right into his chest and forcing you awake.

“Here, take this.” He wasted no time in draping you in a thick, scratchy blanket that you’d never seen before.

Nevertheless, you didn’t protest, getting out of the car and staying glued to his side as he walked you in the direction of the hotel you were now apparently parked in front of.

Once you reached the door to the room you guessed he’d fixed you for the night, he unlocked the door, ushered you inside and locked the door behind you.

Out of pure instinct, your hand moved to the light switch right next to the front door, only to discover that the power was out.

You were still dizzy, your skin burning hot but freezing to your core, but you were awake now, and all you wanted was a hot shower, so your second instinct was to head into the bathroom to test the water, and just your luck, the hot water was gone, as well.

Shivering, you turned back to face the entirety of the room, the only light in sight being the light of the moon streaming in through the windows and Hotch’s phone as he used it to find his way around.

“There’s no hot water.” You deadpanned, hugging yourself close and standing still in the middle of the room.

“The power is out and there’s a flood down the road, the woman at the counter said it could take a while for it to return so we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got in the meanwhile and get you out of your wet clothes.” Hotch wasted no time in replying as he busied himself with un-making one of the two beds.

He didn’t even spare you as much as a glance but you watched him for a moment longer, taking in his hurried movements as he ripped the blankets of the bed you presumed would be his, instead placing them on the bed with your name on it.

You knew he could feel your eyes on him, but when he didn’t turn around, you let out a breath through your nose and uncrossed your arms from over your chest, instead beginning to undress yourself.

And let me tell you, that’s not an easy task when you’re shivering like a chihuahua and have an a hundred and three degree fever and the current strength of an infant.

Your arms were heavy, almost too heavy to lift, and your fingers trembled when you began working on the buttons of your shirt. You tried your hardest to see what you were doing but the lack of light in the room made it hard, and the more you strained your eyes, the more intense your headache and dizziness got.

By now, Hotch had finished setting up your bed and turned around to see you struggling, taking a few small steps in your direction.

“Do you need help?” He asked, and you dropped your hands to your sides.

“Yeah.”

He walked up to you and wasted no time in getting to work on your buttons. You watched his face the entire time, even in your feverish daze being able to pick up on how hard he was trying to focus his eyes on his fingers in a respectful manner.

Once the last button came undone, you turned around and allowed him to pull the article of clothing off your body, the snug fabric releasing a creaking sound as it was pulled off your wet skin.

Hotch wordlessly walked over to the desk placed in the room and hung the shirt over the back of a chair, while you went to work on your pants.

Luckily, this piece of clothing only had one button and you managed to get it undone without too much trouble, sitting down on your bed and pulling them off – this part taking a bit more struggle seeing as they were stuck to your skin just like the shirt had been.

But you managed and wasted no time in crawling under the multitude of blankets that Hotch had neatly piled up on the bed, tucking yourself in as tightly as possible and pulling them up to your nose in an attempt to fill the inside of the cocoon with warm air.

It worked to an extent, your skin quickly regaining its previous heat and feeling so hot to the touch that one could’ve easily thought that you were on the verge of burning up.

But it did nothing to warm your core, and no matter how hard you tried keeping the shivers at bay by relaxing your body and keeping your breaths steady, it was to no use.

You laid there in silence for a good moment, becoming unaware of your surroundings once again, including the pair of eyes burning into the side of your face from across the room.

Hotch watched you closely while he followed his own advice and discarded his wet shirt, unbuckling his belt, hanging it on a chair and kicking off his shoes and socks.

Dressed now only in his damp slacks, he moved to grab the bottle of water and painkillers that he’d gotten from the gas station, and continued to the side of your bed, where he crouched down in front of you.

“Take this.” He instructed and you opened your eyes, pushing yourself up with all your might so that you could take the outstretched items from his hand.

You swallowed the pill with two gulps of water and fell right back into bed once he had taken the bottle back, pulling the blankets up to your nose again.

He stood back up to his full height and as a strong shiver went down your spine, the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“I need more heat, this isn’t enough. You’ll have to lay with me.”

Hotch’s face pulled into one of mild surprise at the sound of your unexpected words, and he instantly started protesting. “I don’t think-“

But you interrupted, staring up at him with those angry eyes that he so often found himself at the receiving end of. “I’m freezing my ass off and you’re cold, too. I’m not about to let you sleep without blankets. It’s just until the power and hot water comes back.”

He stared back at you, face ever so stoic. “Fine.” He gave in, and only then did you soften your glare.

You closed your eyes as he began removing his pants, slowly scooting back on the bed to make room for him, and you couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief when he lifted the covers and slid in next to you.

Your skin was hot with fever but somehow, his was even hotter, burning you to the touch.

You were still freezing, but as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, you instantly found it easier to relax, your shivering toning down a great deal.

Out of pure instinct, you snuggled further into his chest and you could feel on the stiffness of his body that he was uncomfortable and unsure of how to react in the situation you’d so inconveniently found yourself in.

Opening your eyes as far as your heavy eyelids would let you, you found him to be staring up into the roof. But the second he felt your heavy gaze on him, he turned his head to the side to meet your eyes.

Heat flushed through your entire body and you had been aroused enough times to recognize the feeling.

You knew all of this had started off innocent, a person simply trying to warm up another person as an act of kindness and basic human decency, and you never would’ve had these impure thoughts about him in any other situation, but your body was reacting on its own to the feeling of his skin against yours, and so was his.

Your faces were close to each other, mere inches apart, and before you were able to stop yourself, you leaned in closer and brushed your lips against his.

He retaliated immediately, pulling back and looking down at you with an unreadable expression written all over his face.

He told himself that the fever was making you confused and disoriented, but when you moved back in for a second attempt, this time with a lot more clarity in your eyes and confidence in your movements, he didn’t pull back.

You remained still for the entirety of the kiss, your lips just pressed against each other’s with little to no extended movements. When you came apart again, your breaths were heavy but the sound of your heart beating loudly in your ears was the only thing you could hear.

You stared into each other’s eyes and your eyes momentarily fluttered shut when he brought his hand up and grazed your lower lip with his thumb.

And then his lips were on yours again, and this time you just kept going.

His hands cradled your face and you laid down flat on your back, wrapping your arms around his neck and opening your legs to allow him to move on top of you. You pulled him impossibly close, a surge of sudden energy bursting through your entire body.

He was a gentleman at heart but he didn’t bother asking you if you were sure, knowing better than anyone that you were more than capable of telling him if you weren’t. You were both adults, you knew exactly what you were doing.

You’d had your fair share of rendezvouses throughout your life, but none had left you feeling like this.

Passion, desperation, fervor, urgency, impatience, hunger, eagerness, and every single other synonym that could be used to describe the lustful attraction between two people were currently battling in your body.

But more present than any other feeling was the anger; anger directed at you, fueled by the way you had put yourself and your entire team at risk by lying about the state of your health, and anger directed at him, fueled by the way he had always underestimated you and doubted your abilities.

You were both furious in all ways possible and neither of you had any plans on stopping, his hands already making their way down your body and heading straight for the direction of the place where you needed him the most.

His hands were warm but yours were cold, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they traveled his arms, chest, shoulders and neck.

One of your hands stayed at his neck, tracing light touches over his throat and jaw, while the other one moved down the length of your own body to meet with his where it was hovering above the line of your underwear.

You grabbed a hold of it and pushed his palm flat against the bottom of your stomach, urging him to continue, and he didn’t waste a second, dipping his hand inside the waistband of the thin fabric that was still wet from the rain and resting uncomfortably against your skin.

Breath getting caught in your throat and heart palpitating in your chest, you pushed your head back into the pillow, your eyes falling shut at the pleasurable feeling of his fingers finding your core, your lips coming apart in the process.

Instead, his face bent down and nuzzled the crook of your neck, lips leaving slow kisses behind as he adjusted his hand.

It obviously wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d like though, the wet fabric getting caught on his skin and causing a frustrated sound to escape his throat.

“These need to go.” He mumbled into the skin of your shoulder and you eagerly nodded, completely ignoring the headache that was still going strong.

You raised your hips to allow him access, and he wasted no time in pushing the underwear off your legs, leaving you to shake them off your feet.

They got lost somewhere underneath the numerous blankets but you couldn’t care less, your hands hurrying down to the waistband of his boxers.

He drew in a breath at the feeling of your icy cold fingers, but made no move to stop you, helping you in ridding himself of the only remaining clothing he had on and then moving on to unclasp your bra, carelessly throwing it onto the floor and latching his lips back onto yours.

His hand returned to your heat and just like he had done mere seconds before, you sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers dipped in, running a line up your folds before pushing their way inside.

He hooked his finger down into your entrance to gather some of your wetness, bringing it up all the way along your slit and stopping only when he reached the sensitive bundle of nerves that was just throbbing with need.

That’s when the first moan of many to come left your lips, being muffled into the kiss and your stomach exploding with butterflies.

But just like with any other aspect of your life, you were impatient, so when he pushed a finger inside of you, you broke free of the kiss and shook your head, reaching your hand down to stop him by his wrist.

“No, you’re going too slow.” You panted, pulling his hand away and looking into his darkened eyes. “I need you, now.”

Your voice thinned into a whisper toward the end and you brought your hands back up to his face.

He remained still for a few seconds, just looking at you with his usual stoic expression and pursed lips, but the soon dipped down to meet your face again, brushing his lips against yours so lightly you could barely feel it, before pressing down with more force.

What started off as a close-mothed kiss quickly turned into an open-mouthed one, and you moved down on the mattress, raising your legs to wrap them around his waist as he positioned himself at your entrance.

He wasn’t fully erected yet, as was to be expected seeing as you had barely touched him and things had moved so quickly, but the second he was fully sheathed inside of you, that changed in an instant.

The feeling of being filled so perfectly caused your face to screw up in pleasure and he couldn’t help but let a small groan slip past his lips, really showing how long it had been since he last partook in sexual activities.

But he wasn’t the only one who had gone untouched for a long period of time. When you worked a job as stressful and time-consuming as yours, it was hard to find enough spare time to get out and meet any potential lovers, so it was safe to say that it had been just as long for you as it had for him and it didn’t take long for you to let out a moan to match his own.

He wasted no time in starting to move, encouraged to do so by the way your legs tightened around his hips to pull him in deeper.

You clung to him with all your might as he slowly but surely picked up his pace and found a good rhythm, squeezing your eyes shut and being reminded of the fever you still had when feeling the brims of your eyes sting.

Your hands moved to grasp at the back of his head and you pressed your lips against his, baiting a groan from his throat when tightening your grip on the strands of raven hair you held between your fingers.

His movements were confident and his lips moved skillfully from yours to your jaw, down to your neck before settling in the crook of your neck.

One of his hands moved from the mattress to hold on to the headboard of the bed and his toned arm flexing and unflexing right over your face was without a doubt the most attractive sight you’d ever seen.

“Hotch...” You moaned out between thrusts, and he grumbled in return.

“Aaron.” He corrected you darkly, and you drew in a gasp of air at the sound.

“Aaron-” You began repeating, but was quickly cut off by your own moan and after that, no more words were spoken.

The heavy breaths he released in the crook between your neck and shoulder only added to the already existing dampness on your skin, courtesy of the fever that you had almost forgotten was still there, and it was only now that the heat that had previously been restricted to the outer layer of your skin caught up with the rest of your body and made its way into your core.

The only sounds that could be heard was the heavy rain smattering on the metal ceiling outside your room, mixing in with the pants and low moans and groans escaping your lips, the creaking of the headboard that Hotch was holding on to for dear life, and the slapping of skin on skin.

He didn’t slow down once and not as much as a word was spoken, every emotion and feeling instead being voiced in sounds of pleasure and the occasional kiss when he brought his head up from your neck for air.

You got completely lost in the pleasure and you had no idea how long you went on for, but soon enough, you were beginning to get sore, the pleasure starting to switch into a mild discomfort.

But as if right on cue, the guttural groans muffling into your damp skin became more frequent, and before you knew it, Hotch’s entire body tensed up as he reached his climax and released inside of you.

But you weren’t quite there yet, never having been able to orgasm just by penetration.

You didn’t know how he was able to do both at the same time, but as he rode out his high, Hotch brought his hand down from the headboard and in between your bodies at the same time, heading right for the throbbing bundle of nerves where he wasted no time in getting to work.

That was the final touch you needed for your stomach to begin to turn. The combination of the way he was hitting the perfect spot over and over again and his thumb showing no mercy was so intense that you reached your high in no time.

You pressed your face into his neck just like he was doing yours, your fingers tugging on his hair so harshly that you probably crossed the line between pleasurable and painful. But he didn’t make note on it, picking up his pace as a string of curses left your lips, blending with your moans and mixing with his name, something he was clearly liking the sound of.

And just as you toppled of the edge, bright flashes flashing on the inside of your eyelids as your entire stomach pulled into a tight knot, the lights in the ceiling of the room flashed as well, the radiator over by the window buzzing to life as the power returned.

Talk about timing.

He kept on pumping into you with sloppy, lazy thrusts as you rode out your high and as soon as he felt you relax around him again, his entire body slumped against yours in a moment of exhaustion.

You laid limp, chest rising and falling in quick pants as you caught your breath. His hand moved up to hold himself upright by the head of the bed and your hands remained at the back of his neck, fingers gently pulling through his hair that was now damp with sweat.

After a moment of silence, he moved off of you, allowing you to properly breathe.

“How’s your head?” He asked.

His voice was strained and it was clear that now that the arousal was gone and everything was over and done with, neither of you had any idea of how to act.

Pulling one of the blankets up to your shoulders and holding it in place over you previously exposed chest, you cleared your throat.

“All good.” You replied breathlessly and just then, reality came crashing back down, an involuntary shiver going down your spine and rocking your entire body as it became aware of the chilliness of the air around you.

He caught on to this at once and turned his head to look at you with a deadpanned expression. “You’re still shivering, you should go take a warm shower before you go to sleep.”

His words brought a small snort from your lips. “I’m not shivering, I’m trembling. There’s a difference.” You answered, raising an eyebrow. “But I won’t say no to a shower.” You sighed, and as you wasted no time in beginning to get out of the bed, Hotch averted his eyes to the roof to give you some privacy.

The cold air hit you like a train when you removed the blankets from your body, your shivers becoming worse now with the layer of drying sweat on your skin.

It wasn’t until you stood up that the fever came crashing down on you with full force again, a spell of hot dizziness taking over you. You had to hold on to the wall beside the bed to regain your composure and once you did, you began walking, only then realizing how sore you really were.

As quickly as your quivering legs would take you, you walked into the bathroom and flicked on the light in the ceiling before heading straight for the shower.

As you turned on the faucet this time, you were pleased to discovered that the hot water had returned along with the power, and you closed your eyes in satisfaction even when the water had yet to touch any other part of your body than your fingers.

You remained standing there for a moment, holding yourself upright by the sink while waiting for the water to reach the perfect temperature.

You then brought your hand back to yourself and turned back around as you let the water run behind you.

Hotch was still in your bed, now having moved into a sitting position and absentmindedly fiddling with the watch on his wrist, seeming to be deep in thought.

And you were a profiler. You could tell with no struggle at all what was bothering him; guilt, most likely directed toward Haley as he had just been with another woman for the first time since the divorce.

The fact made you feel all kinds of feelings, and you slowly walked back to the doorway, on which you leaned as you continued watching him from a distance.

“I’m still really cold, you know.” You commented lamely, hoping that he’d take the hint on what you were trying to say.

His head slowly turned in your direction, his eyes tired and lips pulled into a straight line. His eyes wandered your still naked form for the briefest of second, but he quickly caught himself and averted them to yours.

“I thought you said you weren’t cold anymore.” He answered in a monotone voice, and you raised your eyebrows in return.

“Did I? I don’t think I did.” You played, absentmindedly tapping your fingers against the wooden doorframe.

He stared at you for a second, not seeming to care about you in the slightest anymore. But tthe way his lips then pulled into a small smile when looking at you showed you that he did, in fact, catch on to your intent.

And when he wordlessly got out of bed and started walking in your direction, leading you into the shower with a featherlight touch to the small of your back, you knew for a fact that the moment of passion you had just shared had been much more than just an act executed in the heat of the moment.

But if you thought that you were off the hook regarding your irresponsible behavior during the case just because you now happened to have your boss wrapped around your finger, you had another thing coming.

Tagged: @must-be-a-weasley-92 @zizzlekwum @cozytruecrimeaddict @lovelynervouskingdom @rousethemouse

(If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, send me a message, ask or leave a comment)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch imagine #hotchner #hotchner imagine #hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan

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cafeacademia · 4 years

Text

Flustered

Fred Weasley x Shy!Reader

Summary: Fred Weasley is intrigued by the shy, sweet witch in his class, but when he finally has an opportunity to speak to her, he realises just how much he adores her.

Warnings: Lots of fluff, that’s it!

Word count: Approx 4300

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves, I had been wanting to write something like this for a long time and inspiration struck the other day after @ickle-ronniekins inspired me with her wonderful Freddie fic Tongue Tied 💖

Enjoy! Please let me know if I could improve on writing Fred, I tried my best 😅

Taglist is open!! Please pop me an ask if you’d like to be added 💖

“Stop staring at me.” Ron snapped at his brother as they sat at the Gryffindor table at breakfast. “I’m not staring at you, I’m staring around you.” Fred countered, George snorting out a short laugh while Harry looked up at them amused, Hermione ignoring the conversation with her head down, fingers idly stirring the spoon in her morning tea as she read the book she had brought to the table.

“What the bloody hell are you looking at then?” Ron asked, dramatically swivelling about on the spot in annoyance. “You’re like this every time we sit here, you are. You stare off into space like ‘Loony’ Lovegood.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Ronald.” Hermione suddenly hissed at him and smacked her book against his arm, perhaps with more force than intended, making the boy recoil and hold his arm away from her, looking rather intimidated as if she had tried to bite him.

And as breakfast went on and Ginny rushed off to her morning duties with Umbridge while the others continued to squabble with one another, Hermione looked up from her book and looked over in the direction that Fred had been staring in and her eyes landed on something that told her that he most certainly hadn’t been doing it to annoy anyone.

“You know Fred, he’s just doing it to bother you, Ron.” Ginny added to the conversation as she pulled up her bag onto her lap and rifled through the contents until she pulled out a paper slip. “Stupid Umbridge has got me doing extra essays this morning.” She grumbled, getting up from her seat. “She better not make me late to potions.” She sighed as George quickly plucked the uneaten piece of toast off his plate and placed it into Ginny’s hands before she had a chance to walk away. “Tell us if she gives you grief, we’ll terrorise her, won’t we George?” Fred smirked over at them both.

“It would be our pleasure.” George replied with a mischievous grin.

And while Fred was reluctant to go all the way to the library and write about a subject that he thought was quite dry, he relented and made his way through the castle.

“Are you allergic to studying?” Angelina had asked in slight annoyance. “Oh terribly, I break out in boils and everything.” Fred teased. “Lovely.” She said under her breath. “Which is why you should kindly allow me to-.”

“You are not copying my notes on talking gargoyles.” Angelina told him pointedly and the Weasley twin pouted across the hall table at her. “A History of Hogwarts is your best bet.” She told him. “But if you keep copying my work, we’re both going to get caught since last time you copied it almost word for word and Binns got mad at me. I don’t want Umbridge on my back.” She scolded him in an amused tone, though she wasn’t actually annoyed at him and perhaps if she didn’t want to actually see Fred go and find a book and do his work the proper way, she would have let him copy from her. But the way Fred saw it, it was a perfectly acceptable reason on Angelina’s part, even if it was a rather large inconvenience to Fred.

Searching through the shelves for a copy of A History of Hogwarts, Fred was becoming more exasperated as he struggled to find what he was looking for, but as he scoured the shelves for the missing book, he peeked his head around the end of a bookcase and his heart fluttered. There you stood, a few rows down with a small pile of books in your arms and he felt himself practically melt on the spot.

It was not very often that Fred found himself in this situation, so captivated by a girl that he felt butterflies in his chest. But half of the problem was that Fred had never actually spoken to you, not properly at least, because as it happened, you were incredibly shy and he was incredibly… Not shy.

The times when you did speak to each other was always very short and it seemed that you were almost afraid to speak to people you were not so familiar with, but what Fred didn’t know was that you desperately wanted to talk to him.

Fred was always so intriguing to you, he was kind and sweet and extremely funny and he was never afraid to try things out of his comfort zone, or at least he made it look that way and that had you very curious.

And Fred was just as curious about you too, because even though you were very quiet and shy, he had noticed you conveniently looking away from him very quickly and even catching your eyes on him when you had been deep in your head and he wondered what you thought about when you looked at him. He wondered what you thought of him and it was so unusual for him to care or even be curious about what another person thought of him, but when it came to you, there was a strange pull he felt towards you.

Slowly, he feigned interest in a few book spines on the shelves here and there as he moved up the rows until he got closer to you, watching as you stood over a small wooden book trolley stuffed to the very seams with recently returned books while you looked for something and he wondered, perhaps the book he was looking for was there too.

When he approached, his eyes dropped to the books in your arms and he suddenly felt as if it had all meant to be and he made a mental note to thank Angelina later, because there in your arms was a very shabby, old copy of A History of Hogwarts.

“Hey,” The greeting left his lips and you quickly glanced up at him and restrained yourself from checking around you in case he was speaking to someone else. “Hi Fred.” You replied in a soft voice and he felt his chest warm at the sound of your voice. You sounded so sweet and gentle and your calm, warming vibe seemed to elate him even more.

“Would it be alright if I took a few notes from that book?” He asked, pointing at the old volume of A History of Hogwarts. “All of the other copies have been checked out and I need to write about talking gargoyles or Binns will have my head.” He joked and you smiled, glancing down at the book in your arms, pausing for a moment as you noticed another copy of the book in the cart, but you chose to ignore it, perhaps this was a good time to spend a moment with Fred.

“We can’t have that, now can we?” You giggled softly. “We can share it.” You nodded with a little smile and Fred swore he had just seen and heard the most wonderful thing ever, quickly making it his aim to get more smiles and giggles out of you if he could because if it wasn’t the warmest and most lovely thing he’d experienced all day, he didn’t know what was.

You felt elated, though very nervous as you and Fred sat down together at one of the desks between the rows of books. It certainly didn’t help that Fred scooted his seat close to yours so he could easily see the book and the proximity of him, elbows almost touching, made your heart race.

“So, talking gargoyles?” You asked, opening the book and flicking through the pages. “That’s right, don’t suppose you happen to know if there are any around the castle?” He asked. “I would, actually.” You replied with a little smile and Fred looked over at you with curiosity, looking down at you as you flicked over onto a page on the subject. “And what, do you just go around talking to gargoyles and see if they talk back?” Fred asked, quite seriously and you let out a giggle. “No, well perhaps once or twice.” You admitted, rather shyly.

The pair of you talked, not just about Hogwarts and it’s talking gargoyles, but all manner of things and on several occasions, Madam Pince hushed you both with an irritated, harsh shhh, to which Fred just shook his head and chuckled.

“Did you know that there is one in the Transfiguration courtyard?” You asked, looking up at him and the red haired boy looked at you, intrigued. “No, have you spoken to it?” He asked. “Yes, a few times actually. Some of them are very good at listening when you need someone to talk to, but the one outside of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom is very grumpy and ill mannered.” You informed him and while Fred was quite amused by your information, he was grateful to spend some time getting to know the girl that made his heart warm.

He just couldn’t believe he was using talking gargoyles as a way to flirt with a girl.

He was elated, his heart was practically soaring as he packed the last of his writing supplies into his bag, because you were like a breath of fresh air. Fred was unsure he’d met anyone like you, shy yet so sweet and you seemed to have opened up a little bit around him in that hour he had spent with you, he just hoped he had another opportunity to see you open and warm up to him a bit more because it created a feeling in his chest like he had never felt before.

“Thank you for letting me share that book with you, I hope it wasn’t a bother.” Fred said sweetly to you as he pulled his bag onto the table, slowly packing away his History of Magic book, hoping to have just a little more extra time with you. “Never, Fred, let me know if you want to share another book again.” You told him shyly, unable to look at him, because the invite alone falling from your lips was rather an accident and you felt yourself flush with warmth that you’d even said that.

“Definitely.” He winked at you, though he was unsure you saw.

“See you around, love.” Fred said, smiling down at you as he stood up, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. “Bye Fred, good luck with your gargoyles.” You replied, looking over your shoulder at him as he pushed his chair back in and began to walk away.

Walking briskly into the common room with a bounce in his step and an unbeatable smile on his face, Fred walked over to his siblings. “Oi, oi, what’s this?” Fred asked, plucking a piece of paper out of his sister’s hands just as she had taken it back from George. “Umbridge got her in detention with Snape because she made her late to potions again.” George told him. “They’re bloody made for each other.” Fred rolled his eyes, handing the detention slip back to Ginny before dropping himself onto the sofa between his two siblings, Ron and Harry sitting off at the side on a couple of the armchairs.

“Where have you been anyway?” Ginny asked as Fred playfully nudged her away from him on the sofa so he could have a bit more space. “Studying.” He replied with a grin.

“You, voluntarily studying? And why the bloody hell are you so happy about it?” Ron interrogated him. “Oh shove off, can’t a man be happy about talking gargoyles?” Fred asked, Ron and Ginny giggling between themselves. “Talking gargoyles? That’s what’s making you smile like you’ve just won the quidditch world cup?”

“No Ronald,” Hermione countered as she approached the group from behind, circling around the sofa and perching herself on the arm next to George. “It wasn’t the gargoyles, it was a girl.” She announced, while Fred gave her a look of cutting disappointment.

