#haven’t told that many people but I had a awful pain in my jaw/ear since oct 2022 and I went to so many doctors and by the end of december

[dovesfree]

.

[messers-moony]

Secrets | R.L

Paring: Remus Lupin X Wife!Reader

Summary: Y/n withholds her past from the Order of the Phoenix but it all comes loose after one eavesdropped conversation with Sirius.

Standing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Twelve after cleaning up dinner was always a fun experience. The Aurors finally allowed themselves to relax, even if it was just for a moment. Everyone could feel the amount of ease in the room, including the children. Harry Potter always remained grateful for these moments to relax. But he was never far from the woman who raised him, Y/n Lupin.

Remus was having an animated conversation with Sirius, Nymphadora, and Mad-Eye. Meanwhile, Molly, Arthur, Y/n, and the kids all spoke together, just joking around. Y/n couldn’t believe that Harry was fifteen. It felt like yesterday when he had gotten spit up all over her shirt while she tried to feed him. It was astonishing to watch Harry grow into the man Lily and James always wanted.

“ Professor Lupin! “ The Weasley twins called in symphony making both Lupins turn their way, “ The female Professor Lupin. “ Fred specified, and Remus chuckled.

The twins pulled her away into a secluded corner, “ Did you get them? “ George queried, and Y/n scoffed, “ Of course, I did. What do you take me for? A liar? “

“ Absolutely not! “ Fred replied, “ They’re all in your room. Make good work of those fireworks. “ Y/n whispered, and both boys were jumping with joy.

They bowed, “ Only for you, Professor. “

Both boys ran off to presumably go and check their new items. Y/n chuckled at their antics when arms wrapped around her waist. A chin was rested on her right shoulder, and the scratch of scruff tickled her jaw. Caramel-brown hair fading and flecked with grey obscured part of her vision. Two hands were rested on her waist—the left hand adoring a very familiar ring.

“ What have you given those mischievous boys? “ Remus asked, “ Nothing. I’m not quite sure what you’re on about? “ Y/n answered, turning to face her husband.

His eyebrow quirked, “ Okay, I made a trip to a particular store. I got them some fireworks. “ Y/n informed, “ Fireworks? “ Remus questioned.

“ They’re magical fireworks. “ Y/n stated, “ The boys like to experiment, so I let them have their fun. “

“ And that’s why you refuse to give them detention. “ Remus rolled his eyes, “ I do give them detention! “ Y/n exclaimed, pouting slightly.

“ I lecture them about all the things they did wrong. “ Y/n added before Remus could speak, “ And then I tell them how to do it better. “ She mumbled.

Her husband laughed, “ Oh, there's the marauder in you, my dear. “

There was a prominent silence between them before Remus spoke up again, “ Have you told Harry about your former last name? “

“ No, I haven’t. “ Y/n swallowed, “ He doesn’t need to know. “

“ I think he’d like to know. “ Remus replied as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, “ I think he’d like to hear all the stories about your twin brother. “

She shook her head, “ Sirius can tell him. “

“ Sirius can’t tell him everything, love. “ Remus informed sweetly, “ Only you knew James Potter since he was born. “

“ I know, I just- it’s hard. “ Y/n bit her lower lip, “ I know, darling. “ Remus responded as he pulled her lower lip from her teeth with his thumb, gently.

They stared at each other for a moment before someone interrupted, “ Y/n, I think you should talk to Sirius. “ Molly informed, and she furrowed her eyebrows, “ He showed Harry the Black Family tree. “

Molly left, and Y/n kissed her husband on the cheek, “ Talk about this later. “ Y/n whispered, leaving him.

She walked around the house. Sirius was standing in the doorway, about to close the black wooden door. Y/n only stood a couple of feet away, but he was hesitant. He didn’t want to shut the door just yet. So much history laid on the wallpaper of the room. So many awful memories. Y/n laid a hand on his shoulder gently.

“ Come on. “ Y/n beckoned as she pulled him into the room, and he shut the door behind them, “ Colloportus. “ She muttered, locking the door.

Sirius stood in front of Regulus’s name, “ Go on, speak. “ Y/n said, and Sirius sighed.

“ It was hard. Losing him, I mean. Even though we didn’t have the greatest relationship, it still felt like I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected him. He was my little brother, for Merlin’s sake. “ Sirius ranted, “ Maybe if I stayed. Maybe if I took him with me that night, this would’ve never happened.

“ Losing a brother is hard. “ Y/n began, “ It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, but people die. People come and go. Truth be told, there isn’t much you can do about it. “

“ My brother wouldn’t have wanted me to live my life suffering. That’s why I married Remus even if he wasn’t by my side. Even if he wasn’t the one walking me down the aisle like he promised. “ Y/n continued, and tears streamed down Sirius’ face, “ Harry still doesn’t know. “

Sirius turned faster than a threatened spider, “ What? Haven’t you told him? “

“ No. He doesn’t know. I’m Y/n Lupin to him and everyone else aside from the adults. “ She shook her head, “ To be fair, it feels nice. “

“ Call me daft, but it feels nice not to be Pity Potter anymore. It feels nice to be Professor Lupin. “ Y/n shrugged, “ You raised him, and you lied to him. “ Sirius retorted.

“ I’m not lying to him; I’m just not telling him the entire truth. “ Y/n corrected, and Sirius turned back to the family tree, “ You were never Pity Potter. “ Sirius muttered.

Y/n chuckled, “ Everyone pitied me after they died. Poor Y/n Potter. She lost her parents at seventeen, lost her brother at twenty-one, became an unexpected parent at twenty-one with her brother's son. People didn’t have to say ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ for me to see the pity in their eyes. “

“ When Regulus died, nobody even said I’m sorry. “ Sirius whispered, “ Nobody knew Regulus like you did. “ Y/n replied.

“ Regulus wasn’t meant to die. He shouldn’t have died. But he did, Sirius. “ Y/n stated, and Sirius turned to her with tear-filled eyes, “ And if your brother was anything like mine, he wouldn’t want you to sulk your entire life. He wouldn’t want you to ask yourself ‘what if’; he’d want you to live your life. “

She took steps in front of the crying man, her hands placed on his shoulders, “ Regulus Black and James Potter didn’t die because they wanted us to suffer. They died because they wanted us to live. “

“ So please. Live for them. Don’t let their death be in vain. “ Y/n said, taking Sirius in for a hug which he returned gratefully, “ Harry loves you. He likes having his godfather in his life. Live for Harry. “

Sirius nodded, and they pulled apart, “ Remus got really lucky. “

Y/n laughed, “ James used to say the same thing. “

When they left the room, it felt like time stopped. Everyone stared at them. Sirius and Y/n were given glares aside from the adults. The children looked betrayed. Harry looked almost in tears. The Weasley twins looked guilty. It seemed to freeze, and Remus looked stressed. Molly and Arthur looked disappointed in their children. Mad-Eye looked unimpressed. Nymphadora looked intrigued. Remus and Y/n exchanged looks, his saying everything– he found out.

Y/n coughed, “ Why- Why is everyone staring? “

“ You lied! “ Harry’s voice sounded heartbroken, betrayed, “ I never lied to you, Harry. I just- you never asked, and there was never a suitable time. “ Y/n tried to explain.

The extendable ear in Fred’s hand told her everything, and she took a breath, “ Harry, can we talk about this in private, please? “

Remus walked forward and took Harry from the shoulders, guiding him to their shared bedroom; once Harry was out of earshot, the Weasley twins stared at their Professor, “ I’m- I’m so sorry, Professor. We didn't- “

“ I’m not mad at you. “ Y/n interrupt, “ I’m not mad at any of you. To clear the rumors, yes, James Potter was my twin brother- “

Before Y/n could continue, Sirius interjected, “ And Y/n Lupin is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. “

“ She has suffered a more remarkable feat than any other witch I know. Y/n was the one who found Marlene McKinnon’s family dead. She watched her best friend bleed out right in front of her eyes. “ Sirius continued, and Y/n swallowed, looking at the ground, “ She watched Frank, and Alice Longbottom get tortured to insanity. “

“ And finally Y/n suffered losing her other half, James Potter and her sister in law, Lily Evans or Lily Potter. “ Sirius put two hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her, “ So before you glare at her, understand what she’s been through. Understand that she’s been tortured, hurt, and killed in more ways than one. “

Sirius still wasn’t finished, “ Her husband is a werewolf. Her husband has hurt her before, and she bears the scars. Her brother was killed. Her brother by choice- “ Sirius chuckled before he continued, “ Was sent to Azkaban for twelve years, and someone she trusted betrayed us all. “

“ Y/n Euphemia Potter-Lupin has endured more pain than everyone in this room combined. But Y/n Euphemia Potter-Lupin is always the one holding us together, the glue to this horrid new world we live in. So please, before you glare. “ Sirius repeated, “ Understand that she’s been tortured, hurt, and killed in more ways than one. “

Hesitantly, Y/n raised her head to see everyone almost in tears. The children weren’t meant to know; they weren’t meant to hear all the suffering she’s endured. It wasn’t their time yet. But as she looked up, she saw Harry and Remus. They hadn’t entirely made it to the bedroom before Sirius began talking. Tears trailed down her husband's cheek, remembering that faithful night he had broken his vows and attacked her. She didn’t blame him.

Hermione was fully sobbing. The Weasley boys had light tears falling down their cheeks. Molly cried in Arthur’s arms while he tried withholding his tears. Nymphadora and Mad-Eye looked astonished. Ron was brought into a hug by Hermione but remained shocked. Y/n didn’t quite know what to do from here. They had just heard her entire life story.

“ I’m sorry you all had to hear that. “ Y/n chuckled, “ I didn’t know Sirius was going to give you a biography on how the first wizarding war went for me. “

She swallowed, “ I’m sorry for keeping this secret from you guys. And Harry, because I know you’re only a floor above me right now in the comfort of Remus’ arms. You need to know that I love you from the bottom of my heart. I just- I just didn’t want you to find out and get too excited. “

“ But I’m your biological Aunt. I fought Dumbledore tooth and nail to take care of you. I remember sobbing and wailing in Remus’ arms because you were right there, right in front of my face, yet I couldn’t have you. “ Y/n explained, “ Vernon and Petunia are awful people. You deserved love, and you wouldn’t have gotten it there. You would’ve been an outsider your entire life. “

Y/n was sobbing as Sirius rubbed her back, her words choked up, “ B- But, I love you, Harry James Potter. “

Harry left Remus’s arms and ran down the flight of stairs. His arms took around his Aunt. The fifteen-year-old held onto his aunt closer than he could ever imagine. Remus walked down the steps slowly to take his place beside Sirius. Harry pulled away slightly, and Y/n wiped her face. Harry’s eyes had that glint of mischief James always had, and it made her want to sob all over again, but Harry spoke before she could.

“ What was your marauder name? “

[honeyhenry]

Captain Confusion

A/N: Inspired by this video that makes me weep with its cuteness! I just had to write this okay 🥺🥺🥺 This is in the same universe as Homeward Bound, which happens after this story. Feel free to give it a read after this, if you haven’t already! ALSO should note that the lovely @ohmygoodie​ is my Sy partner in crime and without them this fic would not be made possible :)

Warning: mention of operations/hospitals, and a whole lot of fluff!

It was a simple procedure and so it hadn't worried you too much, other than the usual fears when a loved one is under the knife while in the hands of trained doctors. Sy’s hernia had been authorised for operation only five minutes into the doctor’s appointment you had all but dragged him to, and scheduled for 4 days later. Not really much time to prepare mentally, but you knew it was necessary with your big bear of a man in pain. Despite the painkillers prescribed, he was walking with a limp and groaning in bed for all the wrong reasons.

In the waiting room, you and his Ma kept busy during the 45 minute wait by looking through magazines, talking about how the Captain’s quality of life will improve, and what kind of minor jobs you’ll have him do around the house while he’s recovering as you continue to work.

“I hope the recovery isn’t as long as some people have said. I know for a fact he’ll not want to be cooped up all day. If he’s anything, he’s stubborn” you sigh, knowingly.

Ma smiles, looking at you pointedly, knowing that she is in the presence of the only other soul who knows what is best for her son. “He knows better now that his health is his wealth. He’s got a lot more riding on being well now. After all, it’s not just him he’s gotta be there for anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean I always tell him, he’s not 25 anymore. Or even 30. I’ll need you to back me up, he does anything you say. I’m his equal, you’re his Mom.”

You both laugh a little, hers warm and kind, while yours tinges with the remaining hopeful nerves of an army Captain’s wife. You don’t like not knowing about your Sy, especially since you spent all those years apart, not knowing if he was safe, or even alive. The waiting, in any capacity, is the hardest part.

You’re flipping through a random tabloid magazine, when the surgeon in charge walks through to the waiting room.

“Everything went really well with Captain Syverson. He’s coming to from the anaesthetic and asking for his Ma?”

Ma grins before sucking her teeth between her lips watching as your mouth drops. You both move from the waiting area to follow the surgeon towards where your husband is resting. You speak under your breath, only wanting Sy’s Ma to hear you; “I hope he still remembers how to grovel after this.”

Ma enters the room with you following her, arriving only a couple more corridors along from where you’d last seen him earlier that morning. He may not have asked for you but you were going to see Sy whether he wanted it or not. A grand push of the door allows it to swing open, and suddenly there he is. A little disoriented but has a large dopey smile plastered on his face as soon as he sees his Ma. His heavy head lolls to one side as he rests it on the plush hospital pillow.

“Hey Ma” he groans out as she bends over her large son to give his forehead a kiss, taking his hand in hers. He spends a moment just gazing at her for a while, the love he has for her evident on his face, as she tells him that everything went well, and that he can go home tomorrow.

It’s only after this tender mother and son moment, that he notices you.

“Ma.... why ya bringing a beautiful girl here when I’m like this...oh god I’m not wearing underwear Ma!”

His feeble attempt at trying to cover himself means that you actually end up seeing far more of him than you expected. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it definitely hasn't happened in front of his own mother before. The whole situation makes you blush and giggle a little as you try your best to avoid eye contact with Ma. You can only imagine the look on her face, and you don’t want to get any more involved with Sy’s naked form than you need to right now.

Rather than put you and your poor Sy through any further embarrassment, Ma speaks up.

“Oh darlin’, this is y/n. You remember her, right?”

And while he’s listening - or at least pretending to listen to his Ma fussing over him again - he’s just staring at you, gazing in awe as if you were the one to hang the stars in the sky.

“You are.... so pretty” he slurs, making you break out a genuine smile that he mirrors, glad that he was the one to make you look even more pretty.

“Well thanks handsome. How do you feel?” you perch on the edge of the bed and hold his hand. To him, the gesture feels warm and inviting - even if he doesn't know you, he recognises something about you in the comfort that you bring.

“Feel like shit. Oh fuck i said ‘shit’ in front of the lady” he whines again, scrunching his eyes closed as hangs his head in shame. It looks like he might even cry with the realisation that he’s made such a foolish impression of himself. It takes Ma shushing him and making him take a sip of juice from his bedside to calm down, dabbing his face with a cloth when his juice spills from his mouth.

“Oh Logan Daniel Syverson...what did they do to ya?” she lightly scolds as she helps clean up the mess he’s unknowingly created around him. That’s your Sy, a hurricane of mess that somehow fits into order just how he likes it.

You giggle a little more at his shameful expression, before he refocuses, giving you his undivided attention once more.

“How is it that ya know my Ma and we’ve never met? Or have we? ‘Cause I think i’d remember a face like yours” 

“Well...” you start, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to let him see your entire face, hoping it would jog his memory. As you do so, the ring on your fourth finger glints in the hospital light, and for the first time since you've entered the room, he’s noticed.

“Oh...man...knew a girl like you would be snatched up already. Whoever has the honour of being yours is a very lucky man.” He smiles softly, a wistful look in his eye, while makes you realise that you can’t wait for the drugs to leave his system, you have to remind him who you are and who he is, right this very moment.

“Sy honey... we’re married. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. I think the drugs are making you more than a bit loopy.”

It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his eyes are unblinking as he takes in what you’ve just said. He turns sharply - more than his doctor would have probably liked - to his Ma, and then back to you, and then his Ma again, waiting for one of you to burst out laughing at the prank you surely must be playing on him.

“Wha-? A wife? I have a wife?” you nod and he exhales a deep breath of air in amazement. 

“YOU’RE my wife? Really?” you nod again and Ma smiles at you as she watches the scene of Logan meeting you all over again.

“Am I still in the army? I’m a Captain ya know”

“You left just a few months ago. You still work in the local camps, of course. You like it there, and you’re home every night and most weekends.”

“Does Ma like you?” You don’t even get a chance to finish as he turns to his mother “Do you like her? is she nice? Does she like your new kitchen? I built it y’know.” 

You knew when you met, dated, and married him, that Sy was a Momma’s boy. He loves his mother so much, that her opinion will always mean the world to him. 

Ma nods “You two are the sweetest couple. She’s the best addition to the family, gives you a run for your money alright. She’s my new favourite.” You get a soft hug from her as she says this, with her wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. She’s always felt so grateful that her Logan found you, because my goodness did he love you ferociously, and he needed you in his life. You were the making of him, and the whole Syverson clan will forever be grateful to you for it.

"And where did we get married? If we really are married.” He continues his line of questioning.

“At the ranch, on your family’s land. it was such a special day. We had the reception there too. And we went to Italy for our honeymoon.”

Sy is basking in every word you say, praying it to be true, as if he could will it into existence if it hadn’t already happened, wanting badly to remember sunset kisses and italian food and beach days all spent with you. He perks up at the last thing you say, taken by complete surprise.

“Honeymoon?! Oh my god have we...ya know..?” A blush fades over Sy’s face, and even though you love his Ma, you really wish she wasn’t finding out so many details about your personal life today, like how your son rails you on the regular in many ways, and in many places. He must somehow remember or at least accurately imagine your past endeavours, as he grins like a little shit. 

You smack his arm, lightly but with a firm hand.

“Be quiet, or the whole ward will know about our sex life” you threaten. “Yes we’ve had sex. i’d hope so given that we have a kid on the way.”

If Ma had had to deal with her son getting horny over his “new”wife, she was being fully compensated for it as she witnessed him fall head over heels in love with you, all over again.

“A kid?...Tell me ya not messing with me...are we really- I-” he swallows and his tears come even easier than before “We’re havin’ a baby?” With the sudden realisation, he turns to his Ma. “This beautiful woman right here’s havin’ my kid, Ma?” He looks between the two of you again, watching as you both nod and beam from ear to ear.

“You know you cried just as much when i told you for the first time too. i promise when the drugs are out your system it’ll all make sense again.”

Sy smiles, clutching your hand in his warm palm, almost scared to let go as the door is knocked and he feels you might be taken away. Instead, it’s a welcome visitor.

“Hey doc,” Sy greets the man who reenters the room, now freshly out of scrubs  to visit his patient - who if anything is now simply love sick, no hernia to be found. “This is my wife, and she’s having a baby.” he looks back to you with a quirk of his eyebrow “My baby?” You roll your eyes and he confirms it; “my baby.”

“Oh, congratulations...again.”

The doctor’s evaluation and explanations don’t take long, and while Sy is being informed, you start rubbing your belly as a form of self-comfort. You will need to remind your child that while their father looks incredibly stern and impossibly large, he is silly and goofy and already loves them with his entire being. Over the course of the afternoon, Sy talks with you while the anaesthetic wears off. It turns out they had given him a pretty high dosage based on his height and muscle mass, so he would be out of action for a couple of hours at least.

“Oh, i have your ring” you pipe up before he starts getting too sleepy again, taking the thick gold band off of the necklace around your neck, placing it on his finger carefully.

“That feels better already” he sighs, as he begins to doze in and out of consciousness. Before he closes his eyes once more to rest peacefully, a small tear slides down his cheek, which you of course, notice. Sy has cried maybe 5 times in the time you’ve known him and three of those times have been in this very room.

“Honey what’s wrong? Are you in pain? i can call the doctor-” 

“No i’m fine i’m fine i just-” he sniffs and tries to clear his throat from the sad, heavy pain he feels in his chest. “I’m gonna be real sad when I wake up from this dream. What if I can’t find you when I wake up?”

Oh your sweet, silly man.

“Bear it’s not a dream, I’ll be right here when you get up properly and we can go home and cuddle and I’ll heat up your favourite meal. I’ll be right there with you.”

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide. almost nervous to ask.

“Well they have to come too, they're with me. We can look at their pictures again so you can get reacquainted. And Aika will be so happy you’re back. We’ve been gone the whole day.”

“Aika!” your husband perks up, “Oh Aika, man....I love that dog..”

“I know you do bear, you just get some rest for now and then we can go home.”

Before you know it, he’s fallen back to sleep, his mouth wide open as he slumps against his pillow, completely out of it.

It’s dark outside when Sy opens his eyes again, watching as his Ma passes you a small herbal tea in the dimly lit hospital room. Technically visiting hours are over, but no one was going to argue with the Captain’s family. You smile, and he feels like he can finally relax, in your presence

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he growls lowly, and you look up at him from your phone, beaming in surprise, glad that your husband had woken up feeling a bit more like himself.

“Oh hello again” you smile and squeeze his hand, his slow blinking already indicating a much clearer mind, and that he knows exactly who you are.

“Again? What’d I miss?”

“The drugs” he stops you mid-sentence for a sweet kiss, acting as though a minute more without your lips would be the source of his downfall. “Mmmh, the drugs made you so loopy, it was the sweetest thing, Sy.” You grin as he pulls you up beside him on the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly with no recollection of any of the past events. Yet still, he smiles.

“Yeah? How’s baby?” he holds you close to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can cover your tummy with his palm.

“They’re great. Glad to have daddy back and sane.”

You swear that as you say that, he starts tearing up again, this time however he doesn’t let them fall. He was openly weeping earlier, but you won’t tell him that. Not yet.

“Damnit. Must be something in these drugs they got me on.”

“Mm-hmm sure bear.”

You stay close that evening, both curled up on a hospital bed that is already quite a tight fit for your husband alone. But as always, he makes it work. You’re half on top of him, both of you fast asleep, when the nurses come to do their rounds. Ma had left just after he had woken up, sneaking off into the night to let the rest of the family know how her most middle son is keeping after the operation. You’d cuddled and doted on each other until you’d fallen asleep, Sy following not long after as he bid goodnight to you and your precious cargo with a soft kiss to your lips, and protective rub of your stomach.

