#even the shoulder armour is in the same place..

[verricherri]

Reasons Rhett Falls in Love With You (Over and Over)

A/N: HEHEHEHHEHEHE 😈 you already know what kind of mess this is about to be Warnings: if you thought you were about to recover from the endless trap that is Lewis Pullman — don’t. i’m dragging you straight to the bottom with me and we’re gonna rot together 💅 Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

The Way You Talk to Amy

Rhett doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. Not really. He’s halfway through brushing dirt off his boots, crouched just inside the barn, when he hears your voice drifting from the porch — light, warm, touched with that soft cadence that makes his ribs ache in a way he can’t explain.

He doesn’t move. Just listens.

You’re sitting beside Amy, and she’s going on about a colt she saw out near the creek — skinny thing, barely a few months old. Most people brush her off when she gets like this, too full of excitement and facts and possibilities. But not you. Never you.

You ask questions. Real ones. Not the kind meant to placate a ten-year-old, but the kind that say, I care what you think. I want to know more.

“Think he’ll let me ride him when he’s older?” Amy asks, hopeful. “You?” You laugh, a smile shaping every word. “He’ll be lucky if you don’t train him better than half the men on this ranch.”

Amy laughs so loud it echoes, pride curling in her chest. Rhett feels it too — like warmth blooming from the inside out.

He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, watching you.

The way your braid slips over your shoulder. The way your thumb gently rubs circles into Amy’s knee. The way Amy looks at you like you hung the moon and rearranged the stars just for her.

You glance up and spot him.

“You done eavesdroppin’, Abbott?” He lifts a brow, easy. “Didn’t know I was invited.” You pat the porch beside you. “Now you are.”

And he sits. Not because he needs to — he’s got chores, horses to tend, fences to mend. But because this? This is what home feels like. Amy’s legs swinging against the wood, your laughter cutting clean through the dusk, the scent of sun and hay and your shampoo in the air.

He doesn’t say it. Not out loud.

But this is what love looks like.

—

The Way You Fit Into the Kitchen Like You’ve Always Been There

It starts the same way every morning now — the clang of a skillet, the smell of bacon, the quiet hum of your voice carrying over the clatter of breakfast.

And it always begins with you elbowing Rhett out of the way.

“Move, cowboy. You’re blocking the stove.”

He doesn’t argue. Not really. Just grumbles something about the wrong skillet.

“It’s a pancake, Rhett. Not a classified mission.”

You wear his old flannel like it’s your armour, hair twisted up, mismatched socks sliding across tile. Amy sets the table with quiet focus. Royal mutters about the paper and his missing glasses. Perry tries — and fails — to sneak bacon off the plate.

You swat his hand without even turning. “Not unless you’re feeding the dog.”

The kitchen is full — not just with people, but with something unspoken. Something steady. Something like you.

Cecilia breezes in, lips parted in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. She’s cooking for you boys now?” “Not for them,” you say. “They just keep showing up.”

Rhett stands in the doorway, pretending to sip coffee, but mostly just watching you flip the last pancake, hips swaying to music that isn’t even playing.

You don’t just fit. You belong.

Later, when the plates are scraped clean and the house is quiet again, he finds you rinsing dishes, sleeves rolled, suds on your wrist.

He slides behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, presses a kiss to the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

“You like bossin’ my whole family around?” You lean into him, smile tucked into your voice. “Someone’s gotta do it.” He exhales against your skin. “Don’t stop.”

You won’t. He knows that now.

—

The Way You Carry Quiet Joy

Some days are heavier than others. But this one? This one’s light.

He finds you out by the line, hanging laundry. There’s grass stuck to your calf, your skirt twisting in the breeze like it’s dancing for no one but the wind. You’re humming again — that tune he still can’t name — soft and steady, like your own personal heartbeat.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just leans against the fencepost, one arm slung over the top rail, watching you.

You move with ease. Peg, shake, lift. Shirt after shirt, sheet after sheet. Your fingers work without thought. But your smile — that’s what gets him.

Amy runs by, chasing the dog. You laugh, loud and unfiltered. The kind of laugh that says, I’m safe. I’m happy. I’m here.

Rhett doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

He just lets himself feel it — that ache that comes from wanting something so badly, it hurts a little just to watch it exist.

You spot him eventually. “What’re you starin’ at, Abbott?” “Just admirin’ the view.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile softens.

He stays longer than he needs to. Just to be near it. Just to watch you be.

—

The Way You See What He Can’t Say — And Say It For Him

Dinner’s tense.

Royal’s worked up — about the barn, about the storm, about the goddamn roof that still isn’t fixed.

“You always leave things half done,” he grumbles. “Same story since you were seventeen.”

Rhett’s jaw locks. He doesn’t lift his eyes from the plate. He’s learned not to. Learned to take the hit, swallow it, bury it deep.

But then your fork clinks softly against your plate.

“He shows up,” you say, voice calm. “Every day. Whether anyone thanks him or not.” Royal snorts. “That supposed to mean something?”

You stare him down. No raise in volume. No shake in your hands. Just steady, clean honesty.

“It means he gets the roof done. Just not your way.”

The silence that follows is almost violent.

Cecilia shifts. Amy looks between faces. Perry blinks like maybe he just saw lightning strike indoors.

But you? You just keep eating. As if it’s no big deal to defend a man’s soul like that.

Rhett can’t look at you. Not right away. Not without choking.

But eventually, he glances sideways. And you’re not looking back. You don’t need to.

You already said the thing he never could.

And it wrecks him. Every time.

—

The Way You Say His Name When You’re Laughing

The barn smells like hay and motor oil and chaos.

Amy’s got duct tape stuck to her jeans, and you’re elbow-deep in a wheelbarrow that’s seen better centuries. There’s a pile of wood, a wrench, and a prayer — that’s the whole repair strategy.

Rhett walks in and freezes. “What the hell are you two building? A bomb?” You don’t even look up. “Don’t need your judgment, Abbott.” Amy grins. “Uncle Rhett, this thing’s an engineering marvel.” “It’s a death trap.”

And then you laugh.

Oh, God, that laugh.

It bursts out of you, bright and crackling, like lightning through a summer field. And between every giggle, you manage to say his name — not like a warning, not like a call.

Just like it’s yours to say.

“Rhett,” you gasp, breathless, eyes lit up like fireflies. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

He should be mad. Should be scolding. But he can’t stop smiling.

Because there’s something in the way you say his name when you’re happy. Like it’s music. Like it’s always belonged to your mouth.

And Rhett thinks — yeah. I’d let her call me that a thousand times and still feel it hit like the first.

—

The Way You Hum When You’re Focused

It’s late.

The house is quiet. The kind of quiet that only comes when every door is locked, every dish is done, every light has been dimmed to a glow.

You’re in the kitchen, barefoot, slicing peaches.

Rhett watches from the table. He should be helping. Or sleeping. But instead, he’s got one elbow propped, coffee going cold, just… watching.

You’ve got that faraway look again. Like you’re thinking about something too soft to speak aloud.

And you’re humming.

That same damn tune. Off-key. No words. Just you, and the peaches, and the rhythm only you seem to hear.

And for a moment, he swears the house is breathing. Like you brought life into it — filled it with something sacred.

He doesn’t speak.

He just listens.

Because there are pieces of you that only come out in the stillness. And he wants to know every single one.

—

EXTRA

The Way You Don’t Know He’s Already Chosen You

You didn’t mean to stop.

But the sound of his voice freezes you halfway down the stairs.

You were just getting water. You weren’t even wearing shoes.

But now you’re pressed to the wall, eyes wide, heart thudding.

Because Rhett’s voice — low and tired and real — is carrying from the kitchen.

“She’s gonna be the death of me,” he says.

Cecilia doesn’t answer right away.

He laughs. But it’s not happy.

“She ain’t even tryin’, Ma. That’s what kills me.”

You don’t breathe.

“She hums when she slices peaches. Same tune. Every time. Don’t think she knows. But the house... it feels alive when she does it.”

He pauses.

“She says my name like she’s always known how. Not like she needs me. Just... like she wants me around.”

You press your fingers to your lips.

“I don’t think I knew what home felt like until she came in and started acting like it was already hers.”

The air shifts.

“She loves Amy. Stands up to Dad. Runs the kitchen better than I ever could. I keep waitin’ for it to feel like a phase. But it don’t.” Cecilia speaks then, quiet and clear. “So what’re you gonna do?”

And Rhett says it — soft, but steady.

“I’m gonna marry her.”

You don’t cry.

But your breath hitches, your chest twists, and your whole world shifts a little on its axis.

Because you didn’t know.

Not until now.

And tomorrow, when he looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense —

You’ll finally understand why.

[llouiize]

OHHH YEAHHH THE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN A FATHER AND HIS SON!!!

[the-rebel-archivist]

It took a minute to piece together why Davrin's armour was so familiar despite being such a unique warden design but then it finally clicked. And it's brilliant.

Davrin has griffon rider armour.

Modernized, of course - it's been almost 500 years after all. If Garahel's armour took some inspiration from WWI pilot uniforms, Davrin's pulls from WWII, drawing on the vibe of the classic leather jacket with the wide, high collar taking the place of lambswool.

It's debonair and cavalier, a griffon rider for these modern times of 9:52, but it keeps the same colour scheme and basic elements of brown leather on blue cloth with sparse metal elements. And there's even a nod to the leather scales on Garahel's shoulder on Davrin's.

[ssscatola]

task force 141 headcanons because I have free will

soap wears nothing but adidas slides when he's on leave. he's sick and tired of getting blisters from his military boots that he refuses to wear any other shoe when he's back in scotland

ghost's favorite season is spring. he loves hearing birds chirping and singing (would never admit this out loud) and enjoys hiking when the weather is just right.

gaz will cook a mean roast and is a snob about what herbs and spices go with what meat and vegetables. (this goes for soap as well bc i headcanon he was raised on a farm)

price is so fucking tired all the time but hides it really well. he'll fall asleep standing up in a heli without a problem

speaking of price, he's a loud ass cougher and sneezer and the rest of the force mimic and tease him about it

ghost has every member of the force's phone number. Price is saved in his contacts as 'Captain Price'. Gaz is 'Kyle Garrick'. Soap is just /insert scottish phone number/ and he refuses to change it just to piss off Johnny

to continue that adidas slides thought for soap, i like to think he's dripped out in any sportswear brand. DEFINITELY has a Napapijri jacket and at least three nike puffer jackets. every item of clothing for the gym is either nike or under armour and every running shoe he has is by asics

Gaz has five colognes he rotates. Soap has three (used to have four but lost one??? where the fuck is it?). Price has one that he's been rebuying for the past fifteen years. Ghost also has one (stole the best-smelling one from Johnny)

Gaz really likes board games while Ghost enjoys card games

Price knows some russian and soap is learning spanish

Ghost grew up with nothing and is now insatiable. doesn't spend that much on decorating his apartment or clothes but he sees a weighted or heated blanket on amazon with raving reviews? doesn't even check the price; it's in his cart. A new mattress made out of memory foam for his shitty back? added to cart. He sees a commercial for a 70-inch flat-screen tv? he needs it to watch soccer in 16k 240fps and 480p re-run episodes from youtube of 'how it's made' when johnny visits him.

price types with one finger (sorry to this man)

ghost rarely types out a response to a text. or if he does respond, it's just a thumbs-up emoji

soap gets down NASTY to 2000's and 2010's music. Like girl this man is breaking his neck and back and ankles on the dancefloor after three-four drinks and nobody can stop him

continuing for soap, he once got wasted and borrowed a cigarette from someone at a club and turned into a hired assassin for the night. the guy who gave him the cigarette got jumped and soap dislocated the attacker's jaw with one punch

gaz has every allergy under the sun while ghost gets the flu every five years or so

ghost has a sharp left canine and johnny nearly flatlines when he sees it

price has freckles on his biceps and shoulders

ghost notices soap is always chewing gum. they make stops during missions so the sergeant can buy (more like swipe) a pack. always the same brand, always the same flavor, and he always offers a piece to ghost. for his birthday, ghost gifts him two mega packs (that's like 400 pieces?) of his preferred gum and soap's heart swells in his chest

these are all over the place but i'm writing a ghoap fic and my motivation is dwindling so i just had to write this :')

if anyone wants a part 2 let me know bc this was a lot of fun to write!

[gilverrwrites]

Toy Maintenance

Arkham Knight/Reader, 900 words Ft. Slade Wilson Kinktober entry 13: Interruption Warnings: Extremely dubious consent/non-con | implied/mentions of violence | bondage | gags | exhibitionism, sorta | a darker portrayal of Jason Requested by: Anonymous

“Oh, you poor baby. Does it hurt?” The eerily modulated voice of The Arkham Knight jeers at you from above. You’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to, but the answer is yes. Your very bones ache to their core after hours of use. Your wrists are cut from their metal bindings, knees scuffed from the hard floor. Your jaw stings from having your lips locked around a ring gang for such a long time, and you were beginning to fear he was right; your tight little cunt would never be the same again. Everything hurt.

Even as he teasingly slaps his cock between your slit, what should only sting a little, burns. “I asked you a question.”

To emphasise his impatience, he smacks a gloved hand on your already beaten ass, laughing that infuriating fucking laugh when you cry out in pain.

“Uhhh.” Your sob is distorted by the O-shaped piece of metal lodged between your teeth. “Yuush e hopts.”

“Awh.” He continues to mock as he slowly pushes his length inside your used up walls. The pace is not a kindness, you know he wants to feel every inch of it splitting tender walls. As he presses deeper inside, the cum from his previous exploits leaks out of your gaping hole. The wet sound of it escaping and dripping to the floor is absolutely vulgar. Once he bottoms out, he leans over your arched back, ensuring his tip sits snug against your cervix and getting close to your face. “I don’t care.”

The worst part is that once he starts driving into your raw and worked up pussy, ruthlessly snapping his hips at an animalistic speed; the pain is worth it. Just for that modicum of bittersweet pleasure. Even his foul-mouthed compliments and derogatory insults make your eyes roll back, and so he cracks wise at you all the more.

“God you’re pathetic.” He spits in response to your quiet sobs. He likes this angle because he knows he’s hitting that inner sweet spot that makes you crazy with every thrust. “Look at you, fucking loving it. You don’t know even know who I am. Do you?”

You’re shaking your head, scuffing your own cheek on the concrete floor when the door suddenly swings open and slams closed, a tall figure carrying a thick folder entering in between. The Knight doesn’t let up his unrelenting attack on your cunt, not even as the solider stops beside your rutting bodies, depositing the file on The Knights desk.

Up close you recognise him, specifically the two-done armour, and his singular, jarring eye. Deathstroke.

“When you hired me, I came on as a mercenary, not an errand boy.” He states bitterly. You can’t get a good look at him from your spot on the floor, but he seems to be watching your captor. It occurs to you that most would be attempting to cover their modesty about now, but The Knight isn’t done with you, so you remain still, enjoying the euphoric drag of his cock.

“Ohh, sorry, old man. Am I running you ragged?” The Knight replies, voice raspy from exertion but still acrid. Even more sour than it is with you, which you earnestly hadn’t thought possible.

“Not likely.” The merc deadpans. If you had the energy, you might have jumped when his masked head swiftly tilts to meet your eye.

He considers you for a moment before lifting his boot and lightly placing it on your shoulder. You don’t fight, The Knight has long since fucked that out of you. But for the first time since you’d been brought here, you wonder how you must look. Bruised and broken, face planted in a puddle of your own drool. How small and worthless you must seem.

With his foot, Deathstroke shakes your form, only briefly, grunting when you don’t respond and turning back to The Arkham Knight.

“You should take better care of your toys.” He says, chiding him like a father would a child. The Knight doesn’t take too kindly to his tone.

“Fuck off old timer, don’t tell me how to run my shit.” You howl in a twisted mix of relief and anguish as The Knight pulls out of you to get in Deathstroke face. “I got her just how I want her.”

“Is that right?” The older man snickers, his one eye falling back to you, it takes you a moment to register that his proceeding question is directed at you. “Far be it from us to have an opinion, huh girl?”

If or how you should respond is redundant, before you can muster any sound The Knight jams his finger in Deathstroke’s chest. “Do I pay you to have opinions? No, I pay you to do a fucking job. N- “

He cuts himself off mid-sentence, also looking over at you before the two masked men turn to face each other in tandem.

“Oh, I get it. You’re sniffing around because you want a piece.” Deathstroke scoffs in reply but doesn’t deny the accusation. Resolutely unbothered by The Knight’s impeachment of personal space.

Like a carrot on a stick, The Arkham Knight reaches down to you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and hauling you upright so that Deathstroke can get a better look at your naked body, cuts and bruises and all.

“Well get me some goddamn results, an’ I might let you take a turn.” You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you doubt your position on the matter will be considered. “But until then get the fuck outta my face.”

You will achieve great things, even though small steps.

Kinktober Masterlist

[beasangel]

rationed

⤷ joel miller x youngerfem!reader | angst | pre-s1

💭 “You know what we have,” he murmured against your hair. “so I don’t need to tell you that I don’t have anything else.”

summary: she was his secret in the shadows of the QZ, young, hidden, and never quite enough

warnings: implied age gap, angst, fluff if you squint?, he's pre character development so kinda a dick.

joel masterlist main masterlist

It started with Joel slipping you a ration card. No words. Just a brush of fingers in a shadowed hallway, the same way he might pass off contraband. You didn’t even ask. Just nodded, eyes cast low and tucked it into your pocket before anyone could see.

That was the unspoken rule. No one could see.

Not the guards. Not the handful of people Joel dealt with in the underworld of the QZ. And especially not the ones who already looked at you waiting for a reason.

You didn't mind at first. You weren’t useful the way others were. You didn’t smuggle. Didn’t trade weapons or scheme. You worked odd jobs, cleaning, running pills between buildings for extra cards, but it was never enough to get ahead. Not in Boston.

Joel made sure you didn’t starve. That your boots weren’t falling apart. That you had a roof over your head, even if it was a half-collapsed unit in a crumbling building on the edge of the zone.

Though you couldn’t fool yourself into thinking it was free.

He came to you in the dark. Rough hands. Quiet words. The smell of sweat, smoke, and concrete dust clinging to him like armour. Then clinging to you as he thrust himself inside.

It wasn’t romantic. Not really. But sometimes, when he let his forehead rest against yours after, breathing you in like he hated himself for it, you let yourself pretend it was more than just a secret he kept locked between his ribs.

You found out about Tess on a Thursday. Saw them together, close. Talking low.

Joel leaning in while Tess laughed, her hand brushing his arm like it belonged there.

It hit you in the chest like a punch.

That night, when Joel showed up at your door, you didn’t let him in right away.

“Is she yours?” you asked, voice small but sharp.

He blinked, tense in the doorway. “What?”