“Ooh a girl, who is it Freddie? C’mon I won’t tell anyone.” George urged, leaning in close to his twin in an effort to get him to whisper it to him. “Yeah, I bet that’s who he’s been staring at all those breakfasts and dinners too.” Ron added. “Well, who is it?” Ginny asked, imitating her brother and leaning in against Fred, looking up at him with intrigue.

“Oi piss off you lot, all we did was bloody study, that’s all.” Fred told them pointedly. “Who is it though?” Ron asked, leaning over himself and prodding Fred’s leg. “None of your bloody business.” Fred chuckled, shoving Ron back and playfully pushing his siblings away from him.

Soon after, Fred and George returned to their dormitory together and Fred knew that George would probably try and pry it out of him somehow. “So what actually happened?” George asked, now that the two were alone in the boys dormitory and they were luckily the only two in the room. “We shared a book, we joked a fair bit and did you know that there’s a talking gargoyle outside of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom?” He asked.

“No?” George replied questioningly.

“No wonder, apparently he’s a right git.”

“Is that what you talked about the whole time? Grumpy gargoyles?” George asked. “Not exactly.” Fred replied, but now that George had said that and made him think back on the conversation, Fred wished he had spent more time chatting about other things and he knew he’d have to try his best to get another conversation with you soon.

“Well at least tell me what she’s like.” George said, sitting himself down on the edge of his bed, looking across at his brother while Fred took in a deep breath and grinned to himself, telling his twin about you.

After that day in the library, Fred took every opportunity he had to chat to you. He’d round on you when your classes together finished so he could swoop in front of you with that cocky smirk that seemed to send butterflies through you and make you even more shy and giggly, he would purposely sit next to you in class, assuming Umbridge wasn’t around to control the seating patterns.

He tried his best to get smiles out of you and he was always passing you notes in classes and pressing them into your hands when he passed you in the hallways.

He was sweet and kind and day by day, Fred managed to get you more and more out of your shell.

You were well and truly falling for Fred Weasley. And he was falling for you too.

“And why exactly did you need to bring me into all of this?” You questioned, feeling a shiver creep across your skin and the Weasley twin gave you a mischievous little smirk. “It’s no fun without someone else and George is serving detention with Filch since he got caught putting stink pellets under Umbridge’s chair before class as payback for Ginny getting detention.” He explained with a proud smile, watching as you laughed, bowing your head, a bit too shy to look him in the eyes.

It was a week later that Fred came hurtling down the corridor with a huge grin plastered on his face and you looked up to see him absolutely legging it towards you and you had half the mind to brace yourself as he approached.

“Bloody hell, Fred what’s-.”

“Shh, quick.” He hushed you, gently but firmly grabbing your shoulders before he pulled you off behind a statue and winked at you as he opened the entrance to a secret passageway and pulled you in with him.

“Fred?” You asked in a quiet voice, a little confused as to why you had been dragged into a freezing cold stone walled passageway. “Might’ve just set off a bunch of exploding flowers in Umbridge’s office.” He sniggered, to which, you couldn’t help but laugh. “She’s furious, bet she knows it was me too.” He laughed under his breath. “Serves her right.” Fred chuckled and his heart warmed when he heard your soft laughter join his.

Fred wanted to kiss you, he felt the urge, the way nearly every single part of him screamed at him to do it, and yet he restrained himself, his warm touch gently tracing down your arms to your hands and taking them into his with a gentle grasp. He wanted to kiss you, but the moment wasn’t right and he pulled himself out of the warm, hazy feeling that had washed over him and back into his confident, louder than life demeanor, giving you a big grin.

It was then that Fred realised how close to you he was and the sound of your laugh, sweet and gentle, relaxed him. Your presence, warmth and beautiful smile relaxed him.

Looking up at him, your eyes met and the way he looked at you with a look you couldn’t quite place, his grin slowly turning into a smirk as he held your gaze, you felt butterflies rush through you and you were sure that Fred, with his proud smile and warm eyes, could see the way he affected you and the very thought made your heart flutter.

“C’mon, let’s get going before anyone misses us.” Fred said, gently tugging you, your hand still in his as he reached out to open the entrance of the passageway.

It was finally the weekend and a particularly chilly Saturday morning at that. Everyone had woken up to the first snow of the year and the castle was practically buzzing with excitement and even though Umbridge had made strict instructions that snowball fights were prohibited, Fred and George had spent the best part of an hour after breakfast having a snowball fight and pelting anyone that walked close enough to them with snowballs.

And as the morning went on and George decided to part ways with his brother in search of some extra layers of warmth, Fred continued to walk further into the grounds, his heart lifting when he saw you in the near distance and he picked up the pace to catch up with you.

“Mornin’.” Fred’s smooth, deep voice caught your attention and you looked up to see him walking alongside you, having caught up from behind and you smiled sweetly at him. “Mind if I join you for a walk?” Fred asked and you quickly glanced up at him, giving him that sweet smile that he loved to see so much and nodding before you looked away again. “I’d like that.” You said, Fred relaxing as he stayed at your pace, a comfortable silence falling between you as you walked, the only sound that could be heard was the soft crunch of snow beneath your steps as you both walked down the hill towards the edge of the lake.

“Not likely, Umbridge really would have my head.” Fred laughed. “But I reckon we can get away with something.” He winked at you, grinning and you wondered what he and George might think up.

The two of you walked along the edge of the lake, most of the middle of the body of water was frozen over, but the gently lapping shores of the lake were still free, at least until the temperature dropped even more in the coming weeks before Christmas. “It always feels more magical around Christmas time, don’t you think?” You asked, looking back over your shoulder at Hogwarts, sitting proudly up on the rocks. The roofs were blanketed with fresh snow from the early morning flurry, it was as if everything was suddenly quiet and still and despite the excitement that filled the castle, there was an air of calmness that came with the first snow.

“Definitely.” Fred agreed. “Reckon they’ll put the tree up soon?” He asked.

“I hope so.” You replied, smiling up at him.

“What are you putting on the tree this year? More exploding baubles?” You asked, referencing the previous year when he and George had made some very pretty baubles that exploded when people walked a bit too close to them, causing half of the hall to shriek at the sudden chain of mini explosions like tiny fireworks and the other half to collapse into laughter.

As you walked a bit further through the grounds, a soft flurry of snow began to fall and the temperature seemed to drop a bit and you shivered as the chill rushed through you.

Without a word, Fred smiled at you, slowly putting his arm around you and you gladly leaned into his side.

Your heart sped up and you could barely look at Fred as you stopped near the forest edge, looking out across the lake with his arm around you. You had never expected to be this close to Fred, especially when you had considered yourself far too shy to even speak to him, let alone take walks with you tucked against his side.

A comfortable silence lingered between you for a moment as Fred slowly reached up, his warm fingers brushing against your cheek and he leaned in, pausing for a moment as his lips barely brushed against yours, his smile widening when he felt you lean into him, hands slowly trailing up his chest to rest on his shoulders and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, your eyes sliding shut as you leaned into him.

“I reckon this is more magical than a snowy Hogwarts.” Fred broke the silence, his voice low as he looked over at you. “What is, Fred?” You asked, unsure of what he was referencing.

“Out here, with you.” He admitted and you almost felt as if you needed to check if you were imagining all of this. “With me?” You asked, glancing up at him and meeting the warmest, sweetest look in his eyes and you practically melted on the spot.

Fred Weasley was capturing your heart and you were more than happy to allow him.

“Of course with you, silly.” He chuckled. “There’s something special about you, love.” Fred admitted, though he wasn’t entirely sure how to tell you how he felt, that being around you seemed to halt the entire world, as if everything you did just made his heart melt and gave him butterflies and not to mention, he felt calm around you and it was wonderful.

And as you parted, you could barely share his gaze until Fred lifted your chin with his fingers, his warm smile capturing you and you couldn’t look away, not when he looked at you so lovingly.

The kiss was slow and gentle and the moment was peaceful with not a single sound disturbing the moment you shared together. Your lips were sweet against his, tentative yet loving, shy yet warming and Fred swore he had never felt so wonderful.

Gently, he pulled you closer against his chest, deepening the kiss, his lips moving against yours slowly and the loving haze he had felt before in the secret passageway, that he felt every time he looked at you, lingered between you both.

“Fancy going back in for a cup of hot chocolate, love?” Fred asked after a moment. “I’d love one.” You nodded, smiling up at him and the twin grinned at you.

Slowly, Fred guided you back along the side of the lake, your hand in his with you against his side. And while you shared a silence between you, you looked up to find his gaze and the way you looked at each other said everything you needed to know.

You were well and truly in love with Fred Weasley.

Fred walked you slowly back to the castle, the pair of you enjoying each other’s company out in the snow, and it was almost strange to see Fred so quiet, yet his smile was wide and beaming as if he had just, as Ron had put it, won the world quidditch cup.

“I knew it.” Hermione whispered, somewhat triumphantly as she watched you and Fred settle down at a table near them in the great hall. “Knew what?” Ron asked. “The girl Fred’s with, Ron. She’s in some of our classes.” George explained. “Gotta say, they were spending a lot of time sitting together recently.” He shrugged. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you say anything?” Ron hissed at him. “I’d never snitch on my twin.” George said teasingly.

“Thank Merlin for talking gargoyles, ey?” Fred said as he watched you take a sip of your hot chocolate, swirled high with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. “Glad there was only one copy of that book that day too.” He said, lifting his own mug in his hands and taking a small sip as he listened to you giggle in response.

“And I’m glad I never pointed out the other copy of the book in the library.” You added, Fred looking at you with surprise and amusement as he let out a breathy laugh.

“You’re bloody sneaky, you are.” He chuckled, hugging you to his side as he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“What do you say, darling?” He asked after a moment of silence. “Would you do me the honour of going out on a date with me?” Fred asked, his thumb gently soothing over your cheek as his eyes met yours.

Butterflies bloomed in your chest, an uncontrollable smile forming on your lips as you looked up at him. “Absolutely, Fred.” You replied with a little nod and Fred leaned in, his lips gently capturing yours in a loving, tender kiss.

And as he parted from you, beaming at you with the brightest smile you’d ever seen, Fred knew he was in love, just as you were with him.

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Five

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 5 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: mentions of male masturbation and boners (lol); strong language; references to suicide, murder, and drug smuggling; abusive parental relationship; mentions of child death in a second flashback; dry humping (smut); 18+ only please!

Word Count: 16,500+

A/N: damn that chapter warning list was a trip to write down lmao

Westview, 2023, 1:32 pm

An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the parked vehicle, daring either of you to take the first step. No one commented on the glares boring into your soul as you drove through the town or how heavily the three of you got patted down by the authorities right outside the state line. You figured it was completely justified - still a little insulting to a bunch of Avengers who literally saved the world three weeks ago.

With a loud gulp, Bucky was the first to kick open his door and get out of the car. You glanced at Steve from the driver’s seat, biting your lip with a slight quiver as you went over the speech you practiced earlier today. Simple enough, and not too damning.

Steve’s leg bounced rapidly a few more times before he too kicked open his door, leaving you in silence. You pulled the car keys from the ignition and took in a deep breath. Your legs were numb, the anxiety washing over you in uneven cycles. It was now or never.

“Wanda, it’s us…”

Her grief seemed to emit from every crack in the sidewalk, every weak beg escaping the townspeople’s throats, every sound from the inanimate objects her powers had continued to turn from gray to red… to green… back to gray. She was crouched on the property, weeds brushing against her black pants and leaving their mark, mascara smudged with each new wet streak.

Bucky unzipped his jacket, eyes wandering over the deserted plot of land as Wanda tried to control her sobs. She had already caused enough damage, both physical and psychological, the possibility of more government involvement looming over your heads. He carefully walked toward her and wrapped his jacket over her shoulders, all be damned as he held her and began to tear up himself.

“Wanda, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll get through this,” Steve sighed, still keeping a respectable distance from her in case she were to run. But you knew her better - she was all out of fight. One fight after another and yet she still lost her love.

“I did something really bad,” she sobbed, eyes locked on the spot where Vision had just disappeared. Again.

“No, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Steve declared, shocked by the unexpected scoff from Bucky.

“Save it, Steve. She may not have known in the beginning but she does now. She still did it.”

No one dared correct Bucky or argue with that logic because if anyone knew about causing harm with absolutely no intention, it was obviously him. Taking responsibility - that was the best course of action.

Once you heard of a radioactive disturbance in a small town just outside the state, the team almost retired completely. So soon after defeating Thanos, so soon after Tony’s death, so soon after Natasha’s death - the team left it up to the proper authorities this time around.

But the second you watched the broadcast of Wanda’s fantasies, the sitcom her powers were conjuring, her giving birth to her children… all you could do was wait until she opened the barrier.

“I still did it,” Wanda said, her upper body beginning to rock back and forth as her fingertips brightened with red tendrils of magical grief.

You shut your eyes and willed yourself not to cry. You had done so much crying these past few years and you were oh, so tired. You couldn’t possibly take another beating.

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Bucky spoke, gently turning Wanda’s face and placing both his hands on her cheeks, mindful of the metal appendage he had forgotten to cover with his glove. “You already did it. It can’t be undone. But you can come with us and grieve properly.”

Wanda reached up and placed her hands over his, tears spilling from her eyes faster now.

“Let us help you grieve.”

This wasn’t an unexpected goodbye. Wanda knew that. She had just voluntarily given up her husband and children - anyone would crumble from that sort of devastation. But now she had been given a proper goodbye, a somewhat proper closure, and the chance to accept it. “Okay.”

You and Steve remained frozen in place even after Bucky helped Wanda stand. Almost as quickly as you thought it, your feet had a mind of their own. You stood next to Steve, taking in the weed infested, rectangular plot of land - the remnants of Wanda’s fantasy still fresh and creating a tiny, refreshing tingle in the middle of your chest. You looked over at Steve and smiled sadly when you saw him inspecting the area as well.

“They would have had a beautiful life together.”

Steve’s breath hitched as you finished your declaration, looking over at you and nodding slightly.

“If I had the chance, I would have wanted a nice house with some decent air conditioning. Some weird, front yard garden where I could plant random flowers. A dog that dug them up and acted like it didn’t do it.”

You giggled, thumbnail between your incisors to try and disguise the wider grin forming. Steve kept speaking.

“Maybe a kid or two. Never actually checked if I could even have kids after the serum.”

You dropped your hand from your face, your attention completely on him now.

Steve sighed and kicked a rock over to the other side of the property. “I would have wanted a giant, king-sized bed. With ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towels. And every once in a while we would accidentally use the other one’s toothbrush, a secret we would take to the grave.”

Steve wasn’t even looking over at you as he said this. It was like a one-sided confession, rhetorical, not needing an immediate response or expression in return. And you couldn’t believe he was just saying this in front of you - you of all people - the same person who rolled their eyes whenever Steve struggled to comprehend a modern topic or argued with him when he was in one of his moods. He had been distant the last few weeks after returning the stones, only ever noticing you when other people were around to carry a conversation.

The tingles in your chest were starting to disappear as the plot of land gave its last few magical rumbles.

“Steve?”

Steve bowed his head, hands in his pockets and breath steady. “Yes, they would have been very happy together.”

You stared at the back of his head as he slowly walked back to the car.

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

The amount of times you reminded yourself to wake up early as you were drifting off to sleep last night was perhaps more than the number of sheep you had ever counted in your life. A quick reminder here and there as your mind got clogged with pointless information, the number eight behind your eyelids all throughout the night.

And you did it. In the early hours of the morning, knowing Steve would wake naturally in about twenty minutes, you tip-toed out of bed to use the bathroom. Acting completely normal in case he did in fact hear you before your grand plan - an easy escape route if he decided to repeat his horrible morning ritual on you. But he was such an old man, getting older, losing that serum’s boost. This Steve, Steve who refused to call any movie made after 1945 ‘old’ because he literally didn’t get the chance to see them premiere - yeah, this Steve, was passed out like he had been hit by a truck.

Bladder empty and teeth brushed, you quietly opened the bathroom door and peeked through. He still lay there on his back, wrapped tightly in his blanket, breathing steadily, and face completely unprotected.

Could you die? Probably. Would this payback be absolutely satisfying? Hell yeah.

You grabbed the biggest of your pillows and fisted the corner tightly, twisting it a couple times for a better grip. You signed the cross quickly before lifting the pillow above your head and bringing it down to Steve’s face.

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, “WHAT?”

His eyes flew around the room rapidly until they landed on you, angry and challenging.

“Payback!” you yelled, lifting the pillow high again for a second hit. But he reacted quicker, grabbing a pillow himself and swinging it toward you. It slammed you in the torso and practically sent you flying. You landed at the edge of your bed, mouth open in shock and racks of laughter bubbling deep within your chest. You stood quickly and hit him repeatedly, trying your best to also block his counterattack.

He reached for your hip and pulled you in his bed, rolling the two of you over so he was straddling your hips. He brought the pillow down several more times before accepting your plea of surrender.

You threw the pillow back to your bed and pouted, “Not a fair fight!”

Steve scoffed, “You caught me off guard! You had all the advantages!”

You shuffled beneath him and froze, hips stuck in a lifted position as you were too embarrassed to move them back down. “Jesus, Steve! How do you even sleep on your stomach with that thing?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he inspected your face and body, looking down at the two of you before he noticed the way he was pressing into your inner thigh. He scrambled off you, a blush spreading from his cheeks and all the way down his chest. He cupped himself and turned away, quickly shuffling for his suitcase and pulling whatever clothes his flustered hands grabbed. He was also repeatedly apologizing.

“Steve, it’s okay. It just… startled me, is all.”

Steve cleared his throat a couple times before pacing around the room in search of his toiletries.

You just sat back on your elbows, watching him scurry like a chicken with its head cut off. It was rather amusing.

“I’m gonna - gonna, take a shower. Uh, I’m sorry again.”

You smirked at the super soldier, “Steve, I’m not mad. It isn’t like I’m new to that kind of thing.”

Steve blushed harder, “But I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

You shrugged your shoulders and dipped lower into his sheets, grabbing and lifting them higher. You snuggled deeper, “Still.”

Steve could feel the speed at which the world rotated and he shut the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing deeply until he had all his inhibitions back.

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing - reacting the way he did or you seeing him react the way he did. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t seen each other in awkward situations, some borderline lewd. There were plenty of missions that involved heavy flirting with the targets, undercover work in depraved settings, missions where nasty magic was involved and concocted a multitude of inappropriate visions. Hell, everyone had already seen each other naked. It was completely normal, a trustworthy environment, and sometimes necessary.

As much as he wanted to give into the feeling and award himself some proper alone time, he refused to act upon it. He would regret it later once the stress pushed down harder than usual, but it just wasn’t appropriate in his right mind to masturbate with you in the other room.

Why did he have to be such a good and honorable man?

He busied himself with washing his hair and scrubbing away any evidence of sleep from his face. Steve liked sleeping on his stomach, face smooshed in the pillows and arms extended to his sides. It allowed for more comfortable movement, more ways to stretch his hips, just overall comfort for his massive shoulders. Less pressure on the lungs, too. And unlike the enthusiastic yet almost mean accusation that he couldn’t possibly enjoy that position because of his… well, his dick, Steve would choose that position over sleeping on his back any day. But that morning, his body had decided to betray him in more ways than one. One, he was open to attack because he was on his back. And two, whatever dream he was having caused his morning wood to seem larger this morning.

He had washed up quickly, more time spent out of the shower where he fixed his hair and combed his beard. He thought about shaving it for the rehearsal dinner or wedding, but it gave him a more rugged look - like he was all tough and no funny business. As ridiculous as it sounded, the beard allowed him to lean into the criminal act easier, build a fake personality that already had your father eating out of his hand.

Opening the bathroom door and having to face the music, Steve was almost certain you would continue to tease him. But you were already munching on the breakfast you had ordered, shoveling hash browns in your mouth as you swiped the mouse through pages and pages of intel. You didn’t even look up as he crossed the room to grab a pair of pants he had forgotten to pick up during his quick escape. That settled his nerves almost instantly and he was dressed and settled next to you soon after.

You worked in silent cooperation for a long while, handing each other files and passing phone calls like you had during every other mission before. Except now it was more comfortable, pleasant, and kind - the soft sounds from the television in the corner, the humming of the desktop, the soft hums of recognition whenever you two showed each other something. You didn’t even bother with what happened in the morning, if it really was anything at all, because you honestly found it normal. You were more focused on the conversation you had last night.

Steve had offered to kill your father if you seriously couldn’t. Just thinking about his offer caused your stomach to turn. Because yes, you wanted him dead. You wanted to snap his neck in ten different places and feed him to scavengers. You wanted to steal his business from under him and tear it apart, bit by bit, and keep him alive long enough to see you do it. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you revealed that you double-crossed him. And as the day inched closer, the overwhelming feeling of shame pushed down on your shoulders and swallowed your mind. Once your father was dead, you and Steve would never find true peace. His men would always follow you, probably take you down at the local coffee shop you and Peter frequented.

The thought of dying in front of Peter caused a lump to form in your throat. No, you wouldn’t do that to your friends. You couldn’t do this to Steve.

But you had to. Because even though your life will never be yours after this mission, you had to save the countless others your father was sure to touch and ruin.

But was your life ever truly yours?

Steve’s voice pulled you from your clouded mind.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted the last piece of fruit.”

You looked at Steve then at the small piece of watermelon in the bowl, then back at Steve. He had a pen in between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked, and slightly puffy eyes due to the beer heavy sleep he had last night. You looked away as quickly as you could and stared back at the fruit, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Ridiculous, you thought. Just looking at Steve had flustered you, squeezing your stomach in pleasurable pulses you hadn’t felt since high school. “No, no. You can have it,” you said, hoping your voice wouldn’t crack.

Ridiculous.

Steve watched you with a funny smile but he took your word and scooped up the last piece for himself.

No, you thought again, this man will not give me freaking butterflies.

It wasn’t like it was odd. Steve had you flustered countless times before, but it was never quite as tingly as it was now. You suddenly wanted to facetime Wanda and rant about these weird feelings; you wanted to curl in on yourself and squeal; you wanted to -

“He’s what?”

You sat on your knees and leaned over the back of the couch, chin resting on your folded arms as you watched Steve pace around the common room. He was tugging at his dress shirt repeatedly, desperately trying to attach cufflinks without additional help. Sam sat right beside you, in the same position, snickering each time Steve cursed under his breath.

“He’s nervous,” Bucky smirked, arm holding out Steve’s tie for the past five minutes. Steve had paced beside him various times already, completely oblivious.

Steve groaned and readjusted his collar, snapping his head toward the three of you. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re sweating buckets, man,” Sam pointed out, one of his hands discreetly opening up his camera and switching to video.

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

Bucky threw his head back and cackled, choosing to grab Steve and steady him to finally put that damn tie around his neck. “Same old, Steve. Can’t accept that a dame would ever possibly like you back.”

“Hey, Steve don’t worry about it,” you started, shooting Steve a sympathetic look. Steve glanced back at you, expression swiftly changing due to your kind tone. “... when I was in high school,-”

Steve released a loud grunt, rolling his eyes and stepping away from Bucky’s hands.

Sam rolled over and clutched his stomach as he laughed, pulling you into him. The two of you shook from your laughs together.

“Guys,” Bucky warned, reaching for Steve in a ‘grabby’ motion. “Give him a break.”

Steve reluctantly stood beside Bucky again, head tilted upward as he tried wrapping the tie back around his neck.

None of you heard the entrance of Thor and his brother, too busy with bullying, laughter, or moderating.

“Did we miss all the fun?”

You shot up from the ground, kicking Sam away as you rushed across the floor and stumbled over the rug. “Thor!”

You rushed into his arms and he gripped you tightly, swinging you around and loud laughter matching yours.

“Now, why wasn’t I greeted in a similar manner?” Loki questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

You pulled your face from Thor’s shoulder, “Oh, you want this too?”

You jumped back onto the floor and were about to jump into Loki’s arms, but he held his own out, stopping you. “It’s too late. It’s not the same.”

“Piss baby,” you quipped, rushing behind Thor for protection when Loki’s mouth dropped in surprise.

“Can everyone stop what they’re doing real quick and tell Steve his date is going to go well tonight?”

You rolled your eyes at Bucky’s favor, but he just raised his eyebrows, challenging you to disobey the order.

“The Captain has a date? Are they okay?”

Loki and you shared a comical gasp.

Steve gaped, “Now, what in the world does that mean, Thor?”

Thor raised his hands in defense, “I’m just asking if she truly knows what she’s getting herself into! Don’t try and tell me she has no idea who you are.”

Steve was back to groaning nonstop. Bucky threw his hands up in the air, “I ask one thing of you guys. One thing.”

You stomped over to Steve and ripped the half-tied tie from his neck and smoothed down his collar. You patted down his shoulders and the front of his shirt, and gripped his shoulders to straighten his back.

“Now,” you smiled up at him. The breath caught in your throat for a second, the blue of his eyes shining under the ceiling lights and the pink of his cheeks spreading slowly. You let out a tiny sigh, heart fluttering faintly from the small grin he was giving you. He looked so innocent, a renaissance subject created from light oils, signs of true aging showing in his forehead. “Whatever date you got planned, she’s gonna love it.”

Steve relished in the feeling of your palms pressed against his chest for a few moments before he nodded at your declaration. He stepped back and smoothed down his shirt. “Wish me luck?”

A chorus of ‘good luck’s sounded as Steve found his keys and shared a goodnight hug with Sam and Bucky. They both jokingly reminded him to use protection.