He counts himself more than lucky to have something so good, that it would pain him to forget. He was living the life that he’d been too scared to ever dream of, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

taglist: @ohmygoodie​ @michelehansel​ @la-cey​ @palaiasaurus64​ @sassy-pelican​ @brandycranby​

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[xmint-conditionx]

《the emperor’s dagger》 ch1 | myg

❦ pairing: emperor!yoongi x concubine!reader ❦ w/c: 4.5k ❦ summary: you recall the first night that you began to love your emperor more than your job required. you find yourself in a dangerous situation that surely means death if mistakes are made. being careful is your first priority, but it’s easy to forget where and who you are when you lock eyes with him. ❦ tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, the tiniest bit of fluff you ever saw, brief blood/gore descriptions, derogatory names but not in the way you think, fingering, slight begging, slight nibbling, “be quiet or people could hear” trope, a little adorable aftercare yoongi is here uwu ❦ a/n: guys get fuckin PUMPED okay. i am so so so excited to bring you this crazy story. as far as i have planned, there are 15 chapters. this has (kind of obviously) been in the works since daechwita dropped, so i’m sure you won’t have any trouble picturing our lovely king. this is a complete fantasy setting, so please do know that i am not trying to emulate any particular culture or time period. 

also, please note that this is a repost of my work from a previous blog, so if it looks familiar to you, that’s probably why lmao

anyway, thanks luv, enjoy!

- minty

Blood stains your blade, glistening bright crimson in the hot sun. You’re surrounded by anguish, pain, the sounds of final breaths and final cries. The dead soldier that lies on the dirty brick in front of you, who had been alive and trying to claim your life only moments before is staring lifelessly into the middle distance. You fight the urge to close his eyes; you two could have been friends, after all. You probably have even crossed paths before. A shudder runs through you at the thought. How many of these men that will meet their end at your sword will you have known? How many of your people will have to die? Are they still even your people? You don’t want to know the answer to these questions.

What had he called you? What had he said before his sword clashed with yours?

That’s right.

“Whore.”

You never anticipated being in this situation. You had never wanted to have to fight; you only had wanted to look as beautiful as he had wielding a sword. Fighting was always something that was necessary for your people, but it was never something you would have to be doing yourself. You’d heard palace guards talking about some distant battle and thought it might be a fun adventure-- going off to war. You were wrong. You were naive. About a lot of things, it turns out.

That was a different time, when your only adventure came in the form of a secret romance. When the riskiest thing you did was love an emperor. Your emperor. Your Yoongi.

Where is he?

You look back to where you had last seen him on the battlefield. His long blonde hair shines like gold in the midday sun, only rivaling the sheen of his trusted blade. He cuts down his opponent with a decisive swing, the sick squelching sound of innards falling onto the hot stone as the man cries out. You watch as he expertly scans his surroundings, looking for anyone else that would dare challenge his skill in the chaos. He’s missing an earring, you realize. Both of you are heaving under the stress of battle. This is more than you’d ever prepared for. You don’t know if you’ll make it. 

Your hesitant eyes meet his assured ones, and for an instant, sword in hand, it’s like the first night you’d snuck up to meet him in his chambers.

The dark wooden floorboards of the upper palace creaks, and you scold yourself for not being more quiet. Being caught will at the least result in a very long and extensive round of questioning by the royal guard. Trouble is the last thing you want to stir up. 

Emperor Min had specifically requested you come to his private room in secret tonight, and that is a little strange to you. He has the power to have any of his women whenever he wishes, and he has asked for you to come to him under the cloak of night. Why must this time be a secret? He has had you many times before, so why must this time be hidden?

In his handwritten note that he had slipped to you earlier in the day, he instructs for you to wait until all the other concubines are asleep before you leave your wing. If you are careful, you can take a shortcut through the North Wing Tearoom and pass the guards who only patrol the center hallway. So that’s what you do. 

You see that they’re far enough down the corridor that they won’t be able to detect your movements, and so you silently slip through the large ornate wooden doors. You’ve been in this room many times before, but it feels like your first time here. Everything looks so different without the familiar warm glow of lantern light. The moon’s shadows are cold and sharply cast, and a chill runs up your spine. You don’t have to even look to feel his presence. To feel his eyes on you.

He’s waiting for you, sitting at the bottom edge of his large, low bed, chin perched delicately on his folded hands. The cool metal of his many rings shine in the moonlight, and past those adorned hands, he is staring right at you. His stare is one that is unreadable to most. Nobody is ever really able to know what is going on in his head. Nobody could ever know what emotion lies behind the stare. You wonder how much time he spends in thought. 

“Come,” he says, motioning in his direction.

You obey your king, stepping forward a few paces. Something on his bed catches and glints in the moonlight. A sword? You stop, only halfway to him. You could already be in trouble. If he had heard your conversation with another concubine a few days ago, heavy questioning by the easily fooled palace guards will be the least of your worries. They won’t ask questions before they kill you.

“Your Majesty,” you say to the ground, too demure to look him in the eye as you speak, fearing what he might say and do, “why have you invited me here like this?”

Emperor Min stands and almost silently completes the distance over to where you stand. His calloused palm gently grazes your jaw, thumb on your cheekbone as his fingers wind through your hair. His touch calms your racing heart, and fills your belly with strength and boldness. You finally find the courage to look up.

“I have a surprise for you, my dove,” the emperor says, and you think you see a hint of excitement in his dark brown eyes. 

He quickly spins around and guides you over to where he had been sitting moments before. He picks up the hilt of the sword that was laying next to him and places it delicately into your palm, enclosing his hand around yours. You had expected him to pick up the sword, but to put it in your hands? Impossible.

“I heard you say you wanted to learn to sword fight,” he says, smiling gently down at you.

Your mouth drops; your worst fear has been realized. He had heard your hushed conversation. Surely, you were about to die. Maybe if you groveled and flattered him enough, he would spare you.

“Your Grace, it was only a passing comment. I was only in awe of how skillfully you were practicing out in the gardens. I did not mean for anyone to hear; I was simply awe-struck by your deftness. I do not truly wish to learn. It was a foolish slip of the tongue. Please, forgive me.”

Please, don’t kill me.

“My dear, are you worried about your life?” he asks.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I am,” you say, looking to the floor again. Hoping to pull out any sympathy he may have.

“I do not want you to lose your life. I want you to learn how to properly wield a sword,” he says so quietly it’s almost silent-- as if he’s afraid to even say it himself, “if that is what you want. And I would like to be the one to teach you.”

Women aren’t supposed to learn anything related to warfare, especially not something as dangerous as sword fighting. A single mistake could mean the loss of a limb, but being discovered in practice could mean the loss of a life. Even teaching was punishable by death, although you’re sure the Emperor himself would be able to keep his life intact if discovered. If anyone else had heard your words to another concubine, even if you were able to convince them it was an innocent mistake, you would likely be thrown out of the palace immediately. 

Concubines don’t snitch on the little things, but if any of them had reported you sneaking out tonight, your head would surely be on the chopping block first thing in the morning. You’re all allowed so much. You live in luxury, you’re able to roam most of the palace grounds as you please, you’re dressed in some of the finest fabrics, given plenty to eat, gifted spending money, and on top of it all, you get to lay with the king. Anyone fortunate enough to be chosen for this position doesn’t do anything to risk it. 

The emperor must sense your unease, because he puts his hand on your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he says quietly. 

What has to be hours later, you flop down on his bed; your labored breaths are the only thing that can be heard in the broad expanse of his room. You haven’t even crossed blades with him, and you’re exhausted. He only taught you how to hold it properly, how to angle a strike, and how to move, but your body pounds with soreness. Your arms and your legs are heavy with fatigue, and the cool plush comforter is a welcome sensation to your aching body. As you lay, you look up to the ornate ceiling trimmed with gold and you begin to settle your breathing. You lay the sword down between you and the side of the bed; at the beginning of your lesson it felt light as a feather, but as you were instructed to keep it up, it now feels as if it were made of lead. 

He delicately sits down by your side, barely disturbing the fabric; you lock eyes with him and have to hold back a laugh. For some reason, you feel silly. You have never truly imagined that you would be in this place or situation. A woman? Sword fighting? Not just a woman, but a concubine? And with the king himself? If you had been told as a young girl that this would happen, you’d laugh so hard that you’d wet yourself. It was simply impossible! Or so you had thought. 

You and many other concubines had watched Emperor Min practice his sword fighting out in the royal gardens countless times, and all of you were consumed with the grace and proficiency he could demonstrate. You were the only one, however, who ever wanted to be down there with him, taking part in the mysterious dance he was so fond of. You were the only one who had dared to speak your hidden desires, and it seems that you lucked out. You certainly served a gracious emperor.

His eyes turn into crescent moons as he beams down at you, showing off his gummy smile. You wonder why he rarely displays it; he’s always so serious when he’s in the public eye. The only other time you’ve seen as much as a smirk is when he bests his opponents in practice, his pretty lips curling into a snarl as he holds them at the point of his blade. You’ve only seen him smile when doing what he loves.

The way you look lying on his sheets, your heaving chest covered in little more than your underclothing and moonlight. Your hair spilling out in shining pools around your delicate face, which is flushed from exertion. The way you look up at him with pure bliss in your eyes. Perhaps he smiles because he likes what he sees, He licks his lips as he lets his hand wander across your decollete, which has collected a thin layer of sweat. 

“I hope you haven’t tired yourself out completely,” he says, leaning in closer to you, so close that you can smell his naturally musky scent, “You’re a quick learner. You are quite good with your hands, my dear.” You flush further at his words, deep with insinuation. You would be lying if you weren’t thinking of other activities you could be doing with him, too.

“I am good at a lot of things, My King,” you return, tone laced with venom as you look up at him through heavy lashes. The chemistry between you both had always been electric. What one would put down, the other would pick up. Flirty banter was as easy for you two as  breathing. Innate. Inherent. Natural. As if you were born to do it.

His hand travels down your chest and curls around your waist, giving your lax form a gentle tug upwards, so that your lips can meet his. He had only begun to kiss you recently, and as far as you can tell from the stories from the other concubines, you were the only one. You aren’t sure exactly what that means, but you also aren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or question why you’re the only one who gets to kiss the Emperor. The way he kisses you is nearly indescribable. He always starts off delicately, as if to test the waters, or as if to tease you. You haven’t decided which one it is yet, so you relish in how his lips play with yours. But you want more.

You push yourself upwards and deepen the kiss, and he responds in kind, sucking in your bottom lip to coax you into opening up for him. He has never been pushy; he has never pressured you - or any other that you knew of - into doing something you didn’t want. He has always been respectful of you and the others, which is the last thing you had expected. After all, you are just a glorified whore. And he is a king.

You part your lips and allow his tongue to dance with yours, each silently fighting for dominance. You let him win, and he takes the opportunity to climb over your frame. Noticing the sword by your side, he tosses it onto the floor. It hits the rug with a soft thud, as it has done many times that night when you had dropped it. He continues to deepen the kiss, and you can feel yourself beginning to get damp. Feeling that familiar tingling sensation run up your spine, you feel the need to reach under his silk robe and run your hands up his chest, which sends him moaning into you. He involuntarily pushes his hips against you, and you can feel how hard he is behind his night robe. It’s not like him to take his time, like this. Usually, he would have already put you in his desired position and… well, gotten on with it already. He might need some inspiration. You break the kiss by tilting your head up, and he begins kissing down your exposed neck, and fuck does that feel good. 

“Your Majesty,” you whine, fist full of his soft blonde hair, “How would you like me tonight?”

He speaks in between kisses.

“What… ever could you… mean?” he says warmly against your neck.

“Would you like me on my stomach tonight? I know you’re fond of the view,” you say, playfully wiggling your hips. He pauses for a beat, and pulls back to look at you. He chuckles a little.

“I’m quite fond of this view, too,” he says, showing off his gummy smile again and leaning in to cup your breasts as he trails kisses down into your cleavage. He begins to nibble softly at your flesh as he pulls the fabric down, exposing your nipples to the night. He pinches one roughly, making you pull on his hair a little harder, both of you having to stifle a moan. How dangerous to be doing this at the risk of guards hearing! His hand wanders down your frame and then up into your underskirts, cupping your heat gently as you open your legs for him. 

His fingers graze against your clit, and you feel the cool metal of his rings slide against your damp folds as he teases your entrance. You bite your lip and hold back a moan. You wish you could just tell him to hurry. 

As if answering a prayer, he slides his finger into your waiting slit, coaxing more of your wetness out of you. He adds another finger, curling them up gently and pushing up against that spongy spot that drives you wild. You buck up your hips in response, and you feel him smirk into your chest. He continues to gently bite around your areolas, never quite reaching your peaks as he sets an agonizingly slow pace with his fingers. The sensations that spark through your body at his ministrations are dizzying, but they’re also incredibly frustrating. He’s keeping you just on the edge of satisfaction. What does he want you to do? Beg? You’ve never felt like you could do such a thing, but this evening has made you bold. And his touch has turned you needy.

“Your Grace, pl-please,” you plead quietly into the night.

He looks up to your face scrunched in desperation. “Oh, are you suggesting your king hurry?” he asks with a smirk, “What if he wishes to take his time?”

“Hi-His Highness may have me any way he wishes, of course,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to distract you from the torture, “But are the tales of your generosity false? Are you a merciless ruler, set to torture those who would only want to bring you pleasure?”

His eyes on you darken, and he pokes his tongue in the side of his cheek. 

“Hm,” he considers, “I suppose I can afford to be kind tonight. After all, you’ve worked so hard already, haven’t you?”

He wastes no time in pulling his fingers out, and you clench at the loss, another groan almost leaving your lips before you’re able to swallow it. He lines his head up with your aching slit, using your wetness to coat his cock. The delicious friction against your clit makes you whine ever so gently into the space between you both, another small beg for him to fill you. He presses into you, the familiar stretch making you dizzy with lust, and buries himself in your neck once more. He quickly sets a brisk pace knowing that you both are eager, and it’s not long until you can hear how wet he makes you. The obscene wet slaps sound like bombs going off in the quiet, and your cunt drips with your slick. You briefly wonder who is the unfortunate servant who will have to clean these bed linens, because you always leave them completely ruined. The way he fucks into you makes you fall apart every time, fitting together like a lock and key.

The king’s lips find yours again, his kisses hungry and wild. You remove your hands from his hair that’s now cascading around you, falling in golden waves onto your shoulders. He’s more ferocious now, biting your bottom lip and then nibbling up your jaw where he sucks your bejeweled lobe between his lips. His hands grasp tightly around your jaw as you take him, every thrust making you more putty in his hands. His free hand curves around and cups your ass, hoisting you up and changing the angle of your hips. With every thrust, his tip grazes against your sweet spot, causing a loud moan to escape your lips, echoing in the large space. Your moan dies as soon as you register it; you shamefully tighten your mouth so that no more noise may escape, but it’s too late. You’ve already been too loud. He looks back towards his bedroom doors, and then back to you. 

Something in his expression changes, and his eyes are churning with something devilish. He swiftly covers your mouth with his palm, making sure it’s firmly fastened there before speaking. 

“Scream for me, little dove.”

You try to hold back as best as you can, but a particularly hard thrust breaks your resolve. Once you let out that little yelp, it opens the floodgates. Your voice is muffled by his hand as he fucks into you harder and harder, almost painfully. His tip is pounding against your cervix, and dark spots flash in your vision. You continue to lose yourself in him, eagerly meeting his thrusts with ones of your own. His other hand that was once cupping your ass, now finds your wrist and hoists it above your head, as he continues his unrelenting pace. You scream into his hand, and clench around him to bring you right up to the edge. 

He leans down to your freshly-nibbled ear, and in a gravelly voice says, “Come. Come around my cock.”

As soon as his hand lets go of your wrist and makes contact with your sensitive clit, you come undone. You scream completely unhinged into his palm which is placed firmly over your mouth, and he too groans as he finishes inside of you, riding through both orgasms until you’re both exhausted. And you thought you were tired before. His heavy breaths meet yours, and you float back down from your high to find yourself resting on his comforter. He gives your jaw a final nibble, and hoists himself off of you.

You hear his soft footsteps padding on the floor as you look up at the ceiling again. The beautiful gold trim you had noted before is a large dragon, spiraled around an inset in the ceiling. He brings back a damp cloth for you to clean yourself with, and he gathers your night clothes from the floor where you had discarded them some time ago. Sword fighting in a dress is not easy, and besides, you look much better in your undergarments. He starts putting your sleepwear back on you, gingerly helping your arms through the holes. He doesn’t have to be doing this. He has never helped you get dressed before; that was a task left to each woman on their own. They had a separate and luxurious bath suite dedicated to their self-care, so why would he bother?. Sometimes the concubine mother would help if things got… interesting, but you scarcely needed help with this. Tonight was surely a night of firsts.

“Uh, thank you, Your Majesty. You didn’t have to help me dress after you finish,” you say, a little flushed from how delicately he treats you after how thoroughly he had just fucked you. 

“Yes, I’m aware,” he says, hoisting you up off the bed and leading you towards his doors, “We can’t have you cleaning yourself in your wing’s washroom. You’d probably be dripping all the way back. We can’t have that now, can we?” he asks as he runs his hand down your arm, smirking lightly and raising his eyebrows, “Especially if you’d like to have another lesson.”

You gasp.

“Another? Your Highness, are you certain? Why do you risk getting caught doing this for me?” you ask, not concerned with your own safety, but of his. Even if his life isn’t at risk, the public humiliation that would surround him would be too great. Especially not now. Not in the middle of a war. The subjects of the kingdom are already on edge as it is. The trust in their Emperor cannot falter. Not now.

“Ah, come now. Don’t worry. As long as you stay light on your feet and I ensure that the worst guards in the command are at my post, we are as safe as my blade is sharp. Plus,” he adds, kissing gently against your fingers,  “getting to see your beautiful skin glisten with sweat, and then getting to have you all to myself is reward enough for me. It’s definitely worth the risk.” 

“My King, you can always have me all to yourself in whatever way you desire,” you say, “There’s no limit to what I can do for you. You know that.”

“Yes, dove,” he says, “I do know that, but there is one thing your king is not allowed. Something that nobody may know of. Your king is not allowed a favorite.”

You know this already. It is why the concubines exist, why you’re able to be here with him at all. You know that it is dangerous to have a favorite. Emperors in your kingdom are unable to wed, and it has always been that way. Spouses are a vulnerability, something an enemy can easily exploit. The concubines exist, like the guard, to protect the emperor in their own way. By allowing him freedom of sexual expression, he is less likely to feel the need to have a romantic partner. Having a person be treasured by the emperor only makes them a weakness. Especially now.

“Nobody can know that you are important to me. Nobody can know that it is you who holds the king’s favor; that is why we must meet mostly in secret going in forward. You’ll be removed from the palace if the officials get a notion of my fondness for you,” he says, holding both of your hands in his, “and I never want you to be missing from me, my dove.” 

You understand. You have to. It’s part of the job. You knew all of this going in and you were okay knowing that you would be one of many. You didn’t come to the palace with only the clothes on your back to find a chance at love. You’re smarter than that. You’d be lying if you said being treasured by the king didn’t light a small fire inside of you, though.

You nod and give his beautiful, calloused hands a squeeze. 

“I cannot keep you any longer,” he whispers, “you deserve your beauty sleep, especially after all the… exertion you’ve just done. You think you can keep quiet on your way back?”

“I think I can manage, but,” you say, “if I may be so bold, next time, I don’t want to be able to sneak back to my room. I don’t want to be able to even walk after the next time you’re done with me.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” he says, hiding a soft smile, “but even then, I would welcome it if it came from you.” 

You think of the risk you’re both taking, and the consequences of being found out.

“Let's hope it doesn’t come to that, yeah?” you delicately ask, eyes asking a question you’re afraid to give voice to.

“My dove,” he says, “as long as I can help it, no harm will ever come to you. Now, get on to bed.”

You didn’t want to leave, but you know you needed to. The emperor opens the door a crack and nods at you, a silent confirmation that the guards were at the other end of the hall. A silent nod that said it was time. 

You ease yourself through the small crack in the door and slowly pad toward your Northern Tearoom shortcut. You look back once more, and you see him mouth “goodnight” with a smirk before shutting the door.

Your return trip to your wing of the palace is much quieter than your first trip, and for that you are thankful. You sneak back into your room where the rest of the concubines lie fast asleep in their own beds, some of them quietly snoring. As you curl up into your bedsheets, you drift asleep thinking about how sweet his smile is. He never shows it to anyone, so why are you the one who gets to see it? After all, you’re just a whore. The emperor’s favorite whore.

[nordens-lejon]

Pervitin and Skis

Sufin oneshot I wrote last night.

During WW2, Timo finds himself in the hospital after an accident. Berwald comes to visit him. Based on a true story.

7 April 1944

Timo had never imagined he’d be grateful to find himself in a hospital. But then again, he’d never expected to find himself spending a week in a snow-filled ditch with one calf reduced to mincemeat. A lumpy hospital bed felt like heaven compared to that. The bed was warm and clean, and he could sleep as much as he wanted. The nurses fed him spoonfuls of broth and mashed potatoes. Small portions, so as not to upset his stomach after two weeks without proper food.

The hospital had given Timo a private room, which had annoyed him at first. He’d been fighting with the other soldiers, so sure it was only fair that he got the same treatment as the humans in the military ward. The doctors said it was an attempt to keep the gossip down, and on some level, Timo understood that. The personification of Finland injured and hospitalized? Oh, the Soviets would have a propaganda field day with that.

Someone knocked. That was odd -- the doctors and nurses were coming in whether he liked it or not. Timo thought it might be the timid new orderly, but it was a tall, thin man in an ill-fitting gray suit, messenger bag at his side. A sickly-looking mustache perched on his upper lip.

“Sve!” Timo tried to sit up, but he got nowhere and it only made his stitches hurt. Sure, Berwald was dressed like he’d lost all vestige of fashion sense, but it was him nonetheless. “Oh, I must look horrid, but I never thought…”

“Shhhhh.” It came out as a sharp hiss, but Berwald quietly crossed the room and pulled a chair to the bedside.

“How did you get in?” Timo whispered. He held out a hand, and Berwald immediately took it. “They don’t want anyone to know I’m here. And aren’t you still technically neutral in the war? What if the Soviets find out that you visited? It’ll look like you’re taking sides.”