“That woman. You act like I’m some dirty secret, but is she, what, your partner? Your wife?”

His jaw worked. “That ain’t your business.”

“Really?” you snapped, stepping back. “You sneak in here like some ghost in the night, give me just enough to survive, and then walk around the QZ like I don’t even exist-”

“You think I got a choice?” he barked, suddenly sharp. “You wanna end up with a knife in your gut? You know how this place works. You get seen with someone like me, people talk. People come after you.”

Your voice cracked. “So what am I, then? Your charity case? A warm body you visit when no one’s looking?”

“Better me than stranger men.”

Then silence. And that silence said more than anything else.

You turned away, arms wrapped tight around yourself. “You said you cared.”

“I do,” Joel said roughly, stepping closer. “Don’t twist this. You think this is easy for me?”

You didn’t respond. Not really. Your throat burned. Chest tight with something sharp and ugly and ashamed.

And Joel - he softened. He always did when you looked like this. Vulnerable. Fragile in a way he knew you hated.

He touched your shoulder, coaxed you to sit. Pulled you close. His arms wrapped around you like a shield you didn’t ask for, didn’t know how to refuse.

“You know what we have,” he murmured against your hair. “so I don’t need to tell you that I don’t have anything else.”

And you let him hold you. Let your face press against his chest and inhaled the warmth of him like it was comfort and not a cage.

But even as his hands rubbed gentle circles down your spine, even as he kissed the side of your head like a man who thought this counted as love, your mind was somewhere else.

Heavy.

He turns you around.

Distant.

And kisses you deeply, pulling your shirt of your shoulders.

Wondering if maybe being someone’s secret felt worse than being no one at all.

-

The room is cold when you wake up.

Not from the air, because there's barely any breeze behind boarded windows, but from the absence of him. The kind of cold that comes from an empty space beside you, still warm in the sheets, still shaped like his body, but vacant all the same.

Your eyes open slow. Heavy. You already know before you roll over. Already feel it in your chest, that sinking thing. That hollowness that follows him every time he slips away before sunrise.

He never stays.

Not when the world’s waking up. Not when there’s a chance someone might see.

You shift, the old mattress groaning beneath your naked body, and glance toward the door. Closed. Locked. Just like always.

Joel’s final little kindness, making sure you’re locked in safe before he disappears into the morning fog like none of it ever happened.

You press your palms over your face. Exhale slow. It shouldn’t hurt anymore.

But it does.

You sit up. Bare legs swing over the side of the bed, the floor biting cold. On the bedside table a small pile of ration cards sits like some twisted apology.

You stare at them for a long moment. Your stomach growls, and your heart twists, and for a second you wonder what it would feel like to burn them.

Just set a match and watch it all go up. This arrangement. This almost-love. This secret that never gets to breathe in the daylight.

But then what?

He was right, there were much worse people who could’ve found you. And what could you do without him?

Because as much as its hurts with him, there has never been a sweeter pain.

[prettycalla]

|| obiurgatio ||

Pairing: Geta/Reader

Summary: You are a tactile person. Your husband is a jealous man. (Request prompt)

Word Count: 892

Tags and warnings: Geta is jealous, reader is tired, they love each other though, mild arguing, fluff, no use of Y/N.

(To the anon who requested this, I hope this is okay! I'm not sure if it's exactly what you had asked for, but my writer's block is still pretty bad and I did my best.)

Masterlist

There are many things that you and Geta do not agree on. Having a level head and raised with siblings, you are often able to rise above petty squabbles, and allow your husband his opinions while you maintain your own.

But there are times when you must draw the line.

Geta has been pacing back and forth across your shared chambers for the better part of five minutes now, turning the same ring around and around on his finger in agitation. You watch him quietly from where you are reclined on the lectus by the window. A light breeze caresses your skin and you are grateful for it, as you can feel a headache quickly building.

“You have embarrassed me,” he says, finally breaking the tense silence.

You sigh. This is not the first time he has said it.

“You are embarrassing yourself with your childish behaviour,” you retort.

He stops then, glaring at you.

“You would blame me for your actions?” he questions in a clipped tone.

You bury your face in your hands for a moment. For as much as your affections run deep for your husband, he is also often the most frustrating man you have ever encountered.

“Please explain to me what it is that I have done to offend you,” you say, keeping your voice as calm and diplomatic as possible.

It proves difficult.

“You, with the senator’s wife-" he starts, struggling to find words. "How you acted with her. It was not appropriate.”

Geta pulls a face of disgust.

You bite your tongue, allowing yourself a moment to collect yourself. Geta has always had a way of making the most mundane of things sound like a travesty when it suits him. Kissing your dear friend on the cheek in a public setting is one of those things, apparently.

“She is my friend, Geta. We have always greeted each other in such a manner,” you explain tiredly.

You have had this argument many times before, and each time it is the same.

You have always been a tactile person. When you were very small, you would clamber into your parents’ laps and press kisses to their faces, expecting the same in return. On more than one occasion, you had fallen asleep in the arms of one of your siblings, warm and safe in their embrace. Even as you grew older, kisses on the forehead or cheek and lingering touches on the forearm or shoulder were how you showed your affection to those dearest to you. There is never any hidden intent behind it - it is how you show love.

Marrying an Emperor did not suddenly strip you of everything you once were.

Your husband, however, does not see it that way, and while you are frustrated by him, you understand. His childhood was worlds apart from yours. He was taught from an early age to lock his heart away, to learn to rule with an iron fist. That to love is to show weakness.

How long it took you to slowly pull away each carefully constructed piece of armour he had placed around himself. Even now, there is still work to be done.

There are times when you look at him, you see not the feared Emperor of Rome, but the fearful little boy that still lingers.

You know that he does not mean to hurt you - he is so afraid of being hurt himself. He is afraid of losing you.

Resolved, you rise to your feet, reaching out to lightly grasp his arms.

“Husband,” you say gently.

He allows your touch, but he will not look at you.

“Geta,” you try again, a soft smile on your lips.

Finally he looks up, meeting your gaze. You take his hand in yours and place it over your heart.

“This belongs to you,” you tell him sincerely. “No matter what, this will always belong to you.”

Geta’s tongue runs across his lip nervously, before he slowly reaches for your hand and places it over his own heart.

“Just as mine belongs to you,” he replies in a whisper.

Your smiles widens, and you lean in to press a kiss to his mouth. He is hesitant at first, before he finally gathers you up in his arms in a fierce embrace.

He does not apologise - there is still much more work to be done - but you feel it in how he holds you. When you part, his dark eyes are shining with tears.

“No more of this," you murmur, gently running your thumb across his cheek, "A God has no need for envy.”

"You are devoted," he says. It is not a question.

"Until my last breath, and beyond the stars, carissime," you reply, leaning in to kiss him again. "My love for others does not negate my love for you."

He watches you intently, his gaze flickering across your face, as if to find even the smallest amount of deceit.

He finds none.

You know that he will not change overnight, and this may not be the last time you have this very argument. But knowing that he is willing to let you in, to listen to you, is no small feat, and you do not take it for granted.

Your husband is a stubborn man, but he has certainly met his match in you.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[anika-ann]

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 1 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 7,3k

Summary:  It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?

A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.

Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.

Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.

Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.

Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.

You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.

He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.

Uh-huh, no.

No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.

It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-

Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.

God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-

“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.

Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.

The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.

The safest place on Earth.

Steve’s arms.

Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.

You responded with an embarrassed smile.

“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.

Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.

“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”

You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.

“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”

“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.

“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.

Case on point, you supposed.

Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.

You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.

And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.

He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.

You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.

However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.

But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.

A caring one too.

As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.

“We should disinfect that.”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.

“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“

“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Steve-“

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.

You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.

“It’s just a-“

“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.

You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.

You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.

“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.

He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.

“I love you too. Let’s go.”

You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.

It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.

Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.

You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.

The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.

You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.

And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.

Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.

Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.

His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.

The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.

And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.

“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”

Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.

Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.

Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.  

“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.

You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.

“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”

“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed.

And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.

Kinda like Hopkinson himself.

Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.

It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.

“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.

An angel by your shoulder.

With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.

“Hey… here, you can have mine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.

Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.

He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.

Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.

“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”

Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.

“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”

You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.

Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.

Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-

“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.

A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.

“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.

Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.

As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.

Lucky. You were luckier than most.

Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.

Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.

Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.

A rather cold river.

The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.

But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.

Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.

Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.

Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.    

Cold water. Cold water.

In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.

Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.

He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.

As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.

And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.

“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”

You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.

“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”

You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--

To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.

Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.

As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.

His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.

“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”

Right. The hoodie. His hoodie.  Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.

Not the point.

You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.

“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”

As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.

Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.

“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.

“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”

With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.

Damn you, Steven Grant.

Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.

“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”

The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.

“What?”

What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?

No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.

Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.

You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.

You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.

But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?

Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.

You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.

You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?

A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.

You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.

A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.

And it didn’t.

A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.

Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.

Your hands on his shoulders.

Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.

Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-

Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.

Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.

Great. Really great.

You were fucked.

How did it even-

“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.

He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.

And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.

There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.

How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.

Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-

A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.

“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“You okay?”

Funny you should ask.

“Are you?”

You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.

“Thank you, Bucky!”

“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.

He had lied.

Of course he had fucking lied.

And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.

“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”

“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.

Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”

The corners of your lips quirked up.

“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.

“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.

Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.

…were you though?

“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”

His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.

Always.

Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.

In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.  

While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.

“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”

You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.

“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.

And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”

Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.

“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“

Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.

But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.

Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.

Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.

And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.

If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.

Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.

Avenging angel indeed.

He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.

“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.

You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.  

“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.

“Good.”

Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-

“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”

Your eyes went wide.

Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.

Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.

You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.

She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.

“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”

You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.

Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.

“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.

There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.

A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”

More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.

“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”

“Any time, Lee.”

You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.

Part 2

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

I hope you enjoyed reading 🤭 if you did, please consider leaving feedback and reblogging💕

I hope July has been kind to you!

[lawfulvia]

DOMESTIC LIFE

Soundwave x Human! Reader

I can only say the reader is old, like spent 40 years with a huge robot alien lover old

Soundwave would be a great father, skybound really shows it well, he’s also loyal (even if it is to his boss who’s lusting over the other factions leader)

But it’s okay, I can fix him❤️ (famous last words btw)

He’d outlive you, you knew it, he knew it.

As time moved forward, you had even come to accept it. Ignoring your mortality as you both learned and loved together— each day filled with something new.

Soundwave was a vault of knowledge, teaching you something every day, and as you grew older. You taught him in turn— showing the decepticon how to live life to the fullest.

His first attempt at baking was a disaster, servos clumsily maneuvering around as he mixed ingredient after ingredient. The end result wasn’t exactly the best thing you’d tasted, but for him— you could grit your teeth and smile. A tiny white lie never hurt anyone.

The first time you met him, you had been scared shitless. Running into the surrounding forest like a headless chicken, though most would do the same thing if presented with your situation.

The second time you kept your distance, drawing a line— figuratively and literally between the both of you. If he moved forward you’d move back.

The third time you became more open to the idea, even moving to sit beside him. Watching the minicons together in silence.

After that, everything seemed to move along smoothly.

And here you were in all your glory, carefully repainting your lover— with a skilled hand brushing over the smooth surface of Soundwave’s armour.

”You still awake big guy?” You asked, your gaze shifting to watch the cassettes in the garden. Surely up to no good, but you weren’t nearly young enough to try and stop them. You could only wonder if they were tearing up the peonies or plucking the trees from their roots.

”Affirmative.”

The robotic tone held a certain softness to it, one that not many would notice. But after spending 40 whole years with the ’con you learned to pick it up fairly well.

Wrenching a hand under his chin, you pushed it back to slip the airbrush into the tiniest nooks and cranies of his design. The bold blue stained more than just a few articles of clothing, Soundwave surely knew how to leave a mark.

”There we go, as handsome as the day I met you.”

Winking as the airbrush was stashed away, hidden in a cupboard like every other thing you owned.

”Soundwave: Blushing” With a sarcastic tone he’d pick you up by the shirt. Idly dangling you above him— gently placing you onto the couch. But even that was enough to irritate your body.

falling to your knees with a wobble, groaning as joints popped under the weight of your body. Growing old was a pain, hair grayed to the roots with bones as brittle as talc.

Not exactly in your prime, Soundwave didn’t seem to mind— he loved picking you up. Leaving you sitting on his shoulder as you two watched mind numbing reality tv shows for hours on end.

The days would end and the both of you’d end up in your own respective beds. Him in his recharge slab and you in your makeshift bed made of metals and probably stolen fabrics and pillows.

”Soundwave: Loves you.” He’d say it every night without fail, the lights dimming slowly. The world drifting into the silence of the dark night.

”Love you too big guy.” You could only hope this wouldn’t end too abruptly.

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 1

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: this one has been on my mind for ages and I couldn't wait any longer. I'm a huge sucker for angst, so I hope I've got this just right.

Word Count: 5,174

"Just... a little further. We're almost... there!" Your knees feel about ready to buckle as the Razor Crest comes into view. "Din! Din, no!..." Din's heavy frame slumps from your shoulder, pulling you to the ground with him. "You... argh... you gotta get up." He's still, terrifyingly still. You press the button on Din's vambrace to lower the ramp and with your waning strength, pull the unconscious bounty hunter across the muddy ground and up the ramp, the desperation to save him overriding the burn of your exhausted muscles.

With a last tug at his wrists, you manage to drag him away from the ramp and further into the belly of the ship, immediately pressing the button to close it. You're not taking any chances. "Din? Din, can you hear me?" You shake his shoulders roughly, hoping the momentum will rouse him. Nothing. But at least he's still breathing. A little wail emanates from the sleeping bunk before the door whooses open, revealing a very worried and frightened Grogu.

In an instant, Grogu is at Din's side, having used the force to propel himself across the hull. "It's okay, buddy. He'll be okay." You don't know who you're trying to convince, him or yourself. Grogu murmurs anxiously, his large ears drooping as he places a tiny hand on Din's helmet. Without another moment to lose, you begin to strip Din of his armour, checking for injuries. There are plenty of cuts and bruises, maybe some bruised ribs, but the injuries don't appear to be severe enough to render him unconscious. "Din!" you shout louder this time "Ner Karta, please wake up."

Your frantic heartbeat thumps against your ribs, threatening to break through at any minute. You're at a loss at what to do. That's when you notice it; a sight that makes your blood run cold! A slowly oozing trickle of deep crimson, pooling on the floor by Din's helmet. "No, No, no, no," you shudder as you carefully slide your fingers under the lip of the helmet at the back of Din's head. Your stomach plummets when your fingers meet a warm and sticky substance. Blood! Din's blood!

On hands and knees, you scramble across the floor to a nearby crate, searching frantically until you find the medkit. You rush back to Din's side and with trembling hands, open the medkit and retrieve the Bacta spray. You momentarily freeze when you realise what you must now do. There's nothing else for it. To save Din's life you have to remove his helmet. A barrage of thoughts invade your mind at the same time; would Din be angry? Would he hate you? Would you hate yourself for breaking his creed? Would he understand? Would he forgive you?

Time is of the essence now, every precious second bleeding away, along with Din's life. You have to do it. You have no choice, consequences be damned! You're not about to let the man you love die, even if he does hate you afterwards. You'll accept his wrath if it means he's alive. You set the Bacta spray down beside you and take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," you whisper regretfully, and with a heavy heart, you gently lift the helmet up with one hand while supporting the back of Din's head with the other.

The helmet rolls away from you with a clunk. Brown curls fall backwards from the most beautifully sculpted face you've ever laid eyes on. Patchy, greying scruff decorating a perfectly chiseled jaw, a strong aquiline nose that suits him so well and plush lips... He really is stunning! So much so, that you're taken aback. But you snap yourself out of it. There's no time to lose! You grab the bacta spray and roll Din onto his side to get to the wound. Your breath hitches in your chest and you spray slowly, making sure to liberally apply the treatment.

You're probably using more than necessary, thinking back to how Din would often scold you for wasting the valuable resource when you've patched him up before. But this is literally Din's life in your hands. You'll exhaust the whole supply if you have to. The affects are almost instantaneous. You breathe a sigh of relief as the bleeding ceases and the damaged tissue begins to repair itself. Grogu looks up at you with expectant eyes. "He'll be okay, sweety," you soothed, while stroking Grogu's ear, comfortingly. "Mmm..." Grogu looks back to his dad, sadly.

Once you're satisfied with the progress of the Bacta spray you unwind a sterile bandage, cautiously wrapping it over the wound and around Din's head, trying not to jostle him too much. You then shift your attention to the many cuts and scrapes littering his body, making sure to disinfect every abrasion you see. There's no way you can lift him off the floor so you fetch a pillow from your shared bunk to place under his head and drape a blanket over him. It's not much but it'll have to suffice. With the adrenaline now subsiding, exhaustion begins to sweep over your body and mind, causing you to fall back on your arse, rather un-gracefully, and catch your breath.

You hadn't noticed just how much you'd been shaking this whole time. With controlled breaths your heart rate slowly returns to normal. Grogu waddles over to you with outstretched arms. Poor little guy needs some reassurance. Your maternal instinct has you reaching for him but you stop as you notice the drying blood on your hands. "Hold on, buddy," you say, gently, then rush to the fresher to wash away the blood and horrors staining your hands. Sitting down next to Din, you scoop Grogu into your lap, cradling his head in your chest, while humming a soothing melody to calm him. "Your dad's a fighter, kid. He'll come back from this," Please, you silently beg to whoever might be listening.

All you can do now is wait. Wait for Din to wake, wait for everything to make sense again. Hopefully he won't be furious. Surely he'd understand there was no other way. Even now it feels wrong to look at his face, the very act being sacrilegious to his people. But it's too soon to put his helmet back on. The wound needs more time to heal. Guilt starts to take root the longer you think about what this now means. What you've taken from Din cannot be easily undone. Because of your actions, he is now technically an apostate. He will be cast out of Mandalorian society, exiled in disgrace and it's all because of you.

But what was the alternative? Let him die? Let Grogu lose his dad? Live with the knowledge you could have saved him, but refused? No! It's unthinkable. You know in your heart, you've made the right decision. You just hope Din will see it that way, too. You're not sure how much time has passed, or how long you and Grogu have been asleep, when you are startled awake by a low moan. Grogu stirs in your lap as you sit up from the wall you were slumped against. An equal amount of relief and dread consume you. He's okay, he's waking... But how will he react to the violation of his creed?

"Din?" you gulped, nervously. Din lets out another grumble as his head turns in your direction. You clutch a now awakened Grogu tighter to your chest, apprehension swirling in your stomach. You feel sick! You bite your lower lip, waiting for his eyes to open, for the inevitable realisation to dawn on him. Slowly Din's eyelids lift and you are met with rich, chocolate brown eyes, eyes you would happily let yourself drown in, if it weren't for the look of abject horror and betrayal staring back at you. "Wh... what have you DONE?!!" Din exploded, his face turning red with rage and his eyes filling with tears.