You watched Steve leave, a newfound bounce in his step as he walked away. Your words had been so simple, so cliche, and yet he had dropped any visible nerves as he walked out the door. You weren’t the best motivational speaker, that was for sure, but the proof of at least an ounce of motivation was there. Maybe your words held a hidden meaning. Maybe.

You thought about him picking up this random woman, wine and dining her, kissing her cheek as he said his goodbyes at the end of the night. It was somewhat adorable to think about, but also weird.

Before you could dive more into the strange feeling, Thor’s voice sounded.

“Should we order pizza or chinese?”

It’s like that snapped you from your trance, because next thing you knew you were back to your playful self, sprinting across the room and into Loki’s arms.

You cherished the slight, pleasant churn of your stomach as you watched him happily munch on the fruit.

Okay, it was normal to have a tiny crush on your mission partner. God knows how many times you wanted to jump Thor’s bones whenever you were undercover together. A crush was normal, completely natural and expected.

Except you had never gotten so much sane joy from a simple question of whether you wanted the last piece of fruit.

You blinked a few times and shook off any trace of overthinking devils, grabbing at random files to occupy your mind for a while. After about fifteen more minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke.

“So, we think Ramirez is gonna get straight up murdered?”

Steve snorted, filing through a pile of papers Torres had delivered this morning. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“But it’s just a theory at this point. We can’t just go in guns blazing without enough proof.”

“And if there is proof? Do we protect him? The original mission was to arrest all four men.”

You groaned, “I don’t know. He’s never done me wrong.”

“Personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

Steve squinted at you with a playful smile. “You’d rather just arrest the bad ones, huh?”

“Obviously what Ramirez is doing is illegal and it’s horrific to think of what might be happening behind the scenes on his side, but either he’s serious or he’s been putting on this good guy act for his whole life.”

“Leaning towards the first option?”

Shrugging, you leaned toward your computer screen and scrolled through the massive list of emails. “It’s what my gut tells me, but ehh.”

There was one random email from Maribel, but random only meant coded. Reading it over a couple times, humming to yourself in concentration, you finally cracked the code she was trying to send.

“Maribel says Ramirez acquired some land in Mexico… lots of it.”

Steve looked up from the files, “Any significance?”

“It’s probably for growing the products.”

Steve quickly typed key words that would alert him of any new transactions in the past few months. “Who’s on the title?”

“Just him. And his oldest daughter. My father must know, right?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, releasing a heavy sigh as he thought about what this could mean. “Ramirez acquiring more land means more of Ramirez’s product. A three-way partnership would be split unevenly if he utilizes the land.”

“Make sure Bucky alerts us of any business my father might have with realtors authorized to work in that area.”

It functioned like this for another hour, the two of you sharing bits of information every ten minutes or so.

“Torres sent us an update on White.”

You rubbed at your strained eyes, “What does he say?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, “That he’s been in the country for much longer than his passport says.”

You stood from your seat and rushed to look at the same screen Steve was reading from. “He traveling under a fake name?”

“Customs says he returned to Germany,” Steve stated, highlighting a paragraph on the screen for you to easily read. “Four weeks ago.”

It was your turn to snort out a laugh, “Oh, he’s so setting up an alibi.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “Looks like it.”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, voice raising an octave. “Look at us! Piecing together the puzzle!”

“We still got a few more pieces to attach before you go getting all cocky.”

You chuckled and decided to take a break. You speed walked over to your bed and plopped down, the mountain of pillows already relieving your tense muscles. “Hey, has my sister’s plane landed yet?”

Steve glanced at you quickly before pulling up Bucky’s morning emails. “Uh, landed about an hour ago.”

“She at the estate?”

He shrugged, “Torres hasn’t sent an update. Just her profile, hold up.”

You waved him off, a nonverbal way of telling him you seriously couldn’t care less. “I haven’t spoken to her since I joined you guys. You don’t gotta give me her origin story.”

“That long?” Steve questioned.

You placed a pillow beneath your head, body horizontal and facing Steve. “We were never that close. I’ve got tons of half-siblings. Most of them were adults when I was born, anyway.”

With just a few words exchanged, Steve realized he had just stepped through your metaphorical door of reminiscing. So he stood to lay in his own bed, the simple action of giving you attention enough to keep you talking, he hoped. “Were you alone a lot? Growing up, I mean.”

You watched as Steve also placed a pillow beneath his head, “There were always kids around. Kids of the maids, cousins, neighbors.”

“A full house, sounds like.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, a small smile forming as you thought about old friends. “I remember this one time, we all ran into Ramirez when we were trying to get to one of the playrooms. But he grabbed me quickly and told me to not go in there.”

“Was it a threat?”

You grinned at his protective tone, “No, it was a warning. There were some really bad men in the other room. It was me and a few other girls. He told us to run back to my room and lock the door until he came to get us.”

Steve couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ramirez joined the drug game. Sure, the function and presence of cartels had changed drastically over the last forty years, but it didn’t explain why he remained involved. In the eighties, the drug game was highly televised and spoken about, but the cartel violence was not as strong. Nowadays, and not even you could give a proper explanation, the violence was astronomical and basically advertised as something to expect when visiting certain countries. This was the mob game now, freaking Al Capone or the goddamn Godfather, absolutely meant to frighten whoever dare join or leave. For Ramirez to still be one of the big players even with that many internal changes, to be a good person in the middle of such hell, didn’t make any sense.

“He protected you.”

You clutched the pillow closer to your chest, the memory a good one even if it was weird. “Oh, yeah. Those guys he was warning us about were no angels.”

Steve gave an awkward smile, “I feel like I know more about your childhood than you know mine.”

“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me about little, asthmatic Steve Rogers.”

He raised his index finger at you, “Hey, I was more than just my asthma.”

“Oh, excuse me. I totally forgot about your scoliosis.”

The pillow under his head was now flying across the small distance to your face. You shrieked and sent it back.

“Stop bullying!” Steve laughed.

You shielded your face in case he decided to continue the pillow war. “What? I’ve got my health problems, too! I just don’t have the serum to help me out.”

But he didn’t throw it again. He repositioned himself on his back and placed both hands beneath his head, gracing the ceiling with a grin. “I remember this one time, Bucky and I were around eleven-years old, and I had this really bad asthma attack. Bucky just freaked out. I was choking and he was just holding me, screaming for help -”

You blinked, “This is really depressing, what are you-”

“-and! Bucky threw himself into a full-blown panic attack. So we were both choking on air, but I was starting to laugh at him freaking out, which only made him choke harder. We ended up throwing up.”

You were silent at the end of his short story, mouth open in a wide smile. “I don’t know what else to say other than that was one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard.”

Steve rolled over, a literal twinkle in his eye. “See? Don’t interrupt me before I get to the good parts.”

This simple moment catapulted the realization that Steve hasn’t spoken to you this much in two years, to the front of your mind. In these past four days, you had spoken like you had never stopped, like it was never awkward, like you two seriously didn’t need another person in the room to simply converse about what you wanted for breakfast. Yet here you were, more words exchanged in the past four days than you ever thought possible.

After the fallout, you didn’t say one full sentence to him for seven months. Seven months. He hadn’t attempted a conversation with you either, but you actively avoided him like he was infected. Hell, he even moved out of the compound and into his own apartment to get away from you for most of the day. After your forced reconciliation, the awkward apologies, you still didn’t force any open conversation. But it was easier, lighter, and most conversations involved mission information.

Talking this much now was so easy, so simple, like you didn’t need to force the comfort - there was already full comfort, a sense of community with this man.

He was so different from when he insulted you while you were packing, annoyed by the fact that you pried too much. And now you were prying into his childhood and him yours without a lick of annoyance on either side.

“We both had eventful childhoods, didn’t we?”

“What, with both of us in the middle of a war?” Steve asked, a genuine look on his face.

“Guess our wars never really left us, huh?”

There was a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting Torres again today. Steve muttered ‘room service, maybe’ under his breath as you went to open it. You were startled to find Scott standing outside, two massive suitcases in his hand.

“Oh my god, I forgot you were arriving today!”

Scott scoffed, “Am I not as important as your other friends?”

You laughed and helped him inside, “Stop! You’re one of my favorite bugs!”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll leave right now if you two decide to pile on me instead of each other.” Scott placed one of the suitcases near the door but the other at the edge of your bed.

“We’ll be nice,” Steve promised, standing to greet Scott with a hug.

“You better. Catch me up, please?”

The suitcase contained your outfits for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Whoever was in charge of costumes definitely went all out, hoping their work would make the big fight the most fashionable. Steve was given a perfectly tailored suit, navy blue and velvet. It was lined with vibranium, inside pockets covered with it. That would certainly be handy if you were forced to walk through metal detectors - vibranium couldn’t be detected. His suit for the rehearsal dinner was a lot simpler, the custom black and white aesthetic, but still protected with vibranium.

Your clothes were certainly not styled to match Steve’s, giving you a sense of individuality. It was perfect really - it would allow you to leave Steve’s side, if necessary, when the mission called for you to split up. Your rehearsal dinner outfit was two parts: a black, velvet long-sleeved shirt, slight turtleneck, and gold cuffs. It was joined by a long gold skirt, high-waisted, the front shorter than the back and sides more curled than ruffled. You would have to wear tights underneath, but it was beautiful. Vibranium was also stitched in for added protection. Your dress for the actual wedding, however, was a total knockout. Red, spaghetti strap, tight on top but loose once it reached your hips, a long slit on the left side. They were even kind enough to give you a pair of heels to match.

Yeah, Steve was Captain America and his appearance will shock the guests, but your attire will definitely be the second topic in gossip.

Scott was filing through the same papers you and Steve had reviewed earlier, a bowl of potato chips at his side. And it was peaceful - you and Steve even had the chance to nap.

“So, you’re gonna see Jackeline at the rehearsal dinner?”

You wiped the remnants of your nap from your face and groaned as you stretched, “She’ll probably be busy tomorrow when we go for breakfast, so yeah.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes practically attached to the computer screen. “And… she’s the one getting married?”

His tone started to worry Steve, “Yes, Scott. You good?”

Scott piled a handful of potato chips in his mouth, finger clicking the mouse every few seconds. His eyes were now wide, blinks forgotten. “Jackeline Vega. Jackeline.”

Steve ignored him now, “Hey, why isn’t your last name Vega?”

As much as you wanted to share about how and why you changed your last name, Scott’s demeanor interested you more. “Changed it when I became an American citizen - Scott, what’s up?”

He let out a tiny squeak, swallowing his snack quickly. “And she’s your father’s favorite?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mmm.”

Scott released a huge huff of air, shoulders falling as he raised his voice and turned the monitor to face you. “Think he knows anything about this?”

The photograph was blurry because it was enhanced, but you could still make out the face of a sister you hadn’t seen in years. Older, still with teenage features obviously, and tossed on what looked like a church alter-

Steve's eyes widened, “Is she…?”

Scott finished his sentence for him, “Fucking a priest?”

You covered your mouth in shock, “Oh my god, she’s fucking a priest!”

Bent on the literal church altar, skirt bunched around her hips, head thrown back in ecstasy and face in full view. And the damned priest, in between her legs and under the eyes of god.

“That’s why I asked!”

Steve clutched at his chest, head thrown back as he howled, “I think you were wrong about your sister.”

Now your eyes were glued to the screen, “Oh, I was fuck all from correct!”

Scott cleared his throat, “Is the priest… her fiance?”

Steve came down from his laugh attack, “I highly doubt that, Scott.”

“This is actually really damning evidence.”

You grinned at Scott, “For what? Painting her out to look like the most sinful whore? I might just congratulate her.”

Steve stared at you, judging almost. “For fucking a priest?”

“For proving me wrong. She’s not so innocent after all,” you responded, cheeks strained from how wide you were smiling.

“Clearly. This is… actually badass,” Scott admitted, turning the monitor back to him.

You teased, singing your next words. “Don’t let the Lord and Savior hear that.”

Steve glared, “Y/N.”

You leaned away from him, “What? Anyway, that’s gotta be one the worst sins to commit, right?”

Steve’s expression contorted from annoyance to disbelief. “We’ve literally killed people.”

“Pfft, but we’re not fucking priests. Right?”

Scott answered, nodding quicker than he needed to. “Right.”

“You’re literally asking that?”

You pressed your lips into a fine line and tilted your head at Steve. “Steve?”

He glared at you for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’m not fucking any priests.”

Your response was immediate, “Alright! I gotta hand it to her, though. Who took the photo?”

Scott went back to fishing through the emails. “Some sleazy magazine that never got around to actually printing these out.”

“Someone paid them off. Or killed them.”

“I wonder who,” you replied sarcastically.

Steve continued, “You honestly think he would support her doing that?”

You shrugged and scurried back over to your unmade bed. “Not my problem.”

Scott interjected, “Okay, okay. How’s tomorrow gonna work?”

Steve answered first, “Well, we’re driving out around eight.”

You hummed in agreement, reaching over to unplug your phone from the charger. “Scott, you’ll just ride on one of our backs as we walk through the estate.”

“I kind of want to ride Y/N’s back this time.”

You snorted, “Now that doesn’t sound sexual at all.”

He hid his face in his hands, “You know, I heard it once I said it.”

“Course you did.”

Steve jumped back into the conversation, Scott’s embarrassment seeming to grow under the weird tension. “Then you’ll hop off and plant the bugs wherever you feel like they’re needed.”

“Easy peasy!” you cheered.

“Bucky and Sam gonna meet us Friday night?”

Steve nodded, “That’s what they said.” He looked over at you, scrolling through your phone and already smiling at something you found funny. He cleared his throat to get your attention. “You know they can be out here in under an hour if we seriously need them.”

You glanced over at Steve, his sincerity greatly appreciated. “I know. But all my faith is in Scott here.”

Scott moaned quietly, “Oh… no, let’s not put all the faith in me because I can’t handle that responsibility.”

You propped yourself up onto your elbows, “You saying I can’t trust you?”

“No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all-!”

Steve rolled his eyes and looked at the man, a sheen of nervous sweat starting to form on his forehead. “Scott.”

Scott lowered his hands from his chest, “O-oh. She’s messing with me, huh?”

You chuckled and laid back down. “You’re so easy.”

The easygoing atmosphere for the next few hours almost had you believing you were on vacation, away from the bad guys and space aliens for just a moment. Almost like you weren’t in the middle of a drug war, a mob business, the literal daughter of a king. Scott had that effect, his personality such a sweet refresher and such a contrast to every soul in the compound.

Thor and Peter were also sweethearts and fun was always expected when they were around, but Scott had this different vibe. Maybe it was because he was relatively new, or that he had a child, or that he hadn’t suffered the same five years as everyone else did. Like he wasn’t yet tainted.

“You guys mind if I run a job inside a job?”

Your head snapped up at Scott’s crazy question, “You stealing something?”

To run a job inside a job was risky. There was no exact plan to keep both missions balanced, to somehow rank the other more important. You prayed it wasn’t something insane.

Scott chuckled under his breath, already grabbing his jacket and suitcase by the door. “No, I’m not stealing something. Hank needs me to speak to some guy he’s doing negotiations with about a space for a new lab headquarters.”

Steve tilted his head, “In Northern California?”

“Nah, the dude is vacationing out here for the time being. The lab will be in San Francisco again.”

You squinted at him, still cautious. “Where you meeting him?”

“Some nice Italian restaurant an hour out.”

Steve spoke before you did, similar thoughts running through his mind. “You check with Torres? We don’t know who might randomly show up there.”

Scott tried his best to reassure you, “Yeah, he said they’re following every car that leaves the premises and travels more than thirty minutes away. None of Ernesto’s men have been spotted further up north.”

You sighed. You didn’t want another member of your team to venture out in this area, let alone this goddamn state, without your eyes on them. You were protective, the proximity of your outside world with the one you had spent ten years building too suffocating of a reality.

Still, you told Scott goodbye with a steady voice. “Then enjoy your dinner, Scott.”

His voice picked up again, that childish and upbeat feeling wrapping you around his finger. “You guys wanna come with? I’m sure you’re sick of icky hotel food.”

Steve waved him off, “It’s actually not that bad-”

“Breadsticks. Garlic pasta. More breadsticks.”

You laughed, “That sounds nice, Scott but we can stay here-”

“Three-cheese pastas.”

“Scott, you can try all you want but-”

“Unlimited breadsticks.”

You shared a look at Steve, puckering your lips at the suggestion.

“.... We’ll sit far away from your table, okay?”

Scott opened the hotel door and started sprinting down the hallway. “I knew I could persuade you with that! C’mon!”

California at night was a death trap. Potholes on every stretch of asphalt, construction halted for who knows how long, random opossums lingering in the shadows just waiting to get hit by tires. It was prettier during the day - less of a ‘lead me into this forest, yes, kill me’ vibe.

You chilled in the backseat while Scott drove you guys to the restaurant. You had texted Bucky where you were planning to go, the message activating the group text chain.

Peter: it’s Wednesday! Who died?

Wanda: she’s literally texting us

Peter: Y/N, you won???

Bucky: fuck do I owe the fucking spider money?

Peter: pay up dude

Y/N: tf Bucky? You bet against me?

“You sure you two are good?”

The restaurant looked quiet considering it was a Wednesday night, but it was still crowded. There was a short line extending out the door and a… bouncer. You sucked in a breath and smacked Scott in the chest once you were out of the car.

“Thought you said this was a restaurant?”

Scott rubbed his chest, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “Restaurant slash bar!”

“We eating with the Italian mob now? I can only handle one mob at a time, Scott.”

You nodded rapidly, pointing at Steve. “I agree with him!”

“Not every place has bad guys!”

You groaned and reluctantly stood at the back of line, pulling Steve’s hat lower on his forehead. It wasn’t like people couldn’t take one long, hard look at him and not know who he was, anyway.

“Can you guys just… enjoy a night out?”

“While on a mission?”

“While living your long lives. God, Y/N, you getting old already?”

Your mouth dropped, “I’m twenty-six and I’m not complaining about a nice dinner, Scott.” You pointed at the bouncer. “I’m worried about the fact that our ID’s are gonna be checked.”

Scott’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “Yeah, that.”

“Next.”

You shot Steve a worried look but handed the bouncer your driver’s license. He just looked at the date of birth and moved you along. “Next.”

Scott handed him his, doing his best to smile proudly while the bouncer scanned him up and down. “Next.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard,” Scott joked, standing next to you in the far corner of the entrance.

You rolled your eyes, “Wait.”

The bouncer took one look at Steve’s ID and gasped. Steve looked anywhere but the bouncer’s eyes, his bottom lip suffering the abuse of his incisors.

“Cap-Captain?”

Steve gave a sheepish grin, lowering his cap further. “Uh, yeah.”

“Enjoying your day?”

You pinched your nose.

“Would like it a lot more if you could lead us to a table with as much privacy as you can offer.”

You had to hand it to Steve for taking advantage of situations like this.

The bouncer agreed immediately, speaking with the manager and promising discretion. The manager said it was no problem, that it was the least he could do for you guys after you brought his son back to him after those rough five years.

The restaurant offered a somewhat real Italian setting, awarding their guests with as much real scenery and architecture it could. You could only compare it to the Venetian in Vegas as you had never actually been to Italy, but the live band and garlic smell was enough to transport you.

The lights were low, older couples enjoying the food and wine, and there was a small bar near the back of the restaurant. It wasn’t really a place for some shady business, but years of experience let you know that wasn’t always the case. It was second nature to eye women reaching into their purses, only to pull out a pack of gum. Second nature to wince at the sound of a loud laugh cutting through the quiet atmosphere.

As promised, you were led to a more private area of the restaurant, closer to the bar than to the band.

“Go run the job, Scott. We’ll just be enjoying our unlimited breadsticks,” you said, letting out a heavy and relaxed sigh as you settled into the private booth.

“That hat isn't really hiding those broad shoulders, Cap,” Scott laughed, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve slid into the same booth, ignoring the completely empty seat across from you. “Thanks, Scott. I’m aware.”

You tried to hide your blush as you squeezed deeper in your seat. Scott noticed though, side eyeing Steve who was none the wiser. “You know, I told him that he should have used those facial changing things SHIELD used to have.”

Steve grabbed the offered utensils and started unwrapping them from their napkins.

“What are we if not superheroes who think a baseball cap and glasses hide our identities?” you teased, shooting Scott a quick wink.

Steve answered almost triumphantly, “Uh, Superman?”

You giggled and grabbed the napkin he had unwrapped for you. “I’d argue Thor is more like Superman, but okay.”

“How am I not more like Superman? What-��

“Uh, guys? I see the dude so I’m gonna go. You two enjoy your meal,” Scott interrupted, running off to a booth located toward the middle of the restaurant.

You sat for a few awkward moments before you squinted and looked at Steve, who was sitting to your left and way too close. “Are we annoying?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like,” you spoke with your hands, “you and I bicker a lot because we love to annoy each other but you think it gets on other people’s nerves?”

Steve chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with yours. “Do you really care if it does?”

That blush of yours was starting to feel warmer. “No, just wondering if you felt that way.”

He shrugged, “I quite like our relationship.”

“Oh,” you smiled, looking down at your lap. “I quite liked it more a few years back but you know.”

He immediately tensed, body leaning away from you as if you were burning him. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “Sorry, that was low.”

He sighed deeply, “No, I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

You took a risk and reached for his hand, squeezing gently. The kind gesture seemed to calm him, and he looked back at you. “I still shouldn’t have said it.”

He accepted that, and handed you the menu.

The hotel food was grand, it did its job of filling you up and providing the necessary nutrients, but there was just something about the carbs in pasta and bread. It ignited the food critic inside you, because now you were cursing the hotel chef and dreading having to order breakfast in the morning. No, dinner. You were having breakfast with your father tomorrow.

Scott was busy conducting his own business, bluetooth turned off but still glancing over his shoulder once in a while to check on you guys. Each time he did, he felt butterflies flutter in his breadstick-filled stomach. It was the first time he had seen the two of you so carefree, let alone with each other, and it was the most refreshing thing in the world.

Steve was in the middle of telling another childhood story, his main plate already finished and practically licked clean. But the unlimited breadsticks were coming out by the pound, a new stick in each of your hands every five minutes.

“I swear, she loved Bucky more than me!”

You covered your mouth and chewed, careful to not let anything through because of your giggle fit. “Steve! Your mother did not!”

Steve wiped at his under eye, clutching his chest as he continued explaining. “Bucky was always around and my mom would just linger every second she wasn’t working!”

“Bet she loved him.”

“See?”

“No, I mean she must have loved him like her own! Bucky was your best friend, your only friend. She probably thought of him like an angel sent from God!” you clarified.

Steve smiled wider at your cheesy explanation. They were happy memories, joyful ones that he would often think about while writing or drawing.

He continued with a soft confession. “I really wish I could see her again.”

You leaned your temple on your palm, “From everything you’ve shared with me, she sounds lovely.”

“She would have loved you.” The blush was back, and so was Steve’s, almost like those words were supposed to be kept in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “God, she was so destroyed when Bucky first got his orders.”

“Was Bucky scared?”

“Scared? Absolutely fucking terrified. We talked about running away and changing our names so he didn’t have to go.”

The draft was such a horrible practice. The fact that men still had to enlist and hope no ‘necessary’ war was upon them. It was quite reassuring to know most of those men wouldn’t have to see battle today, they were given a choice, and there were agencies that managed people who could, like the Avengers.

“Steve…”

Steve just hummed softly, “Life in the forties, am I right?

Your voice also got quieter. “Why didn’t you run away?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, swallowing the last of his bread. “We tried. Got all the way to the edge of town before Bucky’s dad wrung us both back to kick our asses.”

Almost out of instinct, you gripped his hand again. You rubbed soothing circles into his knuckles, knuckles that hadn’t seen hand-to-hand combat in so long. There wasn’t much danger in the world nowadays, just small missions here and there. It wasn’t like the team was itching for another alien invasion. But these periods of well needed rest were odd, periods where bruises completely healed up and little pockets of weight were gained. Steve’s knuckles were soft, only having seen the ends of paintbrushes for a long while.

“...Where’s your mother?”

His voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you had to repeat the question in your own head a couple times.

“It’s not a happy story.”

There wasn’t much of a story anyway.

“But is it a story you need to get off your chest?”

Steve didn’t want to push too hard. The long pause in your relationship definitely didn’t soften this blow, and it only added to the strings of resistance. If you decided not to tell Steve about this, Steve would have to accept it. If anything, this was one of the toughest questions to ask someone when all you’ve been doing is ignoring them for two years.

“Not really much to get rid of.”

He nodded, only a slight hint of disappointment laced within his words. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Natasha was the only one with any knowledge of your mom. There was never an actual moment in which you freely spoke of her - inserting her likeness, her person, back into some alternate and fucked-up reality - you kept her legacy dead. It was obvious she hadn’t enjoyed this part of her life, no doubt it absolutely killed her to leave you trapped in it, so keeping her dead, even in conversation, was a favor.

But one drunken night and you were showing Natasha the one photo you had of her, stuffed deep in your wallet and crinkled beyond repair. Her black hair to her shoulders, lip liner a darker shade than her lipstick, hands intertwined behind her back as she arched forward in a playful tilt, shooting the camera a smile that was stuck around the word she was saying as the candid was taken. There was no recorded voice but you had a record of her movement, frozen in time.

Steve’s sincerity grasped you by the literal roots of your hair, because next thing you knew you were spilling the first thought you had.

“She was twenty-three. Working as a real estate agent, very beautiful, and she was engaged. To an American.”

Steve chuckled around his champagne glass, “Was that bad?”