“The Soviets won’t find out.” Berwald ran his thumb over the back of Timo’s hand. “I set a trail. They think I’m in Malmo. As for the Finns,” he pulled out a badge and a bundle of documents, “I got papers. They think your boss sent me.” The print of the badge was just big enough for Timo to catch the words Director of Cadaver Gynecology.

“So that’s why you grew this.” Timo wiggled his hand free and reached for the mustache.

“Yeah.” Berwald gently pushed Timo back against the pillows with one big hand.

“It’s hideous. I hate it.”

“Sorry.”

“You needed a disguise, I get that, but holy Martin Luther, please shave that thing as soon as you can and never grow it out again. Maybe you should get a wig next time, because with that thing on your face, I can almost imagine myself turning down a kiss. Almost. Just maybe.”

Berwald’s eye sparkled and he pressed a kiss to Timo’s knuckles.

“Oh, you sap. You’re hopeless.” Timo chuckled in spite of himself.

“I am.”

“Of course you are. So you found out I’m here. Something must’ve leaked. What did you hear? They told me they don’t want the story to blow up. There’s the Soviets, and besides, it could hurt national morale.”

Berwald blinked. “They didn’t tell you? It’s been in the papers.”

“The papers?” Timo felt his stomach drop, and he slumped a little. Oh, if this hurt the Finnish war effort, he’d never live it down. “Perkele. What did they say?”

“That you were with your combat unit in Saami territory. On skis. And you took thirty doses of Pervitin.”

“It was an accident!” The words came out louder than anticipated. Berwald would believe him, of course, but he still felt some urge to defend his honor to the universe. “I’d never even taken Pervitin before!” He’d always been wary of those German-made pep pills. Chemists said they contained methamphetamine. “I only took it because I was so tired I was on the verge of passing out. There were Soviets on our tail! And I meant to take one, not thirty. I’d like to see you-- or anyone -- get one pill out of those tiny little tubes while wearing mittens. So I tried to, y’know, just pour one into my mouth.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Berwald reached forward and began stroking Timo’s hair.

“And I just, before I knew it, I’d downed the whole tube.” Timo swallowed and took a minute to take a deep breath and enjoy Berwald’s touch. It reminded him of easier, happier times. “Sorry. But please, don’t stop.”

“Mmm. I won’t. But go on.”

“Go on?”

“What happened next?”

“Oh.” Timo paused. “Well, I… I don’t remember much of it. It felt amazing, at first. Ecstatic. Like I’d been born a new man, with more energy than I’d ever had in my life. And then, it got to be too much, I started shaking. I thought I’d blacked out, but it turned out that I’d just kept skiing. I, I think I crashed through a Soviet camp, and they shot at me, but the doctors didn’t find any bullet wounds. Maybe I hallucinated it. But then, I came to my senses, or really, I came down enough to realize that I’d completely lost my unit, and I was all alone in the snowy forest. But there was so much energy in me that I felt compelled to keep going. To find someone. Anyone.”

Berwald’s brow furrowed. “How long had it been at that point?”

Timo shrugged. “I don’t know. A few days.”

“Did you stop to eat or sleep?”

“Sleep. I doubt it. Eat, no. I lost my supply pack.”

“No wonder you’re so thin.” Berwald ran a thumb along Timo’s cheekbones, which had never been visible before. “I don’t like it.”

“Not planning on staying this way, don’t you worry.” Timo managed a smile. He didn’t want to add that his once-portly body weighed only forty-one kilograms upon admission to hospital. That number would only make Berwald worry -- he was too fond of seeing Timo pampered and plump. “Anyway, not too long after that, I stepped on a landmine.”

“A landmine?”

“Yeah.” Timo gestured to his elevated right leg. The cast covered a mess of stitches and surgical pins. “The blast threw me right off my feet, blew out one of my eardrums, and my legs was, well, I remember this awful mess of blood and bone.”

“Christ almighty.”

“Yeah...I guess. I was still so high that I didn’t feel any pain, at least not at first. But I remember lying there in a ditch with my ears ringing. And I thought that this must be the end of my journey. Some hours passed, and nothing happened. So I figured I might live long enough for someone to find me, so I crawled to this sort of, well, dugout, and waited some more. And nobody came. Eventually, the Pervitin wore off enough that I could feel hunger. I could drag myself to a pine tree and I ate some pine buds. A jay landed on my hand, so I ate that too. I ate snow. Sorry,” he added, seeing the horrified look on Berwald’s face.

“Don’t be sorry. I want to know.” There was a pause “And I want to take you home right now and take care of you forever,” Berwald was flushing, as if he’d already said more than he’d intended, “but that, that’s beside the point.”

That was more than enough to warm Timo’s heart. “Maybe you can, if your disguise holds. I don’t think they’re going to let me back to the front.” Inherently, he was ashamed of that. Going back before the end of the war felt like quitting on his people. “There’s talk about sending me to Helsinki. I’m going to need crutches for a while. And physical therapy. But if you can keep up as Director of Cadaver Gynecology, maybe you can stay with me. At least for a little while.”

“Yes, maybe.” Berwald swallowed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The prospect of Berwald in Helsinki might not take away the shame, Timo realized, but it did make the thought of a long convalescence a lot more bearable. “Thanks, big guy.” Almost suddenly, a wave of exhaustion swept over him. This talking was the most exertion he’d done since he’d been admitted.

“It’s nothing,” Berwald said. Another small pause. “You didn’t finish.”

“Finish what?”

“The story. You stopped with eating snow in a ditch.”

“Oh, right.” Timo fought back a yawn. “I walked.”

“You what?”

“Walked. One night, I could see light through the trees, and I don’t know, I guess I was desperate enough that I got up and dragged myself over to them.”

“With your leg like…” Berwald pointed.

“Well, of course. But I made it to their camp, and I was so beat up, that I think I scared them, the poor humans. They called for an ambulance, and they brought me here.” And that,” this time, Timo couldn’t hold back the yawn, “is how I got myself into this whole embarrassing mess.”

“Embarrassing? Never mind, I should let you sleep.”

“Wait, don’t go!” Timo took Berwald’s wrist. “Not just yet. A few more minutes. And yes, of course it’s embarrassing. All this trouble because I couldn’t pick up a pill.”

Berwald set his jaw and kept silent for a moment. “I can’t say how you should feel, but the story’s earned your people’s admiration”

“Wait, what?” This was so surprising, Timo almost forgot how sick and tired he was. “What do you mean, admiration?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you? Yes, you made a mistake, but you’re still here. Thirty doses of Pervitin and two weeks in the woods would’ve killed lesser men. Men who aren’t as tough as Finns. I mean,” Berwald reached down for his messenger bag. “Plenty of your people have sent you cards and letters. Wishing you well, I’m guessing. Haven’t opened any.”

“Those are letters? What? Where did you get those?” Timo watched as Berwald opened the bag, revealing a heap of envelopes.

“Your public PO box. In Helsinki.”

“Right, forgot I gave you a spare key.” The envelopes were mostly white, with occasional blue and pink mixed in. And there were so many of them. Maybe some of them were admonishing him for his stupidity and carelessness, but if even a few were wishing him an easy recovery, well, it was a small consolation, but he felt better. “Do you think you can open one? Read one to me? Do you remember your Finnish?”

“Of course I remember Finnish.” Berwald cupped Timo’s cheek, then picked an envelope from the top of the pile and tore it open. Inside was a generic get-well card with a picture of teddy bear, but somehow, the mass-produced kitsch made it charming. “How ‘bout you get some rest? I’ll read while you settle down to sleep.”

Oh, wasn’t that right in the money. Timo sank back against the pillows and closed heavy eyelids. Lumpy hospital bed heaven was even better with Berwald by his side.

“Dear Mr. Finland,” Berwald began, “I was shocked to hear news of your accident, but I must say that I have never heard a more remarkable story of survival. That’s truly the Finnish spirit, isn’t it? Carrying on and making do in spite of the odds. You’ve reminded me of...”

Berwald’s voice was lovely and soothing, but that was all he heard before sleep claimed him, heavy, comfortable, and reassuring.

Closing notes: For anyone who’s unfamiliar, Pervitin was an methamphetamine-based performance-enhancing drug that was developed by the Germans, who proceeded to give it out to their troops like it was candy. Timo’s story here is based on that of Aimo Koivunen, a Finnish soldier who accidentally took 30 doses of Pervitin, spent two weeks in the woods, stepped on a landmine and lived to tell the tale. He made a full recovery and lived to the age of 72. You can read Koivunen’s story in his own words here.

[citygirlinschool]

Breaking Bad

Read it on Ao3

Original bingo

~

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“I have got two research papers pending, I am falling behind on my thesis and I have to submit Mr D’s essay on Monday. So yes, I am not coming.” Frank resisted the urge to physically pick up the boy from his bed and throw him out. 

He could if he wanted to. Leo was a tiny slip of a thing, all wild curls and ADHD. And gods did the boy tempt him to do some serious bodily harm to him.

“Come on man you haven’t come to a single party since well... ever. This one is supposed to be real rager.” 

With a jerked motion he stood up from his desk, threw his door open and marched towards the kitchen. 

“Is that supposed to be a No?” There was ruffling of sheets and Oh my Gods he was wearing shoes the whole time.

His eyes twitched and he slammed the glass on the counter with more force than necessary. A drink, that’s what he needs.

“Mixed signals buddy.” And there he was in all his flannel glory, and those hideous pun t-shirt (Never trust an atom, they make up everything). Never would he have guessed the devil would be a elf in science pun t-shirts. 

“No, Valdez. I am not coming to your rager party.” He made towards the refrigerator.

“Whatever man your loss.” 

There was an audible slam of the door as the fridge door fell of it’s hinges and over a startled Frank, followed by a crash of food spilling on to the floor.

“LEO!” 

~

“So, what was it this time?” 

“He broke the fridge.” Frank stabbed his food gloomily.

“And?” Percy waved a ketchup covered fry.

“He fixed the AC.” Frank mumbled.

“That’s good right?” 

“After he broke it.” He snorted.

Percy was in the year above him. Swim team captain and marine biology major. They met by accident and hit it off immediately.

They made it a point to meet in the dinner near the college campus once a week, or when they could.

“What else?” he drawled lazily, and Frank would feel guilty about turning all these meetings into venting sessions, except Percy wasn’t the type to entertain people just because it’s polite, so he probably didn’t mind.

“He brought someone back to the dorm. Again. Some blondie, Maria. This is the third this month. And it’s distracting, and I have told him clearly to bring someone when I am gone… How does he even land these many?” 

“He is kinda cute?” Percy shrugged.

Frank pulled a face. “He has a horrible track record. Can you believe he flirted with Ms Grace?” 

“To be fair he flirts with everybody. I don’t think it counts.” 

“Still. That’s the Thalia Grace.”

 “Touché. Talked to the Dean?” 

“Jason said, only Octavian is vacant. And that guy is… creepy.”

Percy nodded solemnly. “Heard he guts plush toys to some cult god he worships.” 

Frank looked at him wide eyes, and just like that Leo was forgotten. 

At least until he reached back to his dorm. 

“Frankie! You are back.” Leo flashed him his infuriating smirk that he knows gets on his every nerves. “Hazel was just leaving.” And that asshole turns to her, “Until you changed your mind and decided to stay.” 

He flirts with everybody; it doesn’t mean anything. Percy’s voice echoed warningly in his mind.

Hazel flushes, and looks down. Those flawless curls hiding reddened cheeks. “Thanks for the offer but I can’t stay past curfew.” 

“Aw.” Leo leans forward, “That’s not a no.” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t be stickler for rules, get that enough from Frankie boo here.” 

This time Frank’s cheeks heat up. “Leo.” He hopes he would stop.

“Fine, Fine. Goodnight, Hazel.”

“Bye, Leo.” She presses her books to her chest, and Frank shuffles hurriedly to the side as Hazel moves past him.

He slams the door once Hazel is past. 

“So,” Leo straightens from where he was leaning against the wall. “Somebody has got a crush.”

“Don’t.”

“Cant blame you, she is a real looker.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t play.” He stalks back towards his room, his back toward the Latino. “You already knew that.” 

“I did?” there it is again, the annoying mocking tone he didn’t bother dignifying with a reply. But that didn’t deter Leo from barging in his room behind him either.

“I mean, were all those lectures ignored in the favour of staring at the back of her head, and doodling H+F in the back of your notebook, did give me an inclination but thought they stood for Himbo plus- “ 

“Shut up, asshole.” He whirled around. “You know I freaking liked her.” He stalked towards him. 

“Oh yeah like how you knew my Chatelier’s experiment made twelve percent of my grade?” 

“I apologized for it.” He spit back in his face, grabbing his forearms. 

“That doesn’t make up for it, jerk.” He hissed back.

Blood roared in his veins, drowning out any further jabbing remarks from the squirming boy in his arms.

Gods the things he would do to shut him up. 

“-and would you please let me go, I am pretty sure this counts as phys- Mmph! ” 

He kissed him. That annoying fucking mouth, with those pretty fucking lips. He bit on his lips tugging at them, pressing that tiny body against his.

He kissed him. Fuck.

Frank stumbled back in horror. “Shit I am sorry, I didn’t- “ 

“Oh no.” Leo lunged at him, and he stumbled back in surprise, catching his hips. “You would be sorry when I am done with you.” 

Harsh demanding lips pressed against him, a sharp nip and the metallic tang of blood spilled on his tongue, making him curse.

The heels of Leo’s feet dug in his back, “Bed, bed, bed!” He panted, slim but strong fingers tugging at his hair painfully, tilting it back. He grabbed his lips in another kiss that had his dick aching in his pants.

Frank stumbled blindly towards his twin bed, his hands groping the Latino’s ass, as they both fell on the congested bed in tangle of limbs.

Leo’s hand left his hair and trailed over his collar, clever fingers making a quick job of his shirt, hips shamelessly grinding in his abdomen. 

“Come on, man, get naked.” He ran his fingers over his chest, tweaking his nipples.

“Leo.” He pulled back, “Aren’t we going a bit fast.” 

Leo’s lips pulled back in a condescending sneer, “You sure you wanna be a cock blocker.”

His hand snaked down to the bulge in his pants, and he involuntarily humped forward into the pressure.   “I already hate you enough.”

That was a reminder enough. The clothes were gotten rid of in a flurry of uncoordinated limbs, and broken buttons, until a very naked Frank, had a very naked Leo in his lap. 

He dug his teeth into the hollow of his collar bones, and Leo hissed, but didn’t stop the wild rhythm of his hips. Frank’s hand squeezed the ample flesh in his hands and parting them. 

The head of his cock slipped between them, sliding over the fuzzy hole.

Leo’s hips stuttered, and he exhaled shakily, fingers digging in his shoulders hard enough that Frank knew they would leave welts.

“Lube? Tell me you have lube” his voice was so deep; it had his cock twitching.

“Top drawer, in the back.” He mumbled, leaning back until he was laying down as Leo stretched over him, searching his drawer.

He couldn’t help but mouth over his well formed abdomen, for his deceptively short stature he was strong. Lithe muscles and surprisingly broad shoulders. 

Fuck he hated him so much.

There was a click of lube opening, as Leo pulled back, his fingers dripping with lube.

He leaned forward, one hand beside his head while he reached behind him.

Frank knew the exact moment Leo’s fingers breached him. His eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched and his breathing became a tad bit heavier. 

He reached up, pressing a sweet almost a innocent kiss against his lips, and for a moment Leo let him. 

“Let me do it.”

And just like that Leo pulled away. 

His weeping cock bobbed proudly between his supple thighs, his dusky nipple looked raw and abused, there was a myriad of hickies littering his chest and his hair was wilder than usual. 

Yet, that jerk had the audacity to smirk mockingly at him.

“Not your girlfriend, Zhang. So don’t treat me like it.” he must have done something inside him cause his eyes fluttered for a moment. “Besides- Ah” his back arched, “we are doing this by-mmh- my rules, cause clearly you are as clueless in this-Ah!”

“What is your problem.” Frank had jostled his fingers out of him as he flipped them over. “I am just trying to be nice.” He snarled.

“No what you’re trying to do.” A lube covered finger smeared across his neck, “is fucking coddle me.” He spat.

“I am not coddling you.” He glared indignantly at the infuriating boy underneath him.

“Oh yeah? What is this? Fucking me? Please, you are not even in me.” He sneered mockingly.

“I am- I don’t –” Leo mercifully cut his spluttering off with a kiss.

“God I didn’t know I had to just spread my legs to get underneath your skin.”

He would have tried replying, except Leo had wrapped his lubed up hand around his dick, slicking it up with quick efficient strokes, and Frank had been so painfully hard all this time all he could do was helplessly jerk forward into the warm wet hole, until Leo tightened his grip. “Don’t come.” He warned, as he guided him to his stretched hole.

Frank to his dying day would deny the sound he emitted when his head slipped in.

A loud unashamed sound, as his head dropped onto Leo’s shoulder, as he panted harshly. Leo was tighter and hotter then anything he had ever felt before. And so deliciously soft.

He wouldn’t have been able to stop the unrelenting rolls of his hips as he pushed deeper if he wanted to.

Like he had no control over his hips, he pushed in inch after inch, as Leo’s back arched off the bed until Frank bottomed out.

For a moment Frank could just lay still and shiver so as to not bust a nut, Leo as so tight around him, it was probably painful for him.

“Move, move, move, jackass.” Or maybe not.

“Oh, gods fuck me, or I am gonna fuck up your laptop and not repair- Oh yesss!” Leo’s eyes rolled back in his head, as Frank pulled out almost all the way and then pushing in rapidly. 

“Why can’t you shut up for a moment.” Frank picked up his pace. “For once –mmh” his nipped at his ear, “just shut up- ah fuck- and moan.” 

“Maybe- mmph- Maybe if you put all that beef - oh Dios- and man boobs (he gripped said boobs) to use than I will.” 

Frank dug his teeth right below his ears, just shy of tearing skin, but definitely marring the skin, as he readjusted his grip, hooking his hands underneath his knees and practically folding the twink (because that’s what Leo fucking Valdez is and Frank is tired of lying) in half. 

He must have hit his prostrate with the deeper angle cause Leo made a he- would- never- admit- it- but- adorable high-pitched sound, his hands flying between his legs, except Frank slapped it away and wrapped his own hand around his flushed, almost painfully purple cock.

Much to his pleasure Leo hooked his own hand underneath his knees, holding himself open.

“Didn’t know” he panted, “all it took was a good dicking down to shut you up.” 

Leo’s eyes opened up to slits, in what he thinks is a glare, but it is hard to take him seriously on good days, even harder with his cock stupid bambi eyes, and drool covered chin.

Fuck! This is the hottest thing ever and Frank hates him so much.

Frank lost his carefully maintained rhythm, finally rutting in abandon. The bed creaked threateningly, the headboard banging fiercely with the force of his thrusts.

Paired with the slick sound of where Frank was jerking Leo off, slap of skin against skin and squelch of Frank fucking Leo, it sounded like a cheap porno.

Harsh breathing was littered with moans and litany of curses. There tongues ran sloppily against each other, Leo tweaked his nipples, clenching down on Frank as they both hurtled toward the peak like freight train.

The orgasm was a bang.

Literally. 

In hindsight, two fully grown men fucking on a barely hanging on twin bed was not the wisest plan. But what can he say? Leo brings out the worst in him.

“Did it?” Frank muttered tiredly. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“Get off.” Leo’s voice was slurred and strained, “You are suffocating me. And you are sleeping on the couch.” 

~

“What was it this time?” 

“The bed.” 

“Leo broke your bed?” 

“Something like that.” Frank mumbled.

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Skinwalker pt. 1 (Lost Boys)

Pt. 2

Imagine being a skin-walker (an immortal who can transform into an animal, in this case a large wolf like dog) and being taken in by the guys.

Word Count: 1609

~

You've been living alone for quite some time now, always on the move. Never staying still for too long in case someone discovers your secret.

Skin-walkers are rare; only a few have ever come into existence since the beginning of time. You're one of them, wise and ancient beyond your appearance.

Anyone who saw you in your human form would assume your age to be around the twenties, and they would be terribly wrong.

Being immortal can be lonely, though, especially for a skin-walker of your kind. Dogs are loyal and loving, craving affection just as they crave food.

That's why it's hard when you find someone to love, and they are taken from you in only a few decades.

Fed up with the pain, you've been living solo for years, out in the wilderness where no one can find you.

You've missed civilization, though, so one day you decide to go back.

~

Nighttime on the boardwalk in Santa Carla. The perfect time to be out and about, discovering awesome things to do.

People, each individual as different as the sands of the earth, wander around, listening to the live concert, and enjoying the sights and activities available.

The Lost Boys, as they are called by the locals, arrive at the boardwalk on their motorbikes. Paul and Marko laugh and jostle each other as David smokes and Dwayne observes the crowd with a smile.

The vampires are accustomed to the night scene of the city. People dancing and yelling and doing everything else imaginable as the boys look on, sometime joining in.

Tonight, something feels different. The air sparks with more electricity and the stars shine a bit brighter, although no one except Dwayne really pays attention.

A loud howl cuts through the air, trying its best to break through the many noises of Santa Carla. It succeeds in gaining the attention of the four vampires.

"You hear that?" Marko asks excitedly. He was sometimes easily entertained with the seemingly smallest things.

Paul grins, "Yeah, dude. It sounded like a wolf or something."

"A wolf around Santa Carla? That's never happened before."

"It's probably just a mutt," David drawls, taking a drag from his cigarette. "But let's go check it out anyways."

He drops the cig and crushes it under his heel before mounting his bike. The others follow suit and soon they are racing towards the forest where the howl came from.

Another howl sounds, more sorrowful than the last. They slow as they approach the source, looking around warily with excited grins plastered on some of their faces.

In the centre of a small foggy clearing, sits a marvellous creature. As large as a wolf, although some of its features varied from the traditional wolf, sits a dog, whose h/c coat gleams in the starlight.

Its e/c eyes stare soulfully at them as they come to stand in front of it.

"See, told you it was a mutt," David states, clearing unimpressed. The dog flattens it's ears at the remark before shaking its head pointedly.

"Look, it's tied up!" Marko says, noticing the heavy chain wrapped around its neck.