You're frozen to the spot, eyes wide, voice lodged in your throat, refusing to co operate. He's furious, of course he is. "I..." your voice fails as your throat constricts in panic. Between Din's shocked gaze and Grogu's little whimper, you somehow find your voice. "I'm so sorry, Cyare. I had to. You... you were bleeding." Desperation to make Din understand claws at you. "It was the only way to save-" "No!" If looks could kill, you would be dead this very second. "It was NOT the only way," Din seethed, staring daggers at you, "You didn't have to remove my helmet. You chose to do it!" You can't believe what you're hearing.

"But you would have died!" Tears gather at your lash line at the thought. "Better to die a Mandalorian than live as an apostate," Din snapped as he sat up, clutching the back of his head. His eyes frantically dart around the hull, searching for his helmet. He reaches for it but you reach for his arm to stop him. "You can't. You're still healing-" "Don't!" Din recoiled from your touch as if you'd burned him. You heart drops like a stone to your stomach. You've never seen Din so angry, so hurt, his face portraying the image of a man who has lost it all. And you did that. You took away his sacred creed and left him with the ashes. The hiss of the helmet fills the tense air as Din places it back on, the familiar T- shape in front of you once again.

Only it's directed to your lap, where Grogu sits, looking with uncertainty between you both. "Patu," he murmured, while reaching out for Din. Din gently takes Grogu into his arms, his heaving chest and taut shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm okay, pal," Din soothed, trying to calm his foundling, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he now fights to keep his emotions at bay, no doubt for Grogus' sake. Din stands on shaky legs, your first instinct is to help him up, but you stop just short of touching him, unsure if your help will be welcomed. Without so much as a glance in your direction, Din heads to the ladder with Grogu tucked into his chest. "Din? Cyare wait, we have to talk about this-" "Just!..." Din raises his hand to stop your words, his back still facing you. "just stop," he sighs despondently. "I can't look at you right now." Tears sting your eyes as you watch him ascend the ladder, locking himself and Grogu in the cockpit, away from you.

Din sat in quiet dispair, trying to come to terms with his new reality. One where he is now an apostate... again. Sure, he had removed his helmet to save Grogu when he'd been abducted by Moff Gideon and to say goodbye, but that was his call, his decision to make. By removing his helmet, you'd taken away his choice, his creed, his very identity. You should have let him die an honourable death. Of course, redemption is possible but that doesn't change the fact that you betrayed him. He had trusted you, opened up to you and believed that you respected his creed and his way of life.

The longer he sat contemplating, the angrier he became. How could she! he thought bitterly. Not only had you dishonored the very foundation of who he is, you had also inadvertently destroyed the close bond you'd both built over the past year. He doesn't even know who you are anymore. To have done what you've done... how can he ever forgive you? His helmet suddenly feels too restrictive, too suffocating. Din pulled his helmet off with one hand while still holding Grogu close, and set it down on his lap, staring bleakly into the pitch black visor.

Until he can atone, this helmet will serve as a reminder of what has been lost. "Mmm..." Grogu tilted his head as if to ask 'are you alright?' Din exhaled, long and deep and looked at his son with a thin lipped smile, his face reflecting back to him in the childs' large, glossy eyes, the only eyes that are, by creed, permitted to look upon his face. "I'll be okay," he whispered softly, "I'll make this right." He can find forgiveness in the living waters, that part is simple enough - well maybe simple isn't the right word. He still has to live with the fact that he has grievously sinned against the creed. Even the living waters can't wash that truth away - but how can you both move forward from this? Is it even possible?

A dull, throbbing pain pulses through Dins' temples, causing him to groan and lean his forehead into his palm, his elbow resting on the armrest. He needs to calm down. He needs to think with a cool head. Grogu yawns and snuggles into Dins' stomach. "Okay you little womp rat, time for bed," Din smiled as he tucked Grogu into the crook of his elbow. After securing his helmet, Din makes his way down the ladder and into the hull, where he finds you sitting with your back pressed against the wall. His heart physically aches at the sight of your red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. You look as though you're about to say something, but he hasn't got the energy for this right now. All he wants to do is settle the kid in his hammock and rock him to sleep. So Din quickly opens the bunk door, disappearing inside.

The dim light of the hull reflects your sombre mood as you listen to Din's modulated voice, muffled by the closed door, speaking softly to Grogu. Most of the time you and Din would say goodnight to him together, every bit the picture of a happy family. But now you are shut out, physically and metaphorically, and it hurts, maker it hurts so much. You are only meters away but it might as well be the length of the entire galaxy. A short while later the door slides open and Din slowly walks out, keeping his steps light as to not wake Grogu. He turns to you for a moment, seemingly unsure of what he wants to do next. He takes a step towards you but then stops. Sighing, he turns on his heel and retreats to the cockpit once again.

Your heart sinks and lungs deflate in crushing disappointment. You can't stand it anymore. If Din won't talk to you then you'll talk to him. You bring the sleeve of your top to wipe your face - not that it'll make a difference to your puffy eyes and reddened cheeks - and steeling yourself, you make your way to the cockpit. The silence is deafening, oppressive, brutal. You gingerly sit in the co-pilots' chair, fiddling nervously with the hem of your top. Din remains motionless, staring out of the window, shoulders strung tighter than a bow. You feel invisible and you hate it. With a steady breath, you break the silence.

"Din, we have to talk about what happened." Din still doesn't look at you. "There's nothing to talk about," Din retaliated, the coldness of his tone sending shivers down your spine, "What's done is done!" You shake your head. "Please believe me when I say I didn't make this decision lightly. It was the only way to save your life. What else could I have done?" The tears threaten your eyes again as you try desperately to make Din understand. "You could have let me die an honourable death." An incredulous huff forced it's way up your throat. "How could you expect me to do that? Listen to what you're asking? Would you have let me die if I were injured?! "That's different," Din retorted, annoyance building on his voice.

"How?!" You're so close to clawing at your eyes in frustration. "Because you're not Mandalorian!" Din's booming outburst had you shrinking back in your seat, his large frame now towering over you, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. You know Din would never hurt you, no matter how angry he got, but at the same time you've never felt so small, so helpless. Is this how his bounties feel under his intimidating gaze? Din seemed to notice your unease, immediately unclenching his balled up fists and taking a step back to give you some space. After a moment of silent staring, he shakes his head and simply states, "You'll never understand."

That was a low blow! You've always respected Dins' creed, his way of life. Never asked him to go against it and never judged him like so many other's have. It's a part of him and you love all of him. Fear and despair have now given way to anger. "Maybe you're right," you glowered, "I'll never understand because if it comes down to chosing between the creed and your life, I'd chose you everytime. I love you too much to just let you die for an ideal." "And you think being an apostate is any better?" It's like talking to a fucking brick wall! How could he not see the impossible situation you'd been placed in?

"I don't know what else to say, Din..." you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat, "I'm sorry it's come to this, but I'm not sorry for saving your life." "Then there's nothing more to say," Din clarified with finality, sitting back down and turning to the window again. Silent tears run down your cheeks as you leave the cockpit and join Grogu in the bunk.

When you wake the next morning the bunk is empty, cold. Even though you were certain Din wouldn't have joined you last night, disappointment weighs heavily on your heart. A part of you had hoped he would calm down and come to you. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up with a groan, dreading the tension that will, no doubt, still be rife. "Morning, buddy..." you cooed, gently as you stood on the mattress to wake Grogu. Your brows scrunch in confusion at the empty hammock. Din must have come in to get him while you were still asleep.

Stepping into the hull, you hear babbling from Grogu in the cockpit, followed by the occasional chuckle from Din. A flicker of hope ignites within. Maybe now he's had time to cool off, you can both talk reasonably and calmly. Maybe not all is lost? However that flicker is soon doused when you walk into the cockpit and see Din's posture turn rigid, his chair not even turning so he can acknowledge your presence. The air turns icy and heavy with friction as you take a seat. "Good morning..." you offer, meekly. "Morning." Din's monotone reply confirms that he's still upset.

"Patu," Grogu smiled as he patted your leg to pick him up. You couldn't be more grateful for the distraction right now. "And good morning to you, baby," you grin as you scoop him up and place him in your lap. "You two strap in," Din orders as he fires up the engines. "Where are we going?" You bring the seat belt around yourself and Grogu. "Sorgon." Din's clipped tone is like a knife to your heart. It's the same tone he'd used when he'd first employed you two years ago, when you were both still adjusting to each others' company.

Now you realise how you've taken his caring tone, his laugh, his tenderness for granted. It feels a million miles away now. You swallow the lump in your throat and give Grogu your full attention, feigning cheery laughter while trying to ignore the 'bantha in the room' the whole way to Sorgon. The Razor Crest descends into the atmosphere, the blackness of space giving way to a dazzling blue, causing you to squint and shield your eyes. You've always liked Sorgon, visiting several times with Din over the years.

The simple, peaceful way of life is so unlike most worlds you've visited, and with that simplicity comes a tight knit community. One who always welcomes you with open arms. You've even made a few friends here, your closet one being Omera. Grogu bounces excitedly on your lap as the ship touches down on the outskirts of the small village, no doubt ecstatic at the prospect of seeing his friends again, especially Winta. "I know, I know..." you chuckle fondly, placing a kiss on Grogu's head.

Din shuts down the engines and without a word or even a glance in your direction, he leaves the cockpit. The harsh treatment makes you want to cry, but in an effort to shield the kid from any more tension you plaster on your best fake smile. "Ready to see your friends, sweetie?" Din lowered the ramp and was instantly greeted by a handful of locals, eager to welcome back the man who gave them back their home and dignity when the Klatooinian bootleggers attacked them.

He shook hands and accepted enthusiastic slaps on the back. He looked to where you stood, embraced in Omera's arms. Winta had already claimed Grogu, the two of them heading off to play with the other kids. The sight of his son playing with the other children warmed Din's heart, but that content, fuzzy feeling soon faded when his gaze fell back on you. Dread and sorrow wash over him, choking him, knowing what he has to do. Din turns to one of the men, lowering his voice. "Please, I need to speak to the village elders."

Din felt like the worst person in the galaxy as he discussed your future with the council, all the while you remained completely unaware of the real reason he'd brought you here. He'd been reassured you'd have a place here, a safe community to call home. Even through the anger and hurt, he had to know you'd be safe, protected. And since the defeat of the Klatooinian's, sorgon had become a peaceful planet again. He couldn't imagine a safer place for you to start over. Now all that's left to do is to break the news to you.

The ache in Din's chest grew stronger as he walked through the village looking for you. It didn't take him long to spot you, sitting by a fire with two other women you'd become friendly with. Din could tell you were wearing a forced smile by how it didn't reach your eyes. When your gaze locked with his, your smile faltered, replaced with a look of deep remorse and longing. Din sighed wearily and walked over to where Grogu was happily frolicking about with other kids. Again, guilt gnawed away at him as he thought about how hard this is going to be on Grogu. In time, he'll understand, hopefully.

Din catches sight of Omera and makes his way over to her. "Hi," Omera smiled. "Can I speak with you? It's important." Omera's smile dropped slightly, her face taking on a more serious countenance. "Of course," she replied. Din shifted uncomfortably, unused to asking for favours. This is the second time today. "Could you do something for me?" Omera raised an eyebrow in intrigue, waiting for Din to continue. "Would you look after Y/N? She... she's going to need a friend now, more than ever." " What do you mean?" Omera asked, clearly confused. "We're leaving, me and the kid... and Y/N is staying here... permanantly."

Omera glanced over her shoulder to you, then turned back to Din. "Is everything okay with you two?" Din looked down and placed his hands on his hips. "No." He shook his head before raising it again. "I can't explain right now, but, please, promise me you'll look out for her." Omera's face softened. "Of course I will. She's my friend." Din felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, albeit a small one, compared to the weight he'll have to bare for the rest of his life; the weight of breaking your heart and leaving you alone in the galaxy.

But what else was there to do? Nothing could ever be the same between you both again. This is for the best... at least that's what he keeps telling himself. "Thank you," Din replied with a twinge of sadness in his voice. "That... means a lot to me." He patted Omera on the arm in gratitude before making his way over to where Grogu was playing. "Time to go, pal," Din cooed as he bent down to pick Grogu up. "Say goodbye to your friends." Grogu waved as the other kids bade him farewell.

You could tell something was wrong when Omera sat beside you, her normally soft and calm mien now absent. In it's place, concern and worry clouded her features. But before you could ask her if she's okay, Din appeared before you. It's the first time he's acknowledged you since this morning. "Would you come with me for a minute?" The gentle tone of his voice and outstretched hand made your tummy flutter in anticipation. Without a second thought, you took Din's hand and stood up. But the little hope that gesture had given you was dashed when Din immediately released your hand, and you had to fight against the anguish his absent touch left in it's wake.

You silently follow Din to the Razor Crest, stopping at the edge of the ramp. "Are we leaving already?" you ask disappointedly. Din remains silent while he turns around to pick up a bag off the ramp. He holds it out for you and sighs, "I am... you're staying here." And just like that your whole world has come crashing down around you. Din's words are a punch to you gut, stealing your breath away. "What do you mean I'm staying here?!" Your voice wobbled as your veins ran cold. "I mean..." Din set his shoulders and took a deep breath, "This... us..." he gestured between you both, "it's over." Shock has you rooted to the ground. Icy chills prickle over your skin, nausea sweeping through you.

"You... you can't be serious! Din, we have to talk about this. You can't just go making rash decisions like this, please!" Your imploring eyes search Din's visor, hoping to detect even a fraction of hesitation behind it, but you find nothing but unnerving calmness. "I'm not making a rash decision," Din replied almost emotionlessly, pushing your bag of belongings into your hands, "I thought about it all last night and it's the right thing to do." "Look, I know you're upset with me but please just take a minute to -" "I don't need a minute!" Din snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Tears burn your eyes, the lump in your throat causing your voice to quiver. "But I don't understand," you begin, willing your tears to remain where they are, but your resolve is cracking with every passing second. You have to make him see how ridiculous this is! "You broke the creed once to save Grogu and you attoned. Can't you do that again?" "Of course I can," Din answered through gritted teeth. "Then... what's the problem?!" Your voice has now risen in pitch, despite your best efforts to de-escalate the tension. "The problem is you!" Your mouth snaps shut and eyes widen in response to Din's sharp words. Words lined with a razor edge, cutting straight to your core. "You didn't just break the creed Y/N, you broke my trust! The creed can be restored, my trust in you can't."

Words have now completely abandoned you, numbness slowly consuming you as you let Din's truth sink in. You now realise just how much you've hurt him. 'I thought you understood me, respected how my religion is absolute. I can't..." Din shook his head, his voice shuddering as he continued, "I can't trust you ever again. I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore." "Please..." you whimper as your tears begin to fall freely. "please don't do this. Don't leave me. I love you and I know you love me." "I do," Din agreed without hesitation. "Then we can get passed this." You reach for Din's hand but he pulls away. "No." he takes a few steps back, "Love isn't enough."

"So, what?..." you yell as your heartbreak turns into anger, "You're just gonna leave me here, after everything we've been through? You're just gonna to throw it all away like it meant nothing?!" "This is the way," Din responded, robotically, as if he's no longer a living, feeling organism. Fury welled up in your chest, until you were trembling with rage. "Fuck the way!" you exploded, wanting in the moment to wound Din as he has you, but regretting it simultaneously. Din visibly stiffened at your blasphemous insult, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I couldn't lose you Din. I saved your life and I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry." A silence settles between you both before Din sighs and responds, "I know... I'm sorry, Cyar'ika." Din Turns to walk away but you grab his arm, spinning him to face you. "Wait! Where's Grogu?" Your eyes dart to the ramp in search of him. "He's in the ship." "You were just going to take him away from me?!..." you gasped, hand on your chest as if the action would lesson the intensifying ache, "Without letting me see him." "It's for the best. Saying goodbye will only upset him," Din spoke, now devoid of emotion, "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

In that moment your heart shattered completely, the shards ripping you apart from the inside. They say love hurts, but that is an understatement. This raw agony feels like it might just be the end of you. "Please!" you now beg, tears streaming down your face, "He's my son too. Don't take him away from me! He'll think I abandoned him." "He'll understand.... in time." Despite Din's persistence, he seems conflicted, like he's fighting himself on his decision, like underneath all that Beskar he's hurting as much as you.

"Please Din! Please don't do this!. Don't leave me!" you sob loudly as you fall to your knees, clutching your abdomen as if to comfort yourself. Seeing you in distress is unbearable to Din, but what makes it worse is that he's the cause of said distress. He Automatically takes a step towards you, hands outstretched, seeking to hold you but he stops himself and regains his rigid posture. "I'm sorry," he mutters as he quickly spins on his heel and storms up the ramp.

The rising Crest wobbles in your tear filled eyes as it ascends into the sky, heaving breathes causing violent hiccups to rip through your airways, as you watch your family disappear forever. In your distraught state you don't notice a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It's only when your head is gently pulled into a warm chest, that you realise Omera is holding you as your whole life falls apart.

Part 2

[b00kdiary]

EVERY. TIME. I. SEE. YOUR. USER. APPEAR. IN. THE. TAGS. I KNOW FOR A FACT WE’RE GOING TO GET A BOMB ASS BATBOYS FIC 😩😩😫😫

Cautious | Bat Boys (II)

ACOTAR Bat Boys x Plus Size reader

It's just as Cassian said: the bat boys were young and dumb… and fucked females in the same room as each other. Y/N’s in for one hell of a surprise.

Warning: Mature themes (18+), swearing, fluff, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART ONE

I shrieked like Hell at the sight of those two Illyrian males standing before me.

And then I lunged back, a strangled noise escaping me as my hands flew to cover my bare breasts and I yanked my thigh off Rhysand's shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him over. I heard one of the males wince as I slammed my head back against the door, pain erupting through my skull.

I swore the other male laughed.

"Shit," Rhys cursed, a flash of anger pulsing through the haze of lust in his eyes. His hands shot forward, rings digging into my flesh as he righted me, stopping my legs from slipping out from under me. "Shit, are you alright?"

Rhys rose to his full height within a blink, mercifully shielding me with his tall, broad frame – shielding the two watchful eyes behind him. My wide gaze met his, tilting when he cupped my cheek, an anchor that calmed the racing, erratic pulse of my heart.

"Who the fuck are they?" I whisper-yelled, knowing and not caring that they heard me all the same. Rhys frowned, his hand now rubbing the sore spot at the back of my head.

"Those two bastards are my brothers," Rhys sighed, eyes closing in disdain at the sound of low laughter and shuffling feet. "The same two bastards who swore to not fucking come home – "

"I never promised to freeze my balls off in the snow, Rhys," That voice again – arrogant, smug, cock-sure in a way most young males tended to be around here. "Especially not so you could get off with some female – even if she is very pretty."