You grinned at that, like he was already fully and deeply invested in your story. “Not necessarily. But everyone knew she was taken.”

“And your father?”

“He wanted to buy some houses. Saw her, wanted her, tried persuading her into going on a date. Nothing really worked, she didn’t accept his money or gifts.”

Steve fumbled over his next words. “Did she eventually?”

“No, but her brother did. My father didn’t know it was her brother, so he thought she was accepting them. Got mad when she still refused his advances.”

He was digesting this little by little. Steve had heard horror stories of girls he grew up with, forced to marry at a young age when they were caught in a passionate moment with a man, or when they ended up pregnant. Bucky and his mother had always instructed him to treat women with respect, to never intentionally or accidentally ruin their reputation, to protect and use his voice to stand up for them. And although women weren’t getting frisky with him when he was all but ninety pounds at the ripe age of twenty, that didn’t stop Steve from exchanging a few words and punches with men who had no right. “How did they end up together?”

You shrugged, reaching over for another breadstick. “No one knows. He invited her to a party one day and she didn’t come back for a whole week. Next thing her family knows she’s engaged to my father and no longer with the love of her life.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, her family had no choice but to accept that. Her poor fiance, though.”

“Where is he now?”

Steve had this weird hope that the fiance may still be alive somewhere, waiting for your mother to find him. But that was just the hopeless romantic emerging.

You sighed deeply, “My father told my mother he killed him. My mother believed him.”

“So, he’s still alive? He didn’t hurt him?”

“Apparently he’s still kicking, yeah. But my mom became severely depressed from that lie.”

The restaurant felt colder and the air became thinner. Steve didn’t want his next thought to be true. “She didn’t...?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, she found out he was alive.” Even if you weren’t witness to it, you could still imagine your mother charting the areas she would have to run and swim through to get away. Wasn’t like it was a heartfelt thought, but the mere fact that she had that much determination to risk her life for love, it was somewhat therapeutic to think about. Like it was genuinely satisfying to imagine her defying your father. Still, your face drooped as you gave Steve the sad conclusion. “She didn’t even make it across the border before he had her killed for betraying him.”

His face fell in time with yours, “Fuck.”

“She left me with Maribel’s mother. But my father found me and told me she had an accident. Didn’t find out the truth until I was thirteen.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You shoved his shoulder with yours, a light chuckle cutting through the sad moment. “Not like you had a hand in this, Steve. It’s just my life.”

You were used to Steve’s generosity, his ability to make any person feel a part of his family - you had been on the receiving end of his sincerity for the past week now. But as you held his gaze, his body seemingly towering over yours, your chest flushed with such warmness, a tranquil promise of safety. He leaned forward, breath hitting your cheeks, hand still gripping yours.

“Not anymore. We’ll end this, Y/N. I promise you, we’ll end this.”

You took a risk and rested your forehead on his, his continuous promise still causing your stomach to twist pleasurably. “How’d we get so sad all of a sudden?” You pushed away and threw your arms in the air. “We need more breadsticks!”

Steve laughed loudly, the private booth still providing somewhat of a thin curtain to the other diners. “No, we need mints!”

Rolling your eyes, you blew your breath at Steve teasingly. “Weak.”

Steve groaned, “You and Scott are not getting into the car without chewing on a mint.”

“You got a thing against bad breath?”

“Take the mint.”

“I’m gonna fight you if you force the mint on me.”

He was reaching into his jacket and pulling the small case out. He winked at you. “I’ll win.”

He popped open the cap and held it out to you. He didn’t tip it though, as if he was waiting for you to extend your palm. Everything was silent for a minute, eyes challenging one another.

He could easily lean in. He could easily just tilt his head a little to his left and capture your lips with his. Every damn molecule in his body was telling him to do it, every bubble from that champagne somehow giving him some extra courage.

Your breath hitched slightly, and he leaned away. I’m such a coward, he thought.

You reacted swiftly, disguising the awkwardness. “You’re right, give me the mint. You should swallow like three.”

Steve snickered, “You ruined the moment.”

But you didn’t ruin the moment. And he just blamed you for it. Like he had already established - he was a coward.

You grabbed the mints he offered and popped them into your mouth. “What moment? I didn’t see any moment.”

Okay, he could just lean in right now and hope the mint freshness in your mouth would mask the garlic in his. Yeah, he could just lean in and do what he’s been thinking of doing for the last day and a half-

“Hey, you guys finished? Getting dessert?”

Steve almost shot from his seat, “Jesus fucking christ, Scott!”

Scott slid into the seat across from you. “You scare easily. Let’s get dessert!”

You were too flustered. Fine, okay. You’ll play along. If the gods want to reward you with this fun Steve, the Steve you were closest to years ago, then so be it. You’ll bite. And if he wants to resort back to his bitchy self, his hermit behavior, then you’ll fight him then.

Scott ordered so much dessert.

So much.

The little moment you had with Steve was still fresh, you could sense he was thinking about it too, but you opted to simply enjoy the night out. You were here with two friends, protection was just a phone call away, and you were safe.

Perhaps Scott had the same effect on Steve that he had on you. Absolutely demolished his ‘Captain’ self and released the guy who simply wanted to enjoy a mini road trip with his friends.

You were barely fifteen minutes into your ride home when Scott lowered the windows and turned the radio up high.

“Woohoo!”

You screamed over the loud roar of the wind, “Scott, it’s fucking freezing!”

Scott yelled back, “We just had three desserts each! Your blood should be running warm!”

You blinked away the dryness, “Dude!”

Steve, surprisingly, agreed with Scott. “Enjoy it!”

Your mouth dropped open and you followed Steve’s movements as he turned the radio higher.

The music blared and you were about to protest again, the air literally nipping at your sensitive cheeks, but the song that started was a non-skip.

You would indulge in this childishness once.

Once.

You reached around the passenger seat and gripped Steve’s shoulders, shaking him in place. “Ah, California radio giving us the classics!”

Scott leaned over and turned it up higher.

You swayed in your seat and sang along with Scott. “Bidi bidi bom bom!”

Scott pointed at you and recited the lyrics, “Bidi, bidi!”

Both of you sang, “Bom!”

Even with his eyes on the road, Scott was nailing some good dance moves in his seat. You both sang each lyric with your heart and soul, laughs escaping during the guitar breaks.

Steve just enjoyed the show. He didn’t know the song, the melody a foreign one for him, but it must have been popular for both you and Scott to know it. He watched you sway in your seat, hands dancing and voice matching the volume of the radio. Just the other night, you had mentioned how you never sang anymore.

But here you were, singing through the most beautiful smile Steve had ever seen.

He missed the sound of it. He missed hearing you sing in your room, no doubt you were dancing too since he usually heard your feet shuffling against your carpet. He missed the innocence you would casually portray, an invitation for anyone to befriend you. He missed teasing you lightly, and he regretted the roughness of his voice years later. He missed just walking into the common area and finding you there, cooking for yourself and anyone who wanted a plate - that plate usually for him. He missed you.

You were right here, voice hitting those octaves Steve didn’t think he would ever hear again. You were right here, and he missed you.

Scott was staying in a separate room. The dessert and alcohol had run right through him, and he bid you goodnight after he threatened to plop down in your bed if you invited him in.

The sound of Scott’s retreating footsteps seemed to suck all the air from the vents at once, whispering its song lovingly in your ear. It was both refreshing and terrifying to be left alone because now here you were, standing outside your hotel door with the super soldier you had gone to Hell and back with.

You inwardly cringed, the tightness in your chest sending your childish ass back to sophomore year of college. A first date, the lost promise of another - a proper teenage reaction to a crush. But this man in front of you wouldn’t let you delete his number from your phone; he wouldn’t avoid eye contact in the dining hall; he wouldn’t sit at the back of the lecture hall just to keep a necessary distance.

Granted, Elijah - poor, frightened Elijah - had seen you literally kidnap someone off the street under your father’s orders. This being before you went straight and moral, before you had met Fury, before SHIELD training. You were to blame for that sprouting relationship going south pretty quickly. So you avoided him, too - praying Ernesto or Seda could never track him.

But Steve, beautiful Steve who reloaded your guns when you couldn’t, who jumped in front of stray bullets for you and those he loved, Steve who very quietly asked you for various salsa recipes when he was in the mood to cook. Here he was, eyes also watching Scott walk away, no doubt experiencing the same tight coil within his chest. He hadn’t run, he had worked and fought with and against you, and he wasn’t running away.

No, Steve Rogers never ran.

The low beep from the hotel lock snapped you from your thoughts. You sensed his hesitance because when your history was truly reviewed with the most unbiased of minds, there was absolutely no reason to overthink. Hell, when you ran through the halls of Thor’s Asgardian palace with Rocket tailing you, the first joke out your mouth was how Steve would probably instruct you to respect a place like that and speed walk. Your first thought when starting the pilot episode of a new show is to wait for Bucky… and Steve, who would pop the kernels over the stove and add real salt and butter.

His first thought as he helped load people onto the planes in Sokovia was that your whiny ass better be on one of them. Or when Steve regrouped in the support circle, his first thought before he continued the discussion was that he really hoped you would walk through those doors and join - until one day you did.

Whether the two of you recognized the severity of your unspoken feelings, they were there. Silent and at a gradual increase. Never rushed, not entirely obvious because of the temporary roadblocks of unnecessary separation.

Steve was here in front of you, like he always was, and he was wearing the smallest nervous smile you had ever seen.

And you were here in front of him, like you always were, and he could not entirely read the mixed emotions on your delicate face.

You shuffled alongside your bed, stopping to shrug out of the heavy jacket you had on. “We should turn in early so we can be well-rested, in case we gotta fight tomorrow.”

Steve nodded in agreement but remained silent, hovering near the coffee table and monitors. Your back was facing him and he just watched you fumble with your boots and belt. It was like your back was on fire, bursting with fueled flames as you could literally feel his gaze boring into you. The overwhelming urge to simply snap and ask him what the hell he was looking at was strong, so in character, but you refrained. It was too intimate, too quiet, but before you could even ask him if he wanted the shower first, the warmth of his chest was near, inches away and calling.

Your breath hitched, shoulders rising slightly and exactly what Steve needed to witness. It was awkward for him to just stand behind you with no actual intention of touching you first - no, he needed a proper signal. So Steve waited those few precious seconds more until you turned, sun-kissed by the California sun and hair no longer in tight curls, before he glanced down at your glossy lips. You followed his eyesight, all knowing in his intentions, and you glanced at his lips as well.

A gesture of approval.

Steve pulled you in, both hands settling on your cheeks, thumbs exploring the corners of your mouth. He watched them dance and how your mouth parted slightly in response. He looked back up, studying the small crease forming in between your eyebrows and the pinch of water filling the inside corners of your eyes.

His thumbs felt like a gentle sigh, a promise of a sweet caress in both the daytime and dead of night. Although all his focus was on you, his own features reacted to the moment. His lips were also parted, sweet breath with the scent of those classic tiramisu’s he had devoured, touching the tip of your nose and equally trembling lips.

So goddamn intimate that you found yourself internally cursing those sitcoms Wanda had forced you to binge watch. Because the two love interests, albeit they had several months or years of growing tension, rushed into their first kiss for the sake of limited airtime. They didn’t prepare you for practically a ten-year build-up, a relationship that was both heavily work and friend related, the slowness of such a moment fans would most certainly be jumping out of their seats for. No, nothing could have prepared you for the warmth of Steve Rogers.

Your Captain.

You registered the soft feeling of his lips as they pressed against yours, overlapped only slightly. Eyes now fully closed in surprise and pleasure, you leaned into it more, hands placed on Steve’s rising chest. The squeeze of his hands cupping your cheeks caused your lips to pucker more, but you were relaxed in his desperate touch. He tilted his head a little to the left, your lips sliding against each other’s and noses bumping. Steve frowned in concentration, pouring whatever emotions he had felt throughout the last few years into this one kiss, and he knew he couldn’t possibly fully portray them. And almost as quickly as you thought about how sweet and innocent of a kiss this was, Steve’s tongue slowly peaked out from behind his teeth and greeted your bottom lip.

His tongue traced over your bottom lip warmly, welcomed by yours as you followed his lead. God, you would always follow his lead.

You tried to move in closer, but your elbows were already bent fully against him and his hips were only a few inches from your greedy ones. One tiny step forward and you would be completely flushed against him - but you chose to respect the distance Steve created.

You let out a quiet whine, body shuddering as Steve applied more pressure. It was as if Steve had never heard such a sound - completely unexpected and causing him to pause momentarily. He leaned away a little, lips still barely kissing yours. He opened his eyes, gaze wandering from your flushed cheeks still squeezed between his palms and to your fluttering eyelids. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he debated leaning forward again, to be selfish for once and to pass forth the trophy for ‘waiting too long’. But as you opened your eyes, no trace of regret or hate swimming inside your irises, Steve froze.

You were his friend. His friend who teased him about the paint streaks across his forehead, who followed his lead no matter how ridiculous the order.

He didn’t want you to inspect him further as well, so he shut his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. It was only then that he felt you settle back down from your tippy-toes.

You gulped loudly, throat dry and lips instantly craving him again. “Steve…”

Steve let go of your face and dragged his hands lightly down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He turned his head slightly, his breath now kissing your cheek. Although your cheeks were red, the absence of Steve’s palms made them cold.

He took a small step back, hands straining to stay on your skin as he reluctantly pulled them away. The absence of any warmth finally woke you from that intense daze and you frowned at Steve as he pulled away altogether. The instinct to reach out was there, and you cursed yourself for being so clingy.

“Steve?” you called again, voice hoarse but light enough to pinch at Steve’s fast beating heart.

He looked up and locked eyes with your confused ones. Oh, you’re gonna hate him for this.

He gave you a small and kind smile, one you had seen plenty of times when he was actually enjoying your company. He backed up to the door, gaze never leaving yours even as he reached for the handle and key card.

And he wanted to bring his hands back to your face to rub away that wrinkle between your furrowing eyebrows. But he simply opened the door and left you standing near the edge of your bed, flushed with a deep sense of longing and growing confusion.

Steve already knew the amount of heat he would receive from the moment gossip of the kiss spread. Whether he was first to tell or you were. Bucky’s going to kick his ass, for sure, no doubt about it. No matter his bond with Bucky, it could never excuse leaving you alone to unravel this situation. You had this hold over Bucky, a soft mutual understanding of mental torture, so this inevitable ass kicking would be justified. Plus, after years of being rejected over and over, mostly in the forties, Bucky might just kick his ass for simply being a dumbass.

But Steve felt calm, an added relaxation due to the whiskey cooling in his hand. If there was anything Steve was an expert in, it was overthinking. You two had that in common - were you overthinking while absentmindedly watching TV? Overthinking while rubbing shampoo into your scalp? Overthinking while angrily stomping your way down to the hotel bar to hand his ass back over to him?

He let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see you burst through the doors.

“Anyone wanna start?”

Steve glanced around the circle of familiar and new faces. The group varied each week. Some people would try, share their anecdotes about lost loved ones, only to never show up for another session. Others often attended and never spoke, but they kept returning. Steve didn’t judge their choices - he couldn’t. No matter how many mornings he wanted to crawl back under the sheets and binge eat packaged foods, he never could. He had been at this job for two years. There was both pain and satisfaction in what he did. Sam would be doing this if he were here.

And he had to do this for Sam.

“My divorce was finalized yesterday.”

Steve looked over at the man who spoke first, a long-time member of this particular support group, and grimaced at his confession. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty, no wrinkles or gray hair, and he was ending a two-year marriage.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

The man, Michael, shrugged sadly, “We still love each other, man. But seeing your newborn disintegrate in your arms does something to your soul that’s just… we both knew we needed to move on. Even if it was from each other.”

Steve squeezed the small, red stress ball in his hand and tried to offer more condolences and a kind smile, but it came out rather painful. He opted to stay silent in case Michael wanted to continue. Instead, another member decided to comment.

It went like this for almost an hour with Steve adding in his empathetic words of wisdom whenever he saw appropriate. It was good for everyone to share so openly, to carry the conversation with minimal involvement from Steve. Steve had shared snippets of his story with the group awhile back, careful to not mention the gruesome specifics. He had let out as much as he was able, not as much as he would have liked, but his main job was to facilitate. Besides, Steve went to confession every month to talk to someone - anyone - even if he wasn’t necessarily Catholic. But that’s just the thing - no one knew who they were anymore.

The sound of a scraping chair leg caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to the entrance in search of the disruption. You paused in your movements, face scrunched in embarrassment. Opening one eye, you mouthed a quick apology and rushed to carry the chair to the circle.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Subway was a bitch,” you muttered, your embarrassed smile growing wider.

For over a year, Steve had subtly urged you to attend one of these meetings. He was witness to your nightmares, your destructive solo missions that even Friday had no records of, and your sudden breakdown last week. You were casually jogging around the outdoor track when you suddenly stopped and fell to your knees, broken sobs seeming to shake the trees around you. You were crouched for a good minute before Steve had seen you wipe your eyes and continue your jog. As if nothing happened.

To see you here, whether to share or to listen, prompted the proud and erratic beating of Steve’s heart.

“It’s completely fine. Time’s almost up but we still got time for you.”

You sent Steve a funny smile, amused by his professional tone. “Uh, yeah! A friend convinced me to come. He was pretty persuasive.”

Steve blushed, head tilting downward.

You introduced yourself and let the group know you were also an Avenger. No one seemed shocked and you were suddenly grateful for this mixture of people.

Steve sat and listened, his nerves settling.

“I’m gonna be honest with you all,” you started, thumbs dancing in your lap. “And I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

Steve sat up straight, eyebrows scrunching as he listened intently.

You sighed, wetting your lips briefly. “The day before the snap, I was supposed to die.”

You wanted to avoid Steve’s gaze until the right moment. You continued, “I went on a mission to Mexico. Alone, which was completely against protocol but hey, we broke a lot more rules than that.”

Steve cleared his throat which earned a chorus of chuckles from the group.

“And I was technically on house arrest but I found out a way to temporarily disable that ankle monitor,” you added, grinning from the laughs you were receiving.

“Anyway, all my potential backup was nonexistent. I had friends on the run,” you paused, glancing at Steve with a somber expression. “And other friends literally fighting another battle on their home planet somewhere in space. So, I went alone.”

“While I was bleeding out from a bullet my own father ordered, Tony was already up in space. Loki was already dead.”

You hoped no one commented on Loki’s role in your life. He wasn’t exactly a nice figure to suddenly name drop in New York, but he was important in your grief.

It was slightly unnerving to be on display here, but you weren’t exactly planning on returning. You just needed to rant.

“I stitched myself up the best I could in that quinjet - which I almost crashed,” you muttered, smirking at Steve. “Sorry, Cap.”

“This is the first time I've heard you flew. You’re not even authorized to fly,” Steve declared, face scrunched in confusion and astonishment.

“That’s not important,” you teased. “But the stitches were messy work. Horrible criss-crosses.”

Steve was in a tiny state of shock. He had known what happened to you, but to hear you talk so casually about the day before the world went to shit - it just made it more real.

You had mentioned before that you never dreamed about the snap, but about everything leading up to it.

“I woke up, betrayed yet again by my own blood, and Steve was suddenly there after two years. We were gonna fight an outside threat.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed lightly, “I was still healing but I was on the battlefield. Stayed close to Nat most of the time.”

The group was heavily invested in your retelling. “I couldn’t fight him, obviously. But I did see him. I saw how he ripped that stone from my friend’s head.”

A few winces sounded around the circle.

“I guess I feel immense guilt. Like, I could have done something more even though realistically, I couldn’t. Kinda feels like I sat back and watched my friend’s die.”

No one spoke, but it was obvious everyone had survivor’s guilt.

“And now, I’m living with the pain of having all three of my best friends stripped from me while also celebrating the fact that the snap took my father.”

Shrugging, you gave your last sad smile to the group. “I feel guilty for what happened while also being grateful it took someone who deserved it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Steve spoke. “You’re here today to tell your story. No one has to agree or disagree with you. It’s your story. Tell it like it is.”

You chuckled, “I could easily bother Steve with this at the compound.” You smiled at the teenager clutching what looked like a stuffed animal in his lap. “But I had nothing else to do tonight. My only friends are gone.”

“You and Steve aren’t friends?”

This time it was Michael that spoke, his eyes bouncing from you to Steve. You turned to Steve for some kind of answer. Was it a yes? Were you more like coworkers than true friends?

Steve’s eyes softened and his kind smile was back.

You answered, “I guess. I did come here for him.”

Steve rolled his eyes and kept his light-hearted tone, “I’m really glad you did.”

Steve backtracked, clearing his throat as he addressed the circle. “I’m really glad all of you did. Same time next week.”

You busied yourself with stacking the chairs and dusting off your pants. Once most of the group had left, Steve gathered his things and walked over to you. “You take the subway?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and you stacked the final chair high. “I did. You drive?”

Steve hummed in response, “Want a lift?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re not staying at your place tonight?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen Nat in a week. I should pay her a visit.”

He curled his jacket around your shoulders as you exited the building. You held it tightly, relishing in the comfort. The walk back to the car was quiet but not awkward. After such a heavy night, silence was most definitely needed. And just the comfort of being around someone you trusted added to the relaxation aspect of it all.

Steve kicked a loose piece of gravel to the street. You watched him for a few seconds before you spoke, voice light and a puff of cold air escaping your lips.

“Steve?”

He turned to you and waited for you to continue speaking.

“You know Sam would be so proud of you doing this, right?”

Steve watched the cold air leave his own lungs as well. He felt the weight of that statement pressing down on his shoulders as he looked up at the dark sky. “I know.”

Steve knew he was utterly fucked, so fucked that any line that had been established was stepped over and kicked a thousand yards back. His mind was made up, he would not run, he would not succumb to some former mindset 2016 Steve would have fallen victim to. He was a new person, a completely different person than he was out of the ice and after the snap. He deserved to cross the line, he deserved whatever happiness was afforded to him - he deserved comfort in the arms of another after years of denying himself.

He downed the rest of his drink with a loud gulp, mind made up, and headed back to your room.

It was best to just pretend it never happened… no? But did you want to pretend it never did? So many moments over the years where this could have happened, where either of you could have literally just said ‘fuck it’. As overthinking was a specialty, quite a useless skill, you thought about the countless fights you had.

Red in the face, hands clenched until nails imprinted little crescents, absolutely seething at the mouth. Some of the things you would yell were vile, none at all honest but with the intent to cause pain for only a moment, and mumbled apologies later. You were literally enemies for these past two, long years. Enemies who had to be seated and scolded, tricked into accepting defeat and living as teammates once more.

Perhaps one of those arguments could have been remedied by simply leaning in like you had tonight, by throwing each other against the wall, by pulling the roots of your hair as he tugged-

Nope.

No matter how much tension you were now realizing you had for this man, tension that could literally be fucked out, wasn’t it too late to act on it? You couldn’t pinpoint the chance you maybe had and missed.

Steve walked through the door in the middle of your rapid brainstorming. He just grinned sweetly and slipped into the bathroom.

As simple as that.

Now you couldn’t discern between the feelings of wanting to fight him or fuck him. Not being able to differentiate between them ignited a sour mood, and once he stepped out from the shower, you basically pushed him to the side to lock yourself in.

Even the warm water hitting your body couldn’t alleviate the pressure of overthinking. You disregarded your hair tonight and instead just washed your body. As quick as you could jump back out and go to bed, the better.

Sucking in a deep breath, you opened the door and shut off the bathroom light. Your eyes landed on Steve’s torso, shirtless and the only thing not covered by the white blanket. He hadn’t shaved his beard either, the length evident when he kissed you earlier. It felt wrong and right at the same time, a battle that you seriously did not want to deal with. To get involved with your mission partner was dangerous - not because Steve himself was dangerous, but because it was a giant distraction. A distraction that you couldn’t afford.

But as he put down his book and lay it in his lap, looking up to look at you through hooded eyes, sleepy but alert, the ‘danger’ was nothing but enticing.

You cleared your throat and padded down your pajama shorts absentmindedly, slinging your hair over one shoulder and focusing on plugging your charger into your phone. It was so silent besides your pitter-patter, and god, did Steve find that sound so relaxing, until you climbed into bed. Once your shuffling was done, the slight buzzing of Steve’s desk lamp drowned out all your other senses. And the longer it was heard, the more it sounded like a ticking clock.

Steve shut the lamp off, the only light now illuminating your figure from outside. He studied your breathing, watching how every so often you would bring your hand up to scratch your cheek or move a stray hair. You looked so gentle, so inviting, so small.

You were turned away from him and facing the wall, eyes shut as you listened to his movements. There was a small part of you that wanted to stay up all night talking, to lean on his shoulder and simply feel his warmth, to feel that beard against your cheek one more time. As quickly as those thoughts flashed through your mind did you scold yourself, that this was inappropriate and wrong and so dangerous.

You felt a dip in your bed, heavy and unsure, a lift of your blankets, and it happened so quickly that you could have sworn you dreamt it. Steve wrapped his arm around you, his broad chest pressed tightly against your back and his lips attacked the skin just below your earlobe. Your breath hitched, eyes shot open, and your hands reached up to grip his wrist. Steve stilled.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, lips hovering over your blushing skin and breath practically blistering. You could feel him now, hard and pulsing against your ass and ready to move. You felt dizzy, overcome with such a rush of desire that you couldn’t help but stiffen in his tight grasp.

“Don’t,” you choked out, feeling his body become rigid and his breath begin to quicken.

“I’m sorry I-” he began to move away from you, voice no longer a whisper and tainted with panic.