"C'mon dude, help," Paul moves closer towards the animal, who doesn't move a muscle, it's eyes trained on Dwayne.

The curly blond cautiously approaches alongside Paul, helping him take the chain from around its neck.

"Shh, it's alright," he pauses. He doesn't know the sex of the creature, so he glances down. "Girl," he adds, nodding to himself.

Marko tosses the chain aside before petting the dog, grinning wide at the soft feeling of her fur in his fingers. Paul joins and pets the dog as well.

The dog's foot thumps rapidly as they ruffle her fur in a loving manner, getting that sweet spot on her neck.

"Can we keep her, David? Please?" Paul begs, looking up with a large grin.

David rolls his eyes, "Seriously? We don't need a stray."

"Max has one," Marko argues, making puppy eyes at the group's secondary leader.

"Max has a hellhound, not some runaway mongrel," David shoots back.

"I say we vote on it," Paul declares, scratching the dog's chin before standing with his arms crossed.

Marko nods but sits down beside the dog with a happy smile as the dog licks his cheek affectionately.

"I vote we keep her!" Marko chirps.

Paul states his agreement.

They turn to Dwayne pointedly and so does the dog, her head tilted questioningly.

He sighs and smiles, "Let's keep her."

David scoffs, but shrugs in defeat, "Fine, but I ain't dealing with it."

Marko and Paul let out yips of joy as the dog lets out a happy howl. The dog leaps up and goes to Dwayne, pressing her head against his hand. He pats her with a soft smile.

~

Back at the cave, David is seated on his old wheelchair, Paul on the broken fountain, Dwayne by his stereo, and Marko on the floor next to you.

You had followed the boys to their home, instantly liking it. There was a couch and a bed, and other things that you haven't seen for a long time. A bond had formed instantly between you and three of the boys, although David was more opposed to your presence.

"I guess we better name you, huh?" Marko says happily.

You whine and nod as David rolls his eyes. "It can't understand you, Mark. It's an animal."

Shaking your head, you paw at Marko as he stops rubbing circles through your fur. He continues the motion, making you smile in appreciation.

You know they're vampires. How could you not notice the otherworldly scent coming from them. You've met vampires before, although none as nice as these.

Vampires can read minds, or, at least, most minds. Yours is impenetrable when you so desire. And, right now, you want your mind all to yourself.

The whole chained-up-in-the-forest act was precisely that: an act. You put yourself in that position and cried out for help, determined to find someone worthy to befriend.

And, these four vamps heard your pleas and helped you.

"How about 'Girly'?" Marko suggests.

You growl and shake your head, baring your teeth.

He laughs, "Okay, something more badass then."

"What about 'Princess'?" Paul offers before inhaling some suspicious smoke from his joint.

Another loud disapproving growl sounds from your throat.

He chuckles.

David sneers, "How about 'Bitch'?"

You turn your e/c orbs towards him, glaring at him. He's unfazed, so you stand, ignoring Marko's protests, and stalk towards the platinum blond.

He raises his eyebrows and stares you down. You sit directly in front of him, staring right back at him.

A moment of silence.

"This dog is freaky."

Nods from all of the boys.

"That's why she's perfect for us!" Paul exclaims.

You look back to Marko, silently telling him to continue searching for a name.

He seems to get it as he hums thoughtfully. "'Biscuit'?"

Nope.

He sighs, "I'm out of ideas."

Dwayne speaks up, the first time in awhile that he has done so, "Venus."

He says it like he knows it fits and that you'd like it.

You yip with approval, wagging your tail.

He smiles knowingly.

"Aww, why'd she like your suggestion?" Marko complains, tossing a pillow at the dark haired boy. He snatches it from the air with a smirk.

You get up and stretch before heading onto the bed behind the curtain. They each watch you, curious as to what you're gonna do.

Scratching at the covers, you bury yourself in them, away from prying eyes. A cracking noise fills the cave as your bones rearrange and your body shifts.

It's been a long time since you've been in your human form, but you love the fresh feeling. Carefully wrapping the blanket around your naked form, you peek out from behind the curtains.

Everyone looks at you, slack jawed. Paul then glances at the joint in his hand in disbelief. "Are you guys seeing it too?"

"Yeah, dude," Marko breathes out in awe. "Venus is a woman. A hot woman."

Dwayne smiles, "Skin-walker."

"What's that?" Marko asks, confused.

"It's a being who can change form," David says, grinning. Apparently, he likes this fascinating turn of events.

"Woah."

You step out completely, still covered by the blanket, "If you're quite done talking about me like I'm not here, would one of you be so kind as to lend me some clothes?"

Marko leaps up, ready to fetch one of his crop-tops. He knows you'd look stunning in his clothes.

Before he has the chance, Dwayne tosses you a large loose shirt. He doesn't really wear his shirts anyways, so he won't miss it.

Marko pouts, but watches dumbly as you drop the blanket without thinking and tug the shirt over your head, letting it slip onto your body.

Paul whistles and David keeps smirking.

"What is your true name?" Dwayne questions, eyes boring into yours.

"I was called Y/n L/n on the day of my birth, although I've had many since. The newest being Venus."

David addresses you, "Why are you here?"

You smile shyly, "I was lonely, so I found a family."

"Family?" David echoes.

"I like her," Paul announces, "I like you."

The smile on your face grows wide as he hugs you.

"Hey! I like her too!" Marko exclaims, not about to be outdone.

You open your arms, inviting him into the hug. He eagerly accepts, and you embrace the two blonds.

Dwayne smiles again and, surprisingly, joins in. David watches from his seat, a grin on his face.

"Welcome to the family."

[litwitlady]

Send Me Home (1/?)

Read on AO3.

‘The Braves are down to their last at bat, Jeff. And it’s Michael Guerin in the on-deck circle. What’s Ramon’s strategy here? Does he try to jam him up inside or keep firing fastballs and hope Guerin can’t catch up?’

It’s September in Atlanta and the Braves are playing the Marlins. Every game counts as both teams vy for a spot in October baseball. Michael Guerin is a lead candidate for MVP, and he’s always a threat in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and the bases loaded. The sellout crowd roars as his walk-up music begins to play.

I was born to the desert And to the desert I’ll return Sun-soaked and leathered Tattered and tethered Send me home, send me home, send me home

‘Ramon’s got that curveball, Chip. I’m not sure Guerin’s ever met a fastball he couldn’t hit. Especially in the bottom of the ninth. So, I think Ramon starts with the curveball even if that’s exactly what Guerin’s expecting.’

Michael steps into the batter’s box and takes a couple of quick practice swings, eyes wide and watching Ramon’s every move. He squares his hips and lowers his hands on the bat just a touch. It’s an adjustment he’s been working on for the past month or so with great success. Ramon lets loose his first pitch. As expected, it’s a nasty curveball and a pitch Michael has struck out on more than once during his twelve year career. But this time he’s prepared and anticipates perfectly where the bottom of the curve will land. He shoots a laser to shallow right field, and it drops in for a walk-off single. The dugout empties and everyone tackles him as he crosses home plate, one game closer to October.

--------

Later that night, Michael sits on the tailgate of his Chevy, beer in hand and staring up at the stars like so many nights before. Several of the guys had harassed him about going out to celebrate, but he’s not in the mood. He’s never in the mood these days. The winning still feels good and the possibility of the MVP is a dream. But for a long time now, he’s felt like there’s something missing in his life. Something essential, something elusive, something just out of his reach.

The truth is that he’s lonely. It’s a truth he can admit to himself when he’s alone underneath the cosmos watching the stars blink down at him against the wide expanse of space.

There have been relationships along the way. Women he’s dated earnestly. Once upon a time, maybe even a couple he could have loved. When he was younger, there had also been a few men. But none recently. The deeply rooted homophobia of baseball to blame. Mostly anyway. It’s strange now - everyone knows he’s bisexual, a simple Google search is all it takes. But he’s fairly certain baseball collectively decided to ignore his sexuality altogether after he got called up to the majors all those years ago.

He wants to believe he’s not afraid to be seen with men. He tells himself it’s just simpler this way, less complicated. Fewer awkward questions and the focus remaining on his athletic abilities rather than his sex life. Besides, only two major league players have ever come out and they both only did so after they’d retired. He supposes maybe he counts as the third. It’s not the stuff of fairytales, and Michael had learned that lesson during his brief stint in Double-A ball.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

Alex Manes’ new album drifts through the truck’s windows. His low, throaty voice practically purring into Michael’s ears. He’s been a big fan of Alex and his music for several years now. They’re both from New Mexico and the way he sings about the desert rings true enough to Michael that listening to one of his songs sends him right back home. Despite their many issues, he misses his brother and sister so badly sometimes he can barely breathe. Alex’s music reminds him of all the things and all the people he’s left behind - for better or worse. A couple of years ago, he’d had the opportunity to see Alex perform live but he’d turned it down. He still can’t explain why.

The night stretches out before him. Beer and music lulling him into a peaceful sleep until a bright light flashes in his face and startles him awake. He sits up and raises his hands peacefully. ‘Hey, Ernie.’

‘Oh, Mr. Guerin. I didn’t recognize you. What are you still doing here? It’s past midnight.’ He clicks the flashlight off and clips it back onto his belt. ‘Congrats on the walk-off!’

Michael shrugs. ‘Thanks. Didn’t want to go home just yet. Like watching the stars at night. But I haven’t seen you in a while. The grandkids still running circles around you?’

‘You know it! Caleb just turned five and is a holy terror. Michelle is eight going on eighteen. I can barely get a word in edgewise between the two of them.’ His eyes shine even in the darkness, crinkling at the edges.

Michael’s heart aches at Ernie’s easy, simple joy, but he manages a genuine smile thanks to the night’s shadows softening the edges of his jaw. ‘That sounds nice.’ He hops off his tailgate. ‘I’ll get out of your hair. Got an early game anyway. Need to get some sleep.’

‘Well, now, don’t let me chase you off. I don’t mind the company. It gets a little spooky at night. You can always come knock on my door if you ever need anything.’ Ernie opens the Chevy’s door for Michael and shuts it behind him. ‘All these other guys with their flashy sports cars and you in this old rust bucket. You’re a weird one, Mr. Guerin. But I like that about you.’

Michael runs his hands around the cracked steering wheel. ‘Most days this truck is about the closest thing to home I’ve got. There’s still desert dirt in the bed and an engine I rebuilt myself. What the fuck would I do with a Ferrari?’

They both laugh and Michael waves and honks his horn as he pulls out of the player’s lot. The streets are mostly empty, cars keeping to the well-lit interstate at night. He decides to stay on surface roads and take the long way home, radio softly playing old country songs. His thoughts drift to tomorrow’s game and the rookie pitcher the Marlins are starting. His own rookie year had been tough, and he makes a mental note to speak to the kid at some point during the game, ask him how he’s doing and if he’s being treated well.

The streetlights along Peachtree illuminate his path through Brookhaven. He crosses into Atlanta city limits and enters Buckhead just as ‘Lay Me Down’ by Loretta Lynn and Willie Nelson starts to play through his speakers. And all too soon, he turns down his street and opens the cedar gate at the end of his driveway, parking his truck and sitting in the darkness until the song comes to an end.

Climbing out of his truck, he unlocks the front door with his telekinesis, slipping inside quietly and deactivating his alarm system. He’d bought the house in foreclosure, spending most of his money on remodeling the mid-century ranch. It’s not extravagant, but it’s the most expensive thing he owns. He’d even let Isobel fly out to decorate the place within a very strict budget, and he’d had to admit she’d done a great job - one side of his front door Atlanta, the other side New Mexico.

But even so, it has never felt like home.

The first few nights he’d spent in the house had been rough. It was too quiet and too soft and too much. More than once he’d grabbed his ancient, worn sleeping bag and crawled into the bed of his truck. Sleeping hard on the uncomfortable. ribbed metal but beneath the stars he loved so much. The morning dew waking him with the sun each morning.

These days he manages to sleep in bed at night, but only because he’d installed two skylights overhead so that the stars would always be his. And only his. He rarely brings anyone home anymore, preferring their house to his. But when he does, he takes them to a guest bedroom. None of them ever seem to mind how empty the space is or how devoid of personality. Four blank walls and a lone bed filling the room. Why would they? It’s not Michael the foster kid from the desert they’re sleeping with. It’s Michael Guerin the multi-millionaire first baseman with the single-season home run record and the aw-shucks, good boy smile.

Tonight he doesn’t bother turning on any lights. He just pads through the kitchen to grab an apple and a bottle of water, undresses and climbs into bed. He takes a large bite of the granny smith and pulls out his phone, calling Isobel.

‘Congrats on the walk-off!’ He can hear another game in the background. Isobel had never watched a baseball game in her life - including any of his - until the day he’d gotten drafted right out of high school. But now she watches all of them. Or as many of them as possible. Her scouting reports are better than anything stamped official and readily available in the team clubhouse.

‘Thanks. Didn’t really see the ball that well tonight, though. Is Max there?’ It’s stupid to ask when he already knows the answer.

‘Out with Liz. They’ve been inseparable ever since she moved back to Roswell. It’s gross and I miss you.’ The sound on her tv goes silent and he knows she’s settling in for a long conversation. ‘Tell me about tomorrow. Any surprises?’

‘No. New kid on the mound just called up. Got a mean slider. Torres has some pain in his wrist so he’ll be benched.’ Michael finishes his apple in two large bites and guzzles his water, listening to Isobel pound away at her keyboard already deep in research mode. ‘Might get me moved up to the number two slot.’

They spend fifteen minutes strategizing. It’s what they do most nights. Isobel critiquing the numbers based on intuition and her own database of knowledge concerning the human psyche, while he runs statistical analyses and probabilities in his head faster than humanly possible. Michael suggests more than once that she’d make a great scout and that maybe when he retires they can go into business together. He’s told her this a million times, but she only laughs him off and reminds him that she already has a job.

‘A worthless job that doesn’t pay you what you deserve.’ He reaches for the tv remote on his nightstand but can’t find it. Not that it matters. He switches the television on with his mind and nods his head through the channels, stopping on an old western and muting the volume.

‘Philanthropy is not worthless, Michael!’ She sighs loudly to punctuate her exasperation. ‘And my salary is not the point - the point is helping people. Besides, I have all of Noah’s money and can negotiate more pay any time I choose.’

That he believes. ‘How’d your date go last night?’ Asking Isobel about her date absolutely means she’ll push him to share something just as personal. But it was her first official date with a woman and he genuinely wants to know how it went. No matter the price he’ll pay.

‘Really, really, really well.’ He can hear the grin in her voice and it makes him smile. ‘She’s a cardiologist and very good with her hands. Valenti makes a pretty superb matchmaker. Maybe I’ll ship him your way because you could certainly use the help.’

Michael rolls his eyes and fakes a groan. ‘You can keep Valenti. Don’t you think it’s weird to have your ex setting you up on dates? Do you really think he’s the best judge of character?’

‘Kyle knows me better than most. He was my first relationship after Noah and he put up with a lot. I trust him implicitly with my heart and yours. Plus, I was the one who broke up with him.’

‘My heart is fine, thanks.’ He lies smoothly and knows exactly how she’s going to respond.

‘I can’t stand the thought of you all the way across the country in that foreign place with no one to go home to at night.’

He snorts. ‘It’s called Georgia, Iz. And I’m not home enough for a relationship to work right now.’

‘Half the guys on your team - on any team! - are married. So that’s a pisspoor excuse. You keep pushing everyone away. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you, Michael. As soon as you start to feel something, the doors slam shut and you become another stereotypical lonewolf cowboy.’ Her voice is loud now, vehement and self-righteous. They’ve reenacted this scene so many times it feels very paint by number at this point. ‘I hardly ever hear a smile in your voice anymore.’

She’s right and she knows it. He used to love dating, meeting new people. First kisses and first fucks. Last kisses and farewell fucks. He lived for those moments and now he hardly ever looks anyone in the eye. ‘We have this conversation at least once a month. And nothing has changed. It’s too hard right now, Iz. I’m too known to ever really be known. Not the way I would want to be. Not in any way that I would trust.’

There’s no use arguing so they move on to easier topics. Max and LIz’s ongoing romance, details of Isobel’s date, Maria’s remodel of the Pony thanks to a very generous anonymous donation. Every word out of her mouth squeezes his heart a little bit tighter until it’s too much and he says goodnight.

Flipping onto his side, he reaches his arm out to the other side of the bed, running his hand over the cold, unwrinkled sheet. His eyes land on the empty pillow no head ever touches and tries to imagine a face looking back at him. A face that might smile suggestively or quietly murmur goodnight. But he’s unable to conjure anything beyond a blank, shapeless outline. It makes him feel pathetic so he yanks the pillow underneath his own head and forces his eyes shut, trying in vain to quiet his mind. Despite his best efforts, sleep takes its sweet time finding him.

The next morning he’s exhausted but gets to the field early. He’d woken up to a cryptic message from Isobel. There’s a surprise waiting for you after the game! Stick around this time, Michael. Don’t make me get on a plane. He’s sure that can’t mean anything good, but he attempts to put it out of his mind for now.

The ballpark is already bustling with activity. Michael heads into the clubhouse to change. He stops and asks Stan, their hitting coach, for some extra work before the rest of the team arrives. He’s worried about how he’s been shifting his wrists recently and wants someone else’s opinion. The adjustments he’d made last night seem to be working, but he’s worried about straining a muscle or tweaking the wrong tendon. Two of his teammates are already on the IL with wrist pain. He doesn’t want to be next, especially with the postseason race and his run at MVP on the line.

Michael finds Danny Marks asleep in one of the clubhouse’s leather chairs. He swats him on the head on the way to his locker, laughing at Danny’s loud yelp. ‘Fuck, man, you’re always asleep. How did you manage to stay awake on the mound long enough to put together two Cy Young seasons?’

‘Talent, Guerin. Talent. You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll win MVP.’ Danny yawns and stretches his arms over his head. Michael glares at him. ‘Don’t worry. You’re still the favorite. Our very own diamond darling. No one else is getting their own personal concert any time soon.’

‘What?’ He sits on the chair at his locker, blinking at Danny in confusion. ‘Personal concert?’ Isobel’s strange text message flashes through his head again while he inwardly groans.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Danny grins and crosses his ankles on the table in front of him, brashly enjoying the way Michael squirms. ‘Alex Manes is traveling down from Nashville just for you - baseball’s most beloved first baseman.’ He throws a toy football at Michael’s head, chuckling when it bounces off his curls. ‘He’s not bad looking, you know.’

‘Stop.’ Danny is Michael’s best friend on the team and the only one he feels comfortable enough to have this conversation with. ‘Whose idea was this? Did Isobel do something? Or was this you?’

Michael doesn’t want this. Not at all. And he can’t exactly explain why. Music is personal to him - profoundly personal. Always has been since he was nothing but an unloved kid trapped in various violent foster homes. It was music that had kept him warm at night and music that had loved him best. The only escape available to him during most of his darkest hours.

Over the years, there have been many artists he’s considered favorites. Most of them old country crooners or folk song heroes. Much like Alex Manes. But with Alex, it’s something more. Something he has a hard time vocalizing. They are both from New Mexico. Both spent a chunk of their formative years in Roswell. Michael has read or watched multiple interviews with Alex where he’s alluded heavily to an abusive father. His lyrics certainly do the same. Lots of kids grow up that way - Michael knows he’s not alone in that particular fate - but the way Alex puts that pain to music settles something inside his chest that has never been settled before.

So the thought of meeting Alex worries Michael. They say don’t meet your heroes for a reason. In his head, Alex represents a sense of safety, a sense of home. What happens when they meet and that’s taken from him? Because maybe Alex is a liar. Or maybe he’s a dick. Either possibility is very real. He’s also a vet, and Michael hates, hates, hates the military. And he doesn’t want to hate Alex. Doesn’t want to lose his music. Cannot emotionally afford to lose his music if he’s being honest.

‘Isobel apparently knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. I just didn’t try and stop her. Or Lena.’ Danny’s wife is Isobel’s favorite human. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to Michael since meeting Danny. The two of them have done nothing but make his life one unasked for surprise after another. ‘Besides, even if you hate it, the team could really use some fun before heading into the postseason. Some good old-fashioned team bonding, my friend. And this time, you don’t get to run away. The guys need to see their captain smile every once in a while.’

Michael sighs and changes into his warmups. Danny’s phone rings and he grins one last time at Michael before disappearing for some privacy. Michael decides to push Alex Manes to the back of his mind and concentrate on the game ahead of him. Stan is waiting, anyway. So he’ll focus on his wrists for now and worry about everything else later. The one thing he does do, however, is pull out his phone and send Isobel a very pointed text.

You should have gotten my permission first.

Isobel’s text response is nothing but the angel halo emoji. Michael wishes his telekinesis was strong enough to travel across state lines because he’d like to throw her phone into the wall. Since that option is not available to him, he sends Max a text instead.

Your sister is a menace.

He pockets his phone, not bothering to wait on an answer. Max tends to be too busy these days. Not that that’s anything new really. Unless your name is Liz Ortecho or Isobel Evans, he doesn’t have much time for you.

The morning stretches by as gametime approaches. Batting practice goes well and Michael works with Stan on keeping his wrists from turning too much when he swings. His teammates have all found out about the concert by the time the first pitch is thrown and none of them will let him forget it. Each time his walk-up music begins to play, Danny leads a small group of particularly bad vocalists in a sing-a-long. All of them belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Michael tries to keep the stupid grin off his face and almost suceeds.

He won’t admit it, but he actually begins to get excited. Doesn’t even mind when Max only ends up responding with a snarky text.

Try living less than five miles from her.

He’d give anything to live five miles from Isobel. Michael loves his teammates. He really does. Atlanta has one of the best team dynamics in baseball. Maybe the best. They support each other, love one another, and when they say family, they mean it. Team dinners and family outings are normal even during the off season. Michael doesn’t avoid spending time with them because he dislikes anyone - although there have been various tiffs in the past but nothing long lasting. He avoids them because he loves them enough to let his mouth loosen too much, all his secrets threatening to tumble out with no regard for his safety or the safety of his siblings.

He knows this because it has happened on more than one occasion. Years ago during his rookie years when living hard and drinker harder were his nightly norm. On any given night you’d find him at the bar, four fingers deep into a bottle of bourbon, mouthing off about moving things with his mind. It wasn’t the booze talking; it was his loneliness. The throbbing homesick ache in his chest that only Max and Isobel could smooth away. Once he knew his teammates were shitfaced, he’d let some little comment slip about his abilities. Half of them never paid any attention to the things he said and the other half merely laughed at him.