I blushed at the crude comment, watching as Rhys turned, flashing his canines at the male. I peered around him, my face ablaze as I stared across the dimly lit room to the balcony on the right – the door swung open indeed, showcasing the thick, roaring snow that fell outside.

"Don't goad him Cassian," The other male commented, rough and low, as if his voice was bred from a whisper of wind.

My gaze shifted to him, widening at the sight. Tall, lean, and broad, his scaly Illyrian armour highlighted his muscles. The magnificent, large wings tucked at his back were imposing, but not as much as the shadows coiling around him, clinging to him like a second skin.

His hazel eyes met mine and brightened.

"And stop fucking leering at her," Rhys snarled, furious enough that even I was startled. "That means you too, Azriel."

The other male, Cassian, snorted.

My eyes shifted left to his taller, larger figure. Unlike Rhysand and Azriel, he had a more rugged, rough-hewn appearance. With shoulder-length obsidian hair and red siphons contrasting Azriel's blue, he radiated arrogance in his stance and speech.

As if feeling my eyes on him, his hazel eyes met mine. And despite Rhysand's warning growl, he smirked.

"We're not leering, Rhys, we're admiring," Cassian winked, calloused hands tugging off his breastplate and sheaths and chucking them on the bed behind him. "You don't mind do you, sweetheart?"

I curled into myself at the direct question, cringing as I hastily yanked up my dress, my hands trying and failing to hide my breasts while I did so. Both males watched, darkness yielding in their eyes at the sight of me.

“I wasn’t expecting an audience,” I said after a moment, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to contain his irritation. “It’s quite... improper.”

Azriel chuckled, unsheathing a deadly knife stamped with runes and placing it on the side table. “Something tells me you’re not a stickler for propriety.”

“Well, neither are you two,” I shot back, raising my chin as a spark of fire flared within me. “I don’t recall admiring a naked female unbeknownst to her being part of a gentleman’s conduct.”

Cassian laughed, his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement as I met them. “You won’t find any gentlemen here, sweetheart.”

“Clearly,” I muttered, gnawing on the inside of my cheek as I straightened my dress. Their eyes tracked my every movement, and the thought of them witnessing that moment between Rhysand and me—hearing, smelling, watching me fall apart—sent a wave of heat through me.

“You’ll have to excuse my brothers' manners, Y/N,” Rhys said, his voice strained. “They see a pretty female, and all sense of common decency vanishes from their thick heads.”

Cassian nodded thoughtfully, crossing his muscled arms over his powerful chest. “Yes, we should definitely take lessons from Rhys here. It was incredibly decent of him to have his tongue—”

“Cassian,” Rhys warned, cutting him off with a glare. Azriel coughed loudly, trying to cover the laughter that had come rumbling out from him.

Rhys scowled at both the males like he wanted to rip them limb from limb. I stepped forward before he could lose his temper and do so.

“Is this where you all sleep then?” I cleared my throat, glancing around the decently large room.

Three single beds were neatly arranged against the walls, each with a cabinet and set of drawers. On the right, a balcony with wrought-iron railings overlooked the landscape outside.

I ignored the embarrassment clawing at my skin as I took it all in.

“Home sweet home,” Rhys muttered, and I was relieved to see the simmering anger in his eyes had dimmed. He glanced at me, a corner of his lip twitching. “It seems our luck has been rather poor today, darling. Not a moment of peace for us to be alone.”

I giggled at the faux-wounded frown he wore, my hands clenching into fists at the thought of what other things that peaceful alone time might have gifted us. Rhys’s eyes flared as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Please, by all means, continue,” Cassian said, smirking as he dropped onto the first bed, the wood creaking under his weight. “We would never deny our brother peace—would we, Az?”

Azriel, his beauty matched by a coy smile, gracefully made his way to the furthest bed and settled onto its edge. “Never.”

“Fucking assholes,” Rhys muttered under his breath. But then... I noticed a slight flush colouring his tan cheeks.

His eyes met mine, and I sensed a flicker of curiosity in them. My heart skipped a beat.

“Continue… with the two of you here?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. Their expressions darkened as my words hung in the air.

I had thought they were joking but the silence, the way they watched me said otherwise.

“You wouldn’t be so cruel as to kick us out to endure the snow, would you?” Cassian leaned back on his palms, a challenging gleam in his eyes. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t seen or done it all before.”

Rhys stepped forward, shooting Cassian a warning glare that seemed tinged with embarrassment. “Enough of this. Come on, darling, I’ll walk you back—”

“Meaning what exactly?” I cut off Rhysand’s outstretched hand, fixing an arched brow on the arrogant male. “That you’ve all... watched each other with your respective partners?”

The room fell into a tense silence, Rhysand's jaw tightening.

That was a yes then.

Heat bloomed through me, dancing with the tendrils of excitement and curiosity – and arousal at the thought.

“Just moments of drunken bad decisions and getting caught up in the allure of a female,” Rhys waved a dismissive hand, yet uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “Nothing I’d subject you to, darling. Let’s get away from these idiots—”

I took a step closer, meeting his gaze with a challenging glint. “Why not? Am I not alluring enough to get caught up with?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Rhysand’s features, his posture stiffening slightly as he processed my words. I nearly crooned at the heat that darkened his violet eyes as I smiled at him.

Cassian and Azriel went deathly still, their breaths held as I approached Rhysand.

“It seems a shame for the night to be cut short so quickly,” I purred, my voice low and suggestive. Rhysand’s breath stuttered as I stopped just inches from him, feeling the heat of his body and the firmness of his chest beneath my touch. “If I recall, you promised to be the best friend I’d ever had.”

“Darling,” his voice strained, matching the tension in his hardened posture. I could feel the strength of his arousal pressing against his breeches.

“You don’t have to do anything—” he began, but I cut him off.

“Now who’s being cautious?” I teased, my own heart racing with anticipation. Rhysand let out a nervous laugh, gazing down at me with a mixture of awe and desire. “You boys don’t mind, do you?”

I glanced over my shoulder, meeting the unnervingly still gazes of Cassian and Azriel. Fluttering my lashes, I watched Cassian’s fists clench and Azriel’s shadows coil around him in a silent, frantic dance.

For all their earlier arrogance and bravado, both males remained stunned as I bit my lip, waiting for their response. The silence spoke volumes, and I interpreted it as a yes.

My heart raced, a whirlwind of worries and insecurities threatening to overwhelm me. But I pushed them aside, forcing myself to focus as I tiptoed closer and captured Rhys’s lips with mine.

He kissed me back furiously, groaning into me as my tongue slipped through his mouth and battled his. I gasped, back bowing as his ringed fingers dug into the flesh at my back, roughly kneading the flesh before settling over my ass and gripping it hard.

I moaned and my core clenched when one of the males behind me gave an answering growl in response. Rough and lewd, as if unwittingly wrenched from him at the sight of us.

Rhys devoured me, his skilled tongue easily overpowering mine and fanning against me with such intensity I became a puddle in his hands. I began pulling him back with me, my fingers ripping at the buttons of his shirt, revealing the corded, smooth skin underneath.

“Shit,” He groaned as I raked my nails down his chest, toying with his nipples as we passed Cassian’s bed. I saw the male’s attention unrelenting on us as we moved, his chest rising and falling in harsh, broken waves. Azriel’s wings rustled on my right, and I could feel his eyes on me, as harsh as a brand on my skin.

We halted just before the middle bed, the only one left unoccupied—Rhys's bed.

 I wasn't entirely sure where my newfound confidence had come from, what had emboldened me in the presence of their eyes and desire. But the attention seemed to invigorate me, enough that I pushed Rhys onto the edge of the bed with a grin.

“These beds are adorable,” I purred, smirking as my fingers traced across Rhys’s throat, gently tilting his chin up to meet my gaze. He looked dazed, his grin matching the intensity in his eyes.

“You are trouble,” He murmured, his throat bobbing. “Such fucking trouble.”

I giggled, the sound feeling oddly innocent given our current situation. But Rhys seemed to enjoy it, tilting his head to press a long, indulgent kiss to my lips, slow and caressing, leaving me dizzy.

Beside us, I heard Cassian suck in a sharp breath as my hands slid up my chest, tugging at the puffed sleeves of my dress, revealing as much as the tight material allowed. As I pulled back, I felt their feral gazes fixated on the hint of cleavage revealed by the neckline.

“Azriel,” I turned to the male on the right, noticing his back stiffen and his eyes widen as I slowly edged closer to him. I couldn’t help but smile at the slight blush spreading across his cheeks. “Would you mind—”

Turning away from his silent stare, I glanced over my shoulder, subtly indicating the laces at the back of my dress. I swore his eyes turned an intense shade of black.

A second ticked by, and then another, and just when I thought he would refuse, his gaze dropped to my back and his hands reached forward and began tugging at the laces. I saw the burns on his hands, recalling rumours I’d heard long ago.

But as he gently tugged the material loose, his callouses and scars scratching against my goose-bumped skin, I felt nothing but pure arousal. A whimper slipped from me as he dragged one long finger down my spine, as if unable to help himself.

I wondered how his fingers would feel elsewhere, just how well he would touch me.

I turned back and gave him a small, lust-filled smile. One he returned with a darkness that made me almost climb onto him instead. I heard Rhys chuckle behind me like he heard that thought.

And that darkness amplified as I stepped back, turning to see all three males watching me with bated breath. The air became almost congested with arousal as I slowly, gracefully, tugged down the dress, inch by inch revealing me underneath.

“Fuck, you are – ” Cassian snarled softly, one hand coming up to rub at his face. It seemed a first for the male to ever be so speechless.

“I’d have to agree with Cassian, though I might have worded it more eloquently,” Rhys muttered, ignoring the scowl his brother gave him. Those violet eyes traced from the tips of my toes all the way to my eyes, drinking me in. “You are a sight to behold.”

I blushed, wrangling my hands before me, my nipples peeked from the cold air and a wetness grew steadily between my clenched thighs. Rhys leaned back on his palms; his hardness was undeniable before me.

“I think my brothers are considering murdering me so that they can have you all to themselves,” Rhys teased as I inched closer to him. A hum of agreement from my right. “Azriel’s considering killing me and Cassian, he doesn’t like to share.”

Again, the male hummed, his shadows vibrating with the sound around him.

With a playful glint in my eye, I leaned in closer to Rhys, teasingly brushing my lips against his ear before whispering, “Looks like I’m spoiled for choice.”

Rhys chuckled softly, his breath warm against my skin. I shivered as his hands gripped my hips, nails carving into my flesh as I settled either thigh on the bed, straddling him. I felt his length under me, a hiss slipping from his lips as I rubbed down against him.  

“Fuck, darling,” Rhys moaned, eyes fluttering as I reached down between our bodies and began undoing his breeches. I heard Azriel and Cassian shifting on their beds, their breaths sawing in and out as I pulled his cock free, stroking it.

He was thick and long, and my breath was tight in my lungs as I traced my fingers against the strong veins along his shaft, watching him twitch at the mere contact, his hips bucking off the bed. I bit my lip as I watched his body react so perfectly.

“Come on sweetheart,” Cassian said, almost whining. My gaze met his and I blushed at the feral, hungry gleam in his eyes, his own hips shifting uncomfortably back and forth – likely because of the ache of his cock straining in his pants.

“You’ve got Cassian begging,” Azriel mused, now braced forward on his thighs to watch every single action with clarity. “Rhys looks like he might be next.”

“So do you, brother,” Rhys hissed back, shooting the male a glare. But indeed, he did look as if he were on the edge of his control. I whimpered as one bead of pearly pre-cum rolled from his tip and onto my fingers.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered, rising onto my knees and kissing Rhys. He choked on a breath when I dragged him through my core, the wetness so loud in the deathly silence of the room. “Oh Gods – “

I cried out as I sunk down onto him, the both of us gasping into each other’s mouths as he stretched my tight walls. It was a thin line between pleasure and pain as I took him, his size making me ache, but I was so wet, so turned on that he was seated inside within seconds.

“How’s she feel, Rhys?” Cassian asked, his voice rough and unsteady. I heard his breathing hitch as I rolled my hips, my head tilting back as I moaned at the pressure.

“So fucking tight and wet,” Rhys growled through clenched teeth. My hands braced on his shoulders as his hips rolled up into me, faster, harder. “So fucking good.”

“Rhys,” I mewled his name as his pace quickened, his hands on my waist holding my weight as he slammed up into me again and again. Cassian and Azriel watched unblinkingly – my tits bouncing with every thrust, the soft jiggle of my ass as I met Rhys’s thrusts.

There was something maddening between us as Rhys fucked me, something that made us both frantic and feral, teeth and tongues clashing as we met each brutal thrust together. I was scratching Rhys’s shoulders and neck hard enough to bleed and the pain of it made him snarl, biting my bottom lip in encouragement.

“That’s it,” Rhys praised, his forehead pressed to mine and our eyes locked as I rode up and down him, my legs shaking as I moved. “You look so pretty darling – doesn’t she look so pretty boys?”

I whimpered at his words, sweat coating my skin as pleasure coiled and coiled within me. Cassian released a long breath, and my eyes met his dilated ones, watched his chest tremble as he watched me.

“Fucking perfect,” Cassian rasped, and I knew he fought the urge to touch himself, fought the urge to touch me as I rolled my hips in sharp, desperate circles.

My back bowed dangerously as Rhys’s tip hit that sweet, devastating spot within me, spongey and sensitive and so receptive to his every thrust. I cried out loudly, my eyes screwing as Rhys took over, bucking his cock up, up, up relentlessly.

There were hands kneading and pinching my nipples, no, not hands – shadows. I glanced down and saw them toying with my aching breasts, their master grumbling with satisfaction at the sounds that came from me.

“Oh Gods – “ More tendrils joined, dancing across my waist and lower, lower, lower, and I had tears in my eyes as they snaked to toy at my clit. “Oh my fucking Gods – “

Rhysand’s hand curled around my throat, dragging my eyes to his and there was pure delight twinkling like stars in them. “You gonna come, darling? Gonna give my brothers a real show?”

His filthy words made that pit inside me tauten unbearably, his cock and those shadows and those eyes on me – it was all too much. “Rhys, I’m – I’m gonna – “

His fingers tightened at my throat, trapping the air. “You wanna come? Ask Cassian and Azriel, darling. See if they’re nice enough to let you finish.”

Taunting, cruel words. And somehow, my body obliged him, my orgasm halting at the threshold, as if unable to deny him.

I turned pleading eyes to Cassian and Azriel as Rhys ruined me, tears now rolling down my cheeks. “Please, please can I come? Please – “

“Cauldron,” Azriel cursed, hands clenching at his thighs. I saw his arousal through my tears and felt my mouth water at how big he was.

“Please – “

“Come, sweetheart,” Cassian whined, his wings spreading wide behind him. “Wanna hear you fall apart.”

Rhys angled his hips, in tandem with the shadows flicking back and forth at my sore clit – and it all ruptured within me.

“Rhys!”

I came with a desperate cry, my head thrown back and my body turning to steel as my orgasm rocked through me like a wild fire. I felt my stomach tense, my walls clenching and unclenching around Rhys as I collapsed against him.

Cassian and Azriel growled in appreciation as I fell apart, my noises endless and my body shaking and wrecked from exhaustion.

“Fuck, darling,” Rhys panted, his hips starting to falter, his damp hair half-shielding those star-burst eyes as he watched me. “Fuck – “

“Don’t stop, Rhys,” I begged him, kissing his jaw, his mouth, his neck, biting and nibbling as I felt him twitch inside me. “You’re nearly there, baby.”

He seemed to like the soft name, liked hearing it purred into his ear as he fucked me. Because that seemed to shatter his restraint, seemed to push him off that edge.

I watched as his hips faltered, his head lolling back to expose the strong column of his throat. His eyes rolled and his mouth parted, releasing the most sensual, arousing noise as he reached his peak. The sound reverberated through the room, through me, as if it possessed a power of its own.

He panted furiously, his head dropping to rest his forehead on my bare chest, and I felt the brush of his cool gasps prickling my skin. The air was heavy and silent as we caught our breaths, our sweaty, exhausted bodies slumping against each other, the touch just right.

“Are you alright?” Rhys muttered, his hands pulling back the damp strands of my hair and cupping my cheeks to look into my eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, I’m good,” I smiled, hazy. “I’m perfect Rhys.”

“Yes, you are,” Cassian voiced, a hint of something like envy in his voice. “I’m damn glad the Mother made it snow tonight.”

Rhys and I laughed, and his touch was gentle as he helped me rise, his cock slipping free as I did so. Azriel swore as he peered between my legs, where my release and Rhysand’s mixed and dripped down my thighs, making a mess.

“Az is still thinking about killing me,” Rhys smirked, turning to me to sit atop his lap, my back to his chest. I looked at his brother, cheeks tinted red and his cock painfully hard in his pants – he didn’t deny it. “I can’t say I blame him.”

I giggled, letting out a tight breath as Rhys wrapped his arms around me, his hands massaging my thighs and calves to ease the shaking. I had never experienced an orgasm like that before in my life, never experienced this moment before.

"You three are certainly something,” I teased, glancing between them. They all smiled now, adoringly. “I thought – “

I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence.

Not as we heard the front door click open. Not as footsteps barged in – not as two female voices called mine and Rhysand’s name.

“Shit – “ All three males had the good sense to look alarmed, Rhys lifting me to my feet before him.

I was still stark naked, with his seed leaking down my thighs – and those footsteps were getting closer and closer. I met Rhys’s wide, horrified eyes and I frowned.

“Should we jump off the balcony?”

___________________________________

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[postmoe]

Can you do a Yandere ZZZ men getting rejected. like the genshin version same reason that they just weren't their type and misunderstood. Also I saw this art about Seth older brother.

https://x.com/yougei_/status/1872198958057169238

omg pls if Seth's brother isn't something cool like that. They bring him up slightly in Harumasamasa story and I was so O.O tell me more.

Happy new year everyone! Welcome 01/01/2025!

Wise, Ben, Billy, Anton, Seth, Lycaon, Lighter, Harumasamasa - drugging, fighting, suggestive themes, I think i made it pretty gn so it could go either way, knocking out.

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Wise:

It takes a lot of courage for someone introverted like him to speak up about his feelings. He goes through all the possible scenarios before even bringing this up, deciding that if he's going to be true than he will shoot his shot in person and not message you the dozens of deleted texts he had initially typed.

That's why when you say 'no', it's very disheartening but he's not all that scared about the consequences.

"The city is a terrible place, you know? Generic crime is the least of its worries, not when corruption is rampant in every security and business corporation that exists."