“No,” you pulled back, tilting your head up to lock eyes with him. You brought your arm up to grasp the back of his head, and you tugged it back to your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Yeah, he was utterly fucked. “Fuck,” he groaned, continuing the attack on your neck. But he gained momentum now, arm squeezing you against him tighter, and voice cracking as he moaned your name.

“Steve, please do something.”

Your hands found their way back to his arm, gripping it tightly as he fumbled with the waistband of your shorts. He played with it, teasing in his actions, almost as punishment for the years you tormented him with your attitude. His lips pressed harder now, finding each patch of available skin on your neck and flushed cheek, and Steve has never felt so aroused in his life. He wasn’t even inside you, but the quick gasps he heard from you did plenty in aiding the rush of blood from his head to his stiffening cock.

“Tell me what you want. Please, tell me and I’ll give it to you,” he moaned, the slightest experimental role of the hips causing you to whimper.

“Touch me,” you practically sobbed, rolling your hips back against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt all of him.

And just like that, he gave you what you asked for. He gripped your hip and shoved you closer to him, hot and ready and pressed firmly against you. He rolled his hips into you, little whimpers of his own touching your sensitive ear. He quickened his pace and he found it hard to think straight when the scrunch of pleasure all over your face, making you look so willing, was all he was focused on. He focused on the way you bit your lip, a bite and then a gasp, and then you were back to biting as if you were trying to restrain any higher moan. And even with only the moonlight illuminating the room, he could see the sun-kissed color of your skin and the bruising he was causing. He kept his mouth on you as he rocked himself against you, indulging in a few more selfish seconds of pleasure before becoming his generous self.

He dipped his hand into your shorts and found the sweet nub that so desperately needed attention. His brain almost short circuited, the feeling of his fingers finally sliding into your wet lips making his throat dry. He drew little but skilled circles, each twirl of his index and middle finger in unison with the grind of his hips. Your mouth fell open by such pleasure, and you braced yourself by placing your left palm on the mattress and pressed down, nails scratching the cotton fabric and alerting Steve of your excitement. You pushed back against him, timed and in perfect harmony.

You knew the room wasn’t on fire, but even if it was you didn’t think to check.

“Keep talking to me, Y/N. Keep talking to me,” Steve begged, each rotation of his hips gaining pressure. His eagerness prompted you to reach back up and grab him by the hair, yanking his head to your tilted one and smashing his lips against yours. Steve gasped at the pleasant sting, somewhat surprised with himself that he liked that form of roughness. But who was he to judge his kinks when the tip of your nose was turning redder, the blush in your cheeks mixed with barely visible silver droplets of sweat, and a purple outline was beginning to form on your plump upper lip?

The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated, but still beneficial in getting Steve to rut against you even harder.

He could so easily pull your shorts down and enter you, and if he was anything like he felt, then you knew it would sting. But you craved that sting and stretch, the thought of him inside you causing another gush of desire to leak from you. Steve dipped his finger deeper into you only to accumulate your juices and spread them higher. He went back to rubbing expertly, actions gaining speed to match your whimpers.

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned louder, and you swore you felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You pressed back harder, his hand rubbing and pressing down on your stomach simultaneously. Your head felt cloudy, the pleasure coursing through your veins and to the very tips of your toes. “Oh, my fuck.”

Steve paused his fingers to trail his hand back up your stomach and to your breasts, pulling your tank top down to spill them. The sounds leaving your throat set him on fire, desire pulsing everywhere - his head, his heart, his aching cock that was pressed so closely against you that he could feel you vibrating. He pinched your nipple and rolled it, closing his eyes in response to your dirty purrs. “Let me make you come, doll.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” you quipped, ass tilting at an angle that caused Steve to choke. He growled from the attitude he couldn’t believe you still fucking had during a moment like this and kissed you roughly, both your broken moans molding into one. His hand returned to your shorts.

“Do that again,” he begged, hitching his leg up to rest on yours. The angle allowed him to drive his hips even harder. You maneuvered to provide the same tilt, grinning at the pleasurable cries that left your Captain’s mouth.

“I think I’m gonna make you come first,” you chuckled and took his bottom lip between your teeth. You pulled lightly, concentration still in the circle of your hips. He looked back down at you, determination and undeniable lust in his eyes. He thrust his aching cock against you, sliding himself over your ass. He did it hard but slow, the pressure applied giving the head of his cock such a sweet squeeze as he bumped it against the curve of your lumbar spine.

The heavy duvet was abandoned now, cold air from the hotel air conditioner failing in cooling you down at all. You both had a thin sheet of sweat on your clothed bodies, goosebumps standing proudly, and lips all plump and red from your harsh kissing.

Steve held you so close, so tight, and his fingers were drawing such rushed and tiny circles that you swore his wrist had to be cramping up. But the sound of both your whimpers started to mesh together, alerting you of such a sweet climax up ahead.

“Steve, fuck, fuck, ohh,” you mewled, voice now high pitched and yes, it turned Steve on incredibly but it also fueled you. Your pornographic moans ignited an even deeper desire within you, just the true fact that Steve was touching you, Steve was getting you to make these sounds, Steve is actually hearing these sounds, Steve is making the same exact sounds.

“I-, please, come for me,” Steve pleaded, cock twitching with each thrust as he neared his end. “Make me come.”

His begging, his equally high voice, his skilled fingers rubbing rapidly and the slight pain from that, his breath burning your neck, were all too powerful, their combinations causing the fire in your core to explode and make you see white in a flash, black dots later clouding your vision. Your nails dug into his moving arm, crescents branded into him. You clenched around nothing, walls fluttering and thighs shaking as they pressed around his hand and fingers.

The inappropriate squelching sound of your juices spreading as your thighs clenched around his cramping fingers, the slide so sensual and dirty, had Steve rutting against you one, two, three more times before he came in hard but long spurts. His mouth hung open, breath still fanning your neck, and his eyes were so tightly shut that the force was enough to strain them.

“Oh, fuuuck, yes, yes!” Steve groaned, his body taking longer than usual to recover. His orgasm was powerful, more powerful than when he got himself off in the shower or in the comfort of his bed at night, and he knew it was because you clouded his senses. Of course, there was an added benefit to getting off with someone else, aiding that person in the same endeavor, but because it was you, it made the climax even more forceful, more intense. The whole situation was both unexpected and calculated, gentle and rough, and Steve’s heart was beating so fast by the thought of what just occurred that he found himself wanting to spill into you all night long, and to apologize for overstepping an unspoken boundary.

You could feel the wetness of both your own release and Steve’s, head still cloudy from such a sharp orgasm. You hummed in satisfaction, reaching your arm over once again to lift his head up by his hair. He hissed at the pull now, his body all fucked out and satisfied. “You good?”

Steve gave you a lazy smile, chest heaving in unison with yours. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good.”

Steve scanned your face for any regret just in case your words held other meaning, but all he could see was your satisfied expression, cheeks still flushed pink, hair tangled, and pupils dilated. He hesitated for a second before he leaned down and connected your lips, molding his with yours slowly and chastely. You both sighed at the feeling, highs now lowering and the coldness from the air conditioner causing a different set of goosebumps to appear. Steve pulled away, giving you one last peck as if testing the waters, and rested his forehead against yours. You both relished your post-orgasm bliss for a few silent minutes before cleaning up.

You shared playful shoves as you cleaned up. It was almost innocent, a huge contrast to the sinful activities you two had just committed, but there was a genuine feeling of understanding in the room. Your heart clenched at the simple sight of Steve washing his hands, eyes meeting his in the mirror, a soft look in his that startled you.

You gave him a smile so as to not alert him of your reaction, and exited the bathroom to climb back into bed. You drew the heavy duvet back over your body and cuddled in it deeply, chin hidden underneath and back facing Steve’s bed. It was a few more minutes before Steve came back into the room, shutting the light off, and looking at your resting form. He wanted to climb back in with you and hold you innocently, to have the feeling of your warm back against his broad chest, gentle exhales tickling the arm that would wrap around you. But he just looked back and forth from your bed and his, and he decided to not push the boundary further. He hesitated with this decision, but climbed into his own bed, the feeling of his cold sheets making him immediately regret it. He shuffled silently, his body facing yours.

You wanted to lay beside him too. But whether you were making a smart decision or an absurd, cowardly one, one thing was certain: you could no longer ignore the stacking of such emotions you had for this man.

It almost angered you, how much you denied yourself of even a simple crush for literally ten years, and it made you mad at Steve, too. Because if he hadn’t pushed you away, then maybe you could have accepted this sooner.

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

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lilyofthesword-writes · 4 years

Text

Anomaly (Haldir Oneshot)

Summary: Haldir meets you, a member of the Fellowship seeking passage through Lothlorien. Though not a fan of humans, he is curious about you.

Pairing: Haldir x F!Reader

Word Count: 5,111

Warnings/Disclaimers: A curse word. Some violence due to the Battle of Hornburg/Helm’s Deep and Minas Tirith. Injury, mentions of blood.

A/N: This is told more from Haldir’s perspective. Based off another weird dream I had. Threw in a bit of the book as well. Really wanted to get this out cuz my boi needs more love.

Masterlist

Haldir gazed at you from afar while he was on watch that evening. You were... peculiar to him. When he came across the Fellowship trying to pass through the Golden Wood, he never expected to find a human woman in their midst. The world of man was an anomaly to him despite his numerous interactions over hundreds of years. Human women were not granted the same rights and privileges as the men, a foreign to him. This was not the way of Elven culture. Meeting you there was refreshing in a way.

In conversing with Aragorn, he learned you were a soldier of Gondor who had traveled alongside Boromir and joined the Fellowship. You were a fierce warrior but kept a calm air about you. The few human female fighters he had come across, be it on purpose or part of their nature, generally overcompensated, feeling the need to prove themselves constantly. You did not. When the Marchwarden and his company initially surrounded the Fellowship, everyone drew their weapons, ready for the next challenge. You opted to place your hands on Frodo’s and Sam’s shoulders to calm them while Merry and Pippin stood at either side. Instead of fear or anger, Haldir saw an analytical curiosity gleaming in your eyes.

Even now as he kept you in his peripheral, your eyes held a certain light, a light not caused by reflecting the bright moon. It was a kind of serenity most humans rarely portrayed. It didn’t break even as pounding of ambitious orc feet hit the forest floor below. All you did was gently shift your arms that held two sleep-ridden hobbits.

Since the platforms amongst the trees were not large enough to contain both the Fellowship and Haldir’s party together, you had to be split apart. Aragorn kept you, Legolas, Frodo and Sam while Boromir, Gimli, Merry and Pippin rested on a neighboring platform. You had taken to the Hobbits just as much Boromir had, your arms wrapped around them with their heads resting on either shoulder. How you bonded with the curious creatures so well, Haldir would never know. You managed to bring a semblance of peace to their aching hearts, enough so they could rest. He could not imagine it was an easy feat considering all the Fellowship had been through. It made him wonder what Lady Galadriel would make of you.

Upon reaching Caras Galadhon, you practically vibrated with childish delight. Although you had been to Rivendell, you had never seen anything quite like the capital city, that much Haldir was certain. The corners of his mouth tugged into the faintest of smiles when he saw your elated face. He turned away to restore his stoic facade, but unknowingly caught the attention of another. Aragorn shot him a knowing smirk as their eyes met momentarily. Haldir said nothing and continued to lead the way up the stairs spiraling the ancient trees.

Up the stairs, across some bridges and the Fellowship was in the presence of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Haldir bared witness to the interactions from the sidelines. He knew when Lady Galadriel entered each of their minds through their minute expressions. While most struggled to remain slightly neutral to her ministrations, others had a difficult time hiding their horror. You, on the other hand, parted your lips with an acute tilt of your head, not bothering to mask your wonder or amusement.

The meeting came to a close shortly after. Lady Galadriel’s gaze swept over the group, ultimately landing on you. Haldir knew she would call upon you later that evening. Until then, he was tasked with guiding the Fellowship to where they would be resting.

It was long after the others had gone to bed, after Frodo returned from the mirror, when Haldir learned he was correct. He spied you and Lady Galadriel wandering the halls, speaking softly amongst yourselves. What about, he could not say. He swiftly took the next pathway so as not to intrude on your private moment.

Marchwarden. Please come.

Always the obedient one, he turned himself around to join you both.

He greeted the pair of you with a bow.

“Marchwarden,” Lady Galadriel responded with a smile. “Would you be so kind as to escort our guest back to her company? The hour is late, and she deserves just as much rest as her friends.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Haldir held out his arm for you to take which you did after properly bidding Lady Galadriel a good night with a bow. He led you along the walkways, taking his time in doing so. This would more than likely be one of the few times he would be able to speak with you alone. The Fellowship would continue on their quest as soon as possible.

“These woods are truly a wonder. I have never experienced anything quite like it,” you started, breaking the quiet between you, voice so delicate it was hard to believe you were the warrior Aragorn made you out to be.

An agreeing hum quietly rumbled in his throat. “It is a gem of Middle Earth.”

“I must agree. I think I can understand your fierce desire to protect this place, your home.”

“I am sure you wish to protect Gondor just as much. Your dedication to the Fellowship is proof of that.”

“Despite the hardships,” you tried to hide the way you sucked in a breath, “I am glad to be a part of this. They have all become like family to me.”

Gandalf.

Hearing the grief lightly laced in your voice, Haldir stopped and pulled his arm away just enough to take your hand, turning to stand in front of you. With his free hand he cupped your cheek to catch the stray tear that had escaped your lashes. He was at a loss for words. Comforting others was not a skill commonly taught to Marchwardens. You caught his hand before he had a chance to think about retracting it, leaning into his touch. He closed the last bit of distance between you two and stroked the swell of your cheek with his thumb, your eyes shutting to bask in the moment.

An eternity or mere moments passed. Neither of you could tell by the time you finally spoke. “Thank you.”

The day your company was set to leave, Haldir felt a small pang in his heart. Why was he so bothered by your departure? He had only had the one major interaction with you. The rest of his time was spent either training or on patrol, and on patrol really meant him keeping an eye on the Fellowship. You just happened to be around when he took watch, or so he tried to convince himself.

He stood aside as Lady Galadriel offered her gifts to the travelers, giving them each something they would need or want. She bestowed on you a small Elven dagger, tiny enough to conceal in a boot with little discomfort. The Marchwarden, though content you had some extra to defend yourself with, hoped you would never need to use it.

Haldir then brought the Fellowship to the boats where everyone’s belongings were already packed and settled. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you while everyone said their proper farewells, but nothing stopped him from following down river to the borders. He and his troupe had orders to make sure you all reached them safely anyways.

Despite being hidden amongst the trees, it was like you knew he was there. Your head turned towards him as you passed the borders, not making eye contact but still unnervingly close to it. A tiny smile graced your lips before returning to the task at hand.

Helm’s Deep was not where the Marchwarden wanted to be, but he still had his orders. He was charged with leading an Elven army to help defend the kingdom of Rohan. Entering the gates, he was speaking with a perplexed King Théoden when what was left of your party rounded the corner. Your grin shone brightly in the dark when Aragorn surprised him with an embrace.

Haldir found himself both pleased and upset by your presence. While you looked to be in good health, he did not know your full battle prowess and as such was unsure how you would handle the soon-to-be battlefield. However, he never had the chance to voice his concerns as he needed to position his soldiers.

The rain poured when the standoff with the Orcs and Uruk-hai began, pinging off of helmets loudly. Haldir stood among his fellow Elves. Aragorn spread the rest of you out, sending you to the opposite end of Helm’s Deep where Haldir’s view was partially obscured. He could at least see you standing proudly alongside the other men. He could only imagine the fire in your eyes.

When the battle began, it raged with seemingly no good end in sight. A section of the wall had exploded with Aragorn near enough to be caught in the blast. Haldir could hear you bark your clear and concise orders to the men as you rushed to help Aragorn. Upon reaching his feet, Aragorn yelled out the order to retreat further in to better protect the caves the women and children were hiding in. Haldir belayed the orders in his native tongue to his soldiers.

He made sure the soldiers retreated but was unable to do so himself. Surrounded by the enemy on a high ledge, he slashed through them in an attempt to make a path for himself. His weariness had caught up with him as he was hit in the side with a jagged weapon.

“Marchwarden!”

He spun around as someone called him, ready to slice through his assailant. It fell to the ground as he faced it, revealing you with a now broken sword which you cast away. You stepped over the dead enemy to get a better look at him. Haldir clutched his side when you tried to check on his wound.

“How bad is it?”

“You should be retreating,” he tried to dodge the question.

“As should you,” you answered sternly, locking eyes with him. “Are you still able to keep moving?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We must go quickly.”

You reached out to help him when your breath hitched. You lurched towards him, grabbing his free arm to pull him forward, the motion catapulting you behind him. You ripped the dagger from your boot as you continued towards the Orc that had snuck up behind Haldir, and shoved it between the layers of its armor. In the creature’s last breath, it brought down its sword on your shoulder, forcing you to your knees.

Haldir rushed to your side, stabbing the Orc once more for good measure before shoving it off the ledge. He kneeled in front of you, clenching his jaw to ignore the pain in his side, and held you steady by your upper arms. Your eyes were glassing over while you desperately tried to keep your head up to look at him.

He called out your name. “We need to follow the others. Are you able to stand?”

You blinked a few times before hoarsely whispering, “I... I don’t... know.”

Your shoulder bled profusely as Haldir tried to help you stand. He took on most of your weight with your arm over his shoulder. You wouldn’t last much longer without a healer’s attention. Biting back his own pain, he practically carried you down the stairs to solid ground where Aragorn met you. He and what little was left of the soldiers who had not yet retreated formed around the two of you, furiously slicing at the Orcs and Uruk-hai that would stop you from reaching the main halls.

Soldiers who were protecting the doors ushered you inside immediately where Haldir brought you into the caves for the healers to watch over. One tried to make him sit momentarily to tend to his own injury, but he brushed them away. He could still continue. His ribs were probably bruised, if not broken, but his armor kept the damage from being life threatening. He promptly left to speak with Aragorn about the next plan of attack. He would be damned if he allowed any of those foul beings to pass into the caves to finish the job.

The battle was won, Gandalf having arrived with reinforcements right when they needed him most. When victory was assured, the Marchwarden wasted no time in returning to the caves where you lay unconscious. The healers bandaged you to the best of their abilities given the circumstances, and you were at least breathing steadily.

Much to the surprise of his fellow elves and your company, Haldir rarely left your side, even during the trek back to Edoras. He was still there when you woke safely in the Golden Halls of Meduseld.

Your eyes struggled to open as you stirred awake. “Wh-what happened?” Your voice was hoarse from sleep and lack of water.

“You were struck down, Mellon nin.” Haldir brushed a rogue strand of hair from your forehead and placed his hand on yours. “We were able to retreat to the caves.”

“And the battle?” Your arms shook as you tried to sit up and lean your weight on your good side. “The outcome?”

The Marchwarden tried to settle you back down, but you would not relent. “We were victorious. Gandalf arrived with reinforcements at dawn and drove the enemy out.”

You began to relax at that before another question flooded your mind. “What about-”

“Your friends are well,” he chuckled at your persistence. “They are preparing to leave for Isengard soon. Word has returned that it has fallen.”

Before you had a chance to ask another question, he helped you sit up the rest of the way so as not to aggravate your wound further with your stubbornness and handed you a glass of water. You drank it slowly despite your need to relinquish your thirst.

“Thank you.” You passed the glass back to him, your voice clearer now. “When do they leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, I believe,” Haldir answered and coaxed you to lay back down.

You nodded with a hum. “I suppose I should rest more, then. If there is a chance that Merry and Pippin are there and well, I would like to be there.”

“Mellon nin, your injury is not yet healed.”

“A mere shoulder wound will not prevent me from riding to Isengard,” you huffed.

“It is nothing to scoff at. Mellon nin, you almost died,” he pleaded with you, taking one of your hands in both of his.

“Haldir, I still have my duty to the Fellowship. I cannot abandon them.”

“Tending to your health is not abandoning anyone,” he spoke softly as he ran a thumb across your knuckles. “You will still be able to continue your quest when you have healed.”

You sighed deeply, looking to the ceiling as though collecting your thoughts. “I just... This is something I feel like I need to do.”

A deafening silence showered the room. Haldir studied you for a moment, your unencumbered hand fiddling with the sheets. Your mind was made up, and there was nothing he could do.

“Mellon nin,” he breathed, reaching for your face so you would look at him. “You will not let this go, will you?”

You shook your head with determined yet pleading eyes.

He squeezed your hand gently. “Then, I suppose all I can ask of you is to get your rest tonight.”

“Thank you.” With a smile, your thumb glided over his.

He made to stand so you could sleep in peace without him hovering. As he pulled his hand away, you gripped it tighter.

“Haldir? Will you stay? At least until I fall asleep? I am not sure I wish to be alone right now.”

Taken aback, he stood there dumbly before retaking his seat. “Of course, Mellon nin.”

The next morning, the remaining members of the Fellowship gathered at the stables. Aragorn was in the middle of trying to convince you to stay behind. Gandalf stood out of the way with Gimli, biting back a laugh at Aragorn’s futile efforts, while Haldir and Legolas prepared the horses.

“You will only worsen your injury,” Aragorn chided.

You folded your arms defiantly across your chest. “One trip on horseback is not so arduous.”

“She has already made up her mind, Aragorn. I doubt you will be able to change it,” Gandalf chimed in.

Haldir was tightening the saddle on the horse that would carry you so it was more secure when Legolas silently sidled up to him. “You have already said your peace, have you not?”

“What makes you say that?” Haldir twisted the saddle to test it.

“You have barely left her side since our victory. You must have spoken with her before now,” Legolas quipped.

“Indeed, I have.”

“Then, surely in your fondness of her you would have tried to convince her to stay behind.”

“Fondness?” Haldir stilled a moment before adjusting the straps again. “We are friends, Legolas. Nothing more.”

“Then why is it you have been meticulously preparing this one horse whilst I have already saddled three?” Legolas shot him a pointed smirk.

The Marchwarden felt himself flush all the way to the tips of his ears. “She is still injured. I- We cannot risk her hurting herself further.”

Legolas held his chuckle in his throat as a hum. “The sooner you stop attempting to fool yourself, Mellon-”

“Alright, you may join us!” Aragorn growled with a huff, stealing the attention of the bickering elves. “However, the moment a battle should arise, you are to return here.”

“Of course,” you complied, a stubborn edge to your voice.

Aragorn’s heavy sigh was littered with grit. “Are the horses ready?”

Haldir and Legolas nodded swiftly.

“Good. Let us be on our way.”

You made your way to the Marchwarden who was beckoning you over.

“Are you sure there is nothing I can do to change your mind, Mellon nin?” he asked softly.

“I am, yes.”

You flashed a smile at him before placing a foot in the stirrup. Haldir remained hovering near you. Your shoulder strained as you willed your arms to reach the saddle, steadying yourself as you pushed down on the stirrup to lift yourself up. Midway up, you lost your grip as your shoulder suddenly gave out. Haldir was quick to press a hand to your back to stop your fall. He noticed how your jaw tensed to grind out what was obviously the pain of your wound, but you were still determined to mount the horse.

“Here.” He gripped your waist. “I apologize if this seems forward.”

He raised you enough so you could swing your leg over the saddle, letting you go the moment you had your balance.

“N-not at all. Thank you.”

You held the reins tightly as you settled down, knuckles turning white like it could make everything better. Haldir felt his chest tighten and covered one of your hands with his own, eyes filled with concern. Your head snapped down to meet his gaze. With a reassuring yet forced smile, you attempted to relax your muscles to conceal just how much your injury hurt, but he saw right through it.

With a heavy sigh and shake of his head, he took hold of the saddle and hoisted himself up behind you.

“What are you-”

“If your pain is that severe, you shall not ride alone,” Haldir interrupted, finality in his tone.

“Haldir, this is not necessary,” you argued as he pulled the reins from your hands.

Legolas slinked by with Gimli on their horse, sending you two a knowing smile. The Marchwarden’s blush bled to his ears again. He didn’t notice your own flushed face.

Haldir cleared his throat. “Let us go before we fall behind.”

The journey to Isengard was quiet and uneventful. Partway through the trip, you finally allowed yourself to relax, not realizing you were leaning back into Haldir. Though bemused, he was not about to protest.

Collecting Merry and Pippin was as simple as it was amusing. They were most excited about reuniting with their companions. It was on the ride back that you and Haldir overheard their teasing about you sharing a horse. Aragorn and the others bit back grins and commentary of their own.

The festivities that followed upon returning to Edoras were no better, the ale at least partly to blame. The Marchwarden and what remained of his soldiers were settled near Legolas who was currently in the middle of a drinking match with Gimli. You had yet to arrive. Eowyn was the only reason Haldir was not at your side forcing you to rest. She tended to your shoulder, promising to return you for the celebration. He would have preferred you did not come for the sake of your health, but as long as you were not overexerting yourself again, he would not complain.

He swirled the ale in his mug after taking a swig, mulling over recent events. Usually he was not one to allow his emotions control his actions, and yet he was doing that much more often now. He felt like he couldn’t help himself. There was this overwhelming desire to keep you safe, keep you close, regardless of the fact that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself. Haldir had caught a glimpse of your abilities at Helm’s Deep. There was a reason you had gone to Rivendell with Boromir and joined the Fellowship.

As if to break him of his spiraling thoughts before they grew out of control, one of his neighboring elves nudged his arm, winking and motioning him to look up. He lifted his gaze, about to make a remark for the elf’s teasing, when he saw Eowyn stepping into the room with you close at her side.