He’d told Isobel one night about the things he said and she’d yelled at him solidly for an hour. The next day he’d gotten a nasty phone call from Max and has kept his mouth shut ever since that conversation.

Keeping their secret is important. Michael understands that, but the lying exhausts him. He loves Danny and hates that the most important part of himself Danny and Lena can never know. He loves his other teammates, and he doesn’t want to hide this huge part of himself from them forever. The lying has always made him feel unclean - distant and deceptive. Back in Roswell, it had been easier. He hadn’t had many friends and the people closest to him shared the same secret. But now, the people he sees every single day aren’t allowed to know the real him. It breaks his heart in a way he could never have anticipated, making him feel truly alien.

Michael and Isobel had jumped through enormous hoops to keep his DNA secret from team doctors and drug testers. It’s the only reason he’d ever agreed to her mind influence.

A major league baseball player cannot have telekinetic superpowers, alien or not. The cheating accusations would be immediate and relentless - his career over and his name shamed forever. Regardless of the fact that he would never dream of cheating to advance his career. Besides, he’s self-aware enough - or perhaps cocky enough - to understand that his level of talent doesn’t require any telekinetic assistance. Michael Guerin is just that fucking good.

During his last at bat in the eighth inning, Alex Manes’ face flashes on the digital scoreboard high above centerfield advertising the aftergame concert. Michael concentrates on keeping his wrists tight and imagines that Alex is somewhere in the stadium watching him. He swings at the first pitch - a fastball left too high over the plate - and knows he’s gotten every piece of it by the cracking sound his bat makes. He starts a slow run to first base and watches the ball sail over the leftfield wall. With his signature two claps, he rounds first and enjoys the cheering crowd chanting his name. Stepping on the bag at home plate, his eyes glance back up at the scoreboard, but Alex’s face has disappeared. And suddenly his nerves have returned tenfold at the realization that soon he’ll be face to face with a man he has no idea how to talk to - what to say or even if he’ll get a chance to say anything at all.

Despite the cheers and happy butt slaps from his teammates, the pit in Michael’s stomach stretches wide. In the clubhouse, he checks his phone again and one last final message from Isobel lights up his screen.

He wants to meet you first.

[jbuckyb-wintersoldier]

Untitled

Pairings: Bucky x fem reader, Steve x fem reader (unrequited)

Age of Ultron era

Summary: You’re a researcher working for Tony Stark who doubles as a medic for The Avengers. You could often easily detach yourself from your work, however, after meeting one Avenger in particular, you developed a soft spot for the old man.

Warnings: eventual smut (+18 plz), swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood.

Word Count: ~3,200

Part One

You are sitting at your desk focused intensely on your most recent project. It was long past the end of your workday, the lights of your lab having dimmed long ago. Damn Tony and his self-efficient light systems. However, this didn’t deter you from relaxing into the darkness with your eyes squinting into the bright light of your desktop screen. Your fingers danced over the keyboard with lightning speed. It seemed that nothing could distract you from your work and you could feel how close you were to finally figuring this out.

Two months ago, you found Tony leaning against the entrance of your lab with that look on his face that told you he wanted your help with something that was far out of your scope of practice. You remember rolling your eyes when he begged for your help on decoding an encrypted file found during one of his missions.

You feel your eyelids starting to become heavy as you reach a shaky hand towards your cup of coffee that had cooled hours ago.

A loud crash can be heard from the hall, followed by indistinct yelling. This causes the cold cup of coffee in your hand to fall to the floor, shattering, as its contents splash onto your heels and pants.

“Fuck,” you hissed, jumping up from your chair. “My shoes.” You say with a whine which is quickly replaced with anger. Those damn boys always fucking up your night with their antics. It was a Saturday night thus you assumed that one of the boys had gotten too drunk again.

“Lights on, Jarvis.” Your lab floods with light that blinds you for a moment. As you inspect the damage, you hear a ragged voice call your name. Pain and fear are the only words that come to mind when you try to identify the source of the voice. Your previous feelings of anger quickly turn into concern as you rush into the hallway to see what happened.

Once into the hallway your gaze meets Steve’s. He’s struggling to hold someone up. Both of them covered in cuts, bruises, and blood.

“Thank god, you’re up.” Steve’s voice sounds strained as his face contorts into what you can only describe as anguish. You rush to him and the unknown man he’s holding and help them into the medical room. Steve sets the unconscious man down on the examination table and sinks to the floor. You drop to your knees next to him.

“Steve, what the hell happened?” You question as your hands come up to cup his bloodied face. Steve had been a dear friend of yours since the Avengers came together. He’s breathing heavy, exhaustion clearly taking over him.

“Y/n, don’t worry about me. Please, help Bucky.” He looks into your eyes, his pleading voice sending a request to help the man lying on the examination table above you.

“Bucky? You finally found him?” Your voice shakes slightly, knowing Steve has been trying to locate his oldest friend for the last year. A pained smile comes across Steve’s lips.

Mission accomplished.

You jump up then, beginning to tend to Bucky’s wounds. You quickly hook him up to an IV and begin to carefully clean the rather large gash above his left temple.

“What happened?” Your gaze follows Steve as he slowly begins to get himself up from the floor.

“He didn’t recognize me, y/n. He didn’t even know who I was.” Steve’s voice trembles and you feel tears of empathy pricking the corners of your eyes for your friend.

You blink them away and quickly turn back to Bucky’s form. His long brown locks stuck to his forehead in a mixture of blood and sweat. You reach a hand towards them, tucking the sticky strands behind his ear as your fingertips slowly ghost over his bruised cheekbone. You felt hypnotized by him, something refusing to stop your hand from caressing his chiseled jaw.

What pulls you out of your stupor is the sound of Steve’s voice after returning from having cleaned himself up. You jump back, nearly dropping the washcloth in your hand. Quickly attempting to compose yourself.

“How’s he doing?” You blink rapidly at Steve’s question trying to collect your thoughts. “Uh, he’s doing better.” You quip.

“It’s getting late, I can take it from here. You seem exhausted.” Steve grasps the cloth you’re still clutching in your hand. You chuckle, “I could say the same about you.”

“Seriously y/n, I’ve got this.” Steve’s head rises to meet your eyes. A stern look taking over his handsome features. “Steve,” Your voice trembles slightly and you’re unsure if it was caused by the intense look he’s giving you or the multiple cups of coffee you’ve consumed in the last two hours. “I haven’t been able to sleep properly since Tony gave me that file. So, it’s not like I’d be sleeping otherwise.” You pick up your discarded washcloth again and go back to cleaning Bucky’s wounds.

“Y/n.” Steve’s warm palm closes over your hand that holds the bloodied washcloth. “He’s dangerous and I don’t want you around when he eventually wakes up.” Your eyes meet his pale ones again. Something about them is begging you to leave.

“Okay. Okay, fine.” The grip you held on the washcloth finally loosening. “But just so you know, I won’t be sleeping.” Steve chuckles at this, shaking his head as he looks towards the ground. His eyes meet yours again. “Sure, y/n. I’ll know where to find you if I need you.”

This time it’s your turn to chuckle, knowing that Steve is more than capable of handling himself if needed. You give him a soft smile before turning on your heel and heading back to your lab.

-

The next morning you wake with an awful ache in your neck. You slowly begin to sit up and take in your surroundings. As your eyes focus, you realize that the strain in your neck was a result of you falling asleep bent over your desk.

“Ah, finally. You’re awake.” A voice pulls you from your confused state. “Banner, what are you doing in my lab?” You ask, watching Bruce toy with the random mechanics on the desk sitting parallel to yours. “Come on, y/n. How many times do I have to tell you? This is OUR lab. As in, we share it.” He lays the object in his hands back on his desk and makes his way over to you. “You know, I was really beginning to think you were dead over here.”

Ignoring his last statement, you speak. “I’m honestly surprised you remembered where the lab is even located. Seeing how you spend most of you time in Tony’s.” You lean back in your chair and stretch out your cramping legs. “What time is it anyways?”

“Five thirty-eight. In the morning, you know, when normal people start their days.” Bruce laughs at his own joke. “Waking up that early is hardly normal, Banner. What are you doing here?”

“I told you, this is my lab too.” You raise your eyebrows at him in question. “Okay, fine. I wanted to see how close you are to figuring out that encryption. Tony’s addiment on thinking that it could help figure out our Ultron problem.”

“I’m almost there. There are a few more firewalls to get through but I think the rest will be pretty easy after that.” You sign, standing up and flattening out your wrinkled clothing. “Well, that’s good to hear. Tony has been driving me insane about it.”

“Anyways, I guess I should actually go to bed.” Bruce gives you a soft smile. “I know how you get with your work. Just because Tony is going mad attempting to figure everything out, doesn’t mean you should. Don’t work yourself too hard, y/n.”

You make your way over to Bruce and place a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks Banner, but the faster I get this done, the better chances we have at stopping Ultron before something horrible happens.” Bruce smiles again, this time though, it doesn’t extend to his eyes. “Oh come on, Bruce, I’m fine. See?” You open your arms wide in a failed attempt to show that you weren’t completely exhausted. However, the bags under your eyes tell another story.

“Okay, how about this?” Bruce strides towards your desk. “You take today off and get some form of actual sleep and I’ll work on the encryption today.” You sign and a grin takes over your features. “Oh, Banner that would be amazing. Honestly, thank you.”

“No problem. Now go get a shower or something. You reek of sour milk.” You frown and look down at yourself, realizing that the pants you were wearing are still stained with the coffee you spilt just hours before.

Once in your room, you toss your bag on the bed and make you way to your en suite bathroom. You slowly peel your shirt and pants off as the exhaustion begins to take its toll on you again. With your eyes falling closed you climb into the shower and turn on the water. The initial coldness jolts you awake but soon after, the hot streams of water cascade down your naked form. You close your eyes in bliss as the water heals your aching limbs. Your mind drifts to the events of last night. Images of Steve’s panicked face fill your mind and how he could barely drag his unconscious friend into the medic chambers.

Bucky.

Images of his strong features fill your tired mind. Even while covered in blood and bruises, you couldn’t ignore how attractive he was. God, you think to yourself, what is wrong with me? The man was nearly dead and all you could think about was his handsome appearance. Chalking it up to your lack of sleep, you finish washing yourself, get out of the shower, and crawl into bed.

-

When you wake, it's dark outside. Jolting up quickly, you look at the clock sitting on your side table. The arms read seven thirty. You decide that there isn’t much point trying to do anything else today, so you pull on some sweats and head towards the kitchen.

While trying to figure out what to eat, you hear someone enter the kitchen behind you.

“Hey y/n.” Whirling around, you meet Steve who is leaning against the doorframe. “Hey, how’s Bucky doing? Has he woken up yet?”

Pushing himself from the kitchen entrance, Steve makes his way over to you. “Yeah, he’s awake. Hasn’t said a word yet but awake.” He signs. “Do you think he remembers?”

“I’m honestly not sure, y/n. The glare he’s been giving me tells me no.” Steve scoffs. He reaches above your head to grab a box of cereal from the top shelf and pours himself a bowl. “Don’t you think it’s a little late in the day to be eating cereal, Steve?”

“What do you mean? Is cereal only a breakfast food?”

“Usually, I guess.” Is all you say as you pour a bowl for yourself and sit next to him. “Say, what is in this stuff? It tastes like pure sugar.” Steve asked as he lifts another spoonful to his mouth.

“Come on, Steve. You really can’t be complaining about the modern world’s creations while you’re simultaneously enjoying them. Cereal is meant to be sugary.” You laugh as you also taste the excessively candied chunks.

“I want to see him.” You blurt out before you can even think about it. Steve lowers his spoon and turns towards you. “I don’t know y/n. I told you, he’s dangerous. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

“You don’t think I can handle myself? I’ve had my fair share of missions. Ones that even you needed my help for. I –“ You begin to state all the reasons why you know you can take care of yourself but Steve cuts you off. “I’ll let you see him,” you silently cheer in triumph. “but not yet. All of this is going to be a lot for him to understand and I don’t want to overwhelm him.” There’s a moment of silence before Steve starts to speak again. “Plus, he’s currently in solitary. I have no idea if he remembers who he is and I can’t take the chance on him getting out and hurting more people.”

“Hurting more people?” You question. Despite Steve being one of your closest friends, he had been pretty quiet when it came to his efforts in finding Bucky.

“Look, y/n, Bucky’s not himself right now.” Steve speaks slowly. “And what does that mean?” You’re starting to get irritated with Steve’s vague responses. Steve has a habit of treating you like a child, always claiming that it’s for your own protection. However, you get tired of his antics pretty quickly. Steve sighs, sensing your dismay. “Remember a while back when the Winter Soldier helped infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D?” You nod your head in understanding. “Yeah, some ex-military sergeant was brainwashed into becoming this super soldier assassin. I was with you on most of those missions.”

“Yeah, but not all of them. Bucky is the Winter Soldier. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” You furrow your brows. “Why would I react poorly? Steve, how many times do I have to prove to you that you can trust me?” Steve sighs realizing he’s made you upset. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I hid it from you, honestly.” Your frustration gets the best of you, and you lash out at Steve.

“It’s fine. Your best friend killed thousands of people, if not more. I wouldn’t want to plaster that around either.” You pick up your forgotten bowl of cereal, dumping its contents into the trash. “Oh, come on, y/n. That’s not fair! He didn’t have a choice.” Steve’s voice raises slightly. His own frustration beginning to peek.

“Like you didn’t have the choice to just tell me what was really happening all this time!? This isn’t about Bucky. Seriously, I’m so tired of you keeping things from me! I’m not a child that needs protecting. God! Haven’t I proved that after all these years?” You drop the empty bowl into the sink with a clang and whirl around to face Steve again. “Y/n, it’s not like that.”

You shake your head and laugh. “Of course not.” You turn to leave but Steve tries to stop you. “No, Steve. When you want to start telling me the truth, then come find me. Until then, I’m done talking.” You leave the kitchen and decide to make a stop at your lab.

-

As you walk the halls of the tower you admire the intricate designs covering the steel walls. You hear a ragged sob from one of the rooms you pass by. You stop dead in you tracks. For a moment, all you can hear is the quiet buzzing of the lights above, then another pained sob can be heard from the room to your right.

You reach a hand towards the door that is separating you from whoever is concealed inside. Slowly you turn the knob and quietly push the door open. As you slip through the half-opened door, your gaze falls upon the man you meet the night before. He’s trapped in what looks like a glass chamber. Large steel panels are wrapped around his chest and neck. More panels are holding his arms and legs in place, trapping him. Your gaze travels to his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, teeth bared, and beads of sweat coat his forehead causing his hair to stick to his skin. What surprises you are the tears that are slowly falling down his face.

“Bucky?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as his name falls from your lips. Bucky focuses on you with a startled expression occupying his features. “You don’t know me. I’m a friend of a friend.” He looks scared and confused, as you slowly approach the chamber. Panic begins to take over and Bucky tries his hardest to break free from his restraints.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” You’re close enough that you can see Bucky’s nostrils flare as he breaths heavily. “Do you remember anything?” Your hopeful that he does. However, for what feels like hours you are only met with silence.

Finally, he speaks up. “Bits and pieces.” His voice cracks and you assume this is the first time he’s spoken since being brought to the towers last night. “Do you know who Steve is?”

“Not really, but I know that he was someone important to me. Before –“ Bucky stops himself as if it’s too painful for him to continue.

“You’re safe here. I won’t make you talk about it if it’s too much.” Against your better judgment, you place one of your palms on the glass that is separating the both of you. The pain in Bucky’s eyes starts to fade. The door opens behind you, causing you to jump back from Bucky. Turning around you meet Steve, his eyes trained on the person behind you. Without having to say a word, you know that he is furious with you. Specifically, because he had asked you to wait before meeting Bucky. Steve brushes passed you, stopping in front of the chamber.

“Hey, Buck. How are you feeling?” Despite his composure, you can feel the anger radiating from Steve’s body. Choosing to ignore his dismay with you, you turn to look at Bucky again. He’s features are hard, and he keeps his mouth glued shut. “You’re going to have to talk to me eventually.” Steve signs. He turns on his heel and grabs your wrist, pulling you out of the room.

“Y/n, what did I tell you?” Steve asks once the door is closed behind you. “I’m sorry, I just kind of stumbled upon him.” You respond sheepishly, know that is the truth. “Stumbled upon him? I know you better than that.”

“Seriously! I did!” You exclaim, throwing your arms in the air. “You know, maybe he isn’t talking to you because you have him caged up like an animal!”

“Y/n, I’m getting tired of this. You know he’s dangerous. It’s for everyone’s safety, even his.”

“He’s terrified! He can barely remember a thing! His best friend has him shackled up and confined in a box! What do you expect from him? He’s a human being. Treat him like one.” You can’t stand to speak with Steve any longer or to listen to his construed ideas of righteousness. Steve sighs, allowing his back to press against the wall behind him.

“You’re right. He shouldn’t be locked up like that, but you didn’t see him when I found him. Whatever Hydra put in his head is still there and they could use it any second to make him turn.”

“Well, let’s figure out how to get it out of his head.” With that, you head towards your lab leaving Steve alone in the hallway.

__________

Part one is complete! This is my first time writing, so give me pointers xx

Thank you for reading! (I will continue this drabble if ppl want more, let me know!)

- Lex

[thecaptainhelm]

Aw, this comes to around an even 2080 words, isn’t that sweet? This is officially it, no more, no more I say! I’ll be working on something for Halloween, so look forward to that.

 Blooper 1:

 Sometime after he was left alone by Ladybug... 

 Robin blinked, shaking himself back to awareness, bewildered.

 Just how much time had passed since...

 He blushed scarlet. (Just like her suit.)

 Robin grit his teeth and made his way downstairs on unsteady legs. His internal clock felt that close to an hour had passed and he tsked, sitting in one of the leather seats of the breakroom.

 Reclining back, his thoughts tried in vain to remember what he had been doing, and when he did the rage came back. 

 “I still can’t believe that happened,” he grumbled to himself as he remembered his father’s disappointment. Because it was Everything is Damian’s fault This Week, except he didn’t get the memo.

  Like always, he groused.

 He sighed, tilted his head back, and caught sight of the stairwell. Warmth settled in his chest replacing the cold anger. He surreptitiously glanced around finding no one, he allowed his mind to go back in time.

 Ladybug’s kiss had been tender and sweet, filling his entire body with a foreign sense of care that echoed through him even now. And when she pressed against him for insistently it took everything in him to try to kiss back, though that failed.

 She had taken the lead completely, practically had him pinned with her tongue down his throat.

  What if she did have him pinned with her tongue down his throat?

 His face heated up in full force as he thought deeply, fantasizing.

  Ladybug pulled back with a quiet noise, her gaze was unyielding and unapologetic. 

  “That’s...not why I offered, but I got lost in the moment,” Blue eyes like steel. His legs went weak.

  “But it seems like you’re into this sort of thing.” She grabbed him by the scruff of his hood and slowly maneuvered him against the wall. She was gentle as her eyes pierced into his with dark promise.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. Ladybug smiled, calm.

  “I think I’m about to wreck an egoistic vigilante, what do you think  you’re  doing is what you want to ask, hm? Birdy,” Robin gulped as he tried to respond.

  “Oh, do you not want to?” She leaned close in a mockery of concern.

  “I...I, uh,” 

  “It’s okay,” her gloved hand carded through his hair. “Take your time, I’m not gonna rush you.”

  “I…” His heart was going crazy. He wanted her to do something, but he didn’t have the guts to say it.

  A sigh. “Aw, Birdy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you, I’ll leave and we can forget this ever happened.”

 No!

  “I want!” he rasped in a hurry. “Want it so bad, Ladybug, I--” Lips slammed into his own as deft hands pressed his shoulders into the wall.

  She briefly pulled away, leaving him gasping for air. “Don’t worry, Robin. I’m going to give you exactly what you want and more,”

  He whimpered, hot and pulsing with blood.

  “Robin,” she pushed closer. “I need you to do something for me, can you be a good boy and do it real quick, please?”

  “Yes, anything,” he panted. “I’ll be so good, so, so good,”

  Ladybug giggled. “Then,” she yanked his head back by his hair with a vicious smirk.

  “Open your mouth.”

  Robin let his jaw go slack, shivering in anticipation--

 A shrill chime reached his ears. It was his communicator. He flicked it open, and there was a message from Agent A, relaying a request to return home for a briefing of a drug bust tomorrow, all hands on deck. Great, just what he needed. He sent his ETA and stood to leave, but froze, halfway out the chair.

  No  , he thought, panicking.  No, no, no. Absolutely not!

A glance down swiftly confirmed his denial.

 He had an erection. From thinking about being pushed around. By Ladybug, of all people.

 He flopped back into his seat with a groan, head in his hands. His blush had spread all the way to his ears and chest while the gentle warmth from earlier had formed into something that was mildly uncomfortable in his layers of clothes.

 “Fuck it,” he rose up to storm towards the exit, refusing to walk bowlegged as his dick rubbed against the jockstrap of his suit.

 “Fuck this entire day to hell!”

Blooper 2:

Two weeks after Damian’s freeloading begins...

 Marinette hummed a jaunty tune as she closed the door to her art studio, kicking off her shoes.

 “I’m back and I brought those madeleines you like!” She called brightly as she made her way to the kitchenette.

 “Coming!” Damian gingerly walked in and immediately began to fiddle one-handed with the box.

 “I’m going to have mine with black tea, what do you want?” she asked, pulling out the tea boxes. 

 He grimaced. “You’re disgusting, you clearly have no taste. Get me my usual.”

 She pinned him with a hard stare. He sighed.

 “If you could make me some lavender tea, I would appreciate it, thank you,” he said politely..

 “You would also appreciate me kissing the daylights out of you,” she said, putting the kettle on the stove.

 “...what?”

 “Hmm?” she turned from the sink, seeing Damian looking at her with shock.

 “What did you just say?”

 Marinette placed two mugs down on the table, striding towards him. She plucked the box of madeleines out of his hands and set it back on the table.

 “I said,” she stared.  “You want to make out with me.”

 Damian blinked owlishly at her, then scoffed. “Great, you’re an actual pervert, like I suspected. And here I was hoping that it was a spontaneous happenstance.”