You're not really listening to his rambles, shoulders shaking as you cry through the gag in your mouth, saliva ripping down your chin. Your arms are tied tightly behind you, around the back of the chair you're sitting on and preventing you from moving freely. When Wise finally removes the blindfold from your eyes, the room around you is blurred by your constant tears. He has the generosity to wipe them for you, seeing your a concrete room with a few necessities. A bed in the corner, a small couch, a television with some movie tapes (nothing too scary), a small, wooden coffee table. You see a mini fridge ahead and the bottom of a staircase. There's no windows, though a mirror behind a plastic sheathe in front of you shows a room behind you with a toilet and possibly a shower.

Despite your spit coating your face and the hyperventilation through your nose, he tenderly cups your chin and kisses the corner of your mouth, almost shyly if it weren't for the heated glint in your eyes, "Humans can adjust to anything, with time. Don't worry, you know I'll always keep you safe, with or without your consent."

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Billy:

"What do you mean?! It's because I'm a robot, isn't it? That's low, starlight, suuuper, suuuuuuper low."

You shake your head, smiling innocently with your hands up to indicate that that's not the case at all. "Billy, you're one of the most charming people I know-"

"- Then date me! C'mon, I promise I'll be the perfect partner for you. I'm your knight in shining armour, after all! Literally," he taps against his chest to make a 'ding ting!' sound.

You refuse the laugh that bubbles up, thinking back to all the times he has 'coincidentally' been there when you needed it most. "Yeah, about that... I wanted to talk to you..." How do you say this? 'Billy, be honest, have you been stalking me?' It is probably best to just be out with it, "Have you been following me, Billy? It's kind of weird that we keep running into each other all the time, especially whenever you seem to think I'm 'in danger'." Which could literally be you mis stepping and having him rush over to you in worry from seemingly nowhere.

As a robot, you'd think one of the better things he was capable at was lying. However, the animated nature of his gives him away too easily. He knows that all too well, deciding it was easier to just come out with the truth. Billy nervously rubs the back of his neck, "Ah, Anby said it would come across as creepy... But, you have to understand from my perspective, starlight! You're made of breakable materials. Flesh, bones, muscles, meat, it's all something that can be so easily taken advantage of."

With a sigh, you shake your head, hoping to get through to him since he obviously has the wrong idea about your species, "No, we're not that fragile. Humans-"

"-No, but, see, you are!" He's too into it now, grasping your wrist with little effort. You step back in shock, wincing at the pain, asking him to let go but he doesn't. Billy's voice is softer, the yellow lights of his eyes narrowing in on the pained expression your face so easily portrays, "I'm not even using a lot of pressure here. If you listen closely, you can hear the splitting of your bone. No, seriously! Put your ear to it," he holds up your wrist when you start to cry, looking around desperately for anyone nearby. It's late, not even a bangboo in sight.

With a loud 'snap!', your voice chokes and your crumple to your knees, except Billy doesn't let you fall to the ground. He picks you up in his arms and holds you to his cool, metal chest. He's cooing over you as you cry and cradle your wrist. You look up with such a hurtful expression, "W-Why did you do that? I need a hospital."

As if something clicks, he quickly changes mode and started fretting, holding you tighter, "Oh, shoot! Dammnit, starlight, why'd'ya make me do that? I didn't mean to go that far. Hah... Come on, let's get you home and fix you up. No more late night escapades, 'kay?"

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Ben:

The guilt riding him when he takes you is immeasurable... He knows it's for the best. Statistically speaking, you're more likely to get hurt without him around to protect you. It's just unfortunate it had to go this route.

At the moment you were in a cage in the corner of his home office, shaking with anger and cold as he had stripped most of your clothes in punishment, your arms restrained behind your back and a blindfold to keep you more sensitive. He checks the time on the corner of his computer; it's only been 20 minutes.

Once you rejected him, he had seemed to take it in stride. It wasn't meant to be, sometimes you see a juicy fish just too late and miss it, he had to move on.

But he couldn't.

Your fiery attitude and boisterous laughter filled the calm void inside him. You are everything to him.

So one night, when he's walking down the street to clear his mind, he sees you getting off work late. When salmon travel upstream to go home, it's the bear's job to catch it. Or, something like that. With the way his mouth salivates and his body jitters in excitement, he can't help but compare you to a delicious meal, even if he doesn't want to devour you - in that sense.

Once you wake up, you fight, of course you do. He doesn't necessarily blame you for it, but, bad behaviour needs to be punished. It's when you tried to bite through his thick fur did he snap. Intentionally hurting someone is a no-go. Though, it is your first offence. Another ten or fifteen minutes and he'll let you out.

"I don't want to keep you trapped here forever. I'd like if we could go out together, too. We just need to be civil about this," he states, hoping to appeal to you with calm incitements.

Instead, you grit your chattering teeth and curse, "Fffff-uck yo-ou."

His shoulders sag, his frown deepening as he turns back to his monitor to continue working.

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Anton:

He and his bro had spent countless hours rehearsing and none of the answers to come out were negative. So, how is it that you say anything but a resounding YES?

"I dunno," you say, shyly rubbing your arm as you avert your eyes, "I just always thought I was one of the guys. Whenever you introduced us it was always 'Anton and his two bros'."

His jaw goes slack as his brain catches up. It takes a moment of cogs turning and mathematical calculations as every moment he's ever 'friend-zone'd you comes flashing in his mind. Then, he bursts out laughing, his large hand coming to land on your shoulder, "Dude, no way! Okay, I can see where you might think that." In a completely different display of affection, one you haven't exactly experienced from a man like Anton, he runs his hand down your arm and catches your own hand in his, collecting your other as well to intertwine his fingers and hold you close. He swallows the lump in his throat, as though saying it a second time is harder than the first, - though in his defense, he and his bro had concluded that you would say yes after the first confession, this wasn't in the script. "I really do like you, (Y/n). A lot. I'd do anything for you."

Anton truly is one of the sweetest people you know. However, "I'm sorry, Anton. I think our lifestyles are just too different to begin with. But hey! I'll always be your bro!"

It's getting awkward, and you have to tug a few times before he lets go. With a small farewell, you turn on your heel to leave and give you both some time to think. He will be okay, Anton always bounces back, no problem!

Except, he doesn't. In another turn of events for someone like him, he zeroes in on a nerve near the back of your neck and hits it hard. Immediately, you collapse into his arms, unconscious.

The drill on his hip shifts from the adjustment he has to make to carry you, causing him to look down before averting his gaze with a guilty conscience, "What? Don't look at me like that, they were getting away! Besides," the smile of his is unparalleled as he stares at your sleeping face, "We just need to show them their place with us; they'll come around."

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Seth:

He knows it's wrong, it's so wrong. The stalking. The lying. The manipulation. Saying something as, "Wow! What a coincidence, I didn't expect to see you here, (Y/n)." is enough to make his heart hurt with deceit. You deserve better, you deserve the word.

But you just won't listen.

You run down any empty alley to help someone who calls for help and have been scammed and attacked four times this month because of it. Yes, he knows he does it too, but, he has the skills to deal with it! It also means your money gets stolen easily and you're left with cup noodles every night for a week because you can't afford a proper meal. Not to mention your sleep schedule taking a toll because you refuse to close up shop if a customer is taking their time because you don't want to 'hurt their feelings'. Or what about that cat bite that struggled to heal because-

Seth takes a deep breath, calming his racing and distraught thoughts. His superior Zhu Yuan said it herself, "If someone I love kept putting themselves in danger, then I'd step in, no questions."

He's offered countless times to handle things, to get you to call him in any sort of emergency, and wishes so badly that you would accept his feelings rather than saying something stupid like you'd get in the way of his goals.

Why is he so scummy?

The sound of the lock to your shop is loud in the empty street. It's 11pm, you usually shut at 9 tonight. You're so tired and unconcerned that you don't even jump at his presence when you finally turn around. Your parted lips spread into a smile, tired eyes crinkling as you greet him, "Officer Seth! What a lovely surprise, are you out patrolling?" When you step forward, you notice that he's hunched in on himself, a prominent frown on his usually cheerful face, ears back and looking solemn. You come even closer, unaware of any possible signals he could be giving you to stay away, "Seth? Are you okay, what's happening?"

Instead of saying anything directly, he just walks forward until his body meets yours, collapsing into you for a hug. You let him melt in your embrace, hands coming up to rub his back gently and pet the soft tufts of his hair, murmuring how you're there for him. He has to stop his hand from shaking when he holds up the injection pen, calmly moving your hair away from your neck as though he was simply returning the favour of comfort. "I'm sorry," he mumbles into your skin, his own tired eyes closing to shut out the world, allowing it to be only him and you, "It'll only get worse if I do nothing, and it's already so bad now."

You don't have time to ask him what he means, the sudden pressure in your neck causing you to yelp. The sting comes after the shock, you try to pull away but he doesn't let you move, only continuing to squeeze you against him as your legs buckle and go numb. "Seth...?" You whisper his name, looking up with such a worried expression that he can't help but smile softly.

"No, dummy," he lifts you up when your arms go paralysed next, walking in the direction of his car, "You're supposed to scream for help when something happens."

Your lips wobble as you begin to cry, unsure of what your dear friend is planning by doing something like this. His car comes into view and you shift your head against his chest, voice weak, "Help."

"Shh," he hushes you, savouring your warmth in the quiet night, "It's too late for any of that now. You'll be safe with me."

For weeks he had been dealing with this dark, malicious substance oozing through his veins at the prospect of doing something so criminal. Now, though? Now, as he holds you and feels you and sees you in front of his, he feels like everything is suddenly right with the world. He must've been overthinking everything like usual.

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Lycaon:

You shouldn't be so surprised to see that Lycaon has such a nice apartment. His job isn't exactly middle class and he rarely spends money outside of his fur upkeep products.

Still, as you sit the wet umbrella in its plastic sheath - curtesy of the building staff - next to the door way, you can't help but look around in awe. There's no a lot going on, a large lounge that has enough space for at least ten people, accompanied by a larger tv that is currently off. An open kitchen, hallways to the left and right, an upstairs with a balcony over half the floor plan.

And a lovely table and chairs by the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the city of New Eridu, which was currently pouring with rain and being illuminated by lightning.

Lycaon was standing by the lovely table, placing down the teapot down after pouring two cups before turning to face you. In an unusual turn of events, he wasn't wearing his signature uniform which you have grown accustomed to seeing, instead, he was in a simple black, buttoned down shirt and long pants. He hadn't changed the patch and belts on his face, however, which he regards with a tender touch and explanation, "Apologies, I barely had time to change before you arrived. Even though I invited you over, it's unforgivable of me."

You purse you lips at him, walking towards the set-up and stating, "You said you had feelings for me and yet you still talk to me like I'm one of your clients."

The corners of his lips tick up in a dejected smile, "I suppose it's habitual at this point. Besides, I'm still a little unsure how to go about this."

He pulls out the chair for you to sit, your body resting in the comfortable cushion on the hard seat. It takes you a moment to realise that what you said probably wasn't the best call right now. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that... I was just trying to lighten the mood."

This time, his smile is a little more sincere, "Please, do not worry about it. Our previous meetings have been a tad awkward so I understand."

This relaxes you greatly, your shoulders sagging in relief. You turn your attention to the hard rain hitting the windowsill next to you, the home is warm but you're close enough for the cool air on the window to still hit you, "It's really coming down, huh?"

"Indeed," he agrees, not that he could really argue against it. Lycaon takes your cup and opens a small sugar bowl, taking a spoonful and stirring until it all dissolves, "I believe the forecast stated that it would be storming all week."

"I hope the outer circles are okay, they tend to flood easily," you mindlessly pray, accepting the teacup once he's placed it back on the saucer. You both enjoy a silence of words as you sip from your respective beverages, the rain soothing your mind.

Lycaon's ears flicker every-so-often to the sound of thunder, an endearing attribute to witness. You wonder if days like these would be common if you had said yes. It would be nice, but, you know now just isn't the right time for something like that.

Lycaon considers differently.

He clears his throat after a while, once you both had enjoyed a substantial amount of tea, "I must admit, my reasons for inviting you over are not quite... honourable."

You finally look away from the drowning city lights and to your friend, "What do you mean?"

He sets his palms in his lap and takes a deep breath, exhaling from his mouth to steady any unease, "I'm afraid I won't be allowing you to leave here, (Y/n). I've contemplated back and forth about my actions and decided that this was the most favourable outcome."

Confusion hits you before any sort of fear or anxiety, "Huh? Are you going to kill me?"

When Lycaon stiffens at that, you can't help but feel like your joke wasn't exactly off the mark. It's only until he shakes his head, almost exasperated, that you finally remember to breathe, "Goodness, no! I would never entertain such a thing. I merely mean that unless supervised by myself, you won't be leaving the premises."

You roll your eyes and play along, "Okay, so, do I have to find a hint to unlock the door? Is this a new thing for your business-" everything suddenly blurs and you double over in exhaustion. What the heck? It takes a moment to recover but when you do, you stand abruptly from the table, both hands steadying you as your body is overcome with unease, "Actually... I don't wan'na to play anymore..."

One step turns to two, and perhaps you get another half in before you're knees are collapsing beneath you and Lycaon is holding you up. He's kneeling, carefully monitoring your condition to make sure you go down as simply as the drug entices. He's talking calmly, saying something to soothe the process, perhaps, but you'll never know beyond the jumbled noise being muffled by your own hearing.

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Lighter:

"You're not taking this seriously!" You shout at him, charging forward to get one good, hard punch to his cheek.

Lighter easily sidesteps you, grabbing a hold of your arm and twisting it backwards. You yelp in pain as he pins you down, finally doing something other than dodging your attacks, "Oh? Is that better or, do you want me to punish you more?"

His knee rubs suggestively between your thighs, your eyes tearing up in frustration as you thrash and kick. Mercifully, he retreats off of you and you you're quick to stand in another defensive position, "What is your problem?! If you're going to fight me than fight me properly!"

"I think you've forgotten that you're the one who issued this challenge," he pushes his sunglasses up his face nonchalantly, refusing to take them off despite the fact it's nighttime.

You growl and rush in to deliver a swift kick to his shin - which he artfully evades, "Only because you won't leave me alone! I'm fine by myself, I've always been fine by myself! I only ever started having troubles when you came into my life!"

He tuts and shakes his head, jumping back from another attack, "You know Big Daddy says it's not okay to tell porky pies. Little pigs like you who do get in big trouble for it."

That makes you falter, stepping back in bafflement and frankly a bit of discomfort, "What?"

Lighter is quick on his feet, stepping aside you, kicking out to trip up your ankle and catching you from behind. He spreads your legs with his own and holds your wrists behind your back, "If it weren't for me, nobody in the outer ring would look twice at you before robbing you blind and leaving your body dead in a ditch. Vulnerable city folk like you aren't exactly welcome here."

"Why go through all that trouble for someone like me, then?" You try to get out but this time, he isn't faltering, so you relinquish yourself for a moment of clarification, "If you guys hate me so much then why did you step in?"

"Because I like you. I really, fucking like you. And all I wanted was a bit of thanks and appreciation," he leans down to mumble in your ear, biting the lobe not all that gently. Again, you're pushed to the ground, his hips easily keeping you down without so much as breaking a sweat, "I win. Now, as per our agreement, this time you have to say, 'yes'."

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Harumasamasa:

You're hands are shaking so badly that you can't hold a cup of liquid without spilling it. Your head is swimming with nausea and you seeing double of everything. How long had he been doing this without you knowing? Was this why your back didn't seem to ache the same way anymore, or your knees or your shoulders?

The door to your cell opens and you're greeted with the man himself. It's amazing how easy it is for people with power to abuse the system. "So, how're you feeling, honey? Changed your mind yet?"

"Y-You're a monster," you spit, stuttering not because you're scared or cold, but because your teeth won't stop chattering from withdrawals.

Harumasa laughs, closing the cell behind him and crouching down so he's at the height of your quivering body on the bench, "Awh, I never claimed to be a good guy! But, I wouldn't go as far as say 'monster.' Still," he reaches out and gently tucks back some of your hair, "In this scenario, you might not be wrong."

You jut your head back, smacking the brick wall with the back of your skull, 'thud!', "Fuck off."

"Oof," he winces, eyes cringing, "That had'ta hurt. C'mon, baby, just say yes and I can make all this disappear."

You're swaying from lack of balance, gods you think you might throw up, "Can't you find someone else to force your love onto?"

He stands abruptly and the motion makes you fall back, only being supported by the construction that was now the cause in your skull, "Nope! I want you. I have since I started dosing you with these." He pulls out a baggie of colourful tablets, his medication for his rare affliction. Sighing wistfully, he cradles the rainbow meds against his cheek, "If it weren't for these bad boys than I wouldn't have been able to get you do addicted to me. No one else can help you now, honey. I'm all you've got."

"Someone will come," you wish under your breath, body falling forward while you clutch your stomach in pain, "Someone will notice."

Harumasa purses his lips at you, humming in thought. With a defeated moan, he pockets the medication and stretches his arms above his head, "Welp, let's see how strong your will is after another day in the cell." Striding to one corner of the room, he grabs the little, plastic rubbish bin and brings it between your legs, "Here, you're gonna need this. The next 24 hours will not be fun for you."

You only notice he's gone when the shutting door echoes through the room, too lost in trying to keep your withdrawing body from keeling over.

[achilles-rage]

Oblivious

summary: you're a part of 50 squad, but with street being your best friend, you spend more time with 20 squad. after a rough day at work, street invites you out with the rest of the team. when tan and luca notice you talking to a man at the bar, they take matters into their own hands, knowing that you're both too dense to realize the other's feelings.

word count: 3.1k

request: @heypeople2 - hi! i’d love a friends to lovers fic with street where the reader is on mumford’s swat team, but is friends with all of street’s team and hangs out with them often. maybe two oblivious lovers? if that makes sense!

A/N: i had no idea where i was going with this at first, but i like how it turned out! enjoy<33

TW: none, allusion to smut, no use of y/n, plus size!reader, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

You still remember every single thing that happened on your first day with 50 squad; it was a stressful day, and you weren’t even supposed to go into the field that day because you had suffered a shoulder injury and were still a few days from being cleared for going out into the field. The universe had different plans, however, and both 50 squad and 20 squad were called to the same place. They needed all the people they could get, so you were quick to tell Rocker you could step in. He wasn’t going to let you, not wanting to go against protocol, but the situation was extremely important, so he finally agreed.

You had a group of hostages with you, trying to take them down to the main floor of the building and to safety, when you saw another SWAT agent fall into the hallway a few feet in front of you, who you now know was Street. It was almost a blur how fast you moved, quickly ushering the hostages into the room you were in front of and moving to cover him, taking down the two suspects that had managed to get the upper hand on him.