The music, shouts, laughter - they all faded away from his ears. You practically radiated light despite your nervous self on display. Eowyn had lent you one of her dresses, the fabric draping differently on your frame from hers yet no less perfect. She caught Haldir’s gawking and whispered something in your ear with a smirk. You glanced up to see him but dipped your head back down to where your hair curtained your tiny, bashful smile. Eowyn was quick to tuck the offending hair behind your ear. She giggled and murmured to you again, resulting in your flustered rush to join your companions.

Haldir focused on his ale once again. The elf who had coaxed him into looking up bumped his arm. Without saying a word, he was fully encouraging his captain to go to you. The elves in his company had never seen their normally reserved, stoic Marchwarden act like this before, and they thought it a fantastic development. They all joined in pestering him to at least ask you for a dance. It took a while, but his stubbornness crumbled, and he brought himself to his feet only to notice you were missing from your company. He scanned the crowds, hoping to spot you. Maybe someone else had already asked you to dance. That theory was thankfully doused when he spied the swish of your dress through a door leading outside.

Following and stepping out into the cool night air, he found you leaning forward on the wooden railing, gazing up at the stars. Your hair sparkled under the dim light. He realized tonight was the first time he had seen you without it tied or braided back out of the way.

“Mellon nin,” Haldir called to you softly so as not to startle you. “Are you alright?”

You turned to see him just outside of the door and nodded with a tired smile. “Yes. I just felt I needed some fresh air and a moment away from the crowd.”

“I apologize for disturbing you. I will-”

“No!” You cut him off quickly. “I mean... You did not disturb anything. You can stay if you would like.”

The corners of Haldir’s lips tugged upwards ever so slightly as he approached you, joining you in your previous stargazing. The peaceful quiet of the night muffled the festivities in the building. He felt you cover his hand with your own accompanied by a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Haldir, for everything,” your voice was just above a whisper.

“I should be thanking you, Mellon nin,” he shook his head, his other hand coming to grasp yours. “If you had not come for me, I would not be at your side now.”

A breathy chuckle passed your lips. “I suppose we are even then.”

Haldir hummed questioningly.

“Had you not brought me with you whilst retreating, then I would not be at your side now.” You parroted the last words with a grin.

The Marchwarden’s shoulders shook with a quiet laughter. “I cannot argue against that.”

You set your free hand on top of your conjoined ones as you leaned against his shoulder. A comforting silence befell you both. That is until you heard chittering giggles from behind. The pair of you turned to see Merry and Pippin poking their heads from the doorway, followed by Aragorn who proceeded to drag them back inside and shot you a wink as he did so.

Gondor had called for aid. Rohan answered. The army’s camp was set up, and Aragorn had a plan. Haldir received orders for his company to continue helping Rohan and meet with Elrond to receive more explicit directions.

The morning for departure arrived, and Aragorn was set to travel to the Paths of the Dead. Legolas, Gimli, Haldir and you were to join him. Haldir’s soldiers were to follow King Théoden into battle. You all stood wearily at the start of the trail, feeling the ominous air seeping down to the bone.

Haldir brushed his hand against your elbow for your attention. “May I speak with you privately?”

You looked up at him with worried eyes and nodded, probably guessing what this was about. He pulled you to the side just out of earshot of the others.

He steeled himself with a deep breath. “I must insist you do not join us, Mellon nin.”

“But Haldir, I-”

“Please, Meleth nin,” he desperately pleaded, not meaning to let the new term of endearment slip. Tenderly cupping your face with both hands, he continued, “None of us know how this will end. We... We may not come back. I beg of you to please stay with Eowyn.”

His voice was hushed, afraid it would break if he attempted to speak any louder. He knew his emotions were on full display, but he could not bring himself to care. What mattered was keeping you safe.

“Haldir...” you trailed off, grasping at his wrists with the utmost care to keep them in place. You gave a quick nod and tried to conceal your worried frown. “Alright. However. You had better- You all had better return.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I will do everything in my power to do just that.”

The Marchwarden was among the Fellowship in Minas Tirith when he saw a barely conscious Eowyn being carried into the Houses of Healing. Panic coursed through his veins. You were nowhere to be found. He rushed over to her as she was laid on a bed.

“Lady Eowyn, what happened?”

She nearly didn’t recognize him. All of her effort was put into focusing on his words.

“Lady Eowyn, please. Where is she?” He held his breath like it would help him hear better.

With a tiny shake of her head, she croaked quietly, “I am sorry... We... We were separated... in battle... I know not... her fate...”

Haldir stepped aside to allow the healers in. His heart was at a standstill. Had he known Eowyn was going to sneak her way into the army, he would have pleaded with you to return to Rohan. Your injury did not have the time to fully heal. Fighting in such a strenuous battle would do you no good. He needed to find you. He needed to know that you were well.

Bursting through the doors, he raced down the stairs for the lower levels, Aragorn shouting something after him. He did not hear a word. Canopies were set up and homes were open near the gate for the soldiers who were unable to reach the Houses of Healing. Haldir weaved through the injured in a desperate attempt to find you. He’d rather discover you here as long as you were among the living.

After a fruitless search under the canopies, he began entering the opened homes. He asked anyone able for a person matching your description. Nothing. Nothing until he reached the last home. There you were towards the back of the room. An older woman had just stepped away from helping you. The armor you had borrowed like Eowyn was in a pile to the side. He could see the bandage on your thigh through the tear in your trousers, but other than that you came away from the battle fairly unharmed. How you managed that with a preexisting injury was a mystery to him.

“Meleth nin,” Haldir breathed, making his way to you. This time he meant to use the term.

Somehow, you heard him over the throng of people, your gaze meeting his. “Haldir!”

You rose to your feet a little too quickly and swayed unintentionally to put your weight onto your good leg. Haldir darted to you just in time, bringing you into his embrace.

“You’re alright...” He rested his forehead on yours just like before you departed, completely forgetting those around you. “I was beginning to think my search was for naught.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you buried your face in his chest. “Haldir, I... I’m so sorry. I know you meant to keep me from harm-”

“Shhh,” he cooed, settling his chin on the crown of your head. “I know. There is no need to apologize. All that matters is that you are here and well.”

Your light chuckle vibrated through him. “You are much too patient with me.”

“I assume you are not familiar with that.”

“You would be right.” He could feel your cheeks lift as you smiled. “Most tend to leave when I grow stubborn.”

Haldir shifted his face so it rested in your hair, murmuring into your scalp, “I am not going anywhere, Meleth nin.”

The world of man was still an anomaly to him. You were an anomaly within that world, and he wouldn’t have you any other way.

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comfortwriting · 4 years

Text

When You’re Gone - F.W

Fred Weasley (and George) x fem reader, inspired by the song ‘When You’re Gone’ by Avril Lavigne.

A/N: If any of you are struggling with loss, grief or need someone to talk to, my inbox is open and I’ve re-blogged support hotline numbers.

About: The reader is mourning the death of her boyfriend, Fred Weasley. She’s struggling to move on, finding herself lost in both the past and present. Unfortunately, she loses her grips on reality and George has to put on the mask and pretend to be Fred.

Warnings: Grief, sadness, death, depression, flashbacks, some fluff here and there, deterioration of mental and physical health, mention of hospice care towards the end.

Three months ago your long term boyfriend, the man you planned to marry, was killed in an explosion during the battle of Hogwarts. His death changed your life forever.

You found it hard leaving the bed, eating and showering. At first you tried to accept that he was gone but no matter what it got harder to do so, you just wanted to hide away, fall asleep forever to wake up again one day with him next to you.

I always needed time on my own I never thought I'd Need you there when I cry And the days feel like years when I'm alone And the bed where you lie Is made up on your side

“Come on Y/N, you should write back to them, they want to know how you are.” Your mother said softly, trying to encourage you.

Ever since Fred’s death, the Weasley's wrote to you every week when they had time, you couldn’t bring yourself to reading whatever they wrote, let alone reply. You didn’t want to hear from them or see them, the guilt you felt for their sons death was eating you up inside - you didn’t want to lie to them about your state either.

“Maybe another time mum” you replied, staring at Fred’s side of the bed.

Your mother sat next to you and placed a hand against your tear stained cheek “He isn’t coming back, you can’t just leave everything how it is.”

You sighed and stood up walking over to the window “I’ll send them a Christmas card and apologise for not being able to protect their son.”

“It’s August, Y/N”

“Right.”

“And it wasn’t your fault!” Your mother cried.

Slowly but surely, you were losing track of time, of what was and wasn’t real, you found yourself over the next year getting more confused and plummeting even more into denial - your parents believed you didn’t want to move on - but you couldn’t to no fault of your own, you didn’t have a choice.

Your stress and grief shaped your brain and changed it, changing your reality and everything around you to create a world in which Fred would be coming home.

When you walk away I count the steps that you take Do you see how much I need you right now?

“Fred you can’t be serious” You sighed, rubbing your temple.

“Harry is like family to me, to us. He needs me there and I’m not going to allow.. WE need him gone to be able to have the life we want together, Y/N.” Fred argued back, pacing around the much brighter and cleaner bedroom.

“How am I going to protect you? I am in no state to be entering a war when I’m already so badly injured. If something goes wrong out there when I’m not with you...”

Fred walked over to you and placed a finger on your lips, shushing you. “Nothing is going to happen to me, my love.” he reassured you.

You shook your head “We don’t know that, please Fred, stay.”

Fred frowned and walked away from you “you know I can’t.”

When you're gone The pieces of my heart are missin' you When you're gone The face I came to know is missin', too When you're gone The words I need to hear To always get me through the day And make it okay I miss you

“Fred” you whispered, sitting in the shower, the water storming down upon you. “Please come back soon, I know you can and I hope you will.”

Your mother rubbed the bar of soap on your back before rinsing it with the water “I know we argued last night but I trust you, I know you’ll make it out alive.” you whispered again.

Your mother stopped washing you for a moment, taking in everything you had been saying, finally understand that something had gone wrong and your frame of mind wasn’t the same as it used to be. She knew deep in her heart you weren’t calling out for his spirit, she knew that you truly believed that he had just gone to Hogwarts - you were reliving the same period of time over and over, from the moment Fred left up until you would panic, running to the windows and asking members of the public if they had seen him.

Fifteen months on you were sitting at the table in the kitchen with your parents, you felt nervous at Fred’s silence.

“It’s a shame he can’t use a muggle phone” you muttered to your dad, taking a sip of your tea “I’d be able to hear his voice if he did.”

You started to bite at your nails whilst your legs couldn’t stop shaking “I bet his owls bloody snuffed it” you muttered again “he’s not replied to any of my letters, he must not be receiving them.”

Your parents exchanged a worried glance and sighed, your mental state crumpling even further. Recently, you were caught writing to Fred over and over again, asking how Harry was, how the war was going and if he’s okay, telling him you loved him. Your parents would tell you they would send the letters, but didn’t - Fred was dead and wouldn’t be coming back.

Even when they told you over and over again, within hours you would be back to writing those letters and talking about him in present tense.

Luckily George (and Arthur) finally learned how to use a muggle phone. Your parents decided to tell the Weasley family the truth, Molly, Arthur and George were heartbroken. George would ring up weekly to see how he could help and for updates on your condition.

“George she’s getting worse, we think she’ll stay where she is but she doesn’t she just goes further and further into madness.” Your mother said down the phone.

George sighed on the other end “I’m sorry-”

In the background George could hear you calling out in a panic “Dad! Dad! Where is Fred? he should be back by now and he isn’t here!” you began to cry.

“She’s like this as soon as the sun sets, every single day.” Your mother told George.

“I’ll be round in the morning” George replied.

I've never felt this way before Everything that I do Reminds me of you And the clothes you left, they lie on the floor And they smell just like you I love the things that you do

Rocking in your chair you looked around the room, feeling the same nausea as usual, waiting for Fred to return home. In your lap was one of his jumpers Molly made him one Christmas, you would wear it all the time, and if you got too hot you’d clutch to it like a toddler with a blanket.

Hearing the door open, which was incredibly unusual in your house you got up to your feet, your mouth dropping wide open when Fred, now with much longer hair came walking inside.

Your parents were hoping George’s visit would help break away at the cloudiness in your brain, but all they did was make it worse.

“Freddie!” You squealed out, running over and wrapping your arms around him “You’re finally home!”

You noticed behind his hair, he was missing an ear, but your overwhelming happiness of finally being reunited with him distracted you from asking questions.

George could feel his heart ache and his stomach drop, realising how much worse his visit would impact you. You got on your tip toes as you always did and placed a long and loving kiss onto his lips.

You furrowed your eyebrows at who you thought was Fred, George couldn’t bring himself to kiss you back, he felt cruel for doing this, but your parents had never seen you so calm and so happy in almost two years.

George looked at your parents for a moment and decided to try, he sighed and shook his head, not wanting to lie to you.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George.”

When you walk away I count the steps that you take Do you see how much I need you right now?

You let out a laugh “You need to come back from war with more than longer hair and a missing ear to try and trick me.”

“Fred died, Y/N. He was killed in an explosion.” George told the truth.

You shook your head in disbelief “No? You’re right in front of me.” you replied “I know you like your laughs and jokes Fred, but that’s not something to joke about, George should know better too for putting you up to this.”

You walked into the kitchen forgetting what you went in there for and walked back into the living room, taking a seat.

Your mother burst into tears and walked out of the room, your father following her to give comfort. You stared at them, not understanding why they hadn’t welcomed your boyfriend back into warm open arms.

George knew that no matter how hard he tried he wouldn’t be able to get you to see the truth - you couldn’t no matter what, they were living in your world now. George sighed, almost kicking himself for what he was about to do.

“I’m only joking, I am Fred.”

Waking up from your nap you jolted up and noticed the darkness through the window outside, feeling the panic brew inside your tummy you started to worry.

“It’s okay I’m here.” George, playing Fred, patted your shoulders, walking around your chair.

He was carrying a bowl of soup in his hands nice and warm, just for you.

Your parents and George were taking you care of you full time now, George had been living as your pretend boyfriend for just over seven years now and his heart broke even more as your state worsened.

You couldn’t feed yourself, wash yourself, get your self dressed or brush your hair. You couldn’t communicate through speech properly either, you would instead pull faces, point or stare into the same four walls, and every day was exactly the same; waiting for Fred to come home, being nervous, overjoyed when you’d see him, in distress when George would leave the room or when your parents would take over his shift.

You smiled at Fred, as he blew on the soup filled spoon, making you drink it. It took you ages just to finish eating and drinking, it was hard to simply exist, but staring into those beautiful eyes you never thought you’d see again calmed the storms that distressed your seas and damaged your boats.

George finished buttoning up your pyjama shirt and got you to lay down in your bed, he sat beside you and stroked your hair until your eyes fluttered shut. Once he knew you were dreaming far away from home, he stood up and met your parents downstairs.

“George, our daughter... well you know all of this is no good, not getting better.” Your father tried his best to explain, swallowing the great big lump in his throat.

Your mother took over “What we’re trying to say George, is that, we’re looking to place Y/N in a twenty four hour care facility. She cannot speak, she cannot look after herself, she’s incredible vulnerable and she’ll be getting the care she needs - you’ll be able to get your life back.”

We were made for each other Out here forever I know we were Yeah, yeah And all I ever wanted was for you to know Everything I do, I give my heart and soul I can hardly breathe; I need to feel you here with me Yeah

Today was your 40th birthday, twenty whole years since Fred died along with a part of yourself no one would ever see again.

Now due to your bedbound state, you were laid in bed and the care assistant next to you got out your photo albums from all of your years at Hogwarts. She adjusted the height and position of the bed with her wand, making you more comfortable.

Placing the photo albums on your lap she took you through them one by one, the memories flashing before you like a movie reel as you watched the photos move.

The twins on the train going home after their first year at Hogwarts, Fred flying on his broom during Quidditch. Fred and you on your first date in Hogsmeade, him dancing around the tent with a giant shamrock painted on his face, the two of you pulling faces and giggling in the kitchen at the burrow, Fred proudly standing in front of his shop, the two of you in your house just before he left for the war.

The care assistant pulled out the letters he had written to you over the years on your birthday, placing them in front of you to read. Despite his death - absence - from your life, you could still hear his voice as clear as day, making re-reading these letters all the more special.

When you're gone The pieces of my heart are missin' you When you're gone The face I came to know is missin', too When you're gone The words I need to hear Will always get me through the day And make it okay I miss you

Overtime, your muscles weakened and so did your organs, and unfortunately this years cold, flu, and sickness season didn’t go easy on you. The whole facility lost many residents this time of the year but none as young as you.

Your parents who would much rather be grandparents sporting perfect silver hair and wrinkles were notified of your deterioration, being told that now would be the time to come and say goodbye. Your parents notified George and he left his wife and children at home, coming to visit you.

In a deep sleep you could hear your parents talking but couldn’t quite make out what they were staying, you didn’t have the strength to open your eyes either. After struggling to leave the room, George finally switched over from them and sat in the chair next to you, taking a hold on your hand.

When going through the room he and his brother shared, he stumbled across a letter Fred had written but never sent in one of the pockets of the last coat he had ever worn. George brought it with him after reading it, knowing it would help you reach the reality with Fred you yearned for.

My Dearest Y/N,

I’m sorry that I had to go and leave you behind, but don’t be scared, don’t worry about me, my love. You are strong and you are brave, no matter what happens - I promise we’ll meet again. Just keep those beautiful eyes of yours set on the horizon, and when the time is right, we’ll know where to meet again.

George felt your grip on his hand tighten, tears rolled down his face.

I know it’s not been easy and I know that it’s been calm, but we’ll have forever together and we’ll be away from harm. So keep on smiling and searching beautiful, the adventure is not so far away.

Love Always, Fred.

Letting go of the weight on your shoulders, you stumbled through the forest, feeling the sun beam on your skin. Following the chatty Magpie you stopped in your tracks, your whole world standing right in front of you.

“You got my letter?” Fred asked, who had aged like fine wine.

You grinned widely and nodded, tears forming in your eyes and ran into his open arms.

“I missed you.”

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lovelyshawnn · 4 years

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Sick Little Games

George Weasley x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Y/N and Draco were known as the ultimate slytherin duo. When she catches him in the act of infidelity, she makes it a goal to hurt him back as much as he hurt her. What starts as nothing but a sick little game, turns into something more with another red headed boy.

“what would malfoy think if he knew i was fucking his girl right now?” george grunted in my ear, hips thrusting into mine while my back was pressed against the prefect bathroom’s cold stone wall. my legs were wrapped around his waist, sultry moans tumbling out of my mouth as he fucked me senseless. his words only intensified the pleasure as i gripped on to his biceps for support. he could feel my wet pussy clenching around his throbbing cock, signfying that i was close to coming.

“what would your little boyfriend think if he knew how well you take my cum?” i let out a whimper as his thick cock hit my gspot, making my vision go completely white. “fuck y/n,” he grunted as his pace quickened. i let out a string of curse words, toes curling in pleasure as he rubbed my clit with his long slender fingers as we reached our orgasms together.

his movements slowed and eventually halted, cock still balls deep in me as he placed loving kisses all over my face. he slowly released me from his hold, planting my feet back on the ground before completely removing himself from me. with our chests still heaving, we transitioned from standing by the bathroom’s windows, to the warm bubbly bath. this was common thing for us, so naturally we were able to establish a routine. sneaking out of the dorms late at night to see each other, satisfying our thirsts for each other before taking a dip in the bath to relax and cleanse ourselves of our sins.

george’s hands worked its way down my neck and shoulders, rubbing out any knots while he gave me little pecks on my forehead. i smiled my first genuine smile of the day. i was constantly dragging myself throughout the day, in and out of my classes, plastering a fake smile until the clock struck a certain time at night where i would meet up with george. “so why are you still with that git anyways?”

i rolled my eyes at his choice of words. i considered not even replying at all, but one glance at his concentrated face with that accusational eyebrow raise, and i knew this was something he wasnt going to drop again.

“he loves me,” i sighed, shrugging my shoulders.

“he loves you? is that why you caught him fucking pansy parkinson in the forbidden section of the library?” georges hostile tone rang in my ears.

it was supposed to be our date night. draco knew how stressed i had been with all our recent exams, and how much i needed a break. my sweet, loving boyfriend of almost 2 years proposed we have a date night full of snuggles and snacks to relieve my stress. after getting dolled up and waiting in our slytherin common room for over an hour, i came to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to show up.

the silly thing was, i really tried to make excuses for him. blaise had strolled past on his way up to his dorm and asked why i was sitting there all alone. “just waiting on draco,” id say passively, in which he’d give me a pitiful smile before heading up. i thought, maybe he just got caught up on some of his prefect duties. or maybe he took a nap and overslept. or maybe he even got detention for the day, but he would never forget about me, right? surely he couldn’t forget about his own plans that he made.

i’d grown tired of sitting there all alone, letting my thoughts eat me alive. so i grabbed my book bag and decided to head to the library to get a head start on some homework. walking deeper and deeper into the dark library, thats when i heard it. the faint gasps and moans coming from a high pitched female voice. “ugh,” i thought, “who wouldn’t even have the decency to go to a private spot?”

i rounded the corner, my eyes almost bulging out of my skull as i took in the sight in front of me. a bright platinum head of hair stuffed into the crook of pansy parkinsons neck, as he fucked her on one of the library desks with her skirt hitched all the way up. they had been so into it that they didnt even see me. what gave it away was some stupid lamp falling over as i rushed out of the library, tears in my eyes. athough they stopped at the sound indicating someone was there, they never knew it was me.

my vision was blurry, tears streaming faster down my cheeks as i ran away. i wasnt sure where i was going, but i knew i had to be as far away as possible from that complete and utter asshole. from the second i saw him til now, a million feelings coursed through my body. i was devastated, devastated that the man i loved for 2 whole years had been lying to my face. how long was he unloyal for? was this the first time? these unanswered questions made me transition from grief to rage. i was infuriated that he took me as some kind of fool who would never find out about his cheating ways. i had been so caught up in my emotions that i didnt notice where i was going, smacking face first into a very toned chest.

“Woah! Y/N? You alright there, love?” George’s voice was impossible not to recognize. “Oh, I-I’m sorry,” I gasped before turning around to leave. His warm hand clasped around my wrist softly, tugging me back as one of his hands lifted my chin up so that he could inspect my face, and most importantly my blood shot eyes.

“You’re crying,” his voice was a lot softer than i’ve ever heard it before. with him being a gryffindor and me being a slytherin, i was used to the rude remarks he’d yell at us in the hallways. him and his lovely twin have always made my life here at hogwarts a living hell. as of recently, he went from constant bullying to the exact opposite. he was always throwing complements my way as loud and obnoxious as possible. and i knew he did it just to get a rise out of his most hated slytherin of all, draco. draco was always a possesive boyfriend, not wanting any guys to look at me. but having a weasley complement me out of everyone else would’ve drove him absolutely mad.

however, what started out as an excuse to piss off draco, had turned into something else. george couldn’t help but notice how my eyes were a lot browner than he remembered, a certain twinkle in them whenever i got excited talking to my housemates about something. he quickly found himself feeling jealous as malfoy walked through the halls with his arm around my shoulder.

of course, i was oblivious to all of this, which would’ve explained his soft tone. “I’m fine,” I sniffled, wiping my tears off with the sleeve of my sweater and avoiding direct eye contact. “Come with me,” he wasted no time, dragging me down the corridor before i could mutter a response. he led me to the prefect bathroom, opening the doors for me as i took in the beautiful mosaics.

“how did you even get the password?” i asked suspiciously to the troublesome boy.

he shrugged, “turned percy’s hair blue and wouldnt change it back until he’d tell me,”

i let out a snort, which i was quick to cover with a cough. only he could make me genuinely laugh after figuring out the man i had loved so deeply, didnt love me back enough to keep his dick in his pants. i turned away from his gaze, but he saw it. he took pride in being able to cause that gorgeous smile, but he was nice enough to not tease me about it tonight. he’d definitely bring it up another day, though.

“so, whats wrong?” he asked, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the porcelain sinks. i let out a sigh, debating on whether i should tell him at all. he was supposed to be our rival, afterall.

“draco cheated,” i stated. georges face softened, all traces of humor dissipating into thin air. “i’m sorry y/n,” he started, “that bloke doesn’t know what he’s got.”

for the first time that night, i looked up at him and saw the look he had in his eyes. the lingering gaze around my figure, the softness in his facial features, the way his eyes bored into mine with a sense of longing.

that was when a lightbulb when off in my head. ill admit that im not proud of what my next thought was, and it was definitely one of the most slytherin things i have ever done, but it was worth it. i wanted to hurt draco. i wanted him to feel as bad as i did, and i wanted revenge.

i strode over to his leaning frame, making it a point to swing my hips in the process. my lips formed a pout as i spoke to him in a low voice. “if he doesn’t know what hes got,” i trailed my fingers from his shoulders down to his chest, “who will?”

my lips got incredibly closer to the shell of his ear. “you?” i asked, cupping his buldge with my hand. he let out a barely audible whimper, eyes staring back at me like a deer in headlights.

i left a gentle kiss on his neck, “tell me if you want me to stop.” george shut his eyes for a split second, contemplating his morals. he weighed his options and outcomes. on one hand, he’d be able to piss off that spoiled brat malfoy, which would give him enough satisfaction to last him the rest of his life. on the other hand, he’d finally get to know what the taste of his crush’s lips were like. it was a win win situation. fuck it, he thought before closing the gap between us, lips moving in sync as the kiss became increasingly passionate. his hands roamed all over my body as i ran my fingers through his hair.

it was an amazing night, full of multiple orgasms that left me struggling to walk properly. george was certainly thicker than malfoy. the day after was when the feelings of sadness, regret, and confusion came sinking in. as soon as i woke up and left my dorm, there he was. in his perfect green uniform that perfectly matched his perfect porcelain skin. dracos head was held high, not a care in the world as it was obvious he completely forgot about our date night and had no idea i caught him and pansy red handed.

i walked past him, not even batting an eye in his direction as i made my way to the great hall. “y/n!” he called out, quickly catching up to me, “whats wrong?”

i rolled my eyes, “you forgot our date.” his eyes immediately widened as he realized his mistake, cheeks blushing like a tomato as he recalled where he was instead of the date. “darling, please forgive me. i’m so sorry, i just got caught up in my studi-“

i halted my steps, not wanting to listen to his bullshit excuse, “i forgive you.” he looked at me with bewilderment, “y-you forgive me?”