 “Aw, you know it’s just that I like you. “ She caressed his jaw, pulling a blush to his skin. 

 “You’re a human being, not an animal,” he put his hands around her waist. “Last I checked, evolution ensured that we don’t have an estrus period.”

 Marinette wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling close. “Fair enough,”

 “But do you really want me to stop?”

 Damian tilted his head down. “The answer should be obvious,  Marinette .”

 They gravitate to one another, an irresistible pull. Lips a breath away from contact, she stops.

 “Well, in that case, it’s a real shame,” she whispered before abruptly pulling away with a gusty sigh.

 “Since you never said how you feel about me, I won’t pressure you. I’m a human being after all.”

 Damian stands arms outstretched while she walks back toward the stove as the kettle begins to whistle.

 She pours him his mug and hands it to him, along with the bakery box. “Here you go!”

 She cheekily grins at him before going to make her own tea. She vaguely hears him grumble and retreat to the parlor, no doubt to sulkily have his afternoon tea.

  He’s so much fun to tease , she thinks, before gasping.

 “Hey, all those madeleines aren’t just for you, save me some!” Silence.

 “Damian!”

Blooper 3:

The second night of Damian’s freeloading…

 Damian sat completely still as Ladybug checked his head for any lumps and fractures, a logical idea, but a terrible one in hindsight. 

 Why? Because it required her to run her bare, naked hands through his hair, light and fleeting touches moving all around his head.

 He knew that it was merely a necessary medical procedure, but he still couldn’t help rolling his head away. It was nothing but him being stupid and childish. Yet no matter how many times he told himself this, no matter how many times he could see Ladybug quickly reigning in her frustration, he rolled out of her reach with grit teeth.

 Ladybug sighed, exasperated. “Damian, what is your problem? I’m trying to check you for head trauma.”

 He stubbornly glanced away.

 “Oh come on, stop being such a brat,” he bristled at that. “And look over here, please.”

 He remained unmoving.

 “Oh for--” An exasperated sigh. Small, thin hands grasping his shoulders. He grunts and shakes them off.

 “Stop being so whiny, and look at me --!” He’s grabbed again and what happens next is something that will make him want to wither away in embarrassment until the day he dies and some years after that.

 Marinette pulls him to look at her and he abruptly spins around, tilts his head and--

 “ Argh!  Merde!  Merde , que se passe-t’il!” Marinette grabs her jaw as she cringes away from him, pained cries warbling from between her fingers.

 He cursed. “Shit, I didn’t mean to!”

 “Marinette wasn’t having it. “A simple ‘stop it’ or ‘cut it out’ would have worked just fine! Ah…”

 “Are you trying to say I should have spoken up or something?!”

 “Um, yes? I’ve been telling you this entire time to let me know if something's wrong, but you keep your mouth shut as though you’ve suddenly forgotten how to speak! Oh, except when you’re insulting me. Can’t forget about that, now can we? Tell me, does your selective mutism only break whenever you feel like being an asshole?”

 “Oh, well excuse me, I’ve been saying that I’ve been fine only to be met with skepticism--”

 “And rightfully so, because for the past several hours--”

 “--so far be it from me that I can actually--”

 “--been constantly out of it--”

“--to the point that I can see that my opinion isn’t--”

 “--like you’re Insisting that you’re Superman or something!”

 “You take that back!”

 Marinette fiercely raised both hands and gave him the finger.

 “What even is your problem,” he snarled. “Stop smothering me!”

 “Smothering?” She scoffed. “You are literally still injured from being  exploded . Forgive me for being a little more hands-on. It’s clearly something else, otherwise, you wouldn’t be so obtuse about this.”

 Damian spluttered. “Obtuse?! How dare you! You’re the only thing I have a problem with here!” A lie. He had a lot of issues, but she was the most present one at the time.

 That’s right. This was borne from a crisis of proximity. Damian is, indeed, precocious a precious child.

 “Problem? I’ve been helping you, tending your wounds nonstop for the past twenty-eight hours! I’m supposed to be getting drunk off my ass with the rest of Paris, because, and this is important, I’ve been busy catching a super terrorist who is being tried as an actual war criminal. I haven’t seen you for nearly a year and suddenly I’m the problem?!”

 Marinette stood up and towered over him, glaring.

 “Bullshit! What’s up with you for real, Damian? And I want the truth if I’m going to be taking care of you like this for the next few months.”

 He gaped. “Months?!”

 She crossed her arms. “Well?”

 Damian gritted his teeth and felt the tell-tale blush spread up his neck and find its way all the way up to the tips of his ears.

 “Every time, you grab me, no, damn near manhandle me and you expect me to not have a problem with you? Not to mention you don’t know how to keep your lips to yourself!” He huffed, but Marinette was unrepentant.

 “Seriously? Is that all?”

 “Is that all…? That’s all you have to say for yourself?!”

 “I’ve kissed you once.  Once  ! Is my grabbing you supposed to imply some sort of trend, buddy? No. I have had to grab you so you can sit still and get treatment, because, according to you,  no hospitals . What do you take me for, a lecher?!”

 “No, but would it kill you to tell me what you’re doing before you put your hands on me?!” He gestured towards his face.

 “I can’t exactly see what’s going on if you hadn’t noticed,” he said fiercely.

 “...yeah, that’s on me,” she sighed, losing tension. She sat next to him again, this time on his left side where he could still see her.

 “Better?” He grunted, resigning himself since he didn’t really have an excuse to distance himself anymore. It was logical to just let her get it over with as soon as possible, but the humiliating shiver that would dance up his spine was too much an act to bear.

 She went back to checking his head for injuries, with less fuss this time.

 “...so,” she dragged the word out, her accent turning it into something completely different.

 “Why did you bring up the kiss?”

 “No comment.”

 “I thought you would forget about it after such a long time, and it has to do with me so I was wondering if--”

 He growled.

 “Was that your first kiss by any chance?”