From that day on, he was smitten. He was impressed by your skill, of course, especially after he learned that you were still injured, but he also thought you were gorgeous. If it wasn’t an active shooter situation, he would’ve had the time to watch your plush body maneuver through the doorway and take down two targets, how strong your thick thighs looked, how your gear clung to your soft belly and chest. Instead, he noticed after all the shooters were taken into custody, when you came over to ask if he was okay in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.

You had noticed how attractive he was too, his broad shoulders, his lean torso. When you went to make sure he was okay, you were asking out of concern, but also because you were curious about him. He immediately continued the conversation when he told you he was alright, wanting to know everything that he could about you, and the rest is history. The rest of 20 squad quickly picked up on this new friendship, noticing the way your eyes would find each other in a room when the other person isn’t looking, and the way you talk to each other. They also quickly realized how truly oblivious you two were, as it seemed that neither of you knew the other person’s feelings.

Now, over a year later, you and Street are best friends, and it’s because of this that you find yourself hanging out with 20 squad more often than 50 squad outside of work, although you still love everyone on your own team.

“Rough day, killer?” you hear from across the parking lot as you step out of the armoured vehicle, groaning softly as you feel the pain in your shoulder. It may have been over a year ago, but after an especially hard day of work, your shoulder still gives you some trouble. It’s nothing some painkillers and a heating pad can’t fix, but until you get home and get them, the dull ache remains.

“You have no idea.” Street chuckles at your response, taking in your figure. He notices the way you’re holding yourself, he’s seen it before, he knows your shoulder is giving you trouble.

“We just got back a few minutes ago, we’re all going to get drinks. A drink or two might help with that.” he tells you, a smirk on his face as you walk over to him, starting to take off your gear.

“Yeah, alright. But it’ll be an early night. Want to share an uber over there? I don’t want to leave my car there overnight.” You want nothing more than to go home and lay on the couch with a heating pad over your injury, but as soon as the option of spending more time with Street appears, you can’t help but say yes. He shakes his head at your words, scoffing.

“I can just take you on my bike. I’m not drinking tonight.” he tells you nonchalantly, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest as he imagines you pressed against him on the back of his bike. He imagines your thick thighs wrapped around him, your torso against his back, even though he knows he shouldn’t be thinking about his best friend like that.

You tense at his words, your breath catching in your throat. You’re imagining the exact same scenario as him, but you can’t help the slight insecurities that race through your brain at the image. Your soft body pressed against his. He’d be able to feel every curve of your body, even the ones you usually keep hidden, knowing that although you’ve grown used to them, and are beginning to like your body again, not everyone likes to see them. You also think of having to sit on the tiny seat of his motorcycle, him having to hold up the bike along with your added weight, and you can’t help the nerves twisting at your insides. Imagining how you’d look squeezed onto the back of his bike is something you really don’t want to have to think about, so you’re quick to respond.

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to-” He cuts you off, shaking his head as he speaks.

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to be spending money on an uber when you can just ride with me.” he tells you, but a hopefulness breaks through his features, lighting up his eyes ever so slightly. You pick up on this, and let out a sigh, knowing he won’t let this go. Maybe you can do it just this once, and then tell him it was too scary and you never want to do it again, you think. Maybe then, he won’t ask again.

“Alright, fine. I’m just gonna take a quick shower and change. I’ll meet you out here in 15?” you tell him, smiling softly as he nods. You turn and quickly walk into the building, making your way to the locker room.

The nerves are taking over every inch of your body as you rinse off quickly, your brain going into overdrive as you think about having to ride on Street’s motorcycle. It’s a short distance to the bar you guys usually go to, but it’s still a decent amount of time to be pressed up against Street.

Once you’re showered and changed, you go out to the parking lot, letting out a shaky breath before you get close enough to Street for him to hear it. He notices the way you’re still holding your arm a little awkwardly, and he feels a little bad for inviting you out.

“You take some painkillers already?” he asks softly, worry spreading across his face as you shake your head.

“I ran out. I’ll have to get some on my way home.” He turns and reaches into his bag, taking out a bottle of the same meds he’s seen you use. He never told you, but he went out and bought some when he found out which ones you prefer. He knows how much your shoulder bothers you after rough days, and he wanted to make sure you never have to go without them should you run out.

Your eyes soften as he pulls them out, and you take them from his hands. You take one quickly, then hand them back to him, thanking him softly.

He hands you his spare helmet once he puts the pills back in his bag and gets on, holding a hand out for you to get on behind him.

Your ascent is a little awkward, but you finally manage to get on with his help, your cheeks hot as embarrassment fills your stomach.

He finally starts to drive and you put your arms around his waist tightly, feeling your breath pick up as he turns onto the road. You know he can sometimes be a crazy driver, but he seems to hold back today, perhaps picking up on your nerves.

Street has a hard time focusing on the road as he makes his way to the bar; having you pressed up against him so tight has him fighting every urge to drive right from work to his house and dragging you upstairs to bed. The way your arms are tightly wound around him also gets him a little riled up; how you’re putting so much trust into him. He makes sure to take it easy. If anything were to happen to you because of his driving, he doesn’t think he would ever recover.

When you finally make it to the bar and walk in, Tan and Luca are quick to look over at you two, their eyes immediately going to each other with raised eyebrows as they see the way Street’s hand is on your lower back, and the way you’re looking over at him with twinkling eyes. They’ve been trying to get you two together for months; and they feel like tonight is finally the night they can make it happen. You catch up with the rest of the squad for a few minutes, before you lean to whisper in Street’s ear that you’re going to go get a drink.

“You want me to come with you?” he asks over the music and chatter of the bar, but you shake your head, giving him a soft smile. You tell him you’ll just be a minute before you turn and walk over to the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish with another customer.

“That’s a nice bike you rode in on. What year is it?” you hear a voice beside you speak. You turn with a raised brow, looking up at a man who came into the bar just after you, seeing you getting off of Street’s motorcycle.

“Oh, um, I have no idea.” you tell him, giving him a small smile.

“It’s a nice one, your boyfriend hasn’t told you anything about it?” Your breath catches in your throat at the word boyfriend. You feel embarrassed, but also a sense of pride that he thinks you’re dating him. You shake your head, letting out a soft laugh.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and he doesn’t talk much about it to me.” you admit sheepishly. The man gives you an awkward smile, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I just assumed-” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. You give him an earnest smile, putting your hand on his arm as you tell him that it’s alright. You can sense he’s a little embarrassed, and that wasn’t your intention. It was an honest mistake.

You’re so focused on the man that you don’t notice that Luca and Tan’s eyes are glued on you the moment the man walks up to you. Smirks break out onto both of their faces as they watch, both of them having the same idea.

“Hey, Street. I think that guy’s trying to steal your girl away from you.” Luca teases Street as he motions over to you at the bar. Street turns in the direction Luca’s pointing at, about to tell him that he doesn’t have a girl, but his words fall short. He looks over just in time for you to give the man a smile as you place your hand on his arm, and he can feel the jealousy bubbling up inside him.

“Yeah, man. You should go get her, before he tries to take her home.” Tan chimes in, smirking as he sees Street’s fists clench at his sides and his jaw clenched. Street is seeing red at this point, imagining you going home with that man instead of him.

He marches over to you quickly, unaware that the rest of the squad’s conversations have died down, and they’re all now looking at the situation unfolding with smirks.

“Hey babe.” he purrs, wrapping his arms around your plush waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. He smirks at the man as he sees his brows furrow, feeling like he’s already won, but wanting to take it further.

“Uh, hey, Street. What’s up?” you ask, confusion laced in your voice as you turn your head to look at the side of his face. You’re used to his flirty tendencies, but this is definitely different than you’re used to.

“Just wanted to see if you were ready to go home.” he says in a low tone, kissing your neck softly. His eyes are trained on you, but he watches the man from the corner of his eye, his smirk widening as he sees the confused expression on the man's face and the way he takes a step back from you two.

“What are you talking abou-” You’re cut off by Street’s lips on yours, his hand coming up and using two fingers to tilt your head towards his. Your eyes widen in shock for a moment before you finally return the kiss, closing your eyes. He’s not sure what came over him at that moment. He’s wanted to do that since he met you, and watching you with another guy at a bar finally sent him over the edge. You pull back after a moment, turning back to the man, but realize he’s already walked away. You turn in Street’s arms, your eyebrows raised.

“What was that for?” you ask, your whole body feeling like it’s on fire, still reeling from the short kiss.

“He was flirting with you.” he states, as if that’s the only reason he needs. You laugh softly, shaking your head.

“He wasn’t flirting with me. He was asking about your bike.” It’s his turn to be confused. He stays silent for a moment, starting to think more clearly about what he just did. He kissed you, and you kissed him back, and you weren’t flirting with the man at the bar.

“Oh.” he says softly after a moment, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, his own still wrapped firmly around your waist despite his racing thoughts.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Why did you do that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side as you look up at him. You think you saw jealousy in his eyes as he approached, but you’re afraid that you’re just seeing what you want to see.

“I don’t know. I had to. I don’t want to see you with someone else.” he says, just loud enough for you to hear over the music. Your drink is long forgotten now as your heart seems to beat louder. Is he saying what you think he’s saying?

“Why not?” You match his volume, and he almost has to bend down to hear you. He can see the glimmer of hope in your eyes, and he thinks that since he’s already gotten this far, he should just tell you the truth.

“I want you all to myself.” he states, smirking as he sees your eyes widen. Your lips part slightly as you try to think of what to say. He’s your best friend, and as deep as your feelings are for him, you’ve never had trouble speaking to him until now.

His eyes search yours as he waits for your response, and he sees the way your lips are beginning to twitch up into a smile and the way your eyes flicker down to his lips for half a second, so he takes his chance.

His lips meet yours again in a soft kiss, and it takes everything in him not to push you against the bar and take you right there. One of his hands reaches up to your jaw, tilting your head up into the kiss, deepening it. He smiles against your lips as you let out a soft whimper, and his other hand moves to squeeze your hip softly.

Your mind is reeling as you kiss him, and you’re not even worried about the way his body is pressed against yours as you get lost in the kiss. It’s not until you hear a loud clinking of a group cheersing their drinks that you pull back, breathing heavily. You have matching grins on your face as you stare into each other's eyes. Street’s eyes dart around the room before they land back on you. He leans in and whispers in your ear.

“You want to get out of here?” You bite your lip as you nod, neither of you even bothering to say goodbye to the squad as you make your way to the door.

The team have been watching the whole time, and they all fight back cheers as they finally see you two give in to one another. Chris chuckles as she watches you two leave, nudging Tan’s shoulder as she speaks.

“Finally. I was beginning to think your ideas were trash.” she teases him, which makes him shrug with a smile.

“They’re both idiots, but they’re perfect for each other, I guess.” The rest of the team agrees with Tan, and their conversations slowly move away from you two to other things, but none of them can wait to tease you two tomorrow.

When you get back to Street’s apartment, he immediately pushes you against the wall, his hands moving to your face as his lips meet yours in a searing kiss. You put your hands on his chest as he slots his knee between your legs, making your whimper softly.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” he murmurs against your lips, hands going down and clawing at the hem of your shirt, desperate to see all of you.

You smile against his lips, raising your arms as he pulls your shirt over your head. His lips are back on your in an instant, trailing down your neck to your chest. He nips and sucks at the exposed parts of your chest, and you tilt your head back to give him more access, one hand traveling to the back of his head.

“Please.” you manage to get out through pants, and that’s all he needs to haphazardly guide you down the hall to his bedroom. You bump into a few things on the way, but as soon as he has you sprawled out on his bed, everything else in the world is forgotten.

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[c0wb0yenthusiast]

My Lady

Feyd Rautha x Fem!Reader

Word count : 6.5k

Warnings : SMUT! let me know in the comments if I’ve missed anything

Summary : You’re being married off to the mysterious Na-Baron of Giedi Prime. Feyd Rautha is a strange man, but his confusing mannerisms frustrate you throughout his stay in your planet. However, how do you supposed he feels about you?

.

Feyd Rautha is a leader.

Feyd Rautha is a prince.

He has a whole nation willing to submit to his every request. He does not have time to be waiting for his alleged ‘bride’.

So why is he standing in the hallway like a lost child? It only heightens his anger, his frustration.

You must be making him wait out of spite, since it’s so obvious you harbour no reason to appreciate this marital alliance. He’s already drafting up wicked ideas of what his witch for a wife will look like; clearly you haven’t shown yourself until the last moment to be spared from any chances of spending time with your new husband.

Of course, it’s no secret that the Reverend Mothers’ breeding program may seem ‘unfair’ to some. Like pairing such a worthy, well-bred prince such as Feyd with a young woman who hasn’t been raised right - this must only benefit the alliance of nations and different species.

His posture can only be described as perfection. His shoulders drawn and broad, hands tucked behind his back in an orderly manner to appear more powerful - after all, first impressions are important for alliances.

Even in thought, he cannot call this a marriage. The very thought of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, one that he desires to get rid of as quickly as possible.

However, with perfection comes sacrifices. Since the moment he stepped foot onto your land - your territory - Feyd braced himself as if he were walking straight into an ambush and you were the enemy. His muscles strained against the plain, dark cloths he’d adorned today instead of his usual armour. He was vulnerable to his surroundings now, unshielded and alone.

He pays close attention to the hallway he finds himself dawdling in. It’s dim, built with smooth bricks that are cool to the touch. But that is no distraction for what is to come any moment now.

In mere moments, the two of you were to meet for the first time and officiate your marriage. You were to be his wife, provide him with children and continue the Harkonnen lineage. That is what a successful alliance was, as well as what was expected of by the Reverend Mothers who set up this marriage in the first place.

Feyd forces any kind of hesitation out of his mind, why should he be unwilling? All you needed to do was perform your marital duties and live with him. You don’t even need to be in the same room with him after that. It was simple enough for Feyd to understand after it had been instilled in his head ever since he’d been born.

Feyd was ready to commit to making this alliance work out for both of your nations. As for his own martial duties? It would be as easy as his fights in the arena, entertaining even. You’re just another enemy he needs to fight off in another way.

He doesn’t flinch when the door next to him opens slowly and your father comes out, inviting him in to meet his newly wed.

Then he saw you.

He cannot begin to explain the flood of unfamiliar emotions that crashed once he caught sight of you. He knew you wouldn’t look like his own kind - but this is something entirely different. You are unlike his Darlings back in Giedi Prime, unlike any kind of princess or woman who has come to witness his battles. His feelings towards you deviate from the usual ones he’s been indoctrinated to feel. You’re beautiful in a way that aches.

You are the beginning of his newfound hunger for something new, something he simply doesn’t want to understand.

Feyd Rautha is smitten. So profoundly smitten, it causes him pain that he doesn’t enjoy for once. It gnaws at his bones as he continues to glare at you while entering the room.

“Please, My Lord, have a seat.” You sound mostly unaffected, he isn’t able to piece together what is forming inside your mind. But he can already tell. You’ve probably studied him before this, obvious from your lack of surprise which surprisingly pains him. He wants to know what you’re thinking.

Deep down, he craves to know if you’re experiencing the same feelings as he is now.

Even if he can’t decipher them.

He opts to stand by the chair you’d gestured to, but it only brings a small hint of confusion as you rise out of your chair to greet him.

“Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, you are a mighty warrior and prince. I am glad to become your wife and unite our nations.” You’re dressed for the occasion; your pure white gown flows while you move, practically making your face glow as if you were the only significant thing in the room. And you were to Feyd.

You were his bride.

You were his and that is what mattered to him. Having possession over the finest woman in all the land, it was like a blessing in his honour.

He ignores your suspiciously dull tone, overcome by the sheer beauty that he is currently facing instead.

“As am I.” Feyd struggles to force these words out, he could almost choke on them. His raspy tone seems to shock you, your eyes widen for a split second.

But then you relax just as quick, crossing your hands over one another as you look up at him to talk.

“In my culture, we commemorate marriage with rings. A symbol of our union. We took the time to forge a pair for the occasion.”

He’s too busy watching your lips to pay attention to the servant holding out the rings, but quickly takes one and entraps it inside his fist.

“My Lord? Will you not wear your ring now?”

He almost felt himself falter at the sight of your concern - it seems genuine. The gentle frown on your lips as you wait for an answer tugs at his chest. You wanted him to honour your nation, you wanted him to honour his own marriage.

Feyd doesn’t answer, only unclenching his fist slowly and then sliding the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly, prompting him to examine it for a couple of moments before being interrupted by you again.

“I made sure to choose the most special designs for us. We both have a gem sacred to our culture in the centre of the ring. Look.” You guide your hand towards his cautiously, observing his reaction for any kind of surprise or aggression.

Feyd stays as still as a stone, allowing your tender hand to gesture to the gem encrusted in his wedding band. Although the jewel is a deep, crimson colour it has a small glint that catches his eye. It looks rather simple compared to his Harkonnen style ring, symbolising his lineage and loyalty to his own nation.

Now he had to balance two kinds of priorities: his marriage and his clan.

“When will the ceremony take place?” He finally manages to muster up something showing any kind of intelligence, but it doesn’t phase you. You’re probably already thinking about the rest of your life with a cold, barbaric sadist.

“Well, right now we have just officially married. This was represented by the rings. Tomorrow, we plan on hosting a dinner before I leave for Geidi Prime. Is that all?” Your question isn’t intimidating or full of anger, rather more curious. He’d like to think that you wanted to know more, but now Feyd is mentally batting this newfound want to please you, have you smile or praise him. He is too busy to consider what your true intentions could be.

“Yes. I want to be shown to my chambers.” He nods, placing his hands behind his back once more. To you it looks polite, whereas Feyd sees it as restraining himself. He can’t shake the urge to touch you, claim you properly as his own and see if you’re any different from his own kind. Is your skin softer? What does your hair feel like? All of these questions rush through his mind continuously, pushing his boundaries further and further.

You have no time to respond since Feyd has already left the room, practically charging out with a servant trailing behind him. He cannot bear to look at your face any longer.

It will only feed his delusions of the possibility of love in this alliance.

-

Feyd is no stranger to the nighttime, but the peace that comes with the loneliness is new to him. When he usually stalked the halls in Giedi Prime, tension was thick in the atmosphere, so thick it could’ve choked him. But that wouldn’t have deterred Feyd’s other senses. There was always some reason to have his guard up.

Yet, as he stared up at the moon from the courtyard, there was only the sound of his quiet, quick breaths. He was still dressed in his cloths from earlier, hesitant towards the idea of becoming any more vulnerable if he let himself adorn his nightclothes. The breeze presses against his face gently, gliding off of his skin and clothes as he absorbs the new sensation of the cool air. Your planet was almost as mysterious as you, so many things unexplained that he surprisingly cannot say a bad word about.