“of course,” i gave him the most convincingly sweet smile, “its not a big deal at all!”

his shoulders relaxed in relief at my words. oh, what a stupid boy. what a stupid, stupid boy. the only reason i was “forgiving him” was because i was going to hurt him back, a lot worse. he held my hand in his as we continued our stroll to the great hall, him lifting my hand up to plant a kiss on my knuckles.

right when he had done that, i locked eyes with a familiar red head from across the corridor. he smirked as he watched me, noticing the way my steps were slightly different than normal. it was the same shit eating smile he wore last night as he made me reach my 3rd orgasm, face buried between my legs and licking up my juices as if his life depended on it. i bit my lip as the flashback played in my head, instantly making me feel lightheaded again.

draco and i took our usual spots at the slytherin table, everything seemingly normal until the owls arrived. a letter had been dropped into my lap.

unravelling the parchment, there was a faint message scribbled across in black ink. “same time and place tonight?”

there was no name or any indication of identity, but i knew exactly who it was. luckily from where i was sitting at the table, i had a clear view of george. as i looked up from the letter, i instantly made eye contact with him, him giving me a sly wink before regurning to eat his mashed potatoes. he didnt need an answer, he knew id come back after the night we had togegher.

“whos that letter from?” a voice snapped me out of my haze. i jumped slightly before tucking the letter safely into my robe, “oh, it was just mum.”

“whatd she say?” draco questioned, slightly suspicious as he recognized me hiding the letter.

“she asked how you were, shes having dinner with your parents this weekend,” i said while gulping down my goblet of juice. draco seemed convinced at that answer, dropping his suspicions rather quickly, “oh thats right, mother was telling me about that.”

it was ironic, really. we were seen as the picture perfect duo. the slytherin prince with none other than his slytherin princess. we had the world in our hands, both coming from wealthy pureblood families. even our parents were over the moon at the news of our relationship blossoming, instantly talking about our plans for marriage in the future. but were we willing to throw that all away for these sick little games?

hi guys i know i usually write shawn fics but ive been into hp recently and wanted to give it a try! if u guys rlly like this one, id love to make a part 2 n finish the series (: pls lmk and give feedback! 🤍

#george weasley #george wealsey imagine #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #george weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter imagine

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diavolosthots · 3 years

Text

DARK DECEPTION CHAPTER 18

READ CHAPTER 17 HERE

Warnings: fights, violence, blood, death

Pairing(s): lucifer x reader, diavolo, the brothers

Authors Note: this IS the climax but unless you want to deal with kinda graphic depictions of someones death, maybe skip this one if thats not your cup of tea.

Diavolo’s words didn’t register. Family? His family is fighting out there, somewhere. Leviathan will manage, he’s sure of it, and even with the piercing tip of his own blade against his throat, Lucifer knew he could manage as well. “I will find her, with or without your help.” No, he won't, Michael promised to keep you safe and that’s all that matters to him right now. “I will tear this world apart brick by brick.” Lucifer felt the blade leave his throat, feeling it drag through his wings instead; another cry. “Too bad you have to suffer for it. I really did like you, Lucifer.” The blade was digging into his upper left wing, way too close to the base and Lucifer could practically feel the blood gush out, forming a pool right where he was laying. “And I know she liked you too… I hope you said your goodbyes to her.” Goodbyes? Lucifer watches as Diavolo draws the sword back, an evil grin forming on his face but that’s when Lucifer remembered. “No… I promised.” A glare formed on his face right as Diavolo was bringing the sword down and Lucifer rolled over just in time, feeling Diavolo pierce his wing instead.

“I promised!” Anger rushed through him and although every ounce of him was in pain, fearing the stability of his wings, Lucifer’s anger made him push through and fly up, using his full body weight to come down at Diavolo. The King grunted, falling down to his knees, but he still had the sword and he drew it back once more, “bad idea.” “No. It really wasn’t.” That last voice caught both of them off guard and they both turned their heads to see an angry Satan standing mere feet from Diavolo’s head. A growl escaped the latter and he’s quick to use his own magical powers to try and throw Satan back, “this has nothing to do with you, Satan,” but he dodged it just in time. One could see the anger radiating around him, forming a deep red hue, “this has everything to do with me.” Lucifer was proud, of course, but he also feared for the safety of his brother. Diavolo yanked at Lucifer’s hurting wing and yanked him off only for the eldest to be caught by Satan.

“Listen to me. You need to put your all into this.” “what?” He glared at Satan this time, about to ask what the hell he meant when Satan yanked him back up on his feet and grabbed his hand tightly. “Just focus! I don’t have time to argue with you!” Satan’s tail wrapped around Lucifer’s waist, pulling him against his side as Satan mumbled something; a spell. Diavolo got up, growling and snarling at the two in front of him. The King barely had any scratches on him and he could see Lucifer was losing a lot of blood; he’s too weak to properly make out a spell. “Give up, Satan. He’s as good as dead.” Anger rushed through the fourth born and strangely enough, Lucifer felt all of it. The eldest was already angry, riled up from everything. “Think about what he did, Lucifer… hold onto that anger.” “Satan…” “Hold onto it!” Easier for him to say than for Lucifer to do, but the more he thought about everything, the more he thought about the fear and sadness in your eyes, the more he thought about what Diavolo did to you, about what he saw on Leviathan’s screen… the more he remembered Levi’s bleeding form in front of him, tossed carelessly by Barbatos… was he even still alive? Lucifer didn’t know. He’s been too focused on Diavolo.

“Hghn…..aaaaahhh!!!” He cried out, almost animalistic. His deep voice resonated around the Devildom and it seemed more like a shrill echo bouncing off around him. He could feel Satan’s anger, his wrath, mixing with his own, and for a moment, it felt like Satan was back inside of him. All the anger, all the emotions he had surpassed for the past eons are bubbling over as he charges at the Demon Lord with enough force that sends a shock wave through the entirety of the Devildom. It sounded like a hammer coming down on a metal shield, a blast so strong not many could survive it, and not many did. Lucifer practically pushed Diavolo through the ground, creating a crater that the Demon Lord fell into. His wings, all four, snapped in half as Diavolo broke into the ground. Bone and blood were peeking out and he’s sure Lucifer broke more than that. The tightness of his best friend’s hand around his throat along with the pure hatred, the pure guilt, and the pure wrath inside Lucifer’s eyes, had Diavolo’s own eyes wide with fear and angst.

“L-Lu….cifer….” The demon gasped out, but Lucifer’s grip only tightened. He’s sure that he broke at least a few of Diavolo’s ribs and there’s at least some internal bleeding, considering the blood that’s flowing out the Demon Lord’s mouth. And yet, none of that was enough for the eldest. “You took everything from me! You took my sister, my freedom…. You made me your pet!” Lucifer growled, his eyes flaring red as his hand continued to squeeze. His nails were digging into Diavolo’s flesh, who struggled to try and move away from the Demon above him, to no avail. His whole body ached. The force Lucifer used was too great and it could’ve killed him, “but none of that was ever enough for you, was it?! You got off on having me, the eldest, the Avatar of Pride at your disposal. You used my own guilt against me to reign me in… and you could never have me be happy. Happiness, to you and not for you, meant that I could leave… and father forbid I left, just like everyone else left you.” His words stung. Diavolo clenched his teeth, still gasping for air. Blood began to drip down Lucifer’s fingers, his nails having successfully dug themselves through Diavolo’s neck.

“You took her….. You used her…. You forced yourself on her…” Anger rushed through him again and another shot of force rushed through him, “and you deserve to die for that…!” Another scream escaped the eldest, emotions rushing through him as he tore at Diavolo’s neck. The latter screamed, alerting all the demons not affected by the force that was used earlier, but it was too late. Lucifer practically ripped his head off, blinded by sheer rage and vengeance. Blood splattered his clothes and face as the King lay dead before him, his decapitated head in his hands. Demons gasped, Barbatos stopped in his tracks in shock and fear at the sight in front of him. This wasn’t Lucifer, or at least, this wasn’t the Lucifer everyone knew. This was a man blinded by rage and love, fearing for his lover’s safety and life. This was someone who’s many years of guilt and sadness, of grief and desperation finally spilled over and was let out in one of the most gruesome ways. But it was worth it.

The head fell from Lucifer’s grasp and Lucifer fell sideways as the surge of wrath finally left his body. Exhaustion took over, the bloodloss his wings had suffered has started to become too great. “Lucifer…” He could faintly make out Satan’s voice behind him, his head barely turning to watch the fourth born crawl toward him, obviously exhausted as well. A smug grin tried to form itself on Satan’s face and only now has Lucifer noticed the many scars and bruises on Satan’s body from the fight earlier. Lucifer reached out his hand, a soft smile forming on his own lips, “what was that…. Satan….” but the blond shook his head, reaching out his own hand to brush along Lucifer’s fingers, “ a last resort…” he felt weak and he could see that Lucifer felt the same. That took everything out of both of them. Two forces that should’ve never been separated and lastly, should have never been united again. “I’m sorry….” It was a whisper, barely audible by Lucifer. Tears stung in the corner of his eyes and he wasn’t sure whether it was from the sheer amount of pain or the fact that he feels like all of this could’ve been avoided. “Not your fault…” And even so, Lucifer felt like it was.

He didn’t know where anyone else was and frankly, turning his head the other way to see everyone else would have used too much of his already low energy. He didn’t know if anyone else made it. He didn’t know how many were dead, either. All he knows is that he freed you from your prison and he feels no regret toward that. Demons are ruthless and he always knew that, and yet, he has never experienced such betrayal and ruthlessness first hand. “Satan….” Lucifer pulled at the blond’s fingers, the latter only responding with a groan, “Satan…!” he feared the worst. Has this taken too much out of him? Was this too big for both of them to handle? He could feel his own energy fade as well…“Lucifer!” that sweet, sweet voice. His eyes felt heavy. He couldn’t keep them open. His hand still held onto Satan’s as he tried to concentrate on the air entering and exiting his body. He tried to focus on anything other than the pain and exhaustion.

Just a little… rest…..

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #asmodeus obey me #obey me scenarios #simeon obey me #barbatos obey me #belphegor obey me #mammon obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #beelzebub obey me #obey me lord diavolo #dark deception #tw blood #tw violence #tw death

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swan-of-sunrise · 4 years

Text

Taking Care of Business (Chapter One)

Summary: Out of options, (Y/N) hires a Mandalorian for a quick job but ends up becoming attached to him and his strange little green friend.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter One The Job

“I wouldn’t go and bother the Mandalorian if I were you, darlin’, he’s crankier than a bantha in heat.”

(Y/N) offered the grizzled old mechanic a small shrug and continued on her way to the weathered Razor Crest at the end of the docking bay, barely making out his mumbled ‘suit yourself’ as she did. If it were any other situation she’d probably heed the old man’s warning and steer clear of the Mandalorian, but in this instance, the unusual stranger was her only hope. Courage over fear, she thought to herself, taking small comfort in her old childhood mantra as she neared the lowered ramp of the ship.

“Hello?” (Y/N) called out. “Is anyone in there?”

“What do you want?”

She jumped and quickly turned around to see the Mandalorian standing before her, his beskar-clad body visibly tense as one hand rested on the blaster strapped to his hip. The shock of his sudden appearance soon gave way to stunned awe; in all her travels, she’d never seen a Mandalorian as intimidating as the one currently staring her down. “Hello there. I was hoping to…well, I wanted to hire you for a job.”

“I’m not looking for any jobs right now.” The Mandalorian gruffly replied, brushing past her to lift a supply box from the ground. “You should try the local cantina; I’m sure someone there could use the work.”

(Y/N)’s brow furrowed and she hurried to follow him onto his ship. “I spent all morning down there and everyone I talked to didn’t want anything to do with me. Not that I blame them, though, I’ve only been on this planet for a week…and the job I’m offering isn’t exactly an easy one…and I only have three hundred credits to-” She broke off when she realized he was staring at her. “What?”

He shook his head, setting the box down before heading back down the ramp. “You want a bit of free advice? A client’s supposed to make a job sound enticing. Maybe you’ll have better luck in the next town over, it’s only a couple of hours away on speeder bike and that’ll give you plenty of time to work on your sales pitch.”

Recognizing the sarcasm in the Mandalorian’s modulated voice, (Y/N)’s blood began to boil. “I thought that Mandalorians were supposed to help those in need, not ridicule and make fun of them.” He stopped dead in his tracks, but at that point (Y/N) didn’t care. All she could think of was getting away from the man as soon as possible. “But I guess I’m just naïve, believing in such outlandish fairy tales.” She stormed down the ship’s ramp and past the Mandalorian without giving him a second glance, blinking away her angry tears as she struggled to formulate a new plan.

“Wait!”

(Y/N) glanced over her shoulder to see the Mandalorian hurrying after her but she continued walking away. “Why, so I can let a nerf herder like you insult me some more? No thanks.”

“Udesii! Wait, just wait a sec…!” He quickly caught up to her and blocked her path, his hands raised to halt her. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me back there. Tell me what the job is and then I’ll decide.”

Still wary of him, (Y/N) exhaled through her nose before answering. “I need someone to steal my possessions back…and I need help ridding this planet of the Black Sun once and for all.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted to the side in obvious shock. “The Black Sun crime syndicate? They’re still in operation around these parts?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Since the fall of the Empire, there’s been rumors that some crime syndicates have turned to piracy to stay afloat and under the radar of the New Republic. From what I got out of the locals, the Black Sun conducts raids on their homesteads and whenever they’re feeling particularly bold, occasionally hijack small ships from docking bays. The moment I landed here to refuel, I was ambushed; they took my blaster before I could defend myself and kicked my ass before stealing my ship and leaving me nearly unconscious on the floor.” She swallowed thickly, remembering the grief-stricken faces of the townsfolk she’d spoken to that week. “According to the locals, it’s extremely rare that someone survives an encounter with the Black Sun.” Crossing her arms over her chest, (Y/N) stared down the visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet. “These people have suffered more than anyone should, first under the Empire and now the Black Sun, and I can’t just leave this planet knowing that their suffering will only continue. The two of us working together should be enough to take them down and get my things back; if you turn the job down, though, then I’ll just get myself a blaster and do it myself.”

“That’s a good way of getting yourself killed.” He blocked her path again as she attempted to move around him. “This means that much to you?” There wasn’t any scorn in his tone or even any judgement, only curiosity, and the shift in his attitude was what compelled her to slowly nod her head. “Okay, then, you’ve got yourself a deal. Now, I’m gonna need you to tell me everything you’ve learned about the Black Sun and their operations on this planet…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, the sun was beginning to set as (Y/N) anxiously watched the Mandalorian arm himself for the impending night mission. They’d spent the afternoon formulating a plan to get her possessions back and take down the Black Sun and while he was confident that it would work, (Y/N) couldn’t help but worry as the memory of her attack played in her mind. The Black Sun operatives had been brutal and ruthless during their hijacking, and she had no problem believing that they could’ve easily done far worse to her if they’d truly wanted to. If all the stories are true then a deadly Mandalorian warrior shouldn’t have any problem taking them on, she reminded herself, the thought succeeding in temporarily soothing her nerves.

An affectionate coo pulled (Y/N) out of her silent ruminations, and she glanced down to see the small green child holding a silver sphere out to her as he continued his indistinguishable babbling. “That’s a…that’s a really pretty toy you’ve got there.” She gave the child a small smile but frowned when he showed no signs of stopping. “Um…”

“He wants you to roll it.” When (Y/N) raised a questioning brow at the Mandalorian, he shrugged his shoulders. “He likes to chase after it sometimes.”

“Okay, then.” Carefully lowering herself to the ground, she gently took the sphere from the child’s tiny green hand and rolled it down the length of the ship, stifling a giggle as she watched him chase after it. “The little guy’s pretty fast, isn’t he?”

The Mandalorian snorted. “Fast and up to no good.”

To say that (Y/N) had been surprised to learn that the Mandalorian was caring for a child would be an understatement; it had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed not to gape when the man had introduced her to the wrinkled green child and told her that she’d be watching him for part of the evening while he completed the first half of the mission. She wasn’t exactly the greatest when it came to interacting with children; it wasn’t because she disliked them or anything, but rather because she’d never been around many children before. Maybe things will be different with this little one, she thought to herself as she watched the child waddle back to her with his toy clutched in his hand.

“You sure you’ll be able to fly this thing? A Razor Crest takes some getting used to…”

(Y/N) rolled the sphere again before straightening and giving the Mandalorian a confident nod. “It’s an antique, all right, but lucky for you, I learned to fly using antiquated ships just like this one. And you’re going to be okay getting into the compound by yourself?” Although she couldn’t see his face, she knew that he must’ve been giving her a pointed look from under the helmet. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’…”

He brushed past her and picked the child up off the ground before setting him down inside the ship’s sleeping compartment. “Nap time, you little womp rat. Time to get some rest before all hell breaks loose.”

Wanting to give the two some privacy, (Y/N) busied herself by cleaning up the blaster the Mandalorian had lent her in case of an emergency. Once she was finished, she fastened the holster around her waist and took a brief moment to examine it; the leather holster was well-worn, much like everything else on board the Mandalorian’s ship, but the craftsmanship was undeniably exceptional. I’d give anything to work on a challenge like this, she thought a little wistfully.

“Okay, let’s go over the plan one last time.” She looked up to see the Mandalorian standing before her and a part of her couldn’t help but marvel at how quietly he could move. “I’ll head to the compound on foot and enter just after sunset. Once I plant the bombs and have your possessions, I’ll radio you and that’s when you’ll fly in with the Crest. I’ll jet up to the ship with your things while you cover me; based on what the locals told you, they’ve got some heavy weaponry stashed in that compound and I’d rather not give them a chance to use ‘em, so it’s your job to take them out before they can. Then we’ll fly off and detonate the bombs before going into hyperspace.”

She gave him a nod. “And while you’re gone, I’ll boot up the ship’s guns and watch over the child.” The Mandalorian fastened his jet pack to his back and slung a pulse rifle over his shoulder before wordlessly turning to head down the ramp of the ship. Biting her bottom lip, she hesitated a moment before hurrying after him. “Wait!”

The Mandalorian stopped, turning towards her with his helmet tilted a little to the side. “What is it?”

“I just…I wanted to properly thank you for taking this job.” (Y/N) held out her hand to him and gave him a small smile. “And I also wanted to wish you luck.”

Several long moments went by where he only stared silently at her outstretched hand and made no move to take it. Her face flushed with embarrassment and just as she was beginning to lower her hand, the Mandalorian reached forward and firmly grasped it in his own. Surprised, her gaze met his visor and despite not being able to see his eyes, she knew that they were boring into hers. The moment they had shared ended abruptly, with the Mandalorian releasing her hand and quickly exiting the Razor Crest without so much as a backwards glance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Maker, this ship really is an antique,” (Y/N) mumbled, giving a side panel a hard smack and shaking her head in exasperation when the switches’ lights finally blinked on; the Mandalorian had only been gone for a little over a half an hour when his deep voice had come through the ship’s communication radio, much quicker than she’d anticipated; now, she was scrambling to quickly get the old ship into the air to finish the job. “Where’d he find this thing, a Tatooine junkyard?”

“I heard that.”

She smirked to herself as she flipped a couple of switches and slowly pushed a lever up, the engines immediately whirling to life. “You misunderstood me; just because something’s old and worn doesn’t mean there isn’t value to be found in it. This ship’s been through a lot, that’s true, but…” As the ship had risen far enough off the ground, (Y/N) pushed forward on the joysticks and they instantly flew through the sky. “She’s also got one of the best propulsion engines I’ve ever seen, a lot better than the ones some of the newer ships are built with.”

“I’m glad it meets your approval but I could really use an exit right now.”

“On it.” (Y/N) replied, increasing the ship’s speed as she weaved it between jagged stone spires. Emerging from the cluster of rock formations, she immediately saw the sprawling compound and the large blaster cannons that had turned towards the ship; tightly gripping the controls, (Y/N) swerved out of the way of the oncoming blaster bolts and quickly returned fire. She managed to hit one on her first pass before smoothly spinning around for another, calling out into the cockpit’s communication radio, “Okay, where are you?”

“Southwest corner!”

Adjusting her course, (Y/N) fired off another shot and hit a second blaster cannon before finally spotting the Mandalorian, who was pinned down behind an overturned land speeder and exchanging blaster fire with a handful of heavily-armed Black Sun operatives. She put the ship on autopilot before scrambling down the ladder and slamming her hand down on the nearest control panel; the ship’s side ramp began to slowly lower but she didn’t stick around to watch its progress.

Once she climbed back up the ladder, (Y/N) dropped into the pilot’s chair and buckled herself in just as the remaining blaster cannon fired and hit the Razor Crest’s left wing, causing the ship to jostle and list on impact. Another sharp jolt came from something landing hard on the lowered ramp and moments later, she could hear it being raised back up; switching back into manual control, (Y/N) yelled out, “If you’re back there then you’d better hang on!” before activating the thrusters and wrenching the joysticks to the left, steering the ship into a rapid corkscrew spin. Her stomach clenched with pent-up adrenaline and just as her vision had begun to blur from dizziness, (Y/N) squeezed the triggers and fired, grinning to herself as the red bolts destroyed the third and final blaster cannon.

(Y/N) pulled the joysticks up, smoothly exiting the turning maneuver, and began firing on the compound as they swooped over it, going so fast that she wasn’t able to see the result of her successful run. Deciding that she’d bought them enough time, she began flipping several switches in preparation for the jump to hyperspace; as she worked, she heard the Mandalorian ascend the ladder into the cockpit and move to stand behind her, and the monitor before her showed the compound exploding in a ball of fire. Neither of them said anything as the ship exited the planet’s upper atmosphere, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her neck when she pushed a lever up and launched them into hyperspace.

“Who are you?”

Furrowing her brow in confusion, (Y/N) turned the pilot’s seat around to face the Mandalorian, who was pointing his blaster pistol at her. She decided that it would be wise not to make any sudden moves, instead keeping her hands resting firmly on the arms of the seat. “Excuse me?”

“The only people who fly like that are bounty hunters and smugglers, so which one is it?”

“…I was a smuggler in the employ of the Rebellion for five years. I was honorably discharged by the New Republic shortly after the Battle of Endor and have been retired ever since.” (Y/N) reluctantly but calmly explained, and she was unsurprised when the Mandalorian’s tense demeanor didn’t change. “I’m not lying to you. If you let me go down and look through my things you retrieved, I’ll even show you some proof.” After a brief moment of hesitation, he nodded and lowered the blaster. “Thank you.”

Descending the ladder, (Y/N)’s gaze immediately landed on the familiar beat-up storage container beside the ship’s carbonite-freezing chamber. In an instant, she dropped onto the ground beside it and began rifling through its contents. Clothing? Check. Sewing kit? Check. Spare blaster? Check. But when she finally located the leather-bound book at the bottom of the container, she closed her eyes and let out a shaky sigh of relief. Thank the Maker, I didn’t lose it, she thought to herself. The modulated sound of a throat being cleared jostled her out of her moment of calm; she opened her eyes and glanced over to see the Mandalorian leaning up against the wall of the ship, still holding his blaster. “Oh, sorry, here…” She reached into the pocket of one of her coats, pulled out her old identification puck and handed it over to him.

He activated the puck and they watched as a hologram of her face and rank flickered on. “Captain (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Rebel Smuggler.” Returning her puck, the Mandalorian finally relaxed his stance and holstered the weapon. “Sorry about all that but in my line of work…”

“It’s okay, I understand.” (Y/N) got to her feet and walked over to the armory to return her borrowed blaster and holster. “You’re hardly the first person to pull a blaster on me and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms over his chest as he continued to watch her. “Well, alor’ad, that was some pretty good flying…for an ex-smuggler, that is.”

(Y/N) raised a brow in surprise, both at the nickname and at the playful jab. Was he, the intimidating Mandalorian warrior, actually teasing her? She glanced over at him with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Ah, the galaxy’s age-old debate: which are the better pilots, smugglers or bounty hunters? It’s a little sad that there’s still bounty hunters out there who’ve diluted themselves into thinking they’re as good as smugglers.”

“As an ex-bounty hunter myself, I take offense to that. If I had access to another ship, I’d challenge you to a race right now but fortunately for you, I don’t.”

“Well, in my experience, bounty hunters are all talk and no action, so I’d say that you’re the fortunate one, not me.” Grinning triumphantly, (Y/N) couldn’t suppress her amused giggles any longer as he merely shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. Once her laughter died down, she reached into the pocket of her tunic and pulled out her money bag. “Three hundred New Republic credits, as promised.” In an instant, the good mood dissipated from the ship; he easily caught the money bag and pushed himself off the wall, his stoic stance returning as he gave her a short nod. She returned her attention to the open armory, feeling incredibly awkward as she continued. “I already input the coordinates to the nearest friendly planet, Batuu. We should be there in less than two hours and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Yeah…yeah, of course. I’ll, um…I’ll be in the cockpit, if you need anything.”