  “No. Comment.”

~~~

taglist:

@frieddonutsweets @iamablinkmarvelarmy @mochegato @mochinek0 @jeminiikrystal @silvergold-swirl @kris-pines04 @eliza-bich @alysrose-starchild @theymakeupfairies

[marwritesgood]

Changes | S. Harrington

Pairing: Steve x Henderson!Reader

Timeframe: Season 3

Summary: When Dustin asks his sister to take him to Scoops Ahoy so he can see Steve, she knows it’s time to break the news to him.

masterlist

A/N: Send your requests in! I’m finishing Season 3 as we speak.

“Henderson! He’s back!”

When Dustin kept nagging me to drive him to Starcourt so he could see Steve for the first time since getting back from camp, I would have never anticipated the greeting they gave one another the minute Steve bursted through the doors.

“You got the job,” Dustin exclaimed, grinning happily. I knew he was disappointed about not reaching Suzie, and his friends not welcoming the way he wanted, so it was nice to see him happy again for a change.

“I got the job!” Steve laughed back, matching Dustin’s enthusiasm, something I had gotten mildly used to during our time together over the summer so far. 

After the two exchanged a complex, yet extremely dorky handshake, I sighed and leaned against the counter. Robin and I shared an amused glance, before turning our attention back to the two boys who were giggling, for having completed their elaborate handshake which ended with them pretending to vomit. Classic.

“How many children are you friends with?” Robin asked from behind the register. I tried my best to stifle the urge to laugh, but Steve’s inability to respond to her question sent me reeling.

“Okay, alright,” he droned, acting like he didn’t appreciate mine and Robin’s amusement, however, his unfazed grin suggested otherwise. “Henderson, you look like you’re in need of some ice cream, yeah? On the house.”

“Alright,” Dustin cheered. I didn’t think it would be possible for his mood to improve even more, but ice cream has that kind of effect on people. “I could go for a banana split boat.”

“You got it,” Steve answered, before turning to me with a smirk. “I think I might need an extra set of hands though, since Robin’s working the counter-”

“Oh jeez,” Robin sighed, knowing exactly where he was going with this.

“Y/n? Could you gimme some help?”

“Suuure,” I answered, in my artificially sweet tone. I hadn’t broken the news to Dustin yet, that Steve and I were dating, and he was making it really difficult to hide with all of his smirks and side glances. “Dusty, go save us a table and we’ll bring it out to you, yeah?”

“Okay,” he answered, too overcome with joy and excitement to take note of anything weird in our behaviour. Thank goodness.

After Dustin began walking towards the closest empty table he could find, Steve took my hand and gently pulled me along as he hastily made his way to the back room of Ships Ahoy, making sure my little brother wasn’t looking.

“You haven’t told him yet, have you?”

“I tried to,” I said, trying to reason with him. We had agreed that I would tell Dustin about our relationship as soon as he got home from camp, but with his friends surprising him and him getting disappointed when he couldn’t reach Suzie, it got increasingly difficult to bring up. “But then Mike and El bailed on him, and he couldn’t get Suzie to reply so Lucas and Max still don’t believe she’s real, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him.”

“Babe, slow down,” Steve said softly, placing both of his hands on my shoulders and breathing deeply, so that I could follow.

“He was just really bummed out,” I explained. “And he was super excited to see you, and I didn’t wanna change that.”

“Okay, I get it. We’ll just tell him now. Together... After we give him the ice cream, yeah?” I nodded after chuckling lightly. “But, I gotta ask... Was he... The only one excited to come see me again?”

He didn’t wait a second, to pull me closer to him, and snaking his arms around my lower back. As he leaned in towards me, staring intently at my lips, I placed my hand on his shoulders and kept him from getting any closer.

“What are you doing? He can probably see our silhouettes.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he whined, frowning as he reluctantly leaned back. He still kept his around me, and gently tightened his grasp. “I haven’t seen you all week. Can’t I have just one kiss before we break your little brother’s heart?”

“Well I’ll be damned. Do my ears deceive me?” I gasped dramatically, before linking my fingers together behind his neck. “Have I been transported to an alternate dimension, or is the Steve Harrington actually begging?”

“You know what you do to me,” he leaned close and whispered in my ear. It was needless to say that, even after years of dealing with his bullshit, and almost an entire month of dealing with his whining, he still knew just what to say to make my heart jump.

“Tell you what,” I began, before slowing pulling away from Steve, who reluctantly released his grasp. “You help me get through breaking the news to Dustin, and I’ll consider ‘accidentally’ making my way over to your place after I drop him off at home. Deal?”

I hold my hand out for him to shake, the way we always would when making deals. A tradition that dates back to our time together in middle school. But, instead of shaking my hand, Steve takes hold of it, lifts it up, and kisses the back of it. Before I can react, he quickly turns towards the ice cream tubs, and begins assembling the banana split boat.

“You’re such a dork,” I laughed, before helping him with the toppings. 

After we finished Dustin’s banana split, I held the door open for Steve so he could take it to the table where he sat. We had been in the back room for at least twenty minutes, but Dustin’s excitement remained unfazed. This both warmed my heart and brought me a strong feeling of unease. 

“Hey Y/n,” Robin called out to me, as I followed Steve towards the table. When I turned to face her, she held out a cone with two scoops of my favourite flavour of ice cream. “For you... You look like you need it.”

“Angel, Robin,” I muttered, before eagerly taking the ice cream from her hands. “You are an angel. A whole fucking guardian one.”

She tipped her hat off, making me chuckle, before I turned to see Steve sitting with Dustin. I walked over to their table, and sat on the left side , so that Dustin was inbetween Steve and I. They were in the middle of a conversation about Suzie, Dustin’s girlfriend. 

“No way,” Steve said, shaking his head at Dustin, who lifted a heaped spoonful of ice cream to his mouth. “Hotter than Phoebe Cates? No way.”

“What was that Steve?” I asked in annoyance, daring him to call another woman hot in front of me again. He quickly realised I was at the table too, and smiled cheekily at me. “Hm? Oh, nothing,” he answered.

“So do you really just get to eat as much of this as you want?” 

Dustin was an easily mesmerised kid, I knew that better than anyone. The prospect of free unlimited food, however, was something he will forever be blown away by.

“Yeah, I mean sure,” Steve shrugged. “It’s not really a good idea for me, though. You know, ‘cause I gotta keep in shape for...”

I raised my eyebrows, and Robin did too from her spot all the way from behind the register. Was this really how he wanted to tell my little brother we were dating? Steven quickly noticed my expression of concern, and kept himself from finishing the sentence with my name.

“... the ladies.”

“The ladies?” Dustin repeated, amused by Steve’s response.

“Yeah, the ladies, Steve?” I repeated, in a more aggressive tone, with eyebrows still raised and eyes widened. Steve found my expression entertaining, and smiled playfully in response

“Yeah. The ladies,” he affirmed. “One girl in particular, actually. She’s about Y/n’s height. Works with Miss Byers at Melvald’s. I think you know her?”

“She sounds like a real catch,” I exclaimed, whilst smiling proudly.

“Ehh,” Steve muttered, tilting his head from side to side. I pretended to be angry, and glared playfully at him. He returned the favour. “She’s alright. Never lets me kiss her, though. And her family members are a little weird.”

“Is that so?” I asked dramatically, crossing my arms in an exaggerated manner.

“Oh yeah,” he answered, a bit too quickly for my likings. “She has this little brother-”

Before we could keep playing the little act we found ourselves playing, Dustin cut in. Only then did we realise how confused the poor kid must have been, and how horrible of a job we were doing in easing him into the news. Perhaps the bandaid approach was our only option.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?”

“We... We have to tell you something,” Steve explained, before nodding towards me. Once Dustin turned to face me, I took a deep breath before beginning. 

“Buddy,” I murmured, causing Dustin to immediately groan as though he were in excruciating pain. “What?”

“You only call me buddy when you tell me bad news,” he said, and just like that his expression was completely drained of all the joy and enthusiasm he was initially overflowed with after his reunion with Steve. “So, what is it this time? Are you moving away? Is Steve terminally ill? Did you two go on a date while I was away?”

I suppose for a kid who grew up playing DnD, we should have anticipated he would be great at figuring out what people are gonna do or say next. When Steve and I remained silent, Dustin’s jaw dropped.

“You guys went on a date while I was away?!”

“No,” Steve answered defensively, trying to get Dustin to calm down. “I’ve taken her out on at least 7 dates while you were away.”

I lifted my hand up to my face and sighed. Robin did the same, having been able to see and hear everything that was happening. 

“WHAT?!”

“Dusty, calm down,” I said softly, placing my hand on his shoulder, less in an attempt to soothe him and more as a precautionary measure in case he stood up to do something. 

“My sister, Steve?... Really? Of all the girls in this fucking town, you decide to go for my sister.”

“Hey,” I cried out in offence.

“Ugh, you know what I mean,” Dustin says, frustrated. “Why didn’t you guys tell me? Y/n, you sent me two whole letters while I was away... You didn’t think the fact that you and Steve were sucking faces is something important to note in?”

“I knew you’d react like this,” I explained calmly, trying to mellow down the mood of our conversation. 

“Because everything is changing,” he cried. I glanced over at Steve briefly, and he looked just as gutted as I was. After taking yet another deep breath, I wrapped my arm around Dustin’s shoulder.

“Look, Dusty, I get that a lot of things are changing,” I began. “But change doesn’t always have to be a bad thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve chimed in. “And just because Y/n and I are- I don’t wanna say sucking faces.”

“Yeah, please don’t,” I warned.

“Just because we’re going out, doesn’t mean anything else is gonna change too,” he explained. “Y/n’s still gonna be your sister, and I’ll still be here for you whenever you need. If anything, things are changing for the better.”

I had to hand it to him. Steve would make a great mom.

“I guess it is pretty cool that you guys are sucking faces.”

“-Again, I do not like that phrase,” I muttered, making both of them chuckle.

“And I s’pose if anyone’s gonna date my sister, I’m glad it’s you, Steve, and not someone like... Like that guy you were talking about before- Matt Lewinsky.”

“Right?! That guy is so lame. Spent all of last season on the bench.”

“Okay, moving on,” I said, as I rolled my eyes. I had heard enough of Steve’s complaints about Lewinsky to last a lifetime. I was not about to sit and listen to another one. “Are you okay now, Dust? Are we good?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, before reaching for the rest of his banana split. “Just... Don’t... do couple stuff in front of me. I’m cool with you two dating, but that doesn’t mean I’m not weirded out by it.”

“So, you’re saying it’d be weird for you if I did this?”

As Dustin leaned over to finish his banana split, Steve stood up as much as he could, and leaned towards me, pecking my lips quickly, but long enough for my little brother to squirm. I giggled, both amused by Steve’s antics and relieved that our relationship was out in the open now.

“I finally got my fucking kiss,” Steve stated proudly, completely unbothered by how very visibly bothered Dustin was. 

Deep down, we both knew the kid was happy that of all the teenagers falling in love this summer, his sister and the guy he looked up to did so with one another.

[katefiction]

Yours (smut)

by katefiction (Maria) / 2013. Prompt based on the night of dinner at Lou Lou’s 

Disclaimer from Maria: I never wanted my adult stories to see the light of day again! But I’ve been told some people want to read them. I want to make clear that I’m absolutely mortified with embarrassment at these adult fictions. They make me cringe into the depths of my soul and I think the sex scenes and dirty talk are awful. But there we go. Enjoy!

Actions speak louder than words, they say. A grand gesture proclaiming someone’s love for you, for instance. But it is the smallest actions that tells us the most, a look, or a flinch.

It was a flinch that she noticed, that nobody else could see.

She placed her hand on his knee, ‘we should go soon’, she said close to his ear.

In a second, a mili-second even, the muscles in his leg contracted, followed by the rest of his body, stiffening at her touch.

‘Yep’ he said, his eyes fixed on the wall, on the table, on anything but her.

The pictures would be seen all over the world, ‘Will and Kate on date night’, the headlines would say. Little would they know of the tension pulsating underneath.

‘You don’t have to manhandle me into the car!’, Kate  said, clipping in her seat belt.

She could hear him exhaling from his nose. ’Sorry for trying to take care of you, I won’t bother next time’.

‘Good. Don’t.’

William knew better than to retaliate. Since they’d returned from the Far East three weeks before, this had been a daily occurrence. Who would take the first swipe? Who would start the petty fight that would punctuate their days? It was her mostly, and it was always the same.

Kate would reach out to William, piling all her affection on him, and he, inevitably, would rebuff her attempts, causing her to punish him later.

Back at their cottage after a car ride spent in silence, Kate kicked her black heels off next to the door, leaving them messily out of place. William was forever tripping over her shoes and despaired that she keep them tidy. He knew she had done it to annoy him, another small action of many to come that would tell him Kate was hurting from his latest rejection.

‘You can sleep in the spare room’, she snapped, taking off her coat.

‘No I can’t', he replied childishly.

They stared at each other from opposite sides of the room, waiting to see who would break first.

‘You can’t bear to be next to me, so you can sleep in there’, she said plainly.

William grit his teeth, feeling his patience wearing, ‘don’t put words into my mouth’.

‘I don’t need to, you haven’t touched me in weeks’. Her eyes began to well in frustration.

‘That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.’ It was true, William was desperate to be close to his wife again.

‘You have to stop punishing me, I didn’t know the photographer was there Will!’

The tears began to fall freely from her eyes. William had supported and comforted her when they’d found out pictures had been taken of Kate topless in France, but as soon as they had come home, he had become distant and cold.

He watched her face becoming red, the pain pouring out in her shaking limbs.

Breaking through the invisible barrier in  the room, her reached out his hand and stroked her wet cheek.

‘I don’t blame you, I blame me. Because of me, every pervert in this country has seen your body.’

‘What does it matter?! It’s not like they’ve had sex with me!’

William’s brow creased at the thought of Kate with  someone else. ‘There was a time when you were just mine, ever since we got married, everyone thinks they own you. And now this. What’s left for me?’

Kate placed her hands on his stomach. ‘Everything. They will never have me, do you understand? I will always be yours.’

‘I just wanted to take care of you’, he said, looking at her feet.

‘So…take care of me.’

He watched as her feet arched, rising onto her tiptoes. Her soft hair brushed against his jaw, before her lips landed deliberately on his, her fingertips slipping between the gaps in his shirt, warming the cold skin on his stomach.

In a second, she was against the wall. William’s hands were running all over her body desperately. In surrender, Kate placed both of her hands flat against the wall, giving him licence to have her completely. They kissed relentlessly, Kate only catching her breath when William devoured her neck or her face, tasting the wet salty tears on his tongue. He was determined to wipe them away.

His hands crawled up the outside of her thighs, grazing slowly over the flesh of her butt. His fingers grappled at her french knickers, pulling them down so she could feel the soft fabric of her dress all over her bare skin.

‘Come here’, William said, holding her by her waist and leading her to the couch as if he’d just discovered her. He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and got onto his knees.

Kate opened her legs as he kissed the inside of her legs, pushing up her dress as his lips inched closer and closer to where she was longing for him to touch her.

‘Lie back’, he ordered.

She lay back on the couch willingly, her hips and legs elevated by the arm rest. She widened her legs, desperate to show him how much her body was craving his.

His tongue flicked the inside of her leg. ‘Tell me again.’

‘Mmm?’, she mumbled.

‘Tell me you’re mine.’

He was so close now that she could feel his breath on her folds. ‘I am’, she breathed. ‘I always will be,’

The tip of William’s thumb ran slickly over her slit, making her hips buck of the couch.

‘Easy now’, he teased as finally his lips were on her, expertly searching her. William dragged the flat of his tongue repeatedly over her wet lips and up to her clit. Now that he finally had her again, he intended to devour her.

Kate struggled to keep her composure, moans of desire and relief escaping from her as she looked up to see William’s head buried deep within her legs.

The only other sound was that of his mouth on her, working hard and fast. She placed a hand on his head, her fingers tangling in his hair, ‘don’t stop…’

Finally, he emerged, his face hot and red. She knew he would want to watch her as he gave her an orgasm. Kate swung her legs over the armrest and pulled her dress over her head. William sat down beside her and found the crook of her neck once more, tickling it gently with his mouth. His hands explored her and quickly unclasped her bra, taking both of her breasts in his hands, feeling her hard nipples digging into his palms.

She was fully naked now, every pore erect in anticipation. She sat up onto her knees on the couch, ‘baby….’ she said sweetly. ‘I need you now.’

It frustrated her that he could always get her naked and totally ready before he’d even removed his shirt. She began to kiss his neck, her hand pulling at his belt.

William’s hand moved to her butt, stroking it gently, curving lower until he could feel her wetness. Slowly, yet assured, his long middle finger entered her.

‘Oh my…’, Kate gasped, pulling away from his neck.

He pulled his finger out before sliding it in again.

‘Will….’

He could feel her tighten around his finger, and watched with pleasure as she leaned on his knees for support. Her moans were growing louder by the second. Eventually, gaining her composure, Kate took hold of his face, kissing him fiercely.

He removed his finger to let her sit up and wrap her legs around his waist as he removed everything from the waist down, leaving him in just his shirt.

He slid two fingers back into her as Kate played with his rising penis.

‘Promise me you’ll only ever let me do this to you’, William said coarsely, his thumb brushing her clit as his fingers teased her insides.

‘Of course baby…of course’. She kissed him gently on the lips.

‘And you’ll only ever let me fuck you’.

Any other time, William’s language would’ve made Kate flinch, but at that moment it sent the blood rushing through her body and cum dripping down William’s fingers.

She held his gaze. ‘I’m yours’.

It was enough.

William took her by the waist, leaving a sticky, wet trail on her hot skin. She lay back, her head resting on the arm rest and William maneuvered on top of her, placing the tip of his penis at her lips.

He kissed her slowly and deeply, until at last, after three agonizing weeks, he pushed deep inside her.

William let out a low groan as he did, feeling the tight, warm, wetness envelop him. Kate ran her hands under his shirt and over his butt, willing him to go deeper.

And so he did, reaching her very core. She arched her back in approval, ‘more…’, she whispered.

William pulled out of her, only to slide back in again repeatedly as he watched her face glow with sweat and excitement.

Faster he went until he felt her nails dig into his lower back, telling him she was close.

He pushed his pelvis onto her clit, rubbing it hard.

A burst exploded through Kate’s body, rippling up and down forcefully. Her head dropped back over the arm the arm rest as she screamed in satisfaction.

It was only in the after shock that she noticed William’s panting breath on her neck, still delving in and out of her.

She raised her head to his ear. ‘I love you.’

William buried his face into her neck, taking in her scent. The fullness of his heaving, thumping heart powered to his penis, sending shots of cum in to Kate, again and again, until he was drained.

‘I love you too.’

Later, on the couch, where they lay, their skin stuck together, Kate said, ‘you didn’t wear a condom’.

‘Oh yeh…well we did talk about trying when we came home…’

Kate smiled. ‘So that was our first try?’

‘First of many.’

[trashscenariihxh]

Pariston x Reader

Pariston has a real mean streak.  Reader gets a really good look at it.  Tagged as dubcon because the nature of the relationship is messed up, but reader does consent.  Don’t read if you’re bothered by degradation and controlling dynamics.

When Pariston told you to wear the diamond earrings instead of the silver ones, you ignored him.  He’d already made you change your dress, your shoes, and your hairstyle (”this is a black tie Hunter Association event, ____.  Do you want to embarrass yourself?”)... hell, he’d even picked out your lipstick for the evening.  You wanted to have that one thing, that one tiny display of autonomy, so you wore the silver earrings instead.  You figured that something so small and insignificant wouldn’t bother him too much, and he’d soon forget.  How wrong you were.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Dearest?” Pariston asked in that sickly sweet voice of his as he took your coat.  “You looked like you did.”

“Yes.” You nodded.  It had been a fun evening.  You’d quit your job with the Hunter Association a year ago at Pariston’s behest when you’d moved in with him, and had since lost contact with nearly all of your former coworkers.  It was nice to see your old colleagues again.

“Good.”  Pariston turned to you and smiled.  It did not escape your notice that the smile failed to reach his eyes, which had settled on the silver chains dangling from your earlobes.

He was going to say something.  You knew he would; he’d been staring at your earrings all night.  Not wanting to get into an argument about accessories, you announced that you were going to go take a shower and get into bed.  You should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Going to bed so soon, my love?  It’s still early.”  Pariston followed you into the bedroom, halting your progress to the adjoining bathroom by snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

“It’s after midnight.”

“Still early.”  He was silent for a moment while he regarded you with his dark eyes; his mouth curved into a small, tight-lipped smile.  Just as you were beginning to grow nervous, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and hummed softly.  “You know you really do look beautiful tonight.  Almost perfect.”  You flinched as the acerbic barb of the “almost” pierced your heart: never quite good enough for Pariston Hill.

Pariston continued as if he hadn’t just launched a deliberate attack on your self-esteem.  “Stunning.”  He grasped your chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilted your face up to his.  “You looked so happy tonight.  Glowing.” He pressed a not-quite-chaste kiss to your lips before continuing, his voice quivering with a hint of a laugh.  “You ran off with my colleagues so quickly, I was afraid you’d forgotten about me!”

You shook your head as much as your could with your chin being held in place.  “Of course I didn’t.”  You gave a shaky smile, suddenly acutely aware of the knot forming in your stomach.

“Really?” Pariston released your chin, only to lean forward to whisper in your ear.  “I think you did.”  As he spoke, he let a hand drop to your ass and squeezed hard enough to make you squeal in pain.  “Did you like it?” He hissed, not relaxing his grip in the slightest, “the way they all looked at you?”  He kissed your neck, running a large hand up your waist and cupping your breast.  “I bet you did.  You’ve always been such a slut for attention.  Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”  He released his grip on your ass so he could unzip your dress. 

“Pariston, I-”

Pariston interrupted you with another kiss, much less chaste this time.  When he pulled back, he held your chin in his hand again, much more tightly than he had before.  “You ruined my night, ____.  You know that?”  He ran his thumb over your lips, exerting enough pressure to smear your lipstick across your face.  “Ah-ah!” He interjected when you tried to protest.  “I’m talking now.  Like I said, you ruined my evening.  Do you know how much it hurts to take you out, only to have you ignore me the whole time?”

“I didn’t-”

“Ssh.” Pariston’s face was an unreadable mask as he unclasped your bra and tossed it to the side.  “I know you didn’t mean to, Darling, but...”  He placed a hand to his chest and gave a pained look.  “It hurts me, you see.”

There was nothing about his mellifluous voice that gave any indication at all that he was even the slightest bit upset.  On the contrary, you were quite sure he was enjoying himself.  The predatory glint that was shining in his dark eyes was one you were all too familiar with; it had been present since the moment you’d arrived home.

“I’m sorry, Pariston,” you sighed, looking down at the floor in an attempt to look contrite.  Surely it would be better to give in early.  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Pariston moved to cup your cheek.  “I know you are, Love.  But I’m going to need you to make it up to me.”  He pulled you flush against him then, arms encircling you while he buried his face in your neck, gently nipping and sucking at the skin.  Slowly, almost tenderly, he kissed his way up your neck, over your jaw, behind your ear.  His fingers lightly danced across your back.  When you finally gave a little pleasured moan, he spoke again.

“Why don’t you get on the bed for me, hm?”  He dragged his tongue along the shell of your ear, chuckling when you let out a shaky exhale and nodded against him.

You shed the rest of your clothing and made your way to the bed, lying down and watching Pariston as he neatly and efficiently removed his suit.

Naked, he approached the bed, idly stroking his cock as his eyes swept over you.  “Touch yourself,” he commanded.

You immediately complied, spreading your legs and stroking yourself as he’d asked.  You watched him warily; Pariston had climbed on the bed and knelt between your legs, his eyes sweeping over your body, taking in everything.  Especially your imperfections.

“Do you know how whorish you look right now?” He asked conversationally, flashing you one of those sparkling smiles of his that were usually reserved for his least favorite coworkers.  “Legs spread... lipstick smeared... you look like you’ve already been used.”  He clicked his tongue in thought. “I wonder what the Hunter Association would think if they knew you were such a whore.”  

Your cheeks burned at the thought, but you kept touching yourself.  You knew better than to stop.  

“You know what I think?”  Pariston continued in a honeyed voice, showing no sign of being flustered.  “I think you’ve always been a slut, haven’t you?  Tell me, ____, how many men have used this?”  He reached between your legs and briefly pressed a finger into your slick entrance, withdrawing with a tut of disapproval.  “So wet already.  Did you let another man have you while my back was turned tonight?”

“N-no!” You stammered, cheeks aflame.  “Pariston, you know I-”

“Be quiet.”  His voice lowered, became hoarser.  Something dark flickered across his face, but only for a moment; it was gone before you could discern what it was.  It unnerved you, nonetheless.

Pariston stopped stroking himself and scooted closer to you, grabbing your legs by your calves and forcibly spreading them as wide as they could possibly go and straightening them out.  When you gasped in discomfort he merely giggled in response, and keeping your legs straightened out into a wide V, he used his surprising strength to push them back towards your shoulders, leaving you utterly exposed.

“Pariston...”

“I keep telling you to be quiet, ____, and you still won’t listen.”  Pariston clicked his tongue and smiled sympathetically down at you.  “Don’t tell me you’re stupid, too.”  With that, he lined himself up and pushed inside you.

You bit your lip to stifle the cry of surprise at the harshness of the penetration.   You’d been wet, but Pariston had not been gentle; he’d hilted himself in one thrust.

“Oh, ____,” he cooed, holding onto your shaking legs and withdrawing at a painfully slow pace, “does it hurt? I’m sorry.” He snapped his hips forward, earning another whimper.  “I didn’t think someone as used up as you could be so tight.”  He continued to fuck into you slowly, yet harshly, each snap of his hips causing you to bite back a sob.  The position he held you in allowed him to penetrate you deeply- too deeply; you felt him hit your cervix with each thrust.

“Ah, what noises you’re making!” Pariston exclaimed as he continued to steadily pound into you.  “I wonder what other people would think, if they heard...”  His fingers tightened painfully around your calves as he stared down at you.  “You’re obscene, spread out like this.”

You let out a choked sob as you felt the discomfort slowly begin to give way to something else.  The way Pariston was looking down at you made you feel ill, and yet... you noticed the barely-perceptible sheen of sweat making itself present on his skin, and your cunt tightened around him in excitement.  Seeing his flawless facade slip, even for a moment... 

“What are you smiling at, slut?”  Pariston demanded, voice sharper than before.  “You like being used like this?” He slammed in again for emphasis, sending a jolt through you that made your eyes begin to tear up.  Pariston noticed immediately.  “Are you going to cry, ____?  Oh, Darling, don’t cry.  You’re so ugly when you cry.”

He pumped into you a few more times before withdrawing and letting your legs fall to the bed.  Before you could process what what happening he straddled your chest, his erect cock mere inches from your face.  You whined at the sudden emptiness, only to receive an admonishment in return.  “Don’t get greedy, now, ____.  You’re lucky I fucked you at all.”  With a soft hum, Pariston grabbed your breasts and began to roughly knead and squeeze them together.  “Hmm... ____,” he murmured softly, “be a good whore, will you? Squeeze them together for me.”

 You obeyed, and immediately Pariston slid his cock between them.  “Do you like it when I use your body like this?” He asked, fucking your tits as you pushed them against his cock.  “You know,” he continued when you didn’t answer, “you’re terrible, ____.  You’ve been so awful to me tonight, and all I do is love you.”  His breath hitched as he spoke.

“Why, ____?” He panted, his voice an airy gasp.  “Why are you so fucking difficult to love?”

You closed your eyes in an effort to hold back the tears that threatened to spill as a sharp pain radiated throughout your chest.  You’d often wondered why Pariston had to hurt you like that; it had taken you far too long to realize he did it for sport.

Pariston gasped above you and pulled his cock from between your tits, rising up onto his knees and shuffling further up your body while he pumped his cock with fast, brutal strokes.  You barely had time to close your eyes before he came with a groan, painting your face with his hot, sticky release.

“God, ____, look at yourself.”  Pariston’s voice had resumed its normal, sing-song-y tone.  “You’re such a mess.”  He giggled at the sight.  “Can you imagine if anyone saw you like this?  With your makeup running and my cum all over your face? What would they say?”

You bit back another whimper and reached blindly for the box of tissues on the nightstand, only to have your hand swatted away.  “Not yet, ____, I want to look at you a little longer.  Hmm...”  Pariston cocked his head to the side as if to admire the mess he’d made of you.  “Not quite... ah!”  He leaned forward again and plucked your earrings from your ears.  “There,” he sighed, alighting from the bed and looking down at you.  “Now you’re perfect.” 

You reached for the tissues again when you heard him walk into the bathroom, holding back frustrated tears as you wiped your face.  So that’s what it had been about all along.  You cursed under your breath, promising yourself that you’d leave. 

***

Pariston slipped into bed next to you some hours later, snaking his arms around your freshly-showered form and pulling you to his chest.  “I’m sorry, Darling,” he whispered into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your head, “I really do love you.”  You sighed and smiled to yourself, all vows to leave forgotten.

You never saw those earrings again.

[berkblockman]

First time // Bill Hader x reader

Pairing: Bill Hader x reader Word count: 2642 Warnings: Smut, fingering, virgin!reader, lenguage Request: Hello! I was wondering if I could request an imagine where the reader is dating Bill, but they haven't had sex yet because she's a virgin. Finally, she says she's ready and they do it, but it's realistically awkward and uncomfortable for her during. Afterwards, she runs to the bathroom crying feeling she failed Bill, but he comforts her? If not, I understand. (a/n): Thanks for the request, anon! This is my first one shot of the year, I hope you like it and that you are having a good start of the year 😄

The truth was that your love live had never been something you cared much about. You had been dating here and there, but never nothing too serious. In fact, your longest ‘relationship’ had probably been during high school and had lasted two weeks, but you were more than okay with it and with your friends’ jokes that implied that you would be single forever and adopt a bunch of cats. To be honest, you actually liked that idea.

Until you reached your very late 20’s you had been focused in other aspects of your live, such as your career and personal growth. Luckily, you had been successful in the other fields of your life, and because of that, you didn’t have much spare time to think about meeting someone or deliberately get into a relationship. Not that you were avoiding falling in love, but you weren’t longing for it either. You simply supposed that if something was meant to happen, it would. But as the years went by you were more and more sure that it simply wasn’t meant to be. That was, of course, until you met Bill.

It’s not like it was love at first sight, but since the first moment you had a really good chemistry and it was only a matter of time before you two got together. Yet, things weren’t always easy. Bill was 11 years older than you and many people disliked the fact that you were together, but for the first time in your life you knew what it was like to be in love and you didn’t want to give up on that feeling.

But what other people thought about you wasn’t everything you had to worry about. It was the first time you were in a serious relationship and you were still trying to figure out some aspects of it, specifically a very important one: Sex. It was a weird confession to make, but it was true. Being 30 years old, you hadn’t had sex in your entire life.

The both of you were alone at your place and things were beginning to heat up when you told him. For a moment, he thought you were joking, but when he saw the look on your face, he realized you were telling the truth.