The soft patter of gentle footsteps on the cool stones disrupt his solace, prompting Feyd to whip his head in your direction. You’re making your way towards him slowly, holding up the hem of your nightgown to prevent it from getting any stains from the damp grass of the courtyard. His eyes glaze over your figure highlighted in the moonlight, but only more dramatised from the thin, white fabric of your gown. He quickly averts his gaze before you’re able to get close enough to notice, pretending that he hasn’t even bothered to look at you.

You don’t say anything as you approach. Your hands lie limply by your sides once you stand beside him, tilting your head up to look at the moon.

“Do you not have a moon in Geidi Prime?” It’s soft and cautious, as if you’re treading water and trying to see if you’ll sink.

“We do. It isn’t like your planet at all. Hardly anything is similar.” His sentences are short and unintentionally as sharp as his posture.

“That is why we’re married, is it not? To bring together two nations who could benefit from each other.”

He nods in agreement and watches you out of the corner of his eye; he can see the subtle curve of your lips and how it changes your entire face tremendously. Feyd can’t tear his attention away from you.

“I’m glad that you came to my planet, my lord. I’m sorry if this isn’t how a princess should speak… but it will help my people and that is my sworn duty. Thank you.” You add, bowing your head to him shortly. It’s an embarrassment for a princess to be acting so informally when unchaperoned, you scold yourself.

He nods again, and you can feel a hint of amusement bubbling within your chest.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you? Are all Harkonnens like this?” You’re trying not to faint at the possibility of getting shut down or even attacked, yet it hasn’t unnerved you entirely. You don’t know enough about your husband to know what to expect for your honeymoon in Giedi Prime - which can have consequences for the better or worse.

Finally, he tilts his head in your direction. His eyes linger on your face as his mouth opens to respond.

“No.”

You chuckle, putting a hand to your mouth as you smile and look up at him with those bright eyes that Feyd is beginning to grow some kinds of strange feelings for.

“One of my warriors was sent to Giedi Prime when I found out who I was to marry, so I could understand who I would spend my future with. He saw you fighting in the arena - you were much more talkative then.” Your tone is playful as you wait for an answer, shifting closer to him.

Feyd is biting his tongue, letting the molars press deep to the point he feels some kind of pain that brings pleasure. His usual way to cope with complex feelings.

But he’s not even sure of what these current feelings are.

Feyd usually categorises ‘complex’ as a mix of emotions he’s used to. As if it’s a formula. For example, anger and confusion can lead to frustration, which is something he’s been feeling a lot since he’s laid eyes on you.

But that is not the case this time. He is having an irregular formula that could lead to disaster.

One part of his mind is primal, downright carnal as his gaze flickers to the low neckline of your dress. The way your collarbone is illuminated in the moonlight, how little of your body is covered by this ‘gown’ as his eyes roam your shoulders and neck.

The other is unknown. He cannot piece together why you’re like this, why you’re doing these horrible things to his mind and body. What they could cause him to do if these games go on for too long.

“I am very excited on the battlefield. Like a little boy.” He scolds himself, crossing his arms as he reflects on his last time in the arena.

“Well, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. You are just enjoying yourself.”

“So you understand the pleasure of winning battle?”

You’re a taken aback at his direct question, almost shrinking as he peers deep into your eyes.

“I am not usually involved in warfare, but I do find there are other ways to seek this kind of pleasure you speak of.” You’re a little flushed now, nervous of where this topic of ‘pleasure’ could lead to. It’s midnight and you’re alone in the courtyard with your newly wedded husband - what could go wrong?

“I am no child. I understand what you speak of when using the term ‘other ways’.” He’s much closer now, glaring down at you with such an intensity that you feel as if he’s searing marks into your skin from his gaze.

“I am so sorry, Na-Baron. I- I should not have brought this topic up! It is very shameful, so I must depart now.” You turn to leave, about to grasp onto your nightgown when his sudden grip on your wrist makes you gasp.

“Why did you call me Na-Baron?” His tone is low, intimidating and sending sparks down your spine that shouldn’t be there.

“Because… because…” you find yourself at a loss for words, too nervous to attempt to form a response.

“You say that I am your lord, so you are my lady.” His voice comes out raspier, every word has an edge to it as he speaks. You cannot help but feel as if this is a command.

As you’re about to retort, state that he’s never called you ‘his lady’ so far, he leans in closer. His plump lips are parted, allowing his hot breath to fan over your skin. It spreads a sweet, hot sensation that brings up a fever in your mind. Suddenly, your judgement is a little more clouded, intoxicated by his presence.

“You have not said that I am your lady yet.” You whisper, exhaling shaky breaths as your eyes dart from his gaze to his lips. Then again. It’s a battle that you’re losing as you’re too focused on the subtle movement on his lips as he lets out shallow breaths.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, at the meal, I will make sure everyone knows you are mine. My lady.” He adds, letting go gently and backing away. His expression remains stern, but there is some kind of mischievous glint in his eyes. A warning of the true nature of this prince.

You try to make out any kind of smirk now spread across his lips, but he’s completely blank. You’re unable to figure out if he’s teasing you or genuinely took your word. You can only assume the best of your husband and what he seems to be planning as you trudge back to your room confused.

-

Your father knows how to celebrate - whether it is marriage, birthday, or even a funeral he has never failed to plan the most suitable occasions.

You are hitched into a tight, colourful gown that was made specially for you. This explains why you don’t complain when the strings are pulled in a slightly painful way, when the emergency embroidering needle pokes you a couple of times or even when you’re beginning to feel a little self conscious. What will Feyd think?

At that moment, you catch a glimpse of your reflection - why are you so concerned about him? At the beginning of the union, you were so well versed in how to be a good wife and princess that you had no time to consider your own feelings. You could only follow the schedule. Yet in such a short time he’s managed to chip you down into the scared little girl that you’ve always been and can never deny. It’s embarrassing. You’re embarrassed for yourself.

He’s given you too many different kinds of signals to allow you to consider his true motives, which completely throws you off after the short encounters from yesterday.

This morning, he greeted you swiftly before going to prepare as if last night never happened.

You scoff, looking down at your ring and brushing your thumb over the jewel now. He’s playing with your feelings. Clearly this is just a honeymoon stage for him: prepare you to continue the Harkonnen line, and then leave you in Giedi Prime to fend for yourself with a whole new nation awaiting you.

You’re just a prize to him.

“Your Royal Highness?”

You turn around hastily. Your handmaiden awaits with shoes in her hands, looking up at you with concern.

“Are you okay?” She continues, handing you the shoes gently.

“I am content. Why shouldn’t I be? I am married to the Na-Baron and joining our nations in the process, which will benefit everyone.” You can’t see how hasty your answer was, how automatic it seemed. It was the only feasible reason to marry the Na-Baron, since true love was not a possible idea anymore in the Reverend Mothers’ breeding program.

Your handmaiden nods feebly, allowing you to sit down and hand the shoes back to her. She’s slipping them onto your feet before a much more quieter question hastily escapes her mouth.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

You blink.

You’re about to open your mouth to speak, to try and organise your emotions with someone who isn’t your unpredictable newlywed.

The door opens and your father strides in cheerily, much to your frustration.

“Come on, dear. The table is set and everybody will be seated soon.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t do anything but what you’re told.

Right now, you just need to listen to your previous training and avoid Feyd Rautha. He’s only trying to follow his own rules too.

You walk with your father, arms linked firmly as the two of you approach the large dining hall. It has been decorated top to bottom in lavish jewels that shine, ribbons that wrap around the entire room and lanterns hanging in corners, feebly illuminating the already bright room. However, when it darkens, they will provide a dim light for a more relaxed atmosphere. You’re not phased by any of this, your father has been planning this ceremony since you could walk. Even though some believe your planet is more ‘backwards’, there is still one similar goal - providing heirs to the throne. You shouldn’t be standing alone once your reign starts, as believed by all the Reverend Mothers who have also instilled this idea into your father.

Along comes Feyd Rautha, the Na-Baron, looking for a suitable wife to continue the Harkonnen lineage and help him rule - it’s almost too perfect. The Reverend Mothers’ were onto this completely.

You only look around, a blank expression pasted onto your face. It’s clear as day how bored you are, which prompts a remark from your father.

“Has he said anything to you?” His tone is deep with suspicion. He eyes you carefully, his brows furrowed in concern.

“What?”

“The Na-Baron. Has he upset you, my dear?” You abruptly stop in your footsteps, meeting your father’s gaze.

“No, father. It’s fine. It’s nothing at all.” You shake your head dismissively, sighing and wringing your hands together now.

“You will get used to it - that’s the part that strengthens your marriage. Getting through the hardships and coming to face your situation with a heart of gold, the one that I’ve raised you to have.” He smiles at you fondly, pinching your cheek gently.

Although his words don’t seem to comfort you, you still smile back and nod goodbye as you walk down the long hall to reach your seat.

In the traditional manner of your nation, the bride and groom sit on opposite ends of the large, winding table that stretches from one end of the room to the other. This gives you plenty of time to enjoy the lack of the Na-Baron’s presence, as he seems to trick your mind everytime he is near you.

You take your seat, sitting upright in the grand, wooden chair. It’s hard to get comfortable, forcing you into position for the entirety of the dinner.

Feyd has now entered the room. His stride is intimidating, emitting solidity and power. He’s dressed in an all black uniform once more, but his ring is clear on his finger as he pulls his chair out from across the hall. You’re able to see the subtle glint, which almost makes you want to change your mind. Maybe you’re just assuming the worst.

However, you never knew what to expect with the Reverend Mothers and their underlying sinister motives. For now, you choose to avoid him and carry on with your marriage as calmly as possible. As if it were simply just a business negotiation.

He acknowledges you carefully, nodding towards you before settling himself in his own chair. You only nod back clumsily and cease all contact from there.

Guests arrive slowly. Friends from aristocratic families and governors are the majority, but there are still many people who were invited due to their hard work and contributions to society recorded recently. You make sure to greet them all grandly, smiling and allowing them to shower you with compliments. The Na-Baron stood beside you, watching you intently as you interact with everyone in sight. He doesn’t say a word, his jaw tense and teeth grind together as he watches with lidded eyes.

You falter under his gaze for a moment, but stiffen and keep your composure. If this is how he was going to play, then you were just going to trap him in your own game.

For the rest of the celebration, you avert your gaze away from the Na-Baron. Right now, your main focus is the people and celebrating your nation as well as the marriage.

The meal goes swimmingly - empty courses and platters of food now litter the grand table after such a long feast. So long that by the time you’d finished, the sun had set. You focus on swallowing oddly shaped lumps of food, trying not to choke on even the smallest crumb from the searing gaze of Feyd Rautha.

Although, even when you turn to the most obscure corners, seats and groups of people - Feyd’s eyes are glued to you. His dark eyes blend with his pupils, creating some kind of animalistic glint when the lights reflect in his enlarged pupils. You can almost feel two bruises forming into your back from the intensity of his glare.

-

Feyd isn’t hurt, he’s not injured or scratched - but he’s been cut deep. So deep that he’s been searching from the origin of this seething pain since this morning; he almost destroyed his room with the pure frustration bubbling within. He knows it has to do with you. You’re the only woman who’s managed to sway him so strongly that his defences have been drawn back in hopes of some sort of victory.

However, tonight is leaving him with anything but victory as he can’t psychically tear his eyes away from you without feeling tortured. Even if you seem to feel the opposite.

You’re so carefree; you talk to the guests with ease and float around the hall in your gorgeous gown that he just wants to rip to shreds. He can’t bear with his facade of yours.

That’s when he decides he’s going to end it. Right here, right now.

-

You’re in the middle of a conversation when, over the chatter and laughter, you hear it.

Charging footsteps across the hall. You cannot deny who it is, and you’re grasping for any idea of what to say when he now stands beside you.

“My wife.” He declares, unbothered by the concerning throttle filled charge from seconds ago. His voice is sudden, hoarse like usual and rough around the edges.

You’re at a loss for words, smiling timidly at the couple you were just talking to as he now takes your arm firmly and links it around his own. When you finally look up at him, he’s not smiling. He’s unreadable right now.

The cool fabric of his black cloths rub against your skin, barely covered by the sheer fabric of your sleeves.

“My husband.” You nod at the couple, who hastily bow to him.

For the rest of the night, he’s attached to you like a bodyguard. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t smile and does not look at you once. The only sense of security seems to be the arm still linked with yours.

-

“Why did you do that?”

He pauses when you tear your arm away from him, staying still in his position as you create distance between the two of you.

“Who do you think you are? Do you think you can- can give me so many different ideas about you? Is that okay? Is it, my lord?” Your voice trips and stumbles as you struggle to even consider what you’re saying as the words fall out of your mouth with no regard for the Na-Baron.

“I don’t understand you! I know it’s been such a short time- and you cannot seem to talk to me- but I just need to know what your intentions are! I am married to you! I deserve to know!” You continue, pausing to gasp for air and let your shaky breaths fill the large, empty room of yours.

The celebrations had died down and the Na-Baron had decided to walk you to your room. Yet on the way there, your tears seemed to form and burst the minute the two of you were locked away in your room.

“My lady..” he murmurs, approaching you slowly. You’re crying, sniffling and backing away with every step he takes.

You’re so desperate to get away from him, but at the same time you’re dying to just throw something at him.

With too many thoughts rushing through your head, the thought never occurs to you of where you were actually going with your unsteady backwards footsteps.

“My lady.” He’s much closer than you realised. You attempt to back up further, but meet resistance with your wardrobe. A strong arm now blocks your last method of escape, caging you against the wardrobe.

He has you cornered. His eyes watch you intently, plush lips parted slightly as he breathes hard.

“You have bewitched me, changed me for what I am. I am no longer a warrior, no longer the Na-Baron since the moment I saw you. I knew that I was to be your husband, but I also knew that as a woman so capable and beautiful - I did not deserve you.”

His face has contorted and twisted into something entirely different; jaw tense with anticipation, eyes soft and pleading as they look at you directly. He’s waiting for you to say something, anything.

You’re in utter shock. This must be the most words he’s said since meeting you, but you’re hanging on to every word. Looking up at him with so many emotions swimming through your eyes that it’s like a turbulent sea.

He exhales, before continuing to speak.

“But I want you. I want you to be mine - my wife.” He sucks in a breath after saying this, as if it pains him somehow to spill such a secret. His brow line furrows in frustration as he attempts to explain, “We barely know each other, but all I know is that there’s been something about you that I ache for. Do you understand? You play with my feelings, my lady. You confuse me, anger me and entice me all at once. A warrior like I shouldn’t feel this way, he shouldn’t let his guard down for a woman. But that is what I’m willing to do right now in order to make my intentions clear.”

As he whispers this, he offers a hand to you carefully. Feyd now watches you intently, waiting for your response.

The room is dim, slithers of moonlight drag across the room in strange rays, casting a glow on the Na-Baron. He’s utterly pitiful in this moment, the moon now bringing to light his vulnerability.

You let out a jagged breath, desperately searching for words to say. When you can’t seem to find any, you bring your hand to his slowly. Your fingers intertwine and clasp each other firmly - an invitation. His hand is cold, calloused and engulfs your own.

You look up to him only to find that another layer has seemed to vanish, his dark eyes now gaze at you longingly. They trail over your dress, and you can almost hear the cogs ticking in his mind.

You swallow thickly, before letting out a hushed murmur, “Are you attempting to undress me with your eyes, my Lord?” There’s a bit of humour to it as a ghost of a smile graces your lips, but it’s overcome by that suddenly dry feeling in your throat and newfound, carnal want for Feyd Rautha.

“If I wanted to, your dress would be in ruins by now, my Lady.” He may banter with you, but there’s also some concern hidden beneath. Do you want him to touch you? What if you don’t like it?

Yet, with a small shrug, you respond.

“I won’t stop you, if that seems to be what we both want.”

His eyes widen slightly, the rush of giddiness that he would usually feel after winning a battle seems to flood his senses. It’s shameful how he now lets go of your hand to run both of them down your waist. It’s deliberately slow. Teasing, even.

“The ties are in the back, Feyd.” You urge, prompting him to move his hands to your back and begin to remove your dress. He’s still lightheaded from the rush of sensations encapsulating his mind, but he’s able to force out his question.

With his arms wrapped around your waist to reach your back, his face is buried in the crook of your neck now. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine as he speaks.

“Do you like this dress?” You can feel his lips against your neck now as he talks, but sense him holding back. He’s waiting for the right moment.

You shake your head.

He instantly rips the drawstring of your corset, it’s deliciously animalistic as he tugs it off and allows himself to get a good look at you. His eyes wander hungrily across your body, glancing up at your face as he searches for any reaction.

You’re completely frozen, overwhelmed by the different sensations rushing through your mind: the cold air on your bare skin, his warm, shallow breaths as they leave patches of heat on your body and his intense, unrelenting gaze.

“Do you want this?”

There’s a pause as you attempt to muster any words out of your dry throat. You finally swallow any anxiety, before answering in a whisper.

“Yes, I do.”

His lips are so soft as they push against yours, plush and comforting in contrast to his rough grip on your waist and back to pull you in as close as possible. You don’t retort, arching yourself into him and reaching a desperate arm to wrap around his neck. His hands are large, calloused and cool to the touch as they press into your skin hard. It only pushes you further into him, moaning into the kiss at the pleasurable pain.

Suddenly, you pull away to gasp for air only to be met with dark, pleading eyes that seem to beg you to stay.

“I.. I want to..” you’re a little out of breath, flushed and nervous as you place both hands on his firm chest. Your fingertips trace over the cloth lightly, but ultimately reach his buttons and claw at them hungrily. Your efforts are futile as you’re too enveloped by lust to register how to unbutton his clothes, leading him to place a hand on yours to guide you slowly. Button by button, he reveals himself to you.

His skin is pale, smooth as you run a tentative hand over his chest. His heartbeat is rapid, his breathing is strained as his gaze is fixed on you. He’s got a chiseled body, unscathed and untouched for a warrior. You can only let out a shaky breath as he begins to guide you to the bed, a hand cupping your face.

You’re not thinking straight, your mind finally coming to a halt when you realise your situation. He’s on top of you now, on both knees as he leans over to stroke your face, which has been frozen with shock.

“My lady..” Feyd murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He’s surprisingly gentle, but you can feel is erection pressing against your stomach as he’s worshipping your beauty.

You squirm under his grip, strong hands gliding over your neck and shoulders attempting to make you wait. But you’re becoming greedy, you want him now.

A small whine escapes your lips as you try to create some kind of friction, which causes him to smile. It’s a smirk. Cocky and teasing as it spreads across his lips.

“You’re desperate, my lady, aren’t you?” His voice is still low, hoarse as he tries to not lose his focus from the slight tingles of pleasure the friction is providing him. He wants to engross himself in the moment before ravishing you, no woman has been so vulnerable in his grip like this before.