She heard the Mandalorian make his way back up the ladder and when she was sure he was gone, she finally released the breath she’d been holding. She’d enjoyed working alongside the Mandalorian so much that she’d nearly forgotten that it was a temporary arrangement. Once they landed on Batuu they’d part ways; she’d find work somewhere on the planet and he’d go off on his next adventure. Well, it was fun while it lasted, she thought to herself as she moved to sit beside her open storage container, trying not to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t felt that alive since her old Rebel days.

Giving her head a small shake, (Y/N) turned her attention back to her things and began thoroughly going through them to see if anything might be missing. Her task was soon interrupted, though, by the sound of a small coo; glancing around, she noticed the green child waddling towards her, his large eyes filled with curiosity. “Oh, hey there, little guy. Did you have a good nap?”

The child made another babbling noise that didn’t sound quite as happy as the first had been, which made (Y/N) bite back a smile. “Yeah, I’m sorry if I woke you with all the spinning. But it was worth it; an entire planet’s finally free to live in peace and I got all my stuff back, see?” She watched the child’s ears perk up with interest as he slowly made his way towards the small pile of clothing and other items; he soon became interested in her brown ankle-length Shaak-hide coat, running a tiny clawed hand over the soft leather. “You like that? It’s really comfortable to wear, and…”

Trailing off, (Y/N) was suddenly struck with inspiration. “I have just the perfect thing in mind for you, little guy.” She smiled as she gently took the coat from his grasp and reached for her sewing kit. “And I think you’re gonna like it…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just as (Y/N) had predicted, the journey to Batuu was relatively short and uneventful; the child had quickly grown disinterested with her project, choosing to slowly climb up the ladder to where the Mandalorian was busy piloting. She didn’t mind, though, silently reveling in the peacefulness of her task that she knew others would find mundane. Finishing up just as the Razor Crest began its descent, she managed to carefully hide her completed work behind her back before the Mandalorian began climbing down the ladder.

They made their way down the ramp, carrying her storage container between the two of them. “Here we are: Black Spire Outpost.” The Mandalorian set the container down, his gloved hands hanging stiffly by his sides. “I guess this is it.”

“Yeah. Before I go, I…well, I wanted to give you something. It’s actually for the little guy, but I thought I’d give it to you.” Anxiously biting her bottom lip, (Y/N) handed him the small bundle and watched as he began unraveling it. “It’s a satchel, so you can carry him around with you whenever he gets too tired to walk. I used a part of one of my old coats to sew it; the little guy liked how soft it was and I wanted him to be comfortable. I noticed his pram on the ship but I thought he might like to travel in this, too.”

The Mandalorian stared down at the satchel in his hands for several long moments before looking back up at her. “That’s…very kind of you, alor’ad. I’m sure he’ll like it.”

(Y/N) noticed the child making his way down the ramp and smiled. “I think so, too.” Returning her gaze to the visor of his helmet, her smile fell a little. “Well, I guess I’ll see you two around.” She turned, hiking her bag over her shoulder and reaching down to grab her storage container’s handle as she tried to ignore the melancholy feeling blossoming in the pit of her stomach.

“Wait.”

She straightened and spun back around to face the Mandalorian. “Yes?”

“I’ve been quested to return the child to his kind, but it’s been…challenging. Imps have put bounties on our heads and I’ve run out of leads on information to follow. You’re a hell of a pilot, alor’ad, and you’re very obviously a fighter, so…well, I could use a crew member of your abilities.”

“Wait…you want me to join your crew?”

The Mandalorian nodded. “I can pay you handsomely. It would be a completely equal partnership as well, as far as the workload goes. But I understand if you refuse; you’ve worked hard for a quiet life after the Rebellion and it would be unfair to ask you to abandon it.”

“You see, the thing about living a quiet life is that after a while, you find yourself hoping that something’ll come along to liven it up,” (Y/N) remarked, a smile slowly beginning to form on her face. “And it looks like today’s that day. I’m in.” They shook hands for the second time that day, but this one felt much more natural. “So, partner, what should I call you? I know that people usually call Mandalorians ‘Mando’ but it’s always sounded a bit like a slur to me and the last thing I wanna do is insult my new business partner, so what would you like me to call you?”

His helmet’s modulator made it difficult to tell, but she thought she heard him let out a chuckle. “You can call me ‘Mando.’ Welcome to the crew, alor’ad.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Udessi!-Calm down, take it easy. Alor'ad-Captain

Chapter Two

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty @sinon36 @seninjakitey @thatonedindjarinfan @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mostclevermiss @momc95 @welcometothepedroverse @sarahjkl82-blog @zukoyonce @itsnottilly

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #din x reader #mando x reader #grogu #the child #baby yoda

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bard-llama · 3 years

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WiP Wednesday: Rorveth, Isendain, AND Thronebreaker Snippets + Some Headcanons

I couldn’t decide what to do for WiP Wednesday, so uh... have lots of stuff! We’ve got an Iorveth/Roche snippet, an Isengrim/Eldain snippet, a Throne3 (Meve/Reynard/Gascon) snippet AND a little bit about some Thronebreaker headcanons me and @moonlights-ordinance came up with today.

Iorveth/Roche:

This is the beginning of an angsty fic wherein Iorveth pines and finds out some unpleasant news. The actual plot of the fic is Iorveth trying to get rid of his feelings, but we’re not there yet.

Iorveth really should’ve known that this day was destined to be hellish the moment that he was jolted from his paperwork daze by the rambunctious shouts of his Scoia’tael outside his office. He sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face, then checking that his bandana covered his scar properly. Only after that did he open the door to see what was sowing chaos amidst his ranks.

No one… actually seemed to notice his presence, which to be frank, was not a problem Iorveth typically struggled with. He was quite good at appearing intimidating and infuriated even when he wasn’t particularly trying.

But it seemed his elves – and a few of the dwarves – were far too involved in their own gossip to notice him as he walked through the crowd.

“Have you heard–?”

“No way.”

“Guess he loved Temeria so much he married it!” someone chortled.

“Ha! From Cocksucker in Chief to Consort. He must be real good.”

A bout of cackling followed that last remark, and Iorveth had his first premonition that the day was going to suck. But he still didn’t have answers, so he walked straight forward into what would become his own personal hell.

In the center of the crowd, surrounded by countless elves and dwarves, Iorveth was not at all surprised to find his two favorite subordinates – who were rapidly losing that classification. He stepped up next to them, crossing his arms and waiting for them to notice the trouble they were in.

Really, he should have known it would be these two. Rinn, for all that she was nominally well-behaved and quiet, was extremely mischievous, especially when it had the potential to cause minor problems for Iorveth. He would not be surprised if she had planned this. Her companion, Ky, may have been more innocent in that she may not have intended to draw a crowd – but she was absolutely the one spreading the gossip far and wide.

It took a while, but slowly, the chattering grew quieter and quieter as more people took notice of his presence. Finally, Rinn caught sight of him and poked Ky, who was still loudly expounding on something about marriage.

“Something you need to tell me?” Iorveth asked, eyebrow arched high and disapproving scowl firmly in place.

Ky winced, but Rinn looked entirely unrepentant as she signed, the Temerian King made an official announcement today that I caught during my shift.

Iorveth looked at the way more than a few people were biting their lips and avoiding his eye and hummed. “And?”

“Roche is getting married!” Ky burst out as if she physically could not hold it back anymore and Iorveth felt everything freeze.

Married? Vernon Roche!? The erstwhile commander of the Blue Stripes and proud pain in Iorveth’s ass? Who the fuck would he be marrying and why would it be a royal announcement!?

Even though Iorveth himself still felt like he was encased in ice, time seemed to resume for everyone else and chattering rapidly commenced, elves whispering back and forth between themselves and each other.

What was it someone had said earlier? ‘From Cocksucker in Chief to Consort’?

Was… was Vernon marrying King Foltest!?

Rinn must have seen the question on his face, because she nodded and passed over a paper missive.

It felt like moving through molasses to extend his arm and accept the notice that would forever change his life.

The Ancient Royal Line of the Temerian Dynasty Announces the Wedding of

Foltest, King of Temeria, Prince of Sodden, Sovereign of Pontaria and Mahakam, and Senior Protectorate of Brugge and Sodden

and

Vernon Roche, Commander of the Elite Blue Stripes Special Forces Unit, Pacifier of the Mahakaman Foothills, and Right Hand to the King

to take place at the year’s end on the Winter Solstice

Iorveth stared at the announcement, static fizzing through his brain. Vernon. And Foltest. They were getting married!?

His eye shot up to meet Rinn’s almost imploringly, hoping this was all some big joke. But there was no mischief in her eyes, and her forehead creased with worry as she watched him, clearly wondering what was wrong.

She, at least, appeared to be the only one who had noticed anything amiss in his reaction. The rest of his Scoia’tael were back to loudly gossiping about their enemy’s new status in life.

“Wait, I thought human men couldn’t get pregnant. Isn’t the whole point of a royal marriage to produce an heir?”

“Nah, I’ve heard the whore has a cunt,” someone laughed. “Can you imagine only having one? Sounds lame as fuck. But yeah, supposedly our dearest Commander Roche can make royal babies for King Fuckface.”

Iorveth’s heartbeat stuttered and he inhaled sharply through his nose. He… hadn’t known that. Sure, he’d heard rumors, but the rumors about Vernon were wild and extreme and ranged from his background as a whore to his imaginary sideline in child abduction to his preference for blunt force weapons.

Was this one… true? As he looked back at Rinn for the answer – aside from being the primary spy assigned to Vernon, she also seemed to just inexplicably know things – he could hear the conversation around him moving on.

“Hey, do you think that’s why they’re getting married? Maybe the idiot king knocked up his whore and now he’s gotta marry him!”

“I dunno, did Roche look pregnant at our last fight?”

Rinn nodded the slightest bit and Iorveth brain returned to static. Vernon. Pregnant. That – he hadn’t been aware that that was something he was emotionally invested in, but the storm of feelings racing through his veins proved that he was. He wanted – he wanted to see that, wanted to cause that, wanted to discover what Vernon’s cunt would be like and feel it stretched around him and–

He’d – he’d always assumed that Vernon had a cock, even though he wasn’t quite sure what a human cock looked like. But whenever he’d picture a different future – one where he could choose his own happiness over his cause – it hadn’t mattered that he didn’t know what a human cock looked like. His imagination was more than delighted to fill in whatever he wished, and coming up with different ideas was all that got him through the night at times.

The idea of Vernon with a cunt was startling. It had never occurred to him before, and now he wondered how he could’ve possibly been so shortsighted. The things that he could do with Vernon’s cunt were limitless and Iorveth’s mind got stuck on that for probably far too long.

He was brought out of his daze by Rinn choking, wide eyes locked on his face. With sudden dread, he understood what she must have seen. What she must have realized.

Iorveth swallowed hard, jerking his head, “give me a proper report.” He turned to head back to his office without looking at her and he wasn’t sure if he was hoping she’d follow or that she wouldn’t.

(the rest under a cut to save your dash)

Isengrim/Eldain:

This is a fluffy bit from a get together fic set post-Reasons of State and we start with Isengrim mourning Dijkstra and Dijkstra’s betrayal.

There was a knock on his door and then Eldain’s voice spoke. “Isengrim? Um. I know you aren’t feeling great, but would you come with me for a bit?’

All of a sudden, then blankness fled under a wave of confusion and curiosity. “What?”

“I – um. I have something for you. But you gotta come with me for a bit. And if you don’t like it, I promise I will not get in the way of your grief, even if that means hiding out in here.”

Eldain sounded nervous, of all things. Isengrim hadn’t actually known Eldain was capable of feeling nervous.

Why was he nervous?

Isengrim frowned at the door. He wasn’t exactly going to get an answer lying here. And maybe Eldain could keep him from thinking about Sigi and all the pain associated with him for a bit.

It was worth a shot. Besides, he’d come to rather like the other ex-commander quite a bit over the course of working together. Not that they hadn’t worked together before, but there had always been a formality dividing them. Eldain looked up to him, he knew that. Not that Eldain would ever say it, but it was the way Eldain looked at him. A soft regard that one could almost mistake for love, but was truly nothing more than hero worship. He’d seen the same look on the faces of all the young Scoia’tael, but from Eldain, it felt like the thorn of a rose – he hated it, knowing that Eldain would never feel the same, that he was destined to die alone and miserable and a beautiful young musician like Eldain could never be his. But at the same time, he coveted it, coveted Eldain’s regard, because even if it wasn’t what he wanted, it was something.

He would give anything to have Eldain in his life in any form.

Swallowing hard, Isengrim rubbed his face, then opened the door.

Eldain was on the other side of the door and his shoulders were slumped in defeat that quickly turned to confusion, one shoulder cocking upwards.

“What?” Isengrim asked.

“I – no, I just. Thought you’d say no,” Eldain said awkwardly.

“Does that mean you do want me to go with you somewhere or not?”

“Yeah!” Eldain shook himself, smiling at Isengrim, and it felt as though the sun had emerged from cloud cover, because instead of the nothingness-pain from before, now he felt – too much, really. And some of it hurt, but more of it was pleased to just bask in the rays of Eldain’s smile.

He was only half aware of following Eldain through the house, still a little dazed from the blinding light. But when Eldain came to a stop in front of a closed door, the world seemed to snap back into focus, and he looked to Eldain expectantly.

Eldain fidgeted, feet shuffling. “Um. Like – like I said, if you don’t like it, I won’t force you to stay, but um–” his adam’s apple bobbed and then Eldain opened the door and motioned for Isengrim to enter.

Isengrim took two steps through the doorway and froze. All around him, the room was lit up with dozens of little lights – some up high, some down low, others around his hips. Those ones on the floor guided him towards what looked like a raggedy old blanket draped over the wooden flooring.

“It’s not exactly a starlit picnic,” Eldain shrugged, setting down a basket he hadn’t even noticed Eldain was carrying, “but since we’re laying low, I figured this was as close as we could get.”

“I–” Isengrim was breathless, uncertain of what to say. Awe spread through him as he looked over the dozens of lights, each coming from candles in small lanterns that were hanging from the ceiling all over. He couldn’t think of any words to portray what this meant to him, what it meant that Eldain would go to all this trouble for him. So he was as surprised as Eldain when his mouth said, “isn’t this a fire hazard?”

Eldain rocked back as if he’d been hit, smile abruptly falling from his face.

“No,” Isengrim tried to recover, cursing himself. “I – this is amazing. Is. What I mean. Um. Am trying to say. I – you did this for me!?” If there was disbelief coloring his tone, it was only because he could hardly comprehend the idea of anyone going to so much trouble just to cheer him up.

Eldain’s jaw was clenched, and his expression was a neutral mask that Isengrim hated having put there. Why did he always hurt the people he cared for? Was he truly so tainted that anyone he touched was at risk of infection? Was simply being around him enough to ruin what could be an incredible life for a beautiful young musician like Eldain?

“You don’t have to stay,” Eldain murmured, and Isengrim felt like crying, uncertain whether he wanted to leave and spare Eldain the risk of contamination or if he wanted to stay and bask in this incredible gift that Eldain was giving him.

––

Never before had Eldain wished that Isengrim would leave his presence immediately. But if he stayed much longer, then it was entirely too likely that he would witness Eldain falling apart.

Eldain had always known his silly little crush would never go anywhere . He was even almost fine with that. But he’d thought – he’d thought that Isengrim at least considered him a friend. And yes, this whole production was a little over the top for friendship, but hey, Eldain was an over the top kind of guy.

There was always the possibility Isengrim would hate it. And he’d worried about that and fretted over it, but he hadn’t really expected it to happen. Even if Isengrim was uncomfortable, Eldain would’ve guessed that he’d be polite enough to grin and bear it. Which was far from ideal, but right now, Eldain really wished that he’d done that, because instead it felt like he’d reached into Eldain’s chest and ripped his still-beating heart out, leaving him bleeding and doomed.

“Thank you,” Isengrim said, and Eldain startled. Of all the words he’d expected, those were not even on his radar.

“What?”

“Thank you. I – you clearly went to a lot of trouble to give me something beautiful. Thank you.” Isengrim said the words easily, and Eldain was confused. That… didn’t sound like Isengrim hated it. “So, what are we eating?”

Eldain’s smile grew slowly, but as Isengrim continued to look expectantly at him, he found that he couldn’t hold it back. He waved Isengrim towards the blanket – one probably as old as the house was, but all the good blankets were in use. “Bread and cheese. Fruit. Some veggies,” he narrated as he pulled the items out of the basket. “Wasn’t sure how much appetite you’d have, so I wanted to keep it light, but if you’re hungry, there’s still some venison in the storeroom.”

Isengrim looked at the objects laid out around them. “I – I don’t know what to say except thank you,” Isengrim said, a smile growing on his face that made Eldain’s heart beat fast. “This is very thoughtful and sweet.”

Eldain flushed, reaching into the basket to pull out the last item. “And, of course, some wine. It’s not exactly high quality, but we’re slumming it tonight anyway.”

The huff of laughter Isengrim let out made it feel like there were wings on his heart, letting it slowly rise. He’d made Isengrim happy. If that was all he ever did in life, he could be content with that.

Throne3 (Meve/Reynard/Gascon):

The porn tags for these 3 are sadly lacking, so... have some porn XD The premise here is that they’ve just escaped the Lyrian capital through the sewers and now they’re all washing off in the first river they came across.

They all knew what the venerable Count Reynard Odo was getting up to with Queen Meve upriver. But while the deserters from the Lyrian army and the Strays seemed content with gossiping about it, Gascon felt compelled to seek out more.

Sneaking past the guards ensuring their queen’s privacy with her boytoy even now was honestly pathetically easy. But then, they were probably used to looking the other way for their queen.

Gascon didn’t really know what he was planning, but he knew that he needed to see Meve in the throes of pleasure. The fierce and enchanting queen was currently being ‘serviced’ by her top aide and everybody knew it.

How could he possibly be expected to resist?

But instead of satisfying him, the view before him only made him crave more, because Meve and Reynard were standing about shin-deep in the water with him wrapped around her, hands stroking over her body as her head rested back against his shoulder.

But moreso than the picture they made, what truly drove Gascon over the edge was hearing Reynard tease his queen.

“So eager, your majesty,” Reynard murmured softly. “Could it be that the company of the ever so honorable Duke of Dogs,” his voice was heavily sarcastic, “has gotten you excited? Are you curious what that infuriatingly charming mouth would feel like against your skin?”

Meve arched as Reynard’s fingers skirted just short of touching her clit. “Reynard,” she growled.

Gascon wasn’t certain when his fingers had slipped inside his trousers, but the touch against his cock had him shuddering, already overwhelmed at the very idea that Meve could be fantasizing about him.

“Have you thought about pushing the arrogant bastard to his knees and showing him his place?” Reynard continued and Gascon bit his lip hard against a moan. “Have you pictured him, lips stretched around your widest strap, eyes tearing up from the effort of it?”

Meve whined softly, reaching up to tug Reynard into a kiss.

Gascon had never seen a filthier kiss in his life, and he stroked himself faster, picturing what he would do if he could join them. She may not have a strap handy to gag him on, but he was sure they could come to a compromise.

“Do you imagine him kneeling before you, begging for you?” Reynard rumbled and Gascon almost missed Meve’s sound over his own. Which meant that Reynard knew he was there when the Count continued, “I’ve no doubt the crass mutt is a marvel with his mouth.

Later, Gascon would claim that he spoke before he could even think about it, proclaiming, “I am.”

In reality, he spent a long moment contemplating how to respond. Getting caught spying on sex typically ended one of two ways: either you got invited to join in or you got beaten to a pulp.

He was fairly hopeful that the first option was more likely than the latter, but he wasn’t sure, and in the seconds of silence that followed his words, his heart pounded in his chest and pulse raced and he felt on the edge of either agony or elation.

“In that case,” Meve’s voice broke the quiet with all the firmness of having made a decision, “come pay homage to your queen, Gascon.”

Even though he’d hoped this was how things would go, he still felt utterly amazed that she had actually said yes.

He stepped through the buses, trying not to look like he’d been caught with his hand down his pants. “Your Majesty,” he bowed his head with a playful smirk and then sent her a wink just to top it off.

Meve looked every bit the dignified queen as she held out a hand that should have held her signet ring. They had taken that from her when she’d been captured, but Gascon found himself licking his lips, taking her hand and kissing her ring finger as if he were a knight pledging her fealty.

Her gaze was hot on him as he slowly kissed up her arm, and unlike the two of them, he still wore his armor – which meant that he could pretend no one saw the way that his cock twitched when Reynard reached out and knocked his hat off, tangling fingers in his hair and pulling his face down into Meve’s chest.

Obediently, he applied himself to worshipping Meve��s tits, taking Reynard’s lead and only giving her glancing brushes across her nipples, denying her touch.

Meve growled in frustration, grabbing his hips and pulling him into her until the bulge of his cock rubbed over her pelvis. Her cunt greeted the contact with a gush of slick, staining Gascon’s pants and making him pant with arousal.

“Fuck,” he gasped, grinding into her. She arched with a cry, fingers digging into his ass and Gascon desperately wished that there wasn’t a layer of fabric between his cock and that glorious cunt. But how could he pull away to fix that when his time could be better spent licking and sucking and biting at Meve’s glorious tits? Gods, they were beautiful, plump and sensitive, to the point that nipping at one nipple while squeezing her other tit was enough to make Meve’s body jerk, bucking into his hips as she utterly drenched his pants.

“Fuck,” he whimpered again, then dropped to his knees and buried his face in her cunt.

Thronebreaker Headcanons:

Okay, so as I’ve been getting to know Meve, Reynard, and Gascon and have started writing different plots with them, I’ve decided a few things. There’s going to be 1 universe of fics that falls under the “homophobia exists” universe that I talked about here. However, I know that’s not everyone’s boat and like, sometimes I just wanna write context-less porn, so definitely not all fics will! But I have several ideas already in that ‘verse, especially looking at the chronic pain Reynard has as a result of things.

So, specific to that ‘verse, one headcanon is that Reynard was whipped specifically for being queer and almost died from it. The wounds healed, but not... well, not the greatest. There wasn’t a lotta care taken with it. Which means that his back pains him A LOT and there’s a lotta things that he has to do different. For example, I’ve decided he sits in chairs like Riker does, keeping his back straight so that he doesn’t stretch the scar tissue. His range of motion is also limited in a lot of ways, but he’s found ways to compensate and hide it over the years. (just as an FYI, Riker sits like that, ‘cause Frakes had a back injury and doing that was less painful)

Okay, now WITHOUT the homophobia that led to chronic pain - I’ve decided that each of the Throne3 need to have a niche hobby that occupies them in their limited spare time (developed with much help from @moonlights-ordinance). Sooooo:

Meve:

Meve likes sewing. She doesn’t like people to know she likes sewing, because it’s closer to a traditionally ‘feminine’ than she usually aims for, but she actually really enjoys it.

On their journey, this comes out when Gascon’s shirt gets ripped and when he complains about it a lot, she just grabs it and mends it. This leads to her spending the evenings mending all the different clothing from the soldiers and the Strays.

I think she learned sewing from her father and he taught it to her in an attempt to get her to just sit still for five fucking minutes!!

Not directly related to sewing, but because her mother was busy being queen, she was largely raised by her father, who was an Ofieri Marquis (like, 2nd level nobility, under a duke) whose family paid a substantial sum in order to win the match. He was not popular at court and therefore found himself largely shunned by the peerage, but it left him with basically all of his time to devote to his children. (Does... does Meve have sisters?? Queen Kalis supposedly bore several girls???)

Reynard:

Reynard likes to crochet. Specifically, he likes to crochet little plushies. He’s not too picky about what he makes, and whoever is in range when he finishes it will likely end up gifted with an unexpected plushie.

At one point, he finished making a stingray, only for a passing soldier to dub it a Sting-Rey. Thus, Lieutenant Sting Rey was born. The troops listen to Lt. Sting Rey better than they listen to General Odo lmao.

He has a habit of crocheting in the evenings in the mess (maybe with Meve mending nearby) and random soldiers (and Strays) like to sit around his feet so that when he finishes a lil plush, they might get it. And when he starts a new one, he might take requests.

I could say so much more about the plushies he makes for Gascon and Meve, but I guess I’ll save that for a fic. But I gotta share these pics, ‘cause they’re so fucking cute. So: a donkey for Gascon (’cause he’s an ass) and a Lyrian eagle for Meve (’cause it’s Lyrian lol).

Gascon:

Gascon likes dancing! Specifically, he was trained in ballet from a young age (like literally a year old is when you start, apparently) and was trained as a ballerina (meaning he will be lifted/led instead of doing the lifts/leading). By the time he ended up on the streets at 12 (8 in canon, but my guy needs to at least be 20), he was pretty damn good at it - and so he ended up teaching the Strays

The Strays have a ballet troupe that puts on performances for the gang on occasion as like, a bonus to music night or something. Semi-spontaneous and very fun.

Gascon is SCARY flexible (like, to the point that Reynard is a little horrified that the human body can do that) from dance and he definitely uses that to his advantage.

He 100% gets everyone to dress up all fancy and put on makeup and do their hair and shit. After all, they steal all this fancy shit from the nobles - why SHOULDN’T they enjoy it?

And there you have it! Sorry for the super long post, but also... enjoy?

#rorveth #isendain #throne3 #iorveth x roche #isengrim x eldain #meve x reynard x gascon #thronebreaker #the witcher #wip wednesday #fic planning

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