You were afraid of how was he going to react to that. Bill was an already divorced parent and you were still a virgin. Sometimes you thought that people were right and that you were too young and immature for him, but Bill was nothing but understanding and caring when you told him about it. He loved you and he was willing to wait for as long as you needed. So, since that day, he didn’t even dared to insinuate anything sexual around you, waiting for you to be the one to decide when to take the step.

There was no denying that you were nervous about it. You had no clue on what to do during sex and just thinking about it made you anxious. What were you supposed to do? Where were you supposed to touch? What would it feel like? How would you know if you were doing it alright? Trying to do some research, you talked to some of your closest friends and asked them about their first times. All of them told you that you had to relax and just try to enjoy the moment. If it was all about enjoying it, it shouldn’t be that hard, right?

The two of you had been together for several months when you decided it was time. You were going to spend the weekend at his place as his daughters were staying with their mother, so you thought that was the perfect moment. On Saturday night, as you were watching TV together after having dinner, you got your body closer to his, not really knowing how to let him know what you wanted. You haven’t talked about having sex ever since you told them, and you didn’t quite know how to address the subject now.

Clumsily, you embraced him, putting your head on his shoulder and letting him wrap his arms around you for what Bill supposed was an innocent cuddle session. You closed your eyes as you heard his calm breathing, his chest going up and down. Focusing on it, you tried to calm yourself down and just do what seemed natural to you. Your hand traveled slowly through his chest until it reached the back of his neck, where your fingers started to caress his skin softly. Feeling your touch sending goosebumps down his body, he looked in your direction with a questioning look.

“Bill, I want to do it.” Were the only words that your mouth could form as your cheeks got as red as ever. You could see his jaw tightening for a moment as he examined your face nervously.

“Are you completely sure?” He asked, feeling almost as anxious as you about this moment. You simply nodded, your legs trembling at the thought of it from both anticipation and fear of what was about to happen. “Let’s get comfortable then.”

Bill kissed your lips briefly before taking your hand to guide you to the bedroom. Once you were there, you stood still, looking at him as you tried to figure out what to do. He looked back at you as he took your face between his hands, thinking that maybe you were second guessing your decision.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” His voice assured you. “You don’t have to feel rushed into this, I understand if you need-“

“I want to do this.” You spoke before he could finish talking, trying to sound confident. You really wanted this, but you couldn’t help but to feel clueless because of this whole situation. All you wanted was to do things right.

Placing both of your hands on his chest for balance, you tiptoed so you could kiss him. He didn’t resist and kissed you back, so you decided to start heating up things a bit by introducing your hands under his shirt. As you began to undress him, he did the same for you and soon the both of you were in your underwear.

It was the first time you had been this naked in front of anyone and, for a moment, you felt the urge to cover yourself and the parts of your body you were more ashamed of. But you tried to shut down your embarrassment and insecurities as he laid you down carefully on the edge of the bed.

His lips started to kiss the skin on your neck, his hands touching you softly as you tried to figure out what to do with yours.

“If you feel uncomfortable at any moment, tell me and I’ll stop, okay?” He asked one last time and waited for you to nod before going back at kissing your skin. He placed his lips on your breasts, trying to be as gentle as he could while getting his hand under your panties.

You gasped when you felt the weird sensation of him touching you. Closing your eyes, you tried to get use to the feeling, but it was more awkward than pleasant. You had touch yourself before, but having someone else doing it was somewhat different. It took a few minutes before getting any actual pleasure from him rubbing your clit.

When Bill saw you starting to move your hips, he moved his fingers faster, trying to get you as lubricated as possible. With his other hand, he kept caressing one of your breasts and leaving kisses all over your collar bone. He wanted to make it all about you today, to make you feel comfortable and loved.

Feeling yourself starting to sweat and your orgasm building up, you turned your head to the side so you could whisper in his ear.

“I want you inside of me.” Your words made him lose focus for a moment, sending a shiver down his spine.

He turned to kiss you eagerly, his hand still under your underwear. As he moved his lips on top of yours, you felt your heart beating faster and faster every moment. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t fully get rid of those awful nerves. It was a pinch in your stomach, an annoying voice in your mind that was reminding you constantly what was going on and not letting you fully enjoy the moment. But you didn’t want to stop.

You wanted to finish this through, not only so you could finally know what it felt like, but also for Bill. You knew he wouldn’t push you into anything, but you also could imagine what it was like for him to be waiting for you to be ready. In the bottom of your heart, you feared that if you kept making him wait for too long, he would get tired of you or meet someone else and leave you. People always said that sex was one of the most important parts in a relationship.

Trying to focus on the feeling of his touch, you did your best to push those thoughts away. Suddenly, you felt him introducing a finger inside of you and you couldn’t help but to feel a bit uncomfortable as he moved it in and out. He then added a second finger, making you gasp at the awkward feeling of having them inside of you. After repeating those movements for a few minutes, trying to open up your entrance, he moved away from you so he could grab a condom.

Your gaze was on him as he finished undressing himself and putting the contraceptive on, trying to convince yourself that you were exaggerating everything. Everyone has a first time, so it shouldn’t be such a big deal. Removing your panties, you waited expectantly for him to place himself in front of you.

“Are you completely sure?” He asked one last time, looking at you in the eye.

“Yes.” You immediately assured, your body trembling already.

After getting your final confirmation, he teased you for a few moments before finally entering inside of you. His eyes were on you at all times as you took him in, trying to decode your expression. As you felt him getting inside of you, you suddenly felt a really awkward and uncomfortable pain. You tried to take a deep breathe and ignore it, but you felt as if you were being torn in half. You immediately closed your eyes shot, biting your lip as you tried your best not to scream from pain.

“Are you okay?” Bill asked you, immediately worried. “We can stop if you want.”

“I-I’m okay, don’t stop…” You muttered, digging your fingers in the pillow as you tried to release some of tension.

You tried to relax, but every second that passed your body got tenser, making the pain worse. The both of you waited a few moments so you would adjust to his length. Bill looked at you in concern, standing as still as he could so he wouldn’t make any move that could hurt you. After giving you some time to get used to the feeling, you started to feel a bit more relaxed, but the moment Bill started to move his hips slowly against yours, you felt the ache back.

“Fuck…” You mumbled, your legs trembling.

“We can stop right now if you need to…” Bill reminded you as he stopped moving. The only answer he got was you shaking your head. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” He sighed.

“Just keep going…” You simply told him. “Please…”

Doing as he was told, he started to thrust into you with extreme care. You closed your eyes as you tried to keep yourself from screaming. That awful pain, even being lighter now, still had you having a bad time. But you still didn’t want Bill to stop. And you sure as hell didn’t want to worry him. Some of your friends had warned you that something like this could happen and that it was completely normal, so you supposed all you had to do was go through it until it stopped hurting.

As you tried to settle your breathing, you finally started to feel something different from pain. It wasn’t exactly pleasure, it was more like a pleasant tingle in your body, but it was completely welcome. Feeling that, you couldn’t help but to let out a groan, causing Bill to stop.

“Babe, I can’t do this.” He said, getting out of you carefully. “This just doesn’t feel right.”

Hearing his words, you couldn’t help but to feel like you had ‘failed’. Did you really do it so badly? You were trying your best and for a moment you thought it was starting to work, but maybe you were wrong. Apparently, Bill didn’t feel okay with it, so maybe your best wasn’t enough. Maybe sex wasn’t your thing. Or relationships weren’t. You had never been good at those, you should have guessed that things weren’t going to be different now.

Feeling the tears starting to form in your eyes, you quickly got up from the bed and covered yourself with a sheet before running into the bathroom and locking yourself in there, not letting Bill time to react. Once you were alone, you started crying bitterly with the feeling that you had ruined everything.

“Honey, please.” You heard a knock on the door. “Are you good?”

You couldn’t nor didn’t want to reply. You felt a heavy weight on your chest that wouldn’t allow you to talk.

“I’m so sorry.” Bill’s worried voice said from outside the room. “I just can’t keep going if you’re not having a good time, I didn’t want to hurt you…”

Wiping your tears, you opened the door to look at him in the eye. He seemed really upset about the whole thing.

“I’m sorry that it sucked.” You simply said, your voice trembling slightly. “I should have figured I wouldn’t be good at this, I always sucked at relationship’s stuff.”

“What?” He asked in confusion. “You didn’t suck.”

“Then why did you stop?” A tear was beginning to form in your eye, but you tried your best to keep yourself from crying again.

“I stopped because I don’t want to hurt you.” Bill took your face in between his hands once more. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just couldn’t keep with it knowing that it was causing you pain.” He quickly assured you, trying to quiet your insecurities. “I know that the first time can be intimidating and I get that you felt stressed about it, but you were doing really good.” He looked at you in the eye as he spoke. “I was nervous about it too and the last thing I want in this world is to cause you any harm, maybe I was being too protective.”

“It hurt at first.” You told him the truth, your gaze meeting his. “But it was actually starting to feel good.” Bill felt himself blushing, facepalming himself internally for having stopped at the worst moment. “When you stopped I thought that I had screwed things up…”

“You didn’t.” He was quick to say, embracing you and kissing your forehead in a loving, reassuring way.

You stayed in his arms for a few moments, closing your eyes as you felt your breathing finally settling. Feeling both physically and emotionally tired, you walked back to bed. It had been a long day, but you felt incredibly calm now. Bill and you cuddled in bed until the both of you fell asleep, which was almost immediately. Luckily, you still had a whole Sunday left for you to spend together, and maybe even finish what you had started.

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan X FemOC} Chapter 5

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

. . . . . 

Chaper 5

The two weeks that passed were a struggle, the pain was easing now but i couldn't ease my mind no matter how i tried. Sitting out on the edge of the overlook would help slightly, looking out at the vastness of the wild lands, being the same height as the birds. But my mind always returned to him, to Frank. Surely after two weeks I would have heard something or read something in the papers that Hosea or Arthur would return with each morning. Arthur had said maybe he won't look for me, maybe he's not as possessive when it came to me...his wife. I doubted his words but hoped they could be true.

Getting closer to the others here helped as a distraction and Miss Grimshaw made sure my time here wasn't wasted, having me wash clothing or stitch ripped garments when I was feeling more useful. The girls were very kind, the only one I didn't speak too much being Mrs Sadie Adler. She had been through so much and was still adjusting but she seemed like a strong woman, all of the women do in fact. Abigail had to juggle a young boy and a man that didn't seem to want to be a father. Mary-Beth let me borrow some of her books, to be honest, they are awful romances but entertaining enough not to put down. Karen would share her drink with me while we sat round the fire, Javier singing into the night.

This morning, Hosea asked me to join him in a game of dominos. Despite never playing the game before he was happy enough to teach me.  He was wise and seemed to be the only one of the guys that was more logical when it came to jobs that needed to be done and how they should be done.

“You sure you've never played before. It's a simple game but you got the hang of it quickly.” he said as he placed his tile down. “Used to play poker, blackjack and chess with my father. Frank never let me gamble, saying gambling is a man's sport that's too complex for a woman to understand.”

He scoffed at that and shook his head “Seems like a quality man, shame robbing him wasn't successful.”

I giggled, continuing our game in silence until Arthur approached, mentioning how he was going to Valentine to meet up with Javier, Charles and Bill. Hosea told him to keep out of trouble as Arthur turned to leave. 

I decided to cut the game short, telling him I needed to ask a favour before Arthur left. I made my way over to where he was saddling his horse, a beautiful Mahogany Bay Tennessee Walker named Barley. “Hey Arthur, could I ask a favor? If you're not busy.”

“Sure.” “I have a couple of things I'd like to sell, would you be willing to take me to a fence? He pondered for a moment, weighing out the pros and cons as he pulled out his cigarettes from his satchel and lighting one.

“Promise you won't fall off my horse again?” He grinned slightly, meeting my gaze. 

“I'll try my best.” I couldn't help but to giggle at his taunt, looking down the ground as i flushed with embarrassment. 

He nodded and blew out a puff of smoke as I turned to get what I needed. The first night I arrived my dress was ruined, now being used for rags and patches but my necklace and earrings were still intact and could sell for a good price. I put them into my new satchel, given to me by Charles as he had no use for it anymore. Him and Arthur brought back a few good pelts and meat a few days ago. I really need to gain the courage to ask if I can join in their next hunt. I hadn't hunted in years, that being another thing my father taught me. 

The ride to Emerald Ranch didn't take long, Arthur kept the ride slow thinking I might fall again, possibly seeing me as this delicate being that would shatter if we got anywhere near the speed of a gallop. The man at the fence, Seamus his name was, was more generous than I was expecting. $75 for the necklace and earring set. I didn't really care about how much I would get, I wanted to get rid. Frank bought them after all. I unconsciously fiddled with my hands as he counted the money, my fingers brushed over the ring on my left hand. Looking down at it, the three small diamonds glinting in the midday sun, thoughts of my wedding day flooding into my mind. White silk that pooled at my feet, a train following behind. The intricate floral embroidery that hugged around the bodice. It being so tight it lifted my chest till I felt like my breasts were directly under my chin. I felt like a princess marrying her prince. Life is nothing like Mary-Beths books. My Prince being the villain in my life. As i snapped back into reality i pulled off the ring without a second thought, handing it over to Seamus.

“How much for this too?.” I could see Arthur now staring at me out of the corner of my eye, he knew I was trying to rid myself of any memory of that man. Seamus took the ring, holding it close to his face as he examined it “Now this is nice. Not too old and made by one of the biggest diamond companies in New York by the looks of it.” He looked to me for confirmation. I nodded, mentioning that it was made only 8 months ago and one of a kind.

I came away with $175 in total, offering to give Arthur some as a thanks, he refused so I made a mental note to sneak it in his saddlebag when he wasn't looking.

He offered to take me back to camp before he headed to Valentine but i wanted to spend some of my new fortune, plus it was nice to be out of camp after two weeks of being in too much pain or scared to venture outside of it’s perimeter. Once in the muddy cattle town of Valentine, Arthur hitched his horse outside of the Saloon where he was meeting the others. He dismounted and held out his arms to help me down. I reached out to his shoulders and he took that as permission to hold me by the waist, making sure he was gentle on my left side. I was told my ribs would take a month or more to heal depending on how bad. Breathing was back to normal but the dull ache and sharp shooting pains still persisted. He headed towards the Saloon telling me to meet him back here when I was done. I'd never been to Valentine before, i haven't been to many places the last 7 months unless it was with with Frank at business parties or joining other business partners for a fancy dinner. I scanned my eyes around the various buildings and my eyes landed on my target, the Gunsmith. 

I don't need anything pricey or flash, just something capable of protection if the need arose. I was living with outlaws now, people who live a life of crime to survive and who knows what my life will be like when I leave. Maybe i’ll make my way to New York to find my brother, he might know where mother and father are now. I miss them all dearly.

A cattleman revolver seemed like the best option as I looked through the catalog, cheap and it would do the job. It had been a long time since I handled a gun. I still remember how displeased my mother was of my father teaching me how to get comfortable with one. I really should have asked for more lessons. I thanked the store owner for his help and his generosity in giving me a gun belt seeing as it was my first gun to own. Sloshing my way through the mud to the saloon, adjusting the belt till it was comfortable hanging off my hip I could hear a commotion behind the doors. Before I had the chance to ascend the stairs and push open the doors a loud smashing happened to my left, causing me to jump backwards as a body was propelled out of the window. Not some random someone, Arthur. Before I could react the saloon doors swung open, knocking me off balance as a huge burly man made his way out and towards Arthur, now on his feet ready to continue the fight. 

They laid into each other, fists flying in the air towards each other's face. I stood in shock, not knowing what to do until the large man had Arthur pinned to the floor, punching him relentlessly as he tried to block each blow to his face and gut.

An audience had circled them, grateful for the entertainment by the sounds of it. I couldn't just stand back, my feet unconsciously moving me towards the fight to somehow intervene but before I made it off the stairs a hand pulled my arm, pulling me back towards them gently. “Don't even try Palomita.” Javier said as he released my arm and then sat on the stairs to watch the show. 

“Aren't you going to help him?” My voice was louder than i expected, showing the anger i didn't know i felt about this current situation.

He just shook his head and giggled “He's a big boy, he can hold his own.” 

Letting out a huff, I turned to see that Arthur had now gained the high ground, punching the man in the face over and over as Charles and Bill shouted words of encouragement from beside me. Through the crowd of shouting onlookers a man comes through yelling them to stop. Intervening and stopping the possible last fatal blows. “Stop! Stop! Please!” he shouts, now facing Arthur “You won the fight already, surely that's enough?” he continues to beg, Arthur releases his grip on the bloodied man into the mud. “What business is it of yours?”

“No business, but please i beg you” the man continues to beg but Arthur just pushes him out of his way, making his way through the crowd as they now disperse. The fun now over. I hastily make my way over to him, passing the man still in the mud without even a glance, my eyes not able to avert from Arthurs sorry state, covered in mud and in obvious pain as he sits on a chair outside another store. At first I didn't know what to say to him. Is this normal for them? I shouldn't be making a fuss if it is. “Are you okay?” is all i can say, silently cursing at myself at my stupid question. He looks up to me as I kneel in front of him, he can sense my concern, snickering slightly as his hand reaches up to his jaw, trying to rub away the ache. “I’m fine. Don't be worryin’ bout me.” You can't help it for some strange reason, still wanting to help him.

“Let's get you cleaned up, the hotel has a bath.” I nod in the direction of the hotel across from us, hoping he will take up the offer. But before we can make our way an unfamiliar British voice calls over to us.

“Making new friends again i see Arthur”

We turn to the voice, a smartly dressed man making his way over to us along with Dutch.

“Look who we found sniffing about.”

“Josiah Trelawney...” Arthur calls to him as he takes a welcoming bow “...I thought you'd gone to New York.”

“And miss all this glamour? You must be joking.” They all laugh “How are you?” 

“Well. Quite well indeed…” His attention turns from Arthur to me as we make our way towards them. “...I’m sorry, we haven't been introduced. Josiah Trelawney.” He extends his gloved hand to me. 

“Bella Hawthorn. Nice to meet you.” i shake his hand and smiling politely.

“My, my. You still enjoy the company of high society women i see Arthur.” He smirks, not taking his eyes off me as he lets go of my hand. 

“Nothing like that Josiah.” I blush slightly at his comment but I excuse myself to leave the men to their conversation, motioning over to the hotel and hoping they didn't notice the sudden pink in my cheeks.

-----

The water was heated perfectly as Arhtur makes his way into the room, slight moans escaping his lips, placing what looks like clean clothes he must have had stored on his horse on a chair.

He shrugs off his sodden jacket, dropping it to the floor and he works on the buttons of his blue shirt and pulling the suspenders down his arms. I’m frozen, unsure of what to do before realising i should leave him to it. He moans in pain again as he attempts to pull his shirt off his arms, the fresh aches and pains making it a struggle.

Once again, without thinking, I make my way over to him to help, this time no one to stop me but myself. With his back turned to me, he jolts slightly at my touch as I gently guided both of his arms out of his shirt, it now joining his jacket on the floor. He turns to me, not meeting my eyes as he murmurs his thanks, his hands then turning to his gun belt to remove it. 

The silence between us is deafening and awkward, he's the one to break it. “I see you got yourself a gun.” 

“Thought i'd treat myself.'' I smile and finally turn to the door, pulling at the handle.

“I'll wait for you outside.” It was barely above a whisper but I didn't turn back for confirmation that he heard me. Instead I shut the door behind me gently, leaning against it and releasing a breath I didn't know I was holding in. 

[pazvizslaplasmathrower]

Father of Hopes and Dreams - Chapter 14

Read here or on Ao3

Chapter 14: The Merchant

Summary: Your young master is gone, just at the birth of your bond, he has left you for many years, leaving you to survive the galaxy alone. After sustaining an injury from a drunken storm trooper, someone faces the decision to either leave or help you in your moment of need.

Chapter Summary:Thinking on your past proves to be more difficult than anticipated. On the search for star ship parts, Paz Vizsla encounters someone strange.

Word Count:2093

A/N:Sorry this took forever! I’ve been pretty overwhelmed, but I have more time on my hands so I will be updating with more regularity

***___***___***

“Finish your greens, A'dika.” Paz requested, coming back from the refresher.

 For a moment you clenched your jaw, looking down at the vegetables in your bowl that you had purposefully pushed to the side and avoided eating. It was not that you were purposefully being difficult, it was that more of such food tasted absolutely horrid, despite what your caretaker said. He insisted he had made it so they would have similar taste to the meat, but as soon as a mere bit entered your mouth, it was like Nexu bile.

 “Buir!” You cried half-heartedly. “I don't want to!”

 “And why not?” He asked, sitting back down in the pilot's seat. “They will help you grow soundly in mind, body and spirit.”

 “I don't want to so I'm not going to.”

 The Mandalorian shrugged, not bothering to look at you. “Fine then, nothing sweet after. Wash up before you go to bed. We will start flying to our next destination.”

 You stood to leave. “But I never remembered anything...Anything useful.”

 “Hm. I know but this ship still needs heavy work and I know a place where I can have it patched up without selling an organ.”

 You tensed.

 After doing away with your leftovers, you retreated to the fresher, making sure to securely lock the door behind you. First, you discarded your handmade bag finding that your wings had grown-

significantly. Reasonably, they should not have been able to fit inside the mere bag, but from your vantage point looking into the mirror, it seemed that the appendages would impossibly fold in on themselves. And to your shock, they had started feathering. Alone, each one was so delicate in design, almost like a thin sliver of obsidian, and when you turned the sheen certainly beautiful. Sighing, you flexed the new muscle before going about your adopted routine, feeling dazed with despair.

 ***___***___***

 Your sharp teeth dug into the freshly grilled meat, singing in and tearing away with ease. Jerba or meat in general was a rare treat, and the mere aroma was enough to make you light headed. Your master had told you that they would seize any opportunity to include it into your diet as it was necessary for your species; they seemed to know more than enough about you.

 “Have you been feeling any different?” Your master had asked casually.

 You shrugged, wistfully gnawing on the leftover bone. “Not really. I really should have worn something warmer when we went to Hoth, but my leg feels normal now.”

 “Hm, I wonder if that will stall the process...”

 The Jedi Master trailed off mumbling to themself as if you were suddenly not present.

 “Master. Master!” You called, from where you laid on the ground.

 “Perhaps a few more weeks, but then...Oh? Sorry, little Y/N. I was just thinking. Here give me your arm.”

 “Aw, c'mon do we have to do this every night? Can't I just miss it for once!”

 Your elder shook their head, gently taking your arm in hand, taking a small device from the folds of their dark robe. They had taken to checking your blood since you had started your adolescence, making sure your health was in pristine condition, on the chance it was anything less, they insisted on plenty of bed rest and mind healing.

 When their little device beeped, you could see their eyes scrutinizing the results, glancing down at your arm you could see the dark spot where the needle was used to entering. Though the little pricks were no longer painful, a few tears still ran down your face.

 “All signs are good. You should be progressing.”

 “Progressing with what?” You asked coldly.

 Your Master shook their head, tying up their pale hair. “And you've forgotten once again. Your wings, Y/N. Your wings. By this age, you should have started showing plumage...”

“Who cares?”

 With the loose sleeve of your tunic, you wiped your face clean, not noticing your Master's concerned stare. It was a dreadful habit, one that put you on edge knowing that those scrutinizing eyes were watching so carefully, seeing past your finite body and directly into the essence of the Force.

 “I do.” They put the device away.“And you should too. You need to know why I'm so worried about your wings!”

 “I'm dying to know, Master.”

 At this point, your sarcasm ricocheted off the Master Jedi.

 Their body stiffened and then relaxed, not even the most patient of Jedi could remain perfectly at ease when raising such a spirited young padawan.

 “Tell me, how many like you have you seen on our journey?”

 “None.”

 They nodded in agreement. “And in all of your studies, how many times have you heard of people like you?”

 “Not...Not once.”

 “Then come here and let me show you something.”

Sitting up you moved and crouched next to the other Jedi, still feeling their quiet, overwhelming desperation.

 “Here.” Those strong hands pulled a small tome from one of the many packs the both of you carried.

 “I haven't seen this book before.”

 “Because I've never found the right time to tell you all this.”

 Such words were not comforting in the least.

“This is a very, very old text, an ancient documentation of species from across the galaxy, compiled by early Jedi.” Your master flipped through a few pages, until one was reached. “Now doesn't that look familiar?”

 It was not an exact interpretation, but all the right features were there: the sharp teeth, facial markings, vertical pupils, longer ears that came to a soft point...it was all there, including the wings you master was far too keen on.

 “These people, your people have been gone for many years, young one”

 Your eyes followed their finger to the block of text  you could not bring yourself to read.

 “The plumage of the Shielae people are prized in nearly every culture known for their medicinal and restorative properties...Though, the aesthetic quality is favored as well.”

 “Stop reading.”

 “Y/N, it is-”

 “STOP!” You cried, crawling away. “I asked nicely, didn't I?”

 “Yes. Yes you did...”

 Nothing more was said that evening. You simply retreated back to your sleeping place in the cramped tent, curling in on yourself, unable to get the image of the mount out of your mind.

 ***___***___***

Even in sleep, the young one had worn their hand made bag to bed, keeping it just pressed against one side of the hammock so it could not be loosened for inspection. While he should not have made such a deal out of it to himself, Paz could not help but wonder what was inside that could warrant such close protection. There was little else to do on the ship until the morning when the merchant would arrive with the parts he needed, he had already spent a good handful of hours exercising, and when the child had fallen asleep Paz had been free to take off his helmet to eat. 

In his own quarters, he wondered if he should even bother putting his helmet back on, when going to peek in on the kid. Surely they would not wake, though on the off chance they did, his commitment to the Way would be shattered. Giving a heavy sigh, he slipped the beskar on his head, doing his best to tread lightly into the storage hangar and just as he suspected, (Y/N) was still curled up under blankets, clearly very much asleep. With a grunt, their body shifted so that their pack was exposed, but there was still the issue of how it was sealed. 

    Kark!

He was a grown man. Why the hell did he care so much about what a young child was keeping in their bag? The young ones from the guild often made trinkets and crafts that were greatly dear to them, though there was nothing to be concerned of. Still, something irked Paz Vizsla on, some sort of instinct telling him to worry and to act on those feelings. In spite of the unknown urgency, he stopped himself, opting to wait until there was a moment when he could earnestly approach the child. After all, he very much needed some rest. 

When morning came, the Mandalorian found his foundling had cleaned up their mess from the day prior and neatly folded each blanket, nestling them at the end of their hammock. And right out of the fresher came (Y/N), looking rather frazzled. 

    “Krif!” They yelped, nearly walking right into him. “Maker’s sake! How the hell do you move so quietly?”

    Under his helmet, Paz smiled. “Practice. Now if you’d grant me patience, I’ll have something ready for you to eat in a short while.”

Their eyes lit up, the bag moving just slightly. Odd, but the questions could wait. (Y/N) waited without complaint, playing some sort of game with old tools. Perhaps getting a hold of something safer was in order, after all Paz could not do with having the child accidentally prying off a finger. He placed the finishing touches on the child’s breakfast, knowing this time, that they would have to eat at least some of their vegetables. 

    “There is a merchant coming over soon with some parts that we need, I should have enough credits, so we won’t have to sell off anything on board.” Truthfully, there was not much to sell. “You are to stay in the ship, alright?”

    (Y/N) quickly grabbed the bowl, completely forgetting the utensil. “Yeah, sure!” They paused “How...How far are you going?”

“Worry not. They are coming to us, but just outside.” Paz Vizsla’s holo communicator buzzed. “And it looks like they’re here. It should only be a few minutes, but be good.”

    Satisfied with their intentions, Paz left the ship, leaving (Y/N) to devour everything he had made for them.

***___***___***

You had eaten far too fast, but it had been an absolutely delicious breakfast, so the blame could not have been entirely yours. Laying on the durasteel floor, you listened for the Mandalorian, strangely having to actually strain your ears to listen. Given your ears were larger than a human’s hearing Paz Vizsla’s bellowing tone should have been easy. But there were two low whispers, hissing almost, that were outside the bay doors. Since no one was yelling, that must have been a good sign. No one was fighting…

Sluggishly, you rose to your feet, flexing your shoulders uncomfortably. Overnight, those cursed wings had grown, surely by tomorrow the plumage would start to show. The pack was not going to be nearly big enough. That matter would have to wait, eavesdropping was of the utmost importance at the moment. Slinking over to the door, you pressed your ear to the cold durasteel. 

    “You are not who I was supposed to meet, I don’t care what your prices are!” The Mandalorian seethed. 

    “I am telling you the truth. I work for the man and he instructed me to come in his stead.” Another voice. Lighter in quality, feminine, and there was an absolutely firm air to it. 

    “The merchant told me no such thing, the deal is off. Now leave.”

Heavy steps traveled up the ramp, only to stop. 

    “Please!” the stranger pleaded. “I...I could truly use the money. 

Paz Vizsla was close, and hurriedly, you retreated to the storage room, climbing back into your hammock. The creak of the door rang in your ears as did the two sets of footsteps. 

“You can just leave the parts here, let me go grab your payment...There is no need to follow-”

“I want to make sure you don’t have any kriffing tricks up your sleeves, Mandalorian.”

You felt the smart decision was to hide under all the blankets and wait until the seller had let them be, but curiosity kept you where you were. Paz Vizsla’s disappointment was evident as his shoulders slumped upon seeing you were in fact visible. From behind his enormous frame came a woman who immediately locked eyes with you, refusing to look away. Those brown eyes took in every part of you in the few stolen seconds, scrutinizing each bit thoroughly. 

“You have a child.”

Wishing the woman would just vanish, you tucked yourself in your hammock. 

Paz Vizsla insisted that they both move along and so he could simply pay here and then she could leave, however, this woman seemed oddly intent on you. 

“Mandalorian, would you mind if I said hello to your young one?”