He leans in, his gaze trailing along your features as he searches his prey for weak spots. His mouth lands on your neck, sucking on the delicate skin hungrily. You can’t remember what he’d said before, plagued by the newfound sensation of his wet saliva cooling the hickey tainting your skin.

You don’t even want to answer, a sigh escaping your lips at the pop of his mouth as he pulls away from your neck. A small, desperate whisper is all you can force out before you try to move your hand down to your thighs. It’s grabbed by his own and pinned back into the mattress.

“Don’t over-exert yourself, my lady.” He’s still smirking as he begins to steady himself at your entrance, but is just as desperate as you are to get his fill.

Your thighs are pushed apart with his spare hand, allowing him to let out a satisfied groan at the sight of you. Without warning, his hand lets go of your wrist to find your clit. His fingers brush against it softly, caressing a soft moan out of you which only prompts him to continue much harsher. The sounds are obscene as he toys and teases you, only aiding his own pleasure as he watches you clench around nothing.

The tip of his dick presses against your entrance, forcing you to attempt to push out your hips in hopes of fulfilment. You’re unable to move properly, his cold hands tighten around your body. As you writhe in his grip, your gaze flickers up to meet his. There’s a suspicious glint in his dark pupils, paired with the subtle upturn of his parted lips.

Suddenly, sharp sensation erupts within your body, one that tries to push your thighs together to only have them wrap around his firm waist. You can feel the pleasurable stretch as Feyd only savours you inch by inch as he pushes himself in as far as he can. Your skin prickles with heat, spreading across your body like a rash as you find yourself flushed and gasping for air as he pulls out suddenly.

It’s not for long, pushing his dick inside quickly again just to hear your staggered cries. Your body seems to move on its own, rocking yourself against him as he pushes in and out. He’s intoxicating, altering your mind to primal instincts.

His movements become sloppier, his climax becoming more inevitable with every thrust. Feyd begins to lose composure, plump lips parted and panting as his thumb still rubs your clit forcefully. You’re both growing impatient, his begging now becoming audible as the words stumble out of his mouth.

“Please.. please…” you’d never known the Na-Baron to be the kind of warrior to say ‘please’, but you’d driven him over the edge.

You’re also growing louder, whimpering and whining for your climax to come quick and hard. You want it, and you want it now.

You’re the first to come, crying as your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your back arches into him as an explosion of pleasure races through your body, tingling through your lower abdomen. However, as the waves of climax subside, you become increasingly more vulnerable to Feyd Rautha still pounding into you.

It only takes him a few more thrusts, but your arm is released from his grip as you cling onto his back. Your nails tear at his skin, the pangs of borderline pain bringing tears to your eyes at the sheer ecstasy of it all.

You hear his breath hitch in your ear, his mouth opens with a gasp as he buries himself inside you for his release. His cum is searing hot, filling your insides hastily as his chest rises up and down rapidly. Feyd doesn’t move for a moment, processing what just happened. But after a few seconds, when your hands loosen and droop down his spine as they’re overcome by fatigue, his arms wrap around you slowly.

He’s embracing you.

You’re both hot to touch, skin slick with sweat as your bodies press against each other. Yet, both of you don’t find any disgust in this. Instead, it’s replaced by a sense of comfort. The certainty that you’re his Lady, as he is your Lord.

[biserker-kadan]

It's embarrassing is what it is. He's supposed to be observant, it was trained into him since he was a child and he didn't even notice. Neve didn't either but that's not as reassuring as it would have been before, not now that they're...not now.

He finds out when they're in Treviso, Neve is in the corner speaking with Heir, discussing something or other - not that he's paying attention, too busy trying to ignore Teia's knowing eyes. It's still feels new and surprising - stolen glances, knowing smiles, hands gently brushing. It's more than he deserves and will never be enough.

Rook is laughing, the sound enough to draw his attention from Spite who is curiously also drawn to where she's standing - beside Viago, leaning against the table and bathed in Treviso's light. She looks radiant, it's enough to steal his breath.

"I can't believe I almost forgot about that!" Rook exclaims, smile wide and eyes closed in mirth. Viago is nodding along, a much smaller smile gracing his features. Even from a distance he can see the resemblance.

Even from a distance he can see how the knowledge, now out in the open, has lifted a weight off both their shoulders.

The mood shift is almost impossible to see but Lucanis doesn't miss it. Viago stands straighter, prompting Ev'lyn to do the same.

What is. He doing? Spite is glaring at Viago or perhaps simply looking with disdain, glaring seems harsh when Viago hasn't necessarily done anything. Not that Spite seems to agree, not after he they learnt more about Rook's training under the Fifth Talon. Smells like. Worry. Regret.

"Spite. Leave it be." Lucanis whispers, eyes darting back and forth between them. The rest of mingling crowd has dispersed, Crows heading out for contracts and whatnot. Teia grins, sliding up next to him, "I have been waiting all night for this, honestly, I don't know why it took him so long." She complains fondly.

Lucanis watches as Viago steps closer, shields her almost with an awkward movement before reaching into his coat and placing a small box in Rook's waiting hands.

"Viago?"

"Happy Birthday...sister," Viago sounds suspiciously misty as he says it, stepping back to let her look inside the box. She gasps, mouth dropping as she looks inside.

It's a ring, small in size and gold with no embellishments. It hangs from a simple gold chain, scratched metal glinting as she holds it up to the light, "I...is this?"

"Yes, I wanted to...I didn't...yes." He stutters over his words, looking away and catching Lucanis' eye for a split second before looking directly at Teia, her smile fond and warm.

She nods and he looks back to Rook who isn't even trying to hide her tears and before he knows it, she has her arms around Viago, practically smothering herself in his armour.

"Viago, thank you."

"For context," Teia begins, "because you look beyond confused. The ring was her mother's, he stole it off the slaver when he found her."

Rook is crying. Smells like. Citrus and ink. Happy?

Yes, he thinks, happy. Happy because her brother gave her a ring from her Mother as a birthday gift. For her birthday. That he, that none of them, were aware of.

Mierda.

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 8

Contents: relationship, establishing feelings, angst, first arguments.

Warning: MDNI!! Content warnings will be given for the relevant chapters. But before that ... the angst.

Your assurances that you had enjoyed what had happened in your office sparked something new between the two of you. Every time Kento saw you, his fingers were seeking out yours. His hand was always on your waist or lower back, sometimes unconsciously. You were beginning to learn just how much he was a man of restraint, how he reigned in so many of his natural instincts on a daily basis. He seemed to be wearing the armour that the world demanded of him, but as time passed, that same emotional apparel was shed, bit by bit, when he was in your presence.

The concept was so foreign to him, that Kento seemed to be surprised by how he had no control over those aspects of his personality that you brought to the surface.

For instance, on the evening that you had your first argument with him.

He had returned from a mission, covered head to toe in the foulest combination of sludge and rancid water, his suit ruined beyond repair and various bruises already blooming on his skin.

It had been a solo mission and several higher grade spirits had been present. Although not badly injured, Kento was exhausted, sore and in a foul mood over the lack of detail in his prior briefing. Showered, dressed in a mismatched set of clothes borrowed from Gojo, purplish discoloration spreading up from his collar, he paced your office.

"Is it too much to ask that they simply confirm mission parameters? That they provide us with updated blueprints? That we get back-up in case of emergencies? Oh, don't get me wrong. I've always known how little our lives mean, how they spend us like cheap currency, but this... this is just shoddy and lax and poorly planned - "

You brewed him tea as he ranted, a certain heaviness, a razor edge that dug into some deep part of you, furrowing your brow as you glanced back at him. He was right, of course. The rarely seen higher-ups often used their sorcerers like pawns in chess games, sometimes losing sight of the value of human life from their rarefied strata.

You waited for the tea to reach just the right temperature, choosing your words carefully. In a pause in his speech, you asked the question you already knew the answer to.

"Do you really think it's a coincidence?"

He stopped, facing the far wall.

"Why do you mean?"

"Do you think I don't know what happened on Takuma's mission?"

Takuma Ino, a young sorcerer, going so far as to deny himself a grade one sorcerer class unless his recommendation came from Kento, had been the victim of similar incompetence just last week. Kento turned to you now, and his expression was carefully blank in a way that made you want to grab his shoulders and shake him.

"Ah. You know about that?"

"Of course I know. You called an intervention. You were angry, and you made them look incompetent. This is retaliation for that, Kento, however you look at it. They can't interfere to the extent where your life may be in danger, but look at what they did."

His body was now rigid, his mouth set in a tense, stubborn line.

"And what did you expect me to do? Sit back and let them get away with placing young sorcerers in danger?"

The teaspoon clattered into the saucer as you spun around to face him fully.

"What? Why would I ever question your need to do that?"

"Well, it certainly sounded like a criticism."

"That's because it was a criticism. But not of your intention, Kento. Are you being wilfully obtuse?"

"Then what did you expect me to do?"

"Handle it better. Are you telling me you don't know how their egos would have been affected? That's you didn't know how that could have backfired?"

"Am I now to be responsible for the failings of others? Am I suppose to pander to these ... these ..."

It was testament to his rage that he couldn't even come up with adequate words that would convey his disgust for these people. You closed your eyes and passed a hand over your brow.

"No. I don't expect you to do that. Never. But Kento, sometimes your temper does get the better of you. You do make rash decisions, especially if it's on matters that are ... very personal to you."

You knew, of course. Once he'd mentioned the name Haibara, you'd looked through the records. The crisp, clinical phrases on the yellowing pages of the autopsy report spoke volumes on what had been omitted.

The range of emotions that crossed his face surprised you, almost making you wish you could take the words back. But it had been the truth. He looked taken aback, the surprise chased shortly by anger, and then a flash of something deeply pained, a small twist of the knife.

"If that's how you feel, then - "

"Don't finish that sentence, Kento."

Your voice is quiet, firm, and he actually pauses.

"Because I haven't finished what I was going to say. Please listen. You took that decision, and I understand your anger. I understand it completely. But you did it with no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Do you think I don't know how little you think of yourself when others are in danger?"

You took a steadying breath, willing your voice to remain even, to reign in the emotion that threatened to roughen the edges of what you had to say to him.

"You had every right to stand up for Takuma. But in future, if you want to do things like that, at your own expense, run it by me first. Because it seems like I'm the only one who has your best interests in mind. You certainly don't."

"My best interests? I - "

He seemed at a loss in terms of how to respond to this. His jaw worked in furious frustration, but then he stopped, strode to the door and flung it open, his heavy footsteps carrying him away from the office, away from you.

You released a breath you had been holding and clutched the edge of the table, a horrible vice closing around your throat. You had always hated confrontation, and this was no exception. But this time, you hadn't been able to help yourself. It was as if something tenacious, something steel-clad and oblivious to your fear had risen to the surface. You couldn't have let him go without hearing what you really thought, even if you wanted to.

And now, you were left to face the consequences. Sinking into your chair, you let your head drop wearily into your palms.

Is this what caring for someone meant? Was this the bereft ache that you were supposed to feel when he was angry, when he was hurt, when he was gone? How had you gone through your whole adult life and still found yourself so ill-equipped to deal with the feelings he left scattered around you? Feelings that you now gathered up and hoarded in a protective layer around yourself, clinging so desperately to the idea that what you said hadn't been wrong.

Had it?

Someone was approaching the office and you straightened hurriedly, taking a deep breath, attempting some form of composure before you had to face your professional demands.

Kento strode back in, as precipitously as he had left, this time closing the door behind him and locking it. You stared at him, dumbfounded, steeling yourself for what he had to say. He regarded you in silence, and you took him in, fully this time.

His eyes were slightly red-rimmed, raw looking. The ugly abrasions stood out more starkly against his skin. His hair was completely out of its usual style, falling softly around his cheeks. Those same cheeks that you had traced with such tenderness now seemed so shadowed, so gaunt. His plain grey work shirt, the spare he'd kept at the Tech, clashed with the black trackpants that Gojo had provided, lending his dignified bearing a distinct pathos. There was a tender, bruised quality to the set of his mouth, a vulnerability in his glance that you had never seen before.

You realised, then, that in his own way, he was letting you see it, all of it.

Wordlessly you held your arms out to him and he came forward, almost child-like in his direct approach. He got down on one knee and his head drooped slowly into your lap, a heavy sigh escaping him as your embrace enclosed his shoulders. You held him tightly against your chest, feeling the solidity and power in his frame, wondering how long it had been since anyone had leant him their strength.

Time passed, your time at work. You thought of your employers, sitting in comfort while this man fought with every silent breath for some semblance of justice, for something good in this world. You breathed in the warm scent of his scalp and held him tighter as shadows lengthened in the room. If your time and livelihood were also currency to them, then let it be spent like this.

He apologizes for his outburst, of course, and this time there is a wariness there, as if he is aware of just how much he has shown and cannot believe that you will actually accept it. He avoids coming to your office, stating that he distracted you from your work enough with the issues he brings and wanted to keep your meetings strictly outside of work, or in the break room, where your interaction would be one of forced professionalism.

If he had been any other kind of man, you might have found it frustrating. There was something else here, though, some subtle message (maybe one that even he was unaware of), an indication that something needed to be proven. You were determined to rise to the occasion.

And so, you made your plans.

You called him one evening, on a Thursday. You had not seen him at work. You decide to forgo messaging, because you missed his voice. He picked up almost immediately, speaking your name, his tone slightly surprised, but warm.

"Kento, I need to know something."

"Yes, dear?"

"Are you busy this Sunday?"

"No. I was going to ask you to spend the day with me."

"Well, I'm asking you now."

"To spend the day together?"

"Yes."

He pauses and a soft chuckle reaches your ear.

"Does it make a difference who asks?"

"Yes, it does. For this Sunday."

"And why is that?"

"Because I've made plans for us."

"You have?"

"Absolutely. You can't always be the one planning our dates."

"I see nothing wrong with that. But, pardon my curiosity, where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, Kento."

"Oh no."

"What do you mean 'oh no'?"

"Nothing at all."

"Explain."

"A slip of the tongue, my darling."

"A slip of the tongue, my foot."

"And a most delightful foot it is."

"Stop slithering your way out of things."

"I take offense to that word."

"Anyway, I'll give you a hint. Since I'm an exceptionally kind person."

"I'm eager to hear it."

You clear your throat.

"Dress for the outdoors."

"Are you sure about that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you say that to me, I imagine tough trousers, hiking boots, a walking stick ... "

"Oh no. None of that."

"Ah. So you mean outdoors, but your kind of outdoors."

"My kind?"

"Lazing in the sunshine and eating grapes."

You let out an incredulous laugh.

"You're awfully cheeky today, aren't you?"

His voice immediately takes on a lower, smoky tone.

"Am I going to be punished for that?"

Oh no, you don't, sir.

"Yes. I'll punish you. With a large quantity of grapes."

There is a short silence.

"Hmm."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm going to do with those grapes?"

"Maybe I'll wait for Sunday, after all."

Sunday comes and you feel both excited and a sense of nervous anticipation. You've never planned a date to this extent before. You've hired a car from the Tech for the day, one of the company cars that are always available for employees. You're aware that you might just be abusing the privilege, but you've never used this particular perk before and you're feeling slightly rebellious.

You've picked the perfect spot for a picnic, in a private piece of land owned by an old family friend. You'd spent many childhood days there when times were better and your mother had still been with you. The land was now cared for by a third party, but you were one of the people who still had access, and you could imagine the place clearly in your mind's eye.

Food, of course, played an important role in this. You'd thought out the menu well in advance and purchased all the ingredients you'd needed the previous day. You were going to prepare his special sandwich, of course, along with a green salad with fresh corn and avocado, onigiri with various fillings, croquettes, marinaded artichokes with parmesan, some of those store-bought honey cakes, coffee jelly, along with a small tribute to your mother's simple favourite, sandwiches with mature cheddar, cucumber and the mint chutney she had taught you the recipe for. Champagne and bottled water would be carried carefully along in the hamper, along with glasses, cutlery and plates.

You'd made sure that you'd woken up early and prepared everything that needed to be made fresh. When it was time, you sent Kento a short message, telling him that you'd fetch him from outside his apartment, and headed there. It had been a while since you had driven, but the muscle memory was there, the steering fluid under your fingers, and you'd re-adjusted in no time. You felt somewhat proud, and confident that today would go off without a hitch.

Kento was waiting on the street corner, and the sight of him momentarily stole the breath from your lungs. The collar of his white shirt showed above a simple, plaid sweater, light colored jeans emphasizing his long legs, rugged brown shoes and his customary watch, glinting from beneath his sleeve, completing the ensemble. There was no sign of the dark glasses and his hair was not slicked back, lending him a relaxed and casual air. As you drew closer, you could see the remaining yellowish traces of bruising against the side of his neck.

His eyes travelled over to the car, and when he spotted you behind the wheel, they softened and creased at the corners, with a warmth that you still couldn't believe was directed at you. He climbed into the passenger seat and your fingers met his, naturally.

"Good morning, handsome."

He coughed and shifted in his seat, still not accustomed to your teasing, but heartfelt compliments.

"Good - well, hello."

His warm grasp was now trailing along your arm, belying the awkwardness of his words, and you laughed.

"Shall we?"

You shifted gear and set the car in motion. Soon, you were out of the city limits, the clear autumn air crisp and warm enough for you both to let down the windows at intervals, taking in the breeze. Kento's hair caught the morning sunlight, the shorter strands at the nape of his neck suddenly, tenderly visible. You want to run your fingers over them, but you knew you'd get a scolding for not paying attention to the road.

He spoke, not taking his eyes off the scenery.

"The other day. In your office."

"Kento. I told you that everything's fine between us."

"I know it is, but there's still something I want to say to you."

"Go ahead."

The effort with which he forms the next words tells you how difficult it is for him to express thoughts like this.

"When you ... held me, I felt ... different. Like something had changed in my life, so profoundly. I felt as if ... a heaviness I had been carrying for so long had lifted a little. When I went home that day, I ... I remembered my friend. I let myself think of him. Of happy times. I've never really been able to do that before."

You're smiling softly and his fingers are tracing the shape of your arm again.

"That's good, right?"

"I think so. For me, that is. But I need to know ... "

"You need to know if those same burdens are not being passed to me, correct?"

He looks at you, and from this angle, you can see something of the wonder in his gaze. You laugh.

"It's already pretty obvious when you're with Yuuji. All that darkness you want to keep away from him. From all the students. I know, Kento. I know the kind of world we live in. I know that you can't protect everyone forever. Those burdens are not yours to give, or take away. At some point, you have to trust that ... it is enough."

"That what is enough?"

Love. That's what you want to say to him. That love is enough to carry you through the worst of what the world has to offer. But you don't. This time and place isn't right. Instead, you turned your eyes briefly to the sun shining through the trees ahead.

"Today is a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"It is."

@tsukimefuku @g-kleran @actuallysaiyan @kentocalls